#I am very passionate about the word you now

[okwonyo]

𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 KISS ME！ ❪ 日语 ❫

IN ALTERNATIVA ─── 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒.

enhypen who wants a kiss from fem!rea ❜ 11OO fluff established relationship ˊᯅˋ kissing skinship

REBLOGS&CLICK

지아 ⠀⦂⠀this is a rewritten version of a fic that i did a while ago TT i hope you guys enjoy ! & the won gfx are made by me 🎀

HEESEUNG

unfortunately for him, it is painfully obvious. his eyes keeps peeking at your lips while you talk— he tries to focus on you, looking right into your eyes before staring at your mouth again.

you can tell from the expression on his face. his mouth as falled agape, his pupils dilate more and more by the second, his is getting a bit red. it is a kiss that he is craving for.

you make a pause in your story to try to catch his attention, “are you even listening to me right now?” your voice is more amused than annoyed.

“uh huh,” he nods. his gaze meeting your for a split second before focusing back on the object of his attention.

you narrow your eyes, pressing your lips together to suppress a laugh. you watch your boyfriend lean in, “it just gets worse when you do that.”

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

he always gets the urge to kiss you. wherever and whenever, he knows he is already gone the moment your soft lips are in sight.

however, he is a gentleman. he doesn’t cut you in what you are doing or in your sentence— he knows he got all the time in the world. to kiss you breathless, to kiss you sweetly.

he sits on the sofa, next to you. eyeing you talk about your day, so passionate and beautiful that his hearts beats faster by the minute. he drinks your world— stealing quick glance at your moving mouth.

he waits for you to finish, resting his arm on the

backseat, right behind your head. he gently hums, fully listening to you counting your story.

“am i talking too much?” you giggle after catching the look on his face. his hand reach the back of your head.

your boyfriend shakes his head, “no, baby,” he gives you a gentle kiss. “i love to hear you talk.”

JAKE

what surprises you first are his arms embracing your waist and his chest pressing against your back while you finish doing the dishes.

you can’t help but smile— laying your eyes at his cute face. nonetheless, you flash him a fake annoyed look, that gets betrayed with your effort to hide your smile.

you flick on the water pouring in front of you. “what do you want?” you question him when he puts his chin on your shoulder to get attention.

the man opens his mouth in fake offense, letting out the most dramatic gasp the earth has ever witnessed.

he is quick to give you a little pout though. you can see his puppy eyes growing wider when you give him a side look, “i want a kiss.”

he is already kissing you before you say anything.

SUNGHOON

he is too shy at the thought of asking you for a kiss alone. his pulse rate gets higher as soon as tries to form the words in his head.

your lover is way too shy to speak, to ask you for something he wants as much as a kiss. but this shyness contrasts directly with how he decides to act.

he decides to take a move instead— he comes to you as you mind your own business in the kitchen. he doesn’t say anything, startling you as you turn around and see him.

“oh!” you exclaim gently. looking up immediately as he is already very close to you already— you tilt your head to the side, observing him not saying anything.

he stays silent, putting his hands on your hips. he corners you between the kitchen counter and himself. his eyes linger on your lips

his face is already close to yours—hiding his blush— and he is so close that you are almost sitting on the counter, when he whispers, “kiss me.”

SUNOO

he isn’t as shy as he used to be at the beginning of your relationship, although you are sure all this cute boy persona was all an act.

the man watches you from afar when you get out of the bathroom. all dolled up and pampered, smelling so good that he almost faints.

he feels jealous of everyone who will get to see you tonight. but, also very pretty proud of being the one you are coming home to.

“hey, pretty girl!” his voice is heard from the leaving. he is leaning on the doorframe, arm crossed under his chest— waiting for you. “c’mere.”

“what?” you smile, your eyes narrow as you observe the sly smile on his lips. he presents one if his hands to you and you take it immediately.

he yanks you right towards him in a swift motion. “gimme a kiss,” he demands with the cutest and most attractive smile you’ve seen.

JUNGWON

instead being a good and nice boyfriend,he always decides to be the most annoying and teasing he can be.

he waits for the moment you are the most immersed in your talking to cup your pretty face. he holds his hands gently yet firmly— pressing his palms against your cheeks and making your lips pucker.

however, it doesn’t stop you. with your hands holding his wrists, you are too used to his weird habits to even bat an eye.

he nods, listening to you talk and internally debating whether he should wait until you stop or kiss your right now.

and listen, you are just too beautiful. so in between many ‘yeah’s and nods, he cuts you off, “you are so cute”

you shut up immediately. he takes your silence as an opportunity to plant multiple pecks on your lips. saying that you end up blushing is an understatement.

RIKI

“okay, what’s wrong with you?” your voice cuts him in his trance like state. he eyes flick to yours— he stops staring at your lips.

he takes a while to answer, still a bit dazed, caused by the fact he got dragged out of his daydreaming. he clears his throat, “w–what are you talking about?”

you raise an eyebrow, very amused. “you have been staring at me weirdly for ten minutes now,” you end up giggling when you see him blush.

he looks away from you for a minute, taking a dee breath before speaking again, “what do you mean ‘weirdly’?”

“well, you are mainly staring at my lips,” he didn’t even realize he was still doing it. “so i guess— ‘weirdly’ like you want a kiss or something.”

he really wish he could say anything back, but you can read into his mind like a wide open book and he is too embarrassed. he hides his face in hands, letting you laugh at him.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[xoxxbilliexoxx]

Have Your Way With Me

You strap Billie for the first time. Nerves are high so Billie starts on top, but things don’t stay like that for long.

***this is a chapter from my wattpad book, so there is an established relationship. The previous chapter was about Reader teaching Billie how to do pottery so there will be mentions of messy clay in this story… just so you aren’t confused.

Y/N POV 

“Fine but you better hurry, there's a nasty image of you wearing a strap-on that I can’t get outta my head, wouldn’t want that to change before we get home” her previous words echoed in my head as I drove us home. 

The car ride was thick with tension. Billie’s hand was wrapped tightly around my upper thigh, squeezing every so often and continuously wiggling in the passenger seat, squeezing her thighs together and very quietly whining as she did. My body was feeling the heat, with a loud thumping beginning between my legs. My head, on the other hand, only got more and more nervous as I got closer and closer to her house. I know I was excited to strap Billie when I first asked but now that she wants it, now that it’s really about to happen, I feel incredibly unqualified and absolutely terrified I won’t be able to deliver how she wants. 

After getting home and taking shark out to do his thing, we wander to the bedroom, giggling and sharing memories of the previous hours while taking off our shoes. Using a wet washcloth I got in the bathroom, I sit Billie down on the bed and grab her chin, moving it around as I clean all the clay from her face. She smiles at me as my eyes land on hers, and we both freeze to take in the moment. She looks comfortable at the way I’m taking care of her, cleaning her up without her even having to ask. Once all of it is off of her face I move down to her neck, working to scrub the dried clay handprint off her skin. I can feel the heat coming off of her, filling the room and settling between us, so thick that even the smallest spark would engulf us in flames. 

Her breathing gets heavier as I gently rub the towel against her neck. Once it’s all off I drop the rag and place kisses on the red marks that the rough fabric left on her delicate pale skin. As the kisses grow more heated we move up onto the bed. There’s no words exchanged but we both know what we want. Clay covered clothes get thrown around the room in a rush as our lips dance between each other. The way we undress, kissing and grabbing at each other in a rushed passion is just like what you see in the movies, something I never thought was actually real. 

Hovering over her naked body, my fingers find her clit quickly. Spreading around her wetness, I am quick to give her what she asked for, using my fingers on her just like I did with my clay. She’s immediately a whimpering mess underneath me, moaning softly with each of her breaths. Her wet skin becomes my new medium as I work her as I please, moving her how I want her, staying in control. With each touch a whisper of pleasure is pulled from between her lips. Her eyes are tightly closed and her head moves from side to side as she lets the feelings of my erotic actions fill her mind. “uhhhhh, ohhhh, oh y/n, oh god” My lips suck in her nipple as she sighs out her quiet words. She’s exactly where I want her, hypnotized by the lightest of touches, caught in the world where all that can be felt is pleasure and need, where every nerve ending is lit up and her body is flooded with stars, tingling and vibrating  from head to toe. 

“Please mama, I want you to use the strap, I wanna know what it feels like to be taken by you” I nod with a slight hesitation as her words travel through me and land on my clit.  I try my best to feign confidence but the fear slips through slightly in my body language. As I get up to retrieve it from her bedside table I work hard to quiet my brain, telling myself over and over that whatever might happen is okay, that Billie doesn’t expect me to be perfect with it right away. 

“C’mere lemme help you put it on mama, it's confusing at first, I gotcha” I giggle as her words help disperse some of my fear. I get on the bed, on my knees in front of her as she sits against the headboard. “Take off your panties first, you want this on your bare skin, trust me” She smirks as she looks up at me, clearly finding my lack of experience cute. Once the harness is pulled up to my waist she moves me around, securing each of the straps to get everything snug and unable to move. I feel slightly powerful as the last strap gets adjusted. I like the feeling, I like the way I stand up tall with this on me. 

When she adjusts the dildo to sit correctly it hits my clit and the unexpected sensation causes my knees to buckle and my air to escape in a loud sigh. She looks up and laughs at me, laughs at my face as I discover this new sensation. The intimacy of the moment doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s sweet, the way we both can feel a hint of nervous energy as we figure out this dynamic switch. 

After getting it on me perfectly I work my way over to Billie, immediately connecting our lips once I’m close enough. The kiss heats up and as the horniness returns to my blood, the nerves start to loosen. Our lips passionately tangle together while our hands roam each other's naked skin. She pulls at my nipples, making me yelp into her mouth, the same mouth that my tongue so fiercely explores. My hands travel down, pulling my fingertips against her skin so slowly that I can feel each of her goosebumps emerging under my touch. 

 Her wetness feels cold against my skin as I drag my fingers between her folds, bringing them up to reunite with her clit. Her reactions are subtle, the arch of her back, the quiet gasp, the hum that comes after it. But the subtle displays of her pleasure make it all the more real; I know she's not performing, not doing it to show me I’m doing good, that she’s instead doing exactly what her body needs to do with the way my touch makes her feel. As I move her sensitive bud between my fingers she gets more and more worked up. Her cheeks mirror the color of a sweet pink rose, flushed and bright. Her eyelids are tightly closed and under them I can see her eyes rolling backwards. Her lips are pressed firmly together and an almost constant hum can be heard. 

I move down and grab her hips to get her to lay a little flatter under me. Before I settle my waist between her legs I latch onto her boob, playing with each of them for a moment, knowing it would get both of us all the more worked up. My heart pounds loudly in my chest as the nervous energy courses through me. I wiggle down lower, and grab the tip of the dildo. With shaky hands I begin to rub it against her clit, pulling a louder whimper from her now. I want to show confidence, to make her feel like I did when she watched me work with the clay, but in reality I feel no where close to confident, and I know she can see that written all over my face. 

Bille leans up to kiss me with a soft dominance, before flipping us over and getting on top of me. It doesn’t feel aggressive, it feels gentle, like she saw my lack of confidence and wants to take the lead. “Lemme start on top, let you get used to this while I make us both feel good, okay mama?” As she finishes her sentence she leans forward to kiss my forehead. I scoot myself up to rest my back on the headboard and watch as she mounts me. My eyes can’t decide where to land, moving all around her to try to permanently capture this moment in my brain. As she lines herself up with the faux cock attached to me, I feel an excitement take over.

Time stands still as I watch Billie lower herself onto me. Her pussy takes the dildo so effortlessly, sliding down and letting out a loud moan as she consumes me. As soon as her thighs hit mine, she's up again, bouncing slowly up and down. My mouth hangs open, engulfed in hot sparks as I watch how incredibly sexy she looks riding me. Her head is thrown back and her hands toy with her boobs as she makes herself feel good riding on my dick. I’m dizzy from the way this image feels settling in my mind. 

My hands reach up to grab her waist and as she leans forward to meet my gaze I help her pick up speed, moving her up and down faster while my fingers dig into her soft milky skin. Her cries grow louder as she stares into my eyes. Her face is painted with pleasure; Her mouth hangs open  in a large O shape, brows knitting together, and eyes glistening and fluttering shut each time I bottom out inside of her. Sweet moans pour from her with my own groans coming out each time I see her wetness coating the plastic dick. 


She’s beautiful, so insanely beautiful. Her long black hair falls past her shoulders in messy waves, perfectly contrasting the paleness of her soft freckled skin. Her face is indescribably perfect as it displays the way she feels. Her boobs move up and down with her body, a sight I never want to stop seeing, and her hourglass waist and thick hips fit perfectly in my hands as I continue bouncing her up and down on me. The sounds of her soft moans is the sweetest song she’s ever sung. 

As we get more and more caught up in the moment I relax under her and begin to feel the pleasure of the strap against my clit. It’s much more intense than I imagined and I began to understand why Billie cums from this. My high is building fast, and the image of my sexy girlfriend riding my fake cock is making it all the more intense. When Billie sees how good this is making me feel she switches her movements, now moving back and forth. The sudden change makes us both groan loudly. With her eyes glued to mine and her lip pulled between her teeth, she watches as she brings me closer and closer to the edge. 

“Fuck Y/n, you feel so fucking good inside me, making me feel so good pretty girl” I nod my head and moan again as she shifts her hips forwards and hits my clit perfectly, yet again. She grabs my hands from her waist and moves them up to land on each of her boobs as she begins to speak, “Grab me baby, wanna feel ur fingers playing with my tits when you cum for me” My head hits the headboard as I throw it back. Everything about this moment spirals together; The base of the strap hitting my clit over and over, the feeling of Billie’s hard nipples between my fingertips and her soft boobs jiggling in my hands, the words she speaks to me, acting like a siren's call pulling me deeper into the ocean and getting me ready to explode, the image of her on top of me caught up in pleasure as her pussy takes this dick so perfectly. It all comes together and settles right at my core, forming a tight knot and with each of Billie's movements the tension only pulls tighter. 

“Feels so good, feels so fucking good” she whines out her words and thats the last thing I need to be pushed over the edge. My legs shake under her and I feel all consumed by the lightning inside of me. I need more, need more power and need more sensation, so I grab her hips hard and begin moving her back and forth against me faster and faster while pushing my own hips up against her to create more pressure. “Yes baby, yes fuck I’m cumming, I’m cumming Billie fuck” The room is filled with our high pitched cries. I continue thrusting up towards her and forcing her hips back and forth against me, it happens so naturally, like the second I felt my orgasm hit me I knew how to fuck her. She falls forward, holding herself up with her arms on both sides of my head, gripping the headboard, and begins panting loudly as I thrust into her faster and harder from underneath. Her boobs sway in front of my face and I lean forward to suck on her nipple. 

As my orgasm settles and I work to catch my breath, a feeling of power and a need to dominate Billie floods me. I grab her hips and lift her off of me before standing to my feet and yanking her by her ankles to the edge of the bed. The height of her bed is perfect, making her pussy line up with my waist as she lays at the edge. I feel a confidence building within me, or maybe it's such an intense hunger that I no longer have time to feel nervous or unsure of my actions. As I pull her towards me she yells and giggles, but the moment she sees me looking down at her it stops. I feel a intense need to fuck her, to make her scream and cum under me. I lean down and run my tongue from her Eilish tattoo all the way between her boobs and up her left collarbone. Her back arches and she gasps at the slowness of my tongue sliding across her skin. My hand wraps around her jaw and moves her head to the side. It's aggressive and dominating but not forceful. My teeth sink into her neck, right underneath her ear lobe and the harsh contact makes her groan. 

After kissing and biting her earlobe I pull away just slightly and let my whispers dance against her skin. “Im gunna fuck you know, is that okay baby?” I nod as I look down at her, making it clear I wasn’t actually asking her, but telling her what was about to happen. The shift is clear, Billie is completely submitted to me, I am fully in control now, and her pleasure is all I can think about. 

I lift her ankles to rest on both of my shoulders, finding her eyes filled with need as I look down at her. Her bright pink bottom lip is pulled completely between her teeth and her eyes are wide and full of begging. When I grab the base of my dick her eyes move to watch me. I rub the tip against her swollen clit, with each side to side movement she shutters under me, writhing and whining for more. “Want me to fuck you baby? is that what you need?” My words come out with a slight mocking tone but it only makes Billie submit to me more, whining and begging as a response to my question. 

As I slide the strap into her we both groan. It's the sight that gets to me, the image of her glistening cunt taking me so well, wrapping around me and coating me with her sweet nectar. Her face is pushed together tightly as I pull out and push back in. When her eyes open they find mine. There’s a look of complete innocence, complete submission, to them. It only fuels me more. I begin thrusting in and out of her at a steady pace as I get used to the newness of my actions. “God this is so hot, you look so fucking hot taking me like this” My voice comes out as a low breath as I keep up with my thrusts. “Keep going, fuck please baby keep going” The way shes begging me, melting at the way I’m making her feel and needing me not to stop, it sends a chill down me and into my cunt. My heart throbs into my clit and my stomach is filled with butterflies as I watch her tits shake under me with each of my movements. 

Her head is turned to the side and her eyes are closed with her eyebrows knitted together and her lips pursed tightly. I bend down, landing hard on the bed with my hands planted on each side of her head to prop me up. Her legs are still on my shoulders and her flexibility allows for her to bend with me as I lower myself. The new angle must feel good because her head turns to face me quickly and her mouth flies open to let out a loud moan. “That feel good? Is that your spot love?” I pull her in for a sloppy kiss before she can answer me. When her lips are still attached to mine I speed up my hips, fucking into her harder and faster. The sounds of her ass cheeks slapping against the front of my thighs and her sweet whimpers echoing in my mouth is all that can be heard. 

As she pulls away from the kiss, no longer able to keep her composure well enough to kiss back, the very tops of our foreheads land against each other as we both look down to watch the way we so intimately are connected. Each time I pull back we can see her cum coating my plastic dick and each time I push back in we can hear the sounds of her wet cunt taking me so well. Billie looks up at me doe-eyed before grabbing one of my hands and moving it to wrap around her throat. My eyes go wide for just a moment, never expecting her to want to be this much of a sub, but once I really take in the sight of my hand wrapped around her throat and her pleading eyes begging me to keep going, I feel my blood heat up and the dominance course through me more intensely. 

“Tell me how it feels Billie, need you to tell me how good I’m fucking you” I spit my words out aggressively but somehow still with a slight begging tone to them. She nods her head rapidly and messily, like she's drunk off the feeling of me inside of her. “F- Feels, F-FUck it feels so good, love, god, l- love the way your hand feels wrapped around my neck” “mmhhhmmmm I know mama, I know it feels so good huh?” I nod with her as I respond.

 When I watch her snake one of her hands between our bodies and land on her clit, my abs clench and  I feel my own cum leak further down my thighs. “Thats it, thats right mama, touch yourself just like that baby, need to see you cum for me” Her moans get louder as she plays with her clit. My fingers squeeze her throat just a bit tighter, interrupting her cries and getting them caught in her throat. I look down at her to make sure she's okay and when she sees my questioning eyes she nods, immediately easing my worry. 

Suddenly the strap gets harder to move in and out as Billie clenches tighter around me. “Fuck Fuck fuckkk, gunna cum y/n, gunna cum, ur gunna make me ….Fuckkkkkkkk” her loud moans interrupt her sentence as she’s thrown over the edge, shaking and whimpering under me as we both continue our actions.  “Yessss baby, yes good girl, cum for me thats it mama” I watch her fingers slow down, now wrapping very slow circles around her clit, and I use that as a sign to slow down my own thrusts. My hand lets go of her throat and I stand up tall again. She props herself up on her elbows as we both watch my slow steady movements in and out of her, watching the dildo move in with a loud gush and come back out coated in white. 

Billie works hard to catch her breath and stop her shaking legs as I pull out and drop myself down to her again, kissing her softly all over her face and chest. After our lips dance together delicately for a brief moment I pull away and look down at her, unable to contain my smiles as I take in her effortless beauty. “Was that okay lovey?” I whisper out to her. “That was more than okay, you continue to amaze me baby, that was so fucking good” She kisses the tip of my nose then pulls me to lay flush against her as she wraps her arms around me tightly. “Hate how much you make me love being a damn bottom” She scoffs after she speaks and when I laugh she just groans louder. “Dont lie, you fucking love it” I giggle into her neck. “Yea yea, shut up” she giggles with me before pulling me in for another sweet kiss. “Can we take a nap, this shit is exhausting” I admit. “THANK YOU! Its so annoying to have to act like that isnt the craziest fucking work out” Her voice spills out with enthusiasm. I fiddle with the straps, unsuccessfully trying to free myself before she gets up to help me. “Told you it feels good to use the strap, told you it'll make you cum real fast” She looks up at me when she speaks and our eye contact feels intimate as we talk about our recent sex. “That shit feels too good, and the way you look when I fuck you, Jesus. Now I get why you wanna do this all the time” I say.  “Fuck I shoulda never let you learn how amazing this is, this poor strap is about to be putting in overtime between the too of us” We both laugh loudly as we make our way under the covers, still completely naked and sweaty without an ounce of care, we can change the sheets and shower later, for now the only thing that matters is cuddles and sleep. 

[welcometoyunosworld]

A connection

𝐊𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐢-𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐠 / 𝐆-𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

𝗦𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼 / 𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁: 𝘍𝘌𝘔𝘈𝘓𝘌! 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘒𝘱𝘰𝘱, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘎-𝘋𝘙𝘈𝘎𝘖𝘕 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘔𝘜𝘚𝘐𝘊, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘷𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘚𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘑𝘪-𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 💋

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Being a famous singer and song writer wasn't just about fame or money, your love and passion for those inspired you to make music, the type of music that people can relate to, can vibe to and would absolutely love. You find ways to express your emotions in other ways. Making music, your fashion and your art. You really seek for something, anything, yet you still don't know what you really want.

When you were just a little girl, you'd be on and on about beung famous and rich, about how you'll be the star of the show. Now you're here, in your studio, staring at the blank screen of the computer in front of you as your mind won't leave you alone about your longing for that thing even you don't know. Grabbing a pencil and you sit up straight then began to write, making sure to find the right words or not. Trying to express that feeling of emptiness, feeling of being.. not enough. You feel empty, alone and.. sad.

You had many unreleased songs, most of them were songs about your struggles, pain and loneliness. You didn't plan to release them anytime soon.

You sighed and folded the paper and shoved it in the drawer before you left to get ready for your interview for today. You've been going viral again after one of your old songs started to go viral because it was used for an Edit Video of this one Kpop Idol that you were familiar with. After checking it out, you can't help but smile a bit, G-DRAGON, aka Kwon Ji-yong. Oh he was cute alright. And after that, you were listening to POWER by G-DRAGON on repeat while you were getting ready.

As you finished quickly, you made it just in time. It was bigger than you thought. The room was big, furnitures in the center and a coffee table in front, it was pretty simple, just the room size got you wondering why they need such a big ass room. But still, as your name was announced, you walked into view of the camera with your best smile and greeted the host with a polite smile.

“So Ms. Y/n, what are your thoughts about your old song that's been going viral again even though that song was years ago?” You hummed and took a good moment to think about your answer. “I am really happy that people are liking my old songs too, it brings me great gratitude to all my fans. I don't mind if they would like some or all my old songs, all that matters is that they do enjoy listening to the songs.” You replied with a smile as the host nods and nodded in respect.

“Ah what about the famous edit that blew up? Using your song for the Kpop idol G-DRAGON.” You raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I love it. The edit it amazing, my song definitely fits the Dragon himself. Very cute if you'd ask me. I had to watch it a few more times because my goodness this is the cutest man I've seen in ages.” You said with confidence and your honesty, you really found him cute, especially the edit.

“Ah so then, your thoughts about G-DRAGON and his music?” You had to take a deep breath, oh you were definitely gonna give them your 𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁 thoughts.

“I think G-Dragon is very cute, i absolutely enjoy his music. It's just amazing! I just learned more stuff about him after i saw that edit of him. And he definitely ate and left no crumbs for not even hesitating to diss someone or something. His music gets me hyped and motivated, and when i see his cute face i just close my eyes and thank god that i find a REAL man out here. And oh the way he raps, god save me, i wanna hear more of his songs old or new, whatever. G-DRAGON, the living legend, ICON!” The host bust out laughing at the way you describe your answer, but he was satisfied with it and so are you.

At the near end of your interview, it was the last question..

“𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝗚-𝗗𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻?”

You nodded with a snap of your fingers. “Yessir, absolutely. I would LOVE to see this man.” You said as you smiled happily though you'd doubt you'd be able to actually meet THE G-Dragon here, but a small part of you wished you would meet him, because you're already becoming a big fan of him, Hell, you wished you knew him sooner!!

“𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆, 𝗠𝘀. 𝗟/𝗻.”

Your eyes widened as you saw the familiar red hair and head scarf of THE living legend himself. He couldn't help but chuckle at your adorable reaction. “OH MY HEAVENS-” You ran up to him, but you didn't hug him. Oh not yet, you simply stood there, just admiring him which made him chuckle and give you his signature sweet smile. “Oh he's even cuter in person, is this heaven?” That only made him laugh softly and gently pat your head. “You are very gorgeous.” He said softly and he opens his arms for you, to which you gladly hugged him.

That interaction between you and Ji-yong left your fans and his fans in absolute shock. The moment was wholesome and very heartwarming. It was a moment you would never forget, especially when you even saved that photo of you two hugging. Ji-yong, too, couldn't help but keep the photo too, even printing it out and have it somewhere in his stuido. And each time he'd look at it, he can't help but smile softly, missing the warmth of your embrace, the angelic sound of your voice, the excitement and happiness he hears in your voice when you saw him.

After some days, you eventually found his Instagram, and liked his recent posts, even his stories too. You just can't help but miss him, you two didn't even have a proper talk in that interview because he showed up at the END of the interview. You find yourself smiling and giggling when you received a notification that Ji-yong liked some of your posts too.

It started off like that, just showing each other your support and love for music, until it turns into texting each other daily, until it turns into having calls here and there. It's been a long time already, nearly two months, you don't even know, you were just feeling so much more better. After one of his tours, you gave him a surprise visit at the dressing room while he was getting his hair styled. And before he went out, he gently placed a kiss on the back of your hand and said..

“𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘪 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺, 7𝘱𝘮?”

You couldn't even speak, but you managed to whisper a small “Yes..” and he smiled softly at you, feeling so happy.

You don't even feel that lonely anymore after meeting Ji-yong, that emptiness in you, was slowly going away, replaced with the fast beating of your heart when you were waiting for Ji-yong to pick you up, it took about five minutes or so. He arrived in that shiny car and he rolled down the window, he gave you a little smirk. “What a lovely view.” He said before he got out and led you to the door, opening it for you and even helping you get in carefully.

𝘿𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙣.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Aaaaaaa thank you!! Hope you like this one Baes!💋

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 8

Source for pic

Trouble 8

Word Count: 5093

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I am DYING to write the next chapter... just you wait...! Now I need to know each and every one of your thoughts on this, please!

Masterlist

“Roronoa.”

“Cap.” Zoro matches his long strides with Mihawk’s. The hospital beeps sound faintly from the rooms they pass, and nurses hasten their steps to answer some wailing woman two rooms down. 

Mihawk stops abruptly in front of a room, and his amber gaze pierces Zoro's eye. “I know you just got back and barely had any time to rest, but I thought you might want to be present when we interrogate him.”

Zoro nods. It's another one. Another man has shown up with missing limbs and a note. A crime of passion seems far-fetched now. This case and Lucci’s are definitely related. They're too similar to be a coincidence. 

Besides, Zoro doesn't really believe in coincidences. 

“Has someone talked to him already?” Zoro asks as Mihawk’s hand sets on the handle. 

“The doctors haven't let anyone near him yet. And they say he's heavily sedated, so we might not get much out of him for now.” Mihawk is directly involved now, and that alone tells Zoro they are about to treat this case with the level of respect it demands. 

“After you, Cap.”

The door swings back as Mihawk pushes it, and both men stand near the hospital bed. Zoro recognizes the man immediately. He's the store clerk of the grocery shop he usually goes to. 

“Hello. I'm Captain Dracule Mihawk, and this is Officer Roronoa. The nurses told you we were coming, right?” 

The man nods, his eyes glazed over and out of focus. Then he raises his arm as if he’s going to run his fingers through his hair, but groans when his stump hits his forehead instead. 

“I have nothing to say.” He sounds slightly frightened as his voice wavers, with shaky breaths escaping his lips. 

Mihawk ignores him, a scowl forming on his lips. “What do you remember about the person who did this to you?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Any detail is important. Height, build, voice, distinctive features–”

“I have nothing to say!”

Mihawk inhales deeply. Zoro knows his Captain is a very patient man. If he were the one doing the interrogating, he would be shaking the man by his collar right now. Couldn't the man see they were trying to help him? 

“So you were threatened.” It's not a question. It's a mere statement. The man's eyes fill with tears as his chin trembles slightly. 

“What am I supposed to do now? My hands were my job. I can't do my job without my hands!” He sobs, his shoulders sagging. “Not just my job… How am I supposed to live like this? He ruined everything.”

Mihawk places one hand on his shoulder, his hawk-like gaze losing a bit of its edge for a moment. “It's not all lost. You're alive, and that's more than many people can say. We're trying to help you. We want to catch the bastard who did this before they can hurt somebody else. But we need your help to do it.”

The man closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he starts talking. He says that it was a man who did this - massive, bulky and really tall. He had a mask covering his face, a hoodie and gloves on, so any detailed description is off the table. He also had a rough voice and immediately threatened him if he shared the details of what happened with the cops. 

“After he… when he… he said to never touch what's his again. I didn't understand what he meant. I was in shock, I guess.” He sighs, his head falling back. “Can you call the nurse? I can't take this pain anymore.”

Mihawk nods, and Zoro turns, ready to leave, but the man isn't done yet. “He had maniacal red eyes and seemed amused by my suffering.” 

The clap of the notebook his Captain had been scribbling on signals they’re done, so Zoro takes another step towards the door while Mihawk thanks the man for his help. But when they’re halfway through the door, he speaks again. 

“I should've listened to her. She said someone was coming for me.”

Her?

“Who are you talking about?” Zoro speaks for the first time, his stomach churning with unease. 

The man shrugs and shakes his head, his chin trembling again as, most likely, the threats the criminal spewed fill his mind. “It's nothing. Nothing. Forget it.”

“Who is she?”

“I said fucking forget it. Leave me alone, I'm done!” 

Zoro grits his teeth, his instincts driving him towards the hospital bed, ready to drill the man with more questions until they get what they came for. But Mihawk’s firm grasp on his shoulder stops him. 

“We'll leave. Rest. Thank you.” They both leave the room, and Zoro growls as soon as the door clicks behind him. 

“He knows more!”

“And you should know when to stop. Let him rest. We'll try again another day.” Mihawk starts walking, and Zoro follows, staying silent when his Captain asks the nurses to check on the man. “I have a feeling this case is just getting started, anyway.”

Mihawk’s foreboding words echo in Zoro's brain all the way back to his car. The creep who's doing this is leaving him uneasy. A feeling of dread tightens his stomach and constricts his heart. 

All he can think about is keeping you safe, and he can't exactly pinpoint why. 

Though it's quite a coincidence that Rob Lucci ogles you and gets his eyes removed, and the store clerk hits on you and gets his hands chopped. Quite a coincidence indeed. 

And Zoro doesn't fucking believe in coincidences. 

-*-

You take your car to Robin's, even though Nami offered to pick you up, knowing how unreliable your old car can be sometimes, because you want to avoid having Zoro bring you home. And, gosh, you want nothing more than to spend time with Zoro, but if you can help it, you'll do whatever’s in your power to keep him from touching you. 

No matter how hard that might be. 

You don't even know how you’re going to get into the right mood to party with your friends. They all have so much energy, and you… don't. At least not right now. 

Briefly, you wonder how many times you’re going to use the ‘I'm just tired’ excuse today, but a buzz from your phone distracts your thoughts. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, no one touches what's mine.  Unknown: Behave, be a good girl for me, and I won't be upset.  Unknown: I'm always watching. 

You stuff your phone into your pocket before forcing a fake smile onto your lips and buzzing the doorbell of Robin's apartment. She opens the door with a smile that quickly turns into a frown upon setting her eyes on you. 

Not even all the makeup in the world can disguise the massive bags beneath your eyes, the redness in them, or the frayed look. And even if it could, Robin is your most perceptive friend. 

Still, she doesn't address the matter directly. She simply gives you a tighter hug than usual and whispers in your ear: “You need anything, honey? I won't ask questions, even if it's murder.”

The laugh that bubbles up in your throat is completely genuine, and you feel a little lighter. “Oh, trust me, Robin, I know you're the one to ask! But I'm okay, just tired, I guess.”

That's one. 

“Are you sure? You know I know ways to get rid of a body without getting caught…”

“Nico, I'm right here. I have no qualms about taking your ass to jail, you know?”

He's teasing Robin, but his piercing eye is set on you and you have to bite your lower lip to stifle a sob. Zoro's mere presence exudes safety and all you want to do is rush into his arms and forget everything. Forget about feeling scared, trapped, helpless and useless. 

He's right there. 

“Hey, Troublemaker, making trouble?” Robin smirks, shoves Zoro playfully, and returns to her home, leaving you two alone in the doorway, where Zoro leans casually. You notice his piercing gaze assessing the dishevelled state of your hair, the lack of care with your chosen outfit, the way your hands fidget with the hem of your jacket, and surely the way your lip trembles. 

“Hi. Not today, Zo.” You give him a soft smile along with your chill greeting, but the slight buzz in your pocket alerts you, and reminds you not to push it, so you quickly erase it from your face. 

Zoro's eye widens, and he crosses his arms as his brows scrunch. “Is everything–”

“I'm just tired.”

Two.

“See you inside, I’ve got to go greet our friends.” You try to get past him, but he stretches his arm across the doorway and blocks your path. You inhale a quick breath and are inundated with the smell of steel and his musky scent. Safety. Protection. 

… Home…

“Hey. Talk to me.” He mumbles, reaching and tilting your chin slightly so he can look into your eyes. “You look like you haven't slept in days.”

Bzzzz.

You shake your head both as an answer to his question and to deflect his touch. A quick step away brings your back against the doorway, his arm right next to your face and he leans in, seeing you're trapped. 

“Yeah, I know. Too much farm work, I guess. I'm just–”

“Tired?” That's three. 

You nod. Bzzzz. Then you flinch, and Zoro arches his eyebrow. 

“Talk inside, okay?” And before he says anything else, or does anything else - because it's starting to prove impossible to stay away from him - you duck beneath his arm and scurry inside. 

-*-

What the royal fuck? 

Tired? That's not tired. That's exhausted. You look like you've been through hell and back and, apparently, you don't want to tell him why. 

What's going on? 

Zoro follows you inside and closes the door behind him. He watches as you force a smile on your usually cheery face and greet the rest of your friends. Then he watches as Luffy hugs you tighter than usual - probably noticing your frayed state - and watches you push him away, your hand flying to your pocket. 

You stare at your phone, eyes darting back and forth - reading - then you close them shut with an almost imperceptible shudder, and put the phone back in your pocket. 

What is going on? 

He watches you when you think nobody's watching, and he sees the way your hands tremble as you reach for a sandwich you only nibble on, giving the rest to Luffy. He sees the way your eyes dart around the room and the way you avoid windows, preferring to sit in the middle of the living room and on the floor. 

He's especially interested in whoever is texting you, because you can't seem to let go of your phone. Though the texts don't make you happy. They seem to upset you. 

He also sees the way you avoid the Cook and all his flamboyant attention. He realises that your actions are so thought out, so careful, that you're not even your clumsy self. He sees you struggle, trying to smile and to engage.��

To pretend. 

But mostly, he watches as you actively avoid him all night. 

Something is definitely going on. And he's going to find out what. 

-*-

Unknown: The Vinsmoke is too flirty. Get away from him.  Unknown: You're doing so well, Kitten.  Unknown: Avoiding the cop all night. Look how well-behaved you are. 

The hundredth involuntary shudder assaults you. You're trying. By all that is sacred, you really are trying to be good. 

But you feel watched. Not that usual uneasiness that comes from the creep watching you, no. Sadly, you're already getting used to that dreadful feeling. What you're feeling right now is the piercing gaze of Zoro. He's watching your every move. And all you want to do is gravitate towards him. 

He's right there. 

With a heavy sigh, you collect the empty plate of the food you never touched - thank God for Luffy's unending appetite - and go to the kitchen to set it in the sink. 

“Need help?” Fuck. You just saw Zoro snoozing on the couch. Does he have superpowers or something? Now you're both alone. 

Your heart starts hammering away in your chest as you rinse the plate and set it aside. With a deep, steadying breath, you turn, holding a dish towel in your hands as you dry them. “Thanks, Zoro, I'm all done.”

The smile plastered on your lips feels as fake as the little plastic birds Robin has adorning her windowsill. But you try to sell it as you drop the dish towel and start to move to get away from him as fast as you can. 

“So you're running from me again?”

Shit. 

“What are you talking about, Zo? I'm just heading back, you can come too if you want.” But he doesn't move. And he's blocking the door. 

“Stop lying to me, Trouble. You've been avoiding me all night.” Does he actually sound hurt? “What's going on?”

“I'm just–”

“Don't even think about giving me that crap about being tired. You're not tired. You look like hell.”

Bzzzz.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.” You try to make light of the matter and get past him to go to the living room, but he grabs your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

You flinch and shudder, your eyes closing with a gasp. 

“Stop. Talk to me.” You sigh and close your eyes. You want to tell him everything. “Are you still getting those weird gifts? Is that what this is?”

Yes! And so much more! “No, Zoro. The gifts stopped, the person must have given up.” You sigh, the lies coming easier than you would’ve liked them to. “I'm tired. I hate being alone in that big house, and I miss my dad. That's all.” Some truth mixed with the lies might just help you sell them. 

He nods, and his hands squeeze tighter. “I get that. But that doesn't explain why you're running from me.” Bzzzz. You flinch again and roll your shoulders, trying to evade Zoro's touch because you know that's what the texts are sure to be about. “See? Why are you avoiding my touch, Trouble?”

Shit! 

“I'm not.” Wow. That lie wouldn't fool a child. 

“Prove it.” What? You raise your brow, lips curling into a dumbfounded expression. “Let’s finish what we started. Let me kiss you.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

No. God, no. 

You want to. You want this nightmare to come to an end. You want Zoro to kiss you, and to hold you, but mostly, you want him to protect you. To help you crawl out of this miserable rut you got yourself into. 

But you can't. Because you know the texts that await you are all threats to his safety, and you can't risk him. You just can't. 

“I… Zo… I'm not feeling well, another time, maybe.”

You can't bear the hurt in his eyes so you look down, but he doesn't relent. “I thought… I thought we had something. I thought you wanted…” His hands cup your cheeks and he forces you to look at him.  “This.”

You do. God you want all of it. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

Zoro leans slowly. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Your throat feels dry, your phone doesn't stop vibrating and there's not enough air in the world to fill your lungs. 

“I did. Before.” You leave it at that and he's so surprised by your answer that you take advantage and slip past him, trying to hold back sobs as you quickly make up an excuse to your friends and leave. 

You shouldn't have come. This was a mistake. You just managed to hurt Zoro. 

Fuck. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you made it home, but you did. Tears kept streaming down your face, and you blinked them away furiously, but reaching home and locking the door behind you doesn't bring the sense of safety it used to. 

Everything is tainted. You don't feel safe anywhere. 

The phone burns a hole in your pocket with its incessant buzzing. Someone called you on your way over, and you bet it was Zoro. You don't dare to look, as you already know there are dozens of texts from your interactions with Zoro tonight. 

He almost kissed you, and he was so adamant in trying to find out what’s wrong with you. Your friends noticed something was up, but the tired excuse worked perfectly with them, whereas with Zoro… 

He didn't buy it for an instant. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

“God, just stop!” You screech, your hand clawing at your pocket as you take the device out and turn it off without even glimpsing at any text. You place it with force against the kitchen table and slump in the chair, holding your head tight as sobs claw up your throat. 

You're tired, you are. But it's not just physical. What he's doing to you is much worse. It's torture, and it’s bringing you closer and closer to despair. 

A melodic sound comes from your phone, and you hold your breath, removing your hands from your face as you stare at the bright screen. It turned itself on. 

What? 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: Kitten, don't shut me out. You don't want to anger me any more than you already have. 

You stand up abruptly and widen your eyes, a hand pressing against your mouth as a way to trap the whimper that threatens to escape. Then you turn off the phone again, setting it back down on the table as if the thing were on fire. 

You can count the time passing by the accelerated thrums of your heart hammering against your chest.

The melodic sound chimes again, and you freeze as the screen lights up once more. Its obnoxious light fills up the room as the harbinger of doom itself. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: That’s strike two, and I’m not amused. Don’t shut me out. I’m not–

This time you turn it off and shove it inside the kitchen junk drawer, amidst corks and can openers, hoping against all hope that this nightmare comes to an end, because how can it continue if you push it out of your sight?

Your stare burns a hole in the drawer, but you don’t hear the melodic jingle of the phone turning on, nor any buzzing. Is it… over?

The sounds of the old house seem amplified as you train your ears on any noise.

Can it actually be this simple?

BANG!

Your scream comes as unannounced as the loud bang that rattled the front door. Grasping the edge of the table with all your might, since your legs gave out from under you, you stare in the direction of the front door.

Then you hear it, clear as day, loud as if it were right next to you: footsteps. Heavy footsteps thump on the porch in a slow, taunting march. It’s him. It has to be him. You feel all your limbs locking up, constricting your breaths.

BANG! 

This time, you press both your hands against your mouth and stifle your cry. He’s right there. Your breath comes out of your nose in loud, rapid bursts, and your head feels light. It’s over. He’s come for you and there’s no escape. 

The footsteps cease, and you take a deep breath as tears drip down your face. Did he give up? 

You're not quite sure how you get the courage to do it, but you approach the front door with very light steps, avoiding the creaking boards of the floor and standing on your tiptoes to try and see through the peephole, even though you’re already dreading what you’ll find once you press your eye against it.

Darkness.

You can’t see anything. Should you turn the porch light on?

BANG!

This time, you can’t contain your loud cry as you fall to the floor. The door rattled right against your touch and your stomach tightens at the thought that there’s just a door separating you from whoever is out there. 

You crawl backwards, deranged sobs leaving you as you curse and plead, not quite sure what to do.

And then, as your back hits the kitchen counter, you know what he wants.

Getting up on shaky legs, you can still hear the pacing outside the door. You’re terrified. Fear makes your limbs congeal, and you shake your hands to try and stop them from trembling. Your fingers fumble with the drawer, and you have to clasp your phone with both hands as you turn it on. 

The melodic ring resounds all around the kitchen, and, as soon as the phone is connected, it buzzes.

Unknown: Good girl.

-*-

Another restless, sleepless night. 

You can’t shake away the fear that he left behind, no matter how much he assured you over texts that he would never hurt you, he just needed to make you learn. You’re a fast learner, he said. You can be good, he added. You just need to be reminded of this now and again.

He kept calling you his, kept saying you’d learn to love him, to call for him, to need him. 

You were so shaken up from the whole ordeal that you threw up whatever meager food you had managed to eat at Robin’s. Then, you locked yourself in your room again, trying to drown out any thoughts of heavy footsteps or threats. 

There was no rest or sleep.

Just paralysing fear and helplessness. You can’t see a way out of this hell. Maybe there really is no escape.

-*-

Saturday comes and goes, and though your friends call, you ignore them. 

Except Zoro doesn’t relent. He calls, and you don’t pick up, so he calls again, and again, and again until you do. 

“I was about to march in there and see if you were alive.” He’s growling, but he still sounds a bit hurt, and you grimace, making yourself smaller against your couch. You’re sitting on the floor, somehow it seems more secluded, safer.

“I’m fine, I’m just sick. I think I caught a cold.” You cough a bit, trying to sell the lie, but at this point, you doubt Zoro actually believes anything you say.

“Right. So, you’re not coming with us to the movies today?”

“Not today.” You sound defeated, exhausted, shaken, and scared. You hope he just thinks you’re as sick as you claim to be. 

“What if I go to you and we watch a movie at your house? I can get the Cook to make you some soup.”

A whimper almost leaves your lips, and you have to take a few extra seconds to compose yourself before answering. 

“It’s okay, Zo. I’m fine. I just need some rest, okay? See you soon.”

And you hang up on him, like the coward you are. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten, that’s enough indulging the cop. You don’t get to answer any more of his calls. He needs to know you don’t want anything to do with him.

You read the text and drop the phone on the floor next to you, your head falling against your knees as you hug them tighter. You’re numb to all of this now. He controls you, he owns you, and there’s no escape. 

You’re trapped in your own home, cornered in your own life. 

You’re barely surviving. You’re just existing.

And it’s painful as hell.

-*-

The week goes by, and you fall into a numb routine. You get up, throw away whatever gift is waiting for you - sometimes they’re fresh flowers or candy, other times there are dead animals or crumpled flowers - you feed the farm animals, then try to eat something.

The afternoon is spent cowering in fear until you do the rest of the chores. Then, you try to eat something else for dinner after you lock up every inch of the house. You curl into bed in your locked bedroom, cry yourself to exhaustion, and start all over again the next day.

The stalker’s texts are relentless. He praises you and your beauty, your behaviour, and how good you are to him. Then, sometimes, he says you still need to learn, to accept that you’re his, and to understand you will love him back eventually.

And then, there’s Zoro.

He calls, he texts, and he comes knocking at your door. Every single day.

You pretend not to be home when he comes, even though he says he knows you’re home, but you don’t open the door or say anything. And then, he always gets a call from the station, something urgent that comes up, and he needs to go.

You know it’s him orchestrating Zoro’s life as well as yours. And the noose tightens around your neck. 

-*-

Friday comes, and you’re not even strong enough to get out of bed. You’re drained. You ask Ace to help with the animals and stay curled up in bed for the majority of the day. Your phone is strangely silent.

No Zoro.

No stalker.

You fall asleep. A restless sleep born from weariness and depression. Then, you wake up drenched in sweat. It’s almost dark outside, and an ominous feeling grips you in its hold. You try to listen, to hear if there’s anything out of place, any foreign sound that doesn’t belong, but all is quiet.

You check your phone, and there’s nothing there.

Everything feels peculiar and unusual. 

You get up on light feet and have to take an extra minute to steady yourself because your head feels light, and you feel faint from not eating all day. Then, you slowly make your way downstairs. It’s too quiet. Too eerie. 

Something is definitely wrong.

It takes you an extra minute to notice, but when you do, all the breath is knocked out of your lungs. 

There’s a huge, beautiful bouquet of fresh roses in the middle of the kitchen table.

He was inside your home. 

He was inside while you were asleep and vulnerable. He could have been in your room, he could have touched you, he–

Heavy gasps disturb the eerie silence of your home as fat droplets of tears stream down your face. You can’t take this, you can’t. It’s too much, and you’re not strong enough. There’s no way you’ll be able to survive this alone.

You grab your phone and press Zoro’s name, placing the phone against your ear with trembling hands. It’s time to tell him everything.

Except the call doesn’t go through.

“Come on!” You whine, your legs giving out as you fall to the floor, the red from the roses still burning your retinas. You try again. And the call doesn’t go through.

It’s his doing. 

The police. You dial the number and press the phone against your ear, but it disconnects before even ringing. 

“No!” You scream and throw the phone to the floor, getting up hastily and bumping against a chair before your trembling fingers grasp the landline phone. Sobs and hiccups leave your lips, and you don’t even care, You’re so tired, you just want this nightmare to end.

The line’s dead.

A broken, desperate scream climbs up your throat, and you lose track of time as you curl up into a ball and cry some more. 

There’s still someone who can help. Even though asking for his help is the last thing you want to do, maybe it’s exactly what you need to get out of this.

Ichiji.

Determination and a newfound purpose seem to stop your tears from flowing freely, and you grab your phone again, taking a seat on the couch this time, not wanting to stare at the roses anymore and not daring to touch them yet.

The call goes through, and you sigh in relief.

Two rings, and a familiar voice churns your insides. “Well, hello, Doll. This is… unexpected.”

“Ichiji, I need your help.” There’s no use beating around the bush. “I need you to spare me one of your bodyguards.”

The idea hit you like a truck. Ichiji has tons of bodyguards, he can be persuaded to share one, you’re sure of it. Even if you have to owe him something - and you know he’s going to collect - it’s much better than living in this constant fear.

The silence prolongs for a while before he sighs heavily into the phone. When he speaks again, his voice is clipped and monotone. “I would love to help, Doll.” Somehow, you doubt that very much. “But I’m a bit understaffed at the moment.”

“Cut the crap, Ichiji. You have dozens of bodyguards. Each one is better than the last.” It’s true. They’re all elite. Might as well just say he doesn’t want to help you, that you can understand.

“Had.” Another heavy sigh. “I had dozens of the best bodyguards. My best one left around the same time you left me. And half of them followed him out.” He chuckles dryly as the information sets into your tired brain. His best bodyguard?

You remember him vaguely, though the name eludes you, you talked to him on several occasions. Ichiji’s events were boring and dragged on, so you made small talk. He seemed to like what he did and was the best at it. 

“Do you see the chaos you left with your departure, Doll?” This time, you’re the one that sighs. 

“I just need one, Ichiji, please.” How low have you stooped, to be begging the asshole who broke your heart? 

“I can’t. What I’ve got left are mediocre soldiers and a footlong list of threats. I barely feel safe leaving the house. But if you feel so unsafe, maybe you can crawl back to me, Doll, I’m sure I can make arrangements.”

“Goodbye.” You exclaim dryly into the phone before turning off the call. 

A bodyguard was your last hope. The small flicker of light that had turned on. And now you are truly alone. No Zoro, no police. Just you and the stalker.

You turn your head back into the kitchen where the bouquet stands, taunting you with its beauty. He was inside once. He’ll be inside again. 

How long before he hurts you?

You don’t even know when the tears started to flood again, but soon enough, your face is completely wet, and your shoulders shake with every ragged sob. You have never felt this helpless.

You’re trapped.

There’s no way out.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

And he’s come for you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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[thomaslittlegirl]

could we have some smut with bill furlong? 🫣 something where yn is his stress relief and he is very sub with her and pathetic and begs her to fuck him slowly and passionately 😩😩😩😩

i love how pathetic is here :( i need to make him feel good!!

heavenly. bill furlong

warnings; sub!bill, breeding, kinda cockwarming.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"baby, please." bill murmurs under his breath. his hands caress your back up and down inside your shirt.

furlong had gotten home from work about half an hour ago and had taken a shower, quickly putting on comfortable clothes to get to your side.

he had missed you so, so much.

your eyes look at him with love and one of your hands rests on his cheek, caressing it out of inertia.

"please... let me fuck you." he asks in a choked voice. "let me be inside you... i need to feel you all warm inside..."

the man looks at you with bright eyes, putting on his best angel face. he can't wait another second, he needs to bury himself in your warmth.

when you nod your head, the man smiles weakly and begins to remove the bottom of your clothes, leaving you naked from the waist down.

his mouth begins to salivate just seeing you like this, so exposed to him. he quickly takes off his shirt and pants, demonstrating his lack of underwear. he was prepared, looking forward to this moment. his cock stirs annoyingly against his stomach, aching for relief.

bill wets two of his fingers with his saliva and brings them closer to your crotch, helping to get you wet so you can take in his length. a few seconds after feeling his fingers you get tired: you want his cock.

"please... just fuck me." you ask.

bill removes his fingers from inside you and slowly inserts himself into you, biting his lips when he feels how tight you are. he waits a few seconds for you to get used to the intrusion, knowing that it wouldn't be pleasant for you if he started to move.

when your hips begin to sway, furlong understands that you are ready and begins to push and penetrate you.

gasps escape his mouth as he feels you getting easier to slide. "you're so wet... you feel so wet and hot... it's like heaven..."

bill gets so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't seem to notice that his thrusts are becoming erratic. you feel so good around him that he can only close his eyes and wait for the orgasm to take him.

"let me be in charge." you ask, when you notice how tiredness takes over. bill lets himself be done as you want and his body hits the mattress, sighing when he feels you on top of him, lining up his cock at your hole.

lne of bill's favorite things was when you took control. he thought you looked beautiful and he loved feeling used by you. he cums too much when you both were in this pose.

"it feels so good to ride you... i could ride your cock for hours." your words echo in his head and he feels the corners of his eyes fill with tears.

his hands curl around your waist and he sits on the bed, resting his head on your chest as you move harshly.

"please don't stop... don't stop, doll. you feel so good... you're making me feel so good... please." bill blurts out words as he cries and squeezes your waist, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure.

"am i making you feel good, love?" you ask softly, curling your arm behind his neck.

"so good... you're an angel... you're an angel to me... you're going to make me cum."

you smile, feeling your legs starting to cramp. "me too... im about to..." you speak as you try to get off his lap. his big hands prevent you.

“no… no…” he begs with desperation in his voice, holding you in place as his hips begin to thrust upwards. "let me cum inside you. let me fill you... i've been good... please..."

your eyes widen in amazement. you always fucked without a condom but when he was about to cum he would pull out. a method that was not very functional but that had served them until now, by the grace of fate.

"please. i just want to fill you, don't you want that? don't you want to feel full of my cum? please, it will feel good... i promise."

his words convince you quickly and you nod at the man's teary eyes. your hips move again and they meet the furlong thrusts.

it's a matter of seconds before you come around his cock and he follows seconds later, filling you to the brim.

bill sniffle, feeling overwhelmed by his orgasm. one of your hands caresses his hair and your heart warms when you see him slightly disheveled and tearful.

"was i good? was i good for you?" he asks, running his large hand down your back.

you nod, comforting him with your words. "yes, love. you made me feel really good."

he smiles briefly, hiding his face between your breasts again.

"i never want to leave your insides. your cunt feels heavenly."

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 5.6k words]

"Just... be careful." He takes your hand, bowing to kiss the fingers like delicate embers in a breeze. "Now, bar girl," he murmurs, "where's the fun in that?"

Harlow prepares to take his revenge. Sebastian has a plan to protect you.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][LAST] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: coarse language, blood/ injury, gendered language, explicit smut MDNI (dom!Seb, dirty talk, wall sex, porn with feelings, public sex, cunnilingus, very slight breeding kink), and one threat of sexual assault (not made by Sebastian or the bar girl). This occurs in Harlow's paragraph of dialogue shortly after he is reintroduced, which you can skip over if you'd prefer. Please take care. <3

6. worth the risk

Sebastian's urges never seem fully satiated, but you're happy to try. Minutes may pass, or hours. You indulge the time making love, passionately, raggedly, between bouts of uncontrollable laughter or breathless, all-consuming kisses. His smell becomes part of the place, part of you. Sometimes you sleep for a little while only to wake and start all over again, with hands that already know the right places to tease.

It must be three o'clock when you next stir. In the indigo bloom of darkness, Sebastian is limned by the hazy moon rays that wander through the curtain parting. Light makes his back muscles cleave sharply down his body, burnished with ink. Even obscured, he is beautiful. You pull up slightly, rousing him – he half-turns, clasping your hairbrush.

"What are you doing with that?"

He puts it down. "Thought I'd comb my hair a little."

"I like it mussed."

"Especially when you muss it?" He lets out a low chuckle. "Sleep, love."

"Only if you join me."

Sebastian doesn't care that your breath smells bad and there's crust in your eyes. He slips in beside you, enveloping you with that broad, strong warmth that draws you into his protection. It's safe here. Nothing can hurt you. He kisses your brow, and it feels like music, heart beating a slow, steady rhythm that lulls you to sleep as easy as the clouds drift lazily across the sky.

"Shall I tell you a secret?" he asks when you're next awake.

You smirk and roll into him. "Go on, then."

"You know Ominis is my best friend? His last name's not actually Gaunt." His eyes twinkle. "It's Weasley."

"That's your secret? That he's married to Garreth's sister?" you scoff. "Bit odd for a man to take his wife's surname, but hardly worth hiding, is it?"

"He's not married to Garreth's sister."

"Oh? He's adopted?"

"Wrong again. Ominis and Garreth, they're..."

"... Work partners."

"No... it's just the two of them living together, so they're..."

"Best friends? And without you. Must be a blow to your ego."

"God, bar girl." He laughs. "They're fucking."

You jerk backwards. "What?"

"More precisely they're married, but I guess that also means they're fucking."

You don't know how to react. "Two men, married?"

"That's a better secret, isn't it?" He winks. "Keep an open mind."

You're not really sure what to do with this information, but the pieces rearrange in your head. That explains their relationship a little better, not of boss and underling, but of lovers hiding beneath a veil of secrets. At least you can relate to that.

"Should I be worried they'll try to poach you from me?"

"Ominis would rather eat rocks," Sebastian says, laughing. "Garreth... wouldn't surprise me if he tried. I'm very desirable, after all."

You snort. "Tell me something about you, then. Something no one else knows."

"Now that's a tougher order." His hands settle in your hair and he plays with it gently, sending sparks down your scalp. "How mysterious do you think I am?"

"If you could bury your secrets at the bottom of the ocean, you would."

"Touché." He draws his fingers up, massaging your head. "All right, I will confess something... I bite my nails."

"That's why they look so bad."

"And I have a terrible addiction to looking at myself in the mirror."

"Sebastian."

"It's painful to be this handsome, bar girl."

"You're certainly a pain." You drag your fingers down his chest, letting each bristle of hair be the spark that keeps you alight. "I'm serious. Or do you really think you're an open book?"

"Not at all." His voice comes out gravelled but meek. "Are my secrets worth knowing?"

"You are worth knowing. Every piece of you."

You snuggle into him to emphasise this truth. I am safe, the motion says. I will guard your heart as you have guarded mine. After a moment, he slowly traces each vertebrae of your spine, one by one by one like a bead of liquid silver trickling down a stairwell. On a cold winter's night, it couldn't be any more comforting a touch. Perfect.

"I regret what I did for the wrong reason."

By the small of your back, he pauses and meets your eye, waiting, urging for a sign to continue. This path is fretful and dangerous, another way it could upend your perception of him. But very little could, and you place a kiss on his chin in solidarity.

"It's the worst part of me." He continues it quietly, like distant rain. "Every day in prison I thought about my uncle. How would I do it differently? How could I help my sister without dooming us all? The truth is... that fifteen year old boy didn't know any better. He didn't have a support network. He didn't feel like he could trust the teachers. His best friends were against his ideas from the start. You know that feeling that makes your entire body recoil? When your disgust is so resonant you feel it in your bones, and you'll do mental somersaults to think of anything else? I thought it was remorse.

"But I realised after confronting it... I didn't regret his death. I regretted what it did to my soul. I regretted the decisions that led me to her death, and drinking. I regretted hurting her and my friends."

"You regret getting caught."

"Yes." He's barely audible now. "It took a long time for Anne to come to terms with not only what I did, but why. I killed him for her."

You cup his cheek, steadying the demons that manifest like embers in ash.

"And look how far you've come since then. You got through prison. You're getting better. You've made new, lasting connections. She's looking down on you with a smile."

Instead he smirks. "Hope not. That means she's seen my dick." But there's sadness there, and worry and hesitation and pleading and all the things that remind you of the man behind the façade. "I felt relief, not regret, that he was dead. That I gave her a chance to live. Does that... am I a selfish monster?"

You wrap your arms around him.

"Selfish, yes, but that doesn't make you a monster, Sebastian," you say, listening to his heartbeat with ease. "That makes you human."

By sunrise he hasn't thought of a plan, but when his cock thrusts into you, and your face thrusts into the pillow, you can't bring yourself to worry. He empties over your bed several times and takes measures to make sure you're equally pleasured too, that by the time you clean yourselves up for the morning you're already tired.

You make it in time to intercept your mother from tottering right over the bannister.

"It's all right," you say to him, when you eventually coax her to the armchair. "If you need to be somewhere else—"

"No," he says, with that half-smile that is yours. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

A natural charmer and entertainer, he helps clean, feed and move your parents to the sun room. By some miracle they actually recognise him too, the man who vanishes in the fireplace – you want to ask more about that but suspect Sebastian will give answers so cryptic they couldn't solve a fiendish crossword – and with his help you finish the morning's work in half the time. Ada arrives to watch them and says nothing of Sebastian's presence, agreeing without words to keep one more secret sealed on her lips.

The pub opens for the breakfast rush without any issue out of the ordinary. You swab countertops. Serve customers. Take coin in your pocket and snags on the chin. Sebastian remains through it all, the fallen guardian angel ever present and watchful, and though he resists as long as he can, it's not even twelve before he's halfway into a stout, foam coating his lips in a golden froth. You're tempted to lick it off.

The day is almost perfectly normal. Almost.

Because there is one thought that keeps you twitchy and addled. One thing that makes your hair stand on end, hyper-vigilant of every noise and new face. Harlow's retaliation may not be immediate. It may not even be next week. But he will come – and you have no idea when.

So each night, Sebastian stays to protect you.

It becomes as easy as breathing to fall asleep in his arms, sometimes after riotous love-making or kisses that leave you breathless, sometimes after enjoying one another's company in the small ways, words as loud as ghosts and touches as searing as the moon in the cloudless sky. You refuse to relax at the start, and try to remember what could happen the moment you let your guard down, but with Sebastian lulling you to sleep with a story, a crooked grin or the simple safety of his embrace, the promise is a difficult one to keep.

It was only a week ago, but Harlow becomes as distant a memory as a decade.

And that comfort is dangerous.

You're in the beer cellar below, hunting for the rye whisky, when Sebastian wanders down to find you. Without the peek of natural sunlight you could fool yourself into thinking it's night, the thicket of kegs set gently aglow by gas lamps on the wall.

"Thought you might want my help." His brow dances. "Or my muscle. Whichever suits."

"I'm just debating whether it's worth bringing up another rye. We're low and Old Dodder could neck it solo." You turn to him fully. "You haven't heard anything?"

"No."

"It's been a week. No one's heard from him even once?" You tap your nails on the keg's rim. "Why? What's he doing?"

"How'd you know there hasn't been hundreds of attacks I've valiantly fought off?" You fix him a look, which only broadens his smile. "We're keeping an eye out, I promise. Don't stress."

"In this line of work that's impossible. There's about ten different things I have to manage, and that's without a criminal gang out for my head."

His smile turns a little smug, and he prowls closer, a distinctive glimmer in his eye. "Then let me help?"

"Oh yeah? Sebastian Sallow, bar boy? I'd fancy watching you hold a tray of beers without spilling a drop. Or taking a cheeky sip."

"I was thinking more the stress, love."

He tucks you between a cluster of kegs and himself. Much taller and broader, Sebastian's scent overwhelms all others, richly dark musk, leather, sweat, oak, stout. His thumbs find the small of your waist, pressing you inwards, trapping you.

"What did you have in mind?" you ask demurely.

His kiss captures you mid-breath, and you sink into him, taken by his strength and dominance. You've kissed him tens, hundreds of times now, and it never feels any less euphoric. He tastes of malt and gold, caramel and power, and with his lips meandering across your cheeks and down your jaw, then enthusiastically across your throat with enough bite to sting pleasantly, it's hard not to demand he fuck you then and there.

"Sebastian—"

"Sssshhh." He caresses your lips. "No more stress."

The kisses set fire to your core as he trails down the front of your apron, down to your tapered waist and the volume of your skirts until he's on his knees before you. Anticipation makes your sex throb, and when his hands slip under the layers, drawing it above his head, you let out a little bleat of surprise.

"T-This is a cellar!"

"Then you'd better keep quiet, love."

Without warning he buries his face between your legs, and you're embarrassed, secretly pleased, to realise how wet the bloomers cling to you with excitement. He tugs on the string holding them in place to reach your entrance, swollen after a pathetically minimal amount of stimulation. Sebastian just has that way – a few words, a touch, a smile, and you unravel. His nose caresses your clit, and you let out a gasp.

"You smell delicious," he murmurs into the folds, flowering open at the vibration. "Spread yourself for me."

A wet, warm tongue slides across you, and you grab the keg to anchor yourself, so turned on you widen your stance and roll your hips forward to give him better access. He chuckles, another vibration, and continues to lick the ache, slow, leisurely, each lap so discreet in reality but loud and slick to you.

"Wider," he demands softly. "Let me taste more of you."

Propriety crumbling, you inch your legs outwards, allowing Sebastian easier access.

"T-This is too risky—"

The trap door flies open, filling the cellar with sunlight. You yank your arms to your sides at once. Sebastian freezes, tongue suspended on your clit – but not retreating.

"There you are!" Bonny heads down a few steps – she tilts her head. "What you doin' in there, miss?"

Thank God there's a bunch of barrels in the way. "S-Stock count."

"Cook did that this morning?"

Shit. "I know, I'm just—"

His tongue grazes deeper over your entrance. You almost moan. Bastard. Instead, you physically wrench your facial muscles back into place.

"Bein' thorough?" offers Bonny.

Another lash of his tongue, this time playing with the rim.

"Very," he whispers.

You knee him gently but he just licks again. Fuck. It's harder and harder to look calm, harder to control the urge to sink your fingers into the curls and ride his fucking face.

"T-Thorough, yes," you manage. "I'll be out in a min."

She makes to step forwards. "Want any help?"

"No! I mean, no, thank you." You can't focus. Bonny's there but in your mind's eye you can only see Sebastian between your legs, working you to climax. "Promise I won't be long."

His pace quickens, sliding back forth back forth. You nudge him again, which only makes his tongue more eager. The world teeters.

"Aw'right, well," says Bonny, "I'll tell the bloke with the walking stick to wait at the bar then? He's looking for your man but I can't seem to find him."

Sebastian coils his arms around your thighs, adjusting the position as his tongue slips easily inside you.

"Yes!" you cry, then cough. "Yes, that would— be— great."

Bonny makes a face but shrugs and swings the door shut behind her, leaving you in dusky silence again.

"You arsehole—"

He doesn't let you finish, using his whole mouth now to stimulate your clit and entrance in tandem. Burying in and out, across and up, kissing and sucking. Your head cranes backwards, your hands fist your skirt to channel the frustration, the desire. Fuck, it feels amazing. A guttural moan escapes your mouth but doesn't even sound like your own, so lost in the thrill – and when Sebastian licks and licks and licks without stopping, you're quickly arcing your back and bucking against his mouth until the release comes swift and fast, pulsing sloppily over his face.

It takes a few seconds to regain some measure of poise. Sebastian drops the skirt and reveals himself grinning widely and sticky with cum.

"You're incorrigible."

"And you're welcome."

"We could've been caught."

He thumbs his face and licks it off, without taking his eyes off you. "You enjoy the risk."

"I'm at risk of being caught and destroying my reputation. You're hiding under my skirts."

He stands and slips your chin into his grasp, tilting it up to ghost his lips.

"Careful, love. I might like to show you how brazen I can be."

One step closer pins you between the wall and him. His breath susurrates as he dips down to your ear.

"I'd fuck you on that counter if you'd let me."

The image of you sprawled out for all to see, naked and begging and at the mercy of his pleasure, sends heat up unspooling through your core again, and a coy glance downwards shows that same desire reflected in his physical form.

"Ominis is waiting for you."

"Hm." He grasps your arse tightly and hoists you to the wall, pressing his bulge between your legs. "Let him wait."

With two firm tugs you undo his breeches, and Sebastian claims your mouth, tongue still salty and sweet with your juices. He roughly grinds forwards, pulsing a new wave of pleasure down your navel, satisfying of the feel of his hard, eager cock. One stroke elicits a mid-kiss groan down your throat, and when you reach to grasp him, please him, the wetness that quickly blooms from the head drives your wants mad.

The nights are tender and loving, but today, with the pub hall only upstairs, Sebastian buries the tip, then the entirety of him, inside you in a quick, flush motion. You feel full yet famished still. Legs curled around him and arms steady, you become a vessel for his pleasure as he ruts into you so hard the floorboards groan. Someone could hear you – you're sure of it. If Bonny or anyone had another question or thought to check on their boss, they would get treated to a sight of Sebastian's cock between your legs, yet you take each thrust willingly and frantically, rocking to his rhythm in desperation to find a new release. He's right, you enjoy the risk. You enjoy him. Clinging to his back, you relish his hard muscles bearing your weight, and dig your nails into his shirt and flesh beneath.

He peels free as he adjusts position, gripping your thighs like vice, and his mouth finds the swell between your neck and collarbone. The sensations tip you closer and closer. Your body doesn't just want to orgasm, it needs to. You have to let go. A rasping moan bleats from your lips, broken by ragged pants.

"Keep quiet, love," he commands. "Only I get to hear you cum."

Your spine hits the wall with each thrust. The fire builds until its pleading, beseeching for release, and with one final desperate movement you clench around his cock and freely orgasm, biting your lip to curb the scream that surges up your throat. Divine pleasure wracks every bone.

"S-Sebastian..."

His name blurted like that makes his grip tighten. He pants raggedly, pumps with no rhythm, eyes fluttering upwards and nails biting, and when he finally pulls out to twist away before his release spurts, his face contorts with pleasure, almost pain, that he can't cum inside you, leave you dripping and marked as his as you work.

Knees too week to stand, you slump to the floor, spent.

"You really... are incorrigible..."

He lets out a low chuckle and runs a hand through his sweaty curls.

"But you love it."

You do.

He leans over and slips a hand around your waist, pulling you up to his chest. For a long moment, as your hearts climb down from the high together, neither of you say anything. Despite his past, his secrets, his vices, Sebastian has become the one place where you can truly be yourself. There are no worries or impossible expectations, no societal burdens, no weight nor responsibility. No stress. He is the safety net, the impenetrable monument, the sun that whispers to the sprout to thrive, and if Heaven exists, it's this beautiful connection, the golden threads that bind you together with something far greater than love.

Adventure, freedom, the new and unexpected but never unwelcome. Sebastian is all those things and more.

"I don't want to see what the brute wants," he murmurs. "I'd rather stay here with you forever."

Your focus tugs back to those brilliant coffee eyes.

"Just for now will be enough."

To divert suspicions, you go back to the main hall first.

Tidying yourself up is harder than it sounds, with the flush of sex fresh on your face. With a final kiss, Sebastian promises to clean up as you head up out the stock room and into the hall. Ominis is distinctive immediately by his unfittingly taut posture, state of overdress and cane slotted tightly into his palm, but he lifts his chin as you approach, like he can scent you coming.

Hopefully not. He might mistake you for his friend.

"Good afternoon, madam," he greets cordially, setting his teacup down. "Sebastian is close by, I presume."

Sebastian saunters out next, and it seems to take all his willpower not to touch you. His easy smile capsizes from post-coital bliss to pre-disaster despair.

"Please tell me you're here to buy me a drink and nothing else?"

"I have news," he says. "On Harlow."

"Then out with it," you demand. "What do you know?"

"It's best I discuss the matter with Sebastian privately."

"Why? They're going to come here, ain't they?"

He makes to retort, but Sebastian cuts in. "She's right, Ominis. Let's both hear it."

Ominis purses his lips in hesitation, but stands. "Very well. I have... informants who have received word that he intends to strike the premises with a dozen of his men tonight."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "What? Tonight? Then why are you here? Go stop him!"

Ominis is unrelentingly stoic. "Intent is not a crime, and unfortunately Harlow has a large enough following that means we must catch him in the act to arrest him. Any premature move could give away the element of surprise. He underestimated you last time, so I imagine he will bring full..." he rolls his lips, "firepower tonight."

"I have a plan, don't worry," Sebastian adds at your horror. "Been cooking it some time."

"And you didn't think to share it with me?" you snap.

"It's no longer safe for you here," Ominis says coolly. "You'll need to make accommodations elsewhere for the time being."

"And what about my pub?"

"Let us handle it."

"I'm hearing a lot of don't worry about it and not enough telling me what you plan to do."

"That's all I can share. Sebastian," he says abruptly, "we'll discuss more later, once I have logistics in place."

He glides away like he hasn't just upended your entire world. It's one thing to target you, another entirely to target this place. You live here, work here, grew up here, met Sebastian here. It can't all end in ruin.

"Just for tonight, lay low at my place." Sebastian fishes in his pocket and places a warm metal key into your palms. "Garreth will be more than happy to watch your parents, he has a spare room, he's very discreet and he adores old people."

You don't even have the brain power to fathom how Sebastian could organise that in one afternoon. "I won't cower."

"Not cowering. All you have to do—"

"No." You thrust the key back into his hand. "This time you tell me what's going on. It's not a pig-headed customer or a carriage to the seaside, Sebastian. This place is my life."

"I know, and I would never do anything to jeopardise it."

"So why can't you tell me your plan?"

"Because I don't want you to worry about me, more than you already will." He steps closer, gets quieter. "Everything will work out, but for that to happen, I need to know you're safe and far away. I can't... I can't risk you getting hurt. I can't work to protect this place knowing you're in danger."

"You're on leave," you whisper. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"I won't." He puts the key back and cups your hands over it. "I know it's hard for you, but—"

"Trust you?"

"Now you're getting it." His hands slip away – you miss the warmth keenly. "It'll be over by morning, I promise."

This side of him, confident and self-assured and doubtless everything will be okay, draws you in like seduction. This isn't the first time you've put your faith in his hands, but now it kindles a feeling of helplessness in your belly. He's never let you down before and has no reason to now – but still, you can't help feel pushed over your limit.

There's more at stake this time. Your life and your parents' lives are more important, yes, but it feels... wrong, to abandon your home when it needs you most.

"All right," you back down, uneasy but left without options. "Just... be careful."

He takes your hand, bowing to kiss the fingers like delicate embers in a breeze.

"Now, bar girl," he murmurs, "where's the fun in that?"

The door opens before the third swing of the knocker.

"Brilliant timing!" Garreth greets, ushering you inside. "Just tucked your parents into bed!"

It took a forty minute walk to reach the Weasley townhouse on the west side of the city. You've forgone wondering the hows and whys of Sebastian's machinations, so it doesn't surprise you to find your parents in the spare bedroom, sitting up and nattering about green flames. The place is surprisingly plain, with a sparse number of portrait photographs on an empty oak shelf, a navy armchair that clashes with red wallpaper and a cuckoo clock, except instead of chiming on the hour, it chimes at seven minutes past.

"Cup of tea?" asks Garreth. "It'll be good for the nerves, and not to brag, but I'm very good at hand-brewing."

"No, thank you. Is Mr Gaunt here?"

"Why would he be here?" he blurts. "He doesn't live here, or anything. He's just my colleague. At work. Working. Yeah. He and Sebastian are already on the case."

You stew on it as you ensure your parents are settled and comfortable. It's already past nine and the pub closed early, and if Ominis' intel is correct, Harlow's gang will be storming the place in a few hours. He wouldn't hesitate to deliver a killing blow; Sebastian would, despite his blood-stained past. What if, in granting mercy, he gets badly hurt or killed?

"What about Kath?" you ask, and Garreth stiffens. "Does she know?"

"Errrrr." He laughs nervously. "Don't be mad..."

"What, Garreth?"

"They're not exactly doing this... by the book..." He holds up his hands. "They won't be able to stop Harlow any other way. And trust me, even when Seb's off his tits he's too competent to let shit go awry."

"So it's just him and Ominis? Against Harlow's entire gang?" You glare at him. "What exactly is this plan?"

Garreth goes a little pale. "They're going to use bait to lure him into a trap they've set. That's all."

"Bait?" you snap. "What bait?"

"It'll be fine, I promise! Over by one, Seb told me. He's that confident."

Time seems to distend. Sebastian was right – you are worrying, so much it gnaws your insides. They're outnumbered and outmanned and assuming Harlow will be idiot enough to fall into whatever this trap is they've set, presumably at your pub's expense.

"Where's that handsome, tattooed young man, hmm?"

You spin to your father, wrenched from the conversation. "What?"

"Oh, if I were fifty years younger, sweetheart," your mother chimes, relaxing next to him, "I'd be all over him!"

You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Of course they remember him, out of everyone they've ever met. "He's busy right now."

"Not without another woman, I hope?"

"No, Mama."

"What a lucky chap he is to have you at his side. Not everyone gets that, you know." Your mother turns to face your father with a smile. "The adventures we had... they were always worth the risk."

Adventure, and freedom, and the new and unexpected but never unwelcome... a painful ache goes through you. Wasn't that something you learnt when you were with Sebastian? Living, rather than surviving? Taking the risk rather than hiding away?

Downstairs, you grab your things as Garreth opens the front door.

"You can stay, if you want," he says, leaning against the doorway. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but I can whip up a bed for you in the living room."

Sleep will be hard enough at Sebastian's place. "Thanks, but I'll be all right. You'll call if there's any issues?"

"Don't worry, I'm used to entertaining old people. If they can't sleep I can show them some magic! Er, by that I mean coin tricks and pulling my thumb off, of course." He laughs awkwardly. "Keep out of trouble tonight?"

You don't make that promise.

It's lonely in Sebastian's place without him.

To busy yourself, you tidy. Charming as the owner is, he's a terrible mess, and his attempts to clean since you were last here only mean the floor is free of empty bottles. You scrub the kitchen countertop, hoping each stain that peels away will relieve the anxiety storming through your gut.

It doesn't.

Even when you wash and dress and climb into his bed, breathing his familiar scent, your feet feel like they're filled with lightning, charged and restless and twitchy and taut. The clock ticks on Sebastian's wall. The pendulum swings. It passes midnight, then one, and you hear no sign, nothing that relieves you of this nightmarish cycle of waiting, hoping, praying, pleading.

Wait. Hope. Pray. Plead.

The later it gets, the worse your thoughts become. Harlow's grin. The place is flames. Sebastian struck down. Sebastian unmoving...

Everything you love is there. The building, the memories... him. If things go wrong, not only will you lose the place, but the person, too. He said to trust him – and you do, so much your soul aches at the thought of lying here, doing nothing, while he risks his life for you.

Maybe it's time to risk your life for him. Just this once. Just for love.

Without another breath, you're out of bed, dressing and snatching your coat and shoving your feet into boots. Fuck it. The most harm you can do is swing a punch with whatever muscle you've developed moving furniture and pouring beer, but if Sebastian's in trouble and there's any way you can help, even if it means acting as bait yourself, you'll seize it.

Outside, it doesn't take long to grasp your bearings, as the river cuts seamlessly through the city centre, but it's a bit of a walk, and the dark is no place for a lone woman. You keep to brightly lit areas and skirt strangers in wide arcs, channelling that fear into a determined pace.

When you near Ye Olde Hen House, a sharpness tickles the air.

It's not strong at first, but as you get closer the smell thickens and dries your tongue. Smoke. It tastes like Guy Fawkes' Night, fireworks and bonfires and effigies charred to cinders. You jog, then sprint, the last two streets until you can see the plume rising from the source.

In another life, the sight would be biblically divine. Devour the old to make way for the new. Sometimes you wished it, when the pipes burst or the carpet wore away or the damp crept through a leak in the ceiling, but watching the old building now, with its windows shattered and the great orange tongues churning through the wood like claws through flesh and bone, shoots an intense pang of grief up your chest. The place may be old, tired and decrepit, but it's yours.

This is dangerous. You shouldn't go further. But the thought of Sebastian burning within compels you to race forwards, faster than your limbs have ever taken you before. There's nothing you can do to save the place now, but if he dies as you stand here and watch, there wouldn't be a lifetime long enough to atone.

"Sebastian!" you screech. "Sebastian!"

Just as you come upon the entrance, the flames recede. You skid to a halt. Someone is inside. Him? Or Harlow? You hit the great double-door, expecting resistance – but the wood is soggy and you burst into the main hall, still aflame and wrecked so completely it's almost unrecognisable.

Harlow has his back to you, and the grief doesn't have time to bloom.

His clothes are singed, he's leaning heavily to one side and thick blood weeps from numerous injuries, including an enormous gash down the length of his back. Trembling and red with rage, he stands opposite a figure too obscured by both cloak and smoke to make out clearly.

"And after you're dead, I'll come for your whore. Tie her up, make her scream. Maybe find out what you find so sweet about her Muggle cunt." He bellows a hysterical laugh and raises something wooden in his hand. "Save a seat in hell for me."

No. You seize the first thing you can find: the cast-iron pan hanging on the rack. The handle makes your skin sizzle, but you clamp down on the agony – and jab the curve right into Harlow's exposed wound.

The screech he lets out could curdle blood, and he drops to his knees. You reel back. He only just turns around – eyes going wide – before you whack it against his head, and his body thumps to the ground, unconscious. Maybe dead. You drop the pan, palms red and raw and quivering with pain, and look over.

The figure steps back – but it's not Sebastian.

You snatch the details between the smoke. Familiarly curved, with fingers that sing of hardship, hair escaping its loose bundle and shoulders like the physical weight of responsibility has sheared them down to a perpetual slant, it's a body you know both intimately and don't understand, and love or despise depending on moods as errant as the wind. The person darts across the floor to the stock room for the back entrance, flicking the barest second of attention your way.

With eyes matching your own.

It's impossible. Impossible. How could someone wear every flaw on your skin, every follicle and pore, every old scar and callous like a garment to be discarded when they saw fit? The lookalike scampers away, and your feet jerk you forwards in chase, through the ruined doorway to the back alley.

You have to know. You have to.

"Wait!" you choke out. "Who are—?"

But when you turn the corner, the doppelgänger is gone.

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Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter One

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Everyday, you woke up and performed the steps necessary to complete your routine. It was monotonous, like clockwork, as you traveled down the tracks laid out for you since birth. With a mind uncontested, you found yourself graduating college before you were legally an adult, and at the behest of your controlling parents, you continued on to medical school, then further on into a surgical residency at a nearby hospital. You had always wanted to help people and this was the best way to do it.

So, why, with everything you had ever wanted at your fingertips, were you so unhappy?

Maybe that was why when you awoke in the past, surrounded by farmland instead of your blankets that you decided to ‘just roll with it’ rather than scream. That was your motto now as you were unceremoniously dropped from your assigned path onto untrodden ground with no hope of going back. So, even when you saved the life of a soldier and were carted off into the heart of the corrupt Roman Empire to be the twin emperor’s new physician, you barely batted an eye.

After all, you would do anything to save your patients.

Tags: Time travel, transmasc reader, no use of y/n, eventual polyamory, no incest, period-typical attitudes, Caracalla doesn’t have syphilis but he has PTSD, mentions of slavery, both historical accuracy and historical inaccuracy, obsessive behavior, eventual smut in later parts, medical inaccuracies,

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Authors Note: Hiiiiiii, I’m back at it again, starting another fic. Those freaky gingers have bewitched me, let me tell you. Anyway, some important things to note about this little fanfiction that I feel the need to clarify before we get into the real meat and potatoes.

First and foremost, Geta and Caracalla won’t show up until chapter two. Maybe even chapter three, it depends on how much more set up I write, so if you want to wait ‘till then to read this, you’re welcome to :3

Two, and very important, unlike my other fics where the reader is trans, but referred to with they/them pronouns or neutral language, this main character will be referred to with he/him pronouns and masculine language in the text because, as a plot point, they are assumed to be a cis man. Along with this, they have three descriptions in the text. They have dyed green hair — original hair color shan’t be mentioned — they have top surgery scars, and they have a vagina. I miiiiight make an accidental reference to heights (ex. ‘ooked up at him/looked down at him) but I will try my hardest to not.

While their real name will never be mentioned in text for self-insertion purposes, Geta and Caracalla come up with the nickname ‘Alga’ for them due to their green hair. It means ‘seaweed’ in Latin. It also means ‘something of little worth.’ :) So, that is how they’ll be referred to. Generally. It’s either that or ‘medicus’ or ‘physician’ or ‘you there.’

Third and finally, I am a huge nerd and fan when it comes to the Roman Empire. As a society, they have a bunch of hangups, taboos, and beliefs, mostly around sex, that I find incredibly funny and will pepper in here and there. I will try to make this fic as historically accurate as I possibly can using all the resources I have at my disposal (google, a few academic texts, and my best friend whose studying classical history) but there’s no guarantee I get all of it right. Half the reason I’m using a modern character as the main POV is so they have an excuse not to know things 😭 Also when it comes to conjugation of Latin words, please, PLEASE give me leeway, I haven’t taken a Latin class since high school.

All that said, I hope whoever reads this fic enjoys it, because that is my main goal. Writing is seriously a passion of mine and my favorite part about it is sharing it with people. That means YOU person reading this, I think you’re awesome.

Okay I’m done talking, on with the show!!

Chapter One ///

This dream sucked — because that was what this was, a very bad dream — and, if you had to guess, it was the worst dream you had ever had in your life. Which was saying something. As a surgical resident who did most of their studying in a hospital, you were chronically sleep deprived and had a lot of stressful material to work with. Whatever aid you used to help you get some semblance of rest had a tendency to give you weird dreams. Very, very weird dreams. You had a few recurring ones, like being chased by a sentient pool noodle — whatever that meant — and several where the ghosts of your patients blamed you for their deaths — far more self explanatory than the pool noodle — but none quite like this one.

Out of everything you had ever experienced in your bleak and desolate mindscape, this dream was long and boring. That was its only crime. Along with being terrifyingly vivid, of course, which you didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about. If you were any less logical, you’d almost be convinced this was reality. That you had woken up in a small farming village, close enough to the capital of one of the most infamous ancient empires that you could see it on the horizon. Sometimes, when the sun set, you would stare at the shadow of Rome dancing upon the skyline. It was beautiful, albeit impossible. Sure, the people who surrounded you only spoke Latin, and they didn’t trust you as far as they could throw you, but it wasn’t as if that mattered. Soon, you would awake in your bed, one day closer to your exam and the beginning of the rest of your life.

Why did the thought only fill you with a sinking sense of dread? Being a doctor was everything you had ever worked for. Helping people, saving people, it was your purpose, the very reason you were born with your exceptional mind. It was your destiny, so why did it feel like you were marching to the gallows?

You shook your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. Focus on the present, focus on the dream, it was far easier than the constant ever present march of time. It was why you were so certain that the predicament was a figment of your imagination. Time hated you, constantly pulling on your leash, dragging your forward even as you dug your heels into the muck. It would never, never move backwards. Not for you.

Never for you.

A low groan of despair rumbled in your throat as you tried your best to wash your filthy scrubs in a nearby river. The water wasn’t murky, but it wasn’t clear either. Unsurprising, considering the nearby village used this water for practically everything. They were close enough to the city to have access to aqueducts, carrying waste hopefully further downstream. You were determined not to think about it. Any other denizen of this small settlement would wash their clothes themselves. The village was too small for a fullonica, and you were pretty sure they were mostly meant for the wealthy. That said, you also knew that Romans used urine to wash clothes — thank you to the ancient civilization classes you took for fun — and you’d be damned before you let a random person’s piss touch your scrubs.

Outside of work, at least.

With your pants rolled up to your knees as you waded deeper into the water, you continued to do what you could to clean the few clothes you had on you. Considering you only had a little bottle of soap you stole from a hotel a few months ago, it was easier said than done. You wanted to ration what you had in case this dream went on for much longer. Just because this was a fictional scenario conjured by your stress addled mind didn’t mean you weren't going to go about things logically. You had already been asleep for three days now, who knew how much longer this neverending dream would last? Perhaps forever. The thought of avoiding reality as you waste away in your bed was far more comforting than it should have been.

A loud shout echoed to your right and you fought the urge to shoot a nasty glare at the <i>obviously</i> young soldiers goofing off several yards away. Well, young was a strong word, they were the same age as you. Probably. You couldn’t really tell considering how staunch you were in your decision to not make eye contact. Out of the handful of men playing in the water, they were all naked. It wasn’t that nudity bothered you, you were studying healthcare for Christ’s sake, it was the unfortunate fact that soaking wet, muscular hunks were a particular weakness of yours. You weren’t sure the soldiers would appreciate your ogling, the villagers already avoided you like the plague. Judging by the dirty looks you received from some of the, unfortunately armed and notoriously xenophobic men, they’d heard enough about you to be wary.

You let out another sigh, your scrubbing becoming a tad more vigorous. Soapy bubbles rose to the surface of the water and your face was screwed up in concentration.

This particular Roman century had arrived at the village only a half-day after you did. From what you could pick up from eavesdropping, instead of being sent to North Africa to get a little conquering done, their legion was shipped to Gaul to put an end to some dissent. Once that was over, the officer in charge received orders to head back to Rome so they could be sent to North Africa with the rest of the troops. They had only stopped at the village for a last bit of rest before their next assignment. Or something. You had been noticed, and you had scurried off the second you realized you were caught.

Letting out a small huff, you examined your scrubs and decided that they were as clean as they would get. Once you were back at shore, you wrung out the fabric the best you could before laying them flat on a rock beside the only other outfit you had, aside from the one you were wearing, to dry in the sun. Another bark of laughter drew your eye to the soldiers playing like schoolboys in the river. Weren’t these men hardened warriors of one of the most regimented militaries to exist? Surely, they should be more disciplined. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile that caused your lips to twitch upwards. Even thousands of years in the past, and in your dreams, humans were the same as they had always been.

The sun was warm, hanging overhead like an unripe cherry tomato. You closed your eyes to bask in it a bit more than necessary. Your skin prickled, indicating that there were eyes on you, though you didn’t particularly care. No footsteps approached you and the sound of laughter didn’t stop, so you figured you were safe enough to show your belly. You didn’t realize you had laid down until you felt grass tickle the back of your neck. Perhaps a little nap wouldn’t hurt. A dream within a dream would be rather funny, you thought as you fell into a light doze, lulled by the sound of soldiers playing.

You didn’t know how long you slept for. It was the sound of panic that woke you, sending you upright so fast, your head spun. The first thing you noticed was the merriment had stopped and had given way to an oppressive sense of desperation. You looked in the direction you had been avoiding all day to see a gaggle of soldiers, some clothed, some naked, dragging an unconscious body onto shore. One man was running with his tunic halfway over his head in the direction of the village, yelling for the centurion in charge. You were moving before you could stop yourself.

“Make way! Make way!” Your Latin was shaky, but not the worst in the world. While you were sure your accent was strange, you knew you were at least understandable as some of the men turned to block you from getting any closer. They didn’t look particularly pleased at your arrival, eyeing both your hair and your odd attire with an air of skepticism. You didn’t have time for this. “I am a doctor. A physician. I can help him, we must act fast.”

One of the soldiers raised a singular thick eyebrow. “A physician, you say? You look like no medicus I have ever seen.”

“Does that really matter?!” You shouted, your voice a harsh bark. The longer this went on, the less of a chance you had to save this man. While you were nervous to plow through the wall of stout muscle that blocked you from your prospective patient, you realized you might have to.

The soldier looked like he wanted to say something more, when an authoritative voice broke through the ranks. “Let the man through! We have lost too many as is without losing another to a few hours of games.”

Every head snapped in the direction of whoever spoke. All except yours. The second you saw a gap in the crowd, you slid through and fell to your knees beside the drowned man, the one you determined to save.

First thing you did was check for responsiveness. It was out of habit mostly. A tap on the shoulder, a shout, another tap. He didn’t respond, that was unsurprising.

When you checked for a pulse, you found none, so you began chest compressions. Placing your hands together on his chest, arms straight, you began to push. The rhythm came to you naturally — you had made sure to pay attention in class, and this wasn’t the first time you had done this. Despite the fact that you knew no support was coming, that if you couldn’t get this man back by yourself, he would die, your head remained clear.

Do not lose sight of your goal, do not lose hope, go until you can’t anymore.

After thirty compressions, you took a deep breath, pinched his nose shut, and tilted his head back, placing your mouth over his. You heard a few gasps, and even a cry of disgust as you pulled back to push another breath into his lungs. Determined to pay the growing crowd no mind, you placed your hands on his chest and began to pump his heart again.

This went on for… like with your nap, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you were drenched in sweat, your arms were sore, and your breath coming out in harsh pants. Thirty more compressions, you inhaled a ragged breath and pushed oxygen into his lungs once more. If this didn’t work, you’d have to call it.

There was a hand on your chest, shoving you away, a watery cough filling your mouth with spittle before the drowned man flailed back to life. You didn’t take offense to the harsh treatment. He had woken up to a kiss. That would startle anyone. You rolled him over on his side and rubbed his back as he hacked up a lungful of murky water and whatever he had eaten for breakfast.

“You’re back,” You muttered softly, as comforting as you could. “Breathe. Slow and steady. It feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

The man met your eyes, his own a startling shade of honey, a confused, but grateful, smile on his lips. “I thought I was gone.”

“Yeah, we all thought that!” A soldier with a shaved head nudged him roughly with his toe. “Medicus here worked a miracle with his lips.”

A hand reached down to clasp your shoulder, shaking you firmly, if not playfully. You looked up to see a man with floppy blond curls grinning down at the man you just saved, his lips pursed. “The kiss of life!”

You let a small, uncomfortable laugh titter from your mouth. Being surrounded by so many people was awkward, and their banter was even more so. You felt entirely out of place. Rather than focus on that, you fixed your attention back on the man you saved.

“What’s your name?”

“Sextus Aelius,” He answered, voice hoarse.

With a small smile, you gestured to another soldier to hand you a nearby tunic. Sextus — you wouldn’t laugh about his name, you wouldn’t — had begun to shiver, even in the hot sun, and you wanted to keep him warm. Not to mention he was still naked. You tried not to study him too much, focusing on the sharpness of his jaw and the gentle slope of his nose rather than his nudity.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sextus, I am—” You were cut off by a cacophony of noise, a few whistles interspersed within. A bit of heat rose to your face when you saw Sextus’ bewildered expression. “I fear I have made a blunder.”

To your relief, he merely laughed. “Aelius. Call me Aelius.”

“Right. I apologize, Aelius. How do you feel?”

Once you had given him the tunic, he slipped it on over his head, covering his modesty — not that anyone but you seemed to care all that much about it. When he stood, two men came to his side to steady him. Despite this, he still offered you his hand. It would be rude to deny him, though you didn’t feel comfortable accepting help from a man who had been, by many’s standards, dead a few minutes before. You gave him a small smile and pushed yourself to stand on your own.

“I could be better.” His grin was lopsided, the boyish kind that showed off his teeth. It was endearing enough for you to be proud of saving a good man, rather than a mere man. When he spoke next, there was no small amount of awe in his voice. “You saved my life, I am not sure if that is something I can repay.”

A snort pulled from your throat as you waved him off. “No repayment necessary, I only did what needed to be done.”

Aelius looked about to argue when he paled, his gaze flickering behind you. There was a creeping sensation of unease crawling up your spine, similar to when you had earned your parents displeasure. Standing behind you was a presence, one with enough authority to cause the men around you to stand at attention.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem directed at you. For now.

“What is the meaning of this, boy? I allow a bit of slacking off and you go and die on me?” It was the voice from before, the one who commanded his men to let you through. Taking a guess, you’d say this man was the centurion leading this particular century back to Rome. You didn’t dare look behind you, you didn’t dare move. Anything to keep his frustration off of you. It didn’t last long. A large hand clasped you on the shoulder, grip firm, but not harsh. “And to be saved by a foreigner! You should be on your knees thanking him for whatever trick on the gods he played at your behest.”

“That is unnecessary,” You tried to argue, only for the centurion to give you another shake.

“A humble medicus at that! Lucky boy! Very, very lucky!” He let go of you and gestured for Aelius to be taken elsewhere. “To the tents with you while I think of a suitable punishment. No man has died and lived to tell the tale on my watch, so I must be creative.”

Aelius, at least, looked ashamed, though the man with the floppy blond hair leaned down to whisper in his ear, a smirk dancing on his lips. Whatever was said earned him an elbow to the ribs. Men never change.

Before they could get too far, you found your voice. “Monitor him through the night! Fetch me if he stops breathing again!”

It was only once you heard the affirmative did you relax. Which lasted a moment before the centurion turned you around so you were facing him. His gaze was hard and his arms were crossed over his chest. Unlike the men before, the centurion was wearing his full armor, save for his helmet, another thing you were thankful for. You were not easily intimidated, but this man? He could crack you like a peanut.

After a moment of sizing you up, his eyes trailing from your clothes, so different from his own, with trousers instead of a tunic and a graphic t-shirt in an alphabet he knew, but words he couldn’t understand, to your green dyed hair. He didn’t seem impressed. In fact, he seemed suspicious.

“Lucius Marianus.” Unfurling one of his hands, he held it for you to shake.

With an awkward smile, you took his hand and introduced yourself. His grip grew a bit tighter at the sound of your obviously foreign name. You fought the urge to run away.

“A pleasure, Marianus.” This time, you called him by his second name, determined not to make the same mistake as earlier with a less forgiving man.

“Where are you from?” Quick and to the point, you could respect that. Logically, you knew that this wasn’t real, that ultimately, this was your dream and you held all the power, but there was a little voice in the back of your head telling you to be careful. “Are you a citizen, a slave, or a free-man?”

Licking your dry lips, you let your hand fall to your side, shoving it in your pocket before Marianus could see that you had begun to shake. “I am from a country far away. Across the western sea, farther than any have ever gone. I am a citizen of my country, but not of Rome, and I am no slave, so I suppose that makes me a free-man.”

“You suppose?” He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I ‘suppose’ I won’t assume you’re a liar and a runaway. If I hadn’t just witnessed that…” Marianus paused, searching for the right word, and you hoped it would be one you recognized. “Technique of yours, I would figure just that. Tell me, medicus, what exactly did you do to one of my men?”

“I, uh…” Your tongue felt too big for your mouth. Whatever answer you gave this man, it better be satisfactory. All you could hope for was that the truth would be enough. “His heart was no longer beating, so I pressed upon his chest as hard as I could in the same rhythm that his heart would take.”

Marianus nodded, his expression contemplative. “And the kiss?”

“It was not a kiss!” The words burst forth before you could stop them, your face flaring even hotter. This entire conversation was reminiscent of one you would have with your father, and Marianus’ disapproval was getting to you more than it should. “I was breathing air into his lungs. I inhale, pinch his nose shut so the air doesn’t escape through his sinuses, and then blow into his mouth. If his chest rises, I am doing the procedure correctly.”

“Still, an intimate gesture to bestow upon a stranger.” His lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. You got the feeling he was teasing you now. “From what I can gather, this technique of yours mimics the functions of life in order to coaxe the spirit back into its vessel.”

You blinked, opening your mouth to argue with scientific facts. A beat passed before you snapped your jaw shut with an audible click. Better to not look a gift horse in the mouth. “I, uh, yes. It does. That is exactly it. You are a very intelligent man, Marianus, perhaps a career in medicine is calling your name.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, medicus.”

An awkward grimace pulled at your lips. “Right.”

Marianus was both unmoved and undeterred by your lame response. You expected him to leave you be. After all, despite the fact that you saved one of his men from drowning, you were still an outsider to both the village, the army, and Rome. In your head, he owed you nothing, all you did was your duty and you expected nothing in return. Marianus seemed to think otherwise.

“Where have you been sleeping, medicus?” With a sharp nod of his head, he gestured to your duffel bag and drying clothes. “I assume outside in the heat considering how poorly you are spoken of in town. Looking and speaking as you do, it’s no wonder anyone is hesitant to even allow you to sleep in their barn.” Again, the edges of his mouth curled upwards. “You are far more useful than previously anticipated. For once, I am happy to have my assumptions proven false.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Fetch your belongings, there are more men waiting to be your patients back at camp.”

You blinked, dumbfounded, before a sharp raise of Marianus’ black eyebrows broke you from your spell. If there were more people to be treated, you didn’t have to be told twice. With a bit of pep in your step, excited to have something to do rather than waste away in tedium, you stuffed your, now dry, clothes into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Marianus eyed it with no small amount of reservation.

“Do you carry any weapons?”

You thought about your taser and pepper spray tactically placed in an easy to reach pocket on the side. “No. As a doctor, I consider myself a pacifist.”

Marianus snorted. “A good way to die.”

“Better to die giving life than taking it,” You replied easily. This wasn’t a lie. While you didn’t fault other’s for violence — how could you fault human nature? — you would rather heal before harm. A part of you hoped to balance the scales, do enough good to make the bad seem worth it. It was a lofty goal, one you tried not to dwell on. So long as you managed to help even a single person in your life, you would be happy, though you’d never confine yourself to such a meager goal. “If you don’t mind me asking, do your men not already have a doctor to treat them? Why take on a stranger’s help?”

“We did. He is no longer with us.”

You frowned. “A shame. Lose one soldier, and you only lose one man. Lose a doctor and your losses double. I never met him, but I’ll remember him fondly.”

“You’re soft. It’s a shame.” His words made you raise your eyebrows, and, when you looked at him, there was pity in his dark eyes, though it was only there for a second.

Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you in the direction of the camp. With few trees in sight, only lush farms and tall grass, the countryside was a sight to behold. You glanced over your shoulder to see the river and the village disappearing in the distance. While the road the two of you walked on was dirt, it was well trodden, no stones or holes to trip over. This truly was the Roman Empire. How your mind managed to conjure an image so beautiful and so unmistakably alien was beyond you.

“Has there been anyone caring for the injured?” You asked.

“Our veterinarius has been doing what he can, though I don’t like it. These are men, not animals.” To punctuate his displeasure, Marianus spit on the ground.

You nodded placatingly as you approached the first cluster of tents. Some of the soldiers recognized you, though you didn’t recognize them in return. Word traveled fast when you save someone’s life, you supposed. “I’m sure he’s doing his best.”

“His best is not enough,” Marianus grumbled.

Before you could respond, the stench of infection and sick filled your senses. If you hadn’t done clinicals or worked in healthcare while you completed your studies, it would have caught you off guard. Instead of blanching, you took your last deep breath of clean air, and braced yourself as much as you could. Marianus almost seemed impressed by the determination on your face as you pulled back the flap of the tent, joining a frazzled looking man — the veterinarius, you assumed — in his rounds.

All you could do was your best, and you intended for that to be enough.

Even as a student, you had steeled your heart to the worst suffering had to offer. Growing up as you did, with parents more interested in results than feelings, it became all too easy to turn off your bleeding heart and do what was necessary. By now, it was as simple as breathing.

Your bedside manner was gentle as you helped a few men, too injured to move, drink water from a ladle. If you were any less busy, you would have insisted it be boiled. Marianus would likely scold you, it was unrealistic for an entire century to boil water for every sick man, let alone every soldier, no matter how sound your advice was. Posca would do for now, as it always had.

For hours, you worked tirelessly, cleaning wounds and calming fevers. You were lucky modern medicine wasn’t all that you studied. In order to help as many people as you could, you focused on ancient and holistic practices as well, though you had an easy preference for the tried and true methods. There was no denying that you were a medical prodigy, a genius for all intents and purposes. It wasn’t that you had an ego — well, maybe you did — it was the fact that it was the truth. You had graduated college before you had turned eighteen and gone through medical school soon after. Right now, you were the youngest student going through their surgical residency in your state, perhaps even the country if you dared to let your pride swell. All of this, your parents would call their doing, that you would be nothing without their guidance.

You grimaced in the middle of setting a skinny man’s broken arm. Better not think about them now, it would only serve to stress you out even further. For all your skill, you caught yourself floundering inside the medical tent, Marianus watching from the entrance as you flitted from patient to patient, and the veterinarius sitting back to take a much needed break. While you had some supplies on you — a stethoscope, a sphygmomanometer, a Taylor hammer, none of which you’d utilized yet, a bottle of antiseptic, some ibuprofen, and three clean syringes — it wasn’t enough for you to feel comfortable. Which was ridiculous, this was your dream, you could do whatever you wanted.

Then again, if that was true, then why were you fumbling through even simple procedures? You didn’t feel comfortable using more invasive methods, not unless you had no other choice. The likelihood of survival was low, even with your steady hands. Perhaps this was a nightmare, a look into what life will be like once you were done with your schooling. Your slumbering mind was preparing you to be the failure you were always meant to be.

Shaking your head, you focused your attention back on your patient. No one seemed to notice your lapse, not even you. You were quite good at multitasking, mixing self-deprecation with stringent work ethic like a talented seamster. The skinny man was lucky it was a clean break, and even luckier, it wasn’t his humerus, which would have been more complicated given your lack of equipment. A bit of sweat trickled down your forehead as you stood, surveying the men around you. You had done well given the circumstances, but you still couldn’t help but feel as though it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

Even dreaming, you felt tired.

Three men had infected wounds. One was oozing pus, which apparently was a good thing according to the veterinarius and Marianus, though you still took care to clean the wound thoroughly. Another man had a fever due to the infection, and, after washing your hands, you took care to clean it as the other. After much reassurance that it wasn’t poison to Marianus — consisting of taking one yourself — you also gave him an ibuprofen for his fever, though you decided you were going to ration them unless it was an emergency. The third man was a bit harder, enough necrotic tissue forming around the infection that you considered surgery. For now, you introduced maggots to the area, a treatment Marianus seemed to approve of, if not with some disgust. In the morning, you would check the wound, and then surgically remove the decayed flesh if the maggots didn’t do enough.

Four men had broken bones, one, his arm, another, his finger, and two, their leg. That was simple enough, if not time consuming getting all the bone fragments to set properly. While you would have much preferred a cast to a splint, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

That wasn’t even to mention the handful of other men with various ailments that filled the tent. Apparently there was someone quarantined elsewhere, suffering from dysentery. According to the veterinarius, the treatment for that particular disease was rest, fasting, and dehydration, which you were in the middle of giving him strict instructions to keep the man as hydrated as possible, it didn’t matter how quickly he discharged it, he needed to be drinking as much water as he could. You didn’t hold out much hope he’d make it, though you’d be damned before you gave up on someone who needed you.

It wasn’t until Marianus clamped his hand on the back of your neck and began to steer you towards the tent’s exit did you realize how exhausted you were. Your eyes burned and your head throbbed. If you were any less of a man, you would have taken one of your ibuprofen to ease the dull ache in your temples. Ultimately, you decided against it. If there came a time when they were necessary and you had run out because of your own weakness, you would never forgive yourself.

“You did well, medicus. Better than I expected, you are very skilled at what you do,” Marianus said as he led you deeper into camp. By now, it was dark, well into the night too judging from the full moon directly overhead.

How long had you been working?

“Thank you. I am usually better than that. I fear my nerves of being in such an unfamiliar country are getting to me.” With the heel of your palm, you scrubbed at your face.

Marianus frowned down at you. “Keep your foreignness to yourself, medicus and you will go far. Though, that will be hard to do with hair like yours.” He looked you up and down, hesitant curiosity creeping into his features. “That strange color… it is not natural, is it?”

A laugh bubbled from your throat. “No, I dyed it. Green is a color I am rather fond of.”

“I am fond of red, but you do not see me painting my hair that color,” He grumbled under his breath, and it reminded you so much of the comments some of your superiors made, that you giggled.

Before you could respond, he gestured to a tent with an outstretched arm. A lantern was on inside, casting the shadow of the single occupant, who was busy sitting cross-legged and writing what seemed to be a letter. While you had reservations of interrupting, Marianus did not.

“Out here, now, boy!” The shadow visibly jumped before pulling back the flap to reveal Aelius. He looked as tired as you did, and truthfully, he stank to high heaven. You struggled not to wrinkle your nose so as not to offend him. Aelius seemed like a nice man.

“Sir?” Was all he managed before Marianus continued to bark his next set of orders.

“Since the two of you were acquainted earlier, and the fact that you were supposed to be monitored, you’ll be bunking together. In the morning, we set a course for Rome.”

You blinked. Did that include you? While you wouldn’t mind getting out of the village and seeing more of what this dream had to offer, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of uncertainty. There was no telling how long this dream would go on, nor how vast it was. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you strolled ‘out of bounds,’ so to speak. Would you be trapped in an infinite void until you awoke? The thought was enough to send a chill down your spine.

“And I will remain here,” You finally said.

Marianus barked out a laugh. “No. You will join us. I still have a use for you.”

As much as you didn’t want to abandon your current patients, you would rather not push your luck any further than you already had. Crossing your arms, you met Marianus’ furrowed brows with your own. “And that use would be?”

To your right, Aelius made a little noise. Your gaze flickered over to him, catching his motion for you to cease, before you ignored it and fixated back on Marianus. He was looking at you like you’d lost your mind. At least enough to question him. A bit of discomfort made your skin itch, you always hated earning the negative attention of a superior.

For a moment, you feared that Marianus would yell at you until the sun rose. He puffed up, shoulders squaring and his lower jaw jutting out before he deflated with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his angular nose. “You are too soft for the army, medicus, and you are too foreign to hope to set up your own clinic, especially without citizenship. There is very little hope for you in the Empire.”

You looked away, feeling cold even as a summer’s breeze blew against your skin. An argument began to boil in the back of your throat, an insistence that this was a dream, so none of that mattered, but you managed to swallow that poison before it could spew out of you.

Marianus paused, waiting for you to respond. When all he received was a defeated look, he continued, “There is, however, hope for both me and you. The emperors require a new physician and I believe they would be taken by your skill and your…” He looked at your hair again. “Novelty. In return for discovering you, if they choose to take you on, me and my men will be rewarded.”

“I see,” You muttered. Perhaps this was the route your dream wanted you to take. At the end of it all, there was sure to be a lesson or even a vision of sorts that could help you in reality. All you had to do to get it was allow the plot to pull you forward. “And Rome is not far?”

Marianus’ features softened, bordering on fondness, guilt, and pity. “Barely a day’s march, medicus.”

“I will go, then. To Rome with me, I suppose.” Though you smiled, when you turned to Aelius, he stared at you as if you’d been sentenced to death.

—————————————-

Tag list: @snazzynacho

[writingdevil]

Hello! I see that you are open to requests for STP and I was wondering if you are able to write something regarding Cold and Smitten? It can be a ship or just plain platonic

Thank you very much!

(AH!Of course!The iconic duo with the most homoerotic tension I've ever seen!Enjoy!)

Cold was quite fond of surprises.

They were something unexpected,something that Cold,or someone else,couldn't predict.It caught people off guard,including him,from time to time, and the unforseen actions led way for some very fun times.

Right now was a particularly nice surprise.

One second,he's chatting away with some of the others-Hero,Skeptic,Cheated-until the next second,he felt claws being buried into his arm as he was dragged away,staring at the shrinking face of an exasperated Skeptic,until he found himself in the kitchen.

Cold had no idea what was happening,not until his body was suddenly being shoved against the door, and he found himself staring down at the livid face of Smitten.

If Cold was associated with ice,then Smitten was pure,fiery passion-a blazing fire of hatred in his eyes as he glared up at him,looking seconds away from tearing Cold's throat out.Would he do it?How long would it take for him to regret it?

Smitten's usually beautiful face was twisted into an ugly grimace as he snarled,"How dare you."

Cold merely lifted his brows in question,which only seemed to piss Smitten off more,judging by the claws digging further into his skin.He felt the little beads of blood dripping down his arm,hearing them hit the floor,but neither he nor Smitten looked down.They only stared at each other.

"How dare I what?"Cold casually asked,and Smitten bared his teeth as he spat out,"How dare you say such things about the princess!Our one true love!"

Cold rolled his eyes."Oh,this again?"He thought that he had found a new way to make Smitten tick,but it was just the same old thing with that lovebird.

He didn't even care enough to remember what he said-all he he was that the four of them were reminiscing on the past,particularly on the princess and whether they missed her or not.He obviously must've made some not-absolutely-head-over-heels comment that sparked Smitten's ire,and now here they were,and Cold was disappointed at how sensitive and predictable Smitten was being.

Smitten finally let go of his arm,his hand slicing through the air angrily as he snapped,"Yes!I am sick of having to defend our beloved princess from your icy and vicious words!"

Cold tried to push himself off the wall,to walk forward and intimate Smitten into stepping back with his height,but he only managed to lean his body forward before Smitten forcefully shoved him back.Pain exploded against the back of his skull from the impact.It made his ears ring and his eyes tear up for a second.When he could focus again,he watched as Smitten held no regret or guilt in his shiny eyes.Huh.

Cold shrugged as if that hadn't of affected him at all."I don't understand what's not getting through to you,what with all that space in your head being taken up with nothing but air."Cold had the pleasure of seeing Smitten's expression darken even further,so he kept going,"Your loud and passionate love for the princess is useless,and caring about her when she's not even here,even more so."

Smitten's eyes widened in shock,and he leaned in closer as he started to say,"How could you-"

"-I'm bored of talking about princesses,"Cold interrupted,using that moment to push Smitten back enough for him to actually walk away and have some personal space again.He sighed,before he realised that his feathers were relaxing now that he wasn't up close to Smitten's fire.

A part of him missed it.

He quickly flicked that annoying little thought away, but still turned to stare at Smitten in the eye as he said,"I want to talk about you."

"Oh,what could you possibly have to say about me,I wonder?"Smitten asked sarcastically,and Cold was honestly surprised that the other was capable of making such a toxic voice.He liked it.

"Yes,well,I just find it a little unusual-that someone so committed to their love,would stoop so low as to eavesdropping."

There was a flicker of shock and worry in Smitten's eyes,arms falling to his side as he stuttered out,"I-I wasn't-"

"I have to admit,eavesdropping,along with attacking people who speak ill of your love,doesn't make for a very-kind partner."

"What do you know about kindness?"Smitten asked bitterly,"What kind of lover wouldn't rush to defend their beloved from such harsh words?"

"Even when they're not here?"Cold taunted,"Even when she was just a part of a larger Goddess?"He tilted his head to the side as he noticed the way Smitten's fists clenched.

Smitten's voice was dangerously low and calm as he replied,"My love for her is stronger than time and distance.You will never be able to change that."

Cold shrugged."Unfortunately,you're right on that. But I just find it interesting-"and then he had the pleasure of seeing a flash of fear on Smitten's face, because he knew that if he has done something to interest Cold,then it definitely didn't mean anything good for him.

"-that you can call yourself such a devoted and perfect partner,when the only time you've decided to showcase that,is by eavesdropping on a conversation you weren't a part of and threatening someone.What a scary partner you must be."

Cold felt a satisfied smirk being pulled across his face,and he felt excitement course through him at the fiery rage he had reignited within Smitten.He wasn't sure what it was,but there was something about watching a person go from being sickenly sweet to sharply sour,and to know that his presence was the cause of it.

Smitten exploded upon him."You know nothing of me,villain!You have no idea the lengths to which I'd go for the love of my life!"

"I think I do know,"Cold replied,and Smitten took a step towards him,making his breath hitch."I know how you let your little feelings possess you,until you're practically obsessed-like how you are with me."

Smitten froze,stammering on the spot while his feathers puffed up,almost covering his chin completely."W-Why would I be obsessed with you?" Smitten said incredulously,a chuckle of nervous disbelief at the end of his words."We have nothing in common.You're only goal is to freeze and hurt others for your own sick amusement."

"Oh?"Cold said innocently,tilting his head to the side."Is that so?Then what do you call this?"and then he lifted up his bloody arm with the holes Smitten had poked into him.

The blood had trailed all the way down his forearm now,and the limb was trembling slightly in a way that wasn't from the usual lack of heat his body didn't make.

Smitten stared at him,aghast at the evidence of his own violence,and Cold grinned wickedly at him and taunted,"What kind of sweet and loving partner would do this to someone?"Smitten's face was filled with horror,before Cold blinked,and he was suddenly being shoved again.

He grunted as he hit another wall,but also because, instead of his arm being gripped,it was his throat. He gasped as Smitten pinned his neck to a wall, squeezing dangerously tight,and Cold felt his head spin in pleasure.

He managed to look down at Smitten,who's face was eerily calm,except for the intense heat of hatred in his eyes.Cold couldn't help but look down at his other hand,the one with still wet blood on his claws.

Smitten squeezed once in warning."Do not make me do something I will regret."

But Cold did want to see it.He wanted to reach in and claw at Smitten's core,until he uncovered all the dark and rotten parts of him that he hid with poetic words and soft hugs.Cold wanted to be the one to shove all of it in Smitten's face,to show his burning fire for the world to see,how dangerous he actually was,and Cold wanted to see how Smitten would react to him.

Cold wanted to be the one that brought this out of Smitten.

So he reached up and almost lovingly caressed the hand around his throat."Do it,"he forced out,never breaking eye contact with Smitten.

Smitten glared,before his grip tightened.

[george228732]

Dededark Matter 2

Day 6:

The funeral came sooner than anyone expected, obviously without a body, because nothing even remained of Dedede, besides that black substance that was pitiful to look at - and they’d find it disrespectful to use that substance for the funeral procession, so they left it in the deceased’s room in an urn, to try and make it seem like he’s still there, even though no one would dare to open that room due to the sheer sadness it would evoke.

Everyone was prepared with funeral clothing, all with somber faces seeing how one of their people was no longer with them - it was so sudden too, with an illness that couldn’t be figured out until it was too late. At the very least they were happy that their king wouldn’t suffer anymore. 

Hyness was the priest on that day, blessing the site and then allowing his closest friends to say their final goodbyes in a more formal passion.

Everyone was on the verge of tears, or at the very least, couldn’t find the words for someone that passed so quickly - he had a long life ahead of him, but it all went crashing down for seemingly no reason other than life being unfair - death is like that sometimes; simply unfair, and out of nowhere.

Meta Knight was the first one to say his final goodbyes towards Dedede, and it was clear that he was doing his best to hide his grief, due to how slow he was talking, even slower than usual - he thought that he had already shed enough tears when the king passed in front of him, but it was clear that he wanted to cry more - not that his sense of duty would allow him to do that, thinking that he needed to be strong for the rest.

“...Goodbye, my king. May Hades, or wherever you go, be kind to you, for you have been kind to me, and I am sorry that I can’t accompany you this time in your journey. May you rest in peace.” Meta said before the grave of his lover and backed away.

“You were always the best person I could talk to, understanding my problems and always being free to talk with me - sure, you may have been a little mean at the start, but your pure heart is the thing that I’ll always keep in mind. May you rest in peace.” Bandee followed, similarly reserved like Meta.

“I-I’ll always remember all the gourmet races we did together, and our friendly battles! Please, wherever you are, please make sure to remember those like how I am doing now, I beg you. May you rest in peace.” Kirby was crying, but gained the courage to say those words before backing down with tears streaming down his cheeks like a river.

Soon, people started to give their blessings - some quiet and reserved, and some others sobbing until there were no more tears left in their system, and so, the funeral service continued, being as somber as it was from the start.

“...If only I had noticed sooner…” That was the sentiment Susie (and everyone else at the funeral) had at that time; perhaps if they knew what was going on earlier, they could’ve prevented it somehow - even though it was most likely a disease that couldn’t be cured, blaming themselves for their king’s death was the only thing they could do.

Soon enough, the funeral service ended, with everyone doing their best to honor Dedede’s memory, and to do so, the Star Allies decided to stay in the castle like yesterday, trying to feel as if the king was there with them, but obviously, he wasn’t and it was clear from the start, since the place had never felt so empty, without Dedede’s voice to cheer the Waddle Dees up, and speaking about them, they clearly had been taking his death the worst, not even deciding to work, or to make dinner for the rest, a thing everyone could understand perfectly.

“...” Meta Knight started to walk towards the empty throne, bowing as if someone was occupying it, and then got closer to it.

“What are you doing?” 

“Since the King has passed, someone must take its role to keep order, and considering my relationship with him, the one most appropriate to do it would be me, even if I think it’s dishonorable to do this just now, someone needs to take responsibility. 

“...Makes sense…” Kirby spoke up before walking away towards the kitchen, where the Star Allies were making the food themselves. Even though they didn’t have the strength to eat, they thought that it’d be a good way to distract themselves from their grief.

Lastly, everyone went to sleep in their respective guest rooms, hoping that the heavy atmosphere of today wouldn’t remain for tomorrow, even though it was clear that it’d take a while to adjust to the idea that one of their best friends wasn’t with them anymore.

Overall, it wasn’t a good day.

Day 7:

Fylass, sharing the bed with Kirby and Bandee was the first one to wake up, seemingly not even sleeping an inch thanks to yesterday, and not even bothering to take their funeral clothes, but at the end, it only reminded him of what he lost.

“...” He left the room as silently as possible to look at the morning sky - on days like these, Dedede would come here to comfort him about whatever dark feeling he might be going through, but obviously, that wouldn’t happen now. 

He now wanted to find someone that could comfort him during such dark times, but most people were asleep, and he didn’t want to wake anyone up, so he walked down the hallways, looking at the Waddle Dees doing their daily patrols, even though they were still sad thanks to Dedede’s departure.

Oddly enough, though, he found someone at the end of one of the empty hallways, carrying a lot of research with them.

“...Jade?” Fylass said, approaching her. She quickly took notice of Fylass’ presence and quickly came to look at him.

“Ah, hello…! Did you sleep well…?” She said, until she realized that the kid had clear eyebags and his way of walking made it clear that he barely slept yesterday, so she started regretting asking that question.

“...Not really… I guess you know why…”

“Yeah… he will be missed.” For someone like Fylass, he found it impressive that Jade seemed to be taking the whole thing better, or at least, that’s what the little bird thought.

“...Yes…” Fylass hung his head looking at the ground and started shedding some tears, but quickly tried to cover that up with his arm. 

“So… What are you doing…?” Fylass asked, looking at Jade’s research.

“I am just… trying to investigate more about Dark Matter… To prevent a repeat scenario and such… I still don’t really get how it happened so fast, but it was clear that Dark Matter was involved, so I must investigate the why before someone else goes through the same…”

“I see… Can I help? I should know something about it, right? Sure, you made some groundbreaking discoveries with some of your other research if I remember correctly, but I still want to be of some use for this… Dad is dead, so I want to prevent any more tragedies related to it…”

Jade pondered for a moment about what to say, but she finally reached an answer.

“No, it’s fine… Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to burden you with my work anyway…”

“...Can I at least get a hug from you? No one’s awake at the moment…”

“Of course…”

Fylass received a hug from his older sister, but from his back, he felt something wet, like droplets of water falling down his clothes - he paid it no mind though, since he felt too gloomy to care.

—

Soon enough, people started to wake up, putting on some clothes and going to the dining room to see if there was any breakfast there for them. 

Gladly enough, there was breakfast being prepared, but it’s not like there was any appetite left within them for now, but for mere courtesy, they decided to sit down and eat.

“...” Fondue was the one in charge of preparing breakfast, and even though there was no energy left within him, it was at the very least appropriate to keep on working under the new rule under Meta Knight they knew was coming.

“...If Meta was going to end up being a king anyway…” He thought to himself - he didn’t have any hard feelings towards Meta, obviously, but he felt empty knowing that his beloved king was gone and would never come back…

The breakfast was done with love, like always, but it still felt hollow, due to the grief of today and yesterday - it was as if the food didn’t even want to taste good, or even bad, just… nothing.

Soon, when they had finished eating, they all simply left after saying thank you. 

Fondue just simply went back to his room, and simply sobbed on the other side of the door - Dedede was one of the most important people in his life after all.

“Why…? Why did you have to leave us like that?! I’ll never forgive you for that!” He said, obviously not mad at the dead, but simply sad that he was even unable to tell him goodbye when it all happened.

When he had stopped sobbing though, he realized that the sobbing continued, even though it wasn’t his - it was odd for sure, so he went out of his way to try and find the source of the crying in his room, to check if some Waddle Dee was in here somehow. 

Soon, though, he realized that the source came from directly outside his room, so by not trying to be disruptive, he placed his cheek on the door to check who was crying in his place; sure enough, he almost missed it, but it was immediately clear who was the one crying. It was Meta.

“Oooooh… Dedede…” Those were the words Meta muttered behind the door, seemingly not realizing there was someone nearby, which made sense, not many people went to this specific area of the castle; Meta perhaps thought that he would get some privacy here.

“Why did you leave me alone? I’ll never forgive you for it!” Meta said, sniffling. “Now I have to take the place you left behind! Long ago, I would’ve wished for this moment, but now, I only want you to come back…”

“...” Fondue just kept on listening, not wanting to interact with the conversation Meta had with himself, but deep down, he wanted to help, since both were probably feeling the exact same thing in terms of grief - Dedede was the most important person of their lives, after all.

—

Day 8:

A new day followed, still with some of the gloomy feeling from the past two days, but at the very least, it was more tolerable… 

Magolor walked towards the hallways of the castle due to having lost something on the way, when he realized something was off. These were oddly emptier than usual, and felt some sense of foreboding down his spine. 

He kept on walking to see what was happening around here, and that’s when he realized something - Dedede’s room was open.

“...W-What?!” Magolor entered the room to see who was intruding in there - it had been an agreement between them that no one would enter this room to honor Dedede’s memory, at the very least for now, so who would be there? 

“Who’s there?!” Magolor asked.

Then he realized sooner than later who was on the other side - it was Susie, and Taranza as well…

“W-What are you guys doing here?! I thought we agreed to never touch this room!”

“Magolor! Er… W-We can explain!” Taranza said to Magolor, and the latter realized that they were not only inside this room without permission, but were also taking Dedede’s urn with them.

“Huh?! What are you doing with that! Leave it there, you might break it!”

“Listen, we’re doing this for the greater good, just let us do our thing!” “What are you even doing?! It seems that it wasn’t enough for both of you to annoy him in life, now you have to do it as well when he’s dead?!” “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Magolor, but listen! We are planning to bring Dedede back to life!”

“Yeah, as if I-... Wait, what did you say?!” Magolor demanded an explanation.

“Look, I know that we might need to move on and all, but how could we when we found a solution to bring Dedede back from the dead?! It’d be beneficial for all of us! Most of us barely ate yesterday and Fondue told me that Meta was on the verge of having a breakdown, one of the many he witnessed! It’s clear that we need to do this, or else the Star Allies might crumble into despair!”

“...And how are you planning to do that?”

“Remember when I came down to this planet to use its resources? And one of the things I did to try and stop Kirby was making a clone of Dedede using his DNA? What if we use that to bring Dedede back?!”

“Huh? And how?! Dedede doesn’t have a body anymore where we could use his DNA, there’s only black goop!”

“Well, that black goop is Dark Matter! I already cloned Dark Matter before! What if we try to use my techniques again to try and revive Dedede?! It might not be the regular Dedede we know, but it should be fine! He’ll be back!”

“And how are you so sure about this?!”

“...Please, trust us. We know what to do. When we lost Sectonia and Haltmann, we tried our best to move on from that, and it’s safe to say that we did do our best, but it was only with the help of the Dream Team and the Star Allies that we found a better life together. We need to do this, we know how to do this! So, please… let us go back to how things were back then…

“...”

@moonmacabre01 Creator of Fondue

@turquoisetuber Creator of Jade

[stuffnonsenseandotherthings]

Love in The Big City Part 3 - Notes from A Reader

Note 1: What's in a Name?

Names play a big role in Part 3 of Love in the Big City, in no small part because Part 3 is the section which gives its own name, "Love in the Big City", to the book itself.

Immediately this marks Part 3 out as important, as the potential birthplace of this whole story, as the potential reason Young picked up his pen to spill his whole story to the world, as the potential reason the fictional Love in the Big City exists in the first place.

Something in this section is important, something in this section holds weight, something in this section holds the heart of the book in its hands.

And that something is Gyu-Ho.

Gyu-Ho and the love Young finally found with him in the big city of Seoul.

And here we have another name. Gyu-Ho is the second named character in the book, with the first being Jae-Hee, and that certainly doesn't read as a coincidence.

It could be argued that Gyu-Ho and Jae-Hee are the only 2 named characters because they are the only ones in the story who aren't smothered in some form of guilt or self-loathing, the only ones who are openly themselves but, for me, that doesn't quite fit (the T-ara's are given nicknames and it certainly seems like they are more openly themselves than anyone else in the book). Instead to me, feels like a sign of significance, a sign of just how important they were to the Young that is written about and how important they still are to the Young that did the writing.

Everyone else is either replaceable (Young's flings and acquaintances) or the source of a relationship that brought pain he'd rather leave behind (Eomma and Hyung). But Jae-Hee was the first person in who he found a home and Gyu-Ho was the second, and in naming them he affords them more significance than he affords himself in his own story. These are the two people who shaped him for the better, so they deserve to be acknowledged as such.

Note 1.5: You

Alongside the fact that Gyu-Ho one of the only named characters in the book, there is another reason I think his character is the impetus for the entire story that came before and that is the moments when Young doesn't call him by his name but instead calls him... you.

The majority of Love in the Big City is written in the first person with Young occasionally addressing us, the reader, directly as he comments on the events of his life. The tone is conversational and intimate, as one would address a friend or a diary.

And then, at the start of Part 3 something slips.

The "you" Young is addressing isn't us, the reader, any more. It's Gyu-Ho:

"But you, your sideburns curved into your beard...." p 133.

"Your tongue, which was as warm as your gaze...." p 133.

"Yes. to tell you the truth now, after all that has happened since. I wasn't that drunk that night." p. 133.

The tone changes from conversational to reverent, from lightly personal to intimate, from wryly removed to loaded with shared history. It doesn't happen every time, it doesn't happen consistently, but it happens and, quite frankly, I love it.

"Ah, this is who Young is writing for."

That's what those moments felt like to me, like Young had slipped as he revisited moments loaded with emotions and they had spilled onto the page, no longer a story for faceless readers but a love letter to a lost love, an attempt to speak to him once more.

It's one of the most loaded writing decisions I've come across in quite some time and the layers it adds to the section, to the book are amazing for something so seemingly inconsequentially small.

So what's in a name? A whole damn lot, but there's even more in that small word you.

[menelaiad]

can I prompt you to talk about Menelaus sparing Helen I'm just like :chinhands: about everything u say about the house of atreus

hey, if you're willing to listen, i'm more than happy to talk - thank you!

so. again. we got Big Three versions.

menelaus says 'guys it's chill i'll kill her at home. let's all cool our jets' (this is the version in euripides)

menelaus goes to kill her himself. helen shows her boobs. menelaus suddenly very chill (this is also implied by euripides)

menelaus gets men to kill her. helen shows her boobs. men suddenly very chill (stesichorus)

CAN YOU GUESS WHICH TWO I DESPISE? no. fr. the last two (the boob two) are far too dependent on helen being vain. and helen .... almost not feeling any guilt or shame from what's happened. and we know that's not true from the iliad. these two, to me, are classic. THIS IS JUST HOW HOT HELEN WAS propaganda. cause yknow. ur a greek/roman/ancient dude and you hear that helen of sparta showed you her boobs like 'damn bro i wouldn't kill her either ahahahaha pass the wine, maximus'.

but helen was never vain. she was never arrogant. she was confident and self-assured. but it's pretty much everyone AROUND helen that comments on her beauty and stuff. she never really does herself? which is another fascinating element of her character tbh. so her doing THIS as a means to be spared? doesn't suit me. do i think helen wanted to die/was willing to die? no. but i think she would have gone about pleading for her life a different way, y'know? also i hate the whole 'her tits got her into this mess they'll get her out of it' like shut UP. menelaus is not 12. he's fucking 60 odd at this point. he is tired. he is wounded. he is so beyond mentally well. give him some respect. he wouldn't have been blind sided by this.

but i don't think menelaus EVER planned to kill her. i can accept euripudes' version cause i think there would have been a lot of greek men that would have wanted to see helen dead. it makes sense yknow? they dont see the full narrative. the big picture. as far as they're concerned helen ran away. loads of people died. and now she's gonna get away with it. they're not narrative aware enough to see all the cogs of fate and the gods and all this. so i can respect that some greeks would have wanted her to suffer and menelaus would have risked a fuckin riot if he outright said 'nah lads she's fine lets crack on' so the whole 'wait til we get home' narrative is a good way for him to save time. to buy him and helen some time to come up with a plan, a story. to hear each other out. to work through stuff. they don't get back to sparta for like. 10 more years. they can EASILY have come up with some reason why she's not been killed yet. or why he's not gonna go through with it/why it's all worked out.

in regards to menelaus never wanting to kill her, i believe that because of how menelaus behaves in the iliad. menelaus is constantly lamenting the deaths of the greeks. the needless death and suffering. how these men are working and sacrificing to get helen back. to bring her HOME. what would killing her do? another senseless death. all the sacrifice for naught because menelaus doesnt get his wife back. he goes back to sparta alone. as if he never even went to fucking troy and tried to get her back?????

and also because menelaus loves her. despite everything he loves her and he never stopped. it's why i really like his portrayal in IOA even if he is a giant ass clown. he's a man desperate to get his wife back. and he's under the impression they're just gonna go to troy and get her back. simple as. two months tops. he's frantic and desperate and willing to try anything to get her back (yo bro kill ur daughter for me kthx). and i don't think that desire to get her back changes. menelaus grows more subdued and quiet. and has less fire. but he's still trying. he goes toe to toe with paris, is willing to take on hektor. menelaus is very much: 'i am dying at troy or i am leaving with my wife' and how is that not love? it's literally. he is going to get her back or die trying.

(also idk how much people value to fall of troy texts that are around but like. menelaus kills deiphobus in those. when dei is with helen. the man is insane in those moments he could easily have took helen out too in his madness. but he doesn't. also also. when he's in the horse and he hears helen, he's said to 'groan' when he remembers her and given the context of the other men weeping and stuff. this is like. a groan of pain. hearing helen's voice after so long and remembering her. HURTS him. he's missed her so much.)

menelaus and helen loved each other. you see it in odyssey 4. the healing they must have gone through in those 10 years. is so admirable and powerful. and they did it because they wanted to. because they were gonna see this out. they were gonna make this work. and even zeus acknowledges it. because he lets menelaus into elysium just to be with helen (his own DAUGHTER) for eternity. even though menelaus has LITERALLY no elysium qualities. not even zeus cant bear to separate these two.

they're just so fucking powerful.

[cluescorner]

I doubt they would survive a day in their own communities. Like, have y’all ever interacted with LGBTQ+ people IRL?? It’s really cool. Genuinely was a wonderful experience for me. Met someone who went by it/its pronouns because it saw that as the only way to distance itself from the demand to fit into boxes implanted on it by humanity. Met someone who goes by any pronouns and faer does that for the exact same reason as the person above. He and it were besties, hearing their discussions on gender was really fucking cool. Made me question my gender, I found out I’m cis but it was still a good experience. More relevant to this post, you’ve also got a pack of wild lesbians who congregated once while I was volunteering: me the young’un (cis, she/her, femme lesbian, has sensory issues with penetration of any kind but isn’t ace), an elder lesbian (bacla, she/he/siya (no preference but one of those) likes penetrative and non-penetrative sex), and a lesbian roughly between our ages (trans, she/her, about 4 months into socially transitioning, asexual). We’re just...talking about being lesbians and our differing experiences. It’s great, we taught each other a lot in the day we knew each other! Siya helped teach me about ways to explore myself and my preferences without triggering any averse reactions, I helped the trans lesbian vibe with wanting to be more gender conforming and traditionally ‘feminine’ (teaching trans femmes the joys of spinning around in frilly dresses is so nice), and she helped our elder get caught up with modern gay news. We left our stations and I’ve never seen either of them again, but this shit is so fun and so much better than arguing with randos about whether or not they ‘count’ as a lesbian. Imagine if I did what tiktok does and spent that whole time saying that our elder couldn’t be a lesbian because siya doesn’t strictly identify as a femme-aligned person or that the trans lesbian was teaching him about the ‘wrong’ gay news because most of it involved ‘bad rep’. Say what you want about cheesy cishet friendly romcom fodder, but seeing my elder beam at the idea that non-LGBTQ+ people cared about our stories on a large scale made that mediocre movie worth existing. IDK, people need to get involved in their communities (online or offline) and meet gay people outside of their immediate bubble. 

TLDR; I’m 90% sure people involved in gay discourse have never actually spent time around gay people outside of their immediate bubble and that makes me sad. Talk to people y’all, it’s great. 10/10, would recommend. 

people on tiktok would never survive a day on tumblr

[trashytracktales]

Omg can you please write some smut with Lando about the FIA gala??? He looks so hot in that suit and I need something about it🥵😭 Maybe after the gala ended and they’re back to their hotel or they fuck while they’re on the plane back to Monaco.

The FIA (Feral Instincts Arise) Awards | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I knew there would be requests for this the second I saw Lando on that carpet. Bon appétit 😛

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── It's the 2024 FIA Awards, and Lando and his girlfriend can't help but steal a moment of passion, unable to resist the tension built through teasing touches and glances during such a glamorous night.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, teasing, mild public intimacy, smut, descriptive language, fingering, bathroom sex, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.2k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 14, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I have nothing to say except that I am absolutely devastated that my role model and inspiration, Michèle Mouton has officially retired from her role as FIA Safety Delegate. I love her so much and will forever be grateful for the representation she provided for women in motorsport throughout the years. In other news, at least everybody looked so fucking hot last night.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT WAS PURE torture for her to see him up on that stage from the beginning of the evening. She’d sat in the audience, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude for being able to be by his side during this exciting stage of his life — witnessing his hard work, his wins, and his dreams becoming reality. It's more than she ever imagined.

As she watched him, she realized she wasn't just proud of his accomplishments, but thankful to be the one he comes home to, the one who gets to share these moments that will live forever in both of their memories.

Standing up to cheer for him, as Lando’s name was announced for finishing second in the Drivers’ Championship, was a natural reaction. The applause was loud, a mix of respect and so much admiration for her determined racer boy who had fought tooth and nail all season.

McLaren’s triumph in the Constructors’ Championship only added to the celebration, the team beaming as they ascended the stage to accept their award.

While the room celebrated them, all she could think about was him — her man, standing under the spotlights, looking impossibly handsome in his perfectly tailored black suit and crisp white shirt. He looked perfect, from his styled curls to his sharp jawline and sweet, nervous smile. She felt very conflicted, overwhelmed with pride and love, yet squirming with a different kind of heat every time he looked for her in the audience. The way his dimple appeared when he smiled, the casual confidence in his voice as he gave his speech, and the glint of determination in his eyes as he thanked the team for having faith in him — every bit of it was intoxicating.

Now, at the dinner table, the atmosphere has shifted.

Glasses of champagne catch the glow, sparkling like liquid gold, as conversations hum softly among the elite of the motorsport world.

Lando sits beside her, relaxed in a way only he can manage after such a long, eventful evening. His suit jacket is draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. He holds a champagne flute in one hand, the other resting lazily on her thigh beneath the table.

She can feel the warmth of his palm on her skin, his fingers flexing ever so slightly. It’s a casual touch — he’s sipping champagne, laughing at something Oscar just said — but the effect it has on her is anything but relaxed. Her heart races every time his thumb brushes against her soft skin, slow and intentional, almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

Her own glass of champagne sits untouched in front of her, her attention split between the conversation around them and the heat blooming under Lando’s hand. She tries to pay attention, nodding along while Andrea talks about some funny incident that happened in the garage during the last race of the season. But her thoughts keep drifting back to him.

She glances over at Lando, her breath catching at how effortlessly handsome he is, now that he’s more relaxed and in his element. The golden light softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal. But it’s the dimpled smirk that forms as he catches her staring that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Everything okay, gorgeous?” asks Lando, his voice low enough that only she can hear.

She nods, swallowing hard. “Positive. I'm just incredibly proud of you, that's all.”

His smirk widens, his thumb stroking her thigh with more purpose now. “You’ve said that already,” Lando murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes her ear. “But keep going. I like hearing it,” he adds, pressing his lips to her cheek.

She smiles, looking away, determined not to let him fluster her further.

However, Lando has other plans. His fingers trace unhurried patterns on her inner thigh, edging closer to the hem of her dress. The movement is subtle — nobody at the table would notice — but to her, it feels like her skin is burning. Her breathing gets heavier, and she shifts in her seat instinctively, her legs parting just enough under the table to grant him more access.

“My good girl,” whispers Lando, smiling against her cheek, then turning his attention back to the conversation.

Her heart skips at the quiet praise, and she shoots him a quick, warning glance, her eyes wide with panic.

Lando looks completely unbothered, taking part of the dialogue like he’s the epitome of innocence. The slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips tells a very different story, though. A secret one, that only they know about.

“Stop it,” she whispers through gritted teeth, her voice so low that it’s practically a breath.

Obviously, he doesn’t. If anything, her quiet protest seems to spur him on. The pads of his fingers creep higher, brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs. She grips the stem of her champagne flute tightly, her knuckles white as she tries to take her first sip of alcohol of the night — at least then she'll have something to blame if anyone asks her why she got so flustered all of a sudden.

“Lando,” she warns, her voice soft but firm.

“Hm?” he hums, his expression completely neutral as he keeps his attention to Oscar, who’s recounting his Turn 1 incident from Abu Dhabi.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to squirm in her seat. She almost can not believe how shameless Lando is, then she remembers all the times he tested her patience when they were in public. At that, her free hand drops to her lap, fingers wrapping around his wrist in an attempt to still his movements. He doesn’t pull away, but he also still doesn’t stop. Instead, his thumb presses a little harder, a constant reminder of his presence.

“You’re squirming, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “People are going to notice.”

“Then stop,” she repeats quietly, her tone sharp enough to earn a quick, curious glance from Andrea, who's sitting across from her. She ends up forcing a small smile, nodding, then turning back to Lando.

He chuckles under his breath, leaning in just slightly so his words are for her ears alone. “But we’re having so much fun,” he teases.

Her body betrays her as heat pools low in her belly, and she can’t stop herself from shifting again, her legs spreading a fraction wider. Lando takes full advantage of the movement, his fingers grazing higher until they’re just shy of where she needs him most. She glares at him, her eyes filled with need and her cheeks burning when his fingers slide easily over her lace panties, pressing harder on her warmth. As a response, her body jerks, and she barely suppresses a gasp, her nails digging into his wrist.

“I hate you,” she mutters under her breath, her voice shaky.

His grin returns, and he tilts his head, finally looking at her again. His gaze is dark, heated, and he looks entirely pleased with himself. “No, you don’t,” says Lando, so sure of himself.

It’s a miracle she doesn’t combust on the spot.

Because he's right — she doesn't hate him, she hates the fact that they're in public and she's incredibly turned on, but there's nothing she can do about it.

Finally, she can breathe normally when he withdraws his hand from between her legs, just as casually as he’d started. Her body is still buzzing with the lingering traces of his touch as she places her hand lightly on Lando’s shoulder. Slowly, she rises from her seat, her fingers squeezing just enough to send him a silent message only he’d understand.

At that, Lando’s heart stutters for a beat, his mouth suddenly dry as he watches her glide gracefully toward the bathrooms. The way her dress hugs her curves doesn’t help the growing situation in his pants — it’s like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, a small punishment for what just happened between them. He tries to act like he's not affected, emptying his glass of champagne while his eyes turn back to the table, but his focus is scattered.

His hand still tingles from touching her under the table, and now he’s left to deal with the knowledge that his teasing had gotten to her.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Minutes tick by, though they feel like an eternity.

Lando finds himself forcing a laugh at something Oscar says, remembering how impossibly talkative his teammate gets when he has a few drinks on board. He shifts in his seat, trying to mask his growing anticipation, but she’s all he can think about. His fingers drum against his empty glass, the weight of the moment making it almost impossible to sit still.

Then, his phone buzzes inside his pocket, her name lighting up the screen.

He doesn’t need to answer to know it’s just a diversion, and she’s not waiting for a conversation, either — she’s just giving him an out.

Lando clears his throat, “Sorry, I have to take this,” he says, giving the table an apologetic smile, as he pushes back his chair and making his way out of the dining area with purpose.

His heart pounds in his chest as he walks toward the bathroom, careful not to seem too rushed, but acutely aware of the tension building inside his body with each step he takes.

The hallway leading to the bathrooms is quieter, lined with soft, ambient lighting and artwork that screams understated luxury. He takes a turn, his steps slowing as he spots her standing in front of the mirror inside the women's restroom. The space itself is elegant, all marble countertops and gold fixtures, with sleek stalls and huge mirrors.

She’s touching up her lipstick, her purse resting next to her, the subtle curve of her smile betraying the fact that she knows he’s behind her. Lando approaches slowly, his footsteps soft against the polished tile. When he’s close enough, his hands settle on her waist, his touch firm yet familiar as he pulls her closer.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and full of heat. “Worried about your makeup when it’s just going to smudge off you anyway?”

Her smile turns into a smirk as she meets his gaze in the mirror. “God, you’re the worst,” she teases, her tone light but laced with something more intimate.

Lando chuckles while she turns in his arms. Her hands slide up his chest, her touch lingering as she looks up at him, her eyes dark with intent.

“Are you sure it can’t wait until we get back to the hotel?” asks Lando, even though he already knows the answer, because he knows the look she has painted all over her face very well.

Her lips brush against his cheek in a warm, lingering kiss before her breath tickles his ear. “Baby, that's hours away.”

She intertwines her fingers with his, and leads him to one of the stalls at the end of the bathroom. The space is just as luxurious as the rest of the venue — tall wooden doors that reach from ceiling to floor, polished brass locks, and a sense of privacy that makes it feel more like a secluded room than a bathroom stall. As soon as they step inside, the door locks with a soft click, and every ounce of restraint disappears.

Lando’s lips are on hers instantly, hot and demanding, his hands already traveling to the hem of her dress. There’s no time to waste, with all those people back at the table who could realize at any moment that it is no coincidence that they are both missing at the same time.

His hands slide up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher until he reaches the thin band of her panties. His fingers slip beneath the lace, tugging them down in one swift motion before his hand returns, sliding between her legs and finding her completely soaked.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his forehead resting against hers as his fingers dip into her heat. “All this from a bit of touching?”

Her breath comes out in a shaky laugh as she clutches his shirt. “No,” she whispers, “All this from watching you on that stage, sitting next to you the entire night, seeing how people were cheering for you — and then from a bit of touching.”

A cocky smirk tugs at Lando’s lips. “That so?” he asks, pressing a finger into her, his pace measured as he stretches her slowly.

She gasps, her head falling back against the door, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. A second finger joins the first, curling inside her as his thumb circles her clit, making her see stars.

Her hands, trembling with anticipation, move to his belt, fumbling for a moment before she pushes his pants down just enough to free his hardened cock. Her touch is soft at first, her fingers wrapping around him and stroking slowly, making his jaw clench.

She looks up at him, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she echoes his earlier words. “All this from touching me under the table?”

“Shut up,” he growls, grabbing her thigh and hitching it around his hip. His cock presses against her entrance, teasing her as he slides the tip through her slick folds.

“You shut up, and fuck me already,” she says, her voice thick with desire.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one swift thrust, he buries himself inside her, both of them gasping at the full sensation. The stretch is so sweet and perfect, and he pauses for just a moment, letting her adjust before pulling back and thrusting again, harder this time. Her back presses against the door, the cool wood contrasting with the heat of his body as he sets a relentless pace, in and out of her tight pussy. His hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider for him as he drives into her, each movement hungrier than the previous.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lando groans, his lips brushing against her ear. “Perfectly thight around me, baby. Always so sweet and eager, aren’t you?”

She clings to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he angles his hips, hitting a spot that has her biting back a cry. “Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky and full of need, while trying to mimic his rapid movements.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, his voice rough as his fingers dig into her hips. “Let them hear you, baby. Let everybody know how well you take my cock.”

Her head falls on his shoulder as he thrusts deeper, harder, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. The tension coils tighter and tighter in her belly, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge.

“Lando, fuck,” she moans wetly into his shoulder, feeling her pussy clenching around his length. “Shit, baby. Yes, don’t stop.”

As he buries himself so deep inside her, Lando realizes that's what he wants to do for the rest of the evening — the rest of his life, as a matter of fact. His lips part as he feels her walls twitching around him, making him — if that's even possible — even harder for her. His breaths come out in spasms, letting out a small cry of pleasure as his chest crashes against hers violently.

Sensing that she’s so close, Lando’s hand ends up slipping between their bodies to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

“Are you—oh, fuck,” she tries to speak, but all her thoughts are focused on how good he makes her feel.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando assures her, “Right behind you, love.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before she shatters around him, her walls clenching hard as her orgasm washes over her. Her moans are muffled against his neck as he continues to fuck her through her release, chasing his own high. His movements grow erratic, sloppier, his grip on her tightening as he finally lets go, spilling into her with a low, guttural moan.

For a moment, they can’t hear anything else except the soft whir of ventilation and their labored breathing. Their bodies stay pressed tightly together as the echoes of their pleasure lingers in the small space.

Her chest heaves against his as she exhales shakily, her lips brushing his neck, then up his jaw in a silent thank you.

Lando smiles, slowly pulling out of her, his cock still hard and sensitive from his release. She shudders at the sudden emptiness, but before she can speak, his hand slips between her thighs again. His fingers slide inside, pushing some of his cum and their mingled release back into her.

“Lando,” she gasps, her body clenching instinctively around his fingers.

His breath falls hot against her skin. “Gotta make sure you feel it all night.”

Her cheeks flush at his words, and she bites her lip, torn between glaring at him and melting into his touch. He strokes her lazily, savoring the way her body responds to him even now.

“Insane behavior, Norris,” she exhales sharply, finally looking up at him.

“My brand,” he smirks back at her. “But what about you, hm?” he asks, his tone soft, but teasing as his eyes rake over her wrecked expression. “Going back knowing you’re filled up so good?”

She rolls her eyes at him, but the heat in her gaze betrays her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he quips, fixing a strand of her hair and then kissing her deeply one last time.

She smiles against his lips, brushing her thumb over his mouth to wipe away the faint smudge of her lipstick. Then, leaning up, she presses a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “Don’t take too long, champ.”

With that, she exits the stall, glancing once in the mirror to make sure she looks composed, and collecting her purse before heading back to the table.

When she returns to her seat, the conversation flows just as before, no one paying much attention to her absence beyond a polite glance. Her heart pounds in her chest, the sensation of being so intimately connected to Lando still fresh in her mind as she settles into her chair. She picks up her glass of champagne, finishing it in one go, her hands steady despite the warmth still coursing through her body — and the wetness between her legs.

A few minutes later, Lando comes back, his phone pressed to his ear as he pretends to be mid-conversation. His expression is casual, his voice light as he murmurs something unintelligible before slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking his seat.

But as soon as he sits down, Oscar’s eyes narrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Lando catches the look, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. “What?” he asks silently, his expression confused.

Oscar doesn’t answer, instead he points directly at Lando’s bowtie, which is noticeably crooked.

Lando’s eyes widen as he glances down, and straightens it as casually as he can, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“It's windy outside,” Lando mutters under his breath, low enough that only Oscar can hear.

His teammate just grins knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever you say, mate.”

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

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© trashy track tales, 2024

[honey-pages]

Mine - Viktor x Reader

Description -

Viktor performs oral on virgin Reader.

1.5k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. NSFW. Oral. Virgin Reader.

“How do you know so much about everything?” You joked. 

You had not expected Viktor to take it so seriously. He seemed a little wounded. 

“Do I appear to think I know so much about everything?” He asked in response.

“I didn’t mean it like that Viktor” You explained, “I just meant that you are so intelligent and knowledgeable, sometimes I can feel a bit out of my depth.”

“Ah” He looked saddened “I had never considered that you would feel this way, you keep up with me so well”

The sight of him disheartened hurt. 

“I think it’s really attractive.” You try to reassure him, “When you know so much. It’s never a negative”

He chuckled, “You find my knowledge attractive?”

“Well, I find the whole of you attractive, but there’s something special about hearing things that you are clearly well-educated in.”

“Oh really?” He asks, “My education isn’t strictly academic you know”

Viktor looks amused, leaning forward on his elbows across the table at you. You had been flirting in his study for some time and it appeared to be coming to a natural conclusion. You were nervous though still confident in the experience being positive and what you wanted. You were very inexperienced sexually and this long period of flirtation proved enough for you to decide exactly how you wanted it. 

“Teach me” You state.

“Teach you what?” He asks with a bemused smile.

“Something non-academic”

“Anything?”

“Anything”

“Follow me to my bed, Miss (Y/N).” He invites.

Viktor’s bedroom is adjoined to his study, the two spaces linked by a door. As he stands, he reaches out a hand and you take it and follow him. His bedroom is clean, warm and dark, with a small lamp in the corner and a made bed to the right wall. Viktor closes the door behind you.

Viktor leads you to the bed and sits next to you. He turns and looks at you for a long while, examining the curves of your face and the familiar look of your skin. He is honoured you are trusting him in this way and equally excited at being in this position. He had felt romantically towards you for quite some time however was not sure you returned his feelings. Today had given him the courage to pursue them, your flirtatious conversations had become a green light encouraging him to indulge himself in your affection. 

You could see something in the way he watched you, judging and perceiving. He raised his hand to your face, his thumb swiping over your cheek and moving to grip the back of your head, playing with your hair. He pulls you in for a passionate kiss. 

“I am going to teach you” He manages, between breaths and kisses, “how my tongue feels.”

At this, Viktor increased his urgency, kissing you hungrily. He reclines you onto his bed, your head on his pillow as he lays above you, supporting his weight on his arms. He slips a knee between your thighs. 

“I will start with the basic principle” He starts, licking at your tongue gently, as if testing the temperature.

“Then maybe I will introduce some alternative methods” He continues, removing his mouth from yours to follow the curve of your jaw to your neck. When at your ear, he stops. His breath is warm and heavy, and it sends shivers through you when he speaks. His knee is pressing into you, its weight unbearable. The pressure against you was enough to make your hips move on their own, riding his thigh. 

Viktor watches you attempt to find friction, he grins, finding the sight amusing. 

“All it takes is my knee to elicit this reaction Miss (Y/N), I will make easy work of you with my mouth.”

You try to flirt back, “Viktor- “

Viktor’s knee is moving now, grinding at you relentlessly. His mouth is licking and biting at your neck, trailing to your chest. He shifts his weight to hold one of your hands, lifting it above your head and pinning it there. With his other hand, Viktor lifts your shirt, rearranging your bra to get a better view of you. 

“I am going to give you a demonstration” Viktor lowers his mouth to your breast, tilting to the side so you can view what he is doing with his tongue. Viktor licks gently at the very tip of you, then beginning to swirl his tongue around the sides, takes you into his mouth sucking with firm pressure. The feel of him and the sight of his tongue and lips on you makes you grind harder against his knee. His mouth is hot. His hand cups you and he squeezes, incorporating teeth to gently graze you. Between nips of his teeth, he rapidly flicks his tongue, continuing this with long smooth strokes. 

Viktor moves his mouth to kiss you again, he shifts down. The pressure of his knee is removed, and he shuffles towards the lower end of the bed. Kneeling, he pulls down your trousers, manoeuvring them under your hips and off down your legs. He discards them at the bottom of the bed. He lays flat on his front, face hovering just above the top of your thighs and hooks an arm under each of your legs, pulling you under his mouth. 

“Are you ready for me?” He asks.

He spreads open your legs slowly, laying them flat before him. He takes in the view, grinning happily. 

“I have often thought about this moment”

Viktor coats his fingers with his mouth, using the saliva he has already worked up. His fingers drip with it as he teases you open, sliding against your folds, holding you open and sensitive. 

“You are exactly what I imagined. No one before has had the pleasure of tasting you, have they Miss (Y/N)?”

You stumble, “No.”

“You belong beneath my tongue. You always have done.”

Viktor’s fingers circle your clit, tracing small shapes.

“Are you a virgin, Miss (Y/N)?”

You get quite nervous at the question. You were. You weren’t sure how Viktor would react. There was no reason why you though that he would react negatively, you had gathered he was experienced. If at least, more so than yourself. You had just become quite protective over it; you wanted the situation to be comfortable and equal.

“Yes.” You reply quietly.

You feel a blazing heat as Viktor closes his mouth around you, lapping with broad strokes against your clit. The inside of his mouth is wet, and you feel his saliva coat you, spreading warmth down and across your thighs. His tongue feels so smooth, he curls it and flicks it to achieve maximum sensation, and you are instantly coming undone. 

“Viktor!” You moan out.

“You moan so purely” He teases, “It is fitting that the only thing to have ever fucked you is my tongue.”

You push up and against his mouth. His words are sweet and when he speaks, your body reacts. You are desperate for him, for more of him. He thrusts his tongue inside. You instinctively wrap your hands into his hair. 

“Oh Viktor- “

He speeds up, flatly spreading his tongue between your entrance and your clit, focusing on either when reaching them. At your clit he rapidly flicks and sucks, increasing pressure and focus. 

“Just focus on the feeling, I want to hear the noises you make.”

You feel a strange rising in your core, like a building heat threatening to explode. It is raising as he quickens. Viktor is grinding into the bed, you notice it in his hips, he’s writhing. He wants you just as much as you want him. 

“You are mine” He murmurs, the words lost in the muffled sounds of the both of you. “Once I’m done having you on my face, I’ll have you on my cock.”

You are both desperate. You for release, and him for touch. 

“Viktor, Can I have- “Your words fail you.

“What do you want, Miss (Y/N)?”

“You, your cock, please- “

“Do you need it, Miss (Y/N)?” He asks, making eye contact while flicking his tongue backwards and forwards. 

“Yes Viktor, please” 

“How do you expect to take me when you haven yet experienced all that my tongue can do?”

Viktor tightens his grip and forces you down with more pressure against the muscles of his mouth. The feeling is rising again, that unfamiliar pleasure. You are near the edge you just can’t tell what that edge is, until you are spilling over it, desperately grinding over his tongue, coating his nose and chin with thick wetness.

“I’m- “You scream out.

Viktor drinks it down, swallowing you whole. He doesn’t dare move his mouth, he keeps his pace and encourages more and more from you. Your pleasure is blinding. 

“I can’t take anymore!” You moan out, trying to grip at his arms to loosen up their firm grasp on your thighs. 

“You are capable.” 

You are shuddering against him, sweating. He leaves a few little kisses over your clit before pulling away. His face is wet, his hair dishevelled. You notice the thick outline of him straining against his clothes. 

He reassures that you are comfortable before stating, “I am going to make you mine, Miss (Y/N).”

Tag List - @veru-boom, @gubkkki, @hi-hope-hop-in, @gloriousevolutionz

[misstycloud]

Imagine yandere vampire hunter finding out he married one of the creatures he vowed to destroy. The very monster he dedicated his entire life to kill.

“…no..i-it can’t be..” his voice was barely a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear as if he was right next to you.

You stood still in the darkness, your face was a mask of indifference. If you hadn’t been blinking he would have mistook you for a statue. It appeared you’d been careless and let yourself be seen- by him no less. You could still feel the warmth of the blood dripping down you chin; a curtain of red fell down the front of your dress and stained it.

“Please tell me this isn’t real..” your husband let his eyes wander to the soon-lifeless body laying not far away. Small puffs of air was seen coming for the person, indicating they were not yet dead. The disgusting sound of gurgling in one’s own blood sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes met yours, searching for any sort of confirmation that everything was indeed a figment of his imagination.

“It is, I’m afraid.” You said.

He let out a devestatd choke, muttering ‘no’ over and over while shaking his head, clearly in denial.

You reminded yourself not to show any emotion and stepped forward. “I will not lie to you and therefor I will utter the clear truth in front of you. I am a vampire.”

“No, no you’re not.” He refused to believe it. If it had been his friend; he would prioritise duty before friendship. If it was his brother; he would do the same. Even if it was his own parents; he would die before letting insensible things such as emotions to come in the way of doing what is right. But this was different. It was you. It can’t be you. It could never be you.

But it was. Clearly. The evidence- the body- was right in front of him; unblinking and unmoving.

“You cannot look away from what is in front of you-“

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly shouted, surprising you with the sudden change in tone. “You can’t be one of….them.” He expressed in great repulsion.

Despite knowing how evil your kind is, you still though of yourself as quite good- well, as good as you can be when you’re a blood sucking, murderous creature of the night. So your husbands disdain awoke some sort of defensiveness in you.

“Well I am. And I have been for a while now.”

He seemed to think for a moment. Then he asked, “how long? How long have you been a…a vampire?” He furrowed his brow at the end, not believing he’d connect ‘you’ and the word ‘vampire’ in his life.

“36 years. Not as long as some others, but it should still count as something.”

“Oh god..”

It meant that you were one since the start- no before- your marriage. Was he truly that blind? Had love taken such hold of him that he could no longer do his job properly?

How many vampires had he killed during you union? All that while simultaneously being wed to one himself. While loving one, caring for one and even making passionate love to one. It was like some fucked-up punishment tailor-made for him.

He knew what he had to do.

The first tear fell down his cheek, betraying his stern expression and showcasing his endless sorrow. “You are evil,” he raised his crossbow, “and now you have to be judged for your crimes.” How ironic of him to talk about committing crimes of slaughter as if he wasn’t doing exactly the same. He wasn’t stupid; not all immortals were pure darkness, it wasn’t that simple. They do what they have to in order to survive. Only some killed more than they had to. Still, it didn’t change the fact that they all need to be destroyed.

Your eyes widened when he pointed the weapon straight at you. You expected this. Of course he would kill you. However, a part of you could not stop from hoping he wouldn’t think of you as a monster. That perhaps you’d finally find somewhere you can call home and be accepted for what you are. It was a naive dream. Weren’t you his wife before you were a monster? Apparently not, because an arrow shot at you at incredible speed. It hit you in the arm and you cried out in pain.

While you had physical advantages, it doesn’t mean you are immune to pain.

Ripping it out, you studied the black liquid staining it. Your husband swore and immediately prepared to launch another. You felt your fangs grow in length and you hissed at him. Throwing yourself at him the two of you rolled around on the floor, each trying to restrain the other. You managed to get ahold of his crossbow and threw it away form his reach.

Your husband quickly dug into his pockets to grab a dagger, and tried to stab you. Luckily you stopped him in time, fighting him with your vampiric strength. You had to give it to him, he was surprisingly strong for a human. Despite you having supernatural gifts, he was definitely a match and you had a hard time holding you down. If it was any other situation you would have been impressed and rather seduced by his sheer strength, unfortunately this was not a good situation for you.

You leaned down, planning to bite him, but his fast reflexes let him use his free arm to keep you at a distance. He was now on the floor with you straddling him and trying with all your might to end his life.

Your husband knocked your heads together which was the distraction he needed to kick you off of him. You clenched you forehead in pain and backed away. But there was no more time to dwell on that pain, because it was minor compared to what you felt next. Agony was in your side, accompanied by the dagger you had previously defended yourself against.

Your lover was close. Enough for you to feel his breath, and enough for you to see tears running down his regretful face.

“Why was it you?”

Whether he referred to you being a vampire or you being the one he married, you did not know. It hardly mattered anyway.

In a way, you did love your husband. It was probably not in the normal spousal way but it was there. Maybe if you weren’t a blood-sucker you two would have been truly happy together. Too bad fate had other plans. Even though it was true that you were probably evil, you wanted to live. And despite the one threatening your existence was none other than the man who’d show a you devotion and love you though t you’d never find again, this was not where you wanted it to end.

With a shriek, you used all your power to push him as hard as you could. He flew backwards into the wall. You supposed he’d fainted from the force since he wasn’t making any move to get up. You clutched your side and groaned. You had to get out of there; somewhere safe.

You stumbled to the window and put your foot on the ledge. The dagger he’d stabbed you with must be silver, otherwise it wouldn’t have made as much damage. The wound in your side burned and sizzled with pain. You had no idea if your body would be able to fully heal you in time for when you need blood again- or even at all.

“Ugh….”

You heard a cough from behind you. It was your dearest. He must be sturdier than he looks to have woken up so quickly. He had rolled over to lay on his stomach and had his arms pathetically stretched in your direction.

“D-don’t go.”

You scoffed at his audacity. “What, so you can finally finish me off?”

He whimpered, “ N-no, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that- why did I do that?” The last part appeared to be a criticism on himself. Nevertheless he continued, “please, I won’t do it again. I was wrong, you’re not evil I know that, I don’t know why I said that. I’m so sorry, please..”

A frown adorned your face. “It’s okay. I’m not evil, but I know I’m far from good- I’m not that delusional.” Then you turned back to the view of the outside world.

“Wait, no-“

“I have to go. I really mean it when I say this, ‘thank you for all these years together, they have been the happiest days I am now able to remember’.

“My love, don’t-“

You ignored his pleas as you jumped from the window. You landed in the dirt outside. You looked back at the house which you’d just escaped from and as you prepared to run off to another town and build up a new life (until you’d eventually have to run again) you listened to the scream of the man who’d been your husband for six years.

What was he screaming? What else if not your name.

-

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Pocky Game

SUMMARY: How would they react if you asked them to play Pocky with you? Do they already know the game? What is it like to play with them? And how would a game with them end? 💋

CHARACTERS: Demon Brothers +  Dateables (- Luke) = Lucifer; Mammon; Leviathan; Satan; Asmodeus; Beelzebub; Belphegor; Diavolo; Barbatos; Simeon; Solomon.

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Bullet Points; Kissing; Suggestive?

WORD COUNT: An average of 240 words per character.

COMMENTS: I've already given up questioning the lore of this game, trying to find canon in the stories of the cards and events. I'm just going to write what I want and if there's something similar in a card or something, I don't know anything anymore. 😅😭

I hope you enjoy ❤️

CONTEXT: The Pocky game is a party game played with Pocky, a Japanese chocolate- or candy-coated biscuit snack. Two participants place the Pocky between them “Lady and the Tramp” style, and try to be the last to hold onto the biscuit, often resulting in a kiss.

How to play:

Pick a partner that you wouldn't mind kissing.

Face your partner and put a Pocky stick between you. Each partner takes an end of the Pocky stick in their mouth.

Each partner bites their end of the Pocky stick until their mouths meet in the middle. The first person to pull away loses!

To ensure that the others don’t interrupt or prevent you from playing, you go to his room.

Lucifer doesn't know what game this is. He doesn't usually have much interest in being up to date on these matters. That is more a Levi or Asmo thing.

“If you want a kiss, you can just ask for it, you know?” He tells you with a seductive smile after you've explained the game. But you insist that you want to play. He sighs amused. “Fine, if you want it that much.”

He comes closer to you and gently holds your hand with which you hold the box. Without taking his eyes off yours, he opens the box, leans over to bite into one of the biscuit sticks, takes it out with his mouth and points the other side at you. Before you bite the other side and start the game, he also places his index finger and thumb on your chin to tilt your head.

He plays with that seductively piercing gaze of his fixed on your eyes. As intimidating as it is inviting.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in, taking the last bite and kissing you passionately.

He breaks the kiss but doesn't take his face away from yours, speaking with his lips still very close to yours. “Well, I played your game. Will you play mine now?” He lifts you up and carries you to his bed.

Mammon knows what game this is. Some Succubus and Incubus have already tried to convince him to play with them. “Hey, I said they tried! Of course I didn't play. Who do you think I am?” So... would he accept to play with you?

“W-with you?” He blushes. “Well, s-sure. You're the only person I wouldn't mind playin’ with.” That he wouldn't mind? “FINE, that I would like to play with. Happy now?”

Yes! You take a biscuit stick out of the box, put it in your mouth and point the other side at him so he can bite it. He does so, blushing. He ends up letting go and relaxing as the two of you take your bites.

When the last bite comes and it's his turn, he ends the game and kisses you. It starts out relaxed, but within seconds it becomes needy. To the point that he cups your face and gets so close to you that you almost feel the need to take a step back so he doesn't completely eliminate the empty space between you.

He doesn't want to, but he breaks the kiss. “I hope you only wanted to play once, ‘cause now I just want to enjoy my prize.” He kisses you again, picks you up and takes you to his bed.

OF COURSE LEVI KNOWS THIS GAME! What kind of fake Otaku do you think he is? He even started rambling about the times he had read in mangas or seen in animes scenes like that and wanted to experience it and know what it was like.

He even goes so far as to comment on a character in a game that he loves doing this to him (the player) and... he sees you start to get upset with him. “NO, NO, NO! It's nothing like that! I swear! I mean, I like the character and I wanted to know what her route was like, b-b-but I was wondering the whole time...” He already had a small blush on his cheeks, but it got even bigger. “...ho-how it would b-b-be with y-you.” He also does that thing where he puts the tips of his two index fingers together.

Well, lucky for him, you also want to know what it's like to play with him and you have a box for that. His blush deepens, practically spreading across his entire face. BUT HE IS SO HAPPY!!! You also want to know what it's like to play this with the person you love? AND IT IS HIM? You'll need to find a way to calm him down so you can play.

You are the one who puts the biscuit stick in your mouth and points the other side at him for him to bite. He will be nervous the whole time you are playing. And when the last bite comes and it's his turn, he can't take it, he stops, perhaps in a mental struggle whether he should kiss you or let you decide. You're the one who ends up deciding to end the game and kiss him.

And now, with this confirmation from you, he can no longer contain himself and wrap his arms around you. And even after you break the kiss he will want to continue snuggling with you.

Yes, Satan knows the game, or at least the description of it from some books. “You want to play it with me?” He smiles. “Of course, I would love to! I would also like to know what it is like.”

He lets you set up the game. You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and let him bite the other side. Although he's blushing a little, he maintains his composure while playing with you, while looking into your eyes with affection.

When there is only one bite left to finish, even if it is his turn, he stops. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants you to be the one to choose how you want to end the game. And you finish the biscuit stick by kissing him.

You feel his lips form a smile, his arms wrap around you and surprise you when he pulls you in a way that you lose your balance and lie down supported by his arms.

He breaks the kiss gently and looks at you to see your reaction. He smiles, happy that he surprised you so positively. He rests his forehead against yours. “I can see why people like to write about this game. Would you like to play it again?”

But OF COURSE Asmo knows this game! He tells you he's even played it before, and then regrets it a little when he sees your reaction. “Oh no hon, it was just a few quick kisses, just a little touch. Don't be sad, you know that my special kisses are aaall for you~. You still want to play with me right?” He makes puppy eyes.

“Yaaaay~” He gets so happy and excited when you say yes. He's so cute he looks like a kid in a candy or a toy store.

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and he wastes no time in biting the other side. He plays the entire time with that cute smile and his eyes shining as he looks into yours. But in the last few bites, that look begins to change and become more seductive.

When there is only one bite left to finish and it’s his turn, he stops. His inviting gaze tells you he wants you to be the one to end the game and give him your love.

You do so and, as if that had been a way for you to give him permission to show his love for you, he hugs you passionately and deepens the kiss.

You're going to have to be the one to break the kiss because if it were up to him you'd stay like that for hours. “Oh, do you want to take a break? Do you want to play again? Sure! I can play with you until the box is empty. And then we can continue the kisses without the sweets right~?”

You hesitate to ask Beel about the game. I mean, it's a game that involves food... and it's Beel. But he realizes that there is something you want to tell him, so you end up giving in and telling him about the game.

He thinks he heard about the game from Levi, but the only thing he remembers is that there were biscuit sticks involved. You say you would like to play it with him, emphasis on the play.

“Don't worry, I understand what you mean. I know I'm at risk of being tempted to just eat the biscuits, but if you want to play I'll do my best to restrain myself.” He smiles warmly. “Even though biscuits may be tasty, I like making you happy more.”

You are the one who puts the biscuit stick in your mouth (because if it were Beel he would simply eat it whole) and point the other side at him so he can bite. He rubs the back of one hand with the other, nervous because he's afraid he'll end up eating the whole biscuit and ruining the game. But he takes his first bite anyway.

His first two bites go well, but on the third he gives in to the temptation of chocolate and ends up taking a bite that almost ends the game. You are both surprised and he looks away sadly. But you can still take one last bite.

You take the last bite, ending the game and kissing him. You try to convey through your kiss that everything is okay and you forgave him. You realize you've made it successfully when you feel him smile, hug you and deepen the kiss.

“Hey, I liked the game, but can we separate food and kisses for now?” He says when you break the kiss. “I was really scared that I might accidentally bite you.”

Belphie recognizes the name of the game because he's heard Levi or another brother talk about it. But could you explain the rules again? It's a game that doesn't require effort and that brings you both closer together, so: “Okay, sounds fun. Who starts?”

You were going to put the biscuit stick in your mouth, but then you decided to hand it to Belphie for him to bite first, as if you were feeding him. You know he loves it when you spoil him. You bite the other side and the game begins.

He is very chill when playing and have a sweet smile on his face. There is no tension during the game, just a warm and comfy feeling.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game, it is his turn and he ends the game by kissing you softly. You stay like that for a while until the kiss is broken gently.

You keep playing until either one of you gets bored or the box is empty. After that, he will convince you to lie down on the bed and cuddle. “It's a fun game. We should play it again sometime.”

Diavolo doesn't know the game, but he's super excited to learn everything about it and play with you. He listens attentively and with a smile to your explanation. “Ha ha ha. Looks like a simple but fun game. I will play with you with pleasure.”

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and point the other side at him so he can bite it. He does so with an amused smile. The game goes smoothly and without tension, just with a warm and comfy feeling.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game and it is his turn, he stops and looks you in the eyes. You giggle and he understands this as the confirmation he was looking for. He ends the game and kisses you sweetly.

He hugs you and pulls you gently against him. He deepens the kiss before breaking it with a big warm smile. “What a lovely game.” He caresses your cheek. “Thank you for showing it to me. Do you mind if we play it again? I really enjoyed playing it. And I enjoyed doing it with you even more. Your sweet kisses are the best thing I've ever tasted.”

Barbatos doesn't know this game, but he will be happy to learn how to play it if you don’t mind teach him. He listens attentively to your explanation and the more you talk the sweeter his smile becomes.

“I see, the rules seem simple. It will be a pleasure to fulfil such a request coming from you. Do you want to start the game or would you like me to do the honours?”

You let him start the game and hand him the box. He takes out one of the biscuit stick, puts it in his mouth elegantly, and leans forward slightly, as if bowing, so that the other side of the biscuit is level with your lips.

You bite the other side and the game begins. As expected, he is a perfect gentleman throughout the game. When there is only one bite left to end the game, even if it’s his turn, he will stop so that you can decide how you want the game to end.

You finish the biscuit stick and kiss him. His kiss is gentle and loving. You feel his gloved fingers on your chin, caressing your face until they reach your cheek, the feeling of a soft, well-cared-for fabric.

If you take too long to break the kiss, he will politely break it. He chuckles. “It will be my pleasure to provide you with all the care and love you desire. But shouldn't we distribute this feeling out across the game rounds for it to be more fun?” He brings his index finger to his chin. “Unless one round was enough for you.”

Simeon doesn't know the game, but he will be happy to learn how to play and do it with you. He smiles sweetly the whole time you are explaining the rules. “Ha ha. Sounds like a fun game. I would love to play with you. How do we start?”

You put one of the biscuit stick in your mouth and point the other side at him so he can bite it. He does so with a cute smile. The game goes smoothly and without tension, just with a warm and comfy feeling.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game and it is his turn, he eats it, kissing you. It's a kiss that starts off sweet but becomes more intense, with him cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You can feel the smile on his lips.

He breaks the kiss slowly. “Hum... This was the goal, right?” He asks slightly embarrassed. “Did I overdo it? I’m sorry if I did.” You say he didn’t, that everything is fine and that you even liked it. “Oh, really? I’m glad. I got excited when I when I felt your lips. But don't hesitate to let me know if I do, okay?”

Of course Solomon knows this game. From Asmo? Thirteen? Someone else? You will never know. “Ha ha ha. I don't remember who told me first, but I've known it for some time. Don't worry about it. I'm looking forward to playing with you. Can I start?”

You tell him he can and hand him the box. He takes out one of the biscuit sticks, puts it in his mouth, places his index finger on your chin to tilt your head and places the other end of the biscuit at the same level as your lips. When you bite it, he smiles.

Even though his face doesn't have a very different smile than usual, there's a certain mischievous tension throughout the game. The closer your faces get, the more this feeling grows.

When there's only one bite left, even though it's his turn, he stops, and looks into your eyes waiting to see what you're going to do. You finish the biscuit and the game, kissing him. You can feel his smug smile. He wastes no time in grabbing you by the waist to press you against him to deepen the kiss.

You'll have to be the one to break the kiss if you want to continue playing, otherwise he'll simply lead you to his bed.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX