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bloodcasket · 5 months

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“ EASY, BABY ”⋆ ﾟ☾

PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Pure NSFW (descriptive smut), Age gap centered!! (Death Island! Jill), Female described reader, Dom!Jill, Sub!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader described as more inexperienced than Jill (nothing too specified), innocence kink, fingering, finger sucking, tribbing, panty play, dirty talk, jill just loves to praise, teasing on Jill’s behalf, a lil bit of manhandling. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!

WORD COUNT: 7.4K+

DESCRIPTION: The whole department and crew is out for celebration at a restaurant. As Jill sits amongst the table, she spots the new girl, young and timid, giving shy glimpses from across the table.

AUTHORS NOTE: SUPERR rusty after lack of writing for a couple of months now, really hoping this satisfies because Jilly bean doesn’t get enough fics written about her. Let me know if there’s any mistakes, please and thank you! (I’m so normal for her, i promise). Took me too long to finish, and i got lazy toward the end.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with any of the men sitting around you, feeling forced to pry out fake enjoyment and formulate fraudulent smiles at any of their cheesy comments.

They were all grown and lax, after all, middle-aged and experienced, their worries about leaving bad impressions left long ago after years of regulating bioterrorism. They just simply didnt care, and tonight was meant to be jubilant, after all. It was a way to congratulate the team for arriving back home in one piece. Clank glasses of iced bourbon and smile after the weeks of prolonged misery and uncertainty.

It had only been a few minutes that you sat, waiting at this table, the celebratory event making you feel like the black sheep.

A timid, young stranger, her shoulders hunched in discontent, and her expression nonchalant as she sat alongside the chairs of older individuals, ones who laughed and cheered, shook hands and grinned with their cheeks shaded crimson, wrinkles creasing around the shape of their eyes.

It was people who worked drastically to make the trip to Alcatraz bearable, and handled more experience within this field. Something you felt you lacked. Something you saw yourself unequal to, off putting. In other words, even undeserving.

Employment under “The Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance” was nearing a few months now for you, but your line of work strayed far from any defensive units, due to your familiarity with the information management department. You organized required files and handled technological tasks under supervisors order, you weren’t genuinely handling firearms and terminating undead like the others were within the BSAA. You were simple, and did your part, participation with higher-ups was foreign.

The invitation to come here was optional, of course, but your ripe desire to see a certain woman was hard to swallow. After several days of trying to deny yourself this opportunity, the denial became fruitless, and you finally succumbed; which leads you to sitting at this lengthy dining room table, shuffling in discomfort and trying best to bite back any resurfacing regret.

It’s a restaurant, aromas conjoining in the air, certain scents collecting that it perplexes you. The whisks of alcohol burn through your nostril hairs—your lip twitches in discontent, jaw soon slacking as fragrances of broth and caramelized delicacies fog around you. You scrunch your face and twist your cute nose, huffing in the perfumes of delight.

It was all so overwhelming, and yet you had barely done anything yet sit and spend a few minutes skimming the menu—fiddling with your hands on the table when you yearned for a distraction. And yet; another server hurries past your seat, wide platters in hand, a trail of aromatics left in his wake. Drool draws upon your impatient tongue, you wondered how much longer it would take.

“Jill, didn’t think you’d make it”, a male voice chimes, you're able to single it out amongst the banter of the public place, trying best to listen as other residents at the table mumble out tipsy-tainted sentences, snortling and getting themselves comfortable as they slosh down fancy cocktails.

The timid position in which you kept yourself in the moment you sat down at this table seems to have been disoriented, a stiffness residing down the arch of your neck as you lift your head and adjust your eyes to your surroundings.

Dimly lit, and silken curtains are drawn over windows for the evening, you blink a few times to observe across the table, eyes stretching past messy cutlery, and halfway bubbling glasses. You blink again, throat moving slowly as you swallow dryly.

Under tinted yellow light, she sits. She’s shaking her head, exaggerating a huff of exhaustion as she edges her seat closer to the table. Brunette hair is silken and syrupy brown, a few strands askew from where she let the hair descend down her face and tickle the middle of her neck, the vision filling you with exhilaration.

‘Jill Valentine’, you suddenly think, watching as she’s easing herself more comfortably into the seat, shaded heels of her boots sliding forward as she pushes her legs apart, elbows jutting against the hickory surface that you oh-so-admired for several minutes straight. She’s hunched over improperly, wrapped up in a gray woolen cardigan, not caring much for table manners. A heat brewed low in the pit of your stomach.

��Had to finish my report, it was a pain in the ass”, her adjacent partner seems to love this reaction—being that he chuckles shortly afterward, “would prefer if you took it off my shoulders next time”.

“Your responsibility”, he replies nonchalantly, Chris Redfield from what you remember, a known operator within the BSAA. He was respected largely by his peers, a man with his time spent sacrificing and protecting, all for the benefit of “greater good”. You couldn’t say much about him, you couldn’t say much about anyone to be quite frank, except for one person. His partner in crime.

Needless to say, you scrounged through your closet for hours one night to pull out piles of clothes in desperate search to find something presentable for this woman. Bouncing your eyes back and forth over different varieties of garments, torturing yourself over the delusional manifestation that you’ll attract Jill Valentine tonight.

Intimidating. Most would plaster that description over her if it was all for first impressions. A 41 year old military woman who can carry her guns just as wonderfully as she can carry her foul language. She’s blunt, and by no means patient due to certain circumstances, but with the small moments she’s managed to pass alongside you, the tiny things don’t go unnoticed.

Coincidentally, you bump into her in the lobby; she’d chuckle jovially, waving one hand toward you dismissively as you ramble out apologetic gibberish. Reassuringly telling you “it’s not a problem, don’t worry about it”.

You’re heading toward a file room? She’ll catch you in the halls, velvet lips upturned into a gentle grin as she greets you with your name slipping off her tongue, blue eyes narrowed down at you in an observant manner. She remembers the little details, remembers you.

To say it was innocent appreciation was incorrect. It was an attraction, and the more your female superior managed to cross paths with you, the more you felt the warmth in your stomach churn and twist. It embarrassed you, to say the least. Jill Valentine was probably an individual with her priorities straight, and here you were, grinding your thighs together as you squirm uncomfortably in your seat, front teeth gnawing on the swell flesh of your bottom lip. You looked ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Ogling an older woman as if she were some high school crush. Where were your priorities?

Heaps of chestnut hair suddenly color your vision, blocking your delicate view as a head leans forward to inch closer to the woman you admire, “Here Jill, saved your drink until you got here”, her voice is flowery and feminine, a tinge of nasal sweetness at the end of her chirping sentences. “Glad to see you”. You almost envy her in this moment.

“Thanks, Claire”, a pale palm wraps around the transparent glass, pearls of condensation glistening on Jill’s lengthy fingertips, her nails clumsily trimmed, and beaten hands calloused from her work. You feel your breath hitch at the sight, cotton mouthed as you watch.

Tonight was going to be long. Too long, if this was all you were going to think about.

Claire retreats to her original position in the chair, her conversation with the brunette ephemeral as she focuses her attention on another, leaving Jill solemn in her thoughts, curtly nodding to every general word Chris might possibly say. She’s taciturn, and trained on the voice of her adjacent companion.

Without the veil of ember strands shrouding over the woman’s face, you melted in your seat, lethargic and ditzy as you bored your beady eyes into the vision that was just blissfully her.

One sip, then another. Her lips curl around the lip of the glass, swallowing measured amounts of golden whiskey that smell like smoke and peaty.

“We should all get together and go on vacation after all this, think we deserve that much”, Chris suggests this as he wedges his fork into the collops of filet spread along his plate, in which the other hums, her eyes flickering from the pit of her glass and then forward, peering across the table.

Rings of cerulean catch your nosiness, and you feel the organ within your rib cage falter, and then within seconds accelerate, heart racing like a jack rabbit inside your chest. She caught you staring.

She keeps the contact for a few seconds; you’re the one who widens your eyes and cowers into yourself, suddenly pretending that the entree platter of pillowy bread rolls is of much more interest.

You think you’ve gone crazy, due to the slanted, open mouthed smirk she summons on her face, mumbling a few words in reply to the male beside her (which you don’t catch due to how much blood is rushing to your face, head swarmed with internal comments of how utterly humiliated you feel). Nevertheless, the intrigue she displays is clearly prevalent, more so in the way your young face ducked to hide yourself other than the subtle conversation Chris clearly tried to create.

Just as you had foreseen, the night was indeed long and mundane, and your quick glances at the nonchalant beauty sitting opposite of you was practically dangerous, due to how cautious she seemed of her surroundings and every object that crossed her. A habit she carried in her occupation, you supposed. She was by no means incognizant. (It would be a lie if you didn’t at least give one glimpse, though. Maybe two…maybe three).

You can’t recall if it had been an hour or more, but the facade of enjoyment seemed to lose its potency, and perhaps for others as well.

Little by little, the crew took their leave, furred winter coats slung over the slope of their shoulders as they waved and headed out for the night, giving you some trivial excuse to join alongside them. With the bill paid generously in reward for everyone, the crowd migrated out through the exit doors and into the parking lot, the wisps of frosty air breezing past in copious amounts.

You trembled, nails dipped into the lower fabric of your mini dress, trying best to ease it further down your thighs as you cursed yourself for wearing such attire.

‘All that work just to stare at her like a fucking idiot’, and now here you were, with gritted teeth and trembling flesh as you shuffled down the sidewalk in shame, purse hung over your shoulder whilst you made your way home. That is, until the crackling of gravel wound up behind you, tires rolling over cement and bright beams flashing over you as if you were a deer in the headlights. An unfamiliar car slowly approaches beside you, and you stumble in your heels as you halt.

“You waitin’ on someone or something?”, the subdued hum of the engine had synthesized with the husky chuckle that was rightfully Jill’s, “don’t tell me you were actually gonna walk home in that? No jacket?”

An arm is laid firm across the surface of her car door, her head peering out through the window as she leans forward, her expression is practically incredulous. As if she was disappointed in your choice-making, and your lack of self-awareness for the weather and time of night. She thrums her fingers across the door impatiently, other hand gripping her steering wheel as she expects an answer.

“I was just-“, and here’s the flaring heat of humiliation rising once more. Your lips are molded into a solemn line, her glare of ridicule made you feel guilty for not asking for her aid in the first place. “I’m not too far from here- I wouldn’t want to be a bother”. You’re lying through your teeth, and the brunette scoffs as if she already knows.

“Fucking hell, you were actually going to do it? You’re too young to be doing stuff like that”, she jests in a low manner, muttering more so to herself than to you. Her arm slithers back inside the vehicle, head motioning to the empty passenger seat with a quick nod. “Like hell I’m letting you walk home, it’s not safe. I’ll give you a ride. Get in”.

The authority of her tone makes your knees wobbly, and the way she sits back in her seat with her neck craned against the headrest commands urgency. She’s waiting. You feel a lump harden in your throat. She’s waiting for you.

You hasten your little steps, sheepishly opening the car door and sliding inside, whispering with pruned lips how thankful you are for the ride. You’re stiff in the seat next to her, hands folded in the center of your lap; they were numbed from the cold, goosebumps embroidered along your delicate flesh.

“Don’t mention it”, she brushes off the innocent gratitude with a witty shake of her head, vehicle rolling through the asphalt, leaving the parking lot with just a planate flick of the wrist, elongated fingers dipping into the rubberized padding of the steering wheel. You watch from your peripheral, nostrils flaring as you shakily inhale, splashes of soap and freshly cleaned laundry breeze over you, and you relish in it, stomach all filled with butterflies over something as simple as the older woman’s scent.

“Where to, then?”, she inquires with a throaty hum, vision focused on the road ahead of her. She sighs in frustration when you tell her, though she grins in utter amusement, laughing when you deluge her with stuttering apologies over a mere lie.

“Christ. Thought you said you were close?”. She makes a turn, dirt crackling under the wheels as she pulls onto another street.

“I know, I’m sorry”, you mumble in shame, hands folding tighter and tighter until your knuckles jut against your skin, your face all flushed. Lower lining of the dress you wore was hiked up your thighs, you felt so exposed and scrutinized alongside her, in her car.

“It’s alright, don’t take me too seriously. New girl, right? I remember. Explains why you’re always so quiet”, Jill continues with the conversation, glimpsing over just for a second to study you before she’s focused again. “You enjoy the place? They had some nice drinks, don’t you think? It wasn’t all too bad”, you frown at her words, a heaviness nested in your chest. You hadn’t really done much tonight at the celebration. Nothing other than ogle at her, eat some bread rolls, and then ogle at her some more.

“I didn’t drink anything really, unfortunately”, admitting this was rather awkward, due to how much desire you held to impress her. Now you just felt inadequate, lackluster. “Too many people I didn’t know, if that makes any sense. I must sound boring, don’t I?”.

“Not even one drink?”, she questions, lips curved up into an open-mouthed grimace as she flutters her eyelashes in teasing surprise. “Free to get whatever you want, and you’re telling me you were too shy to even drink anything?”, and she sneers when you nod, biting down laughter in hopes she could keep you comfortable in her presence. Smile lines deepen around the shape of her mouth, silky lips blessed with a tint of coral, apples of her cheeks glowing with every beguilement grin.

“It doesn’t hurt to celebrate, you know. You work hard, I’ve noticed”, she pauses, considering her next words carefully, not wanting to tread any risky lines, “I’m not that far from my apartment anyway, want to have a drink or two? Think I’ve got some lying around, wouldn’t hurt to get em’ used up”.

Green light hanging up ahead switches rapidly from yellow to red, crimson hue painted over the dashboard and along the height of your body. You’ve sunken a little in the passenger seat, all wide-eyed and panicked when she offers. You open your mouth to answer, but she cuts you off before you could turn the opportunity down.

“Just the two of us, okay? I don’t bite, I promise”, and you swear you’re melting, too convinced. You nod in response, a simple “sure” is all you can hiccup.

‘Maybe all that time ripping apart my wardrobe was worth it?’

Maybe so, because Jill fucking Valentine is moving her lengthy index finger to the left of her steering wheel, flicking on her turn signal without a single ounce of hesitation, and then making a u-turn that can only promise one thing.

The ride to her apartment.

Agreeing was most definitely easier than doing, that was for certain. With the door opening, and her leading the way inside, not only then does it really solidify into reality. One of your leading superiors—a trained operations agent—has driven you back to her apartment to “share drinks” and “celebrate without all the other chatter”. At least that’s what she bargained for in the car.

You’ve politely found purchase on the faux leather cushion of her couch, material beige and smoothened, and you curl into it as you keenly gape around the place.

The condo is fresh, and crisp, organized and minimalistic, but still with a trace that’s so understandably miss valentine.

After hearing about rumors of Jill’s horror in raccoon city, you can almost bet she’s much more at ease now, with her new place, and her new position. Eager to distance from her solemn past.

She’s a workaholic, that’s for sure, multiple rooms in her living space and she’s dedicated one for her research; the door slightly agape, and you can’t help but satiate your curiosity as you squint your eyes and look past the doorknob.

With what little you can see through the crevice, there’s a desk inside with files strewn along the top, corkboard furnished along the wall and vital information pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. Not able to help yourself, a tender smile cracks on your lips as you notice irrelevant stickers plastered along the granulated cork, designs of cats and succulents the older woman has happily put everywhere. Your heart pangs at the innocent gesture, imagining such a stern individual indulging herself with such small and adorable items.

“Do you have a preference? Want anything in particular?”, said woman calls from the kitchen, face astern and a hand pushing the fridge door open. Hastily, you retreat your beady eyes, suddenly feeling impertinent for your sense of wonder. She lists off what she has, but it’s all foreign to you, not making much sense from your lack of alcohol expertise.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug sheepishly, a bashful grin displayed, “anything is fine, really”. ‘Anything that you pick, I’ll drink’, sounds more correct, but you digress.

She reads you like you’re an open book, your naivety and youth all too transparent and sat right on her couch, eyebrows furrowed and hands respectfully folded in your lap. A position she’s noticed you in ever since you were rigid and unsettled in her vehicle. When were you ever going to relax? It filled her with incomprehensible mirth, the way you were.

“You’re quite young, aren’t you?”, Jill teases a little, poking at the spots that make you internally weak as she flashes a knowing smirk, “don’t drink a lot I take it? That’s alright”.

She retrieves two glasses from her cupboard and fills them with her pick as you so kindly advocated, closing the fridge and then sauntering over. She takes her place beside you, the leather sinking from the weight of two, her thigh resting along the couch and the shape of her kneecap brushing against you.

“All yours. Bottoms up”, a throaty chuckle resounds in her throat as she offers the drink, ushering for you to take it into your small hands, in which you oblige with unreadable panic. “Cheers”, she clinks her glass with yours, before she’s reclining into the cushion and swallowing, throat muscles contracting up and down.

You only manage to gulp down a small portion of the beverage, soured reaction shriveling your lips. It wasn’t the most enjoyable, but it was Jill’s, and you found it as well sought after as any nobel prize. This drink, this couch, this moment. This moment with her, even if every lick of the bitter whiskey was deathly, you would still sacrifice every lumpy taste bud just for a second with the woman.

Slowly, she sets the drink down on the coffee table, and you watch her movements carefully. Those hands of hers guide the cardigan off her shoulder blades, shrugging the gray fabric down and onto an armrest with a composed exhale.

What torture it is, your foolish reverence for her. Dirty incalescence ferments between the swell of your thighs, burning and burning once you catch sight of the dip between her chest, cleavage freckled with age and brown moles dotted along her sharpened collarbone. Her tight little blue tank top hiding underneath that damned cardigan this whole time. The fabric is stressed across the seaming of her bust, creased and curled until it dips down and hugs around the frame of her waist. There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to make it through tonight without slipping up.

“You’re brave for working under the organization, no matter what you do. Reminds me of when I first started training, I was around your age too. It’s risky, but I’m sure you already know that”, she bends downward to unlace her coal-shaded boots, tugging the zipper down without an ounce of patience in her.

“You gettin’ along with everybody? How is everything, with the new position and all? I mean, the way you were acting earlier, it makes me worried. If anyone’s screwing with you-”.

“No no no, it’s not like that, I promise”, you cut her off, shaking your head quickly in hopes you could help her understand your viewpoint, in which she glances at you and sits upright. She got you to talk, and if she wasn’t absolutely smug about it.

“Everything is fine, and the department is kind to me. You’ve been very generous too, and I’m thankful. I’m just…still trying to get used to everything”, she bobs her head with acumen, digesting every syllable and stumble of your words, listening maturely. She finds flattery in your compliment toward her, doing best not to grin.

“How is it with, um…you and Chris?”, you ask, and the moment the question slips past your lips, you’re filled with utter regret. What kind of question was that? Valentine raises her eyebrow in bewilderment, shocked by the sudden change in subject. She draws her arm along the head of the couch, manspreading whilst she sits as she pleases, eyes still narrowed with pique and pointed in your general direction.

“Me and Chris?”, the laughter she bellows out is vocal, giggling deeply without much restraint, “we’re partners, is all. We’ve been in this field for a while now.”

The way she carries herself around you is as if she’s known you for years, like this is just some humorous conversation that fills her with interest. She wasn’t this excited to speak at the restaurant, you’ve noted, and it’s heartwarming. You, of all people, have made her soft.

Despite all the liquor she’s consumed tonight, she is still impressively sober, quick to catch on to all your soft spoken words, and averting eyes. Although, her high tolerance, of all things, is not a particular trait of hers that surprises you. It only aids the turmoil that rumbles in your chest; it makes you feel weighed down and heavy, the scent of luxurious usquebaugh lingering on her tongue after every breath she releases.

“I see”, you mumble, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Jill rolls her blue eyes, “you’re always apologizing, you have nothing to be sorry about”, the room falls silent, clock that’s hung on her wall ticking as seconds prolong into minutes. That is, until she speaks again.

“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Lay it on me”, and the room feels like it’s suddenly enclosing, the words strangely suffocating, and you refuse to admit your sheer infatuation you bore for her. You shake your head with silence, finding that your speechlessness was a better reply rather than your jumbled words of anxious gibberish. One slip up, and you knew it would be over.

Your fingers tease the constricting dress again, eyes exerting to the way your thighs expand and lay flat on her sofa. The way the material fits you like a glove was sweltering, especially with her obsidian pupils beating down on you, drinking up your every tentative counter.

“So that’s a no”, she snorts at your lack of volume, feeling filled with confidence. “You stare a lot, you know that? I noticed you looking at me all night. I don’t scare you, do I?.”

You shoot your attention toward her now, irises apprehensively rounded and wide, and you feel the world absolutely crumble as you're struck with distress over her admittance. She did notice, after all. How pathetic you must have looked the whole time, peering from the fucking entree platter to her every couple of minutes, so visibly envious whenever anyone uttered a single word to her.

“No, I”-

Your pale lips tremble as they open, an absinthal taste wrought over your tongue and depleting any moisture from your mouth. You try to answer, meek and destroyed from your own clumsy dilemma. How different this could have been, if only you weren’t so gullible when it came to your yearning, now leading yourself into chagrin as you couldn’t keep your eyes away earlier.

“I’m sorry”, you pipe out, “I didn’t mean to”-, and she’s engulfing you, brain all smothered into mush and your body liquidizing to putty under the embrace she ensnares you in. Countless nights you’ve spent imagining how every curve of her lips feels pressed along yours, how they move, how they taste, but absolutely nothing can put into words how beautiful they feel as they swallow up your squeaks of dismay.

She’s crawling forward until she’s got you all laid out underneath her, squirming in your position as you submit to the palm she lays on your chest, a firm push she gives until you’ve gone flat amongst the leather cushion. With her legs now entangled with yours, she’s content, humming into the kiss she’s so rightfully initiated, sharp nose dipping into the velvet skin of your face, and skimming along your cheek with every tilt of her head.

Challenged by inexperience, you try best to keep up with the opening and closing of her mouth she’s laying upon you, her eyes sealed as her lips seemingly can’t control themselves, a hunger you’ve never expected from Jill. Flavors of malt she's got melting from her tongue, intoxicated saliva that’s mixed with yours and creating a slippery concoction between your lips with every thirsting lick she provokes.

“Need some attention? Am I right?”, the brunette separates from the bliss she had solicited, lips detaching with a wet smack so she can inhale sharply. “I’m much older than you, much”-, she huffs, airily snickering at the sight behold just right beneath her, “much fucking older.” She drags the wriggling muscle out from between her teeth and over her lips, collecting the moisture and spit you had so generously lathered over her. To die like this, it would be divine.

You lay dormant and vulnerable to her control, but she had warned you. Her words were not to be taken lightly, but rather, considered. To give up your innocence for such a filthy, wretched moment like this, Jill knew better. But those eyes of yours had begged, pleaded, were filled with desperation. Whatever she had done, or would do, you wouldn’t lament over it—but rather—savor it.

“I know”, you speak up, balancing the shakiness that wracks you. You’ve wanted a moment like this with her, and you refused to let it slip away from the cracks of your fingers when she was so, so close to granting you everything you’ve wished. “I know you are.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Explains all the staring, that goddamn dress during winter for Christ’s sake, all on purpose, I take it, tryna get my attention”, the silver pendant of her necklace dangles above you, circling as if it’s meant to entrance you. “The hell am I going to do with you?.”

The authority that oozes off her foul tongue is like morphine, an opiate you’ve swallowed, it’s addictive and ruins your common sense completely. Innocent eyes flicker back and forth, your jaw now slack as you can’t focus between the heat swirling in her pupils, or the way her lips taunt you for another taste.

The delicate curve of her nose, like a deity the way she so naturally is, sculpted from the stars as you examine the dorsal bump that sits near the bridge between her eyes, and then arches down to her cupid's bow. You want to pepper kisses all over her, take a risk into her world, trace the fine lines that are embedded into her pale complexion. God, you wanted it, no matter how foolish you would become.

Not able to withstand another teasing comment, you bring your lips to hers with vehemence, your shaky hands drawn over the stretch of her back, nails bundling up fistfuls of blue cotton fervently and with lack of restraint.

“Easy, baby”, the older woman rasps out a discordant laugh as she eases apart from you, “I got it, sweetheart. Let’s take our time, no need to rush anything.”

But the way your fingers are threading up her spine, carding through the syrupy strands of her hair and burying the pads of your fingers into her darkened roots tell her everything. “Please”, you whisper, a whine of desire prolonging from your throat, “take me to bed.”

And who is she to deny such a request? Fallen at your feet from square one.

With groping hands and ragged breaths, Jill has led you to her room and shoved her calloused hands onto the square of your chest, watching you stumble your way backward until your knees wobble, feet losing balance and you surrender your footing. Now draped along her mattress, you’re sprawled amidst her disheveled sheets, unintentionally alluring at the edge of her bed. A present that needed to be unwrapped and reveled in. Undressed and ravaged.

Undoubtedly, the attraction was mutual. Too reticent to meet her eye, fledgling and modest you were, a stark contrast to the indecent and repugnant men that stuck around and partnered alongside Jill in multiple missions. She was abnormally engrossed in you, freshly employed, seeing a sliver of compassion in every beam you presented, how much you were blossoming compared to the others who groaned and wailed.

Of course, your age had been worrisome, and Jill felt guilt course within her at such salacious contemplations. But to have you laid out in this moment, so youthful, so precious, she knew it was alright. She was going to take such good care of you, that was certain, cherish you like no other. And from the way you propped your weight up onto your elbows to wait for her, in her bed—she knew you had waited a while for this too. The glimmering twinkle in your glossy eyes, an unspoken plea from the depths of your soul.

Jill pried your heels off your feet and threw the irrelevant shoes to the floor, long fingertips prodding along the protruding talus bone and further down to the curve of your calf, pulling your leg upward so she could chastely peck along the skin. Give you softness before she fucked you clueless, solicited vulnerable cries from that sweet mouth.

“God, you’re so perfect, sweet thing. Need you to be good and spread your legs for me”, she mumbles amongst unarticulated nibbles to your calf, two strong hands guiding your limbs apart with your permission. You comply, breath hitched in your throat, craning your neck back once she lowers a palm between your two thighs, index and middle finger circling into your sticky panties, meddling with the sodden gusset.

She grunts, your wet cunt fueling her ego. She knew it was worth examining how ruined you already were, but this quick? How precious.

“Fucking hell, you’re needy”, you flush viciously at her jesting observation, squirming so sensitively at the swirls and caresses of sensual friction, every plunge of her trimmed nails into the flimsy fabric were torturous. Panties are humid and tainted from your own very need, and you feel your body is just an ocean of desire, body overflowing with lecherous want.

You wantonly gripe and huff, dress now creased and hiked up to your navel as Jill holds you still and anchored, one hand clamped around your knee securely as the other is buried between your thighs, toying with you. Coaxing those gentle gasps out of you that make her heart swell, fill her with greedy pride.

“Just a couple of kisses, and your panties are already ruined”, she curls a finger into the band and drags the elastic up, the soiled undergarment loose and freed from your glistening labia, before Jill releases, the material slapping back down within mere seconds. Jolting and whimpering, you’re appalled from the igniting slap amongst your sensitive warmth, hips jittering and Jill flashes you a playful smile.

“Half my goddamn age and gettin’ all wet”, she tugs the panties up now, watching the cotton sink into the slick of your pussy, lips curled around the laced seam and cutely puffed out, glistening with your own pronounced arousal. “Pretty girl”, she muses, dark eyebrows creased and wrinkles of concentration forming along her forehead as she gawks at you coming apart, beseeching for mercy with little squeaks and airy sighs. She wonders when you’ll demand pleasure, but such a sweetheart you are, letting Jill have her way with you.

She’s too impatient for this little game, having enough of prolonging your reward of indescribable pleasure and ecstasy. She pushes the damp gusset to the side, a bridge of transparent slick breaking apart from the undergarment once she bares your cunt to her hungry eyes, lengthy fingers spreading your velvety lips apart, her mouth formulating into an impressed “o” at the vision.

“Jill”-, you pipe up with uncertainty, but she hushes you, another kiss she smothers to your calf. “I know”, she hums, “I know”. You feel all warm inside, sickened with endearment by the way she looks at you, clenching around thin air as you imagine how well she’ll fill you. You’re all hers tonight, she knows this.

A veil of brown tresses conceal half her face as she lowers her head to a calculated angle, sharp collarbone and shoulder blades pronounced once she bends closer to your clit. She collects tepid drool off the tip of her pink tongue, and hurls it down onto your turgescent pearl, watching her bubbling saliva sully your pretty little pussy and drip down to your pulsating hole, entrance begging to be split open as you clench once…then twice, and a third time. You shiver at the contrast of temperature, cool slick now warmed by the draw of her thermal spittle, and you attempt to keep your head up to watch with half-lidded eyes, desperate to see the woman you loved.

Despite her foul-mouthed tendency, and inclination for dirty talk, she was slow, and tender. Her hands were rough, marred from training and littered with blemishes and scarring. Though, she was so considerate the way she plopped her thumb along the swell of your clit, textured fingertips rubbing upward against the flesh, flicking the small, and hardened bud with precision that had you moaning brokenly into her pillows. Your nostrils flare, inhaling her musk that’s adorned the sheets, the scent enveloping you, in which you only moan louder.

“Yeah, feeling good, aren’t you. Like my fingers?”

“Mhm!”, you had no words to speak, clasping onto the bedding as she steadily draws circles of pleasure over your enlarging bud. She tests the waters, pointer finger nudging at your dripping entrance, and when you make no sound of denial, she buries herself inside, curling one finger into your cunt. She laughs flippantly as your body instinctively swallows her in, fleshy walls tightening and frenzied, clenching sporadically around her, and she adds another finger slowly, trying best to be careful with you; her precious girl.

“Jill- oh my god”, the sudden stretch of her fingers is surreal, sticky taint gushing from your weeping hole and defiling the pale, boney fingers that split you apart so remarkably, obscene sonorities that climb up the walls and ring into your ears. You were already soaked earlier after the push of her tongue along your teeth, a saturated flower between your shaking legs, luminous and gleaming after a rainfall of dominance the older woman harbored.

But the way she bullies her knuckles inside you, her spit sloven hands smearing her slobber all over your vulva—you've been undeniably ruined, sopping mess that’s smeared to the flesh of your inner thighs and down to the shape of your rear, and you sob.

“Can’t- can’t do it”, your body says otherwise, pleading for more, blood rich and adrenaline coursing through bluish veins like wildfire. Thrust after thrust, and push after push; transforming your mortal chassis into molten nothingness. You’ve surrendered willingly, fallen victim to a certain euphoria that wounds around you, ensnares you into a blanket of submission.

“You can”, Valentine coaxes, more of a demand than suggestion, inspecting you past her webbed eyelashes, “and you will.” Her two fingers are tight against one another, pummeling toward the spongy muscle inside you with a pump of her wrist, arm flexing as she opens you wide to her advantage, folds spread apart to her liking, flapping limply atop the tarnished knuckles that gets forced into your noisy pussy. You’re writhing desperately, an arm flailing down the arch of your stomach to catch her, and you’re teary eyed; two crystals gleaming and threatening fat tears.

You’ve begun to blubber riddles of nonsense, incoherent gasps that can only direct Jill toward one conclusion, and once your hips grind upward to meet the dry surface of her palm, she’s sucking her teeth. You’re close, she smirks in understanding.

“Hm!”, you shake your head, and what else can you say? Disheveled and torn away, once innocent and pure, now fragmented into a vision of a filth from the way you moan symphonies. Dress slithered up just below the cave of your ribs, and a trembling hand clamping down on the wrist that’s trapped between your lifted thighs, you’re the image of a prostitute.

Nonchalant from your intrusive hand desperate to stop her, Jill swats you away and flashes you an expression that reads ‘don’t do that again’, before she’s plunging once more, and your stomach lurches, hitched breath trapped within your esophagus.

“Listen to yourself”, she tantalizes, sultry remarks hissing from the gaps of her pearly whites, and you whimper delicately as you begin to lose yourself in the bliss. It’s only in that moment of fragility that you recognize what she finds so amusing, the squelching of your cunt, juices lewd and sloppy as they flow, and you’re clenching around the older woman’s joints within. Further and further, until the rope breaks, and you’re crumbling into oblivion, battered fingers ushering you into an orgasm of pristine heaven.

Her thumb lulls you from your sequencing spasms, rubbing your used little clit in tender circles as she marvels over such magnificence with blown pupils, still standing at the edge of the bed whilst she listens to the howls of elation that tumble from your cute lips. She’s got to stop herself from hounding you right now, control the erotic sparks that are boiling underneath the constriction of her pants. She did this, and if she didn’t feel so full of herself because of it. Thoroughly smitten with you.

“There you go”, she hushes you with rasping care, observing with worry as your soft hips remain twitching, “you okay?.”

She abandons the mess she made the moment she joins alongside you, crawling to fill the cold space amongst the bed, suckling marks of woo under the slant of your jaw once she’s beside you. Slender, protective arms are snared around your heaving figure, and you’re humming to reassure her, reaching to grasp onto the meat of her biceps for a sense of imploring comfort.

“You did good”, a husky murmur that rumbles from her, reverberates through you as she douses nurturing pecks along the crown of your swarming head, your brain filled with static and fuzz from such an experience. She thinks you’re finished for the night, wasted and frayed—the humble woman she was—figuring she’ll get you cleaned up and call it a night.

The conclusion is omitted, fortunately, from the moment your mouth falls agape, needy muscle thrashing inside and your libido pulsates. You lever her hand that was once caressing your waist, and bring it upon the seat of your bottom lip, peering past your nose at the wrinkled fingertips; pruned and soiled from the liquid you've drenched them in. Your release, glued and preserved amidst the pores of the brunette's skin.

A low sigh of approval erupts from Jill’s chest as you clean the cracks and crevices you’ve dirtied, your beady eyes now sealed tightly as you slurp on the digits hungrily.

“Can’t baby”, she drawls, cunt throbbing and irritated as it stays purchased amongst the seaming of her ripped jeans. “Might be too much for tonight.”

As if you’re adamant on her docility and compliance, you swirl your tongue over her nail beds, the addictive brewery of your cum, globs of spit, and her flesh had all become dewy and sloshed down the walls of your throat. You moan, bobbing your head until you sputter around her, and the two digits sit upon their tongue-like throne beside the swell of your tonsils, leaving you gagging stupidly by the sensations.

Fucks sake, she wants to pummel that honeyed mound into the sheets until you’re ripping her off, tear streaks racing down your cheekbones. You fucking asked for it? You’re gonna get it.

“Want you to feel good”, you gargle, batting your eyelashes, “please?”

Denial dawns heavily upon her for the second time tonight, the fear of mauling your body—her temple of worship—weighing heavy on her racing heart. But the stench of sex disarms her restraint, the prodding canines and writhing tongue deepthroating her fingers merely convincing her. “Wanna feel you”, you whimper, “wanna”- and there’s no more words that need to be said.

Constricting fabric and other layers of clothes are shredded apart within a matter of seconds, now askew and in disorganized piles amongst the older woman’s bedroom floor. She couldn’t care less, peeling off everything she, or you possibly owned, a chest of ample breasts swinging and soft, chocolate moles dotted from her collarbone to the curve of her rising tits. You feel them perk against your own, nipples coupled and stimulating one another. Her robust figure straddles your hips, strengthened thighs not allowing an escape as she wrestles her lips against yours, groaning in low carnality.

The night is crude, bawdy, and daring. Jill Valentine’s apartment molding into a pornographic masterpiece, with licentious kisses exchanged with swollen lips, and entwined legs that brush against one another. She’s slotted herself so perfectly against your cunt, raising her hips so she can grind her clit against yours, and it’s everything she’s wanted. Everything you've wanted. Hymns of pleasure conjoin, and she’s clamping your thighs as she meets you in the center, a sultry look through her hooded eyes. With nails digging crescents into your skin, she huffs out a hissing moan, string of curse words descending before she can communicate properly.

“So close babe, so fucking close”, Jill’s pelvis pushes upward, folds kissing one another and she connects with you like you’re both two puzzle pieces meant for one another. “Gotta wait for me baby, wait for me, okay?”. She’s already said that many times tonight, stilling her scissoring once she spots even a measly scrunch of enjoyment building up on your youthful features. Egging you on just to shatter any shroud of pleasure.

“Wanna fuck this sweet pussy all night”, she grunts, chuckling in mirth at your whines for release, beads of sweat drawn over her temples. “Be patient with me baby, be patient”. And she’s tugging the ropes again, leg drawn over yours as she rubs against you, over and fucking over again, until you’re a ruptured woman, humbled from your own begging.

#bloodcasket #resident evil smut #jill valentine smut #resident evil x reader #jill valentine x you #jill x reader #jill valentine fanfiction #jill valentine x reader #jill fanfic #lesbian

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elllisaaa · 2 months

Note

Update! I’m back a legal adult now, as of yesterday as promised.😖🤞🏽 I missed you everyday babes😫🫶🏽, so I have a birthday request, how about Bangchan birthday sex?😵‍💫🤞🏽‼️

hiii lovely ! ngl i missed seeing you on my notifications too 😖 wishing you a big happy birthday even if i'm little late and i hope this will be enough of a present ! enjoy reading !

BIRTHDAY GIRL - BANGCHAN

-> pairing : softdom!chan x sub!reader

-> words count : 1.1k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : teasing, dirty talk, praising, body worship, use of 'good girl', oral (f. receiving), fingering

+ the way i'm depicting chan does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction.

-> 18+ content bellow, minors dni

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

-> masterlist | skz masterlist

Your birthday has never been too important to you. Sure you had little parties with your closest friends and family members, but not too much. But for Chan, it was way more than any other day of the year. He wanted to surprise you, to remind you how loved you were and how proud of you he was. So everytime he had a day off, he spent it planning this and organizing everything so that your friends and family could be there.

And all these sleepless nights trying to make everything perfect were definitely worth it when Chan saw the tears of joy in your eyes, and the biggest smile he had ever seen stretching out your lips. As he watched you laugh and be happy the whole night, talking with everyone he had invited, he couldn’t wait for the moment he’ll have you all for himself, couldn’t wait for the moment he’ll take care of his birthday girl.

When you closed the door of your shared apartment after your best friend finally left, you couldn’t help another smile from blossoming on your face. Chan was often away or busy with his work, but everytime he did things like this, you were remembered of how much he loved you, of how much he cared for you. You decided to leave the mess of the living room and the kitchen for tomorrow morning, walking to your bedroom to finally rest and have some time alone with your boyfriend.

“- Baby ? Where are you ?”

You frowned while searching for him in the empty room but not seeing him anywhere. However, you noticed a neat, black box displayed on the sheets of your bed. You approached it slowly, untying the white bow that was holding it together, and opening it to discover a beautiful lingerie set. It was in your favorite color, in the perfect shape to compliment every one of your curves.

“- Do you like it ?”

You turned around when hearing Chan’s voice, seeing him wearing only a pair of shorts and leaning against the doorframe.

“- If I like it ? Channie, it’s beautiful ! But it looks so expensive…”

Chan approached you, leaning down so that he could kiss your lips, hands coming down to hold your waist.

“- You know it doesn’t matter to me, I just want to spoil you baby.

- You really are too good for me…”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him down so that you could kiss him back, softly at first, sweetly. But Chan had been holding back the whole night from letting his eyes wander all over your body, and now that he had you all for himself, he needed to feel you. Quickly the kiss got more and more heated, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to find their spot on your ass, and yours coming up to play with the strand of his hair, tongues dancing along with each other.

“- You look amazing, couldn’t stop watching you all night.

- Yeah ? I wore that dress for you, know that you like it a lot.

- Fuck… Yes, I do. But I want to get a look of what’s underneath, will you let me ?”

You only kissed him as an answer, sweeping the lingerie box away from the sheets and getting him down on top of you. Neither one of you was in a rush, wanting to savor the taste of your skins. Chan slowly got you rid of your little black dress that has been driving him crazy, kissing every inch of your body up and down, caressing the delicate skin with a feather-like touch. You surely did some more dirtiest things before, but to have your boyfriend worship you wasn’t too bad either. The slightest touch had you shivering and moaning quietly. Chan lazily marked your skin from your neck, to your breast that he spent a lot of time sucking and massaging, and finally down to face your now dripping cunt.

“- You’re so wet baby, want me that much ?”

The pout forming on your face had Chan giggling but he listened to your unspoken request, diving in your cunt and practically making out with it. He knew you loved it, and he loved it just as much, loved feeling your hands pulling on his hair when the pleasure was too much, loved having to hold you down so you stopped squirming away, loved hearing your broken moans for more.

“- Channie, feels so good…”

You could feel the proud grin on his lips as he sucked on your clit harder, one of his fingers entering as a reward for voicing your emotions. And also because he loved to be praised, loved to have you put into words how good he was making you feel. His tongue lapping at your juices paired with the now two fingers pumping in and out of you had you close to your orgasm already.

“- I’m so close Channie, can I cum please ?”

Your eyes were watery, feeling on the verge of crying as the pleasure was building up quickly, heating up your whole body. Chan detached himself from your pussy, his chin and lips covered in your slick, his gaze soft despite the smirk on his face when he looked back at you.

“- Such a good girl asking for permission… Go on baby, cum on my fingers.”

This was all you needed to let go, the knot in your stomach snapping, covering his hand in your release. The sight of your fucked out face and your loud moans resonating in the bedroom were enough for Chan’s cock to leak precum, and for making him crave more of you. But tonight was all about you, tonight was all about what you wanted and needed, tonight was all about satisfying you. Chan knew he was not always here when you needed him due to his packed schedule, but he intended on changing that right now by spoiling you and making it up for all the times he came home late and left you hanging on your own fingers and toys to cum.

And the smile on his face was telling you just that as he came up to your face, kissing you hungrily as his hands roamed all around your body once again. Chan was convinced that he would never get enough of you, of your taste, of your lips, of your hands on him. But for now, it was his responsibility to satisfy you, not yours. So he pinned your hands to the mattress, watching you restrain the little whimpers that were about to slip past your lips.

“- Tonight is all about you baby, let me make you feel good all night and relax, okay ?”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

skz taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@minnies-babie @binwons @yoongles2025 @thicccurls @caitlyn98s @sharonxdevi @skz1-4-3 @bbgnyx @hann1bee @lil-kpopstan @iraisswiftie @puppy-minnie

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fic #skz fic #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #skz smut #bangchan #chan #bangchan x reader #chan x reader #bangchan smut #chan smut #eli answering your questions

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wrongplacerighttime · 2 months

Text

agent!harry x agent!fmc

the one where grace meets someone, harry gets jealous (again), and something unexpected is confessed. // little bunny part 4

write this and i don’t really like it but it’s set up for the next part so WHATEVER IDC 😭🤣 if it doesn’t make sense just…ignore it please 😭 i know it’s almost midnight and that means this probably won’t get seen but it’s HERE NOW.

little bunny masterlist

wc: 3.4k

tw: jealous!harry (briefly), phone sex, masturbation. (think that’s all.)

halley’s comet

To Grace, her worst personality trait was that she’s always been afraid of love. In middle school, a boy she couldn’t even remember the name of confessed his crush on her as she sat alone in the lunch room with her nose in a book, and a spark of hope twinkled in her eyes and her 13-year-old mind going haywire as she watched the blonde haired boy smile at her. Then he turned his head to look back at his friends, her eyes followed his and they were laughing. She never forgot the feeling of the stain of embarrassment marking her cheeks, or the single tear that fell onto the page she was reading when he turned and walked away.

Then, in high school, she had her first “real” boyfriend, Jake. For some reason or other, he had been pining after her and she couldn’t make sense of why the captain of the boys basketball team wanted anything to do with the quiet and reserved girl who only took advanced classes and spent her free time with her nose in the pages of a good book. He followed her like a lost puppy after one tutoring session with her, driving her around in his truck on backroads through the little town in Tennessee where they resided. She gave him everything, in every sense, and after he got it he left her high and dry. She still remembers the way the stars shined in the sky that night. It was just a blip in Jake’s timeline, but felt like a goddamned gorge in hers. As a girl, you never forget your first time…and he played her up so nicely. Being gentle with her, brushing the strands of hair from her lips, the kisses he left just behind her ear when she turned her head to the side. She didn’t leave her bed for weeks. She swore off love after that. It was real to her, even if it wasn’t to him.

Then came Harry, and to her, he was just like the rest of them, and she refused to let him get to her…keeping him at arms length even though she was insanely drawn to him. Then one day, she didn’t look at him like the rest of them. She knew in the back of her mind that sleeping with him would fuck with her head. They didn’t get along unless they’re fucking, and that can’t be healthy. Was it because they really didn’t like each other, or some other reason? She’s too selfish to give him up though, even if he might not want her that way, a relationship might be too much commitment for him but they didn’t talk about it. She had a feeling they never would. She pulls her coat tighter around her, snowflakes falling around her and her breath clouds in front of her. Her mind spins and she doesn’t pay attention as she looks towards the ground, running right into someone walking out of the building she was heading into.

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry.” She looks up to a man she’s never seen around before, his eyes an icy blue that contrasts the green she’s been seeing in her daydreams.

“Not a problem. I wasn’t paying attention…entirely my fault. Apologies.” He smiles at her softly, an expression she mirrors back to him.

“No…I wasn’t either, it’s okay.” She blows a breath, a cloud forming in the cold air between them, and his smile widens. “Sorry, I haven’t seen you around before…I’m Grace Weston. I work on the sixth floor.”

“James Seeley. I’m in organized crime.” He pauses and smirks. “If you’re on the sixth floor that must mean…” He trails off and Grace nods, already knowing what he was going to say.

“You caught me. I’m a profiler.” She holds her hands up, pretending to surrender and he smiles at her. He looks across the street, pausing for a moment and looking back at her

“Can I get your number?” He asks, and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry! Was that too forward? I just think it would be nice to have a contact in the BAU…you know, for any future cases.” He rubs the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness, and she pulls her lips in to prevent a smile from breaking at his nervousness. “I also think you’re pretty, and I’d like to get to know you better.” He rambles, and she nods. Maybe this would be good for her? He hands her his phone and she types her number into the designated spot, adding her name to the contact and hands it back to him. He briefly looks down at his wrist to check his watch and his brows pull together in the center.

“Sorry to be rude, but I’ve to get to a meeting downtown…and you know how traffic can be.” He says, jutting a thumb towards the direction he’s heading and she nods quickly.

“Oh, gosh! No, yeah! Again, so sorry for bumping into you.” She looks at him for a beat before looking towards the ground.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Glad it happened. See you around?” He asks and she nods again, making her way around him into the foyer through the sliding glass doors.

The rest of the team had made their way onto the jet and to Florida in the early hours of the morning, before the sun rose. Grace had sent Aaron a message privately before and asked if he cared if she stayed behind for this one. She was willing to consult from her position here and that was enough for him. A shiver travels down her spine and she thinks about the warmth of the Floridian sun and almost regrets her decision. She needed time away from Harry, she had convinced herself that much. She told herself if she kept her distance the feelings would go away. She wouldn’t feel this way if she stayed away from him, right? Love never came easy for her, and she was sure he wouldn’t make it easier either. She feels silly, falling for a person who was very much “no strings attached”. She can’t get him out of her head, her dreams filled with him, of a life with him…

She makes her way to her desk, shrugging her coat off and getting to work.

———

The day drags slowly and Grace is on the phone consulting with the team when the sound of the glass doors of the office open and tear her attention away from the video call. She looks up and sees the man from earlier this morning, James, walking over to her desk carrying what looks to be a bag of take out food. She grins over to him and he mirrors it back to her. He had sent her a message earlier after his meeting and asked if she wanted him to drop off lunch to her and she didn’t hesitate to say yes. He walks behind her, into the view of the camera before disappearing again and he perches himself on the edge of her desk. She silently thanks him as to not interrupt whatever Aaron was saying and her eyes flick to Harry on the screen. She can barely see the way the pixels of the video call catch the shift in his posture and the tick of his jaw, but she decides to ignore it.

She mutes her microphone as she listens to Aaron’s monotone voice through the speakers. Occasionally Harry or Kelly will add their input but for the most part it’s just Aaron. He’s throwing out ideas left and right trying to figure out where to start with the case. Grace can see all the files spread out in the table, the same ones that Grace has open on her other screen, and she scrolls. A crime scene photo catches James’ eye and he puts his hand up to halt her. He leans closer, pointing to a small symbol etched into the tree above the body, it's barely visible, blending into the seams on the bark. She turns her mic back on.

“Hey…guys? Did you see the symbol in the picture of our latest victim?” Her eyebrows furrow and she leans in closer to the screen. “Could it be satanic? Was there anything similar at the other scenes?” She asks and Aaron flips through the pictures to look for what she’s seeing.

“It’s not Satanic.” Harry mutters in a tone of voice that makes her eyes narrow, holding the picture closer to his face. He types in quick succession on his laptop, performing a quick google search. “It’s Egyptian.” He screen-shares a symbol that looks almost similar, more intricate than the one haphazardly carved into the tree.

“We need to have this picture blown up, it’s hard to identify from this distance. Good catch, Grace.” Aaron praises, looking down at the picture still.

“Oh it wasn’t me, it was James. We met earlier, he works upstairs in OC, we were eating lunch together and he caught it.” Grace replies, redirecting the praise to James while turning her camera towards him. He puts his hand up in a small gesture and Aaron nods, walking out of view of the camera. The screen goes black, the video call ending abruptly. Maybe the connection was bad? She pulls out her phone to text Harry.

Grace: “keep me posted.”

Harry: “k.”

His short reply makes her roll her eyes, and she almost puts her phone away when another message pops up.

Harry: “wanna start a group chat with lover boy so he can give me all his opinions directly?”

Grace: “i’m not doing this. he’s just a friend. and you’re being annoying.”

Harry: “just a friend my ass. friends that just met don’t bring each other lunch. he’s got a hard on for you.”

Grace: “so what? we definitely aren’t exclusive so it’s none of your business anyway. drop it. move on.”

She drops her phone down on her desk, shaking her head and scoffing.

He doesn’t reply.

———

A few days pass with no word from Harry, the case causing a build up of stress to fall on Grace’s shoulders. The Egyptian symbol was present at every scene in some form or other, and it had them stumped. James had asked her out on a date and she declined, really just wanting to go home and go to bed. She regrets staying behind, she feels out of the loop and she feels guilty she’s not there helping catch their suspect. Long distance while being an FBI agent doesn’t work, especially when her specialty is geographical profiling. It’s hard to create a profile for an area she’s unfamiliar with.

She showers. A long, hot, shower. The muscles in her shoulders relax with the steam blurring her vision. She just stands under the heat, washing away her stress…and she thinks of Harry. His words…his hands on her body…his lips on her neck, her tits…his teeth pulling her clit between them…Her breath catches and her legs feel weak at the thought of him. The way her body reacts to him, knowing he has this sort of control over her, she could never be with anyone else. She quickly finishes her shower, wrapping her hair in a towel and moving to her bed, not bothering with clothes because she has only one thing on her mind. She needs to cum.

Her hand dips down past her navel, running a finger through her folds before bringing them back up to her clit, rubbing gentle circles while tweaking her nipple between her fingers with her other hand, pinching and pulling, trying to replicate the way he does it. She replays every time they’ve been together over in her brain, remembering the way his breath fanned over her neck as he grunted in her ear, whispering words into her ear, words no one else has ever said to her. Words she didn’t even know she liked to hear.

The shrill ring of her phone pulls her from her thoughts, a groan of aggravation escaping her throat, so close to her release and she sighs, looking at the caller ID. Harry.

“Finally deciding to talk to me?” Grace answers out of breath, frustrated she didn’t get to finish. She tries to slow down her heartbeat, her breath left heavy in her lungs.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was being childish. I let my anger get the best of me, and I’m sorry. I know I have no right to be that way towards you. You’re allowed to see other people, you’re right. We aren’t exclusive.” He pauses. “Happy now?” He grumbles. She sighs,

“Are you okay?” His voice drawls through the speaker and she gulps nervously.

“Just peachy.” She answers sarcastically, trying to sound like she wasn’t just trying to get herself off less than five minutes ago. She gnaws on the inside of her lip. “Did you need something, is something going on with the case?” She turns over onto her side, waiting. He hums, choosing to ignore her response before diving into an update about the case as he paces around his hotel room.

Grace drowns out his voice involuntarily with her daydreams. She goes back to what she thought about to make herself get worked up in the first place, and then she imagines it…really imagines it. And it wouldn’t be so bad right? She lets her mind wander to the image of him curled around her in bed every morning, his hands gripping her waist as she stands at the kitchen sink, or her swollen belly in the mirror as she gets dressed for work for the day. A life with him.

“Earth to Grace?” His voice through the speaker pulls her from her thoughts and she blinks once to clear her head.

“I’m sorry, Harry. What did you say?” She’s breathless, feeling the arousal pool at her aching, empty hole. A smirk plays on his lips, one she can’t see, and now he knows exactly what she was doing before he called her. He knows her, knows how she sounds when she’s fucked out…when she’s needy. He knows just how to push her to the edge.

“Don’t worry about it, bunny.” He purrs and she whimpers into the microphone before covering her mouth and her thighs squeeze together almost on their own volition. “S’the matter sweet girl?” He coos and the drop in octave in his voice makes her squirm.

“N-nothing.” She stutters, lying straight through her teeth, feeling the flame igniting in her belly once again and she can’t help that he just does this to her. Her body reacts to him on its own despite the way her brain fights the feeling every single time.

“See, I know when you’re lying. I don’t like when you lie to me, Grace.” His voice is gravelly and he clicks his tongue as she pulls her lip between her teeth. “Let me help you make it better.” He mumbles and she whimpers out an agreement.

“What were you thinking about to make you all riled up like this?” He asks in a sweet voice and she stays quiet. She hears his breathing on the other end of the phone, silent. “Hmm?”

“You. Was thinking about you.” She admits and her cheeks heat with a little bit of embarrassment, but mostly with desire.

“Is that right? Well don’t let me interrupt, go on then.” He can feel himself hardening beneath his sweats at her honesty, but he refrains from touching himself. For now. He doesn’t hear any rustling on her end of the phone and his brow furrows. “What’s wrong? Need me to tell you what to do?” He jokes and she mewls.

“Y-yes. Please.” She whines and the tone of her voice tells him all he needs to know.

“Mm, okay.” He pauses, thinking. “What were you thinking about? Tell me, bunny. I’m curious.”

“Thinking about the last time…in the supply room.” Her voice is breathless and he smiles at the memory.

“Want you to pull your bottoms down for me, sweet girl.” He instructs her and hears rustling on the other end, her eagerness making his heart lurch in his chest and he feels all the blood in his body rush southward. “Have ‘em off?” He asks and she confirms that she does. “Good girl. Want you to touch your thighs, just drag your fingers over your skin, like I would do.” She follows his direction, the light touch of her fingers creating goosebumps in their wake.

“Want you to touch yourself, too.” She mumbles into the phone and he groans on the other end, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Want you to tell me how wet you are first, are you dripping? Want you to put a finger in and tell me how soaked you are at the thought of me fucking you against that wall.” His words come through gritted teeth and he shifts his hips, pushing his sweats down and he leans against the wall, palming himself through his boxers and biting the inside of his lip. She trails a finger through her folds, her arousal pooling on her finger before she pushes into her aching hole, feels herself clench around her own finger as she moans at the intrusion.

“Harry—” His name falls from her lips in a breathless whisper.

“Tell me.” He demands, jaw clenched and hand squeezed into a fist and he can hear the way her finger is pumping in and out, the sound of her arousal evident through her end of the phone and he could almost cum right then, without even touching himself.

“S-so wet. Wasn’t entirely from the sex, though.” She admits and he raises his eyebrow in an expression still unseen to her. “From what you said.” He combs through the memory, her pushed against the wall with his hand around her wrists, slamming into her again and again. He pries his mind and the memory of what he said to her comes flooding back. Gonna fill your pretty little pussy up, get you all full of my cum…bet you’d like if I got you pregnant too, huh? Wanna see that cute little belly swollen, let everyone know who you belong to.

“Little minx…likes being full of me, doesn’t she? Likes feeling me dripping out of her.” He can’t help himself now, the memory playing over and over in his head like his own personal porno. He pushes the rest of the barrier away and spits into his hand before wrapping it around the base of his hardened cock and pumping himself with a soft grunt falling from his lips.

“Yes, Harry.” She whines, feeling herself come closer to her release as she flicks her thumb over her clit and pulses her fingers in and out. “Want you to…need you to, Har. Just wanna feel you.”

“I know, sweet girl. Wanna have my babies in your cute little belly? Know you’re carrying around part of me and that I’ve claimed you?” He grits and she nods even though he can’t see her, his hand working himself at his own pace, his tip leaking and dripping onto his own hand as he grunts and groans at the frictions he’s creating. “Gonna fill you up, let your thighs be a sticky mess of me? Cum for me, bunny. Wanna hear you.” He encourages her and she squeezes her eyes shut and her toes curl, pleasure taking over every one of her senses. One flick of her thumb against her sensitive bundle of nerves again and she’s gone, moaning and crying out his name between them. He follows not long after her, his own release painting his hand and he leans against the wall to catch his breath, coming down from his high. Grace sighs into the phone, feeling a little hazy, not in the proper state of mind to continue a normal conversation with him.

“I love you.” She whispers, her eyes flutter closed, the pulses of pleasure still buzzing through her brain, clouding her better judgment. She doesn’t even realize the words have slipped past the barrier of her lips. He’s silent for a moment, mouth dropping open to speak but closing again.

“W-What?” He stutters, heartbeat quickening and nervous sweat forming on his brow. Her eyes fly open and her heart drops to the floor. Did she really just say that…out loud? “Grace…” He trails off, his vision blurring, his head feeling dizzy and he doesn’t know what to say.

The line goes dead, and he’s alone.

taglist: @indierockgirrl @hermionelove @storyschanging

if your tag is red it didn’t work :(

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry #styles #harry styles x fmc #harry fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry smut #harry edward styles #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #agent!harry #agent!fmc #little bunny #fic #jealous!harry

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a-kaash-me-outside · 3 months

Text

a bit dirty - ch6

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch6 [masterlist]

// a really great idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ~ 7392 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, squirting, sex in a bed!!, a lot of feelings and love!!!!, intimacy in more than just the bedroom fr, names names names pet names a million pet names, oral f!receiving, afab she/her pronouns

tori talks: oh good god guys we're finally here. thanks to everyone who is going to read this last chapter even though it literally took me over 6 months to write it. i hope you enjoy it and i'm glad it's over and that it happened. ily all. hope u enjoy. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you’re not sure you’d admit it to anyone, but walking into osamu’s apartment for the first time feels like coming home after a long day at work. you can see yourself here, more than you can in your own apartment or your childhood home. you feel just a little bit more like yourself, shoulders relaxing in a way that you didn’t think they needed to, breath a tiny fraction steadier. you’re not sure you’ve felt this comfortable in a really long time.

you don’t have to ask him where to put your shoes or where to hang your jacket, and he doesn’t take them from you either. he doesn’t put them away for you or tell you to hang them on the hangers in the empty closet down the hall.

when he unlocks his door and pushes inside, you mimic his motions, placing your shoes gingerly on the rack to the right of the closet between his white sneakers and black work shoes, hanging your jacket on the empty hooks above the spot where you've just retired your shoes.

stepping deeper into his apartment, he offers a small, “so, welcome,” he says, gesturing to the living room, one hand softly wrapped around yours as he tugs you along. stepping past the barrier of the front door, further into osamu’s space, you don’t feel like a guest here. you just feel like you belong.

“oh my god, it’s so clean in here,” you say, a few paces ahead of him now, but he refuses to break contact, to let go of your fingertips so he walks quickly along with you.

“well, yea, i’m not really ever home,” he explains, shrugging, as you walk around his living room eyes stopping at the neatly organized coffee table with cork coasters and a yellow hard-covered book titled this book will make you kinder, at the photos on his wall of him and his brother and him and his restaurant and him and suna, at the plants in the window sill and the dustless, dirtless ledge beneath them.

you shake your head, “no, that’s not true. you come home after work and you’re here before you leave for work, and i’m sure you’re super busy leaving in the morning and super tired when you come home at night, so it’s really impressive that it’s really clean.”

he lets out a half-laugh, a breathy light scoff in the place of a real response. you turn around, looking at him directly with a mischievous look on your face, “unless you cleaned your apartment just for me tonight?”

osamu’s quiet, a very telling silence, a wordless admittance. “oh my god!” you say, hands on your hip, and the slight hold that he has on your fingertips isn’t broken yet, his hand now pressed against your side, fingers curling around your hip as he pulls you a little closer.

“okay!” he admits, “so i am pretty tidy anyways, but there may have been a few dishes in the sink and the bed might not have been made and the couch cushions didn’t look that good before but-”

you shake your head, clicking your tongue, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you tease, “how presumptuous of you that i would come back here after our date?”

“i didn’t think we’d just fuck in the bathroom again, baby, what was i supposed to do, you literally said-” he says, trying to explain himself, unstoppable smile on his face as he pulls you even closer to him.

“do you think i’m that kinda girl? to just fuck you on the first date?” you ask, palm flat against his chest now, the other hand snaking up to lazily drape around his neck.

he shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you tight around your arms and shoulders, holding you in place as he laughs so deep that it sends tingles and shivers down your spine and skin. “you’re very funny, y’know that?” he asks, squishing you against his chest as he presses kiss after kiss into the top of your head.

“you made the bed? fixed the couch cushions? samu, i mean, really, what did you think was going to happen tonight?” you giggle, emphasizing every other word dramatically as you squirm in his tight grasp.

“i mean,” he says, leaning back to look at the warmth on your face, the fluster that lies with it, “you are here, aren’t you? i couldn’t have been that wrong if the cleaning paid off.”

you giggle harder now, leaning up and pressing a kiss into wherever you can reach in his strong hold. “i sure am,” you agree. he loosens his grip, hand falling down your arm to thread his fingers with yours again. he pecks a small kiss against your lips and then your cheek.

“you sure are,” he says, warmly.

you really could’ve stayed in the middle of his living room forever surrounded by couches and books on shelves and an impressive entertainment system. you didn’t need any of it either, didn’t need a place to sit or things to keep you busy, you’d be really happy just staring at osamu for the rest of time, at hearing him laugh, at feeling his pulse in your palm.

“can i getcha a drink?” he asks, pulling you out of this mellow, love-struck state in the name of hospitality.

“only if i can come with you,” you say, looking over his shoulder into the kitchen. your motivation is 70% wanting to stay with osamu and 30% wanting to see what his kitchen looks like: what kind of mugs he has, where he keeps his silverware, if his knives and pans are on display or tucked away in cabinets.

“clingy,” he teases, smile huge because there wasn’t any way that he was leaving you alone for even a second.

“fine! i'll stay in here,” you pout.

he doesn’t respond, only laughs and pulls you by the hand, “come on, pretty.”

you don’t protest anymore, following along happily into the kitchen, forcing yourself to sit on the barstool in front of the bar rather than snoop in his cupboards and drawers. he’s hesitant to let his touch fall from yours, to let go of the contact he has on your hand and your hip, but he does, presses a small kiss into the side of your head, and walks deeper into his kitchen.

from here you can see the kettle on the counter and the knives on a metallic strip above the black countertop. the pans are nowhere to be seen. they must be hidden away somewhere safe. you don’t say anything and neither does he as he pulls wine glasses and mugs and cups out of the cupboard and places them on the countertop in front of you.

and you still don’t feel like a guest.

it feels like osamu getting you a drink is because he loves you, like you could get up and get your own if you wanted to, like you already knew where the tea bags were and the spoons and the shelf that the sugar resided, like next time you would return the favor, let him sit down for a minute while you made the two of you tea or poured another glass of wine.

“what’s it gonna be?” he asks, gesturing to your choices on the bar in front of you.

“y’know you could’ve just asked me that before pulling out all the cups?” you tease, eyes moving from cup to mug to wine glass.

he shrugs, “not as visual.”

“what are you in the mood for?” you ask, reaching to pick up the mug, black ceramic with a gray stripe along the base. you turn it over in your hand, running your fingers along the matte texture. yeah, this feels like a mug osamu would own.

“anything, really,” he says, smiling before the rest of the flirt even comes out of his mouth, “as long as i’m drinking it with you on my couch, i will be very happy.”

you roll your eyes. it’s really unfair how predictable, yet how adorable, he is when it comes to things like that. “alright, how about wine now, tea later?” you ask.

he rests both of his hands on the edge of the counter for a moment, nodding as he does, removing the cups from the counter and pushing the mugs towards the tea kettle. “sounds like a plan, angel,” he says, disappearing behind the pantry door and coming back with a bottle of wine.

he doesn’t recork the wine or put the bottle back, leaves it exactly where he sets it on the counter in a rush to just drink wine on his couch with you. he carries your glass for you as he guides you back to the couch.

sitting on the plush, perfectly set cushions, tucking yourself into the corner against the arm rest, osamu pressed up against you, pulling your legs over the tops of his, his hand resting comfortably on your calf, you’re not sure you’ll ever really be ready to go back to your own cold, lonely apartment. when you close your eyes, you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now.

your first glass of wine isn’t even finished before he interrupts your current conversation of favorite movies and media with a stupidly cute, nervous question, “so, can i ask you now?”

you want to be stunned or at least fake it, but you can only lean closer into him, setting your wine glass down on the coaster on the coffee table to wrap both of your arms around his bicep. “ask me what?” you tease.

he shakes his head, “y’know that night i thought you were so out of my league.”

you lean backwards, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “no fucking way.”

“swear,” he laughs, leaning forward to set his glass down next to yours, “and i was out of my depth, had no idea what i was doing, just couldn’t stop staring at you-”

“oh, i know,” you say, recalling his smitten, lingering stare so perfectly that your face feels warm, “every time i would look over in your direction you would be looking at me like this.” you mimic your recollection as best as you can.

he puts his face in his hands. “that’s so embarrassing,” he says, and it’s muffled by his palms. you wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling them away from his face and kissing the backs of them.

“no, no, it was cute,” you say, but he still groans. you continue, “samu, i was into it, obviously.”

he explains further, “sumu was like shoving me over there so blatantly that i almost didn’t go over there.” he shakes his head at the memory, at the alternate universe where his stupid brother alone failed to start the best chain of events of his life. “and then omi leaned over to me and was like, ‘i'll distract your dumbass brother, go have a good night, you deserve it.’”

“remind me to thank him then,” you say, softly, shifting against the couch to lean against his shoulder instead of the armrest.

“will do,” he says, smile in his voice as he snakes his arm around your waist, hand resting on the side of your thigh. “i’ve thanked him plenty for both of us, but it might mean more coming from a new mouth.”

“you just say the most romantic things like it’s nothing,” you say.

“i don’t try,” he admits, “just hard not to be romantic when i’m with you.” he reaches across you with his other arm, pulls you further into his lap until both of your knees are on either side of his thighs and you’re facing him. “sorry,” he mumbles, “wanted to look at ya.”

“you’ve gotta be doing this on purpose,” you whisper.

his fingers scrape against the tops of your tights before rooting on your hips. he shakes his head. “it’s all you, really,” he whispers back. “these thoughts just come into my mind and i say them. love you so much, you make it easy.”

you’re very grateful for this position because it’s effortless to lean down and crash your lips into his, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss, to feel his chest lift to kiss you harder. he tastes like expensive wine and a little bit like you still and you might cry, he’s just really perfect.

he places his hand on your shoulder, holds you in place as he leans back into the couch. the pout is already forming on your lip, so he runs his thumb across it gently. “will you be mine?” he asks, adding before you’ve even answered, “let me love you with labels.”

“oh my god, samu, you’re going to kill me, y’know that?” you say, hands cupping both of his cheeks before kissing him sweetly. “how do you expect me to keep up with this?”

“just say yes,” he says, quickly, “that’s enough for me.”

“of course,” you say, forehead resting gently against his, kiss placed on his nose and then the high of his cheekbone. you repeat it again just in case he missed it the first time, “of course.”

“i’m sorry that i didn’t make this happen sooner,” he says, soft sigh accompanying his remorseful tone.

“stop that,” you hush him.

“i mean it,” he says, sitting up into you a bit more, “if i would’ve figured my shit out sooner, we could’ve been doing this for months.”

“yeah, but you don’t know if everything would’ve turned out the same way,” you say, bringing your hands up into his hair, “if that would’ve been too soon or if we needed to go through all we went through to be as strong as we are now, there’s no way to know, really.”

he smiles at you, not opening his mouth to say anything, just soaking in the moment, humming at your astute thought. you continue, “i guess i just mean that, yea, getting more time with you would’ve been great, but we can’t do anything about that. so i’m just really glad to be with you now, here, drinking wine and sitting in your lap and kissing you.”

“and you say i’m the romantic,” he murmurs, kissing you once more.

“you are,” you argue.

/\ /\ /\

neither of you even finish your first glass of wine. even if you had, there was no way the two of you were untangling from each other and making your way into the kitchen for another, not in the middle of unimportance conversations about your thoughts on christmas lights or osamu’s thoughts on the type of pet he’d like to have one day.

but as the hours tick on, as the clock hands droop lower and lower, osamu knows that you need some sort of transition period to staying the night. “cup of tea before we go to bed?” he asks, head resting against the back cushion of the couch staring into your eyes with as much love as he can.

“are you being presumptuous again, samu?” you tease, but your eyelids are getting heavier and you can’t put a lot of effort into the taunting.

“i’m sorry, princess, do you want to stay the night?” he asks, gut-wrenchingly sincere.

“i would really love that, yea,” you say, flustered in the backfiring of your banter, “and tea sounds really nice too.”

he nods, once, short and happy, ready to move you off of his lap to go get the two of you a final drink before bed, but you get off of him first. “i’ll get it,” you offer, waiting with bated breath for him to fight you on it or to be weirded out by the forwardness of raiding his kitchen to feel the domesticity a little harder.

he doesn’t protest at all, lets the smitten, lingering stare last for a few moments before saying, “only if i can come with you.”

before you’ve made it to the kitchen with osamu in tow, he stops you, plants in place in front of the hallway to his bedroom, and nods towards it. “but first, can we get you into some comfier clothes?” he asks. “nighttime tea tastes better when you’re in comfy clothes,” he reasons. you can’t disagree.

you follow him down the hall to his room. you don’t get a good look at his plainly decorated room or the nicely made bed as you wait in the doorway. he returns quickly with a t-shirt of his. “you can change in the bathroom across the hall if you want,” he offers.

“you know you were inside of me in a fancy restaurant bathroom hours ago, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, pushing past him into his room and taking off all of your date clothes. osamu folds them neatly as you set them on the bed. when he picks up your torn tights, he can’t hold back his small laugh.

“oh yea, so funny,” you joke, “you can probably throw those away.”

“but they’re perfectly good for having sex in public bathrooms,” he jokes back.

you pull his shirt over your head, soft cotton taking the place of going out clothes and the difference is already lulling you to sleep. you’re determined to make osamu tea, but you can’t promise most of the cup won’t go cold on the counter.

it doesn’t take long for osamu to be on you, arms wrapped around your waist, hands roaming over your body, “you look so good right now.”

“shut up,” you say, pushing him away with the least amount of resolve anyone has ever had, “imagine how i feel looking at you wearing stuff like this.”

“you look better in it than i do,” he says, shaking his head.

“not possible,” you say back.

he leans down to kiss you once before reluctantly pulling away, walking back over to his dresser to change into comfier clothes as well. if you weren’t so stupidly tired, seeing osamu shirtless and in super casual sweatpants would’ve been the perfect catalyst for your first night together having sex in a bed.

tea. sleep. tea. sleep. tea. sleep. you remind yourself.

“c’mon, angel,” he coaxes, pulling you by your hand back down the hallway and into the kitchen. he leans against the countertop, doesn’t say another word or try to make you tea despite your earlier statement.

you start the kettle with the push of a button, pull the mugs from across the counter in front of you. you pluck two tea bags from the glass jar where they live. you have to open a few cupboards before finding the spoons, but the sugar is right where you think it will be.

“i think knowing that you take sugar in your tea is both the most surprising thing and also somehow completely aligns with who you are,” you reason, pouring the gently boiling water over the tea bags. by the time you finish your sentence, you’ve noticed the enamored look on his face, but you don’t have time to comment on it as he replies.

“that’s because you know me really well,” he says, nodding, loving smile still lingering. you put half of a spoonful of sugar into the cup, stir until it dissolves and then slid it against the countertop to him. he wraps his fingers around the warm cup, brings it to his lips, blows on it gently as if that’s going to do anything at all, and then takes the smallest sip. “perfect.”

you lean against the edge of the counter, holding the mug in your hands, waiting for the air to cool down the steaming beverage. “i think i’d be really okay with ending every single day of my life just like this,” you admit. if his eyes go wide or he recoils even the smallest percentage, you’ll blame it on the eventful day and the exhaustion that’s quickly overcoming you, but they don’t. his features soften, hand reaches across the counter to rub the back of your hand.

“me too,” he reciprocates. “you’ll have to stay over more often,” he doubles down.

“what?” you ask, taking a sip of your tea. you can feel the warmth hit your stomach. “have dinner ready for you when you come home and spend your nights off intertwined on the couch?” everything that you’re saying is getting closer and closer to practically asking to move in, but osamu doesn’t seem to mind.

“exactly that,” he murmurs, “you’ll have to see if you like my bed first, though, before you resign yourself to coming over every night.”

“every night?” you ask, cheeky smile the only form of teasing that you’re giving right now, “maybe we should go check it out then.” you take one more sip of your tea and then set the cup down on the counter. osamu doesn’t even do that, pulls you away from behind the counter and down the hall.

you climb into his bed, under his covers without asking or another mention. osamu joins you, climbing into the other side, and the two of you don’t waste a single second, curling up against each other, limbs lazily tangling, pressing up against one another as close as you possibly can.

“the first time we’re in a bed together and we’re not even having sex,” he says, softly, reaching over and turning off his bedside light. it takes a few moments for your eyes to get adjusted, to make out the shapes of his face in the dark.

“crazy, right?” you ask, smiling as you snuggling into his chest impossibly closer.

“i like this though,” he admits, traces his fingers up and down your arms, “just being in bed with you, falling asleep with you, means i get to wake up with you.”

you hum at his voice, soft and deep, and the darkness looks the same as it does with shut eyes, but you’re trying your best to not let the sleep take you that fast. “can you keep me awake?” you ask.

“you’re literally falling asleep as we speak,” he says, your eyelids fluttering shut as if to make a point. you shake your head, but you don’t say anything else. “why do you want me to keep you awake, babygirl?”

“cause i wanna be in this moment a little while longer,” you reason, breath taking over your voice as the darkness and warmth pull you into a comforting hug.

“we’ll have plenty of time for moments like this later,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “plenty of time, so go to sleep, angel.”

you’re not even embarrassed at how quickly you listen to him.

/\ /\ /\

if last night wasn’t enough to convince you that you were exactly where you needed to be for the rest of your life, waking up in osamu’s arms definitely was. they’re strong around you, wrapped tightly around your waist, nose nuzzled into the back of your neck, legs intertwined with yours.

you’re incredibly surprised that you’ve woken up first, but the second that you start to stir, osamu’s grip loosens, and his head peaks over your shoulder and he places a small kiss on your cheek. “mornin’,” he says, raspy as he talks off the sleep.

you turn in his arms, laying flat on your back so you can look at him directly. “good morning,” you say back, lifting your head to kiss him. “very good morning,” you say again.

“cute,” he murmurs against your lips, “stupidly cute.” you reach your arms up, draping them over his neck loosely to pull him down into you. “do you want breakfast or something?” he asks.

you shake your head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “no,” you say, “well, maybe later? i think right now i just want, y’know, this.” you gesture with a small nod not really towards anything in particular, just to the situation.

he laughs, kissing the side of your face, “alright, this it is.”

you don’t say much else. nor does he. it’s all stolen kisses and roaming touches and silent exchanges. you don’t feel the need to talk, don’t have much to say, you’re communicating just fine without them.

every touch is getting needier, every kiss is getting longer, sloppier, more desperate, and the only thing that you’ve been able to think about for the last hour is all of the promises that have been made to you about after date things.

it doesn’t help that he’s on top of you now, tops of his thighs resting between your legs, hands on either side of your waist just looking at you like that. the first thing you say in over an hour is, “what, samu?”

he laughs, pushing his fingertips up your body, under the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and up until your entire stomach is exposed. “god, you’re so hot,” he says, grabbing onto your waist to pull you closer to him.

“samu,” you whine.

“what, doll? it’s true,” he says, pushing your shirt up even further now, tits on display so pretty that you can feel him begin to grow hard against your inner thigh. “so pretty,” he murmurs. he tugs your shirt off, tosses it to the side with no regard for the tidiness of his room anymore.

you’ve really never been this exposed before when you’ve had sex with osamu, always an article of clothes on, but now the only thing stopping you from being completely naked is the thin fabric of your panties and osamu’s fingers are already hooked in the waistband. you don’t protest as he drags them down your thighs, picks up your legs and rests them on his shoulder as he does.

he presses a kiss into the side of your leg, slowly drops them back around him. your stomach is in knots, can barely breathe with the way that he’s looking at you, eyes traveling down your body so slowly that you can see each point that they linger a second longer.

“fuck, you look good,” osamu says, leaning down to kiss your shoulders, your collarbones, your chest.

“shut up,” you murmur, fingers threading into his hair, scratching against the back of his head as he scrapes his teeth against your sensitive skin.

“no, i’m serious,” he says, leaning back, “you’re so fucking pretty, gorgeous actually.”

“ew, shut up,” you push him away jokingly, gently, “or i’m not going to let you fuck me unless we’re fully clothed ever again,” you joke.

he laughs against your neck, breath and vibrations tickling the wet skin. every single kiss feels personal, hand-crafted and perfectly thought of just for you. the placement is direct and purposeful and you can feel his love in every single one.

“god, i’m going to take my time with you,” he says, pulling away again. you can feel the blush blooming under your skin, warming up every inch of you, igniting fires in your stomach.

“first time that we have a lot of it,” you joke, coaxing him back up to your lips. “and first time that i don’t have to be situated on a sink or the floor.”

“so you’ll be perfectly comfortable,” he says, kisses trailing between your tits and down your stomach, “while i eat you all morning long.”

“samu,” you say, crook of your elbow rising up to your face to hide behind it. he reaches up, pulls it away from your face.

“don’t hide from me, doll, look so cute like that,” he says, laying between your thighs, pushing them open with familiar hands. you give in to the gentle pressure so easily that you swear you hear the faintest laugh coming from Osamu, but the light kisses peppering your thighs that follow gain your focus instantly.

it should feel agonizing, the way he takes his time dragging his lips across every part of the skin between your legs, kissing and biting lightly. but the longer he’s there the more laughter flutters through your chest, the more your cheeks flush, the more loved you feel. you bring your hands to his face as he rests his head against your knee cupping one under his jaw and using the other to push his hair back a little.

“make me feel so pretty, samu,” you mumble. he makes no attempt to answer, just holds your gaze with loving eyes as he brings himself to ghost near your already soaked pussy, the feeling his breath overwhelming any of your other senses.

“just want you to see yourself through my eyes, princess.” the end of his sentence comes with a long, slow swipe of his tongue against your hyper sensitive clit and it feels good to finally not worry about who can hear you.

you dig your head back into the pillow, hair already a mess after a perfectly restful night’s sleep. you can feel his eyes burning into you, even if you can’t see them, even if your focus is really anywhere but the agonizing feather-like touches between your legs.

it’s a shame, you think, but only for a moment, that his mouth is so busy that you can’t hear him call you pretty names or poke fun at you for whining so much. only for a moment.

if there’s one thing that osamu cannot be called it’s all-or-nothing. osamu doesn’t do all-or-nothing; he does slowly, consistently, comfortably, and then all. this is no exception. he runs his tongue between your puffy lips, smears your juices all over your sensitive pussy with the tip, and then he eats you- not like a man-starved, but like a man who he gets to indulge in his favorite dessert.

his fingertips are digging into the fat of your hips, palms pressing to keep you in place, to keep you from squirming, and it’s working. he lets you scratch your nails into his hair, down the back of his neck, resting on the tops of his shoulders. you don’t guide him, don’t buck your hips impatiently, you don’t need to. if he isn’t lapping exactly where you want him to, you know he will be soon, you know it’s deliberate, you know that he knows what’s best for you even if you have to wait for it.

you’re not sure you know how many times you come on his tongue, how many are attributed to just his tongue and how many are attributed to the noises that he’s making, the grunts that are coming from his throat, the mumbled praises that he’s whispering against your soaked folds, the squeaking of the mattress from the soft grinding that he’s doing against the blankets.

without a watch, you’d have claimed you were there for hours, all morning, just like he said. you’re not sure if he would’ve stopped either, if you hadn’t sat up on your forearm, somehow more out of breath than he was, and tugged on his hair. “samu, baby,” you whine.

you can’t help it, the even-more-breathless-breathlessness that hits you when he looks into your eyes, bottom of his face soaked with you, licks his lips, wipes the rest of it with his palm, and crawls slowly up to meet you. he kisses you hard, as hard as you’ll let him, and then he kisses you again, and then he kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, then your neck, mumbles against your skin, “what do you want now, bunny?” he’ll give you anything. “i’ll give you anything.” you know that he will.

the opportunities are endless. the world is your oyster. anything that you ask for, he will give you, and it will be wrapped with neat paper and a pretty bow with a handwritten note several miles long. you swallow, eyes searching his face for nothing in particular, just because he’s pretty and because he’s yours.

“i don’t think i have anything to ask for, because you’re already mine,” you whisper.

his face lights up, skin hot and flushed on the highs of his cheeks and traveling down his neck and chest. for a second it looks like he short-circuits, like you’ve broken him just by telling him the truth, and then, in a second, the world catches back up to him.

he shakes his head slowly and then you’re on top of him, sat with both legs on either sides of his, strong hands steadying you before you can even clock that you need to be steadied. “you’re really asking for it, huh?” he asks, and now you’re feeling warm.

“i- what are you talking about, samu,” you say, eyebrows furrowed. you can feel his hips- and yourself- lift off the bed as the fabric between the backs of your thighs and the tops of his is replaced with soft skin. you yelp softly as you’re lowered back down, hands on your inner thighs pushing you back just enough for his cock to rest between them.

you’re soaking wet, making a mess between your lips and on the insides of your legs and now all over his hard cock, slowly pushing through your pressed together thighs. he brings his hips off the bed, steady thrusts rocking the mattress ever so slightly, both his hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs. he clicks his tongue, “saying shit like that, angel, you know i’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“samu,” you repeat, breathless. “what ar-.”

he cuts you off, sliding his thumb from the tip of his cock to the base, his leaking head slipping between your messy lips until it’s teasing your hole. “sound so in love with me, baby, need to fucking feel you around me so fucking bad right now,” he breathes, sharp inhale punctuating his sentence as he pulls you by your hips until you’re fully seated on his cock.

you don’t know if the warmth is coming from the blush or touch of his skin or the desire that’s burning in your core, but it’s there, and before you can even fully register what he’s saying, he’s honest-to-god whimpering, spouting more lovey bullshit, “god, it’s like falling in love with you made you fit even more perfectly around me.” he lifts you slightly, fingers digging into your hips as he lets you slowly fall back down onto his cock.

he tilts his head into the pillow, but immediately picks it back up, locking eyes with you before letting his gaze fall down your body, like he can’t believe you really exist, like he can’t believe he let himself relax into a position where he couldn’t see you at all times, like he “can’t believe you’re fucking real,” he grunts, “and that you’re all fucking mine.”

“osamu, if you don’t knock it off,” you say. you’re only half-joking. you’re not sure that you could take him talking to you like this for much longer. you feel so full, every part of you feels so full. you slide your hands down his chest, palm against his rapidly beating heart acting as leverage as you start moving in time with him.

you close your eyes, partially to focus on the parts of you that are on fire right now, and partially so that you don’t have to keep looking at how much osamu is looking at you. he can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“can’t help it, pretty, not when i get to savor it like this,” he says, brings his chest up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you securely to him. he kisses the side of your face, whispers in your ear, “not when i finally get to fuck you in my bed and tell you that i love you and see you- all of you.”

“are you trying to make me cry or something?” you ask, placing both of your hands on either side of his face, forcing his attention on just your eyes and the hints of shyness strewn all over your face.

a slight smirk is followed by raised eyebrows and a tiny kiss to the temple. osamu flips you over, lying you gently on your back while you’re still fully encompassing him. “that can be arranged, puppy,” he says, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders and chest. he slams his hips into you and you can’t help the pleasured, high-pitched moan that comes as a result. in fact, you can’t help the ones that come one after another after another as he keeps snapping his hips, insides of your thighs growing raw from the impact.

you’re babbling at this point, a symphony of half-finished words and tiny whimpers, and when a single tear breaks free of your blurred waterline, osamu can’t hold back. “fuck, holy fuck, babygirl, you sound so good, don’t stop, princess, keep making those cute fucking noises, fuck, sound so good.”

you shake your head no and hope that he understands what it means, that you won’t stop as long as he doesn’t. you’ll cry and scream and make cute little noises for him forever if he never pulls out of you.

you’ve always known that fucking in bathrooms has been disadvantageous, you just couldn’t pinpoint it, not when it always felt so good anyway. you never thought the space bothered you or the hard, cold various materials of sinks or the fact that people were often only a door away; you never thought any of that mattered until now, now when you can cry for him and feel the softness of the blankets beneath you and the plushness of the pillow behind your head.

“baby,” you cry, “i’m- you’re gonna- fuck, i love you so much. i’m-.” you throw your head back, you can’t finish your half-constructed sentence before osamu is fucking you faster, harder, wrapping an arm around your lower back and lifting you up the slightest bit to angle you perfectly. your hand moves on instinct, reaches down between your legs and circles your throbbing clit for only a second before you’re squirting all over him, a release of pressure drenching him as you gasp for air, drawing in enough breath to cry out his name.

you place your hand on his lower abs, eyes closing softly to center yourself. you could’ve passed out right here, slept for a million years, and you’re not sure you would’ve completely recovered. your body is shaking, throat is sore, and when you open your eyes, osamu is looking at you with such adoration and awe that you’re certain you’ve missed something.

“the first time we’re not in a fucking bathroom and you fucking make me squirt,” you mumble, shaking your head, “what are we going to do with you?” you ask, removing your hand from his stomach, silently letting him know you’ve recovered enough for him to keep going.

“i don’t care,” he says, kissing your jaw, “i don’t care what you do with me for the rest of my life, that was the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen.”

“you made a mess,” you tease.

“i made a mess?” he asks.

you nod.

he breathes a laugh before accepting responsibility, “i made a mess,” he confirms.

“so you’ve gotta do one thing for me,” you say, circling your hips, matching his lazy thrusts as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“anything,” he says. and you know that he means it.

you use your loose grip around his neck to coax him closer to you, your lips now pressed against his ear. “need you to make a mess inside of me, samu, please,” you say, low enough to send shivers down his spine from the tone alone. his hips stutter. he wants to regain composure, to not give in to blowing his load deep inside of you just from you saying his name and asking him nicely, he really wants to savor it and last a little bit longer.

but you’re so wet. you’re drenched, but you’re still so tight and sucking him in so nicely, perfectly sculpted for him, gummy walls still clenching and fluttering from your orgasm, and you kiss the skin right below his ear and you say, “please, i’ve been waiting for it ever since i fucking met you, please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

and he can’t.

he wouldn’t.

he doesn’t.

he snaps his hips forwards, pressing himself flush against the insides of your thighs and releases deep inside of you. you can feel his cock pulse with each stream, feel yourself getting fuller and fuller and fuller with each throb and accompanying grunt. you can’t get enough. you don’t want it to ever stop, but it does. he keeps himself deep inside of you for a moment, not wanting to lose the feeling just as much as you don’t.

when he starts to get soft, he pulls out, come dripping out of your hole and onto the blankets below just adding to the mess the two of you have created in the span of a few hours. he doesn’t exactly know where to go, what to do. the two of you could’ve passed out just like this, intertwined together and had the most incredible sleep of your entire life, if it weren’t for the huge mess beneath you.

“what now?” you mumble, not moving.

you feel osamu flop next to you. you’re not sure if he’s avoided the mess or if he’s embraced it. part of you wants to stand up and apologize and start throwing his bedspread in the washer, but that part of you isn’t winning, not today. if that part of osamu exists, it’s not winning either. he wraps his arms around your waist, rests his head on your chest, pulls you into him.

“are we just going to lay in this?” you say, laughing. it sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth, but you’re sure it wouldn’t take much convincing for you to not have to move from this very spot. osamu doesn’t answer you, but you feel him unwrap from your body and then get off the bed. you go to sit up, but you don’t make it that far, opening your eyes as osamu pulls the blankets out from under you and throws them in a heap in the corner of his tidy room. he opens the closet door and comes back with a spare, small, but clean blanket.

he reassumes his position on the now-much-more-acceptable bed, throwing the blanket overtop of you and him and cuddling into your side. “is that better?” he asks, but he doesn’t really expect a response. your small smile and content hum is all he needs.

after only a few moments, recuperated by a clean blanket and strong arms, your body is ready to move onto the next thing, ready to get up and start making breakfast or start kissing him again or start getting ready for work despite how long you have until your shift. your skin is antsy, pulse is quickening. there are a trillion things in your head that you want to do with osamu, plenty of dull activities that seem like they’ll be much better with him by your side. you want to see them. you want to do them.

osamu shifts and pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head. “love you, angel,” he murmurs into your hair. “love you so much,” he says again. you feel calmer now, the most at ease you’ve ever been, because you know that there’ll be time for all of that, plenty of time, hours and hours of time to do all of the things that you want to do with osamu, more time than you know what to do with, you just know it.

for now, all you have to do is lay here, in bed, surrounded by warmth in more ways that you thought were possible, maybe let sleep take you again or stay awake in these passing moments, it doesn’t really matter. your exhale is steady, matches with his. you close your eyes and you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now.

you look happy there.

you look really happy there.

taglist: @miyaluv127 @useless-bicth @mushasstuff @unstaaableaf @mimivinx @tsukiran @kurapika-1999 @hehatesmati @karmakarter @hunny-hotline @bella009888 @um-no-ok @footjib @mon-cherries @privthemis @agashki @renster05 @greeniegreengreen @tokyo-banana @fandomtrash5092 @coyloves @heathsuii @pasta-water @ran-rangasma @ayz-it-they @ellesalzar @dabibreeder @s4m1 @perry-gallifrey @barely-coherent @katsunarii @thisbicc @jaynawayna @levis-wheelchair @sugar-crumbs @miyaslvt @sheeshizzy @i0nlyr343mut @ajbutasimp @snazzyturtles @idontevenknowlolls @nicerthanu @angelgvtzzz @lovely-part-time-whore @lilac-ski3s @dovenu @heirxx @kur0obaby @tetsuswhore @alienvarmint @georgettesand @misfit-megumi @bijuu-naginata @captain-alien-america @ti-mame @buckys-hoeee @whos-curiosity-killed-the-cat @stargazing-girl @whoisgami @zany17 @privthemis @pennylanewrites @buckys-hoeee @avfox24 @reinertiddiejuice @poke-pia @its-simply-me19 @nahcho @sugamonster22 @destinyg237 @msbyomimi

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

tori talks more: i do not know if i'll be around to write more to be honest with you. like i probably will at some point, but who knows. maybe when the new movie comes out. maybe ill do a jjk pivot bc i just finished it. feel free to scream in my inbox abt it or this or whatever. ily all and im so glad i could finally finish this. <3 :)

#osamu x reader #osamu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #osamu x reader smut #hq x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haiykuu x reader smut #miya osamu x reader smut #osamu x reader fluff #osamu fluff #osamu fic #hq fic #toriwritesshit #abd update!

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daechwitatamic · 3 months

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 9 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: magical near-death experience, language, confrontation wc: 4.3k

Back in your rooms, you and Namjoon stand, each processing quietly and a bit lost in thought.

“You should try to get a little more sleep,” he finally suggests. “You need to be at your sharpest.”

You nod absently, but your mind is flying through everything you’d uncovered in the ritual.

“I need to write down what I found,” you say, but your eyes are closed and you feel yourself swaying a little. “Before I forget.”

“Sit down,” Namjoon instructs, moving to the table to find paper and a pen in the mess you’d left strewn there. “Tell me what you found and I’ll write it.”

You do as you’re told and then head to your room for a few hours to sleep, making sure to keep the lamp - which has been replaced already since your mishap this morning - lit as you do.

Not that light does anything to keep an Infracti away. But it helps your mind to not create monsters out of shadows.

You emerge hours later, a bit groggy but certainly steadier on your feet. Namjoon isn’t in the main rooms and his door is closed, so you leave him be.

You check the time - it’s late afternoon, the seconds ticking you closer to early evening - and settle onto a cushion near the papers you and Namjoon had been writing on.

You’re almost through writing a more organized document of what you’ve discerned since the beginning - the threads you’re absolutely certain of, the counters you think most likely to be fruitful - when Namjoon emerges from his room, eyes squinting against the light and one hand raking through messy bedhead.

“What time is it?” he mutters, making his way towards one of the couches.

You glance at the clock and realize that dinnertime has come and gone. “Late,” you say. “I forgot to eat. Are you hungry?”

You send for dinner and start to go over what you were working on while Namjoon slept.

“With the ritual done, I’m more confident that we’ve identified every thread,” you muse, eyes scanning the pages spread out before you. “So now it’s really a matter of finding the correct counters.”

“That’s a relief,” Namjoon says.

You run a finger down the page, looking for a note you’d made. “I was thinking about the end of life thing,” you tell him. “Weren’t you saying, back when we got here, that life and death magic can be used to weave other threads? Do you think the person who cast the curse used the end of life thread to… make it cleaner - simpler to cast?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer this right away, but keeps tapping his finger on the table, a sign that he’s thinking hard about this.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, eyes still on the paper. “Definitely a possibility. So then, would they not have meant that they wanted him to die? Was that choice simply for casting purposes?”

It’s clear that Namjoon is simply thinking out loud, but you answer, “You’re the death magic expert. You tell me.”

He shakes his head. “There are dozens of other ways. It had to be deliberate.”

“Does it matter? In terms of the countercurse?”

He grimaces. “If they intended the end of life, we have to directly counter that. If it was chosen for casting only, we could work around it.”

He slides to the floor to sit opposite you, and you look together at the papers, and for a while you work like this - pointing at certain lines of text, jotting notes, crossing others out, drawing arrows connecting ideas - until the paper looks like a complete disaster. But it makes sense to the two of you, and that’s what matters.

You’re just about to wrap it up for the night when there’s a knock at the main door. Before you can rise, Satuel opens it and tells you, “The Prince would like a word.”

Prince Taehyung steps around her, and she retreats into the corridor, closing the door behind her. He looks drawn, troubled, but you’re struck - as usual - by his otherworldly beauty.

“I wanted to speak to the two of you,” he says quietly. He perches on the arm of the closest couch, long legs stretched out before him. “About what happened today.”

You and Namjoon exchange an uneasy look.

“My father sent a diplomatic team to the Scores,” he reports. “Their directive was to express that there was some sort of magical attack on the royal family, and to gauge the reaction. But it is not a direct accusation.”

You nod slowly, listening.

Prince Taehyung takes a deep breath and continues. “He also sent a team of spies,” he says carefully. “To see what they can uncover. The diplomats… their information may be useful, it may not. But if we are knocking on their front door to make inquiries, it will hopefully distract them from who is climbing through the window. So to speak.”

“Do you really think it was them?” you ask, hushed.

Prince Taehyung twists his mouth. “They do seem to be the most likely,” he admits. “But my personal feelings are more complicated. At any rate, I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on. An accusation was not made… but it would appear that they read it as one anyway. None of the families from the Scores attended our dinner tonight.”

You and Namjoon look at him in silence. You’re not sure you’re understanding - is it such a big deal that a few families didn’t show up for dinner?

“Invited guests haven’t just not shown without at least communicating in… my entire life, so over six hundred years,” Prince Taehyung clarifies.

“Oh,” you utter, feeling your stomach sink a little. “That’s… pretty bad, right?”

Suddenly the prince’s grim demeanor makes sense.

“It’s certainly a sign of trouble brewing,” the prince admits. “I wanted to let you know just… I don’t want you to be more frightened, and I promise you’re safe in these rooms… but you should know what’s going on.”

You take this in silently, glancing sideways at Namjoon. He looks just how you feel - nervous, on edge, but trying to keep a blank face in front of the prince.

“I’m sorry,” Prince Taehyung says emphatically, and you turn back to him. “I know you were already uneasy here. I don’t want to make it worse. But I felt very strongly that you should be kept informed.”

“No, I appreciate it,” you assure him. "We’ll be… even more careful. I guess this means no more trips to visit Potato?”

He smiles at this, a bit wryly. “I’m afraid not. At least for a few days. Let’s see how this shakes out. Maybe they’ll let tonight’s insult speak for itself, and we can all move on.”

“You don’t sound very optimistic about that possibility,” Namjoon remarks.

Prince Taehyung shrugs. “I wasn’t alive for any of the wars for power,” he admits. “But my parents, and those older than them - they remember. Thousands of years of bitter fighting, all for the throne.”

He sighs. “It was foolish of us, I’m sure, to think this peace would last - that one little pebble wouldn’t send the whole pile toppling. But it isn’t your problem. Where do we stand with the curse, after this morning’s ritual?”

You hurry to fill him in - that you’re feeling more confident that everything has been identified, and that your task now is to determine all the proper counters.

“How soon do you think you could make a reasonable attempt?” he asks, seeming to grasp without being told that the countercurses will come through trial and error.

You look down at your papers, as if they might provide an answer to this. It stings a little, that he’s hurrying you along. But you know how ridiculous it is for you to feel that way - of course he wants you to hurry. He wants the curse to end, he wants his life back, he wants to send you home to safety as tensions rise between the Infracti families.

“A day or two?” you guess finally.

Prince Taehyung nods. “Very well. I’ll be quite busy tomorrow, but I’ll make sure to check in.”

He wishes you both goodnight and departs through the main door, leaving you and Namjoon in tense silence.

“We do need to hurry,” he says quietly after a minute or two. “I have a feeling things are only going to get worse, here.”

“We can’t rush the process,” you argue, though at the heart of the issue you know you agree. “Sloppy magic equals death.”

“I’m not suggesting we do it sloppily,” Namjoon clarifies slowly, as if he is speaking a second language to you and needs to mentally translate each word first. And, in a way, that might be exactly what’s happening. “I’m not saying we have to be ready to go tomorrow. But things are becoming less safe, and that’s me saying that - not the team member who currently can’t sleep with the lights off.”

You feel your face heat. He’s right - of course he’s right. Things weren’t safe to begin with.

“I’m just saying that we need to keep trying to make forward progress,” he says seriously. “We can’t just spin our wheels.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, still embarrassed. “So… come on. Let’s figure out what we’ll try first.”

You settle back at the table, grabbing a pen, refusing to look up at Namjoon, who still watches you from where he’s standing. Eventually he joins you, and you work until near midnight, not stopping until you have three potential countercurses to try.

And then, when Namjoon disappears into his rooms, you slink into your own and practice defensive spells until you’re tired enough to curl up and try for sleep.

—

When you wake, late morning, you ask Satuel to inform the prince that you have countercurses you’re willing to try.

She comes back with your breakfast and news.

“The royal family will allow you to conduct an attempt at a countercurse in about an hour,” she tells you. “I’ll escort you when it’s time. They’re a bit wrapped up right now.”

You latch onto this, looking at her sharply. You don’t expect her to divulge anything, and you’re surprised when she glances over her shoulder and then lowers her voice as she sets down your breakfast tray.

“The Scores’ diplomatic team returned early this morning with a message,” she whispers. “Essentially, publicly objecting to any implication that they would, or did, orchestrate any kind of attack against the Runes.”

“Of course they object,” you say, reaching for the pot of coffee before she’s even placed the tray down. “Why would they admit it, even if it was them? They aren’t that stupid.”

“Maybe they are,” she mutters, voice even quieter. You strain to hear her. “They also made a public statement against the King.”

You sit back, coffee pot forgotten, looking at her with wide eyes. “They what?”

She nods, her own black eyes wide like yours. It seems this news has rattled her - something that’s shocking to see.

“What kind of statement?” you ask.

She glances towards the door again, and then smiles sheepishly when she notices you clocking this. “It isn’t a secret,” she explains. “I just don’t want to be misunderstood as gossiping. You are living here, for now. This affects you, too.”

She takes a deep breath and tells you, “The Scores, backed by the Cleaves and two other powerful families, have sent a joint statement accusing the crown of conspiracy, corruption, and the unlawful murder of humans.”

Your blood runs cold, and you press your palms to the tabletop to ground yourself. “Could… Do you think there’s truth to it?”

Satuel presses her lips together. “I am loyal to the crown,” she says, which is not an answer at all.

Or maybe it is.

You’re thinking, suddenly, of those videos your students had been watching back home, how they had been explaining a newsroom theory that there were orchestrated attacks happening.

You’re thinking of Prince Taehyung telling you his family had covered up his murders, wiped memories and erased entire lives from the world’s history.

You’re thinking that such accusations could not possibly be lightly made.

You’re thinking of Namjoon, back in Dr. Kim’s office on campus, saying the words Infracti Civil War.

Your skin crawls.

Satuel seems to understand.

“You’re safe as long as you’re in your rooms,” she promises. “As long as you’re with me, or Dansoo, or the prince - you’re safe.”

You note that she doesn’t list the King or Queen.

An hour later, you and Namjoon follow her through the palace, with Dansoo bringing up the rear. They take you back to the room where you’d tried the first cure, less than a week ago, when Prince Taehyung had been very nearly knocked out.

It feels different this time. You feel the weight of expectation as the King and Queen watch you impassively. You’re sure they’re remembering the last attempt - their son’s legs giving out, your own meager attempts to explain why it hadn’t been a complete failure.

That’s fine - you don’t care if they trust you. You don’t trust them - you barely did to begin with, and that sliver has only gotten smaller and smaller in the time you’ve been here.

The last time you’d tried a countercurse, you’d known that the chances were very slim that it would work - the best you’d been hoping for had been more information.

This time, it could work. It could.

Prince Taehyung faces you, frowning slightly.

“It won’t hurt you this time,” you promise him quietly, and a corner of his mouth quirks, amused at being read correctly.

Do you trust him? The question pops into your head unbidden.

You flatten your hands over the paper in front of you, scanning the list of incantations meant to call forth his magic, his healing, his life and twist them into a weapon. You double-check that each thread is accounted for. You repeat the trickier phrases, letting your tongue get accustomed to them.

You watch the prince shift nervously, still frowning slightly, his hands defensively shoved into his pockets. When he notices you still watching him, he gives a tiny, sheepish smile, something almost shy in it.

Yeah, you think. Maybe it will be your undoing, maybe it will be your downfall. But you do.

You wish you could talk to him before this - alone, without the audience of his parents and Namjoon. You want to ask him about the Scores, you want to reassure him that he’s going to be okay.

“Are you ready, Maiesti?” you ask gently, doing your best to pretend it’s only you and him.

He licks his lips nervously and nods, stepping closer.

You glance at Namjoon, suddenly nervous, and he gives you a reassuring nod. You ignore the King and Queen, wishing they weren’t there at all.

“Okay,” you whisper, holding up a hand. Taehyung presses his palm to yours, cool and solid. “Okay, let’s go.”

You begin the series of spells a bit unsteadily, your voice small and nervous. But it takes less than two minutes for your magic to rise up, filling you with warmth and purpose and confidence. You continue, emboldened.

You feel your magic touch Taehyung’s, a bit hesitantly at first, and then entwining itself easily and happily, as if they fit perfectly together and only needed to settle in.

You continue chanting, eyes scanning the words slowly so you don’t mess up. You can feel it working, can feel the curse resisting - but your choices seem to be correct, and you can feel the curse unraveling, weakening, thread by thread as the countercurse peels them away.

You feel a thrill within you as you recognize success, and you struggle to remain calm, lest you slip on a word and let it all go to waste. Taehyung’s hand twitches against yours, and you wonder if he can feel it too - the curse loosening its grip, bit by bit. You want to watch his face, want to watch him realize it, want to see him the second he’s set free.

You want to smile at him, victorious, proud, so happy to give him what he needs.

You cannot take your eyes off the paper. You cannot miss a syllable.

Something tugs low in your stomach, and the thrill vanishes faster than light. You continue speaking, following the words on the page, but you feel your eyes widen.

The tug comes again.

The curse is fighting back. The unraveling you could feel suddenly feels stuck, snagged. Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right.

You’ve made a mistake, you’ve missed something.

You hear your voice catch and freeze as your limbs go rigid. The curse crawls into your magic, digs its claws in. You cry out in pain, eyes squeezing shut.

You think you hear someone call your name - you can’t tell. You’re trying to unravel your magic from Taehyung’s, to get distance between yourself and the curse, to wiggle free from those claws of ill-intent.

You can’t seem to. You can feel it taking over and you try to force your eyes open, to ask for help, but you can’t see anymore - the room is black, and all you hear now is the roar of static in your ears.

You feel the room shift, a pain in your shoulder. You may have fallen - you can’t see so you can’t be sure. You gasp for breath, but you’re finding it harder. You’re not sure it’s working, you can’t tell if you’re inhaling, you can’t feel the exhale.

Then, the pain stops, the panic stops, the static goes quiet.

You can’t feel anything anymore, good nor bad.

All you can hear is crashing ocean waves, the wild whinnies of amarisca as they gallop into the sea.

—

Taehyung sits at your bedside - the side of his bed, technically - your fragile, mortal hand in his.

Mostly, you seem to be sleeping peacefully, and Taehyung tries to have faith in his own healing abilities, in Namjoon’s promises that he’d severed the magical connection in time. But every now and then your body shudders, as if working hard to expel a poison, and it makes Taehyung’s chest clench every time. He hunches over, smoothing back your hair, listening to your heart thump faster and then quiet again as your body stills.

All he can do is listen to your heart.

–

It was a year ago, when he’d found everything out. He’d been nauseous, damn near dizzy from the knowledge: his own father, orchestrating attacks on the human world. Covering the tracks. Framing other families.

How many innocent lives had he allowed to be lost? Knowingly - purposely?

The better question was why. And Taehyung hated unanswered questions.

He’d found his father in his wing, luckily alone.

King Sunjae had raised his brows, surprised to see his son, unannounced.

“What brings you here?” he’d asked.

Taehyung had felt hollow, heavy. This truth was too terrible to bear. He didn’t want to lay this accusation at his father’s feet. He didn’t want to argue against denials. He didn’t want to demand answers, reasons.

He wanted to be able to turn back time, to never let this happen at all. He wanted to sleep comfortably at night knowing his own negligence wasn’t to blame, that his inattention hadn’t let this come to pass without his knowledge, for who knows how long.

He couldn’t make himself speak, couldn’t force the words off of his tongue. In the time he was silent, the King seemed to piece it together, his expression darkening.

“Don’t make trouble, Taehyung,” he’d warned.

Taehyung had closed his eyes, shook his head. He’d wondered if ghosts were real, if his father could be haunted by the humans he had lowered into prey.

“I want to know the reason,” he’d finally said, his voice effectless.

His father had seemed thrown off that Taehyung had bygone any actual accusation. It wasn’t necessary, Taehyung thought. They both knew what they knew.

The King laughed once, sardonically. “You’ve always been innocent,” he’d scoffed. “That’s why I never involved you in this. Go back to your rooms, Taehyung, go back to playing piano and riding amarisca and whatever else it is you concern yourself with. I’ll handle the matters of state, as I always have.”

Taehyung swallowed against the assaulting words, the weight of their truth. He shook his head. “I need to know the reason.”

The King was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he turned away from his son, pacing closer to the window, which overlooked much of the valley below.

“For us,” he’d answered, and Taehyung had stared at his back, trying desperately to understand. “For the throne.”

“That’s bullshit,” Taehyung had said, nearly gagging over the word, stomach twisting with disgust and regret and horror and devastation. “Our power is not in danger. Our throne is not in danger.”

“You’re naive. It’s not your fault - you’re young. You weren’t alive for the wars - thousands of years of war, Taehyung, the crown bouncing from Cleave, to Score, to Rune, around and around - but I was. They were bloody, they were unending. Humans died for our wars as much as Infracti. The throne is always in danger, my son. It will always be in danger.”

“How can you think that?” Taehyung demanded hotly. “The law is written entirely in our favor - the crown stays in our bloodline. There’s no wiggle room, there’s no loophole. And our bloodline is fine.”

“Is it?” the King retorted. “After me, the crown is yours. Then, what? You’re over six hundred years old, Taehyung, and you’ve never brought forth a serious consideration for your queen.”

“Is that what this is about?” Taehyung had cried, even more aghast than he’d started. “I’ll marry - is that what you want? I’ll marry tomorrow if it means you’ll stop.”

The King had scoffed again, finally turning to face him, his expression radiating disappointment. Well, Taehyung was no stranger to that - not after six hundred years. “You aren’t serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Taehyung had said, and meant every word. He’d beg if he had to beg, he’d cheat if he had to cheat, he’d marry if he had to marry - anything to stop his father. “It has to stop. This can’t be what we stand for. You can end it, or I will end it - and I don’t care how that happens.”

“Quit talking nonsense,” the King had snapped, eyes narrowed.

“I mean every word,” Taehyung had said, his undead heart galloping in his chest. “Our people were once only animals. Time and time again through history we have wavered, flirting with becoming simply the animal again. You want to secure the Runes’ hold on the throne? I want to secure the Runes’ humanity. If you need me to marry, I’ll marry. You have to stop this. Swear it.”

The King had looked at him for a long time, appraising, evaluating. Finally, very seriously he said, “If you’ll start looking for a wife - seriously looking - then I’ll put a stop to it today. But I have to see you trying.”

Taehyung had spent the next year courting the girls his father picked out. He’d meant his promise, but none of them touched him, none of them spoke to his soul.

Then you had shown up - braver than anyone he’d ever meant, so powerful it was scary, humble, and mouthy, and foolish, and alive - and when his father had suggested he keep you around… he hadn’t hated the idea.

He could see you as queen. He could see you by his side.

He just had to keep you alive long enough to see how you’d feel about the idea.

It was proving to be harder than he’d thought.

—

You come back bit by bit.

You can feel again first. Your shoulder throbs, and your head is splitting. You feel unbearable thirst, like you haven’t had water in days.

You feel someone’s hand clutching yours, feel their grasp tighten when you wiggle your fingers in theirs.

Then, you can hear again - the ocean waves are still breaking, distantly. The murmur of low, familiar voices. You hear someone say your name, deep and sweet, like your own little song.

Then, not much later, your sight returns - blurry, coming into focus as you blink against the sudden brightness.

At first, all you can see is purple sky. You turn your head to see your hand resting on top of the heavy comforter.

It occurs to you that this is not your bed. It is large, comfortable, facing a wall of windows - this is how you could see so much sky.

The hand holding yours retreats, and you follow the movement as you flex your now-empty fingers.

Prince Taehyung peers at you, face drawn. There is no one else in the room with you.

For a moment, just for a second, you feel like you are looking at each other simply person to person - your roles, your duties, your prejudices, your wants and needs, your fears… all the things that you each carry every time you spend time together, they seem to be held at bay. Just for now.

“Is it true?” you ask him. You’re not sure why this is the question you ask. “Is any of it true?”

His eyes - humanlike, as always, although it is a lie - stay on yours as he slowly nods. “Yes,” he whispers. “But don’t worry. I’ve been trying to fix it since before you came. I’m going to make it better.”

You’d said almost the same words to him, about his curse.

He takes your hand again, and you inhale sharply.

He lets out a huff of a quiet laugh. “I really thought we’d lost you,” he murmurs. Then, he brings your hand to his mouth and presses his lips gently to the back of your hand.

For one terrifying, lightning-quick second, you thought he was going to bite you.

This is your last thought before things go dark once again.

<;- Prev | Next ->

thanks so much for reading!!! the next few chapters are among my faves :') looking forward to posting!

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sillylittlestoryblog · 2 months

Text

(Not) Hard to Love

Part 2 (2/2)

Trafalgar Law x Reader

Warning:⚠️ smutty situation, angsty thoughts

Authors Note: sorry that it took so long to post this. I was having a few bad days, just struggling with my confidence. Now I m doing a bit better. So here you go. Hope you have fun 🥰

this is by far the most suggestive thing I have ever written. lol. I hope it doesn’t suck too bad. If you like it, leave a comment. It does wonders to my mental health ❤️ (btw this raspberry jam is just in the story because I have been planning on making it for the past months and this is my reminder to get up from my lazy ass and make it! )

You were relieved, after days of almost doing nothing, because the sun was too hot and your thoughts too distracting, you were finally able to work again. It was one of those days were everyone was doing their best to restore and repair their beloved home.

The Thousand Sunny was a big ship. And after days of not doing much, it often needed some time to get everything organized and clean again.

Knowing your captain wasn’t the biggest fan of an organized living space, most of the work was split between the rest of the crew. While Nami was always on board keeping an eye on the ocean, Sanji was the one who was keeping the kitchen organized, while preparing the dishes for the day.

Franky and Usopp were repairing something in the library, while Brook and Robin were sorting the newest books, they got on the last island.

Luffy and Zoro were supposed to take care of everything on deck, which already wasn’t much. But after cleaning the girls bedroom, you walked towards the kitchen and saw both of them sleeping in the sunlight. Random, uncomfortable looking items being their pillows.

You just rolled your eyes and smirked. These two weren’t really cleaning themselves regularly, so why would they clean something else. It didn’t really make sense why you guys kept asking them to organize, even though you kinda knew they weren’t gonna be much of a help.

Opening the kitchen doors a warm sweet smell came towards you.

Sanji was standing at the stove, filling sugar into a red liquid.

"Uhhh, this smells amazing. May I have a taste?" you point to the boiling jam in front of you with an outstretched finger.

"Of course, my dear."

The cook gave you a spoonful of the sweet liquid and without blowing for long you tasted it.

"It tastes wonderful, Sanji! I'm already dreaming of how it will taste on the fresh crossaints you make from time to time."

The blond man grinned. He had to concentrate now. Not get distracted. Even if he particularly liked compliments from you.

"I'm glad you like it. I bought lots of raspberries so I could cook them for you.

I just realized that a little vanilla is still missing. Could you do me a favor? I have fresh vanilla in our storage room, I just forgot to bring them up from downstairs earlier. Could you get them quickly from below deck? I don't want the jam to burn.“

"Sure thing." With a smile, you walk back towards the door. You suck in the wonderful smell once more before quickly scurrying outside.

You had given Sanji the recipe for this particular jam a few months ago. Your mother used to make it when you were a child.

With quick steps, you skip down the stairs towards the storage room.

Your mind was full of warm memories of sunny mornings. Jam on baked goods. A table filled with fresh food. The last good days of your childhood.

Being on the thousand sunny was kind of like that time. With a smile on your face you walked towards the entry.

The groaning door gave you the creeps. Chopper had accidentally locked himself in down there once before. So, to be on the safe side, you put a box between you and the door. That way, it won't fall shut the next time the wind blows.

The light was already turned on in the storage room. You expected the little reindeer, who often spend time organizing and storing medicines down here to refill them in his little doctor's room when they were empty upstairs.

But it wasn't this doctor who was waiting for you in the far corner of the room.

Law was sitting on the floor looking through several boxes of pills.

Presumably he was going to take care of refilling the medicine room. Chopper probably send him, because he was still scared of last time.

You whisper a quiet "hey" in his direction so as not to startle him.

Law just looked up briefly and mumbled something in your direction.

What was his problem? You were starting to get angry again. Everyone was trying to build a home, be nice and him?! He was just not accepting you whatsoever.

How could someone be so arrogant and ignorant ?

A loud bang snapped you out of your thoughts.

The heavy door had slammed shut.

How could that be? You had just put something in between.

Annoyed, you turn to Law.

"Shit, now we're locked in here. I can't believe Franky still hasn't fixed the door!"

You push against the door with all your strength. It doesn't move. With a loud groan you press on the door again. But it doesn’t help. A large hand rests on your shoulder.

"Hey. let me try it, Y/N-ya. I'm sure I can get the door open."

You step aside and let the dark-haired man go at it. He also pushes against the door with all his might, but it doesn't move a bit.

Frustrated you started screaming for your friends to help you out of this awkward situation.

"Hey Namiiiii! Luffy! Frankyyyy!!! Help!"

"fuck! don't shout in my ear" Law

dramatically put his hands to his ears and stared at you angrily.

"do you want to get out of here or not?! Apparently mister-I can do anything- wasn't strong enough to open a simple door after all."

"Excuse me?"

The captain turned to you. He looked down at you, annoyed.

You took a step towards him. Pointing your finger on his chest.

"I finally want to know what your problem is?"

"I don't have a problem"

"Oh? Really? You're a fucking liar, Law."

"It's none of your business, what's wrong with me. Don't talk to me like that.

Your crazy captain has decided to form an alliance, and if that's a problem for you then talk to him and not to me."

Annoyed, Law turned to the side. He only took one step before you pulled him back by his shirt sleeve.

"Hey! Stay here. I don't have a problem with you or the Alliance at all."

Your back was against the cold iron door.

Law actually turned back around and took two steps towards you.

Only now do you realize how close he was to you.

"Why are you making it so difficult for me?"

His gaze was still avoiding yours. How much you would have liked to look him in the eye now. But then you probably wouldn't have been able to hold back. Your emotions were already getting the better of you.

You spoke to him much more calmly than before.

„What's so hard, Law? I can understand that you don't like me as much as the others. But why do you hate me? Is it that hard to just like me? Or even less. Just to accept me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes. Your own words stung your heart. All you wanted was to be looked at him. Be seen.

Law still stood rooted to the spot in front of you. One hand in front of his eyes, he shook his head.

„What makes you think I hate you?"

Your voice wasn't ready to answer that question. You just shrugged your shoulders, sobbing. You would like to sink into the ground. Now you're crying in front of the man who has no interest in you. You were a failure. A pathetic girl crying in front of her crush. Nothing more.

"hey. Shh. Don’t cry. Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Sternly but without anger in his voice, Law put his index finger under your chin. So that you can't help but look into his gray eyes.

" I don't hate you, Y/N-ya.“

A sigh escaping his lips. His eyes looked different then before. You almost thought he was leaning in. And the air around you got thicker and filled with more tension.

„I really don’t. Quite the opposite in fact. Ever since I saw you for the first time, I've been attracted to you. I just can’t act on it.

I have responsibilities and… I'm not a particularly good person. I've done bad things. I've taken lives when I should be saving lives as a doctor. I don’t want more people to get hurt because of me. And to be honest, I've never had feelings like this before. I have no idea how to deal with it.“

He looked down. Almost debating if he should say the next part.

„I think of you. All the time. I lay awake at night and all I see is your face. I long for your touch. And I want to learn to love, Y/N-ya. But I'm afraid of it. Fuck."

He took a deep breath. And exhaled.

"I want you. I need you.... And I don't know how..."

"Shhh."

Now it was you who put your index finger on Law's lips and slowly stroked his cheek with your hand.

"Just kiss me"

Horrified by your demanding words, Law looked down at you. He forgot how to breathe for a moment. His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he could hardly hear anything else. Your lips opened to say something. He didn't want you to change your mind. He took your face in both hands. Before he pressed his lips to yours.

"Just so you know. it isn't hard to fall for you, Y/N. But I m afraid, I have no clue what I m doing. My life is..."

"Law... just kiss me"

You moved forward again, pressing your lips to his. Law felt like the walls he had build up so maticulously, melting away by your kisses. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore, letting his desire take over.

Soft moans escaping your mouth while he pressed you against his body and the door behind you. You were caged in by his arms fully accepting whatever was gonna happen now. Your hands exploring the doctors body, while kissing each other hungrily. Law let out a low groan. This was better than in his daydreams. Your soft hands roaming his chest. Tracing his tattoos with lingering touches. One of Laws hands firmly placed against your hip. Shoving you against the metal door. Law was overwhelmed by his emotions. Not a single thought in his mind while he started grinding against you.

Using your moaning as chance to slide his tongue into your mouth.

His lustfull eyes being the most beautiful sight to you, while you buttoned down your summer dress.

Law was breathing heavily. His hair fully out of place by you tugging at his dark strands.

He can’t remember the last time he didn’t take the time to unbutton his shirt, but right now he was rushing to get it over his head. Throwing it down on the ground next to your dress.

Moving towards each other like magnets, lowly groaning between kisses, Law lifted up your thighs around his hips. Moving you against the door again.

His jeans rubbing against your panties. Making you cry out his name.

And for the second time that day you were interrupted by the same door you were making out against. The (stupid ) door opened with a loud hiss. Falling out of its angle. You and Law tumbeling and falling to the wooden floor.

This was a very annoying disturbance to your newly found passion. But it definitely wouldn’t have stopped you from showering Law with kisses, if it wasn’t for the circle of people and a very shocked reindeer standing around your almost naked bodies.

You and Law got up from the floor with red heads and stupid explanations. Feeling humiliated but kinda happy.

Law held his shirt protectively in front of you and hoped fervently that no one was looking at his jeans.

You looked at a bunch of different expressions.

Nami grinning. Robin, playing shocked, with one hand over her mouth. But she couldn't fool you. Her giggle was the first to be heard from the crowd.

„We really only planned for you guys to finally talk about it… that all… -

Nami made some hand gestures towards your half undressed bodies and the broken door on the ground.

„ - was not our intention.“

Usopp covered his own and then immediately afterwards Chopper's eyes. While Franky and Zoro toasted with sake in their hands. Apparently everyone was part of the stupid bet.

Luffy just looked back and forth between you and Law, confused. Obviously he hadn't quite understood yet, what was so exciting about this situation. He had seen you guys in swimwear before, not really something different in his eyes.

Sanji had blood all over his shirt and on his nose but tried to control himself. And thankfully pulled the others towards the exit.

"Don’t you guys look at Y/N-san like that. That’s not how you look at a lady.

Lunch is almost ready… let’s go Luffy.

Let the two of them go. We'll get the food ready."

Nami pulled Usopp towards her by the collar.

„So Usopp... I hope you remember our agreement... right?"

Laughing, the Strawhats left on after the other. Leaving behind two embarrassed pirates.

Franky mumbled something about "now I really have to fix the door"

While Chopper desperately tried to figure out what had just happened.

Robin gave you a wink while walking up the stairs.

Embarrassed, you looked at Law.

He took your hand and kissed it gently. Although it was hard for him, he tried to stand in front of you as confidently as possible.

" umm that was something… you know…

We still have some time before lunch. Would you like to… continue?! … What do you say Y/N-ya?"

You look at your intertwined hands and then back to Laws face. His face blushing, his eyes looking on the ground even though he would much rather look at your beautiful body before him. You stand on your tiptoes to give a quick peck to Law's lips.

"You may be right there is still some time. But I'll only follow you if you promise to use your devil powers this time. I wouldn't survive being caught like that again." Giggling, you put your arms around Law's neck.

"Okay then, let's pick up where we left off."

He gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead before lifting his hand. A smile on his face as he heard your heart beating loudly.

„Room“

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law imagine #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law fanfiction #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji #nami #nico robin #tony tony chopper

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 5 months

Text

Masterlist || candlewaxandp0lar0ids

OTHERS

Ao3 profile

How to Leave Comments on Fanfiction (Advice Post)

BTS

★ Namjoon

↳ Lazy Day // fluff. domestic!AU, established relationship. 549 words

★ Jin

↳ Don't Go Baking My Heart // fluff. bakery!AU, strangers to lovers. 14.7k.

You fall in love with Kim Seokjin’s bakery after wandering into it to take advantage of the post-Valentine’s Day discount on the chocolates. Maybe it’s the owner’s bad jokes, maybe it’s the other regulars, maybe it’s the delicious pastries. Or maybe there’s something more that keeps you coming back to that shop.

★ J-Hope

↳ For the First Time (What's Past is Past) // fluff, light angst, smut. neighbors!AU, strangers to lovers. 15.7k

After your eight years relationship comes to a brutal end, you don’t really see yourself getting back into dating — ever, probably. And then, your new neighbor who has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen needs to borrow a corkscrew, and you don’t realize it just yet, but your resolve doesn’t stand a chance.

★ Jimin

↳ Fly to my room // fluff. college!AU. 1k

↳ good for you // PWP, smut. friends with benefits!AU. 2.9k

★ Jungkook

↳ I Don't Like a Gold Rush // fluff. college!AU, strangers to lovers. 17.3k

Jungkook is the golden boy, an excellent student, the star of you college’s football team. Rumor has it, there’s simply nothing he can’t do. The same cannot be said about you, but you’ve never had an issue with that. You’re happy with your small group of friends and your lack of talent in sports. And then, Jin befriends Jungkook, and you find yourself spending a lot of time with him. Before you know it, you’ve taken an interest in him — and you’re sure you shouldn’t. There’s no way this can end well for you… right?

↳ if i can never give you peace // series. angst, eventual smut. mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn. in progress.

It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed. Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine. Until he comes back.

0 · 1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · Interlude · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 ·

STRAY KIDS

★ Bang Chan

↳ all your friends are so cool, you go out every night // smut. college!AU, friends with benefits!AU, jealousy. 5k.

↳ hoodie season // tooth-rotting fluff. established relationship AU. 1.4k.

★ Lee Know

↳ when he sees me // smut, fluff, angst. neighbors!AU. 13.3k. in progress.

Interacting with others has never been easy for you, whether it is talking to them or, worse, flirting with them. As a result, relationships, but also any form of sexual interactions have always eluded you. You had no reason to think that was going to change anytime soon. And then your hot neighbor’s cat shows up in your apartment, and you think that things just might change. Even if it’s only on one front.

↳ kinda wanna throw my phone across the room // fluff. college!AU, coffee shop!AU, strangers to lovers, jealousy. 4.9k

★ Changbin

↳ wanna be you so bad // angst? college!AU, academic rivals!AU, jealousy. 4.3k

★ Hyunjin

↳ you're so gorgeous it makes me so mad // PWP, smut. college!AU, established relationship. 4.4k

↳ comparison is killing me slowly // hurt/comfort, smut. college!AU, established relationship, jealousy. 5.2k. same couple as you're so gorgeous it makes me so mad.

★ Han

↳ i'm so sick of myself // fluff, angst. college!AU, friends to lovers. 4.2k

↳ something's waiting now to pounce // angst, light horror, thriller. high school!AU, slasher!AU, friends to lovers. 6.3k.

★ Felix

↳ felix navidad // fluff, angst. christmas evel!au, strangers to lovers. 16.4k

You keep seeing Felix around. First he falls in your courtyard on Christmas Eve, then you see him hiding chocolate eggs in a park, and then he appears on the staircase behind your apartment, in the middle of the night. It’s unusual, and you have no idea what it means. What you do know, though, is that you’re absolutely fascinated by him, who he is, and the light and joy he seems to bring with him everywhere he goes. Even if you have no idea who or what he is, all that you want is to find out more — and get to spend a little more time with him.

↳ rather be anyone else // angst. college!AU, friends to lovers, jealousy. 3.7k

↳ wouldn't you like to see something strange? // angst, suggestive. urban fantasy, roommates!AU. 4k.

★ Seungmin

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★ I.N.

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kissagii · 8 months

Text

stardance - prince!sae x knight!reader

a fic for a trade with the lovely @saenora <33

cw: 2.5k words, gn!reader, hurt comfort, sae is pretty rude (to reader), mild descriptions of violence, there's a failed assassination but no blood or serious injury

When the palace walls and king’s carriages proved at last too confining for the eldest prince of the Itoshi family, Sae was assigned a knight of his own. A soldier to fend off the creatures of the forests; to discourage burglars with a glare and blade; to guard a door in a palace so thoroughly guarded that at times even visitors struggled to enter. In his mind, his guard was an excessive layer of protection for an already coddled son, another attempt to shelter him from the kingdom he would one day come to rule.

But mostly, his guard was a nuisance.

“With all due respect, your highness, just how long do you plan to look through these historical tomes that - if I may remind you - your father’s library already has.”

At the mere sound of your voice, he stopped flipping through the large volume in front of him. It wasn’t the one he wanted anyways, and neither were the twenty others the bookshop owner had presented him with. An honor to help the prince with his studies? Hah. If only the fools had what I needed. With a frustrated sigh, he motioned to leave in search of yet another shop.

“I’ll look until one of these shops has what I need.” He hardly looked back as he began making his way to the next bookstore. Technically, he was supposed to let you walk in front, parting the crowds around their crown, but in the near-empty twilight streets, he set a pace brisk enough to discourage anyone wishing to follow him, his guard included. For a moment, as the stars began to rise, he could forget.

Though peace of mind could never never last long. “Your Highness, it’s too late for you to be out. You know as well as I do that your father doesn’t like you being out in the city late, especially not on some wild goose chase for a history book that might not even exist.”

Sae knew that he should be returning to the palace. But in those grand halls, he couldn’t forget, not even for a moment. It was always someone or someone else pestering about something he couldn’t bring himself to care about. Courtship. Parties. Foreign gossip. Meaningless awards. Petty disputes between lords. His brother. His blasted annoying guard.

“Really, your highness, what even is it that you’re looking for?” You continued, beginning to get impatient. “Primary sources from the Cretaceous period? Because, I hate to break it to you, but crabs can’t write.”

Against his better judgment, Sae nearly chuckled at that remark. Nearly.

At this point, you didn’t know if Sae genuinely hated you or if his tendency towards bitter words was an overdramatized facade. Though whichever it was, it was slowly slipping further toward loathing as you urged him out of the library. It was a war of his stubbornness against your orders, and though the king’s own word should always win, it never seemed to.

Worn down by tiredness and the convoluted organization of his father’s library, Sae snapped. Once more you tried to convince him to leave and he turned sharply to face you, eyes darkened. Whatever curious stars had once been behind them had died out, leaving only the aquamarine void.

“Just leave me.”

So this is how he’s playing this. You pulled out his chair, a not-so-subtle sign that it was time to leave, regardless of what he thought. “Your Highness, I’m strictly forbidden from leaving you. I’ll escort you to your room now.”

“I’ll get to my room on my own,” He muttered, waving you off, “One of the sentries can take me if they see me.”

“Sae. You’ve had a long night, it’s time for you to sleep. You can find your books on a clear head in the morning.” There was a certain firmness in your voice this time - you weren’t about to let him ignore you, regardless of the fact that he was above you in rank and had no obligation to listen to you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, your name? I don’t answer to you, I’ll call you whatever I like.”

“I outrank you, remember. I don’t care if my father ordered you to make me rest, you answer to me, not him.” He refused to turn to you, gripping white-knuckled on the arms of his chair. If he squeezed them any harder, they might break. A normal soldier would stop provoking him now - you should stop provoking him now - but there was no point in shoving the frustration down any further. Sae was insolent, stubborn, lived on his own time, and wouldn’t take care of himself. But you would protect him. You swore so on your life and honor.

“They’re not his orders.”

“Then whose are they?” He seethed, turning to look you in the eyes. Though he couldn’t see your face in the dim light, Sae was sure you were grinning smugly, taking some sick satisfaction in watching him snap.

“Mine.” You stated plainly.

“Blasted nuisance,” Sae huffed, “You have no authority to give yourself orders. Leave.”

Suddenly he found himself being pulled by the arm, yanked up and out of his chair by a uniformed hand. Electricity prickled down his spine as he was forced to his feet. “I have plenty of authority to care about you and want you to take care of yourself because I know you wouldn’t otherwise. With that said, I will be escorting you to your room.”

Without sparing even a moment, you began pulling Sae toward the door. Your grip was far from rough - he could escape easily if he felt like it - but he saw no reason to struggle. He had hardly noticed the fatigue seeping into his body, sapping his strength as the night grew late.

Sae’s knight was an inevitability. A constant. Guaranteed to be somewhere in the vicinity, be it hovering at his shoulder or stationed at a doorway just out of sight. Even as he reclined in his barely lit sitting room, there was no mistaking the uniformed figure lurking in the shadows near the tightly bolted door.

“Aren’t I safe enough in here? You can leave,” He waved you off halfheartedly, “Get some of that sleep you’ve been hounding me incessantly about.”

Your laugh floated over from the dark corner. At least someone had the energy for humor at this hour. “Believe me, if I weren’t under direct orders to stay here until Kento comes to replace me, I’d be comfortably cuddled up in my bed. Like you should be right now.”

With a sigh, Sae stood from his reading chair and made his way to his bed. He was hardly tired, but pretending to sleep would at least give you peace of mind. The last thing he needed was yet another person overly concerned about his safety, especially not one who was only concerned because it was their job.

Or was it?

I have plenty of authority to care about you.

Your words echoed in his mind. That hadn’t been on his father’s orders – none of the insistence that Sae cared for himself had been. It was, startlingly, the first time that concern for his safety had extended past duels and burglars and-

“ASSASSIN!!!”

Sae turned his head sharply, watching as a badly illuminated figure entered his room from the moonlit balcony, empty glass bottle in hand. His heart stopped in his chest. His feet wouldn’t move. He urged himself to run, to make his way to safety, to make his way toward you. The most he could do was turn and watch you as you charged.

The assassin stepped up behind him. The bottle came crashing down.

The last thing he registered was you running toward him, sword drawn, radiant like starlight incarnate.

“Good morning, your highness. How’d you sleep?”

Of course, the first thing Sae would hear after coming to consciousness would be his knight’s voice. Classic.

“What… what happened?” At some point, he’d been moved from the floor to his bed, and the lack of light from outdoors meant it was still night. The only people in the room, as far as he could tell, were him and the knight.

The knight chuckled. Someone ought to teach them that assassination is not a laughing matter.

“Well, some fool managed to climb up your balcony and hit you over the head with an empty liquor bottle. He got you pretty good, but at least you didn’t get cut by the glass shards. The doc said you’ll be fine in a day or two.” Somewhere across the room, your uniform rustled as you stood to leave, satisfied to know that Sae was alright. “Well, I’ll be going now. Kento, Miroku, and Tatsuki are outside if you need anything, but I’ll hopefully be back before you wake up. Get some sleep, you’ll need it.”

As Sae watched you retreat, he felt the sudden urge to reach out toward you; to thank you for saving his life yet again; to savor your company just a little longer. All that escaped his lips was a croaked, “Don’t-”

“Huh?” You turned, “Don’t what? You’ve gotta be specific if you’re giving me orders.”

Struggling for words, Sae sputtered, not entirely sure what he wanted. Don’t hate me? Don’t abandon me? Don’t resign from your post and never return? “Leave.”

You sighed, turning back again. “Being evasive, I see. Good to know you’re back to normal. Goodnight, your highness.”

“Wait- No- Don’t leave. Stay. Please.” Sae didn’t realize, but he was reaching toward you with his hand as if trying to pull you back toward him. But of course, you were across the room, and his fingers couldn’t find purchase.

“Your Highness, you’ll be perfectly safe, I promise. There are two guards outside and one on the balcony… I can tell Kento to come inside if that would make you feel safer.” It pained Sae how you didn’t look him in the eyes as you spoke – you hardly turned to face him. But that was about the treatment he deserved, considering how he had treated you, pushing you away and still expecting you to save his life.

“It’s not- Stay, Y/n, please. I- It’s nice. Having you around.” He begged, voice breaking. He cursed himself for sounding so foolish, so unnecessarily vulnerable. You were his guard, nothing more.

Oh, how he wished it was more.

“Oh. I guess… I guess I could stay,” You murmur, striding back toward him, “For what it’s worth, you’re not half-bad of a guy to guard. Following you around all day is pretty fun… even when you’re mad at me.”

Sae groaned, wanting nothing more than to hide under his bedsheets. Half the time when he snapped at you it was just to provoke a clever quip or witty insult from you who never seemed to care, and the other half the time, when he stepped too far, his stubbornness left the apologies aching in his chest.

“I’m not mad. Not usually,” He muttered, not entirely sure if you could hear or not. Sae assumed not, from the way you settled into one of his sitting chairs, leaning your sword belt against the arm.

No, don’t sit there- The words were on the tip of his tongue, but you spoke first.

“I’ll sit here as long as you want, but you should get to sleep. Let me know if you need anything, alright? I’ll do my best to not doze off.”

“There is one thing,” Sae said, internally shuddering at how foolish his request seemed. But it was you, and you wouldn’t make fun of it… right?

You chuckled. “Spit it out before I fall asleep. This chair is ridiculously comfortable.”

“Come sleep with me. Propriety be damned.”

You looked at him incredulously, not believing the words that exited his mouth. A sentence you had long given up on hearing. But the response that forms bypasses that yearning entirely.

“Aww, does His Royal Grumpiness get cuddly when he’s concussed?”

He sighed and scowled – though the snarky reply made his heart skip a beat. “Shut it, Y/n. I’m serious. I’d like to be close to you.”

“As you wish, Sae,” You smiled, taking off your uniform coat and discarding it on the same chair that your sword leaned against. Sae watched you intensely as you removed your shoes and climbed into the soft, powder blue sheets. He’s quick to wrap his arms around you, drinking in the warmth of your skin.

If only for a night, you could be his. You were his. And he was yours. By the witness of the stars. His troubled soul was held in the comfort of another, melting into the tenderness of an embrace outside of the reach of prying eyes. For the first time in far too long, the tension left the prince’s muscles, eased out by the soft breathing of his knight, his friend, his beloved.

In the silent depths of night, sweet words were whispered in dulcet tones.

“I love you.”

Bonus: Two Weeks Later

Exactly two weeks after the ridiculous attempt on Prince Sae’s life, Aiku – Captain of the King’s Guard and your somewhat-direct superior – summoned you into his office.

Not pleased to be away from your job for too long, you intended to make this quick.

“Let me guess, you need help training new recruits? Because if that’s what you want, I can’t do it. I’m with Sae full time now,” You said, standing in the doorway. Aiku looked at you from where he leaned against his desk, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Familiar with His Royal Highness, are you?” The Captain asked, smirking, “Well, therein lies the problem.”

You furrowed your brow, not entirely understanding what he meant. “And how is that an issue? You’re plenty familiar with His Majesty the King, why should I not be the same with the man I guard?”

“It’s not quite the same. Rumors are spreading, you know, and if things continue like this then you might be reassigned.”

“Really? Why? I keep Sae perfectly safe, no?” Captain Aiku stepped toward you, straightened posture making him seem unnervingly tall. He lowered his voice, as if worried someone would overhear. “Listen, Y/n. Let me put it this way: If the king catches you and his son making bedroom eyes at each other one more time he will replace you. The rest of us on the guard don’t exactly appreciate it either.”

Suddenly a gentle wrapped around your waist, the newcomer’s chest pressed comfortingly against your back. You didn’t have to turn around to know that Sae had come to intervene, tugging you gently away from the Captain.

“Sorry to interrupt, Captain, but I will look at my knight however I please. If my father chooses to reassign Y/n, I will deal with him myself.”

i'm such a sucker for royalty au

#imagine ⋆｡°✩#sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #sae x gn!reader #sae x gender neutral reader #blue lock x gn!reader #blue lock x gender neutral reader

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tobesolonely · 1 year

Text

thank you for showing ceorry part 1 so much love!! I wanna give this series a name but I’m not very creative so if anyone has any ideas pls lmk 🫶🏾

harry is y/n’s boss, and he’s also a super rich ceo, and he thinks she’s so pretty :)

warnings: harry being super flirty and a nice kiss

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Mr. Styles?”

The low voices Y/N hears through the door abruptly stop. "Y/N, come in." Upon entering her boss's office, she sees Mitch, the accountant from yesterday, sitting at Harry's desk, charts and spreadsheets spread out. He looks proper annoyed by the intrusion, but Harry could not seem to care less. He looks at her intently while he waits for her to speak.

“I’m ready to work,” Y/N lifts up her laptop and notebook and Harry’s eyes land on the items. “I really had a chance to get lots done this morning. I usually take Fridays to sleep in, but not today sir!”

“Ah, you’re ready to get started?” His desk is already cleared of documents to make room for her. “I’m glad you had a chance to really use it. It was useful, I’m hoping?”

Y/N nods quickly. “I did! It helped me actually knock out, like, half of my report.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry’s positively beaming at her, and it makes Y/N flush. “I knew you could do it. You jus’ needed a little bit of help. Why don’t you come and sit? Mitch was just leaving.”

“We’re not done reviewing-”

“We are,” Harry picks up the now neat stack of papers and hands it to him. “Miss Y/L/N needs my help, so we’re done. We’ll pick back up another day.”

“But it’s all due by-”

“I said we’re done for today, Mr. Rowland.” The tone in his voice is final and stern and that familiar tingling sensation is back in the pit of her tummy. Mitch gives a dejected sigh and accepts the stack of papers from Harry, standing up from the desk in resignation.

“You know sir, it’s very hard for me to do my job correctly when you’re giving your assistant special treatment.” Mitch’s tone is sharp and Y/N can’t help but flinch.

“Perhaps if you did your job as well as Miss Y/L/N you’d get special treatment too. Now leave, please.”

Mitch looks between Y/N and Harry before exiting the office, shutting the door a bit too harshly. If Harry’s bothered by the interaction that just went on, she can’t tell. He’s giving her a big dimpled grin as soon as they’re alone, telling her to sit at his desk and get comfortable.

“Or you can sit on the couch if you’d like?” he points to the big olive green suede sofa pushed up against the wall adjacent to his desk. “Between you and me, I’ve gotten some of the best sleep of m’life on that thing. It really is quite comfortable.”

If people were already beginning to think Y/N received special treatment from Mr. Styles, she’d hate for someone to enter his office and see her all cozied up on his couch. They’d probably think she never did any work at all! “The desk is fine, thank you, sir.”

“Okay then,” Harry clasps his hands together, placing them on top of his desk. “Are y’gonna let me take a look at what you put together?”

She suddenly remembers that she’s in Harry’s office for the sole purpose of him helping her. She sits down and opens up her laptop, shaking the mousepad to bring it to life. The first thing that pops up is the draft she’d been working on.

“It might not be great yet, but I think it’s a good start,” she plays with her hands in her lap while Harry squints at the screen in concentration. “I mean, it’s more than I had yesterday.”

Harry looks up and into Y/N’s eyes. “It is more than you had yesterday. That’s good. Let’s not worry about the quality of anything right now - which by the way, doesn’t seem like something you need to worry about. This is very good so far.”

Y/N’s eyes light up at her boss’s praise. “Do you really think so? That’s a relief, Mr. Styles. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” he answers simply. “Just needed a little help organizing your thoughts. Now, get to work. I don't wanna hear a peep out of you until at least two more paragraphs are written.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N isn’t sure how long she's been at Mr. Styles’ desk.

He long ago retired from helping her, instead deciding to do some work of his own (and Y/N’s. She noticed him emailing to confirm the details of an upcoming event, and that's her job!) She almost feels bad, but when she realizes she’s nearly done with both her research paper and infographic, well…it cheers her up. Y/N thinks she deserves a little reward for this and allows her head to rest on her chin. She’d just take a quick little break, just close her eyes for a teeny tiny second, and then she’d get right back to it. Not ten seconds after she allows her eyes to flutter closed, Harry’s voice causes them to snap back open.

“Are y’tired? Wanna take a rest on the couch, sweet girl?”

Her heart starts beating twice as fast at the term of endearment her boss just called her, but she tries to keep her cool. “No thank you, sir. I was just restin’ my eyes for a second - I swear! I wasn’t actually gonna fall asleep.”

“Resting your eyes, you say?” Harry’s plush bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he tries to suppress a grin. “I think that’s code for ‘sleeping’, hm?”

“Well I did go to bed pretty late last night…or at least I think I did.”

“What do you mean you think?”

“I woke up this morning with my laptop in my lap and all my papers still on my bed.”

Harry furrows his brows. “You’ve gotta make sure you’re getting enough sleep, sweet girl. You’re just too pretty to not be well-rested.”

Y/N’s little crush on Harry is absolutely solidified at that moment. He just called her pretty! And so casually too, as if it was a known fact! “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course I do,” Harry pauses, smirking. “It’s why you get special treatment. Now, go rest for a little bit. I’ll wake you up if you fall asleep.”

Y/N gives her boss a weary look, choosing to ignore his comment. “Do you promise?”

“Sure,” there’s an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes, and something tells her there's a chance he's lying. “Go on, sweetheart.”

Y/N complies, wordlessly standing up from his desk and walking across his office to the couch. Her body relaxed as she sank into the firm-but-soft couch. Harry wasn't kidding - his couch was comfortable. It was very nice, and it makes her think about how nice Harry is. He cares about her so much and she thinks it’s really cute and sweet. Plus, she couldn’t get the way he looked and sounded when he called her pretty! It makes her feel so mushy and giddy. With these gooey thoughts of her boss in her mind, Y/N allows her eyes to flutter shut. Besides, Harry promised he’d wake her up. It’d be fine!

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N wakes up hours later, covered up with a yellow fuzzy blanket and a tiny pillow under her head.

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she sits up, the once light-filled office now dark aside from the dimmed lamp in the corner beside Harry’s desk. He looks up from the book he’s reading and at her once he notices she’s awake, a grin overcoming his features.

“Good evening, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Hi,” she rubs the sleep out of her eyes. “What time is it?”

Harry lazily looks down at his Rolex and then back up at her. “A quarter til 6. Y’hungry?”

He let her sleep for nearly three hours? “Not really, sir.”

“Are you sure,” he raises a brow. “It must take a lot of energy to sit there and look that pretty. You’re sure you’re not hungry, sweetheart?”

Y/N can’t hide how flustered Harry’s shameless flirting makes her, and she’s sure he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. “I, sir-”

”Sirrrrrr,” Harry drags the last sound of the word out, imitating her. “Let me feed you dinner. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

“But Mr. Styles,” Y/N can’t help the way her lower lip juts out in a pout. “I haven’t actually done anything for you lately! Every day I’ve just been coming here and working on this stupid assignment while you do my job for me. I don’t even want to see what my paycheck will look like this time around!”

Harry gives her a genuine look of confusion. “What would be wrong with your paycheck?”

“There’s no way you’re going to pay me for coming in to do my homework, is there?”

“Of course I am,” Harry replies. He sounds almost offended that she’d think otherwise. “You’re still comin’ in and staying here all day, aren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Then your paycheck will reflect that, sweet girl,” he tugs on his lower lip with his fingers, appearing deep in thought. “I don’t want you to worry about things like that.”

“I’m always gonna worry about things like that,” she stares owlishly at him. “I mean, at least until I’m a rich CEO like you.”

Harry lets out a little chuckle at this and gets up from behind his desk. He makes his way across the office towards Y/N and stops when he’s right in front of her. She’s still sitting, so he kneels down so he’s face-to-face with her. He doesn’t seem to mind getting dust bunnies on his Gucci trousers at all.

“You’re right. That was a silly request,” he cocks his head slightly to the side, not breaking eye contact. “But please rest assured I will never be the reason you worry about money. Understood?” Y/N nods her head in response, but Harry shakes his head.

“I want to hear you tell me you understand. Tell me.”

“I understand.”

“Hm,” Harry splays his palm out on her knee causing a shiver to run down her spine. “You understand who?”

Oh. Y/N knew what he wanted. “I understand, sir.”

While she’s addressed Harry by the title many, many times she can’t deny how differently it slips off her tongue this time. She nearly doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice saying the word, her tone subconsciously taking on a sultry and smooth nature. As quickly as Harry kneels before her he stands up, a pleased look on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, I don’t know about you but I’m starving and quite honestly want to get the hell out of this office. Do you have any dinner plans?”

“No, but I was going to study.”

Harry’s already walking back towards his desk to shut off his devices, mind already made up that he was leaving work one way or another. “While I usually am a big proponent of studying, ‘specially when it comes to you,” he slams his briefcase shut and she hears the latches snap. “I’m an even bigger proponent of taking care of yourself physically so you have the power to excel mentally. How does Italian sound?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N’s sitting across from Harry in a dimly lit booth not forty minutes later, the smell of garlic bread and marinara sauce overwhelming her nostrils. If she wasn’t so fixated on her food (turns out she was starving, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Harry) she might've noticed that he's hardly touched his own food. He was too focused on admiring her, and how cute basically everything she did was. When she does finally look up, the expression on her face goes from one of delight and contentment to confusion and concern.

“Why aren't you eating your food, sir? Is something wrong with it?”

Harry audibly coos at Y/N’s concern. “Nothing like that. I’ve had this dish several times actually,” he stabs his fork into a cherry tomato. It bursts next to a well-seasoned piece of chicken breast. “I just think you’re so pretty. It’s a little distracting, sweetheart.”

“Why do you keep saying things you know will make me feel all shy?” Y/N presses, taking a quick glance at her hands in her lap. “I’m terrible at accepting compliments!”

He frowns at this. “Can’t imagine why. You deserve all the compliments in the world and then some, I think.”

Y/N’s skin is on fire and she’s not sure how to respond to Harry so she doesn’t, instead she goes back to eating her plate of chicken parmesan and gushing over how flavorful the sauce is. Still, his food remains in front of him hardly untouched and his gaze remains on her.

“You know I can feel you staring at me from across the table,” Y/N says after a brief moment of silence. “Even though I’m looking down, Mr. Styles.”

“I’m not trying to hide the fact that I am. Why don’t you call me ‘Harry’ when we’re outside of work? Mr. Styles makes me sound old.”

Y/N sets her fork down and then looks back up at him, her head cocked curiously to the side. “I think Mitch was right when he said you gave me special treatment.”

Harry has an amused look on his face as he hums in acknowledgment, deciding to humor her. “What makes you think that?”

“I want to base it on just these past few shifts alone, but it’s more than that,” Y/N replies thoughtfully. “You literally let me come into work whenever I want. What type of boss does that?”

Harry can’t hide the delight on his face any longer. “You don’t think I offer my other employees flexibility? You’re not the only one that has a life, Y/N.”

“Okay yeah,” she raises an eyebrow. “But you still pay me for my entire shift even when I only go in for like, three hours.”

“I’m fair, if nothing else.”

“Sometimes when I come in I don’t even do work. We just talk.”

“I can find more work for you to do, if you’d like.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at her boss. “I just don’t know what I did to deserve this treatment. This ‘special treatment’.”

Harry takes a sip of his own water before he looks in close to the center of the table, beckoning Y/N toward him. “Can I tell you a little secret?”

Y/N’s so close to him that she can see the different colored specks within his irises, even in the dim lighting of the Italian restaurant. Not trusting her voice to not betray her, she simply nods.

“You get special treatment because I like you. A lot. I thought it was obvious.” He leans back in his chair after revealing his secret and begins eating his food again like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just drop a bombshell on Y/N.

“Really?” Y/N like how quiet and unsure her voice is, but Harry has her brain feeling like mush and she can hardly think straight. “I think you’re so cute, sir, and so kind-”

“Awww,” Harry repeats, tone mocking. “You think I’m cute, sweet girl?”

“Yes, sir, sooo-”

“Harry outside of work, yes?”

“Sorry Harry, I forgot.” Y/N can’t help the flush that floods her body at the act of calling Mr. Styles ‘Harry’ to his face, but he said it was okay!

If Y/N didn’t know better she would say a small blush crept over the apples of Harry’s cheeks after she addressed him by his first name, but she decided not to dwell on it. He looks at her nearly completed entree and his own, hardly touched. He looks around for the waiter and wordlessly flags him down, mouthing for the check.

“I think you’re cute, too,” Harry finally says as they’re waiting for their waiter to come with the bill. “Cute might be an understatement actually.”

Y/N’s noticed that Harry’s already started to develop this pesky habit of saying things for the sole purpose of flustering her (or so it seems) and she opens her mouth to respond but then closes it, unsure of what to say. Harry chuckles and pulls out his wallet just as the waiter comes back with the bill. He looks down at Harry’s nearly untouched plate of food and a look of worry fills his face.

“Was the food not to your liking this evening, Mr. Styles? Will you be needing to speak with the chef?”

Harry shakes his head quickly, and a stray curl falls down over his left eye. “Everything was perfect as always. Jus’ a little distracted, makes it hard to eat.” He quickly looks up and across the table as he’s signing his signature on the receipt but Y/N pretends not to see.

“I’m glad to hear it. Will you be needing change or a to-go box, sir?”

“Nope. We’re all set?” the waiter nods, to which Harry flashes him a big smile. “Perfect. See you next week, sir.”

The waiter nods his head at Harry, then at Y/N before turning to leave. Harry stands up and pushes his chair in, quickly moving to the other side of the table to pull Y/N’s out for her. He grabs her coat off the back of her chair and holds it up for her to slip her arms into.

“Thank you, Mr - Harry,” she plays with the sleeves of her coat once comfortably on her body. “This was really good.”

“The least I can do is keep you fed when you’re such a good little worker, hmm?”

Y/N gives him a bashful look before giving a small nod of agreement, playing along with Harry. He holds his left hand out at his side and Y/N only hesitates briefly before reaching down to grab it, allowing him to lead her out of the restaurant.

Harry doesn’t drop her hand even when they’re out of the restaurant, even when they walk across the parking lot to their cars parked next to each other. He doesn’t let go of her hand when he tells her what a good time he had at dinner. He doesn’t let go of her hand when he reminds her to work hard on her project over the weekend (but not too hard).

He definitely doesn’t let go of her hand when he leans down and gently presses their lips together, smiling into the kiss.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I hope you enjoyed part 2!!! please let me know what you think!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot

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jinkicake · 1 year

Text

~ ♡ Good Enough ♡ ~

(( Day #4 )) Lucifer x Reader

He hates you. He hates you. You’re sure that he must hate you.

A/N: This is my attempt at an actual fic like a long ass story... ummm,,,, I wrote this a while ago because I just love love love luci and mean m3n so I decided to combine the two!!!! xxx this isn’t the longest thing i’ve ever written but it’s the longest thing i’ve written in a while... hopefully it is alright~~

WC - 5,021

mean, stubborn Lucifer (pretty much luci before like lesson 20?? lmaooo)

~~~

For as long as you’ve lived in the Devildom, Lucifer has been hard on you.

You’re not sure why the demon pushes you to your limits but, try as you might, you just can’t make Lucifer come to like you. No matter how early you wake up to be on time for breakfast or how intensely you study for your classes, the demon only says that you can ‘do better’. He always finds a flaw in every single piece of yourself that you present to him and that fact only makes you want to try harder with him.

No matter how difficult it may be, you still want to get along with him (even if he has other plans).

“(Y/N), you’re on cleaning duty tonight.”

Lucifer’s sudden announcement in the middle of dinner nearly makes you drop your utensils in shock. He has to be kidding with this. Last night was your turn to clean the kitchen and you didn’t leave a single spec of dust on any appliance. Not to mention, Mammon is the one who cooked tonight and you really do not want to be in charge of cleaning that up.

“(Y/N) cleaned last night, Lucifer,” Asmo reminds his older brother before he sends a gentle smile your way. He tips his shoulder towards you thoughtfully but then instantly stiffens under his brother’s glare.

“And?” The avatar of pride crosses his arms over his chest and waits for anyone else to refuse him. No one ever does. Asmo sends an apologetic wince your way before turning back to his food. When none of the other demons stick up for you, you know that you have to do something about it yourself.

“Why do I have to clean up?” At the sound of your soft voice, Lucifer’s eyes slightly widen. This goes against every moral you have that relates to coexisting with Lucifer, the main rule is to never question his authority. As of lately, you’ve grown tired of the way he picks on you. It’s nothing extreme compared to how he punishes his brothers but, you don’t understand why he tugs on your hair and hands you time-consuming tasks.

All of the other demons slowly look toward you before glancing at Lucifer. The eldest demon places his utensils down gently against his plate as his red eyes narrow your way.

You don’t have the strength to look him in the eyes so you keep your gaze locked on your half-empty glass.

“Are you questioning me, human?” His now emotionless expression doesn’t falter once, not even as you fist your hands in the napkin settled on your lap. Everyone in the room knows exactly what you did and the tension becomes so thick that you wish the ground would just swallow you whole.

Right now, you know that you have a choice to make. You can either fight with Lucifer or comply with him. It would be so much easier on everyone if you complied but, it wouldn’t be easier on yourself.

“I just don’t understand why I have to do it when you already had me organize the library today.” You try to keep your composure, try to keep your heartbeat leveled as you finally muster up the courage to look at Lucifer.

His jaw clicks with frustration when you look into his eyes. He can see the uncertainty and fear swimming in your iris and the demon hates how it looks on you.

“You’re not going to be cleaning it alone, I am also on cleaning duty tonight.” Lucifer’s answer doesn’t satisfy you at all but, you take the small inch as a win. For once instead of reprimanding you, Lucifer gave you something to take.

You truly don’t understand him. You fear that you never will.

The kitchen is filled with just as much tension as the dining room and you think that you’ll never have the luxury of breathing freely again. Lucifer remains quiet as he hands you clean dishes, ones that he expects you to dry to perfection and then place neatly on the drying wrack.

Every time that you misplace a single dish, he is quick to correct you.

“Place it beside the other bowl,”

“Organize the utensils by category.”

At one point, he reaches over and holds your hand to guide exactly where he wants each dish to go. His entire body is pressed up against your own as he leans over to hurry the task along. You hate how your heart skips a beat at the proximity, how you happily soak in the difficult presence of Lucifer.

When you finally put the last spoon in its drying space, you wipe your hands on one of the kitchen towels. The realization that you can leave puts a smile on your face and you reach over to grab your phone so that you can go back to your room and hide.

It seems that Lucifer has other plans as he boxes you in against the counter with both hands on either side of your body. He bends his tall frame over slightly, dipping his head so that he can look at you closer.

“Do you think we are done here?” It’s obvious to you that this is a trick question. Regardless if you say yes or no, the demon is going to give you another task. You battle his question with one of your own.

“We have classes tomorrow, shouldn’t we call it a night?” You try to keep yourself as polite as possible and even go as far as to give the demon a wobbly smile. Lucifer’s frown doesn’t falter in the slightest as he pushes himself off the counter to stand to his full height. He runs his fingers through his hair, and for a split second, you have slight hope that he is going to let you leave.

But, then he glances down at you.

“We’re mopping the floors right now.”

In addition to mopping the floors, the two of you also deep-cleaned the fridge and washed all the kitchen towels. Needless to say that by midnight when you both finish, you are exhausted.

“I expect to see you at six am before breakfast to go over those reports from this afternoon.” Lucifer’s clipped tone as he leaves the kitchen almost makes you cry. You can feel frustration aching in your chest but when the demon turns around to get your confirmation, all you can do is blink the tears away and nod.

No matter how many times you go over it in your head, no matter how many hours you spend thinking about it, you just can’t understand what you did to make Lucifer dislike you. His endless tasks feel like a punishment no matter how many times he tells you that they are not.

You also can’t figure out why you go along with the demon’s gentle torment of you. You can’t figure out why you want him to like you so badly, why you want to make him happy.

For the same reasons that you can’t figure out Lucifer’s intentions, you can’t figure out the same feelings in your own heart.

Ignorance is bliss and you plan to continue keeping up with the demon until you physically can’t anymore.

There is something inside your chest that is pushing you, it’s a feeling that motivates you to shoulder Lucifer’s harsh demands. What a coincidence it is that you can’t figure out that emotion either, love.

You think it’s the exact reason why you find yourself outside of Lucifer’s office the next morning. Perhaps it’s because you just hate to let him down.

“Come in,” Lucifer murmurs as you softly open his door. His eyes run over your figure as you enter and gently close his door behind you, the dark circles under your eyes physically pain him. He’ll give you a break after this but, for right now, he just needs more time with you. The demon just can’t get you off his mind and whenever you’re near, unfortunately, he feels a little more at ease. Lucifer knows you can put up with it for a little while longer. “sit.”

You sit wordlessly in the chair on the opposite side of his desk, mirroring Lucifer’s position. After that, you wait. Lucifer doesn’t hand you any documents right away, he continues to read over and hastily marks any section that needs it. All you do is sit there.

The soft lull of his record player, a gentle piano melody escaping through the speakers, nearly makes you fall back asleep. Your eyes flutter shut under your exhaustion and despite the slight warmth from the fireplace, Lucifer’s office is very cold, the brisk temperature is the only thing that keeps you from escaping into a slumber.

“(Y/N),” Lucifer calls out to you and causes your body to lurch as you sit up in a hurry. You subtly try to blink the sleep out of your eyes as you face him. The kind smile you give him does not phase the demon in the slightest. Lucifer merely stares at you for a long pause before going back to the document in his hand.

The entire situation just makes you so incredibly confused, why would Lucifer have you come in and not even give you any work? You could have been sleeping.

“Umm, I think I should-” The words of your planned escape fall off your tongue when Lucifer glances up at the sound of your voice. There’s something about the expected stare he gives you underneath his thin glasses and the shade of his hair, the dark strands tinted with gray, that makes you squirm in your seat. “never mind.”

Lucifer continues to stare at you as he carefully watches your attempt to save a pitiful conversation. He notices how you glance over his walls, the clock, and then back down at your lap. The demon focuses on your fingertips and how you tightly clasp your hands together for warmth.

He seems to have forgotten in his time away from the human world just how sensitive humans are.

The avatar of pride rises from his seat, standing tall before you as he extends his limbs to take off his jacket. He slowly circles the desk and comes to stand right behind you. His gentle hands softly push your upper body forward in your seat so that he can wrap the thick jacket around your shoulders. Once he’s sure that your arms have gone through the holes, Lucifer reaches over to button each clip extremely slowly. His long fingers capture your attention and you greedily watch with anticipation as he gets closer and closer to your chest.

“Don’t fall asleep again.” He murmurs against your ear, his lips so close that you can feel them ghosting over your skin. You can only pray and hope that the demon can’t hear the loud thumping of your heart. “Understand?” Lucifer gives you a hard look as he finishes his work with the jacket and walks to stand back in front of the desk.

At your obedient nod, his lips twitch upward.

“Good.”

For the rest of the session until breakfast, you sit in the silence of the light piano melody and the sound of his pen against paper. Lucifer doesn’t give you a single file to review.

“Rest well tonight and tomorrow, I won’t be needing your assistance.” This new revelation before breakfast nearly makes you gasp, Lucifer rarely ever gives you a break. At the sight of your lips twitching as you fight back a smile, Lucifer scowls. “Don’t look so pleased, human. I will see you again the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay,” You quietly murmur before bringing your hands up to your cheeks. No matter what you do, you can’t stop relief from filling your face. It angers the other demon to no end, do you not care that he will be working all alone without you? Do you not care to extend the same politeness and ask if he still wants help?

He’s aware of his incredible selfishness toward you and your time but, ignores it nonetheless.

Through his anger, Lucifer has to remind himself that you are both a student and a human. The fact that you put up with him so easily is a show of genuine kindness.

The demon hates it to no end. He hates how you’re changing him despite how hard he tries to fight it. Lucifer is sure that he hates you.

You become sure of it too the very next evening.

‘Come here now.’

The text from Lucifer comes without warning and you stiffen upon sight of it. Mammon, who looks over your shoulder, even screeches at it. Stupidly, you thought Lucifer would not bother you for the night. You thought you had a free night for once but, it seems the demon can’t even give you that.

“Is he mad about something?” You ask his brother because you really don’t get it, why would Lucifer tell you to relax and then demand that you go to see him? That seems like the opposite of relaxing.

Levi shrugs his shoulders while Beel continues to down his popcorn.

“Dunno, good luck! We can rewind the movie when you come back!” Levi’s enthusiasm is not new, he can barely rip his eyes away from the television. Mammon gives your wrist a gentle squeeze of support before you make your way out of the demon’s room.

Finding Lucifer is incredibly easy since his office is somewhere you can walk to in the dark with your hands tied behind your back. You contemplate waiting before heading into his room, to give yourself time to mentally prepare yourself for his torture but, the quicker you enter, the quicker you get to leave. With that in mind, you push his doors open and step in without a second thought.

His office is quiet as a soft melody plays in the background, if anything, the air seems relaxing. Well, it seemed that way until you entered.

“Do you not understand the concept of knocking?” Lucifer asks without looking up from his pile of documents. His glasses rest on the bridge of his nose as he roughly notes something against the paper in his hands. The rough action causes you to tightly swallow the rest of your nerves. “I believe it is a common human world practice, is it not?”

At your silence, Lucifer looks up at you with an expecting glare. The resentment in his eyes is something akin to frostbite and you’re sure you’re going to freeze over.

“It is,” You answer and then take a few steps forward to stand directly in front of his desk. Lucifer hums before glancing back to his paper and like this, you can finally get a good look at him. Seeing the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and the lighter strands of gray against the dark backdrop of his thick hair almost causes you to squirm upon sight. He’s a handsome demon and even you can acknowledge and appreciate that. Lucifer is ethereal even when he is glaring at you and threatening you with your life, you’re sure of it.

“Then why is it that you fail to knock each time you enter my office?” Gone is Lucifer’s patience, it seems that you’ve been given the short end of the stick since you’re now the target of his bitter frustrations.

For a brief moment, you mull over your words before choosing to tell him the honest truth.

“I get nervous and forget,” Slightly honest, it’s true that you get nervous but, you fail to knock because you’re always trying to get in and out of his office as quickly as possible. Lucifer’s pen stills in his hand and his jaw clenches together tightly.

“I give you no reason to be nervous.” He looks at you with a narrowed gaze as if he is trying to understand you, as if you will spill all your secrets under his glare. Much to his dismay, you remain silent and are unable to reply.

Conversing with Lucifer is always a tricky dance where you try not to step on his feet.

It’s best to get straight to the point.

“Um, is there a reason you wanted to see me?” You stare down at his desk instead of his face as you run your fingers along the wooden trim. It’s distracting, a good thing to you, and a bad thing to him.

“I can hear you all talking through the walls.” Bitter, Lucifer sounds undeniably bitter. “It’s too loud, I thought I told you to rest.” If this is his attempt at showing his concern for you, you find it to be weak.

“I am relaxing, we are watching a movie.” Lucifer’s frown only grows larger at your words and you anxiously start to toy with your fingers. Your thumb runs over your knuckle and then the tip of your finger before pressing down on the digit to pop it.

“A movie?” His voice sounds dangerous as if he is insinuating that you are doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. “Who is we?” The rapid beating of your heart must not be good for your health and you try to take a moment just to breathe.

“Mammon, Levi, and Beel,” You answer truthfully as your eyes dart to a random corner in the room. There is no way you can face the disappointment in Lucifer’s eyes or attempt to understand him. No matter how much you think about it, you can’t understand why he is acting so difficult.

“Sounds like fun.” He practically spits this out through clenched teeth and you finally look over him. Timidly, your eyes run over his hard face. The feeling in your gut is pity.

“Well, would you like to join us?” At your question, Lucifer looks at you as if you insulted his very being. His eyes widen dramatically and he places his pen down against the hardwood of his desk. However, the shock quickly evaporates from his face and is replaced with anger.

“No.” His decline is firm, set in stone. “Unlike you and your head full of air, I try not to spend my free time doing such worthless things.”

Your eyes narrow toward him and your nose scrunches up in disgust at his dramatics. If Lucifer was trying to offend you, he did so incredibly well. As you try to put a lid on your temper you think of your second rule that comes with surviving Lucifer, never let your anger get the better of you.

Despite how hard you try to remind yourself to do this, the words work to no avail. Who gave Lucifer the right to judge you so hard? To pick you apart and pluck at any piece of you that he doesn’t find satisfactory?

“I wouldn’t want you there anyway.” The petty reply leaves your lips before you can catch it and the glare to match your words is not something you even try to hide. With just the two of you in the room, you have no worries about how this explosive decision would affect any of the other demons. Lucifer’s eyes narrow at the fight instilled in you. He slowly places his hands in his lap while keeping his deadpan stare on your face.

“Excuse me?” He settles for this and tries to give you an opportunity to take it back. Horns appear on top of his head as voluminous wings sprout from his back

“You heard me.” If Lucifer is shocked by your outburst, he does an exceptionally well job at hiding it. “Do you really dislike me so much that you have to nag me about everything?” You can’t help how your voice grows with emotion, how you firmly place your palms on his desk and slightly lean over the wood. “I do everything that you ask for and I do it perfectly. Would it kill you to be the least bit appreciative?”

Your fingers twitch against the hardwood as Lucifer continues to stare at you. Timidness is flowing through your body once again and you try everything in your power to push it away. No good will come to you right now if you back down. It’s not like you can pretend this never happened, no, you have to push through.

“Do I dislike you?” Lucifer repeats as he finally pushes himself out of his chair, standing to his full height to tower over you. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting his muscle bulge under his jacket and you have half a mind to think that he does this to hold back from lunging at you. “I loathe you, human.”

Fear instills in your core and disappointment takes root at the painful feeling of it all.

“What? Why?” You can’t help but ask him of this, ask him why he’s stepping all over your heart so easily.

“No matter how much effort you put into this place, the Devildom will remain the same.” In contrast to your own wide eyes filled with glossy tears, Lucifer’s are narrowed and tinted with irritation. The bitter feeling rubs him entirely the wrong way.

“You hate me because you think I’m trying to change this place?” No matter how much work you did for Lucifer, no matter how closely you followed his directions to a ’t’, it didn’t matter. That much is true for you now. “All I ever did was what you asked of me.”

“I did not ask you to change my brothers and I most certainly did not ask you to change me.” This is too much for you to keep up with, your head is spinning under Lucifer’s true feelings. “I see the way you look at me.”

You instantly freeze and dart your eyes to the floor, he can’t be insinuating this. Right now, you’ve never wanted to run away and hide as badly before in your life. You can’t have Lucifer saying this out loud, not when you haven’t even said it to yourself yet.

“Do you think that you are subtle, human? All the lingering touches and meaningful stares, I know exactly how you feel about me.” Lucifer’s harsh words stab at your heart, picking and pulling you apart. Unlike you, the demon doesn’t appear affected in the least. Lucifer still stands tall with his arms crossed over his chest and glare as dangerous as ever. “You will not change me.”

“Haven’t I already changed you?” You wish you would bite your own tongue and stop talking but, you can’t. The harder Lucifer pushes you, the harder you push back. At this point, you’re not even aware of what you’re saying anymore. You just want to affect Lucifer as terribly as he’s affecting you. “I-I think you’re wrong about how you feel about me.”

“Oh? Tell me, how do I feel about you?” The demon seems to be mildly entertained, his eyes widening in some twisted amusement as you tremble in front of him.

“I think what you really hate is how much you need me.” Your hands instantly slap over your mouth after the words finally fall out. Need is a strong word. Regardless of how Lucifer claims to feel about you, you know the demon wants you near him all the time. Why else would he keep you attached to his hip?

It seems that the tension of the entire room, which is filled to the brim, explodes. Before, it was like a suffocatingly thick smog covering the two of you. Now the room is draped in heavy silence, one so loud that all you can hear are the ticks coming from the grandfather clock beside the door.

You subtly glance towards it, the door, and start planning how exactly you can escape from this situation.

“Get out.” Lucifer’s orders send you quickly excusing yourself without a second thought. Not once, do you look at him or think to do so. You don’t see the stunned look on his face or the pieces of his heart all coming together. No, you run back to your room and hide with your tail between your legs.

Under the covers, you pray that no harm will come to you.

Weeks have passed since that incident with Lucifer and all has seemingly run smoothly. The demon remains cordial with you and does not make a scene in front of his brothers. He simply hands you documents to review and makes you leave them outside of his office when you are done. The complete 180 shift of his treatment toward you almost makes you feel embarrassed about your previous words.

How could you be so bold and claim that the demon needs you? It’s been weeks, much to your aching heart, and Lucifer has not asked for you once.

‘I know exactly how you feel about me.’ His lingering words sometimes ring in your mind, forcing you into a state of humiliation. It’s safe to say that you somewhat understand your feelings for Lucifer better now, you can admit that how you feel about him is different than how you feel about anyone else that you know. Your affection for him makes the distance between the two of you more difficult to cope with.

All you want to do is see Lucifer.

“(Y/N), Lucifer wants to see you in his room.” Asmo knocks on your door in passing, delivering the words that seal your fate before he happily heads to his own room.

You regret your earlier dramatics and begs for his attention because as you walk to his room, you can’t think of anything scarier than facing him. The demon must have a reasonable explanation to call you out and you hold onto the hope that it will all pass over smoothly.

Once in front of his door, you actually remember to knock. The sensation of the hardwood against your knuckles momentarily distracts you from the anxiety in your heart and you’re thankful for it.

“Come in,” Lucifer’s voice sounds sharper than normal as if he is on edge. You mentally say a prayer to anyone who will listen before entering his room and closing the door firmly behind you.

The demon can’t hide the shock on his face when he finally sees you. His eyes slightly widen and his hand moves to rest over his chest. The moment of weakness doesn’t last for long before his face falls into a rather pleasant expression.

“I wasn’t expecting you to knock,” He teases and you can’t help but awkwardly rock on your heels. You’re not sure what to say to Lucifer or how to face him. The demon can tell this right off of your face. “calm down, human.”

“I’m not going to eat you,” His voice draws you in, and forces your feet to move as you walk over to the couch by his piano. “sit.” You sit on the edge of the cushion, incredibly close beside him, and mentally prepare for the scolding you’re sure you’re going to receive. “I am only going to say this once,”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping his anger won’t be too blunt.

“Look at me.” There’s a soft touch against the back of your hand and you timidly open your eyes to find Lucifer’s fingers brushing against your own. You obediently look up at him. “You were right,” He grabs your hand with his own.

Lucifer is admitting to one of his faults, your lips part in shock and eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Right about what?”

Lucifer looks you over as his eyes slightly soften and a gentle smile takes place on his face.

“I do need you.” The confession nearly makes your heart stall in your chest and the gentle glide of his thumb against your palm does little to calm you down.

“You do?” You repeat, testing the words on your tongue. Lucifer bends his head forward slightly, letting his hair brush against your forehead.

“I do.” His voice sounds much closer now and you freeze at the proximity of his body. “I always have, please forgive me for always being so harsh with you.” One of his hands crosses your body to hold onto your hip, wrapping his arm around your waist. “It seems I was the one who was unaware of my feelings.”

“Your feelings?” Finally, you look up through your lashes to find Lucifer staring intently at you. He nearly sighs at the contact.

“Must I spell it out for you?” He looks away for the slightest moment before bringing his eyes back to you. “I adore you, (Y/N). I was harsh because of it. I am terribly sorry.”

You’re having a hard time keeping up with the suddenness of it all. It seems that you couldn’t have been more wrong about this meeting. While you were preparing for a scolding, he was preparing for a confession.

“Is that so?” You murmur and attempt to hide your face from his stare. Lucifer gently cups your cheek and your skin burns underneath his gloved fingertips. The flustered state of your appearance nearly makes the man coo.

“It is.” He confirms and dips his head to rest his forehead against your own. Lucifer doesn’t expect anything in return from you, just getting to express his desires to you is more than enough. “I apologize that I took so long to come to terms with it.”

Deep down, the two of you always knew that you shared a mutual adoration for one another.

With a slight tilt of your head, you brush your lips against his cheek.

“(Y/N),” Lucifer warns as his eyes flutter shut. If you continue to be so soft with him, to love on him so kindly, the demon can’t be responsible for how he responds. “do you think I would be satisfied with such a sweet kiss?”

His hands tighten against your jaw before pulling your chin downwards, allowing his lips to brush against your own.

“Please allow me to shower you with my love for tonight.”

. . .

2023/02/07 ♡

#obey me Lucifer x reader #Lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #obey me lucifer #obey me x reader #obey me x you #obey me x y/n #obey me angst #obey me fluff #hurt comfort #maybe?#my own pathetic attempt at hurt comfort lol #I rawdogged this editing teehee

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saetoru · 2 years

Text

#𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒

☰ SYNOPSIS ⋮ gojo satoru is a good ceo—but he just so happens to also be an even better boss

— pairing ⋮ ceo!gojo satoru x reader

— length ⋮ 3.3k words (why did this take me forever :/)

— contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, ceo! au, assistant! reader, high key really shady and manipulative reader sobs, unrequited love, lovesick! gojo, unprofessional workplace relations, dry humping, blow jobs, orgasm delay, slight exhibitionism / semi-public sex (you suck him off under the table while someone is in the room + he fucks you over the desk when they leave), begging, teasing, slight brat taming, unprotected sex, he pulls out (for once LMAO), petnames (sweetheart, baby, princess)

— notes ⋮ for snow my beloveds im sucking off a ceo collab @suyacho ty for letting me join !! mwah 💋 also this is not proof read i am lazy rip

“satoru, are you done yet?” you whine, flopping over the couch in gojo’s office. of course, you’d expect nothing less than a sophisticated workspace for a sophisticated man such as him—and it’s certainly an extravagant setup, it makes for a nice atmosphere when you’re alone with him.

he grunts, the sound of his pen scratching against paper ringing through your ears as he continues writing. “ten more minutes, baby.”

“you said that hours ago,” you huff.

“‘s only been twenty minutes, sweetheart,” he chuckles, spinning his chair to face you with an amused look, “but…if you need attention so bad,” the pen finally, finally gets put down on the desk, and you brighten as his hand gestures you over, “then c’mere, baby.”

being a ceo is as anyone would deem, stressful.

and now more than ever, gojo satoru is grateful for his snowy hair—otherwise, he thinks inheriting a business as young as he has would give him white hairs before he turns thirty. but coming into his office isn’t so bad if you’re there, looking pretty in your cute little blouse and your sweet scented lip gloss, clothes neatly ironed (and ready to be creased when he’s done with you.)

you’re the perfect assistant, always sweet and responsible, always making sure he’s done what he needs to do and is where he needs to be, always good at taking notes and organizing—and, you’re always good at relieving stress.

very good, in fact.

like right now, for example, making the stress roll off his body as you climb onto his lap and press your lips to his, giving him a perfect taste of the peach flavoring of your lip gloss—which is his favorite—and making him groan against your mouth. your hands fly to his soft tufts of hair, tugging gently at the roots and making him grunt. he should be getting these last few pages of paperwork done before his meeting (which you so kindly reminded him of before he forgot), but one taste of your lips has him too distracted to care.

and plus, he’s the boss—he reasons it’s okay if he’s a little late here and there.

“baby, we gotta make it quick, yeah? ‘s an important meeting,” he mumbles against your lips, panting slightly as you nibble on his bottom lip, grinding your hips to rub your clothed cunt over his hardening member through his slacks. he’s almost too easy to rile up, too easy to have perfectly dealt into the palm of your hands. and maybe, if you play your cards right, you might just fuck your way right to a promotion—or at the very least, a raise.

in your short time being his assistant, you’ve learned that gojo satoru is almost too fun to work for. he’s young, doesn’t have those old-fashioned rules and outdated views, is lenient with hours and vacation and paid leave, and he even lets you have your own designated parking space. it’s a nice plus that he’s easy on the eyes and fucks you over his desk after hours—or during hours, if you’re being honest—and it’s an extra nice plus that he’s as quick to give into you as you are at trying to convince him.

he’s a good ceo, sure, but he’s an even better boss.

“jus’ send an email and postpone it for a bit,” you drawl sweetly, “want you, toru,” you whisper against his ear, making him moan as you rub over his hardened cock through his pants. his hands dig into your hips, guiding you to drag your cunt over his erection faster, drinking in your sweet whines as he rubs over your clit through the fabric.

and just because you’re extra sweet today—and because you really want to come in late tomorrow—you quickly climb off his lap to sink down to your knees before him, making him let out a breathy chuckle as he spreads his legs wide for you to crawl between.

“looks like you got better plans, huh sweetheart?” he grins down at you. anyone with eyes can see the lust that glazes his crystalline orbs, but you can see beneath that and recognize the fondness, the pure lovesick part that makes you swell with pride. gojo satoru is far too easy to have wrapped around your finger, and you plan on just twisting and twisting him around your well-manicured finger until he’s coiled around your every whim.

“i can think of a thing or two you might like a bit more,” you say with a giggle. he watches through hooded eyes as you unbuckle his belt, sliding the zipper down before rubbing a hand over his thigh slowly, just close enough to where he needs you—but not quite.

he throws his head back and groans. “c’mon, baby. don’t tease,” he whines, making you giggle before tapping his leg, waiting for him to raise his hips so you can pull down his pants and boxers in one go.

his cock is heavy between his legs, bobbing up and pulsing as pre cum oozes from the thick, reddened tip, making you grin as you lean in to press a delicate kiss to the head. he lets out a shaky exhale, watching as you delicately wrap a hand around him and squeeze at the tip, milking him of a bit more pre cum before smearing it over his length.

“stressed, huh? working yourself to the bone?” you pout, faux sympathy lining your expression as you stare up at him with doe eyes. “my poor toru,” you murmur—the words are saccharine, seeping with sickeningly sweet affection, it’s borderline too obvious that it’s exaggerated. you almost want to laugh at how naive he is, how easily he makes it for you to play your cards, like he almost believes you won’t play your ace even as it sits in your hand. and you put a good show of being concerned, even going as far as to press a gentle kiss to his inner thigh, making his breath hitch in his throat. his heart spasms in his chest just a little at your words.

my toru—he likes the idea of being yours.

“you have no idea, baby,” he grunts, panting as you slowly stroke him, fisting his cock and squeezing at the base. “too many things to do—just need a fuckin’ break.”

“well, you deserve a break, toru,” you hum, gently cupping his balls and giving them a light squeeze, watching as his chest heaves as he moans lowly, “so let me give you one.”

you watch happily as he greedily rolls his hips into your fist, searing the image of your boss’s lips caught between his teeth as he fights back the needy sounds threatening to bubble up his throat. you rub a thumb through his slit, twisting your hand around his swollen tip before dragging down his length with a tight grip. his forehead is a tad bit sweaty by now, his bangs clinging to the skin as his cheeks flush a soft shade of pink. gojo is pretty—too pretty. he’s certainly not immune to lingering stares and shy giggles from the other women in the office, women that could only hope to see him in the ways you do.

it thrills you, really. watching him fall apart from the slightest bit of attention from you makes your ego rocket—and perhaps, maybe your bank account too if you’re lucky.

“yeah? gonna help me relax, sweetheart?”

“yes, sir,” you grin, making him groan at your words. with that, you wrap your lips around his cock, taking him down your throat and bobbing your head up and down as you swallow around him. he chokes, hand flying to the top of your head as the other grips the arm of his chair—knuckles turning white from the tight grip.

“oh sh-shit, that’s it, sweetheart,” he whines, bucking his hips slightly and fucking into your warm mouth, moaning softly when your tongue traces over the thick vein on the underside of his cock. your hand still massages his balls slowly, the other pumping the base of his length where you can’t fit him in your mouth as your jaw slacks and you let him use you for his pleasure. “always take me so well, baby,” he breathes, “feels good—oh fuck.”

you let his hips snap up and rut into your mouth faster, slamming into the back of your throat as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, as you feel him get closer to his high, as you feel him desperately chase the friction. the heaving of his chest harshens and the labored pants get increasingly more erratic as he feels the steady ache between his legs build up until—

“sir? do you have a moment?” there’s a knock on the door, one that makes gojo’s hips still and your eyes widen. quickly, he ushers you to crawl backward, pushing his chair in to cover himself and you under his desk as he clears his throat and quickly adjusts his appearance.

“yes, come in,” he croaks, voice just a bit strained as his cock throbs, aching painfully from his orgasm dying down just before it could even hit him.

the door opens and the soft clack of heels against the floor fills the room, making your eyes narrow as you hear whoever walks through the door approach gojo’s desk.

“i was just wondering about the project you assigned me,” you hear a voice—and instantly, you roll your eyes. the new girl—whatever her name is—might as well attach herself to gojo’s hip at this rate, you think. you’ve always watched in amusement as she stalks up to him with clear hopes of his approval, always rolling your eyes and snorting at how she could only daydream about fantasies, only picture things that are your reality. but right now…right now is not the time for her to play teacher’s pet.

“r-right,” gojo stutters, “i’ll go over details with you later. kinda in a rush for a meeting soon,” he chuckles nervously, hand tapping over his unfinished pile of papers from earlier.

“oh, of course!” and you would be satisfied if not for her next words, “i’m really glad to be assigned this project, sir. i have big ideas!”

instantly your mood sours.

what a bitch, you think—it’s almost too obvious from the way her tone is far too enthusiastic and her goals are much too ambitious for a new employee for any of it to be genuine. you know a sweet-talking, rank-climbing, paycheck-grabbing employee when you see one, and you’ll be damned if some newbie thinks she can get away with that in the middle of your own attempts. with a slightly wicked grin as an idea pops into your head, you suck on the tip of gojo’s cock, making him jump slightly in his chair.

“o-oh—good to hear, i like the enthusiasm,” he grunts, hissing slightly as your hand squeezes his balls tighter. you’re cruel—sucking only at his tip, ignoring the rest of his length even as you can all but feel the ache spreading through his cock. gojo is fighting every bone in his body to keep from bucking into your mouth with his hips to feel your mouth around the rest of him—it would give away the compromising situation a little too clearly.

so instead, he clears his throat and brings a shaky hand to continue signing the papers in front of him.

“are you okay, sir?” you hear the girl ask, making you roll your eyes at the clearly fake concern in her voice, “you look a bit—”

“i’m fine,” gojo says as he cuts her off (a little too quickly) and he offers a tight smile, “just uh…the air conditionings been awful in here. nothin’ to worry about, yeah?”

“oh, of course.

“like i said, i’m r-really busy—like really busy, so we’ll discuss things later, yeah?”

“oh, that sounds—” he cuts her off with a harsh exhale, head falling into his hand as he grits his teeth when you slide your tongue along his slit slowly. “are you sure you’re okay—”

“j-just a headache,” he chuckles nervously, “nothing i’m not used to. now, if you’ll—” he hisses slightly when you swirl your tongue around his tip, “e-excuse me, i really need this paperwork done.”

“right,” she says, and you feel satisfied with just a twinge of pride when you hear her clear her throat and walk to the door, “i hope you feel better, sir. looking forward to our discussion.”

with that, the door opens and then shuts—and gojo instantly lets out a shaky, whiny little moan as he slumps back into his chair, letting you swallow around him a few more times before he clenches his jaw and cups the back of your head, stopping you.

“sweetheart, that was risky,” he tuts, “what? just couldn’t wait? do i spoil you that much? i got you walkin’ around like the office princess, don’t i?” he pushes his chair back, his cock leaving your mouth, making you crawl from under his desk.

before you can even say anything, gojo has you tugged to your feet by the wrist, bending you over his desk with your chest pressed plat against the surface as he pulls your skirt and underwear off in one go, making you gasp as his searing tip is tracing along your dripping entrance and tapping at your clit. he chuckles when you wriggle your hips back, trying to steal more friction from his cock until he tightens his grip on your waist and stills your movements.

“toru, please,” you whine, pouting at him over your shoulder, making him hum as he leans down and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“i pamper you too damn much,” he scoffs, “that’s why you wanted to act like a brat with someone in the room, huh? want me to fuck you like a brat too, is that it?” you only whine when he slowly teases your folds with the first few inches of his cock, slipping into you slightly before pulling back out, rubbing the wet head of his cock over your clit as you grip the edge of the desk and whimper.

“please, toru,” you pout again—but he’s not satisfied, doesn’t think he ever will be. there’s never enough of you, never enough to quench the everlasting thirst no matter how much he drinks you in.

“c’mon baby, gotta gimme more than that,” he insists, and because he’s just a little mean, he shoves himself to the hilt in one go, making you squeal at the stretch as your legs shake. he chuckles lowly, keeps his hips painfully still as you try desperately to roll your hips back onto him for something—anything. but his grip is too strong, making you sniffle as frustrated tears collect at your lashes.

“toru, need it so bad,” you plead.

“need what? i wanna hear it,” he grins, “brats like you have to earn it, sweetheart. otherwise i’ll just sit here with my cock in you as i finish my paperwork. bet you’d like that too, though,” he laughs lowly, just a bit too smug.

“want you to fuck me,” you sob, clit throbbing and pussy clenching down on his still cock as it curves into you just right. “right over your desk—wanna cum for you, want you to make a mess. please? please toru? always fuck me so good,” you add, making him twitch in your walls at your words.

he groans, cursing under his breath at how quickly you turn the tables, so fast to turn him from smug to impatient as he all but pulls out before slamming himself deep into your tight cunt, making you mewl as his fat tip kisses against your sweet spot. he grunts, hands digging into your hips with a bruising grip as he feels your walls hug around him tightly.

“f-fuck, gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he curses, rolling his hips as he bullies his length into your pussy over and over, the thick veins running along his shaft dragging against your walls, making your head spin and your spine burst with jolts of pleasure. “you like when i fuck you like this? bet you wish someone would walk in just to see you stuffed full of my cock, wouldn’t you? want them to see you get special treatment like the little princess you are?” he pants against your neck, hunched over your back as he continues to slam into you.

you writhe under him, gasping as he splits you open with his cock, stretching your walls with his thick girth as his balls clap against your ass. it’s loud—the lewd, squelching of his length fucking into you and the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with both of your moans. you’re sure anyone passing by could hear exactly what’s going on—but somehow, that only excites you more, making an ache run through your core that only the harsh thrusts of gojo’s hips can soothe.

“oh—toru, toru, more,” you wail, letting out a high-pitched whine when his hand trails over your hips to find your clit, fingers rubbing harsh circles over the sensitive bud. your legs quiver, the ache of your building orgasm between your legs clouding your vision and fogging your mind. you can’t think straight—can’t even comprehend that you’re screaming your boss’s name in the same building all your coworkers are in as well. “fuck, feels good—so, good,” you babble, thrusting your hips back and making him curve deeper into you.

“yeah? that feel good, baby? then cum for me,” he pants into your ear, moaning softly as you clench down on him at the words, almost making it impossible for him to move with how tightly you flutter around him. “wanna feel you cum around me, sweetheart,” he groans, “please, gotta feel you—give it to me, princess.”

“toru! ‘m c-close, toru,” you say through breathy pants, and with that, you break, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave as your mouth parts with a silent sob. gojo fucks into you through your high, tip slamming precisely against your sweet spot, making you gasp with each thrust, crying his name as the sensation borders on too much. his fingers are still working your clit, and as your hips twitch away from his touch from the overstimulation as you finish. he chokes on a gasp, cock twitching in you and indicating he’s just about to cum.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—’m gonna cum, princess. g-gonna make me cum for you, sweetheart,” he whines, and with one more thrust, he pulls out of your warmth, hissing before pumping himself with his fist, stroking himself tight and fast as he falls over the edge and spills his seed across your ass. you feel the sticky ropes of cum paint your skin as gojo whimpers with each load that shoots from his tip, hips thrusting into his fist as he fucks himself through his high. “god—feels so good, baby. sh-shit.”

he finishes, slumping back onto his chair behind him, legs wobbly and weak as his chest rises and falls with each labored pant. you both catch your breaths, your body still sprawled over his desk as rolls his chair closer to you, hands rubbing slowly up and down the sides of your hips.

“fuck, you’re something else, babe,” he chuckles quietly, “just what i needed before my meeting.” you grin to yourself as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the side of your hip—and you think you have him just where you want him.

“toru, ‘m gonna need to come in late tomorrow,” you mumble softly, taking the opportunity while you can, “and i need a few days off next week, kay?”

“of course, sweetheart,” he says instantly, mind still hazed from the post-orgasm bliss, making your eyes sparkle in victory.

“thank you,” you giggle happily, “you’re my favorite boss i’ve ever had, you know?” and you can almost see the lovesick and pathetically giddy little grin he lets stretch across his lips from behind you.

“well, anything for my princess,” he hums happily, blissfully unaware of you reeling him tighter and tighter around your finger.

#teepods.writings #thirstee!#fics.#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n

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lieforyou · 5 months

Text

Cake

Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Nikolai, x fem!Reader // somewhat smut or lime

About: reader makes out/eats cake out of the characters mouth

( sorry if this is badly written:p) mentions of abuse relationships!

Enjoy:3

Dazai

Osamu you’re beloved boyfriend

Honestly you’re relationship was somewhat stable in a way( couldn’t say it was the healthiest but it was near ok

Only thing tho was his ex drive was crazy

He’s a tease ,loves keeping people on there toes

Doesn’t 10x more on you

Can never win him over it’s something about him that’s so unpredictable about his charm

He was always done to sometimes try new “things” when you guys would have sexual tension forms sometimes

So why not try something new? He wouldn’t mind right?

Scenario

Dazai was a bit busy with paperwork, he wasn’t always a lazy man he took his job seriously as-well.

Everyone was on their lunch break but some would stay to eat or talk to their coworkers.

You saw Dazai working on his computer and files he didn’t seem that stress but he doesn’t have enough time for you,usually tends to spend more time at home with you more occasionally .

Couldn’t think tho about a couple of days ago where he was teasing you’re body parts like some type of toy nearly almost fingering you.

He teased you but he didn’t actually do it.

You made up a plan it was lunch time and everyone was surprisingly gone to go out to eat or take a break from work.

You decide to leave and buy a cake a strawberry cake it was medium length with tiny strawberries on top within butter cream frosting

Looked so yummy!

You walked towards the agency

You saw dazai sigh as he shut of his computer ready to live to either find you or meet up with atsushi or just go to grab a coffee or something

“Dazai~” you said as you grinned with the cake in youre hands

“Hm? Ah Donna! I’ve been looking everywhere for you where we’re you… also what’s with the cake? “

Dazai said coming towards you with a slight smile but along with a raised eyebrow

“ I wanna feed you!” As you said grinning with a childish attitude

“feed me don’t you think that’s a bit childish? I mean I take the offer Donna but really?” Dazai raised an eyebrow looking a bit questioned on what you meant

Soon he realized when you meant “feed” didn’t mean actually feeding you more like making out saliva cake gulping his tongue down with cake feeding

He moans as you sucked his tongue with cake all over his face including yours

He’s hard super hard he stained his pants already with pre cum type hard it made gif leak through his light brownish colored pants

You been doing this for the past 1 hour in half

“Mmm a…ah baby~ please I need it right now please fuck…” he groaned from you making out with him with saliva,smashed cake,tongue,everything as sloppy as ever!

“Mmm I told you where not done until I finish the Cake fully Osamu..”. You moan in his mouth as you can feel strawberry flavor tongued

Quite the event out going time on that day

Chuuya

Chuuya was such a sweetheart but he wasn’t the best boyfriend to be fair he had some issues that he couldn’t really handle

But he tried his best

his sex drive was somewhat high somewhat low

Depends

He never had time to touch you sense he was a big part of the port mafia

He tried spending time with you at least

Port mafias anniversary was tomorrow and you where so proud of you’re boyfriend rather less then the organization itself,why not reward him?.

Scenario

Chuuyas tie had completely be undone his expensive “suit” was covered in red velvet cake and saliva along with spit

His hair was a mess

room was aired with lust and love including moans and kissing sounds

You where on his lap sucking his tongue as you’re face was covered in cake to further to his

The cake dripped down to his neck as you licked it and gave him hickies making him grunt aswell as low moans came from him

“Fuck d-…..doll…Ngh~ …Ah~mmmmph” he was cut of by mouth kissing by you as his mouth tasted like red velvet cake and wine he been drinking earlier

He was hard to hard he wanted to fuck you so bad

You’re panties where wet really wet like a river

Lucky his pants where black you couldn’t see much as his length had already leaked out of his boxers.

How did you get him to this?

No idea

I guess he can’t say no to his pretty girl

Even tho he thought you where gonna share whine with cake and cuddle

He thought wrong

Not until you stuff cake like a pig in youre mouth sitting on him like you where about to ride him smashing you’re lips into his as you full on made out with him like a momma bird feeding her baby birds

Fyodor

Ah Demon Fyodor

How lovely

Ok so

Yeah so like

Fyodor is just Fyodor

Ok but all that aside you’re Relationship was not healthy

It’s the truth

He didn’t really try to change for you maybe he would consider it maybe he did time to actually put in the effort

But over all it was always the toxic situation over you and him

Love is love no matter what form right?(wrong)

Fyodor was always in his own world he didn’t really have time for you

First place why get in a relationship with him again?

you saw that it was his birthday soon

You missed you’re dear fedya so much you needed him so bad

He always hated the ideal of sex tho it wouldn’t benefit him he would hate the idea of it being sinful of such acts

But to be fair he’s done worse coming from a terroist like him

He had the day off so you decide to take you’re own good points and buy him a strawberry milk cake

You hear Fyodor opening the door to you’re apartment

“I’m home” the Russian man speakd his accent was always clearer when he yelled a bit

He walked putting his coat down on the coat hanger in the hallway

You look to see a pale skinny man with purple ish eyes with short black hair looking at you

“FEDYAA!” You say coming to his chest

“Hm hello любовь” he said rubbing his hands through you’re hair he rather seemed calm

“ it’s almost youre birthday feyda!”

You said walking towards the chair in the kitchen as he followed

“I’m well aware now what do you have in mind of celebrating?” He said raising an eyebrow as he saw the cake

Now he hates the idea of sex

Found it shameful for a man like him

But seeing his dear like this feeding him cake

Maybe that’s an expectation

You put you’re fingers into fyodors mouth as cake and fingers rolled around in his mouth as he sucked them off clean from the cake

“Frankly I would be the one feeding you dear but it seems like you’re enjoying yourself more then I am?” As you stuff you’re fingers more as he moans a bit and gags

You could feel you’re self getting wet

He dared to touch you tho

Or maybe he was in a good mood only within his fingers for you’re cunt

Nikolai

Ok what

Nikolai you’re beautiful jester boyfriend

not a healthy relationship at all

Hopefully you could catch up to his “I’m perfectly sane” mindset when in reality he wasn’t he was beyond from it

He doesn’t even hide it

Why again? Why are you in a relationship with a insane clown

Quite the abuse relationship

If you can handle it tho like a champ then it be impressing

But can you handle his sex drive

His sex drive is as high as ever

Even tho he’s naturally clingy no matter if he’s honry

I like to think he wouldn’t really be honry it just fakes it to tease you

He’s up to anything

Now the roles are switched

He loves feeding food into youre mouth

He loves making you gag on his cock

He loves anything you gag on as long as it brings you tears he’s all up for it

He had just came back from a mission that the DOA of had

Scenario

After that he bought a nice little fruit cake with mangos,strawberries, blueberries, peaches .

But then you where gaging on his fingers moaning and begging for him stop as you can feel his fingers tease you’re throat to shove fruit down and his fingers

He would suck you’re tongue to

He but you’re tongue sometimes aswell

Would spit in your mouth a lot

He sucked on you’re tongue so much you’re tongue was so numb

He kinda got bored so you gave him head after words

“Ah~ suck it beautiful such a good girl is my dick a-…….Ah…~ fuck,fuck f-uck..”

“Is it as sweet as the cake?” He moaned out in somewhat a pitched moan as he shivers from youre mouth

His dick tasted like cake sometimes sense the remains of cake taste in youre mouth

——————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed:3!

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #bsd smut #fyodor dostoevsky #x reader #reader x character #bungo stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara

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thebottomfromhell · 9 months

Note

Hi! Sorry to bother you! But may I request a Dom!male reader like househusband x uppermoons head canons? Like the reader knows there a demon but literally doesn’t care and still loves them and the reader is basically the sole definition of “your doing great sweetie” (and the reader basically just supports them in everything and is like basically there 1# supporter)

(You can choose the uppermoons for the headcanons! I don’t mind!)

have a nice day! ♥︎

(Also if you have already done a similar idea you can just ignore this! I’m a little new to your blog and I really like your writing!)

I liked this ask a lot, also the image it's very cute, it made me smile, you might also like the traditional courting Headcanons 1 & 2 (but by this time you probably saw them already 😅) Also I didn't really know if as "dom" you meant as in dynamic or in sexual content, so I have a sexual connotation or two.

Househusband Human Supportive Dom Reader x Uppermoons. (Nakime, Douma and Gyutaro are not in this one, since their living conditions make it hard to step in as a house spouse. Also the clones come as a package in this one).

Warnings: Polyamory (Hantengu Clones), Slight sexual content (some characters and reader make out in a more sexual tone, but no explicit sex, so it's mostly implied), Cannibalism (mostly reading sharing his blood),

Gyokko:

"Okaeri, Gyokko. How was it today?" Gyokko is very organized with his time, he always comes back around the same hour and expects you to be awake to welcome him. "Tadaima." He just says, looking a bit tired. Probably some slayers did comments about his art, that pisses him off a lot. "I guess by that, it wasn't your best night. Is there is something this husband can do for you?" You tease as you get closer to him and hold gently the upper hands of his head, using your thumbs to carress circles in them. He relaxes and sighs after that.

"How about a cup of blood? That might cheer you up." You say as you guide him to the kitchen where you have a first aid kit, which you use a needle to take out your blood. "No, that is an artery. You will bleed out, let me do it myself." It's less messy this way, specially with Gyokko's help (he knows the circulatory system better than you), but it seems this time he doesn't have the patient to that. "Did you kill them or just put them in a pot?" You start a conversation as you put the red liquid in his favorite cup. "It was horrible, this was a Hashira and those sidekicks they have, they were so tasteless, didn't know how to appreciate arts. And the sidekick was infuriating, a damn child!" And you spend an hour with him drinking with one mouth as he complains with the other.

By the time he finishes there is are two hours left for sunrise, so you stand up and kiss the talking mouth "Meet me at bed, I will lock down the house." You close the window, three layers of curtains and move some objects for the weight to secure them more. "Do as I say, and I will treat you good." He compliains of you being "bossy" as you leave the room, but you do find him under the sheets once you step in your room. It doesn't have any windows, so it's already safe. You close the door and then go to sit in front of Gyokko. "You deserve to rest your mind once in a while. You are very hardworking, so let me..."

"Enough talking, darling. I already told you the night I had. Now I want my husband to spoil me. Now." You roll your eyes, and he calls you bossy? Still, you get under the sheets and kiss one of the mouths and you put your thumb in the other, tasting your own blood in the other's tongue as in joins yours. You also feel the teeth and tongue biting and salivating the thumb, you make sure the liquids don't fall into his lower eye. Still under the sheets you get on top of Gyokko, who's arousal is visible. "Then I better spoil you good."

It's already noon when you finish, you are very tired, but Gyokko just rest his head against your naked stomach because he is uncomfortable like that. You are always surprised by the unlimited demon stamina, you massage his scalp with your fingers to help him relax further. "There are people who just don't understand art, Gyokko. But you and I both know you are a great artist. Don't let things like this get you so worked up." He only groans a bit against your skin to speak after a minute of silence, you almost fell asleep before you heard his voice. "Well, I got my husband to support me and make me feel better, don't I?"

You chuckle a bit. He does.

Hantengu:

"T-t-t-tad-d-daim-a..." there, he said it (whispering), as he stepped in, closin the door behind him as quietly as possible. "Okaeri." Hantengu shrieks when you come next to him, when did you get this close? He thought you would still be asleep. "What are you doing up at this hour?" He asks quietly, still covering himself with his arms as he took a protective stance of the fright. He knows you won't hurt him, but it's a reflex. "I couldn't sleep, so I decided ro eat something. I just finished cleaning the kitchen after. How was your night?" He slowly puts his arms down as he sighs.

How long did you stay in a barely understadable ramble of how aggressive and scary Hashira are, how his master is an exploiter, how everyday and night are both nightmares alongside a self-pity monologue? Two hours, at least, but you only show him you are listening, not interrupting him once. Once he stops talking to tremble hard as he hugs himself you walk around him slowly, making sure he can see where you are and what are you doing with your hands as you put them on his shoulder. "Calm down, darling. It's ok. You are home right now, safe with your husband who wants to make you feel better."

He starts to relax as you squeeze and massage the stress away, then going to his back, feeling it full of knots. You sigh, you also did this yesterday and it's like this again? Well, it's not like it's Hantengu's fault. He didn't ask to be conditioned by the emotion of distress, it's already good enough he can find some comfort in you. "Thank you for doing this for me... How was your day? What did you eat just now." You appreciate his interest, even if part of it is only to be able to distract himself from the bad feelings as he listens to you. You do describe your day, talking mostly about when you went outside to buy some things the house needed. "It must be nice to not burn under the sun... even my clones can step on the sun."

"Well, other demons can't go under the sun neither. Have you eaten already? I can give you some of my blood." He shakes his head to reject the proposition "I don't have the stomach to eat today... thk u fr offr.... [thank you for offering]." You don't get to hear that last part, but you just finish the back to get in front of him. "Let's go to bed, I will give you a leg massage, check that the sun won't get through the windows and take a nap with you. That way you should feel better." Demons don't need to sleep, you already know that, but you are tired and asleep Hantengu feels a lot better than while awake, so he agrees.

Once you finish all those things you cuddle with his face against your chest, having him crying over everything and nothing specific as he hugs you tight. "Thank you... I feel better here." He answers honestly as you pat his back to valm him down as you feel the tears move through your abdomen. "It's ok dear, your husband is here for you. Just try to sleep." He does, you feel he stops breathing, but at this point it doesn't bother you, his nature is different to yours. He is still very dear to you, and so you help him as you can.

It can be tiring, but it's worth it.

Hantengu Clones:

"TADAIMA!" Scream Urogi and Karaku as they open the door, waking you up instantly as Sekido was lecturing them. You put another outer robe as you go towards the entrance to find your four idiots, Aizetsu is the first to notice you and go to see you before the others. "Y/N, Tadaima. We have had a rough night... can you please calm them down before going back to bed? I think you are the only one who can." He gives you big sad eyes before blinking fast a few times, making sure to look as cute as he can, manipulative little-. You can only nod before he leaves to the main room where you were sleeping "Okeari, by the way." You say before he disappears in the hallway.. Once he does that the next one to jump over you is Urogi, in his case, literally.

"Y/N! Hubby! We missed you so much!" He rubs his face against your as he has his arms and legs wraped up around you. "Sekido got beheaded like 7 times! It was so funny! Karaku actually had to save his a-" "SHUT THE FUCK UP, UROGI!" Karaku only laughs in the background. "He still got to thank me, ya know? I was so heroic back there, bet that if you saw me killing that slayer you would have gotten a bo-" "Karaku...." Yeah, that's the sign. If you don't step in Sekido will leave them outside all day. "Okaeri you all. I also missed you." You kiss Urogi's horn, wish makes him giggle. "I will set the house for sunrise, so if you want to help-" Joy and Pleasure leave to the main room in order to avoid work, leaving you with Sekido. "Those little shits..." he is very angry.

"Are you ok?" He doesn't answer, so you grab his hand gently and take it to your mouth to kiss it's back, making him blush but relax the frown. "I'm sure you all did great, at least did you all eat." He nods before you let him go, that means you don't need to offer blood (thank the one above and the one below, because you would die if the four were to drink blood from you), you both secure the house and find out that Aizetsu already secured the main room as Urogi and Karaku joined togeter several pillows, futons and sheets. "The beddings are ready! But if you want to have some fun before that, I am willing to give you some "cake" in the bathroom~" Karaku winks (which makes Sekido growl) at you, meking you (and Aizetsu) roll your eyes. "Nah, I'm good. I just want to cuddle and comfort my husbands if that is ok." Urogi laughs at the rejection as Karaku shrugs "Your loss."

Aizetsu goes to take both yours and Sekido's hand. "Can we please get along today. The sun will be up in some minutes, I can sense it... and it makes me sad that we would be trapped here while fighting." The Sorrow clone probably did already the eye trick to the other two and, since you already calmed down Sekido, it works on him to. "Thank you... " In the end you end up all un a fort under the sheets as they tell you the whole story. You are brushing Urogi's hair with your fingers as he lies on his stomach by your side, Sekido gives you his back as he uses your other arm as pillow, Karaku has your head in his lap to massage your scalp and Aizetsu rests his head in your stomach. It's not the most comfortable position to be, but you are happy to be like this (besides, you still could fall asleep how you are.)

You know they are also having a good time, since Sekido nuzzles against your limb, so you know he is there and comfortable. Aizetsu has his eyes close, so he could be asleep, once Urogi gets bore of you playing with his hair he starts nibbling softly your arm as if he was a cat (trying his best to not hurt you) and Karaku lies in his back with you still in his back. "Hey, Y/N... thank you for taking care of up. We like to be with you a lot." Karaku starts. "Yeah, we love you so much! You are the best husband ever!" "... you are good. Thank you for being there." "That tone didn't really sound sincere, Sekido." "Shut up, Aizetsu!" You can only chuckle at that. What can you say, you also enjoy taking care of them, even if as demons they don't need it.

"I love you all, too."

Akaza:

Akaza looks tired, emotionally exhausted, as he steps inside the house, he was just scolded for not killing the Hanafuba earing brat, the weakling, that little shi- "Okaeri, you came back early. Did something happen?" You ask him, you were just going back to sleep (you woke up to eat something) since Akaza usually comes back just some minutes before sunrise, looking for Muzan's imaginary flower he comes back to complain about. "Y/N... Tadaima... sorry, I... did you do the dishes?"

You laugh as he looks concerned, he didn't meam to change the topic, but "I told you I would do them..." he pouts, Akaza likes to be helpful around the house, so most of the time it's you both competing to do the chores. "Go to sleep, I will do the rest." He wants to clean, since the house is already set for sunrise. "You can fix the house for yourself, but I already did everything else after you left." You say proudly as you watch him grind his teeth. "I will cook you breakfast later then, and the house must be cleaned every day, so tomorrow I do the chores." He really likes to take care of you and gets easily frustrated when he can't. It often backfires because you also like to take care of him.

You cup his face in your hands to make him look at you in the eyes, smiling softly as he melts alightly in hour touch. "You look way too stressed for that, how about you tell me first how was your night?" Turns out his boss lectured him for not killing a child, the one he fought the day he didn't come home for sunrise (that night you were worried to the point of sickness, it was the first time since you married that Akaza didn't spend the day in your house) and he is very angry. "I have always done everything he told me! I swear that brat, weakling, will die at my hands. Damn weaklings taking advantage of...." his breathing become unsteady at that, so you pet his face. "I know you will, you are way too stubborn to not manage to kill someone you want dead. I'm sure even that Douma will fall under your hard work sooner or later." You don't really know about Douma, but fantazising of his death makes Akaza feel better.

"How about you go to bed with me? I am a bit tired and I would like to lie down somewhere." He nods as you take his hand and guide him to the main room. Once in the bed you push him so he can lie on his back as you get over him in the space between his legs. "Didn't you say you wanted to lie down?" You smile as you move your robes to expose one shoulder "Well, I will need it depending on the amswer. When was the last time you ate something?" By the look of his face you can se it has been a while, so you pull him from the back of his neck to your naked skin. "Take a bite, love. And I will also take a piece of you. Deal?" The second he bites theough your skin, you know you are on.

You didn't last that long, mostly because of the wound in your shoulder. You curse you only have 4 liters of blood and half gone already show it's effects, unlike Akaza, who is tending the bite. "If it makes you feel better, it's always hot when you bite me." You say something you know is stupid to make him laugh, he hates hurting you, even when you ask him to. "Well, I do think you are a snack, dear husband." You also laugh, gods that was awful.

You love, trust and support him, and Akaza better damn well know it.

Kokushibou:

Kokushibou just breathes in before closing the door behind him, fully knowing you are not only awake, but in the end of the hallway. "Tadaima." He answers without even looking at you, to be honest he was hoping you would still be asleep. He does love you but... he is not the best with feelings, and you are just so- "Okaeri, Kokushibou. How have you been?" good to him, and he just can't aswer the same way. It makes him feel inadequate. He hates that, so he tends to leave for long periods of time. "It's been six moons since the last time I saw you, anything interesting?"

And yet, you never anger, you never are anything but understanding, and that is just so confusing. There was other man that was like that with him, no matter how evasive or cold Michikatsu Kokushibou could get, he would still welcome him warmly, forever patient and stable, like the sun that burns all demons. You remind him a lot, and the worst part is that it attracts Kokushibou, the familiarity and the way you treat him. "Hey, are you ok?" You say as you notice he lost himself on his thoughts, once he gets out of his trance he looks at you. He only wanted to see you, that is why he came back, he hoped you wouldn't be awake when he did.

"Do you want a drink?" Blood, you are offering your blood and he can't find himself to day no. No when this is the only way he can drink it from a cup without calling it what it actually is, that way he can pretend he is still a samurai drinking tea in his free time, that he didn't transform into something that is not human. "Please. That would be nice." He sits in a mat as you serve him the red liquid, and besides thanking you as you hand the cup to him, Kokushibou doesn't say anything. There is a big chance he will leave soon, so you tell him everything that happened while he was missing. "And then I had to tell the ladies I was to old for marry his daughter, but I think she didn't believe me. Still, I'm a faithful husband to the second most powerful demon is not an explenation that will be well received."

Thankfully, between the blood and your story telling, he decides to stay for the day, so you prepare the house so the sunlight won't be able to come inside. You must hurry since you realized he would be staying when there was half an hojr for the sun to come up and he didn't move at all. You started with the room you are with Kokushibou, then the whole house, there was already sun when you finished the last rooms, but Kokushibou didn't burn and you consider that enough. "Kokushibou, the house is ready. You can move arpund if you want." He does, only to get to find yourself in hour room as you followed him. "You look tired. Sleep for a while I will stay here." He says as he sits in front of your bed.

The thing is, you are tired, you were at least half of the night awake and the missing blood is not doing you any good. But you don't want to sleep, you want to spend time with Kokushibou before he leaves. "Only if you promise we can properly say goodbye to each other bedore you go." He agrees, so you get ready for bed, knowing he likes to watch you sleep for some reason. "Kokushibou, remember that if you want to talk about anything, I will listen." ..... "Thank you." He just says that before becoming dead silent. It's very hard to be there dor Kokushibou, since he does and doesn't want you around at the same time.

Still, you try. That is enough.

#demon slayer #kny #upper moons #top reader #kny x reader #karaku #urogi #aizetsu #sekido #hantengu #akaza #gyokko #kokushibou #male reader #kny headcanons

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quietblueriver · 10 months

Text

Please find below 4k of quickly written and mostly unedited pride fluff inspired by the revival news.

Happy Pride, and happy Warrior Nun, y'all. <3 <3

Ava’s first pride was with her mother. She remembers being outside, her mom’s laugh loud and generous, her joyous friends lifting Ava on their shoulders and spinning her around to take it all in, everything bathed in color. There was so much to see and hear, and she felt small but not scared surrounded by so many people, delighted when someone dancing in the parade wrapped a feather boa around her neck gently and with a wink. Her mom had taken her home before the parade was over, Ava fighting sleep and swaying against her side in the afternoon sun.

She’d felt no shame as she got older and realized that she found a wide spectrum of people and genders to be attractive. She hadn’t been raised to believe in God and her life at St. Michael’s definitely didn’t change her mind. She’d figured out real fucking quick that the nuns at St. Michael’s were full of shit. There was absolutely no way Sister Frances, fountain of hate, knew what she was talking about when it came to literally anything beyond being a fucking bitch. She sure as shit didn’t know anything about love. Ava was more likely to listen to an avocado’s directions about how to live her best life. Anyway. The nuns spouted bullshit but she knew better. She had been taught better. Like her mom’s laugh and the soft fur of her favorite tabby under her fingers, Ava clung to the memory of her mother surrounded by men and women and people dressed in bright colors and dancing, together and happy and beautifully themselves.

“Bea?”

She’s standing in front of her dresser, staring into the open drawer where she keeps her t-shirts, all neatly folded and organized vertically so that she can see each one. It’s exactly where she was when Ava left her two minutes ago, pretending she wanted a glass of water to give Bea a minute that she would deny she needed if Ava actually asked.

“Hmm?” Her eyes remain focused on the drawer, one hand fiddling absently with the thin gold chain around her neck, taking up residence where her cross used to be. She’s in one of her favorite sports bras, tight enough to have a compressive effect, and black boxer briefs, her hair still wet from the shower and in a loose braid to keep it out of her way. It’s something precious for Ava to see her this disarmed, this at home, something she thought about when she was trapped and waiting, waiting, waiting until she could come back to this world, to a real life, to Bea, in whatever capacity she would have her. The fact that Bea wants her like this, in all the ways Ava had ever hoped and in the home they’re building together, is sometimes enough to leave her breathless.

She steps into the room but leaves several feet of space between them. It’s a dance, figuring out how to love Bea best, and Ava still sometimes misses a step. As always, her instinct is to wrap herself around Bea like a koala, but she knows that Bea has to be the one to make the move right now. She would welcome Ava; she always does, but it’s different when she thinks Ava wants something. Because she was raised by shitheads, her default, when Ava wraps her up in moments like this, is to feel it like a threat: Make the right choice because this is what you have, yes, but this is also what you can lose. She had nearly had a panic attack even admitting this to Ava, stilted and red-faced and ashamed one night after a therapy session. “It’s not about you, I swear. I know you love me. I’m just not used to love like yours.” There is no part of Ava that doesn’t want to throw down with Bea’s parents.

She focuses, instead, on what she can do. It is Ava’s privilege to learn how to love Bea in the ways that let her feel it most, and right now that means standing close but not too close, a physical signal that she’s there if Bea wants her but that she has no expectations.

“You sure you want to go? It’s really, really okay if you don’t. We could just go to Rosa’s later, if something smaller would be better. Or we can stay home! No pressure, is what I mean.”

Beatrice looks at her then, eyes soft and with a small but genuine smile. The halo gives a little hum with Ava’s exhale. They’re in agreement about Bea, as always: beautiful.

“I want to go.” She turns her body to face Ava, one hand still on her chain. “I want to go with you.” Ava grins big, lets every fucking bit of affection show on her face, in her body, in the halo’s light, kept dim enough not to be outrageous in the space of their bedroom but still obvious, and Bea’s own smile grows just a little, her cheeks coloring. It’s strange in the very best way to see her be bashful. She looks down at her body and adopts the contemplative face that Ava fell in love with, all strong, sharp, serious lines and pursed lips. “I just don’t know what to wear. Is that,” she turns back to the drawer and shakes her head, “Is that silly? I feel…I feel a bit silly.”

Ava steps closer then, an offer of help, and stops just behind Beatrice at the dresser. The way she immediately leans back into Ava’s space, drops the chain to pull one of Ava’s arms around her almost absently, lets Ava know she made the right decision. Ava presses onto her toes and hooks her chin over Bea’s shoulder so that she can look into the drawer. Not that she doesn’t already know exactly what’s in there—she wears Bea’s clothes as often as her own.

“It’s not silly at all. Do you want…how, um, how on theme do you want to be?” There is nothing in Bea’s drawer that Ava would describe as loud or showy—she tends toward muted colors and conservative cuts even now that her vows are barely visible in the rearview. Still, there are options.

“I don’t think I have anything particularly appropriate? I suppose…” she reaches for a lavender t-shirt, the same one Ava had been eyeing for her, thick cotton with a front pocket and a slightly faded neckline. Ava wraps her other arm around Bea’s waist and squeezes, presses a kiss to her cheek before dropping back down. “That’s perfect, baby.”

“Really?” It’s tentative in a way that Bea rarely is, and Ava’s heart aches.

“Yes, absolutely.” She thumbs at the waistband of Bea’s underwear and bites her lip before adding, “I mean, you’re rocking this look but I figured you didn’t want to wear it out.” She feels Bea’s gentle laughter. Mission accomplished.

“No, I’m not quite there yet. Maybe next year.” She’s feeling good enough to banter, even if only a little, which loosens something in Ava’s chest. A deep breath and exhale and then she feels more than sees the shift in Bea’s demeanor, her shoulders squaring up and feet spreading evenly. There is no leather tunic, no bo, no stash of knives (well, there’s always at least one, in a boot or a waistband or a subtle sheath under her shirt and across her back but like, of course). This is a different kind of armor—the control in her body, the appearance of confidence and competence. There’s more than a little fake it til you make it happening right now, but that’s fucking great, and nobody but Ava is going to know anyway. All they’re going to see is a very hot, very self-assured human, and Ava’s going to enjoy watching Bea get flustered by the women who will absolutely be looking in a totally unsubtle way.

She presses a last kiss to Bea’s shoulder blade and then pulls away, stepping over to their closet and pulling out a pair of black jeans that are a go-to for Bea, comfortable and neat and tapered but not too tight. She lays them carefully on the bed and then steps back toward the door as Bea slips into the clothes.

She looks incredibly handsome, as always, and Ava tells her so, whispering into her ear and then kissing her soundly. Impressively, she only lets her hands wander a teeny tiny amount. Bea looks down at herself and then says, “It’s not very colorful.”

Ava bounces on her toes and claps her hands once, brings them to together to a point under her chin. “Well! I have some ideas, if you want to add a little color.” She pulls Bea into the living room and presses gently on her shoulders, sitting her on the sofa and then walking to pull a tote from one of the hooks by the door. She’d been out this morning to get them coffee and also grabbed some supplies.

“Okay, so.” She rummages through and sits her bounty one by one on the coffee table. “We have face paint, nail polish, markers, body glitter. Oh! And!” She drops the bag and bounds into their bedroom, returning with a small box that she’d nearly forgotten about. “I got you these. Pinkwashing is bullshit but like all of the proceeds go to a shelter for queer youth and also it’s Pride and these are great and you’ll look amazing in them.” She hands Bea the box and then adds hastily, “If you want to wear them! No pressure. I will obviously also look amazing in them.”

She doesn’t say the rest—that she knew Bea wouldn’t have the same kind of options as Ava, whose closet is as full of color and energy as she is. Today, she landed on high rise denim shorts and a blue cropped tank with a short-sleeve button-down, pink and purple gradient, knotted overtop. There is a streak of pink at the front of her hair, and she’d traded shoes with Rosa, who lives two doors down, for the weekend, so she’s got one pink high top and one purple. She’s a walking bi flag and she feels great about it.

Beatrice is smiling down at the box, and she pulls out the rainbow sunglasses with a grin, situating them on her face and yes, she looks very, very good and also relaxed, which is the point. Ava has no real option but to kiss her, sliding into her lap and pushing the glasses to rest in her hair.

“You’re so hot.”

She blushes, as always, and rolls her eyes a little, but she doesn’t protest, is learning through therapy and a lot of positive reinforcement from Ava to let the compliments stand even if she doesn’t quite believe them. “I love you, too.” Ava grins and kisses her nose, doesn’t move from her lap but angles her torso slightly back toward the table.

“Now. Want me to do a lesbian pride flag on your cheek? Or your arm? Or some glitter? It rolls on.” She eyes the clock. They’re going to find a spot near the end of the route, closer to their apartment, so there’s not a rush. “We still have time for nail polish, even, if you want.”

Bea situates her hands on Ava’s hips, which is excellent, and looks at the pile on the table. “Maybe a flag on my cheek?” Ava nods decisively and reaches to pick up the face paint markers. “Yes, ma’am.” She pulls the top from the orange and moves to get the best angle.

Beatrice grew up in London, so she’d seen Pride, but only from a distance. “It was the first time I heard my father use a slur,” she told Ava the afternoon that they’d seen the pride flag go up in their favorite coffee shop, head in her lap on their sofa, Ava’s fingers carding through her hair. “It was the summer after Year Two, I think. We hadn’t started summering at the house in France yet.” Ava had not, for once, teased her for using the word summer as a verb. “We were out for…something. I don’t remember, but there were people walking to the parade and we could hear the music. They looked so happy, and I couldn’t stop watching them, even though I knew I shouldn’t let my father see me. When he noticed me staring, he grabbed my arm so hard it bruised.” Ava’s fingers stopped only briefly, reaching down to rub Beatrice’s bicep, soothing a phantom pain. Beatrice took her hand and kissed her palm, soft, before putting it back in her hair. Taking the request for what it was, Ava resumed her previous motion.

“He said…he said terrible things for the rest of the walk back to the car, loud enough that I knew some of the people must have heard. I started crying, and it made him mad at me. He never…I didn’t cry often, as a child. I don’t think he knew what to do with me most of the time, but he certainly didn’t know what to do with tears. It took me a long time to stop. I didn’t know exactly why, then, but I already felt wrong.”

Ava held her tongue, scratched at Bea’s scalp in a way that sometimes made her arch her back in a distinctly cat-like movement, graceful and pleased. Beatrice hummed and after a few moments, she titled her head back and reached up to skim her fingers along Ava’s jaw.

“I’d like to go, I think. To Pride. I’d like to go with you.” Bea’s skin was warm under her lips as Ava moved from her forehead to her nose to her chin. “I’d love that, baby.”

-- They’re able to walk, which is nice because it’s beautiful out today and because it gives Bea a way to get rid of some nervous energy. She’d already been on a run that morning, but she’s always a little on edge, Ava’s sister warrior, and today is going to be amazing, Ava knows it, but it’s also going to be a lot.

Fifteen minutes into the walk, Beatrice squeezes Ava’s hand so hard she thinks maybe she’s missed some kind of danger or protestor or something. When she follows Bea’s gaze, though, she squeezes back just as tightly. A loud, brightly colored group has emerged from the subway and congregated around someone looking at their phone. While the younger members of the group wear bright colors—bow ties and skirts and dyed hair scattered throughout—the adults wear matching t-shirts, white with gigantic rainbow hearts and bold black letters:

Proud of My Queer Child

Proud of My Queer Grandchild

A little distance from the malformed semi-circle, an elderly man entertains a very excited kiddo who can’t be more than 8, blue tutu flying as they spin and spin. The man, Papa written in pink, white, and blue paint on his arm, is in a variation of the same shirt: Proud of my Trans Grandchild.

As Ava and Beatrice approach the little one stops twirling and says, exuberant and maybe a little dizzy, based on their wobbly stance, “Happy Pride!”

“Happy Pride!” Ava’s response is enthusiastic but hasty. She’s ready to move quickly, give Bea a pass on interaction, but Bea stops and smiles at them, so handsome in the sunlight, a tiny dash of sunscreen that Ava hadn’t noticed as they left the house covering some of the freckles on the right side of her nose. “Happy Pride,” she says, voice gentle as it always is with children.

“I like your glasses! But you’ve got, uh,” little fingers swipe to indicate the spot where the sunscreen is. Bea says, polite as ever, “Thank you. I have been admiring your tutu.” She turns to Ava, who lifts her fingers and blends. Beatrice cups her jaw. “Thank you, love.” Familiar and easy and unashamed.

“Dad! Micah! You ready?” A conclusion has apparently been reached by those congregated around the phone. Micah waves and then skips toward the woman who called for them, grandfather shepherding closely.

The motorcycles are loud enough that Ava feels them in her chest, and she can’t help but laugh.

Bea is transfixed, eyes glued to the group of women in front of them—colorful flags and bandanas, leather and love and butch women revving engines. The woman closest to them, in a leather vest with a Dykes on Bikes patch prominently displayed, throws her head back and laughs at something her partner, clutching her from behind, whispers into her ear.

“Dyke,” Bea whispered into the dark of their bedroom at Cat’s Cradle a few weeks after Ava’s return. They were learning each other in new ways in a new world, this life and the next all in one, and Bea was trusting Ava with another piece of herself. She explained with a pained voice and silent tears the way her father had nearly spat at her when her parents found her kissing another girl, innocent and exploring, in the kitchen. “My mother slapped me and he called me a dyke. They sent me to Switzerland the next day.”

Now, Bea wraps an arm around Ava’s waist and pulls her closer with a confidence that makes Ava and the halo want to burst. Ava wraps her own arms around Bea, squeezing, and leans up to kiss her cheek. Strong fingers catch her chin as she turns away and then Bea’s lips are on hers, sure and solid and tasting of coconut sunscreen chapstick. Ava smiles into it and leans her forehead against Bea’s as they break apart, happy and so fucking proud.

The crowd roars when the bikes start moving, the parade on its way again, and Ava joins them, yelling and unlocking her hands from Bea’s waist so that she can wave. Beatrice is quiet, but she’s smiling, really smiling, and she startles a laugh when a dyke revs at an impressively loud and coordinated wolf-whistle from a nearby section of the crowd.

They’ve been here for almost two hours—sound systems blasting Kylie and Beyonce and Janelle Monae, queer people dancing in leather and coordinated outfits and tiny, tiny swimsuits. More than one marcher has winked at one or the other of them, Ava delighted and Bea, as predicted, flustered and precious.

There are corporate-sponsored floats fucking everywhere and it’s very, very white, and Ava knows that Beatrice, who is as thoughtful in her queerness as she is in everything, will want to talk about it later. (She bravely asked Rosa and Cleo, her partner, older London natives who have been active in the queer scene since before she and Bea were born, about how to get more involved in community. And a growing stack of queer reading material—poetry and fiction and theory and memoir— sits in a neat stack on her bedside table and on two designated shelves in their living room. Ava is partial to fiction and the queer internet, but she’s happy to listen to anything Bea wants to read her, steady heartbeat in one ear and measured voice in the other.) For the moment, though, she watches and watches and watches as it all passes by.

At one point, a drag troupe dressed in habits with incredible makeup traipses by as the Sister Act soundtrack plays. Ava’s nervous for a minute, but Bea only bites her lip, expression amused rather than offended. One of the queens opens a fan with a flourish, and it’s covered in a shockingly detailed copy of The Last Supper, the disciples all in drag. A snort, ungraceful and unguarded, and then Bea is laughing so hard she’s shaking. Ava can’t look away.

By the time they enter hour three, they’re both flagging a little, and Ava wants to go home for a bit and nap because she absolutely wants to take Bea dancing tonight, so she tugs at Bea’s bicep and says loudly enough to be heard over the music (an Elton John remix?), “I’m happy to stay as long as you want, but I’m also happy to go home. I will need a nap before we go out tonight.” She does not phrase it as a question and she can’t see Bea’s eyes but she knows that they’re rolling fondly as Bea’s lips purse in amusement. “Oh, are you going out tonight?”

Ava pouts shamelessly because she knows what she wants and she knows how to get it. “We are going to a drag show and then dancing.” It’s an easier ask than Pride. They’ve done it before, even within the last month. The clubs are dark and anonymous and Bea genuinely loves dancing, and dancing with Ava especially.

Ava notices the banner of the next group before Bea can respond and nudges her quickly. “Bea. Look.” She does, immediate and reflexive, and then she keeps looking.

Christians at Pride

The groups is big, and there are colorful banners everywhere, some professionally printed and some very obviously handmade:

You are Made in God’s Image

You are loved.

Oh Happy Gay!

Thank God for Queer People

There are denominational shirts, a solid Catholic coalition packed into the middle, and at the end, a group of people whose shirts say simply: I’m Sorry. Ava has kept a close eye on Bea because, y’know, trauma, but it’s not until the end, until the I’m Sorry, that she reacts noticeably, sucking in a breath and curling one of her hands into a fist. Ava steps behind her, places a hand at the small of her back in question, and Bea reaches back for her arms.

They stand like that, Ava wrapped around her very favorite person, and watch a few more floats pass by, bass thumping up through their feet and confetti falling over them. Across the street, someone lifts a small child in a rainbow bucket hat onto their shoulders, and they sit waving and clapping happily at the queer cyclist club. The couple who have been camped next to them—Matt and Andy, about their age and into gardening and incredibly fucking cute in their tiny matching rainbow shorts and mesh tops—dips, giving them quick hugs. As they turn to leave, Andy says to Beatrice, teasing and without waiting for an answer, “See you tonight, yeah?” Ava, having resumed her previous position already, feels Bea’s laughter in her own chest.

Eventually, Beatrice turns into her and says, acting put upon but pressing even closer to Ava to be sure she knows it’s only an act, “Let’s go home and nap before we go out.”

Ava grins, victorious.

Look, Ava loves being queer. She doesn’t believe in blessings but she sure as shit believes it’s a gift to be bisexual, and she feels that deeply as she watches Bea at the bar in her slightly tighter black jeans and a fitted white tee. Her hair is down, over one shoulder, and she’s leaned forward to catch the bartender’s attention and Ava can’t believe she gets to go home with her.

She’s coming back from the bathroom, but she stops as someone slides into Bea’s space, beautifully tattooed arm reaching over to touch Bea’s elbow like it’s nothing. They’re gorgeous, newly touched-up undercut and jeans that do great things for their ass and Ava smiles as they shoot their shot.

The more they do it, the more she loves bringing Bea into queer spaces like this, because it’s where she gets the attention she quite frankly deserves and because it’s very fun to watch her navigate these interactions. Only the very smallest part of Ava wants to halo-blast this human across the room and even that is only on principle—she has absolutely nothing to worry about. More than anything, she’s happy that her partner gets some outside reinforcement for what Ava tells her all the fucking time: she’s hot.

Bea backs away immediately, says something that Ava is sure is polite but absolutely clear, and then she’s alone again. Ava makes her way over, sliding and arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek and Beatrice smiles at her and hands her a shot glass.

“Lemon drop?”

The club is full of people celebrating, evidence of the parade everywhere: sunburns and smeared paint and so much glitter. Her own arms are covered in it now, but she doesn’t mind. Ava always loves going dancing with Bea but she loves it especially tonight. They’re warm and happy and just a little bit drunk, swaying comfortably in the press of the revelry.

The music changes, an eruption as the Beyonce remix sounds through the speakers, and Bea shifts somehow closer to her, hands confidently blazing a path to the exposed skin of Ava’s waist. Ava lets her own hands roam, landing on Bea’s shoulder blades, fingers digging in as Bea breathes out against her ear, “Come home with me?”

Ava kisses her, a little filthy, and Beatrice pulls her closer. She draws back with a bite to Bea’s bottom lip and kisses a path up her jaw, lets her tongue graze skin as she answers Bea’s question the way she always does, the way she always will: “Yes.” They press out of the crowd, and Beatrice apologizes as she bumps into a crew coming into the club. “No worries, baby!” The queen is beautiful, makeup fucking impeccable, and she blows a kiss as she heads toward the bar. “Happy Pride!”

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #warrior nun fic

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