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toorurs · 10 days

Text

wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.”

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa.

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts.

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.)

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin.

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases.

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it.

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is.

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be.

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is.

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself.

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose.

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you.

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again.

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

#toorurs #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons

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unholyhelbig · 3 months

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new oversight will be everything! i can’t wait!

Title: Work Life Balance [an Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader gets hurt during a job, she starts to worry about how her girlfriend, the infamous mafia boss that controls the city, will react

[a/n: while this isn't a new chapter of Oversight (I am working on that), it is set in the same universe as the Oversight. It's based off of a Private Practice episode, and something a little lighter & silly. Enjoy!]

Warnings: Gun violence, blood, spit, threats, blood, hurt/comfort, No spell checks

Check out the full Oversight universe

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The metal bat had slammed against the side of your face with enough force to blind you momentarily in the right eye. It knocked the sense out of you too and your bearings were scrambled until that darkness started to ebb away into a blurry image of the alleyway.

There was a pungent scent in the air, rotted food in dark green trash bags that had been torn by tiny teeth, or elongated claws. Crumpled napkins and discarded soda cups littered the damp ground.

Before the man could swing the bat for a second time, you caught it half an inch from your face and shoved it away. He was disarmed and you were able to shove his back up against the wall, holding him there despite his squirming. His lip was split, the blood drying quickly from the bright red to a deep black.

“Come on, man.” You twisted your hand into the fabric of his shirt, bunching your fingers around his collar. “We fronted the product, so you have to front the cash.”

“Fuck off,”

He spit on you, a gummy mix of tobacco and sugar. There were a lot of things you could handle; the ringing in your ear, and the pain in your knuckles from the first four blows you threw. But spit was where you drew the line. It had bugged you since you were in fifth grade and Amy Sheldon dangled a long string of it inches from your nose before slurping it back up through the slit in her buck teeth.

“Alright,” you breathed out, making sure you kicked the fallen bat out of his reach. “You agree to push product on that little street racer of yours in exchange for twenty five percent of the cut. You get sloppy and sample the product and don’t have the cash to give to my boss?”

You lifted him from the brick and shoved him back down onto it with enough force to push the putrid breath from his lungs. “That doesn’t feel very fair, now, does it?”

He smiled at you with a laugh that rivaled a cackle. His teeth were orange with diluted blood. There was no getting through to him. Your free hand dipped into the side of your jacket. Over the last two years, you’d grown well accustomed to the feeling of a gun in your hand.

You pushed the tip of the gun under his chin into the soft spot of his skin. He stopped laughing, the sound getting stuck in his throat with a choking sound.

“Do you know what they call me?” You gritted.

“A raging bitch?”

You made a buzzing noise in the back of your throat, much like the signaling of a wrong answer on a game show. There was a soft click as you pulled the trigger of the gun. The man in your grasp tensed and hissed.

“Wrong. You know, at first, I just forgot to load my gun. Got me into some pretty hot water, scalding actually. But eventually it became a bit of a calling card. Roulette. I can pull the trigger as many times as I want, but only one will hit it’s mark.”

He swallowed hard, you felt it in the side of your hand. He was sweating and you were growing tired of the empty threats. Yelena wouldn’t approve of something like this, and you were sure Natasha wouldn’t have had a second thought about putting a mark between his eyebrows.

“Most men aren’t lucky more than twice,” You pulled the trigger again, met with another soft click. Of course, there were no bullets in the chamber; they rattled in your front pocket like your keys. “Three times at most.”

His voice cracked. “Please,”

There was a sharp scent in the air that rivaled that of trash. You were losing blood fast. It had streaked down the side of your face from a gash on your temple and crusted the collar of your shirt.

“You have a week to make up the difference. A week and I’ll be back with a gun that has more than one bullet in the chamber. Am I clear?”

“Yes, but-“

“Am I clear?”

He nodded aggressively and you sheathed your weapon, releasing him. His legs gave out and he sunk to the damp pavement. You picked up the weighted metal back, entirely content to take it with you. It would make your next encounter a hell of a lot easier.

It was impossible to sneak into the house without giving yourself away. Even if you were to park down the block, unlace your shoes and pad into the foyer barefoot, and leave the front door open a crack, you were at risk of creating a scene.

That didn’t mean that you couldn’t keep the injured side of your face away from Natasha for as long as possible. She would know that something was up, and despite her throwing you into this life in the first place, her heart broke when you were on the deep side of any injury.

You set the metal bat down with a bucket of black umbrellas and a bench that was mostly unused. There was a dull metal thump that aggravated the headache that was coming on. You attempted to sneak up the stairs, but the second your fingertips hit the mahogany handrail you were stopped by an irritated voice with a Russian lilt to it.

Yelena was sprawled out on the sofa, a book was face down on her chest, lifting and falling with each breath. She’d given up on it in favor of the warmth that Kate provided her. Kate’s head was on Yelena’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her midsection. Yelena looked perfectly comfortable in between Kate’s legs, both of them were about ready to doze off and if you had waited an extra five minutes, maybe you would have gotten away with sneaking in.

“Did you get hit by a bus?” Kate asked.

You leaned against the entryway of the sitting room. “Ricky got a good hit in with a metal bat.”

“Oo, Natasha is going to be mad at you.” Yelena chuckled, taunting you like a child. You would have thrown a pillow at her if Kate wasn’t in the line of fire.

She was going to be mad at you for not using the buddy system that was proposed and certainly for not dodging the hit that was coming your way. Natasha hated when you got hurt and that sad look in her eyes was worse than whatever pain could be inflicted on you.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“It looks pretty bad.” Kate said.

You shot them both the middle finger before turning away and padding up the stairs towards your shared bedroom with Natasha. Most days, she was holed up in her office and you didn’t bother her until the ache for her touch, for her presence, bothered you both enough to cave.

That was most days.

Some days, Natasha could be found in your room in sweatpants with a laptop propped up on her crossed legs. She was dwarfed in the silk bedspread, her hair in a messy bun and a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose.

This was quite possibly your favorite look on Natasha, this quiet version of her. She’d let you hold her in this state instead of the other way around. You hated to break the mood, hated that she glanced up from her laptop not once, but twice.

Wordlessly, Natasha set her work aside and walked over to you. She cupped your face, her fingers cold against your cheeks. Her voice was soft and when she was angry enough, there was the slightest bit of a Russian inflection to her words. “What happened?”

“I… didn’t use the buddy system.”

“Mm, you didn’t use the buddy system.”

Her thumb moved against the black and blue wound against your eye. She pressed every so slightly, testing its durability. You winced, drawing in a breath through clenched teeth. It wasn’t bad, really, her touch soothed you just as quickly as it had bitten you with pain.

Natasha was good at taking care of you and she pulled you into the large master bathroom that the two of you shared. There was an abundance of white and beige. It was always a few degrees cooler than the rest of the house and offered a form of comfort as such.

There were nights where the two of you would simply brush your teeth shoulder to shoulder, and there were nights where she had her arms wrapped around you amongst the deep scent of lavender. Bubble hit her touch as her fingers roamed over the most intimate parts of you.

Now, she guided you to the edge of the sink and lifted you up in a fluid motion. She stood between your legs, making you feel even more like a child when Yelena had scolded you downstairs. Still, there was a degree of affection in her movements. Natasha frowned as she pulled a med kit from the bottom of the sink.

She tutted “Zaychik, this looks bad.”

“Image wise or the actual wound because-“You let out a small noise when she placed the frigid and stinging antiseptic against your face. It sent electric down your spine. “I didn’t know he had a bat.”

“A bat?”

“Right out of left field.”

Natasha’s frown deepened. This was supposed to be an easy job, and by all means, it was. You had accomplished your assignment of scaring up. You were sure he had released his bladder as he slid down the wall into a fetal position. Getting the money from a frightened man was going to be no problem.

Tonight was intended to be calm. You’d come home and shower and eat pizza and spend the entire night curled up in Natasha’s arms while she typed away on the computer. You’d listen to her breathing, her heartbeat.

Instead, she was roughly patching you up, buzzing with anger under her stare. “Why didn’t you take Clint?”

“Nat, I have a fantastic idea.”

“If it involves gutting that man alive and hanging him from a flagpole, then I am all in, darling.” Her words were light, distracted, as she wiped away a good portion of dried blood.

“What if we left things at the office, metaphorically speaking. What if we didn’t bring stuff like this home? Shut it all off.”

She pulled back far enough to stifle her floral scent. There was an adorable crease between her eyes. “My mind doesn’t work like that, Malysh. This home is my office and vice versa. Someone hurt you and that is my business. That is my work.”

“I know,” you said, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. She glowered under her thick-framed glasses. You wanted nothing more than to kiss the frown off her face. “I know, but sometimes I just want to be with you.”

“Huh,”

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

This wasn’t exactly a constructive conversation. You figured as much when she ripped a bandage out of its waxy packaging and slapped it onto the gash against your temple. You let out a disgruntled noise and she grasped your waist and maneuvered you back to the floor. Your legs had fallen asleep and you were a little unsteady.

Natasha flicked on the sink and started scrubbing her hands of your blood. “No sex,”

“What?” You blinked at her, scratching fruitlessly at the adhesive on the bandage. It was incredibly itchy.

Natasha dried her hands on the nearby towel, “You heard me, no sex.”

“You… You’re withholding sexual pleasure because of something that happened at work?”

“Not something that happened at work, your refusal to talk about it.”

“Natasha,” You nearly whined.

“No sex!” She huffed, pointing towards the exit of the room “Go sleep on the couch.”

You dropped your shoulders in defeat. You had been banned to the couch? Your girlfriend didn’t’ withhold most things and the two of you had a very healthy and active life. There wasn’t true anger behind her words, instead she was testing you. Watching you until you give in.

“Fine,” You huffed, crossing your arms “The couch sounds lovely.”

“Good,”

“Great.”

“Fine.”

You grabbed the fuzzy blanket at the base of the bed and started to stalk towards the door. You could feel Natasha staring at you, waiting for you to turn around and apologize but it wouldn’t happen. Not this time. You were setting boundaries and if that included…no sex… then that was fine. It was fine.

“Zaychik?”

You turned back to Natasha, one eyebrow lifted, “Yes?”

“Leave the blanket.”

She gave you a sugary sweet smile before settling back into her previous position, pulling her computer into her lap. Your jaw was agape, but you tossed the blanket at her nonetheless and stormed out of the room.

The nerve, the absolute nerve!

Natasha wasn’t particularly hard to have a conversation with, but work was nearly untouchable with her. You knew that. She knew that. You did as you were told and protected her and her assets at all costs.

When you got back downstairs you fixed yourself a sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwich before sulking back into the living room and flopping down onto the recliner in the corner. Yelena had since fallen asleep, and Kate was reading the book while her eyes grew heavy.

“You got kicked out, huh?”

“Kicked out, banned from sex.” You waved the sandwich around in the air “doghouse.”

Kate scoffed “the Romanoff sisters aren’t always the most forthcoming, are they?”

She was looking lovingly at Yelena, stroking her hair as the smaller woman curled deeper into her, fingers clenching at Kate’s flannel and then releasing as she settled back into a comfortable sleep.

“They make it hard to love them, but the moments where the mask slips and they’re vulnerable. Moments like these make everything worth it. And despite everything, you know they care. They’ll always care.”

“Sometimes too much,” you took a large bite of your sandwich.

“No such thing.”

Yelena stirred in her arms, nose pressed against Kate’s pulse point. She clenched her eyes tighter, her next words mumbled “Kate Bishop, if you don’t stop talking you will be sleeping on the couch with y/n.”

“Doghouse,” You said with a long sigh.

“Mm,” Kate hummed, letting out a quiet whisper “Doghouse,”

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neoarchipelago · 7 months

Text

Torn between :

Simon Riley who doesn't not/fears to have children because of his last trauma and hating his father. It's terrifying to him and it'll take a LOT of therapy to even consider having children. It's complicated to even see himself being a father.

And

Simon Riley who, every time he sees you, he sure wants you to be the one for the rest of his life. And he remembers how happy his brother was with his wife and little Joseph, just wants to have babies with you. He's scared but he wants to do better, and he is sure that he'll be better, because this is half of him and you. He'll love him/her like it's the only thing he breathes for. So he waits, he keeps the idea in mind, that only sleeps past his lips when he's buried deep inside your sweet cunt, praising and cooing about how he's going to fill you up with his cum.

And then he keeps it in mind, until he pops the question, until he sees you walk to the altar, until the first dance is over, until he's in the private plane offered by Laswell, going to the honeymoon in a secret place Price offered. Until he walks into the hotel room, holding you in his arms. Up to the point he slowly undresses you, eating you up like a madman until you're left shaking and sobbing. And perhaps it's a low blow but he slips his cock past your folds, slowly, raw, feeling you stretch around his fat cock as he coos:

"gonna make you mommy love? Do you want that?"

And you're already a mess because he had too much fun with you before even splitting you open. You register the words, not truly the full consequences of your answer though.

"y-yes... please... please..."

And he's gone.

You barely sleep that night. You wonder how that man has so much cum cuz you're left dripping every time. He cleans you up gently after, making sure to finger his cum back into you.

And it's the first try... cuz as soon as he's home his baby fever is off the roof. But he doesn't know that the first try was all it took. Cuz your next period isn't here, cuz he's in shock and ready to cry when he sees you, tears stained face as you hold a hand over your mouth and the over a small test with two bars clearly marked.

And then he's almost unbearable for the next 9 months. He tells Price first, and then the rest of the boys. They visit you back home with gifts, that Simon makes a point of checking each of them. This stuffed bear has buttons he needs to take them off, the baby might choke, etc etc.

The labor, he's in internal panic, but his military training and the love he has for you build up a facade of care and calm that helps you, oh so much, for your first delivery, that was long and exhausting.

It's all worth it for the look Simon gives your baby, holding them, skin to skin. He looks up at you, tears rolling down his cheeks, chanting 'thank you' again and again. It brings you to tears every time.

The way he looks at you when you're breastfeeding makes you blush and feel adored at the same time. You asked him once why he does it and he says:

"you're doing such a good job mama... feeding our little cub like that... fuck, it's going to grow big and strong, you're perfect."

You fight the urge to throw a pillow at him as you blush madly. You hold your baby too carefully to even consider moving.

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Me right now because of my hormones:

#fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley with a baby fever

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sheeple · 4 months

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Miracles don't exist | Bonus: Nott v Potter

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Violence / Theodore's pov A/n: A small blurb to make the wait a little shorter for a new chapter. This happens in between chapter 29 and 30 [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Theodore Nott is known for not losing his temper. Ever. He tries to stay calm, level-headed and, above all, not lose his temper. He knows the reputation his family has and he's not one to prove his peers right with their whispers and accusations.

But right now? Fuck staying calm. Fuck being level-headed. He's going to fuck Harry Potter up and nobody is going to stop him.

He storms through the hallways of Hogwarts, steam coming out of his ears. How dare that damned blood traitor hurt her. Hex his girl.

As the portrait of Fat Lady comes into view, Theo snatches the nape of a scarlet first-year and drags him towards the painting. "Say the password", hisses Theo as he practically lifts the poor boy from the ground by his robes.

Everyone knows that you don't stand in the way of a raging Slytherin. So, the boy quivers, "Quid Agis", and the portrait swings open.

Dropping the boy, Theo strides into the Gryffindor common room. "POTTER!", he yells out and all the faces in the room snap to him. He spots the bespectacled boy by the fire with his friends, and he makes his way over to him with his fists balled.

Before Harry can inquire why the Slytherin is in their common room, Theo lands the first hit against Harry's face. The boy drops to the ground and Theo jumps on top of him, his fists pounding down.

Yells and screams can be heard from around them. Hands wrap around Theo's arms but nobody can pull him off. Harry tries to fight back. He actually lands a couple of blows. But nothing compared to the damage Theodore Nott does.

Once he has enough, Theo gets up and looks down at the pathetic lifeform that is supposed to be The Chosen One. His nose is broken — both boys have felt it crack under the Slytherin's fists — and is bleeding profusely. He has a black eye and his lip is split. And that is not counting the bruises forming on his cheekbones, chin, and forehead. His breathing is laboured as he stares up at the ceiling.

"If you look at her, try to speak to her, or even as much as breath in her direction, you filthy Half-Blood, I will do the Dark Lord a favour. Stay the fuck away from my fiancé", Theo hisses as he spits on the ground next to Harry's face.

He looks around the common room, at the shocked faces of the students. At last, his eyes land on Hermione. She looks horrified, eyes wide as she is backed up into the arms of Ron.

Theo huffs, shaking the blood off his hands as he turns around and marches out of Gryffindor Tower. He needs to calm himself. He doesn't want her to see him like this. He doesn't want to worry her even more.

Having taken the long way back to the infirmary he sees the two cousins asleep. Draco dragged a chair close to the bed and he has his head dropped forwards, his hand a firm hold on hers.

The dark-haired boy stands at the end of the bed, his hands wrapped around the frame. A hiss leaves his lips as the skin of his knuckles gets ripped open again.

"Teddy?" Her sweet voice is drowsy with sleep and painkillers.

The boy in question hums and walks closer towards her, placing a kiss on her forehead. "How are you feeling?", he whispers, careful to not wake up the other cousin.

A soft whimper leaves her lips as she tries to sit up. Theo quickly helps her, fluffing up the pillow. She looks at Draco next to her. "He looks tired."

Theo wants to retort that she looks worse for wear, but he bites his tongue. She has been looking exhausted ever since last year. It doesn't help that she has to prove to herself that she isn't like the rest of her family. Everybody keeps repeating about her being a Death Eater and Theo can see that it has taken a toll on her mental health. He wonders how many times she has laid awake — or Merlin forbid, has cried herself to sleep.

Theo pulls the covers up and tucks her in. "Go back to sleep."

Without protest, she snuggles into the pillow and soft puffs of breath indicate that she has fallen asleep.

He walks over to the other side and lays a hand on Draco's shoulder. The white-haired boy shoots up, disorientated where he is. But when he spots his cousin he is reminded of what happened.

"It's okay, I'll stay with her. You go to the dorm."

Draco shakes his head, tears in his eyes. "I don't... I don't want to leave her."

Theo sighs and pulls Draco to his feet. "Don't worry. I took care of Potter. He won't hurt her again... You look like shit, go. I won't say it again, Malfoy."

Draco nods dazed. He gives her one last look before he drags himself out of the infirmary. Theo takes place in the chair. He takes his wand out of his pocket and plays with it in his hands.

His hands hurt as dried blood clings to his skin. But Theodore would do it every time he had to. For her. Everything for her.

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @daintylittlerose

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helloalycia · 27 days

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𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 [𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

one / two / three / masterlist / wattpad

summary: when Jackie gets into a fight with Eve, she stops talking to you before finally revealing a bombshell that changes your relationship forever.

warning/s: mentions of underage drinking and of cheating.

author's note: here is the long awaited part 4! glad to see this one got a bit more interest, it was a fun one to write. this particular part is longer than the others, but i couldn’t split it so yeah, enjoy :)

After that random encounter with Eve at the arcade, I never really expected her presence to affect Jackie and I again. Oh, how wrong I was.

Jeff and I were at school to watch another Yellowjackets game, coincidentally against Eve's team, the Lions. Of course, I didn't think much of it as I was only here to support the team and Jackie. Jeff was waiting in the bleachers for me whilst I went to grab something I'd forgotten from my locker since I was already at school. It was on the way out and back to the bleachers when Eve found me, giving me a playful smirk.

"Well, if it isn't Y/N Sadecki," she said, eyeing me.

"Eve," I acknowledged with a nod.

"You here to support your little girlfriend?"

Knowing she was talking about Jackie, I felt my cheeks grow warm and tried to remain indifferent. "Jackie's just a friend."

"You should tell her that," Eve suggested with a knowing look.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing she was trying to wind me up for whatever reason.

"It's unfortunate you have to watch me beat her," she said with a satisfied smile.

"You can try," I retorted, defending the Yellowjackets.

All Eve did was smirk before walking away to rejoin her team on the pitch. As I watched her go, I noticed Jackie in the distance, watching the two of us and glaring at Eve. The game was about to start so she couldn't do much, but I hoped she knew there was nothing happening between us. The last thing I wanted was for Jackie to think I liked her arch nemesis, especially after we almost kissed a year ago.

The referee blew his whistle, signalling for the players to get in position, so I returned to my seat beside Jeff as Jackie was forced to let it go for now.

"Popcorn?" Jeff asked when I took a seat.

I accepted it wordlessly, stuffing my face as I watched the game with anticipation.

The game started out pretty tense, with both sides getting close to scoring but eventually getting beat by each other's defenders. It was almost half time and everybody could sense a tension between Jackie and Eve, with the latter blocking every attempt Jackie made to score. She was following the blonde like a shadow, never giving her chance to breathe, and though that was expected, it was a little more extra than usual. Even from where I was sat, I could see Jackie getting frustrated by her presence.

Just before half time, Shauna was racing towards the goal, kicking the ball to Jackie. Everybody was on their feet as they watched her approach, ready to score, but out of nowhere, Eve performed a sliding tackle. Jackie hit the grass instantly, making everyone wince at how hard she landed on her knees.

The referee blew the whistle – possibly a yellow card? – and Jackie was sitting upright and fixing Eve with a glare. Then Eve must have said something to piss her off because before anyone could react, Jackie got up and shoved Eve backwards on the grass. She looked like she was about to go at her again, but Shauna intervened and held Jackie back as she yelled something at Eve. The referee was frantically blowing his whistle as a few more players broke up their almost-fight, and the crowd stared with surprise, wondering what was happening.

As Jackie was escorted off pitch by the referee, I could see Coach Scott scolding her, but she didn't seem to care. Very unlike her, she rolled her eyes and walked off.

"The hell was that?" Jeff muttered with confusion.

I shook my head. "I don't know... but I should see if she's okay."

He nodded as I got up to leave, hoping Jackie was alright. Not only did that sliding tackle look painful, but clearly Eve had set her off, and Jackie wasn't easy to piss off.

I followed after her as she stormed inside the school, but she didn't get far when I called after her in the empty hallway.

"Jackie, are you okay? What was that?"

She didn't stop marching forward as she answered, "Leave me alone."

I furrowed my brows. "What? Jackie, I just–"

Suddenly, she stopped and turned around to glare at me. "I didn't ask for your help, now go."

Taken aback, I swallowed awkwardly. "I didn't–"

"Why the hell were you talking to her?" she interrupted, hazel eyes staring into my soul.

Feeling lost, I said, "What?"

She mimicked me, "What?" before scoffing angrily. "Don't play dumb, Y/N. Eve. Why were you talking to her?"

Unsure what this had to do with anything presently, I decided not to let her accusatory tone get to me. "She talked to me."

Jackie rolled her eyes. "How convenient."

Definitely lost, I asked, "You're mad at me? For that?" When she didn't answer, her jaw clenching, I said, "What did she say to you out there? Why are you upset?"

She shook her head, suppressing a frown. "Just leave me alone."

And with that, she stormed off towards the locker room, leaving me super confused and also super curious as to what Eve could have said to rile her up.

I hoped she'd calm down within a day or so and finally talk to me, but all weekend after the game, she'd been avoiding my calls. And if her mum picked up, she'd lie terribly saying Jackie wasn't there. I didn't understand why she was so pissed at me when Eve was the one who'd annoyed her. Could she really be angry at me for one conversation?

The only reason I finally got through to Jackie on the Sunday afternoon was because she picked up without meaning to.

"Jackie, wait, please!" I exclaimed, not wanting to lose her. "I don't want to fight. I just want to fix this."

To my surprise, she stayed on. "What?"

I swallowed hard. "You've been ignoring me. I... I know you're upset, but I just want to fix this."

I heard her sigh on the other side, but she said nothing.

"What did I do?" I asked in a pleading voice. "Tell me and I'll make it right." She fell silent and I sighed tiredly. "Okay, well, can you tell me what Eve said to upset you? You've never acted like that in a game before. You're supposed to be the team captain."

Just when I was convinced I was talking to myself, she finally spoke quietly. "She was saying how she was going to win the game." She paused, then reluctantly continued, "And you. Talking about how irresistible the Sadeckis were and how you were next on her list. That it was a shame she couldn't get to Jeff first."

My eyes widened slightly, not expecting that.

Sighing, Jackie admitted, "It sounds stupid now I'm saying it aloud. I never cared what she thought, she's just some girl. But I... I saw her talking to you and I just– I thought–"

She didn't finish, and I tried not to hold my breath, not wanting to read into it.

"Jackie, that's nonsense," I assured her kindly. "She was just smack talking you to get to you and she succeeded in that. I wish you hadn't let her."

"I know," she agreed. A pause, and then: "I'm sorry for getting upset and yelling at you. I was just pissed."

"It's okay," I said, giving in. "Just..."

"No," she suddenly said, a little more confidently. "I wasn't pissed. I was jealous."

Eyebrows furrowing, I said, "What?"

Upset, she continued, "She doesn't get to do that! Everything I've ever wanted, Eve tries to take. Jeff. Winning states."

I wasn't sure what to say, sensing her frustration through the phone.

"You," she finished, making me second guess if I'd heard correctly. Judging by my silence, she added, "Yes, I want you."

Jaw dropping a little, I said, "What?"

"I don't want to do this over the phone," she said, exhaling deeply.

"Jackie–"

"I've gotta go," she said, and hung up before I could say anything else.

I couldn't move for a moment, reeling at what she'd just said. Did she just admit she liked me?

—

Jackie's words were on my mind for the rest of the weekend and well into Monday. I tried ringing her again, but there was no response so my only hope was to see her in school and talk it out there.

But at school, I didn't see her around like usual. At lunch time, I found Shauna eating, who redirected me to the library, and that was where I ended up finding her. She was tucked between some shelves, looking for a book, and I told myself it was now or never before approaching her.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," I said quietly, aware we were still in the library and also not wanting to startle her. Still, she jumped a little.

Recovering from her surprise, she remained focused on the bookshelf. "I was studying."

"You avoided my calls," I reminded her. "Dropped a bombshell then hung up."

She swallowed visibly, before glancing at me. "Sorry."

Her eyes didn't linger for long, and she was back to looking at the books.

"i just want an explanation, Jackie," I told her.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "There's not much to say."

Her feigned innocence was admittedly starting to frustrate me, and I frowned as she continued to avoid my gaze.

"What did you mean when you said you wanted me?" I asked outright, tired of beating around the bush.

She mumbled, "Nothing."

"Jackie," I pressed, impatiently.

"Really, nothing," she assured me with a quick glance.

"It wasn't nothing. Not to you. Or you wouldn't have hung up. Wouldn't have gotten so upset."

She pressed her lips together, sighing deeply, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt when I watched as she seemed to struggle with an internal conflict.

"Jackie–"

"Fine," she said suddenly, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "It was something."

I waited, heart sinking to my stomach the longer she took to speak.

"I want you," she finally admitted, turning to face me with a worried expression. "Because I fucking like you. And you make me happy. And I hate that I didn't see it sooner. But there it is."

It was as if someone was squeezing my insides, everything shrinking into nothingness as she said the impossible.

"But... but why is that a bad thing?" I asked softly.

She exhaled, shaking her head and looking away. "It's not. It's just... complicated."

I tried to meet her eyes. "Why? Because of Jeff?"

Saddened eyes finally met mine, accompanying a guilty nod. And it spurred me on for some reason, because the girl I liked actually liked me back, and how the hell was that possible?

"I don't really give a shit about what he would think," I said truthfully, surprising her. "What anyone would think."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

It was hard not to laugh as the realisation of my situation dawned on me. "I liked you way before he did, Jackie. I've had a crush on you for years. Why the hell would I let him get in the way of that now that I have a chance?"

The fact that she seemed genuinely taken aback by my admission made me wonder if I'd hid my crush well enough all these years, or if she was just terribly unobservant. Either way, she didn't know what to say as she tried to study my expression.

"I do have a chance now, right?" I asked with a shocking amount of confidence than I thought I was capable of.

As if the roles were reversed, she struggled for words. "I– yes, but–"

That was all the confirmation I needed when I stepped forward and kissed her, hoping to put her mind at ease. She relaxed against me, kissing me back slowly and carefully and in a way that made me forget anything other than her.

After a moment, I pulled away to speak, but she grabbed me by the shirt, tugging me back to her lips, and I didn't argue it. My arms wrapped around her waist, her back gently hitting the bookshelf behind her, and she didn't let go of my shirt as she held me in place, lips devouring mine.

My mind was spinning and my insides were humming with desire once we pulled apart for air, and I could still barely believe I'd just made out with Jackie Taylor.

"Now what?" I breathed out, eyes flickering between hers.

She caught her breath. "Well, I like you and you like me."

"Yeah..."

A ghost of a smile was on her lips as she let her head fall to my shoulder with feigned frustration. "Jeff is gonna be pissed."

I snorted with amusement, shaking my head. "He doesn't have to know. Not for now, at least."

She hummed in agreement, pulling her head back to look at me again, though this time truly looking at me. I grew nervous under her gaze, any confidence I had disappearing.

"Sorry, you were studying," I said lamely, though in my defence, I didn't expect to interrupt her by making out with her between the shelves.

She shrugged like it was a mere inconvenience before tugging me back to her lips, and of course, I couldn't resist Jackie Taylor's charm.

—

Sometimes I couldn't quite believe I was in a relationship with Jackie, albeit a secret one. But then she'd look at me in a way that only I knew meant more and I thanked my lucky stars she liked me back.

When we were in the presence of others, we'd act like we always did, though Jackie would sometimes leave lingering touches or stare at me for a little too long, and I always warned her not to make it so obvious but she seemed to take that as a challenge.

Not even Y/BF/N knew, and one time at school, she grew suspicious. Again, all Jackie's fault, but I'd like to think I denied it pretty well. I was at my locker talking to Y/BF/N about our Music class assignment when Jackie approached us with her usual smile.

"Hey," she said to us both.

"'Sup, Jackie," Y/BF/N greeted, returning her smile.

"Not much, just wanted to ask Y/N if she was still on for studying later," she said, glancing at me. Funnily enough, that wasn't code for anything – she was actually gonna help me study. But the way her hand rested on my forearm as she awaited an answer definitely earned a second glance from Y/BF/N.

I nodded, remembering I had her notes in my locker and grabbing them. "Yeah, that's fine. Can you take these? I'm just gonna forget otherwise."

She accepted the notes, finally letting go of my arm, stuffing them between her books in her hand. "Awesome. I'll catch you later then."

"See you later, Jackie," I replied, and her gaze definitely lingered a second longer than it should've, making my cheeks grow warm at the attention. I broke our stare and she chuckled before walking away, probably not even realising she'd done anything out of the ordinary.

I cleared my throat, about to resume my conversation with Y/BF/N, but she was glancing back at Jackie before quirking a brow at me.

"What?" I asked, closing my locker.

"The hell was that?"

I played dumb. "I don't know what you mean."

She looked at me with disbelief before tracing her hand up my arm exaggeratedly. With a high pitched voice, she mimicked Jackie, "Oh, Y/N, I do hope we're still on for studying later!"

I slapped her hand away, avoiding her eyes. "Oh, be quiet, that's not what happened."

She followed me as I attempted to walk away. "Isn't it? Girl, that was weird, even for Jackie." When I didn't reply, she asked, "Are you two together?"

I scoffed a little too quickly, glancing at her sideways. "You're kidding, right? She's Jackie Taylor."

Y/BF/N narrowed her eyes at me with suspicion. "You didn't say no."

I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "Okay then, no, we're not. You done now?"

Thankfully she dropped the subject, but I was still a little nervous at being found out. It wasn't that I didn't trust her, but telling her just meant it was one step closer to getting to Jeff. And Jackie and I were still new – there was less pressure this way.

—

"Lottie Matthews is loaded," Tommy said what everyone was thinking.

The band and I were stood outside Lottie's house, a party which she had invited us to and was paying us to perform at this evening, thanks to Jackie's recommendation.

"C'mon, they'll be waiting," Y/BF/N encouraged us all, snapping us out of our daze of admiration, before leading the way.

We brought our equipment inside, past the few guests that had arrived a little earlier than they were supposed to, and Lottie and Jackie were there to greet us.

"You all look great!" Jackie exclaimed with a smile once she spotted us, before her eyes landed on me and her smile softened into one that was only reserved for me. "Love the coordination."

I rolled my eyes playfully, though felt my cheeks flushing at the attention.

"Thanks again for having us, Lottie," Aaron thanked her for all of us. "Where d'you want us setting up?"

Lottie began to lead the way to the gigantic living room, the others dragging their equipment with them, and I was about to join them when I felt Jackie tugging me back.

"Hello to you too," I said with a stifled chuckle as she pulled me into her, almost knocking heads.

"You look really good," she said quietly, eyes looking me up and down.

"So do you," I returned, squeezing her hand in mine before glancing around then sneaking a quick kiss. "I should go help the band. But I'll see you around, Jackie."

She sighed childishly but nodded, letting me go, and I tried not to laugh as I followed after the others. I'd like to say that she was good at keeping us a secret for the rest of the party, but every encounter we had went pretty much like that.

As more people showed up, the party was in full swing within half an hour, and what a party it was. Lottie's house was practically a mansion, with a games room, cinema room, a huge pool in the garden and more than enough rooms for people to sneak into. Between sets, the band and I promised we'd stay sober, only here for the music (and Jackie), but that didn't mean we couldn't witness some hilarious stunts pulled by other kids stupid enough to drink their body weight in alcohol.

It was quite the affair, and it was made even better when I remembered how much Lottie was paying us to perform. Her parents were filthy rich, so what was probably pocket money to her was going straight into my savings for college.

After yet another exhilarating performance, I was waved over to Jackie who immediately grabbed my hand and pulled me to the empty spot by the dining table to talk. We perched ourselves on the edge of the table, hands a mere few inches away from one another, and it took every ounce of willpower for me to not touch her. I couldn't help it, she just looked so beautiful.

"You guys are playing so well tonight," she complimented sweetly, before tilting her head to look at me with a cheeky glint in her eyes. "You finally gonna tell me who that last song was about?"

I rolled my eyes playfully, remembering the last time she'd asked me that at the fair. Except this time, she was definitely playing dumb to embarrass me. "Something tells me you know, Jackie."

"Yeah, but I have to hear you say it," she continued to tease, finally resting her hand on top of mine.

I gave her a knowing look, smile creeping on my lips. "You know it's about you."

She feigned surprised, hand to her chest. "Really? I never would have guessed! Gosh, Y/N, I'm so touched!"

I shook my head with dismay as she laughed at her own joke. We stayed there for a little longer, her catching me up with some dumb stuff she'd witnessed tonight and also pestering me about a date she wanted me to take her on, and I loved every second of it. Because everybody was stuck in their own world, the closeness between Jackie and I wasn't even suspicious.

Unfortunately, that got interrupted when some guy approached us, drink in hand and definitely a little tipsy as he struggled to stand upright.

"Hey, ladies," he bellowed over the radio playing through the speakers.

Neither Jackie or I said anything as we waited for him to either speak or leave.

"You're the girl who plays the guitar, right?" he slurred his words a little, meeting my eyes. "I never thought I'd like a lady musician, but there's something about the way you–"

"I'm not interested," I told him firmly.

He blinked, not expecting that, before looking to Jackie and trying his luck once more. "How about you? You're a–"

"Don't even think about it," she told him with a judgemental stare.

He rolled his eyes at the rejection before downing the cup in his hand and walking away.

"Y'know, I love that people are finally seeing how hot you are an' all, but I also hate it," Jackie admitted with a half smile, glancing at me.

I breathed out, chuckling at her honesty. "It's a good thing I've got eyes for someone else, isn't it?"

She pressed her lips together, bright eyes flickering between mine distractedly, and then her expression softened. "I really wanna kiss you right now."

I nudged my shoulder with hers gently. "Later. I promise."

She pouted adorably, only making me want to kiss her, but I managed to hold back. And this didn't seem to sit right with her as she jumped off the edge of the table and spun around to face me, holding out her hand.

"What?" I asked, resting my hand in hers.

Once she closed her grasp on it, she dragged me through the bodies of guests before pulling me into a room that I'd never been in before. It looked like some sort of pantry in the kitchen, well-stocked, I couldn't lie. But I barely got chance to ask her what she was doing before she pressed her lips to mine, kissing me hard.

All night I'd wanted to kiss her. but clearly she'd wanted it just as much as she pulled me close, barely letting me breathe as we made out between the dried pasta and sweetcorn cans. The party was merely a distant memory as I tuned out the chatter of the guests and the beat of the speakers, instead succumbing to the taste of Jackie's lips and the scent of her perfume.

We were breathless when we finally pulled apart, her hands encasing my face between them, my breath tickling her lips.

"You really couldn't wait, could you?" I spoke, a hint of amusement in my voice.

She scoffed lightheartedly, shoving me back. "Shut up."

I laughed quietly. "Bit desperate, isn't it? For Jackie Taylor?"

She quirked a brow, finger fixing her smudged lip gloss. "Really? Says the one who wrote a million songs about me?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Touché."

She smirked, before fixing her hair too. "I'm gonna go. You should too if you wanna make your next set."

"Yeah, yeah..."

She winked before leaving me alone in the pantry, and I made sure my own lipstick was fixed before heading out.

The party went on until pretty late into the night, and it was after midnight when Lottie and Jackie began kicking stragglers out. The band called it a night, but I felt bad leaving Lottie and her friends to clean up alone, so I stayed back to help out. By the time we were done, I offered to give Jackie a ride home, mostly because I just wanted to make sure she got back safely.

"Your mum knows you're with me, right?" she asked from the passenger's seat as I was driving.

"Yep," I said between a yawn. "You think she would've trusted me out this late alone?"

Jackie let out a tired chuckle, leaning against the door. "Yeah, she loves me."

I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "Whatever."

"Sleepover at mine," she insisted. "It's already late. I don't want you driving back alone. You might as well."

I glanced at her. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "You're overdue cuddles anyway. It's only fair."

This brought a smile to my face. "It's only fair. Uh-huh."

Even tired, she was adorable, and I couldn't say no. Plus, I was exhausted and it was the weekend, so what was the harm?

Once I arrived at Jackie's, we headed straight to her room and collapsed in her bed together, tired but content as we wrapped ourselves up in one another. The perfect end to a perfect night.

—

I changed the notes on my music sheet, giving my composition another go on the piano. It sounded a lot better now, but I still wasn't happy with it. I was working on my assignment for Music class, having booked out the classroom and piano for today's lunch to hopefully get some inspiration away from my bedroom. It was working, kind of.

As I chewed my lip, tapping the same key over and over thoughtfully, I heard footsteps behind me and glanced over my shoulder.

"Jackie," I said, surprised but smiling at her presence.

"So this is why you ditched me," she said jokingly, before standing by my side and resting a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm working on my assignment," I reminded her with a knowing look.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, a ghost of a smile on her lips before she nudged me over and took a seat on the piano bench beside me.

She began to press some random keys with her finger, making me stifle a laugh.

"Like Beethoven himself," I teased, and she shoved me in the shoulder without looking up.

"You're shit at soccer, so zip it," she reminded me, making me groan.

"You're never letting me live that down, are you?"

Finally, she glanced at me with a quirked brow and an amused glint in her eyes. "What part? The bloody nose? The missing the goal a billion times? Or the breathlessness after running only one lap around the field?"

I pressed my lips together, narrowing my eyes her way. "I hate you."

She laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to my cheek before returning her attention to the piano. "Yeah, no you don't. Now, teach me how to play something."

I sighed, knowing she wouldn't leave me be if I didn't, so I taught her a few chords, enough to satisfy her urge to be skilled in something she really wasn't. Okay, a little mean, she actually wasn't terrible. But she was impatient and very easily distracted, and I was running short on time.

"Okay, Jackie, I actually need to do my work now," I said apologetically.

She sighed dramatically, giving me a doe-eyed look. "Fiiiiine, if you must."

"If you really wanna learn, I can teach you properly another time," I promised her, tilting my head towards her, mimicking her expression.

"Nah, I just wanted to spend some time with you, but I can see I'm not wanted nor loved," she said, keeping up with her dramatics as she stood up.

"Jackie." I laughed as she lingered, slowly approaching the door.

"Until next time, I suppose," she continued, and I rolled my eyes at her theatrics as she left the classroom.

God, she could be annoying sometimes.

—

It had been a few months since Jackie and I had started dating and I guess I was so enthralled with her that I never really considered how everybody else perceived us, particularly my brother.

I was certain we'd done a good job at keeping us a secret, but then Jeff was becoming suspicious, and I knew we couldn't keep it hidden for much longer.

Using our usual cover story of 'studying', Jackie was over at mine to hang out, though this time staying for dinner at my mum's insistence. Shauna was also over, since she was Jeff's girlfriend an' all, and it didn't make much of a difference since we were all friends, but then dinner actually happened and I felt stupid for thinking it would go smoothly.

"Y'know, I love how close of friends you and Y/N have become," my mum was saying to Jackie as she passed her the garlic bread. "Always inviting her over to yours."

"Just tutoring her for French class," Jackie answered smoothly. "Happy to do it."

"You're terrible at French," Shauna commented with furrowed brows, and Jackie almost faltered as she thought of a response.

"But better than I am," I filled in with an awkward laugh.

Jeff quirked a brow. "And your grade is improving with all this tutoring?"

I met his gaze, sensing his suspicion. "B average."

He hummed, glancing between Jackie and I curiously.

"You should invite Jackie here more," my mum said to me, thankfully interrupting whatever Jeff thought he was piecing together. "I don't want her family thinking we're not a good host."

"Oh, they would never think that," Jackie replied with a laugh. "They love you."

My mum flashed her a grateful smile, eating out of the palm of her hand. I believed we'd gotten away with it, plus I now had more reason to invite her over. But when I looked back opposite me, I saw Jeff and Shauna studying the two of us curiously and I was never good under pressure. I focused on my dinner as my mum rambled on about something or the other, but the couple before me were watching me the whole evening.

Once the meal was over, Jeff went to drop Shauna home as I did the same with Jackie, though I was a little more distracted than she was.

"I love your mum, she's so cute," she was saying as I drove. "And you heard her, right? Gotta stop by more. Her words."

"Yeah, I think you're actually gonna have to start tutoring me French now," I realised.

She pulled a face. "What? Why? I suck at French."

I gave her a sideways glance. "Did you really not see Jeff and Shauna? They don't think we're studying, Jackie."

As if remembering, Jackie snorted. "Yeah, but who cares what they think? There's no proof otherwise."

I sighed. "I know, but I also know my brother. He's gonna be all over us. So, you're gonna have to start tutoring me French when you come over."

She chuckled quietly at this, unbothered. "Oui oui, Monsieur Y/N."

I tried not to laugh. "It's Madame. Monsieur is for guys."

Pursing her lips, she glanced at me. "Fuck."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "God, you're lucky I'm good at French."

—

Asking Jackie to actually tutor me for French class was easier said than done. Turned out she really did suck at French. I ended up teaching her more than she could teach me a lot of the times, and then there was the issue of how she kept getting distracted by random things because the last thing she wanted to do was homework.

The few times that Jeff 'accidentally' walked in my room, we were actually studying, which only reaffirmed my suspicion that he suspected something more between Jackie and I. After the first few weeks, he stopped checking on us, so I assumed he stopped caring. And I may or may not have let my guard down just a little...

"Okay, I just need to recite this to you," I told Jackie, sat cross legged on my bed, opposite her. "Follow along on the paper and tell me if I miss something."

She hummed, glancing at the paper before looking back to me. I could see she wasn't focused and gave her a knowing look.

"Please, Jackie, my test is next week."

She laughed. "Y/N, you know this paper front to back."

I didn't let up. "Jackie."

She sighed dramatically before straightening up and looking at the paper. "Okay. Go."

I nodded and cleared my throat, before reciting the paper in French. It was a speaking exam, and though I wasn't too worried, it didn't hurt to practice. Of course, as I was speaking, I realised Jackie was only looking at me, eyes on mine, and definitely not the paper in her hand.

"...Jackie!" I scolded her, making her blink. "How do you know I'm saying it right, huh? You're not even reading it!"

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh again, then tilted her head towards me. "I'm sorry. I can't help getting distracted. You're so hot when you're focused."

I sighed, though my cheeks were growing warm. "Jackie. Not the time."

"Well, if now's not the time...," she started teasingly, leaning forward on her hands so she was directly in front of my face. Her eyes flickered between mine flirtatiously as she continued, "Then when is?"

I tried to hold my ground, refusing to let her win just because she was stupidly cute and stupidly kissable right now.

"Y'know what I just realised?" she asked rhetorically, hazel eyes glinting with mischief. "Teasing you is pointless. One kiss and you're mine."

"Jackie–"

She silenced me by doing just that, pressing her strawberry-flavoured lips to mine, courtesy of her favourite lipgloss. Unfortunately she was right, and as soon as she kissed me, I melted under her touch, eyes fluttering close. Her hand rested on my neck as she tilted my head up, having the perfect gap to push her tongue into my mouth.

As we made out, studying long forgotten, my senses were overtaken by all things Jackie, so much that I didn't hear anybody come in my bedroom until said person cursed out loud.

Immediately pulling apart from Jackie, I looked to the door to see Jeff standing there with a shocked expression.

"I knew you weren't studying!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at us. Then it seemed to dawn on him what we were doing instead, and he glared at Jackie. "Seriously?!" With a lower voice, he whisper-shouted, "You're sucking face with my sister?!"

Embarassed, I scolded him. "Jeff!"

"In case you forgot, you cheated on me with my best friend," Jackie retorted, standing up to face him.

"So you make out with my sister?!" he repeated, hysterical.

Jackie scoffed. "You don't get to be mad right now! You literally–"

"That doesn't give you the right to–"

"–and you cheated on me for fucking months–"

"–my little sister isn't your–"

I sat there awkwardly as they bickered over the stupidest things, still flushed with embarrassment.

The sound of my mum calling all of our names, followed by the promise of lunch, silenced Jackie and Jeff long enough for me to stand up off the bed, subtly wiping Jackie's lipgloss from my mouth.

"This... this isn't over," Jeff said, looking between us, before storming out of my room and downstairs.

Jackie clenched her jaw before glancing at me, expression softening. "You okay?"

"Yeah... I think. You?"

She nodded. "Let's go eat."

The two of us trailed in after Jeff, taking a seat beside each other at the dining table where my parents were waiting already. Thankfully, Jackie was still her easygoing, talkative self and made conversation with my parents as we ate. Jeff and I were quiet, occasionally glancing at one another before looking the other way if we accidentally caught each other's gaze. I still couldn't believe he'd caught me making out with Jackie. This wasn't how I wanted to tell him about us.

"...Y/N, Jeff, you two are oddly quiet today," my dad noticed, making everyone look to us.

When Jeff didn't speak, I answered, "I'm just a little tired. Lots of studying."

Jeff choked on his water and I instantly regretted my choice of words. Jackie looked between us before changing the subject with my parents, saving the moment. Thankfully, they didn't try to talk to me again, and Jeff still didn't have much to say.

After a horribly awkward lunch, I left to drop Jackie off home, glad when we were finally away from Jeff's judgy eyes.

"So... you think he'll get over it?" Jackie asked me in the car.

"Probably," I answered. "Eventually."

She nodded slowly, glancing at my house as we drove away, before saying, "Sorry if it's awkward between you both now. It wasn't my intention."

I sighed, a small smile on my face when I glanced at her. "It's okay, Jackie, it's not your fault. Besides. You're kind of worth it, so."

"Oh, really?" she asked, quirking a brow playfully.

"Just a little," I played along, and she laughed.

"That's good to know, yeah," she said, before squeezing my knee gently.

—

I wanted to talk things through with Jeff as soon as possible, but when I returned home after dropping Jackie off, he was in his room and I figured it was best to give him some space. The next morning, he was already out the house when I went downstairs for breakfast, so my only hope was to find him at school.

I wasn't sure if he was actually annoyed at me or not, since he hadn't spoken to me since yesterday and I didn't really see him around much. I put it down to needing some space again, giving him the benefit of the doubt considering he saw his little sister and ex-girlfriend making out.

After school however, I was surprised to find him waiting for me by my car in the lot. He didn't look annoyed or upset, which was a good sign, but I was also planning to wait for Jackie just now, so I hoped this wouldn't go down badly.

"Hey, Jeff," I greeted as I approached him, a little confused.

"So, I've thought about it," he said instantly, hand clutching the strap of his backpack as he paced a little.

"Uh-huh..."

"I just needed to process it all," he continued, stopping his pacing but struggling to stand still.

"Right," I acknowledged, patiently waiting for him to finish.

"You don't need my permission, obviously," he disclaimed quickly, before saying, "but I'm okay with it. You and– you and Jackie."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised at his reaction, or at least witnessing it so soon.

"It was just strange," he admitted, finally relaxing once he'd gotten his words out. "My ex moving on with my sister."

I couldn't resist reminding him, "You literally moved on with her best friend."

He winced slightly, but nodded. "Right."

I chewed the inside of my cheek as we stood there, neither of us saying anything.

"Okay then...," I started, once I realised he was done. "So, we're cool?"

"We're cool," he agreed, before reluctantly asking, "Out of curiosity though... how long? Y'know, you and Jackie?"

"A month? Maybe a little longer?" I answered truthfully.

He nodded, letting that digest, then said, "You seem to get along well. I'm happy for you, Y/N."

I began to smile, despite his awkwardness. "We do."

He smiled too, albeit a little uncomfortably, and mine soon turned into one of amusement.

"Hey," Jackie finally arrived, looking between Jeff and I, though unsure how to react as she was as surprised as I was upon seeing him.

"He's okay with it," I told her, making her eyes widen slightly, taken aback.

"Oh."

"I'm happy for you both," Jeff added, nodding at Jackie.

She recovered from her temporary stupor quite quickly and began to flash Jeff a mildly condescending smile. "Well, that's very mature of you, Jeff. Thanks."

He seemed a little embarrassed, but nodded before glancing at me. "Catch you later, Y/N."

"See you later," I confirmed, watching as he left us to it.

Only when he was out of hearing distance did I look back to Jackie, who was stifling her urge to laugh.

"I guess that's that then," she said what we were both thinking.

"It is," I confirmed with a hidden smile.

Her green-golden eyes met mine with a hint of mischief. "That means there's no need to hide this anymore, right?"

Realising she was right, I nodded. "Guess not."

A grin appeared on her lips, but before I could question it, she yanked me forward by my jacket, pressing her lips to mine in a brief yet passionate kiss that had me floating and forgetting what my name was.

She flashed me another smile before getting into the car, and I was left speechless, before a grin appeared on my own lips. No more hiding anymore.

#jackie taylor x you #jackie taylor imagine #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor #yellowjackets imagine #yellowjackets #ella purnell

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whxre-bxby · 1 year

Text

“Cursed By Blue”

Recom Y/N x Recom Lyle x Recom Quaritch x Recom Mansk

Masterlist

Summary: The recom team is out on another mission, exploring the woods in search of Sully. However, the ladies become inconvenienced by a certain seasonal feeling they didn’t expect. It hits Y/n the hardest and it’s not long before the others understand what’s happening. While everyone fights their instincts, the only option Y/N sees available is to run.

WARNING: SMUT, non-con, forced smut (to a certain extent), predator/prey, heat fucking, heat cycles, penetration, unprotected sex, breeding kink, quickie, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4139

We were nearing the weekend. Not that that affected us. Lyle told me it was Friday today and I was surprised because I had completely lost track of time. But it didn’t really matter what day it was because we didn’t get time off anyway. Finding Jake was our number one priority and no breaks other than sleep were allowed.

So here we were again, walking deeper into the forest of Pandora. It had just passed lunch time and we were here since early morning.

No one was tired though, not yet. We weren’t allowed to be either.

Today also happened to be warmer than usual so I wasn't wearing my usual long-sleeved attire and pants. I dressed like Walker usually did, in a sports bra and shorts. She and Z-Dog decided to wear tank tops like most of the others.

The forest grew quieter the more we distanced ourselves from the RDA base and the city. Soon, we could only hear the wind blowing between the leaves and the distant calls of animals. That and our heavy footsteps.

The Colonel and Lyle started the day off by leading us into the woods. As the hours passed by, the line mixed since everyone had a different walking pace and now it was Z-Dog and me leading at the front. Walker was close behind.

I had been excessively drinking for the last 30-45 minutes and I wasn’t sure why. Z-Dog glanced over at me when she saw me reach for another water bottle.

“That’s your third one already. Are you okay”? She asks, watching me gulp it down. I swallow most of the water and inhale sharply, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I don’t know.” I say, gasping for air. “Maybe I’m dehydrated?”

“Don’t think so, we always drink the same amount and I’m fine.” Z-Dog says. We continue walking for a while longer in silence, thinking. Then Z reaches for her water and starts drinking it like she’s been running.

I laugh a little but seeing her drink made me feel thirsty again.

I reach for my water only to notice I have a few drops left. I down the remaining liquid and hold the bottle to my head. It seemed to be getting really warm.

Turning around, I open my mouth and want to say something to Walker only to see her finishing her own bottle of water. I look behind me fully and no one else is drinking.

“What. The. Fuck.” I say, feeling genuinely confused. Walker looks up at me with water drizzling down her chin and Z turns around.

I wheeze and Z laughs and we wait for Walker to catch up so we can walk together.

“Do you have any water left?” I ask her, knowing we at the front drank ours.

“No, that was my last bottle.” she says and I notice how heavy my breathing is becoming.

“Wait, you ran out too?” she asks and Z-Dog scoffs.

“Yeah, been drinkin’ like we ran a marathon.” she says and I nod.

“I’ll ask the others.” I say before turning around and seeing Mansk behind me.

“Can I have some of your water?” I ask, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. Compared to us, Mansk is not sweating at all. He’s wearing his usual long-sleeved jacket over his tank top.

The man glances up at me and his eyebrows furrow for a split second before he nods and hands one of his bottles over.

“You ran out already?” he asks while I open it and drink about half.

I wipe my mouth again, closing my eyes for a second and nodding. “Yeah.” I breathe out. “Thanks.” I say, handing it back to him.

“Y’ alright?” he asks again taking the bottle back and I nod, not thinking much of it. Mansk doesn’t seem convinced.

Ja overheard our conversation and sped up his walk to catch up to us. When Mansk noticed his presence he seemed a little relieved.

“Is she okay?” he asks his colleague. Ja was the medic of the group so he would know. He took a glance at me and also thought of what I suggested.

“Did you drink enough?” he asks me and I nod.

“Yeah, I drank all my water and some of Mansk’s.” I scoff, wiping sweat from my forehead again.

Ja presses the back of his hand against my cheek and then my forehead.

“Shit, you’re burning up.” he said, scanning over me.

I was feeling extremely warm. My skin felt like it was burning and my clothes suddenly felt tight and restrictive.

In front of us, Z-Dog and Walker are discussing something.

Ja felt up my arm and checked my pulse while we were walking and Mansk stayed on my other side in case I was in fact not okay.

“Yeah, somethin’s definitely not right.” Ja announces to us, not quite sure how to help me. Mansk has his eyebrows furrowed, examining my behaviour.

“They have it too.” I say, pointing at Z-Dog and Walker who now turn around. Walker is grimacing a little and Z looks worried.

Mansk’s and Ja’s heads look up at them and they notice that they are breathing heavily and sweating just like me. Ja also takes note of the empty bottles in their hands.

“Everthin’ okay up there?” the Colonel calls. It seems as though the others have noticed the small commotion and the medical check-up.

Ja turns around, rubbing the back of his head.

“Uh- no sir not really.” he calls back, stopping in his tracks to wait for Quaritch so that he can explain. Mansk and I keep walking and he watches me intently as I break out into a type of pant. My ears are pinned back and my tail is wildly flicking around behind me. My eyelids also happen to suddenly grow heavy and I keep them half-lidded.

What snaps me out of my haze is Z calling my name.

“Hey, Y/N come over here for a sec.” she says, turning around. Walker is running her hand down her face in what looks like frustration.

I nod, jogging over and leaving Mansk behind. He’s still watching me, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

Neither Z nor Walker looks like they feel like joking around anymore.

“Have you read the manual?” she asks and it takes me a few seconds to realise she means the Na’vi Body data.

“Yeah, of course, we had to.” I say, trying to play it cool. She raises an eyebrow and I sigh.

“I stopped once I reached the shit about plants. It got boring.” I say and she nods, knowing damn well she didn’t read further than that either.

“Walker read it, and it said somethin’ ‘bout a heat cycle.” Z says and I glance at Walker.

“Yeah… we’re not dehydrated. I remember the symptoms. It’s happening right now.” Walker says, scanning my reddened face.

“Does it burn?” Z asks and my ears perk forward for once, being relieved from the tense strain I kept them in the past half hour.

“Everything burns.” I say.

“You know what I mean.” she adds and I groan in frustration too.

“Yeah.” I mumble. I can’t deny the heat that’s been forming between my legs. I tried ignoring it but it grew worse.

“Do you feel, like-” Z says, gasping for air herself. “...uncontrollably horny?” she asks with a light laugh and Walker smirks.

I have no shame admitting anything in front of them so I chuckle and answer. “More like painfully horny.”

They laugh a little, struggling to even out their breathing.

“We need to distance ourselves from them.” Walker says, glancing over her shoulder. “Especially you Y/N you seem to have it bad.” she chuckles, motioning to my panting self. “Otherwise we’re done for and this squad will no longer be as professional.”

My eyes widen. “Wait- you’re joking right? It’ll go away like tomorrow. How would they know about this if we don’t tell them?” I ask and Walker opens her mouth to answer but before she can, my answer is handed to me differently.

“You smell that?” someone says behind us. My heart stops pounding for a second. Right our new senses have us picking up more.

“These cursed blue bitches.” I swear and Z breathily laughs, seeming to know how screwed we are. She’s passed the stage of denial and is now accepting our fate.

We turn around and notice that Lyle was talking to Prager. Prager nodded and they stopped walking. Mansk had also stopped in his tracks, turning to them. Behind them, Ja, Quaritch, Brown, Lopez and the remaining team catch up and everyone comes to a halt.

Quaritch walks between them and deeply inhales. He looks around, noticing how his soldiers are smelling what he is too.

I feel my heart slowly drop and I hold on to Z-Dog for some comfort. All three of us are watching them, dreading their reaction.

“What is it?” Lopez asks.

“No idea, but it’s fuckin’ great.” Lyle chuckles and my breath catches in my throat. It seems to affect them too. As Lyle inhales, his own tail is swishing around behind him and his muscles flex. He’s growing restless and the recom’s are looking at their Colonel for an answer or instructions.

Quaritch’s tail does the same, his own ears pinning back and then his gaze meets mine. He intensely stares me down and I feel like my entire body stops functioning for a second.

“Oh fuck.” I whisper while barely moving my lips. I feel a little hazy again and start leaning against Z-Dog. She sighs looking more pissed than worried and catches me, trying to keep me upright.

The soldiers follow the Colonel’s eyes and notice us standing a bit further away.

“It ain’t dehydration, I can tell ya that.” Quaritch says, referring to Ja’s hypothesis of what might be happening. Seems like he read the manual too.

The stupid excitement in my stomach has grown so big it’s making me feel sick. And all their eyes on us have me more nervous.

“Can we leave?” I whisper and she nods, staring down the others as if they would move when she looks away.

“Yeah, come on.” she says, guiding me forwards. I take a wobbly step, almost stumbling.

Walking won’t do it. I have so much adrenaline coursing through my veins I want to run away.

I glance back, noticing everyone’s tense poses. Their eyes follow our every move, making them seem almost predatory. My only instinct now is to run.

Z gives me a push and my legs take off. I start running and hear Walker and Z-Dog do the same behind me. There’s a commotion happening behind them and the next time I glance behind me, everyone is chasing after us.

It was a miserable escape attempt, to be honest. We were already so out of breath compared to them, we really didn’t make it far.

Z caught up to me because she was not affected by the heat as much as me.

Within the next few seconds, I was tackled to the ground, luckily hitting the soft grass. I fall with a shriek and when I look up I see Z-Dog made it a little further but she’s down now too.

I felt bodyweight on my back and a hand wrapped around the back of my neck. I couldn’t move. Z-Dog could and the man that pushed her was getting a beating right now.

I cry out, feeling uncomfortable in this position. My chest was pressed into the ground and I was struggling to breathe.

“Don’t fight it, Buttercup.” the voice above me grumbled and I instantly knew it was Lyle who had his knee pressing down into my back.

The feeling and the effects of the scent the recom’s picked up had everyone acting on their primal instincts. Most common sense was gone as their new bodies seemed to be overpowered by the will of nature.

The scent had the soldiers feel just as worked up as the heat cycle did. Instinctively, they ran after the ‘potential mate’ they felt most attracted to because that was Eywa’s will.

I couldn’t say anything, I felt completely overwhelmed and somehow, submitting to him felt like the right thing to do. My right mind would never let this happen but I couldn’t think of anything else but finding some relief in this agonising feeling. My body longed for this.

I notice from the corner of my eye that Lyle is quite literally throwing his equipment to the side, ridding himself of any unnecessary accessories.

Suddenly, boots appear in front of my face but I don’t have the strength to look up.

“Hurry it up Corporal or else I’ll do it myself.” the voice growls and my eyes widen when I notice it’s Quaritch.

With swift movements, my bag is removed from my body and my belt is ripped off. I gasp and suddenly, Lyle pushes my shorts down, hastily pulling them down my legs and chucking them to the side.

His own skin feels like it’s burning so he starts to remove his shirt. However, the Colonel is impatient so he pushes Lyle out of the way and takes matters into his own hands.

Lyle huffs in annoyance, wanting to rid himself of his own feeling of being painfully hard.

“Let me help you out, sweetheart.” Quaritch growls, tearing my panties off. They just need access to my hole, there’s no time to take my bra off.

I whine out when he scratches my skin while tearing the fabric off but it goes unheard. It doesn’t matter. Now Quaritch can see how needy I’m feeling and there is no questioning anything anymore.

“Fuckin’ hell, you could’ve just told me, princess.” he teased, quickly undoing his belt. I push myself off the ground, getting on all fours but my chest is almost immediately pushed back down against the forest floor so that my back is arching and my ass and pussy are on full display to the Colonel.

“Please-” I whimper, needing to feel some type of relief. Quaritch’s ears perk forward and an evil grin spreads across his face before he pushes his pants down to his mid-thigh.

His throbbing cock springs out and he presses the tip against my heat. I can feel his pulse through it and he can feel mine. Before I can comprehend anything else, he harshly thrusts his hips forward, filling me up all the way.

I cry out, stretching my arms out in front of me and gripping a strand of grass.

Miles hisses, pinning his ears back before setting a rough pace. I push myself further against him so that he fully bottoms me out with every thrust, his abdomen hitting my ass. He curses under his breath.

“Fuck, just like that, baby.” he snarled, holding my hips in place. One of his hands roughly groped my ass, delivering a spank to it which made me jolt forward.

It’s a lot to take. Even though we’re both Na’vi, he seems to still be hitting my cervix with his tip whenever he thrusts in.

I spread my legs a little further to give him better access and he speeds up his pace a little. He grips my tail, tugging me back to meet his thrusts and I’m clawing at the ground to try and contain myself.

“Miles-” I moan and it makes him growl.

“Just a little- more.” he grunts, feeling his high approach.

This wasn’t about lovemaking or pleasuring the other person. We were so needy we just needed to fuck the feeling away and that’s exactly what Quaritch was doing. Relentlessly pounding into me from behind to finally relieve and save himself from the lust spell your sweet scent cast upon him.

He was so close, Miles leaned over and pulled my upper body up so he could press his chest against my back. He snaked an arm around my waist and continued to fuck himself into my pussy like a hound.

I was so close. My mouth was hanging open and my eyes were slowly rolling to the back of my head.

Miles groaned into my ear and his hips stuttered before I felt his hot cum shoot inside me. He continued to thrust into me, riding out his orgasm in a desperate attempt to keep this feeling around for as long as possible.

Feeling him fill me up with his cum had my walls clenching around him and I came moaning his name. He held me in place to make sure I got all of it inside me before letting go of me and just regaining his breath.

I was panting even harder now, struggling to keep myself upright.

Quaritch pats my back, gliding his hand down my waist and hips, steadying himself for a few more seconds before slowly pulling out. His cum was dripping out of my pulsing cunt and he sighed.

“Well, ain’t that a beautiful sight.” he sighed, fingering some of it back inside me before getting up and redressing his pants.

I wasn’t on the ground alone for long. In fact, only a few seconds before another pair of hands were on me. I saw Lyle take Quaritch’s spot with his pants already gone. He held my hips up and I loosely draped my tail over his shoulder.

“God damn, you look so hot.” Lyle groaned, tracing my hips and ass with his hand. I heard a small chuckle and suddenly someone kneeled in front of me.

It was Mansk and he was undoing his fly. His pants were strained and I watched with wide eyes.

“Can you do it?” he asked before going any further. I nod, feeling how my mouth is salivating in anticipation. He smirks before pulling his pants down his thighs too.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go slow.” Mansk says, rubbing his thumb over my flushed cheek

Behind me, Lyle is grinding himself into me, making me press up against him. As I do, his tip enters me and we both moan in unison.

Mansk grins before entangling his hand in my hair.

I hear distant moans and grunts but I can’t focus on anything else but then two men around me.

Lyle pulls back, breaking the contact our warm skin had before he thrusts himself forward and fully pushes into me. My mouth drops open and I whimper, feeling a little sore from Quaritch.

Mansk uses this opportunity and places the tip of his length on my bottom lip. I comply, sticking my saliva-covered tongue out and licking it.

He shakily exhales, tightly pressing both his lips together as he watches me get to work.

I move forward and lick a long stripe from the base of his dick to the tip and it sends a shiver through him.

Lyle starts to slowly thrust in and out of me. His eyes are closed as he focuses on how I feel around him. He’s trying his hardest not to cum straight away but knowing it’s you he’s fucking is making that very difficult for him.

I wrap my lips around the tip of Mansk’s cock and suck on it. He shudders, letting his lips part and mouth fall open a little.

“Shit…” he curses, pinning his ears all the way back. His entire body is being restrained because he’s fighting the need to just thrust forward into your mouth.

He doesn’t however. Mansk lets you go at your own speed without pushing you further down, he just tightens his grip on your hair, balling his hand into a fist.

I move my head off of him before repeating my previous action and taking more of him into my mouth.

Lyle starts to leave his gentle pace behind and speeds up his hips movements. His hands are groping the flesh of my ass before harshly gripping my hips and rocking me back and forth.

I relax my throat and open my mouth wider, taking more of Mansk. He’s watching me with blown pupils which I can’t see because he kept his shades on.

He gulps, completely hypnotised by how you’re almost worshipping his shaft.

Mansk hits the back of my throat and I change the angle a little so that I can fit more inside. I know I won’t be able to take all of him in but I want to please him with more than just half his dick.

It seems like my gag reflex disappeared and Mansk hissed when he felt how I deepthroated him.

“Fuck, that’s good.” he groans, throwing his head back.

Lyle moans behind me and then his fingers find my clit, rubbing it. My eyes shoot open and I just arch myself further into him.

A moan is drawn from my lips, sending vibrations to Mansk’s dick. He curses as I pull back and start bobbing my head up and down his length.

“Come on, Buttercup. Cum f’ere me.” Lyle says in a husky deep voice. My ears twitch and my tail curls up into a C.

He wanted me to release before him and I felt it approaching quickly because his fingers were working wonders while he continued to plunge himself deep into me. My walls started to tighten around him and he applied more pressure on my clit.

I was cumming again and this time my legs were shaking. I was moaning but it was all muffled because of Mansk’s fat cock stuffing my mouth.

Lyle was desperately humping me, his thrusts becoming more sloppy as he chased after his own high.

I focused on Mansk while letting Lyle use me. My eyes were glossy and I swirled my tongue around him making him groan.

With each bob of my head, I would now hollow my cheeks around him to create more suction.

Mansk inhaled sharply because it felt like I was already trying to milk him of his cum and the way I refused to let his dick leave my mouth had him fall into euphoria.

His hips desperately jolted forwards a few times as he came, throwing his head back while thick ropes of cum were shot down my throat.

Coincidentally, Lyle was cumming at the same time and he pushed his hips as deep into me as possible.

I swallowed everything Mansk gave me, licking his dick clean and he held my cheek in appreciation, breathlessly trying to gather himself.

“God damn, Y/N. Never needed anythin’ as much as that.” Lyle chuckled through heavy breaths.

I opened my mouth and pulled back from Mansk a little while he leaned back on his knees and tried to regain control over his heaving chest.

“I don’t think I can walk.” I say, coughing a little.

Lyle lets go of my hips and I fall to the side, laying on the ground and covering my eyes with my hands. The reality was coming back and it only hit me now that I hooked up with my colleagues.

The Colonel was still there, standing close to us. He reached for my shorts, taking my ripped underwear and stuffing it in his pocket.

He crouched down to me, getting on one knee. I open my eyes and sit up by leaning on my elbows. My ears are drooped to the sides and my tail is motionlessly laying next to me.

“You alright?” Quaritch asks, seeming a little worried.

“Better now.” I grin and he chuckles, helping me put my shorts on. Lyle and Mansk dress themselves before Quaritch heaves me to my feet.

He wraps an arm around me to keep me stable and on my feet, while we walk.

The others had gotten up now too and everyone was dressed. I didn’t have the strength to observe anymore than that.

Z-Dog grabbed a bottle from the ground and then spotted me. A grin spread on her face while I shot her a glare.

“Damn, you can’t walk?” she joked, snorting.

“Shut up, I can see you limping.” I say and she raises her hands in the air. Quaritch chuckles before turning to Mansk and Lyle.

“Watch your surroundings and pay closer attention.” he orders, knowing not everyone is capable of defending themselves right now. They nod.

After a few minutes, we reach a grass plain and Quaritch lets us all take a break because there’s no point in walking any further today.

I sit down, leaning against Z-Dog who is teasing Walker about something. The others stand around, keeping watch for danger until the helicopter returns to pick us up.

This is definitely not how I expected any mission to turn out. Who knew these blue bodies were so intense?

Tag List: @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @number1gal @ikranwings

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headphonegrl · 1 year

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Truthfully, Jude never thought that much about love before you. He was only presented with it through romantic comedies or the literature he was forced to read in school, stories all neat and wrapped up in a bow without all the in-between moments. Though when he and love were properly acquainted he found that those were the best parts; not the sobs of declaration or the meticulously planned grand gestures, but the bits that are usually perceived as unimportant or mundane that now feel nothing but intimate.

The habit he has of trying to catch your attention from across a busy room. Sticking his tongue out and smiling ear to ear when you return the gesture, like you’re both naughty kids communicating across a classroom. Pursing his lips together as if he’s blowing a kiss and feigning rejection when you don’t follow it with the obligatory catching motion. Making himself go cross-eyed even though it gives him a headache to see you giggle discreetly into the palm of your hand.

How when he peels the skin off an orange with his fingernails and splits it in two, he always gives you the bigger half. Even though he does the opposite with everyone else, and denies all accountability when they point it out. How usually he’d fight to get the last bite of cake but now he leaves it neatly in the middle of the plate just for you. Even if it’s his favourite, even if he wants it so desperately his stomach gurgles.

All the voice notes you send where he rapidly clicks on the ‘keep’ button before it disappears forever. The comfort of having all your mini ramblings right in his pocket, like his own little podcast that makes his heart swell. He listens to your five-minute reenactment of your trip to the coffee shop as he falls asleep with his cheek squished against the pillow. On the way to training he puts his earphones in and hears you try to explain the book you just finished in one sitting.

That when you're both standing outside in the cold with your breath making clouds of condensation in front of you, he’ll without fail sacrifice his warmth for your cold hands. Lifting his arm up so you can bury them deep into his coat pockets, amongst the loose chain and crumpled up receipts. Blowing hot air onto your fingers and rubbing his palms over the back of your hands over and over like you would with two sticks to start a fire, until your bottom lips stops shivering and you break out into a smile.

Jude doesn’t understand why everyone is wasting their time talking about proposals with a hundred red roses when getting the giggles while you brush your teeth together is right there. He believes that there should be entire film scenes dedicated to that moment when your leg knocks against his underneath the table. Entire book chapters written about what it feels like to rest his temple against the side of your shoulder. He thinks maybe then he would've thought about love a lot more, maybe even all the time.

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nameless-ghoul-trash · 7 months

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Sodo x F!Ghoul!Reader Pt.2

As requested, here is part 2 for my Sodo x Ghoul Reader. It's my first full smut, but I hope it meets your expectations!

MINOR DNI

Word count: 1.2k

Lightly proofread

Warnings: P in V, fingers, oral female receiving, degradation, slight praise. (If I missed any, let me know)

Part 1

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The moment the door to Sodo's room closed, he pushed you against the wall. His lips landed on yours as his body presses into you. Slotting his leg between your thighs, the feeling his throbbing erection sends shivers down your spine. The fire low in your stomach grows with every touch, kiss, and sound. Growling Sodo grinds into you, his knee catching on all the right places. "You're always such a brat. Always so naughty." Kissing his way from your jaw to your caller bone, you turn your head to the side to give him better access. Grabbing you, he swung around and pushed you on the bed. "Strip." He demands taking his own clothes off. You happily do as you're told, but you're taking your time. Slowly bringing the hem of your shirt up, you lock eyes with him. Finally, bring it over your head. You let it fall to the ground. Then you go for your bra.

Once your top half is bare, you reach down to work on your bottom half. With an impatient rumble, he loops his fingers into your waistband and pulls off your pants and underwear. Throwing your legs over his shoulders he lowers himself, bring his face to your exposed pussy. "Look at you so wet for me already." He drags a finger down yours slick, and brings it to his mouth.

Sucking his finger clean, he held eye contact. Pulling his hand away from his face, he uses it to push you thighs open further and brings his face closer. Running his split tongue over your clit causing you inhale sharply and arch your back. He pulled away. "You want more of that." He taunted. "Yes!" You nod, tail thuding on the mattress. Flicking your clit again, he taunts you. "How bad?" "So bad. Please. Please. Please!" You sounded so needy. You were so fucking turned on and sensitive. Reaching down you intertwined your fingers in his long hair, griping his right horn with one hand. You use your grip to pull his face closer as you thrust up, needing the feeling of him giving your clit his undivided attention. Slowly he wraps his arms around your thighs and pressed his hands to you hips effectivly holding you down.

"You've been such a naughty girl, tho. Naughty little slut. Giving me such a hard time. All the sass and sarcasm. The insults." His voice had a teasing tone in it. "Maybe I should just take what I want, leave you wanting. Leave you to think about your actions." At the last word he blows on your clit. You give a drawn out whine. "Please! Please, I need you!" You beg. Growling he finally began his assault on you aching pussy. Moaning at the sensation you tighten your grip on his hair.

Drawing one of his hands lower, he replaced his tongue with his thumb and proceeded to tongue fuck you. The feeling of his ghoulishly long slipt tongue abusing your hole had your mind going blank, ripping a series of moan from you. The coil in the pit of your stomach begins to tighten. As he goes down on you like a man starved you can feel yourself getting close. Arching your back as that coil begins to come undone, the sensation stops. Let's out an unceremonious whine, your tail thuds on the bed, clearly irritated with the loss. Looking back at him, he smirks. Unraveling your hands from his hair you bring your fingers to your pussy to try and finish the job. Before you can make contact he grips your wrist. "Only good girls get to cum." Standings, he brings his free hand to his cock, giving it a few lazily strokes. "Get on your hands and knees." He let go of your wrist and motioned for you to move.

Flipping around, you settle with your ass in the air. Grabbing a hole of both ass cheeks, he spreads your lips with his thumbs and runs one through the ever growing pool of arousal. "Such a little slut. Your dripping wet." The sound you let out only fuel the fire. Pushing two long fingers in he sets a small pace, scissoring every few strokes. "You going to let me fuck you rough like a good girl?" He produces a low rumble deep in his chest when you moan out a needy yes. He hastily removed his fingers from you. Rubbing the slick on the tip of his cock he lines himself up, keepingone handon your hip. In one fluid motion he drives into you, giving little time to adjust to his size.

You both let out a moan as he bottomed out. "Take this cock so good." Pulling almost all the way out he slams back into you setting a brutal pace. Reaching he grabs ahold of your shoulder, fingers curling lightly around your throat. Using this new found leverage he drills in to you harder. Your tail wraps tightly around his forearm. "So good. Feels so good." You could barely get the words out, so taken by the sense of him abusing your pussy. You are startled by the flat of Sodos tail rubbing aggressive circles on your neglected clit. More unintelligible word spill from your mouth mixed with heavy moans. The tight coil slowly begins to return.

Sodo groans when your walls clinch around him. "You little whore. You love my cock deep inside you." Keeping his pace he pushes your shoulders down so your face is in the mattress. The new angle causing him to hit that sweet spot inside you. "Right there! Keep going! Please! Please! Please! Please! Don't stop!" You plead to him, moans racking your body. "You going to be a good girl for me?" He taunts. "Yes! Yes I'll be good! I'll be so good!" You cry out, the coil tight and ready to snap. He let's out a pleased grumble. After a few more thrust the coil snaps. A sob tears through you, your body trembling. Moaning he doesn't slow down working you through your orgasm. "That's it. Good girl." His thrusts begin to get sloppy and his breath uneven. With a low groan he comes to a full stop, filling your pussy with his cum.

You unravel your tail from his arm, allowing him to let you go. Getting up, Sodo made his way to the bathroom attached to his room. You slide into the bed, staying face down. Sodo returning a minute or two later with a warm wash cloth walks back over to you. He had already taken care of himself. "Here, let me clean you up." His voice was soft. Rolling onto your side, you basked in his gentle touches. "How do you feel? Do you need anything?" His asked. "I feel good, tired, but good." You give him a faint smile. "Can I stay here tonight?" You look away a little anxious. You had never stayed in any room but your own, and you half expected him to say no. "Of course you can!" You look to see him smiling.

He pulled back the covers and motioned for you to get under. Quickly doing so, you make yourself comfortable.

------

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this. As always, I appreciate any feedback! Requests are open! Nobody asked for it, but here's a picture of Sodo!

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hollyhomburg · 8 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.58)

(SneakPeek) (Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your nightmares are a troubling development but the pack won't let you drown. They have different ideas on how to help you. Some more damaging than others.

Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, cuddling, Nightmares, graphic depiction of fake character death, Discussions of past rape, No explicit depictions of past rape/sexual assault, past domestic-abuse, flashbacks, safe-wording during sex (Sorta), unpleasant sexual encounters, under-negotiated kink, mentioned sex toys, crying during sex, Sad blow jobs, small dick jungkook, allusions to past eating disorders, anxiety, implied self-hate, self-esteem issues, non-verbal main character.

W/c: 10.3k

A/N: this chapter was originally supposed to be a lot longer- but i got too in depth with it and had to split it up. This is easily one of the more heavy chapters of bily (and that's saying something), so please be mindful of the tags! I will say- this section given as a sneak peek is actually at the beginning.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

Chapter 58: Don't let this darkness fool you

Your unraveling starts with the Nightmare.

It’s a dark tangle of half-forgotten moments. A movie with all of the scariest scenes copied and pasted. Bright punctures of feelings like blood dripping down your chin and the tang of it in your mouth. Geumjae’s scent in your nose as he shoves your mouth against his skin. All of it. Every unhappy memory that your psyche has locked away for later dragging you down and down like the tide would drag a stone to a watery grave.

Until the moments condense like a figure rising through fog and you’re sitting in that house again. The one with the yellow brocade curtains pulled closed across the windows so that no one sees what happens inside.

You're sitting with Geumjae at the dining room table. The elaborate meal in Infront of you rises with steam and smells divine. The cutlery is polished so clean that you can see your reflection in it. A million dancing tiny versions of you staring back with vacant doll-like eyes.

You remember this meal; you remember what happened to you on this morning. The soreness between your legs reminds you of that horror. You remember how hard you worked after he left in the morning leaving you in a bloody heap in the bathroom. You remember hoping that if you did everything you absolutely could to prepare this meal, He’d be satisfied and he wouldn’t hurt you again.

But avoiding rape is never quite so easy.

It was foolish to hope back then. Geumjae was a man of routine and he required your body every morning and evening without fail. But hoping is so hard to avoid, like an itch under your skin that demands biting nails, a furious sort of wanting. Hope is nothing more than a chain that drags you through the sludge when you think it might be your buoy.

For this nightmare, the other chairs at the table aren’t empty like they usually are. It’s not just you here.

He must have taken a needle and stitched your mouth shut (like he always threatened) because you feel powerless to scream at Namjoon to get away to stay back. You can do nothing more than watch as he leans over and says something to Geumjae that makes him smile.

His smile makes him look like Yoongi; who himself is sitting at the head of the table nursing a glass of wine and scowling. Jin is on Namjoon's other side, hair combed back from his face in a way that makes Seokjin look absurdly pretty. On his left is Jimin and then Tae. Each of them eats like they haven't in days, shoveling food into their mouths like it’s their last meal.

Jungkook is by your side and asks if you’re going to eat your dinner roll. Puffy and crusty bread that he never would be able to eat in real life. You watch powerlessly as he scarfs it down like he hasn’t ever eaten anything more delicious. licking his fingers from the crumbs when he finishes.

Tae is dressed in your jewels this time, not Jimin's. The necklace Geumjae gave you for your second anniversary digs into her collar bones as if it was pinned there, like a butterfly on a piece of cardboard. Glittering with more diamonds than seem possible. Like one of those Instagram filters, every reflection mark turned glittery. Jimin’s suit is like something out of vogue.

One moment you’re looking at the perfectly edible food and the next you’re watching it rot before your very eyes. The meat greying and melting, the salad wilts gooey and spoiled. The fancy porcelain plates writhing with worms and maggots and creepy crawlies that slither out of nowhere. No one notices. No one realizes that the bites they bring to their lips are poison.

Jin licks his lips, the skin already greying and cracking.

Geumjae looks up at you from his plate, grinning all the while. Collar starched white. You haven’t heard his voice in so long but your mind remembers the exact cadence of it in perfect detail.

“What’s wrong princess? Aren’t you going to eat up?

When you look back at them, Namjoon’s slumped in his chair, chest not rising and falling, staring blankly forward with bloody eyes. When you look Jin’s got his head half gone. Cut away. Wriggly things curl behind what's left of his eye. Tae’s collar bones are bleeding where the diamond collar sits. Ribbons drip down her bodice. Jimin’s white shirt is slowly blooming red too. Bullet wounds pepper his chest. One on his shoulder and a cluster of them over his heart.

Jungkook slumps over his plate seizing until he’s still. Still the way that dolls are. Dead. Looking at you with wide vacant eyes that go grey with congealing blood.

Yoongi's hands are burning, fire licking up his clothes and he does nothing to put it out. Burning and bubbling and boiling. Skin pealing up like paint beneath the flames.

Hoseok is the only one not at the table.

Geumjae smiles again. Baring his teeth in that animal way of his. “What’s wrong princess? I thought you said you loved them- aren’t you going to try and stop it?”

Coming Saturday August 19th at 5 pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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hentyehottie · 2 years

Text

pairing: K. Bakugo x Chubby Black!Fem reader

w/c: 3k

c/w: 18+ MDNI

mentions of fingering, blowjobs, rough fucking, kitchen sex, stand and carry position lol, roommates, college au, fwb, you being a brat, katsuki falls in love at first sight lol,

chile this is all over the place but my beta told me to post it 😭 it’s kinda just a bunch of blurbs about you and bakubabe becoming roommates

❀

So, the story was he’d been kicked out of campus housing for blowing a hole through the gym wall and attacking Deku.

In actuality, it was him who’d been blown through the wall while sparring with the shitty loser, Deku still unable to fully control his given quirk.

It almost cost him his scholarship but after Deku begged and professors Toshinori and Aizawa pulled some strings—he’d only been reprimanded and removed from the on-campus housing in fear that he’d cause an insane amount of damage again in the future.

He found the ad on Reddit—$500 a month for rent and the only utilities were electricity and cable/internet, which would probably be split between him and the other tenant. Amenities included a full kitchen, washer and dryer and a full bathroom. The only requirement was that he was in attendance at U.A University, which he was, and a payment of first & last rent.

Of course he was going to jump on it, he was desperate and it was affordable. He even emailed the person who posted the ad, asking to meet as soon as tomorrow.

He paid the landlord with no questions asked, even after the unsightly security deposit was tacked on after running a background check.

He scratched his name onto every highlighted section, agreeing to live with a stranger for the next two and a half years.

***

Now, he did not expect said stranger to be so damn cute.

Cute chubby cheeks, full pouty lips and your curly hair was in a big poof on the top of your head like a bunny’s tail. You had to be at least a foot shorter than him, a tiny plump little thing you were. So damn adorable.

Well now he was absolutely sure he’d made the right decision. Who knows what some creep would do to a cutie like you if they had gotten the room before he did.

You greeted him with a hello and a smile. He responded with only a grunt as he lugged two duffel bags and a roller suitcase into the doorway.

He dropped them with a loud thud, turning to look at you.

“You my new roommate?” He asked, looking you up and down. Your attire was distracting—a small white shirt with your nipples peeking through the thin fabric and don’t even get him started on the way he could see your fat pussy print through your pink shorts.

“A hi, hey or hello would be nice.” You sassed, sipping from a pink drink. “I didn’t sleep with you last night.”

Looks like his bunny had a tongue like a scorpion’s tail.

“Hello.” He smirked, pleasantly annoyed at how your lips curled into a smile at the greeting. Almost like you wanted to bitch him.

“That’s better. Your room is the one on the left.”

“Gotcha, anything else?” He tried to focus his eyes on anything but your pretty face.

“Please don’t forget to put the toilet seat down, clean up after yourself and your company and lastly I’m not stingy with food, so what’s mine is yours, just please don’t be an asshole. If there’s not much of something please ask before you take it.” Your rules were simple enough right? Basic roommate etiquette.

“Ya think I don’t have any goddamn home training?!” Bakugo snapped, gritting his teeth.

You laughed at the angry blonde, he reminded you of an angry Pomeranian and it was actually quite cute.

He was relieved when you giggled at him. Some people took his snappy attitude way too serious, it was honestly annoying as hell.

You really didn’t mind the way Bakugo talked. You were probably just as bad, only difference was your mouth was slick as hell and he was just mean and loud.

“Do you cook?”

Your face lit up. “Yes! I love to cook.” Your smile was enchanting to him, almost made him want to give you one in return.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. It was some extra cash, probably like a hundred bucks or so, since he had to draw extra money from the atm because the money order amount was only enough to cover rent and not the security deposit.

“Good. Use it for groceries or whatever. We can go together or…I’ll make a list.” His mouth and heart working against his brain. Words tumbling out before he could even think.

“Oh..uh, we can go together, since I don’t have a car.” You didn’t expect him to be so forward or so generous,

The blonde’s heart clenched at the thought of you being his pretty passenger princess. Maybe this roommate thing wouldn’t be too bad.

***

You and Bakugo as roommates definitely took some getting used to, since you’d occupied the unit alone for such a long time.

For instance, your weekday routine was set in stone, so like usual, by the time you entered the doorway you were already stripping . You left your black crocs at the door, stepping out of your scrub bottoms, pulling the top over your head the same time.

“Shit.” You sighed out, unhooking the bra you had on, breasts finally free as they fell out of the cups with a small bounce, rubbing the spot where the underwire kept digging into your skin.

Finally opening your eyes, you were met crimson and there he was, leaned against the wall, eyes glued to you like a lion hunting a doe.

You let out a shriek, using your clothes to cover your body the best way you could, shielding yourself from further embarrassment.

“Forget about me already, dumbass?”

Glaring at the blonde you scurried past him, seething at the shit eating grin on his face.

“You saw nothing.” You gritted out before running the rest of the way to your room.

But, as soon as you were gone the facade dropped and he ran his hands down his face, seemingly more flustered than you were. He’d never seen a woman naked before, outside of porn of course, and it just had to be you.

He hoped he hadn’t upset you, the look of terror on your face was just too fucking cute not to laugh at.

“Fuckkkk.” He whispered out, having popped a hard on in seconds.

Even Bakugo couldn’t deny how sexy you were. A pretty face and an even prettier body. You had a nice fuckin rack too, he was definitely an ass guy at heart but there was nothing wrong with appreciating a nice pair of tits every now and then. You were probably a double D cup since they had a natural lowness to them, he just knew they’d be nice and heavy in his large hands. To top it off you had big areolas and cute little inverted nipples that he’d love to coax out of hiding.

He didn’t know what he liked more— the sight of your juicy, thick ass bent over in a pink thong as you gathered your clothing off the floor or your pretty ass titties and how they bounced with almost every move you made.

The blonde trudged to his room, dick insanely hard and rubbing against his thigh.

Closing his bedroom door, he sat on his bed palming his dick through his sweat shorts. Taking his cock in his hand, he rubbed his thumb around the fat mushroom tip, shuddering at the sensitivity. He pumped his thick cock nice and slow, envisioning your beautiful body now that he could go off of more than just the illusion your tight clothes gave.

“Damn..” That was all it took for Bakugo to feel himself fall over the edge, thick ropes of cum painting his chest and belly as his body shook and his pants turned into slow ragged breaths.

Grabbing a couple tissues from the nightstand beside his bed, he wiped his stomach, chest and the tip of his dick before tossing them into the wastebasket.

Less than satisfied, he shoved his still somewhat hard dick back into his pants

Beating off to his roommate was not how he’d planned spending his first week in his new home.

***

Bakugo sat at the kitchen trying to take notes but he couldn’t even fucking focus. You were always on his mind, invading his thoughts every chance you got.

He wasn’t sure if he liked you, maybe it was lust, either way it was a fucking nuisance.

As more and more time passed, seven whole months to be exact, the two of you began to get very comfortable with each other.

Well, as comfortable as two hornballs could get without going all the way. Neither of you had ever brought anyone back to the apartment so it was assumed that the both of you were single. That was perfect because you two really enjoyed each other’s company, experimenting with things that were fun and worked well for your friendship.

Like studying together in the kitchen, sometimes Bakugo would take the initiative to create flash cards and test you.

Or the movie nights on the couch that occasionally ended with you in his lap, legs spread with two of his thick fingers deep in your creamy pussy.

And even the late night snack runs where you’d most likely end up with a mouthful of his cock in an almost empty Target parking lot.

He’d come to find out you were incredibly clingy too. If your classes happened to end before his, you’d nap in his bed until he returned, loving the scent of burnt sugar that stuck to his sheets and pillows. You loved his scent, since it was calming and reminded you of holiday sweets. Plus, you couldn’t fit his clothes so this was the next best thing.

He heard you softly enter the apartment, watching you stripping down at the door like you usually did until you were in a white, cropped tank and your underwear.

He also noticed you loved to walk around in nothing but tiny shirts and your panties. You’d been doing it a lot more lately since the weather was transitioning into those hotter months and you honestly reminded him of that silly little bear that loved honey.

“Hey.” He greeted first, something he began doing around the third month of living together.

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong.”

Something had upset you, he could hear it in your voice. He knew you like the back of his hand and you hated it.

“Nothing.” You kept your replies short but that didn’t keep him from pestering you. You weren’t upset with him, just annoyed at your dumb parents. You’d gone to see them, you hadn’t seen them in a while and you kinda hoped that they’d start giving you your full allowance again.

Instead they berated you, bringing up trivial things such as your weight and even the way you dressed. It was draining, they were draining, and you just wanted to be left alone right now.

“Fuck is your problem?”

Of course your roommate couldn’t take a hint, too stubborn and caring to just let you walk away upset.

Of course you wanted to tell him how you were feeling, but you hated the vulnerability that came with expressing your feelings. Plus, knowing Katsuki, he’d probably just yell at you and call you a dumbass for even caring about their opinions.

“I don’t have a problem Katsuki.” You rolled your eyes, more than annoyed at his tone. “It’s just school stuff, damn. Just leave it the fuck alone!” Was he really dumb enough to think talking to you like that would help?

“Excuse me.” You tried to slide past him, since he currently towered over you waiting for an explanation.

“Y’er not excused.” He pulled you back.

You yelped in surprise as you were shoved against the island, staring into his fiery eyes as he wrapped one of his large hands around your neck.

“Gonna talk to me?” He asked, staring down at you with those daunting crimson eyes. “Fuck off.” You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest. Of course he didn’t budge, the 6’3 mammoth continued to peer down at you, brows furrowed.

His other hand trailed down, running two fingers up and down your cunt, catching some of the slick that had already began to pool there.

“Already soaking wet,” He shook his head. “Dumb lil’ slut.”

He spun you around just as quickly as he’d pulled you back, bending you over the island and pulling your thong aside.

Bakugo slapped his heated palm against your ass, the pleasant sting forcing a moan from your parted lips.

You heard the jingling metal of his belt buckle coming undone and your eyes widened.

“Katsuki, what-.”

“S’okay, I know exactly what you need babe.” He reasoned, pulling his underwear down and pressing his hard cock between your thighs.

The way you tooted your ass up didn’t go unnoticed either, attitude seeming to have melted away at the thought of getting your pussy pounded. The blonde smirked, shaking his head again.

His thick cock bullied its way into your virgin cunt, your already slick walls making it just that easy for him to slide right in like he belonged there. The squelch of your pussy was loud as he drilled in and out of you, showing you no mercy.

He reached his arms around, slipping his hands under your tank top to tweak your nipples and squeeze your heavy tits in his big hands.

“Mmmm..fuck Katsuki.” You moaned from the pleasure, loving the way he pinched and squeezed your sensitive nipples. He moved lower, spreading his warm palms all over your soft skin, stopping only to grab at the fat of your tummy.

You stood on your tippy toes, making you just tall enough to take his cock comfortably. The harsh slaps of his hips slamming into your ass, his grunts and your moans echoed in the small kitchen as he fucked you, gradually picking up pace.

He’d actually had a decent day, the academy usually kicked his ass on Fridays, and he wasn’t about to let your gross attitude fuck that up.

“This what you wanted, right?” He pounded your pretty little cunt, drawing out the most adorable little sounds from you.

He felt so good inside of you, like his dick was made for your pussy. Stuffing you full of his cock while he sent harsh slaps to your ass, brows pushed into a deep frown.

“Right?” He snarled, emphasizing his question with a particularly hard thrust, pressing his chest against your back and grabbing your jaw, twisting your neck so hard you thought he wanted to snap it.

You let out a strained moan as he stared at you with those darkened eyes, hips never faltering as he waited for an answer.

“Uh-Uhhuh.” Was all you could muster, Katsuki smirking at the way your eyes crossed and your jaw went slack in his hand.

“Yeah? Wanted me to fuck that nasty lil’ attitude right outta ya huh?” He placed a kiss on your lips, biting your plump bottom lip before he retreated back.

You nodded, vision clouded with specs of white as his thumb played with your asshole and his cock stroked that sweet spot in your cunt over and over.

“Katsuki.” You sighed out his name. “F-feels s’good baby.”

“I know,” He cooed, voice like caramel as he fucked into you, now at a slower pace. “Can’t have those shitty clinical’s stressing my pretty Princess out. How ‘bout you quit, be my lil cumrag instead?”

“Mhm, I will.”

It was like a switch had flipped and his sweet voice clouded your brain, making you forget all common sense. Right now you’d agree to just about anything right now as long as it kept his cock in you.

Bakugo on the other hand, a virgin less than five minutes ago, wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. Especially with his cock now very acquainted with your tight, wet, warm pussy and wanted nothing more than to plant his seed deep inside you.

He unsheathed himself from your pussy, the cool air making him hiss as he spun you around.

He raked his eyes over you, taking in your fucked-out appearance. Tank top ill fitting and stretched out from all his pulling, slight bruising on your neck from when he held you there, your tear stained face was icing on the cake, and he absolutely loved it. A layer of sheen covered you, baby hairs now messily slick to your forehead , lips swollen and red from your biting.

He had so much fucking energy, must be the effects of your quirk. Yeah, it had to be the effects of your shitty quirk, even pre-workout never got him this energetic and all this stimulation at once felt so damn good. His heart pumped fast like it wanted to explode, blood flowed through his veins a mile a minute making his dick rock hard. Bakugo felt like he could fuck you for hours, but he knew his inexperienced cock wouldn’t allow it this time.

He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, locking his arms behind your knees and placing his hands on your fat, juicy ass. His wide palms dug into your doughy ass and thighs, giving you a nice hard slap every now and then.

Easing you down slowly, he splits you open on his cock again, feeding you dick inch by meaty inch until you’re filled to the brim once again.

The brawny brute handled your weight like the champ he was, lifting you with ease and it made your pussy so fucking wet. He bounced you on his cock loving your hot breath on his ear as you moaned and panted like a bitch in heat.

You couldn’t help it, as you were too deep in the throes of pleasure as his slightly curved cock kissed your g-spot with every single thrust.

“Mmmm Kats…g’nna cum.” Your sweet velvety voice spoke the lovely sentence he’d been waiting on all evening. You clenched and unclenched as he quickened his pace a bit, fucking you and himself to climax, cock slamming into your cervix so deliciously hard it knocked the wind out of you.

“Fuuckkk.” You held onto him for dear life, lips pressed against his as you made a mess on him, coating his cock in your cream. Burying your face in his shoulder, you cried out as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“That’s it…”

His thrusts grew sloppy and fast as he threw his head back. It felt so good, so good he almost contemplated filling you up.

But he pulled out, spurting out those warm ropes on your belly, some flying God knows where.

Before sitting you down on the cool granite countertop he slid a heated palm across the surface, warming up your seat. He grabbed a couple napkins to clean you up, watching as you leaned back on your arms, still sporting that blissful fucked-out expression on your pretty face.

“Now, stop acting like a spoiled fuckin’ brat and tell me what happened.”

❀

closing a/n: I hope y’all enjoyed it 😭 I’m still feeling iffy tbh 🫤 feeling like I wrote him too soft, ya know

#my hero academia #my hero x reader #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #black reader #bakugou x black reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou x chubby reader #bakugo x chubby reader #bnha bakugo smut #bakugo imagine #bnha x black!reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo katsuki #HentyeHottie

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demon-fucking-therapist · 2 years

Text

Dom Reader, Yandere Brothers - Gluttony

The series: You become the master of seven unruly brothers - and they don't want to let you go so easily. How it happened, and what it means for each of them.

Tags/warnings for this section: afab reader, (light) yandere Beel, oral sex (both receiving), hand job (character receiving), intercrural/grinding, copious use of the word ‘big’, at one point reader invokes the pact to stop a sexual act - consent is renegotiated and the scene continues. Also a bit of gore.

You can find the other parts of the series here.

------

After the retreat at the Demon Lord’s Castle, you'd finally had time to lay down some ground rules.

Mammon and Levi were surprisingly good at sharing - sort of. Your status as the 'master' seems to resolve a lot of their disputes before they even started. You can still hang out with them as normal, even as your time is split between the two.

Your new pact with Asmo sends a buzzing under your skin and he's been dropping hints - increasingly less subtle - that he wouldn't mind joining your... relationship? Harem? Whatever it was.

But first, you have another demon to think about - your third pact, your gentle giant.

Beel.

You aren't exactly surely how to approach Beel.

You and Beel got along well - really well. Ever since you'd been forced to share a room, since you'd protected him in Lilith's tomb, and since he'd opened up to you, you felt a connection to him entirely separate to your first two demons - who you loved, but who just weren't quite so open until you got them naked.

You didn't want to ruin that connection, for you or for Beel. He was well aware of your relationship with his brothers and while he seemed to approve, he hadn't made any move to join in. Pressuring Beel was the last thing you wanted to do. A pact with you didn't have to come with sex, and you would never, ever forgive yourself if Beel thought that was the price of staying close to you.

So for now, you wait for some sign from Beel. Some go ahead. Any of your demons might be able to rip you apart, but the pact tilted the balance of power back in your favour.

It's not like things even really changed between the four of you. While Mammon and Levi were a lot more confident with touching you now, they never excluded Beel or complained when he cuddled up to you.

You suspect your demons are trying to make room for their little brother. Show him they wouldn't fight if he became 'yours' the same way they had. As much as they bickered, the brothers could be sweet like that.

But all those thoughts could wait - right now, you needed to focus on cheering for Beel.

Fangol, as far as you could tell, seemed like some sort of cross between rugby and American football. You have a vague idea that getting the ball into a certain location would get points, but that was about the depth of your understanding. It’s not like you needed to know much to see Beel was good.

You're honestly a little surprised he's even allowed to play. The sheer difference in strength between Beel and every other demon is clearly on display, breaking through the other team's defense with ease. He's so focused on the field, but the moment the whistle blows, heralding a score or a card or half time, his eyes are searching for you in the crowd.

The game is not close, in the end. The other team plays valiantly, manages to score a few goals of their own. But they simply can't prevent Beel from going wherever he wants on the field.

Mammon grumbles once the final whistle is called, sliding you off of his shoulders. Looking at his watch, which you think costs about as much as the bleachers you're standing on, makes him curse.

"Witches again?" you ask, with some sympathy. Clearly not enough for Mammon, who nods but pretty much pouts at you. "Go ahead, Mams. I'll wait for Beel to walk me home."

"It’ll only take a coupla hours, I promise," Mammon squeezes your hands. "At least lemme walk ya to the locker room."

Mammon escorts you towards the school while most demons filter out into the Devildom night. You shoot Beel a message as you walk, letting him know you'll be waiting for him. He doesn't read it right away, but you settle down in the hallway outside the locker room, letting Mammon rush off to negotiate his debts with a see ya later!

There isn't much for you to do but scroll through Devilgram, commenting little hearts on Asmo's most recent posts. Beel's team members pass you over the next few minutes, greeting you with varying levels of friendliness. Some you genuinely got along with - others were only polite, wanting to keep their distance after the student population at RAD connected the recent disappearances to Levi's obvious crush.

Beel seemed to be taking his time. You don't really hold it against him - he'd played hard, after all, and deserved the extra time in the showers if that was what he needed. You check and see that Beel still hasn't seen your message. Probably doesn't know you're waiting for him.

You sigh and lean your head back against the wall. You aren't sure how many others could be left in the locker room, but you are certain Beel has to be one of the last few. Is it worth it to knock? You can still hear the shower running, so best not to just barge in...

Something clatters across the floor as you're lost in your thoughts. Bouncing across the tile, landing at your feet, is a DDD. The case is cracked from the impact. There is a notification with your picture next to it on the lock screen.

It's Beel's.

A shadow blocks out the hallway’s fluorescent lights.

It's another member of RAD's fangol team. He's tall, broad-shouldered, bleached blond hair. Handsome, or would've been, except for that ugly smirk on his face.

His claws are out, a lion’s tail swishing behind him.

You bolt for the locker room door.

The demon grabs your arm and slams you back into the wall, your whole spine jolting with the motion. You're lucky your head doesn't hit too, but now the demon's got his hands on you, and there's nowhere to go, claws digging into your arms, skin already bruising-

You open your mouth to scream but the demon's jaw unhinges and any sound you make is choked away by the clear threat of teeth against your throat.

For a moment, everything is still, and the only sound is your panicked breathing.

Magic prickles at your fingertips and you wrack your brain for some spell, something that will get you out of this. But you’re not strong enough to cast anything without an incantation and you don’t think this demon is gonna let you talk.

"Do you have any idea," the demon whispers, jaw back in place, "how long I've wanted a taste of you?"

You hear him loud and clear, despite how quiet his words are. You both missed something during your brief confrontation.

The shower turned off.

You’re nearly ripped off your feet as the demon flies away from you, leaving bruises already forming on your arms. The only reason you don’t follow him to the floor is Beel’s hand, steadying you.

You’ve seen Beel mad before. When he gets too hungry or someone steals his food, usually.

But this is different.

You have never seen this cold look on Beel’s face. He stares at the demon before him with utter disgust. Not even a hungry gaze, like a predator looking at prey. He looks like he’d just stepped in shit.

Beel softens as he checks you over, the demon still groaning on the ground. You manage a shaky smile for him but he can still see the marks on your arms, they way you wince as you try to straighten your back. You’re probably battered and bruised there, too.

His arm presses you gently into the wall, making sure you’re balanced, before he turns his attention to the demon.

“You,” he says simply. The demon tries scrambling away but one foot brought down hard snaps his leg, the bone poking out a stark white in the darkness of the hall. “You probably taste disgusting.”

Another stomp, breaking through his leg. Severing it by Beel’s sheer strength. You watch, awed and faint as blood pours from the stump. The demon cries out and sobs and begs. He tries to flee, leaving his leg behind as he scrambles back.

The next blow is dealt to his stomach. You barely even see Beel move but suddenly there’s a hole there, right in the centre of him, the space filled with mashed organs and blood. The demon screams and tries to arch his back but he just- just can’t past where his spine has been crushed. Blood begins to cover the floor in an ever-growing stain.

“Please, please, make him stop! I’ll do anything, I’m sorry, just make him stop!”

It takes a moment for you to realise the demon is talking to you, and a moment more for you to understand you could stop this. Beel listens to your orders. You’ve got the pact.

But by the time you process this, it’s too late.

Beel’s foot comes down on the demon’s head. It just- the shape alters, elongates, flattens, and then it just bursts. Like a watermelon with too many plastic bands around it, it sends red flying across the floor. You can't make out anything in the mess, what was skull and what was brain and what was skin or hair or-

Beel spits on the heap for good measure.

You finally take in your demon. Beel is shirtless, probably left the locker room in haste. His RAD uniform pants are hastily pulled up, the button still undone. His feet have socks but no shoes. At first you think they’re mismatched, but then you remember there’s a very good reason why one is white and the other is red.

Beel makes his way over to you, looking like he expects you to try and run. You don’t, of course. You’re not scared of your demon. Probably.

“Are you… you’re hurt,” Beel answers his own question, looking at the bruises in the shape of fingers on your arm. It honestly stings, but your back hurts worse, or at least is a much larger point of pain. You try to stretch and groan.

“Th-thank you, Beel,” you manage to tell him but Beel only frowns, shakes his head.

“You were… he could’ve…” Beel shakes his head, tears in the corners of his eyes, and your heart aches.

Beel has always been a more sensitive, you know now. He doesn’t look it, doesn’t show his feelings the same way his brothers do, but he’s an anxious creature. Always worrying about his loved ones, their safety, their happiness. Today, you realise, was nearly his worst nightmare. Someone he cares about, someone he promised to protect, dead.

You lean into his hold when the reality of the situation hits you. You’ve gotten more used to violence since coming to the Devildom, it’s true, but you still nearly died. You sigh at his hands on your back, the warmth of his fingers working some of the pain away.

“Can I… maybe we should…” You watch as Beel is torn, not sure whether to race you home or give you some time to recover. You make the decision for him.

“Think you can take another shower, Beel?” you ask, and he gives you a small smile.

The locker room smells like - well, a locker room, but you use the magic that jumped to your hands earlier to cast a cleaning spell Barbatos taught you. The open tiled area, showers, and even the lockers themselves sparkle, and the smell disappears.

Unfortunately while the spell is great for surfaces, Beel’s uniform is still stained. Oh well.

“There’s healing potions,” Beel murmurs, sitting you down on a bench before he hurries to a small storage room off to the side.

You force your breathing to stay slow and even. Your hands and shaking and you feel cold. You could’ve died.

You could’ve died a few times before. Who knows how far Levi or Beel could’ve gone if they’d actually put their hands on you? Henry 1.0 in the dungeons, too. But you’d never- you’d never had the feeling of teeth on your neck, of being helpless and alone against something that could’ve killed you in an instant.

Beel hands you a bottle of pale blue liquid that just sort of tastes like Powerade when you knock it back. It does relieve the worst of the pain on your back, your arms moving easier. The bruises pale but don’t quite disappear, and you still wince if you move your back the wrong way, but it’s a hell of a lot better than you were.

“Thanks.” You smile up at Beel. You really want a shower yourself - that warm water is exactly what you need right now. The thought seems to strike you and Beel at the same time.

Beel reaches for his pants at the same time you reach for your shirt before you both hesitate, looking at the other.

“Are you okay with this, Beel?” you ask. It’s taken you a minute to notice that there aren’t individual shower stalls, just an open area at the back with a row of shower heads. You’d be okay with it, but you’re not sure about Beel. You’re not his team mate, after all. You’re his... house mate.

But Beel nods, a blush high on his cheeks. “If… if you are.”

You don’t want to make your demon uncomfortable but as you’re undressing, you can’t help but look. You’re about to see all of him, anyway.

You’ve seen Beel shirtless before. His muscles are gorgeous, and so is the softness he gets after a big meal. But you’re seeing more of him now, more than you ever have, and you love it all.

Beel’s thighs are beautiful, the muscles moving smoothly under the skin as he stretches down to get his socks off. You’ve known he has a good butt for a while, though this is the first time you’ve seen it on full display.

And as he drops his underwear onto the locker room bench, you get a look at what you’ve always been curious about.

You’d expected Beel to be… proportionate. You knew it just made sense. But you’re still not prepared to see it, the long, thick cock hanging between his legs. You don’t think it’s even hard, but already it’s pushing the limits of what you could comfortably fit inside yourself. The thought has you looking away, your face suddenly warm.

You’re getting distracted. You finish undressing too, hurriedly, and when you look back Beel is staring at you with an intense look, cheeks red. You imagine you must look much the same.

You both say nothing as you turn on the shower.

The warm water feels nice on your battered back. Beel makes a little hurt sound you know must mean the potion hasn’t gotten rid of all the bruises there. You still lean into the spray, letting your sore muscles relax.

You stretch out your neck - it hadn’t been hurt in the fight, but the way you’d clenched your jaw and carried yourself after the impact had put a little extra strain on you. Once Beel has the blood off of him, he clears his throat.

“Can I, um…” he trails off, not meeting your eyes. How he can look so adorable with such an incredible body, you’re not sure, but he manages it. “I can give a massage. I know how.”

“That’s really nice of you, Beel,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t come off strained. You turn away from him, which is probably for the best.

You’d managed to repress the most obvious signs of your attraction for now. But without Beel's face, his body to focus on, it's either think about how nice his hands feel on your neck, shoulders, and back, or how close you came to death. You bite your lip.

Beel was telling the truth. He does know how to give a good massage, which makes sense. He's sporty, he's probably learned it sometime in his training. He's careful and delicate where your bruises are, but making sure to put enough pressure where your muscles are sore, where you're still feeling tense and jittery. You could pretend that it's the steam making your face red, but why lie to yourself?

You let your eyes slip closed as his fingers dig in, leaning into Beel's touch and relaxing. With Beel, it's easy to forget why you're showering together, why red is still circling the drain. You can just pretend this is what you always do, what you both want-

And that illusion is made a little more real when you sway back again - and something brushes against your back.

Your eyes fly open. Beel's hands still.

You can feel him, warm against your back even with the heat of the water. His fingers curled around your shoulder blades, his breath puffing into your hair.

You don't know whether to turn around or stay staring forward, don't want to risk making Beel the slightest bit uncomfortable (too late). But you can't just ignore what you both know.

"I'm sorry," Beel says first, before you can pull your scrambled brain together enough to decide on words. You sense rather than see him hunch over, and you can picture it so clearly - Beel, always trying to make himself smaller, take up less space.

“It’s alright, Beel,” you manage, even though your mouth feels very, very dry. “Can I turn around?”

There is a quiet mumble and then a “yes”. You turn slowly, giving him plenty of time to watch you movements, feeling a bit like you’re dealing with a scared animal instead of your large demon friend.

You try to keep your eyes on Beel’s face, or at least his upper body - his gorgeous body, the muscles highlighted by the water, and you can’t help but peek lower.

You were right about what had poked you in the back.

You quickly shoot your eyes up but Beel definitely saw you looking, blushing bright red and wringing his hands together.

“Could you turn the water off?” you ask with your voice raised, the water too loud for a quiet conversation. Beel does as he’s asked and you sort of regret it, because without the warm water and steam it’s suddenly cold.

Beel notices you shiver and quickly finds a towel to wrap around you - white, cheap, just a RAD school one, but it helps. He hesitantly reaches for one himself, but there’s no way a towel is going to be able to hide him.

“Hey,” you call, drying yourself off so you don’t get too cold. “Are you alright, Beel?”

You mean more emotionally, but Beel blushes harder and well-

“I’m fine. This just… happens. Sometimes.” Beel looks so hard it hurts, even as you only glance his cock from your peripheral, not wanting to embarrass him too much.

“Yeah?” You don’t know what else to say. Beel seems to take it as a prompt to continue instead of a sound to fill the space.

“Yeah. When I’m… if I think too much about you.”

Beel’s cheeks are as red as his hair and he stares into the corner. Your mouth is no longer dry - you feel like you’re going to start drooling. Maybe this is what Beel feels like when you lay out a steak in front of him?

“Do you need a hand with that?” you blurt out. Beel jolts. He finally looks you in the eyes, and Beel can be so expressive when he’s not got that serious resting face. Now he just looks aroused and you’re sure he’s only holding onto his control by a thread.

“I- I-” Beel shakes his head and you’re ready to back off, but he sways closer. His hands rest on your shoulders. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Beel,” you tell him, meeting his eyes. “If it’s what you want.”

Suddenly your feet leave the floor. You shout in surprise, fear flashing through you again before you remember it’s only Beel, and he looks guilty and freezes once you’re settled in his arms.

“Beel!” you snap, and he hunches over, reminding you very much of a scolded dog.

“You said yes… r-right?” Beel mumbles.

“I said yes to giving you a hand. I expect a bit of warning before you grab me and pick me up.” You lay a hand on his chest, stroking it soothingly. You watch the way his body shudders when you brush against a nipple, playing with it. “I’m not mad, but that’s going to be a rule, okay? You didn’t know before but now you do. Ask before you grab.”

“Okay,” Beel nods, seeming a bit more confident. He smiles at you. It’s wide and sweet and entirely incongruous to the hard cock you can feel brushing against your ass. He carries you over to the bench, spreading your towels out onto it and sitting down without loosening his grip. The way he’s holding you, your knees against his chest, your body hunched over his head - you tower over him.

You stroke his still wet hair and let Beel relax, eyes going half-lidded at your touch. He’s strong, so strong, holding you like it’s nothing and he doesn’t even seem to get tired.

“Tell me what you want, big boy.” You tilt his chin up to look at you, stroking his soft skin. Beel inhales deeply and you realise he looks almost drunk, something about your scent or the situation setting him off.

“I want- I want-” Beel shakes his head, a little clarity returning to his eyes. “I want a taste.”

You recall the demon from the hall. But this is Beel, one of your demons, your beautiful demon who’d kill to defend you. You’re not afraid.

“Go ahead.”

As you suspected, he lifts you higher until your legs are over his back, his nose and mouth shoved against your crotch. The position should leave you off-balance but you trust Beel, you trust him to hold you up and never let you fall, and he doesn’t give you time to worry anyway before his tongue is diving into you.

“Fuck!” Beel doesn’t waste time. He’s not as purposeful as Mammon - and that thought has you swerving your mind away, because you don’t want to think too hard about the fact that you can directly compare the brothers’ oral skills - but he’s enthusiastic and he’s huge.

You look down, his face mostly hidden by your stomach, but you think you can see the shadow of horns flickering in and out between your legs, and that tongue doesn’t feel anything human.

Beel’s tongue reaches too much all at once to be human, the tip exploring your folds curiously, finding your entrance and focusing there - the rest of it pressed against you, brushing up against your clit by pure accident.

“Yes, there, good job, big boy-”

Beel responds well to your praise - you tell him exactly when he’s hit the right spot, and eventually his tongue shifts to always rub against your clit, the tip still poking at your entrance.

“Fuck, yes, such a good job, Beel,” you groan, rubbing your pussy into his face. Beel moans, the sound deep and moving through his whole body into yours. You shift your weight and Beel moves his hand to catch you, never letting you feel gravity pulling you down.

You reach the edge quickly - the adrenaline still pumping through you from earlier, the reminder that you’re alive, you’re alive and you’re with Beel and he saved you - it all has you cumming over Beel’s tongue faster than you thought possible.

He doesn’t stop.

Beel’s tongue keeps moving, faster, poking deeper into you entrance, teasing your clit just on the edge of over stimulation.

You curse, hips jerking - not sure whether to grind yourself closer or move away. It didn’t hurt just yet, but getting too close to another orgasm was gonna put this to a stop sooner than you want.

“Beel, wait,” you tell him and he doesn’t even seem to hear you.

You lean back a bit, enough to see his eyes, and they’re glazed over - lost in lust and the taste of you. Leaning your upper body back forces your pussy against his mouth, making you groan.

“Beel,” you repeat, tugging at his hair. He growls against you, the vibrations sending little shocks through your body.

“Beel, stop!”

The order freezes him in his tracks, his eyes snapping to your face.

Beel quickly drops you into his lap, his hands moving over your body to assure himself you’re okay. He’s still hard and leaking against your stomach, and you’ve landed in the pre that already soaks his thighs.

“I- I’m sorry,” Beel says, eyes wet and staring at the bench. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, Beel,” you call, getting his focus on you. “You need to listen to me, okay? What happened there?”

“I…” Beel flushes, shifts against you. “You just taste really good.”

You kiss him on the cheek, tasting yourself just a bit on his skin. You don’t doubt him, but you want to push it a little bit more.

“Anything else?” you probe gently, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“I…” Beel lowers his head. He always tries to make himself small, non-threatening with you. “I just… I wasn’t sure if I’d get to do this again, so I got really distracted on enjoying what was going on, and I wasn’t really… I swear I didn’t hear you before you ordered me. I wouldn’t keep going if…”

“I believe you, Beel,” you assure him, and he relaxes just a bit. “Why were you worried you wouldn’t get to do this again?”

You lightly push Beel down, lying him flat on his back against the bench. For now, you settle on his abs, straddling him. The bit of extra distance helps you see all of Beel’s features, and with you over him now, you hope he feels safer.

“You already have Mammon and Levi,” Beel explains. He looks ashamed of himself, as though those two weren’t the most jealous of his brothers. “They’re strong and they can protect you. And they… they love you a lot, so…”

Beel’s cheeks only get redder, and you wonder what he might be thinking. You squeeze his shoulders. “And I care about them a lot them too. But Beel, that doesn’t affect what I feel for you.”

“I want to protect you too, but tonight you nearly…” It seems to take all of Beel’s strength to meet your eyes. “Are you sure? With me?”

“You did protect me, Beel.” You cup his face with your hands, squeezing a little. “I feel safe with you. So I want you to just focus on enjoying this with me, okay? Not just enjoying me.”

Beel nods shyly. “What do you want to do?”

You lift yourself back to straddle his thighs and consider your options.

Beel’s cock is… big. There’s no other way to describe it. Even with one orgasm relaxing you, there’s just no way without a lot of prep, lube, and time that you’ll be able to take him comfortably, and you do want to go to bed at some point tonight.

“It doesn’t have to go in,” Beel mumbles, seeming to read your mind.

“It won’t… tonight,” you agree, shifting further back again. “Just relax, okay? I’ve got an idea.”

You’re now sitting on his knees and take a moment to gather spit in your mouth. He’s flagged a bit during your talk, but you’ll get him going again.

Fitting all of Beel’s dick in your mouth is also not going to happen, so instead you focus on getting it nice and wet.

One of your hands grips the base, both to give Beel a bit of extra touch and to support the heavy head. You’re not even sure where to start, but the veins visible running along his cock mark as good a place as any.

You slide the very tip of your tongue along the side, keeping an eye on Beel for his reaction. He’s breathing deeply, eyes locked onto you, your mouth, your hand. On your next go you flatten your tongue and lick, tasting him properly, and Beel groans.

You’re not as confident as you want Beel to think you are, so you keep a close eye on his face. You curl your tongue around his head, dip the tip into his slit. You go up and down his dick, your hand pumping along the lower half, your movements getting quicker.

You’re not prepared for just how much you can feel Beel - every throb, every pump of pre out of him, it’s all so much more than you’ve experienced before. You swear you can feel his heartbeat through his cock.

Curiously, you let your teeth brush against him on your next lick. You have an idea that human guys don’t like that, but Beel is not human.

You’re rewarded by Beel moaning and bucking up, trying to control his hips and failing. It’s cute. After your talk, he’s much more aware of your reactions, being careful never to push you more than you like.

“You’re so good for me, Beel.”

He throbs at your words. You file that away for later.

You finally fit your mouth over the tip. Beel reaches a hand down for you and you shoot him a firm look, but he doesn’t try to force you down, just makes sure your hair is out of the way.

You get as much in your mouth as you can, not pushing yourself to take him down your throat. You level out barely a third of the way down, but Beel doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s holding himself very still as you suck, wrapping your tongue around and trying to press it to the roof of your mouth. You shift to bite down gently again. Beel makes a new, strangled sound and his head knocks against the bench. You laugh around his cock and he gives you an offended look.

You pull off when it looks like he’s getting close, sitting back up and wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Huh?” Beel slurs, lifting himself up enough to look at you.

“That’s not all I was thinking of,” you explain, moving up and settling down over his crotch. “Can you give me some support?”

You guide Beel’s hands to your hips and he finds a good grip, taking some of the strain from your knees. Holding yourself up, you meet Beel’s curious gaze.

You take the tip of his cock in your hand, holding it steady and bringing it to his stomach. You squeeze enough to make him gasp.

“Ready, big boy?” you ask and Beel nods, trusting and enthusiastic.

You give him another grin and grind yourself down.

Your wet pussy and his slicked up dick let you rut against him without any trouble. The stimulation has him suck in a breath and you keep going - having already cum once, you’re still feeling a little sensitive yourself. This should be enough for both of you.

“Oh,” Beel mumbles, his hips bucking up when you give him a nod. You’re glad for his supportive grip and his movement, because after everything tonight you’re not sure you want to do that much of the work. Even now, the effort of holding yourself up is starting to hurt, not helped by tonight’s events.

“Y-you can. You can drop down,” Beel grunts between your rutting, his breath catching on every other word. “I’m- It’ll just feel good.”

“You sure?” you ask and Beel groans, his head slamming back into the bench hard enough to make a sound that echoes through the room.

“‘M not delicate,” he tells you, voice growing deeper. “You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

You grin and do as he asks.

The gasp that leaves Beel’s body erases all doubt from your mind. His cock is sandwiched between his body and yours, your pussy grinding down with your weight against him. You keep playing with his tip with your hand, jerking and teasing the head.

His hands try and pull you down, forcing more weight onto his cock.

Now that you don’t have to worry about keeping your hips up, you can focus on your own pleasure. You angle your body to grind your clit against him, the constant contact nearly too much. You can’t help but chase another orgasm though, Beel’s fucked out expression chasing you forward.

“That’s right, Beel,” you tell him breathlessly, your hands resting over his. “You’re my big, strong demon, aren’t you? This sort of thing is nothing to you, right?”

“Not nothing,” Beel grunts, and you swear you hear a buzzing echo to his words. “Feels good. MC- M-Master, I’m gonna come.”

“That’s my good, big boy, Beel,” you coo, picking up the pace. Beel is drooling, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He’s so pretty like this. “You’ve done so good for me tonight. Keeping me safe and making me cum. Gonna make you feel good, too. Give my big boy a reward.”

Beel whines, his back arching, hips raising into the air and staying there, gravity forcing you closer together. “Thank you, master.”

“You can come, Beel, come for me, you deserve it.” You twist the head of his dick in your hand as you drop down with your hips, the extra stimulation enough to send Beel over.

You can feel his cock pumping out cum beneath you, making you gasp. You fuck him through his release, watch his eyes roll back and that’s what gets you to your second orgasm of the night.

Your movements slow, still shifting on top of him until you’re both done. Beel’s stomach is a mess, a mix of his cum and yours dipping into the lines of his abs, sliding over the soft parts of his belly.

You’re both breathing deeply and you know you’re going to need a second shower before you go home (Beel, a third). For now though you’re content to stay right where you are, watching Beel collect his scrambled thoughts.

“M-master,” he mumbles, his hips still twitching. “You’re, um, you’re still on me…”

“Do you need me to get off?” you tease, but shift back and let Beel relax properly. You’ll push him further later. For now, you want to keep Beel calm and confident. “You can rest for a while. We’ll have to take a shower before we go, okay?”

“Okay,” Beel agrees easily, eyes half-closed. “Can I stay in your room tonight?”

“Of course you can, big boy,” you tell him, and he smiles, content. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Beel hadn’t just saved your life - he’d very effectively made you forget just how close you came to losing it. He just had that effect, always a calming presence in the chaos of the house. At least until he got too hungry.

Beel eventually sits up and nuzzles into your shoulder.

“You good to get up?” you ask him, running your fingers through his now messy hair. He nods against your skin.

“Alright, big fella. Let’s get ready, okay?” Before you can guide him to his feet though, Beel’s head turns towards you, lips brushing your ear.

“When we get home…” he whispers, arms wrapping around you. “Can I have another taste?”

And you’d worried about Asmo being insatiable.

———

The next night, you creep up to Belphie’s room, a small bag of comfort candy in your hand. You try to visit him at least once a week, more if you can manage. An unfortunate side affect of your growing… polycule? Relationship? Harem? was that you’d had less opportunities to sneak away lately.

You’re surprised to find Belphie sitting upright, waiting patiently by the door. It sends a little pang through your heart - does he always wait for you on the nights you don’t come?

Belphie’s expression is carefully neutral as you sit in front of him, sliding the candy through the bars in the door. He accepts them but doesn’t say anything until he’s popped one in his mouth.

“So,” he begins, his voice oddly strained, “how are you getting along with Beel?”

#obey me #sub obey me #obey me smut #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub smut #yandere obey me #yandere beelzebub #afab reader #dom reader #surprise I’m not dead

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thebrimstoneclub · 8 months

Text

Being Sick Is The Worst

*You're away at college and have caught just the worst virus imaginable. And the only medicine is Eddie. AKA, I'm so very sick and would like Eddie to take care of me too*

The knock at the door is the most painful sound you've ever heard. For the past few days, your head has been on the verge of splitting in half, cracking open from steadily building sinus pressure. A hoarse groan comes from your cracked lips in your best attempt in asking who decided to interrupt your attempt at a nap. After your last class of the day, you dragged yourself to your dorm room with no intention of leaving bed unless absolutely necessary. Due to an outburst of people coughing and refusing to cover their mouths, you had fallen sick with a vicious bug. As your first experience being sick entirely on your own, it was far from pleasant. You had been more focused on trying to just survive through classes between shots of cough syrup.

"Special delivery," a voice calls out in response. Sitting up stirs another coughing fit, but you force yourself out of bed. With your blanket wrapped around you, you shuffle across the room and crack open the door.

This was clearly a fever dream. It's the only explanation for Eddie standing in front of you, grinning playfully and bouncing with nervous energy. Even in your fugue state, you just want to hold onto him. You throw your arms around his shoulders and burrow your burning face into his chest. Your congestion muffles the familiar soothing smell of him. His warm laugh fills you as he slips his arms around your waist to hold you just as tightly.

"My poor princess," Eddie murmurs between kissing the top of your head.

"You're here?" you croak, tilting your head up to squint at him.

"Uncle Wayne said you called yesterday," Eddie answers and brushed your frizzy hair away from your clammy forehead. The foggy memory returns: you feeling as if you were both being burned alive and thrown into ice water, grappling with the phone for a few minutes before finally dialing the familiar number, your raspy request for Eddie and Wayne apologizing that he wasn't home yet.

"But you're here," you repeat. Your mind is too heavy and slow, still trying to process anything beyond just how it feels that Eddie's holding you.

"Of course I am," Eddie beams down at you. "What sort of knight would I be if I didn't ride my steed as fast as I could as soon as I heard my princess was struck by the plague?"

"My knight," you laugh, even though that causes the pressure in your chest to swell and ache even more. You very much want to kiss him, but the sheer amount of snot coursing through you causes second thoughts. So, you resume pressing against his chest as much as you can. Which also helps since it feels like you might drop to the floor at any moment. Eddie must sense this since he gently tries to nudge you backwards towards your open door.

"Let's get you back into bed, huh?" he says when your legs stagger but don't really move in any direction.

"You're always trying to get me into bed," you tease before coughing with such vigor that it feels like your lungs might be possessed.

"Can you blame me?" Eddie winks slyly at you. He squeezes your waist before turning you around to walk into your dorm. You certainly look as if you were struck by the plague, with a red and dripping nose, bloodshot eyes, rumpled pjs. But Eddie still thinks you're as perfect as ever. He helps you back into bed, tucks you under the blanket, peppering in light kisses to your forehead. You finally notice the small bag he carried. More coughing keeps you from speaking so you weakly wave at it.

"I wasn't sure what kinda sick you were, so I just got a mix of stuff," Eddie explains with a sheepish smile as he unpacks cans of Ginger Ale, crackers, soup, cough drops, tissues. You manage a few sips of the soda and blow your nose until it hurts too much to continue. Eddie sits on the bed, gently rubbing your leg as you do. "At least eat one of the crackers? When was the last time you ate anything?"

"I had tea this morning," you mumble while Eddie opens the package.

"Tea's not food, sweetheart." He shakes his head, but his smile remains kind. You relent with a nod and manage to eat three of the crackers before it's too much effort to keep sitting up. Eddie tries to move as quietly as possible while cleaning up. You're burrowing into the blankets and pillows, trying to find a balance between the fluctuating temperatures.

"Wait..." Your mind is starting to work again, as Eddie crawls into the bed next to you. He doesn't get under the blankets, propping himself up on one arm to wait for you to continue. "Today is Wednesday..."

"Is something happening on Wednesday?"

"There are classes tomorrow."

"Sweetheart, have you seen yourself? You can skip a class or two."

"No, no, no," you shake your head, then wince from how painful it is. It takes another minute for your train of thought of resume course. "You have classes tomorrow!"

"So? It's not as if I haven't taken them before." Eddie shrugs before resting his head on the pillow next to yours. If you had the strength, you'd swat at his arms, continue the argument. Instead, all you can manage is a grumble and a nudge to his shoulder. But Eddie knows you well enough to know the words you'd say if you were properly coherent. He kisses your forehead again before sliding in close to you. "This is all about worrying over you, alright? We can worry about me next week. And yes, I do have someone who will lend me their notes. And yes, I will turn in all missed assignments. And no, I will not be leaving your side until you can breathe without collapsing."

"I made it all the way to the door without collapsing," you offer, but you aren't really protesting his instance on saying. Your arms snake around his waist and you quickly (or as quickly as you can) transfer your head from the pillow to his chest. If you were feeling better, Eddie would run his fingers through your hair, but he knows when your head hurts you can't stand anything touching it. So, his hands, which rarely stay still, settle for rubbing small circles over your lower back. He feels so cool and soothing against you, like your own personal ice cream on the hottest day of the summer. You wriggle in closer against him with the hope it might be the cure for your fever.

"You did, and I'm so proud of you," Eddie laughs softly and kisses your temple even softer. A soft hum slips from your lips. Having Eddie truly felt better than any medicine. You almost feel like a functioning person again.

"I'm really glad you came," you whisper after a weak cough.

"Yeah, well," Eddie can't help but chuckle, even though he refrains from making a joke. As much as he wants to, his worry for you is battling against it. You've both seen each other sick before, but he's never seen you this bad before. You're shivering even though you're burning up, and there's little color left in your skin. Eddie can feel the rattle in your chest with each shallow breath. He doesn't know at what point a doctor needs to be called. Does a college campus even have doctors? You and Eddie are so good about taking care of each other, but tend to let self-care fall to side, which is why Eddie decided to make the long drive as soon as Wayne told him about the call. He knew you wouldn't do anything beyond collapse from exhaustion. To prove his point, he asks "When did you last take something?"

"Advil, this morning," you answer after having to think for over a minute.

"It's not morning anymore," he says, looking around your room. Something that looks like Advil sits on your desk, but fetching it requires leaving the bed. No wonder you hadn't taken it again. After another tender forehead kiss, Eddie attempts to slide out from under you. One hand clutches his tee shirt. It's an instinct anytime he gets out of bed, but this time it's a little tighter.

"I'm so tired, Eddie," your words slur together a little.

"I know, darling. I know. After you get this Advil, and some ginger ale, you can sleep. I'll even tell you a bedtime story," he reassures you while resting his hand on top of yours. He knows how much you love it when he reads to you or regales you with dramatic reenactments of Hellfire sessions. It succeeds in convincing you to release him. Eddie practically jumps across the room to grab the medicine and return to your side as swiftly as possible. A hand on your shoulder helps you up enough to sip enough ginger ale to swallow the pill. Eddie wordlessly offers another pair of crackers that you eat without protesting. After blowing your nose a few more times, you slump back onto the pillow.

"Love you," you continue to mumble as Eddie lays down next to you again.

"Love you." Eddie gently repositions you so you're resting atop him again. One hand slide under the back of your shirt to try and provide a bit more relief. Both your legs are tangled together in a familiar way. You can barely keep your eyes open at this point, your body getting heavier. Eddie's heartbeat in your ear is a steady melody, complimented by his warm voice, weaving the story of a noble princess and her love-struck knight defeating a most foul plague.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson fic

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lavenoon · 11 months

Text

Bonnie, the former Agent Jackalope!

The last of the original Glamrocks, with a superficially mellow personality. He’s calm and calculating during missions, and through his polite but approachable attitude fostered a tendency of others underestimating him.

The only people who know that there’s more to him are his friends - Freddy, Chica, and Foxy. Foxy loves annoying him because it’s the easiest way to get him to snap, and then the petty and snarky Bonnie comes out. Gossips like a house-wife, and pulls no punches. None of those punches are ever serious, he’s petty, not a full on asshole, and Foxy (the most common target due to his habits) laughs at them more than anyone. It’s in good humor, and Bonnie very much enjoys being the entertaining complainer.

He’s still also friendly, it just happens to be the act he has to put on during work most often too. The snark is catharsis, but most of the time he’s happy to sit back and just joke around with his friends.

When Foxy first started asking questions and directing criticism towards the higher ups, Bonnie didn’t necessarily disagree - but he also did not feel like openly antagonizing his employer. Not when he knows what kind of dirty work he does for said employer, and thus knows that they are not above underhanded techniques to silence threats. So he, like Chica, tried talking Foxy out of his approach, while Freddy was the most vocal in his defense of Fez.

And then Foxy “died”.

Bonnie did not believe it - but he questioned himself, too frozen in the realization that his friend is gone. Is he simply stuck in denial, or is there really something fishy going on? He finds no evidence in the building Foxy was last seen in, but he knows Fez cleanup works fast and well. For a long time he doesn’t do much, just running through the same routine trying to make it through every day while doubts gnaw at him.

But when Roxy comes in, much too soon after Foxy’s death, his suspicions rear their ugly heads again and he starts investigating in earnest. He’s quiet about it, quieter than Foxy. First, he talks to Roxy. Asks her about her age, when she started training, when Fez recruited her - and he does the math. It does not paint a pretty picture. He thanks her, quietly but genuinely, and when he notices how uncomfortable she is about the entire topic, he shoots her just a quick “You did nothing wrong.”

Despite being quiet, his investigation starts drawing management’s attention - and Bonnie sees the writing on the wall. His missions get riskier and more often end in fights and require cleanup. He starts moving his assets out of town. When he gets put in charge of a high stakes mission, teamed up with a newbie (as promising as he is), he’s immediately on edge. It’s not that he doesn’t get along with Monty - but there is tension between them, with Monty’s urge for quick action clashing with his own calculating attitude. Bonnie is the one to suggest a split, and Monty doesn’t disagree - they both feel like they need to cool off.

Bonnie gets ambushed, though he dispatches his assailants with minimal injury. But he realizes this is an opportunity that he won’t get again so quickly, and next time could be too late. There’s already splinters of his outer shell lying about, but he knows Fez will want more evidence of his “demise”.

His left ear, already damaged, loses its top half, thrown towards the next wall where a few blood splatters already mar the paint. His loose left finger, in the opposite direction. For good measure he rips off the dented plating of his left arm too, where he shielded himself against a heavier blow. Because he knows Monty will be at risk on his own, he sends one last signal through their communicators, before crushing his on the ground, too.

Now he has to be quick. He carries off the knocked out attackers, only leaving an ambiguous fight scene.

And then agent Jackalope officially is no more.

Bonnie keeps tabs on Abra Fez, though he now has to jump through many more hoops. He moves cities, focusing his investigation on his friends. Are they okay, or has Fez hurt them for his insubordination? He doesn’t like hearing about them grieving him, but doesn’t dare reveal himself to them either, remembering Freddy’s vehement protest at the suggestion that Fez does not care for its agents.

And then Monty joins the Glamrocks, and despite Bonnie not disliking the guy, he hates it. Hates that he was replaced so quickly, hates that his friends will move on without him, hates that he can’t do anything about it until he has solid proof.

So he stops checking up on the Glamrocks, and digs deeper. Who’s behind the code name “Hare”, leading Abra Fez from the shadows? What really happened to the late head of Fez, the one who recruited Freddy and built the agency from the ground up? When did animatronics become tools, and when did those tools become expendable?

The answers aren’t pretty.

And despite everything, he still doesn’t know what happened to Foxy.

When his savings start running out, Bonnie takes a job at a local bowling alley, and has to relearn how to be social. He’s fumbling a bit more in the casual environment, but finds that the one or other snarky comment isn’t actually considered a faux pas, and then he starts enjoying it. It’s not the same, it’s not his friends who are all living without him, but it’s something, and beggars can’t be choosers.

He’s boisterous and happy for everyone to see, but he never talks about his past and refuses to actually give out any information about himself. His coworkers appreciate him for his humor and ability to handle even the roughest customers while staying calm himself. When they ask where he learned that, he only ever declares he’s had practice, and nothing else. And then he goes home as soon as his shift is over, with no one knowing his address or even phone number, and never joins in on any after-work hangouts or the like.

When Bonnie’s off work, and not charging, he continues investigating Fez. He deals with many shady individuals, still getting into the occasional fight when someone has second thoughts about sharing information with him, though he has managed to stay low enough to not draw Fez’ attention again. He makes a name for himself as a private investigator, and while not entirely accurate, it’s not wrong enough for him to tell anyone otherwise. Those gigs are much rarer, but he can be convinced to investigate other people’s matters, too.

For a few years, that’s his life, and he figures it’s the best he’ll get.

Though, then… Then Fez makes moves to settle in another city, and Bonnie hears about it. He hears about them being beaten back, and he starts wondering if perhaps he’s gone about things the wrong way, not seeking out allies.

He prepares for another move. When he quits his job many are devastated, and he acts like it’s a regretful development. But for the first time in all those years, he’s buzzing with anticipation and something more - maybe hope.

Hope of finally making headway against Fez, hope to finally find a new safety net, hope to perhaps even see his old friends again, and maybe his continued existence together with everything he has already collected on Fez will be enough to convince them to quiet, or at the very least believe him.

But for once he’s also filled with a lot of anxiety restless energy, knowing that he’s just as likely to be found by Fez as by any agency opposing them, but it’s a risk he willingly takes. Turns out he’s done hiding, and done only playing pretend at being happy and social - he wants friends, his friends, and he wants all those things Fez originally took from him.

And, well, once he does move, and gets to investigate in town… There are some very unexpected revelations to be had <3

#post let luce #dcamv #accidentally undercover #fnaf bonnie #my art #hii have a bonnie #he comes in after the glamrocks find foxy but thats all im telling #now lets hope i get to write all those ideas i have lmao #its slow going #brain still funky and weird about art #so its not like i can draw them out to get to them faster lmao #but ye #lots of ideas i wanna write #for now u get the bun PI #enjoy <3

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liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 11 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what does it mean for your world to be torn apart?

words: 7.7k

chapter warning: graphic descriptions of sex, violence and gore. smutty fantasies (p in v, oral-f and m receiving, dubcon), nude photos, catfishing, revenge p*rn, coercion and manipulation of a minor, references to cancer treatment

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. sexual situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. drug use. coersion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Please don't date a mob boss.

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you can't name the Mambo #5 women then gtfo.

a/n - Originally this chapter and the next were intended to be one part, but the word count was far too long. I encourage you to read them together! Read this one first! Also, it might be fun to listen to the official Sugar and Vice playlist on Spotify for the next two chapters.

Back to Part 10.

Part 11

What does it mean to be pulled apart?

Peter knew. He was experiencing it first-hand.

It was glorious.

Heaven was the only thing he could think of, and he wasn’t even sure he believed such a place existed. But if it did, it would be here—in between the thighs of the woman he’d die for.

She looked so delicate beneath him. So tiny against the black ocean of silk sheets in his bed. Her arms were outstretched, a black-leather cuff binding each wrist. Her legs were also spread wide. The sight was breathtakingly lewd—body trembling, goosefleshed, inner thighs dripping wet. He loved the way her hips squirmed beneath his hands. It made it even more fun to hold her down.

It was almost vulgar, a shameless, pornographic display. But she was an angel, after all. How could anything be vulgar about an angel? How could anything be shameful in Heaven? How could something so sweet be a sin?

Honey. He remembered how his mind used to wander into dark territory. It was somewhat embarrassing, how often it would happen. He’d be standing in line at the coffee shop watching her work, or watching her whip up a batch of cake batter in his kitchen. Suddenly, the thought would attack his mind: like being struck by lightning. He would wonder if she tasted as sweet as she was, while silently observing her with a crooked half-smile on his face, cock half-hard in his pants.

She tasted better than he ever could’ve imagined. Uniquely sweet and still somehow floral, like honey and lavender. Honeysuckle. No wonder birds and bees couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Hummingbird wings beat beneath his chest as his tongue lapped at her petals, devouring the nectar he’d find.

He was addicted to it. Whimpering for it. Jesus, he was a goner.

He’d never stop. He wanted to stay in Heaven forever. Just him desperately consuming her with mewling pathetic noises as he ground his crotch helplessly against the bedsheets. He wanted to stay there and weave his tongue through her folds—fuck, he was gonna come just from eating her out, blow his load in his pants like a fuckin’ teenager—until she begged him to stop. Until he’d pulled every last beautiful noise from her.

She was crying from pleasure. Screaming from it. He knew it. He was splitting her in half, as much she tore him apart. He was in pieces. Fragments. His love, and pain, and soul all spilling out for her.

Only for her.

The water was warm. The steam filled his lungs. Heat settled in his chest and burned like fire. His hands were buried in her sopping wet hair. She was wrapped around his fingers. Wrapped around his cock. Her face was pressed against the shower wall as he gazed hungrily down at the place where he was impaling her. Every thrust of his hips was a dizzying jolt of electricity.

He was obsessed with the view, watching his cock slip in and out of her folds. Fuck she’s so tight. It hurt. There’s nothing wrong with a little pain, though. Nothing wrong with a little blood.

Her mouth felt so tight. Watching his cock slip in and out of her lips. Her throat closed around his length. He gazed down at those hypnotic, sparkling, watery eyes. Fuck he could see his head going down her throat. She was so good to him. So good.

Perfect angel. So good on her knees for him. Sucking him so well, the berber carpet of her closet rubbing burns there, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Such a tough girl.

Such a pretty girl. Wearing that beautiful little lavender dress he bought for her. He knew she’d like it. He knew it’d look perfect on her—goddamn potato sack’d look sexy on her—the second he saw it in the store, he knew. Babydoll. It suits her so well. Like it was made for her.

Like her mouth was made for him. He gripped her chin tighter. Her pussy was made for him. He began to thrust into her throat, couldn’t help himself. Her whole body was made for him.

Lace and silk flowing down it. His cum would be flowing soon enough. Dripping all over, coating her face and tits and tongue. Looking up at him with those beautiful eyes as she held her mouth open for him like a good girl, tongue stuck out greedily, savoring every last drop. Nothing wrong with being greedy sometimes. His good girl.

His cum streaming down her face.

Her tears streaming down her face.

His tears streaming down her face.

He snapped his hips faster, fucking her into his creaky, old twin mattress. The lumpy one he slept on every night since he was 5. He’d proactively shoved old t-shirts in the cracks between the bed and the wall to muffle any potential pounding.

He was pretty sure that May and Ben might have suspected he was foolin’ around and stuff, but ever since the Sex Talk Debacle of 2008, he would prefer a wrap it up, stop means stop, and never to have that conversation again.

“Peter... oh god, feelss s’good...” he heard a breathless whisper that shot straight to his cock.

He looked down to see the most gorgeous green eyes in the entire world staring up at him. Blissed out. Euphoric. Corn silk hair spread out on his pillow like a halo around her head. Fair skin, apple-cheeks, kissable freckles, and peony-pink lips. An angel.

Heaven. He was in Heaven. The sight of her made him want to fall down and worship. Made him want to cry. Bury his head against her belly and sob and scream and have her pet him and run her fingers through his hair and rock him and cradle him and promise that she’d never leave him again.

It had been so long. “Gwen...” he panted, a groan bubbling up in his chest. “God, Gwen, I’ve missed you... s-so fuckin’ much—”

“I love you,” she gasped a hushed reply, nearing her climax. Like whispering a secret. So quiet, so the other angels couldn’t hear. “I-I love you, Peter—I love you always...”

He was being torn apart. He wanted to die, the way she tightened around him.

“Fuck, fuck, Peter, don’t stop!”

He opened his eyes. Honey was beneath him again, in his childhood bedroom. There was blood everywhere in the sheets. Streaming down her face. Coating her breasts. Covering her arms. Covering his hands.

“Peter, please, don’t stop,” she whined, and who was he to deny her. She was a goddess and this was her kingdom.

Perfect girl. Such a good girl.

“I’ve been so good for you, been so, so good—”

don’t stop.

Stop, just stop—

—don’t fucking stop—

—Peter, snap out of it, stop!

“Pete, wake up!”

His eyes popped open just as he felt himself falling over the edge. The sensation was terrifying. Like plummeting in a dream. Disorienting.

Light pierced his eyes like flaming swords. The hum of neon rang in his ears like a jet engine. He tasted bile on his tongue, but his mouth was drier than a desert. Throat was sore. Great, is this the flu? How long has it been since he was sick? Gross taste in his mouth. Awful metallic scent in his nose.

His muscles locked in place. Brain short-circuiting.

Blood. He smelled blood.

“Pete, can you hear me? Are you still crazy?” Eddie’s voice punctured his eardrums, and Peter reached up to cover his ears protectively. Lashes fluttered, dark eyes roving around. The picture came into focus.

He was in a room. A dark room. No windows. With ugly carpet and ugly modern furniture that reeked of cigars, cigarettes and old vodka.

It was a small lounge of some kind. Through the walls he could hear bells and laughter and shrill screams of excitement.

Broken glass littered the patterned floor, multiple recognizable fragments that were once full bottles of Belluga, Russo-Baltique, Chopin, and good old-fashioned Belvedere.

He was on his back. Looking up at Eddie Brock, who looked even more worse-for-wear than he normally did. “Talk to me, buddy,” he anxiously muttered, leaning over his boss.

Also, this was not the person he expected to see after... whatever that was.

His throat was too sore to respond in words. Instead he groaned, rolling over on his side. Hissing in pain that radiated in his chest and ribs and hands. His hands were bloody.

He swallowed hard. Heart pounding. “Honey...” he whispered, worry and confusion taking over.

“She’s safe,” Eddie replied, and it only sort of gave him some relief.

He twisted around, assessing the room. The furniture had been turned over. It looked like a tornado shredded the space. Attempting to get up was difficult, especially as Peter tried to conceal the rapidly weakening hard-on in his trousers.

“What about you, how’re you feelin’?” Eddie’s voice chimed in again, voice softer. “What do you see? What do you remember?”

He didn’t want to talk about what he remembered, worried that the bulge in his pants had already given him away. Peter squeezed his eyes closed, the orbs feeling like sandstones lodged into his skull. He groaned, “Uhhh... shit... I... uh...”

He remembered...

His time in Heaven. The closet. The bedsheets. Honey. Gwen.

No, none of that’s real. None of that happened.

—you’ll never see them again—

Focus, Parker.

—youre a monster and monsters never get to heaven no such thing—

“Pete,” Eddie repeated, this time more firmly. “You with me?”

Peter looked up at the other man, reading his 5 o’clock shadow. Gazed at the concern in his hazel-gray eyes, the old scar cutting over his left brow, and the dark, puffy bags beneath. He really hadn’t slept in days. What the hell happened?

White hair. Long white hair. Smelled like bergamot, and cedar, and tobacco.

Silver. On her eye lids. Around her neck. Chrome-like. Two tiny patches of shiny silver fabric just barely covering massive, fake tits.

Peter swallowed hard, heart pounding. “I...”

Silver thong, garter belt and thigh harnesses to match. She looked like a disco ball. Turning, twirling... gliding around a silver pole. Silver eyes, or maybe that’s just the way they looked when she looked at him. Gazing at him seductively. All over him.

Silver tongue.

He tasted bile coming up his throat. “I... don’t...” Brought the back of his hand up to his mouth to keep it down.

What had he done? What the fuck—?

He looked down at himself in confusion. His black shirt was torn open. Dark pants ripped, shredded in some places. There was a giant black hole in the middle of his memory.

He was home. In his home, in a meeting, in the parlor— He broke the piano—

“That was almost 3 days ago, man,” Eddie chimed in. Peter stared up at him, gobsmacked. Stunned. Confused. Worry set in Eddie’s eyes, the corners of his mouth downturned. “You’re in Vegas.”

Horror. Filling his eyes, his chest. Shock. Heaving. His throat was tightening up because of it. “Wha...?” Peter murmured in disbelief. “Wh-what...?”

Like a spooked cat, he clamored to his feet, the whole world tilting as he came to an abrupt stand.

Blinking rapidly, trying to see into the dark spot in his mind. Black holes consume everything. All light swallowed up. His belt was unbuckled. The fly still fastened tight. His shirt was torn and bloody. Blood all over.

“I...” Peter thought he was going to be sick. He thought he’d scream. “What did I—?” His gaze traveled over the room as he stumbled backward. That’s when he caught a glimpse of it.

Red hair.

He was trembling. Creeping towards a toppled-over chaise lounge, staring unblinkingly down at the horrible pattern of the carpet. The stains on it. Blood.

Long, white waves of hair, spread out like a halo, stained red with blood. Not his blood.

Hers. The silver woman who was flirting with him. Bugging him. Teasing him. Shamelessly trying to seduce him. Sat in his lap and poured vodka down his throat and filthy promises in his ear, before dragging him ‘somewhere private.’

“Oh, god,” Peter gagged. Her broken body was spread out in front of them, her blood painting the floor and walls.

The silver woman’s body was torn apart. Ripped open. Separated. Two halves.

Peter’s legs gave out, dropping to a knee, tears streaming down his cheeks. “God, what did I do?” he breathlessly gasped. There was so much blood. Her skin wasn’t even visible.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t lose it!” Eddie babbled, jumping into view. His form obscured the body as he took Peter by the face. His skin was ice cold. “It’s not what it looks like, alright? Don’t— don’t you fuckin’ throw up! Don’t throw up, that’s your DNA!”

As if he cared about going to jail at this point. Peter was already dead inside. Maybe he needed jail. Supermax. Maybe he needed the electric chair.

“Eddie...” he shivered, voice trembling, “what-what’d... I-I don’t remem—”

“She was an assassin,” Eddie explained, gripping him by his shoulders. Peter’s glazed over expression swam with confusion. Drowned in it.

Eddie rolled his eyes, annoyed by the awkwardness of the situation. “C’mon, man,” he grimaced. “You really thought ‘Silver Sable’ was her name?”

Peter blinked, eyes bugged out. Eddie let out a straight-faced groan, shocked by his boss’ naivety. “Silvija Sablinova was her real name,” he added. “A finalist on the Kremlin’s Got Talent, and guess what her talent was? Cuttin’ throats, man. She’s the leader of the baddest hit squad money can buy. And you were on her list.”

Peter’s skin was stone cold. Shaking his head in disbelief, his brows pinched together in shock.

Eddie rolled his eyes, “I saw the whole thing go down on the security camera footage. Sorry, buddy, she wasn’t that into you.”

Peter’s face flushed red, and he looked away.

“Looks like Kingpin wanted to send you a message.” Eddie looked over at the body, grimness returning to his tone. “Message received, I guess.”

Peter shoved him back angrily, breaking his grip. The dryness in his eyes was only now being counteracted by tears threatening to spill. They burned like acid. “You think that matters to me? I killed her! I did... that.”

“In self-defense,” Eddie argued, then pointed at Peter’s chest. “Not before she got a few good licks in.”

He followed the end of his finger to his chest. Looking down beneath his shirt, he could see bloody gashes oozing beneath the fabric.

Eddie chuckled at the sight in disbelief, “Dude. She stabbed you with a sword—”

“You think this is fuckin’ funny?” Peter snapped, eyes burning hot. “Do you have any idea....?” The air left his lungs before he could finish the sentence. He felt hollow. Numb.

Eddie wasn’t smiling anymore. He glared right back. “Yeah, Pete,” he said with clipped words. “I do.”

They were deadlocked in heated silence. Finally, Peter stepped backward. Body weary, as it always was after a blitz like that. But this time, it was different. It was worse.

Squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears. He gripped his hair, letting out a frustrated cry that sounded more like a growl. The agonized groan of a dying animal.

“I got rid of the camera footage, but we gotta get out of here,” Eddie mentioned, anxiously eying the door. “Get back home before anyone else sees you.”

“I-I don’t...” Peter wiped his mouth, unable to keep that smell at bay. Now he could taste the metal on his tongue.

“Look, this was not random, okay?” Eddie countered. “How did Kingpin know where you were? None of the rest of us did! We’ve been lookin’ all over the East Coast for you. This isn’t circumstance, this is strategy. He went after you for a reason.”

Peter’s eyes were fixed on the floor, tears blurring his vision. “The woman, I-I didn’t...” he sniffed, his voice trembling. He gnawed on his lip to prevent the wobble. “I didn’t want to... I would never do—”

He was unable to speak further. Unable to breathe.

Assassin or no, the images from whatever ‘hallucination’ Peter had been having, juxtaposed with the violent scene he ‘awakened’ to, made him sick with self-loathing. It was like throwing a bucket of ice water on him. A bucket of flaming napalm.

Guilt churned in his stomach. He was ashamed. Mortified at himself. When he squeezed his eyelids closed, all he could see behind them were Honey’s eyes. The look of betrayal on her face. He didn’t even remember how he got there. He didn’t remember anything.

A blackout.

“You weren’t you,” Eddie said, his tone endearing. “Not really.”

When Peter looked back up, tears running down the bridge of his nose and cheeks, he realized he was looking at a friend. Maybe his only friend. The only one that saw him for what he truly was, and didn’t run away in terror.

Maybe he should, though. Peter certainly scared the shit out of himself.

This was an awful idea, Honey thought, standing outside of the ajar door to Peter’s office. She was half convinced that it would never work— it was impossible, given the enhanced security. She told him. Begged him.

Her puppet master didn’t care. Assured her, via text, that when she got to the door, it would be open. The cameras wouldn’t see her, they’d see a loop instead.

She had no idea how John was able to pull that off, but he was capable of anything.

He reminded her of that with a series of photos. This time, they were screenshots of an Instagram chat. The tiny profile pic was undeniably Gabriella. The conversation was intimate. Flirty. Then a little inappropriate. Then straight-up graphic.

She’d sent pictures—christ, what are you doing, Gabby, you never send pictures!—the kind that would make a young girl want to die of embarrassment.

Or just die.

And John fucking Walker had them.

It infuriated her. Honey cried for three hours out of sheer rage. It was so wrong—so fucking wrong, that motherfucker, how did he get into her phone? how was he even allowed to have pictures like that? they’re illegal!

And the more she read over the screenshots, the more she paid attention to spelling and punctuation. The more she began to suspect that John had always been the only recipient of those photos. A catfish caught.

Over her dead fucking body, she thought. She’d die before she’d let him touch her.

And standing in Peter’s office, snooping quietly through his files, that was likely going to be the outcome.

If the threat of harming her sister wasn’t enough, there was a separate gnawing fear inside of her. It had been three days since she’d seen Peter.

After that night, he took off without a word to her or anyone else. She waited for him. After what she saw him do to his guard, she was scared out of her mind, but she waited anyway. He didn’t come home that night. Or the following day.

And when she asked questions, nobody would give her a straight answer. And the following day, everyone vanished. She was practically alone in the penthouse, except for the 12 other faceless guards who didn’t dare speak to her. Apparently, it was a death warrant.

Now it was Day 3, and she felt like giant bats were flailing in her belly. Where could he have gone? And why did he not at least call her and tell her where he was, or if he was alright? She still didn’t have her own phone (officially) but there could’ve been some form of communication.

Was she being naive to think that they had that kind of relationship? She wasn’t allowed to do anything without him knowing about it, but he could disappear for days and not tell her anything? How was that fair?

What if he was with someone? Someone else?

She stowed that sharp pang away, not wanting to dwell on it. She was not jealous. She was safer with him gone. He was a monster. She was not jealous.

She was stupid. This was dumb. She had no idea what John was even looking for, but his desk and the drawers showed nothing to indicate where Peter had gone. She sighed, anxiety filling her chest, worried that she wouldn’t have anything to offer him that would satiate his hunger for cruelty.

She stopped at one of the shelves in the built-in bookcase. There, on top of a book, was an item that she’d never noticed before: a metal rangefinder camera, silver with a bumpy black grip and amber-coated lens.

She didn’t know anything about cameras, but it felt heavy in her hands. She thought it was probably heavier than cameras should be. It looked old. She tested the weight, carefully turning the device over in her hands, inspecting details.

On the front of the camera, in the top right corner, there was a little badge with an embossed atom symbol. The front also had letters ‘GSN’ and the word ‘GYashica.’ She’d never heard of that brand before—wait, was that GYashica or just the letter G and the word Yashica? Maybe it wasn’t a G. It wasn’t a G. Probably.

The top of the camera had words that were easier to read: Electro 35. A Yashica Electro 35. Old. Vintage. Kinda beat-up. The inside of the camera had a label on it too, from an embossed office label printer: PROPERTY OF PETER PARKER.

It made her smile. Her eyes glanced up at the book the camera had been sitting on, and that’s when she noticed it wasn’t a book at all. It was a box that looked like a book, like the kind that her mom used to use to hide all of their money.

Curiously, she set the camera down on a lower shelf and reached up to retrieve the box.

Inside: Photos. Real, physical, color photos printed on old photo paper, not like the kind that some people can print off with a printer at home. She remembered having one of those wind-up film cameras once, but those pictures never looked as good as these.

Candids, all of them. Taken with a skilled eye.

A woman, middle-aged, with a wide smile. In mid-conversation, it would seem, with bright eyes despite how sullen they looked. She was sitting up in a chair, an infusion pump beside her. A yellow, daisy floral bandana was wrapped around her head. Her hair was not visible.

The back of the photo had a date. May 2006. Her brows went up as she flipped the photo back around, taking a closer look at the woman. Not May 2006.

May. 2006.

Her lips parted, not realizing she was going to come face-to-face with the May Reilly. May Parker. Peter’s Aunt May. The woman that became his surrogate mother. The ‘fighter’ that defeated cancer. The only mother he really knew, lost in a rain of gunfire.

Next photo.

An older man, white hair matted down, his upper half drenched. He was sitting in a tight space on a kitchen floor, in front of a sink cabinet that was wide open. In his hand was a pipe. In the other was a rag he was using to dab at his face. Also visible: May, looking a bit older than in the last photo, doubled over, tears in her eyes. Both of them laughing their asses off.

The back of the photo read ‘You should’ve just called a plumber, Ben. 2011’

A chuckle escaped her lips as she put the scene together. She could imagine May’s voice repeating the phrase, and somehow could imagine the man pictured in the photo stubbornly holding out. A warm smile stretched her lips.

They were so happy. Once upon a time.

Next photo. She gasped.

The woman’s eyes were so green. The brightest green eyes she’d ever seen. She was beautiful. Cornsilk hair framed the apples of her cheeks. It was a closeup, somewhere outdoors. Somewhere cold. A thick-knit beanie was pulled over her ears, and the tip of her nose was bright red.

Gwen. That was the only word on the back of the photo.

Honey turned the photo back around, now with her jaw agape. Her brows were furrowed. Gwen. The girl of Peter’s dreams. Beneath that photo, there was a strip of photos in sequence, like the kind taken in a photo booth.

Gwen and Peter. Smiling. Silly. Kissing. Sweet.

How could something so sweet make her heart ache? He was happy. Once upon a time.

She pursed her lips together.

This was stupid. She was stupid. Why was she being stupid?

She turned the strip over to find another handwritten phrase: Do I have to lose you too????

The pang in her chest remained, but this time it was for Peter. And for herself.

With a heavy sigh, she put the photos back in the box. When her fingertips touched the bottom, it moved. She blinked, confused. The bottom of the box was fake.

Tilting her head to the side, she worked her fingernails under the edge of the bottom insert. She pried it up, revealing more photos hidden underneath.

Her eyes went wide, her breath stuck in her throat. Horror.

Gwen again. But these... were different. She was naked. Different poses. Limbs laid out in scandalous ways.

Honey blushed, pulling her eyes away. Her face warmed and her heart began to race.

This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. She shouldn’t be looking at this.

She glanced back at the provocative photos. By the look on Gwen’s face, she was a willing subject. Each picture was taken with a singular intention. Each one, a small taste. Hands gripping her breasts. Another with her ass raised in the air. Looking directly at the lens with a finger hooked between her lips, the other hand slipped between her spread legs. Another closeup of her exposed nipples and her sultry smile, semen covering both. Provocative. Passionate. Pornographic.

This was wrong.

She imagined Peter taking these photos. Imagined him directing her, manipulating her body in whatever way he wanted. A doll for him to play with.

Sweat beaded on her neck. Why was it so hot in that room? Why did her face feel so hot?

Hands shaking, she shoved the photos back into the box. Snapped the lid shut, returning it to its position on the bookshelf.

Her whole body was trembling. She was aching.

What was wrong with her? Why did she have the disgusting urge to shove her hand in her pants and just—

“Can I help you find something?” Peter said from behind her. She gasped, spinning suddenly, her hand knocking into the camera. The heavy metal object slid off the shelf and plummeted to the floor. She watched the device falling with horror.

Until it was caught. Peter was suddenly there. Like he’d teleported in the blink of an eye. His wide fingers closed around the camera. He’d saved it, just inches off the ground, before it was destroyed.

She was instantly relieved, then immediately doused in an ice bath. Her whole body went stiff, like she’d electrocuted herself. She was stunned, motionless. His dark eyes landed on hers. Peering up at her, inquisitively from his leaned-over position. Slowly, he straightened out, full control over every muscle. He loomed over her, looking down at her horrified gaze.

“I—” she gasped, babbling. Struggling. “I-I...”

“That was close, wasn’t it?” Peter murmured, studying her too intently.

She looked down at the camera in his hand, and looked back up at him. A subconscious step backward reminded her that her back was flat against the bookcase. She felt trapped again. Cornered. Her eyes were saucers, staring down the barrel of his gaze.

“Thank god, you caught it!” she laughed nervously. Her heart was pounding. She swallowed hard, grinning wide. “Nice reflexes.”

Peter watched her carefully, scrutiny playing in his eyes. The bat in her stomach had grown to a full-sized pterodactyl.

Honey cleared her throat. “Sorry, I... I shouldn’t have been playing with the camera. I was just, um, curious, I guess. I-I don’t even know how to use one.” She wrung her hands idly, digging her thumbnail into her palm. “It looks old.” She said it with a lilt at the end. Turning the statement into a question.

He glanced back down at the camera. “Uh... yeah... It is.” He looked back up at her, the tension falling from his face. “It’s, um... Yeah, I got it at a garage sale a while ago.” He pursed his lips, somewhat shy. “Good little camera.”

She rocked on her toes, the smile beginning to hurt. “Does it still work?”

He met her eyes, molasses flowing once again. “Yeah. It-it does.”

Honey nodded, trying to cover up the awkwardness, like smoothing out wrinkles in a bedsheet. “You shoot people, huh?”

He raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Your shirt,” she answered, thinking back to the first night she spent in the penthouse. “The one I borrowed that first night?” His face softened as soon as he recalled what she was talking about. “‘I shoot people.’ I get it now.” She giggled. “It’s funny.”

He watched her smile, and listened to her laugh, and looked away. Unable to hide the reddening of his ears. The flush in his cheeks.

“Um,” Honey carefully began, observing his reaction carefully. “Maybe... maybe one day you can show me how it works? Teach me a little bit about photography?” His eyes darted up to meet hers, flustered and wide.

Lips pursed, he stared at her in a daze, taking forever to respond. He nodded. Silently. Then, “Y-Yeah, I, uh... maybe.”

He reached over her head and put the camera back on the shelf, on top of the closed ‘book’ where it had been sitting. She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze, stepping out from underneath him. She fought the urge to run out the door.

“What are you doing in here?” Peter asked, turning towards her.

She turned around to face him, taking the sight of him in. He looked tired. His hair was messier than she was used to. Floofy. Like he didn’t use any hair product, which for him, was strange.

He wasn’t dressed like he normally was—just a black, short-sleeve collared shirt with a couple of buttons loose at the top. Skinny black jeans. She wasn’t used to seeing him without at least four articles of clothing. It was odd. Unnerving.

“I was looking for you,” she answered, her brows knit together. It was technically the truth. “Are you okay? You-you look...awful.”

He raised a brow. “Thanks—?”

“No, no, no,” she shook her head. “I just meant...that...”

Her eyes darted to the corners of his face anxiously. She spotted a small knick on his forehead. An almost-healed wound that looked old, but one she had never noticed before. Her brow curled at the sight. Her hand came up of its own accord, and before she knew it, her fingers were gently brushing the healing skin near the wound.

Her gaze was warm. Sincere. Genuine concern.

When her fingers touched his flesh, he froze. Jaw clamped tight. Lashes fluttered closed.

Against his judgment, against everything he believed about what he deserved, he leaned into her touch. Heat built up behind his eyelids, his eyes beginning to sting from the mounting wave. A shiver traveled down his spine.

Just one gentle touch, and the entire world went away. He felt her hand go still. Or maybe time had stopped. He was afraid to open his eyes back up. Afraid that he was stuck in another dream. Her heart was pounding. So was his.

When he finally peeled his eyes open, she was staring at him with a look of confusion. Worried, but not in a bad way. Stunned, but not scared. She narrowed her gaze, studying his eyes, and it made him want to hide. Like she could see through him. See into his soul.

She swallowed dryly, pulling her hand back slowly. His heart clenched, and ached, and wailed, and longed for the warmth of her skin as soon as it was gone.

She fixed her gaze on him, chewing her bottom lip. “We were worried about you,” she said. “I was worried about you.” Seeing through him. Those eyes.

—youre a monster and monsters never get to heaven—

Peter gulped down whatever tears were threatening to fall, stopping them. Hardened his gaze. Inhaled sharply. Winced at the feeling of broken shards of glass near his heart. “I’m, uh... sorry about that,” he nodded, avoiding her gaze. “I... I just needed some space.”

She recoiled slightly. “From me?”

His eyes grew wide with alarm, “No. No, no... no, not from you. That’s not what I— No, never, I just—”

The words dropped off. He closed his mouth, flexed his jaw. “Um...” That sting came back to his eyes, betraying him. “Sorry.” His gaze dropped to the floor as he said it.

The stench of blood lingered. Couldn’t get it out of his airways.

She shifted her weight between her toes, scratching the back of her neck. “It’s... um... it’s okay. I’m just... glad you’re home.”

Home.

He lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes once again. She wasn’t lying when she said it.

Home. He took a slow breath. Anywhere she was, that was his home.

“I know we don’t owe each other anything,” Honey said, coy. “And I know you really like rules, so... could we add one? If... if one of us isn’t home, could you at least—I don’t know— tell me you’re okay? At night, if-if you feel like you need to be away again.” The timidness of her voice broke his heart. “So I don’t worry?”

He looked at her like he’d just discovered a planet. How long had it been since anyone worried if he didn’t come home? How long has it been since he was home?

Eyes glistening, he couldn’t find the words. He just nodded. His mind was spinning with guilt, grief, loneliness and longing. Over a decade’s worth. Shyly, his eyes darted around. He hadn’t thought about the fact that she’d been in the room when he killed the Rat—Dexter Bennett, that two-faced asshole, always knew he was dirty—and therefore, witnessed the brutality of his rage.

She saw him at his worst. Sometimes, Peter felt like his worst was all he had to offer. The fact that she was worried instead of horrified was unbelievable.

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?” she blurted.

His head snapped over, eyes widened. “Wh... what?”

Her voice was thick with anxiety. “I-I’ve been thinking about it, and... and I mean, we have dinner together all the time, but-but it’s different, because we’re at the house—and there’s nothing wrong with that! It’s just—um, it’s not really anything special. Not that I want something special—like, I’m not asking for a Michelin star or anything—also, why are the people who make tires in charge of judging what we eat? That’s so weird. But anyway, I was thinking, since—y’know, everything has been happening so fast, and... we... sometimes, I feel like we-we barely know each other, y’know?. Or, y’know, in a... deeper way, a-a more.. A closer way. And, y’know... that’s why I thought that we should... should—”

“You wanna have dinner? With me?” he sounded stunned beyond belief.

“Yes!” Honey responded with a relieved sigh. Then, she back-tracked. “I mean... not like... a date, or anything—”

He grimaced subtly, trying to hide it.

“Unless... Unless you want it to be?”

His breath caught in his throat. Looked up at her, like he was caught in a dream. Held that gaze for as long as he could, then looked away. Bit his lower lip. Pocketed his hands in his jeans. “That depends,” he said, shifting his molasses eyes to her, sparkling with charm. “You got any plans this Saturday night?”

There he was. Her friend. Honey failed to hide her teeth, feeling a blush travel up her neck. “Um... not particularly.” She smiled, tension lifting. At the sight of her friend, the bats in her stomach became butterflies again and threatened to lift her off the ground. “Why?”

At the sight of her smile, he returned a thousand-watt grin. She couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped her lips. They were teenagers again. Like schoolchildren, nervously swallowing stupid smiles, both of them trying to regain their composure.

“Because,” he said, his voice like honey, “I wanna take you to dinner.” She blushed, and he fixed her with a warm gaze, only cooling a bit. “And I wanna prove myself, that I-I... that I’m more,” he swallowed hard, the sincerity returning to his words. “More than just—”

The words fell away from his lips, his heart plunging into sorrow. She saw the drop, her smile fading at the sight. Goddamn doe eyes. She felt suddenly guilty. Alarmed. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no, no, I gotta say this, just let me say this,” he puffed, refocusing his intent. “I haven’t always been good to you. I know that. And I want you to know that I can be better. I wanna prove to you that I know how to treat a woman right, and... That I can treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He swallowed hard, voice evening out, “You make me feel things that I didn’t even know I was still capable of feeling.”

Her eyes grew wide at this admission. He meant it.

Dozens of feelings he thought were extinct. Joy. Mercy. Nerves. Excitement. Affection. Love.

“Hope.” He muttered, speaking the word like it was the name of a long-lost friend. “And for that, I know dinner is meaningless. But... it’s a start.” He gazed at her endearingly, and it made her heart swell.

“Yes,” she said, her smile equally bittersweet. “I’d love that.”

This wasn’t a date. Not the date. Peter assured her as much.

Their date was Saturday, and it was Friday. And this wasn’t it.

She felt ridiculous. Stumbling around in an ivory-and-gold-sequined Versace mini dress she honestly mistook for a long-sleeved shirt.

Hours before, Felicia raided her closet, tossing items at her with a fired-up ‘surprise, bitch, you and me are goin’ out!’

Felicia picked the shirt, laughing when Honey asked for the pants. She chose a carefully-curated item from the shoe collection—lace-up your boots, soldier— and chucked them at her. Disappointingly, they were not combat boots. Instead, it was a pair of black, pointed-toe Jimmy Choo stiletto pumps with crystal ankle straps.

Honey brought up her concerns—how am I supposed to walk in those and not show my ass in this tiny shirt?— which Felicia also laughed off.

Because it wasn’t a shirt. It was an actual dress. And now, Honey felt like she was gripping the hem like the edge of a cliff, with wobbly legs like a baby giraffe on stilts.

“This... this isn’t the date,” Peter swore, sensing her discomfort as they pulled up. He opted for another Saint Laurent pairing—a burgundy velvet blazer, black silky shirt and black gabardine pants, along with Louboutin leather oxfords.

There was a row of freezing club-goers shivering on the sidewalk outside in a line wrapped around the block. Peter helped Honey out of the SUV, and guided her straight past the line. Keeping a respectful few inches of distance, he held his palm near her lower back as they walked through the entrance of the trendy, luxurious nightclub simply known as ‘Web.’

Which was a stupid name, she told Peter.

Turns out it was his club.

And this wasn’t the date. It was business.

Peter and his associates needed to visit a friend, he explained. This ‘night out’ was really a show of force, Honey realized. He was bringing his top lieutenants, Felicia, Miguel, and Eddie, to the party, as well as at least a dozen other faceless guards, who were told laughably to ‘blend in’ to the crowd.

The inside of the place was overwhelming. Instantly, her senses were overloaded. It was enormous, which made the exclusivity confusing. Sounds and sights and sensation hit her from all sides, a mixture of sirens, lasers, colored spotlights, confetti and fog cannons shooting off. At this stage, they were protected from the sweaty, bustling crowd below, observing the raging party from a balcony. Occasionally, she was blinded by the bright flashing of a 100-foot LED wall, which served as a backdrop for the DJ and could also light-up Times Square if they were close enough.

Instinctively, she clutched Peter’s arm, worrying her rouge lip with her teeth. The feeling of her warmth set fire to his body. “This won’t take long,” he assured her, apologetically.

“Okay, Dad,” Felicia chirped, skipping up to them and hooking Honey’s free arm in hers. “If it’s okay with you, we’re gonna go out and play, byeeee!” She whisked her away, dragging her towards a staircase. Honey gave Peter a dizzied look as she was lead away.

His muscles pulled taut as his Honey disappeared from view. An ominous lump weighed down his stomach. He would’ve never brought her here at all, if it wasn’t his name on the lease. Felicia insisted that she needed a little freedom. A chance to blow off steam. And an opportunity for Peter to not come off like “a creepy, stalkerish, Nirvana’s-First-Album psychopath who collects her hair to make dolls.”

He grimaced at her comparison. I’m not that bad, am I?

After he tore someone’s head off in front of his whole crew, he figured his reputation could use a little improvement. And Peter wasn’t keen to leave her alone at home again, especially after Vegas.

“You doin’ okay?” Eddie asked quietly. Peter glanced over at him, yanking his downcast eyes from the floor.

“Um,” he said, clearing his throat. Barely loud enough for the other man to hear. “Yeah, I’m just...uh, I... ”

—monster... betrayer... parasite—

“That devil on your shoulder again?” Eddie asked with a sympathetic frown.

Taking a deep breath, Peter nodded his head, rubbing his face tiredly. Eddie quietly observed him, then glanced around to make sure no one else was in ear shot. “Look, uh... I don’t wanna go into the details but... just so you know... nothin’ happened.”

Peter looked over at him, confused. Eddie stared back with an awkward, unsynchronized, conspiratorial wink. The other man knitted his brow incredulously. “What?”

“Y’know,” Eddie said, leaning in closer. “In Vegas.”

Peter’s face flushed red, brows raised.

“Remember I said I scrubbed the security footage,” Eddie whisper-shouted, more conspicuously than he intended. “I scrubbed it. Saw everything.”

Peter’s eyes bugged out. “Wait, what?”

“Not everything!” Eddie whisper-exclaimed urgently. “I mean, nothing came out. Like, your junk didn’t come out. I didn’t see it.”

Peter felt his soul leave his body. He stared at Eddie him in horror, mouth agape, desperately shaking his head ‘no.’

“Like she was all over you,” Eddie whisper-explained, “in your fugue state, but it was nothin’ R rated. Didn’t make it past second base. No penetration, y’know? Except for the sword, when she—”

Peter threw up a hand, grimacing, “Okay, I don’t really want—”

“Your virtue is still intact, is what I’m tryin’ t’say,” Eddie whisper-blurted, like ripping off a bandaid. “Y’know. Your honor hasn’t been... uh... fucked away, I guess.”

Tight-lipped, Peter nodded rapidly, side-eyeing him. “Yeah, no, no, I appreciate that.”

“I’m just lookin’ out f’you, is all. I jus’thought you should know—”

“No, I get that. Got it. Thank you. Thank you—”

“In case you were broken up about it, y’know?"

“Yeah, yeah, thank you. Let’s...” Peter cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. Swallowing his mortified embarrassment, he added, cordially, “Let’s... uh... let’s not talk about this ever again, yeah?”

“For sure,” Eddie whisper-agreed.

Peter took a deep, steadying breath, glancing around at his group, hearing them grow impatient.

Miguel glared at them from a distance, dissatisfied. “Are we gonna do this, or are you two gonna keep flirting? At least somebody buy the other a drink.”

Perturbed, Peter leveled a stern gaze at Miguel, silencing him. He then turned back to Eddie. “Keep an eye on them, will ya?” he asked, with a head-nod towards the dance floor. Worry in his eyes.

“Sure,” the other man nodded. Eddie left to look for Felicia and Honey, feeling the burn of judgmental gazes from the rest of Peter’s crew on his back.

Rowdy shouts echoed from a separate lounge area perched above the crowd, the sounds lost and buried by the thrumming base of a Masked Wolf mix. Peter and Miguel glanced over at the sound of the commotion.

Scantily-clad models presented at least a half-dozen, ice-filled chillers of expensive bottles to a table like sacrificial offerings. They approached the altar with lit Roman Candles, the sparks from the fireworks raining down like the Fourth of July. A dozen other women—at least one of whom was an actual supermodel— gave praise with flutes and glasses raised.

With a skeptical glare, Peter narrowed his eyes on the center of everyone’s attention—the god they were all there to worship. His old friend. Professional boxer and future heavyweight champion of the world, Danny ‘Iron Fist’ Rand.

“You’d think he’d be taking it easy, especially right before a big fight.” Peter turned towards the voice of another one of his associates—the manager of the club, Jessica Drew.

The gorgeous woman strode towards the group flaunting a cardinal red, wide-leg jumpsuit with citrine-jeweled embellishments on the halter neckline. Her fluffy, blown-out coils were pulled up high in a wide, red, ruched-fabric headband. A matching golden jewel glittered at the crown of the wrap.

“Jessica,” Peter greeted her with a warm gaze.

She glanced over to the Rand party with a withering look, rolling her eyes. “Boys never know when to give it a rest, huh?”

Peter softly smiled, nodding in reply. “No rest for the wicked,” he replied. “Let’s get this done, yeah?”

Continue to Part 12

[back to masterlist]

a/n Part 11 and 12 were originally one section, so think of this as 11.A.

If you want to be tagged, please reblog so I can add you to the list. And thank you for all of your comments, replies, asks, and feedback, to me and to other fanfic writers. Your support keeps fanfic alive.

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northisnotup · 3 months

Text

Easier to Think of Leaving

The first thing Sanji said that morning was “I thought about leaving you last night.” The metallic click of the lighter bounced off the walls.

The first thing Zoro said back was “So why didn't you?”

Zoro thought about keeping his eye closed, of convincing himself this was one of those hazy conversations he only ever had nightmares about. But he could feel the sun on his face, sneaking through the curtains Sanji never fully closed. He liked to be able to twitch them open in the middle of the night to blow out streams of blue smoke instead of going downstairs.

5:43 in the morning.

Not terribly early for either of them. Late, actually, for Sanji.

The room smelled like smoke. Tasted like smoke. It was the lighter that woke him. Must have been. It was heavy, and loud when the flint struck. Sanji preferred matches for his quick midnight smokes. They had matchbooks everywhere. Stolen from every place they’d ever been.

Either he’d been awake and stewing for hours or never went to bed at all.

Yawning widely, Zoro smacked his lips together and heaved himself up to sit against the headboard and scratch at his stomach. Usually their room smelled and tasted like ocean salt.

Chair by the window. Arms folded on the small table he used to roll his smokes on good nights. A half smoked cig hanging loose from his fingers. Sanji’s hair was still braided, and frizzing at the ends. Bitched about split ends but still picked at them anytime he ran circles around his own thoughts. Zoro snorted. Hadn’t been to bed yet, then.

Hissing a breath out through his teeth, Sanji stabbed out his cigarette in the butt-filled ash tray. No wonder the fucking room stank. “I can’t stand the idea of you dying alone.”

“I wouldn’t die alone, asshole.” Zoro grit his teeth on the words. They weren’t what he meant to say, not a smart response to your partner telling you the one reason they didn’t leave in the middle of the god damned night.

Sanji was better at being in a relationship, despite being much worse at getting to the relationship part. But he did the right things. He remembered birthdays and anniversaries. He got thoughtful gifts. He didn’t go to bed angry. He could say things like ‘i should leave you.’

Zoro never barely remembered the days of the week. He thought it was stupid to stay up and be miserable for no fucking reason. He wasn’t good with words.

Sanji liked to remind him that he stuttered on his wedding vows.

Usually he said it while laughing.

Last night he spat it out like a curse.

“I know that,” Sanji said, muffled. He dropped his head into his hands and ground his eyes into the heels of his palms.

“You couldn’t stand that I might die without your hands around my throat, more like.”

That got a husked out a laugh. “It was easier to think about leaving when you were asleep.”

“Why.”

“Why was it easier or why did I want to?”

Zoro shrugged, grunting rather than making a choice. There was something Vivi liked to say, how not making a choice was still making a choice. Some shit like that. But when choosing between getting stabbing in the hand vs. getting stabbed in the foot - its not like choosing one over the other was going to save anything. It was going to hurt either way.

The heater in their place was old, and took a while to warm up in the morning. It was the work of seconds to fill a glass with frigid water. Zoro chugged half to rid his mouth of sour sleep and second hand smoke. He passed Sanji the glass on his way back to bed, and bit back some relief when it was immediately pressed to Sanji’s neck, the cold raising goose bumps on his skin.

He shuddered through deep breaths for a minute, while Zoro waited for the hammer to fall.

“We talked about taking a trip out east last fall and it never happened.”

“You had that shitty legal battle with those fuckers. Wasn’t a good time.”

They aren’t like that normally. They don’t say shit they don’t mean, or back off from shit they say they’ll do. It’s about the only reason they started to date in the first place. It was a bet, a joke, and then a competition, like they were seeing who’d bow out first. And then it was comforting, to be with someone like that. Someone sure.

The lighter clicked again. Sanji drank the water and then rested the glass upside down over the lighter.

On another day, Zoro might pick a fight about water rings on the table. Something that was fine when Sanji did it, but caused a shake down fight whenever he forgot a coaster.

“You let our fucking plant die.”

There it was.

The plant was older than their marriage and had vines longer than Zoro’s whole body.

They’d been given the plant as a joke, from Nami, when they moved in together. When Sanji ducked into the kitchen, she bet Beri that they’d break up before Zoro managed to kill the thing. “It’s like you,” she snorted. “It thrives on neglect.”

Zoro yelled at her and she yelled back, and Sanji yelled at him for yelling at Nami, and Luffy yelled at all of them for fighting during a party. Later on she bought him a good bottle of whisky and they drank it under the stars. Zoro didn’t remember what they talked about, only that Nami said sorry and threw up immediately after.

“You said I was watering it too much,” Zoro said. “So I stopped.”

“Do you even fucking care?” Sanji’s open palm hit the table and a second later the glass hit the floor.

“Don’t move.” Zoro was out of bed and getting the broom from the hallway before Sanji could think about being a contrary little shit. “Was this one of the nice glasses Vivi got us?” Zoro had met the glass blower at one of Vivi’s Alabastan Independence Day dinners, they talked about working with fire and the art of creating dangerous things.

Zoro commissioned her for a set of measuring cups. It had been the only glass kitchen tool he could think of, and she laughed herself sick but promised to have it done by their next anniversary.

“No, I don’t put the nice glass in the fucking en suite, you animal.”

It was hard to tell, all smashed to bits, so Zoro shrugged.

“It was the one Chopper got us at the Bargain Bin.”

“Well, fuck.” Zoro paused, frowning. On one hand, Chopper probably won’t remember getting this specific glass for them. Chopper was always buying things that made him think of their crew. But Zoro liked it. That’s how it became the en suite glass in the first place. He didn’t get the joke on it, a stylized katana with the half the slogan chipped off. Something about having god on your side. But Usopp had assured him it was just dumb and funny.

“Sure. You care about that, you dumb piece of sentient fucking moss. You care you broke the 2 Beri glass Chopper got for a laugh -”

“If it’s green, there’s something worth saving.”

For a moment, the bin rattling as the glass settled at the bottom was the only sound in the room. Then Sanji drawled, slow and deliberate. The same way he exhaled smoke. “Is that your idea of a fucking joke?”

Sanji’s anger was like a wave. It swelled and rushed. But the real danger was when the tide went out. When he seemed calm, but really, the tsunami was about to hit.

“I messaged Robin yesterday, before you came in.” Playing with fire, Zoro hazarded over a grin. “She said if it’s still green, there’s something to save.”

There was. The leaves along the vine were yellowing and falling off so fast it made Zoro panic. There were dark, mushy roots peeking out the bottom of the pot. But the vine itself was still green. Sanji went out like one of his matches, the fight draining out of him. He took a heavy step, then two, and finally sank down onto the bed.

“Lighter?”

“I forgot how hard it is to light smokes this early. Everything feels wet,” Sanji muttered into the bedspread.

Humming, Zoro flopped down beside him, leaving the broom and pan where they were for now. They’d have to clean up better later anyway, make sure no glass was hiding. “Still want to leave me?”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Zoro squeezed his eye shut and thought for a second about biting his tongue in two. Slow death vs. a slow death. Hand or foot.

“Not right now,” Sanji sighed. The nicotine jitters were leaving him shaky and strung out, like always. The water must have helped a bit, though. “Divorces are messy. I should have made you sign a prenup.”

Zoro nodded. Should’ve, would’ve. Too late now. “Good. You can yell at me more after you get some fucking sleep.”

“I wasn’t yelling.”

“Felt like yelling.”

They rolled about getting comfortable. Sanji wiggling out of his day-old clothes, still smelling like cooking oil and old sweat and smoke. “Robin-dear really thinks?”

Daring, Zoro laid an arm out, offering. “She coming over tomorrow, bring Usopp and Franky. They asked when we last re-potted it.”

“What is ‘re-potting’?”

For a second, Sanji was tense and still. For all it was one of Sanji’s favourite threats, Zoro had never actually slept in the guest room, and he wondered for a second if that was about to change. Then, Sanji hitched his body back, squirming til his back lay flushed against Zoro’s side.

“That’s what I said.”

Sanji snorted. “Go to bed. I can just as easily kill you when we wake up.”

“You can try,” Zoro muttered, hooking his arm down til his hand lay flat against Sanji’s heart.

#zosan #my fic #north's adventures in fic writing #this might get cleaned up or added onto for ao3 #we'll see

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