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tomssexdoll · 2 months ago

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Beauty Admist Bullets

PAIRINGS: Tom 2010 x Female reader

CONTENT: ANGST (ig) + SMUT + FLUFF

SYPNOSIS: Tom is a hitman for the German mafia, hired to take out y/n, but when he sees her at the bar, her perfect figure and bubbly personality, he can't help but hesitate, captivated by her beauty. Torn between his duty as a hitman and his newfound attraction to her.

A/N: if you want to be tagged or i accidently missed your tag comment on my pinned masterlist <3

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), eating out, teasing, mentions of alcohol and planned murder

Tom Kaulitz was a personal hitman for the German Mafia, he was hired to take me out, I was associated with some of their enemies, being seen with them at parties and rumoured that I had important documents to destroy their whole family.

The German Mafia obviously didn't want to kill some random girl but if it meant saving their family they'd do anything. I was at a jazz bar one night, enjoying some cocktails with said enemies.

Tom came in, dressed in a black leather jacket and dark blue jeans, he wore leather gloves on his large hands. His dark appearance aiming to distract people from his presence, not even know he was there, to lurk in the shadows.

His gun sat comfortably in the waistband of his jeans, waiting patiently to be used. As he searched the bar for me, scanning the sea of bodies, he finally found me. I was laughing, holding an espresso martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other, my smile lighting up the whole room, some random people quickly chiming into the conversation.

He couldn't take his eyes off the black silk slip dress I had on, the way it hugged my curves and showed off my cleavage. The way my gold jewlery complimented my neck and shoulders, my earrings adding a sense of shine to my ears. My red lipstick heightening his desire. The way my lips moved, made him think dirty, lustful things.

He couldn't believe his eyes, forgetting for a moment I was to be killed, by him. He snapped back to reality, his heart racing, seeing how happy and free I looked made him feel remorseful, torn between his duty as a hitman and his newfound attraction to me.

He watched from afar as I sang along with my friends, the way my body swayed in my seat, his mind plagued by the thought of finding out what was underneath my dress. He moved in slowly, getting a seat just close enough to be in ears shot but out of eyeshot for me. The more he watched me, the more he fell, my smile was infectious, he even found himself softly smirking as I laughed at my own jokes.

My beauty was mesmerising, he felt his resolve crumbling. He ordered a whiskey, his dark eyes staring intently at my face, occasionally scanning over my body. As my friends left to go to the dancefloor once more, he swooped in, sitting down next to me and introducing himself.

"Hey beautiful, I'm Tom," he said, his voice low and gruff, a slight German accent lacing his words. He offered me his hand, his large palm dwarfing mine. I smiled, my face flushing a colour of pink, "hi.." I said shyly, "I'm y/n," my smile was sweet and genuine. Tom thought, how could I possibly have information to damage their reputation? He knew looks could be deceiving but he was so sure I wasn't the type.

His thumb gently caressed my knuckles, his dark eyes studying my face, his gaze flicking to my lips, my neck, my chest. He smiled softly at me as I talked, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his piercing eyes glinting in the low light of the bar. He decided to try and find out more about me. He wanted to spend more time with me, get to know me better.

We talked for quite a while, Tom eventually led me to a quiet spot, behind the bar. The cold night air hit my skin, causing me to slightly shiver. As the gentleman he was, he offered his jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders.

His hands lingered on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the bare skin of my collarbone, his touch gentle yet electric. The scent of his cologne filled the air, a masculine scent of sandalwood, amber and patchouli, it was addicting, like a drug.

He gazed down at me, his eyes darkening with desire as he noticed the way his jacket draped over my curves, hinting at the softness beneath. His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip, "you are so beautiful.." he smirked, his eyes flicking from my eyes to my lips.

I felt my cheeks burn up, a smile forming on my face, "thankyou.." I giggled softly. He leaned in close, his voice low and husky, "do you wanna get out of here princess?" I nodded softly and took his hand in mine, letting him lead me out of the bar and to his luxurious car.

He opened the passenger seat door for me, I slid in and looked around at the fancy interior, the cool, black leather seats, the way it felt on my skin. The tinted windows, the way it hid me from the world.

He came around and sat in the drivers seat, the engine roaring as tom brought it to life. He sped out of the parking lot and onto the streets, rolling a window down to let the cool night air seep into the car.

As he drove I noticed how fidgety he was, the sweat beads lining on his forehead, his twitching hands, his eyes focused on the road . I gently slid my hand on his thigh, squeezing softly, the contact making his breath hitch, "you ok?" I smiled softly, his eyes boring into mine.

"Yeah..uh..all good.." he murmured, swallowing hard, his adams apple bobbing in his throat. The heat of my palm seeped through the fabric of his pants, making his muscles tense. He tore his gaze away from mine to focus on the road again, his jaw clenching. He was stuck on the thought of having to choose between killing me or ripping my clothes off and taking me right here in his car.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he tried to ignore the throbbing in his pants. I noticed the tent forming in his pants, my lips curving into a small smirk. I decided to tease him until he broke. I slid my hand up higher, gently palming his erection.

"You sure you're ok?" I said softly, acting innocent. His eyes nearly rolled back as he felt my hand touch his sensitive, aching cock. He let out a strangled groan, his food pressing harder on the accelerator as he sped up.

"I'm fine.." he bit out, his voice harsh. I kept my hand on his boner, squeezing softly. He finally snapped, swerving into an abandoned carpark and slamming his foot onto the break, the car coming to a screeching halt. "That's it! Get in the fucking backseat, now!" he commanded, his voice loud and husky.

He watched as I slowly unbuckled my seatbelt, my eyes wide, I climbed into the backseat without hesitation. His chest heaved as he watched me, his mind filled with dirty thoughts of what he wanted to do to me, of how he wanted to destroy my pussy.

He practically ripped his seatbelt off, climbing into the backseat, he reached out and grabbed my dress, bunching it up to my hips, grabbing my thighs and pulling me closer to him.

"Oh i'm gonna fucking destroy you.." he growled, ripping my stockings apart and shoving my underwear to the side, revealing my wet pussy to him, his eyes darkening with hunger. "So pretty..." he whispered, diving his head down and sucking on my clit, his tongue slobbering all over my pussy as he ate me out like a starved man.

"Tom! Oh my god!" I yelped, my hands sliding down to grip onto his hair, his hands gripped my thighs painfully tight. He could hear my breath hitching, my voice moaning his name over and over.

He felt me shudder and moan with every flick of his tongue to my clit, my juices flooding his mouth. He lapped them up greedily, his tongue delving deep inside me, fucking me with it. His nose rubbed against my clit, sending joys of pleasure through me.

"Oh my god..you taste so good.." he groaned, his voice muffled as he continued to eat me out, my clit throbbing intensely. He felt me tense, my hands gripping his hair even tighter, he trailed 2 fingers up and into my pussy, curling them upwards, rubbing my g spot as he sucked on my swollen nub.

"Tom!" I practically screamed, the pleasure so good it became hard to produce a thought. He sent me into oblivion, my back arching as I came closer to my orgasm, my chest heaving as he doubled his efforts.

"You like that, huh? The way I fucking eat your delicious pussy..." he grunted, when I didn't answer he curled his fingers harshly inside me, making me yelp, "yes, yes! I love it!" I moaned loudly, small whimpers escaping my mouth.

He smirked and continued, "that's what I thought.." he groaned and kissed my clit, licking and sucking on it greedily. I felt a knot form in my stomach, heightening the pleasure as he destroyed my pussy with just his mouth and fingers. I threw my head back, grinding my clit onto his face. He felt me convulse around his fingers, my essence gushing out as I came with a scream.

He continued to lap at me, drawing out my pleasure until I pushed him away, oversensitive. He wiped his mouth and propped himself up on his knees, a smug grin on his face, "you taste so sweet.." he smirked, unbuckling his belt, throwing it aside and shoving his pants and boxers down, his hard, throbbing cock springing out, the veins coating his cock pulsating, angrily waiting for relief.

"Oh my god..." I let out a soft moan at the sight of his cock, watching as he crawled up my body, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head. "Thought I was done? No way baby..not even close.." he let out a dark, low chuckle, turning me on even more.

He leaned down, his lips finding my neck as he guided himself to my entrance. He rubbed his slick tip against me, coating it with my wetness before slowly pushing inside, "fuck!" I whined, tensing beneath him, my breath hitching as he stretched me wide, "shhhh baby.." he chuckled, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss, swallowing my cries.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue duelling with mine as he began to move. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, causing me to let out a load moan, "ohhh fuck!" I yelped and held onto him as he set a brutal pace, mercilessly pounding my tight cunt.

He grunted each time he bottomed out, his pace quickening as the pleasure became too much, "oh god..so good..so fucking tight.." he grumbled, leaving rough, grazing kisses on my neck, leaving dark purple hickeys everywhere.

"TOM!" I screamed, moaning loudly and squirming on his grip, his own grip tightening on my wrists as he pounded into me relentlessly, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust, "FUCK!" he yelled, "so fucking beautiful...oh fuck.." he panted, his head hanging low and he focused on the way his cock disappeared inside my hole.

My tits bounced wildly in my dress, my eyes rolling back as the pleasure heightened to a whole new level, seeing this he finally released his torturing grip on my wrists, bright red rings aligning them. He grabbed my tits roughly and shoved his face in between them, groaning and sucking on the sensitive skin, taking a nipple into my mouth and sucking.

He grabbed my thighs and roughly wrapped my legs around his waist, allowing him to drive himself even deeper, "gonna take all of me..every..single..inch.." he muttered, his words punctuated by his thrusts, "aren't you?" he detached from my tits, grabbing a fistful of my hair, tugging it back so I could look at him, I whined and nodded.

Satisfied, he smirked and kept his brutal pace, his breathing ragged, his voice low and gravelly, "good girl.." burying his face into my neck and placing more bruising kisses. His pace became jerky, his hips snapping forward spastically as he neared his release.

I felt that familiar knot form in my stomach, my pussy clamping down on his cock as my orgasm hit me like a truck, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body, my moans never ending, music to Toms ears that only encouraged his release more.

With a feral growl, he buried himself to the hilt and froze, his entire body trembling as he emptied himself inside me. He held me in place, his face pressed against my neck as he rode out his climax. "Fuck...fuck..." he sighed, collapsing onto me.

As he caught his breath he gently turned us over so that I was on his chest, his fingers tangling in my hair as he played with it, after a while he spoke up, "I hate to admit this..but I was actually sent to... kill you.." he admitted, looking down at me as he gently brushed a stray hair from my face. "Oh I know, why do you think I was so quick to seducing you, hm?" I smirked.

His eyes widened a little, challenge lurking in them, "oh you did?" he growled softly. I sighed and nodded, "I know you guys think I'm trying to destroy your family or whatever but I don't have anything on them like the crazy fucking rumours imply, you don't think I heard them?" I chuckled, "I know you'll probably be in deep shit for not completing your job but...I could come with you and explain, maybe they'll understand.." I smiled softly.

He saw the sincerity in my eyes and gently nodded, "alright baby...after we calm down a bit.." he mumbled and gently stroked my hair, his other hand caressing my back.

tags: @ballhair @bills-wife-1 @bkaulitzlover

tags: @billsdolliest @miyukafujii @ella1289

tags: @tomkslut @tomscumdoll

tags: @tomsfuckdoll

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longhardtransitionreturns · 11 months ago

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Twilight Sleep

Colonel Hutcherson's blonde bombshell wife has been making waves in our small town since the moment she got off the train in a bright red pin up dress with more creamy cleavage on display than our poor farm boys had ever seen. Her sea green eyes, red lips, and shapely hips on top of the longest set of gams in stilettos to ever set foot here immediately made her gossip fodder for the bar flies and the busy bodies.

They said she couldn't buy bras off the rack because her breasts were so big. That she sent all the way to New York for her stockings. That her hair was falling out because of all the peroxide she bought to keep her hair a brilliant platinum white.

Either she already had a baby growing in that flat belly of hers when she came to town or Colonel Hutcherson put one in her right quick because it wasn't long before Ashley Hutcherson’s already obscene titties were spilling out of her tops and her belly was growing straight out like a bullet. She wore her dresses so tight the whole town knew the very day her belly button popped from an innie to an outie.

I knew Ashley, of course, because I was her OBGYN. One thing I figured out quickly is there were no thoughts behind those pretty eyes. Ashley was so dumb she could barely string a sentence together and I had to explain to her how her baby was going to come out of her tiny little fuck hole. The look of horror on her face when she realized she was going to have to push a watermelon out from between her legs was priceless.

And that was without me telling her that she had an extremely narrow pelvis and Colonel Hutcherson made such large babies his last wife had labored for 3 days to squeeze a 14 pounder out. She could barely walk for weeks and she was a regular size farm girl.

Ashley was so relieved when I told her about the miracles of twilight sleep I almost popped in my pants right there. She was delighted she’d just go to sleep and wake up with a baby, none of the mess of having to push it out.

When the time came, Colonel Hutcherson delivered her to my home surgery when her pains were regularly five minutes apart. She was so swollen by that point she was wearing nothing but a white silk robe trimmed with lace over her shoulders. Her pretty face was screwed up in discomfort when I opened the car door to help her out.

Her eyes lit up with relief when she saw me.

“Oh, doctor, I’m so glad to see you. I’m ready to go to sleep now. I don't like how my tummy feels. It hurts!”

She clutched my arm with one hand and her massive, straining belly with the other as we walked inside. We bid goodbye to her husband at the door and I promised to call him. Her kissed her on the cheek and told her to mind the doctor.

She shivered when I led her into the delivery room and she spotted the steel table in the middle of the room. Her eyes went immediately to the stirrups.

“We’ll put your legs up there to help the baby come, honey, but first we have to get you ready to go to sleep.”

I coaxed her out of her robe, taking a moment to admire her dark, swollen areolas and how the baby had settled low in her elongated belly. She was so big I had to help her up on to the table. She let out a grunt of discomfort as she lay back and the full weight of her overloaded womb and her massive milk laden tits settled on her small frame.

She was pliant as I strapped her legs into the stirrups but she gasped sharply when I ran my finger through her folds.

“Let's get you ready, Ashley.”

I didn't bother to explain what I was doing or apologize for the cold temperature of the shaving cream as I spread it over her vulva. She had just a smattering of blonde curls but I ran my razor over them anyway just to have a clean work surface.

“That's a good girl,” I reassured as Ashely moaned through a contraction while I wiped the cream and hair away. She was a groaner but she was clearly trying not to writhe too much in the stirrups.

I let her recover from the contraction while I prepared the enema supplies. When I approached her with the tip of the tube and a bit of lube, I saw fear flash across her face for the first time.

“Where's that gonna go?”

I smiled reassuringly. “We need to clean out your insides to make room for the baby.”

I slipped it in quick, shushing Ashley's yelp of protest, and allowed the warm water to start flowing. She was dumb but quickly figured out what was happening when an urgent pressure started to build in her bowels.

“Ow, ow, my belly, it's too full already! It hurts!” She rubbed the underside of her aching orb, trying to twist to the side to alleviate the pain in her gurgling gut but stopped by the straps on her ankles in the stirrups. “I feel like I need to poop, why are you doing this? Ow!”

I pressed my palm against her pelvis, rubbing firmly. She cried out in protest.

“We wouldn't want you to poop on me or your baby's head, no would we, Ashley? I can't believe you're being such a bad girl. I'm sure the Colonel told you to do as the doctor says.”

Ashley looked betrayed now, scared, in indescribable pain, exposed on a table with no way to know what was coming next or to do anything to stop it.

As if to illustrate the point a contraction gripped Ashely's roiling abdomen and she screamed, full throated, as tears streamed down her face. The agony of contracting with a full bag of warm, salty water in her ass broke any last semblance of composure and Ashley started begging me to make the pain stop.

I secured the catch bag underneath her and prepared the drugs I would need to administer twilight sleep while Ashley screamed and pleaded her way through three more contractions. I realized quickly she would need extra restraints while under because she was tossing her aching body wildly, huge tits swinging.

When I finally removed the plug the noise the laboring woman made was so erotic I got hard instantly. It was a groan of agonized relief followed immediately by a yelp of pain when yet another contraction closed around her middle.

Ashley was spent, legs splayed limply, her bowels empty and her ass clenching. The baby had dropped so low by this point she was starting to feel him in her aching hips. She was unimaginably full and the ordeal of the enema had taken it out of her. After the pain passed, she gathered her composure enough to look up at me beseechingly.

“Put me out now, please. I don’t want to hurt this bad anymore.”

I had to adjust my rock hard cocktail before moving to her side to slip my special cocktail into her IV. I stroked her face as she started blinking and nodding her head from side to side. I watched as awareness left her eyes and her mouth dropped open with a weak groan.

“Ashley?” I tapped her cheeks, moving her jaw from side to side. Her green eyes stared up without recognition. I reached down and tweaked her engorged nipple and her lips opened to emit a moan of pain.

This was my crowning, pun intended, achievement. I'd perfected a scopolamine cocktail that turns the patient’s brain to mush but leaves her aware enough to feel and respond to the pain of labor in order to be a beautiful, brain dead birthing doll for my and my patron's pleasure.

I left Ashely lying on the bed, contracting now about every three minutes and really feeling it, measuring by her noises, to make a phone call. Then I put an oxygen cannula under her nose, cleaned her up between her legs, checked her dilation, and wrapped her wrists and ankles in towels so there wouldn't be any questions about bruises.

When John Hutcherson arrived, he looked as eager to get the night started as I was. We'd met during the war when I served as the chief medical officer of his battlefield command. We found out one pregnant local girl later that we shared some frowned upon predilections and now, ten years and a lifetime of experience later, we partake of his wealth and my medical genius as often as we can without raising suspicions.

It's John's wife so, of course, he gets to go first and however he likes. He loses his pants quickly after he walks in and sees her strapped spread eagle, her arms straight out and tied to the table and her legs secured in stirrups. She's screaming through a contraction and oblivious to our presence.

John moves on her like an animal in heat, plunging his generous, throbbing member into her exposed, dilating cunt without any preamble. She shouts as she is brutally and unexpectedly skewered on his cock while a contraction is still ripping through her. He doesn't give her even a moment before he starts pistoning in and out of her so hard her back is slapping up and down on the steel table.

Her titties bounce lewdly, slapping from side to side atop her grotesquely swollen belly, as he rails her with all his strength. I finally go up and hold Ashley’s head to keep in from hitting the table due to the force of her husband’s pounding. Her leaking green eyes are filled with fear and pain but it’s also clear the struggling woman isn’t capable of understanding what’s happening to her. Her world has narrowed to the pain and fullness in her tits, hips, and cunt, and as far as she is concerned, it’s never ending.

Hutcherson blows his first load when she has an especially hard contraction on his cock. He lets out a surprised gasp and then he’s jerking as he’s milked by his wife’s laboring uterus. Their cries blend in the air, one of utter pain and the other of blissful pleasure.

When he’s finally able to pull out, his flagging cock plops loose with a squelching sound. His cum mixed with blood and amniotic fluid floods out of her and on to the cloth below.

The brutal pounding leaves Ashley listless and moaning with a little bit of drool making its way down her chin. It’s part of the beauty of the drug that even though she’s blasted out of her mind, her body is going to push the baby out no matter what.

Over the next several hours, we take turns playing with her engorged nipples, sucking them to induce contractions. John sticks his hand up her through a couple, shivering with arousal when she cries out and tries to get away from the intrusion. Eventually her agonized sounds change to desperate screeches as transition hits and the contractions become longer and unbearable. We each dip into her a few times while she endures the most painful part of labor and both barely keep from cumming when she clamps down on our dicks and wails.

It takes her hours to get the baby down but it’s huge in her tiny pelvis and when it gets lodged in her hips, she starts vocalizing low, loud grunts as her body tries to expel the huge head. I almost blew my load too soon when I wedged my dick up against her massive stomach and rolled her hips side to side to help urge the huge load down.

She screamed bloody murder when it finally crowned and John held it there for a good long while, stroking her engorged clit and easing the head out so she didn’t tear. The body was huge, however, and we had to put her legs as far back as we could to help her deliver the shoulders. Her cries of pain echoed off the walls as I roughly jerked the rest of the body out of her sore cunny. A huge flood of liquid shot out of her bloody slit and she was left with her pussy bared, gaped open and dripping birth fluid.

I handed the baby off to my loyal nurse who maintained the nursery in the next room and turned back to my friend. He was hard a rock, stroking his wife’s ruined cunny. She was still visibly hurting, both from the sheer size of what just came out and the after birth contractions.

I climbed on top of the beg, squatted over her deflated belly, and put my dick in between her massive tits. Behind me John let out an erotic groan as he sunk his massive length deep into his wife’s loose, bleeding pussy. It made a nasty squelching sound when he pulled all the way back out and slammed back in as hard as he could. He proceeded to brutally rail his wife’s post birth pussy and I came all over her tits while she flopped up and down on the bed, screaming from the pain.

The next time I saw Lucy, she was back in her white silk robe, a 17lb baby suckling at her ample breast. She’d reapplied her lipstick but her eyes were bloodshot and she looked like she’d been through hell. She woke up initially screaming about the pain in her pussy and she was still sitting awkwardly, an ice pack on her bruised and throbbing sex.

That being said, she was thrilled she didn’t remember a single bit of it. She thanked me profusely and told her husband she wanted me to deliver all of her babies. Once her poor little cunny healed, of course.

Josh and I shared a look over her head. We were already counting down to Ashley’s next labor and delivery.

#birth kink #maesiophilia #preggo kink #painful birth #hospital birth #medfet #labor and delivery #giving birth #birth #twilight sleep #medical malpractice #preggo fantasy #fantasy

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cultofdixon · 2 years ago

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My Sunshine

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • The prison collapse scrambled everyone and Daryl thought he had lost his everything. But when the group got in a bit of a pickle with a stranger community, there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injures / Scars / Canon Violence / Cannibals / Execution / Fire

Requested by: Anon

Everyone has their special someone. Whether that be a boyfriend/girlfriend, partner, or best friend or even a family member. Someone that makes life worth living for.

Daryl had her. His sunshine. His partner in crime. To anybody else looking at the two, Y/N was the complete opposite of Daryl.

The two were similar when it comes to being a more quiet duo. But Y/N was more of the shy, sensitive type unlike Daryl’s intense, thick-skinned type.

The moment he knew he was in love with her was all the way back to their quarry days. She may have been in her own little world while surrounded by others who wanted nothing to do with the Dixons at the time unless for hunting purposes…but she would always try to include Daryl on everything “group related”. Nobody liked Merle. Even his own blood but he tolerated him.

“Hi…” Y/N gently taps Daryl’s shoulder startling him out of his thoughts while he was skimming a squirrel. “My bad…I was wonderin’ if you wanted to sit with us. While we cook and eat what you and your brother caught for us”

“Uh…” Please god just say yes man. “Nah. I’m fine here”

“Oh…okay, well”

Well? Daryl looks up at her with curiosity before watching her walk away as a frown slowly brought itself on his face. I should’ve said yes.

The archer flinches once more when he spots Y/N has brought her camping chair to be beside him and his little campfire set up. As she sat down she went through her pack taking out a protein bar for herself and the man sitting beside her who happily took it.

“Ey, you gonna share with me?” Merle adds joining his brother like usual as Daryl was about to answer for her when Y/N tossed him the one she was holding. “Score”

“Y/N yea—-“

“I have more” Y/N pulled out another one from her pack before leaning back in her chair. She was met with a confused look written on his face. “Glenn isn’t the only one that can smoothly go through an infested city”

With half the bar in his mouth, Merle snorted amused waving the other half toward her. “I like her”

And he did. Well, they both did. But Merle didn’t like her in that way, surprise surprise. He didn’t mess with her except for his usual remarks toward everybody. In a weird way of putting it, Merle gave Daryl the “Merle seal of approval” for Y/N. That she would be good for him. And that’s when Merle was really Merle.

“You should tap that”

“What the fuck, Merle”

Y/N was a part of the Atlanta group and before she left, Daryl expressed heavily for her to be safe and that’s what sparked their mutual flame. Hell when the herd came through their campsite and Daryl came to the mess, he thought he would’ve lost her to. But to his surprise, he watched Y/N ripped the head off a walker that managed to pin one of their own and met its demise when it got too close to biting.

She can definitely handle herself Daryl thought as his heart continued to race watching her stumble a bit. He quickly shot the walker that approached from behind her while she dropped the head and crushed it under her boot.

The human ray of sunshine turned around to find the bolt before whipping back and locking onto Daryl who ran over to her.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you” and that was the first deceleration in words by the archer himself.

After the CDC and the time on the farm, the two have gotten closer and not only did Daryl take his own bolt but also the bullet…is when Y/N returned the same level of feelings since the quarry.

“You really scared me today…”

“‘M sorry sunshine”

“Daryl…” Y/N brought herself to lay down beside him looking him in the eye as Daryl wanted to reach over and pull her close but they weren’t there yet…until she spoke once more. “I’m falling in love with you…I can’t lose you, okay?” She whispers to him to keep in mind of the sleeping people in the house as Daryl reaches toward her wiping away the stray tear that fell when she said those words.

“C’mere, I ain’t going anywhere” He whispers back, resting his hand on her hip waiting for her to get close enough to wrap his arm around her.

The two had their own little bubble that popped every once in a while, because the world didn’t know when to calm down. Daryl thought he had scared Y/N off when he was enraged at himself for not finding Sophia sooner but she had the one thing he lacked which was patience. She kept her distance but not far enough for Daryl to get any negative idea that she hates him.

One quiet moment from the storm of grief flooding through, Daryl brought himself to sit beside Y/N on the porch of the farm house. No one interrupting the two or wiggling their way into their bubble. All Y/N did was scoot herself right beside him gently taking his hand into hers, letting him know that she’ll be there. Even through all the scary moments.

Their growing relationship wasn’t a secret, but was unexpected to others. When the time going from house to house for a place to stay through the winter, Daryl would always ask Y/N to come with him to go hunting or sweep the near by houses and she would always agree. Extending her hand for him to take and that was the most physical touch they would do. Especially in front of others.

“When did that start happening?!” Glenn questions out loud the second the two left as Maggie laughs.

“You’re blind as hell, Glenn”

“It was obvious” Carol laughs a bit with Maggie leaving her friend even more confused.

“I didn’t see that comin’” Rick adds as Lori rolls her eyes with a smile.

“You didn’t see them hang out all the time before you came back into our lives” She smiles with a little laugh escaping her lips before bringing Carl close to help him warm up.

Walking through the quiet streets as the snow started to fall onto the two. Daryl stops and admires Y/N who parted from him to look up and watch the snow fall on her. A moment of peace he will engrave in his mind the sight before him. Her smile. Her contentment. She was happy, and so was he.

“I love you Y/N” He declares watching her attention from the snow land on him as her smile never faded for a second.

Y/N brought herself back to Daryl standing before him with that beautiful smile of hers as she looks up at him.

“I love you Daryl” She smiles warmly as the archer took his opportunity, resting his hands gently on her face and brought his lips against hers.

Their snowy first kiss is one for the books…

The times at night, Daryl took every chance he got to hold Y/N close in his embrace when most of the group would be sleeping. Not that it mattered if they looked, but he preferred when everyone was asleep so that he could leave small kisses to the top of her head and temple. Cherishing every part of her in the comforts of his arms.

When the prison was their new home, Daryl didn’t like the idea of sleeping in a cell and slept on the catwalk for the first few nights. He didn’t expect Y/N to join him, but she wasn’t ever leaving his side any time soon. Especially when Merle died.

One thing she’ll remember during the moments before Merle’s Hail Mary…

“You’ve always been close to my baby brother”

“I’d like to believe he’s always been close to me and we’ve slowly became comfortable with each other. That lead to more”

“Promise me something?”

“It’s nothing murderous is it?” Y/N teases getting a laugh from the older brother. “I promise whatever it may be, Merle”

“I know how much he cares about yea. He’s always cared about yea. Loved yea even…can yea just promise me…you’ll be there for him even more when I’m no longer here”

Oh Y/N knew in a way that Merle was going to sacrifice himself in some way. He may be an ass and people may not like him…but he loves and cares for his baby brother.

So he did it for him, even if it left a scar on Daryl’s mind…the pain that lingered by leaving the world.

Y/N returned to the prison after spending a few hours in the yard, to be met with a worried Daryl when she reached their shared cell. When the Woodbury folk infused themselves, they decided it was time to move from the catwalk.

“Where you’ve been…”

“Digging. Burying. Uh. Which reminds me…you can’t tell Rick who the other body is”

“Did yea kill somebody? Did somebody hurt yea that yea had to defend yourself?” His panic got caught in his throat that he wasn’t there to protect her, but his thoughts quieted when she rest her hands on his chest looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of hers.

“Merle deserves some respect in death.” She whispers feeling his hands gently place themselves on her face watching her sigh and the tears threaten to spill. “I’m so sorry for your loss, my love”

The archer himself cried for the loss of his brother and it pained him watching her cry. He learned when Merle died that Y/N lost her family in Atlanta before Glenn saved her.

They both lost what was blood.

But now they have a new family. Just the two of them…and one with those they formed bonds with since the quarry

“D?”

“Hm?”

“You’ll always come find me if we’re ever separated…right?”

“I will always find yea, sunshine. But it’s gonna take a lot to pull you away from my embrace”

Even if that thing was the Governor’s return and the collapse of the prison. Daryl never hated himself more in any other moment except for when he escaped alongside Beth…and didn’t find her on the way out. Didn’t find her in the nearby tree line. Didn’t even find her a few miles out.

A part of him was blaming himself and another wanted to set the whole world on fire if he didn’t find her.

The days have past and Daryl found himself sitting outside the car beside Rick while Michonne and Carl slept…blaming himself for everything that happened since the prison collapsed.

Losing Y/N

Losing Beth

The Claimers

When the group made their way to Terminus after reading sign after sign on the matter when following the train tracks. Rick decided it’d be best to go through the side, unexpected and to get an idea of everything. But what he didn’t expect was some of the residences that weren’t their people, wearing their belongings. He didn’t hesitate to raise his gun and didn’t stop his brother when Daryl suddenly ripped the necklace off a person’s neck.

“WHERE DID YEA FIND THIS” He snaps causing them to tremble and step back. He didn’t get an answer and his mind tuned out Rick’s words when he noticed Hershel’s pocket watch.

________

“I got yea somethin’” Daryl whispers to Y/N while she ate breakfast with him at one of the picnic tables.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, my love”

“That’s too damn bad. Cuz it made me think of yea” The archer states going into his pocket to hand her a small pouch.

Y/N set her spoon down brushing her hands off before inspecting the pouch about to make a joke that that was the gift but given Daryl’s waiting excitement for her reaction, she decided against it. She finally opened the pouch pulling out a gold necklace with a charm of the sun.

“You get it right? Cuz you’re my sunshine” he knew how cheesy that sound but watching that already amazing beautiful smile of hers grow.

“Well. Help your sunshine out” She gestures for him to put it on her as she held her hair out of the way for him to clasp it before leaning into her kissing her shoulder and bringing her flush against his chest. “I’m honored to be your sunshine, my love”

________

The four was forced in the train car not knowing what to expect. But Daryl’s mind was on the obvious, that Rick had to ask for him while he panicked.

“What happened to Y/N?”

“No idea” Glenn immediately responds with as Maggie smacks his chest gesturing to the anxious archer.

“She came with us. I was with her since the prison collapsed. Last I remember was her being lead to medical, then things turned sideways and now we’re in this train car” Maggie frowns watching the worry write itself on Daryl’s face. “We’ll find her”

He never expected for this to be the way he found her

Daryl, Rick, Glenn, and Bob were taken to this room that looked exactly like a slaughterhouse. The archer was forced to his knees first in front of this trough with Rick beside him as he noticed Gareth, the one that seemed to be the leader, dragging this unknown person given by the sack covering their head. They were forcefully placed on the opposite side of Daryl who was currently gagged. The two randoms on the other side of Bob were suddenly butchered in front of them, the blood spilling into the trough and they suddenly knew exactly what was happening. Or what was gonna happen.

“Take the fucking bag off her head. I want her to watch us kill the ones she wouldn’t stop yelling about finding her” Gareth snaps as one of the two butchers behind the group grabbed the bag ripping it off her head.

Y/N.

No.

No no NO

Daryl looked at her, scanning her person right then and there. Noticing every cut, every bruise, and taking note of each one that’ll add to a minute the second he gets his hands on the leader to strangle the living daylights out of him for however long the damage done to his girl adds up.

The explosion rang through the facility and the second Gareth left to investigate. Y/N somersaulted backwards driving her foot directly in one of the butcher’s family jewels causing him to fall while Rick manages to break free and stabbing the other butcher then taking care of the other that Y/N knocked off his feet. Rick cut Daryl out after getting Y/N and the two didn’t wait another second before latching onto the other.

His anxiety got stuck in his throat when he tried to speak. He was relieved but still freaking internal as Y/N shook in his embrace trying not to fall apart. They still had to escape.

Thank god for Carol

Everyone regrouped, along with their new friends they’ve meet before the hell sanctuary. Daryl quickly assesses Y/N’s injuries as her eyes were checking his.

“Are you alright, D?”

“I’m fine. You don’t gotta worry”

“Well…fuck…I’m sorry but I just can’t not…” Y/N suddenly started tearing up feeling Daryl’s calloused yet gentle hands take a hold of her face. “They killed and ate people in front of me…and I was mentally dying at the fact that I lost you to that hellish place. I’m not gonna lie and say that I’m fine! I’m fucking terrified!” She cries holding his wrists. “I don’t ever want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I love you. I love you so fucking much”

In that moment Daryl couldn’t contain it inside any longer as he felt the tears fall off his cheeks as his hands moved to her hips. He felt her hands find purchase on his neck bringing him down enough for her to press his forehead against hers.

“I’d be lost without my sunshine”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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beeskneesshots · 7 months ago

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Some mundane headcanons for silver bullet!Yuu/MC and their living space

They live in the same building as their bar. first floor is the bar, kitchen and a small bathroom, second floor has extra rooms for the bar (private meetings and guest bedrooms), third floor is their living room, bedroom and bathroom and rooftop is where they keep their herbs. In the kitchen there's a door to their tiny basement where they store most of the liqour.

Good at cooking, they make you feel cozy and warm regardless if the bar stool your sitting on is about to break and there's blood splatter on the walls that they couldn't quiet get rid of.

Good relationship with their neighbors and has gotten gifts from them such as: A welcome plant that looked well taken cared of, a coupon that expired, some very sweet cookies and a radio that needs to be put in a certain way for it to work correctly.

Despite working as a bartender for Crowley to pay their debt, they LOVE making drinks. Studying it almost 24/7 and loves figuring out different tastes and texture for every new drink. Their "best" patron will have more than just 1 special drink depending on the mood.

Plants. lots of plants- but not in the bar anymore. It's up in the third floor and roof top which makes those floors cramped. not all of the plants are alive.

Got good fashion sense and changes up their bartender attire from time to time. Pants to long skirts, blouses to long-sleeves shirts, different pins and tie colors depending if their bar is rented out for any special occasions or themselves are hired to be the bartender for a party/ meeting/ ect.

The other Yuus exist and work for NRC. Most of them work for Crowley but they do also work for the other NRC leaders as well if needed. All of the Yuus (including MC) are friends. Crowley has been accused of only "kidnapping" Yuus, which he takes very seriously and doesn't find funny.

All of the first years, except for Sebek, got their first special drinks before their leaders. They tend to have a soft spot for them and joins in on their poker games, depending if they have the time and it's in their own bar.

Just like in canon, they didn't know who Malleus was, even tho Crowley and Crewel has told them in detail about the leader of Diasomnia many times before. braincells left when Malleus came bloody, confused and too well dressed at the front door. not his own blood ofc.

Radio that they got from their neighbor is being used in the bar. Constantly on one station that only plays jazz, blues and city pop. there's always some crackles and white noise.

#twst silver bullet au #silver bullet au #twst #twisted wonderland #it's not that yandere nor super exciting but i love mundane stuff #got even more but its late and its already long enough

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highqueenofelfhame · 2 years ago

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IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING. I didn't mean for this to go a whole year without an update. I'm so sorry. I hope this 4.5k chapter makes up for it somehow <3

masterlist // fafs masterlist // rowaelin

As soon as he took that first deep breath upon waking up, Rowan knew he was being watched. Maybe that was thanks to all his years as an agent for the bureau, or perhaps it had to do with the months he had spent with Aelin that had honed that instinct into a sharp blade. Regardless of what had made him develop the sixth sense, he knew that when he opened his eyes to the soft light filtering through the cracks of the curtains, there would be a golden gaze pinning him to the bed.

Instead of looking at her, he reached across the bed to rest his hand on her thigh. Rowan could tell she was sitting with her legs folded up like a pretzel, her hands in her lap while she watched him. He moved a fraction of an inch closer until he could easily press his lips to the spot just above her knee.

"Rowan?" The tentative sound of her voice had him cracking open an eye to look up at her face. A deep crease was set between her brows while she worried her bottom lip in thought.

"What has you awake so early?" This soon after waking, the lilt of his accent was heavier, his tone deeper and more gravelly than usual.

"It wasn't you, right?"

"Baby–" he started, pushing himself up on his good arm to a sitting position. He shifted so they were sitting knee to knee, one of his legs dangling over the side of the bed so he could move closer to her. Aelin looked away as she licked her lips before shaking her head. "Look at me, love."

"I know. I know you didn't; I just–" Her eyes found his again, and she huffed out a sigh. It sounded like she had been carrying it in her lungs for years. "Somebody found out. They found out, and they told her. But everyone I know is dead except for Elide and Gavriel, and they think I'm dead. Even if Gav put it together, I can't see him spilling everything to Maeve before talking to me to see what the hell happened to me all those years ago."

Digging her palms into her eyes, she took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. Rowan counted the seconds, his thumbs brushing in soothing circles over her tan skin. It was something he had been thinking about non-stop since everything exploded in the bureau lobby. Even as the bullet pierced his shoulder, he tried to make sense of everything that had come to light.

How had Maeve known? It definitely hadn't been Gavriel. At the very least, her uncle would have approached him before going to Maeve. It didn't make any sense for him to find his long-lost and assumed-dead niece and go straight to his boss. Rowan knew firsthand that the deaths of his sister-in-law and her husband had plagued him. He was one of the few people that Gavriel had ever talked about it with, him and Aedion never having fully given up hope that maybe she was out there somewhere. It wasn't something he voiced frequently. Those admissions came after everyone else had left the bar, and it was just the two of them sharing a beer in silence after a difficult case. No, it definitely hadn't been Gavriel.

Who then? Aelin was right. Essentially everyone from her childhood was dead now. All her confessions had happened in places where he knew they weren't being recorded. By that time, he himself had become paranoid enough that he checked all the pens in his pockets, his cufflinks, and the buttons of his shirts, even to ensure nobody had slipped a device somewhere in his clothes. If they had been recorded, it would have been inside his apartment. But he would have known about that, too. He checked regularly and had frequency blockers hidden in every room.

If working for the bureau taught him anything, it was to always be on your guard and that a healthy dose of paranoia kept you from being surveilled.

There was Elide, but Rowan had a strong feeling that any of her suspicions would have ended with Lorcan beating down his door in the dead of night in search of the truth. She wasn't even an option, not really.

Who, then? Had Arobynn Hammel let the truth slip to Maeve before his heart had been ripped from his chest? Did Maeve have eyes and ears everywhere that whispered back to her, even when they were sure no one was listening? It seemed far-fetched, but he knew his boss had her moments of being ruthless. But if she'd known the truth since Arobynn, why did she wait so long to tell Aelin she knew? The window of when she found out and when she spoke with Aelin had to have been a small one. Nothing else quite made sense.

Rowan looked back at the woman he loved, her eyes fixed on his face while he processed every bit of information they knew. All he could do was shake his head and rest his brow against hers.

"I don't know. I wish I could give you more than that, but where it stands right now, I have no fucking idea. We will figure it out– all of it. Who told her, what kind of jeopardy it puts you in, what our next steps are. We will figure it out together."

There was a determination in her eyes that was admirable. And though he could tell she wanted to push back about something that he'd said– he had no idea which part– she nodded slightly and repeated, "Together."

~*~

Hours later, Aelin was sitting on the floor in front of the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Despite a warmer day outside, a fire flickered in the fireplace. Watching the flames dance and twine around one another was a welcome reprieve from the near-constant headache she'd had for the last few days while trying to make sense of everything.

In the kitchen, Rowan hummed quietly while preparing dinner. The aroma of garlic, basil, and lemon was strong throughout the cabin. It felt bizarre that this felt like the most normal night she had ever experienced in her whole life. The sounds of dinner being prepared, a man she loved making everything with care. The reality was that it was the furthest from normal, considering she was on the run from the FBI. It was only a matter of time before she was found, captured, and dumped into a prison cell for the rest of her life. It made her stomach turn to know that the same thing would happen to Rowan for harboring a fugitive of her caliber and committing treason.

"I don't understand how this has become my life," she said aloud, and Rowan ceased his movements. The water turned on, followed by the sound of him washing and drying his hands before lowering his body to the floor beside her. "I don't mean I don't understand exactly how I ended up here. I understand that part. What I don't understand is how my life got here."

"You mean how you ended up an assassin in the first place." He shifted to drop his arm around her shoulder, and Aelin quickly turned into him, resting her face against his chest. It always surprised her when he understood what she was trying to say, even if the words were twisted and confusing on their way out of her mouth.

"How did I go from living in a mansion surrounded by family and friends, my father gearing up for a presidential run, having tea parties with my very best friends, or running through bonfires on Beltane with flowers in my hair to this?"

"What do you remember about that night?" The night she'd spent so much time running from, one that her brain had blocked out almost entirely. Aelin sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes still locked on the flames as she chewed on it for a moment.

"Not much," she admitted. "I've never talked about it out loud to anyone before, either. But it really isn't much."

"Do you want to go over what you do remember with me? Maybe something will spark, and we can work backward to figure out what is happening now." Only with Rowan would she ever talk about it, the night that ruined her life. Perhaps she had emerged from the ashes like a phoenix, but everything she had wanted to be before died that night. So she had become something else entirely. Something horrible that her friends and family would be ashamed of and would judge. But he wouldn't.

Aelin turned so she was leaning against the couch, her arm propped on the cushion with her fist against her temple. Rowan mirrored her body language, reaching out to lace the fingers of their free hands. A silent reminder that he was there, he understood her, and he would follow this path with her to whatever end it may have. The thought alone made her want to cry, but she swallowed her emotions.

"The night that my parents were murdered, I was sleeping upstairs in my bed. Every night I went to sleep snuggled in a mountain of stuffed animals. Most of them came from when my dad went on business trips. He always brought one back for me. I had to have at least twenty stacked on top of my bed, dozens more littered around my room. I rotated them out frequently so that none of them would feel lonely having to sleep by themselves." Rowan's lips had curved into the smallest of smiles, his thumb making circles on the back of her hand. He was there. He had her. She was not alone, and she would not be afraid.

"I remember having a hard time falling asleep that night. I'd been to my parent's bedroom twice because I thought I heard things. It was a big house; it made a lot of noise. My mom repeatedly promised me that everything was okay, and she and my dad tucked me back into bed. I remember still feeling unsettled and scared. Like something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I couldn't place my tiny finger on it then, but I would hold my breath to see what I could hear in the silence. Once, I heard soft voices, which my mom said I was just hearing the two of them talking downstairs. I heard footsteps, but again, they were still up and getting ready for bed. I was just hearing them."

Aelin paused then, tears already filling her eyes and threatening to slip down her cheeks. Not once had she said any of this out loud. Nobody had ever heard this part. With Rowan, she could do this. She could say it aloud despite her throat burning from trying to suppress her emotions. Maybe it was time she let them out. Had she ever really grieved? Those first few weeks at the keep, maybe. But Arobynn had quickly shut down her wildfire range of emotions some months into her training when he decided she should be over it by now. With a deep breath, she found it in herself to continue.

"I slept a little bit that night, but it was that kind of sleep where you hear everything around you. Somewhere between being awake and dreaming. At first, I thought I was dreaming. But I heard my mother begging someone. Her voice had so much raw fear; I will never forget how it cracked when she said my name. As scared as I was, you think you're invincible as a child, you know? So I snuck downstairs, tip-toeing down the hallway to their bedroom. And then I just… froze. There was enough moonlight to see my dad completely limp on the bed. Something dark was on his skin and the sheets, running down his arm and pooling on the floor. His eyes were staring at nothing.

A man had my mom's hair gathered in his hand; her head pulled back with a gun to her temple while she begged and begged. But she wasn't begging for herself; she was pleading that he let me go. Over and over, she just kept saying let my baby live, please don't hurt her. And then she saw me standing at the door, and the last thing she said was my name before the gun went off. I have never heard anyone's voice sound so panicked and full of terror. My mom slumped against my dad, and then I turned and ran. At some point, I slipped, banged my head on the ground, and I don't know what happened after that."

Aelin only realized she had fully begun to sob when Rowan pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her tightly. While she was talking, she had registered the sounds of gasping, sharp breaths, and broken words, but it hadn't registered that it was coming from her. When she started talking, it all started pouring out. One broken word after another until her shirt was soaked with tears. On the one hand, it felt so good to finally get it out and tell someone what had really happened that night. On the other, it shattered her into a million pieces to recount those events.

The papers had gotten it all wrong. Most of them said it had been a quick assassination. Aelin didn't know how fast it had happened for her father, but the man that killed her mother had stood there and listened to her begging for her daughter's innocent life for long enough that Aelin had made her way downstairs and heard the end of it. That she saw the end of it. That it was burned into her brain no matter how hard she tried to shut those images out.

Aelin still had nightmares about it.

Rowan didn't say anything for a long while, just holding her and stroking her hair while she let out every emotion she had kept locked in an iron cage in the back of her mind. Emotions she had been trained to keep a firm hold on for nearly her entire life. Arobynn used that against her, beating her down until she had become distant and cold. Only when she had met Rowan did any of it start to slip out, and she had spent months hating herself for it. Aelin had always known from the time she started to get to know him that he would be her unraveling one way or another. He would either throw her in prison or make her feel alive again. At the time, she couldn't decide which was worse.

"I know that there were two men. I saw a second one when I turned to run. But after that, I didn't know anything else until I woke up in a bed in the keep. Arobynn never talked about how I fell under his 'care.' For a while, I thought it was just an orphanage. That I had been found and taken there while I was unwell. It didn't click until I was a few years older that it certainly wasn't the case because I would have woken up in a hospital before I got taken anywhere, and then I would have been taken to my aunt and uncle. I just remember seeing all these papers about how I was missing and presumed dead. Arobynn would show me news footage of Aerin and Gavriel begging for someone to just let them know where my body was so they could bring me home."

Her tears felt cool against her flushed cheeks, even as Rowan chased every one of them away with calloused fingertips. The memories of her aunt, uncle, and cousin standing on the porch of their home, desperately asking for her return. They hadn't known if it would be her alive and well, or if it would be her dead body. It had not mattered. Her family just wanted her back. Wanted to keep or safe or lay her to rest next to her parents. The image of Aedion's young, tear-streaked face floated to the front of her mind, followed immediately by his unseeing eyes the day she had shown up at the crime scene to find him dead.

It was all too much. The murder of her parents, her upbringing to become the underworld's most deadly assassin, that she was now everything her parents hated about the world. All of her friends that now lay six feet under simply because they were tied to her in some way.

The guilt had been gnawing at her bones since it all started. Aelin would give absolutely anything to trade places with them. The cost didn't matter. It would have been better if she were the one that was dead because if she had died that night, at least everyone she loved would still be breathing.

Throughout the years, Aelin had kept tabs on each of them, knowing they would do incredible things. They all had done their best to put something good back into the world. Dorian was nothing like his father, doing what he could to speak out and back his words up with actions to pave a better way for the rest of the world. Aedion had spent countless hours working with underprivileged youth in Big Brother programs right up to his death. Even Sam was taking steps to better his life until he was killed for trying to run with her.

Nehemia… gods, the things she could have done if her life hadn't ended so shortly. She had been a beacon of hope to so many, her charity work speaking for itself. It was only about doing everything she could to help people in need, including raising money through the Lotus Foundation, one her parents had helped her create to build housing in underdeveloped parts of their home country, Eyllwe.

Yet she was the one still living. She who had taken countless lives, that had so much blood caked onto her soul she would never be clean. It didn't matter what she did going forward; it didn't matter the circumstances of how it all happened. Aelin was the one that lived, and she had brought so much shame upon everyone in her life.

There were no bright sides to her friends being dead. That she would never have to face them, never have to tell them the truth, though… She was too much of a coward to ever have looked any of them in the eye after the life she had been forced into.

"Do you remember anything about the men that killed your parents? What they looked like?" Rowan's voice stirred her from her thoughts, soft, deep, and lilting. His thumbs still brushed the tears that fell from her cheeks.

"The men Maeve captured and convicted were the ones that did it. I know that for sure. I could never forget Cairn's face. His accomplice is harder for me to piece together, but he confessed after Cairn ratted him out to avoid the death penalty. I only saw him for a brief moment before I fell. If the wrong people had been convicted, I would have hunted them down and killed them myself." And she would have. Those lives would have been two of the few she held no remorse over, and it wouldn't have been quick. It would have lasted long enough until some of the grief had eased in her chest. Until she wasn't so scared to look back on her childhood memories anymore.

"That case got her the appointment for FBI Director." Rowan lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the snot gathered in her nose and upper lip.

"She deserved it for that. Even though I had just turned nine, I was hyper-aware of what my life was turning into by that point. And seeing justice brought down on them… it brought some relief. Not much, but enough to know they were behind bars. I would have preferred the death penalty for them both, but at least there was a confession." Aelin shrugged her shoulders. It was true. She would have killed them after her arrest if she had been in the same prison. Clearly, the gods had other plans for her, though.

"Is there anything else you can piece together?"

"Right now, no. But if I have any eureka moments, you'll be the first and only one to know."

Aelin had been waiting for Rowan's apology. The one that came from a place of empathy, that made her feel like she was pitied. But it never came. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. The gesture said more than words ever could. That he understood, that he hated the shitty hand life had dealt her, that he stood with her. That he was there.

And that meant more to her than any words ever could.

~*~

Whitethorn had been right. In the days after Sardothien's arrest, he had gone on and on about how it was too convenient. It didn't make sense that she was just a whisper in the wind and suddenly became so sloppy in her work that boxes of evidence had, literally, been dropped on the steps of the FBI headquarters.

Raking through every piece of information that they had on her, he could see that clear as day. For years their department had chased a ghost, someone quick and silent. There had never been a drop of her own blood, a single hair that fell off her head. No fingerprints, no saliva. None of her DNA packed under someone's fingernails from a struggle. They didn't even have proof that it was her at all, actually. They only knew that the legendary assassin was a woman based on one witness account, and the woman had been so old and frail and unsure of her account that it would have been inadmissible in court.

All of her alleged crime scenes had been scoured with a fine-toothed comb. They knew it was murder; that much was clear. But Celaena Sardothien had dozens of aliases, hundreds maybe. He was sure of that. Yet the "proof" they had received in a box full of her fake passports and IDs seemed too good to be true. None of them led them anywhere; it was like she'd never touched them, never used them at any point. Anyone could pay someone to make fake identification, and what they found in those boxes was so blatantly fake that it wouldn't fool anyone.

Her case was a puzzle that he was dying to solve. Usually, he loved cataloging evidence that led to a trial. Sure, they would have to find and capture her again before she saw her day in the courtroom, but he enjoyed this part of the work. Except for right now, when not a single loose thread took him anywhere at all. The woman simply did not exist.

With tired eyes, he pushed away the file he'd been reading and turned to another that kept him up at night. Lorcan wasn't usually so personally invested in the cases they solved, but the look in Gavriel's eyes when he found out his son had been murdered still haunted his nightmares. The sounds of the sobs that broke free from his throat were the sounds of a soul dying. Gavriel had loved his son with everything he had, and Lorcan almost couldn't forgive himself for having to be the person that broke the news.

Flipping open the Ashryver file, he scanned the evidence log and accompanying photos. When he got to the images of Aedion's lifeless body, he started to flip faster, not needing to see the pictures to remember them in vivid detail.

Just as he was about to skip the last one, a close-up shot of his face and neck, Lorcan's fingers froze against the glossy page. In the photo, Aedion's glassy eyes stared at the cloudy sky. Eyes that were a bright turquoise, his pupil rimmed with gold. They were dimmer now than they had been while he was alive, but…

But he knew those eyes. Not just because they were a strong trait of the Ashryver gene pool but because he had looked into them himself. Yes, he had met Aedion several times at various get-togethers and holiday parties. But his eyes were identical to a different pair he'd become all too familiar with for the last several months.

Then there was his face. Gavriel's son favored him strongly, but there was a softness in his features that he had spent months looking at on a different face. A woman's face. The same shade of golden hair, though in these photos, it was sticky with dried blood.

Lorcan pulled his laptop closer to him, quickly opening a tab and sending his fingers flying across the keyboard. It was probably the fastest he had ever typed, and he had never been so impatient for the single second it took to get hundreds of images back from the search result.

He clicked on the third photo down, one of a small family standing on a stage. The man and woman waved to the crowd while the young girl beamed where she stood between them. No older than seven, her little hands clasped her mother and father's tightly.

Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius pictured with their daughter, Aelin, on Vice President Galathynius's presidential campaign trail in Perranth.

A few weeks ago a conversation of Lorcan arguing with Rowan about Celaena's involvement in Elide's attack had him pushing back from his chair. Ice slithered up and down his spine, blood turning cold as he recalled one specific thing that Rowan said to him that he hadn't caught in the moment because he was so upset and worried about his fiancee's life.

Rowan had called her Aelin. Said that Aelin didn't have anything to do with what happened to Elide. He vividly remembered feeling bothered by the conversation afterward, that there was something between the lines that Rowan hadn't been saying plainly with words, but perhaps they were there. Whitethorn had been so fiercely sure that Celaena didn't do it, didn't have it ordered, had clean hands where Elide was concerned. He might be a raging dumbass for dating a woman with multiple charges of murder to her name, but the man was not stupid.

Lorcan's eyes snagged on another image, a group photo of two dozen or so people. Standing in the front were five children. All of them were dressed in their holiday best, standing before a towering Yulemas tree covered in glittering ornaments and twinkling lights. They appeared to be gathered in a great hall of sorts. Everyone in the picture shared wide smiles as they looked at the camera.

In the middle of the group of children was a young girl with long dark hair wearing a red and green plaid dress. A bright red bow gathered some of her soft curls from her face. A face that Lorcan would know anywhere because not only had he seen hundreds of childhood pictures of her, but he woke up to that face every godsdamn morning.

Elide's arms were looped through two other girls, one with long golden hair and fair skin, the other with black hair in carefully woven braids, her skin dark. The three of them wore similar dresses, the color being the only thing different about them. The blonde girl on her right had a silver and dark green dress, while the one on her right had a dress of purple and silver.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was on Elide's right. That was factual. Beside Aelin, Aedion Ashryver stood with his arm thrown around her shoulders. Dorian Havilliard and Chaol Westfall were on the other side of Nehemia Ytger. Behind them were their parents and friends of their parents. All of them gathered before one of the famous Galathynius family Yulemas parties.

It wasn't just Aelin standing beside Elide, though. That thought clanged through Lorcan hard. He felt it in every nerve and bone of his body; he had never been so absolutely positive of something in his entire life.

Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, a girl long since presumed dead to the world and everyone that loved her.

Holy gods.

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lesbianfring · 2 years ago

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Don't mind me, just sitting down here drifting into my own thoughts about how vince and the rest of the brba/bcs writers managed to write gustavo fring in a way so thematically queer and his entire plot line being centred around max's death and his revenge, but to me it's the themes that just hit too close to home.

(I hide in plain sight) as someone who exists in a place where queerness is a crime, this is very much how I live. The double life of chicken man during the day kingpin by the just reads to me as queer allegory.

(look at him, its you're fault) do I need to explain this one at all? If you ever came across religious homophobia you'd be told that your queerness is what doomed you from the start and the harm that comes to you and your loved ones is just a natural consequence of your queerness. I remember being Bearley 16, my first partner being dragged away and into a fate that I'll never know of, and my dad telling me that if anything happens to her, it's my fault, while being pinned to a wall and searched befor entry to conversion therapy, sobbing my eyes out. The hermanos scene was so fucking traumatising to say the least, the desperation in both gus's and max's eyes and the fear that consumes any other emotion or thought, I know it too well. Honestly, I feel like an absolute joke literally having a ptsd flashback because of this scene and then reading that giancarlo said that gus's sexuality is up to interpretation, like am I joke to you or what ? Love this man as much as any fan, but bro, I just rather you'd call me a slur ?

( a bullet to the head would be too humane) There is also the anger, vengeance, and grudge he holds. Though because he is very practical, we rarely get to see this peak through, but it's definitely his greatest motivation. And I dont know how to put this into words, but if had the chance to hurt the people that hurt me and took away my ability to protect someone I promised to protect, I fucking would. He'll I'd set the systems that are built to destroy me a blaze. Though for now, me being alive, breathing, surviving, is its own kind of revenge.

( Hector vs. Gus ) this one is pretty obvious, lone wolf queer swearing off any kind of emotional connection throwing away the last 20 years of his life to avenge the death of his lover, he also expresses masculinity just never in the traditional sence, going against hector who's very much the family guy, his entire existence and power is within his family, the traditional patriarchal image of a man. They literally are opposites in everything. when hector barges into los pollos heramnos, he completely disrespects the place and "immaculates" gus by cleaning his shoes on the desk and smoking inside the restaurant. On the other hand, we see gus smiling after the Salamancas left, knowing that this meant he successfully sabotaged their operation. He won, he's the in dominance, but he won't flaunt it or scream and shout or be an ass hole unless he absolutely needs to, other than that we never see him interested in showing off his muscles to anyone. Of course, unlike hector. He'll shit himself as a show of dominance and masculinity, literally lmao.

I just hope that this shows that Queerness isn't just about sexuality and gender. It literally changes how you interact with the whole world. Whether or not this was intentionally done by the writers, a brilliant conicdance of all these things coming together and making gustavo fring is one of the best queer characters to ever be on the TV screens. I know people will mention the wine bar scene, or the 2 times he stood by the same exact same spot at eladio's pool, or fact that gus never expressed interest in women, etc. But this isn't all there is. TO ME, there is not a reading of Gustavo fring that wouldn't end up reading him as queer, specifically because of the themes listed above. And (up to interpretation) is not good enough and will never be. You don't get to profit off of me watching this getting retrumatised and then acting like it's a total stretch for me to see myself in that. It INFURATES ME honestly relating to this piece of media, that I'm probably not welcomed into the fandom or even seen as reaching far to get to the queer reading of this character, the queer fans deserve so much better than this.

Also, I know when vince and giancarlo would probably be so uncomfortable at the suggestion that gus and max have been lovers i know my bois James Martinez and Peter Gould got my back

Fucking love yall

I hope the next time I hyper fixate on a queer character that they'd be written or played by queer people. I don't think anyone could have played gus better than giancarlo himself, but how hard it is to just acknowledge that it's an integral part of who gus is? I guess it's too much for the P.R. lmao.

#gusmax #gus fring #gustavo fring #los pollos hermanos #vince gilligan #giancarlo esposito #james martinez #breaking bad #better call saul #fuck you vince #youre a brilliant writer but a fucking asshole for this one

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direwombat · 1 year ago

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tagged by: @socially-awkward-skeleton and @adelaidedrubman

tagging: @strafethesesinners, @voidika, @fourlittleseedlings, @jacobsneed, @trench-rot, @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @river-ward, @purplehairsecretlair, @strangefable, @sukoshimikan, @cassietrn, @neverthesameneveranother, @g0dspeeed, @gaeadene, @ivymarquis, @schoute, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood, @madparadoxum, @euryalex, @clonesupport, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, @henbased, @poetikat, @inafieldofdaisies, @nightwingshero, @wrathfulrook, @inquisitors-grave, @locustandwildhoney, and anyone else who has something to share!

been slowly chipping away at katc. still a lot left to do, but here's a little taste of syb and john interacting

With bullets flying overhead, Sybille ducks for cover behind a stack of crates in Nick’s garage. She reloads her gun, but rather than popping back up to return fire, she unclips her radio from her belt and lifts it to her mouth. “Hey John. You still there?”

“Change your mind so soon, Deputy?” John asks. His tone drips with eager and sadistic delight.

“Sorta,” she answers, and she flinches as a bullet ricochets off the edge of her cover, pinging loudly as it shoots off in another direction. “Lawyer-types like you like makin’ deals, right? So how ‘bout a deal?”

Shrill, obnoxious laughter spills from her radio, and she’s not sure how much of it is a performance and how much of it is genuine. “You don’t have much bargaining power. What exactly are you bringing to the table, hm?”

Smug fucking bastard. He better enjoy taunting her while he can because she fully plans on kicking his ass before she slaps a pair of cuffs around his wrists. “Myself,” she answers through gritted teeth.

In the din of the fire fight, she barely hears him as his voice drops dangerously low. “I’m listening.”

“Call off your men,” she says. “Leave the Ryes alone and I’ll surrender.”

“A tempting offer,” John hums in mock thoughtfulness. “But I’m afraid it’s not quite good enough. I’m going to need a little bit more to sweeten the pot.”

A barrage of bullets -- likely from a mounted machine gun from the sounds of it -- hammers against her cover. She barely has enough time to roll over the bar counter while the gunner is reloading. Bullets whiz past her from the other Peggies on the ground providing covering fire, and she hears the blam of a sniper rifle taking a shot at her. Her back slams against her new cover just as her old hiding spot is completely obliterated.

“For fuck’s sake,” she mutters to herself. Her heart pounds in her chest, and although she technically has Nick providing air support, she really hates being pinned down like this. “Fine,” she says into her radio. “What do you want?”

“I want you to Atone, Deputy,” he laughs. “I want you to accept your sins, to wear them proudly, and to allow yourself to be cleansed.”

“Jesus Christ,” she groans, and then, pressing her finger to the transceiver, she says, “Fine.”

“Ah-ah,” John tuts sharply. “Not quite.”

Smug fucking bastard. She can hear him smiling — can practically see it. Somewhere in the county, John Seed is donning a pleased, toothy grin, like the cat who caught the canary.

God, he’s easy to lie to. Just tell him what he wants to hear and he starts fucking preening.

Moron.

But it doesn’t make the lie any easier to tell. This is a stupid idea. Reckless. Likely to get her killed. But she needs to get close to him to find out where he’s keeping Joey, and if turning herself over to him can get him off the Ryes’ backs, even if just for a moment, then it’ll all be worth it.

“Yes, John,” she grits. “I’ll atone.”

“Wonderful,” he breathes. A few moments later, the gunfire ceases and all that’s left is the ringing in her ears. “My Chosen are on their way, Deputy. It’s in your and the Ryes’ best interest if you don’t resist. It’d be a shame if anything happened to the happy family, now wouldn’t it?”

“I already said ‘yes,’ didn’t I?” she asks.

#i may think john is a funny little guy but syb sure as hell doesn't #he activates her cain instinct more than her own brother does afdlakjfd #not wednesday yet for me but whatever it is somewhere in the world #full disclamer i didnt mean to post this today i meant to do it tomorrow #but i was editing the draft and uh...whoops #wip wednesday

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madampoewrites · 2 months ago

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⎘ SOFIA ³ :

Rated R: Adult Language and Extreme Violence

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

↳ Kruger’s Garage

━ A u g u s t 2 0 2 3

A small crowd gathered outside the dilapidated car dealership as police and investigators swarmed the scene. "We’ve just arrived at Kruger’s Garage, where police have discovered the body of Frederick Kruger," a news reporter announced. The cameras zoomed in as the coroner wheeled away the covered corpse of one of New York's most notorious crime bosses.

Detective Mike Norris crouched over the spot where Fred’s body had been, his eyes fixed on the splatter of blood and brain matter staining the cracked concrete. "Another one of New York’s big players—dead," he muttered, rising slowly. His partner, Riley Ulrich, shook his head in disbelief. "Whoever did this was one angry son of a bitch. It had to be an inside job. Every time we got close to pinning him down, he slipped through our fingers. I guess somebody finally got tired of waiting."

An officer stepped out of the building, breathless. "Norris, we found something." Norris turned as a group of cops wheeled out a hefty safe, its weight groaning on the wheels. "What's in it?" Mike asked, lighting a cigarette.

"About a hundred grand in cash and two pounds of narcotics," the officer replied. Norris exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression hardening. "We need to reopen his file—and every other case tied to him. Something about this doesn’t feel right."

In Charles’s upscale loft, Sofia lay in bed scrolling her phone when a news alert popped up: "Crime Boss Frederick Kruger Found Dead." She swiped it away, her pulse quickening just as Charles walked in, his presence filling the room.

“Hey, dollface,” he said with a grin.

“Hey, baby,” she replied, playfully tugging at his shirt. “I hope I showed you how much I love the car.”

Charles laughed, leaning in for a kiss. “You showed it alright. Bed’s lucky it survived.”

Their laughter was interrupted by the shrill ring of Charles’s phone. He glanced at the screen, then answered with a clipped, “Hello.”

“We need to talk,” a gruff voice said before abruptly hanging up. Charles stared at the phone, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “We gotta go,” he said, grabbing his jacket.

The red Pontiac rolled into the nearly deserted parking lot of an old 50s-style diner. Inside, the booths were empty, shadows of a bygone era. Charles and Sofia walked hand-in-hand, his grip firm but sweaty. She could sense the tension despite his stoic facade. They reached the back room, where two hulking bodyguards blocked the door. “I’m here to see Jason. He’s expecting me,” Charles said. One guard knocked, and the door creaked open.

Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Three men huddled around a pool table, their eyes shifting to Charles and Sofia as they entered. “Chucky! Just the guy I needed to see,” Jason called out, pocketing a ball before striding over. A stocky man with the rough demeanor of an ex-hockey player, Jason had a smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Ms. Valentine, always a pleasure,” Jason said, his charm oozing as he greeted Sofia. She smiled politely, though her unease was palpable. “Help yourself to a drink,” Jason said, patting Charles on the back. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

While Sofia wandered to the bar, Charles was led to the pool table where two familiar faces awaited—Michael and Bubba. Michael, scarred and mute from a bullet to the throat, gave a terse nod. Bubba, a massive figure with the grip of a vice, extended his hand in a crushing handshake. “What brings you guys to Manhattan?” Charles asked, though he already knew the answer. Jason leaned casually against the table. “Heard about Fred. Tragic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, real shame,” Bubba added, his voice thick with feigned sympathy. Michael’s silent nod only added to the tension. Jason’s eyes never left Charles. “Cops are saying it was an inside job. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Charles kept his composure, his voice even. “Can’t say I do, Jay. Fred had his share of enemies—you know that.”

Sofia watched from across the room, her drink untouched. The unease in her gut tightened as she observed the silent exchange. She knew they were talking about Fred, and the risk of discovery was suffocating. If they found out who killed him, it would be over for them both.

Her eyes drifted to Michael and Bubba. Bubba, smelling of raw meat from his day job, was brutish but predictable. Michael, however, was a different story—cold, detached, and unnervingly quiet. His dead-eyed stare always seemed to be waiting, calculating.

Charles approached Sofia, offering his arm so they could leave. They walked to the door, Sofia glancing back one last time. Michael’s hollow gaze was locked on her, unblinking and unnervingly still. As the door shut behind them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, hunted even, by eyes that missed nothing.

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blueparadis · 2 years ago

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▏MAGNETIC MOONLIGHT ▏M.SANO ▏

+. CWs—» omega!fem!reader, alpha!manjiro sano, abo au + mafia au, explicit smut, omegaverse terminology, fluff, light humour, mutual pinning,slow burn, marking, sensory deprivation, denning, nesting, mention of knotting & bonding, oral acts, lotus position, aftercare. word count— 7.2k

+. synopsis —» Manjiro loved his life, it was enriched with everything he cherished with his bullet proof heart but he didn't realise that he was starving until he tasted you.

+. notes —» this is commissioned by @wallflowerdowned THANK YOU SO MUCH. This has now become one of my favourite Manjiro fics. I hope you like it too <333. you can also read this in my ao3.

COMMISSIONS + NAVIGATION LINKS.

PLAYLIST - something about you + juliet + something super sweet + butterflies + every second + drugs n’ hella melodies .

Manjiro and Ryuguji entered the bar with utmost haste to save themselves from another perilous wave threatening to dash on them. It was not just a bad idea, it was something that could turn the tide against them. Emma was missing, which was not the problem. It has become normal since she got married to Draken. They were in a very happy marriage but sometimes their decisions clash. It is so rare to have their decisions coincide, and have them on board on a particular matter. Manjiro always thought why Emma even decided to marry Draken since all she did was bicker with him all day. But at the same time, he was happy; happy that Sano house will have a child in the house and he won’t be dragged into his dearest friend’s love quarrel.

As soon as Manjiro stepped into the bar, he began to shout, “Oi Emmaaa.” and that certainly ticked off Draken’s brimming patience.

“What the fuck you’re doing?”, Mikey’s slate eyes shot up to Draken, glinting with confusion. Baji had already walked into the dance floor by the time, skimming through the crowd basking in neon lights. He exhaled a deep sigh as soon as he noticed that his friends were not by his side. He took a few steps back finding them proudly blocking the entrance of the bar and bickering like kids. Baji remarked, “Mikey, no cop announces their presence.”, filling the blanks in Mikey's head that were starting to create wrinkles in his forehead. “Right”, he yapped. “Let’s scatter then”, Manjiro and Draken went south while Baji, Chifuyu, and Kazutora joined the dancing crowd. The popular pattern of good cop and bad cop.

Mikey and Draken, had to split since Draken was getting restless. He was not to blame, anyone would lose their composure if their Omega went missing, and that too during their pregnancy. Manjiro looked around and found nothing unusual. There were no signs of shady people in this bar which was odd since this was one of the most expensive bars under Tettas that could be labeled as a hub for budding mafia pupils. One wrong move and Kisaki will know that they were in his territory which might create more problems than he can think of right now.

Manjiro’s onyx eyes scanned the place thoroughly until he spotted a blonde girl resting her head over the bar counter, leaning against it, lifelessly. He let out a growl advancing in her direction. Baji cleared the crowd instantly as Manjiro’s growl reached his ear; even though he earned strong resistance from the guards. Chifuyu aligned all the bartenders and other staff on a side while Hanemiya was already making calls to the owner of this bar, Kisaki Tetta. Draken carefully took Emma in his arms and sat on the nearest settee. Manjiro was the most desired as well as popular alpha in town. With his first line of alphas accompanying him, no one dared to talk, not even look him in the eye.

ONE.TWO.THREE.

Swinging his arm in the air, with three overlapping snaps of his fingers, Manjiro gathered his whole pack of alphas around him. He sat on the stool where Emma was sitting a few minutes ago. Finally, the deafening silence was overpowered by his husky voice.

“So, who was it? Who roofied my sister’s drink?”

Baji ran his fingers over his forehead muttering, “you’re scaring them, Mikey”

“as if they haven't already pissed their pants !”, Manjiro scoffed. Whoever did this was already at death’s door because everyone in the town knew that harming Emma in any way was an act of declaration of war against the Sanos.

The Sanos were famous for their long lineage of alphas be it male or female descendants. Emma was the first female Omega in their family. Even though she was cherished by her family, some did not like her, some even took it far enough to talk behind her back for being accepted into the family. She was attacked once when she has just gone through her first heat cycle. Back then, Shinichiro was out of town for business and Mikey handled everything. He fired all the servants of the house and next week, hired some polished betas, even some with a particular set of skills and since then Emma has not faced any kind of fatal incidents.

Naturally, any whiff of danger would denote his oceanic calm. Now that Emma was with a child, he was mad in rage as there was more than one life in line. From time to time, he has experienced so many situations where his dearest ones were on the brink of death. But, it has also made him come across different types of alphas. Baji was one of his childhood friends. He met Draken when he saved him from being exploited during his first rut. Since then, a flawless alpha like Draken has been following Manjiro. The other stories were the talk of the town and he would roll on the floor when Izana had told him how fast information traveled and that too molded in so many shapes and forms. Some made his jaw drop while Izana teased him for that.

“Tetta is coming in thirty minutes.”, Kazutora declared as he stood beside Mikey. Both Baji and Kazutora were standing by his side, on either side, waiting for their alpha’s move.

“Draken, Talk to me. I can still smell the roofies.”, voice laced with venom, mind boiling in rage. Manjiro ran his left hand through his fluffy blonde strands as he checked his watch. Baji and Kautora had an idea about what he was going to do; they both clustered their hair in the back tying it in a high ponytail, simultaneously, like parallel lines. That is what people envied about him. Even though alphas were born rulers and leaders some were devoted to him. Manjiro was one of a kind. Being the head of the family as well as followed by a pack of alphas, he was untouchable and fearsome. And someone decided to roofie his sister’s drink. What an utter fool!

“Doctor. She needs to see a doctor.”, Draken was barely able to talk, he was holding Emma in his arms while she remained almost unconscious, senes too weak to respond.

“You all have fifteen minutes. It would save both the parties a lot of work if any of you kindly start to speak”, Manjiro roared making all the captivators drown in fear and amplifying the silence even more. His patience was starting to thin with each tick of the clock. He cleared his throat and spoke in a less domineering tone, “Let’s turn this question around, alright? Who served her the drink, fellas ?”. There were few exchanges of eye contact and Manjiro was just waiting for that. Bingo . He found his target.

Manjiro was about to drag his target out of the line but the door clanked declaring the appearance of Kisaki Tetta, followed by his right-hand man, Hanma Shuji. “Ahh! Tetta. My favorite human being.”, Manjiro left his seat to greet him. “Just in time.”, he chimed with a doleful smirk as he shook his hands with him. Manjiro has never been the one to affront the betas but he can’t promise anything, especially since his family was dragged into his life of violence.

Kisaki Tetta might not be an influential alpha but he was certainly hard to decipher, his thoughts, his connections, friends, and even his relationship with Hanma Shuji. He was swarming with joy since the most fearsome pack of alphas was at his bar. He has been eyeing this particular pack for a long time as he wants to extend his business with the sanos. He secretly thanked the heavens for whoever roofied Emma’s drink that blessed him with so many open routes to establish ties with the alphas of toman. He did not waste any further to place his offer and save himself from Manjiro’s wrath, not bothering about the remark he made to him.

“I came with good news, Mikey.”, Kisaki remarked looking at Emma and Draken. “Hanma will take them to the nearest hospital. And, I’ll close my bar for a week to scrutinize all my staff.” Draken swiftly took Emma in his arms again ready to follow Hanma Shuji, a reputed sigma to be aware of.

“But I need a name. You see, I need everyone to understand that I do not tolerate any kind of . . .”, Manjiro’s voice faded. He swallowed as he glanced at his beloved sister.

“Mike..eeyy…”, Manjiro’s ears were burning hot. He is the head of the Sano family. He is the alpha of alphas. He can’t show his emotions. He can not let the hunters know how much Emma meant to her otherwise people are bound to come at her. His slate eyes desperately clung to only one hope, a prayer, Emma please be safe . Emma had her eyes slightly parted now, she mumbled something which was not audible.

Draken spelled it out. “yn…she was here too”, that name did not seem to ring a bell to Manjiro. He is aware of Emma’s circle. Call it the possessiveness of an elder brother or his blooming youth that made him keep tabs on all the omegas and betas Emma was friends with but it earned him the ‘cherry chaser’ title as of lately. Sure, he would blink if an omega flirted with him but he never takes the initial step because some omegas are vile enough to ruin the whole family. Omegas are often hired by a rival gang to create disturbances in an alpha’s pack. He was not willing to take such risks. So, he remained steered clear of such habits, especially when Shinichiro is out of town.

Everyone was alert. With a room full of alphas they could not detect another presence of an omega. It seemed next to impossible. It was a puncture in their ballooned ego. Chifuyu was quick enough to check the bathrooms. “Baji-san, Toraaaa. She is here.”, he yelled since Manjiro was busy with the negotiations. Baji was nearing his pre-rut so he was avoiding everyone, even betas. “Awhh Baji don’t worry. I’ll tell you what kind of scent she has…”,Kazutora drawled in noticing Baji’s snarl. He was on the verge of getting a whack from Baji but fortunately, he was able to dodge it.

As Kazutora joked down to check her, he could smell that she had more roofies in her system than Emma, probably some aphrodisiacs too. “Mikeyyy”, he called for the alpha. “You need to see this.”, he supplied as Manjiro entered the bathroom. He crouched in front of yn to check her pulse.

As he held your wrist in between his fingers you tried to open your eyes but the drugs were tough. With your body being this weak, you could hardly manage to fight back if someone were to attack. Hence, prayer was the only option as your thoughts were dissolved in fear. With half-lidded eyes, you tried to conjecture: a blonde head with a dragon tattoo on his neck.

“Micheal…”, you murmured making the alpha purr under reflex. It was subtle but it was there. His eyes traveled back to where Kisaki, Chifuyu, and Kazutora were standing. The three of them exchanged looks before Manjiro declared. “She is breathing”

Kisaki was already one step ahead. He was calling Hanma to get a doctor for her need. No, it was not for yn’s safety, it was merely an act of kindness to please his new business partner. Mikey nodded very lightly and both the alphas standing near the door understood his cue. They had to leave the place along with Baji. The omega was at the peak of her heat cycle. Things would ly messy if she fell into wrong hands, now more than ever.

“I’ll call Hanma to send someone to take her to the hospital.”, Kisaki uttered before making the call.

“No. don’t.”, it was more of a command than a suggestion. It earned him the glare of other alphas that made him fill the holes in their head. “She can’t. She might be the one who roofied Emma’s drink.”, Kazutora and Kisaki were shocked at his behavior. He might be a fearsome figure but his heart was not made of ice. “ I’ll take her. ”

“But Mikey…”, Kisaki tried to assure him, that his connections were safe but Manjiro had already made up his mind.

“Kisaki. I’m done talking. I need to ask some questions to her regarding all these.”, he growled taking you in his arms. He lied.

Of course, I lied. I had to. Now, I did not know yn but I knew Emma’s type. She always had a knack to be friends with trouble-makers. Maybe that’s why she can handle all the Sano alphas in the house. I had to lie since I was not willing to leave an omega in her heat cycle at Tetta’s trusted & safe connections. I would not be surprised if he planned this all along. Baji had always warned me about him but I figured he could be of use to keep the dirty works of the town under his watch. All of these are so hard to manage. Emma needs a pep talk. She needs to know which bars, casinos, and clubs she should avoid if she ever decides to pull a stunt like that.

I was having bourbon and waiting for her to wake up. I need to know what kind of masking pill she used to keep her scent off us. If I had not checked her pulse, I would not know that she was in heat. What a day! First, my sister was nearly abducted and now I have an omega in my room, peacefully sleeping in my canopy bed. I wouldn't have carried her into my room but I was desperate for information. I needed to know how the fuck she knows my real name, Michael . If she was close to Emma, I would have known. I also needed another name to track back to the center point since very few people knew that Emma was pregnant. I’ll go bonkers if yn seemed to have any kind of stimulation in this.

But, I had to admit. She was strong, stronger than Emma. Emma might be an omega but growing up with alphas refined her senses. She acted almost like alpha and sometimes people misunderstood her type too. I did realize that I had finished six shots until my phone lit up with Ken-chin’s name.

“Is she alright?”, Manjiro’s heartbeats ceased for a while until he heard the familiar rhythm of heartbeats.

“See, she is perfectly fine. Our baby too.”, Draken could finally speak in a serene tone. Manjiro laid back his head on the headrest of the sofa exhaling deeply. “Also one more thing, Kisaki is clear. I asked Hanma about it. He has no idea.”

“Perfect.”, He saw a ray of hope, a hope not to be the so-called monster everyone has made me. He would hate it if you were to believe in such rumors. It will be harder to make you talk.

“I’ll take Emma home as soon as she regains consciousness” with that Draken ended the call.

Manjiro loosened his tie with a swish and discarded it on the floor. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy. When he noticed your weak body movements, he understood that the masking agent was starting to wear off from your body. But, with that contorted face, he knew you were having dreams, bad dreams to be accurate. He could have comforted you but that could make you hostile towards him. He did not want that, nope! He might have already crossed some boundaries by having you on his bed during your heat cycle but he can not just have you in his embrace and soothe the pain. Besides, with such a powerful masking agent he took the opportunity to see what happens if you were bestowed with the presence of such a flawless alpha like him. He was curious, hooked on your reactions.

“Emmaaa….”, Manjiro was perfectly still, eyes never leaving you, watching you like a hawk. “No, no nohh…don’t drink it…Emma”

She was wiggling so much that I wanted to wake her up but it would be hard for me not to take things further since her scent was bewitching. Maybe, that is why she used such a strong masking agent. She finally woke up as if she had seen a ghost. The first thing she did was look around steadily until her eyes were still on me. I don’t know how long it was, probably five seconds, without blinking. Damn!

Manjiro finally blinks as you meekly ask, “Where is my purse?”. He leaves his seat advancing towards you. You could feel your heartbeats in your ear, at the core of your throat until he stops mid-day saying, “you’re safe here.” His eyes trailed all over your body that made you aware of how afraid you looked to him.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”, Manjiro cocked his head at the sudden change of tone. He did not just save you to put up with this behavior. “I need it. I need it now. I think you know why.”, you manage to blurt out steadily tearing away your gaze from his, trying to fight off the pheromones he was emitting. How could he not be aware of that? What kind of alpha would not be able to keep their pheromones under control? Was he doing it on purpose?

You were so curled up in your shell, so afraid thinking about what he was going to do with you that it made him vexed enough about Kisaki’s ways to skim in this obsidian world of power and fame. He needed to fix this or rather deflect Tetta’s parasitic ways.

He tried to approach you but the way you recoiled at the corner of his bed closing your eyes and being afraid of him, made him pull away. He bit the inner side of his lower lip followed by a click of his tongue. “I’ll leave. Help yourself.”, Manjiro was already at the door when you opened your eyes. You averted to look him in the eyes. Those five seconds did a number on you. “But don’t try to run off. You’ll get eaten at this state.”, with that, he vanished from your sight instantly.

His disappearance made you aware of your surroundings. As you looked around, heartbeats were starting to regularize until the most important realization dawned on you as your eyes es fixated on the gigantic window. Luckily, for you it was open and you did not waste any further doing the obvious, did what he exactly told you not to do.

When you reached home, you realized you had lost your phone, your favorite purse, and some money. Hence, the first thing you did the next morning was to get a new number and a keypad phone. You were just about to call Emma but a sudden sight of a particular alpha ceased your movements. Manjiro was standing outside your office, leaning against his CB250T and going through his phone or maybe your phone. The frills of the curtains were still in your grasp as you watched him carefully. He was wearing jeans and a full-sleeved turtle neck. You drew in the curtains instantly as soon as his head angled up to you. Such sharp senses, as expected from an alpha like him!

The whole day he did not come to visit you in the office or called for you or send your belongings to you through the staff that pushed you more to the edge, thinking what could be the possible reason to wait outside in such hot weather all day? You remembered how you cocooned yourself in the bathroom yesterday as soon as he arrived with his pack of alphas. You tried to put all the puzzle pieces to get a proper picture but you still could not figure out why he took you to his home, let you sleep in his bed, and released pheromones voluntarily or involuntarily.

Manjiro was still standing there when you walked out of the office. He was just across the street looking at you while you stood frozen for a while. As he crossed the road, he handed you a bag that contained all your belongings, even your box of pills. You shrieked as his fingertips grazed yours. He was very warm.

“OMG! My purseeeeeee”, She squealed breaking my trance. Who the fuck gets happy over getting their purse back and not their iPhone? I did not realize that I laughed at her childishness until she glanced at me and started to walk away from me.

“Not even a thank you?”, I yelled gaining all the eyes in the street. She turned around walking back to me saying, “for what exactly?” I was willing to give up on the idea of interrogating her but with that attitude, I changed my mind. I tucked my hands inside my pocket and inclined towards her a bit saying that I need to ask some questions. I thought she would move or try to be a bit hostile but she just nodded.

We were sitting in a cafe waiting for our order. I had made up my mind already. I won’t talk unless she did first. Besides, her presence was comforting, her scent was soothing. She asked me what I wanna ask her and I’ve no idea why I dodged it. I told her that Emma will be out of the hospital next week and that she wanted to know how you were doing. Of course, she didn’t buy it but she didn’t laugh at my face for being such a douchebag. I mean I was keeping her with me after her work and wasting time with stupid questions painfully making it obvious that I enjoy her presence. She is bound to hate me. She finished her cold coffee taking her sweet time playing with it, making bubbles thinning my patience saying nothing in return. So, I did what I should not have done, I invited her to Emma’s baby shower which was nowhere in the picture. She stopped playing with her food saying, “I’ll talk to her. I don’t think I’ll be able to attend but I’ll try.”

My heart sank and I was too busy figuring out her why rather than mine. I wanted to drop her home but I’m sure she wouldn’t like that. I tried to keep her longer asking about the box of pills.

“Oh, that? Although I’m a doctor I work in a lab sometimes. ”, she answered without beating around the bush. Just my luck!!!

Ah! Now that makes sense , Manjiro pondered. This is the second time he was grinning wide, the first time was when you were playing with the drink. He does not seem to be aware of how handsome and approachable he looked when he smiled like that and it would be shooting an arrow in the dark if you were to tell him because he does not seem to match Emma’s description at all. She mentioned a raven-haired boy and a lot older than her, who did not have a dragon tattoo so naturally, you had a hard time putting all the puzzle pieces in place. And thanks to those who roofied your drink as well as Emma’s making everything hazy. You gave in to that thread of curiosity. You should not have, it snapped.

“Do you have an elder brother? Shinichiro. . .?”, Manjiro stopped eating his choco parfait. His obsidian eyes fell on you while his adam apple bobbed. Amidst the hustle-bustle, you could only feel his stares drilling into your soul. Manjiro clicked his tongue and left the cafe like a gust of wind. You did not realize you had held your breath until the sound of his bike faded.

A week passed and he was there again, outside your office. This time without his bike. He waved at you and exclaimed heartily, “Emma said you have a sweet tooth. So, I brought these”; it made you chuckle since if Emly had told him that you had a sweet tooth he would not have brought vanilla ice-cream cones. Still, you took it. His visits became frequent after that. Some days he would talk about his brothers: Shinichiro and Izana while sometimes about how he met the other alphas of his pack. He had so many stories. He never got tired of speaking but sometimes when you’d ask about him, his likes and dislikes he would dodge them all, every single time. There was this one time when you asked why he was visiting you, occasionally dropping by to give you gifts. He said,

“What if it was you whom they wanted to abduct? What if they still wanna harm you? What if they’re keeping tabs on your research?”, I tried to come up with every possible case just to get her reactions. y/n was very inert to my ways. I kept visiting and she did not bother to drag petty reasons like love. I liked that. I liked when she would snort in laughter every time I told about the rumors floating around about me. Thanks to Izana for filling me in on that part. I told Shinichiro about yn. He said that it was better to keep her under supervision given the fact that she was a doctor.

Sometimes, Baji would yell at me for visiting her almost every day and not going to nightclubs anymore. Draken was busy taking care of Emma, but he still managed to get on my nerves. So, did my other alphas. It was getting so hard to sneak out under their nose but I enjoyed it. I liked chasing her too. The baby shower was around the corner and hence I had to call Shin and Izana to come home days before the ceremony otherwise Emma is gonna kick me out of the house. So, I had to stop visiting her, for a while but I did not waste the time but rather put it to good use, which is gathering intel about her friendship with y/n. I managed to gather very little but at least I won’t end up buying vanilla ice-creams this time. Guess, that's not her taste.

I have never asked about her relationships or which pack she belongs to or has any alpha already claimed her. I wanted to know but I never said anything about myself so I figured I shouldn’t ask her about such personal things. There were times when I tried asking about her relationship with Emma. She mentioned that y/n was sent abroad for studies at a very young age and it was a miracle that Emma met her at the bar. Come to think of it, we met under very bad circumstances and I went to great lengths to clean all the drug routes. Mitsyua and Pah-chin handle most of it. I just had one condition, ‘no circulation of roofies on the plain bar, restaurants. Sex clubs are on the table only if it is consensual.’ I was impressed how Kisaki managed to pull this off steadily and there were fewer raids in all our bars, and casinos. So, I could not give a fuck who the snitch was. Besides, the baby shower was just tomorrow which was more important.

I was lying on the bed keeping my elbow as support. Emma was folding the dresses that I bought for the baby. I had zero ideas about such things so obviously, I dragged yn along with me. Emma did not know about this and I don’t intend on telling her since she was envious enough about how fast I became friends with her and still maintained it. I have a record of scaring girls away in the worst possible way. Emma lost some friends because of that but they were irritating. I doubt Emma would have them in the long run.

“So, she is coming right?”

“Well, you invited her. Go ask her.”,

“Tell me, is she coming on that day?”, still no answer. I poked her two times while Ken-chin mouthed, ‘stop it.’

“Nah ! tell me, Emma, Stop being a pus-ahhh…AHH…sorry sorry…”, Emma was stronger during this time. She pulled my ears, turning them beet-red, unlike other times. Draken was laughing. He always enjoyed whenever I got yelled at, especially by Emma. “I’ll ask her by myself…a.h..Ahh…Ahh”

“Hello”, you mewled. Both the sanos stopped bickering, Manjiro’s onyx eyes dilated in surprise as they fell on you. Emma wasted no time in greeting you, taking the bag from your hand. “The guy on the outside said you all will be in this room so. . .”

“Shin is here already. Fuck, why the hell he never tells me when he is coming?”, Manjiro leaped from the bed and faded into the long corridor.

“You’re just right on time yn. I’ve got a lot to talk about.”, Emma was looking breathtakingly beautiful. The last time, when you saw her she was already three months pregnant. Draken left greeting you with a smile. You noticed the folded baby clothes and were about to ask how she likes them but she started to talk about which one she would try on the baby first. You deduced that Manjiro kept mum about the shopping.

Dinner was served in the room. There was no sign of Manjiro and Draken, perhaps they were busy managing the house or were with Izana and Shinichiro. Manjiro’s pack of alphas will come tomorrow, just before the ceremony. It is indeed odd as well as surprising how a few months back you met all of them, and tomorrow you’ll be meeting them again, in a sane and stable state.

Emma guided you to a different room, where you would be staying. She would have spent the night with you, she wanted to but you insisted her to be in her alpha’s presence. You noticed a canopy bed that almost seemed new. Emma might have arranged it for you. “Oh, godddd! The bed is so beautiful, I love it so much Emma.”, you squealed in excitement ready to kick off those slippers and jump in the bed but then you asked if you could do that since that bed might be for her and Draken. She would not mind your scent but her husband might be offended about it.

Emma chuckled seeing your excitement and appreciated your sentiment. She was about to say something but then a husky voice turned up, “It’s newly made, mine. You can use it if you want yn” You blinked at Manjiro, He was leaning against the door, licking a spoon, occasionally dipping it in an ice cream tub. His eyes were switching from you and them to the ice cream tub. Whenever he dipped the spoon there was so much hollowed sound suggesting that it was empty. He just needed an excuse to talk, to tell you that he made that bed specifically for you. Last time, he did a blunder for having you in his bed like that.

“Well, good night then. See you tomorrow.”, Manjiro drawls in leaving before you could say anything. Emma smiled exclaiming with a chime, “Ummm. . .When did this happen?” You palmed your face sinking onto the bed with a thud, Emma might have failed to notice but you did; both the top of his ears was bright red.

Manjiro could not sleep a blink. Every time he closed his eyes either it was your voice, the memory of your scent, or just your angelic face. He could not just believe that you would take the offer and stay overnight just before the ceremony, which means,

She’ll be attending the baby shower. She will be there all day and I would watch her, spend more time with her. I knew I would not get any sleep if I kept thinking about my feeling for her. I was getting hungry so I decided to head downstairs. I was about to go straight back to my room but decided to take a detour. She was sleeping peacefully, tucked under covers. The moonlight fell on her body, a little bit on her face. She looked like a pearl. Omegas indeed tended to glow during their heat cycle and her beauty would prove it wrong. She always looked beautiful. I lightly grazed her cheeks with the back of my fingers. She purred tossing and turning to the other side. I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned to see her face one more time before going back to my room.

“I love you.”, Manjiro mumbled kissing yn’s forehead and leaving immediately. The morning was filled with preparations. Draken was a little relaxed to have a doctor in the house. He was with his friends. Manjiro was nowhere to be seen. You wanted to talk to him, to tell him that you’d have to leave next week since you got a job transfer. After all, you owed him your life. Everyone was there, even Shinichiro and Izana but you could not spot him anywhere. Losing all hope to have a last talk with him you had to ask Emma about him. She said that he went to visit Kisaki and Hanma to invite them, on Izana’s suggestion. It was a last-minute change and it had to be done as a social courtesy to have them on the cordial side. Emma mentioned that he was probably getting ready in his room and you need not told to be twice what to do next.

Manjiro was getting ready for the occasion when you appeared in his room. The mirror was adjacent to the door of the room and opposite his bed and hence, when you stepped into his room in a rush to have just a glimpse of him, you almost tumbled when Manjiro muttered, “Hey there!”

“Did Emma send you to get me? I told her I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Tsk, Izana, and Shin are already there to attain the guests and my pack is too. . .”

“I came by myself.”, Manjiro stopped fidgeting with his tie. “May I ?”, you asked pointing towards his tie. It was better than looking him in the eye when you tell him about your job transfer and it would help you to focus on the talk rather than his dashing handsome aura.

“Yeah sure.”, Manjiro responded with a blink. You walked up to him taking his tie in your hand as you started to talk, “I should have said this earlier, I’m moving out…”

“Moving? Where?”, Manjiro pushed the door after pressing the lock of the door knob. You jolted at the thud yet continued, “I don’t know that yet. I’ve got only two weeks” The tie left your hand with a swish and wrapped around your waist making you cling to his body. “Yes, you should have told me about this earlier yn. I had plans ya'know ”, he murmured while his pitch black eyes stilled on your lips. You held the lapel of his suit staring at his eyes that shone like a starry night sky.

Manjiro pressed his nose against your cheeks, exhaled deeply, and slowly traced down to your neckline imbibing your scent. You did not resist. His embrace was comforting, harmless that did not reek any of the fearsome stories you had heard about him. You curled your hands around his nape whispering into his ear, “I love you too”. You could hear him gruff before he pulled away from you exclaiming with that majestic smile of his, “hmmm, any more bombs in your store to drop?” Your lips tugged up in an upward crescent as you nodded suggesting that you had none. “Perfect”, he uttered letting out a purr as he kissed your cheeks. “Manjiro. . . we’ve to go”, you murmured while his hands roamed all over your back, and waist till it ended with a squeeze of your ass making you arch into him.

“Yeah! we always have bad timing.”, was all he could state before his teeth dug into your neck. He was strong that you knew since the moment you laid eyes on him but had no idea that he would be this gentle. You have thought about it; more than once, about how rough he could be in bed, during his rut. You moaned into his ears as his hands slipped under your white floral gown. He quickly bunched up the frills pull them off you and tossed them somewhere in the room. His eyes scanned your body that was barely clad with bra and panty.

He sucked in a strong breath saying, “That’s why we need to make this quick.”, one of his hands was already holding yours above your head while the other was clamped around your waist. His lips traced all over your chest, occasionally nipping. You were squirming so much that he let go of your hands and you instantly clung to him. His fingers slipped into your panty rubbing your feminity. “You are starting to get wet. Are you on your magic pills?”, he asked pushing two of his fingers inside you with ease. It didn’t hurt you but you desperately grasped his sleeves as he started to move his fingers slowly which acted as a hindrance to your response.

“Stop, manjiro”, you huffed as he pulled away from you giving you space. “I … I can’t stand anymore. Take me to the bed.”, your breathing was so rash that it made him worry. Was he too forward in his advances? But then, a concerning issue dawned on him. The way your body reacted to him, his pheromones, you were probably still a virgin. Just to think that he would be your first made his cock twitch.

He swiftly took you in his arms, his hands under your inner thigh as your legs wrapped around his torso, your fingers skimming through his blonde strands of hair as your lips dashed on his. He chuckled at your hunger for him, breaking the kiss he threw you on his bed. You gulped as he started to discard his clothes one by one until he was naked, cock hard, and aroused. He did not feel embarrassed while your eyes roamed everywhere but not on him. You were not naked yet. The mere thought of being naked, being seen by him made you dizzy but at the same time, you couldn't wait for him to touch you, mark every inch of your body.

Manjiro towered over your body saying, “You should have told me”, his arms slipped underneath your valley of waist gripping firmly. “that you're a virgin. I don't know what academics you were taught but virgins smell different…”, you were already in his lap now, legs curled around his waist while his cock was grazing your pussy. Your cheeks swelled, and lips formed upper meniscus as you cleared your throat asking, “would that be a problem…in knotting me?”

Manjiro couldn't believe what he just heard. His ears were burning in warmth. He blinked: ONCE. TWICE. and then let out a loud trail of laughter. He thought just how much of a rush you were in that you wished to be knotted by him for the first time. But it would certainly hurt you if he didn't with how needy you’re now; at the same time, he can’t since he knew your virgin body wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

“No… yeah…maybe….”, you laughed at his confused tone. “I don't wanna sound rude but you can't take me right now.”

“I’m not on magic pills, Manjiro.”, you played with your fingertips as he flinched at your confession. It makes him swell with pride that you stopped taking those pills.

Manjiro pulled your panty aside and slid his cock inside you, slowly adjusting it up to the girth. His eyes watched you wince and gasp as he sheathed himself in you. You unclipped your bra and finally, you could look him in the eye being bare at his display. His fingers wrapped around your waistlines, gripping firmly, before making you thrust on him. Soft moans filled the room along with the squelching; squeaking of the bed.

Manjiro started to notice the increasing pressure of your nails on his back making crescent marks. He was right, you were hurting. “Hey, hey look at me”, he murmured sucking your nipples harshly so that your eyes fly back to him. “I don’t want …mmgh…rush our bonding…”, you gripped his biceps trying to move away from him, it was starting to make you weak. He was not kidding when he said that you wouldn’t be able to take him.

Your nipples were now blemished and wet. The strong breeze lit goosebumps on your skin like wildfires. “Mark me.”, Manjiro rasped quickening the pace as he felt your gummy walls clenching him.

“Whattt?”, you asked watching him with wide eyes. It is generally a symbol of ownership when an alpha marks their partners. You could not imagine exchanging marks. Manjiro’s hand slipped on your ass making you bob on him faster with broad and hefty strokes. “Please…”, he mewled.

You traced your fingers on his dragon tattoo while gasping vigorously chasing your high, your breasts rubbing his chest making your head all mushy to think straight. His lips once again clamped on your neckline while yours were on the crook of his neck. Both of you bit each other till you tasted blood. When you pulled away his peachy lips were soaked in crimson lust. You wanted to kiss him but he managed to swiftly roll you having you underneath him and pressing his lips in yours. He continued kissing while slowly gliding his cock in you, his hips bucked, thighs shuddered as your palms wrapped around his nape sucking his lips clean.

“Ah-fuck”, he growled arching as he finished inside you quickly pulling out and rolling beside you. Both of you glistened with sweat, panting and huffing, sprawling out like starfish. “Are you okay?”, he asked cupping your cheeks. You snuggled into his touch nodding, breathing still irregular. “ Do you think you can go to the party?” You looked at him trying to figure out if that was a tease or not but when you noticed his puffy pink lips you smiled saying, “Why ? are you tired only by this?” Manjiro liked his lips, rolling his tongue inside his mouth thinking about how many ways he could prove you wrong but he has a baby shower to attend.

Manjiro couldn't stop staring at you during the whole ceremony. Every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you and did not even bother to look away. Why would he? You knew he was in love with you. He didn't have to hide it from you anymore. Beside his dragon tattoo, there was another mark: your bitemark. It gleamed against the full moon night, he belonged to you now.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

@itz-rocky @tetsutits @dearmanjiro @crimsonqueen398 @cryptred @s-hyori @sierraharmony @em-plosion @akicore @zoraedits @michiphoria @fueledbysano @21-06-1996 & @tokyometronetwork

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charnelhouse · 3 years ago

Text

all manner of devotion

Pairing: Rick Flag x F!Reader Wordcount: 4.7K Warnings: smut. gore. hurt!reader. shitty pasts. trauma things. scared!flag. fluff and angst. near death in an elevator! use of the word cunt in a derogatory manner. Wild timelines. Summary: "I thought you liked nice girls, Flag." A/N: this is absolute chaos, but I had to get it out. I just used that gif for reasons…

Rick is used to nice girls. He’s used to soft, tender-hearted, docile chicks. June had been like that - when she wasn’t possessed by an ancient blood-thirsty goddess. She’d been quiet and smart and she had made sense for him.

At least that’s what he had believed.

When the smoke had cleared and all of that dark sticky goo had been washed off her body, Rick realized oh - oh - it’s not really you. It had been his desire to protect and serve and be a knight in shining armor in a sick-fuck spot like Midway and Gotham.

He’d tried though. He tried for a couple months - brought her home to meet his mother and everything.

There was something inside him though. Something strange and erratic and he couldn’t seem to forget his crew and one girl in particular. The second Waller had asked him to handle another mission with Task Force X, he went running to Belle Reve. He showed up - fully decked and ready and Waller’s lips changed into that diseased little twitch she got when she realized there might be another element she could twist to her liking.

Rick walked right up to the bars of your cage and you were already smiling - your mouth splitting apart into a sparkling grin.

“Hiya, Flaggy.”

“Bedlam.”

You frowned.

He said your name instead - your actual name - warm and under his breath. You reached past the bars and squeezed his wrist.

***

He feels for you. The truth of your powers is the only reason you’re marked a villain. He recalls Waller’s colorful commentary - recalls the way he flipped through the pages and pages of reports and photographs and your whole damn short history written in bullet points.

Bedlam. Her main abilities involve mental manipulation - illusory hypnosis. She can make anyone she touches go temporarily mad. Chaos. Confusion. Everything goes belly up. The only downside is that she can’t control the outcome. She chooses the wrong person - shoves an already violent mind into mayhem and it can end poorly for all those involved.

Family history?

None surviving.

She’s difficult but pliable. Her abilities are incredible but not fool-proof. She’s an asset and she’s the last one you want to lose.

Rick hadn’t liked that - the way Waller’s eyes gleamed. The way she treated you like an object - a prized attack dog. He also hated the way she had smirked at him - a teasing note in her voice.

“She likes blondes.”

***

“Fuck,” you growl into the cup of his mouth. He’s got you pinned to the wall of a storage closet in an underground bunker. His fingers thrust into the wet slit of your cunt before he twists his hand so his thumb can circle your clit. He slots his hips between your thighs - grinds into your center - the fabric of his pants rough against his flesh. His tongue plunges behind your teeth and you suck it - fisting his hair - nails embedded into his skull.

You're on a mission. It's important. He has shit to do, but you're also molten hot and begging.

“Flag,” you pant. “I want you inside me.”

He nods - his lips still attached to your neck. He can’t let you go - can’t release you once he’s started. It’s like a physical pain - a constant fear that if he is gone from you for too long - you will leave him - you’ll disappear into some Gotham fog. Be like Harley and hide away - spooning fruity cereal into your mouth and drinking cheap margaritas above a Chinese take-out spot until he stumbles upon you again.

He remembers the debacle with Black Mask. He remembers finding out that it had been you and Harley and a whole new ragtag group of kids who had handled that shit. He’d been panicked - suddenly aware that you lived a whole dangerous life without him and as he moped around about it - gritting his teeth and pretending - it finally occurred to him - maybe you should tell her - make a move - be truthful. They'd already fucked - once - after a mission - so it's not like his feelings were totally out of the blue.

So he does.

“I want you with me. I can’t - can’t protect you when you’re on your own.”

“What the fuck Flag? Why do I need you to protect me?”

“Because I’d like to - shit - I want to - I want to be able to help you when you need it. Just be by your side. Come home to you. I don’t know.”

“Wow - you’re such a nerd.”

“Oh fuck off - just c’mere.”

“Well - alright.”

***

The first time he fucks you is out of damn nowhere. It’s before you get out of Belle Reve - before you get that dirty little apartment with Harley. He’s supposed to be forcing you back into your cage, but you’re not expected until tomorrow and maybe he could just give you a damn break.

When he grips your hand to help you out of the jet, he speaks before he can think. “You want to stay at my place? Get a hot shower?”

You blink at him and it’s possibly the first time he’s ever seen you so incredibly caught off guard. “Well - that’s one way to get into my pants.”

He winces. “No - no - I didn’t mean it like that. You just don’t have to be back to Belle Reve until morning and you were complaining about the cold showers there and I just figured -”

You shoot your hand out - grabbing him firmly around the wrist to shut him up. “I know, Flag. You’re a decent guy. I trust you.”

There’s no teasing in your voice - no double-meaning or dirty joke. He’s used to you constantly putting on an act - giving him nothing, but what you think the world expects.

Bedlam and her twisted head and her very fucking sad life.Your hands on your hips with your smile on backwards: That’s showbiz, baby.

Your eyes are fastened to his - sparkling and clear and he realizes that trust from you is fucking gold. It's as rare as red diamonds - grains of sand slipping between his fingers as he tries to catch enough.

The air is charged all the way back to his apartment. A dozen-thousand shocks across his skin as he tries to keep his gaze on the road. You’re sprawled out in the passenger seat - sweat and smoke and a sweet floral scent sticking to your skin. Your boots are covered in mud and you try to keep them above the floor mats.

It’s endearing and he pats your knee. “Don’t worry about getting anything dirty. I’ve nearly bled out in this car twice.”

You smile. “Yeah? Just a day in the life for Colonel Flag, then.”

He nods and then there’s just silence - tense and full with all the unsaid shit that he thinks about on a regular basis.

What would you be like beneath him? Would you make that broken sound - that whimper when you take a bullet or a knife? What you would taste like? Would you let him hold you after?

“What’s your favorite food?” you ask him - filling the awkward quiet.

“My mom’s chess pie,” he answers as he drums his fingers over the steering wheel. “What about you?”

“Corn Dogs or grilled cheese. It’s a toss-up.”

“That right there is a Sophie’s Choice.”

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

You settle back into the seat - chewing your lip to raw out of the corner of his eye. You suddenly shift - angling yourself to face him. Your skin gleams beneath the passing city lights - dark to light to shadows and highlights and pieces and parts. Chiaroscuro - that was the right word. The image of you like something out of Rembrandt or Caravaggio.

Judith Beheading Holofernes.

You weren’t as strong as the others - a capable fighter, but your skills rested in the thump of power circulating through your veins. He could see you as Judith - imagine you creeping into the bedroom of some villain. The determination pinching your lovely features as you saw through their thick neck - fingers fisted in their hair as the black fever of madness burrows through their dying eyes.

He’d aced art history. He’d aced everything in his life.

“Yes?” he presses as you study him in the quiet dark of the car.

“Do you like your mother?” Your voice is soft with the texture of inquisitiveness. He’s startled by the question. It’s so abrupt in a conversation heavy with shallow answers about food or television.

“I do,” he says. “She’s a kind lady - worked her ass off to take care of me and my brothers.”

You nod before twisting around to face the road. "My mother was a cunt."

***

When they get to his apartment, your face is full of curiosity. You touch the frames hanging on his walls - gently squeeze the plain blue pillow on his couch. It’s all furniture he got from Ikea - most of it probably had already been here. He barely sleeps in the place as it is, but you treat everything with a kind of reverence. He’d thought you Harley’s twin - the flip side to her Joke card. But you’re not - not at all - you don’t bust through his house and take over - snap all the oxygen from the room to feed and dance.

You observe and analyze - trying to figure him out, maybe? Or maybe you’re just not used to homes since you’re in a cell most of the time. Whatever it is - it makes heat unfurl in his chest - makes him sag with a deliberate sort of affection for you - one that squeezes his heart and lungs.

“The shower is in there,” he points to his room - voice catching. “Towels should be in there, too.”

“Thank you, Rick.”

“Of course.”

***

He checks on you one more time. You’re sitting quietly on his bed - flipping through the sparse books he keeps on his nightstand. He’s never read them - never had the time. His eyes lock on your bare thighs in his boxers - his oversized t-shirt.

“Rick,” you say. Your expression is unreadable as you tilt your chin up. You swallow. “Where are you going to sleep?”

He gestures down the hall. “The couch.”

“Are you sure? It’s your bed and -”

He shoves a palm up, silencing you. “It’s fine. Seriously, darlin, I don’t mind.”

Darlin.

It had burst out of him - rolled warm off his tongue. You lift a brow and duck your head, rubbing at the back of your neck like you’re not quite sure where to look.

“Well - uh - goodnight, then.”

“Wait!”

You’re off the bed and shooting towards him - bouncing up on your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders and making him stumble.

“You’re too nice,” you whisper and it tickles his ear - makes him shudder.

It’s a blur after that. He releases you and you’re smiling up at him and it all seems so fucking innocent despite the fact that you’re both trained killers with blood drying beneath your fingernails.

“Goodnight,” he repeats as he shuts the door.

He stands there for a long while - staring blindly at the wood. The chipped paint. Had he imagined your face - the fleeting wrinkle of disappointment as he let you go.

Maybe he should go back in? Maybe he should knock?

He shifts his weight as he thinks and thinks and turns over every possible result before he finally growls fuck it and steps forward.

It’s like one of those movie moments - straight cut clean from one of those shit romantic comedies - music swelling deep at the divot in his lower back before rising high high high and then wavering at the top - he curls his knuckles - grits his jaw before he can talk himself out of it with a distinct what the fuck are you doing and yanks the door open. You’re right there - eyes wide and glassy and lips parted like there’s too much heat in your throat and the music rises once more before crashing down upon the both of you just as he grabs your face rough and frantic and kisses you like the world has tipped off the edge of its axis and spirals down to the galactic basement.

He kisses you and kisses you - tongue sweet and hot as he slides it over yours. Your small hands grab at his shirt and his hair and you make little noises - mewls and sighs as if he is making out with your pussy when he hasn’t even touched you there yet.

But - christ - he wants to - he wants to so fucking badly.

He’s got you on his bed within minutes - pinning you to the mattress as he buries you with the whole of his body. He doesn’t remember the movements or gestures or what came off first. He just remembers holding your thighs open - pressing them back before he pushes inside you and fucks you raw. You drag your nails down his back - cry out against his mouth.

It’s a rough fuck - damp with passion and desire and the edge of a fight.

He lifts your hips higher so he can jam forward - his pelvis slamming against you rhythmically and quick - spurred on by the wet sounds of your cunt taking him deep.

“Fuck - that’s it - that’s it,” he gasps into the curve of your throat. His fingers are between your legs - pressing at your clit - knocking a climax through your system as your heels dig into his ass. “Does that feel good, honey? Tell me.”

He has always wanted to please during sex. It’s in his nature - his makeup. But - for you - it feels more critical - feels absolutely essential - that you enjoy what he gives you.

You grasp his cheeks to draw him down to your mouth - kissing him messy and fierce as you mumble yes yes yes and please faster harder -

Rick does what he’s asked. He does even better than asked.

***

That thought he had - that very thimble-small fantasy of you as Judith comes true. It happens on Corto Maltese. Waller had thrown you back in Belle Reve for something stupid and Flag knew that she only did it so he would listen to her - he'd be forced to follow her orders to a T.

That had been unforgivable. Complete manipulative bullshit.

But then Waller had sent you on the second team without his knowledge. He'd been blindsided when you had turned up to rescue him in the middle of the jungle.

So - here you were - by his side on another mission where the outcome seemed less than promising.

The air is electric hot with the burnt tang of fired-scorched flesh. The sun is too white-bright and then there’s all the fucking rain and Rick can think of nothing, but getting to the damn end of this.

Get you out. Get this done.

He makes a mistake though. He gets overwhelmed - dunked headlong into an emotional rage that blinds him once he discovers the truth about Project Starfish. The basement. The children and pregnant women and mothers and fuck -

He loses his shit.

It’s Peacemaker fighting him to the death and he’s just about to win - the bastard's neck bones shifting and creaking and all he wants is to get out of here with you safely in tow.

But then there’s a sharp explosion of pain at the center of his chest and when he looks down Peacemaker is just about to shove it deeper and -

He's knocked off.

It’s you - blind with a fury he’s never seen before. Your fingers curl around the handle of your Bowie knife and then you sink it straight and true into Peacemaker’s neck. Again and again, until his head hangs by a thread of flesh and you’re struggling to breathe as you crawl toward him - as you drag yourself across the dirty, dusty basement.

He slips on his sweat or his blood. His lungs hurt and he can’t sit up properly.

“No,” you whine like something dying. “No - no - Rick.”

He pulls the piece from himself and there’s a warm wash of blood. It didn’t hit his heart - didn’t get deep enough to be fatal. He presses his hand to it to staunch the bleeding just as you reach him. You wrap yourself around him - the wet drip of your tears on his cheek as you hold him tight.

“You saved me,” he breathes - curling his fingers into the back of your uniform before scraping them up to squeeze the nape of your neck. “You saved me, sweetheart.”

He glances at the mess of Peacemaker - the blank-eyed stare and rips of flesh and red meat. You’re warm against Flag - plush and yielding as you shudder and whimper in his arms. It’s a contrast of sorts: what you are versus what you’re capable of.

He shivers as you hold him. He kisses your shoulder and tells you his thanks - his desire - his devotion.

***

“I thought you liked nice girls, Flag,” Waller remarks - her tongue thick with innuendo. She crosses her arms as she stares down at the images of what’s left of Christopher Smith.

“She saved my life,” he replies flatly.

Waller is silent - fixing him with a stare that borders on terrifying. Her eyes are near-black - unbreachable and seemingly empty. Rick knows what’s beneath: jagged, gnashing fangs - hungry to discipline the dogs that bit her. It’s in the open after Corto Maltese. Amanda has come to realize that Flag will go against her when it’s the end of the line - the fucking endgame of a mission.

He will betray her no matter fucking what when you are with him - existing in his sphere and in his arms and on his team.

There is the elephant of blackmail between Waller and him, stinking up the boxy room. Rick had agreed to DuBois' plan simply because you were also at risk of getting your head blown to flaps. They’d keep the tapes that confirmed the U.S.’s involvement in Project Starfish and Waller would allow them to live.

Clean and dirty.

“She’s no June,” she observes - pinching the corner of a photograph as she waves it slowly above the table. Back and forth with the air conditioning clicking above their heads. “Far more teeth.”

Rick grimaces.

She fucking reads him like a book and he’d had thought he’d been better this time - better at hiding his damn emotions, but he’s just not built that way.

“Boy Scout,” you purr in his ear as you slide down the achingly hard length of him. Your pussy like nothing he’s ever had before - tender and wet and gripping him like a fist. “My soldier - captain - colonel - fuck you’re like a god, Flag.”

“She’s out,” he reminds Waller. His head is spinning - blood pumping in his ears. “That was the deal. She’s out of Belle Reve and you don’t blow her head off.”

Waller’s nod is almost imperceptible. “She’s not off the payroll, though. You’re both not.”

He smothers the glare that boils to the surface. He grinds his teeth. He turns to leave and Waller calls to him one more time.

“You can pretend to have a happy home with her - pretend that you’re playing at house. But - she’s not built for it. She’ll d-”

Rick slams the door so hard that it shudders and creaks. He swallows his fury as he tries to put one foot in front of the other.

Fuck her.

***

You get familiar with him - adjusting to some semblance of normalcy. He’s addicted to it - enjoys observing your habits and tastes as you discover new things with your freedom.

You like eating burnt popcorn poured into a wet bowl for the texture. You like salsa on baked potatoes. You like to read off your phone long into the night - pressing it up to your eyes as you digest article after article. In the morning, you’ll swing your leg over his hip - straddle his waist as you tell him about everything you learned.

Did you know Truman Capote had these besties he called his swans?

Did you know dentistry is one of the oldest careers in the world?

Did you know the rich used to eat mummies?

What’s your take on the Menendez brothers?

It’s ridiculously earnest - unbearably endearing.

You need to be close to him. You scratch his shoulders and scalp and chest constantly. Your nails grazing the skin delicately, making him groan at the sensation. You do it everywhere, whether you’re sprawled out on the couch or waiting in line at the coffee shop on the corner.

You get louder when he fucks you - moaning and mewling as he grinds into the wet snatch of your pussy. You love when he shoves you over the kitchen table and eats you out from behind - his fingers digging into your ass as you push back against his face. You’ll grasp his hand after - licking your own taste off his fingers before you kiss him hard for more.

Salt-brine slick. The brief dip of sweet.

Sometimes you’ll both forget dinner and wind up screwing right in the entryway. He’ll lie on the floor with you afterward. Both of you bare-ass naked as he traces the peak of your nipple, sucking a mark into your throat. Your chest heaving from the forcefulness of your climax - your brow beaded with sweat.

“I like you,” you declare - burrowing into his chest. “I like you so much, Rick.”

He knows exactly what you mean.

***

You spoon congee into your mouth as you kick a toe into his shin. It’s a tiny place downtown - sprinkled with red lanterns and potted bamboo. Plastic tables and cheap chairs and linoleum floors.

You jerk your chin up - eyes narrowing in a question. “Why are you looking at me like that, Flaggy?”

Flaggy. It sends him right back to those first few meetings at Belle Reve when all you had were four walls and paper-white scrubs.

He smiles - feeling almost shy and unsure. He nudges his knee against yours. “I just think you’re really fucking gorgeous.”

You blink at him for a moment before your lips split into something like a star - like the movies - like your name up in lights.

“You’re pretty fucking gorgeous, too.”

***

It happens fast and what’s funny is that he was just thinking how you had defied Waller. You’d been successful mission after mission. More people saved. Less teammates coming home in body bags.

“She’s gonna d-”

He hadn’t let Waller finish that statement - that declarative, accusatory exclamation that felt like it could have been made true should he have heard it.

Well - fuck her because we’re happy - we’re good - we’re better than good. Safe as fucking houses.

***

Rick’s chest starts to sting and he glances down at the warm spread of blood through his tac shirt. Damn. Right over his scar from Peacemaker, too. The guy coming at him isn’t pulling any punches and he’s off balance - a little on edge because something in the air doesn’t feel quite right.

There’s more punches and kicks and Rick getting thrown through a glass desk before you appear in front of him.

“Get the fuck away from him,” you growl as you smack your fingers against the man’s head. Flag watches it happen - the shift in his eyes - the pupils dilating as the mouth gapes and the tongue lolls and how he must start to see something else - something terrifying due to that dose of insanity you’ve just punched into his brain.

And then it goes wrong.

The man whirls around and grabs you hard before shoving you back into the elevator that’s just opened. He’s babbling and screaming at you - incoherent mumblings of a mad man: why are there bones there - why are you looking at me like that - stop looking stop looking stop stop stop - where’s the baby - where’s the baby - who are you - why why why why

He sees the glint of the blade in your attacker’s hand - sees it make a clean arc.

“Rick,” you gasp as you stumble backward and the steel doors shut on the both of you.

***

His heart is hammering in his throat as he runs for the basement. His breath is caught in his lungs and he can’t focus - can’t find a point or a place to duck himself into and gather his bearings.

No. No. NO. NO.

Fear - real and true - is burning hot in his gut - it’s bubbling and bursting as he tastes your death. He sees it real and true in front of him. He sees it as he sprints - his expression probably thunderous and grieved as his team steps out of his way.

“What is it, Flag?” DuBois yells as he shoots past him.

He gets to the bottom. It dings and opens and he thinks oh- oh fuck - oh fucking jesus christ -

It’s the smell first. The cloying sweet smell of metal and pennies.

***

“No,” he mutters as he steps into the carnage. “No.”

Helpless.

There’s blood splashed across the walls - coating the floor in a sticky puddle. His boots squelch through it and you’re on your back - blood drooling from your shoulder and your hip and your waist. The rabid man is stammering - barking at the air - and you’d managed to get a stab in - pin him to the wall as he jerks and Flag doesn’t even think - he just lowers himself to his knees and breaks the man’s neck with a sickening crunch.

“Darlin,” he murmurs. “Honey.” He taps your cheek - thumb smearing through the red. Your eyes blink open - just enough - as you glance up at him. Confused. Terrified. Small and withdrawn as you shake when he reaches for you.

He’s never seen you like this before. He’s never seen you vulnerable and torn down and he lifts you into his arms easily - flinching as you grunt in pain and blood dribbles down his hands and arms and wets his tac pants and makes patterns all over the floor.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he says again like it’ll mean something - like it’s actually a request or a beg and he hasn’t been to church since he was a young boy.

“Please,” he begs to no one. “Please.”

***

You’re panting as you curl your fingers into his vest and tug it. “Flag,” you wheeze. “Rick - fuck - I-I don’t feel great.” There’s the rasp of a laugh on your tongue as if you’d like to fill the awkwardness - your own embarrassment at being screwed over by your abilities. You cough and it’s wet. Rick wants to scream. “You know...you know I thought that was-s gonna be like super cool.”

He swallows. “You looked cool.”

You cough again.

“Liar.”

His gaze finally falls to your face - the greying mess of your expression as he barrels through the halls and holds you to him. “You looked fucking perfect,” he stammers. “Fucking beautiful.”

It’s the truth.

“I can’t - can’t really breathe,” you rasp as you drag your cheek over his chest and push yourself into him like a cat. “Rick.” Your voice breaks.

“I know, baby. I know. You gotta stay with me. I-I’ll…I’ve got you and it’s - fuck - you’ll be fine.”

“She alright, doc?” Harley sings as she saunters toward you and the next words die before they hatch as she notices how fucked you are.

“No,” Rick murmurs. “No - Harl - I- she’s not doing too hot.”

“What the fuck happened?” she screeches before she’s following him too.

***

He hates hospitals. Hates them ever since he’d cut his head open playing basketball. He’d tripped and flown right into a concrete wall. He’d been wrapped like a mummy as they sewed him shut - wrapped up and helpless so he couldn’t hit their rubber-gloved hands away. He had just been a kid, but it had sat with him. The fluorescent lights and smell of iodine and cotton.

He stares down at you. You’re fine - smooth and soft and clean - bandaged up and also helpless. He’s still in his clothes. Your blood had turned his shirt stiff - his pants itchy. His boots keep marking up the floor, but his heart has settled and he can see clear. He can hear and taste and breathe without feeling as if he had been stabbed.

He drops down into a chair - the bitter taste of stale coffee on his tongue. Harley had brought him five paper cups of it.

“Sorry,” she sputters. “I just - I don’t know what to do and people are always bringin cups of coffee to people in hospitals.”

“Are they?”

“Yeah like on tv.”

“Didn’t you work in a hospital?”

Harley shuts her mouth - her eyes going far and away. Glittering like sea glass on white sand as if she’d just been snapped back to another life. It had been another life, really. Sometimes Rick kind of wishes he knew the Harl before the chaos - before the Joker. Just to see. Just to know.

“I did,” she admits before she steps away to find the others or maybe to forget.

Rick strokes your hand. It’s warm - a whole new temperature than how you’d felt hours previous. The clammy, cold wash to your skin - the bubbles in your chest as you struggled to speak.

“You scared me,” he husks - squeezing your fingers. “You fucking scared me.”

He should know that this is the job. These are the possibilities and it’s not like either of you aren’t good at what you do. But he’s tired. He’s so fucking tired.

He drags his knuckles up your arm before he brushes them tenderly across the bump of your cheek. His chest blooms with something he’s well aware of - something familiar that he hadn’t quite felt in a long time. It swells like a fever and thrums in time with his heart. He’d felt this way over small things: the first time he’d gotten back on home soil after his tour - the first time he ate his mom’s chess pie - the first time he’d stepped into the living room on Christmas morning.

He maneuvers his body into your bed. He’s dirty - crusted in blood and grit - but he needs to be next to you - just for a second - just enough. He gently pulls you flush against him - careful of your wounds. He dips his face into your neck and inhales your scent - counting each relaxed puff of breath.

“I like you, sweetheart,” he confesses. “I like you so fucking much.”

You’ll know what he means.

#rick flag imagine #rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x female reader #rick flag x you #rick flag smut #rick flag fanfiction #suicide squad fanfiction #suicide squad #the suicide squad #dceu #dceu fanfiction #rick flag x y/n #harley quinn x female reader

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

Vanilla Milkshake

Summer: Henry and a long time friend hangout at their usual spot when things turn chaotic because of an innocent misunderstanding...

Prompted by:

Oooh Freyaaaa I just *need* some scene featuring Henry and ofc drinking milkshake.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (no description of ethnicity or body type).

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: RPF, major fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo, mild seduction, sex talk, an unwanted boner, Henry being a boomer, Henry having a meltdown.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.*

A/N: So, first thing first, thanks @agniavateira for quickly beta’ing my work! And of course thanks @the-soot-sprite for bouncing ideas with me and being an emotional support. Decided to go with friends for lovers because I live for that stuff. Also, I am aware that “Milkshake” can be interpreted in several ways but for the sake of the story I went with that particular reference. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. 🖤

Title: Vanilla Milkshake

“I swear, this diner looks like Barbie had an orgasm all over the place.” A whimsical grin sliced between Henry’s marble cheeks. Eyeing the pastel-esque surroundings, he huffed scornfully and adjusted the cap over his nest of unruly curls.

“Remind me again why we always meet here, young lady?”

Staring at the beastly man who barely managed to squeeze into the plastic-pink faux leather booth, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Henry carried himself with something that was both eloquent yet unmistakably feral, reminding her of a burly forest creature. Sturdy tree trunks stood for limbs, torso, and shoulders—the widths of icy mountains and a blanket of thick fur coated the entirety of his body, deeming him a dangerous bear.

No wonder he preferred himself clean-shaven. The sharpened edge of a razor kept him a cut away from becoming ‘Henry the Barbarian’.

Seeing him surrounded by pastel and sparkly fairy dust brought far more joy than she could ever imagine. The utter look of contempt gleamed on the surface of his shifty eyes.

Oh, by God, how much he hated glitter!

“And what would you know about Barbie’s orgasms?” she teased with a crooked eyebrow and a comical suspicious glare.

Readjusting his cap over the messy mane of chocolate curls, Henry offered a terrible wink and shrugged, “a gentleman never tells.”

Her fingers rapped on her thigh while she contemplated whether to allow this naughty joke slide, but then the urge to provoke him was far too great. After briefly chewing on the inside of her cheek, she broke into a wicked grin.

“Is that… like a role play you have with the missus? She’s Barbie, and you’re G.I.Joe? Because I kinda don’t want to hear about it, but then I kinda do.”

Henry’s smile gradually faded along with the playful glee in his eyes, his melancholic gaze dropping to the sparkly table. He slumped into a heavy sigh, “If by missus, you mean ‘Miss Hand’, then no… not really.”

Dumbfounded, she frowned at Henry with confusion when then it struck her; a sense of incredible embarrassment drained the blood from her head to her gut.

“Oh…”

“Yep.” Henry blurted and grabbed the menu, pretending to be incredibly interested in the kids’ meal options.

Just in time to rescue them from a prolonged awkward silence, the waitress arrived with their order, serving Henry a hot cup of double espresso while she received a tall glass of a luscious vanilla milkshake.

“Enjoy your drinks, guys!” the waitress smiled sweetly and kept her eyes glued to Henry as she walked away. But the gloss of the waitress’ flirtatious excitement was lost on him; drenched with greed, Henry’s blue sapphires were fixated on the generous scoops of ice cream and the dark chocolate swirls that decorated his companion’s dessert.

“Henry, my eyes are up here!” she provoked and grabbed the straw between two fingers while throwing an amused glance at his simple cup of coffee. Henry followed her gaze and scoffed before raising the cup to his mouth and blowing to cool his drink.

The way his lips pursed together and his finger stroked the ceramic surface did not escape her observation. A sudden tingle swam down the length of her spine once it resonated in her mind that kind, charming, and beastly Henry was now single. Here they were, long time buddies, but now sitting together felt less comfortable than before. Her limbs felt like pins and needles while staring directly at his eyes was as risky as staring at the sun.

“Cheers,” Henry mumbled and took a sip from his cup.

Almost jolting in her seat, she stiffened and then grabbed her straw.

“Cheers.”

Giggles came from the other side of the diner. Among the retro gumball machines and rounded plastic bar stools, the waitress and a colleague leaned against the counter and stared at Henry, who turned his head for a brief moment and tipped his head.

Their giggles turned even louder.

She frowned.

“So, have you been single for a while?” she heard herself asking with a rather urgent tone. Right away, a look of contrition crept on her face as she regretted her verbal onslaught and lack of sensitivity.

Henry directed his gaze back to her and watched as she slowly sipped from the milkshake and then suckled the cream off her mouth.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. “Since May. How about you, weren’t you with…?”

“No, ended, dodged a bullet.” she spat and pumped the straw up and down the thick beverage. “My milkshake brings all the boys… except it doesn't.” she sighed.

Henry frowned and shook his head with confusion. “What? You never told me you make your own milkshake. How come I never had some?”

Her face abruptly froze, her eyes rounded with surprise before she snorted so loudly the waitresses stopped their whispering.

“Umm… Hen?” she called out, trying to hold herself from bursting into chuckles as her friend accidentally asked for a very sexual favour, “you honestly don’t know what ‘milkshake’ is slang for...?”

“Uh…”

“Omg, you’re such a boomer.”

“No, I was born in ‘83! I’m a millennial. But please, indulge me.” he begged and crossed his arms together.

Clearing her throat loudly, she did her best to fight the wicked grin that stretched on her already painful cheeks and wrapped her fist around the straw. “So you know... how… certain male bodily fluids are sometimes white and creamy...? And when you perform a certain motion it’s like you’re shaking it…?”

Henry blinked and became silent. An unbidden rush of blood pooled at his groin as he watched her thumb graze over the tip of the straw and her fist pumping it into the smooth liquid in a slow, gentle motion. Wickedness glazed her eyes, but he tried to dismiss it as nothing but their usual playful banter; yet his adam’s apple bobbed up and down while his shoulder tensed at the oddly arousing sight of her performing a sinful act on a milkshake.

There was an unmistakable stir in his cock and for once, he was thankful for narrow spaces as it hid his predicament.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the straw. She went deliberately slow, making him watch while she playfully licked and suckled the tip until finally wrapping her lips around it and taking a generous sip.

Henry gawked utterly smitten, unaware that his jaw was nearly at the floor.

And to make things worse, she moaned—not too loud—but definitely enough to make his shaft harden more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred this whimsical boost of confidence, only that seeing the large, handsome man pale at her provocations made her feel like the most powerful woman on earth. She also gathered she’d regret it forever and a day once they’ll part ways, but it was too late for that now.

Gingerly she pulled back, though not before allowing a single drop of cream to trickle down the corner of her lips.

“Oops,” she smirked casually, wiping the cream with her fingertip and sucking it clean.

“Please stop…”

It was then when she noticed that Henry’s playful mien was all but gone. Far from amused, he glowered with a clenched jaw. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’ll have to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly.

A rush of panic made her freeze in her spot, the same needles that pricked her skin were now setting jolts of electric bursts. “I’m so sorry, I crossed the line,” she said and covered her mouth with shame, “did I offend you? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Henry’s voice softened right away, and he reached a hand in the air, as if trying to stop her from leaving. The last thing he wanted now is for her to think he is angry with her. If anything, he wished they could spend more time together, not because of his obvious arousal, but because for the first time in a long while, he was having fun.

Still, she looked at him so utterly distraught.

“Then…?”

Henry scanned the diner as if trying to make sure no one was staring or taking any photo and then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes altered between his spread thighs and her several times, trying to signal toward his… trouble.

“Oh...” she gaped.

An odd sense of pride began to permeate her chest, battling over the burning embarrassment that flamed up her neck and cheeks. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, only that it was definitely the most awkward hangout they had to date.

Problem was, she never knew when to shut up.

“Is little Henry hungry?”

Hearing those words, his brows dropped to an irritated sulk. “There is nothing little about it.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

It was as if the entire diner and perhaps the world fell into silence. Had the clatter of the dishes being washed in the back kitchen not rung their ears, she would have thought she grew suddenly deaf.

“I didn’t mean it… sorry, I’ll stop,” she mumbled slowly and pressed her fingers to her mouth while shaking her head at her stupid behaviour. That was it, this was to be the last afternoon she would ever hang out with Henry and right now, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

Henry chewed onto the inside of his cheeks, trying to stop the words that came faster than his thoughts.

“You didn’t?... Because I’ll definitely be up for proving...”

She blinked at his words and tilted her head, hoping that he won’t notice the wild tremors that shook her limbs, “What was that?”

“I... yes? No?...I… fuck!”

Henry lowered his head and slapped his palms across his face, rubbing back and forth with an utter meltdown while mumbling, “Forgive me,” a couple of times. He couldn’t care less of what the waitresses or whoever was watching would think of him; all he cared about was to make her feel comfortable around him again and maybe… even make her like him?

“Henry?”

Soft and warm her voice called to him, slowly pulling him from his anguish like a sailor being rescued from a sunken ship. His blue sapphires shone, an ocean of confusion and anxiety still pooling within while he peered back at her face that was now smiling at him a mixture of comfort and exhilaration.

“Would you like some of my milkshake?”

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

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A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body.

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can.

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso.

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again.

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window.

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit.

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for.

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock.

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful.

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain.

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it?

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can.

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge.

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use.

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore.

K = Kinks

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity.

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold.

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence.

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench.

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail.

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”)

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.

#ysijwa #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles mature #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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sugamamacustard · 4 years ago

Text

Rut

Pairing: Alpha! Tetsuro Kuroo x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Atsumu Miya x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Kiyoomi Sakusa x Omega! Reader

Genre: NSFW

Request: Hi, custard💕 your writing is soso wonderful! Can I request headcanons about alpha!Kuroo, alpha!Atsumu, alpha!Sakusa (separately) going into rut with his fem!omega!S/O?

Summary: You and your alpha have been through so much together, but how are the reacting when their rut hits?

Author’s Note: Holy wow guys, going through my requests, there’s a lot of Sakusa ones. So I caved and decided this is a good a place as any to start with him! And thank you so much!

I’m vibrating bc I just got accepted into Uni and just-

Requests: Open!

WARNING: Smut, Daddy Kink in Atsumu, slight bondage in Sakusa’s. Please give me some daddy kink asks

Tetsuro Kuroo

➵Ah yes, thirst asks. One of my favorites- even if I try keeping up the innocent writer façade. I’m not. My other blog has some filthy smut on it.

➵ Anyway, moving on.

➵ Kuroo is a rough lover as is. He teases, he drags you along a long, long road for you orgasm, pounding you into the mattress. and drawing all sorts of pathetic mewls out of you.

➵It’s okay to drool.

➵It’s just his alpha instincts that make him want to mark you from tit to toe.

➵He, on a normal basis, bites you and claws your hips anyway, but when his rut hits?

➵He’s feral.

➵ There will be bite marks littered up and down your spine and bruises practically imprinted on your hips.

➵You better believe you are not leaving your nest until his rut is done. You are stuck.

➵Though he’s always ears open incase you need to tap out, his alpha always always putting you first.

➵But if you stick through it?

➵He is rough and feral and pounding into your poor abused entrance until your sobbing.

➵ You most likely have to plan for his rut two weeks in advance

➵Which is hard between dancing around his pre-rut symptoms and prepping yourself for what is sure to be a week of pure, filthy sex.

➵Okay let’s side bar into Pre-rut bc I don’t think I went into a lot.

➵Tetsuro’s Pre-rut isn’t terrible. He mostly just sticks around as often as he can, growling at anyone who steps too close to you, feeding you his lunch, scenting you constantly.

➵Definitely one of the better ones to have during this time, I tell ya.

➵But of course, he makes it a little difficult while your trying to discreetly stock up on easy grab snacks and water jugs.

➵Kenma helps out a lot though, he honestly is probably your best friend is your dating Kuroo.

---

The hand around your throat kept you pinned to the plush bottom of your nest. Your mewls and moans were muffled but at this point you couldn’t hear them, even if you wanted too, through the blood rushing through your ears. Your hips hurt with how hard Tetsuro was gripping them, pulling you in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck kitten.” His growl had you gushing slick around his cock, making him, in turn, growl lower. His hips were moving at such a rapid pace, you couldn’t see them, even if you wanted to. All you could do was feel his cock drag in and out of your gushing hole, pleasure wringing your stomach like a wet towel.

“Alpha- Alpha, gonna- gonna cum on your- your- holy FUCK-” You turned your head to bite the pillows beneath you, feeling yourself tighten around Tetsuro. He sunk his teeth into your mating mark, making you gasp as you came with a loud whimper, pushing back onto him as he continued fucking you within an inch of any actual thoughts.

Just your alpha and how good he was making you feel.

You felt his hips still as a warm load of cum shot into you, filling you to the brim and making you hum in bliss. Tetsuro chuckled, unlatching from your neck and lapping at the pearls of blood poking through. He allowed you to catch your breath before pulling you to sit on his thighs, cock still buried deep inside of you-- his knot just barely staying out.

“Good kitten. Now, let’s see if I can fuck some pups into you.”

Atsumu Miya

➵Alright, let’s set the seeds of how I imagine one of the Miya’s in bed.

➵Atsumu absolutely adores the earth you walk on.

➵Even if he had to fight Osamu for you in the beginning. It was all worth it.

➵He treated you well, worshipping you in bed. There is never a time he hasn’t had you quivering because of his tongue.

➵He, however, is also such an asshole in the bedroom.

➵Like yes, he’s pulling you to sit on his face, but yes, he’s also edging you until your sobbing and grinding your self against him.

➵If your riding him, he’s suddenly holding your hips down and making you cockwarm him while he does some sort of shit on his phone.

➵If he’s holding you missionary, he can just as quickly can pull you into a mating press, locking your arms between your chest and knees, absolutely pounding into your poor entrance.

➵ So while Atsumu can be generous and can absolutely worship you, he also can and will be a huge asshole.

➵His rut doesn’t make it any better.

➵He just gets worse.

➵He either makes you sob with pleasure or beg for something.

➵Like, you thought Atsumu would be the horny, needy, whiny one?

➵You thought wrong. Atsumu knows exactly how to turn his hormones against you, make them work for him

➵Side bar once more: Atsumu’s pre-rut? SUCKS-

➵Sorry not sorry.

➵This man prolly doesn’t realize his rut is approaching until you pop into the gym, excusing him from practice for the week.

➵He doesn’t care about it before that. Sorry man.

---

“Is your alpha’s cock not enough for you?” His voice was silky as he hissed at you, fingers clawing at your hips, keeping you perched just above his knot. “I thought I was the horny one.”

You whimpered above him, hands clawing his shoulders as you struggled to hold yourself up. You didn’t want to disappoint daddy, did you?

A harsh smack to your ass had you yelping, throwing your head back as you cried out a mix between a chirp and a moan.

“Answer Daddy when he’s talking to you.”

“I’m sorry Daddy- so sorry! I promise to be good. Be good for Daddy. Patient and good. Daddy’s cock fills me so nicely-” You yelped when another smack stung your ass cheeks, making you shut your mouth.

Atsumu grumbled into your chest, loosening his grip ever so slightly before pulling you up, quickly slamming you down before repeating the process. He ignored any protest you gave, instead chasing his own release. Slick dripped between your thighs, coating his own thighs as well.

“Is my prince(ss) making a mess of themselves?” He snickered, keeping his pace as you built up to your orgasm. You nodded wildly, trying to keep up with his brutal pace.

“Just for daddy!” You yelped, throwing your head onto his shoulder. “Daddy- gonna-gonna cum!”

You nearly cried when he stopped, feeling him chuckle into your chest.

“Not yet, sweet cheeks. After all...This week is all about daddy.”

Kiyoomi Sakusa

➵Sakusa, Sakusa, Sakusa. Where do I begin with you sweet prince.

➵ You know what, we’ll start with our sidebar.

➵It’s not you prepping. It’s him. He like- hardcore- nests. Like he’s the alpha, yeah, but there’s so many things he has to prep.

➵Like your nest? All the blankets have to be sanitized and re-scented and the pillows have to be washed and re fluffed-

➵His room (Where you keep one of many nests) has to be cleaned and reorganized and he has to restock your snack stash and purify the water jugs-

➵God he just has so much to do okay-

➵Sex itself is just a lot of work for poor Sakusa.

➵He’s come a long way though.

➵Only for you though.

➵I can imagine Omi being super into Toys because less... ya know...

➵He’ll still fuck you until your knees wobble and knock together, but he’s also into the little bullet vibrators that he can hold onto your nipples or clit (Dependent)

➵His rut makes these unacceptable. His alpha won’t allow it.

➵He can pleasure you just fine without the use of toys,

➵I can also imagine he’d be super into, like, face to face positions so he focus on your beautiful features instead on the mess below you guys.

---

Your wrists were bound above your head with your knees pressed to your chest. The smell of alcohol was pungent under the stench of sex, making your nose scrunch. Omi was keeping you pinned, thrusting in slow, calculated thrusts, grinding against you with ever pull.

You were whimpering with every pull and push of Omi’s cock against your walls, teasing you in the most aggravating, but delicious, way.

You could see the way he eyes your every reaction, beautiful eyes blown with lust tracing every facial feature of yours. Watching every reaction you gave him. Watching you.

He grunted when your walls clutched him a little too tightly, slowing his thrusts a little more. “So good to me omega, letting me use you any way I want. “

He hissed when the praise seemed to do nothing but clutch him tighter, teetering him even closer to the edge. He wouldn’t give in, pulling out completely, instead replacing his dick with his fingers and teasing your sweet spot (He could practically pinpoint it at this point).

Slick coated his fingers, making him smirk as you withered against him. Turns out, you were just as close as he was, if not closer.

“Now, let’s see how good I can be to you.”

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