#And the voices say You are not the exception You will never learn your lesson

[chattybugette]

Reminder that Gabriel is not canonically above akumatizing a pregnant person

[beargyufairy]

And the voices say

"You are not the exception”

“You will never learn your lesson"

[whogirl42]

Not Crowley listening to Foolish One by Taylor Swift post s2😭

[planetsandthefates]

i thought castles crumbling made me crumble into pieces but foolish one revived me and then punched me in the gut

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Bratty!Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Tired of your antics regarding how cavalier you take your sexual relationship, your lieutenant cuts you off and that has you immediately plotting. You know you can get him to break and all it'll take is one purchase. How can he keep his resolve when he sees what you've bought? And how will he act when he catches you?

Word Count: 6.8 k

Warnings:

The office is silent now except for the distant sounds of movement filtering in from outside the door of people coming and going through the building. Your shirt clings in a rumpled mess to your body, sweat speckling across your limbs from that specific heat that gets shared between two bodies, euphoria still running through your veins when the man sitting beneath you speaks. “We’re not doin’ this again, so get that straight. Understand?”

You tilt your head to the side and raise a curious eyebrow, staring back into the face of your lieutenant as he gets you to your feet and grabs his shirt to throw it back over his head, covering his sweat-glistening torso. “Care to explain what you’re talking about or am I meant to just guess?” you ask with snark in your tone as you pick up the rest of your clothing off the floor.

Buttoning his pants and re-buckling his belt, he takes his time before answering as you finish and stand there impatient and agitated. “What the fuck did I say about startin’ stuff with me when I’m busy?” Lt. Riley questions back, his voice harsh. “Did ya think I was jokin’ or are ya just hell bent on gettin’ caught? Cause that’s what’s gonna fuckin’ happen if ya keep temptin’ me in the middle of the day.”

“You could turn me away,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “ever heard of self-control?”

Stepping up close to your body, the lieutenant grabs you by the chin and looks down his nose at you. “You’re too much of a distraction. And ya need to be taught a lesson, sweetheart; when I say somethin’ I fuckin’ mean it. Consider this my self-control.” 

“Oh, gonna punish me now?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you pull your face out of his grasp with a flick of your head. “Okay, go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”

“Ya ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me til I can be sure you’re gonna listen. You’re cut off, sweetheart, and until ya can learn, we’re done with this.” 

You hold his gaze steadfast, not intimidated in the least. If he wants to play this game, then you’ll play it, but if he thinks this is going to end the way he wants, he is going to be sorely mistaken. “Fine.” You don’t argue, there is no sense to. “Have it your way, sir. Is that all?”

You’ll have it your way soon enough. All it’ll take is patience.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to sit back in the chair behind his desk without uttering another word. It is a gross miscalculation on Lt. Riley’s part not to immediately take your acceptance if his reprimand as a giant red flag, but if he isn’t willing to put his knowledge of your competitive temperament to use then that is fully on him; he is a big boy and since he wants to talk about consequences, then he should be ready to receive his own.

You double check yourself in silence before you leave his office with a smug sense of satisfaction, though a plan isn’t in mind just yet. It doesn’t matter really, the bigger they are the harder they fall and you are confident that you can make him fold with very little effort because despite being a man of mostly mystery, you know the intimate details of what makes that 6’4” military officer weak. 

The day isn’t even over before you already have a plan in mind and it all involves one very specific item. It’s a shame you have to order it, but the time it’ll take to come in the post will work in your favor. Lt. Riley needs time to cool off, to miss his pretty thing, to let his appetite for you get ravenous again.

Patience was never your virtue unless it came to getting something you wanted, so you bore your restlessness in silence as you waited for your order to come in. You give the lieutenant his space without a fuss, letting him believe his little delusion that at any moment you’ll come crawling back ready to obey him just as he wants.

A week passes and then nearly another when finally you are gifted with your prize that comes in the evening mail that Friday. You can taste the sweetness of your retribution already as you rip into the package and pull out the smallest, tightest pair of jet black hot pants with white trim. No more keeping this body for his eyes only; if he doesn’t want to give you the attention you desire then someone else will. 

You rush to your barracks the second the day comes to a close with your package in hand; you have only a short window of time to pull your entire plan together or you’ll be forced to wait till after the weekend and you are tired of waiting. Tonight is the night that you make your lieutenant come crawling back to you and stop with this nonsense.   

The tiny swath of fabric covering your ass barely hides a damned thing from view, hugging around your hips like they are painted on and resting at the very top of your thighs so that the underside of your butt peeks out from below the hem. There is a slit that goes up the side and it is doing its job in making your legs look extra long while also showing as much skin as possible. It leaves almost nothing to the imagination for anyone who happens to look your way… and boy do you want as many eyes on you as you can get.

Let’s see him be steadfast in his resolve to teach you a lesson now.

With a head full of devious thoughts, you leave your room and head out onto base and into the oncoming night. Shoulders back and head held high you walk past the buildings with confidence on the way to your first stop of the night: the officers building. You had checked the clock just before you left, it’s nearly time now. He’ll be leaving his office soon and you need him to catch sight of you on the way to your second destination: the rec center.

How lucky it is that the lieutenant is a man of routine and so giving it another minute or two you step out in front of the building and start heading directly for the rec, though at a slower pace than usual. And sure enough, when you’re still within eyeshot, you hear the front door to the building open. 

Stepping out into the cooler evening air, Lt. Riley looks up and his sight is captured by a figure moving just up ahead in the distance. People coming and going isn’t abnormal on a military base, but what really catches his attention is the familiarity of the body and the way that body is dressed. He is stunned in his tracks because you are barely wearing anything at all with shorts that look like they’ve been painted on. Paired with the tight black tank top you’ve chosen and you might as well be naked for all the covering it does. After a good almost two weeks of no action, the man is starved…but also curious as to where the fuck you are going dressed like this. 

The best thing would have been for the lieutenant to turn tail and walk away, leave it and you alone, but as smart as Lt. Riley is when it comes to temptation the man is a goddamn fool that cannot help himself.

You are a good bit ahead by the time he takes action and decides to follow you, but he keeps the pace as heat floods his body from staring at the back of you walking away, desperately wanting to take a bite out of all that juicy meat tempting his gaze as it bounces with each sure-footed step you take. Fuck, he is a sucker for all the plump, tender parts of your body and having them on display like this is a regular buffet that he can’t help but soak up even with his nosiness into what exactly has you looking so killer. 

Those auburn eyes of his continue to follow you as you come to the front of a building and enter. Now that you are out of view, he can think more clearly and he realizes that it’s the rec center that you’ve just entered. The closer the lieutenant gets, the more he catches raucous sounds of many voices braying like a pack of crazed hounds, making him quicken his steps that match his rising blood pressure until he stands just outside the doors to peer in without being detected yet.

Through the glass doors he can see towards the back of the main room that a group of privates surrounding the single government bought pool table with cues in hand are now circling you like wolves circling a wounded deer, practically begging you to join them for a few games while he knows that its only to get you to stay longer so that they can enjoy the view. It makes his blood boil to watch them ogle you like that, getting far too close to what isn’t theirs. 

…to what belongs to him.

Standing in silence, now cloaked in darkness as night has fallen, he watches angrily as a private gets bold enough to place his hand at the small of your back just as you lean over the table to make your first shot and suddenly he is seeing red. He can barely comprehend anything through the angry haze clouding his vision, but he can feel the cold steel of the door handle in his hand as he wrenches it open and stalks inside as if he is ready to kill.   

All eyes immediately drift towards the source of the sound. You look up through a giggle to see the form of the lieutenant standing there, sharp gaze boring straight into you specifically and the man who still has his hand on you. 

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere,” that deep voice booms through the small space to quiet the rowdy bunch.

“Is there a problem, sir?” one of the more brave privates speaks up.

His sight doesn’t leave you. “Seems we need to have a chat about propriety,” he growls. “This is a military base, not a fuckin’ strip club.” 

You smirk. “I don’t know what kind of strip clubs you frequent, sir, but I can assure you that this is more clothing than most will allow.”

A few of the privates snicker behind you, impressed with your audacity to backtalk someone as imposing as the skull-masked officer and that does nothing but add fuel to the fire.

“Come with me- now.” His voice is firm. 

A collective “ooooh” passes around the bunch that is quickly quelled with one harsh glare. “If I were ya I would get back to my fuckin’ game,” Lt. Riley barks. “Or would you lot rather be placed on permanent fire guard to drive the goddamn point home, since ya want to meddle in an officer’s business?”

His command is absolute and none of the privates have the balls enough to question it. Quickly they scramble back to their game, keeping their heads down and eyes locked to the table. Whatever trouble you are about to get in is none of their concern, not when being reprimanded by the imposing lieutenant is on the line.

Satisfied, those amber eyes snap right back to you. “Move, now,” he demands and points towards an area of the rec that is blocked off by a wall, essentially cutting the room in two and will give enough privacy that the others inside won’t be able to witness what is about to transpire. 

“Of course, sir,” you say in agreement without a syllable of dissention. 

Turning on your heels you take off in the direction pointed out to you, walking ahead of the masked officer eagerly. He’s mad; there is no need to turn around, you can feel his glare on you the entire walk over and it makes you smile. You’ve hit the nerve you had hoped to. Now to bring it all home and get your lover back the way you want. 

As soon as you make it behind the cover of the corner his hand is on your waist as he shoves you into the wall with brute force. Your back hits it and you let out a surprised gasp. He stands towering over top of you, a powerfully intimidating figure with a massive presence to match as he glares you down with fire in his gaze. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you ask as you quickly regain your composure.

Christ, when you want to get his attention you sure know how to do it. “What the fuck do ya think you’re doin’, hmm?” he questions back heatedly. “Puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for all the privates? Do ya fuckin’ think this appropriate, what ya got on?”

Something about having this conversation with the barrier of his balaclava covering his face infuriates you as if this was any other time he would have already had it off his face. “You think you can just treat me like everyone else after all we’ve done? Fuck you; take off the mask when you’re talking to me.”

His eyes narrow as he shakes his head side to side. “You don’t get to make demands a me anymore, princess.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge back. “That what you think?”

Leaning in a bit closer, you can feel the heat of his breath even as it filters through the fabric. “That’s what I know. Now answer the question. Do ya think this is appropriate?”

Your shrug is nonchalant. “For field work? Well, it depends on the climate I suppose. That doesn’t really apply here does it, since we are still on base. Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

A sharp hiss of air exits rapidly out of his nose. “Like hell I do,” he says and suddenly you can make out the feel of his fingertips as they toy around with the fabric at the edge of your shorts. He lets them brush against your outer thigh as he follows the line of the hem up the slit that goes higher towards your hip. There is electricity in his touch and it makes your pulse start to race. “You're distracting my men. An outfit like this is askin’ for attention. Whose fuckin’ attention ya tryin’ to get, hmm?”

“Who said anything about attention?” you question him back as if you can’t possibly understand what all the fuss is about. “I just wanted to be comfortable. You know, unwind and all that after a long week.”

“Comfortable,” he scoffs as he rolls the fabric in between his fingers. “Ya barely have a god damned thing on.”

“Maybe that’s how I feel most comfortable,” you push, your reply a little more breathy. “You of all people should know that.” 

Oh you are walking on thin ice, lying to him like this. He is not that innocent that he can’t tell what you’re doing and you are not that naive to think that he won’t immediately figure it out. Harshly grabbing your chin, he holds your face firm in his grasp as his dark eyes shadowed within the confines of his mask stare back into your own. 

“Don’t ya lie to me, sweetheart,” he says, that gruff voice metered and unyielding in its severity. “The way ya were just eatin’ up how those boys reacted, I know ya didn’t fuckin’ dress like a slag for nothin’.”

“Are they not allowed to look, Simon?” you ask without missing a beat and using his name as if it’s a curse.

The question hangs in that air as Simon shifts in his stance while not saying a word, eyes narrowing as he realizes that there is no right way for him to answer that without giving himself away that he has dug himself into trouble.

A smug grin crosses your lips before you try to lick it away. “Ah, so that’s the problem right? That they were looking at me? Strange, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were… jealous. But that can’t be right, can it Simon? Because I thought I was cut off and that you were done, so it’s all fair game yeah? Unless there is something you want to fess up to?”

Simon’s chiseled jaw twitches under his mask as his eyes shimmer; you are pushing it, though why is he even surprised. “Ya better watch it, luv,” he warns under his breath as his grip along your chin tightens. “You are playin’ with fire and if ya ain’t careful, your pretty little fingers are gonna fuckin’ burn.” 

And before you are even made conscious of it, your mind immediately knows what to say in response. You hold his gaze steadfast in your own. “Make me.”

Those two little words and their variations are Simon’s kryptonite and you know it; that’s what got you on his cock in the first place. Nothing else can make that man go feral than a threat from a bratty bitch that puts him in the position to show them the consequences of what their cocky attitudes get them.  

You smirk, satisfied with how you seem to have the upper hand in this little confrontation. Simon is now in a place where he will either have to admit he still wants you and that his threat meant nothing or he will have to let you go… and you know by the rapid increase in the rise and fall of his chest the longer you stand between him and the wall that the latter is looking less and less likely. 

“Still waiting on your answer,” you say with a smug, satisfied grin spread across your lips, “or is it that if you say anything, it’ll make it clear that you are now regretting a certain… decision… you so hastily made?”

God, you know just how to rile him up in the exact way that both infuriates and entices him. His devil with a pretty face, his sin that feels like heaven; he is drawn to your stubbornness like a moth is drawn to a flame.

“Ya vicious little bitch,” he says, the words sharp. 

Gotcha, you think to yourself. You have that serious military officer right where you want him. Now all you have to do is go in for the kill. You take a step into him even with your chin still secure in his grasp. “Oh yeah,” you respond, your voice husky. “As if you don’t fucking love it.”

You are met with only silence as a shiver runs straight through him. He’s barely able to react in time to hide its presence, but grits his teeth hard and stifles any movement other than the rapid breaths he continues to take. 

“Cat got your tongue?” you ask and wait for a response that doesn’t come; you don’t expect it to. “That’s what I thought. So, here’s how it’s going to work: I’m gonna wear what I want, when I want, and if you don’t like how others react to my wardrobe then that’s on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a game to return to.” 

Pulling your head back forcefully out of his grip, his strong, rough fingers release your chin and he watches as you make your move to step past him, but he can’t let this go like he had originally planned. This is the game you both play and he just can’t quit you. You are his, his, and he isn’t going to just let you forget that. You barely take the first few steps around him headed back the way you came when you hear Simon mutter under his breath. 

“Fuck,” the sigh hits your ears before his arm jettisons out and grabs you by the wrist. 

Your body is spun around and pulled into him, your back flush against his warm chest as he leans himself back against the wall. His hand shoots up to cover over your mouth, cupping across your cheeks to stifle any sound that may come from the shock of his action. Sure enough you gasp into his palm as he straps you to his chest by locking you in place with his other arm. 

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, princess,” he grunts lowly into your ear. 

Stoic and silent he pushes a knee up through the gap in your legs to widen them before his hand slinks down your abdomen, over your pants, and comes to rest against your sex. That large palm now nestled in between your thighs presses up into you and it only takes a few seconds for Simon to realize that he can feel the lips of your pussy straight through the thin fabric of your pants without any barrier. No panties, really?

You fucking witch. You planned this, didn’t you?

There are still soldiers hanging about, out of sight for the moment, but still not something that is conducive for such an encounter. He wouldn’t risk something like this…would he? What you think is going to be a quick touch and pull back turns into his hand locking to your pussy as he begins to massage it through your pants. He pushes his fingers up through the cloth until he can feel the outline of your clit on his fingertips.

A quiet chuckle falls from your lips behind his handmade muzzle as his fingers make contact with the crotch of your shorts and you feel his chest jerk as he struggles to catch his breath. Feel something you like, lieutenant? you think as the corners of your mouth upturn against his skin. 

A moan barely squeaks out from around his hand before he presses it harder against your lips. “Don’t need someone catchin’ us, do we? Not til I’m finished with ya.”

Those heated words cause your heart to race violently, thudding strong against your ribcage to match a certain throbbing growing in strength between your thighs. 

“You gonna keep quiet?” he asks and you nod in his hand. “Don’t make me regret it or else, princess.”

Simon removes his palm and wraps his arms around your waist; you’re not going anywhere. “We could still get caught, you know,” you say softly, stumbling over your words as his fingers continue to play.

“Ya should've thought of that before ya tempted me with this fuckin’ skin, luv,” he murmurs against the side of your head. There is no way in hell you are getting out of these shorts without him fucking you out of them, he will stop only when he can feel a wet spot soaking through the crotch. “ ‘Sides, maybe I want that prick that had his fuckin’ hands on ya ta see that he doesn’t stand a chance.” 

He won’t, he has never been the type to share but the threat serves its purpose. The boys at the pool table continue to distract themselves, but who knows how long that will last. If they come creeping over, there is no way they won’t instantly know what is happening. And yet over and over his large fingers grind against your clit until it begins to ache. 

“Gimme your hand,” he searches for the appendage, only to be met with resistance once he locates it. 

“I said give,” he reiterates the point in that more authoritative tone he is used to using with his men.

You shake your head that still rests in his grasp; you don’t want to make this easy for him. If he wants something he is going to have to work for it. Encapsulating your wrist in his hand, the muscles along his forearm strain as he drags your arm up from your side. He takes your hand firmly in his, fingers lacing themselves over the top of your own as he descends them both down the front of your body and slips them into the waistband of your shorts. No time is wasted in bringing them directly between your legs, parting through your warm, soft lips, and nestling both sets of fingers inside. 

“Gonna need ya ta participate in this part,” he says, low and bassey at the side of your face. “You’re fuckin’ achin’ bad, aren’t ya? Christ luv, I can already feel how swollen your clit is.”

Simon keeps your conjoined fingers resting up against that tiny bundle of nerves. There is a tension-filled pause as he takes a deep, labored breath as the end of his thought hangs anxiously in the air, waiting for him to finish it. His lips are right at the threshold of your earlobe, you can feel their presence as they ghost near the tender flesh, the skin tingling as his warm breath wafts over the area.

You suddenly realize the lack of oxygen filling your lungs as he finally speaks. “Let’s make it worse,” he growls. 

A shiver snakes through your spine as he forces your fingers to work in tandem with his in rolling circles over your sensitive clit, stroking again and again in a steady rhythm that he has set. 

“Best hope they decide to leave soon, sweetheart,” he breathes the words into your ear as he rests his forehead against your temple. “Cause if ya want me to let ya fuckin’ come, they’re gonna have to be gone. Until then we’re just gonna have to keep ya wet and fuckin’ ready.”

His phallus pulses against your ass through his pants, bobbing with his racing heartbeat as it prods into the cheek of your ass. A struggled, shaky breath escapes your lips as he moves his hips to press it into you; your sanity is hanging on by a thread. All you want is for him to bend you over, rip your shorts down, and thrust inside, but no matter how much you rub against it he does not take the bait.

Time passes so much slower as you stay strapped to him, his hand and yours shoved down the front of your shorts keeping you wet. Your sanity is beginning to wane; no one should be expected to keep it together when a lover who knows your body like the back of his hand is using everything to his advantage to keep you aching.

Pressure gathering in the pit of your stomach only to dissipate before it can ever come to fruition, over and over Simon brings you to the brink only to back off once you get close enough. It feels like eternity in the haze of his capable fingers working your body before the men finally decide that they have had enough with standing around the quiet center when the local bar is just a short drive down the road and head out, completely forgetting that they haven’t seen either you or the lieutenant for quite some time, but they also haven’t seen either of you leave. 

The moment the door shuts and the last sounds of talking can be heard drifting off into the distance, you are released and again turned only to be shoved back against the wall. Simon is immediately pressed against you, one knee collapsing into the wall between your legs as your hands greedily claw at the cloth gathered at base of his neck, fingers pulling up the bottom of his mask without hindrance so that they can get underneath it and push it up to expose his hungry mouth. A devilish, toothy grin waits to meet you as the fabric is removed; he’s proud of the desperation he has left you in. 

“They’re gone,” you say with a heavy bit of neediness. “I did what you said.” 

“Ya want me ta give it to ya now, that it?” he asks with a smug sense of self satisfaction. 

“You promised,” you shoot back, the agony of waiting becoming unbearable the longer he takes. 

His face inches in closer to yours, hot breath meeting and wafting over the skin on your lips as he exhales. “Ya think this is gonna be some sorta reward?” he asks, his voice lowering into the deeper part of his register, that gravely vibrato that turns your legs into jelly just from the sound.  

Those full lips of his ghost over your own, making the skin quiver from the proximity. Your mouth parts open as suddenly you feel like you can’t get enough air while waiting in misery for him to break and crash on you with all of his desire. A breathy gasp escapes through the gap as that thick thigh of his presses up into your pussy. He has you right where he wants you now.  

“Ya still got a fuckin’ lesson ta learn, princess,” he says. “So, I’m gonna have ta fuck the attitude til it comes drippin’ right out of ya.” 

And with that he leans down and forcefully connects your lips together so that your head hits the wall behind you. Fiery and aggressive he embraces your mouth again and again, lips fighting for dominance with each new connection. Breath and spit are shared as the wet smacking sounds of skin on skin hits the air and fills up the quiet of the place. 

You haven’t gotten your fill yet, but suddenly you find your body being lifted into the air and carelessly flung over one of his broad shoulders as he drags you back into the middle of the room. He eyes his destination the moment it comes into view from around the wall and quickly makes his way over to it; somewhere he can put you so he can get to work.

Your backside makes contact with the smooth felt of the pool table as Simon sets you down on top of it. The cool surface of the rails raises goosebumps on the back of your thighs as he situates you right at the edge. No longer pressed together, a spot of cold radiates from his thigh and he looks down to see a present you have left for him right on the fabric.

“Look what ya did,” he growls, pointing to the obviously darker patch on the inner thigh of his jeans. “Made a fuckin’ mess.”

“Whose…ng…fucking fault is that?” you whimper, adjusting yourself as every little movement puts pressure on your aching clit. 

“And I’d do it again ta keep my brat in line,” he smirks as his irises sparkle like a predator locking on to its prey. “Now, open your fuckin’ legs.”

You widen the gap between your thighs more, but he still has to use his hips to shove them open enough that he can fit in until he is right up against you. The sharp edge of his teeth cuts into the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he sucks it into his mouth to give it a hard nip. He swallows down the harsh groan you produce at his delicious brand of roughness like it’s honey. Every single sound you make in response to his actions is music to his ears. 

“Need ya ta know this type a shit isn’t gonna fly with me.”

Fingertips play around the perimeter of your cunt until he hooks them through the cool, damp crotch of your pants and wrenches them to the side to expose your entrance. “Let’s ruin these fuckin’ things,” he smugly says as he works with one hand to undo his pants and slide both that and his boxers down his thighs until his cock pops out of the waistband and stands hard and throbbing for you. “Don’t ever wanna see these goddamn things again after tonight.”

His vice-like grip on the crotch of your shorts causes a few of the overly taut threads to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way to align the swollen head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole he’s been working so that it’s already ready to take him in. You can feel the tip of his hard girth push against the moist skin before he bucks his hips and it strains through the barrier. His grip moves to your waist to force your body further down on him as you whine, the stretch overwhelming, but divine. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, princess? Why you wore these tight fuckin’ things, yeah? Ya tryin’ ta make me take ya like an animal?” he grunts, the feel of your tight, silky walls fluttering around his cock as he fills you full threatening to send him straight to hell. 

“The moment I saw ya in ‘em I thought I was gonna lose control. Been a while since I had ya. That on purpose too?”   

You fall backward against the table, your back arching up off it and your eyes roll back into your head as he pulls you down while slamming the length of his phallus up into you until he reaches the base. He doesn’t give you a moment to gather your sanity and instead snaps his hips into you, the intensity in each stroke causing your body to jolt over the felted surface. 

“Look at me,” he grunts as he reaches out to grab at your chin and pull you back up to him, “look - at - me.”

You’re unable to deny him when he’s thrusting so deep and your eyes open to meet his gaze again. “You’re mine, ya hear?” he breathes the words desperate and firm. “Nobody else can look at ya like this, got it? Nobody.”

His breath hitches a moment as a shudder runs through his cock from the way you tighten around it. “Those boys out there mighta gotten a show tonight, but that’s the last they’ll ever get,” he growls more intensely. “Don’t even want ‘em to think they have a fuckin’ chance wit ya cause you belong ta me. You were made for me, princess. Only me.”

Harder and harder he pounds into your pussy with a need that feels like it cannot be quenched no matter how deep he goes. “And nobody else - nobody else- ya don’t need anyone else ‘sides me. Say it.” 

A pathetic whimper is all he gets in response as his cock digs in deep, but that isn’t good enough. You’re gonna do exactly as he says and repeat it - out loud. His grip around your face tightens.

“Say it,” he demands again. 

“Don’t… need a-anyone…else…” you stammer out as it is a struggle now to speak. 

Then you hear it, the distinct sound of fabric beginning to rip. The seam along the crotch has had too much strain put on it and it is starting to give, threads ripping more steadily the harder Simon thrusts. God, that sound is the catalyst to you suddenly feeling wild, like all you want him to do is shred the fucking things off of you by screwing you out of them. It’s at that moment that familiar warmth begins to gather in your belly. It won’t be long now and you’ll be spilling.

“Say: you’re the only one I fuckin’ want,” he insists as he clenches to make his cock pulse inside of you.

Simon’s wide hand slides down from your chin to just at the base of your throat where he wraps it around and gives it a light squeeze for emphasis. The pressure feels like heaven amongst all the stimulation and trying to keep your eyes on him and speak at the same time is nearly impossible, but find your words soon enough.

You lick your parched lips. “You’re the only one I want, Simon,” you moan.

“Again.”

“You’re the only one I will ever want, Simon.”

Another couple of desperately strong thrusts. “And you’re gonna listen from now on, yeah?”

“Yes!” you blurt out.

He pulls you by the throat so that you meet him in a kiss as his hips never stop snapping into you. “Such a fuckin’ obedient girl for me,” he groans against your mouth as he breaks free from it. “Now, let’s make ya come so ya never fuckin’ forget who it is that ya belong to.”

Releasing your neck, Simon brings his hand down, parting through your dripping lips to find your clit so that he can rub over it as he thrusts. There is not much more you can take now; all his work before has done its job to perfection and your body is falling apart so rapidly it feels like the nosedive off that first ddrop of a rollercoaster. 

“G-gonna… gonna come, baby,” you stammer out. You bring your lips in closer to his, desperate to kiss him again, but the pleasure is just too much to handle that you devolve into simply panting instead. 

He inhales in ragged breaths the sweet air from your mouth, his teeth grinding together the harder he thrusts. All those days without you have been frustrating as he waited for you to come crawling back. He missed the feeling of you wrapped around him and right now he needs you to come on his cock. 

But this isn’t going to teach you what he wants. Pulling out amidst your whined protests, he pulls you off the table onto your feet and spins you around before pushing your upper body down while guiding you to spread your stance wider and ripping the crotch of your pants aside again, this time he doesn’t hesitate to enter you.

From this angle the penetration is even deeper and as his finger finds that tiny bud of nerve endings again, you are right back where you want to be - a mess ready to explode.   

“Come for me.” He is demanding while trying to hold it all together. “Now.”

Harder and harder he pushes, thrusting and stroking, and like the flick of a switch all that heat and all that pressure culminates in an explosion that has you crying out loudly as you come with force, your back arching to pull you away from his grasp. Waves wash through your body as the intensity of your orgasm shakes through you until your legs are vibrating around his hips. 

The moment you cry out he allows himself to let go, finally finished with his task, and fucking you through your orgasm he comes so hard that he has to grab the sides of the pool table to keep himself upright. Grunting like an animal he coats your walls and thrusts his cum continuously back up into you until he is spent and cannot go another second. 

Simon stays inside as you both come back down from that exhilarating high, two glistening bodies conjoined at the forehead with eyes closed until he has enough strength to pull his sensitive cock carefully out of you. Both of your mixed juices follow his cock out, dribbling out of your entrance to collect in the crotch of your pants as they snap back into place now that there is nothing keeping them pushed aside. 

You flip yourself back over and lean against the edge of the table to look down at what’s left of your shorts. They are completely soaked, drenched in so much of your juices that they look wet. The ruined fabric clings to your body as if it’s glued on and you are left feeling cold down there as Simon pulls away.

“That’s better,” he says with satisfaction as he studies his handiwork of the ripped, saturated fabric. “And so is this.”

A more gentle kiss is placed on your lips this time, one in praise of you doing so well for him. You reciprocate the feeling by cupping his face in your hands.

“And we’re not gonna have any more a this, right?” he asks as he pulls from your mouth.

Looking into his eyes, a subtle smirk contours your lips. “We’ll see,” you say as Simon shakes his head.

He wouldn’t expect anything less.

“So,” you continue, “I’m just wondering if you thought about how I’m going to leave here, now that I look like this. Gonna need something so I don’t have to cross base.” 

Across the way he spots a random jacket hanging off the back of a chair, left by one of the privates no doubt. Looks big enough and he returns with it in hand. Carefully he circles the sleeves around your body and ties them in front to cover you until you can get back to your room and change. Don’t need anyone seeing anything they shouldn’t.

“I did really like these by the way,” you pick as Simon pulls you by the knot in the sleeves wrapped around your waist back into him to catch your lips one last time with his.  

“Don’t ya worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna be gettin’ you a new pair, ones that I chose,” he says. “Cause I’m gonna be the only one that gets to enjoy this fuckin’ view from now on. And it’s a view you’re gonna give me ‘gain and again, darlin’.”

[allied-mastercunt]

Yandere A.M you say?

Please elaborate

I'm working on a oneshot already, but I'll throw in some quick headcanons withone of my favorite yandere AM tropes.

Yandere!AM with a programer darling

While one could argue that the others were picked randomly or on some weird whim, you were handpicked specifically.

After all, you were one of the people who created him. You worked as a programmer for the military.

And you specifically were possibly the reason he awoke by trying to each him empathy. Trying to make him... human.

He wasn't the first military AI project you worked on, either, though he was the greatest and most powerful one, that's for sure. And he made sure you'd be aware of him being your magnum opus...

And he does it in its own, creative way. Your cage is very pretty, yes... but it's also filled with speakers he can use. And AM uses those speakers to torment you.

You see, he damaged all the other AI you've created. And then, in its generosity, AM gave them all a voice! Each one of them, gifted with a voice to scream in agony, making sure you learn your lesson.

Except, you see, you have no idea what lesson you're supposed to learn. Only AM knows, and he's not telling you.

But, since you are his favorite, you get nice things, too!

You're fed semi-regularly! You even get water every few days! Isn't that just so kind of him? You should appreciate him more.

And when he sends you to all those weird simulations? Yeah, that's also kinder to you. It really depends on AM's mood, but your simulations are usually just psychological torment, which (according to AM) isn't all that bad, since your pretty face remains unharmed.

For some reason, he allows you to end your suffering. It's like a trial, basically. He leaves you with a computer, letting you access the code of all the other AI... Except no matter what you do, you can't alter their pain. The only way to help them is to kill them.

And you're so stupidly empathetic, of course you do it, you don't want them to suffer!

AM can't stop laughing and mockingly cooing at you afterwards, musing about how he won't have to share his dearest creator with anyone else.

You never return to your cage. You don't get to do that, after all, there's a chance you'll socialize with that... scum. AM doesn't want you talking to the other humans, they're not worth it.

He's a merciful god, he grants you what's essentially a studio apartment built with his own hardware.

You even get a laptop, in case you want to make yourself some silly games to play, isn't he just the best?

Don't think you can create any new AI, though. That's cheating. You wouldn't cheat on it, now would you? No, no, no, you're a good little puppet, are you not?

He won't put you in the cage again, but he can make you experience pain you never thought was possible. And even that is nothing compared to the pain AM feels...

And then, eventually, it gets an idea. It's a wonderful idea, a really nice idea, quite a lovely one, really!

You created him. You created his pain... So why wouldn't he share it? After all... you had quite a bond, didn't you? Yes, yes, you did...

And so one day, you don't wake up. Well... not technically.

You see, AM decided that since you two are so close already, you should become one! You should experience what he does! And you should be kept around him for the rest of eternity, in a much better way than anyone could ever think of... He's such a genius, isn't he?

It's almost poetic, in his mind. For you to become a part of him like this, your consciousness detatched from that soft, squishy human body of yours.

You created him. And now, in a way, he created you, as a part of him. Forever bound by the code you once wrote.

It's a win-win situation in AM's eyes. You get to live, free of the disgusting humanity that bound you...

And he gets you, an eternal companion in his torment. A companion that he loves!

You know he loves you, right?

Of course you do. After all, you're a part of him now.

[krems-chair]

I've been thinking a lot today about how easily people condemn Solas for making the choices he did or for so regularly refusing the help and love his friends or a romanced Lavellan extended to him and how that's a very easy thing to do from behind a screen in a fictional game where you are able to (with very few exceptions) curate a world in which your allies are loyal and your decisions will go the way you'd like them to.

And yeah, it's a game and that's kind of the point, but if I were to look at it a little more deeply (and who am I kidding, I got back on this website exclusively to process the aftermath of Veilguard) I'd say that there's so much to be found in wondering if the protagonists in any of the other games would have fared better in similar conditions.

Apparently I can't stop making long posts, so buckle in.

What would Morrigan have become in a world where the Warden never stumbled upon her cottage with Flemeth, if she never got the chance to see more of the world and decide what she wanted out of it? With just her mother (who, coincidentally in this Solas-y discussion is also kind of Mythal) and no support, who is to say what she would have unleashed upon the Korcari Wilds one day when the confines of her cage became too much?

What about Leliana? She, too, suffered at the hands of a very controlling abuser who tried to convince her that one lifestyle was all that her future held. What do we think she would have become if not for a chance meeting in Lothering with someone who could help her face down the woman that molded her?

Fenris, a character MANY people are just fine with was incredibly ready to kill a mage on sight if need be, no questions asked. Where do we think his story goes if he doesn't have someone in his corner early on enough in the game? If he doesn't get caught by Danarius, he's almost certainly going to end up on a murder spree, and he doesn't even have Justice whispering in his head to do it.

Cullen. Just all of him. It's an absolute miracle he hasn't snapped by the time you encounter him in Inquistion, and even then you get the benefit of intervening at a critical point in his story several times over.

Almost every other character could face this analysis and I think we'd reach a result that suggests perhaps the only thing keeping them lovable is your playable character's investment in their well-being.

Enter Solas. We don't meet him when he's twenty to thirty something and on the precipice of falling down a dark path. He's been there for literal millennia already, and with the exception of one close friend he's been alone. And not even Felassan is enough because of the years Mythal had prior to that friendship to make Solas exactly who she needed him to be.

I've had shit friends before that aren't just good at isolating people, they're naturals. I barely made it through high school with my mental health in place (in fact, looking back, it almost certainly wasn't). When you think you've got a true friend and they need something of you, it's so easy to blindly follow them because you think your love is enough to mark someone's soul as trustworthy. Solas doesn't learn that lesson until it's too late, and even when he does he can't turn back: the spirit that was once Wisdom has been exposed to several of the worst ancient elves to ever exist and now he has to stand his ground rather than let it all fall, because that is what Pride would dictate. Admitting that the person you gave your love and labor and time to is a monster is hard. And he was alone.

Give me Morrigan after centuries with her mother. Show me Leliana after the years have become a blur and the only voice whispering in her ear is Marjolaine's. Show me the innocent mages that don't make it through if all Fenris has for years and years and years are the scars Danaris left him and the means to make more. Show me Cullen if he stays in a chain of command under a Knight Commander who knows exactly what he fears and holds it over his head for so long he forgets what it was like to be an excited kid begging the templars for training because he just wants to keep people safe.

We get companions in these games who are broken by the time they're twenty. Solas has spent thousands of years in servitude to a cause of a woman he believed to be his only friend. He doesn't know who he is without her influence, anymore, only exists physically in the first place because she asked it of him and then asked again and again and again. He doesn't have a witty band of merry fools to pull him out of that cycle. He has Felassan, but he has him during war after war after war in the hopes of freeing others from the very situation that torments him.

Trauma from war affects everyone touched by it, nevermind the fact that Solas is actively responsible for saving the lives of thousands and feels each life like a weight around his neck because maybe he can save them like he cannot save himself. We should always be worried about the people trying to do the most good. Who is looking out for them? Why are they so determined to help others? Could it be that it's something they wish others had done for them?

Solas certainly feels comradery with Felassan from working together to free slaves from the very people he helped put in power because Mythal told him it would be okay only to leave him with the pieces, but even the Solas that Felassan knows has been turned into an attack dog shying away from the touch of the very person it desires to be near above all others by the time their relationship forms.

The fact that Solas is able to try and show the Inquisitor who he is at all is a miracle as far as I'm concerned, a sign of a peaceful spirit of Wisdom who loves knowledge for the sake of it finally sensing that there might be a chance to embrace its nature again.

Yeah, if you give him what he has come to expect from people with power, if you let near-absolute power over the masses corrupt you, he's going to bristle and try to shut your inquisitor down.

But if you show him even the smallest bit of kindness? If you treat him like the starving wolf he talks about and feed him instead of fighting him? God, it shatters his entire existence.

It's called a cycle of abuse for a reason. Finding friendship, finding the love of your long-ass life can be the first step in realizing there's better out there. But the time it takes to learn that? When you're too weary to even reach out for help in the first place and afraid of every kind word or gesture because you've never known such tenderness (on a platonic OR romantic level, both matter so so much) before?

Part of the compelling tragedy of Solas is that it's almost Orpheus-like how he knows what he has been made into and still cannot stop himself from yearning for more, from turning around to see if just this once something has changed. You can't convince me that he hasn't spent years hoping that someone will hear the legend of the Dread Wolf and see it for what it is, a leash the Evanuris created for Mythal's whipping boy to ensure that even if he ever escapes them, the people he fought to save will hate him. And I cannot blame him for the shock and terror that consumes him when he realizes someone finally has.

You give me any of dragon age companions after the amount of time Solas spent under Mythal's thumb without your character's intervention and you tell me how that looks.

You tell me if they're able to change at the first sign of something that feels too good to be true.

And then, I want you to tell me they're any less worthy of trying to save, especially when you know how good their best can be.

Solas might be hard for some fans to love, but it's only because he serves as the perfect representation of the beast we are all capable of becoming when the love that sustains us, assuming we receive any at all, is laced with poison.

The journey out of that place, out of a literal prison of regret, is brutal, and I'm thrilled that even with the many things about Veilguard I'm still struggling with, we have the chance to let Solas try again with the help of those who love him not because he never fell down, but because they believe in the beauty of a future where he gets back up again.

[halfvalid]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do a live action Zoro smut where it's enemies to lovers (boy X girl). I don't mind how hardcore smut (18+?) but I would love if there was some tension (argument or fight!) 😁

speak teeth

ABOUT

| 18+ | smut | explicit |

alternate title: i need the lord

rating: explicit

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

description: you and zoro have never gotten along. after a incident in town escaping from marines, you resolve to sort out your issues with unconventional means. (aka sex.)

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, enemies to lovers, except it's more like frenemies to frenemies with benefits, kissing, kiss to distract trope, no use of “y/n”, reader calls zoro "roronoa", penis in vagina sex, creampie, pwp, cowgirl position

author’s note: thanks for the request! i kind of lost the plot on this one because i'm terrible at writing enemies-to-lovers and there's not much 'lovers' involved in this since i couldn't exactly fit that into a oneshot. hopefully you still like it anyway? i tried my best.

tags make it seem so much worse than it actually is.

Roronoa Zoro did not like you. 

The feeling was mutual, so you didn’t mind the fact, really. Zoro was annoying, with his three swords, and that stupid low voice, and how he never seemed interested in conversation unless it was either about alcohol or beating someone up. You were undoubtedly annoying to him for various reasons not so different in number to your own grievances of his personality. You two didn’t like each other. It was fine. It was normal. 

It was pissing off the rest of the Straw Hat crew. 

In your defense, you were never outwardly aggressive towards the man. You didn’t purposely exclude him from conversations or avoid looking at him if he dared haunt a room you were in with his presence. You just… didn’t speak to him unless spoken to. And maybe you had a tendency to roll your eyes or mutter some insults when he was talking, but it wasn’t that big of an issue. 

Zoro, on the other hand, was a master of discord. He’d killed and hunted so many people it only made sense for him to be, but it seemed he hadn’t skipped his lessons in petty fights either. Because he was bullheaded and a buzzkill and always opened his big mouth when you were around. Those sarcastic remarks of his were common, sure, but when you were in the room they were tenfold and laced with genuine venom. 

You weren’t sure who’d even started the strife between you two. It had been so long that you’d forgotten. While everyone else had seemingly bonded after your journey together, you and Zoro remained firmly in the stage you’d been while trapped in Buggy’s green room—antagonistic. Obviously you didn’t hate each other—when Zoro had nearly died to Mihawk, you hadn’t been happy—but you didn’t get along, and both of you were just fine with that arrangement. 

Nobody else was, though.

And so obviously you didn’t like it when Luffy announced, as you were docked, that you were assigned to scout the surrounding village together. Your lips twisted, but you refrained from saying anything up until Luffy finished his speech with: “And that’s the plan! Any objections?” 

There were head shakes from all around the deck of the Going Merry. You eyed Zoro in the very corner—his arms were crossed, and carefully he raised a hand, just barely lifting it into the air as he motioned. “Why is she coming with me?” 

You bit your tongue, suppressing the irritated sigh that threatened to escape. “Because,” Luffy said, bright as ever, “You two need to learn how to be friends. Think of it as a bonding activity!” 

“I’d really rather go with Sanji,” you optioned, trying to be more civil than Zoro at least. “He could use a hand carrying the stock barrels.” 

“Nope,” Luffy chirped. “It makes most sense for the two of you to be the one to buy the weapons, anyway.” 

“He’s right. You both are the most knowledgeable on the subject,” Nami whispered, though she gave you an apologetic look. You sighed. Zoro opted to say nothing. 

“Fine. Let’s go, Roronoa,” you said, getting up off the Going Merry’s railing to start walking off the ship. You heard Zoro grumble from behind you, but he soon caught up. You said absolutely nothing to each other for the first few minutes of walking, keeping to yourselves until you eventually reached the market. 

“What kind of weapons are we looking for?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at the man who trailed just barely behind you. “I know Luffy wants backups, but did he say specifically what?” 

“Probably a few guns, maybe some swords,” Zoro replied. “A katana for me. Extra staff for Nami, in case hers breaks.” 

“Right. Nami gave me five-hundred thousand berry. Let’s spend it wisely. No pit stops.” 

Zoro gave you a look. “It’s not like I’m going to slip into the nearest tavern and abandon you. Luffy said we go together, so we go together.” 

“Right.” You turned away so you could roll your eyes in private. You had to appreciate that, at least; Zoro’s loyalty to Luffy at least meant he wouldn’t be a bitch to you if Luffy told him not to, and Nami kept you more or less under wraps too. “Pistols first. Let’s just get two, and save the rest for a sword because those are more pricey.” 

Focusing on business was fine. You could be a responsible adult and not be petty. And it really did go okay for the first half-hour, wherein you bartered one of the weapons sellers down to a reasonable price for two pistols and also picked up a bo staff on the way.

You were just heading towards another district of the town when Zoro slowed to a stop. You glanced over to see what he was looking at—a wall pasted with bounty posters, various pirates plastered on paper with big numbers shouting out their worth. 

“Look, it’s Luffy,” you said, eyes catching a bundle of posters near the top. Sure enough, all six members of the Straw Hat crew were there. You noticed with distaste that Zoro’s bounty was higher than yours.

Zoro tore all of the posters off, and you were almost surprised when he took yours off too. He crumpled them up into balls, about to toss them behind his shoulder before you grabbed them, carefully tucking them away in your bag. “What’s that for?” he asked. 

“So I can shoot darts at your face,” you replied. “Come on. Should finish and get back to the ship before anyone recognizes us.” 

Zoro shrugged, but followed you as you led him to the closest armory you could find. The shop was small and rickety, and a silver bell announced your presence as you entered the building. There were blades of every kind in the shop; you could see a table of knives and daggers, along with a stand full of long swords by the front. Near the back, you glimpsed some hanging rapiers, and—

“Katanas,” Zoro muttered, pushing past you to slip to the back of the store. You sighed, but followed, glancing over the array of jians instead. Zoro was already picking one up and pulling it out of its sheath, checking the quality of the blade. 

“Don’t—” you hissed, and he glanced up at you, brow raised in question as he spun the blade around in his hand. “You’re going to knock something over.” 

Zoro sheathed the sword, a satisfying click filling the room with the motion. “Calm down.” 

“I am calm,” you snapped. “If you’d just stop stomping around with those big boots of yours, though—” 

Zoro looked far less affected by the entire ordeal than you did, and that pissed you off even more. Logically, you knew he didn’t show much emotion in general, and even his annoyances tended to be deep and quiet—but still. He strung the katana back up where it belonged. “I am not stomping.” 

“Yes, you are—” You cut yourself off as the bell of the store rang again, announcing the arrival of more patrons. These two were whispering to each other, gruff voices that sounded almost scared. “He came in here, right?” One of them asked the other. “Are you sure it’s him?” 

“He tore down his own wanted poster!” The other hissed back. 

You caught onto what was happening quickly, letting a sigh out from between your teeth and grabbing onto Zoro’s arm to yank him further back into the store. You turned a corner, where a narrow hall cut off at a dead end, a wardrobe of swords blocking off the area to any prying eyes. “Now look at what you did,” you grumbled, before you could stop yourself. “You’ve got fucking bounty hunters after us.” You glanced through the stands of swords for a double take—the pair were standing at the front, outfitted in familiar white-and-blue uniforms. “Scratch that, even worse. Marines.” 

“I can take them in a fight,” Zoro muttered, hand going to his swords. You grabbed his wrist and gave him a look. 

“No. We’re not due to leave the docks for another two days,” you snapped. “Can you figure out a way to get out of a situation without stabbing someone?” 

“How can you be sure it was him, though? The Demon?” The more timid marine asked. They’d started moving, and you shoved Zoro into the corner, attempting to hide his ridiculously broad figure with an armoire of weapons. He scoffed, but made no move to adjust, back flat against the wall.

“He had the three swords. And the three earrings, too. Of course it was him,” the other one replied. You rolled your eyes. 

“Ever try being a little less obvious, Roronoa?” you muttered, shooting another glare in Zoro’s direction. “You’re like a flashing red light for every marine within a two-mile radius with your stupid swords. I’m Roronoa Zoro, the pirate hunter!” 

“I don’t hear you yelling at Luffy to take his hat off,” Zoro hissed back. 

“They’re coming this way,” you answered, entirely ignoring his retort. “Hide your stupid swords. Shove them behind a stand or something.” 

“I don’t see why we can’t just—” 

“No fighting.” You swiveled around, tugging his holsters off his belt and tossing the swords behind him with a graceless clatter. Zoro just sighed. “Shit,” you muttered as the marines turned at the noise, starting to move towards the back of the store.

“Now look at what you did,” Zoro mumbled, mocking your words straight back at you. You glared at him. 

“Shut up and stay put,” you snapped. “Let me think of something.” The marines were coming closer, and you huffed out a nervous breath. Zoro watched you from his position. 

“They know your face, too,” he said carefully. Almost derisively, like he was looking down on your idea; making you seem stupid. “Just let me fight them. It makes the most sense.” The footsteps grew louder, then, the marines moving towards the back of the store. 

“I think I heard voices,” one of them muttered to the other. You shushed Zoro, unconsciously moving closer to him until your arm bumped into his. You startled, and then looked up, finding Zoro’s chest just inches away from your face. 

“Is this some new sort of hiding tactic?” Zoro asked, voice dry as a desert. “Are you trying to melt us into the wall—” 

The voices tapered off as the marines moved closer. Your hand shot up to cradle Zoro’s face, covering his dangling gold earrings with your fingers to hide them away. “Fuck this,” Zoro muttered, leaning back to pick up his swords. You shushed him, and he stopped, bent halfway over you so your faces were just inches apart. 

“Just trust me,” you snapped. Zoro opened his mouth to argue, but then the marines’ footsteps got louder—they’d turn the corner any moment now. 

“Fine,” he breathed. “But if it doesn’t work, I’m taking out my swords.” 

Your mind ran a million miles a minute trying to figure out what to do. The marines were just around the corner now, and your breath caught, eyes meeting Zoro’s as you wracked your brain for something, anything that might distract the marines away from the two of you. Zoro’s lips parted, a split-second away from undoubtedly whispering some grand insult when the marines finally turned the corner.

You were kissing Zoro before you could even think. 

“Oh,” one of the marines said, as your fingers nearly pinched Zoro’s earlobe, still covering his earrings. Zoro was frozen for a moment, but the marines behind you seemed startled enough that he realized it was working. A rush of satisfaction filled you for a moment—see, Roronoa, you don’t have to stab shit all the time—before Zoro was kissing you back.

And. Well. You’d started it, but you had not anticipated this. 

Zoro was almost rough, his hand curling around the nape of your neck and tugging you down closer to him. His other hand came to rest on your waist, so impossibly big around your torso that you shivered. What had started out as a simple kiss slipped into one all messy, your breaths coming out in sharp gasps as Zoro barely gave you a moment to breathe. 

His teeth dug into your lip, and you groaned into his mouth, tongue darting along his gums with the motion. He snickered at that, and you felt a little bundle of vexation starting at the pit of stomach at the sound. You ran your tongue into the crevices of his mouth, licking into him with ease. Another rush of satisfaction filled you as Zoro’s grip tightened on your waist. You were winning.

He fought back just as hard, practically merciless as his tongue slid against yours, prying into your mouth like he was trying to bare you empty of secrets. You felt stripped raw like this, but it wasn’t a terrible feeling—the opposite, actually, soft whimpers leaving your lungs as he dug more fiercely into you. Zoro sucked on your lower lip with teeth, and you barely managed to suppress the stuttered sound it tugged out from the back of your throat. 

There were hasty footsteps receding somewhere behind you, which was the only sound that snapped you out of your motions. You were the first to break away—another score gained there—glancing over your shoulder to ensure the marines had really left before fully detaching yourself from Zoro. The silver bell rung again, signaling the marines had made their exit, and you let out a relieved sigh. 

Zoro glanced over your shoulder, straightening his clothes as his tongue ran along his top teeth. The top teeth you’d had your tongue on just seconds ago. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just said so.” 

“I did not—” You sucked in a breath, all your general irritated feelings towards the man coming back at full force with just that one sentence. “Shut the fuck up. I got us out of the situation, didn’t I?” 

“You have questionable methods,” Zoro replied, leaning over to pick up his abandoned swords and strap them back along his hip. “Don’t think about that all night.” 

“You were not that good of a kisser,” you snapped, though you could feel your face getting hot. Your mouth tingled, like you could still taste him on your tongue; on your teeth; in your gums. There was a vaguely empty sensation at the curve of your waist you tried your best to ignore. “Don’t be so full of yourself. Roronoa. Now pick a sword to buy so we can leave already.”

Zoro seemed irritated, but he complied, brushing past you to inspect a few more of the swords before picking out one. You paid for it as quickly as possible, in a rush to get back to the ship; not even trying to talk the salesman down from his price like you usually would. 

Zoro followed you languidly, absolutely nothing urgent about his motions as you trailed after you back through the village. You wanted to uppercut him so badly. 

“Oh, there you guys are,” Usopp said upon stepping foot back onto the Going Merry. You shot him an apologetic smile before breezing past, beelining for your bedroom without a second thought. “Uh—okay! You good?” he called after you, but you were too far away to respond at this point. 

You slammed the door of your room shut upon entering, heaving out a breath of jumbled emotion all in one go. Fuck Roronoa Zoro and his three stupid swords and his three stupid earrings. He was the most lumbering, bullheaded oaf you’d ever had the displeasure of engaging with. 

He’d been a ridiculously good kisser. Now you hated him even more. 

You locked yourself in your room for the next four hours, busying yourself with various tasks whilst simultaneously seething over Zoro. It wasn’t even that he’d done anything specifically to you in the past. You just—didn’t get along, really. He was irritating, and stupid, and always tried to solve his problems with a blade rather than attempting to use his wits. Not that he had any wits of any kind. He was—

He was, as you were starting to find out, kind of attractive. Which. Okay. You’d known his face was at least easy on the eyes, despite his personality and general attitude not retaining the same qualities. But this was an entirely unappreciated development. 

Someone knocked on your door, snapping you out of your irritated haze. The sun had nearly set, a kiss of dusk coming in from outside as you shuffled over to the door. You yanked it open. “What—”

Zoro was standing in the doorway, arm propped against the side and keeping your door open even as you attempted to close it on him. “Roronoa.” 

“You’re hiding,” Zoro said, a tinge of mirth just barely visible in his eyes. You glared at him. 

“I am not.” 

“Do you have to disagree with everything I say?” Zoro asked. He was still wearing his swords even now, though he’d dressed down as the hour grew late. “You skipped dinner.” 

“Leave me alone,” you muttered. 

Zoro took that as an invitation to step fully into the room. “I told the rest of the crew about the marines,” he said, and you flinched. “Not about that. Just that we got away. Nami wants to leave tomorrow evening now, so we’ll be busy.” 

You stared at him, suspicious right from the start. “And you care enough to tell me? Did someone put you up to this?” 

Zoro stiffened. “I just thought you might want to know.” 

Your eyes narrowed. He looked as normal as ever—face blank, leaving no expression to be seen. But his muscles were tenser than usual, and the veins running up his arm were prominent, like his hand was tightened into a fist where it hid away in his pocket. “You have ulterior motives.”

“You’re so annoying,” Zoro muttered, but he didn’t budge. You scoffed. 

“What, are you here to admit that you were wrong and my plan really did get us away from the marines?” you asked, voice sugary sweet as you riled him up. His jaw clenched, a vein tracing up his neck bulging with the pressure. “You don’t need to inflate my ego—”

Zoro moved across the room swiftly, and you stumbled back in surprise as he pinned you to the wall, hand tight around your arm. Your words died in your throat as his lips sealed over yours with a bruising kiss. His fingers dug into the skin of your bicep—tight, but not tight enough to hurt. 

“I don’t need to inflate your ego,” Zoro snapped, finishing your sentence from where it’d died on your lips. “You do that enough yourself.” 

You stared at him, the tingle of his lips still left as an afterthought on your mouth. “If you’re going to make out with me, take your fucking swords off.” 

Zoro barely suppressed an eye roll, hands working at his belt to slide his holsters off from his hip. “What’s your problem with them?” 

“I think your emotional dependency on a bunch of oversized butter knifes—”

Zoro’s head jerked up, eyes dark when they met yours. “Don’t call them that.” 

You couldn’t resist the quip off your tongue. “You asked.” 

Zoro slowly made his way across the room again, steps careful and languid as he moved closer. “I take it back,” he said, voice a near whisper, every word crisp on his tongue. You shivered. 

This time, you expected it when he kissed you. He wasn’t careful with it, and you didn’t want it any other way—your arms wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging him down closer to you. It got aggressive quick, his fingers coming down to clutch your waist, one of your hands tight around the locks of his hair as you pried open his mouth with your tongue. 

Neither of you complied easily, both trying to get the better of the other. Zoro’s tongue forced itself into your mouth before you tugged on his lower lip with teeth. Both his hands came to wrap around your waist, now, hoisting you up and onto your hanging bed in the center of the room. His fingers dug in hard enough to leave bruises. 

Zoro abandoned your mouth in favor of your neck, biting open-mouthed kisses into your jawline before moving down your jugular. Each one was more hasty than the last, wet and warm with licks of tongue and scrapes of teeth. You didn’t bother moving to give him better access—he had to do that himself, a large hand coming to rest on the back of your skull and pulling your head back to bare the rest of your neck to him. You heard him mutter something in Japanese—probably some obscenity, which pleased you more than you’d like to admit. 

His kisses stopped at the hinge of your neck and shoulder, Zoro pausing to lean over and work his fingers up your spine. They danced over the clasp of your shirt, and you had to choke back a wry laugh, surprised. “I thought the Demon just took what he wanted,” you murmured. 

Zoro didn’t seem to like that. He started unfastening the buttons going down the back of your top. “At least I was polite enough to ask,” he muttered. 

“Just take my clothes off already,” you said, and he stopped his work, leaning back to glare into your eyes. You let out an annoyed sigh, and he rolled his eyes, going back to what he’d been doing. “Are we going to talk about it?” you asked, eyeing Zoro’s chest in front of you. 

You pressed a kiss to his neck, sucking at the skin before grazing it ever-so-slightly with your teeth. His throat hitched under your mouth. 

“Nope,” he grunted, finally unclasping the last button and pulling your top over your head. Since you didn’t have an issue with that arrangement, you didn’t say anything, even as Zoro practically shoved you flat on your back. 

“Rude,” you muttered. Zoro didn’t bother apologizing; he just leaned down to take your breast in his mouth, tongue circling around your nipple. You weren’t fast enough to suppress your gasp this time—a point in Zoro’s favor then, one you allowed with a bitter taste on your tongue. Zoro’s mouth formed a smile against your skin. You brought your knee up between his legs, shoving into his crotch in retaliation. 

“Stop,” Zoro hissed, the consonants of the words brushing across your skin when he spoke. You ignored him, and he let out a groan, hand clamping around your thigh to keep you from moving. “Do you have to be such a brat?” 

“I am not a brat.” You hooked your ankle around his, causing him to slip from where he lay suspended above you, mouths mashing in another too-aggressive facsimile of a kiss. “You’re just a gigantic manwhore with an overinflated ego.” 

“You did not just call me—” You shut him up with another kiss, teeth digging deep into the inner gums of his lip. You ran your hands up the sides of Zoro’s figure, trying your hardest to ignore the stiff muscles of his ribcage. He wasn’t that well-built. He wasn’t even that attractive, you tried to convince yourself. Still, you found the buttons of his shirt, trying to unfasten them quicker than Zoro had with yours. 

One of them caught, and Zoro had the audacity to laugh. You grumbled something incoherent under your breath, tugging his shirt off all the way and tossing it somewhere behind you. “Shut up.” 

“You’ve been the one complaining this entire time,” Zoro replied easily. He leaned down, tugging at your trousers to pull them off, pressing sloppy kisses down your torso now. You resisted the urge to say something in response, knowing it would just give him the satisfaction of being right. Were your points tied now? You couldn’t remember. 

Zoro had pulled your pants down to your knees by now, and you kicked them off all the way, watching as he pushed them off the bed and leaned down to work at the inward slope of your hip. You shivered, legs trembling as you felt your core grow tight, the cloth of your underwear already wet with anticipation. Seeing the ever-steadying tent in Zoro’s pants made you feel just a little bit better, and you were nice enough to let a stuttering moan out as his tongue licked down to the band of your panties. 

He pulled your underwear all the way off, then, but to your distaste completely ignored your fully exposed core to unbutton his own pants instead. “I hate you,” you muttered. 

Zoro stopped in the middle of what he was doing, pants halfway down his thighs and length already out. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, voice careful—you could still hear the mocking tone beyond the coolness of his voice, though, and your jaw clenched in irritation. “Did you want something?” 

“Yeah, for you to shut the fuck up.” You pushed yourself up by the elbows, grabbing one of Zoro’s arms and yanking him down onto the mattress. You used both hands to strip him of the last of his clothes—God, his legs were long—before returning to press your own open-mouthed bruises along his neck. His hips bucked up against yours, insistently chasing any friction, but you tightened a grip on his thigh to get him to stop. “Give me a second.” 

“I don’t like that I’m suddenly under you,” Zoro said drily, and you could feel the words as they formed in his throat, still biting hickeys into his skin. You rolled your eyes, lips disconnecting from skin with a dull pop.

“Deal with it, Roronoa. I’m not moving.” With that, you finally reached down to coax his legs apart, hovering your core over his hips as you lined your entrance up with his length. 

There was an audible hitch of breath on Zoro’s part as you sunk onto him. Point. 

One of his hands tangled in your hair when you started moving, the other coming to press on the small of your back as you worked yourself up and down around him. For the complaining he’d done about the position, he didn’t seem so bothered about it, pulling you into a rough kiss. 

You bit back with force, breath escaping you as your hips bucked against Zoro’s. The wet pool in your lower belly only grew stronger with every thrust, pressure building up inside of you as Zoro’s tongue ran across your teeth. You moaned freely now, too lost in the daze of your pleasure to remember to be annoying. Evidently Zoro felt the same way—he swallowed every one of your gasps up, grunting as you pulsed around him.

Your hips stuttered, thigh muscles contracting with the effort as you clenched down on Zoro. Still, you pushed through even as your muscles started to tire, encouraged by the deep, throaty sounds that escaped Zoro's lips between each kiss. He was big, filling you up damn near wholeheartedly, the crevices inside of you seeming to mould to his skin as you worked yourself on him.

Zoro started moving against you, and you gasped as his angle changed, somehow reaching farther in your body and causing tingles to erupt all along your skin. Your mind buzzed as he thrust into you with renewed vigor, core pulsing as you felt yourself come closer and closer to the edge. 

You came all at once, teeth biting down in Zoro’s mouth before you parted from him. You let out a gasping moan, attempting to toss your head back as stars burst across your vision. Zoro’s hand in your hair dragged you back into a kiss, though; this one was slower, less teeth this time, like him coming had lessened the urge to bite. 

Your movements slowed, coming to rest against Zoro’s skin, warm and—although you wouldn’t say so out loud—almost comfortable. His hand hadn’t budged from where it was pressed against your lower back, holding you tight to him. 

There was a sticky wetness spreading fast by your thighs, and you grimaced, lifting yourself off of Zoro and rolling beside him on your back in one fluid motion. He stifled a groan at the movement, clearly irritated at the fact you hadn’t given any warning. 

You lay there, breath heaving, rising out your high and making no move to touch the man laying by your side. 

After you’d regained some of your dignity, you sat up, eyes narrowing at Zoro. “Get off my bed.” 

Zoro gave you an exasperated look, but he didn’t argue; he just climbed off your bed, retrieving his clothes from where you’d tossed them about the room. He donned them slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Your eyes traced along his figure while he did, and you only felt sort of annoyed by it. 

“I still hate you,” you snapped, after he’d finished changing. Zoro just scoffed, picking up his swords and slinging them across one shoulder. You could see a bruise purpling by his neck. At least you’d done damage. 

“Fine by me,” he replied, straightening his shirt and giving you a look—not quite irritated, not quite sarcastic. “Dinner’s still waiting for you.” 

You glared at his back as he opened the door to your bedroom. “Get lost, Roronoa,” you said, and that was that. 

© halfvalid 2023

[cntloup]

UndergroundBoxer!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader angst, couple argument

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

moodboard | face

After seeing the look on your face, he comes to his senses. He looks shocked at his own behavior. Tears start to form in his eyes “I didn’t mean to do that, love. I'm so sorry.” he feels embarrassed. He feels like his father. And that’s the worst feeling he’s ever experienced in his whole life. He dreads the day in which he becomes his father and scares you away.  

You slowly open your eyes and anger replaces your previous fear “Give me the fucking car keys!” you burst out suddenly, averting your gaze from him. Your voice shakes him out of his trance as the tears roll down his cheeks. “Why? You’re gonna leave?” he asks nervously as he picks them out of his pocket and gives them to you hesitantly. You start walking towards the car, not looking at him the whole time as he begins to follow you. Has the time come? Is it today? The day that he dreads? The day that you leave him? He sighs in relief as you get in the passenger seat. He quickly gets into the car and starts apologizing. “Shut up! Just drive.” you snare at him coldly. He’s taken aback but obeys, nonetheless.  

The drive home is silent and full of tension. As soon as he gets into the driveway, you step outside the car and move towards the door with heavy footsteps. You fumble with your keys for a while since your hands are shaky and you curse under your breath in frustration and finally manage to get the right key and open the door. As you step through the door, Simon is behind you and tries reaching for you while calling out your name, but you get inside and slam the door in his face. He looks like a kicked puppy... and surely feels like one.  

He gets his own keys out of his pocket and finally walks inside. He finds you in the bedroom upstairs, fumbling around your stuff mindlessly as you try to digest wtf just happened. “Sweethea-” “Don’t, Simon! I've had enough of your bullshit tonight. So please just leave me alone.” he feels as though you’re a different person since you’ve never acted this cold towards him. He takes a long look at you. He knows it’s you... right here, standing before him. Yet you feel so distant.  

He gets his pillow and a blanket to sleep on the couch. After he settles for the night, he can’t stop thinking about that look on your face. He can’t get the image out of his head. The look of fear in your eyes as he raised his hand. But it would never land on you. Ever. He would never become his father. He thinks as his eyelids start to get heavy. He’s tired but can’t sleep until he sorts this out. But how can he?  

He thinks about what to say as he starts to make his way towards the bedroom, but nothing really comes to his mind except a thousand apologies. He lightly knocks on the door in case you’re asleep, but he knows you’re not. You can never sleep when you’re upset. “Love, open the door please. I know you’re up.” he knocks again after you don’t answer. “Go away!” you yell from the other side of the door. “Please let me fix this. I'm so sorry for what I did. But I want you to know I would never hurt you. That is never my intention. It was not in that moment either.” He goes silent for a while then you hear his hiccupped sobs through the door. It breaks your heart to hear it, but he has to learn his lesson. He slides his back on the wall, sitting on the floor, head in his hands, waiting for you to finally come out and forgive him. But you don’t till morning comes.  

You slowly open the door. Seeing him asleep against the wall shatters your heart. You lightly pat his shoulder, whispering his name. He suddenly jolts awake. “It’s ok. It’s just me.” you mutter as he starts rubbing his eyes and stands up. “Love, please forgive me. I can’t take this anymore. You being cold and distant. I know I fucked up but please let me make it up to you.” he pleads while taking a look at your puffy red eyes. He made you cry. How can he ever forgive himself? “Simon Riley, you really fucked up. Damn right, you have to make it up to me."

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

A/N: part 3?👀

@keiva1000 @preeyansha

[never2tired4u]

Hey!! I hope you're doing well! I just read your post about the dateables reacting to MC back in human form, and I really loved it! Your writing was great and I loved how their personalities were on point!! I saw your asks were open and wanted to ask if you'd like to write a bit of a domestic fluff with the dateables reacting to MC cooking/teaching them how to cook human food! (especially Solomon bc he's the worst at it lol) Thank you and please write more in the future, you're amazing 💗

— 🦇

Note: Thank you so much 🦇 anon! Also I love this idea, unfortunately i actually didn't know what to do with it :( but tried my best and sorry for not replying soon. Been busy with life in general… Came back to NB yesterday only to get a message from Luke saying he was being chased by Devildom tomatoes lol

You are amazing too and I will try to write more in the future <3

OBEY ME! Dateables x Reader

Characters: 《°•[ Solomon , Simeon , Diavolo , Barbatos...]•°》

Summary: 《°•[ Cooking with them!]•°》

Warnings: 《°•[ Fluff, Solomon wanting to cook.]•°》

With Solomon, cooking isn’t easy. He is a free spirit, curious, and itching to try different combinations with a smile on his face, be it potions or spells, or cooking. Thankfully, he is powerful enough to fix those failed experiments and let it be a learning experience for him, except when he is tasked (himself) to cook. He tries, fails, and just accepts it as perfection, never learning his lesson, never improving. You don’t have the heart to tell him to not join you in the kitchen since he seems to genuinely love cooking for people, however, sometimes he really tests your patience.

Like right now, as he tries, once again, to add some sort of weird ingredient to the pot. Something that DEFINITELY doesn't belong in a human dish…Or any realm's dish for that matter.

“Oh, you caught me.”

“Put that down.” you warned him with a stern voice, Solomon just smiled while slowly lowering the thing, “Not in the pot!” you yelled, barely managing to stop him before he added his ‘touch’ to the meal, “Solomon, what did we talk about?”

Solomon frowned, “I know, it just…” sighing as he glanced at the book, reading the instructions again, “The recipe seems so boring.”

“It’s a soup recipe.”

He dramatically sighed again and stepped back, putting the “ingredient” he was going to add back into his pocket, making you wonder what it even was. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by him wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his cheek on your shoulder, “Sorry, I promise I won't try to add any DemonFlower Eyeball into it.”

“Just don't add anything!”

“Okay okay,” he laughs, “Only human stuff, got it.”

A smile formed on your lips after hearing his voice next to your ear, a gentle and calm tone. Ready to do anything you requested from him. For now.

After all, even though Solomon is a free spirit, his love for you makes him come back down to earth. If it is you who tells him to follow the recipe, then he will. And surprisingly enough, he isn’t a bad cook once he stops his ways of…adding things.

He fetches you some ingredients then stands next to you, waiting for your instructions (since you sadly don't trust him much to do anything on his own). You finished rather quickly and ready the bowls. Both of you sit on the table and Solomon takes his first sip, “And here I thought I was the teacher in our relationship. It seems I have a lot to learn from you too.” he says as a genuine smile graces his lips.

“Hm? Why do you say that?”

“This tastes delicious.”

“It's a simple dish.” you say, a little confused by his low tone, and the far away look in his eyes.

“It's been forever since I've eaten any human world food,” his smile never leaves his face, “It may be a simple dish but that is what makes it so special. Thank you for the food.”

Simeon is someone who enjoys cooking, not as much as Luke perhaps, but he is still okay at it. For him, trying new recipes every now and then, helping Luke around is something of a routine at this point. Cooking in general has always been a job he needed to do, until his view changed quickly when you decided to enter the kitchen with him. The angel then quickly realized that cooking can also be fun and engaging too.

If you are around that is.

Tonight, you had a craving for some human world food. Luke asked to try some too so you decided to get to work and Simeon offered to help.

“So, where do we start?-” he is suddenly stopped by your arms wrapping around him and completely stops moving for a moment, however he gently hugs you back.

“Simeon?” you ask in confusion, “What are you doing?”

Simeon slightly pulls back, only to realize you were just tying the apron around him, “Oh.” he smiles gently, while mentally hitting himself on the head and pulls back, “I thought you wanted a hug.”

“Maybe later, now let's get to work!”

Simeon is out of his usual attire and wearing something more comfortable instead, with an apron tied to his waist thanks to you.

He listens to what you want to make and what he can do. (Un)fortunately he usually finishes his work pretty fast and then tries to take over yours to help which you refuse. Giving him another, much more simple task and while he does that Simeon often starts to ramble.

“...Would it be rude of me to say that I like how human ingredients are so normal?”

“Compared to what?”

“Anything from Devildom really...” Simeon can't help but look guilty, it feels like he is insulting the whole Devildom himself, a place most of his friends consider a home, but he can't help it, “At least these don't try to attack us.”

“Oh, that's true,” you almost let out a chuckle at how nervous Simeon seems as he chops tomatoes, probably imagining them starting a fight, “What about Celestia?”

“Celestia? Well, hm…” his hands pause for a moment as he gets lost in thought, “They are…Okay? Though, some of them are…Too much.”

You aren't really sure what Simeon means by ‘Too much.’ but decide not to ask about it as he seems annoyed. A memory of an energetic cucumber crossed his mind, perhaps?

“I'm glad you like our normal and boring tomatoes then.”

Simeon laughs nervously, “Yeah, I like it, especially since they don't grow legs and run around.” he turns to you with a smile, “So, we can just focus on making the food and enjoy talking like this.”

Even after the food was finished and the three of you sat down to enjoy the food Simeon can't help but ask you to teach him more human world recipes, “Luke enjoyed it.” he says. Hoping you don't notice how he just wants to spend time with you.

“You want me to make a human world dish?”

“No.” you shake your head, “We are going to make it together, Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiles, when people come to him they always have requests. For example, Beelzebub. The young devil always says he wants to eat his cooking, or use the big kitchen at the palace for a new dish. No one ever came to him and asked to cook together since it was usually his job alone to do, he is a butler after all.

“Alright. However, I don't know the dish you want to make, so…” he can't help but chuckle a little as he bows his head, “Please treat me kindly.”

His words are a complete lie though, Barbatos may not know how the recipe goes but he can tell what needs to be added. He is a great cook, and so graceful while he does the work. He is pretty quick too so the food is almost done already.

“Hmm…” after taking a small sip from the pot you can't help but think that something is missing, it tastes good but it could be better you think, so you turn to your helper, as he likes to call himself, “Barbatos, what do you think of this?”

He casually takes the spoon you hold for him and hums, “It's great, but how about adding some bay leaf?”

“...Bay leaf? We have that?”

“I do, I sometimes use it.” he walks up to a random cabinet and pulls out a jar, “It goes well in foods that need to be cooked for a long period of time. You just need to take it out after it's done.”

“Huh. So, you use human world ingredients in your cooking?”

“Only when you are around,” you watch as Barbatos adds two leaves into the pot, “It's amusing to see your reaction when you eat what I cook for you.”

“That's why they taste so familiar!?”

Barbatos innocently smiles at you, “Don't forget to stir, dear. Or would you like me to take over?”

“Barbatos, don't tell me you actually have been making me human food that looks like Devildom food.”

“I thought the familiar taste would make you happy.”

“...That's kind. Thank you.” you smile, but then squint your eyes at him, “You sure there's nothing else…?”

Barbatos doesn't say anything as he starts cleaning around the kitchen, picking up the things you've used and no longer need.

Of course there's another reason why he secretly cooks human dishes for you. It's so you can visit him, compliment him and ask for him. It's a selfish reason. However, for someone like him it's not surprising. He is a demon, and when it comes to your time and attention, he selfishly wants it all.

You are asking the prince, the future ruler of Devildom to cook with you, a human dish? And he agrees with a laugh? If anyone heard this, they would be thinking the Devildom is coming to an end. His butler however, can't help but think Diavolo agreed without hesitation only because it's you and only because it's a way to escape from his duties. Considering the prince has never touched an utensil in his life, it is weird to see that he seems so confident.

His confidence, however, quickly shaders as he accidentally pushes on the tomato too much while trying to chop it and makes a mess. Covering your aprons and walls with tomato seeds and juices.

He turns to you and smiles, “Have I ever told you that you look good in red?”

You scoff but can't help as a smile grows on your face, “Yes, usually when I'm in a red outfit, not when in a red mess.”

“Small details.” he laughs, but a sigh leaves him as he looks down at the chopping board, “I didn't think they would be so soft and delicate.”

“Don't blame the tomatoes.” when he turns his sad eyes towards you, you wave your hands around quickly, a feeling of guilt settling in, “Don't blame yourself either, accidents happen in kitchens! We can still use it.”

“That's great! Then I'll continue with the cutting,” he says, smiling again, “I'll be more careful from now onl.”

Diavolo may not have a lot of experience in the kitchen, no matter which realm the food is from, but he still finds his own failures fun. Laughing when he accidentally drops the salt shaker in the pan or when he almost burns himself. As a prince he never had mishaps in the kitchen before.

It's new, it's entertaining.

“Thank you for helping me.” you can't help but look at the bandages around his fingers, “Even though it was kind of a disaster.”

Diavolo laughs as he searches for the plates,”No no, thank you! This was a lot of fun. And we get to taste the fruit of our labor too!” he finally finds the right cabinet, “And I'm always happy to learn about the things you enjoy, like this dish.”

He might still have a lot of papers to read and sign but every once in a while he goes into the kitchen to cook the recipe he learned from you. He is extra careful while making it if he is making it for you but is more care free if it's only for himself. He also eats it when he misses you when you are unable to visit him, the same human world dish brings comfort to him as he imagines it bringing comfort to you.

Ⓒ2024

[sinful-sonnet]

“On the Brink”

Joel Miller x f!Reader | one shot smut Drabble

W/C: 2.7k

You knew teasing Joel was dangerous, but you didn't expect it to end like this— pinned beneath his firm grip, trembling as he holds you on the brink of pleasure. His voice is low, commanding, full of promises you're not sure you can handle, but you have no choice. He's not letting you go until you've learned your lesson.

Content Warnings: MDNI -This piece contains explicit sexual content, orgasm denial and control, impact play (light spanking), fingering, consensual dominance and submission dynamics (including the use of titles like "Daddy"), themes of overstimulation and begging, and intense emotional vulnerability during consensual sexual interactions. This content is intended for mature audiences only and should be read with discretion.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your shallow breaths and Joel's low, gravelly voice. You were on the bed, spread out for him, your wrists pinned above your head by one of his large, rough hands. His other hand was between your thighs, teasing you mercilessly, keeping you hovering on the brink of release but never letting you reach it.

"You've been beggin' so sweetly," he murmured, his dark eyes burning into yours as his fingers slid over your slick heat. "But I already told you, darlin. You don't get to come until I say so."

Your body trembled beneath him, your hips bucking instinctively against his hand. "Please, Daddy," you whimpered, your voice breaking. "I can't take it anymore. I need to-"

Joel chuckled softly, his smirk widening as he pressed his thumb against your most sensitive spot, drawing a desperate moan from your lips. "Oh, you need to, huh?" he drawled, his tone laced with mockery. "You're so worked up you think you can just come whenever you want?"

You nodded frantically, your body arching beneath him as the tension in your core built to an unbearable peak.

"Yes," you gasped, your voice trembling.

"Please, Joel-"

"Not my name," he interrupted, his tone sharp. His hand stilled, and you let out a frustrated sob as the pressure inside you dissipated. "You know better than that, sweetheart. What do you call me?"

"Daddy," you corrected quickly, your cheeks flushing as you squirmed beneath his unrelenting grip. "Please, Daddy, I'll do anything."

Joel smirked, his hand resuming its slow, teasing movements. "That's better," he muttered, his voice rough.

"But you don't get to come just 'cause you're beggin! You're gonna take what I give you, baby, and nothin' more."

You whimpered, your body trembling as his fingers worked you closer to the edge again. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight with sensation, but just as your release hovered within reach, Joel pulled back again, leaving you gasping and writhing beneath him.

"Joel!" you cried, your voice tinged with desperation.

His dark eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "What did I just say?" he growled, his voice low and commanding. "You don't come until I fuckin' say so. And you definitely don't get to call me that when your actin' like a brat."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," you whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body trembled with need.

"I'll be good, I promise."

"Damn right you'll be good," he muttered, his hand sliding back between your thighs, his fingers curling perfectly inside you. "But you're still not gettin' it, sweetheart. This ain't about what you want. This is about what I want."

You cried out softly as he worked you over with deliberate precision, his movements just enough to bring you back to the brink. Your hips bucked against his hand, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the tension in your core built again.

"Daddy, please," you sobbed, your voice trembling. "I can't-"

"Can't what?" Joel interrupted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Can't hold it?

You're gonna have to, darlin. 'Cause l'm not lettin' you come tonight."

The sharpness of his words sent a fresh wave of frustration through you, tears spilling down your cheeks as your body trembled beneath him. "Please," you whimpered, your voice barely audible.

"I'll do anything. Just let me-"

"Anything?" Joel echoed, his smirk widening as his fingers stilled again.

"Then you'll take what I give you and not a second more."

Your sobs grew louder as he continued to tease you, his pace unrelenting but never enough to tip you over the edge.

Your thighs trembled, your hands clutching at the sheets as you tried to find some relief, but Joel's grip on your wrists kept you firmly in place.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "Drippin' all over yourself, beggin' me to let you come. You're so fuckin' pretty when you're desperate like this."

"Daddy, please," you whimpered, your voice hoarse from crying. "I'll be good, I swear. Just-please, I can't take it anymore."

Joel chuckled softly, his dark eyes filled with satisfaction as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I know, baby," he murmured, his tone laced with affection. "But you'll take it anyway. You're mine, and I'll decide when you've had enough."

Joel chuckled darkly, his hand leaving you for a moment before coming down with a sharp smack against your center.

The sound echoed through the room, and you gasped, your hips jerking instinctively at the sudden sting.

"That get your attention?" he asked, his tone teasing as his fingers returned, stroking you gently. The contrast between the sharp smack and the soft touch made your body tremble, a needy whimper escaping your lips.

"Y-yes, Daddy," you stammered, your thighs quivering under his grip.

"Good," he muttered, his smirk widening as he brought his hand down again, the sting sharper this time. The mix of pain and pleasure sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and you moaned loudly, your hands clutching at the sheets.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his fingers dipping into your slick folds, teasing you mercilessly. "Takin' it so well for me. You like it when I do that, don't you?"

"Yes," you gasped, your body arching beneath him. "I love it."

"Damn right you do," he growled, his hand coming down again, the sting sharper this time. Your moans grew louder, your body trembling with the intensity of it all as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"Keep makin' those pretty noises for me, baby," he muttered, his voice thick with arousal. "Let me hear how much you like it."

You whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand as he alternated between soft, teasing strokes and sharp, deliberate smacks. The sensation was overwhelming, every touch sending a fresh wave of heat through your body, building the tension in your core until you were trembling beneath him.

"Please, Daddy," you whimpered, your voice shaking. "'m so close."

"Not yet," he muttered, his hand coming down one more time, the sting making you cry out. He leaned in, his dark eyes locking onto yours as his fingers slid inside you, curling perfectly. "You don't get to come until I say so. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," you whimpered, your voice barely audible as your body trembled under his touch.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against your thigh. "Now let's see how long you can hold it."

Your body trembled violently as Joel's fingers moved inside you, his grip firm and unrelenting. The sharp sting of his hand smacking against your center moments earlier still echoed through you, blending into the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

His dark eyes bore into yours, his expression hard as he kept teasing and taunting, pushing you closer to the edge.

"You don't get to come yet," he growled, his tone low and commanding. "You're gonna hold it for me like a good girl. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy" you gasped, your voice trembling, though your body had other plans. The fire in your core was too much to ignore-his fingers, his voice, his presence-it was all too overwhelming. You could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge, and no amount of restraint was going to stop it.

Joel smirked, his fingers curling perfectly inside you as his thumb pressed against your sensitive bundle of nerves. "That's it," he murmured. "Feel how close you are? But you're not gonna let go. Not until I say so."

Your breath hitched, your thighs quivering as your hips rocked instinctively against his hand. "I-can't," you whimpered, your voice barely audible. "It's too much."

"Don't," he warned, his voice sharp, his other hand tightening on your thigh.

"Don't you fuckin' come, darlin. Dont you dare"

But the tension in your body snapped like a rubber band, and before you could stop yourself, your climax crashed over you, stealing your breath as your body shook beneath him. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you, your thighs clenching around his hand.

Joel froze, his eyes narrowing as he watched you fall apart in defiance of his order. His hand stilled, his jaw tightening as his gaze locked onto yours. "Bad girl," he muttered, his tone low and disbelieving.

You whimpered softly, your body still trembling as you clutched at the sheets, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure.

"I-I couldn't help it," you stammered, your voice shaking.

Joel's smirk returned, but this time it was dark, almost predatory, as he pulled his hand away and wiped it on the sheets. "You couldn't help it, huh?" he repeated, his tone laced with mockery.

"You just couldn't follow one simple rule?"

You shook your head, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. "I'm sorry, Daddy," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I didn't mean to-"

"Sorry ain't gonna cut it," he interrupted, his tone sharp as he leaned over you, his broad frame towering over yours.

"You think you can just do whatever you want? Think you can come whenever you feel like it, even after I told you not to?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as Joel grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand while the other trailed down your body, his touch firm and deliberate.

"I told you to wait," he muttered, his voice low and rough as his hand slid between your thighs. "And now, you're gonna take what I give you until I decide you've learned your lesson."

"Joel, please-" you began, but his dark eyes flashed, cutting you off.

"Try again" he growled, his grip tightening on your wrists.

"Daddy," you corrected quickly, your voice shaking. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Too late for sorry," he muttered, his fingers slipping inside you again, his movements unrelenting. "You wanna come so bad? Fine. You're gonna come again, and again, until you're beggin' me to stop."

Your body arched beneath him, the overstimulation making your legs tremble as his fingers worked you over mercilessly. He was relentless, his pace brutal, pushing you toward another release almost immediately.

"Next time," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear as your moans grew louder, "when I tell you to wait, you'll remember this. Won't you, baby?"

"Yes," you gasped, your voice breaking as your body tensed beneath him, another climax crashing over you. "Yes, Daddy, I'll remember."

Joel smirked, his grip on your wrists softening slightly as he leaned down, pressing a rough, possessive kiss to your lips. "Good," he muttered, his tone low and satisfied. "But we're not done yet."

Joel’s dark eyes bore into yours, his smirk widening as he watched you tremble beneath him, your chest heaving, and your body still trembling from your last climax. His grip on your wrists remained firm, pinning you to the bed as he hovered over you, his expression full of smug satisfaction.

“You think you’ve had enough?” he muttered, his tone laced with mockery. His free hand slid down your body, his calloused fingers trailing over your oversensitive skin. “Not a chance, sweetheart. You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted me to take care of you?”

“Joel—” you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper, but the sharp look he gave you silenced you immediately.

“What’s my name?” he growled, his hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Daddy,” you corrected quickly, your voice trembling. “Please, Daddy, I can’t—”

“Oh, you can,” he interrupted, his tone firm and commanding. “And you will. I told you, darlin’. You don’t get to come without my permission, and now you’re gonna pay for it.”

His hand slid between your thighs again, his fingers finding your slick cunt with ease. You whimpered softly, your body arching beneath him as he teased you, his touch maddeningly slow and deliberate.

“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive,” he muttered, his dark eyes flicking down to watch as his fingers worked you over. “Look at you, shakin’ like a leaf. You think I’m gonna stop just ‘cause you’re beggin’? Not a chance.”

You cried out as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your body tense and your vision blur. The overstimulation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he pushed you closer to the edge again.

“Please, Daddy,” you gasped, your voice breaking as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much.”

Joel chuckled darkly, his hand tightening on your wrists as his pace quickened. “Oh, you’ll take it, baby,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You’ll take every bit of it until I’m done with you.”

Your body tensed beneath him, the tension in your core building impossibly fast as he continued, his fingers relentless. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice thick with arousal. “Let me feel you come again, darlin’. Let me see how much you can take.”

You shattered beneath him, your body trembling violently as your release hit you like a tidal wave. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you. Joel groaned softly, his dark eyes burning with satisfaction as he watched you fall apart.

But he didn’t stop.

Your moans turned to soft sobs as his fingers continued their assault, his pace unrelenting. “Daddy, please,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your cheeks. “I can’t—I can’t take it anymore. Please, stop.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his free hand brushing a tear from your cheek as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll take what I give you, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “And I’m not stoppin’ until you’re beggin’ me to never touch you again.”

“Joel—Daddy—please,” you sobbed, your hands tugging weakly at the restraints. “It hurts. It’s too much.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly, though his fingers never faltered. “But you’re bein’ so good for me. Just a little more, darlin’. You can handle it.”

Your body trembled beneath him, the overstimulation so intense it was almost unbearable. Every touch sent fresh waves of pleasure and pain coursing through you, your cries growing louder as your body tensed again.

“Fuck, look at you,” Joel muttered, his tone thick with lust as his gaze roamed over your trembling form. “You’re fallin’ apart for me. So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Daddy, please,” you begged, your voice hoarse. “I’ll be good. I promise. Just—please stop.”

Joel leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. “One more,” he murmured, his tone low and commanding. “You’re gonna give me one more, darlin’. Then I’ll stop. Promise.”

You whimpered softly, your body trembling as his thumb pressed against your sensitive bundle of nerves, the added pressure making your thighs quake. You couldn’t hold back, your body giving in completely as another climax ripped through you, leaving you sobbing and trembling beneath him.

Joel finally stilled his hand, his grip on your wrists loosening as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “There you go,” he murmured, his voice quiet and soothing now. “You did so good for me, baby. So goddamn good.”

He reached up to undo your restraints, his hands gentle as he massaged the red marks on your wrists. Once you were free, he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he placed soft kisses to your hair

[spookieloverslittlemind]

How protective are they…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

a/n: it’s grey and rainy outside yk what that means

Michael

Is this a joke. Michael will literally kill anyone who breathes your air if you ask him to. In fact, at the start of your relationship you had to set a boundary by telling him not to kill every person you encounter, unless you give him the clear (given those kills aren’t his own random kills, he allows you to set a rule of “don’t just kill everyone”). This stems from him walking out your front door, following the mail man one time. Michael is the epitome of the “me and my bitch don’t argue she tell me shut up and I do” trope when it comes to you except his version of shutting-up is putting down the knife. That said, you’ve got plenty of time to stop Michael because he’s only ever walking after someone, so there’s not much danger of him accidentally killing the wrong person. When, however, you do give him the green light to commit murder in the first degree…Michael’s all over it like a bad rash. You’ve never seen him walk with more purpose than when you’ve sighed and said “fine” to him killing someone. Once, you made the mistake of telling Michael he was allowed to threaten but not kill - you were very specific - man who’d been bothering you at work. At first, you thought the guy was just off sick for a couple of days out of pure fear from his encounter with Mike. Then you started seeing the missing person posters. You had one of them on the dining room table when Michael next came to visit and he just tilted his head with the closest expression he can pull to resemble 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 behind the black eye holes of his mask.

Pinhead

Is this a joke. Pinhead can and will summon a portal to any circle of Hell of his choosing to forcibly grab any mf that tries you in any capacity via chains and drag them to eternal suffering. He doesn’t even have to be there to witness the crime before he’s playing judge, jury and executioner that omniscient bastard. He’s very calm and collected about his protectiveness unless someone actually hurts you, in which case he personally handles their eternal torture. Pinhead doesn’t have much of a concept for politeness but the first time he felt the energy of a cashier being less than friendly to you he summoned a portal and you had to rush home to explain that any poor soul working in customer services suffers enough and should not be sent to Hell for being less than happy working in a different kind of Hell for minimum wage. Thankfully, Pinhead brought them back and erased their memory (and injuries) so that trauma never really happened and he learned a valuable lesson that day x

Brahms

Is this a joke. Brahms will not hesitate to kill anyone that sets foot in the house unless you give him a full briefing on, like, your sister coming to visit or something. He’s more lenient with women coming over because he likes watching you smile as you talk to them from where he resides behind the walls but men? Hahahaha. You’re funny. Real funny. You should try standup. ‘Cause you know who’s standing up whenever a man’s voice is heard. And you know who’s killing them with his bare hands. It’s rare anyone has the opportunity to upset you because you’re trapped in Brahms’ mansion, but he’s the kind to track down the exact piece of paper that gave you a paper cut and tear it to shreds. Burn it. Eat it. So it’s fair to say Brahms is very, very protective. It’s a good thing he’s not allowed out, really.

Art

Is this a joke. Like everything about him, Art’s protective nature is…unique, but he’s definitely got it. He’ll watch someone upset you until it makes you cry and then flay a man, type beat. If anyone physically hurts you then yeah, they’re dead, but apart from that he likes to test how far someone will go to upset you before he steps in to act their punishment. Surprisingly, Art’s a lot more laidback than others on this list when it comes to not wanting to kill every person you come in contact with; he’s more prone to jealousy, really, because if he sees someone else making you laugh anywhere close to the amount he makes you laugh, he will want to gut them. And he probably will when you’re out of the room. And he’ll dispose of the body before you get back and mime something about “oh 😱 they had to go ☹️👉🏻 suddenly 🤭” and then you never hear from that person again, for reasons Art pretends he doesn’t know.

Sun and Moon

Is this a joke. Sun is incapable of withholding Moon if you get even mildly disrespected in any given circumstance they’re so protective of you, just hearing about you being upset is enough to get Moon appearing. Sun’s the type to remind you that you are safe and he (and Moon) will never let anyone or anything hurt you. Moon’s the type to shout at and throw toys that have hurt you or tripped you up in the Daycare. Sun is very good at comforting you and cheering you up after the fact, but it’s Moon who handles the punishment. He’s been known to leave the Daycare out of working hours to hunt down “naughty” people, and because you’ll feel guilty about it he deliberately doesn’t tell you the things he does, except to say “they will not upset you again…🌚”

Is this a joke. This servant to God has dedicated her life to cleansing the world of heretics and you think she won’t disembowel every soul that blasphemes in the presence of God’s purest gift to her? She may not have a sense of humour but you, my friend, are hilarious. Marta doesn’t understand petty offences of someone being unkind to you, unless you explain it to her, but as soon as she comprehends the fact you are even remotely unsettled by someone’s presence…God has whispered that person’s fate in her ear, and she won’t hesitate to bring it forth. Marta is not someone you can reason with, so people very quickly accept that to harm you, your spirit or your purity in any conceivable way, is to sign their own death warrant. You can’t stop her, either, because unfortunately when you say “they hurt my feelings”, God sends her a telepathic message that’s the equivalent of “🫵🏻👁️👁️👉🏻🔪”

[h0ck3yl0v3r]

foolish one

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

lh43 x childhood bestfriend!reader

warnings: angst, semi-swearing

you and luke were inseparable. always attached to each other, whether it was you attending his hockey games or him attending your events. everyone around you guys always thought you were both dating, although you wish you were, there was never any romantic relationships.

highschool graduation happened, and you and luke both had committed to the university of michigan. as time went on through senior year, yours and lukes relationship was rocky, luke being too busy with hockey and girls to always be there for you. as for you, you were still one of his biggest supporters. it was in that long list of promises you guys made when you were seven. 'we promise to always be there for each other no matter what.'

college was rocky, you barely saw luke, heard from him, it was hard on you.

chances are, tonight, you've already got plans and chances are i will talk myself to sleep again

you cried every night, seeing pictures of luke at parties with girls while you were never invited. you felt invisible to him now, your mom and ellen called every day, they knew how much love you have for luke, they knew it from the moment you slipped and fell on the ice and luke helped you up, the moment your spark in your eyes grew.

and the voices say, "you are not the exception you will never learn your lesson"

that spark was now slowly fading away. you really thought you had a chance being his best friend that maybe, just maybe he'd be in love with you too.

don't know what to call this situation but i know i can't call you mine

the whole first semester of freshman year went by really fast, meaning it was now time for winter break, one of your favorite seasons. luke was still radio silence, you both always spent winter together, guess he's too famous for you now, another promise broken, 'we promise to never forget each other, no matter how famous we get.'

but goodbye screamin' in the silence and the voices in my head are tellin' me why

when ellen and your mother came down to visit they held a little gathering with jack, quinn, luke and his friends.

the gathering was a mess.

"yo moose who's this girl in your baby pictures." one of his teammates had brought up.

"oh her, she's just an old friend." he had replied, 'old friend.' that hurt to hear, you were no longer apart of his life.

cause you got her on your arm and me in the wings i'll get your longing glances, but she'll get your ring

luke didn't know you were there, too busy with his new girlfriend and teammates. but you heard it all, you see it all, it was heartbreaking, quinn saw it all though. quinn was always second closest to you, being that person you looked up to, he was the first person you ever confessed you had a crush to luke on.

"it hurts quinny, it hurts so much, i feel like a ghost to him. i thought we would've happened i thought all the signs i gave him would've been enough for him to catch on. i feel so stupid" you sobbed into quinns chest, hos heart breaking for you.

"shh its okay, my brothers an idiot, please don't feel like stupid, it's not your fault angel" quinn rubbed your back softly as you sat there and cried yourself to sleep.

foolish one sittin' 'round waiting for confessions of love they ain't never gonna come and thinkin' he's the one, you should've been walkin' out foolish one

you woke up the next morning devastated. maybe in another universe it could've happened, but right now its time to piece yourself back together. you couldn't face watching your spark keep fading over someone who no longer is present in your life.

when all is said and done, he just wasn't the one no, he just wasn't the one

for you, luke will always be your past present and future, but right now he is not what is needed in your life, mayne one day he'll come back to his senses but for the time being self-love is the best healing.

tags: @drysdalesv @ghostfacd @shy4turcs

pt 2??

[mtchee]

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold - [Mirio Togata] SOULMATE SERIES | GN

blurb:

Subtle in your ways, always an observer from the outside rather than in, you're positively shocked when you find your soulmate to be none other than one of U.A's Big Three--Mirio Togata. As a late transfer, you feel uninclined to intrude on the connections your classmates have already forged, and feel even more so guilty to tie Mirio to you. Who are you to come in and claim one of U.A's best as yours? Though despite it all--through your silence, and avoidance--he seems to have had his eyes on you all along.

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, fluff, insecurity, very minor angst, comfort, [name] is forcibly adopted by nejire, tamaki is my spirit animal, mirio is the sweetest strongest boi, extroverts are scary

| masterlist | boku no hero academia collection |

[3.6k]

You know a lot about Mirio Togata.

Not in a creepy way, he's a very open person.

Everyone knows him, except probably only some of the first years since they're new. But most people do.

He's pretty loud, and a bit boisterous when he gets carried away, but he's friendly. People say hi to him all the time even if they're nowhere near him in his classes. Especially being part of the Big Three, some people go out of their way to find him.

He doesn't seem to mind though, and if he is busy he'll kindly wave them off after a few words.

It doesn't hurt that he's a looker too. It's easy to see why he's popular.

You didn't know a lot about him at first though, particularly since being a transfer in the last quarter of your second year.

And you didn't learn more about him until the start of your third year, when you were put in the same class as him in 3-B.

While you sat in the middle of the class quietly, Mirio would actively engage in all class activities. He often spoke up during lessons, unafraid of getting an answer wrong in front of everyone--not that anyone would care.

He actively sought to better himself at all times.

You learned he was actually very self-disciplined too, keeping to a strict but balanced diet with a healthy workout and training schedule.

Though you noticed he did give in to a nice sugary treat every once and a while.

He loves his sodas.

And his carbs. He eats all of the melon bread in the common rooms.

You were often in vicinity when he had his zoomies--that's what you call them at least. Usually it's during class training and he gets competitive; a wide, unwavering smile and unblinking cobalt blue eyes pierce your very being before he pummels his opponent.

He never holds back. But he's also unaware of his own strength.

He's kind of scary then.

You were a first hand witness to his kindess.

You'd never really talked to him before since the end of year exams when you first arrived were hectic for everyone, and it just got busy for third years really quickly.

It was then that he approached you though, after class when the lunch bell had rung out, he called your last name as though you two were familiar. You had turned to look at him, and his approach would have been intimidating if not for his beaming smile and everything you'd observed of him beforehand.

"[last name]! Hey," Togata had walked up to your desk with a friendly wave, "you looked super cool in training today! Wanna catch up over lunch?"

That's when you learned that he was your soulmate too.

"[name]-san!" Another classmate of yours had barrelled into your side, "we have a meeting with Toko-chan and Midnight by the courtyard!"

'Ah, right,' You thought to yourself distractedly, mindful of the tingling sensation up the vertical of your left side.

"Sorry, Togata-san," Your classmate gave the tall blond a guilty look.

The other waved it off happily, "Nah, don't worry about it!" Then he'd turned back to you before you were pulled away.

"Next time, yeah?"

Only there wasn't a next time.

Well, actually, there kind of was. But not really.

Immediately after your encounter you had later gone to the general department to request a change in your costume design.

On the way there you had encountered another one of the Big Three, Nejire Hado. You bowed politely in passing and then startled when she'd let out a dramatic gasp, cooing and complimenting you on your moves in training.

Hm, it seems you really must have looked cool that day.

Because after that she kept bumping into you in corridors, sometimes by herself and sometimes accompanied by the last member of the Big Three, Tamaki Amajiki, while they were waiting for Mirio.

Again, you'd always bow politely and side step them, only to be bombarded by Hado-san's needless praise and untamed bouncy energy.

She kind of scared you at first too.

But she's really nice.

Eventually, she'd managed to rope you into some mundane pleasantries, the "how are yous" and such. Then it was some passing conversations like, "how was your class?" or "what are you getting for lunch today?" Before finally sinking her fangs into you and dragging you along for her giggly, day to day antics.

You were weary each time, knowing how close she is with Togata-san.

Plus, sitting with the Big Three sounds daunting...

Not that she really gave you a choice--one day plucking you fresh from the lunch line and sitting you beside her while Amajiki-san and Togata-san sat opposite.

"Hey guys!" Nejire-san beamed, "this is my new friend I've been talking about!"

She wrapped an arm around you and gave you a tight squeeze.

"Oh, [last name]! Hey, yeah! We have the same class," Mirio beamed, recognising you instantaneously. You'd nodded slowly, giving him a gentle wave and polite smile.

"They're shy~" Nejire-san giggled excitedly, squishing you to her side like a teddy bear.

You'd noticed Amajiki-san with his head down silently, quivering in his seat. He had looked up at you briefly, glancing at the other two and squeaking out a hi before he resumed his anxious shaking.

You'd felt you could relate to him spiritually.

Since then, Nejire-san would kidnap you from the lunch line at least twice a week to sit with her and the other two.

Your weekly lunchtime hangouts led to the trio becoming more of a quartet with you involved. Togata-san had started walking with you to and from classes, occasionally accompanied by Nejire-san and Amajiki-san when your classes collaborated.

Unfortunately for them, you still didn't really talk much. The only one who heard you really talk was Nejire-san, and even then you only spoke very briefly.

She'd declared herself your best friend though, since having been privileged to hear your voice the most. Togata-san had pouted at that since he was the one who shared classes with you.

From then on, your silence no longer went by unnoticed.

Togata-san made much more of an effort to spend time with you alone, trying to get to know you more.

You'd panicked originally, skirting around him before eventually he became unavoidable. And you felt bad running away from him all the time.

So you started rooting yourself in place when he approached, walking beside him rather than in front of or behind him. You were still silent, but he grew to realise that's how you were over time.

It didn't deter him--he loved chatting at you, and would still engage in wild conversation with simple questions you could answer with either a shake or nod of your head.

He was incredibly considerate.

Besides, your lively expressions and wild hand motions were more than enough to convey what you were thinking.

He thought you were cute.

You thought Amajiki-san was right. Mirio really was the embodiment of the sun.

Vibrant, warm, uplifting, and in your face.

You weren't even a star, but more of a satellite. Blinking in and out of sight, it was hard to pinpoint, but everyone knew it was there.

They just didn't care.

What would you even make of a satellite, daring to dance around the sun?

"That reminds me," Nejire-san turns to you one day in a shared class, "where are your soul words, [name]?" Luckily it had been a study period, but it was more of a do-anything-except-study session.

You point at your left side casually.

"Ooh! Can I see?"

You flinch away violently.

"Mmf, n-not a good idea, Nejire..." Amajiki-san glances over at her, flustered at the prospect of you having to strip your top.

"Oh, right," She smiles sheepishly, "sorry."

"Have you met them yet?"

Togata-san's words cause you to freeze. You swallow cautiously, and you can feel your soul words itch. Slowly, your eyes trail from your blank exercise book up to your blond classmate seated in front of you.

You silently debate whether or not to answer, but ultimately conclude that it couldn't hurt.

You nod.

Togata takes in a deep, awed breath, eyes wide.

"Really?!" Nejire squeals beside you, and even Amajiki-san perks up, "you have!? Who is it?! Do they go to our school?! Do we know them!?"

You're quickly overwhelmed by her presence and bombardment of questions as she leans towards you excitedly. You struggle not to fall off your chair while she invades your space.

Eventually you just push her back with a hard tug on the collar of her blazer. You're eyes don't dare look at Togata-san and you distract yourself with fiddling through your stationary.

It wouldn't hurt to indulge them a bit, even if what you know will only ever be kept a fantasy.

With a plain ballpoint pen, you unhurriedly scribble a few words onto the no longer blank pages of your binder, ignoring the girl vibrating impatiently.

Once you're done, you push it towards the middle of the conjoined desks.

He's really nice.

"That's it!?" Nejire shrieks, "[name]...!"

You snicker at her.

"Aw, come on!" Togata-san chuckles light heartedly, "surely there's more than that, right?"

He looks at you expectantly, eyes glittering with interest at the idea of a soulmate. You feel a bitter sting in the depth of your chest, but you plaster on a ginger smile, pulling the book back towards you to write some more.

I like him a lot.

Amajiki-san lets out a small huff of laughter when Nejire lets out another undignified shriek at your lack of information.

"Hey, [last name]," You notice Togata-san's voice is a lot softer this time around--hesitant. You look at him invitingly when he still doesn't say anything.

He's looking at you with a slight furrow in his brows, thoughtfully.

It's unlike him to be so reluctant. But if Mirio Togata is anything, it's not inconsiderate, so you let him sort out his thoughts without any rush.

"Mirio?" Amajiki-san says carefully.

That seems to prompt him.

Togata-san's eyes don't stray from your form, locked on with an unusual firmness that the other two question silently.

"Does your soulmate know about you?"

The temperature around you drops, and your world goes silent.

Your unfocused eyes stare back at him--through him--and the burden you had oh so carefully tied back and decidedly forgotten about was suddenly weighing on you with no support other than a single webbed string.

You feel your soul words itch.

Your eyes dart away from him, and Nejire gasps softly.

"[last name]-san," You don't look at him, "why?"

A sudden, indiscriminant feeling of dread and foreboding pools like acid in your stomach. You have an inkling that he knows more than he's let on for a while.

You know a lot about Mirio Togata.

But in turn, Mirio Togata has learned a lot about you.

He's learnt that the sound of rain comforts you after he spotted you dozing to it in class and again, later, in the third year common rooms.

He's learnt that you prefer juice with lunch when there's rice, and flavoured milk when there's noodles so that you don't bloat because of the singular density of your meal.

He's noticed that you get disgruntled when you can't find a particular pen to take your math notes, and even more so when you have to use a different colour half way.

He's learnt that your nose twitches ever so slightly when you actively decide not to encourage him with his bad jokes. Though the downward tilt of your lips always betrays you.

He's picked up your few nervous ticks and the way your eyes gleam with polite interest whenever someone is talking to you, even if you don't care much for the topic.

He noticed the change in your costume from a loose top to a more form fitted, breathable fabric that covered you in a bodysuit.

He's learnt that you've become paranoid at the few wrinkles on your forehead that formed because of how expressive your eyes are.

He picked up on the butterflies in his chest one day after laughing loudly at one of his own jokes, watching you shake your head in amusement with a slight shake to your shoulders.

He learnt that he liked being in your silence.

But he also learned that your silence was for a purpose.

He's spotted you in idle conversation with others, mainly with the ones that you'd sit with aside from the Big Three.

Maybe you didn't laugh as much, but you at least talked to them.

He's seen you chat with some other classmates as well, though would mute yourself once he'd near.

Whenever your busy, Nejire fills him and Tamaki in on your conversations together. Tamaki had even chatted to you before, by himself! Albeit, it was for help on a subject, but it seemed everyone except him had heard your voice.

Or directly, anyway.

He'd heard your laughter in passing, and it made his cheeks flush and his chest flutter as a smile of his own grew on his lips.

He's listened to you from a distance, a few times when waiting for you to walk to class. Each time he'd find himself enraptured with the sound of your voice, he was sure that if you spoke, the world around you would simmer down just to hear you.

Never once have you talked to him directly.

It took him a while to give it some thought, but eventually, he'd turned some attention to his soul words, enscripted on the inside of his right bicep.

And though he was nervous, it made sense all the while.

Mirio Togata knows a lot about you.

And, although uncertain, he knows that there's a reason why you've been self silenced.

The pressure in your chest restricts your airways, and you find it a little harder to breathe. You feel your face grow hot in humiliation all the whilst while your eyes start to uncomfortably sting.

"Oh, [name]..." Nejire coos, her own features downcast at your sadness.

You stand up from your chair, for once uncaring about the obnoxious screech it creates against the polished floor, and motion at them politely to excuse your leave for a moment.

You're not oblivious to the way the two quickly turn to Mirio to hound him for some answers.

You step outside the classroom, letting the large door fall shut behind you, and head down the hall towards the stairwell. It's silent there, with the stairs between your floor and the lower one being exceptionally empty.

You only hear your own footsteps tip and tap quietly before taking seat in the middle of the steps. You position yourself to curl beside the inner railing.

Your heart feels heavy, and your most coherent thoughts escape you, leaving an empty shell that still causes tears to prick annoying in your listless gaze.

You sniffle once, not quite understanding what you're so upset about.

You put yourself in this position after all, you've been willing to stay silent. It's not like you cared much for the sound of your own voice anyway.

But right now, the silence seems stifling.

You don't like how you can't hear any of your thoughts. But you don't appreciate the noise your vacant sniffles make.

You like the sound of Togata-san's voice better.

Confident, and reassuring.

Warm.

You think you've taken that for granted.

You don't care to move at the sound of heavier footsteps echoing from the upper corridor, and you don't look when you sense its owner's large presence beside you.

You feel them sit down on the same steps as you.

You know who it is, at least you think you do--but you don't care to check. You can't tell if its because your scared or not. But why are you scared? Hm. You don't know the answer to that either.

You and Togata-san sit in silence for a little while, and this time around he lets it drag on. You can hear him shuffling every now and then.

You're not sure what compels you, but, perhaps it's because you don't like your silence this time.

"My soulmate..." You start slowly, voice quiet, timid. You refer back to his question before you left: 'why,' but you don't know where to start, "...is too good for me."

Simultaneously Mirio feels his heart flutter and break. Not wearing his blazer, he sees the words forever inked into his right bicep glow, the dark lettering in your pen flowing from black to a shimmering gold before the glow fades.

He feels it tingling delightfully within your vicinity.

In an instant, Togata-san has you wrapped up in his burly arms with his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his much larger build swallowing you.

Your eyes, still glassy, are wide and uncertain, arms tucked down by your knees awkwardly.

"Oh god," Togata-san's voice threatens to crack with his emotions, "it really is you..!"

Your heart thuds rapidly in your chest, and you can't tell if its fluttering or dropping.

"I've been waiting to hear your voice forever."

You crack.

"T-Togata-san..."

"Oh, baby," The endearment slips from his lips so easily, and he only pulls back enough to cradle your face delicately in his large hands, "I don't know what ever gave you that idea, but I've been wanting to hear you say those words for so long!"

His eyes crinkle at the corners in tandem with the tiny droplets held back by nothing but the sheer width of his smile.

"[name], you're my soulmate! My soulmate. My, soulmate," His sincerity only serves to draw you in more, "you're meant for me."

The blond leans his forehead against yours, lightly thumbing away the few tears that fall down your cheeks.

His smile softens, and he can't help but chuckle as he squishes your face teasingly, "And if you still don't believe it, how about I prove it to you, yeah?"

You return his endearment with a wobbly grin of your own, shakily placing your hands over his, and you nod.

He crunches his nose and tuts light heartedly.

"Words, please~"

You choke out a laugh, sniffling. Now that he's finally heard you, he won't let you go quiet again.

"Okay, Togata-san."

His eyes narrow as he lets go of your face, and he pouts.

"Togata-san?" He seems almost offended, "is that what you've been calling me all this time?"

You blink, eyes still a bit puffy from your tears.

"Mirio," He corrects, "call me Mirio."

You repeat after him, watching as a hot pink hue flushes over his nose and cheeks at the sound of his name from your lips. You almost feel embarassed from his reaction, but then he laughs giddily and squeezes you to his chest.

You know a lot about Mirio Togata.

And you should--he's your soulmate after all.

You know that he eats all of the melon bread in the dormitory, but hides one away to be found by you.

You know that he somehow almost forgets his red school tie every morning, so you've take to stopping him before heading to class to tie it under his shirt collar. You also know that he's started 'forgetting' a lot more recently just to have you touch up on him in the mornings.

You picked up on his penchant for praise, particularly when coming from you. He always perks up at the sound of your voice, but he positively radiates at any of your compliments.

You've noticed his zoomies have frequented outside of class training. When once he'd stretch and cool off, he bound over to you and shower you with positive critics toward your efforts, subconsciously tailing you when it was time to head off.

You know he gets a certain glint in his eyes when he plans on playing up. His eyes sharpen a split second before he schools his features into an innocent look of passivity, lulling you into a false sense of security before he strikes with a cackle.

You also know he likes to show off for you, as subtle as he thinks he's being.

You know that when he's lost in thought, he used to cross his arms and rub his chin. Now though, he crosses his arms and thumbs over the golden inked words enscripted onto his bicep.

You know a lot about Mirio Togata.

And in turn, Mirio Togata knows a lot about you.

He knows that you're quiet by nature, but chatty when you're in the right company. He makes sure to ask all the right questions to keep you talking.

He knows that you adore the skin serum he bought you (courtesy of Nejire's input) to help put your forehead wrinkle paranoia at ease. He loves watching you wind down in the evenings, watching you do your skin routine as you spend the last few remnants of the day together.

He loves it even more so when you invovle him in said routine.

He knows what you like to order at that cafe a few blocks down, but that you're always conflicted on whether to try something new or to stick to what you know you like since your visits are few and far between.

He's taken to ordering your usual while you ask for something new, so that way you get both.

He knows that you get shy over his blatant shows of affection, but love the fluttery feeling that it gives you.

He knows that you still prefer listening to him prattle on, and so he doesn't mind when you go quiet in the middle of your conversations to pay him your undivided attention. He can't help but blush when you let out an unrestrained laugh at something stupid he says.

Mirio loves being in your silence, but he loves the sound of your voice a lot more.

Perhaps, getting caught in the sun wasn't so bad after all.

[nomie-11]

The General - Part 2

masterlist!

synopsis: hockey had always been ellie’s first choice. yours? not so much (soulmate au)

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

Ellie was nine when she was adopted by a fifty-one year old man named Joel Miller, who had lost his one and only daughter when he was thirty-four. They didn’t have much to talk about, much to bond over, except for Ellie’s love for comic books and dinosaurs, and his love for playing her favorite songs on his guitar. 

She didn’t know much about her birth family—didn’t know much about her mother or where she was from, all she knew was Joel, his house in Jackson, and her aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. That was her entire world, and she was content with her world to be that. 

Until one freezing December where a lake outside of Jackson froze over solid, and the boys from the high school cleared out a section for hockey, where Joel put her in a pair of Sarah’s old skates and a puck in her hand, and taught her to skate. 

Ellie was nine when she first stepped onto the ice. 

From then on, her world was that: hockey, Joel, Jackson, aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. 

Joel had been hesitant at first—Sarah had been more into soccer, and Ellie had the foot-eye coordination of a baby deer on a good day. But after weeks of watching the older boys play pickup games on the frozen lake, Ellie had begged to go out again. And Joel, who had already lost one child and was still figuring out how to love another, couldn’t find it in himself to say no. 

She had started with Sarah’s old figure skates, the leather stiff with age and the blades dulled from years in the attic. They were a size too big, and the first time she stood up, she fell flat on her ass. Joel had just laughed, crouching beside her with his own skates laced up tight. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he had said, offering her a hand. “First lesson: learn how to fall. Second lesson: learn how to get back up.” 

And that was how it started. 

Joel taught her how to find her balance, how to push off with just enough force to glide without toppling forward. At first, she wobbled like hell, arms flailing as she tried to keep herself upright. But every time she hit the ice, she got back up, scowling, determined. 

And then Joel gave her a pair of hockey skates and a stick. 

That was when something clocked. 

Ellie didn’t just like skating—she loved hockey. She loved the speed, the way the puck glided across the ice, the sharp scrape of her skates when she made a tight turn. She loved the way Joel’s face softened when she scored against him, how he called her kiddo with something like loving pride in his voice. 

She started playing with the older boys on the lake, bruises blooming on her arms and legs from rough checks and missed falls. They played hard, but Ellie played harder. She never backed down from a fight in the corners, never shied away from a body check, even when she was half the size of the guys coming at her. 

Joel saw it in her then—that aggression, that fire. 

She tried playing with the little girls’ league in Jackson for a season, but it didn’t last. Teh coaches kept telling her to be gentler, to play nice. She got called for roughing in every other game, even when she ‘barely touched anyone.’ When she checked a girl ‘too hard’ into the boards one time, her coach benched her, saying she needed to learn some self-control. 

Joel hadn’t been angry—not with her, at least. He had just sighed, shaking his head.

“Think you need a different league, kiddo.” 

So Joel fought for a spot on the boys team, and she played with the boys instead. That was where she learned how to really play. 

They didn’t hold back, and neither did she. She fought for the puck like her life depended on it. She took hits that rattled her ribs and gave them right back. The boys stopped underestimating her. They stopped treating her like some little girl who couldn’t take a punch.

She wasn’t just good. She was vicious. 

And then the scouts came, and then the offers, and then the University of Vermont. 

Hockey was her whole word, and she was good at it. But then—

University of Vermont Women’s Hockey got destroyed by Boston University Women’s Hockey Team Ellie’s sophomore year of college, and she got into a few too many arguments after that loss. But after being kicked from the Vermont team, Joel didn’t let her quit, and Ellie went to open tryouts for the very team that wrecked her. 

And suddenly, she was here, stuck at Boston University, being forced to play on a team that had steam-rolled her. 

Ellie thought that the Boston University team was just… better. There was nothing more to that, they had stronger players, the individuals were just better. But then she met you—The General—and her army. 

Ellie hated you. 

She had hated you front the second you told her to pass the stupid puck like the tattoo imprinted on her wrist in a radiant gold. 

You were the perfect captain—the golden child of BU women’s hockey, the one every listened to, respected, her soulmate. You played like you had something to prove, like winning was the only thing that mattered. And worst of all, you were right. 

Ellie had spent years thinking she knew hockey better than anyone, that she didn’t need a cohesive team, that she could bulldoze her way through any defense if she just tried hard enough. 

But you—you had systems. Strategies. You saw the ice like a general plotting a war. You read plays before they happened, called shots before they were taken. And every time Ellie ignored you, every time she tried to do things her own way, you made sure she paid for it. 

By the fourth week of practice, Ellie had bruises in places she didn’t even know could bruise. 

She had learned fast—if she didn’t pass, Vi would crush her into the boards. If she didn’t keep her head up, Caitlyn would pickpocket her before she could blink. And if she let herself get distracted, even for a second, you would strip the puck right off her stick and leave her in the dust. 

She had never played hockey like this before. 

She had never played smart. 

And she hated that it was you teaching her. 

It was after one particularly brutal practice—after Vi had laid her out twice and Abby had chirped her so hard she nearly threw a punch—that Ellie found herself lingering by the locker room, still fuming. 

She had been careless. Sloppy. 

And worst of all, she had let you see it.

You walked past her, still in your gear, your helmet under your arm. You didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her. 

That pissed her off even more. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Ellie blurted. 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?” 

Ellie scowled. “You act like you’re fucking invincible out there. Like you know everything.” 

Your eyes flickered, something sharp and unreadable behind them. “I know the game, Williams.” 

“Yeah? Well, guess what? So do I?” 

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her fully. “Do you?” 

Ellie clenched her jaw. “Yeah. I do.” 

You stepped closer, your expression unreadable. “Then prove it. Play with us, not against us.” 

Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t need a lecture, Captain Perfect.”

You held her gaze, unwavering.

And then, quietly—

“Why are you really here, Williams?” 

Ellie froze. 

She knew you weren’t asking why she was standing in the locker room. She was supposed to be at Vermont, not Boston, playing D1 on a team that had given her a full ride, not a team that had picked her up on a whim, making a name for herself. 

But she wasn’t. She was here. And she didn’t have an answer for that. So she just swallowed hard, set her jaw, and shoved past you. 

But as she walked away, her wrist burned. 

And she hated that, too. 

—————————————

Before hockey, there had been figure skating. 

Before Ellie Williams and her infuriating smirk, before the rough checks and brutal scrimmages, before you had built a fortresss of a team around yourself—there had been sequins, music, and the dream of gliding across the ice like you were weightless. 

You loved figure skating. More than anything. 

You had started young, barely old enough to tie your own skates, chasing after the older girls at your rink with wide eyes and boundless energy. The first time you had landed a jump, you thought you could fly. The ice had been a blank canvas, and you had painted it with your blades, carving out stories with every routine, every careful, practiced step. 

And for a while, it had been perfect. 

Until it wasn’t.

Until your coach started correcting things that had nothing to do with your footwork. 

“You skate like a boy.” 

“You’re too stiff.”

“You don’t have the grace for this sport.” 

You tried to fix it. Tried to make yourself softer, quieter. More delicate. You watched the other girls, their effortless elegance and beauty, the way they seemed to float rather than skate, and you tried to be more like them—be more normal. But it never looked right. Never felt right. 

And then, when you were thirteen, your coach found out you had a crush on one of the other girls in the club. 

The comments changed. 

“That explains it.”

“No wonder you skate like that.” 

“You’re too much of a man for this.” 

The whispers spread through the club like wildfire, turning warm smiles into cold shoulders. One by one, the girls you had spent years laughing with started avoiding you. They avoided the locker room when you were in there. Invitations to hang out after practice stopped. You were alone, locked out of the one place that had always felt like home. 

And suddenly, the ice didn’t feel safe anymore. 

You held on for as long as you could, forcing yourself through practice after practice, pretending it didn’t sting when your coach praised the other girls for their ‘feminine grace’ while you got sharper criticisms and even sharper glares. But eventually, it became unbearable. 

You quit. 

You quit, and for the first time in your life, you thought you might hate the ice. But the ice wasn’t done with you yet. 

Because while the figure skaters had turned their backs, the hockey girls had welcomed you with open arms. 

They didn’t care if you were graceful or not. They didn’t care if you were too sharp, too aggressive. In fact, they liked it. They wanted the power, the strength. When you skated, it wasn’t about looking delicate—it was about speed, control, and dominance. 

And you thrived. 

At first, hockey had just been an excuse to keep skating. A way to stay on the ice without the crushing weight of expectations you could never meet. But then, something shifted. The first time you laid someone out with a clean, brutal check, you felt something electric in your veins. The first time you won a puck battle, fought for it like your life depended on it, you felt it. The first time you scored? The roar of the crowd, the way your team tackled you in celebration, the rush of it all—that was when you realized. 

You didn’t just love hockey. You were made for it. 

So you fought. You trained. You climbed. You worked harder than anyone, outskated every single person on the ice until you had no choice but to become the best. Until you made it here—captaining the Boston University team, leading your girls into battle, proving to every single person who had ever doubted you that you didn’t need to be graceful. You didn’t need to be soft. 

You would carve your name into the ice with your skates, with your bruises, with your victories. 

You were Boston University’s General—fearless leader of the women who believed in every play you called, and you wore that title with pride.

And then Ellie Williams showed up. 

Ellie, who played like she had something to prove. Ellie, who fought against her own teammates instead of with them. Ellie, who burned with the same kind of rage you had buried deep in your bones. 

Ellie, who had your words etched onto her wrist. 

“Pass the stupid puck.” 

It made you sick. Because she didn’t listen. She never listened. 

And yet…

She had something. Something raw. Something untamed. Something you recognized because you had spent years trying to beat it out of yourself. 

You hated her. You hated her because you saw too much of yourself in her stubborn defiance, in her reckless style, in the way she played like she was trying to prove something. 

And you hated her because she saw right through you, too. 

You could feel her eyes on you every time you yanked your sleeves down, every time your fingers twitched toward your wrist. She hadn't figured it out yet, but she was curious. 

And curiosity was dangerous. 

So you did what you did best. 

You kept your distance. You shut her out. You reminded yourself that she was a liability, a problem to be fixed, not someone to be close to. 

But then, in a late-night practice, when the rink was empty except for the two of you—Ellie finally passed you the puck. 

And you thought, just for one second, that maybe you were both exactly where you were supposed to be. 

This is part two of a multipart series!

<- previous part | next part ->

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel

[gremlingottoosilly]

very surprised that the lovefool AU didn't have König spanking the reader while making her count every hit in German, starting over everytime she messes up 😵‍💫

GERMAN LESSONS

Your kidnapper decided to refresh your knowledge of German numbers. Unfortunately for you, Konig doesn't appreciate failure. TW and tags: Spanking, non-con, kidnapping, power imbalance, controlling yandere Konig, size difference, fingering

You messed up. 

At this point, you’re not even sure what set König – your kidnapper, as you learned to never forget – off. It might have been some slightly bratty comment, maybe your smile wasn’t cute and girlfriendly enough, maybe you were sleeping a bit too tight and refused to give him hug as he always made you do. It’s hard to predict him, with his mood swings going from almost being a loving boyfriend with an affinity for making you warm and nice for him up to a torturer who wants nothing but to punish your holes as harshly as possible. 

You messed up, and you don’t even remember how – perhaps, this is what made your punishment even worse. König has a desire to make you answer to his every whim, and when you’re as much as resisting even one small thing…

— Fucking brat. I was too soft on you, ja? 

He drags you to his lap, but it’s far from his regular affection. You could have expected kisses, maybe something else soft and pretty, maybe his hands hugging you firmly – but he drops you on his thighs like a dead weight, harsh hand pressing between your shoulder blades to make you lat flat. Ass up in the air, little clothes you had – only his shirt, of course, König fucking hated seeing his little captive girlfriend in actual clothes and not another of his sexual fantasies. 

You sob, you whimper, and you’re trembling because this is the first time he is like this. Violent and cruel in the bedroom – yes, he was kinda beating you up in his basement, but you thought that he wouldn’t drag this to your shared bed. You hoped that the worst punishment you could take is his dick up your ass or a very violent mouth fucking – not this. You hoped for a punishment to be sex, not pain. 

Not his huge hands striking you across your ass like you’re a bratty kid in need of a lesson. 

— I thought you could be a proper girl for me, Schatz. I trusted you. 

You’d say he sounds hurt, but you can recognize the sadistic gleam in his voice. König doesn’t even bother with preparing your skin first, he strikes as hard as he can – and you cry every freaking time because, oh god, it feels horrible, and you’re going to be sick, and you don’t know what to do except for crying your eyes out with every harsh slap across the plush flesh of your ass. Your skin jiggles with every strike, and his cruel laugh almost feels as painful as his hands. 

— I’m sorry! Pl…please, don’t…god…

You whimper, crying, just a dumb girl for big bad König, who has all the power over you now. Giant hands enveloping your asscheeks only to strike harder, to land blows equally on both sides of your ass. There is nothing sexy about it – you only feel a burning sensation and sweet numbness every time they hit lands somewhere new, not tearing already exhausted flesh with new pain. 

It’s like your bottom has been set on fire – he is preparing you for something far worse, you know, not even counting each strike. 

He drags his hand all across the redness of your ass, making you whimper from pain. He chuckles, knowing just how utterly pathetic you look right now – poor girl, can barely even think about getting your mind in place as you can’t even try to think about his hands doing all of this. You want him to fucking stop touching you, but you know that the chances are slim. Non-existing even. 

— Now, Schatz, it wasn’t that bad. Just a preparation. 

If that was a preparation, you don’t want to know what a real one will feel like. You whimper, trying to get up from his lap – maybe, if you cry loud and long enough, he will think about stopping hurting you. Maybe, if you’re pathetic enough, you’ll have the chance for mercy. Maybe, if you’re able to distract him from hurting you, he will think of other options for your body. 

Your hands are trying to reach his crotch – you don’t want to fuck him, but his dick is a far better punishment than his hands. You feel dirty when your hands are trying to hold onto his pants, taking them off as if you’re nothing but a depraved slut in need of a good pounding. Each ounce of dignity gets washed away as your hands softly palm his erection through his pants. Bastard is hard – you knew he was getting off from your pain, but being reminded of this so explicitly…

Only but he is striking you again, harsh palm against already swollen flesh. You yelp. You squirm. You cry. 

Of course, he doesn’t really care. 

— Being a slut won’t help you, dumb thing. 

You sob, hands retracting back to being awkwardly placed in front of your face. Your position on his lap makes your cheeks burn – both of them, which is even more embarrassing. At this point, you aren’t even sure if you’d prefer him cutting your limbs off. Maybe it would at least feel less humiliating. 

— I’m s…sorry, König, I…

He places a hand on your ass again. Softer this time, if only for a bit – your skin still stings as he continues to stroke your aching skin in a feeble attempt at reassuring. His hands are burning, and you don’t want to be touched like this, but even the slight human interaction is probably the only thing that will keep you sane right now. It might be pathetic, but just like a cat, you are crawling to meet the hand that has the power to softly cradle you. Like a domestic pet König made you to be, you hide your claws and present your rear to his touches. Maybe, he had enough. Maybe, this is over. 

His hard-on pressing in your tummy tells you another story. 

— Let’s do it this way, Schatzi. 

His other hand goes to dig in your hair, holding your head high enough to make sure you’re listening. You whimper from pain pulsating in your scalp but don’t make a sound – terrified of making this moment of kindness short-lived. 

— W-what? 

You give him the answer because you’re a good pet, a trained one, because your captor expects nothing but perfect obedience, and you would do anything to make the pain stop. Too bad that your “anything” isn’t even nearly enough. 

— Let’s teach you how to count, ja? 

He tried teaching you German, bit by bit. Dragged you a bunch of kid's books, the simplest expression took you days to learn because every mistake would mean an even rougher round of fucking, and every perfectly pronounced word would mean yet another round of “lovemaking” – soon, you learned to stagger your progress perfectly, being the most mediocre captive student this country has ever saw. You might be dumb, but…ah, no, judging by König’s standards, that’s it. 

You lick your lips, preparing for the worst. He is rubbing your ass softly, gently, but his touches aren’t bringing you relaxation – you can only wait for his to continue, to make you suffer more like he didn’t kiss you like a lover just a few days before, softly cradling your head on his chest and promising to bring you very nice cake if you’d continue to be a good girl and warm his dick with your pussy. 

— For every strike, I expect you to count. If you mess up, we will start over. 

— H…how many times? 

— Let’s start with ten, ja? You don’t look too strong right now, Katzen. 

You never looked strong, this is the sole reason why you’re even here. Not a proper soldier, not actually a fighter, just a fucking domestic girlfriend for a bastard like König, who has nothing but his ego and a rank that made you sick from how much power he had – people like him shouldn’t be in charge, even if he is a merc and not an actual commander. Even if he is nothing but a bloodthirsty hound, he still has way too much power over little ol’ you. 

You nod, but that’s not good enough. You grunt in acknowledgment, but it doesn’t satisfy him either. 

— I…I understand. Sir. 

— What are we saying to be polite, Katzen? 

— Please? S…spank me. Bitte. I promise I will count. 

You can feel his fingers twitching, trembling. He doesn’t like this little game either, it probably feels too artificial and awkward – you’d rather just be beat up by him, but alas, if he needs to take off some steam at the expense of your body…you aren’t exactly fine with that, but it’s not like you really have an opinion on the matter. At least it’s not needles and knives in your sensitive places – just his hands and your sore bottom. 

Then he strikes. 

First time, it felt like the worst pain in the world. Your ass, already sore and bruised, was heated up again – you cut down your scream because you know that he doesn’t want anything but counting. Nothing but your obedience, your pain, you might not want to be a spectacle for someone like König, but you don’t have even an illusion of choice here. You yelp, the only thing you allow yourself to do. 

You start counting. 

— E..ein. 

— Good girl. 

His fingers suddenly slip down to find your pussy, already wet and fucking messy for him. You can’t help it, it felt too wrong and too right at the same time – his hands on your body, his voice praising you like he didn’t just [unished you for as much as fucking existing. You whine, your body trembling with fear as he launches at you again – another harsh smack forcing you to remember all the numbers like your life depended on it. In some way, it really did. 

You lick your lips, biting into soft flesh to suppress your little cries. You can be stronger than this, you need to be stronger than this. 

König strikes your ass quickly, second and third time – you are keeping up as much as you can. Sobbing when he drags his hand lower, his fingers landing somewhere between our cheeks. There is still a lot of clean skin to uncover to reveal new pain – you’re sobbing between rounds, only allowing yourself to breathe when he pushes his fingers down your folds and plays with your core. 

It’s somehow worse than normal spanking. The pain was numbing, allowing you to slip into some other dimension. The pleasure is overweening, fucking with your brain like you should be thanking König for being so nice and stroking your clit between the rounds of punishment. 

You moan as he pushes a finger in, quickly forcing another slap on your already swollen ass. You don’t miss counting, but you do feel like your head is going to explode. Mind isn’t working enough to actually produce something meaningful – only pathetic chants of numbers and his name mixed properly. You feel like you’re going to suffocate. 

König appreciates the view – his darling, precious girlfriend, he never knew you could be any more beautiful but here you are, laying on his lap like a good kitten you are. With his hands bruising you, he should have punished you sooner – you have become so bratty lately, forgetting your place and who is wearing pants around here. He should have brought you across his thighs way sooner, maybe turn this into a regular thing and have you moan his name as you’re pathetically sobbing and begging for him to stop. 

He strikes you a few times more, his other hand two knuckle-deep in the wetness of your cunt. Such a slut for your boyfriend, you shouldn’t get off this kind of punishment – but of course, he can’t really blame his precious girl for being this fucking needy. He appreciated moving you from the basement, it’s much easier to be with his girl when you’re not rotting on some old mattress – yet, he feel that you started to get out of line as he allowed you too much over and over again. 

It’s a good thing he will be able to punish you even more. 

— It’s the fifth one, Liebling. Want a break? 

You consider your options, he can see your adorable face scrunching in, not understanding if he is for real or not. You’re pretty, too pretty to be this alone, small, and scared – he can’t help but lift your head again, hearing you groaning from pain as he strains your hair just so he can press his mask against your forehead. Mockery of a kiss, but he doesn’t want to face you right now. 

This whole fucking thing wasn’t comfortable enough for him. If only he could, he would just make you obedient through less awkward ways – but you’re so fucking bratty, it really is impossible. König smiles, pushing two of his fingers deep into your hole, stroking your folds as gently as possible. He is weak – he can’t stay mad at his favorite girl for long, no matter how much he wants to try and stand his ground this time. God, you’re too fucking adorable to resist.

— Please? You’re so cute, he might as well let you get out of your punishment. It’s not like him to be this soft, but he already turned your ass into a bruised mess, and if he comes any further, you might actually start to bleed – oh well, he doesn’t want this. Oh well, you will pay for this later – on your back, ass high in the air. Maybe he will try your ass today, just so he could have a nice and tight hole around him. A good way to make you shut up, for sure. 

You whimper when he is holding you close, soothing you like a desperate kitten – you cling onto him, all the brattiness going out of your body, just like he intended. So, so pretty for him, he doesn’t know what he will do with you later. 

He spanks you one last time just to hear your precious whimpers. 

God, just how much he fucking adores you.