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[tame-the-lion-writes]

tomboy reader x 141 - shopping

(Light warning for reader being self-conscious and insecure about her femininity.)

For the longest time, the boys of 141 don't see their tomboy teammate as a "girl." Not maliciously, of course, but it simply doesn't cross their mind.

It's not that you aren't pretty, but they're so conditioned to see you as "another one of the guys" that they don't spare a passing glance. You don't exactly dress up, either, and they haven't seen you in a skirt or dress. Nor do you have the most feminine interests--at least not that they know of--because their time with you is spent shooting at enemies, covered in blood, and kicking up dust. In short, the usual masculine tendency to see women as precious or dainty doesn't kick in. Because you're anything but.

Because you're a soldier.

In a way, you've grown to love it and hate it. The feminist side of you craves that respect and treatment as an equal. The other side of you, however, whatever the label may be, craves the idea of being wanted. You want to dress up nice and be small and cute. You want to wear heels and fluttery skirts and bows. You want to feel so sweet and sugary, that you could curl up in the palm of someone's hand--not afraid to be vulnerable and adoring and soft. Because you'd trust that person to still love and care for you, no matter how weak you allow yourself to be.

You never bring it up, though. At least not until Price asks if you have anything to wear to some fancy event, where you're stuck with a good old dress code.

"Yeaah... about that," you say with a sheepish smile. "Might have to get time off base to find something, sir. Don't think the pantsuit from my friend's wedding is gonna cut it."

"You don't got a dress? Not even one?"

"Was never the most comfortable in 'em, sir. Besides, I'm saving up for a house," you shrug. "I'm not out to buy some thousand dollar getup or jewelry." (And therein, beneath, lay the denial that if you didn't try to look feminine, you wouldn't look ridiculous doing so--imitating something you could never be.)

"Ooh, we should go shopping," Soap suggests with grin, leaning forward from his seat on the couch. "Think ol' Ghost here needs a bigger suit, anyway. Put on a few pounds--"

"Soap--"

"--of muscle! What--you think I was shaming ya?"

You roll your eyes, an anxious heat burning in your cheeks. "I can handle shopping myself, guys." And you didn't want them to be judging you for anything you put on.

"Oh, please, Gaz an' I are used to tagging along with our sisters," Soap continues, wrapping an arm around his fellow sergeant. Surprisingly, Gaz agrees with a nod.

"Not saying that you have to take us with you," Gaz starts, "but waiting outside a dressing room a couple hours is nothing."

"Long as we get food, of course," Soap adds.

"Well," Price notes, clearing his throat, "I'm in need of a new tie, too, so seems like it's settled. Ghost--and you?"

The masked man lets out a grunt, arms crossed on his recliner.

"... New suit."

Cue a little, "Ha! I knew it," from Soap. As well as Price filing for a one day vacation from the base.

** * **

You can practically feel the eyes trailing after you and the boys while you walk through the mall. Soap is loud enough as is, and combined with Gaz, both make for a pretty face. Then there's Ghost who just towers over everyone and looks like a cryptid with his mask, and Price who follows with the charm of an older gentleman. A posse of bachelors, that is.

You pick at the hem of your sleeve as you walk ahead--the default leader for today, seen as despite the boys' side quests, the main quest was you. Dressing you up in an elegant dress. Finding you matching heels and accessories. Making you look pretty and presentable.

So now you're here, standing in the dressing room of a fancy first-class boutique you could otherwise never afford--if it weren't for Price's insistence that, as your captain, it was his responsibility to make sure you looked "dapper." You smooth out the off-white creme of the skirt, staring in the mirror; you think you look pretty enough, and the pearl earrings add a certain charm to your otherwise plain features. (Though really, you're stressed that you'll seem more like a child playing dress-up--riddled with the self-consciousness of a girl trying imitate her mother, looking back at the gaudy mascara and smudged lipstick across her cheek.)

But there's no stalling. No more taking forever. The clock is ticking, and you either be judged for how you look, or judged for wasting time, or breaking down in refusal. (You know they'd never judge you--they're good men, you know--but still. You'd pick at your sleeve again if it was there--)

"Ready," you call from behind the curtain, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the light.

And all your fears melt away when they stop their banter to look at you, and their eyes widen--then soften--at the sight.

[br0kenangel]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺?

You were out of breath, heart pounding from the sprint you had just made across town, dodging pedestrians and traffic like your life depended on it. In many ways, it did.

You were late.

Of course, you were.

Balancing high school and your part-time job had already stretched you thin, and now you were trying to squeeze in an interview for a babysitting gig with one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the city. If you could land this job, it could make a huge difference in your life, maybe even help with the tuition you could barely afford.

But as you stood there in your slightly wrinkled school uniform, hair mussed from running, you couldn’t help but feel entirely out of place. Surely, the other candidates—who had likely arrived on time, impeccably dressed—had already made a much better impression than you ever could.

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Before you could even process the sound of your knuckles against the wood, the door swung open to reveal a scene you hadn’t anticipated.

Inside, the vast living room was in utter chaos. The elegant furniture was scattered with toys, and the air was filled with the high-pitched wails of a very upset child. A child was in the middle of the room, throwing a toy dragon at a group of nervous-looking women.

“NO! NO! NO! UGLY! UGLY!” he screamed, his tiny face scrunched up in a mix of anger and tears. His mother, stood nearby, looking harried as she tried to calm him down, but nothing seemed to work.

The women—the other candidates, no doubt—were doing their best to placate the child, offering forced smiles and cooing words, but it only seemed to enrage him further.

You froze in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Every instinct told you to back away slowly and leave this mess behind, but you were already here, and this was your last chance. So, swallowing your nerves, you stepped into the room.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was as if the world had stopped. The moment the word left your lips, Aegon’s crying halted abruptly, his tear-filled eyes snapping to you. His mouth fell open in a perfect little ‘o,’ and for a second, you were terrified that you had somehow made things worse.

But then, to your astonishment, his expression softened, a toothy grin spreading across his chubby face. Aegon dropped the toy he had been ready to launch, pushing past the other candidates as if they were invisible, and toddled over to you with an excited gleam in his eyes.

“Pretty,” he declared with the certainty only a toddler could muster. You felt your face heat up as every pair of eyes in the room turned to you.

Before you could react, Aegon wrapped his small arms around your leg, clinging to you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “Up! Up!” he demanded, his tiny hands making grabby motions toward you.

You stood there, frozen in shock. This was not going at all how you had imagined. The other women looked on in disbelief, some with obvious annoyance, as Aegon’s demands grew more urgent.

“Up! Up!” he repeated, his voice wobbling as tears began to well up in his eyes once more.

Panicking, you quickly bent down and scooped him up into your arms, praying you were doing the right thing. The moment you did, Aegon’s tears dried up, and he burst into a fit of giggles, snuggling into your neck as if he had known you his entire life.

“Mine,” he announced to the room, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You could feel his breath tickling your skin, his little body warm and soft in your arms. He nuzzled closer, sighing contentedly, while you stood there, stiff as a board, unsure of how to process what had just happened.

Alicent stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and… was that relief? She looked between you and Aegon, a soft smile curving her lips as she took in the sight of her son, who had moments ago been a terror, now transformed into a content little angel.

“Well,” she said, her voice laced with amusement, “it seems Aegon has made his choice.”

You blinked at her, still holding the toddler close. “Wait… you mean…?”

Alicent nodded. “The position is yours if you want it. I’ve never seen him take to someone so quickly.”

You looked down at Aegon, who was gazing up at you with wide, adoring eyes, and felt a flutter of something warm and unfamiliar in your chest. It wasn’t just relief—it was something more. Something that told you this job was going to be more than just a way to make ends meet.

You smiled awkwardly, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “I guess I’m your new babysitter then.”

Aegon beamed at you, his little arms tightening around your neck as he whispered, “Mine.”

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎���𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[theonottsbxtch]

SKYFALL PT.2 | OP81

an: i don't know how many parts to make this but i'll see how much i can split this into. anyway, author advice - don't run through paris barefoot and if any of you work for the CIA or MI5, i really apologise for how weak i've made you guys sound by turning this into a silly little romance.

wc: 3.8k

part one

The dim light of the chandelier glistened off the rim of her champagne flute as she moved through the crowd, her practised smile firmly in place. The black cocktail dress she wore clung to her in all the right ways, elegant but understated. It was the kind of dress that made people notice her, but not ask too many questions. Perfect for slipping in and out of high-profile events like this one without drawing too much attention.

She was supposed to be just another guest tonight. A socialite, out with friends, blending into the glamour of the evening. But beneath the facade, Her senses were sharp, her mind working faster than the champagne bubbles that tickled the inside of her glass.

The mission was simple enough: infiltrate the private auction, locate the encrypted flash drive, and get out. It should have been straightforward, but nothing ever was when Oscar Piastri was involved.

The instant she had walked into the grand ballroom, she had felt it—that familiar prickle at the back of her neck. She didn’t need to see him to know he was there, moving through the same crowd, playing the same game.

And then she spotted him.

Oscar stood near the bar, his tall, lean frame blending seamlessly into the sea of tailored suits and elegant gowns. He was dressed to kill—literally, if it came to that. His dark suit fit him perfectly, the open collar of his shirt giving him a casual yet dangerous allure that made her pulse quicken against her will.

He hadn’t seen her yet, or if he had, he was pretending not to. But she knew better than to underestimate him. Oscar never missed anything. He was scanning the room, and when his gaze eventually landed on her, she knew it would be deliberate.

She sipped her champagne, making a show of laughing lightly at something one of the other guests had said, all while keeping Oscar in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t let him know she was watching him—not yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him casually turn, making his way toward the auction display, a briefcase in hand. That’s when she saw it—the subtle, almost invisible exchange. Oscar's hand slid into the pocket of a passerby’s jacket, retrieving something small and slipping it into the inside of his suit pocket as he spoke to the man beside him. It was quick, precise. The intel.

He had it.

Her heart thudded in her chest. This was it. The flash drive she needed was already in his possession. She had to act fast, but she couldn’t afford to spook him. If he thought for a second that she was after the same thing, he’d disappear into the night, and she’d lose her chance.

She let a slow smile spread across her face as she turned toward the bar, deliberately walking in Oscar’s direction. He was only a few steps away when his eyes finally met hers.

There it was. The moment of recognition. The silent understanding that passed between them was like a spark in the air. Oscar’s lips curved into that infuriatingly smug smile, the one that always set her teeth on edge—and sent a pulse of heat through her veins.

“Angel,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth as velvet when she stopped beside him at the bar. “Should’ve known I’d find you here.”

She arched an eyebrow, keeping her expression light, playful. “You sound disappointed, Oscar.”

His eyes flicked over her, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, taking in the curve of her dress, the way it hugged her figure. “Not disappointed,” he said, leaning against the bar. “Just... curious. You don’t exactly strike me as the type to spend your evenings at charity auctions.”

She chuckled, waving her glass lightly in the air. “And you do?”

Oscar tilted his head, his smile widening. “Touché.”

She leaned in slightly, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “So, what brings you here, then? Trying to take a night off from... whatever it is you do these days?” Her tone was casual, flirtatious, as though they were just two old acquaintances catching up. But she knew he could hear the subtext beneath her words. The real question. What are you after?

“I could ask you the same thing.” His gaze remained locked on hers, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as if he was enjoying the game too much. “But I’m guessing you’re not here for the champagne.”

She gave him a sly smile, leaning closer, just enough that her breath brushed his cheek. “I’ve always preferred something stronger.”

His eyes darkened, the banter between them thick with tension. They both knew what was really happening here—this was a dance. A dance of words, of power, of control. And they were both good at it.

But she needed more than his banter tonight. She needed the flash drive.

As she pulled back slightly, she let her fingers graze his arm, a touch so light it could have been mistaken for accidental. She glanced around, lowering her voice, just enough to make the moment feel more intimate. “Care for a little privacy? All these eyes make it hard to talk freely.”

Oscar’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened as he studied her, clearly weighing his options. He knew she was playing at something, just as he was. But he was intrigued, she could see that much.

“Lead the way,” he said smoothly, his voice a little deeper now.

She turned, guiding him toward a secluded balcony that overlooked the city. The soft hum of the party faded behind them as they stepped outside, the cool night air brushing her bare shoulders. The soft glow of Parisian lights stretched out before them, casting everything in a golden hue.

Once they were alone, she turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what she was about to do set in. This was more than just a mission now. This was Oscar Piastri—her enemy, her rival, and the man who somehow always managed to get under her skin.

“I have to admit,” Oscar said softly, stepping closer, his gaze locked on hers, “I’ve missed this.”

She raised an eyebrow, ignoring the way his nearness made her pulse race. “Missed what, exactly?”

“This,” he murmured, his voice low, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his touch warm against her skin. “The chase. The game. You.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to back away, to keep her distance. But she couldn’t afford to. Not if she was going to get what she needed. Instead, she let her body relax, let her smile soften. “Careful, Oscar,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You almost sound sincere.”

He chuckled softly, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “Maybe I am.”

For a moment, everything between them went quiet, the tension thick and palpable. His hand slid down her arm, resting lightly at her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer. It was dangerous—this proximity, this heat. But it was exactly what she needed.

“Is this the part where you kiss me?” she teased, her voice light, even as her pulse hammered in her ears.

Oscar’s gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest second, and her breath caught in her throat. She could see the war in his eyes, the pull between their shared history and the present, where they stood on opposite sides of a dangerous line. But then, as if deciding something, he leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek.

“Only if you want me to,” he whispered, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

She had him. Just a little closer.

For a moment, the world fell away. The soft murmur of the city below, the distant clink of glasses and low hum of conversation inside, even the mission—it all blurred into the background as she stood on that balcony, Oscar’s eyes locked on hers.

She could only feel the feel of his hand on her waist, the heat of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of her dress,the weight of his gaze, heavy and intense, as if he were trying to read every thought racing through her mind. But she was a master of the game, just like him. She’d learned long ago to never give anything away.

Except tonight, she would. Just enough.

She leaned in, letting the distance between them melt away, her lips a breath from his. “Maybe I do want you to,” she whispered, her voice soft, inviting.

Oscar’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous and electric passing between them. He hesitated for the briefest moment, as if weighing whether to take the plunge, then closed the gap, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

The force of it surprised her—his hand tightening on her waist, pulling her flush against his body, his lips moving against hers with a heat that sent a thrill rushing through her. Sheresponded in kind, her fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt as the kiss deepened, more urgent now. It was everything she needed—passion, heat, distraction.

She could feel him leaning into the kiss, his grip on her possessive, as though he wanted to consume every part of her. And that was exactly what she had hoped for. She pressed closer, letting the kiss take her under, her hand slowly drifting toward the inside of his jacket, inching ever closer to her real goal—the flash drive.

Just as her fingers brushed the cool fabric of his jacket lining, ready to slip inside and make the grab, Oscar’s hand shot up, quick as lightning, and closed around her wrist.

He broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips as he held her wrist in place, his grip firm but not painful. The glint in his eyes was both amused and dangerous.

“You always were good at mixing business with pleasure,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “But you didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?”

Her breath caught, her heart pounding as her plan unravelled in front of her. Damn him. He had known the whole time. The kiss had been a game—a game she had thought she was winning. But now, here she was, caught with her hand inches from his jacket, fingers hovering over the flash drive she so desperately needed.

She clenched her jaw, irritation flaring in her chest, but she couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. Not with him watching her so closely, reading her every move. She forced a smile, letting out a soft, breathless laugh, as if the whole thing were just a joke.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you, sweetheart?” she whispered, her voice playful, though the tension in her body said otherwise.

Oscar’s lips twitched into a smirk, his thumb brushing lightly against her wrist as he kept her hand in place. “Oh, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” he replied, his tone lazy, almost admiring. “But you’re going to have to try a little harder than that.”

She gave him a look, letting out a low, frustrated breath as she eased back just enough to regain her composure, though his hand never left her wrist. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’ve been told.”

Her frustration was real, but she knew better than to let it show fully. She let her body relax against him, playing it off as if she wasn’t bothered by being caught, though her mind was already working through her next move. Oscar was toying with her—holding the cards just out of her reach, daring her to try again. And a part of her hated how much he enjoyed this, the way he could spin the situation back in his favour.

But there was another part of her—the part that had always thrived on this dangerous back-and-forth—that couldn’t deny the heat between them. The tension.

She leaned in again, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a sultry whisper. “I guess that means the night’s not over yet, then.”

Oscar's grip loosened slightly on her wrist, his amusement clear as he let her pull back. “Oh, it’s far from over,” he murmured, his dark gaze locking on hers again, the smirk playing on his lips as though he was challenging her to try again.

She flashed him a coy smile, her mind already spinning, recalculating. She’d let him think he had won this round—let him enjoy it. But she wasn’t done yet. Oscar might have gotten the upper hand for now, but she wasn’t walking away empty-handed.

Not this time.

With one last, teasing brush of her lips against his, She pulled back, slipping her wrist from his grasp. The game wasn’t over. It was just getting started.

She felt the grip on her wrist loosen slightly as Oscar held her gaze, that infuriating smirk still on his lips. He thought he had won this round, that he was still in control of the situation. But she wasn’t finished. Not yet.

She moved her free hand up to his cheek, her fingers gentle as they traced the line of his jaw. She saw his eyes darken, and for a second, his playful arrogance faltered. His lips parted slightly as he exhaled, the warm breath brushing against her skin. There was the faintest sound—a soft, almost imperceptible moan—escaping his lips as her fingers slipped up into his hair, tugging lightly.

He wasn’t expecting that.

For a moment, she felt him surrender, his body pressing closer to hers, his guard dropping just enough. Just enough for her to make her move.

She didn’t hesitate.

In the split second of his hesitation, her right hand shot forward, fingers deftly slipping into the inside of his jacket and closing around the flash drive. She felt the hard, cold metal against her palm as she yanked it free, the adrenaline spiking through her veins like a lightning bolt.

Oscar’s eyes widened in realisation, but it was too late.

With a sly smile, she spun on her heel and bolted toward the edge of the balcony. In one fluid motion, she vaulted over the stone railing, her cocktail dress fluttering around her legs as she plummeted toward the ground below. The wind whipped through her hair as she dropped, adrenaline roaring in her ears, and she heard the unmistakable sound of Oscar’s curse behind her.

“Fuck!” he growled, his voice sharp with frustration.

She hit the ground in a crouch, her knees bending to absorb the impact. Without missing a beat, she straightened and broke into a run, her heels clacking against the pavement for a brief moment before she kicked them off mid-stride. She could hear Oscar’s footsteps behind her, the thud of his body landing on the ground with the same fluid grace that had always made him dangerous.

She didn’t need to look back to know he was right on her heels.

She grinned to herself, the thrill of the chase coursing through her veins. Oscar was fast, but she had the lead. She just needed to make it to the rendezvous point—somewhere she could slip into the shadows, disappear, and leave him empty-handed.

“Nice try, sugar!” she called over her shoulder, her breath ragged but exhilarated as she sprinted down the narrow alley leading away from the building.

“I swear if you think you’re getting away with that—” His voice was closer now, but she could hear the mix of amusement and frustration in it.

He was enjoying this, just like she was.

The streets of Paris blurred around her as she sprinted barefoot through the maze of narrow alleyways, her heart hammering in her chest. She ducked and wove through the scattered pedestrians, the cobblestone cool beneath her feet. But she wasn’t just running—she was looking. Scanning every face, every figure until—

There.

A flash of recognition, a subtle nod exchanged in the crowd. Lewis.

He stood there in a grey hoodie, the kind you’d see on any city commuter, his hands stuffed into his pockets and a pair of cheap earbuds dangling around his neck. He moved with an easy, aimless gait, blending into the flow of the crowd perfectly—just another stranger out for a walk. No one would look twice.

She adjusted her pace, falling in step beside him as if they were two strangers passing each other on a busy street. In a move so smooth it seemed effortless, she slipped the flash drive into his waiting palm.

“Go,” she murmured under her breath, not even glancing at him as she continued forward, her pulse still racing.

Lewis barely nodded. He slipped away into the crowd without so much as a backward glance, disappearing like smoke in the night. She knew he’d make the delivery; she trusted him with her life. But her job wasn’t done yet.

Now she just had to buy him enough time.

She veered left, ducking into a narrow alley between two buildings. The shadows swallowed her up as she pressed herself against the brick wall, trying to catch her breath. She only had a few seconds, maybe less, before—

Oscar’s silhouette appeared at the mouth of the alleyway.

She swore under her breath, heart leaping into her throat. He stalked toward her with a predator’s grace, his eyes locked on hers, dark and intense. Even in the dim light, she could see the frustration—and the flicker of something else, something dangerous—burning in his gaze.

“Lost your nerve, angel?” he called out, his voice low and taunting as he closed the distance between them. “I thought you liked to play.”

She smirked, ignoring the frantic thudding of her pulse. “Just wanted to give you a fighting chance, darling.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. “Funny. Because you’re about to lose this one.”

Before she could react, Oscar lunged. His body slammed into hers, pinning her against the rough brick wall, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her wrist and pinning it to her side. The sudden impact stole her breath, but she forced herself to keep her expression calm, her smile defiant.

“Caught me,” she breathed, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze even as her heart raced wildly in her chest. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, the hard lines of his body pressing against hers, trapping her against the wall.

“Did you really think you could just slip away like that?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. His free hand moved slowly, deliberately, trailing down the length of her arm, his touch almost lazy. “You should know better than to run from me, sweetheart.”

His hand skimmed lower, brushing her waist, then her hips, before sliding back up her side in a way that felt far too intimate for a pat-down. His touch lingered just a moment too long, his fingertips grazing the curve of her waist, the dip of her back, before tracing up toward her chest.

She clenched her jaw, fighting the shiver that threatened to betray her. Damn him. Even now, even when he was searching her like this, he made it feel like a game—like he was savouring every second of it. And the worst part was, he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

His hand slid up, brushing over her collarbone, and she bit back a gasp as his fingers trailed along the neckline of her dress, his eyes never leaving hers. His touch was light, teasing, as if he were daring her to react.

“Where is it?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

Her heart pounded. She should push him away, fight back, but she forced herself to stay still, to hold his gaze, even as his hand drifted lower again, fingers skimming her bare thigh as he searched for the drive. Every movement of his was slow, deliberate, sensual. The tension coiled tighter and tighter between them, until she thought she might snap.

But she couldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not now. Not when she had already won.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her voice breathy but steady. “I thought you just wanted to get your hands on me.”

His gaze flashed, a hint of frustration creeping into his eyes, but he didn’t stop. His hand trailed lower, brushing along her leg, then up again, his thumb tracing the line of her inner thigh as he searched every inch of her dress.

Nothing. No flash drive. No intel.

His jaw tightened, his grip on her wrist flexing just slightly. “You—”

“Looking for something?” she asked sweetly, arching an eyebrow as she leaned into him, her lips curving into a slow, wicked smile.

Oscar’s eyes narrowed, his gaze dark and dangerous. “Where is it?”

She laughed softly, the sound breathless, but triumphant. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

For a second, everything stilled. He was so close—close enough that she could see the frustration simmering in his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell with each laboured breath. His hand still rested against her leg, his fingers gripping her thigh just a little too hard. And then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice rough and edged with something dark.

“I always do,” she whispered back, meeting his gaze with a smirk. “And guess what? This time I’m winning.”

For a moment, she thought he might kiss her—his lips hovered just inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin. But then he let out a low, ragged exhale, his grip on her thigh tightening.

“Fuck you,” he growled, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “You already handed it off, didn’t you?”

Her smile widened. “I told you, darling. I always win.”

His eyes blazed, and then—abruptly—he released her, stepping back with a sharp curse. The loss of his warmth was almost jarring, but she forced herself to hold her ground, her smile still firmly in place as she straightened, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress.

Oscar raked a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight as he glared at her. “This isn’t over,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

She shrugged, giving him a mockingly sweet smile. “I didn’t think it would be.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her heart still racing, her pulse still thrumming with the thrill of victory. Oscar’s gaze burned into her back, but she didn’t look back.

She didn’t need to.

She’d won—for now.

part three

[sehtoast]

Wash Away His Sins (Homelander x Reader Smut)

18+ | 1.1k Shower sex, oral sex, mostly lovey with a light dusting of angst. gender neutral reader. | Fic Directory

He realizes it's the light in your eyes that consumes him the most.

The way you dance around him, unknowingly elegant in even your clumsiest moments. You flow through this world like calligraphy given a body.

The way you smile when he comes home. The way your hands find his bloodied cheeks, uncaring if his cruelty stains you.

The way you kiss him. The glint in your eye as you pull away.

"Let's get you cleaned up," you tell him.

And he nods. Lets you, bubbling sunshine that you are, dirty yourself in the viscera of his victims. All just to help him feel better.

There’s been blood on your hands before. But not like him. Not because you lost control. You were a true hero, and he was just…

Himself.

Whatever that may mean…

And yet, you still called him a hero. Reminded him of all the good he’s done– all that he’s capable of. Every time he comes home like this, he worries you’ll hate him. Cast him out, shun him for the unspeakable acts he’s committed with his own two hands.

But you don’t.

You lead him to safety. You wash him, pamper him. Comfort him.

Just like you do now.

Once upon a time, he was afraid to let you see all of him. Shamed by his lack. There was no perfect figure underneath. Those muscles weren’t real– weren’t him.

But you’d soothed those fears so long ago, well before falling into an unnamed relationship that simply couldn’t be less than that of two souls deeply, deeply in love. Where he was cruel, you were kind. The sheer power of your love, your kindness, rivaled the force of his bitterness with ease. In that duel, you always won. Always calmed him, brought him away from the brink.

Hell, you even relax the voice of his alter ego, whose goading was the very reason he was painted red.

He imagines the two of you were born from two stars, perfectly compatible, at opposite ends of the universe. And still, you found each other.

He shuts his eyes as you unzip the suit. The cold of your palm contrasts the near torturous heat contained in that suit. You are like a balm, soothing the fires both inside and out.

You strip him with care, stopping only to start the shower– but not too hot.

You know what they’d done to him in the labs, and you never made him feel irrational for avoiding reminders. He appreciates you endlessly, even if the words may never truly fall from his lips. Caught in his throat every time.

Caught now as you strip and lead him under the stream.

His hands are clean without his gloves, but he still hesitates to touch you. To anchor his hands at your hips while your fingers push through his hair, thick from product and crusted blood. The water runs pink down his back, down your arms, but you don’t grimace.

You don’t look at him differently. Except for when you do.

But that comes after.

After you work suds through his hair. After you lather his body, hands and fingertips dancing over him as though you meant to worship him. Left hand sliding back, fingers dipping down the curve of his rear. Right hand smoothing soap through the curls on his chest, his stomach, hips…

You don’t miss a single spot.

He imagines this is what it’s like to be a deity. To have someone stand before you and revere you.

Love you.

But, as much as he would claim otherwise, he is no deity. No god.

That title falls to you, instead. You are divine, in every sense of the word. You are the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the moon, the power of storms. You are sweetness under the press of his lips, the slide of his tongue. Soft as silk, yet as unbreakable as tungsten.

Your powers afford you the ability to survive him. It is the greatest gift Compound V could’ve ever given him.

It’s why he doesn’t hesitate to grip your waist harder when you finally find him half hard and yearning, pumping slowly. You finish cleaning him first, shower head in your hand to rinse him. Kisses pressed over the expanse of his chest, water sprayed teasingly between his legs.

He bites you when you grasp him again. He’d nuzzled against your shoulder and simply couldn’t help it. Your gasp makes him shiver.

The hand at his cock strokes, and he exhales tightly. His body feels weightless, but not like when he flies. He feels as though he could drift into space, in perfect bliss. Relaxed, comfortable, peaceful.

That is your true power– more than simply what Compound V gave you.

You quell an unfathomable swell of violence that hides within him. You bring light. You bring calm.

You bring love.

Love.

”I love you,” he rasps against your skin, hips pushing to fuck your fist. Your lips find his neck, and you nip and suckle and he yearns for a world in which you can mark him. Claim him just as he does to you. A wavering moan escapes his lips, and he’s close. He has half a mind to hike your leg up and take you, but you fall to your knees before he can finish the thought.

He has to lean against the wall when your lips wrap around him. The sight of you on your knees, worshiping him, his cock disappearing inch by inch into your mouth leaves him panting heavy breaths that steam into the air.

Your name falls from his lips when he nudges the back of your throat, and you just keep taking him. More and more, a hand at his balls, the other splayed over his abdomen.

His eyes roll back, but not before the heat in them sizzles and evaporates the water droplets surrounding them. His hips rock forward, and he’s so close. It would be so easy to grip your head and fuck you with all of his might. You could, after all, withstand him.

But you’re so tender with how you handle him. He wants to return it. Wants to touch and act with love.

So he lets you have full control. A hand petting through your hair as your tongue laves over him. A pinched expression as you send him higher and higher, until he’s teetering on the brink of release and oh, how he needs it. Needs you.

Your name is on his lips when he accepts it and comes. When that hand mindlessly pulls your head closer and he spurts down your throat, groaning loudly as he thrusts shallow.

When he slips free, it is to fall to his knees. To embrace you, to kiss the taste of himself from your lips– lick it from your mouth.

”I love you.”

You say it back, of course. Between kisses, between giggles. His eyes are soft, and the smile that tugs at his kiss bitten lips is more beautiful than any sunrise the cosmos could ever paint.

The water will run cold by the time he returns your love tenfold.

[mariariley]

Russell Adler x reader

✪ relationship headcanons ✪

2nd person

female reader

NSFW warning

Word count: 1.1k

masterlist || have a request/ask? Here are the rules <3

He prefers keeping it professional so he would never date a woman that works with him

In his free time he tends to approach a stunning woman he sees sitting alone at a bar. He's respectful and would only aim for single girls (even though he can definitely steal bitches-)

He would make cheeky jokes about his ex-wife, spontaneously letting you know he's single as well

He prefers his girl loyal and respectful because that's all he is. He also doesn’t like envious women

His way of flirting is very casual. He can "rizz you up" without even trying, make your cheeks glow bright red with a single sentence

He's quite experienced and definitely knows what he's doing. He doesn't mind age gaps as long as they're legal

I would say he's quite picky actually. He goes for the looks, elegant or unique, independent, anything that can tell him that you're sticking out in a way

He's very good at reading people so with merely a small talk he can tell if you're worth his time or no, if you're, how he likes to say, "just a pretty face"

As your partner he's very old school and passionate

Doesn’t mind if you’re just a housewife, that’s kinda his jam anyway

He likes using nicknames such as “doll face”, “sweetie” and the classic American husband one: “honey”

He would strictly keep you out of his work, not keeping you informed at all. He would claim the only thing you should know is if he's alive or not

On longer, more serious missions you two could end up out of contact for weeks just because his job requires so (which might cause arguments just like with his ex-wife)

He loves when he comes home after a hard day and you greet him with warm dinner. He would always reward you for that

He likes buying you stuff, nothing too expensive but still not affordable for everyone. He just loves spoiling you

Perhaps he would think about marriage a bit too quickly. He's a divorced (traditional) middle aged man after all, he would love to put a ring on you to mark a new fresh start and leave everything he has with his ex-wife behind

He isn't crazy about having children but wouldn't mind becoming a family man. Nevertheless, it is not that easy considering his job so the agreement on forming a family might take time (only if you want kids that is. If not, no forcing)

In bed he likes taking it slowly. He's very passionate and likes making it hot and intense

Taking his sweet sweet time, showing you all experience he's got, somewhat edging you the whole time would always make you arch your back and grab onto his hair in heavy overstimulation every time

He likes oral, prefers rather giving than receiving. It’s crazy what his tongue can do

Loves women’s breasts. Doesn’t matter what size, he just loves them in general, his favorite part to kiss (and collarbone and shoulders)

He prefers missionary so he can kiss you all over and have a proper look at you. He always whispers how good and tight you feel around him or: "You're taking it so well, sweetie", "That's my sweet girl"

He also likes the spooning position where he gets to hold your leg up

He especially loves doing the "exhausting" cowgirl when he's already drained your battery with a heated session of rough thrusts. He'd just lay back, smoke his cigarette and enjoy the view of your legs trembling while struggling to ride his girthy cock

"Come on, honey, just a little longer" he'd encourage you with a sly smile on his face

He loves when you moan his name or just Adler. Considering that's what they call him at work, it would really get him going, making him feel dominant

When you'd moan his last name he would grab a fistful of your hair, grope you tighter and go rougher, perhaps leave a couple of hickeys on your neck, breasts and collarbone

Sometimes he likes bending you over his office desk and make you take it from behind as he'd, as usual, smoke a cigar while giving you backshots

He would grab your chin or hair, making you look at him over his shoulder. He loves seeing your uncontrollable expressions of pleasure while hitting your g-spot over and over again, telling you how beautiful you look

He never pulls out. If you're having unprotected sex, he loves looking at his hot sperm leaking out of your gapping, pulsing pussy (excuse my language)

He would make sure you're clean and comfortable after, always keeping your limp body in his arms while smoking yet another for complete pleasure. That cigarette after sex is like a cherry on top for him

Speaking of being clean, he's a king of hygiene. His hair is always shiny and soft, his clothes always fresh out the closet and, of course, an expensive cologne is a must

He has very strong body and facial hair so his beard grows back quickly. When he's at home he always takes care of it, every third or fourth night a soothing smell of aftershave fills your nostrils

It's difficult for him to be 100% precise considering his deep facial scars so sometimes he cuts himself by accident. He loves when you take care of the small cuts

Speaking of which, you're the only one he allows to touch his scar. He loves when you kiss it and admire it

He's a fan of beauty marks, especially if you have any on your face. He will kiss all of them, maybe even count them for fun

He loves playing with your hair, brushing it, braiding it, anything really. He thinks women's most beautiful (physical) features are their hair and smile (also loves when women wear strong lipsticks, red is his favorite color)

If you wear glasses, expect him to buy you bunch of expensive frames. Glasses are his passion, he would even buy you sunglasses to match his

Big fan of jewelry, especially necklaces and earrings. On a mission in another country, when he'd walk past a jewelry shop, he would always stop and take a look

He's a nightmare for every jewelry shop because he is picky and he will make the employees turn the whole thing upside down, trying to find a perfect piece for you

"Honey, I'm home! And I brought you something~" would be the well known greet whenever he comes home from a long mission

He might be a reserved man but that isn't stopping him from putting his job aside just for a little while and treat you with honesty and passion

In fact, he fears something will happen to you if anyone finds out you're his s/o. He's secretly very paranoid he's putting you in danger by just having you in his life

Dividers by @firefly-graphics 🥀

[nahoney22]

Hello! I absolutely love love LOVE your work. I be rereading on here and on Ao3 and your writing is just phenomenal!! I wanted to know if I can please request an NSFW fem reader x Hunter.

Reader is mad or annoyed with “The Great Sergeant of clone force 99” always on top of her ever since she joined the batch like how she almost got injured but it was only Hunter’s overprotectiveness that might have been the problem and at some point they get in to a really heated argument on the Marauder where she wants to leave the batch and Hunter will be glad because he doesn’t have to look after someone…. until something snaps between them and all hell breaks loose. Even hidden feelings are let loose lol. Also, there’s this song that I picture it with for some reason. It’s “when you coming to see me?” by Mawr if you wanna take listen :).

Anyways, again I love your work and ive never requested something to anyone before so idk if the request is well written and/or too long😅 but i know you can execute it so well if you decide on accepting my request. Thank you!!!! ♥️♥️♥️

Later’s Better Than Never*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Hunter x Female!Reader

word count: 3.6k

prompts: none

When tensions finally reaching breaking point, your need to leave becomes evident. Hunter however makes it harder than it should be.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Female reader, explicit sexual content and language, dirty talk, light dom!Hunter, very light breathplay ie choking, fingering, finger sucking, cum eating, oral ie blowjob, p in v sex, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, love confessions, Hunter is overprotective, light angst, arguing, not proofread.

authors note: Sorry for the wait my lovely @lamiliani, enjoy, I hope this is okay! 🩵

Hunter had been unbearable since the mission briefing.

The plan was straightforward: infiltrate a high-stakes gala, seduce the host, and extract crucial information about a new Imperial weapon. The client you were working for had specifically chosen you for this task after witnessing your charisma and capability. The rest of the squad respected and trusted you, but a certain Sergeant seemed determined to undermine your confidence at every turn.

"Remember, stick to the plan," Hunter ordered for what felt like the hundredth time as you adjusted your attire in the Marauder. The sleek dress you wore was perfect for the gala, accentuating your figure in a way that was both elegant and seductive. Which was a total change considering your normal attire of battered and worn armour and civvies that were desperate for a good wash.

You sighed, your patience wearing thin. "I know the plan, Hunter," you retorted, turning to face him. The frustration in your voice was evident.

Hunter's eyes bore into yours, a mix of concern and frustration etched into his features. His jaw was set, the muscles in his neck tense. "One slip-up, and it could all go wrong. We can’t afford that."

You narrowed your eyes, knowing he was referring to the time when the plan had not gone exactly as intended. It had been a life-or-death situation, but you had learned from it. Besides, the only person you had put in danger was yourself, so you didn’t understand why he was still bitter about it.

"That 'slip-up' was months ago," you shot back, your temper flaring. "I’ve proven myself since then."

"I’ll believe it when I see it." Hunter’s tone was cold as he stormed off into the cockpit, leaving you staring daggers at his back. How insufferable could one man be?

You took a deep breath, trying not to let it get to you. You mentally and physically prepared yourself, going over the plan in your head with determination. You had this.

It was just a shame someone else didn’t think so.

The gala was in full swing. You slipped into the crowd as planned, your eyes on the target. You were enticing and seductive as you engaged him in conversation, your charm drawing him in instantly. Everything was going according to plan as he began to let slip his plans.

Then Hunter appeared.

His sudden arrival, a shadow in the background, disrupted your focus. The target noticed your concerned distraction, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Before you could salvage the situation, a gentle hand on his arm to draw his attention back to you, his arm wrapped around your neck into a chokehold as alarms started to blare, and chaos erupted.

Cursing under your breath, you freed yourself with ease and struck a punch straight to his gut before ducking to cover as blaster fire whizzed past your head. Everything happened so fast and so slow at the same time. You barely managed to escape with the others, the mission a total failure. And this time, you refused to let it be seen as your fault.

Back on the Marauder, you let everything out. You marched up the gangplank, ripping the bangles off your wrists and the pins that had secured your hair in place, tossing them across the ship carelessly. You let everyone file in, steam practically blowing out of your ears as your eyes landed on the Sergeant.

"What is your problem? Why can’t you trust me?" you yelled as soon as the ramp closed behind you, your voice echoing through the ship. Your chest heaved with the effort of keeping your anger in check, your hands trembling slightly.

"You weren’t getting the job done!" Hunter growled, his tone dripping with frustration. His eyes were dark, his brows furrowed in anger. "You just stood there twirling your drink around all night."

You stared at him in disbelief, looking to the others who avoided eye contact at all costs. "I wasn’t doing anything? Hunter, he was about to tell me his plans, and then you just swooped in like you have some damn savior complex."

His jaw tightened, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. "Maybe if you weren’t so reckless in the past, I could have let you get on with it."

"The client wanted me to do it. I wasn’t being reckless!" You seethed, turning red in the face. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. "One mistake, Hunter! Just one!" You stepped closer, your voice low and dangerous. "How many times do I have to prove myself?"

Hunter’s eyes narrowed, his fists just as tightly clenched as his jaw. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. "You don’t get it, do you? One mistake is all it takes to get you killed."

His words cut deep, a mixture of anger and hurt swirling within you. Your heart pounded, each beat echoing your frustration and the feeling of being made to feel useless. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, a mix of rage and something more primal simmering just beneath the surface.

"Guys, stop it!" Omega’s voice trembled, her distress clear. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears.

Echo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Let’s give them some space," he said softly, leading her towards the exit with Tech and Wrecker following. "They need to sort this out." He looked at both of you with a stern gaze before he left.

As the door closed, sealing you in the Marauder alone with Hunter, silence fell.

Finally, you both started to speak at once, voices overlapping. Hunter gestured for you to go ahead, his expression begrudging.

"I’m tired of this, Hunter," you began, your voice steady despite the storm inside you that was waiting to tear this ship apart. "Tired of you treating me like I’m not good enough. If this is how it’s going to be, maybe I should leave."

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, anger, maybe something more—but he masked it quickly. "Maybe you should go," he said, his voice rough. His expression was a mixture of frustration and something else, something softer. "I am done having to watch over you, babysitting you."

You scoffed at him, shaking your head in disbelief. "Has it ever come to your attention that maybe you’re the problem?" You pointed at his chest, your finger almost digging into the fabric of his shirt. "You’re weighing this whole team down recently, and I want to know why."

"There’s nothing wrong with my leadership," he snapped back, his voice sharp. But as he spoke, the space between you seemed to shrink. You were close, so close. His breath was hot on your skin. "You just don’t know how to be careful."

Your heart raced, the anger giving way to a heated flush spreading through your body. The proximity was intoxicating, his scent, his presence overwhelming your senses. You could feel the tension morphing into something you never thought you’d feel.

His breath was on your skin, his presence overwhelming. "Say the word, Hunter," you challenged, voice low into a whisper. "And I’ll go."

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His pupils were blown the more you looked at each other, breathing shallow. You watched his throat work as he swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice.

Your hands rested on the underside of the console, securing you in place as you were practically backed up into it. And confusingly, you were a different type of riled up.

Then, you saw him wet his lower lip, just a touch that made your heart momentarily stop. And he noticed—he noticed. And he smirked. Of course he would; his heightened senses would be picking up on everything—the quickening of your pulse, the heat pooling between your thighs. You sincerely hoped he didn’t notice.

"Hunter," you spoke louder and hopefully more sternly, but the slight tremble in your tone begged to differ. "Tell me you want me to go."

His eyes momentarily closed, conflict spreading across his features. "Tell me to go," you whispered again, but again came no reply.

You waited for a few more moments before you found yourself laughing, almost pitifully. For yourself, and for him. "I don’t have time for this," you grumbled and turned to move away from him, but there was a sudden hold on your arm, stopping you completely.

Your gaze snapped back to him, eyes wide. His, however, flickered down your body, lingering, then met yours again, blazing with an intensity that made your heart stop once more. The silence stretched, electric, until you could bear it no longer. "Hunter?" you whispered.

Suddenly, he pulled you closer, body flush against his and his lips just inches from yours. With a soft murmur, voice hoarse, he said, "Don’t go."

Your breath hitched, your body responding to the unspoken desire in his words. The bitterness, the anger, it all melted away, leaving only a new and raw need. You both closed the gap, lips crashing together in a fierce, desperate kiss.

His hands roamed your body, finding their way to the small of your back while your hands tangled in his hair, running and tugging the textured locks through your fingers. You gasped as he pulled you even closer than before, his body pressing you back to the control panel. The heat of his touch pushed shivers of excitement down your spine. How was this happening? And why didn’t it feel wrong?

Hunter pulled back just enough to mutter against your lips, “I’ve always cared. More than I should.”

You met his gaze, seeing the vulnerability there, and whispered, “Then show me.”

His response was immediate and fervent. Hunter lifted you effortlessly, placing you onto the console before his strong hands slipped under your dress, his touch rough and impatient, yet undeniably thrilling. His fingers traced the length of your legs, caressing your thighs and emitting electric jolts of desire through you.

"You were so worked up when we were arguing," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "I could smell how wet you were for me."

You were speechless. Then, you gasped as his fingers trailed further up, hiking your dress higher until his hands cupped your sex. The realisation that you were bare beneath the dress, no panties to obstruct his touch made him breathless.

"Fuck," he breathed shakily, his fingers slipping between your folds, feeling the slickness there. "No panties? That’s… that’s so sexy of you." He purrs, gauging your reaction as he brushes a thumb over your clit. “And you’re so wet.”

Your breath hitched, a moan escaping your lips as he began to explore you. His fingers moved expertly, teasing your entrance before slipping inside. You arched into him, your body responding eagerly to his touch. “H-Hunter!”

"Is this what you wanted?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "To be fucked by me?"

You could only nod, biting your lip hard as your voice lost to the sensations overwhelming you. His fingers thrust in and out of you, his thumb circling your clit with an agonisingly beautiful precision. “Mmm, you like this don’t you? You feel beautiful.” The pleasure builds quickly, a coil of heat tightening in your core.

“I love it, Hunter.” You gasp. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Hunter’s other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he worked you towards the edge. "So tight around my fingers."

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate for more as your body shakes. His pace quickened, his fingers curling inside you to hit that perfect spot that made you see stars. Your body trembled, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"That’s it," he growled, his voice a rough caress as his lips breathe down your neck. "Come for me. I know you can do it. Come all over my fingers, baby girl.”

With a final, desperate cry, you shattered. His fingers, the pace, his pet names, everything makes your climax crash over you in throbbing waves. Hunter didn’t stop though; his fingers continued their relentless thrash on your clit, prolonging your pleasure until you were a quivering mess, your juices pouring down your thighs.

When he finally pulled his fingers from you, they were slick with your cum. His gaze locked with yours, dazed and in awe as you watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a greedy hunger. The sight of him, the feel of his lips around his fingers, sent another jolt of arousal through you. “You l-look good doing that,” you say bashfully, even more so as he collected more on the fingers he just sucked and placed them flat against his tongue, groaning desperately.

"You taste incredible," he murmured, his eyes dark and hungry. "I never thought someone could taste so sweet."

Without another word, he sank to his knees before you, spreading your legs wider to grant him better access as he pushed your dress up again. The sight of him there, between your thighs, was definitely a sight to behold.

His hands grip your hips, pulling you to the edge of the console. His breath was hot against your swollen folds, making you shudder in eagerness. "I want to taste you again," he smirks, his tone low and gravelly. "I want you to come on my tongue."

“Take me, Hunter, it’s all yours.” The first swipe of his tongue was both a shock and a relief. You gasped, your hands flying to his hair, gripping the locks to hold him in place.

"Hunter," you moaned, your voice trembling. "Oh, fuck."

His tongue moved with a desperate hunger, lapping at your folds and circling your clit with a precision that made you writhe. He groaned against you, the vibrations adding to the intense pleasure building inside you. “I love hearing you swear… such a dirty mouth.”

Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of his mouth, more of that intense sensation. Hunter’s grip on your hips tightened, almost bruising as holds you steady as literally he devoured you. He alternated between long, slow licks and rapid, flicking movements that had you teetering on the edge of another orgasm. The sounds he made—groans, grunts, and the slick noises of his mouth on your wetness—only heightened the moment as you matched his sounds with tender moans of your own.

You tugged at his hair, needing him closer, deeper. "Don’t stop," you pleaded, your voice breathless and desperate as you begin to roll your hips against his face. "Please, don’t stop."

He didn’t. If anything, your words spurred him on, his tongue working even more fervently. He sucked on your clit, gently at first, then harder, drawing it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it before plunging his finger into you for that extra push. Your entire body tensed, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

You cried out, your nails digging into his scalp as you came again, the orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you shaking, more so than before.

Slowly, he pulled back from your cunt, his lips glistening with your aftermath. He looked up at you, his eyes blown and satisfied. "Stars, I can’t get enough of you… I’ve dreamt about being between your legs.”

His words surprised you, wondering if he was just saying it in the heat of the moment or if he was saying the truth but for now, you could only nod, still trying to catch your breath. Your body hummed with satisfaction, every nerve ending still tingling from the intensity of your release. Hunter stood, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips.

"You’re amazing," he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was slow, languid, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, sharing your taste between you. You sighed into the kiss, your hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he confessed, his voice a soft rumble.

“But… I thought you didn’t want me.” You whisper against his lips, eyes closed as you try to get your head around everything.

He sighs, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve been pushing you away because… I couldn’t imagine if anything bad were to happen to you.”

“You’ve been cruel to me,” you reiterate, a little bitter as you pull your head back, “but you…” you piece it all together, his obvious jealousy of you and that guy tonight, his toughness of overprotectiveness. He cared. In a bad way. But alas, he cared. And a part of you always wanted him. You were just too determined never to admit it.

“I’m sorry,” he says with honesty, his hands leaving your hips to take a hold of each of your hands, “I really am.”

You search his face, coming to your conclusion. Hunter's eyes blazed with need as you gently pushed him back. At first he thought you were going to push him away completely, telling him this was a mistake but then, you dropped to your knees before him.

Hunter's eyes widened in surprise but then glowed with hunger while your hands were steady, moving to his belt, undoing it. With your voice husky with desire, you whisper. "Let me?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. You freed his hardened cock from the confines of his pants, the sight of it making your mouth water instantly. “You have such a beautiful cock,” you say sweetly, giving it an experimental pump. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip, tasting the precum that had already gathered there from earlier antics.

Hunter groaned, his hands finding their way into your hair, gently guiding you. "Fuck, you’re beautiful," he muttered, his voice thick with need.

You took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before taking him deeper. His grip on your hair tightened, and you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was barely managing to hold onto. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him in deeper, your tongue tracing the vein along the underside of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his head falling back, exposing his throat. You glanced up, taking in the sight of him—the way his lips parted, the way his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. It spurred you on. It made you want to give him everything.

You started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down his length, taking him as deep as you could. Each time you pulled back, you flicked your tongue over the sensitive tip, making him shudder. You could feel his control slipping, his hips starting to thrust gently into your mouth.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice ragged. “You’re so good at this.” His free hand grasps your jaw, holding your head in place as his gentle thrusts become more eager. “That’s it baby.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you doubled your efforts, sucking him harder, faster and matching his thrusts. You reached up, cupping his balls and rolling them gently in your hand, feeling his body respond to your touch. His breathing grew more ragged, his grip on your hair tighter. Soon his hand on your jaw moved to your throat, chuckling as he practically felt the way your throat contracts and tightens with every time he moves in and out of your mouth.

“Stars, you’re amazing,” he panted. “Keep going, keep going.”

But then he pulled you back, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet pop. He was breathing hard, his eyes wild with need. “I can’t… I need you,” he growled, pulling you up to your feet.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was lifting you, your back pressed against the console again but with your dress being ripped away from your body. He spread your thighs, and then he was there, his cock pressing against your entrance.

He slid into you in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The sensation of him filling you completely made you cry out, your breathing harsh. “Hunter,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hips starting a relentless rhythm. “Such a nice pussy, so perfect.”

He moved with a desperation that matched your own, each thrust deep and hard, hitting that perfect spot inside you. You start to grin, never having been so fucked desperately in all your life. He was disheveled, panting your name like a man starved as his cock sinks deep into you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, needing more. A lot more. “You’re fucking me so good, Hunter! D-don’t stop.”

“You’re mine,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

His sudden words sent you over the edge, your body tensing as another orgasm ripped through you. You cried out his name, your nails dragging down his back, leaving marks and claiming him.

“Yes, come for me,” he urged, his thrusts growing more erratic. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”

You did, your body spasming around him, milking him. His grip on your hips tightened, his own release imminent. He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to fill you up,” he panted. With a final, deep thrust, he came, his body shuddering against yours. You held him close, your own body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, his breath slowly evening out.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice softer now, more tender.

You smiled, your hands gently caressing his back as you both succumbed to the evening. “I love you too.”

Tags: @lulalovez @photogirl894 @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari i @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi

@greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420

@ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 1 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka a @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino

[crowandmousewritingco]

Pairing: alpha!Oberyn Martell x omega!reader (implied Ellaria x reader)

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: R (18+ MDNI)

Summary: You've disguised yourself as a beta, but when you run out of supresents theres an alpha there to help.

Author: Mod Mouse

Warning: A/B/O dynamics, knotting, praise, male terms for genitalia. There might be more, but it is 18+.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You panicked as you scrambled to overturn every inch of your small bedroom. You were due to start your shift soon. The Prince of Dorne and his paramore were visiting their favorite brothel and Littlefinger wouldn’t have it anyway but perfect. 

But unfortunately for you, perfect wasn’t accomplishable. Up until this point, for your safety, you had been disguising yourself as a beta with an abundance of scent blocking gel and suppressants hoping no one would find out. You were a low class omega with no prospects of a mate in your future. You couldn't afford to be without this job. 

The effects of your heat were already pricking at the back of your neck. Waves of warmth spread through your veins like a fire down to your cock. You whimpered as your stomach cramped, and you wished more than anything for the touch of an alpha. But you couldn’t do that. 

Frantically you tried searching again. Maybe a suppressant had dropped on the floor. With an ounce of meager hope you crawled on the rugged floor searching every inch of the place. As the minutes passed with no results, you leaned back on your knees and gripped your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking. Everyone was gonna find out your secret. Tears fell down your cheeks as you cried softly. Your distressed scent wafted throughout your room seeping into the hallway. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“My sun, this place is as elegant as ever,” Oberyn swooned as he glided through the halls of the brothel, admiring everybody present.

“It is stunning as always,” Ellaria replied, wrapping her arm around her lover's waist. “I can’t wait to see where we’ll be staying.” 

“Your room is right this way,” An attendant bowed and gestured to the room at the end of the hall. “I’ll send your dinner soon.” 

“Thank you,” Ellaria said and the attendant bowed once again before turning down a separate hallway. 

The sounds of sex filled their ears as different scents filled the room, both beta and alpha in nature. Oberyn smirked. “What manner of company do you desire my dove?” He asked, pulling Ellaria close to his body. 

Before she could reply, a scent different from the rest of the pheromones wafted through the air. Both of their heads snapped towards the slightly ajar door. Omega. Their eyes found each other. 

“That’s a…” Ellaria started. 

“An omega.” Oberyn took a deep breath taking in your sweet scent. His alpha instincts wanting…no needing to protect you. With a subtle nod to his lover they carefully inched their way closer to your room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your whole body shook as you cried. The weight of the situation fills you with the utmost dread. Panic began to set in as you subconsciously wafted the worried scent into the air. 

“Oh sweet thing,” You heard someone coo and your head snapped up. The Prince was here with his love in front of you. Their alpha scents filling your nose with their strong citrus scents, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering. How desperately you wanted them to take care of you but they couldn’t know. 

Quickly you scrambled to stand up despite the cramping in your torso. “M-My apologies, Your Highness. I’ll be ready in a second. I’ve seem to have lost my perfume,” You lied giving them a small bow. 

“It’s okay we know,” Ellaria reassured you in a soft spoken tone. You were a scared rabbit and she didn’t want you to run. 

Your eyes darted between the two alphas, searching for a sign that they were dangerous. Oberyn cautiously held out his hand for you to take. “Let us take care of you right now. Our scents will hide yours.” 

“Okay,” You whispered and gently took Oberyn’s hand in yours allowing yourself to be pulled into his chest. As soon as his alpha scent filled your nose, your instincts kicked in. You nuzzled your nose into the gland on his neck and whimpered as another wave of need flowed through your body. 

Oberyn turned to Ellaria. “Stall the attendants a bit longer and I’ll take care of this sweet omega.” He purred and kissed the top of your head. You keened under the attention of an alpha, and released another wave of sweet pheromones. 

Ellaria gently kissed his cheek before kissing your head savoring the softness of your features. “I’ll give you plenty of time,” She said and slipped out of the room. 

Gently Oberyn tipped your chin up with his ringed finger and you easily obeyed. “Listen little one. We’re gonna go to our room and I’ll make sure you get what you need.” 

You purred a response. Whatever he said was the best idea. Taking your hand in his, he gently pulled you along and easily slipped from your room to his. Oberyn sighed in relief. “Wonderful now we can–little one?” He turned and didn’t see where he left you. 

His eyes danced around the room until they landed on your form gathering the excess of pillows that lined the bed. Omegan instincts kicking in on making the nest perfect. Oberyn watched you, letting you take as long as you needed to make yourself feel safe. 

With pillows and blankets manipulated into the perfect circle of safety, you sat down in the middle and glanced up at Oberyn for reassurance. Oberyn purred and sauntered over to the nest. “Such a good omega,” He kissed your head gently cupping your cheek with his hand. “This is a stunning nest.” 

You perk up and purrs nuzzled into his palm sending your sweet scent into the room again. Another wave of cramps filled your stomach with pain and you whimpered. With big puppy dog eyes you looked up at Oberyn. “Please Alpha, I need you.” 

“And how am I to deny such a nice request?” He cooed. Gently he climbed on top of you and you laid back on the soft mattress spreading your legs for him. 

Oberyn smirked and gently glided his hand up your thigh wasting no time slipping his hands underneath your garments and rubbing your cock with his finger tips. Your hips jerked at the motion and you moaned gripping the sheets beneath you. 

“Poor sweet Omega, been so ready for us,” He praised and rubbed circles along your dick. With one quick swipe he gathered some slick on his finger and brought it to his lips sampling your flavor. “Oh Omega you taste better than Dornish wine. One day I will savor your taste as if it’s my last meal.” 

You squirmed under his gaze loving the approval from him. Oberyn cooed and slid his finger inside of you. “Though such a stunning receptacle needs preparation for my cock.” He purred curling his fingers inside of you. 

Soft whimpers and wet sounds mixed in the room as Oberyn fingers you slowly, spreading his fingers inside of you making sure you were prepared. They way you squeezed his fingers as he inserted another digit inside of you. “That’s it, little one. Such a good Omega for me. Almost ready for my cock.” Oberyn grinned, pumping them faster and faster. 

You clenched around him as your high was speeding towards you. The heat flush and the attention of this alpha, sending you to a quick orgasm. But Oberyn had other plans. Slowly he pulled his fingers from you with a wet slick. You whimpered and wiggled your hips needing more attention. 

“Easy omega, I will give you want you want my sweet, but let me care for you.” He purred and wrapped his arms around your torso pulling you to his heated chest. Quickly you kissed him as the touch of his skin grounding your from the mess in your head. Oberyn kissed your with such delicacy it was as if you were a hand crafted vase in the halls of his castle. 

You cooed under his attention as he kissed down your neck, beard tickling your heated skin. “But for now a good omega deserves a nice knot.” He purred, kissing up and down your neck teasing your scent glands with a playful nip. Gently he laid you back against the soft silk blankets. 

“Fuck Alpha please.” You pleaded gripping onto his golden robes. 

Oberyn chuckled softly and gently shushed you. “Easy Omega, I promise you’ll get my knot.” 

You panted as you laid against the pillow as the prince stood up for the briefest of moments. He quickly untied the laces, letting his pants pool by his feet. The embroidered jacket followed soon after leaving his naked form in front of you. You braced yourself on your arms and your eyes hungrily took the cock already hard and wanting your hole. 

“Look what you’ve done to me little one,” Oberyn praised as his fingers grazed his already forming knot. Slowly he sauntered back over to the bedside, carefully kneeling between your already spread legs. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.” 

Up and down he swiped the head of this cock through your slit gathering your slick on his dick. He teased your hole earning a whine from you. Oberyn didn’t keep you waiting long. Carefully he pushed deep into the ready hole until his half knot pressed against your entrance. Oberyn moaned, loving the way you squeezed around him. “Good omega, such a needy little thing you are.” 

All you could do was pant and whine. Your instincts subsiding now that it’s gotten what you desired so badly. Your hips bucked trying to receive any more friction. Oberyn chuckled and slowly started moving his hips, teasing you with agonizingly slow thrusts. “Oh does this little omega need more?” He teased. 

“Please please please alpha I want your knot.” You whine as each thrust hits in just the right spots. 

“As much as I would love to spend hours teasing and edging such sweet sounds from those handsome lips, for now I’ll help you with those rolling waves of need.” He snapped his hips forward and his large hand grasping at your hips as Oberyn pounded into you. 

Needy moans escaped your lips as you reached for anything to grab, anything to ground you from the intense pleasure you were feeling. You were so close. The heat of your approaching orgasm mixing with the heat of need to be filled by an alpha. You clenched around him at the thought of him filling you with his seed. 

A cocky smirk graced his lips as he felt how close you were. “That’s it, little one. Cum for your Alpha.” He commanded as he felt his knot catch against your hole with every thrust. That was all you needed to finish. Legs shook as you clenched around his knot, keeping him inside of you as you rode out your high. 

It wasn’t long after Oberyn moaned as he pushed his knot inside of you, spilling his seed in your waiting hole. Spurt after spurt filling your needy hole and you loved every second. Oberyn gathered up in his arms as the last of his seed dribbled out. Together you panted, pressed against his bare chest. 

A sudden tiredness washed over you and you cuddled into his comforting skin. Oberyn nuzzled his nose into your scent glands and carefully turned you so you could rest against him. “Rest sweet omega. Gain the needed strength for many more rounds.” You nodded sleepily and soon you were fast asleep in his arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t long after when Ellaria slipped back into the room carrying an armful of blankets. Oberyn who had been keeping a very watchful eye over you glanced up at his love. “Thank you for the distraction.” 

“Of course, my sun. You know I like this omega as much as you do,” She smirked clearly seeing the forming devotion in his eyes. 

Oberyn was silent for a moment gently twirling your hair in his fingers. The softness of the strands fueling his forming attachment. “We should take him with us. Omegas are much safer in Dorne than in this godforsaken place.” 

Ellaria set the extra blankets beside the bed gently running a finger down your sleeping cheek. “Yes but that’s their decision to make.” 

“Of course. I hope they say yes. They would love Dorne,” Oberyn purred gently kissing your forehead. 

Ellaria carefully leaned over kissing her lover's cheek. “As much as I agree with you, you need rest too. I’ll keep a watch while you rest my love.” 

Oberyn purred and pulled your sleeping form flush with his body as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

```````

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

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@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

@jessthebaker

[supercap2319]

Clark rode the glass elevator up to his penthouse in Metropolis. He could never afford a place like this on a farm boy allowance, but he didn't need to thanks to his alien physiology. He was loaded with money that he stole from banks. Night after night, parties. Guys. Girls. Sex. Drugs. Whatever he wants, he gets.

He frowns unhappily as the elevator dings, and the door opens. Clark sees his best friend from Smalville, Y/N L/N, outside his penthouse door, looking in the window. He turns to him when he hears the elevator. "Clark, I need to talk to you about ..."

The words die in his throat as Clark comes toward him, backing him against the railing and towering over him as he growls. "Y/N, I told you to never come back here again! Who else knows I'm here?"

"No one. Your secret's safe with me, but we need to talk."

Clark walks past him and opens the door into the penthouse as he tries to shut the door on him. "I'm busy." Y/N stuck his foot in the door. "Well, I'm coming in. Now, what's your deal? You come to Metropolis, and you're a completely different person."

"Maybe it's the real me." Clark said.

"Well, if it is, then I definitely prefer the farm boy version. Now... how did you afford all this?" Y/N looks at the expensive looking clothes and shoes. The silky bedsheets and bunch of elegant wine and booze. A new stereo, strobe lights, a gaming system, and a giant TV screen.

"Why, Y/N? Gonna tell all the rednecks back in Nowheresville? Maybe that's why you kept my secret."

"I kept your secret because you asked me to. I was hoping that if I left you alone, you'd get a grip and come home. Now, there are people in Smallville that still haven't given up on the search."

Clark rolled his eyes at that. He could give two fucks about Smallville. Living like a poor man, always wanting for something. "I'm tired of worrying about every nickel and dime. I figured it was time I had all the same cool stuff everyone else has. Besides, I've erased Smallville from my past." He sat in a chair.

Y/N eyed the red stone class ring on Clark's finger. "Really? Is that why you're still wearing your school ring?" Clark touched his ring and frowns. The red Kryptonite was making him into a different person. A person he didn't recognize, but he didn't care. He liked being Kal of Metropolis.

"You know, sooner or later, someone else is gonna find you."

"You were lucky."

"Maybe so. But what are you gonna do if one day Lana shows up on your doorstep, or your dad? How are you gonna explain this to them?" Y/N asked.

"I'm through explaining myself to anyone, Y/N!" Clark shouts.

"Clark, Lana is a wreck, and your parents are losing the farm!"

Clark stood up and walked across the room to pour himself a drink at the small bar. "What do I care? I'm never gonna go back anyway."

"Clark, you were not forced into exile. You ran away from your problems. You are not being noble. You're being a coward!" Y/N shouts out after him.

Clark's eyes flash a dangerous red color as he struggles to control himself. His anger and urges as he walks back to Y/N, grabbing his shoulders, pushing him to the door. "Y/N, get out! If you tell anyone where I am, I'll go so far away from Metropolis that no one will ever find me!"

"Get your hands off me!" Y/N pushed him back. "I don't even know who you are anymore."

Clark got in his face, lips close enough to kiss. "Get out!"

"Make me, you selfish bastard!"

Clark crashed their lips together in a heated and passionate kiss as Y/N tugged at Clark's hair before the Kryptonian lifted the human boy up in his strong arms and carried him to his bed.

[cokou]

We all love Sabo! Can you write Sabo x Noble!reader?

Note ✉* ~ WE ALL LOVE SABOOOO, Im sorry for the late uploads lmaoo😭😭 I've been so so busy these days🥲 || Do not translate, transfer, or reform, this is my only account (exp. Ao3), will not be cross posted anywhere. || 𖤐٭┆Masterlist

Summary* ~ He KNOWS that he isn't supposed to fall for a stupid noble, but God were you captivating. Warning* ~ Sabo is a living dumbass || Genre* ~ SFW

Somewhere across the sea, you stepped onto the lands knowing that no trouble would ever come across your path. You, a noble woman, left most of the village speechless with how elegance you have. However what never shows was, a noble such as you who was more than interested with pirates instead of their own leagues.

You were born under one of the richest generation and bloodline, meaning that lots and lots of people dreamed of claiming you as theirs, only to steal the wealth of your family. You had always been described as the well mannered of the kingdom, often being introduced to forced marriages that you never seemed to accept. Luckily your parents weren't assholes and let you pick on who you'd like to marry on free will.

As you walk around the kingdom, you gathered attention like they were your previous achievements. In wasn't like any other day at all, you love strolling all over the kingdom, often nearby the shore or nearby the main path. As you walk towards the shops, you stop at your track to analyze what the shops were selling.

As you were walking towards the little seller, someone had ran onto you, causing you to fall into the ground. Everyone was stunned as the man kept running even after your guards had chased him. You hadn't picked up his appearance, although what stood up was his bright, blonde hair.

You immediately got back up and shook off the dust your clothes had earned into the ground. You, once again approach the little shop and continued with your day as like any other day.

—

It was now late at night by your house, you looked peacefully at the view given by the balcony. You took your little book and started reading as you admired the scenery, it was the perfect time to do such a thing.

Something was caught at the corner of your eye, it was a man running. You close your book and ran towards the other side of the balcony to catch the figures appearance. He looked like he was tall, and blonde? you couldnt see his face at all. By the other side, one more had came up to him, a silhouette of a woman.

'What the hell? Is this some kind of an organization?' you thought. They stayed for a few while, one of them looked up at you as you quickly retreated inside your house.

Tomorrow, as you take your usual scroll around the kingdom once again, you sighted a familiar blonde with a woman beside him, they seemed to be arguing with a merchant.

"This is barely even affordable! I bet it sucks anyways!" The lady argued.

"Hey Koala calm down a bit.. " The blonde blurted.

"I'm telling you this is the best price for the kingdom!" The merchant argued.

The three exchanged argues and argues that was becoming heated every second, you taught of paying for their purchase instead. But deeming that you didn't wanna join in on the fight and receive a bad reputation, you tried to distance away from the fight. The argument continued and everyone was starting to get distracted with all the noises. So without thinking, you took out a small pouch that contained your money and headed towards them.

"Here, take this as a payment for their purchase." The two looked at you confused and everyone stopped on their tracks.

"Wait no—"

"Yes thanks!" The woman said, cutting off the blonde.

You handed off the payment as they received their item— making your quick escape from the kingdom to head another direction before they even thank you.

—

The next day, at the same route around the kingdom andddd, unsurprisingly.. you see them, again.

"Look! It's that lady yesterday!" The lady shouted and pointed towards you. You look around to scan the surroundings, yes, they were talking about you..

"uh, yes?" You looked at them confusingly, unsure on which impression to make.

"Ehm, thank you do much for uhm, yesterday Miss?" The blonde said. You shook your head and made it clear that it wasn't a big of a deal and that you just wanted to help. They ended up introducing themselves. The blonde one being sabo, the lady being Koala.

"Just address me as (Name)."

"Well it's really nice to meet you two, but we've been seeing each other around more likely, is there anything you both want? Some sort of materials maybe?" You asked.

"Well, we did wonder about that too, but we figured maybe the kingdom is a small place and that's why we keep seeing each others..? And no— we don't need anything." Sabo remarked.

"I think our Chief Sabo just likes seeing you aro—" Koala's mouth was immediately covered by Sabo.

"Please do not mind her." Sabo smiles nervously.

—

The day had ended and you parted ways with the two people. You had spent a lot of time with them regarding your schedule, making you work later at night to do all sorts of arrangements that was affected by your recklessness of time consuming. You took out a small notebook from you study's drawer and your ink-pen.

As you started to write, you heard rustling by the balcony, esrning goosebumps by the presence of something. You decided to ignore them and continue with your work schedule. Out of the blue, someone knocked.

"Come in!" no answer. You walk towards the door to open it, no one was there. And so, you heard the knock once again, it was coming from the balcony. You rush towards the balcony and hesitated on whether to open it or not.

You open the door and was met with Sabo, standing by the balcony's entrance.

"Forgive me (Name), but, i needed a place to stay! Is it a safe place in here to say that I'm a wanted person?"

"Come inside, we'll discuss about that." You sat Sabo down on your fancy little chairs, facing him with questions.

—

"So you're actually a wanted man?"

"Yes." You felt some happiness deep inside of you, you had always wanted to see a real wanted person eith such a high bounty. You invited Sabo to sleep by your room, in a condition that he's not allowed to speak for any of this.

"So i wanna—" knock. knock. knock.

"Miss (Name), Who are you talking to?" The maid asks,

"Sorry! I was just mastering some of my written lecture, was my voice too loud?"

"No, sorry for the interuption, Miss."

You breathe deeply as the maid believed you, feeling a bit of a heart attack as you made Sabi hide underneath your bed.

"Hey, you can actually come out now." Sabo slowly gets out of the uncomfortable position under your bed and dusts himself.

"I got a bit scared because of that..." Sabo scratched his head.

"Who wouldnt?"

—

After that day, he had remarkably visited you more often by going inside your bedroom's balcony, often talking about his adventures and some missions that he was set up to do. He had explained that he was ordered to bring a material from the kingdom back to Dragon. He had achieved the material and was ready to leave in 2 days, and so he spends more time with you. As well as developing small feelings that eventually grew everytime you two spent time together.

Koala hadn't fail to notice the sudden interactiin between the two of you. Even giving Sabo the idea of recruiting you to the Revolutionary, which he turned down on. He thought that you were too precious to get yourself hurt and the thought of hurting your own kind wouldn't sit properly with someone who has a good reputation like you.

As the day of Sabo's departure of the kingdom, you had visited them on the dock. Offering them help and food on their journey, even fetching them up some extra materials you thought they would need.

"(Name)!"

"Yes?"

"I don't know when we will get to meet again, but please take this." Sabo hands you a bouquet of flowers as he give his final goodbye's to you.

"I do hope we see each other once again, Sabo."

"I'll come back and visit you, (Name)." Sabo climbs the ship, waving towards you as they left the Kingdom.

Back at your house, you felt some emptiness inside you, yet some happiness with Sabo's little gift for you. You hadn't failed to notice that the bouquet was heavier than the other. As you figured out that he had snuck a den-den mushi inside of it. In order to continue the contact between you two. You were excited to use the den-den mushi to connect with him, again.

And so, you began waiting for his next arrival. Till the next he visits you again.

©Cokou 2024, all works belong to me

[inaflashimagine]

(i’ll love you) til’ the day that i die

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader

wc: 5k

features: a piece that is part of a multi-chapter nagumo x reader x akao rion story i've been working on–i found it fitting that this section talks about his birthday! the only present he'll be getting here though is angst. includes manga spoilers, numerous mentions of akao. no use of pronouns. and for some context, reader was a poisons-making student at the JCC

The harmonious union between Sakamoto Taro and Aoi is slated to happen during the middle of the worst heat wave in years.

It’s also the same week as Nagumo’s birthday.

Within a hand’s length lies a mini swiveling fan working its best in spite of the brutal conditions. When the weak breeze finally hits the front of your face you let out the most contented sigh. 

Today you’re supposed to water the bountiful assortment of plants decorating your living room and balcony–some cultivated for fun, like the tricky fern a doting, elderly neighbor had given you recently, and others grown for work, like your newly blooming sacred datura–but completing such a task would require you to stand up. And since moving from your current position requires energy you cannot manage to expend, you continue lying on the wooden floor of your apartment, limbs sprawled out lazily like a lounging starfish as you try to ignore the perspiration forming on your forehead. 

Staring at the ceiling, you think about the outfit Asami helped you choose a few days ago, an alarmingly expensive one that’s currently hidden in the corner of your packed closet–a simple, but elegant chiffon fit that flows down to the ankles. Unfortunately, you fear that a feather-light fabric won’t stop you from sweating buckets if your current get-up of a loose tank top and baggy shorts has anything insightful to offer on how you’ll fare the weather in the coming days.

You also regret not buying a present for Nagumo the day you went shopping. The wedding is not for three days, but his birthday is tomorrow. There’s no shot you’ll be able to leave your place today unless someone drags you out of it.

Even if you somehow manage to get outside, you’re still not sure what you’ll get him. Though he denies your accusations of him being a scrupulous person with refined tastes (“Me? Picky? Never!”), you’ll never forget almost choking on your dinner the one time you decided to search up the price of those shiny custom leather boots he likes to wear on assignments. The same missions where blood splatters all over the place.

Not that it matters. Unlike Asami, you don’t have the uncanny ability to distinguish and pick out good designer items, so purchasing anything in that realm feels pointless when he likely already owns that piece or will return the ones he dislikes. You guess being a professional assassin with a lot of money to spend means you can afford to be more deliberate with what you wear.

It also feels cheap to repeat presents, although there are a few golden ones to choose from the previous list. When he turned nineteen, he was initially wary of using the hefty supply of medicine you made to treat his motion sickness, considering you first gave him a similar concoction in high school that only had him hurling more violently. (A genuine mistake, you swear. Perhaps just as much as he swears his car sickness is genuine and not an excuse to get out of driving duty.) But aside from a mission that Sakamoto said would’ve been a disaster without Kamihate, lately you haven’t heard any complaints about him feeling carsick.

(Though two weeks ago, Shishiba picked up the batch of incapacitating agents and truth serums he needed for a target before randomly telling you that Nagumo still takes the pills whenever there’s a particularly long car trip. It almost felt like the blond was indirectly thanking you, since he said he was grateful that the rental cars could now stay tidy, but that small, knowing smirk irked you enough to tell him to get going with his mission unless he wanted to be forcefed an onion salad.) 

Maybe Nagumo would like an air conditioner. You sure would like one. 

There is one other option. It wouldn’t be particularly fancy or brand new, but perhaps the sentiment it brings will suffice. Slightly lifting your head, you stare at one of the only two pictures hanging on the otherwise blank wall. You swear you had a copy of it, but now you’re doubting yourself. The more you mull it over, the more complicated it seems, and you groan in frustration as your head hits the hard floor rather forcefully.

Just fretting over this makes you laugh. Your high school self could never imagine this being what you’d spend your waking days thinking about. Back then, the thought of calling Nagumo your friend made you instantly gag, and while now you sometimes hate admitting it aloud, it would be childish to outright deny your friendship with him. 

You only started getting him presents when someone suggested a group one for his eighteenth, begrudgingly agreeing to the idea because you figured a smiling, happy Nagumo was significantly better than dealing with a version that would resort to theatrics to lament the lack of receiving a present. Strangely enough, gifting him something not only celebrates his day but also feels like you’re keeping the spirit of another alive.

“Care to share your thoughts?”

Your lips pull into a slight frown, finding that the comforting canvas that is your ceiling has now been blocked by Nagumo’s large forehead.

“No wonder why you grow out your bangs.”

“Hurtful!” But his smirk hints that he’s not too offended, even when a freakishly long arm stretches outward to flick your own head. “Whatever happened to a simple ‘Hello’, dare I even say, a cordial ‘How are you’?”

“Oh. Right. I guess I can say that.” You blink slowly, a gesture he returns. “But maybe after you tell me how you got in here?”

That question is a moot one, considering he’s become an expert at discovering new ways to break into your apartment without causing a ruckus. To tally the number of times you’ve opened the front door just to see him lounging on the couch–smooching off your snacks and streaming subscriptions despite having his own–would require more than the two hands you currently have attached. Unfortunately, there’s no point in changing the locks when he knows how to pick each one.

He remains bent over from the waist up, hands placed on hips as his eyes idly roam across your face. From this position, falling strands of his jet-black hair look like icicles that are on the precipice of impaling your head.

“You know, you really should shut your windows when you’re not in the room! Who knows when a psycho might sneak into your lovely home?”

Entering through your bedroom window is a new method. Though you’ve only started living here for half a year, eager to move into a place that wasn’t directly above your’s family perfumery. After the JAA News Channel and the JAA Times deemed the shop the second-best fragrance store in the Western branches–tragically losing the coveted first-place spot to the Nishimuras–clientele has been an all-time high while privacy has been abysmally low. (Yet perhaps you’ve overestimated your ability to find the latter in the first place.)

You’re just glad you don’t have to go to the locksmith again–the poor old man started to worry for your safety when he saw you for a third time in less than a month. 

“Did you say hi to Mochi? He’s been enjoying his free roaming time.” 

He appears as if his brain stopped working, blank doe eyes as wide as ever. A nervous laugh leaves his agape mouth that becomes frozen into a forced grin. “He’s what?”

“What’s with that tone?”

“Oh, you mean my perfectly normal reaction to finding out your poisonous snake is outside its tank?”

Your dejected sigh is a long one. “For the millionth time, he’s venomous, not poisonous.”

The footsteps of professional assassins are quieter than that of a seasoned ballerina, so the fact that you can easily hear Nagumo’s hurried ones as he retreats to the hallway shows how dramatic he’s being. Your assumption that he’s heading to the guest room–which currently holds all your reptilian enclosures, including a safely stored Mochi–is right as he exclaims, “Oh, you think you’re a comedian now?”

Though the joke was short-lived your amusement thankfully lasts longer. “You still haven’t greeted him, that’s so rude! My, oh my, whatever happened to a simple ‘Hello’? Don’t hurt his feelings.”

“Killing the birthday boy is ruder! I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”

While Mochi is a boomslang, a snake whose venomous bite can have you bleed from all your orifices until you die, his previous owner made the rather unethical choice to have its glands removed. He’s probably the most timid snake you’ve rescued–and one of the most beautiful with such vibrant green scales–but you’d never free handle him. Of course, Nagumo doesn’t need to know that important tidbit. With how rare it is to successfully prank or lie to him, you secretly enjoy pulling his leg once in a blue moon.

“Not sure if you know this, but your birthday isn’t for another twenty-four hours,” you say with closed eyes, trying to picture yourself on a cool island rather than the sweltering oven that is your living room. Talking right now feels incredibly draining. “So at this very moment, there is no obligation to keep you entertained.”

Nagumo draws out a weary exhale. “Must you make our relationship sound so transactional? I just wanted to relax with a friend after a busy work day.”

When you no longer feel the faint wind from your fan, you crack an eye open and turn your head, only to see that the precious item has been moved so that he can direct it toward his own face while he places himself next to you.

His body lies in the opposite direction to yours, but both your curious gazes match at the same level. He’s replaced the suit and tie for an unbuttoned and eccentrically patterned camp collar shirt over a baggy black tank top and bright blue shorts, meaning the scorching heat outside is no fluke. It’s the first time you’re noticing how long his hair has grown, a small knot poking out from the nape of his neck.

“I’m not sure if our relationship is transactional since that implies a two-way model,” you explain slowly, like a teacher introducing a complex concept to their students. “I give, you take, and then I take when you give. If that’s actually the case, what will I get after you’ve stolen my hair tie?”

You just bought a new pack of them, too. The urge to head to your room to see if they’ve all been swiped from your vanity is strong, but the will to stay still is stronger.

He grins largely, the pale skin on his neck pulling taut as your glance falls to the Fibonacci spiral. That was the first tattoo he got after receiving the hefty commission that comes with being a member of the Order. It seems to glisten with small beads of perspiration, and you’re surprised the only enemy that triggers him to break out into a sweat is this unbearable weather.

“Well, I figured my presence was enough for you. Maybe more than enough, even.”

The snort that leaves you is less than graceful. “That’s a line all your targets must love hearing.”

He hums, stroking his chin. “I wouldn’t know, since I just came up with it today, and I took the day off.”

“You said today was a long work day.”

“Did I?” His carefree laugh sounds like chimes rustling in the soft wind. “Ah, you know me, I always take the week off for my birthday.”

“You’ve never done that.”

“It’s a new tradition. Thought it would be fitting with the little wedding happening in a few days.” His fingers lock together when he places them atop his chest, exhaling a wistful sigh. “Sakamoto-kun, getting married! They grow up so fast.”

Your body tenses at that. You know it should be good news–you’re happy for Sakamoto, too. It’s the implications that come with marrying a civilian that makes you worry.

Hyo brought it up during the last time he stopped by the shop, needing to pick up domoic acid for a mission; the sight of one of the tallest men you’ve seen cradling a miniature bottle would’ve provided more comic relief were it not for his questions that followed. When he commented that the quiet man was taking more time off and following through on fewer assignments, you figured he was mildly complaining about the need for other Order members to pick up his slack. Then he asked when was the last time you talked to Sakamoto.  

It would’ve seemed random–especially since you and Hyo seldom discuss anything beyond fragrances and poisons–had you not made that unspoken agreement with Nagumo months ago. Since that night, you’ve been careful with running into Sakamoto, or any 7-Eleven for that matter. 

And from what Nagumo has told you, no one else in the Order knows about Aoi, much less the fact that you two have met her. You hope it stays that way. The last thing this wedding needs is a splash of red.

Especially when you know the JAA doesn’t take well to assassins exposing the cracks in the association’s carefully constructed structure, and particularly when those who disrespect the rules causes others to question whether they could do the same. Almost two years have passed since Yotsumura’s defection, but his absence still looms over like a dark cloud in the distance that no one wants to acknowledge. The members first pointing out the fresh jagged scar on Shishiba’s chin was the last time anything connected to the founder of the Order was mentioned. 

His death serves a dull, painful reminder. A threat. Yotsumura was the one who hired you as a poisons expert retainer for his organization, a deal you only accepted after he assured you that you were chosen not because of Nagumo’s unabating–and Sakamoto’s sporadic–recommendations, but solely for recreating a highly coveted poison that was last made by your father. (“I don’t trust those two and I’m not the type to do favors. Besides, people who can make decent poisons are short in numbers these days.)

If the JAA treated their former No. 2 man like that, you fear how they might dispose of others who forget their loyalty. It’s a warning those like Hyo heed, and those like Sakamoto will ignore, especially if it contradicts what they want. 

So with Hyo being such a stickler for the rules, you simply shrugged at his question before changing the subject. If anyone is going to announce a JAA violation, it should be Sakamoto himself. Your job requires you to be okay with helping others kill, a fact you’ve never challenged, but you refuse to cause the death of an innocent civilian.

Thankfully, Hyo didn’t think much of your lack of an answer. Maybe he caught the visible discomfort in your shifting figure before dropping the topic, asking how your grandparents were instead. You sincerely hope his soft side–which you swear you’ve seen before–allows him to be more understanding of this delicate situation Sakamoto’s placed himself in. 

But the real concern lies in how long everyone will continue believing this false narrative that one of the country’s most formidable assassins won’t call it quits the minute he gets hitched to a normie.

“I still can’t believe it,” you say after a hot minute, eyes fixed back onto the ceiling. “They seem like complete opposites.”

Nagumos laughs, sounding quite amused. “Well, you’re definitely convinced they’ll stay together…”

“It’s not that, I just–” Where are you going with this? “Marriage is such a foreign concept to me.”

Even the way the word rolls off your tongue feels weird. Sounds off. 

“Foreign? Haven't you been to a wedding before?”

“Have you?”

Although he doesn’t respond right away, you can feel him burning holes into your face. 

You continue to stare straight above. 

“Well, I guess I crashed one, but that counts, right?” He bites his lip in contemplation. “The bride didn’t appreciate me killing the groom before their photoshoot, though.”

It takes restraint to not laugh darkly at what you ideally hope is a joke, but are cynically aware could very likely be the truth. “Gee, I wonder why…”

“Anyway, you act as if people in our profession don’t get married.”

“They don’t.” You won’t. At least, you don’t think you will. But telling him that feels wrong, so you stick with the unpleasant, sour taste in your mouth.

“And your parents? Mine?”

You can’t recall the last time he’s mentioned his parents. In fact, you don’t think he’s ever brought them up before.

“I mean, married to civilians.”

The sound of the fan whirring back to life makes you switch your gaze back to the floor. To Nagumo positioning the petite contraption next to your face.

“Man, this heat has you all depressed! We gotta make sure you’re not behaving like this at the wedding–no one likes a party pooper.”

“Nagumo, be serious for once,” you plead wearily, hating that it sounds like you’re whining.

“Oh man, I can’t be the only one feeling this sense of deja vu!”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be daft. Haven’t we talked about this before?” There’s a mirthful glint in his gaze that accompanies that teasing tone.

Right, the ‘tranquil’ nightly stroll featuring a civil conversation that felt more like some absurd ultimatum. “Not to the extent we should’ve.”

“Hmm, I remember calling it silly. A tad foolish. Ridiculous, sure. What else will fit…I’ll have to pull out a thesaurus at this rate.”

“I’m worried for her.”

He immediately stops ticking off his senseless list of words, sharp eyes studying your concern. “Hah! Worried? Come on, you know he’ll protect her. Will probably teach her a few moves, or maybe it’s the other way around. He did mention that she’s a Bruce Lee fan.”

The steady thrum of the spinning fan matches the rapid beats of your heart as you look at him imploringly. “And you know that’s not what I’m concerned about.”

His lips press firmly, a sudden grim expression saying more than his words ever could.

Nagumo may be as skillful as Sakamoto, perhaps even more adept than his old friend, yet his inability to move on hinders him. He can lie about no longer being affected by it. Can masterfully hide his need for closure. But any hypocrite can spot when someone else is relying on the methods they also use.

He’s like you, in that way. The thought strikes your head so abruptly it begins to ache.

It’s his turn to look up, hands behind his head as he sighs. “It’ll be okay! Seriously. She trusts him.”

“As if that’s enough.” In this world, it isn’t. If Sakamoto attempts to leave, it will only follow him. 

He has to be aware of this. Right? Blind trust is reserved for idiots who enjoy getting hurt.

“Hmm, who’s to say? But being so guarded sure makes for a boring life.”

Your stomach twists into knots, cognizant of who that’s directed toward. “At least it guarantees safety.”

“Please,” he chides, not unkindly, “then why stick to poison-making? And nothing in life is guaranteed. You know that more than anyone.”

He must catch your slight wince–of course he does, who are you kidding?–because he quickly adds on, a bit higher in pitch and certainly more lively than how you’re feeling, “One never knows when there’s an assassin about to cut off your head, after all!”

“I’m talking about Aoi, here.” Yet you aren’t fooling anyone with how defensive you sound.

“You really are the worst liar I know.” He turns his body to face you in the same direction, calling your name when you’re reluctant to do the same. His voice is so quiet your ears strain to hear the low mumble. “What are you so afraid of?”

It doesn’t help that when you close your eyes, you only see her face. Can even vividly picture every single strand of blue hair that hides the tiny dark flecks in those annoyingly golden eyes.

This really is the last conversation you want to have with anyone, least of all him. 

You suck in a short breath before rolling to your side, growing increasingly aware of how stuffy the room feels. How close he is to you. 

“I’m not afraid, I’m…” You falter. “I’m just tired of losing people.” 

Your face burns as you continue to be met with silence, a quiet that you doubt with how loudly your heart pounds against your ribs. The confession is incredibly shameful to say aloud, considering what you do for a living. It’s more embarrassing to admit it to another person, specifically to someone who will undoubtedly respond with one of his classic facetious remarks. (Though you argue such a reply is warranted.) 

But still, finally getting it out in the open, after sitting with it for so long, makes you feel a bit less lonely. 

He doesn’t say anything, his uncharacteristically sober gaze searching yours.

You feel him grab your hand gently, your muscles initially flexed when you see him place it on top of his cheek.

Yet there’s no other resistance on your end, and you’re frightened by how quickly your body reacts to the movement. Your palm even seems to have a mind of its own with the way it cups his face immediately. As if some primordial instinct just kicked in.

Nagumo stays still as your fingers trace soft lines across his smooth skin. From the delicate slope of his nose and the high set of cheekbones to the sharp edge of his jaw and the long lashes that frame round, dark eyes. Eyes that hold a void you’re never able to tap yourself into, unless you risk getting sucked into that black hole. 

You feel starved, unable to stop admiring a beauty so alluring. Inviting. He’s warm to the touch. 

Alive. 

And despite your brain reminding you that he’s here, right in front of you, another part of you can’t believe it until you’ve committed every feature to memory. The intimate action requires all your concentration that you nearly forget the light trail of sweat forming at the back of your neck, or the insufferable heat threatening to swallow you two whole.

Your fingers hover right above his lips with a slight waver, though you unabashedly stare at them and the way they twist upwards when he catches you in the act. 

“Go out with me.”

A mere whisper, terribly low that if you aren’t sharing the same breaths you might’ve missed it.

It feels like you just got the wind knocked out of you. Looking up, you blink away the reverie you slipped yourself into, trying your best to forget the moment when those exact same words were said by someone else so long ago. “What?”

“Go out with me,” he repeats, a bit louder this time, and that’s when you notice his hand is on your hip. “We can go to the wedding together. Be the hottest couple.” He pauses, thinking that over again. “Well, second hottest, I suppose. That’s what we’d tell them, anyway.”

You’d laugh from the shock of it all if it weren’t for your unsteady heart attempting to jump out of your chest. “How…forward of you.”

Even his snorts are graceful. “You say that as if it’s a new trait of mine.”

“That’s because I don’t know what else to say.”

He smiles enthusiastically, and there’s a rare hint of nervousness to its boyish character. “How about ‘yes’? That’s not only the easiest answer but the right one, especially for the birthday boy.”

“Hey, you can’t pull that card.” You’re surprised your racing mind can currently form a coherent sentence. “Not yet, at least.”

His eyes crease with the smug smirk playing on his lips. “Huh, I guess you’re right. Not that I need to use it. Because we both know you feel it, too.”

The tip of his thumb skirts under your shirt and a shiver wracks your body from the contact. 

To steady the slight tremor in your hand, you flatten your palm against his face. Grasping fingers find purchase in his hair, a light exhale falling past your lips upon realizing how soft it is. Uncaring for how you cause it to fall loose from the tied knot. You know you shouldn’t, that you should stop. But it’s the only thing grounding you at the moment.

You can see your conflicted expression reflected in those big brown eyes that you get lured into far easily. The cascading sunlight makes them appear as a rich, coppery chestnut you can’t, or rather, don’t want to tear yourself away from.  

For a brief second, you can picture it clearly, can sense it with every fiber of your being. His comforting embrace after a long, tiresome day. The curve of his lips against your own. Entwining his hands with yours. Taking in his scent until you can distinguish no other. Him having you all to himself and you having him all to yourself. Where no one else, no thing can reach. The image is so vivid that you can touch it with a stretch of your arm, feel it brush against the edge of your fingertips. Closing your eyes, you feel yourself lean in, almost allow yourself to give in, to be swept by the grandeur of it all.

Almost.

You’re not sure what exactly pulls you back, but the uneasy dread that begins pooling in your stomach becomes harder to ignore with each sharp breath. You swallow the lump in your throat, a dull ache in your heart as you painfully pry your heavy hand off him and shake your head.

“I can’t.” Air leaves your chest. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

The instant those words leave your mouth you know you’ve made a mistake. You desperately wish you could tell him why–to provide him some sort of explanation beyond the half-assed ‘it feels wrong’. Or at least something, anything, that doesn’t teeter between the straight razor edge of unnecessarily cruel and downright insane.

But when his smile no longer reaches his eyes, you doubt a clarification would’ve prevented him looking this sad. 

And then it’s gone in an instant. His well-worn mask is back on, the sunny disposition written so well across his face you wonder if the slightest inkling of disappointment was simply a figment of your imagination. 

He truly is a master of his craft. 

The room suddenly feels frigid and sterile, and panic begins to rise in your chest the moment he starts getting up. 

You find yourself standing, lamely trailing behind as he begins to open the door. “Wait, hold on–”

“Now, no need to look so guilty,” he says casually, back facing towards you. He tilts his head so you can only catch a glimpse of his face. Save for the thin stretch of his lips, you can’t begin to read his expression, much less fathom what’s going on in that head of his. “Not when I was just kidding!”

The cheerful delivery of that last line sounds so feigned you much prefer being stabbed in the gut multiple times than being the one to blame for all this. 

“Nagumo,” you try once again, voice getting weaker, “We should talk about this.”

He’s less than a few steps away from you but you’ve never felt this distant from him. You hate how good he is at making it seem like you’re an acquaintance he can now cross off his yearly check-in quota. Oceans apart would be a generous underestimate.

“See you at the wedding!”

The door closes before you can register that he’s left, not giving you the chance to study even the slightest change in his face. 

Then again, you don’t think you’ve ever been able to read past his facade. 

In such a short amount of time, everything seems to have flipped upside down, anxiety gripping its claws into you while you pace back and forth in search of a solution. You worry it might be too late to mend the gaping hole you recklessly created. 

In your frenetic pacing, your shoulder bumps into the wall, two pictures no longer in view as they fall onto the floor. The shattered glass punctures the silence that weighs in the air. Cursing under your breath, you bend down, careful to not cut yourself with the broken shards as you pick up the first photo and stare at the four people looking right back at you. 

It was Asami’s first photograph on the new digital camera you had gifted her for her birthday. She told all of you to smile and look at the fancy device, but (shockingly) only you, the poisons student who treated a lab manual like scripture, followed her instructions. 

Sakamoto ended up blinking in this one, and the last time you checked, a frown was not a smile. A squinting Akao was right next to him and to your left. Her black jacket slipped past her shoulders as she poked Nagumo in the cheek after she caught him wiggling his hand behind your head with two fingers up. One of his eyes was closed, the other one looking at you, but at least he was grinning from ear to ear. You can’t even remember what she was shouting at him, her open mouth–with the slightest upward curve at the corner if you examine it long enough–remaining frozen in time. All you can recall is their bickering making you laugh hard enough that your smile felt effortless. 

You try your hardest not to cry but realize it’s a lost cause when a teardrop dampens the photo paper.

[bathroomforless]

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[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (5)

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[dross-the-fish]

A Spider's Touch

the train wound through the countryside carrying two young men bound for university. One a large, handsome, fair-haired Scottsman who's clothes were of fine cut and who's hair was styled in a fashionable cut and the other a slight dark-haired Englishman in dusty hand-me-downs, who had yet to outgrow the unfortunate stage of early manhood that left him with the bare wisps of a thin mustache and sideburns that would only sprout in patches along the side of a jaw still rounded with boyishness.

The two were clearly friends, they sat side by side and chatted easily and the larger of them was confident and relaxed, one arm propped over the back of the seat with his legs sprawled out in front of him. A dog eared magazine dangled loosely from his hand.

"You think old Hastie will be with us again this year?" he asked his smaller, darker companion.

"I hope so, it'll be nice to see him and with the three of us we could afford to rent a flat off campus. We're not even there and I'm already sick of the thought of living in the dormitories. Are you going to behave yourself this year, Harry?"

"I told you I would, didn't I, Utterson?" there was a faint touch of irritation. Don't nag me

"Of course, but one likes to be reassured," came the cool reply. Don't give me reasons to

They chatted awhile longer until Utterson began to nod off, his head falling to window. Henry Jekyll watched him, took note of a hand falling onto a knobby knee. It was not a lovely hand, in fact he was sure it would be quite ugly when its owner grew older. Bony fingers with prominent knuckles, dry skin around blunt, short nails that had been chewed to the quick and a thick vein that ran from the knuckle of the index finger diagonally towards a sharp wrist. When Gabriel Utterson grew old Henry was sure it would be skeletal and clammy, dotted with liver spots. Not a lovely hand…but a fascinating one, and one he couldn't stop gazing at.

Impulsively Henry's own hand reached out, traced that vein with a long elegant finger in a slow and deliberate stroke.

Utterson gave a twitch and his eyelids fluttered. Henry jerked back and made a quick show of being absorbed in his magazine. Utterson's brown knit, he grimaced rubbing his hand and looking about the cabin.

"Something wrong?" Henry asked coolly.

"I think something crawled across my hand."

"I think I saw a spider in here earlier," Henry lied.

"Disgusting, I hate those things," Gabriel shuddered rubbing a little harder as though trying to rid himself of the repugnant touch and the gesture made Henry's heart drop.

Disgusting

Loathsome…that's what you are

Don't touch me

the ugly voice in his head rasped and he felt a shameful heat rise to his cheeks. He held the magazine higher, hiding his face and he gave Utterson a hum of acknowledgement.

Gabriel Utterson would never understand why Henry Jekyll had remained so silent for the rest of the trip and he would be too busy looking anxiously for the invisible spider that had touched him to care.

…..

40 years later

…..

Gnarled, arthritic and covered in liver spots. the vein more prominent than ever.

Edward watched as those wasted skeletal hands gripped the top of a cane while Utterson stared at the abandoned townhouse once belonging to Henry Jekyll.

His hair had gone completely grey, and his mustache and sideburns had come in thick and full now on the wasted husk of a face.

When Utterson finally had his fill of grieving and walked away he passed very close by the alley where Edward hid, observing from the shadows. He stopped, as though sensing a presence and Edward went very still. The cane tilted as the weight of his hand leaned it forward, dark eyes squinting under heavy white brows scanning the darkness before him for signs of life.

he was so close…

Impulsively Edward reached out and brushed a finger along the vein of that hand with a touch that trembled and barely dared make contact.

Utterson started and dropped the cane with a clatter, shaking his hand as though trying to fling away the unwelcome crawl of a spider on his skin. He cursed. Picked up his cane and before he could rise to get a better look Edward had already disappeared.

[yoonzinuhh]

RUN TO YOU

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : reader x seungcheol,reader x mingyu (NOT A POLY !)

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : office au. boss x worker,co workers,fluff,smut,comfort,hurt,angst.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : few curse words. mentions about past sex (no actual smut scenes) that’s it.

𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 : this is purely fiction. i have no intentions in sexualising any artist. just for entertainment purposes. let me know if you want to be tagged !

series list , episode1 , episode3

episode2.

you’re fucked. its just the first day and you’re already running late because you wanted to fuck some random hot guy. and you messing up the train hasn’t helped you at all.

but damn here you are standing infront of this building that has god knows how many floors,shining through your eyes just like it did 7 years ago. this was your dream company. you worked so hard in college and internships so you could finally work under this brand business. and to think that you kinda messed up your first day..well it’s fine you’re just late by what..5 minutes OH FUCK 15 MINUTES ALREADY.

“good morning. where’s the meeting for freshers being conducted ?”

“good morning to you too. its in the 8th floor. you’ll have a board directing you. have a good day,all the best” says the receptionist with the hugest smile.

it’s all the little things that could actually make you feel positive the whole day.

well well well you feel your body heat up with anxiety when you see the room already filled with people and the meeting has already started.

trying to get inside with no traces of entering “OUH” here we go,you just got your pinky toe hit by one of the chairs. being twenty four and nothing could change your clumsiness,truly.

“i’m sorry haha” you respond to all the eyes that’s on you silently sitting next to someone.

“hi” he whispers. you just nod because you can’t afford to have your name called out right after what you did.

“i’m mingyu !” he whispers again glancing at your direction.

“y/n” you just smile and nod once again. the speech started again distracting you both.

“that’s all the information you all would need. the teams would be split based on the department with one senior head. hopefully you guys would enjoy your job. feel free to contact us anytime.” oh she’s done.

having your little convo with mingyu,who is apparently in the same business field as you,your ceo comes by reading your name tags.

“good luck to both of you for getting into the business team in such a young age.” she says with an elegant smile.

“you both will be assisted by your head,my son- just a minute- SEUNGCHEOL !!” she turns back and waves at a guy..oh god..OH GOD.

your eye’s physically widens. throat drying. you’re about to cry. no way..no way you just fucked your ceo’s son the night before..didn’t you..

his eyes meets yours and you see his widen too after seeing you. you just divert looking away.

“keep talking to them sweetie,i’ll go and meet up with the next team” she smiles at the three of you and walks away.

“sooo hi to mingyu aanddd y/n who was late on her first day of work..because?” you’re fucked up,again.

you just awkwardly smile at him because WHO WOULD’VE EVER THOUGHT.

smirking he just leads you both to your work space,talking about what you’ll be doing,about work and all that. you could feel his stare on the corridors,the lift,the working area,the EVERYWHERE.

well who would’ve thought your first day would be this way.

“so this is where we will be working. you can find all the files inside the lockers on floor 3. i’ll be on and off so you can just contact me through the official number. for now i’m leaving.” he winks at you and you just look down at the speed of a thunder. oof atleast he’s gone.

“what’s with you and mr.choi ?”

whipping your head at mingyu’s direction you just freeze because..yeah..no.

“nothing. i’m just anxious i think.”

“cool. anyways can i have your number??”

“HUH”

“what ! we’re going to work together until how many ever years we’ll need it come on.”

“uh yeah right haha” at this point you’re just fake laughing at anything and everything because you still can’t process what happened the whole day.

to be honest everything else about this day was good. the office was amazing,just like you thought. you were going to work under something that you loved,fashion.

you loved fashion business and your parents were terribly against it. but god you fought. fought so bad to be here. to do something you love.

and mingyu was a good guy too. he was talkative,a good company and you were satisfied of everything except one. seungcheol.

tags : @thepoopdokyeomtouched @leah-rose03 @wonwootakemyheart @aaniag @fragmentof-indifference

[major-toast]

Wolfstar Microfic - Late

@wolfstarkinktober2024 // day 25: somnophilia // 868 words // mdni

This one ended up quite long, so I'll place the microfic below the cut.

Remus is running late. He's never running late. He has never run late. In a world, where werewolves already are in a more than unfortunate position, he cannot afford to be late. Finding jobs is hard for people like him. This is less than ideal.

He rushes past the bedroom, a piece of toast clenched between his teeth and his fingers frantically fumbling with the tie around his neck. His worn-down leather satchel is propped against the front door, patiently waiting to be picked up. Five more minutes and his shift will begin. All Remus needs to do now is grab his belongings and apparate out of the flat.

Cursing quietly over his own daftness, he walks back in, opening the door as soundlessly as possible.

Well, that would be the case if he hadn't forgotten something.

Halting abruptly inside the hallway, he turns back to the bedroom door, which he had left ajar. The warmth of the bed is calling his name. Remus gnaws on his lower lip. He doesn't have time!

But he'll be damned to leave without a goodbye kiss.

The windows are opened and the early morning sun floods the sheets and furniture in a soft, bright light. As a cool breeze drifts over the bed, the thin curtains blow like a sail in the wind. It is a tranquil picture, but not as tranquil as the man still asleep between heavy blankets and gigantic pillows.

Remus has always believed, that Sirius must be from a different world. It is difficult to comprehend something as beautiful as him to exist in a universe as bleak as this one. Yet, he is very much real. The plenty of kisses Remus has pressed to his skin are proof of that. Even now, Remus can taste the taste of Sirius' skin rather vividly on his tongue. If miracles still happen, then Sirius is one of them.

Smiling softly, Remus leans in, wanting to press a careful peck to his lover's cheek. However, the moment he does, Sirius stirs, rolling onto his stomach. The blanket slides off his shoulder, revealing taut muscles, porcelain-like skin, and numerous artworks in the form of tattoos. Remus swallows heavily. His stomach flutters.

He shouldn't do this. He's running late and Sirius needs his sleep. But the full moon is close and Remus has grown more and more restless with each day. Seeing his love embedded in their bed like the star-kissed deity he is, is a temptation he can hardly resist. What are five minutes more, really?

Well, Moons, I wouldn't mind - you know - if you touched me in my sleep. I have plenty of wet dreams already. And what's better than waking up only for the dream to continue? What I'm saying is: if you're fine with it, I am more than fine with it.

Sirius Black. I should have known what a naughty dog you are.

For you? Always, my moon.

Well, who is the naughty dog now?

The heat flaring up his spine becomes unbearable. Remus' mouth runs drier than a desert would and he's hard before he has fully climbed onto the bed. Breathing heavily, he unbuckles his belt, not even granting himself the time to undress himself properly. All he does is take out his throbbing cock and give it two frantic pumps.

Fuck, he really is a desperate hound, isn't he?

Carefully, he pulls back the blanket, exposing Sirius' elegant frame. With a needy groan, he starts mouthing at his shoulder blades, rutting against his thighs. Sirius remains blissfully unaware, probably mistaking this for yet another wet dream. Well, at least, as of now.

The kisses become more violent, more lustful. Remus doesn't care if he leaves bruises the size of a fist. He has done worse before.

"Fucking hell."

Again, Sirius stirs. This time, much more strongly. Remus can hear him groan, can feel his muscles twitch. Not long and he'll be fully awake, drowsily trying to make sense out of the situation he suddenly found himself in. But Remus doesn't let up. He can't. Already at the brink of falling apart at the seams, with precum dripping off his tip, he pushes inside of his love. A moan wrenches from Sirius' lips.

Immediately, his body responds to Remus' advances, despite not knowing what is happening, feeling disorientated and maybe even confused. His spine arches into the thrust while his hand fists the sheets underneath. Moan after moan bubbles out of his chest while his skin starts to heat up worryingly fast.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, sweetheart. God, I'm so sorry. I couldn't- I- Fuck."

A string of nonsensical pleads tumbles out of Remus' mouth. Even though Sirius brought this idea up in the first place, Remus still feels the need to apologise. But, as inappropriate as it might feel as good does it feel too. Too good, truthfully. There is some thrill within the forbidden. And both men - now desperately moaning and grabbling with each other for one feverish kiss after the other - are known for chasing the high of that exact thrill. Always have been.

Maybe Remus will run late again. Especially, if the payoff is as sweet as this.