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reidsworld · 1 month

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A Different Kind of Training

Summary: When sparring with Logan turns into something more.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: sparring, cursing, mentions of alcohol, teasing, flirting, kissing, making out, tit sucking, fingering, heavy petting, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, knife play? (the claws come out), use of Y/N, pet names (baby, bub, darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.8k

Mars speaks… Two fics in one day? What can I say, I’m a sucker for writing (and Logan Howlett). I originally wasn’t gonna write smut for this but I locked in and nearly 1.4k words of smut later, I’m happy with how it turned out! I was imagining Logan in X-Men but this gif is too hot not to use.

Masterlist

The sun was setting over Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, casting a warm, golden light through the large windows of the gym. The usual buzz of activity had quieted down, leaving you alone to get in some extra training. The silence was almost calming, a rare moment of peace after everything that had happened over the past few days.

You were lost in your thoughts, practising your kicks against a heavy bag, when the door creaked open. Without needing to look, you knew who it was. There was only one person who could move so silently yet make his presence known so effortlessly.

“Looks like someone’s been working hard,” Logan’s gruff voice came from behind you, a teasing edge to it. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

You turned, arching an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “Just trying to stay sharp. Didn’t expect you to drop in. Thought you’d be nursing a beer somewhere.”

He shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Beer can wait. Figured you could use some real training instead of beating up that bag.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, so you’re volunteering to be my punching bag?”

Logan pushed off the wall and strolled toward you, his movements fluid and controlled. There was always something captivating about the way he moved—like a predator, always aware of his surroundings, always ready to strike.

“Something like that,” he said, his voice low as he came to a stop a few feet from you. “If you think you can handle it, bub.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “Big words, Wolverine. Hope you can back them up.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The session began as it always did—circling each other, testing the waters with light jabs and quick footwork. But there was an underlying tension tonight, more than usual. Maybe it was the way Logan’s eyes kept straying to your lips, or the way your heart raced every time he got close.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” you teased as you dodged a punch and spun away, landing a light tap on his shoulder.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk. “And you’re getting cocky. Might have to teach you a lesson.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, you both lunged forward, fists flying in a blur of motion.

The sparring intensified, the lighthearted banter replaced by focused determination. But even as you fought, there was a spark of playfulness, a dance of words and movements that only the two of you shared.

“Is that all you’ve got, bub?” Logan grunted as he blocked a kick and spun you around, his grip on your arm firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a sly smile on your lips. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego too much, Wolvie.”

His laughter was low and genuine, and it made something warm unfurl in your chest. Logan was a hard man, but moments like these—when he let his guard down, even just a little—made you feel like you were seeing the real him. The one beneath all the gruff exterior and adamantium claws.

As the session continued, you found yourself pushing harder, testing his limits just as much as your own. Each time he got close, you felt the heat of his body, the brush of his skin against yours, and it was becoming harder to focus on the fight and not on how much you wanted him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of back-and-forth, you saw your opening. With a quick feint, you managed to sweep Logan’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat with a surprised grunt.

You didn’t waste a second, straddling him and pinning him down with a triumphant grin. “Looks like I’ve got you.”

Logan looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, but there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Seems so. What’s your plan now, darlin’?”

The way he said “darlin’” sent a jolt through you, and suddenly the playful atmosphere shifted into something heavier, more charged. You leaned in closer, your faces just inches apart, your breath mingling with his.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg for mercy,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing.

Logan’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “Or maybe I’ll turn the tables on you.”

The challenge in his voice was clear, and you felt your pulse quicken in response. But before you could think of a retort, Logan’s grip tightened, and with a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you over, reversing your positions so that he was the one hovering over you.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, but his eyes were soft as they searched your face. He wasn’t pinning you down, not really—there was still room for you to escape, but neither of you made a move to do so.

The tension between you was palpable now, crackling in the air like electricity. Logan’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest, but you gave a small nod, unable to find your voice.

That was all the encouragement Logan needed. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as fierce as it was gentle. It was like everything that had been building between you two—the banter, the flirting, the unspoken tension—was pouring out into that one kiss.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in each other.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s eyes were still closed, his grip on your hip gentle but firm as if he didn’t want to let you go, while his other hand was on the floor, positioned next to your head.

He leaned down to lay passionate but gentle kisses against your neck.

You bit your lip, suppressing the almost vile moan that was on the tip of your tongue, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move.”

Logan chuckled, raising his head to look at you. “Guess I’m not as patient as I thought.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Guess not.”

The mood between you had shifted, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something more intimate. You felt a connection with Logan that you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully acknowledge before, and now that it was out in the open, it felt right.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with a new intensity, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “How about we take this workout somewhere more private? I’ve got a few ideas on how to… optimise our training.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestive tone in his voice. “Lead the way,” you murmured, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Logan smirked, pulling back just enough to help you to your feet. But before you could move, he captured your lips in another heated kiss, this one more urgent, more demanding. It left you breathless, your knees weak as you clung to him for support.

When he finally released you, there was a hunger in his eyes that mirrored your own. Without another word, he took your hand and led you out of the gym, his pace quick and determined. The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, but you barely noticed, too focused on the man beside you.

Logan’s room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air was filled with a quiet intensity as you both entered, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Logan’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with an unspoken promise. He stepped closer, his rough hands finding your waist, pulling you gently towards him. The world outside seemed to fade away as you stood there, the anticipation crackling between you.

You looked up at him, your heart racing, as his hands slid up your back, his touch both firm and tender. “So, this is your idea of a private training session?” you teased, your voice breathless.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Just thought we could continue our workout in a more…personal setting.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s lips were on yours, his kiss fierce and hungry. The sudden intensity took your breath away, but you melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as you kissed him back with equal fervour.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he wanted to absorb every inch of you. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. The roughness of his hands contrasted with the softness of your skin, creating a delicious tension that only heightened the experience.

Logan’s lips were warm and insistent, moving with a rhythm that made your pulse quicken. He gently pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, the heat and strength of him undeniable. You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips moving in perfect harmony with his.

The kiss was a dance of passion and exploration, each touch and caress filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. Logan’s hands slid down to your hips, his grip strong and possessive as he pressed you closer against him. You could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his muscles, and it only made you want him more.

“Jump,” Logan said, though it sounded more like a grunt than actual words. As you jump, his arms catch you, holding you by both of your legs as your hands threaded through his hair. You could feel him straining against his pants while he walked you over to the bed. You looked up at him with a smirk from where he tossed you on the bed. You slowly begin to undress, leaving you bare in front of him with the exception of your bra and panties.

“Stunning,” He muttered under his breath as he stared at you in a trance. His hand travelled down to his aching bulge, palming himself at the sight of you.

“Just gonna stand there and stare or are ya gonna do something, Wolvie.”

He let out an almost animalistic growl as he climbed on top of you, capturing your lips with his. His rough hands hands felt smooth against your skin as they travelled across your body. He pulls away from you, looking at his hands as his claws come out. He gently slides a claw under your bra, snapping it, freeing your breasts.

His claws retract and discard the bra across the room. His head quickly dives down to your tits, mouth latching onto one of your hard nipples as his hand kneads at the neglected breast. A yelp escapes your lips as he gently bites down on your nipple.

Your hands twine themselves in his hard, tugging gently as he moves his attention to your other breast. As he focuses on your breast, he shifts so that his elbow is holding him up while playing with your breast. His free hand slides down your body, slipping into your panties.

His fingers brush over your clit, making you let out a very solicited moan. His fingers run up your slit, making him groan.

“Fuck, you're already so wet and I’ve barely done anything yet, bub,” you let out an almost pathetic whimper in response. You feel him rut against your leg, attempting to get some much-needed relief. One of your hands leaves his hair and moves to push off his pants before planning him through his underwear, earning a groan from his lips.

You gasp as you feel one of his thick fingers enter you, pumping and curling in and out. It feels so good, all you can do is moan out his name. Looking into your eyes, he pulls you into a kiss as another finger slips into you. He swallows your moan with his mouth.

“Logan, ‘m so close baby,” you moan into his lips before whimpering at the loss of contact as his hand pulls your of you.

“Need to be inside you, want you to cum around my cock, darlin’” he says making you nod quickly, pulling your hand away from his groin.

He stands up, pulling off his boxers. As his cock frees, it slaps against his stomach and you almost whimper at the sheer size of it. His claws slowly extend out of his fist. He crawls back on top of you before using one of his claws to gently rip off your panties.

He positions himself at your entrance and looks up at you for approval.

“Please Logan just fuck me already.”

Gently and slowly, he pushes himself inside of you. His head falls back at the feeling of you around him. You wince at the slight sting from the size of him. He slows down and looks at you. You nod at him and moan as he bottoms out.

The two of you stay still for a minute as you adjust to him.

“Ok, you can move now, Lo.”

“How d’ya want it darlin’?” his raspy voice sounds out, making you even wetter.

“Rough baby, I thought this was supposed to be private training not–,” you tease him but are quickly cut off by your own moan as he roughly pulls out to the tip before slamming back in. His hands grip your legs, pulling them over his shoulder before moving to tightly grip the pillows next to your head. Your arms move up my your head, loosely wrapping around his.

The room is filled with loud moans and grunts as he fucks you. One of his hands moves down to circle your clit, making you cry out at the feeling. He drops one of your legs off his shoulder, changing the angle slightly.

“Oh fuck, right there!” you scream out as he pistons into your sweet spot. He throws his head back with a loud growl as your pussy clenches around him.

“Holy shit bub, so fuckin’ tight, wrapping around me just right.”

You hear the loud noise of his claws right next to your head as they extend into the bed. He uses them to give him more leverage as he fucks you harder, making you arch your back.

“‘M so close baby,” you moan into his ear as his head drops to your neck.

He doesn’t give up his relentless pace as he brings you closer to your orgasm. The sounds of his feral grunts in your ear throw you over the mess, making you scream as your insides tighten and you cum around his cock.

“Almost there,” he says as his thrusts become sloppier and his dick twitches inside of you.

“Where d’ya want it?”

“Inside, please,” you say, desperately.

Logan moves to kiss your tender lips roughly as he cums in you with a loud groan. His thrusts slow down before he comes to a stop. He drops on top of you with heavy breaths as you both lie there in silence.

Slowly pulling out of you, Logan rolls onto his back next to you before you both turn your heads to look at each other. He grins at your fucked-out expression.

“That was even better than I imagined,” he admits.

“Same,” you agree as you lean over to kiss him, smiling against his lips and muttering as you pull away,

“This was definitely a different kind of training, but I think that I still need a little more work on my form, think ya could help?”

Mars speaks... (again) I don't think I've ever locked in more than I did for writing the smut part of this. Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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hi mae! i was wondering if you could write something where reader gets embarrassed to admit she likes/enjoys something during sex (like a kink or specific turn on), preferably with poly!marauders, remus or james?

if not that's totally understandable!! thank you <3

Hi lovely, thanks for requesting! I picked something rather tame because I wanted it to be common enough, hope that's okay :)

cw: smut mndi, p in v, praise, choking

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 683 words

Remus is kissing you with his bare thigh nestled between yours, and his hand is wrapped loosely around the side of your neck, and his thumb is almost, almost, where you want it.

You push your hips up into his, sliding the pulsing wetness of you up his thigh, and a chuckle reverberates through him as he kisses you harder, pressing you back down into the mattress. His hand tightens slightly on your throat, making you whine.

Remus makes a soft pitying sound and starts adjusting for what he believes you want, slotting his cock between your legs. And you do want that, you do, but your focus has narrowed to his hand, his long, lithe fingers resting almost casually around your neck. His thumb strokes down the side of your throat.

“What is it, dove?” he asks, voice rasping slightly. “Is this good?”

“Mhm.” You close your eyes, relishing the feel of him.

“Something you want?”

You hum a denial. Remus goes quiet, his movements not stopping but slowing.

You open your eyes, and he’s watching you. Contemplative. His fingers flex on your neck, and you realize you’ve lifted your head off the pillow, pressing your throat harder into his grasp.

He presses down with his thumb experimentally. Your cunt pulses in response.

Remus coos. “You like that, honey? You like when I choke you?”

You feel heat bloom under his hand, spreading up to your face. “No,” you say, but your voice comes out breathy and heated.

Remus lifts an eyebrow. “No?” He lets his hand slip down your throat, and you try not to react to the loss. It gets as far as your collarbones, splaying out possessively as he lowers his lips to yours. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t like,” he tells you, laying a soft, enticing kiss on the corner of your lips. “So if there’s something you do like, you’ve got to tell me. Understand?”

He raises his head to look you in the eyes, and you rub your lips together, nodding.

“Good girl.” He gives you a small smile, rubbing his thumb over the jut of your collarbone soothingly. “Now, is there something you want?”

You hesitate, but Remus is patient. While he watches you, his thumb dips into the crevice between your collarbones, pressing down lightly. His lips twitch when you shiver.

“Yeah,” you admit in a whisper.

“And what’s that, dove?”

You give him a look. “You know.”

He hums, hand sliding down, further from your throat. “Tell me.”

“Remus,” you nearly whine. “Please, it’s embarrassing.”

Remus chuckles, dipping down to kiss at your jaw. “It’s not embarrassing, but regardless,” his mouth moves towards your ear, “I need to hear you say it. Just once, if you want, just so I can be sure you actually want it. Can you do that for me?”

You sigh softly as he kisses under your ear, nodding. He pauses expectantly.

“I want you to choke me,” you breathe, shutting your eyes in mortification, “please.”

You feel his smile unfurl against your skin, and Remus doesn’t let you sit long in your embarrassment, his hand going back where you want it and squeezing gently. You gasp, cunt tightening on his cock. Remus echoes the sound.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His voice goes rough around the edges. He adjusts his hold as he starts to move inside you again. “Let me know if it’s too much, yeah? I didn’t know it was so easy to get you worked up.”

You’re too pleased to be embarrassed, but you grasp for a hold on his lower back, pushing him into you harder. Remus groans. He tightens his grip on your throat at the same time as he thrusts, and you clench around him, swallowing a moan.

He makes a satisfied humming sound. “Like that, hm?”

You nod, half delirious as your brain buzzes and tears press at your eyes.

“Good.” He curls his free hand over your hip, holding you still as he drives into you. “Attagirl, just tell me how you want it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

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dee-writes-smut · 5 months

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SUMMER (Chapter Four)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY healing is a long journey that can't be summed up in just four simple seasons, but it seems with the help of a certain shadowsinger at your side, you've seemed to do it.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, Cassian POV, and mentions of wingspans ;)

AUTHORS NOTE the finale you've all been waiting for is finally here as promised! Thank you all so much for your support during this series, I am excited to be back and writing for you all again! Love you all and I hope you enjoy! <3

Summer arrives like a promise fulfilled, a canvas awash with vibrant hues of green and gold, as if nature herself has donned her finest attire. The air hums with the gentle whisper of transformation, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of new beginnings on its warm breeze.

As the sun stretches its golden fingers across the land, casting long shadows that dance in its radiant glow, there's a palpable sense of rejuvenation in the air. It's as if each dawn heralds a new chapter, a chance to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the endless possibilities of the present.

In this season of abundance, life bursts forth with an exuberance that is both intoxicating and invigorating. The world awakens from its slumber, blossoming with a riot of colors as flowers unfurl their petals in joyful defiance of the lingering chill of winter. Leaves rustle in the gentle caress of the wind, their verdant whispers carrying tales of resilience and growth.

Amidst this symphony of nature's symphony, there is a sense of newfound strength coursing through every living thing. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the warmth of the sun infuses each day with a sense of possibility, igniting a fire within the soul that refuses to be extinguished.

In the heart of summer, time seems to slow, allowing moments to linger like the last rays of sunlight on a balmy evening. It's a season of exploration and adventure, where every day holds the promise of discovery and every sunset marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

And as the days stretch languidly into twilight, there is a quiet resilience that takes root, a deep-seated belief in the power of new beginnings and the strength that comes from embracing change. For in the heart of summer, beneath the sweltering heat and the endless blue skies, lies the untold promise of tomorrow, waiting to be seized with both hands and forged into something beautiful.

(Mid Summer, Velaris)

The afternoon sun poured into the training ring, casting long shadows of the figures sparring lightly within it. Cassian was across from me, a patient yet mischievous grin on his face, as he handed me a training sword. “Ready to get your ass kicked, or are you going to make me work for it today?”

I smirked, feeling the flutter of my old spirit stirring within. “Dream on, Cassian.”

The clash of our swords sang through the air, a melody of metal that resonated with the pounding of my heart. Each strike, each parry, felt like shedding layers of fear that had cocooned me since losing my wings.

“Focus,” Cassian said, his voice a mix of sternness and encouragement. “Remember, it’s not just about strength. It’s about knowing your opponent.”

I nodded, gripping my own wooden sword a little tighter. As I lunged forward, Cassian parried easily, countering with a swift movement that I barely blocked in time. We moved in a rhythm, the clack of our swords punctuating each maneuver. My muscles remembered the dance, even if they ached from disuse. Cassian’s style was a flurry of motion, designed to overwhelm, but today he tempered his usual ferocity, giving me room to find my footing again. The physical exertion was grounding, pulling me further away from my mental ghosts.

Laughter and shouts from Mor, watching from the sidelines, filled the arena, her cheers a buoyant soundtrack to our dance of blades and as we paused for a break, Mor jogged over with a waterskin and a smirk. She threw an arm around my shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Look at you! You’re almost back to your old self,” she beamed, her pride evident.

The warmth from her compliment soaked through me, loosening some of the tightness still lingering in my chest. “Feels good to move like that again,” I admitted, allowing the truth of my words to wash over me. It did feel good—like claiming back pieces of my soul, piece by piece.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” she smiled, squeezing me close again as she handed me the waterskin. After I took a long drink, she shot me a sly glance. “Speaking of fun, have you noticed how Azriel can't seem to stay away from your side?”

Mor’s eyebrows wiggled as I coughed on the water, wiping my mouth as I tried to compose myself. “He’s just being supportive,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Cassian chuckled, leaning on his sword. “Oh, he’s being supportive, all right. Haven’t seen him this glued to someone since… well, ever.”

I rolled my eyes, but the seed of awareness began to sprout in my mind. Azriel had indeed been a constant presence, his quiet strength a comfort I hadn’t realized I’d leaned on so much.

“Do you think it might be a mating bond?” Mor asked casually, too casually, as she inspected her nails.

The question halted me, the weight of the implication settling in my stomach like a stone. The mating bond was sacred, profound—was I ready for something like that? The very thought made my heart race, not just with fear but with a blossoming hope I hadn’t acknowledged until now.

“Maybe he’s just being a good friend,” I countered, but my voice lacked conviction.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “When you know, you know,” he said simply. “And it looks like you’re starting to realize something there.”

We resumed training, but his words echoed in my mind with each strike and block. Azriel’s face appeared in my thoughts, his smiles, the gentle touch of his hands, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me lately. My feelings for him, which I had shelved as mere gratitude or the simple need for companionship during recovery, seemed to be deepening into something richer, more profound.

As we finished and walked back towards the House of Wind, Mor looped her arm through mine. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she whispered. “But don’t close your heart to the possibility of something beautiful. Azriel cares for you deeply, more than just as a friend or protector.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow that bathed the world in a soft, forgiving light. It felt symbolic, reflective of my own internal dawn. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to consider that what lay between Azriel and me could be the kind of love that songs and tales were spun from. As fear and doubt receded, leaving room for this new, tender hope, I realized that my journey of healing was also leading me down a path of rediscovering my capacity to love—not just Azriel, but myself and this new life I was slowly, bravely building.

(Mid Summer, The River House)

That evening, the dinner with the Inner Circle was held at the sprawling, candlelit table in the River House. The atmosphere was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, a symphony of friendship and familial bonds. The windows were thrown open, allowing the crisp, cool air of Velaris to sweep through the room, mixing with the scent of jasmine and roasted meats.

As I entered the dining room, a subtle change in my demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by the group. Rhysand was the first to catch my eye, giving me a nod of approval and a warm, welcoming smile. Amren, ever observant, watched me with her piercing gaze, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, acknowledging the shift in my spirits.

Azriel, standing slightly apart, offered me a soft, encouraging smile as I took my place next to him. His quiet strength bolstered my newfound resolve to engage more fully with those around me.

Dinner began with a lively discussion led by Feyre about a recent exhibition at the art gallery in the city. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she described the vibrant colors and revolutionary techniques of the new artists showcased. I listened, chiming in with my thoughts on the integration of night and day themes, which earned an approving laugh from Rhys.

As the meal continued, Cassian, true to form, began recounting one of his training escapades, embellishing the details to make his tale more dramatic. “And then, just as I was about to execute my perfectly planned maneuver, an Illyrian baby sneezed on me. Totally threw off my game!”

Laughter erupted around the table, and I found myself genuinely chuckling, the sound surprising even to me. “Only you, Cassian, could be outmaneuvered by a baby’s sneeze,” I teased, earning a round of applause and a mock bow from Cassian.

“See, she’s got jokes now! Our girl’s coming back to us,” Mor exclaimed, her face alight with joy. She reached over to squeeze my hand, her gesture warm and reassuring.

As plates were cleared and desserts were served, the conversation shifted to lighter, more personal stories. Feyre shared anecdotes about her latest painting misadventures, while Mor detailed her plans for the upcoming festival in the city. Each story, each shared laugh, felt like a stitch mending the frayed edges of my soul.

As the dinner party began to wind down in the warm, laughter-filled hall, a soft coo from the corner caught my attention. Nyx, cradled gently in Feyre’s arms, was awake and curiously peeking over her shoulder with wide, starry eyes. I felt my heart tug softly. It had been too long since I had held him, too long since I’d allowed myself to be part of these simpler, beautiful family moments.

Feyre caught my gaze and smiled, understanding immediately. “Someone wants to say hello,” she said softly, walking over with Nyx. His small hand reached out, and I couldn’t help but smile as his fingers grasped at the air between us.

“May I?” I asked, my voice a whisper of excitement mixed with a hint of uncertainty.

“Of course,” Feyre replied, carefully transferring Nyx into my arms. The baby settled against me with ease, a soft sigh escaping him as if he found comfort in my embrace. His tiny hand reached up, touching my cheek gently, an innocent gesture that felt like a reassurance of missed affection. It was as if he was saying he remembered me, that he too had felt the absence of our connection.

The moment wasn’t lost on Azriel, who watched from a short distance. His shadows flickered subtly around him, a telltale sign of his emotions stirring beneath that calm exterior. Since the conversation with Cassian and Mor earlier today, every glance, every small interaction with him seemed charged with a new, silent tension. My newly admitted feelings for him amplified each shared look, adding weight to the air between us.

As I rocked Nyx gently, my thoughts drifted to Azriel again. His presence at my side had become a constant, his support unwavering. The depth of my affection for him had crept up silently, weaving itself into the fabric of my daily life until it was indistinguishable from my other truths. I found myself stealing glances at him, each look a quiet confession of the feelings I was only beginning to allow myself to acknowledge.

Azriel eventually made his way over, his gaze softening as he looked at Nyx in my arms. “He’s missed you,” Azriel murmured, his voice barely audible over the low hum of conversation around us.

I met his eyes, feeling a flush of warmth at the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve missed him, too. Missed all of this,” I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. The way Azriel looked at me then, with such warmth and depth, made my heart skip a beat.

“Looks good on you,” he said after a pause, nodding towards Nyx.

The comment, simple and offhand, thrummed with unspoken meanings. It was a nudge against the boundaries we had maintained, a gentle probing into the new spaces of my heart that had begun to open to him.

As I handed Nyx back to Feyre, I caught Azriel’s arm gently. “Stay for a moment?” I asked, my voice hopeful, laden with the weight of all the things I hadn’t yet said.

He nodded, his usual reserve melting away for a moment as he stayed by my side, his presence a silent promise of things perhaps soon to be explored. We both knew something unspoken was shifting between us, and while neither of us was ready to dive into those waters just yet, acknowledging it—even in silence—felt like the first step toward a new horizon.

(Mid Summer, The House of Wind)

The following week, Feyre, Mor, Nesta, and I revived our "book club"—a ruse for nights filled with wine, wild discussions about our latest reads, and shared secrets under the cloak of night. As I sat curled up on a plush couch, a glass of wine in hand, surrounded by these incredible women, a profound sense of belonging enveloped me. Here, in these moments, I was safe to just be; to heal, to laugh, to grow.

The cozy nook tucked away in the House of Wind had become our sanctuary, a place where the Inner Circle’s book club convened to discuss literature, life, and everything in between. Tonight, as the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the room, I settled into my usual spot among the plush cushions, surrounded by my closest friends.

Feyre, Nesta, and Mor lounged around me, each with a book in hand, their faces alight with anticipation for our weekly gathering. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, the air buzzing with the promise of lively conversation and shared insights.

“So, what’s everyone reading this week?” Mor asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced around the circle.

Feyre held up a worn copy of her latest find, a tale of forbidden love and political intrigue. “I’m revisiting an old favorite,” she said with a smile. “It’s like catching up with an old friend.”

Nesta, with a smirk playing on her lips, produced a rather scandalous-looking novel with a provocative cover. “I’m exploring the more… sensual side of literature,” she declared, her voice dripping with amusement.

As the conversation flowed around me, I couldn’t help but chuckle at Nesta’s choice. Leave it to her to bring a little spice to our book club discussions. I was hesitant to share tonight, scared to share my feelings so blatantly, to say them out loud in a space with women who would not so soon let me forget. Tonight felt different, though, I felt stronger, able to seize this chance to share with my friends the tumultuous emotions swirling inside me.

“I’ve been reading this collection of poetry,” I began, my voice tentative at first. “It’s funny how words can capture the complexity of human emotions so beautifully.”

Mor’s eyes gleamed with interest, her grin widening. “Ah, poetry—the language of the heart,” she said, her tone teasing yet tender. “Any particular poem speaking to you?”

I hesitated, my gaze flickering to the empty spot where Azriel usually sat. His absence was keenly felt, a reminder of the unresolved tension between us. “There’s one poem that resonates with me,” I admitted, my voice growing stronger with each word. “It’s about…” I faltered, the weight of my confession heavy on my tongue.

Feyre leaned forward, her eyes warm with understanding. “About love?” she prompted gently, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine in silent support.

I nodded, the words spilling forth in a rush. “About love, and fear, and the courage to open your heart to someone—even when it scares you.”

Nesta regarded me with a thoughtful expression, her gaze piercing yet compassionate. “Love is a battlefield,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “But sometimes, the greatest victories come from facing our fears head-on.”

Mor chimed in with her trademark humor, lightening the mood with a well-timed joke. “Who knew our stoic Shadowsinger had a soft spot for you?”

Feyre smiled knowingly, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe it’s time to confront the shadows and see what lies beneath.”

Nesta couldn’t resist adding her own brand of wit to the conversation. “Speaking of shadows,” she said with a sly grin, “has anyone else noticed Azriel’s wingspan lately?”

We all laughed at Nesta’s comment, the tension in the room dissipating as we embraced the camaraderie of our little gathering. Despite the challenges we faced, tonight was a reminder that with the support of friends, even the darkest shadows could be chased away.

As the evening wore on, our conversation drifted from books to more personal topics, each of us sharing snippets of our lives and experiences. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a chance to peel back the layers and reveal the raw truths hidden beneath.

Nesta, ever the enigma, shared tales of her latest adventures in the human lands, her sharp wit and cunning intellect shining through with every word.

Mor, always the life of the party, regaled us with stories of her escapades in the Court of Nightmares, her laughter contagious as she recounted her misadventures.

And Feyre, with her quiet strength and unwavering compassion, offered words of wisdom and encouragement, her presence a soothing balm to our troubled souls.

As for me, I found solace in their company, the weight of my burdens eased by the warmth of their friendship. In their laughter and shared moments, I found the courage to confront my fears and embrace the possibility of a brighter future.

And as the candles burned low and the night grew late, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, I would face them with the unwavering support of my sisters by my side.

The support of the entire Inner Circle was a force as tangible as the magic that coursed through our veins—a constant, steadfast presence that fortified me against the darker moments. Their belief in me, their unyielding backing, gave me strength, and little by little, I began to feel not just the shadow of the person I once was, but someone stronger, resilient, reborn from adversity.

In these gatherings, these moments of shared vulnerability and joy, I was not just healing. I was transforming—emerging not how I was before the kidnapping, but perhaps even brighter, tempered by trials and warmed by the unwavering light of the family I chose and who had chosen me in return.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The night pressed heavily around the room, its silence a thick, oppressive blanket punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of Azriel beside me. In the comfort of his proximity, sleep had finally granted me a temporary reprieve from the relentless torment of my nightmares. Yet, the peace was fragile, vulnerable to the slightest disturbance—a reality proven as a sharp, inexplicable chill sliced through the room's stagnant warmth.

The temperature plummeted, wrapping its icy fingers around my spine, jolting me awake. My eyes flicked open, instantly scanning the familiar contours of the room bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight. Shadows clung to the walls like dark, silent sentinels until one stirred coalescing into a form far too human, far too familiar.

Lyris emerged from the darkness as though materializing from my deepest fears, his presence a tangible echo of past horrors. His eyes, sharp and merciless, locked onto mine with the precision of a hunter sighting its prey. The sheer malevolence in his gaze sent a visceral shudder through me, yet it was no longer solely fear that stirred within my veins. Anger, raw and blazing, kindled within, fueling a burgeoning defiance I hadn't known I possessed.

"Thinking you could escape me?" Lyris's voice was a venomous hiss, his form inching closer with predatory grace. His smirk was twisted, a grotesque mask of sadistic anticipation.

But then, with the seamless reflexes honed by centuries of battle, Azriel was between us. His body moved with lethal precision, his hand snapping out to seize Lyris by the wrist, halting his advance with unyielding strength. "She's under my protection," Azriel snarled, his voice a dangerous, low rumble. His other hand flicked to his side, the sound of steel sliding from leather slicing through the tension as he brandished a dagger, its blade catching the moon's silver light.

Lyris recoiled slightly, his eyes darting to the blade then back to Azriel’s unwavering stare. "You think you can keep her from her fate?" he spat, struggling against Azriel's iron grip.

“Her fate is her own, and you have no part in it,” Azriel retorted, his wings unfurling menacingly. The air around us thickened with dark, swirling shadows, responding to the raw power emanating from him. In that moment, he was not just my protector but an avenging angel cloaked in night's embrace.

The room filled with a heavy, expectant silence, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. Breaking the tension, I found my voice, though it trembled with the force of my emotions. "Where are my wings, Lyris?" The question tore from me, a desperate plea tangled with a demand.

"Your wings?" he mused mockingly, his eyes glinting with cruelty. "Such a precious prize… Let's just say they're kept in a place where they await their true destiny—far from your reach.”

"Give them back," Azriel demanded, his tone lethal, a stark contrast to the deceptive calm of his posture.

Lyris's laugh was cold and chilling, like the howl of the wind outside. "You overestimate your power here, shadow singer. I could take her now, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Azriel's response was swift and deadly serious. "Try it, and it will be the last thing you do." His wings unfurled dramatically as he snatched Lyris’ wrist in a powerful grip, the span of dark membrane filling the room with a sense of otherworldly power. The shadows around him deepened, swirling in response to his anger and the protective fury that laced every syllable.

The standoff stretched, a moment suspended in time where every breath, every heartbeat was laden with potential violence. Then, with a jerk, Lyris wrenched free, stepping back into the protective shroud of darkness. “She will never be free from me," he hissed, his presence oppressive, suffocating. "And neither will you."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he dissolved into shadows, leaving a cold void in his wake. His final words echoed ominously, a malevolent promise hanging in the air. As the immediate threat vanished, Azriel’s demeanor shifted, the lethal warrior receding to reveal his concern. He turned to me, his intense gaze softening. “Are you alright?” His voice was now a gentle whisper, a stark contrast to the deadly thunder from moments before.

I collapsed back against the pillows, my body trembling uncontrollably. The fear wasn't just about the physical presence of Lyris—it was the emotional and psychological terror, the deep scars he had left on my soul, that overwhelmed me.

Azriel sat beside me, enveloping me in his arms, his presence a solid, reassuring force against the lingering echoes of dread. "I'm here. You're safe," he murmured against my hair, his voice a soothing balm.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, sobs wracking my body as the terror slowly ebbed away, replaced by immense fatigue. "We have to get them back, Azriel. I need to feel whole again."

His embrace tightened, a silent promise of unyielding support. "We will," he assured me quietly. "No matter what it takes, we will bring them back.” He took a deep breath, his arms tightening around me as if he were scared that I might run from him. “Always, I will protect you. From him, from anyone who dares to threaten you,” he murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. His wings, now gently wrapped around us, formed a cocoon that felt impenetrable.

Settling back against him, I allowed the warmth of his embrace to seep deeper into my bones, expelling the lingering chill of Lyris's visit. His presence was a bastion, within which I found not only protection but a profound sense of belonging.

As we lay back down, the room once again shrouded in the soothing silence of night, a new resolve fortified my spirit. Lyris had found me, yes, but he had not found me alone, nor would he ever. Azriel’s vow to protect me was more than a promise—it was a declaration, a sentinel set against the darkness, both within and without. As sleep beckoned once more, the shadows no longer seemed an ominous threat lurking in the corners but allies, guardians cloaked in the same darkness that wrapped around us, a shield against all that would do harm.

(Late Summer, Cassian)

The morning after Lyris's intrusion, the House of Wind seemed to hold its breath, an unspoken tension palpable in the air. Everyone had shared their worries for her, our friend who had clawed her way back from that bastard's torment. We all worried, we all loved her so greatly, enjoyed the way her presence warmed Azriel’s cold exterior and to see her fall back into that dark place she had fought her way out of, to take Azriel unknowingly with her again, it poured a dark sense of grief over the house.

But amidst the uncertainty, the deep seeded fear of losing our friend once more, there was a glimmer of light, a beacon of hope cutting through the darkness. Entering the kitchen, I was met with a scene that caught me off guard—our friend, her laughter ringing out like a bell as she shared a moment of levity with Azriel. It was a rare sight, one that stirred a mixture of surprise and quiet satisfaction within me.

Azriel, usually cloaked in shadows both literal and metaphorical, had a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips. His usually guarded demeanor seemed to soften in her presence, and I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in the air between them.

Their interaction spoke volumes, a silent language of understanding and companionship that transcended words. Despite the trials they had faced, there was a sense of comfort and familiarity in their shared laughter, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still light to be found in the company of those we held dear.

As I joined them in the kitchen, a silent witness to their shared moment of joy, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the bond that had formed between them. Their friendship had weathered storms that would have broken lesser souls, and yet here they were, laughing together as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders.

And as I observed them, surrounded by the warmth of their laughter and the comfort of their companionship, I couldn't help but feel a surge of hope for the future. For in the bond between her and Azriel, I saw strength, resilience, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The day had been long and daunting, with every passing moment feeling like a test of endurance. The worry from my friends was palpable, their concern etched into every glance and every word. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their care—it was their hovering, their treating me like a fragile thing, that grated against my newfound sense of strength. But amidst it all, there was Azriel.

He stood as a steadfast anchor amidst the storm, a silent guardian who watched over me with unwavering determination. While others fretted and fussed, he remained at my side, a silent sentinel who seemed to understand without the need for words. His presence alone was enough to bolster my spirits, to remind me that I was not alone in this struggle.

Throughout the day, I found myself stealing glances at him, marveling at the depth of his care. How had I not noticed it before? His gaze lingered on me with a mixture of concern and understanding, his eyes a window to the depths of his soul. It was as if he saw straight through the facade I presented to the world, recognizing the strength within me even when I doubted it myself.

As evening descended and the weight of the day settled upon us, we retreated to the familiar sanctuary of my room. Azriel had made it his own, his presence a comforting presence in the darkness. The routine of preparing for bed had become second nature to us—changing into pajamas, brushing our teeth side by side, and slipping under the covers as Azriel performed his meticulous check of the room.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed us, we lay in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for Azriel's unwavering support, for his steadfast presence that had seen me through the darkest of days. It was a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, a connection that defied explanation yet felt more real than anything I had ever known.

“Azriel?” I called softly into the night, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to me, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. For a moment, we simply gazed at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a small smile, he reached out, pulling me closer until I was nestled against his chest.

At that moment, as I lay nestled against Azriel's chest, something shifted between us—a subtle yet profound change that altered the very fabric of our connection. It was as if the air crackled with an invisible energy, a tangible tension that seemed to draw us closer together.

I felt it first, the unmistakable sensation of the mating bond snapping into place with a sudden clarity that took my breath away. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. The primal need to be close to him, to feel his presence as an extension of my own, suddenly made perfect sense.

And then, as if in response to my realization, Azriel let out a small gasp, his arms tightening around me with a fierce urgency that mirrored my own. It was a primal, instinctual reaction, as if some ancient part of him recognized the significance of this moment and refused to let me go.

In that instant, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, replaced by a profound sense of clarity and understanding. We were bound together, our souls intertwined in a way that transcended the physical realm. And as I gazed into Azriel's eyes, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united by the unbreakable bond that now bound us.

"I'll protect you, ensure you are safe and happy and loved," Azriel vowed, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around me like a warm embrace, promising sanctuary in the depths of his love.

Tears welled in my eyes as his words washed over me, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm my fragile resolve. "As will I," I replied, my voice trembling with the weight of my own commitment, my heart laid bare before him in a moment of raw vulnerability.

His eyes, pools of darkness tinged with golden fire, bore into mine with a fierce intensity, piercing through the walls I had built around my heart. "Throughout all the seasons you will be mine, if that is what you want?" His voice was a whisper, yet it echoed through the chambers of my soul, stirring something deep within me that I could no longer deny.

With a trembling breath, I reached out to him, my fingers trembling as they traced the contours of his face, memorizing every line, every scar, every shadow that danced across his skin. "There is no one else I would rather share them with," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, the truth of my words ringing out in the quiet room like a sacred vow.

And in that moment, as our souls intertwined in the golden threads of the mating bond, I felt a surge of emotion wash over me, overwhelming in its intensity. It was as if the weight of a thousand lifetimes had been lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging that I had longed for all my life.

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pressed my forehead against his, our breaths mingling in the space between us as we stood on the precipice of eternity. In that sacred embrace, we found refuge from the storms that had battered our souls, forging a connection that would endure the trials of time. And as we surrendered to the pull of the mating bond, our hearts beat as one, a symphony of love and devotion that echoed through the halls of the House of Wind.

Together, we would face the challenges that lay ahead, our bond a beacon of hope in the darkness, guiding us through the labyrinth of life with unwavering strength and unwavering love.

For in each other's arms, we had found our home, our sanctuary, our forever. And as the night enveloped us in its embrace, we knew that no matter what trials awaited us, we would face them together, united in a love that was destined to last for all eternity.

[PREVIOUS]

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impala-dreamer · 9 months

Text

Trouble On Set

A Short Story

~Jensen and Jared have a habit of messing with costars, but what happens when one of them fights back?~

Jensen x Reader (ish), Misha, Jared / Dean x Carrie, Sam, Castiel

2,963 Words

Warnings: Pranks and Drama and Adult Behavior. Fluff.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Dean raised his hand once more, ready to strike, and Carrie cringed in fear, shrinking down into a tiny thing, like a flower retreating from the frost.

“Please, don’t!” Her voice was weak and trembling just like her fragile frame. Blood trickled down from the cut on her lip, bruises blossomed beneath her smooth skin.

Dean froze, his fist hovering in the air above his head. He caught his breath and crumbled inside, green eyes going wide with sadness. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

Sam rushed past his brother, nearly knocking him to the side as he fell to his knees to check on Carrie. She lunged forward into his big arms, finding a bit of comfort as they wrapped tight around her.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

She looked up from Sam’s shoulder to Dean, her eyes huge with shock and betrayal. “Dean, I-”

A loud, blistering pop of air ripped through the room, accompanied by a rotten smell so foul that Carrie could not hold back her disgust.

“Dean, I- I-” The smell permeated her senses and her gag reflex activated. “Oh god-”

Jared laughed, his giant body shaking, still wrapped around Y/N. She gagged loudly and tried to pry herself out of his grasp.

“Cut!”

“Oh my god!” Y/N held her breath and shoved at Jared’s chest, finally pushing him away.

Above them, Jensen looked down with a wicked smile. “Jesus, dude, what’d you eat!” He waved a hand in front of his face as the smell finally reached him.

“You’re disgusting,” Misha added, standing off to the side on his mark. “So gross.”

Jared stood up and shrugged as he adjusted his jeans, yanking them up back into place. “Hey! Shit happens!”

Jensen burst into a loud cackle that bent him clean in half. “Did you shit yourself?”

Y/N tried to stay calm, keep herself professional, but the smell seemed to be getting worse. “Wow.”

“Think something died in your ass, dude,” Jensen went on, hands on his knees as he laughed.

Jared took it all in like he was winning an award, smile beaming as the crew reset.

“OK! Settle! Let’s go again.”

Dean raised his fist high, his jaw twitching with anger.

Carrie shrank down and away, terrified and aching from his previous blow. “Please, don’t!” Her voice trembled, her hand shot up to hide her face from his wrath.

Dean froze, his fingers unfurling as he looked down at her, pain and sadness filling his freckled face. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

Carrie stared up at him, tears flooding her pretty eyes.

Jensen licked his lips slowly, seductively, and raised an eyebrow at Y/N.

Sam rushed past Dean and dropped down to his knees next to Carrie. She fell forward into his big arms as her breath became labored with heavy sobs.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

Jensen bared his teeth and ran the tip of his tongue across the edges, licking his chops like a wolf as he stared at her.

Carrie looked up from Sam’s shoulder and a tear fell from her eye. “Dean, I-”

Again, Jensen used his tongue, this time flickering it quickly between his teeth, then rolling it suggestively. He smirked as Y/N shivered, distracted by his movements.

“Dean, I-”

Another slow, long roll of his tongue.

“I, uh…”

“Cut!”

Jared leapt to his feet and went over to Jensen, continuing a conversation from before the first take. Misha pulled out his phone, and Y/N simply stayed on the dirty studio floor, wiping real tears from her face with the hem of her shirt.

“You OK?”

Blue eyes were wide with genuine concern, but Y/N waved Misha off. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Her smile was weak but managed to help calm her frustration.

“OK, people. Let’s go again! Take ten…”

And so it went.

After five days of filming the first of her seven episode run, Y/N had messed up nearly every shot she was in, whether by design or fear of having it ruined. Jared and Jensen were terribly wicked, making her break constantly, tripping her, making faces at each other or her, farting- it was almost unmanageable. Through it all, Y/N tried her best to stay calm and keep going. It was a huge thing- landing a spot on such a great show, but she didn’t know if she could do it for much longer. The frustration was boiling up inside of her, and- not to mention- she felt unwanted and severely disliked. Everyone always talked about how nice Ackles and Padalecki were to guest stars, how playful and loving the set was, how the cast and crew were like family. Y/N sure as hell wasn’t feeling like family. More like the black sheep no one wanted to talk about. Or to.

Dean raised his hand once more, ready to strike, and Carrie cringed in fear, shrinking down into a tiny thing, like a flower retreating from the frost.

“Please, don’t!” Her voice was weak and trembling just like her fragile frame. Blood trickled down from the cut on her lip, bruises blossomed beneath her smooth skin.

Dean froze, his fist hovering in the air above his head. He caught his breath and crumbled inside, green eyes going wide with sadness. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

She looked up from Sam’s shoulder to Dean, her eyes huge with shock and betrayal. “Dean, I-”

Jensen looked up at the ceiling, refusing to meet her gaze. He puckered his lips as if whistling, completely ignoring her.

“Dean-”

He tongued his cheek and sighed, seemingly annoyed by her acting.

“I… um…”

Y/N cleared her throat and grit her teeth, determined to make it through the take.

“Dean- I’m so sorry.” Carrie let loose a stream of loud tears, pouring them into Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry!”

“And...cut! We got it. That’s dinner, people.”

Y/N stepped out into the cold Vancouver night, totally uninterested in dinner or anything other than collapsing into her bed back at the hotel. She needed a shower, a drink, and a call back home to her best friend. The job she’d been looking forward to for weeks had turned out to be a nightmare.

Finally alone, she closed her eyes and lifted them towards the dark sky, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Things were not what they had seemed.

Boots echoed behind her and Y/N startled, turning to see Jensen walking towards her, a kind smile upon his plump lips.

“Hey.” He stopped a few feet away and tucked his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels nervously.

Y/N’s anxiety spiked and her stomach tightened. “Hey.”

He licked his bottom lip slowly, green eyes flashing over her face. “Great job today. Made it through that scene nicely.”

Confused, Y/N swallowed down her annoyance and nodded. “Thanks. You too.”

“It’s not easy to cry like that,” he complimented, voice smooth and sweet. “I’m impressed.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, not sure what was going on. “Thanks?”

“Really,” he pushed with a smile, the apples of his cheeks burning pink under the lot lights. “You did great.”

Y/N couldn’t respond; her thoughts twisted in utter confusion. She stared at Jensen as if he were some alien being sent to drive her insane.

He tipped back on his boot heels and took a deep breath, prepping for something. He cleared his throat and locked his knees. “So anyway… I was wondering if you… wanted to come get a drink with me? We’re pretty much done for the day. I think they’re just reshooting Jared’s scene with Misha next, so you and I could sneak away.” He held his breath and dug his front teeth hard into his bottom lip, waiting for her answer.

It was not what he expected.

Y/N’s jaw dropped and she blinked furiously at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

Jensen laughed timidly. “There’s a bar we like to go to downtown. We can… go hang out? Get a buzz on?” He shrugged and smiled.

Y/N snapped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He jolted. “What?”

“I said, are you fucking kidding me?” she spat, turning towards him with rage pulsing from her form. Jensen took a step back but she came closer. “You… you have been fucking with me all fucking week!” Her voice echoed down the alleyway, giant metal buildings amplifying her rage like a blow horn. “You’re so mean! You… you and Jared have been fucking up every take for me! You tripped me twice, I slammed into a wall yesterday; you’re making disgusting remarks and faces at me while I’m trying to cry. You’re ruining this for me!”

Jensen’s hands lifted from his pockets to surrender, his palms facing her in the dark. “Whoa. It’s not… we’re not-”

“You’re not? You’re not! You’re gonna get me fired! Do you even care about anyone but yourself? This is a huge deal for me and you’re going to ruin it. I’m gonna get fired because you can’t keep be fucking professional and Jared can’t stop eating burritos for lunch!” Y/N caught herself, gasping for a breath while her pulse raged in her ears. “Fuck!”

Jensen shook his head in shock and lowered his hands. “Y/N, it’s… really not what you think. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Oh, he’s sorry!” She spun around, telling the world. “He’s sorry he’s going to get me fired, everyone! Jensen Ackles is sorry! That makes it all better!”

He stood, dumbfounded and guilty, his shoulders falling low, his eyes filling with hurt. “Wow. I’m… really sorry.”

Y/N took a deep, shaking breath and turned her eyes away, not wanting him to see her cry. “Yeah. Thanks for the apology.” She crossed her arms and spun on her heel, turning her back on him. “Think I’ll pass on drinks.”

Jensen tried to say something, to find some way to smooth things over, but his voice died in the back of his throat, his mind empty and unsure. “Yeah,” he mumbled, backing away. “OK.”

She heard him walk away and she did the same, stalking towards the parking lot.

From the shadows, a dark figure emerged, black hair a mess, trenchcoat flapping gently in the breeze.

“You know he’s just fucking with you.”

Misha’s voice called to her and Y/N turned to see him leaning against the corner of the building, clearly having heard and seen everything.

“You usually lurk in the shadows like that?”

He laughed and shrugged. “No, but I’m usually in the right place at the right time.”

Y/N shook her head. “Not me. I’m clearly in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong profession.”

Misha pushed himself away from the wall. “Nah. You were really good today.”

“Was I?” she snit, sarcasm coating every inch of her. “Sorry. I’m just- they’re torturing me and I don’t know why.” Her voice cracked. “They fucking hate me. What did I do?”

He laughed.

“Oh, that’s funny to you?”

He shook his head. “They don’t hate you, Y/N.”

She huffed. “I highly doubt that, but thank you.”

Misha came closer and lowered his voice. “You know, they only torture those they like. Especially Jensen. He’s only like that with people he… really likes.” He emphasized the last like as if he were the grade school gossip and Y/N scoffed.

“Yeah, right.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Believe me or don’t, but it’s true. At least with you around, I’m getting a break.”

Y/N’s shoulders scrunched up high as she processed the new information. “He… likes me?”

Misha nodded. “Yup. He’s like a kid on a playground,” he told her. “If he dips your pigtails in ink tomorrow, don’t be upset. It’s like his mating call.”

Y/N cracked the first smile in days and hummed devilishly. “Hmm…”

“That’s a scary hmm,” Misha laughed.

“It is,” she agreed, turning to meet his gaze. “Maybe we can use this,” she said, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “Maybe we can prank him back.”

He laughed. “Yeah, that never works. I’ve tried.”

Again, Y/N’s brain turned in circles as her plan pieced together. “Hmm…”

Misha leaned back and watched her think. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Carrie walked into the kitchen, her face covered in bruises; a tiny butterfly bandage above her eyelid holding together a deep cut. She tiptoed down the steps and skirted the perimeter, eyes ever on Dean who sat alone at the table. He nursed a beer, two empty bottles haphazardly lined up next to it.

“Rough night?” she asked, her voice cracking with nervous emotion.

Dean didn’t look at her. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long sip, his eyes closing as the brew flooded his tongue. He came up with a heavy breath. “Rough life.”

She nodded and took a step towards him. “Yeah. I don’t doubt it.” Bare feet were sticky on the tile as she went to him, stopping at the edge of the table. “Do you wanna-”

“Talk about it?” he snapped, cutting her off, looking up with pained, red-rimmed eyes. “No. Do you?”

Meekly, Carrie shook her head. “No.”

She started to turn, meaning to leave him alone to wallow, but Dean’s hand shot out to grab her wrist, pulling her down to him. He looked up, a little drunk, mostly guilty.

“Why are you still here?” he whispered, tears choking his deep voice.

Her bottom lip trembled as his grip tightened. “W-what do you mean?”

Dean sat up, drawing closer to her, gaze digging into her soul. “Why are you still here? I almost killed you.”

She swallowed hard and leaned down, breath passing over his lips like a warm breeze. He closed his eyes but the kiss never landed. She pressed her cheek to his and whispered in his ear. “Because I can’t leave you…”

Dean’s eyes welled with tears.

Y/N’s whisper continued as the camera zoomed in over her shoulder on Dean’s reaction. “Because all I can think about is taking you out back and sucking your big, juicy cock over and over until you die of dehydration.”

Jensen choked on his own spit, so shocked by her words. He coughed to clear his throat and the scene was dead.

“Cut!”

Y/N pulled back and stared down at him, daring him to say anything. Jensen was stunned, looking up with wide eyes.

She winked.

He shivered.

“Back it up! Reset!”

Carrie tiptoed down the steps into the kitchen, bruised and battered from the night before. She saw Dean and shivered, body tensing up as she walked the edges of the room

“Rough night?” she asked, voice shaking.

Dean ignored her and lifted the bottle to his lips. “Rough life.”

Carrie took a step towards him. “Yeah. I don’t doubt it.” She floated towards him, nervous but needing to help. “Do you wanna-”

“Talk about it?” he growled, looking up at her.

Y/N let her eyes go soft and parted her lips. The tip of her tongue shot out to slowly drag across her bottom lip. Jensen swallowed hard.

“No,” Dean snit. “Do you?”

Carrie shook her head. “No.”

She started to leave but Dean reached for her wrist, pulling her down to him. He looked up and gasped.

Y/N puckered her lips into a perfect circle and Jensen couldn’t think of anything else but her mouth wrapped around his cock.

“W-Why are you... s-still here?” he whispered, chest heaving, eyes gazing over.

Carrie’s lip trembled “What do you mean, Dean?”

Y/N spoke his name with half a moan and Jensen squirmed in his seat, feeling his dick grow.

“Uh…Um...Why? W-why are-”

“Cut!”

Thrice more, Jensen mucked up the scene. Staring at Y/N, he couldn’t get any words to properly form, let alone a tear to fall. She licked her lips, batted her lashes, sucked her fingers, moaned in his ear. The closer they got to finishing the scene, the harder she teased him, and in the end, he could barely stand.

Dean stood quickly and Carrie backed away, afraid he would strike her again. Her wrist was snagged in his hand, his grip unbreakable.

“Let me go!” she demanded, twisting in his grasp.

Dean walked her backwards until she hit the countertop, her breath pushing out in a shocked huff.

“Dean!”

He kissed her silent, releasing her hand only to hold her cheeks, push his breath into her, his pain, his guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

She licked his kiss from her lips and closed her eyes. “I know.”

“Cut! We got it!”

Jensen dropped his hands from Y/N’s cheeks but didn’t back away right away. She bucked her hips forward and he groaned deep in the back of his throat. He was hard against her, his erection straining in his jeans.

The crew carried on their business and slowly, Jensen backed away, clasping his hands in front of his crotch.

“You figured it out,” he said with a faint laugh.

Y/N tongued her cheek and looked away, over his shoulder. “I had a little help from an angel,” she confessed.

Jensen dropped his head. “Damnit Misha.”

Y/N lifted her eyes to his. “Damnit, nothing.” She cocked her head and leaned close. “Wanna go get that drink now?”

Jensen’s lips puckered and he let out a slow breath. “Hell yes.”

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05

#spn rpf #spn fanfic #jensen ackles x reader #fluff drama pranks set life #one shot

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fafnir19 · 3 months

Text

The bowtie

Tristan watched the stars twinkle faintly above the hotel's garden as he swirled the gin tonic in his glass. The soft evening breeze carried laughter and muffled chatter from the nearby pre-wedding-dinner. The soft glow of fairy lights cast a gentle ambiance, creating a serene backdrop for the upcoming wedding. Dressed in his tuxedo, he felt a touch out of place amidst the chatter and laughter drifting from the dining hall.

As he gazed at the stars, a voice interrupted his solitude. "Have you already chosen which bridesmaid you will get laid?" The words sliced through the calm, revealing the arrival of a man named Samuel, the bride's brother. Dark hair framing a chiseled jaw, Samuel exuded confidence and charm. Tristan's friend had told him about Samuel's reputation as a womanizer and a ruthless boss in an investment bank.

The question hung in the air, leaving Tristan flustered and unsure how to respond. "I, um, I..." he stammered and his heart was beating faster by stress. "I'm not... I usually... I mean, I don't..." His fingers tightened around the glass, a nervous energy thrumming beneath his calm exterior. Samuel chuckled, a low and knowing sound that sent a shiver down Tristan's spine. "Relax, mate. I was just pulling your leg," he said with a grin, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Leaning back, he appraised Tristan with a curious gaze. "You strike me as a man of numbers, more comfortable with algorithms than small talk. Am I right?" Tristan blinked, surprised by the astute observation. "Yes, I... I've always been more at ease with calculations than conversations," he admitted, a hint of self-consciousness lacing his voice. Samuel's easy confidence was a stark contrast to his own insecurities, highlighting the gap between them. One, a reserved mathematician futil trying navigating social waters, and the other, a charming banker well-versed in the ways of the world.

With a swift movement, Samuel's fingers deftly adjusted Tristan's bow tie and he inquired, “but honestly, which bridesmaid are you going to seduce?" Samuel's words caught Tristan off guard again, his cheeks flushing a rosy hue. "I-I usually don't... I mean, I'm not that assertive with women," Tristan stammered, his usual shyness creeping in. "Nonsense," Samuel chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You're a catch, you just need to loosen up a bit. Let me assist you with that."

Samuel fixed Tristan's gaze and suddenly Tristan's bowtie unfolded itself and slid into Tristan's shirt and slithered down his chest. A mix of confusion and arousal stirred within Tristan as the bowtie trailed lower over his sensitive nipples.

The silky touch against his skin sparked a fire of desire within him, and his nipples perked up at the unexpected caress. Tristan's breath caught in his throat as the bowtie gradually moved down to his waist. Moans escaped Tristan's lips as the silk bowtie continued its journey, coiling sensually around his cock and balls. The fabric embraced his manhood with a gentle yet firm grip, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. Tristan's breath hitched as desire surged within him, his arousal undeniable in the moonlit garden. With each subtle movement of the silk, Tristan's member responded eagerly, rising to attention beneath the fabric's teasing caress. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced, a potent mix of silk and desire that left him yearning for more. His tuxedo jacket vanished into thin air, followed by the slow unfurling of his shirt buttons. Tristan's pants' fly opened effortlessly, revealing a surprise awaiting him underneath – a sleek black silk jockstrap, a transformation from his once-humble bowtie. A grin tugged at the corners of Tristan's lips as he marveled at the sight of himself clad in the lustrous garment, his manhood sheathed in silk that accentuated every curve and contour.

Before he knew it, Tristan stood there in nothing but the black silk jockstrap that moments ago was his bowtie, his bare ass exposed to the night air. Samuel leaned back, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he took in Tristan's newfound state of undress. "Now that's more like it," he purred, his tone laden with promise. Panic welled up within Tristan, urging him to flee from this bewildering turn of events.

As he moved to flee, Samuel's firm hand grasped his shoulder, halting Tristan in his tracks. He turned to face Samuel, his blue eyes wide with confusion. Without a word, Samuel's hand slid down Tristan's back, fingers tracing a tantalizing path until they reached their destination. Tristan's breath hitched as Samuel fingered his hole shamelessly and his touch sent a shockwave of sensation through his body.

The intimacy of the moment left Tristan speechless, his body responding to the unknown sensations with a primal need. Before Tristan could gather his thoughts, Samuel deftly turned him around, pressing him against the bench. The world seemed to spin as Tristan found himself at the mercy of Samuel's desires, a flurry of emotions swirling within him. As Samuel took what he wanted, Tristan's body surrendered to the overwhelming wave of pleasure and confusion.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Tristan was left breathless and with Samuel’s cum inside of him. He watched in shock as Samuel ripped away the silk jockstrap, revealing a truth that left Tristan reeling. His cock, once a part of him, now merged seamlessly with the fabric of the jockstrap. It was a sight that defied logic, a bizarre twist in an already surreal night.

Before Tristan could even begin to process what had happened, Samuel was gone, disappearing into the night with Tristan's manhood in tow. The abrupt departure of Samuel, along with the disappearance of the black silk jockstrap, jolted Tristan back to reality. His eyes widened in disbelief as he realized the unthinkable – his very essence, his manhood, had merged with the silk and was now gone, taken by the enigmatic Samuel.

Tristan's heart raced as he sat in the church the next day and fixed his gaze on Samuel, the enigmatic and devilishly handsome investment banker, near the altar. The memories of the night before in the hotel garden flooded his mind. He wanted to approach Samuel and reclaim his manhood. But he couldn't just do it in the middle of a church during a wedding ceremony. Tristan could hardly believe his eyes as he watched Samuel gracefully adjusting a bowtie around the neck of a jock-like groomsman.

Each precise movement of Samuel's hands sent shivers down Tristan's spine, as if he was the one being touched. The realization struck him like a thunderbolt - his own cock had transformed into that very bowtie, binding him to the groomsman in an intimate and surreal manner. The wave of lust that accompanied every adjustment of the bowtie sent shivers down Tristan's spine. He squirmed in his seat, trying to focus on the ceremony at hand, but his thoughts were consumed by the torment of desire. A bead of sweat trickled down Tristan's forehead as he struggled to contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. The church's solemn atmosphere contrasted sharply with the carnal urges stirring within him, creating a discordant symphony of conflicting emotions. Tristan's hands clenched the edge of the wooden pew, his knuckles turning white with the effort of holding back his desires. The groomsman, unaware of the intricate connection between his bowtie and Tristan's own body, occasionally adjusted the silk accessory with practiced ease. Each subtle movement seemed calculated to drive Tristan to the brink of madness. The air around him crackled with suppressed energy, his mind clouded by a haze of lust and longing. As the ceremony progressed, Tristan's internal struggle intensified. The knot of desire tightened within him, threatening to unravel his self-control. He stole furtive glances at Samuel, whose gaze seemed to pierce through Tristan's facade, laying bare his innermost desires.

The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air between them, suffusing the church with an undercurrent of tension. Time seemed to stretch and distort, elongating the minutes into agonizing eternities. Tristan's breath came in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his escalating arousal. The wedding hymns echoed through the hallowed space, their melodic strains weaving a tapestry of temptation around Tristan's senses. But Tristan knew he had to bide his time, waiting for the right moment to make his move.

As dinner finally commenced, Tristan seized the opportunity to approach Samuel and the jock-like groomsman.

His palms clammy and his heart pounding, he watched intently as Samuel nonchalantly removed the bowtie from the groomsman's neck. The motion was like a siren's call, letting Tristan squirm in uncharted desire. With a steady hand, Samuel slid the bowtie into Tristan's shirt, where it snaked down to his crotch, transforming into the familiar silk jockstrap, packed with his cock and balls.

But this time, something was different. Tristan felt a shift in the air, a transformation stirring within him. And as he looked down, he realized that he was no longer the same man. In that moment, Tristan was reborn. His body exuded a newfound confidence, muscles sculpted and a smirk playing on his lips. Tristan stood there as a reflection of the groomsman who had once worn the bowtie.

No longer the timid mathematician trapped in his own insecurities, Tristan stood tall, exuding a newfound aura of self-assurance.

As he tried to process this sudden transformation, a bridesmaid sauntered by, catching his eye with a mischievous twinkle. Without hesitation, Tristan found himself slipping effortlessly into a flirtatious banter with the bridesmaid.

Gone was the awkwardness that usually plagued him in social settings. He exuded confidence and charm, much to his own surprise. Later that evening, amidst the cozy ambiance of the fireside room, Tristan found himself entwined in a passionate embrace with the bridesmaid. Moans and sighs filled the air as they surrendered to desire. As they parted ways, Tristan emerged from the fireside room, his strides filled with a newfound swagger. It was then that Samuel appeared.

Samuel's hand clapped down on Tristan's back in a congratulatory gesture, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. "Your transformation is now irreversible," Samuel declared, his words carrying an air of finality. "Henceforth, you will be a vain and cocksure jock." With a flourish, Samuel produced a business card and extended it to Tristan. "Join my investment banking team on Monday. Embrace your new identity." A protest formed on Tristan's lips, a plea to retain his former self, but an unfamiliar force gripped him. A surge of bravado surged through his veins, drowning out his doubts. His once rational mind now clouded with a heady mix of power and allure.

Samuel's satisfaction only deepened as he observed Tristan's internal struggle. With a sardonic smirk dancing on his lips, Samuel remarked, "I don't get why HR always whines about hiring the right people. All you have to do is get the appropriate candidates by the balls!" His words cut through the tension, revealing a glimpse of Samuel's ruthless nature beneath his charming facade.

Tristan couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and intrigue at what lay ahead. With a nod of acceptance, Tristan pocketed the business card, feeling the weight of his decision settle upon him. The path ahead was unclear, but one thing was certain – he was no longer the meek mathematician he once was. His very essence seemed to shift, aligning with Samuel's vision of a ruthless and confident figure in the cutthroat world of finance. As the night faded into dawn, Tristan stood at the precipice of a new beginning, his heart racing with anticipation and a newfound hunger for success.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #nerd to jock #musclegrowth #investment banker tf #bowtie tf #tf by object

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tilebytiles · 3 months

Text

settle for a draw - a.t.

summary: you didn't expect to meet a cowboy. you didn't expect to fall in love with him, either. word count: 5.5k warnings: age gap (reader is 20, alex is 25) a/n: im not the only one who sees tbhc alex as a cowboy ..... right </3

You shouldn't have been so surprised to see the figure approaching your parents' farm, riding his trusty steed and kicking up dust as he approached. You lived on a farm, for crying out loud. You knew the rural life was one a lot of people chose; the countryside was beautiful, for one, but it also offered the perfect chance to get away from it all. None of that stopped you from practically gaping as who you could only assume to be a cowboy approached the front gates.

Okay, maybe you were stereotyping by calling him a cowboy, but he certainly looked the part. One hand was firmly clamped down on his hat, preventing it from being swept away by the wind, and the other clutched the reins, guiding his horse forward with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned and muscled forearms, and the undone buttons of his shirt offered you a sliver of his chest, the gold chain around his neck jostling with each movement.

You were content to stare (ogle), but your father came up beside you on the front porch and clicked his tongue. "Should go see what he wants," he said.

You looked over at him. "Me?" He nodded. "But you said-"

"Y/N, if he tries anything with you while I'm standin' right here, I'm gonna rip him a new one and make sure he sees God."

Your father had a funny way of showing how much he loved you.

You descended the steps and hitched your skirts up, rushing over to the front gate right as the dashing stranger slowed his horse to a stop, gently petting its mane. He looked down at you and tipped his hat politely. "How do you do?" His voice was smooth like velvet and deep, reaching the sort of vocal depths that made your stomach tingle.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said softly, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. "Can I ask what you're doing here?"

"Ah ..." He released the reins to dip his hand into the bag attached to the saddle, pulling out a rolled-up sheet of paper and handing it to you over the gate. You unfurled it and observed the printed colors, taking note of the hastily scribbled markings, presumably by his hand. It was a map. As you looked over it, he said, "Been travelin' for a few days and decided it was best to take a rest. I'm low on supplies, and I wanted t' see if you could help me out any."

You looked back up at him. Your family had never housed anyone outside of your relatives before, but you didn't see why you couldn't accommodate this gentleman. Granted, you'd only spoken to him for ... a minute, max, but he seemed nice enough. Plus, there was a spare bedroom in your house, and your mother was always guilty of making too much food ... You undid the latches and pulled the gate open, producing a thunderous creak. You really needed to oil the hinges soon. The stranger smiled at you, taking the map when you offered it back to him, and stuffed it back into his satchel before swinging one of his legs over and sliding off his horse. He was taller than you, but not by too much. You led him to the front porch, where your father still stood, and asked, "Papa, can he stay for a few days?"

Your father eyed the supposed cowboy for a few long, long moments before finally sighing and nodding. "You better stay away from my daughter," he said, pointing his finger rather threateningly at the man.

The man was at least smart enough to nod quickly. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't ever think o' trying anythin' with her."

Your father slowly nodded in approval before turning to head back into the house, presumably to update your mother on the situation. You watched the door shut, then gestured for the man to follow as you led him around to the back of the house, where the stables were situated. If he was content to remain in silence as you opened one of the stall doors so he could lead his horse inside, you had other plans. "What's your name?"

He glanced at you for a second as he led his horse into the stall, releasing its reins once it was inside. "Alex."

"Alex ... ?"

"Turner."

"That's a funny last name."

He cocked an eyebrow, following you as you picked up a nearby bucket to fill the trough in the stall with water from the pump behind your house. "Well, what's yours?"

"L/N." You dropped the bucket into the grass and began working the pump, your brows scrunching together with exertion.

He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement. "I could argue that's no better than mine."

"I never said it was."

"You got a first name, miss L/N?"

"Y/N." Once the bucket was adequately filled, you lifted it up (trying to ignore the way your arms already wanted to give out) and hauled it back to the stall Alex's horse was in. "How come you're going to the mountains?"

He watched as you poured the water into the trough - it only filled it up about halfway. Silently, he gestured for the bucket, and you hesitated before handing it to him. He headed for the water pump, but you remained by the stall, leaning against the wooden beam that reached up to the stable ceiling. "I got some friends up there," he said, speaking louder so you could hear him. "Plan to stay a week or two with 'em, then head back home."

"It'll take you a couple more days to get there."

"I know. That's why I'm restin' for a few days."

You immediately noticed how much faster he was than you at filling the bucket up. You wanted to be surprised, but you knew you couldn't - he was a skilled rider, and if he was a cowboy, he likely had multiple horses. He knew what he was doing, and his muscular arms hinted at years of practiced motions such as these. He lifted the full bucket with ease, too, as if it was little more than a bundle of feathers. You wondered if he was showing off, only holding it with one hand while you'd needed two. "What's your horse's name?"

He stepped past you to pour the water into the trough. "Lizzie."

You eyed the horse for a few moments. Yeah, she looked like a Lizzie. "She's pretty."

He smiled at that - a small smile, but one nonetheless. "D'ya wanna pet her?"

You blinked. "Can I?"

He set the bucket down outside the stall and pushed the stall door shut, nodding at you as he did so. "She won' bite, if that's what you're worried about."

You stepped up to the stall door and slowly reached your hand out, letting your fingers brush against the top of her nose. In response to your fleeting caress, Lizzie leaned her head forward, her eyes fluttering shut - a silent encouragement. You gave her a more confident pat on her head, then ran your hand along her mane, marveling at how smooth the hairs were. She truly was a stunning horse.

Beside you, Alex was still smiling; you could see it in your periphery. You turned your head to look at him while still offering Lizzie affection. "What?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, 's just always nice t' see people interactin' with her. She's a real attention seeker, y'know. Don't be too nice t' her, or she'll never leave you alone."

That made you laugh. "Is that how you ended up with her?"

He nodded, reaching his own hand out to scratch under Lizzie's chin. "Found her near my farm a few years back. Poor girl was shiverin' to death - looked like she hadn't eaten in a while, either. I gave her some food an' before I knew it, she wouldn't stop nuzzlin' me, demandin' attention. I didn't see the harm in bringin' in one more horse."

"How many do you have?"

"Countin' her, five."

Five? Your family only had two. Maybe your cowboy theory wasn't so far off. Speaking of ... "Are you a cowboy?"

Amusement immediately engraved itself into his features. He opened his mouth to answer, but right as he did, your mother's voice sounded from the back door of your home. "Y/N!" she called. "Time for dinner! Bring your friend, too!"

Beside you, Alex snorted. "I'm your friend, am I?"

You just rolled your eyes and motioned for him to follow as you left the stables.

As soon as you stepped past the threshold of the back door, the smell of herbs filled your nostrils, urging you into the kitchen to find the source. Your mother had just finished plating and was setting a pot down on the stove when you appeared in the doorway, Alex in tow. She looked over at the both of you and smiled. “C’mon, sit down,” she urged, gesturing towards the dining table. You were both quick to acquiesce - you were hungry, and Alex was starving.

Your father appeared and sat across from Alex, your mother sitting across from you. You picked up your cutlery and began to cut into the chicken breast on your plate; the sounds of forks and knives clinking against plates, along with glasses being set down on the table, filled the room. Your mother’s cooking was divine, as always, and you were content to sit in silence and devour everything on your plate. Your father, however, had other plans, and after wiping the crumbs from his mouth, said, “I saw John’s boy in town today.”

Your ears perked up. “Julian?”

He nodded. “Spoke to him some, too. John’s lookin’ to sell one of his horses. I was thinkin’ to pay him a visit tomorrow.”

Your mother, not wanting Alex to feel left out, asked him, “How many horses do you have?”

“Five, ma’am,” Alex said.

“What’s your name, anyway, boy?” your father asked. You wanted to kick him under the table for the way he said it.

“Alex Turner, sir. My farm’s ‘bout a three-day trip from here.”

“Three days? What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“Goin’ to the mountains, sir, to stay with some friends o’ mine.”

Your father simply nodded and stuffed a forkful of roasted potatoes into his mouth. You looked over at Alex and asked, "Do you think you could help me with some chores after dinner?"

"Now, Y/N," your mother said, "Alex is probably tired from all the ridin' he's done."

"No, ma'am, it's no problem." Alex smiled softly at you, the kind of smile that made your stomach feel light. "I'll help you."

You returned his smile. "Thank you."

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, get the leftovers into containers that went into the fridge, and wash the dishes. Once you were finished in the kitchen, you headed out into the back with Alex in tow. "We have to make sure everything's locked up," you explained as you walked, "and set the traps for the night."

"Gotcha." You were surprised when he didn't question what the traps were for, but you quickly reminded yourself he had a farm of his own; he probably set traps, too.

While you set about making sure the stables, barn, henhouse, and pens were all locked, Alex worked on the traps. Somehow, he knew exactly what to do without you telling him, and as you passed him on your way to the henhouse, your brows furrowed. "How do you know how to set them?"

He looked up at you from where he was sat in the grass. "I have these traps on my farm. They're the cheapest an' the most convenient."

"Oh." Now you felt a bit silly for asking.

Once you were both finished, you made your way back inside, making sure to lock the back door behind you. While you'd helped your mother in the kitchen, she'd told you she'd already made up one of the guest bedrooms for Alex to stay in, so you led him upstairs and down the hall, stopping in front of the last room on the right. "My room's right across the hall," you said, looking up at him, "so if you need anything, just let me know."

"Okay." He smiled at you. "Thanks, Y/N. Have a good night."

"You too, Alex." You watched as he stepped into the bedroom and flashed you one last smile before shutting the door.

•••••

By the time morning came in the form of rays of light filtering through the window and incessant bird calls from nearby trees, you had forgotten Alex was staying for a few days, not just last night. In fact, you’d nearly forgotten about Alex entirely, resulting in you letting out a yelp when the door to guest bedroom across the hall creaked open to reveal a human figure. A ghost? No one had stayed in that bedroom since your relatives came for the holidays. Your house was haunted, you needed to tell your parents -

“Y/N?” The sound of Alex’s voice was like a lighthouse in the storm, clearing the dark clouds that obscured your vision. No ghost - just the man you thought was a cowboy. You made a note to ask him about that again later.

“Oh …” You cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the doorway of your own room. “Hey.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and leaned against his doorway, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He still wasn’t dressed, you noticed. He was like you and ate before getting ready for the day. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You stared at him, opening your mouth to respond and closing it again when you had nothing to say. Finally, you looked away and mumbled, “I forgot you were here.”

He barked out a laugh at that. “Did you now? Guess I scared ya, huh? Sorry ‘bout that.”

You didn't say a word and quickly headed for the stairs.

You saw your mother setting plates on the dining table, but your father was nowhere to be found. Confused, you asked, “Where’s papa?”

“He went to go talk to John ‘bout his horse, remember?”

Oh. No, you didn’t remember.

Breakfast went by quickly, with neither you nor Alex saying much. Once you were done eating, you went back upstairs to get dressed, then headed outside to tend to your morning chores. Your first stop - the henhouse.

You set down the wicker basket you’d brought with you on the ground and hauled the sack of chicken feed up into your arms, grunting with the effort. You did an awkward little waddle around the yard, scattering feed as you went. Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you set the sack back down by the henhouse, then picked your wicker basket back up. You undid the locking mechanism and opened the henhouse doors, immediately greeted with a cacophony of clucks. “Good morning to you, too,” you hummed, watching as the hens headed down the wooden ramp in a single file line.

As you poked your head inside, examining their nests, you heard a voice behind you. “Any luck today?” Alex.

You straightened up and deposited the few eggs you’d found into the basket. “Just a few,” you said, looking up at him. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged, watching as one of the hens pecked at his boot. “I was gonna see if ya wanted t’ take Lizzie for a ride once you were done.”

You smiled at him. “I’d love to.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and he returned your smile. “D’you need any help?”

“Actually, yeah …”

With Alex’s help, you were able to get the rest of your chores done with ease. Having someone help you made it all go by much faster, and you were already dreading the day he’d have to leave. Maybe you would need to remind your father of the idea he’d had of hiring a farm hand.

You stood and watched as he opened the stall door, stepping inside to get the saddle and reins back onto Lizzie. “Is she the feisty type?”

He snorted. “Hell no. She’s a real sweetheart.”

You stepped aside so he could lead Lizzie out of the stall and followed behind him as he took her out of the stables. The two of you (three, technically) headed for the forest behind your house; it was your idea to take the unofficial path you’d trekked with your horse a number of times before. You came to a stop outside the tree line, and Alex held his hand out to you. You knew you didn’t need help getting onto Lizzie’s back, and you knew Alex probably knew that too, but you took his hand anyway, hauling yourself up onto the horse and clutching the front of her saddle to steady yourself. Alex hopped on behind you, his chest almost touching your back as he reached around you to grab the reins. You knew the close contact couldn’t be helped, but that didn’t stop you from blushing at the proximity.

He tapped the side of his boot against Lizzie’s side, urging her into an idle trot as he directed her into the forest. The scene was like something out of a fantasy novel: a couple of downed trees lined the path, covered in overgrown moss; you could make out the occasional cluster of mushrooms; and sunlight filtered down through the trees branches overhead, casting the path you were navigating in an otherworldly glow. You were half expecting fairies to start whizzing by. Behind you, Alex let out a low whistle. “This sure is pretty.”

You nodded. “I like coming out here when I can with my horse.”

“And what’s ‘er name?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumbled.

That only piqued his curiosity. “Embarrassin’? How could it be embarrassin’?”

You sucked in a breath before quickly muttering, “Twilightsparkle.”

“Sorry?” His knee bumped against the back of your thigh; whether intentionally or not, you didn’t know. “You’re gonna have t’ repeat that one for me.”

“Twilight Sparkle.”

Silence followed.

And then, in possibly the most mortifying outcome, he guffawed. “Twilight Sparkle?”

“I got her when I was a child,” you said defensively. “I wasn’t exactly a name aficionado.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he chuckled. “Ain’t that one of the … oh, what’s that show-“

“My Little Pony,” you mumbled.

You could feel him nodding behind you. “Yeah, My Little Pony. You liked it when you were young, then?”

You nodded. Suddenly, you thought it wouldn’t be so bad if a giant hole opened up in the ground and swallowed you. “Twilight Sparkle was my favorite character, so when my parents got me my own horse, it felt fitting. I call her Twilight for short.”

“Just Twilight is less embarrassin’ than throwin’ the sparkle on.”

“You don’t have to keep rubbing it in, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled again. “Definitely not the worst thing you coulda named ‘er, though.”

You rose an eyebrow and looked at him over your shoulder. “There are worse things?”

“Lot worse.”

“Like what?”

He grew silent, his expression turning to one of contemplation as he mulled it over. “One o’ my friends in the mountains is like you - got a horse when he was a kid. He named ‘im, uh … what’s the full thing …” Another few seconds of silent thought, and then he smiled. “Armageddon the Destroyer. The Third. Dunno where the first two came from.”

It took every last bit of restraint you had to not burst into giggles. “Armageddon the Destroyer the Third?”

He nodded. “He’s still got that damn horse, too. Likes to just call him Destroyer now.”

“Which friend of yours is this?”

“Matt Helders. If ya ever get to meet ‘im, don’t tell him I told you all this. He’ll throw me off the nearest mountain.”

You didn’t think you ever would meet him, but you made a mental note to keep this story to yourself if you did.

The three of you (it was only fair to count Lizzie, you thought) continued down the path, falling into a tranquil silence. You pet Lizzie’s mane and occasionally scratched behind her ears, eliciting a sound that you assumed was her way of showing appreciation.

Abruptly, you asked, “Are you a cowboy?”

There was a pause. “You asked that yesterday.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t get to answer.”

“Hm …” He sighed. “I certainly look the part, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess technically, yeah, although, er, I don’t really go around callin’ myself one.”

That was fair, you supposed. “So is it, like, a generational thing?”

“Yeah. My dad was one, his dad was one, so on and so forth … the farm life’s the only thing I’ve ever known.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He snorted. “I wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing.”

You were going to be sad to see Alex go.

•••••

“I’m taking a bath,” you called down the stairs.

There was a beat of silence, then your mother called back, “Okay!”

It was the night before Alex would be leaving. He’d been an incredibly helpful guest; he’d always helped with chores without having to be asked, and your father thought him especially helpful because he kept you out of his hair whenever you got bored. You’d been taken out on Lizzie a number of times, told dozens of stories from Alex’s childhood and adulthood, and he’d even played songs for you on the acoustic guitar your father owned but never used. For the first time in years, probably, it’d gone a day without collecting dust.

You shut the door to the bathroom and stepped over to the tub, making sure to plug the drain before turning the faucet on and watching as the water began to rain down. As you waited, your thoughts drifted back to Alex - not just the stories he’d shared or the skill with which he’d played your father’s guitar, but the way he made you feel. You didn’t really like it; for one, you weren’t used to feeling that way about people, but you also knew nothing could ever come out of it. He was going off to the mountains to see his friends, and after that, you’d probably never see him again. He was always destined to just be a blip in your world. Plus, you felt incredibly silly for feeling anything at all, considering it’d only been a few days. Maybe you just needed to talk to people more often …

Once the tub was filled, you turned the faucet off and stripped out of your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. You stepped into the tub and sank down into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief; it was an instant balm to your aching bones. You closed your eyes, content to think of literally anything, but your brain kept wandering back to Alex. His perfect eyes, his perfect smile, his perfect beard and perfect chest and perfect arms and perfect legs and perfect ass that you had unashamedly stared at once. Okay, maybe you were ashamed now, but at the time, you'd had to pinch your arm just to get yourself to stop staring like an idiot. You were hopeless.

You had seen him shirtless once. On one of the days where there was too much work and it was too hot to do it all. You were convinced you were going to explode when you saw him, chest and abs bared and sweating in the summer heat. He was probably used to being shirtless in weather like that, but that didn't mean you were prepared to see it. When he'd seen you gawking like a fool, he'd apologized and offered to put his shirt back on, but you'd told him it was okay and that he didn't have to under the guise of not wanting him to overheat. Deep down, though, you wanted to be able to ogle him, just for a little longer.

Were you only physically attracted to him? That thought haunted you like an unseen phantom as you worked shampoo into your wet hair. Of course he was attractive - he had the perfect body, in your eyes - but was that the only reason he appealed to you? You didn't think it was; you knew it would be a lot easier to get over his absence if that was just the case.

He would be gone tomorrow morning.

That became your mantra for the rest of your bath, and you kept repeating it to yourself as you dried off, emptied the tub, and got dressed for bed. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You left the bathroom and headed down the hall, stepping into your room. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You shut your door and let yourself succumb to the warmth and comfort of your bed, making sure to turn your bedside lamp off before drifting off to sleep. He would be gone tomorrow morning.

“Hey. Y/N. Wake up.”

“Huh?” You forced your eyes open and stared up at the partially illuminated figure that hovered above you. "Alex?" you mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanna show you somethin'," he whispered.

"It's late. Can't you show me in the morning?"

"Nope." He shook his head for emphasis. "Gotta show ya now."

You felt like a parent arguing with their child.

You forced yourself out of bed and slipped your shoes on at his request before following him out of your room and downstairs. You were expecting to go out the front door, but he led you through the back, making sure to be extra quiet to avoid waking your parents until you were both outside. You were both still in your pajamas, and you were still trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes. You followed him into the forest behind your house, confusion settling across your features when he suddenly deviated from your usual path and led you to a different part of the forest. What the hell was he doing?

Eventually, he stopped, and you nearly crashed into him. "We're here."

"You dragged me outside in the middle of the night for-" The words died out in your throat as you realized what you were seeing.

You'd never gone this deep into the forest before, so you had no idea a scene like this even existed. The trees opened up in a wide circle, revealing a little pond surrounded by different stones. The grass was soft as it brushed against your ankles, and flowers were scattered all across the ground, practically beaming up at you. You felt like you'd stepped into some pocket dimension.

"Come on." Alex nudged you and stepped further into the clearing, and it was at that moment that you became aware of the blanket tucked under his left arm.

Your brows furrowed. "What's the blanket for?"

You watched as he laid it out in the grass, making sure it was neat and straight and there weren't any rocks hiding under it for your body to find before straightening up and smiling softly at you. "Stargazin'."

Oh. You weren't annoyed at him for waking you up anymore.

You walked over and sat down on the blanket, removing your shoes and setting them off to the side before stretching yourself out. You stared up at the sky, mystified by the sheer number of stars you could see. "It's so pretty," you breathed.

"I was hopin' you'd like it."

You turned your head to look at him as he laid beside you. "Did you find this just for me?"

He nodded, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "I'd sorta stumbled on it the other day when I was out here. I've been meanin' to show it to you."

"Thank you, Alex."

"Ah, don't mention it." He turned his head to look up at the stars, and you stared at him for a beat too long before doing the same.

Silence consumed the both of you, broken by the occasional chirp or drone of some nearby insect. You didn't know what possessed you to shatter the silence and say anything, but after a few minutes, you quietly confessed, "I don't want you to go."

It took a couple of seconds for Alex to respond. "Why not?"

"I don't know." You crumpled up the fabric of your shirt between your fingers. "The last few days have been really nice, and I don't really want all this to end."

"I can't say I'm particularly fond o' goin', either," he mumbled, letting out a sigh afterwards. "I'd like to see my friends, of course, but ... y'know."

"Yeah."

Another minute passed, and then he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand as his elbow dug into the blanket. "Y/N, can I ask you somethin'?"

"You just did, technically," you said, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, smartass. You know what I mean."

"Go ahead."

"Have you ever ..." He trailed off, his expression growing pensive as he searched for the right words. "You ever left home before?"

You blinked in surprise. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting him to ask, but it wasn't that. "Uh ... no. Why?"

He shrugged, as if to brush it off and act nonchalant, but you could tell he was hiding something. "Just thought I'd ask."

"You're a bad liar, Alex."

"Why would I be lyin'?"

"I don't know. Why are you lying?"

He sighed. "I guess ... I dunno. It'd be nice if I could bring ya with me. I think you'd like my friends."

Oh. There was that fluttering sensation in your stomach. "You want me to go with you?"

"It'd be nice if you could," he corrected. "Way too late for that to get worked out. Plus, your parents might kill me. Or your dad would. Your mom's a real sweetheart."

"She does hate killing bugs," you mused. You thought on what he'd just said. "Why would you want me to go with you?"

He looked off at the pond, growing silent as he tried to figure out how to say whatever was on his mind. You waited patiently, and eventually, your patience paid off. "I think I'm growin' attached to you."

You stared at him. "What?"

He looked down at you. "I said it in English."

You wanted to slap him. "What do you mean, you're-"

"I like ya, Y/N. As in, I think you're cute, and maybe I wanna kiss ya."

If you were going to explode when you saw him shirtless, you were sure you were about to turn into a nuclear bomb.

"Oh," you managed.

He rose an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that it?"

"Well, I mean-" You sat up and turned your head to look at him. "I don't think ... I'd mind it if you kissed me," you mumbled.

He stared at you, his eyes widening minutely before going back to their original size. Now it was his turn to say, "Oh." He cleared his throat and sat up fully, looking down at the blanket you were sat on. He eventually looked back up at you. "So ... can I-"

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his.

It took him no time at all to react. His hand went to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as your mouths slotted together perfectly. You didn't want this moment to end, but too soon was he pulling away to stare down at you. "Christ," he breathed. He dipped his head down to kiss you again, and again, and again. The onslaught of pecks made you giggle. Your blood was practically singing in your veins.

When he finally stopped kissing you, you smiled up at him. "I didn't realize cowboys were such softies."

He scowled, although you could tell there was no real malice behind it. "What, am I supposed to act all mean an' tough around a cute girl?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Call me cute again, and I'll get a big head.

"You'd still look cute if your head was the size of the moon," he hummed, leaning in to kiss you one last time.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed yourself closer to him, listening to his heart as it thrummed against his ribcage. "The next time you go to visit your friends, you should take me with you," you mumbled.

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head and murmured, "It's a deal, sweetheart."

"And I promise I won't bring up Armageddon the Destroyer the Third in front of Matt."

He let out a breathless chuckle and pinched your side, making you yelp. "If you do, I'm leavin' you up there to deal with him."

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #tbhc era #arctic monkeys #am #fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #divider by saradika

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turtlecleric · 6 months

Note

Imagine.

You watched with growing anxiety at the agitation in Leo’s movements as he paced in front of you. His hands clenching and unclenching as if he was resisting the urge to hold onto something.

Your own hand came to cross over your chest, clutching the fabric of your shirt over your heart as you tried to soothe it's frantic hummingbird pace.

He…couldnt be serious could he? This…this wasn't a joke. The icy feeling of dread crawled over your shoulders and settled like a dead weight into your stomach at the realization that…maybe…none of this… none of this had been a joke at all.

The question fell unbidden from your lips. A small croak of uncertainty and a necessary follow-up from Leo’s explosive confession just a few moments earlier.

“Do…do you really mean that? You’re not joking…you… love me?”

It came out smaller and more tentative than you would have liked, but a dangerous dangerous seed of hope had been planted by Leo’s words. It's roots slowly dug their way into the softness of your heart, coiling and squeezing to the point that you felt like you couldn't breathe. But you needed an answer.

Leo’s pacing came to a screeching halt directly in front of you, and his head snapped up at your ghosted whisper.

His plastron heaved with a barely controlled movement as if he were restraining himself from something. For all of his composure, or lack thereof he couldn't hide the look in his eyes.

A dark smolder was lit in his eyes, as his heated gaze bore into you with such an intensity that it made you instinctively take a step back.

Your movement snapped whatever thin chord of restraint Leo still had been leashed with and he moved.

Sometimes you forgot he was the greatest ninja of all time. Forgot the speed and the strength that pulsed underneath that leathered, scaled skin, like an untapped live wire.

Because in a flash, Leo had made up the distance between the two of you and somehow had you advanced backwards to the point your back slammed against the wall behind you.

You let out a little “oof” as the air was knocked from your lungs at the force of impact. Before you could even catch the breath that was so rudely extracted from you, you felt Leo’s hand slammed onto the wall right next to your head.

A small squeak of surprise emitted from your throat as you jumped, your head snapping up to meet Leo’s solemn gaze.

“L-Leo?”

You whispered, still working on catching your breath.

Leo, for being a man of many words, was uncharacteristically silent. And the way that he just stared at you so intently, with his own shallow breaths hitting your face in small pants, set your nerves sparking.

He didn't speak, but instead, the hand on the wall came to cup the back of your neck, tilting it up to meet his gaze. The slight tremble of his fingers against your neck was the only hint of his true feelings.

Imagine.

Leo’s body pressing you securely up against the wall with no chance of escape, one hand cradling the back of your neck with an aching tenderness that was at complete odds with his earlier explosion of feelings.

Imagine.

Leo’s other hand coming to gently pull yours away from where you clutched it over your heart. He took your hand into his and with a sagging sigh, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours.

He brought your shaking fist to his lips and began to press slow kisses to each of your knuckles, murming against the skin.

“Does this answer your question?”

Leo tenderly unfurled your clenched hand and placed it against his plastron, pressing it against his heart with his own hand.

You could feel it thundering underneath your palm and your own heart rate began dance in reply.

“I-I don't understand…”

Leo’s whole body shook at your reply, and his hand around the back of your neck tightened slightly, his thumb coming to agitatedly stroke the soft flesh. Each little touch sent sparks of electricity up and down your spine, your breath hitching slightly.

Leo’s forehead pressed more firmly against yours with a low-sounding groan emerging from the base of his throat.

He slowly drug your hand from his heart, over his collar bone, up his neck and moving your fingers to feel the pulse point directly underneath his jaw.

“Can you feel it? Can you feel how you never give me a break?

Ohhhhhh you could feel it alright, and you're pretty sure with how close Leo was and how tightly was holding you, he could feel it too.

You let out a small incredulous laugh and shook your head, not believing this was happening.

“O-oh is…is that what this is?”

At the sound of your laugh, a dark almost guttural sound emerged from Leo’s throat and he moved his head down to gently knock your jaw upwards with his nose.

He held you hostage there for a moment, just breathing in your intoxicatingly sweet scent, unable to believe that he was finally this close to you. Holding you just the way he had dreamed about for years.

Then imagine.

With an aching amount of measured slowness, Leo beginng to drag the smallest of kisses up the pulse line of your neck, starting at the juncture between where your neck met your shoulder and working his way up to the corner of your jaw.

Imagine the timbre of his voice as his warm breath ghosted over your skin with every kiss.

“Dont. Laugh. Can't you see how serious this is?”

Just…just imagine.

~Ninja

Oh... I'm imagining, alright

#i can barely even read I'm #hhhh #asks #rise!leo #ff

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aldbooks · 6 months

Text

Gwynriel Day 12 - NSFW

A Court of Shadows - bonus chapter

I had proposed the idea at some point in the story of a bonus chapter featuring fire play which I decided to save for Gwynriel weeks. This particular chapter can be read without any major spoilers of the story.

Read on AO3

2863 words

Tugging on the knot to ensure it was secure, Gwyn’s fingers slid up, caressing the inside of Azriel’s wrist, watching his fingers curl and stretch toward her touch. She carefully wiggled two fingers under the thick, silk ribbon to check he had enough room. “Feel good?” she asked.

He hummed his agreement, his head hanging over the back of the chair as he watched her work. Standing, she allowed him a quick kiss. “Words, Shadowsinger,” she scolded, using the same reprimand he used when he was in control. He smirked.

“Yes, dove. You’re getting good at that.” His tone was a mix of pride and wariness.

Gwyn chuckled lightly. “I learned from the best.” Another quick kiss and then she stepped back, studying her handiwork, walking around him in a slow circle. She’d selected a chair with a low back that allowed his wings to hang freely and comfortably. His hands were bound together at the wrist and secured to either of the back chair legs, limiting his movement, just as his ankles were securely bound to the front legs. And he was beautifully, gloriously naked.

“Secure enough?” she asked. She watched, biting her lips as his muscles flexed, testing her knots.

After a moment, he looked up at her with a crooked smile. “I could get out of them if I wanted, but they’ll work for our purposes.”

“Good,” she grinned. “Do you like the new ribbon?”

“Yes… I see it wasn’t the only thing you bought today.” His eyes slid over her body as she stood before him, his heated gaze bringing a slight flush to her skin.

Smirking, Gwyn turned, giving him a view of her backside as she strode for the bag of ‘supplies’ she’d picked up in Velaris that morning when she’d gone shopping with the girls before she and Az had shut themselves away in their seaside cottage for the next week. Her friends had given her many raised eyebrows and knowing smirks with every purchase but mercifully refrained from any lewd comments.

She was very much looking forward to the next few days.

Az sucked in a breath, growling slightly as she bent over to rummage through one of the bags and she hid a smirk as he got an eyeful of the lingerie she’d purchased in the same cobalt blue of his siphons that had been specially designed for ‘easy access’. Rising back to standing, she showed him the items she’d selected. A bottle of scented oil and a black silk blindfold.

He raised a brow as she stopped directly in front of him, close enough to touch- if he had the use of his hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked him for about the fifth time that evening. She could feel his nerves through the bond, could feel the way he trembled slightly as he breathed in slow and deep and nodded.

“Yes. I don’t want to be scared of your fire, Gwyn. I know you won’t hurt me- I trust you.”

Her heart squeezed at the open, vulnerable expression in his eyes. He’d come a long way since he’d begun therapy and she knew that, while it was still difficult to be so honest and open about his fears and insecurities, he was trying. And that’s all she’d ever asked of him. Laying a hand on his cheek, she bent down and kissed him thoroughly. He sighed contentedly when she pulled back.

“Safe words?”

Smiling, he nuzzled his nose against hers. “Mercy to pause. Red to stop.”

She gave him one more quick peck before pulling away entirely. “Good.” Holding up the hand with the blindfold, she let it unfurl. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

With that word, her entire demeanor changed. Her body took on a looser, seductive quality as she leaned her weight into one hip, exaggerating her curves as her face became a mask of command. Azriel’s eyes darkened with vicious delight.

“From now on,” she said, pitching her voice slightly lower into the smoky timbre he liked. “You will address me as My Lady. Understood?”

“Yes, my lady.” His lips curled upward just the slightest bit as she nodded and sat the bottle between his spread thighs on the seat before moving around behind him once more. Slipping the blindfold over his closed eyes, Azriel obligingly tilted his head forward so she could tie the ribbon behind his head. It had been designed to fit snugly over the contours of his eyes and nose to completely block out light without putting extra pressure. He hummed appreciatively as she adjusted it into place and he moved his head around experimentally to test it out.

“You like?”

“I do. I might have to get a few more of these,” he said thoughtfully. Gwyn shook her head. Always the Spymaster.

“Good, now, sit still.” Azriel obediently stilled. Lifting a hand, one of his shadows brought the bottle of oil to her and smiled at it, smoothing a finger over it as it wrapped itself around her. “Thank you darling,” she cooed. Pouring some oil into her palm, she handed it back to the shadow. “Hold on to that for me, would you?”

It twirled- a movement she’d learned was the shadows version of nodding, and hovered to the side, ready to hand the bottle back to her when she was ready. Azriel muttered over his shoulder, “traitors.” and his shadows vibrated as though laughing.

Gwyn couldn’t help her grin.

“Relax,” she purred, spreading the oil between her hands and pushing her power into her palms to warm it up. She’d developed an immunity to heat and fire once her powers had manifested- she’d also lost her tendency to burn in the sun, much to her amusement- a fact she’d taken full advantage of during the summer, laying out on the beach behind their cottage until her skin had darkened to a warm golden hue. Azriel had nearly pouted when her freckles had begun to blend into her darker skintone and demanded she stop getting so much sun.

Because of this loss of sensitivity, she again held out a hand, allowing one of his shadows to dart forward and test the temperature. Once it twirled away in approval, she reached forward and- without warning- smoothed her hands along the arch of either wing. Azriel immediately jerked, his head dropping back in a growl. He cursed under his breath but said nothing else so she kept going, reaching as far as she could until her chest was pressed up against his back as she stretched her arms to either side.

With his head resting on her shoulder, she nipped her teeth along the lobe of his ear as her hands worked in long, slow strokes until she felt his tense muscles slowly relax under her touch. Occasionally she pushed more pulses of heat through her palm, feeling him momentarily tense then relax as she worked her way over the stiff spines of his wings and the sensitive membrane until she felt the oil dissipate. Holding out her hands, the shadow holding the bottle of oil helpfully poured more into her palm.

Azriel began to grow restless at the loss of her touch and she kept him distracted with kisses along his neck and jaw as she warmed up the oil in her hands. His breathing was slightly ragged but steady belying the throbbing erection she could see as she peered over his shoulder and down his chest. She had already planned out exactly how this night would go in her head and it would be a good long while before his poor cock would receive any attention.

Tonight would be a true test of his patience… and she was only just getting started.

Bringing her hands to his shoulders, she began working the hot oil into the muscles of his back and neck, occasionally teasing his wings and nipping at him with her lips and teeth. Slowly, methodically, she worked her way around his body massaging hot oil into his arms, chest, abs, thighs, all the way down to his bound ankles. By the time she was done, Az was a panting, writhing thing, pulling at his restraints.

“Gwyn-” he whined, yelping when she pinched the inside of his thigh. “Fuck- sorry. My Lady… fucking please stop teasing and touch me.”

“I am touching you,” she cooed, running her hands back up his thighs, skimming dangerously close to his hips which bucked towards her. His groan caught in his throat, sounding more like a whimper.

“Please.”

Gwyn hummed softly, working her hands in soft strokes moving closer and closer to his cock. “You beg so pretty for me. Do it again.”

“Please- my lady.”

Smirking, Gwyn framed his cock between her hands, smoothing them up over his hips and stomach so her thumbs brushed either side of him. “Oh- fuck.” Leaning forward, she followed the touch with her lips, running them featherlight over his length until he made that same whimpering noise. Pressing a kiss to the tip, she pulled away from him entirely, drawing a growl from him.

She swallowed a chuckle as she stood and leaned forward, threading her fingers into his hair to tilt his head back. “I’m not done playing with you yet,” she said against his lips.

A needy groan worked its way up his throat as she kissed him, pulling the blindfold off and letting it fall to the ground. “That was just the warm up, love. We haven’t even used my actual fire yet,” she flashed him a grin, holding her hand up so he could see the flames dancing over her finger tips.

He did whimper then, his gaze glued to the fire. “Check in,” she whispered. “Are you ok to keep going?”

She watched him lick his lips, swallowing nervously. His eyes never left her hand even as the flame flickered out. “What’s next?” he breathed.

In answer, she turned back to her bag and withdrew her last purchase, holding it up for him to see. A skin safe wax candle that melted at low temperatures. Perfect for the sort of game they were about to play. She watched his eyes narrow as he worked out her plan. He shifted in his seat but didn’t protest. “Want to keep going?” she asked once more.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yes.”

Smiling softly, she leaned in for another kiss. “Try to relax.” He huffed a sound of disbelief.

Holding the candle in front of her, she held one hand under it, her fire sparking to life once more. She’d bought this one specifically for several reasons, but mostly because the glass was clear, allowing them both to watch the wax melt, and because the wax changed color from white to red as it melted.

She could see Azriel’s chest moving in controlled breaths as he prepared himself and prayed this was not a massive mistake. She had figured it would be easier to ease him in using conduits that could hold the warmth of her flame without actually bringing the flame to his skin until he was more comfortable with it. Still, she knew the sting of the wax, even at a low melting point would be a shock.

Once the entire contents of the glass had turned red, she pulled her fire back in and carefully raised the jar so it hovered a few feet over his chest. “Ready?” she asked. Together, they both took a deep breath as she tipped her wrist, watching the wax pour from the spout and drizzle across the center of his chest. Azriel hissed and tensed as the wax rolled a single line down the center of his torso, slowing to a stop just above his navel.

“Okay?” she asked. The skin around where the wax had first landed was slightly reddened, but his shadows did not seem alarmed so she could only assume he was not truly burned.

Swallowing hard, Azriel nodded and she decided to let the lack of verbal response go as she tipped her wrist once more, this time moving her arm in an arc as the wax drew a red line from his right shoulder to left pec. Moving her arm slowly, she painted a zigzagging line across his upper body, watching the wax roll across the ridges of his abdomen, stopping short of his hips. The first line she’d drawn was gradually fading to white as it cooled but the rest almost looked like blood as it dripped over his skin. The picture was as arousing as it was alarming.

She checked on Azriel again and when he nodded once more that he was alright, she continued painting the rest of his body with careful lines of red across his thighs, chest and shoulders, moving around him to draw thin lines over his wings. When she was about halfway through the contents of the jar, he was covered in dripping lines of red and white, his chest heaving and skin red and covered in a sheen of sweat.

Standing back to admire her work, she tilted her head to the side and drizzled another line over his chest, making sure to catch his nipples. Azriel groaned and jerked in his restraints. “Fuck- Gods, Gw- My lady… please.”

Reaching out, she stroked a warm hand over his cheek and rather than flinching away from it, he leaned into the touch which she could only count as a win. “How are you doing, love?”

“Good” he said through clenched teeth. “But I’m dying. I need you to touch my cock. Please.”

She chuckled. “Aw, is your cock feeling neglected?” she asked with a pout. “I can fix that-” she held the candle over his hips, grinning when he immediately bucked and growled.

“Fuck- no.”

Laughing she kissed him. “Don’t worry, love. I’m not that cruel. You’re the sadist, not me.” He growled against her mouth, his shadows suddenly swarming around her, stroking her exposed skin in cool touches that made her shiver.

Tugging sharply at his hair, she hissed at them. “It’s not your turn yet.” They quickly backed off but she didn’t miss the fact that the candle was no longer in her hand. Cheeky bastards. Stroking her now free hand over his jaw, she felt a groan rumble through him at the heat before she pulled away.

“Don’t worry, we’re done with the candle and the oil for now. The only hot thing touching you from here on will be my mouth.” He moaned in relief as her kisses trailed down his neck. Reaching down, she slipped her nail under the edge of the puddle of cooled wax around one nipple and peeled it off, earning another groan as she repeated the process on the other side.

Leaning back to look down at him she mused, “We should probably clean you up first.”

This earned her a warning growl- amusing since she was the one in charge. Though they both knew that the minute she was done playing with him and it was his turn- he’d make her pay for every minute of teasing she’d just put him through. Winking, she snapped her fingers, the wax disappearing from his skin, leaving behind faint red marks in the places more recently touched by the wax that hadn’t yet faded.

“What a pretty picture you make.”

“Gwyn- My lady” he corrected when she tugged on his hair. “Please.”

“Beg again, love. You know how I like it.”

“Please,” he snarled.

“Such attitude,” she teased, lowering to her knees between his thighs. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous.” Before he could growl at her again, she had his cock between her lips, sucking him into her mouth with no preamble.

“Fuck,” he shouted as he bucked into her mouth. There was no hiding her arousal now and she let him scent it as she glanced up at him beneath her lashes. She could feel he was close but, after that initial suck, made herself take her time licking and kissing and teasing him until his words were an intelligible jumble of threats and pleading.

Her hands had been massaging and stroking his thighs and stomach as she worked and she felt his whole body tense as she scraped her nails over his hips just before his climax hit and he spilled himself into her mouth. She continued to lick and kiss him as he came down, cooing quiet praises.

“You did so good for me, love. So brave. My beautiful Shadowsinger.”

The low rumble that came from his chest was the only warning she got before he snapped his bonds, wings stretching wide as his arms swung around the back of the chair, snatching her up off the floor. She squeaked as he hauled her into his lap, burying his hands in her hair and kissing her hard while his shadows worked to release his ankles.

His body tense, curling into a crouch as he tucked her against his chest. His eyes gleamed wickedly in the darkened shadow of his wings as he grinned. “My turn.”

And her vision became a world of shadows as she laughed.

#gwynriel weeks 2024 #gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #gwyn and azriel #azriel and gwyn #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel smut

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suguwu · 1 year

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god of the hunt!knives au, gn!reader, reader pulls a bow on nai, brief mention of vash

minors and ageless blogs dni

"Again."

Your fingers twitch against the bow. For a moment, you keep your eyes on where your last arrow disappeared into the undergrowth, wide from its mark. You take in a deep, slow breath and turn your gaze to Nai.

He's already watching you, his eyes unfathomable, the deepest reaches of the ocean. The blue of them is softened in the afternoon light, and you think of the sun shining through a sapphire, tempering the hard edges of it.

Silence falls between you, broken only by the call of the birds singing out.

You make no movement to nock another arrow.

"I said again."

"No. I tire of failure. Do you not tire of watching me fail?"

"No. Again. Change your grip."

You pick up another arrow. Run your finger along the fletching, letting the feathers split beneath your fingertip. You set the tip of the arrow against the nocking point and draw.

You draw on Nai.

You sight along the arrow, taking in his unearthly beauty. His broad, bold form, built as only a god could be. He is made for the hunt. It's in every inch of him, the wild call of the forest coiled within his muscles, held in place by only the stillness of an unyielding patience.

You focus on one broad shoulder, aiming for the meat of it.

He raises a single elegant brow.

You draw the string back further.

He's across the glade before you can blink, one large hand wrapped around your wrist. You gasp, the air catching in your throat, and he pulls you back against his chest. Your arrow looses, singing through the air in a great arc, only to end up embedded in the lush grass.

"Your daring knows no bounds," he tells you, his voice rumbling through his chest. "Though your aim still leaves much to be desired."

He moves you like a doll, pushing you into proper position. He stays warm at your back, his chest pressing against you. He takes hold of your hands and guides them. His form cages you, boxes you in, leaves you no world except for him.

"Draw," he says, even as he does it for you, the movement smooth and practiced. You swallow as his muscles bunch against you. You can feel his slow breath upon your ear. It curls hot around you.

Together, you loose the arrow.

It sinks into the target with a low thunk, biting through the cloth and into the wood backing.

He lets go; the bow drops to the ground. Nai comes around in front of you. The sunlight halos him, a crown of divinity.

You bare your teeth at him. The smallest smile unfurls at the corner of his lips. It's a crescent moon of a thing.

The kiss he pulls you into is hard. He owns it entirely, even as you meet him with teeth and tongue. He steals the air from you; when you part, he leaves you panting.

"You were never meant to be my brother's," he tells you, viciously pleased. "There's too much fang to you."

You are beginning to think he may be right.

#bee writes tristamp #knives x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #.god of the hunt au

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tragedycoded · 1 month

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friday kiss: the beach episode.

I said I was going to do it and I did it and then @the-golden-comet [x] and @wyked-ao3 [x] tagged me.

This is for the Sofer shippers.

We're going back to 1866, when Hofer took Sullivan to the beach bc he'd never seen the ocean prior to Gettysburg.

This isn't canon, but it can be. I got it down around 600 words.

In the dark, the fire served as a beacon for them. Down the beach, the lighthouse shone, its lens pushing illumination hundreds of meters into the dark water, a warning and a welcome. The last of the carried voices had died off before dusk. Night had fallen, and they were alone, and Hofer would not blame the drink for what he did next. "Cole." Out of breath from trudging through water, over sand, he reached for his best friend's hand, stealing him from the warmth of the fire and the promise of drink and food. "Wait a minute." Sullivan responded to the grip on his fingers. He did not wrench his hand away, as Hofer suspected--worried--he might. His fingers closed around Hofer's, brackets forming a hinge. Glittering eyes curious, and patient. "Aye?" he asked. Both men's chests sawed for air as water dripped from their hair. Starlight caught the rivulets making their way between Sullivan's pectoral muscles, down his sternum and into the valley of his belly. In the low light, that frown of his was curious, and cautious, but not concerned. Before he could think of a reason not to say it, Hofer said, "I'm going to kiss you." Sullivan's nostrils flared. "Is that acceptable?" Hofer pressed. "I'll not force it upon you." Must have felt as if time had ceased its perpetual movement. Sullivan stared, and breathed, and let Hofer wonder what he was thinking. Didn't have to wonder. Hofer all but heard it. I gotta be dreamin'. But Sullivan would have told him if he'd rather he didn't. He'd have laughed and tried to extricate himself from the situation leaving Hofer as much of his dignity intact as possible. Sullivan didn't want to talk. He'd wanted this for years. He'd taught himself to stop wanting this. Later, Hofer would tell him, whiskey fueling his honesty, that he'd never given the matter of laying with another man any consideration, serious or otherwise, before he met Sullivan. Couldn't think about it after, because it could never be. Like a brother, Hofer loved him. If he couldn't take him as a lover, he could keep him as a brother. In this moment, Sullivan cut him off by surging forward, damp sand slowing him. Hofer caught him, and pulled him closer. Had Sullivan experience, he would be on Hofer already. He didn't need permission. He needed instructions. Hofer grasped the back of Sullivan's neck, his waist, as he did what he could never admit to wanting. As he sank into that wanting, his lips to Sullivan's, Sullivan's parting, goose-pimpled flesh melting on the stove. Taste of blood, and salt, and whiskey. Like every victory Hofer had never allowed himself to savor, for how high the cost had been. The moan Sullivan loosed was a rallying cry. Forward, it said. More. Please. When Hofer opened his eyes, Sullivan was looking up into his. The muscles between their legs hotter than the coals in the fire behind them as they unfurled. He looked as if he would swoon, were Hofer not holding him so tightly. "You ain't forcin' nothin'," came Sullivan's response in a stolen-breath murmur. They had already supped. With the beach empty, and the crescent moon occluded by the lighthouse's brilliance, they took handfuls of each other, mouthfuls, lungfuls. He tasted like forever. He tasted like a secret he would have to take to his grave. They could never speak of this, once it was over. This was all they had to last them for the rest of their lives. They both knew this. This would never happen again. They feasted.

Tag! (Or CHECK THIS SHIT OUT if you don't have a kiss ready. No pressure <3 )

@lychhiker-writes @cowboybrunch @saturnine-saturneight @ashfordlabs @autism-purgatory

@noblebs @aintgonnatakethis @the-golden-comet @asablehart @mauvecatfic

@leahnardo-da-veggie @sableglass @gioiaalbanoart @words-after-midnight

@lavender-bloom @jev-urisk @wyked-ao3

#friday kiss tag #the beach episode #scenes that may or may not be canon #and they never mentioned it again #doom metal love story

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months

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Helping Hand 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You rouse, not fully, but enough to sense the blurry silhouette hovering around you. You try to throw your arm up only to remind yourself of your injury. You groan and lift your lashes higher, startled as Jonathan sets a tall glass of water on a coaster. He glances over at your groggy movement.

“Ah, darling, I thought to leave this for you,” he shows two of the green painkillers as he unfurls his long fingers, “you are due. However, they do note you should have something to eat. Were you very hungry?”

Your eyes are sticky and dry. You shake your head. It’s not just the drugs or the pain, it’s that you haven’t slept in months. Not really. You wake up, go to work, and come home, caught in so much worry you can barely stay still. And your marriage had been full of restless nights.

“It’s fine,” you murmur and try to sit up. You struggle and he’s quickly to help you, shifting you up to rest against the cushions. He hands you the pills and holds onto the water.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need,” he offers as you toss back the pills with your good arm. You reach for the glass and he hands it over. You drain almost half before giving it back. “You must be in an awful lot of pain. And I’ll be certain you are provided paid leave–”

“I don’t need you to do all this,” you argue, “really. Just tonight and I’ll be on my way.”

“It isn’t an imposition–”

“I told you, I’m fine,” you lean back and groan.

“That isn’t what the doctor said.”

You close your eyes and sigh. You don’t have the strength to argue. Besides, what can you say? He isn’t doing anything wrong. He’s doing a lot more for you than your ex ever did.

“I’ll get a cab in the morning,” you insist.

You sense him linger, expecting a retort, but he offers nothing else. He leaves you without further instigation. Another thing Andy could never do. He always had to have the last word.

You let yourself drift back to sleep, letting go of your irritation, clinging to the dregs of drowsiness that crust in your eyes. You sink into the deep sludge of the medicated abyss. You could stay like that forever.

Dreams streak the insides of your eyelids, the sort that don’t make much sense. The sensation of floating and warmth along your arms and sides, a tickle down to your hips. Your legs move without effort. The soft roll of rich timbre, dulcet and cooing.

You wake in darkness, only the moonlight gleaming in to limn the low glass coffee table and frames mounted on the wall. You take slow, deep breaths, enjoying your calm fatigue. You could just as easily fall back asleep. Your eyes close and your head lolls to the side.

You hear a buzzing, the low rumble tweaking your nerves. A phone. Yours? It doesn’t matter.

You wait it out and sink into the pillow, your unbound arms stretching down as you feel the soft throw blanket tucked around your silhouette. You realise then your clothes have been changed; the polyester uniform polo has been replaced by a loose tee and the dark pants with a too-long pair of sweats. You don’t remember changing.

The buzzing comes again. You sneer. What time is it? You hear soft pads and the buzzing softens before ending completely.

“Hello,” the voice is deliberately low as it answers, you hear a garbled scratch from the speaker, “no, I’m afraid she is unavailable.” A pause, “well, given the time of evening, I think it should be expected– sir, I don’t care who you are, she is sleeping– ah, ah, you’ve been calling all night, I am aware but did you ever think she is busy–” He snickers, "who am I? Are you so concerned--"

Your heart flutters as you piece together the one sided conversation. It ends with a chuckle and hum. You listen to the light footfalls near and watch the shadow place down your cell phone on the glass table. The figure stands straight and looms.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you mutter, “I can deal with my ex-husband.”

He takes a breath, “pardon, I didn’t mean to overstep. He is rather persistent.”

“Mhmm,” you shift onto your good shoulder, “still… none of your business.”

He’s quiet. You feel him watching you. He can’t see much but it feels as if he can.

“Do you always bite the hand that feeds?” He challenges.

You snort, “ah, now you sound like him–”

“Don’t,” he warns, an edge in his voice, “do not compare me. As little as I know of the man, I know it is an insult. Perhaps you might consider that I’ve treated you much better than he ever would or could. Accept that I am entirely different… and not so foolish as to leave a woman like yourself.”

You roll your eyes beneath the lids and exhale, “you don’t know me like that.”

“Fair, but I know what I want,” he says flippantly and turns on his heel, “a good night’s sleep may help you consider the same.”

He strides off, leaving you in perplexing silence. You listen to his footsteps ascend an unseen staircase. You keep from crinkling your forehead, not wanting to set deeper the lines already etched there.

What does he mean? What exactly does he want?

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #drabble #series #helping hand #au #bookstore au #the night manager

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nathanbatemanfucker · 11 months

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Kinktober Day 25: Breeding

pairing: cowboy!din x cowgirl!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/DNI MINORS, trying for a baby, mentions of pregnancy

wc: 614

an: a little glimpse into the future of this series which i promise to return to soon!

kinktober masterlist | gardens of babylon masterlist

The two of you have talked about children before, both wanting a family, a legacy besides pain and suffering and crime. This soft life you both have introduced each other to is the perfect place to grow your love. And yet the next step still hasn’t been taken. Sex has been the same, the rehearsed pull out, you offering to take him down your throat. But, something about today is different. Something’s unfurling inside of you, begging for it.

“Din,” You breathe, your hand reaching back, fisted in his curls as his hips press restlessly against your own.

He kisses at your neck, leaving a love bite here or there as he uses his grip on your hip to pull you back to meet him thrust for thrust.

“My pretty girl. Takin’ it so good,” He croons into your ear.

He feels out of this world, every stroke of his cock stealing your breath. You’re dizzy with pleasure, overwhelmed with how much you love him. With all that you would give to and take from him. And in this moment you know, all doubts gone: you’re ready to start a family. To be completely his and tie yourself to him forever.

“Wanna take more, please,” You beg weakly, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes.

He can sense your emotions, and pulls you closer, slowing the pace of his hips so tenderly, “Tell me what you mean, darlin’.”

“Want you to— to give me a baby, Din.”

Din feels breathless, eager to give you what you want, to start a family but just as nervous, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please. Please, Din.”

He groans at the way you beg, it’s exactly what he’s wanted to hear, what he needs to push away the rest of the fear. He pulls out of you so quickly that you don’t have time to process, rolling you onto your back and sliding back into your warm heat in a matter of seconds. His hands grip your thighs, holding you wide open for him as he begins to fuck like he wants to send you through the mattress.

He bends down to capture your mouth with his, the bed creaking as he does. He licks into your mouth feverishly before mumbling, “Gonna fill you up, girl.”

His dark brown eyes are cloudy, full of hunger and his curls stick to his forehead from sweat. He’s beautiful is all you can think as you look up at him, his movements and words stealing your voice.

“You want my baby? Want me to plant myself so deep? Is that what you want, darlin’?”

You shudder beneath him, clenching tight around his cock that fucks in and out of you at brutal pace. You nod, still unable to talk but Din wants to hear you. He needs to.

“Say it. Say you want my child, girl.”

“D-Din,” You breathe, clutching at his shoulders as you try to gather yourself. “Want you, want your baby inside me please.”

“Good girl, that’s it. Cum for me and I’ll give you what you want honey,” He encourages, a hand slipping between your bodies so that he can rub at your clit.

At the press of his fingers you go stiff, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as you cum on his cock. And soon after Din follows you, thrusting inside you so hard that he steals your breath. He rolls over, bringing you with him, and holding you close.

“I love you, girl,” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I love you too, Din. I hope it takes,” You whisper.

He grins, squeezing you in his hold, “Oh it will.”

pedro: @honeybrowne, @pastanoodles11, @campingwiththecharmings, @stevengrcnt, @lesbianhotch, @whatthefishh, @flightlessangelwings, @silversprings-mp3, @maisondenachtai

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #cowboy!din x reader #cowboy!din x cowgirl!reader #gardens of babylon #cowboy!din au #arson’s kinktober #fawktober2023 #not sfw

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amethysts-tavern · 11 months

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Travel day. Too many hours sitting still so, I wrote.

Gale x gn-bard!Tav.

Warnings: serious injury and potential death.

______

Our story isn’t over.

Since starting your relationship, your battle strategy has been to place yourself not far from Gale. In fact, you’re usually fighting side by side, never more than a healing word from the other.

You’d taken down a number of minions already today, but still, the battle for the Shadowlands raged on. You cast a high level dissonant whisper at Ketheric Thorm, transformed now into the massive Apostle of Myrkul, when out of the corner of your eye you see a spell hit your companion, your love, square in the chest, dark magic exploding around him, enveloping his body in a green-black haze. You hear him scream in anguish and breathlessly call out to you just before he falls, his expression a mixture of shock and pain. For a brief moment, your world caves in on you. Your eyes, wide with panic, fixate on Gale’s now lifeless body.

You feel the electricity of magic whiz past your head and you turn to see where it came from. “I got him; you get Gale,” Karlach says rushing past you. She has bought you some time. Just a few seconds is all you need.

You turn to run toward your beloved, heart racing faster than it has in recent memory. He’ll be okay. I just have to get to him. He’ll be okay. You’re not sure if you’re trying to convince yourself or praying to any god who will listen.

One then the other, your feet pound the flagstones, propelling you forward, sweat and tears stinging your eyes as you sprint. Oh gods, this looks bad. It’s far worse than you expected: his face swollen; dark bruises forming on his skin; blood soaking his robes. Your breathing becomes ragged as fear rises within you and you fall at his side.

“Gale, I’m here. You’re going to be ok. I’m here,” you say, reaching for his hand. His eyelids flutter at the sound of your voice, too weak to open them. His hand is cold and clammy in yours, even though sweat wets his hair, strands clinging to his face. Blood pools underneath him, making the ground slick and red.

One hand still in his, you reach into your bag and wrap your fingers around a scroll of parchment. Gods, let this be the right one. There’s no time for errors now. You unfurl the parchment and sigh in relief. Looking around for a safe space to land, you begin reading the spell for dimension door. Just as your tongue wraps around the last few words of the spell, another blast of magic erupts to your left, about 15 feet away, blowing rock debris at you and Gale.

You cover his body with yours, as the world blurs and blinks around you. Suddenly, you and Gale are out of the fray, hopefully for long enough for you can tend to his wounds and get him back on his feet. You reposition yourself so that your back is to the battle, shielding any more incoming assaults from hitting the wizard who holds your heart.

You reach out to the Weave, trying to grasp any strands of healing magic you can. The flow is slow to trickle in, your allotment tapped for the day. This isn’t going to be enough. He needs more healing.

Once again, your free hand reaches into your bag, fingers searching for a healing potion. Anything that will help knit Gale’s body back together. Your heart beats relentlessly as your fingertips graze potion bottle after potion bottle, not finding what you need, what he needs.

“Hang in there love, I know it’s in here,” you say, your voice cracking. “We’re going to get through this. You’re not getting out of that promised dinner date in Waterdeep this easily,” you tease, an on going joke between you two.

Finally your fingers find purchase on the bottle you need. Please let this be enough. Please let him be okay. Let him be safe. Please. You gently curl your fingers under Gale’s neck. Any other moment in time, this movement, this touch, would have led to a tender kiss. Now, you smudge your thumb over his lips, nudging them open so you can pour the red liquid into him.

Seconds then moments pass. This is taking too long. Why is this taking so long? Your panic crescendos as your eyes study his features, burning them into your mind. Seeing him like this, so battered and weak, puts an ache in your chest far worse than any battle wound ever could. The tears that had been falling intermittently now become a torrent as you openly sob over your wizard love. This can’t be it. Not like this. Our story isn’t over.

The scene behind you becomes quiet, the silence deafening. The battle is over, the enemy slain at last. Karlach approaches behind you, closely followed by Astarion, both worse for wear, bloodied and bruised but still upright. It looks like it had been a brutal fight. Without words, both comb through their packs for any remaining healing potions or scrolls they can contribute. It takes two more superior healing potions before you feel Gale’s grip tighten around your fingers and his breathing become deeper.

“Gale!” you exhale. You hadn’t even noticed that you were holding your breath. “Gods! I…” but words are lost as you witness his eyes slowly open and a weak smile curl his lips. He chuckles then whimpers, his breath expanding his bruised ribs uncomfortably. “Don’t you think that you’ll get out of meeting Mother that easily either, my love.”

You bend over the wizard, gingerly scooping him up and wrapping your arms around him. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” you respond, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Your body relaxes as you hold your love. You’re unsure what tomorrow may bring, but today, for now, you are both safe.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale romance #bg3 gale #gale x reader

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angrelysimpping · 3 months

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Truly just mush for Victor from @rotting-ink 's game bc im so so so soft for V after doing research on them and snarfing up breadcrumbs

Contents: AMAB Victor De Winters (he/him); GN Witch/Reader (you/your); v lightly implied bondage; penetration, reader receiving; slight choking

Words: 1k exactly :3

A low sigh escapes you as you curl into Victor’s side. You could easily spend eternity like this, pressed into his warm body, letting your thoughts drift. Especially in the falt Victor rented for you. Yes, the space was lavishly decorated, every single thing you might want provided for your comfort. But, that wasn’t why you loved it. No, it was because every time you spent a night in town, he could stay with you. Or, if you were honest about it, every night Victor wanted you to spend the night with him, instances that were becoming more and more frequent.

“I love you.”

It’s a sigh of words, slipped past your lips without thought as your eyes trace the curve of his face. It was true. You loved him. There was something about this moment that made your adoration for him hard to contain. Maybe it was the way the sun traced his features, afternoon light streaming through the window in hazy streaks. Maybe it was in the air, the safety of your flat that he secreted you away in.

Or maybe it was just because it was him. Victor. Sitting by your side. Happy to spend a quiet moment with you simply cuddling, his arm draped around you and thumb idly caressing the delicate skin at the nape of your neck.

Your heart swells as lazy green eyes slide over you, smug smile slowly unfurling as he speaks. “I love you, too.”

It’s too much, really. Just all too much, how you love him. More than you could ever think of verbalizing.

So, you don’t even try. Instead, you straddle him.

He laughs, a deep, rich sound of joy reverberating around the room and spurring you on. Hands come to rest on your waist, giving you a playful squeeze as he helps you steady yourself.

Cupping his face, you bring your forehead to rest against his. The tips of his soft hair curl around your fingers, the sun hitting it just right to bring out the deep red tones that drew so many eyes to him.

This time, looking him directly in his eyes, you whisper it. “I love you.” Not giving him a second to respond, you move, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you so much.” You don’t fully pull back, letting your lips drag over his skin as you kiss his other temple. “You’re perfect.” A kiss to his jaw. “All of you.” His chin. “Amazing.” Your lips brush over his, feather light. It’d almost be considered teasing, if your breath didn’t hitch at the contact before moving on, seeking out the curve of his cheek bone. “Love you,” words almost breathed into his skin as you carefully kiss the beauty mark under his eye. “All of you. Always.”

You go on, murmuring over and over how you adored him, each declaration punctuated with a kiss.

Until, you hesitate. There’s a thickness to the air that wasn’t there before, Victor’s breathing heavy. You lean forward again, movements slow, cautious, allowing him to pull away, to stop you if he so wished.

He does not stop you.

Victor tenses as your lips brush over the deep scar across his nose.

“I love you, Victor. Forever.”

Gently, he places a hand over your mouth, stopping the onslaught of kisses. Laughing, he mimics your earlier assault, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to each of your cheeks. “I know, love.” He stops covering your mouth, instead taking one of the hands still cradling his face and guiding it to his lips; brushing over the rope patterned bruises encircling your wrist, his eyes meet yours, “I know.”

It's a blur of motion, one that finds your back pressed into the soft cushions of the sofa, Victor's familiar weight on top of you. A laugh bubbles up inside you, free and uncaring as he works at removing your clothes, his own. Soon enough, you're skin to skin, his cock pressed against your thigh.

Your hands glide over his back, down and then back up to his shoulders, cupping the back of head and bringing his mouth to yours in a desperate kiss. Victor presses inside you slowly, muscles stretching in a delicious, familiar burn. Moaning into his mouth, you lock a leg around his hip, keeping him pressed against you in an attempt to stop him from moving just yet.

You wanted to savor the moment. Savor his warmth, his closeness.

Breaking the kiss, your heart seems to skip a beat as you take in his features. There's a softness to Victor, one you're not quite sure you've ever seen him wear before. The kohl around his eyes slightly smudged, dark lashes close enough to count, his hair missed from your menstruation. A softness, and a want. Something you could almost call yearning.

You can't help yourself.

“Love you,” you whisper again, lips nearly brushing his as you speak. "I can never stop loving you." The words are hushed, a secret to even the walls of your flat. "There is nothing you could do to make me stop loving you." Your hands find Victor's, guiding them up to your throat and pressing down. His pupils dilate as his fingers twitch against the delicate skin of your neck. You add more pressure, blood thumping loud in your ears as you gaze into his eyes. "Nothing.”

He starts moving. Each thrust is slow, deliberate. He doesn't take his hands from your throat, even as yours slide down his arms, one to his shoulder and the other threading through his soft hair.

His eyes never leave yours. Not as your mind starts to go foggy with pleasure. Not as you start to gasp and moan. Not when your grip on his hair tightens.

And not when you cum, pleasure cresting over you in a wave that leaves you clinging to him. Just like how he's clinging to you as his mouth press to yours and swallows each cry of his name.

#the rot of witchwood #tw choking #cw choking #im so fucking soft godd #v de winter

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mothsbrightflame · 1 year

Text

CARD MY FINGERS THROUGH YOUR HAIR , LOVER BOY

synopsis! — in which you spend a quiet afternoon with inumaki

✧ toge inumaki x gn!reader

warnings — slight themes alluding to death/angst , other than that fluff , domestic intimacy, mentions of the future , toge other thinking-ish

words — 1.1k+

notes ; rewatched jjk + the watched the movie for the first time in like three days and it caused my inumaki obsession to resurfaced. I literally forgot how much I loved him, and wanted to write some sort of domestic-esk fluff with him. he deserves the world!

the afternoon was quiet.

too quiet, one might say. but you didn't mind,

really.

and neither did inumaki, who, was currently snuggled up against your chest. his arms had, at some point, found purchased and snaked their way around your waist. his grip was lazed, content- at ease, even. you could feel the occasional twitch of his fingers against the fabric of your hoodie- or his hoodie.

it was one of those rare moments, or afternoons, were the students of jujutsu high weren't in high demand, or demand in general, to tend to missions. were they weren't scurrying about exorcising curse after curse. accumulating wound after wound after scar. you couldn't help but lean forward, the bed only slightly groaning under the shift in weight, to place your warm lips upon a scar behind inumaki's ear-speaking of. he stirred only slightly at the movement, the touch, before returning to his dormant state. it made you grin softly, an exhale leaving you through your nostrils, before you rest your chin onto of his head.

his hair had the lingering scent of shampoo, freshly washed. and you couldn't help but admire just how soft his hair was. inumaki struck you as the type to have excellent hygiene, sure, but you always figured his hair would be more course to the touch. not as silky or soft, as it tickled the bridge of your noise. or to smell of lavender, as you've come to realize.

a hand came up, unfurling itself from the mass of limbs and blankets and pillows that had become you and inumaki. it crept along his nape, slow and maybe even calculated, as your buried your fingers within the short hairs located there. they grew in thickness as you crept further into his freshly-washed hair, losing yourself in his lavender scent and the softness of his hair as it filtered between your fingertips. the whole simplicity of the situation had an air of intimate domesticity to it, one that made your hair drum. and, considering where inumaki laid, surely he could feel the quickened beat of your heart.

could he feel, you wondered, how it beat for him?

the room had now occupied a dull orange hue, evidence of what was once an early afternoon, now entering a late state. the playful breeze had slowed down, no longer dancing within the silk of the curtains. however, the room had chilled slightly because of the setting sun. it reminded you that you should get up and close the window, turn on the heat, maybe, so yourself and lover boy did not freeze.

but, oddly enough, you couldn't bring it in yourself to peel yourself from inumaki's hold. to leave his natural warmth.

inumaki groaned, causing you to flick your gaze downward, eyelashes fluttering against the top of your cheeks, as he moved more than a asleep person should be. your gaze met his drowsy violet one. eyes lidded, not quiet awake.

"ah, sorry toge. I didn't mean to wake you." you managed to whisper to him, your own voice a sleepy croak. you hadn't realized how much time had passed, admiring the boy. or how tiresome you had groan.

hopefully he didn't think you were creepy.

inumaki shook his head, a dismissive gesture, to lazy to muster any words from his throat. he came to realize your hand tangled within his hair. and, selfishly, he drunk up the touch for a few heartbeats more. leaning his head back, slightly, to push against your palm. a sudden spell of chill hitting your chest where his head laid. it made your heart swell, cheeks adoring a dusky pink at his display.

"tuna mayo."

his speech was mumbled groggily, affectionate, as he brought one of his hands, which was still slung over your waist, up to grab hold of your elevated wrist. he held it with such a care, a tenderness, as if you were a glass figurine he feared to break. he shook his head, uncharacteristically loving, as he brought his lips over the center of rest. faintly, he could feel your pulse against his lips. and it caused the corners of his lips to twitch. it was ghosting, and only those who paid attention would be able to catch sight of it.

it was a reminder that you were here, with him, alive and whole. this path, this career, this life- it was cruel and unforgiving. forever changing, and forever taking.

he tried to enjoy these fleeting moments, even if they are far and few between.

he is pulled back when the lull of a coo is coaxed from your throat, his overgrown bangs pushed back and the feeling of your breath against his forehead, followed by the feeling of your lips. you whisper something to him, and he doesn't exactly catch it. moving, or rather shimmying, some he could gaze into your eyes. aligned, rather tucked under your chin. your hand finds purchase along his warm cheeks, pressed ever so gently against the apples of his cheek.

"tuna?" he questions, to repeat yourself. a breathless laugh leaves you. and, in response, you feel a slight temperature change from his cheek against your palm. "I said I'm glad, terribly glad might I add, to be here with you right now." you repeat. he nods along to this, causing you to shift and lean your forehead against his. he takes this as an opportunity to kiss you, softly. his lips move in a shy nature, even though you have kissed hundreds, maybe even thousands of times prior to this.

in the mornings, before missions, kissing wounds. kisses that display unspoken words or worries once the other is gravely injured, and by some miracle, pulls through. fleeting moments, to tease, to make the other giggle, when words fail or could not possibly convey ones inner most thoughts, and before bed.

"I could lay here all day with you." you coo, breaking the kiss.

he nods, reassuming the affectionate touch. no longer kissing, put simply resting your faces so closes your noses slotted together. the skin on skin enough for the both of you.

inumaki can't help but wander, his thoughts at least, to a world where his tongue is not bound by cursed energy. where he did not need to live in fear of his mere dialect alone being enough to bring harm to you. where he could whisper sweet nothings into your ear, as you do to him. where everything left unspoken was spoken.

but he wasn't there, he was here, with you. tucked beneath the blankets of his dorm room. and that was enough for him.

"lets go back to sleep? I don't want to leave anytime soon."

he nodded. your hand found purchase back into his hair, just as his arms caged back around your waist. he slithered back down against your chest, making your giggle, as his head became tucked under your chin. the room was blanketed in a welcome silenced. relaying on the warmth of your lover, and not a space heater, to protect you against the chill of a steady-falling night.

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