#( come at me if you must - but this is out of pocket on any level ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 2 years ago

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losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?”

you find remus�� number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes.

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating.

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye.

A phone number.

If lost, please call.

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day.

It goes for ages.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess.

You’re the opposite of fearless.

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it.

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it.

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you.

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches.

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on.

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip.

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness.

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.”

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles.

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?”

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, really."

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you.

"That's you?" Moons asks.

"That's me. Sorry."

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling."

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside.

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with.

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair.

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it.

"Nice highscore."

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound.

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair.

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?"

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?"

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course."

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting.

"Sure you don't mind?"

"I'm paid not to mind."

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please."

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?"

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be.

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused.

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you."

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me."

"Yeah."

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes.

"Is there something wrong?" you ask.

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands.

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it."

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul."

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable.

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it.

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside.

You look up in shock. "I can't–"

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view.

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one.

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself.

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line.

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, seriously."

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach.

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front.

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes.

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way.

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it.

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited.

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin.

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons.

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe.

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage.

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours.

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing.

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow.

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them.

They're good.

Like, too good to be openers for long.

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out.

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places.

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set.

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship."

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl.

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says.

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons.

You try not to tense as footsteps approach.

"Can I sit?" he asks.

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up.

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say.

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup.

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted."

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion.

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?"

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then.

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup."

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice."

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet."

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call.

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar.

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over.

"Hey, it's you!"

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together.

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?"

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?"

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians."

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames.

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now."

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says.

"And the handsomest."

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly.

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?"

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here."

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound.

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back."

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody.

Not that it matters if he is or isn't.

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is.

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything.

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say.

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?"

"I'm not a big drinker."

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino."

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?"

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much."

"What's in San Marino?"

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding.

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it.

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch.

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino."

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar.

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

—

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again.

James has never seen Remus like this before.

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever.

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour.

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out."

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close.

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy.

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly.

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes.

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does.

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone.

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake.

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming."

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it.

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?"

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous."

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before."

"This is your first date?"

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special."

"It doesn't," you say.

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–"

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning.

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?"

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair.

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it."

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners.

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?"

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect.

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married."

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance.

"He's devoted," you guess.

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding."

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared.

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying."

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest.

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man."

"Half?"

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me."

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say.

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does.

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other.

"They've always been like brothers."

"But not…"

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time."

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now.

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful."

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes.

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise."

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own.

"Charming, isn't it?"

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?"

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in.

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all."

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another.

It's not so bad. It's agonising.

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this."

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay."

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–"

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder."

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing.

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time.

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says.

Not promising. "Okay."

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me."

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries."

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh.

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down.

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep.

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume.

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking.

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo.

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same.

The date is suddenly over.

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest.

You nod rather than answer.

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes.

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling.

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours.

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands.

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it.

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly.

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long.

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming.

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly.

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered.

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you.

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking.

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own.

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath.

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm.

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say.

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him.

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie.

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated.

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away.

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure.

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear.

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date.

Which means he has to get out of his head.

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice…

He wants to see what other sounds you make.

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible.

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice.

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands.

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still.

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips.

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down.

Your thumb traces a scar.

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs.

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor.

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head.

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again.

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat.

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat.

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine.

“Was that alright?” he asks.

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time.

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden.

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge.

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move.

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.”

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore.

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart.

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said.

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes.

Close? Remus is fucked.

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back.

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans.

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far.

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly.

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up.

He drags the quilt over your naked back.

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead.

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up.

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?”

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently.

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought.

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen.

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

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wavypotatochips · 9 months ago

Text

Elevator Mishap || Central Cee

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 : CentralCee x Female reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : You find yourself trapped in an elevator with a mysterious stranger who turns out to be the famous rapper Central Cee in disguise. [FLUFF/ LIGHT TENSION]

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: HIIIII GUYS omg so much stuff has happened personally in my life but I am back and better!! Central Cee is so fine and I just always wanted to write something with him lol. Its been a while since I have wrote something, so bare with me c': I have no requests, so feel free to send some in!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

"I find it hard to believe I'm actually here," you murmur under your breath, a mix of disbelief and disinterest coloring your tone as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor. While most girls would gush with excitement at the prospect of attending a Central Cee concert in the UK alongside their best friends, Stacey and Rosalina, you find yourself unable to share in their fervor. The trio, inseparable since middle school, practically dragged you along when they scored free tickets to the concert, complete with all expenses paid. Despite their infectious enthusiasm for Central Cee, you couldn't summon the same level of excitement, feeling rather indifferent towards his music. Meanwhile, your best friends are back in the hotel room, immersed in making TikToks while belting out Central Cee's tunes. You made an excuse about needing to run down to the convenience store on the ground floor to grab a snack, eager to escape the impending festivities. As the elevator doors finally slide open, you step inside, your mind already elsewhere, contemplating the potentially underwhelming night ahead, especially given your lack of interest in the artist.

Absentmindedly humming to yourself, you press the button for the ground floor before casually leaning against the elevator wall. A brief moment of panic strikes as you pat your pockets, realizing your phone must have been left behind in the hotel room. Before you can fully process this inconvenience, the elevator lurches upward, and a figure clad entirely in black, sporting a ski mask, shades, and a hat, enters. You brush off the peculiar attire, attributing it to the chilly weather outside, but a faint sense of unease begins to gnaw at you as the elevator door closes.

The person does not press any buttons, signaling they were also going to the bottom floor like you were. You tried not to stare at the person beside you, but the clothes they were wearing screamed wealth. You look at their shoes as the elevator begins to go down. Suddenly, the elevator comes to a stop with a shake. You widen your eyes as anxiety kicks in, confused on what is going on. You look over at the stranger, not being able to see their expression before walking over and pressing the first-floor button again. This time, the elevator doesn't seem to budge nor is it telling you what floor you two are currently on.

“There's no way,” noticing the elevator may be stuck, your heart sinks down. The stranger walks closer to you, giving them a try themselves to press the buttons. You step back to give them room. Noticing the buttons will not budge for them either, you sigh and press the red button that signals a representative. A few minutes pass before someone speaks, “Hello? Is everything alright?,” the statically voice states.

“Yeah, ummm I think the elevator is stuck. We also can’t see what floor we are on,” you respond.

“Okay, please remain calm we are sen-,” the voice cuts off.

“Hello?,” you question, “HELLLOOOOOO?,” spamming the button again.

“Lady we can't hear YOUUU!,” You state pressing the button.

“You should stop before you break it.” The voice of the person speaks with a deep British accent, you now know they are a male. You turn to look at him, continuing to press the button a few more times before stopping. You sigh, sitting down on the floor.

“Just great,” you mumble while lowering your head in defeat. You are not someone with claustrophobia, plus the elevator was a decent size so it's not as if you were scared you were trapped. Only annoyed. While your head is low, you hear clothes shuffling causing you to look back up. The man begins to take off his coat and hat, probably also realizing we are not going to be getting out anytime soon. You shift your legs so you are now sitting criss-cross on the floor, your back against the wall as you look up at the elevator's ceiling.

“Don't worry, I bet they will come soon,” the man speaks once again with a reassuring voice. You keep your head up, “I know, it just sucks. This is my first time in the UK and I'm spending my first night trapped in an elevator with a stranger, no offense.” You hear a chuckle, ”None taken. What are you in the UK for if you don't mind me asking?” You can tell he just wanted small talk, and you didn't mind. I mean after all, you are stuck here for who knows how long.

“My Best friends and I are here for the Central Cee concert,” you respond, continuing to study the French painting that is plastered on the ceiling of the elevator.

“Are you excited to go?,” he questions, resulting in you shrugging,” I don't care too much about him. Nothing against him, but you know, not really my taste.”

Silence settles between you for a moment, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the intercom and the faint hum of the elevator's mechanisms.

"So, what brings you to the concert if you're not a fan?" he asks, curiosity evident in his voice.

You offer a half-smile, considering your response. "Honestly, I'm just here for my friends. Stacey and Rosalina are huge fans, and they practically begged me to come along. Figured it would be a fun night out, even if the music isn't really my thing."

He nods in understanding, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Ah, the sacrifices we make for friendship," he muses, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “Maybe after the concert you will be my fan.”

His unexpected comment catches you off guard, and you find yourself momentarily taken aback. With a furrowed brow, you glance down, your eyes widening and eyebrows raising in confusion. And there he stands, Central Cee himself, his presence suddenly filling the confined space of the elevator. His pearly white teeth glint in the dim light, a charming smile gracing his lips.

If your best friends were in your position, they probably would have passed out by now. But you? You simply let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Mmmmm I don't think so. Your music just isn't my type,” you reply, your tone casual yet resolute. You glance back up at the ceiling, your interest clearly elsewhere.

Central Cee seems momentarily taken aback by your nonchalant response. He had perhaps expected screams of excitement or frenzied fangirling – or perhaps even both. But your composed demeanor only serves to intrigue him further. He closes his lips, the smile still lingering on his face, his gaze lingering on you with newfound curiosity.

"Really now?" he questions, a playful glint in his eyes. "What exactly is your type, hmm?"

“Not you, so it doesn't matter,” you respond with a casual flick of your gaze, focusing on your nail as if it holds the answers to the universe. Impatience begins to creep into your movements, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the control panel, where you futilely press the buttons at random.

"Well, I would like to know," he persists, closing the distance between you with a deliberate step.

"It doesn't matter," you retort, your tone edged with determination.

"Yes, it does," he insists.

"No, it doesn't," you counter.

"Yes, it does."

"No, it do—" You cut yourself off mid-sentence, the absurdity of the situation dawning on you. "Wait, why am I even going back and forth with you?" The question is more to yourself, but Central Cee decides to respond.

"Because you do like me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—" You catch yourself falling into the same cycle, causing him to chuckle.

"You know, you're cute when you get mad," he remarks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His words elicit a soft blush from you, prompting you to turn away and face the wall. "Leave me alone," you mumble.

"Awww, I'm sorry, love. Let me make it up to you," he responds cheekily.

"Make it up to me by getting this damn elevator to work," you grumble under your breath.

"If you can admit that I am your favorite artist, then I will make that happen," he confesses, catching you off guard.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to face him. "How?"

He tilts his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Say it, and I will make it happen."

You exhale heavily, skepticism evident in your expression. "Why does it matter to you so much?" you question.

He shrugs, smiling. "Simply because."

You glare at him, his grin only widening in response. You decide to humor him, considering his celebrity status and the possibility of connections. "Fine. You are my favorite artist."

He raises his eyebrows, amused by your half-hearted admission. "I don't think that was sincere enough for me."

You let out another small breath. Stepping closer to him, you meet his gaze head-on. "Oakley, you are my favorite artist. I love your music so much; you are so talented."

His demeanor softens, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. Something about saying his real name seems to have an effect on him. Whether it's your beauty or simply the use of his name, it stirs something within him, making him feel... nice.

You find yourself studying his features, admiring the way his light tan skin complements the arch of his eyebrows and the depth of his chocolate eyes. His small smile draws your attention, and you instinctively take a step back, coughing lightly to dispel the tension.

"Uhm... okay, I said it. Now, do your magic."

"You're right," he responds, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"YOU HAD A PHONE THIS ENTIRE TIME??" you exclaim, incredulous.

"Yes," he simply responds, unlocking his phone.

You sigh. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Who wouldn't want to be trapped in an elevator with a beautiful girl like you?"

You open your mouth to reply, but the fluttering sensation in your stomach leaves you speechless. Despite your indifference towards his music, you can't deny his charm.

For a few moments, you find yourself lost in thought, your gaze dropping to your shoes. His voice interrupts your reverie, causing you to lift your head.

"Damn. I don't have any service," he says, raising his arm in a futile attempt to get a signal.

You watch as Central Cee furrows his brow in frustration, tapping futilely at his phone screen in a desperate attempt to find a signal. Despite the annoyance of being stuck in an elevator, you can't help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him, a shared bond forged in the confines of this metal box.

As the seconds tick by, the silence between you grows heavier, the tension palpable in the air. You glance at Central Cee, taking in the way the dim light of the elevator accentuates the contours of his face, casting shadows that dance across his features. Despite your best efforts to ignore it, you can't deny the flutter of excitement that flits through your stomach at the sight of him.

"Anything yet?" you ask, breaking the silence with a voice that comes out softer than intended.

Central Cee shakes his head, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Nothing. It's like this elevator is in its own little world, cut off from the rest of the universe."

Central Cee chuckles softly, the sound echoing in the confined space. "and here I thought being a famous rapper would exempt me from getting stuck in elevators," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You smile, appreciating his attempt to inject a bit of humor into the situation. "Guess even celebrities aren't immune to elevator mishaps," you reply, your lips quivering in a half-smile.

He returns the smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "At least I'm stuck in here with someone interesting," he says, his tone laced with sincerity.

A blush rises to your cheeks at his compliment, and you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Thanks," you mumble, "I guess you aren't so bad yourself.."

Central Cee's smile widens at your response, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment," he says, his tone teasing yet genuine.

You chuckle softly, feeling a sense of ease settle over you as the tension between you dissipates. "Consider it one," you reply, meeting his gaze with a shy smile.

As the moments pass, you find yourself drawn into conversation with Central Cee, the topics ranging from trivial matters to deeper discussions about life, dreams, and everything in between. Despite the unusual circumstances that brought you together, you can't help but feel a sense of connection with him, a feeling of understanding that goes beyond mere words.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few hours, the elevator lurches back to life with a groan of protest, the sudden movement catching you off guard. Central Cee reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch warm and reassuring against your skin.

"We're moving again," he says, a note of relief in his voice.

You nod, a sense of anticipation building within you as the elevator ascends towards the surface. “Finally,” you say, though a pang of reluctance tugs at your heart. Deep down, you wish the elevator would stay broken, prolonging the fleeting moments you've shared with him. In the brief interlude of confinement, you've come to appreciate not just Central Cee, but the person behind the persona, Oakley. As the elevator hums back to life, you resign yourself to the inevitable parting that awaits you both, returning to the separate paths your lives had veered from.

Central Cee begins to adjust his attire, meticulously covering his features with the ski mask and glasses, returning to his "disguise". “Don't worry," you assure him, offering a small smile, "I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. It'll be our little secret.” Before he can respond, the elevator doors glide open, ushering in a flood of light and fresh air. Eager to break free from the confines of the elevator, you step out quickly, wary of being trapped again.

“Hey,” Central Cee calls out to you, his voice laced with a hint of concern, “I’ll see you tomorrow,yeah?” A flicker of something indefinable passes between you, a silent understanding that transcends words. Though you yearn for a deeper connection, you suppress the urge, unsure of what you truly desire. With a small smile, you nod in acknowledgement, “Yeah.”

As you both walk away, your steps leading you in opposite directions, you can't help but feel a sense of resonance, a shared moment that binds you together in thought. Despite the divergence of your paths and the separation of your lives, in that fleeting instant, your minds are aligned, fixated on each other, entwined in a momentary bond that defies explanation.

#central cee #centralcee x female reader #central cee fanfic #centralcee imagines #central cee x y/n #central cee x reader #fanfic #imagines

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icyg4l · 3 months ago

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October 2024 Predictions

Hello beautiful people! Today’s pick a card reading is going to be what you can expect from October 2024. If you resonate with this reading, please don’t hesitate to book a reading with me. Refer to my guidelines and my booking site before doing so. Please help a broke college student out, if you can lol! But anyway, let’s get on with the PAC. Without further ado, please select your pile!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: Somebody’s gonna be having a lot of fun. I can tell that you need moments of relaxation, but also to party! You will get invited into a Halloween party, but please do not get shit-faced. You may end up in the hospital. I feel like you’ll be playing around with different methods of manifesting, if you’re actively manifesting something tangible (a car, new clothes/makeup, etc). You should not get too specific with their manifestations. Leave the why’s/how’s up to the Universe or whatever you believe in. Some of you could be wearing a Santa Muerte necklace or worship Santa Muerte. You may have a dream in which she sends you a message, telling you not to worry. She’s got it. This pile needs to practice safe sex!! Some of y’all are celibate but will soon be giving it up, lol. If you have a partner with a penis, you may find yourself being more fertile than usual. If not, then you should still practice safe sex. Be communicative with your partner’s and thoroughly wash yourself and any objects that you may use during the act. And of course, have fun! Also, some of you will have a dream that will spark a new idea. I get major Pisces energy from this pile. Why are y’all so horny lol??? Don’t lose sight of reality this month. Curveballs will be thrown but you just have to stay put.

Cards Used: Ace of Cups. 2 of Discs. The Hanged Man. 9 of Cups. The High Priestess. The Moon.

Pile Two: I heard the word “glorious” as I was shuffling for this pile. Pile Two, you are free to do whatever you please. After a time of trials, you will finally feel triumphant. You have been waiting for this moment: to feel uninhibited and abundant. You are going to meet someone that will help open doors for you so that you can receive more clientele, if you are looking to start a business. For others of you, you will meet someone who is well-connected to different people and you may find a few friends/a lover. If it’s a lover, it is something that will be short-lived. This connection will help you get more comfortable in a new environment. Some of you could have moved to a different state/city (congratulations!). It feels chaotic right now, but right now you have to remember that help is on the way. Do not try to do everything on your own. If you do, then you will feel overwhelmed. This month, you will get more familiar with traveling in your downtown area/around the city. Be sure to keep something on you (bear spray, a pocket knife, graffiti spray, amulets, Nazars, etc). Be prepared for what is to come but don’t stress out over the small details (especially if you’re working on a project that will benefit you monetarily). It’s easier said than done, I know. Your plans will come into fruition as long as you keep your eyes on the prize. By any means necessary.

Cards Used: Princess of Swords. Queen of Swords. Wheel of Fortune. 2 of Cups. Death. The Emperor (RX).

Pile Three: Someone is about to level up! While you are doing better for yourself, some people will not be able to be in your presence anymore. You must cut them loose. If you have a hunch about a friend, specifically if they have any Aquarius placements, then it’s time to cut them loose. You’re too good for them and you know it. I feel like this is a friend outside of your friendship circle. You were warned about them before. Aside from the friendship drama, this month will be a great month to romanticize the little things. Fall may be your favorite season. Being in tune with nature will help you manifest more beauty. Staying grounded = staying beautiful. This month will go by very quickly for you. Some of you will be baking cookies and spending more time with your mother figure. Some of you may have to give advice to an impulsive, younger person to prevent them from making a huge mistake (possibly involving their friends and/or their schoolwork). There is nothing wrong with playing the role of a nurturer. Embrace it. And lastly, if there is anyone or anything that brings you chaos, it is time for you to leave it behind. Starting anew can be scary but this will change your life for the better by making room for what is to come. Out with the old, in with the new!

Cards Used: 3 of Cups. 7 of Swords. 5 of Wands. 6 of Cups. 8 of Wands. The Empress.

Pile Four: Are you catching a coach flight via Southwest/Spirit Airlines? Are you taking an Amtrak train soon? I can tell you’re really over the bs, lol. I heard “catching flights, not feelings”. But unfortunately for you, you will be catching feelings. Be open to being in a loving relationship. It is safe for you to love. They could be very reminiscent of your loving father figure. You may meet this person as you are traveling. It is possible that you are moving to wherever you plan to travel to. If you are, then you will feel content with your decision. Right now, you are in a waiting period. The momentum is about to pick back up for you. Consider the reality of where you are going and compare it to your head. At this time, you could find yourself being anxious at times, questioning if you are ready, and you in fact are. Things are aligning for you. You could find that people in your position are landing on your for you page on TikTok. You could find that people are wearing/successfully obtaining what it is that you want. A lot of you want a new house/apartment. This will help you gain the confidence to fully pursue your goals and dreams. Don’t put them on hold for anything or anyone. I am channeling the scene where Fiona finally leaves Chicago in Shameless.

Cards Used: The Lovers, The Emperor, Prince of Cups, The World, 8 of Cups, 4 of Swords.

#tarotreading #tarot #manifesting #pick a card #pick a pile #divination #astro notes #free tarot readings #18+ readings #daily tarot #free divination #free tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #witchblr #viralpost #cartomancy #icyg4l

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rebelwrites · 1 year ago

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IM HERE FOR THE FLASH FIC!!

I’ve been craving some Jax Teller. I need something tender and sweet, but in character. Something to make me feel safe and wanted, but not simply desired. Idc what you write or how you do it because I know it’s going to be 👌

You Aren’t Meant To Be Back Until Christmas Eve

Jax Teller x Reader

This is a flash fic so it hasn’t been edited. It’s also good to be back writing again 🥺

It was the week leading up to Christmas and to say you were rushed off your feet was a complete understatement. This was your favorite time of year, even though your stress levels were through the roof, you practically lived off coffee and energy drinks and hardly saw your boyfriend Jax. You knew he understood why you were so absent in the run up to the festive season, the small bakery had queues running down the street from mid October.

Leaning against the stainless steel counter, you took a deep breath looking at the stack of cookie trays that were cooling waiting to be iced ready for the morning rush. Your body ached to where all you wanted to do was sink into a scalding hot bath, not moving until the hot water eased your aching muscles.

The sound of your phone echoing around the industrial supplied kitchen pulled you from any thoughts, you knew it would be Jax, it always was this time of night. No matter what time you were working he would always drop you a call to see how you were getting on, even when he was on runs with the club he would always make a point of calling you. Brushing the flour on the front of your jeans you grabbed your phone, quickly answering the call before pressing the device against your ear.

“Is it a late one again Darlin’?” Your boyfriend hummed, you could hear the tiredness hanging from his words, this last run for the club must have taken more of a toll on him this time.

“I think I’m still gonna be here come opening,” you sighed, letting your gaze fall to the countertop. “Don’t get me wrong I love Christmas and the bakery but I just want to spend time with you.”

“The money is nice as well,” he chuckled, causing the corners of your lips to tug into a small smile. You knew how much the bakery meant to not only Jax but the club too. This was one of the first legitimate businesses that was set up, Jax surprised you one day by showing the vacant lot and the new sign he had designed, from that day the “From Anarchy, With Love” bakery was born.

“How was the run?” You asked, pulling the phone away from you ear, putting in on speaker so you could be free to move around the kitchen.

“Long as fuck,” he groaned, you knew he would be running he hand across his face as he spoke. “I am so fuckin’ done with the muling, it is just getting more risky with each run,” he mumbled, with each word he spoke you could hear the pain in his voice.

Before he could carry on the sound of someone pounding at the front door gained my full attention. “Hold on baby, I swear someone is trying to put their fist through the front door of the bakery,” you huffed in annoyance. It was probably one customer trying their luck to see if they could get their order early. But that didn’t stop you from reaching into the cupboard by the doorway of the kitchen, grabbing my hand gun, flicking the safety off before tucking it into the bank of my jeans. One thing was for sure when it came to being Teller’s old lady, you was never without protection, whether this was in the form of a 9mm, a member of the club or Jax.

As you moved through the building, the knocking got louder and more persistent. “Bloody hell, don’t punch my door in, it never hurt you,” you scoffed, fishing the keys out of the pocket of Jax’s hoodie.

You felt myself fumbling with all the locks, once again thanks to Jax being over protective, soon enough the door was finally unlocked and the moment you pulled the heavy wooden door you dropped the set of keys on the floor as you saw your boyfriend leaving against the brick entrance.

“Hey Darlin’,” he hummed, quickly closing the gap between the two of you, engulfing you into his arms. The feeling of his muscular arms wrapping around your body caused all the stress to dissolve. “Fuck, I missed you,” he whispered against your hair, guiding you further into the shop before kicking the door closed with his foot.

“You aren’t meant to be back until Christmas eve,” you breathed, pulling back slightly so you could take in the look of your tired man. Somehow you freed one of your arms, allowing you to reach up brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Not that I am complaining nevertheless, what happened Jaxy?”

The fact you were greeted with a moment of silence told you everything, you knew things were rocky with Clay, no one knew the toll that everything was taking on the blond nuzzling his face into your shoulder. He wouldn’t let the outside world see him like this, but with you he felt he could let the walls come crumbling down, allowing him to process all the emotions he was feeling, and he knew his feelings would be taken seriously.

“Clay is going off on one again, his hands are getting worse and he has gone behind all of our back and the club is now in a deep hole with the cartel,” he had a wobble in his tone as he spoke, he was angry about the whole situation and I couldn’t blame him, I would be to. “I just needed my girl.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at his words, to the world he was the vice president of a violent club but behind closed doors he was just a puppy wanting love.

“I know you need to work so I can’t take you to the Christmas market I know you want to go to but I have brought take out,” he hummed, holding up the plastic carrier bag you had completely missed when he first came into the bakery, “and I thought we could spend the night icing them amazing cookie, like we did when we were getting this place ready for the opening.”

Tears threatened to spill over your lash line, you had never been with someone who would abandon everything just because they wanted to spend time with you, even if that meant that they would be working till the sun came up.

“You know I want the cookies to be edible and sellable right?” You smirked, cocking your brow at him.

“Shut up and get your ass in that kitchen, Darlin’”

@chibsytelford @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @withmyteeth @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @princess76179 @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @princess76179 @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @lmao-liz @babypink224221 @daddysgirl2857 @bravo-four-seal-team @garbinge @pedrohoe04 @littlekittymeow @nichia88-blog @zozebo

#sons of anarchy #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine

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velvetreds · 5 months ago

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photographer suna — marriage proposals!

PART 1 — HCS !

for @akaakeis <3 sav i'm so sorry for terrifying u in dms. u probably don't need any tissues. ily, thanks for being my inspiration for like, the third time this week. :)

cws — gn!reader, crying. sobbing. crying. fluff, ew. not proofread, its 3am. wc — 748

ever since you and your boyfriend started dating, you've modeled in so many things for him and his beloved cameras.

not only photos he posts, though. there are pictures of you with smudged makeup, and pictures of you drooling onto his chest as you sleep, and blurry ones of you smiling and laughing and just being... you.

and you don't really notice any differences this time. well yeah, maybe he's a little bit more excited than usual, and it must be more important because he's doing it in a venue instead of his studio.

you're wearing fairly casual clothes, nothing too fancy, but you look good. not that you don't look good in anything else, rin is quick to assure you. he's exceedingly careful today, and also... stricter than usual?

"smile, y/n."

you flash your prettiest smile at the camera, but he shakes his head. "try again?"

you obey, but he sighs, almost exaggeratedly. "this isn't working, y/n. it's not genuine enough."

he doesn't give you time to react as he continues. "i have a solution, though."

he presses something on the camera — are his hands shaking? — before putting it down on a side table and turning to you. "y/n, i love you."

you giggle. "i love you too, rin, but is that all?"

you're joking, but he shakes his head. "nah, there's more. you are my best friend, the love of my life, and everything i could ever want in a person."

you're definitely smiling now; he doesn't seem to notice. "these past few years with you have been the best time of my life. y/n, i adore you. we've been together for four years of my life, and i want to spend the next four with you too. and the four after that, and the rest of my life, so will you marry me?"

and he's getting down on his knees and pulling a box from his pocket, and your vision turns blurry as you nod frantically. "yes!"

at some point, you get down to his level, and he slides the ring clumsily onto your finger before his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs shakily wiping away your tears. it's not like he's faring any better, though, because he's crying as hard as you are — if not harder. your hands find his face before he kisses you, and the two of you fall back so he's sitting on the ground, you between his legs.

"i love you," you gasp through your sobs, and he smiles stupidly at you through his own tears.

"i love you too, you don't even know—"

"i do, i do," you whisper before he kisses you again, and then he pulls back, a dumb laugh escaping his throat.

"god, we look so stupid right now— i mean, you don't, i do, oh my god, the camera—"

"what about it?" you ask. you've both stopped crying, and he leans back to let you dig through his pocket for a tissue that you use to gingerly dab at your face before you turn on him.

"it— stop that, i look fine, it recorded everything, oh my god, y/n, stop—" he tries — in vain — to dodge your accursed tissue, bright red hues spreading across his cheeks as you laugh at him.

"bet you didn't expect to cry," you tease, poking his warm but damp cheek. "you love me sooo much, you just had to!"

"yeah," he says, and it comes out softer than either of you expected. "i do."

"you better say the same thing at our wedding!"

our wedding. ours. his heart skips a beat.

"i will, damn."

the ring on your finger feels both foreign and familiar, you note as rintarou gets up to collect his things. it's gotten colder since the two of you arrived here, and you shiver. rin gives you his jacket to wear as the two of you head to the car; he zips it right up to the collar before using it as leverage to pull you in and kiss you again.

"better get to planning the wedding, hmm? can't wait to have you forever," he murmurs, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"you already have me, forever," you tell him, and once more, you reduce the blank-faced, 6'3" photographer into a stammering, blushing mess. he says nothing, but you feel him squeeze your hand as he looks away, trying to hide his flushed face.

"shut up before i kiss you again."

thank u for reading ! <3 likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. i almost cried writing this, too much fluff might throw up. also, i appear to have a medical condition where i can only write about suna and no one else. there'll probably be a part 3 for the wedding, btw.. no promises

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gingernut1314 · 1 year ago

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Confidence: Zoro

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

Summary: You have never been defeated. No man or woman to have ever partaken in your challenge have come out victorious, only further solidifying your reputation. That is, until Zoro comes wandering into the bar you have set up your latest challenge in. You're confidence and his inability to back down from a challenge has Zoro feeling rather--weird toward you. A weird feeling that has him staying around you longer than he knows he should.

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, heavy alcohol use, mild talk of age difference (everyone in this fic is 18+), smut (dom x dom, p in v, hand job, fingering), very, very mild anime spoilers, Zoro not knowing what emotions he's feeling for 6K+ words

Word Count: 6.9K (Oops--my hand slipped)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Zoro soooo please be nice to me 🫣 I tried my best lol. And you already know I'm sorry about the word count--this whole mini-series was born from an inability to control the word vomit I type down, so the same thing happened here 😬 This is the 2nd part in the requested 'Confidence' series and I hope you all enjoy!!!

↞ to Confidence Masterlist and original request | to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

“She has never been defeated. No man or woman alive can best her.”

“She’s as strong as a man.”

“No--as strong as ten men.”

“Ten--” A scoff, “try a hundred men.”

These were the whispered and bewildered words of the patrons of the bar Zoro had wondered his way into. Words that piqued his interest as he made his way towards the bar, eyeing the gathered crowd of men just off to the side. An interest that was stifled when a mug of beer was placed in front of him--beer he’d been itching to have since he hoped off the Merry and onto the docks

Just when he had taken that first, refreshing sip of the wheaty drink, his name floated amongst the whispering. His name, his recent bounty, and his skill--skill they bet would take down whoever you were.

And Zoro was completely uninterested, a deep sigh huffing through his nose as he took another large, gulping drink. This would mean he would have to leave the bar he had just found. Leave because his name would only gather unwanted attention to him and his crew who had been trying to avoid attention of any sort.

You tucked a handful of berries into your pocket as the man before you cradled his arm, which you had so unfortunately snapped. Had just readied yourself to take on the next man who sat eagerly down in front of you when you caught a flash of green hair--of three swords strapped safely to a hip.

Roronoa Zoro.

He was a man you had heard rumors of throughout your travels through the Blue Seas. For an ex-bounty hunter, alleged demon, and holder of a hefty bounty he looked awfully--young to have gained all those titles and glory. Titles and glory that come with hard work--years of training. Years after tortuous years you had undergone to get to the level of skill you had achieved.

You were proud of your achievements and no man, young or old, would make you feel any less…but it didn’t stop you from needing to challenge him. To test your power against his and see if he could finally beat you after all these years.

“A man carrying that many swords,” You called, silencing the crowd who gasped collectively, parting to allow you a better view of the pirate who was making his way out of the bar, “must be making up for something rather…small--weak.”

Zoro stopped in his retreat, unwittingly taking the bait you had thrown at him

He turned his eyes, which were as dark as the night sea, onto you, looking like your remark hadn’t affected him--a remark you’ve known to throw many a man into a wild rage.

“Hardly.” He huffed on a blink. He watched you grab the man who sat before you by the scruff of his shirt and throw him out of his chair, sending him rolling onto the floor and nearly knocking over another who got in his way. Watched you gesture toward the now-empty seat before you.

“Then prove it, pretty boy.” You said, confidence and ego dripping from your every word. Dripping from the way you held yourself to the way you kept your features in that of cool, collected, confidence. It was a confidence and ego that called to Zoro’s own--called to it in a way he could not ignore as he usually would.

You smirked as he made his way over, sitting down in his seat--sitting down in his seat in a proficient way that anyone else in this room would have thought normal. But it was far from normal. You saw it for what it was--a call to his true abilities.

“How will I do that?” He asked you dryly. You placed your elbow on the worn, wooden table and raised your hand to silently let him know to take it. The famed swordsmen did no such thing, only eyeing it. “An arm wrestle? That is hardly a challenge.” He all but scoffed at you.

“Oh? Scared?” You teased, making the man narrow his eyes the slightest bit at you. “Thought you weren’t making up for something?” Zoro grasped your hand in his, steadying his elbow just a little ways before your own.

Zoro noted your hand was strong and calloused just any decent sword wields would be--but it also sported elaborately painted nails in a beautiful shade of purple with gold detailing.

He liked those colors was the next thought that crossed his mind before he could shut it down.

“If I win?” He asked, knowing better than to take your bait twice. Your eyes lit with excitement as a chuckle spilled from your lips. A chuckle that took him utterly off guard.

“If you win, I’ll buy you a drink and let you do as you wish to me. Whether that be death, a task needing to be fulfilled, berry, or a quick fuck in the alley. You’re choice.” Zoro’s gaze fluttered over you again. Confidence--such confidence that had their hooks buried deep in his flesh. Hooks he knew he needed to rid himself of before something bad came his way.

“You buy me a drink and show me to the docks.” You nodded at the fair wager. “And if you win?” You let your eyes wander over the swordsman’s body--over his strong stronger, calm features, and lips that you could tell were just full enough to be perfectly kissable.

“If I win, you buy me a drink and give me one of your earrings.” You said eyeing the three, golden earrings dangling from his ear. Ones that had hardly moved as he walked over to you. Hardly moved as he sat and took your hand in his own. It was all call to the skill you were about to pit yourself against.

Your response surprised Zoro. He’d taken on many challenges and won many duels, but never once had someone asked him such a thing. Such a strange request.

It only made those hooks dig deeper.

“I agree to your terms.” He said, readying himself to take you on.

“And I do yours.” You spoke on honey-dripped tones that had few men around the room huffing in flusteredness.

Berry was passed around as bets were made. Whispered words laid just under the surface of the silence which had fallen over the bar. Whisper about who would win, how they would win, and what in all the gods’ names was Zoro thinking for just asking you for directions and a drink.

Zoro and you gave each other a brief nod before your challenge began.

You knew in an instant he had earned his bounty as such power bore down onto your arm--power that had your excitement whirl around in your chest, a laugh you couldn’t control spilling from your lips.

Zoro knew just as quickly that you had earned the reputation he had heard whispered around the bar. Knew that you weren’t worth ten men--not even a hundred. You were worth a thousand.

But Zoro was, unfortunately for you, worth two thousand men.

Arms shook, sweat pooled and dripped down brows, the wooden table whined and shook until--

Your arm budged. Budged and struggled to regain what little space you had lost. Another cheerful laugh flew from your breathy lips.

A laugh that had Zoro’s chest feeling all--weird.

Why were you laughing? You were losing?

Another inch was lost to you. And then another and--

The table snapped in two beneath the power roaring around the two of you. You were pulled from your seat and all but into the lap of the man you had nearly lost to.

You cursed, angered at the cut-off challenge only to find a deep, rumbling chuckle spill from Zoro’s lips. A chuckle you instantly liked and wanted to hear more of. A chuckle that rumbled through you as Zoro leaned in close, his breath brushing against your cheeks in a way that had your body heating.

“Let's get that drink.”

You both ordered a round for the other. A round that turned into two, then three, then four, until it was turning into another full-on challenge. One the patrons around the bar fed into by buying you both shots and drinks.

Berry once again flowed. Bets were made and whispering dealings on who would win floated around the now music-filled bar.

Zoro finished his eighth beer when he turned to find you finishing off your own eighth, flashing him a smug grin that had that strange feeling stirring in his gut.

“Slowing down?” You teased him, grabbing for your fourth shot given to you by one of the men sitting closest to you.

“Hardly.” Zoro scoffed, ordering himself the same shot you had been given. “Just let me know when you need a break, princess.” He said in that dry wit he teased you with.

“Princess--I like that. I think if I win, instead of buying me a drink, you’ll have to only refer to me as a princess.” Zoro raised his shot glass for you to click yours against. The liquid warmed your throat as it flowed downward, a warmth that spread through your body again when your eyes caught sight of the swordman’s strong throat bob on his swallow.

“Fine. I still want a drink. But you’ll buy me a bottle of sake instead. A nice bottle of sake. Top shelf.” You nodded, pushing your empty shot glass away and replacing it with your ninth beer. Zoro was quick to follow.

“Of course. Only the best for the great Roronoa Zoro.”

You two had five more beers, two more shots, and a tiny cup of cheap sake before most of the partons left for the night, defeated. The bar closed soon after the last handful left and you two were kicked out, ending your second challenge before it truly began.

“What bar closes before one?” Zoro gruffed as you two walked through the all-but-deserted streets of the port town. Only a few drunken men stumbled home, singing off-tune shanties and relieving themselves against the sides of buildings.

“The kind whose clientele should have gone home an hour ago.” You huffed, placing a hand on the sword at your side absentmindedly. “I will show you to the docks. I assume your captain is waiting for you.” Zoro eyed you again like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. “Tell me…how did the mighty hunter become the prey?”

“I am still plenty the hunter.” He said with that smugness that mirrored your own.

“Oh of course. A 60 million berry bounty doesn’t come from just laying down and being complicated.” You said, all but purring his way. It had that feeling in Zoro’s gut fizzing again. Made him want to challenge you again--over and over until a victor was found.

“You tell me since you seem to know so much about me already.” You huffed, turning your face away from Zoro. He watched the moonlight make your eyes sparkle--watched your painted fingernails tap over the hilt of the sword at your side. One he could tell from the hilt was of strange make and good caliber.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Roronoa Zoro. Your name has been whispered in the wind for a long time now. Your face now posted everywhere one can find space.” You said pointing towards the nearest building, where a few wanted posters had been plastered onto.

Sure enough, there was Zoro’s face and bounty just next to Luffy’s goofy grin.

“Stories of what you did in Alabasta are told in many a bar I’ve conducted my challenges in. I have good ears. Nothing more.” He almost would have believed you had the corner of your mouth not twitched. Had your painted nails not tapped over the hilt of your sword again.

“Who are you then? Bounty hunter? Marine? Pirate?” Zoro’s gut clenched as you turned your gaze back onto him. A gaze that pierced through him like a dagger. You chuckled. A chuckle that tickled at Zoro’s ears in a pleasant way that had his gut unclenching, only to clench up again like some fist.

“I am merely looking for the one who will finally win my challenge.” Zoro wanted to know more. It was almost like a need to know who you were. Had you been a pirate once? A bounty hunter, just as he had? Who had trained you and how long would you be able to hold out against Zoro’s own blades?

And it was all very--weird. Weird that you were making him feel all strange inside--making him want more of that feeling.

You came to a stop at the entrance to the docks, Zoro stopping with you, his eyes hardly leaving your features.

“I am sure you will be able to find your way back to your ship from here?” Zoro huffed, scanning over the docks, easily spotting the ram's head of the Merry just a little ways away. “Then it has been an honor to challenge you. May our paths cross again.” You said with a small bow of your head before starting off in the opposite direction of the Merry.

“We haven’t finished the challenge yet.” You paused, looking back to Zoro with a small smirk.

“I have more sake on my ship if you wish to continue there. I doubt any bar for miles will be open.” Zoro scanned over your features once more. Over your body which you held so confidently.

He shouldn’t. Not when everyone in this town and the next knew what his face looked like--what Luffy’s face looked like.

He needed to get his crew out of here before the Marines came sniffing around…but your smugness and ego and confidence were pulling at Zoro in a way he had only felt once before towards Dracule Mihawk, but this--you were different than the great swordsmen. You with your shining eyes and painted nails adorning his favorite colors of purple and gold.

He should go. Leave you and your challenge…but Zoro had never been known to make good decisions before.

And he never backed down from a challenge.

“Sake it is.”

Your ship was tiny compared to the Merry, but seeing as it was a vessel manned by one person, it made sense. It was cozy and filled with trinket after trinket. Swords, daggers, and all sorts of weapons hung on the walls. Rings, necklaces, and all sorts of treasure sat on shelves blocked off by glass--and was that a finger bone sitting next to a golden goblet?

Zoro came to realize these were trophies from your wins. Trophies his earring would surely join if you won against him--which he thoroughly doubted.

You requested that he remove his boots before fully entering the inner workings of your vessel, just as you had. He obeyed the request without questions, not wanting to disrespect your hospitality.

He watched you move around the small kitchen area, pulling two, wooden o-choko cups from the cabinet and then grabbing a bottle of sake from the fridge.

“Let’s make this fun.” You said, sitting down at the kitchen table, gesturing with your hand holding the sake bottle for him to join you. “I have three more bottles after this one. Every time we finish a bottle and a victor hasn’t been granted, then we get to ask the other a question and you have to answer.”

Zoro hesitated at your request. He knew better than to share details of his life with anyone. Hell, his own crew hardly knew much about his past…but he came this far. Had already boarded your ship and accepted your hospitality, he couldn’t leave now.

And he couldn’t refuse the offer of free sake.

“Only four bottles? Please, that’s nothing.” Zoro said sitting down across from you, taking one of the wooden cups and holding it out in sign to fill it. You poured the liquid into Zoro’s cup before passing the bottle to him, repeating the process but with your own cup. When both cups were filled, you lightly touched your cups together before taking that first sip of the fruity, apple-hinted sake you had purchased just the other day.

“If you're that eager for me to ask you a question, then might as well just skip right to the chase.” Zoro huffed in something like mock amusement.

“Get to drinking, princess.”

You both sat, sipping on your sake and passing the bottle back and forth to refill each other's cups. You both made idle, yet engrossing chit-chat about different types of swords and their capabilities before you finished that first bottle of sake.

“Tell me your name.” Zoro requested as his first question.

“I feel like that is a waste of a perfectly good question.” You mused, rising from your seat to grab the second bottle of sake stored in your fridge.

“You have to answer, remember? Your rules.” You chuckled, filling Zoro’s cup with the freshly open bottle of sake. But you told him, family name and all. A name Zoro repeated low and slow, rolling it over his tongue as his brow furrowed in thought.

“Sounds familiar.”

“I can assure you, it’s not.” Zoro let it go with a casual shrug as he took the sake from you and filled your cup. You both clicked glasses and took your first sip. Your eyes scanned over his chest, which his shirt hung open to expose. “How did you get that scar? Pretty nasty.”

Zoro took another sip from his glass, watching you closely. Scars were seen by most as failures--as defeats. Gods’ know how many times you had scarred one of the men who had challenged you just to see the devatated look on their faces.

“I challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel. Lost.” He said simply like it was hardly a big deal. He said it simply even when that name shot through you like a hot iron. A name that had your anger rising in your chest.

Zoro took note of the anger that flashed through you at the mention of Mihawk. An anger that looked more like wrath than mere anger. He wondered what that was for? What had happened to make you hate the man so much…maybe that would be one of his questions.

“Why--” Zoro cut you off with a shake of his head.

“Keep drinking, Y/N, and if you make it, you can ask.” You huffed and continued to sip on your sake.

The second bottle was finished much quicker than the first, mainly because you had been chugging your cups like an utter fool so you could ask your question.

“Sake is meant to be enjoyed you know.” Zoro gruffed at you as you stood.

“Ask your question.” You commanded. Zoro blinked his eyes at you, amusement flashing in them as you opened the fridge door.

He liked your anger. It was fun to tease out of you.

“What’s with the finger?” He asked, shoving a thumb over his shoulder. That seriousness and anger that had overcome you banked the slightest bit at his question. You’re shining eyes gleamed in excitement at its mention.

“My first trophy. He lost his challenge to me and instead of paying up the berry I had asked for, he tried to kill me. Took his hands for it.” You mused, eyes unfocusing as you remembered back. “Lost them both along my travels. His pinky is the only thing that remains.” You said, wiggling your pinkie at Zoro who laughed. A laugh that was hardly above a chuckle, but a laugh all the same.

It was--stunning. And hardy and fit him so well. One you wanted to hear again and again.

“What a pity.” You shrugged as you sat back down across from the swordsmen.

“Why challenge Mihawk?” You asked, pouring Zoro more sake. He found that seriousness began to seep back into your features. “That man walks with death herself. She shadows him--sponsors him like some god would their chosen champion.” Zoro took the bottle from you and returned the favor.

“Because I made a promise to someone a long time ago that I would become the world’s greatest swordsman. Mihawk is the holder of that title. I thought I would win. I was wrong.” He said simply yet again.

Said it so simply--too simply, like he hadn’t gone up against Dracule Mihawk and left the encounter alive. Went up against the hawk-eyed Warlord, who had hadn’t always been as such. Who had once hunted those very marines he now served. Marines he had slaughtered regardless of who their deaths might hurt. Zoro had walked away from that true demon alive and was playing it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

“I do enjoy myself a man with a vow,” You said, trying to lighten your mood, before clinking your cup with Zoro’s. “And a death wish.” Zoro held your eyes as you took a sip of your sake and he a sip from his. Eyes that dug into him deeper than any had before.

“Any swordsman worth their weight in the steal they carry has one.”

“I’ll keep drinking to that.”

You both finished the third bottle in the span of half an hour. A bottle that merely had you feeling full rather than anything more fun. You found you were able to withstand the effects of alcohol the more you learned how to control your body in ways others never would. Ways Zoro seemed to understand as well.

“What are you? Truly.” Zoro asked as you pulled the last chilled bottle of sake from the fridge.

“I am nothing now but a lone traveler…” You said shutting the fridge door with your hip. A movement you saw Zoro track with those deep, dark eyes of his. “but in a past life one might have found me selling teas in my mother's shop.”

Zoro watched closely as you sat down before him, something like pain flashing through your eyes. A pain he himself had felt once before. “Until death knocked on my door and changed that.” Your voice dipped dangerously low as you poured sake into Zoro’s cup before passing the bottle to him. “Then I did a quick stint as a pirate.” Zoro filled your cup, placing the bottle in the middle of the table.

“That’s how I know you. You had a bounty.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Had. A long time ago.” You huffed, “Why the three swords?” You asked, changing the topic and pulling that calm and collected mask back on. Zoro’s hand came to rest on the three swords at his side when brought to their attention once more.

“My vow--I made it to a friend.” He said, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to tell you of his childhood friend. At least just vaguely. It wouldn’t hurt when you had told him just as vaguely of your pain. “When she died I was gifted her sword. I then crafted the Three Sword Style which I have been perfecting ever since.”

The fourth bottle was finished off just as you two had gotten halfway through discussing the ways you both had trained in swordplay, which took a pause as you poured the last half of the sake into Zoro’s cup.

“Why seek out defeat?” He asked, taking the bottle from your hand. His fingers curled around yours, holding them there as he leaned forward. Fingers that all but made your skin sizzle like you were touching fire. You slide your hand out from under his, trying to forget about the feeling of it against yours. “You are the strongest woman I have ever come across. Why look for your skills to be diminished?”

“Why seek out fame?” You asked back on a near snap, which the pirate hardly seemed to pay mind to your tone. “Why seek out titles that are only words to be spoken? Why seek out a title that will only have silly little boys, like yourself, hunt after you and inevitably kill you?”

Zoro blinked at you. He ignored your jab at him once again. A jab that was only meant to rile him to anger. He was collected enough to not take your bait for a third time that night.

“I have a death wish, remember.” He said, taking his cup in his hand, leaning in closer than he needed to fill your cup. “Your turn.” He said with that gruffing voice. A voice that had your body growing warm. A warmth completely unrelated to all the alcohol you had drank.

“Because I’m tired of winning.” Zoro watched you raise your cup for it to be filled. He watched your eyes as he filled your cup. Eyes that shined brightly yet held a dullness to them that called to that exhaustion you claimed. He placed the sake bottle down and raised his cup for the last cheers of the night.

“Are you sure you’re not ready to tap out?” Zoro asked, keeping his cup just out of reach of yours. Asked in that dry humor of his that had you narrowing your eyes at him.

“Hardly. Are you?” Zoro chuckled. A chuckle you paused your riling emotions to listen to. To memorize dispute only having just met the man.

A man who could beat you despite your continued challenges. You knew he could--had felt it during your first challenge. You were big enough to admit defeat when it came time for it. When someone truly earned it. And Zoro had earned it…but you couldn’t help but want to keep his company a little while longer.

“Hardly.” And your cups met each other in a gentle kiss before you both took that first, last sip. “What now?” He asked, leaning back in his seat heavily.

“I don’t know.” You said on a shrug, taking another sip as you leaned your forearms on the table. “A drawl?” The room fell quiet--a quiet that lasted all of two seconds before the both of you were laughing at such an absurd idea.

“I didn’t know you to make jokes,” Zoro said as his laughter evened out.

“Oh, I’m sure I have pulled a chuckle or two from you tonight,” Zoro smirked, sipping his sake. “This table is sturdy enough. We could try arm wrestling once more?” He eyed you long and slow. Eyes that danced over your face and down your neck.

“Finish your drink and then we can resume your first challenge.” You smiled, excited as you set on sipping your sake faster than you knew it should be sipped. But you couldn’t help it. Not when you were eager to get back under that power that rolled off him in waves. To press your own power against it and feel it wane against his fire.

You both slammed your cups to the table and had your hands clasped together hardly a minute later. It seemed you both were eager to complete this challenge.

Zoro gazed into your eyes and you gazed into his on a pause. A pause and a nod of the head before the challenge resumed.

Once again, you were reminded of his power. Of how good it felt to feel your strength weaken against his.

Arms shook, brows beaded with sweat, and heat pooled in your abdomen. A heat no man had been able to stir for a long, long time. No man had been worth its sizzling flames.

A little noise spilled from your lips. A noise that had Zoro’s attention pulling from your shining eyes to your lips. Lips that hung parted on that small noise that had that weird feeling grow and thrash about in his abdomen.

“Fuck.” He cursed on a deep rumble that had you clenching your thighs together against the frustration building in you.

“Fuck, Zoro--win.” You all but begged the swordsmen, whose teeth were clenched so tight you thought they might fracture under the pressure. “Win, win, please.” You continued.

Despite your pleas for him to win against you, you hardly gave up your hold on his hand. Hardly gave into his power. You fought against it, just as he fought against yours. A fight that your arm had just begun to yield under when Zoro cursed yet again.

Zoro couldn’t focus. Not when you were making those little noises and begging him to dominate you. Couldn’t focus when you looked just as bright as your eyes--when your painted nails were pressed flush against the back of his hand. Not when that weird feeling wanted him to win against you in another way.

The alcohol. It was the alcohol making him feel this--needful for you.

He knew that wasn’t it. Knew he was hardly even tipsy. He knew he had felt this way as he had drunk his first beer.

“Fuck it.” He hissed, reaching across the table to grab your cheeks in his free hand. You sucked in a breath as he all but pulled you across the table, lips pressing harshly against yours. You fought back against his lips in a fiery kiss that any outside might have thought looked more like two dogs mauling at each other's faces than any true kiss.

But it was a kiss you felt your body ignite against--that you could taste the sweet, fruity sake you had drank on his tongue and lips. One that made your pussy throb and your limbs grow fuzzy as you climbed onto the table, knocking over the empty sake bottle as you crawled over it.

He all but pulled you off the table into his lap where you moved so you could straddle his waist and press your kiss down onto him.

Hands grabbed at clothes and relieved the other of their shirts, which were tossed to the ground before lips were rapidly moving against the others. Your hands smoothed over his hard-earned, muscle-lined chest, feeling the slight raise of the scar Mihawk had given him.

Zoro’s calloused hands moved from where they grasped your hips upwards, sending goosebumps rising along your skin.

He felt a scar along your hip bone, one that cut up your side, and another he felt just under the edge of your bra. But never once did he feel a scar on your back.

You were a true swordsman. A true warrior.

It had him grabbing you tighter. Had him hosting you up as he stood before pinning you on the table, fingers unbuckling your belt and unbuttoning your pants.

Zoro yanked your pants down your legs, trailing hot, opened-mouth kisses along your scarred skin making a huffing moan escape your lips. You ran your fingers through his green hair before grabbing for your pants which he wasn’t pulling off fast enough.

You yanked them off, grabbing him back against you and claiming his lips harshly as you rose off the table onto your feet.

Zoro’s back hit the wall, making the swords and other various weapons rattle upon impact. You wasted no time in going for his belt, which fell away from his hips under the weight of his three swords.

They had just fallen to the floor with a dulled clatter when Zoro was turning you so that he could slam you against the wall, throwing his skillful power into you which had you moaning in gleeful pleasure. A throwing star, which had been hanging just beside your head, fell to the ground and embedded itself in the wood there.

You wanted him to do that again. To move you despite your own power fighting against him.

Your hands grabbed for Zoro’s pants again as his hands grabbed for the clasp of your bra, which he fumbled with and found he couldn’t figure out the mechanics of. One last harsh kiss was given to Zoro before you pushed him away, going for the clasp behind your back.

“Pants.” You grit at him. He huffed at your commanding tone, but did so regardless of his want to ignore it.

His breath hitched in his throat as you threw your bra off, your breasts falling from their confines and making his mouth water at their heft. You yanked your underwear off just as Zoro had finished pulling his pants off, leaving you both bare to one another.

Your eyes scanned over his body shamelessly. Scanned over the scars he bore--the large one cutting across his chest, another smaller one on his shoulder, and two more rounding his ankles. Scanned over the sheer amount of strength that radiated off him that you needed to grab and feel against you all over again. Scanned over his cock, which twitched in the open air, precome already spilling for its tip.

Zoro looked over your body just as you did. A body that was strong--well-honed muscles built throughout it from the years of training he knew you had gone through. Muscle that did nothing but enhance your utter femininity. From your hair to your shining eyes to that shade of purple he found your toenails were painted as well.

Zoro thought you might have been the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

You were grabbing at Zoro just as he was grabbing at you. Lips caressing in that harsh manner that had your abdomen burning. Bare bodies pushed and pulled and felted at the other in a way that had your head spinning.

You slammed Zoro into the door that led to your chambers, his teeth finding your neck in a pinching bite that was sure to leave a bruise as your lips pulled away long enough to open it. You shoved Zoro through the open doorway, his hands grabbing for your arms to pull you with him.

He used the momentum of your shove to switch positions with you, lips claiming yours as he guided you back toward your bed. When the backs of your legs hit the frame, you climbed onto the plush mattress before he could shove you down, not wanting to give your position up quite yet. A position you wanted him to fight you for. He climbed in after you, lips hardly leaving the others.

That push and pull began again. You tugged at Zoro who tugged right back. It was a continuation of the challenge you had been waging to see who would come out on top--literally now.

Your fingers brushed down his strong stomach before wrapping around his hard cock, pumping him nice and slow in a way that had him hissing out a breath. You watched his brows furrow under your admissions--watched as the corner of his lip twitched in a near snarl as your thumb passed over his dripping head. Your touch spurred his hips into motion--thrusting into your hand with each pass of your thumb.

“I think I like this type of wrestling much better, don’t you?” You teased, tightening your grip just that much more around him. His fingers dug into your skin. Dug hard enough you were sure it would leave a mark. You wanted it to leave a mark. “I think I like the idea of having you come all undone first, looking so, so pretty.”

His hips halted their mindless thrust, eyes narrowing down at the smugness that had filtered into your bright gaze.

“Is that--” He hissed, finding your hand stilling working him in a way that was tortuous. “Is that a challenge?” You smirked.

“Should it be?” You continued to tease, eyes fluttered to look at his parted lips which huffing breaths floated out of.

“Same rewards?” He asked, making you nod.

“If that’s all you still wish for, then yes.” You lulled, leaning up to brush your lips against his. “But I think you’ll find it a harder challenge to win then--” You sucked in a shaky breath when a finger dipped into your needy folds. A finger that had found your clit in seconds and was applying just the right amount of pressure and type of touch to have your hips moving to get closer to such pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” He huffingly teased back, pressing your chest flush against his as a shit-eating grin plastered itself onto his kiss-puffed lips. Your hand paused its working of Zoro’s cock at the sudden sparks he sent shooting through you. “What were you saying?”

“How--how did you--fuck,” You cursed, grabbing hold of his shoulder for balance. Jolt after jolt of pleasure rushes up your body. Pleasure you had only even been able to fully give yourself.

“I think,” He gruffed brushing his lips against your ear, making a shiver rush up your spine. “That I’m going to have you coming all undone for me, Y/N, and then enjoy myself the best sake this little island has to offer.” His gruffing voice rang in your ear.

“In your dreams.” You huffed, swallowing a moan that wanted to escape.

Zoro grunted as you resumed moving your hand up and down the length of his velvety cock. A movement that had Zoro stopping the circling of your clit only so he could shove your thighs open wider, all so he could sink a finger into your dripping pussy--and then another. He curled and pressed them into that spongy spot up in you that had stars flying across your vision--stars that grew in number when his thumb found your clit once more.

Huffs and pants and grunts and cut-off moans between near-violent kisses filled the space as you fought to get each other off--to get the other to lose the challenge you had been trying to finish the whole night.

You pulled away once more when Zoro gave a deep-chested moan. A moan that had his brows knitting together and his hips jerking against your hand as if to pull away because--oh yes.

“It’s okay, pretty boy. It’s okay. You can come for me. Yes, yes, please come for me.” You comforted, placing a gentle kiss on his flushed cheek and picking your pace up just that much faster. “So strong. So powerful. Come on my hand and let me taste just how--” Your words were cut off as Zoro pulled his fingers out of you only for them to wrap around your throat in a tight hold. A hold that nearly had you coming right then and there.

He pinned you to the bed, your hand slipping from his cock in the process. But it didn’t stop you from wrapping your legs around his waist and rubbing your dripping, needy pussy against his twitching and as equally needy cock.

“You talk too much.” He hissed, the hand not pinning you to the bed running down your body so that he could reach for his swollen cock. “I’m gonna make you come so hard around me you won’t remember how to speak.”

“Yes--please.” You panted out as he pressed the tip of his cock against your fluttering entrance. A pant that turned into your own deep-chested moan as he sunk himself into you, inch by glorious inch. A moan was met with Zoro’s grunts as he bottomed out in you, your pussy flexing around him as it worked to accommodate his size.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up enough to claim his rough kiss once more as his hips began to move his cock within you.

His pace gradually began to quicken. A pace that grew so brutal, that tears brimmed in your eyes at the pleasure he pounded into you. And when his thumb found your clit again--oh gods you knew you might not win out against him.

And as lust and pleasure fogged your brain, you found you wanted him to win. Just as you had wanted him to win against every other challenge you threw his way that night.

“Zoro--oh fuck, Zoro keep going. Please, please, please.” You begged against his panting mouth. He kept up his wicked pace, the sinfully wet sounds of your pussy getting utterly destroyed filling your ears and adding to the pleasure that was rolling through you.

Sweat slicked over skin, bodies buzzed and shook, lips moved frantically and hungrily. And that release your body begged for built and built and built and you had just began to tip over the edge. Your finish just a breath away--hot ribbons of come shot into you.

Zoro had come just seconds before your pussy was clenching around his twitching cock. Just seconds before you were moaning his name and holding him close as you’re finish rushed through you. His solid body fell on top of yours, chests full of uneven and choppy breath.

“You win.” He huffed into your neck. You sighed deeply, running your fingers through his green hair.

“I was only teasing--” Zoro pulled his face away so he could look into your eyes. Deep, dark eyes that never looked away from your face as he unhooked an earring from his ear lobe, holding it out for you to take.

“You win, princess. Fair is fair.” You gently took the gold earring from his hand, brushing your knuckles over his cheek. A touch the swordsmen leaned into, his lips leaving a burning kiss to your writs. “Put it next to the finger.” You laughed, leaning forward and placing the softest kiss of the night to those lips of his. Lips that kissed you back just as soft--slow. A kiss that had your heart beating against your ribs.

“Just for you, pretty boy.”

Tags: @lostfirefly

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avoxrising · 1 year ago

Text

The Feral One • Ch 12

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

Another chapter as promised. Prepare for Finnick to enter his trust issues era…

Content Warnings - people were tortured, someone canonically attempts to kill Katniss (Peeta *cough cough*)

You wake up on a hovercraft, unsure of what happened. Peeta, Johanna and Annie are also in the room, but only you are awake. Was Annie also in the capital? She must have been. You’re thankful she looks unharmed.

Peeta and Johanna did not seem to get the same treatment as you and Annie. Peeta is extremely malnourished and is covered in cuts and bruises. Looking at Johanna, you would have thought she was dead if it wasn’t for the slow rise and fall of her chest.

One of the soldiers notices you are awake and slowly approaches you. It’s not till he does that you notice they cuffed your hands and you’re chained to the wall.

“Miss Y/L/N,” the man states as he crouches down to your level. "My name is Boggs and I’m from District 13. We rescued you and the other tributes from the capital and are bringing you to 13. Do you have any questions?”

“Can you take these off?” you ask him, holding up your cuffs. He looks a bit surprised at your question.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he states. “Based on your file it states that you are to be restrained as you may be a danger to others, especially when waking up.” He seems to be reading this information from an electronic tablet he’s holding.

“I bet it also says I don’t talk,” you mutter.

“That would be correct…” he says, realizing that you are talking to him.

“Well I don’t need these anymore,” you state. “I’m not a danger to anyone. The capital fixed me. I’m completely harmless.”

“I’m afraid my orders state you must remain cuffed until you are cleared by the doctors in District 13,” he replies.

“And how long will that be?” you ask.

“We will be landing in an hour,” he responds.

An hour feels like eternity when you are waiting for your freedom. Boggs confirmed to you that Finnick is alive in District 13 and somewhat well. Apparently he’s been having a really hard time coping with your absence and is excited for your return. He really missed you.

District 13 is chaotic when you land. Annie is allowed to walk off of the hovercraft on her own but Johanna and Peeta are loaded up onto stretchers and whisked away to the hospital.

Even though you tell them that you can walk just fine, the doctors make you sit in a wheelchair so they can chain you to it while a soldier pushes you. Nobody here trusts you not to act out.

“Where’s Finnick?” you ask the soldier pushing your wheelchair.

“Not sure,” he grunts. “They won’t allow you visitors until they decide you aren’t a threat.”

You arrive at your room and they transfer your restraints to the metal bed.

“Oh I’m not the one you should be worried about,” you tell the man. “Peeta on the other hand…”

You’re cut short by the sound of someone yelling out for you.

“Finnick?” you yell back. “Finnick!”

The blond comes sliding into view when he’s held back by two District 13 soldiers. You want to cry at the sight of him. He looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in days. His fingers are bloody from the rope in his hands and he looks like a lost puppy.

“Y/N!” he calls out. “Let me see her!”

“I’m sorry Mr. Odair,” one of the guards says. “She is not allowed visitors until she has been cleared by our doctors.”

“Oh god doctors?” Finnick asks. “She hates doctors. If anyone is going to set her off it’s a doctor. She killed two of them in the capital.”

The soldiers radio for backup, thinking you’re even more of a threat.

“Let me see him!” you yell. “I won’t hurt anyone. They fixed me.”

“I’m the only one who can calm her down,” Finnick explains. “If she gets out of hand I’ll sedate her. Give me some sedatives.”

The doctor outside my room agrees to Finnick’s plan and the soldiers finally let him in. He shoves the sedatives into his jumpsuit pocket before bursting into the room.

“Finnick!” you exclaim, holding your chained arms as far out as they can reach. You need to hold him, to make sure he’s real.

“Y/N,” he sobs, finally breaking down. “I’m so sorry. I missed you so much.”

“Come here,” you tell him, motioning for him to sit on the bed next to you. He hesitates before reaching out to gently touch your hand.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes now get over here,” you state, nearly yanking him on top of you.

He climbs into your small bed and you nuzzle up against him. The cuffs dig into your wrists but you don’t care.

“I’m so happy,” you hum.

Suddenly chaos erupts down the hall and a soldier bursts into your room, gun pointed at you.

“Mr. Odair,” he states. “Step away from Miss Y/L/N.”

“No,” you state, holding Finnick closer to you. “He stays.”

“Something is wrong,” the soldier tells Finnick, ignoring you. “Mr. Melark just tried to kill Katniss.”

Finnick tenses up at this news before slowly climbing out of your bed and backing away from you.

“That’s because the capital trained him to do that,” you try to explain. “They didn’t do that to me. I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“There will be no visitors to any of the rescued victors until they are individually deemed safe,” the soldier states. “Mr. Odair you are wanted in command.”

Finnick gives you a worried look as he leaves, wondering if you might turn on him at any moment.

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick #thg finnick #finnick odair fanfic #mockingjay #the feral one

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percki · 8 months ago

Text

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar.

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

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diazsdimples · 8 months ago

Note

bucktommy + "To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done"

"To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done," Buck pants as he leans against the cool, brick wall. He pulls off his helmet and runs his fingers through his hair, knowing he's likely smeared soot all over his face. The building is still smouldering behind them, but Eddie and Ravi both have the hoses directed towards the flames. It's under control. Tommy looks like he could explode. His boyfriend is usually very calm and level headed, perfect traits for a first responder, but right now he looks set to rip Buck's head off. "Wasn't the stupidest - you could have - Evan, are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie and Ravi's heads turn towards the outburst and Buck winces, not wanting their first proper fight as a couple to be on full display for all their coworkers to witness. He grabs Tommy's arm and pulls him around the side of the building, away from any flapping ears. "Tommy, it's okay, I'm fine. She's fine. We're fine," he reassures Tommy as he reaches into the pocket of his turnout and pulls out the reason behind his sudden expedition into a burning building without a second's thought. The kitten is tiny in his hands, her fur rumpled and soot smudges over the beautiful, white coat. When the little girl he and Tommy had pulled from the building had said her kitten was still stuck inside the inferno, Buck hadn't hesitated before sprinting back into the building, not even with Bobby, Tommy and Eddie all yelling at him. He just hadn't anticipated Tommy to follow him back in. "Yeah but you could have been not fine! I agreed to help this shift as a favour to Bobby, not so I could get a front row seat to my boyfriend burning alive!" Buck swallows thickly and transfers the kitten into one hand so he can reach out to cup Tommy's face with the other. Tommy doesn't meet his eye, instead looking resolutely behind Buck. His jaw ticks as Buck strokes along his cheekbone with his thumb. "Tommy, I-I'm not going to burn alive. I was just gonna get her and come right back," he explains. Tommy's got to understand, right? Buck's a professional, he'd never do anything to put himself in any real danger. If he thought he couldn't get to the kitten before the building collapsed or got too hot then he would never have set foot in it. Tommy finally meets Buck's eyes then, and Buck is alarmed to see that his eyes are swimming behind a film of tears. Fuck, he's really fucked up here hasn't he? "Tommy, I-" "I can't lose you, Evan," Tommy cuts in, circling a hand around Buck's wrist and lowering his hand from Tommy's jaw. "Not like that." Buck swallows again, and he must tighten his grip on the kitten because she lets out a pitiful meow, her tiny tongue rasping against his glove as she licks at him. "I'm sorry," he whispers, hanging his head as the gravity of the situation washes over him. Tommy thought he was going to lose Buck. Tommy thought Buck was going to die. "I didn't mean to scare you." Tommy curls his fingers under Buck's chin and lifts his head, forcing eye contact. "I know you didn't, I just - baby, you mean so much to me," Tommy says, his voice raw and choked with emotion as he searches Buck's face, his eyes drinking in every inch of Buck as if he's worried it's the last time he'll be able to see him again. "Please, please don't ever do that again." "I won't, Tommy, I swear I won't," Buck promises, and he leans forwards to kiss Tommy softly. Tommy responds instantly, wrapping his arm around Buck's waist and pulling him close. Their lips move in tandem with one another, Tommy running his tongue along the seam of Buck's lips until he opens, and Buck licking back in apology. "Hey," Buck says as they pull away, resting their foreheads together. "I love you." Tommy huffs out a small laugh and kisses Buck again, lighter this time but no less emotionally charged. "I love you too."

Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll finish it!

(once again tagging @theotherbuckley)

#james answers things #james writes #this could have gone many different ways #but I chose Feels #bucktommy #bucktommy ficlet #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #kinkley #tommybuck #buck x tommy #tuck #911 ficlet

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seiya-starsniper · 10 months ago

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"I love your smile" with dreamling from the gentle prompts

Hello I am 8 million years later answering this anon, sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy it!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Also available on AO3

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It’s the kind of perfect spring day that the poets used to write about. Cool in the morning and warm, but not hot by mid-afternoon. There are sparse clouds in the sky, and the air is fragrant with the smell of flowers, of new life, of new beginnings. The fact that this perfect spring day also falls on a Saturday means that Hob Gadling is out with his camera, photographing every leaf, every small creature, happy couple, and passing vehicle that catches his attention.

And of course, his boyfriend.

It may be a beautiful and warm spring day, but Dream Endless is dressed like it's still the middle of winter; black jeans and black Doc Martens paired with a black tee and black pea coat to complete the ensemble. Hob had managed to talk him out of wearing the black scarf, at least. He knew Dream ran cold even in the summer, but the scarf would have definitely been too warm for today. In contrast, Hob is out in just a plain white t-shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers, and he’s certain that the two of them must strike their own kind of picture walking side by side through the park. Perhaps he’ll ask someone to snap a photo of them on his phone later.

Right now though, Hob’s having too much fun taking photos of Dream. Dream feeding the ducks with the small bag of seeds he’d brought along for just this purpose, Dream stopping to admire the various sculptures scattered throughout the park, Dream stopping to re-lace his boots.

“You take far too many photos of me,” Dream tells Hob eventually, rolling his eyes as he stands back up.

“What can I say?” Hob laughs, snapping another photo of Dream’s unamused face. “I love your smile.”

“Hob,” Dream says, leveling a flat stare at him. Hob continues to click away. “I am not smiling in any of the photos you’ve taken.”

He’s right, but only by a technicality. Dream hasn’t smiled once while looking at Hob’s camera. But the ones where he isn’t paying attention to Hob’s lens, well. That was a different story. But Dream didn’t need to know that right now. Later in the day, maybe.

“I know this may be hard to believe since it ruins that whole tortured poet look you’ve got going on,” Hob quips back at his boyfriend, amusement clear in his tone. “But you do smile.” He says it like he’s sharing a secret, and Dream looks at him in disbelief, before he sighs in exasperation. It's a fond exasperation though, Hob’s learned to tell over the years.

“Come. We are missing the goslings. We must catch them before they swim away,” Dream says, grabbing Hob by the hand and forcing him to put the camera down to rest around his neck. They walk over to where the geese and their recently hatched chicks are idling, and Dream approaches them slowly, kneeling and eventually sitting on a patch of dry grass closest to the pond’s edge. The geese eye him warily at first, but then Dream pulls out some seeds from his pocket, scattering them away from his person and sitting still as a statue while they slowly approach him.

Hob stays back away from where Dream is sitting; geese seem to hate him for some reason, but Dream has yet to meet a bird that doesn’t instantly take to him. It’s one of the things that Hob had noticed about the other man.

They’d met a little over two years ago in this very park, and Hob had been enraptured by Dream feeding the pigeons. He’d only meant to snap one or two photos of the strange goth man, but then one of the pigeons had flown up onto Dream’s shoulder and cooed happily as the man fed it straight from his hand. Dream’s smile had been small, but absolutely radiant in that moment. Hob fell in love at first sight.

Dream, decidedly, had not. He thought Hob to be a nuisance, had thrown a fit about having his photo taken without his knowledge or permission when Hob approached him. Hob had promised to not post any of the photos anywhere, and even offered to delete all of them if Dream saw them and really hated them that much. It would’ve killed Hob to delete such stunning photos, but he would’ve done it.

Luckily for him, Dream had softened when Hob had shown him the photos, then demanded Hob print them for him for free. Hob agreed, and then, because he had absolutely no self control around beautiful people, had asked Dream if he’d let Hob buy him dinner as an additional apology. Dream turned him down, and then also refused to give Hob his name when asked. Hob was hopelessly charmed.

After bringing the other man the agreed upon photos a week later, Hob promised not to photograph him if they ever ran into each other again. Dream looked at Hob like he didn’t believe the other man, but Hob kept his word, and for a time they maintained a pleasant, but distant acquaintance whenever they happened upon one another on days when the weather was nice.

It was Dream, surprisingly, who decided to approach Hob with a rather lucrative offer a few months later.

“I’m interested,” Dream had told him.

“In me?” Hob asked, surprised and flattered all at once.

“In your photography experience,” Dream clarified, though his cheeks had pinked at Hob’s words. “My sibling is getting married in a few months and they have yet to find a photographer they like.”

“Well, I can give you my website so you can show them my portfolio—”

“They’ve already seen it,” Dream interrupted him, blushing all the way from the tip of his nose down to his neck. “I—they wanted me to ask you if you’d shoot for their wedding. Personally.”

The rest, they say, is history. Hob hasn’t stopped photographing Dream ever since—with permission, of course.

In the present, Hob watches Dream’s patience and gentle tenacity pay off. The goslings eventually crowd around him and chirp happily, while the parental (Mother? Father? Hob can’t tell) goose angrily hisses at every other passing person who gets too close. They seemed to have claimed Dream as one of their own.

Hob’s camera clicks away until he hears a low warning beep signifying that his memory card is full.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have taken that 25 minute video of Dream feeding the crows the other day. But well, they’d all crowded around him and he’d looked so happy. The crows looked happy too, probably because Dream may as well look like them. It was cinematic art, and Hob would not be convinced otherwise.

When Dream eventually runs out of seeds, he bows his head and holds out his empty hands, a universal sign for the end of their interaction. The geese seem to realize quickly he will no longer feed them, and so they wander off into the nearby lake, the babies eagerly and awkwardly following their parent on tiny legs still unused to traveling by land. Hob waits until they’re all safely in the water before he takes a seat next to Dream.

“Have you finally tired of photographing my face?” Dream asks before resting his head on Hob’s shoulder.

“Never,” Hob answers with a small laugh. “I ran out of memory.”

Dream lets out a dramatic sigh. “Finally.”

“Oh hush, you,” Hob replies, jostling Dream with his shoulder. The other man groans at having been disturbed, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around Dream’s shoulder, before planting a kiss to his hair.

“Show me?” Dream asks, reaching for Hob’s camera. “I want to see just what it is you find so fascinating about watching me feed waterfowl.”

Hob chuckles.

“Everything, love,” he answers honestly as he pulls up the photos for them to review on his camera’s tiny screen. “Absolutely everything.”

#dreamling #the sandman #sandman fanfiction #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling

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acapelladitty · 2 months ago

Text

When The Lights Go Out: Riddler

Summary: Richard Madison is a crook but a strange encounter with a man calling himself Edward Nygma may prove to be his undoing.

Part 1: When The Lights Go Out: Scarecrow

AO3 Link ☆ Fic Masterlist

The miraculous release of Walter Johnstone from his asylum incarceration was not the only odd thing to have occurred in Gotham that day. Nor would it be the last.

It was certainly a day that Richard Madison was never likely to forget.

If you asked the average person to describe Richard Madison they would have a host of phrases ready to spring forth in his praise. As sweet as sugar, one might claim. Honest as they come, another would cry. A good man with a good heart. However, there were those who saw another side to the man and those individuals would quietly lament his misdeeds and misgivings.

Both opinions are entirely valid to their holders, as all opinions are, however those who believed in him were only witness to the facade which he presented to the world.

To put it simply, Richard Madison was a crook.

Oh, how people loved being around Richard. They whispered promises in his ears, slipped offerings into his pockets, and overall doted on him in exchange for the opportunity to engage. To have their needs met.

And he was never a man to deny the people their needs.

When it suited him.

Emerging from the elevator to his private office, his shoulder clicked as he stretched his arms before him to prepare for the next few hours of sitting at his computer and running his small empire from the comfort of his favourite chair.

However, an unexpected sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

Standing in his office as though he belonged there, lounged a suited man. His body was on the thinner side and even from this distance Richard could tell that the bottle green suit, expertly styled as it cinched his frame, was cut from expensive cloth. Boyish features shone from a face which could not have been a day over forty and his appearance was made all the more striking by the shock of flame red hair which sat atop his head, mostly covered by a lurid green bowler hat which perfectly matched the shade of his suit.

“Richard Madison!” The man exclaimed in a showman voice, his excitement radiating from him in waves. “In the flesh! The man of the hour!”

Reaching out as he approached Richard’s stunned position, he gripped his hand in a firm grasp before shaking with an almost comedic level of effort. His arm swinging up and down in the grasp of the madman, Richard politely let go before hiding his hand within his pocket to prevent any further touching.

“Who are you?” Richard asked. This was his private office and absolutely no one got in here without first jumping through a series of hoops designed to keep out any 'undesirables'. “And what the hell are you doing here?” He allowed his shock to manifest as anger as he roared at the red-haired man.

“Lovely office,” throwing an arm out with great flourish, the man ignored the open aggression to gesture wildly around the room, “you must tell me who your decorator is.”

The stark minimalism of his office stared back at him as Richard's eyes swept the room. His room was boring, intentionally designed as such, so was he joking?

“Look, buddy, I don't thin-” cutting himself off, Richard clenched and unclenched his fist as he repeated his earlier question. “Who are hell are you?!”

“My name is Edward Nygma.” Flashing a smile, Edward dropped his head in a dramatic nod and allowed the green bowler hat to topple from his scalp and into his waiting hands before tucking it below his arm. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Madison. May I call you Richard?”

Now exposed, his red hair was perfectly coiffed into an old-fashioned style which felt very out of place in the modern office.

“I suppose.”

“What about Dick?”

Pursing his lips as his eyes narrowed, Richard was unable to tell if this man was mocking him or his earnest manner was genuine.

“I usually insist on Richard.”

“Then feel free to call me Edward.” Edward answered. “And to answer your earlier question, I am here to make you an offer which I know you will be unable to resist. We are both men of knowledge and money, so I know that you will want to hear what I have to say.”

“I’m not a trader.” Richard spat back, the surreal nature of this meeting making his aggression feel more performative that anything. “If you want me to invest in some shit you’re cooking up then go to Wall Street and pitch to the sons of bitches there.”

“Oh, I met the fools at Wall Street. Quite a long time ago.” Smirking as lips curled into a smile, Edward flashed his white teeth. “I gave them all the clues and all the opportunities to be honest men and they chose to ignore me. And then? Can you believe it? BANG!”

At this, Richard jumped in place as Edward smacked his hand against his thigh with some force.

“It all came crashing down. The Wall Street Crash, they called it. More than a few brains came to decorate the nearby paving after that, but they can't say they hadn't been warned. I gave them every chance.”

He's definitely mad, Richard thought. Edward did not look a day over forty and yet he had the gall to claim that he was present for the Wall Street collapse in the 30's?

“Talking like that will get you locked up in Arkham.” Richard warned.

“Oh no,” Edward exclaimed, “oh no, no, no! That would never do! I am far too intelligent for that and besides,” leaning in close as though divulging some information that only he was privy to, the green of Edward’s eyes twinkled madly for a moment, “an old friend has already made himself comfortable in those harrowed halls. It would be rude for me intrude on his delicate work.”

“You have connections in Arkham?” Such things were not unheard of and Richard himself had at least one guard on his payroll to ensure that the odd piece of information here and there fell into his hands. “Staff or guests?” He added.

“Staff today could be guests tomorrow and vice-versa. Let's not judge people based on their current position, particularly when that position is fragile at best. Fantastic things are afoot in Gotham right beneath your nose,” Edward insisted, “and my associates and I are here to see what she has to offer. So much filth and rot and chaos all wrapped in a pretty package of gothic architecture and urban landscaping.”

“Associates?”

“Oh, don't you worry, Richard. You are very unlikely to ever meet them as we tend to stick to our roles somewhat rigidly.”

“I need to make a phone call.” Richard interjected quickly. “Excuse me.”

Quickly retreating back to the doors of the elevator, Richard snatched his mobile from his suit pocket and quickly hit one of the numbers on his speed dial. This man, Edward, seemed to have decent connections and money to his name but he wanted to be sure before moving any further.

To his luck, his secretary picked up after only two rings.

“Hello, Richard Madison’s office. How may I direct your call?” Came a feminine droll from the other end of the line.

“Hey, Sam.” Relieved to hear a familiar voice, Richard continued. “Need you to run a quick background check for me.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Claims his name is 'Edward Nygma'. Never heard of him before but he looks like he has some decent coin behind him.”

“Okay. And where is he currently?”

“Standing inside my office.”

An audible hitch of breath.

“Okay, boss.”

Immediately on to business, Richard could hear the frantic tapping of her keyboard as she sought out the information he needed.

“The name is coming up here, boss.” As though reading from a script, Sam listed off her findings. “Edward Nygma. Business owner and entrepreneur. Apparently considered rather handsome. Worth…”

A pause.

“What?” Richard asked.

“Billions. Christ, he could put Wayne outta business. He’s absolutely loaded.”

“Billions! How have we not heard his name before?”

“He's a noted recluse. Very little personal details available here. All I can see is that his net worth is mind-blowing but the only thing he has name officially to is a production line of different types of toys.”

“Child toys?”

“Puzzle toys. For all ages and ranges.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not a lot to go on but it’s definitely there. Good source too. He's legit.”

Hanging up with a shaking finger, Richard could smell opportunity like a shark could blood. A noted recluse worth billions, right here in his office. He could take advantage of this in a way which he and all others had been unable to do so with Bruce Wayne; a man so wrapped up in his holier-than-thou attitude that he refused to engage in any business which would dirty his hands.

Richard hated him.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his phone back into his pocket and started to move back towards Edward. He had not moved an inch since Richard had disappeared, but his attention was wholly focused on something which was clutched between his hands. As he approached, the flash of the brightly-coloured item in Edward's palm also drew Richard's attention and he squinted as though a sharp light had accosted him.

“What's in your hands?”

Rolling the offending object between his fingers with a practised ease, Edward brought it into the space between them.

“This?” He asked. “A curious little thing. I am very fond of puzzles and I haven't seen anything quite like this before.”

Recognising the piece, Richard squinted once again.

“A rubix's cube?” He asked, incredulous.

Who is their right mind had never seen a Rubix cube before?

“Rubix cube.” Edward repeated with a look of contemplation. “After the man who created it?”

“I guess.” Confused as to what exact relevance the puzzle held to the current discussion, Richard gestured vaguely with his hands. “I don't know what this has to do with-”

“Oh, of course! Of course!” Exclaiming loudly, Edward slapped a hand good-naturedly on his knee as he smiled. “Excuse my ramblings but you must forgive an old man his pleasures.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Watered down whisky doesn’t agree with me, Dick,” Edward declined. “And I would think a man like yourself would want to watch his health. The liver can be a tricky old thing, especially six years down the line.”

“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Nygma? I doubt this is a social call since we don’t, uh, know each other.”

“I have an opportunity which you would be a damned fool to pass up on. A new line of puzzle and magic toys, fabricated and distributed across Gotham and her sister cities.”

With Edward waving his hand around, Richard was able to catch a glimpse of his watch and found himself momentarily stunned by the beautiful timepiece and the various gemstones which were embedded within.

“Toys? Just toys? Surely we cou-”

“I have meetings today with others, including a meeting with a very interesting man named Wayne who seems to have taken a liking to my products,” Edward grinned.

Richard’s chest clenched with anger at the familiar name and he immediately backpeddled on his scepticism, “That won’t be necessary. I would love to enter into a business deal with you, Mr. Nygma. I hear you have quite the reputation.”

“I’m certain I do,” Edward replied, “and I would like to bring you onboard before I return to my other duties. $10 million would suffice as a minor investment, one which would see major returns.”

Wincing at the amount but desperate to keep the vaguely gullible and eccentric billionaire within his grasp, greed already blinding his thoughts as he imagines various ways of involving the fool with his less pleasant ventures, Richard nodded at the proposed amount.

The conversation flowed smoothly after that, discussions of timescales and proposed returns forcing Richard into the belief that he was making a smart choice. His mind focused despite the whirling nature of Edward’s demeanour; Richard felt the thrill of his greed thrumming in his veins as he catered to his latest potential cash cow.

“So, do we have a deal, Dick?”

Extending his hand with a showman smile, Edward allowed it to hang in the air between them with a sense of finality.

Willing to ignore the nickname this one time, Richard nodded once more and accepted the handshake before dropping his hand to his inner pocket. Mobile phone in hand, it took Richard less than five minutes to have the investment money wired over to Edward’s accounts – ensuring that he retained a firm copy of all Edward’s account details should anything go awry with their deal.

“This account is one of my more selective accounts and I would appreciate its use being kept on the quieter side of things. I am sure you understand,” Richard muttered with a put-on smile.

“Of course, of course! My lips are sealed.” Edward winked, placing his bowler hat atop his head with a dramatic flourish. “A silent account for a silent partner.”

His smirk actually blossoming into a genuine smile, Richard took the initiative to end their meeting.

“A pleasure, Mr Nygma. I hope to work with you again.”

Tilting his head with a wicked smirk of his own, Edward answered in kind.

“I’m sure you’ll think of our partnership often.”

x-x-x-x-x

Stepping into the familiar office of Salvatore Maroni, Richard inclined his head to the goons who remained on guard as he joined both the owner of the office and their mutual friend, Daniel Mockingbird, by taking a seat on the only available chair.

“Evening, boys. Pour me a decent one, eh, Sal?” Richard asked, inclining his empty whisky glass to Maroni. A glass which was quickly filled with amber liquid as the man in question poured him a healthy slosh of scotch.

“You’re chipy as fuck today, Richard. Balls finally drop?” Mockingbird cut in, his thick Italian accent glossing over the words with ease.

“Funny,” Richard deadpanned as he sank a gulp of the scotch, “but anyway, how has your week been gentlemen?”

“Great, I got me a new business partner and I think he’s going to be one for the books, boys,” sipping from his own glass, Maroni appeared pleased with himself as he divulged his luck to the other two.

Surprised, given his own unmade announcement, Richard inclined his hand to Maroni as he indicated for him to continue.

“Yeah, some fucking freak. Came here to ask me to partner on an investment deal for some shitty kids toys and-”

“Bullshit!” Mockingbird called out, surprising both men at the outburst. “You met with Nygma too?”

Open shock playing on his face as he watched the two speak, Richard dropped his hands to his lap as his head darted between the two like a tennis match.

“Yeah. Showed up here asking for $10 million.” Maroni confirmed.

“Fuck! Same from me.”

“Same, huh? For the toy business?”

“Yeah, for the fucking toy business. He didn’t say nothing about having other partners.” Running a hand through his slickened hair, Mockingbird was clearly unimpressed with the fact that his great deal had not been as exclusive as he thought. “Jesus Christ man, $20 million from us both. Sneaky fuc-”

“$30 million,” Richard intercut with a frown. “I also received a visitor yesterday.”

Genuinely speechless, all three men grumbled their discontent into their glasses as they observed the others with open suspicion. Their friendship was tenuous, agreements always being settled under the table to ensure that the dirt they could hold over each other was limited, and an event like this would only breed discontent.

Unable to muse for too long as his phone started vibrating madly in his pocket, Richard pulled it free with a gruff greeting as he pressed it against his ear.

“Mr. Madison, we have a problem.”

Sam. Sounding thoroughly distraught as her voice stuttered across the words.

“What is it?” Richard asked, a sinking feeling dropping his chest into his stomach.

“It’s gone, Sir. Everything. All the money from the secret account.”

His heart stuttering at the information, Richard barely noticed when both Maroni and Mockingbird picked up their own ringing mobiles.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s gone?”

“The account is empty, Sir. The $10 million transferred through to the Nygma account but the rest has disappeared. It’s gone, Sir.”

“No, no-NO!” Richard snapped, snarling his words down the phone. “You find me that money, Sam. Find it and get it back. Hunt down that fuck Nygma if you need to because I think he has something to do with it.”

Slamming his phone shut, his heart pounding in his ears as his blood pressure reached new levels, Richard zoned back into his companions to find that all hell had broken loose across both men. Maroni’s face was a stunning shade of puce as he screamed insults into his mobile while Mockingbird was speaking in Italian at record speed, his expression equally as angry.

Allowing both men the time to finish their phone calls as they went through a similar disbelieving anger to himself, Richard understood without a doubt that they had all been swindled in a similar fashion.

“What the fuck is happening?” Mockingbird hissed, throwing his glass to the floor as the scotch splashed across the carpet. “One of my private accounts has been tanked! Gutted! Fucking robbed!”

Maroni pulled his lips back into a snarl, “Same here! Fuck! The account I used yesterday. That sneaky fuck Nygma is behind this and I’m going to find him, boys.”

“Pull our resources! I’m going to kill that red-haired fuck.” Richard added with a roar.

“Red hair?” Mockingbird face was confused despite the rage, “You mean black hair? Short little fucker too, only about 5ft? Weasley as fuck.”

“What?” Squinting, Richard shook his head. “No. He was wiry with red hair, probably about my height and thin as an addicts piss. Sal?”

His voice so low that both men struggled to pick up on his exact words, Maroni growled his own description.

“Brown hair. Slicked back. Slight build on him. Had a stupid cane with him. I even got the bastard on record.”

Snatching out a voice recorder from a nearby desk drawer, Maroni fiddled with it before clicking play on the recorder as all three men stared at it with narrowed eyes.

“-an excellent choice, Mr Maroni! I admire your taste in being able to pick up on a good deal when it comes your way. So, let’s get down to business and I can be on my way. Shall we say around $10 million as an investment? With that I cou-”

His heart racing at the familiar voice, Richard saw a similar look of rage on Mockingbirds’ face as he listened to the recording.

“That’s him!” Mockingbird grunted, his fists clenched against his lap. “That’s the smart-mouthed cunt.”

“How the fuck can that be the same man we all met?” Richard asked reasonably, rage giving way to confusion. “Sure, he could wear a wig or change his clothes, but his height? He wasn’t a fucking magician. This shouldn’t be a fucking riddle. How much did he take from you?”

Directing the question to both men, the grave looks he received in response no doubt mirrored his own. If their loss was as great as his own then they were looking at an easy collective loss of over a hundred million. A hundred million dollars, gone in a puff of smoke.

All dirty.

All untraceable.

As it was designed to be.

It was a perfect theft.

“Play the bastards voice again, Sal.” Mockingbird hissed. “I want it committed to memory so I can remember to have his tongue ripped out when we catch the prick.”

Thick fingers pressing the play button of the audio recorder, Maroni startled in place as the casual conversation which had previously been loaded on the device was replaced by a loud, cackling laughter – the rising cacophony of Edward’s mirth making all three men shiver in place as something dark curled around the joyful sound and rattled them to their cores.

Richard Madison was a crook, but he was no fool, and, as Mockingbird fixed himself with the sign of the cross, Richard could not shake the furious anxiety which seared in his chest as he realised that something evil had held counsel with him in his office yesterday and that his money was gone somewhere he did not dare to follow.

#i dont normally ask but please read this and lemme know what ye think! I know its not smutty or shippy but a lot of love has went into this #riddler #edward nygma #edward nashton #writing #dc comics #edward nigma #gotham rogues #the riddler #riddler fic

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darling-keoko · 14 days ago

Text

First meeting

MinShin x Male reader

Oc x male reader

Warnings: Fluff... Just fluff..

先生—teacher

„I've love you ever since I laid my eyes on you”

You were a pre school teacher in Japan. You lived a pretty humble and normal life. Of course you had a few girlfriends here and there but... You've never felt attracted to any of them which led to you breaking up with them.

8:09am

"先生, do you like my drawing." You snapped back into reality once heard one of the little one call out to you.

"Of course, darling. It's beautiful." You gave the child a warm smile before they walked over to they're group of friends, showing them the photo they drew.

You sighed as you laid down onto the mat, looking up at the ceiling. The classroom door creeked open.

"Uh... Hello?" Someone who sounded like a man called out.

You sat up looking at the man who was standing by the door holding a small child.

"Ah! Hello, sorry about that." You stood up, greeting the man at the door with a small bow.

"Hello." He simply said, setting his daughter down on the floor.

"Awe, she's so cute. You must be her brother, right?" You asked with your usual small warm smile on your face.

"Ah, no." He flailed his hands, trying to correct you.

"She's my daughter. My name is Min-Shin and hers is Eunae." He awkwardly smiled at you with a small blush on his face.

"I'm very flattered that you thought I was her brother though... Thanks... You made my week."

Min-Shin crouched down to his daughter level and hugged her.

"Be good, Eunae. Daddy will be right back when daycare is over, okay?" He kissed his daughter on the forehead.

"Mhm... I will be the best!" Eunae kissed him on the cheek. His daughter ran off to go play with her other classmates.

Min-Shin got up from his crouching position. "Uhm.. So...."

You stared at him... Admiring his complexion... How nice he looked in that suit...

"I'll pick her up at 3:40pm...I'll try not to be late." He scratched the nape of his neck.

"O-oh!... Ah... Sorry... I was just thinking about something." You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Before you go sir I need to get your number incase there's an incident."

"Huh?... Oh... Yea I almost forgot." He grabbed his phone from his pocket, calling out his number. You put his number into your phone and saving it.

"Sensei! Haoyui is being mean again." A child comes up to you, crying and hugging your leg tight.

"Ah...well... Bye MinShin-san..." You waved to him before tending to the child that was holding on tightly to your leg.

MinShin exited the classroom... His heart was beating fast and his face was flushed... He didn't understand why he's reacting this way... He only just met you... He was getting weak for you.

4:56pm

All the kids were already gone bit one... Eunae.. Her father said she was coming for her at 3:40 but it was now about 4:50 by now...

"Eunae." You sat down by her... You both were outside of the school, waiting for MinShin to come.

"You want to go play on the slides with teacher?" You placed a hand on her back making her look at you... She was crying...

"N-no... Did daddy abandon me sensei..." Tears was flowing down her face endlessly.

"No sweetheart..." Your heart pang at her words... Your phone buzzes and lights up in your pocket. You grabbed it to see MinShin had texted you that he's going to be more late..

"You know how those fairies are." You said, leaning back onto the bench.

"Fairies?..." She repeats, confused on what your implying.

"Yea! Fairies." You rolled your eyes, checking your nails.

"They lovvveeee to talk and be friendly to daddies."

You gasped before speaking again.

"Maybe those fairies are distracting your daddy by talking to him... Gosh... Those fairies are trouble makers."

Eunae chuckled at your over exaggerations, wiping her tears away with her shirt sleeve.

"Fairies? Why would my daddy be talking to fairies?" She laughed out.

"Because it's very rude to ignore a fairy or person when they're talking to you Eunae." You poked her nose, warning a small laugh from her.

"Is he talking to the tooth fairy or, or the... Uh... Love fairy!" She exclaimed, excitedly.

"Huh... Hm... Probably the smile fairy since they love to talks and make people's day." You smiled warmly at her, glad that she isn't crying no more.

"Sorry... Hah... Sorry for coming late..." There he was... Eunae's father... He looked like he ran all the way here.

"It's alrig—"

Eunae got up from off the bench and ran over to her father, hugging him tightly.

"Daddy!"

MinShin scooped up his daughter, hugging her tightly.

"Sorry for taking so long... Thanks for looking after Eunae." He smiled at you.

You stood up from the bench, grabbing Eunae's bag and giving it to him.

"No worries... It's my job afterall." You smiled back at him.

You both kinda smiled at each other like a couple in love before Eunae broke the silence.

"Was the smile fairy talking to you daddy? Are you two friends."

MinShin furrowed his eye brows a bit confused on what's she's talking about... 'Smile fairy?'

He looked over at you with an inquisitive look on his face... You simply rest a finger on your lip, winking at him. His face flushed up a bright red colour for a brief moment before sighing.

"Yep... You know those smile fairies love to talk." He played along with the little white lie that you told Eunae.

"Thank you... Again... I swear to goodness that those fairies was going to keep me there for days." He chuckled again before walking away..

"Huh?... Don't you have a car MinShin-san? If you don't I could give you a ride home."

MinShin looked back behind him, shocked by your offer... The only person who has offered him a ride home in Japan was Sooyoung and that's it.

"Ah... I don't want to trouble you... I could just walk ho—"

"Not with a small child you wont." You said, not allowing to decline your request.

"Hah... Fine..."

5:04pm

You, Eunae and MinShin was driving to their house... There was calming music playing and Eunae was asleep on her fathers

"Hey... "

MinShin said, pulling you back into reality, Gaining your attention.

"Yes? You need something?... Did I pass your house?"

He waved his hand dismissively.

"No... It's just that I was wondering if I could treat you to something this weekend... I mean... It's not like a date or anything." He scratched the nape of his neck anxiously.

You would've almost swerve off the road if it you didn't have people in the car with you. That caught you off guard..

"Uhm... I'm sorry, I should've asked if you were straight before asking that... Shit..." He squeezed his kneecap tightly with the hand that wasn't resting on his neck.

"No—no... It's fine really, MinShin-san... I would love to if I'm actually being honest." You glanced at him for a seconded before looking back onto the road.

MinShin face was red like an juicy ripe tomato...

"Let's call it a date then...I-I MEAN."

"Shh... I know what you mean... Now be quiet, you might wake up Eunae."

MinShin smiled at you, looking at you, studying every detail on your body.

7:34pm

You finally reached outside of his apartment... The sun was already down by now. You parked your car in the parking lot.

"I didn't know you lived this far in Japan. This is a nice area though." You leaned back in the car seat.

"You should stay over... I mean it is a pretty far drive from where you live I think."

He asked you with a small smile on his face.

"I mean... It is a two hour drive... " you thought about it for an moment before responding.

"Sure... I mean.. It's better than spending more money on gas."

A/n: I'm gonna end it right here but I'll post part 2 soon enough. And yes I know that this isn't Tokki and it isn't the 15th yet but the Tokki story is way longer than this one so... Yea...

#male reader #oc x male reader #male x reader #male x male #Gay #male oc x reader #male oc x you #male oc x male reader #fluff

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candycandy00 · 8 months ago

Note

Character:dabi AU Setting: gothic mansion Level: NSFW Mood: Dark Kinks: Bondage

Count Touya - A Dabi x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Dabi is a vampire. Bondage. Vampire-related biting and blood.

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers event! Any feedback would be adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.

You know you’re playing a dangerous game, sneaking into Count Touya’s manor like this, but you’ve taken every possible precaution. It’s daytime, so he should be sound asleep in his coffin right now, and you’re armed with silver crosses, wooden stakes, and even a clove of garlic for good measure.

You might be a freshly awakened Slayer, but you’re ambitious. Why not go straight for the strongest vampire around and nip this whole problem in the bud?

Count Touya has a handful of human servants who keep watch during the day. You’ve already incapacitated all of them, leaving them unconscious in the various rooms where you found them. Now all that remains is the master of the manor himself: Touya Todoroki.

From what you’ve been able to learn about him, he comes from a long line of powerful vampires. He has siblings who live in other lands, and apparently he’s the only one who terrorizes the local villages and feeds on unwilling humans. You even heard reports that his youngest brother actually protects the villages near his manor!

Regardless, you’re walking down the stone steps to the dungeon, where his coffin supposedly rests. The sun doesn’t reach down here, but vampires are weak during the day even if they don’t burn. The trick is to stake him the moment you open the coffin. Take him by surprise!

You find his “bed” at the bottom of the stairs. On all sides, there are chains and bars and strange devices, probably for torturing the poor humans he feeds on. You creep over to the coffin, a stake in a leather holster at your hip, easy to grab. You use both hands to open the heavy lid, your heart thundering with anticipation.

But as you lift the lid up, you realize something is terribly wrong. The coffin is empty!

“You seriously thought I was in there?”

The voice startles you, and you drop the lid back down as you turn to face whoever is in the dungeon with you. All you can see is a dark outline, a shape.

“Who’s there?!” you ask, already gripping the stake in one shaking hand. You know the answer, it’s obvious. But you don’t want to accept it.

“You know who I am, sweetheart. You came here to see me after all,” the voice replies.

You back away from the shadow, holding the stake out like a dagger. “Impossible! Vampires are weak during the day!”

He laughs, the shape quivering slightly with his movement. “Not if they’re used to the sun.”

You frown, confused. “You couldn’t be used to the sun! It would burn you! It would-“

Whatever you were going to say dies in your throat as the shape steps forward and snaps his fingers, causing dozens of torches to light up at the same time. The light illuminates his face, and you can now see the prominent burn scars.

It can’t be! Vampires can heal all wounds, except those caused by the sun. That means he let himself burn just to become more accustomed to the sun and avoid the weakness! He’s deranged!

But there’s something far worse that occurs to you as you back away from him. So much worse that you’re trying your best to not think about it.

“You must be new to all this,” he says, dodging when you lunge at him with the stake. He grabs the weapon and wrenches it free of your grasp, then snaps it in half and tosses it aside.

You tear the silver cross necklace from your neck and hold it up in front of yourself like a shield. He looks at it with flat eyes. “Seriously? Jewelry?” He knocks the necklace out of your hand, seeming totally unbothered by it.

As a last ditch effort, you dig the clove of garlic from your pocket and fling it at him. He glances down where the clover fell to the floor and then back to your face. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he says.

All out of options, you back away again, trying to avoid thinking about your one, strange weakness - one he could so easily exploit.

Your back collides with the wall, and you can feel the chains there, poking into your body. You’re trapped! Count Touya moves closer to you, until he’s just a few inches away.

“Now, what am I gonna do with the cute little Slayer who wandered into my house?” he says, looming over you with an unhinged grin on his scarred face. His inky black hair frames a pair of striking blue eyes, and a pattern of tiny metal hooks mark the edges between scarred and healthy flesh. Those burns must have been outrageously painful… the deep purple coloring… the texture…

You blink, realizing your hand is halfway to touching his face. He looks surprised too, his lovely eyes shifting to your outstretched hand.

Oh no. It’s happening. Your weakness is already taking effect! How long before he realizes? Minutes? Seconds?

How long before he realizes you’re deeply, pathetically, weak for men with scars?

You can’t resist scars. Just looking at them turns you on, let alone touching them, feeling them beneath your soft fingertips, tracing their edges. And Count Touya seems to be covered in them. You can see some on his hands, peeking out from his long sleeves, and on his neck, disappearing under his black shirt. Just how far do they go? Imagining his body is making you soaking wet, and your skin is flushed with heat.

“What are you doing?” he asks you as you lower your hand and look up at him, your breaths coming a little faster.

“N-nothing,” you say, trying to avoid his probing gaze.

He only looks more curious. He reaches out and grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes glow brightly, and you know what that means. He’s going to glamour you! He can make you do anything!

“Why were you trying to touch me?” he asks. “Do you have some kinda spell or weapon?”

“No,” you say, slightly dazed, compelled to answer him truthfully. “I just wanted to touch your scars.”

He looks confused. “Why?”

“Because scars turn me on,” you say.

His eyes widen. “Seriously?” Then he smirks. “Well there’s plenty more, sweetheart. You wanna touch ‘em?”

You nod your head. “Yes, please!”

He looks you up and down, apparently noticing your deeply aroused demeanor for the first time. You’re clenching your thighs together, breathing hard, blushing. He laughs. “Are you really that riled up by my scars?”

“Yes!” you answer, his glamour forcing you to be honest. “I’m so wet right now, I can’t stand it!”

He releases the glamour, his eyes going back to their normal bright blue. “Sorry, doll, but you broke into my house and meant to kill me. I have to punish you for that.”

You feel so embarrassed you might just die. You admitted all that right to his face! But you don’t have long to dwell on it before his eyes flash and you suddenly lose consciousness.

When you awaken, you feel sore. Why are you sore? Your arms and legs won’t move the way you want them to. It takes several seconds for your mind to snap to awareness, for you to make sense of anything.

You’re chained up against the cold stone wall of the dungeon, your arms chained above your head, your legs chained to short metal posts, far apart. You realize with a start that you’re completely naked, not a stitch of cloth on you anywhere. You jerk against the chains, wanting to cover yourself, but they’re strong and secure.

“You weren’t kidding, huh?”

Your head turns sharply up to find Touya standing in the room, watching you. His eyes trail down your body, lingering on your thighs.

“You’re dripping,” he says, a smug grin on his lips.

You blush furiously, trying and failing to close your legs. You’re chained up in a very lewd pose.

Touya steps closer, unbuttoning his shirt, letting it fall open and reveal his heavily scarred torso.

Oh wow.

“You’ve put me in a difficult position,” he tells you. “On one hand, there’s a wet, needy little cunt right in front of me that’s desperate to be fucked. And I’d enjoy that. But on the other hand, there’s a Slayer here who tried to kill me. I can’t just let that shit fly, you know? Why should I reward you with a good time?”

One hand reaches out, touches your face, and slides down to your throat. It feels like he’s checking your pulse, feeling the blood pumping through your neck. “So what do I do with you?”

You want him. You want him inside you way more than you ever wanted him dead. You squirm in the chains. “Please… I can’t bear it…”

His eyes widen slightly again, and he turns away from you. “The way I see it, I have two options,” he goes on, now pacing leisurely in the room. “I can fuck your pretty little brains out, or I can rip your neck open and use your arteries like straws, completely drain you. Both sound pretty fun to me.”

You’re breathing hard, your chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat on your soft skin. His eyes roam over you once more, and you get the impression that he’s struggling to contain something. But is it desire, or bloodlust? Is there even a difference with vampires?

Suddenly he lunges at you, so fast you had no time to react. One of his hands is in your hair, using it to pull your head over and allow him easy access to your neck. Then you feel two razor sharp teeth sink into your flesh. You cry out, struggling futilely against him, but there’s nothing you can do with your arms and legs bound. You’re completely helpless as he drinks from you, his tongue lapping up the blood as it spills from the wounds.

It hurts. He’s not making two small puncture wounds, like you see on most victims of a vampire attack. No, this is more visceral, more messy, like he’s devouring you.

You finally stop your useless struggling and go limp, and that’s when he stops and pulls away.

“Hey, you’re not dead yet, are you?” he asks, the tiniest hint of worry in his voice.

“No,” you say, lifting your head to look at him. You’re not dead, just feeling weak from the blood loss and especially needy.

He wipes his mouth and says. “You’re fucking delicious.”

The comment fires up your arousal again. God, you want him so bad. “Please take me,” you say, arching your back in the chains. “Please ruin me!”

He stares at you a moment, as if he’s not sure what to say. Then he grins. “Well since you’re askin’ so nicely…”

You watch as he opens his pants, revealing more of that gorgeous scarred skin. Then, he pulls out what you’ve been waiting for since the moment you laid eyes on him: a beautiful, thick cock. There’s light scarring along one side, making you salivate, and more of those shiny metal hooks dotting the edges. You can’t help licking your lips.

He moves closer again, this time his hand slipping between your thighs, his fingers probing your slick folds. You moan, wishing you were free to wrap your arms around his neck, but you’re still chained up, at his mercy. One finger grazes over your clit, and your body jolts, rattling the chains. He watches your reactions, seeming amused.

When he pulls his hand away, you whine in frustration, but he soon replaces it with something much better. You feel his tip prodding at your entrance, and then all at once his entire length is inside you, buried to the hilt. You gasp as you feel the scar tissue scraping your walls, and his body presses against yours. The contrasting textures of his skin feel amazing as they rub across yours.

He thrusts into you, making the chains rattle wildly, making you cry out in ecstasy. He leans his face forward, and you think he might kiss you, but instead he digs into your neck again, his teeth plunging into your warm skin. You can feel you blood spilling out, can feel his lips on the wound, sucking out your life force. There’s something so intimate about it, about the way he’s feeding on you.

His teeth bear down harder as he thrusts deeper, animalistic grunts escaping his bloodied mouth as you scream.

It’s all too much, overwhelming your senses. You cry out as you cum, clenching him tightly, gasping for breath.

He eventually releases his hold on your neck, looking you in the eyes. Then he kisses you as he cums inside you, letting you taste your own blood on his tongue.

When it’s over, you’re left weak and dizzy, barely clinging to consciousness as you slump in the chains.

You’re certain he’ll kill you now, finish draining you while you’re vulnerable. You’re his natural enemy after all, a Slayer who broke into his home. But somehow you can’t be upset about it. You’re too satisfied to be upset about anything.

He buttons his shirt as he says, “A servant will be down later to feed you.”

You look up. “Feed me?”

“Sure. You need to keep your strength up.”

You’re confused, dazed. “Why?” you ask.

He grins at you. “I got to thinking, it’d be pretty fun to have a Slayer as a pet. So prepare yourself. You’re gonna be down here for a long time.”

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi smut #touya todoroki #touya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #x reader #candys2kevent

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