#I want to see you get crows feet from the way you smile with your whole face

[maika-aika]

Hellooo! Your writing is sooo fun to read that I've been rereading it multiple times now🤭🤭🤭 sooo I kinda wanted to request another post about reader fighting back against the bullies with crowe this time if that's okay, and take your time!

(ps, it's also okay if you ignore this, i hope you have a wonderful day/evening/night! ❤️❤️❤️)

GUARDIAN ANGEL

KYAAA THANK U SM GIGGLING TWIRLING MY HAIR KICKING MY FEET ♡!! I LOVE CROWE SO MUCH BROO!!! Did u know my first fic ever posted here was supposed to be with Crowe but I changed it to Sol instead cz I thought ppl wouldn't like it sobsob

☆: "Someone is creeping you out while hanging out with Crowe, surely you should teach them a lesson, no?"

★: Crowe x gn!reader

☆: Contains: Baddie reader yurr !! Downbad Crowe, creepy dudes, post friend group plot, mutual pining I need to breed him

The bell's ring echoed throughout the entire school, indicating lunch time as students hurriedly pack their things to rush towards their friends and eat at the cafeteria. You were calmer than your unruly classmates, screaming and yelling in excitement as they rushed to their groups and cliques. "Its like they've never experienced the lunch bell go off"

You mused to yourself, happy enough to know that you at least have one friend in your school. Yet he still hasn't shown his pretty little face in your classroom yet, usually he'd pick you up and walk you to the cafeteria, but it seems that isn't the case this time.

"Yo, (Name), I usually see your boyfie pick you up at this time, wonder why he isn't here" your seatmate puts his arm on your head, practically using you as an armrest, making you groan and push him away with red dusting your cheeks "Can it! He's not my...boyfriend.."

Your heart rate picked up as you muttered those words as an evident flush on your cheeks got redder, gaining you a knowing stare from your seatmate as a laugh escaped his throat, smacking your back playfully "Yeah. Sure. And I'm the president of the United States," he marked sarcastically, waving his arms dramatically.

You scoffed, standing up from your seat, and walked your way out of the classroom door, ignoring the cheerful yells and encouragements from your seatmate. "Get yo mans!" He echoed out to you, which promptly made you walk faster in embarrassment.

It didn't take you too long to notice him standing by a vending machine. Taking your chance, you tiptoed your way behind him and gipped his shoulders. "There you are!" You yelled, making him flinch in surprise, snapping his head towards you. His shocked expression made you laugh at his dismay.

He merely sighed and shook his head with a small smile on his face, "You're such a tease, (Name)" his voice was smooth as honey, eyes glinting in nothing but adoration. Oh how you looked divine when you laughed.

"Says you! It's not nice to keep me waiting for that long, you know! Hurt my feelings a bit.." you playfully sulked as a joke, but Crowe seemingly took it too seriously, brows furrowing as an apologetic expression dressed his face "I didn't mean to, there were just some things I had to do before going to you"

Seeing his obviously saddened face made you panic a bit "No—! It was a joke, don't worry! I didn't mind looking for you anyway. " You were quick to reassure, trying to ease his worries a bit, but he simply shook his head. "Still, I shouldn't have made you wait so long. You deserve only the best, (Name)"

His voice is so genuine, and how he stared at you sent shivers down your spine. He's always like this, always putting your needs before himself, always putting you on his first priority before anything else. Curse him and his prince-like behavior!

But before you could ask what he was up to, you felt a random hand hit your ass, laughter, and whistles could be heard as you snapped your head towards the source in anger.

A group of sloppy looking men with dirty uniforms and rolled up sleeves showing their tattoos chortled and snorted at you, as if their making fun of you getting angry with their disgusting actions. "Aww, what's wrong, doll? Wasn't hard enough? I can be more rough if you like"

The main, blonde guy leaned in closer to your face as you winced at the strong smell of his breath. Your expression made them laugh harder, giving each other high fives and fists bumps as if making you uncomfortable is an achievement.

"What do you think you're doing...?"

A hand protectively held your shoulder, making you look up. Crowe's eyes were nothing compared to what you're used to. Eyes that were once filled with love and softness were now filled with pure, raw anger. Yet, he was still gentle with you, carefully maneuvering you to stay behind him, protecting you like a shield.

The boys took one glance at him and scanned him head to toe, judging his every move. The blonde whistled and clicked his tongue, staggering towards the taller male "Watch it, golden boy. You may be class rep or whatever bullshit title they gave you. But these parts are my territory, so I make the goddamn fuckin' rules here." He practically spat out, his lackies cheering him on with vulgar words and descriptions.

If Crowe is pissed, then you're seething.

You hated being insulted, yes, but you hated it even more when people belittle those you care about. So without thinking, you stepped forward and faced the blonde head on, catching Crowe off guard.

"My territory! blah blah, you pissed on this school and claimed it yours like a dog then?"

A sound of surprise was heard from the blonde, even gaining a gasp from their lackies. Clearly, they weren't expecting you to fight back. Crowe got worried, fearing that you might be in danger now. "(Name)—"

"You think you're so fucking funny?"

Without knowing, the blonde grabbed you by the collar and slammed you against the vending machine. Hard glass hitting the back of your head made you groan. Yet you still managed to stare at your attacker dead in the eyes, not running away from a fight you intend to win.

He mocked you with a laugh "Doll, you look so cute when you're angry, but one more goddamn word from your mouth and I'm bashing your fucking skull inside this machine" he threatened, his spit sliding onto your face.

"Yeah? 'Cause I'm about to get real fuckin' adorable"

You raised your foot and kicked him between his legs. A pained groan could be heard as he instinctively dropped you back onto your feet, groveling in pain. But before he could fight back, you grabbed his hair and smashed his head so hard onto the vending machine it broke through the glass. Knocking him out.

You dusted yourself off before turning to the two, shivering lackies, huddling together in an attempt to look smaller and hide from your view. "Who's next?" A malicious smile etched your features, making them scream and run away with their tails between their legs, yelling out apologies and pleads for mercy until they disappeared.

You stood still for a moment, taking in a deep breath to ground yourself. Turning your head to look at the blonde's unconscious body and winced "Yikes...didn't mean to hit him that hard" you played with his arm, lifting and dropping it like a toy.

"Yoo, check it out, Crowe! He's now a—"

"Why did you do that?!" You glanced at him in confusion, eyes locking onto wide and worried ones. "Ehh? They were talking smack about you! I had to do something!" You responded with crossed arms and a pout on your lips. "The least you can do is say thank yo—"

Suddenly, you felt arms wrap around your body in a tight hug. You stood there, not fulling processing what's happening. "You're so reckless..." His voice was a whisper, not daring to speak any louder, not daring to let you go. You didn't know that your actions affected him this much. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his gently.

His breathing eventually calmed down a bit as he let you go. Once again, there's this softness in his eyes, staring right at you as if you held all the stars in the world and placed it all in your eyes, tracing constellations in your gaze. You felt his hand cup your cheek with the same gentle motion, treating you like divinity.

"You don't know how worried I was about you, (Name). Really..." he leaned his forehead onto yours, his other arm wrapping onto your waist, pulling you two closer than before until your bodies are touching so close you could hear each other's heartbeat. And his was racing.

You scoffed, wrapping your arms around his neck. Both of you are in a daze of adrenaline to even process what the two of you are doing, but what mattered right now is each other's company and comfort. "My fault, didn't know I was such a diva" you made light of the situation, earning a sigh from him as he pinched your cheek.

"More like a trouble maker than anything," he retorted, which earned an offended gasp from you and slapped his chest in mock play. "How dare you insult your guardian angel! Oh woe is me. I am so pitiful!" You dramatically leaned back with the back of your hand on your forehead, he laughed at your playfulness and pulled you in closer to spin you around like a waltz dance and dramatically dropped you, his arm supporting your body as his eyes are solely focused on you.

He gently held your other hand and kissed your knuckles with a smile. "Thank you, angel.." he whispered so softly that it was barely audible. Your cheeks flushed as your teasing words died on your throat, rendered absolutely speechless.

You quickly stood up straight and pushed him away in embarrassment, looking away from him as you tried to calm down your beating heart "...That's cheating" you muttered and kicked the cement, glaring holes onto the ground in an attempt to make it seem your unphased by his shameless flirt.

A laugh was heard beside you. Feeling his hand take in yours again as he wordlessly walked you away from the ugly sight you left at the vending machine. Though he is class representative, and it is his job to keep everyone in check, he finds himself making exceptions for you. No matter how brutal you might get. If anyone from his class would have caught him right now, they'd blame him for favoritism.

But what's more shocking is that he doesn't seem to have any need to deny it.

Silently picking up the paper bag he left nearby, leaving you still unaware of what he's holding, Lazer focused on calming your heart. And oh, does he find that absolutely adorable.

Perhaps he will just slip the snacks and drinks he bought for you from the vending machine under your table once you need it.

Chat imma be fr here, lowkey hated this LMAO yrgghh felt like I could've done better but my class starts at 6 and it's already 5:37 HELPPP

[novasintheroom]

058. Seduce

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.7k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: You compliment Vash, and he isn't sure what to say.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

In the saloon, early morning light comes through dusty windows. There’s only the staff of the place around right now; a busser cleaning leftover tables from last night, and a young girl sweeping the floor. You and Vash lean against the bar, against each other, the smell of bacon and sausage and pancakes coming from the kitchen. The bartender hums a sad tune while she sets up glasses and rolls silverware for the day to come.

You’re both still tired. It always happens after a good night at an inn; you want to stay in bed a little longer, have the comfort of a plush mattress and pillows just a while more. Vash leans his head against a hand, yawning loud and proud. Your smile upticks at the sound.

“Late night?” The bartender asks. She’s mid-forties, if he had to guess, with crows’ feet at her eyes and smile lines.

Vash hums and glances at you. “Yeah, we always spoil ourselves when we stay in a town, huh?”

You nod and blink slowly. “It’s always hard getting up the morning after. You forget what a real bed feels like when you’re on the road like us.”

The bartender’s laugh is polite and understanding. “Well, you have the room for the whole day. If I were you, I’d take a nap right after breakfast. Let me go check on that, by the way.” She winks and goes back through the kitchen door to see to your orders.

Vash cricks his neck to the side and sighs when it pops. Your nose scrunches at the sound. “You’re going to paralyze yourself doing that one day.”

He only hums, waving a hand and going back to leaning on the bar. He brushes his hand over his hair. You stare. Vash knows his hair is still a mess, and he blushes, thinking you’re about to make fun of it. “What?”

You shrug, the bar of sunlight on your shoulder moving with it. “Do you know you’re handsome?”

Well, that certainly gets a red blush out of him. Vash laughs, bashful, and looks at the bar, at you, then at the bar again. “What – uh, I mean…?”

You hum and sidle closer. There’s been a spark of something between you two for a while now. Vash can feel it, the way it curls around his heart and mystifies his mind. You reach a hand up and gently grab his cheeks, turning his head this way and that. Like he always lets you. “Hm. Yeah. Very handsome.” He feels your finger brush over his mole. Your hand reaches up and combs through his messy hair once, twice, before retreating. It leaves goosebumps in its wake. “Too handsome for your own good, I say.”

Vash is staring at you now, bewildered. Your eyes are still sleepy. Maybe you aren’t awake enough to really consider what you’re doing. A doubtful smile emerges. Laughing, he asks, “Are you trying to seduce me?”

You grin, eyes beautiful and clear and so, so loving. “Is it working?”

Yes. Just being by you is enough. He shyly lifts a hand and places it over your own on the counter. He should say something, like how you’re beautiful, how his heart goes wild around you. “You’re…You’re…” he stalls. Then, looking down and away, he says, “You’re not getting my hashbrowns, I’m not falling for it.”

He knows you’re disappointed by the way your shoulders slump. The kitchen door swings open. You pat his cheek and pull away before the bartender sees, before he can do anything truly stupid. “We’ll see about that,” you quip, smile light and graceful against his rebuttal.

He’s left with tongue-tied words and a heat on his neck as she brings over your breakfasts. All he can do is scoot closer to you as an apology, elbows and arms and hands brushing as you eat, and letting you get a couple bites of his hashbrowns.

[halloworhorecrux]

Do you ever think about Draco passing away and everyone telling Harry to move on. Harry having to remind everyone that he isn't lonely for just anyone, that he is lonely for Draco.

A Harry that has to buy his own dress robes at Madam Malkins without snarky commentary.

A Harry that has to find his last birthday present (it's a rememberall, with the words so you can remember that you have been a part of me since I was eleven)

A Harry that goes to family dinners and isn't reminded to "mind your manners, Potter"

A Harry that doesn't receive a bouquet of Lilies and Narcisuss flowers every Saturday because Draco once said their mother's would love each other and have tea times together

A Harry that has to sleep with a mountain of pillows because the bed is to big for just one person

A Harry that is silent because there is no one chattering away about the latest gossip or potions monthly and the absimal market down the street (Draco had the same complaints every time)

[joonie-beanie]

A Dragon's Constitution | [Neuvillette x Reader]

Summary: Iudex Neuvillette has been acting a little...strange, as of late. Worried about him, Sigewinne and Wriothesley come up with a plan to help lessen his load. “I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.” Well, being Neuvillette's assistant for a week shouldn't be that bad. Unless, of course, the reason Neuvillette has been acting strange is due to the fact that he's actually a dragon that has regained his full power, and now, with the return of said power, his body is experiencing things he's never known before now. Because that would be totally crazy...right? Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Rut, fem!reader Word Count: 10.8k Note: this occurs after "Doctor's Orders"

Sigewinne is the first to hear the rumors about Iudex Neuvillette—although Wriothesley isn’t far behind.

The first indication that something might be wrong with the Iudex is brought up in a letter—one penned by Sedene that is delivered to Sigewinne. In the letter, Sedene writes that since Fontaine has overcome its disaster, everything has been going well…except, Neuvillette has been behaving a little…strange.

Sedene does not elaborate on what exactly is wrong, and Sigewinne assumes that’s because she doesn’t know. Melusine have the ability to sense things, but the things they sense aren’t always accompanied with an answer.

And so, Sigewinne writes back telling Sedene to make sure Neuvillette is staying hydrated (since she knows he has been particularly busy as of late), and that she’ll try and make a trip to see him soon, when she has the time.

The following day, a new batch of wrongdoers arrive in the prison, and along with them—some speculations about Fontaine’s supreme judge.

“I think I deserve a retrial,” one of the men says, clearly frustrated. “I stated my case, but then Iudex Neuvillette actually blanked, and had to ask me to repeat myself! After I said everything so eloquently! That’s why I’m down here, man. I was so surprised by it that when I said my argument again, I sounded lame…this sucks.”

Listening from behind a nearby pillar, Wriothesley frowns to himself. 

Neuvillette getting distracted in court? Well, that’s certainly a first—and a worrying first, at that.

Before the day’s end, Wriothesley and Sigewinne seek each other out. Equally concerned about what they’ve been hearing, they spend the evening coming up with a plan. Something they might be able to do to help Neuvillette.

The next morning, you wake up and get ready—prepared to go and spend a few days below ground in the Fortress…only to find Wriothesley on your doorstep.

“Hi,” he says with a smile when you pull your front door open.

Your eyes go wide, and you glance either way down the street, wondering if you’re being pranked. 

When nothing seems suspicious, you reach out and touch Wriothesley’s chest to make sure he’s real.

He immediately rolls his eyes and snatches your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Yes, I’m real. Yes, I’m here.”

“Good—but, why are you here?” you ask. 

Not that he isn’t welcome at your apartment, but…you just didn’t expect to see him here. On the surface. At your place of residence.

“Am I late or something? I thought we scheduled for me to come back to the Fortress today.”

“No, you are not late,” he reassures you. He gives your hand a little squeeze before allowing you to have it back.

“There’s been…a little change in your schedule.”

You cock an eyebrow at him.

“What kind of change?”

Does he want you to stay on the surface a few more days before coming back down? Considering he’s here, maybe he’s got some business on the surface, which would mean there’s no point in you going to the Fortress right now.

Wriothesley’s smile grows—little crow's feet appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m lending you to Neuvillette for the week.”

…

Huh?

“Here.”

Wriothesley grabs your bag—the one slung over your arm and packed with items that should have tied you over while you stayed in the Fortress—and tosses it back into your apartment.

Then, he gently grabs your waist, pulls you out onto the street, and closes the door to your apartment behind you. He checks the door to make sure it’s locked, and when he finds that it is, he nods in satisfaction.

“C’mon, keep up,” he says, starting up the street. His boots are heavy against the pavement.

Blinking, you finally snap out of it and jog to catch up with him.

“Hold on, you—you’re lending me to Iudex Neuvillette?”

You’ve never known the man to have an assistant, and from what you’ve heard from Wriothesley and others, he tends to prefer working alone. Aside from that, he’s very skilled at his job, and typically doesn’t need help—even with the never ending case load.

“...did he consent to this?”

Wriothesley smiles, loving how smart you are.

“Not yet, but he will.”

The two of you turn a corner, heading towards an elevator that will take you up towards the Palais Mermonia. You narrow your eyes at Wriothesley. He waves you off.

“Sigewinne and I both heard that he seems a little…stressed lately. And we decided the best thing we could do right now, aside from giving him our support, would be lending him you. So, assuming he is in need of help, I don’t see why he would turn our offer down, considering how proficient you are.”

“While I appreciate the praise, I think you’re underestimating the pride of men,” you tell him, standing at his side as the two of you arrive at the elevator. Wriothesley hits the button to summon it to your floor.

“Hey, when I got busier than usual, I hired you,” he points out. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“I’m 99% sure the only reason you hired me was due to Sigewinne's influence. I bet she saw your stress growing and bugged you to get an assistant until you finally gave in.”

Wriothesley sighs.

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so smart.”

You grin, holding your head high.

Finally, the elevator arrives on your floor. When the door opens, Wriothesley motions for you to board first. Then, he follows you on.

“So, let’s say Sigewinne did insist I hire an assistant. The result of doing so was positive. My work got easier, and my life improved. If we present that logic to Neuvillette, there’s no reason he should decline our help. Plus, he tends to listen to Sigewinne.”

You sigh, watching the city outside the glass doors of the elevator. You’re nearly to the floor the Palais Mermonia is on.

“If Neuvillette agrees that he wants the help, I have no issue being his assistant for the week.”

Wriothesley catches your silent drift of “you get the pleasure of trying to convince him to accept help, though”. 

Which is fine. He loves a good challenge.

“Sigewinne and I appreciate your cooperation,” he tells you sincerely.

Arriving on your floor, the elevator doors open, and you step out first—standing aside to allow Wriothesley to walk past you and lead the way. A few gazes are thrown your way as you go—people surprised to see the Duke of the Fortress above ground for once—but Wriothesley doesn’t react, so neither do you.

Sticking by his side, you follow him up the steps and through the front door of the building. 

“Duke Wriothesley,” Sedene greets as you near the doors of Neuvillette’s office. She runs up to the two of you, her eyes somewhat nervously shifting towards the office doors.

“Iudex Neuvillette, he…”

She wants to say that he’s not accepting visitors at the moment, but she can’t get the words out—obviously worried about him. Wriothesley flashes her a kind smile.

“Sigewinne sent us,” he tells her, relief immediately appearing on her face at his words. “Is Neuvillette in?”

“Yes, he is in,” she confirms, and then scuttles back over to her desk, only to return a moment later with a tray of tea (or, teacups and water?) in her hands. 

“Take this when you go in, that should help.”

“I appreciate that,” Wriothesley responds. You reach down to take the tray from her hands, quietly thanking her as well. She flashes you a smile, gives you a thumbs up, and then goes back to work.

You and Wriothesley glance at each other. Seeing you’re ready, he raps his knuckles on the door thrice, and enters the room when Neuvillette’s muffled and somewhat reluctant “come in” is heard from beyond the door.

Gripping the handle, Wriothesley pushes his way inside. You dutifully follow after him.

Once in the office—the door shutting softly behind you—you quickly realize that perhaps something is wrong with the Iudex. Because for a man known for his neatness, and professionalism, his office is quite…untidy, at the moment. 

Papers are scattered along his desk—piles uneven, and threatening to fall. And on the coffee table nearby, there are multiple cups, along with empty bottles of imported water. Not to mention books that are strewed around—some even on the floor.

Wriothesley takes quick stock of the state of the office before his gaze settles on Neuvillette, who is sitting at his desk. He's wearing his normal robes, and yet he looks…strangely disheveled. Perhaps it's the faint dark circles under his eyes, or the way his hair looks less kept than usual?

“I thought I instructed that there were to be no—oh, Wriothesley.”

Neuvillette's tone of measured annoyance softens the second he looks up and sees who it actually is that has entered his office. Then, he sighs, feeling ashamed of his initial attitude.

“I apologize. Did you request a meeting? I don't recall getting any correspondence about it, unless it was accidentally left off my calendar.”

“No need for apologies, Monsieur Neuvillette. I am the one who should be apologizing, as I did not reach out beforehand to let anyone know that I was coming.”

Wriothesley bows in slight apology, and you mirror him, figuring it's the right thing to do since you're technically also intruding.

“I know you're very busy, so I'll cut right to the chase to save us both time. Sigewinne and I are concerned about you, since we've both heard from multiple sources that you seem a little out of sorts as of late. So, in an attempt to help lessen your load, I'd like to offer you my assistant, Y/N, for the week.”

For the first time since you'd entered with Wriothesley, Neuvillette’s sharp eyes slide to you. You force a polite smile to your lips and—remembering the tray in your hands—move to set it on the nearby table.

Quickly filling one of the glasses with the water, you stride over to Neuvillette’s desk and offer it to him.

“Pleased to meet you,” you simply say. 

“And you as well,” he responds, keeping up formalities.

Taking the glass from your hand, Neuvillette takes a long sip of water, and you scoot back to Wriothesley’s side. Once Neuvillette has finished his drink, he places the glass down on his desk and sighs.

“I assure you that I am alright, and there is no need for concern.”

“I hate to disagree, but based on the state of your office, I can't believe that's true.”

Neuvillette’s gaze slides around his office, as if truly seeing it for the first time in days. His brows pinch together as he realizes Wriothesley is right. He hadn't noticed it'd become so messy…

“I will admit I have been a little…scattered, lately. But it's nothing I cannot handle. Lending me your assistant would only increase the burden of your own workload, which I cannot accept.”

“Actually,” Wriothesley is quick to counter. “I hired Y/N before the disaster, because much of my time was occupied watching the primordial sea gate, and preparing the Wingalet. Now that the disaster has passed, and things have relatively calmed down, my workload has greatly lessened. Meaning, I have no issue temporarily lending her to you.”

Knowing Wriothesley is only willing to give you up temporarily—meaning he'll want you back to himself at some point—makes you happy.

“Be that as it may, I will still have to decline your offer.”

Alright then, time to break out the big guns.

“I know since Furina stepped down as the Archon, you've only gotten busier,” Wriothesley tells him, fixing him with a concerned stare. “And because of that, Sigewinne is worried. If you could just accept Y/N's help for the week, I'm sure that would help put her mind at ease.”

The mention of Sigewinne causes Neuvillette to frown, so Wriothesley quickly lays it on thicker.

“I assure you that Y/N has been a great aide to me,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “Sigewinne recommends her as well. If you allow her to help you for a few days, I have no doubt she’ll be of use to you. So please, Neuvillette.”

Neuvillette places his elbows on his desk and folds his hands together. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, he sighs.

“Fine. If Y/N is okay with this arrangement, I shall accept her help.”

Both men look your way. You smile.

“I’d be more than happy to help with whatever I can.”

Honestly, you hadn’t expected to find yourself here, and aren’t even sure what there is you can do to support him, but considering how tired he looks, you’ll surely try your best.

“Good! Glad that’s settled.”

With a happy grin—pleased that he has won the battle—Wriothesley turns to you. He cups the back of your head and drags you in—his lips pressing into your hair.

“I’ll come visit on Saturday to take her back into my care. Best of luck to you both,” he says, heading for the door. He waves his hand at you and Neuvillette over his shoulder, and without saying anything else, exits the office.

You stare at the closed door for a second, before you take a deep breath, plaster on a smile, and turn back to Neuvillette.

…only to find that he’s fixing you with a peculiar stare.

“Are you and Wriothesley seeing each other…?” he asks.

Ah, right, the way Wriothesley had kissed your head before leaving…

“We are not,” you assure him, taking a few steps towards his desk. “Since entering his employment the two of us have just become…fond of each other.”

Which isn’t a lie. You and Wriothesley are quite fond of each other—fond enough that every time you go to stay in the Fortress, you find yourself in his bed at least once (and not just because Sigewinne has instructed Wriothesley to continue having sex to keep his stress levels down). And no, you’re not dating, but that’s fine. You enjoy what you have with him right now, and honestly, it’d be a bad look if anyone found out Wriothesley was dating his assistant anyway.

“I see,” Neuvillette nods, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “I apologize for presuming.”

“No need to apologize, Monsieur,” you respond, stepping up beside his desk. You smile at him—softer, and more genuine this time.

“Now, what can I assist you with?”

While it takes a short while for Neuvillette to adjust to the idea of having an assistant to help with things, soon enough, the two of you come to an understanding.

He admits that he has been struggling to juggle court cases and new paperwork that needs to be signed off on now that the judicial system is changing (thanks to recent developments). So, you put forth the idea to allocate time to signing documents, and while you run things where they need to go afterwards, Neuvillette can address any cases on his docket. 

Not having any better idea, he goes with your plan.

While Neuvillette busies himself with signing paperwork, you flit around his office—cleaning up empty bottles and used cups, and putting abandoned books back on the shelves.

By the time you’ve finished organizing (taking your time to make sure everything is put back in its proper place), Neuvillette has finished reviewing his first stack of papers.

“These have all been signed off on,” he says, summoning you to his side. He points at the top right hand corner of the paper. “This area on each document will show you where it needs to be returned.”

“Understood,” you respond, taking the stack from him. You cradle the papers in your arms and leaf through the first few sheets while heading for the door. However, you quickly realize the documents aren’t grouped by which location they need to be dropped at.

So, you make a detour at the coffee table—gently sitting yourself on the sofa as you begin sorting the papers into smaller stacks, grouped by department. Once you’ve done that, you pile them all together again, and continue towards the door—unaware of the way Neuvillette’s lips tug into a smile at your actions.

Delivering documents where they need to go takes up the remainder of your morning, and by the time you’ve finished, your stomach is growling. So—figuring that Neuvillette won’t have stepped away from his desk yet—you decide to pick up something for the both of you.

“You've returned,” he says without looking up from the document in his hand as you step into his office. “I assume everything has been delivered?”

“Yes,” you respond with a nod, his gaze finally rising to look at you as he hears the sound of the bag in your hand, and smells the contents within. “And I grabbed us lunch. I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“I have not,” he confirms. His eyes watch you as you b-line for the coffee table and begin unpacking the take-out food. “I’m not sure what you like, but I figured I’d play it safe and go with soup, since you seem to enjoy…liquids.”

How else are you supposed to describe his taste when all you've seen him consume today is cup after cup of water?

Surprised, Neuvillette puts down the paper in his hand.

Standing from his chair, he makes his way over, staring at the clear broth of the consomme.

“...I think I'm beginning to see why Wriothesley enjoys having you as an assistant.”

“Oh? Sounds like Iudex Neuvillette is becoming fond of me too,” you say—very jokingly. “You may have to fight Wriothesley for me later. Assuming I stay as helpful during the remainder of the week.”

You half expect Neuvillette to say say something about how a fight won’t be necessary, as you're only a temporary loan, and he shouldn't need help beyond this week anyway—but instead, he cracks a smile, grabs his portion of the consomme, and says—

“I'll have to keep that in mind.”

—before he returns to his desk and continues working through his lunch.

In the afternoon, Neuvillette remains immersed in paperwork and other documents. You mostly spend your time making sure he has enough water available to drink, and fetching him any books or materials he asks for, so he doesn’t have to step away from his desk and break his concentration.

It’s a dynamic that works, and already, you can tell his stress has lessened—now that he’s caught up on many tasks. However, there’s still the slightest pinch to his brow, and a tiny flush on the skin of his neck despite the fact that it’s not overly hot in his office (at least, in your opinion. But maybe all that hair of his is warm?).

However, you don’t bother overthinking it. It’s still your first day assisting him. It would be crazy to think he’d suddenly be stress-free after a few hours in your care.

When the clock strikes 5, Neuvillette doesn’t miss a beat.

“You may go home for the day.”

You blink, looking around for the time.

“...will you continue working?”

“Yes, but that isn’t out of the ordinary,” Neuvillette responds, taking a sip from the glass of water on his desk. “However, your station doesn’t warrant you working overtime. You should go home now and enjoy your evening.”

You suppose he’s right…there are some things you can’t really assist him with anyway. Plus, you still have four more days working under him.

“Alright then, I won’t argue with you,” you respond. You gather up what little things you had brought with you, and then head for the door. But, before you go, you turn back to him.

“When should I come tomorrow? 8am?”

“9am will be fine.”

“Understood,” you nod, flashing him a smile. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Monsieur.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he responds in kind, watching you as you open the door and slip out of his office.

His gaze only lingers on the spot where you stood for a brief moment before he returns to his work.

The next day, you arrive at Neuvillette’s office at the agreed upon time, only to find that he’s getting ready to leave.

“I have some trials at the Opera Epiclese today,” he says. “You are welcome to join me.”

And really, who would pass up that offer?

So, without even setting your things down, you follow Neuvillette out of the building and to the Navia line—boarding an aquabus that will take you to the opera house.

Neuvillette garners a lot of attention as the two of you make your way to the building, but you do your best to tune out any stares or whispers. You think Neuvillette’s popularity among the people will never die.

“I have a guest today,” Neuvillette tells one of the staff members once you’ve entered the main hall. “Please make sure she is given a seat.”

“Of course,” they assure him, to which he nods. His eyes catch yours. 

“I will find you once the trials are over,” he says.

“Alright,” you respond. “Good luck.”

He cocks an eyebrow at your sentiment.

“Luck is typically not required,” he tells you. You feel a little heat of embarrassment rise on your skin, but the smile that appears at the corner of Neuvillette’s lips assures you he’s only joking with you. 

“Nonetheless, thank you.”

With that, he turns and heads up a staircase that will lead him upstairs to the judge’s seat.

You follow the staff member into the theater, still feeling a little warm.

As it turns out, Neuvillette has a full docket today. 

From morning to afternoon, you spend your day settled into your seat in the theater—watching prosecutors and defendants present evidence and argue back and forth.The cases draw most of your attention, but your gaze still strays to Neuvillette every so often, just to make sure he’s alright.

And he seems to be…for the most part.

Once or twice, you notice that his eyes are unfocused—staring off into the distance, and not at the person who is speaking. And when a recess is taken for lunch, and Neuvillette finds you to invite you to partake in lunch with him, you notice that the flush on his neck has returned.

Silently, you wonder if he’s getting sick…although you’ve never heard of Iudex Neuvillette being sick before now.

You make sure to send him back up to his stand with an extra bottle of water (which he downs quite quickly. Then, he even motions for one of the nearby employees to bring him more, which…also must be a little strange, considering you see some people in the audience watching Neuvillette, instead of the “show”).

By the time his docket has been cleared, and the two of you take the aquabus back to the city, the work day is over. You and Neuvillette bid each other farewell, and you return home.

Your third day is spent helping Neuvillette finish up paperwork related to the cases from the previous day. 

He remains flushed the entire time—the blush on his neck creeping up to his ears. He also begins sighing heavily every so often, and his requests for water become more frequent—to the point where Sedene, who guards Neuvillette’s stash of imported waters, even gets surprised by how quickly he’s going through them.

However, it’s not until the fourth day—when you see Neuvillette behind his desk, face flushed, sweat beading on his brow, and his official robes discarded due to how hot he is—that you finally have the guts to speak up.

“Monsieur,” you say hesitantly, remaining gentle despite the way his head nearly snaps up to look at you. 

“Is it possible that you’re sick?”

Neuvillette frowns at the suggestion, as if that’s impossible, but…after a few seconds, he seems contemplative.

“Would you be able to go to the library and fetch me a book?” he responds without answering your original question. He writes the title down on a piece of paper for you, and you take it—unable to say no.

After a short trip to the library, you recruit the help of the librarian, who points you in the right direction, and—soon enough—you find what Neuvillette has asked for.

A book on the history of the Dragon Authorities.

…huh.

Dutifully, you take the book back to Neuvillette after checking it out, and he thanks you—setting it off to the side until he has finished what he’s working on. It takes another hour or so, but finally, out of the corner of your eye, you see him reach for the book.

He flips through the pages until he finds the section he’s most interested in, and then he just…reads. For a while.

You keep yourself busy organizing paperwork in the meantime, and don’t pay him much mind. At least, until you hear a crunching sound.

Startled, you glance over at Neuvillette, only to find that his desk is cracked—his hand gripping it so hard that the wood has actually splintered.

You jump to your feet.

“Neuvillette—?!”

“Leave.”

There’s an edge to his typically calm voice.

“What—”

You’re unable to get more than a word out before his sharp eyes find you—his pupils like daggers.

“Leave,” he repeats, slightly more calm. Although, you swear you can almost hear a rumble in his chest.

Your heart sinks, worry blooming in your chest. Did you do something to upset him?

Seeing how your face twists, Neuvillette takes a deep breath.

“I apologize,” he says, his tone measured. His eyes meet yours for a long beat before he glances away, unable to look at you.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, and I appreciate your help until now, but I will no longer be needing your assistance. Please go home.”

Not understanding why he’s had a sudden change in demeanor, you want to prod him for answers about what’s going on, but…seeing the tenseness of his body, and the way his chest heaves, you decide to listen to his request.

Without further argument, you gather your things and quickly head for the door—only pausing to say one last thing before leaving.

“It was nice working with you, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you tell him, a smile tugging at your lips even though he refuses to look your way. “If you ever need my assistance again, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

The sound of the door shutting behind you is loud in Neuvillette’s ears, and once you’re gone, he finally lets go of his desk—chips of wood sprinkling the floor at his feet.

He attempts to take a deep breath to calm himself—but it has the opposite effect—his jaw clenching as his senses are flooded with the scents in his office, all of which seem more pungent than usual.

Leather book covers, fresh ink, Springvale water, his freshly washed robe, and a fleeting, sweet scent…

A scent that he wants to chase after.

He closes his eyes, stopping his train of thought.

Then, with shaking fingers, he picks up his pen and grabs a piece of paper.

As he drafts the notice of closure he intends to pass along to Sedene, a thunderstorm begins brewing outside his window.

On the morning of what should have been your fifth and final day in Neuvillette’s care, you wake up and find that you can’t simply let things be. 

You do your best to distract yourself with whatever chores in your apartment need doing, but it doesn’t work. You can’t stop thinking about Neuvillette—the flush on his skin, and the way his eyes had looked when he’d commanded you to leave.

It had all just felt so…out of character. You can’t help but worry about him.

So, despite the thunderstorm that’s been raging outside since you’d returned home the evening before, you decide to go and check on him.

You bundle yourself up in a coat and shoes that won’t be ruined by the rain, and then grab your umbrella—heading out into the storm.

As expected, not many people are out, which makes traversing the streets quite easy. You ride the elevator up to the Palais Mermonia alone, running up the steps and into the building to escape the rain.

In your hurry, you miss the notice that’s been posted on the doors to the building.

Once inside, you close your umbrella and prepare an apology to Sedene for dripping all over the floor, but to your surprise, she’s not at her desk. In fact, there’s not a soul in sight—the lights off, and the hall empty.

You’ve never heard of the Palais Mermonia shutting down before…

You take a step back towards the entrance as lightning illuminates the room—figuring it’s best if you leave. But…

Your gaze strays towards the doors to Neuvillette’s office, and after a beat, your feet begin moving on their own.

Assuming Neuvillette is here (because it’s not hard to imagine him working, even if everyone else is gone), you want to make sure he’s alright. 

So, you grip the handle to his office door, and quietly push your way inside.

A clap of thunder drowns out the sound of the office door clicking closed, and you take a step deeper inside, your eyes peering around the room.

In the darkness, you don't immediately spot anyone.

“Neuvillette?” you call out, just to be sure.

Before his name has finished leaving your lips, a shadow moves. Something rounding Neuvillette’s desk and heading towards you—snake-like eyes shining through the darkness.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you trip over your feet in a panic as you rush to grab the handle of the office door—hoping to throw it open and dart outside before whatever monster you’ve just walked in on is able to get to you.

And really—it has to be a monster. It’s quicker than you—quicker than a normal human—crossing Neuvillette’s office in less than a second.

A scaled hand slams against the door beside your head, and little sound of fear is ripped from your throat. 

You're being prevented from leaving—the door not budging even when you try and discreetly tug at the handle.

Your chest shudders as you take a breath, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fearing the worst.

Even with your back turned, you know there's some sort of beast behind you. One that’s stronger than you. One that will probably end your life before you can beg for mercy— 

“I told you not to return here.”

The sound of Neuvillette’s voice beside your ear causes you to jolt.

He’s so close to you that you can feel his breath on your skin, and while realizing that it’s Neuvillette who is behind you should be a comfort, it’s also…frightening. 

You’re aware—like most Fontainians—that Iudex Neuvillette is not totally human, considering he has been presiding as the chief judge for more than a few centuries now, but…you’ve never seen him act like this.

“I…was worried about you. After yesterday,” you respond, finally finding your voice. 

“I sent you away for a reason.”

His voice is deeper than normal—a rumble vibrating in his chest as he speaks. 

His lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver. Goosebumps rise on your skin and your heart races faster despite your best efforts to stay calm. 

However, staying calm isn’t easy to do in this situation—especially when Neuvillette literally starts to glow.

The scales on his hand which you’d spotted early begin to softly shine blue in the dim light of the room—his nails curling and carving uneven lines into the wood of the door in front of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, your breath hitching when his free arm suddenly curls around you. His forearm rests between your breasts, his palm splaying over your sternum, and you feel him take a deep breath—almost like he’s inhaling your scent.

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, his nose brushing against the skin of your throat. He can feel your pulse raising—your heart thundering in your chest.

You unconsciously grip the door knob tighter.

“Protect me from what, exactly, Monsieur…?”

“Me,” he responds.

His words send electricity up your spine.

“The way I’ve been acting—the way I’ve been feeling recently—it’s very unusual, and something I’ve never experienced before,” he admits—his warmth bleeding into your back as his body curls around you.

“That’s why I had you retrieve that book for me when you questioned if I was ill. There was a small change in my…constitution, lately. One that only early generations of my kind have experienced. So I wanted to brush up on history, and see if I could find any clues. And I did.”

He takes another long breath, and you hear the wood of the door crunch as his grip tightens.

“Experiencing a lack of focus, increased appetite, increased body temperature, and increased sensitivity to certain scents are all signs of one thing. An impending rut.”

A rut.

The word hits you like a train.

“While having an assistant was a nice change, being around you only exacerbated the issue.”

He doubts you’d taken notice with how immersed you’d been in your own tasks this week, but Neuvillette has been watching you. The way you tuck your hair back when you’re reading, the way your ass looks when you bend down to gather papers, the scent of your perfume whenever you approach his desk…

At first, he’d been distraught by his own actions—not understanding why he was being so…improper towards you. But now he gets it.

His instincts have been itching for something to mate. And now that something is you.

Diligent, kind, and pretty…those traits, combined with being around you 8 hours a day, have made you an easy pick.

“That’s why I told you to leave. Why I closed down Palais Mermonia today—to spare anyone any trouble, and to try and deal with this on my own. But you just had to come back…”

The hand on your chest inches closer to your breast—fingers hovering above the soft mound of flesh—before Neuvillette catches himself, and backs off.

“I think I have enough willpower remaining to grant you one last chance,” he tells you, although his throat tightens as he speaks—as if saying such a thing pains him.

“I’ll release you, and when I do, run.”

Run.

Run.

Your instincts scream at you to do just that—the world moving in slow motion as Neuvillette takes a deep breath and takes a step back. 

His hands retract, momentarily relinquishing their hold on you and the door.

All you need to do now is twist the handle and dart outside. To leave him here, and not look back.

You turn the handle, and the door inches open. Behind you, you swear you hear something akin to a whine becoming trapped in Neuvillette’s throat. 

Despite his words, he doesn’t want you to leave. He’s only doing this out of consideration for you.

But…based on the way he’d spoken about his rut—the way he’d needed to read up on his symptoms to determine what exactly was going on—he’s obviously never had to deal with this before. And from what you know of ruts and heat cycles and the like, you doubt dealing with this alone will be enjoyable for him. 

In fact, it will probably be painful.

Your grip on the door handle tightens painfully.

You’re scared, but—

Slowly, you close the door—until it clicks, and you’re once again trapped inside the room with Neuvillette. 

You can’t leave him here to suffer on his own.

Neuvillette’s arms wrap around you. His nails dig into your skin through your shirt.

“Why didn’t you leave, you—”

His frustrated voice cuts off, and you can only assume he wants to call you some silly name, but can’t bring himself to. Ever polite, even in this state of his.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, his long hair tickling your cheek. You reach up one of your hands and gently pet his hair.

“It didn’t feel right to leave you here. Alone,” you respond, and despite the way your heart is racing nervously, you still don’t regret your decision.

Neuvillette huffs. His breath is hot on your skin.

“I won’t be able to stop myself any longer,” he tells you. The truth in his words become apparent a moment later, when you feel his canines scrape your neck, and his pelvis grind against your ass. 

The almighty Iudex—helpless to fight his instincts.

“I know,” you say quietly. Your other hand gives his arm a little squeeze—a reassurance that you’ll be okay. 

“This is wrong of me…”

The frustration in his tone is quickly melting into desperation, his lips incessant at your neck.

A quiet laugh leaves you.

“Wriothesley and I…we already do this kind of thing together. So…if it helps, consider it a part of my job.”

Truthfully, you don’t consider it to be a part of your job. What you and Wriothesley have is not born out of obligation (although, neither is this). But you’re sure hearing such a thing from you will help put Neuvillette at ease, considering his penchant for propriety.

And, of course, it does.

He takes a deep breath—

“Thank you—”

—and then immediately grabs your chin, and turns your head so he can kiss you.

The noise of surprise you make is quickly drowned out by his tongue. A tongue that is longer than a humans, considering it pushes into the back of your mouth—nearly forcing past your uvula and down your throat.

The intense kiss has you fisting your hands in his shirt, your eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to reciprocate, but with every passing second, you realize that will be impossible.

He is absolutely going to swallow you whole.

His barrage of sloppy, passionate kisses go on for what seems like forever—your head actually beginning to swim as your body fights for oxygen.

Only when the first, pathetic whine leaves your throat does Neuvillette remember he needs to allow you to breathe. 

Retracting his tongue, a line of spit connects the two of you as you begin gasping for air.

However, Neuvillette is unable to wait for you to regain your bearings.

He grabs you by the backs of your thighs and hefts you into the air—your knees straddling either side of his torso as he carries you across his office, and over to the sofa.

He lays you down on the soft cushions, and you stare up at him, your skin flushed, eyes wide, and chest heaving.

He needs to see more of you. Needs to hear more cute sounds. Needs you all fucked out and stuffed with his—

Swooping down, Neuvillette captures your lips again. But this time, it’s more of a proper make-out—his lips melding against yours and your tongues rolling together as his hands trace your waist and settle near your hips.

You gasp into his mouth when you feel his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants. Then, a beat later, the hem of your panties.

Both items of clothing are in the way of what he wants.

In one swift move, he discards them both—stripping your lower half bare. He deposits your clothing on the floor beside the couch, and as he does so, he sits back—his gaze heavy with hunger as he admires you.

The intensity with which he regards you has you quickly feeling self-conscious, but before you can even think of trying to shield yourself from him, his hands are on your knees.

He pries your legs apart. 

You can't help the little gasp that leaves you—your pussy throbbing with nervous anticipation as his fingertips trace up your thighs.

His palms settle on your hips, and again, a noise is ripped out of you as he forces your lower half off the couch.

As if you weigh nothing more than a feather, Neuvillette drags you down the couch to meet him—your spine curving as he continues to manhandle you—lifting your pelvis farther and farther off the cushions, until your ass is resting on his chest, and your legs are thrown over his shoulders.

His gaze angles sharply downwards, to your cunt. And for a second, the pressure he exudes is truly that of a dragon—one that could unhinge its jaw and swallow you in one bite.

But while Neuvillette does open his mouth, he doesn’t bare any teeth.

No, the Hydro Dragon Sovereign actually wets his lips before he leans down to meet you.

The first taste of his meal.

You can’t help but hold your breath—your fingers curling into the couch cushions beneath you as Neuvillette’s tongue nudges between your folds.

He traces his tongue up—circling your clit, and making you jolt—before dragging it back down to the spot where your arousal has started to pool. You can feel the pressure of his tongue as he presses it at your entrance.

And for a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He just sits there, silently allowing your taste—your essence—to wash over his tongue. But once he's sure that he's memorized the taste of you—committed it to his memory as a sinful pleasure he’ll surely relish in during the millennia yet to come—he gets down to business.

His tongue nudges between your walls, his nose brushing up against the soft skin of your pussy as he makes his mouth flush with you. And as he does so, you (foolishly) assume he's as deep as he can go. That the stretch of your cunt around his tongue will be good preparation for what's likely to come, and he'll simply lap at you until he's satisfied.

…of course, if he was a normal man, that might be the case.

You keep forgetting that he's a dragon.

“Oh, fuck,” you pant, hips jumping in his hold as his tongue suddenly thickens and elongates. It twists deeper inside of you, filling up your cunt wholly.

You've never felt anything akin to this before.

“Monsieur—,” you say, breathless. You can't even think of what you want to say to him.

His sharp eyes slide open, meeting yours. 

He says nothing, doesn't dare to take his mouth off of you to speak—not willing to let a drop of you go to waste. But, he does give your leg a little squeeze—a small reassurance, you think.

Then, his tongue starts to move.

He fucks it inside of you with precise control—rolling it up against different areas inside of you until he locates that one special spot that makes you gasp. Your thighs tighten around his head, and your pussy clamps down on his tongue, causing a happy little rumble to resound inside Neuvillette’s chest.

He becomes relentless immediately, his nose brushing up against your clit as he continues grinding his tongue inside of you. Your body writhes, and he holds you tightly—his fingers pressing bruises into your skin where he touches you.

He can't stop. 

He bullies your g-spot incessantly.

You feel like you’re on fire—pleasure scorching away at the nerves that connect your brain to your body. 

You can't control yourself.

The moans and whines that escape you—the arousal that gushes over Neuvillette’s tongue as he continues fucking you…

“Monsieur…Neuvillette, I—”

Oh god, you can't even get a full sentence out. You want to warn him that you're going to cum—that you won't be able to hold back if his tongue continues moving inside of you like that—but he already knows. He can sense what's coming in the way your muscles tense, and your breath catches.

Cum, he wants to say, but doesn't—not daring to remove his mouth from you when you're on the precipice of an orgasm. 

Within seconds, you come undone—the walls of your pussy fluttering around him, and helpless whimpers falling from your lips.

And yet, even with you being mid-orgasm, a dragon that's drunk on the taste of you pushes for more. He folds you over—trying to reach deeper inside of you. 

The slick from your pussy overflows and drips down between the cheeks of your ass, and immediately, Neuvillette’s fingers are there—gathering it up and smearing it against your hole.

The sensation has you sharply intaking a breath.

“Neuvillette, you're—”

“Shh,” he says, for the first time retracting his tongue from inside of you. He kisses at your clit, his free hand trailing up your torso and beneath your shirt. 

“Lift your arms,” he says, his voice deep, and yet soft. The hunger in his gaze hasn't waned one bit, but knowing he has a mate to help him through his rut has put him somewhat at ease, and he doesn't want you to fear him.

Without arguing, you do as he says, and he manages to wrestle your shirt over your head. 

Finally, you're bare beneath him. 

He takes a second to admire you, his hand moving to rest against one of your breasts. He cups it with his palm, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple, and when you immediately jolt in response—he almost smiles.

Almost, because he still has more work to do if he wants to fully indulge in you, and satisfy his own needs.

“I'll take care of you,” he promises. “Trust me.”

And before you can even think of how to respond, he slips one of his fingers into your ass. 

The gasp that leaves you quickly deteriorates into a lewd moan as his tongue once again returns to your cunt, and you swear it’s somehow even bigger than it was before. 

Not having forgotten his new discoveries, Neuvillette effortlessly locates that special little spot inside of you and begins assaulting it once more—reveling in the way your body shakes, and your ass flutters around his finger. 

He needs you pliant and ready for him, and it takes all of his willpower to not rush. To work at the pace your body needs.

Luckily, his mouth on your pussy and his hand on your breast helps loosen you up. The tension you'd first held—nervous about stepping into the dragon's clutches—begins melting away. 

You trust that he won't hurt you.

“Ah—!” 

He slips a second finger inside of you.

Compared to the incessant rub of his tongue inside you, the motion of his fingers is calmer—a purposeful, moderate pace—and the dueling sensations make your head spin.

It's all so much. 

“Neuvillette—”

You reach one of your hands up, needing to ground yourself with something—and you end up taking a fistful of his hair. 

Neuvillette very nearly growls at the sensation.

He needs to hear you say his name like that again. Actually, more than that, he needs to feel you clenching down on his—

Neuvillette groans into your pussy as you tug at his hair once more. In response, he retracts his tongue from inside you and drags it upwards—grinding it against your clit.

Instantly, you lose it.

A mix of curses, blabbers, and his name are drawn from you—your body squirming against the couch cushions as he laps at your neglected and sensitive clit. At the same time, he scissors his fingers inside your ass, testing to see if you’re stretched enough for one more—

“Neuvillette—I’m gonna—”

“Cum.” 

He says it this time—a low command partnered with the sensation of a third finger pressing inside of you. But before your brain can even digest the increased girth of his fingers, his mouth suctions back on your clit, and your toes curl.

“Fuck—!” you choke, your head pressing into the cushion as the tension inside of you snaps—pleasure rushing forth.

You unconsciously tug at Neuvillette’s hair and he takes a deep, long breath in through his nose. He’s careful to not stop the motion of his tongue or the grinding of his fingers inside of you until you begin to whine—your hand moving from his hair to his shoulder as you attempt to push him away.

Then, he finally relents.

Sitting back, Neuvillette takes a moment to survey you. 

Your chest heaving as you attempt to catch your breath, a few stray hairs sticking to the skin of your face, the slick arousal that’s smeared against your pussy, and the way you’re asshole flutters around nothing after he slowly removes his fingers…

You’re ready.

Still in the middle of catching your breath, you’re drawn back into reality by the sound of the rustling of clothes.

You peek your eyes open to find Neuvillette above you, shedding himself of his clothing. You hadn't noticed earlier, but he isn’t wearing his formal robes today. Maybe because he hadn't been expecting to see anyone, and therefore hadn’t bothered dressing up to the nines.

Neuvillette starts by loosening his tie, and then unbuttons his shirt—tossing both items down onto the floor, where they lay in a heap along with your own clothing. You expect his pants to be the next to go, but you both realize at the same moment that with his boots on, it will take more time than he wants to completely strip his bottom half.

Luckily, he doesn’t need to be completely naked to fuck you.

Popping the button and tugging down the zipper of his pants, you watch with bated breath as finally shoves his pants and underwear down. The fabric drags across his bulge as he does so, and you note for the first time how…substantial it is. 

He may actually be bigger than Wriothesley, which is something you were not expect—

Neuvillette finishes shoving his clothing down to his thighs, and you watch in pure shock as not one, but two heavy, ribbed, lightly glowing dicks spring out of his trousers.

…oh.

You hold your breath, unable to peel your eyes away from the sight of him. You’d never even considered that as a dragon, his sexual organs may be a bit different from that of a humans. You can understand now why he’d made a point to work your ass open…

Speaking of—

“Neuv—!” you gasp in surprise as he rubs his dicks between the folds of your pussy. You feel the head of one of his members catch at your entrance, but he doesn’t linger there—instead using his hand to guide it down to your ass.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, sensing your apprehension. 

He doesn’t look at you, though, as he says those words—his voice tight with desperation. He can’t wait anymore, so he has to believe them. Has to believe that he’s done enough to prepare you for what’s to come.

Gripping his length tightly, Neuvillette nudges his dick inside your asshole. 

It’s a tight fit—one that has you choking on a whine and grasping at his wrist—your nails digging into his skin. It’s not painful, but it’s still a lot—your chest shuddering as he continues to inch himself deeper inside of you.

As he does so, his other cock grinds against your pussy—helplessly waiting for its own turn to be inside of you, precum leaking from his slit and smearing against your skin.

“Gods,” he pants, a waver in his voice. His eyes are aglow as he watches himself slowly sink into your ass—the friction positively heavenly—and soon enough, he’s fully inside of you, his hips flush with your bottom. 

Your breaths coming quick, and your hand still holding tight around his wrist, the two of you meet eyes.

Then, the last little thread of Neuvillette’s sanity finally crumbles in the face of his overwhelming need to rut.

Claws digging into the flesh of one of your thighs, he forces it wider open, and grabs his second cock with his other hand.

“Neuvillette, wait—,” you try to say, but it’s no use. Even with your ass still adjusting to his intrusion, Neuvillette shoves the head of his cock into your pussy. 

“Oh, fuck—!” you cry, your fingernails digging crescents into his skin. 

Already drenched from Neuvillette’s previous actions, he expects your pussy to take him easier, but with your ass full, and your body struggling to relax, it proves challenging. He can only get his length half way inside of you before you’re gripping him so tightly that he can’t move another inch.

Drunk with desire, he actually growls.

“I—”

I’m sorry, you want to say, but can’t get the words out. You just need a minute to adjust. You can do this for him—want to do this for him—but—

“Hush,” he mumbles, close, and then his lips are on yours. 

His body cages you in as he kisses you—one of his hands resting beside your head, while the other finds the small of your back, rubbing circles into your flesh.

“You’ve been doing so well for me,” he tells you, breathless. “Taking everything I give, responding so perfectly to everything.”

His words of praise go straight to your pussy, and you whine as he pushes deeper inside of you—your walls relaxing enough to allow him farther in.

Neuvillette makes a happy, yet somewhat inhuman noise.

“That's it, good girl…just a bit more.”

Hearing such words from the esteemed Iudex—his hand warm on your back, and his lips soft on your skin…you want nothing more than to please him.

Taking a shaky little breath, you dispel the tension in your body. 

Immediately, Neuvillette takes advantage. With one last nudge, he stuffs the rest of his cock inside of you.

You’ve never felt so full.

Overcome with joy—a satisfaction deep within him that he’s never felt before—Neuvillette kisses you once more. 

…then, he begins to move his hips.

You cry out, your body shaking in his hold, but he doesn’t let you go. 

The slow, full rock of his hips very quickly deteriorates into quick, desperate thrusts—his cocks stretching out your holes.

The sensation is like nothing you’ve experienced before, and you find yourself helpless to do anything at all. You can hear your own voice, but don’t know what you’re saying, or if the sounds you’re making are words at all. Because while it’s your pussy and ass that are being made a mess of, your brain feels equally as scrambled—unable to conjure even one intelligent thought.

Right now, you’re just a dragon's mindless breeding hole.

The sloppy sound of sex fills Neuvillette’s office, and while it is nearly drowned out by the downpour happening outside—thick droplets of rain pelting against the windows—the plap of Neuvillette’s balls against your ass is impossible to miss. 

Ah…you’re going insane.

A tiny sob slips past your lips, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. 

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire—each stroke of Neuvillette’s cocks pushing you closer and closer to the edge of another orgasm. 

“Ahh…”

The heady sound from Neuvillette catches your attention, and you peak your eyes open, staring up at the dragon above you.

Never before have you seen him look so debauched—his hair falling out from his braid, and his face and chest flushed. His eyes remain focused on the space where his body meets yours, mesmerized by the way your body accepts him in full—nearly sucking him in, now that you’ve adjusted and any discomfort has turned to pleasure.

Only when he hears you sob again—a pathetic, desirous little sound—does his gaze stray upwards.

And what he sees makes his heart skip a beat.

He’s not sure he’s ever witnessed a sight so sinful. The plush of your lips, the unshed tears that wet your eyes, and the bounce of your breasts with each of his thrusts. 

Before he knows it, he’s leaning down to kiss you. 

You whine into his mouth, your arms lifting to hug around his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies. He groans as your nails leave tracks against his porcelain skin, but he doesn’t relent. 

He’s getting close.

And, judging by the way you whimper—your pussy and ass clenching down on him—you must be close too.

Spurred on, Neuvillette kisses you again and again—his kisses open-mouthed and sloppy as his tongue dances around your own. Drool and tears quickly paint your cheeks, but you’re helpless to do anything about it.

Right now, all you know is that you’re going to cum. The stretch of his cocks—the way they rub against your walls as he continues fucking into you with abandon—it’s too much. Your muscles tense, and Neuvillette’s brows pinch together as your holes suddenly tighten on him.

“Neuvillette,” you sob, the sound of his name broken as you speak it against his lips. 

“Y/N,” he pants in turn. His rhythm becomes careless as he begins to lose it as well, but he continues to fuck you the best he can despite the constricting of your walls.

It’s only a few seconds longer before you come undone—your body shaking and nails digging into his back as you orgasm. Broken little sounds escape from your mouth as waves of pleasure tear through you, and the sensation of you cumming is ultimately what does Neuvillette in as well.

With one last buck of his hips, the Iudex buries himself inside of you and cums.

His chest shudders as you milk him dry, and you struggle to keep your eyes open—feeling utterly boneless now that the tension inside of you has gone.

For a minute, the two of you stay as you are—basking in the afterglow of your orgasms. Then, Neuvillette sits back and slowly pulls out of you. 

You make a quiet noise, feeling yourself clench around nothing once you’re no longer stuffed with his cocks, and he smiles at the sound, sensing a hint of disappointment.

“You did so well,” he tells you. 

Placing his hands on your waist, he gently maneuvers you to allow himself room to lay down on his side beside you. 

The feel of his arm wrapping around you and pulling you snuggly back against his body causes a contented sigh to leave your lips, and after a few seconds, you muster up the energy to speak.

“I take it you feel a bit better now?”

“Much,” he responds, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he presses them to your cheek. 

“However…”

He peppers another kiss against your cheek, and then your jaw, and neck. At the same time, his fingers ghost down your abdomen, until his palm is resting on your lower tummy. 

With gentle pressure, he urges your ass back against him—his hips inching forward at the same time—and shockingly, you realize that he’s still hard.

“...it seems that I’m not satisfied quite yet.”

When Wriothesley emerges from the Fortress the next day, the downpour he’d caught word of from some of the prison guards has stopped—only a few clouds littering the blue sky.

Hopefully this is a good sign, he thinks to himself, starting on his way to the aquabus station. 

He takes the line into the city, intending first to visit Neuvillette at the Palais—to hear about how his week fared with the help of an assistant. Then, once that’s done, he’ll go and visit you at your apartment to…catch up.

Smiling to himself, Wriothesley departs the aquabus and takes the path towards Nevuillette’s office. (Because somehow, he doubts the Iudex is at home relaxing like most people do on their days off.)

As he trudges up the steps to the Palais Mermonia, he steps on a wet piece of paper in front of the door. It’s the handmade notice that had been posted on the door two evenings prior, and had subsequently blown off in the storms that followed—but Wriothesley doesn’t think anything of it.

Pushing the door open, he heads inside.

“Neuvillette?” he calls gently, his knuckles rapping against the door to the Iudex’s office. 

The sound of a throat being cleared comes from inside.

“Come in.”

“I figured I’d find you here,” Wriothesley jokes as he steps inside, spotting Neuvillette as his normal place behind his desk. However, what isn’t normal is the fact that there’s a person sleeping on his couch—their body shrouded with a blanket, and an assortment of untouched food and a glass of water on the coffee table beside them.

Immediately Wriothesley freezes, confused about what’s going on, but…when he looks a bit closerr, he realizes the hair popping out from the top of the blanket, and the scent of the person on his couch are all too familiar.

“Y/N?”

Wriothesley walks up to the sofa, blinking in surprise when he sees that it is indeed you who is passed out—your face just barely peeking from beneath the blankets that have been snuggly wrapped around you.

“You know, Neuvillette, when I lent her to you for the week, I didn’t expect you to work her until the point of exhaustion,” he jokes, looking over towards Neuvillette with a playful hint of a grin. He expects Neuvillette to sigh and apologize, but the abashed look he is instead faced with causes Wriothesley to pause once more. 

It’s then that the Duke notices a small pile of clothes neatly folded on the floor next to the sofa, along with your shoes. 

Hesitantly, Wriothesley grips the edge of the blanket and slowly tugs it away from your body. 

He’s met with the sight of naked shoulders, and a neck peppered with small bites and bruises.

Just as slowly as he’d moved the blanket down, he tugs it back up.

The office sits in silence for a moment. 

“She is…unharmed,” Neuvillette finally speaks, moving a strand of hair away from his face. “Her current state is my fault.”

Wriothesley’s eyes scan over him.

“Compared to when I last saw you, you seem to be faring much better.”

His words cause the blush on Neuvillette’s face to deepen, and Wriothesley cracks a small smile, letting loose a sigh.

“Ahh, to think even the almighty Iudex would fare poorly due to unfulfilled needs.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that,” Neuvillette says with a sigh of his own, prompting Wriothesley to raise an eyebrow. However, when Neuvillette doesn’t speak right away—unsure about divulging the specifics that lead to this outcome—Wriothesley decides to not push it.

“Well, whatever the reason, I trust that you haven’t hurt her, and that she consented to whatever took place here.”

“Of course,” Neuvillette responds immediately.

Standing up from his chair, he walks over and stands beside Wriothesley—reaching down to brush a gloved finger against your cheek. You stir only slightly—nuzzling your face into the pillow your head rests upon.

Both men smile.

“She’s a good assistant, isn’t she?”

“She is; one that works with care and compassion for the one she is helping. She performed well beyond her duties.”

“You can see now why I like her,” Wriothesley says softly, and Neuvillette can see the fondness in his gaze as he regards you.

“She did tell me that she and you are not necessarily in a committed relationship, but…I apologize regardless if I crossed any sort of line.”

Wriothesley hums.

“While the thought of sharing her with anyone else like that does make me feel a bit…possessive…she did consent to what occurred, based on your words. And, honestly speaking, I’m glad it was you over anyone else.”

Neuvillette cocks an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“I trust you,” Wriothesley tells him. “Although, you having sex is not a thought that had crossed my mind before now. It makes me curious as to what exactly you did to her while the two of you were alone.”

“I assure you a majority of her time in my care was spent with her performing her standard duties as an assistant, and nothing else. As to what happened beyond that, well…I’m not sure I possess the courage to recall such details aloud.”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to assure Neuvillette he was just teasing, but the dragon continues before the Duke can interrupt.

“I suppose if you’d like to know, next time—should there be one—you’ll simply have to be present.”

Catching the meaning of his words, Wriothesley meets his gaze. 

Understanding passes between them.

“Hmm…I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Once Y/N has recovered, and when you next return to the surface, I’ll have to invite you both for a meal,” Neuvillette says, turning back towards his desk. “In the end, the support from you both did alleviate the issue that plagued me. It’s only right to repay such kindness when I’m next given the opportunity.”

Kneeling down beside you, Wriothesley pets your hair.

“Well, it would be a shame to pass up on such an offer. I certainly hope that fate grants the opportunity for our schedules to align.”

Taking a seat behind his desk, a small smile appears on Neuvillette’s lips.

“I shall hope for the same.”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru is too well-mannered for his own good.

when you walk into his living room, a lidded paper cup in hand, he’s seated on the couch. right in front of the coffee table, his fingers tapping the keys of his laptop, a series of clicks filling the open air.

he’s just as beautiful as always. light shines in from the veranda, through parted curtains, licking along the contours of his face; illuminating his face lines, soft crows’ feet by his eyes. he’s got his hair tied up into a messy bun, raven locks and silver strands, only slightly grayed, some of them tickling the back of his neck — behind a pair of reading glasses, his eyes narrow in concentration.

you can see his age, like this, but also not at all. he looks younger than ever, with the sun as his gown.

suddenly, he raises his head, meeting your adoring gaze with his own; two pools of amber, always warm, like they were made to reflect sunlight, made to pull you in. his lips curling up into a fond smile.

but your gaze strays down to his hands.

big, steady hands. hands that always find their way to the dips of your waist, or your shoulders, or the top of your head. reaching out to pinch your cheek, to soothe your headaches after long lectures, to mend and mold any lump of clay you place into his waiting palms — guide it into whatever shape he pleases, with those skilled fingers.

when you think of suguru, you think of pottery. you think of something beautiful, and there he is.

and he’s holding a cup.

as you step farther into his line of vision, hungry for a proper look at him, you can’t help but notice it. painted a deep, dark green, his favorite, but the shape is all wrong — uneven, not nearly polished enough, rough around the edges. when he puts it back down on the table, it wobbles.

(you visibly cringe.)

”hi, sweetie.”

that deep, honeyed voice tugs you back into reality, your gaze pulled up like a puppet on a string. suguru is patient, just taking you in, waiting for a response. there’s never any rush, when it comes to him. 

a shy smile blooms on your lips. 

”hi,” you echo, stepping closer yet; raising a hand, the one carrying the paper cup, swaying it lightly side to side. ”i got you a latte.”

”oh?” he lets out a soft noise, something like a coo, eyes blooming with fondness. ”chai?”

”mhm.”

his smile only grows. you watch him lean back, absently crossing his arms, thick muscles hidden under the turtleneck he’s sporting. when you take a step closer, eager to hand it to him, he stops you. 

”why don’t you give it a taste for me?” he asks, giving you a sweet tilt of his head. eyes soft and amused.

you blink.

after a moment, you raise the cup to your lips; taking a tentative sip of the brew. it’s hot on your tongue, a dash of pleasant spices, but mellow and sweet. just the way he likes it. you sigh out in bliss.

he only chuckles. ”how is it?”

”tasty,” you hum, licking your lips. holding it out for him to take. ”not too sweet, don’t worry.”

suguru accepts the cup with a smile, his thumb lingering on your hand for a moment, caressing the skin in a soothing motion. his voice a low, tender murmur. ”thank you, honey.”

(a warm feeling sprouts in your chest.)

”i’ll get you a cup next time i pass by a café,” he continues, taking a tentative sip of his own. he visibly perks up at the taste. ”what would you like?”

”you don’t have to!” you’re quick to assure him, blinking sheepishly. but, of course, he won’t have it.

”i want to,” he chuckles. ”you’ll make me very happy if you let me.”

…

there’s no use protesting, when it comes to things like this. when he gets like this. telling suguru not to take care of you is like asking the sun not to shine.

so you let out a sigh.

”i… want a caramel frappe, please…”

another little chuckle. his voice is soft, as always, like a coo is resting on the tip of his tongue. ”understood.”

suguru watches you, silently, for just a moment or two. you’re meeting his gaze with a shy pair of eyes, always a little flustered by his attention, his care. his sweet little baby bird, coming over just to give him something to drink. straight out of class. 

(you must be in need of some pampering.)

he pats his lap. ”come here,” he croons, parting his legs to give you space to take up. ”keep me company while i work. i want to hear about your day, sweetie.”

you blink, again. looking down at his lap, then back up at him, at the light catching onto the silver of his half-rim frames. he gives you a patient, closed-eyed smile — waiting for you to take your rightful place.

and you do.

his thighs feel solid, beneath you, big arms curling around your waist as you crawl into his lap. one hand goes to rest on your hip, the other on your lower back, cradling you close, secure in his embrace. you wrap your arms around his neck, legs draped over his thighs, leaning into his touch; inhaling the scent of sandalwood and tea leaves.

”… it was pretty boring.”

”oh, i’m sure you can do better than that.” he grins, brushing his thumb over the fabric of your jeans, an absentminded gesture. ”any interesting lectures?”

”uhhh…” 

as you take the time to think, recollecting your long and tiring day, suguru leans forward — reaching for the cup. the ugly one. pulling it closer, putting the ceramic to his lips, to finish whatever he was drinking before you came in. green tea, you assume. the sip he takes resounds in your ear, your eyes sticking to his fingers as he places it back on the wooden table with a clink — it wobbles again. 

you give it a look of silent contempt.

… a look suguru seems to notice. because his keen, warm eyes trail down to where yours are still resting, and then back up at your little frown. he raises a brow, but he’s still smiling, an amused curl of his lips.

 ”… what?”

a moment passes. you consider staying silent, but the nagging curiosity gets the better of you. avoiding his gaze, still glancing down at the cup in question, absently clearing your throat.

”you still… use that one?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. thinking that it should be stashed away in some forgotten cupboard, not out in the open — but maybe your boyfriend is just too polite to do something like that. 

suguru only blinks. ”why wouldn’t i?”

…

you give him a look.

he returns it with a look of his own; silent, coaxing, that one questioning raise of his brow. he pairs it with a gentle squeeze to your hip, knowing it’ll make you relent. and he’s right.

”it’s…” you part your lips, searching for the right word, frowning down at the little ceramic bundle of joy. with its bumpy texture, that awkward-looking handle, the uneven bottom layer. ”so ugly, suguru.”

”ugly?” he echoes, a spark of amusement in his amber eyes. but he sounds a little discontent, almost protective. ”now, now. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my love.”

his deep voice buzzes in your ear, as he reaches out again, cradling the cup with one large hand. gazing down at it with a look you can’t quite place — so sweet it makes you shiver. out of the corner of your eye, you notice him giving you a pointed look. 

”… and i happen to think this cup is very charming.”

you can’t help but pout, shying away from his gaze. gnawing at your bottom lip, crossing your arms and resting your cheek near the crook of his neck, muttering under your breath. ”what’s charming about a cup that can barely stand…?”

”you made it,” he answers, simply, no hesitation in his voice. ”with your own hands and fingers. and you gave it to me.”

ever so gently, he grips your jaw; his pointer and middle finger tilting your chin to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. 

”… don’t you think there’s an awful lot of charm in that?”

(warm. his eyes look warm enough to fall into.)

a sigh slips past your lips. he gives you a soft tilt of his head, and you part your lips in pliant response. sulking. ”the ones you’ve made for me are so much better, though…”

you think of all the bowls, all the cups, the plates he’s given you — the same ones you use every single day, sitting tall and proud on your shelves, made entirely by him. in all kinds of elegant patterns, your initials carved at the bottom of every single one. he always gives you the ones he’s most proud of, after he’s finished with his classes.

… in comparison, yours is just…

”we don’t make art for needless comparison,” he shushes you, ever so fondly. ”there’s no end to that. we make it because it’s fun. my pieces aren’t better or lesser than yours just because i happen to be more experienced.”

…

when you don’t respond, suguru shifts — cradling you close, lifting the cup up to catch the light of the evening sun. it cascades down the ceramic, a mellow orange glow gliding across the green expanse. he watches it with barely concealed adoration.

”… this is my favorite one, you know. in my entire collection.” a joyous little hum buzzes in his throat. ”i’ve never made a cup i liked as much as this.”

you watch his expression change, eyes flickering with something soft and subtle, crinkled at the edges. his voice is nothing but sincere — coated in that sturdy, reliable tilt, like nothing he says could possibly be a lie. even if he tried, you doubt he could fake this kind of delight. putting the cup back down, as gentle as he can, as if it’s a cherished possession. he only looks more delighted when it wobbles a bit.

without thinking, the words slip past your lips.

”… i’ll make you another one.”

suguru’s gaze flicks down to meet yours. all bright and determined, your cheek squished against his shoulder, enough to make him want to coo. he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

”oh…? joining us in the studio again?”

”joining you,” you’re quick to correct, letting out a quiet huff. ”i… don’t want your students to make fun of me.”

a raspy chuckle leaves his lips. ”they won’t,” he assures you, a hint of pride in his voice. ”they’re much too well-behaved.”

”well-behaved around you, maybe,” you mutter, with a roll of your eyes. nuzzling against his jaw, frowning softly. ”… you’re coddling them.”

”i coddle you,” he purrs, with an affectionate squeeze to your hip. ”i don’t see you complaining, do i?”

”… that’s different.” 

the tiny pout on your lips makes him laugh. but he indulges you, always, all too eager to let you have your way. ”of course it is,” he coos, deep and teasing. ”how could i ever suggest otherwise?”

you fail to stifle a smile. feeling his skin against yours, his fingers rubbing absentminded patterns into your back, that soothing voice rumbling in your ear. when he leans down, to pick up the paper cup, you’re filled with a sense of purpose. you’ll just have to make a better cup next time — one that doesn’t wobble, with an smoother texture, perfectly symmetrical. one he can show off to his students and coworkers, the same way you do with all the pottery he’s given you.

suguru deserves nothing but the best, after all.

… what you don’t realize is that it won’t matter either way. even if you give him a better option, he’ll undoubtedly continue to use the cup he has now — with a sheepish little smile, and a sorry, honey. it seems i’ve gotten attached.

(… you suppose it’s the thought that counts.)

[suguann]

SAY YOU'RE MINE—GOJO SATORU.

✎.You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. | wc. 1.4k+

tags. fem!reader, age-gap, very shy reader, exhibitionism, reader wears glasses, a/b/o, 18+ only

masterlist

The big, awful truth nobody tells you about hosting your fortieth birthday is how the shine of the day wears off once you see your friends and acquaintances laughing with their loved ones, talking about their kids, showing off pictures of newborns swaddled in soft linens, and making plans for upcoming holidays. 

Gojo sips his drink, pretending to understand. He’s never given much thought to settling down, to take an omega as a mate and fill his big empty house with the sounds of pealing laughter and little feet racing down the many halls.

Forty years old, and he’s ready to admit that living the life of a bachelor doesn’t hold the same appeal as it once did. That returning from a two-week-long business trip might be better if there were somebody to go home to.

Forty years old.

Instead of cozying up in the living room with a family he longs to have, he’s going to spend the rest of his night picking up plates and champagne flutes after everyone leaves because he forgot to hire a cleaning company—all alone in his big empty house, wondering if his secretary remembered to pick up his dry-cleaning for the week.

An unmated Alpha—the reminder chafes as much as the fact he’s getting older.

He finally understands why his late aunt divorced and got married again twice in the same year, why people buy nice vacation homes on white sandy beaches that make the crow’s feet around their eyes worse, and spend too much money on sports cars even though they stay parked for three-fourths of the year. He gets it now.

It’s more or less an epiphany of a sad, pathetic truth that he swallows down with something cold and bitter.

In the middle of his backyard, standing between his neighbor and his pregnant wife, Gojo wishes he were anywhere else. Inviting everyone he knows within driving distance no longer seems like the well-thought idea he’d presumed it’d been.

He makes a few more rounds around the garden before sneaking inside, escaping another conversation about engagements and wedding dates to hide away in his study.

That’s until he sees you out of the corner of his eye, looking through the bookcases in his living room.

A pretty slip of a girl in your modest cocktail dress and wide-framed glasses slipping down the slope of your nose. An Omega, alone, just like him; your clean, sweet, floral scent sticking to the back of his throat like syrup until it settles in his stomach. Enough to make him dizzy.

You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. Not that it really matters because his back straightens, no longer wallowing in self-pity, and he studies you with interest.

After a few moments, you finally glance his way, only for you to hastily return your attention to the book you pulled down from the shelf. Cute.

Gojo adjusts the tie around his neck and feels his lips twitch.

“Sorry,” you say softly, long lashes fluttering against the top of your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—I was only—My friend invited me, and she—”

You are too busy working yourself up over an explanation that you don’t notice when he sidles up next to you and reads over your shoulder. "I have more in my office if you want to take a look.”

“E-excuse me?” You make this breathy, choked sound and peer up at him from under your lashes. This visibly timid type of girl who bashfully looks away at the sight of his smile. For some reason, that makes his mouth go dry—makes his teeth ache. 

It’s rare to be so driven by instinct and rarer to actually listen to that instinct.

“Books,” he says. “Do you want to see them?”

His words take a second to sink in, and he smiles when he sees liquid clarity in your eyes. You blink owlishly, scent spiking, pleased. He stands there patiently, finding how you start rambling endearing, a slight, private grin splitting across his face—silently amused.

He thinks you'd bolt if it weren’t for the fact that he’s probably standing much too close, trapping a mouse by the tail.

“I–I g-guess,” you finally stutter.

It’s too easy: You letting him usher you up the stairs toward his office. 

If Gojo were a better person, a less lonely Alpha—a better man—he might feel bad for how well it works.

It’s no small thing to work the tiny zipper at your back and watch your dress pool around your feet. He barely gets the top three buttons of his shirt undone before you are—delightfully, inexplicably—up on the tips of your toes, timidly pushing your hands through his hair, mewling into the hollow of his throat, close to where his gland sits.

By the time he has you pressed against his office window, you’re this flustered little mess with crooked glasses, fingers streaking the once pristine glass to keep your balance, and breasts sticky and wet with spit.

“Good girl,” he mutters, pulling back to look down at where he’s splitting you open. “Such a good little Omega for me, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer, and he crowds you closer to the window, grasping your chin and tugging your head up until you’re looking at him upside down. He squeezes your cheeks together, your pouty, supple lips pushed out, and kisses your mouth, tasting you—unimaginably sweet.

“Tell me—tell me what a good girl you are,” even though he knows you can’t with his fingers pressing into your cheeks, but you try anyway.

“U-uh but—people c-can see.” 

The base of his cock tingles as he catches a line of drool spilling from the corner of your lips. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, soothing, and you steadily melt against him when he slips that same finger underneath the elastic of your underwear, lightly nudging your clit with the tip of his finger until you’re shivering beautifully again.

“That’s it. Don’t worry about them,” he coaxes lightly, but it comes out muffled because he says it with his mouth wrapped around the gland at the base of your neck, teasing himself with something he’s never allowed himself to have. Not yet. “Just you and me, okay?”

Gojo doesn’t let up until your back arches and shoulders tighten, his knot caught inside your cunt until all he can do is grind the tip of his cock against that spot that makes you squirm and whine. 

He smiles to himself when you hide behind your hands after realizing you ruined his pants, and he carefully falls back into his office chair, pulling you with him so you’re both looking out across the garden, where his guests walk around wholly unaware of the breathtaking little Omega who made his birthday worthwhile.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he muses, taking great pleasure in the way you start stuttering again.

On his forty-first birthday, he doesn’t throw his own party but still hides in his office, his pretty wife in his lap, flustered because he never turned the lights off this time. If anyone happened to walk by on this side of the house, they’d be able to see everything—his omega, soft and swollen from a piece of him taking root inside you.

Families are about making traditions, he thinks, and he’d like to start a few traditions of his own; leaving his party to fuck his wife in the quiet of his office being one of them.

[deunmiu-dessie]

price, after seeing you with kids, vows to himself that he'll get you pregnant.

  "i'm so happy you guys could make it!"

    john watches fondly as you smile. it's wide and genuine, the action making your nose scrunch up; your head tilting to the side to mimic the woman's excitement─ and john can hardly take his gaze off of you. your eyes glimmer at the sight of your heavily pregnant best friend and the woman watches with a soft smile as the two of you make your way up their driveway. 

 your body is tucked away underneath john's arm, the usual warmth of your perfume; a sweet and spicy blend of saffron and sugared vanilla, has him unable to keep his hands off of you and he makes it obvious with the way his thumb rubs back and forth over your bare shoulder. and you're just as guilty as he is, with the way your hand is nestled snuggly in the back pocket of his jeans, the other stationed right atop his hand that rests affectionately on your shoulder. 

when the two of you can make it to gatherings in your neighborhood, there's bound to be talk and swooning about you and john the next day. most women were envious that even after being together for years, it seemed like the two of you were still in your honeymoon phase.

 "jas! babe, what are you doing up?" your voice is a teasing lilt as you shimmy your way out from under john's arm, looking back at him briefly to flash him a pleased smile. however, it's different from the one you sent jasmine earlier, it's softer, intimate, and familiar and it warms his belly better than bourbon ever could; his eyes soften and he smiles back, the crow's feet around his eyes deepening. 

despite john only having a few days off until his next mission, which he had wanted to spend with you, cuddled up next to the fireplace and watching movies, or perhaps cooking and baking with each other, all lovey-dovey and tête-à-tête─ you had instead asked if he could spare a day and go to a cookout hosted by a mutual friend. 

of course, he couldn't say no to you. not when you looked so reluctant to ask in the first place, with your eyebrows furrowed and a small frown marring your lips─ the same lips he had languidly kissed until it flipped right side up, with gentle murmurs of reassurance. besides, john didn't mind jasmine's husband. tom was a retired colonel of the army and they had hit it off quite quickly, especially given john's position. 

  reluctantly, john's eyes drift away from where you stand hugging jasmine, immediately spotting tom who is situated with a few other men at the grill. sucking in a breath, john made his way over to them, a smile splitting his cheeks when tom notices him, his tongs clanging against the metal. "well i'll be damned, if it isn't john, fucking, price." 

 the two men join hands briefly, "tommy, i've been gone a few months and she's already pregnant again." john chuckles softly at tom's sheepish look, the man's cheeks pinkening. "m'surprised y'r balls haven' shriveled up yet." john finishes, dropping into a squat to pluck a lone water nestled amongst the beers. “well, what can i say? she’s all over me!” tom, through his boisterous laughter at his own joke, notices the bottle and sends john a smirk, "you gone in a few days?"

 john grunts, hoping to save himself from the conversation, talk of work right now would only annoy him. tom clasps him on the shoulder firmly and sends him a mocking grin, perhaps this is why john liked tom, banter flowed naturally between the two of them. john was reminded of gaz time and time again when holding a conversation with the retired colonel. "it's as i said before. maybe it's time for you to settle down, you're not getting any younger."

  john grunts at that one too, eyes scanning the bustling cook-out to look for your comforting presence. he immediately finds you amongst your group of friends, a newborn babe nestled in the crook of your arms delicately and other children playing a simple version of tag around your legs. you're gazing down at the baby with envious adoration, eyes sparkling with awe and something akin to being maternal and it knocks the breath from his throat, his heart swelling within his chest at the sight of you. 

   and for a moment, he pictures that you're holding his child in your arms and that those are his kids circling your legs. and it's when your eyes somehow find his, your smile shy and your eyes almost pleading, that he swears to himself that he'll get you pregnant. and an ache to see your belly swollen with his child starts in his chest before traveling straight to his cock. tom chuckles, it's a knowing and judgment-free look. "i guess your mind is made up, huh captain?"

connected with this post!

[eff4freddie]

Play With It

Joel Miller x AFAB Reader

Explicit - Minors DNI

Your busy schedules have meant you just can't get it together, and you're starting to miss each other. Joel is finding it particularly...hard.

(AU no outbreak)

Warnings: Just some good old PWP, smut, phone sex, Joel is a menace, dirty talk, praise kink, Joel talks you through it, kind of soft pleasure-dom vibes? Please tell me if you like this, if you can't already tell I also have a praise kink, love me damnit

Words: 3.5k

NEW! Sequel - Play With Her

You just kept missing each other – literally and figuratively. If you had a late shift at the hospital, Joel had an early start on the site. If you got home to make dinner, Joel was working late. If you both managed to get home at roughly the same time, you lay on the couch next to each other in sweats and barely scraped the energy together to turn the TV off for bedtime. Your schedules were just out of whack. It happened.

But you were missing him. The fold of his crow’s feet when he smiled, the gentle little huff of effort when he bent down on his bad knee to pick up a fallen utensil, his heat behind you in bed, enveloping you and soothing your frazzled, jangling nerves. Your hindbrain was struggling to soothe itself without the weight of his body on yours. You were unmoored.

This morning was no different – you’d come home late, past midnight, tiptoeing up the stairs and slipping under the covers as gently as possible, knowing he had an early start. You were tired to the bone anyway, your knees aching from hours upon hours striding up and down hospital corridors.

You could sleep in, at least, until 10 AM the next morning. It was the one solace as you drifted off, pushing yourself against Joel’s back and winding your hands around his chest. All of this work the both of you were doing was for your future, for yours and his and Sarah’s. Within a year you should have scraped up enough for a deposit on a house. It would be worth it, even if you ached for him.

Your phone woke you, and you cracked an eye to try and gauge the time. You determined it to be half-past too early. You let it ring out. If it was important they’d leave a message.

A minute later it rang again and you fumbled for it on your bedside table just to silence it, seeing as you lifted it that it was Joel. A little scalpel of panic sliced at your insides. He never called twice unless it was important, and never during the day. What if he’d had an accident? What if he was hurt?

‘Joel?’ you asked, your voice cotton and sandpaper.

‘Hey, baby,’ he said, his voice calm, gruff, maybe a little frayed around the edges.

‘What’s happening, are you OK?’

‘M’fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry ya.’

‘Y’never call twice,’ you muttered, settling back down against your pillow, your eyes closing of their own volition.

‘I needed my girl,’ he said, and you noticed his tone, then, the darkness in it. You let out a little shiver, wrapped up warm and tight in your bed.

‘What are you playin’ at, Joel Miller?’ you asked, and you heard him hum in response.

‘I’m bored at work, baby,’ he said, and you could hear that he was pouting.

‘Surely you can find yourself something to do,’ you said.

‘S’why I’m callin’,’ he replied.

‘Something productive,’ you clarified, and you listened to him huff out a little laugh.

‘Baby?’ he said, his voice back down to burnt honey and salted caramel.

‘Mmm?’ you asked.

‘I wanna watch you play with it.’

Your eyes shot open, gasping. You felt the tangle of want in your belly, little tendrils reaching down your thighs to tug, tease, at your cunt.

‘Joel!’ you scolded, and you heard him snicker. ‘Aren’t you on site?’

‘Found m’self a little quiet place, out of the way.’

You didn’t respond, thoughts obliterated as your traitorous mind replayed his words on repeat in your head.  Wanna watch you play with it. Wanna watch you play with it.

‘I’m in the truck, baby,’ he said. ‘Parked way down the back. No one can see, no one can hear.’

You felt the tension in your shoulders release, slightly, but your heart was still racing and you supposed it wasn’t going to stop. Not while you could hear him gearing up to destroy you without even being in the same suburb.

‘She droolin’ for me?’ he asked, his voice gravelly and you could hear the way his breath was shaking, knew that his own pulse was thrumming so hard in his neck it was making it hard for him to breathe out the words to you.

You squirmed, rubbing your thighs together under the sheets. He knew, of course he knew the fucking filthy old man, that you were almost permanently wet for him.

‘Mmmhmm,’ you said, and you heard him groan a little, snuffle it down with a bite to his lip.

‘Fuck, baby, been thinkin’ about you all morning. Woke up with you wrapped around me like a fuckin’ koala bear, took all my strength not to roll you over and fuck up into you while you were dreamin’.’

You gasped again, struggling to hear him over the blood rushing in your ears. Joel was so stoic, used his words so carefully in real life, that you could hardly believe your luck when you got him into the bedroom for the first time and he let loose the filthiest stream of consciousness you’d ever heard. He bathed you in his dirty little fantasies, doused you in his furious want for you.

‘Can I see her?’ he asked, and suddenly you were shy.

‘Just woke up, Joel,’ you said in protest, reaching up to smooth your hair without even thinking of it.

‘Love it best first thing,’ he said, ‘when you’re all warm and soft and pliant, let me do whatever I want to ya, keep those sweet warm thighs wrapped around my ears… or my cock buried deep in that sweet little cunt of yours and have you too sleepy to tell me to quit it.’

‘Mmm…quit it,’ you said, stretching, and he snickered.

‘Too late, baby, want you too bad.’

You liked him like this, although you’d never tell him that. Liked him a little bit needy, a little bit cunt drunk, wanting you so bad he had to pull his car out back and see to himself. You sighed. You were going to do it for him, you were always going to do it for him, but sometimes you had to put up a fight just for the appearance of the thing.

‘Please, baby,’ he said, and his words were punctuated with little breathy sighs, now.

‘Wanna see you too,’ you said, bargaining, stalling for time and not sure why.

You heard his voice grow distant as he pulled the phone away from his ear, and you did the same, waiting for facetime to connect.

You held your breath, holding the phone above your face as his ancient phone camera adjusted.

Then there he was, those beautiful brown eyes you could never say to, so soulful and kind and currently blown wide with want. His hair was scruffy like he’d been tugging at it. You giggled a little when you saw him, genuinely pleased.

‘Hey baby,’ he said, grinning at you, and you watched as his dimples emerged.

‘Hi,’ you said, suddenly shy, burying half of your face in your arm.

‘My beautiful girl,’ he muttered as he gazed at you through the phone screen. ‘I’m missing you, baby.’

You nodded, humming your agreement. ‘Miss you too,’ you said.

‘She missin’ me?’ You blushed, your core pulsing the moment he came on the screen. You nodded again. ‘Show me, please, baby,’ he implored. You could never refuse him.

He waited, his eyes bright and watchful, as you positioned yourself onto your back, angling the phone to travel down your body; first the tips of your straining nipples against the light cotton of your singlet (he whimpered at this, especially as you reached down and tweaked one a little), then lifting the cotton to reveal your belly, softening in the years you had known him but confident that he loved it just the same (he cooed at it, and you thought you heard him inform your belly he wanted to nip it and then kiss it better when he got home), then down a little further, your other hand now trailing along with the lens, to the aching heat of your core (you heard his sharp intake of breath as your pussy came into view, still covered by your panties, where the gusset was darkening with your slick. ‘There she is, fuck…’ he trailed off, and you felt your clit throb at the heat in it).

‘Let me have a little peak,’ he said, his voice reverberating around your empty bedroom as it shot out of the speaker on your phone. ‘Somethin’ to get me through the day.’

You giggled, pulling hard on your underwear so that the cotton stretched over your lips, outlining them perfectly for him as he groaned. You ran your fingers over the cotton, pushing and pulling at your lips, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him.

‘You hard for me, Joel?’ you asked, and you heard his guttural ‘uh-huh’ in response. You slipped a finger under the leg of your panties, pulling them to the side so he could inspect the pink, the slick, of your folds.

‘Oh fuck, baby,’ he said, ‘such a good girl for me.’

You preened under his praise, your clit throbbing as you fought to control your breath, determined not to let him know what he was doing to you, not to let him win. Instead, you pulled your phone back up to your face, grinning at him.

‘Hey, where’d she go?’ he asked, and you laughed.

‘You know exactly where she is.’

‘Want to see her, baby, please,’ he said again, whining now, and you saw his shoulder moving slowly, the flex of his bicep just within view of the camera.

‘Show me what you’re doing to yourself, Joel Miller,’ you said, and he grinned at you, busted. His cheeks were pink, and he was starting to glisten from sweat. You wanted to lick it off him, take the salt of him into your body.

He angled his own phone down, so that you could see he was palming himself through his jeans. He let out a little gasp at one particularly hard tug.

‘Take it out,’ you said, and he tutted, raising the camera back to his face.

‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,’ he said, and you were up on your knees in an instant, swivelling to prop the phone up against the head of the bed, balancing on a pillow, as you reared back and slipped your underwear from your skin.

You watched as he freed himself, his belt moving aside so he could reach into his pants and pull himself out over his waistband. You felt more slick gather at the top of your thighs as you gazed at it, thick and large and with a vein on the underside you loved to rub along your tongue.

‘Play with it,’ he said, and you hated that you couldn’t gaze at his cock and his face at the same time, resolved to settle for the current view for now, as beads of precum gathered at the tip. You watched as he ran his fist over the shaft, leaving the head. You knew how sensitive it was, that when you sucked on it as you pulled, gently, at his balls he couldn’t help himself but to buck himself up into your throat, grunting your name as though you would bestow him mercy. You hadn’t, yet.

‘With this?’ you asked, teasing your fingers along your glistening cunt, avoiding your clit because you were already too close, wanted to prolong it, see how crazy you could make him.

‘Fuck yeah you know with that,’ he said, his irritation real and adorable, and you grinned.

‘Tell me how,’ you said, feeling your cheeks go hot and remembering that only recently had you built up the guts to tell him you loved it the most when he encouraged you, instructed you, talked you through it.

‘Run your fingers along the outside, gather up the slick,’ he said, and you did, shivering a little both at his words and the gravelly tinge to his voice. You could see his hand trembling as he held himself, the way his cock was flexing, throbbing, for more. ‘Run your fingertip over ya little clit, tight little circles… but not too hard,’ he said, and you groaned when you touched yourself there, your stomach clenching and nearly pitching you forward, the pleasure shooting down into your legs and up into your chest. ‘Nuh uh, too hard,’ he said, and you released the pressure a little. You realised he was going to punish you for teasing him. You realised you were going to let him.

‘She feelin’ good, baby?’

‘Mmhmm’ you breathed, nodding, momentarily incapable of words.

‘I want to watch her stretch,’ he said, and you opened one eye to see that he was now tugging at himself, pulling at the skin of his cock, drooling precum and using it to lubricate the head. He was grunting a little, his breath catching as he fought to keep talking. You smiled to yourself.

‘With my hands?’ you asked, feigning innocence even as you sank down further on your knees so he could get a better view.

‘Just give her one finger f’now, don’t wanna scare her,’ he said, and you nodded. ‘She’s so tight, baby, need to be gentle with my precious little pussy.’

You gasped, rolling your head back to the ceiling as though Jesus himself might save you.

‘Oh, I want it,’ you sighed, not sure what ‘it’ even was.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he cooed, soothing you even as he tortured you by proxy. ‘Slide one inside, let that little cunt gobble it all up, that’s the way.’ You bucked again, riding your own finger, as you whined. ‘Rub that clit baby, make it easy on her.’

You took your other hand and kept the tight little circles on your clit, whimpering all the same. You raised your eyes to him, realising now he had placed the phone on the dash so you could see his face, the naked heat in his gaze as he watched you, and you gasped at the sight of him, your cunt clenching on your fingers as a bolt of want shot through you at the sight of him.

‘Joel…’ you whimpered, called for him, and his brows furrowed.

‘I know, baby, but you can do it,’ he said, and you keened, speeding up on your clit.

‘It hurts, I want you so bad,’ you complained, and you saw the grin start to emerge on his face before he schooled it, pulled it back down to faux concern for your predicament.

‘My poor girl,’ he said, nodding at you as you saw his shoulder flex, watched as he licked at his lips, trying to stave it off so that he could continue to torture you. ‘Give her one more, let that greedy little cunt have what she wants.’

You could feel tears prickling the back of your eyes, the ache for him in your chest nearly as strong as the ache for him in your core, and you slid another finger in without any resistance, your slick leaking out to pool in your waiting palm.

‘S’good baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, then shook your head, then nodded again.

‘S’better when it’s you,’ you answered, honestly, trying to hook your fingers forward like Joel did but not having the length, not having the angle.

‘Imagine I’m right there behind ya, baby,’ he said, and even as he said it you felt heat bloom on your back. You rolled your head back again, as if his imaginary shoulder could hold it. You were dimly aware that you were swivelling your hips, fucking yourself down onto your hands, as you imagined Joel’s delicious, throbbing cock poking at the small of your back.

You could feel every nerve ending from the tips of your toes to the edge of your tongue singing for him, the sparks combining with the throb of need in your cunt. You couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stay still, set on fire by the heat of it.

‘Look at me,’ he grunted, but you couldn’t, couldn’t coordinate your movements, couldn’t crack open your eyes, drowning in it, feeling the pull of it slip over your nose and mouth. ‘Look at me while you play with it,’ he said again, louder and a little meaner this time, and you felt yourself react almost purely on instinct, snapping to attention.

He was panting, his own hips shifting as he tugged at himself, sweat gathering now at his brow, the sides of his forehead wet. He was jutting out his bottom lip, jaw flexing as he bared his teeth to you, trying hard to stave off the pleasure while simultaneously being driven mad by it.

‘Look what that sweet little cunt does to me,’ he said, his voice dangerous now, low enough that you found yourself holding your breath. ‘You seein’ this, baby?’

You nodded, almost wanting to apologise for how thoroughly you had deranged him.

‘Such a good girl,’ he praised again, and you felt a shudder of your hips. ‘Can she take one more?’ he asked, and you nodded, without hesitation. He had done that to you, had made you so wet and so wanting, your cunt pounding so soundly now, that you would take anything he instructed you to give yourself. ‘Do it,’ he grunted, and you did, a third finger sliding in to greet the others, a yelp of beautiful agony leaving your lips.

‘Fuck…’ you muttered, breathless, winded with the pleasure. ‘I can’t…’

‘Yes you can, baby, doin’ so good,’ he said, and you were losing yourself to it now, could feel the momentum, that you were nearing the point of no return, that you wouldn’t be able to pull your fingers from your needy, stretched little pussy until you’d come on them, until Joel had made you come.

You tried to bark out a warning, that you were getting too close, that it was about to sweep you away, except that when you opened your eyes to look at him you saw that he was right there with you, that he was sucking in great billows of air to steady himself, that he was panting and sweating and gasping your name, calling for you, his head rocking backwards to the headrest of his truck, overcome by the want for you, only to immediately swing forward again to watch you, to stare at your hands between your thighs on his phone screen, his hard, bulging cock in his hands, ready to burst.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, when you saw the state he was in, and his eyes snapped from your cunt to your face.

‘I know, I know,’ he repeated, fighting for air, ‘I know, I know, I know….’

‘May I?’ you asked, as though you would have been able to hold back, as though you had a choice, and he nodded, releasing you from the torment. You felt it speed up, the peak rising up to meet you, the backdraft scorching a path through your core as it caught you, and you came, hollering for him, whimpering and huffing, shocked at the intensity of it, at the way it obliterated you, whited you out, the sound of Joel’s twin cries nearly drowned by it.

--

At some point you had collapsed, falling from your knees to your belly on the bed. You could hear Joel, buried somewhere under the pillows, whimpering as he came down from his high, and when you had recovered the strength you fished the phone out and brought it back to your face. He sat, his head thrown back in his truck, as he gathered himself.

‘Christ on a cracker,’ he said, and you giggled. It had been too long. You wanted to do it again.

‘You OK, honey?’ you asked, and you heard him huff out a laugh.

‘Made a damn mess of m’self,’ he said, and you giggled again, little fizzing joy finding your chest. You felt lighter, not having realised how heavy the burden of missing him had been.

‘You got a towel or anything?’ you asked, and he rolled his eyes.

‘No, I don’t have a towel. Didn’t expect to be doing that this morning.’

‘You didn’t plan it?’ you asked, incredulous.

‘Just got overcome,’ he said, his dimples re-emerging as he looked at you, bashful, through the phone.

‘Mmmm,’ you agreed, feeling somewhat overcome yourself.

‘What time’s your shift start tonight?’ he asked, and you felt reality encroach ever so slightly on your happiness.

‘Start my shift at 5,’ you said, and he nodded. You could see the crease in his brow as he concentrated.

‘Fuck it,’ he said, having apparently come to a decision. You watched as he reached forward, turning the engine over, and heard the truck roar to life. ‘Don’t move a muscle,’ he said, putting the truck into gear and reversing out of the lot.

‘Joel, what are you doing?’ you asked, laughing a little at the look of pure determination on his face.

‘You stay right there,’ he said to you, winding down the window and calling out – presumably to his boss – that he was feelin’ poorly and needed to head home.

‘Joel, you can’t leave in the middle of the day,’ you said, and you saw his smile as he totally ignored you.

‘Be there in fifteen minutes,’ he said, pausing for a second to gather his thoughts. ‘You got to play with it,’ he said, picking up the phone and preparing to hang up so he could drive. ‘Now it’s my turn.’

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Zayne, and Sylus react gn s/o who always makes it a habit to tell him that they love him whenever they can like when they wake up, before going to sleep, before they leave, and when they return?

Hearing you say such sweet and simple words like I love you at any and every given moment will never not warm his heart, ever.

Sylus could hear you speak the words softly against his chest, right where his heart is when you wake up, almost as though you were whispering secrets to it in such a loving and caring way that it only made it race within his chest and swell with warm emotions within moments of you saying such tender and powerful words.

‘I love you Sylus, stay safe and don’t do anything stupid.’ You’d tell him as you kissed his forehead, pulling away only to rest your own head against his to stare into his crimson eyes, crimson eyes that stared back at you heavily with love and utter adoration as he chuckles. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it my love, for whom shall warm you in bed when I depart?’ He’d ask jokingly.

‘Mephisto.’ You’d reply jokingly as the crow could be heard squawking confusingly from his corner of the room, head tilted to one side.

You brought or perhaps revived a warmth Sylus thought was long buried within his chest.

You brought it forth so easily that he couldn’t help but find himself wanting nothing more then to rush his business meetings just so he could hear you run towards him, burry your head into his chest as you embraced him while telling him how much you loved and missed him; almost as though the confession weighed heavily upon your tongue like it was something you had to admit to before you couldn’t anymore.

He loved how much softer and sweeter the moments before you both drift off to sleep, the last thing he hears is you saying you love him in a sleepy mumble, face buried deep into his chest as sleep encased you both whole. It was a moment he repeats when you’re far away on a mission, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be able to sleep without hearing your voice, not after having gotten use to it after your short stay in his home.

Sylus has become accustomed to you being in his home, with him and blessing it with your warmth and personality. So to have to endure a week without you was enough for Sylus to reach for the phone and call you just to hear you tell him you love him, to know that even if there was distance between the two of you that the love between you was still as strong as it was when your both together. Sylus had grown accustomed to you sharing your thoughts and inner most emotions with him, with you always kissing him on the lips or wherever you could reach and whispering;

‘I love you’ afterwards before going about your day as though you didn’t leave him wanting to keep you locked in his arms in your shared bed, to drink you and your early morning look as you both partake in sharing your warmth, lost in one another as everything else fell away for it didn’t matter as all that truly mattered was love of your life that you held in your arms.

I love you was a strong word but your version of I love you was to say that you loved him after every moment, and in the end he found himself whispering ‘I love you’ against your forehead as he kissed it softly, holding you closer to his chest protectively before you fell into peaceful slumber together with a content smile upon his face.

Stylus was complete for his other half was welhere they belonged; in his arms.

Zayne would feel as though he was back to how he felt when you first admitted your feelings for him each time you reminded him of your love for him.

His smile upon his lips was soft and gentle, his eyes were equally so as he felt light on his feet and his heart sang your name so dreamily even long after you leave his sight.

They were words that one shouldn’t say lightly but when you say ‘I love you Zayne, I’ll see you when you get back from work to watch that new movie together.’ Zayne truly believed he could hear the angels sing as he finds himself walking into work with the goal of going back home to you.

Something of which he had once thought was never going to happen even in a million lifetimes, but he had found himself blessed to even be sharing a bed with you in this lifetime.

‘I love you Zayne.’ You’d whisper softly against his lips after pecking them multiple times, wanting nothing more than to wake your beautiful doctor with some much needed affection, all the while watching the fluttering of his eyelashes as he opens those gorgeous eyes of his to look at you sweetly.

‘I love you too my dearest.’ He relies in his morning voice, rubbing his hand softly up and down your back as he brought you into kiss your temple.

Those three words only made Zayne feel as though the progression of your relationship thus far was more than worth the longing and the pinning he has to endure in silence. Even though you did tell him there were moments where you knew he felt something towards you that went beyond platonic and into something far more romantic and genuine.

‘I love you Zayne’ were words that lived within his head constantly, even if he didn’t show it sometimes he couldn’t help but find himself wanting you to say it more and more.

Was it selfish? Yes but Zayne couldn’t help it, he wanted to hear you say it for as long as he possible could, for he knew he could never get bored of hearing you say it as it was something he had been waiting for all this time.

It was like two long lost souls finally finding each other again after so, so long. It brought a weight off of his shoulders and Zayne was more than anticipating where your future would lead you, especially if admiring to your love for one another was going to become easy as breathing.

[charliemwrites]

Part 12 SpecGru reader!!

No content warnings for this chapter.

You mull over your captain’s words in the hours before dinner. Sitting behind Nova in her temporary room, Doctor Who’s opening theme warbling from your laptop’s speakers. You gently work oil into her scalp, following the precise alleys formed by her braids.

It’s a soothing ritual, not just for her, but for you. An act of care for a woman who’s been so kind and patient with you. Who always stood her ground on your worst days, and never allowed herself to be goaded into a useless argument. She’s warm beneath your fingers, soft against your chest, the scent of coconut and cinnamon sweet in your nose.

Slowly, you begin to card through memories you put great care into neglecting.

The day you left the hospital, feeling more pathetic than you ever had in your life. A packet of care instructions folded over in one hand. You remember the way Gaz hadn’t quite looked you in the eye, mouth tight and regretful at the corners. Almost guilty. Even when he handed over a bag of fresh clothes, saying he was glad to see you on your feet.

Did you know then? Was there some twinge of foreshadowing in your gut? Did you hear a foreboding whisper in your mind, of how the following twenty-four hours would devolve?

Maybe you did or maybe hindsight is a liar.

What really stands out, even after all this time, is how betrayed you felt (still feel) when you reflect on that interaction with Gaz. That the best he offered was a weak warning that Ghost and Price were pissed off at you. The hurt that he didn’t even ask how you felt before disappearing for the rest of that awful day. You never saw him after your initial discharge, he might as well have borrowed his lieutenant’s namesake.

And then there was Johnny.

Soap, who made himself perfectly visible, if only to express how pissed off he was. He never bothered to ask how you were doing either – didn’t even seem relieved to see you conscious and in one piece. He was tight-jawed and tense; the few times he deigned to speak to you was clipped and terse.

When you finally left, you remember how your chest ached, knowing (intending) you’d never see his thousand-watt smile again. A fair few of your tears on that flight had been in self-deprecation for expecting anything but his total, unwavering loyalty to Simon. It stung that for all his crowing about being a team, looking out for each other, no one left behind – he couldn’t spare you a crumb of forgiveness for a mistake in the field.

Price and Ghost had almost made sense, really. But Gaz and Soap had been a peculiar sort of pain. Your fellow sergeants, who had made you feel welcome and comfortable in the beginning – who had been the bridge and buffer between you and your intimidating superiors. And maybe it wasn’t their fault that you never quite felt like you had a seat at their table, but they’d tried.

Still… at least you can look at them. You can’t imagine opening your mouth to face Price or Ghost and anything but acid pouring out.

“What’s on your mind, babes?”

You blink, palms automatically cradling Nova’s head as she tilts it back to peer at you. On autopilot, you dip down to kiss her forehead, then the gentle curve of her lips.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the massage is nice,” she teases, “but you’ve gone over my whole head at least twice now.”

“Oh,” you intone, swiping your thumb behind her ear. “Just thinkin’ is all.”

“I can tell,” she giggles, “there’s practically smoke comin’ outta your ears.”

You grimace a bit, arms lowering down to circle her shoulders in a hug. She curls her clever, slender fingers around your forearm, tracing soft patterns with her blunt nails.

“Sorry, love,” you mumble, flicking your eyes to the screen. Realize you’ve only got a vague idea of what’s going on. “I’m being a bad date.”

“You’re not,” she insists, squeezing your wrist. “This s’all been a lot, yeah? I just don’ want you being on your own in there.”

She taps two fingers against your temple. You used to spend all your time alone in your own head. Not because it was safe – it wasn’t – but it was familiar. It took her and the rest of the team concerted effort to pry anything of value from you.

Now, you muster up an appreciative smile as you nuzzle into her hand.

“I’ve just been trying to decide…”

She pauses the show and wriggles to get a better look at your face, hums for you to continue.

“If I should try talking to the 141,” you continue. “Cap said I should consider it. See if we can put all that old shit to rest.”

“Do you want to put it to rest?”

“I should.”

“But do you want to?”

The question brings you up a bit short. Being mad is easy. You’ve been mad at them for so long, one step short of loathing, that you’ve settled into the feeling. Dug your heels in. It’s an easy way to put a stopper on all the complicated hurt lying beneath.

“I want to talk to them the same way I want to go to the dentist,” you muse.

She picks up what you aren’t saying.

“You don’t want to, but you know it’s healthier if you do.”

You grunt, still too proud to admit it outright.

“The wound closed over, but it never healed properly,” she says. “Maybe you’ve got to reset it, yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Just not sure where to start.”

She shrugs. “Wherever you want to. Do it on your own terms. Only way you’ll be able to stomach them.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“’Course I am,” she chirps. “I’m used to navigating bad weather.”

You nip at her fingers, prompting a bright peel of laughter as she tries to squirm away. As you wrestle her back into your lap, your nerves soften and settle.

Even if you excise this wound, you know you won’t be left bleeding alone. Not ever again.

You haven’t come to any concrete decision after dinner. Not that anyone asks. Nova isn’t one to push and your captain has already said his piece. You haven’t told Nikto or Keegan about your dilemma yet, and you’re not sure if you will.

Nikto’s take on the situation isn’t obvious – though if you had to guess, it would be similar to Nova’s. But Keegan? You already know what his answer would be.

Of anyone in SpecGru, he had to work the hardest to earn even an iota of warmth from you. He reminded you too much of Ghost – and how could he not? The perpetual mask, the sharp one-liners. Gruff and closed off, frighteningly capable, and a crack shot with a sniper rifle to boot.

It used to take everything in you to pull your punches during spars. The rare instances that you would agree to eat with your new team were never if Keegan was present. And more than once, you walked into the rec room, saw his looming figure, and turned right back around.

The only time you could stand to look at him was during missions, but your captain was always sure to receive a killer glare if he paired the two of you together.

Keegan was your partner on the mission that changed things.

It had been a week straight of shit sleep and bad memories, sick on loneliness and anger. When boots hit the ground, you stormed right in, eager to prove to yourself (but really, to them) that you were valuable. Didn’t wait for Keegan, but that had never stopped him from keeping pace with you before.

You didn’t clear your corners, got sloppy and hasty.

Took two stab wounds before Keegan shot the hostile in the temple. When he tried to call the others, you demanded that he finish the mission first. Would have rather bled out than be the reason another mission failed.

The pain and blood loss dragged you under as soon as you choked out the demand.

Then, Keegan’s face was the first thing you saw in the hospital room. Not the mask, him.

Even with dirt and black paint smudging his face, you could see the dark, worried circles beneath his eyes. Could read regret in his angular jaw, relief in the slant of his scarred mouth. For the first time, you looked in his eyes and saw more than an echo of your former lieutenant.

You saw your teammate. The partner you’d left to fend for himself because you’d been handicapped by your own pride. You saw Keegan.

“Did you finish the mission?” you rasped.

He frowned, but your captain stepped forward. “He did – once we were there to stop the bleeding.”

You never saw Ghost in the weave of his mask again.

And soon after, Keegan was the first person you opened up to about the 141.

It was that very same week. You’d been sick on shame and embarrassment, using your injuries to nurse your wounded ego. Skipping meals in exchange for raiding your snack drawers and moping in your cot.

Keegan hadn’t made himself scarce after your discharge. None of your team had, really – but he’d made a point of checking on you. And lacking your usual sharpness, he hadn’t been deterred by your comparatively mild standoffishness either.

Which was how you found yourself stubbornly tucked into the corner of your cot one night, while Keegan sewed the holes in your shirt. He kept shooting you amused looks – probably because you hadn’t taken your eyes off him once. Half wondering why he was there, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You gonna say something, or you just glare all night?” he drawled eventually.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you plan to stay all night?”

He shrugged, but his eyes flicked to yours, the corner of his mouth ticking up. (No mask. He hadn’t worn one around you since the hospital. Not unless people outside your team were around.)

“If you’ll have me. Been meaning to get you caught up on the show we’ve been watching.”

You huffed, frustrated. “Why?”

He arched his brows at you, needle paused. “Because I like you, despite your best efforts.”

You stared, a little appalled, a little touched. Keegan just chuckled and went right back to mending your shirt. You drew your knees up tighter and hid your quivering mouth with your arms.

“Cap says your last team was shit to you,” he said into your sullen silence.

You scowled. He put a hand up as if in surrender.

“He hasn’t said more’n that, don’t worry,” he continued, “I’m just sayin’… I don’t take any of it personal. You’re a good teammate, I trust you with more than my six.”

Why, you wanted to demand, flabbergasted and all the guiltier because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Why did he trust you? Why was he so patient? Why was he there at all?

You sniffled, but he just kept talking.

“I want to return the favor, ya know? I’m not askin’ you to trust me after the mission, but you don’t gotta be on your own either.”

You were crying quietly by that point, face so hot that your tears felt cold, stomach aching from more than stab wounds. He finally looked up, saw how you were falling apart. But he didn’t shy away, didn’t close himself off. It wasn’t pity or sympathy that softened his eyes.

“The shit you and I carry, we’re not meant to do it alone, sweets.”

And what else could you do, but spill your sorry guts?

You remember the expression on his face when you got to the part about Ghost. Remember how tightly he held you on your cot, all the distance (emotional and physical) closed between you two. Remember waking up the next morning, Netflix still open on your laptop and flopped gracelessly over Keegan’s stomach like a childhood sleepover.

You couldn’t have iced him out again even if you wanted to, after that.

No, there’s no question what Keegan would tell you, if you asked about talking to the 141. He would say there’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of them.

So, you don’t ask.

You climb into his lap in your temporary room that evening, peeling his mask up and off with slow hands. His eyes are already half-lidded, the corner of his mouth curved fondly. His hands spread across your thighs, warm and rough. The scar twisting across his left palm is sweetly familiar when he draws it along your skin.

“I’m going to try talking to the 141,” you admit.

His jaw twitches, eyes flickering. “Now why the hell would you do that?”

You sigh, curl your fingers into the brassy crop of hair he’s been growing out. He’s got a quick temper, and a habit of misplacing it when it’s been triggered by something out of his control. You don’t take it personally, you never have – it’s gratifying to see how much he cares.

“There’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of ‘em,” he growls.

“There might be.”

He sits back, skeptical but waiting.

You continue, “I’ve got a lot of shit to say to them, and they seem eager to hear it.”

“Why give ‘em the satisfaction?” he asks.

“Maybe it’ll help with the nightmares.” That gives him pause. You draw your thumb soothingly across his temple – a bullet graze from saving your life. “We’ve got too much shit to carry, you and me. Unloading some of it is as good a reason as any.”

His hand drifts up your side, grazes the tattoo coiling down your arm. (The second you ever got – a big piece that took hours, Keegan never leaving your side. Nikto, Nova, and your captain periodically dropping in to provide snacks and water.)

He cups your jaw, guides your face down until your foreheads touch. You stay there, breathing him in. He smells like yours.

“What if they make it worse, huh?” His thumb caresses over your cheekbone the way it has a dozen times before, wiping away tears. “I’ll have to kill ‘em.”

You huff softly, amused. “Then kill ‘em. But I’m stronger than I was, Kee. There’s nothing they can weigh me down with that I can’t carry.”

“I know,” he whispers, tilting his chin to drop a sweet, aching kiss on your lips.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be carrying it alone anymore.”

His expression lightens, pride shining from his eyes. “Damn right.”

It’s nearly midnight when you wake from a light doze. Keegan is snoring softly, an arm and leg each hanging over the side of the bed. Your mouth is dry, but you realize it’s your stomach that woke you – pangs of hunger from picking at your dinner earlier. You need to eat.

Quiet and careful, you crawl out from beneath the sheets. Keegan is a heavy sleeper compared to the nearly supernatural senses of Nikto; he hardly stirs as you pad for the door. The hall lights are dim, but you only open it a crack to slip out.

The hall is quiet, no lights on beneath any of the other doors. You hope that means the rest of your team is sleeping peacefully. If you remember right, Nikto and Nova crawled in with your captain this evening. They’re all in good company if nightmares creep in; you pray Keegan doesn’t have any while you’re up.

Thankfully, the rec room is only two halls away. Light is spilling out as you turn the corner – there’s a sensor that shuts them off if no movement is detected for a while. Someone is either in there now or was recently. You half hope it’s the latter, but that doesn’t deter you from entering.

Your surprised to find Soap leaning against the kitchenette counter, a steaming mug in hand. His expression is flat, grim. Tired. You pause just inside the doorway.

“Might as well come in,” he says, voice low and rough. “I’ll clear out in a mo’.”

Even from where you’re standing, you can see that his cup is mostly full.

You exhale and shake your head. “Don’t have to.”

“How gracious,” he rasps, brows twitching like he wants to scowl. Like he can’t quite commit to being as bitter as he should be.

You’re too tired for your usual acid, as well. Just sigh and reach for the fridge door.

“Is that how you want this conversation to go?” you ask.

“Is this a conversation?” he replies.

You pluck out a yogurt cup. “It can be.”

He’s glaring into his coffee now, index finger tapping at the ceramic. Thinking. Or maybe just leashing all the things he wants to say but knows will drive you right back out.

“Why now?” he says finally.

You shrug. “Because I’m ready now.”

A tendon in his jaw twitches. “That’s not fair.”

A hot flicker of anger ignites in your chest. You tamp it down with a spoonful of yogurt, measuring out your words and tone.

“How do you reckon?” you inquire.

“You left,” he says. It’s been a while, but you can detect the hurt underlying the accusation. You suspect it’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time. “You left us behind.”

You click your teeth off your spoon, take a deep breath. It’s factually true. You are the one that left but—

“I wasn’t going to wait for you all to kick me out officially.”

He finally raises his eyes, a dark storm of emotion swirling within them.

“We wouldnae have.”

You tilt your head, cynicism in the flat line of your mouth. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

“I ken you and Simon were—”

“Don’t.”

His mouth snaps shut, brows furrowed. You point at him with your spoon warningly but bite back the sharp remark on your tongue. Arguing isn’t the point here.

Settle instead to say, “Don’t speak for the others.”

There’s a beat of silence as he digests that, then finally nods. “Alright. Just you ‘n me then.”

You turn back to your yogurt, swipe up another spoonful as you reorganize your thoughts.

“I didn’t leave because of Ghost,” you begin. “Not entirely. I left because I was never part of the team. And what happened after that mission just… made it all very clear.”

Soap frowns, opens his mouth like he wants to deny it, but you hold up a finger to stop him. He takes a long sip of coffee and waits.

“You didn’t check on me at all. You weren’t there when I woke up. You never asked if I was okay,” you continue. “You were too busy being angry on Ghost’s behalf.”

“You almost got the both of you killed,” he argues.

“But you cared more about Ghost almost being hurt than the fact that I was,” you say. And dammit, you feel your sinuses burning, but your eyes stay blessedly dry. The anger disappears from his face all at once as realization sinks in. “I mattered to you less than Ghost.”

His hand tightens around his mug, knuckles blanching. “No. No, lass, tha’s no’… you were always… you survived.”

“I felt the worst I ever had in my life, but you didn’t care because I crossed the almighty Ghost,” you insist.

“I cared about you,” he denies.

“But not more than you did about Ghost.” You drag your gaze up to his. Even his eyes look a little wet now. “And that… that wasn’t enough for me.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, trying to loosen the tightness in your chest. Clear your throat once you feel the threatening prick of tears subside.

“I didn’t… it wasnae that,” he rasps. “I ken you think I’m full of shite, but ‘s true.”

You do think he’s full of shit. Maybe not on purpose, maybe he really does think he cared about you as much as Ghost, but you know better.

“I was just… so angry wi’ you,” he explains. “You could have died. Nearly got Simon killed, all because you thought you knew better.”

You exhale hard. “You’ve never made a bad call?” you challenge.

“It wasnae your call to make. You should have listened to Ghost. Instead, you—”

“I what?”

Your fingers tingle, numb. Can’t even feel the spoon, or the chill of the yogurt cup anymore.

“You disobeyed orders, it was so—”

“I didn’t.”

He stops. Stares. “What?”

You stare right back, “I didn’t disobey orders.”

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[chuulyssa]

jealous monster trio + law and ace x reader

a/n. not proofread!! i wrote this on my phone in the middle of watching a movie ong. idk why there aren't many dialogues in ace and law's part, but im lowkey pleased with how everything turned out

tags. fluffy fluff fluff, established relationship

crack tags. sanji gets a nosebleed (again), sanji tries to steal you away, sanji (that's it, that's the warning), marco bepo and robin are the best matchmakers, nami robs someone 😴

luffy wasn't the type to be overly possessive about the things he liked. growing up with two brothers, he had learned to share all mundane things in his life; his clothes, his blanket, even his toothbrush.

but not you.

luffy didn't understand the feeling that was developing in the pit of his stomach at the sight of you working out with zoro in the crow's nest. it was nice to stay healthy, right? that was what he had thought when he saw you reject his offer to play board games with him. he watched you walk away and up to the crow's nest where the swordsman practically lived, and sulkily climbed his special seat on the head of the sunny.

"oi, luffy! come down," usopp called out from the deck, and he glanced at the latter. "robin's telling us another story of the ancient civilizations of the west blue!"

"i'm not in the mood," luffy shouted back, still gazing wistfully at you.

he watched your face contort into one of pain when you moved to do the crunches, and zoro laughed at you before showing you how to breathe in the position as you lifted yourself back up.

"are you sure? i think you're just hungry!" usopp called again. "robin said we can have some of the special pancakes sanji made for her."

luffy stared back at his friend, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought hard. soon after, he yelled back, "i'll come down, give me one second!"

as you got back up from the crunch you were performing, you saw a long arm on the glass wall of the room and nearly screamed. luffy accidentally slammed his face into the wall, his cheeks comically enlarged as he spoke something incoherent to you. zoro rolled his eyes from beside you.

"i think he's saying break time is over. you've gotta go deal with him now."

.

zoro was rather secure in your relationship. he didn't mind it when other people commented about how nice you are, or about how pretty you look. he let it all slide, seeing as he knew all of the comments were true, and you deserved to know that. so he wasn't one to get mad when such things happened.

except when it came to the idiot cook.

it had been almost fifteen minutes past your usual time and you still hadn't shown up. zoro had gritted his teeth in the middle of a set and set out to find you. it didn't take him long, however, to figure out what was keeping you.

"my dear y/n, you must listened to this acoustic poem i have written in your name," the cook had one of your hands in his, blocking your way up to the crow's nest.

"i'm sure it's lovely, sanji, but i'm in a hurry right now--"

"ah, where, i wonder, must i look to find another beauty such as yourself--?"

"oi, cook! buzz off, will ya? no one wants you around," zoro's voice came from upstairs, and you turned to look at him.

the cook glared at him from behind you, but immediately pouted wistfully when you turned back at him. "don't say that, 'ro," you scolded, and the cook's face lit up at your words, eyes gleaming at the sight of zoro's annoyed look.

"i said what i said," zoro walked downstairs, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers when he reached you. "buzz off, prince of the perverts."

.

sanji is a little bit of an idiot. insecurity runs in his veins, and thus so does jealousy. you would have felt bad for him too, had he not been making you feel the same way since day one.

his face streamed with tears as he followed you around the marketplace. a few minutes earlier, you had caught him shooting to the sky with a nosebleed because of some poor woman's smile. he had landed right at your feet, the sight momentarily disarming you before you kicked his frame out of the way to walk.

it had been about half a minute of you ignoring him and he was on his hands and knees, begging for you to spare a glance at him. you would have felt bad, had this not been the fiftieth time in a week. you instead chose to turn to usopp, who had grown to learn to ignore sanji and his antics around women ever since they first met at the baratie. sanji's ears turned a bright red at your movement, and he clinged even harder at you

the two of you silently agreed to not wait for nami while she was busy robbing civilized people in a restaurant, and sped up at the looks the passersby were giving sanji, who was practically hanging onto your waist right now.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry, angel, i know that's not gonna cut it but i beg for your humble forgiveness, i will not ever-"

"how do you deal with this moron?" usopp whispered to you, and you whispered back an "i don't know".

sanji kept mumbling things into your hips and pressing soft kisses into your waist, until you gave in when chopper hurried up to where you were, polaroids of your smile hanging around his neck; your boyfriend was just in rehab!

.

ace didn't think you looked half as good with anyone else but him. that is another way to say, he couldn't stand anyone who was within a certain radius from you. he wouldn't talk about it at all, and whenever you would bring it up he would play dumb.

but he hated it; not in a you're-mine-and-belong-to-me way but more in a im-just-a-boy-who-needs-external-validation-to-exist kinda way.

so he didn't like the way you were the only 'daughter' in whitebeard's crew among all the 'sons' who spoke about you like you were a trophy. he didn't like how you were placed under marco's division and not his. he didn't like how both whitebeard and marco laughed at him whenever they caught him looking at you.

after a particularly rough mission, the first division was having a blast with all the treasure they had managed to get back. ace looked at you with a longing pout on his face, about ten feet away from you. you were laughing with thatch at the moment, and he was busy fantasizing about how you would react if he carried you into your shared room on his shoulder, kissed the back of your nape and sucked hickeys to spell his name on your neck--

marco slapped the back of his head and his face fell into his plate with a loud crash.

"thank me later," marco said, eyes unwavering as the man in front of him fell asleep face-first into a plate full of food.

he went away as ace woke up shortly after, his face covered in curry, with men laughing at and mimicking him, but among all of them, his ears only heard the sound of your laughter before you quickly got up to hand him tissues.

.

law did not care. or at least, he pretended not to. after all, it had taken multiple tantrums from bepo to get him to confess to you, and even then he had made it clear he was not a fan of whatever you might have thought to be an 'ideal, loving relationship'.

that was, until today, when you had learned just how far you had to push his buttons to transform him into a romantic man. you could feel law's gaze on you as you laughed at whatever dumb thing luffy had just said, but when you turned around, he was busy conversing with robin about who knows what. once again, you turned to luffy, felt weird, turned back and saw nothing. for every minute you talked to the straw hat about something, you could feel law breathing down your neck, albeit in a subtle manner that no one but you seemed to catch.

"law," you finally came up to him, and he looked up at you as if he hadn't for ages. "is something wrong?"

"what makes you think so?" he challenged, and you could feel robin chuckle next to him. after shooting her a perplexed look, you shrugged and walked back to where the group was having fun, staying a bit closer to chopper this time, for luffy's safety.

it wasn't until the two of you had retreated back to your shared room for the night that you had realised what you felt had not been a hoax. law was on you the moment you lay next to him on the bed, nuzzling up to you and pressing gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks.

you were confused, to say the least, but you had a faint suspicion that this strange side of law was the idea of a certain archaeologist.

[sweetimpurity]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ day 8!! yay! can you believe we're already a week into october?? wc: 1.4k love ya! masterlist>>

The buzzing of the electric razor fills the small apartment bathroom. The mirror is still a little foggy, a towel around his waist. Hot water still dripping down his back from his hair.  His dark eyes focused on the angle of his jaw. Running the trimmer over the edge and shaving away the growth of a few days' time. The square of his chin and down to his neck, trying to get it all even. Running his fingers over the freshly shaven skin. Hair falling into the bathroom sink. 

“Hey babe?” He calls. Your spot on the bed, phone in hand, distracted. “Yeah?”

“Can you see if this is even?” 

He waits, looking at himself in the mirror. When did those crows feet come in? And the smile lines. Those seem new. “Haa…” He sighs.

“Lemme see…” You murmur, entering the bathroom behind him. The humidity high from the steaming hot shower he just indulged in. Standing in front of him now. His huge height. Looking over the job he did. He’s so handsome. You can’t help but smile.

When did the crows feet come in? He thinks. He can’t stop thinking about it. Waiting for your answer and thinking to himself. Not nice thoughts. “Looks even to me…” You hum, smiling up at him, eyes drifting down his broad, built chest. Chest hair littered over his pecs. It’s wildly attractive. One of your favorite things about his body. “Okay…” He sighs. Not meeting your eye contact. 

He turns the razor back on. The buzz filling your ears. But you’re too distracted by his body to realize what he’s doing. Looking down towards his stomach and he’s holding the razor to his skin. 

“No, what are you doing?!” You squeal, startling him frankly so he flinches in surprise. You hand gripping his wrist, looking up at him with utter betrayal and he’s completely bewildered. “What are you doing…”

“I’m shaving, cariño…” He hums. Voice as soft and silky as ever. Even when he’s looking at you like you’re a complete crazy person. 

“Well you… you can’t shave that…” You stutter. What is he thinking? 

“I don’t like the hair, baby… it makes me look old…” He says matter of factly, gripping the razor and attempting the ultimate crime once more. “No babe! No, please don’t. I will literally cry…” 

“Babe. It’s hair, it’ll grow back. And then I’ll shave it again.”

“It’s your happy trail, Miguel. Do not shave it.” 

“Happy trail? Makes me look like an old man.” He huffs with a scowl at himself in the mirror. Turning the razor up to a higher setting, the buzzing higher and louder than before. “No no!” You whine, wrapping yourself around him, pressing yourself to his abdomen. 

“Why not…” He huffs, a little annoyed now with you latched onto him like that, preventing him from just doing it.

“It makes me happy…” You whine pathetically. And he just sighs. “Well then I’m shaving my chest or something… there’s too much hair baby. It doesn’t look good.” 

“No!” You whine, taking your voices up a few octaves to try and convince him. “It looks good, Miguel, you always look good. Why do you wanna shave it?” You look straight up at him, pleading eyes. 

“Makes me look fucking old I-I have crows feet, cariño. And smile lines. And- and gray hairs!” He exclaims, leaning forward with you still latched around him. Leaning close to the mirror and spotting a few stray grays grown in and tainting his otherwise dark curls. “You’re perfect…” You mumble, your voice muffled by his chest crushing you against the bathroom counter. 

“Ow fuck.” He hisses, pulling the grays out, or trying to, one by one. 

“Baby… Miguel… mi vida, mi amor…” You hum, using all the pet names he calls you, trying to stop his mind, his tunnel of bad thoughts. You can’t believe he would think this way about himself. “You don’t look old… you don’t look bad…”

“Don’t lie…” He sighs, frowning down at you. More like a pout. You want to kiss it off his lips. 

“I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth.” You sigh. Clearing your mind with a deep breath. Trying to see this from his point of view too. “If you… want to shave… if you want to pull the gray hairs out… then you can… you can do whatever makes you comfortable…” You explain, detangling your arms from him. He just looks down at you, listening to your words. “But you don’t look bad… I think you look perfect. You are perfect… just like this.” 

“You’re not just saying that?” He frowns, raising his brow at you.

“No… Mig. I wouldn’t change a thing about you… honestly…” 

He can’t help the smile at your words. “Do you actually like it? You like me with all this hair…” He says as if he’s trying to convince you you’re crazy. That you shouldn’t be attracted to him like this because he doesn’t think he looks good. 

“You look like… a man, Miguel.” You say, trying to make a point and he gives you a doubtful look. Like you’re just saying that to make him feel better.

“When you’re deep in me baby… I need this…” You say quietly. Laying your hands on his chest. The hair, the tan, the warmth. His brow cocks interested. Your words are getting through to him now. “I need it, I love it, please don’t shave it…” You whisper, pressing yourself to him, your arms snaking around his waist. A warmer smile breaks out on his face. His frustration melted into something softer. His arms finally wrapping around you in return. Pulling you with him, walking backwards out of the bathroom, back to the bedroom. 

…

“Oh baby! Mmm!” You sob and whine. Making so much noise, bouncing on his big dick, working in and out. His hands gripping your hips, bearing his teeth at the effort it takes to not paint your walls white immediately. But the way you want him. The way you so easily just built up his confidence when it was crumbling. Drives him crazy. 

His eyes are glued to the way your tits bounce, bringing his big hands up to cup them. Rolling the pads of his thumbs over your nipples. Pulling whines from your throat. Just laying back and letting you do all the work. Letting you put on a show for him, watching you swallow him whole over and over. His big dick buried in your sweet perfect pussy. Your hands stay glued to his chest as you ride him. His abdomen. His precious happy trail now sloppy and sticky now with your cum and slick. His hairy chest flushed and reddened just a twinge from your fingernails digging into his pecs. 

“Fuck fuck… ah…” You sigh, thighs burning from the workout and slowing down. But you just want to come so bad. You can feel the burn starting to cool. Until he juts up into you from below. Hitting your cervix and making you double over, splatting onto his chest. His thick arms, also scattered with dark hair, locking around your body laid on his. Keeping you locked down and fucking his hips up into you. You can’t help but scream and squeal. Your fingers desperately gripping into the sheets at his sides for dear life. Held down, your tits squished against his hairy pecs, his happy trail leading to the dark hair at his base, kissing your clit and creating delicious friction with every bed shaking thrust. “Mig… M-ah… Miguel!” You’re a moany mess, fucked to dust and back again. 

Soon enough the friction starts a fire, your eyes fluttering back and coming on him with groans of his name. How perfect he is. How much you love him. Every part of him. He growls deep and rough, one especially hard pound into your hole and he’s spurting deep inside. And whatever doesn’t fit dribbles back out mixed with your sloppy slick, staining the sheets. 

“More Miggy… I want… I want more…” You whine, nuzzling into his neck since he’s still holding your arms to your sides in a vice grip. He’s coming down from the high and you’re such a little needy bunny. He sighs, feeling you trying to move on him again. Trying to suck him back in for more. Clicking his tongue at your pathetic attempts. And yet he still gives in, rolling over, pressing you down into the mattress, sinking back in through your silky soft walls. 

“You’re gonna give me more gray hairs, baby…”

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[cherubfae]

𝔠𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔱-𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 || {𝔡𝔲𝔫𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔦}

ft. laios, marcille, chilchuck, namari, mickbell, & kabru

tags: sfw, bit of blood/gore, alcohol consumption, gender neutral/ implied afab reader (use of they/them), reader wraps their chest!, reader is implied to be a canine-like beast but left ambiguous (wolf, fox, coyote, etc) lovedrunk and flustered babies, pre-established relationship, reader can be interpreted as a beast-man, magically altered being, were-beast, etc!!, they can turn into an actual beast

a/n: I flustered myself writing this lmao, clearly i do not have favorites whaaaa-- haha! it's good to be back. I hope all of you are well and you enjoy this fic!! kabru's got unintentionally longggg <3 -- noah

Laios

Holy crow!! You are so, so, amazing!! This man will watch in awe as you easily strike down your enemy with a single downstroke of your blade. It glides through the monster like butter, a gust of wind from the blow kicking up dirt and debris.

You scoff, nose twitching in disgust as you shake off the bits of blood and gore that cling to the sharp steel. Your eyes drift upwards, ears perking up at Laios's interest. Eyebrow lifting into your hairline in question.

"O-oh, ah, good job!" Laios sputters, a rosy hue coating his cheeks. Lips tilting into a slight smirk you nod in response. You give him a thumbs up, winking your eye playfully at the blonde.

"Happy to help! By the way, why're you all red?"

Laios gulped, "Ju-just kind of warm in here, y'know? M'okay." He tugs at the collar beneath his chest armor for effect, his golden gaze looking anywhere but down at you and your pretty smile. He absolutely doesn't want to fixate how the points of your fangs jut out ever so slightly from beneath your upper lip, and how much he would very much like to touch them.

Marcille

She's no better than a man, she's no better than a man, she's no better than a man--

Marcille, despite the shame that digs deep into her gut, cannot tear her eyes away from you as you wash away the soot and ash covering your arms. Your shirt had been torn by the blast of one her explosive spells, leaving your arms and a bit of your bare torso exposed.

Tracing the path your veins map out, Marcille swallows thickly. Your arms were defined with muscle, not too bulky. You had clearly worked hard to get where you are. A much more experienced and capable dungeon explorer.

"You alright, Marcy?" Your voice floats to her ears, making them twitch. Suddenly bursting into a panic, Marcille blubbers out a screech.

Floundering, she squeaks, "Ah! Yes!! I'm so sorry-- your shirt!! I can fix it!" She grasps her staff, crowding herself in front of you. You wave her off gently, patting her shoulder.

You grin, fangs poking out. "Nah, s'alright. Got another one in my pack." You turn your back to her, peeling off the remains of your shirt, adjusting the wraps around your chest and back before kneeling down to rummage in your rucksack for a new tunic. Marcille damn near passes out.

Chilchuck

Normally he hates being shoved out of the way and pushed around like he's some kid, but with the absolute onslaught you bring during fighting, he's glad to have you looking out for him!

You are so many things: strong, swift, quick on your feet, and can be incredibly brutal when you need to be. You aren't just a threat to an enemy you face, you are a promise. You see to it that any foe will not harm your party.

Chilchuck himself isn't immune to the way you seem to get a bit more feral when he is threatened."He-ey!! What are you--!" He can't stop the way his heart leaps into his throat. His surprised gasp cut short when you scoop him up into your arms, dodging a long bow arrow barreling towards him.

With ears ringing at the deep, low snarl rumbling in the back of your throat, Chil blinks owlishly. He follows your gaze to see living armor being taken down by Izutsumi. Sighing in relief, the halfling relaxes in your embrace. He is incredibly lucky to have you looking out for him! Glancing up at you, his face explodes into a red glow upon seeing your tender gaze already transfixed on him.

Yeah, you might end up being the death of him.

Namari

A person after her own heart!! She revels in the rush of adrenaline that courses through her veins when she takes down an enemy, but you're even a step further than her!

Not only are you strong but you are an amazing asset to the team! You're incredibly versatile with weapons: axes, swords, lances, daggers, bows-- you name it! But what's really killer about you are your claws and teeth! How you can turn into an actual beast when angered enough, determined to fight for those you love. Namari has never met someone quite as unique as yourself. She just wished you weren't in Laios's party, but in hers.

You are immaculate, Namari thinks. She can't help but stare at you from across the bar, watching with an immense yearning as you laugh heartily with Laios and Marcille throwing your pints of ale up in a toast.

"Why don't you go talk to them? O-oh shit, here they come!" Chilchuck slurs from behind his own pint, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol. Namari sighs, too buried in her own thoughts to register her friend's words. Setting down her cup fingers sliding along the lip of the glass. She clumsily reaches over for the pitcher, gasping as it nearly tumbles off the edge of the table. You catch it with ease, smiling with that same kind smile she loved.

Pulling up a stool, you settle down besides the two on the opposite end. Smiling, you refill your friend's drinks before filling up your own tumbler once more. Chilchuck downs his drink in one go, hiccupping softly. Folding his arms in front of him, he rests his head atop them for a quick snooze.

Snickering, your gaze turns to Namari, who suddenly feels like she's sobering up at a rapid pace. You're absolutely beautiful in the orange glow and warmth of the tavern. Drowning out the sound of the drunkards, she can barely focus on the words you're saying, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to read your lips.

"Let's get you home, Namari. I think you need some sleep." You gently muse, standing from your stool. Waving over your shoulder at Laios, you help Namari up, leaning her against your body. Marcille lifts Chilchuck up onto her back like a rucksack, despite his protests he ultimately relented. (They totally bickered like a teen daughter and her middle-aged father about wanting to stay five more minutes)

The night air was cool against your flushed skin. Namari shudders, tucking her chin and nose beneath the wool collar of her shirt, pressing herself closer to you and your warmth. Her hand slides carefully into yours, wobbly smiling when you lightly squeeze her hand. Even in her drunken stupor, she can't fight the awe of how easily you sway her stubborn heart.

Mickbell

If Kuro isn't the first to rush to Mickbell's aid, it's you instead. The more you help rescue him, the more he will start to rely on you, so don't you slack off!!

Mick gets an absolute kick out of watching you blast any sort of enemy away with your strength and he'd never admit out loud how much he enjoys the view, especially if you're defending him.<3 it makes him feel all giddy when you swoop in and save him.

Today was no different than before. A morgue of ghosts swarm the immediate area, dropping the temperature down a few levels. Accompanying the specters, is a lone basilisk. It's dual heads watching Mickbell like a lion on a hunt. Warm puffs of breath cling to the air as Kabru readies his sword, Holm making his way to the opposite end of the basilisk, a jar of holy water in his hands.

The basilisk lets out an ungodly shriek and surges forward. Knocking Mickbell back, you press your body over his, effectively becoming a shield over him. You're snarling, teeth exposed with intent to bite. Mick curls his hands against your tunic, eyes squeezing tight and prepares for impact.

"Now Holm!" Kabru slices downwards as Holm slices upwards, decapitating both heads. Mumuring a silent spell, Holm swirls the jar of holy water around like a lasso, shooing away the ghosts.

Gently prying Mick's hands from your shirt, you place a warm palm to his chilled cheek. His downcast green eyes open immediately, and he throws himself into your embrace, winding his arms around your neck. "Gaaah!! That was so scary!!" Over your shoulder, you miss how Mickbell gives Kuro a cheeky grin and a thumbs up.

Kabru

He has met all sorts of travelers and merchants and dungeon experts. While Laios is one that perplexes him, Kabru's curiosity in you reaches a certain level of fondness he isn't quite equipped to deal with. He knows he will be able to rely on you in the heat of battle at any given time. Your strength is plentiful, but even you have your limits.

"Does it still hurt?" Kabru softly asked. He sits beside you on the stone floor, shuddering at the slight chill that seeps in through his clothing. You lift your gaze to him, blinking slow. Kabru notes how your pupils dilate ever so slightly when you face him, something he feels hopeful for. You return your attention to the wound on your leg neatly wrapped in bandages-- a direwolf bite.

Giving a noncommittal shrug, you finish your handiwork, setting the bloodied old bandages ablaze. "I've had worse. If the wolf had broken my bones, that'd be another story. I don't want Rinsha wasting her mana on me. I can keep up just fine, I won't slow us down."

Kabru takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger softly, forcing you to look at him. "I didn't ask if you could keep up, I asked if it still hurt. You got hurt because you saved me from that direwolf, I've failed you." There's a tenderness in his azure stare.

"It hurts a bit," you whisper, unable to glance away. "You never fail me, Kabru." You smile. Kabru looses a small breath.

"I won't let that happen again. You have my word." For a moment, the world stills and the two of you find yourself leaning in. You can feel his warm breath on your lips, hyperaware of his large palm sliding down your arm to rest on your waist. Your hands slid to the front of his tunic, curling your knuckles into the fabric. He gasps softly when you tug him to you, lips almost touching when--

"HEY KABRU!" The shrill voice of Mickbell jerks the two of you apart. You gasp sharply as your leg knocks into the adjacent stone wall. Kabru is instantly at your side fretting over you.

Mickbell stares you two down from the doorway at opposite end of the room, mouth drawn into a confused expression. "Uhh, hey. Just wanted to know what's for dinner. You two good? Why do you look so red?" He shrugs his shoulders half a second later, deciding he really didn't care to know the answer. Wiggling himself between the two of you, Mickbell sighs and folds his arms back behind his head with closed eyes; completely oblivious to the shared flustered looks you and Kabru are sending one another.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[eevees-hobbies]

Watching Fireworks with Your Hashira Boyfriend

Content Warning: Fluff. Reference to intimacy with Gyomei but nothing major. Also, gender neutral.

Contains: Obana Iguroi, Kyojuro Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Gyomei Himejima & Giyu Tomioka

Obanai Iguro

Isn’t this the spot…? You find yourself questioning your conversation with Obanai as you look around for any sign of the Serpeant Hashira. You’re standing on the only small hill that overlooks the Hashira Estates; you both agreed to meet at this exact location to get a better view of the fireworks.

Blue and yellow dual-colored eyes look down at you, amusement hidden by the bandages wrapped around the lower half of his face. “When will you stop falling for this trick?” Obanai’s smooth voice travels from above you, and your head snaps up.

Fuck, when WILL I stop falling for this trick? 

“I knew you were there along! But hey…I thought we were watching the fireworks together?” 

“This angle is far superior,” he responds cooly, his gaze never leaving you.

You huff and look at the ground. Guess we aren’t sitting next to each other for the show. Your sulking session is interrupted as the ground disappears beneath your feet, and your nose is unexpectedly pressed against his uniform. For an instant, you feel like you're floating until Obanai sits you carefully on the thick branch that originally housed only him. Your brief disappointment in not having his arms wrapped around you quickly dissipates as the first firework launches into the sky, illuminating his face a dazzling yellow.

“You’re right. This is the far superior angle,” you smile and take his hand into yours. 

Kyojuro Rengoku

Kyojuro Rengoku is a pure romantic, so it’s no surprise that he approaches you first about the fireworks show before it even crosses your mind. 

“Y/N! You must accompany me on a date to see the fireworks!”

You enthusiastically agreed, but when you offered to bring snacks to share and enjoy while you watched, Kyojuro insisted that you should not worry about planning anything.  

You wait patiently at the agreed-upon location, but Kyojuro is nowhere to be found. Ten minutes pass before you see him heaving two large baskets in your direction and a large blanket under his arm. “Sorry, I’m late! Turns out packing a basket with copious amounts of food is its own skill!” He drops both baskets at your feet with a loud thud.

“Kyo! A picnic. I’m flattered, but you could have asked for help.” Kyojuro spreads the blanket out before you both and carefully unloads the baskets' contents. He’s brought all your favorites—sweet, fried, salty—and even has warm drinks in small thermos containers.  

“I did not want you to worry about anything, my flame! Please sit.” He pats the space next to him; you lower yourself onto the blanket and lean your head on his shoulder. “I love you,” you whisper as a cool chill makes you shudder. Not missing a beat, Kyojuro whips his Haori from his shoulders and transfers it to your own.

“Kyo, you’re perfect, you know that?”

He blushes but smiles at you nonetheless, “I’ve never thought of myself as that, but it pleases me that you see me that way! Now, what should we eat first and might I be so bold to ask you if I can feed you?”

Tengen Uzui

What’s flashier than fireworks? Only the God of Festivals himself! Tengen is fucking stoked for the firework show and lets you know that it’s his tradition to watch them every year, and while none of his wives like to attend, he’d enjoy it if you watched with him! 

Unfortunately, a Kasugai crow arrives two days before the light show, instructing Tengen to head North in search of a demon that is hunting children in a small fishing village. Duty calls, but of course, it’s a significant blow to your intended plans.

Tengen leaves on his mission but only after telling you that you should watch the fireworks anyway. Who knows, depending on where he is, you both might be watching at the same time, and that’s kind of exciting, too, right? 

So, on the night of the fireworks show, you perch yourself on a small wall and look up at the sky, your mind wandering and wondering what Tengen is doing at that exact moment. You shiver, a sudden presence envelopes you and pulls you into an embrace from behind. 

“Hey, beautiful. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

Your body melts into his chest as the first fireworks fly into the night sky. You don’t have to look back to see the joy that overtakes his features—you can just feel it.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Does Sanemi enjoy fireworks? Not especially. He thinks they’re too loud and hates it when the air gets polluted with so much smoke it makes his eyes burn. Those may seem like silly reasons, but there’s also a more relevant explanation for his disdain, which has to do with demons. At one point, he fought a demon that was using the cover of fireworks to devour villagers; the loud pops and smokey environment created the perfect storm. 

Regardless of those reasons, he’d never tell you that he hates fireworks, and as he glimpses over at you, the pure joy written all over your features as a firework whizzes into the air and explodes into blue-like gems that cascade downward from the sky. He thinks that, in some instances, fireworks may be okay. 

Sanemi pulls you into his lap and rests his face in the nape of your neck. “Nemi!” you protest, “you’re going to miss the show.”

“Naw, I’m good like this.” He snakes his arms around you and allows himself to exist—and relax—in this moment with you.

Gyomei Himejima

“That one was beautiful, Gyomei.”

“Describe it to me.”

You search for the right words to describe the light show in front of you—you always thought you were decent with words until you met Gyomei who made it a habit of asking you to describe things that had always felt painfully ordinary. It wasn’t until you started to describe the world around you with vibrancy and depth that you began to appreciate the beauty of the world around you. 

"Well, those lights, in particular, were a bright orange and crimson color and…you know how when we wake up in the morning, you can feel the sun touching your face as it peeks in through the window; how the rays feel gentle, warm, and exactly like what you need to start your day on a good note? That’s what those colors feel and look like, to me.”

You blush, hoping your descriptions are enough to paint a picture for him. Gyomei doesn’t need you to describe things to him, especially with his enhanced senses, but your honeyed voice never ceases to stir something in him, so he makes you narrate—a lot.

Gyomei hums approvingly, “thank you, my sweet girl. But I hate to admit that when I wake up every morning, I no longer associate the sun with warmth. For me, you and your presence embody every bit of warmth I feel.” 

“Gyomei,” your voice dripping with warning. “Keep talking like that, and we’ll be cutting this show short.”

Gyomei chuckles, knowing that you’re half teasing and half threatening him—and while usually, he’d never turn down a heated romp with his beloved—he’s enjoying being here with you in a rare moment of respite from his Hashira duties. He takes your hand into his, rubbing his thumb gently against your palm. “My apologies. I’ll contain myself for now. Please, don’t stop. Keep describing them to me.”

Giyu Tomioka

“This is a date?” He says in his deadpan voice. You suck in a large amount of air, getting ready to verbally admonish him for being such a smart ass, but the corners of Giyu’s mouth twitch upward, “kidding.”

“You’re not even as remotely funny as you think you are, Tomioka.” You turn back to the night sky, which is littered with explosions. You feel your cheeks growing hot and your temper flaring, frustrated at Giyu’s inability to take something so meaningful seriously.

“Ouch, my last name. Like I said, I was only kidding.” You refuse to relent, your arms crossed over your chest. Giyu sighs loudly, “look at me, Y/N. Of course, this is a date. I…I’ve been thinking about this since you asked me to come with you and that was weeks ago. I’ve never felt so nervous and excited at the same time before.”

You turn to Giyu, your eyes shining brightly at his openness and confession. " Do you mean it?”

“Yes, now be quiet; I’m trying to watch the show.” And before you can huff, he leans back and lays his head on your lap.

“Do that thing I like, Y/N.”

You pull the tie from his hair and rake your fingers through his dark blue tresses. 

[rubysunnday]

love language

summary: the few ways in which Kaz shows his love for Y/N

Opening night of the new Crow Club meant Y/N hadn't stopped all day. She'd been running around serving drinks and keeping an eye on the Makker's table all whilst making sure Jesper didn't gamble away everything Kaz had given him as a thank you for the Pekka Rollins job.

She hadn't stopped and now, four hours in to the night, she was tired. Her face hurt from smiling and she was almost certain that there were a few blisters on her feet.

As she set the drinks tray full of empty glasses down onto rhe bar, one of the newer members of the Dreg's appeared at her side, silently waiting for her to notice him.

"Yes?" Y/N asked tiredly. She couldn't remember his name.

"The boss wants you?"

"Who? Kaz."

"Yeah. He's in the corner."

Y/N followed the boy's vague waft of a hand and spotted Kaz sitting in a dark, seclude corner, his cane in his hands. She sighed but stepped away from the bar, weaving through the mass of people until she was in front of his table.

"What?"

"Nice to see you too," Kaz replied. "How's it going?"

Y/N's eyes narrowed, slightly suspicious. "Fine."

Kaz waved a hand and suddenly one of the barmaids appeared and set a drink down on the table in front of Y/N.

"For you," Kaz said. "As a thank you."

Y/N picked up the glass, ice jingling inside it. "So, Jesper gets money -"

"This is a thank you for what you've done tonight," Kaz replied. "The other thank you is currently clearing at the bank."

Y/N took a cautious sip. It was her favourite drink. Granted, it was the only thing she tended to order, but she was amazed that Kaz had actually remembered what it was.

"It's not poisoned."

"Even if it was, I'd still drink it, i'm desperate," Y/N replied, taking another, bigger sip.

Kaz nodded. "Don't overwork yourself. There are others who can do it for you."

Y/N smiled slightly. "I know."

Wylan had blown out all the candles in his lab and put his experiments to bed. Their sleeping situation wasn't ideal - at least Wylan's floor was clean and he'd had extra pillows.

Kaz had yet to go to sleep. He doubted that he would at all that night. His leg ached and his mind was racing with plan after plan.

Everyone else had, eventually, fallen asleep. Jesper had been first and was now snoring away, his face buried under the duvet. Nina hadn't been long after him, curled up in a ball, a heavy blanket on top of her, hiding most of her face. Wylan had quietly fallen asleep after Nina, propped up on a pillow, a piece of paper and a pen on his lap.

Inej had been trying not to fall asleep but had failed, her head slumped to the side, her hand on one of her knives.

Which left Y/N. Y/N had been sat up against a wall, numerous pillows underneath her, acting as a mattress. And, as Kaz looked over, she had slid down the wall and was now fast asleep, her chin resting on top of her chest.

Kaz grunted as he stood up. He limped down a step and picked up a folded blanket from the pile Wylan had produced. With a gentle shake, he unfolded it and walked over to Y/N's sleeping body. As carefully as he could, he laid it over the top of her, gently tucking the edges in around her.

Y/N shifted slightly but didn't wake. Kaz stepped back and watched her for a moment before walking back to the steps and sitting back down.

They'd all ran into the chapel without a second thought, slamming the door shut behind them in a weak attempt to keep the volcra at bay.

Y/N fell back against the door, putting her entire weight against it as thevolcra tried to break in. Tolya and Tamar came either side of her, squishing her between them, as they also put their weight against the door.

"Jesper, hon," Y/N said. "Wanna do your magic trick?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Jesper said, handing his revolvers to Wylan. He shooed at the three of them. "Move."

"Please," Y/N muttered, pushing herself off the wall and away from the door.

She walked forward, coming to a stop beside Kaz, her arm brushing the sleeve of his jacket. Wylan, who was stood in front of her, abruptly took a step back into Y/N. Y/N grabbed his arm and was about to ask what was wrong when she saw it.

Slowly forming in front of the stained glass window of Sankt Alina was one of Kirigan's nichevo'ya.

"Um, guys," Y/N called. "There's a shadow thing in here."

Then chaos unfolded. The nichevo'ya launched at them and they all scattered, falling into the pews and onto the floor to try and avoided the reach of the shadows. Wylan threw a small bomb at the advancing shadow and it dispersed into nothing, a few bright blue sparks the only sign it'd ever been there.

Y/N pulled herself up using a pew and exhaled a sigh of relief. She looked up and saw Jesper's face drop from a smile to absolute horror. Y/N turned around and saw another nichevo'ya looming behind her. It's tendrils shot out at Y/N.

Someone tackled Y/N to the side, into Nikolai, sending them both to the floor. The nichevo'ya's tendrils slammed into the pillar beside them before Nadia and Adrik dispersed it with a blast of air.

Y/N rolled over, almost lying on top of Nikolai, and saw Kaz sprawled on the ground beside her. He stood his cane up and pushed himself to his feet, quickly moving out the way as Tolya ran over to check on Nikolai.

"Where does it keep coming from?" Y/N asked. Tolya extended a hand and pulled her to her feet. Y/N groaned, wobbling slightly. Nikolai put a hand on her shoulder as he also stood. She nodded, reaching up and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

As the others began talking tactics and plans, Y/N looked over at Kaz, who was stood apart from everyone else.

"Thank you," she mouthed, putting a hand over her heart for a moment.

Kaz gave her a single nod.

"I've got a delivery here for a Y/N Orlova?"

Y/N poked her head out from under a table and then glanced over at Nina. "What've you been using my name for now?"

Nina held her hands up. "Not me."

Y/N stood up, dusting her hands down on her trousers. "What is it?" She asked the delivery man.

He shrugged. "Don't know, I just delivery it, my dude."

"Helpful," Y/N muttered, taking the parcel from the man.

She set it down on a table as Nina moved over to join her.

"It could be a bomb," she said.

Y/N gave her an unconvinced look. "It's from Johannes' Bakery. Besides, I doubt a bomb maker would go to the trouble of," she unfolded the flaps of the box, "wrapping a box in purple ribbon and writing my name on an envelope."

Nina reached in and took the envelope, pulling the flap open and then taking the card out. "Happy birthday Y/N." Nina paused and looked at her friend. "It's your birthday?"

Y/N nodded. "Ahuh."

"You didn't say anything."

"Never do."

"But we could've -"

"Nina, stop complaining and help me."

Nina put the card down and grabbed the bottom of the box, pulling it down and away from the cake box within. Y/N carefully set the cake box down on the table.

"Who's sent you a cake?" Nina asked, sliding into a chair.

Y/N undid the ribbon, pulling the bow out. "I couldn't tell you. I don't tend to advertise my birthday anymore."

Nina leant forward. "Hurry up and open it then."

With the ribbon undone, the cake box lid came off easily. Inside was a heart shaped cake covered in purple icing with pink and white sugar flowers around the edge. Happy Birthday Y/N was written on the top in white icing.

"Oh, my saints," Nina said. "It's beautiful."

Y/N carefully slid the cake out of the box and onto the table. "What did the note say?"

"Uh... happy birthday, thank you for everything, Mr R," Nina read out. She frowned. "Who's Mr R?"

"Why do you expect me to know?" Y/N muttered. "I've not a clue."

The front door to the Crow Club opened and Jesper and Wylan walked in, hand in hand.

"Who's cake is that?" Wylan asked, dropping Jesper's hand and heading over to the table.

"Y/N's," Nina replied.

Wylan looked at her. "It's your birthday?"

"Yup." Y/N nodded. "I don't tell people."

Jesper joined them and pressed a kiss to Y/N's cheek. "Happy birthday, love. The cake isn't from me."

"I suspected as much," Y/N muttered. "It's too nice."

Jesper laughed sarcastically. "Thanks."

From the doorway leading up to Kaz's office, a shadow slinked away and up the stairs. They pushed open the office door and hovered behind Kaz as he scribbled away.

"Well?" He prompted.

Inej walked forward and perched herself on the edge of his desk. "She loves it." She paused. "I think that's the sweetest -"

"That's all, Inej." Kaz picked up an envelope and handed it to her. "Take that to Johannes' Bakery. It's payment for Y/N's cake."

Inej nodded. She stood up and paused. "I still can't believe you bought -"

"Pay the bakery man, Inej, stop commenting on my private matters," Kaz drawled.

Inej rolled her eyes. "Fine."

She stepped out onto the landing and climbed down the stairs, not bothering to be silet.

"Inej!" Y/N yelled, hearing her friend come down the stairs. "You must try this cake, it is divine!"

Inej smiled to herself and tucked the envelope into her pocket. "You've got a cake?" She said, walking into the main floor and acting surprised. "Who sent you a cake?"

"Not a clue," Y/N replied. "But whoever it was, I love them." She took another bite and hummed happily. "Best cake ever."

Upstairs, Kaz leant over the balcony, evesdropping on his crows below. He smiled to himself and stepped back, retreating back to his office.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Power II

Katie McCabe x Reader

Summary: You put Katie in her place

Katie was really toeing the line now.

A win against Chelsea under her belt and suddenly she was drunk off the feeling of victory.

That always made her act out a bit and you looked up at her from under your lashes as you sat in her cubby.

The whole locker room was celebrating.

Usually, you wouldn't venture in here but she had been insistent, dragging you inside in a way that really puffed her up to her friends.

You could forgive that though.

You always gave her a bit of leeway when she was celebrating. Not too much though and she was really getting closer to you snapping at her.

"Y/n!" Kyra crowed from across the room," My zipper's stuck!"

You sighed fondly at the girl, getting to your feet to fix her coat for her.

A half-eaten slice of pizza hung from her mouth as she struggled, trying to force her zipper down and you tutted.

"Give me a moment, Kyra," You told her," I don't know how you got it this stuck."

Kyra was sat in her cubby and you had to lean over to wrench the extra fabric out from her zipper.

You'd just got it free when you felt a slap to your ass.

You shrieked a little bit at the shock of it before whirling around.

Katie was grinning, looking back at her friends to check if they saw but her smile dimmed when she saw the pointed look you were giving her.

You stepped closer, enough for the team to not hear your words as you spoke them directly into her ear.

"That's strike one," You said," Keep pushing me and I will put you back in your place, Katie."

"Babe," She stuttered out," It was just a joke."

"And that's why it's only your first warning."

Strike two came when you were on the bus. Usually, you would drive yourself to Katie's games but she had insisted on having you on the team bus with her, sat in her lap.

She was still talking to Leah and Lessi and you knew the moment Leah mentioned partaking in certain celebrations when you got home that Katie would feel emboldened again.

Her hands roamed and you let them.

They were mostly under the table where the other girls couldn't see.

A squeeze of the thigh.

A teasing drag of her leg against yours.

Then her hands got higher and higher until she was squeezing one of your breasts in one hand.

Your shifted a little bit, tilting your head to once again speak into her ear.

"Second warning. One more Katie and I swear to god I will put you in your place in front of all of your little friends."

Katie's hand dropped.

There wasn't another incident until you all got back to London.

You were walking off the bus when Katie, having been teased somewhat by Leah, pulled you into a downright filthy kiss in public.

There was cheering behind her and you decided in that moment that Arsenal was just frat house masquerading as a football club.

You also decided that Katie had run out of warnings so, as she slipped her tongue into your mouth, your hand shot out to grab her neck.

She faltered.

"What?" You said," Is something wrong? You love when I squeeze your neck when we kiss."

"B-Babe," She said, chest heaving, torn halfway between being ridiculously turned on and embarrassed beyond belief.

"What? I thought you wanted to kiss me in front of all of your little friends."

"I'm sorry."

"Uh-huh. You will be." You pulled away but kept a tight grip on Katie's neck, raising your voice so everyone could hear. "Now, go and say goodbye to your friends. Nicely, Katie, and then we'll go home."

"Er...yes..."

You released her and off she went to say goodbye, face burning red as everyone stared with open mouths at how obedient she had become.

You couldn't resist though.

"If you hurry up then I'll break out that big strap you like and we can work on you taking it all."

Her face burned brighter.