#I think it fits the brief well enough as is
Note
Ooohhh any head cannons with malleus! Yutu and how diasomnia reacts to them?
Ah yes the banished Prince. I was wondering when I was going to get an ask about him, and I admit I am a bit surprised it was only the one unlike a certain other prince. It's rather fitting to come back to Yutu posts with him though, there's a great deal of tragedy to be had with Malleus in this ayuu.
notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. SPOILERS FROM BOOK 7 ON HOW DRAGON FAE REPRODUCE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
I've mentioned it before but Malleus! Yutu plays by half elf rules. He's very young looking, he's around the same age that Yuu is, whatever you think that is, but he looks around 15 at most and shares his father's eyes and teeth. Even in your world he had a reputation for being quite baby faced, this annoys him quite a lot, though he keeps his outrage to a brief pout if the person talking about it is Yuu.
Yuu remembers Malleus being their best friend, someone who was socially awkward due to isolation and came off as intense and scary because of it. They go to great lengths to try and encourage Yutu to make friends, but the public opinion of them as weirdos really hinders this and is only increased as Yutu matures. This Yutu doesn't like people very much, he grows up assuming everyone is mean and overly judgemental and that he will never be truly accepted for who he is no matter how hard he tries.
Being born in a different world does not make him any less of a Draconia, though unlike his father he is less prone to rage and more to long periods of melancholy; he is very much that sensitive goth kid with reams of bad poetry he will want to burn when he gets older and a love for rainy days. He has a deep love for classical poetry, music, and old clothes. If the area where Yuu lived had a ren faire then you can best bet Yuu took him there as a special treat more than once, he loves seeing all the medieval outfits and activities. He's explored every cemetery your town has, knows all of it's weird rumors, and any fun history stuff that might have happened in and around it, something he retains when transported to Twisted Wonderland. There are few people who know more about the history of Night Raven College than Yutu Draconia, for better or worse.
His interest in the macabre effects how he sees his parent's situation. While other Yutus might have needed time to adjust to the idea of magic and curses, Malleus! Yutu always firmly believed in it and assumed that was exactly what had happened to his parent. He went back and forth on his beliefs about his father, as a small child he thought of his father as a wonderful person who loved his parent so much that he must be searching for them surely, and that any day now he would swoop in and fly Yuu and him away to where they really belonged. When that never happened he began to wonder if maybe his father saw his relationship with Yuu as a mistake and that their memories had been altered purposefully to hide his identity. Whatever the truth, Yutu has decided that his loyalty is to Yuu, and that no matter who is trying to harm them he will hunt them down and have his revenge.
He announces as much to Crewel after he arrives in the mirror chamber, magic sparking at his finger tips as he roars it with a force he didn't know he had and immediately starts hacking at how dry his throat has become. It's very cute and not as intimidating as he might have wanted, but his point comes across well enough. Diasomnia is extremely pleased to have a Draconia back in the Housewarden's seat, though Yutu is less than pleased with this new position of authority.
The transition of being a hated outcast to the rightful King of a literal fallen kingdom is jarring. Learning of his father's controversial marriage to Yuu, of the uproar caused by their disappearance and his father's outright refusal to ever give up hope that his child and spouse would return is heartbreaking. Silver and Sebek had standing orders to go to them when not if they did, that's how badly his father wanted to believe he would be back. He was barely able to live with himself without them, but he had to. He had a kingdom relying on him, and someone else too.
We have gone back and forth in these posts about giving Yutu a sibling, but Malleus! Yutu absolutely has one. Dragon fae create eggs from magic and their partner's love, so in this scenario Malleus and Yuu decided to have two children, one that Mal would nourish and one that Yuu would. Technically, the Crown Princess is older than Yutu, but since she hatched from an egg she matures even slower than he does. She did grow faster than her father, the ability to transform into a human came much more naturally to her because of Yuu's love, but she doesn't look or sound much older than six. You are insane if you think this means she thinks of herself as the younger sibling though, her egg was older by two whole years so there! That means she is in charge! So Yutu absolutely has to stop learning boring "political smience" or whatever and play with her RIGHT NOW. She's wanted to meet him for so long TᴖT how dare her little brother deny her TᴖT look at her she's so cute how could he even think of scolding her TᴖT oh jail for brother jail for 1000 years TᴖT
Yutu might hate socializing and have a negative view of people but he absolutely adores his sister and thinks of himself as the big brother. He lets her claim to be in charge in the same way Malleus let Sebek do whatever he wanted because he finds it amusing. It is not uncommon to see the King in Exile holding court with the Crown Princess on his lap, rocking her softly as she naps. It helps solidify his control over what remains of Briar Valley, they might have been skeptical about having a half human King who cannot even transform into a dragon, but his professed dedication to his father's legacy of sacrifice and the clear adoration of his sister make his authority tough to deny.
Speaking of sacrifice, going back in time was hard for Malleus! Yutu. He felt there was absolutely no way he could bring his sister back with him because of how young she was and he was skeptical of whether or not it would even work. If it didn't he would be depriving Briar Valley of a king again, but if it did well. Then he would never need to be king in the first place, which Yutu finds reliving. While he did step up to the task, all he ever really wanted was to live with his father, Yuu, and now his sister in whatever way would have been normal for them. Sure, that normal turns out to have been quite abnormal, but that doesn't mean he still does not want it.
When the Once and Never King sees his father he has maybe more information than any of the other Yutus, even those who had met their dads. He conducted lengthy interviews with both Silver and Sebek, compiling a great pile of notes that he went through over and over again trying to come up with a strategy. All of that planning goes out the window when they actually meet, Yuu asks for permission from Tsunotarou to introduce the two of them, thinking it would be nice for both him and Yutu to have more friends and Malleus is just intrigued enough to say yes.
So this is a dragon fae. It's the only thing Yutu can bring himself to think when he sees Malleus, the other, more intense thoughts and emotions are distracted by the fireflies that accompany his father's arrival. They're beautiful, he can't remember having seen anything like them before, certainly not in his future. His father looks at him in brief surprise, and magic tingles up Yutu's spine. It's similar to the feeling he had when he first saw his sister, like recognizing like and seeking to form a connection. It hurts to shut himself off, but he smiles and focuses on his humanity as he puts forward his hand. "Hello Mr. Tsunotarou, I'm Yutu." The smile that stretches its way across Malleus's face is pure amusement, he must have really liked this ruse. What did Yuu think about that when they learned?
"My the humans of your world are certainly brave." He shakes his hand proudly, clearly pleased at the normalcy of Yutu's treatment but still painfully unaware how to be normal about it. "I am deeply pleased to make your acquaintance."
Malleus adores Yutu. There's just something about him that activates a part of him that he wasn't aware of before, and while he doesn't understand what those emotions are he recognizes his increased need to be protective of Yuu for exactly what it is. His mind thinks of Yuu as his mate, in body and soul, and that does terrify him slightly. Yuu is so tragically human, they'll die if he takes them home. They'll die if he lets them go to their home. They'll die if he never says anything at all and lets his love rot out his heart alone in his tower while they freely move through the world without ever having known of his emotions-
I haven't given much thought as to how I would want a Malleyuu confession to go down, but I could see them starting a sort of awkward courting process where Malleus takes them for long, late night walks in the forest to slow dance alone, brings them roses and handcrafted jewels he silently begs for them to wear to show just how close they are getting- but however it happens there is at least an understanding that there is something between them by the time Yutu's disguise is knocked off and he's forced to come clean.
It's a reveal Malleus does not take well. Oh not that he hates his son, he is overwhelmed with such a powerful love and joy at the mere concept of his existence he could never- no it's the fact that his future. His happy ending, that he fucking deserves after everything that his family has been through, was robbed from him and he wasn't able to do anything about it other than go to sleep? Him? The most powerful mage (fifth actually but he doesn't care about that) in existence couldn't stop that? Unacceptable.
After Yuu gets him to calm down and soothes the brewing thunderstorm they both are very focused on the well being of their child. I feel like both Yuu and Malleus would want Yutu to have a chance to just enjoy himself, for him to take off the crown he was never meant to have and just. Breathe for a moment. That's part of Malleus's motivation for introducing him as his son to the Diasomnia gang, he wants his child to have a chance to have some fun with his Uncles and Pee Paw Lilia.
Sebek bursts into tears when he learns of Waka Sama jr's existence. I think he feels a sort of kinship with Yutu, they're both half fae and they both have a deep respect for Malleus. He's very shy when he sees how much respect Yutu has for him. He's surprisingly humble when Yutu thanks him for protecting him in the future, insisting that he was just doing his job. He likes listening to Yutu play the piano, I could see Yutu trying to teach Sebek how to play an instrument, partially to spend time with him and partially just because he is curious as to how tone deaf Sebek can be.
Silver is deeply concerned about Yuu and Yutu's safety. He organizes with Sebek and Lilia to change up their patrols to include defending the new members of the royal family . He is a bit confused as to why Yutu wants to just hang out with him when all he really does is train, but he also is glad that the little prince is willing to train with him and take Silver's concerns about his safety seriously. I could see Silver apologizing for not being able to defend his parent, genuinely distressed about his situation and Yutu being a bit awkward about it. He never thought to blame Silver ever, why would he? Yutu is not unused to Silver's kindness, but it still overwhelms him. It's a pure sort of love that challenges what Yutu thinks about the world, and he doesn't know what to do with that.
Now. Mr. Pee Paw. Lilia is probably the most excited out of the entire group, look at this kid. You see him? Living physical proof that humans and fae can get along! If a Draconia did it then you can too, Grandpa Leven would be so proud! The future is concerning sure, but now that he knows about it he can plan for it. Lilia might be old, but he is still has some fight left in him, and he is very happy to use it on securing Malleus's family's future.
Yes, he does try to cook for Yutu. He wants to make him a birthday cake because he insists that they should throw him a party even if it isn't his birthday so he can have one with his Pee Paw and Dad. Yes everyone forces Yutu to distract him so they can make sure they've got something edible. He's so sad about it, how could they, jail for the little prince, jail for 1000 years.
Malleus is overly confident about his ability to change the future. Failure isn't an option as far as he is concerned, he will find the person who dared to corrupt his perfect future and he will have his due. His son will never have to live in a world without him, and he will never have to live in a world that rejected Yuu. Someone clearly needs to be reminded of just who Malleus Draconia is, and that memory will not be pretty.
Bonus
So the little crown princess. She learns that her idiot younger brother is planning to go back in time without her and she is very angry about this. How dare he, she knows he can't do anything without her so she makes sure to tag along anyway.
I toyed with the future kid reveal coming from her just marching up to Yutu and giving him orders, but I also like the idea of the Draconia family finding her lost in the woods crying because of how distressed she is that she can't find her little brother. Either way she doesn't understand the need for secrecy and wants to spend every single second she can with her parents. She causes a lot of rain when she finally gets to meet Yuu in person, she had so many dreams about meeting them and now they're real and she can hug them- she's just got too many emotions in her little body send help.
The Draconia family has pretty easy to follow naming theme, but I wasn't too certain about what names to give Yutu and his sister. I like the idea of Princess Draconia being named Mallia after Lilia but I am less certain about Yutu. In my notes Miss Princes was just called Princess Tamago because she hatched out of an egg. That's not her name but I could see that being something Yutu calls her.
#<3 asks#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#malleus x reader#malleyuu#malleus draconia x reader
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Every little thing you do - Part 6
Tommy Shelby x reader
Series master list
🥰So another part to this series, thank you so much for all your support and encouragement! It means the world ♥️ and as I take your feedback seriously, I can assure you Tommy will be looking for a housekeeper substitute 🤭
Word count: 3,138
Y/N prayed silently her dress would close, Ada suggested getting it slightly loose at certain places just in case, because overnight, her belly was showing and most of her clothes wouldn’t fit anymore. It was funny because it only looked as if she was bloated but it was enough for a zipper to break.
“You ready?” Polly asked just as she knocked on the door, stepping in right away. As usual, she looked so elegant in her attire.
“Her dress is beautiful Mrs. Gray.” Y/N’s grandma pointed out making Y/N blush, she then turned to Polly. “And you look stunning.”
Polly nodded acknowledging her compliment.
“I can’t believe I’m wearing this gown.” Y/N stated staring at her reflection in the mirror, she looked like a completely different person with her hair up in a simple but elegant hairstyle, make up in just the right places, accenting her features, and the dress fit like a glove. She had never had a dress like this.
“You need something else though.” Her grandma suggested, she looked beautiful in her attire too, the Shelby family were too kind to extend an invitation for her.
Opening her bag, Y/N frowned confused by what she meant, she had everything already.
“Your grandfather gave me these when we got married.” From a velvet pouch, she produced a pair of gorgeous diamond studs.
“I think these will look beautiful.” Polly encouraged, feeling a swept of love by the exchange.
Y/N on the other hand felt lost for words, to some it might be a small detail, but to her, the sentimental value it’s what weighted the most.
“These are meant to be wear on occasions like this, right?” She asked holding one of the earrings for her granddaughter while she hooked the other one.
“Looks like you’re all set then… let’s welcome the guests.” Polly added taking grandma’s purse to help her. “Everything’s going accordingly so far.”
The music filled the big room, people were dancing happily, champagne flowing, staff filling empty cups with booze and plates with appetizers. Y/N felt particularly mesmerized by the chandeliers catching the light beautifully and reflecting all around as if it was dancing as well.
Tommy insisted the party should take place in Arrow House, said it would be a good excuse to do a grand opening, so she immediately got busy to have everything ready. The place oozed luxury everywhere she looked, the most important names in the country RSVP’ed faster than she thought. Never in her wildest dreams she imagined how it would turn out, she spent so much time choosing flowers for the center pieces, napkins colors to go with the tablecloths, tableware as well as the menu, days of hard work paying off finally on this night and for a brief instant, she allowed herself to feel proud because she took care meticulously of everything.
“I’ll be back in a minute, need an ashtray.” Polly announced and took grandma by the arm to chat for a while.
Y/N was taking everything in, still not fully believing it was a reality.
“Johnny, get everyone in the kitchen.” He instructed. “Five minu-“ words got caught up in his throat as he took a double look to his left and found Y/N standing by herself next to the staircase.
Her hair was pinned up, framing her face so it was fully on display instead of hiding, the dress made her look gorgeous but the cherry on top was the glowing emanating from within her heart, pregnancy was suiting her well. He then noticed she opened and closed the handbag nervously.
She wasn’t the same girl that used to run with him a race at an open fiel until they reached the river. He let her win so many times… yet that girl was somehow still in her.
He had never seen her like that before. She was more beautiful than he imagined.
But as soon as the thought entered his mind, Tommy kicked himself mentally. He shouldn’t think of her that way.
“Are you planning to give someone a heart attack?” He joked and took a few long strides to be at her side.
“I’m nervous,” she chuckled, “I’m the one having a heart attack.”
Turning around to face him, she felt her mouth going dry, the blue suit was a fabulous choice. It wasn’t traditional, but when she saw it at the tailor’s shop she knew Tommy had to wear it to the event and since she got a blank cheque, she added it to the account. He was so bloody handsome, but she thought that he looked even more that night. There, with a cocked smile and proud shining in his crystal eyes…
They stood there holding each other’s gazes, the people in the background fading away…
Until Johnny Dogs interrupted them.
“The boys are on their way Tom.” He nodded at Y/N. “Are we going, yeah?”
Tommy gave Y/N another look and she encouraged him with a smile to go.
He started to walk away, but then stopped abruptly and turning around he spoke; “Y/N you did an amazing job, thank you.”
Reaching his expectations was all Y/N wanted to achieve, to make him proud of her work. It was the way she knew in retribution to thank him for every little thing he did.
“And Johnny? Y/N told me she counted the paintings ey?” Tommy turned to give her wink. “So you better tell your kin they can’t steal anything or they’ll have to deal with a very pissed Y/N.”
Y/N gasped, of course she didn’t count the paintings. An evident blush covered her face and neck and she started shaking her head in embarrassment.
“Hey! That’s not true.” She tried to keep her manners, but her mind went back to when they were teenagers and her grandma discovered the two of them sneaking into the kitchen to get a slice of the pie she had baked and Tommy blamed it all on Y/N, the worst part is that her grandma believed him and scolded her granddaughter when it had been Tommy’s idea in the first place.
“Where are they, ey?” Tommy asked impatiently a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“I’m telling you now, we got lost,” announced Arthur. “You really need to do a map, Thomas.”
“Right, boys you’re all here.” Tommy started in a warning tone.
The blinders gathered around him in a circle.
“Tonight it’s a fucking very important day, we’re celebrating the Arrow House grand opening.”
“Yeah, and you said there’d be no bloody uniforms.” Interrupted John.
Tommy shot him a death stare. “Nevertheless… nevertheless, John… despite the bad blood, I’ll have none of it on my carpet.”
They were part of the guest list.
He made a pause and looked around to his men. “Now, for Y/N’s sake, nothing will go wrong. She has worked so fucking hard for everything you see tonight and the Shelby Institute. And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything…”
“Tom?” Once more, John interrupted his brother.
“What?”
“What about snow?” Asked Isiah.
John replied something that Tommy couldn’t understand, but he felt his blood start boiling by their silly attitude.
“No, no, no.” He stood in front of the young blinder. “No cocaine.” Then pointing at his face, he repeated; “no cocaine. No sports.” He then moved to point at John. “No telling fortunes. No racing.” Walking back towards Finn, he continued. “No fucking sucking petrol of their fucking cars.”
He hated to admit it out loud, but he was nervous to. He wanted to fit in, he needed to blend in among the richest and more powerful people, to be one of them. To prove everybody that he had been able to claim a stair that was only reserved for those who were born in a crib made of gold.
Meanwhile, upstairs Y/N attended several guests, listening to the stories they were sharing about how much it would mean to them to donate and give back to the community. Some of them, Y/N learned were important politicians who wanted to show a good image to help them gain voters, others members of the aristocracy just wanted to show their wealthy off. Whatever reason they had, Y/N was excited to see some of the cheques they were writing right there for the institution, additional to a monthly donation they promised.
Finding Tommy among the guests, Y/N approached him to ask him if she could save the cheques in his office.
“Can we see this later?” He relief not even sending a glance in her direction, his eyes were fixed like daggers in someone.
As he moved around like a gazelle, about to chase his pry, Y/N noticed a group of women eating him with their eyes, looking him up and down, seizing his frame, biting their lips, probably wondering how would it feel to be with him….
Y/N felt like she was out of place, she shook her head and decided to ask Ada instead where she should keep the documents. She then excused herself for a moment, feeling like the happy bubble had been popped given Tommy’s cold attitude. He was never like this, he had never left her talking alone before, but he had been a bit off the last couple of days.
For some unknown reason.
Perhaps she had been creating a fantasy in her mind, yes he was a good man, but he also had an explosive temper when he wanted to, he snapped at people at the slightest provocation. Why would he treat her differently? Just because a she was pregnant?
A knock on the door disturbed the peace she just found, and without waiting to be asked to come inside, Tommy called her name.
“Y/N you’re needed downstairs.” Tommy informed her, but he knew her too damn well. When Ada told him that Y/N was taking a minute on her own, he knew she wasn’t comfortable about something.
“What happened?” He asked patiently. She shook her head, not wanting to make a scene. “Hey, hey.. come here.”
It was everything, her pregnancy, her nerves, the bloody hormones, mood swings, worry to make everything perfect… him.
“I hope you don’t take personally what happened earlier, I was looking for someone that wasn’t invited.” Tommy explained.
Y/N looked at him tentatively. She walked into the en-suite bathroom to wet a cloth and press it into the back of her neck, careful enough to not get a stain in the dress, he followed her steps and took a seat on the edge of the bathtub. The familiarity and comfort between them was too personal.
“Is this why you’ve been acting distant the last couple of days?”
With a sigh, he nodded. “Yes, I act like this when I’m scared.”
Y/N turned around pondering into his words, giving him time and space to speak on his own terms.
“I need to make sure you’re away from this business. I don’t want you to get involved at all. Do you understand?”
“Tommy what’s happening?” It all made sense to her now, the secret phone calls, the late night drives, his mood.
“The less you know, the better.” He cleared his throat. “Promise me you won’t make something stupid.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, he was the one always making the bad decisions she wanted to say instead.
“You won’t get involved.” He was firm about his statement.
“Only if you promise to be safe.” Y/N retorted.
“I’ll try my best.” A soft smile played on his lips.
She mirrored the smile and followed him outside, to join their guest one more time.
“Mr. Shelby! This is a wonderful party.” Mrs. Lewis praised, she was the wife of a former major, a bit extravagant, she loved to show off. “And a beautiful house.”
“I appreciate your words. But all the credit goes to Y/N.”
“So the old wives tale is real huh? That babies come with a bunch of blessings.” She squinted her eyes happily at Y/N’s baby bump, then looked back at Tommy. “Congratulations! I wish this baby nothing but the best.”
Y/N opened her mouth to correct her, and clarify that Tommy wasn’t the father. But Tommy cut her out.
“Thanks, hopefully you’ll be able to help us with the fundraising.”
“I’ll tell family and friends, you can count on that Mr. Shelby.”
As the woman disappeared, Y/N turned her face around to look at him.
“Let people talk, they’re going to do it anyways.” He stated, then as a waiter passed by, he took a glass of whiskey from the tray. “Rule number two; never reveal the truth when they can barely deal with a half truth.”
“What’s number one?”
“Oh, I’d tell you… but then I’d have to kill you and I’d be kind of sad you know?” He winked at her and elegantly strode towards where the music band was playing to grab the microphone.
“Good evening everyone, thank you for joining us tonight. As some of you may know, the Shelby Foundation Institute will open doors in a couple of weeks, we’re sure with this project we’ll be able to help many many children in need, grant them the education their parents can’t afford and a safe environment to learn and develop the abilities that’ll will help them in a near future.” A round of applauses filled the room and Tommy thanked the guest with a small nod. “Your contribution is highly appreciated, it will allow us to complement and provide everything that’s needed. I can assure you, your money will be well spent and we’re more than open to welcome you any time at the Institution.” His eyes started moving across the room. “Last but not least, I’d like to thank to the responsible of this project, the one who since day one showed a genuine interest and despite the doors that were closed in her face, she never backed down until this was a reality. Y/N thank you for everything you’ve done.” Raising his glass in her direction, he recognized her effort and compromise.
Blushing from getting all the attention towards her momentarily, she started biting her lip.
When Tommy started walking, people over to the side, making something similar to a human wall and leaving a space free for him to walk until he reached Y/N.
“Dance with me?”
The gesture took her by surprise, but soon Tommy’s arm wrapped around her waist and he started swaying to the beat of the music.
“Everything is perfect, thank you for taking care of every little thing.” He admitted with a very rare smile.
Carefully to not make Y/N dizzy, Tommy spun her around, following the music beats.
“Thank you for taking us in.” Y/N replied as a wide smile spread on her lips.
Feeling like nothing she could say or do was enough to thank Tommy. She’d be in debt with him for the rest of her life.
“You’ve nothing to-” he started to say but she cut him off.
“I do, every single time I blink, I feel so grateful to have you in my life.”
Tommy gave her hand a squeeze. “If things were different… wouldn’t you do the same?”
“Yes.” She admitted in a heartbeat.
“Then this better be the last time you thank me.” He raised an eyebrow as a warning, but his eyes remained giving her a gentle look. “I know you’d do the same thing for me.”
One more careful spin and the piece was done. A round of applause filled the room and the background noises brought them back to reality.
“I’ve to go, stay here, stay safe.” Tommy stated. “You know what to do in case something bad happens.”
He had already showed her where to hide in case anyone broke into Arrow House. It wasn’t his favorite outcome, but he had assured her it was for the best of she was prepared. Luckily he hadn’t show her how to use a weapon, but she knew the day might be closer than she thought.
“Tommy…” her heart started hammering her ribcage, she could feel it in her ears too. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”
The look of worry he found in her eyes made him fight the lump in his throat. If something happened to him, what would she do? Who would protect her? Who’d look after her and the baby?
“Will do. This is the last ilegal business, you know I want to make it right.”
Clearing his throat, he looked around finding Arthur giving him a nod, they were ready to go.
“I’ll be back before you know it.” He assured her once more.
As a different music started to play, Y/N went on to search for her grandmother.
Meanwhile, downstairs Lizzie was crying and smocking in such a bad shape after having a word with Michael about Angel, she started shouting when she heard what they did to his restaurant, she was fuming.
“Miss Stark can I help you?” Mary asked, smoothing her apron.
“Do you’ve a gun? So I can shoot someone?” Lizzie wiped her nose.
“No ma’am.” Mary took a step closer. “May I ask what happened?”
“The Shelbys blew my boyfriend’s restaurant so he couldn’t come to the party.” She tried to smooth the black mascara under her eyes.
And she started to whine and bent into the maid all she knew about the stupid rivalry between the Shelby’s and the Changretta’s.
Mary ignored Lizzie’s past, she only knew she was her master’s secretary, so she felt naturally bad for the green-eyed woman.
“I don’t get it, Thomas gets to have the little happy family with Y/N and also dictate who am I able to be involved with.”
“But they aren’t a family, the baby isn’t Mr. Shelby’s.” Mary dropped an unexpected bomb.
Lizzie stared at her in disbelief, her jaw dropping.
“Are you sure?”
“The motives of why he keeps her under his protection are unknown to me, but he isn’t the father of that baby.” The housekeeper assured her.
Lizzie nodded automatically, processing the news and thinking how this piece of information changed a lot of things.
“So Y/N is a little slut after all.” She mumbled to herself, planning in her mind a couple of ideas that would tear down that facade of integrity and good morals Y/N carried around like a crown. A woman’s reputation meant much more than anything.
And of course, it didn’t match the wealthy people standards.
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Painting Faces
Navigation
Graves has no choice but to be present on the day Makarov addresses the force, but he keeps to himself while blending in. Makarov doesn’t bother himself with Graves expecting him to stay in line. At least at first.
Then he notices your empty desk. Graves had cleared it of your personal affects, including photos and personal documents.
“We’re missing an officer?” He wonders aloud while Graves files through some reports.
“Officers Graves, you’re missing a partner?” He asks.
“I am perfectly happy being single.” He replies with a good hearted smirk. “The desk is open, we had an officer resign.”
“I see. Very well.” Makarov walks away before Graves can try to make another smart comment. Graves sits up straighter in his chair though.
“That… that is impressive.” Gaz comments as he enters the warehouse seeing the mural you were working on for Los Vaqueros. You look down at him from where you were perched on a railing of a sort of cat walk.
“Thought a cowboy motif would be fitting. Alejandro told me there were good men and women who died here during a raid. Wanted to honour them.” You exclaim. You roll your shoulders and arms hearing a few cracks. By now your bruises were yellow, nearly healed. Your pants are covered in paint, and you old hoodie was warm enough to keep your from freezing in the dropping temperatures. That and Gaz’s very kind delivery of tea. He climbs up to you on the cat walk, and hands you the thermos. Just holding it warms your fingers in your fingerless gloves. He leans against the railing with you admiring your work.
“Figured a mural was the least I owed them. Can’t imagine Soap and Alejandro don’t have some tension going on.” You say, gingerly sipping your tea. Yep you still burned your tongue.
“Speaking of them… Alejandro and Rudolfo have been recovering from a failed raid.” Gaz says. So it begins.
“Makarov.” You say. Gaz nods, shoving a hand in his pocket sipping his own drink. Things were going to be flipped on their head and spun like a top. It would take some time getting used to. Thankfully the 141 was making the transition for you as easy as possible. The nights your father spent with them you were always a part of the conversation. One night there was a promise made to help take care of you if your father couldn’t.
“Ran into Alex at the shop, apparently he found a smaller piece of yours, with I think he said a pillow fight.” Gaz mentions trying to change the subject. You smirked at that knowing the piece he meant. You side eye Gaz who returns it, and you toast your cups. You take a sip and think for a moment.
“Has Soap said anything?” You ask Kyle. The two of you hadn’t really talked since the night you needed safety. Even then it had been brief and awkward.
“It’s how he is.” Gaz says. He’s taken notice of how you two have interacted and Soap talking about you less than he had. “It’s not that he hates you, I think he needs to talk to you. Simple as that.”
“So this is where you’ve been.” A voice came from below and behind them. They both turn to see a face they weren’t expecting.
“Rudolfo. Come on up mate.” Gaz says, offering the bruised man, a hand up. Rudolfo eases himself up through the railings and looks up at your work in progress. He gives a friendly smirk.
“Alejandro will like this for sure.” He says.
“Least I could do after everything. How is he?” You ask, looking up at Rudolfo.
“Nothing can kill Alejandro, except Alejandro.” Rudolfo says. “Unfortunately, nothing can get him to rest either. He’s worried about more drug shipments getting past us when we can be stopping them and destroying them.”
“Sounds like Alejandro.” Gaz says taking another sip of his drink. You stare at your work while taking a sip and think for a bit. The three of you all stand there in silence for a bit. You keep asking yourself, how would dad do it? He could break cases open, getting gangsters like Soap and Gaz to bring the hammers he needed for it. Now Makarov was in the picture too. Which meant needing to hide the hammers right after and hope he would bring glue to repair it.
“Could tell him.” You suggest looking at Gaz. It takes him a minute to realize who you’re referring to. Graves was an insider now. Graves also had to be removed from the case after Makarov returned. Gaz considers it and Rudolfo listens. They were informed about Graves and his involvement as well. It was risky, but if you couldn’t be your father, maybe Graves could step up in a way.
Kyle looks at Rudy. “You know when the next shipments are coming in?”
“We have guesses. So far they’ve been using fishing boats, so they don’t have to claim cargo.”
“They’d need a warrant to start searching.” Kyle adds.
“What if they got one?” You ask. “I mean… who’s to say it’s only one fishing company.”
“We don’t hit innocent.” Kyle points out. “But…you may be on to something.”
“If proof of illegal activity was brought forward to the company itself, investigations would have to start. If Graves is at the forefront…” Rudolfo trailed off.
“Where do we start?” You ask, trying to keep the smug look off your face. You may get to see them in full action.
“We first get Alejandro’s permission. Then we get more information from Laswell. After that we prep for the raid.” Kyle explains.
“I can arrange that. Will have to bring him to see this.” Rudolfo says, gesturing to the mural.
“Wait until it’s done.” You say smiling. “Thinking of adding something a little extra.”
You head back with Gaz to the hideout. He’s teasing you for all the paint you got on yourself.
“At least it’s not on the scarf.” You say stepping inside.
“At least it’s not still wet, you’d have to take your clothes off outside so you don’t track paint.” Kyle teases as you take off your boots. You notice Soap leaning on the fire escape outside. Kyle just gives you a nudge and no words. You take your boots off and carry them to the back door leading out to Soap. You put them back on to join him.
“May I join you?” You ask. He looks back and nods. You step outside and sits on the steps, rubbing yours hands together, trying to warm them.
It’s silent between you two again. There’s just the faint sound of wind and the usual traffic down below.
“Saw Rudolfo today.” You say, squirming on the step.
“How is he?” He asks looking over to you.
“He’s doing better. Still a little rough. Alejandro is getting restless about the shipments though.”
“You don need to worry bout that.” Soap says, facing back to the streets.
“I am worried about it, because it’s what I should be worried about.” You say.
“You don. You’re not a cop anymore.” Soap exclaims. It doesn’t sting as much as it once had.
“…cop or not this is my home now.”
“You have a hom-“ Soap starts but you interrupt him.
“No I don’t. This is my home now.” You say looking up, with him looking at you now. “This city is my home. It was my dad’s home too. If the cops aren’t gonna fight for it, then who else will? I’m not sitting on my ass waiting for an opportunity anymore. You gave me one, I’m not letting it go again.”
Soap looks at you for a while. “What opportunity?”
“When you let me tag on your turf.” You say.
Soap thinks for a minute, and then scoffs. “Stubborn as your old man.” He says.
“Nothing like my old man.” You respond.
“Not at all.” Soap says sarcastically. You smile.
“I really am sorry for lying. Throughout that whole time I was debating whether to even report anything or tell you what I was doing.” You say, rubbing your neck.
“Why didn ya?” He asks, turning and leaning back against the railing. You shrug.
“Felt more at home here.” You admit
“At home? What home?” He asks.
“With you and everyone you introduced me too. Barely known Ghost that long and I feel safer around him than by myself.” You say. Soap smirks at that. Safer around Ghost of all people? That’s a new one.
“I knew you might’ve been a cop. Just hoped ya weren’t.” Soap admits. “Let’s get inside. Gonna snow soon I bet.”
You both go back inside, feeling more relaxed around each other than before. Price steps in the front door just as you two step in from the back. He’d been popping in and out the past week or so never staying for long. This time he was grumbling something.
“Ye aight Price?” Johnny asks.
“My own deliveries are backed up for the bar.” He exclaims. “Graves came by as well to tell me, in person.”
You wonder if Graves did it to maintain cover or to ask Price how you were. You don’t voice it.
“Nikolai can handle it but it’s clear they’re trying to make money difficult. Farah came by, saying a few real estate companies were scoping her neighbourhood. A couple kids threw water balloons at them.”
“I like those kids.” You comment, imagining soaked suits and irritated scowls.
“Alex is on damage control there.” Price says, finally setting his jacket aside. He stepped into the kitchen, stretching and taking a beer from the fridge while you and Johnny join him. You sit up on the bar stool again.
“Makarov is stretching out. He wants more than just us, he wants everyone.” Price states. Johnny leans against the counter arms crossed, Kyle joining at the bar.
“Why now?” Johnny asks. “Could’ve struck b’fore.”
The question is weighty and is left in the air for some time. If your dad was keeping Makarov under control why did he leave?
“Because of me?” You suggest. Johnny, Kyle and Price both look at you. They consider it, but there’s not much to support your answer. “Maybe… he can manipulate the police easier because Graves knows me, and wants me safe. If Graves acts out, Makarov can put me in the crossfire but now I’m not so he thinks it’s easier for him to fuck with the system…maybe?” You try to reason.
“Not entirely out of question.” Kyle mutters.
“Something to consider.” Price says. “We can’t just go at it expecting to find something we don’t know is even there. For now we support where we’re needed, and test waters. Makarov having the police on his side is a problem, but the question is how hard he uses them.”
“Speaking of, we got a tip from Rudolfo. Alejandro may want our help on a drug raid.” Kyle adds. “We need to figure out where the shipments are coming from though. Maybe try to convince Graves to get a warrant.”
Both Johnny and Price went quiet at the mention of Graves again.
“I hate to play devil’s advocate and I know you don’t like it, but Phil is the only one we have directly on the force. We can lead him to where the problems are and book it when he gets close.” You say.
“They’re not wrong.” Kyle agrees.
“Something we will consider.” Price offers. “Right now, we need to focus on finding the exact shipments, and then deciding what to do. It’s Alejandro’s operation, we go through him first.”
Ghost came in and everyone turned to look at him. In his arms is a bundled up hoodie while he shivers in a long sleeved shirt on. You get up quickly, hurrying to take the bundle from him. By now you’d seen Simon with enough animals to know he puts great value in them. Sometimes over himself, hence the hoodie not on his back.
When you take the hoodie you bite your tongue trying not to awe at the tiny, furry, adorable, cute, wittle bundles of claws and teeth in your arms. You stare at them and look up with your eyes at Simon, who is brushing the remains of snow off himself.
“Take em to your room, get a blanket.” He orders. No one else matters but these kittens, which you take to your bedroom without a word.
While you are getting a blanket and a small shoe box for them to stay in, Ghost gets a different hoodie to help him warm up. The mangy black cat, hops on to his shoulder while everyone else just watches.
“Congratulations?” Johnny asks Simon as you come back into the kitchen.
“Keep them from their shitty father.” Simon grumbles. As he leans against the counter the cat hops off his shoulder and on to the counter. “It’ll give the kid something to do when we’re out.”
“I thought I was coming with you guys.” You pipe up.
“We will think about it.” Price says, sounding a bit like a dad.
“I’m not a child.” You grumble.
“If you do come on the raid it won’t be like arresting someone, it’s shoot to kill and keep your eyes open the whole time. No one is walking with side arms, they have uzis and AKs. Some fire wild too.” Kyle reminds you.
“I’ve done a raid before.” You try convincing them.
“You’re stayin.” Johnny says with finality. It’s not out of anger or irritation. It’s meant as words of warning, that this was bigger than what you’d encountered and he didn’t want you in the line of fire. Literally. You drop your head with some swallowed disappointment. You want to help. But you don’t want them worrying about you.
“One condition?” You ask. Johnny shifts his posture to listen.
“Okay two conditions… first one is all four of you have to come back after that raid regardless of what happens, preferably with Alejandro and Rudolfo too.” You stare each one down. Not very intimidating but they’re lenient.
“What’s the second condition?” Ghost asks, their silence an agreement to your first condition. You look directly at Simon.
“I get to name at least one of them.”
Alex steps into his small home, hanging his keys on the hook. As he shuts the door, the kitchen light turns on down the hallway. Very carefully, Alex turns the lock on his door, pulling out his side arm. He stalks toward the kitchen until he hears a familiar voice.
“I needed bandages…”
Alex sighs and holsters his gun before going to a hall closet and getting a small first aid kit.
“If it’s worse than I think, I’ll drag you to hospital.” Alex warns and enters the kitchen, seeing Farah with a few scratches. She’d come to him with worse. Her clothes are still damp too. Alex has to hold a laugh picturing Farah throwing a water balloon at a bunch of realtors.
“You want anything to drink?” He offers setting the kit down. “Was gonna make myself some food and then sleep. Now I have company.”
Farah opens the kit and gets the cotton and alcohol.
“Happy to provide.” Farah says as she starts cleaning. Alex starts making a sandwich for Farah as well. Farah was a good person, defending her home and neighbourhood. Alex was still on the force but with the new chief commissioner he was tempted to resign. Take some security job to pay off bills. Graves had been asking him to stay on though. With the sketchy land deals going on by Milena Romanova, he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
Alex sets a plate down in front of Farah and he sits by with a plate of his own.
“You didn’t have t-“
“I wanted to, now eat.” He says pushing the kit aside. Alex and Farah had an odd relationship. Farah would often drop in like this. Alex had made it a habit to do the same on her every so often.
“I need a favour.” Farah admits after a couple bites.
“Only one?” Alex teases. “Go on.”
“There’s an artist I want to hire.” Farah explains. Alex looks at Farah.
“Need a loan?” He asks.
“No. I need you to look the other way. A small peaceful protest to get the realtors to leave us alone.” Farah explains.
“You have an artist in mind?” Alex asks. Farah gives him a smile that gets covered by an another bite of sandwich.
“This is really good.” Farah says through a mouthful.
“Thanks.” Alex says chuckling.
Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @smitten-haematite-quartz
#john soap mactavish#cod au#task force 141 x reader#simon ghost riley#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#gn reader#phillip graves#vladimir makarov#farah karim#alex keller#cod gangster au#gangster au#rudolfo parra#yep it’s a series now#again how is this still going#i love it
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Hungry
Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
Summary: Miguel has a lactation kink.
Word Count: 1k+
Warnings: Smut, lactation kink, p in v, umm I think that's it. 18+ MDNI.
Disclaimer: never been pregnant, don't know how it works entirely. Just enjoy lol Not beta-read. Also, Miguel being a father warms my heart <3
...
It'd never crossed his mind before. After all, your milk was for the baby.
Diego nursed from you well, his tiny lips latching onto your swollen nipple with little guidance. You held him close and kissed his brow while you sang to him softly. Now and then you'd hiss, your pretty face pinched from the inevitable pain of breastfeeding.
Miguel watched you both with a full heart—watched how you cradled his milk-drunk son against your swollen breasts lovingly before putting him down for a nap.
And when he couldn't rip his eyes away from the swell of your chest (or how your nipples continued to drip tiny pearls), he thought nothing of it.
...
"Does it hurt?" He asked in the quietness of your bedroom, his toned arm thrown around your shoulders, holding you close.
Diego began to fidget where he was nestled comfortably on his father's bare chest, his wrinkled face blooming red before a cry ripped from his tiny body.
"Does what hurt?" You asked in return, gently cooing down at the wailing infant, scooping him gingerly in your arms.
Miguel motioned toward your engorged breasts, his eyes lingering over the damp spots forming over your fitted t-shirt, your nipples leaking through the white cotton fabric.
"Sometimes," you sighed as soon as Diego latched on, "when he doesn't drink enough or bites too hard."
Miguel studied his son as he drank his fill; until his little eyes fluttered with sleep and his milk-covered lips fell away from your chest.
A bead of milk formed over your swollen nipple and before it ran down the roundness of your breast, Miguel caught it with the pad of his finger, swiping it up gently and placing it in his mouth.
He hummed in surprise, looking down at your flushed face and doe eyes.
"What's it taste like?" You whispered curiously, watching Miguel lap at his finger like a cat.
He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor on his tongue before he grunted.
"Sweet."
...
“Lemme help you,” he muttered to you one night, watching you wince and groan while you palmed your full breasts. Diego had drank himself to sleep, leaving your tits full still, straining for release. “You’re in pain.”
You worried your lip, leaning your head back against the headboard. “The breast pump is in the—”
“No,” he said, “not like that.” He carefully positioned himself between your legs, gently lifting your shirt to reveal your swollen tits, nipples hardening immediately.
“Miguel—”
“Shh, amor.”
He took a breast in hand, squeezing softly and watching the tiny stream of white pour from your nipple before wrapping his lips around the bud and giving a gentle suck. The sweetness of your milk invaded his senses as he drank from you, his eyes fluttering.
You moaned above him, your fingers threading messily in his hair.
He palmed your other breast, squeezing enough to let your milk pour over his hands and down his wrist, making a mess of you. His cock was straining against his briefs as he rutted into the mattress for some fiction.
“M-Miguel,” you sighed, ignoring the dampness that pooled over your skin and under you.
“Feels good?” He murmured over your damp skin, his lips covered in milk. He tugged gently on your nipple, giving it a few kitten licks before turning his attention to your other breast, quickly suckling down more of your milk.
You didn’t answer him—couldn’t—but he knew the answer.
You’d fallen asleep shortly after Miguel had cleaned you up, cradling you in his arms.
But he was far from satiated.
...
When he could finally put his cock in you, he made sure your pussy was nice and wet for him.
He’d suck on your tits till you were leaking from both your nipples and between your legs before stuffing you good, your milk pouring over his lips and down his chin. Whatever escaped his mouth would be slurped off your smooth skin, his tongue dragging between your breasts as you covered his cock in your juices.
But you preferred to ride him recently. Miguel didn't mind. He wanted you to take your pleasure from him in the most comfortable way possible for you. He knew he was big, knew his cock was a challenge for you, even more so post-pregnancy, but you knew how to manage him.
Whenever you rode him it was in the kitchen. He’d sit on a chair with your body draped over his and you’d bounce on his cock at your leisure. A baby monitor would be placed on the table, always knocked over in your mission of conquering Miguel's lap.
Tonight was no different. Miguel wanted you.
Your cunt swallowed him perfectly, his cock cushioned within your swollen, warm walls.
Your breasts, bare from any restraints, bounced in his face with every swirl of your hips. They were enticing, your puffy nipples beading with the sweet milk he loved.
Miguel grunted, grabbing them in his large hands and gently squeezing. Milk began to pour over his hands in thin white streams, seeping through his knuckles and down the expanse of your body. His mouth immediately sucked your nipples in quick succession, and you moaned as the soreness mixed with the pleasure of his cock ramming into you deep.
When you came it was with a loud cry. Miguel immediately latched off your tit, kissing you to silence your cries as you covered him completely in your juices. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue as he kissed you with fervor, effectively silencing you.
He gave one final thrust into your tight heat before his hips stilled, groaning in your mouth as he came. By the end of it, you were both covered in spit, milk, and cum, panting against each other.
Moments later, Diego demanded attention, his cries crackling through the baby monitor. You gently hissed as you pulled off Miguel's large cock, his spend and yours sliding down your thighs and dripping over his lap.
“Your son is always hungry,” Miguel complained, his hands moving up to thumb at your sore nipples. You scoffed, snatching your robe off the table where Miguel had carelessly tossed it aside, placing it over your shoulders.
“Yeah,” you grinned, swiping a bead of your milk off Miguel’s lower lips, “just like his father."
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#atsv#spiderman 2099
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fall into temptation | one
Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader
series masterlist l next chapter
summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.
MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.
word count: 8.4k
Jackson, Wyoming
Fall 2024
Joel had seen him around the community before.
He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.
Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?
Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.
Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.
Joseph? Was that it?
He couldn’t be certain.
Not that Joel really even cared to know his name.
It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face.
Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.
In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.
But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?
They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.
Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them.
The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that.
Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened.
All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?
“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”
She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah.
He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”
His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing.
“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”
His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.
“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”
Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”
He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”
“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him.
“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”
Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”
“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”
“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”
“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol.
Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.
Shit.
He’d been caught gawking.
He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late.
Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head.
Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.
Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse.
Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.
“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”
Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”
Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”
“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”
“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”
You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.
“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”
Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.
“She really as innocent as she seems?”
“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig.
Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly.
“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”
Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?”
Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”
“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”
He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”
Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”
Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”
“And the old man doesn’t know?”
“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”
He smirked. “Which part?”
“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”
“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”
“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”
He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”
“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”
“How’s she been holdin’ up?”
“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”
Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”
“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door.
As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.
You were leaving. Alone.
In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?
She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself.
Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.
Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet.
Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening.
Kent was going after you.
Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.
Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.
Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around.
You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent.
That couldn’t fucking be good.
“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.
That’s when he heard it.
The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh.
“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”
Red.
It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs.
“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”
“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”
Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”
The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two.
Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist.
“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”
You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.
A single tear slipped down the side of your face.
“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”
“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.
But he’d heard it loud and clear.
“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”
Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.
If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard.
Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face.
“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”
He nodded. “Un—Understood.”
“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”
Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley.
Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more.
Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.
You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.
Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you.
You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet.
“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it.
“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”
Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”
Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”
“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.
Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”
Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest.
Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you.
You really were too good.
“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”
“Please?”
That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.
Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face.
“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”
“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.
“That really ain’t necessary.”
“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”
There it was again.
Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours.
Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”
Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”
When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards.
Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.”
You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”
“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.”
You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”
Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”
“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”
“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”
You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you.
“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”
His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”
“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”
You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?
Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”
“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?”
“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.”
“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.
Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”
Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin.
Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side.
“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted.
You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”
Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship.
You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring.
“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls.
There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk.
“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”
“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered.
Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”
You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”
You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.
There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar.
It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else.
Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.
He averted his eyes, turning away from it.
Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world.
A fucking slab of carved wood.
Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.
God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13
“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.
“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder.
“No offense taken, Joel.”
Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”
“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”
He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”
Smiling politely, you told him your name.
Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.
“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”
His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.
Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt.
Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers.
“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church.
You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.
“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.
Your answer took him by complete surprise.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.
“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”
“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”
“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”
“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”
“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger.
“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”
“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”
You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.
“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”
“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly.
“Joel—”
“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”
Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words.
You had never thought about it like that before.
Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him.
He was right, after all.
Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”
You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”
“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”
“What is it?”
Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”
Oh. That’s what he meant.
“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”
He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”
You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”
“The wrong path?”
You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”
“By controllin’ you.”
It had been a statement, not a question.
Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”
There was another short bout of silence.
Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone.
He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.
Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.
His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.
Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse.
“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”
“S’right.”
You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”
Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee.
“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”
“Why not?”
His answer was honest. “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”
Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.
Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.
Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables?
“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone.
Want, sure.
He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther.
But Joel didn’t just want you.
He fucking needed you.
And he didn’t know why.
“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain.
Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?”
You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you.
You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”
Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek.
Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body.
Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”
“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”
“I—I want you to kiss me.”
Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours.
You heard him chuckle softly.
“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”
“Please.”
“S’much better.”
Your heart pounded with anticipation.
It was almost too much for you to handle.
Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.
It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss.
The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.
What the fuck had he been thinking?
And what about you?
Where the fuck had your common sense gone?
Probably ran off together with Joel’s.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”
You were having none of it.
None.
Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench.
“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”
Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss.
Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours.
“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”
Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”
Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you?
He couldn’t. Simple as that.
“You sure ‘bout this?”
Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”
Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself?
Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit.
His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further.
Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance.
You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat.
Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt.
“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline.
Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”
Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.
“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”
You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise.
“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”
“You, Joel. I need you.”
His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt.
Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else.
You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.
“Darlin’ are you—?”
You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.
Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t.
Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”
“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”
You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud.
“You’re a what?”
Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.
“Turn around, sweet girl.”
Joel’s command was firm but still gentle.
Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest.
“Look at me.”
You tried, but couldn’t.
“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”
He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.
Close, but somehow not close enough.
Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.
You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson.
The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God.
You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.
“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”
“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”
“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”
Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”
“No, what?”
“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”
Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?”
You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.
“Yes, please.”
“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”
You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?
He almost laughed at your expression.
“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”
“But Joel—”
“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”
Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.
“Of course,” you breathed.
You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.
#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller series#joel miller story#joel miller self insert#the last of us fic#pedro pascal characters#fic: fall into temptation
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Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince
opla requests are: open
lips on every cross
opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not
summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.
a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".
01. when love arrives
(“Hey Princess —“)
The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.
The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.
“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.
Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.
“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”
Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.
“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”
Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.
He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.
Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.
Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.
(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)
Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.
Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.
He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.
And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.
02. a study of light and dark
The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.
“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“
Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.
“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.
“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.
“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”
Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”
Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.
When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.
You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.
As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.
“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.
The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.
(“Talk to me, Princess.”)
When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.
03. etymology
Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.
It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.
From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.
Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.
He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.
The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.
He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.
04. tip of the iceberg
It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.
Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.
You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.
Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.
“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”
“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.
Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.
You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.
“A drink for an answer,” he says.
You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.
“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.
You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.
“No lying.”
You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”
He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”
This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.
“Got a question in there somewhere?”
Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”
You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”
Zoro hums, “Your turn.”
You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”
Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”
You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”
Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”
You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.
Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.
“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.
The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.
And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.
“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”
05. the secret history
It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.
The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.
“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.
Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”
Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.
You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.
Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.
It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.
“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”
“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.
And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.
Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.
“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.
You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.
If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.
Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.
“Did you know?”
“What?”
Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”
Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.
“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”
06. eternal day
Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.
“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.
“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.
And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.
07. endless night
By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.
08. torn asunder
Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —
Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.
A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.
A flash of pale pink catches his eye.
Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.
He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.
His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.
And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.
It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.
“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.
Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.
Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.
“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”
At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”
Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.
09. the tower and the throne
The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.
“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”
The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.
“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”
The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.
Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.
The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.
Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.
You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.
For the first time, you wince openly at her words.
10. waiting for the rain
The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.
You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.
There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.
“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”
You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.
“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.
“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”
You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.
“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.
“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”
You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.
“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”
At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.
“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”
You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.
Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.
“Insolence!”
“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”
And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.
You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.
“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”
Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.
It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.
11. to reap and to sow
You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.
“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”
Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”
Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.
“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit — but — it wasn’t that bad!”
You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.
“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.
“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.
His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”
It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —
Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.
“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.
You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.
“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.
“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.
“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.
But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.
“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.
“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”
You bite your lips, “I think you did.”
Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.
“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”
12. lost stars
It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.
You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —
“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.
Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.
“Did he hurt you?”
Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.
“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”
Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”
Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.
“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.
Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”
“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”
“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.
“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.
There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.
“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”
You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.
“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”
Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.
“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”
Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.
“Oh?”
“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”
And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.
“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”
It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.
“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.
“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.
“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.
“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”
You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.
Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.
You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.
“Thank you,” you say.
“For what?”
“For coming after me.”
Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.
“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”
But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”
“Hn.”
Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.
“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”
“Hm?”
“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”
You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.
“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”
“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”
Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.
“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.
And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.
But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.
It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.
“Z-Zoro…”
“Yes Princess?”
You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.
“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”
“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.
“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”
Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.
Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.
“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”
#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece live action#one piece scenarios#opla zoro#roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x you#x reader#opla#one piece netflix#opla zoro x reader#one piece live action x you#one piece live action x reader#roronoa zoro fluff#one piece fluff#roronoa zoro imagines#roronoa zoro scenarios#floofy floof floof#angst mcgee#scheduled post
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Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so
Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!
For Your Eyes Only
Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW
Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play.
Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.
Word Count: 5.8k
After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.
You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.
The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.
Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.
What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.
Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.
The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.
A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.
Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”
Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”
“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.
“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”
“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”
“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”
And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.
“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.
You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.
Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.
When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.
“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.
“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”
“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”
Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.
“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.
“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”
“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”
“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”
But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.
Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.
“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”
“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.
“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”
Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.
Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.
“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.
“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”
By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.
The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”
It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.
Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.
The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.
You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.
Nothing. You find nothing.
“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”
“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”
He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”
“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”
A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”
Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”
“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”
“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”
“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”
The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.
“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.
“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”
“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”
You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.
“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”
You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.
You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.
Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.
When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.
Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”
But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.
Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.
Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?
Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.
In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”
Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.
“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”
Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”
“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”
Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”
He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.
There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.
When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.
The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.
For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.
You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?
Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.
“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”
You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.
“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.
He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.
Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.
He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.
Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.
You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.
He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.
And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.
After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.
You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.
“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”
He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.
You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.
After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.
Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.
One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.
When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.
Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.
You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.
“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”
“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.
“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”
“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.
And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.
You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.
Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.
He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.
He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.
And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-
And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.
“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”
Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.
“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”
He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”
You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”
He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”
He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-
Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.
You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.
Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.
He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.
For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.
You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.
“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”
And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.
“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.
“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.
You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.
Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.
You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.
If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.
He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.
Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”
You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”
He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.
“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”
Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.
His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.
You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”
And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.
You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.
You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.
“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”
And, gods, all you can do is laugh.
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Angry Dilfs- Midoriya Izuku
Husband Midoriya Izuku x Wifey Reader
Context: Your husband doesn't take lightly to people staring at your ass, especially if it's Bakugou Katsuki.
Warning: Brief SMUT/ Angry sex. It literally lasts like 3 paragraphs, its not that deep, Shouting, TOXIC EX! Bakugou Katsuki, the mention of vasectomies (the horror), Children (the horror x2)
Note: This sort of links to The Contract series that I wrote for Izu.
You leaned back in your chair as everyone laughed around the table. The long dining room table sat big enough to fit your entire family and the Kirishimas who had come over. Your husband sat at the head of the table to your right. He had a resting smile on his face as he looked at the people around you. Your large man, husband of sixteen years, father of five and Number One hero sat with his large figure in his seat, plate long empty as Katsuki told his story. You got up from your seat, moving to take you and your husband’s plate to the kitchen, the kids having gone to play video games or talk amongst themselves, leaving you adults to talk (plus your newborn, Kota who was chewing his hand).
You picked up his plate, instantly taking his attention. You leaned down to him, placing a kiss on his forehead. He moved a hand to your waist. “Want a refill Izu?” You asked softly, motioning to his glass.
He nodded his head with a smile. “That would be wonderful, thank you.” He spoke softly back up to you. You smiled as you moved to the kitchen.
Izuku watched you with a fond smile before turning back to Katsuki. However, the blond hero seemed to have his own crimson gaze following you too. That did not sit well with Izuku. Truth be told, the blond Number two ProHero had been looking at you seconds too long for Izuku’s liking.
Katsuki took a sip of his Manhatten as he leaned back, a chuckle at the back of his throat. “I told her that she should try running after a car going a hundred sixty kilometres an hour and see how she feels.” He jested making the men at the table chuckle.
Eijiro sat beside Katsuki with a smile on his face. He watched as his twelve year old daughter shuffled into the kitchen, her black hair tied down in a braid as she moved to help you in taking care of the dishes.
Katsuki looked to Izuku who had picked up Kota from his high chair and brought him to sit on his lap. The eight month old was a rather happy and giggly baby, never really crying much and had the cutest and roundest freckled cheeks. Katsuki raised an eyebrow at the baby who seemed no infatuated with Izuku’s hand. “So when’s the vasectomy appointment, Deku?” He asked motioning his glass to the green haired man.
Izuku raised an eyebrow with a scoff. “What vasectomy?” He asked.
Katsuki shrugged as he leaned back. Eijiro looked at him uneased, not liking how this might end up going. “I mean you’ve got five kids, don’t you think it’s time you…” He made a scissor motion with his fingers and made snipping noises. The motion made Eijiro shiver at the pure thought of anyone coming near his own pair.
Izuku stared at Katsuki unblinkingly for a moment. Out of pure decency and the fact that he was holding his youngest son with him, he kept his composure. Katsuki had the habit of jesting and poking at Izuku just because he wanted to. Izuku hated it almost as much as he hated the blond himself. He let out a breath as he ran a hand through Kota’s soft green curls. “That’s between me and my wife, Kacchan. If she wants me to do it, I’ll do it.”
“If I want you to do what?” You appeared again, placing down a glass of lemonade in front of Izuku. He never liked to drink whenever the kids were around, even if it was just a glass. If he was going to drink, it would be away from them. You leaned against your husband, your weight barely effecting him at all as you held a warm bottle of milk that you had just warmed up for your youngest son in your other hand, shaking it gently.
Izuku opened his mouth but Katsuki beat him to it. The blond leaned forward with a teasing smirk on his face. “Don’t you think it’s time your husband got a vasectomy?”
Your eyes widened as you turned to look down at Izuku, wondering where that all came from. He sighed as he shrugged, telling you that he didn’t even know where it came from. You turned your head to look back at Katsuki. “Well, I think we will talk about it if that’s how we want to go about doing things.” You worded carefully, not entirely sure what the point of the question was. “Either way, I’m happy with my boys.” You smiled sweetly as you looked down to Kota who was silently staring at Eijiro who was playing peek-a-boo with him, soft giggle escaping his mouth. You picked him up gently, taking his attention making him squeal at the sight of his mother, happy to see you. Bright green eyes holding nothing but happiness and love. You chuckled as you held your little boy in your arms. “My five boys are all I could ever wish for.”
“I’ve given up on having a girl.” Izuku casually stated as he lifted his glass of lemonade up to his lips.
Eijiro chuckled as he scratched the back of his head. “I think I would only ever have girls, if Katsuki-”
“Don’t start with me, Red.” Katsuki dismissed with a hand up and a roll of his eyes. At that, not too far away you heard shouting from the two oldest boys in the house who were shouting about their video game. “Two is enough as is.”
Eijiro stared down at his empty glass, his large hands holding it rather tightly as he kept a smile on his face. “Of course, babe.” He said softer this time, red hair cascading down his shoulders as he stared at his cup. He took a deep breath before looking up with a smile. “Speaking of which, we should get going. It’s getting late.” He puffed out as he stood up in his chair. He looked to you with a grateful smile. “Thank you for the meal, Y/N.”
You smiled. “It’s no problem, Eijiro.”
Eijiro waved to your youngest, making the baby wave a hand back flexing his fingers as his way of saying bye. Eijiro looked to his daughter. “Satomi, sweetheart, say your goodbyes, we’re leaving.” He notified her.
She put down the glass she had rinsed off and looked up with a smile. “Okay, daddy.” She said sweetly as she moved back over to you. “Sorry I couldn’t finish the dishes, but I did most of them. Thank you, it was really nice.”
Satomi was always such a sweetheart, carved from literal gold and gifted from the heavens. She was her father’s little copy and you knew how much she was a light in his life. You put a hand to her face and smiled. “You didn’t have to, Satomi, but thank you. I’ll see you soon, okay?” She nodded her head excitedly and said goodbye to your husband. You turned to look down the hall. “Toshinori! Kane has to go now!”
It took a few seconds before your oldest son who had just turned fourteen appeared, curly green hair mostly hidden under a beanie. “What?” He let out in disappointment. “We were just getting to the good stuff.”
Appearing as well was Kane, thirteen and the splitting image of Katsuki. His puffy blond hair and crimson eyes looked so much like his father, but he had so much softer edges to him than Katsuki. “What!? Can Toshinori and I have a sleepover.” He bargained.
Eijiro chuckled. “On another day, Kane. Not tonight. You can both play video games tomorrow.”
Kane frowned but nodded his head with a grumble, following Toshinori to go pack up their games.
You saw little heads of green hair peaking from the side as well, Toshinori’s three other brothers peaked from over the side, a ten year old, six year old and four year old, giggling with mischief in their eyes. You gave them all a pointed look and motioned up the stairs. “Sprouts! Go get ready for bed.”
They all grumbled, the oldest one of the three of them, ten-year-old Asahi, led his brothers upstairs.
“Kacchan, can I talk to you for a second?” Izuku asked as he stood up, his hands in his pockets. A serious look was on his face as he confronted the blond.
Katsuki rolled his eyes but stood up from the chair he had made himself comfortable in and headed towards the back sliding door that led to the garden outside, following after your large bulky husband. Your eyebrows furrowed in wonder at what they would be talking about but you decided to leave them be. Kota had been drinking from the bottle you had gotten him, safely holding it with his hands as he started to get tired from the long day. You turned to look at Eijiro. “Come, let me get you guys some left over brownies.” You motioned for him to follow you.
Eijiro let out an awkward laugh, his daughter going off to Toshinori and Kane who were still packing up. “You don’t have to, Y/N.”
“Nonsense.” You shook your head. You leaned over closer to him. “Izuku eats too many anyways.” You whispered teasingly.
You handed him Kota making his eyes widen in surprise, but he held the baby properly and supported the bottle that he was drinking from as well. You made swift work of packing a container of brownies that you had baked. Living in a house filled with boys, you had learnt to cook and bake in the masses. You carefully got foil and placed the chocolate brownies in the container. You looked up at Eijiro who looked down at your youngest son with an adoring look. The little one blinking slowly with sleep in his eyes.
You motioned to him. “He really likes you.” You pointed out. “You’re so good with kids, Eijiro. How come you and Katsuki never had more kids?” You asked trying to make sure you weren’t coming off too strong. After you and Izuku had Toshinori, Katsuki and Eijiro got egg doners and a surrogate and managed to have Kane and the next year, Satomi.
Eijiro he looked down at Kota with an easy smile, holding him sweetly as he rocked him in his arms. “Katsuki didn’t see the point in it.” He spoke nonchalantly. “Said too many would get in the way of his career and spot as Number Two. He doesn’t want added pressure I guess.” He shrugged.
You nodded, remembering how serious Katsuki took his career when you both had been dating long ago. Too long ago. But that was in the past. You didn’t say anything more, glancing at Izuku and Katsuki who stood outside, the sliding door closed, blocking any bits of their conversation. However, you could see by their body language that it must have been a heated conversation to say the least.
“What the fuck are you saying, Deku?” Katsuki let out with a harsh crimson glare aimed at the taller man in front of him.
Izuku had his arms folded over his chest as he stared down at Katsuki. Hands gripping his biceps as he frowned at the blond man in front of him. “You heard what I said, Kacchan.” He tried keeping his voice even toned and with less aggression as he could muster. Knowing how Katsuki could get. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring at my wife.”
Katsuki scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “And on what basis would you think I would be doing that?”
“On the basis that I have eyes.” Izuku stated plainly. “I’m not ignorant about your feelings to her have not gone away even after the two of you broke up nearly two decades ago. I don’t know what inner complex or feelings you must be going through,” He motioned to the blond man in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed in seriousness. “But I think it’s for the best you keep those in line and in check.”
Katsuki smirked with a tilt of his head, his crimson eyes finding amusement in the situation as he let out a low chuckle. “Or what, Deku?” He asked lowly with a raised eyebrow. “You’re gonna blame a man for having eyes or are you going to blame your wife for having a fat ass?”
Izuku closed his eyes as his fingers dug into his bicep, he took a deep inhale before looking away from Katsuki. “Okay, I think it’s time for you to go, Kacchan.”
“I swear, Deku,” He stepped forward closer to the Number One hero, “Just because you can give her all the sons she wants and all the money in the world doesn’t take away the fact that…” He leaned in close, a smirk on his face and a whisper out of his mouth. “I’ve been in your wife’s pussy before. It doesn’t take away the fact that at one stage she would have been in the exact same position she’s in now but instead she would be Mrs Bakugou and she’d be having my blond brats instead. So why don’t you stop your high horse because you were lucky to wind up with her, and leave me be.”
The blond stepped back as he moved to leave Izuku outside, heading back inside the Midoriya residence. Katsuki smirked as he moved over to where everyone had now moved to the entrance hall, making their way outside. You held Kota in your arms as you allowed Eijiro, Kane and Satomi outside.
Katsuki smirked as he walked over to you, his hands in his jacket. “You take care now, Y/N.” Katsuki kept his eyes on you with that deep intense gaze.
“You too, Katsuki.” You nodded with a pleasant smile, ignoring his eyes racking over your figure as he stepped to leave outside.
You felt Toshinori step closer to you. Your son having a tense smile as he moved to hold the door. “Goodbye Uncle Kacchan.” He dismissed.
Katsuki scoffed as he looked the boy up and down. He rolled his eyes as he moved over to his Audi. “Midoriyas.” He shook his head.
Toshinori’s face dropped as he glared for a second before closing the door rather. He shook his head with a frown. “Uncle Kacchan is weird.” He stated simply making you chuckle. Toshinori had been getting taller and taller everyday and you were just waiting for the day he would surpass you, already nearly being your height.
You nudged him softly. “You heading to your room?”
He nodded his head. “Yah. Training with dad this morning made me kind of drained.” He explained.
Toshinori had received One for All from Izuku, having been born quirkless and was slowly being trained in dealing with the powerful quirk he now had. One for all was a strange thing, as Toshinori inherited it, it never diminished Izuku’s own power either. Having two holders of such a powerful quirk was something you knew the Commission seemed more than excited to explore once your son hit UA. But you were just glad he was managing the new quirk so well and he hadn’t gotten seriously hurt.
You nodded your head. “Alright, you head to bed. I’m sure you two will be going for another morning jog.”
Toshinori nodded his head, a spark in his bright green eyes at the thought. “Yah! Dad said it would increase my stamina, but honestly I think its also for indurance. Ever since receiving One for All, I noticed the gravity of having to have a lot of energy but also learning to use the energy I have. It’s really interesting actually, especially since I haven’t unlocked all the other quirks yet! I wonder if I’ll be more like dad or grandpa All Might? All the past holders seem really informative but nothing I’ve already received from dad and-” You watched your son drone on a tangent, so passionate about his quirk.
You couldn’t help but smile dearly at your oldest boy. He was so much like his father. You chuckled and nodded. “Alright, alright, Toshi. Just don’t push yourself too hard. You still have time before hitting UA.” You reminded him, pulling on his beanie a bit more. “You head on to bed now.”
He nodded his head and leaned over and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Night, Ma.” He whispered closer to you, remembering his little brother who was now passed out in your arms on a milk coma. Toshi turned to look at the sliding door to where his father was.
You turned to look at Izuku who had his back to the door, standing motionless as he looked out at the garden. You put a hand to Toshinori’s shoulder. “I’ll tell him you said goodnight. He’s probably counting the bunnies again.” Toshi nodded his head and left to go upstairs. “Mind checking on your brothers for me?”
“Not at all.” He spoke cheerfully as he left to go upstairs.
You watched him leave to go upstairs before turning to look at your husband. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry, feeling as though something happened when he was talking to Katsuki. However, you knew he needed some time to collect all the millions of thoughts that buzzed around his head.
“Ah! Izuku!” You cried out as his hands gripped your hips. Your ass slapped against his pelvis hard and fast as he slammed you back onto his cock. His grip on you was bruising to say the least, borderline painful but the pleasure was also just as overwhelming.
You hadn’t expected to end up in this position when you had both retired for the evening, you putting down all the boys, making sure they were all in bed and asleep while Izuku insisted on cleaning up downstairs. He was an attentive husband that way. With all the work he did as Number One, he still always put in work in the home and with you and the kids. You felt lucky to have a husband who managed to balance it all like he did.
However, you were surprised to find yourself wrapped up in his arms, pure need and wanting in his intentions. It flattered you to say the least and you took your chance at intimacy with your husband as quickly as you could. That’s how you found yourself face first in your sheets, so glad that your room was soundproofed.
However as much as you loved your husband and how much he filled you up so effortlessly, this was a surprise to you. The aggression he had tonight seemingly came out of nowhere. Now you weren’t totally adverse to how rough he was being, however you had that nibbling feeling inside you that told you that something wasn’t right.
You bit back a moan as you turned to look at him. Your large thick husband seemed deep in his head but also focused as he fucked you. His eyebrows were furrowed and seemed less vocal than normal. That raised enough flags in your head (as well as the bruising you would have on your hips and ass) to tell you that you had to put a pause in things.
“Izuku… Izuku stop.” You let out rather firmly. At your tone of voice, instantly your husband paused. Not even asking or entertaining the thought of pressing on for more sex that could clear his turbulent mind. You looked back at him worriedly. Your husband had never struggled performing in bed, but you knew just how strong his emotions are and how they could effect him.
He let out a low growl. “Shit!” He shouted, pushing himself out of you before letting go of you completely.
You finally relaxed into the sheets for a moment, letting out deep breaths as you tried to collect yourself for a second before turning over to look at your husband. Izuku sat with his head in his hands, turned away from you, his scarred back facing you as he was silent. You bit back the slight discomfort to your sex as you shuffled over to him. “Izuku...” You spoke softly, placing a hand on his back as you sat up. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
He let out a deep breath before standing up and out of bed. “Bakugou Katsuki. That’s what’s fucking wrong.” He let out clearly riled up and angry as he started to pace around the room.
You watched him silently, nodding your head, allowing him the moment to vent. “Okay, what did Katsuki do?” You asked him.
Izuku stopped momentarily to look at you. He motioned to the side. “All night, he had been staring at you like you were some piece of meat on a platter for him to take all for himself. I mean, this isn’t the first time, Y/N.” He told you, green eyebrows furrowed in a mix of anger and confusion. “I mean, I see how he constantly looks at you at Hero Galas, when we meet up with friends, school events, even in our own house! Now I decided to talk to him because I don’t appreciate him staring at my wife like that and he comes back to the fact that he’s still adores you! Telling me all about how he’s been inside you before and how you should be Mrs Bakugou. I told you that he would never move past that.”
You shifted uncomfortably, remembering the drama that had happened long ago when you were once in love with Bakugou Katsuki, only for him to cheat on you with the very same redhead man you had eating at your dining room table tonight as well. It was something you still thought about, but one you had gotten peace with. Mostly because you were happy with Izuku, you were happy with the family you had built based off of something you never thought would give you so much happiness.
However, the thought that Katsuki still thought about you in such a way made you uncomfortable. Of course you couldn’t deny that you and Katsuki had had sex before nor the fact that at some point in your life you did fantasize about being Mrs Bakugou, but not anymore. That was the past.
You nodded your head. “I understand your anger, Izuku. I don’t like it either.”
He motioned to you, relieved and glad that you understood his point. “Thank you.” He let out with a sigh. “I never liked having him here, but because our kids are friends and because I know how hard you have worked to getting peace and harbouring no ill feelings, I didn’t say anything. All I want for you is to be happy even if it means having to deal with Katsuki for a few hours, but…” Izuku stopped as he let out another sigh.
He looked to you and shook his head, completely and utterly at his end when it came to this situation. He looked almost as if he wanted to find another solution than the one he was going to give you but couldn’t see one.
“My love, I…” He paused before looking at you serious and having made up his mind. “I don’t want Bakugou anywhere in this house while he still thinks like this. I don’t feel comfortable with him here. I can’t control outside but in here… I just…”
You nodded your head understanding. You didn’t think it would come to this but you weren’t surprised. “Izuku…” You motioned to the place in bed next to you, tapping it gently with a smile. His shoulders lowered as he walked over to you, slowly before lying down beside you. You smiled at him as you ran a hand through his soft hair. “I agree.” You affirmed, half taking Izuku by surprise. “I will not allow anywhere to make you feel uncomfortable in our own home, no matter who they are. I don’t feel comfortable either so it’s okay. This is our home and we get to decide who we let inside and out of it. I respect and understand your feelings.”
Izuku closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. He rested his head on top of yours. “What about the kids?” He sighed. “I don’t want this to effect them.”
You smiled, glad that he was thinking about them. “I don’t think the younger ones care all that much. But with Toshi…” You lifted your head from off his chest and looked up at him. “Izuku, he praises the ground you walk on. Your son idolises you and he isn’t stupid either. He notices things and understands them. He’s a lot like you.” You teased with a smile. “I think if he asks, just sit down and talk to him. This is a good lesson that sometimes even if they are your friends, if they make you uncomfortable, you shouldn’t allow them into your space. He’ll understand, he listens to you.”
He nodded his head as he stared down at you. He gave you a gentle smile and put a hand to your face. You smiled, seeing those clear eyes again. “Thank you, love.” He whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I’m sorry if I was rough with you. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”
“Izuku, it’s fine.” You shrugged it off, moving to cuddle in to him closer. “We don’t need sex to make each other feel better or at all. This,” you squeezed him tighter, earning a chuckle as he held you in his big warm arms. You leaned your head against his chest hearing his heartbeat. “This with you… in my husband’s arms like this, is much more intimate than anything else.”
He hummed, glad to hear it from you. “Hey Y/N…”
“Yah?”
“I love you.”
You smiled. “I love you too, Izuku.”
-Glitch1d
[Angry Dilfs- Katsuki Bakugou]
[Angry Dilfs- Kirishima Eijiro]
Next we have Eijiro!!
#izuku midoriya x reader#mha x y/n#izuku x reader#deku x reader#izuku midoriya smut#izuku midoria x reader#midoriya x reader#izuku midoriya#deku vs kacchan#toxic katsuki bakugou#ex katsuki bakugou#past katsuki bakugou x reader#bnha#mha#dilf izuku midoriya#dilf mha#dilf deku
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if u have time could u do theo taking care of a drunk reader?? thank u sm ❤️
here (in your arms).
pairing: theodore nott x reader.
song inspiration: here (in your arms) by hellogoodbye.
author's note: in a soft fluffy theo mood. don't text.
The boisterous sounds coming from the common room party filtered through the empty corridor of the boy's dormitories, making you sway to the beat of the music as you lifted your fist to the door. You rapped against the wood three times—your signature knock to let your best friend know that it was you on the other side.
You stepped back as the door swung open, revealing a disoriented Theo. His ruffled hair flopped over his eyes, the brown waves slightly flat on the right side, which you knew was his preferred side to sleep on. A twinge of guilt tugged at your heart as you watched the sleepy boy before you, his Chudley Cannons sweatshirt and light grey lounge pants indicating that you had probably interrupted his slumber. A rarity, given that your best friend suffered from insomnia more often than not.
Rubbing his eyes, Theo adjusted to the darkness of the hallway and glanced down at you. In your tiny little dress, you shivered in the cool air of the dungeons, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to chase away the goosebumps.
"Hi Teddy," you whispered. "Did I wake you?"
"You did, but I don't mind." Theo said softly, rubbing up and down your arms to provide some much needed warmth. "What are you doing still up?"
"Pans convinced me to play another round of beer pong," you confessed. "You should have seen us. We obliterated the boys. Malfoy threw a fit."
The silly giggle that you covered behind your hand made Theo smile. If your constant swaying wasn't enough of an indication that you were currently inebriated, the deep red flush on your cheeks, neck, and arms told Theo all that he needed to know. You were absolutely sloshed.
"I'm sorry I missed it, dolcezza." When your body temperature refused to thaw, Theo shrugged off his jumper. For a brief moment, you caught a glimpse of his toned stomach, his olive skin glimmering in the dim lighting. You bit your lip, averting Theo's gaze. Luckily, he was too preoccupied with pulling the jumper over your head to notice. "Come in, let's get you warm, yeah?"
"Mmkay," you murmured in agreement. You trailed behind Theo, almost knocking into the doorway until he laced his fingers through yours, guiding you inside his dorm.
"There's a door there, amorina."
"Don't make fun, Teddy." You huffed, pouting as you followed closely behind. "Your room's too dark. How can you even see anything in here?"
Theo chuckled. "Sure, let's blame the lack of light instead of the fact that you're smashed."
"Am not," you countered, plopping onto Theo's large, plush bed. "I'm perfectly sober, thank you very much."
"Fine. Then who was the Minister of Magic during the Goblin Rebellion in 1752?"
"There were two ministers at the time. Boot was in office first, then he resigned due to mismanagement. Basil Flack replaced him." You smirked at your best friend, feeling rather smug. "Just because I'm bevvied doesn't mean that you'll catch me lacking, Theodore."
Theo raised a brow. "So you admit you're drunk?"
"You tricked me!"
"Guilty as charged." Theo admitted, plopping down right next to you. "So, did you bail on the party just to hog my bed?"
"It's not my fault that yours is much more comfier than mine," you mumbled, cocooning yourself underneath his comforters. "Plus, the party wasn't as fun without you there. I needed my partner in crime."
"I thought you'd be glad that I studied for the History of Magic exam instead of getting shitfaced. You're the one always telling me off about partying too much."
"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually listen."
"It's you," Theo said with a smile. "Of course I listened."
"I never thought I'd live to see the day when Theodore Nott is more responsible than me."
A smile tugged at your best friend's lips. "Well, one of us has to be. You're a mess, Y/N," he teased. "But you're my mess."
"As if that's not the pot calling the kettle black."
Theo chuckled as you buried yourself in his blankets, hiding from him entirely. He snuck underneath the covers and scooted closer until you were face to face.
"Hello," Theo whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and hugged you liked he hadn't seen you all week. "I've missed you quite terribly."
"It's only been a few hours, Teddy." You replied, giggling as you brushed his hair back. It was getting so long, but you loved how soft and fluffy his locks felt as you ran your fingers through it.
"Says the girl who snuck into the boy's dorms to see me."
"Okay, so maybe I missed you too."
"That's what I thought."
You stayed intertwined for a moment, your hearts beating in sync as you clung onto one another. When you yawned, Theo patted your leg. "Come on, love. Let's get you ready for bed."
"But I'm already comfy," you whined, burying your face in his chest.
"I know, amorina. But you'll feel so much better after you've washed your face." You pouted in response. "I promise I'll make it quick. Then we can cuddle, okay?"
You nodded. "Okay, Teddy."
Theo smiled before giving you a piggyback ride to his private bathroom. Setting you down on the counter, he pulled out the makeup wipes that he kept in the drawer for this exact reason. You swung your legs in the air as he wiped the foundation off your face. With his brows furrowed and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, you'd never seen Theo so concentrated.
You grinned and pinched his cheek. "You're so cute when you're focused."
He quirked a brow as he helped you wash off the remnants. "Only when I'm focused?"
"No, you're cute all the time. It's infuriating." You lamented as Theo patted your face with a face cloth. He hummed, spreading serums and moisturizers on your skin like he'd seen you do a thousand times over.
"Oh? Care to share?"
"Hmm," you hummed, leaning into his touch. "I think it's cute when you hook our pinkies together in the hallway so I don't get overwhelmed by the crowd. Or when you get crumbs all over your face and grin like a little kid when I catch you raiding my cookie stash. Or how your eyes light up when we're watching the stars at night."
"You noticed all of that?" Theo asked softly.
"It's you," you answered, mirroring his words from earlier. "Of course I noticed."
The shy smile on his face made your heart flutter. "For the record, I think you're cute too. I think you're the cutest girl I've ever seen in my entire life."
"Sounds like you have a crush on me, Teddy."
"I have for the past six years. Thanks for finally noticing," he said with a chuckle.
You groaned, burying your face into his neck. "Don't say that to me when I'm drunk. What if I don't remember it tomorrow?"
Theo kissed the top of your head and carried you off to bed. "Then I guess I'll just have to remind you in the morning, love."
With a grin, you kissed the tip of his nose. "Thanks for taking care of me, Teddy."
Theo smiled. It was so beautiful that your heart ached to bear witness to it. As he tucked you into bed and wrapped his arms around you, the boy that you loved pressed a kiss to your temple and spoke a promise into the night.
"I'll always take care of you, Y/N."
Taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar
#I AM DOWN SO BAD I'M IN THE TRENCHES#theo nott#theo nott x reader#theo nott smut#theo nott x you#theo nott x y/n#theo nott imagine#theodore nott#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott x you
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Title: Bedside Manner.
Pairing: Yan!Doctor!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Nurse!Geto (JJK).
Word Count: 2.9k.
TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Sex Toys, Could Be Read As A Geto Stayed AU But It's Funnier If You Don't, Bondage, Improper Use of Cum, A Brief Blowjob Aside, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slight Dom/Sub Dynamics, and Medical Malpractice.
“The patient should be waking up any second now, doctor.”
You stirred at the sound of Geto’s voice, groaning as you blinked away harsh, colorless light. The room around you came into focus slowly; your bleary eyes scanning over four blank walls and sterile titanium cabinets, only lingering momentarily on the tool-crowded trays latched onto either side of the metallic examination table you’d been laid across before moving to the doorway. Gojo was stepping across the threshold, wearing what you could only describe as a child’s idea of how a general practitioner might’ve dressed. His blindfold was gone, replaced with a pair of thin-rimmed shades he wore low on the bridge of his nose, and his uniform had been swapped out for a fitted button-up and a long, unwrinkled lab coat. An authentic-enough stethoscope had been strung around his neck, latex gloves pulled over his hands, but he hadn’t bothered to write anything on the paper held by the clipboard tucked under his arm, and his tie was left loose and undone in his collar. If you saw him in an actual hospital, you might’ve hesitated before asking to see his medical license. Might’ve.
Geto entered behind him, hands clasped behind his back and hair pulled into a loose bun. Your gaze dipped below his collar and your brain immediately short-circuited.
You couldn’t remember ever seeing a skirt that short in a… well, you couldn’t remember ever seeing a skirt that short anywhere.
Unlike Gojo, he’d clearly gotten his costume out of the darkest corner of the sketchiest store he could find. It might’ve been able to pass for a nurse’s uniform, had it not been for the fishnets stretched over his toned legs, the skin-tight skirt that ended well below his mid-thigh, the plunging neckline framed on either side by a pressed white collar. As you gawked, he caught your eye, a pointed grin tugging at the corners of his red lips. “Doctor,”he practically purred the title, bringing his hands up to Gojo’s shoulders. “It seems the patient is in a state of shock! Oh, no, what are you going to do?”
What his costume lacked, Gojo made up for with his acting. “There’s nothing to worry about.” His voice was artificially deep, his tone low and gravelly. “You’re both in good hands. I specialize in cases like this – needy young things neglected for far too long.” He clicked his tongue, flicking his glasses on top of his head. “Why don’t you prepare the patient, nurse?”
At that, your expression dropped. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today, guys.” You threw your legs over the side of the table, your scowl deepening as you glanced down and found that your clothes had been replaced with a nearly transparent hospital gown. Geto appeared behind you as you moved to stand, his fist curling around your wrist, but you shook him off. “Where are we? If swear, if I find out you cleared out an actual hospital for the sake of your shitty roleplay, I’ll—"
“Doctor,” Geto crooned again, “The patient seems to be hysterical. It’s driven them to delusion!”
His hands clapped over your shoulders. With that terrible grin still plastered across his lips, he slammed you down against the metal table and ignored your attempts to thrash against his hold. Gojo gasped, throwing his blank clipboard to the ground as he rushed to slap a hand over his mouth. “Their condition must be worse than we thought. If we don’t act now, we might lose them for good.”
Geto’s hold tightened. “Do you think it’s come to that, doctor?”
There was a beat of silence. Eventually, Gojo replied, “Yes. That.”
Geto let out a deep breath, his grin faltering. “The toys, Satoru.”
Immediately, he perked up, striding confidently to the foot of your bed. “Their treatment, you mean.” He reached towards one of the trays latched to your cot and, this time, you noticed that they weren’t housing tools, but an almost impressive collection of toys; bullets and wands of as many sizes and colors as you could imagine lined up in neat rows between bottles of lube and textured silicone monstrosities. After a second of thought, he chose a ribbed, hot pink rabbit vibrator, the insert just a little too big not to send a pang of dread to the pit of your stomach.
You scratched at Geto’s wrists and, when he failed to budge, let out a long, wordless scream – punctuated by a frustrated growl as you kicked toward Gojo. “If you so much as thick about touching me with that, I’ll—”
“Hysterical, like you said. If left untreated, it’ll progress into constant agitation, or worse – sexual repulsion.” He paused, slipped two gloved fingers into his mouth. A wet, slick sound filled the cramped space. By the time he pulled away, a string of spit stretched between his fingertips and his lips; only broken as his hand fell to your cunt. “Of course, proper preparation is necessary. We wouldn’t be able to call ourselves professionals if we didn’t take care of our patients, would we, nurse?”
Geto shook his head dutifully as Gojo spread the lips of your pussy apart, his haphazardly lubricated fingers thrusting into your entrance. They must’ve already done something to you in your sleep. Your body offered no resistance as he spread his fingers apart inside of you, slight discomfort turning to reluctant pleasure too quickly to be the first time they’d stretched open your body that day. He curled his fingers and you jerked against Geto’s hold, your hips bucking upward and earning a click of his tongue, a more pitying shake of his head. “Unruly patients have to be restrained.”
You opened your mouth, bracing yourself to ask what that was supposed to mean, but anything you might’ve said was replaced with a sharp whimper as his attention moved to your wrists – catching them in one hand while the other began to fiddle with something at the head of the table. You felt it more than you saw it; thick and leathery, looped once around your wrists and pulled tight, binding your hands above your head. Now freed, his own touch drifted to the collar of your gown, then lower, cupping the curves of your chest through the papery material and squeezing harshly. His thumbs swiped over your nipples while Gojo’s fingers ground against something soft and sensitive inside of you and stuck between the two of them, you shrunk into yourself, shutting your eyes as little whines and hitched moans escaped your treacherous lips.
Your pathetic resistance was met with an airy chuckle, a mouth pressed against your collarbone as Geto bent at the waist. “What a lucky little thing you are – to have such a skilled doctor looking after you.” His breath fanned over your skin and, as if to prove his point, Gojo forced another finger into your now slick-soaked cunt, pumping all three into you at a brutal, breaking pace. Bucking against him wasn’t an act of rebellion, this time, but a necessity; a choice your body made on your behalf. You didn’t want to, but you would’ve done anything to loosen the vice-tight coil in your core, the cool the pure warmth flooding through your veins. “You’ll show him how thankful you are for such thorough treatment, won’t you?”
Willing or otherwise, you would have to. You could feel your body starting to stiffen, your pussy clenching around his fingers as something deep inside of youbegan to smolder. The heel of Gojo’s palm ground against your clit and you moaned shamelessly, struggling not to clench your thighs shut as—
—as Gojo drew back, leaving you empty and quickly coming down from your near-high. There was a twinge of disappointment, but any relief your better judgement might’ve been able to summon was quickly smothered and suffocated as Gojo, color-bleached hair falling over his eyes, thrust his chosen vibrator into your vulnerable pussy and switched it on.
It wasn’t a question of when you would break, but how quickly. It only took a few seconds under the harsh vibrations being pumped into your clit, of enduring the way the bulbed insert pumped and ground against the walls of your cunt for you to crack. “Take it out,” you begged, spreading your legs involuntarily. “Take it out, turn it off, please, I—”
“That’s just your condition talking. You’re looking better already,” Geto cooed, his arm snaking around your neck and drawing you flat against the examination table. “Good patients take their treatment with a smile.”
“Helpful as always, nurse.” Gojo flattened one hand against your lower stomach, using the other to keep his vibrator in place despite your body’s convulsions. “But you don’t need to be so harsh. Look – it’s already taking effect.”
He was right. He was right and you hated him for it. You could feel yourself clenching around the length of his insert, your back threatening to arch off the examination table as you came around his toy. Climax provided no reprieve, though. Gojo only hummed, his thumb pressing into a silver button on the vibrator’s base. In an instant, the vibrations grew stronger, the aching pleasure being forced onto your body more savage. As you fought not to come undone for the second time in seconds, Gojo’s eyes flickered to Geto. “I think it’s about time we started on the patient’s medicine.”
Geto didn’t protest. He pressed a lingering kiss into the curve of your neck before straightening his back and climbing onto the examination table with you; a knee planted snuggly on either side of your head, giving you a view under his skirt too perfectly posed not to be deliberate. The costume was worse than you could’ve possibly imagined. Black garter belts hugged his muscular thighs, a stark departure in tone and style from the silken ivory panties barely covering his thick cock. He was already painfully hard – the outline of his length showing through the thin material, the tip leaking enough arousal to render both his panties and the cheap fabric of his skirt transparent.
He bent down and Gojo rose to meet him, propping one knee on the edge of the table as Geto undid his belt and shrugged down his dress pants, freeing Gojo’s cock. He let out a raspy groan as Geto’s painted lips ghosted over his flushed tip, as he ran his broad tongue running over the underside of Gojo’s cock before taking it into his mouth. You tried to look away, to focus on something that wasn’t one of them or the vibrator pulsing in your cunt, but its mechanical pattern was just jarring enough to keep you grounded in reality and they were so fucking loud, Geto’s noisy swallows and stifled moans always met with Gojo’s praise. The bright blue of his gloves stood out against Geto’s dark hair like lightning against a storm, the shape of his cock visible against the column of Geto’s throat as he swallowed Gojo down. Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth, smearing his lipstick and dripping down to his chin as he bobbed his head in-time with Gojo’s idle thrusts. As you were nudged closer to your second climax, Geto worked Gojo towards his first; his already erratic pace growing more frenzied. His eyes fell shut, Geto’s name slipping past his lips – cut short by a hitched breath as he rutted into Geto’s mouth.
You forced yourself to look away as Geto choked him through his high, but it didn’t matter. Burning white blotted out your vision as his vibrator forced you over the ledge, sending another wave of blissful agony coursing through hyper-sensitive body. It seemed to hold you in that state of euphoric paralysis for minutes – your eyes glazed over and unfocused, your legs twitching and your cunt clenching around the bulbed insert. Gojo’s airy chuckle was the only thing that stopped you from spiraling completely. The vibrator was switched off and removed unceremoniously, Geto helped down from the examination table with a muffled whine of protest. Gojo’s hands curled around your ankles, dragging you downward until your legs hung over the table’s blunt edge and Geto could position himself between your twitching thighs. Exhausted and limp, you could only shake your head and whimper as Gojo’s hands slipped under Geto’s skirt, hiking the fabric up to his waist and tearing away his panties entirely. With his chin propped on Geto’s shoulder, his hand panted on Geto’s hip, he wrapped his fist around Geto’s cock and lined his leaking tip up with your dripping entrance. Geto, with a pursed-lipped frown and eyes blown just a little too wide to sell the doe-like innocence he was aiming for, paid Gojo a hesitant glance, but Gojo clicked his tongue, pressing his chest into Geto’s back with the practiced steadiness of a decade-long mentor. “Don’t be shy, nurse.” He slotted his lip against Geto’s ass. “Someone’s still waiting for their medicine.”
His assurance was kind, but unnecessary; Geto couldn’t play coy for very long. Wordlessly, he thrust into you, bottoming out in a single stroke.
Gojo was still there, providing a steadying hand, but what little self-restraint Geto had snapped the moment he felt your cunt clamp around him. While you recoiled, your body attempting to escape his hostile affection before your mind could realize it was futile, he groaned and lurched into you, never satisfied unless he could be buried as deeply inside of you as possible. A hand shot up – taking hold of your jaw and prying your grit teeth apart as his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss was open-mouthed and rough, his tongue lashing out to force something warm and bitter into your mouth. You begged yourself not to put a name to the substance he was practically tongue-fucking down your throat, but tears still managed to blur your hazy vision, overstimulation and humiliation turning every sensation sharp and invasive. What was left of your limited strength was poured into writhing and thrashing underneath him, but that only seemed to spur Geto on, to let him fuck into your cunt with that much more force, to make the sound of his skin slapping against yours that much more unbearable. Gojo didn’t help, but he didn’t stop him, either. He kept his hands on Geto’s waist, kept that shit-eating grin plastered across his lips as he watched Geto fuck into you like a wild animal, let out of its cage for the very first time.
Your third and last climax was almost pathetically weak; your body wrung dry and your nerves burnt to nothing. Your final moan came out hoarse and stunted, your form going limp underneath him, and yet, it was enough to tip Geto over the edge, to leave him grunting as he pressed his hips flush to yours and filled your cunt with something so, so much worse than the stale cum he made you swallow. At least that, you’d been able to ignore, to reject. The feeling of pure heat dripping down the inside of your thighs as he stilled against you wasn’t as easy to block out.
He lingered on top of you, his breath ragged and his face buried in the side of your neck. Gojo was the one to break the stillness, predictably, letting out a pitchy whine as he threw himself onto fGeto. “You looked so hot.” He drew the final word out for a second too long, his voice cracking on the final note. “You looked hot and I couldn’t say anything because I had to stay in character but all I wanted to do was put my di—"
“Later, Satoru.” With a groan, Geto straightened his back, taking Gojo with him as he pried himself away from you. The leather strap around your wrists was pulled loose, and he helped you sit up-right, your legs still dangling over the side of the examination table. His cum stained the inside of your thighs, the hospital gown they’d dressed you in hanging wrinkled and ragged from your shoulders. Geto let out a soft coo as he looked over you, his acting only slightly more believable than it’d been a few minutes ago. “I’ll get you cleaned up while Satoru takes care of mess. We’ll get you back home after that, alright?”
You let your head lull forward. It was your turn to bury your face in his chest, now, to huff as Gojo changed tactics – positioning himself behind you and nuzzling into the nape of your neck. “I hate you two.” You spared a fleeting glance to either side. “Where are we? This doesn’t look like any of Shoko’s labs.”
A beat of silence lapsed between the two of them. Finally, Gojo chimed in. “That would’ve saved us a lot of time, huh, Suguru?”
Immediately, you stiffened. “This cannot be a real—”
Geto pressed a kiss into your forehead. “It’s nothing worth worrying your pretty little head over, sweetheart.”
“There’s not even a law for—”
“Doctor,” Geto called, speaking over you. “Your patient’s getting riled up, again.”
You jolted, but didn’t have time to get away. Gojo was already pressing himself against you, his hand slipping between your thighs as his grin bit into the side of your throat.
“You can leave this one to me, nurse.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#yandere jjk#jujutsu kaisen imagines#yandere gojo satoru#yandere geto suguru#gojo x reader#geto x reader#nurse geto#doctor gojo#yanderecore#yancore
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two point five. part three (m) jjk.
part one. part two.
pairing. handyman!jungkook x reader
genre. smut, pwp, fluff!!
word count. 5.9k
warnings. they’re in luvvv its sick, jungkook still loves to tease, pussy job, finger sucking, its just sweet and dirty idk
summary. jungkook finally fixes your pipes, sure he gets distracted while doing it, but what else could you expect when you’re sitting on top of him looking like that.
note. thank u guys for loving them & for being patient for more! they make my heart happy so i had to continue writing for them. i hope u enjoy the filth and brief jimin interaction hehe
“Isn’t it cute?” The excitement in your voice makes Jungkook smile as he stares at you, nose scrunched up in endearment when you pull out the shiny brass object from the box you had just ripped open.
“Super cute, baby. What is it?” Jungkook honestly hadn’t seen it too well, but anything you liked was cute to him so he obviously agreed. He was currently leaning against your dining chair, hands resting along the back of it as he hunched over to examine the plastic wrapped thing. It’s not until you peel it back that he knows exactly what it is, giving you another smile when he looks up to meet your gaze.
“A new faucet! I figured since you still need to fix my leaky pipes you could just…install this for me too?” Your voice is hopeful, almost as if you think there’s a chance he’d say no.
“I’ve been trying to fix it for weeks and you keep telling me no.” His eyes are playfully narrowed at you.
“I know, but that’s because this was back ordered. But it’s here now, so can you? Please.”
He sighs, looking away from you as he pretends to contemplate it, giggling when you whine and round the table to grip his shoulders. Even as you wrap your arms around him and beg, he continues to hum in thought, not caving until you’re leaning up and gingerly kissing his jaw and finally his lips.
“Mm, you know just how to convince me huh?” he mumbles against your lips, feeling you smile as he kisses you back.
“Kisses are your weakness?” You giggle when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer.
“No, just you.” His smile is cheeky as he admits this, giving you another squeeze before you’re pulling back with a cute laugh.
Jungkook had taken it upon himself to just keep a tool box at your place, leaving it in your coat closet for emergencies. He had gone ahead and told you what every tool in there did, not like it meant anything to you, knowing you wouldn’t be reaching in there after how horrible your attempt at mounting your television had gone.
This was Jungkook’s emergency tool box, not yours. So, after a quick trip to his truck parked down below, grabbing a few things he knew he’d need, he’s grabbing his toolbox out of your closet and getting right to work. You typically let him work on his own now, busying yourself with cleaning up your apartment, hanging up the newest photostrip you both took last night at your favorite bar and admiring it on the fridge with a smile. But once your to-do list runs out you can’t help it when your feet lead you to your bathroom, slowly pushing open the door as you lean on the frame and observe your boyfriend.
He had managed to remove the old faucet, cleaning up the caulking and any weird water spots before replacing it with the cute brass swan faucet you had scored. He is crouched on his knees now, trying his best to fit under the small cabinet to properly screw everything in, cursing slightly under his breath when he lifts his head and bangs it on the wood.
“I think you’re too big to fit under there babe,” you giggle, enjoying the pointed look he gives you as he straightens himself back out. “What if you try doing it from under?”
His brows pinch on his forehead as he looks at your floor, checking the spacing between the sink and the wall across from it, deeming it wide enough for him to lay on his back to get a better point of view. As long as he kept his knees slightly bent he could definitely fit, he’ll just have to keep his light on his chest to be able to see, unless, “Can you do me a favor, baby?”
Your face lights up at the question, nodding in confirmation instantly, already stepping into the bathroom for whatever he might need.
“Hold the light for me? I need both my hands to finish this off.” You could definitely do that. That’s literally the only way you knew how to help. So without another thought you’re grabbing the flashlight for him and squatting beside his body, angling the light to where you think he might need it.
Jungkook chuckles lightly under his breath when the beam of light hits the wrong spot, his large hand coming out to grip yours and angle it a little better, making you partially lean over him.
“Jungkook, I can’t keep this position for too long,” you laugh out, your knees already burning from the weird angle. He peers out and laughs too, well attempting to before it slowly dies in his throat when you get the grand idea of swinging your leg over his body and straddling his hips. It’s clear your thoughts are pure as you smile at how much easier it is this way, but Jungkook was a weak weak man, and the pretty flowy dress you were wearing made it so he could feel you directly on top of him, only the thin fabric of your underwear and his sweats separating you two.
“Better right?” you wonder, ever so softly putting more pressure on him as you settle, your free hand gently resting on his stomach, thumb mindlessly rubbing along the thin sliver of skin exposed as his shirt rode up. When he simply stares at you, absolutely dazed, you tilt your head and give him a pout that makes him want to sit up and capture your lips in a kiss. Luckily, he snaps out of it, thankfully saving his poor forehead from receiving another awful slam against the cabinet.
“Much better,” he forces out, letting his head fall back to resume his work. His eyes are focused on tightening the screws holding the new faucet in place, but then you’re adjusting your position and his eyes can’t help but look back down at you. He knows you’re not being intentional, but the pressure of you resting on his slowly hardening cock was going to be the death of him. Jungkook really didn’t have anyone to blame but himself, getting riled up so easily thanks to the horny lovesick cocktail he always had fogging up his brain around you.
“Baby,” he groans out, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans back and lets his palm fall over his face. “You gotta stop moving.”
“I’m sorry. Am I not pointing the light where you need it?” Your brows are furrowed on your forehead, pure confusion clouding your features as Jungkook gives you another glance. He has a very familiar look on his face, a look reserved for when he was inches away from you before pouncing on you and turning you into an absolute mess.
That’s when you notice it, the firmness pressed up against your core as you slowly settle back. Your eyes widen briefly, fighting back a sly smile from spreading onto your lips when you realize just how easily affected he is by you.
Maybe it's cruel to relish in it, the mischief already brewing in your mind as you give an experimental roll of your hips. Jungkook groans instantly, brows pinching on his forehead as he glances down at where you connect, words dying on his tongue when you roll forward again before he has a chance to utter anything out.
“Focus on what you’re doing,” you murmur, head tilted slightly as you smile down at him. Jungkook refuses to look away, his brain fighting him on what to do. He knew he could easily turn this around, scoop you up and fuck you right on this bathroom floor. But why was this so hot to him?
All of his thoughts turn into mush when you reach forward, fingers cupping his cheeks as you forcefully turn his head to look at the faucet again. His cock twitches beneath you as you speak once more. “Focus, baby.”
Oh yeah, he’s whipped.
You hum in content when he does just that, hands a little shaky as he resumes his work and attempts to act unaffected. The act only works for a brief moment, his hands faltering when he feels you shift around, your fingers dipping into the waistband of his sweats before you tug them down. Jungkook’s breath shudders as he shuts his eyes and just waits, knowing he couldn’t look down at you because the temptation would be too much.
A small gasp hits the air when you see he’s bare underneath his sweats, his cock already hard and leaking. Jungkook hisses when your hand wraps around him, giving him a gentle tug and swiping your thumb along the tip. He only caves and looks down again when he feels the way you press his length against his stomach, curiosity getting the best of him, allowing him the sight of you tugging your panties to the side before you’re settling back onto him.
“Fuck,” he groans out, seeing your pussy lips spread around him as you rock along his length, tip of his cock nudging against your clit perfectly. The view only lasts a minute before you’re letting your dress float back down around you, the playful look in your eyes telling him he needed to focus on his job.
Jungkook knows he’s good at his job, and he’s proud of it, knowing he always does his best to do everything perfectly. But he usually doesn’t have the prettiest girl he’s ever known on top of him, hell bent on making him cum as he works. So he admits he might not be doing the absolute best job he can, going through the steps as fast as possible, trying his best to focus on something other than how fucking amazing he feels.
Your hand trembles a bit as you continue to hold the light for him, small little moans of pleasure filling up the room as you continue to roll your hips, your other hand resting firmly on his chest to hold you steady.
“I can feel you making a mess,” you giggle, knowing there would be a puddle of precum on his tummy, smearing along your folds with each rock forward.
Jungkook just grunts in response, jaw clenched tightly as he finishes up tightening the last screw. With one final check, he’s smiling underneath the sink, allowing his tools to clang beside him as he grips your hips with both palms, enjoying the way you gasp in surprise.
“My turn,” he breathes out, tongue prodding along his cheek as he effortlessly shimmies out of his position. Your eyes are wide as you take in the look on his face, feeling your chest fluttering in excitement as he easily sits up, scooping an arm around you as he stands up straight.
“That was fast,” you breathe out, the slight tingling of nerves crawling up your spine, knowing Jungkook didn’t love being teased like that—not without knowing he’d get a chance to pounce back at least.
“I had some helpful motivation,” he mumbles, turning you around and settling behind you. His nose nudges along your head as he bends forward, soft breath felt against your ear as his hands slide up your thighs beneath your dress. Your skin tingles as his fingers dance along the edge of your wet panties, teasingly tugging at them as he presses his hardened length against your ass.
“Jungkook, we’re meeting up with your friends in a little bit,” you breathe out, voice trembling slightly as your hands fumble against the sink.
“I know, but you started it.” He smiles now, his eyes looking forward to meet your gaze in the mirror above your sink, brow cocked up. “Do you want me to finish it?”
He can see the way your face is lit up, lower lip held captive by your teeth as you gently bite down, eyes already glossed over as you mindlessly nod. Of course you want him to finish what you started.
“I need words, pretty girl,” he murmurs, both palms continuing to glide along your skin, enjoying the slight tremble he feels, how your body reacts to him instantly. His smile is teasing, lip curling up as he breathes out a laugh when you can only shudder as you try to get your brain to cooperate.
“Please. I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is low, raspy around each syllable, already on your way to being ruined before he has a chance to do anything. Perfect.
“Oh, I get a please? So polite,” he jests, peppering a kiss to your temple as his hands finally hook into your underwear and yank them down. When they pool around your feet you kick them out of the way, instinctually spreading your legs and pressing your ass further into him. Jungkook hums in content, his gaze falling down as he flips up the bottom of your dress, seeing the soft skin of your ass pressing against his length.
He guides his length between your thighs once more, resting perfectly against your sodden folds as he shallowly ruts forward. You moan softly as the tip of his cock nudges your clit, aching for his touch.
“I’ll always do whatever you want.” You know this is a promise from him, having experienced how true to his word he is during the last few months. All you can do is grip onto the counter to prepare yourself when you feel him start to move back. Your gaze is locked onto his reflection, seeing the way he bites onto his lip when he grabs your ass, gripping onto the flesh for his own satisfaction before delivering a swift slap, smiling at the small mewl you release.
You watch with bated breath as he grips the base of his cock, feeling the tip of it pressing into your soaked entrance, teasingly circling around it just to see the way your walls beg for him. He loved it too much, thoughts getting hazier with each small moan that escapes you. The bulbous head of his cock slowly inches forward, your pussy tightening around his tip and making him moan under his breath before pulling out entirely. It was the same motion he loved to do, teasing himself and getting a kick out of the delayed pleasure.
“Jungkook,” you whine out, giving him a pout when he looks up at your reflection. He mumbles out an apology that he clearly doesn’t mean judging by the smile on his face, but the way he finally sinks into you makes up for it. The satisfying stretch that follows is something that will never get old, and the small gasp he lets out when he bottoms out lets you know he feels the same.
Jungkook can only shut his eyes as he lets the feeling wash over him, his palms gripping your hips tightly when he feels your walls pulse around his length. He could live and die buried inside of you, always wanting to hear the soft moans of his name and the small whimper you release when he pulls his hips back and thrusts forward.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans out, eyes fluttering open to stare at the way your arousal coats his cock, shiny essence glimmering in the bathroom light. His mouth drops open in awe, stomach tensing up at the sight, hands gripping you harder when he sees the way you arch your back for more.
“You were fucking made for me.”
His words make your body warm up, spoken so sweetly in such a lewd context, only intensifying when he speeds up the thrust of his hips, bending forward to kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder.
“Tell me,” he breathes out, slight begging dripping from his tone, always so desperate to hear how much you wanted him. His hand comes up to grip your face, fingers cupping your jaw to turn you to look at him. The look on his face makes more arousal gush out of you, seeing the pinch between his brows, eyes swimming with desire as they float between your eyes and your lips.
“I was—fuck—“ you keen at a particular thrust, eyes rolling back momentarily. “I was made for you. Only you.”
“Mm, good girl,” he sighs, connecting your lips in a messy kiss. You moan against his lips when he snaps his hips forward, just hard enough to have you seeing stars behind your closed lids. His fingers rub your cheeks, gently coaxing your mouth open as he flicks his tongue along the seam of your lips, groaning in approval when you allow him entrance.
Your arm reaches back to grip his face, needing to touch him, to let your fingers slip into his hair and yank as your tongues flick against each other. Jungkook groans unabashedly when you gently suck his tongue, heavy eyes opening up to stare at you when you pull away briefly.
“We gotta be quick.” It’s spoken mainly to himself, a reminder that he couldn’t take his sweet time with you today, knowing there was a ticking clock telling you both to hurry up. He’s tempted to say fuck it, to blow off the plans with his friends and ravish you the way he always wanted to. But he knows how much you were looking forward to it so he sucks it up, deciding he’ll just have to make up for it tonight.
“Yeah, quick. Quick is fine,” you shudder, eyes focused on the way his lips shine, slightly swollen from your kissing. His tongue swipes at his piercing as he smiles when he notices your dazed stare, giving you another kiss to satisfy you before turning your head back to stare at your reflection once more.
“Don’t worry baby. I’ll still take care of you.” His head presses against yours, staring directly into the mirror. “Want you to be good and watch yourself for me though. Can you do that?”
His hips have yet to slow their rhythm, the wet smack of your skin connecting still filling up the bathroom. It makes you feel dizzy, too transfixed on it and the way he just looks at you. His smile is as sweet as can be, his fingers coming to your lips, humming in content when you open your mouth to allow them in, coating them in your spit just the way he liked it before pulling them out.
“Yeah, I can do that.” He mumbles out more praise against your head, whispering it into your ear, each raspy syllable turning you into a puddle against him. Your eyes are glued to your reflection, seeing the way he kisses down the side of your neck, sucking on your skin until he’s satisfied with the mark he leaves. His trail isn’t complete until he’s yanking down the top of your dress, watching in fascination as your tits spilled out. A choked moan fills the air when he pinches a sensitive bud, spit covered fingers rolling along it, smiling when you jut your chest out further for more.
“You said quick, Jungkook,” you pant out, having an internal battle just like he was. It was easy for him to get side tracked though, enjoying the teasing, taking it slow until you were crying for it, bringing you right to the edge just for you to stay there until he thought it was time. You can see his mind floating now as he grabs your boob, admiring the way it fills up his palm, his hips slowing down ever so slightly to really enjoy the way you clench around him with each yank of your nipple.
“Sorry baby.” He’s back now, eyes sharpening up as he looks at you again. You can see something brewing in his mind and it fills you with the tingle of nerves, not knowing what he could be thinking. “I’ll be quick.”
Before you have time to think, his hand slides down to scoop around your thigh, hauling up one of your legs, fucking you deeper and laughing when you squeal at the feeling. Your mouth is dropped open as you try to take it all in, hands gripping the counter until your knuckles pale, the curve of his cock hitting just right inside of you.
“Oh fuck, feels so good—you always feel so good.” Your mindless babbles have pride filling his chest, seeing the debauched look on your face reflected back on the mirror. Everything feels hot, the thick air clinging to your skin, leaving you gasping out as he fucks you harder. It has you desperate, leaning back against him, one hand reaching behind you to hold him close despite the position.
“Yeah? You like the way my cock fills you up, pretty girl?” Jungkook huffs out a breath when you tighten around him in response, his arm situating your thigh until your knee catches on the counter. “Keep that there for me baby.”
You can only nod in response, doing your best to do as he asks despite the rocking of his hips. His hand settles onto the countertop on top of yours, interlocking your fingers together as he speeds up. A mewl reaches his ears when his free palm slides up your supported thigh, under your little dress and meets your clit, soaked in your arousal as he rubs tight circles into it.
“Oh fuck, just like that,” you gasp out, your hand clinging onto his bicep, digging tiny half moons into his skin. The muscle in your thigh is starting to ache from the position but the overwhelming pleasure you feel is enough for you to ebb it away.
You can feel the way his arm flexes as he rubs deft circles onto your swollen clit, his harsh breathing hitting your hair, and when you meet his gaze in the mirror it makes your stomach flip.
“You’re so wet,” he groans out, his fingers glide with ease, applying more pressure so they don’t slip around, sending sparks up your spine. “Always so messy for me. Do you really like me that much?” He teases you, trying to act calm and unaffected but you can see the clenching in his jaw, can feel the way his hips stutter slightly as his orgasm creeps up on him.
Jungkook moans out your name when your walls tighten around him, body desperately trying to keep him in as your own high approaches. “I can’t help it, you know I love you.” You sigh it out so beautifully it makes his heart skip a beat. You had both said it before but Jungkook would never get tired of hearing it, would never get tired of saying it back to you, not ashamed to admit that a simple four letter word was enough to nearly send him over the edge.
“I love you more,” he groans out, snapping his hips fluidly, feeling the way you start to tense in his hold as all of it begins to overwhelm you. His eyes are locked onto you, the way your chest hiccups as you gasp out in pleasure, the purple splotch on your neck that he was so proud of, your kiss swollen lips dropped open perfectly, eyes glossed over in ecstasy. You were close, the grip you have on his arm tightening, digging into the dark ink on his skin.
“I gotta feel you cum baby,” he begs, not wanting to cum before you did, already feeling it too close to hold it off any further. His cock throbs inside of you, each torturous glide of his hips making his eyes fall shut, finger continuing to flick along your clit. You’re nodding against him, head falling back, moans getting breathier until your orgasm finally washes over you.
“Fuck fuck, oh my god,” you whine out, brows pinching together as you squeeze your eyes shut, bright white flashes behind your lids as the feeling spreads through your limbs. Jungkook groans as he fucks you through it, your walls milking his cock, feeling you gush around his length until it trickles down your legs.
It’s an absolute mess between your thighs and Jungkook just wants to add to it. His hand finally retreats from your clit when you start to whimper at the overstimulation, his lips peppering kisses onto your shoulder as he lowers your thigh, being as gentle as he could be while pushing you forward. You’re pliant in his grasp, allowing him to bend you over, supporting yourself on the sink while he repositions you enough to be comfortable.
“C’mon Kookie, want you to make me messier,” you coo out, voice sounding dreamy as the afterglow hits you. He can see the soft smile on your lips as you turn your head to look back at him, fully enjoying the sight of your boyfriend falling apart.
“Don’t worry baby, I will.” Both hands grip your hips now, his hips snapping forward with enough force to turn your mind into mush. His eyes fall on the way your ass bounces with each thrust, the smack of your skin sounding like music to his ears. He curses under his breath as the familiar feeling starts to spread, hips losing their grace as he gets desperate, surging forward to get as deep as he could before he finally cums too. A guttural moan of your name fills the room as he shoots into you, painting your walls and making you hum in content at the warmth.
Jungkook fucks into you a few more times, savoring the feeling as he comes down from the high, bending forward to kiss and soothe your skin. His hands glide up your body, gentle touches making goosebumps flare up on your arms. A smile spreads on your face when he interlocks your fingers, gently tugging you back up and wrapping his arms around you.
He looks like a giddy child in the reflection, face smushed against your head, eyes shut with the biggest smile on his lips. You take this moment in just like you do every other moment with him, shutting your eyes and smiling as you let him hold you, storing the memory in your mind in a space made just for him.
Jungkook gives your temple another kiss before slowly pulling out of you, the two of you groaning at the feeling. You wince when you feel the globs of cum already leaking out of you, but before you can move he’s already reaching to the side, grabbing a handful of toilet paper to clean up the mess he made before letting your dress fall back down.
You spin around now, finally seeing him face to face, wrapping your arms around his neck, the sweetest smile on your lips. His hands smooth down the fabric of your dress, fingers fiddling with the material.
“This dress is really pretty by the way. Makes you look like an angel.” He makes it easy to swoon over him, your heart warming in your chest as you take in his casual compliment.
“Thank you baby.” You pucker your lips as you lean up and he wastes no time kissing you back.
“I ruined your lip gloss,” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, pulling back to stare at your bare lips, no longer shiny with your favorite coconut scented gloss. The pink gloss was long gone, no evidence left on his own lips either.
“Yeah, you always do.” You give him another kiss before looking at yourself in the mirror and groaning while your fingers attempt to fix your mess of hair. “Jungkook, we’re supposed to meet your friends in half an hour.”
Jungkook laughs as his hand comes up to gently prod at the small hickey he had mindlessly sucked into your neck. It was a teenage habit he would be taking to his grave. “Oh shit, well you better cover that up or they’re gonna make it the topic of conversation for the night.”
You glare at him through the mirror. This would be the first time you’d be meeting his friends, and if they were really the way he described them to be then you know that Taehyung and Jimin would definitely point your hickey out. The tingle of anxiety starts pooling in your stomach as you make a move to exit the bathroom, needing to fix yourself up as quickly as possible. As you walk you realize you’re still naked from the waist down, only the thin fabric of your dress keeping you decent.
“Oh god. I need my underwear too, I can’t embarrass myself with a hickey and going commando.”
Jungkook beats you to it, bending over to pick up your ruined panties off the floor, looking cocky as he lets them dangle off his finger like a prize. “These are mine.”
Your cheeks burn as you watch with wide eyes, seeing him bring the material close to his face before he’s tucking them into the pocket of his pants. He looks so proud as he pats them, acting like it was nothing as he turns around to open the bathroom door. It’s not like he gets far though, your hand grabbing his arm and yanking him back with a force he had never experienced.
“Jungkook, you freak! You can’t take those with you.” His eyes are huge as he stares at you, slightly impressed at your determined strength and entirely amused at how scandalized you look.
“Says who?” he guffaws, keeping you at arms length when you try to reach for them.
“Says me! I’ll tell your friends you’re a panty thief.”
“Please,” he laughs, loud. “They already know! Already roasted me about it a few weeks back.”
“Wait, is this something you do?”
His face falls briefly, realizing he had just confessed to stealing your underwear. “What?”
That makes you laugh now, no longer trying to reach for your panties, letting your head come to rest against his chest as you giggle. This all made sense now, the realization that a few pairs of your underwear had mysteriously gone missing. You had blamed it on your washing machine eating them, had even asked Jungkook to check it or call someone to repair it before the entirety of your underwear drawer went missing.
Of course it was him.
“You’re so dirty!”
Jungkook reassures you that you look great for the millionth time in the span of twenty minutes, a smile still on his face as you ask him, “Are you sure?”
“Yes baby. Your lipgloss looks perfect and you can’t even tell that I went to town on your neck.” He laughs when you gently swat his stomach, holding the door open for you as you step into the brewery. Jungkook had said it was his group's favorite place to hang out in, a huge space with games and activities for everyone to enjoy, a wide selection of beers and even a few cocktails that he knew you would prefer. He leads the way with his hand in yours, knowing exactly where they would be.
When you approach a corner near the dart wall you spot a group of boys, all standing up with dorky smiles on their faces as they clap obnoxiously loud.
“Oh my god, what are you guys doing?” Jungkook questions, laughing as he gets closer. None of them pay him any attention though, looking right at you as they continue to clap.
“Wow,” a boy with pale blonde hair sighs out, being the first to stop clapping as the rest slowly follow suit. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet the woman who has turned Jungkookie into an absolute fucking simp.”
That makes you laugh now, hand covering up your mouth as you see them all nod along. Jungkook doesn’t even respond, tonguing his cheek as he tries to hide his smile when he steps away from you to allow you to have your moment.
“Really, it’s honest work but I’m happy to do it. You must be Jimin?”
He gasps, smile growing wider on his face as he looks at Jungkook, finally acknowledging him. “Do you talk about me?”
“Yeah, about how fucking annoying you are,” Jungkook scoffs, playfully rolling his eyes as he takes a seat at the edge of the bench, scooting down enough for you to settle in next to him.
Your earlier nerves calm a bit as everyone starts to talk, introducing themselves before it flows into easy conversation. Once the drinks start making their rounds you find yourself joining in, laughing along to old stories they reminisce on, playfully teasing one another in a brotherly way that shows you how deep their friendship actually was.
“Oh no, we need to tell you about that time Jungkook got so high off a pot brownie that he cried at ColorMeMine.” Taehyung can barely say the sentence before he’s cackling as he recalls it, smile wide as can be while he throws his head back.
“No you absolutely fucking don’t!”
“C’mon, we basically already told her! She just needs all the juicy details.” Yoongi adds on to it, a smug smile on his face as he holds up his beer to take a long sip.
“What, the juicy details of them threatening to kick me out?” Jungkook groans, covering his face in embarrassment. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t properly read the strength of it and before he knew it he was staring at his half painted plate wondering how the hell he got so high and why the fuck everyone else was so calm about it.
“Well…that, and the video I took of it all,” Jimin whispers out, biting down on his lip as he starts to unlock his phone and scroll through his photo gallery.
That makes Jungkook’s head snap up, wide eyes giving Jimin a look that you know was meant to be threatening but the other boy finds it funny, giggling as he turns to look at you.
“I’ll send it to you later. Keep it for emergencies.”
Jungkook’s mouth drops open in betrayal, eyes floating over to you and seeing the way you smile and nod. “Emergencies?”
“Jungkook, don’t worry about it!” You cackle as you gently cup his cheek, feeling it bulge out as he smiles back, enjoying the way you were getting along with his friends—even if it was at his expense. He didn’t care really, he’d dish out all of his embarrassing stories if it made you laugh as hard as it did today.
“Am I gonna regret introducing you to each other?” he mumbles out, playfully glaring at his friend.
You look over at Jimin too, the same thoughts brewing in your minds as you laugh together. You could only imagine all the ways you and him would gang up on your boyfriend, pushing his buttons in that way he swore he didn’t like while secretly enjoying it.
“Oh, definitely.”
Jungkook can only groan, trying so hard to pretend like this was detrimental, as if the idea of two of his favorite people getting along was the end of the world. But as he stares at you giggling while you watch that god forsaken video, his heart swells, thankful Jimin had given him the pep talk he needed to confess and even more grateful you had decided to hire him off the sketchiest app ever made.
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perfect || steve rogers x f!reader
summary: reader breaks up with steve over insecurities regarding lack of experience. he insists she is perfect, and proves to her just how perfect she is.
warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, multiple creampies, brief size kink, brief daddy kink, virgin reader, hints of a darker steve, blowjob. I think that’s it?
misc: just know, never written steve before so this is VERY new for me. I’m trying to move past my comfort zones. Also this was written on my phone, so. If the format is off that’s mostly why.
also some people I think may enjoy this, @sweetieswiftie @a-bang-for-your-bucky @grippingbeskar @castlesnchurches
You had broken up with him via text.
He didn’t respond well to that. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what he had done wrong. So, he went to the nearest flower shop and bought a dozen brightly colored dahlias…your favorite. The next thing he had done was go out of his way to get takeout. It was your usual order from the Vietnamese place you had brought him to. Last, he stopped to get you a book. He knew you were reading a series, and decided to get you the next one in the series. Then he found himself at the door of your apartment. He was nervous. Clearing his throat, he knocked.
You pulled the door open without checking, the one thing Steve always got on you for doing. You spoke first, “Steve, I just br” -
“I brought a few things so you might let me in, and tell me why.”
This was the last conversation you were wanting to have. Yet, you knew Steve and he wouldn’t just step away. So, reluctantly, you stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. The aroma of the food he brought followed him to the kitchen, and you smiled at the thought of him going out of his way to get you one of your favorites.
Then your eyes registered flowers as he turned and offered them to you. You looked down with a shy smile before taking them from him, whispering a thanks. Steve’s eyes stayed glued to you as you walked around the tiny island to open it and pull out a vase, filling it with water to drop the flowers inside.
You decided to place the merry vase on your coffee table and as you moved them around in the vase and didn’t look at him, Steve spoke up, “So, are you going to tell me what went wrong? Because last I checked, we were doing wonderful. More than that even.”
You looked at him then, your cheeks redding as you thought of why. You hugged your arms to your torso and Steve looked at you, patiently waiting. There was a reason you broke up with him through text message and you were hoping to avoid this conversation. Desperately. Your eyes were beginning to water and you looked away. Steve stood there, still as a statue. Reluctantly, you come clean, “Look at me, Steve.”
Not understanding, a bit of a laugh escaped him before he answered, confused, “I am.”
“No…look at me. Why do you want me? No one else ever has. I’m not thin enough, not social enough, not bright enough, not…good enough.”
Steve’s face was scrunched with confusion, before he shook his head, “I’m not understanding.”
He watched as you threw your head back with a frustrated sigh. You stomped off to your bedroom in a dramatic fashion that would have been adorable under different circumstances. He bit back his smile. Then, just as swiftly as you exited, you came back and threw a magazine at him. Steve turned to the page you had dog eared and saw a photo taken of the two of you. You were walking into headquarters in streetwear. He didn’t see the issue until he saw the caption.
Captain America Dating Grunt
You watched as he read the article, words ripping you apart and pointing out everything you’ve ever had an insecurity about. When he was done, his hands made quick work of ripping the pages apart. He crossed the space between you and you stepped away, “They’re not wrong Steve…I’m not a good fit for you. Between the looks and the lack of experience, I’m not exactly batting the best.”
Steve came to a still. His blue eyes pierced through you, “You’re perfect.”
“I just…literally anyone else could be better for you. And don’t even get me started on reading everywhere in gossip columns how you should be with a model or the elusive redhead in photos that we both know is Natasha. It’s tiring.” You averted your gaze and picked at your nail beds, an old nervous habit that Steve knew was your bluff. You were lying about something. He just wasn’t sure what.
Instead of hiding it though, he called you out on it, “That’s a lie and we both know it. C’mon beautiful, those comparisons never bothered you before. I know that’s not the issue.”
You knew it wasn’t the issue, too. No, the truth was, the night before last the two of you had gotten much closer and that terrified you for more than one reason. For starters, you were already well in love with him and terrified any time he went on missions. What would happen if you became even more attached? Was it even possible? Then, what if you were bad at it? Sure, the heated kisses and level of intimacy already were wonderful, but you didn’t really know what to do besides that. And, part of you was insecure. What if he didn’t appreciate or even want the full package once it was opened?
Biting at your lip, you mumbled out, “I’ve also…never had sex.”
Steve stared at you in disbelief, his blue eyes taking in the blush on your face.
“I’m sorry?”
“God Steve, I know you heard me.” Your eyes landed on the floor. That seemed the safest option at this moment. Though part of you felt like you might spontaneously combust at any moment. Tears pricked at your eyes in embarrassment.
A small smile hinted at the corners of his lips before he cleared his throat, “I’ve only ever had sex once sweetheart. It’s not like I would have much comparison myself. What if I’m god awful?”
Your head shot up. Only once? How could that be the case? You blinked away your forming tears before sniffling, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better. Look at you. Who wouldn’t be trying for that? You’ve had to have offers.”
“Well, I didn’t get many looks before the serum, and afterwards I was a bit busy with war. It was right before I ended up on the front lines though. So, roughly eighty years ago…” he winced at the way that sounded before laughing, “And now I feel old.”
You found yourself feeling a little better. A laugh escaped you before adding, “You are…but I like that about you. You’re the only grown man I’ve met that likes to dance with me.”
“Sweetheart I will do absolutely anything with you.”
A fierce blush spread across your face and you cleared your throat, “Wanna help me eat the food you brought?”
“Only if it means you’ve rescinded the breakup.”
“I suppose I acted with haste.”
“You can say that again. And just know, I will never ask you to do something that would make you uncomfortable.” His hand found yours, engulfing your small hand in size and warmth and comfort. That was just Steve.
The two of you sat at your small table in the kitchen and ate in peace with one another. You moved to clear the table and Steve stood and began to help. You moved in comfortable silence. Though, there was an odd electricity in the air, knowing what each of you knew now. And, as he brushed your hair back and kissed you goodbye, his lips lingered on yours and you ran a hand through his hair before deepening the kiss.
He chuckled deeply as he broke the kiss, thumb stroking your cheek, speaking softly, “I have to say, there is no way you’ll be bad at it, and there is no way I won’t enjoy it. But I have to go sweetheart. Bucky and I are getting shipped out in less than an hour now, but I couldn’t leave things the way they were. You’re too important to me.”
He kissed you again on the cheek and you called out once he turned around, “Hey.”
Steve looked back at you, a smile spreading on his face as you said three words, “I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. I will see you when I get back, yeah?”
As you nodded, your heart feeling lighter with your revelation, he left out and you softly closed the door behind him, whispering, “Be safe.”
Steve made it in record time to the military air strip, weaving in and out of traffic on his bike. When he pulled up he saw Bucky already there. Even as Steve climbed off the bike, Bucky was impatient to learn, “How did it go with your girl?”
“Well, she said she loved me for the first time…” Steve wasn’t sure how much to divulge to his best friend.
Though, over the course of the mission, Steve accidentally slipped up on just what the problem was. They were at a small cafe grabbing a bite to eat when Steve slipped up. Bucky put his food down and looked at Steve incredulous, “No, there’s no way. A girl that looks like that” -
“Hey, watch it!”
“Steve, I was just saying, I don’t believe it. There’s no way no one has really tried before.” Bucky remembered when he first met you, how if you were anyone else’s but Steve’s he would have tried to take you away.
Steve was getting uncomfortable with the conversation though and dismissed it, “No it makes sense. She spends so much time at work and in that lab. It’s the only reason I met her when I did. I was with Natasha and she brought me with her. Said she needed to pick up some new equipment. But now? She was absolutely trying to fix us up.”
Bucky nodded as he finished his meal. As Steve went to take another bite, Bucky offered his unsolicited advice, “Eat with enthusiasm.”
Steve choked a bit on his last bite and once he cleared his throat gave Bucky a shove, his friend laughing playfully.
Meanwhile, back home you paged Natasha to come and meet you in the lab. When the redhead got there, looking around as though expecting to see a reason she was there, you waved at her and stated, “Natasha I need your help.”
She walked over towards you and cocked an eyebrow when she saw your face already getting red, “Everything okay?”
“I, uh…I don’t know what to wear for an…event.”
“Okay, well, what’s the event?”
Your blush spread to your ears and you timidly showed her your phone screen. You had been looking at lingerie. It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were incredibly out of your depth. Which is when you called her in. Natasha tried to bite back a smirk but you could hear it in her voice, “And what an event it is.”
“I wanted something special but also everything I’ve found just feels a bit…”
“Much?”
You nodded, feeling relieved she understood and also kept you from over explaining.
Natasha reached below your work space and grabbed your purse and nodded to the door, “Take the lab coat off and come with me. You’re taking a personal day and I don’t think anyone will mind.”
A week later found you looking at your phone in your apartment, nervously eyeing your last text received. As much as I want to go home and shave before you see me, I missed you too much. On my way to see you.
You had slipped into what you and Natasha had settled on as soon as you received his message. To cover it, the two of you had decided on a loose fitting silk slip dress in a light pink. You tied the nude colored silk sash around your waist. It still baffled you that stockings could cost so damn much, not even acknowledging the rest of it. You had always been a mismatched sports bra and panty kind of girl. A blush spread over your cheeks as you thought of what you were wearing. Huffing, you looked up at the ceiling and spoke to no one but yourself, “Get it together, girl.” A yelp followed as a knock interrupted your self talk, and you could feel your heartbeat already beginning to race.
Walking to the door, you looked through the eyehole and your breath caught in your throat. It was Steve. You fumbled with the locks long enough for it to be noticeable. Was that sweat on your palms?
By the time you got the door open, Steve’s face held a questioning look. That was, until he drank in the sight of you. His tongue reflexively licked his bottom lip, blue eyes traveling slowly up your body until they rested on your face, “Jesus sweetheart, you look incredible. I hope you didn’t get dressed up just for me though...”
Looking down to hide the new blush erupting on your cheeks, you took a step back to let him inside.
When you looked back up, you felt your insides clench at the sight of him. He had a beard. His hair had gotten the tiniest bit longer. Something about him not looking as polished as he normally did had your stomach fluttering. That was when you realized you were just staring, your mouth slightly open and eyes glazed over with lust. Snapping yourself out of it and doing your best to ignore his knowing smirk, you cleared your throat and responded brutally honest, “You're exactly who I dressed up for.”
You winced at the way it sounded. You turned and walked away, face in hand, wondering just how red your face could get. Steve let out a sympathetic laugh before walking in behind you and closing the door. He sat on the couch as you went into the kitchen. You opened a bottle of Pinot noir and poured a rather…healthy glass. Taking a sip you called out, “Want anything to drink Steve?”
“No I’m good sweetheart.”
Letting a sigh escape, you downed the entire glass before dry heaving at the feel of so much red wine at your throat before chugging water. Walking into the living room, your eyes immediately fell on Steve.
At first you were looking at his face, tired and eyes closed. However, soon your eyes fell lower. Your mouth ran dry. You had never understood the excitement over sweatpants weather. Until now. Resting between his legs was the larg-
-“well sweetheart I came here to see you, so come over here please?”
Pulled as though by attraction alone, you found yourself standing before him before straddling his hips. Your fingers were shaking as you threaded them through his hair, whispering, “I missed you.”
Before you could think, you found your lips slowly working on his neck. A groan escaped him as you continued along his shoulder. Your hands grabbed hold on the back of his biceps before you rocked your hips slightly, experimenting.
Steve’s hands instinctively grabbed at your thighs to try and steady you, to try and slow you. You looked at him, studying the face you knew you loved more than you thought possible. His blue eyes looked at you, silently questioning. It had you thinking of what you wanted. Him. Leaning forward, you whispered softly to him as though scared anyone else might hear something so private, “I’m yours, Steve. And I want you to take what’s yours.”
The two of you stared at one another in silence, your turn to smile at the disbelief on his face. He only snapped out of it when you rocked your hips forward again. His fingers wrapped around your thighs as he stood and picked you up. A shriek of laughter at the unexpected movement escaped you before his lips found yours, your own hands weaving into his hair to eagerly return the gesture.
As Steve backed you into your bedroom door, you let go of his hair to open the handle. Just as you did and broke the kiss Steve asked you, “Seeetheart, are you sure?”
“I am sure, Steve. Just promise you’ll still love me after?” Just as you asked, your door opened and the two of you fell through. His lips were once again on yours, answering your question with a kiss.
You landed on your bed with Steve on top of you. Your legs parted for him immediately to make space and his hand ran along the outside of your thighs, pausing where the stocking gave way to soft lace. He buried his head in your neck at the same time. Possibly to hide his own blush. But then you heard his voice, teasing and affectionate, “Did you wear these for me sweetheart?”
Just as he asked you, he bucked his hips into you. Both of you were still clothed. You suddenly realized there was too much fabric in the way. And yet, the feeling of his cock straining against the fabric of his sweatpants elicited a moan from you. Steve nearly whines as he repeated the action, another lustful sound escaping you, before whispering, “Such pretty stockings for such a pretty girl. Gonna keep them on you, is that alright?”
There was a question. Yet, you weren’t sure what it was as Steve’s free hand caressed your face before kissing you again. The pressure on your lips was bruising but it didn’t matter. You just needed more of him. Your hands found his back, clinging to him as he continued dry humping you.
You were so quick to respond. It didn’t take long for your arousal to spread through your body, soaking your pretty nude panties and leaving a damp spot against his sweatpants. Then, the smell of you reached Steve just as he grunted at the feeling of your arousal wetting his sweatpants. You smelled divine. You felt heavenly. Now? He needed to taste.
Steve’s mouth slowly worked down your neck. You moaned as his tongue grazed over a sensitive spot on your neck that neither of you knew you had, licking along the soft line of your clavicle, before he placed a kiss between your breasts.
It was there that he paused and looked down…wanting to know what you looked like. This dress, as pretty as it was on you, was in his way. A soft smile as he glanced up to you before muttering apologies had you confused until his hands made easy work of the dress, ripping it down the middle. The soft silk pooled around your sides as he let go and his blue eyes roamed over you before huffing, “Sweetheart, I will say it again and again till you believe me. You’re perfect.”
Something shifted in him and he fell onto you, mouth hot and hungry as he explored your body. His wet tongue on the delicate lace cup of your bra as he kept rutting against you. Another moan tumbled from your lips before it turned into a desperate whine, his tongue through the fabric igniting your core.
Steve was running on autopilot now, thinking of everything he had wanted to do for so long, your pretty little sounds driving him on. His hands pulled at the cups so that you spilled out. His mouth closed over your nipple, the direct contact causing you to arch your back…getting closer to him. Cool air hit your damp nipple, causing it to peak. Steve’s mouth fell to the other, his fingers lightly pulling and twisting at the one his mouth abandoned.
That combined with the way his cock grinded against you was sending you somewhere you hadn’t been before. You had cum before but suddenly your own fingers felt so lackluster as they clutched to his back, your nails giving him pleasure in an unexpected way. And then, just when you felt yourself on the precipice, Steve’s hand came between the two of you. His mouth continued sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin and his fingers slipped beneath your underwear, the slickness of your arousal making it far too easy to slip his middle finger inside of you.
Just like that, you called out for him, your cream covering his thick digit as he pulled it from you.
You watched, equally hypnotized and mortified as he pulled back and sucked that finger into his mouth, licking it clean. A soft smile was on his face as he looked down at you, his voice coming out almost strained, “Yeah….perfect.”
It was only then that he looked down at himself, arousal evident, that same teasing affectionate voice from earlier surfacing, “And you thought I could possibly not want you, sweetheart?”
Your eyes were large as you looked at him. Timid at first, never having done this, you hooked your fingers around his waistband before pulling them down. His cock was heavy as it fell free and you were suddenly intimidated by the size of it.
On your hands and knees before him, Steve sitting back on his heels now, you slowly smeared the precum coming from his top down…surprised by just how soft the skin was.
Steve moaned at your slight touch. His head fell back, eyes shut, relishing at the tiniest amount of contact. What he wasn’t expecting was what you did next, sucking on the head of his cock while lazily dragging your hand down. A hiss escaped him before he looked at you. Your ass was in the air as you dragged your tongue around him. It was like you were teasing him with it. Come and get me.
The movement surprised both of you. You, because it felt so good to be stretched just a bit more, and him because it forced you to take about half of him into your mouth. Steve made to pull back but you were so encouraged by the noises he made that you had the opposite idea in mind. Instead, you took more of him into your mouth and Steve cried out, “Fuck!”
It sounded so unlike him, so uncharacteristic. Grunts came from him as your head moved up and down. A growl came from him. And suddenly he was giving you praise that you never expected to hear from him, “You look so pretty like this. Gonna leave that delicious cream on my fingers again, this time with my cock in your mouth, huh?”
“Oh g…Steve!” His words, his fingers, were driving you crazy.
You took him back into your mouth just as you came, the vibrations of your moans causing him to follow behind you. You eagerly sucked down everything he gave you, the taste of him salty on your tongue.
He slowly pulled his fingers from you, again watching him lick them clean. You felt your pussy flutter when he took them away, a whine escaping you that wasn’t missed by him. He helped you lay back down, your legs once again eagerly splayed open for him. A soft smile appeared on his face as he slowly ran the head of his cock along your folds, “I have a confession sweetheart.”
You were confused, “A…confession?”
“I planted a bug underneath your bed one day, a few months back, and I’ve touched myself listening to you whimpering around your fingers, knowing how much better you’d sound with your pretty pussy taking me. Does that bother you?” His confession had you more aroused than anything and you shook your head no while bucking your hips up for friction against his cock.
“After I claim your pretty little pussy, you’re mine in every way. Are you ready for that?”
You felt your pussy weeping with arousal at the anticipation of it. Frantic, you shook your head yes before barely managing to say, “Yes. M’yours.”
Steve shifted and slowly pushed his cock inside of you. You cried out at the stretch before commenting, “S’not gonna fit.”
“Oh it will sweetheart. You’ll be taking all of me soon, and then you’ll feel so good and full.”
His thumb fell on your exposed clit, the stretch he was already inflicting on your pussy giving him easy access. He rocked the first few inches back and forth inside of you while rubbing circles around your sensitive bud. Steve shuddered a bit. Even this bit inside of you felt like heaven. He screwed his eyes shut and muttered, “Gonna cum already sweetheart. Feel so good. Are you…oh god.”
He couldn’t finish asking if you were on birth control before his cum was filling you, his still hard cock pulsing inside of you. Steve bent his head down and took one of your nipples in his mouth, pushing further inside of you. You moaned at the sensation before begging, “Fill me with your cock Steve. I’m ready. I - oh fuck - I need you.”
In one fluid motion he pulled you up as he sat back, impaling you on his cock. You cried out at the sensation before instinctively rocked your hips with a moan, settling skin to skin.
Steve held your face with his hands, checking in, “Is everything alright sweetheart?”
You nodded before commenting, “I never expected something to feel so right.”
“Gonna lay you down now sweetheart so I can see my cock fucking you. I’ve wanted it for too long.”
He kissed you deeply before laying you back down and leaning back. He pulled out of you, his semen from before spilling from you, before he pushed back in and watched a bulge in your lower stomach appear. He slowly rocked before pressing on the area where his cock was moving, causing you to spasm with pleasure. Excited by your response he picked up the pace, “That’s my cock deep inside you sweetheart.”
The words escaped you before you realized but it didn’t matter. Steve had heard you before when he listened in…your pretty little voice begging. He didn’t expect you to feel so comfortable so soon though, “Feel so good buried in me daddy.”
Steven doubled his effort at your revelation, fucking away any doubt that what you said was wrong. At his sudden increase you felt your orgasm hit you. You were calling out for him, skin slicked with sweat, nails scratching along his back. Steve swallowed your cries hungrily as he leaned over to kiss you, his second orgasm rushing over him. He gasped out, “G-gonna cum sweetheart. Gonna fill your pretty little pussy with me.”
“Gonna fill me up till I can’t hold anymore daddy?”
Steve growled out, “Fuck.”
At that, he shot his cum deep inside of you, stilling for a moment with his blue eyes fixated on you, “See? Fucking perfect. And mine.”
As he claimed you with words you felt his cock stir inside of you once again.
“Yours. Only yours, Steve.”
As he drove his hips into you, he hung his head, “I was so eager, I forgot to…eat with enthusiasm .”
Feeling emboldened, you used his moment of uncertainty to flip him to his back…sinking down onto him just the slightest bit more. You looked down at him before rolling your hips, “Plenty of time later, Steve. I’ve waited too long for this.”
The two of you spent the next few hours like this until finally, your pussy was too tired, too bruised.
You lay there in the bed, your leg and arm over him with your head on his chest. All of his cum was slowly leaking from you and down your thighs, though there were also splattered with it from him fucking your breasts too. He traced an imaginary pattern on your back as he whispered, “I love you so much, sweetheart. I’m yours.”
A chill ran down your back for some reason as he added, “And you’re mine.”
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The Tattooist
The first clone trooper client she tattoos is an act of remembrance.
The man stands forlorn and desperate in the reception area, his borrowed clothes fitting poorly on his slumped frame. His face is tight, like a man on the edge of screaming, holding it back by the skin of his teeth. She recognises this pain, and quickly ushers him into her workroom, calling for A'maa to take the front desk while she speaks to a client. He breaths slightly easier once they are no longer in public, and she gestures for him to sit on the well-worn sofa she reserves for guests.
“I haven't got many credits,” he admits straight up. “They don't exactly pay us. I just wanted to see what could be done for what I have.”
She nods and grabs a pad and stylus, settling herself into her armchair and crossing her legs. “Tell me what you want and how much you've got and I'll see what I can do.”
He swallows painfully, and reaches into his pocket. “I have exactly 134 credits,” he holds a handful of ingots, and she glances down before looking back at his face. “I looked you up; I know it's not much in terms of tattoos. It's just... It's all I could scrape together...” he stumbles over his words, embarassment curling his lips.
“And what you want?” She interrupts, halting his ashamed attempts at explaining himself.
He takes a deep breath, grimaces, then sighs. “My brother was killed in the last battle. His name was Star. The long-necks... The Kaminoans I mean, never let us mourn each other where they could see. But he's my brother. We were born of the same batch, he helped me when I struggled with the maths tests, we had each others backs... I have a million odd brothers, but he was mine...” He presses his thumb and forefinger into his tightly-shut eyes, choking back a sob. “I want to honour him forever. I want to carry him with me, in a way they can't take away from me.” At this he straightens, bringing his hand down to stare at her determinedly. “They can make us wash our armour off, take our possessions from us. They will have to flay my skin from me if they want to take this.”
She stares back, stylus against her lips, and feels a swell of righteous fury in her throat. She's always had a mild force-sensitivity. Not enough to make training her of any worth, but enough that she can get a feel of a person, enough she can get a taste of their emotions.
This is a proud, strong man. And he is not broken by the hardships he faces, as much as he should be.
She will honour his brother with him.
The design practically leaps from her stylus, as she coaxes little stories from him. Little tales of his brother. His name was Star, he tells her first, and she sketches the rough outlines of one. He named himself, the man tells her, not giving his own name. Named himself after the balls of fury in the universe that were always out of their reach of Kamino. He laughs quietly, painfully, as he tells her the first time they had snuck out on a rainless night, when there was a brief respite in the clouds of Kamino, and by chance, there was a meteor shower over head. They'd all been amazed, confused and delighted by the sight, their little squad of five. One of the trainers, a kind man named Kal, had chuckled and told them “That'll be a shooting star” when they ask him about the phenomena, and Star had whispered to him in their bunks that night that he had decided on his name.
“I used to call him a shooting Star when we were in sims,” the man admits, a crooked grin on his face. “He kicked me in the shin for it once. Think he actually kinda liked it though.”
She adds a trail of dust behind it.
“He was so proud of being an ARF,” the man whispers. “So proud when I was nominated for ARF training alone with him. I was never as good as him, but he always took me with him, wherever he went. When the Commander told us we were getting the training, he basically hugged him. The Commander just gave him a pat on the back and told him never to do it again or he'd demote him quick as sithspit” the man snorts. “He didn't mean it, but Star'd never moved so bloody quick back into a salute, I couldn't help laughing at him, the idiot.”
She tabs out and finds a reference for an ARF troopers helmet on the 'net, and draws the trail of star dust bursting out of it and curling round to meet with the star itself.
“Our battallion wears green. Mainly olive-green. The commander started it, reminds him of the General I suspect. We became Green Company.”
The dust trail gathers sprinkles of olive green, the Star limned in the colour. She hesitates for a moment, then asks. “What markings did he wear?”
The man startles; she'd been loath to bring him out of his memories, but she wants to make it accurate. Needs to make it accurate really. She can feel how important this piece is to the man, and she finds herself strongly opposed to disappointing him.
“He had two stars on the left hand side of his helmet, one within the other.” The man indicates a point on his crown, above his ear. “And his visor was lined in green. He had a stripe vertically down the right hand side, ending just under the visor itself. On his chest piece...”
She lets him continue detailing his armour, drawing another star in olive green within the big one, then delicately tipping the helmet to conceal where the star would have been on the left. She's good, but it would have been too small to depict without potentially bleeding into a solid line, and she doesn't want that to happen. Instead, she marks in the line on the right-hand side, and ensures the big star is representative of what she imagines was on the helmet.
He's trailed off, staring sightlessly at his hands in his lap. She doesn't want to shake him, suspects alarming a trained soldier out of his own mind would be a bad idea. Instead, she uncrosses her legs, and clears her throat lightly. He glances up at her, and she smiles and extends the pad to him.
“Is something like this what you had in mind?”
He blinks at her, than reaches over and takes the pad. She sees the moment when he takes in the image. His eyes widen, and a tear he's been holding back since well before he got here slides down his cheek. He presses his fist into his mouth, other hand shaking where it holds the pad and he nods, clenching his eyes shut. “y-yes... Oh yes...” He stammers, voice thick.
“Where would you like it?”
“Over my heart,” he whispers. “I will carry him always in my heart.”
She stands abruptly, making him jump slightly and reaches out for the pad. “Okay, shirt off and lie down on the bed for me please. I assume as a clone trooper you're routinely screened for any blood diseases?” He nods, standing up with a slightly dazed expression on his face. She nods back and turns away, beginning the ritual of preparing her inks. She's playing a game of avoidance now, knows she won't take this man's money, and if she can keep him from asking about it she may be able to get it finished before he finds out. She suspects he'd do the honourable thing and refuse to get the tattoo. It'll be harder for him to do if it's halfway done. And while normally she'd insist on a full disclosure form and signature, she gets the feeling having no hardcopy evidence of what is about to happen will be a very good idea. The pad will need reformatting after she's done, but she's been required to do that for other clients who want their body art to be completely untraceable, so she doesn't store anything of any import on it for long anyway. She hears the rustle of cloth behind her and smiles slightly to herself, pleased at a plan going well. “Would you tell me more about him please?”
The man takes a deep breath behind her, even as she hears the bed creak as he clambers onto it. “He was always good at slipping by unnoticed. It's how he kept us both out of trouble back in training...”
She finishes mixing up the colours she needs as he begins to tell her about their childhood, what little of it there was. Checks her machine and cleans the patch of skin above his heart as he laughs about a prank played on one of their batchmates. It warms her and chills her at the same time, realising how little they had, but what great things they made of what they did. She prints out the stencil and places it over his chest as he whispers about Star easing him through the tail end of a nightmare, checking quietly that he's happy with the position before pressing the needle to his skin. He breaths in through his nose once when she starts, and she glances up at him, but he smiles and continues on into a story about when they first met their Jedi, and how Star gushed about her afterwards. She sinks into the meditative process of stamping lines into being, bringing colour to life, all the while surrounded by the man's soft voice building a memorial to his brother in their room.
When it's finished, the man looks surprised. “I thought it would take longer than that?” He blinks at her, “And be more painful in all honesty.”
She grins, “You did your research well hon, I'm good at what I do.”
He laughs and sits up, wincing slightly as the skin stretches around the wound. She squirts cleaner onto a cloth and holds it towards his chest, pausing before touching the tattoo for him to give a nod of permission, then wipes carefully across it, removing excess ink and stencil gently. Looking it over critically, she's happy with what she's done, knows she's poured herself into this tattoo as well. The lines are clean and crisp, the colours deep and rich. The helmet tilts up to look at the star above it, the trail of stardust sweeping behind it and curling up to emerge from the opening of the helmet at the bottom. Olive green accents in the tail, the line over the right-hand side of the helmet and around the visor, and the outer and inner two stars. She nods to herself, and grins up at him. “Ready to see it?”
He swallows nervously, but nods. She feels her grin quirk into a proper smile, then holds out her hand to him. He looks at it for a second, then places his own in hers, and she helps pull him from the bed. She keeps hold of his hand as she guides him to the full length mirror just beside the couch, and gently pulls him to stand infront of it. The hand in hers trembles as he stares at his reflection, taking a moment on his own face to gather his courage, then looks down at his chest.
The noise that punches out of his lungs is almost animal, and she grips his hand tightly. He cries openly, other hand reaching up to hover just under the tattoo as he looks down at his own chest. It's several moments before he can say anything, and she stands next to him the whole time, holding his hand as he clenches onto hers. He cries and cries, grief finally allowed expression, as she gives him silent comfort in proximity. His first words are “thank you”, and she smiles at him, as he starts to collect himself and turns away from her to try and pull himself back together.
“I'll give you a few minutes to check it over and make sure you're happy before I bandage it up,” she murmers, and steps quietly out of the room, giving him privacy in his sorrow.
A'maa glances up at her as she steps out, raising an eyebrow. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be working today, and she hadn't considered that A'maa might have had to turn away one of her own clients when she committed to tattooing the man. But A'maa glances over at the door to her workroom and shakes her head. “Don't worry about it Elaah,” she whispers, “Whatever it was, it was clearly important.”
“Yes,” Elaah whispers back, walking over to cradle herself in A'maa's outstretched arm, seeking the comfort of her own found family. “Yes, it really was.”
It's a few more minutes before the man opens the door, glancing around the edge of it. She quickly cuts off her conversation with A'maa and smiles at him. “Ready to get bandaged up?”
He nods and smiles, face a little blotchy from the tears, though neither she nor A'maa say anything. She gives A'maa's shoulder a quick squeeze, then heads into the room, leaving the door ajar this time. The man stands infront of the mirror again, gazing down at his new ink, and she quickly grabs the bits she needs to finish off. He smiles at her as holds the fake skin bandage up to his chest, carefully sizing it up to fit nicely over the tattoo.
“How much do I owe you?” he asks, and she shakes her head.
“Nothing hon, you paid me in stories.”
He protests immediately, as she suspected he would. “Too late hon!” she grins at him. “It's already on your skin and I'll throw your credits out onto the street after you if you try leaving them behind. Good luck winning this one!” She winks and pats him on the shoulder, turning away to grab his top and thrusting it into his abdomen. He grabs it and gapes at her, clearly not quite sure what to say, before straightening and flashing a sheepish grin at her.
“You planned this from the start didn't you?” He asks, pulling the top over his head and rolling his eyes as she throws him a cheeky wink and nods.
“I've got to give you something, this means so much to me... You have no idea...” He gulps and shakes his head, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. “Tell you what, I'll make sure anyone else who might be thinking of getting some ink heads this way?”
She shrugs. “I'm not going to turn down customers, but you don't owe me anything. I just hope you think of Star whenever you see it.”
“I will,” he murmurs, a hand going to rest over where the tattoo sits over his heart. He glances up at her. “My name is Trix. I just... wanted you to know that.”
She smiles at him, and gently rests a hand over his own. “Thank you Trix.” she says, smiling up at him, “Thank you for everything you and your brothers do for us.”
He grasps her hand with his other one and squeezes it tightly for a moment, before turning around and walking out the shop.
#the clone wars#clone troopers#fanfic#fanfiction#feels#tattoos#tattoos as healing#star wars#oc characters#also posted to ao3#CentrauGuardian
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angels in tibet.
yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader
cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, obsession, abo/omegaverse (alpha azul & omega reader), knotting, brief implications of breeding, mirror sex, sugar daddy, age gap (azul is 50 and reader is 24)
note - while experiencing a nasty bout of low self-esteem, you fear azul has lost interest in you. on the contrary, he can't get enough.
I’m not sure about this…
You fidget in front of the horizontal mirror, tugging at the sheer material of your violet babydoll. It’s a beautiful piece, matched with a pair of dainty, crotchless panties, but there’s something about it that doesn’t fit right. Will this make you more irresistible? Were you irresistible to begin with? Maybe you’re worrying over nothing. Azul is a very handsome alpha, looking as affluent as he sounds and smells. It’s natural he would receive all kinds of compliments. Having attended dozens of dinner dates with him throughout the year, you’ve grown accustomed to the occasional interruption—an omega overwhelmed with his presence or an alpha hoping to gain another wealthy connection.
Compared to the exquisite company he keeps, you feel worthless—a speck of nothing versus a brilliant something.
A gentle knock at the door shakes you from your self-conscious spiraling. You pat yourself down to give your anxious hands a mindless task.
“J-Just a moment!”
“Is everything all right?”
You glance at yourself in the mirror once more. “Yes, I’m fine! I’ll be out in a second.”
“There’s no rush. Take your time.”
Steeling your nerves, you swallow razored insecurities and reach for the knob.
Stop thinking about it. Lots of omegas approach him all the time. It’s the same for alphas and betas. Sometimes they approach me, too. You crack the door open and nervously step out into the bedroom. But he looked so happy when that one omega was talking to him…
Azul’s cerulean hues snap up to view you from where he lounges on the end of bed loveseat. His stare trails up the length of your legs, assessing every inch of you as if you’re a rare gemstone and he’s a skillful lapidary. You cover the distance to reach him, suddenly shy.
He runs his hands up your arms once you’re within reach. “I was right to assume that set would look stunning on you.”
“You’re always right,” you say with a superficial giggle, admiring his dusky eyeshadow behind the lenses of his glasses. You swipe his hair aside and lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. “It’s nice. Thank you for the gift.”
Azul hums his acknowledgment. His hands crawl along your sides, grabbing at your hips. You allow yourself to be pulled down to his height, his thigh between your legs. Your bare pussy brushes against beige trousers, and it sends a pleasant shiver up your spine. His fingers dance across skin, searing in the same way his lips are when they ghost over the juncture between shoulder and neck. He licks and nips at the area for a moment before withdrawing slightly, his tongue free of the bitter, medicinal taste of suppressant gel.
“No blockers?”
“It’s fine. I’m with you, and my heat isn’t scheduled for another week.”
“What makes you think I won’t give into libertine impulse?”
At the sly implication that he’d mark you as his, you feel a fresh bout of slick pool between your legs, leaking out onto his thigh and wetting fine fabric. Azul notices this and chuckles.
“Y-You wouldn’t,” you manage through your embarrassment, shifting awkwardly.
“Is that right?”
“You probably want a better omega o-or a strong alpha. Someone like yourself.”
Azul, who had contented himself at your neck, pulls back to look at you. His hands settle upon your waist to hold you still—to prevent you from wriggling away.
“What makes you say that?”
“Nothing… I just assumed—well, you’re…you. I’m me.”
He frowns, easily reading between the lines. “Do you find yourself undesirable?”
“You’re popular. Rich. Good-looking… You could have anyone you want.”
“Variety means nothing if it doesn’t include my favorites.”
“I’m your favorite?”
“Such disbelief… Is it really so surreal?”
“But I’m nowhere near your level.”
“Who said you had to be?” Azul takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses the top of it. “You’re perfect as you are, mio tesoro.”
You spend a long minute watching him. He can’t really mean that. Azul isn’t your boyfriend or your alpha. He’s the parody of one—a sugar daddy who spoils you with luxurious trips and hefty allowances, and in return you offer your time, companionship, and body. Tonight is no different. Just another dinner as per the arrangement. Another night spent in a high-rise hotel. Another transaction.
“You don’t mean that,” you say, ice crystallizing each word. “You’re just saying that.”
“I have no reason to lie.” He glances past you at the tall floor mirror, an idea sparking in lust-lidded eyes. “I’ll prove it.”
His intentions are lost on you, even more so when he moves you off of his leg and onto the cushions below. You sit with your back against the bed, a concoction of curiosity and caution bubbling within you. You can smell him, crisp like a new car, the musky, unforgettable scent of salt and sage. Before you can ask, he lowers to his knees and parts your legs to get a look at your dripping pussy.
“So eager…” he muses, his breath fanning across your folds. You bite back a whine. “And it’s all for me.”
“All yours. Always yours.”
Another wave of alpha arousal blankets the room, thick like smoke. You realize he’s done away with his scent blockers for tonight. Could that explain your territorial jealousy and dampened mood? Is it because it’s bothersome to think that another omega expressed so much desire towards Azul—that they were treated to his enticing smell even though it’s a luxury often reserved for you? Is it really his money you’re after or something grander?
You want to think it’s the former.
It must be, right? There’s no way it could be the latter. You’re just caught between fantasy and reality, bordering a beautiful illusion garnished with the impossible.
Azul’s fingers dig into the soft pudge of your inner thighs, spreading them further despite your weak attempt to shut them. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly.
“Don’t hide from me, principessa. It’s nothing I haven’t seen already.”
“Still…” You flinch when he presses the pads of his fingers against your slit.
“What’s the matter?” He lifts his hand for you to see. Your slick clings to his digits in dewy strands. “You’re so wet for me, and yet you seem…distracted.”
“It’s nothing. I’m thinking.”
“About?” When you refuse to answer, he leans in to lick a languid stripe up your cunt. You slacken against the bed, a gasp rattling through your lungs. Azul makes a dramatic show of licking his lips clean. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me, bambolina.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, worrying your lip between your teeth, as you debate your next admission. Rather than say it outright, you tiptoe around it with a shaky mumbling: “D-Do you usually call other omegas by pretty names?”
“Just you.”
“Just me?”
“Have I not been unfalteringly faithful to you all this time?”
“You have. I’m just wondering…”
Azul waits for you to finish that sentence. When it becomes obvious you’ve lost it, he fills in the blanks. “I thought of you all throughout tonight’s dinner. So much it nearly spoiled my appetite.”
Unconvinced, you crack your eyes open to glimpse him. His head is between your legs, lips centimeters from your cunt, and it leaves you wilting once more. He looks good on his knees in his fancy suit. You wish he was yours.
What a dangerous wish.
Azul meets your stare. He removes his glasses and hands them off to you.
“Be a dear and hold these for me.”
“Looks like a new pair.”
“I thought I’d try circular frames again. What do you think? Fitting, no?”
“Very fitting. Like an old man.”
Azul’s grip on your thighs tightens ever so slightly. His voice comes out sharp and strained when he speaks next. “Is that so? I assure you I’m still plenty youthful.”
“You age like wine, Mr. Ashengrotto. The finest kind.”
“And your beauty is timeless.”
“You say it so easily, but do you mean it?”
“Most ardently.”
Your argument is stifled when he leans in to taste you again. This time, rather than retreat, he remains between your legs. His lips are warm and soft against your pussy, his tongue all too tempting as it trails over the area. A startled gasp slips past parted lips when he pushes in, and it isn’t long until you’re deflating against the bed.
Your doubtful thoughts are temporarily silenced, numbed with slow, slothful salacity. You grab fistfuls of his hair, tugging it tousled, and he groans in response to your harsh treatment.
“Ooh… Mmh, fuck…” You blink up at the ceiling, breathless.
Too good.
You push him closer to your crotch, to which he rewards you with a sloppy slurp of your slick. The obscenity of it all has you hot and aching, and you submit bonelessly to the bliss he provides as if you’re simply drifting down a calm river. Azul laps at your folds like a man parched. He hums his appreciative delight, each vibration shaking you to your core, and the sensations only serve to triple your pleasure when one of his hands slides over to find your clit. He tweaks it between two fingers just to listen to you come undone.
It takes everything in you not to crush him between your thighs. Although with how hungrily he fucks you with his tongue, you think he might enjoy the suffocation. He sets a sweet pace, one that has you grinding down against his mouth in a desperate attempt to reach your climax. You open your mouth to beg for more, but all that tumbles free are shaky gasps and low groans.
As if sensing your unspoken need, Azul draws his tongue out. A thin strand of saliva strings from your pussy and his lips, connecting both for a fraction. Just when you think he might’ve finished, he swaps his tongue for two fingers. They stretch you open while he nurses on your clit. Slowly, like he has all the time in the world in this opulent hotel room, he curls his slim digits inside you. They press against your walls, searching for the spongy spot that will have you seeing galaxies. Once more, you’re reduced to a foggy-headed mess.
In this room, where nothing else matters, it’s just you and him. There is no outside world. No other alphas, omegas, or betas who might distract him. No other factors that might convince him to toss you aside, to grow tired of you, to abandon you…
Azul takes full advantage of your woozy state, pumping his fingers in and out. Paired with the way he lavishes your clit with attention, it sends you spiraling into a sudden orgasm. You grip his hair forcefully, pin him in place, and gush on his face with a strangled moan. He stays between your legs to lick you through it, running his tongue across your folds to gather as much of your slick as possible. And then he’s pulling away to offer you a boyish grin, seeming quite proud of himself. It adds deceptive youth to his weathered features.
Blinking pleasured tears away, you gaze at him until his figure gradually gains clarity. His face is wet, glistening with your essence, and it fills you with newfound heat.
“That was quicker than I expected,” he says, his voice a playful purr. “Were you anticipating this? Or perhaps my technique is simply unmatched. You’ve always been so sensitive for—”
You move without forethought, grabbing at the jewel-encrusted lapels of his fashionable jacket to yank him up to your height. His blue eyes are blown wide, his mouth parted in the middle of a mute question, when you smash your mouth against his. It’s short and sloppy. You taste yourself on his tongue.
“So impatient…”
Recovering from the momentary startle with newfound cupidity, Azul surges forward for a real kiss. You breathe him in and come away with a noseful of pheromones. It spins your mind dizzy, banishes rationality to dark, desolate corners, and renders you addicted. You allow him to lick into your mouth to taste expensive wine in every crevice. You’re avaricious in your approach when you pull him closer, desiring to feel his weight against yours. He falls on top of you, his hands placed on either side of your head to keep himself propped, and you peer up at him through glazed eyes. It brings you smug satisfaction when you reach between your bodies to feel his erection straining against his pants.
Breathing hot and heavy, you scrabble to grab hold of his shoulders. “Kiss me again.”
“Aren’t you forward? If I didn’t know any better, I’d hazard a guess that you’re jealous.”
“I—” you clamp your mouth shut, debating your words, before opening it again— “I am. I want you all to myself. I want you to look at me and only me during our dinners. I hate when other omegas talk to you… It’s not fair. Why do you have to be so amazing?”
Your confession catches him off guard, for he blinks at you owlishly. The surprise doesn’t remain for long, though, because he quickly composes himself. A gentle smile graces his face next.
“It’s mere courtesy. I assure you I’ve thought of you the entire evening.”
“Just me?”
“Only you. At every hour of the day. Even when we’re apart.” His hand slides down to interlace with yours, and he leans closer to kiss both of your cheeks, one at a time. “I think of nothing else. Si il mio universo.”
“R-Really? So that… That omega who spoke to you—”
“They were kind, but I have no interest.”
You frown, suddenly perturbed. “But you could’ve if you wanted to. We’re not together in that way. There’s nothing stopping you.”
He raises a brow. “Is that what you want?” Your face falls further into dismay and he chuckles. “I don’t mind. You’re allowed to be greedy around me. I’m all yours tonight.”
But I want you forever.
Azul helps you up from the bed and leads you over to the mirror. You stare at yourself—at the you adorned in fleeting finery—and grimace. Is this really you? Is this who you want to be, an unclaimed omega stuck in a stagnant situationship?
“Tell me what you see,” he whispers, running his hands along your sides.
“Myself.”
“Anything else?”
“She’s a fool who’s jealous for no reason. For a dumb reason, actually.”
“‘Dumb’?” He scoffs. “No such thing.”
“But it is! It’s because—” I want to be yours. “I’m just being immature. I’m sorry. It’s ruining the mood.”
“Not at all.” Azul grasps your chin and turns your head towards the mirror. “When I look at you, I see in color. You make my world so indescribably vivid. Very few can accomplish such an impressive feat. You should be proud.”
“Why?”
“You’re a smart girl. I’d have thought you would’ve realized it by now.”
You track his hand like it’s a spider you’re hellbent on catching. Carefully, with keen intent. He speaks in honey-coated hauteur, as if anyone could’ve deciphered the meaning in his declarations, and it would’ve irked you if not for your distracting thoughts.
He’s never told me any of this before. Is he saying it to placate me? Or does he actually mean it?
The answer is right there. You just don’t want to believe it.
Rather, you can’t. It’s impossible.
“For the record, I disagree with all of this negative self-talk. You’re not dumb or immature. Not in my eyes.” His arms close around you from behind, and he laces his hands together at your front. “You are a goddess cut from the rarest cloth. A beauty brighter than light itself, mia stellina. Sometimes I wonder if I should lock you in a little cage. That way you’d shine for me. Just me.”
Laughter squeezes through your teeth. “You’re being more dramatic than I am tonight.”
“You think so? I’m only telling you what I see and how I see it.” Azul takes your hand and guides you back towards the loveseat. He lowers onto it and then tugs you onto his lap. Just like before, he directs your attention ahead. “Why should I covet others when you’re right here?”
“That’s just convenient. It’s because we’re using each other.”
“How cold… And I have been nothing but authentic in my adoration.”
“Yeah, right. We both know—” You squeak when he shifts you only slightly so that he can unbuckle his leather belt. It slides away from his waist, soon discarded on the bed. “Sure, it’s authentic, but that’s because it has to be. B-Because it’s part of our deal.”
“Is that what you think? Your oblivious nature is most endearing.” He hums, half-listening. You roll your eyes at that, to which Azul tuts. “We’ll have none of that. Here. Since you’re so keen to argue, why not help me out of my jacket as you mull over your next retort?”
Unamused, you turn to face him. He looks awfully pleased with himself as he stretches his arms out. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you undo the single button and gently peel the coat away from his person. It’s so silky, crafted from a material you’ve never known before, and you take care folding it for later. Azul watches you with a smile.
“I’m not arguing.”
“Is that not what we’re doing right now?”
“I’m just saying…” You huff, your cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “Ugh. You’re being so obtuse.”
“Why don’t you turn around and say that to your reflection instead? She needs to hear it more than I do.”
Begrudgingly, you comply with the first instruction. You lift yourself off of him just enough so that he can pull himself from his clothes. As for that second part, you treat it like a suggestion and keep your lips clamped stubbornly shut. Azul rumbles with laughter, affectionately pinching your cheek. You think he may have picked the habit up from his family. He’s spoken about them scarcely, but from what you’ve learned both his mother and grandmother have always had a knack for physical fondness. It’s cute that this gesture seems to run in his blood.
“Eyes open and ahead, mia bella ragazza. You deserve to witness just how charming you are as you come undone around my cock.”
Nodding mutely, your arousal heady, you line yourself up until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. One hand holds your waist to steady you while the other presses against your clit. You whine, legs trembling in anticipation, and lower yourself slowly.
“A-Azul—”
“Don’t look anywhere else. Ahead, tesoro,” he reminds you, kissing along your jaw. He reaches to procure his glasses from the bed, fitting them on his face one-handed.
Your body responds to those pleasant pet names without a shred of shame. Even though this isn’t your first time with him, you can’t stop your breath from hitching or your heart from skipping. For the sake of an easily ingested excuse, you deign to blame it on your upcoming heat. Why else would you be this desperate to feel him inside, as close as he can possibly get pressed up against you like this? Azul’s hand slides over your thigh to rub at your clit, and your walls flutter around every inch you’ve managed to take thus far.
You remember you’re meant to be watching yourself in the mirror then, so you gaze at your reflection. Azul’s voice is deep and gravelly in your ear, thrumming like thunder, when he murmurs his praise: “Good girl. Just like that.”
As if to further humiliate you, a testament to just how carnally you crave him, you clench tighter around him and whine pitifully. He chuckles and rewards you with a soothing smooch to your cheek. You heave a satisfied sigh once he’s slotted inside.
“Why do you want me to watch myself?” you ask, fighting through the haze while he busies himself with your clit. “Mmh…”
At this rate, you fear you might just somersault into your heat. Which, now that you’re considering it, wouldn’t be such a bad thing… Maybe he’ll give you a claiming bite, mark you as his omega, and then it’ll be a real relationship. Maybe the heat is the push he needs.
Don’t think about that sort of nonsense. He would never…
“I want you to take in every part of yourself,” he explains matter-of-factly, “and know that I will never trade you for anything.”
“But other omegas—” The words are choked off in a yelp when he thrusts up inside you.
“Are not you,” he finishes, a minacious edge in his tone. “What must I do to prove to you that I’m telling the truth?”
“You could—ah. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m being unreasonable.” You shake your head. “Just… Just promise me. Please promise you won’t get rid of me.”
“Why, I would never! The mere assumption that I would stings… I feel as if I’ve just been slapped.”
“I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just… I… I know you’re allowed to see other people—and I am, too, of course—but I like being the only omega you spoil. I like feeling special.”
“And you are.” He squeezes your clit to draw another reedy moan from you. His other hand crawls up your side to slip under your sheer babydoll. He cradles your breast, kneading it gently. “You’re my special girl. That will never change.”
“O-Okay… I believe you.” Your lashes flutter when his fingers brush against your nipple. “You… Ooh… You can cum inside tonight. It’s safe. I think…”
A shadow passes over his face. As if your words have stoked some sort of possessive fire in him, he slips his hand out from under your lingerie to grab at your hip. All of his previous smooth, sultry edges harden into something rough. Fingernails dig into your flesh, leaving little half-moons in the forceful wake of his grip. Your tongue trips over itself at the sudden shift, but the treatment isn’t terrible.
“You know very well I’d take good care of you if that happened,” he mumbles, kissing the space just below your ear.
“If what happened?” you ask, playing stupidly innocent even though the image reflected back at you makes his implication more than obvious.
“Why don’t you start moving first? Then you’ll see exactly what I mean.”
You shudder, drunk off his pheromones, so potent they cloud your brain like smog, and shift in his lap. He groans lowly at the friction and it encourages you to move with confidence. You lower yourself, lift yourself halfway off, and then lower again. This is executed for three more jerky rotations before you slam yourself down in one go. Azul sucks in a breath. You don’t quite catch what he says. It’s a jumble of words in his native tongue. With the harshness dripping from every syllable, you think he’s saying some colorful words, each one brought on by the tight hold your pussy has on his cock.
“Perfect,” he manages next. You continue to bounce with reckless abandon. “You’re so—oh—so perfect. Ho bisogno di te… B-Bisogno—ah, no, need.”
You watch yourself, your ravenous gaze flicking from your pussy stretched around his cock to his hands glued to your hips to his head bowed near your neck. His canines are so close. Any closer and he could tear into you, bite you hard and deep enough to make you his.
“W-What was that phrase you taught me? The one about—haa—love… Not love, but sorta love.”
“Mmh… Which one? There are many, principessa… You’ll have to be more specific. Ti amo is ‘I love you,’ but that’s—nngh—not the one you’re looking for, is it?”
“The not-quite-love one… Um—oh! Adore… Adoro…”
“Aah, ti adoro.” He pronounces it in a pleased hum before breaking off with another groan. He drags your hips down to meet his when he bucks up into your gummy pussy. “If you’re saying it platonically, you would use ti voglio bene. Ti adoro is more intimate.”
“It sounds pretty when you say it.”
“Of course it does,” he brags, his ego satiated. “Why don’t you try pronouncing it?”
“Which one?”
“Whichever.” Azul kisses your scent glands and you mewl, your thoughts soupy and incoherent. “With such a tempting smell, I’m baffled you’re not yet mated. Ah, but you’re still young.”
“Hmm… Yeah, I just haven’t found the right person.” You place your hands over his. “W-What about you? Why haven’t you—”
He tuts. “Now, now. Before we get into that, I’d like to hear you say it. Ti…”
“Adoro. Ti adoro!”
“That’s right. Ben fatto, mia cara. You say it so sweetly.”
“I do?”
“Mhm.” He noses at your neck and sighs. “Sweet and musical.”
Relishing in the compliment, you tilt your head to reveal more of your throat. You roll your hips slowly, taking him in patient strokes. “I still think it sounds better coming from you.”
“Perhaps I should say it more often.”
“Please. Oh, please do. I wanna hear it always—every day!”
His teeth scrape your skin then. You brace yourself for a bite that never comes. Rather than allow your unmet expectations to dishearten you, you focus your attention ahead.
“I’ll send you a voice message when we’re apart.” His hands travel up your body, beneath lacy lingerie, and finally close around your tits. You watch him in the mirror, following his movements as he shamelessly fondles and gropes. “And when we’re together like this I’ll say it over and over. As many times as you’d like.”
Now it’s clear. He’s placed you on his own pedestal, admiring you like one might a sculpture. You aren’t the omega from dinner. You aren’t those alphas who hunger for his status. You’re unlike any of his other connections. You’re a personal treat he indulges in, a prized portrait he’s free to touch at his own discretion, and you allow it because he’s unofficially yours behind closed doors.
Part of you knew this all along. You just couldn’t see through your self-doubt.
“Thank you. I love—” You catch yourself, stumble over a gasp, and thank the stars for that. “I love your voice.”
Azul’s aged features soften with a smile. “And I love yours all the same. Why don’t you touch yourself so that I can hear more of it?”
You do just that, obediently circling your clit with two fingers. Amidst your own sounds, Azul’s groans, and the loud smack of skin on skin, it’s enough to bring you even closer to the edge. You’re almost there, nearly teetering over into the abyss, but then you stop.
“Wait… I want—wanna look at you.”
“You are. The mirror—”
“Not enough.”
Wordlessly, you peel his hands away and lift yourself off of him. Azul stares at you, awaiting your next move. Before you can regret your spontaneity, you hold onto his shoulders and position yourself to straddle him on the loveseat.
“I read about this and wanted to try it,” you admit as you sink down. Your relieved sigh joins Azul’s in unison. “I like looking at you. The real you. Not just your reflection.”
“You never cease to amaze me.”
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
With this proximity, you’re free to gaze into his powdery blues, trace every wrinkle beneath your fingers, adore him so intimately. Azul presses his forehead to yours, meeting your sultry stare. He wraps his arms around your waist, his palms settling against your lower back. No words are exchanged, but the intention is clear. You rock your body like the rolling tide, effortless and hypnotic, and he matches your lazy pace with grace. Now you’re breathing together—soft huffs between moans—and it’s a lustful duet that pairs well with the salacious squelch of your bodies.
Even though this moment will inevitably end, you never want to leave. You want to stay wrapped up with him, pressed close and breathing him in like he’s perfume. You want to bathe in his scent until it mixes with yours and marks you as something special. Something irrefutable. A bond that can never be broken.
“I wanna go on a trip,” you mumble absentmindedly, your mouth inches from his.
He steals a quick peck. “Do elaborate.”
“Not just any trip. A honeymoon—like a pretend honeymoon! I know it’s a lot to ask—”
“Nothing is ever too much. If I may, why a honeymoon in particular?”
“I just wanna know what it feels like.” You melt against him, your arms sliding away from his shoulders to loop around his neck. “Without having to go through the marriage part. That involves actually finding someone and falling in love and…yeah.”
“I understand. We can plan something.” Twin sapphires flick from your lips to your eyes and then back. “Shall I make you Signora Ashengrotto for the duration of our faux honeymoon?”
Your hips almost stutter to a halt, and you blink back at him in surprise. “Signora… Wouldn’t it be signorina?”
“If you were unmarried, yes. It applies because you’re young.” He flashes his teeth at you in a proud grin. “But in this scenario you’re all mine, Mrs. Ashengrotto. Thus, you’re signora.”
“Mmh… I like that. The sound of it…”
You sigh dreamily and close what little distance is left. Softly like swaying seagrass, it’s a meeting of mutual moods—of lust embellished with love. The two of you kiss like you’re starved, like you’re each other’s only source of oxygen, like this is your last night together. You’re in the clouds; euphoria is at your fingertips. Every drag of his cock coaxes you closer and closer to your climax, your body alight with a fiery urge. You don’t want to break this sinful spell and face a reality in which he isn’t yours. It’s too cruel.
So it’s a shame when he pulls you down without warning and, rather than bite your neck, sinks his pointed canines into your shoulder instead. You would’ve been content to let him claim you, but that idea is soon knocked from your skull when you feel warm, thick cum flood your walls. You snuff the urge to beg for more, dangerously avaricious. You’re sure that’s just a product of your encroaching heat. The normal, level-headed you wouldn’t dare beg him for a baby.
But a baby would give him a reason to keep you around, wouldn’t it?
I shouldn’t. He probably doesn’t want a family at his age… It would be wrong to force it.
Azul pulls away only slightly to speak. His attempt is muffled when you kiss him again. You lick your blood from his lower lip. It’s strong and metallic, staining the corner of his mouth a deep vermillion. He pursues, nibbling at your lip in return. And then, just as you roll your hips once more, you feel it—his knot swelling against your ass, fat and thick. All for you.
“I’m going to—”
“Yes! Oh, please—yes.” You shift in his lap, grinding down with a desperate sort of determination. “Please knot me. I want it. I’ve always wanted it.”
“Always?”
Your head bobs in a hasty nod. It was more of a private fantasy—a mental indulgence you delighted in during dreams. And now it’s happening. You’re so happy you could cry. Azul, upon seeing the light in your eyes, bucks up towards you in a sharp, sudden thrust. You suck in a breath through grit teeth and bore down. The push is heavenly and hellish all at once, a delicious pleasure-pained strain as your slick walls stretch to accommodate him.
“Almost… You’re doing well, tesoro,” he grunts, his brows pinched together with concentration and exertion.
To provide you with an extra shred of help, he massages your clit. And that’s all it takes. The rest of his knot pops inside, now connecting the both of you, and it leaves you feeling much fuller than you were before. Ecstasy crashes into you like a tumultuous wave, pulling you into a rushing current. It seems to happen in a flash. Collapsing against him, you dig your nails into his shoulders, your cunt clenching like a vise, and cum around his cock with a bawdy cry.
You don’t notice tears wetting your face until he’s lapping at the trickling trails. Azul coos at you in a lilting voice. This one is different from the patronizing tone he uses when he’s being playful. This one is intensely fond. “Oh, che brava ragazza. Molto buono.” He holds your face still and kisses each cheek. The wet smack of his lips on your skin brings you back to yourself. He brightens when you finally lock eyes with him. “There she is. My sweet girl, you’ve done so well.”
His flowery flattery warms the stone hearth that is your heart.
“Don’t let go of me. Stay here,” you plead even though you know that won’t be for another few minutes. You’re stuck together, and with this comes the delirium of mellowed rapture.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He runs his hand along your back, soothed in the same way you currently are.
You rest your head against his shoulder and inhale deeply. “You smell so good… Why aren’t you mated yet? I’m sure your mate would be happy to have you as their own.”
“I would hope so.”
“I’d be happy…t-to have someone to call my own! I think it’s a wonderful thing.”
“As do I.”
“I’m sure you’ll find someone.”
“I already have.” Something sly flickers in his gaze. It’s cold, creeping up your spine like a shadow. Without meaning to, you shiver. “And I’m not going to let her go. She’s always been mine. From the moment I met her, I was certain of this. She just can’t see it yet.”
You blink at him. His words play in loops, but you can’t comprehend his meaning.
Surely he’s not talking about…
You bark out a short laugh. “Stop messing around when we’re stuck together.”
“Aw. I thought it was plenty amusing.”
“Your sense of humor is so crooked!”
“Perhaps.” He pulls you flush against him and pets the bite on your shoulder. “My apologies for being so boorish.”
“Hm? Oh, that’s nothing. It’ll heal.”
“I do hope you feel better.”
“Ah, that… Sorry. I don’t know where my head was at earlier. Thanks for tonight, by the way. You’re too good to me.”
“I’d do anything for you. Never forget that.”
“What a scary sentiment…”
“Is that not a facet of love?”
“Depends. You don’t have to do everything for someone just to prove that you love them. And someone might not want that kind of love…”
“In the event of an unwilling spirit, I suppose the easiest solution is acceptance by way of entrapment.”
“What?”
“They say a room of glittering gold is still a cage even without the shackles. Perhaps there is no better love than the suffocating kind.”
“No way. That’s totally wrong!” You shake your head in amusement. “What a warped sort of love!”
“Is it? I’ve always believed this was most tangible—undeniable, even. Proof of one’s devotion.”
“That’s less romantic and more…obsessive. Don’t you think so?”
“There’s a phrase we sometimes say. Amore non è senza amaro.” You nod along, expecting the translation. But Azul merely smiles. “Well, I’m only saying such things to pass the time. Think nothing of it.”
“You really are an old man, speaking utter nonsense.”
“How you wound me with your slander!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Nonno,” you tease, winking.
Azul feigns hurt. “To think I would be called that at my young, young age… My heart crumbles.”
You smile. Maybe it really was nothing. Although I was sure that he… It’s not really my problem. We’re not even together.
Still, something is nagging at you. A heavy word despite being so little—merely three letters.
Yet.
We’re not even together yet.
Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
And yet, something tells you it’s not.
#yandere twst#yandere twst x reader#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere azul ashengrotto#yandere azul x reader#yandere azul ashengrotto x reader#yandere azul#n/sfw#tw: abo#tw: omegaverse#tw: knotting#tw: age gap
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