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physics-of-one-piece · 21 days ago

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Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 1

(AO3 link)

Summary: Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.

Tags: Doflamingo x Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Murder, Mentions of Fratricide, Emotional Breakdown, Grief, Angst, Hurt, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Celestial Dragon Traditions, Donquixote Brothers, Adult Themes, New Tags Added with Each Chapter

A/N: It's finally here. The Red Suit Doffy fic I've been working on since... (checks dates of the first chapter) September 2024. Damn. I've only got the first two chapters written, everything else is vibes, but I want it to be 8-10 chapters. I also wanted to explore Doflamingo's way (or lack thereof) with showing/wanting/offering physical affection. This post is great analysing it and is the one that inspired me to even start thinking of writing it deeper and Doflamingo's lack of offering touch, and his use of touch when he does choose it/want it. It just confirmed to me back then that Doflamingo is INCREDIBLY touch-starved and very very not aware of it which has the potential to be very dangerous. Especially North Blue Doflamingo. (shudders) Also... I'm not sorry about the GIF. If I had to suffer making it, you have to reward my suffering by suffering while watching it. It's only fair 🥺

Word Count: 11.7k words

Chapter Navigation: 1 (you are here)

Chapter 1

The moment you and Rosinante moved into your house in North Blue for Rosinante’s mission, you had no disagreements over furniture placements and colour configurations. You both adored white and blue, and light colours, so there weren’t a lot of disagreements. The one thing you and Rosinante immediately agreed upon was the colour of your bedroom’s walls, both the ceiling and the surrounding four walls — sky blue.

To Rosinante, it was his favourite colour, and to you, it reminded you of the sky and the sea. It reminded you of the sky blue dress shirt Rosinante wears under his white waistcoat when wearing his marine uniform as a Navy commander — the uniform he wore when you met him.

It’s the sky blue ceiling you wake up to.

You’re laying in the bedroom you share with your husband, no weight of your clumsy blond husband on the other side, drooling away and snoring — silently thanks to his Devil Fruit — in his sleep.

That’s the first thing you notice.

It’s silent. Unnervingly so.

You roll over, half-asleep, glancing toward the alarm clock on your desk beside the marine transponder snail.

It’s way past the time Rosinante should have contacted you to tell you of successfully healing Law by making him eat the Op-Op Fruit.

Aren’t they back yet?

They should’ve been back by now.

Rosi would have called you that they’re on their way by now. You could heat up the dinner leftovers, or… No, you’d start on another dinner! Minion Island is cold this time of year, and although you’d bought Law the warmest cloak you could find in the town, he would probably still feel an unpleasant chill. You’d make them warm soup easy on the stomach.

Or... or...

A cake! A cake to celebrate Law beating his disease for good, and Rosi’s official last self-given assignment as Corazón. He could finally remove that mantle for good.

You were definitely going to convince him to keep his black feather coat, though.

The weather must be bad. The North Blue Sea was infamous for its waves during the winter months. Or maybe they're laying low on Minion now that the marines have arrested the Donquixote Pirates.

But Rosi would have called you if they were staying low; he’d promised to call you.

The yellow transponder snail with the white and blue shell rings.

You lunge across the bed to reach it, lifting the receiver by the time the second ring sounds out, your heart leaping in relief — Rosi must be calling to tell you they’re okay, that Law is healthy now, that they will come home soon —

The voice that said your name wasn’t Rosinante’s.

“Vice Admiral Tsuru,” you said, eyes wide. You cleared your throat. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Your husband, marine commander Donquixote Rosinante…”

Why does Tsuru-san sound in pain?

“...is dead.”

The world stopped, turning completely silent.

All you could do was stare blankly.

What?

The last two words repeated in your head like a broken record.

Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead.

Rosinante… is dead?

Those words didn’t belong with Rosinante’s name. Rosinante and the word dead didn’t belong in a sentence.

Shock left you mute, your head completely empty.

“We found him in the snow, with twenty bullet wounds. Sengoku confirmed his identity,” Tsuru’s voice sounded pained and hoarse. Then, the marine vice admiral abandoned her white coat, and said to you, woman to woman, “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled with tears. It can’t be… it can’t be Rosi… not Rosi…

“He’s right here with me.” said Tsuru, while your hand around the receiver started to tremble. “We’re taking his body to Marineford. We’re sending a ship to escort you there tomorrow.”

Body. Body. Rosinante’s body.

Rosinante’s corpse. Your husband’s corpse.

“Understood.”

You put the receiver on the snail, its “Ga-chak.” filling the silence.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. The sound of it echoes in your head. Your sight blurs, and you lose sense in your legs. The next moment, you’re sitting numbly on the floor in the bedroom which you and Rosinante painted together, surrounded by the sky blue walls, tears running down your cheeks.

What just happened? What…

Seconds ago, you were thinking about what food to warm up if Rosinante and Law managed to come back at this time late at night.

Seconds ago, Rosinante was alive.

You shuddered, crying more tears.

Now, you'd just gotten a call he’s... dead? That they’re transporting his body to Marineford?

Shock numbed you. That didn’t make sense. Just three days ago, Rosinante slept beside you, his large body wrapped around you, keeping you tucked into his chest, keeping you warm. He’d been beside you, breathing, talking, smiling and alive.

In the snow? Twenty bullets in him? Twenty? Rosinante never got that many bullet wounds.

You grab at your throbbing head.

This can’t be real. It doesn’t make sense. Rosinante had been right here, which only felt like hours ago. He'd been right here with you, in this very room, his warm, soft lips kissing yours, his face snuggling in your neck, his blond curly hair between your fingers, his long arms wrapped snugly around you, his angelic laugh tickling your ear.

It’s not real. It’s not real, this is a nightmare, it’s not real. You’re having a nightmare. This isn’t real. It can’t be, it can’t —

“Rosi…” you whisper shakily, trembling. You choke on a breath. Your chest hurts.

Your mind struggled to catch up to your body, which was shaking, panting, tears streaming down your shocked face and open, wide eyes.

You realise your lungs are hurting, your breathing rapid — alarmingly, so.

You can’t breathe.

You’re going to suffocate in the wave of your grief.

You rush outside. The air is cold. You inhale it greedily, foggy clouds sifting out of your mouth. Your chest felt painful while you gasped in the air. Your ribcage was squeezing in on itself. The cold air made you realise how warm the tears on your cheeks were.

You couldn’t stand anymore. You fell to your knees, and the sounds burst out of you; you started crying openly, loud, uncontrollable sobs leaving your mouth.

You screamed, howling into the sky, crying uncontrollably. The sounds your body produced, your lungs released, were heart-wrenching, full of agony.

You wept and wept, sobbed and screamed, hiccuped and choked, looking up at the starry night sky without really seeing it, tears streaming down your face as you howled in agony into the sky you used to watch together with Rosinante, crying toward the far-away stars.

All you could see was Rosinante, smiling brightly at you, his voice saying, “I love you!” filling your ears.

And your heart was wrenched open and killed.

Dead with your husband.

All you could do with the unbearable agony inside you was weep and howl like a dying, mourning animal.

***

How does betrayal feel like?

It feels like silence.

Silence of four years, a gap battled with taps on the den-den mushi and ink on paper.

It feels like the silence being broken by a voice. A voice not as deep as Doflamingo’s but sounding godly all the same, confident and calm, a softness Doflamingo’s didn’t possess.

His little brother’s voice, which Doflamingo mourned the loss of, not knowing he was mourning an empty lie. So many nights he spent thinking how Rosinante's voice would sound like as an adult, how his laugh would sound like, hoping maybe with time, he would hear it - one day, one day, one day — not knowing it was there all along and Rosinante had denied him all of it, had given it to the marines, to Law, to strangers Doflamingo didn't know.

Doflamingo hated them all.

Why did they get to have it and he didn’t?

Rosinante was his little brother, his family, his only equal, the only one who understood, the one who’d been through the same hell as he had... And yet, Doflamingo never got Rosinante back, never truly met his brother as an adult, not really. All Doflamingo got from Rosinante was a mask and silence, while they got everything.

All Doflamingo was given was a scrap, and lies.

So many lies.

Rosi — the one who gave his nickname to him because he couldn’t pronounce Doflamingo’s full name when he was two, shortening it into a harmless nickname full of fondness — didn’t even call him Doffy.

The first words Rosi said to him after four years of silence, after eighteen years of nothing, was his fucking marine code.

Rosi talked to him like they were strangers.

“You just had to go and screw everything up! Why did you come back just to mess with me, Corazón?!”

What Doflamingo meant by those words was: Why? Why did you come back? You should’ve stayed away from me if you hated me. Then this wouldn’t be happening! I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d stayed away from me!

The pain of betrayal is sharp and agonising.

Like a bullet.

Like red blood on white snow.

Doflamingo wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding in the same places Rosinante had, too.

Vergo’s words rang out in his head.

“Corazón has a wife.”

Doflamingo stared at the picture of you on the file Vergo sent him, staring down at your face.

At the one Rosinante gave everything to…

Finding out something like this...

It felt like... Like the first inhale of the fresh, clear sea morning, like the first bite into a feast after starving for a week, like the most pure, fresh water after a long trek in the desert.

Doflamingo thinks he understands now why Rosi didn’t stay away from him, why Rosi returned.

Because Rosi couldn’t stay away. If not for himself, then for his wife. Would Doflamingo be able to stay away, if he knew his brother was alive somewhere, with a wife, and hell, maybe planning to have a family? Would Doflamingo be the one considering a choice; stay away or meet? Cursed if you don’t, cursed if you do.

Would Doflamingo be able to do it?

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to stay away from Rosi, or from Rosi’s family. Because Doflamingo was family, too. Rosi’s family was Doflamingo’s family, too.

Just like now, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you. It was impossible. It felt like his own threads were pulling him toward you, urging themselves forth from his fingertips, reaching out to wrap around you, no matter how much he was sure you didn’t want them to.

Just like how Rosi couldn’t stay away from Doflamingo no matter how much he hated him, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you no matter how much he knew you hated him.

He just couldn’t. The thought was painful to bear, the mere image of staying away threatening to shred the last remaining piece of Doflamingo’s heart held together by strings.

“Doffy?” Vergo’s voice across the snail pulled Doflamingo out of his thoughts; he was still staring at your file, at the picture of you, at your name. “What do you want to do?”

Doflamingo got out of his chair, grabbing the pink feather coat that laid on it.

“I’m going to go get her,” he said, swinging the pink mantle over his shoulders. He grabbed a quill and parchment, writing down a note for Trebol and the others to find.

He looked outside. It was early in the morning; Vergo's call and documents he sent had woken him up. It was still dark out on the sea.

“Understood,” said Vergo without question. “Safe travels, Doffy.”

Doflamingo hummed in response, and put the receiver back down on the snail. He exited his cabin, walking to the balustrade of the ship, putting his right foot atop the rail. The wind was chilly, brushing at his face.

He still had a family. Rosinante had not only left Doflamingo behind.

He left a wife behind, too.

Doflamingo took to the sky.

***

Something burns on your skin. Your eyelids flutter open; the morning light sneaks in through the curtains, casting your eyes in the ray of gold. Your brows furrow in pain from the light hitting you.

You feel empty.

You woke in the puddle of your own misery. You've cried and howled yourself into sleep on the white carpet. You don’t know when you entered inside again after releasing the howl of agony into the night sky.

The house is empty.

Rosinante isn’t home yet.

That’s okay. You’ll wait. You’ve waited before. You can wait a bit more.

Rosi will come back.

He’ll come back.

It was just a bad dream.

You curl into yourself, tired.

Rosi always comes back, no matter what.

You’ll make pancakes… and you’ll wait for Rosi. You’ll make a lot of batter so you can make him and Law loads when they come back. They’ll be hungry after their trip.

Early dawn was outside, and the blue sky was painted with clouds.

A knock came at your door. You dragged yourself to it, and opened the doors.

A dark-skinned, handsome man dressed in marine uniform and coat towered above you, twice your height, nearly three meters tall. His dark, charcoal eyes were red-rimmed, revealing he’d been crying. His usually slicked-back, tidy white hair was rumpled and untidy, as though he’d wrestled with someone.

“Wulf,” you say, staring at the tall navy commander.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse and morbidly quiet. “Can I come in?”

You open the doors wider, letting him in. Wulf closes the doors behind himself, locking them with the key in the keyhole.

“I’ll go make you some tea,” you offered, hurrying to the light blue kitchen to place the kettle on the stove and grab a tea bag

“No,” he said. “I’m not here for…” He clenched his eyes shut. His large body shuddered.

“You can sit down while I —”

“I don’t want tea, dammit!” snapped Wulf.

His yell made you flinch, and you turned still.

“Fuck,” Wulf breathed, full of pain, tears glistening at his eyelashes. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, quieting his voice. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Wulf’s large body slumped down, landing on the large white couch. He lowered his head to the floor. His large, dark hands lifted up to his hair, grabbing at the thick strands tight. He closed his eyes, a look of pain on his face.

“It’s okay,” you offered quietly.

There was no emotion in your dull, lifeless eyes, empty of any spark. You could see how tired Wulf was. He probably didn’t sleep a wink. He looked an absolute mess. You weren’t ready to look in the mirror to see how much of a mess you were.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Wulf spoke up. “We need to send a search party out for Law. He wasn’t the boy the Minion marine patrol took into custody.”

Search party? For Law? But that would mean… that would mean Wulf would have to explain to Sengoku who Law was.

“No,” you breathed.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you dare tell them about Law!”

Wulf’s eyes widened at the sudden surge of life in your dull eyes. You were tightly gripping the collar of his white dress shirt with both your hands, staring at him with a numerous amount of emotions filling your eyes, your face.

“If Law’s alive, they’ll go after him because he’s got the powers of the Op-Op Fruit!” you yelled at him. “Don’t you dare make Rosi’s death be for nothing!”

You froze.

Oh.

You said it.

Death.

That’s right.

Your fingers let go of Wulf’s collar.

Rosinante…

Died.

A chill swept through your body, making you shiver.

“Law,” you whisper, trying to keep yourself together, keeping your sanity stitched with the thoughts of the little boy. “We need to find Law.”

“Minion -”

“Why aren’t you and your team setting sail for it already?!” you asked desparately. What if Doflamingo sent his agents to scour the island? What if Law was...

“If I’m to ask for a marine ship, I need to give them a good reason!”

“You never did shit by the book, Wulf! That was Rosi!”

“Yeah, and I always got sent flying across Marineford by Sengoku for it, or did you forget that part?”

“I’ll call the patrol on Minion and tell them to look for Law.”

“No!” you yelled. “Doflamingo’s got a spy in the Navy! He’ll find out Law’s still there and find him before you!”

You could see Wulf’s thoughts racing in his head. “Then, I’ll send Hibou -”

“Hibou doesn’t fly fast enough! You can’t send him there alone! Law doesn’t trust marines!”

Wulf hesitated. “It took me and Rosi longer than a day to activate our Devil Fruits… Law might not be…”

“Law is a genius!” you yelled. “He’s going to be the best doctor in the world! Some stupid disease won’t kill him!”

Law was not dead. Your husband believed in Law, and you believed in Law, too. That kid was strong. Stronger than you were.

Law had fallen asleep reading on your lap. You put a blanket over him, but anytime you tried to remove yourself from him, the boy would murmur disagreeably, clutching onto your pants with his tiny fingers in his sleep. Rosinante cooed over him, snapping a few pictures of Law — and some of the two of you — with the camera snail because you two were the most adorable sight on the planet, according to the younger Donquixote. But you could see it in his brown eyes. Rosinante was worried sick for Law.

“Don’t worry, Rosi,” you said, reaching out with your free hand — the other one was running gently down Law’s dark hair — to take your husband’s much larger one, settling it over his scarred, pale palm.

“Our boy is too strong to die,” you said firmly.

The touch and words appeared to break Rosinante out of the pit of his thoughts, the blond man sitting beside you turning to look at you, wide-eyed.

“Our?” asked Rosinante in a whisper.

“What?” you asked, blinking.

Rosinante sniffled. His eyes glazed over, his lips trembling. Before you could see what was wrong with him, the blond turned away from you shyly.

“Rosi, are you crying?” you asked, worried.

“N-No!” squeaked the big, blond man, hiding his face in the pillow of the white couch of the home you shared, wiping at his teary eyes. “No, what are you talking about? I’m not crying!”

You smiled softly, a swell of affection blooming within you, overwhelmed by love you felt for him. Rosinante was so kind and gentle, with a truly bleeding heart. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him on first sight — his kindness and clumsiness won you over right away.

“Our, huh?” murmured Rosinante softly.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, making sure there was no question about it. You were willing to die for the boy sleeping on your lap. You were willing to fight the entire world for this boy, were willing to die for him. “He’s our boy now.”

“Yeah.” The smile lit up Rosinante’s face, casting him in heavenly light; he looked like an angel, his soft brown eyes staring gently down at the sleeping boy. “He is.”

“Our treasure.” whispered Rosinante, reaching down to caress Law’s cheek with his fingers.

Wulf took a breath.

“Okay. If there is a spy, as you say, I’ll call Sengoku-san directly to lock down Rosi’s file.” Wulf shuddered. He looked down at you, full of worry. “If Doflamingo finds out about you, he’ll come to kill you. I’ll put Nietzche and Hibou on patrol around this island, and the rest of us will head to Minion -”

“No,” you said, something burning inside you. The next words came out of your mouth on instinct. “Use me as a lure.”

Wulf’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Use me as a lure,” you said, meeting Wulf’s gaze. “It’ll keep Doflamingo’s attention off of Minion Island long enough for you to get Law away. If Doflamingo comes, he comes. I know how to shoot a gun.”

Wulf frowned, disliking the idea entirely. “You don’t know what he’s -”

“Doflamingo killed him.”

The words are out. Because both of you knew. You and Wulf knew Rosinante wouldn’t get killed so easily. Nobody could kill Rosinante except Doflamingo, because Rosinante would have fought them tooth and nail, and there was no way anyone on Minion Island could have given Rosinante trouble — not even those top executives — except Doflamingo.

If it came down to having to directly hurt Doflamingo, you knew Rosinante wouldn’t be able to do it. You never faulted him for it. In fact, you loved him for it. You would never ask Rosinante to do such a thing, even if your own life was on the line. You’d rather die than force him to make such a choice, to even think about it.

Rosinante loved his brother more than anything, no matter what.

But it seemed Doflamingo loved power more than he loved Rosinante.

It sickened you. It infuriated you. Rosinante could never hurt Doflamingo, not for duty, not for revenge, not for anything. So how could Doflamingo hurt Rosinante?

“His only family… And Rosi told me enough to get a glimpse of what his brother is like. So if he finds out, he finds out. He’ll come here, and you all - all six of you, will go to Minion Island while he wastes time coming here, and you’ll take Law away from there.”

For a moment, Wulf said nothing, simply staring at you with his dark, black eyes, momentarily surprised by your words.

“You… aren’t trying to follow Rosi, are you? Because you know… you know he’d want you to stay alive, to take care of that kid.”

Chills rose on your spine, but they weren’t of fear. You didn’t raise your head. You simply lifted your eyes to Wulf’s, and let him see what was within them.

It wasn’t sadness, or a wish for death. It was determination, burning and fierce, mixed with burning fury.

Wulf sighed in defeat. He could tell by your eyes you weren’t going to back down from this.

“I’ll call in some favours for a ship. I’ll call you when I have everything ready.”

Wulf said your name.

“He killed my brother in arms.” said Wulf darkly. “It’s not just you or me who wants him dead.”

Wulf turned his head over his shoulder to gaze at you, his eyes full of bloodlust. “The crows are hungry for Doflamingo’s blood.”

“Shut the door after me,” Wulf said, then left.

You did just that. You walked back to the kitchen, breathing in and out. Your stomach felt empty. You needed to eat something.

Pancakes.

If it’s going to be your last meal, you want it to be a good one. Therefore, the pancakes with chocolate syrup is the best decision for the last meal. An easy, simple meal.

Your fingers tremble.

You can’t believe Rosinante is gone.

Simply… gone.

How are you supposed to wake up tomorrow knowing Rosinante will never be lying beside you again?

Tears well in your eyes. You take a breath, swallowing them down. You’re not allowed to cry again. Not yet. Not until you know Law is safe.

You head up the stairs to change from your night dress, heading back to yours and your husband’s bedroom. You survey your wardrobe.

Before you know it, you’re opening Rosinante’s part of the wardrobe, taking one of his blue shirts from the hanger, hugging it tight to your chest.

You kept holding on to the calm you got with him. You hold onto the scent of him you’ve come to know; coal and citrus, woody smells that he always wore that felt like a hug around your shoulders.

For a while, you sit on the bed, holding your husband’s shirt, trying to pretend he was there when you knew he wasn’t. Eventually, you returned back to the terrible reality, and put his dress shirt back on the hanger.

Light blue. You decide if you are going to get killed by your brother-in-law today, you want to die in light blue. It was Rosi’s favourite colour, and you grew a love for it over the years. You need somewhere to conceal a weapon. You grab black pants, put the light blue blouse over yourself, and get dressed.

You open the drawer in your night table, staring down at the small, black revolver. You pick it up, check the safety hammer is on, then check the cylinder holding six sea stone prism bullets. Loaded, ready to be fired.

You holster it under your blouse, making sure you can reach it quickly.

It’s silent. So silent.

You’ve never heard silence quite this loud.

You head to the kitchen to make the pancakes. You wished you’d made them before Wulf arrived; he needed something to eat.

The day is sunny, the birds are chirping in the trees. But there is a somber, mourning silence in your house. You gather the bowl to crack the eggs in and make the batter.

Rosi would already be stumbling out of your bedroom by now, dressed in his blue striped pyjamas, his blue sleeping hat atop his head, his sleepy face endearing in a handsome way, his blond waves of bed head swept in all directions, his hands rubbing the sleep off his eyes before he stretched his arms out and yawned to the point tears edged at his lower eyelashes.

Then, he’d see you and smile like the sun before greeting you with a happy, sweet, “Good morning!”

You look out of the window. The scenery in front of you is so vibrant, green forest and blue river. Doesn’t it know all your life has died? The most colourful painting is worthless to you.

You make the batter without having to think too much about it, so used to the movements they became second nature to you, just as fighting was second nature to Rosinante. You start the stove, listen to the clicking sound of the fire, adjust it, and set the frying pain on it, spreading butter along it. Then, you pour the batter in. The smell of the pancakes soothes you, and once the side is fried well, you flip it, and wait for the bubbles again.

They remind you of gunshot wounds.

Twenty gunshot wounds. Were they all from Doflamingo’s flintlock? Did the fucking bastard put twenty bullets in your husband, treating your husband like he was swiss cheese?

You set the first pancake on the plate, and make twenty more. You take the chocolate syrup and spread it over each one thoroughly with a butter knife, then roll the pancakes. You sprinkle sugar over them, and serve them at the center of the table.

“Look, Law! Pancakes!” cheered Rosinante happily to the little boy with the spotted hat trailing after his long legs like a baby penguin after its father; you held back a giggle at the two sleepyheads, smiling gently at them.

Rosinante greeted you with a kiss, getting a “get a room!” from Law, and then he sat down at the table and inhaled the smell of the pancakes.

“Ah, they smell so good, dear!” said Rosinante, smiling brightly at you.

“Come on, Law! Don’t be shy!” said Rosinante, patting the chair next to his. “This is my wife’s masterpiece! After you taste her pancakes, you’ll never want to eat anything else for the rest of your life! You can live on pancakes!”

“You can’t live on pancakes,” grumbled Law.

“Well, if you do end up liking them and want more, I’ve got more batter in the bowl, so I’ll make you more if you want, okay, Law?” you asked.

Law blushed. “Thank… you…”

You glanced at Rosinante questioningly, speaking with your eyes to him. Did Law not have pancakes with the Donquixote Pirates? Rosinante shook his head sadly, in a way that told you Law didn’t let himself be a kid, so he never ate ‘kid stuff’ like pancakes.

Tentatively, Law took the rolled up pancake, and after glancing to Rosinante, who was eating his own with his hands — the pancake looked miniature in your husband’s fingers, almost like a toy — chomping down on the roll enthusiastically, Law did the same.

You nearly squealed from the cuteness as you watched the two eat.

Law’s eyes widened after the first bite, and then they lit up, filling with light. A small, tiny smile bloomed across his face, and he stared at the pancake with child-like joy.

There he was. A little boy, not a tough, pirate apprentice.

Law quickly devoured the pancake, the little smile on his face filling you with joy. You smiled happily.

Once Law realised he’d eaten the single pancake he took, he glanced from the plate, then toward you, and asked, “Can I have another?”

Rosinante cooed. “You can have my entire plate, you cute little pancake!”

To prove how much he meant it, Rosinante slid his plate of a pile of rolled-up pancakes to the little boy.

Law scowled, though to you it looked more like a cute, indignant pout with his cheeks puffed up that way.

“I’m not a pancake, Cora-san!” Law protested, for which he got a fond chuckle from Rosinante, who simply beamed down at him.

You giggled. They were so cute.

“Of course. You can have as much as you want, Law.” you said softly, smiling gently at the boy.

Law nodded, that little smile sneaking onto his face again.

You stared at the plate loaded with twenty rolled-up pancakes.

You made too much.

Tears started flowing down your eyes again, uncontrollable and wet. You wipe them from your cheeks, sniffling. But they keep coming out, so you let them cascade down your cheeks, letting them roll in silence as you sit down, murmur a sob-filled, “Thank you for the food.” and grab one pancake from the plate and force yourself to eat it.

The taste is great. But your taste buds can’t appreciate it. You start sobbing halfway, and your hands slide up to your face, covering your eyes. You rest your head on the dining room table and cry your eyes out into your forearms, hiccups and sobs shaking your body.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this. You can’t, you can’t...

It hurts too much. You're going to be sick —

Rosi... Rosi!

Your cries and sobs echo across the kitchen tiles, creating a tragic symphony.

After you’d cried yourself out to the point your chest hurts and your throat feels sore, you eat the pancake to the end.

Outside, the azure sky is impossibly clear. The cicadas are so loud. They make the loss of Rosinante’s silence more deafening. You’ve always had too sensitive and too precise of a hearing; you could hear droplets from a well ten meters away, and the slightest rustling of the leaves in the wind. You could pick up who was approaching you by the sound and weight of their footsteps — a thing that freaked some people out. It wasn’t any devil fruit; you stayed away from devil fruits because you had no need of them working as a translator for the marines, and you liked to swim.

Rosinante told you it could be a form of Observation Haki. Apparently, the advanced, one-in-a-million Observation Haki users are able to hear people’s inner voices. That sounded absolutely terrifying to you. How didn’t people go insane with that? It wasn’t an ability you wanted, and thankfully, your hearing didn’t seem to reach that crazy, abnormal level.

Rosinante was practically your sound therapy with his Devil Fruit. He made the world around you go silent, muted all the noises, be it the spinning of a washing machine, the shrieking of the birds, the insistent meowing of an alley cat, the barking dogs, the annoying cicadas that you thought about committing arson over by setting the entire forest on fire…

“Honey, that’s illegal. Also, I’m the one usually setting fire to stuff, it’s my whole thing!” Rosinante was genuinely distressed. He gave you a pleading look, pursing his lips, which started to quiver and tremble, his eyes filling with tears as he cried — his sad puppy look,which immediately melted your heart, making you coo internally. He was absolutely adorable. “You can’t do my thing!”

Rosinante snapped his fingers. “Silent!”

A purple sphere came alive, momentrily floating above his finger, and then enlarged, pulling the two of you into its space. All sound from outside vanished.

You launched yourself at him and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your legs around his wide waist. “I love you, Rosi! I love your Devil Fruit!”

Rosinante’s face grew deeper shades of red by the passing second, until, quite literally, the gathered temperature exploded in a burst of steam out of his ears, and your husband combusted into flames.

“I love you!” he yelled, peppering you with kisses, pulling you onto his lap, making you giggle and laugh. You squeezed your tall husband’s back as much as the length of your arms allowed you to.

“I love you more,” you said, staring up at him lovingly.

“Nuh-uh,” said Rosinante, his face turning serious. “I love you mo —”

You shut him up with a kiss, burying your fingers in his soft, silky golden hair, pulling him down to you.

Rosinante smiled into the kiss, admitted defeat, and enveloped your lips in a deep, long kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your head, his fingers warm and sweet on your cheek.

In the end, with how breathless and flushed Rosinante left you, you thought you were the defeated one in the end.

You can’t take it anymore. You want out. Out of this house that is full of memories of the happiness you two had, of so much potential, now silent like a grave.

You get your bag, grab some cash to buy groceries to make for lunch. Rosinante wouldn’t want you to wallow in misery, much less not eat. He was always fussy about making sure you ate, always insisting on serving you seconds, and you knew why. It broke your heart.

You reach the small port town, passing by people, your eyes unfocused, lost in memories. Your feet are leading you somewhere, a familiar path which you and Rosinante took many times.

You remembered when he surprised you the first time he managed to sneak away after completing his first mission for Doflamingo ahead of schedule, bearing you gifts, unaware his presence was the greatest gift to you of all.

In the early morning, your husband dragged you out of bed for a “surprise”. It would have been a normal, endearing, funny wake-up call if your husband’s arm wasn’t nearly the length of your entire body. Being dragged out of bed by Rosinante’s excited arm felt like being launched by a slingshot from one point to another. And of course, the landing point ended up being Rosinante’s body, and because it was Donquixote Rosinante, he failed to consider his own pull strength — once again, slingshot fast — and that was how you ended up falling on his chest. He, of course, as the good marine he was, caught you so you don’t get hurt, and once more failed to take another of his natural skills into account.

His clumsiness.

With a shriek as panicked as your own — albeit for different reasons — Rosinante moved to catch you, tripped midway and fell forward at the same time as you impacted him, and you ended up crashing into him midway on his fall, and he fell on his back rather than his front, you atop his chest.

After you two looked at each other to check the other was okay, the two of you burst out into giggles on the floor.

Rosinante excitedly told you to get dressed (you chose a white summer dress), brought his backpack and led you through the island by the hand, still dressed in his pirate outfit of white trousers, pink shirt and black feather coat, smiling the entire way. You loved the feather coat, and you couldn’t help but comment how he and Doflamingo were now truly “bird brothers”. The look Rosinante gave you at that comment made you laugh for a minute straight, especially when he dramatically pulled off his purple sunglasses to blink at you repeatedly.

You two walked for a while. You told Rosinante about your days, how everyone was very helpful and welcoming, and let him know about the invitation for a barbeque party tomorrow, and Rosinante agreed — he did have to meet the other marines on the island, along with their families.

Rosinante came to a stop in front of a steep hill.

“It’s right up this way,” said Rosinante, smiling in that adorable way that made him even more handsome. “I’ll carry you up.”

You gulped.

“Are you sure you can trek this, Rosinante?” you asked, holding some doubts. You’d seen your husband fall down the entire fifty meter flight of stone stairs of Marineford like a bouncing ball many times when you met him, and this hill had plenty of rocky, dirt-covered terrain.

You could already imagine Rosinante rolling down it like a pancake covered in black feathers. Or... Like an ostrich.

This hill and forest looked like something for hikers, and no offense to Rosinante, but he and hiking don’t go hand in hand, so your hesitation was well-founded.

“Yup,” said Rosinante, beaming down at you. “Up you go, mi amor.”

Without much arguing from you — because you’d never refuse being carried bridal style by your favourite man in the world, falling to your death be damned — he perched down, bending his knees to be at your height, and picked you up carefully, one hand under your knees, the other on your back.

It’s comfortable. Rosinante is warm, his long, strong arms cradling you close to his chest like the most precious treasure, and you feel like a princess swathed in the black feathers of his feather coat and his embrace. You close your eyes, resting your head on his chest, on the soft fabric of his pink dress shirt scattered with hearts.

Rosinante started uphill, trekking upon the soil with the confidence of a man who braved deep snow, heavy rain and thick mud many times throughout his life. Large, lush pine trees towered around you, the forest rich with fresh air that mixed with the soft coal scent of your husband. You pass by moss-covered rocks, glimpse squirrels curiously looking down at the giant, lanky blond man from their branches high above, chipping away at pine cones and walnuts in their tiny fingers. Their big brown eyes reminded you of Rosinante’s. After five minutes of Rosinante climbing uphill, the terrain turns flat, and he walks through the thicketed vegetation, the leaves of high bushes and branches brushing across his waist. Sunlight sneaks through the canopy of the trees, touching you and him occasionally, dappling you two in warm light.

“Okay,” said Rosinante. “I’ll put you down now.”

After he puts you down to the ground, Rosinante takes your hand, twining his long fingers between the spaces of yours, and leads you through the maze of greenery, further and further, deeper into the forest, where it becomes more quiet with every step. His long fingers, tucked between yours, holding your hand tight, chase away any anxiety or insecurity you might feel in the new, unknown surrounding.

A high, towering wall of leaves and shrubs conceals your view to whatever lies ahead.

“Close your eyes.”

You chuckle, but do so.

“Wait here,” Rosinante told you. “Don’t open your eyes!”

You laugh. “I won’t.”

You put your free hand over your closed eyes to reassure him of it.

Rosinante’s long fingers — calloused from training, falling and scarred from all the battles he won and survived — slide out of the embrace of yours.

You wait for a few minutes, wondering what sort of surprise he must have for you. You couldn’t hear anything. Rosinante must have used his Devil Fruit so you can’t hear what he’s doing. All you can hope for is that your sweet husband’s ‘surprise’ doesn’t involve anything flammable.

“Okay!” Rosinante chirped behind you, making you shriek and leap at the sudden revelation of his presence, which made him chuckle. “Ready?”

You peek through your fingers to look at him. Rosinante’s smile and excitement is infectious, making you smile to the point your cheeks hurt.

“Yup,” you said.

“Hey!" your husband scolds when he notices your eyes between the tiny space of your fingertips. “No peeking!”

You huff, but relent, covering your eyes fully again.

Rosinante takes your hand, and leads you forward. You keep your eyes closed. Leaves brush over your face, and you feel the warmth of the sunlight on your skin again.

“Okay... Three... Two...”

“One.”

You opened your eyes, gasping at the sight. In front of you and Rosinante was a blooming field of blue forget-me-nots, forming a large circle around the pine forest.

There, among the blue flowers, was a picnic blanket, a picnic basket filled with food atop it.

A giddy smile on his face, pleased with your joy at his successful surprise, Rosinante led you by the hand toward the picnic blanket where all the food awaited.

You two sit down beside each other. You can’t speak; you’re completely speechless.

Rosinante had made you an entire feast; there were rice balls, black bean soup, chocolate cream cakes, muffins with chocolate chips, grilled toast with melted cheese that made your mouth water at the mere sight of it, blackberries and black risotto with chopped cuttlefish meat.

Rosinante was by no means a lousy cook, in fact, he was quite good at cooking (you were surprised by it the first time, too, especially when he told you he spent a lot of time cooking with Sengoku when he was a kid) but he had to be monitored so he doesn’t set the entire house on fire.

When you opened the container holding the black risotto, hot steam surged out. The black risotto smelled absolutely heavenly. It tasted heavenly, too — it was the perfect amount of ingredients and flavours that you moaned aloud.

Dear gods, Rosinante’s black risotto was to die for. It was one of the meals both you and your husband enjoyed, eating it at a restaurant in Marineford every Friday on your lunch break together even before you’d started dating. The black colouring of the food was due to the squid ink used in the recipe. You both loved it so much that it became your go-to food to make.

Rosinante pulled out a champagne bottle from the basket, further impressing you.

“I snatched this one from Doffy’s liquor cabinet. 1480.” Rosinante smirked smugly, waving the bottle victoriously. “He should’ve drank it while he could.”

You laughed. Rosinante may not talk good things about his brother, but stealing liquor from his brother was a very sibling thing to do. It was clear Rosinante loved pulling pranks on Doflamingo.

While Rosinante said this, removing the golden foil, distractedly unwinding the cage, his eyes focused on you, he forgot to move the bottle away from himself.

The cork launched out of the seal with a loud pop. By some stroke of luck, the cork missed hitting Rosinante’s head, but the golden liquor bursting with bubbles did not. After you heard the satisfying pop, all you could do was stare in shock as champagne sprayed your husband in the face.

His golden waves of hair sogged like a wet dog’s, sparkling liquid running down his cheeks, trailing across his pale neck, sliding down his collarbone and over his chest, staining his wet shirt.

“Rosi!” you cried. “Are you okay?”

Rosinante laughed softly, rich and warm.

“I’m okay,” he replied, looking down at you in that tender, gentle way that filled your heart and made butterflies fly in your stomach.

His long tongue flicked out, licking along his lips, tasting the champagne he spilled. You feel your face flush when you realise you’d looked at his tongue attentively.

“Tastes good,” he said.

You chuckled fondly, watching champagne drip from his golden bangs. “I’m sure it does.”

“Does it smell good?” he asked as you reached for a towel in the basket. You sat between his sprawled, spread out, long legs, brushing off the liquid you could spot.

“Yeah,” you said, chuckling, continuing to pat his face and shirt. It smelled fresh. “It does.”

Rosinante smiled goofily. He gave you your glass, then poured the champagne, and next poured it to himself in his own.

“What do we toast to?” he asked.

“Love and health?” you suggested.

“Love and health!” agreed Rosinante. “Salud!”

“Salud!”

The two of you clinked your champagne glasses together, then drank a few sips of champagne. Rosinante took two large gulps of it instead of humble sips.

When the plastic plates were all cleaned up and the food was gone, stored away in your stomachs, you asked him the question you had since the start of this surprise date, “When did you cook all this?”

“After you fell asleep.” Rosinante’s long arms wrapped around you, a movement he started doing by instinct with how many times he’d done it. You leaned back into him, sinking into his embrace, comfortable between his legs. “The muffins and chocolate cakes are bought. I bought them first thing in the morning, while you were still sleeping.”

You smiled; your husband had always been sneaky, both literally and figuratively.

The blond hung his head sullenly, looking like a sad puppy. He puffed out smoke to the side, mindful not to blow it in your face. “Sorry, my love. I’m no good at baking…”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you said, leaning into his strong body and planting a kiss on his cheek, which made him perk up, a sweet blush painting his cheeks, soon followed by his goofy smile. “And what you did cook is delicious, as were the cakes and muffins you bought.”

“Thank you, Rosinante.” you said, full of joy. “This is beautiful.”

Rosinante chuckled, a charming, gentle, yet deep sound. It made your heart race in your chest. It still didn’t feel real that this wonderful man was yours. The knowledge of it rushed goosebumps up your spine.

To think you’d find a true prince charming in this world. He had come straight down from heaven and accidentally bumped right into you. He was straight out of a fairytale, brown eyes and golden locks of wavy hair tickling his earlobes.

Rosinante looks so pretty, like an angel.

“It’s nothing to thank me for.” Rosinante’s long fingers laced between the spaces of yours, his wedding ring pressing against yours. “You always take care of me. It's my job to take care of you, too, you know. It’s nice to be away from Marineford. I get you all to myself.”

Rosinante’s lips lifted into a sly, flirtatious smile, his eyes lowering to your lips, a hint of hunger flashing in his brown eyes. “And we’re all alone… this place is pretty well hidden.”

You picked up on his meaning and smiled brightly. Your hand slid up his chest, carefully tracing along the hearts on the pink fabric, along his strong, firm shoulder, brushing against his nape, sliding up into the blond, golden curls of his soft hair, running your fingers through it slowly. All the while, Rosinante’s body leaned closer and closer to yours like a magnet of north finding its south, his large hand settling on the middle of your back, pulling you flush to him, towering over you, until all you could see, smell and breathe was him.

“Is that so, commander…” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze with half-lidded eyes.

Rosinante cradled your chin between his thumb and index finger, brought your face up to his, his half-lidded eyes soft and hungry, a charming curve of his lips rendering you breathless. Your breath hitched, staring into his intense gaze — in that moment, you saw the heavenly, commanding intensity inside your husband’s seductive eyes, lighting a fire in your chest. You were being looked at by a real god.

Rosinante kissed you, soft and deep.

“I’m back,” you say to the empty field of blue flowers.

You lay down among the field of the blue forget-me-nots and close your eyes, hoping the flowers will swallow you. Hoping they will enter your lungs, suffocate you, and end you, give you your last, final, living breath. Your tears soak the blue petals of the flowers you and Rosinante used to lay among.

Rosinante used to lie right here beside you, the halo of his blond curly hair shining among the blue blossoms.

Now, there is only the gaping hole of sorrow, a void. An emptiness. You don’t feel anything.

You closed your eyes, clutching Rosinante’s picture tightly between your fingers. You lay there on your side, crying silently among the blue petals where you and your husband once laid together.

No one ever told you that grief feels like fear. You are not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same terrible sinking in the stomach, the same restlessness, the same yawning hole.

It sinks in.

Rosinante isn’t coming home to you.

***

“Excuse me?”

The owner of the flower shop jumped at the deep voice. She turned, and had to look up, and then had to look up more, and then some more, and stared at a handsome man with blond, spiked-up hair, dressed in a red suit with a red tie, sunglasses concealing his eyes.

“Do you know where the Donquixote residence is?” the man asked.

“If you’re looking for Commander Rosinante, he’s away on marine business.”

The stranged blinked - or at least, she assumed he did, by his expression.

“You don’t know?” the exceptionally tall man asked.

“Know what, sir?”

“Rosinante is dead,” the blond man in the red suit delivers the terrible news bluntly, calmly, without any deep emotion, as though he’s telling her about the weather; it reminds her of veteran marines who have seen too much death and have grown used to it. He is staring down at her, into her eyes, with a serious look.

“Oh goodness!” the florist cried, eyes wide. “That poor man... When did it happen?”

“Yesterday evening,” said the blond man blatantly, his voice still calm, his expression still serious. “The news coo hasn’t flown out yet, so only the marines and family know for now. He’ll be in the obituary today or tomorrow.”

“I see... So you’re looking for —”

“His wife,” said the man.

The florist pursed her lips. The man with the unnerving resemblance to Commander Rosinante, despite being devilishly handsome and appearing not to have a single evil bone in his body or hold any malicuious intent, was still a stranger to her.

“Please,” the man with the hair the colour of the yellow primroses says, a desperation in his face. “I’d like to surprise her. Cheer her up. We haven’t seen each other a long time. She shouldn’t be alone.”

The flower shop owner’s heart throbbed at the words and the look of raw pain on the tall man’s face. She had no idea Commander Rosinante had died… and yesterday evening, at that… That was why you’d been wandering around aimlessly, like you were a ghost not meant fo stay in the world. You must have gotten the news… you poor thing.

“Mrs Donquixote lives in a house near the river,” said the shop owner. She pointed to the right end of the cobblestone street. “You take a right there, then a left. It’s a bit farther in the richer district, but that’s the sort of accomodations a Commander and his wife deserve. I can’t believe he's gone… He was such a wonderful man. His son will be devastated.”

The tall man tensed up, flinching.

(In that moment, Donquixote Doflamingo experienced a small heart attack thinking he was an uncle and there was a baby with you — his brother’s baby.)

“...son?” he breathed; his entire tone of voice changing, he sounded shocked and hesitant.

“This little boy. Law, I think. ” The man’s body slumped, as though he was relieved. “He was the sweetest thing. Quiet, but what sick child wouldn’t be? He always clung to Commander Rosinante when I saw them in town. No doubt Commander took him from the battlefield. I suppose he took the boy to the marines to try to find his parents, or to ensign him into the force.”

The blond man’s lips twitched slightly. “I see… Thank you for the help.”

The man turned to leave.

“She likes primroses,” blurted the shop owner. She glanced to the man’s glazed-up hair, and then to the yellow primroses - Mrs Donquixote’s favourite flowers - and was struck dumb.

The sharply dressed man’s blond hair was the exact same colour as the flowers.

“Like your hair, sir.”

“My hair?” asked the man.

The florist nodded. “Yellow primroses.”

The man smiles, and once more, the woman is hit by how similar to Commander Rosinante he looks - so similar he could be his brother! What a strange resemblance!

“Then, a bouquet of yellow primroses, please,” says the man dressed in the merlot suit, handing over a bill of five thousand berri. “And keep the change.”

“Oh, no, no, dear.” she said with a shake of her head, arranging the bouquet of yellow flowers, not taking the offered bill. “You keep your money. Just get her these, all right?”

The man’s mouth opened in a slight ‘o’, and he stared at her in surprise. He looked goofy, and so similar to the same expression Commander Rosinante made when he was shocked or taken by surprise.

However, he nodded, accepting the flowers.

“And... stay by her side.” The florist said. “Don’t let her be alone.”

An emotion crossed the man’s tanned, handsome face; he looked like he was in pain.

The blond man pulls the bouquet of yellow flowers to his chest, his long, puppeteer-like fingers holding them protectively.

“I will,” he promised.

He turned and left in the direction of the Donquixote residence. The florist was unable to keep her eyes off of him. What a sharp-looking, well-dressed man…

And so handsome! Oh, if she was only thirty years younger, she would have definitely asked him for his transponder snail number, or whatever the youth use these days.

***

The moment he was out of the small town, Doflamingo used his strings and flew high into the air, using the same basic of given directions to locate your house.

It didn’t take him long to find the river, and as he approached the flatlands of the island, he saw many houses scattered around. Probably those of families of retired high-ranking marine officers and their families. likely from other high-ranked retired marines and their families.

Doflamingo landed in front of the wooden fence surrounding a garden. A white, two-story house stood down the garden.

Doflamingo saw rows of cabbages beside the dirt path, their green leaves shielding the plant’s head. There was a roofed porch leading to the entrance doors. The garden fence didn’t even reach to his knees. Doflamingo stepped over it.

It looked rather a lot like a farmhouse, but without the farm — Doflamingo would have heaved if there were farm animals around being used for sustenance — and with the garden and yard.

A crow gave a caw. Doflamingo turned to the sound, and nearly cut a human-like silhouette’s head off with his strings.

It was a scarecrow. Not any scarecrow. Doflamingo stood eye-level with it, staring at the shiny red sunglasses, white dress shirt and white capri pants with red flame patterns the scarecrow of hay wore.

Doflamingo’s lips twitched; he felt like laughing, and barely withheld it not to make any noise. It was certainly a likeness.

Corazón must have stolen one of his sunglasses for it.

Chuckling, Doflamingo prowled toward the porch, and stood in front of the entrance doors.

Should he knock?

Doflamingo smiled maliciously, full of menace.

No.

Donquixote Doflamingo, hands in the pockets of his merlot suit pants, kicked down the doors of his sister-in-law’s house.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called.

The only sound in the space lit by the windows letting the light in was the whoosh of the curtains.

“Huh…?”

She isn’t even home to be surprised!

Scoffing in annoyance at his entrance being ruined by not having you witness it, Doflamingo entered through the door frame into the living room lit by natural light coming from the curtains.

“Tch.”

Guess she’s still in town. Did she go to buy groceries for lunch?

“Hm?”

A large picture caught his attention.

Oh.

You’re beautiful.

It was a picture of you, Rosinante, and Law. All of you are smiling at the camera, showing the peace sign. Doflamingo stares at his little brother’s big smile, because it’s the first time he sees it on him, having never seen it on his brother as an adult.

Doflamingo’s mouth forms into a sneer.

Thinking you could have your cake and eat it too, huh, Corazón? You bastard. You liar. You traitor.

Doflamingo exhaled. It didn’t matter anymore. Your husband’s sins were not yours. His brother already paid for his betrayal, and Doflamingo had forgiven him for it. You were a Donquixote by marriage with his brother, therefore, you were under Doflamingo’s protection, and the only real family he had left. As the head of the Donquixote family, since your husband was gone, your care, happiness and health were Doflamingo’s responsibility now. In Mariejois, the head of the family is expected to care for the close family members such as this. Celestial Dragons leave no family behind. If you and Doflamingo were in Holy Land, he would do the same; do anything to provide for you, take you into his home, care for you.

By Celestial traditions and rules of the Holy Land, you belong to Doflamingo now.

Doflamingo frowns. It’s an entire life here, in these pictures. A life Doflamingo never knew about, never asked about. Because he’d trusted his little brother.

A life Doflamingo was completely left out of.

Reading about the Fleet Admiral adopting his brother was one thing, seeing his little brother, dressed in marine cadet garb, shyly looking at the camera with Sengoku’s hand on his shoulder was another. More people started appearing in the pictures as his brother grew, as he got leaner and stronger, as he cut his bangs not to cover his eyes anymore, and eventually, you were in the pictures with his brother, too — it was so unbearably obvious you two were going to be together by the way you two smiled, by the way you held each other, your body languages speaking with the way you leaned toward each other — that when he arrived to the single photo of the two of you in the living room in Water 7 (undoubtedly tyour honeymoon destination), it felt like you and his brother had been married way before he wore his wedding suit and you your wedding dress.

Doflamingo climbed up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He needed to know what sort of clothes you liked to wear.

The master bedroom was large, walls painted sky blue, with a large three meter long bed in the middle, and a large white wardrobe.

Doflamingo scoffed, unimpressed. What a dump of a master bedroom. Is this where the magic was supposed to happen? It wasn’t very magical to Doflamingo. It looked like any plain bedroom in the taverns he stayed in.

Doflamingo walked to the closet, and opened it. There was no walk-in closet here. What a disgrace. This isn't how their mother raised them to treat their spouses.

The clothes in your wardrobe were so ordinary... so plain...

Well, it didn’t matter. Doflamingo was going to buy proper clothes for a beautiful woman like you.

Curiousity got the better of him, and he opened his brother’s wardrobe.

Ten pristinely white marine coats hung from the clothing rack, paired with blue dress shirts.

That was a lot of coats.

Doflamingo let out a snort, shaking his head at his brother’s affliction to set his clothes on fire. Some things never change. Whoever thought giving his little brother a lighter was a good idea must have been a madman.

Donquixote Rosinante, commander of the most deadly assassination and spy unit of the marines, the Crow Corps. Doflamingo had heard about them, but never knew their identities - they were thought not to exist, really. For all his years in the underworld, Doflamingo never encountered them — or maybe he had, and was not aware of it.

The Crow Corps were a myth, a story to scare the sailors with, a marine legend pirates talked about when something went incredibly amiss in intelligence gathering and the underworld.

“Must’ve been the Crow Corps.”

“Beware the Crow Corps, they’re the marines’ eyes and ears; they can hear you through the thickest walls and see you in the darkest shadow.”

Doflamingo would have felt proud of his brother’s achievements if he didn’t see how dim-witted his baby brother really was, throwing all of his hard work away to save Law.

After checking your shirt, dress, skirts, pants and shoe sizes, he also pulled out a few bras to get an insight on your bra size — he needed to know it be able to buy you proper, nice undergarments, not this cotton, wire bullshit — he started scouring boxes in Rosinante’s wardrobe. Maybe he’d find some information on the marines there, a blueprint, a floor plan, sailing routes, anything really. Instead, all he found was Rosinante’s official documents, and the copy of the marriage contract. You two had even gotten a house in Marineford free of charge. He was surprised how well the marines took care of their families, but it wasn’t new. Better to encourage families and support them so they give you more little marines to train and send out to get killed in battle.

Doflamingo took your personal documents from your nightstand’s drawer. You’d need those with him. Registrating your identity again would be a risk — he didn’t plan on letting you off the ship the first two weeks, little less to risk taking you to a registration office for you to get your identity card again. Putting them into his pocket, he also folded the only single good file of clothing that fit his standards — a beautiful light blue silk dress — and put that into the pocket of his feather coat, too.

With that done, he left the master bedroom, and headed back downstairs into the open living room and kitchen, and started scouring through the drawers in the living room, too. He paused when he found a video snail, with writing on its shell.

Our Wedding

Footage. Of his little brother’s wedding.

Doflamingo took the snail from the shelf, pulled down the projector screen on the wall opposite of the large white couch, and set up the snail. He sat down on the couch and turned the snail on.

The first thing he saw was the man standing beside his brother as his brother’s best man.

That was the crazy zoan shithead that attacked him ten years ago.

Doflamingo clenched his teeth, his chest inflated as he inhaled in fury. The blood vessels on his forehead exposed themselves, throbbing along with his rage. He wanted to break something.

That one? That half-Lunarian scum was Rosi’s best man instead of Doflamingo?

It seemed Rosinante had abandoned him as a brother way before he tried to destroy his life.

But Doflamingo had never abandoned Rosinante. He’d trusted him. He’d loved him. Rosinante was his precious, sweet little brother, the one he trusted the most in the entire world, the one person nobody — nobody — was allowed to hurt. And what did Doflamingo get for trusting him, for protecting him, for loving him, because who else if not his brother by blood, who else if not his equal, his fellow god?

All his plans nearly ruined, Law fleeing after eating the Op-Op Fruit, and his little brother pointing a gun at him.

In the end, after all that, after screwing everything up, aware of what he’d done, how he’d betrayed him... Rosinante didn’t even have the guts to do it to the end and pull the fucking trigger.

Doflamingo returned his attention to the projection on the wall.

His brother was dressed in the usual wedding marine outfit; soft light blue suit, light blue waistcoat, white dress shirt and light blue tie with floral prints of small forget-me-not flowers.

However, Doflamingo found his eyes pasted to you, staring at you intensely, taking in your wedding dress. It complimented your figure, hugging your delicate curves, with an open back, off-shoulder, with flower-patterned lace sleeves. The off-shoulder dress revealed your delicate collarbone and shoulders, temptation in white lace.

What a beauty you were.

Doflamingo was impressed. His brother cleaned up well. No wonder you were all over him — his brother finally dressed as was proper for his godly status. If only his brother dressed like that all the time, and not like a clown…

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” the cheering of the guests filled the room.

Doflamingo could tell by the way your eyes looked at his brother. You loved his brother deeply.

Rosinante leaned down, and you met him half-way, hugging him around the waist happily — oh yes, you very much loved his brother, thought Doflamingo, amused — and the two of you shared another kiss as newlyweds.

Applause and cheers erupted. More confetti rained down on Corazón and you, a few scraps of it landing on your heads, strewn over his brother’s golden hair.

It didn’t escape Doflamingo’s notice how close Corazón held you to himself, and kissed you again, more passionate and deeper this time, making the crowd cheer and whistle.

Doflamingo chuckled. Who knew his quiet, sweet little brother was so passionate and possessive with his wife… he sure liked playing the good marine boy, but he was certainly a greedy, selfish man.

Just like Doflamingo.

Doflamingo heard a whistle from behind the video snail, “Leave some for the honeymoon, Rosi!”

“Oh, shut up, Wulf. Gimme that!”

His brother’s face entered the frame, his light brown eyes looking at the recorder snail, blinking. Doflamingo blinked back, staring at his brother who was without his make-up and beanie.

Rosi.

“Why’re you taking pictures?”

“It’s a video snail, Rosi.”

“Oh!”

“Hiiii!” said Rosinante, waving at the snail’s eyes, smiling wide and bright like the sun, golden and white, truly like a god. “We just got married!”

Doflamingo stared at the screen, watching his little brother smiling and waving at him.

You laughed, and Doflamingo felt his breath hitch at the sweet, gentle sound, staring at your smile; it was like an angel smiling.

“Well,” murmured Doflamingo, lounging back on the large white couch, staring at you; you looked beautiful in that wedding dress, like an angel. How on earth his brother held himself back from taking you and ripping your dress off your body was anyone’s guess. “You got something right.” The pirate smiled darkly. “What a pretty thing your wife is, fufufufu!”

“What are you doing, recording all the time? Hibou is stealing your ladies, you know.”

“Not that I mind!” came another man’s voice.

“I’m putting my flirty boy hat down for tonight!” announced Wulf determinantly. “I’m your best man, it’s my duty to record everything!”

“Isn’t that the photographer’s job?” asked Rosinante.

“Not when you promise the photographer a piece of this,” said Wulf with a grin, touching his body clad in the sky blue suit from the waist up to his white slicked-back hair, giving the snail a flirtatious wink, “in exchange for him giving you the video snail.”

“Wulf…”

“What? You two aren’t the only ones fucking at the end of the night!”

Rosinante’s face turned a deep pink, while you chuckled.

Doflamingo skipped forward, past the procession and the feast, and over the speeches. He stopped to watch the couple’s first dance.

Rosinante took you by the hand and led you onto the podium of leaves. The band started playing a slow, romantic song mainly focused on piano and violin. Rosinante pulled you close (with surprising elegance Doflamingo never thought him capable of, clumsy as his brother was) and pulled you into a slow waltz. For long minutes, you two danced, spinning and swaying, blue and white blending together perfectly, like the sky and the clouds.

The music continued, and Doflamingo watched you rest your head on his brother's shoulder when he bent down, resting his forehead against your temple, kissing your hair. You pulled your head up from his brother's shoulder, and that sweet look would have made Doflamingo bend down and kiss you. Instead of doing that, Rosinante laid his forehead against yours, and as you two swayed together to the slow music, staring into each other's eyes, your lips moved, forming words Doflamingo couldn't hear from the music. Rosinante smiled gently at you, his lips moving, making the same shape of words as yours did.

The music muted it, but Doflamingo could tell. He knew the shape Rosi’s lips formed, what words they whispered to you, pressed together with you as his brother was, the two of you like swans entangled in each other’s wings.

“I love you.”

Getting hungry — and wanting snacks to watch the show — Doflamingo headed to the kitchen to get some beer and chips.

Doflamingo paused in the dining room, his eyes catching onto the plate on the dinner table. It was a plate with a tower of pancakes, covered in chocolate syrup. Were you expecting someone? A marine guard to take you away from the island and to Marineford for the funeral?

Well…

Doflamingo grinned.

Finders keepers.

He snatched one and devoured it in one bite.

The chocolate syrup and chocolate filling inside created a wonderful flavour in his mouth.

Delicious.

Doflamingo grabbed the next pancake, feeling absolutely no shame in eating the pancakes you made for someone else.

As Doflamingo eats the full plate of pancakes, he walks around, surveying the pictures of you and his brother atop the fireplace. There is a large, binded book, and after cleaning his gloves from chocolate and sugar with a napkin, Doflamingo picks it up.

It’s a photo album. He grins. Bingo.

Doflamingo gets himself comfortable on the white couch, puts the flowers and the plate of pancakes on each thigh, opens up the photo album, grabs another pancake from the plate and looks through the pictures of you and his brother as he waits for you to come home.

***

Whenever you had nightmares, Rosinante used to say, “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

Those words feel empty and meaningless now. Rosi is gone. He can’t protect you anymore, no matter how much you wish he would.

You open the doors of the house, enter, and close them behind you, locking them from the inside.

It takes you a moment, but you notice it.

There is something in the darkness.

A tall, shadowy figure of a man, hunched over, long spine bent, his long, lanky legs crossed over each other, and…

The darkness outlined the silhouette of dark feathers of a massive coat upon his broad shoulders, covering his back.

Hope blooms within you.

“Rosi?”

A sinister, deep, wicked laugh resounded in the darkness, breaking through the silence. The malice within it sunk your gut, shivering your bones with fear; you felt like you were going to be sick. It sounded like evil incarnate.

That isn’t Rosi’s voice. That isn’t Rosi’s laugh. Rosi never laughed like that – ever.

You didn’t know how you managed to flick the light switch on to see which madman it was, but you did.

The first thing you saw when light illuminated the living room was…

Red — merlot red.

For a moment, the colour blinds you. Your focus returns, and you make out what the merlot red is. It’s a tailored, merlot double-breasted suit jacket with golden buttons with a black dress shirt tucked underneath it, a crimson tie tucked neatly in the collar, all of it paired with merlot suit pants.

A man was here. It wasn’t Rosinante.

Golden rings dangled from his tanned earlobes, their shiny reflection lost in the dark shadows of your home, their glitter extinguished. He had a long neck, similar to a flamingo’s, thick and muscular. White-framed sunglasses obscured his eyes. Their tinted, reflective lenses coloured like a bloody sunset stared right back at you, coated crimson in the darkness.

A wide, crescent-shaped, demonic smile bloomed on his face, stretching ear-to-ear, baring all of his white teeth.

That smile froze the blood in your veins.

Your husband’s older brother, Donquixote Doflamingo lounged on the white couch, legs spread wide on each side, grinning at you.

****

Let's say Doflamingo fixed the doors he kicked down, bcs... He wanted that element of surprise. This fic (this chapter particularly) has been in the works for a long time, I just wanted to share it already. If there are any missing scenes connecting between paragraphs - no there aren't. Actually, I appreciate if you guys say to me if there are. There are so many times I can proof read 11.7k words before my brain explodes. Some notes for the chapter and references.

Reader howling to the sky in mourning after finding out about Rosinante's death - for imagination purposes, it's literally Luffy screaming after Ace dies. It was a direct reference to it, and that's how I imagined Reader looking - same expression as Luffy.

The "Rosinante is dead." Doflamingo delivered the news the same way Luffy said "Ace is dead." to Tama in Wano.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @daydreamer-in-training @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @pinejayy @tellynojelly @capycapy-bara @dilf-destroyer-04 @yataidiot @orioncipher @isebauwolf @r-amenegg @skullfacedlady

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n #x reader #one piece x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #one piece #merlot & primroses #fan fiction #doffy x reader #doffy x you

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thetxtdevil · 1 month ago

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＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ New Years Event ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Firework View

Jay x Reader

synopsis: You were not in the happiest mood after a bad day at work on New Year's Eve. Irritated by Jay, who was dragging you up the stairs of your apartment building, you find out why he wasn't returning any of your calls.

content: NSFW/MDNI, smut, angst if you squint, bf.top.jay, bottom.fem.reader, business worker reader, slight fingering, dick stroking, referencing temperature play, no protection smh, p in v, let me know if I'm forgetting anything :)

word count: 1.8k

devil's note: What's this... I am an Enhypen writer now?!? Happy New Years my demons! I am honored to have collabed with the lovely @jakedustry and @hmusunoo check out their fics of the other members.

Your feet ached going up the many flights of stairs in your work heels. The concrete walls trapped the outside’s cool air in, this part of the building was a stark difference from the cozy warm lighting of the main apartment building. “Jay, why couldn’t we use the elevator?”

“Because the elevator doesn’t go up here.” You huff at his answer. You don’t know where your boyfriend is dragging you or why he was ignoring you all day. Jay stays quiet throughout the climb, leaving you in your thoughts.

It was New Year's Eve, and you had work. You shouldn’t complain because you had Christmas Eve and Day off, but it wasn’t fair getting out of your warm bed with Jay still sleeping soundly. He looked so peaceful, having no worries about work today or tomorrow, that it made the sting of jealousy rise in your chest. But alas, you shimmied your way into your knee-length skirt and button-up dress shirt, ready to face the business world.

Not even a few minutes after you clocked in and sitting at your desk you get a text message from Jay, “What time are you coming home today?” You smile thinking he was already missing you and you reply to the planned time you’re supposed to leave. Of course, the universe seems to not be on your side today, Jay never responded, assignment due dates were being changed, and work was piling up. You look at the tiny numbers on the corner of the screen showing ‘4:30 pm’ You groan knowing that it was past your scheduled time to clock out. Your fingers harshly card through your hair, becoming more stressed looking at the piles of papers and the many tabs on your desktop. You were going to be there for a while. If that didn’t stress you enough, your silent boyfriend made it worse. No sign of a reply from the morning, and no sign of checking in. Every once in a while Jay would text you to see if you were well, especially on his days off. He would always find time to get food and eat with you during your break. You don’t expect it every time but you thought it would be different since it was a holiday, but nothing, just a simple “read” notification.

Nicely putting the papers in their designated folders, making sure all documents were saved, and the emails were correct and sent, you rush to log out and turn the desk lamp off leaving you in the cold darkness. Typing a message to Jay on your way out of the building, your heart jumps hearing a “ping” soon after it is sent. Rolling your eyes at the simple, “sounds good,” your overthinking habit flares up, wondering what in the world he was up to. After the decompressing ride to your apartment and the sight of the tall handsome man you call your boyfriend, your anger melted away. However, it wasn’t long until that same anger came back with Jay tugging you up the last few steps showing you the door with red print, “Rooftop Entrance.”

“Jay I’m tired and cold,” you pant as you once again card your fingers in your already messy hair, “I’ve been working all day, and not to mention your ignorance.”

“I know, I know-” Jay tilts his head towards the door hiding his crooked smile. He was not proud that he ignored you, it hurt him desperately, but he had to keep today’s activities a secret. Texting you would for sure make him slip, but he was debating if he should’ve told you since you were working late, and he now had you rushing up all the apartment fire escape stairs. “I have my reasons, but it's outside.”

You furrow your eyebrow, and your aching feet take a few steps toward the door. Looking back at your boyfriend like he was crazy, you turn the handle opening to a warm atmosphere. Your eyes were big, and every single fairy light reflected on your teary orbs. Expecting to be hit with the winter’s brisk cold weather instead you were engulfed by the hot fireplace crackling by cozy patio chairs. Jay wasn’t too far behind you, a content smile was displayed on his chiseled face looking at your reaction to his work. Spinning around the rooftop, grasping every sight of the place, your lips smack as you try to find the words. “Did– did you do this?” You breathlessly get out the words.

Jay scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, I talked to the building’s owner about it and he said he’s been wanting to do something with the empty place, so that’s how I got permission to do this.” His hand releases his nervous scratch when he sees you walking towards him. You bring Jay into a big hug. He asks, “Do you like it, honey?”

“I love it,” you lift your head to look into his chocolate eyes, “but I don’t like you ignoring me.”

Jay frowns, “I’m sorry, I just wanted this to be a surprise and-” Your lips crash into his, shutting up his unnecessary ramble. Jay quickly accepts his fate and lets his words be forgotten as he deepens the kiss.

His hands latch onto your waist massaging your tired muscles. You moan into his mouth, instantly relaxing into his arms. At that moment you knew there was nothing to be worried about with your boyfriend, thankful that you have him here in each other's arms. Then you feel his grasp inch lower to your ass and squeeze the plushness. His kisses drift from your lips to your jawline, down to your neck. Tilting your head back to give him more room to explore, you hum at the light kisses and love bites he leaves. Jay’s exploring hands loosen your tucked-in shirt making you shiver at a gust of wind flowing up your torso. Then he tugs at your skirt, bunching it up so that your panties are the only thing covering your cunt. You’re quick to hold his arms, stopping his movements, “Wha-what are you, we can’t do that here!”

Jay groans, his pleading eyes made you want to give him the world, not to mention the hard-on poking you. “No one knows about the rooftop. You didn’t.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the bland entry door and then at the cozy patio set up Jay built. Weighing your options you whip your head back to the man, “Fuck it, and fuck me.”

The biggest smirk spreads on your boyfriend's lips, a screech leaves your lips when all of a sudden Jay picks you up. Both of you giggle as you cling to him, you forget how strong your boyfriend is even though you remind him how big his muscles are. Plopped down on the couch cushion you take the moment to observe your surroundings. Above you was Jay with darkened eyes, something you’ve seen plenty of times yet it still makes your stomach do summersaults. “Was this your plan all along?”

He kisses your lips while unbuttoning your top, “I wanted a nice place to celebrate New Year's,” he says in between kisses down the valley of your breasts, “but you’re always so tempting.”

Lifting your body to help Jay unclothe you, you unbutton his top as he unhooks your bra resulting in a relaxed sigh. Garments being thrown without a care as to where they land, his lips find your perky nipple fueling the fire inside you. You instinctively close your thighs only to be stopped by Jay’s broad body in between them. Grinding against his clothed hard-on, all you could do was moan mindlessly under the man’s body.

Jay’s hand wanders down in between your thighs rubbing your cotton panties, playing with the lacey hem. “Mmm, don’t tease.” You whine becoming more desperate bucking your hips up.

His fingertips follow the lining hooking the material before dipping his middle finger within your folds, “Shit, baby, you’re wet.” Heat creeps on your face, and a cool gust streamlines between your bodies, causing your nipples to perk up and your cunt to ache. Jay straightens his posture and releases his fingers. You whimper, admiring his honey-skinned torso as he licks his fingers of arousal clean. The crisp air of the night makes your whole body shiver as he nicely tugs your panties off. The half-naked man leans down lips coming together like a puzzle piece passionately kissing. Your hand then drifts down his lightly toned abs before unzipping his trousers, grasping his hard cock. A shaking gasp spilled into your mouth signaling you to continue your actions, lightly stroking his veiny shaft and thumbing his pink tip.

“Baby, baby,” he sighs, his big hand stopping your smaller one around his dick.

“Aw- always so sensitive,” you smile at his face, a light layer of sweat glowing from the fairy lights above.

“Maybe this new year I will do better.”

You smile, “sounds like a lot of fucking,” Jay holds back a giggle to your statement, lining his tip at your gushing hole, slowly pushing in. Soft sounds disappear into the atmosphere, slightly wincing at the stretch from his thickness. He admires your contorted face, already looking fucked out as he dives deeper filling you up. Then Jay finds that spot that has your mouth gapped and fingernails digging into his biceps. Jay wants to follow apart at the feeling of your pulsating walls but you feel, look too good to end it so soon. The man above you speeds up his thrusts making sure he hits your G-spot every time. Melody of moans escapes your lips as your lower belly tightens in pleasure. Each drag of Jay’s cock had you wanting more, you lift your hips trying to match his rhythm. However, Jay wanted you just to relax and take it. Lifting your legs over his shoulders, the new position felt deeper, more addicting. Jay starts pounding into you like an animal, watching you lose it, tits bouncing, head tilting back, eyes rolled to the back of your head. It was beautiful to him, making it more beautiful as he decorated your skin with his love bites. You lift your hand to the nape of his neck, combing your fingers through his dark strands while your other hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing it hard to reach your climax. “I-ah, I’m close,” you sigh with ecstasy, Jay nods his head in agreement, releasing his harsh grip on your thigh and replacing your hand on your sensitive button with his.

The dark blue sky was now blinded by white as you came around your boyfriend's cock, soon feeling him painting your walls white. Jay collapses on you, kissing your neck calming you both from your highs. Everything was peaceful until your heart felt like it jumped out of your chest hearing a loud crack, opening your eyes, past the warm lights you see colorful twinkling sparks shoot into the night sky. Jay lifts his head watching the fireworks with you, amongst the booming sparks, distant cheers are heard all around you. Looking at your Jay’s phone on the coffee table it shows 00:00.

“Happy New Year, Honey”

XOXO,

Enhypen's Lucifer

taglist: @izzyy-stuff, @biteyoubiteme, @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

#txt devil #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jay smut #jay smut #jay x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #jay hard thoughts #jay hard hours #jay x you #jay x y/n #enhypen smut

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brandyllyn · 1 month ago

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Frostbite

Max Phillips x f!reader

Summary: By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. Words: 1.9k

For the #pedrostoriesgift24 Holiday Gift Exchange. @almostfoxglove asked for:

* max gets reader/character for their office's secret santa (or vice versa) * office christmas party

And y'all know I can't resist Max.

My Masterlist <- So much more Max stuff here y'all. I've missed him.

Rated: Teen Warnings: This is romantic and sweet and I make no apologies for that. Max being Max, however.

If you had to listen to George Michael complain one more time about what happened last Christmas, you were going to cause a scene.

Looking around the room, you took some small solace that no one else seemed to be having a good time either. Derek had taken up a post near the exit, obviously waiting until just enough time had passed that he could make a break for it. Malika was on her third hard cider - if she wasn’t careful she’d be the Monday morning gossip.

And the very next day, you gave it away…

You slip your phone from your pocket as surreptitiously as possible, checking the clock. Not even 6:30, there was still the speech from the CEO, the sales award, and of course the office secret Santa to get through before you could make your escape. They always saved secret Santa for last - everyone marching one by one to open their gift from the table in the center of the room. Showing everyone the mug they had been given.

It was always a mug.

The table looked extra sad this year - filled almost entirely with bags, half of which didn’t even have a festive spray of tissue. It was the laziest possible wrapping job. Nothing more clearly said ‘I put no thought into this’ than a dollar store bag, taped shut.

You had wrapped your gift. An oblong box with a festive red bow. Inside was a designer tie - one you had been lucky to find at a local thrift store. You had no idea if your giftee would like it, he ran so hot and cold you never could tell if he even liked you. Or anybody for that matter.

“Hey there sweet cheeks, looking for me?”

Speak of the devil.

“Never.”

He sidles up next to you, all long limbs and expensive cologne. His suit is perfect; crisp navy blue with a sparkly snowflake tie. As usual he stands too close, forcing you to shift slightly sideways to avoid brushing against him.

“You tease,” he pouts with a puffed out lower lip. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

Max Phillips, rising star of the sales department. Arrogant, conceited asshole and inveterate flirt. He was handsome too, which was honestly just annoying. If someone was going to be that obnoxious, they should at least look like half a roasted ham.

“I have it on good authority you don’t have one,” you point out.

He pats his chest for a moment, giving you a wounded look. “Stacey tell you that? Don’t be jealous, baby.”

“Miranda.”

He has the decency to hesitate, eyes darting across the room before back to you. “Well, someone had to be my shoulder to cry on.” You snort at that and he grins, shifting closer again and almost backing you to the wall. “And don’t worry about them, that’s business.”

You were pretty sure whatever that was you had walked in on in the copy room hadn’t been ‘business’ but you don’t point it out. Miranda hadn’t been the same, something viscerally off about her, ever since.

“You,” he leaned into you and you felt a cubicle wall at your back, “you would be nothing but pleasure wouldn’t you?”

“We are at work.”

“Most couples meet at work.”

“We’re not a couple.”

“We’re not a couple, yet.” He takes a deep breath and frowned. “You don’t take good care of yourself.”

“Excuse you?”

It came out close to a shriek, several heads turning your direction. Max gave them a dazzlingly wide smile and as one they smiled back. Even Richard, the grumpiest at the best of times, blushed. He blushed.

“You’re not eating right.”

By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes scanning the room while he talked out of the corner of his mouth. “Dave is doing his speech,” you try to point out but Max gives you his attention long enough to roll his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject, babydoll.”

“What subject?”

Max takes the proverbial shovel you offer. “You’re gaunt. You’re not getting the right vitamins.”

“From the man who has an ‘allergy’ to sunlight.”

The grin he gives you is wolfish. “That’s documented. I have a doctor’s note.” You can’t help the small smile and of course he notices. “There now, was that so hard? I’m being charming all over the place here.”

“Why?”

The word is a hiss of air and he blinks at you, confused. “What do you mean, why?”

“You’ve fucked half the office.” You try very hard to keep your tone too low for anyone else to hear. “Am I keeping you from bingo or something?”

Another one of those deep breaths and he leans in to you, so close you think he might actually nuzzle you. “I like you.”

You snort, turning away.

“I do.” He scans the room again before he turns, blocking your view with his wide shoulders. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“I said no.”

There’s silence for several heartbeats before he admits, “You intrigue me.”

“You’re a liar.”

“All the time,” he concedes. “But not right now. There’s something for my people, a knowing of sorts…”

He trails off and you can’t help but ask, “Your people? Wasps?”

“Something like that.”

“Max Phillips!” The call of his name comes from out of the blue.

“Gotta run, sugar tits, duty calls.”

Of course he’s won the sales award. He shakes the CEO’s hand while accepting the plaque, turning and smiling - not pausing for even a moment when he realizes no one is going to take his photo. It doesn’t stop him from playing mayor of the cubicle farm, waving at a few people before stepping to the side. You notice him looking at you and studiously avoid meeting his eyes.

The secret Santa starts and you take a quick tally of how many people participated this year. Even if half the people make a fuss about it, you should be able to leave in fifteen minutes - twenty tops.

Since Max won the award he gets to go first, picking up the box you had carefully wrapped and tearing into it with the gusto of a toddler. He fingers the silk and you swear his eyes dart to where you’re standing.

There is no way he could know you’d bought it for him. No way.

“Looks like we may have a tie for best present.”

People laugh at his terrible joke and he steps to the side, letting the next person fetch their mug. You try to be surreptitious as you gauge his reaction. Does he like it? Does he think it’s tacky? With one hand he pulls off the one he’s wearing and loops the length of red silk around his collar, deftly tying a full Windsor.

It looks good on him.

Dammit.

Your name is called and you shake yourself out of your stupor, avoiding looking to the side. The present is in a bright orange bag - not even a holiday color - and stapled closed. You reach in and pull out the small bottle.

“Iron supplements.”

There’s a small scattering of applause and you stare at the offending object for so long the new HR lady has to gently move you aside.

Iron supplements.

Your secret Santa got you fucking iron supplements.

“You don’t look happy.”

The tie you so carefully picked out mocks you. You put thought into his present - and your Santa did what? Clean out their medicine cabinet? You wouldn’t be surprised if the bottle was already open.

No, you were not happy. You were fuming.

“You look pale.”

“Shut up.”

“And you’ve been having headaches lately.”

“How would you know?”

“I told you, you intrigue me.”

Something clicks and you finally look up at him, bottle clenched in your fist. “This was you?”

“You’re anemic.”

He sounds so absurdly reasonable you barely resist the urge to kick him. “You are not my doctor.”

“Do you have a doctor?”

You don’t, not that he needs to know that.

“If you did they might tell you your iron count is dangerously low. You should get checked for an autoimmune disease.”

“I do not have an autoimmune disease.” Derek shoots you a surprised look and you give him a wide smile before jerking Max’s arm and pulling him into a supply closet. “This is not appropriate. On like a hundred levels.”

“Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.” You shove a finger into his chest. “You may get other people to leap to your bidding but I’m not one of them.”

“I know,” he grins, “it’s fantastic.”

“Fantastic?” you repeat.

“Fantastic.” He’s faster that you expect, grabbing your wrist and flattening your palm to his chest. “Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

He sounds genuinely concerned and you deflate, giving in. “I don’t have the money for fresh food. I’m living off ramen at the moment, okay? I’ll probably develop scurvy soon.”

“We pay you a decent amount - not what you’re worth, of course - but market value.”

You don’t bother asking how he knows that. “My ex took a loan out in my name. I’ve been paying it off.”

“Why isn’t he paying it off?”

“Because he’s an asshole and I can’t make him do anything.”

“Want me to kill him for you?”

It’s said so casually you almost think he means it. “It’s fine. It’s only another year. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to get rickets.”

“Isn’t that what Tiny Tim had?”

He nods. “Yes, and you’ll be begging for a Christmas bonus just like he did, too.”

“I think that was his dad.”

“Which one did Kermit play?”

You scoff, trying to pull your hand away from him. “Have you only ever seen the Muppet version of a Christmas Carol?”

He doesn’t let you go. “It’s the only one worth seeing.”

“Max,” you say softly. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, for worrying about me. Even if this-” you hold up the supplements with your other hand “-is by far the worst gift I have ever gotten.”

He gifts you with that wide, easy smile of his. “Let me buy you dinner, to make up for it.”

“Sure you don’t already have a date?”

“I’d cancel any plans for you.” If you didn’t know better you’d say he was serious.

“Big words, don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

He’s standing close, so close your chest brushes his when you take a breath. “Max…”

Tingles shoot to your fingertips as his lips capture yours. A rush of heat floods through you and you can’t help but moan when he sinks his fingers into the back of your neck. The sound he makes is close to a growl, his mouth opening and his tongue is suddenly there, licking at the seam of your lips.

Would it be wrong to climb him like a tree in the supply closet?

He apparently has the same idea, lifting you from underneath your ass with an ease that takes your breath away. Your back is pressed to the wire shelves and his hips settle between your thighs as though he’s always belonged there. Your neck arches into the palm of his hand and he nuzzles beneath your ear.

“Take your damn iron pills.”

“What?”

“Your iron,” his teeth scrape along your jaw, “and maybe a multi-vitamin too.”

You were going to slap him. Just soon as your head stopped spinning from his kiss.

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Tagging in @almostfoxglove once more. Hope you liked your Max.

#max phillips #max philips x reader #pedrostoriesgift24 #pedrostories #it christmas!#merr christmas

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alastor-simp · 3 months ago

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Trick or Treat - Alastor x Female Reader

❥Summary: It's Halloween, and the hotel is decorated in spooky decor and sweet treats were prepared. Towards the end of the night, you are approached by Alastor and he has a very intimate question for you.

❥Tags: Halloween, Halloween Night, Trick or Treat, October 31st, Alastor x Reader, Female Reader, Soon To Be Smut, Spooky.

❥Notes: Halloween story for Alastor is here. This will be a two different ending story (Trick Chapter and Treat Chapter) and they will both be different scenarios and either romantic fluff or smut. Enjoy and Happy Halloween

❥Credit- Halloween divider from @riottsrph

It's finally Halloween!!!! You have been waiting for this day ever since you arrived in the Hazbin Hotel. Halloween was something you celebrated when you were still alive, and you were still going to continue to celebrate it even when you were in Hell. You begged Charlie and Vaggie if it was possible to plan a Halloween costume party in the hotel for everyone. Charlie was immediately on board with you, grabbing a paper and pen, making a list of everything that they needed to prepare for the party. Vaggie was a bit hesitant at first, but she gave in to Charlie's puppy dog eyes.

Grabbing the invitations that you drew up, you placed them under the doors of all of the residents, reminding them to head to the lobby at around 7 pm, and to wear a spooky costume. Charlie also extended an invitation to her dad, especially since her and him had a better relationship now. Charlie and Vaggie were managing the decorations, while you headed to the kitchen, preparing tasty treats for the others. You decided to do both savory and sweet halloween treats, since others might not have a sweet tooth, aka Alastor. For the sweets, you made witch finger cookies, caramel + candy apples, halloween covered strawberries. The savory treats was ghost pizza, spooky charcuterie board, and mummie meatballs.

🧡💚💜🖤Treats🖤💜💚🧡

(Credit to Pinterest)

"All set!" You said to yourself, enthusiastically, satisfied with the dishes you prepared. Charlie saw what you made and gave you a big hug, truly happy and excited to try them and the others to enjoy them as well.

Eyeing the clock, it was almost time for the party. You ran towards your room, ready to put on your (favorite halloween costume) on. Once you were finished, you headed to the lobby, ready for the party. The lobby was decorated from head to toe in spooky decorations. The chandelier was covered in cobwebs, ghost string lights were hang up all over the walls, black, orange and white balloons were scattered on the floor, spider and ghost streamers hanged from the ceiling, and the table was set up with the food you prepared and a punch bowl, which was probably gonna be spiked later. Everyone was in the lobby, dressed in their costumes. Charlie and Vaggie were dressed up as Glinda and Elphaba from the musical, Wicked. Charlie's cat, Keekee was wearing an adorable devil costume. Angel was wearing a very sexy police uniform, as expected of him. Husk had on a big red and white striped hat and bowtie, resembling the cat in the hat. Niffty had on a purple and black dress, combined with a point hat and broom, resembling a witch. Sir Pentious donned a lab coat, with rubber gloves and fake medical tools, clearly looking like a mad doctor, and his Egg bois were dressed up in little nurses outfits. You expected Lucifer to dress up as either a prince or vampire, but here he was, dressed in a big duck costume, well he looked good in it.

Alastor was the only one who wasn't in the lobby, making you wondered where he was. "Hey, has anyone seen Alastor?" Your question was met with shrugs, until you heard the sound of static from behind you. "Here I am, my dear!" He said, in a sing-song tone, making you turn your head to look at him. He was still wearing a pin striped suit, but this time it was white and black, along with a bat bowtie in the front. "Ahh, decided to be the Pumpkin king himself for Halloween." Smiling up at Al, you admired his costume, moving your hand up to straightened the bow tie. "Yes well, I much rather prefer to appear as myself since I am heavily feared, but dear Charlie was persistent with the whole costume aspect of this celebration, so I chose this." He said, smile enlarging a bit as he watched you fix his tie. "Well you look very handsome." His ears twitched at what you said, smile turning soft. "OKAY!! ARE WE READY TO GET THIS PARTY STARTED?!" Charlie's voice rang out, making you and Alastor jump as you turned around, facing towards her. "HELL YEAH!" was everyone's response to Charlie, as the halloween party was ready to commence.

The party was a massive hit! Everyone was moaning in joy at how delicious the food was that you prepared, even Alastor gave you a nod of approval for the non sweet dishes you made. Lucifer had used his powers to conjure up some fun entertainment for everyone, as well. He had a giant water jug filled with apples for everyone to do bobbing for apples, which you really enjoyed playing. Turning on the boom box, you put on "Thriller" by MJ, grabbing both Husk and Angel to do the iconic dance. Husk grumbled through half of it, but he lightened up a bit after a while. Everyone else started to dance, and you pulled Alastor to join as well. He wasn't use to dancing to this type of music, but he slowly adapted to it, as you helped him a bit with the moves. Angel insisted on playing beer pong after he asked numerous times, making you relent. He went up against Al, which was a bad idea because the balls tend to always miss his cups, yet magically Al's ping pong balls always landed in Angels cups, causing Angel to drink all of his alcohol.

It soon became very late and everyone was either very drunk or flat out tired, which was a clear sign that the party was over. Lucifer bid everyone a good night, lifting both Charlie and Vaggie in his arms, carrying them to their bedroom. Angel placed Niffty on Husks head, as she was passed out, while the both of them headed to bed. Pen's egg bois were able to lift him up, dragging him away to his bedroom. The only ones who were still awake was you and Alastor, not surprising since he never slept. "MMMMM! Well that was a fun party." Stretching your arms up in the air, you let out a soft groan as you heard your bones crack. "I must admit, it was highly entertaining. Too bad we didn't finish the night with a good hunt!" The demonic aura surrounded Al, as his antlers enlarged and his eyes became dials. "Hey, behave yourself! Besides not everyone would partake in that, well maybe, Niffty." Crossing your arms, you glared at him, as his evil aura faded in a instance. "It was merely a suggestion, my dear. There is no need for you to frown, come now, Smile!" His fingers went to your lips, pulling them up into a smile. Rolling your eyes, you smiled genuinely while removing his hands from your mouth, "Yeah yeah." Turning your eyes back to the lobby, you saw there was a mess that needed to be cleaned up, welp lets get started. Before you can even start cleaning, everything vanished with a flash, making the room spotless. "What?! How did?" Turning back, you realized Al snapped his fingers, using his powers. "Oh right, forgot you could do that." You rubbed your neck, smiling at Al.

Chuckling at your reaction, Al walked closer to you, motioning his arm out for you to take, "Come along now, my dear. Its best we head to bed." Looping you arm with his, you walked along side him, venturing on towards your chambers The both of you finally reached your destination, your room, as the both of you stood at your door. "Thanks for walking me to my room, Al." Alastor smiled down at you, waiting for you to unhook your arm, as he placed both his hands behind his back. "Your very welcome, my dear." Grabbing the handle, you turned the door, before you bid Alastor a good night. Entering inside your room, your head met someones chest causing you to jump and scream. "WAH!" Alastor had teleported into your room, startling you. "HAHA! Apologies for scaring you, but there was a question I wanted to ask you, my dear." Trying to calm yourself down from the scare, you looked up at Al, asking what did he want to ask you. Wearing a toothy smirk, he walked slowly towards you, making you step backwards, your back touching the door. Gripping your chin softly, he tilted it up, crimson eyes gazing into yours, "Trick or Treat?" What? Remaining silent, you pondered what he meant. "Which one, darling? Trick or Treat?"

-To Be Continued-

What answer the reader choose?

Trick-Part Coming Soon

Treat- Part Coming Soon

Sinners:

@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic

@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,

@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,

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@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,

@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao

, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,

@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,

@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,

@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,

@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,

@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,

@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,

@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,

@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,

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@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,

@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink , @ask-theradio-demon ,

@lousypotatoes @l4zyb0n35 , @midorichoco

@lillyisfreakyy , @alastorthirsty , @yukiinee ,

, @aconstructofamind @angiiiiiiiiie

@pumppkinlynn @erikaafernns , @silverpaw2 ,

@cosmiccandydreamer , @killer-nightmare0 , @visara-valentina

@thereallsaturnstar , @coffee-or-hot-cocoa ,

@fckedupandbeautiful , @alaskathestereodemoness , @fries11 ,

@toneystank-3000. , @doll-babe-a-tron-queenthousand

, @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog , @twistedvanillacoffee

@morganodaidiot

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lostinlads · 4 months ago

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Faulty Evols and Late-Night Rides

Synopsis: After a failed resonation with Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, he sweeps you away in the middle of the night to a warehouse. What's waiting for you are tests and a disappointment red-eyed man.

Tags: sylus x femme!reader, MDNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, , mentions of guns, mentions of kidnapping, biker!sylus, descriptions of food, mc is basically just a worry wort that sylus is gonna kill her, angst

Words: 3.8k

an: Howdy! So- uh this chapter is a bit long to say the least. And i did have some tech difficulties with ao3 deleting some of the chapter otherwise this wouldve been posted a few hours ago, but i hope you enjoy!!! we are slowly getting into it more and i hope you all continue to like this direction we are going in! Feel free to let me know any feedback and let me know if you catch any mistakes as well!!

ao3 | Chapter List | kofi

You've finally managed to get some sleep, though without a clock to tell you how long, you were starting to feel a bit better. You've been awake for a few hours, digging through the boxes that consumed the room and lazily putting things away in silence. You wished nothing more than to have your laptop, to play music or put on a movie in the background because the quietness of the house only added to the eeriness. But unfortunately, beggars can't be choosers, so you work in the stillness of your new room.

A lightness in your chest as your eyes fall upon your book collection, the first thing to have a place in here. Finally able to do something other than stare out at the expansive black of the outside. Maybe Sylus wouldn't need you much, you able to lock yourself away in your room and transcend to other worlds that wait eagerly in those pages. Though, you knew it would be too good to be true.

Three soft rasps on the door draw you from your daydream of escaping. Standing upright in the center of the room, expecting to see the twins, or the devil himself. But with a soft click, the door opened, and you found yourself looking at an older woman. Her graying hair pulled into a tight bun as a blue cleaning uniform clung to her body. If it weren't for her age, at first glance you would've guessed it would be Sylus's wife. But unless he was into older women, she looked closer to being his mother.

"Mister Qin would like to see you in the dining hall, he sent me to retrieve you." The maid spoke, dark eyes staring at you. You nod, wiping your hands on your thighs as you step forward to follow her out to the winding hall. She led you through the house, your brain trying to memorize the way she took so you can figure out any path this house would lead you to.

Your palms began to sweat, balling them in tight fists to control the nerves binding in your stomach. You take a deep breath, trying to be as quiet as possible to not show any weakness in front of the maid, though she no doubt see the fear in your eyes. The look of prey being handed over to the predator. The only sound echoing in the empty halls is both pairs of your feet.

The woman leads you through a grand room, you would've mistaken it for a ball room, but you realize it's an entryway. Delicate paintings line the walls, a small table holding a vase and a flower sits at the far corner. Almost something from a period piece movie. But she turns right, two grand doors opening as she walks through. You make your way in, tailing her as best you could, and make out this must be the dining hall. A long wooden table lay in the middle of the room, a golden silk tablecloth stretching the impossible length with a candelabra sitting magnificently in the middle. Chairs line the sides, thick wood with blood red cushions resting on the backs and seat. You almost don't realize Sylus sitting at the head, glasses pushed on his nose with papers littering the space in front of him and in his hand. You gulp.

"Thank you, Selene," He speaks, not looking up from his readings. She turns and leaves, the heaviness of being left alone in the room with him falls onto your shoulders. Teeth gnashing at the inside of your cheek as you stand there, rubbing your hands on your pants once more as you wait for a command, not wanting to push Sylus into harming you.

He looks up from his papers, eyes scanning over your figure through the lenses of his glasses. Embarrassment blooms inside of you, painting your cheeks a flushed pink as you remember your outfit. Plush pajama pants hang from your hips, a sweater wrapping around your upper body one single shoulder on display from it hanging loosely on you. You shuffle uncomfortably in your slipper clad feet as his eyes drink you in. You didn't even know if this outfit had been appropriate for this time of day, whatever that may be. A smokey rope appears from him, pulling the wooden chair from the table out.

"Sit," His voice commanding, powerful. You obey, shuffling towards it and sliding in soundlessly before it yanks forward, a gasp falling from your lips. "Dinner will be served soon." Your mind reels at what could be served to you. The crackers and granola running out last night leaving your growling stomach to be the only sound in your room. You prayed this wouldn't be some sick game, him feeding you slop while he gets served a grand meal, leaving you to watch in starvation. You just nod, folding your hands on your lap as they wring together.

Silence washes over you both again, the quiet sounds of fluttering pages as Sylus continues to look over his work in front of him. Your eyes scan the room, dark painted walls with deep wooden accents. A chandelier hangs above the long table, lighting the room in a warm glow, only making it more gothic. You could imagine Dracula living here, bringing beautiful women in to be his victims before he drinks them dry. Maybe that nightmare would be better than the one you're living in now, seduced to think some handsome man was taking you to be his bride and end up his dinner.

You look down at your hands, pulling your sleeves past your fingers as you wait for food, hunger pains growing from the thought as your mouth waters.

A door opened, making you jump at the sudden sound, turning your head to see a man in a chef coat wheel a cart into the room. The next thing you notice is the smell. How mouthwatering the wafting sent was, you can almost taste it. If the cartoons were real about people flying through the air at the scent of pie, that would be you. Your only consuming thought is how delicious it must be, your stomach audibly growling to show your need for it.

Sylus's smoke tendrils swirl through the air, gathering the papers from the table and placing them in a neat pile next to him, which he placed his glasses on a moment later. The chef wheels the cart between you and Sylus, large plates filled with the most exquisite looking food you've ever seen laying on top with twin wine glasses sitting between them. He picks one up, placing it in front of Sylus, followed by a wine glass.

"Tonight we are having grilled Delmonico steak, seasoned with rosemary and garlic. For sides; we have roasted potatoes, biscuits, and slices of clementines." He places your plate in front of you, you watch as the golden butter on the potatoes glisten in the light, the juices from the thinly sliced steak dip nearing the edge of the plate before settling back into place. The biscuits split, the fluffy light bread on the inside looking like a cloud, aching for you to dine on it. And a small bowl containing evenly placed citrus slices, their scent wafting through your nostrils. You fought hard not to tear into everything before he could place the plate fully on the table, your hunger growing ravenous at you nearly drool at the sight of the art in front of you. He placed your glass in front of you.

"For the wine," He bends down, opening a small door on the side of the cart, pulling a wine bottle from a chilled bucket of ice. "We are serving Chateau Margaux, one of your favorites, Mister Qin." He pops the cork, creating another small jump from you before he pours a generous amount in both of your glasses, more than the usual amount. You note the scent, something vintage, something you remember from those late nights at galas and expensive dinners with your father.

"Thank you, Chef," Sylus speaks, a hint of appreciation or fondness in his tone. "Everything looks delicious." The chef nods.

"Enjoy," He turns, wheeling the cart from the room, leaving Sylus and you alone with the hot, fresh meals in front of you both. You don't move a muscle, not knowing if this would turn into a trap, letting you almost taste real food for the first time in days, just to rip it from under you. Eyes scanning everything on the plate, taking in every last detail of the meal as you inhale the scent like a dog begging for a bite.

"Eat," Sylus commands, annoyed. You look at him for a second, blinking. The all too familiar crease between his brows there, eyes hard as he lifts a piece of steak from his plate. You watch as his teeth sink into it, sharp, slicing right through. With a shaky breath, you gulp, turning back to your own plate and lift up a fork. The silver heavy in your hand as you let the weight sink into your palm for a second, deciding on what first to consume. You decide on the potatoes, knowing if you start with the steak, you will only embarrass yourself further, ripping it apart like a rabid animal. The second it touches your taste buds you couldn't help the small moan pass your lips as your eyes roll back in your head. It almost felt worth it waiting for days to eat real food, with this the first thing to bless your mouth.

"It's delicious..." You whisper out, stabbing your fork into the meat, not wanting to wait any longer to consume it.

"Our chef is a master in his work," His words ring loud as he appraises his employee. The two of you fall into silence, forks tapping in the plates and muted chewing filling the space between. You tasted the wine, sweetness blooming on your tongue as the warm fuzzy feeling spreads through your stomach. Every bit of the meal complimenting each other, filling you up far sooner than you thought it would. Your plate only half eaten; wine downed as the soft buzz in your veins made you feel warm inside. Placing your fork back down, you lean back in your seat, head down with your hands on your lap.

"Uhm," You start, not knowing how to let him know you stuffed to the brim.

"If you're finished, head to your room and get dressed. We have somewhere to be," He spoke, eyes never wavering from his food as he lifts his glass to his wine-stained lips. You nod, pushing out of your chair to stand. It felt awkward, leaving your plate behind for someone else to clean up, but you really didn't want to feel more incompetent than you already do, having to be walked through basic steps of living all over again.

To your surprise, the maid was waiting outside the door, hands clasped behind her back as she stared down the hall. You clear your throat, her head snapping to you before blinking twice.

"Ah, you're finished," She speaks with surprise, eyes drifting to the large grandfather clock along the other wall. You follow, the time displaying eight thirty, but you weren't sure if it was day or night.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I didn't know..." Words trailing off as she begins to walk you back to your room, the familiar route slowly engraving in your mind.

"I expected you to be gone longer, no worries," Selene chirps, an odd warmness in her tone.

You make it back to your room, Selene bids you a farewell, telling you Sylus would be meeting you outside once you're ready before turning on her heel and leaving. You shut the door, the lack of a lock latching stretching in the silence before you turn to your dresser. The problem now was you had no idea what Sylus had in mind for your outing. Somewhere to be? That could only mean so many things, and after yesterday your mind told you that you would be sold off yet again. Faulty evol not to his tase so he would simply throw you away.

Hands shuffling through the drawers you find a simple outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, if he had more elegant plans, well he should've said so. You shuck out of your sleepwear, tossing your new outfit on you make your way to the bathroom. Eyes washing over your appearance, hair tousled from sleep and lounging all day, dark circles under your eyes, and the most pathetic look on your face. Looking like a beaten kitten, fear etched into your eyes, cheeks sunken in, and a soft frown on your stained lips. You almost didn't recognize yourself. With a huff you reach for your brush, raking it through your locks, wincing at every small knot that tugs your scalp. You also decide to wash your face, splashing cold water to try and flush the color of your cheeks, convince yourself that you're still alive. It helps, a soft blush spreading over the apples and the tip of your nose.

Satisfied, you turn to leave, your hand stuttering to a halt on the handle of your door before you retreat, eyes scanning over your messily unpacked items. They fall onto your jacket, thrown across the chair of the desk in the corner. Might as well bring it, you weren't familiar with the weather of the N109 Zone at this time of year, better safe than sorry.

You walk through the halls for the first time alone, the sense of being caught for doing so etching into your bones, fear creeping up your spine. You knew your instructions, but spending days locked away to roaming the halls freely seemed like a trap. Maybe you should've waited for him to come and get you, but Selene told you to meet him. The sigh that escaped your lips was involuntary, slipping out while you turn down another hall - hoping you're heading in the right direction.

Finding yourself in what you think looks like an entryway. Peering out the window, vast darkness stretches as far as your eyes can see, the only thing you can make out is a soft glow of a light close by. This should be it, if not you could find your way around the large house until you spot him. You open the door, slipping out through the crack, you're grateful for grabbing the jacket, cool air nipping at the exposed flesh greedily. You follow the source of light, the sound of an engine humming in your ears as you draw closer.

Sylus, dressed in leather, leaning on a motorcycle comes into view. Large muscular arms crossed over his chest as his eyes remain on the gravel blow his boots. Lips still stained that deep red color, which you are disgusted to admit, looks divine on him, matching his wine-colored eyes. Gravel crunches, he lifts his head, face unchanging as he takes in your appearance.

"Where... are we going?" You decide to ask, putting on a brave face as you shift under his watchful eyes. He pushes himself from the bike, grabbing a helmet before walking over to you.

"I have a... friend - who might help your little evol situation." That sure didn't sound ominous at all. You nod, gulping down the bubbling fear inside you as you stare into his eyes. He slips the helmet onto your head, using his knuckle to lift your chin up - your cheeks flame. The gesture so soft, so unlike Sylus. He leans in close, eyes drifting from yours, to your lips, then to the strap hanging loosely by your neck. Fingertips barely graze past your skin as he tightens it, a snug - almost perfect - fit as it secures. Sylus's eyes meet yours once more for a split second before he turns, climbing onto his bike in a movement so fluid it almost seemed like a rehearsed dance.

"Well?" He shoots you a look as he slips his own helmet on, looking at you expectantly. Right. You walk over and climb on, attempting to leave as much space between the both of you as you can on the small machine. Your hands reach out and shakily hold onto his sides, barely touching him. Until you feel a push from behind you, knocking your chest flush to his back and arms around his thin waist.

"You need to hold on tighter. We can't have you falling off, can we, Kitten?" His voice loud and clear through the helmet, an intercom? One of his hands coming to secure your arms tight around him. He could probably hear how loud you were breathing through his helmet but he only thing you could think of was his intoxicating scent flooding your every being. Warm, worn leather, deep fresh citrus, with a smokey and sweet scent undertone and hints of a manly cologne. It consumed you, something so musky but so elegant, you wish you could bottle it up and keep it with you. If you weren't so drunk on his scent, you would be shaming yourself. How could you think this way of this criminal. This man who took you from the only home you've ever known. Who confessed to wanting to use you as his weapon. But right now, his body was warm, pressed to yours, his scent filling your senses and making you dumb, strong muscles under your fingertips. Everything telling you this was safe, this is comfort. You wished you didn't have this damned helmet on, wanting to press your cheek to him and breathe him in completely, but sadly, that wouldn't be your fate today.

Before you could think, the bike beneath you roared, the vibrations rattling your bones, making your teeth chatter.

"Hold on tight, Sweetie," Sylus purred in your ears, his back rumbling with his words against your chest as you sped off into the darkness before you. He was so fast, zipping into the night like a bullet with you clinging onto him for dear life. The sudden jolt coaxing a gasp from your lips, eyes bulging wide as the scene around you blurs to nothingness. Sylus's unmistakable dark chuckle bounces around your skull, obviously amused at your shock and fear.

"Does the N109 Zone not have speed limits?" You shriek, clinging impossibly closer to him.

"What do you think?" Tone mocking, as if you willingly spent any time in this hellscape alone. You don't answer him, looking off into the distance, trying to make anything out other than streaks of light.

The cold air whipping at your hands made them sting. If only he would slow down maybe they wouldn't hurt so much. Your intoxication of him washing away to nothing more than annoyance once more.

He confused you, everything he said and done contradicting each other, making your head hurt. His gentle touches but harsh looks? Taking you away from your home but carefully packing up your belongings and bringing them here for you? You couldn't decide if he was cruel or thoughtful. But you still didn't have a phone, or anything for you to communicate with for that matter, so maybe his plan is to isolate you. Lock you away in his tower forever. Not like you weren't used to it, your father practically doing the same thing for years. But there you were home, not stuck in the N109 Zone, promised to be used by the leader of fucking Onychinus.

You would just have to keep your distance from him, which is a hard thing to say as your bodies are pressed so close you could feel every calm, controlled breath that graced his lungs. After today you would stay away, not look for any answers from him, keep your head down. Not that you haven't, but the way your brain looked too far into his caresses, the way it nearly shut down at his smell alone, you had to be careful.

You zip through the dark, Sylus expertly swerving down streets and past cars, only making you panic more. Preparing for the inevitable crash your nerves told you was going to happen. But before it could happen, Sylus rounded a corner and slowed to a stop.

The building before you large, and dimly lit only adding to the haunting feeling of today. You didn't move, hands still clutching him as you tried to calm your beating heart back into a normal pace.

"You can get off now," Annoyance etched onto every word. You obeyed, though you really didn't want to. Throwing your leg over and bracing them shakily on the pavement under you. Sylus followed, swift precise movement he's probably done thousands of times before. His long legs stride over to you, lifting your chin to undo the strap under your chin before he slides the helmet off. He copies the same with his, placing them both on the seat as he glides effortlessly towards the large double doors of the building.

You chase after him, two steps for each of his.

Inside was almost like another world to you, weapons lining the walls and littered over tables, some creating a soft glow to them. You noticed pretty quick that they had been altered with protocores, then it clicked to you. This is Sylus's job. Creating illegal weapons with altered, and equally as illegal, protocores. Selling them to people, to your father. Your beating heart in your chest reminded you just how rare the one lodged in it was, desirable and sought after by people like Sylus. You gulp.

"Mister Qin, I wasn't expecting you today," A man walked out from behind a machine, rubbing grease off of his hands with a worn rag. Sylus pulled out a chair and slipped onto it, plucking a pocket knife up from the table and flipping the blade open. Blue currents buzzed out, obviously altered by a protocore.

"I have a special situation you need to look into for me," Wine stained lips curling into a smirk as his eyes stay trained on the knife, flipping it between his long, skilled fingers. The man made his way over, eyes flicking to you for just a moment before returning to Sylus.

"Of course, Sir. What can I do for you?" Sylus's eyes finally land on you, almost zeroing in like a predator.

"I need you to run some tests on her." Your mouth runs dry, hands sweating as you ball them by your sides. Your exhausted body almost collapsing at the nerves tremoring through it. This was it, your fate. If you failed him, no doubt he would have this man carve your heart out and rip the damned core from it to have himself. "Says she has an aether core in her heart but her evol isn't working. We need to figure out why."

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pepperyduck · 5 months ago

Text

breakin' dishes - shiu kong

synopsis: shiu comes back after a night of too much fun, to find his unhappy fiancée, who's only out for blood.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, cheating, reader is a little cray, fighting, throwing breakables at shiu, brief gun mention, getting arrested, female reader.

notes: prob offensive. will prob delete later. will prob make a part 2.

who the hell does he think you are?

that is the only question that runs through your mind as the clock hits 3 a.m. leg bouncing slightly with anticipation of his arrival.

and who the hell does shiu think he is?

you look at your phone again at the message from toji.

‘your boy just hooked up with my girl’s friend. sorry.’

the image attached had caused you a great deal of pain a few hours ago. it contained your beloved shiu, shed of his blazer with his tie messed up, a hot bombshell sitting on his lap. straddling him, more like. her tongue shoved down his throat. but all the tears were dried now, and only sheer rage was left towards your fiancé.

“fucking idiot,” you mumble, clicking your phone off and tossing it next to you on the couch.

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

the door to your home squeaks open, shiu appearing in the doorway, an unlit cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. you allow him to come inside and greet his usual, “hey doll, why are you still up?” before you stand up.

shiu can see it instantly. the anger. why was toji such a snitch? why was shiu such a moron?

“who the hell do you think i am, shiu?” you shout, grabbing an empty beer bottle from a few nights ago and tossing it at your fiancé. it breaks with an ear-piercing shatter, right next to his head, and his eyes widen in surprise. the cigarette drops from his mouth.

“listen, doll-,” shiu begins, raising his hands up to try and wave you off.

but you weren’t stopping. no; you were only seeing red.

“shut the fuck up, bastard!” you yell, grabbing the only picture frame off of the side table – a picture of you and him at your favorite restaurant – and hurdling it right towards his eyes. he quickly dodged it, allowing the frame to crack against the door and clatter against the ground.

he darts into the kitchen to his right, disappearing behind the wall for only a second. you’re too quick. you follow him, and the instant he senses your eyes on him again he freezes in place and turns around, beginning to back away slowly. now, shiu is a normally calm and composed man, not shaken by many things. however, with his soon-to-be wife on a rampage because of a stupid mistake he made – he was terrified.

“didn’t think i’d find out, huh?” you step towards him, efficiently backing him against the counter – even though you were practically the whole distance of the kitchen away from him. “think you can go off and do whatever-the-fuck you want?” you interrogate him, watching him with intent as his shaky hands crept behind him to balance himself on the cold marble of the counter. you reach for the stack of glass plates you washed earlier – their placement convenient as ever right next to you – and you toss it at shiu stronger than before. “answer me!”

he barely dodges the dish, allowing it to shatter against the cabinets next to him. as he goes to look at the aftermath of the plate breaking, another one is hurled at him, knocking him in the shoulder and falling down against the counter, fracturing as soon as it hits the surface. shiu rushes himself to look at you again, only to see another plate flying towards him. he swiftly ducks down, the dish shatters against the counter and the fragments rain atop him, shallowly scraping the skin of his face.

“we can talk- please, baby, we can talk-,” shiu pleads, slowly stepping in the direction of the closest exit – inching away from you. you can hear the cracks of the ceramic under his dress shoes. “baby, listen to me-,”

“did you fucking forget i’m an assassin, too? did it just slip your mind i’m just as capable of killing you as toji?” you cut him off, voice raising louder and louder the more you speak, and yet another plate weighs itself at shiu’s face forcefully.

shiu runs for it again, leaping out of the kitchen, attempting to go around the kitchen and out the door. but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell you’re letting him out so easy. your senses had kicked in, the intuition so proficiently built over your tenure as an assassin proving to help you –

even when it came to the man you loved.

shiu needed to be scared shitless by you – you knew it was the only way he was going to behave. he had his chance to fuck around, he should’ve known that he would find out if he tried to do anything when it came to you. he did know that. he was just stupid, and drunk. and the influence of one toji ze’nin – the most infamous bachelor out of your whole organization – wasn’t easy to overcome.

you hastily counter his movements, grabbing your .22 out of the drawer closest to the door and rushing to block the door so he couldn’t leave. the moment shiu sees the matte black pistol in your hand, he runs up the stairs, and you chase after him, dropping the gun on your way up behind him.

that threat was eliminated, but the threat known as you was nowhere near done.

shiu dashes through the upstairs hallway into your shared bedroom, closing the door behind him before you push it back open with strength fueled by anger, sending him stumbling to the floor. he turns over and scoots away as best he can, backing into the wall.

“what the fuck shiu?” you scream, wrapping your hands around the vase that kept this week’s bouquet shiu bought you and throwing it at him. this time, you didn’t aim for him, just at the windowsill to scare him. “how the fuck could you do this to me?”

a few bangs on the door could be heard downstairs, but you couldn’t think about that – only about your fiancé in front of you. your mind drowned out the sounds of your door breaking open and the rush of footsteps downstairs as you continue to yell.

“i’m gonna kill that bastard toji – what the hell were you thinking?”

“calm down- calm down, doll, please,” shiu mumbles, paying mind to the voices growing louder downstairs. however shiu’s urging falls to deaf ears as you resume your berating.

“you dumb bastard! i love you, you asshole!”

inevitably, you make the grave mistake of grabbing another picture frame – this time, a picture of yourself shiu took a while ago – and hauling it at him – just in time for the cops to show up behind you and start to yell for you to put your hands up. your eyes widen, finally grasping the reality of the situation as you look at your fiancé, terrified. tears well up in your eyes when forceful hands grab your wrists, quickly locking handcuffs around your limbs in an uncomfortable way.

“wait, wait!” shiu shouts, rushing over to the cops, “it’s okay, we just had an argument- let her go!” his pleas are barely audible to the officers, as they drag you out of your room and downstairs, and you hesitantly comply.

“shiu!” you cry, whipping your head around to see your man quickly following behind you.

for the first time, shiu sees real tears of fear roll down your face. he isn’t quite sure why you’re so terrified – but he doesn’t care.

“hey, stop!” shiu demands, pulling on the shoulder of one of the officers that held you. he is quickly shrugged off, told to ‘stand back’ in a rough tone by the cop.

your unrelenting love for shiu bounces back in a second, you felt stupid for being so angry…but you had a reason. shiu understood you. you know he did. this situation was a whole screw up – you just hoped it was able to be fixed; shiu did, too. he would make sure it was fixed. although yes, he had severely messed up, he was going to fix everything with you like always.

shiu hears your sobs as you’re dragged out to the patrol car, the further away you get the more you begin to resist. you kick your feet and sob out for your fiancé, and the officers become rougher with you the more you fight against them. it’s a sight shiu never wants to see again.

“shiu, please,” you cry, a mess of so many emotions because of all you’ve been through in the past hours.

your fiancé tries his best to console you as the police haul you away, forcing you into the back seat of the car, “i’ll get you out, doll, just don’t say anything,” shiu commands, in a tone that he always used after fights – the tone that comforts you, “i’ll be there soon, i promise! i love you, baby!” he yells as the door is slammed by an officer, and shiu is knocked out of the way as the cop quickly slides into the driver’s door.

shiu stumbles back, the moment of you being driven away in the back of a cop car turning itself into a blur in his mind. he stands there for a good 27 minutes, head turned in the direction the cop car took you. guilt forced its way into shiu’s chest.

he said he would come soon…but he couldn’t make himself do it just yet.

so, shiu walks to the curb, pulling a pack of his favorite cigarettes out of his pocket, habitually sticking one in the side of his mouth and lighting it. his lighter was a gift from you, from an overseas job you had. he would never get rid of it; he would only refill the fluid in it every time it ran out.

“shit, baby.”

shiu mumbles to himself as he allows the pained feeling of someone who’s soon-to-be wife found out he was cheating. it was a dreadful feeling, to have all that guilt laid on his shoulders – he didn’t chase after you yet because he knew he couldn’t bare to see you so upset. shiu takes a few more drags of the tobacco before throwing his head back and mumbling some more about how crazy you are.

but he loves it.

and shiu was going to come for you, soon.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #shiu kong #shiu kong x reader #shiu x reader #jjk shiu #kong shiu #shiu kong x reader angst #kong shiu x reader

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shalomniscient · 1 year ago

Text

ALL I SEE IS RED LIGHTS || rahu x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

Control. This was the singular order that woman gave her before getting herself locked away by Paradeisos. Always, always remain in control. But there was a limit to just how much control Rahu could exert over herself before she needed an outlet. And as it just so happens, her most willing (and favourite!) one happens to be you. Or, Rahu comes back to the MBCC pent up and frustrated from her time in Paradeisos. To relax, she fucks you silly in the Archives.

cw. [NSFT][MDNI] rahu has a dick in this one (she also tops for once), rough sex, handjobs, degradation (whore, slut), breeding, choking, biting, belly bulge, semi-public sex, dacryphilia, discussion of anal, creampie

notes. god forgive me

wc. 3k

Being the Chief of the MBCC is a difficult, difficult job. There’s dealing with shitty higher ups, placating manic Sinners, stopping city-destroying threats, and worst of all, paperwork. Mountains and mountains of dreaded paperwork. There’s so much of the damn stuff it makes your brain numb–and not in the fun way. More often than not, you end up just waiting for something exciting to happen.

Speaking of exciting, you glance at the clock on the wall as you sort the files in the Archives. It’s thirty minutes to five, and you’d be off the clock soon. Rahu should be arriving back from Paradeisos any minute now–

“Chief?”

Your lips twitch upwards in a wry smile at the sound of that familiar voice. Speak of the devil, indeed. “I’m in the Archives,” you call back to Rahu. You hear footsteps echo in your office, stopping just short of the heavy Archives door.

“Are you alone in here?”

There’s an undercurrent of tension in her voice, but you brush it off in favour of focusing on the wall of files before you. You slot another file back into its place on the shelf and nod. “Yeah, it’s just me.”

You’re entirely too preoccupied with your filing to notice Rahu striding towards you until a firm hand is gripping your waist, forcefully spinning you around to face her. You squeak in surprise as Rahu presses herself bodily against you, until you’re sandwiched between the shelf and Rahu’s firm, warm body. Your brows knit in confusion as you stare up at her, noting the stormy look in her silver eyes.

“Is something wro—“ you ask, only to be cut off when Rahu discards her mask with a flick of her fingers and crashes her lips against yours in a bruising, claiming kiss. Rahu swallows any sound you make with her lips, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth greedily. She kisses you so forcefully it’s like she’s trying to draw your very life from your lips. Her teeth scrape your bottom lip before she pulls away, leaving you flushed and breathless.

She doesn’t stop, though. She presses more burning kisses along your jaw and over what little exposed skin there is of your neck, growling as her teeth ghost over the thin fabric of your undershirt. Your arms loop around her broad shoulders as you pant and sigh in pleasure, feeling almost unbearably warm. But you retain enough brain function to at least try and ask her what she’s doing.

“Need you,” is all she says, her voice low as she moves up to kiss you again. The request doesn’t surprise you–in fact, you had an arrangement with Rahu. Every few months, when Paradeisos loosens their leash, she’ll visit you and the Bureau. During these visits, she’ll update you on whatever new intelligence she’s managed to glean from the secretive Paradeisians, which is followed by the filthiest, raunchiest fucking as a way for both of you to de-stress. Of course, normally, you’d at least get to your chill-out room for some privacy, but not today, apparently. As if noticing the way your thoughts are straying, she takes your lower lip between her teeth and bites, making you whimper and squirm, the stinging pain surprisingly pleasurable.

“H-here?” you manage to gasp out between the kisses Rahu steals from you. This side of Rahu is entirely new to you–and fuck if it isn’t hot. “Now?”

Rahu leans bodily against you, her free arm bracing her on the shelf, caging you in. This close to her, you feel something poke at your inner thigh through your slacks, and you suck in a breath. You know Rahu and her pretty cock well enough to tell that she’s already at full mast and probably leaking into her boxers. The thought makes you shiver.

“What if someone walks in?” you ask, resisting the urge to moan as Rahu rolls her hips against yours.

“Locked the door already,” she says simply, the hand on your waist already moving forward to toy with the buttons of your shirt. The fact that she hasn’t ripped it off you yet means she’s giving you a choice—she would take you right here and right now, but only if you want.

And despite yourself, despite the risks, you’ve never wanted something more in your entire life.

“Okay,” you breathe out, sliding your hands on Rahu’s shoulders down lower and lower until you reach the buckle of her pants. Her pupils dilate and she makes a low, feral sound, watching as your hands unbuckle her pants, then slip past the waistband of her boxers to finally pull her aching cock free.

It slaps against her toned stomach, leaking pre-cum like a fucking faucet and your mouth waters. Slowly, you swipe your thumb over the swollen tip, spreading her sticky pre-cum around. It coats your hand, slick and warm, and Rahu groans as you slide your hand down her shaft. You fall into a languid rhythm, obediently pumping her cock, intermittently moving up to the tip to collect more beads of pre-cum. Rahu pants lightly against your ear with each slick pump of your hand up and down her cock. When you squeeze lightly, Rahu’s breath hitches and she twitches in your grasp—she’s already close.

You move to sink to your knees, to let her finish in your throat, but Rahu grabs you by the shoulders before you can get all the way down. Before you can even ask her anything, she spins you around and forces your front against the shelf, your cheek pressed against the files you just arranged. The sudden display of force makes your traitorous cunt clench, and you feel a surge of wetness drip into your panties.

Rahu stands flush against you as her hand shoots down to unbuckle your slacks, while the other deftly undoes the buttons of your shirt. The presence of your undershirt makes her snarl against your nape and you whine when she rips it off, the fabric now hanging in tatters from where it’s tucked into your slacks. But even those are soon gone, leaving you in nothing but your underwear, and your shirt that hangs limply off your arms. The position is unbelievably compromising, but it makes your core throb.

“Going to take your pretty pussy,” Rahu hums against your nape, ever so briefly biting down on the sensitive skin and leaving the imprint of her teeth there. She slots her cock between your thighs, moving her hips lazily, smearing pre-cum all over the soft flesh. When you look down, you can see her tip peek out with each thrust, and you whine, pushing your ass backwards against her, the need in your lower belly starting to make you lose it.

Rahu makes a noise almost like a sneer, and trails a hand along your clothed cunt. She brushes your clit through the soaked fabric and scoffs as you moan, light and breathy. “So wet already,” she says, slipping her hand past the waistband of your panties and dragging a sinfully long finger along your cunt, from your hole to your clit. “Dripping like a whore and I haven’t even done anything yet.”

The filth that leaves her lips makes a strangled moan leave yours. “Rahu, please, please, I need—“

Your pleas are cut off when a firm hand connects with your ass, the slap echoing in the room. You practically squeal, both in surprise and pleasure, your body jolting forward from the sheer force of it. Rahu gropes your ass shamelessly, taking handfuls of flesh into her large hand and squeezing before relentlessly raining more and more slaps on your ass until it’s the same flushed shade of red as your face.

“You like that, don’t you? I can feel you get wetter on my fingers,” Rahu growls, briefly curling her fingers, the pads catching on your aching, needy clit. But then her fingers move backwards, and her thumb brushes against your ass. “You’re dripping so fucking much, Chief… at this rate, you’d be wet enough for me to take this hole too.”

Another broken moan leaves you as the thought of Rahu fucking your ass makes your knees quiver. Rahu snickers behind you, but doesn’t go through with it. As much as she’d love to, taking your ass would really take more prep and she needed you now. Instead, she angles her hips, and slots a leg between yours, nudging you to spread your own a little wider. Rahu tugs your panties aside, strings of your own slick clinging to the ruined fabric, and then she hilts deep inside of you in one smooth motion.

If it weren’t for Rahu’s hand that shot up to cover your mouth just in time, the scream you let out would’ve certainly alerted the entire MBCC. Stars danced behind your eyes at the sudden, immense fullness, your cunt fluttering. She’s so fucking deep in you, her tip ever so slightly brushing your g-spot as it rests in you. Rahu swears against your shoulder, her other hand bracing herself on the shelf.

“Fuck, you’re so damn tight,” she says, giving an experimental roll of her hips that has you whining into her palm. She barely gives you any time to adjust to her size, immediately starting to pound away inside you. She fucks you with a brutal, animalistic pace, bullying your cervix and going balls deep with each thrust. The squelching sounds ring throughout the room, accompanied by the slapping of skin on skin. At the rate she was going, it was no surprise that your peak was almost upon you already. “F-fuck, you’re squeezing me so tightly, Chief…”

Rahu still hadn’t moved her palm from your mouth, so all you could do was whimper pitifully as you felt your climax build in your belly. But she seemed to get the hint, the hand bracing herself on the shelf moving down to toy with your swollen clit.

“Gonna cum already? Gonna make a mess on my cock?” Rahu breathes against your ear. You nod desperately, your pussy clenching with each powerful thrust. You’re so, so, so close—

“Chief? Are you in here?”

Nightingale’s voice makes you both freeze. You don’t know if you want to sob at the loss of your orgasm or the fact that Nightingale was about to catch Rahu balls deep in you in the Archive. Rahu’s hand drops from your mouth, settling on your throat instead.

“Chief?” Nightingale calls again, knocking on the door. “Is everything alright?”

“You should answer her,” Rahu says, but makes no move to pull out. Pulling yourself together, you do your best to sound like you weren’t just having your brains fucked out.

“Yes, I’m in the Archives, adjutant. I’m alright,” you call back to her. Your voice is, thankfully, somewhat even, though you do sound a little breathless.

“Are you sure?” Nightingale’s tone is worried. “You’ve been in there for a while…”

You smile. Nightingale may seem like a hard-ass sometimes, but that was only because she cared. “I’m sure, adjutant. I’m just—mmhm!”

Whatever you were about to say was cut off by Rahu suddenly thrusting up into you. Her cock presses right on your g-spot, but you somehow manage to smother your moan with a cough and glare over your shoulder at the sinner, who just smirks in response. She thrusts again, another sinful roll of her hips, and you press a hand against your mouth to stifle more of your moans.

“Chief?”

You shoot a glance at Rahu, but she doesn’t stop. No, she wants you to keep talking to Nightingale—all while she fucks you. The thought shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, but your cunt gushes around Rahu’s cock, and she grins victoriously.

“Sorry, I’m just—mmff—having a bit of a migraine,” you lie, gritting your teeth as Rahu languidly fucks into you. Her other hand resumes playing with your clit and you cover your whine with another cough.

“Oh… are you sure you’re alright? Should I get you some painkillers?” Nightingale asks, still worried, and hopefully unaware.

“N-no, I’m fine, adjutant,” you gasp out. “J-just need some—mm!—time alone.”

“If you’re certain,” Nightingale sighs, though she sounds unconvinced. “I’ll leave these papers on your desk for when you feel better.”

“Thanks, adjutant.”

Finally, Nightingale’s steps recede, and you slump against the shelf, feeling boneless. The only thing holding you up right now was Rahu’s dick buried inside you, honestly. An amused smile tugs at the sinner’s pretty features. “You were clenching on me the whole time,” she says lowly, scraping her teeth along the shell of your ear. “Did that excite you? Almost getting caught bent over for one of your sinners?”

“Fuck, Rahu, please,” you beg, the need in your core almost painful now. “Please just fuck me, please, please.”

Rahu snarls, and the hand around your throat tightens. Then she’s fucking into you, resuming her brutal pace from before. Your breath is forced out of you with each ruthless rut of her hips, coming out in pinched wheezes as Rahu squeezes your neck–not enough to completely cut off your air, but just enough to certainly make you feel it. Her other hand leaves your clit to splay across your belly, her touch like fire on your already heated skin. Then she’s pressing down, right over the bulge her cock forms as it’s nestled deep in your cunt.

“Can you feel that, Chief?” Rahu breathes, “the outline of my cock inside you? Filling this cute cunt up?”

Your eyes flick down, and though the angle makes it difficult, you can see the slight ridge on your abdomen—and that’s all it takes for you to cream all over Rahu’s dick, eyes rolling back into your head. Rahu grunts as she feels you suddenly bear down on her, thrusting jerkily up into you while the hand around your throat tightens, stifling the cute, pitiful whines you make. She wasn’t expecting you to cum so quickly, but the feeling of your pussy wrapped around her is so downright heavenly she isn’t complaining at all. She’s getting closer and closer to her own peak, the hard muscles in her abs tightening. Her rutting reaches a fever pitch as she chases her high, uncaring of the way you’ve started to squirm on her cock from overstimulation.

“Just a little more,” she gasps out, burying her face in your shoulder, blunt teeth teasing your skin. “Just a little more, taking me so well, such a good little slut for me–”

The hand on your belly moved back to toy with your clit, harsh flicks that makes each nerve in your body jolt. Your mind feels like it’s breaking in half as Rahu uses your body for her own pleasure, your world narrowing down to the neediness between your legs. You’d barely come off the heels of your first orgasm and you were already starting to careen headfirst into the second. Your brain had long dripped out of your pussy as Rahu fucks herself deeper into you, her thrusts starting to get choppy and uneven until–

Rahu’s teeth sink deep into your shoulder and she hilts as deep as she can go, her tip smushed against the tight ring of your cervix as she spills hot cum deep into you with a growl. Your lips part in a soundless wail as you cum again on her cock, creating a white, frothy ring around the base of it. Rahu keeps driving her hips as she floods your cunt with white, as if she’s trying to fuck her cum right into your womb.

The intensity of it all must’ve made you black out, because when you come back down to Earth, Rahu’s already slipping out of your abused cunt with a loud squelch. The drag of her softening cock as it retreats from you makes you shiver nonetheless–and you both groan as your mixed cum starts to leak from your hole and down your thighs. Globs of it, thick and creamy, spill from your gaping pussy and you shudder against the shelf, bracing yourself completely on it. Your hips jerk as Rahu’s fingers reach out to tug your drenched panties back into place, ensuring whatever remaining cum left in your pussy stays there. She even affectionately pats your cunt, which makes you whine, but Rahu makes it up to you by turning your head to gently kiss you.

When she pulls back, there’s a mildly guilty look on her face as she takes in your disheveled state. “Sorry… about that.”

You mumble out an incoherent answer, your thoughts still scattered around in your skull. Rahu tucks herself back into her slacks, then takes the initiative to help clean you up, gently turning you around so your back is resting against the shelf. She helps you back into your own pants, and buttons your shirt up as best she can, glancing apologetically as you shift uncomfortably.

“Let me help you get back to your quarters,” Rahu offers, standing by your side as you shuffle out of the Archives, squeezing your thighs together. You nod, moving to grab your coat from where it hangs on your chair, resting it on your shoulders and letting it drape over your body. But before Rahu can lead the way out of your office, you wrap your fingers around her wrist and tug her back towards you. She stumbles in surprise, and you take the opportunity to pull her down by her tie so that she’s face-to-face with you.

“I hope you know what’s waiting for you, puppy,” you say softly, your voice a low, sultry promise despite the hoarseness of it. Rahu’s pupils dilate, and you see the way her throat bobs. “Bad dogs should be disciplined, right?”

(Once you get back to your quarters, you push Rahu onto her back and ride her until she’s shooting blanks and crying so prettily beneath you. So all in all, you’d say it was pretty worth it—even if you had to endure the knowing, disappointed look Nightingale will give you when you step into the office the next morning.)

#sev.writes #[nsft]#ptn #path to nowhere #rahu #ptn rahu #rahu x reader #rahu nation i come bearing gifts of filth once more #idt this one is as polished as worship but ahh fuck it we ball #filth is filth #might consider writing a sequel #but also thinking of laying off the smut for a bit #and go back to my fluff roots #having so many shalom and yukong thoughts rn #domestic shalom…………. sins you’ve awakened a terrible creature within me #ANYWAY enough rambling enjoy the food my fellow rahu enjoyers

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leaentries · 1 year ago

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Red | jack hughes

backstory - next

summary: when jack meets a bombshell of a girl, his life is bound to change.

warnings: swearing, lil bit of arrogant jack

wc: 2k+

a/n: welcome to my new series! this will follow jack and red as they navigate through the ins and outs of new love. if you have any requests or thoughts regarding jack and red, please send them in!

His world was flipped the second he met her. His Red.

Live chattering filled the dimly lit bar, as a certain chill settled in the cracks of the wooden walls. Winter did not come to play this time of year. The howling wind could still be heard over the loud voices in the room. With every creak of the front door, more frigid air rushed in, gripping whoever was near.

Bright noses and ears scattered about the patrons, who eagerly down their alcohol in an attempt to warm up the frosted bones beneath. The old dinky clock on the back wall lamely rang as the time hit the hour. It was officially the next day, yet Jack and his team still swarmed the back left corner of the room.

Joy was very evident to whoever gazed upon the mass of hockey players, or anyone who paid any attention to the TVs in the room. The New Jersey Devils had just won their best game thus far, winning by a complete shutout against their rivals. To say they were pumped would be an understatement.

Strong bodies and their accompanied ladies made their way to the dance floor, leaving behind the select bachelors of the bunch. Although adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he was still riding the high of winning, Jack couldn’t help but watch as his teammates celebrated with their partners.

The lowly sound of Nico and Dawson’s conversation echoed in and out of Jack’s ears. Now, Jack knew, regardless of how shallow it seemed, that he could easily have his choice of bunny to dance with. Truth be told, he had begun to grow tired of hooking up with random girls every weekend.

Jack craved something deeper. He craved something real. So, there he sat, in the back booth with a beer in his hand, secretly wishing he had his own girl by his side.

❥.

Another hour or so had passed, the clock now reading 1:15 a.m., yet the team seemed to have every intention of shutting the place down. Another round of shots was brought to the table, courtesy of Erik, causing a new rise of cheers to be heard. Jack jumped slightly, as Dawson shoved a small glass of brown liquid into his hand.

“C’mon, man! What’s up with you?” Dawson questioned as he noticed Jack staring into the glass. Jack was quick to plaster a small, but convincing smile on his face.

“Nothing. I’m all good, just a bit tired after the game, that’s all.” Dawson looked skeptical and opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off as Jack swiftly drank the potent liquid.

“Atta boy, JackJack!” Dawson’s attention moved away from Jack as Luke showed him something on his phone.

A deep sigh left Jack’s throat, easing the burning sensation. His eyes traveled around the bar, this time noting that they seemed to be the last ones left. He wanted to go home, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave as he saw how happy his team looked.

Jack excused himself from the table, opting to go recoup in the bathroom for a few peaceful moments. Making his way towards the other side of the bar proved to be more difficult when he had drunk hockey players flinging themselves as he passed. Jack continued his way through, ignoring all of the concerned looks he got as he pushed his friends off.

He picked up his pace, practically slamming the bathroom door closed once he was inside. He let his hands rest on the sink as he attempted to even out his breathing. Jack wasn’t even completely sure why he was freaking out in the first place. It’s not like he has to be single, he has lines of women at his beck and call.

But, there is something different about the emptiness in his chest that he just can’t seem to shake tonight. Jack turned on the faucet, gently patting his face with some cool water to help dissipate the redness covering his cheeks and neck.

He reached over to grab a paper towel when the door slammed open. Jack turned around abruptly, clearly startled by the sudden intrusion. But what caught him off guard the most was, not the interruption, but the fact that it was a girl. In the men's bathroom.

“Excuse me?” Jack exclaimed, visibly irritated by the girl. The girl's eyes widened, before stepping back to look at the sign on the door.

“Oh shit!” She met Jack’s eyes with an awkward laugh, “Apparently this isn’t the women's bathroom.”

Jack rolled his eyes, “Great observation there, genius.”

The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise at his snappy tone. She understood her mistake, but that did not give him a reason to be rude. Before saying anything, she took into account who he was. Not that it mattered, but she did not want to start beef with Jack Hughes.

She remained silent, her lack of response egging Jack on.

“Look, I get it. You’re a fan, but I’m trying to have some privacy. The least you could do is respect that. You didn’t have to barge into the bathroom just to see me.”

Oh hell no.

It occurred in that moment, that she no longer cared who he was. The arrogance melted in waves off of him and she needed to snuff that out real fast.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you’re talking to, but it sure ain’t me.”

Jack was taken aback by her rebuttal, not failing to note the southern twang in her voice. He then realized how insanely attractive the fuming girl was. Her flaming ginger hair fell in waves down her back, which provided a stark contrast to her bright green eyes. They were big and round, yet held so much fire. Her nose was small, yet curved up slightly, creating a slope. Jack found himself wanting to trace his fingers down it.

He was snapped back into reality as her vibrant red lips opened once more.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know who you are, Jack Hughes,” She mimicked, “But If I wanted to see your dick that bad, I’d have no problem getting you in my bed.”

Jack scoffed, “Oh is that so?”

She took a few steps forward.

“It’s no secret you get around Jack,” She brought her hands around his shoulders, “Your dick is more famous than you at this point.”

Jack would be lying if he denied the jolt that his cock made at her comment.

“You know, Red, you shouldn’t talk about my dick if you don’t plan on giving it attention.” Jack wasn’t sure what changed his mood, possibly the most sexy woman he had ever seen talking about his cock. Maybe a hookup wouldn’t be the worst thing to come of the night.

A wicked grin found its way to her full lips as she brought them to his right ear. Her body pressed against his deliciously. With a low whisper, she replied, “Like hell.”

She pulled away quickly stepping back. Jack frowned at the loss of her warm body. His eyes gleamed longingly at the door as she made her way out without a second glance at him.

Jack was left by himself once more, this time with a painful hard-on and thoughts of his mystery girl.

❥.

Once he calmed himself down, Jack left the bathroom and began to make his way back to his team. He was about halfway through the building when a streak of red hair caught the corner of his eye. He turned to see her sitting at a bartop, engrossed in her laptop that sat in front of her.

Jack acted on a whim and decided he wanted, no needed, to figure this girl out. He walked up to the bartop, sliding into the seat beside her.

She didn’t even bother to look up, “Look Bubba, go find somewhere else to sit. I am very clearly busy.” She barked. Jack chuckled at her response.

“Wow, Red, you’re very feisty this evening.” The girl snapped her head up, meeting Jack’s icy blue ones. She let out a huff, shaking her head slightly.

“What? You decided to grace the common folk with your godly presence, Jacky?” She gave him a pointed look before continuing, “Also, don’t call me Red. I have a name, you know.”

“You haven’t given it.”

“You haven’t asked.”

Jack smiled. The way she manages to challenge everything he says is addicting and he wants more.

“Alright then, what’s your name?” Jack questioned, quirking his head to the side. Boy, was he more than happy to play her game.

“Y/n.”

“Nah, I still prefer Red.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, opting to turn her focus back to her computer. Jack’s eyebrows furrowed at the lack of attention she gave.

“Am I not entertaining enough for you, Red?”

She looked back up from her project, turning to him. “Look, Jacky, I already told you in the bathroom, I’m not looking to hook up with you. Nor do I want to,” She sucked in a breath, “Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to focus on my article.”

Jack did not like the idea of giving up, so he let his curiosity get the better of him. He turned her laptop towards him, provoking protest from the red-haired girl. He was taken by surprise at the title:

A backtrack on the Devil's season: Did Jack Hughes save the team?

Jack couldn’t help but smirk, his ego rising a few notches.

“Writing articles about me, huh? I gotta be honest with ya, Red. With the way you’ve been arguing all night, I never would have guessed you were my biggest fan.”

Y/n scoffed, a bewildered look on her face. “Ha! That’s rich.” She tugged her laptop back, “I was given this assignment, I would never write about you willingly. You’re a good player Jacky, but some of your other teammates deserve the hype too. All the major networks are too busy fawning over you, that they miss what contributions are being made by the other players. Last time I checked, it’s not just Jack Hughes on the ice.”

Even though she was complaining about him, he couldn’t help but cling to her every word. It was captivating, how passionate she got. Especially over something that Jack’s life revolved around.

She continued, but was cut off by Jack, “I agree with you.”

Y/n cocked her head, “You…agree with me?” Baffled would be an understatement. She assumed Jack would be flying, boasting about being the number one topic in the NHL right now.

“Yes, I agree. My team is just as important, we wouldn’t be winning with just me. It’s a team effort and I think more people should be writing about that. Everyone on that ice is crucial to the game, so I appreciate you seeing that.”

Everything he said was true. He truly did believe that he would be nowhere without his team, they were his family. Y/n could see the tenderness in his eyes. Against her better wishes, she found it attractive how he cared for his team.

She shook away those thoughts, “Anyways, Jacky, I am super busy finishing this article, so…” She trailed off, hoping he would get the subtle hint. She would never let on that she was enjoying their conversation.

Jack wasn’t blind to her attempts to get him to leave but refused to go without assuring him he’d see her again.

“I could help you,” He offered. She gave him a questioning look.

“I mean, you seem to be struggling to come up with what to write about me. So, I can help you. You can ask me any questions you want…”

She raised an eyebrow, sensing his wanting tone, “What’s the catch?”

“Go on a date with me.”

She almost immediately said no, but considered what this article could do for her career. Everyone in her network wanted to write about Jack Hughes, yet somehow she was the one who managed to get stuck with the assignment. Was she willing to put up with an entire date just for the chance to get new intel no one else had?

Y/n had hoped not, but alas, she knew what she needed to do.

“Fine,” Jack’s eyes lit up at her compliance, “Only one date, after that we split and never talk again.”

“You got it, Red.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x red #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes headcanons #jack hughes imagine #nj devils #new jersey devils #njd x reader #njd #nico hischier #dawson mercer #luke hughes #erik haula #leawrites💋

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moscnios · 2 years ago

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✩༄ diet mountain dew ! | red-haired shanks.

☆ — pairing! . . . mobster!shanks x bartender!f!reader.

☆ — summary! . . . as a mob boss’s kid who is sheltered from the underground, there’s only a handful of things your old man wanted you to be aware of. one of those things were men you shouldn’t hang around. number one on the list was him, the one with the red hair, the mobster giving your old man the most trouble. you would never break your promise to your old man, would you?

☆ — cw(s)! . . . mafia!au. nsfw. afab!reader. ( “cunt” / “core” used to describe genitals among others ) no pronouns used. reader wears a short dress. age gap. reader is implied to be in their early 20s. sub!reader. fingering. oral. ( f and m receiving ) facefucking. overstimulation. piv. unprotected sex. shanks calls the reader “angel” and “gorgeous”. reader calls shanks “red”. alcohol consumption. not proofread. MINORS DNI.

☆ — wc! . . . 3.4k.

☆ — notepad! . . . i promised someone a shanks smut...i couldn’t stick to the original script so as an apology, i give you mobster!shanks and rival boss’s kid <3 wow! that summary was not good lmaoooo

You shouldn’t!

You can’t!

If they caught you like this! You’d be dead!

The voice in the back of your head grew stronger, and louder with every rough touch, every passionate kiss, every pretty shallow moan, and sigh that escaped from your bruised lips into his mouth. The voice of reason, screaming at you, to stop, to remember the consequences, as your hands found their way into his hair, gently tugging at his dark red locks, pulling him closer, deeper into you. The feeling of his strong chest finally pressed against yours, made you shiver.

You could feel the redhead smile briefly against your lips before finally breaking your kiss. You stared breathlessly at him. His dark, lust-filled eyes stared back at you with want, with need. Before you could catch your breath, he spun you around, entrapping you between his body and the cold bar. You could feel his bulge pressed against your ass.

With a light satisfied hum, you leaned over the bar, your bare cheek touching the cool surface. The redhead had followed suit, letting his broad chest press against your back. His lips grazed the top of your ear. “You look so fucking beautiful bent over this bar, Angel,” He whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine, “I’m gonna take such good care of you.” The redhead kissed down to your neck that you would be covered in deep purple blotches, come morning. You could feel his smirk on your hot skin. Everything was pointing to this being a bad idea, to him being a bad idea.

There were many titles you had come to know the redhead by since you had become old enough to listen in on the family trade. Listening intently from behind the bar to the mobsters you had come to know as older brothers, sitting around the poker table with a cigar hanging from their mouths and a handful of cards.

The Red Devil. Eyes of Death.

But one stuck out to you the most.

“The bastard you should stay away from”, You remembered your father’s words, with that harsh glare that you and the others had become all too familiar with. You had nervously brushed it off, reassuring your father that you wouldn’t even dream of being in the same room with an enemy of the family, let alone him.

Nobody could be that stupid to just waltz into enemy territory so carelessly, let alone set foot in the speakeasy operated by the boss’ kid! It was suicide! Though you have never seen the things your father and his underlings do to those they call enemies, you heard a few of the gruesome rumors. Just what man would even risk that?

Who else than the fearless redhead himself?

The door to your bar opened and closed, as your back was turned. You could not help but roll your eyes, as you pointed to the clock on the wall across the room, “We’re closed, you know.”

“Aww, you close pretty early for a Saturday night, gorgeous,” An unfamiliar voice reached your ears. You could hear the playful disappointment in his tone. You nearly felt his pout through his words.

Your words did not seem to turn him away. You could hear the heels of his boots, getting closer before stopping altogether. You could hear the stranger plop down into one of the bar stools, making himself all comfortable right after you told him you were closed, “I take it you’re not a night owl then.” He teased.

“And I take it you’re not good at following directions,” You retorted, your back still turned to him, finishing up stocking the bar shelves.

“Something like that.” He laughed.

You were starting to get irritated, “Look. For the last time, we’re closed. We closed almost an hour ago. You can either come back tomorrow or I bring somebody in here to come retrieve you. My folks ain’t too friendly to people who...” You finally turned around, your eyes finally meeting his.

Shanks, the boss of that ragtag group of mobsters from the east side of town. The ragtag group of nobodies pushing themselves onto other families’ territories because they had gotten too big for their own britches, you heard your father say once. They wanted a hand in everyone’s business, by any means necessary. Even if it meant spilling a few pints of blood.

He was a dangerous man, even more so than the men you had known all of your life. And he stumbled his way into your speakeasy out of all of the ones on this side of town. He had to know what he was doing here. There was no way it was just luck.

“Your folks ain’t too friendly to people who do what exactly?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish your sentence, “Cat got your tongue?”

There was no amount of front you could put on that would fool him. The way his dark eyes bore into you, he could read you easily. He noticed you swallow shallowly. He almost instantly lost the intimidating aura that surrounded him, a playful one taking its place as he let out a hearty laugh, “I’m just messing with you, Angel.”

Angel.

Running this bar, you thought you heard all the pet names there were to hear. But Angel…felt different, especially coming from his lips. You almost didn’t mind it, but only from him.

You took a good look at him. You had seen pictures of the greedy bastard before. But seeing him in person you realize those photos weren’t doing him any justice.

He was a gorgeous man and by the way he carried himself, you knew that he knew it too. He was confident. He was mature. His rugged look and the aged scars that covered his tanned skin added a nice charm. The top buttons of his button-up were left undone, giving you a nice glimpse at his strong, hairy chest. He took very good care of himself. You wondered if he had done the same on the lower half.

“I don’t mind being gawked at by a pretty thing such as yourself. But I think a deserve a drink if you’re just gonna stand there and eye-fuck me, don’t you think?”

You dropped your eyes to your station. You could feel your body burning. He was vulgar and blunt. Something you weren’t used to in this business. Your father’s high rank often made others scared to even look at you when the boss was around.

No funny ideas about the boss’s kid! But him? He didn’t care. Maybe because he was older than most of these mobsters who worked for your father. Perhaps because he had much more experience under his belt. Whatever it was, it was doing something for you. And you wanted to have a bit of fun.

You fixed the redhead a glass of the strongest whiskey you have. You set the glass down in front of him, “It’s on the house.”

“Oh?”

“As a thank you for giving me something nice to look at,” He watched as your eyes traveled down his chest, before meeting his gaze again.

He couldn’t hold his chuckle, “Cute and flirty. I may have just found the best speakeasy and the sexiest bartender on this side of town. Maybe I’ll come back to see you.”

He sure knew how to make a person feel all giddy. As the drinks kept coming, the flirting continued. You were enjoying his company, his words, his eyes raking over your figure wrapped in that minidress that didn’t leave much to one’s imagination.

“You’re going to drink me out of business. That whiskey was expensive, Red.” You frown, shaking the near-empty bottle, to feel just how empty it was, “I should charge this to your tab.” You set the bottle aside, turning to the buzzed mobster sitting on the other side of the bar. After drinking nearly the entire bottle, he seemed only a little tipsy. Just how often did he drink?

“Aww, don’t be like that, Angel. You had a few swigs too,” He whined.

“But the difference is I own the place. You? You’re here to flirt your way into a few drinks and walk out without paying, huh?” You teased, boldly leaning over the bar top, your face just inches away from the most dangerous man in town. And here you were, welcoming said danger.

Shanks smirked, downing the last corner of the whiskey in his glass, leaning towards you until the tips of your nose had grazed one another’s, “Without paying? What kind of man you take me for? I’ll pay you back tenfold and then some in ways these little boys that run around here can’t. I’ll make you feel like the only one in the world.” His tone had darkened.

“Yeah? What kind of payment are you looking to treat me to, Red?” You played coy.

“Come around the bar and I’ll show you, Angel.”

Which is how you ended up here, bent over the bar with his body pressed against yours, his rough lips trailing down to the base of your neck. You wanted this. You need this. You craved this, you craved him. To hell with the consequences, you needed him.

He pulled away suddenly, straightening himself back up. He wasted no time, flipping up your minidress to reveal your ass, “Such a perfect ass. You wanted me to see you like this, huh? This little fucking dress you got on. If you can even call this little thing a dress.” His hands gently caressed your ass, as he focused on your already-soaked panties, “Never have I seen a dress so short. If you bent over earlier, I’d see everything. But you’d like that wouldn’t you, Angel? You’re already dripping. Slip out of these for me.”

You nodded your head, helping him pull down your drenched panties. You stepped out of them, letting them fall to the floor. You reached for the zipper of your dress next, “The dress too?”

“The dress stays on. Need to fuck you good in this so you remember me every time you put it on.”

You unconsciously squeezed your thighs together at his words, reaching around to capture his lips in a short kiss. He pulled away from your lips, giving your ass a tight squeeze. He placed two fingers on your bottom lip, “Suck. Get them all nice and wet for me.”

You took his digits into your mouth, coating them. Once they were drenched to his liking, he pulled them out of your mouth, replacing them with his lips on yours in a sloppy kiss. He used his foot, to spread your legs further, bringing his drenched digits down to your core. He slid his fingers up and down your entrance, before sliding them inside of you painfully slow, making you moan into his mouth.

He began to pump his fingers into you, pulling away from your lips, “This okay?”

“Better than okay. Your fingers feel really good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He latched onto your shoulder, sucking and licking at your skin, as he drove his thick digits in and out of you, curling them. His pace grew faster in response to your moans. He needed to hear more, he wanted you to be loud. He needed to hear just how good he was making you feel, letting all your worries wash away and be replaced with pleasure.

Your body began to wrench underneath him. You were close, so dangerously close. And he knew it. He could feel your walls contracting around his fingers. “Close, Angel?” He said into your shoulder, earning a frantic nod from you.

Very suddenly, his lips parted from your shoulder and he slipped his digits out of you. Before you could whine about the loss of contact, how you were so close, the mobster carefully dropped to his knees, shoving his face into your cunt, burying his hot tongue into you. Finally tasting you, he hummed in delight.

“Fuck!” Your body shuttered, reaching your high on his face. He helped you ride out your first orgasm on his tongue, but he continued to lap at your folds from behind, whispering praises you couldn’t even focus on due to the slight sting of overstimulation washing over your body. You tried to lean away from his mouth, though the mobster had other plans, wrapping his arm around to keep you moving too far. “I’m not finished with you yet. Be a good little barkeep and take everything I give you.”

You gripped tightly onto the edge of the bar, pushing your ass back to meet his tongue, fucking yourself on the muscle. Though you could not see him, from his delighted hums and the way his fingers gripped into the plush of your skin, you knew he was enjoying himself too.

It was not long before the second band of pleasure began to build up inside of you. Feeling you contract around his tongue, his large hand found its way back to yours, intertwining your fingers. You gave his hand a tight squeeze before cumming. Your second orgasm washed over you even more intensely than the first. Your legs had nearly given out, if you weren’t trapped between him and the bar, you would have likely fallen.

He helped you ride out your second orgasm, before letting go of your hand. His hand found the bar to use as a crutch to stand. He used the back of his hand, to wipe the glistening arousal still left on his chin, “You may taste much better than the whiskey. But maybe I need another taste to compare the two.”

After catching your breath, you slowly turned around to face him. You watched the redhead reach for the whiskey bottle, taking the last swig. He looked between you and the empty bottle, “I was correct, you taste better.”

You roll your eyes. “Even after all that, you’re still adding to your tab.”

“I can pay it off now, don’t you think?” He pulled you into a passionate kiss, leaving your hands pressed onto his chest. Everything about him was intoxicating. He was addicting. You just could not get enough of him.

Your hands had found themselves on the buttons of his shirt, undoing the rest of them. He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, helping you slip his shirt off. You fiddled with the button and zipper of his trousers, undoing them before palming his bulge. He sighed softly, his dark eyes never left yours. “If you didn’t owe me for the whiskey maybe I’d return the favor this time,” You teased.

“Oh, how mean,” He chuckled, “You’ll have plenty of chances to return the favor later.”

“Oh? I will?”

“Absolutely,” He placed a peck on the tip of your nose, sealing his promise. “Spin around again for me.” You spun around in his warm hold, finding yourself bent over the bar for him again. You flipped up your dress this time. Though a piece of you wanted to see him, all of him, you sure didn’t mind being bent over like this, with nowhere to run, the man you shouldn’t be with pinning you down. It was all just such a rush.

Shanks pulled his trousers down just enough to free his hardened cock. He suddenly guided his length along your folds, using your arousal as lubricant. The action made you jolt in surprise. Against your entrance, you could feel how thick he was. You could even feel the prominent veins running down his shaft.

“You feel me, Angel? What you do to me? Huh?” He purred lowly. You hummed in response, eagerly anticipating feeling him deep inside of you. Shanks lined his length up with your entrance, guiding his length into your dripping core. You both let out a drawn-out moan as he bottomed out. The stretch of his cock inside of you was delicious. You’ve never felt so full.

The redhead leaned down, kissing up from your shoulder to your neck, “Fuck, you feel better than I imagined. I should just whisk you away after this.”

You grinned, tossing your head to the side to give him more access to your neck, “I wouldn’t mind for a day.”

“All I get is one day?”

“Fuck me right and I’ll consider adding a second.”

“Such a fucking tease,” He whispered, kissing your lips as he began to rock his hips into yours. He rolled out, leaving the tip before sinking back into your cunt, moaning against your lips. He set a slow but deep pace into you, as he kissed you, swallowing every moan and whimper you were giving him.

His pace gradually grew. His thrusts had grown fast and rough. He let go of your lips, groaning a hushed fuck into your shoulder. Your speakeasy was filled with the sound of his hips pounding your ass into the bar, your moans, and his low curses and praises of you.

“You’re taking me so well. So fucking well,” He praised. His hand moved from its place on your hip, down to your clit to rub rapid, messy circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. He didn’t miss the way you shivered at the sensation. The way you gripped tighter onto the bar, the way your eyes had wired shut. “My pretty angel.”

He leaned close to your ear, “You like being fucked like this? Huh? Knowing anyone could just walk in and see you like this? To see you for what you truly are? I need your words, gorgeous.”

“YES! I LOVE IT, SHANKS!”

“Oh, so you can say my name. How cute.” He could feel your walls start to contract again. A cocky grin appeared on his features, “You gonna cum again, Angel?”

“YES! FUCK YES!”

“Cum.” He grunted into your ear, sending you over the edge once more. You shuttered underneath him with a loud cry of his name, coating his cock in your juices. Your orgasm had nearly brought him to his end. He shut his eyes tightly, as he focused on hitting that high. His thrusts were sloppy and uneven, he was so close, “I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“My mouth.”

“Yeah?”

The redhead pulled out, stroking his cock, as he watched you spin around and drop to your knees. You swatted away his hand, replacing it with yours, as you took him as deep as you could into your mouth.

“FUCK!” He shivered under your touch, your hot mouth, shooting ropes of his warm cum down your throat. His hand found its way to the back of your head, pushing you further onto his cock, as he gently thrusted into your mouth to ride out his orgasm. After a deep sigh and a hearty laugh, he pulled his length out of your mouth. “Get your pretty ass up here.”

You climbed back up to your somewhat still wobbling feet, nearly falling into him, as he crashed his lips onto yours. You were the one to pull away this time, “You should get outta here, Red. I don’t want my folks to see you here.”

“You kicking me to the curb like that? I’m hurt,” He pouted, “Aw come on, the night is still young. We can do whatever you like. Hit up another bar, go for a nice drive through town…” He trailed off, reaching for the hem of your dress, “…maybe take this thing off back at my place. We can do whatever your little heart desires. Just be my angel.”

“You want me to be your angel for the night?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, my angel for a lifetime,” He clarified, stepping behind you, peppering your neck in open-mouthed kisses. You tried your hardest to act uninterested. You folded your arms across your chest, crossed your legs, and pretended to be annoyed at his affections.

A one-night stand was one thing, but being with him was something different. There was no turning back then. There was no telling what your folks would do if they found it, even if they found out about him being here. Could you risk it? Would you risk it?

He was no good for you. But it made you desire him even more. Just...just this once. Just...him. You needed to have him.

What the family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right?

#pretending i was here the whole time #SHHHHH YALL LET THIS ONE SLIDE PLS #one piece #shanks #red haired shanks #Akagami no Shanks #shanks x reader #shanks smut #one piece x reader #one piece oneshots #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #one piece headcanons #one piece smut #☆ — MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE.

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shxnigxmi · 1 year ago

Text

[𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓!𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄] [ᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

That one scene from El Dorado that’s popular on COD TikTok right now—

c/w: giving ghost the gawk gawk (not detailed or specified), vulgar language, price is a cheeky devil, ghost is actually a tease beneath all that brooding and sadness— idc argue with the wall

🔞 MINORS/FEM!ALIGNED DNI 🔞

—

“Lieutenant!”

You gasped when you heard Price call for Ghost, the very same Ghost who’s covered in kiss marks courtesy of you, red and purple bruising spanning from his jaw to his neck and all the way down his chest and stomach. The very same Ghost who was kiss-drunk and delirious by your very loving and devoted attention. The very same Ghost who’s cock was all the way down your throat.

“Ghost!” Price called again, waltzing deeper into the armory. Fuck, you couldn’t get caught like this! Insubordination and fraternization were the start of a very long list of punishment awaiting you both if Price happened upon you two. I mean sure, you and Ghost had opted for the furthest and darkest back corner behind the wall of tactical vests, but still—

With another quiet gasp of surprise you pulled your mouth off his dick —much to his chagrin— and sat up quickly. He was quick to follow—

“The Captain!” You cried as you roughly pushed him back down to lying on the ground with a hand on his face. You felt only slightly bad about the impactful thud and loud pop in his back.

“Ow!” Ghost winced but sat up again, a cheeky grin on his face and eyes full of mirth that hung behind a cloud of lust within those rich brown irises.

“What’s the Cap gonna think if he finds you like this with me?” You panicked, of course you knew Price wouldn’t be the one to punish you both for this act of fraternization. And he wouldn’t really rat you out either.. maybe you were being a bit over dramatic but he could still dish out a harsh punishment if he felt like it was needed. And he was probably looking for Ghost because Ghost wasn’t supposed to be here with you right now. Especially not doing this— getting a quick blowjob from you in the back of the armory.

You narrowed your eyes as you clocked the arrogant and pleasured look on his stupidly handsome face.

“Lucky Ghost?”

“For the love of.. just, just— JUST—!”

You scrambled to get him into a decent enough state to stand before your Captain, pulling his mask back down, followed by his shirt to cover the marks on his skin, tugging up his boxers and jeans— harshly pulling up the zipper which he cried at when his junk was pinched at the expense of your rush.

When you heard Price getting closer you stood and pulled him up to his feet with a shocking amount of strength. Then, you were brushing his shirt and pants off and pushing him out of the dark corner— just as Price rounded the end of the corridor and spotted him.

“Ah, Simon.. there ya are.”

“Sir.”

Now, Price had known Simon for a long enough amount of time to notice the little things about him. And he was curious about the disheveled nature about him. It was well hidden to the untrained eye, and maybe to those not close enough to Simon to be able to pick out his tells. Like the way his jeans hadn’t been buttoned—

“You were due to the training fields at 1800 on the dot.”

“I apologize, I was looking for a few handhelds to teach those rookies a few things.”

“Hm.”

—Price decided not to comment on it.

Instead, he grinned. Then he was turning on his heels and making his way back the way he came. Simon watched him as he paced back down the corridor, then he subtly tensed when Price turned his head to look at him over his shoulder as he walked.

“Your button’s undone.”

Okay maybe he did want to comment on it and tease the Lieutenant just a little, the Sergeant too if his assumption on who was in Simon’s pants was correct. Simon flushed beneath his mask as he hurriedly rushed to button his pants back up, but his embarrassment was quickly doused and amusement filled it’s place at his Captain’s next words.

“And tell [Y/Name] he was meant to be on inventory with Gaz. And will now be doing it by himself as a consequence.”

“I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

—

a/n: ghost is so husband 😮‍💨 just wanna kiss him! hold him tightly and love him forever! ❤️

#callofduty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #captain john price #simon riley x male reader #ghost x male reader #cod x male reader #x male reader #male reader #male reader smut

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martiansodas-blog · 2 years ago

Text

Talk me through it

Your sexual experiences were never a priority for your partners. They never even cared for you when it was over. When your friend Joel finds out, he wants to be the one to change that.

Joel Miller x reader

Contents: Smut, age gap, friends to lovers, huge praise kink, aftercare, fluff.

Authors note: My first fic in a few years

Your body in Jackson but your mind a million miles away, you were daydreaming about a man two decades your senior.

What did his hands feel like after a hard day of work? Coarse and dry most likely.

But we’re they gentle when they came in contact with someone else? When they were taking off someone’s clothes…

Snap out of it

He’s simply a regular at the bar. An acquaintance. And even that was pushing it. The only people he truly softened for was Ellie and Tommy.

You gaze at the clock : one hour left. The last hour is always the longest. Most customers had filtered out and you were cleaning with your coworker Amanda.

“How did your date go?” You asked

“Didn’t know if he was my type at first, but after he ate me out I decided he was.”

You tried to chuckle with her but your body cringed.

“You enjoy that?” You asked embarrassed.

It seemed like everyone liked it but you. Was there something wrong with you? Dumbfounded Amanda looked back at you.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t know, receiving head is just…boring. It’s not painful, it’s not exciting, it’s just meh. I’d rather move on to the main event, ya know?”

Her expression didn’t change.

“What are you talking about!? Receiving is practically the only thing that makes being born female worth it.” You both laughed as you stood on your tip toes to put a glass away.

Your words made Joel’s whole body stiff.

One night with me. One night with me and I’ll give you the head you deserve. Stupid boys your age don’t know how to pleasure a woman.

He couldn’t say that tho, especially not in public. Hell go for something calmer.

“Maybe you just haven’t been with an experienced enough person.”

You jolt around in shock. You had no idea until now he was in the bar, let alone listening to your conversation.

“Um, yeah, maybe. It’s not a big deal for me.”

You shrugged the topic off and quickly turned around making yourself busy. You went beat red knowing the most attractive man in town heard about your sex life, or lack thereof.

It’s a big deal for me, you’re torturing me here.

Joel decided he shouldn’t say anything else and risk making you uncomfortable, it wasn’t his intention. Without saying another word he headed home.

“Maybe he’s right, maybe you should have a night with someone older.” Amanda said in a suggestive voice. When you laughed this time it was out of awkwardness.

“Good one, I don’t think so. Im not one for one night stands. Plus, in a commune this size, Ive had a good look around and haven’t been attracted to any guys.”

Lie.

You and Joel were on good terms. You don’t use the word ‘friends’ because Joel isn’t really friends with anyone. At least he wouldn’t say that. He doesn’t let his walls go down enough for that. But he does care about his inner circle and that’s obvious.

You could tell you were one of the people he softened for. Mainly it was Tommy and Ellie, but somehow you always managed sneak your way in there. Most of the reason being you were giving him drinks.

Your affection for him was one sided, but it didn’t matter. He was never going to find out. Your crush just gave you something to look forward to during work.

• • •

It’s an hour before closing and Joel had yet to come in. Odd. Maybe he was under the weather today.

Pulling you from your thoughts was the bell of the door opening.

Speak of the devil

“Hey! Was wondering when you’d show up.”

He smiled at you. Thats rare. He liked a little too much that you wanted to see him. He wanted to see you too, he just still not good at expressing his emotions and letting people in.

“Whiskey?” You assumed.

“Actually, I was thinking of not drinking here tonight.”

The smirk on his face showed that he had a plan but you couldn’t figure out what in the world it was.

Why would he come to a bar if he wasn’t going to drink?

“How about I be the bartender for once. I hope that’s not forward of me to ask, but would you like to come by my place after your shift? If you’re too tired I understand-“

“Yes that sounds great, yes.” You could hear your smile in your voice.

“Alright then, peach. You know which house is mine. See ya then.” He got up and walked away.

Peach. He’d never called you that before.

Yes, you did know which house Joel lived in, but you’ve never been in it. You wondered what kind of decorations he hung up. Did it smell like him? You could barely stand still the remainder of your shift.

You have to put away your school girl crush.

• • •

As soon as it hit the hour you threw off your apron and went into the bathroom to freshen up.

You wished makeup survived the apocalypse, just a little to make your eyes pop.

What are you doing? He’s not your boyfriend.

You really must stop letting your mind wander. You ran your fingers through your hair and tried to get the smell of spilt beer off you. You don’t know what to expect. You’ve never hung out with Joel like this.

A few minutes later you’re knocking on his door. Nearly vibrating with nerves.

He opens it and

God

There’s that enchanting smile again.

It’s contagious. For a few seconds you two just gaze at each other with grins.

“Hey” you said shyly

“Glad you came, come on in.”

He opened the door as far as it went and you stepped in.

Definitely Joel Millers place.

Not much decorations, but his presence is here. Things Ellie has made for him hung around the living room. Things that survived of his from before the apocalypse. It felt homey. It felt safe.

He led the two of you into the living room. When your legs hit the couch you let out a sigh.

There were already two cold beers and glasses of water on the coffee table in front of you. Normally you don’t like to drink because you’re around it almost everyday and the smell gets annoying. But with Joel it seemed fun.

You both picked up your bottles and instead of making small talk or clinking the drinks together, you just nodded at each other and sipped.

Oh wow, this was actually kind of good. Where did he get this from? You groaned as it warmed your body.

“Haven’t been able to rest that much today. Work was busy. This is nice, Miller.”

He shifted closer to you. Closer than a acquaintance would normally sit. Not that you’re offended, you almost feel flattered. Joel speaks in actions.

“As long as you don’t go tellin people I’m nice.” He joked

“I like nice Joel.” Your voice wasn’t light anymore. “I hope I get to see more of him.”

You knew once those words came out of your mouth that they pushed a boundary. It’s a miracle anyone in this type of world is nice. It’s not an expectation you have anymore.

Your sentence didn’t seem to bother him, though. He stared at you for a few beats. He scooted once again until your knees touched. You’d never been this close to him, it was making your face get hot.

You both seem to have fallen into a comfortable silence, studying each other. There are details on his face you’ve never seen before. He pulled off facial hair like no other. His beard a mix of white, gray and brown.

You don’t know how long it stayed like this, but when you looked up at him to feel out the situation, he wasn’t looking back at you.

He was looking at your lips. You assumed they were dry or you had something on them. Instinctively you licked them.

“Don’t do that to me.” He whispered.

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

Instead of answering he put his hands on each side of your face. You made eye contact and thought you must be dreaming.

I’ve had dreams of him before, this must be another one.

But no. You can smell the drink he had and feel his big hands.

“Do you trust me?” He asked. You didn’t need time to think.

“Yes.”

In milliseconds your lips touched.

If this is a dream I never want to wake up.

The kiss starts gentle. Feather light. Sweet. Your noses bumping into each other. Not at all what you expected from Joel Miller.

You press your face into his to make the kiss more intense, but he puts his hands on your shoulders to keep you where he can be tender.

You pull away. Both taking a moment to process.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks.

You can’t help but laugh because who wouldn’t want him. Especially after that kiss.

“I’ve been wanting you for so long.”

He breaks out into the biggest smile you’ve seen. Any nerves or unfamiliarity between you two is gone.

“Com’ere”

Now you’re both giggling and hugging. So happy that feelings have been confessed.

Your head nuzzled into his neck gave the perfect opportunity to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not going to break me. I want you to kiss me like I’m not delicate.”

Something snapped in him.

Maybe it was your warm breath on his ear, maybe it was that you were close enough to straddling him but not there yet. Maybe it’s because he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in town, no, on earth.

He grabs your face with more force this time. Kissing you aggressively. You enjoyed how his fingers dug into your jaw. You gasped and he took the opportunity to introduce his tongue to yours.

He grabbed your legs and settled you over him. It was obvious he was strong but goddamn. He lifted a fully grown woman like it was nothing. It made a fire start in your lower belly.

“I need you. I need you right here on this couch.”

You didn’t respond. Too drunk on him already. You knew once his cock touched you there’d be no thoughts left in your brain.

He chuckled at your state, snapping his fingers to get your attention.

“Sweetheart are you with me?”

“Yeah sorry, I just can’t believe I’m doing this with you. You’ve already made me feel better than any guys I’ve been on dates with and-” your words got muffled by you taking off your shirt. You went braless today.

Now Joel was the speechless one. Staring at your chest. Running his hands up and down your sides.

She isn’t real. She can’t be.

“You’re so … beautiful. Now I really can’t wait, darlin.”

With the same urgency as before he picks you up and laid you out on the couch. Kissing your stomach, not giving you time to process.

He continues kissing down your body while unbuttoning your jeans. He rips them off along with your underwear in one motion.

Jesus, fuck.

“You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you babe?”

“Yes, it’s all for you.”

He lets out a noise that can best be described as feral.

“But, um, you don’t have to do that. It’s not a big deal to me.”

The man looked up at your from between your thighs.

“Will you let me have a taste? If you say stop, I’ll stop.”

“…Okay.”

“Mmm, let me show you how a real man makes you feel.”

All apprehension and doubts you had floated away. Joel licked up both sides of your folds slowly, and you swore you could cum right then.

Your core fluttered around nothing. You needed it again and again and again. He was taking his time with you. Mapping your body out. His tongue making sure to know every inch of you.

The deeper his tongue went, the more your body relaxed. You don’t think it has ever relaxed this much.

The house filled with sinful noises. Your moans, him lapping against you, the couch cousins being gripped.

When he groaned it sent vibrations through your whole body, pushing you closer to the edge.

He went back to licking you from bottom to top. Flattening his tongue as much as possible. Leaving a kiss on your clit before going to the other side.

I love it when he does that. God.

He started to pick up his pace. Inserting his tongue as deep as it goes. Eating you out like a starved man. And he was. You were his new favorite meal. He’s perfectly fine with not getting laid tonight and doing this instead.

“Fuck please- ohh-”

He loves that he can make you sound like that. It makes his cock beg to get out of his pants.

“Joel,” you whimpered out, grabbing his hair.

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me. You’re the sweetest fuckin thing.”

His words were sweet but his tone was filthy. It made your back arch. He knew you were close. He kicked it up a notch and inserted a finger in you.

You gasped at the size and feel. You could finally clench around something and your body was so happy.

“Fuck it feels so good! I’m close.”

I know you are

“You’re doing so good.”

He added a finger and moved them in a come hither motion.

You were done for. His calloused hands bringing you to release. He kept pumping in and out of you, getting all he could of your liquid. When he saw you regaining your breathing he removed his hand.

Laying there for a few minutes with half lidded eyes, you felt like you were on drugs. You were trying to find your composure but your body wouldn’t stop tingling.

The man who just gave you your best orgasm crawls up and appears in your view.

“Hey there sweetheart.”

He has the biggest smirk on his face, arms on either side of you. You don’t care. You’d give everything up if it meant you’d get more of his talent in your future.

“That was incredible.” You exhale

“For me, too.”

In what was becoming classic Joel Miller fashion, he presses the gentlest of kisses to your lips, then rests his forehead against yours.

“Did I wear you out?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. I have a lot planned.”

You bite your lip in anticipation.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

He liked the nickname.

“Yeah, but I prefer to fuck my pretty lady on my bed.”

With that he stood up and carried you bridal style to his room. It was darker in there with one orange lamp on which made the mood even more sensual. He placed you on his bed and resumed the position he was in before.

“I’m gonna make sure you feel me tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You let out a whimper. Crashing into another kiss.

It was his turn to take off clothes.

You hastily unbuttoned his flannel and threw it across the room. He would laugh at your urgency if he wasn’t just as bad.

You smooth your hand over his new bare skin. Soft with scars. You reached his belt and he pushed your hands away to do it himself. Taking the belt then his jeans off much faster than you could’ve.

You stared at his outline, unable to mask your expression. You can tell he’s big without even seeing it yet. By the smirk on his face, he knows it too. You were really boosting his ego tonight.

“You gonna gawk all night or should I take it out?”

Fuchsia creeping onto your cheeks.

“I don’t think I’ve been with anyone your caliber before.” You say meekly, still looking at his clothed cock.

He bring his face right above yours and tilts your chin so your eyes meet.

“Sweet girl, I’ll be gentle. I’ll start slow for you.”

You’re reassured. You feel safe with him.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He brings his lips to meet yours once more. Not breaking it while he tugs off his boxers.

Your breath quickens as you get nervous again. He immediately takes notice and strokes your cheek. Caring about you in every touch.

You feel the head of his cock meet your entrance. Your head falls back against the pillows. He takes this as a sign to push in a few inches deeper.

“That’s my girl.”

Your gasps like angels singing. Your legs squeezing around me because you need more.

Joel goes like this for several minutes. Pushing in, letting you adjust, making sure he doesn’t immediately cum, then pushing again.

You needed movement. Unable to control the pleas that left your mouth.

“Joel, fuck me. I can take it. Stretch me out.”

He can’t say no to you. Especially when you’re like this.

He pulls almost completely out of you then slams back in. Going from 0 to 100. His tip touching your cervix.

He was reaching depths of you no man ever had before. You couldn’t help but be loud.

“I know baby, I know. Let it all out.”

His words made you moan even more. You’re so turned on it got caught in your throat. No one had ever talked you through it before. No one had said such dirty things to you while making you feel this good. No one has made you feel as good as you deserved.

“So good. So good for me.”

You were so wet it was seeping out of you and onto the sheets. You’ve had the briefest feel of him and are already addicted. You rolled your hips into him and hooked your legs around his waist. Instantly he groaned at the feeling.

“Just like that baby, there you go.” His low voice registered in your ear. You always admired the sound of his voice but you never thought it’d be praising you. It was a fucking drug.

He kissed you hard on the mouth and it made the little bit of your body you had control over go limp. He took this opportunity to take your hands and pin them together above your head. It turned you on so much, your back began to arch. Anyone within a ten mile radius would be able to hear you.

Joel had to focus to get a complete sentence out because of how tight you were clenched around him.

“You sound so good. I love hearing how I make my girl feel. You’re so spent on my cock, aren’t you?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Of course you are. Never truly been taken care of, have you?

“N-No.” you whimpered.

“Think you can take more of me, sweet thing?” He let your hands go so he could caress your cheek.

You were nervous but you nodded.

“Good girl.” He smirked at you when he said it. He loved how much power he had over you.

He grabs your legs and put them over his shoulder. With intense speed starts fucking you again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pulled obscene noises from your mouth.

“Oh god oh god”

“That’s my girl. I love being buried in your perfect cunt.”

Your back was arching, your fists were gripping the sheets and your clit was throbbing. Your orgasm was nearing quickly.

Your moans got higher and closer together as your legs squeezed around him.

“Words baby, use your words.”

“Fuck, I’m close. Oh I’m close, oh Joel please. It feels so fucking good.”

He knew exactly what you needed. He circled your clit with his rough thumb and continued to thrust into you hard.

“Good girl, cum for me. Cum on my cock.”

“Oh god oh god-”

You came harder than you ever have before. Leaving a mess on and beneath you. Your ears have a light ringing in them and you were seeing stars. You couldn’t even register if Joel was still near you until you felt a warm washcloth bringing you back to reality.

You opened your eyes and saw him. Someone you knew now you couldn’t live without.

He delicately rubbed one of your legs with one hand and cleaned you up with the other. Making sure you wouldn’t be uncomfortable if you fell asleep right there, which after that experience, was likely.

His actions are a huge juxtaposition to his reputation. He is not stoic and harsh and self centered. He is caring and affectionate and thoughtful.

You smiled up at him while half asleep.

“Thank you.” You managed to choke out. Your voice was half gone.

“Of course, darlin. It’s only the decent thing to do.”

He tossed the cloth on the floor and placed a soft blanket under where you both came. He’d wash the sheets later.

“No guy I’ve been with has really given me aftercare before…”

For some reason saying that was more venerable than the act you just did with him. Your face feels hot.

“You deserve so much more than what’s been given to you. And I don’t just mean with sex.”

You knew if either of you said much else you’d burst into tears. You made grabby hands at him and the two of you fell into a warm cuddle, touching as much of each others skin as possible.

“Goodnight, cowboy.”

He kisses your forehead.

“Goodnight, peach.”

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #Joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #Joel miller smut #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller friends to lovers #Joel miller praise kink #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #joel miller x reader

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