#He might have not been allowed to say anything but he dropped hits

[thetadispatcher]

Vincent glanced at the remaining stranger in the room, deciding she likely wasn't going to do anything, and even if she did Dan was close enough to put a quick end to it.

So the AP700 allowed himself to relax and put more of his focus on watching the other android work, he'd rather concentrate on that then any thoughts that might pop into his head, as they never seemed to go anywhere good.

Hugh could easily guess Nines was already picking apart the human at the table, even if the RK900 showed no change in demeanor. It was just something the android did to new people.

"Maybe, but she is keeping Sixty occupied at the moment, which is perfectly fine with me." Nines would rather have someone keeping Sixty busy as the RK800 always seemed to like following him around, something he didn't much enjoy due to Sixty feeling the need to talk about random subjects he could care less about.

John shifted his attention from Nines to Bishop at the remark about military units. "Well, Hugh is the one who has to call you out, not me. He was built purely for combat, hence his much larger body. I was built to handle tasks given to Navy Seals, so I am capable of interrogation if need be." The android explained as Nines swapped seats with Hugh.

"I am a prototype called a Myrmidon, and Hugh is the other prototype called the Trojan." He motioned to the larger android as he took a seat back on the floor.

"I...suppose that's true." Strasky went silent as he felt he needed time to think, and he really didn't have much else he felt he needed to say, at least on the current subject.

He shifted his attention to Sixty who seemed unbothered by the subject they'd been discussing, if anything he felt the android had just tuned them out and was off in his own little world.

He had a feeling the RK800 would join them if they discussed something else, but he really didn't know what else to talk about, or even what Sixty would like talking about. The android hadn't dropped any hints at his personal preferences, and he seemed to like jumping into discussions rather then starting them. So Strasky decided he'd leave the android to his own devices for the time being, they really didn't need Sixty's help with anything anyways.

"Maybe, it's hard for me to say if they will." Dan may have seen the interactions Strasky had with his coworkers, but he wasn't about to judge them based on that alone. He'd been around enough humans to know some could lie and act very well, without any thought as to how it might affect someone if they found out.

"Does she listen in on your conversations a lo-AH!" Dan cut himself off with a startled yell as he turned his head, finally catching sight of the android that had walked up behind him. The PL600 promptly punched through the basement wall, barely stopping himself from hitting his intended target.

The android seemed unbothered as he stood patiently, looking expectantly at Dan.

Dan jerked his arm free of the wall as his LED started flashing yellow, quickly answering the androids contacting him that everything was fine and no one had been hurt. "I-god damn it-hi..." He turned his focus to the other android, looking mildly annoyed as he took the notepad from the other unit to write on it, then handed it back.

He watched the other android nod then hurried off happily, shaking his head with a sigh before looking at the hole he'd punched through the brickwork. "Sorry about that." He apologized as he turned back to Rook. "That can be fixed, it's...fine, I guess. Not the first time I've caused property damage, and definitely won't be the last." Usually the damage was just Dan ripping off doors, but maybe the construction androids would be happy to know they didn't have to fix another door.

The android seemed satisfied nonetheless. He wasn't a master at conversation either and was fine as long as Vincent gave him enough to understand what he meant.

If he was comfortable with just a few words, Vincent could also get there eventually and it'd be fine.

Now he just had to not mess this design up.

Bishop only slightly nodded at the explanation. He still had to keep up the facade to not let himself get away.

"Very well. Although, in the future, you should go after the pink cyborg that came along with us. She might provide a fairer challenge."

Or she would cheat by messing with Nines' circuits, which was just fine with him as well.

"Though I take it military models aren’t that well trained to handle interrogations."

He might as well throw in a little jab at John as well.

"Let’s not worry about the details now. What matters is that you keep trying and remind yourself that there are people who like you exactly the way you are." Willow replied, before tilting her head slightly, "You escaped the WAU. It'd be a shame if you'd now be lost to those doubts that are tormenting you."

With that, she went back to browsing the plushies.

"It's good you're telling me these things. I've got my phone here, Willow's probably listening too." Rook said, "At least now I know I'm not the problem. I guess figuring this out will be the next step once his friends are sorted out. Maybe they'll finally return the favor and take care of the guy who erased himself to worry about their problems instead."

[lostintransist]

The Real Problem With The Trolley

Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 4

Part 1 here. AO3

Kyle wormed his way into your life with the skill of an abuser isolating you but inversed; mint spreading from the single pot on the porch only to be found halfway across the yard two weeks later. When you finally allowed him to add you on Snapchat, months and months into texting about, well, everything, you saw the women who rolled through his days home. None looked like you. Conventionally attractive, makeup never out of place or sweated off from work, all of it confirmed what you thought. Platonic, philosophical conversations were all this friendship would allow.

He had met some of your friends after they asked to meet him. You spoke about him often enough that your bestie would no longer be satisfied with stalking his Snapchat when you hung out.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“What?” Her question pulled you from the overabundance of videos she had sent you to work through. “What’s wrong with who?”

You were both lounging on her couch the quiet sounds from your phones only interrupted by the purring of her cat between you.

“Your Kyle,” she flipped her phone around showing you a picture she had taken from her phone of his recent snap.

Sitting up you fight back the panic that hits like a hammer to the back of your ribs.

“He’s not my anything. And I don’t like you insisting that he is.”

“I have never seen a man as attentive to you as he was when we all went out for a drink,” she counters as if Kyle’s normal behavior was some grand scheme to get close to you.

It wasn’t. Couldn’t be. You saw him in person less than once a month and had never once expressed interest in him or caught a whiff of him sniffing your direction. Focusing down on Fiona, the cat, you lift her into your lap and begin loving on her as a way to prolong responding. Memories flooded through you.

Your friends all raved, still, about how he walked them all to their cars and made you laugh. You grumbled that it wasn’t hard to make you laugh, but made a point to bite back the laughter Kyle caused over text and in person. If he noticed he didn’t say anything.

The most he had shared with you was that he worked in the military and would randomly be unreachable for long stretches. You would have thought it a bald-faced lie if you hadn’t first met him with his team. Those men reeked of queen and country. He would tell you about his mum though, and how his sister was going through a divorce. Replying in kind you find interesting ways to gloss over the issues you had with your family. It sounded so trivial and petty compared to the depth of love and compassion he held for his.

You had only picked up his call after ten pm once.

His snaps had been full of long nails and beautiful skin flush with his on a park bench that day. You rolled your eyes and sighed when you saw them, ignoring the buzz in your chest that wished it had been, could be, you.

Tucked into bed scrolling your phone you dropped it with a squeak when his face appeared on it. It buzzed twice more before you swiped to answer.

“Hey, sorry. Did I wake you?” Tears roughed up his voice, confirmed by the sniff at the end of his question.

“No. What’s up?”

Talking on the phone whispered of danger—like the sailors of old failing to fill their ears with beeswax. The smooth cadence of his accent could convince you to wreck on the rocks. It might be more enticing if you cared to swim.

A slam of a door in the background had you wincing as it assaulted your ears.

He coughed, wet and ragged.

“Long night is all.” You had never heard him defeated before and it pricked at your compassion.

“Wanna talk about it?”

The offer is met with a small laugh and you imagine him wiping his face with the heel of his hand.

“Not really. Tell me about your day instead?”

“My day?” Your day had been shitty, interview bombed, work riddled with Karens and the awful manager had been on shift today. “It fucking sucked. Still wanna hear about it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

So you tell him, all the gritty bits and the silly things that you do to make it through the day. He is laughing before long, sounding calmer than when the call had started.

“Ready to tell me what the door slamming was all about?”

Kyle’s teeth clicking together tells you he might skirt the issue like he does with work conversations.

Counting in your head you read forty-seven when he speaks.

“I am not a good man.” He pauses so you take your turn.

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you mean uh huh?” His tone sharp in your ears.

“Kyle, you don’t talk about work. So either you can’t or you won’t. Doesn’t really matter which. You are a soldier. A soldier who can’t talk about what he does can’t be doing good things and no one comes out of those situations without stains. So, following that train of thought, since you keep coming home you must not be a good man.” You lay the facts out, the thoughts neatly lined up in your mind. “Am I wrong?”

He takes til fifteen to reply this time.

“You’re not.”

His eyes would be boring into you if this were an in-person chat or a video call, thank god you were in bed and wouldn’t answer a video call without a bra on.

“Why do you keep talking to me then?” His question fires like a bullet through a silencer.

He expects you to end the conversation and your association with him. That happening with the woman from the snaps today would make sense.

“Do you hurt people for fun?”

“No.” His answer is swift and alarmed.

“Take things too far on purpose?” Dragging a hand over your blanket you focus on the texture.

He is slower to respond this time.

“Not…not on purpose.”

“Mmm. So you are asking me why I still talk to a man who does bad things in a world that requires bad choices for safety, is that right?” Folding one arm across your chest you hold onto your bicep that holds the phone up to your ear still.

“I guess?”

“They say when someone shows you who they are to believe them. Kyle, you have shown me honesty, compassion, intellect. Yes, you do bad things in places worlds away and that does make you a bad man. But,” continuing carefully you voice your thoughts, “you aren’t evil and until you show me something repugnant, I enjoy having you as a friend.”

“Repugnant huh? Gonna have to run that word by Soap.” He sniffs and swallows his candor and confidence coming back online.

“Soap is the scary one or the one with a hat?”

That startled a laugh out of him.

“Neither, he was Scot with the mohawk and the loud voice.”

“Aah, okay. So what’s the scary one’s name?” Unable to fathom what odd collection of sounds would make his name.

“Ghost.”

The laugh you let out startled you into slapping your hand over your mouth.

“You can’t be serious,” you whispered once you caught hold of your laughter. “What do you call the hat guy?”

“Price,” Kyle’s smile clear in your ears.

“Okay, that’s it. Your teammates have the oddest collections of names. I can’t. I have to go to bed.” A breathless laugh and a shake of your head before you can continue, “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Kyle.”

“Thanks for taking my call, I know it’s late. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, you too.”

You had ended the call, the smile slipping from your face. You dealt with the whiplash of self-flagellation. No more late-night calls, too dangerous. After nine your phone had to go on do not disturb. Chats with Kyle after the sun dipped would leave you dreaming, and dreams like that don’t come true for people like you.

“Hey,” bestie is prodding you with her foot in your thigh. “With me again?”

Pinching the tip of your tongue between your sharpest teeth you nod.

“Sorry.” With face contorting and sighing breaths, it took you an uncomfortable amount of time to respond to her raised brow. “I…can’t let myself think of him like that.”

“Why not? He sounds into you.”

Leave it to your best friend to hold duality. Woman knew how to hype you up without understanding that you had no chance.

Running your hands down Fiona’s back with deliberate gentleness you peel yourself apart.

“You are gorgeous.” She opens her mouth in your side vision. “Do not argue with me, we are both aware of this fact.”

The mulish look she sends you tells you she will argue the point, but later.

“I am not. No. Do not start with me,” you point hard at her. “I am not pretty, I am interesting and better off for it. Kyle can’t be interested in me. You’ve seen the women he pulls; I refuse to put myself through the hurt of rejection and losing a friend over one foolish decision.”

The sadness that colors your best friend’s face is painted with the years that stretch between you. Fiona stands. Her small paw pads press to the bone as she arches in a stretch and saunters away to her feed bowl. Watching her lets you avoid the sadness you etched in your friend.

“But what about love?”

“What about it? Love is a chemical reaction and a choice, and it’s more choice than anything. If he isn’t attracted to me no amount of choosing will change that.” The stretching burn in your throat is your reminder to not cry over men but also to not let your heart reach for the impossible.

The tears come when she takes your hand.

“I love you and I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Squeezing her hard you give a small watery laugh.

“I love you too, wanna watch trashy TV for a bit?”

“With you? Watching a lecture on finance would be interesting.”

She holds your hand, head resting on yours where it touches her shoulder until you drag yourself home. The ache in your chest stays.

Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist

@soldierservant @demothers-empty-blog

[getaandlucius]

A brief taste of Honey (Geta x Lucius)

Quick summary: Geta returns from Sardinia and Lucius awaits him.

Authers note: sorry it's a day late! Thank you for reading. x Murphy

Geta had been gone for almost two weeks, and Lucius began to yearn. He longed for his touch, the feel of Geta’s skin against his own. His voice, lulling him to sleep. Somehow, his empty arms felt heavier.

When their absence hit the two-week mark, Lucius spent most of his days on the beach. He'd gaze out over the emerald waves, impatiently fisting his hands in the sand, letting the grains slip through like water.

Then, one evening, as he was taking a swim and the sun had just gone down—almost twenty days since Geta's departure—he saw white sails appear on the horizon, the familiar blue flag bearing a large fish fluttering in the wind. Lucius couldn’t contain his excitement as the ship approached and anchored, and a smaller boat emerged, drifting closer with a young man steering it toward shore.

Lucius didn’t wait. He waded through the water.

"Lucius," Geta called out as he saw him approach, dropping the paddles. He allowed himself to be dragged into the water, clothes and all, and disappeared into Lucius’s arms.

Lucius held him. He held him and held him. Long enough to convince himself that Geta had really returned and was safe, well. Lucius pulled back a little, and only then did he notice the sad glint in Geta’s eyes. In the fading light, most of his emotions were concealed, but there was unmistakable sadness there.

"Are you okay?" Lucius asked.

Geta nodded. Lucius dragged his wet palm over Geta’s cheek. "I am so glad to have you home, safe and well." He pressed his lips to Geta's, then pulled back again to look at him. "What happened out there, Geta?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes demanding, willing Geta to tell him the truth. But Geta remained silent, eyes far away.

"Did he hurt you?" Lucius asked then, not having spotted any injury but wondering if he'd missed something.

Geta seemed to mull over the question for a moment before he shook his head and mouthed a silent "no." Geta stared at him with a look Lucius had not seen before. "Oh, Lucius," He said, reaching out to cup Lucius’s face. Then Geta bent his neck and pressed his forehead against his. They stood like that for minutes—maybe longer.

As they walked back through the water in silence Lucius wanted to scream. The unanswered questions he couldn’t ask burned like acid in his mouth. What had happened out there? Why had Geta been so secretive since his uncle had appeared?

During their walk home, Lucius ran through ways in his head to break through that wall. The secret well he was being shut out of again. Pressing would do no good.

They exchanged their farewells in the halls. The brief kiss they shared there in the dark lingered like ice and fire as Lucius entered his bed chamber.

Geta's family were masters at ruining Geta's mood and fire. Lucius hated them for it.

As the days went on and it became August, Geta still barely told him anything. They spent time together, Geta ate normally, and he was looking better and better—but his mind still seemed far away. Whenever Lucius would ask about it, Geta would smile faintly and shake his head. "You wouldn’t understand." He'd say. Or, "I wish I could tell you, but I cannot. Please, do not ask again." The finality in his tone scared Lucius. "Maybe I can help," Lucius offered once. That seemed to touch something within Geta, something he couldn’t conceal. For a moment, Lucius thought Geta might cry, but he swallowed and looked away, shaking his head.

Two weeks passed. Then three. Lucius spent a lot of time with his council, which included Marcus, Augustus and the general of his army, Mantius, in the war room, as the old member of the Senate -Edus they learned his name was- continued to grow his following. The propaganda was still spreading like wildfire.

"I have to go away for a while," Lucius told Geta one morning as they sparred on the training grounds, sweat covering their skin and soaking their tunics. Geta was breathing heavily from exertion and straightened.

"Where are you going this time?" Geta turned his practice knife over in his hand. "Still fighting the rebels, or somewhere else this time?"

Lucius just looked at him. It felt strange now to tell him, since Geta wasn’t telling him anything. Anything.

"Talk to me Geta." Lucius pleaded. "Tell me about Sardinia, and I’ll let you know," Lucius said.

"It’s okay." Geta shrugged. "I don’t need to know."

Lucius shook his head and laughed a hollow laugh to himself. Then, with frustration, he smashed his practice knife into the sand. "Well, fuck this then," he bit out, before walking off, not looking back.

That night, Lucius lay in bed, boiling with frustration and anger. He felt so lost, so out of control that he wanted to destroy something. Something valuable, somthing that would break in infinite pieces when striking it with force.

Then there was a knock at the door. Lucius groaned.

If this were Geta, it was bad timing. Lucius did not think it wise to have him here when he was in this mood.

Another knock.

"Yes?"

"You have a visitor, Lucius," Laurentius called from outside the door.

Lucius groaned again. "Who is it."

"Geta."

"For fucks sakes." Lucius muttered under his breath. "Let him in."

Sure enough, Geta entered. He looked unsure, his big eyes wide, shoulders slumped. He visibly swallowed, then closed the door behind him.

He approached the bed slowly and cleared his throat.

"I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting," he said, his eyes briefly meeting Lucius’s. "I’m sorry about the distance… I didn’t mean to. It’s…" He sighed and pulled his robe a little tighter around him. "Nothing really happened… my uncle… he uhm… brought up some things from the past that disturbed me." He looked at the floor. "I really wish I could tell you, Lucius, you have to believe that. There’s nothing I want more, than to tell you." His voice was thick, and he looked as though he was on the verge of tears. "But I cannot. And I just wanted to ask… If we could forget about it all, just for tonight." He looked up from the floor. "Can you please pretend not to hate me for tonight?"

He stood before the bed, eyes full of longing and sorrow. His cheeks were wet from the silent tears now streaming down.

Lucius did not know what to say. Seeing Geta cry broke his heart, but he did not have it in him to console him now. His heart was aching too much on it's own.

Geta wiped his cheeks, eyes not leaving Lucius's. Then his hands went to his robe, he untied it and pushed the fabric over his shoulders, exposing his naked form.

'I know you do not trust me. I'm not asking you to. But please pretend you love me for tonight." He said softly. "You can have me in any way you want.'

===

Two months earlier: the night of the victory after defeating the phytians

Geta's POV, everything from here has already happened, we go back in the past.

Before Lucius departure he had kissed him goodbye. A brief kiss, nice and soft and delicious in it's simplicity. But the kiss they had just shared in the garden was differtent. What had happened there had woken Geta up and now he wanted more more more. His whole body tingled, warm and fluid, like melted butter or heated honey, yearning to mold itself around the world—or, in his case, Lucius.

Geta had never been in love before. He had lain with women, kissed a few men when he felt like it, but he had never truly felt anything beyond fleeting infatuation.

With Lucius, it was different. He consumed Geta’s thoughts, his dreams, his every longing. His body craved him, his mind fixated on him, and his intire being felt tethered to the depths of Lucius’ blue, blue eyes.

When he had been close to death after the attack, it was those eyes that had anchored him to the world. He was certain of it.

As they walked back through the garden to rejoin with the people, Geta caught Lucius’ arm and held him back for a moment. He stretched his neck and pressed his lips against the warm skin of Lucius’ throat. He smelled of summer rain. Geta stuck out his tongue and licked the skin before sucking on it softly.

Lucius groaned, his hands threading through Geta’s hair. “Not here, Geta,” he mumbled. “Not here.”

Geta whined softly but obeyed, straightening himself. Lucius smiled. “I will go in first. Wait outside for a few minutes before entering, so we don’t raise suspicion.”

Geta nodded, watching as Lucius disappeared inside to rejoin the festivities. He sat down on the stone steps and stretched out his legs. The light had almost completely faded, and the torches flickered like stars in the night. Finally, the oppressive heat had begun to fade, and Geta sighed in relief as a soft breeze played with the fabric of his tunic and his hair.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from his left. He looked up and saw a man drawing near.

As he came closer, recognition dawned on Geta. He had seen this man before. His mind sifted through memories until it clicked—his mother’s older brother, Aelius. They had visited his island when he and Caracalla were thirteen, shortly after their mother had died.

Geta frowned. Why would his uncle visit unannounced, without a herald? It was unusual, and unease curled in his stomach. He didn’t remember much from that visit nearly fifteen years ago, but he did remember the palpable fear that had clung to Aelius’ court. He and Caracalla had hardly slept during their two-night stay.

“Geta,” Aelius greeted, extending a hand to help him up.

“Uncle.” Geta rose, eyeing him warily. Aelius had not changed much. Dressed in deep blue, his white hair and short beard stood in stark contrast.

How had his uncle recognized him so quickly?

“To what do we owe this visit?” Geta asked, keeping his chin up.

Aelius scrutinized him before his gaze lingered on the scar along Geta’s collarbone. “I heard you were injured.” He placed a hand on Geta’s shoulder. “I wanted to check on you.”

Geta slowly nodded. “I’m fine. It happened a while ago—I’ve recovered well.”

“I see. You must have good healers here.” Aelius’ eyes drifted to the pillars behind Geta. The sound of laughter and music still spilled from within. “A feast?”

Geta nodded. “We defeated the Phytians. They attacked our trade routes.” The words had barely left his mouth before he realized his mistake.

Aelius tilted his head. “We?”

“I meant—they.”

Aelius’ frown deepened. “What are you still doing here, Geta? Are you being held captive?”

Geta shook his head.

“Then why stay? Are you part of the new Senate?”

“No.”

His uncle took a step back, studying him again. “You look well-fed, so they must treat you well. But what is it that keeps you here?” It was not a simple question—Aelius knew more than he let on. Geta already hated this game.

“They do treat me well. I like it here.” Geta answered simply. He did. He felt protected, cared for. He had time to read, to play with Marcella, to wander through the gardens and along the shore. His lack of political power no longer bothered him as much as he had once thought it would.

“And how did they treat Caracalla?”

Geta’s expression darkened. He avoided thoughts of his brother, knowing they would only lead to endless grief. Every mention of his name sent a dagger through his chest. “It was an accident,” Geta murmured. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Who told you that?”

“Lucius.”

“And you believe him? That it was an accident?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I just do.” Geta’s patience frayed. What gave his uncle the right to question him like this?

“Tell me—what is Lucius like?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m worried about my cousin.”

Geta shook his head, leaning back against a pillar, arms crossed. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I am not. I want you to come with me to Sardinia. You don’t belong here, Geta.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“I do." His uncle scratched his chin impatiently. "What influence do they allow you here? Do you attend council meetings? Are you trusted with information?”

“Yes!” The word burst from him instinctively.

“You attend council meetings?”

“…No.”

“He trusts you with information?”

Geta looked away. Lucius did trust him with information. Right? Geta was done with this conversation. “Is there anything else? I have no interest in moving to Sardinia, Aelius. Please don’t ask again. I’ll stay here as long as I wish.”

Aelius nodded slowly. “Very well." He bit the inside of his cheek and tapped his foot. "Then at least visit. Please?”

Geta remained silent.

“I’ll be gone for a few weeks, but when I return, I’ll send someone for you. There’s something I want to show you—something of value." When geta did not take the bate he added, "It was important to Caracalla.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

“I’m not coming.”

“Yes, you will.” Aelius tapped his arm. “Now, rejoin your festivities. I’ll take my leave.”

Geta didn’t move, arms still crossed, watching his uncle disappear into the night.

====

A few weeks later, and Lucius had just left to check the repaired forts. Geta felt restless, wondering when his uncle would send someone to pick him up.

A week went by and Geta waited at the gate as Lucius and his soldiers returned from the raids on horseback. As Lucius dismounted, Geta fought the urge to run to him, to pull him into a desperate kiss. But they had agreed—it was best to keep their bond discreet.

As they walked inside, a young man approached, dressed in the same deep blue as Aelius, his robe embroidered with silver fish. His blonde hair gleamed under the morninglight.

“Geta,” the young man called.

“Yes?”

“I have a message for you—from your uncle.” He handed over a sealed letter.

Geta frowned, straightening his shoulders. He had known this day would come, yet he had pushed it to the back of his mind. He could feel Lucius’ eyes on him, sharp with worry. Lucius was never truely relaxed, never trusted anyone, he was always prepared for an attack.

Geta broke the seal quickly read the message.

A ship is ready at the beach.

Remember what I told you. I have something of value to you.

Then on the bottem of the page:

Dondus awaits you on deck. Keep this to yourself.

Geta’s breath hitched for just a moment before he swallowed, folded the paper, and handed it back to the messenger.

He nodded curtly. “I’ll be ready in the morning.”

He did not tell Lucius what was in the message. Why, he did not know precisely. Lucius wanted to know, it was evident. But he did not ask, which Geta appreciated.

===

As Geta entered the ship, indeed a small monkey came rushing to climb his leg, up to his shoulder. Geta could not believe his eyes.

'Dondus?' There was a thin satin band around his neck, but other than that he looked the same. The monkey made a small sound and ran from one arm to the other.

Geta's mind started racing. He had often thought about Dondus and what had become of him. He knew the monkey had not been with Caracalla when he was captured, but beyond that, he knew little.

"How is this possible?" Geta asked, shaking his head in confusion. "Where did you find him?"

"Dondus was taken by Agrippa just before Caracalla got captured. Do you remember him?"

"One of Lucius's prison guards?" Geta did not remember their names or faces too well. There had been too much going on. Too much pain and sorrow to focus on.

The young man nodded. "Besides that, all I can say now is: Caracalla's death is a bit more complicated than you might have been told."

Geta wanted to ask more, but nodded.

"The sea is quite unruely this time of year." The blonde man told him. "Please do sit down your highness."

Geta nodded and walked to the back of the ship, looking out over the horizon.

===

Two days later, they approached the coast of Sardinia.

As Geta was welcomed inside the lavish villa, his eyes widened in amazement. Unlike Lucius' understated and sober residence, this place was opulent—almost a palace. Paintings adorned the ceilings, and intricately carved sculptures lined the halls.

He was led to a room in the east wing, where his uncle was waiting.

"Welcome, my dear cousin," Aelius said, gesturing to a chair in front of him. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Geta sat down reluctantly.

"Before we join the celebratory feast to welcome you to the island, I must ask you a few questions," Aelius continued.

Geta nodded. "Go on."

"The questions I am about to ask form an easy riddle—one I’m sure you’ll solve quickly."

Geta shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This felt like an interrogation. His heart pounded in his chest, the hairs on his neck standing on end.

"What have you been told?" His uncle asked him calmly, crossing his ankles as he sat down in front of him. "How did Caracalla die?"

Geta cleared his throat. "He was elbowed in the temple."

"Have you seen the body? Did he have any injuries besides the one to his head?"

"No. I don’t know." Geta clenched his jaw. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Did Lucius see the body and confirm the cause of death?"

Geta sighed in frustration, his palms sweaty as he wiped them on his tunic. "I don't know."

Aelius tutted. "Why did you not ask to see the body, Geta? The details here are important."

Geta turned his gaze to the window, watching the waves lap against the shore. "I wouldn't have been able to handle it," he admitted, suddenly feeling nauseous. Where was this conversation headed? What had he missed?

"You haven’t solved the riddle yet," Aelius sighed. "I'm disappointed." He paused, then continued, "Let me ask you another question. Why was Caracalla elbowed in the temple, and by whom?"

"Tibirius," Geta answered hesitantly, "after Caracalla stabbed him in the eye."

"Well done. Almost there." Aelius patted Geta’s head before turning toward the door. "Tibirius, please enter."

A man with feminine features and an eye patch stepped into the room. His hair seemed indigo in the eveninglight.

"Tibirius," Aelius said smoothly, "would you be so kind as to explain precisely what happened that day?"

Tibirius scratched his jaw. "I was part of a rescue operation that went... wrong."

Geta’s eyes widened. This could not be true.

"I was supposed to get Caracalla out," Tibirius continued, "but he didn’t recognize me. He had forgotten that I was once part of his protection guard before I had joined Lucius's."

Geta shook his head in disbelief. His midriff hurt, right where the arrow had hit.

"Caracalla stabbed me when I tried to extract him, so I had to knock him out. But then I lost consciousness myself from the injury and blood loss. When I woke up, I was in the infirmary."

Tibirius paused, glancing at Aelius before continuing. "Agrippa—who was assigned to protect you, Geta—was also part of the plan. He found Caracalla. Laurentius was also present."

Geta shook his head again, over and over. "No." The next words came into his ears as though he was underwater. everything slowed.

Tibirius pressed on. "Laurentius, believing Caracalla had no pulse, agreed to let Agrippa take him to sea, to set his body adrift on the open waters."

Geta's breath came in ragged gasps. He couldn't get enough air. The room spun around him.

"Caracalla is alive?" he whispered.

"As far as we know, yes... but—" Tibirius hesitated, glancing at Aelius for permission.

"Yes," Aelius said, "tell him."

Tibirius nodded. "As Agrippa tried to bring him here, they were intercepted by the Alamanni. By then, word of the empire’s overthrow must have spread. As far as we know... he is still there, being held captive."

"How do you know?" Geta’s voice sounded high and strained.

"I have an alliance with them," Aelius interjected. "They allowed me to speak with him briefly a few months ago."

"What kind of alliance?" Geta demanded.

Aelius shook his head, smiling slightly. "Patience, cousin. All will be revealed in time. Let’s take it one step at a time, yes?" He studied Geta's pale face. "You look ashen."

Geta shook his head. "I need to know. Please."

"You will," Aelius promised. "I will tell you over dinner."

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. :)

Taglist: @potato1d-blog1

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

Remus Poor Lupin being in the middle of the pinning of James "She only wants to be my friend and I'll respect that" Potter and Lily "I've humiliated him enough and probably doesn't like me like that anymore" Evans.

So they talked how much they liked each other with Remus. Telling him details about each other like "She was so pretty today, Remus. That hair band? Aaargg... It made her hair fall perfectly over her shoulders. And it was shinny today. Did you notice?" and "Did you see the way he smiled at me? He has a good smile. And those teeth are so perfectly white. It is so annoying. More annoying that the sexy way he ruffles his hair making it messier... "

They both forbade Remus to tell the other about their crushes and feelings, being like: "I will stop talking to you, Lupin. I mean it. I will go all ice law on you", and "If you say anything, you would not only betray me but The Marauders as well. Think about that, Moony"

And Remus was constantly rolling his eyes and begging for James and Lily not to be so thick and stupid and BLOODY KISS ALREADY.

[215-luv]

“OH GOD, IT’S NOT FAIR OF HIM TO MAKE ME FEEL THIS MUCH!” (HQ BOYS)

ATSUMU: says things out of nowhere that it makes you feel butterflies. it’s so sudden that it hits you like a tidal wave that knocks the air out of you. the two of you could be laughing at some random thing and suddenly, he opens his mouth to mention something, “your smile.” he says, almost out of nowhere, eyes looking at you with so much fondness that you refuse to believe that someone could ever look at you that way. “my smile? what’s wrong with it, tsum?” you question, and he chuckles, “oh, there’s nothing wrong with it.” a goofy smile plants itself over his face, “it’s just.. it’s so pretty. i want to see it more.” he says, resting his forehead over yours. “wanna be the person who makes you do all that—smile and laugh. you’re so beautiful.”

AKAASHI: “you were saying?” he questions as he’s scribbling over his notebook, studying for a test he’ll take the next day. the question almost surprises you. “i was saying..?” you ask, eyes on him as he looks busy enough writing over his notebook rather than listening to your nonstop blabbering. “yeah? you were talking about the book you just finished reading.” he says, and you sat there surprised, silenced and unable to fully process what you just heard. “well?” he ushers you to speak, the tone of his voice coming out as if he wants to hear more from you. and you couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief. “you.. you were listening?” you respond with a timid voice. your boyfriend lets out a chuckle, dropping down his pen to look at you with interest in his eyes. “of course i do. i’m always listening to you, honey.”

KUROO: you weren’t sure what just happened, but all you could process was the fact that you’re suddenly lifted by the strong arms of your boyfriend as you walked through the hallway of the campus. it was supposed to be a normal day. you sighed, trying to ignore the stares of the students around you (and yaku, literally staring at the both of you in disgust). “tetsu, what are you doing? what’s all this? what’s happening?” you throw your boyfriend a wave of questions, unable to get a glimpse of the motive behind his actions. the deep chuckles from him reaches your ears, and you almost had to be grateful for being carried bridal style so as to not feel your knees weakening from the sound he just made. “am i not allowed to care for the love of my life?” he says, almost as if it’s an obvious fact. you roll your eyes, not convinced. you open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it—“you mentioned you walked home yesterday, right? you know, it’s pretty convenient to take the bus sometime. your house is pretty far from here. your feet must have been aching. let me take care of you, alright?”

OIKAWA: “delivery for the most beautiful person in the world!” he knocks on your classroom door, catching the attention of your classmates. you mildly panic, a rush of embarrassment flowing over you as you’re greeted with teasing smiles and chuckles. you see, tooru always had the tendency to do these things. and it honestly surprises you ‘till this day. he makes you feel so openly loved that it scares you it might disappear someday. your heart beats at a fast pace as your boyfriend nears you, eyes never leaving your figure as the corners of his lips are raised upwards. he places a bouquet of flowers on your desk, along with your favorite food on a plastic bag, and you almost choke a cry. “what’s all this?” you question, looking at him with suspicious eyes. he chuckles, “is there anything wrong with a boy simply wanting to show his love to his favorite person in the world?” his hand reaches to cup itself against your cheek, his warmth cascading over you. “let me show you what you deserve. i’m right here.”

USHIJIMA: you let out a sharp breath as you’re suddenly being pulled to collide against a strong chest which happens to be your boyfriend. you’re about to ask what just happened when he speaks first, “be careful. you were about to hit a lamp post.” your eyes widens, looking to the side to notice that you were, indeed, about to bump against one. guilt quickly begins to rush over you. “o-oh.. i’m sorry, i get really clumsy and bad at these things—“ you try to explain yourself apologetically, but your boyfriend cuts you off before you could finish your statement, “please don’t apologize. these are simply trivial matters.” he tells you. it’s only ‘till then you notice his arm wrapped around your waist in a protective manner while he keeps you steady. “matters like these are the reason why i’m here. let me be the one to keep you out of danger.”

KITA: “this one’s wrong. you messed up the formula halfway, that’s why the rest of the equation is wrong.” your boyfriend explains to you as he compares his math homework with yours. you couldn’t help but chuckle in embarrassment, inwardly beating yourself up for being dumb infront of him. you scratch the back of your head, “s-sorry, i could really get confused over these things.” you apologize, and your boyfriend could only nod in understanding. “in this number too, you got the formula wrong. you’re supposed to use this.” he then adds, pointing to a certain number on your paper. you couldn’t help but feel small under his gaze. “r-right.. i’m sorry, i promise i’ll do better.” you reply apologetically. but your discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed by shinsuke. his eyes worriedly looks at your figure as he quickly slides an arm around your waist, “hey, it’s okay. don’t worry about it.” you could feel his thumb rubbing against the fabric of your shirt as a way to assure you. “you’re doing amazing, believe me. just let me know if you’re confused anywhere. i can always help you. you’re okay.”

[luludeluluramblings]

SugarBaby!Reader (Neglected!Bat!Sibling) x Tony Stark - Falling in Love

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Someone wanted more fluff of this and I had thoughts about it last night. Tony isn’t my favorite, but I kinda wanted to challenge myself with this and see if I could try it writing some romance.

A/N: Smalltown!Reader is still coming. Pregnant!Reader will be getting a part 2 at some point. Might post another series, the one army dreamer inspired, because why not? Gonna have sooo many WIPs. But, maybe they’ll give y’all some delight.

Warnings: GN!Reader, Mentions of bedroom activities, fluffy, not edited, hardly anything Yandere. Intended to be

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

When you and Tony started dating it had been after he had wooed you at some gala. Something for a long forgotten charity. You had initially been hesitant, knowing his play boy reputation. The one so eerily similar to your father’s Brucie Wayne persona.

Still he was charming, good looking, and had convinced you that one night wouldn’t hurt.

And, it hadn’t. The next day when you were about to crawl out of bed and begin your walk of shame, he had dragged you back. Taking his time repeating the night before and with an encore.

By the time you had finally been allowed to leave the bed, your stomach had let out an embarrassing growl that made your cooling skin flush once more.

Of course, Tony wasn’t going to let anyone he spent such a good time with go hungry. Ordering the two of you room service and a giant spread of breakfast.

It’s in that moment things start to shift. You were a good lay for Tony. A young pretty little thing that was some of the best he had had in a while. (Due to him mellowing out with age, not that he’d ever admit that.) But, it’s the way you look at him, shyly and with such genuine gratitude just for him buying to brunch that makes him stop.

Not pause. Because pause means he’ll end up playing again. And, he’s fairly certain he’s done playing. Because, when you happily sit in his button down shirt, munching on the food he bought you, and listen to him talk about an old project (he wasn’t dumb enough to share anything new he’d been working on) with such bright eyes and enthusiasm he realizes this might be trouble for him. It’s even cuter because he knows you don’t understand a single thing he’s saying, but you’re trying. You’re trying so hard and it’s so cute.

It keeps going on like that. Passionate nights and slow talkative mornings that morph into date nights and fun trips and days lounging together. You’re still honestly convinced it could all end at any moment. Nothing good last in your life. And, despite how desperately you want this to last you know it probably won’t. Still you swear to hold on. To take everything he’ll offers. Even if it’s not much and he leaves you in the end. You’re going to appreciate how full and fulfilled her makes you feel.

For you, you fall in love slow and overtime. It a soft and startling realization when you realize you love Tony. You love him dearly and he could break your heart into a million pieces. But, it would be worth it.

You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Loving him and waiting for him. To leave.

For Tony, it’s similar. He spoils you he does. He loves the way you look at him when he does. But, as he unknowingly starts to settle, the realization that he’s not showing you off in public as much anymore and that he enjoys just being near even when there’s nothing to talk about hits him in the chest. And, in a Tony Stark like fashion, he spirals for a bit.

It causes him to spend three full days in his lab avoiding the world and his problems. Not sleeping, hardly eating, ignoring Jarvis.

When he finally does emerge, he’s covered in sweat and grease. He aches. He’s tired. He’s irritable. His fully expecting you to be mad he missed your fancy date he had planned. But, when he looks up at you and see’s that exact same grateful look in your eyes, it clicks. You give him that same look of gratitude and adoration every time he does something for you. He’s not doing anything other than being here with you. And, that’s enough for you. You’re in love with him, and he’s in love with you. And your willing to love him as his is and with what ever he gives.

Tony doesn’t confess though. To cliche. Instead he proposes. With no ring, no plan, and covered in grease. But, completely serious. It isn’t long until you understand he really means it, that he wants you for you and you’re leaping in his arms crying, yes. Yes. And the. You tell him to shower, because despite the love you feel and your happiness, he smells ripe.

He chases you around instead, before dragging you into the shower with him.

It isn’t until you both have a small private court house ceremony and he’s dragging you on to a luxury honeymoon that he leans over and confesses. Casually. Like it was a stray fact.

“Oh, hey, by the way, I love you.”

It makes you squawk that he has the audacity to do such a thing, but you lean into him and say it back.

“I love you, too… Silly old man.”

“Hey! That’s not what you were saying when I-“

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You hadn’t even thought about you family with Tony. Hadn’t thought to invite them to the wedding. You did call Alfred as soon as you got back though. Telling him the good news with so much happiness that the old Bulter cried when the call ended. You had sounded radiant, and it broke his heart.

Broke his heart that no one in the family had seen just how beautiful your joy was and that they had never bothered to cause it.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Based off this ask.

[grandline-fics]

Can I just say I LOVE your writting? 'cause I do! And I'm so happy requests are open! 🥹 Here I am wondering if you can indulge little old me with a request. I went through your prompts and picked two! If you can combine them, I'd be delighted! If not, it's okay!

Here:

Jealousy fuelled kiss with the sentence:

"Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?"

My request is a Fem reader and I would love to read Ace, Zoro and Law, if you don't mind! Throw in more if you'd like, I always love me some feral Kid, for instance... But whatever tickles your fancy! I just like some jealous boys! 🤭😋

Thank you again for sharing your gift! 🫶🏻❤️

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Jealousy fuelled kiss w/ “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?”

WARNINGS: jealousy! but nothing else apart from that

CHARACTERS: Ace, Zoro, Law, Kid, Rob Lucci

WORDS: 3,531

A/N: Thank you for this request! I added Kid for you and also did one for Lucci because why not haha. I tried to make each scenario different and interesting and I hope you like what I came up with.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

ACE

“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” You looked over in the mirror in front of you to see Ace appear in the doorway, arms folded and pout heavy on his lips. You let out a satisfied laugh and finished getting ready for a night out on the island the Moby Dick had just docked at. As you adjusted your outfit-the one Ace loved you in the most- you noticed how his hands twitched. You could tell he wanted nothing more than to close the distance and do exactly what he’d just confessed and ordinarily you would have let him. However tonight was different and Ace only had himself to blame. Earlier in the evening just before you’d gone to get ready you made a comment about hoping Ace wouldn’t be as flirtatious with the locals this time. He in turn responded with an idle wave of his hand and a comment that. “It’s just harmless babe, you know you’re the only one I want.”

While you knew that was true, the fact that Ace hadn’t even taken a second to consider how you felt was what annoyed you. You weren’t even asking him to stop flirting with others since it sometimes worked in the crew’s favour, you just wanted him to tone it down a little. So after that comment you’d told Ace that from now until you both returned to the ship you were both to pretend you weren’t a couple and you could also flirt with the locals too. Ace had initially grinned and shrugged, happy to play along since it was only flirting and you’d be his again when you both returned to the ship at the end of the night. His grin dropped though when you reminded him that this meant he wasn’t allowed to kiss or touch you at all.

The harsh reality of the situation hit him hard when it was less than hour had passed in the bar and he could barely concentrate on those he was talking to. Try as he might to be laid back as normal he couldn’t help but have his gaze pulled towards you every time the smallest movement occurred in your direction. You’d drawn plenty attention when you’d arrived and he’d expected it. Ace had always counted himself the luckiest man alive you have been the one you chose and jealousy was a foreign feeling to him so to feel it now was unsettling. Over and over he’d reminded himself that it didn’t mean anything. 

Then he heard you laugh and watched when the person talking to you stepped just a little closer. At the same time, the glass in his hand exploded and he looked at his hand engulfed in fire and slight scorch marks on the table. Ace rose and handed money to the barman to cover the cost of the minor damages before stepping out into the cool air to clear his head. He got as far as the fountain in the town-square and sat down, closing his eyes. “Not as easy to be on the watcher’s side is it?”

Ace turned his head sharply to see you sitting down beside him. Immediately he wasted no time in leaning forward. With his fingers pinching your chin and free hand sliding into your hair he claimed your lips, pulling you dizzyingly into one of the most intense and fiery kisses he’d ever given you. Surprised, you managed to recover and return the kiss with equal fervour while letting your boyfriend dictate the pace until you felt you couldn’t breathe. Finally you reluctantly pulled back just enough to catch your breath while Ace pressed more kisses against your jaw and throat. “Lesson learned.” He rasped against your skin, lifting his head to smirk at you. “Jealousy sucks.”

“I dunno…” you laughed, securing your hands on his shoulder and chest. “Has its uses if I get more kisses like that.”

ZORO

Zoro normally has no problem voicing his own thoughts. Someone’s being a moron? He’ll tell them to shut up and get out of his way. Someone fought fiercely and strong enough to earn his praise? He’ll do so and even make it a point to name something specific he witnessed to ensure them he is being genuine. Zoro prided himself in being upfront and unfortunately he had to call himself a fucking coward. Because he just couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he felt and anytime he considered it, he backed out just as fast. Instead he had to subject himself to the self-inflicted torture of being close with you but not in the way he fully wanted while also trying to convince himself that he only sees you as a friend because at the moment that’s all he can see you being with him.

“That drink say something to piss you off or something?” Zoro glanced out of the corner of his good eye to see Nami appear and lean against the railing he was also using to brace himself against. “You’ve been glaring at it instead of drinking it and I got concerned.”

“Nothin’ to bother yourself about.” He answered gruffly, forcing his gaze to look out at the lower section of the deck and sipped his drink as if to prove her worry wrong. Though now he had to look at the one thing he’d been trying to avoid; you talking and laughing with the others.

“You should just tell them how you feel already.” Nami hummed, her knowing smirk hidden by the rim of her glass. “Better do it soon too before your chance disappears.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Zoro tried to sound casual but her second remark had made him tense. “Definitely don’t know what you mean about my chance either.”

“Oh please, most of us know you have a feelings for them, we’re just shocked you never made a move yet.” Nami kept her gaze steady on the swordsman, trying to get him to finally see sense. “But now Sanji’s patience has run out. Says if you’re going to be such a coward about it all he’ll finally do what he’s wanted to for ages.”

“Hah!?” Zoro shouted a little too loudly, even drawing the attention of the group below. You looked up at Zoro curiously, watching as he abruptly looked away from the collective stare to focus on Nami with a harsh stare, turning his body slightly to face her. “What’s that shit cook think he’s planning? When the fuck did he call me a coward? I’m gonna slice his smug face off.”

“Wow…for a second there I’d think you were jealous at the thought of them actually falling for Sanji’s charm.” Zoro scoffed and rolled his eyes. The only charm the cook had in his opinion would barely fill a thimble. There was no way you’d fall for that over the top, dramatic, overused nonsense that he threw at anyone with a pulse. Would you? 

Cautiously Zoro looked down at the scene again and his face contorted in disgust to see Sanji’s arm loosely over your shoulder as the two of you laughed at something Usopp was telling the group. Feeling his stare, Sanji glanced up and smirked at Zoro, lightly squeezing your shoulder in affection to you but in also brazen challenge to Zoro. Sharply Zoro turned on his heel and walked down the small staircase, approaching you silently. You looked up at Zoro with a smile, excited that he was finally going to join you all but your smile lessened and became a look of concern to see how serious he was. You were about to ask if he was okay but he spoke first. “I need to talk to you in private.”

Immediately you got to your feet. You knew Zoro well enough to understand he was a man of few words and if he needed to speak to you in private then it was serious. Silently you followed him below deck, only stopping when he felt he was a safe enough distance away from the nosy crewmates left above. You let the seconds tick by, allowing Zoro take his time in voicing his thoughts but seeing him so tense made you worry. Gently you lay your hand on his arm in a way to reassure him that you were there. A gasp left you as Zoro turned suddenly and pulled you against him. His hand fell to your waist as he stared at your parted lips with growing hunger.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” The words dropped from his mouth barely a whisper but he was so close each syllable lightly grazed your skin. Unable to speak you could only nod in consent and sank headlong into the kiss Zoro secured on your lips.

LAW

When Law was captivated by his research, medical procedures, and all over Captain duties, you had to take it upon yourself to keep yourself busy. Normally that was no issue when you were on the Polar Tang and had your own duties and routine to occupy your mind with. This time was different. After running into the Strawhat crew on Punk Hazard you could only sit back and watch as Law proposed an alliance with the rival crew in order to take down one of the four Emperors. You’d been taken by surprise seeing as your Captain and boyfriend didn’t tend to play well with others who weren’t on his crew. Quickly you saw him begin to regret his offer when events began to unfold and Law found himself being dragged along by Strawhat’s whims rather than his planned course of action. 

Everything had worked out in the end though and now you and Law were on the Thousand Sunny, set for Dressrosa. Even though Law wasn’t on his own ship, he quickly made himself at home in the ship’s library and began to indulge in the large collection of books now at his disposal. Knowing you wouldn’t see him anytime soon you had to explore the ship for something to catch your attention since according to the allied crew you were a guest on board and didn’t need to do chores. It went against your nature. You wanted to help and be useful so you still offered each day you were on board. “Aren’t you tired wearing that all the time?”

You turned at the sound of Nami’s voice and immediately you looked down at your boiler suit. It was your normal clothing for the Polar Tang so you really hadn’t considered wearing anything else. Plus being on another crew’s ship it made you feel more at home, unable to stop yourself from missing the others that you knew you would reunite with at some stage. Casually you shrugged and smiled at the red-haired woman. “It’s comfy.”

Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer because the next thing you knew, Nami had you dragged to her room and was throwing clothes at you to try on while telling you that you were far too good looking to hide everything under so much fabric. Mostly you went along with her whims because it would be a way of taking up your unending free time on the ship. Another part of you also got drawn into how nice some of the clothes felt and looked and it was harmless fun.

Law finally dragged himself from his spot in the library and stretched out his stiff limbs. Despite his medical knowledge, he still ended up sitting in the most unwise positions that would leave his back aching and neck tensed. With a groan he made his way out onto the deck only to stagger to a halt when he saw you wearing something completely different to what he was used to you wearing but he was in no way complaining. He loved how you looked regardless but you were breathtaking. His adoration for you was suddenly soured when he saw the others fawning over you. The cook he had no issue with, but to see the sniper blushing and even the swordsman openly talking to you made him glare. Then Strawhat had to push his luck too. “You’re so great! You know you should stay on my crew!”

Law’s room activated and you were promptly swapped to now be pressed close against Law’s side. Before you could reprimand your boyfriend for being rude you were pulled below deck to the library once more and pushed against the door as it closed. You looked up at Law with widened eyes and quickened heart rate, the look in his eyes making your mouth dry and skin warm.

“It’s bad enough that I see you looking so good. I mean do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” He began lowly and you shuddered slightly. “But then I have to see them trying to get too close to you and Strawhat thinking he’s worthy of having you? Ridiculous.”

Law quickly closed the distance, using his frustration and jealousy to spur him on, kissing you passionately.

KID

Kid had no problem with people looking at you appreciatively. I mean, why wouldn’t they? Look at you. It was clear to anyone with any sense in their skulls that you were one of the hottest people about. For him to see the looks you deserved filled him with a smug sense of pride because you only had eyes for him. He was the lucky bastard that got you all to himself in the ways that it mattered. So they could take their pathetic glimpses and live with the fantasy of picturing what it was like to be with you because he got the real thing. However what he didn’t like was to watch anyone to touch you in a way that wasn’t friendly. 

On this occasion he sat in the darkened corner of a bar having to watch as you were being talked to by some drunken lech. You’d gone to the bar to collect the next round of drinks for the crew when someone approached. At first Kid had shook his head and smirked at the poor fool’s attempt to flirt but then he drew too close to you that Kid disliked. Still he knew you could handle yourself so he just had to grind his teeth and wait for you to expertly disengage yourself like you normally did. However you seemed drawn into the conversation with this man and Kid’s eyes narrowed. 

Immediately he stood with the intent on breaking things up but stopped when you quickly met his gaze. When the drunk turned his head to order another drink you had time to mouth ‘Marine’ to your boyfriend. Kid remained standing and glanced at the man warily, now seeing why you were being careful with him. Slowly he drew closer, making sure his movements were careful and silent while you kept the Marine’s attention effortlessly. Kid knew it was an act but seeing you indulge the man more made his anger grow. Just as Kid stepped behind the Marine, he drunk set his hand on your thigh and squeezed it while leaning closer to your face. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?”

Kid had planned to just give the bastard one quick hit to knock him out but seeing that and hearing the words spill from his mouth, he snapped. Reeling his metal arm back, he tapped the Marine on the shoulder. When he turned, his hulking fist connected with the man’s face sending him launching off his feet and slamming painfully against the bar’s wall with the impact smashing the glasses and bottles. Seeing the Marine slumped on the floor helped Kid’s pent up rage but it wasn’t enough. Quickly he grinned at you and pulled you into his arms so he could throw you over his shoulder and leave the bar, no longer in the mood to drink. You stayed happily on Kid’s broad shoulder with a growing smirk as you listened to his jealous mutterings the closer you drew to the ship. 

When you were finally set on your feet on the ship you turned in Kid’s hold that he refused to let you out of and smiled up at him expectantly. When Kid got like this you could practically time the sequence of events and this was your favourite part. Kid stooped down and with a low groan kissed you, devouring your taste and consuming your thoughts with only him while letting your magnetic presence and intoxicating touch leave him wanting more. You were the only one for him and by the morning should anyone look your way in appreciation again they’d spot some pretty marks on your neck to admire too.

LUCCI

Lucci was a master of his emotions for the most part. He could adopt a personality and live it perfectly for the purposes of a mission and then discard it when it was finished. He could keep his true nature at bay should he need it but in the freedom of Cipher Pol’s base he can just be himself. With powerful strides he walks down the corridors only to stop outside one of the training rooms in time to see you land a kick against Jabra’s stomach. Quickly he recovered and sent an attack your way. You managed to dodge it in time but Jabra caught you by surprise by sending a followup attack and knocked you to the ground, his hand at your throat to keep you pinned down.

For a moment you let your body go slack in a sign of surrender and the second you felt Jabra’s grip loosen you acted, disentangling out of his hold and attacked, taking advantage of his moment of surprise. Just as you were getting into the rhythm of the fight another agent appeared beside Lucci. “Jabra! We have a mission! Did you forget or something?”

You and Jabra paused your fight and you scowled at your sparring partner. You wouldn't have asked him to train with you had you known he would have to cut it short for a mission that he apparently knew about. Jabra briefly glanced at Lucci and quickly threw his arm around your waist before answering his mission partner. “Nah, didn’t forget. I just got a much better offer.” his wolfish grin spreading when he spotted Lucci’s eyes narrow at the comment. You however rolled your eyes and stepped out of the older agent’s hold. “We’ll pick this up when I get back, right?”

“We’ll see.” You told him dismissively which only earned you a quick wink before he left, leaving you alone in the training room with Lucci who remained leaning against the door, looking at his shoulder in disgust when Jabra had the nerve to brush past him on his exit.

“Didn’t know your standards were so low when picking a sparring partner.” He noted, watching you critically. You tilted your head at him curiously and slowly smirked. 

“I’ll be fighting degenerates and unsavoury people out in the field, I wanted someone as close to that as possible for authentic training purproses.” You explained with a light shrug. “Jabra fits that closely, don't you think?”

Lucci allowed himself a low chuckle and pushed away from the doorframe, while pulling the door closed behind him to grant you both a moment of privacy. Your relationship with Lucci was one ou both didn’t feel like putting a real label on. For now you merely enjoyed the physical and social benefits it brought. You remained still as you watched him approach, your eyes alight with interest and mischief that not even he could find himself immune to. “I can see the logic but I can smell that filthy mutt all over you.”

“Jealous?"

“I don't get jealous.” Lucci growled, his hand setting on your waist, merely a coincidence that his hand covered the precise spot Jabra had touched. Your lips twitched into a disbelieving smile and you playfully nodded, pretending to accept his claim. Lucci’s free hand reached up to skim along your throat, again pure coincidence at the placement before he curled his fingers under your jaw to coax you to tilt your head up. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now to get rid of that mutt’s stench?”

“Then do it, Chief.” You said stepping a tiny bit closer. “Let Jabra come back and know for sure that I’m a cat person.” 

With a growl Lucci kissed you possessively, hungrily with purpose of doing just as you suggested. His main goal was to wipe any lingering trace of Jabra from your skin and wipe the other man’s name from your mind. He was very aware that you didn’t see the wolf man that way but still it brought out that animalistic conflict in him, the need to be better than him and from your reactions to his kiss he knew for sure that Lucci was the clear winner.

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[eldritch-spouse]

Full: Twitter/X; Postimages

TW: Parasocial obsession; Sugarbaby!reader

[Fem reader]

It's odd to think how things have escalated to this point.

When you started this whole "sugar companionship", "angel" thing, you didn't exactly expect anything to come of it. More of a last ditch effort to bring in some much appreciated side money, and fulfill someone's social needs while you're at it. It would be a win-win situation, right?

You don't remember how Viridis showed up. Probably through DMs in your social media account. You didn't post too much of yourself there aside from a few photos where you felt particularly pretty, and apparently, your taste for finer items showed itself there, enough for you to get hit up by something other than a scambot and creeps.

In his defense, the guy was never rude towards you. He didn't barge in begging for nude photos or demanding attention. Viridis just told you he thought you were gorgeous, and he wanted to see you living the lavish life you deserved.

Before you could even reply, a notification drops, displaying a sum of money transferred to you. The amount was large enough to have you choke on your own saliva, hysterically cackling.

Ever since then, he's been a permanent figure in your life, constantly there through thick and thin, someone you could even call a friend, even if there's a financial power dynamic always involved in your interactions.

It was hard not to get somewhat attached to your "donator".

You got to know each other, after all. You told him about what you do for a living, and he said he was an important figure in the ring of Sloth. You are both single. He's had bad experiences with former girlfriends and feels incredibly lonely. When you felt depressed, Viridis was there to console you, a generous tip accompanying his request for you to "Go cheer yourself up ;)".

And when he felt bad, he'd buy you something, ask you to unwrap it, send him a voice message saying you loved it.

You don't know when that turned into sending him videos saying you loved him.

It feels weird. Kind of wrong. But the more money he blows on you, the more you get to do all the things your finances never allowed before, the happier you are. So what, if he just wants a little good morning text with hearts and a picture of you dressed in the clothes he buys for you? It's puzzling how he got your measurements so right without asking, but maybe he just has an eye for that kind of thing.

Eventually, things escalated to video calls. And you finally got to see Viridis.

He's a surprisingly well-kept imp, with peculiar looking horns and glazed white eyes. Much better than what the morbid side of your brain was conjuring in its growing restlessness. He'd put so much effort into that paid ten minute call, and seemed so gleeful that you'd been wearing an outfit he put together. More than that, once the nervous jitters were shed, he actually made for a great conversation partner- Were it not for the alarm, you two might have spent an hour or more rambling together.

It comes as no surprise that you eventually started doing meal time calls. He'd pay to eat with you through video call, usually dinner time, or during his breaks. He seemed excited about them every time he "booked" these sessions, even going as far as asking what you'd be eating, and if he could pay you to get the exact same type of food as his. How could you refuse?

Viridis would tell you about his day, you'd tell him about yours, and the two of you would quell your loneliness that way. Sometime he'd hint at things he wanted to buy for you, gouging your reaction, waiting for that shine in your eyes. It always seemed to put a glow on the imp's face whenever you thanked him and got bashful over his many contributions.

He'd say I love you, my pretty bijou, and as agreed, you'd say it back to him in a convincing manner.

Viridis' latest idea involves spending his day off, scheduled to match yours, "with you". As usual, he was straightforward with what he wanted, and paid more than you'd reasonably stipulate for such a service. Enough money that you'd be incredibly foolish to decline, for a single day of sucking up to him- It's not even hard to suck up to the demon, he seems to melt pretty easily from the most basic of praise or admiration.

The imp wants to video call a routine he built for you, essentially. From the moment you put on your makeup and fix your hair to leave, to breakfast where he specified, then a shopping trip to whatever locations you desire, taking breaks for whatever needs you must fulfill in between, down to the moment where you get ready for bed, under the covers, and wish him good night.

It didn't seem so bad, if only a little overwhelming given there's a lot more interaction involved. And so far, things have gone pretty well! You can't lie and say that you're not enjoying getting to spend even more money on all your favorite brands, after all. Sure, at least two separate employees asked if you were in a long distance relationship -Something Viridis was all too eager to confirm- But there's hardly been a hiccup besides that.

" Hey, what do you think about these? " You point the camera at a set of dangle earrings, made of a beautiful rose gold and diamond, molded in the shape of three little hearts. You don't mention the price tag, but it's very visible.

The demon, who appears to be reclinging in a balcony of sorts, hums. " They'd look cute on you, I like the pavé on it. Get them. "

" Hold on, there's more- " You shuffle all the bags you're holding to pan over to a different display. " What about these? "

" Sure, but you're getting the heart ones. " Viridis insists, then pauses as you study the differently styled jewelry. " I should get you something with Hell's gold, the color definitely pops more, I think you'd love some of the stuff we have here. "

" Mhmm, I bet. " You absentmindedly respond. " Too bad I don't live in Hell, hah. "

There's a slightly heavier silence for a few seconds as you worry if you've touched a nerve.

" You could come visit, bijou. "

You resist the urge to snort. " Viridis, I- "

" You know I'd pay for the expenses, right? Get you a nice hotel in Sloth, it's one of the calmer rings, and I'd come pick you up so you're not walking around alone. "

The demon smiles hopefully, taking a sip of what you assume must be some kind of sparkling wine. Nothing less dignified in a glass as unique as the one he flaunts.

" You know that's... " It's hard to deny him without outright sounding ungrateful. That's one thing you've been noticing lately, how hard it seems to deny him. " I... "

Your hesitation is answer enough, making him visibly deflate. There's a flash of sourness on his face, though it fades quickly. " I get it. That's a big step. We can talk about it another time. "

Thank fuck.

You leave that store with possibly the most beautiful pair of earrings you've ever owned, proceed to wrestle a multitude of bags into your car -Thankful Viridis can't see you sweat it out- And proceed to fix yourself up in preparation for the dinner call. It's a lot easier to go through than the entire shopping spree was. You're home, it's just the two of you, the same as any other meal call you've arranged.

" Was today fun for you, bijou? " He sighs, ever enamored it seems.

" Of course! It's always fun when I get to shop with you. " It's not even a lie. Painted nails graze over the empty pasta plate when you pick new kitchenware up. " Let me just put these in the sink. "

" Uhm, before that- " The imp interrupts as soon as you stand. " Can I ask you for something? "

" ... Yeah? "

" I was wondering if you could try out what you bought today... For me. "

" On- On camera? " You gulp, suddenly feeling a lot more timid.

" Yes. " Viridis scratches the base of his horn. " I'd just... I don't know, it makes me feel closer to you than just seeing pictures of you with it on. I'll compensate, don't worry. "

You don't doubt him.

Part of you really wants to say no. In the midst of all this, you've never once undressed for him. You've put on risky outfits that toyed with the lines of common decency, but that's not as intimate as this.

Which also means he'll pay well.

Fuck.

No.

Yes.

He's waiting...

" Uhh- Erm- I... Y-Yeah, I guess we can try that after I organize things. "

" Super! " He winks at you. " Call me when you're ready. "

And you do. With some liquid courage in your system and a healthy amount of love for disposable income, you call Jayde with all the bags laid out around your bedroom, and the phone positioned just so that he can see you stand, and the reflection of your back on the tall mirror behind you.

You're shaking lightly, it feels like the first call you had with him.

When Viridis answers, you almost don't know what to say.

He's... In his bedroom. At least you've seen it enough times to recognize it as such. Distinctly topless, however. It's the first time you've seen him somewhat undressed. Maybe he's trying to be humorous, as if saying he's half-naked in solidarity with you. It doesn't stop you from staring at a moderately attractive figure.

" Hey! You ready, sweetie? " He grins with that jagged mouth.

" Mhm, yeah. " There's a clearing of the throat. " Why don't you pick the first one? "

He did, all too eagerly. You were quick to shuffle in and out of clothes, cheeks heated, a tiny smile on your face, hoping you could simply ignore the growing discomfort. The demon looked thrilled every second of the way, and even if you could somehow feel him ogling the generous slices of skin you'd show, he made an effort to keep talking just so you'd have something else to focus on.

It's okay, he's only seeing you in your underwear from time to time. You're just doing him a one-time favor. You can forget about it later.

" I guess that's it! " You pant, spinning again so that the imp can see how the lace looks on the back of the dress he bought you. " Boy, that was a lot. "

There's some shuffling coming from the phone, he seems to be sitting straighter now. " I'm... Pretty sure I got you something else. "

There's a long pause. You almost pretend you didn't hear him while you readjust the fabric on you.

" A-Ah? Really? "

" Yeah, check those bags bijou, pretty sure that's not all. " He urges. You can hear a faint tap. tap. tap. from his side.

Well, you tried.

Viridis isn't lying, there's another set he bought for you. Except, this set, is lingerie underwear.

Throughout your shopping trip, you'd forgotten that the local mall has a lingerie store. It wasn't one you had the chance to go to many times, since everything there is so expensive, and before Viridis came along your wallet would just scream in its vicinity...

Nevertheless, you weren't cautious enough to hide it from the camera, didn't think you had to, only to be proven wrong when the imp calls for you to halt and get in. It was awkward. It was very awkward. But he seemed enamored with a green set. It had floral designs covering plenty of see-through space, framing delicate parts of the body such as the nipples.

It is a lovely garment, you won't deny that. But you know the main draw for him was that it just so happened to be a shade of green which alluded to his username. It was viridian green. You looked it up from mild paranoia, yes. This was even more personal.

He insisted you got that one, specifically that one. And so, you did.

It's right there, on the last little bag.

God fucking damn it.

" Mm y-yeah, now that you mention it, I think there is something left, right. "

He hums, and you try to draw out the search as much as you can, in spite of the fucking thing being right there, practically staring you in the eyes. You return to the camera's field of view holding the lingerie up timidly.

" How could you forget that one? It's probably the prettiest thing I ever bought you. " Viridis swoons.

" ... You think so? Everything you get me is pretty, Viridis. " Distract him distract him distract-

Predictably, he blushes a little, a small 'heh' escaping him. " Jayde. Call me Jayde. "

Your head snaps up. Oh wow, okay. We've reached that point.

" Jayde. " His face lifts visibly. " Ah, thanks. It's very cute. "

The silence that follows is more tentative, unspoken words hanging in the air.

" Glad you think so... Can't wait to see how it looks on you. " He grins wide, reminding you, for a fraction of a second, that you're dealing with a demonic monster.

" Hahah, o-ok, let me just turn the camera- "

" Actually- " Your heart sinks. " I'd like to see you put it on. "

" The lingerie? " A bit of franticness bleeds into your tone.

" Yes. "

" R-Right now? "

Jayde chuckles. " Well, it's the only thing that's left, isn't it bijou? "

You think about it for a couple of seconds, wherein the reality of your situation seems to sink in. Can you truly deny him? You don't think Jayde would have an explosive reaction to rejection, but then again, you never rejected his suggestions before. What if he gets offended? Pulls away entirely? You'll never be able to afford this lifestyle without him.

What if all of this has stopped being in your control, and, in the end, you transferred the reigns to someone else?

He reads the reluctance plainly written on your face.

" ... Just this one time, sweetie. " He coaxes. " You're incredibly beautiful, you know that? I'd give a few fingers to see you. "

He continues to speak over the mental rut you've been thrown into.

" Any man would be lucky to have a jewel like you. I want to keep spoiling you forever. Please, put it on for me? "

You don't know what it was. Perhaps the fear of losing his money, maybe it was the praise, or simply the pure desire to get this over with- But, you take off your top.

The scene isn't sexy or mischievous, you just glance away timidly as you lower the straps of your bra and reach back to unclasp it. Your slowness may be unintentionally teasing him, and from the small glances you steal at your phone, he looks stupidly concentrated, cheeks nearly as dark as yours as he finally -Finally!- Gets to see your tits.

Air catches in your throat, you can't quite tell if it's the thrill of exposing yourself or pure anxiety.

" They're gorgeous... " He murmurs. You almost didn't hear it.

Slipping the new fabric in is easier, the garment is designed with maximum comfort in mind and settles nicely on your chest, especially when you arrange your breasts into position.

" Perfect. " Jayde sighs. " I wish I could touch you. You're so perfect. "

If you weren't running hotter than a steaming kettle before, you are now. All you manage to respond with is a hum and nervous giggling.

" Put the whole thing on. "

There's a full-body shiver when you start taking your panties off. In all your nerves, you fail to remember that the mirror behind you makes it so Jayde doesn't just get a view of your mons, he also gets to stare at your ass unhindered.

" Fffucking- "

He whispers something you don't notice when the fabric drops to the floor, and you lift a leg away to pick it up.

You're sliding the new ones up your bare legs when there's a little too much shuffling being heard from his side. Not a lot, but just enough to make you escape your own internal panic.

You only now realize that you can't see his hands anywhere. One is definitely holding the phone close to him, the other... Who knows. His shoulder shifts.

" Uhm, hahah, what are you doing there? " You jokingly ask, trying to reduce the awkwardness of the situation by insinuating something ridiculous.

The teasing look shatters when he doesn't immediately respond or laugh it off. In fact, he looks like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

" N-!! No way! " You hurriedly fix the panties in place, choking on a breath.

" Sorry- I'm sorry, bijou- " He attempts a wobbly smile, not even denying it. " You just look so adorable flustered. You don't have to see it... Just pretend I'm not... "

Pretend I'm not jerking off, he means.

You can barely raise your voice above a whisper, doing a full turn so he can see how the lingerie sits on your body. Embarrassment has you grabbing your arm and trying to close your legs further, unwittingly flaunting exactly the curves he wants to see.

" You're gorgeous- " He repeats, eyes lidded, something far beyond lust shining in them. " You're the prettiest woman alive. You're sweet, you don't push me away or get spooked. I'm... So happy someone like you gives me the time of day. "

You don't know what to say, don't know what to do besides standing there as a monster audibly gets off on the sight of you in luxury lingerie.

" It's been too long since I met a girl like you. "

You don't quite like the intensity of his stare. Even if no man has ever directed words as flattering as these towards you, it feels like something is too intense about his demeanor.

" Jayde... " You cough. " Are you...? "

" Close. " He admits, laughing breathily. " I've never been this hard before. "

Apparently, he just said it to see you freeze and get even more flustered. " Please hurry up... "

" Are you tired, sweetheart? " His tone is near condescending.

" Y-Yeah. " Anything to speed it along.

" Uhuh, I bet. " Jayde's breathing gets shallower. " You'll go to bed soon, don't worry. "

" Mhm... " God, you're dying inside.

" I love you, bijou. "

Help.

" I... I love you too, Jayde. " You had to drag each word out of your tongue.

That did it. He's tossing his head back and furrowing his brows. You can hear the way Jayde stops breathing to hold any noises in, a groan still makes it through, you hate the traitorous flutter of your pussy that followed.

" I'm... Going to put my pajamas on now. Goodnight Jayde. " You try to break the silence while he recovers.

The expression on the imp's face can only be described as love-drunk, and sweaty.

" Goodnight, sweetie. "

As soon as the call drops, you make an inhuman noise of shame and bury yourself under the covers, kicking shopping bags aside.

It must have been mere minutes before a notification drops.

There's no doubt in you that's the demon's "compensation".

[toruro]

— ✧ trust (fall)

pairing: kim mingyu x reader

description. your boyfriend insists he's strong enough to carry you and fuck you at the same time, but you have your doubts. of course, mingyu is more than ready to try and prove you wrong.

tags. smut (18+), mingyu's mean for maybe a second, dirty talk, messy sex :p, UNEDITED!

w/c. 1.5k

a/n. this request just itches a part of my brain in the best way possible and it's been driving me crazy help

"mingyu, i don't think we can—"

"baby," he whines, digging his fingers into your hips. "c'mon, i can do it." his hard is pressing into your pelvis and mingyu already fingered you in the car, forcing you to sit still in your own wetness afterwards and be a patient little good girl while he drives you both home. you're unbearably needy now and aching to be fucked, but there's a small twinge of worry that seeps through you when mingyu pushes you against the wall.

you frown, looking up at him. "what if i fall?" you reason, and mingyu sighs, putting an arm up against the wall next to your head, putting his bare, large arm on display. your stomach churns at the implication, and you can't help but stare at the muscles of his bicep.

"don't you trust me?" mingyu reasons, and when he looks at you with those puppy eyes, you know you can't resist.

“mingyu…” your voice trails off and you give him a look. your boyfriend pouts and leans back, bringing up his arm and flexing it in front of you with a smirk. his muscles shift and are ever so prominent, the view sending shivers down your spine.

“baby,” he says again, a smug smile adorning his lips when watching the way lust overtakes your face. “trust me,” mingyu tells you, reaching down to grip one of your thighs to bring it up, hooking your leg around his torso.

there’s a twinge of worry in your mind, but all that is pushed away as you focus on the growing wet spot that stains your panties beneath you. “o-okay,” you murmur in agreement, wrapping your arms around mingyu’s neck and bringing your standing foot to your tippy toes. “but if you drop me, i’m not having sex with you for a month,” you warn into his neck, pressing a loving kiss into the skin afterwards.

mingyu chuckles, pressing you harder into the wall and pushing his pants and boxers down in one you. “don’t worry baby,” he reassures, allowing you to bring your other leg up around his waist, ankles crossing behind him, “plus, i know you wouldn’t be able to hold out that long anyways.”

you gasp quietly when his strong, large hands grapple at your thighs, one hand pushing your panties to the side to expose your wet folds to the cool air. your face is still buried into mingyu’s neck, a little too scared to put any distance between you and him.

your about to say something along the lines of telling mingyu to speed it up, but then you feel the familiar sensation of his warm, thick cock brushing through your folds and that shuts you up real tight. digging your face into the crook under his jaw further, you press your chest close to mingyu’s.

“ready baby?” he asks cautiously as he aligns himself with your entrance.

“yeah, ‘m ready gyu,” you confirm, squeezing your eyes tight when he sinks the tip in. mingyu’s big, he knows it. even after he’s prepped you with one, two, and sometimes even three orgasms, fitting him in at first always seems to be a struggle. mingyu doesn’t mind though, of course—he’s patient with you forever and always. after all, how bad can it be if he gets to be inside your pussy longer, basking in the way you let out soft moans and squeaks as you grow to adjust to him.

when you’re finally giving the green light—“you can move gyu”—he doesn’t hesitate to push upwards and hit deeper inside of you. he’s hardly done anything, honestly, and the action already has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

your back is pressed against the wall so hard you almost think you might complain about the dull ache, but then mingyu is pulling back and thrusting back into you, filling you ‘til the hilt and punching out moans.

you feel as if the air is being forced out of your lungs with every thrust, your body throttling against mingyu’s as you grip on to his biceps and back to steady yourself. it isn’t so much about concern for your own safety anymore, no, now it’s about making sure you ground yourself and don’t go crazy from the way he’s fucking into you.

“look,” mingyu growls, and the sound is so animalistic and you’re so fucked out you’re are his mercy, pulling your head back against the wall so you can direct your gaze to the sloppy, wet mess beneath you. “look at the fucking mess you’ve made. acting all scared and—fuck—“ he grunts with one especially deep thrust that has your nails clawing at his back, “—and nervous but i bet you wanted this, huh? wanted me to fuck you into this wall so hard you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

your vision begins to go hazy the more you watch his cock disappear inside of you every time he snaps his hips upwards, your body jerking with every movement. your wetness is coating his cock, your own drool dribbling down and adding to the mess which is slowing dripping down onto the floor. there’s a filthy puddle that’s forming beneath the two of you, but you can’t even think about how embarrassing this will be the next morning to try and clean it up.

the back of your head is lightly hitting the wall, and you aren’t sure if it’s the impact or the sheer force of mingyu inside your cunt that has your mind going blank as you babble, “yes, mingyu, yes—fuck—feel so good gyu, you make me feel so-so-so good.”

“my pretty baby finally believes me?” mingyu breaths out between groans as his thrusts become more sloppy and rougher as you both begin to approach your ends.

“yes!” you cry out, pressing your forehead to mingyu’s not taking your eyes off his cock buried inside your cunt. “so god, gyu, ‘m gonna cum. can i cum, please? gyu, i promise i’ll be good forever, please can i cum?” you beg, face so hot and so in proximity to mingyu’s that you can see his eyes darken right in front of you.

“fucking cum for me, cum on me baby. make a fucking mess,” mingyu demands, pounding into you harder at the confirmation that you’re about to be thrown off the edge. your walls are on fire, hot around him and clenching as if your life depended on him and his cock and honestly, in this moment that is quite the truth.

you cry out his name, biting down on your bottom lip to muffle the strangled moans that threaten to escape as you shake with pleasure. the sensation of your orgasm, heightened with mingyu’s relentless cock, has your vision blurring with tears as he grips your thighs harder.

he’s fucking into you impossibly fast now, and you can’t even fathom how he has it in him after holding you up for so long. as the overstimulation starts to catch up to you as mingyu begins to chase his own high, all you can do is lay limp in his arms, legs weakly shaking around his torso as you struggle to keep your grip.

“hold on for me baby,” mingyu instructs as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, “hold on to me for just—fuck—just a second.” all you can manage out is a few meek moans and squeaks as his hips snap upwards once or twice more before he stills and then there’s that familiar feeling of hot quite liquid shooting deep into your cunt, marking your walls white, claiming you as his.

mingyu lazily rolls his hips a few last times, riding out the trail of his orgasm before you both have time to finally settle in the sound of your heavy pants, admiring the sheen layer of sweat that coats his skin.

looking up at you with sparkling brown eyes, mingyu finally breaks out a grin and that’s when you feel yourself finally being pulled into reality. “are you okay baby?” he asks worriedly, “i didn’t go too hard, did i?”

“no,” you murmur, shaking your head as you unwind your legs and let mingyu slip out of you. the feeling of being empty has you going queasy and as soon as your feet hit the ground, your knees wobble and you stumble forward into mingyu’s arm. his eyes narrow at you, giving you a look.

“are you sure? are you hurt?”

“no, mingyu, you just happen to be as strong as you claim,” you admit with a roll of your eyes. mingyu’s eyes light up as the words sink in, and he swoops down to press a kiss on your cheek.

“really baby? glad you agree—we should do this more often.” you laugh and steady yourself on your legs once more, still gripping onto his hand for support.

“maybe…or maybe we can try new places to see how versatile your strength is…”

“baby, you can’t say that shit,” mingyu warns. “next thing you know and i’ll carry you and fuck you without the wall.”

you laugh right now, but there’s a little bit of excitement pooling at your stomach, and if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that mingyu always sticks to his word.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 4) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

Breakfast at the hotel hits like a hangover even though she barely drank last night. Eight months of morning routines, of knowing exactly where to sit, exactly how Aurélien takes his coffee, exactly which protein options he'll choose on match days – all of it means nothing now. He hasn't said more than two words to her since last night. No "ma puce," no schedule checks, no nothing – just this heavy silence that feels like punishment for crimes she's not sure she committed.

He's sitting clear across the room, sandwiched between Jules and Cama like the empty chair next to her might bite him. His laugh carries over at something Marcus says, and it hits her chest like a physical thing because that's not the laugh she's used to. She knows his real laugh. This is the one he uses for journalists he doesn't like.

She's pushing eggs around her plate, willing herself not to cry over scrambled protein when she feels it – warm lips pressing against her cheek, followed by a soft "Good morning, beautiful."

William slides into the chair next to her like it's the most natural thing in the world, like half the French national team isn't watching this play out like it's better than their morning entertainment. Like Aurélien's fork hasn't suddenly become very interested in murdering his breakfast.

"Sleep well?" William asks, voice warm with implications that make her cheeks heat despite nothing happening last night.

"Do you need something, Saliba?" Aurélien's voice cuts through the morning chatter like ice. "Besides distracting my PA?"

The temperature drops about ten degrees, but William just smiles wider. "Just checking on my girl. That's allowed, non?"

The "my girl" hangs in the air like a challenge. Jules is watching the whole thing with wide eyes while Cama not-so-subtly pulls out his phone under the table.

"Your girl?" Aurélien's voice drops dangerous-low. "Since when?"

"Since she chose to leave the club with me last night," William says easily, and oh – they're really doing this over breakfast. "Unless you have some objection, Capitaine?"

The way he says 'capitaine' somehow sounds both respectful and like a perfect fuck you. Leila's caught between wanting to sink through the floor and wanting to see how this plays out.

"No objection," Aurélien says after a pause that feels eternal. "Just wondering when my PA started dating my teammates."

"Maybe around the same time you started calling her 'okay'."

The silence that follows is absolute. Even Marcus stops eating, which is how you know shit just got real.

"Je t’emmerde," Aurélien spits out, chair scraping against tile as he stands. The words carries enough venom to make several heads turn from nearby tables. ("Fuck you.")

His eyes finally meet hers, and something in them makes her stomach flip. Without another word, he stalks out like the restaurant's on fire, leaving his breakfast half-eaten and tension thick enough to choke on.

William looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"Well," Jules breaks the silence, "that was fun."

The worst part? Some stupid, hopeful part of her had really thought he'd fight harder than this.

"You want to eat, babe?" William's voice cuts through her spiral, casual as anything, like he didn't just provoke their captain into cursing up French storms at breakfast. He's already reaching for her fork like this is something they do, like this morning hasn't turned into a whole telenovela.

Her brain's running dual tracks: pure rage because what the actual fuck was that from Aurélien? Not a hint of the man who fights for everything he wants, who once argued with a ref for fifteen minutes over a throw-in. And panic, because oh god, is she about to lose her job? She's pretty sure there wasn't a 'don't let the fine-ass defender feed you breakfast' clause in her contract, but-

William's trying to feed her a forkful of eggs and she shakes her head no, mind still racing. He just shrugs, unbothered, and turns his attention to her abandoned pancakes instead, cutting them into perfect squares before drowning them in syrup like this is just another morning.

"You got a death wish," Mike says from across the table, watching William arrange her breakfast like he's plating at a Michelin star restaurant.

Bradley nods sagely. "You're crazy as fuck, Wilo."

"Why?" William's voice is all innocent curiosity but his eyes are sharp. "Because I'm showing interest in a beautiful, single woman?"

"Because you're poking a bear that's been marking his territory for months," Marcus mutters into his protein shake.

"I don't see any marks," William responds easily, but his hand finds her knee under the table. "Do you, Lei?"

She should probably say something. Should probably address the fact that they're all talking about her like she's not sitting right here. Should probably be more concerned about the professional implications of whatever this is becoming.

Instead, she's watching William's hands – the same ones that had been so gentle last night – methodically destroying her pancakes with syrup.

"You're going to make them soggy," she finally says, because it's easier than addressing everything else.

His smile is soft when he looks at her. "You need the sugar. You're thinking too hard again."

"About what?" Cama asks, still filming like this is prime content.

"About things that don't matter," William answers before she can. "Like what other people think."

"Other people being our captain who looks ready to commit murder?" Mike suggests.

"He'll get over it."

"Will he though?" Jules finally speaks up, and something in his tone makes Leila look at him. He's wearing that expression that means he knows more than he's saying.

"Does he have a choice?" William counters, and there's steel under the casual tone now.

The table goes quiet again, the implications of that hanging in the air. Leila's phone buzzes – probably her mama's daily good morning text – but she doesn't check it. Can't look away from how William's hand is still on her knee, thumb drawing those circles that made her brain short-circuit last night.

"I should grab my things," she says finally. "We have a flight to catch."

"I'll come with—"

"No," she cuts him off, maybe too quickly. "I got it."

He studies her face for a moment, then nods. "Okay. But Lei?"

She pauses halfway out of her chair.

"Don't overthink it. Any of it."

Easy for him to say. He's not the one whose whole world just tilted sideways over breakfast.

She's barely out of the restaurant when her phone buzzes again. This time it's Jules:

Jules: He's in the gym. Breaking records and probably imagining Wilo's face on the punching bag. You good?

She stares at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Is she good? Is anything about this good?

Another message pops up:

Jules: For what it's worth, I've never seen him this pressed about anything. Not even when Marcus stole his pre-wrap.

She starts typing several responses, deletes them all. Finally settles on:

Leila: Don't know what you mean

His reply is immediate:

Jules: Yes you do. But since you're both determined to be stupid about it... have fun with Wilo 👀

She puts her phone away before she can say something she'll regret. Before she can ask what Jules means. Before she can admit that maybe she does know exactly what he's talking about.

But knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.

Knowing doesn't change the fact that Aurélien walked away instead of fighting.

Knowing doesn't explain why "ma puce" became just "Leila."

And it definitely doesn't explain why that feels like losing something she never really had in the first place.

********************************

Life comes at you fast when you're dealing with a passive-aggressive captain who's apparently graduated summa cum laude from the School of Petty. One full day in Brussels and Aurélien's really out here showing off his PhD in Being Difficult.

"Doesn't your boyfriend need you?" He doesn't even look up from his phone when she tries to review the training schedule.

Later, when she offers to make his protein shake (because some habits die harder than others): "I have two hands, don't I?"

"Men are so fucking sassy," she mutters to herself, watching him stalk off to training like she'd offered him poison instead of protein. She's trying to maintain her professional dignity but he's really getting on her nerves right now.

Her phone buzzing for the fifth time finally breaks through her Aurélien-induced irritation. Her mama's contact photo – one where she's giving that look all Black mamas perfect by age thirty – fills the screen. Shit. She's been so caught up in this mess she forgot to call back home.

"Hey mama—"

"Oh, so you do know how to use a phone? I was about to file a missing persons report."

It's morning in Atlanta, which means Jeanna Mae Peterson has probably been up since five in the morning, waiting to give her daughter the business.

"Everything's fine, mama. Just busy with work—"

"Mhm. And I'm Beyoncé. What's wrong with your voice?"

"Nothing's wrong with my—"

"Leila Alicia, don't you lie to your mama. I carried you for nine months and twenty-three hours of labor. I know when something's wrong."

The full name. Lord. She's really in it now.

"It's just... there's this whole thing with Aurélien and William and kissing and dates and—"

"Hold up, hold ALL the way up. You kissed Aurélien? Jesus be a fence, finally! Wait till I tell your grandma—"

"No, mama, not Aurélien. His teammate—"

"Girl, what? You out here being messy boots, dating some other man when you ain't even dealt with your feelings for the first one? I swear y'all kids nowadays don't know how to talk nothing out. Put Aurélien on the phone. I'm gonna air him out right quick."

"Mama, he's training—"

"He can talk during a break. Matter fact, I got his WhatsApp number, I'mma call that."

"Mama, don't—"

But the line's already dead because Jeanna Mae Peterson invented stubborn and passed it down double dose to her daughter. Leila's frantically calling back but her mama's phone is going straight to voicemail which means—

Aurélien's phone starts ringing across the training ground.

She's doing every gesture she can think of to tell him not to answer – hand slashing across her throat, waving arms like she's directing aircraft, mouthing 'NO' with the energy of someone trying to prevent a natural disaster.

But of course he answers anyway because the universe hates her specifically today.

"Allo? Ah, Mama Peterson..."

All she can do is watch his face as her mama presumably reads him the riot act in that special way Black mamas have mastered. His expressions shift from confused to surprised to something she can't quite read, and is that... is he smiling?

When he finally hangs up fifteen minutes later, he doesn't tell her what her mama said. But he does actually look at her when he asks for his schedule update. Actually says "Merci, ma pu-" before catching himself and walking away.

It's not much. But it's more than she's gotten in days.

She's definitely going to kill her mama though.

Right after she figures out what exactly that woman said to him. And why he almost called her 'ma puce' again.

*************************************

Lunch is an exercise in studying the fascinating world of how many ways one man can pretend another person doesn't exist. Aurélien's got his phone propped up against his water bottle, completely absorbed in whatever's on his screen even though she knows for a fact his notifications are turned off during match prep.

The final training session drags like it's being paid by the hour. Even Marcus and Mike keep their distance – one look at her face tells them tonight isn't the night to beg for soul food. She's not even sure she could cook right now if she wanted to. Her energy's somewhere between "completely done" and "contemplating a career change."

Back at the hotel, she makes it to her room through sheer muscle memory. The Real Housewives of Atlanta are waiting for her on her laptop, ready to provide the exact kind of messy drama she needs to forget her own. Her Uber Eats burrito is doing its best, but even comfort food feels like it's failing her today.

The knock at her door makes her pause mid-bite. Maybe if she stays very still, whoever it is will-

"I bought food," William's voice carries through the door. She looks down at her sad burrito accusingly. "It's Lebanese. I promised to bring you some, remember?"

For a moment she doesn't move, weighing the pros and cons of human interaction. But then the smell of whatever he's brought wafts under her door and her burrito suddenly looks even sadder.

She pushes her glasses up her nose, does a quick check that she doesn't have salsa on her face, and opens the door to find William looking unfairly good for someone who just did two training sessions. He's got bags of food in one hand and that smile that makes bad decisions feel like good ideas in the other.

She steps aside to let him in, trying not to think about how this is definitely not in any PA handbook she's ever read.

"So," William says, spreading containers across her bed like he's setting up an exhibition, "we've got fattoush, hummus with extra pine nuts because you mentioned you like them, shawarma that's going to have the nutritionist trying to kill us tomorrow, and-" he pulls out what looks like heaven wrapped in paper, "extra toum because food without garlic isn't food."

Her abandoned burrito sits forgotten on the nightstand, looking increasingly offensive next to this spread. William's already making her a plate, explaining each dish like he's giving a master class in Lebanese cuisine, and something in her chest gets warm at how much thought he's put into this.

"The lady at the restaurant probably thinks I'm crazy," he says, handing her a plate. "I kept pointing at things saying 'she'll love this' and 'oh she has to try that.'"

"You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to." He settles next to her, close enough that she can smell his shower gel but not so close it feels presumptuous. "Besides, you looked like you needed saving from that sad burrito."

She can't help but laugh. "The burrito was doing its best."

"Its best wasn't good enough." He dips a piece of bread in hummus and offers it to her. "Try this instead."

The food is incredible, but it's the way he talks about it that makes it special. Every dish comes with a story – about his father and mother competing to see who could feed more people at family gatherings, his grandmother teaching him that love always tastes better when it's shared.

"It's like you with your soul food," he says, wiping some sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "You don't just cook, you share yourself."

She looks at him – really looks at him. At this beautiful man who brings her dinner and understands what food means to her, who looks at her like she's something precious.

"Thank you," she says softly. "For sharing this with me."

His smile could light up Brussels. "You’re welcome."

Somehow they've migrated from sitting to lying down, empty containers pushed aside, William's mouth does unholy things to her neck. His hand is cupping her face like she's made of glass, the other one drawing patterns on her hip that are absolutely not PG-13, and her brain's having trouble remembering why she was ever stressed about anything.

Until she feels it.

Lord have mercy.

His very obvious excitement pressing against her thigh, and her virgin self immediately goes into panic mode. She freezes like someone hit pause, and William pulls back so fast you'd think she'd burned him.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice rough but eyes soft with concern. "We can stop."

"No, it's okay, I just..." she shifts away slightly, wondering if it's possible to actually die from embarrassment because what kind of grown woman freaks out over dick. "I should be the one apologizing."

"Why?"

"Because..." she stares at his collar instead of his face because eye contact feels impossible right now, "you probably have thousands of girls who would just..." she makes a vague gesture that she hopes translates to 'let you hit without all this drama' without having to actually say those words. "And here I am making you wait."

"True."

Her heart does this weird dropping thing, but then his fingers catch her chin, tilting her face up to his, and the look in his eyes makes her forget how to breathe proper.

"But I don't want them," he says, voice low and serious in a way that makes her stomach flip. "I want you, Leila."

"Why?" The question comes out barely above a whisper, all her insecurities wrapped up in one word.

William shifts back just enough to really look at her, and baby – the way this man's eyes can make her feel seen is almost too much.

"Because you don't pretend," he says finally. "Because you make soul food for an entire football team just to make them happy. Because you push up your glasses when you're nervous and wear bonnets to bed and actually care about us beyond what we can offer you."

Her heart's doing gymnastics in her chest. "That's not—"

"Because," he continues, pressing a kiss to her forehead that feels almost too sentimental, "you're real. And that's worth waiting for."

And what is she supposed to do with that? With this man who brings her Lebanese food when she's sad and kisses her like she's precious and says things that make her want to cry and jump him at the same time?

"Plus," he adds with that smug smile, "the way you cook? I'd wait years just for those wings again."

She smacks his chest but she's laughing, the tension breaking. "So you just want me for my cooking?"

"Among other things." His hand finds her waist again, gentler this time. "But mostly because you are you."

"Will..."

"We can take it slow," he says, pressing soft kisses along her jaw. "As slow as you need. I don’t plan on going anywhere."

Her fingers curl into his shirt of their own accord. "Even if it takes a while?"

"Even if it takes forever." His lips find that spot behind her ear that makes her toes curl. "Though maybe not forever-forever because honestly? You in that dress the other night almost killed me."

She can't help the laugh that bubbles up. Trust him to know exactly how to ease her anxiety while simultaneously making her want to kiss him senseless.

"So," he pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, "can I kiss you now? Or are we still having a moment?"

She answers by pulling him down to her, and for a while, she forgets about everything else.

Even if his dick is still making itself known against her thigh.

The match against Belgium is already tense as hell when it happens. They're up 2-1, but it's been scrappy, ugly football – the kind that has tempers running high and tackles getting messy. Leila's been watching Aurélien get more and more wound up, his usual smooth control fraying at the edges with each challenge.

When the Belgian midfielder says something to him in the 76th minute – something she can't hear but definitely sees Aurélien react to – it's like watching a bomb go off in slow motion. The tackle is reckless, aggressive, absolutely deserving of the red card that follows, but the way Aurélien gets in the ref's face after? That's something else entirely. That's weeks of pent-up something spilling out all over the pitch.

It takes both Jules and Mike to pull him back, his face twisted with the kind of rage she's never seen on him before. The captain's armband gets handed to Ibou, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than in the middle of whatever this is.

William steps toward him as he's heading off the pitch, probably trying to calm him down, but Aurélien's shoulder check is brutal enough to make several people gasp. The look he gives William could freeze hell over twice.

"Don't," is all he says, but that one word carries enough venom to kill a man.

They manage to hold onto their 2-1 lead, but the victory feels hollow somehow. Especially when Aurélien doesn't even wait for the final whistle – just disappears into the tunnel like a storm cloud, leaving chaos in his wake.

Leila catches William watching him go, something complicated passing across his face.

This isn't about football anymore.

This isn't about football at all.

She's moving before she can think better of it, her press pass bouncing against her chest as she runs from her spot near the pitch toward the tunnel. Security knows her well enough to let her pass, but right now she probably looks wild enough that they wouldn't dare stop her anyway.

The tunnel feels endless, her footsteps echoing off concrete as she follows the sound of what's probably lockers being abused. She finds him in the away team room, radiating the kind of anger that makes the air feel thick.

"Leave." His voice is sharp enough to cut.

She takes a step forward instead.

"Leila. Get out."

But she can't. Not when he's like this, not when everything feels like it's fracturing. Her fingers catch his wrist, trying to... what? Comfort him? Stop him? She's not even sure anymore.

He yanks away like her touch burns, fixing her with a look that's equal parts fury and something else she can't name. Something that makes her chest hurt.

"Aurél-"

"Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Leila? Haven't I been a good person? A good boss?" His voice cracks on the last word.

Her lips purse in confusion, mind racing to catch up. "I'm sorry," is all she can manage because what the actual fuck is happening right now?

He's pacing like a caged animal, all coiled energy and barely contained rage. And then he starts – rapid-fire French pouring out of him like a broken dam, words she can't understand but tone that hits her right in the chest. He's gesturing, still pacing, voice getting louder and rougher with each passing second.

The first tears fall before she can stop them, not because she's afraid – never that – but because she's never seen him like this. Never seen him so... broken.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again, already backing toward the door. She doesn't even know what she's apologizing for anymore, just knows she needs to get out before she completely loses it.

She runs past the guys hovering in the hallway, catches William's face transform from worry to anger as he looks past her to where Aurélien's still going off in French.

The last thing she hears before turning the corner is their voices rising, angry words in multiple languages bouncing off concrete walls like bullets.

She doesn't stop running until she can't hear them anymore.

Until she can't hear anything but her own heart breaking.

She ends up in some random corridor of the stadium, mascara probably creating art on her face while she tries to get her breathing under control. Her phone's blowing up – probably Jules checking on her, maybe William trying to find her – but she can't look at it right now. Can't deal with any of this right now.

The sound of something hitting a wall echoes from somewhere down the tunnel, followed by raised voices that she can still make out even if she can't understand the words. French and English mixing into what sounds like a full-blown fight.

"Hey." Mike's voice makes her jump. He's standing there looking uncharacteristically serious, holding out a water bottle and what looks like clean tissues. "You good?"

She wants to laugh because nothing about this is good, but it comes out more like a hiccup. "Yeah, I just–"

"Need a minute?" When she nods, he slides down the wall to sit next to her. "Yeah, me too. Those two are..." he trails off, shaking his head.

They sit in silence for a while, just breathing, while the sounds of argument fade into something more distant. Her phone buzzes again but Mike gently takes it from her hands, turning it face down.

"Whatever's happening," he says quietly, "it's not your fault."

But isn't it? She's the one who complicated everything. She's the one who—

"Stop that." Mike nudges her shoulder. "I can hear you thinking from here. This isn't about you."

"Then what—"

"It's about them. About stuff they need to figure out." He hands her another tissue. "And about our captain being too stubborn to admit what everyone else already knows."

Before she can ask what he means, footsteps approach – multiple sets. She tenses, but it's just Marcus and Cama, both looking worried.

"They've been separated," Marcus reports, sliding down to sit on her other side. "Jules has Auré, Bradley's got Wilo."

"Proper mess, isn’t it?" Cama adds, joining their little floor party.

They sit there together, this weird little group therapy session on stadium concrete, until her breathing evens out and her hands stop shaking. Until the reality of everything that just happened starts to feel less sharp.

"Come on," Mike finally says, standing and offering his hand. "Let's get you back to the hotel. Pretty sure room service has ice cream, and if they don't, I'll make them find some."

She lets them shepherd her out, these boys who've somehow become family. Let them distract her with stupid jokes and commentary about anything except what just happened.

Her phone buzzes one more time as they reach the team bus. It's Jules:

Everyone's alive. Barely. But alive.

He's asking about you.

Both of them are.

**************************************************

The bus ride back to the hotel is quiet. Unnervingly quiet.

She sits between Mike and Marcus, her head resting against the window, watching Brussels blur past in fragments of neon and streetlights. The city feels different now – less magical, more complicated. Just like everything else.

Jules sits a few rows ahead, phone pressed to his ear, his voice a low murmur that never quite rises to a conversation. Bradley's in the very back, headphones on, staring out the opposite window with a look that could freeze fire.

"You want my headphones?" Mike whispers, nudging her. She shakes her head. Silence feels safer right now.

When they finally arrive at the hotel, the team moves like a fractured unit. No jokes, no post-match chatter. Just bodies moving through the lobby, each absorbed in their own gravitational pull of tension.

At the elevator, William and Jules carefully avoid looking at each other. Not anger. Something else. Something deeper that feels like it's happening in slow motion and at lightning speed all at once.

Her room key feels heavy in her hand. She knows Jules will be checking on her soon, will want to talk, will want to make sure she's okay. But right now, "okay" feels like a country she can't quite reach.

The shower runs scalding hot, water washing away stadium grit, tears, and the complicated residue of everything that just happened. Her makeup dissolves in streaks, mascara creating abstract art down her cheeks that she doesn't have the energy to wipe away.

A knock comes just as she's wrapping herself in the hotel's white terrycloth robe. Jules. Of course.

"Come in," she calls, knowing there's no point in pretending she needs privacy.

Jules enters, takes one look at her, and doesn't ask if she's okay. They both know the answer to that.

"Want some tea?" he asks, already moving towards the small electric kettle.

"God, yes."

They sit in silence. Some moments demand quiet more than words. Jules knows this – it's why he's always been her favorite, why he gets her in ways the others don't.

"So," he finally says, pushing a steaming mug towards her, "you want to talk about what just happened?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Which part? The part where Aurélien nearly started World War III in the tunnel? Or the part where he and William threw hands?"

Jules snorts. "All of it."

Her fingers curl around the mug, seeking its warmth. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Mhm," he says in a way that means exactly the opposite. "Nothing at all. Just our captain losing his mind, your boyfriend fighting, and you sitting in a hallway looking like you've been through the world's most emotional spin cycle."

"William's not my boyfriend."

"Sure," Jules drawls. "And I'm not the most handsome man on the team."

She throws a tissue at him. He catches it without looking, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

"What do you want me to say?" she asks finally.

"The truth would be nice."

But the truth feels too complicated. Too raw. Too everything.

"You know what's wild?" Jules says after a moment. "Aurélien's never been like this before. Not about anything. Not anyone."

She looks up, catching something knowing in his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Eight months I've watched him with you. Always careful. Always professional. Always..." he waves a hand, searching for the right word, "contained."

"And now?"

"And now?" Jules leans forward. "He's running around breaking shit and looking like he wants to murder William."

Her phone buzzes. William. She ignores it.

"He doesn't get to be mad," she says finally. "He's the one who walked away. Who stopped calling me 'ma puce'. Who—"

"Who what?" Jules prompts when she stops.

The truth slips out before she can stop it. "Who made me feel like I was just... okay."

Jules' laugh is sharp, unexpected. "Okay? Lei, that man has never thought you were just 'okay' a day in his life."

"He doesn't show it!"

"You're in love with him," Jules says suddenly. Not a question. A statement. "You guys are in love with each other."

"No," she protests immediately. "Absolutely not."

Jules leans forward, voice serious. "It's not fair to William. You know that, right?"

"I'm not doing anything wrong," she insists. "Aurélien had his chance. If he wanted something, he should have said something. "He needs to make a move. He's the man."

"Tu es têtue," Jules mutters. ("You are stubborn.")

"He needs to come to me," she continues, nodding.

Jules throws his hands up, cursing in French. "Putain de merde. You're both so fucking stubborn." He wipes his hands down his face, groaning. "Fine. Aurélien needs to grow some balls and you guys need to figure this out. And fast." He moves to the door, pauses, and with a cheeky grin calls out, "Bonne nuit, ma puce."

It's enough to make her smile, just a little. Just enough to soften the edges of the day's chaos.

************************************************

The private jet feels carved from ice. Leila's tucked herself in the back, pretending to work on her tablet while Aurélien sits opposite, professionally ignoring her existence.

"The match report," he says finally, voice clipped.

She keeps tapping on her tablet. Let him wait. Let him feel what being ignored feels like.

"Leila."

Nothing.

His fingers start that familiar drumming pattern on the table – the one that used to mean he was working through plays in his head. Now it just sounds like frustration trying to escape.

"The report," he tries again, softer this time.

Her fingers continue their dance across the screen.

"Ma p-" He catches himself. "Leila."

That gets her attention. She looks up finally, one eyebrow raised in a challenge that clearly says: you made this bed, now lie in it.

Something flickers across his face – something raw and real – before the captain's mask slips back on. The Madrid skyline approaches through the window, offering no answers.

"We need to talk."

"Do we?" Her voice could freeze summer.

"About what happened—"

"Which part?" The words come out sharp enough to draw blood. "The part where you walked away? Or the part where I was just… okay?"

His fingers curl into fists. "It's not that simple."

"Really? Because it felt pretty simple when you treated me like I was nothing."

The plane hits turbulence, forcing them closer for a moment. The physical proximity only highlights the galaxy of space between them.

"You don't get to be angry," he says, leaning forward. "You're the one with William."

"I'm not with William." She lets out a bitter laugh. "And even if I was, you walked away first."

His hand hits the table hard enough to rattle their water glasses. "I didn't walk away."

"No? What would you call it then?"

"I was trying to protect you," he says, something cracking in his voice. "From what people would say. From the gossip. From—"

"I don't need protection," she cuts him off. "I need honesty."

"You think I didn't want to say something?" His voice drops dangerously low, accent thickening with emotion. "You think I just…"

"'You think I just' what?" Leila presses when he doesn't continue. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've done a lot of acting weird but not a lot of explaining."

His jaw works like he's chewing on words he can't quite spit out. "It's complicated."

"No, calculus is complicated. This?" She gestures between them. "This is you not being able to handle… whatever this is. So I'm taking some time off."

"No." The word comes out sharp, almost panicked.

"Yes."

"You can't—"

"I can and I am. Some space will do us good." She starts gathering her things, needing to move to a different seat, to do something with this energy crackling under her skin. "Help you get over whatever this is you're going through."

"Leila—"

"Your uncle Bertrand hired me," she cuts him off. "Not you. Remember that."

The look on his face – like she just slapped him – almost makes her take it back. Almost.

But she's done waiting for him to figure out what he wants.

She's just done.

The Madrid tarmac appears through clouds that look like they're about to burst. Perfect weather for her mood.

"When?" His voice breaks through the landing announcements.

"Two weeks." She's already got her bag ready, already planning her escape route. "Starting tomorrow."

"That's not enough notice—"

"Your temp's already briefed. Sarah's good at her job."

The plane touches down with a jolt that matches the way his head snaps up. "Sarah? From ESN?"

"She knows your schedule. Knows the team." Leila keeps her voice professional even though her hands are shaking. "You'll be fine."

"I don't want Sarah."

"Well, that's who you're getting." She stands as soon as the seatbelt sign dims. "For two weeks, while I figure out if this job is still worth it."

She doesn't wait for his response, doesn't look back as she heads for the exit.

The Ciudad Real Madrid facilities feel wrong without her footsteps echoing through the halls. Aurélien stares at his locker, still in his training kit, everything feeling off-balance.

"Putain," he mutters, splashing water on his face like it might wake him up from whatever nightmare this is.

Two fucking weeks.

Sarah from ESN keeps sending him perfectly formatted schedules, but they're missing the little notes Leila would add – reminders about his mama's favorite call times, warnings about which journalists to avoid, suggestions for post-training recovery that she definitely got from stalking medical journals.

His passes were shit today. Ancelotti had to call him out twice for being distracted, and Jude kept shooting him these looks like he was about to shatter. Maybe he is. Maybe that's why he keeps checking his phone between drills, keeps turning to share training ground gossip with someone who isn't there.

"Tu fais chier," he mutters to his reflection in the locker room mirror. His knuckles are white where they grip the sink edge, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days. Because he hasn't.

The team's tiptoeing around him like he's a bomb about to go off. Even Camavinga's keeping his distance, which should be impossible given how that boy usually operates. But everything's impossible lately.

Sarah's efficient. Professional. Knows exactly what she's doing.

He fucking hates it.

She doesn't make his coffee right – too much cream, like she's trying to drown it. Doesn't know that he needs an extra five minutes before morning meetings to properly wake up. Doesn't push up her glasses when she's trying not to smile at his jokes.

Doesn't call him out when he's being difficult.

His uncle's words keep echoing in his head: "What did you do?"

What did he do? He protected her. Protected them both from the media circus that would follow, from the whispers, from everything that would make her job impossible. That's what he did. That's what he had to do.

Right?

But then he remembers her face in that tunnel in Brussels. Remembers how she looked at him on the plane. Remembers "your uncle Bertrand hired me" like a direct shot to the chest.

His phone lights up – Sarah confirming tomorrow's schedule. The sight of her name where Leila's should be makes his stomach turn.

One week down. Seven days of everything being almost right but completely wrong. Seven days of catching himself turning to share jokes with someone who isn't there.

Seven more to go.

If she comes back.

The 'if' sits in his chest like poison.

*****************************************************

Even Ocho knows something's wrong. The dog keeps bringing him Leila's favorite throw blanket that she left on the couch, whining at the front door around the times she'd usually arrive. Animals aren't supposed to be this emotionally intuitive, but here's his Belgian Malinois really out here making him feel worse.

Jude's been trying to drag him out, talking about some party at this new club that's apparently letting in half of Instagram's finest. Usually he'd be first in line – nothing cures what ails you like beautiful women and expensive liquor, right?

But then this girl at the club – all smooth brown skin and curves for days, exactly his type – pressed up against him on the dance floor and something felt… wrong. He couldn't even blame it on alcohol because he was stone-cold sober, watching everyone else get lit while he nursed the same whiskey all night.

Even his DMs are full of missed opportunities. Models, influencers, that one actress who's been trying to get his attention for months – all of them exactly the type of distraction he needs. The type of women who usually help him forget whatever's on his mind.

But pussy doesn't feel right when your heart's fucked up.

And that's what's really killing him. That somehow Leila managed to ruin him for other women without even touching him. That the thought of fucking his way through Madrid's modeling agencies (his usual go-to when shit gets heavy) feels wrong now.

His phone buzzes – probably Jude with another party invite, another attempt to get him out of his head. But unless the invitation is from a certain PA who's currently ghosting his entire existence, he's not interested.

Even praying feels different. His parents raised him right, taught him to take his troubles to God, but how do you pray about feelings you can't even admit to yourself?

"Je suis vraiment dans la merde," he tells Ocho, who just looks at him with those judgy dog eyes. Even his own pet is disappointed in him.

Five more days of this torture.

If she comes back at all.

The doorbell catches him off guard – he's been ignoring it for days, but tonight it's more insistent. Ocho's already at the door, tail wagging like he knows something Aurélien doesn't.

It's Cama standing there, phone held up with Jules' face on FaceTime.

"Je t'aurais laissé souffrir mais Jules m'a appelé," ("I would've let you suffer but Jules called me,") Cama says, already pushing past him into the house.

Ocho immediately attacks Cama with kisses while Jules' voice carries through the phone: "Tu as une tête de merde, mon frère." ("You look like shit, my brother.")

"Va te faire foutre," ("Fuck off,") Aurélien mutters, but lets Cama settle onto his couch anyway.

"Alors," ("So,") Cama starts, scratching Ocho's ears, "on va parler de pourquoi tu te comportes comme un connard?" ("are we gonna talk about why you're being an asshole?")

"Je ne vois pas de quoi tu parles." ("I don't know what you're talking about.")

"Leila," Jules says through the phone. "On parle de Leila." ("We're talking about Leila.")

Just hearing her name makes his chest tight. "Il n'y a rien à dire." ("There's nothing to say.")

"Rien à dire?" ("Nothing to say?") Cama laughs. "C'est pour ça que tu as l'air d'un zombie depuis une semaine?" ("Is that why you've looked like a zombie for a week?")

"Elle te manque," ("You miss her,") Jules says simply. "Admets-le." ("Admit it.")

"Ça n'a pas d'importance." ("It doesn't matter.")

"Pourquoi?" ("Why?") Cama demands. "Parce que tu as trop peur de dire ce que tu ressens?" ("Because you're too scared to say what you feel?")

"Tu sais que Wilo est sérieux avec elle?" ("You know Wilo is serious about her?") Jules' voice crackles through the phone, making Aurélien's jaw clench.

"Et alors?" ("And?") But his fingers are drumming that anxious pattern again.

"Pendant que tu joues au con, il la traite comme une princesse," Cama leans forward. ("While you're playing stupid, he's treating her like a princess.")

"Il lui apporte le dîner," ("He brings her dinner,") Jules adds. "L'écoute. La fait rire." ("Listens to her. Makes her laugh.")

"Bon pour lui." ("Good for him.") Aurélien's voice could cut glass.

"Non, pas 'bon pour lui'," ("No, not 'good for him',") Cama snaps. "Tu es amoureux d'elle et tu le sais." ("You're in love with her and you know it.")

The silence that follows is deafening. Even Ocho stops begging for attention to look between them.

"Je ne peux pas," ("I can't,") Aurélien finally says, voice rough. "C'est ma PA." ("She's my PA.")

"C'était ta PA," ("She was your PA,") Jules corrects. "Maintenant elle est la femme qui te rend fou." ("Now she's the woman driving you crazy.")

"Et qui rend Wilo heureux," ("And making Wilo happy,") Cama adds pointedly.

"Je leur ai dit de parler," ("I told them both to talk,") Jules sighs. "Mais vous êtes tous les deux têtus comme des mules." ("But you're both stubborn as mules.")

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je fasse?" ("What do you want me to do?") Aurélien runs his hands through his curls in frustration. "Que je ruine sa carrière? Que je la mette dans une position impossible?" ("Ruin her career? Put her in an impossible position?")

"Elle est déjà dans une position impossible," ("She's already in an impossible position,") Cama says quietly. "Entre l'homme qu'elle aime et l'homme qui l'aime." ("Between the man she loves and the man who likes her.")

That hits different. Aurélien's head snaps up. "Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire?" ("What do you mean?")

"Tu crois qu'elle sort avec Wilo parce qu'elle l'aime?" ("You think she's seeing Wilo because she loves him?") Jules laughs without humor. "Elle essaie de t'oublier, crétin." ("She's trying to forget you, idiot.")

"Mais—" ("But—")

"Pas de 'mais'," ("No 'buts',") Cama cuts him off. "Tu as une semaine avant qu'elle ne revienne. Une semaine pour décider si tu vas la laisser partir ou te battre pour elle." ("You have a week before she comes back. One week to decide if you're going to let her go or fight for her.")

"Et si je la perds complètement?" ("And if I lose her completely?") The question comes out smaller than intended.

"Tu l'as déjà perdue en ne faisant rien," ("You've already lost her by doing nothing,") Jules says. "Au moins en essayant, tu sauras." ("At least by trying, you'll know.")

Ocho whines, head butting Aurélien's knee like he's agreeing.

"Une semaine," ("One week,") Cama stands, stretching. "Pour arrêter d'être un lâche." ("To stop being a coward.")

"Je ne suis pas—" ("I'm not—")

"Si, tu l'es," ("Yes, you are,") Jules interrupts. "Mais tu peux changer ça." ("But you can change that.")

They leave him with that thought, with Ocho looking at him like he's waiting for something too.

One week. One week to figure out if he's brave enough to risk everything. One week to decide if she's worth it.

She is. He's just been too scared to admit it.

Until now.

...................tbd

[writella]

Go to Sleep

Synopsis: Daryl and the reader explore a new way of trying to help you get to sleep.

Details: Smut, 18+, soft-dom!Daryl, afab!reader, tiny bit of mean Daryl but not really, tiny bit of somnophilia but in the end it isn’t really either, Daryl reveals a little of his praise kink, thigh riding, oral (reader receiving), brief descriptions of anxiety, but ends sweetly. wc: 2.8k.

You hate the feeling of having your eyes closed but being so, desperately awake. It feels like a frustrating loop of constantly thinking about the thing you should be doing, the peace you should be feeling, but you simply, just, can’t.

It’s not like when you’re sitting out in the woods, the sun so nice and bright as you rest upon a tree, or when you’re on a ride with Daryl and you close your eyes, resting on his shoulder as the wind hits your face. It doesn’t feel warm and safe; it feels like a dark, void space, and you’re running endlessly to nowhere.

This is how it was, you had been having terrible sleep for weeks now. You felt it in your throat and in your chest whenever— and it was every time— that you woke up with your heart pounding in the middle of the night. You felt your heart beating without even touching your body, and it made you want to throw up.

This is why Daryl had slept with you for the past two weeks, hoping to ease your thoughts.

What you and Daryl had remained undefined at this point. He was loyal and cared for you deeply, but he was also independent and enjoyed doing things at his own pace— initiating wasn’t his strong suit.

This is also why, just the other night nearing twelve am, you had to beg Daryl to take you around the Alexandria houses for a fourth time on his bike before allowing him to leave you on your doorstep. This is where you admitted what was going on, “Please,” you asked sadly, “When I’m alone… I just- I just start thinking too much. I can’t sleep.”

So of course, he took you around again. He didn’t even say anything, just grabbed one of your hands tighter around him, starting to ride slowly. Firstly because he wasn’t trying to wake anyone up, and secondly because he was trying to make it last longer for you. He went around five more times.

Every time you saw your home approaching again your eyes dropped knowing what was coming until he just kept going. But after the fifth time, just when you hoped maybe this was a dream where you could just go around in peaceful circles all night with Daryl, he stopped. He had to sleep too.

He stood between his bike then, waiting for you to get your door, but you moved at a deafeningly slow pace. You hated the darkness that was beginning to weigh behind your eyes. You hated the night now and you hated it even more when you weren’t with him. So, as you hit the top step, you turned back around, running up to him.

Your eyes were meek when you paused before making your final request, “Daryl… please, will you stay with me?”

And that did it: as if you already hadn’t made him go around the neighborhood almost 10 times, those were the words that hit him at the bottom of his heart the most. Neither of you were ever as forward as you were being that night and he couldn’t say no. You told him that you needed him.

The first night was a success, in fact. You happened to fall asleep quite quickly as his strong arms held you down, grounding you in safety. Though as the days trailed on, it seemed that wasn’t exactly enough anymore. Your intrusive thoughts always found a way of sneaking in through Daryl’s stronghold.

Tonight was a night like that. Your eyes were closed, but your mind was very much awake.

You had initially gone to sleep on your side— you both were. Daryl’s face was almost touching yours.

He wasn’t much of a talker all the time, but the typical method that had been working other than laying on his chest was asking him about his day, what things he might have gathered from any trips outside, or seeing if, and it was only on rare occasions, he would tell you a story from his past.

There weren’t many fond memories, but he would always find something: maybe about one of his first hunting trips, or some hijinks he and his brother got into before he ditched when Daryl was a kid… but he didn’t like casually talking about his brother. He’d keep those short for now. You waited patiently for them to get longer. Either way, the stories always helped you get to that initial sleep, so he’d make sure to find one to tell if it made you feel better.

But now you were still awake and Daryl was seemingly asleep. You knew he could probably tell you were turning and shifting at some points, but you didn’t want to truly wake him up yet. It felt greedy after he was being so giving. And it was so rare to see him so peaceful. His eyes were usually elusive and stern. You might have started to know him more than others, but still, it wasn’t all the time that you could tell what was in his head. He was always guarded, especially between the mouth and eyes, but when he was asleep, his face relaxed.

Though the insomnia was killing you, it was nice to see him like this— he was just so handsome. His hair, his lips, his arms— you were obsessed with every shirt he ruined by cutting the sleeve— his abdomen, you almost grazed his lower stomach with your finger tips, thinking about if and how much you would love his-

Then a thought came up.

Probably worse than waking him up even though that would do it regardless, but you moved mindlessly before really thinking about it.

Your legs slid forward, slotting Daryl’s top leg that perched forward, knee almost touching your leg, in the middle of your own two.

Your legs move up a bit and you brush yourself against his thigh once, the movement is so small, then twice, the slight friction feels good, your eyes finally close again, but then you stop. What were you doing? Your head turns face first into the bed and stays there for a moment, quietly letting out your frustration into the sheet.

“You gonna move or what?” It comes out as a grumble and it makes you jut.

You’ve been caught.

“You ain’t slick,” his eyes are still closed, “but go on.” He takes his top leg out from between you and places it better, from the awkwardness ‘trying’ to not wake him up angle you had it at before.

You hold his top shoulder and he holds you right by the waist and you begin to rock. Daryl starts to flex his quad up into you as you grind down onto him. Your wetness finally seeping up so that your lips open a little as they push and rock against him. You can now feel your clit getting more attention from the hard pressure his thigh causes against you.

Daryl opens his eyes for a moment, yours are closed. Face twisted and eyes scrunched as you let out short breaths. You were invested in getting yourself off, you grinded down faster, his hands on your hips now were loose allowing you to go as hard as you pleased, for a minute, then another, and then another until he stopped you.

He pushed his hands and fingertips hard into your hips, deciding he wanted to control the pace. He pushed you into him slow and deep and despite it feeling good, you wanted to go fast, to stop thinking. It made you whine, complainingly as you came down from the high you felt you could have reached. “But Daryl-”

“Shut up.” It sounded like a quiet bark.

You were getting him riled up, yes, but it was also a full moon tonight and Daryl would rather be sleeping on the hard rock ground under the stars than in a bed, only being able to stare at the sky from a window. Even though he knew you had been feeling anxious about something for a while, and he wanted to make you feel okay, he can’t lie, your sleep not improving was starting to get on his nerves a bit. And especially so tonight when your restlessness kept him up the whole time, despite you not knowing.

He allowed you to keep riding him at his pace for a moment until he got a new idea: he pushed your leg off and you gave an exasperated sighed, frustrated at the feeling of nothingness. “Shh,” was all he whispered, it came out sharp.

“Daryl, let’s just-”

“Stop.” He took you by the face when he said it, squeezing your jaw roughly. “Don’t talk.”

He lays you on your back and takes off your pants you were sleeping with, they’re ruined, and you weren’t wearing any underwear after your shower. The blanket is pushed to his side of the bed now as he goes downward, spreading your legs, not too wide but just enough for him to get in between. Holding your thighs, his thumbs kneading the skin on the inner side. He licks the outside of your hole, almost slurping in your wetness as he does it just so he could move it up your pussy toward your clit and sucks in again. He lays his tongue flat and presses back down again, repeating the motion, making you even more wet, everywhere.

Your upper back moved forward, your elbows and forearms propped up so you could watch. This felt better than before, even with his slower movements, he felt so good there so instantly that you couldn’t help yourself but staying up to look, but after he sees you he stops.

Silently, Daryl pushes your shoulders back into the bed, you can’t tell if he was only accidentally being rough. He pushes your pillow up only slightly against the headboard, just enough so your head wasn’t completely propped up, but just so if you wanted to move your head to the side you could still look if you wanted to when you realized you could. “Stay,” then begrudgedy he adds, “and close your eyes.”

Daryl went down again, making his pace slower than before: His lips and tongue sucked in your clit again, it coming into his mouth as much as the little thing could and he repeats it again until he had peppered you there with slobbery kisses and then he moved to one side of your labia, his lips slotting themselves above and under that one side as his tongue goes out and in, kissing you deeply. The man was literally making out with your pussy.

Just as he would with your mouth, his head turned and leaned into it, pushing his tongue in and pressing against you, his lips in between one of your own down there as he did so. He went in the middle of you again, his nose rubbing against your clit a few times as his tongue went lower, sucking in more of your wetness again. His nose brushing against you made you shudder.

Your eyes were still closed, but they scrunched even harder now and your head started shaking side to side. You have never felt him down there being so intentional, deliberate, and intense. Something so surprisingly romantic, but still so fucking dirty and sexy. He has pushed your wetness everywhere. You felt like a dripping mess and more than half of his face was all coated in it and it just felt so good.

He moved to the other side of your pussy now, giving it the same attention as he did the first. Making out with you down there as if he could do it forever. So slow, but it felt so warm and deep.

You felt him suck you in and swallow some of your wetness. He hummed into you as he did it, a raspy “mmmm” melted into you and it made you moan, the sound coming from you instantaneously because of the vibration you felt down there from his voice. You covered your mouth, your house was quiet and you didn’t want to wake anyone up but the more he continued, the harder it was becoming.

Now, his lip suctioned your pussy lip in between his and he slid down, tongue trailing the inner side until he was able to slot his tongue inside your hole, staying there and still kissing you. Moving his tongue in and out now, still slowly, feeling every bit as he moved.

Your quiet pants were continuous, but you were trying hard to hold in your noises. Not wanting to wake up anybody else you lived with, but also not knowing if Daryl would stop again if you spoke too much.

To your misfortune, he stopped anyway. Your eyes open and push your head to the side of your pillow so you can look down at him. Your mouth was open, but you made sure not to complain.

His chin almost rested on your mound, he was already looking up. “Does it feel good?” You couldn’t read his eyes, but his voice was surprisingly tender and questioning.

You assured him immediately, “yes,” you whispered giggling. You brush his hair with your fingers, undoing some tangles. You got lost in his eyes for a moment before he went down again.

“Tell me,” he says, it almost sounds muffled as he sucks you in until he takes a breath to say more clearly, “I wanna hear you now.”

“Don’t wanna get to loud,” you’re breathless.

He licks you off his lips, looking you in the eye, “so don’t.”

Daryl starts going faster now, breathing you in and humming, knowing you can feel the vibrations, jerk. “Mmm, Daryl, please.” You start to pant again, still too scared you might let yourself go too far.

His fingers spread wide, splaying over to your lower stomach, pushing down until he reaches your tit and circling your nipples. His other hand joins him, it makes you inhale sharply. With that and the way he circled your hole, trying to get his tongue to go in and press as much as he could, it caused you to jerk up, taking one of his hands in your own, squeezing it. Your other hand went to his hair. His fingers weren’t even inside of you, but his hands felt so big no matter where he touched you and his tongue felt incredible, you didn’t know how he did it and it made you start to loose it, “ah- Daryl-”

“You like that?” He pushed you hand off his head and he took his free hand to finger your clit and he went back to sucking and making out with you toward your center. It all makes you nod your head, shaking quickly.

“Say it.”

“I like it,” it came out as a whispered shriek. “I like it, I like it,” you were breathless, “Daryl you feel so good.” You were holding on as hard as you could, but it wasn’t working. Your thighs came to close in on his face but he pushed his hands into your inner legs opening them even further and he kept going down, his nose pressing into you.

His mouth moved up again making out with your clit and lips on top and two of his fingers went into your hole.

You held onto his other hand again and squeezed and he thrusted his fingers into you hard and fast, he wanted to make you reach the end now.

“Oh- Daryl- oh my god,” you were coming out pathetically now as his fingers started to curl into you, and he added another.

Suddenly, you felt it. Right at the bottom of your stomach, the spark, the indescribable electricity as he kept humming into you on top and jamming into you at the bottom. All you heard was the squelch of you and his fingers and tongue lapping and lapping until you let out as much of a suppressed moan as you could release as you came.

Your eyes finally relaxed as you settled down and Daryl sat up on the bed, watching your breathing slow.

He stayed there for a moment, looking at how the night’s light shined on you from the window.

You had pulled the blanket over your legs again but he pulled it off. You didn’t know exactly what he was doing but your eyes were still closed. You were tired and sexed out now, you couldn’t get yourself to open them or ask questions, and it wasn’t a particularly cold night anyway and you still had his shirt on. You let it be, your mind finally drifting until you heard quiet footsteps travel down stairs, until they quickly ascended again.

Daryl took you by the upper back and under your knees, picking you up. With no words he took you to the front porch, gently laid you on the blanket, the side closest to the door. He laid himself on the opposite, closest to the sky.

You’re curled into his chest, you almost looked like a kitten, arm over him, fist curling into your chin contentedly, eyes closed and so peaceful, but you still kept nestling.

“Go to sleep,” he insisted softly. His hand went into your hair, lulling you further into your trance. This time it worked. He did everything right and now the trick was paying off, you couldn’t help but fall closer and closer into your slumber.

Daryl turned to his left to look at the moon, its gentle gleam finally coaxing him into his own sleep as well.

[darkbluekies]

What about dr kry with a darling that's scared of needles?

Panic point

Doctor!yandere OC x reader

Summary: you have to have your blood tested. Only problem? You're afraid of needles.

Warnings: blood, panic attack(?)

Word count: 1.3k

He’s feared this day — and so have you. 

You need to get your blood taken, just to make sure that you’re healthy … or at least as healthy as Dr Kry will allow you to be. You hate needles more than anything else on this pesky planet — maybe even more than being bedridden. Dr Kry hates to force you to do something you’re so afraid off and at the same time terrified of the results he’ll get from the test. But it has to be done, he needs to know where he has you. 

“Y/N?” he asks as he enters the empty room. “Where did you go?”

He walks around, looks behind the curtains, under the bed and under his desk. You’re nowhere. That’s when he notices the bathroom. The red image under the handle is all he needs to know to understand where you are. He walks over and leans against the door. 

“Y/N, don’t be like this”, he says slowly and tries the door handle. 

“I’m not doing it!” you growl from inside the bathroom. “Not a chance!”

“Y/N …”

“I would rather die!”

Dr Kry sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“The quicker you come out, the quicker it’s over”, he reminds you. “I have everything set up, it’ll only take five minutes … probably less. I just need to put a little band over your arm and hit a vein. I don’t need more.”

“Never.”

“Y/N, don’t make me take the door off the hinges.”

A second of silence follows before you blow off. 

“Fucking leave me alone!” you scream angrily. “I fucking hate you! I told you that I don’t want to do it! Just leave me alone!”

Dr Kry clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. Anger rises through his chest, but he knows that he can’t let himself get mad. Not at you. Not at his sweetheart. It’s not your fault that you scream at him. You can never do anything wrong in his eyes. You’re just scared, you’re not meaning to do this.

“Y/N, come out in this instant”, he says firmly. “I’m not playing around. You have to do this, whether you like it or not. It’s for your health, to make sure you feel better!”

A few seconds of silence follows, and then a click from the door. Dr Kry wants to rip the door open to prevent you from changing your mind and locking it, but he doesn’t want to scare you even further. You open it carefully and meet his eyes. You’re glaring at him. 

“Thank you”, he says and takes a hold of the door. “Shall we start?”

You don’t answer. You push past him and sit down on your bed with your arms crossed. Dr Kry follows and sinks down on his rolling stool. 

“Would you like me to explain everything I’m going to do?” he asks. “So you’ll feel a bit more comfortable?”

You nod shortly. 

“I will tie a rubber band around your arm until a vein is exposed”, he starts calmly and takes out the needle. “Then I will use this one to take a few drops of blood. Afterwards it’s done.”

“That thing is fucking huge!” you raise your voice. 

“It’s not huge, Y/N.” He puts the syringe back. “Let’s start. Give me your left arm.”

You don’t comply. Dr Kry sighs and takes your arm in his hand. He pulls the rubber band over your arm and waits until a vein is prominent. Carefully, he wipes the skin with a disinfected wet wipe. You flinch as he picks up the syringe. 

“No, no, no, no-”, you babble while shaking your head and trying to pull your arm back.

“Y/N, stop”, Dr Kry says and holds your arm still in a firm, strong grip. “If you move around I might hurt you.”

You start to sob and Dr Kry puts down the syringe. He puts his now free hand on your cheek to wipe your tears while holding your left arm firmly with the other.

“It’s going to be okay”, he says softly. “It’s going to be quick and it won’t hurt.”

“Yes, it will!” you sniffle. 

“Maybe just a little sting, but you’ve been through worse.”

“Please don’t do it, doctor … please.”

“I’m sorry, I have to.”

“I can take a urine sample, a-anything else! Just not a needle.”

“I need to check your blood, not your urine. Believe me, Y/N, if I thought that a urine sample was good enough, I’d let you take one. But it’s not as accurate. I have to know exactly how you’re feeling.”

You hide your face into his arm. Dr Kry caresses your hair. 

“Let’s get it over with, okay?” he encourages. “You’re strong, you’re amazing. How about we get something yummy to eat later as a prize for you being so so brave, hm? How about a muffin?”

You nod into his arm. The coming seconds are either too fast or too slow, none of you can recall how much time passes. The needle breaks through the skin and you look away with a whimper. Dr Kry watches the blood enter the syringe and pulls it out of your arm. He places a cotton pad over the small hole in your skin. 

“Hold that”, he says. 

You take the cotton pad in a shaking hand and hold it over the small hole. Dr Kry closes the tube and puts a band aid over the hole, pressing down on it for a few seconds. 

“And we’re done!” he says, cupping your cheeks. “You did so well, I’m so proud of you, Y/N!”

You sob in relief. Dr Kry wants to hug you, but he has to be professional. 

“You did so, so well”, he says proudly. “See? It wasn’t too bad.”

“Can I get a muffin now?” you ask quietly. 

Dr Kry chuckles and nods. He leaves and comes back ten minutes later with a blueberry muffin from the cafeteria. 

“Here you go”, he says and puts it in your hand. 

You split it in two and hold out one of the halves to him. 

“For me?” he asks, shocked. 

You nod shyly.

“Thank you, Y/N”, he says and takes the split half.

“I’m sorry for swearing at you … and saying that i hate you”, you say shamefully. “I didn’t mean any of it …”

“It’s okay, Y/N, I didn’t take it to heart.”

Yes, he did. 

“I understand that you were scared”, he says and takes a small bite of the muffin. “It’s behind us now, don’t be embarrassed. You can’t do anything wrong in my eyes. I should have prepared you better.”

After you’ve eaten the muffin, he puts you to bed and reads out of the book you’re currently reading. You drift off to sleep in no time. Dr Kry closes the book and looks at you with a fond smile. You have the teddy bear he gave you last christmas under your arm, snuggling with it. You have it every time you’re napping and it makes Dr Kry want to melt into a puddle. He tucks you in and places the book back in the book shelf. Before walking out, he regulates the toxic air purifier. Every time he has to leave you, his heart shrinks. 

Dr Kry tests your blood down in the lab. He’s careful with every action. Your blood is precious, he doesn’t want to spill any of it. It will have put you through misery for nothing. He will come back in a week and see if there’s any haunting results. Dr Kry takes a deep breath. He’s positive that you’re okay. You have to. He can’t imagine what he’s going to do if you’re not … he doesn’t dare to imagine it. 

He walks back to your room and decides to do some paper work while you sleep soundly behind him. It’s these types of moments he wishes could last forever. 

[oli-ribbun-ver]

TADC Ep 4 Ramble! (?)

OKAY!! ive been wanting to yap about this for a while so!!

FIRST!! what finally got me to make this post!

the difference between how jax and ragatha worded it when they said something about gangle being happy!!

as you can see here, jax says "I like you better when you're sad."

but why am i thinking about this so much?

jax doesn't really say "i hate when youre happy," or anything of that sort! he just says "i like you better when you're sad." is there really that much of a difference? well, yes!

there's actually a BIG difference!

"I hate when you're happy," would mean that Jax ONLY likes Gangle when she's sad and that he makes her sad BECAUSE she's happy, which isn't the case!

We KNOW that Jax doesn't do it because he dislikes when she's happy (although that MIGHT be the case, he definitely doesnt overall HATE when she's happy) because he says in Ep 1;

"I'm fine with doing whatever, as long as I get to see funny things happen to people."

AND at the beginning of Ep 3, he has absolutely no issue with her being happy in any way. You can even visually see the reason he throws her mask is because he thinks it's funny.

(he literally dgaf)

Hell, you can tell he wasn't even considering throwing her mask until Gangle mentioned the doors and he was like "oh stars yknow what would be funny..."

oh stars wait i didnt know there was a pic limit hokd on

okay had to delete some SORYR wait does fhis mean this has to be a seperate part thing??? how do i even do fhat... oh dear... THATS OKAY ILL FIGURE IT OUT!! anyways

I'm sure you get my point! Yes, in Ep 2, he seems a bit happier with her being sad, he LITERALLY SAYS "Aren't you supposed to be submissive and agreeable?", but also remember he SPECIFICALLY says

"I like you better when you're sad." not that he ONLY likes her when she's sad, which is kinda my point with this.

Now, what makes it so different to Ragatha's comment about her being happy?

"You're kind of annoying when you have your happy mask."

Yeah. Kind of a big difference.

She just straight up says she thinks Gangle is annoying when she has her happy mask.

It can be argued that it's because Ragatha was hit with the good ol' stupid sauce, but if you haven't noticed, it's not that it made her stupid(although it sorta did), it just made her brutally honest with how she felt.

Gangle already knows that Ragatha is a people pleaser. Kind of everyone knows that. But regardless, Gangle considers Ragatha a friend. Sure, she could've expected it from Jax, but from RAGATHA?

Yeah. I wouldn't expect it either.

Because again, unlike Jax, Ragatha says she finds Gangle annoying when she's happy. Jax does not. And we know Jax is typically at least somewhat honest about how he feels. He literally has no reason to lie to Gangle about that, though. Like literally no reason.

"I like you better when you're sad" is a BIG difference than "You're kind of annoying when you have your happy mask."

Before anyone mentions it, although yes Ragatha DOES say happy MASK, Gangle doesn't exactly show she's sad when she has her happy mask on. She seems happier than when she doesn't have it, but we can pretty confidently assume that's not the case. I'll get into her mask later, though.

Regardless, what we know so far is that nobody really knows her happy mask doesn't actually make her happy except (now) Pomni and MAYBE Zooble.

Although I sorta doubt the Zooble thing because Ep 4 allowed us to learn that Gangle has a bigger mood drop the longer she's 'happy' for, since happiness isn't what she truly feels most of the time.

OKAY next post so i can put more images.

[wrangleandtame]

Here’s a wee fluffy fic: canon-divergence after El Reno Tornado. Full fluff under the cut.

HE SAW STARS

Tyler was running before his mind made sense of what was happening. His legs could only carry him as fast as his injury would allow, and had he actually thought through his intentions, he would have found a working car in the rubble. As it was, he could only function on his driving instinct to reach her.

A prayer ran through his mind to the beat of his heart and in time with his footfall: please be alive please be alive please be alive please be alive…

In a field of what might have once been thriving winter wheat he felt more than heard a white pickup truck pull up next to him, Boone at the wheel hollering, “get in! Get in!”

“North!” Tyler directed as he pulled himself onto the blanketed benchseat.

“Yep,” Boone floored it.

“Whose truck is this?” Tyler asked, his eyes desperately scanning the horizon for a glimpse of yellow barrels, a red truck - anything.

“No idea,” Boone shrugged, “shit there it is!”

He could see his truck in the distance flipped upside down, “faster Boone.”

As they approached, Tyler spotted her prone body a few feet from the truck.

No no no no no no no. He didn’t know whether he was thinking it or saying it aloud, but he was out of the truck before it even came to a full stop and dropped to the ground beside her. She lay on her back unconscious and spread like a starfish.

“No. Nonononono,” he whispered, pulling her limp body into his lap and clumsily pressing two fingers into her neck in different spots attempting to locate her pulse.

She was covered in haphazard cuts and dirt, bruises already forming on her arms. A significant amount of blood on her forehead sent dread shooting through him.

“Kate! Kate, wake up!” Tyler pleaded just as he found the steady beat of her pulse.

“Wake up. I need you to wake up Kate,” his voice calmed by her sign of life, he attempted to gently brush back the blonde locks sticking to the blood on her forehead. Small pieces of glass imbedded in her skin flickered light like diamonds

“I am awake,” she mumbled without opening her eyes, and Tyler could hear Boone behind him releasing a held breath.

Tyler smiled at the sound of her voice, “can you open your eyes for me? Kate? Open your eyes.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and confusion dressed her face. “Tyler?” She rasped, then her eyes closed again.

“Stay with me here Kate,” Tyler thumbed mud from her chin.

Her eyes slowly opened again, this time unfocused and then looking past him into the sky and she gasped, “did it work?”

“You did it. You saved us.”

She scanned his face, and her smile immediately dropped, “then why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” he countered, two fat tears marking a clean runway down his smiling face.

“Tyler are you hurt? Your leg?”

“I’m fine,” he kept smiling. He couldn’t stop smiling.

“Did we…” the words stuck and she swallowed.

“Did we what?” He sniffed.

“Did we lose anyone? Is Javi okay?”

“Javi’s fine. The team is fine. You saved us. But I’d like to get you to a hospital.”

“Am I hurt? Is that why you’re crying?”

“I’m not crying,” he repeated, a tear dropping from his chin onto her chest, “I think you have a concussion. At least.”

“A concussion? Did I hit my head?”

“Your pupils are dilated, you’ve got a pretty good hairline laceration.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. So did I pass the tornado wrangler initiation?”

Boone laughed, “I think you get to be president now.”

She tipped her head to get a glimpse of Boone and winced in obvious pain, a small cry escaping her lips.

“What? What is it?” Tyler ran his hand down her neck looking for injuries.

“Mm,” she squinted her eyes closed, “just give me…a second.”

“What hurts? Kate?”

“I think maybe…my shoulder is out of… I feel a little drunk, but not in a good way,” she opened her eyes and watched Tyler’s face contort in concern.

“Collarbone, yeah, I see it. Kate, I think it’s broken.”

“Your eyes, god, they’re beautiful when you cry,” she ran her left thumb along his eyebrow, down around his ear and along his jaw.

“He’s crying because he thought you were toast,” Boone added helpfully, “I’m going to check the truck, maybe there’s something we can use for a sling or something.”

“That’s why? You were worried? For me?” Tyler grabbed her hand from his jaw and held it.

“You drove into that tornado. By yourself. You just, you just left.”

“You drive into tornadoes all the time.”

“Not like that. That was brave and I was scared you were… That you… Shit, Kate,” he blinked rapidly, the tears pooling again.

“Come here.”

“Where?”

“I can’t raise myself up because of my possibly broken clavicle, so I’m going to need you to lean in here so that I can kiss you.”

His eyes rounded

She smiled her full toothy grin, “preferably before Boone gets back.”

He dropped his mouth into hers, not as tentatively as he would have liked and kissed the living daylights out of her.

Tyler would describe it to anyone who would listen for years to come: This epically great kiss ended with his vision dissolving into stars—that’s how good it was. Kate could then be counted on to interject that there was a valid scientific explanation for seeing stars, and it was simply the interplay of neurological, retinal, and physiological responses to hypoxia, probably brought on by adrenaline surges and vasodilation.

“Definitely,” Tyler would agree with a wink, “adrenaline surges and vasodilation brought on by you in that red tank top with the camera holster.”

[miasmaghoul]

Afternoon Delight

Rating: E

Pairing: Aether/Dew

Contains: a lunch date, complete with dessert. ft transmasc dew (use of cunt/clit/dick for his anatomy)

Aether sighs as his phone buzzes against his hip, tossing his pen onto the pile of papers in front of him. It's been a frantic morning in the infirmary, lots of running and putting out fires, and he'd finally had the chance to get to his charting. It's a little after 11am, almost an hour until his well-deserved lunch break, and the last thing he needs is another surprise emergency.

Thankfully, this text is a different sort of surprise.

D: come to the wing on ur lunch. got something 4 u.

He smirks at the screen, sending a quick thumbs up and sliding his phone back into his pocket. It's the third time this week he's gotten that same text from Dew, and he can't say he's upset about it. The little ghoul has been on his ass about eating better since they all got back from tour. Dew discovered that he'd been living off of protein shakes and caffeine during his shifts, and to say he wasn't happy would be an understatement. Since then, whenever their schedules allow it, Dew has been making him lunch. Now, a few times a week, Aether finds himself presented with a ridiculously elaborate meal and has the pleasure of eating it with Dew at his side. He tries not to let his mind wander as he goes back to his paperwork, stomach already rumbling in anticipation of finding out what's on the menu today.

The next 45 minutes pass in slow motion, he swears it. The second the clock hits noon he drops his pen, tosses his stethoscope on top of the stack of folders still waiting for him, and breezes out the office door. He makes it to the lobby before anyone catches him, and when the Brother behind the small intake desk waves at him Aether hold up one hand.

"I'm on lunch," he announces. "Whatever it is, leave me a note. I'll see it in an hour."

Aether strides into the hall before the man can answer, can feel him gawping at his back. If it's urgent, someone will call him. Right now he's focused only on the walk to the kitchen, finally letting himself think about what Dew might have waiting for him.

A few days ago it had been homemade pho with chicken and all the fixings, fragrant broth piled high with veggies and herbs pilfered from the greenhouse. Aether had eaten two bowls and part of a third, had gone back for the second half of his shift food drunk with his pants unbuttoned. Dew had chatted with him the whole time, munching on a bowl of grapes while Aether chowed down, face lined with both obvious amusement and something sweeter. He'd reached over to wipe a splash of broth from Aether's cheek and earned a kiss to the back of the hand for his troubles. Dew had accused him of being a sap, and Aether had not argued.

He groans when he finally reaches the door to the ghoul wing, the scent of something savory and delicious flooding his nose the second he enters. Aether floats towards the kitchen like a cartoon character smelling a freshly baked pie, rubbing his growling stomach as he rounds the corner into the common room.

"What smells so -"

Oh. There's no one here. That's a surprise, Dew has always been waiting for him at the dining table on days like this. Instead, he sees a lidded container sitting at the end of the island, a small piece of paper resting on top of it. Aether frowns as he shuffles over to it, snatching up the note bearing his name. Maybe Dew had gotten called for a last minute practice session or something. He tries not to be too disappointed as he unfolds the paper, but can't help but feel a little put out that Dew hadn't said anything. He peeks into the container, but condensation clinging to the inside of the lid obscures its contents. His attention returns to the note, and Aether's mood lifts almost instantly.

Made your favorite, it reads.

That would mean pork and veal meatballs with spinach, braised in a slightly sweet tomato sauce, served over parmesan polenta and topped with fresh ricotta. Aether can't believe he'd do all that for a lunch, of all things, but when he cracks the lid he sees he's right. It's still hot, can't have been in the container for more than a few minutes, and Aether tries not to drool down his chin while he goes back to the note.

Dessert's in your bedroom, it continues in Dew's scratchy hand. Go eat it first.

It's physically painful for Aether to shut that lid, but he manages. He tosses the note back on top of it as he turns on his heel, rushing into the hall and digging his keys out of his pocket. He can't imagine what Dew left for him, but it must be good if he'd included it in his note. Aether singles out his bedroom door key just as he turns the final corner, making a beeline to unlock the last room on the left.

Imagine his surprise to find it already cracked open. Dew must have been in a real rush, that isn't like him at all. Aether shoves his keys back into his pocket, pushes the door open, and in the center of the bed -

"Oh."

"Finally," Dew sighs, smirking, "I thought you'd never show up."

Aether can't get his mouth to close as he takes in the sight before him. Dew's in a t-shirt and socks, but that's it. Reclining against Aether's pillows, casually regal, with one hand up his shirt and the other between his spread thighs. He can see two of those long fingers working, and Aether's stomach cramps when he hears the slick sound of Dew pumping them in and out of his already flushed cunt.

The little ghoul slides them out, spreading dusky lips so Aether can get a good look at his creamy hole and plump little dick, and Aether's cock gives a mighty throb.

"Gonna have your dessert?"

Dew clenches around nothing and Aether's head spins. He stumbles towards the bed and Dew huffs out a chuckle, tugging at one of his nipples. They're stiff enough to poke through his shirt, one of Aether's favorite sights, and he licks his lips as he crawl up the mattress. He knows he's doomed when Dew raises those two fingers, stretching his slick between them as he brings them to his lips.

"I promise it's nice and sweet," he coos, tongue poking between his fangs. "You're gonna want a taste."

Dew presses those shiny digits inside with excruciating slowness, eyes rolling back at the taste as a raspy moan escapes him. It's exaggerated, a show, and Aether has to roll his hips against the blankets as he drinks it in. He's not even fully hard, not yet, but he can feel a sticky spot forming against his thigh regardless. He gets his hands around Dew's thighs as the little ghoul fingerfucks his own mouth, spreading him wide and damn near whimpering when those skinny hips rock upwards.

"Eat up, big guy," Dew lilts between pumps of his fingers, other hand slipping out from under his shirt to get a nice handful of Aether's hair. "I know you must be starving."

Dew arches off the bed when Aether dives in, lapping at his pudgy clit with too-rough strokes that he knows the little ghoul adores. A pair of sharp heels dig into his back, urging him on, and as the glorious taste of Dewdrop fills his mouth Aether has a feeling there will be a stain soaked into his khakis by the time he's done.

Dew will never let him hear the end of it, and Aether won't mind it one bit.

[sams-butt-dem0n]

ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BEGGING. For reader taking Johnny Cade's first time.

First Time - Johnny x reader

Warnings: smut smut smut, Johnny being a little nervous at the beginning, he's defo a bottom just saying, some colourful language

Word Count: 827

A/N: I love writing smut but only when I'm in the mood. I can't decide on how I want to write Johnny as a bottom but he is NOT having a mommy kink ( I really hate the mommy and daddy kins I just can't deal)

• You and Johnny had been dating for a while now, just over 6 months, and you both felt ready to take things to the next level.

• It was a little difficult for you and Johnny to have some time alone due to his parents being the way they are and your parents being so strict - however, you both found a way.

• The few times that Johnny has been allowed over to your house, you had countless make-out sessions and were all over each other. Not gonna lie, you might have left a hickey or two once...

• Today was the day. your parents had gone on a road trip and were going to be away for at least three days, leaving you to your own devices. You were an only child so there wasn't even anyone who could rat you out.

• You were restricted to staying inside unless you were going to school or to the store but of course, you didn't listen. how would they know?

• You met up with Johnny and walked back to your house, stepping into your very much pink and white room,. the energy feeling more tense now that you knew you were alone. Completely alone.

• "Y/n," Johnny says, breaking the make-out the two of you were having. "I want to."

• You were shocked. You weren't a virgin but you never prepared yourself for how you would feel when those words came out of his mouth. "You do?"

• He nods, kissing your lips again.

• He definitely doesn't know what to do with his hands. He helps you unclasp your bra and take your panties off but after that, he's clueless.

• You're still making out, your hands on his bare chest and you take one of them and grab his wrist, pulling his hand down to your inner thigh.

• His fingers graze your skin and he slowly inches them up to your heat. He takes his thumb and begins to rub small circles on your clit, his breath becoming heavier.

• You moan softly in his ear, whispering his name. "Johnny." He pulls his hand away and looks into your eyes as your fingers trail down to the button of his jeans, undo it and pull them down to his knees, letting him kick them off.

• "Y/n, I-I don't know what I'm doing," Johnny says, extremely nervous.

• "It's okay, Johnny," you say, straddling him, your bare pussy pressed against his rock-hard, clothed dick. "Everything will be fine. I'll make sure of it."

• "O-okay," he replies, half concerned whisper, half moan at the feeling of you on top of him.

• Johnny at first is a little shy, you being on top, you make sure he's looking at you while you ride him, his hands laying softly on your hips.

• You definitely have to tell him halfway through that he's allowed to move his hands and grab your tits or your ass.

• He finds out that he loved being controlled during sex. He loves it when you tell him what to do when you tell him to be louder or grab you harder.

• He wants to be the only person in your life, especially in that moment.

• Definitely a whiner instead of a moaner; he doesn't make a lot of noise but you can clearly hear the neediness through his soft groans and extended whines.

• Finds out that his favourite position is cowgirl, he can see everything that's going on and yet he can sit up and kiss you and hold you close while you slowly grind on him.

• The first time is VERY vanilla, almost no dirty talk, no kinks, just simple and soft sex while you whisper sweet nothing into his ear.

• He definitely gets kinda scared and very confused when he hits the G-spot for the first time: the way your eyes roll back, your mouth drops open and your body shakes with pleasure.

• Asks you if you're okay afterwards, worried if he hurt you or did anything wrong. "Are you okay? Did I do a good job? I hope it wasn't terrible."

• You chuckle slightly, a bead of sweat rolling between your breasts. "It was wonderful, honey. You were amazing."

• The two of you just lay there and stare into each other's eyes, smiling whenever one of you looks at the other's lips.

• "Thank you," Johnny says. "I love you."

• "I love you too."