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hotchscoffeecup · 4 months ago

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from across the bar

summary: an observation here and a sarcastic retort there is a sure fire way to catch agent hotchner’s attention at the hotel bar. after sharing a drink, he invites you to his hotel room where he gives it you just the way you ask for it: rough.

tags: light bondage, minor self-degradation, hand sex, oral sex, p in v sex, ass slapping, rough sex

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

rating: m, mdni

word count: 4.2k

Goosebumps bristle across your skin; the sharp bite of winter’s wind whipping against your cheeks and tossing your hair about your face. You fold your arms across your chest, tucking your hands beneath your biceps and thinking you ought to have worn a thicker coat. The thin suede Calvin Klein duster you’re wearing flutters about your ankles as the doorman tips his head in greeting and pulls the door wide. Heat rushes out to greet you and you smile in thanks as you cross through the threshold.

Friday night at The Ritz-Carlton is as busy as any bar or restaurant in DC. Men and women dressed in exorbitantly priced suits and dresses mill about, laughing and cavorting over drinks; standing at cocktail tables or seated at the bar or sleek leather seated areas interspersed throughout the modern space. Recess lighting creates a dim ambience that gives Hollister a run for its money. Your lips twitch and you have to fight to school your facial expression. The opulence is unnecessary, but you roll your shoulders back and situate yourself at the bar anyway, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you do so.

“Something to drink?” a bartender asks, placing a drink menu in front of you.

You smile politely and push the menu away. “A riesling, please.”

“Riesling? That’s awfully sweet, isn’t it?”

Your brow arches in response to the deep tenor rumbling a few seats down from you. You spare a glance in his direction and note the way in which he swirls the scotch in his hand. You’re half convinced that no one actually likes scotch; that it’s more about men establishing dominance around other men while they all pretend to enjoy a drink that tastes like paint thinner.

He is quite handsome though; from the strong set of his jaw to the dark slash of his brow, everything about him exudes leadership and power. A lawyer, perhaps. His suit is tailored to fit his lean frame, an expensive watch peeking out from beneath the cuff of his dress shirt.

You thank the bartender as they place a long stemmed glass in front of you. You take a long slow sip, enjoying the crisp white wine.

“Careful, big shot” you warn, not looking in his direction. “Sweetness often masks the taste of poison. You ought to know,” you say, inclining your chin toward the glass in his hand.

He chuckles wryly and sips his whiskey, “Scotch is an acquired taste.”

You roll your eyes and check your phone, noting the lack of text notifications or any sign of a missed call and slip it back into your coat pocket.

“Not the message you were expecting?” he asks and he seems genuinely curious.

“It’s the lack thereof,” you grumble and take another sip of wine. Five minutes late is one thing, fifteen is a different matter altogether without any attempt to reach out.

“Stood up on a Friday night,” the man arches his brow and blows out a slow breath. “That’s rough.”

“I was not stood up!” you counter defensively. You take a quick breath and actually turn to face him. Your heart stills momentarily as you take in the amused look in his dark brown eyes and the smirk tugging at his lips. Quickly coming back down to Earth, you blink several times and cross one leg over the other.

You feel his eyes level on you and you struggle to come up with some quippy retort. As he sips his whiskey, you can’t help but notice how strong his hands look; his wide palms and long fingers dwarfing the glass in his hand. For a split second you wonder what it would feel like to have those fingers wrapped around your throat or tangled in your hair.

“Wedding ring,” you almost blurt out.

His brow furrows and you point to his left hand, indicating the tan line on his fourth finger. His hand flexes around the cup before he sighs. “Divorced.”

“Ah,” you say, taking another sip of your wine. “So, that’s why you’re drinking alone on a Friday night?”

“I’m not alone,” he replies coolly, arching a brow as he regards you.

His keen stare forces a rush of heat to flush to your cheeks. A smirk tugs at his lips in response to the obvious scarlett trailing across your face and neck.

Taking a deep breath, you finish your glass of wine, stand, and shuffle down to occupy the seat beside him, your high heeled boots clacking against the tiled floor. With a newly emboldened confidence, you place your hand flat against his thigh, boosting yourself up onto the barstool as you level your gaze on him from beneath curled lashes.

His eyes widen slightly, but you see a spark of a challenge flare to life inside them. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You reach for his tie, gently tugging on it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. “Forget my name,” you say coolly. “You clearly came out tonight looking to meet someone and it looks like my plans have changed.”

“I have a suite on the 7th floor,” he says.

You offer him a wicked smile, “Then what are we still doing here?”

•

As the elevator doors pings, signaling its arrival in the lobby, the man extends an arm, holding them open for you to enter first.

“A gentleman too,” you remark as you slide past him letting your body brush against despite the ample room to avoid doing so. The heady scent of his cologne sticks to you and you wonder if you’ll be smelling it on your skin here soon.

He steps inside and presses the button for the seventh floor. As the elevator doors begin to close, someone rushes toward them, trying to get on but the man doesn’t move to hold them. “Take the next one,” he says as they seal shut.

He pounces the second they do, one hand curled around your waist and the other tangled in your hair; your combined body weight thudding against the paneled wall of the elevator. His lips crash against yours, and your lips instantly part for him; groaning into his open mouth. This only seems to drive him further and you feel his erection pressed against your thigh.

“Eager, are we?” you breathe against his lips before nipping at the shell of his ear.

His left hand curves around your ass to cup it in his large hand as his other curls around the back of your neck, using his thumb to angle your chin up towards him. “You have no idea,” he says, voice husky as he moves to suckle the hollow of your throat.

You fist the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer to you. You moan against his mouth eliciting a deeper one from him. As the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the seventh floor, you peel yourself off of him and slip through the doors right as they open leaving him panting and aching for more.

Giggling to yourself, you don’t wait for him as you head toward his room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls after you seductively. With a breathy laugh he adds, “You don’t even know which room it is.”

“Oh, don’t I?” you tease. Without turning back, you raise your hand in the air, his key card tucked between two fingers. “You really outta keep better track of your belongings.”

The sound of him slapping his pockets and grumbling curses brings a cheeky grin to your lips. You slap the key against the keypad and buzz inside the hotel room, slamming the door shut just before he reaches you.

A dark laugh rumbles from beyond the door and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Undoing the belt at your waist, you shrug out of your coat and toss it over the nearby sofa. He knocks on the door and in a voice just above a whisper he starts to detail what he’s going to do to you once you let him inside. Your black high waisted trousers accentuate the curve of your waist, the black lacy corset teddy you’re wearing underneath pushes your breasts up and out.

As you move to open the door, you swipe his badge from your coat pocket, the other item you’d managed to swipe from his suit jacket.

He opens his mouth to chastise you, but instead he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes drop to the swell of your breast. He leans into his arm that’s stretched up above him where he holds onto the doorframe.

Pouting, you fold your hands behind your back and rock back and forth on your heels. “I’m sorry for locking you out,” you say coyly. “Tell me though,” you say, leaning forward, looping your arms around his neck. “Do you have a pair of handcuffs somewhere on you to go with this badge, Agent Hotchner?”

Pulling your one hand free from around his neck, you flip open the leather bifold and dangle his own photo in front of his steely gaze.

His lips press together in a firm line as he looks from his badge to you, though the smile doesn’t slip from your mouth. He pushes his weight against the door frame and peers over both shoulders before taking his forearm and pushing it into your chest, forcing your back against the doorway and knocking the air from your lungs. Your chest heaves and your abdomen clenches as you bite your lip, eyes flicking from his mouth to his eyes. He dips his chin so his lips are level with your ear.

“I don’t need my cuffs to keep you at my mercy,” he growls.

The breath in your lungs stills and you feel your pulse increase, thrumming inside your neck. Wrapping his tie around your knuckles, you gently tug him towards you. “Then give it to me, rough, G-man.”

He wastes no time. Releasing the door frame, he drops it and loops it around your waist before yanking you against his muscular frame. He walks you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and the door automatically locks.

His grip on your hips is bruising and you love the ache of his hands on you as he guides you to the bed. His lips seek yours out and when they find them, you slip your tongue between his lips. You can still taste the scotch on him. As you fold your hands into his hair, you gently suck on his lower lip, grazing your teeth along it and savoring the moan that elicits from him.

When your ass touches the edge of the bed, he pushes his pelvis against your hip, his erection digging into your thigh. You yearn to feel that hard length inside your pussy, but you know it won’t be that easy. You’ve played too many games with him tonight to win him over that easily. You lower your weight onto the bed and wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

“So?” you ask, offering a flirtatious glance whilst skirting the toe of your boot up the length of his leg. “What’s the verdict on those cuffs, Agent?”

His fingers curl around your bare shoulders and toy with the straps of your teddy. “I’m not carrying them tonight,” he says after a while. He moves to loosen his tie and your belly clenches as you wonder what he plans to do with it.

“Hands out,” he orders, and the authority in his voice is so natural you immediately feel compelled to listen.

He slips his tie from around his neck and winds it around your wrists, tying them together snugly, but not so much to cut off feeling to them. He grips the loose end and aggressively tugs you towards him so that your chest is flush with his.

You splay your fingers out against his chest and try to reach for the collar of his shirt to start working on the buttons when he yanks your wrists away.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs. He releases his hold on your makeshift restraints and shifts both hands under your ass. With a grunt, he picks you and shifts your weight so that you’re sat fully on the bed.

“Lay down,” he commands. “Arms above your head.”

As you slowly do as he asks, your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Yes sir, Mr. Hotchner.”

He emits a low groan as his name tumbles from your mouth and you know his cock is straining in his pants. Again, you try to tease him through his trousers with the toe of your boot, but his reflexes are too quick and his hand snaps out to catch your ankle. He arches one dark brow at you before focusing his attention on unzipping each one at a relentlessly slow pace. Your pussy throbs in anticipation of what’s to come and you bite your lip as he straddles your waist, one knee on the bed as his other foot remains on the floor. His eyes are fixed on yours as his fingers make quick work of the buttons of your pants. As his fingers curl around the hem and begin to wind them down your waist and hips, you can’t help but reach up and try to run your fingers through his hair.

Immediately, he snatches your wrist from midair and slams it into the mattress. You gasp and try not to giggle, excited by this show of brute force.

“Don’t move.” His voice is low. “If you can’t follow instructions, there will be consequences.”

You push your lower lip forward, “And I hate to suffer those at your big,” you enunciate each word, “strong, hands.”

Hotchner keeps his obsidian eyes, sharp as knives, daggered on you for a second longer, before releasing your wrists and sliding your pants down and off your legs.

“Now this,” he says, trailing a finger down the lace up front of the corset styled teddy. “Makes accessing want I know you so desperately want me to touch a little difficult, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, you should check again Mr. Hotchner,” you reply with a flutter of lashes.

He regards you curiously, but there’s a dark amusement glinting in the depths of his irises. His hand slinks around your calf, and that alone elicits goosebumps up and down the length of exposed skin. As his hand trails up the inside of your thighs, your muscles quake as you allow your legs to fall open for him.

His lips part as he discovers the missing fabric between your legs. His brow curves as he regards you with keen interest. “One way or another you knew you were getting fucked tonight.”

“One can never be too prepared, can they?”

“No,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. You squirm as he presses his hand flat against your belly, fingers splayed out as he slowly drags them down toward your center.

“Now let’s see just how ready you are, shall we?.” He sinks one long finger inside you and you groan. “So wet,” he murmurs, slowly sinking another finger inside of you. You feel the moisture pooling, how quickly the torturously slow rhythm of his fingers heightens your arousal. When his thumb presses against your clit and begins moving in slow circles, your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Oh, Aaron,” you say, dragging out his name. Your hands fumble to grip onto the sheets as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, maneuvering his fingers each time to strike your g-spot in rhythm with the circular motion around your clit. The wet sounds of his hands wringing pleasure from your body alongside him murmuring filthy things is too much. You need more.

“Please,” you say, arching your back against the mattress in an attempt to draw his fingers in deeper. “I need more.” You hook a leg around his waist and pull him against the edge of the bed, not missing the way his throat strains and eyes roll back at that thought. He increases his speed and without warning withdraws his fingers. You immediately miss their presence, but then suppress a scream as he dives face first into your pussy. His tongue delves into your center, devouring your pleasure. His slick tongue finds your clit, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nub and your pleasure centers are firing on all cylinders.

You dig your elbows into the mattress and push your hips into the air, pressing yourself against his mouth and he moans against your pussy. You feel the deep tremble reverberate against your walls and cry out as it becomes too much to bear in the best way possible.

He grips your hips and you kick you legs up around his neck, drawing him in as if he could get any closer to you. You clench the sheets above your head and cry out, his name on your lips as pleasure builds in your abdomen, pulsing through you all the way to your core. He shifts then, and before you can wonder what he’s doing, he takes a breath and sucks your clit between his teeth. You hiss at the unfamiliar sensation and swear you see stars when his fingers plunge deep into your pussy.

You come instantly, your orgsam surging through you like electricity. You feel it through every inch of your body, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your tousled hair. The aftershocks are still coursing through you as Hotchner tightens his hold on your hips and with a grunt of effort, flips you onto your stomach and yanks you closer to the edge of the bed. The sound of a belt unfastening and zipper coming down is all the preparation you receive before he slaps your ass and the hard length of his cock slams into you. You cry out with ultimate ecstasy as he fills you.

Turning your face into the mattress, you gasp and grunt with each forceful thrust. Your pussy clenches around his thick girth. The slap of flesh on flesh is all that can be heard as he pumps himself in and out. He releases a sharp breath and winds his fingers into your hair, tugging on it. You cry out and moan as you turn to look at him over your shoulder, finding great satisfaction when you watch him melt under your sultry smokey eyed look.

“Come on, baby,” you urge and you see his restraint crack. “Take what you want.”

His brow pinches and unfurrows as his grip starts to falter.

“Use me,” you push, delighting in the way his lips press together as he fights to hold on to his release.

You press your ass higher into the air, allowing him to plunge deeper into your core as his thrusts become less controlled and his pace becomes erratic.

“You don’t,” you grunt and moan as he strikes your g-spot again and again, “even know my name.” You breathe out and groan as you turn over your shoulder once more. “Let me be your whore, Agent Hotchner.”

Hot, thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock into your pussy. He holds onto your hips so tightly, you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You relish in his pleasure as much he relished in yours. When he stops shaking, he slowly lowers your hips onto the mattress and smooths his fingers over the tender flesh there.

Easing you on to your back, you feel his cum slip down your inner thighs as he clambers over you and tenderly kisses your face and neck. When his lips brush yours, you taste yourself on him.

You reach up and hands still bound, brush the hair from his forehead. He smiles as he reaches up and undoes the knot with one swift move. The tie instantly unravels and he casts it aside. You place your hands on either side of his face, thumb stroking the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Let me help get you cleaned up,” he says gently, eyes soft.

You nod, “I think I’d like that.”

He cradles you into his arms and carries you to the shower where he places you on the tile floor and cranks the water on. As steam begins to fill the room, he helps you out of your negligee. Without words, you turn and push his blazer off of his shoulders. You do the same with his dress shirt and let him kick out of his shoes and socks before curling your fingers around the hem of his pants and underwear and kneel to draw them down over his ankles.

He loops his arms around your waist as you stand and kisses you slowly as he guides you back into the walk-in shower. The warm water cascades over your skin, soothing your taut muscles. You close your eyes as he tilts your head back and smoothes your hair away from your face. He places feather light kisses along your jawline as he pumps body wash into his hand from the dispenser on the wall.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he lathers the soap between his hands and smoothes it over your shoulders.

You release a moan of a different sort as his fingers massage the soap into your neck and back. You turn around and lean against the wide plane of his chest as he curves his hands around to wash your breasts and stomach.

His voice is amused when he speaks. “That good, hmm?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm.

He laughs softly in your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple. He continues to wash your body, treating each limb like a holy object the way he handles you with such delicacy and adoration. When he finishes with you, he washes himself quickly and exits the shower to retrieve two plush towels from beneath the sink. As you work to try yourself off, he fetches the robes provided to each guest from the closet in the main room.

You admire the softness of his stomach contrasted with the hard angles of his face and lean musculature of his arms and legs. He really is a beautiful man.

“Thank you, Agent.” You say with a wink as you take it from him.

He laughs. “You and titles. I thought we’d agreed on no names.”

“I said you didn’t need to know my name. I never said anything about yours. What can I say? I love a power play. After all, you must be used to that in your big, bad FBI office, hmm?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Something like that.”

You continue to towel dry your hair and smile back at him. “I guess this game of ours has reached its end. I gotta say, I had a wonderful time.”

“It doesn’t have to end,” he says with a suggestive arch of his brow.

Tilting your head back and forth, you weigh your options. “How about this?” you say, taking a measured step toward him. His eyes widen, surprised by your sudden prowess. “You and me,” you say slowly and stand on your toes so you can purr directly into his ear, “drop the ruse, order room service, and watch a movie on Netflix?”

He pulls away, expression unreadable for a moment. You keep your eyes on him, waiting, and then smile when his posture visibly relaxes. “Honestly, that sounds great, babe, I’m exhausted.”

A grin pulls across your cheeks as you dash into the room and grab your purse. Returning to the bathroom, you reach deep into your bag and unzip the pocket in the inner lining. You fish out your wedding rings and place Aaron’s in his hand before slipping yours back onto your finger.

“The crotchless lingerie was a nice surprise,” he says as he adjust the simple gold band on his finger.

Your lips quirk into a grin, “Yeah, I thought you’d like that little surprise.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss you. “Seriously though, how’d I do?” he asks. “I’m not used to using my office persona around you. It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be. With you, it’s so easy to leave work at the office and relax.”

“Well I certainly hope you don’t do that at the office.”

He chuckles. “You know what I mean!” He waves his hand absentmindedly. “The hardened exterior, the stern, hard voice, expressionless. Dominating. I’m never like that with you.”

“Naturally,” you tease, voice light. “I’m so full of fun and whimsy. It’s hard not to come back down to Earth from your Bureaucratic cloud of murder and mayhem when you’re with me.”

He loops his arms around you, hands flat against your back. “Five years of marriage and you still manage to keep me on my toes, more so than some of the men and women I’m paid to track down and put away.”

You pull back and look up at him. “You love the sex bucket list, be honest.”

He can’t fight the grin that tugs at his lips as he nods. “Role playing as two strangers that meet at random is definitely up there with the things we’ve done so far.”

“More fun than when we played naked Twister with the body paint?”

“Ooo, don’t make me choose.”

He dials room service, ordering plenty of food and desserts to refuel after your exciting adventure into role play and as you climb into the California king bed with him and snuggle against his chest, you silently thank whatever divine forces exist in the universe for every opportunity you get to spend with him like this; your lover, your husband, your everything.

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theblue6ook · 8 months ago

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Other Lovers PT 2

Summary: Y/N and Rachel get to know each other while Bruce makes up for his birthday party fowl.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: This is a SLOW BURN, we are burning slowly. Stay tuned because, in the next part, Y/N’s fiance might not be her fiance anymore, and is Bruce starting to have feelings??? This is also a part of the Out of My League series. [B (23) Y/N (22)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce] [Y/N/N is your nickname]

Y/N and Carrie sat in Swan, the gaudiest, most expensive fashion boutique there was. It was way uptown compared to what they were used to, but Bruce had booked this as a part of her birthday celebration. Y/N, you can’t go to The Ocelot without a dress, he said as he handed her his platinum card. She called him a snob as she snatched it out of his hand, white in the face. I don’t even want to know the limit to this card if there even is one. Normally, she’d never let him pay for her, but… it was her birthday, so she allowed it, and he had pulled out all of the stops.

So, over cheese and wine and dresses, Y/N sat and finally came clean to Carrie about what happened with Russ. And Carrie… Carrie was pissed.

“Y/N/N,” she started, “Now you know I would love and I mean love to spend your birthday dinner with you. Obviously. But what the fuck?”

“Listen, Carrie, I just… I don’t even know what to do anymore.” She sat down her Riesling and shoved a piece of merlot cheese into her mouth, hoping it would numb the sting of her absent fiance. It didn’t.

“He’s your fiance!” she cried out, almost spilling her mocktail out of her hand.

“It’s just been like this with him. He’s hot, he’s cold. Anything that has to do with my job or Bruce, he just loses his mind!”

Y/N had shifted the dress she was trying on to tuck her legs underneath her. They had been dress shopping for a little less than an hour, but she could tell Carrie was getting tired; she had her treatments a few days ago, so they decided to sit and eat. But now that Y/N had blabbed on Russ, it was like all Carrie’s energy came flooding back to her.

“Can I speak freely?” Carrie had that fiery look in her eye as she sat up straighter. She knew this was something Carrie had been holding onto for a long time, but she wasn’t ever in the mood to hear it. She wasn’t even sure she was in the mood to hear it now, but… she nodded anyway. “It hasn’t been right with Russ for a while.”

“Carrie-”

“Hear me out,” she stopped her, holding up her finger and a piece of cheese. “You know I love Russ; we’ve all known each other since high school, but just because you’re with someone for a long time doesn’t mean you should stay with them.”

Y/N shook her head, “We’re just in a rough patch.”

“Your rough patch started way before Bruce Wayne,” she said, sighing, looking at Y/N, “I’m not saying make any rash decisions. I’m just saying think about it. Think about what’s good for you.”

It felt like pins and needles were in her eyes as hot tears dwelled at the tip of her lashes. She knew it had been rough with Russ, but she hadn’t cried about it, and she didn’t want to. Pulling herself together, she inhaled. “What do you think about the red, backless one over there.”

Carrie grinned.

Everyone looked towards the large group of ballerinas that filtered into The Ocelot, entertained, and who was leading them? Bruce Wayne himself. His staff set his table to the left of the staircase, and ironically, so was Rachels. What a coincidence! Harvey Dent had waved to him immediately, oblivious to the past relations Bruce had with his date, while Rachel gave him a knowing look like she already knew what he was up to.

Harvey stood to greet him with a pleasant, “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight, Mr.Wayne.”

“Well, it is my restaurant, Harvey,” Bruce shook his hand politely. He glanced down at Rachel, and it was clear she didn’t take the bait and sat patiently in her chair. “I see you know my good friend, Rachel.”

She nodded over at the ballerinas disapprovingly, “I see you brought some friends of your own, Bruce.”

“She’s always scolding me,” he mumbled to Harvey.

Harvey looked almost disappointed, staring at the group of women, “We were going to see the ballerinas tonight.”

“Were you,” Bruce feigned a shocked look. “I’m so sorry. I offered to take them to dinner for all their hard work.”

“On a recital night?” Rachel said knowingly.

“Well, we can always push out tables together if you’d like to speak with them?”

Rachel rolled her eyes, aware of where this was going, while Harvey quickly protested as civilly as he could. Placing her hand on Harvey’s arm, Rachel asked Harvey to sit back down and assured him she was sure Bruce had other places to be, but Bruce’s attention moved elsewhere. A tiff was starting not too far from them. The workers were trying to kick two women out; it seemed their reservation had been taken over by his large table. He couldn’t see the women covered by the large group of hosts gathering, but he could hear their conversation.

“Are you kidding me? Bruce Wayne made this reservation for her himself!”

“You know what? Don’t worry about it.” He recognized that voice. Shit.

Mumbling, excuse me to a babbling Harvey, he walked over to the group of people in strides. Clearing his throat, it was like Moses at the Red Sea. The hosts quickly split down the middle, and all went silent, wide-eyed. The manager, whom he recognized before, became red in the face, but that wasn’t the red he focused on. Turned at the waist, there she was bare-backed, draped in red, and annoyed, as per usual.

Before he could get a word in, the manager rushed to him and blurted out, “We assure you, Mr. Wayne, it’s being handled.”

She turned fully this time holding the arm of the other woman she was with, whom he could only assume was Carrie. “Really Bruce? The entire Gotham Ballet.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t even know how your reservation got moved,” he looked toward one of the hosts. “I want them in the green room. Not too far from my table, but far enough the noise won’t be a problem. Anything they want, they get. Charge it to my card.”

It was like someone had released the doves. White jacketed, hosts and waitresses flew around wildly and without question. Grabbing place settings, table cloths, moving around CEO’s, politicians, and models. Carrie was in awe mouth open. Y/N couldn’t help but feel the same way. Everyday she worked for Bruce Wayne, she was shocked by the power he had. She saw his odd moments. She saw his darkcircles when he came in office. She saw him fall asleep during meetings. She watched him sit behind her and watch New Girl with her while she was on break. He claimed he didn’t normally have time for Television.

Y/N focused her attention on him, “You don’t know how our reservation was moved, but you invited the entire ballet?”

“Listen, it was a whim,” he grinned.

“Does whim mean Rachel-”

“-and happy birthday by the way,” he cut her off and pulled her in for a hug. Her dress was silky under his fingertips as he slid his hands around her. His hands were cold against her hot bare back. She shivered in his arms, but accepted the hug and slipped her hands over his shoulders, leaning onto her tiptoes. Still hugging Y/N, he extended a hand to the woman Y/N was with, “You must be Carrie I’ve heard so much about you.”

Carrie took his hand, grinning at the two, “It’s so nice to meet the man Y/N has been bullying every day.”

He laughed leaning his head back, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Y/N peeked over his shoulder and spotted Rachel staring at the pair, “Oh is that who I think it is over there?”

Before he could say anything else, Y/N’s staring had caught Rachel's attention. It seemed to finally be the bait she needed to stand and approach Bruce… or should I say Y/N. Harvey, struggling to keep up with her, seemed surprised by the sudden change in demeanor.

“Bruce!” she smacked his arm mischievously. “How rude of you! Introduce Harvey and me to your new lady friends.”

She smiled over at Carrie, but the way she looked at Bruce and Y/N could only be described as suggestive. Y/N stuck out her hand to shake Rachel's. She took her hand in return, eyeing her small, dainty engagement ring placed on Y/N's left ring finger. Anyone else looking at the ring would have immediately noticed it was not big or bold enough to be from Bruce Wayne, cracked with time, and clearly a fake stone, yet she still raised her eyebrow at the pair. Bruce and Y/N noticed the shift and suddenly started interrupting each other, creating some sort of rushed mashed sentence.

“Oh, he’s my boss, I’m engaged-” “She’s my assistant, Rachel-” “We work together-” “I wouldn’t say we’re that good of friends-” “I wouldn’t say we’re anything above coworkers-” “More like work friends-”

The smile on Rachel’s face grew in amusement. Oh, to tease Bruce Wayne. “So you work for him? I hope you’re keeping him on his toes.”

“On his toes and in office,” Y/N gossiped proudly. “Though now, with this ballerina fiasco, I have another thing to add to my plate. I almost lost my reservation because of this shit!”

“Do I have to ask how this is going to affect you?” Bruce asked, and Y/N’s attention completely shifted to him.

“Do you have no common sense? The entire restaurant is going to have to shift their reservations. Who do you think the governor is going to be calling when he can’t get a reservation for his anniversary? You. Because it’s your restaurant.” Y/N turned quickly back to Rachel. “I hope he hasn’t been bothering your date too much.”

She shrugged, “I’ve known Bruce since we were kids. Trust me, I can handle it. It’s so nice to see someone else who doesn’t just fawn over him.”

As they bantered, Bruce looked at Carrie and just shook his head. She snickered. He should have known if Y/N and Rachel ended up in the same space together, shenanigans would ensue.

“I hate to interrupt,” he spoke. No, he doesn’t, Rachel mumbled to Y/N, who grinned at her. “Okay, I don’t, but you should probably sit down and eat before my restaurant closes.”

Bruce had taken Y/N by the shoulder, to which she rolled her eyes, and offered Carrie his elbow, leading them over to the green room. The walls were draped in a deep green floral wallpaper. It was eclectic, like nothing she would expect from Bruce’s restaurant, especially after seeing his family home. There was a large fountain, big enough to swim in, placed in the center of the room and decorated with tigers. A curious thing to have at a restaurant called The Ocelot, she thought. But that’s still not what immediately caught her attention when she entered the room. Their table was to the right of the large gaudy fountain, decorated with a tiered birthday cake, almost as tall as the table. She held her breath, and Carrie gasped.

He was still behind her, but his hand slipped to her waist. The back of his palm was against the hot skin of her back, and his fingers traced the edge of her silk dress by her hip bone. With a wave of his hand, the servers lit the candles and dimmed the lights, illuminating what could only be described as a frosted tower of light glistening against the water of the fountain. Leaning, lips against her ear, he whispered, “I hope this makes up for earlier. Happy Birthday.”

To be continued… @pank0w @moejoeflow @padsfirewhisky @maxinehufflepuffprincess

#batfam #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batmom #bruce wayne #batboys x reader #slow burn

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ichikopotato · 8 months ago

Note

2017 Tom with f! Reader literally js smut!

If your comfortable!!💞💞

slay.

pairings : 2017 t.kaulitz smut

synopsis : you just got out of a relationship, meaning you were at the bar, trying to get your mind off of it. You suddenly meet a guy, actually forgetting what you came there for. Let’s just say you weren’t expecting to forget your past in one night.

warnings : one night stand?, p in v, degradation, rough/ kinda sweet sex?, sweet tom, pillow princess, unprotected sex, hair pulling, implied second round, usage of “baby, sweetheart, princess”.

a/n : YALL IM SO UPSET. I actually lost a few followers from not posting in a while, I’ll try to post more often now! Love you angels.

-> IT WAS A GLOOMY EVENING at the bar in your town, nothing too exciting, just normal people having fun and drinking. You sat down, ordering drinks, wanting nothing more than to release some stress.

You drank your drink, ordering another, after another. A man sat beside you, ordering your same drink. You look at him up and down, silently admiring him as you fixed your posture.

He saw you staring, smirking slightly. “Do I have something on my face?” He chuckled, as you clear your throat, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

“No, sorry. I’ve just never seen you here before.” You smile, taking a sip of your drink. You couldn’t deny that he was handsome as fuck, from his man bun to his outfit and body.

He smiled, as he drank his drink. “Just decided to go to a new place, last one was kind of boring me out.” He winked, smiling. You giggle softly, as he brought out a hand for you to shake.

“I’m Tom, you?” He smirked, eyeing you up and down teasingly. You shook his hand, blushing softly. “It’s y/n, nice to meet you.” You giggled. He chuckled, getting up.

You both talk for minutes, getting along and being able to communicate great. Until he stood up, smirking at you, “why don’t we take this back to my place? Im sure we can get along more.” He smiled.

You smile, nodding as he got the bill, signing it as he winked at you whilst smirking. He took your hand, leading you to his car. You drove to his place, singing some songs together, laughing and talking.

As you got to his apartment, you took off your heels and waited for him to say something. He smiled, leading you to the couch, “go ahead and sit, make yourself at home. Oh, and the best view of the city is at the end of the couch or balcony.” He smirked, walking to the kitchen.

You sat down on the couch, admiring the view. He came back with some wine, and two glasses. “Care to drink more?” He teased, sitting beside you.

You hit his arm playfully, taking the glass and taking a sip. “This is good, is this Riesling?” You smiled, taking another sip. “mhm, glad someone knows what I’m serving them.” He chuckled.

You remember your ex, knowing this is his favourite. You sigh, placing the glass down. Tom notices, confused. “Is something bothering you, sweetheart?” He smiled, rubbing your back.

“No, it’s just that— this is my ex’s favourite wine.” You giggled softly, your eyes watering up. He took your hand, rubbing his thumb over your soft skin. “Im sorry, y/n. I didn’t mean to.” He whispered, rubbing your back.

“It’s fine, Tom. It’s not your fault.” You smiled, rubbing his hands. You and him stare at each other, eyes filled with desire and lust. He leaned in, pulling you into a kiss.

You smile, returning the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he pulls you closer by the waist. He groaned softly, “are you okay with this, princess?” He placed hot kisses up and down your neck.

You moan softly, nodding. Without another word, he carries you to his bedroom as you yelp in surprise. “t-tom!” You gasp.

You get to his room, as he laid you down on his bed. He quickly strips you out your clothes, smirking and maintaining eye contact with you.

You squirm, blushing as he strips as well. He pulls you into a kiss, moaning softly as he rubs his tip on your wet folds. “You want this, hmm baby?” He coed, teasing.

You let out a moan, whimpering softly. “y-yes, please tom.” You gasp, your hands falling to his back, as he slammed his girth into you. His head falls back, groaning.

“shit, princess. s’tight f’me..” he smirked, chuckling. He pulled your hair, pounding into you roughly. You squeal, moaning as your eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He chuckled at your face, kissing the corner of your lips.

“Yeah baby, you like that?” He moaned, pounding into you. You could only respond with pathetic moans, whimpers and whines. He smirked, feeling you tighten around him.

“you close, sweetheart— hmngh.. fuck! taking me s’well.. such a dumb girl.” He moaned, pounding into you faster. You moan, “m’close, tom. please!” You whimper.

Your tongue lolls out as you cum all over his cock, moaning and shaking. He groans, pulling out and cumming all over your breasts and stomach.

He chuckled, slapping your cheek gently as he saw your eyes droopy.

“Not finished yet, sweetheart. Gonna fuck this pussy till’ I get tired.”

well, let’s just say you stayed the night, forgetting about your stupid ex.

YALL IM SO SORRY, I LOVE YOU ALL. THIS WAS REALLY SHORT, IM SO SORRYYY! I LOVEYOUALL, STAY SAFE ANGELS.

#tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz angst #bill kaulitz smut #one night stand #wine

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hearts-hunger · 6 months ago

Text

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Taglist Form

Summary: For Josh, home is where you are. | Standalone in the Cabin Fever universe

Pairings: Josh x Wife! Reader (Josh POV) | Genres: domestic fluff, angst, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 3k | Warnings: a little mention of spice

A/N: I loved Josh's most recent insta caption about the stage being his ethereal living room he gets to share with us, but I also love hurt/comfort, so I made it angsty and fluffy for Josh and Baby. I hope you like it! ♡

“The stage is your ‘ethereal living room’?”

Josh looked up from the charcuterie board he was meticulously arranging to see you on your phone, presumably scrolling through the concert pictures he’d posted half an hour ago. He smiled.

“Yeah, you know.” He tapped a row of crackers into line until they were perfect. “The shows are a place where people come together to enjoy each other’s company. Somewhere that feels like home.”

You didn’t say anything. He glanced up at you again.

“Ethereal means — ”

“I know what ethereal means, Josh.” Your face went pink. “It’s just not usually a word you use to describe a living room.”

He was a little surprised at your tone; it bordered on sounding upset, but maybe that was just because he’d embarrassed you, though he certainly hadn’t meant to.

“I was just trying to help, baby,” he said gently. He tried for some humor. “And you’re right, it’s not usually a word you’d use to describe a living room. Definitely not our living room in the state it’s been in lately.”

That had the opposite of the intended effect, and he wished he could take it back when your face fell. “You don’t think it’s ready for tonight?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s ready now. Everything looks great. I just meant that we haven’t been as good about tidying every night, so it’s been a wreck recently.”

“Right,” you said, but it was doubtful and tense. “Well, I tried to get most of it done while you were at work — ”

“I know, baby.” He felt that he’d botched this conversation pretty badly, but you also seemed much more sensitive than you usually were. “It was a huge help, and I’m grateful that you did most of the cleaning when we made the mess together.”

“I didn’t make it quite as ethereal as a concert, though,” you said, and your laugh was a little strained.

He wondered at your fixation on the wording of his caption, but maybe you were trying to make it into a running joke.

“The Kiszkas wouldn’t know what to do with a living room too perfect for this world,” he teased. He set the board on the other side of the island and went hunting for the wine glasses. “Could you grab me the corkscrew, honey?”

You did as he said, but there was a pensiveness to your body language that made him worry. You’d been in a great mood all day, his happy bubbly girl, spending the day shopping and tidying and preparing for the dinner party you were hosting. Jake, Sparrow, Sam, and Danny were due to arrive any time now, and Josh had thoroughly enjoyed spending time with you after work getting your home ready for your family. He didn’t know what had brought on this sudden change in mood, and he racked his brain for what could have caused it and what he could do to fix it.

“Dessert smells really good,” he said sincerely. “Did you end up putting the strawberries in there too?”

You handed him the corkscrew and stood uneasily as he opened the Riesling, toying with the sleeve of your pretty dress.

“No,” you said quietly. “It’s just regular blackberry cobbler. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

A frown tugged at his features. “I don’t,” he said. He popped the cork out. “Of course I don’t mind. That sounds great, honey.”

“It’s not very exciting,” you said apologetically.

He didn’t know where this was going. Surely you weren’t upset about the dessert you’d made, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what you really were upset about. He decided to stick with his usual strategy, which was mostly just continuing to be sweet to you.

“I don’t need exciting, baby,” he said, kissing your cheek. “It’ll be perfect. I can’t wait to try it.”

Working together, but without your usual quips and jokes back and forth, you and Josh put the finishing touches on dinner before the doorbell rang. Josh put his dishtowel over his shoulder and went to welcome your guests in, and he was happy that you joined him.

“You look beautiful, baby,” he said. “I love that dress on you.”

You touched a hand to the neckline of your summery black dress patterned with little red cherries. “Oh, well, it’s only a sundress. But... thank you.” The usual enthusiastic enjoyment of his compliments he loved hearing was nowhere in your voice. He wished he could wait to open the door and ask what was bothering you, but the doorbell was now accompanied by rhythmic knocking the type of which only a drummer could deliver.

“I’m telling you,” Josh said, trying one last-ditch attempt to coax a smile out of you. “This ethereal living room business — it’s better if it’s just our plain old living room with these hooligans.”

The smile you gave him was clearly only for his sake, not even reaching your eyes. Discouraged and unable to stall any longer, he turned the door handle.

“I didn’t mean to push this on you,” you blurted. Your expression was anxious and regretful. “I’m sorry, Josh.”

By the time he’d processed what you’d said, the door was already open, and your family was coming inside full of laughter and bearing gifts of wine and appetizers and card games to play. He wanted to jump right into the festive atmosphere his brothers and sister-in-law brought with them, but he was completely preoccupied by your blurted-out apology for... what? What could you have to be sorry for? He looked across the foyer and felt his heart twist when he saw your strained smile as you welcomed your family inside.

“Alright, Kiszkas,” he said with more levity than he felt. He ushered everyone into the living room, pointing out the drinks and snacks on the kitchen island. “Eat, drink, and be merry. Dinner’s almost ready.”

He asked Danny to watch the sauce simmering on the back of the stove, wanting to try and get a moment with you before dinner. He left Sparrow and his brothers chatting and snacking in the kitchen and found you in the dining room, double-checking the place settings you’d already made perfect an hour before.

“Baby,” he said gently. “What did you mean, you’re sorry for ‘pushing this on me’? Did you mean dinner?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I should have asked you before I planned it.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “You did ask me. Didn’t you?”

“I don’t think so,” you said sheepishly. “I think I just told you I was doing it, and you went along with it.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t mind,” he said sincerely. “I’m glad you planned it.” He debated giving you space or pressing a little deeper, and he risked the latter. He came around the table to the side where you stood.

“I’m glad we’re all spending time together,” he said. He took your hands in his. “I’d like to enjoy it with you, too, but I wouldn't be happy if you were unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” you lied.

“Baby,” he chided tenderly. “You’ve been out of sorts for a little bit now, and I want to help you get back into sorts. I just don’t know how.”

You looked up at him. “Are you sure you’re happy with... all this?”

He raised a brow. “Dinner? Or, like, the universe as a whole?”

You sighed. “No, I mean... do you like being home? Maybe it’s a little lackluster after touring.”

“That could not be farther from the truth,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation. Was that all that was bothering you?

“Silly girl,” he said with a smile. “Of course I like being home. I love being home.”

“But it’s... it’s just... me,” you said lamely. “Just our house.”

“I’m still not seeing a problem,” he said, affectionately teasing. “I love you, and I love our house, especially when it has all the people we love in it drinking all our wine.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Then — “Are you sure?”

For a moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt a surprisingly sharp flash of hurt at your doubt. He tamped it down to focus on you, his sweet wife, who apparently felt that his homecoming had been spent wishing he was back out on the road.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he finally said. He cupped your face in his hands, reading something sad and needful in your expression but unable to figure out how to fix it. “I love being home with you, baby. I miss you so much when I’m away. You don’t know that?”

He saw your eyes sparkle with tears and wished desperately he could understand how it had gotten this bad, wished he could figure out how to fix it.

“Hey,” he said softly. He kissed you. “I love you. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“But it’s not — ”

“It’s perfect,” he said, gently cutting across your protest. “And though I love the way you open our home to our family, even just being with you, eating takeout in our pajamas, would have been perfect too.”

You gave him a watery smile at that, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“There’s that smile,” he said tenderly. He brushed the tears from your face. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough, baby. You're everything to me. You’re my heart. You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded and kissed him, and he was so happy to have helped even a little. He’d probably ask about it again, try to understand what had made you think such a thing so that you'd never have to think it again. For now, though, your family was waiting, and you seemed eager now to get back to them.

“Don't tell them I was crying,” you said, running your hands over your cheeks, trying to hide the telltale signs. “Tell them we were having a quickie or something.”

He chuckled. “I'm not sure I’m skilled enough for that to be believable, baby. Less than five minutes is a lot to ask.” He kissed your cheek. “And I won’t tell them you were crying. That’s between you and me.” To his way of thinking, a husband's job was to protect his wife at her most vulnerable, not to expose her. These moments between you, the words and soft touches and intimacy you shared — those were just for the two of you, and Josh treasured the privilege of being the one you shared yourself with when you needed a little extra love.

You took his hand, and when he was sure you were ready, he led you back out to where your family waited.

He saw you return to your usual self as the night went on, and he loved to hear your laugh and watch your smile light up your face as you spent time with your family. Sam, Danny, Jake, and Sparrow — they never failed to bring warmth and light with them wherever they went, and Josh knew that there was no better medicine than their terrible jokes and affectionate bickering and safe, easy love. You were always beautiful, but joy made you ravishing; you shone as brightly as the sun when you were happy, and he felt a weight come off his shoulders as you came back to yourself.

After dinner, you found a spot on the couch; as Josh went to fix glasses of wine for both of you, he watched the drama unfolding in the living room. Catty corner to you, Sam and Jake were playing guitar, Sam casually and Jake with characteristic seriousness; Sparrow sat perched on the arm of Sam’s chair, and Danny sat on the floor.

“Watch him,” Danny said, slipping a hair tie from his wrist and aiming it like a slingshot at Jake. “I bet he won’t stop playing.”

“No, Danny!” Sparrow giggled around the straw stuck in her wine glass. “That would be so mean to my poor Jakey.”

“He wont’ even notice,” Danny said, unable to hide an impish smile. “Watch.”

He shot the hair tie at Jake, and it popped him on the forehead before tumbling down the guitar and landing on the floor. Jake didn’t miss a beat.

Danny and Sparrow dissolved in uproarious laughter, and Jake merely rolled his eyes with a telltale smile.

“You’re all idiots,” he said.

“Not me!” Sam protested. He watched Jake’s fingers, invested in learning the tune now. “I’m trying to play with you, but geez, can you dial it down from rock god so I can figure it out?”

Jake slowed his playing, talking Sam through the notes, and good-naturedly accepted a kiss on his forehead from Sparrow. Danny tried to find the hair tie again and hit Sam with it when he did, earning himself a nudge with Sam’s foot that made Danny laugh and lean his head against Sam’s knee in apology.

Josh brought your drinks over to the couch and handed yours to you. “For you, baby.”

You accepted it gratefully and patted the spot next to you. “Thanks, honey. Come sit with me.”

He did, draping one arm over the back of the couch behind you, pleased when you scooched closer to him. He gave you a sweet, chaste kiss.

“Feeling better, baby?” he asked gently.

You couldn’t help a dull blush, but you gave him a bashful smile. “Yes. I’m sorry I was so... tearful earlier.”

“That’s alright, honey. Would you mind telling me what it was that got you so upset?”

You ran the pad of your thumb over the bottom of your wineglass. He was patient as he waited for you to gather your thoughts.

“It’s silly,” you said finally. “You’ll either laugh or be annoyed that I made such a big deal about it.”

He considered that. You usually took things in your stride, and neither of you made a habit of being offended or upset over trivial, accidental things. Whatever it was, it had hurt you, and he would validate that feeling no matter what it turned out to be.

“I promise I won’t laugh,” he said. “And I don't think I’ll be annoyed.” He really just wanted to know what it was, and he told you so.

Your nervous, wandering fingers found his, and he was content to let you play with his wedding ring. You brushed your thumb over the shiny gold surface.

“It was your caption,” you said. “You know, for those pictures you posted.”

He was bemused for a moment. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “There’s no greater feeling in the world than returning to the stage. It is my ethereal living room. A place where things feel lighter than air. I love you.”

If anyone had asked him to recite from memory the caption he’d written himself, he couldn't have done it. The fact that you knew it word for word told him you must have been saying it over and over again in your head since you’d read it.

He thought of the wording in light of your feelings and saw how it could have hurt you. It had been their first show back after a long break spent at home, and while you were in your plain old living room at home and missing him, he’d apparently been away in a much better living room doing much more exciting and wonderful things without you. Of course he hadn’t really been comparing a concert to the home he shared with you — it was only an Instagram caption, after all, and not a serious commentary on his life. But even though he felt it was reasonable for you to have known that, he also knew that sometimes the heart wasn’t reasonable.

He twined his fingers with yours. “Sweet baby,” he said. “I’m sorry it hurt you. It wasn’t my intention at all. I don’t know if it helps, but I wasn’t thinking about our real life living room when I wrote that. I just thought it sounded clever.”

“I know,” you said. You gave him a wobbly smile. “It was clever. It’s sweet. And the fans deserve a little love note from you. I just...”

“You just missed me,” he said, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I know, baby. I missed you too.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m sorry I made such a big deal out of it. I could have just been honest that I was upset. But really, I should have just taken it like you meant it and not started catastrophizing, thinking you weren’t happy at home.”

“Well, sometimes our imaginations run away with us,” he said, patient and kind. “For the record, I am happy at home with you, baby. You in your old sundress making regular blackberry cobbler is the kind of thing I dream about when I'm away from you. And if I could only have one, I’d pick our less-than-ethereal living room and be glad to share it with you for as long as I lived.”

You touched his cheek. “Why are you so sweet to me?”

“Because I love you very much,” he said simply. He kissed you. “Tell me you know that.”

“I know that,” you said softly, tenderly. “Of course I know that. I love you very much too.”

He kissed you again, taking his time, drawing you closer to him. You tasted like sweet wine and sounded so pretty when your breath caught, your fingers brushing through his curls, your heartbeat light and fast under his hands, almost ethereal.

From the other side of the living room, there was a vague commotion and contagious laughter from Sparrow and his brothers.

“Should we check on them?” you asked, your voice muffled and smiley as you kissed him.

He chuckled. “They’re fine. Hush and let me kiss you.”

You did, and when you threw your arms around his neck to pull him even closer, he decided you weren’t ethereal after all. The two of you together, surrounded by the ones you loved, laughter and joy and music filling your home — it was something better than ethereal, something earthy and imperfect and steady. For all he loved his work, this right here was exactly what he wanted.

“I love you, Mrs. Kiszka,” he said gently.

You smiled and set everything right in his world. “I love you too, Joshy.”

@wideminded-dreamer and @spark-my-nature were particularly excited for this one so hey here you go <3

#i'm gonna do a taglist rb later hopefully with the new list from my new form! yay #also i hope this is not a case of a fic where the header is better than the story dkhjbfhb it's just a short sweet little fic :')#i do like this header tho :)#josh kiszka fluff #josh kiszka x reader #josh x baby #cabin fever fics #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #maddie writes stuff!

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inuhalfdemon · 7 months ago

Text

No One Can Know... (4/?)

Word Count: 2,270

Chapter 4

"Meet me on your best behavior, meet me at your worst…" - Death Cab for Cutie

Wondering who-the-fuck-in-Hell would be there knocking this late at night; Lucifer opened his door. Seeing that it was, in fact, Alastor standing at his threshold with a seemingly pleasant smile across his face; Lucifer immediately bristled.

“What in fuck’s – wait. Is that wine?” Lucifer peered behind Alastor’s waist; seeing his separated shadow clasping a large bottle of Riesling and a pair of wine glasses.

“Yes. I thought it might pair well with our…discussions. May I?” Alastor asked him, politely.

“…yeah, ok.” Lucifer stepped aside; letting him in.

Alastor stepped inside; his shadow following close behind. The shadow paused briefly beside Lucifer; offering him the bottle. Lucifer took it, and the shadow swept further inward to be closer to Alastor. Looking at the label; Lucifer closed the door.

“Where in Hell did you get this!?”

“I don’t just deal in souls; your grace.” Alastor told him. “And I’m rather partial to a rare vintage every now and again. This one has been made ready for us to enjoy.”

“No shit. Damn.” Lucifer led him to a small suite; directing him and his shadow to some plush chairs and an ornate table for them to recline by. There were less rubber ducks and circus trinkets scattered throughout here than were piled in his work-room. Alastor didn’t seem to pay much attention to the surrounding room though; his gaze never straying across items, walls, furniture, etc. He was very focused on his business here.

Alastor’s shadow; taking the bottle from Lucifer – opened it and began pouring wine into the two glasses. Alastor and Lucifer both sat down. Lucifer reached across for his wine glass; then leaning back he asked:

“So…what the fuck do you want to talk about?”

“I’m sure you are well aware of the subject matter that I wish to address with you tonight.” Alastor said; taking his own glass from the table and gently swirling the liquid. His shadow excused itself into a dark corner nearby.

“Hm…how forthright of you. You seem to be in a more…agreeable…mood tonight than you were yesterday.”

“The extermination is merely a couple months away…I had hoped that I might avoid having to address my…“rut” until sometime after, but I’m afraid that won’t be the case.” Alastor explained. “I’d like to discuss the best…approach to the problem; if you are so inclined.”

“Uh, huh.” Lucifer said dismissively. “So, what exactly are we discussing then?”

“I’m afraid that the effects of the cycle will greatly influence my duties in safeguarding Charlie and the hotel. During that time, I won’t be getting much sleep and –“

“Do you actually sleep?” Lucifer interrupted, prodding him.

“Yes.” Alastor answered him honestly. “Maybe not as much as most but I do require a reasonable amount.”

“I must have really taken the wind out of your sails.” Lucifer tipped his glass to his lips. “I didn’t anticipate you coming here and being so candid with me.”

“Yes, well, I can admit when I’ve made an ass of myself.” Alastor allowed.

Knowing this was as close to an apology as he was liable to get; Lucifer stated: “Well, I won’t say that I’m sorry. If anything, I think I should have gutted you sooner.”

Lucifer waited for Alastor to make a quip at that but then; he said nothing. Instead, he raised his own glass to sip from – offering no comment.

Interesting.

“Ok, so I assume you are wanting to formulate some plan going forward, is that it?” Lucifer clarified.

“Indeed. Initially, I preferred the idea of you safely displacing me from the hotel until I cycled out but, the timing is not ideal. There’s too much to be done and I don’t like the idea of leaving the hotel unguarded for any extended length of time.”

“Ah, lock you away in a tower just like you’re Rapunzel and I’m the dragon.” Lucifer japed; unable to help himself.

“I don’t recall a dragon in that particular fairy tale.” Alastor remarked.

Lucifer nearly choked on his wine. “The fuck do you know about fairy tales!?”

Alastor shrugged then waved him off; “Essentially…I suppose, but it’s not a good solution; not now.”

“Oh?” Lucifer absently traced a sharp claw around the rim of his wine glass. “How long do these things usually last for you, anyway?”

“You are somewhat familiar with Cervidae demons, yes? You’ve commented on it once before. We are commonly known for our deer-like tendencies. One very prominent one being that we experience fluctuating periods of cyclic mating periods or “the rut”. There’s a lot that gets rather muddled with it though; it’s confusing even for us demons that experience it because each and every individual is different in the timing, frequency or intensity of their own personal mating cycles.”

“Sounds frustrating.” Lucifer offered.

“It…is. I never know when a rut will happen or for how long. I can usually tell when one is approaching due to certain…changes. Even now though; I know one is coming I just don’t know when. I could start the cycle tomorrow or in a couple of weeks; it’s terribly inconvenient. Judging by personal experience; my cycles range anywhere from part of a day to several weeks. Unfortunately; avoidance is what lengthens the period. If I…sate, the need and rather quickly, the period tends to be much less.”

“So what if I contact Asmodeus? I’m sure we could find you some willing participant from the lust ring to fulfill whatever needs you need satiating.” Lucifer suggested. “He might even have another Cervidae in mind.”

Alastor shook his head. “I’m not comfortable with that. I assume when you offered and agreed to our deal that it was implied that you would be the actual one to…manage this. I’m afraid now it might have to be quite literal. Lilith wasn’t wrong in saying that I’ve killed other demons during my rutting. After your explicit demonstration yesterday; I am confident you would be well equipped in governing my actions.”

“Honestly, I meant it in whatever way you wish to take it. I’m no prude.” Lucifer shrugged; tipping his glass. “While we’re on the subject though; I’d really like to know –“

“If you are referring to my moment of sexual homicidal infamy; I’d rather not discuss it.”

Lucifer very much wanted to prod more into it; but, he could see that Alastor was making a great effort here in being professionally courteous. Which led him to his next question;

“So, what exactly is your deal with all of this?” Lucifer asked him; setting his wine glass down now. “You’re here pitching off your plans to me like we’re discussing something terribly unpleasant. I get that you might think sex is beneath you; or rather you’d prefer you didn’t need it but, c’mon…if you have to go through it anyway, why not own it and enjoy it?”

“You misunderstand. It’s not my perception of sex that has anything to do with it.” Alastor told him. “I simply don’t…care for it.”

“What?”

“Apart from when I am in rut; it holds no interest to me.”

“None? Whatsoever, just….nothing?” Lucifer gaped at him.

“Truly.”

“So, you just can’t get it up unless you are in one of your rut thingy’s?” Lucifer was trying to make sense of this.

“Not exactly…” Alastor huffed. “With enough effort; stimulation and finding the right mindset – sure…but, it doesn’t just happen. It’s really and truly something I don’t care to think about or pursue, otherwise.”

“I can’t…I can’t wrap my head around that. I mean I-I could fuck anything that moves. Not that I really would but, well…you know.” Lucifer shrugged.

“No…actually, I don’t.” Alastor reaffirmed.

“So, do you – do you like know what you want to actually like…do?” Lucifer asked him.

“How do you mean?” Alastor’s ears slightly leant back; whether it was him being uncomfortable by the question or a display of true confusion; Lucifer couldn’t tell.

“Mutual masturbation? Oral? Anal? What have you?” Lucifer threw out.

Alastor’s ears stiffened; pressing further back. Definitely discomfort.

“When I’m in in rut; I’m sure anything and everything will be open and on the table.” He sighed.

“So do you like, turn into an even bigger asshole when your rutting?”

“No, not quite…that more tends to happen to the time leading up to it.” Alastor was telling him; briefly remembering his friend Rosie dismissing him from a brunch they were having in Cannibal Town once telling him: “come back after your damn rut; honestly, you’re worse than a woman!” He couldn’t remember details; only that he was terribly aggravating to her that day.

Meanwhile; Lucifer was waging an internal battle. So, you were PMS-ing yesterday? He very badly wanted to say it…he very nearly did, but he reigned it in; feeling it prudent to continue with the good footing they had established here.

“It’s more that I’m…” Alastor was continuing with his answer. “I’m just – Well, I can be a lot in those moments.”

The Radio Demon promises a good time… Lucifer thought, then he asked:

“Ok, so circling back. When or where are we going to…hash this all out?”

“I’m naturally crepuscular; and I’m generally more nocturnal in my activities. I can easily manage myself during the day. If we spend too much time at the hotel; even in my radio tower – we run the risk of being found out or discovered. If I spend too much time here or elsewhere; it leaves the hotel vulnerable. I propose we go back and forth; it won’t be so different to my normal activities – no one would think to question it at this point – and I have Niffty and Husker established so that if anything were to happen while I’m away; I’d know and can be there almost immediately.”

“Hm…yes, that might be wise. We can always tell Charlie that you and I buried the hatchet, as it were, and are meeting to discuss ideas with how best to proceed with the upcoming exterminations. She’ll wish to be included – of course – but if I tell her it’s something you and I are bonding or getting to know each other over; she’ll let it be.”

“How…very manipulative of you.” Alastor commented; ears perking up. He was…impressed.

“Yes, well…” Lucifer reached back for his wine; lost for a moment in his thoughts. Then leaning back in his chair again; he offered:

“You’ve been very…frank with everything tonight. Do you have any questions you wish to ask me?”

“This meeting Charlie has with Heaven…do you think it will accomplish anything?” Alastor had in fact; been holding onto some questions.

“No.” Lucifer told him bluntly. “I don’t but, Lilith foresaw Charlie asking me to arrange it. I’m not…comfortable with it but Lilith will be there – Charlie won’t know that, of course – but it’s the only reason why I’d allow my daughter to go up there without my being there with her.”

“Do you think Lilith will succeed with her plans?” Alastor asked him, wanting to know. “Do you think that she can actually overthrow Heaven?”

“If anyone; it would be her.” Lucifer finished off his glass; Alastor’s shadow quickly slid out from the corner to refill it for him. Lucifer nodded to it, taking a sip as it shifted itself back away. “She’s been planning this for some time now, making sure everything falls into just the right place at just the right time. The only hiccup we’ve ran into was you slipping yourself between the cracks but maybe that was fortunate for us – it remains to be seen.” He gave Alastor a hard look.

“If I get what I want from this, I’ll be as beneficial to your cause as I possibly can.” Alastor told him. “But, why are you choosing to do this? Weren’t you amiable toward Heaven; even after everything?”

Lucifer sighed. “Lilith has been with me through all of it…since the beginning. I’ve tried to make the amends to my mistakes; tried to make Heaven see that what we did…it wasn’t for the intentions that they thought. I’ve been fighting a losing battle for thousands upon thousands of years…Lilith stood by me; supported me all that time. Now, it’s time I stood by hers. We got nowhere with my plans and ideas for our future; so it’s time I supported hers.”

“How disgustingly devoted of you.” Alastor made a face and movement of his tongue; like he had actually tasted something terrible.

Lucifer laughed. “That’s just who we are. We depend and rely on each other.”

“So…she really has no issues with…this? What you and I are going to be doing?” Alastor asked him; wondering. “Call me ‘old fashioned’; but I’d hate to come between a man and his wife.”

“Lilith never would have agreed to it if she had reservations.” Lucifer told him. “She wasn’t lying when she told you that our relationship has been…unconventional, at times.”

“Hm…” Alastor remembered his wine and sipped from the glass.

“How long has it been for you anyway?” Lucifer asked him. “I’ll be coming out of a bit of dry spell myself; Lilith tends to get focused on other things when they’ve claimed her interest and I haven’t found much motivation in seeking out an outlet.”

“Years?” Alastor though. “Very nearly a decade, maybe.”

“Fuck.” Lucifer blurted. “You’ve got me beat then. You weren’t kidding when you said these mating cycles of yours were unpredictable.”

“Also part of the reason that I’m relying on you…specifically. I’m not sure just how…enthusiastic I might be.”

“Oh, don’t worry – my King.” Alastor fixed him with a sharp gaze. “You will know.”

“So, how will I know that you are in rut?” Lucifer questioned him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scene inspired by: @applepartysins fanart/comic here

Chapter 5

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #alastor #fanfiction #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #my fanfic #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #alastor and lucifer #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #radioapple #lucifer hazbin hotel #appleradio #alastor's shadow

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somanyratsinthewalls · 1 month ago

Text

Run Away with Me Chapter 3

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Named Female OC (Charlotte Ginger)

Summary: You’ve met the prince, your fate is sealed. Your anxiety builds as the wedding day approaches. You attempt to drown your sorrows but something even more sinister occurs.

WC: 2800

Run Away with Me Chapter 3

TW: READ THIS PLEASE! Shit gets dark in this chapter! Reader/OC gets branded and it's pretty rough so please don't read if this is something that will bother you!

— —

It was the next day after meeting your “prince” when you realized that whatever enchantment Mama had placed on your door was lifted and you were free to roam about the Chateau. The windows were still locked (your mother must have been concerned after your reaction that you’d rather die than be forced into political marriage) so the stagnant air was becoming stuffy and uninhabitable. You desired fresh air and to stretch your anxious legs.

You threw your hair into your signature slicked back ponytail and changed into a pair of tight, black leather pants and a comfortable beige camisole. You strapped on your blades to your thighs, unsure of how your family was reacting to the news of your marriage and your indignation… not to mention how you’d love to bury a dagger into Galette’s gut for putting those damn explosive prisons on your wrists… oh and how you’d enjoy splitting open Katakuri from neck to navel, your precious older brother…

You left your room and strolled through the long stone corridors of the Whole Cake Chateau towards the lower floors. You pass a window on your way down a spiral staircase and notice the daylight already starting to seep into the grey cover of nighttime.

You continue on your journey through the castle and you make your way to the kitchen. You push through the heavy double doors and make a beeline for the wine cupboard.

“Hmmm…” You hum as you run your fingers across the multitudes of wine and liquor bottles lining the shelves above the casks in the extensive cupboard. You stop when you arrive at a giant bottle of a riesling over 10 years old. You preferred red, but it was just barely evening so you figured you’d start with something light and sweet. You grab the bottle off the rack and bring it back into the kitchen to uncork it. You grip the cork with your bare hand and rip it out of the bottle and pull the cork out with brute strength. You were hardly the lady your mother wanted you to be, after all.

You forego a glass and seat yourself on a school at the marble kitchen counter with the bottle. A kitchen scullion came through the servants entrance and was stopped in their tracks when they saw your hunched form skulking at the kitchen island.

“Oh! Lady Ginger! C-can I provide anything for you? A meal, perhaps?” The servant asked you nervously, eyes unable to stop darting from your eyes to the daggers strapped to your legs.

“Leave me be, the rest of the night. Let me sit and drink in peace and you’ll leave here with your life.” You say without looking towards the servant. You take a large swig from the newly opened bottle.

The servant wasted no time to scuttle out of the kitchen through the same door from which he came, not wanting to perturb you further. You take another drink.

You let out a long sigh and lean forward, hunching over and letting your head fall to your forearms as you lean against he counter.

The main door to the kitchen opens again.

“Thought I might find you nursing your wounds in here.” A lilting female voice comes through from the door frame.

You groan and pick your head up and turn it towards the direction of the sound.

Your stouter, more practical older sister, Chiffon strode towards your pathetic figure at the counter.

“And? It’s not like I can leave, might as well drink.” You say as you take another drink.

Your sister huffs out a tired laugh.

“It’s not so bad, Ginge. You learn to like it.” She sidles up to you and puts a comforting hand on your back. She rubs your shoulder blades soothingly.

“For you!” You spit back, sitting up fully. “I’m not like you! I’m not supposed to be someone’s wife! I need to be out there… the wind in my ship’s sails… my crew…” You stare at the bottle, unable to meet your sisters gaze. You grab the neck of the bottle and take a few more gulps.

“Oh sweetheart… I know this isn’t what you want…” Chiffon says softly as she rubbed your back. “But in this family our destiny is always to serve Mama. If Mama wants you to marry, it’s not like we have much choice… it’s for the best of us all…”

“Yeah?” You respond. “And Lola?” You finally were able to turn your head and look Chiffon in the eyes.

Chiffon sighed and glanced at the floor before meeting your eyes again.

“Lola has brought Mama great shame.” There was a pause. “You know better than to do that.” You could sense the uncertainty in her words.

“I’d have left like her if I knew Mama wasn’t going to keep her promise.” You let out a dry chuckle.

“Who knows where Lola is. She could be dead for all we know. Mama keeps our family safe here, and you know that. You shouldn’t speak that upon yourself.” Your sister scolds you.

“I can keep myself safe, Chiffon.” You say with the bottle to your lips again.

“Judging by the bracelets on your wrists, that isn’t entirely true.” Your sister says with a slight smirk.

You sigh.

“Do you have anything productive to discuss, or just commiserating?” You ask.

“I’m only here to support you… to ease the process. If you need anything… comfort or advice the like, I’m here.” Your sister says as she turns tail to exit the kitchen.

You say nothing until Chiffon reaches the door.

“Chiffon.” You call out across the kitchen.

“Yes, sister?” She turns her neck to face you with her hand on the door.

“Thank you.”

Your sister gives you a kind, sympathetic smile.

“You’re welcome, Ginger.” Chiffon says and leaves you alone to sulk in the kitchen again.

Nearly an hour of drinking on your own goes by, the night has crept in completely through the glass windows and you were starting to feel the wine warming your veins.

You were halfway through the Big-Mom-sized wine bottle when you hear the kitchen doors opening again.

“Oh, Lady Ginger I apologize- I didn’t know you were in here, I only expected the kitchen staff.” The deep, raspy voice danced its way to your ears.

The blonde man in a navy suit with and burgundy dress shirt stopped in his tracks when he saw you seated in the center of the room. He pulled his cigarette from his mouth and let out a long puff of smoke.

“It’s fine.” You turn your gaze back to the bottle in front of you. “Just trying to forget about our dismal situation.” You shoot Sanji a sad, forced smile. “You want a glass?” You hold the wine up in the man’s direction.

“I won’t refuse if you’re offering.” He strides further towards you with a bit of hesitation in his footsteps, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“Glasses are next to the stove. Second shelf.” You reply curtly. Sanji nods and opens the cabinet and grabs a wineglass. He approaches you tentatively and keeps a fair bit of distance between you as you pour the wine into the glass he places gingerly on the counter.

“So… what are you doing sneaking about a foreign kitchen at this hour?” You ask your fiancé. He scoots away from you and starts rummaging through the large wooden pantries.

“Your mother asked me to prepare the wedding cake, I thought I would at least see what I’m working with.” Sanji says as he retrieves his full wine glass from the counter and takes a sip.

“You’re making your own wedding cake?” You snort.

“Our wedding cake, I guess.” He says casually as he retrieves a bag of flour from the pantry. “Any preference?” He turns towards you as he shuts the cabinet door. A curly eyebrow cocked upwards above a sky-blue eye, looking at you inquisitively.

“I- Sorry?” You respond, not sure of what he’s asking you.

“On the cake. Is there anything you like?” He answers you. “If you’re in the same boat as I am, I can only assume you’ve been given no notice or input on this whole ceremony. Would you like to at least pick the cake?”

You were taken aback at his offer. You hadn’t even thought about how little you had to do with your own wedding. It should have been every girl’s dream to plan her perfect wedding to the man of her dreams… but it was your nightmare. You had control over nothing in this situation, so why not at least enjoy a small part of the day?

“I, um, I like lemon cake.” You eventually get out. “With cream cheese frosting. It’s my favorite.”

Sanji smiled at you warmly. You grimaced at bit.

“An excellent choice.” Your prince states before continuing to putter about the kitchen gathering ingredients.

You sit with your wine bottle watching the blonde stranger measure out ingredients with surgical precision on the counter. Thirty minutes go by without a word spoken, just observing your future husband in his element, creating a much smaller version of the wedding cake you were to enjoy on Sunday. He hummed a jaunty tune as he mixed the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients, being careful not to over mix them. You couldn’t help but wonder how this pastry chef was supposed to be a soulless fighting machine…

“So… do you have friends?” The blonde eventually asks, not looking up from his bowl and whisk.

“I… I guess I did… not so much anymore.” You say, sadly.

“Why not anymore?” Sanji inquires.

“Well.. my crew and my fleet have been given to my brother… I’m not to sail again now that a I’ll be a married woman.” You sigh.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to assume I know how you feel, but I can certainly relate-“ Sanji replies before the doors to the kitchen are thrust open.

Two castle servants enter the kitchen with stern looks on their face.

“The Vinsmokes request your audience.” One of the servants states.

Sanji sighs tiredly. He wipes his messy hands off with the kitchen towel he had thrown over his shoulder.

“Fine.” Sanji turns to you. “I’ll be back shortly to finish-“

“The both of you have been requested.” The servant interrupts.

You turn your head towards the stewards and then back to your fiancé. You look at him with curiosity and apprehension.

“And what business do the Vinsmokes have with me?” You ask the armored servants.

“That much is unknown to us. Our duty is to deliver the two of you to them, unharmed.”

You rise from your stool.

“My lady if-“ Sanji starts.

“It’s fine. I’ll come.” You try to give Sanji a reassuring smile, but it fails to seem genuine to anyone in the room.

Sanji nods.

— —

Sanji and Ginger follow behind the two servants through the elaborate winding halls of the Chateau until they reach a pair of large double doors behind which the guest quarters lay. The doors were thrown open and the pair walked inside.

Judge Vinsmoke sat at the head of a round table with three similar looking men and a pink haired young woman all sat.

Judge spoke once the doors were shut behind the pair.

“Son. I see you’ve become acquainted with your new bride. Good to hear.” The large man’s voice rocketed off the stone walls of the hall.

“And? What more do you want?” Sanji spat at his father.

The red haired man scoffed at Judge’s side.

“We wish only to welcome your future wife into the Vinsmoke family.” Judge sits in his large, throne like chair and gestures to one of his sons and towards the fireplace in the corner of the room. Judge Vinsmoke can’t hide his sinister smirk.

“And what could you sick bastards possibly-“ Two biscuit guards suddenly appear behind Sanji and grab both of his arms. “HEY? LET ME GO!” Sanji tries to resist the hold but it’s futile.

“Sanji? What’s going on?” Ginger looks to Sanji, eyes blown wide.

“Bring the girl here. It’s time she joins the family.” Judge nods towards the blue-haired Vinsmoke brother.

Niji smiles wickedly and rises from his chair to approach Ginger.

“You need to get away from me right now.” Ginger stated firmly, but with a bit of a tremble in her voice. She backed away slowly as Niji approached her.

“YOU DON’T TOUCH HER!” Sanji struggled against the unbreakable hold of the biscuit soldiers as he tried to break free to get to Ginger.

“Come on, new sister, it’ll only take a second.” The Indigo-haired man said, his wild eyes unable to hide behind his sunglasses.

“No!” Ginger shouted as Niji held her arms against her sides and pushed her towards the large stone table. “Stop! What the fuck are you doing! Let me go!” Ginger wriggled and thrashed against the man’s grasp, but his inhuman strength was too much for her.

As Niji reached the table, he shoved her torso down onto the table and ripped her camisole up over her back, exposing the area above her hips. He pressed hard against her legs, trapping her against the table and limiting her movement completely.

“No stop!”

“YOU BASTARD LET HER GO!”

Shouts echoed off the walls of the hall, yet all the Vinsmokes remained calm and collected.

Sanji was so focused on Niji gripping Ginger that he hardly noticed Ichiji grabbing a long iron brand from the fireplace.

The numbers “66” glowed orange and hot at the end of the molten prod.

“This will just hurt for a bit…” Ichiji grinned evilly as he raised the brand over Ginger’s exposed lower back.

“NO STOP NO NO NO!” Ginger thrashed against the table trying to get free, but it was no use. She leaned her head against the table and turned towards Sanji. “Please.. help me.” Ginger choked out with tears in her eyes.

“Don’t-!” Sanji let out one last protest before Ichiji drove the hot iron into Ginger’s skin and a blood-curdling scream filled the room.

Reiju, Sanji’s only sister could merely look at the floor as the smell of burning flesh permeated the hall.

Sanji could only watch as he saw Ginger's legs kick desperately at her captors, held against the table and forced to accept her brand like a piece of cattle. It was barbaric. Sanji could no longer fight the tears of anger from spilling over down his cheeks.

The brand was pulled from Ginger’s skin and Ichiji smiled as he admired his work.

“She’s one of us now.” The youngest, green-haired brother said with a smirk evident in his voice.

The second Ginger fell slack against the stone table Sanji was released from the grasp of the guards. Sanji ran to Ginger and picked her up off the table and pulled her shirt back down to cover her body immediately.

“You sick fucking BASTARDS!” Sanji screamed at his father, eyes darting between each of his sadistic family members. “She’s done nothing wrong! She wants no part in this!”

“Hm.” Judge Vinsmoke was unmoved by his son’s insults. “It’ll be worse if you don’t treat the wound. You could stay and fight us, or get her to the infirmary. Your choice.” Judge cocked his head amusedly.

Sanji all but growls before scooping Ginger off the table and carrying her out of the hall in a flash, desperate to get her help and healing for her fresh burn.

He was running down the hall with his future bride in his arms when he realizes she’s trying to speak to him.

“What? What is it? I’m trying to get you to the doctors, I promise it’ll be okay. What can I get you? Please let me help you, please-“ Sanji pleaded as he ran with Ginger laying across his forearms.

“I… I hate you..” Ginger managed to choke out before she fell into unconsciousness.

-- --

Taglist: @mere-mortifer

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece anime #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #one piece smut

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