#WHERE ARE THOSE EYES LOOKING AT SIR??? WHAT IS THAT

[eraserbread]

stoooooppppo bc a nanami fic where we call him ‘daddy’ and he just stops and climbs off of us would be soooooo funny 😭😭😭 #wouldread

the only thing you got your older boyfriend, nanami, for your one-month anniversary was you.

you sitting on his big, white bed, legs crossed and bared to the bone. drunk off of expensive alcohol and facing mean nicotine cravings, you scratch at your knees in waiting.

your boyfriend is so clean — so thorough. you love it, but you hate the fact that he takes longer showers than you. that’s where he is now, stuck under with the promise of,

‘be out soon’

soon, to him, was half an hour.

still, you wait so patiently. biting your tongue to hold back your excitement.

then that door draws open and your tail is wagging. he speaks no words, just walks up to you naked, minus the towel slung around his waist. he's so freakishly handsome it's unfair. dark eyes and dark, water-drenched hair. that familiar, beautiful trail of hair across his chest that leads straight under that towel...the tinges of grey mixed in with the dark blonde. god, he's just so perfect.

“why do you insist on showering when we’re just gonna get dirty again?” you whisper, sitting up on your knees when he walks over to the side of the bed. no answer, you’re not surprised. instead, he closes a hand around your throat and pulls you up into a tender kiss.

then, his hands are trailing everywhere, locking in your hair and pulling, marking the flesh around your hips a rosier shade of you.

“in the end, we're all just creatures of habit, aren't we, my pretty thing?"

“yes.” you pout against his lips, closing your hands around his wide, muscular back. his stringy, dark hair drips water onto your face, forcing you to turn it up. “yes, sir.”

“that’s my girl.” his voice dips an octave, kissing over your forehead before pushing you back on the bed with a single hand. “open up for me, baby.”

nanami’s dirty talk is lethal. he’s so pronounced and perfectly punctual that it sounds like he’s giving you work assignments. you love it, though. you drink his words up like wine.

so, you open your legs, flushing hot when his eyes fall right down to your sweet, crying cunt. just seeing him emerge from the steamy expanse of the bathroom half naked could make you cum, but you do have some self-control.

scratch that — he leans down and places a kiss right into your spread pussy, giving your clit a tiny little lick. all that self control is fucking gone.

"god — you're a fucking," you shake your head, catching eye-contact as you sit up on your elbows. he's pushing his body between yours, knees slotting into each other as he climbs the bed. of course, his lips are all over yours, smearing your dark lipstick over his gentle face, across some of the stubble over his lip. he looks like a michelangelo statue, feels like one as you trail a hand down his chest, too.

"i'm a what?" he wants you to finish your sentence, just because he needs to get you used to how he wants you to be — polite and caring.

"u're a... mhh." you whisper as he cradles your knee, all pinch-faced when he presses into your folds with the thick head of his cock. "a... a — fuck! mmh,"

"suddenly you cannot speak?"

you shake your head, not trying to give the adjective any more of your attention when your perfect boyfriend is on top of you, squeezing the flesh on your thigh.

"sorry, didn't catch that." he's being funny— thinks you care about stupid manners when he's slowly easing inside of you. it's half of his impressive girth to start with, only enough to get you going, but not enough to make you obedient. he waits for you to nod, giving him those perfect puppy eyes.

"n-no! fuck, dad-daddy," you moan, eyes fluttering shut as he finally turns that uncomfortable stretch into a searing, beautiful one. you dig your claws further into him.

but... he stops. like, dead in his tracks.

you have to pull yourself together so you can open your eyes and see him staring down at you. you can't read it, but he's not mad, not surprised either.

just... indifferent.

then, the worst comes to be — he pulls out. half-soft and turned the fuck off, it's absurd. you're left gasping for answers, clawing for understanding as you scurry to catch your breath. "n-nanami?"

his back is turned to you, fist pressed to his forehead as he contemplates painfully. he lets out a rugged breath. "that was terrible, please never do it again."

"what?" you feel belittled and stupid, but you genuinely felt him soften on impact inside of you. combing back through your drunken words, you can't find a reason.

surely, it wasn't the husky daddy that left your stained lips.

"i'm not your father, and you are not a child."

so, you mumble out the name you know he prefers when he starts to walk away, leaving you half-fucked and extremely dissatisfied.

"sir..?"

[henry7931]

World Of Magician: Magician’s University (MU)

In the World of Magician’s everyone wants to attend MU. That’s where you master magic the best!

And things can get very competitive…

Especially when this years freshman class finds out that Arthur Ridley is coming to MU.

Arthur as a young boy was special. His powers started to shine the second he started to speak and many believe he has the potential to be the most powerful Magician ever.

Arthur on the other hand, has no clue about his powers or Magicians for that matter…

Arthur:

It’s 7 PM and I just finished my shift at work. I feel so exhausted and yet like I’ve gotten nothing accomplished today. Actually I feel like that could be the motif of my life.

I’ve lived my last 19 years in a very small town surrounded by a bunch of bigots and douche bags. What doesn’t help is knowing that even though I’m smart, and I had the best grades in my class. I’m not going to college this year.

You see my mom died a couple years ago and she left me with her shitty ass husband. My stepdad Andy, who could really give two shits about me because he has his own son Owen.

I know this sounds like a pity party, but I just really want to get the hell out of here. I’ve always been a big fan of comic books and old fairytales.

And I don’t know I just keep hoping somebody’s gonna show up and tell me this is all of a façade. Like the life I’ve been living is a big lie because I’m ready to start a new one.

I lay my stuff down and count my tips from the night. It’s so early and yet I could go to bed right now.

I crashed into my bed and then buckled my pants…

Is this all I do now? Just jerk off to get over my stress? Is this true adulthood?

I fantasize about a handsome guy. Coming into my room and swiftly approaching me.

He’s sweaty… an all American boy.

He has clothes on but those will soon be off of him.

He says to me, “you look lonely… can I join you?”

I nod my head and say, “sure.”

He gets into bed kicking off his white tennis shoes. I can smell him— a mixture of cologne, musk, but his breath… smells like peppermint. He’s chewing gum…

I feel him touch me…

His feet are rubbing up on mine…

And his lips casually kiss my neck…

I feel his hand slowly slip into my pants…

HOLY SHIT!

I open up my eyes abruptly, I swear I just felt a hand going down my pants…

I try to get back into the mode but the phantom ghost hand is kinda freaking me out.

I get out of bed and I start heading to the bathroom but at the foot of my door there’s a letter. It’s addressed to me.

“Sir Arthur Ridley”

Huh… that’s strange. I never get mail.

I open it and take it with me to the bathroom. I start reading it as I’m taking a piss.

“ Dear Arthur, we are pleased to announce that you have been hand selected to join the freshman class this fall at Magicians University (MU). Now, please pack your bags and be prepared to meet your handler at this location.”

What the hell? Magicians University???

I head downstairs thinking this must be some kind of sick prank by Owen.

I knock at his door and say, “open up!”

“What the hell do you want?,” says my stepbrother who looks like he’s barely left his bed today.

“Owen did you make this?,” I say to him presenting the letter.

Owen looks at it and scoffs at me.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t write this shit!”

Just then my stepfather approaches both of us and says, “what’s going on? I heard shouting!”

“Arturd here got a letter from the Fairy Academy,” says Owen dangling the letter.

I look over at Andy and he almost looks shocked.

“Give me that!,” he says ripping the letter out of Owen’s hands.

He reads it and looks more concerned.

“Andy, do you know something?,” I asked him.

“No! I don’t know anything, this is just— nonsense! I don’t want to hear about this ever again!”

Andy rushes me upstairs and tells me to find something to do. I was a little shocked by his reaction. He can be a lot but I’ve never seen him look that nervous…

Back in my room, I try to not think about that letter. But the place they listed to meet them is only down the road and I’m off.

I mean if I’m being honest with myself, I really don’t have anything to lose. What I show up and it turns out to be fake? 

The Next Morning…

I wake up and feel so disappointed. I was having this dream where I met this guy and somehow we were both magical? I was casting spells, fighting off some kind of evil. And after we…

Never mind it doesn’t matter…

I sit up and stretch… when I felt something grab my ankle.

“AHHHHHH!!!!”

All of the sudden, Owen comes crawling out from underneath the bed.

“Arturd!! I’m the grand Wizard! We’ve come for you!,” he says stupidly.

“Funny Owen!”

“Oh what the wittle fairy princess didn’t like that?,” he says pushing me.

“Don’t do that!” I say to him.

“Or what? You’re basically my bitch!,” he says shoving me even harder.

“Fuck you!”

“You know what, I bet you could suck it good. You’d probably enjoy it,” he says grabbing his junk.

“Bleh! No one wants to suck your nasty dick! Including Hannah Britton!,” I say to him. I knew I hit a nerve with that one.

“What did you say?,” he says to me. His face gets blood red.

“You heard me!”

“OH YOURE DEAD!”

Owen pushes me in to my bed and holds me down. He gets one good punch in and I try to fight back.

“Don’t forget you’re MY BITCH Arthur!”

“THE ONLY BITCH HERE IS YOU!,” I scream out at him. I get the strength to push him off and he falls to the ground.

All of the sudden, Owen starts glowing bright.

“What the fuck?”

Owen’s face shifts… he looks up at me and sticks his tongue out.

“Owen?”

“Woof!”

“What the…”

My bedroom door slams open and Andy comes rushing in.

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?”

Owen turns to Andy on all fours and starts barking at him.

Now in this moment, I’ve never seen Andy this pissed.

“What. Did. You. Do. To. Him..”

“Nothing! He tried to attack me!! I swear!”

“Bullshit! You figured out about your little powers and did this to him!”

We both turn to Owen who in proper comedic time cocks his leg up and tempts to pee on the wall but instead pissed his pants.

“YOU FIX HIM RIGHT NOW!”

“Andy! I don’t know even know how this could be possible.”

Owen lays on his back and starts sucking on his foot. I can’t help but giggle just a bit.

“You think this is funny?”

“I mean he’s already more likable.”

Andy’s eyes pierce into my soul.

“Fuck.”

He starts charging for me and I barely make through the window. I climb out onto the roof and jump onto a tree. (This is how I used to sneak out at night.)

I climb my way down and start running down the road. I’m sprinting and I don’t even realize how crazy I look because I’m still in my PJs.

I try to think of where to go… then I remember the address on that letter.

That’s only a quarter of a mile away.

I head that direction hoping like hell someone will be there for me.

I get to the spot and it’s just an alley.

I look around for a second and try to catch my breath.

“Hello?,” I holler out.

It’s silent.

“My names Arthur, I’m supposed to meet someone here?”

Shit, I guess this is fake.

My mind tried to rationalize what happened with Owen. Like it was all just an elaborate act.

But then…

*BAM*

Smoke fills the alley and the motion of it knocks me on my feet.

I look up and see a very handsome guy in a suit.

“You must be Arthur,” he says with a big grin.

“Yeah that’s me.”

He helps me up and says, “ I’m Alfonso, your handler. Well more like a consultant, I don’t directly handle you haha! But I’m tasked with getting you and your stuff back to MU. Speaking of which, where is your stuff? And why are you in PJs?”

“Ummm… long story.”

“Well we don’t have to go back now. Orientation starts in a few hours. So how about this! A new wardrobe!”

Alfonso snaps his fingers and three suitcases appear.

“Oh wait! One more thing,” he snaps his fingers again and then I’m all of the sudden in some very expensive clothes.

“ Chic! Follow me handsome!”

Alfonso pulls out a wand, flicks it three times and says, “Take us to MU.”

A giant hole appears on the side of the brick wall, on the other side of it I can see a green field.

“Let’s go!”

We walk in together and just as I start to step in— I see Andy rushing down the alley.

Before he can catch me, I just wave goodbye to him.

On the other side of the portal, the green field has a road leading up hill. At the top, I can see a grand building— surprisingly modern.

“Is that the school?”,I say to Alfonso.

“Yes! That’s MU,” he says to me.

“Wow, it’s not what I expected,” I say to him.

“What did you expect Hogwarts?,” he says to me jokingly.

“Yeah I guess,” I say back to him.

As we head up the hill, Alfonso tries to fill me in on as much as he can.

“Arthur, you need to know something before walking in—”

Alfonso stops walking and looks distraught.

“What? Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I just can’t believe I’m the one who has to tell you all of this— Arthur you need to understand that uhhh… you’re special. You have more power than anyone here,” he says to me.

“WHAT?!? Am I the chosen one?,” I say back.

“Oh Merlin! Arthur please don’t make another Harry Potter reference, it’s going to embarrass you.”

“Sorry! It’s my first day!”

“It’s fine Arthur, just be prepared. These students know your name and some of them are going to pass judgment before you even meet them.”

Damn, I wonder what makes me so special?

We get to the front of the school and I see so many students. Everyone is ridiculous gorgeous and so well dressed. So happy that Alfonso didn’t let me roll in with just my pajamas.

But I start to notice a bunch of them whispering to eachother as I walk past them…

Alfonso is pacing fast which I wasn’t sure if he’s rushing for a reason or if it’s because of who I am. He points out parts of the school to me as I’m trailing behind him trying my hardest not to get distracted.

“In the left wing, you have the schools library and over here is where most of classrooms will be,” he says while we head up a flight of stairs.

“Now you can go all the way up to the 12 floor but DONT GO TO THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR. Students are forbidden,” he says to me.

“Is that where you hide the Sorcerer’s st—”

Alfonso stops and turns to me. He gives me a glaring look and I say, “sorry it’s kinda funny now!”

“I’m being serious Arthur. You can get kicked out for going to the thirteenth floor.”

“Understood.”

“Now here is the dorm floor, you’ll be in… room 26. Right down this hallway,” he says directing me.

We get to my dorm room and it’s so lavish. I have my own bathroom with a shower and a tub. A full kitchen along with a balcony. It’s like a large studio apartment with a modern gothic twist.

“So this is all me?,” I say to him.

“Well you will have a roommate, who I’m sure will be here any minute. But I’m going to let you get comfortable, be downstairs out front in the garden at 3:00 today.”

“Great! Thank you Alfonso!”

“Of course! And one more thing— no more magical tv/movie references,” he says to me sternly.

“I promise I’ll stop,” I say to him rolling my eyes.

Alfonso closes the door behind him and open up the suitcase. It’s jam packed with endless amounts of clothes. As I start to unpack it, I wonder if it’s ever going to end.

I eventually give up on the never ending suitcase and crash into my new bed.

But as I lay down I hear the door turning.

As it opens, I glance up nervously to see who’s behind it.

And when I see who it is… I’m immediately stunned. It’s the guy from my dreams last night.

“Hey! I think this is my room,” he says to me.

I’m so shocked that I can barely get out words.

“Sorry! I’m Benji,” he says holding at his hand.

“Oh uhhh— I’m Arthur!,” I say shaking his hand.

Fuck, he’s got a tight grip.

“Nice to meet you,” I say trying my best not to be weird.

Benji hops onto his bed and snaps his fingers. All of his luggage starts to unpack itself.

“So Arthur, where are you from?,” he says to me.

“The East Coast, small town,” I say back.

“Oh nice! Any specific Magician Area or—”

I watch as he kicks off his designer shoes and pushes back his curly brown hair. His green eyes are so beautiful. It takes me a second to really taken what he’s staying to me.

“Oh no! I’m from a normal area,” I say back.

“Oh gosh, you lived with normies?,” he says to me.

Normies, I guess that’s what they call non-magicians. I should have known they had a word for it! Alfonso, should really clue me in on Magician slang.

“Yes,” I say back hoping he’s not too judgmental.

“Wow, I guess that must of been hard,” he says back.

“Ehhhh not really, I mean I didn’t know any other kind of life outside of that until today,” I say to him.

Benji sits up and says, “Come again?”

“I mean, I just learned about being a Magician this morning,” I say to him.

Benji’s eyes widen and I am hoping I didn’t say too much.

“Holy shit! That’s crazy!! You prior to today had no clue about magic?,” he says to me.

I nod my head.

“Arthur that’s… I’m sorry I’m not trying to be mean but that’s bonkers! Did your parents not tell you?”

“Well I don’t know anything about my dad and my mom passed away 3 years ago. So it’s not like anyone was around to tell me anything other than my stepdad who definitely kept that info away from me.”

I can see Benji is thinking hard, he starts to speak and then stops.

Then he says, “Arthur, what is your last name?”

“Ridley…,” I say quietly back to him.

Benji’s mouth drops.

“You’re the Arthur Ridley? The glowing child in the flesh??? And you don’t know about Magic???”

“I guess,” I say laughing nervously.

“That’s insane! Arthur, you have no idea. Has anyone told you anything?”

Benji gets off of his bed and he’s so close to me now.

“You have to be careful Arthur. These Magicians… I don’t know how to put this but they want what you have inside of you. You’re the direct lineage to Merlin. Your powers are just so…powerful! It’s almost too much to comprehend.”

“Shit, should I be scared?,” I say to him.

“No! Hell no!! I’ll have your back but some of these guys get a big head. They’ll challenge you, try to take your powers. You just need to learn how to use them and you’ll be fine!”

Benji grabs my shoulder and says, “just don’t go announcing your name just yet to everyone.”

“Got it,” I say back to him.

“Now I need to take a shower,” he says to me.

“Okay, I’ll see you shortly.”

“Oh no Arthur, I don’t need to shower my hair. Just my body.”

“Huh?”

In that moment, I watch Benji tug off his head.

“OH MY GOD BENJI!”

“What?!?! Oh sorry!,” he says holding his head in his arms.

“You could have given me a bit more of a heads up, no pun attended!”

“Just wait Arthur you’re going to be amazed by what you see,” he says to me.

I watch as Benji’s body places his head on his bed.

His body starts unbuttoning his shirt and I’m trying my best to keep eye contact with just his head.

Benji grins at me and says, “you okay?”

“Yeah don’t take this the wrong way, you’re just the first person I’ve ever seen pull of there head,” I say to him.

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to make this weird,” he says to me.

“No it’s okay! I just have a lot to learn I guess.”

Benji’s body walks into the bathroom and the door is slightly open. I can see him in the mirror pulling off his pants and socks.

And then his underwear drops to the ground.

I see Benji’s beautiful naked body in the mirror and I can’t help continuously peek at it from the corner of my eye.

“So Arthur, you wanna learn how to detach?”

“Oh wow, that looks next level Benji.”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. You just have to say the spell once and then you can do it whenever you want.”

“Okay, sure!”

I try my best to hold back my excitement. I mean I’ve never casted a spell (at least not on purpose).

“Okay Arthur, repeat after me… My head is attached…”

“My head is attached…”

“With the snap of my fingers it can now detach… and then snap your fingers”

I take a deep breath and say, “With the snap of my fingers it can now detach… *snap*”

“Great! Now tug at your head,” says Benji.

I grab the top of my head my hair and I hear a popping sound.

“Holy crap!! Benji my heads off!!,” I say holding my head in my arms.

“Haha cool right? You can use that same spell on any of your body parts,” he says to me grinning.

My mind rushes with all of the possibilities and then I say, “wait can I attach myself to someone else’s body??”

“Sure you can, it just can be a pain getting your head off of there body.”

All of the sudden Benji’s body comes walking back in with a towel wrapped around it.

I watch him navigate through his drawers pulling out clothes.

And then he drops his towel… now he’s completely naked…

I look over at his head and he’s looking at me.

I blush and start to say something but Benji says, “you know since we are roommates, you’re going to have to get used to my naked body.”

“Oh sorry! I um…”

“Arthur, it’s okay. I just giving you shit. Sides it’s kinda cute seeing you all worked up,” he says chuckling to himself.

Did he just say I’m cute? Is Benji hitting on me???

Man… this is about to be a crazy first year…

Meanwhile… Back at Andy’s House…

*knock knock*

“Who the hell is at the door?,” says Andy still trying to figure out how to fix Owen.

Andy opens the door and a tall man dressed in a black suit is standing outside the door.

“Good evening sir, is this the residence of Arthur Ridley?,” he says with a low yet deep voice.

“Depends, who’s asking,” says Andy.

The man grins and says, “you must be his step father… May I come in?”

“Listen I don’t know who you are but I got my own situation here… I especially don’t give a shit about that little brat right now.”

The man takes a step forward and says, “maybe I can help with your situation.”

Andy takes in the guy and realizes that this man probably has magical powers.

“Are you one of those?”

“Magicians, yes.”

“Thank god! I need you to help me with my son, my actual son.”

“Sure…but I’ll need something back…,” he says sharp of the tongue.

“Whatever! Just fix him! He’s pissed on my rug twice today!!”

The man shut the door behind him and says, “tell me where Arthur is…”

“I’ll tell you after you fix his mess!!”

The man stops and closes his eyes… he mumbles to himself…

That’s when Owen pops out from the top of the stairs.

“WHERE IS THAT LITTLE SHIT ARTHUR???,” says Owen fuming.

The man in all black turns to Andy and says, “yes, where is young Arthur?”

“That stupid magic school,” says Andy.

“Wonderful, well I must go!,” says the man in all black.

“Wait! Are you going to hurt him?”

“Hmmm… haven’t decided yet…”

As the man walks out the door… Andy watches him turn into black smoke…

“Dad, who was that?,” says Owen.

“Who knows and who cares!,” says Andy.

[ginnyw-potter]

A changed man

@ginnystrophyhusband prompt: nuance

Harry stared down the two men standing in his living room, looking nervous. The only reason he hadn’t raised his voice was because his week-old son had finally fallen asleep in his arms, and he absolutely did not want to risk waking up the smallest Potter.

“What do you mean the law isn’t so straight-forward?” he asked them.

Scott gulped. “Yeah…”

“There are nuances in the law, you see,” Roy told him, sounding not so sure at all. “And on those grounds, we had to let him go.”

“The alleged Death Eater we’ve been trying to catch?” Harry took a deep breath. Don’t wake James. “You let that man out on a technicality?”

“Yes,” Scott said.

“Then you better be damn sure you read it correctly,” Harry grumbled. He took a step closer to them. “Are you sure?”

Roy lost his nerve and glanced over at Scott.

“See we talked to Gawain Robards because he needed to sign off on it,” Scott said. “And he told us…”

Harry nodded. “He told you that you misread it and that there is a few Death Eaters out there laughing their asses off about our incompetent Aurors.”

“Not quite like that,” Roy dared to say. “How were we supposed to know it only applies to petty theft?”

The lowest step of the stairs creaked, and Harry turned to see Ginny join them.

“Do I need to take James?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t want to wake him.”

“Okay. I’m just going to get some tea, don’t mind me,” she told the two Junior Aurors.

“Congratulations on the baby, Mrs Potter.”

“Thank you, Scott,” Ginny said with a smile.

Roy smiled at her. “He looks like a wonderful boy.”

Ginny smiled proudly and then padded into the kitchen.

Harry turned his attention back to the Aurors. “I have been off on paternity leave for exactly one week. Don’t make me come back early, because you won’t have to just deal with me but also my wife.”

Scott’s eyes widened.

“I picked out you two when I became team lead because you seemed like two sensible lads eager to do some good in the world. I don’t want to be wrong, but you’re making it very difficult right now not to second-guess that decision.”

Roy and Scott both stood there awkwardly and said nothing.

“Where were Viola and Amanda during all this?” Harry asked.

The two men looked at each other at the mention of their other two team members.

“What?” Harry pressed.

Roy sighed. “They told us not to do it.”

“And you didn’t reconsider?”

“I though Viola was simply upset because we were setting loose the one she captured,” Scott explained, looking sheepish. “And we figured Amanda was on her side because she’s a woman.”

“Because she’s a woman?” Harry repeated as he ignored his wife’s snort of derision from the kitchen.

She made herself known again by walking out of the kitchen, holding a mug reading World’s Greatest Mum and sipped from it. “And not because she was right?” She tutted quietly. “What exactly are you doing in my living room?” Her brown eyes were trained on them.

“Robards sent us,” Scott squeaked out.

“You’re lucky I left my wand upstairs,” Ginny commented, her mug already halfway to her mouth again as she walked into the kitchen once again.

Harry faced his Aurors again. “On another day I would leave you to figure out your own mess, but I don’t have time for that. You’re going to find that Death Eater again and capture him. You are going to apologise to Amanda and Viola for not taking their earnest advice seriously and for forcing them to work on this again. You are going to tell Robards what I told you—and I will check in with him so don’t go spinning lies.”

Scott nodded quickly. “Yes, Sir.”

“And any decision you four don’t agree on unanimously, you will run by Robards,” he finished.

“Please, no. Robards is going to hate us for doing that,” Roy complained.

Harry shot him a look. “Perhaps then you’ll learn. You can go, both of you.”

The two Aurors hurried outside, and Harry took in a deep breath to calm himself before he walked into the kitchen.

“How difficult was it to not go outside and hex that Death Eater yourself and bring him in far quicker than they ever could?” Ginny asked, pushing a second mug across the counter to him.

Harry looked down at the soundly sleeping James. “Surprisingly easy,” he admitted. “Someone else can save the world. I have better things to do.”

When he looked up, Ginny was beaming at him.

“You’re a changed man, Harry.” She walked around the counter towards him.

“There will be other days to save the world, more Death Eaters to capture. I want to cherish these first precious moments with our son. Besides, you need me.”

Ginny reached out and caressed his cheek. He kissed the pad of her thumb. Her attention slipped to James.

“He’s sleeping really deeply,” Ginny noted. “What did you do?”

Harry nodded towards the Snitch that was charmed to fly above the armchair only. “He followed it for a bit and his eyes shut like that.”

“You’re such a little Potter,” she cooed, carefully stroking James’ cheek.

“He is, isn’t he?” Harry said proudly.

[teddybarebones]

There is little I love more than when Obi-wan gets to date the 212th, and Anakin remains incredibly oblivious to the most obvious of things. (Partially due to the fact that he thinks his master would NEVER form attachments for another person, let alone a whole battalion)

It goes like this:

Anakin is on call with Obi-wan, it’s nearing the night cycle and Anakin can hear another voice over the comm.

“Come to bed, General.” Anakin assumes it’s Cody, and he’s just worried about Obi-wan’s sleep schedule (not that the others were waiting for him to join the pile).

Then Anakin visits the Negotiator and trains with Obi-wan, noticing how a large audience of troops have gathered to watch. He thinks nothing of it, they’re looking for a show (not that they find Obi-wan’s duelling abilities extremely attractive, especially when they don’t have to worry about his safety).

Next comes from his own men, some seem nervous around the man, he’s heard a sigh or two when Obi-wan leaves after a joint mission, where Anakin assumes they’re a bit scared of his master (not that they are longing to be loved by the man like he loves the 212th).

He’s seen Obi-wan linking arms with a number of his men as they traverse the ship, each happy to chat with their General about anything and everything, but Anakin thinks of it as nothing more than a close friendship (like the one Obi-wan shared with Bail Organa).

It is Rex who spells it out to him, Anakin had complained that none of his men ever picked flowers to place in his hair, or collected pretty rocks for him to keep, or slept next to him when he was stuck in medical. It was then that he noticed Rex giving him an odd look.

“What?” He asked, feeling judged.

“Sir, you’re married.” Rex stated, as if that had anything to do with the conversation.

“So?”

Clearing his throat, Rex continued, confused.

“Sir, you’re not the type to cheat…”

Anakin was now equally confused as the Captain.

“It’s not romantic or anything, it’s just friendly gestures.” He struggled his shoulders, not liking even the implication that he was interested in cheating on Padmé.

Rex stared at the General a moment longer, before it clicked in his head. His General is really not the most observant person.

“Sir,” he began, “The 212th is dating General Kenobi, those gestures are done out of love.” He said as clearly as possible, speaking a bit slower than necessary.

Anakin’s bafflement was obvious on his face, eyes wide, facial muscles frozen in place. Rex gave him some time to digest the information.

His master’s flirty nature was well known, but Anakin had never really imagined him in a real relationship, being the code-abiding Jedi that he is…It was…mind blowing.

“Umm,” began the General, “How is he— uh…all of them?”

Rex was already beginning to feel awkward.

“I don’t know exactly how, sir, but it works for them.” He said with finality, he knew General Skywalker loved his men, but Rex was not so sure how he’d feel about so many clones dating his master.

“Oh.” Was the only response from the man.

Seconds passed in silence, before the knight spoke up again.

“The—uh, the attraction to Obi-wan, is it—uh,” the General waved his hand around vaguely, searching for the words. “Is the attraction like a clone thing?” He asked, confused, but being careful trying to not cause offence.

Sighing internally, Rex was forced to answer.

“It is not biological, sir, but we were raised to value good tacticians, the Jedi, and competence in general. So it is really no surprise why so many of us find him attractive.”

As he said it, he realized his mistake.

Anakin whipped his head to look at the blonde, incredulous once more.

“So many of us?”

Whoops.

He was really not looking forward to explaining this chaos to Cody, but it would provide a good opening for inquiring about General Kenobi’s availability.

[mariailoveyou-guerin]

I was wondering why Perrin had this deep connection to Faile so fast but then I remembered 2 things 1 Jacob with his imprinting thing what if he has that and 2 ofc they cb each time and are in love with the same person in every lifetime so she’s his soulmate

in each turn of the wheel why their connection felt so natural and easy almost no work bc it’s always them in every lifetime bitch now I’m actually crying! I wasn’t sure if they have same parents each turn of the wheel but this just sealed it for me why they are so THEM

he was already worried about her, didn’t want her joining in the camp and fact he didnt even flinch that this random girl he’s know for like 3days had a knife to his throat and her ready to go fight next to him! Yeah they really that IT couple in the books and the show

How are they outdoing nynaeve and lan just like that as the best ship on this show and books! lan nyn get off the floor please you embarrassing me and the kids! Joking but it’s crazy they are already on nyn/lan level of superior ships in this show this is day2 on the job too

she didn’t flinch either his hand flew past her face and she got tiny face too and his hand is so big! I can’t with them! also love how mr im no leader they don’t follow just have the most powerful warriors Aiel woman and aes sedai follow his every word sir i thought you said

you wasn’t a leader then what is this the commands coming so easily and why are they following without hesitation? to save your family people that they’ve never met? gonna need this giant himbo (he’s very smart strategic guess simbo is better fit for him)to be fr!

last time I checked he wasn’t the dragon so they have no obligation to him or risk their own lives to him alanna maksim just met him Faile too! Loial and Aiel girls that’s their bestie they know he’ll do it fit them without a second thought so they respect him an people like that

Alanna was so bada88 here #TheWheelOfTimeSeason3 exactly girly tell him damn you prime won’t let me show the picture so it’s just black not that it’s much different from the actual scene! but here’s the words! still equal badass she really becoming my fav always loved her but now

the enemies to lovers excellence they could’ve had if his soulmate was right there and if dain didn’t do that to mats mom😔! A shame cuz this actually real fantasy enemies to lovers the whole trying to k1ll each other thing is where its at PEAK the angst spanding years continents

Faile the woman you are, (I love you what who said that?) so badass your fighting skills on pair with Aiel woman beating 4 men all by your tiny self and knives 🔪 marry me leave Perrin #TheWheelOfTime he’s just a man (the finest of them all but still nonetheless less a man) so…

Maksim Faile seeing the people they love almost getting ended and jumping in to save them and k1ll them all exactly we love a good duo!

Perrin making his axe with his boo and not her becoming a blacksmith before me that’s crazy cuz I’ve been googling trying to learn what that is and what they do so I could be one me literally a or so week back! Searching if we have one here #TheWheelOfTime how she already one?😭

Poor Perrin he gonna k1ll himself for what happened to Natti after he said no one was getting hurt (I just know now he won’t take the leadership position even more bc of what happened one time he did)😔hasn’t he suffered enough and has to tell Mat it’ll k1ll them both!

Perrin always saving and getting people out of cages oh the man he is! #wheeloftime and hope Mat stays safe but I doubt it (poor guy thinking he’s safe with nyn for sh*t to hit him on top of his mom being) why it gotta be them 😔 how is gonna be able to tell him trough a letter

It’s still taking me out how Faile screamed No they are soulmates damn! Probably look for each other in every lifetime! cuz if a giantic man with such eyes was in my face and his hand went by me I would’ve at least flinched (granted hes gorgeous man those are so pretty but still)

[mariespen]

sheriff rafe meeting sammie’s bf.. oh god.

➸ Meeting the Parents

Sheriff!Rafe x Teacher!Reader

➸ Masterlist!

Requests open!

Rafe's only daughter brings home her first boyfriend, and he isn't taking any bullshit.

(Re-blogging helps smaller writers like me! Please enjoy!)

“Daddy..” Your sixteen year old daughter, Samantha, groaned as Rafe gave her a hard time all over again.

“Sammie, I’m being real. You’re too young for a boyfriend.” Rafe grumbled, yanking a flannel over his shoulders.

His movements were stiff, jerky—like getting dressed for this dinner was physically painful. You’d already fought him on what was appropriate to wear for tonight, but his mood was set in stone.

Rafe had always been possessive of his baby girl, but this was different. This was real.

Lucas, your youngest son of 14 years, was sitting down awkwardly at the table. Your eldest was away in college, another hit that your family had taken this year. But Samantha's new boyfriend, James Shipley? That was a whole other problem for Rafe.

“Daddy, he’s nice!” Samantha protested, trying to fix her makeup using your mascara before you swatted her hands away.

With a dramatic eye roll, Rafe responded, “I don’t care if he cured fucking cancer… I dont want any guys around you, much less in the house.”

“Watch it.” You warned, trying to hold back laughter at his typical way of blowing situations out of proportion.

However, thoughts of the night before flashed through your mind, remembering how Rafe had nearly broken down in your arms at the idea of Samantha leaving your home. He was the same way with Oliver, but Rafe had always kept his only daughter in a special pocket of his heart. You couldn’t laugh at him, much less mock his closed mindset. He was taking his hard, and somehow he was still getting ready for the dinner. That was all you could ask for.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts and you glanced at Rafe, watching him tense up and stand without hesitation.

“Daddy!” Sammie protested, but you held her hand and walked with her out to the living room, watching in curiosity as Rafe opened the door.

Standing before you was a teenager, not much taller than six feet, cowering below your intimidating husband. The flowers he was holding were now crunching in the midst of his nervous grip

“And you are?” Rafe asked, voice gruff, his sheriff’s badge shining against the plaid shirt.

The only way you could convince him to not attend dinner in full uniform was the badge. You figured James would be grateful, if he wasn’t so terrified.

“J-James, sir. James Shipley.” He said, awkwardly moving the flowers towards Rafe.

Rafe peered down, glancing at James’s subtle attempt at peace, “I don’t want your flowers. Are those for my daughter, or my wife?�� 

“U-um Samantha, sir.” James said, tripping over his words.

“Hm.” Rafe said, opening the door and rolling his eyes as he watched Samantha’s face light up.

“Hi James, I’m Samantha’s mom.” You said, properly introducing yourself before compensating for Rafe, “You’ve met my husband, Rafe. Her father, of course.”

James politely shook your hand before he walked up to Samantha, giving her a hug. Without a moment’s hesitation, Rafe pulled the two apart and let his hand rest on the skin on James’s neck.

“Let’s eat.” He said, softly pushing the teens towards the table.

You served dinner with a smile, letting your arm linger on Rafe’s shoulders when you passed by, a subtle comforting touch. Lucas gave you a look of premonition, already having a bad feeling. Of course, you returned it.

“Thank you ma’am.” James said politley, taking his seat across from Rafe and next to Samantha.

Once everyone was seated, Rafe cleared his throat and began the interrogation. Rafe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“What’s your plan?”

James blinked. “Sir?”

“After high school. Where are you going? What are you doing?”

James shifted, hands tightening around his napkin. “Uh… probably working for my dad.”

“Probably?” Rafe scoffed, sitting back. “Hmph.”

A brief pause, before he was attacking again, “And your intentions with my daughter?” 

You resisted an eye-roll as James stuttered out an answer, “U-um I.. I’m not sure, sir.”

The answered made you perk up, and you turned to meet Samantha’s similar expression.

“Hm.” The same condescending sound left Rafe’s lips.

“James, what do your parents do?” You asked, trying desperately to re-direct the conversation.

“My father owns the shoe repair downtown, and my mother stays at home.” He responded with a polite nod, giving vague hints of information.

“And you?” Rafe asked, pouncing right back.

“I- I don’t work, sir- yet.” He tripped over his own voice, again.

The table went painfully silent again, making you turn to Lucas and watch as you mutually winced in the awkward nature of the dinner. Right as you tried to open your mouth, Rafe smiled and opened his instead.

“So, you love her?” James went bright red, his voice unsure and strained, “I- I suppose so, sir.”

Rafe’s eyes moved to Samantha, furrowing when she softly kicked his leg. She stared at him, silently begging him to ease up. He ignored her protest.

“And what happens when you break her heart?” Rafe said, not leaving room for teenage hope. The question wasn’t and “if.” He was betting on the failure of James Shipley.

Silence again, this time for a few seconds until James found an answer, “That’s not my plan, sir.” 

Rafe leaned back, curious at his reactions, “You know what I do for a living, yeah?”

James remained silent, just nodding while taking Rafe’s judgement with all that he could.

“Good.” He smiled.

The rest of the dinner was quiet, only the soft clicking of silverware against porcelain. As quickly as he could, Lucas got up and strolled to the kitchen. Tonight was the only time you had ever seen him excited to do the dishes. Rafe stared down James as he ate, watching each movement, observing his scrunched shoulders and hesitant bites. Samantha sat, utterly mortified.

James understood his queue, so when he finished the meal he thanked you, did his dishes, and started for the door. Of course, Rafe met him by the entrance of the family home.

“If I ever hear you so much as look at her the wrong way, you and I will be having a real serious talk—down at the station.” Rafe growled, opening the door and watching as James scurried away like a wounded animal.

That night, Rafe held you closely as he resisted the lump in his throat.

“She’s getting so big. I don’t want her to grow up.” He whispered.

You sighed lovingly, letting your palm rest on his chest in reassurance, “I know, Rafe. But watching her grow up is the best gift we could be given.”

He sighed, knowing you were right.

But he was sure of one thing, if anyone was going to be around his daughter, it damn sure wouldn’t be James Shipley.

[bow-of-aros]

Bring Him Back

What if Jacobi had died instead of Maxwell? How would SI-5's resident computer genius handle the loss of her best friend? By putting Kepler in a Saw trap, apparently.

Hey folks!! I've been chipping away at this one for a while and I'm pretty proud of it. It's inspired by that one tumblr post saying that Maxwell would've put Kepler in a saw trap if she'd been the one who survived and I took that and ran with it. It ended a little softer than I expected but I'm not complaining. Hope that y'all enjoy!! <33

The door slams shut behind Kepler with an air of aggressiveness that is… unusual for the Hephaestus. Kepler’s first instinct is to brush it off, chalk it up to the culmination of the ship’s ragged edges and the AI that has made no effort to hide her disdain for him.

But something tugs at him, and Kepler’s never been one to question his gut instinct.

Not until recently, at least.

“Hera?” He keeps his tone neutral. Curious. He prides himself on maintaining careful control of his emotions, of exuding a calm yet powerful air to those around him. A man who is always in charge.

Or, a man who was always in charge seems more appropriate now.

The speakers crackle to life, “Sorry, Hera’s not here at the moment. I asked her to give us some privacy for our little chat.”

Ah. “Doctor Maxwell.”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!”

Her voice was dry, tired. And still she managed to sound so much like Jacobi. Kepler supposes that that’s what happens when you really only interact with two other people. He’d always tried to maintain his distance, but Jacobi and Maxwell had picked up mannerisms from each other until you could barely tell where one ended and the other began.

Of course, Kepler had always been able to tell, but that was no longer relevant.

He looks around, taking in the room. Nothing seems amiss but, knowing Maxwell, he wouldn’t be able to tell she was killing him until he was already dead.

It wasn’t the sort of thing he was used to worrying about.

“You didn’t have to go through all this just to have a conversation with me,” Kepler’s eyes flick up to the lone security camera in the corner of the room. “What would you like to talk about?”

A short, humourless laugh echoes throughout the room. “That’s such a good question. What on Earth could I want to talk about with you?”

Kepler can picture the wry twist of her mouth, the way she taps her finger mockingly against her chin.

“Well, sir,” Maxwell bites out the word, all respect that might have been there replaced by a venomous derision, “I was thinking that we could talk about Daniel. You know, my best friend? Your good right hand? The man who died because he trusted you? Because we trusted you? This ringing any bells?”

The name hits him like a punch to the gut, but he refuses to flinch. He can’t show weakness. Especially not now, not while he can feel Maxwell scrutinizing him like a bug under a magnifying glass, trying to find the perfect angle between the sun and his body to burn him to ash. Instead, he composes himself by letting out a long, steady breath.

“Jacobi knew what he was getting into, he—”

“No, he didn’t.” On any other occasion, Kepler wouldn’t allow this kind of insubordination, but the longer he stays in here the more lightheaded he becomes.

And he has a sneaking suspicion that his oxygen supply currently rests in Maxwell’s hands.

Kepler focuses on limiting his air intake as Maxwell continues, “He didn’t know what he was getting into because you didn’t tell him. And now he’s dead.”

“What would you like me to do about that, Doctor?” Kepler gestures at the room around him, “I’m stuck in here and, even if I wasn’t, it’s not like I have the power to bring him back.”

That laugh again. Kepler can’t remember the last time he heard her genuinely laugh, but he can guarantee that Jacobi had been the cause of it. They had their own language, their own convoluted sense of humour that Kepler had always considered himself above.

What he wouldn’t give to hear them laughing together again.

There was no use dwelling on it. The past was done, and holding onto it would only serve to get in the way of the bigger picture. There was only moving forward.

“You know, back on Earth, if I heard you say that you didn’t have the power to do something I would’ve laughed in your face. And then I’d have probably shot you because obviously something had taken the place of my commanding officer. You were invincible, so we were invincible by extension.”

She sighs, the speaker crackles, Kepler tries to breathe.

“Turns out that we’re not invincible. Daniel’s dead because of you and I feel like I owe him one last science experiment, for old times' sake.”

Something clanks in the air vents and a rush of oxygen pours in. The abrupt shift sends Kepler into a coughing fit and he can barely hear what Maxwell says next:

“We’re going to see if Daniel’s death triggers your own. A cause-and-effect of sorts. My working research question is ‘Does Warren Kepler deserve to breathe while Daniel Jacobi doesn’t, or are we going to prove once and for all that he’s not as invincible as he seems?’” A panel in the wall opens, “It’s a bit wordy, but I feel like it gets the point across.”

Kepler ignores the tendril of fear that curls within him, pushing it deep down and as out of sight as possible.

There’s a box sitting in the opening, a simple wire cutter resting next to it. Wires poke out and twist around each other, all connecting to a panel. There’s no timer, though, just a simple engraving.

Delta. Alpha. November. India. Echo. Lima.

“Look familiar?” Maxwell’s voice startles Kepler, a truly impressive feat. “That’s the bomb—”

“The bomb I had Jacobi dismantle on our first field mission together. Yes, I remember.” The words escape him without his consent, floating amidst the onslaught of memories that threatened to crash into him.

“Good.” An alarm blares, “You can leave when you diffuse it.”

Kepler’s eyes are glued to the bomb, “Maxwell, you know I can’t—”

“Meanwhile,” She cuts him off sharply, “Let’s talk about Daniel. What do you remember about him?”

And what could he say? Maxwell and Jacobi may have been close, but Kepler and Jacobi had been Goddard’s best team for years before she’d joined and made them unstoppable. They’d shared shitty motel rooms and dined in some of the world’s finest restauraunts. Kepler had been there for Jacobi’s first intentional kill and he hadn’t even flinched, just turning to Kepler for approval when it was done.

Jacobi somehow knew him better than anyone else, and it wasn’t for lack of trying on Kepler’s part.

“He was an invaluable member of our team—AH!”

A bolt of electricity fires through him, singeing his shoulder and sending the acrid tang of burnt flesh wafting through the air.

Kepler looks around for what shocked him and comes up empty.

“Now, Colonel, let’s try that again,” Maxwell’s voice sounded distantly pleased, like she’d been hoping that Kepler would give the wrong answer, “But this time, try to respond how you think a human being might. I’d say there’s no rush, but, well, there is a bomb in the room with you.”

He briefly considered calling Maxwell’s bluff. Kepler isn’t confident when it comes to his life resting in her hands, but she wouldn’t risk damaging Hera at the very least.

Probably.

There was a chance, however small, that if Kepler played this right, he could potentially win back enough of Maxwell’s favour that he wouldn’t be in imminent danger. It shouldn’t be too difficult to separate his emotions from his words, it’s what he’s done his entire life.

“Well,” He started slowly, “I remember that his favourite colour was orange. He told me that most people thought it was odd, but that he liked it because it reminded him that fire could be warm, comforting, and not just used in the name of destruction.”

A round of applause sounded through the speaker.

“Good job, Kepler. I could almost detect some real emotion in there, I’m impressed.” She didn’t sound impressed, but Kepler wasn’t going to mention that, “My turn. I remember that, after my first close-range kill, Jacobi stayed up all night with me because I couldn’t stop shaking. We didn’t know each other very well back then, but he didn’t leave me alone. He didn’t make me feel weak, either.”

A noise sounded from the bomb.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“Maxwell.” Kepler eyed the bomb, taking it in, trying to remember what Jacobi had done to get them out of the room that he’d locked them in all those years ago.

“Oh fine, how about I make you a deal?” He had a feeling that he was not going to enjoy this, “I know how to disarm the bomb, obviously. So, for every genuine memory you can recount about Daniel, I’ll tell you the next step in the process.”

He was right. But there was something in Maxwell’s voice, a tinge of desperation that she couldn’t quite hide and that Kepler couldn’t quite place. “Fine. I think I’m already owed the first step, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Silence drones on for an uncomfortable length, even for Kepler. With every second, he’s made more and more aware of the very literal ticking time bomb he’s trapped on a space station with.

And he can’t help but think about how this situation wouldn’t be any trouble at all if Jacobi were here. Not only would Kepler not be in this situation, but Da—Jacobi had diffused this exact model before. He shouldn’t be in any danger.

But Jacobi isn’t here and Maxwell is, and Kepler feels the lack of balance keenly.

“There’s a bundle of wires adjacent to the engraving. Two white, a blue, and a green. Cut the green wire.”

He grabs the wire cutter from beside the bomb and doesn’t hesitate before cutting the green wire. There’s no room for doubt here, but an inkling of anxiety worms its way through.

But he doesn’t blow up, so that’s something.

Maxwell barely gives him the time to register this before she pushes him along, “I’d suggest that you start talking, sir. We’re on a time limit, after all.”

Alright, Kepler can play this game.

He sets his shoulders, trying to reclaim some sort of control over the situation. “Do you remember that mission last year in Budapest?”

“The one where Jacobi killed that politician and almost got us all fired?”

“Yes, the very same.” They both knew which mission he was talking about. And fired was certainly a generous term for what Cutter had threatened to do to them. “Did he ever tell you why he killed that man?”

There’s some static, an exhaled breath, “No. He didn’t.”

“He’d seen you in your suit since you refused to wear the dress Cutter had sent for you.” Kepler could see it. It had certainly suited Maxwell better than any dress, and her hair had been pulled back into what some might consider an acceptable fashion. One could have called her beautiful. Striking is the word Kepler considered most apt. “He made some joke about getting you into his bedroom and teaching you how a ‘real woman’ should behave. I watched Jacobi take aim and fire within less than a second. A perfect shot.”

“And you didn’t stop him.”

“I didn’t.”

A pause. “Why not?”

Because Kepler had seen red, and the moment that man had laid eyes on his team was the moment he deserved to die. Because if Jacobi hadn’t taken that shot, Kepler very well might have.

“I don’t think I could have even if I’d wanted to. When Jacobi makes a decision, it’s nearly impossible to dissuade him unless he’s faced with a direct order. I learned a long time ago to choose my battles carefully, and that’s not one I wanted to fight.”

Maxwell hums like she’s considering it. Like they both aren’t playing different versions of the same game, looking for any crack in the other’s defenses to exploit.

“There’s only one orange wire. Cut it.”

He does, and remains intact.

“Maxwell—” No, that’s not right, “Alana.”

Kepler, on principle, doesn’t use first names. The SI-5 are a team, one that relies on efficiency, ruthlessness, and the ability to keep working towards their goal even if someone takes a bullet to the brain. Emotional attachments are not conducive to their work and Kepler has made sure to keep a very clear, professional distance.

“Sir?” Her guard slips, just a bit, but enough to hint that maybe Kepler hasn’t fully lost control of the only other person on this station worthy of a sliver of his trust.

What he said next would determine not only his chances of survival, but also whether or not he could complete his mission.

Whether or not Jacobi’s death had been in vain.

“Jacobi’s death was— He didn’t—” Kepler paused, collecting his thoughts, “I… miscalculated.”

Colonel Warren Kepler does not make mistakes. What’s more, Colonel Warren Kepler certainly does not admit to making mistakes. This position that he has clawed his way into requires nothing less than perfection from both him and his subordinates.

Colonel Warren Kepler does, in fact, take risks. Sometimes a gamble is the difference between success and failure.

When Maxwell didn’t respond, Kepler took that as his cue to keep going. “I made a call that I thought was best, and Jacobi died because of it. That is an indisputable fact, and something that I will have to carry for the rest of my life.” Too personal, switch tact, “It has cost us dearly, and I know that you cared very much for Jacobi—”

“You did too.” Maxwell’s voice was soft, but her words cut through him nonetheless.

Kepler ensured that his tone was perfectly steady, even a little threatening, as he replied, “Excuse me?”

“You cared about him too.” With every word, Maxwell’s voice grew stronger, “He wasn’t just my best friend, he was your second-in-command. You two knew each other for years before you hired me.”

“Doctor—” Kepler tried to warn her off, but was interrupted by her incredulous laugh, piercing through the static.

“I mean, the number of times you could’ve fired him, even killed him, for some mistake or another. And all those times you complained about insubordination without ever doing anything about it. Even the way he talked about you!”

His breath caught in his throat, and, against his better intentions, he waited to hear what Maxwell would say next.

And, of course, she didn't disappoint.

Kepler’s team never did.

Her voice rang out like a gong, sure and with a sense of finality appropriate for the occasion, “I thought he was delusional. He was in love with you!”

There it was. Kepler had always known. Relied on it in the way you relied on the sun rising in the morning, or the way you relied on the tides rising and falling in accordance with the moon.

Actually, that wasn’t quite right.

It was more the way you relied on a loaded gun to fire when you pulled the trigger or a bomb to explode when you lit the fuse. A prized weapon that remains at your side, willing and able to tear through anything in its path with brutal efficiency the moment you give the word.

Kepler’s finger twitches in the empty air, searching for a bullet that has long since been fired and is now embedded within the walls of the Hephaestus. No longer his to wield.

“—ler? Kepler are you even listening to me?” The question was an unwelcome reminder of the reality of his situation, plunging him back into a world where Jacobi was dead, and it seemed that Kepler would be following him sooner than he’d prefer.

His eyes flick back up to the camera, keenly aware of the eyes watching him, cataloguing his every breath.

“Yes, Maxwell,” He sighs, “What would you have me do? Even if he did love me, he’s gone now, and love never saved anyone.”

The temperature in the room dropped. “You’d better hope that’s not true, Colonel. Because love might be the only thing that gets you out of here alive.”

A chill crept up Kepler’s spine and he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was of Maxwell’s doing, or entirely his own.

“Doctor, I would much appreciate it if you would just tell me what you want me to do instead of dancing around while I am trapped in a room with an active bomb.”

He heard a scoff and, “That’s rich coming from you.”

Fair enough.

“But fine, you want to know what I want from you? It’s simple, really, even you could pull this off.” She paused, took a breath, “I want you to say that you cared about Daniel Jacobi.”

Oh. “Maxwell, I—”

“I’m not finished.” And, miraculously, the words vanished from the tip of Kepler’s tongue, “I don’t just want you to say that you cared about him. I want you to mean it. And not just as a part of the team, but as a person. I want you to mean it so much that you manage to convince me that you’re even the slightest bit upset about the fact that you sent him to his death.”

This… certainly wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“Maxwell, I won’t—”

“You will, or I’m going to let that bomb go off. Cosmic justice and all that. I feel like it would make Daniel proud.”

Kepler eyed the bomb apprehensively. Alana Maxwell didn’t bluff, she made promises and she kept them.

All of a sudden, it hit him: Kepler didn’t have anyone on his side. He was alone in a room on a space station 7.8 light years away from Earth. There was no good right hand to rely on; the only remnant of him was the bomb just a few feet away, mocking him. There was no computer genius in his ear, watching his back and making sure they all got out of there alive.

When he lost Jacobi, he lost them both, leaving Kepler to pick through the wreckage in an attempt to salvage what remained of his team.

This might be his best shot. “Alright, Doctor. You win. I cared about Jacobi.”

The words felt like razor blades tearing through his throat, which is likely why Maxwell’s response was so horrible.

“No. I don’t believe you, say it again.”

But he kept his composure. “I cared about Jacobi.”

“Again.”

And he didn’t let anything slip. “I cared about Daniel Jacobi.”

“Interesting. Again.”

Or, at least, he tried not to let anything slip. “I cared about Daniel. Isn’t that what you want to hear? I cared about him.”

“Ooh, there was certainly something there. Maybe even something believable. Again.”

Kepler took a deep breath.

And then he snapped, throwing the wire cutters in his hands with deadly accuracy. It shattered the camera into a million glittering pieces, blinding Maxwell.

“I loved him.” He heard Maxwell suck in a sharp breath, but the dam inside of Kepler had broken and there was no stopping the flood, “I loved him, and then I killed him. There should’ve been no room for love on this team. Love slows you down, it makes you look over your shoulder. Love gets you killed.”

He looked at his hands, the hands that had curled around a glass of whiskey, clinking it against another. The hands that had clapped Jacobi on the back for a job well done too many times to count. The hands that were drenched in so much blood, and yet Jacobi had been willing to take them in his own.

The hands that now felt so empty. “I couldn’t afford that. One shred of weakness and Cutter would’ve killed Jacobi before either of us could blink, so I never told him, and I let him love me as long as it meant he would still get the job done. His love meant loyalty, mine meant a slow and gruesome death.” A short laugh escaped him, sharp as a dagger through the heart, “If you could even call it love.”

“We’re monsters, Maxwell,” Kepler looked up at the shattered camera, “What we call love is more like some twisted form of need. Of loyalty and obsession and dependency that warps and binds us together. We just call it love so that we can trick ourselves into feeling a little more human.”

All the rage that had swirled inside him dissipated, leaving him empty once more. “But I did love him, in the only way that I knew how, and then I ordered him to his death. I wanted all of us to make it out of this assignment alive and intact, but now we’re more broken than ever. And that’s something I will carry with me until my dying day, and perhaps a little longer.”

Silence rang. Kepler took the opportunity to scrub a hand over his face, to straighten out his clothes in order to look even mildly presentable if this was how he was going to die.

Then the door slid open.

“I loved him too.” Alana stood in the hall, slightly hunched over and eyes downcast, “You too, actually. We were supposed to be a family.”

And against all his training, all his better instincts, something inside of Kepler’s impenetrable exterior softened.

“We were.” He opened his arms just slightly, an invitation that was eagerly accepted as Maxwell sank into him. They held on tight, away from prying eyes and clinging to the only tangible evidence of what they used to have.

After a moment, they separated. Kepler pretended not to see the way Maxwell tried to subtly wipe at her eyes, the same way she pretended not to notice the way he cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’m going to go spend some time in my quarters, and I think you should too. We still have lots of work to do, and I want you energized and ready come morning.”

The smile she sent him was tentative, a bridge in the process of being rebuilt, “Yes, sir. I’ll see you then.”

They went their separate ways and Kepler made sure that his strides were sure and his head was held high until he got to his assigned room. The moment the door closed behind him, he sank to the floor, rubbing a thumb over the badge that he kept in his pocket at all times.

It was burnt and slightly bloodied, but you could still read the D. Jacobi that had been printed on it for this mission.

And finally, for the first time since they lost Special Officer Daniel Jacobi, ballistics expert and classified sarcastic ray of sunshine, Kepler let himself mourn.

[v10l3tz-thmblr]

Slow dance with you.

Now this is crazy with no heterosexual explanation. Told yall this would be my fruitiest art 😩

Oh and I think Espio should run !

[tonycries]

Knight of Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You, heir to the throne and fated to be married off to a royal you’ve never even met. Gojo Satoru, your personal knight and the one man that will not let this happen. He will not.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, knight! Gojo, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, PINING, arranged marriages, Naoya is awful, Gojo YEARNS, flower language, politics, slight víolence, slight angst, matíng presses, cervíx kíssing, creampíes, cúmplay, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, oraI (fem rec), he goes FÉRAL, cúmming in his pants, manhandIing, spítting, biiig stretches, dúmbifícation, cúmflation, p talking, p sIapping, overstím, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.7k

A/N. What happens when ya let a girl listen to Golden Brown by The StrangIers.

“You are not to speak, you are not to look.” The king intertwines his decadently ringed fingers on his lap, the royal signet glinting pointedly amongst them. “You are not to so much as breathe in the princess’s way from tomorrow onwards.”

And it’s only with his hard-earned years as your knight that Gojo stops himself from shuddering where he knelt, head bowing to hide the clench in his jaw.

Though, surely something must have flashed across his features - because the next few words have a familiar warmth that twisted Gojo’s heart much more than his royal timbre, “Satoru, my boy, you understand that this is your duty? Yes?”

“I understand.” The answer is instant, as is the raise of the other man’s brows. 

“And do you understand that this marriage is my daughter’s duty?” Your father barks out a disbelieving laugh into the barren throne room. “We wouldn’t want Prince Naoya getting the wrong idea between the princess and a- a knight.” 

The words make his eyes prick wetly, and Gojo can’t help but bend even lower as he whispers. “I…I understand, sir.”

After all, it was the second thing that Gojo Satoru had drilled into his mind from the very moment he first met you.

The first being that he’s loved you ever since. 

Which - retrospectively speaking - might’ve been an incredibly bold declaration coming from the scrawny, fidgeting six-year-old you happened to catch sneaking in and stealing lilac blooms from the royal garden all those years ago.

He remembers how you’d giggled, looking positively like a little blossom in all those gauzy layers of gown. Piping up from under the lilac tree he was latched onto, “My father says that’s not allowed.”

Gojo had fallen then - literally, startling about six feet from the branch he’d been straddling and straight into a scratchy pile of leaves with a dull thud! Back hurting, head spinning, it was a wonder that he hadn’t sprained anything, but right then and there he remembers thinking he was in heaven.

Because here was a pretty lil’ angel his age ogling down at him, speaking in a regal accent so different from his. “My father says that’s not allowed either.”

Your grin beamed down on him and warmed his skin even more scorchingly than the balmy rays of sunlight filtering in through the leaves. And for the first time ever in his life, Gojo Satoru had stuttered. 

“Yer- yer father sounds stupid.” He had spit out, chubby cheeks puffing out the more you stared at him. What? He was sure he looked ridiculous with all those stray sticks and leaves stuck in his cloudy locks, but did you really have to look at him like…that? 

“My father…” Your lips curled even further, as if you knew something he didn’t. “-the king.”

Oh.

Oh. 

And it’s only then that Gojo notices the thin, silver tiara on your head, a delicate wreath of jeweled flowers that twinkled almost as bright as your eyes. It reflected specks of light into his gaze almost mockingly.

Idiot- it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him that chilled him to the very bone. 

Even at the tender- well, wise and sensible age of six, Gojo had heard from the adults in town all about the torture chambers and p-prisons that the royal palace was home to. 

Just why did he feel the need to escape from his mother at the market to bring her a batch of those wispy, amethyst flowers anyway? 

Sure, they were her favorite but- the royal family would have his head before even she did. And he didn’t even get to butter her up with the lilacs!

“Forgive me!” Gojo had squeaked out in a cry so shrill that you hurriedly took a step back, eyes widening once the interesting boy in front of you dropped to his hands and knees. “Ah- I mean uh- forgive me, your highness- your princessness.” Drooping into a bow so low that his soft tufts of hair brushed the warm ground. Words tumbling out a mile a minute, “It was an accident- I must’ve been um sleepwalking and I pinky-promise won’t do it again-”

“Those lilacs haven’t bloomed yet, y’know?” You’re cutting him off smoothly, and Gojo remembers feeling a pang of irritation- let him recite his apologies before you throw him in a cell, dammit! Right before flooding with confusion, eyes snapping up to meet yours hesitantly. 

Pointing at a pretty white gazebo, overlooking the lake only a few meters away, you’d shrugged your shoulders. “The garden staff puts the best ones in a bouquet over there.”

At which, he’d replied with an exceptionally eloquent, “Huh?”

“Well, what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

It’s only after hours upon hours of picking every lilac flower in sight and chatting about all the worldly topics a pair of six-year-olds knew that you were dragged away by one of your worried attendants. 

And he almost felt…sad about it. Weird. 

The yolky setting sun that day cast shadows for Gojo to hide himself in behind one of the gazebo pillars as he peeked at your retreating back. In-step with an older woman muttering about “losing her job oh- the king will banish her.” 

And if there was one thing that he would never forget - well, amongst everything else - it was the way his heart banged selfishly against his ribcage with a repeated turn around turn around turn around-

You did. And you’d smiled, and Gojo hasn’t been able to step away from your side since.

Well, he had to - to go home that evening and proudly proclaim to his thoroughly cross mother how he’ll become a knight, that is. 

Honestly, even the colossal lilac bouquet did little to deter her scoldings about running off. But despite how bad it was - and the fact that he was sentenced to be confined to his room for a whole month - it didn’t matter.

Gojo visited you the next day, too. 

And the day after that, and the day after that- and again and again no matter how many times you’d teased him about coming so often to see you. Because you were right there no matter what royal duties or lessons dictated, waiting in the lilac garden for him. 

Every day.

When Gojo was eighteen he’d applied for a position in the royal guard, breezing through the demonstrations of physical strength because of course, he did. He’d been training for his very day for years.

And it showed - oh, how it showed. 

It showed in the way he stood almost a head above every other man lined up there, veering numerous inches above six feet. All sculptured, Herculean muscles and arms toned from years spent climbing the palace orchards with you. The strongest. 

He considered himself exceedingly humble, too, of course. 

Humble enough to not brag outright in your face once Gojo had climbed the treacherous way into being your personal knight before the age of twenty. 

“Hah, I can tell your father- erm, his majesty all about where you sneak off to now.” Gojo snickered, flicking your forehead in a way that a princess simply shouldn’t be treated. “Perhaps I’ll bargain titles with him- tell the courts about the way you climb trees, and ride horses and-”

“Snitch”

“Harlot.”

“Knave.”

“Hobgoblin.”

“Satoru.” You’d deadpanned up at as six foot four inches of white-haired nuisance clinging onto whimpers out a dramatic ouch, that one hurt. Desperately trying to keep the smile off of your face, “You’re with me each and every single time.”

Well, was. 

It seemed like the king was to be putting a stop to that very, very soon. With your looming- he gulps to keep the leaden ball of tears away from his throat, your engagement. 

“Toru—” Your voice snaps him out of his hazy little reverie, and he finds himself straightening his back into a respectful posture outside of the throne room. Warily eyeing the way you bound up to him, “What did my father want to talk to you about so suddenly?”

“Ah…” Gojo’s throat feels hoarse. Parched. The smile plastering onto his face wobbly, “Just- just security measures for the visitor we’re going to have, your royal highness.”

Your brows quirk upwards, pretty lips falling open just enough for him to realize you were about to comment on his use of that. That title. 

“Now if you pardon this knight, ma’am-” Gojo pipes up before you can bludgeon him with questions, striding down the luxurious hallway to his newly-assigned post at the royal treasury. Far, far away from your chambers. “-I have been called by Knight Commander Yaga to my-”

“Satoru- wait.”

He should’ve known better than to have thought he could escape you - not when even his own heart didn’t want to.

Lurching up in an almost-nauseating swoop the moment your voice echoes from behind, hitting his glinting armor. “You…are you okay—? You haven’t called me any of those silly formal titles since we first met.” Words practically dripping with concern, fuck- he was sure your face was furrowing. And if it was up to him he would kiss away every tense crevice. 

But no, that was not his place. 

His place was to stand rooted to the spot, face turning only a half-degree to grace you with a soft bow. Gojo knew it wasn’t the epitome of respect, but a singular look in your face right now and he would break.

“I am in perfect condition to carry out my duties, ma’am.” He’s nodding, voice oh-so-brittle in his throat for how hardened it thundered.

“That’s not what I mean.” Stubborn.

Gojo turns back to the winding corridor in front of him, “Then if that is all, I shall be on my way. I hope you have a good day, ma’am.”

“Satoru.”

And if his cheeks were cold and encrusted with a few streaks of salty tears when he reached the treasury, Gojo was only grateful that his fellow knight Ijichi was too afraid of him to say anything.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru was avoiding you - marching the other way if he glimpsed you, running around the palace for menial tasks, he wasn’t even your personal guard anymore, for goodness’ sake! Your best friend was ignoring you and you weren’t sure why. 

Was it because you had to skip out on your daily walks in the lilac garden to greet the visiting Zenin royals? 

No, he was always so understanding of the royal responsibilities that you couldn’t skive off. Besides, his strange attitude had sparked up even before Prince Naoya and his family arrived at your kingdom - ever since that meeting with your father.

You were dying to ask the king what exactly was talked about that day, a meeting so confidential that he didn’t even have the royal advisor transcripting it. But your father was always so busy with the older Zenin couple these days, cooped up in office rooms surrounded to the brim with official documents. 

And that left you with…him.

Naoya Zenin. A prince if there was ever any, who couldn’t talk about anything but that. 

“So…um.” Your eyes dart around the palace gardens, you always did love it here - that comforting smell of flowers wafting in clouds around you. But right now you felt anything but comforted. “How are you liking the garden, Prince Naoya?”

He shakes his brown-tipped locks, eyes narrowing. “Rather plebian for a royal palace, if I do say so myself.”

“R-right…” You’re sputtering in an unlady-like fashion, “We do have orchards too if you wanted to-”

“Of course, the gardens in my palace are much bigger-” He’s waving a gloved hand loftily, nose crinkling into a sneer at the bustling gardeners planting beautiful white blossoms everywhere. Honestly, you were informed there was a grand ball soon - but wasn’t this a bit much? “And we teach the help to stay out of sight.”

“Well, I think they’re really nice.” You’re huffing, brows marrying together. 

He scoffs, “Nice- or useful?”

“Both.”You fight the urge to just storm off then and there - it wouldn’t do good to start a war between the two most powerful kingdoms right now. 

“Ah yes yes- nice.” Naoya repeats airily, words warbling as if he was biting back a laugh. “Suppose the low-borns are tolerable if they’re nice.”

A vision of Gojo - tiny and trembling into a bow in front of you - flashed through your mind, and you find your pretty heels digging hard into the dark soil. That was it.

“Perhaps.” Your voice comes out dangerously even, dangerously. Naoya only raises his brows in faint interest, “Yet, even the least tolerable tch- ‘low-born’ would be more tolerable than a pompous, arrogant-”

“There you are, your highnesses!” 

Satoru. 

You would recognize that low, lilting baritone amongst a thousand others. And before you can turn around to face your best friend that had been missing for days, he plows on, “A little gift- from this lowborn.”

Thud!

Before you can even blink, pale hands reach out to unceremoniously dump a radiant yellow flower crown on Naoya’s blond bangs. And you swear Gojo pushed down on his head harder than necessary.

The first thing you register is the warm wall of muscles pushing up against your back, lecherously counting every ladder of washboard abs and Gojo’s plush pecs in your mind. Mindlessly, you’re leaning back even closer, savoring the way his breath hitches. Harlot. 

The second thing you’re realizing is that Naoya Zenin - for the first time in twenty-something years - had gone quiet. Very, very quiet. Suspiciously so. 

You force your words into some semblance of levelness, “Are you…are you alright, Prince Naoya?”

But Naoya didn’t speak - you didn’t know if he was even breathing. Long face growing greyer and greyer by the second, he doesn’t answer you.

No, instead he’s pointing a trembling finger behind you. “You there…you- what shrub have you placed upon my royal head?”

“Laburnum.” Comes the answer - and just as soon comes a drawling, strangled squawk.

Your first instinct is to look towards the shimmering lake not too far away from you, eyes searching for any trace of those familiar ducks- before gasping in surprise and looking back to the prince. Mouth ajar, still making those undignified noises. 

Him? 

“You- you will-” He hisses, so furious that you have to take a step back - right into Gojo’s waiting arms - to avoid his flecks of spit. “-you will pay for this.”

In only a split-second, Naoya had thrown the flower crown onto the ground and wheezed his way up the flowery pathway back to the castle. What a sight it was.

But nothing compared to the way that Gojo comes into your line of sight and preens. One hand tapping at his cheek in thought, the other held behind his back. “Whoops- I forgot that the king specifically informed me that our honored guest was allergic to laburnum flowers. Guess, low-borns aren’t of good memory. Right, my princess?”

“Satoru- you- you ass.” You’re yelping through fits of laughter, not caring for the way the rest of the gardening staff smiles knowingly. “What if that bastard gets deathly sick? The blame would be on you.”

He rolls his summer blue eyes, “Proudly.”

“I should send you to the gallows for this.”

Gasping in faux shock, “Most salacious indeed!”

And for the first time in so long, it feels normal. 

The breezing heat of Gojo’s body against yours feels normal, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think too deeply about it. Too enchanted by the sheer lack of armor - all billowy white poet shirt and flattering cotton pants. 

“Y-yeah well-” Shit- why was your skin burning this way? The sun wasn’t even at peak temperature for today. Absentmindedly, you’re playing with one of his silk lapels, “Thank goodness we’re losing him in a few days, I asked mother and she said the Zenin’s are only visiting until the fast-approaching ball.” 

“Princess-” It all comes out in a rush, “-that ball. The reason for it is actually-”

“Your highness! The queen is asking for a conference with you!” The curious voices of your maidservants drag you away from Gojo’s arms, into a much less scandalous position.

And yet, with only a nod behind - you still stay standing in front of him. You stay.

“Right…” Gojo’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a deep gulp. Shadowy gaze darting away, “I should get back to my duties, ma’am. Suguru has been abusing his position as head gardener to work me like a mule.”

The way your face crumples with disappointment makes Gojo’s heart feel sliced open. And raw. “Of course. I’ll see you around, Gojo.”

Gojo. Gojo. 

And of course he couldn’t let you walk away - of course he couldn’t let you leave his life just yet. 

So without thinking, without even realizing, he’s clasping a slender hand around your wrist to pull you back. To reel you in. To him. 

Velvety strands of snow-white curtain Gojo’s eyes, and the doughy fingerpads on your skin shiver. Mumbling, “Before- Before you go, my prin- ma’am. I just wanted to give you-” And you don’t know what makes your heart race more - the cherry-red blush painting all over Gojo’s cheeks and up to the very tips of his ears, or the sunny flower crown clasped in a hand pulled from behind his back. “-this.”

Your mouth drops into an awe-struck oh! It was beautiful - trickling blossoms of every shade of yellow entwined gently together. Embedded with celestially dainty buds of an amber so pale it looked almost white, diamonds on a tiara fit for a princess. 

You had a feeling it would be your favorite one.  

All you could think of was Gojo with his staggering hands, and his battle-worn fingers, making something so delicate for you. 

“Is…is this one just as allergy-inducing as the other, Satoru?” You’re breathing, rustled by a breeze so gentle that it almost hurts.  

“No.” Gojo whispers, just as quiet. As if the slightest sign of a raised voice would break whatever saccharinely thick moment this was, “Yellow acacia and yellow carnation. For you, my princess.”

For the way he’d be losing you just as soon as he loses that asshat. 

And even once you’d adorned his crown and been hurried off by a few palace staff, Gojo stared. Even once you were nothing but a speck of royal satin and yellow crowns, he stared. Even once you were gone, and he was left so very alone, he stared. 

Only thanking the heavens above that you always slept through your flower language lessons. 

.

.

.

Over the next few days; wherever you were, Naoya Zenin was to follow. 

And Gojo was sure that it was pushing the young royal closer and closer to a spectacular aneurysm any time that you called specifically for him to accompany you. Blatantly refusing any other knight that came your way.

The pointed third during “romantic” boat rides on the lake, always the guard overseeing dinners, the one to step in with a blunder if your future fiancé got too…opinionated. Gojo was always there. 

It was more like you spent your time trying to make his dutiful façade crack than supposedly entertaining your guest.

Sneaky princess. 

After all - Gojo found himself pacing and arguing out loud with himself any time you did - he was simply doing his job, right? Even if the aforementioned job went against just a few direct orders from the king himself. 

But these were a direct order from the princess. His princess. And Gojo had stopped his procedural traversing and ranting since realizing this. 

Although- the head chef, Nanami’s, veiled threat about turning him into pig feed the next time he heard stomping may have played a slight part in this, as well. 

And it was on such a day that Gojo found himself stationed to guard the inside of the royal drawing room. Spine ramrod straight, eyes flooded with steel while he took in the sight of you and that bastard- Naoya sketching the other in silence. 

It was a dainty, sunlit room, and the hours might have almost been peaceful - if it wasn’t for the split-haired bastard, that is. 

After that flower fiasco and a thorough telling off for misremembering the prince’s allergies, this was meant to make up for a “bonding activity” according to the king; which to him read more like a desperate attempt to push the two of you together before the grand ball tomorrow night. 

Gojo’s chest caves in with a sudden spike of pain, tomorrow night. Your engagement ball, where you will surely be handed off to a man who wouldn’t be worthy of you in a thousand different lives. 

Fuck, had it really been days since already?

It hurt too much, and so he looks towards the prince’s parchment- how insulting. Hundreds of royal art lessons, yet Naoya still couldn’t capture the exact curve of your smile. And those pretty crinkles by your eyes- they were entirely the wrong number! And Gojo’s sure that any fool could see the way your lips-

He was getting ahead of himself. And reminded embarrassingly of the hundreds of sketches of you over the years stowed away underneath his bed alongside a stubby piece of charcoal. 

And he was leaning over the prince in a way that he was sure would get him strung and quartered in the Zenin palace. Or, at least, that’s what Naoya’s daggered glare was telling him. 

With a sheepish smirk, Gojo snatches a glimpse at your artwork. Stifling a laugh at the way you’ve given up on drawing the other man and started engaging in idle scribblings of weasels and hollies. 

“That one looks like him, don’t you think?” He can’t help but whisper from the corner of his mouth, stomach swooping in delight as soon as your eyes light up. 

Tacking on a familiar hairstyle and sneer onto a particularly shoddy caricature of one of the weasels, giggling. “He does.”

Gojo points at another drawing - this time of a bullfrog- honestly, what interests for a princess. “And that’s-”

“That Jinichi.” You’re finishing off for him, carelessly drawing away a few more - quite frankly, Gojo finds everything you do beautiful, but these were appallingly ugly - scribbles of foxes and goats. “That one’s Oji Zenin, and that’s Gakuganji and that’s-”

“Ahem.”

There was only one person who could make the clearing of a throat sound so snobbish. And that was Naoya Zenin. 

Brows raised, feet tapping impatiently on polished marble as he snatches the parchment from your grip. 

Schwing–!

“Toru- no.” 

Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s pulling out his famed, silver sword until you’re stopping him with a hand to his tense bicep. Shit.

Growling through clenched teeth once more at Naoya while he nestles it back into its scabbard with unsteady fingers - only because you asked. 

But the other man doesn’t even flinch - wearing that perfect mask of regal stoicity, though Gojo manages to catch the way his eyes flicker nervously down at the hilt of his sword. Doesn’t show anything other than the tightening of his thin lips as he gazes upon your humorous drawings. 

The impatient tap! tap! tap! of his feet slowing down, stopping - before Naoya throws your paper down onto the floor and stomps. Gojo would’ve almost found it comedic if it hadn’t been for your startled demeanour.

“Excuse me-” He’s hissing, angling his broad body between you and this unseemly sight. Gojo looks dead-on into Naoya’s spit-fire red face, “-but I would have to hope not to remind a young prince of royal etiquette.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

“No need to call me ‘sir’, your highness.”

Naoya looks up, death in his eyes.

Gojo thought this might be the end. The missed trip to the dungeons all those years ago was finally catching up to him, and he would be thrown in today for drawing his weapon on a royal but goddammit- if he wasn’t going to keep you safe from his ire for as long as he breathes and then some.

But - to both you and Gojo’s surprise, and perhaps even Naoya himself - he simply turns swiftly on his heels and walks out of the room. Letting the heavy double-doors SLAM! deafeningly behind him. 

It takes a beat. One. Two. 

He counts every raging ba-dump–! of his heart against this ribcage- before the terse silence shatters with laughter. 

“Toru- To- Satoru—!” You’re wiping away genuine tears, “‘No need to call me sir-’ where did you even come up with that-”

“Fuck! You can laugh but I thought I was headed to the gallows.” He’s exclaiming, and it was quite difficult to act as if your laugh wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d heard in his entire life. “Although- it would have been a killer last line. Wouldn’t it, my princess?”

The two of you stare at each other for one singular ba-dump–! Before bursting into peels of undignified cackles that could make an entire court shiver in scandal. 

“Killer- killer alright-” You’re rolling your watery eyes, “This is just as bad as the time you caught Yaga in his interpretive rain dance routine- I thought you were surely dead then.”

Please, Gojo’s stomach and his heart were hurting - though, for very different reasons. “Not as bad as when you wanted to play dress-up with the sacred royal crown and lost it.”

“Don’t remind me, my father was-” That’s when your tear-lathered lashes flutter, a hand coming up to swat softly against your cheek as if to jolt back your senses. You’re groaning over Gojo’s whine, “-my father. Oh no! What will he say about this?” You almost knock your cushy stool over with how fast you’re teetering into a stand, “I must go apologize to weasel- Naoya right away lest relations with the Zenins-”

“Let me.”

Your brows raise, “What?”

“Let me.” Gojo’s repeating, more firmly this time. Thumb grazing briefly down your knuckles as he pulls you back into your seat. 

Just for a split-second - like he couldn’t even think of letting himself touch such a precious treasure. 

He knows you will argue this, he knows your stupidly selfless self will fight to apologize; which is why before you can say a word, he’s marching hastily out of those same doors and towards the luxurious guest chambers. 

Truthfully, Gojo Satoru didn’t give a fuck about Naoya Zenin - but he’ll be damned if you, his beloved, was cast in a hameful light because of his childish actions. 

He has to do something for you, while he still can. While he still has you. While he can still love you.

The corridors are winding, decadent. He takes a deep breath when nearing the slightly-open gilded door of the Zenin suite, that distinctly nasally tone of Naoya drifting in conversation from within. Shuddering in a deep breath, “Pardon m-”

“-drew me as a weasel!” The prince bursts, fury seeping into every hard syllable of his. Gojo stills where he stands outside, hand on the cool metallic doorknob. “I have never met such a vulgar, unrefined-”

“Oh, do bear it until the engagement Naoya.” The gruff voice of a man responds - and he recognizes it from all the recent chiding at palace staff to be the prince’s cousin, Jinichi Zenin. “After that ya can take your time breaking ‘er in.”

What? 

“A boor telling me to break in a wench.” The younger man scoffs, though he sounds much calmer than just moments before. 

Gojo thinks he could throw up all over the gleaming floors, he thinks he wants to keel over and beg at the king’s feet to keep this from happening to you. He thinks he just might. 

But right now, he can’t bring his feet to move a single inch. Pressing himself up closer against the adjacent patterned wall, sharp ear yearning for more shards of the conversation. 

“They’re all the same anyways.” Says Jinichi, “Just give ‘er something sparkly or flowery and keep her sated. Don’t want another one running off before you can dig your claws into the crown, now, do we?”

And perhaps he’s a hopeless fool for praying that Naoya might say something - anything - else. Wishing for the non-existent good in your soon-to-be fiancé, who only grits out a displeased, “Fine. Only because I want to see her pretty lil’ face when I break her to my will.” There’s the sound of urgent footsteps, “But if father doesn’t give me the throne for my efforts then I’m killing her and you, you brute.”

Stood stock still.

Gojo doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to - and right now, ice-cold spikes of anger were the only thing latching him rooted to the spot, not even flinching once Naoya closes the door behind him and walks- seeing him. 

His jaw clenches, eyes harrowing. “You.” 

And Naoya had very clearly taken the opportunity to arm himself in his family chamber, because his spindly fingers itch towards the hilt of his dangerously glinting sword. Just seconds away from-

“Please.” 

Gojo drops onto one knee, the tendons of his neck aching with how far downwards he had it bent into a pitiful bow. “I ask his highness to please let the princess go- to call off this impending engagement. I- I will bear the brunt of committing an offense, and will gladly take any punishment that is bestowed upon me. I just please beg of you to-”

“The same hand.”

“What?” Gojo forces himself to look up with tear-filled eyes, to face the prince squarely in his chestnut gaze. His delighted chestnut gaze. 

Pointing towards his right hand, “The same hand you were to raise your sword at me, the same hand you used to put that wretched toxic flower crown on me-” And then his blade, “-I order you to repent.”

The other man breathes, “Repent…”

“Repent.” Naoya stands up taller, perhaps the most self-confident that Gojo has ever seen him. A barbarous curl of his lips starting to form, “Repent, and I shall consider ending my engagement with the princ-”

CRUNCH!

Pain. Blinding pain was all that Gojo could feel, and…relief. 

He couldn’t even register the steady trickle of warm crimson on his skin and onto the floor in rose-like splotches - even though he could see it through bleary eyes. Head still spinning to catch up with the nanosecond events of drawing his sword and slicing a wide gash down his forearm. 

Through half-lidded eyes, he puts back his bloodied blade into the scabbard and looks up at the stricken prince. 

Repentance. 

“So you love her.” Is all that Naoya hisses. And Gojo can’t lie, nor can he muddy your name. 

So he simply waits quietly, silence speaking enough for eons. Waiting for you to be set free. And if he tried, he could even manage a smile-

Sniffing insolently - though, it sounded more like a snicker. “How valiant, for a low-born.” All that is said before he spits furiously at Gojo’s feet and breezes past in a swish of capes - as if nothing ever happened. “I might even invite you to the princess and I’s wedding ceremony.”

.

.

.

In a palace of thousands, it was only Gojo Satoru that could manage to stand out. 

None of the royal jesters could make the court laugh quite as loud. None of the other knights - no matter how muscled, or chivalrous - could make the ladies-in-waiting swoon just as much. And none of the other reputable men could make you seek him out in every chamber, state room, or training ground just like this.  

It was strange not to see even the barest glimpse of Gojo for an entire day, and the palace didn’t quite feel like a home without him.

“I’m telling you, Nobara–” You’re wheezing out in condensed puffs as your eager right-hand attendant continues mercilessly tightening away the undergarments of your ballgown. “Something’s probably happened to him or-”

“-or he’s being locked up for offending some uppity duke.” She’s rolling her honeypool eyes, one of the few who wasn’t afraid to express themselves this way in front of you. Flitting about the opulent dressing room you rarely liked to use, “You know how that eugh- Gojo is.”

“Which is precisely why I’m worried.”

Honestly, you didn’t even care for a grand ball when you didn’t know where your best friend was. Whether he was in the dungeons or…worse. 

But Nobara wasn’t here to hear you ramble about Gojo Satoru - you oftentimes got the impression that he irritated her too much for her own liking - she was here to doll you up in costly pale blue silks and muslins that draped off of you prettier than a painting. 

And you felt dizzy by the time she let you be escorted off towards the emanating music of the ballroom - with an excited goodbye and a reluctant promise to keep an eye out for Gojo. 

Hair done more intricately than you could’ve even imagined, your jewelry caught every light in the room, a bejeweled flower tiara weighing heavily on your head. Adorning your face in a crown that reminded you of the one Gojo had made you only a few days ago. 

It was almost a struggle to keep your face held high as you took the first few steps down the winding imperial staircase. To the ball. 

You have to stop yourself from tilting your head down at the thrumming masses of decadently dressed-up nobles and clinking champagne to check whether Gojo was hidden away somewhere down there. 

Manners. Posture. Eye contact. 

It was all painfully practised, and so was the tightening of your features as your own father started reading off your introduction. He never took on this task - what was happening?

“And now, for the most important guest of all-” Booming voice thundering in your ears almost as loud as your heartbeat was. The king addresses the congregation in the middle of the dancefloor, more ruler than father at this point. “-my daughter, princess of our beloved kingdom. And the queen of the next!”

Your hand stills where it had been helping you balance in your heels down the stairway- what?

Thankfully, your father carries on - or rather, not thankfully, considering what his next words are. 

“Yes, my people, this may come as a surprise to you all.” He chuckles above the deafening murmurs, and you slowly find yourself scurrying onto the raised platform your father’s throne was seated on. “But tonight is not only a simple celebration of our nation, it’s a celebration of love. Of two nations.”

There’s a beat of silence as he reaches out a withered hand to you, and you find yourself wordlessly taking it. 

“F-father, what-” you whisper, but there’s no response. Your skin bristles with goosebumps, and you’re not sure whether it’s from the summer breeze wafting from the gardens, or from the speech’s implications.

Letting yourself be pulled right into the middle of the stage,right into the spotlight - where Naoya Zenin was waiting for you. Dressed in his finest suit of white silk, adorned with layers upon layers of military accolades and velvety medals. 

The bright, blazing light of the chandelier was scorching, and your hands clench in unease. What was happening?

“That is right, my people.” The king drags your hand up to mesh in an entwinement with Naoya’s clammy ones, holding it up for the eager public to see. “After much consideration and forethought, our royal families have decided that today my daughter is the beloved princess of our nation. But tomorrow, she will be the future queen of the Zenin kingdom.”

There’s cheering - but you can’t hear any of it. In fact, the entire world could be falling upon you and you don’t think you would have noticed. 

All you can feel is the queasy churning of your stomach, and the stern whisper of Naoya’s voice against your ear. Fingers tightening around your own, bruisingly. “Dance with me before I break this pretty hand, princess.”

You’re like a ragdoll, being puppeteered in a rigid beeline onto the dance floor. 

If it wasn’t for one of Naoya’s hands bracing onto your waist, you wouldn’t even have realized that the royal orchestra had started up a gorgeous waltz. A slow, romantic melody that you might’ve otherwise loved if you weren’t trapped in the arms of a fiancé you never asked for. 

“Looking pretty out of it there, princess.” The prince sneers after a few practised motions of your dance, making your dazed eyes stray from the swooning crowd and onto his pointed features. 

And despite it all, you can’t help but feel betrayed. You thought that the two of you might have rapport at your obligation, if nothing else. “You- you didn’t even tell me. An entire engagement and you didn’t even bother to-”

“As a husband, I don’t owe my tch- wife anything.” His nose crinkles at your wandering eyes, the way your feet itched ever-closer to the surrounding people rather than the dancefloor. “Wishing it was someone else dancing with you?”

“Yes.” You’re spitting out before you can stop, trying oh-so-hard not to let your face twist into even a semblance of the fury steeped inside of you. “Anyone but a husband that I never wanted and never will want.”

“As if you deserve any bett-”

Your nails dig into one set of his fingers enough to engrave deep craters, almost enough to make him bleed. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth.” 

Naoya seems stunned for a few seconds - but, alas, just when you’re hoping that you’ve shut him up for good, you’re faced with the fact that the universe isn’t that kind to you.

“You mean you would marry the tch- low-born.” He pulls you into an incredibly rough twirl when the music crescendos, pulling you even closer. It’s all you can do to not fight his grip- “I’m not below finishing off his other hand if that’s what it takes to break you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Each word jagged. “The knight. You love him, don’t act stupid.” 

Raising your chin in defiance, “So what?” And just as much as confusion filled you, as did panic. Because Naoya’s grip was only getting firmer, his moves much harsher. Opening his mouth to spit out- 

“Pardon me, your highnesses.” A deep bass cuts in, startled- you almost give yourself whiplash peering up into those fathomless mahogany eyes. Yaga’s thin brows furrowing into something heavily-set, “May I cut in for a dance with the princess?”

You don’t wait for an answer from Naoya - and neither does Commander Yaga. Swiftly sweeping you into his engulfing embrace as the orchestra changes into something slightly more upbeat. 

Dressed in a thick suit adorned with even more medals than Naoya - ones you knew for sure were real, unlike his. And you couldn’t help but wonder just how good Gojo would look with his own.

“So…” Yaga starts, once more couples join the floor and his words can’t be heard over the shuffling of feet by anyone other than you. His calloused hands let you lead him through a waltz much more mellow than what Naoya had with you. You always did think that the leader of your knights was a gentle giant. “Begging you to forgive my indiscretion, ma’am but ah- trouble in paradise?”

“Trouble in hell, as expected.” You’re shuddering, gaze bouncing off of any flash of sapphire blue around the room. 

The man in front of you nods gravely, “Right right. I might not be a married man, but even I know that times like these often call for a walk in the lilac garden. You know, to- ah, clear your head.”

Quirking a brow, you stare at him. “What?”

And oh, Yaga simply looked like all the gold in the world couldn’t pay him enough for this. 

“Times like these-” He’s emphasizing, boring deeply into your eyes as if to mean every syllable to strike your very core. And it does. You don’t know why, but it does. “-call for a walk in the lilac garden.”

Oh.

“Oh.” 

Yaga’s lips twitch upwards into an almost-smile, and his rumbling voice is soft for the next few words. “Go, your highness.”

So you do.

You’re realizing, with an ache of such gentle appreciation, that the commander had danced you two until you were practically teetering on the massive veranda. Open to the garden; where every prim hedge, bush, and tree was gorgeously decorated until your eyes sparkled. 

Your breath bates…a choice. Head turning back to the luxuries of a royal ball that was none-the-wiser. 

Then, with a brief hug you bully Yaga into, you run - as much as the delicate heels digging into your feet would allow. Faster. 

If this was any other time, you might’ve felt disappointed at how you weren’t even stopping to admire the beauty of the moonlight-bathed garden. But right now, your heart was only pounding to go faster and faster. 

Nothing else mattered. 

Gojo was leaning on one pillar of the same white gazebo - and he was beautiful. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was a faerie of the night. 

Just a lone, tall silhouette that you could recognize so well; azure eyes twinkling, ivory strands of his hair shimmering with the silvery blue of the moon swimming amongst a dark sky. One he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of until he jolts his head towards the sharp snap! of a twig underneath your rapid feet.

“My…my princess.” He falls onto one knee. 

It all comes out in a whisper - as if Gojo had dreamed of this moment so many repeated times before and wasn’t sure if this was a dream, too.

“Satoru-!”

It wasn’t.

Gojo stands up to embrace you like it’d be the last time he ever would, like you were the one thing connecting him to this life and he was a dying man desperate to breathe. 

Strong arms winding around your waist, you’re pushed against one of the closed-off walls of the gazebo before you can even realize it. Arching off of the cool wooden surface and into his blistering heat. Into every ravenous, panted-out cloud of breath against your ear, “You came.”

He sounded pained. And you were sure you did just as much when you’re whimpering, “You disappeared.”

Gojo lets off a choked-up noise that could’ve been anything from affirmation to blatant shock. Half-lidded eyes boring deeply into yours, he shrugs off the jacket on his non-dominant arm to you with a low bow. 

“May I have this dance, my princess?”

You’re gasping at the sight of starchy white bandages around his other hand, fingers hesitantly falling into Gojo’s heated flesh. “S-Satoru, what happened ah-”

But he drifts you gently into a soundless dance, the distant crickets and swish! of lilac branches your only tune. 

And you never even understood just how much Gojo was a part of your life until he was moving through the exact same steps of waltzing that you’d learned growing up. The exact same once that you used to force him to sit through.

“I thought you were here because you read my letter.” Gojo mutters, lips so close now that they grazed the sensitive shell of your ear. 

You’re having trouble finding your voice, “What letter?” 

“The- the one that I left-” Just for you. His long lashes flutter open in shock, features contorted into something almost devastated. You wonder what made him feel this way. “-the one that I left in your chambers- about the- the prince, and the engagement and-”

“I got prepared for the ball in the dressing room today, I didn’t go to my room.” You’re continuing, voice small. Scared. “Satoru…you knew about the engagement?”

And Gojo’s voice told you everything you needed to know.

You feel your angry flare up hot and red, fists curling into Gojo’s delicate lapels. But that only proves to inch him even closer and make you sound much more breathless than you intended, “You knew about it and- and you didn’t even think to give me a hint that I was being carted off like a prize for some pompous asshat?”

He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, lips still so pink in the night, wobbling. “I…I couldn’t let you be married, I just couldn’t. I would give my life if it meant you get the freedom to choose who you wanted.” Your dance had stalled, and you almost feel disappointed. “But I’m a coward, and this-” Gojo throws his hands across, voice hitching, “-sneaking around, hiding, running away is the only way I could ever-”

“You should have told me. Not just in the letter.” You’re insisting, running your hands through your hair. Suddenly, something strikes you, “That arm- it’s because of Naoya, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t even have the energy to protest, and that only spurs you on even more. “I-I could have talked to my father- maybe the council and we could have made it so that…”

“So that what?” Gojo’s voice hardens as much as it could with you, which wasn’t very much at all. His fists clench and unclench at his sides like it was taking everything in him to not just…“So that you can be the laughingstock of the kingdom when you marry a low-born knight?”

He was right. They would never accept him, no matter how much you did.

You’re rendered speechless, shivering at the way he rubs his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, I don’t want you- I need you.” And he was so beautiful like this, just centimeters away from you in the escape of the night. “I need you. I need you, I need you- I need you more than the sun above my head, and the air that I breathe, my princess. You have bewitched me, and I am yours. But you cannot be mine-”

You breathe out, “Satoru…”

“-and maybe in another life-”

“Maybe in this one.”

Soft hands rover their way onto the sides of your arms, and Gojo shakes you feebly as if to snap you out of this hypnosis and urge you to run. Eyes wide, yearning. “I have always been yours, body and soul.”

You always have wondered whether there was a method to shut Gojo Satoru up. And, right now, you think you may have found the perfect answer. 

Because his entire towering figure just melts into your touch the very second you press your lips onto Gojo’s plump ones. Soft. Velvety. 

His nostrils flare through a breathy sigh when you tilt your head mere sultry degrees to deepen the kiss. You were addicted to the honey-coated taste of him, the flat drag of his scratchy tastebuds rolling over your loosening maw. 

“Ngh- my princess…” He’s puncturing your kisses with kiss after sloppy kiss, heavy hands wrapping around your body to wrangle you flush against his hardened ones. And you could count every glissade of his washboard abs through that thin poet’s blouse, “I love you.”

You’re not sure if it’s a fragment of your imagination, or- it’s not. 

Gojo manhandles you - and himself - to sit on the opulent gazebo bench with you plopped into his manspread lap, without breaking the kiss for a split-second. Because it hurt to part from your pretty, candied lips, to let those slippery strings of saliva break in the clouded air between you two.

Even if it was to purr out—

“I love you I love you I love you-” The straight edges of his pearly white teeth sinking into your lower lip, groaning from the back of his throat. And your jittery legs shift needily on his warm, meaty thighs, “-I love you.”

“Satoru—” Just about the only thing that you can say right about now, your tone resounds in Gojo’s ears and makes him grunt. Your fingers tangle into his cushy locks, “T-touch me.”

He snickers, one hand clawing onto the crown of your sweat-dampened scalp and wrenching your face away until you’re huffing and puffing cutely for more. “Mmm, how about we use those princess-y manners of yours, hm?”

“Please-”

“Louder.”

“Please.”

“Harlot.” Gojo slides in a looong few digits past those impossibly endless skirts of yours, making your thighs dampen with treacly webs of needy slick. Letting those doughy fingerpads fringe over the covered mound of your pussy, just the very edges. “That was my f-first kiss, y’know?”

He had been hopelessly saving it for you, after all. 

Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your weighted lids as soon as he teases you, mewling. “Was mine too, so we’re even-” Your hips shift in a lazy back n’ forth on top of his heated core, “-just- just want you to touch me.”

“I dunno…” Gojo drawls - drunken. And you feel the edges of his kiss-bitten lips warp around the very tip of your plummy tongue to suck on like his favorite gummy candy, “Wanna kiss my princess just a lil’ bit more.”

Panting, “K-kiss?”

“Mhm.” 

Your eyes shutter in a heady blink, oh-so-cutely ready to crash back into a filthy, filthy French kiss once more, Gojo pulls away-

A noise of disappointment fresh on your lips and just about to spill out, before he lifts you up easily with only a single beefy hand underneath your body. Splaying you out on the sprawling wooden table right beside you, your back hits the ice-cold surface and makes you gasp into the crisp night air.

The lecherous sound of it almost as loud as the sudden clack! of Gojo’s knees collapsing down onto the floor. Your face contorts into a wince because surely it sent a stinging pain up his legs?

“M’quite used to being on my knees for you, my princess.”

But he didn’t seem to care - didn’t even seem to notice when he was much more enamored with the heavenly sight down there.

“These lips-” He smears away your lacy layers upon layers, budging up to nuzzle the soft skin of your inner thighs. And shit- the filmy glaze over his eyes told you that Gojo doesn’t even realize the way his bubblegum pink tongue lolls out over the splotchy spatters of your juices. “-were tellin’ me they feel a little…left out.”

Your mouth waters with a syrupy lamination of saliva as soon as his murked breath strikes your cunt. And the drag of his rumbling bass is so delicious – you couldn’t help but imagine just how it would feel on you.

“Just- just get it on with it-” you’re hissing, fingers latching onto a few thick locks of ivory to drudge him ever-closer. 

“Impatient.”

As if Gojo himself wasn’t impatient. 

As if he wasn’t just leaking out thick wads of drool from the parted sides of his twisted grin at just the thought of tasting you. Sliding the pointed tip of his button nose languidly up the crevice of your puffed-up slit, he breathes you in and feels his cock twitch-

“Oh, princess.” Gojo can’t move, he can’t breathe if it wasn’t around your needy cunt right now. He’s ignoring those shooting bites of pain up the sides of his arm to tug on your useless garments.

Pulling- shit, he always did fucking hate how many layers you royalty had to wear. 

Pulling and pulling until the slow trawl of your undergarments by his nimble fingers wasn’t enough, and he just had to lunge his cottony head over to plummet his pearly whites into your panties and rip—!

A proper, gaping hole where your teary pussy was- and you looked even more gorgeous down there than he could’ve imagined.

Gojo’s face was blank, eyes wide and locked right at your geysering orifice like a man starved. For eons it felt like, until you were bucking up with pure need.

You’re humming in concern, struggling up onto your elbows to stare down at him. “Sa…Toru?”

And at your pretty voice, Gojo twitches. He gasps - full-bodied, like you’d just sent a zillion volts of shock down his sloped spine just by speaking to him. And he was well and fully intent on acting on it-

“Princess…princess princess princess—” Leaking from between his lips like he couldn’t stop, he hits the cute target of your cunt instantaneously with a fat thud of spittle, one. Two. Three, until your entrance was overflooding. He’s drawling the plummy end of his spit-glossed maw across your folds, “Oh, my princess. Just look at you.”

You feel his mess drool off the side of your plumpened pussylips and smear all across your peaked clit with only a simple touch of Gojo’s round-ended thumb. 

Just down-right filthy when he crashes forward to slot the curvaceous nub of his sweltering hot tongue over the brim of your hole. Drawing all over that snug orifice with slow patterns round n’ round-

“Toru–!” It’s the only thing you know at this point. “Toru.”

“Whaaat? Jealous, my princess?” The words clang in your head- and the realization hits you at the same moment Gojo’s thickly viscous swab of spit does on your own tongue. A soft nudge at your slackened chin urging you to swallow-

And he can’t waste a second, can’t spend even a mere moment away from his favorite spot between your legs. Because now that Gojo got a taste, he wants alllll of it.

Stumbling back down in haste to plant so many uncountable smooches on your bawling pussy folds. Skimming his tastebuds just along your quivering hole.

“Shit- shiiiit–” When you’d heard court ladies giggling about this, you didn’t think it would feel this good. Or maybe that’s just because it was Gojo stuffing himself impossibly deeper between your legs. “M-more, Toru–”

Your voice was cracking just as much as his fucking sanity was. 

Trilling out into frenzied shrills when Gojo swerves his eager thumb to pry open your gluey folds even further and give your fattened clit a flick!

You swear you feel Gojo depart his jaw with a giggle when your hips are bucking up pliably off the splintered table and into the bustling hot cavern of his mouth. More. “Easy there, your royal highness-”

“D-don’t call me that–” You’re whimpering, fingers tugging on Gojo’s bangs in some form of retaliation. But, of course it backfires on you just as soon as the force makes your knight moan.

“Wasn’t calling you that.” Gojo rolls his eyes, and your heart races in anticipation when the pointed edge of his chin strikes the drowned ends of your cunt. Lathering his pretty features in all the collective beads of slick raining fountaining out of you. His summer blue eyes flick downwards - and you can’t help but follow. “Was talking to her. Isn’t that right?”

Fuck.

You were fucked. 

And you were losing your mind when Gojo drags you roughly towards the edge of the table with only an ounce of his strength. Mouth making out greedily, heels digging into the fleshy mounds of his back, you can only sob and beg for more more more-

“S’fuckin’ chattier than my girl.” He’s nodding along with every saturated squelch after squelch! resonating in his eardrums - as if it was a full-on conversation with your noisy pussy. “Let’s hope that fiancé of yours doesn’t hah- f-fucking hear.”

But Gojo was acting like he wanted him to.

“Hope the- the king doesn’t find his princess bein’ eaten out by- ngh- a knight.” Barrelling long, slender inches of his index and pointer past your tight ring of mushy muscle. 

Your head throws back when he digs into the velvety depths of your pussy with just a single quirk-

“O-oh my god, Satoru–” You’re gasping in the flowery night air, tummy aching with every pump deeper because he was just so close to where you wanted him. “More- j-just a bit more.”

And yet, he acts like he doesn’t even hear you right now. 

Cupping over one massive palm over his ear and drifting ever-closer, “Wha’s that? C-can’t hear ya, girl- ngh ya gotta be- louder.”

Louder and louder he was getting with the vulgarly fast thrust graced upon your gummy walls. The sound only makes him giggle all drunk on you, “What’s that? Here? That turn you on? Hmmm…”

And just when you’re letting your vision blur with stars- just when you think it couldn’t get any better-

“Mmmm– wan’ another taste-” 

It’s the last thing your ringing ears hear before Gojo’s lurching forwards and burying his nose into your sensitive clit to give your overstuffed entrance a leeengthy lick. Right at the very split-second the globular edges of his digits scratch at that magical spot. 

“W-woah.” Your head snaps up blearily to steal a glimpse at what had Gojo Satoru’s voice so airy n’ cracking in awe. 

Only to see him fluttering his lathered lashes, the slick-gleaming apples of his cheeks blushing. Like some maiden in love. “Got even wetter f’me, your highness.” He’s breathing out, spitting out another voluminous cobweb of drivel and watching the way it sliiides across with the ribbons of slick pouring out of you. “Ohhhh, even b-better than any candy- better than a-any dessert.”  

You yelp when one rugged and grabs a rough handful of your ass and latches his lips even sloppier against your hole. “T-Toru your arm!”

“Oh? This?” He’s glancing down at the bandages as if he’d forgotten they were ever there. “S’nothing for your- hah- personal knight. Doesn’t even hurt, I’d- I’d rather die than let a stupid injury get in the way of what I’ve been dreaming of for aaaages.”

The dual points of pleasure make your toes curl, every part of your body shaking-

Gojo was out of control now. Crazed.

High-pitched bouts of giggles escaping him, muffling around where his candy-glazed cerise lips were latched around your clit and sucking. He makes sure to hold fatal eye contact while he hollows out his scorching cheeks and drags the fleshy nub. 

 “M-making out with your pussy- your pretty, pretty pussy, my princess.” Your heartbeat echoes in rapid staccato with the vicious thud! thud! thud! of his neatly crowned fingertips pecking your g-spot. Each of his puffed-out gruffs making your tongue loosen in a please, “Making you s-so loud, making you feel so good.”

And without even realizing it, he’s rovering the papping brims of his fingers to give your clit a spank. Letting the syrupy beads slide allll the way down his tongue - letting you watch. 

“S’all me.” Gojo slurs out. “Me- me me me me–” Steady rivulets of slick bubbling from the edges of his tongue when his sinful motions get faster. Harder. “Gonna ask who m-made you feel this way n’ it’s me. Your Satoru.”

More ravenous. 

Swirling around slow probes of his sensory tips, it glazes his skin all the way down to his knobbly wrist in a thick coat of sap. Memorizing every gooey ridge and crevice inside your tight channel - shit, Gojo feels his ruddied tip spurt out a jetstream of buttery pre in his pants. 

He thinks he might just burst in his pants if you don’t finish right this second. 

But luckily - or unluckily - for him, you do. Right this very second, after being wrung dry underneath only a few more lapping slashes of his ferocious tongue, tweaking your buttony clit until you cum.

And oh, you’re so pretty when you do.

Your head throwing back with a broken moan of Toru–! It takes every ounce of trained will in his drunken body to not break off from your gooey pussy and watch the way your beautiful face twists. 

Fucked out.

“O-oh, shit–” You’re practically sobbing at this point, wrist aching with just how hard you were pushing Gojo’s readily used face into your fluttering core. Your vision blurs with sparks n’ stars, “-H-how are you so good. Unfair, unfair—”

Babbling away such nonsense with that smart mouth of yours, Gojo thinks he sees utter heaven when your hot juices flood inside his mouth in generous heaps.

Lugging down an open palm underneath his chin to greedily collect the leaking beads that sprinkly in a shiny sheen off of his chin, he finds himself moaning. “Shhh, your knight’s here. Give it t’me– use me, my princess.”

And use him you were. 

Riding out each white-hot peak of your high with slobbering grinds all across Gojo’s beautiful features. Your clit catches on the poking ridges of his mouth and nose and you squeal- “Ngh- b-better when you’re shut up like th-this, Satoru–”

Just for that, he’s spanking your goopy pussy thoroughly. 

All the way until those shots of electricity down your bowed spine are nothing more but prickly tingles, all the way until your thundering ears calm down and you can hear each damp thwack!

All the way until your high has bated and yet, Gojo is still snogging each swollen fold of your pussy like a feast. “M’sensitive–” You sniffle, and he doesn’t even seem to hear you. “Fuh-fuck, Toru, keep doing that n’ m’not gonna let you ngh fuck me.” 

That’s what finally gets his attention. 

You can feel your lips burst with a slight giggle when all it takes is a quick nanosecond for Gojo’s plumpened mouth to jerk away from your cunt with the snap! of wiry slick.

Scrambling onto unsteady feet, he’s teetering over the edge of the wood ever-so-slightly. Muscular body casting a shadow on yours, and you think he’s never looked sexier.

Fawny strands of frosty white curtaining Gojo’s half-lidded eyes, thick thighs pressing against yours shivering; and even from your position homed towards the end of the table, your eyes catch sight of such a massively outlined bulge. 

Staggering. 

One that made your hands ghost down Gojo’s tensed abs, and he’s throwing his perspiration-dampened head with a whine. 

“Need you, Satoru–” You’re managing out, strangled and messy. You’re sure you sound just as yearning as you feel. Fingers tug-tug-tugging impatiently on his gauzy clothes, “Want- you- out of these-” 

And whatever the princess wants, the princess gets. 

It’s as if on command - Gojo’s shedding his billowy shirt like it burned him. And very, very soon were his snug pants to follow, your layers, his sanity-

“Hngh- please.” He’s gruffing out, flinching just as soon as you cup his cheeks to smear away the remaining traces of slick glimmering on top of his blushing skin. Your touch was electric. Tonality painfully hoarse, “Let me fuck you- wanted it for so long. Let me fuck you please.”

Your drenched pussylips stream out a damp spot right across where you could feel his inflated vein poke between your folds. And he felt so…long. “Yes- yes, please.”

Getting the princess to say please?

He’s nodding his head shakily - Gojo could pass out, he could cu- 

Oh, just a few taps of his mushroom tip on the outer edges of your pussy and he spots something creamy topping over your mound like icing. Sweat-slicked brows furrowing, Gojo nudges in even closer to where pooling splotches of cum pours from the strawberry pink divot right in the middle of his head.

He’s cumming and he couldn’t stop. 

Couldn’t do anything but whine at the tender bolts of bliss aching all the way from his toes to his fuzzy head.

“S-Satoru did you just-”

“Shut up.” Oh, you would have his head later for this. “Shut up- shut up and just…”

N’ so he curls a hand at his bulky base and draws out a thick swab at the torrents of seed decorating your cute cunt. Making sure the milky sap formulated a glossy cap on his crownhead, before pushing rigorously in-

“F-f-fuuuuck–” he keens out, a thin line of sweat trekking down the side of his temples. And if he pushed just an inch further, Gojo could feel his hooded eyes well up with fucking tears- “Tight so tight s-sooo hot- so…”

You’re mewling, “Deeper- c-c’mon.”

He was fucking you like he didn’t even realize it - like he was enchanted by each mindless rut pulled from the carnal depths of his hips. 

Two warm hands latch on in a vice-like grip on the delicious curve of your hips, and he’s holding your body still and pushing and pushing and pushing-

“Sh-shit!” Gojo’s voice pitches up embarrassingly high at the end of his slew of swears, buttering up your insides in a muggy few ribbons of pre in response. “But s-so tight- dunno if it’ll even…even fit.”

He sounded hypnotized. 

“Are you- ngh! are you alright, Satoru?” You’re musing out, eyes glassy with a solid combination of lust and utter concern. Before you know it, your hand is reaching out to stroke the ba-dump–! thudding against his pecs.

“No.”

And it takes only the slightest graze of your doughy fingerpads against his flaming hot skin, the slightest touch from you before Gojo rudely swats your hand away and bottoms out-

You don’t even know what you were mad at- were you mad?

You really can’t even remember. Not when the crowned tip of Gojo’s incredible length was planting a sweet peck right into the sponged ends of your cervix, the entirety of his shaft spearheading you so deep that you think he might just be fucking into your lungs. 

So big that he didn’t even have to try to rub the puffy zig-zag of his veins along your sweetest spots, even the most minute gyrations made your toes curl. 

Splitting you apart. Stroking the weepy base of your slit with the hot, rounded sack of his breeder balls so right that it made you putty in his hands.

“Don’t t-touch me, my princess.” Gojo’s nuzzling his tear-stuck cheek against your own, you could feel the warble of his unsteady confessions. “Don’t touch me or I’ll…I’ll cum.”

And when has Gojo Satoru ever lied to you? Well, the upturned jolt of his split-ended tip right into the target of your mushy cervix told you that he wasn’t.

Gojo’s sinking down the edges of his teeth into his wobbly lower lip, he’s forcing his eyes to narrow down n’ obscure his crystal clear image of you to stop himself from cumming. 

“So beautiful, can’t help it–” His breath hitches once he’s pushing apart your trembly thighs and stretching them over the two ends of his broad shoulders. Your ankles pitching down onto the rippling plush of his toned deltoids. “So perfect.”

“S-sweet-talker.” You whisper, mouth as dry as the Sahara with how his thick circumference was stretching out your rubbery walls until they were seering. 

But if Gojo heard then he didn’t snap back - he was too pussydrunken to.

Moving on instinct, on that carnal twinge inside his brain that forced his powerful limbs to lock your ankles with one hand behind his head. To brace an engulfing palm right beside your head and lower himself down, down, down into a-

A mating press. 

Gojo Satoru had you in a fucking mating press.

“So mine.”

And he was pounding all his aching inches into you like it would be the last time. Like he was mazing through your adhesive-like walls and plummeting the leaky end of his cock to knock against your very womb. 

Gojo’s nose crinkles at the sheer warmth you were coating him in, dripping fresh slathers of slick in rings ‘round his hilt. He shivers as it drools down his tight balls, “I’m…I’m really fucking you- ngh! I’m fucking you, my princess.”

“Yes- yes yes yes—” Your mouth parts ajar, and you don’t know what it floods more with - your pathetic whines, or saliva. Coating a treacly river from each curl of your lips, “More. More, Toru.”

Oh.

You might have just broken him with that. 

Even through your fucked-out stupor, you’re gaping at the way that the hand beside your head curls into an unyielding fist. It has to.

Otherwise, Gojo’s plump cockhead would be sugarcoating your sloppy hole in much more than just copious amounts of sticky precum. He would’ve cum.

“M-more?” You hear from above you, your knight’s bulging pecs vibrating with the plea. Oh, was it a plea - strained, shaking. Gojo sounded as if he was two seconds away from simply bursting into crazed laughter, “More…more. My princess wants- fuck! More?”

Fat ends of his fingers lock around the sides of your cheeks and force you into such an unladylike pout. “Say it- say it, little royal.”

“Shit!” Your core arches up into his hardened one, just as Gojo knew it would when angling his hips juuust right to give your bulging g-spot a long, hard swipe. Your throbbing clit scratching against his pale happy trail. “Yes- ngh yes I want more. Want more, Satoru!”

More. 

And more was exactly what you were going to get. More than you could handle.

Your thighs ache with the struggle to stay open when Gojo tightens his lock around your ankles. Gruffing out a tight, “Take it then.”

He was so sexy, the swelling flex of his biceps enough to make your pussy drool and him slip n’ slide pliantly. Jackhammering away rugged pumps that you feel all the way in your leaden throat.

Your most favorite spots are so bruised that they’re almost tender, curling the base of your spine with tendrils of bliss that make you yelp.

“O-ohhh my god—” The side of his neck dampens as you’re leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that make the man pinning you down shiver. His sculpted abs twinging with every massage down your front, “Just like that, a-always wanted to fuck you, Toru–”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Gojo hiccups, the expression upon his features plain pained. Voice dipping into a whine, “Don’t know what y-you’re doing t’me.”

But now that you were babbling away, you couldn’t stop. Not even when he’s speeding up his vigorous cadence until the globes of your ass are left stinging, “M’serious– I always wanted-”

“Shut up shut up- shut up- my princess.” You don’t think that either of you were even lucid at this point, and every pap! of skin-on-skin is followed by the screeching creak of the table below you. Gojo rolls his eyes down at you fondly, “Gotta m-make you cum so you can shut up.”

Otherwise you were going to drive him wild until there’s no turning back.

Before you can let off a moan - or fervently agree - he thumbs over the perked hood of your clit. Drawing- circles? Hearts? No, his own name. 

A tedious little S-A-T-O-R-U that makes your gushing walls clench oh-so-tightly around his sweltering length. Tummy tightening into something so close to shattering. 

And Gojo was rough. Snickering at the way you whine, spilling out wadded volumes of spittle between your parted lips. He breathes, “Gonna make you cum- g-gonna make my princess cum.” You swear he nods down at your pussy and grins, “G-gotta be a good girl f’me, m’kay? Gonna be a good- girl- and…”

His hips slap sloppily against yours, overworked thumb stuttering on a swooping U over your sensitive nub. And the tension in the air pulls tight, tight, tight like the most delicate of strings, before crashing- “-cum.”

You don’t know who cums first - you or Gojo. 

All you know is that as soon as your mind explodes with bursts of bliss - his poor cock does, as well. 

Head toppling backwards, overfilled pussy slopping out waterfalls of sweet, sweet juices, it’s all you can do not to sob. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck-” Your nails rake red, red lines all down his expansive back. Pulling him in even closer until all he can manage are dirty lil’ half-thrusts to pound you through your high. “M’cumming, Toru-”

“Y-yeah?” Gojo’s stuttering wetly, sloppily. Pushing the fat battering of his fountaining orifice into the groove of your g-spot over n’ over n’ over. You didn’t know how anything could feel so good. “N’ who made you cum, hm? Who’s f-fucking this pretty pussy, hm?”

“You-” You’re prattling, “You, Satoru.”

“Fuck.” Gojo gapes in wide-eyed craze, breath hitching when you lean over to drag your tongue over the sappy trickle of drool escaping his rose-red lips. “G-gonna make me cum again, swear-”

And he does.

“Can- can we hold hands while I hck! fuck you through your high, my princess?” He bats his lashes, a delicate blush taking over the tips of Gojo’s ears when you lace your fingers together. 

You can feel the splat! of even more heavy seed hitting the bottom of your pussy, swashing a warm second coating to your elastic walls every time Gojo thrusts. He was so solidly inside. Pinpointing specks of pure white with each swab. 

So full. So much of his voluminous ounces that it’s taken to tipping over from between your pussylips and forming a creamy puddle below you. You’re slipping all over it with every slither of Gojo’s cock.

But neither of you can even think to bring yourselves to be disgusted. To care for etiquette. 

Because Gojo drifts his hand over an invisible line where your tummy was being bloated with his length and his cum- and you find yourself aching for more all over again. 

“This looks…” Gojo starts, syllables scratchy and jagged. He’s practically whimpering - whimpering - at the sight of that lecherous cylindrical bulge being fucked into you. 

You’re dripping with him, and his cock twitches ferally at the thought of you all round and glowing. What a pretty mama you’d make. “...looks like the n-next heir to the throne will be a Gojo, my princess.”

Oh, you liked the thought of that.

And looking at Gojo Satoru now - eyes still not fully focused with how ruined he was, skin blushed the same maidenly shade of red that his slobbering mushroom tip was, pretty smile directed at you and only you in this lilac-scented haze - you didn’t think you wanted it any other way.

But, of course, Gojo would never want it any other way, either. Never. 

He clears his throat, sapphire gaze hardening; the intensity of it sending chills sprinting down your spine. Burning with a fervent I love you I love you I love you.

Massive hands intertwined with yours pull into your line of vision, and Gojo takes his dear time pressing a lingering peck onto each n’ every single one of your knuckles. But particularly on the one above your left ring finger.

This was it. 

“My princess…run away with me?”

.

.

.

“Didya hear ‘bout that Prince Naoya?”

“Oh yes- had his bride stolen away by a knight, I hear. Put a knife to his throat n’ took her away in the dead of night!”

“Hogwash! The boy was a looker, she went quite willingly, see- I always did think that Naoya wasn’t good ‘nough for our princess.”

“Wonder what happened after? That Zenin bunch was quite furious I hear, that bratty prince is still out for blood. But ol’ Naobito and some commander came to the rescue- Somethin’ about corruption and Jinichi…”

“Bah! Who cares about that? S’the biggest royal affair of the century- a handsome knight sweeping away the beloved princess? They’re swoonin’ n’ calling him the Knight of Roses already. All I wanna know is how the young couple is doing!”

Yaga rolls his eyes at other rambunctious customers churning gossip-mill, a pint clutched tightly in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. 

Honestly, he comes to the pub for once to escape from palace duties - and the palace duties seem to want to escape with him! 

And even after so many months since that engagement party fiasco? News really did trickle down slowly when royal scandals were so often covered.

Oh, whatever. He muses, thumb gliding over the glossy parchment- some new innovation from kingdoms beyond the sea, according to what the eagerly-accompanied writing had said. A…a photograph, you had called it.

And Gojo’s surprisingly intricate drawing of you fiddling with the ah- camera gave him an idea of the machinery, though- most of the sketches were of you. All of them, actually.

Yaga gazes on in slight wonderment at the perfect black and white depiction of your smile, rivalling the one of Gojo Satoru’s beside yours. Beaming, sleeves rolled up and fatigued with a day of hard work, so in love. 

It was oh-so-positively sweet.

The cherry on top? Well, Yaga couldn’t quite decide between the matching bands glinting on each of your left ring-fingers, the glimpse of a pretty lil’ cottage behind you two, and the massive bouquet of undoubtedly deep red roses Gojo was presenting you with.

Or perhaps it was the hand you were resting absent-mindedly on the obviously rounded curve of your tummy.

How fortunate, he tucks away the photograph into his coat with a smile and orders another pint. Knight of Roses, indeed. 

A/N. Yearning is my kink mhm. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[lologoinsolo]

Main Masterlist, Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 2

Thinking about Simon with a runt of a kitten and it’s barely the size of his palm. Also thinking about the poor cashier that’s stumbling over her words when that hulking man has a kitten fisted in his palm and he just jerks it forward.

“U-Uh, sir, we can’t— I can’t keep that.” His eyes make you shrivel up and you delicately hold the little kitten in your hands. “We uh— the store can’t hold animals we only sell the stuff that animals need.”

He looks at you like that’s not what he’s wanted to hear. Granted you’ve had a couple people come up to try and surrender or drop of their animals like it’s a pound. “I need things for the cat.” He says and you feel like maybe you shot yourself in the foot.

You have a line piling up behind him but no one seems to dare speak up. Why would they when this guy could lay them flat out? Jesus what are they feeding this guy? Steroids and protein powders? You think before swallowing thickly. “I can… I can get my coworkers to—“

“No.” He reaches forward and you flinch when he picks up the kitten and holds it to his chest. “You’ll help.” Nodding off and he starts to walk leaving you dumbfounded and confused. He walks a couple steps before he turns to you with a ‘well?’ look on his face.

You hurriedly grab your pager and call for someone to go through the line while you help this guy. Leading him down the aisle for the litter and you list off the different types. “There’s crystal litter, wood pellets and those are pretty good when it comes to smell. We have tofu litter and that—“

“Does it need something fancy to shit in?” He cuts off the beginning of your speech with a huff. He sounds a mix of annoyed and amused with how you bristle from his remark. You’re tempted to leave, your manager can bitch later about you doing that butttt the kitten against his chest meows and you find that you can’t leave the little thing to suffer because their dad’s a right prick.

“Sir,” you take a breath, “the litter is moreso about preference. Do you want to hide the smell of their… ya know… poop better? Or would you prefer something that clumps or something that’s easy to clean?” You wait… and wait some more before he finally says.

“Pick one.”

You blink at him and he mimics it that bastard. He just stares the entire time you have this little contest. You’re starting to feel like you should’ve called out of work. You knew today would be horrible, your instincts never lie. “Okay,” taking a deep breath and spitefully picking the most expensive and heaviest litter that your store sells. You yank it off the shelf with a groan. If it’s hard for you to lift then he’ll probably have the time of his life having to lug this home. He doesn’t seem to care about the pricing nor the weight though as he grabs the litter from your struggling arms. He shoves the kitten back to your empty hands. “I—“ you stumble over your words, trying to come up with something but he beats you to it.

“Where’s the food she need?” Lifting it onto his shoulders, the muscles bulging as he holds that thing with ease.

“Well she,“ you cough to keep from ogling too much. “Will need some kitten food and maybe some wet food later on. A good kibble would be good to add later on once she gets older,” holding the kitten up gently and her little green eyes blink at you. You prod softly at her teeth to make sure she can handle those foods. You’re hoping she’s not to young or she’ll need kitten formula. You then check her ears and see some red marks. Noticing the little black specs moving about her neck and you cringe. “And a good flea bath. Poor thing,” petting the little baby as you walk off to grab a flea comb. He’ll have to buy it anyways so you’ll make use of it now. You pick at her fur with the comb and squish whatever fleas that you find, you hate those little fuckers. “What’s her name?”

You’ve noticed he’s as silent as a grave this customer of yours. He’s hardly said a peep besides caveman grunts and nods. If it wasn’t for him nearly against your side then you would’ve thought he ran off. That black surgical mask makes him look like he’s something important. Maybe mafia or something possibly dangerous. But… he did come in holding this tiny kitten and isn’t batting an eye at the things you’ve been telling him he’ll need to get for his new pet. Perhaps he’s nicer than your judgement of him is.

You clear your throat, he probably didn’t hear you since he hasn’t tilted his head down. “Does she have a name?” You ask once more and he pulls to a stop, he had came back with a cart earlier when there were too many things for him to hold in his tree trunk arms. It was comical seeing him try to hold a litter box, scratching post, and various foods though.

He doesn’t answer save for the roll of his shoulders that looks like it could be counted as a shrug. You mouth an ‘oh’ before you mind your business. He probably just found her or he’s gonna foster and send her off. Better to not get attached…

You chatter off the things he’ll need to do. See a vet, get her spayed, make sure she has no health problems, the usual things that you mention to pet parents. The little thing in your hands is a curious thing, she wiggles about constantly. Eager to move and escape your hands and arms. Tiny tail flicking about and the meowing and pawing is cute, makes your heart squeeze when he plucks her from your hands and he holds her close. You push the cart along and stop at the toys and bowl aisle.

“Well,” you pull some toys off the shelf, crinkle toys and mouses that should help with those prey instincts. “She’s a sweetheart. I’d probably call her Bailey,” you smile fondly and his brows furrow at your advice. Grabbing the kitten shaped bowls and hurriedly putting them in the cart when you squirm under his eyes. “Oh uh, my brother always wanted a cat named Bailey. It’s a nice name but if you don’t want to call her—“

“Bailey,” he holds her up a little and the kitten paws at his face. Her little nails snag on the fibers of his mask and he pulls them off quickly. “Better than garbage, yeah?” He speaks to the kitten like a human. There’s a crinkle besides his eyes and you realize he’s smiling but when you catch what he said you drop this cactus scratcher you thought he should buy her by accident.

“Garbage?” You look aghast. You’ve heard all kinds of names but never something like that. Quickly picking the cactus scratcher back up and placing it in the piling up cart. “You’d call her that?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders again. “S’where I found ‘er.” Grumbling his reasoning. He glares at the kitten like she’s the cause of his problems. “Couldn’t sleep with’er howling and rummaging about. Made a mess that I had to clean.”

You blink a bit and now it makes some sense why he’s so… snappy? “Well… maybe she knew you’d get her if she was loud enough.”

He scoffs, “she bit and hissed at me.” He rubs his finger over her head and you notice the little red marks on his hands. “Feisty little shit shoulda left ya out in the cold.” She nips at him and he chuckles something deep.

You can’t help the smile that reaches your face. She plays with his fingers and he doesn’t flinch when she bites hard or digs her nails in. He just looks down at her with something akin to wonder and begrudged responsibility.

You pull him to your cash register and his kitten racks up a pretty hefty bill but he pays for it with wads of cash. You don’t speak on the weird crumbled bills nor the faint reddish brown color. You simply bag his items and put them in his cart. “If you need anything, sir. Come find me and I’ll help, okay?” You can’t believe you said it AND actually ment it. What can you say, you love cats more than people and that little thing won your heart as easily as she won his.

He gives a gruff nod and pushes his cart out with on hand. The kitten is pushed into his coat pocket to hide her most likely from the cold outside. She pokes her head out to give a complaint but he just gently pushes her back in. He leaves without waving and you’re left to wonder if he’ll come back. You kinda hope he does come back.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWELVE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of severe anemia; pregnancy; abortion

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe rolled over, squinting against the sunlight breaking through the shitty broken blinds he'd meant to replace weeks ago. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and before his eyes were even fully open, he swiped it up.

"Yeah?" His voice was a low growl, all gravel, and irritation.

The voice on the other end was professional. "Mr. Cameron? We’re calling to follow up on your father’s properties. There are a few—"

Fuck off.

Rafe cut them off with a sharp exhale, rubbing his temples.

He didn’t let them finish. "Yeah, I know what you’re calling about. I’m not dealing with that right now, okay? Call someone else."

"Sir, you are listed as—"

"I said call someone else," He snapped, hanging up before they could launch into another scripted response. He tossed the phone onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling, breathing hard.

It had been months since Ward died, and somehow, his name was heavier now than it ever was when he was alive. Everyone wanted something—answers, signatures, money. All things Rafe didn’t have or didn’t care to deal with.

The phone buzzed again. He grabbed it, ready to tell whoever it was where to stick their questions, but it was just a reminder about his plans with Topper. For half a second, he considered texting back: Can’t make it. Something came up.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he shoved himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and dropping his head into his hands.

The dream the call robbed him of was still vivid. For a moment, he forgot where he was—his room felt colder, and emptier, and the bed might as well have been a mile wide.

In the dream, you were eighteen again, and so was he. Back when things were simpler—or maybe just felt that way. Back before he’d ruined everything.

He could see it so clearly: the two of you sneaking out of some party you didn’t want to be at, your hand locked in his as you ducked through the dark streets. You’d been laughing, trying to shush him because he couldn’t stop cracking dumb jokes.

You ended up at the dock by your uncle’s boat. The stars were out, scattered across the sky like a million little promises. He remembered how you’d sat cross-legged on the wooden planks, your hair falling into your face as you smiled at him like he was the only person in the world.

The dock, your laugh, the stars—those were the good parts. But he remembers what you were going through back then, and it hit him all over again.

You’d just lost everything—your parents, your sister, gone in an instant. The private plane went down, and so did the life you’d always known. He remembers the way you’d talk about them—your family—late at night when it was just the two of you. Your voice would crack, and your eyes would shine with unshed tears, but you’d talk anyway. About your dad teaching you how to sail, your mom’s tenderness, the way your sister used to be your role model.

He hadn’t thought about those nights in years, but now they come rushing back, all tangled up with the dream. He still wasn’t strong enough for you back then. He let his own shit get in the way, let his insecurities and his anger twist everything good between you over the years. And when he walked away, he left you to deal with the wreckage of your life and his own cowardice.

He threw on a shirt, and some old shorts, didn’t even bother fixing his hair. No one was going to care—not like anyone was looking to him for anything these days anyway. He stomped down the stairs, rubbing at the back of his neck, pretending like he didn’t spend the night dreaming of your face. 

Wheezie was at the kitchen counter, cereal in front of her, scrolling her phone.

She didn’t glance up when she heard him, "You look like shit."

Aw, nothing like a teenager. 

"Good mornin’ to you too," Rafe grumbled, heading for the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap like it had personally offended him, “You’re really settling in, huh?"

Wheezie snorted, not looking up from her phone. "Rose stuck me here with you. What else am I supposed to do? I’m just trying to survive." 

“It’s two days."

He hadn’t exactly planned on babysitting Wheezie while Rose was out of the country, he hadn’t planned on much lately

"Two days too many," she shot back, smirking. "You going somewhere?" 

Rafe slammed the fridge shut, twisting the cap off his water.

"Why are you stomping around like that?" 

"Not fuckin’ stomping," Rafe muttered, leaning against the counter.

"You are," she scowled, shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "You sound like a baby elephant."

Rafe glared at her, but she just shrugged, unfazed. "You’re up early. What’s the occasion?"

"Just woke up, okay?" he snapped.

"Jeez, someone’s in a mood," Wheezie rolled her eyes. "What’s your deal?"

"No deal." He took a long sip of water, staring out the window.

"Can you drop me off later?" she changed the topic, her tone too casual to be innocent.

Rafe side-eyed her. "Drop you off where?"

"Poguelandia.”

His hand froze halfway to the trash can. "You’re kiddin’."

"Nope," Wheezie said, popping the “p.” She didn’t even look at him, scrolling on her phone like this was just a normal request.

"You know Sarah’s there, right?"

"Yeah, that’s kinda the point," Wheezie finally met his glare. "She texted me. Wants to hang out."

Rafe scoffed, tossing the empty water bottle into the trash. "Since when are you and Sarah talkin’?"

"Since forever," Wheezie pursed her lips, "Just because you two can’t stand each other doesn’t mean I can’t hang out with her. Also," She adds, "there’s a party happening later. Like, nothing crazy, but… y’know."

He hadn’t been around much for his little sister lately—shit, not for a long time, if he was honest with himself. After their dad died, he kind of just… checked out. Too much of his own crap to deal with. But Wheezie didn’t ask for any of that.

"Nothing crazy," Rafe repeated flatly, his arms crossed.

"Relaxxxx,” She shoved another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "Just drop me off. I’ll figure out a ride back."

He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning. "Wheeze, do you even know what you’re walking into? Pogues don’t fuck with us."

"I wonder why….” She hummed, waving him off. “I’ll be fine, they don’t hate me."

"Yeah, well, they hate me."

"Good thing I’m not you.” Wheezie fired back, hopping off the stool.

Yeah, good thing.

"And it’s not just a party. I’m visiting Sarah, too."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," Rafe rolled his eyes, "Here’s the deal: I’ll drop you off—"

She perked up, her face lighting with hope.

"—but on one condition," he cut in, smirking just enough to make her suspicious.

He hadn’t really spent time with her in ages—not since Ward died. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just…easier not to. Easier to stay away, to let the silence pile up.

The real issue was that, for the longest time, he’s been gone for a reason. He didn’t want to be here. It was easier to be numb by being drunk or high. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his sister—it was just that it was too painful, and complicated.

Yesterday, his therapist had told him to invest time in his sisters. To be there for them, to reconnect, because they were his only real family left. Whezzie he could do, Sarah? 

Only time would tell. 

You have to show up for the people you love. Even if it scares you.

It scared the shit out of him, honestly.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"You come with me and Topper on the boat first," he said, folding his arms tighter like he’s already won.

Wheezie groaned, slumping back in her chair. "Seriously? What part of not showing up on a yatch is this?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Why? So I can sit there and listen to you two talk about girls you’ll never get and beer brands you can’t pronounce?"

Rafe glared at her. "It’s not up for debate. You wanna go to fuckass poguelandia? You’re comin’ with us. End of story."

At least he was trying—trying to do something for her, to make up for the time he’d lost, the ways he’d been absent or worse. Even if he still sounded like an asshole most of the time.

"Fine. Whatever. I’ll go with you and Topper. But you owe me big time.”

The whole idea of being present was terrifying, it ruined him when he was a teenager, but he couldn’t keep hiding from it. There was nothing left to hide behind.

“I’ll buy that stupid cereal you like.”

"Lucky me."

"Alright, smartass," He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, trying to ignore her smug look. "What do you even eat besides cereal? You’re gonna starve or some shit.”

"I’ll survive. You, on the other hand…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his unkempt pantry. "You look like you could use a babysitter."

Rafe let the corners of his mouth twitch. "You’re an asshole, y'know that?"

“You’re my brother, what did you expect?”

It was just the two of them in his big, empty condo. He might not have been much of a role model—or even a decent older brother—but for the next two days, he could try.

“You’re the worst,” she grumbled, grabbing her phone off the counter.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rafe said dismissively, turning toward the door. “Be ready in ten.”

Wheezie, rolling her eyes so hard he thought they might fall out of her head, stomped back upstairs, probably to change into something less “little sister on a boat” and more “teen rebel” or whatever the fuck kid’s liked these days. She could dress however she wanted as long as she didn’t make him regret dragging her into this.

Rafe leaned against the truck while he waited for his sister. His arms were crossed, his fingers drumming against his bicep in a nervous rhythm. It wasn’t about the boat—he didn’t even know why he’d suggested it. Maybe it was just an excuse to keep her close for a little longer before dropping her into pogue territory. He missed her.

An hour later, he was pulling the truck into the dock’s gravel lot, the tires crunching as he rolled to a stop. Topper was already there, lounging on the boat, a beer in one hand and sunglasses perched low on his nose.

Wheezie hopped out of the truck before Rafe even had a chance to cut the engine. “God, does he ever not look like a wannabe country club poster boy?”

Rafe smirked as he climbed out.

“Rafe! Wheezie!” Topper called out, spreading his arms wide like he was greeting royalty. “What’s up, losers?”

Wheezie snorted, marching toward the boat. “Nice shorts. Did Vineyard Vines have a clearance sale, or did you just raid your dad’s closet?”

“Stop being ruthless,” Topper glanced down at his pastel pink swim trunks, feigning offense. “These are a classic.”

“A classic embarrassment,” she fake gagged, stepping onto the boat.

Rafe followed her, shaking his head. “Play nice.”

“Fantastic,” Topper drawled, “There’s two of you today.”

“You make it too easy.” Whezzie dropped onto one of the cushioned seats and leaned back, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes. “What’s the plan, Captain Douchebag?”

Topper raised his beer in a mock toast. “The plan is sailing.”

“Wow. Revolutionary.”

Rafe chuckled, untying the boat and giving it a shove off the dock. “Just sit back and relax, Wheez. We’ll drop you off later.”

Topper’s head snaps up, “Drop her off where?”

"Where do you think?" Rafe leaned over to check the boat's engine. He didn't bother looking at Topper, already waiting for the inevitable reaction, “Sarah's.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Topper held up a hand like he was stopping traffic. "You're taking her to Poguelandia? Are you out of your mind?"

"It's not your problem," Rafe grumbled, starting the engine. The low hum drowned out part of Topper's rant, but not enough to miss the gist.

"Not my problem? Dude, the second you step foot over there, it's everyone's problem. She’s there too, y’know? Stopped by earlier to make peace…She changed her gate’s code. And the lock.”

The gate code. The lock.

He couldn’t get it out of his head.

For years, it had been the same—just like the keys he used to have to your place. Just days ago, the gate had swung open just like it always did, the same code he’d memorized like it was second nature.

You hadn’t changed the code, hadn’t swapped the locks. He’d half convinced himself it meant something, maybe you weren’t ready to fully let him go, either.

Rafe’s hands stilled on the throttle. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his jaw tightened all the same. Topper, of course, noticed immediately.

"See? This is what I’m talking about," Topper leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms like he was laying out some grand revelation. "Where do you think she’s staying at? It’s fuckin’ obvious. We show up, and it’s gonna stir shit up.”

It was almost like you’d left the door cracked open for him. Just enough to make him believe there was still a chance. Now he wasn’t so sure. Had his visit been the final straw? Had the sight of him standing on the other side of your door—looking desperate and pathetic—been the thing that made you decide to shut him out completely?

You didn’t let him in, but you’d opened up the door. After everything he’d put you through, it was your way of protecting yourself. Shutting the door so he couldn’t come crashing back in.

Topper’s voice snapped him back to reality, “You even listening to me, man?”

Rafe blinked, forcing himself to re-focus on the boat’s controls.

“Yeah. I heard you. ’m not staying. Just dropping her off."

“We’re dead meat.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Topper knew better than to keep talking, the conversation ended there.

For the next twenty minutes, the boat cruised over the water, Rafe kept on steering, letting Topper and Wheezie chatter away behind him. He wasn't really listening—hadn't been for most of the trip—but every now and then, Wheezie's laughter or Topper's exaggerated storytelling pulled him back just enough to remind him they were still there.

When they finally dropped anchor near the sandbar, Topper leaned back, cracking open another beer as he stretched out under the sun.

"Alrigh’, who wants to make a toast? First outing of the month, gotta celebrate properly!"

Rafe shook his head, pulling a bottle of water from the cooler instead. He twisted off the cap and took a long sip, ignoring the way Topper raised a brow at him.

"Wait a second," Topper said, sitting up slightly. "You're not drinking?"

The fact his best friend sounded surprised was reason enough to stay sober. He didn’t like being scrutinized.

"Nah," He waived off, leaning back against the seat and letting the sun warm his face.

He’d made the choice not to drink before they even left the dock, but it didn’t stop the instinct—the small urge to crack open a beer and let the eventual numbness take over like it usually did.

Topper looked between the beer in his hand and Rafe, "You serious? Could've told me, wouldn’t have brought all this shit."

“Yeah, sure you wouldn’t have.”

"Fair," Topper admitted, "Still, man. That's… good. Like, really good."

Wheezie, who had been scrolling on her phone, perked up at the exchange. "Yeah, Rafe. I think it's awesome."

Proud. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said that to him. Maybe you, but it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him and seen something worth being proud of.

He shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.”

But it kind of was. Because sitting there, sober and fully present for the first time in months, he realized it didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. He’d been drinking non-stop—first to deal with his dad’s death, then to quiet the guilt, and then to forget you.

The therapist had called it “self-medicating.” Rafe had scoffed when she first said it, she didn’t know what she was talking about, but the longer the sessions went on, the harder it was to deny. Drinking had become a way to drown out the memories and feelings he didn’t know how to face. 

The therapist had suggested he take a break from drinking, just for a while. “You don’t have to stop forever,” she’d said. “Just give yourself a chance to feel what’s really going on.”

Yeah, because that sounded like fucking fun. Sitting with his feelings. 

But something about today felt different. He couldn’t explain it—maybe it was Wheezie’s not hating spending time with him after all the stunts he pulled, or the way Topper had thrown himself into planning this trip like he was trying to cheer him up—but for once, he didn’t feel like drowning himself in alcohol.

It wasn’t like drinking had helped anyway, if anything, it made it worse. The mornings after, when the hangover hit and he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror, let alone call you to apologize for everything he’d done wrong. 

So, yeah. Maybe the therapist had a point. 

He glanced at the cooler full of beers and liquor that Topper had dragged aboard. “Don’t feel like it today.”

Topper was still eyeing him like he was an alien, while Wheezie had gone back to scrolling her phone, but every now and then, she'd glance up at him, like she was checking to see if he was still there—if he was still him.

"Alright, enough of the sentimental shit," Topper declared, "Let’s make this a proper day. Who’s up for some wakeboarding?"

Wheezie groaned, flopping back dramatically. "You two are so predictable. Wakeboarding, really? What’s next, golf? A steak dinner? Gonna break out the cigars and talk about how much you love cripto?"

Rafe snorted, tossing a towel at her. "Wheez, you screamed your head off last time you tried it."

“Yeah, because I nearly died!" she threw the towel right back at him.

"You were fine.”

“You said I was fine while I was choking on lake water.”

Rafe smirked, standing up to adjust the rope for the wakeboard. “Builds character.”

“Builds trauma,” she retorted, kicking her flip-flops off and stretching her legs out over the seat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I’m suing your ass.”

“Good luck with that.”

She tilted her chin up with a satisfied grin, “I can now, thank you very much. I’m an adult.”

“You turned eighteen two weeks ago. Chill with the big-girl talk.”

Topper cracked up from the other side of the boat, pointing his beer at her like it was a microphone. “She’s got you there, big bro. Maybe let her drive the boat next.”

Wheezie perked up instantly. “Wait, can I?”

“No,” Rafe deadpanned.

“Why not?” she whined, her entire body deflating.

“Because last time you tried, you almost ran over a dock,” Rafe tugged the line to make sure it was secure.

“Okay, that was one time, and I was learning,” Wheezie argued. “You’ve done way dumber stuff.”

Topper leaned over, watching the exchange like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week. “This is amazing. You guys should fight more often.”

“Shut up,” Rafe and Wheezie said in unison, which only made Topper laugh harder.

The afternoon passed quickly, filled with sun, water, and Wheezie’s relentless commentary. She refused to try wakeboarding again, opting instead to sunbathe and heckle them from the safety of the boat. Rafe couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh so much—or the last time he’d felt this calm.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the water in shades of gold, Rafe slowed the boat to a gentle drift. Wheezie was sprawled out with her headphones in, her phone propped up on her stomach. Topper had passed out in the corner, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. Rafe sat at the helm, one hand resting on the wheel, the other dangling over the side. The cool water lapped at his fingertips, calming him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

For once, he wasn’t thinking about the mistakes he’d made or the people he’d lost. He wasn’t drowning in guilt or regret. He was just… there, present. It didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would

Rafe cut the engine as the boat drifted closer to the dock. The sight of Sarah’s house on the Cut came into view. It wasn’t a kook mansion or some pristine estate—just a house that Sarah and her friends had claimed for herself.

The second the boat bumped against the dock, Wheezie sprang up, tugging her bag over her shoulder. Rafe was quick to follow, throwing the rope around a cleat to tie them off.

“You’re not getting off, are you?” Wheezie asked, looking over her shoulder with her brows furrowed.

Rafe stepped off the boat, sneakers hitting the creaky dock with a purpose. She rolled her eyes when she realized he wasn’t staying behind like she hoped.

“You don’t need to come,” she grumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I do,” Rafe said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not letting you walk in there alone.”

“She’s our sister, not some random stranger,” Wheezie stomped down the dock.

She might as well have been.

Rafe grabbed the bag she was struggling with and followed her toward the weathered building at the end of the pier. Sarah’s place wasn’t just a house; it was a business. A small café-slash-bait shop that catered to the locals. The painted sign hanging over the front door read Cut Cafe in faded lettering, with a little drawing of a fish under it. 

He hated it.

Not because it wasn’t nice, but because it wasn’t theirs. It was Sarah’s—a piece of her new life that had nothing to do with him or Wheezie or anything resembling their family. Another reminder of how far he hadn’t gone.

If he was being honest—something he rarely let himself do—he missed her. Not the Sarah she was now, but the sister she used to be, before the huge fights, before she looked at him like he was some kind of monster. Before Ward.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Ward had made sure Rafe would never get to have what Sarah did. She was the golden child, Dad’s favorite. And Rafe—he was just there, a constant disappointment.

It wasn’t that he hated her; it was that he hated what she represented.

Approval he’d never get, a life he wasn’t good enough for.

It was ironic, really. He used to resent Sarah for being Ward’s favorite.

Now he resented her for being yours.

Rafe scowled as the sound of the party reached his ears, even from the dock. Music thumped loud enough to vibrate the air, shouted conversations, and the occasional crash of something—probably a bottle—shattering.

Someone let out a loud whoop, followed by the unmistakable sound of people chanting for a keg stand. Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience thinning with every passing second. He wasn’t in the mood for this juvenile shit.

“You're way too comfortable here,” he scoffed under his breath as Wheezie marched ahead, her steps confident. It pissed him off more than it should have.

“Maybe because Sarah doesn’t treat me like I’m still twelve,” Wheezie shot back, smirking at him over her shoulder.

Rafe ignored the jab, his eyes scanning the small crowd outside.

A couple of Pogues lingered near the porch, laughing over beers and baskets of fries. Their relaxed, judgmental stares followed him like they could smell the kook entitlement on him from a mile away. He bristled, tightening his grip on Wheezie’s bag.

She bounded up the steps and pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling. He hesitated for half a second before following her inside, knowing he was going to regret ever stepping foot in this place.

The air smelled like beer, fried food, and sunscreen. Behind the counter, Sarah stood with her back to them, her hair tied up in a loose bun.

Wheezie cleared her throat loudly. “Hey, Sar!”

Sarah turned, her smile faltering the second she saw Rafe lurking behind Wheezie. Her expression hardened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Rafe said dryly, crossing his arms.

“I told Wheezie to come by. Not you.” Sarah’s eyes flicked to Wheezie, softening just slightly. “You didn’t need to bring a bodyguard.”

“I wasn’t gonna let her wander around here by herself,” Rafe shot back, his voice low and defensive. He hated the way Sarah’s words hurt, hated that her disapproval still got under his skin after all this time.

Sarah rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped out from behind the counter. “Wander? She’s not a toddler. She knows how to get here. It’s safe.”

Wheezie stood between them, looking like she was torn between laughing and rolling her eyes so hard she might fall over. “Okay, can you two stop? It’s embarrassing.”

Sarah sighed, brushing past Rafe as if he wasn’t even there.

“Whatever. You can go now. Wheezie’s fine here.”

He stood awkwardly near the door, arms crossed, glaring at the locals who cast curious glances his way. It wasn’t worth staying.

Wheezie was safe.

Sarah would make sure of that, whether she hated him or not.

With a sigh, hr pushed open the door and stepped back out onto the porch, letting the door slam behind him. He took a deep breath of salty air, rubbing the back of his neck.

He’d barely made it to the dock when he spotted someone climbing off the boat—

“Dude,” Rafe’s brow furrowed as his friend stepped onto the creaking wood. “Thought you were scared shitless of this place.”

“I’m not scared,” Topper lied through his teeth.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, “Right.”

“We ran out of snacks on the boat, and I’m starving, figured I’d raid the stash at the party.”

“Snacks?”

“I’m starving!” Topper argued, throwing his hands up. “And unless you brought a secret bag of chips somewhere, this is my best shot!”

He sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do to change Topper's mind. “Hurry up.”

“Relax, I’ll be two minutes!"

He watched Topper jog away, sighing and leaning against one of the wooden posts. 

You were probably in there, somewhere. Laughing, maybe, or smiling that smile he used to wake up to, a smile that used to be for him.

Now, it was for everyone but him.

He tried not to think about you, but that was like telling the ocean not to rise and fall with the stupid tides. Therapy had taught him to sit with his feelings, to not let them rot into something worse, but he was just starting and you weren’t just the girl he loved.

You were the only person who had ever seen him for more than his name, his mistakes, or the wreckage Ward Cameron had left in his wake. You didn’t just tolerate him; you chose him, since day one.

He didn’t deserve you, not then, not even now. 

The sound of footsteps broke his focus.

“About time,” Rafe muttered, turning. But it wasn’t Topper.

Sofia stumbled into view, her dark hair wild and face flushed. Her hand gripped the railing for support as she swayed slightly.

He frowned, mildly concerned, “What the f—are you okay?”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and frantic. “Y-You need to go get Topper. Right n-now.”

His first thought was that she might’ve come here to throw some drunken, slurred insults his way.

The last time they'd spoken, things had ended...He didn’t even know how to classify that mess. But it didn't look like she was there to slam him with any guilt-trips or hurtful words.

She just looked scared.

“What?” His brows knit together as he stepped toward her, “What are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

Sofia waved him off, her breathing panicked. “The T-thorntons.”

That stopped him cold.

“What about them?”

She tried to grab his arm, her eyes wide, “They’re fighting. It’s bad.”

“Fighting?”

It couldn't be just some random fight; this had everything to do with the bullshit Topper had pulled.

Shit.

Rafe wasn’t even sure if he could fix it. Could he? You hated him too, and no matter how hard he tried, it seemed like you’d never forgive him for everything he’d fucked up. But Topper—Rafe didn’t even have to think twice.

He knew you, how you were when you’d had enough. You weren’t the type to lose your shit unless it was really bad.

He gritted his teeth, knowing full well that when you finally let it out, it was never just a “throw a drink and move on” kind of thing. Nah, when you lost it, it was like you’d been holding all this shit in for way too long and finally decided you weren’t gonna take it anymore.

He knew exactly what you were pissed about.

Topper. Of course. And him. Fuck.

He hated it.

The way your voice would rise when you finally let everything out.

You weren’t someone who yelled, but when you did? Jesus fucking Christ, it hit different. Rafe could never prepare himself fully for that kind of fury, especially when it was aimed at him. 

He hated seeing you like this, especially when he knew it was because of him. But it was his fault, wasn’t it?

Rafe’s thoughts were a mess as he followed Sofia, who was clearly way over tipsy, stumbling a little, but she was still trying to explain, voice slurring a bit from the alcohol.

“You gotta understand—she was helping me. I wasn’t feeling so great, right? M-my head was spinning, I don’t know… I just needed a little space. But then Topper walked in and he...S-she just lost it.”

He wasn’t even surprised when she mentioned that you’d been helping her out. Of course you would.

You always had that side to you. Even when you were pissed, even when you hated people, you couldn’t help but step in when someone was in need. You hated Sofia, and everyone knew it. You hated the fact that she’d come around right after he’d fucked everything up with you. You hated how fast she seemed to take your place, even though Rafe didn’t want to admit it to himself either.

Still, there you were, trying to make sure Sofia was okay, again. It made him feel like shit. Not just because you were still holding it together when he couldn’t, but because he knew the whole fucking reason you probably didn’t want anything to do with Sofia—because of how it’d felt when he’d jumped into something else so quickly, so recklessly, after breaking your heart.

The sound of raised voices reached him before he even saw you. He could hear the anger in your voice. There was no mistaking it: you were pissed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you this way, and it fucked with his gut. You didn’t lose control easily. You never let anyone see the mess, the shit you were going through.

Now you were ripping into Topper in a way that made his blood run cold. He rounded the corner and saw you, hands flailing, and he couldn’t help but wonder: When was the last time anyone stepped up for you? It certainly hadn’t been him. Not the way he should’ve.

And then, of course, there was Topper. He could see the look on his face—guilt, embarrassment. But it wasn’t going to be enough. You had to work through it yourself.

Your shoulders were tense, the way you stood, like you could snap anyone who walked through that door in half if they so much as blinked the wrong way, was all too familiar.

Your cousin was standing in front of you, trying to apologize like it was gonna fix anything, but you weren’t hearing it. No, you were done with that shit.

Topper wipped his hands down his ruined shirt, green smears of guacamole spreading across the fabric. “I fucked up.”

“No shit,” you hissed, “You don’t get to come back from this. You have no idea how fucking sick I am of you—” Hands shaking as you shoved him back, your words coming out in short bursts, "You're the fucking worst. How could you—"

You were about to throw something—probably another drink—when your eyes snapped over to Rafe.

For a fraction of a second, he thought he saw your breath hitch. You froze, eyes wide for a second, and then your expression soured.

Your lip quivered before you sucked in a breath and squared your shoulders.

"Not you too,” you sneered, throwing your hands in the air as the world had just dropped another pile of shit on your already full plate. “Oh my fucking god, seriously?"

Your face was flushed with anger, lips twisted in a snarl. You were so fucking beautiful, even when you were fuming. He could see the fire in your eyes, that same spark he’d fallen for all those years ago. You were just... you. And it was killing him.

He was so fucked. 

“All of you—” You spit out, “I should’ve known better. I did know better, but I was stupid. So fucking stupid.”

He couldn’t think straight when you looked at him like that, when you had that look in your eyes. Even in the middle of a fight, it was so goddamn hard to look away.

You weren’t just a memory to him anymore. You were right in front of him, and he couldn’t even breathe straight.

Rafe’s throat tightened, feeling something that wasn’t just anger or regret or confusion. He felt longing. He longed to hear your voice, all the time, longed for those mornings when you’d be pressed against him, all warm, the world outside his shitty room irrelevant.

He missed the simple stuff.

He missed your face, the way you’d look at him with that irritation and affection.

It hit him harder than anything had in months—how much time had passed since he last saw that pretty face smile at him like you used to. Since he last kissed your forehead while you fell asleep next to him, since you last fit so perfectly into his arms that he didn’t want to let go.

He didn’t even know how to start getting that back.

He left. Over and over again.

Rafe registered another drink splashing across Topper’s face a little too late, the sound of the liquid hitting his skin pulling him out of his trance. He blinked a few times, the moment dragging back to the mess in front of him.

You weren’t done, though, as if throwing the drink wasn’t enough, you whipped a bowl of guacamole from the table and hurled it at Topper’s face. It splattered across his shirt, leaving a sticky, green mess in its wake.

He didn’t even flinch, still apologizing, still taking it.

“Sis—”

“I don’t want some bullshit excuse! You were supposed to be my family. You were supposed to—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head because you couldn’t fathom finishing the thought.

And then—slap, slap, slap—you were hitting his arms, frustration flashing across your face as you let him have it. 

Your cousin stood there like a fucking idiot, wiping guac off his face, trying to stammer out some kind of half-assed apology. 

“You had no right,” you spat, voice breaking on the words. “None. You don’t just walk in here and act like everything’s fine after what you—” your words choked in your throat. You threw another plate, “You had no right!”

Rafe saw it all, saw the tears ready to spill as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. You weren’t crying yet, but he knew that was about to change. And when it did, it was going to hurt worse than the yelling, worse than the throwing.

Before you could even get another word out, Rafe was there, stepping in between you and Topper, his body tense, preparing himself for something, maybe a few slaps across the face, a drink if you felt generous. You didn’t have to say a word, he could sense it in the way your lips quivered, the way your shoulders shook.

“You need to calm down,” He told you tenderly, though it wasn’t a demand—it was more of a desperate plea.

You didn’t listen.

Instead, you shoved him out of the way, the tears starting to slip down your cheeks, but you didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

“Get out,” you snapped, "Move.”

Rafe didn’t budge, he was here for you, he never stopped fucking choosing you even when he had no right to. He remained still, staring down at you with those blue eyes that had always known you better than anyone.

“Fuck, not like this,” Rafe muttered under his breath, stepping forward once more, this time blocking your path before you could reach Topper again. His hands were gentle on your shoulders as he held you back, “Please, stop.”

You froze, eyes wide, like you couldn’t believe it—you hadn’t been expecting him to step in, hadn’t been expecting him of all people to be the one to try and talk you out of it. 

Rafe’s heart dropped when he saw the way your body was starting to shake. You were spiraling, he could see it coming—he'd been here before. The way your breath hitched, how your eyes turned glassy.

He still knew the signs all too well.

His hands shot out instinctively, grabbing your arms, trying to hold you still, "Hey, hey, calm down," he muttered, his voice soothing, "You're gonna make yourself worse if you don’t stop."

He could feel the rapid pulse under your skin, the way your body tensed like a coiled spring, and he didn’t give a fuck that you still hated him. 

"Look at me," he coaxed, "Please, just breathe with me. You know this ain't gonna help. You gotta breathe."

Rafe’s heart broke all over again as you crumbled in front of him, damn it, he should’ve been there. He should’ve been there when this all fell apart, when you needed someone to hold you together instead of pushing you away.

He hated seeing you like this.

"I’m right here," he said again, softer this time, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Topper stood there, eyes wide, not sure what to do, his face pale as he watched you fall apart in front of Rafe.

Sofia, still drunk and disoriented, caught the look in his eyes and quietly grabbed his arm, “We need to go," she whispered, nudging him, "T-this isn’t helping her."

Topper’s eyes moved to you, and then to Rafe, you could see it in his expression—the guilt, the regret. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

Rafe shot him a look, one that said everything—get out.

Your cousin, wiped his face before he took a few steps back. "I’m sorry," he muttered, eyes darting between you and Rafe.  "I’m so sorry.”

He turned away like a dog with his tail between his legs, Sofia following him without saying much, leaving you.

Rafe barely paid them any mind, his entire focus on you, his hands still holding yours, as he watched you try to calm your breathing.

He pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered again, "Not going anywhere. I’m here, swear to God, I’m here."

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him fully, not caring if he was blocking the view of anyone else, not caring if things were a fucking mess—he only cared about getting you back to yourself.

He could feel it in his chest, every shitty thing that had piled up, every moment no one had your back when you needed it most.

You didn’t pull away. Maybe it was the anger finally burning out or the exhaustion catching up to you, but for a moment, you let him hold you. Your chest heaved as you fought for control, but your weight sagged against his hands.

His hands loosened their grip, his thumb brushing against your arm without him even realizing it. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to risk letting go because God knew if he’d ever get this close to you again.

You’re safe. You’re okay. I’ve got you. 

He didn’t deserve it—not even a little, but he couldn’t let go, you needed someone, even if it wasn’t really him you wanted anymore. 

Rafe could sense the way your breathing came out as almost pants against his chest. Every little tremor sent a pang through his chest, like someone had grabbed his ribs and squeezed until it hurt to breathe.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he fought harder? 

Rafe rested his cheek against your hair, closing his eyes as he let himself feel it—the weight of you leaning on him. The smell of your perfume, faint but still the same as always. He felt like a fucking thief, stealing this moment from you when he had no right. You didn’t want this from him, didn’t need this from him.

He wished he could take it all back, erase every mistake, the fight, every stupid decision that had pushed you to this point. If he could trade places with you, take all the pain and carry it himself, he would. In a heartbeat. 

You took one shuddering breath, then another. It was enough for him to feel like maybe he’d done something right for once. Maybe he could—

“Get your hands off me.”

Rafe barely moved. His grip slackened, but he didn’t let go, didn’t step away like you wanted.

You pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I said get your fucking hands off me.”

“Not happenin’,” He swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming against his throat, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “You’re not okay.”

 “Go fuck yourself. You don’t get to decide that—”

Your voice cracked, and the sound of it nearly knocked the will to live from his body. He’d always known your tells, had always been able to read you better than you liked.

Rafe’s hands twitched, and then he moved them, moving like he was about to let you go—but then you did it.

You curled your arms around yourself, your fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, right over your stomach. Protective.

Fuck.

Could it be? It was an unconscious gesture, you probably didn’t realize you’d made, but to him, it might as well have been a fucking confession.

Rafe felt his body lock up, every muscle going rigid as the pieces fell into place. 

Fuck fuck fuck. Topper was right, wasn't he?

His throat went dry, he managed to croak out, “You’re—”

“No,” you snapped immediately, your fingers tightening on your dress, but you wouldn’t look at him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t need you.”

He knew he was losing you.

Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

“Fuck you. You don’t get to— say shit like that. You don’t get to—” Your breathing hitched, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“To what? To give a shit?”

He waited, watching, hoping, praying—please look at me, baby, please—but you didn’t move.

You scoffed, a bitter sound.

“You don’t care. You just don’t like the idea of—” Your breath caught, but you swallowed it down, pushing past the lump in your throat. “You don’t like the idea of me making a choice that doesn’t involve you.”

He hadn’t breathed properly since he saw your hands gripping your stomach, hiding yourself from him like you thought he was something to be afraid of. Like you thought he wouldn’t love you.

You thought he wouldn’t fucking stay.

“I love you.”

He barely recognized his own voice when he said it, but it was the only thing he could spill out. He swore to God he saw your left eye twitch at the confession, he knew what came next, but he’d never been good at shutting up when he should when it came to you.

“I do,” he insisted, “And I know I don’t—I don’t deserve to say that. I don’t deserve to expect anything from you.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “But I need you to know it.”

You clenched your jaw.

“I fucked up, I know. I fucked up so bad.”

You turned your head to the side, blinking up at the ceiling, refusing to spare him a glance. “I don’t want you to fix it.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “I know, but I can’t—I can’t just let you go through this alone.”

Your chest rose and fell too quickly, your breath uneven, but still—you stood your ground. “I don’t need you.”

“Please don’t say that,” he nearly dropped to his knees. “Please.”

You looked at him, since he’d realized what this meant, you lifted your head, met his gaze—really met it.

And shit—It nearly destroyed him, because he knew that look.

“Where the fuck were you, Rafe? Kissing her two months after we ended? Huh—” Your breath shuddered, and you shook your head, stepping back, “You didn’t even wait. You just—just moved the fuck on like I never even mattered—”

“It wasn’t like that—”

"Did you fuck her?" Your lips curled into a faux smile. "That’s what I thought."

"No,” He added quickly, shaking his head like the thought alone disgusted him, "No, I didn’t."

You chuckled disbelieving. "Don’t lie to me."

"I’m not," he said, stepping closer despite the way your body went rigid. "I didn’t touch her like that. I swear to God."

"But you wanted to, right?"

His head moved so fast it gave him whiplash, "No. The only person I’ve ever wanted is you.”

You scoffed, “That’s real sweet, real fucking poetic.”

“I let my own shit get in the way, and I hurt you. But I swear to God, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“That supposed to make me feel better? You fucked off to play house with some other girl,” You swallowed hard, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why were you there with her? Why did you let me think—"

"Because I’m a fucking assshole," he admitted, "I was trying to forget you, okay? But I couldn’t. No matter what I did, it was always you."

“Fuck you.” You snickered. “Where were you when I finally got my internship? The one I worked for, the one I wanted so bad?” You shook your head, “You didn’t even text me. Not once.”

His throat was tight, his pulse hammering, because he had thought about it—so many times, so many nights staring at his phone, fingers hovering, but he hadn’t.

Rafe’s heart plummeted.

“I—”

“You what? You forgot?”

His nails bit into his palms, “I—”

“You don’t get to speak,” you seethed, you eyes burning through him. “You don’t get to fucking say you care when you weren’t there, when you didn’t even fucking check if I was okay.

"I'm sorry."

"Where the fuck were you,” you whispered, voice shaking with grief, “when I found out I was pregnant with your fucking kid?”

Rafe froze, his stomach jumped around, violently, his ears started ringing. His brain short-circuited, his lungs forgot how to take in air, his heart fucking stopped.

Pregnant.

Pregnant. With his—

“Oh, right.” Your laugh was venomous, “You showed up at my charity gala.” You licked your lips, shaking your head, “Defending her.”

He never felt so completely useless, completely fucking helpless while you stood in front of him, looking up at him like you hated him.

“I—” He started, but nothing came out. “You—”

There was nothing to fucking say, you were right, he had failed you.

You weren’t telling him this so he could weigh in or because you wanted him to be a part of it. You were telling him so he’d know, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings, so he wouldn’t ever think, even for a second, that there was still a version of this where he got to be a part of it.

“How long?” The words were hoarse, hardly audible.

Your lips curled in disgust, arms crossing tight over your chest. “Like you fucking care.”

He did, he did care.

So fucking much that he thought he might fucking die under the weight of it. Except the realization hit him just as quickly—he didn’t get to stand here, wide-eyed and breathless and shocked like this wasn’t the natural conclusion to the shitshow of mistakes he’d made.

“Don’t fucking stand there and act like this is some big revelation. You didn’t spend the last months with your tongue down someone else’s throat while I was home—sick, alone—wondering how the fuck I was supposed to do this without you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, pressing your knuckles to your lips to stop them from shaking.

His gut twisted.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jesus Christ, he’d been so fucking stupid.

“I don’t need you. I never did.”

It was a lie, maybe you even believed it.

But Rafe knew you, understood how hard it was for you to ask for help. Knew how much it had hurt to stand in front of him, admitting the truth. And Rafe—he needed to fix this. Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

“I should’ve been there.”

“Yeah? No shit.”

Rafe felt his ribs caving in. “I’m here now.”

“That’s not good enough.”

It was a death sentence, it was fair but fuck, he couldn’t accept it.

Rafe stepped closer.

You took a step back.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swore, desperate. “I don’t care if you fucking hate me, don’t care if you never forgive me.” His throat worked around the lump in it. “I’m here.”

You were so fucking angry. So fucking hurt. He didn’t blame you for it. But if he didn’t try, if he didn’t fucking show you—prove to you that he was here now—then he’d never forgive himself.

“You think I’m gonna just forgive you for this?” you sneered, arms folded tightly over your chest. “Just because you’re here now, just because you say the words that mean nothing—that’s enough? After everything? After all of it?”

All he could do was look at you—look at the person he had ruined, the person he had loved, and still loved, more than anything. 

“I just—” He sucked in a breath, running a hand through his growing hair. “Tell me about the baby.”

Your expression faltered before you hardened again, lips pressing into a thin line.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit.” His voice broke. “Don’t do that—don’t shut me out. Is it... a boy? A girl?”

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Why does it matter?”

“Don’t—don’t keep me in the dark, please. You’ve felt them move?” 

You looked down at your feet. “No.” 

"Did you—uh—" He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves raw. "Do you have morning sickness? I read that happens early on, right?"

You blinked, "What?"

"Like... throwing up and all that? You okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned, but it only made your head spin.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Can we drop it?”

It’s then he remembers the beach cleanup, the memories of that afternoon colliding all at once—the way you’d collapsed into him, pale and unresponsive. The panic that gripped his chest as he carried you to the truck. The fight during the drive, when you told him to leave, your refusal to let him come inside.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“You were…” He pratically gasped, “You were pregnant. At the beach cleanup.”

You stiffened, already dreading where he was going with this.

“Don’t.”

His pulse raced, “That’s why you didn’t want me to come inside the hospital, wasn’t it?” His words spilled out, “You were scared they’d tell me. Holy shit.”

“Stop,” you snapped, but he couldn’t.

“You passed out because of—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. “Jesus Christ.”

“I said stop.”

He couldn’t unsee it now—couldn’t unfeel your dead weight on his arms. He’d been right there, clueless, driving you to the hospital while you were carrying his baby. And instead of being there for you, he’d made everything worse.

“I didn’t know,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “I swear I didn’t know.”

“Exactly.” Your voice was cold, “You didn’t know because you weren’t there.”

He was going to have to spend that entire fucking inheritance fortune on therapy

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[oceantornadoo]

blue collar!simon riley x f!reader (smut, daddy kink, shenanigans, unedited, 18+)

when he leaves the worksite, there's an itch at the back of his head. it's the voice that occasionally comes and goes, telling him to veer off the road and into that frilly grocery store you like, all the way to the flower section. he picks out the first bouquet he sees, not even processing the signage before making his way to the checkout counter.

"sir?" the worker squeaks out, eyes fidgeting with the computer as she reads him his total. "yeah?" he grunts. "there's a- something on your- yeah, right there." she's pointing to the dust that's settled on his face throughout the day, making itself at home in his pores. all he does is glare, fishing out enough cash to cover the total before snatching his prize and walking out.

when he gets to your flat, it's almost automatic. park, walk, keys, push and- "simon riley, those better not be work boots on my washed floors." fuck, that's what it was. he rewinds, kicking his boots into the waterproof mat you insisted on months ago, when he told you he was moving in with you after his lease ended. when he had to shut up your complaining with his hand snapping your jaw closed and your spine bent over the couch.

"how was your day?" there you are, pretty and tired in your work clothes. he hauls you towards him by the waist, flowers still wrapped in his grip as they get squished between your bodies. "missed you." he murmurs, nosing at your nape as he inhales your clean scent. he marks you like a dog, too feral to care about the dirtiness of his clothes. "are those flowers?" he grunts an affirmative, tossing them on the counter before picking you up to sit next to them. you coo over the colors as he rucks your skirt up, callused hands tracing the softness of your skin. "thinkin' 'bout this cunt all day, pretty." the fabric settles around your waist, enough for him to see the triangle of underwear you picked after he left this morning. you get all shy, trying to close your legs, so he steps closer to prevent you from stealing his prize for all his hard work.

"you should really wash your hands, si." despite your words, you yank off your blouse and unclip your bra, whining when he pauses his touches to look at your tits. "won't use my hands. give us a kiss, dove." before you can open your mouth, he surges forward, hungry. it's wet and saliva drips down your chin as he licks into your mouth, more devouring than a proper kiss. "kept gettin' distracted, thinkin' of the sounds ya make. all those fuckin' whines." you giggle into his mouth, canting your hips to remind him what he came for. he growls, nipping your jaw and trailing downwards to wrap his mouth around a hardened nipple. "don't you wanna- fuck." you pant, clenching around nothing as he pays more attention to your tits than your cunt.

"use yer words, pet." he nips the side of your breast. one of your hands leaves it place on the counter to slide through his hair in an attempt to push him down. "want you to eat me." he hums in appreciation. "you sure? dirty hands, dirty face, love." you huff in frustration and tuck your hands under your skirt, shimmying your underwear down your hips and off.

"please, please, please." you even lift the fabric up so he gets a view of your cunt, wet and wanting. "please, what?" he murmurs, already using those hands of his to spread your legs wider, tits abandoned. you know what he wants, the shame curling low in your belly. it shrivels and dies when he bends lower, huffing warm breaths onto your pretty pussy. "please, daddy?"

he eats you like he's starving.

with a strong grip that's sure to bruise, he keeps you wrenched open under him as he pays attention to where you ache the most. he starts with small kisses, in and around, until you grip his hair and threaten to never fuck him again. then, he finds your hole, winking hello in your desperation. light pushes of his tongue make you clench and ache, heels digging into his back. one hand in his hair and the other on your tits, pinching your nipples to the rhythm that he tonguefucks you too. it's good, but not enough. which he knows.

only once your chest starts heaving does he pay attention to your little clit, desperate to get played with. he sucks and it goes straight to your core. there's a telltale sound of a zipper and you imagine him tugging his cock, dry with no want for comfort, as he pays you the whole of his affections. every ministration gets you a little bit closer to the edge, desire coiling in your core. "my cunt, ya get tha'?" you nod, sucking in a breath as his nose brushes against your clit. "like tha', baby? go'on, do it again." he urges you to grind against his face, flat tongue brushing whatever isn't against his nose. the friction is delicious and your orgasm is suddenly fast approaching. you tug at your nipples in a frenzied manner, nearing the edge with every grind and pinch.

"fuck, si- i'm-" he hums against your pussy, another shock straight to the core. "come, baby. right 'ere." your walls clench with tension and release, your body slackening in his hold as you come. he stands to his full height, one hand rubbing at his cock like you knew he was. "come on, si." he spurts ropes of cum on your tits, painting them white while the aftershocks of your orgasm slow gracefully. it's only when he tucks his cock back into his jeans, no boxers in sight, do you notice it.

"simon riley, are those the new jeans i got you? why are they ripped already?!"

ah, that's why he got the flowers.

-

this idea has been in my drafts forever, im not in love with the output but omg it's done!

my masterlist here

[bagholes]

English subtitles for Johanne Sacreblue

You've probably heard of a parody of Emilia Pérez (produced by a Mexican trans woman!!!) called Johanne Sacreblue. The whole thing is in Spanish (and French, obviously), so I translated the whole thing to English (see read more)

While I wasn't involved in the production of the original short, I'm Mexican and I have a degree in Translation and Applied Linguistics, so hopefully you'll enjoy my translation. Please give the video some love and don't give Emilia Pérez more attention!!

!!!!!!!! ENGLISH SUBTITLES !!!!!!!!!

(Hey! I'm a professional translator, and I translated the whole thing in English. Please upvote so more people can enjoy this video!)

Ah, nauseating France.   

Home of wonderful food such as baguettes, croissants, and more.

Lots of wonderful people live here.

Obviously, we’re French. 

This might look like a love story,

but open your eyes and pay attention!

In France there’s rising burglary rates. 

But why tell you about France when I can show you?

Welcome to la France!

♫

Welcome to la France.

A unique and special country.

Where you’ll know what it means to truly love. Love, love from France.

Live the experience of this place. 

[Homer Simpson voice] Wow, classy.

Maitre D': Good evening, sir. Would you please leave without a fuss right now?

Homer: OK.

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back. 

Crêpes? Les crêpes? I didn’t shower today. 

I’m not worried. I smell just fine. 

Like rats, sweat, and wine.

The cheese I eat smells better than me,

but my perfume can take care of it. 

I love feeling superior. 

Here’s some rapping just because. 

Oh, mon ami. Merci. Sacré bleu. Comment tu t’appelles? Merci. Déjà vu. Bon voyage! Pizza, kwason. 

It’s croissant, croissant, croissant!

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back. 

Hit it, Mbappé. 

Viva Cinco the Mayo!

Long live cakes!

Marie Antoinette! 

Long live cakes!

My fucking crêpe still hurts when I think of you

Part 1: surprise and challenge.

Maybe all those years living in a ranch were good for him.

He wasn’t living in a ranch!

He lived in Mexico City for ten years.

Same thing. It might as well have been a jungle.

Mexicans are savages. 

Do you know what they do to cheese over there?

They eat it fresh!

I don’t think he copied their ways.

He’s still a good Frenchman.

He better be. I expect no less.

He’s my only son. 

All the suffering in Mexico must’ve gotten rid of his rebel nature.��

He’ll be the perfect man. The perfect male successor for the largest baguette company in France.

My son. My manly son. 

Did I already mention that my son is a man?

He’s here!

Maman, papa… bonjour!

Son of a-

[title credits] Johanne Sacreblue. Directed by someone with ADHD.

What were you up to in Mexico?

I learned how to open a beer using a bill.

Jonathan is using a dress, Bridgitte. And he has breasts! What do you think he was up to in Mexico?

Now my name is Johanne.

Nonsense! You’re not getting the company. No way. 

That’s fine. I don’t even want it. 

Honey, it’s your future. You’re our only DAUGHTER. You have to take the position. 

You’ll get the company. End of story. 

You don’t even want me to own the company!

Because I didn’t think it’s what you wanted!

Why did we stop speaking French?

What did you say?

Nothing. I got confused.

I’ll tell you something: remember the Ratatouille? They gave us this letter. They challenged us to the national France competition to decide once and for all what’s better: baguettes or croissants. 

Do you want to enjoy your fortune? Win this competition and manage the company. Or go back to Mexico to eat guacamole.

For the last time, no! You won’t get the company. 

I’m the only one who’s always loved croissants.

I’m the oldest son. It’s my right. 

Your right? How can think that about your brothers?

Any of them could do a good job.

Hugo can’t get over his artistic phase and he’s addicted to sniffing paint thinner!

I’m not just sniffing paint thinner! Yellow paint makes me happy.

Mario Hugo! Good luck with his twangy voice.

Mario Hugo: I agree with my beloved brother, but I love you, my family. 

No one knows what you’re saying!

Dugo is young! Why can’t it be me?

Well, first of all, you don’t have a penis!

Oof. Gotcha.

I’m trans. Other than that, I haven’t changed at all. 

Does it really affect you that much?

I’ve made myself clear: anything that affects our family affects me!

It’s not that we don’t love you, honey, it’s just that… you embarrass us. 

You’re not even an Hugo!

Yes, I am! I’m [French accent] Arturo! (Translator’s note: the rhyme got lost in translation. Sorry about that). 

“Arturo” isn’t “Hugo”!

Yes, it is! Ar-tu-ro!

Where did you get that?

Well… Chofls!! The letter!

The Sacrebleu have invited us to the Great Paris Competition. We will show once and for all what food item best represents our country! If you beat that family’s stupid transexual, you’ll get the company

I don’t know what to do, bestie. I don’t want to own that goddamn company. 

And why don’t you learn how to do something?

Because if I do it, they’re gonna cut me off, and I’ll be an unemployed, 28-year-old trans woman who has no life skills. 

Why don’t you just tell your father that you don’t want to do it and that you won’t do it?

It’s too late. I have no choice. 

Bestie, I’m so sorry you can’t enjoy your fortune with no commitment.

It’s awful…

Good evening, ladies. What can I get you?

I’ll have some French molletes.

I’ll have chicken.

Of course, ma’am. How shall we cook it?

Anything is fine as long as you kill it as cruelly as possible. 

Excellent choice, ma’am.

Anything else? Would that be all?

That’ll be all. Well, actually, I think I also want-

You said that would be all! You must assume the consequences of your decisions. Rot in hell! [spits]

Oh my, what a great service!

I know! They have the best customer service in France! Okay, so are you signing up for the competition?

I really don’t have a choice…

Bestie, you can do anything. You’re stronger than every woman I know, and I’m not just saying this because you used to be a man…

Thanks for the clarification.

You’re gonna compete and you’re gonna win.

Emily, you have no idea how much that means to me. You’re the only reason I wanted to come to Paris. I wanted to see my friend Emily in Paris. It was the only reason I wanted to come tot this city: see Emily in Paris.

Oh là là, I know! Everyone tells me that! What I don’t get is why you don’t want to compete. This is such an honor for France-

It’s just that there’s a lot of things I don’t understand since I came back. Why are we so impolite? Why do we love animal cruelty? And why exactly do we hate Muslims? 

Because it’s fun!

Yeah, maybe, but have you ever considered that it’s wrong?

Oh my God! You’re right! I’d never thought about it! We’re awful!

Oui!

What we do to birds… we drown them in cognac! Why are we doing it? Who thought of that?

I don’t know.

I feel.. dirty! I want to take a shower!

I knew I wasn’t crazy!

Seriously… I never thought that we were doing something wrong. I always thought that people who get minimum wage liked how we treat them. No wonder they sent you to Mexico… You’re crazy.

I got sent to Mexico for being trans.

They sent you to Mexico because you’ve been hallucinating. You’re seeing Marie Antoinette.

I’m not hallucinating! It’s the actual ghost of Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette: don’t listen to hear. She dresses like a Guatemalan. I’m as real as my tragic death. They should behead her for having such damaged hair.

There’s no point in knowing the truth about France. At the end of the day, I’m just an ordinary French millionaire with enough money to live for four days. There’s nothing I can do.

Marie Antoinette: [unintelligible] sleep paralysis at night.

If you win, all of France will listen to you.

Ladybug: Welcome to the most important competition of la France, where France’s most important families will make a very important decision.

Cat Noir: that’s right! We’re here to make a very important decision. What food best represents France: baguettes or croissants?

Our fellow citizens will know what we’re talking about, but for those dirty foreigners that only know how to use soap…

Wear perfume!

We’ll explain the rules.

There’s two events: whoever wins both will be victorious!

The first even will be a race! The first one to reach the Eiffel tower, touch it and say our catchphrase “we give up!” will be the winner!

Without further ado, we’re heading to the competition!

It’s the best race I’ve seen years!

The Ratatouille throw a croissant to the Sacreblue and almost slashes her throat. It’s cat-tastic!

But Johanne takes the lead with 400 rats, and she wins the race!

Rats! Meow!

Here she comes!

Vive la France!

Your love for croissants ends here. What an embarrassment!

Don’t feel bad, honey. I never really expected anything from you. 

Arturo, I’m not gonna lie…

Brother, defeat will only make you stronger.

What?

You’re a great man. You’ll make it. 

Can I have five French dollars to buy yellow paint? I want to paint. 

Later that night in some French dumpster

♫

I’m just a trash man in Paris.

Another piece of trash in Paris.

But I’m also the greatest trash

I’m the trash man.

I’m such trash that I made a fortune using other cultures.

I’m such trash that I enjoy cancelling last minute

because I’m scared 

that they’ll see my tiny baguette.

I don’t have the guts to say that I fucked up.

I’m scared to know what people think of me

If I’m a good guy or just a bald bad guy

I’m such trash that it’s embarrassing.

I thought Karla Sofia was from Puebla.

I’m such trash that I wrote a musical about narcos.

“Penis to vagina, woman to man.”

What the fuck was that shit, bro?

I’m disgusting, don’t you see? 

I’m disgusting, don’t you see? 

Part 2: from hate to love

Why did you ask me to meet you here?

[sigh] I came to ask you to stop fighting over something as dumb as bread.

Baguettes are just bread, but croissants are France itself. It’s in our veins, in our wine, in the air we breathe!

Arturo, wait, don’t do it!

[coughing]

You can’t take a deep breath in France. Dumbass.

Whatever. You’re just saying this because you’ve been away for a long time. You’re nothing but a chimichanga lover. 

Cinco de Mayo!

How dare you!

Does it make you feel good to be a man hitting a woman?

Actually, yes. Now I get why we do it.

I’ve had enough! I can’t take it anymore! What’s wrong with France? Why do they like to hit women? Why do they like racism? Can’t you see that what we’re doing is wrong?

Actually, no. I had never thought about it. I never considered that… Oh my God… We’re monsters! What are we doing? We must put an end to this!

But how?

You’ll do it with me. With your amazing arguments, we’ll change France. 

Do you think it can be done? But how?

Oui, mademoiselle. If you let me win the second event, it’ll be a tie, and they’ll have to listen to us according to the French rules I hadn’t mentioned before. 

I don’t know if I can trust you.

Trust me, mademoiselle. Trust this stinky French heart.

Alright. Kiss me.

Do you want me to kiss you?

Yes. Give me a French kiss.

Here it’s just “a kiss”, stupid

Welcome to the second competition!

This is the most fabulous competition! It’s the racism competition!

That’s right, Cat Noir! And for those stupid Americans who don’t know what we’re talking about, in this competition, participants are given a total of 30 minutes to deport and catch as many immigrants as possible.

Everything is allowed: from making up crimes to blackmailing! 

Each Muslim is worth 5 points. However, participants can get extra points from hate crimes against Muslims, Black people, Latinos, members of the LGBT community, and fans of Emily in Paris!

Let’s watch the racism competition!

We apologize for the technical issues. Cat Noir had a fanatic episode. 

It was amazing! With a great lead, our winner, Arturo, was victorious. So we’ll have to call this a tie. 

Oh! For the first time in more than ten years, we’re getting some words from our ten French emperors!

Stop!

There… won’t be… a tie!

This decision will no longer be postponed. 

 Declaramos abierto el duelo final.

And it’ll happen right now.

Because I love Queen Marie Antoinette.

The final duel…

It’s the fight to the death with baguettes!

Good luck! And may the Frenchest win. Yes. Oui. Oui. Oui.

[Elmo]

Part 3: destiny

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

I think there’s gonna be a fight to the death with baguettes.

What? Fight to the death with baguettes? What’s that?

Oh, fight to the death with baguettes. I’ve heard about it. I think they’re gonna fight to the death… with baguettes.

[gasp]

Johanne: I don’t want to fight to the death with baguettes with you.

Arturo: Neither do I, but we have no choice.

J: Yes, there is. Haven’t they considered that this is wrong?

No!

Arturo: Papa Johns!

Papa Johns: I pitted your families against you with a little help from whom you love the most… your butlers. 

Arturo: Chofls!

Johanne: Wigles, why?

Wiggles: I’m sorry, madame. I need the money, and you haven’t given me raise in 25 years. 

Papa Johns: I’ll destroy you so the greatest French food gets recognition: French fries!

Johanne: You’re losing a lot of wine.

Johanne: you have a rat on your head!

Papa Johns: this tiny chef taught me his secrets, and I used them for evil. 

Wigles: I think I got Stockholm syndrome due to so many years of labor exploitation.

And that’s how we got away from the bad guy, Mr. French ambassador. 

Controlled by a rat… The nightmare of every French. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how Johanne Sacreblue and Arturo Ratatouille restored the glory of France. What a captivating story you’ve brought us, full of pain and social commentary. Is there anything else you would like to add before we run out of funds?

Well, actually, yes. As many of you know, I went to Mexico, and my fellow Mexicans asked me to bring a gift to France when I came back, and what a better person to give it to than the ambassador? 

Oh, what wonderful surprise have you brought from Mexico? Could it be some wonderful Mexican tortillas?

Wait… Is that-

Yes, a cake. Un gâteau. 

[Credits]

And that’s the story of how your parents saved la France.

Thanks for telling me these stories, grandma.

My grand-son. My grand-son, a boy…

[sigh] 

♫

Tito, my grandson Tito (translator’s note: another rhyme that got lost in translation. Sorry again). Tito, tito. My grandson Tito. 

You smell like frog legs in the morning.

You smell like you haven’t showered in weeks. 

You smell like a moldy baguette.

You smell like the omelette that I ate. 

You smell like cheese. Smelly, smelly!

You smell like your grandma.

Tito, Tito, Tito, my grandson Tito. 

You smell like snails. You smell like escargot.

You smell like France. 

[inseobts]

Fake Proposal

in a way or another, accidentally or not, they end up making fake proposals...

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, ace, law and shanks

a/n: put my whole heart for the shanks one and now I feel lonely af lmao

words count: around 0.6k - 1.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The smell of grilled fish and sizzling meats fills the air as you and Luffy settle into your seats at a bustling restaurant by the shore. The place is packed, laughter and chatter surrounding you as waiters move between tables carrying plates stacked high with food.

Luffy is already bouncing in his chair, eyes darting between different dishes on the menu. He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oi, look at this!” He shoves the menu in your face, pointing at a special section “‘Lovebird Feast’, free dessert for nearly married couples! That’s awesome! I want it!!”

You snort, pushing the menu back down “You’d fake a whole marriage just for free food?”

Luffy tilts his head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “Duh! Free food’s free food! It's always the most delicious.”

Before you can protest, he’s already turning to the nearest waiter, waving them down enthusiastically, “Hey! We want the lovebird thingy!”

The waiter, a woman with a kind smile, gasps in excitement “Oh! How wonderful! Congratulations, you two!”

You open your mouth to correct her “Stop Luffy, we’re not—“ but Luffy is already jumping ahead.

“Shishishi! We aren’t yet but I’ll do it right now!”

Wait what?!

He suddenly slides out of his chair and drops onto one knee in front of you. The entire restaurant seems to hush. A few heads turn. Somewhere in the back, a musician starts playing soft romantic music.

Oh. Oh no.

Luffy grabs your hand, grinning up at you like he’s having the time of his life “Y/N! We’ve been on so many adventures together, and you always give me food, and you’re really fun to be around!” His grip tightens “So, do you want to marry me?”

The restaurant erupts. People cheer, clapping and whistling like this is the most romantic thing they’ve ever seen.

Your face burns.

This idiot! He didn’t even try to make it sound real!

Still, two can play at this game.

You bring a hand to your chest, gasping dramatically “Luffy, I—I don’t know what to say!” You blink rapidly, pretending to fight back tears “This is so sudden! But...” You clasp his hands in yours, shaking them for extra effect “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

The cheering gets louder. Someone throws flower petals over you. The musician in the back picks up the tempo.

Luffy beams, bouncing to his feet “AWESOME! Now where’s the food?”

The waiter, practically swooning, claps her hands together “Right away, sir! And don’t worry, your Lovebird Feast comes with our cutest personalised decorations, so give us a moment and we’ll get it to you”

Luffy turns to you, grinning ear to ear “See? Told ya it’d work!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying so hard not to laugh “You’re impossible.”

A few minutes later, your table is overflowing with steaming plates of grilled seafood, buttery rolls, and a massive chocolate cake that says Congratulations, Lovebirds! in fancy frosting and two small drawings of your caricatures with hearts around them.

Luffy digs in immediately, stuffing his face with meat and laughing between bites “Man, this was such a good idea! Maybe we should do it again at another restaurant!”

You snort, shaking your head “What, you gonna propose to me at every place we eat now?”

He swallows a mouthful of food and grins “Maybe! You’d say yes every time, right?”

Your heart stumbles over itself for a second, but you quickly recover “Only if there’s free food involved, I guess.”

Luffy laughs, shoving another piece of cake into his mouth “Then it’s a deal!”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop smiling. Even if it was fake, and even if he only did it for the food…

You kinda wouldn’t mind hearing him say those words again.

Maybe for real, next time.

You’re now on your way back to the ship and just thinking about telling everyone what happened makes you laugh.

“What are you laughin at?” Luffy asks while bouncing his own belly.

“Sanji’s gonna hate us when we’ll tell him what we did to get free food…” you laugh more.

Luffy suddenly stops and you turn to see what’s going on with him. Only to see him trying to mimic Sanji’s face and expression, “Food isn’t a game!! And why did you use my y/n for your stupid plan?!?”.

You start laughing so hard that your stomach starts to hurt.

“Let’s make a bet Y/N… I bet he’s gonna say the exact same words I said just now” he says putting his hand in front of you.

“Mmh okay. I bet he’s going to say something like ‘How dare you propose to Y/N before me!!!’”

Luffy smiles and “That’s a good one. What do you want if ya win?”

Oh, now this is a hard question… What do you want?

Then an idea pop up in your mind.

“If I win I’ll be the captain for one day!” You say smiling proudly at your own mind, imagining already the things you could do and make Luffy do as his Captain.

“Shishishi, that’s a good one. Okay. But if I win… we’re gonna get a real ring your size for the next time!” His eyes close as his smile widens even more, “So? Deal?”

You heart start beating so fast that you’re bearing breathing.

Why?

Why does he want a ring?

And why is he planning on proposing again?

Then you snap out of your thoughts as you hear his laugh again. You look at his hand in front of you, waiting to be shaken.

“Deal…” you say as you now shake his hand.

Back to the Thousand Sunny the first thing Luffy does is looking for Sanji and tell him everything that happened, excluding the bet part of course.

He even mimicked the expressions the waiters and waitresses had while he was proposing.

Then, after a moment of shock and as you were anticipating, Sanji finally speaks “Mon Dieu , food isn’t a game, idiot! And why did you use my precious Y/N for your dumb game…”

“Oh, you lost Y/N. Now we’ll get a ring!!” Luffy smiles at you, ignoring the way Sanji stopped his desperate act just to look at him like he murdered someone.

You blush hard, not being able to even say a word.

“WHAT RING NOW? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? Y/N STOP LAUGHING, THE IDIOT IS BEING SERIOUS!!”

Sanji keeps trying to stop both you and Luffy, but honestly?

You wouldn’t mind getting proposed again, and who knows maybe with the ring it will feel real.

And you don’t mind it at all.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro knew coming here was a mistake.

The restaurant is way too fancy for his taste, golden chandeliers, white tablecloths, expensive plates that look like they belong in a museum. The portions are tiny, the waiters have that I’m better than you attitude, and worst of all… Sanji recommended it.

You, however, are having a great time.

You sip your drink, smiling at the romantic ambiance, while Zoro sulks across from you, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This place is nice” you hum.

Zoro scoffs “Tch. Feels like a prison.”

You roll your eyes, about to retort, when his fork suddenly slips off the table. With a sigh, Zoro pushes his chair back and kneels down to grab it.

And that’s when it happens.

A loud gasp echoes through the restaurant.

The soft clinking of silverware stops. Conversations halt. The waiter carrying a tray of wine nearly drops it.

Zoro freezes, fork in hand.

“…What the hell?” he mutters.

You glance around and immediately see the problem. The entire restaurant is staring at him, some people are covering their mouths, others are tearing up, and the woman at the table next to you whispers excitedly to her date “omg look, he’s proposing!”

They think he’s proposing...

Your lips twitch. Oh, this is gold.

Zoro must realize it too, because he slowly looks up at you, processing the situation. The restaurant waits with bated breath. You see the exact moment he decides to roll with it.

Still kneeling, he sighs dramatically and reaches for your hand instead of his fork.

“Guess there’s no backing out now” he says flatly.

A chorus of awws sweeps through the restaurant. Someone sniffles.

You bite your lip, holding back laughter. If Zoro’s gonna pull this, you might as well make him suffer.

So, with your most dramatic expression, you gasp, bringing a hand to your chest “Zoro! Is this—” You choke up for effect “Is this really happening?”

Zoro glares at you, silently daring you to push further.

You do.

You blink rapidly, pretending to fight back tears “I—I never thought this day would come!” You squeeze his hand, voice trembling “Ever since I first saw you, I knew—” You pause, just to let the anticipation build “that you were the love of my life!”

A woman two tables down bursts into tears.

Zoro’s jaw tightens. His ears are definitely red now. But he won’t let you win so easily.

He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah… you know, it’s been real annoying, carrying this ring around for so long.”

Your eyes widen. Oh, he did NOT just—

The restaurant collectively gasps again. Even the chef peeks out from the kitchen.

Zoro still doesn’t have a ring, so the bastard reaches over, plucks a tiny onion ring off his plate, and slides it onto your finger.

“There,” he says, smirking “You happy now?”

You nearly choke on air.

The restaurant erupts. Cheers. Clapping. Someone throws flower petals. A waiter rushes forward with champagne.

You need to end this. Fast.

So, with all the enthusiasm of a dramatic soap opera heroine, you throw yourself into Zoro’s arms, hugging him tightly.

“YES! A MILLION TIMES YES!”

The place loses it. Some guy at the bar is sobbing. The waiter brings out a massive cake with Congratulations! written in fancy chocolate drizzle. The restaurant manager himself personally congratulates you.

You and Zoro finally lock eyes, both of you struggling to keep a straight face.

Still holding you, he leans down, voice low enough for only you to hear.

“You are so dead after this” he mutters.

You grin “Worth it.”

Zoro sighs, but there’s amusement in his expression. He still hasn’t let go of your waist, and for a second, the noise around you fades, the restaurant blurring into the background.

His thumb brushes against your hip.

“You really wanna sell this?” he murmurs.

You raise a brow “What are you—”

And then he kisses you.

It’s quick, barely more than a brush of lips, but it still shuts you up completely. Your breath catches as the warmth of him lingers, his grip firm and steady as if grounding himself.

Then he pulls back, smirking at your stunned expression “Figured we had to make it convincing.”

The crowd loses it again. Someone pops open a bottle of wine. The cheering is deafening.

Zoro slides back into his seat, reaching for his drink like nothing happened, while you just stare at him. Your face is burning, your heart racing.

Did he... did he really just...

“Oi,” he calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. He nods toward your plate “Eat. We scammed our way into this food, might as well enjoy it.”

You pick up your fork numbly, still processing.

Later that night, walking back to the Sunny, still slightly tipsy from the free champagne, Zoro shakes his head, chuckling.

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you still went along with it” you tease.

He gives you a sideways glance, smirking “Yeah, well… guess I’d propose to you eventually anyway.”

You trip.

Zoro catches you easily, steadying you with a firm grip, and when he helps you up, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away.

Your heart does something stupid.

“…You serious?” you murmur.

Zoro just smirks, squeezing your hand and giving you a quick peck on your lips before letting go.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see, idiot.”

── .✦ Sanji:

Sunlight spills over the ocean, turning the water into shimmering gold as the sea breeze carries the scent of freshly baked pastries. The café you and Sanji are at is charming, small round tables with white tablecloths, elegant teacups, and a dessert display so tempting even you had to stop and admire it before sitting down.

Sanji, as always, is in his element. He leans back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, looking completely at ease as he watches the waves roll in. He’s been extra flirty today, not that it’s anything new, but there’s something almost mischievous about his smile as he rests his chin on his hand, eyes locked on you.

“You look stunning today, mon amour.”

You snort, sipping your drink “You’ve said that three times already.”

“And I’ll say it a hundred more if it makes you smile” he replies smoothly, winking.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the way your lips twitch upward. Hopeless flirt.

A waiter suddenly approaches your table, setting down a small menu “Would you two be interested in our Eternal Love Special? It comes with a complimentary dessert for newly engaged couples.”

Sanji’s brows lift, and immediately, you see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

You raise a hand, ready to shut this down “Oh, we’re not—”

Sanji reaches across the table and gently takes your hand in his, cutting you off completely.

“Ma chérie” he sighs, looking at you with the softest, most heartfelt expression you’ve ever seen “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do this.”

Then he quickly turns to the waiter “Thank you, I took it as a sign to finally do what I was planning for months now”

Your brain short-circuits.

Wait. WAIT.

The waiter gasps. The couple at the next table stops mid-bite. A hush falls over the café as all eyes turn to the two of you.

You know Sanji. You know this is fake. But the way he’s looking at you, the warmth in his eyes, the way his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand, it feels real.

You swallow hard “Sanji—”

He stands up, gracefully stepping around the table before lowering himself onto one knee. The sunlight catches his golden hair, framing him like something out of a damn romance novel.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were special,” he says, voice smooth as silk “Your laughter is my favorite melody, your kindness is my greatest treasure, and every day with you is sweeter than the finest dessert.”

Someone sniffs. You don’t dare look away, afraid your own face might betray you.

Sanji reaches into his pocket, and for a horrifying second, you think he might actually have a ring... He pulls out a thin silver napkin ring from the table setting.

The café erupts into cheers. Someone claps. A woman dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. The waiter looks about two seconds away from fainting.

Sanji takes your hand, slipping the napkin ring onto your finger with such tenderness that your heart physically aches.

“Tell me, my love,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but with an edge of something more “Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”

You could end this now. Laugh it off, tell everyone it’s fake, and move on.

…But where’s the fun in that?

You inhale sharply, pressing a hand to your chest like you just can’t believe this is happening “Sanji, I—” You let your voice waver for dramatic effect “Of course! Yes!”

The café erupts. Cheers, applause, a waiter brings out a fancy chocolate cake with “Congratulations, Lovebirds!” written in delicate script.

Sanji presses a lingering kiss to the back of your hand before rising to his feet. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“You play dirty, sweetheart” he murmurs.

You smirk up at him “Right back at you.”

The two of you sit back down, and while Sanji smoothly dives into his slice of cake, you… you can’t stop staring at him. Your heart is still racing. He’s been teasing you for so long, but this felt different.

And maybe the little gleam in his eyes says he knows it too.

Sanji casually picks up his fork, cutting into his cake as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell in the middle of the café. But there’s something different about the way he looks at you now, a quiet intensity behind his smirk.

You, on the other hand, are trying your best to keep your composure, but your heart is still fluttering uncontrollably. That was not part of the act, you think, biting your lip.

“So,” you begin, trying to regain some semblance of control over your thoughts, “you think I’ll just say ‘yes’ to a napkin ring?”

Sanji grins like a cat who’s just gotten the cream “Only if you’re truly as smitten with me as I am with you,” he teases, his voice dripping with charm “Was that not the most romantic proposal you’ve ever heard?”

You blink at him. That damn smirk. It’s hard to keep a straight face when he’s so pleased with himself.

“Romantic?” You arch an eyebrow, playing along “More like cheesy, Sanji. I mean, come on... napkin ring? Really?”

He chuckles, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear “It’s not the ring that matters, my dear. It’s the gesture.” He winks, leaning back in his chair, looking completely smug now that the moment has passed “Besides, I’m sure I’ll get you a real one soon enough. Once I find the perfect one.”

You blink at him again, still processing how he just seamlessly went from a joke proposal to something that feels strangely serious. Did he mean it?

Before you can dwell on it too much, the waiter returns with another plate, this time with a much larger piece of cake.

Sanji’s eyes light up “Ah, my favorite!” He takes the plate and picks up his fork, but before taking a bite, he looks at you again, that same intensity in his gaze.

“So,” he says, his voice suddenly more quiet, more sincere “did you like it? The proposal, I mean. I know it was a little… unorthodox.”

You’re caught off guard by the seriousness of his tone. He’s not teasing you now, not putting on that flirty act he does so well. His gaze is soft, like he’s searching for your answer, his expression almost vulnerable.

You bite your lip, fighting back the heat creeping up your neck “I...” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. You want to tease him, but there’s something there in his eyes “It was… unexpected” you finally say, your voice softening “But… sweet, I guess.”

Sanji’s lips curl into a grin again, but this time, it’s gentler, less playful and more genuine. “You know, you’re the only woman I’d do something this stupid for.” He leans closer, his voice dropping even lower, his breath warm against your ear “So, maybe... just maybe, you know... when the time is right, I’ll actually make it real.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t tell if he’s joking or if this is one of his moments of sincerity. But then, the way his hand brushes against yours as he pulls back from the table feels like something more.

You stare at him, and he meets your gaze, his blue eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can say anything, Sanji’s finger gently taps the napkin ring on your finger, the little silver band now feeling strangely significant “Just wait,” he says softly, “the real proposal will be a thousand times more romantic. And you’ll be the one telling me yes.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the thought, knowing he’s both serious and playful, making you realize that, despite all the teasing and drama, he does mean it. And maybe, just maybe, you’re a little bit more excited about the idea than you want to admit.

“You better keep that promise, chef” you reply softly, your voice almost teasing, but with a genuine undercurrent that you both recognize.

Sanji leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself “I’ll hold you to it, mon amour. You’ll see. I’m a man of my word.”

And as the two of you continue eating, the quiet intimacy that lingers between you both speaks volumes. Even if the proposal was a joke, the feelings beneath it were anything but a joke.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The crew is in the midst of celebrating their latest victory, mugs of rum and plates of food scattered across the long table. Everyone is laughing and teasing each other, the air thick with camaraderie and joy. Ace is leaning against the railing, surrounded by his crew, his usual playful energy filling the space.

You’re off to the side, chatting quietly with Marco, enjoying the rare peace amidst the rowdy celebration.

“Looks like everyone’s having a good time” you say, smiling as you watch the crew’s antics.

“Yeah,” Marco replies, “they definitely need moments like this. It’s been a while since we’ve had a reason to really celebrate.” He glances at you, a soft smile on his lips.

Meanwhile, Ace is leaning over the table, listening to the crew, and you notice the mischievous glint in his eyes as he exchanges a few words with Thatch. The two of them laugh, and you can see Ace’s trademark grin forming.

Suddenly, someone’s voice rises above the others, slurring slightly from the alcohol “Hey, Ace!” he shouts, clearly a little tipsy “I dare you to do something! You’re always pulling pranks, it’s your turn!”

Ace smirks and looks over at them, his eyes flicking to the rest of the crew who eagerly start egging him on “What do you have in mind?” he asks, leaning in as if he’s genuinely curious.

The others grin at each other, clearly having had too many drinks “I dare you to propose to Y/N, right now!”

The crew erupts into laughter, clearly loving the idea. You’re still talking to Marco and don’t hear it, unaware of the dare.

You turn around, confused, just as Ace, with his usual confidence, strides over to you. His eyes lock onto yours, and his smirk widens, his posture already dramatic as he drops to one knee in front of you.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice loud and theatrical, “will you marry me?”

The entire crew gasps and then bursts into laughter. You freeze, completely caught off guard.

For a split second your heart skips a beat, but then you notice the glint in his eyes. He’s teasing. It’s the same playful look he always has when he’s messing with someone.

You swallow hard, trying to laugh it off “Ace, what are you—”

But before you can finish your sentence, Ace stands up quickly, his grin widening as he grabs your shoulder and laughs loudly “Haha, come on! I’m just kidding! You know me!”

The crew, still in fits of laughter, cheers him on, but your heart sinks. You feel embarrassed, and the sudden realization hits you hard. You knew it was just another one of his jokes but for some reason, this one stings more than the others. You’re left standing there, staring at him, feeling both foolish and hurt.

“Ace…” you start, your voice quiet and suddenly trembling with a mixture of anger and something deeper. You can’t put your finger on it, but it feels like your heart’s being pulled in two directions.

Ace notices the change in your tone and looks at you, the playful glint in his eyes dimming for a moment as if he’s unsure of what’s happening “Hey, come on. It was just for fun, right?” He chuckles, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice now, a hint of unease that wasn’t there before.

You force a smile “Yeah, sure, just for fun” you say, but your voice cracks slightly. You quickly turn away from him, walking off toward the edge of the ship, away from the crew and the laughter. You don’t want to face anyone right now, not Ace, not anyone.

Ace calls after you, but you don’t look back. You can feel his gaze on your back, but you don’t know if you’re ready to face the playful tone that always comes with his jokes. You’re hurt, and you can’t tell if it’s because you really thought he was serious for a moment or because it felt like he didn’t take your feelings into account.

The sound of the crew’s laughter is still behind you, but it feels distant now. You rest your hands on the cold metal of the ship’s railing, staring out at the dark, endless sea, trying to breathe through the hurt.

“Hey,” Ace’s voice suddenly cuts through the night air. You hadn’t realized he was following you. His playful tone gone, replaced by something softer, maybe even regretful “I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”

You shake your head, not turning to face him “It’s fine, Ace. Just... just go back to the crew. I don’t want to make a scene.”

There’s a long silence, and you can feel him standing behind you, still close, but not daring to push further. You can hear the deep sigh he lets out.

“You know I mess around a lot, right?” Ace says quietly, after a beat “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Ace seems to sense your hesitation, and he steps a little closer.

“I was just having fun with the guys,” he continues, his voice low, almost apologetic now “I didn’t think it would upset you. I’m sorry. If you want to talk about it… I’m here.”

You take a deep breath, trying to push back the frustration that’s built up in you. You hate how vulnerable you feel, too exposed. But you can’t let him see that, not right now.

“I just need some space” you reply quietly.

There’s another long pause before you hear him step back and you finally allow yourself to breathe a little easier. Ace doesn’t push you any further. You hear his footsteps retreat, but you know he’s still watching you, waiting, just in case you need him.

You know Ace didn’t mean to hurt you. You know he’s always been like this reckless, playful, always laughing things off. But tonight, it felt different.

Why did it bother me so much?

You hear footsteps behind you again, slower this time, more hesitant. You sigh “Ace, I said I needed some space—”

“It’s not Ace.”

You turn and find Marco standing there, arms crossed.

“You okay?” he asks, but his sharp eyes tell you he already knows the answer.

You manage a small, tired smile “Do I look okay?”

Marco huffs a soft laugh “Not really.” He steps beside you, leaning against the railing. For a moment, the two of you just stand there in silence.

Finally, he speaks again “Ace is an idiot.”

You let out a surprised laugh, though it’s weaker than usual “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

Marco tilts his head slightly, watching you “But he’s not heartless” he continues “He cares about you more than he probably realizes. And right now, he’s sitting over there, looking like a kicked puppy because he knows he messed up.”

Your fingers tighten on the railing “I know he didn’t mean to hurt me, Marco. But…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable “I guess it just stung more than I expected. He laughed it off like it was nothing.”

Marco hums in understanding “Because to him, it was just a joke. But to you… it wasn’t.”

You don’t reply, but you know he’s right. Even if you hadn’t admitted it to yourself before, a small part of you had wanted it to be real.

Marco pushes off the railing and pats your shoulder lightly “You don’t have to talk to him yet if you don’t want to. But if you do…” He glances toward the other side of the ship, where Ace is sitting on a barrel, staring down at his drink, barely touching it. His usual carefree energy is gone “He’s waiting.”

You hesitate. A part of you still wants to be mad. But another part, the part that cares too much, wants to hear what more he has to say.

With a deep breath, you push off the railing and make your way toward him.

Ace notices you immediately, his head snapping up, eyes widening slightly. He doesn’t grin this time, doesn’t make a joke. He just watches you cautiously, like he’s bracing himself.

You stop a few steps away “Hey.”

Ace exhales, setting his drink down “Hey...” He looks uncertain, which is rare for him “Can I...” He hesitates “Can I talk to you?”

You nod and sit down on the crate across from him. He looks relieved but still fidgety, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

After a long pause, he finally speaks “I didn’t think, okay?” His voice is quieter than usual, missing its usual cocky edge “I didn’t think about how it would feel for you. I was just messing around with the crew, and when they dared me, I just… went with it. I didn’t mean for it to be a joke at your expense.”

You cross your arms “Then why did you laugh it off like that?”

Ace winces slightly “Because… I panicked.”

That catches you off guard “Panicked?”

He lets out a slow breath and runs a hand through his messy black hair “Yeah. Because for a second, when I was kneeling there, looking at you, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore” He pauses, his voice dropping lower “And that scared the hell out of me.”

He looks at your confused face, and for once, there’s no teasing in his eyes. Just raw honesty.

“I mean…” He rubs his face, frustrated with himself “I mean that maybe it wasn’t just a joke to me, either.”

The world seems to tilt slightly. Your breath catches, and you stare at him, trying to process his words.

Ace sighs, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees “I don’t know how to say this the right way. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing. But you—” He exhales sharply “You matter to me. More than I probably let on. And when I saw how upset you were, I realized that I really, really don’t want to lose you.”

You swallow thickly, your emotions all tangled up “Ace…”

He leans back, giving you a small, hesitant smile “I won’t joke about something like that again. I swear. But…” He rubs the back of his neck “If—if I ever did propose… I’d want it to be real.”

For a long moment, you don’t speak. You’re still mad. Still hurt. But beneath all of that, there’s a warmth spreading through your chest, something dangerously close to hope.

Finally, you shake your head and stand up. Ace tenses, as if expecting you to walk away again.

Instead, you go closer. And before you can overthink it, you grab the front of his shirt and tug him down into a kiss.

Ace freezes for a second, caught completely off guard. But then he melts into it, his hands finding your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. The kiss is slow, uncertain at first, but then it deepens, warm, real, full of everything you haven’t been able to put into words.

When you finally pull away, Ace blinks at you, completely dazed “...Whoa.”

You smirk, your heart still racing “No jokes this time?”

He grins, breathless “No jokes.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway “Good.”

Ace watches you for a moment, then his grin softens into something more genuine “So… does this mean you forgive me?”

You pretend to think about it “Hmm. I dunno. Maybe you should actually try proposing for real and see how I feel.”

His eyes widen, and you laugh at the way he suddenly looks flustered. But the warmth in his expression tells you that maybe, just maybe, that day isn’t as far off as you once thought.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The ballroom is suffocating in its elegance, gold chandeliers, velvet curtains, and nobles dressed in the finest silks. Conversations flow with laughter, political gossip, and expensive wine. You navigate the crowd effortlessly, your arm looped around Law’s as the two of you blend in among the guests.

This is just another mission.

Your goal this time is to gather intel on the underground auction happening later tonight. And to do so, you have to pretend to be a wealthy couple and gain access to informations. Tonight you are Law’s fiancée.

“You’re tense” Law murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips.

You glare up at him, keeping a pleasant smile for the guests “Maybe because I’m still processing how I went from ‘crewmate’ to ‘fake fiancée.’”

He hums “Would you rather be my wife?”

You elbow him discreetly, and he chuckles under his breath.

“Ah, you're Torao, right?” a nobleman approaches with a warm smile and glass in hand, but Law suddently snorts at the name already planning on getting revenge to however was supposed to arrange a fake name for him... you try your best to not laugh “And who is this stunning young woman?”

Before you can even open your mouth, Law speaks smoothly.

“My fiancée”

You freeze for just a fraction of a second, but you recover quickly, forcing a demure smile as the nobleman’s eyes widen in delight.

“Oh, my! I had no idea you were engaged! Congratulations!”

More nobles turn their attention toward you both, excited murmurs rippling through the crowd. You barely resist the urge to shoot Law a look, because you figured he’d introduce you as a partner or companion, but fiancée? That just complicate things.

You manage to slip away after a few more introdutions, excusing yourself to get a drink and some air. Meanwhile, Law stays behind, sipping his wine in silence.

That’s when an older noblewoman leans in conspiratorially.

“You know,” she hums, swirling her drink, “I couldn’t help but notice something peculiar.”

Law barely reacts “Oh?”

She grins “She’s not wearing a ring.”

His fingers tighten subtly around his glass.

Another noble nods “Yes, rather unusual for an engagement, don’t you think?”

A dozen responses flash through Law’s mind, he could say something like it’s being resized, or that you don’t like wearing jewelry. But instead, for reasons even he doesn’t fully understand, the words that come out are, “I have a ring.”

The noblewoman’s eyes sparkle “Oh? Then why isn’t she wearing it?”

Law exhales through his nose “I was planning to propose soon.”

The group of nobles collectively gasps.

“Tonight?!”

Law immediately regrets his words.

“Oh, how romantic!” one woman gushes “You must do it here!”

Law resists the urge to teleport himself out of this conversation, but when he turns, he sees you making your way back, completely oblivious to the trap he just walked into. And something shifts inside him, because in his pocket, there is a ring. Your exact size.

He never planned to use it. He doesn’t even fully understand why he bought it in the first place. Maybe it was impulse, or maybe it was something deeper, something he refuses to acknowledge.

But now he stands. The room falls silent.

You slow your steps, eyes flicking to him in confusion “What...”

And then he kneels.

Your heart stops.

The nobles erupt into cheers.

Law looks up at you as he pulls out the ring.

Your breath catches.

Why is he doing this? Why does he have that?

Law exhales, his voice quieter now, just for you.

“y/n,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours, “marry me.”

There’s no teasing in his tone. No playfulness. Just Law, holding your hand, holding a ring he never intended to actually reveal, and looking at you like he means every single word.

The entire ballroom is silent, every noble watching with excitement. Somewhere in the distance, someone murmurs about how romantic this is, but all you can hear is the rushing in your ears, the unsteady rhythm of your breathing... because Law is holding a ring. Your exact size. And for he looks like he actually means it.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out.

Law exhales softly, gaze unreadable. His fingers ghost over yours as he holds the ring between them, and you swear you feel a slight tremor.

“Uhm... say yes” he murmurs, voice too low for anyone else to hear.

Your breath catches “What?”

His fingers tighten around your hand, almost imperceptibly “Say yes...” he repeats, softer this time.

You swallow hard. You know this is a performance. Something must have happened while you weren't there and he's doing all this to keep up the cover and complete the mission. But something in the way he’s looking at you, so calm, so sure, makes your throat tighten.

You force yourself to move, to push away the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume you.

“…Yes.”

The second the word leaves your lips, the room erupts. Cheers, applause, laughters, as the nobles celebrate.

Law stands smoothly, still holding your hand, and in one fluid motion, he slides the ring onto your finger.

A perfect fit.

Your chest tightens.

Why do you have this? you want to ask. Why do you have my size? Why does this feel real?

But instead, you let him pull you closer, his fingers resting lightly against your waist as someone shouts “The kiss! You have to seal it with a kiss!”

Your stomach flips violently. You glance up at Law, expecting him to show hesitation, annoyance... anything.

But his expression remains unreadable.

He exhales quietly, as if resigning himself to what comes next. Then, in one smooth movement, he cups your face, his calloused fingers brushing against your jaw.

His lips press against yours as the world blurs.

It’s soft at first, gentle, the perfect display for an adoring fiancé. But then his fingers slide into your hair, pulling you a fraction closer, and something shifts.

The air between you crackles, the warmth of his body pressing into yours. Your fingers clutch at his suit, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

It doesn’t feel fake, not even for a second, and that breaks you.

When he finally pulls away, the crowd is ecstatic, clapping and cheering. You barely register them.

Law leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice just for you.

You’re not. Not even close. But you have to force a smirk, masking the confusion, the longing, the ache in your chest.

“You’re a better actor than I thought” you whisper, trying to sound teasing, but it comes out unsteady.

His lips twitch slightly in almost a smirk.

And then, just as he turns to lead you away, his voice drops to a whisper.

“Am I acting?”

Your breath catches.

But before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling you through the crowd, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Come on,” he says “We still have a mission to finish.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

The ring on your finger feels heavier than it should, and now you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to take it off.

── .✦ Shanks:

The Red-Haired Pirates are celebrating their recent success, the air filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and music. You and Shanks are at the center of it all, the crew’s favorite couple. You’ve been together for a while now, everyone around you knows how close you two are. The bond you share is evident, whether you’re laughing together, sharing a drink, or pulling off your signature “fake proposal” routine at taverns to get free food.

Today was no different. You’d pulled off yet another hilarious fake proposal at a local tavern with Shanks dramatically getting down on one knee and you playing the blushing fiancée, and everyone else had completely fallen for it. The whole crew had watched from the sidelines, laughing at the reaction of other people around. You and Shanks had left the tavern with free drinks and a standing ovation, and now you’re back on the ship, basking in the afterglow of your latest successful scam.

The crew is still laughing, recalling the events from earlier.

“That was too good,” Yasopp says, slapping his knee as he chuckles “I swear, you two are getting better at this with every try.”

“Yeah, honestly, I almost thought it was real” Benn Beckman adds, leaning back in his chair.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile “You guys are terrible” you tease, nudging Shanks playfully.

Shanks simply grins casually leaning against the railing of the ship as the crew continues to tease the two of you about your newer “engagement”. His eyes are full of mischief, the same spark you’ve always loved. But there’s something different tonight, they seem a little more serious, almost like he’s thinking about something far beyond the joke.

“You know...” Shanks starts, his voice quieter than usual, drawing your attention. The rest of the crew falls into a hushed silence, sensing something is about to shift “Maybe one day, we should do it for real.”

You blink, staring at him “What?” you ask, not sure if he’s still joking or if something else is going on.

Shanks smirks, but there’s a certain vulnerability in his gaze now that makes your heart skip a beat “I mean it. What would you say if I asked you for real one day? Like, if I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”

For a moment, everything around you goes still. The sounds of the crew’s laughter fade, and it’s just you and Shanks, standing there. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, something deeper than the usual playful teasing.

You feel a flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. It’s clear he’s not messing around anymore.

“You really want to know?” you ask softly, your voice a little unsteady.

Shanks doesn’t break eye contact, his expression soft but steady “Yeah, I do.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. For a heartbeat, everything feels heavier... your emotions swirling as you take in the meaning behind his words. Then you smile, a warm, genuine smile. You take a deep breath, knowing what this means “Then ask me, and find out.”

Shanks’ lips curl into a gentle, tender smile, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s going to kiss you right then and there. But instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“I’ll make you notice right away when it’s for real,” he says, his words full of affection “You’ll be so surprised when I’ll do it, you won’t even know what hit you.”

You laugh softly, a mix of emotions rushing through you “I can’t wait...” you say, your voice light but with a hint of excitement.

Without another word, Shanks pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he presses his lips against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. You melt into it, the taste of his lips familiar and comforting, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

The crew is watching you two, stunned into silence at first, but then the cheers start.

“Get a room!” Lucky Roux shouts with a laugh, and the rest of the crew joins in, clapping.

You pull back slightly, your forehead resting against Shanks’ as you both smile at the crew’s reaction. He gives you a playful wink, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes” he says softly, his grin full of mischief again.

“Yeah,” you reply with a smile, still feeling the warmth of his kiss on your lips “I kinda spoilered you my answer.”

The crew continues to laugh and tease, but you and Shanks know this moment is real. It might not have been an official proposal yet, but you both understand that when the time is right, he’ll ask, and you’ll say yes. For now, though, you’ll just enjoy this moment with him, the love between you two shining brighter than anything else.

And as the crew celebrates, you and Shanks share another kiss, a promise of what’s to come.

Shanks barely pulls away from your lips before a familiar glint of mischief sparks in his eyes. The crew is still laughing and whistling, throwing jabs about how disgustingly in love the two of you are, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

You know that look.

Before you can react, Shanks suddenly drops to one knee again, right there on the deck, holding out his empty hand like he’s presenting a ring.

“Alright, alright! Since the moment is so perfect... Y/N, will you make me the happiest pirate alive and marry me? For real this time?” His voice is exaggerated, his expression overly dramatic as he bats his lashes up at you.

The crew erupts, laughing and cheering like this is the best show they’ve ever seen. Some of them start slamming their mugs, chanting, “SAY YES! SAY YES!” Lucky Roux even tosses a handful of peanuts in the air like they’re flower petals.

Shanks is still kneeling, hand outstretched “Well?” he asks, tilting his head with a teasing grin “Are you gonna break my heart in front of my beloved crew, Y/N?”

You let out a dramatic sigh and step closer, leaning down just enough to flick his forehead.

The exaggerated thunk makes the crew howl with laughter.

Shanks rocks back like you’ve physically struck him, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded “Rejected… just like that?” he gasps, looking up at you with the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen “You didn’t even consider it? Not even for a second?”

You shake your head, grinning “Oh, shut up. If I say yes to every proposal of yours, we’d be married a hundred times over by now. I can’t accept two in just one day.”

The crew explodes into laughter again, slamming their mugs together, completely losing it over the ridiculousness of it all.

“I think this is the first time Shanks has ever been turned down,” Yasopp says, wiping tears from his eyes “Somebody write this down, it’s history in the making!”

Shanks, still on one knee, sighs dramatically before looking up at you with a lopsided grin “Guess I’ll just have to try again some other day”

There’s something in the way he says it, something in the way his gaze lingers on yours, that makes your chest tighten.

And then, without warning, he rises to his feet and takes your hand.

You raise an eyebrow, confused, but he just smiles as he pulls you in closer “What are you—?”

“Dancing” he answers simply.

There’s no music playing, just the sound of the crew’s laughter and the gentle crash of the waves against the ship. But that doesn’t stop him.

Shanks starts to sway, leading you effortlessly into a slow dance, like the two of you are at some grand ballroom instead of the deck of a pirate ship, surrounded by a bunch of rowdy, drunken idiots.

The crew quiets slightly, watching in amusement. But then you hear Yasopp groan “Oh, come on. Really?”

“Oi, we’re in the middle of a celebration, not a honeymoon!” someone else calls out.

“Get a room, this time for real!” Lucky Roux laughs.

But you barely hear them.

Because you’re looking at Shanks, and he’s looking at you.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter that there’s no music, or that your idiot pirate family is teasing you both in the background. It doesn’t matter that this started as a joke, or that moments ago, he was on one knee in the most ridiculous, over-the-top fake proposal.

Because right now, the way he’s holding you, one hand in yours, the other resting on your waist, feels so natural. So right.

You let yourself melt into him, following his lead as the two of you continue to sway in the middle of the chaos.

“You’re ridiculous” you murmur, but your voice is soft, affectionate.

Shanks smirks “And yet, you’re still here.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head “Yeah,” you whisper “I am.”

His grip on you tightens just slightly, and his expression softens “Perfect.”

Then, grinning, Shanks playfully lowers you backward while holding you, like in a dramatic dance move. Catching you completely off guard. You gasp, clutching at his coat, and the crew loses their minds.

“ALRIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Yasopp groans “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! If you're not going into a room then I am!”

The crew bursts into laughter, some covering their eyes, others raising their drinks in amusement.

Shanks, still grinning like a fool, pulls you back up and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

“You really are the love of my life, y’know that?” he murmurs.

Your heart skips a beat.

You smile, reaching up to brush a few strands of red hair away from his face “Yeah,” you whisper “I know.”

And as the crew continues their antics around you, you realize that this is the best moment of your life.

[petew21-blog]

Homophobic gym teacher

I hate PE. I hate it so freaking much that I’d rather have history with Mr. Douglas every day than to run in front of Mr. Mills every day. He hates me, ever since I came out as gay at school I received mostly good feedback from others. Even my bullies were kinda nice about it. Thank God I live in the twenty first century. But one person didn’t really take It well.

I browsed through his instagram a few times. And while I looked for the perfect photo of him flexing his biceps, showing his abs or anything that would help me for my jerk off session, I found out that he was quite hardcore republican. How a person like this could get into education is beyond me.

As always I finished jerking off while looking at his regular bathroom gym photo. Man, what I would give to fuck him. Why do jerks always have the perfect body?

My phone buzzed. I snapped back into reality. Jack, my friend who is also gay, but not out yet, texted me.

“Hey, are we gonna ditch school tomorrow? I can’t hear any more of that Mills bullshit while we climb the rope”

“We’re gonna be rope climbing? Ah fuck me. He’s gonna be insufferable.”

“My thoughts exactly. So? Are we skipping school?”

“I can’t man. I gotta keep up my attendance after missing so many days thanks to Mr. Mills”

Next day, 2:29 PM

I stood next to the rope, waiting for Jake to finish his turn. Mr. Mills stood below him, screaming. Jake couldn’t get to the top. Mr. Mills told him to get down and screamed at him some more. What an asshole. It was my turn. The bell rang. “Fuck yeah. No more rope climbing for me.” My classmates, me included, turned to head to the lockers.

Mr. Mills: ”González? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Me: ”Sir, the class is over and it’s Friday.”

Mr. Mills: ”The class is over when I say it is over. Get on the fucking rope and stop talking back at me. The rest of you can leave.”

I got close to the rope. I grabbed it and squeezed the rope between my feet. I started pulling myself up and immediately felt the pain of lifting myself. I knew I was weak, I didn’t really need some wannabe teacher slash gym freak to remind me and scream at me what a lazy piece of shit I am. I tried to ignore him. I gave myself a goal to just finish it and leave, but Mr. Mills stood directly below me to comment on my fat ass slowing me down.

I was almost at the top, a wave of happiness swept over me. “Shit, I’m gonna make it!”

And right then I slipped. And instead of locking my feet, I just let go off the rope.

THUD

“I survived. Fuck. I fell from the freaking rope. My head was hurting so hard. My head? But I thought that I fell on my back? Ahhh the pain.”

I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry from the fall. I tried blinking several times and my vision was slowly getting better. I lifted my arm to grab on my head, but as I did it didn’t feel right. I looked at my arm. It was bigger. As in full of muscles.

“What the hell?” I said out loud, but instead of my young squeaky almost too feminine voice a low baritone came out of my throat.

“How the fuck…?!” I looked to my left. There was my body getting up from the ground

Me: ”Mr. Mills?”

Mr. Mills: ”Ah you gotta be fucking kidding me?! Is that you González?”

Me: ”I… Yes. How… How did this happen?” Mr. Mills: ”Does it look like this happens to me a lot?”

Me: ”But… it’s scientifically impossible”

Mr. Mills: ”I bet this was caused by those covid vaccines to make you immigrant fags take over our lives.”

Me: ”Yeah… right. Cause everyone wants to be a stupid republican”

Mr. Mills: ”Shut your mouth or…” he was interrupted by the janitor telling us to leave so he can lock the school. Mr. Mills gave me his car keys and I gave him instructions how to find my locker. We decided to meet each other in his car and to figure out what to do after that.”

After many unsuccessful attempts I found his Chevrolet and entered the passenger’s seat. Few moments later, I realized that I’m gonna be the one driving so I switched seats and got behind the wheel for the first time in my life. His car was amazing, it smelt great and was clean. How should I even drive this thing? I don’t drive a car. I’ll get us into trouble.

I stopped overthinking about the car. “I am in my teachers body. The one who bullied me almost every day. I am an adult male.” I looked into the rearview mirror. “Fuck, I am in one of the hottest man’s body around. And I am wasting it just worrying here. I flexed and squeezed my new biceps. Fuuuck. It’s so huge. I checked if no one else was around and lifted up my shirt.

“Oh my gooood” I slammed my head into the seat. “This is so hot!”

My new abs and pecs now uncovered were the most perfect ones I have ever seen. The ones I jerk off to every night before sleep. And now it’s here. All for me.

I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Mills in my body approaching the car. And behind him ran Jake. They entered the car.

I tried to improvise: „Why is your friend here?”

Jake: „Holy shit. So it is true. Mr. Mills would never react so calm. Is that really you in there, Daniel?”

I turned at Mr. Mills who now had a very irritated face. “I didn’t say anything, he figured it out.”

Jake: „I didn’t believe it at first, but Daniel never swears like this. And your vocabulary isn’t exactly rich so I knew really quickly where I heard the phrases before. Damn, I’m good. So? What are we gonna do? We should test it out somehow. Shit, Daniel you should get drunk tonight!”

Mr. Mills: „No! There won’t be no drinking, touching or anything with my body. This is definitely temporary and we will be back by tomorrow morning.”

Me: „If you think so…”

I drove Jake and my body home. Mr. Mills had to give me a speed course of driving, but his muscle memory helped me out way more than I thought. We set up some ground rules. No drinking, no drugs, no permanent changes to our bodies, no photos and no sex. He left the car while saying something about a fag in his body, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I speeded to get to his house asap.

I didn’t really explore the house as much when I arrived. I went straight to where I thought was the bedroom and immediately started taking off my clothes. His black speedo was PACKING and getting tighter every minute, but I really wanted to make this first exploration as perfect as possible. I lifted up the shirt, touching my new hairless and fatless stomach. I flexed and sets of abs appeared. I touched every last one of them. My hand continued up to my new large pecs.

“God damn, Mr. Mills. These are some perfect man titties.” I squeezed them. They looked so tight in all the photos, but when I wasn’t flexing them, they were quite soft. Must be amazing to lay on these. I played with them some more before taking off my shirt and releasing my new hairy pits. I took a long whiff off them. “I smell like a proper MAN now!” I licked it as well, enjoying the salty taste of Mr. Mills’s pits. I looked at myself in the mirror. My new dick was hard as a rock and waited for me to take care of it.

I headed to the shower and turned on a hot water. “Your body is probably not used to a hot water, am I right, Mr. Mills? I bet you are one of those cold water freaks who bathe in the icy waters.” I hated his voice before, but right now as I was controlling it, I began to like it so much.

The water poured all over my large body, from the perfect face, over my massive pecs, hairless abs and right to my beautiful dick. “Nice dick, Mr. Mills!” I said and chuckled over the fact that I just said that.

I suddenly got a mischievous idea. I came out of the shower and texted Jake.

Jake: „I can’t believe I’m doing this. I am just squeezing Mr. Mills’s pecs and touching his abs. Can you believe it, Daniel?”

Me: „It’s wild, right? But I got an idea. Wanna make it more interesting?”

Jake: „Interesting how?”

Me: „Stop touching me you lazy fag” I said in an authoritative voice and Jake moved his hands away from me quickly.

Jake: „Why did you do that? I got scared.”

Me: „I bet you are scared, you little fag. I know you just came over so that you could jerk off you little dick and watch me enjoy myself.”

Jake: „Daniel?”

Me: „Daniel won’t save you right now. You will do as I say. Ok?”

Jake finally caught up to my roleplay scenario and started acting as well. And by the look of his face I knew that he was really into it.

Jake: „Yes, Mr. Mills. I will do whatever you say.”

I sat down on the couch watching. “I want you to admire my body and say how hot I am and how horny it makes you.”

Jake got his hands on MY body and got a bit nervous: „You have sexy abs, Mr. Mills.”

Me: „You think that’s enough? That they are just sexy?”

Jake: „I think they’re the hottest abs I have ever seen”

Me: „How about my biceps. You like them?”

Jake: „They are SO big. I want you to squeeze my head in them. I want to lick your armpit hair. I want to kiss you.”

Me: „That’s a good boy. How about you show me how good you are, you fag?”

I moved his hands over to my new hard crotch.

Jake smiled and licked his lips

I fucking love being in this body.

And I bet Jake’s ass is gonna love this body even more.

[dollfacefantasy]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."