#AND THEN A HUSH WENT THROUGH THE CROWD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vaaaaaiolet · 3 months ago

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Six years have gone by since 1998. Two since the death of your first (and only) love. So when the dead come knocking at your door after your life went to hell without warning, you have a tough time welcoming him back in. In Leon's defense, his hands were tied. You? You'd put your life almost unforgivably on hold after he blindsided you.

Maybe the only way to get you to listen is to tie yours.

STRICTLY MDNI!! f / m make-up sex after a reunion gone sour. ANGST GALORE. established relationship but it's Messy, plot spans pre-re2r to re4r, character study (scar tour!!), Foreplay: The Movie, good bdsm etiquette...leon doms PLS STAY WITH ME. light bondage + blindfold, The Chair™️, munch MARATHON, emotions (read: LEON) keep edging you before an extremely self-indulgent dicking down. consensual unsafe sex, PRAISE, lil bit of mean ft. leon's possessive streak + morning after <3

a/n: anon req gone wildly wrong. welcome back to ovulation week with vivi, THE MOST UNORIGINAL BITCH ON THE PLANET 😭 i read a fic about getting tied to a chair and discovered something about myself. now i’m convinced daydreaming about bondage w/ leon is how i passed finals. oops. pray i survive second sem y'all🧍

word count: 6.3k 🤡 // read on ao3

“The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.” - Blaise Pascal

Like any good breakup scene, it starts with rain.

A torrential downpour. Poseidon’s wrath lashing down the panes of your living room windows. The terrific sound of it is only drowned out by the hum of your TV set, the one source of light in this dark room and you, a moth to flame, circle it, afraid of getting too close lest you burn.

The President’s on tonight. His daughter’s back safe and sound, having been spirited away to Spain. The press release is overjoyed to report that one indomitable man brought her back in a matter of days. President Graham declares it with a triumphant fist: an American hero stands in front of us tonight, and the crowd erupts in cheers for the First Daughter’s savior, but honest to God, you couldn’t give a shit about his heroics.

Not when Leon’s right there. Suited and tied.

Or as close to living, breathing Leon as you could hope to get.

You inch closer to the screen when the camera pans over a face you haven’t seen properly in six years.

Sandy hair two shades darker, baby fat bereft on now-chiseled cheeks. It’s easy to pick apart the pixels of the man’s profile when he’s staring at the audience. Heart knocking against your ribs, you can’t help reaching out and tracing the angle of his jaw, this uncelebrated member of the President’s security entourage on national television who’s unknowingly subbing in for your once-boyfriend. Long-term, long-distance lover, if you wanted to flatter yourself.

It doesn’t matter now. It’s getting late and dreaming should be done in bed. You reach for the remote to turn the prerecorded program off, and the rain starts falling – no, knocking – exceptionally harder against your front door. Urgently, like it wants in.

And then the rain calls out your name.

The floorboards creak under your feet when you go to investigate through the peephole. A powder blue eye stares back.

“Who is it?” you call out, voice shriller than you’d like.

“Open the door, please? I’ll explain inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“I don’t let strangers in, sorry. Who are you?”

The rain answers in a familiar timbre that sends shivers down your spine. “Trust me, just this once.”

The doorknob clatters in surprise at the twist of your wrist, and swings open to reveal the man from your TV set, now escaped and peering at you through dewy lashes the pixels had hidden. Your eyes flit across his features: it’s the very same jawline, black suit identical to the one on your screen. Exactly the man your brain had tried hushing your heart from recognizing.

Your hold on the doorknob trembles.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Leon offers you a ghost of a smile as the storm pelts down his shoulders. “May I come in?”

“You watch the news a lot?” he ventures after a few minutes.

“Huh?”

Once the initial shock of Leon’s appearance subsides, something acrid settles in your bones. The silence between you two stretches like taffy waiting to be pulled. It sticks in your throat without much coming out to abate it. What else can you do when the dead rejoin the world of the living?

Make light conversation. You can do that.

“Leon, I thought you died.” Or not.

He shoots you a half-grin. “I wouldn’t die on you just like that, you know.”

“You practically did,” you retort, voice going thick.

You find old habits hard to break. It’s nothing new. You’re perched on the armrest of your couch, a familiar penchant Leon had smiled at when he shut the front door behind him. His habit of shaking his hair dry like a puppy also hadn’t gone away, much to the traitorous delight of your heart. You’d almost giggled when he accidentally sprayed you with rainwater doing it.

Now, you’re watching him fold his suit jacket over one of your kitchen chairs with his back turned to you, an odd bulge in its left pocket threatening to send the whole thing crashing to the floor at any moment. Other secrets hang in the air like ghosts. Leon’s tie sits drying on top of your radiator. You think you should tell him to peel off his soaked dress shirt, he might catch a cold otherwise, but are you allowed to say that anymore?

Worse still, why do you want to?

“I saw you on the news. That’s why,” you reply a beat too late. “You told me in your last letter that you were going to work for the government. Something to do with the President, and ever since then I…I turn it on when something big happens.”

Leon stops fiddling with his jacket, turning to you with wide eyes. “That was-”

“Two years ago?” You swallow. “I know.”

The letters sit burning holes in a box under your bed, all stamped and postmarked with no return address since 1998. The last day you’d seen him alive and breathing.

Leon was the boy you’d hold hands with under desks in high school, a high school sweetheart as textbook as they come. You’d ditched prom to wish on shooting stars in the back of his first car, let him be the first to slip off your spaghetti straps when kissing grew too chaste to convey the giddiness in your chest.

Puppy love turned into something perennial. Real. He’d carried moving boxes up the stairs of your first apartment, and you right after. You’d watched him rise through the ranks of the Academy. Cheered front row at his graduation, let him spin you in your highest heels right in front of your parents. Blushed when he’d squeeze your hand tighter walking past the jeweler’s at the mall.

And you’d soaked Leon’s chest with tears before he rushed off to Raccoon City that September night so long ago, steely resolve in his eyes and a promise on his lips to come right back after doing his sworn duty.

Leon never returned. His letters did, though.

Envelopes from seemingly nowhere – blacked out epistolary updates you’d read on your bathroom floor that grew briefer as weeks spiraled into months.

What you could piece together from what wasn’t censored under an increasingly watchful eye was that Leon was under a government contract, fighting tooth and nail in some kind of training program that couldn’t have been any run-of-the-mill police kind. Something he had as little agency over as the frequency of his letters, he’d promised you. He was going to come home one day. Just one more month of training, one more mission, one last test.

Leon was furious in his final message when he found out about the deal with the White House. The censor didn’t go through as much as it should have; you’d never been more grateful for the oversight as you tilted the page to read his scribbles in the margins.

Then came a terrifying radio silence.

You waited each month afterwards for the postman to stop by your mailbox. Waded through a snowstorm in January to make sure the post office had your new address when you moved in 2003, practically begged the lady at the counter to check if they’d mixed up your letters with anyone else’s in the meantime. Nothing.

“Two years, Leon,” you grit out, digging your nails into the leather of your couch. The tail end of his name takes on an ugly shape in your mouth when you rise to your feet, “I waited two years not knowing if you were alive or not.”

No one had answers to his disappearance except for the one you’d endured ever since he left: move on.

The way he holds his tongue now, too, sets sparks alight in your throat. “And you want to know what happened to me since then?”

“Tell me,” Leon says softly.

Your voice falters.

A dead man walking would take the breath out of you in any case, but it does even more so now that Leon looks larger than life – no longer an afterimage on TV and coming over to where you stand. Even with his shirt sleeves plastered to them from the rain, Leon’s arms look used to heavy duty; there’s a broadness in his shoulders he didn’t have out of the Academy.

His mouth pinches when he stops a tentative foot away from you. “Tell me,” he repeats, frowning at your averted gaze.

He’s waiting for you to speak. So close you could touch him, blood pumping through his veins just like you’d once prayed for until your breath ran out.

And it pisses you off.

He doesn’t get to have it this easy.

“No.”

Confusion colors his exclamation. “No?”

“No.” You smile bitterly at the ground when he backs off an inch, raising your chin to look him in the eyes as your own start to sting. “You don’t get to be the good guy. You don’t get to come barrelling back into my life, how’d you know I live here anyway…”

“I found out as soon as I could, you don’t think I’ve been worried sick about you-”

“Not after you cut me off!”

“It’s not that simple!”

Two years. 730 days. Your throat so hoarse from crying the night before that you’d called off work some mornings.

“You know what I think, Leon? I bet you thought I’d wait on you forever.”

He blinks fast, taken aback. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you.”

“So you’d have come back even if I didn’t?”

Didn’t. A flicker of something soft crosses his face. “Really?”

With your heart beating out of your chest, you cross your arms and spit out a haughty, “Of course not.”

Leon stares.

The resulting silence stretches half a minute.

It’s a tepid standoff at first, made worse by you searching his person up and down. You wrack your brain for his old tells: a jumping muscle in his jaw, a furrow of his brow. Angry, pink cheeks accompanied by a crestfallen pout.

Nothing. He’s dead silent.

So you double down.

“My friends told me to settle down, said it wasn’t safe living alone,” you sniff, rocking on the balls of your feet. “So unless you-mmf!”

Lips, crashing onto yours. Burning warm. Two seconds of affection before a tongue flicks brashly over the seam of your stunned mouth. Your brain in overdrive. Leon no longer a foot away but pressed so fiercely against you that your camisole starts going see-through from the water still saturating his shirt.

Your hands feebly come up to his chest, not to push him off like you should, but to cling to his collar. Old habit.

Fuck.

“You’ve gotten mean, sweetheart,” Leon grins razor sharp, whispering into the corner of your mouth. “It’s a good look on you.”

“I’m not…” God, he’s kissing the sense out of your head. Your lungs suck in his breaths like a failed attempt to go cold turkey.

“Sure you are, lying to me like that. Watching the news just in case I’m there.”

Rough hands dig under your thighs. Hoist you up like you’re made of feathers.

“Only your shoes on the shoe rack. Heels I bought you.”

Your feet dangle in the air, your head’s not used to the drop in air pressure this high. You’re being lifted – where?

“You think I’m that dense, baby?”

The sound of wooden scraping scratches your ears as you register one of your kitchen chairs being dragged to the middle of the living room. You’re plopped unceremoniously down.

And with your vision swimming, you notice Leon finally taking off his shirt. Unbuttoning it with fervor, throwing the fabric onto the floor so hard there’s a wet thwack!, and suddenly, he’s knelt at your feet, looking up at you with teeth chattering from the chill and a blizzard brewing in his eyes.

The raging storm outside nearly quiets for him to tell you, “We’re gonna do it this way.”

A cocktail of resentment and curiosity churns in your stomach. You stare daggers at the ceiling. Leon snatches his tie off the radiator and wraps it around his hand, checking if it’s dry by now.

It is. Good.

“Since you don’t want to look at me so badly,” he hisses, “you won’t need to look at me at all.” He unfurls the tie and lays it flat against his palm. “This is going over your eyes so I can actually get something inside your head. And you’re going to feel everything I say, okay?”

“I feel cold. You got my shirt wet,” you spit back.

“Then take it off,” Leon says smoothly.

How rude. Utterly uncouth.

You’ve never flung off an article of clothing faster. You’ve got nothing to hide, you’re fucking better than to play meek to his games. Your bra barely hides how your nipples pebble in the frigid air, and Leon sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re wearing blue lace. His favorite.

His tone softens a fraction of a degree when he instructs, “You say ‘stop’ and it’s over. Tell me you understand.”

“I do.”

The silk wraps gentler around your eyes than you expect. The living room disappears into velvet, and your fingers twitch, itching to fly at your face and investigate the cause of this new pitch black.

“Hands down. I need them more than you do.”

Leon’s voice ripples in the darkness. Oh God. That must be why people do this sort of thing.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, almost in awe.

Fuckfuckfuck. He wasn’t supposed to tell this early.

“...a little.”

Your hand gets lifted into the air, your index and middle fingers separated from the rest. Leon touches their tips to the hollow in the middle of his collarbone, and right here, you feel the flutter of life. Wingbeats matching the race of your own heart.

So is he.

There’s movement, butterfly wings brushing against your cheek when he reaches up to press a kiss there. Your fingers fall away from the base of his throat and land on a raised patch just below his right shoulder. It’s…almost star-shaped. Rough.

“You have a scar here,” you breathe. “How’d you-”

“Bullet wound, 1998. I want you to keep going.”

You could’ve dug your nails into it. Scratched off one more reminder of the day Leon left you in the dark. His tie leaves you blind, but you don’t need sight to feel the trust Leon still has in you as he invites your fingertips to his chest. You go gentle into the good night with his voice to guide you.

“Knife scar,” he whispers. Soft, like how you trace over the mark.

Your fingertips shake over his ribs.

“Burns from saving a little girl. She had eyes like yours.”

The trek is arduous, nonlinear. The same injuries show up again and again, scattered across his body like fireworks. You think you’re fine, using one hand for the job and clutching the other to your heart so it won’t break, and then you slip, grab onto his shoulders for support, and your palms fall over the flat of his back.

Two symmetrical gashes spread across his shoulder blades – Icarus’ wings singed off.

“I’ve tried saving a lot over the years, sweetheart,” Leon goes quiet, a new grief clogging his flow of explanation. “Thought I could have it all at first, you and this job. I wrote you less, told myself you’d already moved on, but you’re right, I…I wanted to keep you.” You discover tears sound thick when he laughs. “I’ve lost so fucking much these six years and I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to lose you too.”

“The kids in high school,” trembles your own voice, “they said I’d run away with you, but you ended up running from me.”

“When you’re all I have left?” Leon brings your palm to his cheek. “How could I?”

“But you did!” you sob, banging weak fists against his chest.

You remember the pity, the snide judgment. Declining invites and frustrating friends when you’d flake on blind dates set up to get you out of the house. Switching excuses every time somebody back home called and inevitably asked, So when are you and Leon going to visit? Warring against logic (of course he’s fucking dead) and the arrested development of your heart as you rolled dice on his return. Four years in a stupor of when, two of what now?

Spending all that time at odds with yourself and the world turned you into a real tough kid. A callous bitch. Eventually, you forced yourself to explore your options like a grown woman should. Tried your hand at anything legal to forget the sinking feeling in your chest. Had a phase where you’d wake up in a stranger’s bed only to go home and collapse, rereading Leon’s letters in the cardboard box under your own. If it was steel that marked his back like this, yours is streaked with flint.

And that’s exactly what you tell him.

Immediately, his shoulders straighten. “So you’ve gone on a few dates.”

If he wanted to be polite about it, yes.

“Did they fuck you as good as I did?”

You splutter. A cold zephyr breezes over your breasts when Leon exhales. There’s a rattle of metal – his belt, you register faintly – and your eyes squeeze shut behind your blindfold when he rises from his kneel, leaving the space between your thighs empty.

“That is one hell of a greeting after six years, sweetheart.” His chuckle is dark, delightful. “Hands behind your back.”

“You’re not fucking arresting me right now, Leon, I don’t know what you’re playing at,” you squeak when he loops leather over your wrists. Annoyingly, they fit perfectly in his palm. “Have you lost your mind? You- I still can’t see!”

Leon’s hold goes still. “Is that a stop?”

You huff indignantly.

He shakes your wrists. “I don’t mess with that shit. Do you want me to stop?”

“…no.”

“Good. Comfortable?”

Embarrassingly enough, the back of your kitchen chair isn’t half bad to have your arms around. Giving your newly bound hands a wriggle, you answer Leon with a quick nod, and he presses his lips to the back of your head in confirmation. He circles back between your thighs, a vulture in the dark. Your knees shove open courtesy of two calloused palms.

“Lift your hips,” is your next instruction. And then, “These are coming off.”

Your bottoms slide off in a fleeting caress down your legs. A cushion pushes between the surprised arch of your back and the chair’s straight one, leaving your bare, trembling- oh God.

Oh God. He’s-

“You’re going to hold perfectly still and let me say hello to my favorite girl, sweetheart. Poor thing hasn’t gotten any attention since I’ve been spoiling you with all my talking.”

A kiss falls onto your clit. Your hips jerk up – oh shit!

Leon seizes the opportunity to lick into your entrance before further coherent thought can form in your brain.

He must’ve planned it, counting on your brainless reflexes to push your hips further into his scorching mouth. You get points for being brave, though: swallowing screams, pretending your thighs aren’t fighting to clamp around his head, attempting an escape to your happy place when really, this is it – this painstakingly sweet suction on your nerves.

He pops off with a wet smack! magnified by your blindfold. Slurs, “Missed this pussy so fuckin’ much,” dives back to trace figure eights around your clit with the tip of his tongue.

You pretend the icy air is curling your toes for ego’s sake. Try and stave off morbid curiosity. “You…didn’t see anyone? All this time – hah!”

“Do you have any idea,” suck, “how many times I’ve come into my hand thinking of you?”

Your heavy head falls back with a wail.

“How many times I’ve fucked my fist to your name?”

“Leon!”

He pulls away at your keening cry, deaf to any begging to come back. “You just never know what’s good for you, baby. You don’t listen to your friends, you let me tie you up like this, fuck yourself on my face…”

There’s rustling, and your living room bursts with color as a sharp tug untwists the knot of Leon's tie behind your head. You enter the world in tears all over again.

“Pleasepleaseplease, I was so close-”

And when the darkness subsides, you’re free to lay eyes on the perpetrator.

Leon.

Leon with his hair mussed to high heaven, pushed to his forehead by the greedy grind of your hips. Ocean eyes surveying you over a mouth flushed red with cheeks to match. A fallen angel at your feet, working his sinful tongue inside his mouth as he breathes.

Blood thumps through your veins. Your chest heaves. The chair is sticky, uncomfortable; entirely your fault. Your hands writhe behind your back as you struggle to sit up properly against the pillow and salvage some of your pride.

Leon’s gaze fixes on the floor. “I didn’t. Didn’t have time, didn’t want to. Whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat swelling with thorns, and he groans like you kicked him in the ribs.

He rises to his knees as you slump; reaches behind the chair to unbuckle your restraints, shaking his head. “Yeah, I should be. I put you through hell for six years. I came back from Spain expecting to introduce myself to your fiancé or something, you know? Should’ve brought flowers at least.”

A hot tear slides down your cheek.

It was Leon. On the news. The President’s daughter, the rescue.

The hero.

This is how you welcome a hero home?

Spying your arms wilted at your sides, Leon takes the opportunity to press his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. This time, it’s a warming salve when he kisses into your skin, unlatching only to move an inch and repeat, sucking roses the shape of his mouth onto the softest parts of you.

He rasps into your slick flesh, “Just let me have this, and I promise I’ll go.”

And he noses his way back into your folds, quickly giving up on flowery notions to feast like a man starved. You’re lulled to sleep by the lap of his tongue before he starts working it with the prowess of a Swiss knife, soothing and scalding in turns as it digs into your now oversensitive cunt. The scrape of his 5 o’clock shadow on your inner thigh makes for a maddening mix.

It all sends you crumpling over his head with a cry.

His hungry hand pays no mind, scrambling under the lace of your bra to knead at your tender breast, thumbing at your nipple. You pay back the favor, fisting chunks of his hair as your arousal drips down his chin, and Leon’s thanks arrive in the form of guttural whines you’d forgotten you could wrench from him.

So goes Leon’s last meal. You’d be enjoying it too if your brain hadn’t finally caught onto what came out of his mouth before he turned it into a decoy.

I’ll go.

Good luck fighting the itch to interrupt.

You yank hard, and he moans complaint through a mouthful of pussy. “It’s not gonna work,” he gasps when you wrench his face from between your thighs, demanding explanation.

“So you’re just going to walk out on me again?” you snap through a haze of tears. “What about what I want?”

“You want this?”

Leon shoves your hands deeper still, wincing when he purposely digs your nails into his scalp.

“Pull. Make it hurt,” he swallows, voice cracking. “Tell me to get the hell out. Tell me you hate me for breaking your heart. Find someone who’s in your life enough to love you right, and let me set you free, sweetheart, please. I can’t take it.”

By all means, you should take his offer.

Pull out every damn strand of hair on his head. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Go on for God’s sake. What happened to drinking yourself to half to death, trying to water down the fear that Leon beat you to its doorstep?

Think about never having to wake up to the cold side of your bed again. Don’t think about how perfectly Leon’s cheek cradles into your thigh. How he lets you map the moles on his neck when you have trouble falling asleep.

Finally having a shoulder to cry on, someone who sweeps you off your feet, inside jokes that confuse everyone but you two. Forget how Leon won your heart as a teenager doing exactly that.

Getting called pet names that make you blush in front of your friends: baby, angel, darling, sweetheart. Don’t you dare imagine each one rolling off Leon’s tongue the first time he crowned you with them.

Do not, above all circumstances, remember that wrapped in your arms right now is the boy who, after saving the President’s daughter all by himself, ran back to you within hours of his return. Who’d waited for you in his own way.

Your hands drop to cup his cheeks. Wetness makes your thumbs slip when you brush them across — the rain had to have dried off long ago. And with eyes misting shut, you thread your fingers as tenderly as you can through Leon’s hair, and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re really doing this?” Leon’s whisper wavers a decibel above hope.

Hotel citrus stings your nose, and you wonder how long it’ll take to replace it with the scent of your shampoo.

You’ve missed this. Missed him.

“The clearance I have after this mission, it’s insane,” he’s twenty-one again at the touch of your lips, gushing in disbelief over his badge coming in the mail with you at the kitchen table, “I-I couldn’t believe I got them to let me go right after the press release. Alone! I can’t be home all the time but it won’t be like before, I can actually come back, and if you want me to-”

But unfortunately, the relentless throb between your legs forces you to school your expression into anything except elated at the unfolding prospects.

“Leon.”

His grin flashes white. “Yeah?”

“If you came back just to eat me out, I’ll kick you out for real.”

It must be fun, you gripe, thinking straight without soft breaths fanning embers between your legs like a sadistic bellows for the past ten minutes; ruining your cushion beyond hope of wash or repair.

Leon lets out a barking laugh, head thrown back, and aghast, you bat at his chest.

“Mean really is a good look on you. You don’t want to talk details?” he teases, pulling you in for a kiss that tastes like desire – like you.

“Not when you’re- you know-” you splutter, antsy.

“Oh, come on. Say it.”

“You used to be nice to me!”

Sadly for you, you’ve kissed him giddy, and giddy turns him cocky real fast.

“I’ll give you whatever you want if you tell me, angel. Four words.” He grins, tucking a hand between your thighs to interrupt your squirming and raising the other to count, “‘Leon. Please…’”

“Fuck me already!” you cry, and it’s three, but he sweeps you up in a blur of limbs anyway.

Bra strap falling off your shoulder. His mouth sealing onto yours. Pussy sobbing for attention over the crotch of his dress slacks. Leon groaning at the feeling of you soaking through fabric covering a held-off arousal so hard there’s no way it doesn’t hurt. His endurance training had come in handy, it seems.

There’s a blind fumbling in the dim light as he grits out a “Gladly,” and stumbles out of your living room in a mad rush, sacrificing his shoulder to several walls for the sake of kissing you breathless.

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking like Bambi. You sure you can make it?”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t take me to bed right this second…”

“And here I was trying to be nice. Bedroom?”

“On the right,” you pant, clawing his mouth back onto yours again.

He follows through, no reconnaissance training needed to find the door you direct him towards with your foot. Either the heat’s better here, or it’s every cell in your body buzzing with anticipation when he flicks the nearest lamp to life. You pull him onto the bed with you, silk sheets caressing your bare skin as you scooch to make space for Leon to crawl up and over you.

The sharp rasp of a fly zipping undone cuts through the air. He hisses in frustration, patting his pockets. “Shit, I don’t have a-”

“Condom?”

“Yeah. You still keep them in your nightstand?”

You worry your bottom lip. “Not for a while, I haven’t, um, done anything in a bit, but I’m on the pill and I’m clean.” Please, please, don’t let this be a dealbreaker. “Is…that okay?”

“Holy shit.” Leon whooshes out a breath, grinning as he leans back on his knees. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

It’s a go. Your stomach swoops with rollercoaster adrenaline.

He balls up his slacks, kicks off his sodden boxers (your chest puffs with pride as he tosses it to the floor), and parts your trembling legs painstakingly slow in comparison. Sharp eyes rove over the love bites littering your thighs, admiring his handiwork. You bite the inside of your cheek, devil on your shoulder itching you to tease, and let your hands skitter across over the juncture of your thighs where Leon’s focus lingers.

“Spread yourself for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You do. Let your fingers dip into your arousal, gasp at the cold air kissing your folds when you bloom for him. Roses all over your thighs when you’re his prettiest one. He leans down and kisses the bud at your center, sending the most pleasant electric tingle running up your spine.

“You promised,” you whine, craning your neck to see his face framed between your thighs again. “Need you inside. Please.”

For once, Leon indulges you, but not without himself too.

“Turn over for me. Oh, I know,” he coos at your pout and the upset buck of your hips, “give me a chance, angel. I’ve been dreaming of this for years. Planned out every fucking detail.”

You flip over with a huff. One broad palm lifts your pelvis into the air, easy as anything, and the other slips a pillow between your thighs, making sure the plump cotton nestles right up against your swollen clit. You give your hips a tentative grind and promptly gasp at the shot of pleasure. Friction at your command, leaving Leon free to run wild.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Good?”

“Mhm...”

You face the headboard, stomach to the sheets and blood roaring in your ears. Blind again to what he has in store for you. Slick pumps sound from behind – Leon finally planning to make good on his word – and the head of his cock nudges at your weeping entrance, teasing the now-fraying nerves lining your slit, so close to where you need him that your breath audibly catches.

He waits. Pulls your strings taut –

Hisses, “I’m gonna fuck out every memory of anyone you’ve been with while I was gone.”

– and cuts them loose.

Your scream ricochets off the walls when he plunges in.

It shouldn’t be pretty. There’s nothing pretty about the haze of green that clouded Leon’s vision for a selfish second while yours was at his mercy not long ago. Your one-night stands translated to competition in his head. He’s only a man. But there’s something undeniably pretty about the divine arch of your back that has him spellbound when your cunt swallows him to the root in a single go, suffocatingly sweet.

“Goddamn, you’re tight!”

Leon’s fingers sink into the fat of your hips as he fights for balance. You’ve got a mattress to claw; he’s only as stable as his pride. He lets you catch your breath after the first thrust, has your addled brain waxing poetic when you swear you feel his dick throb in time with his heartbeat inside you.

It doesn’t help that he’s got a mouth on him. “Pussy sucking me in like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he gasps when you clench.

Your fingers curl proudly into your bedsheets.

It’s a game of push and pull from here. Leon’s hips drag back, and with all the agony of too many nights with his right hand and your name for company, he starts carving into the meat of your ass.

You make a strangled noise, and eventually improve to, “Oh, ohmy- ohmygod!”

He can’t keep his hands off you. They span your lower back, cup your breasts in turns, explore the drenched underside of the pillow you rut against in time with his thrusts. You’re handled with just enough precision to keep you speared on his dick, all so Leon can watch, gobsmacked, how your drooling pussy opens up for him. In-out, in-out. A scene out of his wet dreams.

Your cries syncopate with the slam of his thighs against yours, an embarrassing, pornstar-worthy, “Ah-ah, ah-ah!” that you’d have more shame over if you weren’t busy getting the brains fucked out of you.

Leon realizes the beauty of the present tense with each inch of his length you coat in your arousal over and over again.

“Look so pretty taking me like this, my perfect girl, doing so fucking good, look at you…”

The pressure building in your stomach rears its head. Threatens to push you over.

“I missed you so much,” you sob into the sheets, “so fucking much, I can’t, I don’t know how to- oh!”

“Won’t leave you ever again,” Leon pants, tilting your chin so he can see your pretty face. “Never- oh my God, you’re close, aren’t you?”

Call it intuition, instinct. If you were close before, Leon’s fingers rushing to your clit cement your theory; he’s never been wrong about it, even as a rookie.

Your hands scramble to claw at the back of his neck.

“Fuck, you are!” he exclaims.

Home stretch. Leon’s hips threaten to stutter, so he sinks his teeth in your shoulder in a desperate bid to keep them steady.

For you, the pain of it is primal, flavored with a need for connection that has you groping blindly to lace his fingers through yours. Instinct all over again.

For Leon, it’s how you kept him going all this time; you’ll keep him grounded now. He’s not going to last otherwise.

You listen, face planted to the bed. Wait for the last thread to snap, for Leon’s gasp at the final flutter of your cunt around him. Your orgasm doesn’t come in a babbling, sputtering, break of the sound barrier, no – it comes as a gentle push.

A trust fall off the edge with Leon right behind.

You see bright light. Nothing of the abyss you plunged into when he left. There’s a jerk behind your navel, and pleasure starts curling upwards from your stomach like the licking of a comfortable fire. Your ears pop from the ecstasy flowing through your veins and it’s almost as if you can hear its crackling embers right here, right now as Leon fits so perfectly inside you.

In and out. In and out. In-out, in-out. You breathe, and he breaks.

He spills into you warmer than sunshine. Molten gold, filling your cracks like kintsugi. The air admits, “I love you”, having trouble telling apart which of you said it first.

He’s got a week on his hands. A week of wonders stretches in front of you, seven whole days to figure out how this new arrangement will work.

“It’s as much as they’d let me call off on such short notice, but we’ll take it from there,” Leon murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

He’s back in your arms where he belongs. Morning peeks through your blinds with the sun’s face washed clean from last night’s rainstorm, and if you open your window right about now, you could say hello to all the flowers blooming in celebration.

You can get to that later. You’ve got more pressing matters on your hands, like taking headcount of the constellation of moles dotting Leon’s chest and introducing yourself to the new ones. You have a feeling you’ll learn them by heart real soon.

“We can figure it out together,” you hum, content with your head propped against the headboard.

An exhilaratingly real concept.

“Together.” Leon breathes lightly. “Yeah.”

“And you know, I think that’s more than enough time to buy me real flowers.”

He chokes back a not-so-subtle cough. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“If you want to make up for how I’ll have to wear pants and turtlenecks to work for the next week, yes,” you poke into his chest, fighting the smile tugging at your lips.

“But you hate flowers! You say they always die on you!”

“No girl actually hates flowers, Leon!”

“At least I didn’t show up empty-handed. Give me a sec, sweetheart, I almost forgot.”

Leon pecks your forehead, slipping out of bed to pad to the living room. He comes back, having fetched his now dry suit jacket with the curious bulge still threatening to spill out of its left pocket, and hands it to you like a cat would a dead bird at your doorstep.

You give the creased clothing an unimpressed stare.

“Look in the pocket,” he insists, climbing back under the comforter.

You pull out a half-melted pack of Ferrero Rocher.

“Okay, well, they weren’t supposed to do that and I think I left them by the radiator…”

He’s lucky they taste just as delicious melted. You’ll have to give him a lesson in gifting before the holidays roll around because he’ll be here to celebrate them for the first time in six years – a thought sweeter than the chocolate-flavored kisses you peck onto his cheek.

And in between the shining candy wrappers and Leon’s blond hair tickling your neck when he presses you into the bed again, this time, you think everything gold might just stay.

fun (and spicy) fact about chocolate, and psst, find more of my work here!

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated, they keep fics from dying out <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/adornedwithlight

#📮 delivery #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #ao3 fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #vaaaaaiolet #ns/ft #re4r leon #resident evil fanfiction #₊˚🪻kilby girl irl event #fic: safe when i fall

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littlelovelunette · 1 month ago

Text

concept: What Are Tits? (2)

part 1

concept idea: @onlyvika

yet another sleepy fic lunette is writing at 5 am in the morning bc im such a little simp (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠)

contains suggestive themes, nipple play, dry humping, mentions of gagging, sexual fantasies

You genuinely had no clue what had went down when you were drunk yesterday. You and Sevika were indeed still friends, but you had a feeling if she ever heard you call her your friend, she'd unsheath the machete in her mechanical arm. When you arrived at Last Drop today, you pushed your way through the crowd and walked to the bar as per usual, ordering your drink and taking a seat.

Right then, you started feeling stares on you, people glancing at you and murmuring something to either themselves or the person next to them. Your brows furrowed slightly but you didn't really question it, you probably did something stupid while you were drunk.

The bartender passed your drink, before lowering his voice to add, "Are you and Sevika dating? I've never seen her so casual with someone who pisses her off during her game." The bartender asked in a hushed whisper.

"What?" You asked almost innocently. "Pisses her off? Shit. What'd I do?" Your fingers fidgeted nervously as you waited for his reply only he didn't give you a proper one.

"You asked her what... Breasts were." He said, looking away as he flushed saying that. Your cheeks turned a deep shade of red, too. You hung your head low. If Sevika hadn't killed you for asking her that, you could've died out of embarrassment right then and there. All your dignity went flying out of the window.

You saw one of the men she gambled with walk upto you, "Sevika wants to see you." He said with a stoic face making you contemplate whether it would be a wise decision to actually go see her. But you needed to woman up to your actions so you got up, paid for your drink, finishing the shot in one go and approached Sevika's table.

"Hey..." You mumbled in a timid voice, suddenly all your bravado was gone and you felt like a very out-of-place kitten on a cold rainy night. Sevika didn't quite look up at you, throwing her cards on the table, revealing she effortlessly won yet another round of poker causing others to groan.

She got up, gesturing you to follow her. Smoke wafted from her cigarillo that was tucked between those pretty dark lips that you wished you'd get to kiss someday. But now you were worried if you'd see any day at all after today.

Sevika took you to an eerily familiar room and before you could respond, she pinned you to the wall with a slight slam of your body. You yelped slightly, big innocent eyes gawking up at her. "Fuck, and you look like you'd never ask me such ridiculous questions, drunkenly even." Sevika said, flesh fingers stroking your jaw before grabbing it to make you maintain eye contact with her. "Do you even have any memory of what unfolded yesterday?"

You opened your mouth to say no but then everything started flashing through your mind. Sevika's tits.

...They looked warm, soft and squishy... They were perfect in their natural place without even needing a bra, not that she was wearing one... Her areolas were dark, and slightly bigger than the average and nipples now hardening under the cold air of the room.

"Oh my goodness. I am so sorry." You said, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Sevika's flesh hand shifted from your jaw to your neck.

"You should be careful what you wish for, doll, or I might as well had just give in." Sevika said, her voice low and deep, she let go of your throat to put her cigarillo out hastily before turning back to you. "You'd... You'd actually hook up with me?" You asked sheepishly.

"Are you saying I have bad taste?" Sevika raised a brow and you shook your head. "No, no, of course not."

The air in the room was tense and you don't know what came over you but something did. It was just so much of an intimate setting and you couldn't help leaning into her touch. Your body was almost out of control, Sevika's flesh arm grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against her firm frame. Your cheeks almost glowing red, you look up at her and she kissed you. Sevika fucking kissed you.

Her kiss was exactly how you thought it'd be, slow and rough. "You owe me, doll." Sevika whispered against your lips. You knew exactly what she meant by that. You didn't even hesitate, pulling the zipper of your dress, slipping the strap right off to expose your plush mounds to the cold air of the room.

Your nipples instantly hardened. "Fuck." Sevika cursed under her breath, her big hands wrapping around your tits and giving them a good squeeze before her thumbs rolled over the nipples. You moaned subtly, leaning back against the wall for support.

Her flesh hand was warm and mechanical hand was cold on your tits, the warmth providing comfort and coldness providing sensuality. Your lips parted when you felt her tracing your areola with her cold metal finger before her flesh fingers pinched your other nipple.

"You're so dirty." You whined, rubbing your pantie-covered crotch against her clothed thigh. Sevika watched you grind your covered pussy against the rough material of her pants, a slow smirk forming on her lips.

"Oh yeah? Yet you're the one actin' like a fuckin' bitch in heat." Sevika pushed her thigh between your legs, slotting it there perfectly while her hands continued taking care of your tits. You desperately grinded against her thigh, shy moans leaving your lips. "Please, touch me more."

Sevika chuckled at your pleas, flesh hand moving to grab your ass and pull you into her body. She bent down to capture your nipple in her mouth, giving it a firm tug using her teeth. Oh, the tooth gap, your nipple caught in between perfectly. You had to cover your mouth so you didn't moan too loudly. "Sevika, someone might catch us like this." You whispered.

"Oh, yeah? You wanna take this to the bed?" Sevika asked before giving you a particularly harsh nip, leaving a hickey on your neck. You whimpered before nodding your head. Sevika gave your cunt a last rub using her leg before pulling away. Without a word, she slipped off your wet panties and pocketed then without hesitation. "Okay, then."

"Hey, give them back..." You whined helplessly but Sevika didn't let you whine too long, silencing you with a kiss. "You're a real talker during sex, aren't you? I'll use 'em to gag your pretty mouth when I actually get to fuck you, yeah?" Sevika smirked knowing you were getting wetter with the second, and your short dress wasn't helping considering she took away your panties.

"I hate you."

Sevika cashed out, and led you out of the bar. All the while you were left struggling, trying to pull at the hem of your short dress to cover more. You could feel the slick wetness against your inner thighs.

All you wished now was to be spread on Sevika's bed and eaten out like there's no tomorrow. Fingered till you squirt all over her and the sheets. Dicked down till you can't breathe, incoherent mess of sentences leaving your drooling lips. Oh, the fantasies.

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paulyenvol6 · 23 days ago

Text

Birthday Boy

Happy Birthday to my love, my angel, my sweetheart, my sunshine, my FAVOURITE ACTOR IN THE WORLD Pedro Pascal. I love you <3

Contains: mentions of pregnancy, smut, grinding, p in v, unprotected sex, riding, sub!Pedro, reader and Pedro being down bad for each other, slightly soft dom reader, pet names like honey and baby, praise, kissing, dirty talk, fluff

Wordcount: 3,618

Masterlist

"Shh, he's coming," you whispered gesturing your friends to crouch so Pedro wouldn't see them once he entered the house.

You heard someone giggling behind you and were just about to hush them again but then everything went silent and you exhaled with relief, your heart pounding in your heart with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

The next thing you heard was the key being turned in the lock and you had to bite down on your hand to surpress a giggle.

"Honey, I'm home," Pedro shouted as he dropped a bag to the ground.

You had sent him out of the house with the pretence that you urgently needed carrots for his birthday dinner tonight and Pedro immediately had complied.

"Y/n? Are you upstairs?"

Your mind was racing praying that he would search the rooms in the groundfloor first and as if you wore a lucky charm today you heard the door to the living room swing open along with the sound of his steps which was your sign to jump to your feet.

"SURPRISE!" you shouted being closely followed by your friends who all threw their hands in the air.

Your eyes were on Pedro though who broke into laughter repeatedly shaking his head while all of you started to sing happy birthday. He ran his hand over the lower half of his face at the last note rolling his eyes but he was unable to surpress the wide smirk making his whole face glow. Then he stretched out his arms to you which gave you the sign to climb over the couch you had hid behind to jump into his arms.

"Jesus christ…," he chuckled burying his face into your hair. "I can't believe you threw a surprise party for me. Thank you so much, baby."

Your fingers combed through the curly hair in his neck swinging him back and forth but then pulled back soon so his friends could greet him as well. It was a delighting and beautiful mess with everyone talking and chattering, Pedro exchanging countless hugs and when you felt that the noise had died down you clapped in your hands.

"I hope you are all hungry because I prepared a lot of food! You can sit wherever you want to and please eat and drink as much as you want to."

The people already started to talk again which was quite convenient for you who wasn't a fan of speaking in front of crowds and you welcomed Pedro's arms around your waist with pleasure.

"Oh baby, how did I deserve you… You're the best and I mean it. Thank you so much for this."

You turned your head to look at him smiling as he trailed his nose up your back coming to a stop between your shoulder blades.

"You're welcome. I hope we didn't overwhelm you?"

"You did, but in the best way," Pedro laughed but then got serious. "Don't worry, I love it so much. I can't believe Lux is here as well."

Your hands grasped his that was still splayed across your stomach which made your heart beat faster. There were a few more surprises waiting for him tonight after all.

"She was one of the first people I invited," you said trying to hide your nervousness and snuggling up against his chest. "And she immediately promised to come."

"I just wish I had dressed better this morning," Pedro said referring to his simple outfit consisting of jeans and a grey hoodie.

"You look perfect," you assured him pressing a kiss to his arm wrapped around you and smiling up to him. "But if you feel uncomfortable you can go change. Even though I love those jeans on you. Makes your ass look sexy," you whispered winking with your left eye and laughing when Pedro swang you around holding you by your waist while he captured your lips in a hard kiss in order to silence you.

"I bet you do," he mumbled against your lips, the both of you getting lost in the addicting taste of the other person.

Pedro suckled and nibbled at your bottom lip in a way that was not appropriate for a party who had your closest friends and family as guests but in this moment neither of you gave a thought go them, solely focused on savouring each contact of your bodies.

That was until someone cleared their throat behind Pedro and the two of you pulled away blinking as you perceived your surroundings, including Oscar, one of your husband's closest friends who stood right next to him, his hands resting on his hips in a disapproving manner.

"Dude, I can't believe you're cheating on me after all those years," he scoffed pretending to sulk and crossing his arms on front of his chest.

"I could never," Pedro sighed reaching for his friend's hand but he slapped the back of it and turned his head to another direction avoiding his gaze.

"You just did. Get a room at least, you little slut."

That was the moment when the two of them broke into laughter and Oscar pulled him in for a firm hug.

"Happy birthday, my dearest," he said and you had to smirk at their names for each other.

"Thank you. Honestly. I'm so glad that all of you are here."

You watched Pedro with a smile that seemed to be glued to your face and just didn't seem to vanish, no matter what. He kept you close to him at all times, arm wrapped around either your waist or your shoulders and he didn't waste an opportunity to steal a kiss from you while strolling around to receive his friends' congratulations.

All of it was a dream, but the kind of dream that you didn't want to wake up from. If you wanted to define happiness you would probably use this very moment, you thought while nudging your nose against his side which Pedro reacted to by kissing the top of your head.

Time passed way too quickly for your taste and soon you felt that it was time to deliver the second surprise for the night which was one that would probably knock him off his feet even more. Obviously you wanted to do it in private though and so at around 7 pm you softly squeezed Pedro's hand to get his attention and then stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

"Can we speak for a moment in private? There's something I have to talk to you about."

A brief sign of concern appeared on his face so you made the nervousness on your face fade away, replacing it with a soft smile.

"Don't worry. It's nothing bad. It's absolutely not bad."

He narrowed his eyes, a questioning look marking his face but before he could dig deeper you pulled him with you inside the house. You thought that your bedroom was fit for a conversation like this and therefore guided your husband up the stairs and through the first door to your left.

"I'm confused," Pedro said once you had closed the door behind him but you shook your head quietly giggling.

"Just sit down."

He followed your request taking a seat on the bed and then expectantly watched you surpress a mischievous smirk.

"Pedro," you whispered, your voice being light and soft like the brush of a feather.

"Yes, baby," he answered equally quiet forming his lips into a thoughtful pout when you took his hands.

"Are you about to tell me that you wanna leave me or – " "Just shut up," you laughed carefully kicking him with your feet, your heart beating so fast in your chest you believed that he heard it as well.

Your mouth was dry, your cheeks probably covered with a burning red and your pores relentlessly producing drops of sweat.

"Pedro," you said again and this time he just nodded, his gaze lingering at your eyes.

"I'm pregnant," you said with a voice a lot clearer than you had imagined and felt a heavy weight dropped off your heart.

At first, there was a cutting silence. It was as though the words hadn't even left your mouth because Pedro looked at you the very same way. But then there it was; his lips parting, his eyes getting round and a heavy breath out of his mouth.

"What," he whispered so light and airy that you could barely hear him.

Your teary eyes fluttered, lips pressing together as you tried to surpress a cry but you nodded over and over again like you were promising him something. And then your bodies crashed against each other because Pedro had rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around you holding you to his chest like he intended to make you melt with him.

Tears fell to your shoulders and necks and neither of you knew who cried them but it didn't matter, you just clung to each other in a desperate attempt to control those overwhelming emotions leaking from your tight chests. The butterflies in your stomach were awake now, swirling and twirling in your body and almost making you feel dizzy as your shaky limbs threatened to give in but fortunately Pedro held you up, his cheek pressed to your forehead.

"I-I… I love you, y/n, I love you so fucking much."

You didn't even manage to answer him so all you did was nod and focus on your rapid breathing as your husband slowly swayed you in his arms, both of your bodies uncontrollably trembling with joy.

"A-Are you… sure?" he then asked and you laughed out grabbing the side of his neck with your sweaty hands.

"Yes. I did three tests because I wanted to make sure."

Pedro sniffed with his scrunched-up nose gently patting your head like he couldn't believe all of this was true.

"We… We're going to be parents."

"Yes," you giggled jumping up and down and then kissing him again transferring all these emotions to him which he received and then gave back to you. Warmth spread in your belly when Pedro's large hand traveled to your lower belly, carefully stroking you through the fabric of your shirt while his other hand held the side of your face.

"I can't believe this, y/n," he whispered, his voice thin and weak with affection. "I'm going to be a dad."

Your head dropped to his shoulder, forehead rubbing against his nape while your hands grasped his sleeves.

"Yes. And you're going to be the best."

"Are we gonna tell anyone else? Or should we wait a little longer?"

This was a question you had asked yourself many times before and you still hadn't found an answer which was why you uncertainly glanced up to him.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

Pedro's warm eyes seemed to embrace you in a firm hug making goosebumps rise on your arms and your fingertips tingle with sensation.

"It's your choice," he whispered.

"Then I think we should wait a little longer. Keep the secret to us until… I don't know."

He bit his lip, eyes glistening as he leaned down to kiss your shoulder.

"Until you feel comfortable telling everyone. Just don't worry, honey, okay? We're not pressured to do anything."

Your throat was thick with a strange mixture of infinite love and longing for him and you gulped a few times while Pedro kissed his way down your arm until his lips were pressed to the back of your hand giving every finger a special amount of attention. Then he straightened up again taking your face into both hands and examining you closely.

"You're the love of my life, baby. You're all I'm ever gonna need. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you and you can't believe how mad I am about the fact that I didn't get to meet you earlier in my life. 'Cause I feel like every second I'm not with you is a waste of time."

You couldn't help it anymore, you burst into tears, drew him towards you to nestle your face against his collarbone.

"I love you too," you mumbled not sure whether he had heard you but it didn't matter. He knew.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was around 3 hours later when you found yourselves in the very same position again, your face resting against his chest and his hands around your back.

The guests had left, the sun had set and now it was just the two of you crouching against each other and savouring every moment in each other's presence. You gently rocked both your bodies side to side hands trailing up and down his arms until you pulled away to kiss his neck and brush over his veins.

"I need you, baby," Pedro whispered sounding almost pleadingly which made your heart flutter.

"I know," was all you breathed cupping his face and then skimming his bottom lip with your thumb.

His lips were parted, hitched breaths leaving his mouth and at this point the air in the room was thin and full of tension with your hunger for each other.

"Baby," he repeated, eyes threatening to close but you weren't done teasing him yet, a crooked smile emerging on your lips.

"Shhh," you made and then leaned upwards to pull him in for a kiss. "Sit down on the bed, birthday boy," you grinned brushing over his cheek one last time before Pedro followed your demand and approached the bed.

In the meantime you took off your shirt and bra leaving you topless, his eyes darkening at the sight of your hardened nipples. The reassurance only enhanced your confidence and eagerness to play with him a little more so you crawled to sit on his lap, hands wrapping around his neck to twirl the short locks around your fingers.

"I think you deserve a little treat, honey," you purred, shockwaves running through your body when his puppy eyes softened up.

"I think you do too," he replied but gasped out when you gently rocked your core against his center.

"Shhh, baby. Just enjoy it, alright? I wanna make you feel good tonight. Just lay back and close your eyes and relax."

Pedro bit his lip attempting to speak up but you were faster, bringing a single finger to his mouth and applying light pressure.

"I said shhh. Just take it, okay?"

Before he could answer you, you kissed his mouth but quickly made your way down his body, lips tracing his veins and teeth carefully taking the fabric of his shirt between them. Faster than Pedro was able to process it, you sat between his parted legs and your fingers fumbled with his belt.

"Lift your hips," you demanded once you had opened his belt and jeans and then pulled them down his legs so you could see the prominent ouline of his dick underneath his briefs. Instead of getting to work you lowered yourself right above his center again to roll your hips and rub your pussy against him.

Pedro's eyes twisted, his head leaning back into the cushions and he buckled up to meet your movements which you commented with placing a hand on his hips.

"No. Keep still, alright? Just let me take care of this."

Shallow quick breaths escaped from his mouth that were interrupted by moans every now and then. You bathed in the noises he let out, savouring each little sigh and whine as you rode his clothed dick with closed eyes, fully enjoying the way you had him wrapped around your little finger. It didn't take a long time until he additionally began to beg you.

"Please, baby. I need you right now. Fuck…"

His voice was low and husky and without giving it a second thought he gripped your hips trying to control your movements. You sighed, the faintest hint of a smirk surfacing on your face as you took his wrists and pressed his hands down right next to his head.

"I said no."

You almost melted at his deep brown eyes realising how hard it was to deny him anything but deep down you knew how much Pedro enjoyed this kind of treatment and therefore you remained cold.

"Keep those hands to yourself before I put them to work," you dangerously hissed in his ear and carefully nibbled at his earlobe.

"I need more, y/n. Need to feel you," his hitched breaths brushed over your ear and you thought about it for a moment and then straightened up again.

"Get up here," you commanded him.

Pedro followed your order, sitting up straight, his dark shiny eyes darting up to you when you pressed his head closer to your chest. He instantly understood and started to kiss and lick at your breasts, tongue swirling around your hardened nipples and teeth gently sinking down into your sensitive flesh.

"There you go… that's right," you commented his actions, your hands relentlessly pushing him towards you whenever he brought too much distance between his face and your torso and soon your skin was covered with a thin layer of sweat that Pedro was happy to lick up.

"You're doing so amazing, honey," you whispered through gritted teeth, eyes lingering at the back of his head.

But soon it was you who craved more of him and therefore you buried your hands in his locks pulling him backwards until his glossy eyes met with yours.

"You know, I would've teased the shit out of you if it weren't your birthday," you spoke under breath while your shivering hands pulled down your pants and underwear just enough so your pussy was bare as you hovered above him.

"Take off your briefs," you requested, watching him with your lips slightly agape, seriously affected by all of this teasing as well. Pedro did as you had told him not taking his eyes off you for once and then firmly grabbed your bare thighs while kissing your collarbone.

"Fuck, baby… You're so goddamn perfect."

Instead of replying you cut him off by wrapping a hand around his length which caused him to gasp for air.

"Let me make you feel good, baby," you mumbled against his cheek, your left hand holding on to his face while you aligned his dick with your entrance and began to sink down on him. Pedro inhaled but the air got caught in his throat making him cough and you were quick to soothingly caress his temple.

"Let go for me, honey… Just focus on me."

Once he was inside you, his tip so deep that it kissed your cervix you rolled your hips to get used to the feeling allowing him to keep his hands on your waist although you still had full control of what was happening. Pedro watched you with admiration, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his half lidded eyes fluttering every time your tight walls clenched around his length.

"Y/n, jesus… You're gonna make me come like this," he growled, head dropping to your chest and you embraced him in a tight hug.

Sensing that he actually already was close which was no surprise considering you really had teased the shit out of him, you brought your hand between your thighs and started to rub your clit in circles; clockwise, just the way you liked it.

Along with watching his beautiful face that was marked by sheer pleasure right now and the delicious stretch of his large manhood you approached your own high in a record-breaking amount of time and soon you weren't sure whether you would be able to keep up the pace.

You bounced on his cock after all, limbs already aching but you were eager to make him come and so you ignored the sweat pooling on your forehead and the muscles in your thighs burning like fire and instead focused on breathing and rolling your hips just the way you knew he liked it.

"Come for me, Pedro. Come inside of me, fuck… I know you wanna let go."

The encouragement actually seemed to heat him up even more his features tightening and then all of the accumulated tension seemed to loosen and Pedro shot his load inside of you, noises of pleasure leaving his mouth.

"Oh fucking hell… Oh baby yes, you're so goddamn good."

The knot in your lower stomach imploded right after his last word and just like in a perfect dream, you came at the same time as him and tightly squeezed his cock while the effects of your orgasm spread in your body like warm honey. You were on a high, floating on a cloud and it took you a couple of seconds until you felt strong enough to open your eyes into Pedro's.

He wore a smile on his face, a slight smirk, almost shy and you couldn't help but giggle uncontrolled as you scratched over his sculp once more.

"Oh my god. That was amazing," you said not so quiet now, carefully rising from his lap so his dick could slip out of you.

"It was… it was so good, baby," Pedro said, his exhaustion showing in his voice.

You grinned, a peaceful dizziness settling over your mind and when you sat up on your heels you almost would have fallen backwards with the intention to get a minimum of 24 hours of sleep but you got a hold on yourself in the last moment and instead crawled to lay next to him.

"I love you," he whispered nudging his nose against the side of your face once the two of you were comfortable and you had to smile feeling his hand wander to your stomach.

"I love you too," you replied shutting your eyes and listening to his steady breathing.

"Happy birthday."

~~~~~~~~~~

(Shoutout to @mrspascalsworld <3)

#pedro x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n

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little-jana · 1 month ago

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"Time, Space and Love"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: nerdy rambling, inaccurate Doctor Who facts, kissing

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Spencer takes his girlfriend to a Doctor Who convention, and she absolutely adores how excited he gets about his favorite things.

a/n: This was requested by anon! I apologize for any inaccurate doctor who facts! Enjoy!

You weren’t sure what was more entertaining—the Doctor Who convention itself or Spencer Reid in his element.

The second you walked through the convention center doors, he lit up like a kid in a candy store, his hazel eyes practically sparkling as he took in the crowd of cosplayers, booths filled with memorabilia, and life-sized replicas of the TARDIS.

“You know, Doctor Who first aired on November 23, 1963, the day after President Kennedy was assassinated,” he started, practically vibrating with excitement as he laced his fingers with yours. “The show was meant to be an educational sci-fi series, using time travel to teach kids about history and science.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand. “Spence, you’ve barely been here five minutes, and you’re already in full professor mode.”

His cheeks flushed. “Sorry! I just… I love this stuff.”

“I know,” you said, adoring the way his whole face lit up. “And I love how much you love it.”

His hand tightened around yours as he pulled you toward one of the booths. The display was filled with sonic screwdrivers, replica TARDIS keys, and various versions of the Doctor’s famous scarves and bowties. Spencer picked up a Fourth Doctor scarf, running his fingers over the soft wool.

“This is screen accurate,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “The original scarf was made by Begonia Pope in the ‘70s, and legend has it that she was given too much yarn, so she just used all of it.”

You giggled, watching as he handled the scarf with such care. “You should get it.”

He hesitated. “Really? I mean, I don’t usually—”

“Spencer, you’re literally the biggest Doctor Who fan here. You deserve the scarf.”

His lips twitched in amusement, but he finally let the vendor ring it up. The moment he draped it around his neck, he looked so happy that your heart melted.

The day only got better from there. You followed Spencer through the convention, listening to him ramble about everything from Gallifreyan lore to the science behind the show’s theories. You didn’t care that half of it went over your head—you just loved watching him talk about something he was so passionate about.

When you finally dragged him away, it was to join a Q&A panel with past Doctor Who actors. You settled into your seats, and as the panelists spoke, Spencer whispered little tidbits of trivia in your ear. Normally, you might have hushed him, but here—here, where his passion was on full display—you let him talk. You let yourself soak in every word.

After the panel, you made your way to a life-size TARDIS replica. Spencer’s fingers trembled with excitement as he touched the blue wooden door. “It’s bigger on the inside,” he murmured, and you knew in that moment that this was magic for him.

In front of a full-size TARDIS replica, complete with flashing lights and the iconic VWORP VWORP sound effect, Spencer immediately pulled you inside, his excitement palpable.

“Okay, so in theory, if time travel was possible, it would likely involve some form of closed timelike curves, which are solutions to Einstein’s field equations—”

You reached up and kissed his cheek, stopping him mid-ramble. “I love you.”

He blinked, momentarily stunned, then softened. “I love you too.”

You laughed, looping your arms around his neck. “You know, I think I finally get why you love Doctor Who so much.”

“Oh?” His hands rested on your waist, tilting his head in curiosity.

“It’s about adventure, discovery… and love.” You smiled, pressing your forehead to his. “Kinda reminds me of you.”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, and for once, he was at a loss for words. Instead, he just kissed you, slow and sweet, right there inside the TARDIS.

“You know,” you said softly, reaching up to adjust his scarf, “I think the Doctor would love you.”

Spencer blinked down at you, taken aback. “Me?”

You nodded. “Yeah. You’re brilliant, and kind, and you see the universe in a way no one else does. If anyone deserves a ride in the TARDIS, it’s you.”

His throat bobbed, and he leaned down and kissed you again, right there in front of the TARDIS, surrounded by fellow fans. It was soft, reverent, filled with the same wonder he had for time and space itself.

When he pulled back, his cheeks were pink. “I think this might be the best day ever.”

And for that moment, time really did seem to stand still.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you

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yandere-romanticaa · 5 months ago

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I really enjoy the idea of a man like Ayato going into a tea house for some fine entertainment. The entire event is primarily disguised as a business dinner, but the Yashiro Commissioner knows better. He has been rubbing shoulders with this type crowd ever since he was a tiny lad. Besides, the eagerness which his dignitaries display is far too obvious to hide. They cover their grins behind their long sleeves, eyes gleaming with excitement and thrill at the thought of tonight's prospects.

Truthfully, Ayato was just as much of a savage beast as the men around him.

The key difference was that he was better in concealing his more perverse nature.

With a serene smile Ayato enjoyed the show, his eyes never leaving your figure, not even once. It was obvious that you were new amongst the girls, their saccharine grins far too picture perfect to be natural. You swished and swayed your body to the soft drums, making extra sure to highlight the best parts of your body as the table filled with customers in front of you cheered each of you all on, happily tossing shiny Mora in the air.

It was so hard to focus under Ayato's gaze. You knew who he was, everyone knew who he was. After the dance the ladies from the establishment cornered you, asking you questions on what the nature of your relationship was with the handsome commissioner. They advised you to stay docile and sweet in his presence, that you should never make a fuss and by doing so, not only will you never go hungry ever again, all sorts of doors could open up as well.

As expected, Ayato had ended up summoning you for a private show.

It was a very hush hush affair, with him being the only person in the room. He greeted you with tea, cakes and all sorts of tiny gifts which he had prepared before hand. By the end of the evening, you were no better than honey in his hands, hanging onto his every single word and whim, catering to his every desire he could come up with, no matter how small or silly it may be.

Ayato found himself enjoying how free you were, how open you were with your heart and desires. It was refreshing, like sweet spring air after a dark storm and he soaked it up like a sponge. The entire nature of this relationship was also beyond thrilling as it allowed him to unwind after a long and hard day of work.

However, he knew better than anyone that most things in life don't last forever. He could continue to play coy only for so long and since Ayato was not in the mood for games, he decided the best course of action to take was to just buy you out. He had the money and you would surely enjoy the comfort he would provide for you.

It was an ideal situation, truly.

He sat you down and shared his plans, eager to see a happy grin on your face as you chant Thank you, Master Ayato! over and over, as you tripped on your feet in a rush to embrace him.

Ayato typically likes surprises. They keep things fun and interesting, but the one you told him was anything but.

With confidence, you told him that you had no desire to stop working in this place, shamelessly admitting that you enjoyed making the various clientele satisfied with your services, regardless of how dirty it could be. The freedom, the pleasure, it was too much to give up.

His lips formed into a wicked little grin as his felt his heart beat through his chest. In a way, he admired your attitude. It was dazzling just how bold you had become and how you were so unafraid of him.

After that night, you figured that you would never see the man ever again.

Days went on, customers came and went and there was no sign of your dazzling commissioner. That did not stop the whispers and rumors from spreading like wildfire, particularly from the more devious or jealous women which you worked with. Venom would coat their words as they would eagerly remind you of just how you had cost them one of, if not the best customer in the entire nation.

It was difficult to tell whether or not they were celebrating this fact of it they were legitimately upset with you. However, this storm would soon come to pass, or so you had hoped. You always found it a little odd how Master Ayato had just left you to your own devices, how he hadn't bothered to pull any strings or just flat out threaten you for disobeying him. Most men in his position could afford such a luxury because the fallout would be next to none.

It would cost him nothing to just toss you onto the cold, dark street like a wet dog. He would not even need to break a single sweat to make you fall apart.

But your pride was too strong. It burned deep in your belly, the desire to spread your wings and do as you wished. Mora was the key to solve all of your problems and in due time, more than enough was going to be saved for any possible endeavor of yours. On several different occasions you had confessed to Master Ayato that you had wished to buy better make up, prettier clothes and a better house than you had already owned. Not to mention your unyielding wish to explore the world, to see step foot into each nation and see their glory with your own two eyes. You wished to sip on fine Mondstatd wine, to see the bright lanterns in Liyue, to watch the night sky in Snezhnaya.

And he had listened patiently to you, soaking in each word. He would pat you across the head or pinch your cheek and mutter how one day he was sure that all of that would come true.

People always did say that a person ought to be careful for what they wished for. Why?

Because they might just get their wishes granted.

On a chilly autumn morning, shouts rang loudly from outside of your establishment. Confusion was written on everyone's faces as they stared at the main entrance, trying to figure out who was causing the commotion.

Suddenly, the door was kicked down with such brute force that you could not even gasp, the wood simply breaking away from the hinges. Soldiers in armour filled the room, weapons in hand as they shouted about some arrests being made.

It was hard to focus with the commotion around you.

The soldiers were brutes, kicking away and smashing everything in sight. Fine paintings and scrolls were all over the floor like trash, the dashing kimonos and dresses snatched from their stations by feebleminded men, none of which cared for your safety and security.

Cries filled the air the head of the establishment was dragged by two soldiers, their arms wrapped tightly around the woman as she begged and pleaded for mercy, forgiveness and everything in-between. The pristine makeup she had so tirelessly worked on was but a fleeting memory, leaving only large traces of inky black mascara falling down her pale cheeks and messy blood red lipstick strewn across her tiny lips.

It felt like a nightmare come to life.

Like a vicious snake, a handsome man in white garbs had slithered inside the room, his steps so quiet that not even the wind could sense him coming. He clapped a few times, the pristine glove on his hands shining underneath the morning sun as the Yashiro Commissioner stared down each person in the room, his sea blue eyes laced with mock pity.

His voice filled the air to a suffocating degree, so much so that it made you choke on your own breath. There he was, Kamisato Ayato in the flesh, standing proud and strong, like an untouchable arrow seeking its target. He was so charming, so convincing that if you hadn't known better, you too would have bought into his lies.

How could someone so handsome be so adept at spewing such filth? Even as he accused your boss of various crimes, his voice was nothing less than kind and concerned.

He felt less like a man and more like a god. A twisted blend of mercy and cruelty who had been brought down from the heavens to cast judgment on mere mortals such as yourself.

In a flash, his eyes locked in on yours and it was all too clear on what he was aiming for. His gaze was deceitfully sweet but underneath that handsome gaze was an ever growing desire to seek, trap and possibly even maim.

Ayato always thought of himself as at least somewhat of a civil man but not even he was immune to the most basic of human desires. Each man who walked the earth was a beast, it just took some longer to wake up and realize that truth.

Kamisato Ayato had bared his fangs and shot you a grin, not even shying away from his true motives. He never lied when he said that he thought that your dreams were going to come true one day.

He merely left out the part that he was going to be the one who would get you there.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #yancore #genshin impact #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #yandere ayato #yandere kamisato ayato #genshin ayato #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you

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uppersidedreaminnn · 1 month ago

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𓂃 ‎ ‎ ‎PROM? ‎ ‎ ‎★‎ ‎ ‎ ‎N.RK

synopsis: with prom night approaching, nishimura riki was determined to ask you to be his date. he just hoped you’d say yes… pairing: non-idol! nishimura riki x female reader genre: high school au, fluff, promposal word count: 0.8k

reblogs ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ feedback >ᴗ<

nishimura riki was nervous.

though, it wasn’t an unusual feeling—if anything, it had become second nature whenever he was around you. but today, it was different, the nerves were almost unbearable, his heart hammering against his chest as he stood at the far end of the school hallway, fingers tightening around the edges of seven carefully prepared cards.

the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting a warm glow over the crowded hallways of decelis high. students moved in packs, excited chatter and bursts of laughter echoing against the halls. the upcoming prom night had taken over every conversation, banners of the event plastered across the walls. but for riki, there was only one thing on his mind, you.

and right now, you were just a few feet away, laughing alongside your friends, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

he swallows hard. this is it.

beside him, jake claps a firm hand on his shoulder. “breathe.” he chuckles, sensing riki’s tension. the rest of the boys: heeseung, jay, sunghoon, jungwon and sunoo stood ready, each holding a piece of his carefully planned promposal: one red carnation and a card each with a single word on it.

jay nudges him this time, bringing him out of his thoughts. “it’s gonna work. she’s gonna say yes.” he reassures the younger boy.

riki exhales, gives them a grateful nod. the plan was simple, really: jake would bring you over, leading you down the hallway where each of the boys would hold up their respective words, forming the big question:

“will you go to prom with me?”

with each step, you would take a carnation, one by one, until you reached riki—the last one, the most important one.

and then, if all went well, you’d say yes to his promposal.

he hopes you’d say yes.

“alright, let’s go,” riki whispers, mustering the courage and throwing a glance at jake.

jake smirks, nodding at him before weaving through the crowd towards where you stood, chatting with your friends by the lockers.

“hi, y/n,” jake greets smoothly, his usual easygoing smile in place.

you turned toward him, eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity. “jake? what’s up?”

“i need your help with something,” he says.

your lips curled into a curious smile. “with what?”

“it’s better if i show you,” he replies, jerking his head toward the far end of the hallway.

a bit puzzled but trusting, you glance at your friends, waving them off with a quick “i’ll be back” before following jake.

as you walk, you began to notice the way students seemed to part slightly, phones discreetly raised, hushed whispers filling the air. what’s going on? you can’t help but think.

and then, as you reach the other side of the hallway, you saw it.

lined up neatly in a row were heeseung, jay, sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon and standing at the very end, riki.

each of them hold a single large card and a red carnation.

your eyes flickered down to the words.

“will” — heeseung held his card up, smiling knowingly.

“you” — jay gave you an encouraging nod.

“go” — sunghoon smirked.

“to” — sunoo beamed brightly.

you turned to jake, who had now picked up his own card.

“prom” — he raises his card up.

“with.” jungwon lifts his card higher, gaze soft.

you move to grab each of the carnations, your fingers curling around the delicate petals, a soft warmth blooming in your chest as you moved further down the line, gently taking each flower one by one.

and then, at the very end, standing just a few feet away, was him.

riki.

he held the final card. “me?”

the moment your gaze met his, your breath caught. his usual teasing smirk was nowhere to be found; instead, his expression was soft, his dark eyes filled with something unspoken, something sincere, something hopeful.

the noise of the crowd around you faded into a blur.

riki took a steady breath, stepping closer. “y/n,” he said, voice gentle but firm. “will you go to prom with me?”

you glance down at the six red carnations already in your hands, then back at him—the boy who had always teased you, always found ways to get under your skin. and yet, here he was now. nervous, hopeful.

you reach out, fingertips brushing against his as you took the last carnation from his grasp. holding it close, you let a smile slowly spread across your face.

“yes,” you whisper.

then, a little louder, voice steady and sure:

“yes, i will, riki.”

the hallway erupted.

cheers, claps, excited shouts—all of it blurred as riki’s face lit up, body visibly relaxing at your answer. before you could react, he pulled you into a hug, warmth wrapping around you as the scent of the carnations fills the space between the two of you.

“you remembered my favorite flowers,” you murmur, glancing up at him as you pull back slightly, the seven red carnations nestled in your hands.

riki only grinned, eyes twinkling. “of course i did."

because to him, you were always worth remembering.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #ni-ki x reader #nishimura riki #nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki fluff #ni ki enhypen #ni ki fluff #enhypen riki #engene #ni ki smau #my works 𓂃⋆.˚

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sirxaibs · 1 month ago

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˚₊✩‧₊ Oh bet? ˚₊✩‧₊

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Vinsmoke Sanji X Reader

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Synopsis: He flirts? you flirt? he falls in love first? you fall just as much

WARNING!- he a FREAK in a weird way not in my present mic way. But he’s still a gentleman ig

This is explicit content so viewer discretion is advised. It’s not my job to babysit. If you’re not comfortable or know you shouldn’t be reading adult content then think again before reading.

The Baratie was a strange place. A floating restaurant filled with rowdy sailors, the scent of sizzling meats and freshbaked bread hanging in the air. It wasn’t the worst place you’d been, but definitely not the fanciest either. Still, Luffy was practically vibrating in his seat, excited about the food, while Nami looked ready to knock him out if he tried to steal her drink again. Usopp was muttering about how a “great captain” should be treated to the finest dining experience, and Zoro? Zoro just looked half asleep, arms crossed over his chest.

Luffy, practically drooling already, clapped his hands together. “This place smells amazing! Let’s eat!”

“Try not to embarrass us,” Nami sighed, flicking him on the forehead.

Zoro scoffed, arms crossed. “Tch. Fancy place for the middle of the ocean.

Usopp adjusted his goggles, scanning the crowd. “This place looks expensive… Maybe I should tell them I’m a world famous captain. Might get us a discount.”

You chuckled at their antics, but your attention was quickly drawn to the smooth figure gliding through the restaurant. A blonde waiter in a sharp black suit moved effortlessly between tables, a tray balanced perfectly in one hand as he set down a dish with practiced ease. He bowed slightly, his voice rich and honeyed.

“For you, madam, a meal as exquisite as yourself.”

The customer giggled, clearly smitten, but then his gaze lifted. And landed on you. For a moment, he just stared. Then, as if the world around him faded, the tray in his hand clattered to the floor, dishes shattering. The restaurant hushed. You blinked. He didn’t even react to the mess, his eyes locked onto you like he had just seen a goddess descend from the heavens.

“Oh. Mon dieu…” His voice was barely a whisper.

Luffy tilted his head. “Huh? What’s wrong with him?”

He came to an abrupt stop at your table, eyes widening just slightly before he swept into a dramatic bow. “Forgive me, mademoiselle, but I must ask,” He straightened, flashing a devastatingly smooth smile. “how is it that the sea has yet to claim a jewel as radiant as yourself?”

You blinked. Luffy, mid bite of stolen bread, tilted his head. “Huh?”

Nami sighed. “Oh great. One of these types.”

Sanji didn’t even acknowledge her. His focus was entirely on you, as if no one else at the table mattered. “Truly, it is an injustice that you have not been placed upon a throne where only the finest delicacies are brought to you.” He took your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles in a featherlight touch. “Allow me to be at your service, my dear.”

Usopp let out a low whistle from across the table. “Wow, I think that worked on me.”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “I already hate him.”

You, on the other hand, smiled sweetly. “That’s quite the greeting for someone you just met.”

Sanji smirked, tilting his head slightly, fingers still holding yours. “I believe in making an unforgettable first impression.”

“Oh, I’d say you have.” You leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a playful lilt. “I just didn’t realize they were hiring princes here.” It happened immediately. Sanji stiffened. His cigarette nearly fell from his lips. His eyes widened, mouth parting slightly like his brain had just shut off completely. For a split second, it was dead silent.

In a singular moment, His entire face went red, from the tips of his ears down to his collar. Luffy choked on his food. Usopp gawked. Zoro, for the first time since you sat down, looked genuinely shocked.

Sanji stumbled back half a step, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them. “AAh—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I— That’s— You—”

You rested your chin on your hand, watching him with barely concealed amusement. “Something wrong?”

Another malfunction. The pink deepened. He was visibly sweating. Luffy was absolutely losing it. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM? WHY’S HE ACTING LIKE THAT?”

“I—I am NOT—!” Sanji tried to straighten his tie, only to pull it completely loose. His usually cool and composed demeanor had completely crumbled, and he was spiraling. “I—I’ll get your food—YES—I need to—um—”

Quickly trying to gain composure again, turned his head to the side slightly. “Tell me, my love… Do you believe in love at first sight? Because I do now. No, no, I know it. I have spent my whole life searching for something, and today, I have found it in you.”

You smirked, deciding to play along. “Oh? And what exactly have you found?”

Sanji exhaled as if you had just spoken the most poetic words in existence. “The reason my heart beats.”

Zoro groaned louder. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Nami pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are we actually doing this?”

Luffy, still focused on one thing, poked Sanji’s head. “Hey. Can you make us food?”

Sanji finally, reluctantly released your hand, but not without one final lingering touch. Standing up, he smoothed his suit, regaining some composure. “Of course. Anything for you, my love.” Then, to the others, he added flatly, “And I suppose for your friends as well.”

He quickly took your orders, smiling each time giving you a glance and every time it was anyone else at the table who looked more than disinterested. As he sauntered toward the kitchen, he threw one last longing glance over his shoulder at you, pressing a hand to his heart.

“This will not be the last time we speak, my darling.”

You simply smiled, watching him go.

“Well,” you murmured, amused, “obviously it isn’t going to be the last time, he just took our order”

——

The minute sanji joined the crew, He never stopped going for your affection. It started as a casual breakfast on the Going Merry. Peaceful. Normal. Luffy stuffing his face, Zoro half asleep with his arms crossed, Nami sipping her tea, and Usopp telling an obviously exaggerated story. Then, you and Sanji happened. It started small.

“Would you like some more tea, my dear?” Sanji purred, refilling your cup before you could even reach for it. “I couldn’t possibly let someone as radiant as you lift a finger.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, Sanji, you’re too kind.” You leaned your chin on your hand. “If you keep treating me like this, I might just start thinking you really like me.”

Sanji smirked. “Like you? My dear, you are the sunrise to my every morning.”

“Oh? Am I?” You tilted your head. “Because you seem more like sunset to me charming, warm, and the kind of view that makes it hard to look away.”

Sanji’s mouth went so wide in shock. The crew immediately went on high alert. Nami sighed, lowering her cup. “Oh no. It’s happening again.”

Usopp side eyed the both of you. “How long do we think this round is gonna last?”

Zoro groaned, rubbing his temples. “If we’re lucky, one of us will pass out.”

Meanwhile, Sanji recovered, straightening his tie. “Ah, but my dear, you forget I exist to serve. If I am the sunset, then I shall make sure you end every day with a breathtaking view.” He took your hand, kissing your knuckles.

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Sanji, you romantic,”

He grinned. “That’s the mission, sweetheart.”

You leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper. “But tell me, my prince, can you handle it if I fall for you?”

Sanji’s entire body tensed. His cigarette did fall this time. He gawked at you, struggling to form words, ears burning red.

Luffy blinked, mid chew. “Ooooooo sanji is gonna mess up again!”

Sanji snapped out of it. “HAH! No!!” He grabbed your hand again, desperate to reclaim control. “My darling, if you were to fall for me, I’d catch you faster than the wind itself.”

“Oh?” You smirked. “I guess I should be careful, then, since I do like a man who can sweep me off my feet.”

Sanji’s soul left his body.

Usopp threw his hands in the air. “How is he losing at his own game?!”

Zoro smirked. “Arguably has this ever been his game?”

Sanji stumbled back, gripping the table for balance, eyes darting everywhere except at you. “I—I—” He cleared his throat, straightened his tie again (for no reason), and exhaled sharply. “You’re a worthy opponent, I’ll give you that.”

You winked. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I wasn’t.”

The tension was palpable. Luffy just kept eating, completely unbothered, while Nami rubbed her temples like she had a migraine forming.

“This is gonna go on forever, isn’t it?” she muttered.

“Probably,” Zoro said, amused.

And so, as the sun rose higher in the sky, the Flirt War raged on.

——

The kitchen of the Going Merry smelled heavenly. The scent of garlic, sizzling butter, and fresh herbs filled the air as you stood beside Sanji, sleeves rolled up, a wooden spoon in your hand.

“This isn’t so hard,” you mused, stirring the sauce in the pan.

Sanji scoffed playfully, chopping vegetables with practiced ease. “Oh? Then why did you just almost burn the onions?”

You gasped, quickly turning down the heat. “That was one time!”

He smirked. “It’s been five minutes.”

You shot him a glare, but he just chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let you burn the ship down.”

You huffed, but the warmth of his presence next to you was… nice. Comfortable.

He reached over, gently guiding your hand as you sprinkled in some salt. “There. Just a little too much will ruin the balance.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “You know, for someone who might actually be the least serious person ever, you’re oddly serious about food.”

Sanji smirked, but there was something softer behind it. “Cooking isn’t just about food,” he said, voice quieter now. “It’s about taking care of people. Making sure they’re happy, safe, and full.” He glanced at you. “You can learn a lot about someone by what they cook for you and how.”

You tilted your head. “Oh? And what does this say about me?”

He pretended to think, tapping his chin with the knife. “That you’re… lawless, a little reckless, but trying really hard.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

Sanji grinned. “And that you care more than you let on.”

That caught you off guard. Your fingers tightened around the spoon, a warmth creeping up your neck.

He turned away before you could respond, focused on plating the dish. “Alright, taste test.” He lifted a bite of food to your lips, holding the fork expectantly.

You hesitated only a second before leaning in and taking the bite. The flavors burst across your tongue rich, balanced, perfect.

Sanji watched you closely. “Well?”

You swallowed, licking your lips. “Not bad, chef.”

His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before he smirked. “Not bad? That’s all I get?”

You grinned. “Alright, alright. It’s really good.”

Sanji chuckled, stepping back with a satisfied look. “I’ll make a cook out of you yet.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “As long as you don’t mind a little mess in your kitchen.”

His smirk softened. “For you? Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

——

It was supposed to be another harmless round. Another battle of wits. The little game between you and Sanji to see who could make the other fold first.

But somehow, it felt… different today.

The crew was gathered on the deck of the Going Merry, the afternoon sun warming the wood beneath you. Lunch had just ended, and everyone was lounging Luffy hanging off the mast, Usopp fiddling with his slingshot, Nami sketching a map, and Zoro napping against the railing.

And then Sanji had done the thing.

He’d casually brushed your hair back, fingers lingering just a second too long, his voice soft as he murmured, “Ah, mon amour, even the wind envies me for touching you.”

That should have been your cue to fire back. To make him stutter, to turn the tables. But for some reason, your breath caught.

Something in the way he said it something different made your heart do a weird little flip.

You recovered quickly, tilting your head with a smirk. “Careful, chef. If you keep that up, I might start believing you.”

Sanji grinned, but his usual arrogance wasn’t there. Instead, he just looked at youlike he was trying to memorize every detail.

The energy shifted. The crew definitely noticed.

Usopp, watching with narrowed eyes, whispered, “am I crazy or does this feel… tense”

Zoro cracked an eye open. “yes. you are crazy. but no you’re right.”

Nami sighed, setting down her pen. “Finally.”

But you and Sanji were locked in now.

Sanji exhaled, rolling his cigarette between his fingers. “Maybe,” he said, voice lower than usual, “maybe I want you to believe me.”

The teasing smile on your lips faltered just slightly.

Your fingers curled slightly against the railing. As god as your witness, since you first met him it’s been like a drug. But you weren’t about to let him win just yet.

“Is that so?” you murmured, stepping closer. “And what if I told you that I like the way you look at me?”

Sanji stilled, inhaling sharply.

For the first time, you saw him hesitate. Not in the usual, flustered way but in the way someone does when they realize they might be in over their head.

The silence stretched between you. The playfulness was still there, but beneath it was something deeper, something neither of you had expected.

Sanji swallowed, then let out a slow breath. “Then… I’d tell you I haven’t been able to stop looking since the moment I met you.”

You froze. This wasn’t a battle anymore. There were no winners. No losers. Just you and Sanji, standing too close, staring at each other like maybe just maybe this had been real all along.

Neither you nor Sanji moved for a long moment. Then, after a heartbeat, you smiled small, real, genuine.

“Guess we’re both in trouble, huh?” you murmured.

Sanji chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his face warmer than the afternoon sun.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think we are.”

——

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden shimmer across the waves as the crew bustled about, preparing to head into town. You leaned against the railing, arms crossed, watching as Luffy practically vibrated with excitement.

“MEAT! MEAT! MEAT!” he chanted, running in circles around Zoro, who looked one second away from knocking him out cold.

“You guys have fun,” you said, stretching your arms above your head with a content sigh. “I’m just gonna take it easy today. Relax, enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Usopp slung an arm around your shoulder, waggling his brows. “Taking it easy, huh? What, planning on sleeping the whole day away?”

“Something like that,” you replied smoothly, not giving anything away.

“I don’t blame you,” Nami said, adjusting her sunglasses as she stepped onto the dock. “This is the perfect time to get some real alone time without Luffy shouting every five seconds.”

“Oi!” Luffy pouted but was too distracted by the smell of food wafting from town to argue.

Sanji, carrying a basket of supplies over his shoulder, turned to you with a charming smile. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you back anything, my dear? Something sweet? Something special?”

“I’m good,” you assured him, waving them off. “Just don’t spend all our money, Nami.”

She smirked. “No promises.”

One by one, the crew disappeared down the dock, their voices fading into the distance. You watched until they were completely out of sight before turning on your heel, already feeling the anticipation curl in your stomach.

Being on a boat full of mostly men all the time can definitely get to you, especially when you need some alone time, something that is rare and hard to come by. Today, since it was almost certain that everyone would be off the boat, some much needed solitude was in order.

——

Sanji had barely stepped into town when he realized he had forgotten something. He cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he spun on his heel.

“Damn it,” he muttered, adjusting the basket on his shoulder. “I was supposed to grab some containers for dinner tonight.”

The others were already wandering off Luffy sprinting ahead toward a food stall, Zoro heading in the opposite direction (probably lost already), and Nami dragging Usopp toward the market. No one noticed as Sanji veered off, making his way back toward the ship.

The walk wasn’t long, the scent of salt and the gentle rocking of the boat growing stronger as he neared the Sunny. He hummed to himself, mentally running through the ingredients he needed, completely unaware of what he was about to walk into.

He stepped lightly onto the deck, shoes tapping softly against the wood. The ship was eerily quiet, a rare occurrence with their crew. Normally, he’d appreciate the peace, but something about it made his brow furrow.

“(Y/N)?” he called out absentmindedly, though he didn’t expect a response. You had said you were going to relax, probably napping or reading in your room.

Shrugging, he made his way below deck, heading straight for the kitchen but then, out of pure curiosity (and maybe the tiniest bit of nosiness), he paused outside your door. He wasn’t planning on knocking, just listening for a moment, maybe to see if you had fallen asleep already.

That was when he heard it. A soft sound almost like a gasp. Sanji blinked, tilting his head. Another sound. A shaky breath. Sanji’s brain short circuited.

He swallowed thickly, eyes widening slightly as realization hit him like a speeding Sea Train. His hand, which had been halfway to knocking, immediately yanked back like he had been burned.

Oh. Oh.

He should leave. Right now. Turn around, walk away, pretend he heard nothing, and never think about it again. That would be the polite thing to do. The respectful thing to do.

And yet.

His feet refused to move.

A terrible, awful, sinful curiosity rooted him in place. His fingers twitched. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could be happening on the other side of that door.

Sanji squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a step back. Nope. No, no, no. This was bad. He needed to go before

The ship rocked slightly, the floor beneath him creaking as his foot shifted.

And then. The door creaked open. His soul left his body.

——

The room was quiet, save for the sound of your own heavy breathing. The ship rocked gently on the waves outside, the muffled voices of birds flying by, barely audible from the deck. You had thought that you were alone.

Which is why you didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.

Didn’t notice the door creak open. Didn’t realize you had an audience until

“oh my god.”

Sanji’s entire body locked up. Every cell in his being screamed at him to move, to run, to do anything but it was too late. He had already seen too much.

His face turned red at an alarming rate, from the tips of his ears down to his neck. His hands, which had been casually shoved into his pockets, shot up to his face like a man shielding himself from the divine sight he had just walked in on.

His knees buckled. His breath hitched. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out only small, choked noises that sounded vaguely like prayers.

His mind was an absolute mess. On one hand, he knew he needed to leave. Immediately. On the other hand—OH GOD, YOU LOOKED LIKE A DREAM.

The way your skin glowed in the soft light, the way your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the way your expression was twisted in pleasure it was too much.

“I— I— I—” He wheezed. His soul was about to physically exit his body.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with horror. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, realization dawned across your face, your very flustered, very not fully clothed face.

“UH” You scrambled for anything to cover yourself, your face burning hotter than the sun.

Sanji let out something between a strangled gasp and a whimper.

“I— I didn’t see anything!” he blurted, shaking violently. “Well, actually, I did—but I shouldn’t have—but I can’t unsee it now—BUT I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”

“SANJI!”

“YES, MY LOVE?!” His voice cracked.

“GET. OUT.”

That finally snapped him out of his stupor. With one last, absolutely pathetic nosebleed, Sanji let out an inhuman noise, spun around, and slammed the door behind him so hard the ship probably shook.

Silence.

From the other side of the door, you heard a loud crash, followed by weak, lovesick mumbling.

Sanji had absolutely collapsed.

——

After that incident, you had taken your time leaving your room, hoping that by some miracle, he had either forgotten what happened (unlikely) or at least regained enough composure to function like a normal human being around you (even more unlikely).You weren’t hiding from Sanji, exactly.

Unfortunately, the moment you stepped onto the deck, you spotted him.

Or rather Sanji spotted you.The second his ocean blue eyes landed on you, it was over.

His entire body went rigid, as if he had just been struck by lightning. His face already slightly pink from the heat went so violently red that it looked like he was about to self combust.

Then came the nosebleed. It started with a small trickle. Then another. Then a full on gush as the memory of what he had walked in on clearly assaulted his mind all over again.

Sanji wobbled. His legs shook. His breath hitched in his throat, his fingers twitching like he was fighting every instinct in his body.

“Ohhh… oh no…” he muttered, swaying slightly. “It’s happening again… mon dieu… mon dieu…”

Zoro, who had been standing nearby, raised an eyebrow at him. “The hell is wrong with him?”

Sanji let out a pained noise. A whimper. His entire soul was fracturing in real time.

You, watching this, sighed and crossed your arms. “Sanji.”

That was a mistake.

Because the moment your voice reached him, His name floating through your voice, his entire body shuddered, and he collapsed.

Flat on his back. Blood dripping from his nose. Muttering your name like some kind of prayer. The deck went silent.

Luffy, chewing on a piece of meat, blinked down at Sanji’s unconscious body. “Whoa. What happened to him?”

Usopp peered over and snorted. “I don’t know but he’s a perv—”

Zoro scoffed, arms crossed. “Idiot probably deserved it.”

Meanwhile, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…Sanji please….”

Sanji barely conscious let out the softest little, “yes, my love…” before finally passing out completely.

On his side after that second misfortune, Sanji HAD been avoiding you since the incident. Knowing full well how disrespectful he’s being. But also know he fully well will fumble. It was hard to avoid someone when every time he laid eyes on you, his body betrayed him.

Blushes. Stammering. Dramatic nosebleeds. Near death experiences. It had been days, and he was still acting like a wreck.

And frankly? You were done with it. You missed you guys hanging out and making food together.

Which is why, when you caught him sneaking off toward the kitchen, you marched right up to him, grabbed him by the collar of his stupid suit, and your fist cracked against his head.

Sanji staggered, a yelp escaping his lips as he clutched his skull. “OW!—MMa chérie! Why—”

You grabbed his tie and yanked him down so he was eye level with you. “Pull yourself together, Sanji!”

His eyes were spinning. He looked devastated. “BBut, my love—”

WHAM. Another hit. Lighter this time, but still firm. “No more nosebleeds. No more fainting. No more worshipping the ground I walk on like some desperate virgin!”

Sanji sputtered. “BBut I’m not—”

You raised your fist again.

“Okay, okay!!” he yelped, hands raised in surrender. “II will act normal, I swear—”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you sure?”

Sanji swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming at his temple. “YYes, I—”

His eyes flickered to your lips for half a second. Bad move.

You decked him.

Sanji flew like a damn ragdoll, his body went sailing across the deck before he crashed into a barrel with a pitiful THUD.

The crew who had been watching the whole thing winced.

Luffy, still chewing on his food, let out an impressed whistle. “Wow. is this because of the other day?.”

Usopp adjusted his goggles. “Think he’s still alive?”

Zoro, barely sparing Sanji a glance, scoffed. “Unfortunately.”

Meanwhile, Sanji twitched on the ground, a giant lump forming on his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

But despite the pain, despite the pure force of your hit his lips wobbled into a lovesick grin.

“Ohhh… they’re so strong…”

You cracked your knuckles. “Sanji.”

“Right! Right! Acting normal! Got it!!”

———

bustling with vendors and laughter as the crew explored. The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden light over the marketplace. The air smelled of grilled seafood, sweet fruits, and warm bread. It should have been a relaxing outing.

Should have been.

Except Sanji was currently draped over a group of women near a café, all charm and smooth words, flashing that damn heart eyed smile of his.

“Oh, ladies, you truly brighten this already beautiful day~” he cooed, practically melting into the group. One of the women giggled, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers.

“You’re quite the charmer,” she said, batting her lashes.

“I only speak the truth, my sweet,” Sanji replied, reaching for her hand, pressing a light kiss against her knuckles. “How could I not, when standing before such goddesses?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw the back of your skull.

The audacity. The absolute nerve of this man.

After what happened on the ship the way he had short circuited, collapsed, and barely functioned in your presence for days he had the gall to be out here, flirting with random women like it was second nature? Like he hadn’t seen you in the most intimate, vulnerable position imaginable?

Unbelievable.

You stood at a distance, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. You weren’t sure why you were so irritated. It wasn’t like Sanji didn’t do this all the time. This was normal. Standard. A daily occurrence.

But for some reason, today, it grated on you.

Maybe it was because every time you accidentally brushed against him since the incident, he’d combust like a malfunctioning robot. Maybe it was because he couldn’t even look you in the eye without stuttering.Maybe it’s because you missed him

Or maybe it was because, for a moment, just a brief moment, you thought maybe just maybe his affections toward you were different.

Apparently not.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, turning away. You weren’t going to stand around watching him throw himself at strangers all day.

Just as you were about to walk off, you heard one of the women giggle.

“You’re adorable,” she purred.

Your jaw clenched.

Then, without thinking, you spun on your heel and called out

“Sanji!”

His entire body stiffened.

Slowly, almost fearfully, he turned his head toward you. The women glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension.

“Oh?” one of them mused,. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Sanji’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

You tilted your head, arms still crossed.

“Well, Sanji?” you asked sweetly.

——

You weren’t mad. You weren’t. Because being mad would mean that you had some kind of claim over Sanji, and you didn’t.

He could flirt with whoever he wanted. He could call every woman a goddess, get on his knees, offer them his undivided attention like they were the only ones in the world. It was normal.

So why did it feel like a slow burn in your chest every time you heard him do it?

You had no right to feel this way. No reason to let your mood sour. So instead of dealing with it dealing with him you made a choice.

You avoided Sanji. instead? You spent the day with Zoro.

At first, the swordsman had given you a look when you plopped down beside him on the deck, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the ocean.

“The hell do you want?” he grumbled.

“Nothing,” you muttered, leaning back with a sigh. “Just… existing.”

Zoro huffed but didn’t push you away. That was the nice thing about him he didn’t pry. He just let you be.

The two of you ended up training together, sparring to get your mind off things. You let yourself focus on the swing of your arms, the rhythm of dodging, the burn of exertion rather than the twisting feeling in your gut.

For a few hours, it actually worked. Until Sanji noticed. At first, he didn’t think much of it. You were friends with Zoro, sure. He’d seen you talk before, train together. It was fine.

But as the day went on, something started to feel… off.

You weren’t coming into the kitchen to steal bites of food before dinner. You weren’t teasing him like you usually did. You weren’t around him at all.

Instead? You were with him. Sanji was pissy. Not just annoyed. Not just mildly irritated.

Pissy.

And it was your fault.

You, who had spent the entire day hanging around Zoro like he was your new favorite person. You, who had laughed at something the swordsman said actually laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard.

You, who had barely spared Sanji a second glance.

So now, he was chopping vegetables in the galley with the kind of aggression that should be illegal, his cigarette burning low as he muttered under his breath.

Nami, leaning against the counter with her drink, raised a brow. “You’re gonna cut your fingers off if you keep that up.”

Sanji slammed his knife down. “Tch.”

“Oh, somebody’s grumpy.”

“I am not grumpy.”

Nami snorted. “Uhhuh. So this doesn’t have anything to do with you know who hanging out with Zoro all day?”

Sanji scowled. “I don’t care what they do.”

“Right.” She took a sip of her drink. “That’s why you’ve been glaring at the deck for hours.”

“I have not—”

The galley doors swung open.

And there you were.

Sanji straightened immediately, expression neutral, but Nami could see the way his grip tightened on the counter.

You walked in casually, grabbing a piece of fruit from the counter. “Hey, Sanji—”

“Oh,” he cut in, tone clipped. “You remember my name?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah?”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “Thought you’d forgotten, considering how busy you’ve been with moss head.”

You stared. “…Are you jealous?”

Sanji scoffed. “Pft.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Please.”

“You are jealous.”

“I am not.”

You smirked, stepping closer. “Oh my god. You are.”

Sanji turned away sharply, muttering something under his breath as he aggressively stirred a pot that didn’t need stirring.

You frowned . “You’re mad.”

“I am not mad.”

“You’re being all pissy.”

“I am not. would you just” He exhaled sharply, spinning around to face you, his frustration spilling over. “Forgive me for thinking you’d actually want to spend time with me instead of that muscle brained idiot!”

You blinked.

Sanji blinked.

The room fell silent.

Nami slowly sipped her drink, enjoying the show.

“…Wow,” you finally said, crossing your arms. “That was a lot of feelings all at once.”

Sanji ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “I don’t—tch—just—forget it.”

You tilted your head, then, grinning walked right up to him.

Sanji stiffened as you reached up, gently flicking his tie. “Y’know,” you mused, “for someone who flirts with every woman he sees, you sure lose your mind when the attention isn’t on you.”

Sanji’s jaw clenched. “That’s different.”

You raised a brow. “Is it?”

“Yes.” His eyes met yours, blue and burning with something raw. “Because it’s you.”

That wiped the smirk off your face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, with a final scoff, Sanji turned back to the stove. “Just sit down, alright? I made dinner.”

You step back a bit, but your chest felt a little warmer. “ Are you making it just for me?”

He let out a long suffering sigh. “Shut up.”

————

There are endless lists of moments Sanji fell in love with you. Like how he usually took care of people with food. The way you took care of him never ceases to make him love you more. The battlefield was still. The fight was over, the enemy long defeated, but your heart was still pounding.

Because where was he?

Your eyes scanned the wreckage, searching, ignoring the aches in your own body. The second you spotted the familiar flash of blonde Sanji, standing a few feet away, wiping blood from his lip your feet moved.

“Sanji!”

He barely had time to react before you reached him, hands immediately running over his arms, his chest, checking for any injuries.

“Are you okay?” You tilted his face up, frowning at the bruise forming on his cheek. “Damn it, Sanji, why do you never dodge”

A gasp slipped from his lips as he stared at you. “I—what?”

“You always get hit,” you scolded, brushing a bit of blood away from his jaw. “You know you don’t have to take every hit for someone else, right?”

Sanji blinked. It wasn’t like you to fuss over him. Sure, you flirted, teased, challenged him but this? This was new.

“You’re hurt, too,” he finally said, frowning as he spotted the scrape along your arm. His fingers brushed over it, eyes darkening slightly. “You should—”

“I’ll be fine.” You waved him off, still checking him over. “you’re always my first priority, okay?”

Sanji stopped breathing.

The world around him seemed to fade. The sound of the crew celebrating, the distant crash of waves it was all gone.

All that existed was you.

Your hands were still on his chest, completely oblivious to the way his heart was slamming against his ribs.

“…Sanji?”

Your voice snapped him out of it.

He exhaled sharply, shaking off the insane urge to just grab you, kiss you, do something. Instead, he covered his flustered expression with a lopsided grin.

“You really can’t resist touching me, huh?” He smirked, though it was weaker than usual. “I knew you liked me.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder. “Oh, shut up.”

But the way you smiled at him relieved, warm, real Sanji decided he’d let you fuss over him forever.

———

It was the next day and Sanji wasn’t on the ship. He had gone exploring with Nami and Usopp, leaving the kitchen blissfully empty. Normally, you wouldn’t dare enter his domain without permission, but today was different.

Today, you had a plan. You were going to cook for him. Wasn’t it him that said the way someone cooks for people is how you learn about a person or whatever?

It wasn’t anything extravagant just a simple dish you’d seen him make before. But as you stood over the stove, carefully chopping ingredients (only slightly unevenly) and stirring the sauce (definitely not burning it this time), you felt something odd.

Nervousness.

Why were you nervous? You and Sanji flirted all the time, teased each other relentlessly, but this… this felt different. More personal.

You sighed, shaking off the thought. He cooks for everyone all the time. This isn’t a big deal. Except it was, and you knew it.

By the time Sanji returned, the dish was plated neatly on the counter. You were wiping your hands on a towel, pretending not to be hyperaware of how fast your heart was beating.

Sanji stepped into the kitchen, stretching. “Mmm, what’s that smell—?” He froze.

His eyes landed on the plate. Then on you. His brain short circuited.

“Did you…?” He pointed at the food. “Is this—?”

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “Yeah. I, uh… made it for you.”

Sanji’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest wanting come barrelling towards you. His entire face went red. “You—” He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair like he had no idea what to do with himself. “You cooked? For me?”

You shifted awkwardly. “Well, yeah. You’re always the one feeding everyone, so I thought… you know.”

Silence. Then, Sanji dragged a hand down his face, clearly struggling.

You had never seen him at a loss for words before.

You smirked, trying to break the tension. “What, cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”

Sanji looked at you, blue eyes flickering between the food and your face like he was witnessing something too much for his heart to handle.

“You’re… really trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he muttered.

Before you could respond, a loud THUMP shook the kitchen.

“I SMELL FOOD!!”

Luffy’s massive form barreled into the room, eyes locked onto the plate like a starving wolf.

In an instant, Sanji snapped out of his daze. “DON’T YOU DARE, YOU GREEDY BASTARD—”

But before Luffy could make a move, BAM!

Zoro’s arm shot out, holding Luffy back with one hand while the rubber idiot flailed desperately. “LET ME GO, IT LOOKS SO GOOOOD—”

Zoro sighed, straining slightly to hold him in place. “Not this time, moron.”

Sanji cracked his knuckles, looking murderous. “If you so much as breathe near that plate, I swear on everything, Luffy—”

Luffy whined. “BUT I’M HUNGRYYYY.”

Zoro smirked, glancing between you and Sanji. “Let the lovebirds have their moment.”

Sanji choked. You nearly threw the nearest pan at Zoro’s head.

“IT’S NOT—WE’RE NOT—”

Zoro just walked away, still holding a wailing Luffy back. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Enjoy your date, cook.”

The kitchen fell into silence again.

Sanji coughed into his fist, refusing to meet your eyes. You could still see the pink dusting his cheeks.

You sighed, sitting on the counter. “Well. That was dramatic.”

Sanji hesitated, then finally sat across from you. His expression softened as he looked at the meal you’d made.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, voice quieter than usual. “Really.”

You shrugged, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “Just eat it before it gets cold, yeah?”

He smiled. A real, soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

And as he took his first bite, you swore you’d never seen him happier.

Sanji took his time with the meal you’d made for him, savoring every bite like it was the finest dish in the world. He didn’t scarf it down like Luffy would’ve no, he was gentle with it, like he knew how much effort you had put in.

And honestly? Watching him enjoy it sent a strange warmth through your chest. Maybe that’s why he does this.

He set his fork down with a satisfied sigh, wiping his mouth with a napkin before finally looking at you. His eyes held something different now something real.

“That was incredible,” he murmured. “Not just the food. The fact that you… did this for me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it, alright?”

Sanji chuckled, shaking his head. “Too late.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. You could still hear Luffy and Usopp messing around outside, Zoro’s occasional annoyed grunts, the gentle sway of the Merry on the waves.

“Can I ask you something?” Sanji’s voice was softer now, hesitant.

You glanced at him. “What’s up?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down for a moment before exhaling, as if bracing himself. Then, he met your gaze, and all of his usual flirtatious bravado was gone.

“I… want to be with you,” he admitted, voice steady but genuine. “Not just as a game. Not just as some girl I flirt with and move on from. You.”

Your breath hitched slightly. You hadn’t expected this. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, any hint that this was just another one of his smooth lines. But there was nothing just pure, raw honesty.

Still, you had to be sure.

“You say that now,” you murmured, watching him carefully. “But what about the next pretty girl you see? The next chance to throw around your charms?”

Sanji’s jaw tightened. He stood up, stepping closer, his gaze intense. “You think I’d risk everything, risk you for some meaningless flirting?”

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was.

“I don’t just like you,” he continued, voice lower now, more serious than you’d ever heard him. “I adore you. Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you fight, the way you drive me absolutely insane in the best way.”

Your heart pounded.

Sanji’s fingers brushed against yours on the counter, tentative, like he was waiting for permission.

“You’re not just another girl to me,” he murmured. “You never were.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly knocked the wind out of you.

You let out a breath, glancing at your entwined fingers before looking back at him. “…Promise me.”

Sanji didn’t hesitate. “On my life.”

The weight of his words settled between you. Then, finally, finally, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. Sanji froze. His face exploded in red, eyes wide, mouth slightly open like his brain had completely shut down.

You smirked. “Speechless?”

He made a strangled sound, gripping the counter for support. “I—You—Mon dieu.”

You laughed, shaking your head before lacing your fingers through his. “C’mon, lover boy. Let’s go before Luffy breaks in here again.”

Sanji blinked rapidly, trying to reboot his system. Then, he squeezed your hand, a dazed but ridiculously happy smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah,” he breathed, still looking like he couldn’t believe this was real. “Let’s go.”

——

The sun dipped low over the deck, bathing everything in warm hues of gold and orange. The crew lounged, basking in the afterglow of yet another victory. Luffy was inhaling food like he hadn’t just eaten an hour ago, Usopp was dramatically retelling the battle with enough embellishments to make a playwright jealous, and Zoro was leaning against the mast, arms crossed, eyes shut.

And you? You were watching him. Sanji, leaning against the railing, cigarette between his lips, looking effortlessly cool. As always. It was obnoxious. After everything, the battles, the tension, the way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice, you decided… why not mess with him a little?

So, without a word, you strolled up to him, placed a hand on his cheek, and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips. Just like that. Casual. Like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

Then, before he could react, you pulled back, patted his cheek with a smirk, and murmured, “Thanks for being safe, Sanji.” And then you walked away. Silence. Not a normal silence. A deafening, stunned silence. The crew froze. Sanji? Sanji malfunctioned. The cigarette slipped from his fingers, landing on the deck with a faint hiss. His entire body locked up, lips still parted like his brain had left the building.

“HUH???” Luffy choked, rice spilling from his mouth.

Usopp smacked his own face. “Did—did they just—DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

Zoro cracked one eye open, and muttered, “Well, they’re actually doing it.”

Meanwhile, you were casually leaning against the mast, trying very hard not to laugh as you watched Sanji’s brain actively rebooting.

And then Sanji moved. No he stormed straight for you. Before you could react, his hands grabbed yours, yanking you close in one fluid motion. “Oh, you’re dangerous, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

Your smirk faltered slightly. “…Sanji?”

“You think you can just do that?” His hands slid up your arms, firm, possessive. “You think you can just kiss me and walk away? take me serious”

You swallowed. “I mean—”

Sanji cupped your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

His voice dropped, smooth as silk, deadly as sin.“Try pulling something like that again, love, and I’ll make sure you never get a chance to walk away.” Your breath hitched.

The crew? Losing their minds. “OH MY GOD???” Usopp shrieked. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?” Luffy yelled, food completely forgotten. Nami just sighed, shaking her head. “Finally.” Zoro? well that man fell back asleep. For the first time in your life speechless. Sanji? Sanji smirked. Because for once he won this round.

—

You snorted. “Oh please, if I wanted you, you’d already be mine.”

Sanji grinned, tilting his head. “That so?”

“Obviously.” The banter was light, familiar comfortable. The kind of thing that had become second nature between the two of you.

“Oh my god, just sleep together already.”You both froze. Slowly, your heads turned to see Zoro walking past, completely unfazed, his sword slung over his shoulder.

Sanji choked. “EXCUSE ME?”

Your brain short circuited. “WHAT??”

Zoro, not even looking back, just shrugged. “You guys are basically already there. Might as well make it official.”

Sanji exploded.“ARE YOU INSANE?! You can’t just say something like that, YOU ABSOLUTE MUSCLE HEADED JACKASS!” His face was red, You, meanwhile, were dying.

“Zoro, what the hell?!” you sputtered, half laughing, half horrified.

Zoro just yawned. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

From across the deck, Usopp cackled. “He’s got a point.”

Nami, sipping her drink, smirked. “Honestly, we were all just waiting for someone to say it out loud.”

Luffy, in true Luffy fashion, grinned. “wait so are you both…. doing it?”

Sanji made a sound that was borderline inhuman. “LUFFY, NO.”

You covered your face, trying and failing not to laugh. “I hate all of you.”

Sanji, still sputtering, ran a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

Zoro just smirked. “You’re welcome.” And with that, he walked away. Leaving the two of you standing there, stunned, mortified.

—

Most of the crew had gone to sleep, the only sounds left being the gentle lapping of waves and the faint creaking of the ship. You, however, were not sleeping. Instead, you were standing outside the men’s quarters, arms crossed, staring at the door like it had personally wronged you. Because Zoro’s words from earlier were still rattling around in your head.

“Oh my god, just sleep together already.”

The worst part? He wasn’t wrong and that was why, before you could talk yourself out of it, you knocked. There was silence, then a shuffling sound before the door cracked open revealing a very tired, very shirtless Sanji. His hair was messy, his tie discarded, and good lord he was wearing sweatpants.

You almost lost your nerve right then and there.

He blinked at you, rubbing his eyes. “Sweetheart? What are you doing here?”

You cleared your throat, trying very hard to keep your gaze above his collarbone. “Uh. Can I come in?”

Sanji raised a brow but stepped aside, letting you enter. The room was dimly lit, empty besides his neatly made bed and the scent of cigarettes lingering in the air.

He closed the door behind you. “Alright, what’s—”

“I think we should listen to Zoro.”

Sanji blinked. “ew what?”

You took a deep breath, stepping closer. “We should just… do it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sanji.exe had stopped working.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

You crossed your arms, feigning confidence. “You heard me.” Sanji stared. His mouth opened then closed. Opened again. Nothing came out. his face exploded into red.

“WWAIT, HOLD ON, YOU CAN’T JUST—” He covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide like you’d just set off a bomb. “Are you—do you—do you even know what you’re saying right now?!”

You smile, stepping closer. “What, you get to flirt all day, but I can’t be upfront?”

Sanji backed up instinctively, nearly tripping over his own bed. “That’s—! This is—!!”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “What’s wrong, Sanji?”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. His hands were gripping the sheets like a lifeline, breathing erratic. “You can’t just waltz in here and say things like that! I have a weak heart!”

You bit back a laugh. “Weak heart, huh?” You leaned down, tilting your head. “Then should I leave?” Sanji grabbed your wrist before you could even move.

“…Don’t you dare.”

The air in the room shifted. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was how his grip on you had tightened, how the teasing in his eyes had turned into something else entirely.

“…Sanji?”

His hand lifted, fingers tracing gently over your wrist. “You really want this?” His voice was quieter now, more serious.

You met his gaze. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

And with that, your fate was sealed.

Sanji’s lips lingered against your knuckles, the warmth of his breath sending shivers up your spine. His usual playfulness had melted away, leaving something real, something that made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t used to. Your heart pounded. You had started flirting with him all the way back as a joke just to mess with him, to see if he’d break like he always did. But now?Now you were the one who couldn’t breathe. Sanji lifted his gaze, his thumb brushing against your wrist. His voice was softer now, the teasing gone. “Say it again.”

You swallowed. “Say what?”

“That you want this.” His grip tightened, not forceful, but firm. “That you want me.

It should’ve been easy. You flirted with him all the time. This should’ve been just another game, another battle to see who would crack first. But looking at him now the way his lips parted slightly, the way his eyes searched yours with something dangerously close to hope this wasn’t a game anymore. You took a shaky breath. “I want this.” Sanji inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hit him. Sanji inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hit him.

“…Say it again,” he murmured, almost desperate.

You cupped his face, letting your thumb trace over his cheek. “I want you, Sanji.”

That was all it took. A groan left his lips, and before you could process it, his hands were on you gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, his forehead pressed against yours as he shook with the effort of holding himself back.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he whispered, breathless. “Do you even realize what you do to me?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his messy blonde hair. “I have an idea.” Sanji let out a low chuckle then, with a sudden rush, he flipped you onto the bed. You barely had time to gasp before he caged you beneath him, arms braced on either side of your head.

“I’ve spent so long waiting for this,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “Thinking you were just teasing, that you’d never really…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You grinned, hands trailing down his chest. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

Sanji groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder. “God, I love you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Silence. Sanji froze. Your breath caught. “What did you just say?”

His entire body locked up. “…Nothing.”

You smirked. “Sanji.”

He refused to lift his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You totally did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Sanji. Look at me.” Reluctantly, he lifted his head, cheeks bright red.

You smiled. “Say it again.”

He groaned, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

But he still whispered it against your skin, soft and genuine. “…I love you.”

—

It was the next morning the room was dimly lit, the gentle sway of the ship rocking beneath you as you and Sanji were lost in each other. His hands traced along your skin, slow and reverent, as if memorizing every inch of you. His breath was warm against your collarbone, lips trailing lazy kisses up your neck, stopping just beneath your ear.

“Mon amour,” he murmured, voice thick with devotion, “you’re intoxicating, you know that?”

You hummed, fingers slipping through his golden hair, tugging just enough to earn a soft groan from him. “And yet, you’re the one who can’t seem to get enough.”

Sanji let out a breathless chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours. “Can you blame me?” His fingers trailed down your spine, setting your nerves alight. “You’re—” He kissed you deeply, swallowing the words before they could leave his lips. You melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the way his hands held you so carefully, like you were something precious. Every touch, every kiss was a promise one that you could feel down to your bones.

“Sanji…” you whispered against his lips, feeling his breath hitch as you ran your hands down his chest, your own teasing smirk forming as you

SLAM!

“HA! I KNEW IT!”

You and Sanji froze. Slowl horrifyingly you turned your heads toward the doorway. Usopp stood there, eyes wide as saucers, mouth hanging open in pure shock.

A beat of dead silence. Then processing just exactly what he caught and “knew” “OH MY GOD!”

Usopp screamed, immediately throwing his hands over his face like that would somehow erase what he had just seen. “I NEED TO BLEACH MY EYES—OH GOD—WHY—”

“GET OUT!!!” Sanji roared, grabbing the nearest object a pillow and hurling it at him.

But Usopp was already gone, sprinting down the hall at full speed. “NAMI!! I SAW IT! I SAW IT, AND I CAN NEVER UNSEE IT—” The door slammed shut again. Silence. Sanji, breathing heavily, still had his arm mid throw, his face burning scarlet.

You, equally red, slowly buried your face in your hands. “…Well.”

Sanji collapsed back against the mattress, groaning. “Does anyone knock or have courtesy?”

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. “we’re on a pirate ship, I think manners left the minute he stepped on”

From somewhere down the hall, Usopp could still be heard wailing. Sanji groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “…I’m moving to another ship.”

lol my last day of vacation and i’m about to go home but as it is a 10 flight i shall leave you with this. I also reach the text box limit and now some sections look squishy 😔

Sanji: heh... step aside ladies... let a real man handle this (does the exact same thing but worse)

#black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #op sanji #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #sanji vinsmoke #sanji smut

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weaklittlefakeboy · 4 months ago

Text

i’m thinking of a world where men entering adulthood are paired with women entering adulthood and symbolically enter manhood during a public claiming ceremony. during these ceremonies the woman is forced to lay spread eagled on a bed in the middle of an arena- ensuring her spread legs and pussy are able to be seen by everyone in the massive crowd. the man shows his dominance and superiority over the woman- who will become his wife- by fucking and impregnating her in front of their entire town.

you’re a trans man living in this society where this tradition is followed and today is your 20th birthday- you’re entering symbolic adulthood and your ceremony is today. though you perceive yourself as a man in every sense of the word and feel it deep in your soul- your small stature, delicate features, and most of all- bouncy b cup tits and pussy- define you as a woman in the eyes of everyone in your town.

womanhood and the ceremony where you will be fucked and bred are inescapable for you.

you stare blankly at the wall in front of you as your mom and sister fuss over your appearance- dressing you in the traditional ceremonial attire. you look towards the mirror and feel entirely disconnected from the image staring back at you. despite the short hair cut you gave yourself weeks ago- you are dressed in a delicate white sun dress and certainly look the part of the wife you will soon become.

your mom- who went through this ceremony like all women before her- cups your face and smiles “don’t be nervous my darling. it may hurt at first but entering womanhood and submitting to your husband is a beautiful thing. i’m so excited to spoil my grandbabies.” you flush at the reminder of your fate and stay silent. “come, it’s almost time.”

a line of older women who have already undergone the ceremony surround you and lead you in a slow walk through the long hallway leading into the breeding arena. as you walk closer, the noise of the crowd waiting excitedly grows louder. your ears ring with nervousness as you walk through the grand arch and take in the crowd before you. as you walk closer to the center you see the vague outline of your soon-to-be husband walking at a matching pace through the corresponding arch surrounded by men who smirk and shove him playfully towards the bed in the center of the room. the crowd goes crazy at the sight of the man and his new bride- leering and shouting obscenities that blend into one cacophony of noise.

“fuck her!” “make her scream!” “knock her up!”

as you and the man meet in the center of the arena- you get your first look at his face and gasp. your breeder is your childhood best friend, matthew. he was the one person you felt safe enough to admit your transness to. he had held your hand and reassured you through all the pain you felt growing up. and he… looked almost excited?

you took a step back but were shoved forward by your mother who looked at you reassuringly. the priest stepped forward and silenced the crowd with a raised hand. the new hush that fell over the mass of people was almost worse than the yelling. you took in the hungry eyes of the men in the stadium and the almost sympathetic looks from the women. you felt a deep shame and embarrassment that all of these people were about to watch you get impregnated- especially as you began to notice familiar faces. teachers, friends, family. you snapped out of your observations as the priest began to speak.

“we gather here today to witness the coming of age of this fine young man. matthew. here, in this sacred arena where many of you found yourselves not too long ago or will find yourselves soon- we will observe as matthew’s bride submits to his dominance and masculine superiority and becomes his woman and the mother of his offspring- which will become the new generation.” the crowd hums. the man turns towards matthew and his father. “men, prepare the bride.”

your heart pounds in your chest as the women who led you into the stadium excluding your mother- stride away from you. matthew comes towards you and grabs you by the chin- forcing you took up at him as he towers over you. “i’m so happy it was you” he says taking in your attire. “i can’t wait to show you how a real man treats his woman”

you barely have a moment to feel your betrayal before your dress is stripped from your body and you are thrown onto the bed. leaving you bare and exposed to the crowd. matthew doesn’t waste a moment- he gropes your chest, fondling one of your breasts and looking down at you with an unreadable expression. he trails his other hand down your trembling form- pausing at your flat stomach. “i’m going to make you swell with my children, and i won’t stop at one. i want a big family.” you whimper and try to push him off but your hands are pinned by two people behind you. you stretch your head back and flush when you see that they belong to your mother and matthew’s father.

“this is the undeniable place of a woman.” started the priest again as you began to weep “she lies, restrained, underneath the strong form of her man. notice, my people, how weak and fragile she appears under the strength of our young matthew. how he towers over her. the natural place of a woman is submission- while a man feels the urge to dominate and control.”

matthew’s hand makes its way down to your pussy and he wastes no time shoving a finger inside of your quivering hole, thumb playing with your clit. you moan against your will and he smirks. “you can deny you like this and struggle all you want, but your wet pussy, she doesn’t lie.” he began to finger fuck you fast and you throw your head back with unwilling ecstasy. the bed shifts beneath you as your former friend climbs onto the bed alongside you- stroking his growing cock. “i’m going to fuck you so hard, i’m going to make your brain melt and make you forget that you ever wanted anything other than this right here.” he curved his fingers and pressed on your g spot making you squeal femininely and arch your back obscenely. the crowd echoed with laughter that elevated your shame- though you were quickly losing your inhibitions as the pleasure grew stronger.

“look at this” he grabbed your chin once more, forcing you to look down this time. your mouth fell open as you gazed upon his long, thick cock that he rested over your stomach. how would that ever fit inside of you? “this is what real men have. they use it to fuck girls like you. you always whined and cried about how nobody would ever see you as a man- but how could they? look at your stupid little needy pussy weeping for my cock already. you can deny it but this pussy right here?” he slapped it making you gasp “was born for taking cock and receiving a man’s seed.“

he emphasized his point by lining up his cock, making your heart pound in anticipation, before slipping in in one long thrust that forced unimaginably embarrassing noises from your mouth. your eyes rolled back into your head as you were officially submitted. the crowd roared as matthew finally claimed you as his wife and the breeding ceremony began.

arms still restrained above your head, you gasped and moaned like a bitch as matthew began to fuck you. every thrust filled you with warmth and filthy filthy pleasure. “look at me bitch” matthew grunted. you opened your eyes and made eye contact with your husband. “you’re such a good girl. this is the rest of your life, whore. you’re going to give me so many children. you’ll be a good mother.”

matthew’s strong hands grabbed at your waist and he began to fuck you harder, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. the change in angle had your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your jaw dropping. “oh oh oh my god” you moaned. your tongue fell out of your mouth as you felt unimaginable pleasure. you knew then that you had absolutely no power. your mom and matthew’s father kept your arms tightly restrained above your head, his masculine hands caressed your soon to be pregnant stomach, your tits bounced with every thrust of his hips against your ass. you were submitting to him entirely. the thought made you gasp and throw your head to the side.

“fuck yeah, uh. fucking bitch-“ you vaguely registered matthew’s words and opened your eyes to take in the crowd that was watching you be dominated so profusely. the men looked hungrily at your spread legs and fucked out pussy. even the priest looked at you and saw nothing but a woman being put in her place. not one of those hungry eyes were looking at your bouncing breasts and saw a man. matthew seemed to catch your line of thought and laughed as he thrusted in and out of your weeping pussy.

he let go of your lifted leg, resting it on his shoulder, and you were ashamed to say you made no effort to move- too lost in agonizing pleasure and an indescribable loss. he grabbed your throat and looked down at you again. “you’re a woman- MY woman. say it. say it and maybe i’ll let you come.”

“i- i’m your woman.” you gasped as he put more pressure on your neck.

“you were made for me, you will spread your legs for me at my every whim and carry my children. because that was what you were made for.”

he slapped your face and accentuated his words with a hard thrust. the pleasure was building even more now.

“i, oooh, was made for matthew, i will spread my legs for him at his every whim and carry his children. because that was what i was made for.”

“good girl” he said, you nodded and screamed with pleasure as he lifted both of your legs and spread them wide- jostling your whole body with a newfound vigor. “i’m gonna come inside you and make you a mommy, slut.”

those words alone made your back arch and toes curl as you came your brains out on his superior cock. your mind went blank with pleasure. but he wasn’t stopping. you didn’t even realize, but your arms were released from their hold as you climaxed. unrestrained, your arms unconsciously wrapped around your new husbands back as you shook and squealed and finally gave into your role.

“ahhhh, fuck me please keep fucking me. oh my God. please give me your babies i’ll be a good girl i promise please just keep going.” matthew laughed in your ear, the sound deep and full.

“whatever you say, wife.” he pushed your legs down and folded you into a mating press, fucking you hard and fast and- somehow- at the perfect angle. each and every thrust hit your g spot and another orgasm was coming on fast. you couldn’t control the noises that were coming out of your mouth- you scratched lines into your man’s back as the pleasure built up again. he moaned in your ear “i’m close, i’m gonna flood your womb with cum.”

you screamed louder than you’d ever screamed before as you felt your husbands cock twitch inside you and warm jets of cum shot straight into your fertile womb. this climax was even better than the previous and you lay there- the picture of womanliness and submission.

you barely registered your husband pulling out of your used pussy or your legs falling onto the mattress. you were completely fucked out. your tongue lolled to the side as you smiled slightly, eyes glazed over, legs twitching and cum slowly leaking out of you. distantly you heard matthew’s father joking with his son “i guess you really made her brain melt huh kid?”, your mother brushed your hair out of your face and whispered words of congratulations, the crowd cheered and chanted.

but all of that noise faded into the background as waves of pleasure ran through you. maybe being a woman wasn’t so bad after all.

#breeding k1nk #ftm misgendering #exhibition kink #impregnate her #impregnation kink #feminization kink #kind of embarrassing fantasy of mine #detrans #detrans kink #male dominance #female submission #public exposure #k1nk story

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hivemuthur · 3 months ago

Note

Eee sorry about the vague request lol. I'm thinking maybe reader is unknowingly giving someone else a lil too much attention at a house party or something like that and Vik gets jealous and pouty about it and reader makes it up to him 👀👀

Clearly im not great at wording requests lol, I hope this makes sense

Hi! I love you, so after I've written the first part of smut for this, I went to pray to the smut fairy and she gave me more smut :v @rennethen we thank you, we bow to you. And yes, there is no other point to this story than smut, because we had a lot of emotional stuff happening on this blog in the last couple of days :')

Eat Me

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Viktor is jealous, therefore: smut, also dom!Viktor

word count: 3,3K

—

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” you laughed sheepishly at—what was his name again? Mark? Maurice? Never mind, you politely laughed at his joke. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, you had felt Viktor’s hand slip off the small of your back as he walked away to have a chat with Jayce. You could swear you heard a sigh accompanying the action, but the number of people talking at you simultaneously was too great to stir your mind to focus on one thing.

You looked around the room; the party had visibly dispersed into small groups— a few people splayed on the floor, talking in hushed voices; a smoking gang squished on the small balcony; a not-very-promising-looking queue to the bathroom; very loud voices coming from the kitchen, where some groundbreaking conversations were definitely taking place. Exactly opposite you and Mark—or Maurice—Viktor stood leaning on the doorframe, a glass hanging limply from his hand. He seemed very determined not to glance in your direction, no matter how many smiles you tried to send him.

You remained unalarmed until it was Mark’s—or Maurice’s—hand travelling to the small of your back, his mouth closing in on your ear to whisper, “So… can I get your number?”

At that point, Viktor scoffed and retreated into the corridor, out of your sight. You shifted uncomfortably, sliding yourself away from the intruder’s touch, and squeaked, “Eh, sorry, I don’t think… I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it, you know?”

Mark—or Maurice—raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, saying, “Forgive me, I didn’t know. Enjoy the party.” He patted you on the shoulder, his touch immediately shifting from seductive to friendly, his eyes moving from your cleavage to your face, and began snaking deeper into the room, leaving you alone and a little stunned by the windowsill. Huh, that obvious.

You downed your drink and left the glass behind, ready to find the lost boyfriend. You searched Jayce’s cramped apartment room by room, people trying to pull you in for a drink occasionally slowing your progress. Jayce, already moderately drunk and flushed from all the hands invading his personal space, pointed you toward his study. The door was ajar, and a faint glimmer of light was coming from inside.

“Hello?” You peeked your head through the door, only to see Viktor slumped behind Jayce’s desk, engrossed in a book. He didn’t look up at you and only threw you a dry, “Hello,” in return.

“Tired of the crowd, hmm?” you hummed after slipping inside and leaning over the desk opposite him. Your fingers tapped on the wood, awaiting a reply, only to be given the cold shoulder in the form of a quiet, dismissive hum. “Well, do you want to go home?” you tried again, inching your fingers to sneak under his sleeves, and Viktor shuddered.

“Home? No, I am quite content where I am. Also—” he paused as his eyes landed on your hands before retreating further into the chair to avoid your touch. “You seemed quite content with where you were as well,” he retorted, flipping to the next page.

“I’m not sure I quite follow?” You gave him a puzzled look, hoping he saw at least a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. “Viktor?” you asked, splaying yourself all the way across the desk to pluck the book from his hands. “Why are you not looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands frozen in the air exactly where the book had been a second ago, and finally did look at you, at which point you started to wish he hadn’t.

“You were in quite stimulating company, no? Has Gregory abandoned you that you decided to pay me a visit?” Ah, yes, Gregory, not Mark or Maurice. He gave you a cold stare and an unforgiving smirk, and you choked on a snort.

“Excuse me? Viktor, are you being jealous?” You were now both leaning over the desk, playing a game of stares. Viktor blinked first but made it look like he had won.

“From where I was standing—and I will add that it was many different angles I got to observe—he was quite ready to eat you all right up,” he cocked his head to the side and left you to deal with the statement.

“Eat me? We were just talking,” you said, pointing your finger between the two of you to accentuate that, up until some point, Viktor had also been a part of the conversation. Realising the new round of the staring game had just begun, you relented, “Still—that’s completely irrelevant, as the only person I would wish to eat me is you.”

“That’s very unfortunate then, given that I seem to have lost my appetite.” Viktor took the opening and squeezed it dry. He picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to sink back into reading.

You straightened, taken aback by this... ridiculous display of mistrust. A smile played under your nose as you circled around the desk, turned the chair to make Viktor face you, and leaned in to touch his mouth with yours. “Are you sure I can’t even interest you in a snack?” you murmured against his lips, placing a lingering kiss there.

Viktor didn’t move, and soon you felt the handle of his cane poking at your stomach, beckoning you away. You shot him a questioning look and moved the cane aside with your hand, only for it to return to where it was, his eyes still fixed on the book. “I said, I am not hungry,” he said, his tone feigning exhaustion.

“Really? Are you telling me you would rather read—” you paused to take the book away and glance at the cover, “Jayce’s journal, rather than quit this pointless display of sulk and spend some time with me?” You held it expectantly in your hand, bemused.

“Yes. And give it back now.” He leaned forward, his hand reaching for the tome, only for you to swing it behind your back and move your body so your face met his.

“What will I get in return?” you asked sweetly, your breath ghosting his cheek. But Viktor wouldn’t give in. He shifted away, gluing his spine to the chair’s backrest.

“How about freedom to roam the party as you please, with whomever you please? Ah, right, apologies—it seems you already took that opportunity,” he mused, his tone almost annoyed as he kept his hand extended, expecting the stolen good to be returned.

“Viktor—” you scolded, growing more and more impatient. The book dropped to the desk with a thump, and before Viktor could reach for it, you straddled his lap, ignoring all the huffs of protest and palms trying to push you away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face to his, whispering into his ear, your voice needy and keen, “What I want is my man to stop sulking. I can apologize, if you let me.”

Viktor hesitated until his hands rested on your hips, the rest of him still frozen in place. “I’m listening,” he muttered, causing a satisfied smirk to bloom on your lips.

You took the cue and slid your palms flat onto his chest, tugging at his collar. “Well, how would you like your apology to be served, mister?” You licked at the seam of his mouth and sucked on the crown of his upper lip. Viktor allowed it but still wouldn’t engage much, keeping his façade of a man who was hurt. Your tongue travelled down to his jaw, then up to the pulse point below his ear. Finally, you were rewarded with a shudder and a sigh. “Hmm, that seems to be working, no?”

“I’d say your little stunt requires some more remorse to be shown for me to forgive you entirely, my girl,” he murmured, his hands squeezing your hips in tandem with a grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Remorse, huh? I might know one universal way to repent,” you said, sliding off him to the floor, your knees resting on the carpet between his feet, your fingers already tugging at the buckle of his belt. “I’ve heard begging on one’s knees can work wonders.”

He uttered a quiet fuck along with your name, eyes fixed on yours, as you beckoned him to lift his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs. His thumb brushed on your lower lip as he gave you a thoughtful look. “Show me. How sorry you are.”

You smiled and propped your hands on his hips, as you leaned in to tease him. His cock was still soft, twitching slightly under your breath. You began to place lingering kisses across his length, all the way from his balls to the tip, not moving it from the crease of his hip where it rested. Then, you flipped it to the other side with your nose and proceeded to do the same, from the top to bottom, watching it harden after each peck.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into your hair, as he pressed his hips into your face and rasped, “I will have to see some more initiative if you want me to believe you.”

You immediately responded with opening your mouth and letting him drag his half-hard length on it, his cock now splayed between your mouth, side of your nose, the tip resting somewhere around your eyebrow, smearing your own spit all over your face. Viktor’s brows pinched together, his lips parted into a toothy smile as he sat back down. “Good,” was the only praise you got so far, and you felt yourself aching for an addition of girl next to it.

Your kisses deepened, more passionate and lingering on the base, your tongue reaching down to his perineum, releasing a startled chuckle somewhere from the depth of his chest. You cocked your head, taking the side of his cock between your lips and started dragging it leisurely up and down, pausing to tease a sensitive spot below the head with the tip of your tongue.

Viktor remained still, his hand resting tangled into your hair, the other gripping the arm rest tightly as his eyes followed your every movement. You glanced up to meet his gaze—blown pupils, cheeks already flushed, lips shining from constant licking. Pleased with the view, you took him in your hand and patted the head of his cock on your flattened tongue, baring your teeth in a smile when his eyes rolled back, and he gave you a quiet ah sound as a reward.

“I feel like you are enjoying it far too much for a proper atonement,” he smirked. Before you could respond, he gripped your hair tighter, motioning your head to rest on his lap, as he slid himself inside your mouth. You groaned against him, grabbing his forearm and he only tsk-ed at you. “Bad girl. Tongue out, breathe through your nose,” he commanded, and you immediately obliged.

He fucked your throat steadily, retreating right before you were about to gag, soft praises falling from his lips. He watched himself appearing and disappearing between your lips and the hand that was previously whitening at the armrest travelled to cup your face and caress your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch and let the drool roll out of your mouth onto his thigh, your breath heavy through your nose as you tried to even out its rhythm with the one of his thrusts.

He retreated to rub himself all over your face, smearing your makeup in the process. “So pretty like this,” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Are you sorry?”

You nodded, looking at him from under glued eyelashes. And Viktor looked so in love you couldn’t help a smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Let’s apologize some more, are you ready?” he asked hoarsely, already lining himself against your mouth. Wordlessly, you opened, splaying your tongue out, coating your teeth with your lips to avoid any accidental scratches. He pushed himself deeper, tickling your uvula, while plugging your nose with his fingers and holding you in position.

“Are you sorry?” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, and you nodded, as much as you could. Obediently, you stayed for as long as your breath allowed you to, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, before patting his thigh three times, and Viktor released you with a loud groan, spit glistening on his length.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and you felt something perking up inside you as you reached back out for him to suck on his head. He leaned in the chair, granting a few languid rolls of his hips into your mouth, whispering quiet praises when you gagged yourself on his cock. Undying affection seeping from his eyes, from his touch, pumped air into your lungs, when your nose couldn’t.

“Will you be a good girl and eat me up?” he asked, feeling the lance of lust twisting his guts, his movements speeding up, his breath hitching and you mumbled something sounding like a yes against his thrusts.

His body curled in, hands cupping your face, thumbs digging into your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You felt him hitting the back of your throat a couple of times, drool leaking out with each movement in and out, before his stomach tensed up and he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum, distantly whispering “Yes, yes, good girl.”

You swallowed the salt of him, not letting him out, making sure to lick down every last drop. Viktor shuddered, suddenly overstimulated, and gently pulled you up to sit back on his lap. The thin layer of your knickers so wet it almost disappeared as your cunt pressed on his softening cock. He licked his thumb to clean the smears of mascara cascading down your cheeks and murmured, “You did very well. I forgive you,” before kissing you on the mouth lovingly.

A giggle forced itself out of you, as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “Were you really so upset?” You asked quietly, tracing your fingers up and down his chest.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, massaging the nape of your neck. “I wanted to see how willing you would be to apologize though.”

“You are such a bastard,” you smacked his chest and bit his neck, making him wiggle and wince underneath you. “Now you have to apologize to me.”

“If you accept apologies delivered while laying on my stomach, I am willing,” he stated with a shit-eating grin. His expression softened, when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Well, tricked!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m alright. Pleasantly full, I might add,” you added with a smirk and placed a peck on his lips. “You?”

“Eh, quite alright myself. Pleasantly devoured, though slightly hungry,” he mused, nipping at your lip, before deepening the kiss. You felt breathless again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, when you mustered some strength to pull away and breathe into his mouth, “I might have something to eat for you when we get home.”

“Or—” Viktor cocked his head, eyeing your knees with a knowing smile.

“Or… what?” You arched your brow, knowing exactly where this was going. Viktor licked his lips.

“What if I am too hungry to wait? Would you accept my apology now?” He asked and his smirk deepened as he tapped your hip three times signalling you to stand up. “And maybe lock the door? For a good measure. Unless, of course, it was a part of your little plan.” His eyes feigned innocence as he played idly with the hem of your skirt, and you could feel your face flush red. Of course, the door was still ajar.

“R-right,” you stuttered sheepishly and went to lock it, your legs wonky. You almost skipped coming back to where Viktor’s finger was pointing on the desk. He let you in between him on a chair and the edge of the wood and pushed his palms flat underneath your skirt to yank your knickers down to your ankles. You shuddered at the sensation of the material ungluing itself from you.

“Up,” he commanded and once you were seated, he leaned down to pick up your underwear, sniff it obscenely to finally put it in his pocket. Your eyes were so transfixed on the action, that the touch of his hands under your knees startled you, as he scooted the chair closer to the desk and hooked them over his shoulders.

And then he paused, eyes staring at your weeping cunt, his breaths deep and steady as he inhaled your scent. “To think you would let this waste and make me wait until we get home deserves a punishment in itself, I might say,” he murmured and the hot air coming from his mouth fanned your skin. His flat palm travelled up from your navel to your stomach, pressing you to lay down.

He didn’t wait for your spine to meet the desk fully, so when he dived in, the back of your head hit the wood with a quiet thump. His tongue stroke a rapid lick along your seam before coming to your clit with a chuckled hum of approval. A very vocal moan pushed itself past your mouth and you were grateful to your past self for closing that door. Soon your voice pitched higher as you breathed an incomprehensive, “Ah, Viktor,” while trying to bring your hips closer to his face, but his grip on you rendered it utterly impossible. His licks, fast and precise, caused your thighs to shake on his shoulders.

His hand slid from pressing on your stomach down to your navel, his thumb brushing your clit, when he asked hoarsely, “And what do we say to a Gregory, next time we meet him, hm?”

Completely confused and frustrated at the sudden change you managed to rasp, “Who?” and Viktor chuckled warmly, straight into you. “Good girl.”

His tongue slid down to your entrance, giving you shallow thrusts, while his thumb rubbed even circles on your clit, keeping the previous pace. Another thump of your head, fingers whitening at the edge of the desk as you tried desperately to move underneath him.

He began to deepen his movements, pressing his face hungrily into your cunt. Feeling your walls closing down on his tongue and mouth, his thumb picked up the pace. And you felt it so strongly, the orgasm wrenched out of you, built up by the last hour of apologizing on your knees. You felt it down to your toes, your heels digging into Viktor’s ribs as he hummed into you, drinking you all up, and keeping your thighs hooked with his arms. Only when you patted his shoulders blindly, he released you, placing one last kiss on your pubic bone.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling shakily, your chest heaving. You heard him getting up, allowing your legs to hang limply from the edge of the desk, as he circled around it, and took your jaw in his hand. He leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the mouth and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Am I?” you murmured against his lips, and he smiled again.

“Not sure. You might want to check again at home.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 3 months ago

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[6:18 pm]

(cw: f!reader, profanity, mentions of alcohol, insecurity, jealousy)

You thought you'd already met all of fratboy!Jaehyun's friends, and that felt like a real accomplishment because well, there was so many. There were his frat brothers (not just friends, he'd corrected you), his friends from his business classes, the guys he worked out with, the guys he played sports with, the baristas he talked to the most, and his best friends from childhood. But this was a group of friends you hadn't even considered. His friends from high school.

Apparently they hadn't been all that close in high school, but upon coming to the same university, they grew closer. It was comforting to have a few familiar faces around and a taste of home when they missed it. So here you were with Jaehyun at a pizza parlor a few blocks away from campus surrounded by friends that went to the same school as you as well as a few people that came to visit for the weekend.

You didn't feel nervous as you got ready for the night, didn't feel off put when you walked into the bar at Jaehyun's side, didn't even feel the slightest bit anxious when you started meeting and talking to all these new people. They were easy to talk to. They were kind and funny and with all the alcohol that was flowing through the bar and the crowd, they were infinitely easier to connect with. Now you knew why Jaehyun had stayed friends with them for so long.

And it was fun while it lasted. A pair of late comers walks into the bar and one girl you recognize from a poli sci class you took in your second semester and the other girl... the look on Jaehyun's face tells you he knows her very well. They come around and introduce themselves and it all makes sense when she shakes your hand and introduces herself as, "Hana." Oh.

Hana. Hana, Jaehyun's ex-girlfriend. Hana, Jaehyun's first and only love. Oh. Oh shit.

Surely, you had to be imagining the way her and Jaehyun and Hana embraced for too long. Or imagining the way Jaehyun and Hana giggled over something after speaking in hushed tones. Or maybe the way Hana rushed through her greetings of everyone else from high school only to return to Jaehyun to continue their private, quiet conversation.

She was pretty too. Her makeup was flawless, a glowy base, a perfect wing, her gloss was the perfect undertone for her skin tone, and her eyelashes were long and she wasn't even wearing fake lashes! She didn't have a single hair out of place on her head, in fact it looked like hair right out of a shampoo commercial. Silky, shiny, and down to her waist. Her outfit was cool, but not in a 'I'm trying hard to be cool' more in an effortless cool way.

You self-consciously ran a hand over your hair. You thought you looked good when you left the frat house. Taeyong had told you as much and he was one of the most stylish guys you knew and Yuta had helped you fix your hair. You felt pretty when you left, but next to Hana? You weren't so sure.

How was it that you felt like you were suffering from boyfriend air and Jaehyun wasn't even your fucking boyfriend? Your hair wasn't smooth like Hana's, last you checked, your makeup had already settled into your smile lines, and when you met Jaehyun he just didn't look at you the way he looked at Hana!

Why were they just standing at the counter, ignoring everyone around them, laughing like nothing?! Was he flirting with her?! Had he just been anxiously awaiting her return?! Were you just the space filler for when she came back?! And why the fuck was he looking at you now?! And why was she?! And she was looking at you with her perfectly lined and glossed lips and a sweet smile?

The girl from your poli sci class walks over and Jaehyun walks over to you. He smirks at you from the rim of his glass. He smirks at you like he knows that something you don’t know. And when has that ever been the case? You’re the one on the Dean’s list, not him.

“You’ve been staring at Hana and playing with your hair for like 5 minutes now,” he stated lowly as he took the now empty seat beside you.

“No I haven’t.”

“You have though, sweets,” Jaehyun presses on, leaning in close to you so you can smell his cologne.

“And how would you know? Have you been looking at me?” You ask sarcastically.

“I’m always looking at you, sweets,” he replies, pressing a kiss against the apple of your cheek.

Your heart skips a beat as your face flushes hot, but you can’t shake the pout from your face. How could he have been looking at you when your eyes were on him the entire time? Well… on Hana. Hana and her perfect hair and immaculate makeup and cool outfit—

“Sweets, tell me what’s going through your head?” Jaehyun asks you softly. You break your staring contest with the painting on the wall and turn instead to look at Jaehyun. The smug look on his face has disappeared and turned into a look of something tender and warm.

You feel embarrassed, uneasy, and self-conscious, and frankly, you don’t want to be having this conversation here! Or at all! You had to try to be open with Jaehyun though, if you wanted this to progress into something more, and you did. You really did want something more with him. You take a deep shaky breath and exhale, “are you going to leave me for Hana?”

“W-why would you say that?” Jaehyun asks with wide eyes, eyeing the group around the both of you to make sure no one is listening.

“Jaehyun, you told me she was your first love. Her hair is straight out of a salon-grade shampoo commercial, her makeup looks like a professional did it, and she was your first love! You didn’t even tell me why you both broke up but we’ve been— us for a while now and she’s just so wow! I’m just me and maybe seeing her reminded you of some hidden feelings,” you ramble in a passionate whisper, “And she just waltzed back in here and the two of you just fall back into whatever routine you had.”

You drop your forehead into your hands, feeling overwhelmed by your confession but unable to stop yourself, “and you… you don’t look at her the way you look at me and I hate it. You guys have like this undeniable chemistry.”

“Sweets, her and I are broken up and I like you. I like you a lot, sweet girl,” Jaehyun starts, cupping your cheek while looking deep into your eyes, “can you stop comparing yourself? You’re beautiful, sweets.”

“Well, not as beautiful as Hana. Like, I have the same jacket! And I don’t look like her when I wear it! I look like some middle schooler trying to be cool. She’s so effortless,” you pout as you throw your hands up with frustration.

Jaehyun chuckles deeply, cupping your cheeks and leaning forward until his lips are on yours. A simple peck. One, two, three, four… countless pecks against your lips until you become a soft, pouty mess in his hands. “Her hair is mostly extensions,” Jaehyun states simply.

“Huh?” You ask with a furrow your brows.

“Well, you keep talking about her perfect hair and it’s not even fully hers. Her clothes aren’t hers, it’s her older sister’s and she and I are distant friends, acquaintances if that.”

“Come on, Jae! Be a girl's girl, don't shame her for that. It doesn't mean she looks any less pretty. Plus, people go from friends to lovers all the time! Or even exes to lov-”

Jaehyun places his hand over your mouth, “Hana and I broke up because she left me for her neighbor… who was a girl. She and I were together from the beginning of high school and right up until the very beginning of our last year. I call it love because it felt like love at the time. Maybe looking back now it was more like infatuation. I do not, have never planned on, don't plan on, haven't even thought about taking her back since she came out to me."

Your face flushes hot with embarrassment as he finally drops his hand, placing the softest kiss against the tip of your nose, "I like you, sweets. I like you a whole lot. Beyond the fact that I'm not her type anymore, she and I were never going to work out in the end. That break up led me to you, so I can't even be mad about it. You're amazing, kind, beautiful, sweet, and smart. What else could a guy want? Are you feeling better now?"

You pout at him, still feeling embarrassed by your fit, "yeah, I guess."

He chuckles, leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss against your pouty lips, "do you think some ice cream would fix it all right up?"

"Maybe if I called Haechan and he hyped me up I'd feel better," you joke, batting your eyelashes up at Jaehyun.

"Not fucking happening, sweets. Let's get you some ice cream."

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qwimblenorrisstan · 4 months ago

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(back again, passed all my midterms and finally getting antidepressants😝, this is a VERY Johnny centric chapter)

tw: depression, lotta angst but aftercare this time, mentions of neglect, courting, mentions of bullets, being shot, medical treatment, rehabilitation, forced cuddles (but needed), hitting head against stuff, lots of whining, biting, scratching

It was wrong, he knew it.

He hadn’t been there originally, too cooped up in a sterile medical room, the harsh, stinging scent of a scent blocking spray burning his nostrils till he couldn’t smell anything at all. Mushy food he could barely shove down his throat, only tolerating it so they didn’t shove a feeding tube down his throat. Lukewarm water that tasted suspiciously like painkillers.

His head throbbed, the bullet having already been pulled out as soon as he was wheeled into the emergency room, doctors crowding around, yelling, ordering. Too much noise, in his opinion.

Especially when there was already so much going on in his head.

Everything had been fine, until it hadn’t been. He’d heard of a replacement on his team for him, temporary, they’d said, because of his medical suspension. He only had to get through a few months of physical therapy and a few medical tests before being thrown back onto the field.

He originally hadn’t known what to think. Simon had come visited him, told him of the strange alpha there, how quiet they were, how meek. The Ghost seemed to see it as a weakness, but Simon almost talked like he appreciated it, regardless of his annoyance.

“Tryin’ to replace you, well it isn’t working.”

He’d grumbled, making sure not to say anything the camera would pick up. Any mention of something potentially “triggering” could set Soap off, he’d been told. If he said anything toeing the line, he could be removed or banned.

Johnny had been intrigued at first, at the thought of a new alpha, seeing as there weren’t many in the SAS program. Especially not an American, on a British team. His thoughts were filled with the Southern twangy accent, “soda”, “chips” instead of crisps, arguments over soccer and football and which was which.

But now, months after the initial incident with Makarov, he’d recovered just in time to watch everything crumble and to try and help clean up the mess. You didn’t know him. Maybe that would give him a fresh start with you, maybe you’d like it.

He was still fucked in the head, voices whispering until he’d hush them, snappier, a bit angry at how much space he took up, but he supposed that you might be a bit fucked in the head too, just in the opposite way than him.

But as he’d crept up to your room in the middle of the night, slowly cracking the door open, he still felt it was wrong. There was no medical expert here if something went wrong. This was his riskiest bomb defusing yet, it felt like an all or nothing situation.

The room was practically dripping with a sour and pungent smell of distress and the unmistakable scent of depression, the feeling seeming to press down on him like a heavy weight, as if he was hundreds of miles underneath the sea, nearly being crushed by the pure atmosphere.

As he closed the door behind him with a small click, he heard rustling, the sound of those uncomfortable paper textured blankets the military provided, and a little sniff, before it stopped. He stood still as could be, trying not to wake you just yet, hoping he would be able to make more out of you when his eyesight adjusted.

Only the tiniest sliver of moonlight snuck through the small window in the room, though it was covered by a blanket. Gaz had updated him on the syndrome, how it meant no bright lights.

Soap didn’t consider himself a genius, but he didn’t think it was a great idea to just submerge you into complete darkness and sight deprivation with no warning. Especially not while you were struggling.

He rolled from the ball of his feet to the sides, heavy boots not even on, only his red and green socks that his sister-in-law had bought him for secret Santa one year donning his feet as he moved quietly. Carefully grasping the blanket covering the window, he brushed it aside a little more, more gentle light flooding the room as a beam landed on near the side of the bed, allowing him a bit more vision of you.

And when he finally turned and managed to see you?

His heart dropped.

Your eyes were puffy from crying, corners red and eyelids tightly shut as if to block everything out. Your lips were downturned, almost as if whining even in sleep as you seemed to pant somehow quietly. As if not to alarm or alert anyone despite your own suffering.

What really got him was the way you were curled up, arms and legs wrapped tightly around in a ball as if to protect your vital organs, your paper thin blanket maneuvered around as if to resemble a nest. He could barely see you, considering you were underneath the bed. Hidden.

The blanket seemed to resemble the nest you’d been kept from entering, and shunned from by his own pack.

He couldn’t help the whine that slipped out of him at his own distress of seeing you, you clearly distraught, hair greasy and tangled, clothes dirty, not even having enough energy to care for yourself. If only the scent of your emotions in this room alone had been enough to almost crush him, how close were you to being smashed between the weight pressing in on you?

Or had you already been crushed, and none of them had even cared enough to notice?

A flood of anger burner through his veins hotter than any pain he’d experienced on the job as he saw the clear signs of his pack’s neglect of you. Simon had visited him multiple times a week, but hadn’t even tried with you. Price had pulled the strings to get him better food in the med wing (even if it had still been bad), but he hadn’t cared enough to even provide proper materials for you to make a faux nest? Gaz had brought him sketchbooks and helped him feel comfortable in physical therapy, but hadn’t even tried to court you with any of the special gifts he had done with Price when first joining?

It was unfair. Unbelievable, to think the grown men who had done so much, saved so many lives, sacrificed everything to save the world, wouldn’t even give up their pride if it meant welcoming a new member to the team.

It was discriminatory, to dislike you purely because you were an alpha. It was unfair to dislike you purely because you were a replacement.

He watched you squirm a bit, maybe reacting to his scent unconsciously. He knew he couldn’t smell the best, not when he had been around a sterile hospital for months. Maybe the cocoa butter Vaseline that the physical therapist had used on him would cover it a bit, though.

He crept closer, hand reaching out, before pulling back again as he hesitated, shifting onto his knees in front of your bed, before just laying down on his side to see you under it. His breathing grew a bit shaky due to anxiety as he reached out, brushing his hand against yours, watching your brows furrow unconsciously as you mumbled something.

It was only when he slipped his full hand into your surprisingly calloused palm that your eyelids fluttered, and you jolted awake, yanking away from him with your teeth bared back, a wild animalistic fear in your eyes. A low growl that reverberated through his bones came out, and he understood in that moment that you weren’t just a bomb he had to defuse.

You were a high value target that wasn’t afraid to fight back, not just some stationary object he wanted to fix. This wasn’t a defusing mission, it was more a complicated stakeout, where all he could do was make careful moves, waiting for you to take the initiative.

However, as you pulled harshly away from him, your head reared back and slammed into the metal frame above you. A pained whining groan slipped out, and Soap couldn’t take it anymore.

Mission be damned, stakeout be damned, his instincts got the better of him yet again. The exact reason he’d taken a bullet to the head. But he found that he would risk taking another bullet to the head if he could just comfort you, let you know that you weren’t alone, that he understood.

It was a worthy risk, in his opinion.

He grabbed part of your shoulder, putting his foot against the bed frame and lifting up, and pulled you right out from under.

His arms wrapped around you, even as you struggled and hissed, desperately trying to mask the pain in your scent with what he could tell was poorly produced anger. The littlest hint of comfort he could smell, that seemed to lighten the atmosphere just a bit.

He held on, even as you clawed at him, and bit his arms (which he might’ve enjoyed, just a little bit), he held on. He held on because he’d always had people holding onto him, Price, Gaz, and Ghost, with their vice grip that held him and their pack together.

They had failed to hold onto you, so he would.

And eventually, you stopped struggling. You went a little bit limp, whined a bit more as your head must’ve been throbbing (he knew how that felt), before finally, finally leaning the slightest bit into him.

Johnny didn’t need to be told that the next few months would be difficult. That the pack would struggle and go through hardships they hadn’t yet faced before. Hell, it had already been strained since his injury. He had gone through months of rehabilitation, and still wasn’t the exact same.

But as he lied on the cold floor with you in his arms, leaning just the tiniest bit into him, he knew that the both of you could heal together, even if from completely different things.

At least he was drowning with you, instead of being alone.

(idk how to feel about this tbh, I think I put too much symbolism since I wrote it in one take while in a mood, but I wanna play roblox so just gonna post this and dip)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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jhyoos · 1 month ago

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Guns & Lace

outlaw!abby x rich!reader

mentions: modern au!, 1800s au!, romance, fast pace, hints of homophobia, sex in barn, forbidden love trope, kissing, reader comes out to family, violence, shooting, readers father is the sheriff

summary: you have a secret relationship with one of the most wanted woman in the country.

notes: im ovulating so the romance and smut is a little too over the top.

You were the daughter of the town’s esteemed sheriff, a symbol of grace and perfection molded by the expectations of high society. To the townspeople, you were nothing short of divine—each appearance sending ripples of admiration through the crowd. A new dress, a shimmering necklace, or simply the glow of your porcelain skin under the sun was enough to make them sigh in awe. Your mother ensured you lived up to this image, shaping you into the perfect lady with a delicate yet unyielding hand. Every morning was a lesson, every evening a test—how to curtsy at just the right angle, how to smile without showing too much teeth, how to keep your spine straight even when the bones of your corset dug deep into your flesh.

You liked being a lady, or rather, you liked the beauty of it. The elegance, the fine silks that draped over your body, the glint of candlelight against your jewelry—all of it had a certain enchantment. But there was an unspoken weight that came with it. The corsets were suffocating, the carefully practiced posture left your muscles aching, and the shoes—oh, the shoes—were a punishment wrapped in luxury. Worst of all, you were expected to endure the sharp tongues of high society with nothing more than a polite smile and a veiled retort, never truly allowed to bite back. Even horseback riding, one of the few freedoms you had, was made into an ordeal by layers of lace and ruffles that always found a way to tangle in the saddle. You wanted more. You craved more.

And then, as if the universe had heard your silent plea, she arrived.

No one knew who she was—not yet. But you did.

You had heard your father speak of her in hushed yet furious tones, piecing together the stories, the rumors, the scraps of information collected from frightened witnesses and unlucky men who had crossed paths with her. A woman built like a warrior, golden-haired, with a gaze sharp enough to cut. A leader. A ghost. A legend. Abby Anderson.

And there she was, in the grandest ballroom of the year, standing among politicians and the wealthy elite as if she belonged. Her suit was crisp, fitted in a way that made her broad shoulders even more imposing, yet she moved with an ease that suggested she was not the least bit intimidated by the opulence around her.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched her. You should have been terrified. But terror was not what you felt.

Her eyes found you.

She smirked, slow and deliberate, as she strode toward you, weaving effortlessly through the dance floor until she stood close—too close.

"Didn’t think I’d meet an angel at a place like this," she murmured, her voice a low hum, thick with something dangerous.

Your throat went dry. You knew who she was. You knew what she was. And yet—

"And I didn’t think outlaws got invited to presidential balls," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you expected.

Her smirk deepened. "You wound me, sugar. I’m no outlaw. Just a woman who knows how to walk through the right doors."

The heat of her presence was intoxicating. Every brush of her fingers against your sleeve, every lingering glance, sent a thrill rushing through you. You should have left. You should have turned away.

But you didn’t.

"You shouldn’t be talking to her."

Your mother’s voice sliced through the moment like a blade, and before you could react, she was there, her gloved hand gripping your wrist tight enough to leave marks. "Go dance with one of your suitors, darling. This one is… not our kind."

You barely had time to process the loss of Abby’s warmth before your mother was dragging you away, her nails digging into your skin through the delicate lace of your gloves.

She didn’t stop until she found an empty hallway, away from prying eyes. When she finally released you, she was fuming, her lips pressed into a hard line.

"Women like that," she spat, as if the words themselves were poison, "are not fit for society. They’re unnatural. Filthy. Do you understand me?"

Your stomach twisted.

"I have seen what happens to girls who entertain… that kind of company," she continued, her voice low and seething. "They end up outcasts. Ruined. And I will not have you ruin yourself over some broad-shouldered brute pretending to be a man."

You felt like you had been struck, though she had not laid a hand on you. Shame and anger warred inside you, tightening your throat.

"She was just talking to me," you whispered, though you knew it didn’t matter.

Your mother scoffed. "She was corrupting you," she corrected. "And you, foolish girl, were letting her."

She took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as if that alone could erase the conversation. "Now, go back inside. Dance with someone respectable. And do not let me see you near that woman again."

With that, she turned and disappeared back into the ballroom, leaving you alone, trembling with something that was not fear—but something much more dangerous.

And then—

"Well, that was somethin’."

You spun around, your pulse hammering in your ears. Abby leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You—"

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her voice softer now, intimate. "Figured she wouldn’t like me much. Pity. I like you plenty."

The air between you was thick, electric. You should have run. You should have turned and gone back inside.

But instead, you did something reckless.

"Abby," you breathed.

She froze.

A flicker of surprise passed over her face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something slower, something deeper.

"You know who I am," she murmured, more statement than question.

"My father—"

"I know who your father is," she interrupted, taking another step closer, so close you could see the flecks of green in her stormy eyes.

You swallowed hard. Your name was on the tip of your tongue. And before you could stop yourself, you gave in.

"My name is—"

"I know who you are," Abby cut in, her voice a low whisper, tinged with something that made your breath hitch.

She lifted her hand, fingers grazing your jaw, slow and deliberate. The moment stretched, thick with unspoken words, with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t.

A slow smile curled at the edges of her lips.

"See you around, angel," she murmured before turning, disappearing into the shadows.

And for the first time in your life, you wanted to follow.

The memory of that night at the ball clung to you like the lingering scent of roses after a storm. No matter how hard you tried to push her away from your thoughts, Abby Anderson remained, etched into your mind like an ink stain that refused to fade. You saw her in the flickering candlelight of your bedroom, in the whispers of the wind that slipped through the cracks of your window, in the ghost of a touch that never truly left your skin.

You had danced with suitors, entertained polite conversations, played your role as the perfect daughter of the sheriff, but none of it mattered. Not when your mind drifted back to her. The way her voice curled around her words, the way her fingers had ghosted over your wrist like a promise, the way she had looked at you—like she saw something worth stealing.

And clearly, she couldn’t forget you either.

It was a late night, the kind where the world was quiet, draped in darkness and secrets. You had slipped away from the manor, seeking solace in the gazebo overlooking the still waters of the estate’s lake. The moon painted silver ripples on the surface, casting a reflection so serene it almost made you forget the cage you lived in—the beautiful, gilded prison of your family name.

You leaned against the wooden railing, letting the cool night air kiss your skin, lost in your thoughts.

How did one move on from someone like Abby?

A soft sound behind you sent a shiver down your spine. The rustle of fabric. The faintest scuff of a boot against wood.

And then—

A tap on your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

You turned, pulse hammering in your ears.

And there she was.

Abby stood before you, half-drenched in moonlight, her golden hair tousled by the breeze, her piercing eyes drinking you in like she had been searching for you just as desperately as you had been searching for her. She looked so effortlessly out of place in the elegance of your world, a predator among painted dolls. And yet, she fit so perfectly in the darkness, in the forbidden spaces where only the bold dared to wander.

"How—" Your voice came out breathless, barely above a whisper. "How did you get in here?"

The manor was a fortress, guarded at every entrance. Even you, the daughter of the sheriff, had to be mindful of your steps. No one got in without permission. No one.

She smirked, slow and wicked, like she held all the answers to the questions spinning in your head.

And then—

She kissed you.

It was sudden, overwhelming, the warmth of her lips stealing the breath from your lungs. She tasted of something untamed, something wild and dangerous, and yet you melted into her like she was the only thing keeping you standing.

The question of how she got in, how she had managed to slip past the guards, the locked gates, the watchful eyes of your mother and father—it all faded away.

This was your answer.

Abby Anderson had a way of taking exactly what she wanted.

And tonight, she wanted you.

The moment her lips met yours, the world ceased to exist. The cold night air, the distant hoot of an owl, the flickering lanterns lining the garden path—none of it mattered. All that mattered was her.

Abby kissed you with a certainty that sent a thrill down your spine, her hands finding purchase on your waist, pulling you flush against her. She wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful—no, she kissed you like she had waited a lifetime for this, like she was staking her claim, like she had been searching for something and finally found it in you.

And you let her.

You melted into her, your fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as if letting go would send you plummeting back into the carefully constructed life you were supposed to live. The life where you were nothing more than the sheriff’s perfect daughter. The life where women like Abby Anderson were nothing but a whispered warning from your mother’s lips.

But here, under the moonlight, in her arms, you were something else. Someone else.

She broke the kiss, just barely, her lips still ghosting over yours as her breath fanned against your skin. You were dizzy, lips tingling, chest heaving, but she only smirked—pleased, confident, as if she knew exactly what she had done to you.

"Still wondering how I got in?" she murmured, her voice teasing, yet thick with something deeper, something that made your knees weak.

You swallowed hard, staring up at her, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. "I should be worried," you whispered, though your grip on her hadn’t loosened in the slightest. "If you can get in this easily, what’s stopping someone else?"

"Sweetheart," she drawled, thumb brushing against your waist in slow, lazy circles, "no one else is as good as me."

Your stomach flipped.

She wasn’t lying—she was a ghost, a legend, the woman your father had spent months trying to track down. She had no face on wanted posters, no official name in bounty records. She was a whisper, a shadow, and yet here she was, standing before you, real and solid, her hands warm against your body.

"You shouldn’t be here," you finally said, though the words had no weight behind them.

She chuckled, dipping her head just enough that her lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "And yet, you don’t seem too eager to send me away."

Damn her. Damn her and that voice and the way she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

Your silence was all the answer she needed.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at you properly, her hands never leaving your waist. In the dim light, her expression softened—not entirely, not enough to strip away the sharp edges that made her who she was, but enough for you to see something real in her eyes.

"I haven’t stopped thinking about you," she admitted, her voice quieter now, more serious. "Since that night at the ball."

Your breath hitched.

Neither had you.

Every fleeting thought, every stolen moment, every memory of her touch had haunted you. But hearing her say it—knowing she felt the same—it sent something dangerously close to hope blooming in your chest.

"You’re going to get caught," you murmured, though it wasn’t a warning. It was a fear. A truth.

She smirked again, tilting her head. "Then I guess I better make this visit count."

And before you could say another word, she kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, as if sealing a promise neither of you had spoken out loud yet.

You lost yourself in her.

The taste of her, the feel of her—Abby was fire and sin wrapped in something dangerously intoxicating, and you drank her in like you’d been starved your whole life. The kiss was slower now, deeper, her hands firm on your waist as she pulled you closer, leaving no space between you. It was different from before—less about staking a claim, more about savoring.

And you let her.

The night wrapped around you like a well-kept secret, the moonlight spilling through the gazebo casting silver streaks across her face. You could see the way her brows furrowed, the way her lips parted against yours, the way she let out the faintest sound when your fingers found their way into her hair.

You could’ve stayed like this forever.

But forever was a fragile thing.

A distant sound—rustling in the trees, the crunch of gravel under boots—sent reality crashing back into you.

Your eyes flew open. “Abby,” you whispered, a warning in your tone.

She didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she lingered for a second, pressing one last kiss to your lips, softer this time. Like she knew this moment was about to slip away.

When she finally leaned back, her hands stayed on you. “You expecting someone?”

You swallowed hard. "No, but my father has men patrolling the estate."

Her jaw tensed slightly, the rogue in her sharpening. “Damn. They’re getting better.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. The thought of your father’s men finding her here, of her getting caught, of what would happen if your father realized his own daughter was sneaking around with the very outlaw he had been hunting—it sent a cold dread down your spine.

"You need to go," you whispered urgently.

But she just smirked, tilting her head. "You trying to get rid of me already?"

"Abby," you hissed, stepping back, but she only followed, hands finding your waist again, keeping you close.

"You worried about me, sweetheart?" she teased, but there was something softer underneath, something real.

You scowled. "I am when my father wants your head on a spike."

Abby hummed as if considering that. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

"Abby."

She sighed, but her smirk never fully faded. "Alright, alright." Reluctantly, she let her hands fall from your waist, stepping back into the shadows of the gazebo. "But I’ll see you again."

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Your stomach twisted, a mixture of fear and something else, something dangerously close to excitement. “You shouldn’t.”

She grinned. "That never stopped me before."

With a last lingering look, she melted into the darkness, disappearing as easily as she had arrived.

And as you stood there, breathless, pulse still hammering, you realized something terrifying.

You wanted her to come back.

Ever since that night, you and Abby fell into a dangerous, intoxicating routine.

Every few nights, when the house was quiet, when the guards had long settled into their rounds, you would slip out of your room and make your way to the gazebo. And every time, without fail, she would be there.

You never saw how she got in—never heard the crunch of boots on gravel, never caught the flicker of movement in the shadows. She simply appeared, like a ghost summoned only by your presence. Sometimes she was already leaning against the railing, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk tugging at her lips. Other times, she’d wait for you to turn, wait for the moment your back was to her before grabbing your waist, making you gasp as she chuckled softly against your ear.

She lived for the way you reacted to her.

And you lived for the moments you could be near her.

It started with stolen kisses—rushed, heated, lingering. Pressed against the wooden posts of the gazebo, hands tangled in fabric and hair, trying to take as much of each other as you could in the fleeting moments you had. Abby kissed you like she was afraid you’d slip through her fingers, and you kissed her back like you were terrified this was all just a dream.

But over time, it became more than that.

It became whispered conversations under the moonlight, words meant only for each other. Abby told you about the world beyond your gilded prison—the vast open lands, the hidden saloons where no one asked questions, the thrill of outrunning the law. And you told her about your world, about the weight of expectations, about the loneliness that came with perfection.

She listened.

She always listened.

And slowly, without meaning to, you started leaving little pieces of yourself with her.

It began one night when she ran her fingers through your hair, idly twirling a loose strand between her calloused fingers. “This is nice,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Without thinking, you pulled the lace from your hair, the one your mother insisted you wear to keep yourself "presentable," and tied it around Abby’s wrist instead.

“There,” you whispered, running your fingers over the delicate bow. “Now you have something nice too.”

Abby looked at it, then back at you, something unreadable flashing in her gaze. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. The way she leaned in and kissed you told you everything.

After that, it became a habit.

A bracelet, one of the many you had been gifted but never wore, found its way around her wrist. A pocket square embroidered with your initials, tucked into the inside of her coat. Small things, things no one would question if they saw you without, but things that meant everything when you saw them on her.

And then, one night, you gave her something more.

It was a simple photograph, a small portrait taken at your father’s insistence. In it, you were poised, elegant, the very image of the sheriff’s perfect daughter. But when you handed it to Abby, her fingers brushing yours as she took it, her expression softened in a way you had never seen before.

“You carry this around with you?” she teased, though her voice was gentler than usual.

You swallowed, unsure why your hands suddenly felt clammy. “I thought… maybe you’d want something to remember me by.”

Abby stared at you for a long moment, thumb brushing over the edges of the photo. Then, carefully, she tucked it into the pocket of her coat.

“I don’t need this to remember you,” she murmured. “But I’ll keep it anyway.”

And when she kissed you that night, it was different—slower, deeper. Like she was savoring you. Like she was memorizing every part of you.

Like she already knew she’d never be able to let you go.

The ride around town with your father had been uneventful—quiet, almost peaceful if you didn’t know any better. The streets bustled with familiar faces tipping their hats or offering polite smiles as you and the sheriff rode past, your father a man well-respected, and you… the pristine daughter of law and order.

You played your part well, as you always did, nodding, smiling, waving when expected. But inside, an uneasiness clawed at your chest, an unshakable feeling that something was coming.

And then, as you returned to the estate, it came.

Your father helped you off your horse, his hands steady as ever as he guided yours away from the reins. “I’ve set up a meeting with an eligible bachelor for you tomorrow morning,” he said, voice calm, firm—unchallenged.

You felt your stomach drop, but you kept your face carefully composed as he continued.

“He’s a nice man. From Italy. Nice oceans, views, new culture…” His eyes met yours then, serious. “And most importantly, you’ll be safe there. You will marry him.”

Your lips twitched into a practiced, obedient smile. It was all you could do. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as he reached out, pulling you into a brief hug.

He kissed the top of your head. “I have to go back to the office. I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, his words final, before mounting his horse and riding away, leaving you standing there in the settling dust.

The moment he was out of sight, your composure cracked.

You barely made it up the path before the tears slipped free. Silent, burning, bitter. You pulled off your gloves as if they, too, suffocated you, your pace quickening toward the manor. A few ranch hands caught sight of you but said nothing. They knew better.

But someone did speak.

A hand grabbed your arm, yanking you off the main path and into the barn. Not just any barn—the hidden one, the one your father used for storing crates of moonshine, whiskey, and whatever else kept his business running behind closed doors. The flooring was clean, meant for storage, not animals, and it smelled of wood, liquor, and secrecy.

You already knew who it was before you saw her.

And when you turned, breath shaky, it was confirmed.

Abby.

She stood in the dim barn light, her sharp blue eyes scanning your face, immediately locking onto your tears. Her expression hardened, concern creasing her brows. “What happened?”

That was all it took. The moment she spoke, you broke.

A sob tore from your throat as you crumpled into her arms. She caught you, strong and steady, pulling you close without hesitation. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

You buried your face into her coat, voice muffled, breaking as you confessed, “I’m getting married really soon… and I’m leaving to Italy.”

Abby stilled.

Her entire body went rigid, the grip on your waist tightening for just a second before she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her hands still framed your face, thumbs brushing at the wet streaks beneath your eyes.

Her voice was low, dangerously calm. “What?”

You sniffled, trying to keep yourself together. “I don’t wanna get married… I don’t want to leave you, Abby.”

There. You said it. The truth, raw and trembling between you.

Something dark flickered in Abby’s gaze. Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. “Who decided this?”

“My father.” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper.

Abby let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. “Of course.” She shook her head, her grip on you never loosening. “And you’re just… going along with it?”

You looked away. “What choice do I have?”

Abby inhaled sharply through her nose, exhaling like she was trying to control herself. “He says I’ll be safe there,” you continued, your voice small. “That it’ll be good for me.”

Abby scoffed. “Safe?” Her eyes burned into yours, piercing, fierce. “You think a gilded cage in a foreign country with some man you don’t even know is safety?”

Tears threatened again, but you held them back this time. “It doesn’t matter what I think. My father has already decided. It’s happening tomorrow.”

A silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating.

Then, Abby spoke, voice low and steady.

“No.”

You blinked, frowning. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, stronger this time. “You’re not marrying him. You’re not leaving. You don’t want this, so you’re not doing it.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Abby, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.” Abby stepped closer, her hands tightening on you, grounding you. “You don’t belong to him. Or to anyone. And I’ll be damned if I let him take you away from me.”

Your breath hitched.

Abby exhaled, calming herself, her voice gentler when she spoke again. “Look at me.”

You did.

Her eyes softened, but the fire in them never dimmed. “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Abby nodded, her jaw set, her grip firm. “Then run away with me.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

Abby leaned in, forehead nearly touching yours. “Run away with me. Tonight.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Run away. With Abby. Leave everything behind—your father, your family, the only life you had ever known.

It was reckless. Impossible.

You didn’t know what to say.

The words sat heavy in your throat, tangled in doubt and longing, in fear and hope. Every possible response warred inside your mind, but nothing came out. You were terrified—terrified of the unknown, of leaving behind everything you had ever known, of stepping into a future so uncertain.

But then there was Abby.

Abby, whose presence made your heart race. Abby, whose touch set your skin on fire. Abby, who had become the only thing that made sense in your world of suffocating expectations.

You loved her. That much was clear. And being with her… being truly hers—it would make you happier than anything else ever could.

She must have seen the hesitation in your eyes because she didn’t push for an answer. Instead, she kissed you.

Soft at first. Patient. But the moment you melted into it, the moment your lips moved in sync with hers, it turned into something deeper, something more.

Her hands found your waist, gripping you like she was afraid to let go. Then, her lips left yours, trailing down the curve of your jaw, then lower, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your neck. Each one sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

A small gasp escaped your lips when your back suddenly met the rough wood of the crate behind you, bottles clinking faintly inside. Abby was against you now, her hands roaming, her body pressing closer, her mouth working against the sensitive skin of your throat.

Then, fingers toyed with the buttons of your blouse, and in one smooth motion, she undid them, peeling the fabric from your shoulders.

Your breath hitched.

“Abby, wait…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

She stilled immediately, lifting her head to meet your gaze. Concern flickered across her features, her hands halting their movements. “What’s wrong?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her coat as you hesitated. “I—I don’t know how to do this… Especially not with a woman.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, Abby’s expression softened, and a slow, reassuring smile curved her lips. “That’s okay,” she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll lead the way.”

There was no judgment in her voice. No impatience. Just quiet understanding.

Then, she kissed you again.

Abby kissed you slow, deliberate, like she was savoring every second. The warmth of her breath fanned against your skin as she trailed soft kisses down your collarbone, her hands resting firmly on your waist as if grounding you, making sure you stayed with her in this moment. Your body was tense beneath her touch, not from fear, but from the unfamiliarity of it all—the thrill of stepping into something you had never allowed yourself to consider before.

Her fingers traced the bare skin of your arms, slow and careful. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against your shoulder, her voice a mix of amusement and tenderness.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled back slightly, her piercing blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t have to,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Her words were comforting, but they didn’t stop the nervous energy buzzing inside you. You wanted this—you wanted her—but the weight of everything, the years of being told how you were supposed to act, how you were supposed to be, left you hesitant.

“I just… I’ve spent my whole life being told what I should do, what’s expected of me.” You exhaled, your fingers gripping the fabric of her coat. “This—you—it’s the first thing I’ve ever actually wanted for myself.”

Abby’s expression softened, and she reached up, cupping your face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “Then let yourself have it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

She kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as if silently reassuring you that there was no rush, no expectations—just the two of you in this hidden space, stealing time before the world could take you away from her.

Her hands moved again, featherlight against your skin, tracing the curve of your spine before settling at your waist. The warmth of her touch sent another shiver down your body, and you found yourself gripping her wrists, not to stop her, but to hold onto something real, something steady.

“I want this,” you finally whispered against her lips, and you felt her smile.

“Then trust me.”

Abby had undressed you. She was able to find some blankets in the barn and locked the barn from the inside. Your legs was resting on her shoulders as she devoured you like you were her last meal.

She licked up your folds and clit repeatedly before sucking on your clit. She moaned against you, enjoying the taste of you which only sent vibrations through you, making you jerk.

She held your thighs caressing them, her muscles flexing as the sunlight from the holes of the barns relflected onto them. She looked beautiful, like your own personal god.

The feeling was foreign to you, but you couldnt deny that it felt amazing, making soft whimpers and quiet moans.

You were trying to be quiet as there was still farmhands and guards patrolling the manor, but Abby wasnt helping at all as her tongue made it's way inside of you. You gasped loudly as your hand made it's way to her hair.

"Ha! Wait!," you moaned out, as you felt tongue move around inside of you, her hand moved down to your clit, rubbing it in circles with her thumb.

You bite your lip as you looked down at Abby, who was looking at you. You two made eye contact as she continued to move her tongue in and out of you.

The intense eye contact was soon broken when Abby pulled away and kissed you, eagerly. You could taste yourself on her as you kissed her back.

Two of her fingers found their way into your entrance, making you gasp against her mouth. Her fingers moved around inside of you stretching out your walls as you clenched around them.

She notices it and kisses your forehead as she starts to move her fingers in and out of you. "Does that feel good?," she asks.

"Yeah. It feels really good," you whined out.

"You're so beautiful," she says as she uses her other hand to grope one of your boobs, pinching your nipple before putting it in her mouth.

You whined as you grinded against her fingers "Please...,"

"Please what, babygirl?," she asked, before putting your nipple back in her mouth.

"Move your fingers faster, please," you begged.

She responsed by fingering you faster, the sound of your pussy juices faintly filling the sound of the barn.

You put your hand tightly to your mouth, muffling your moans. You had to be quiet, knowing farmhands and patrol was right outside.

Abby unlatches from your nipple, moving your hand and kissing you. The pace of her fingers got fasters which you didnt even think was possible, your hand went to her bicep, your nails digging into her arm.

There was a tight feeling in your gut, felt like you almost needed to pee the pressure of it was painful yet pleasurable. It made your wall clench tightly around her fingers again.

"Cum for me," she says in between your lips.

Just like that you came, gasping and moaning in Abby's mouth as she slowly finger fucked you.

When you came down from your orgasm, she pulled away. She put her hands around your waist, rubbing her hands up and down. "Did you like it? Your first time?," she asks.

"Yeah," you say "You're really good with your fingers."

Abby chuckles before getting up and getting your clothes. "Come on so you can go back before your parents start wondering where you are."

The morning light poured through the grand windows of the sitting room, casting a golden hue over the pristine furniture and polished floors. You sat still, painfully still, dressed in the most suffocating gown your mother had chosen for you. It was a delicate shade of ivory, lace wrapping around your arms and corset laced far too tight, restricting every breath you took.

The weight of your elaborate hairstyle made your head ache, strands pulled and pinned with too many clips, too much perfume clouding your senses. You felt more like a decorative doll than a person, meant to sit pretty and obedient as men discussed your fate.

The Italian man had arrived promptly, dressed in fine fabrics, his dark hair slicked back with precision. He was handsome in a distant, statuesque way, with sharp features and an air of entitlement. But it was clear from the moment he walked in—this meeting wasn’t about you. It was about what you represented.

Your father and the man spoke easily, exchanging pleasantries and discussing business affairs. Your mother sat beside you, a tight smile on her face, pleased that everything was going smoothly. You had barely been acknowledged beyond your father listing off your ‘best qualities’—your grace, your talents, your ability to be a good wife.

It was only when the Italian man turned to you directly that you felt truly seen, though not in the way you wanted.

“You are very beautiful,” he said in a thick accent, his gaze sharp as it swept over you. “And tell me, what makes you a good wife?”

You forced a polite smile, the words coming from your lips like they weren’t your own. “I am skilled in embroidery and music. I can manage a household, and I have been trained in etiquette and diplomacy.” You swallowed the bitterness threatening to rise in your throat. “I will be a loyal and dutiful wife.”

Your mother’s approving smile widened. Your father gave you a satisfied nod.

The man hummed, taking in your words with an impassive expression. Then, he turned to his mother, an older woman draped in luxurious silks, her beady eyes watching you with scrutiny.

“Stand up,” the man instructed.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but under your mother’s expectant gaze, you obeyed. Rising to your feet, you folded your hands neatly in front of you, waiting.

“Turn around.”

The request sent a cold wave of humiliation down your spine, but again, you complied, slowly spinning in place as if you were nothing more than a product being inspected.

His mother tilted her head, her lips pursed as she examined you. Then, she spoke.

“She’s a good weight, nice hips—good for baby-making,” the older woman noted, her voice firm, clinical, as though she were evaluating livestock. “And her skin… it’s perfect.”

You stilled, blinking as the words settled in.

Good for baby-making.

Perfect skin.

Your hands clenched at your sides. Your lips parted, but no words came out. You had no words, no way to express the sickening feeling curling in your stomach.

They weren’t looking at you as a person. You were nothing more than a vessel, a means to an end—a bride to be sent away, a future mother to bear their lineage.

Your mother beamed at the woman’s words, clearly proud. Your father nodded in satisfaction.

And you?

You wanted to scream.

But instead, you simply smiled. A perfectly practiced, empty smile.

Because that’s what they expected of you.

After what felt like hours of conversation—most of which you weren’t even part of—the Italian man finally reached into his pocket, retrieving a small, elegant box. Your breath caught in your throat as he flipped it open, revealing a ring so extravagant it nearly blinded you under the chandelier’s glow.

The band was gold, thick and heavy, adorned with a massive diamond at its center, surrounded by smaller shimmering gems. It was undeniably beautiful, but as he delicately took your hand, sliding it onto your finger, the weight of it felt suffocating. A symbol of ownership rather than devotion.

He smiled, pleased by the sight of it on you. “A fine ring for a fine wife,” he said, holding your hand a little too long, his fingers pressing firmly against yours. “I will return in a few weeks for the wedding.”

Your heart dropped, but you forced yourself to nod, your expression carefully composed.

Your mother was practically glowing with pride, while your father clapped the man on the shoulder, a hearty laugh escaping him. “A fine match,” he declared. “You’ve made an excellent choice.”

The man chuckled, giving you an approving look. “Yes, I believe I have.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat.

The farewell was quick, formal. You and your parents stood at the grand entrance of the manor, bidding him goodbye as he prepared to leave for Italy once more. His mother gave you a final once-over, satisfied, before stepping into the carriage.

And then, before leaving, he turned back to you.

His arms wrapped around you, his embrace stiff and firm. You barely had time to react before he leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek.

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Your skin burned where his lips had been, not from warmth, but from the sheer discomfort of it. You managed a stiff smile, whispering, “Farewell.”

He stepped back, nodding at you one last time before climbing into his carriage. The horses stirred, the wheels creaked, and just like that, he was gone.

The moment the carriage disappeared down the road, you let out a quiet breath, your hands trembling at your sides. The weight of the ring on your finger felt unbearable.

Your mother turned to you, sighing with delight. “What a wonderful day,” she mused, clasping her hands together. “You should be honored, dear. A future in Italy, with a respectable man, a prosperous family. It’s everything we could have wanted for you.”

Everything they wanted.

You simply nodded, feeling the cold wind against your skin, wishing—praying—for something, anything to stop this.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting silver light over the still waters beyond the gazebo. The air was thick with the scent of blooming gardenias, and the distant hum of crickets filled the silence. You sat at the wooden table, hands folded tightly in your lap, heart hammering against your ribs. You knew she’d come. She always did.

And she did.

Abby emerged from the darkness, her boots light against the wooden floor as she stepped toward you. But the moment she saw the glint of gold on your finger, her stride faltered. Her jaw tightened, and for the first time, she hesitated before coming closer.

“You’re actually engaged…” she murmured, her voice low, almost hollow.

You inhaled sharply. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “He never asked.” You pulled the ring from your finger, the heavy weight of it leaving an imprint on your skin. You set it down on the table between you, as if casting it away would make it mean less. “The ring is nothing, Abby.”

Abby didn’t sit. She stood there, tense, her gaze fixed on the ring as though it might attack her. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” she muttered, arms crossed, muscles flexing beneath her worn shirt.

Your throat felt tight. “I love you, Abby,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. “I love you so much. And I wish—God, I wish—I wasn’t who I am. Maybe then… we could be together.”

Abby’s gaze snapped to yours, her eyes dark with something unreadable. She stepped forward, closing the space between you in two long strides. Her calloused hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks, and you melted into her touch, leaning forward as if she could hold you up.

“We can be together,” she said, her voice fierce. “Right now. You just have to come with me.”

Your breath hitched.

“Run away with me.”

Her words lingered in the air like a prayer, like a promise. The temptation of them curled around you, warm and intoxicating. The idea of freedom—of being hers, only hers—was almost too much to bear.

But then reality clawed its way back in. The expectations. The duty. The eyes that followed you everywhere. Your father’s voice, your mother’s hands arranging your hair, the weight of their hopes pressing down on you like an iron cage.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. “Because, Abby… my duty is here.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her fingers slipping from your face. “Duty,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “And what about you? What about what you want?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

She stepped back. “They hold you up so high,” she muttered, voice laced with something bitter. “So high you can’t even breathe.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not that easy,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “It never is.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unbearable truths. The weight of your confession hung in the air, suffocating, as if the very walls of your gilded cage were pressing down on you. Abby stood there, fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight, her breath uneven.

She was furious—not at you, never at you—but at the world that refused to let you have each other. At the people who decided your fate before you even had a chance to.

Her fingers flexed like she wanted to reach for you, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned away, dragging a hand down her face. “You say you love me,” she muttered, voice raw. “But you won’t fight for us?”

Her words cut through you like a blade. You shot up from your seat, hands trembling. “You think I don’t want to fight?” you snapped, stepping toward her. “You think I don’t lie awake at night, dreaming of running away with you? Of never looking back?”

Abby turned to you, her expression softening. You sucked in a breath, fighting the lump rising in your throat.

“I have spent my whole life being who they wanted me to be,” you whispered. “If I leave, I will be ruining everything they built for me.”

She took a step closer. “But you’d be free.”

You swallowed hard. “And you’d be hunted.”

That was the other cruel truth. Even if you ran, even if you somehow escaped the eyes watching your every move, Abby would never stop running. She may not have been on wanted posters yet, but that wouldn’t last forever. You knew your father—knew how ruthless he was. If he realized who Abby truly was, if he found out you left with her… he’d never stop looking.

Abby shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do!” you blurted out, your voice cracking. “I care if something happens to you. I care if they put a bullet in you because of me.”

That stopped her.

Her shoulders fell slightly, and for the first time that night, you saw something like defeat in her eyes. It terrified you.

“You really won’t come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart twisted painfully. “I can’t.”

Her eyes searched yours, looking for something—hope, hesitation, anything to hold onto. But she must have found nothing, because she exhaled sharply, stepping back.

“Then this is it, huh?” she murmured.

Your lip quivered. “I don’t know.”

Abby studied you for a long moment before nodding to herself, as if coming to terms with something. She took a deep breath, looked up at the stars, then back at you.

“If you ever change your mind,” she said, voice steady, “I’ll be waiting.”

Tears burned your eyes as she turned, disappearing into the darkness.

This time, you didn’t stop her.

Days bled into weeks, and Abby never returned to the gazebo. You told yourself it was for the best, that this was the life you were meant to live, but every night, when you lay in your lavish bed, staring at the ceiling, you felt hollow.

The day of the wedding arrived faster than you wanted.

The grand estate was transformed into a spectacle—flowers draped over the balconies, silk banners rippling in the breeze, and the scent of expensive perfume and freshly baked pastries filling the air. Townspeople gathered beyond the estate gates, desperate for a glimpse of the sheriff’s daughter marrying into wealth, while esteemed guests filled the halls, sipping on imported wines and exchanging pleasantries.

Your mother was all smiles, fussing over your gown, ensuring every stitch was in place, every curl of your hair perfectly arranged. She beamed at you in the mirror, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“You look perfect,” she said, voice thick with pride.

You looked at yourself—the gown, the jewels, the poised expression you forced onto your face.

Perfect.

Then why did you feel like you were drowning?

Your father entered the room, nodding approvingly before offering his arm. “It’s time.”

You walked through the estate with him, each step feeling heavier than the last. The grand doors opened to reveal a courtyard full of people, all rising to their feet, their eyes on you. Music played, a soft melody meant to feel like a dream, but it felt more like a funeral march.

At the end of the aisle stood the Italian man—your husband-to-be—dressed in the finest suit, his family standing beside him. He smiled at you, but you barely saw him.

Your mind was elsewhere.

Not here.

Not with him.

Abby.

Where was she now? Had she truly left? Had she moved on?

You wished she would storm in at that moment, like something out of a storybook—grab you, take you away, free you from this life.

But she wouldn’t.

She had given you a choice. And you had made it.

Your father placed your hand in the groom’s, and the ceremony began.

The priest’s voice droned on, but you barely heard him. The courtyard felt suffocating, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on you, waiting—expecting. Your hands trembled in the Italian man’s grip, your breath shallow.

You weren’t here. You weren’t present.

You were back at the gazebo, feeling the warmth of Abby’s hands against yours. You were in the barn, crying into her arms as she whispered promises you were too afraid to believe. You were beneath the moon, with her lips on your skin, telling you she’d wait.

And now you were about to let it all slip away.

“Do you, signorina, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The world blurred.

Your mother sat upright in her chair, poised and elegant, but you knew that look in her eyes—stern, unwavering. A silent warning. Your father stood tall, expectant. He had done everything to ensure this marriage, to secure your future. You could feel his presence like a brand on your skin, tying you down.

You turned your head slightly, and through the crowd, you spotted the ranch hands, the same ones who had seen you crying that day in the stables. Some looked away uncomfortably. Others pitied you.

The Italian man squeezed your hands. “Cara,” he murmured, urging you to respond.

The silence stretched too long.

Your throat tightened. Your heart pounded. The words wouldn’t come out.

You looked at your father. “I…”

He nodded encouragingly.

Then, you looked back at your husband-to-be, at the man you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with.

And all at once, it hit you.

This wasn’t your choice.

You had never had a choice.

Your breath shuddered as your hands slipped from the groom’s grasp. A murmur rippled through the crowd. You took a step back, the long train of your gown dragging behind you.

Your father’s face fell.

Your mother clenched her jaw.

“Tesoro?” The Italian man’s voice wavered.

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

Gasps filled the courtyard.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

Not rushed. Not frantic. Just steady, deliberate steps toward the entrance of the estate, past rows of shocked faces, through whispers of scandal.

Your mother rose to her feet. “You will come back here,” she hissed, her voice sharp like a blade.

You didn’t stop.

Your father’s voice followed next, low and threatening. “If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.”

You hesitated for half a second.

Then, you kept walking.

Through the halls of the estate, past the maids and butlers frozen in place, out into the open air. You lifted your skirts and ran.

Ran until your lungs burned.

Ran until the estate faded behind you.

Ran until all you could think about was her.

The world blurred around you as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt path leading away from the estate. Your wedding gown—so pristine and elegant just minutes ago—snagged on twigs and tore as you lifted the heavy skirts, desperate to keep moving. Your lungs burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The estate’s walls loomed behind you, filled with gasps, outrage, and disappointment. Your mother’s voice echoed in your head, sharp and seething. Your father’s threat burned in your chest. If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.

Good.

Everything had been a cage.

And you were finally breaking free.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled toward the stables, your heart hammering against your ribs. The stable hands were already in a frenzy, muttering among themselves about the chaos unfolding at the wedding. Some of them looked at you in shock—the sheriff’s daughter, still in her wedding dress, panting, desperate.

You didn’t have time to explain.

You reached your horse’s stall, flinging open the gate. Your hands shook as you fumbled with the reins, the golden band on your finger catching in the light. The ring. His ring. You yanked it off, giving it to a stable hand.

“Miss—” One of the stable hands stepped forward hesitantly. “Where are you—?”

You climbed onto the saddle, yanking the reins tight. “Tell my father I made my choice.”

Then you kicked your heels into the horse’s sides, and you were off.

The wind tore through your hair as you rode past the pastures, past the ranch hands who stood frozen in shock, past everything that had ever tried to hold you down. Your heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from exhilaration. From hope.

You didn’t know where you were going, not exactly.

But deep down, you did.

You were going to her.

The world spun as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt road, your breath ragged. The wedding had crumbled behind you—gasps, screams, the sound of your mother calling your name, your father’s voice booming with betrayal. None of it mattered anymore.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you pushed forward, ignoring the tears streaming down your face, the fabric of your wedding dress tearing with every desperate step. You had one destination. The place Abby had whispered about, night after night at the gazebo. The place she dreamed of taking you.

“There’s a valley past the river,” she had murmured, tracing patterns on your palm as you sat together in the dark. “No law, no rules. Just open land and the sky stretched so far it swallows you whole.”

And now, you were chasing that dream. Chasing her.

The journey felt like an eternity, but you rode harder than you ever had before. You knew this path by heart. Abby had spoken of it too many times for you to forget.

The valley stretched before you, bathed in golden hues of the setting sun. The river cut through the land like a glistening ribbon, the grass swaying in the breeze. And there, standing beside her horse, waiting as if she had known you were coming—was Abby.

Your breath caught, a sob choking its way out of your throat. She looked up, her sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. And for a moment, time stopped.

Then you were off your horse, feet barely touching the ground before you sprinted toward her.

“Abby!”

She barely had time to react before you crashed into her, your arms wrapping around her neck, your body slamming into hers with the force of everything you had held back. She caught you instantly, arms tightening around your waist as if she was afraid to let go.

You buried your face into her shoulder, shaking. “I left,” you choked out. “I left, I left, I left—”

Abby held you so tightly it almost hurt. “You’re here,” she whispered into your hair, her voice breaking. “You really came.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your hands trembling as they framed her face. “I couldn’t do it,” you breathed, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t—”

She silenced you with a kiss, desperate and deep, like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

You melted against her, fingers tangling into her shirt, gripping onto her like she was the only thing keeping you grounded. And maybe she was.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless.

“You’re mine now,” she murmured.

You nodded, eyes still glistening. “I always was.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her hands sliding down to your waist. “We leave tonight.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Take me with you.”

She grinned, the same cocky, reckless grin you had fallen for all those nights ago. “Darlin’, I was never leaving without you.”

And as she lifted you onto her horse, hands warm and steady against your waist, you realized something.

You weren’t running anymore.

You were finally free.

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part 2?

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