#also got those narrow dark blue eyes

[imaginaryf1shots]

You’re Mine | Charles Leclerc

WC: 6K

Possessive!Charles x Innocent!reader

Summery: You’re Arthur’s childhood BFF, you’ve been around the Leclerc for years before you had to move away. But now you’re back for a few months, not knowing that you’re here to stay.

Warning: Manipulation, jealousy, toxic relationships, more things to come.

AN: Honestly I have no idea what I feel a bout this, I’m not 100% satisfied. I may delete it later. my fist attempt at a dark fic.

Also, this was requested a very long time ago, I lost the request, though.

Masterlist

Charles Masterlist

Growing up in Monaco, you went to the same school as Arthur Leclerc. Arthur, with his messy brown hair and infectious laughter, was your closest friend. Your friendship began in a playground and quickly formed an unbreakable bond. You’d always race your bikes down narrow lanes, building sandcastles on Larvotto beach, or exploring the markets with insatiable curiosity. You two were inseparable.

Your families met because of your bond, and they formed their own friendships. It was due to the closeness that your families formed that you got to meet his brothers.

You saw Charles and Arthur karting, and you;d go with them from time to time, but while they were competitive and wanted to do it for life, you just wanted to join them and have fun. One of the reasons you and Arthur got so close is because you got into what the other liked and had fun while doing it.

Yet, in the background of your friendship with Arthur was your crush on his older brother, Charles. Charles is older by a few years and carried an air of confidence that captivated your young heart. He always seemed so cool, had that unattainable air around him, his striking looks and natural charm didn’t help. He was the epitome of everything you admired, but to him you were just his little brother’s friend, a mere child.

Charles has always been so sweet with you, and no matter how much time passed the blush that always graced your cheeks around him always stayed, it was permanent whenever he was in the same room as you.

You remember vividly the simmer afternoons spent at the Leclerc household. Arthur would always drag you along to play video games or just spend time together, while Charles, often busy with his racing aspirations, would give you a smile. Those moments, however brief and meaningless in the scheme of things, fouled your childish infatuation. You watched him from a distance, never expecting to actually catch his attention one day.

You thought you were discreet with your crush, but once you’re out of earshot, the adults would always joke about it, your mums dreaming of being one family one day and planning the wedding. It amused them to see how much you hung on every world Charles said and looked at him as if he was an angel, and how oblivious Charles was.

You remember the day your world turned upside down very well, it’s etched in your memory. Your father announced out of the blue, “We’re relocating to New York.” He said, excitement in his voice. The news felt like a punch to the gut. You were only twelve, but the thought of leaving Arthur and your familiar world behind was devastating.

“We’ll stay in touch, promise?” Arthur, who was equally crushed by news said his voice was shaky but he was determined. You both exchanged trinkets as tokens of your friendship. A bracelet from you and a racing car from him.

“Always.” You replied, tears brimming your eyes.

The move was a whirlwind, and soon you found yourself in the concrete jungle of New York City, a stark contrast to the serene beauty of Monaco. Despite the distance, you and Arthur remained in touch. Long phone calls, video chats, and countless messages kept your friendship alive. You shared your experiences, your struggles, and your triumphs, growing up together despite the miles between you.

Years passed, and your infatuation with Charles dimmed to a fond memory as you immerse yourself in your new life. But as you matured, you often wondered how different things might have been if you had stayed in Monaco. The thought lingered in the back of your mind, a faint but persistent echo of your childhood dreams.

Now, at twenty-one, you stood at a crossroads, ready to reconnect with the past. The opportunity to return to Europe for a summer was too enticing to pass up. Once Arthur heard about it he was ecstatic at the prospect of you two meeting again, and plans were quickly made for your grand reunion. The anticipation of seeing him again, of revisiting the places that shaped your childhood, filled you with excitement and a touch of nostalgia.

Little did you know, this trip would be more than just a walk down memory lane. It would be a journey that would intertwine your fate with Charles once more, in ways you could never have imagined.

The plane descended towards the Côte d'Azur Airport, and as you gazed out the window, your heart raced with anticipation. The Mediterranean's blue expanse sparkled below, the coastline of Monaco coming into view. It had been a decade since you'd seen these familiar sights, but they felt like a distant yet vivid memory.

After clearing customs, you wheeled your suitcase through the bustling terminal. Your excitement was palpable, mingled with the nervousness of reuniting with a childhood friend after so long. Would Arthur have changed much? Would your bond still be as strong? It has been the same online but, being face to face could be different.

Stepping out into the arrivals area, you scanned the crowd. And there he was, Arthur Leclerc, standing tall with that same mischievous grin you remembered. His hair was a bit shorter, his features more mature, but the spark in his eyes was unmistakable. A spark that video class couldn’t carry.

“Y/N!” Arthur called out, his voice filled with joy. You waved back, and in moments, you were enveloped in a tight hug.

"Arthur! It's so good to see you." You said, pulling back to take in his appearance. “You’re so tall now.”

"It’s good to see you! You look amazing." He replied, his eyes shining with genuine warmth. "I can't believe it's been ten years, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” You say tearing up, Arthur’s eyes get glossy as well, and you’re hugging once again, this time you stay in each other’s arms for a bit longer.

“Come on, let's get you out of here and catch up." Arthur says after you pull back, he takes your bags and heads to his car.

The drive from the airport to Monaco was filled with laughter and stories, both of you eager to fill in the gaps of the years apart, things that haven’t been said on calls. Arthur had grown into a confident young man, his passion for racing more intense than ever. You shared your adventures in New York, the highs and lows, and the dreamlike quality of returning to Europe.

As you arrived in Monaco, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. The narrow streets, the bustling harbour, the luxurious buildings. It was all like you remembered, yet with a sense of newness. Arthur drove you to his family's home, where you'd be staying.

Stepping inside, you were hit with memories of your childhood. The familiar scent of the house, the photos on the walls, it was like stepping back in time. Arthur took your bags to a room in a house, before you followed him.

“Y/N!” A delighted voice came from the kitchen as you walked in. Pascale Leclerc, Arthur’s mother, emerged with a warm smile. She looked hardly changed, still radiating the same kindness and elegance you remembered.

“Mama Pascale!” you exclaimed, rushing to hug her.

“It’s been too long, mon ange” She said, hugging you tightly. “Look at you! All grown up and even more beautiful.”

You blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. It feels like coming home.”

“We’ve missed you around here. Arthur has talked non-stop about your visit.” Pascale’s eyes twinkled.

Arthur rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, she’s finally here. And I’ve got big plans to show her around.”

“I’m sure you do. But first, let’s get you settled in.” Pascale laughed. Arthur led you to your room.

“You’ll be staying in Charles’s old room.” He said, opening the door. “He moved out a while ago, but we’ve kept it nice for guests.”

The room was spacious and neatly arranged, with a large window offering a stunning view of the city below. It felt both strange and intimate to be staying in Charles’s old room, surrounded by remnants of his past, trophies, posters, and photos of his racing career.

“Wow.” You said, looking around. “This is amazing.”

Arthur grinned. “Glad you like it. Make yourself at home. We’ve got dinner in a bit, and then I’ll show you around the house.”

After freshening up, you joined the Leclerc family for dinner, minus Charles and Enzo who were out of Monaco for a race. The meal was filled with laughter and stories, and you felt a warmth that you’d missed in New York. Pascale’s cooking was as delicious as you remembered, and the conversation flowed easily, with Arthur and his mother making you feel like you’d never left.

Later, Arthur gave you a tour of the house. As you walked through the house, memories flooded back, each room telling a story of your shared past. You spent the first week catching up, going to your favourite sports when you were young, going into Nice, meeting his friends and having the time of your lives.

"Guess what?" Arthur said with a twinkle in his eye as you joined him in the living room, one afternoon. "I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" You echoed, curious.

“Charles got us tickets for the Spain race next weekend.”

“Race?” Your heart skipped a beat. “That sounds incredible, thank you Arthur.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Charles when we see him.” Arthur shrugged off your gratitude.

”I will.” You say softly, a hint of nervousness hits you.

That evening, you and Arthur walked along the promenade, reminiscing about old times. The city was alive with activity, the sound of laughter and music filling the air. You couldn't help but feel a deep sense of belonging, a feeling you'd missed more than you realised, making you want to move back here and not return to New York after the summer.

You flew to Spain with Arthur, it was like going on a trip with your best friend after speaking about it for years, the trip made it out of the chat. You made it for qualifying day, you dressed casually, but delicately. Your style is very feminine, yet stylish, and you weren’t afraid to show some skin here and there.

You followed Arthur through the vibrant energy of the race circuit. The roar of engines, the cheers of the crowd, it was electrifying. Arthur was in his element, greeting fellow racers and team members with ease.

As you walked through the paddock, you felt a pair of eyes on you. Turning, you met the gaze of the one and only Charles Leclerc. He was standing with his team, his attention focused entirely on you. Time seemed to freeze. The boy you once had a crush on was now a strikingly handsome man, exuding charisma and confidence.

Charles hadn’t looked you up on social media so he had no idea how you looked after 10 years. Yet, he had no doubt in his mind that the female Arthur was walking with is you. His eyes ran over your cream sundress with small flowers on it, the straps were thin and there was a slit up your thigh. With every step Charles could see your leg peaking through.

Charles approached, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Arthur, who's this?” He asked, though his gaze suggested he already knew.

”Y/n, you remember her from school, she moved to New York.” Arthur grinned.

"Of course, Y/N. You've...changed a lot." He said, his voice heavy, thick.

“Well, I’m not eleven anymore.” You say with a sweet smile.

”Clearly.” Charles says under his breath, you’re more beautiful up close. “Welcome back.”

”Thanks, Charlie, it’s good to be back.” Your heart fluttered, the old nickname slipping so easily from your lips. Charles had to swallow and force a smile, it’s been seconds since he saw you again, and you already have some type of effect on him.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of excitement. You watched the quali with Arthur, cheering loudly as cars zoomed by, the drivers skillfully navigating the track. It was exhilarating, a stark reminder of the world you'd once been so close to. Charles qualified P2. You weren’t able to see him for the rest of the day, due to briefing, and strategy meetings.

The next day during a break, Arthur introduced you to some of his friends, including a few drivers. You chatted amiably, feeling the warmth of their welcome. But all the while, you were acutely aware of Charles' presence. His gaze followed you, filled with something more intense.

At one point, you found yourself alone with him in the team’s hospitality area. Charles leaned against the table, his eyes locked onto yours.

"So, what do you think of everything so far?" He asked, his voice smooth.

"It's amazing." You replied, trying to steady your nerves. "I've missed this energy."

"I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It’s good to see you again, Y/N. You’ve grown up." He smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that sent a shiver down your spine. The way he said it, made your heart race. There was a hint of something possessive in his tone, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it is.

"Thank you, Charles. You’ve...changed too."

”Here give me your phone, so I can put my number in.” Charles held out his hand and you gave him your phone. Charles quickly punched in his phone number and saved it. You were distracted by some shouting some people were doing and didn’t see what he was doing, giving Charles the perfect opportunity to send himself your live location and delete it from your chat. “Here you go.”

”Great.” Before you could delve deeper into the conversation, Arthur returned.

"Ready to head back?" He asked, looking between you and Charles with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, let's go." You said, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment.

Back in Monaco the days flew by in a whirlwind of races, dinners, and nostalgic explorations with Arthur. Yet, no matter where you went, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Charles’ eyes on you. Always watching you.

Charles would appear at the cafe where you and Arthur were having lunch, or join you for a spontaneous outing. His attention felt flattering, a validation of the childhood crush you’d once harboured.

One afternoon, you were walking around Monaco, before you had to meet Arthur after his appointment. While you were walking Charles found you and took the liberty to stay with you. Charles suggested a walk along the harbour, and you agreed, enjoying the idea of catching up with him.

As you strolled along the waterfront, Charles’ hand brushed against yours. The first time you deemed it an accident, but as it kept happening, that childish blush you used to have in his presence reappeared.

“You know.” He began, his voice low and serious. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you since you came back.”

”Really?” You looked up at him, surprised by his tone.

”Yes.” He said, his eyes darkening slightly, but he gave you a slight smile to cover up his inner thoughts from showing. “I can’t help but feel protective of you, you’ve grown up so much, and… well, I don’t like the idea of you being here alone, so just whenever Arthur is busy just call me, yeah?”

”Yeah, I will.” You continued walking with Charles, when a store caught your eyes. "Charlie, can we go into that store?"

“Of course.” You and Charles head into the boutique. Charles places his hand on your back as he guides you in the shop. Your cheeks flushed, you thought he'd remove his hand once you're inside the shop but his hands stayed there. Charles followed you around the shop as you looked at all the trinkets, a vintage jewellery box gaining your attention.

“Charlie, look, isn't it cute?” You pick up the box and open it, turning to show the man behind you, Charles's hand stays on you, but it moves from your back to your waist.

“It's very cute.” You look up only to see him looking at you, you bite your bottom lip to stop the smile from forming on your face, Charles' eyes fall onto your lips before they go back to your eyes. You turn back around and look through the shelves, smiling to yourself now that he couldn't see your face. Or so you thought, Charles caught your smile in one of the mirrors on the shelf. He was happy that he made you smile, your smile is so sweet he wants it all to himself. After a bit of browsing you end up with a couple things that you liked. The guy at the till smiles at you, Charles' jaw clenches. Charles' hands drop from your back to his pocket he takes out his card and hands it

to the guy.

“Charliee, I can pay.” You whine and try to give the guy your card, but Charles takes your hand in his and drops it.

“You're never paying when I'm with you, amour.” You pout but put your card back in your small bag you carried with you, trying not to over think the pet name he called you. Charles takes the bag from the cashier and you both head out, this time Charles' arm is around your shoulder. You're walking closer to each other now. Closer than before for sure.

“Thank you.” You tell him after a moment of silence, you look up at him and his face is much closer to yours now with his arm around your shoulder. “F-for buying me this, and-and for keeping me company with Arthur being busy.”

“Any time, whenever Arthur is busy just call me I'll always keep you company.” Charles says with a charming smile, reiterating what he said earlier. “Even if you want to take a break from him just tell me."

“I will.” You say with a giggle.

It was another race week and you're invited, Arthur was with his friends in F2, and so you decided to stick with Charles for most of the day. He introduced you to Rebecca and so you sat with her for lunch before KiKa also joined you and soon also Lily came. The girls were super polite they didn't ask you what your relationship with Charles, they all went through fazes of wanting to keep their relationship private, and

not confirming anything. Charles knew what he was doing, he was walking through the paddock to go from one place to the other when he saw the female gathering, he walked up behind you placing his hand on your shoulder. You look up startled before smiling when you see Charles, he greets the ladies. He leans to whisper in your ear.

“Do you need anything?”

“No thank you, don't worry about me.”

“Hard not to.: He says before he gives everyone one last smile and he leaves. The girls all share knowing looks, but keep their thoughts to themselves. It's been a while since Charles has been in a relationship, but they can see the signs.

When Charles finished his duties and heads back to where you are, he stops dead in his tracks. You're talking with Lando, smiling at what he's saying.

"Come on, mate, it's just Lando." Carlos who was walking with his teammate said seeing the look on Charles' face. He's not happy, at all. Why is Lando talking to you? Didn't he know you're with him? What could he be saying that's so funny? Lando isn't that funny. Charles walks up to you and places his hand around your shoulder, Leaving Carlos to go talk to his own girlfriend.

"Hey, I see you met y/n." Charles says with a cold smile.

"Yeah, I was telling her about Quadrent." Lando said, he picked up on Charles' demeanour and it left him confused, Charles is always kind, and easy going. He's never cold or standoffish.

"Why?" Charles asks and you look up at him confused.

"Charlie." You mumble softly, he glances down at you before his eyes settle back on Lando, who looked very uncomfortable at the moment like he wanted to be anywhere but here. "I asked him what he does when he's not racing."

"Hmm, okay, we have to go." Charles says and doesn't leave room for argument before he steers you away from the conversation and Lando.

"That was a bit rude." You mumble to Charles, he sighs and looks at you for a moment.

"I was just trying to protect you."

"From what?"

"Look, stay away from Lando, he was only talking to you because he wants to be with you." Charles tells you with so much assurance, like what he's saying is a fact.

"What? I don't think so." You frown, going over the conversation you just had with the British man, nothing standing out to you.

"Amour, I know Lando, believe me when I say he had anterior motives." You weren't 100% convinced, Charles stopped and turned you to face him, his hands on your shoulders. "Who knows Lando better?" He asked you.

"You do."

"Who knows his history with women?"

"You do.”

"Then believe me, when I say him talking with you wasn't innocent." You nod, believing him. I mean why would he lie to you? There's no reason for him to do that. You trust Charles.

The sun dipped low over Monaco, casting a warm golden glow across the city. You were sitting with Arthur at a cosy café near the harbour, sipping on an iced coffee and catching up on the latest gossip. Arthur was recounting a particularly amusing story from the paddock when you felt a familiar presence approaching.

Charles strolled up to your table, his smile bright and confident. "Hey, Arthur. Y/N," he greeted, his eyes lingering on you. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, pull up a chair." Arthur waved him over.

As Charles sat down, you couldn't help but notice the way his gaze seemed to drink you in. It was intense but not entirely uncomfortable. You smiled shyly, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

"So, Y/N." Charles began, leaning forward slightly, "I've been thinking. You've been back in Monaco for a while now, and I haven't really had the chance to take you out properly."

"Oh?" Your heart skipped a beat, is this really happening?

Arthur grinned, sensing what was coming. "Sounds like someone has an idea."

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me this weekend.” Charles nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Just the two of us. I want to show you around, maybe take you to a nice dinner. What do you say?"

You felt your cheeks flush with excitement. The boy you had once idolized was now a man, standing before you and asking you out on a date. The crush you thought you'd outgrown resurfaced, stronger than ever. You bit your lip, trying to contain your giddiness.

"I'd love to." You replied, your voice almost a whisper.

Charles' smile widened, his eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. "Great. I'll pick you up at seven?"

"Seven it is." You agreed, your heart fluttering.

Arthur chuckled, giving you a playful nudge. "Looks like you have a date."

”Shut up.” You say under your breath fighting the blush that was a permanent fixture on your face. Arthur laughed and wiggled his eyebrows at you.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of conversation and laughter, but you couldn't shake the excitement bubbling inside you. Charles' invitation had lit a spark in you, one that had been dormant for years. You felt a renewed sense of anticipation, eager to see where this evening would lead.

When the weekend arrived, you found yourself nervously preparing for the date. You chose a dress that was elegant yet understated, wanting to strike the perfect balance. As you applied the finishing touches to your makeup, you couldn't help but smile at your reflection. This was it, the night you had been waiting for.

Right on time, Charles arrived at the Leclerc home, looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored suit. He greeted you with a warm smile, his eyes filled with admiration.

"You look stunning." He said, offering his arm.

"Thank you." You replied, feeling the blush return to your cheeks.

As you walked to his Ferrari, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. The car roared to life, and soon you were speeding through the streets of Monaco, the city's lights twinkling around you. Charles drove with ease, occasionally glancing over at you with a smile.

He took you to a luxurious restaurant perched on a hill, offering breathtaking views of the city below. The maître d' greeted Charles warmly, leading you to a private table by the window. The ambiance was perfect, soft music, candlelight, and a stunning vista.

Throughout dinner, Charles was the perfect gentleman. He asked about your life in New York, genuinely interested in your stories. You talked about your friends, and the adventures you'd had. In turn, he shared his experiences on the racing tracks, the highs and lows of his career. The conversation flowed effortlessly, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

After dinner, Charles suggested a walk along the harbour. The cool night air was refreshing, and the city seemed to glow under the moonlight. As you strolled side by side, you felt a sense of contentment, like everything was falling into place.

Charles stopped by the edge of the water, turning to face you. "I've really enjoyed tonight," he said softly. "It's been wonderful getting to know you again, Y/N."

"I've enjoyed it too." You replied, your heart racing.

"I hope we can do this again. Soon." He took your hand, his touch gentle but firm.

“I'd like that, Charles." You smiled, your heart swelling with happiness.

As he walked you back to his car, you felt a sense of warmth and belonging. Charles opened the door for you, and as you slid into the seat, you couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of something special.

The drive back to the Leclerc home was quiet, filled with comfortable silence. When you arrived, Charles walked you to the door, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

"Goodnight, Y/N." He said, his voice filled with promise.

"Goodnight, Charles." You replied, your heart full.

As you watched him drive away, you felt a sense of joy and anticipation. The night had been perfect, a dream come true. And as you lay in bed, replaying every moment, you couldn't help but smile.

Waking up the next day you open your phone and find your social media accounts which are private and full of follow requests and DM requests. You’re so confused, before you open Twitter and see pictures of you and Charles last night on a the date everywhere. You groan and lean down in bed closing your eyes.

Charles is happy with himself, those paparazzi he leaked his date info to, did a good job, taking pictures in angles that made it look like you two were kissing at one point, and much closer than you were. Now everyone will know that you’re his. His plan is working, now what he has to do is get you to come stay at his house.

One evening you found yourself at a glamorous cocktail party, filled with drivers and Monaco's high society. You wore a stunning dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, leaving very little for the imagination. Many eyes looked your way when you passed. And of course, Charles was by your side, his arm firmly around your waist.

As you chatted with one of the drivers from F2, you felt Charles' grip tightening. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened. The driver complimented your dress, and you laughed lightly, thanking him, a slight blush covering your face. A blush that has always been meant for Charles only. Before you could continue, Charles interrupted.

"y/n, can I speak with you for a moment?" He said, his voice strained but polite. You excused yourself, following Charles to a quitter corner.

"What's wrong?" You asked, noticing the tension in his posture. Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours, in an interlock that had you shivering.

"I don't like the way he was looking at you."

"He was just being friendly, Charlie, it's a party." You say looking up at him through your lashes, Charles just wants to pull you closer and crash his lips on you in a heated kiss.

His expression darkened further. "Friendly or not, I don’t want anyone looking at you like that."

The possessiveness in his voice sent a chill down your spine. "Charles, you’re overreacting. We’re just talking."

"I don’t care. You’re mine, Y/N.” He leaned in, his face inches from yours. “And I won’t have anyone thinking otherwise."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the intensity in his eyes silenced you. It wasn’t just about protectiveness. There was a dark edge to his possessiveness, something you hadn’t seen before.

“Okay.” YOu agree meekly, Charles kisses your cheek right next to your lips, and smiles oh so sweetly at you, lacing your hands together.

“Come stay with me.” You look up at him, surprised with your eyes wide.

”What?”

“Come stay with me, I want to spend as much time with you as I can before I have to get back to Marnello.” He looks at you pleading. “Pretty please.”

”Alright, might give Arthur free time to hang out with his other friends.” You say convincing yourself that it’s a good idea, you look at your best friend and see him talking with a woman by the bar. “Or someone else.” You say with a giggle, Charles sees Arthur and smile. Good, if Arthur finds and lady friend then that would give him more time to spend with you, this sis going better than he expected.

You moved in with Charles, you had the spare room. Charles tired to convince you to stay with him, but you wanted things to go slow. But more often than not, you fell asleep on the sofa while watching something together and Charles would put you in bed with him.

Most nights will end with you sipping on a drink he makes for you, always insisting that he just wants to spoil you, after a while you’d start feeling exhausted, and fall asleep.

The next mornings, you’d usually wake up in his bed, with him laying next to you, the times you woke up after him, you’d see him awake and watching you with a deep in thought look on his face, the moment he notice you’re awake he’d smile and press a kiss to your forehead.

"Good morning.” He said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Morning." You replied groggily, a strange sense of comfort washing over you.

You were browsing through a quaint boutique downtown. Charles had suggested you update your wardrobe, and you were eager to please him. As you moved between the racks of clothing, you found yourself drawn to a beautiful blue sundress. It was light, airy, it’s something you’d usually buy without a second thought.

You held the dress up to yourself, admiring it in the mirror. It was perfect for the warm weather and would look great with the sandals Charles had bought you last week. But as you stood there, a familiar uncertainty crept in. Would Charles like it? Would he think it was appropriate?

You pulled out your phone and took a quick photo of yourself holding the dress. Your fingers hovered over the send button as you debated whether to ask him. The decision felt simple enough, yet you couldn't shake the need for his approval.

Finally, you texted him: "What do you think of this dress? Should I get it?"

You waited anxiously, your heart pounding. Within a few moments, your phone buzzed with his response: "It's pretty, but I think the neckline is a bit too low. How about looking for something else?"

You sighed, feeling a mix of disappointment and relief. Charles always knew what was best, you reminded yourself. You put the dress back on the rack and continued browsing, looking for something that fit his description of appropriate.

As you moved through the store, you picked up a simple white blouse and a pair of high-waisted jeans. They were nice, but they didn't make your heart sing like the sundress had. Still, you knew Charles would approve, and that was what mattered most.

Later that evening, you returned home with your purchases. Charles was waiting for you in the living room, his eyes lighting up as you walked in.

"Hey, how did the shopping go?" He asked, standing to greet you.

"It went well." You replied, holding up the blouse and jeans. "I found these. What do you think?"

He inspected the clothes, nodding with approval. "Good choices. They'll look great on you."

His praise filled you with warmth, and you felt a sense of accomplishment.

"Thanks. I'm glad you like them."

He pulled you into a hug, kissing your forehead. "I always want you to look your best. You know that, right?"

“I know. Thank you for helping me." You nodded, resting your head against his chest.

As you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, you realised just how much you had come to rely on his guidance. Even for something as simple as picking out a dress, his opinion was the deciding factor. It was comforting, in a way, to know that he was always there to help you make the right choices.

Gradually, your independence faded. Charles' influence seeped into every aspect of your life. You stopped wearing the dresses you loved, opting for the ones he chose. You stopped going out with friends, preferring to stay home with him. Your world narrowed to the confines of his desires, and you didn't even realise it was happening.

Before making any decision, you looked to Charles, waiting for his approval. If he nodded, you felt reassured; if he frowned, you felt anxious. Your happiness hinged on his reactions, your self-worth tied to his validation.

Charles marked you in other ways, too. He began leaving hickeys on your neck, a visible sign of his possession. "I want everyone to know you're mine." He would whisper, his voice both tender and possessive.

You accepted it, feeling a strange sense of pride in his attention. The marks he left were a symbol of his love, and you wore them like badges of honour. When people asked, you smiled and brushed it off.

But it wasn't just protection. Charles' control over you deepened, his possessiveness consuming him. You found yourself agreeing to everything he asked, trusting his judgement over your own. He convinced you that he knew what was best for you, and you believed him.

Charles made sure you stayed close. He monitored your phone, controlled your social interactions, and kept you under his watchful eye. You didn't see it as manipulation; you saw it as love. He was protecting you, caring for you, making sure you were safe.

As the months passed, you lost sight of who you were outside of Charles. Your dreams, your desires, your sense of self, all became secondary to his needs and wishes. You became a shadow of your former self, a puppet dancing to his tune.

But you didn't see it. You were blind to the darkness that had enveloped your life, the possessiveness that had taken root in Charles' heart. You were happy, in a way, content in the illusion of love and security he had created.

Charles had what he wanted: you, completely and utterly his. And you, in your innocence and naivety, believed it was exactly where you were meant to be.

Taglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house .

[diejager]

Imagine that the hybrid 141 was getting a teammate and that teammate was a hybrid and Laswell wanted it to be a surprise for the team what they are as in hybrid was and soon as they get off the aircraft and onto the tarmac, the boys realize that they’re with another dragon hybrid and her “heat” would be soon upon her (dark blue in to black better for stealth or, whatever you prefer, she also has her wings) how would the boys handle that you can take the story anyway you want 

This… I might make it self-indulging because this idea has been clawing at the back of my mind for a long while. Cw: mating/heat cycle, fire/water magic, tell me if I missed any.

Laswell had Price wait for the surprise she had planned, the secret she kept from them when they received your file. It had all he asked for in attributes and skills, but all things personal that should have been on it were scratched out in black. He was told that it was a need to know basis, your name, age or species wouldn’t be divulged unless you told them yourself. He knew you from words from mouth to ear, ad read of your skill and efficiently but nothing he heard and found told him an ounce about you as a person. Your character was a mystery he died to know.

So when he got word from Laswell that your ETA was just over half an hour, he had the boys reconvene to the airstrip, watching the aircraft carrying you land not too far from them, the rotors slowing to a steady thrum. The anticipation that bubble din his chest made this moment crawl at a snail’s pace, the ramp lowering too slowly for his liking and the droning sound of the aircraft’s irking his ears. Then, seconds after the ramp fully dropped, he caught sight of blue horns, tines growing from a singular robust beam, segmented like those of a scale. Your head, covered by a custom made helmet to let your antlers peek out and sit comfortably on your head (at least you wore something, unlike his constant frustration with finding one that wouldn’t bother his horns), followed after you walked out, decked in your gear and a bag slung over your shoulders. 

You weren’t what he was expecting, not exactly. He read that you had a masterful experience in hydromancy, stealing water from the air and humidity and contorting it to cause havoc in the field and cutting through the enemy. He and the others shared their theories, one possibility made you into a water witch, a leviathan, or one of those creepy monsters from the deep sea. Not what… whatever you were. You had elk-like horns painted in the deepest blue he’d ever seen and a tail covered in scales of the same shade, glistening under the light like it was wet with tufts of hair - or was it fur? - crawling down the base of your fourth limb to create a silky and soft end with long, slowing locks. 

What were you? What was that smell? It got sweeter the closer you got, a softness that clung to his nose and made him salivate. He wondered how strong it must be for the Soap and König who’s noses were more enhanced and sensitive than any others, they’d probably sniff the source - you - out and answer his undying question.

“Captain Price,” you nodded your head, a small smile gracing your lips, your slitted eyes narrowed in greeting, “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

That sweetness lingered around you and stuck to his hand when you shook hands, giving him a firm shake and stronger grip that he could admire for the strength you showed. Had you face been as bright as it was a few seconds before? Perhaps it was the musk that oozed off you, it was uneasily addicting and pleasing to his lizard brain, slowly moving the cogs of hos old machine. He watched you take a step back, making some distance between his Task Force and you, and his mind got clearer, nose less stuffy and cheeks wash away the slight flush. Then it hit him, the sweetness, the dazed perception of you and the growing need in his body, he was reacting to you. 

“Sorry, I was told I’d be off for the week once I landed,” you cocked your head, sharing an apologetic smile, “My cycle follows the Lunar year.”

Ah, everything made more sense now, the gracefulness of your beautiful tail, the glistening of your scales and the sharpness of your horns. He had agreed to welcome another dragon to his Task Force, he was fortunate that Asian dragons were calmer and benevolent than his European counterpart. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[poptheweasel]

Turkish Delight

——————————————

Cory quickly realised he’d made a mistake.

He just couldn’t help it. Cory was enjoying an evening coffee at one of those small classic neighbourhood coffeehouses in Istanbul, the kind frequented mostly by aged locals, not young tourists like him. He felt and looked out of place, sure, but it was fine. Sitting at a far corner of the cosy establishment, no one bothered him and he bothered no one. It took him a little while, but Cory was just starting to feel at ease.

And then he entered. Clearly a regular, judging by the way he swaggered in and interacted with the owner and other customers. But he stood out among the others in that he wasn’t old like the rest of them; in fact, he and Cory seemed to be the only men under 40. He sat at a table at the other end of the place, placing him on Cory’s line of sight.

Cory was immediately captivated by this stranger, not fully understanding why. Maybe it was because the guy contrasted so strongly with himself. Not that Cory wasn’t attractive — of course he was — but something about the man transfixed him. “Fuck, he’s hot,” Cory thought. Maybe it was the gleaming light brown eyes to Cory’s own icy blue, or the meticulously-groomed heavy stubble the guy sported that accentuated his sharp jawline; maybe it was his athletic physique, his well-defined body betrayed by a shirt that was clearly a size too small, or maybe it was how hairy he was, the dark hair very conspicuously thickly covering his sturdy legs and arms offering a stark contrast to Cory’s blond hairs barely visible from a distance… Whatever the case, Cory just couldn’t take his eyes off that Turkish guy. He wanted him, to feel him, to taste him, and imagined all sorts of scenarios.

That’s when Cory realised: he was shamelessly ogling the man. Snapping out of his reverie, he noticed the hairy hunk staring right back at him, completely emotionless. Shit. Flushed and embarrassed, Cory hurriedly paid for his coffee and left, all the while the man continuously and intently observed his every move. Just as he exited, the guy whom he mentally violated also got up to follow him.

His cheeks still ruddy and warm from the unfortunate encounter a while ago, Cory briskly made his way through the labyrinthine streets of the hilly city, desperate to return to his accommodation. The Turkish guy wasn’t too far behind him; Cory meanwhile sensed he was being pursued so he quickened his pace. In an attempt to throw him off the trail, Cory turned a corner into a quiet narrow alleyway flanked by an empty lot and vacant buildings.

Right then, a deep voice called out from behind Cory.

“Hey, you.”

Cory froze, his face drained of the redness. He stood in silence, not knowing whether to respond or run away. He was terrified and felt faint. Only the fresh cool evening maritime breeze kept him on his wobbly knees as he shuddered, half because of the chill, half because he feared what would happen next. Ultimately, after a tense while which felt like an eternity, Cory turned around to see the man approaching him. Although Cory still was scared, he weirdly felt an emergent sense of excitement as well.

Soon, Cory stood facing the Turk. A dimly-lit streetlight was the only source of illumination through which Cory could better appreciate the figure before him. He noticed how the guy was even more hirsute than he realised, with chest hair spilling over his too-tight shirt. Cory’s cock twitched.

“I saw you look earlier,” the guy drily said, maintaining intense eye contact with Cory.

“Ye… No! I mean, yeah, I was…” Cory stammered sheepishly. Fuck, why was he getting turned on all of a sudden?

“Like what you see?”

Cory gulped and nodded. His knees were about to give in when the hunk suddenly grabbed Cory by the shoulders with his hairy meaty hands and yanked him close to give him a forceful yet passionate sloppy kiss. Cory was taken aback and screamed internally, but at the same time, he liked what was happening. Wasn’t this what he wanted in the first place? He didn’t resist the surprising advances; he simply couldn’t resist. He reciprocated, their tongues roaming each other’s mouths. As the Turk continued to shove his tongue in him, Cory felt like putty — he’d let the guy do anything to him, he’d be happy to be used by this gorgeous hairy man in whatever way.

The man’s stubble scratched and tickled Cory’s soft skin around his lips moistened by the wet kisses. Cory felt strong itching sensations in the same area. He normally kept himself clean-shaven, mainly because he could only manage to grow some wispy hairs on his face. As the Turkish guy momentarily pulled away from the kiss though, the area around Cory’s mouth was substantially darker than it was just a minute ago, the beard growth process being accelerated. Cory ignored the itch and continued making out.

After a while of spit-heavy lip-locking, the Turk pulled down his shorts and grabbed Cory by the shoulders, pushing him down to his knees. Cory, at eye level with the guy’s cut 8-inch cock, was completely mesmerised by the sight and especially the scent; the pubes were so dense, they trapped and collected all the musky sweat and oozing precum. The smell was rather pungent but Cory didn’t mind at all. If anything, the odour had a simultaneously captivating and relaxing effect on him and he felt compelled to inhale it more.

Cory piggishly sniffed the ridiculously hairy crotch, even licking the beads of moisture off individual strands of pubes. While doing so, the hair on his temple grazed the guy’s leaking member, some of the precum sticking onto his blond hair. His hair absorbed the pre almost instantly and began to darken, the change in colour spreading from where the precum had been smeared. The hair on Cory’s scalp lost its sandy hue but retained its sheen, turning browner and darker as the pigmentation spread from the roots to the tips. His face still buried in the thick pubes, Cory felt the man jerk himself, squeezing out more pre from his throbbing cock. “Suck,” he commanded. Cory swiftly obliged.

Cory was dazed; the public setting, the man’s body and scent, his own eagerness… all that was happening was wilder than anything he’d ever dreamt of. After admiring the juicy rod bobbing up and down in front of him, Cory closed his eyes and got to work, savouring the taste of the musky cock with a faint taste of piss. He took the whole length in his mouth and down his throat, blowing to the best of his abilities. He eagerly lapped up the copious amounts of pre from the Turk’s slick pulsating member, coating his tongue.

The more he sucked and swallowed, the more hairs grew on his face. The itch intensified above and below Cory’s lips, little needle-like black hairs pushing out from his smooth skin and multiplying below his nose and on his chin. The beginnings of a luscious beard then steadily migrated outwards, short pointed hairs breaking out all over Cory’s cheeks and linking with his tapered sideburns. By now, Cory had grown a remarkable designer stubble which grew in thicker by the minute and slowly crept down his chin. At the same time, his face took on a slight tan, darkening independently of the hair growth that took over the whole lower half of his face. Cory’s jaw looked more rugged too, becoming more square and masculine.

Cory carried on blowing his new acquaintance, completely oblivious to the changes affecting him. “You like?” asked the man. “Mmhrrrgggmm,” Cory could only nod and let out a gurgled hum of approval to affirm. The Turkish guy then forcefully rammed his cock down Cory’s throat, making him gag. Just as he did, Cory’s Adam’s apple jutted out more prominently. He opened his wet eyes to look up at the hunk; as he blinked away the tears, his blue eyes lost their iciness as the colour shifted from a cold blue to a warmer mixture of green and brown with flecks of gold. With his new hazel eyes, Cory saw the guy with a smirk on his face for the first time.

Cory’s body continued to change. He felt bulkier, the clothes he wore starting to strain against the muscles growing on his formerly slim frame. He also felt so much warmer despite the breeze; he felt heat radiating all throughout his body from the pit of his stomach and was sweating profusely as a result. He also felt his whole body itching uncomfortably by now. Watching the Turk strip and bare his gloriously hairy body, Cory did the same — he certainly wasn’t as hairy as the guy. Yet. The hair growing on Cory’s face continued to travel down, prickly hairs sprouting on his neck, past his collarbones and on his chest. Cory initially only had a faint patch of barely-visible hair right at the centre of his chest, but as the hairs darkened and thickened, they fanned out towards his pits, forming whirling patterns around his nipples and covering his whole chest with stubbly black hair, like a freshly-mowed lawn. The prickly sensation migrated south to his midriff, a trail of nascent coarse hairs sprouting from his chest down to his navel and then his crotch. From there, the newly-formed treasure trail widened and began to spread outwards in all directions, hairs multiplying rapidly until Cory’s whole torso was blanketed in a field of short hair which connected his stubble and still-sparse pubes.

After a few minutes of Cory sucking, slurping and gagging on the fat Turkish cock, the guy made him stop. Cory reluctantly agreed. The guy then grabbed Cory by his wavy, shiny black hair and got him up back on his feet. Cory was in a state of utter bliss, drunk on pre and musk, drooling uncontrollably. The Turk lifted his arm, exposing his smelly pit completely covered in tangled wiry hairs. The dark hairs were so incredibly dense and tightly-spaced that Cory thought he was staring into the void. “Sniff and lick,” he told Cory. Who was Cory to say no? He stumbled forward, faceplanting right in the sweaty jungle of pit hairs. The pit musk was surely at least ten times as potent as the musk from crotch! The pungent scent was overwhelming; it burned Cory’s nostrils, and yet his cock throbbed even harder, dripping pre all over. What would have been torture felt more like heaven to Cory. He grunted as he took a deep whiff of the rank musk and licked the matted hairy mess soaking wet with sweat. It was absolutely acrid, and the sharp sourness also scalded his throat, making him cough. Cory was immobilised though, his head held in place in the Turk’s reeking hirsute pit; he let out muffled moans, struggling to breathe. Inhaling the musk and gulping down obscene quantities of rancid sweat accelerated Cory’s changes.

Cory’s body ached all over as he increased in size, growing a few inches and gaining muscle mass. His muscles pulsated and expanded; it really looked as if someone was blowing air into him. His chicken legs inflated to become sturdy trunks, with hard thighs and bulging calves. His arms too grew larger, the veins protruding, his forearms thickening along with his biceps and triceps which doubled in size. Cory’s shoulders and chest broadened, providing him with a more robust, rugged physique. His abs also became prominent, the tight muscles emerging with several popping sounds. Cory was granted a temporary reprieve from piggishly eating out the Turk’s pit, leaving him to gasp for fresh air. The guy then tugged sharply on Cory’s nipples, making him let out a simultaneous yelp and low moan. As if some mechanism had been activated, Cory’s pecs ballooned and jutted out forward, his nipples looking thicker, longer and juicier than the goose-pimple ones he had before. Along with his pecs, his ass also expanded; what was once fairly flat and sad-looking was now globular, the firm cheeks jiggling with every move.

Cory’s puppeteer shoved Cory back into his other, equally hairy and musky pit. With his face buried in the nasty armpit, Cory panted and grunted as the intoxicating scent continued to work its magic. Cory’s brows became wider and bushier. The stubble on his face grew darker and thicker, the hairs coarsening and lengthening as well as multiplying in greater numbers. Starting from under his nose, more hairs poked out to give him a moustache which covered his whole upper lip. The hairs on his chin grew out in all directions, growing unruly and tangling up as Cory rubbed his face in the Turk’s manly pit. His cheeks underwent the same treatment, thick beard hairs pushing out from the follicles and cascading down, following Cory’s rugged jawline and covering the entire area of his face below his nose, the new bushy growth connecting with the moustache and the hairs below his lips. The growth continued to give Cory an incredibly thick medium-length beard that he’d only ever dreamt of having, now coated with a layer of musky sweat and Cory’s own saliva owing to his ravenous worshipping of the Turkish man’s pits. The man held Cory firmly in place, as if to cure the scent onto him.

This second explosion of hair travelled down Cory’s heaving body. Where the first wave of hair growth resulted in hairs which looked trimmed, the wiry, curly growth this time gave him a natural look, the hirsuteness of a man who had never shaved in his life, possibly unable to, due to how densely and much the hair grew. Coarse hairs burrowed their way out of Cory’s shoulders, leaving a forest of curly fur surrounding his neck, and flowed down his swollen upper arms and to his forearms, forming whirls and wave-like patterns, the wild, dense growth of black hair obscuring the view of the skin underneath — his arms looked as if they were wrapped in steel wool. Cory’s hands cracked and popped as they grew meatier and burlier, his fingers rough and calloused and speckled with thick hairs, giving him an almost beastly appearance.

The rapid growth of hair continued unabated, Cory feeling an intense itch under his arms. Soon, dark pinpricks appeared in his shaven pits, increasing exponentially. From those black dots, long wiry hairs shot out, growing thicker and longer, seemingly watered and fed by the sweat that had accumulated in his pits all this time. Radiating from the centre of the pits, the hairs blanketed a larger area, connecting with the hairs on Cory’s chest. Much like the Turk’s pits, Cory’s pit hair grew unwieldy and matted, the strands twisted and twirled from both the growth and the dampness. The moisture trapped under the massive tufts of pit hair emanated a smell. Indeed, accompanying the growing hairs was a stink, the same kind of rank smell that Cory had been inhaling for some time now, which grew increasingly more powerful as the fur grew in. Cory’s chest hair also began to lengthen at the same time, the hairs coiling out and curling and bunching up. Any remaining empty space was filled with thick wiry hair springing out in rapid succession. The amount of hair was grotesque; the eruption of wiry black hairs created a rug of fur on Cory’s toned body, completely enveloping his torso such that his pecs and abs were hardly visible at all, only his engorged nipples barely poking out from the dense field of hair.

Together with the massive hair growth and coupled with the increased pigmentation in his hairs, the light tan which had developed on his face also migrated down. Cory’s pale complexion on his face was already completely replaced by a natural tan, a light sun-kissed brown. The colour seeped down his neck, his back, his shoulders, like someone had dumped a bucket of oil on Cory. The dim orange streetlight made his tan appear darker, what little bits of skin peeking out through the dense hair glistening with the light reflecting off the sweat. Soon, all of Cory’s skin was a luscious earthy tone, not that much of it was visible under all the fur carpeting his whole body.

Cory’s raunchy pit sweat guzzling was interrupted when the Turk made him turn around and stand facing the wall of the vacant building. “Ass out,” the guy ordered. Cory immediately obeyed, panting like a dog that’s had too much sun. He was excited by the prospect of getting railed by this hot Turkish hunk, not having realised all the changes that affected him. Beads of precum dribbled out of Cory’s aching cock, which in the meantime had also darkened to match the rest of his complexion. His balls, larger than before, also churned. Cory felt the Turk holding him from behind, grinding his wet slick cock against Cory’s ass crack filling with hair. “Ready?” asked the man. “Fuck yes,” Cory responded. The guy spat right onto Cory’s tight puckering hole. Wiry black hairs blossomed around the pink ring, spreading out alongside the hairs growing on his crack. The light dusting of hair on his bouncy glutes was swiftly overtaken by curly dark hairs.

The Turk slowly inserted his cock lubed up with Cory’s saliva and his own precum into Cory’s inviting hairy hole, making Cory emit low moans and animalistic grunts sounding deeper than the previous ones. The man thrust in and out of Cory in a rhythmic fashion, Cory’s hole wrapping around his cock, basically milking him of his pre. With every thrust and pound and depositing of the Turkish guy’s precum in him, Cory changed further. His furry mounds ballooned even more. Pound. Fuzz grew in from the area of his coccyx and crept up the entire length of his spine, connecting with the thick curly hairs on his shoulders. Pound. The same fuzz then fanned out from the backbone, coating the lower back and colonising the previously hairless area of the shoulder blades. Pound. The wispy hairs on his whole back turned darker, growing longer and thicker, thousands of individual strands unfurling as they burrowed out of Cory’s smooth skin with great strength, leaving him with an impenetrable pelt of fur on his back. Pound. The wiry hairs erupted in greater quantities on his legs and snaked down, growing all over and wrapping around his thighs and calves and shins. Pound. The midnight black hairs on Cory’s legs thickened considerably that they were now visible from a distance, in stark contrast to before when he still had barely-visible light hairs against his pale white skin.

The pounding increased in speed, the Turk’s hairy low-hanging golf ball-sized balls slamming and smacking sonorously against Cory’s voluptuous hairy ass, also making his balls increase in size to those of tennis balls. Each frenzied slap caused Cory’s bush to fill in and spread beyond its confines at the base of his penis. He had previously kept his crotch trimmed, but that was history now; his pubes more closely resembled black fur due to how dense and tightly-packed it was. It was impossible to see the skin underneath the bush which had basically spread to the navel and also around Cory’s hips, even having crawled a little bit up his shaft. The wild, unkempt matted fur on his groin, much like the coarse tufts of hair under his arms, collected both musk and moisture, rendering it damp and especially pungent. It was only this time that Cory realised how much he reeked, with his arms outstretched to prop himself against the wall as he was fucked by his dream man. He didn’t care that he stunk; no, it turned him on, even. His dick responded accordingly, pulsating painfully — as the Turkish guy continued to thrust rigorously, Cory’s leaking cock grew larger incrementally, as did his balls which were engulfed in wiry hairs, and Cory produced more and more pre which trickled down his shaft and onto his extremely tangled mess of a bush, stinking it up even more.

Very little of Cory as he once was at the coffeehouse remained. At this point, he resembled an extremely hairy, beefy Turkish man, handsome and masculine, oozing testosterone out of every pore, blessed with the perfect manly genes such that luscious fur carpeted his body front and back, head to toe. After a few more thrusts and plunging and poking, the Turk erupted with one drawn-out growl and heavy panting and flooded Cory’s insides with his hot, sticky seed, depositing load after load in him. On Cory’s part, he too was close to cumming. As his cock reached a fully erect length of at least 9 inches, his foreskin retracted down his pulsing shaft and vanished altogether, leaving him with a newly-cut slab of meat. Cory blasted — hands-free — at the same time as the other Turk, leaving a puddle of splooge on the ground and painting a fair bit of the wall he propped himself up against. As he came, so came out the last vestiges of his former whiteness, his balls now filling and churning with Turkish cum.

The guy pulled out of Cory with a shlorp, cum dribbling out of Cory’s manhandled hairy hole and clinging onto the thick curly hairs on Cory’s ass and legs. Both men were breathing heavily, completely spent. They momentarily stood in silence punctuated by the sounds of buzzing insects and the occasional evening breeze. The other Turkish man, now slightly smaller in build than Cory, pulled Cory close for a kiss, gently and tenderly this time, not minding the pre and drool that had stuck and dried onto Cory’s majestic bushy beard.

“What’s your name?” the guy asked, thumbing Cory’s still-hard protruding nipples. Cory opened his mouth to respond but he hesitated. He suddenly realised he didn’t remember his name — what was his name? What a strange thing to forget! He knew it started with a C… no! It wasn’t a C, silly him. It started with a K, of course, and there was an R in there. K… Kor…? Ker…

“Kerem,” he finally answered. Yes, Kerem; that was his name, the name that he’d obviously had all his life. He’d always lived in Istanbul, hadn’t he? He liked the sea and the hills, his native culture, and the men, especially the men — those hirsute and masculine like him, of course — how happy is he who calls himself a Turk!

“I’m Semih,” said the other man who had followed Kerem all the way from the coffeehouse in the hopes of having fun with him. He certainly did get lucky, even out in public like this. “Evimde bir kez daha?”

“Peki, kanka.” Kerem was so ready for round two with Semih.

—————————————————

Hi all, decided to upload something original for a change. Kudos to @hairyjocktf for the encouragement!

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 28 || The Effect You Have

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & fluff.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.1k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——IT ALL BEGAN SO SIMPLE. Once Gojo got you home, he opened the trunk of his car to reveal the fifteen dresses he'd purchased for you, all of which he forgot to tell you had also been tailored for you as well.

He left that part out because the two of you had gone to get a dress tailored once just a few days ago. The dress you wore to Sukuna's party was specifically tweaked to fit you perfectly and after that, Gojo took the extra step of having the tailor keep your measurements for future dresses.

It was a detail he decided to leave out because he'd been planning for this for a while now and he didn't want you to think he was weird in any way-- even though the gesture was rather nice of him. Gojo was also sure to leave out how expensive each dress actually was, never wanting to reveal the fact that he'd spent his entire bank account on you if he could.

You went upstairs first, carrying only one dress with you as you did so. When you got into your apartment, you quickly noticed that Shoko had left some time ago, giving you the space for a while. Since it's a Friday, you recall that she has one class and then usually likes to go out and do something right after.

Within minutes after you walk into your apartment, Gojo is entering with the remaining dresses piled up in his hands. You would've helped him carry more but he insisted otherwise.

He takes all the dresses into your room and places them on your bed, just as you instruct him to. Once he's done, the man goes ahead and seats himself onto your mattress with an expectant look in his eyes.

You blink, one dress still in your hands as you wonder why Gojo's looking at you in such a patient way, "What? Why are you still sitting there...?" You ask simply.

Gojo shrugs, "I mean I didn't buy all those dresses for no reason..."

You scoff out a laugh, "Ohh, you want me to try on the dresses for you?"

He flashes you this innocent little smile, "Mhm..."

You narrow your eyes at him, "You'd see the dress whenever I wear it though..."

"That's not true, I'm not gonna be at this nightclub every time you go, I'm just taking you tonight since it's your first time there," Gojo explains.

You stare for a second, then nod, "Uhuh... Fine then, I guess I'll try on the dresses for you..."

He smiles, "Let me know if you need help putting them on-"

"You're not slick, Satoru," You cut off as you turn and dip into your bathroom.

The sound of him chuckling is heard as you move around and begin to change yourself into the first dress. Like all the others, the dress is beautiful and so obviously expensive, despite whatever Gojo tells you about it not being pricey.

You're careful to put the item on, quickly noticing how it fits like a glove and how pretty it looks on you. This first dress is silk and dark blue, almost royal blue, backless, and rather enticing. Just looking at yourself in it makes you feel odd.

The dress you wore to Sukuna's party was one thing, after all, you've been to plenty of parties before so it was your typical dark red party dress. But this dress... Well, you know Gojo said the club was pretty fancy but based on this first dress and the glimpse you caught of the other ones, it seems like classy is what you're gonna have to go for.

When you consider yourself to be done, you open the bathroom door with your eyes down on the dress as your free hand moves to smooth it out. Gojo's eyes are all over you instantly and when you look up, you're not too surprised to see him moving to get off the bed.

"Why are you getting up?" You chuckle, watching him casually approach you.

Gojo's soon standing in front of you, towering over you like always, "I needed a closer look."

"You might need glasses because I'm pretty sure anyone could've seen everything perfectly fine from my bed," You say in response.

He smiles and tilts his head at you, "Gimme a spin."

You fold your arms under your chest, "Say please."

"Please?" Gojo utters as if it were second nature to do so.

With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turn yourself around and give him a full three-sixty of the dress. Gojo's got this big stupidly happy smile on his face as you do so as if he couldn't be more at peace watching you perform such a simple act.

When you're done and come to a stop facing him once more, he's still smiling at you. "Well?" You ask.

"Y'know I'm gonna say you look beautiful in everything, right?" He sighs, the look in his eyes just dripping with affection.

You swallow, "Then what's the point of me trying all these on...?"

"I'm gonna help you figure out which one you should wear tonight!" He says cheerfully, "Gotta' make sure you make a good first impression on Nanami."

A brow is raised in question, "You do know he's seen me before, right?"

Gojo does this gesture with his hand as if to wave off what you just said, "That doesn't count."

"Right, sure it doesn't." You say, shaking your head at him.

"Oh, I also bought you shoes," Gojo suddenly tells you, turning away and heading back over to your bed.

You watch with wide eyes as he flops down onto your mattress, "What? Why?"

"Uh, to go with the dresses, sweetheart." He hums.

"Well, where are they?"

"Check your closet," Gojo says, laying down on his back and staring up at your ceiling, "Shoko said they came earlier this morning."

You blink, not sure how exactly to react just yet. It's so unusual for you to get spoiled like this. It's one thing for him to buy you a dress every now and then, and another thing for him to pay you for your sinful acts but to go out of his way and purchase this much for you is just...

New.

Your feet move to your closet and the second you open it, you're met with a shitload of new shoeboxes. "Wh-What the hell..." You say softly.

Gojo sits up slightly, holding his body up with his elbow and looking in your direction, "Hm?"

"Satoru..." You whisper, your eyes darting all over the fifteen different boxes of shoes in front of you. "You didn't really..."

"I did," He hums, "I swear they aren't as expensive as you think they are-"

"Shut up," You cut off. He closes his mouth quickly and you crouch down to the first box that catches your eye. "Satoru, these are Christian Louboutins...."

"Oh, I forgot I got those..." He replies.

You move the box around in your hand to inspect the item, "They're like a thousand dollars for each pair on average..."

"Okay...?"

Your eyes go to the other boxes nearby, "I'm seeing seven different pairs..."

"Seven different colors," Gojo explains with a casual shrug.

You take a second to reply, wondering what the hell is wrong with this man and trying to figure out why he'd go out of his way like this. "That's roughly seven thousand dollars on just shoes." You point out after some quick estimates made.

"Okay.....?" He chuckles, "They're shoes for you."

Your heart throbs in your chest in reaction to his emphasis on the shoes being for you-- as if he were implying that the price will never matter if it's something for you. Carefully, you place the box back down, too scared to even open it and look just yet.

"I..." You release a sigh, "I don't understand you..."

For a moment, Gojo goes quiet. You can't see his face so you don't catch how his expression grows worried. He feels like you may even be upset with him for a moment, which is the exact opposite of what he'd hoped to achieve with this.

After a moment of thought, "Is it too much...?" He asks softly.

"Yes, yes it is." Your response is quick and you go on to ramble immediately, "Why the hell would you buy all this for me just for me to go to one little nightclub? There are thousands of other heels you could've bought for me that aren't nearly as expensive. I'm gonna feel like I'm literally walking on eggshells the entire night because of how expensive these are. What if I break them? What if they get dirty-"

"So..." Gojo cuts you off, raising a brow, "I should've bought you a backup pair for each shoe?"

He sounds so genuinely confused that it's almost funny. "No Satoru, you shouldn't have bought me anything this expensive to begin with." You say calmly.

He blinks, "Why not?"

"I..." You sigh again, "It's weird."

"Weird how?" Gojo questions, not understand your reaction at all. He thought you'd be happy about this kinda thing, he's seen the way your eyes light up whenever he pays you so what's the difference here? "I'm buying things for the woman I love, what's so weird about that?" He questions.

"Stop saying that."

His brows pinch together, "What? That I love you? Or, that you're the woman I love?"

"It's all the same, just stop." You tell him.

"Why?"

"Because..." Your words fall off your tongue as you lose the reasoning behind why you want to hear him stop uttering such a phrase.

Every time he says those things it's like you can hear the truth behind his words. Almost as if in no universe could you deny the fact that you wholeheartedly believe he's in love with you. And for some reason, that belief of yours confuses you.

Gojo grins a little, "Because what sweetheart?"

"I don't know how to feel when you say things like that." You finally explain.

"There's no right or wrong way to feel, y'know..."

You shrug, "Well, it makes me feel... weird."

A sneaky little smile spreads across his face, "Is it because you love me t-"

"No." You deny it instantly.

"Alright then," Gojo sighs, "What is it?"

"Sympathetic." You correct him, somewhat figuring out what it is you feel as he utters those three words to you.

"Huh?"

"Every time you say that you love me or do things that make me feel like you love me... I begin to feel sympathy for you." Your explanation makes his heart race for some unknown reason.

Gojo swallows, "W-Why?"

"Cause' it's like... the things you do are making up for the bullshit you make me do. A-And it's all so fucked up because the last thing I want to feel is sympathy for my blackmailer." You stammer, steadily getting worked up over this small conversation.

Gojo lets out a sigh of relief and then smiles softly, even though you're not looking at him yet, "Listen, I'm not spoiling you like this because I want you to forgive me for what I've done. I... I don't ever expect to make up for it. But, if getting you new expensive things can put a smile on your face, even if only for a second, I'd sell a limb to be able to provide that for you."

Your head whips around to the man, "What?"

"Anything," Gojo says, meeting your gaze. He's so serious that it's almost dark the way he looks at you, "I'd do anything for you."

There's this sharp feeling in your chest. It's like you could feel the gravity of his words weighing your heart down. Almost as though, you knew he was serious.

Nearly overwhelmed by his seriousness, you quickly turn your head away, "I appreciate that..." You murmur, unsure of a better way to respond.

"Great-"

"But," You interrupt, "I don't understand why."

"Those three words." Gojo explains, "That's why."

"Because you love me?" You ask.

"Mhm." He hums in response.

"Well," You slowly begin to stand up and move out of your closet. "I don't understand that either."

Gojo watches as you grab another dress to try on and take it into the bathroom. He gets how you find his feelings for you confusing and has no intentions of explaining them just yet so instead, he results in saying something rather simple.

"Love isn't meant to be understood, sweets," Gojo tells you just before you shut the bathroom door.

You merely hum in response to that and the rest of you trying on dresses goes pretty smoothly.

With each dress, he'd comment on either how the material looks good on you or how the color makes a certain feature of yours stand out, all of his comments well thought out and making you feel all warm inside. You eventually even start trying on the heels with these dresses and each outfit is something you never thought you'd find yourself wearing.

Not that they didn't fit your usual style or anything but the prices that followed the items you wore were just something you'd never given yourself the leisure of even looking at. So to have such pretty and expensive items on your body and in your closet felt really nice.

Eventually, you land on the last dress. The color alone made you not want to wear it because simply looking at it reminded you of that morning you spent with Gojo. It was baby blue and rather small on you. There were these thin spaghetti straps that went over your shoulders, a decent amount of cleavage was revealed, and once you got down to how it just barely stopped at your thighs, there was this small slit in it.

It was cute and when you turned around, you noticed it hugged your ass nicely. Even so, you didn't want to reveal yourself in it to Gojo because you had a feeling you knew what his reaction would be.

"It's been fifteen minutes, love. Need some help?" Gojo calls out from the other side of your bathroom door.

You looked to the bottom of the door and noticed his shadow was there, smiling to yourself at how he so clearly knew you were purposefully taking a while. "No, I don't need help..."

"Thennnn what's taking you so long?" He hums.

"Nothing." You say before moving to open the door.

You're quickly met with Gojo standing there, leaning against your doorframe like always with a little smile on his face. His eyes are on your face, not yet dropping down to the dress.

Slowly, he allows himself to get a look at you and you watch the way he smiles. "You are so..."

"Beautiful?" You finish, having heard him say the same thing for the past hour or so, "Yeah, I know-"

"Perfect," Gojo corrects, "You're absolutely perfect."

You roll your eyes at his compliment for the millionth time, "Whatever."

He moves a hand to your waist and suddenly pulls your body close to his. Your chest presses up against him and your eyes frantically search his in question of why he's suddenly touching you.

Then, you catch that look in his gaze that you haven't seen in a while. It's the look that makes your knees go weak, that begging and pleading look of his that so clearly tells you he wants his lips on yours. You hate the way you recognize it so quickly now.

Gojo leans down to you, his arm slithering all the way around your waist, "This is the one." He whispers to you.

You blink, "The one what?"

"The dress you should wear tonight," He clarifies.

"Why? Does Nanami like blue or something?" You ask curiously.

Gojo shrugs, "I think so."

"Oh.." You murmur, watching as Gojo's face nears yours.

He stops himself just an inch away from your lips, his head tilted and his eyes low on yours. He doesn't say anything just yet, simply looking at your lips with the strong desire to place his own over them.

"Can I..." He trails off a little, almost as if he's nervous to ask his question.

You don't know why but you just nod, permitting him to kiss you.

What was it about this man that made you miss the feeling of his lips over yours? You don't know. You have no idea why every time Gojo's lips press into yours and you kiss him, your knees go weak, your brain stops working, and you feel so drowned in love.

You don't feel the same for him but damnit you can't deny how much you enjoy the way he kisses you. Sometimes, like right now, it's gentle and slow, his lips carefully and strategically moving over your own until his tongue is in your mouth, affectionately making out with you as his hand travels up and down your back.

Other times it's hot and heavy, both of you chasing the feeling of each other's lips as if time will one day stop you from feeling that connection.

Currently, you find yourself lost in his kisses, panting softly by the time he pulls away and both of you moving in for more just as quickly as you pulled away. So lost in it, you don't even think as he eases you into your bathroom and lifts you onto the counter, his lips desperate against your own.

Gojo's not kissing you like he wants to have sex with you or anything, he's kissing you like he just enjoys the feeling just as much as you. It's like he melts into your mouth, releasing small hums and even smaller whines into your parted lips as he sinks into the moment.

His hands go to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hand and kissing you like his life depends on it, and as if he's worried you'll slip away from his grasp at any given moment. After which, Gojo's hands would be on your thighs, sliding up your legs and just barely going up and under the dress, eager to just feel your skin.

As he does so, you think you get dizzy when he pulls away just to whisper, "I love you," In the lowest voice you've heard from him.

And it's not just one time he does that, it's constant that he breaks the kiss just to whisper those three words into your lips as if he wants you to never forget it as if he needs to chant the phrase in order to pass the needed level of understanding behind it.

"So much," Gojo utters, "I love you so fucking much." His lips are back on yours within the next second, needy tongue shoving into your mouth that you so gratefully accept.

You're unsure of what you've done to make this man be so deeply in love with you like this. Maybe the day you find out, you may reciprocate the feeling but as of now, the the only thing you can do in response to his repeated claims is kiss him back.

You could never utter those three words back to him. I love you. It's a phrase you've reserved for someone else. A sentence in which you direct toward an entirely different man. Even now as you make out with Gojo, you still think of who's stolen your heart.

Somewhere deep down inside, you tell yourself that it should be him instead. It should be Choso telling you that right now. It should be him holding you so lovingly, kissing you so tenderly, and longing for you the way Gojo does.

That's who you should be with at this very moment and yet, there you were, against Gojo's lips hearing how in love with you he claims to be.

As of now, you could only await the day in which you'd be where you're supposed to be.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

After about forty straight minutes of locked lips with Gojo Satoru, the two of you eventually pry yourself off of each other. You hadn't even realized you kissed him so long and you didn't even notice the way your lips made it to his neck at one point.

It was almost subconscious the way you left hickeys on his neck, marks that he had no intention of stopping you from making. Gojo actually held your head at his neck at one point, thriving in the feeling of you against him.

When the two of you were done, you watched him admire the work you'd left on his neck as he gazed in the mirror. His fingers traced over each one and the man wishes he could keep them there forever. To have evidence of you on his skin was something he'd wish to keep forever.

Even so, the two of you eventually left the bathroom and it was decided that the final dress you tried on was what you were going to wear that night.

Gojo left later that afternoon and told you he'd be back to pick you up when it was time to go. You still didn't quite understand why it was so important for him to take you there but you didn't argue with him about it.

Shoko eventually stopped home later that afternoon and she teased you about going out for the second night in a row. This time, even though she wasn't going with you, she went ahead and got ready with you-- the two of you helping one another with makeup and accessories.

She even made a comment on the dress you were wearing, saying that it was really pretty on you and that she loved the color. She also not-so-sneakily made a comment on how she recalls Gojo having a tie from high school that matches it but you brushed her words off.

And of course, to your surprise, the tie in question ends up being around the neck of Gojo Satoru when he comes to pick you up. Why would he match his tie with your dress? You don't know and you didn't care enough to ask. It's not like you and him would be side by side throughout the night anyway, you were supposed to be meeting Nanami.

The nightclub in which you were set to be was located all the way across town and the drive took forever. The ride was filled with low music and Gojo telling you things he thinks Nanami would look for in a woman.

He tells you that you have to be careful not to be too bold with him because Nanami may misinterpret what you've approached him for, going on to tell you how the guy apparently gets hit on a lot and turns a lot of people down. So basically, you'll have to be careful with your flirting.

You take a mental note of everything he's saying and by the time you get there, you think you're ready for the whole thing. You've only seen Nanami twice, once in a photo and another in person but you could spot the man in a crowded room since he has rather distinguishing features.

Plus, Gojo told you he'd be at the bar and probably the furthest away from the dancefloor so you'd most likely find him there.

Even so, Gojo wanted to at least be in the building with you so he walked you to the door and entered the building with you. The man even gave the bouncer at the entrance a death glare for ogling you. After that, the two of you entered and you quickly noted how fancy the place really was.

It wasn't your typical club with people partying and drinking all over the place or loud music blaring throughout the building. Instead, there were people dressed very classy and almost elegant in certain areas. The dancefloor was filled with a few couples, all of whom danced to some slow jam.

You actually liked the scene in front of you. The only thing you felt nervous about was looking out of place. Luckily, by Gojo's side, you fit right in since he was wearing a suit and pulled himself together rather nicely. But, you wouldn't be around him the entire night.

And that was what worried you.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i’m almost shocked at how fast this fic got written?? thanks to anon who indulged my fun little request for a new hockey to write about (inspired by @wyattjohnston ‘s post earlier about how there’s only fics for certain hockeys in the nhl fic tag and also bc i have so much fun writing for new guys in the fic exchanges!!)- how could i resist vancouver’s own prince charming? hope you guys enjoy because i had fun writing! ☺️

word count: 2.7k

tw: single dad!brock, nanny!reader, dirty talk, minor daddy kink, fingering (f receiving), handjob, dirty talk, nipple play

summary: you’re nothing but the nanny for brock’s daughter, until one night all the lines get blurred

Kya snuggles closer to you in her sleep, blonde hair tickling the underside of your chin. Her cheek is pressed up against your collarbone and her little body is hot, making you feel all sweaty where she’s connected to you.

The TV casts the room in a faint blue light, the low volume serving as white noise along with Kya’s little puffed air snores.

You think about moving her to her bed, but she’s so soft and cuddly when she hasn’t been lately and you can’t find it in your heart to get up. Unfortunately, the four-year-old has your heart in a vice-like grip and you’d do anything for her. Including being a human mattress.

So you stay on the couch, stroking her back and humming softly when she stirs briefly. Eventually, the clock ticks over to the eleven o’clock hour and you know it’s only a matter of time before Brock’s home and your shift is over. Not that you have to go very far to get home - your pool house turned bachelorette nanny pad is practically spitting distance from the back door. If you tilted to the left a bit and angled your neck, you’d be able to see the little planter with multicolored flowers that Kya had helped you plant last week.

And by help, you mean crushed a few daisies in her little fists and ate a mouthful of dirt before you could stop her.

A+ nannying for sure.

You’re still thinking about it when a familiar voice startles you from your thoughts.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Brock’s voice rumbles through the dark room, laughter around the edges.

Without thinking, you reply, “just thinking about the handful of dirt I let Kya eat last week.” Then you wince, wondering why Brock’s presence always makes you say the stupidest things.

He laughs fully now, stepping around the couch and dropping into the armchair. He’s in his post-game look - rumpled suit pants and button down with the sleeves rolled up, bare feet with his loafers kicked off in a pile at the front door, and blonde hair darkened from his shower. His palm rasps over the few days’ worth of stubble growing on his chin and his face splits into one of those smiles that makes Twitter (and you) swoon.

“She’s gotta get vitamins and minerals from somewhere, right?” He teases and your cheeks heat.

This.

This is why he makes you say the stupidest things. Because he’s a real-life Prince Charming with the personality to match.

You smile back at him, a reflex. “There are some leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry and want to get in your own vitamins and minerals,” you joke back, shifting Kya on your chest when she starts to slip.

Brock shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll take Princess Ky upstairs and you can get some rest,” he stands, arms out to grab Kya.

Weirdly, you shift and hold her closer. “It’s, um, I don’t mind. She’s been really snuggly today and it’s nice,” you shrug one shoulder. “She watched a little bit of the first.”

“Yeah?” Brock’s face lights up. He loves it when you bring Kya to games and he gets to wave at her during warmups.

“Mhm,” you smirk, “she was obsessed with Quinn.”

Brock narrows his eyes at you, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Real nice,” he shakes his head, “making fun of the guy that your best friend over there belongs to.”

Your cheeks lift in a smile, your arms holding Kya comfortably. “Don’t be jealous of my bond with Ky. Daddy’s still her favorite.”

Something flickers across Brock’s face, there and gone before you can analyze it. He chuckles, says, “I better be since I pay for all those chicken nuggets she inhales like a freaking vacuum,” and excuses himself upstairs to change.

You watch him leave, chewing at your lower lip while you study the curve of his ass in his slacks, feeling awful even as you’re appreciating his form. Kya mumbles in her sleep, nonsense words and a ‘Daddy’ and your name, eyelids twitching as she dreams.

Brock’s back a few minutes later, comfortable in sweats and a threadbare t-shirt. Still barefoot, now he smells like mint toothpaste in addition to the locker room soap. “Sure you don’t want me to take her?” He asks, sitting down on the couch with you, a cushion’s worth of space between your bodies. “Feels like I should let you off the clock and hold my kid now that I’m home.”

“I really don’t mind,” you promise him. “Kya’s…she’s exactly what I want my own daughter to be one day.” You think maybe you’re over sharing, but it’s late and Brock just looks so domestic and comfortable. It’s easy to pretend when he looks like this. His eyes soften as he studies you and the way you’re holding Kya.

“She’s a pretty cool little girl,” he agrees warmly, reaching out to run a hand over her head. His palm

makes her hair staticky, fine strands lifted into the air. You blow at them gently, giggling when they stick to your face even after you try smoothing them back with a hand.

“You know,” he says too casually after a comfortable pause, “she, the other day when you were off, she said that she never wants you to leave.”

A little piece of your heart breaks with his words because you know one day you’ll have to leave. It’s easy right now, nannying for Kya while you get your Master’s, but what happens next year when you’re finished with school and you have to find a real

job.

Your face must show your distress, because Brock coughs slightly and rushes to say, stumbling over his words, “I didn’t mean, she’s four. You know, they say stuff all the time. When you do have to leave, it’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.”

He means well, you know that, but it doesn’t help and to your horror, your nose starts to burn and tears well in your eyes. You don’t really want to cry in front of Brock, not over something that’s at least a year away, but you feel the dam starting to break.

“Um, I do think I’ll head out for the night,” you say quietly, trying to not let your voice crack. You shift Kya in your arms and transfer her to Brock’s, making sure she stays asleep. “She really should be out for the night. So, um, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He takes her easily, arms practiced with adjusting her weight against his chest and her head on his shoulder. You jump up from the couch and wave over your shoulder, heading for the back door, ignoring Brock’s whispered shout of your name.

It’s so silly, to get so emotional about Kya outgrowing her need for a nanny, her need for you. But you’re more attached to Ky and Brock than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

Right now, your best option is to play your sad music playlist and cry, just to get it out of your system before getting back to normal in the morning.

The music helps. The crying helps more. The two glasses of wine help the most.

And then there’s a knock on the door, scaring the ever living shit out of you. It’s so late your visitor can only be one person.

“Brock?” His name is a question on your lips when you open the door, your brow furrowed.

“Hi,” he looks upset and your brain works sluggishly to figure out what could be bothering him. “Can I-?”

He gestures a little and you nod, stepping back automatically. “Yeah, of course. It’s your pool house,” you say. “Is Kya asleep?”

He nods, holds up the baby monitor. You can see Kya’s little body sprawled out on her bed and a smile curls your lips - she sleeps like a starfish, arms and legs akimbo. “She’s done for the night,” he replies quietly, setting the monitor on the little table you have next to the door for your keys.

Brock’s been in the pool house before, a million and one times. But this time, the air crackles like it does before a thunderstorm, your nerves on edge.

“What are -“

“I’m sorry.”

You and Brock speak over each other, words getting jumbled in the air. You giggle a little and Brock smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

“I’ll go,” he says, still smiling. His hands run through his hair, the strands flopping over his forehead before getting pushed back into place. “I’m sorry, for what I said. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” you aren’t expecting the apology and you start to excuse him, “I didn’t -“

“You did,” Brock cuts you off. “Your eyes are all red and I’m so sorry. I just thought, Ky loves you so much, that you’d want to hear what she said about you. I wasn’t thinking about - about you leaving.”

“I’ll have to eventually,” you shrug, the wine dulling the sharper edges of your emotions.

Brock’s jaw works and you wait for him to speak, patient like he’s Kya. A few seconds go by and he scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m not good at - I want you here, as long as you want to be here. I don’t care if Kya is a grown woman with her own kids, I’d want you here.” He pauses and his words sink in, battering at the boundary you’d built around your heart.

“What?” You whisper, hands fluttering at your sides. You suddenly don’t know what to do with them.

“I…I think, no, I am. I am definitely falling for you,” Brock says, tone firm and eyes soft, crinkled at the corners. Those damn blue eyes that have starred in a fantasy or two of yours. He reads your silence as negative, apparently, because he frowns and continues, “if I just made this uncomfortable, we can forget it ever happened.”

“No!” You nearly yelp, Brock’s eyes widening at your sudden increase in volume. “No,” you repeat quieter. “I don’t want to forget this happened. I’m just … surprised. I didn’t think you thought of me as anything but Ky’s nanny.”

His smile is contagious and you’re both grinning like idiots at each other.

“You haven’t been Ky’s nanny in my head for a long time,” he confesses. “Just been hoping you felt the same way.”

“Definitely feel the same way,” you giggle, feeling hysterical.

“Can I -?” He steps forward, into your space, and you nod, knowing what he’s asking. And then all you know is Brock’s mouth on yours, his hands warm on your waist, his hair soft under your fingertips. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you open your mouth. A groan fills the air and you’re not sure if it’s yours or his.

Your chest crushes against Brock’s, bodies flush against each other. His cock is prominent against your thigh, hard and hot through the layers of fabric separating the two of you. For months, you’ve fantasised about this, wondered what it would feel like to get your hands on Brock and it’s better than you ever imagined. Hot and hard, his lips soft against yours, his hands gripping at your ass, dragging you closer and closer. Your hips chase his, involuntarily moving for relief.

“Brock,” you whine his name, surprising yourself with the neediness that colors your tone. He growls against your jaw and lifts you, arms braced under your ass, settling you on the countertop in your tiny kitchenette. He steps into the space created by your spread legs, your thighs at his hips, ankles locked at his lower back.

“Shit, wanted to do this for months,” he mumbles against your skin. His lips mark a hot trail down your neck and over the heated skin of your chest. His hands are down the back of your shorts, kneading at your ass.

His cock presses against your heated core and you moan, loudly and unashamed. Brock’s laugh is clearly delighted and he presses himself against you harder, drawing a strangled moan from your throat.

“Making such pretty noises for me,” he croons, dragging one hand up your side to grope at your breast, rolling your nipple until it’s a stiff peak. “What other noises are you going to make for Daddy?”

“Oh my god,” you keen, arousal flooding your panties. “Brock, oh my god, I need you to touch me.”

“What’s the magic word?” He replies, ducking his head to suck at your nipple over your shirt. The scrape of his teeth and the wet fabric makes you shiver, clit throbbing.

“Please,” you wail, grinding your hips against his.

“Please…?” He trails off and your heart pounds in your chest, pleasure coiling low in your stomach.

You sigh, a shaky exhale. “Please, Daddy, touch me. Please make me come,” you whisper the words in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

Brock whips your shirt off, tossing the fabric to the floor. You’re not wearing a bra and normally you’d be self-conscious, but Brock’s staring at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen and you’ve never felt hotter. “Christ,” he mutters, palming your breasts and kneading them tenderly. “So fucking gorgeous. Just, just fucking stay with me forever, please?”

You nod, agreeing. “Yours, I’m all yours, I promise,” you cradle his face in your hands and kiss him deeply, leaning in as close as you can.

Somehow, his shirt ends up on the floor with yours and your fingers can trace each muscle on his chest and stomach. You drag a nail over his nipple and his skin erupts in goosebumps, so you do it again, skimming your nails over his skin and scratching at his biceps.

“Mark me up,” Brock encourages you, lifting your ass off the counter with one hand so he can tug at your shorts and panties. “Make sure everyone knows I’m yours.”

He’s certainly doing the same, sucking bruises onto your skin. There’s a bite mark over your breast and it feels like his fingers dug bruises into the flesh of your ass.

“Just want you,” you blink away a sudden rush of tears, still in disbelief that this is happening. “Been thinking about you for so long, Brock.”

Your fingers dance down to the waist of his sweats, pushing at them until his cock springs free and you can get a good look at it. It’s just as perfect as his face, thick and long and hard as steel.

“Come on, honey,” his fingers swipe at your clit, making you inhale sharply and arch your back. “Put your hands on me. Touch me.”

You obey, wrapping your hands around his cock and stroking him. Softly at first until Brock grunts and wraps his hand around yours to increase the pressure and speed. “Like that,” he instructs you, leaving his hand in place and using the other to smear your arousal over your clit and inner thighs.

“I don’t have any condoms!” You gasp, Brock’s index finger teasing at your entrance. The thought hits suddenly, annoyingly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, kissing the moan from your mouth when he plunges his fingers into your cunt. “I’ll make you feel good just like this.”

Brock’s a man of his word.

He makes you come twice, once on his fingers and one on his tongue. The first time you make a mess of the counter, dripping all over the place. The second time he’s got you laid out on the couch, his stomach splattered with his own come from the handjob you’d given him.

And then he cuddles.

Wipes between your legs with a towel and wraps

you in his arms under a throw blanket. Kisses the crown of your head and tells you all the filthy things he’s thought about doing to you.

“Hey,” you pipe up, amusement bubbling in your chest, “do I get a bonus for every blowjob I provide?”

Brock’s surprised laughter vibrates at your back, shaking your entire body. His arms wrap around your chest and squeeze. “No,” he deadpans, sounding like he’s struggling to hold back his laughter, “but we probably should talk about your job.”

“Tomorrow,” you insist. “I love taking care of Ky. So we’ll work on a transition.”

The transition from Ky’s nanny to Brock’s wife and Ky’s mom takes about six months less than you anticipated.

“Best job promotion ever,” you tease Brock at the altar, Kya practically glued to your side and shouting her excitement when you kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

[innorogers]

Lull

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: So this is when you understood the difference between making love and banging, or, in this case, fucking.

Warning: Fluff / SMUT / MINORS DNI / 18+ / Unprotected Sex /

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Natasha Romanoff

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia

You slipped through the streets like shadows, holding hands, hearts racing, eyes darting over your shoulders, every sound amplified by the silence of the night. The Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder – or ‘Magic Stark-Potter Thing’ as Steve was calling it – had granted you some safe time. But time was fragile, and you both knew it.

Your powers pulsed beneath your skin, guiding Steve with quiet certainty. You could feel the city’s pulse, see through the walls, and peer into the hidden corners of every alley. You led him down paths that no one else knew, invisible threads pulling you toward safety. The streets, immersed in late hours after midnight, stretched before you like the remnants of some secret map.

When you reached a narrow street swallowed by the night, you knelt down and moved a pile of old garbage cans aside, revealing a small, grimy basement window. You glanced back at Steve, and gestured for him to follow you down.

Turned out to be an underground club, and the party was just getting good.

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and smoke. Neon lights painted the walls in erratic colors—electric blues and deep reds—while people shouted over the pounding music, their laughter swallowed by the deafening noise.

You exchanged a look with Steve as you pushed through the crowd. His usual composed demeanor flickered, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene while staying close behind you. You weaved through the press of bodies, brushing against strangers lost in their own worlds, music vibrating through your bones as you both made your way to the other side. It felt like a different universe—one that was wild, loud, and completely unaware of the chaos lurking outside its walls.

“I need a computer!” You raised your voice so he could hear.

“I really don’t think you’ll find one here.” He almost laughed, holding your waist and waving through the people around you as you moved forward.

“I know.” You tilted your jaw. “But that’s perfect, look.” You pointed to the computer they used as a register to take orders. “An older one, probably. I need to enter an untraceable code; our network is probably compromised, so I need to notify the only being who can’t be hacked or corrupted.”

“Really?” Now he was intrigued. “Who?”

“Vision.” You continued to scan the place as you moved through the dancing crowd. “These machines won’t work, they’re plugged into their private network. I’ll need something connected to the outside. C'mon… let’s go to another floor.” It was a huge underground bar, so you held Steve’s hand and moved to the stairs.

“I think we’ve got company.” Steve tightened his grip as he noticed some guys entering the floor. They looked like military—tense poses and sharp, alert eyes scanning the place. He looked up and saw more of them on the floor above, near the exits and moving through the whole place.

“Let’s go, we don’t have much time. I think there’s some gear on me that’s making us trackable.” You hurried with him to go down, but stopped when those military men started coming from downstairs. You pulled him aside, hiding in a dark corner, but they weren’t leaving. Steve’s figure—tall, handsome, blonde—was too easy to recognize. A lot of women (and men) were looking at him with flirtatious eyes, intrigued.

You passed by corridors and stairs full of people, using your powers and his sensitive perception to navigate the space. The men didn’t notice you were there, but their eyes were everywhere.

You felt Steve’s body tense beside you, ready to attack at any moment, and the place would turn into hell if that happened. You cupped his face, pulling him closer to the wall, your eyes scanning behind him.

“I’ve always wanted to do this with you…” You smirked as the men passed by, and with your hand on his neck, you kissed him deeply.

Shit. Steve’s body went rigid.

This was the worst place and the worst time, but somehow, it felt so right. He’d almost forgotten how much he needed this. The moment your lips met his, your body pressed against his, the scent of smoke and debris clinging to you from the chase. But your kiss, it grounded him—reminded him why every risk was worth it.

He kissed you in the flicker of shadows, under the flashing lights, in a dark corner of an underground club. Drunk, dancing strangers moved in their own ecstasy, oblivious to the danger. It wasn’t something he ever imagined doing, but then again, you always brought the unexpected. And again...How could you ever think he’d choose anyone else over you? Over this?

He deepened the kiss, pinning you to the wall, his tongue brushing yours, and it felt so right… you tasted like sweetness, laced with something wild, like sin and salvation entwined.

“Steve…” You broke away, eyes still on the men as they passed, and he lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist. You grinned. “I really don’t think this is the time…”

“Well…” He chuckled, voice rough. “I think it’s the perfect time for this.”

“Come on. Let’s move now that we have the chance.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before starting to move.

Taking advantage of the lack of enemies in sight, you made it to the last floor through doors and hidden passageways and arrived at what seemed to be a VIP room.

“There we go.” Your eyes locked onto a computer next to a more sophisticated bar. “That’ll do.” But as you approached, Steve’s senses sharpened, picking up the tension of a threat.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw a group of men—tall, armed, and bearing the unmistakable faces of movie villains. Why do they always look like the bad guys? He sighed, slowly rolling up his sleeves. Well, it was about damn time. He had been holding back this feeling of wanting to punch someone ever since a bomb exploded near your car.

“Mmm?” You turned back and noticed the surroundings. The only guy who had been on a date at a corner table rushed out with his partner as soon as the room filled with the approaching men, circling both of you. He was even polite enough to close the door behind him.

“Oh.” You blinked at the 1, 2, 3… 15 men surrounding you.

“Gentlemen, there’s really no need for this to escalate…” You advised as the tension thickened, movements slowing to a crawl before the inevitable first strike.

“Shut up, doll. We’ll take care of you later.” Said the man who seemed to be their leader, smirking at you. “And believe me, you’ll be well attended.”

“Oh … you really shouldn’t have said that.” You shook your head, already sensing Steve’s fists clenching in response.

“Sir, you’re about to get the smash of your life…” You spun just in time to grab the bartender’s hand as he reached for a weapon beneath the desk, a fight breaking out behind you. “Please don’t do that.” You blinked at him. “I just need to borrow your computer, okay?”

“Um…” The bartender, startled by your strong grip, noticed the Avengers logo on your gear and quickly reconsidered. “Um… this thing runs on Windows Millennium. Like…Yikes.” He gestured at the ancient machine. “Don’t you need something, I don’t know, more modern?”

“It’ll do, thanks.” You hopped over the bar counter and began typing. “If it doesn’t send Vision a signal, it’ll at least ping him with a virus warning.”

The moment Steve moved, the air shifted.

The first punch landed with the force of a freight train, sending one of the goons crashing into a table, shattering glass and upending chairs. Chaos erupted in the room as fists and bodies collided. Steve ducked under a wild swing, his movements sharp and precise, retaliating with a brutal uppercut that left another attacker sprawled on the floor. Damn, this is so boring. A punching bag in the training room felt even heavier.

One of the armed men lunged at him with a knife, but Steve twisted to the side, catching the man’s wrist and flipping him over with ease. The crack of bones echoed as the thug hit the ground hard, and Steve was already turning, launching a swift kick into another man’s chest, sending him crashing through the VIP room’s thin partition wall.

“Babe, you got that?” He moved his head, avoiding a knife—or whatever sharp thing was coming from the back—grabbed the guy by his arm, and twisted it like a towel.

“Just a sec.” You were typing the commands as bottles clinked and tables flew across the room, the thumping bass from the club floor below barely audible over the grunts and crashes of the fight. 

“Just… okay, there.” You turned to the bartender: “Do you want me to upgrade this system for you?”

The bartender wanted to answer, but suddenly bent over as a guy was thrown and hit against the wine cellar. He covered his head and screamed, so you raised your eyebrows and took that as a no.

With only three men left standing, they hesitated for a moment, locking eyes with each other as if silently deciding who would make the first move. But that took forever, and Steve was getting bored. He lunged forward, grabbing the nearest man by the collar, lifting him effortlessly before slamming him down onto the tables, the impact scattering bottles and glasses across the floor.

Before the next guy could even react, Steve spun, delivering a swift elbow to the second man’s jaw, sending him reeling backward into a bookshelf, knocking it over with a deafening crash.

The last man, clearly outmatched, pulled out a gun in a desperate attempt to regain control. But Steve was faster. In one fluid motion, he ducked low, dodging the shot, and surged forward, ripping the gun from the man’s hand and delivering a bone-crushing punch to his gut. The man doubled over in pain, gasping for breath, before Steve finished him off with a knee to the face, leaving him crumpled on the ground.

The room was now littered with unconscious bodies, shattered glass, and overturned furniture.

“Wow…” You said in awe. ��You didn’t even sweat.” You were thinking that he sweats more when he’s in bed with you.

And he laughed, thinking the same: “I’m saving that for later.”

Just as the dust was settling and Steve was wiping his hands clean, the door burst open, and Tony sauntered in, his suit gleaming in the dim light.

"Everybody freeze!" Iron man said in a mechanical voice behind his helmet, raising his hand and pointing at… nothing. Then he lowered it, noticing the room was still, filled only with men groaning in pain on the floor, while you and Steve rolled your eyes at him.

"What? I was already nearby when Vis delivered the message just three seconds ago. It's not like I'm late..." He raised an eyebrow at the sight of unconscious bodies and broken furniture, clearly unfazed by the chaos, as the team led by Maria and Sam entered the room with their weapons raised.

"Get 'em all; we need intel," Steve sighed as he walked over to you. "There’s a lot of interrogation to do." He pulled you close. "C'mon, let's go home."

It was almost sunrise when you arrived at the compound. You slept a bit in the car, and when the heroes started debating in the command room about the next steps and strategies, you stretched your body and headed to the dressing room yawning.

You needed a cold water shower to clear your mind before helping Tony and Bruce decipher all the information. Plus, you had to get out of this suit that smelled like grilled cement, ashes, and burnt fabric.

Ugh, you were a mess. You opened the locker and started unzipping the gear when you suddenly heard footsteps behind you.

Steve’s arms locked around you before you could turn. He restrained your wrists as a frenzied kiss landed on your lips, fingers laced with yours, pinning you against the wall. While holding you captive with one hand, he explored your wrists with the other.

He was burning.

The kiss deepened, and all the feelings he had been holding back since the car chase, was poured into the embrace. 

He was so turned on by everything that had happened—the adrenaline, the action, the danger, and the risks. He was impressed, and aroused, so fucking aroused.

He knew you were special, but you didn’t even blink during the chaos. 

There were explosives, drones, and the entire freaking Iron Army chasing you in a car, and you didn’t step back an inch.

This unyielding, unwavering, fierce-as-fuck version of you was driving him insane.

“Steve…?” You broke the kiss because you needed air, though you were enjoying it. “Are you okay?” Didn’t you just kind of… escape from death?

“Better than ever.” He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “I need you.” He said this while lowering your gear’s zipper, inhaling as your breasts sprang free from your clothes. He groaned, kneading them with desperate need.

Oh, okay… You moaned, tilting your head back when he sucked and lapped at them. Your gear was only half off as he pulled down your pants, kicked them aside, lifted your leg around his waist, and plunged into your already soaked folds.

Oh, wow. You gasped in awe as your inner walls stretched wide, completely filled by him, and your bodies slamming against the lockers.

And that’s when you understood the difference between making love and banging, or, in this case, fucking. 

Yup, what you’d been doing every night was making love. But this… 

This was Steve fucking you. And fucking you hard.

The pace was brutal, pounding with relentless intensity. He held your leg and gripped your ass to keep you in position. With one hand on your neck, forcing eye contact, he fucked you harder and harder.

His voice was hoarse and raw, groaning with lust. When he saw you bite your lip to stay quiet, he smiled and quickened his pace.

“I’ve wanted to do this since you kissed me in the nightclub…” He said, his body slamming into yours, locking you against the lockers.

“Keeping you like this in a dark corner, making love to you in the middle of the crowd…” With those images in mind, he murmured in your ear, his thrusts becoming stronger, admiring how waves of pleasure overtook you, making you pressed your leg tighter to his waist, your breath coming in silent gasps, pleading for more.

“Steve…” You could barely whisper. You couldn’t catch your breath as he pounded into you, shaking your body with the force of his thrusts. Your nails dug into his back, trying to hold back your voice, biting your lower lip so the moans wouldn’t escape. You didn’t even know if he had locked the door—someone could walk in at any moment.

But he was so hard, his pace so fast and relentless, completely out of control.

Steve never came before you did. He always made sure you were satisfied first. But this time, he cums when you finally gave in and moaned his name, his release hot and thick inside you.

Before you could even process it, he pulled out and turned you around.

Your breasts hit the lockers as his hands gripped your waist. He positioned you, and just when you were about to inhale, he was inside you again.

Fuck! This felt so good…! Steve never felt this urge, never wanted this so bad, his eyes darkening with further lust and desire, his hands pressing your waist and squeezing your bouncing ass cheek as he sees how he thrusts inside out of you. 

You are so tight, so wet, so fucking perfect for his cock, as you were tailored made for him. He was probably hard since you commanded him in the car, with that badass attitude and fierce determination, and now you were leaning there, with your elbows against the locker, your tits bouncing as he strokes, your ass cheeks marked as he squeezes and rubs them, and your folds still dripping remains of his last cum. Totally at his mercy. 

Fuck, this is hot.

He was going wild. Seeing you trying to mute what at home would be the sweetest or wildest moan, only spur him on, driving him to fuck you with greater velocity, snapping forward with greater intensity. 

“Let go, babe…” He said, snapping his hips forward. Each thrust hit that perfect spot deep inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through both of your bodies. “Let it go… Cum for me honey… Come on… I know you’re about to…”

He leaned forward, grabbed your face, and kissed you fiercely, his tongue claiming yours. His hand found your breasts, tweaking and tugging at your nipples until they stiffened, begging for attention.

“Fuck, baby… You feel so good…” His voice was a ragged, hot breath near your ear. His fingers found your clit, rubbing fast circles as he continued to fuck you. 

Your moans were loader, and your clit was so sensitive, it couldn’t take more contact, Steve’s thumbs rubbed faster and stronger, and as he continues to fuck you in your spot, when he feels your walls about to clamp, he just whispers in a determined tone in your ear. “Cum, now.”

It was like he had a switch that controlled your body. Your inner walls clenched at his command, and you gave in, cumming long and hard around his cock, your body trembling. All you were making was lust sounds, mumbling his name, trying to breathe and to recover to the ecstasy that went from your clit to your mind. 

“That’s it, my love…” He smiled with satisfaction, hissing through clenched teeth, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you into another fervent kiss.

When his lips sealed yours, the thrusts became faster and rougher, uncontrollable moans escaping as his hands roamed over your breasts. His movements were frenetic, chasing his own orgasm.

You moved with him, drunk on lust, oblivious to everything else. You felt his hands squeezing harder, his gasps becoming heavier, his cock growing bigger and stronger. Finally, he buried himself inside you, erupting and flooding your depths with a hot load of cum. His hips jerked involuntarily as the last drops spilled inside you, and he was finally satisfied.

“Oh…god… fuck, babe…” He had one hand still rubbing your tits, another pressing your clit and feeling his cum overload your folds, and his body resting in yours, covered with sweat, gear at his feet, when the extreme edge washed over him. “That…was…amazing.”

"Steve..." You panted as he pulled out and turned you around, instantly leaning into him. "I need to sit..." Your knees were weak, and your thighs hurt a little, but in a good way, a very good way.

He let out a soft laugh. "I’m so sorry..." He kissed your forehead as he lifted you onto the bench and covered you with his shirt. "Did I hurt you? Oh..." He winced at the marks on your waist and thighs, nearly bruised from his hands.

"Shit, babe... I’m sorry I got carried away." His voice softened, apologetic. "Does it hurt?" He pressed a kiss on your wrists, where he had also been holding on so tight. "Fuck... I’m sorry."

"No." You grinned and kissed him back. "It was amazing..." You leaned toward him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "I loved it. We should have more missions like this."

"As much as I’d love to..." He smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, holding you close. "I hate the danger around you. But hey..." He hesitated for a moment. "About what I said earlier..."

"'Cum, now'?" You imitated his voice, and he let out a loud laugh.

"No, earlier..."

"Mmm..." You recalled your eidetic memory. "'Keeping you like this in a dark corner, making love to you in the middle of the crowd'?"

Your eyes brightened. "You wanna go back to the nightclub so we can make out?"

Steve actually considered it for a second. "We’ll talk about that later... but no, I meant what I said in the car before the Iron Army attacked us like Ultron’s possessed children."

"Yeah..." You didn’t remember. Well, no, you weren’t listening. "I was distracted by the giant bomb headed toward us, babe... I’m sorry I didn’t hear."

He leaned back, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Okay, what I was saying..." Now he was looking right at you. He cupped your face, leaving a soft kiss on your lips. "I think it’s just been proven how deeply, madly, utterly in love I am with you. I don’t have eyes for anyone else..."

"Ohhh!" Now you connected the dots. "So we’re talking about my insecurities because you hung out with your gorgeous ex-girlfriend all day?"

"She’s not..." Steve sighed, then softened his voice. "Well, there. There’s nothing for you to be insecure about. I love you. Only you. And I think I’ve proven my desire to be with you forever with the ring..."

"What?" Now you were shocked. "Wait, what?" You sat up straight. "Was the ring really... really... a ring?"

"Of course it is. What else would it be?"

"Um... you said it was a tracking device."

"It is." Steve sighed. "But eventually, when all this is over, it will be just a ring that means: you’re the love of my life, and I want to be with you forever." He smiles at your incredulous face, and holds you in his embrace, placing a kiss on your forehead: "In this life, and all the lifetimes to come. I want only you."

You stared at him, speechless, feeling the warmth of his arms around you and the weight of his words settling in. His gaze was so full of love, it made your heart race. For a moment, you couldn’t find the words, but then you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his.

"Steve..." You whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything." He replied softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just... stay with me. That’s all I need."

You smiled, your heart overflowing. "Yes." You kissed him back. "Now. Always. Forever."

"Okay, now that we’re good..." He lifted you up in his arms. "C’mon princess, let’s take a bath, we are a mess here."

Oh. You raised your eyebrows. You don’t know who he’s kidding; you both know how this was going to end.

The End but TBD :)

Continue to:

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

And that's a wrap for chapter 8! Wohoo, I'm so glad I've made it to write a complete smut!! xD I really suck at writing it in english :D So with so many wonderful writers out there, thank you for reading up to here, hope you enjoyed it :D And thanks everyone for participating in the poll last post xD Can't believe fluff won, come on some angst and then a fluff and happy ending won't hurt, right? xD

I'll see you next friday for chapter 9! Wow 9 chapters!! <3

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

*can you let me know if I've missed anyone in the taglist? thanks <3

[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt II

<< Part I

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you… (part II, see above for link to part I)

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, hand job, vaginal sex, woman on top, orgasm. Also a lot of fluff and a few dashes of angst.

Word Count: 8.5k (13.6k for complete fic, including Pt I)

Authors Note: Part 2 of 2. Part 1 linked above. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. Here is the conclusion to this Benepic! Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. Enjoy! 🫶

-vii-

The first thing you feel is throbbing pain, an insistent drum in your head, mouth dry as if you have been chewing cotton wool—the instant regret of excessive drinking floods through you. However, when your eyes reluctantly peel open, your predicament escalates.

You have no earthly idea where you are. Or how you got here. The last thing you remember was Benedict kissing you; then the room was literally spinning from entirely too much brandy. 

Still in the dress you wore yesterday, but tucked under crisp white linens. A trace of a familiar scent upon the pillow that you cannot quite place in your fuzzy state. Gingerly sitting up, you try to get your bearings, not yet awake enough to have any reaction beyond puzzlement. 

The room is darkened, thankfully, save for a sliver of the rising sun that slashes across the bed through a narrow gap in the curtains. You are in a large mahogany four-poster bed; the room is decorated in rich jewel tones—heavy velvet burgundy drapes and dark blue Persian rugs, panelled walls on which stunning artwork hangs. Embers glow in a nearby fireplace as you spy your pelisse hanging on the back of a door and your shoes neatly arranged nearby.

Then you twist and see the bedside cabinet, and your stomach plunges.

There, alongside a glass of water, is your notebook. Your secret notebook. The one that should still be concealed within the hidden pocket of your pelisse. But instead, it is here. And what is worse, it is open. Open to a page with one of your favourite sketches of Benedict: his eyes crinkling against the strong rays of the sun, a carefree smile on his face.

Instantly, you grab it and slam it shut. Fingernails drumming urgently on its silken cover, now hugged into your chest. Horrified that your mystery generous benefactor, who must have seen you to bed, has also been privy to your most private thoughts. 

Galvanised by a need to solve the mystery of who, you relinquish your tight hold on the tome. It is then that a folded letter slips out of its pages and drops into your lap. Tentatively, you unfurl the paper and are aghast by the headed notepaper declaring the author and revealing your host. The worst possible person you could think of.

But then your gaze falls to the elegant script inked onto its thick parchment, and your life is indelibly altered.

Dearest Y/n

I hope you are well-rested. There are so many things I am impatient to impart, but I must begin with an explanation and, indeed, an apology.

You are in my bedroom, at my lodgings. I brought you here as I saw no other option that would guarantee your safety and welfare, which is always my utmost concern.  I made pains to ensure your arrival here was not seen, and I must assure you, in case your recall is uncertain, that nothing has happened between us beyond our kiss. 

Now onto my apology, which is two-fold, although I suspect it should contain multitudes more. Firstly, my most sincere and unreserved apologies for my ungentlemanly conduct at our last two encounters. As wondrous as those kisses were, they were nonetheless inexcusable. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my impulsive actions.

Secondly, I must apologise for my discovery of this, your private diary. My knowledge of its existence is purely accidental; I removed it from your coat merely as a wish for your possessions to be in neat order upon your awakening. My knowledge of its contents, however… for that, I must throw myself at your mercy and beg for your forgiveness. Curiosity and liquor are not the best companions, and it seems both got the better of me. 

In what I hope is partial recompense, I will confess a secret of mine. Arguably selfish in nature and most likely the worst possible timing, too. However, given what I have now seen, I am utterly compelled to convey it….

I love you, y/n.

Most ardently and most truly. 

There is no person in the world I would rather spend time with. Whose thoughts I am always impatient to know and whose every moment I wish to be a part of. For some time now, you have occupied my every thought. 

It is why I felt compelled to act when I heard from Eloise about your impossible situation. I will do anything within my power to assist you. It is why I said that I want to alleviate your burdens. I meant every word and more. My happiness is seemingly inextricably calibrated to yours—when I see you happy, it brings me great joy, and when I see you are not, it brings a pang to my chest I know not what do with. 

I would have taken these feelings to my grave… were it not for this diary. When what I found hidden within ts pages gave me the exquisite burden of hope. Hope that perhaps you return my affections? May indeed have done so for quite some time as well? 

I must also take a moment to compliment your poetic talent, and that is to say nothing of your artistic abilities, which quite frankly are humbling. Dare I dream of a day that we could paint together? Sorry (Again! Multitudes indeed!), I am likely getting far ahead of myself.

I will not be home when you read this. Partial cowardice on my part, no doubt, but born out of utmost respect. You always deserve the right to choose, y/n, and that includes what you do with this confession. I do not wish for you to be obligated to see me or let me know your response, thoroughly eager though I am to hear of it. 

If you wish to speak to me before your wedding ceremony, please leave your hair ribbon tied to my phaeton upon your departure. I will find a way to see you. If you do not, I shall, of course, respect your decision. 

A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo: You will always have my heart; I hope you also choose to be its haven.

Benedict

You could read this confession a thousand times over and still scarcely believe it; the depth of his feelings declared plainly, boldly, and so lyrically in writing. You pour over it once more, giddily aglow, your fingers tracing across his elegant, looped script, your lips moving as you mouth his words, needing to have them within you somehow. Then, you lovingly refold and place the letter between the last two blank pages of your notebook—a more fitting denouement to its contents you could not imagine.

You put on your shoes and pelisse, still floating on a cloud. A valet meets you in the hallway and, with a wordless nod of acknowledgement, leads you out of the rear mews entrance, handing you a large silk scarf to conceal yourself under. With one final glance up at Benedict’s abode, you unfurl the ribbon from your hair and, insides aflutter, tie it in a neat bow onto his phaeton before wrapping the scarf around your head and stealing out onto the streets of Mayfair. 

-viii-

Still in a daze about Benedict’s confession, you slip into the servant's entrance of your family home, tiptoeing through the dormant kitchen and tugging off the scarf. Just as you believe yourself home-free, Mrs White, head cook and ersatz maternal figure, materialises from the pantry, nearly dropping a bag of flour in surprise.

“Lawks alive, sweet child, you gave me a fright!” she exclaims, clutching her chest. “Pray tell, why are you sneaking into my kitchen at the crack of dawn?”

You cringe and turn sheepishly to meet her gaze. “Sorry for the scare, Mrs White. I, um, indulged rather too heavily last night. I was in no fit state to return home. I stayed with a trusted friend.” The truth, albeit behind a veil of obfuscation. “Please do not tell Father!” you add hurriedly.

As she plunks down the flour and smacks her fingers together to rid them of its nascent dust, she chuckles. “I shall not divulge if you do not… for I was already under your father’s employ when I did the same many years ago, the night before I made my Harry an honest man.”

“Deal!” you giggle, clutching your notebook tight to your chest, unable to quash the ebullience fizzing in your being.

“You look as if you caught a rainbow and sold it to the sky,” she declares, crossing her arms and observing you closely. “Wedding day excitement, yes?!” she adds pointedly with a raised eyebrow, even as her tone very much suggests she suspects otherwise. 

“Of course, Mrs White…” you concur, attempting to conceal the quirk of your lip. 

She rolls her eyes and shoos you affectionately towards the hallway. “Away with you! I suspect the less I truly know, the better…”

You say nothing; just give her a nod and race up the servant's stairs, keen to make it to your bedroom unseen. 

As soon as you are safely there, you toe off your shoes and only then relinquish your vice-like grip upon your notebook to hurriedly change into your nightgown as if you had been asleep in the house all night. Enacting a plan you conceived on the brisk walk home, you grab a night bag from your ottoman. Flinging open your wardrobe, patently ignoring the wedding dress hung upon its door, you bundle the notebook with a couple of your favourite outfits and stuff them into the bag. Buckling it shut while you scoot across the room, you open the sash window and  - with a quick check of the garden below - drop the bag into the large rhododendron beneath, hopeful the dense, fragrant blooms will conceal its presence for now.

Just as you are closing the window, a gaggle of ladies descend upon your room, led by your fussing mother, your ladies' maid Rachel among them. Realising she has had to lie to keep your cover since yesterday at the modiste, you silently shoot her a brief look of reassurance.

“Rise and shine, darling!” your mother chimes. “‘Tis your most special day!”

And then everything is a blur as the preparation for your wedding starts in earnest, you still slightly detached from it all, your thoughts purely of Benedict. It is only sometime later that you get a few moments of peace with just Rachel as she puts the finishing touches to your look.

“You seem changed, my lady…” Rachel opines sotto voce, sliding a pin into your hair.

You say nothing, even as your eyes meet in the vanity table mirror, unwilling to confess details of what has transpired just yet. Unsure yourself even what it could mean until you get the chance to see Benedict yourself, your stomach in knots to do so.

“I told your family you took dinner alone last night in your room after returning from the modiste, and then you went to sleep…” she whispers, leaning in even though you are alone.

“Thank you. I am truly grateful,” you offer sincerely before adding: “I will tell you more when I am able. I do beg one more favour of you…?”

She makes eye contact again in your reflection, giving a brief tentative nod after a pause.

“If you should hear from a Bridgerton valet, please follow any directions he provides,” you implore, the image of your hair ribbon fluttering gently in the breeze emblazoned in your mind.

“A valet? Not a ladies’ maid?” she checks softly, frowning.

“Yes, just please… do as he asks?”

“Yes, my lady,” she demures before reaching for your jewellery.

It is only as the carriage you and your mother ride in shudders over the cobblestones towards St George’s church an hour or so later that reality comes crashing in. 

So engrossed in thoughts of seeing Benedict all morning, you had almost forgotten the dreadful fate that likely awaits you. A sudden spike of fear that he will not turn up, that something will prevent him from seeing you, or, heaven forfend, today’s stiff breeze has blown your hair ribbon asunder. 

All at once, your head is spinning, your dress feels too tight, and there is a plunging dread in the pit of your stomach, your skin prickling hard before your vision seems to swim with dots before narrowing to blackness…

“Y/n!? Whatever is the matter?!” your mother’s alarmed voice rings out as you woozily return.

You are slumped sideways against the glass window, its cool surface a balm on your suddenly fevered temple.

“Is it what I told you about your wedding night…?!” she frets, her laced glove tickling your forehead as she appears to be checking your temperature. “I can assure you, you will get used to it…”

You bat her away and slowly sit upright, taking a calming breath while also trying to blot out the memory of her talk about marital relations right before you left the house. Not able to confess it as unnecessary without raising suspicion, you had to endure a stumbling, unhelpful explanation of things you already know. Indeed, you have witnessed at Granville’s parties, even if you have not taken part yourself. 

But then the sudden thought of being required to do such with Lord Farringdon has you grasping the curtain, your empty stomach heaving at the mere prospect. The silent hope that Benedict can assist you at the eleventh hour is the only thing that stops you from passing out anew.

With a shaky gait and a queasy, oily feeling, you alight a few moments later, your mother lending an arm of support as your father and brothers pile out of the other carriage. This is to be the entirety of your wedding guest list. You have pulled into a side courtyard of the church, concealed behind high walls, away from the inquisitive sights of the Ton. The rushed nature of the union and Whistledown’s latest means your family has no wish for this to be a public event, keen to be rid of scandal. Only your immediate family, your husband-to-be and the vicar - a friend of your father’s - know of today’s ceremony. Well, and Benedict. You did not even get the chance to inform Eloise of this expedited schedule.

As he leads you up the stairs and into the side vestibule, your father informs you that Lord Farringdon is already awaiting you at that altar and that he will appreciate a swift ceremony. You swallow thickly and nod mutely, sensing the window of opportunity creaking closed with alarming alacrity, each incessant tick of the church clock seeming like both forever and not enough time, scrabbling for any chance to stall.

Just as you are about to lose all sense of hope, you see movement over your father's shoulder that has your heart leaping into your throat. There, through a mullioned window, you see the distorted outline of a phaeton swiftly pulling up on the other side of the church from where you entered, a palpable wave of relief and excitement washing over you. 

Benedict has come!

-ix-

“Father, may I please have a moment alone?” you rush out breathlessly, pulse-pounding hard in your ears. Hoping he will interpret your request as mere nervousness about the imminent ceremony, you add: “Before I must take this big step and become a wife?”

He reluctantly grants your wishes, brusquely telling you it should be brief before following the rest of your family through the doors into the nave. 

As soon as the coast is clear, you are darting out the entrance again and running around the outside of the church, wedding dress swishing around your legs, until you skid to a halt next to a pillar that conceals you from the street.

There, before you, arrestingly beautiful and jumping athletically down to the pavement, is Benedict—a vision in a blue velvet jacket and teal cravat. 

Your eyes meet, and your knees want to buckle; such is the magnitude of the moment. He bounds up the granite steps and crushes his lips to yours briefly.

“No time to talk,” he rushes out. “If you wish to escape, take my hand, for we must depart now!”

Your heart hammers as you do the only thing you could ever want to: grab tightly onto his proffered hand as his face breaks out into the most arresting smile. Then it's a blur as he whisks you down the steps to his phaeton, hoisting you up onto its leather bench and throwing a blanket into your lap, then clambering in himself. With a shake of the reins, you lurch and take off down an alleyway at a rapid pace. The velocity of motion, red bricks of buildings whizzing by mere feet away, has you momentarily stunned and so you almost jump out of your skin when he speaks loudly over the rushing noise.

“Cover yourself before we get to the street,” Benedict advises quick-fire, only taking his attention off the road briefly to nod to the blanket. Just as you are struggling to conceal yourself, the horses careen onto Park Lane, attracting attention for the speed you are already travelling.

“Benedict!” you chastise, your arm shooting out to grab the side of the partial umbrella-like hood that arches over you, having to cling on for dear life. “This is not exactly a stealthy escape!”

“I know,” he grimaces, not looking at you, “but we must make haste and be as far away as we can as soon as possible.”

“Regardless of destination, we will need to stop at my house!” you almost have to yell to be heard over the jostling wheels on either side of you.

“Why??” His whole face screwed up in disbelief.

“I must gather some things! I will not leave without them, Benedict!!” you warn.

“What could possibly be worth stopping for?” he decries, the whole vehicle swaying violently as he rounds another bend.

“Perchance, other clothing?!” you wither loudly, frowning that he had not considered such, before adding: “And your letter!?” 

His head whips around to look at you and there is an intensity in his gaze that has your heart stuttering. An all-consuming want to kiss his lips as his gaze falls to your mouth. Only the urgent yelp of a pedestrian you narrowly avoid colliding into rips your attention away from each other. 

He rights the phaeton, tugging the reins so the horses slow.

“Alright,” he concedes, quieter, calmer. “But please do be as quick as you are able…”

You don't get the chance to inform him you have already packed and stowed a bag because he is pulling up in the quiet mews behind your family home. You jump down and take off, sprinting through the small gate and across the lawn. Soon, you are diving into the large bushes on the side of the house beneath your bedroom window. Fumbling around, you have to wrestle your dress from a branch before you reach the wall. Emitting a muted noise of victory as you are finally able to grab your bag and out of the foliage without looking.

“Miss y/l/n!?”

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Mrs White standing at a nearby door, wielding a rolling pin.

“Mrs White, please,” you beseech, “please, do not tell anyone!” 

She takes stock of you: your animated state, your wedding dress torn over your knee where it snagged upon that branch, a night bag grasped in your ringless left hand… and she appears to make a calculated decision.

“I fear I could not, my child,” she offers with a shrug, “I do not see anyone for me to tell of…” 

The small, sympathetic nod and smile toying her lips has you barreling towards her, throwing your free arm tight around her as flour dust puffs onto the silk of your dress. You utter your thanks, flooded with gratitude, hugging her close before disentangling, you take off sprinting before she can say anymore.

-x-

As you depart from your family home, a companionable silence settles between you—a tacit understanding that there is much to discuss, but the journey is not the ideal place to do so. Both resolute to put some miles between yourselves and your family, likely now emerging from the church and wondering where on earth you are. A flare of guilt in your belly for not informing Rachel or even your mother. You resolve to send word tomorrow that you are safe without providing details.

As the edges of London give way to the countryside, you do decide to ask one simple question. 

“Where are we headed, Benedict?”

“I have a suggested destination….” he begins enigmatically, an odd cadence to his voice, “but we will discuss that later, once we stop for the night at an inn.”

There is a little flutter behind your ribs at the thought, but it is forgotten as a strong gust of wind whistles over the carriage, making you shiver and burrow into the blanket, wishing you had grabbed your pelisse from the night bag before setting off.

You startle as Benedict pulls you snugly into his side, adjusting the carriage hood and then the blanket, too, so he provides partial shelter from the winds as they whip across the fields. 

“I am sorry I do not have an enclosed carriage for you to journey in comfort,” he winces, his speech humming into you. “But it is best we use this speedier option anyway. We will cover more ground swiftly travelling light.”

You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you for the blanket, at least; it is very considerate,” you respond, not unpleased to have an excuse to cuddle into him as you reassure him: “I am well now.”

Indeed, the warmth of his flank on yours and the steady rocking motion of the carriage is soporific, the whirlwind of the day hitting you even though it is merely lunchtime.

“Please rest if you need to,” he intuits, “I will wake you if needed.”

And despite the elements, you find the lure of sleep inevitable.

A warm wetness on your brow stirs you.

“Y/n…”

You wish you could always be roused like this; your name a soft rumble from Benedict’s lips as they trace gently over your forehead. You nuzzle unthinkingly into the sound and feel, which has him chuckling into your skin.

“We are here, at the inn….” he murmurs, his breath hot into your hairline.

You blink awake. “We are?!’” You twist to see you are stopped alongside an elegant Tudor wood building. “How long have I been asleep?!”

“All afternoon,” he admits, a touch sheepish. “You looked so peaceful and I assume you must need the rest after a tumultuous few days.”

His touching manner has a warmth spreading behind your ribs that makes you push up and land a kiss on his jaw.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling away but pleased to see a dot of colour high on his cheekbones.

“‘Tis nothing,” he demures before changing the topic. “I am sure you are hungry and in need of refreshments. So we shall dine and remain here for the night. We have covered a considerable distance from London already—around forty miles.” He jumps down and stands expectantly holding out a hand for you to follow suit as he continues speaking. “To avoid attention, we should present ourselves as family relations—cousins, perhaps?” 

“I am in a wedding dress,” you remind as you wrestle your way out of the blanket and reach for him to descend.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he scans down your form, lingering slightly.

“Oh yes. Well. Umm. Perchance as husband and wife then?” he flusters as you step down with his assistance.

“Would that not draw the attention you mentioned we should avoid?” you murmur, your hands still joined even though you are on the ground now.

“Do you have another suggestion?” he queries, his breath warm on your face as you stand entirely too close, fingers flexing around yours.

“Unless you wish me to remove my dress out here…” you goad, a little crest of victory as his pupils rapidly dilate and he huffs a breath, “...then I do not.”

“We have much to discuss,” he almost growls, which stokes something low in your belly as he tugs you along towards the entrance, only stopping to nod briefly to the inn’s groomsman who emerges to take care of your horses.

-xi-

The tavern at the inn is a warm, convivial space, wood-panelled, the smell of delicious foods wafting in the air alongside the tannin of wine and the ferrous tang of dark beer as crowds of people of all walks of life gather. Benedict sees you into a corner booth away from other patrons as he orders food, then goes to secure your accommodation for the night.

As he returns, passing you a glass of wine, there is a nervous churning in your gut; this is the first opportunity you have had to talk properly since you awoke to his life-changing letter.

“I have no idea where to begin,” he confesses, looking perplexed, and it makes you reach out in reassurance over the table, pulse strong in his raised veins under your fingertips.

“Your letter was the single most wondrous thing I have ever received,” you offer honestly, his eyes softening, making your heart flutter. “Benedict,” you take a steadying breath before ploughing on with the truth you have never spoken aloud before, “I have loved you for as long as I can remember…”

His face lights up, and his hand turns under yours, your palms touching as he laces your fingers together in a tight knot, then brings your joined fists to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. 

“Why did you never tell me?” He entreats softly.

“Why did you never tell me?” You return lightning quick, a quirk on your lips that has him chuckling.

“An entirely fair accusation,” he concedes, shuffling closer and grabbing your other hand, your heads so close together now. “I suppose I thought my feelings irrelevant, futile even, that you would secure a titled husband. Though why your father chose such a vile one confounds me, I must confess.”

“I believe that a chastisement,” you commence but are interrupted by food arriving at your table. 

So, as you eat, you explain the whole story between mouthfuls. That you were able to delay your debut last season in your father’s absence, but it meant this season, he was determined to see you matched swiftly. Recounting fondly your time spent with your Aunt Eliza, Benedict appearing impressed as you reel off all the skills you now possess. You also talk in detail about how her encouragement meant you fell into the London art scene and how you know Henry Granville. Benedict listens intently, taking bites of his dinner, but his attention never wavers from you as you recount everything. 

“So yes, I believe the match was about my father’s wish to quash a perceived rebellion more than a match society might deem appropriate for the firstborn daughter of a Viscount.” 

“An untitled second son, even less so,” Benedict muses softly, downcasting his eyes, a flare of insecurity that has you putting down your cutlery and grabbing his jaw.

“Benedict, please do not,” you petition, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “You know me. You know that I have never cared what society might think! If I were to marry, I would only ever want it to be a love match. I would not give a damn if my husband were a penniless beggar as long as he loves and respects me.” 

You pause as he raises his soulful gaze to yours, your faces so close.

“Luckily for me, the man who stole my heart fifteen years ago is neither penniless nor a beggar. He is a wonderful, caring, handsome, passionate artist who I would indeed be lucky to paint next to,” you conclude with reference to a line in his letter, a scene you can picture so clearly it seems more premonition than a dream.

“Fifteen years?” he repeats, a look of utter wonderment as he turns his lips aside to kiss your palm where you still cup his face. You nod, a little nostalgic smile tugging at your lips as he adds: “Then I must confess… I have never been more grateful for my incessant curiosity; it led me to your diary and thus to this very moment.”

He takes your hands from his jaw, then kisses both of your knuckles again in turn, but this time, he lingers, his lips warm, damp and pursed open, and a trace of his tongue dabs your protruding bone. A shiver runs down your spine, stoking something acute, dangerous and exhilarating.

“Do you know I have kept that notebook hidden since I was fourteen? Sewing a secret pocket into all of my coats or hiding it under floorboards so it would never be found. For six years. Yet it took you less than one evening…” 

“Maybe it was waiting to reveal itself to the one person who needed to see it the most…” he muses between kisses, his breath gusting hot over your fingers. 

That seismic but simple poetic sentence devastates your ability or wish to talk anymore—a thronging need for him that you are powerless to resist any longer.

“Take me to our room, Benedict,” you command, voice tremulant with want and hope. 

His head shoots up, his face a captivating tapestry of barely bridled passion and astonishment.

“But I-I booked us separate rooms,” he stumbles, confounded, and that gentlemanly act just makes you want him all the more.

Uncaring that you are sitting in a wedding dress in a public tavern, you pitch forward and capture his lips in a kiss that instantly becomes passionate and demanding, your hand running into his hair and tugging him closer.

“You should return the key and request your money back, for that will not be necessary…” you decree, breathing the words into his mouth.

That seems to light a fire in him. He shoves back the table and sweeps you into his arms bridal style, striding out of the room purposefully, his mouth hot on yours, your pounding heartbeat almost drowning out the bawdy, raucous cheers from the drunken patrons you pass.

-xii-

Once the room door clicks closed behind you, his demeanour softens. He gently removes your shoes before setting your stockinged feet down on a plush rug in front of a roaring fire. He tugs his jacket off so he stands before you in a colourful waistcoat and ruffled shirt.

“Are you certain?” His ask is chivalrous, tinged with such delicate hope it makes you melt.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” you declare candidly, boldly stepping towards him.

His hands encircle your waist as yours slide up his biceps, the warmth of his skin through the crisp white fabric making your blood run warm. 

“I may be chaste, but I know of what we are to do; I have been at Granville’s, remember. I also know that I want this. So very much.”

“I am the luckiest man…” he asserts in a low rumble, your honesty seeming to ignite him again as he crowds into you.

It’s an electrifying kiss that has your scalp tingling: his hands moulded to you, mapping your every curve as you take from each other as you never have before, desperation bubbling over with each parry of tongues. His fingers land on the buttons of your dress, between your shoulder blades, silently asking permission.

“Rip it off me,” you urge impulsively, chest heaving within your stays. “I want you to destroy this very dress and everything it represents….”

His responding growl inflames your core, molten liquid heat as his large hands grab the material and tear it asunder from your body so you stand before him, trembling with desire in just your stays and chemise.

He guides your fingers to his waistcoat, the crackle of the fire and the huff of his breaths the only sound in the room. His chest rises and falls steadily as you work on each button. When you reach the last one, he shucks the garment from his torso, then crosses his arms and discards his shirt in one swift motion, sailing away in a puffed arch. The broad expanse of smooth chest before you has you tongue-tied. A lean musculature and pale complexion reminiscent of Italian renaissance sculpture… but living, breathing and looking at you as if you are the most precious thing on earth. 

Long arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his warmth, fingers spidering up the notches of your spine through the thin cotton of your chemise until they reach your stays and pluck upon the laces there. He unties them slowly as his lips trail hotly down your throat. You have observed forms of intimacy but didn't expect the firsthand experience to be so rich, so all-consuming. The sights, the sensations, the scents. Like the tangy undernotes lurking beneath his woody cologne, an aroma that is all him, his bare skin. It makes your mouth water and lean into him; a want to be a part of him almost—so much heat and touch.

As your loosened stays drop to the floor behind you, a clawing need for his flesh on yours has you rapidly discarding your chemise over your head, naked now save your stockings. But before he has the chance to see, you propel yourself into him again, his solid chest colliding with your breasts, your peaked nipples trapped against his warmth. A loud groan from his lips that you swallow as you push up onto tiptoes and wrap your arms around his strong neck, kissing him ferociously. His grip slides down to grasp your bottom, pulling you into him, something rigid pressing your stomach through the refined wool of his trousers. 

“Let me look at you,” he pleads, withdrawing a half step, his eyes sweeping covetously down your body as you feel aglow in the heat of the adjacent fire. “You are so beautiful,” he attests shakily, an insistent throbbing between your legs that is all of his making, so close without any stimulation.

“Touch me, Benedict.” 

It’s equal parts order and request, grabbing his wrist and guiding it low over your belly. His elegant fingertips curl through the patch of hair before swiping between your legs, dilated pupils boring into yours as you emit a wanton moan, knees almost buckling. A strong arm wraps around you to keep you steady as he observes you up close, repeating the motion, parting your folds this time, you honeying upon his fingertips as he glances over your swollen clit. 

You whimper his name, and he claims your lips again, sliding the pad of his fingers over that spot over and over. Fingernails digging into his arm at his expert touch, the air swirling with the wet sound and scent of your arousal.

“You smell so utterly divine,” he groans, pitching forward and almost biting your bottom lip in a toothful, desperate meeting, your moans echoing over his tongue. “I need to taste you,” he stutters.

You have to shoot out an arm to grasp the mantlepiece as he suddenly drops to his knees before you and buries his face into your mound, inhaling deeply, his nose pressed onto your clitoral hood. He is so primal in his desperation as he lifts one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, diving into your folds, his tongue a wet, hot spear over your swollen nub. Your other hand burrows into his thick head of hair, scratching along his scalp as he hums his approval into your damp heat, the vibration causing sparks of pleasure to fan out.

It takes what little shred of concentration you have left to stay upright, clinging to the fireplace and him, rocketing skyward so dizzyingly fast, slack-jawed, breathless, rooted in your body as you gawk down at him. You had no idea this would be so intense, so carnal. His stare is fixated upwards on you, reading your reactions like a book, his glazed jaw moving with expert precision buried between your legs—an intoxicating sight that burns into your retinas.

“I need you to come for me, y/n,” he begs hotly into your soaked flesh, his tongue a muscular swipe greater than his fingers, his fingers plucking the ribbons holding your stockings loose so they slide down to your feet.

“I want to do so with you…” you gasp, unable to prevent whatever forms in your mouth from slipping out, leaking profusely onto his chin.

“You will; I promise,” his gravelly assurance, the permission you need to let go, riding his tongue with abandon, your body undulating, chasing that ephemeral high you have only experienced from your own touch before. But this is so much more, so wholly other, magnitudes indeed, the words from his letter never far from your thoughts even as you spiral somewhere close to bliss. His gaze locked onto you, able to read all your signs: skin flushed, ragged pants, shuddering with each quest of his tongue.

And then he gently bites your clit, and you are gone, his hands needing to clamp onto your hips to hold you upright as your body convulses. You cry out, sagging onto him as your body races with a high that fizzes in every cell, radiating in waves of pleasure that have you calling out, uncaring who may hear, incapable of anything but clinging to his hair for dear life and scrunching your toes into the thick wool rug underfoot.

You know you utter a curse, entirely overpowered by the euphoria coursing through you as he stands back up and pulls you into his arms, kissing your cheek chastely, the scent of you strong on his face. But as you come back to yourself, renewed passion stokes in you, determination to give as good as you have been given, a drive for mutual pleasure that has you shoving him backwards forcefully.

He falls back onto the bed, a look of total surprise claiming his face as you crowd over him, laying prone, attacking his trouser buttons with a vigour that has him stunned, his mouth agape. But he doesn't move to stop you, far from it. There is a flash in his eye as you grab his hands and cage them onto the sheets briefly before returning to attack his clothing. Wordlessly, he lifts his pelvis when you tap his hipbone, and then you are tugging his trousers down and off, flinging them across the room.

You are momentarily taken aback when you look down and realise he is without underwear, now as naked as you. His cock, nestled in a small patch of hair, is larger than you have seen before, tinged dark pink and leaking from the tip. It looks so good you bite your lip, a twinge deep inside that is pure want. 

His moan is beautiful as you take him in hand. He is hot and steely in your grip as you move your hand up and down, learning his contours, fascinated by the contrast of how silky his skin is.

“I am so glad you have seen things you should not have,” he groans, squirming delightfully, so very responsive to your touch. It makes you greedy always to have him like this, yearning for you as much as you do him, stuttering your name as you change your grip and move a little faster.

“Please stop…” he grits out, his hand covering yours and slowing your motions, but you can tell it is utterly reluctant. “I am too close, my love…”

That reflexive term of endearment makes something melt behind your ribs, and you crawl up over him as you release his cock, claiming his lips in a kiss, his hands encircling your waist, pulling you down so that his cock is trapped under your pubic bone.

“I love you,” you breathe quietly over his lips, holding his face, wanting to convey the depth of feelings you have for this man.

“I love you too, y/n,” he replies earnestly, his eyes glassy, a cloud of emotion claiming his expression as his hands cup your jaw as well, a profound moment of heartfelt sincerity amid this tableau of fevered physicality.

“May I?” 

Your ask is hesitant as you rearrange, sliding your legs up either side of his hips, signalling your wish to ride him, a need to be the one to give your virginity to him more than him to take it. Something achingly significant in the ability to choose.

He nods a reassuring and spellbound look, and a beguiling hitch in his throat as his tip brushes your entrance.

“It may hurt a little, my love,” he advises, wincing as if wishing that was not the case for you.

“I know,” you murmur back, grabbing his hands to aid you in sitting up so you have more range of motion. 

And then, with a steadying breath, you lower yourself onto him, mouth falling open at the invasive stretch with barely a fraction of him inside you. His face is a kaleidoscope of everything you hope for him—joy and bliss. Your fingers grasp tight around his knuckles, your joined hands a knotted fist, as you feel a pinch of pain that makes you suck air through your teeth, knowing this is the moment you become a woman. So glad it is with him, the categorical love of your life.

Luckily, the ache is fleeting, and you sink lower, him moaning your name lyrically, you puffing a breath at the complete fullness. A pressure holding you open that is so galvanic you now understand the hedonism of what you have previously witnessed—the drive to satisfy an urge that is innate and potent.  

“Oh my god, Benedict,” you stutter, as finally he is fully seated within your body, clinging to him, held open in the most arresting way.

“I know, my love, I know…” he soothes, untangling your hands to touch your skin, running his palms reverentially down your body. “You are amazing, a wonder…” 

“Guide me…?”

He smiles and whispers gentle instructions for you to push up with your thighs and then sink back down, his hands now clamped around your waist to assist you. The sensation is indescribable, the drag of his cock against your walls as you slowly ascend and descend, trying to catalogue every second as a precious memory.

Your speed increases as you get used to the physicality of movement, a cloying, dewy heat spreading over both your bodies as you move in unison. He starts to tilt his hips off the bed to assist in your strokes, pushing to a new depth that catches your breath and has you muttering a curse, your hands scrabbling his abdomen, enjoying the flex of muscles there. His grip moves to your breasts, teasing your nipples in a way that has you gasping and riding harder. His fingers snagging on your sensitive buds is a beeline zipping to your engorged clit, that mashes into his body with every downward stroke you take. Still on a high from your last orgasm, it won't take much more for you to come again; this time, you hope in tandem.

His movements become more urgent, his noises louder, his touch firmer, squeezing you, bucking up with force now, making you moan with each new plunge onto him, as if he craves to leave an imprint of himself inside you.

“Are you close, my love?” you query, borrowing his term of endearment. It has his screwed-shut eyes flying open, his hands flexing on your hips, and a ripple up his rigid cock you can actually feel.

“Yesssss,” he hisses back, “please call me that again,” he entreats through clenched teeth, a prominent vein in his neck pulsing hard as his whole being seems to tense.

“My love,” you coo, treating it like a gift to bestow, addicted already to the effect it has on him, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that will leave marks you will be proud to wear.

You move faster now, the sturdy bed squeaking in protest, the sound of your damp skin slapping together, taking even yourself by surprise at how visceral this is, especially for a first time. Expecting it to be less somehow and enraptured that instead, it is better, burning brighter than anything you have ever fantasised of—skin and sweat, muscle and bone, heart and body in rhapsody. 

One of his hands squirrels between your legs, fingertips hooking against your clit, and within seconds, you are breaking. Your vision whiting out as you slam onto him, your pussy clenching in waves, his cock almost too much as you float somewhere that is both within you and a thousand miles above. Dimly, you sense his nails scrape your flesh as he calls out your name, loudly, debauched, wrecked, a strong pulse through his length as he shudders then goes entirely still, a warmth blooming deep inside your channel that is his seed, something about it so very primaeval. 

You slump inelegantly onto his chest, huffing breaths, altered fundamentally by this magical experience. His touch is soothing, encouraging to lay upon him as he softens within you, eventually slipping out as you lay nuzzled together, exchanging soft words of sated joy—a sudden tide of fatigue lapping your edges. Fuzzily, you feel Benedict chuckle under you and, with hushed, tender words, rearrange your pliant body, rolling you onto your side and curling protectively around you, a warming presence that has sleep seizing you almost immediately.

Awakening the following morning in Benedict’s arms is sublime, his stubbled lips grazing your neck as he rolls you under his warm weight. Just as your body stirs under his sensual kisses, he stops and sighs, dropping his forehead onto your clavicle.

“I wish to spend a lifetime right here, entwined naked with you, my love, but alas, I must desist,” he laments softly. “We need to get moving…”

“You never did say your planned destination,” you point out, running your fingers into his lush hair as he tilts his handsome face up to meet your gaze.

“Did I not?” He lilts, feigning ignorance. “I blame you entirely; your beauty is far too distracting..” Flattery falling from his lips reflexively. “Well, anyway, we must make haste if we are to reach Scotland by Friday as I have planned.”

“Scotland?” you echo breathlessly. “That is so far! Why there?”

“Gretna Green, my love,” his eyes sparkling as he hovers over you, entwining the fingers of your left hands together, his thumb brushing your ring finger. “I hope you are amenable to my proposal...”

And your heart veritably explodes.

-xiii-

The journey is long but worth it. Your wedding, five days later, over the border in Scotland, is everything you could hope for—a beautiful, romantic, private moment for just the two of you, promising your lives to each other in secret. Something thrillingly illicit about its location, too, the place to which all forbidden lovers escape. You do not wear a wedding dress, just a simple light blue chiffon one you had thrown into your night bag, always a favourite since Benedict once complimented you in it. He wears a cravat in the same colour. Exchanging matching wedding bands engraved inside with the same phrase Benedict signed off his love confession with: A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo (Here is my heart, guard it well).

You are happily ensconced in his idyllic Wiltshire cottage by the time family reactions to your elopement reach you almost two weeks later. The Bridgertons are supportive if a little shocked; the dowager Viscountess is always enamoured with a dramatic love story. Your family is less so, but they cannot deny a match with a Bridgerton is no bad thing, even if it was fleeting gossip fodder. You hear from your mother that Lord Farringdon did not demand compensation for your abscondment from the altar. Apparently, you were not the first to do so. Rumour has it that the odious man is negotiating a marriage deal with the Cowpers for their wayward daughter. It may be the first time you have felt a pang of sympathy for Cressida. 

Mostly, you are grateful that the more scandalous truth surrounding your union - Benedict stealing you away on your wedding day - never becomes public knowledge. Every couple must keep some secrets from the world, no? 

Although, a couple of weeks later, on a leisurely Sunday morning, you discover your marriage can no longer be considered as such.

“Darling, you might want to see this…” Benedict drawls casually, wandering into the bathroom as you luxuriate in warm water. 

He drops the latest issue of Lady Whistledown onto a nearby stool as he tugs off his shirt, apparently planning to join you in your bath. Your mouth falls open in shock as you grab the pamphlet. But it is not from his naked form as his trousers hit the floor; it's from what you read:

Lastly, this author may have to eat her hat. News has reached me that Mr Benedict Bridgerton had indeed done the almost unthinkable and married the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. They exchanged vows in a quiet ceremony far from the prying eyes of the Ton and will now settle in Wiltshire, I hear. 

“How did she find out?” you ponder aloud as he slides into the tub behind you. Surely Whistledown must be close to the Bridgertons to discover as such?

“I have not a clue. But perhaps I should send her some honey from our hives to make her headwear more digestible?” he jests, interrupting your reading by pulling you backwards into his arms. 

“Mr Bridgerton!” you chastise playfully, holding the paper aloft to save it from the sloshing he creates as he surrounds you, laughing carefree, so much delightfully naked skin around yours.

“Are you done reading Mrs Bridgerton?” His tone changes to a husky murmur in your ear, his fingers trailing distractingly upwards over your ribs under the water.

“You just brought this to me, husband,” you riposte pointedly, but your argument dies off into a wanton noise as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples expertly. You abandon any attempt to focus on the page, tossing the paper aside and twisting to capture his lips with yours.

Upon the floor, as water splashes onto the wood nearby, the last few sentences you missed glow in a shaft of sunlight:

Congratulations on the latest Bridgerton love match, and I wish them a lifetime of happiness. As I am certain, do all of you. 

What secrets will I unearth next, dear readers? Even I do not yet know. But I look forward to it. Don’t you?

Yours sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

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[revelboo]

Will you consider writing anything for prowl?Maybe a really angsty one or maybe he gets a human assistant and they have to learn to get along?

I don’t think I’ve ever written for Prowl before even in my FFN days…

Stand Too Close

Prowl x Reader- amends

• You’re always scowling at him. He can feel those sullen eyes watching his every move any time he enters a room. That anger, like he’d hit you on purpose. You’re the one who’d walked out in front of his alt mode on a dark street. It wasn’t like the silly little human crosswalk sign has meant anything to him. If it’s his fault, it’s equally your fault for not looking first. He hasn’t meant to do it, but you try your best to punish him for it every day.

• There he is. Public enemy number one as far as you’re concerned, and the reason you’re now spending your time in the land of giant aliens. Prowl. Those door wings on his back lift as soon as he notices you, going full aggression. You’ve definitely gotten the impression that if Bumblebee hadn’t been with him and seen him hit you, he’d have left you laying in the road with a concussion for someone else to run over. Your whole life and freedom just collateral damage because one alien jerk couldn’t be bothered to stop at a red light. As soon as you’d gotten over the terrified screaming upon waking up in this mess cause he’d kidnapped you, it hadn’t taken long to realize that while the Autobots aren’t going to hurt you, they’re also not letting you go. Because you know where they are, as if you remember anything of the trip to their secret base.

• “Back from ruining someone else’s life?” The human calls out from its perch on his desk and he goes rigid. It’s like you think he did it on purpose. If he had, you’d have gone under his wheels not over his hood. Optics narrowing, he barely resists the urge to bump the desk just so you fall on your butt. He’s done it before to shut you up and then felt guilt about it. And that only ever makes him madder.

• He’d tried pawning you off on Bumblebee since he actually liked humans, but Prime had firmly insisted you were his to look after. To make amends whether he wants to or not. “You didn’t refuel,” he mutters, spotting the provisions he’s left you untouched. “I don’t have time to force feed you and if you make me, I swear you’ll hate it more than me.”

• That threat isn’t lost on you as you resist the urge to flip him off, eyes narrowing. “That’s a frozen dinner, you idiot. Does it look like I have any way to heat that?” He just turns that icy blue stare on you, rumbling in annoyance. “I can’t eat it frozen,” you add because he’s just staring like you’re the problem. Like you walked out in front of him just to ruin his life.

• “If you call me an idiot again, I’ll punish you.” The words are calm, all ice, but there’s an edge to them. A very real threat that walks up your spine on chilly fingers. You got the impression that while he respects the big guy, Prime, he doesn’t always agree with him. And maybe no one would notice if you just disappear. Prowl could just shrug and pretend you escaped. Drive out in the desert and hide your body in a shallow grave. You’d swear he’s thinking about it sometimes. Like now. You meet that stare head on even if it scares you. And to your surprise, he relents first. “I’ll find you food that’s not frozen. And you’ll eat it.” Why does he have to say it like there’s an or else there?

Next

[hxsbeens]

comfort.

pairing(s): Angel Dust x gn!reader

fic contents/warnings: probably ooc Angel, reverse comfort, i rushed the ending because i didn’t know where to go from there oops, mentions of abuse and a brief mention or two about sex, Angel’s hurt

authors note: woo first work on here :D it’s alright i guess, i haven’t properly written since like september lmao. also not proofread, although my mother did read the first few paragraphs and saw a few errors so thank you mom 🫶🏽

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your head was just about to hit the pillow when the door creaked open, making your head snap towards it amidst the darkness of the room. the clacking of heels signaled one’s entrance. they were careful, attempting to stay quiet as they navigated their way through the darkness.

of course, you knew who they belonged to—especially when you heard the quiet hiss followed by a hushed curse.

“Angel?”

the sound of your voice caused a suspension in those very same footsteps. you heard another silent “fuck” as the owner of the voice slowly turned to you.

“i-i’m sorry, sugar,” ANGEL DUST apologetically stammered, tightening the pink, fluffed out robe around his slender form. “i didn’t wake ya, did i? what’re you doin’ up so late?”

you slowly sat up, squinting your eyes in an attempt to see him through the dark room. “no…no, i was just about to head to sleep, actually.” you reach over towards the nightstand and turned on the web-patterned lamp, now able to get a better look at your better half. the very moment the room was lit to that extent, the spider instantly tensed and clutched his robe tighter to his fluff, blinking narrowed eyes to adjust them to the sudden lighting. from where he stood, you could easily see the parts of him he tried to conceal, for your sake.

one of his eyes were starting to bruise—though, from where you sat, it was difficult to tell whether or not it was already there. there’s a dark blue circle on his neck, one that connects to the curve of his shoulder. you couldn’t tell if it was a bruise or hickey. there were probably more, but the silk wrapped around his body covered what you couldn’t see.

your eyes didn’t linger long—you made sure they didn’t. you knew he’d hate it if you stared at him while he looked so - was so vulnerable.

instead, you lightly tossed the covers off you, throwing your legs off the side of the mattress. you and Angel looked at each other, and, silently, you extended your arms expectantly. he gave you a skeptical look. “what’re ya gettin’ at?” he inquired, and you could hear the hoarseness in his voice. it must’ve been a rough night for him…obviously.

“is it so bad that i just want to hug you right now?” you watched as he took in a breath — almost like he wanted to say something smart in return, something filled with his usual sass and wit. but he didn’t.

his fingers tightened around the fluff of his robe, and, with small, reluctant steps, Angel Dust dragged himself over to you, suddenly feeling a lot heavier than he did when he first got back.

once he stood between your arms and legs, he looked down at you, his forehead creasing with the furrow of his eyebrows. you could see the tears gathering at his bottom eyelids, even if he did try to blink them away before they became noticeable.

you were taken slightly aback when he dropped to his knees, having to spread them on the floor a bit so he was able to shove the crown of his head into your stomach. it didn’t take long for you to cradle his head, soothingly running your fingers through his fur. in kin, his upper arms wrapped around you, the ones lower reaching up to grasp your wrists. his touch desperate.

“we don’t have to talk about it, sweetie,” you whispered, feeling his upper shoulders shake slightly as he took in a sharp, trembling intake of breath. “we can just…sit here. until you’re ready for bed.”

he sobbed quietly in your arms. “im tired, [nickname].”

“i know, baby.”

“why’s it always have to be me he plays with? why can’t i ever get a break? it’s- it’s like he knows to only call me in when i’m finally fine!”

“i know.”

“why does-“

you silence him by cupping his face, lifting his head to look at you. his fur was getting wet with his tears, and his makeup ran with the streaks. he hiccuped, tensing for a moment. he was still so, so unused to the gentle treatment, especially after such a night.

you don’t say anything. you just stroke his cheeks, your thumbs running over the pink freckles over his white cheeks as you looked at each other. you smile as he slowly leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as he tried to savor the feeling of comfort once more. your hands were so warm, so familiar. they almost instantly brought him back from his head.

you pull him back in, and he holds you tighter, desperate — but in a different font of it.

“An-..” you pause, looking down at him carefully. this wasn’t Angel Dust with you, not right now, and you knew that. “Anthony?”

he’s silent. but his hoarse voice sounds from where his head is, his voice slightly muffled.

“..yeah?”

“i love you.”

…

“i… i love you, too, [name].”

you both sat like that for a moment; you holding and comforting him, and him embracing the affection without any comments. he wasn’t tense anymore, relaxing fully in your entrusted hold on both him, and his beaten heart. you knew he trusted you. and he knew it all the same. it was hard for him to believe, and even grasp the reality of at first, but he…sort of came to terms with it.

“i just don’t understand how someone like you could love someone as broken as me.” he once told you. and you had no doubt that he was thinking it again, right in this very moment.

you didn’t say anything about it. you wouldn’t want to bring him down again after getting him calm.

instead, you proposed, “how about we go shower? you smell like sex, and i just got these sheets washed. i don’t want our bed smelling like an asshole.”

Angel let out a little laugh at your words, finding your own distaste (or, hatred, more specifically) for his “boss” amusing. “only if you join me,” he replied, looking up at you with a smile. you smiled back. “of course. i’d be stupid not to.”

“damn right, you would.”

you laughed, and he looked at you with a love-stricken gaze. one of which you returned.

he would be alright - he knew it.

and he had you to thank for it.

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[justauthoring]

a life like mine.

because you may think you're nothing, but gojo thinks you're the whole world (modern au).

a/n -> goooojjjjjjooooooooooooo

pairing -> gojo satoru x f!reader

tw. -> you're a prositute, implied sexual content, physical abuse (not by gojo), dubious content (not by gojo) also, not spell-checked :)

he'd noticed it as you were clasping your bra on.

a large, weltering bruise; the size of his hand and black and blue and everything nasty. something uncomfortable twists in his chest, face falling as he pushes himself up to rest on the crook of his elbow. when his hand touches your back, you jump despite how soft his touch is, head turning over your shoulder and frowning when you realize what he's staring at.

"it's nothing," you dismiss instantly. you brush his worry away and stand, putting extra care into stepping away from him as you slip your panties on; a matchy lilac lacy pair to go with your bra.

gojo isn't so easily distracted though. "who did it to you?"

and he watches, always aware of you and your emotions, as your face twists; there's a flash of fear that appears in your eyes but you blink it away as fast as it came. "a client," you say eventually, short and sweet. to the point. it's clear you don't want him to ask more questions.

gojo just stares back at you.

you huff. "some dude that came in yester—no, two days ago." there's a pause, body stilling, and then you're brushing out your hair. "it's fine."

but that uncomfortable feeling still weighs heavy in gojo's chest. he sits up, moving to the edge of the bed as he watches you clean and fix yourself. the reality of the situation weighs heavily on his shoulders—in a minute you'll walk out that door, put a bright smile on your lips and you'll do what you just did with him to another man.

"i've been thinking," gojo speaks up, eyes still stuck on that bruise.

"yeah?" you call out, distracted, "what about?"

"you and me."

everything stills then. the tense air thickens into something else entirely as your eyes snap to his. you stand there before him with a dark look in your eyes, practically willing him not to finish what he's threatening to start.

"sato—"

"no, just—just listen to me, okay?" he's pushing himself to his feet, crossing the distance over to you in seconds. his hands fall on your arms so as not to let you pull away, tugging you towards him as he smiles down at you; as if he's got the solution to everything. "we work well together—you and me. you—i like you. a lot. and not just for the sex. i like your spirit... i love how you laugh and the jokes you make. i like when you give me shit and i love when i get to see that sparkle in your eye."

you're shaking your head, lips parting but gojo doesn't give you the chance.

"it leaves the second you walk out that door, y/n." gojo breathes, voice desperate, "the second you're out there you're someone else. someone you're forced to be. and i know you need the money but i can give you that money. you don't need to... to—"

"—to what?" you cut in, voice sharp, eyes narrowing. "whore myself out?"

gojo's huffs. "i didn't say that."

"but that's what you meant," you shrug. "the second i go out there i'm not myself? that's what you believe?" you raise a brow, pulling away from his grasp. gojo attempts to stop you and you slap his hands away. "the second i'm out there, satoru, i'm not longer the girl you want me to be. that's the truth."

"y/n—

"no, you listen to me," you hiss, pushing him back by his chest. "i like you, it's true. we get along. you're nice to me... but don't think you're any different from any one of those men out there." your arm shoots back sharply to gesture towards the door; to the other side that is blasting music and filled with lights and occupied by men waiting for their pick of women like you.

lips left parted, gojo watches as you kneel down, grabbing his jeans off the floor and reach into his front pocket. a second later there's a wad of cash in your hands. "you pay me. just like them. you think you're better because you're some son of some rich daddy? because your inheritance is some big corporation?"

and gojo notices it then—the tears welling in your eyes.

"you're not. you may be prettier, smarter... whatever. but you come in here and you pay me for my body just like them. and anything we do or the way i act is because that's my job. to satisfy men by being the type of women they want."

you throw the money at him and gojo catches it, watching as you move to leave the room.

just as your hand falls on the door, he speaks up; "is it your job to let them hit you?"

and he knows it's a cruel thing to say. he knows it's mean and horrible and the worst possible thing he could say to you in that moment. but he's angry and his feelings are hurt, so he says it all the same.

your eyes meet his fiercely, shining with pure hatred.

"not everyone gets to choose the life they live, satoru," you whisper and something about it scares gojo cold. "so don't you dare judge me for living mine."

-

gojo had started visiting you four months ago.

he'd walked into the club one night, surrounded by a bunch of his friends; they'd walked in with their heads held high and the clear confidence that they knew they were better than every other person in that room.

your boss had dropped everything to greet them. shaking and honestly pitiful, he'd dined and served on them for whatever they wanted.

you remember thinking that it was odd such high-class men had come to your club. gross, old and fat men came to your club; not young, attractive men like him and his friends.

that didn't mean you expected him to act any different.

he was though. so different. sure, he'd been cocky and it was clear he was quite high on himself. he still threw flirts your way and eyed you, but it was different than how it had been with any of the other men that had before him. his teases were genuine flirts, could even be considered sweet. he didn't eye you like a peace of meat and when he finally had you alone, he'd been just as attentive on you as you were on him.

he'd paid extra and had smiled at you so sweetly you were unable to deny the flutters it gave you.

he returned two weeks later. then, four days later. and then, he just... kept coming.

three weeks ago, your boss had been replaced. it wasn't that you particularly loved your boss before, but he was nice enough and he was extra careful about making sure you and none of the girls were ever harmed outside of any kinks in the bedroom.

he was decent enough for the club you worked at.

this new guy didn't give a shit. not about you, or any of the other girls—all he cared about was money. and with him brought scarier clients. the first time you'd seen one of the girls with a black eye, you'd went to tell him and he'd told you to fuck off.

when you pushed, he'd slapped you and told you if you didn't shut up, he'd do worse.

the next night a man had chosen you and almost immediately he had unnerved you. the way he looked at you was nothing good; cruel and like he couldn't wait to get his hands on you. across the room, you'd seen your new boss looking at you and the glare on his face had been clear.

don't screw up.

that man, some big CEO of some big company, had kept you all night. hours and hours. it wasn't the sex that bothered you—you'd had rough sex before, especially considering your job. it was... the way he'd held you, the way he choked you so hard you'd blacked out. it's the way he'd hit you when you tried to fight back.

it was the things he called you and the things he'd said to you.

a week later was when gojo had came in and that was the last you'd seen him since.

clearly, his talk of 'you and him' had been nothing.

that man, haruto ito was his name, came back two days after. and four after that, and he'd come back tonight too. each and everytime he requested you and each and everytime he got more and more violent.

"—stupid bitch, are you listening to me?"

you're pulled from your thoughts as a sharp pain radiates from your cheek. you blink, stunned, only to find a pair of narrowed, harsh eyes staring back at you. it's haruto, and he looks less than pleased.

"s-sorry, sir," you apologize, ignoring the hurt of your cheek as you step towards him. you right yourself quickly, knowing it'd be worse if you didn't, and make sure to swing your hips as you saunter towards him, hands falling on his shoulders to straddle his waist. "now, where were we? i—"

he pushes you off him, without a care for you, as you slam into the carpetted floor with a cry. hand sprawled out behind you to catch yourself, you stare up at him in surprise.

"what—"

"i want to try something different tonight," he leers, not a care in the world that he'd just hurt you, smiling brightly at your pain.

your stomach twists, fear blooming through you.

"sir, i—"

"no more 'sir'," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "i think 'master' would be more appropriate, no?"

swallowing thickly, you let out a shaky breath. "i, um, m-master, i don't understand—"

"just shut up and do what i tell you," he brushes off with a wave of his hand. "first, i want you to lick my boot."

he extends his foot out towards you, and your eyes fall on it, puzzled.

"sir—master," you speak hesitantly, "wouldn't you rather if i—"

"do it. now."

hands left curled in your lap, something horrible twists in you. it was one thing to degrade yourself for the pleasure of these men; to have sex with them or suck them off or anything of that sort... but to... lick his boot?

it felt... worse.

dehumanizing.

"i-i don't... i mean, this isn't what we're supposed to do. i don—"

"i paid for you," he hisses, reaching forward to grab a handful of your hair. he tugs, hard, a cry leaving your lips as you're forced to bend your body awkwardly to relieve the strain. "so you'll do whatever the fuck i tell you to."

"p-please, i—!"

he slaps you across the face, this time harder, before he uses that hand to grip your jaw, pinching, squeezing until your mouth is forced open and his face is right in front of yours.

his eyes are blazing and you realize that you're terrified.

"lick. my. boot."

he lets go then, dropping you as you sink into yourself, shaking and crying as a sob wretches from your throat. he pushes his foot in front of your face, lightly kicking you with it, and you dig your nails into the palm of your hand as you force your mouth apart and move to lick.

just as you do, you hear the distinct voice of your boss and pounding footsteps.

"—sir! she is with a client!"

"i don't care. get out of my way!"

your head snaps over your shoulder in the direction of the door. that was—

"what are you doing?" haruto hisses, grabbing you by the arms as he tugs you back towards him. his grip is pinching and you yelp in response, turning back only to see him pulling his hand back and your eyes fall shut, trying to steady yourself for the pain you know will come.

except, it never does.

in the midst of everything, you hadn't heard the door slam open. it isn't until, a moment later, that you flicker your eyes open in confusion, only to see gojo looming beside you, his hand gripping haruto's wrist in his own.

and his face—it's the angriest he's ever seen it.

"what the hell is—" haruto attempts to call, moving to stand, but gojo cuts in.

"is that how you let your client treat your own employees?" gojo asks, murderous eyes focused in on your boss. you glance back at him and it's the first time you've seen your boss look so afraid. "beat them? and you." he spins to haruto, and you watch as he cries out, gojo's grip turning painful. "you like hitting defenceless girls?"

you're shaking, you realize. shaking and crying. your heart is bounding against your chest and it's then you realize you're still naked. as your hands move to cover yourself, you miss the way gojo's eyes fall on you.

something warm falls over your shoulders then. it's gojo's jacket.

meeting his eyes, the concern in them, a fresh wave of tears fall down your cheeks.

gojo let's go of haruto, and before either him or your boss can say anything, his arms are slipping underneath your back and knees and he's lifting you to his chest. he turns, pushing your boss out of the way and walks right out the door.

a second later, your boss comes running out. "wh-where do you think you're taking her? she's still one of my girls!"

a group of your coworkers, other girls who'd heard the commotion, are standing by the bar watching. there's concerned looks on their faces, especially when some of them see the state of you, and there's confusion.

gojo stops right by the door leading outside.

"consider this her quitting."

-

gojo hadn't said a word.

he'd been silent in the car ride, having tucked you into the passenger seat, making sure his jacket was still wrapped around you tightly. you don't know how long you drove, all you could focus on was the sobs that refused to stop.

when you reached what you assume was his house (mansion more like it) the tears finally stopped. he refused to let you walk, opting to carry you and didn't set you down until you reach a bedroom. his bedroom.

he'd grabbed a shirt and some sweats, both which were too big, but helped you dress into them before tucking you into bed. he'd then left, only to return with a glass of water, a clothe and a first aid kit.

all without saying a word.

now, having just finished cleaning your words, you were desperate for him to say something.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, unable to handle the silence. "i'm so, so sorry."

and that makes gojo still. he freezes on the seat next to you, body tensing as his eyes slowly flicker to meet your own and then he's shaking his head. "why are you apologizing?"

the tears well again even if you desperately try to hold them back. "because of what i said to you..." you whisper, hugging yourself as your lip trembles. "you're nothing like them. and... and i should've listened to you."

gojo's silent for a long moment. it drifts, carries on and leaves you tense and unsure. and then, finally, he speaks.

"it's not your fault."

and his voice is firm, leaving no room for any arguments as he shakes his head at you. "i should've tried to be more sensitive to you."

nodding numbly, you glance at your lap. "how'd you know?"

"one of my friends visited," gojo starts. "said he saw your boss hit one of the girls. i remembered the bruise and i was there before i even realized it."

your eyes widen then. "the other girls!" you hadn't thought about it in the moment; scared and desperate to get away. but your boss would surely be angry about what had happened with you and that meant— "they'll be punished! my boss, he'll—!"

gojo's hand falls on your own, soft and warm, gentle. "don't worry about that, baby. my guys are there. they'll help them."

lips parting, you turn to gojo. "really?"

he smiles. "i promise."

eased at that, you nod. silence follows then, echoes for a few moments.

gojo is the first to break it. "i meant what i said even if i said it wrong."

you turn to him, confused.

"you and me," he clarifies and you blink. "i never went to you just for the sex. maybe at first, but never after that. i... i can't explain it but i could never stop thinking about you. you were on my mind all the time. and it pained me to see you stuck in a place you hated so much."

squeezing your hand, gojo shifts, leaning closer to you.

"i mean it. you don't have to go back, ever. i... you can stay with me."

your heart warms but you hesitate. "what about money? i... i don't have any to give you."

"i don't need it. you could live here forever and never work and i wouldn't care," he professes and something about the way he says it tells you he means it. "i have more than enough money in the world. but... but if you want something, i can help you get a job. something better. something safer."

biting your lip, you sniffle. "i... i always wanted to work with kids."

gojo smiles then; "then you'll work for kids."

you stare at him, stunned that a man like him would do so much for a girl like you. "why?" you ask, shakign your head. "why do all this for me?"

"because..." and he hesitates, inhaling sharply as he thinks over his words. but the resolution comes with ease and gojo's words are heartfelt and meaningful as he answers. "because i love you."

your lips part, stunned.

"you don't have to love me back," he assures with a shake of his head. "i know i used you the same as all those other men. but please know i never meant it that way."

you shake your head. "it never felt that way to me. i didn't mean what i said before."

gojo seems eased at that, smiling. "i'm glad."

"and... and," you start slowly, inhaling sharply. "i don't know if i love you... yet. but i trust you," you confess, meeting his eyes. "and you make me happy. and i think i could learn to love you."

gojo just smiles.

"that's all i could ask for."

[dandelions-143]

Do It For Me

Final Part

Parts 1 - 3 here : Chans Masterlist

All other members : Masterlist

Pairing: possessive bad boy, non idol Chan x Bratty fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Explicit sexual content, Strong language, Themes of possessiveness and control in relationships, Public sex

Word count: 2,396

A/N: This will be the last installment in Chans story. I wasn’t going to write another one but I felt like I needed a pretty happy entering without making it super fluffy because you all know that’s not my style. Currently working on a playlist for this series so stay tuned! Also if you have already read this just ignore!! Adding all saved tags to all of my works. If you wish to no longer be tagged just let me know.

You sank into Chan's plush leather sofa, your hands resting on your thighs and your bare feet crossed at the ankle. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you gazed across the room. Chan sat just a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on you like a predator eyeing its prey.

It had been a couple of days since Chan had whisked you away from the bar to his family home. Initially, you resisted his every move. You ignored or scoffed at his gentle touches and sweet gestures of affection. The only thing you welcomed was the rough sex.

Gradually, however, you began to warm up to his tender side—a side that seemingly only you got to witness. You stopped flinching when he pulled you close for an embrace. You started reciprocating his quick, spontaneous kisses.

You no longer mocked his affectionate gestures when he offered to cook for you, give you a foot rub, or simply lay with you to read or watch a movie. Slowly, you began to anticipate these moments, and before you realized it, you were opening up to him in ways you'd never done with anyone before.

"Come on, it's just a date. We've been hooking up on and off for years. Let me take you out," Chan said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he looked at you. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, even as the prospect of a proper date with Chan made your pulse quicken. You didn't usually like feeling this way—you'd convinced yourself you weren't built for romance or relationships—but Chan was steadily dismantling the walls you'd built.

After much hesitation, you finally answered, "Fine, I'll go on one date with you, but you have to let me go back to Hyunjin's place to get ready properly. I'm tired of being cooped up in this mansion. I'm not your prisoner, Chan." His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching slightly. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his features. Finally, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing. "Alright," he conceded, "but I'm picking you up at 8, and if you're not ready or you try to slip away... I'll find you, and you won't leave my sight ever again."

Chan's possessiveness was overwhelming at this point, and it pained you to lack your own independence. Yet, you had no intentions of leaving him—you just didn't want him to know that. You nodded simply and stood up. "I should probably get going then. I need time to get ready." Chan licked his full lips and rose as well. "I'll have a car take you over."

Two hours later, you were gazing into Hyunjin's bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Your deep blue dress hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating your figure in all the right places. The neckline plunged just low enough to be alluring without being too revealing. You applied a final swipe of deep red lipstick, the color complementing the dress beautifully. As you stepped back to admire your reflection, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness for your date with Chan.

As soon as those feelings began to rise, you shook your head, pushing them away. "What the fuck... get ahold of yourself, Y/n." Just as you were walking out of Hyunjin's bedroom, his front door opened and in stepped a very tired-looking Hyunjin. "Wow, you actually do come home," you said as his eyes met yours. A soft smile spread over his lips. "I'm only here to grab some things. I'm going back to my other place."

You walked over to him, knowing how sad and lonely your best friend had been feeling since his breakup with his ex. Even though you agreed he had been a very bad boyfriend, you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. He was close to your heart, and you didn't like seeing him suffer. You embraced him in a gentle hug. "Are you okay?" you asked as you squeezed him a little, then pulled back to peer up at him.

Hyunjin gave you a weak smile, his eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. "I'm... managing," he replied softly, his voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the weight of his emotions in those two simple words. Before you could respond, the sound of a car horn outside caught your attention, reminding you of your impending date with Chan.

You nodded, "You know I'm still your best friend and I'm here for you. Even if you just want to complain, I'll listen." Hyunjin was the only one who got to see your softer side. "Yeah, I know, Y/n." Hyunjin glanced out of his big bay windows, seeing Chan emerge from his car and begin walking up the sidewalk. "Are you and Chan finally expressing your love for one another?" he asked, surprised as he finally took in your dressed-up appearance.

You sighed heavily and shrugged, "I'm just indulging him." Hyunjin laughed softly and shook his head at you. "You know... we all see it. You love the guy, and it's clear he's obsessed and in love with you. He has been for years." You started to turn away to grab your small handbag. "Hyunjin..." you began, not wanting to hear this.

"Y/n, take it from me, who took advantage of someone that loved me unconditionally... you don't want to give that up." He looked down, trying to hold back the tears stinging his eyes. "Once you damage that and they give up on you... there's no going back. Nothing's ever the same." There was a soft knock on the door. "Let the guy love you... you deserve that."

You swallowed hard, letting his words sink in as you turned to face the door. Your heart raced, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through you. Hyunjin's words echoed in your mind, challenging your carefully constructed walls. As you reached for the doorknob, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead.

When you swung open the door, Chan stood there in all black. His suit fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist. His dark hair was styled neatly, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation as they took in your appearance. A soft smile played on his lips as he extended his hand towards you, his voice low and warm as he said, "You look absolutely stunning, Y/n. Are you ready?" His question seemed to hold more than just the simple meaning.

You took a glance back at Hyunjin, who nodded encouragingly at you. You gave him a soft smile and turned back to Chan. "Yeah, I think I am." You took his hand and walked out of the apartment with him. As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Chan's hand warm in yours, you felt a flutter of nervousness in your chest. The city lights twinkled around you, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk. Chan led you towards his car, a sleek black vehicle that matched his attire perfectly, and you couldn't help but wonder what the night had in store for you both.

The restaurant Chan chose was an elegant Korean establishment with a modern twist. Soft lighting and minimalist decor created an intimate atmosphere, perfect for your first official date. As you and Chan were led to your table, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbled up inside you. The aroma of sizzling bulgogi and freshly steamed rice filled the air, making your mouth water.

You couldn't help but notice the place was completely empty, save for the staff. As you settled into your seat, you glanced at Chan, looking more than handsome in the dim lighting. "What did you do? Rent out the place?" you joked. Chan's lips curved into a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling. "Maybe I did," he replied, his voice low and playful. A flutter in your chest surprised you at the thought of him going to such lengths for your date. You realized this evening might be more special than you'd initially anticipated.

The waiter arrived with Korean wine and asked if you were ready for your first course. You raised an eyebrow at Chan. "So you've had this all planned out?" Chan simply nodded to the waiter, who disappeared to fetch your meals, leaving your question unanswered.

As you sipped your wine, curiosity and appreciation for Chan's efforts washed over you. The intimate setting and carefully planned menu spoke of a thoughtfulness you weren't quite used to. You found yourself softening, your usual defenses lowering as you gazed at Chan across the table. His dark eyes met yours, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to truly let him in.

Chan leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his dark eyes intense. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice low and earnest. "Y/n, I know you've been guarding your heart for so long. But I want you to know that I'm here, ready to love you completely. I've been waiting for years, hoping you'd let me in. I'm not asking for everything all at once, but I want you to give us a real chance. Let me show you how much you mean to me, how much I care." You leaned forward, parting your lips to speak, but Chan cut you off, "And please don't turn this into me acting like a pussy because I'm weak for loving you."

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at his words, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth spread through your chest. Chan's vulnerability, his willingness to lay his heart bare before you, was both touching and terrifying. You found yourself at a crossroads, torn between the safety of your carefully constructed walls and the allure of the love Chan was offering. As you gazed into his eyes, you realized that maybe, just maybe, it was time to take a leap of faith.

When you didn't say anything right away, Chan continued, his face hardening slightly as the possessive man you knew pushed through. "And regardless of whether you want to be here or be with me... you're still mine. You always have been. You can't escape me. I don't need you to love me, but... I do need you with me."

A mix of emotions washed over you at Chan's words—a blend of frustration at his possessiveness, but also a strange comfort in his unwavering devotion. You took a deep breath, trying to sort through the conflicting feelings. Part of you wanted to push back against his claim, assert your independence, but another part recognized the truth in his words—there was an undeniable connection between you two that had persisted for years.

You leaned back in your chair as the food arrived. Waiting for the waiter to leave, you began eating before answering Chan. You couldn't help but test his patience. While you enjoyed riling him up, you were also growing fond of his sweet, vulnerable side. "Y/n..." he said under his breath, a warning for you to respond.

You took another bite, savoring the flavors as you considered your words. Finally, you met Chan's intense gaze, your voice soft but firm. "Chan, I can't deny our connection. But love... it's complicated. I'm not promising anything, but I'm here, aren't I? Let's see where this goes."

Your nonchalant response caused Chan's steely glare to falter. He seemed taken aback, having endured years of your rejection. Your words made him question if he'd been wasting his time waiting for and chasing you. Chan's expression softened, a mix of surprise and hope flickering across his features. He reached across the table, his fingers gently brushing yours. "That's all I'm asking for, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine emotion. "A chance to show you what we could be."

As the evening progressed, you found yourself relaxing more, genuinely enjoying Chan's company. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by shared laughter and lingering glances. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to imagine a future where you weren't constantly pushing Chan away. As dessert arrived—a decadent chocolate creation that made your eyes light up—you realized that maybe, just maybe, giving Chan a chance wouldn't be so bad after all.

As the night wore on, you noticed a heat in Chan's eyes as he watched you eat your dessert. "What are you thinking about?" you asked when you caught him staring at your lips as they moved around the spoon. A sly smirk painted his plump lips. "I'm imagining how that red lipstick would look smeared around my cock."

You felt a sudden heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and arousal coursing through your body. Chan's boldness never failed to catch you off guard, even after all this time. You leaned forward, your voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Maybe you'll get to find out later."

Chan shook his head. "There's no later... I want to see it now." Your eyes glanced around the room and then over to the now-quiet kitchen. "You mean here? Where people can see?" Chan's eyes darkened with desire, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "That's exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "The thrill of getting caught only adds to the excitement, don't you think?"

You licked the remaining chocolate from your lips as Chan motioned for you to come closer. "Come here... I want you on your knees." Even though Chan had been confessing his love, the man knew what he wanted and always took it. You were his, and you would do as you were told... for the most part.

A thrill of excitement coursed through you at Chan's commanding tone. Without hesitation, you rose from your seat, the silk of your dress rustling softly as you moved around the table. Your heart raced as you approached Chan, fully aware of the risk of being caught but unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. As you sank to your knees before him, your eyes locked with his, silently acknowledging the power he held over you in that moment.

You could feel wetness nearly pooling in your panties as his warm hand caressed your cheek and slid over your jaw. His thumb swiped gently across your lips, smearing your deep red lipstick slightly. "So fucking beautiful," he breathed. Chan's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed down at you, his fingers trailing along your jawline. You shivered under his touch, anticipation building within you. Without a word, his hands moved to his belt, the soft clink of metal echoing in the quiet restaurant.

You had watched Chan do this many times, but after allowing him to tear down the walls you'd had up for years, it was as if you were seeing him with new eyes. The heat in the pit of your stomach intensified as you watched him slowly unzip his pants. Anticipation built with each passing second, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for him to reveal himself. You marveled at how different this felt—the same act, but with a new depth of emotion behind it.

Chan spread his thighs wider, the visible bulge in his pants drawing your gaze. You moved closer, your hands sliding up his muscular thighs. "Pull it out," he mumbled. You hesitated, hearing slight movement in the kitchen. "Eyes on me. I'm the only one here with you." He lifted your chin with a finger planted beneath your jaw.

Your eyes rose to meet his glare, filled not only with desire but with a softness you could only discern as love.

Your heart raced as you reached forward, your fingers gently brushing against the fabric of his pants before carefully freeing his hardened length. The sight of him, fully aroused and waiting for you, sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You licked your lips unconsciously, your gaze flickering between his intense eyes and his throbbing cock, ready to pleasure him in this thrilling, semi-public setting.

With a soft exhale, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you took him into your mouth. The taste of him, familiar yet somehow new, filled your senses as you began to move. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the feeling of him against your tongue, before opening again to meet his intense gaze.

Chan's fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you worked your mouth along his length. The low groan that escaped his lips sent a shiver down your spine, encouraging you to take him deeper. You could feel his thighs tensing beneath your hands, a clear sign of his growing pleasure.

As you continued your ministrations, you could feel Chan's control slipping. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips beginning to buck slightly against your mouth. The thrill of pleasuring him in such a public place only added to your own arousal, your core aching with need. You redoubled your efforts, determined to bring him to the edge of ecstasy.

Chan's breathing grew ragged, his muscles tensing as he approached his climax. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully. Just as you felt his cock tightening and twitching between your parted lips, he pulled you up. His chest heaved as he glanced down at his cock, covered in your saliva. Your lipstick smeared all around the base of his shaft.

"Not yet," he said gruffly as he stood, bringing you to your feet with him. "I want to feel you wrapped so tight around me."

Chan's hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a fire within you. He spun you around, pressing you against the table as his lips found your neck. You gasped, feeling the hard length of him against your backside, your body trembling with anticipation. The thrill of potentially being caught only heightened your arousal, making you ache for more.

His hands lifted the hem of your dress, exposing your panty-clad ass. He yanked them down, letting them fall to your ankles. Chan gripped your ass in his hands. "You drive me insane," he growled.

You moaned softly as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your behind, your body responding eagerly to his touch. The cool air of the restaurant against your exposed skin sent a shiver down your spine, heightening your arousal. Chan's breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, "I've waited so long for this moment, to have you fully surrender to me."

And you were fully surrendering. In that moment, he could have all of you—your body, your mind, your heart. You realized how much you wanted this, wanted him, wanted his love. Chan spun you around, pulling you over to push you against the wall.

His strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate kiss. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his desire for you evident in every touch. As he pressed you against the wall, his hips grinding against yours, you knew that this moment would change everything between you and Chan forever.

Chan's hands roamed your body, his touch both possessive and tender. You arched into him, your body responding to his every caress. As his lips found yours again, you surrendered completely to the passion between you. "Please... fuck me, Chan," you could barely speak as you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up to slide your hands against his heated skin, feeling the muscles in his back move beneath his smooth skin.

Chan's eyes locked with yours, dark with desire and something deeper—a vulnerability you'd never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your core, the thin fabric of your dress the only barrier between you. "I'm going to make you mine," he growled, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

With a swift motion, Chan aligned himself with your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his length. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he slowly pushed inside, stretching and filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that made you cry out softly. Chan stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, "You feel so perfect, so tight around me."

As he began to move, you clung to him, your bodies moving in perfect synchronization. The risk of being caught only heightened your pleasure, every thrust sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You bit your lip to stifle your moans, your nails digging into Chan's back as he drove deeper, his pace increasing with each passing moment.

The combination of pleasure and the thrill of potentially being caught was intoxicating. Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the heat between you building to an unbearable intensity. You could feel yourself approaching the edge, your muscles tensing as Chan's thrusts became more urgent, driving you both towards an explosive climax.

As the tension built to a fever pitch, you felt yourself teetering on the brink of ecstasy. Chan's movements became more frantic, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with renewed vigor. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sensation of your bodies intertwined and the impending release that threatened to consume you both.

Just as you were about to cum, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled his head up away from your neck. You wanted to watch him cum inside you, to see just how good you made him feel. Chan's eyes locked with yours, his pupils dilated with desire as he neared his climax. You watched in awe as his face contorted with pleasure, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. The intensity of his gaze, filled with raw passion and vulnerability, pushed you over the edge, and you felt your own orgasm crash over you in waves of ecstasy.

Chan held you close as you both came down from your shared high, your bodies still trembling with aftershocks. As your breathing steadied, he gently lowered you to your feet, his hands caressing your sides tenderly. You looked up at him, seeing a mix of satisfaction and adoration in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"You don't have to say it back, but I love you." His Australian accent was even thicker as he came down from his high. You felt your heart racing, the words echoing in your mind. The intensity of the moment, the vulnerability in Chan's eyes, and the raw emotion in his voice overwhelmed you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you heard your own voice, barely above a whisper, "I love you too, Chan." The words felt right, natural, as if they had been waiting to be spoken all along.

Just as Chan's mouth fell open slightly at the words you had always refused to say to anyone, a crash of dishes came from behind him. You both looked over to see the waiter standing there with wide eyes and a mess of broken dishes on the floor.

Chan's face flushed a deep red, a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire evident in his expression. You couldn't help but stifle a giggle, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once. With a sheepish grin, Chan quickly adjusted his clothing and turned to address the stunned waiter, his voice a mix of authority and amusement as he said, "I believe we're ready for the check now."

Taglist:

@cashtonsbetch @katsukis1wife @hyunjinhoexxx @ihrtlino @breezy-simp @vixensss @yaorzu-blog @tirena1 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @chuuyaobsessed @doohnut @babigriin @iovecb97 @kpflyn @rylea08 @sheerfreesia007 @tsunderelino @cookiesandcreammy @rockstarkkami @moonchild9350 @syedazarintasnim @myflowercloud @143hyunes @luvyblossom @shecheatedwithme @antisocialties @akaligogrrr @thisaintredwine @rose-w-00-d @jisuperboard @velvetmoonlight @kayleefriedchicken @skzfelixlove

[buckets-and-trees]

Did you intend to prompt more I'm Your Man Andy with this? Perhaps not, Kris, but... IYM!Andy's track record doesn't support doing things because YOU want him to, does it? 😏

Title: Burned Off the Haze Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 4.5k Summary: Things only continue to escalate after Andy's meeting your parents, and he only continues to keep his control of your lives together. Takes place directly after Don't Look Too Far.

Content/Warnings: emotional manipulation; mild smut: kissing, vaginal fingering; use of pet name (sweetheart)

Author Note: This is not a stand alone section! You can find the previous parts here.

A/N 2: No one should be surprised this man would make sure he got his week in the Countdown to Chris-mas!

You’re waiting impatiently for Andy to get home from his day at the country club with your father. You meet him at the top of the stairs leading from the garage on the lower level.

“When were you going to tell me you had decided on a wedding here in Boston instead of eloping?”

With casual determination, Andy wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close. His lips meet yours in a passionate, all-consuming kiss that sends shivers down your spine. Every touch ignites a fire within you, the intensity of his embrace leaving you breathless and wanting more. The world starts to fade away as you get lost in the moment with him, but then you push against his chest and turn your head away.

“Andy! Answer me!” you insist as you extricate yourself from his arms - though he lets you go freely, not forcing you to stay in his embrace.

“I would have told you over dinner last night, but…” he trails off, giving you a meaningful look.

You step back, putting more distance between you and Andy. "But what? I was too busy smashing up your cars?"

“No, you largely refused to talk to me through dinner. And then after,” Andy's lips quirk in amusement, "we were otherwise occupied the rest of the evening, if you recall."

Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory of your passionate encounter. You push those thoughts aside, refusing to be distracted. "You made another huge decision without even consulting me."

“I only achieved what I have because I learned when to double down and when to pursue a different course of action,” Andy replies. “I thought you might prefer a proper wedding with your family and friends present."

You shake your head in frustration. "That's not the issue here, Andy. It's that you keep making these choices for us, for me, without including me in the process. Forcing our engagement, meeting my parents behind my back, making big calls about our wedding? What's next?"

Andy's eyes flash with irritation, his piercing blue gaze fixed on you. "After meeting your parents, I decided a small but proper wedding is the better move."

You narrow your eyes, sensing there's more to this sudden change of plans. "It can’t only be meeting my parents that inspired this change of heart; you’re not that sentimental."

Andy smirks. “Good assessment - your intelligence is one of the things that drew me to you. But your parents are good people who love you deeply,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer tone. “They've been dreaming of your wedding day probably since you were born. Your mother's eyes lit up when she talked about helping you choose a dress, about flowers and cake tastings. Your father... well, he tried to hide it, but I could see how much it would mean to him to walk you down the aisle."

He pauses, letting his words sink in. You feel a warmth in your heart for what he says about your parents because you know he’s not wrong, your mother had gushed about those very things while you had lunch together. But there’s also an ache in your throat because you’re so angry, you want to cry and yell and rage at him.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "And how does this suit your purposes, Andy?"

His eyes darken slightly as he regards you. "A proper society wedding cements our union in the eyes of both our worlds - the legitimate business sphere and the less legitimate one. It sends a clear message about my intentions."

"Your intentions?" you press, feeling a chill run down your spine.

Andy steps closer, his imposing frame looming over you. "That you are mine, irrevocably. That I will protect what's mine with everything I have." His voice is low, almost a growl. "And that anyone who even thinks of touching you or using you against me will face severe consequences."

You swallow hard, torn between fear and an unwelcome flicker of desire at his possessive words. "I'm not a possession, Andy. You can't just stake your claim."

Andy's eyes flash dangerously and in one swift motion he has you pinned against the wall, his body pressing into yours. One hand grips your hip while the other cups your face, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

"Can't I?" he growls, his voice low and rough. "You're wearing my ring. You're living in my home. You've shared my bed. Tell me, sweetheart, how are you not mine?"

Your breath catches in your throat. You want to argue, to push him away, but your traitorous body responds to his proximity. Heat pools in your core as his scent envelops you.

"I-" you start, but the words are cut off as Andy's mouth crashes down on yours.

The kiss is fierce, demanding, stealing your breath and your resistance. His tongue plunders your mouth as his body presses you firmly against the wall. You can feel every hard plane of his muscular form molded against your softer curves.

Despite your anger and frustration, your body betrays you. Your hands fist in his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. A moan escapes your throat, swallowed by his insistent lips.

Andy's hand slides from your hip to your thigh, hitching your leg up around his waist. The new angle allows him to grind against you, and you gasp at the friction. Your head falls back against the wall, breaking the kiss.

"Andy," you pant, your voice a mix of protest and plea.

He takes advantage of your exposed neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. He trails his lips up to your ear. "You are mine," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "Have I not made that clear from the first night I claimed you, sweetheart."

His words send a shiver down your spine. You want to argue, to deny the claim he's making on you, but your body is singing with need. Andy's hand slips under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"You can’t tell me you don't want this," he challenges, his voice husky. “I know your body too well now. If I put my hand between your legs, I know I’ll find you wet for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat as Andy's words send a rush of heat through your body. You know he's right - you can feel the slick evidence of your arousal. But you refuse to give in so easily.

"That doesn't mean anything," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "My body's reactions don't change the fact that you're making decisions about our lives without me."

Andy pulls back slightly, his piercing blue eyes studying your face. His hand moves from under your shirt to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"Old habits die hard, sweetheart. I'm used to making decisions and having them followed without question."

You blink in surprise at his admission. It's more than you expected from him.

"But if I left every decision up to you now, we'd never get anywhere," Andy continues, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You'd keep fighting this, keep denying what's between us."

You want to argue, but you know there's truth in his words. You've been resisting at every turn, even as your body betrays you with its desire for him.

"That doesn't make it right," you say softly, your anger deflating slightly. "I need to have a say in my own life, Andy. In our life together, if that's what this is going to be. Do you even want that? Want us?"

Andy's eyes search yours for a long moment. "We will have our wedding, and I have some stipulations, but I’ll leave the rest to you. September fifteenth, and we leave the next day for our honeymoon in Italy."

It's not what you want, but it's the first thing he’s giving you. You let out a shaky breath, nodding.

He steps away from you completely, and your body falls forward slightly without his pinning you to the wall. Once he steadies you, he begins to walk away.

“The wedding planners will be here tomorrow morning at ten, and then after lunch I need you to accompany me to a business meeting with one of my lawyers.”

You stand there for a moment, processing Andy's words. A mixture of emotions swirls within you - frustration at his continued control, a flare of disappointment of him leaving you unsatisfied, and apprehension about these meetings he has already arranged.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts. "Wait," you call out. "Why are we meeting with a lawyer? Aren’t you technically a lawyer?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly, turning back to look at you briefly, “but does a doctor not have their own doctors?”

You nod, and he resumes his progress down the hall.

You watch Andy walk away, your mind reeling from the conversation and the intense moment you just shared. Part of you wants to call him back, to continue the argument or maybe even give in to the desire still thrumming through your body. But you stay silent, letting him go.

Once he's out of sight, you slump against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart. The whiplash of emotions - anger, frustration, desire, and now a strange brand of hopeful wariness - leaves you feeling drained.

You push yourself off the wall and make your way to the room you’ve been given as a personal study. You need time to process everything that just happened. As you enter, your eyes land on the engagement ring glittering on your finger. You twist it absently, thinking about Andy's words.

A proper wedding. Your parents' joy. Andy's claim on you. It's all so overwhelming.

But what haunts you is was what he didn’t say.

Does he want a life together? Does he want an us?

Caught in the danger of that before, you were able to get away, but there’s no telling how dangerous Andy Barber is. You’ve only witnessed a fraction of his power and control. He’s created a connection with your parents. You have no doubt he knows far too much valuable information about your life, so would any kind of escape even be possible? And if it were, would anyone you left behind be safe?

In the room you’ve been given as your study, you spend some time tending to your collection of potted plants, carefully trimming away a few dead leaves and watering where you find dry soil. You settle into your favorite armchair and immerse yourself in a novel, getting lost in its pages until the housekeeper interrupts to announce that dinner is ready. You make your way to the dining room, but notice that your partner Andy is not there. When you ask about his absence, you’re told he went out to tend to some business. Afterwards, you retreat to the couch in the living room and watch old episodes of your favorite sitcom, finding comfort in the familiar characters and laughter.

You go to sleep alone for the first time since the night of his gala.

The hours tick by as you lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. The vast emptiness of the king-sized mattress seems to mock you, a stark reminder of Andy's absence. The night stretches on endlessly as you toss and turn in the vast, empty bed. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes eleven, then midnight, then one. Where is Andy? What "business" could keep him out so late? You try to push away the nagging worry, reminding yourself that you shouldn't care, that his absence should be a relief. But a small traitorous part of your heart that has begun to yearn for his presence betrays you.

No, you don’t yearn for him. You’re just accustomed to him.

With each passing hour, your anxiety grows. Eventually you drift in and out of fitful sleep, your mind racing with thoughts of the day's events, the impending wedding, and the uncertain future that lies ahead.

You wake just enough to register Andy pulling your body to his chest as he settling in behind you. The first hints of dawn are only beginning to creep through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues of pink and gold, “Mmm, Andy?” you hum sleepily.

“Shh,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, “you can sleep, sweetheart.”

And so you drift off again, unaware of your body softening in his arms.

But when your alarm goes off at seven, you’re alone in the bed once again.

You tell yourself you’re relieved.

You stretch and yawn, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess from your restless night. As you sit up, your eyes land on a note propped against the lamp on your nightstand. Andy's precise handwriting stares back at you:

Meeting ran late. Had to leave early for another. Remember - wedding planners at 10. Wear something nice for the lawyer meeting after lunch. - Andy

You crumple the note in your fist, a mixture of frustration and disappointment churning in your gut. Even when he's not here, Andy is directing your day. You force yourself out of bed, determined to at least choose your own outfit for the morning.

After a quick shower, you select a casual but stylish ensemble - fitted jeans and a soft, short sleeved sweater in a deep emerald green that brings out your eyes. As you're applying the last touches of makeup, your phone chimes with a text from your mom. The one silver lining with the turn of events after the weekend is that your relationship with your parents is back on track since you’re no longer hiding a sudden and inexplicable engagement to Andy.

After a solitary breakfast, you go back to your study and set to work at a beautiful desk near one of the windows, diving into emails and looking over the calendar of upcoming events and the needs for your team this week to be ready for your weekly 11am strategy session.

Back in the spring when you had taken on Andy Barber as a client for the largest gala and one of the largest events your company had ever planned, you had strategically not accepted any book dates for a full six weeks afterwards. You had wanted to ensure that everything went off perfect for the Barber Gala without compromising any events that would come right in its wake. The fee for the services of you and your team was more than enough to accommodate that break in the events schedule, and it was a decision that you were infinitely glad you had made as it had worked out well for suddenly being ensnared into Andy’s life. Rather than renting any formal office space, you and your team worked remotely and always went to clients and vendors or the event venue to meet rather than making them come to you. It had the added benefit of building rapport with people you worked with and enhancing your reputation as being a team who valued the partner you were working with.

With the break in the schedule and fully remote office, you had been able to fully put off any revelation about your new arrangements with your team of three. Even with the video chats, you’d simply used virtual backgrounds to mask your new surroundings.

You manage to wrap up the agenda for your 11am a few minutes before the wedding planners are expected to arrive. You tap your pen on your planner, mulling things over. Since events are in your blood, it’s possible you could wrap up an initial meeting with the wedding planners before your team’s meeting - especially because you’ve been through all this before, you know who the best vendors are, and you have stowed away a slew of ideas for the wedding you thought may at some point take place in the future with some unknown future husband. Worst case scenario, you’ll excuse yourself from Andy and the wedding planners for a few minutes at eleven to jump on the call, say you’ve got an awful headache or something, and hand over the meeting to your number two, Effy, and then get back to Andy. Something tells you Andy would not love you bailing completely at 11.

Satisfied enough with your game plan, you close your laptop and head toward the front of the palatial home to be present when the wedding planners arrive.

“Just in time,” Andy says as you enter the foyer.

You freeze momentarily at the sound and sight of Andy. He's leaning against the doorframe of his study, looking impeccable in a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks. His blue eyes rake over you appreciatively.

"You look nice," he says, his voice low and intimate.

“Thank you,” you respond, trying to keep your voice neutral.

He reaches you and cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. Before you can react, he leans in and captures your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Despite your desire to stay simmering with anger at him, you find yourself melting into the kiss - as always, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "Good morning, sweetheart," he murmurs.

You're about to respond when the doorbell chimes, signaling the arrival of the wedding planners. Andy's hands drop from your face, one sliding down to the small of your back as he guides you towards the door.

"Shall we?" he asks, his tone light but leaving no room for argument.

You nod, squaring your shoulders as Andy opens the door to reveal the wedding planners.

Better known as your team - Effy, Lila, and Dev.

They cheer and shout “Surprise” and “Congratulations” and rush in with champagne, flowers, and a platter of pastries and fruit from one of your favorite bakery vendors.

Your jaw drops as you stare at your team in disbelief. Effy, your right-hand woman, is beaming as she holds out a bottle of Dom Pérignon. Lila, your creative genius, is practically bouncing with excitement, her arms full of a stunning bouquet of peonies and garden roses in shades of blush and cream. Dev, your logistics wizard, balances a tray laden with an assortment of pastries from Maison de Sucre, the French bakery you've used for countless events.

"What... how?" you stammer, torn between shock, joy, and a surge of anger at Andy for orchestrating this without your knowledge.

"Andy called us yesterday," Effy explains, her eyes sparkling. "He thought you might appreciate some familiar faces to help plan your big day - and who else would you trust to plan a rush wedding?"

You turn to glare at Andy, but he merely smirks. You’re acutely aware of not only a need to keep up appearances, but a want to save face on your part, as well. So as they laugh at your glare, you quickly shift into a pleasant game face and channel the part of you that does want to share in the excitement of your team, and rush to give them hugs and usher them inside.

in just under two hours, most of your wedding is planned. Your team came prepared, knew your tastes, and had connections they were ready and eager to tap for your whirlwind wedding.

Playing the part of Andy’s blissfully happy fiancé to keep your team from suspecting anything was amiss had been difficult and yet simple in equal measure.

Andy offers to leave when you suggest that you touch base for the weekly strategy session, but your team encourages him to stay. So he does. You marvel at how masterfully he charms everyone around him. You know he often manages this with you, as well.

Everything is on track with your team for the upcoming events - including a redistribution of tasks and responsibilities that they’ve already discussed to lighten your load leading up to the wedding. They insist so you can take care of all the bride things they imagine you’ll be doing leading up to the nuptials. Your eyes meet Andy’s, and you see the glow of satisfaction radiating off of him.

Your team begins to pack up their materials. You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. On one hand, you're touched by their enthusiasm and grateful for their expertise, their thoughtfulness. On the other, you feel guilty for the deception, for allowing them to believe in a fairytale romance that doesn't truly exist.

"Well, I think we've made excellent progress," Effy says, closing her laptop with a satisfied smile. "We'll get started on the vendor contracts right away and have them ready for your review by tomorrow afternoon."

You nod and smile. "Thank you all so much. I... I don't know what to say."

Lila gives you a warm hug. "We're just so happy for you! And don't worry about a thing - we'll make sure your day is absolutely perfect."

“I know you will.”

As they gather their things and head towards the door, you notice Andy hanging back, eyes ever watching all your interactions.

You walk your team to the door, exchanging final hugs and promises to touch base soon. As Dev, the last to leave, steps out, he turns back with a grin.

"By the way, boss, nice job keeping this under wraps. We had no idea!"

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as hollow as it feels. "Well, you know me. I love a good surprise."

As soon as the door closes behind them, you lean against it, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. When you open them, Andy is standing before you, his expression unreadable.

"That went well," he says casually.

You push off the door, anger flaring. "You had no right to involve my team without telling me."

Andy raises an eyebrow. "You wouldn’t have agreed, I know you’ll appreciate the gesture in the end, and they’re the best in the business, are they not?"

"That's not the point," you snap. "This is what we talked about yesterday! Making decisions without me!”

“This was already arranged before that discussion, and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” he says with a smirk. “You love a good surprise - you just said so yourself.”

You raise your hand to slap him, but he catches your wrist, his smirk vanishing, replaced with a stern look. You huff and try to pull away, but Andy's grip on your wrist tightens, his eyes darkening with a dangerous glint. In the next instant, he pulls you flush against his body, his other hand snaking around your waist to hold you in place. The sudden movement knocks the breath from your lungs, and you're acutely aware of every hard plane of his muscular form pressed against you.

"Careful, sweetheart," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with."

A chill runs down your spine as you're reminded of the power this man wields. The charming facade he'd worn for your team has vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating persona you've glimpsed before. His blue eyes, usually so captivating, now resemble chips of ice.

"Let me remind you," Andy continues, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm not just some wealthy businessman playing at power. I've built an empire, both in the light and the shadows. I've crushed men who dared to cross me."

His words send a shiver through you - fear and unwanted desire warring within. You try to push against his chest, but he doesn't budge.

"I'm not afraid of you," you say, your voice shakier than you'd like.

Andy chuckles darkly. "You have no reason to be as long as you don’t cross me."

He releases your wrist only to cup your face, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "And here's the thing - I don't want you to fear me. But make no mistake - you are mine now. This is your life."

With lightning speed, Andy spins you around, pressing you face-first against the door. His body cages you in, one hand still gripping your wrist while the other slides up to wrap around your throat. Not choking, but asserting control. You gasp, your heart racing as Andy's lips brush against your ear. "The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be."

His hand tightens slightly on your throat, just enough to make breathing a conscious effort. You should be terrified, should be fighting to get away. But your traitorous body responds to his dominance, a rush of heat pooling low in your belly.

"Andy," you whisper, unsure if it's a plea or a protest.

“You'll be my wife, my partner. But you need to understand your place in this world we're building together."

He releases your throat, his hand sliding down to cup your breast through your sweater. You arch into his touch involuntarily, earning a dark chuckle from him.

"That's it," he growls. "Remember how good we are together.”

Andy's hand kneads your breast as his lips trail hot kisses down your neck. Despite your anger and frustration, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy murmurs against your skin. "Let go of it all."

His free hand slides down your body, deftly unbuttoning your jeans. You know you should stop him, should push him away, but the heat of his body against yours, the skilled touch of his fingers, makes it hard to think straight.

Just as his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, there’s an insistent buzzing of his phone.

He answers the phone even as his fingers begin to work the slick lips of your cunt.

“Yes?” he prompts.

You can hear every word without the phone being put on speaker since Andy’s pressed up against you.

"Mr. Barber? The cars are ready for your lunch meeting, sir."

“Good. The future Mrs. Barber and I will be down in no more than ten minutes,” he says. There’s an acknowledgment on the other end of the line, and then hangs up.

Andy thrusts a finger inside you, making you gasp, before withdrawing his hand completely. “Go get changed,” he says, “you heard, we have our next appointment and need to be on our way.”

You're left breathless and frustrated as Andy steps away, his warmth disappearing from your back. Your body trembles with unfulfilled desire, and you have to resist the urge to reach for him, to beg him to finish what he started.

"Andy," you begin, your voice husky with need.

He cuts you off with a sharp look. "We don't have time. Go change. Now."

The command in his voice sends another shiver through you. You want to argue, to demand he explain himself, to finish what he started. But the ice in his eyes tells you it would be futile. With shaking hands, you button your jeans and smooth down your sweater.

"Fine," you say, trying to inject some venom into your voice.

You turn and head towards the stairs, feeling Andy's eyes on you the whole way.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[z3rinn]

# #. KINGDOM CALLING !!

Being a Keyblade Wielder you thought you'd have seen everything by now. But you never expected to end up in a world where the villains you defeated were worshipped.

more twst x kh content because i’ve been hyper fixated on it for the past few months T_T speaking of, the reason I've been gone for so long is because I’ve now got a fic in the makings- using this exact concept! it’s posted on my wattpad and quotev, but I’m also debating if I should put it on this site… it’s quite long though! lmk if you guys think I should :]

Twisted Wonderland was weird.

You thought you’d have seen everything by now. Being a Keyblade Wielder, your job was to travel across worlds, defeating the darkness and hate spread by those willing to conquer.

You’d experienced stories and magic you could barely comprehend, standing on the sidelines as you watched fairytales play right before your eyes.

Creatures and supernaturals were considered friends, being far different from the monsters you imagined them to be. Even talking animals were a common thing now, having traveled with Donald Duck and Goofy for a better part of three years now.

You never thought you'd miss them.

Your life back on Destiny Islands was simple. Back there, you had a home; with small rowing boats and hammocks on the tiny island a quick swim away. You had proper food, with star shaped fruits said to bind your soul with your loved ones. Most importantly- you had your best friends; Sora, Riku, and Kairi— all eccentric yet lovable characters that held your heart. You would do anything for them.

The island was a sanctuary, a place for comfort and familiarity. If you had known what you did now, you would've trapped yourself there, basking in the warm sand and cool water brushing across your body. But then, being young and immature, you just wanted to leave.

Three years have passed since then. Years full of mystery and surprise.

You had undergone many things on your journey; battling against Heartless and monsters. Falling down rabbit holes and encountering princesses every which way you turned. Meeting leaders of all kinds of worlds, binding your hearts to create everlasting friendships. You had even sided with villians, willing to set aside your differences to accomplish your goals.

It was odd… working with Maleficent.

At one point you even had your heart stolen. Ripped away from you to create a husk. And that was just the surface.

You thought you had seen everything by now....

But Twisted Wonderland was weird.

Everything happened so suddenly; kicking open an overly fancy coffin ( far different from the ones Jack Skellington used ) only to be met by a creature that looked oddly like Stitch. But before you could ask anything, he gave chase, demanding you give him your robes— how did you even get these on?

Panic stricken, you ran. Running across classrooms, hallways, and courtyards- all while trying to get away from the cat.

Questions and concerns began to gush through your mind. How could you have gotten here? Where was everyone?

And where were you?

The next thing you knew, you were in a regal library, cornered by the monster. Floating books and dancing lanterns surrounded you, all approaching with intrigue. They all seemed to be observing you, like they were anticiping something.

Blue fire brushed across your skin, the flames flickering against your robes. You realized they were waiting for a spell, like they knew you would cast it before the thought could even pop into your mind.

Just as you raised your hand, getting ready to summon your Keyblade, a whip wrapped around the cat.

Both of you jumped, eyes darting to the double doors, finding a crow-looking man standing there. He looked oddly disappointed. Your eyes immediately narrowed, hands tensing.

Just looking at him made you feel on edge.

He was radiating darkness.

His golden eyes seemed to be staring right into your soul, gazing deep and pulling you apart from the seams. They pierced through your own. Entrancing. Like they were studying and discerning your moves. You didn't like them.

They looked like a villians.

You were wary of the man, raising a brow when he introduced himself. Crowley was his name; Descendant of a Hero. An odd name for someone whose heart seemed so full of darkness. He led you to a chamber room, surrounded by floating coffins and magic. Dark energy overfilled the room, whispers and cackles echoing from robed figures as they eyed your form.

You thought back to Organization XIII.

You didn't like robes all that much anymore.

They were traumatizing.

Crowley huffed, pushing you in front of— the magic mirror? Was that the one The Evil Queen used?

The mask in the mirror spoke, blank eyes narrowing at you as if you'd attack it at any second. Of course, it had every right to be afraid. Your friend literally threw a giant key at it once. Hopefully it could get passed that though, and you could ask it how you got here?

It bullshitted something about you not having a soul, ( you had a strange inkling it was being petty but whatever ) but before it could finish, the cat broke free.

He yelled, claiming he was strong enough to be at this school, and that he deserved your spot. You tilted your head at his outburst. Was that all he wanted? You gladly would've given your spot to him. You weren’t meant to be in this world in the first place. Hopefully you’d be out of here soon.

You had Heartless to go fight.

You had to go find Sora.

A quick mishap occurred, with Grim ( you remembered his name ) setting the room on fire. Apparently he was trying to show off his magic; an odd way to do so but you digress. A red haired boy chased after him, along with a boy with glasses.

Their magic was strange, coming out of a jeweled pen of all things.

Wind magic was casted, similar to your own Aero spells. Water attacks were aimed at it, easily dousing the blue flames. It was honestly amazing, watching so much magic come out of a tiny pen.

The redhead stopped in front of the cat, pointing his pen at him with narrowed eyes. Your own widened as he shouted a curse.

Off with your head.

That sounded awfully familiar.

…

Crowley was going to kick you out.

The magic mirror- or rather the dark mirror- explained that you didn't have a home to go to. You guessed it was because Destiny Islands was a whole other world, and simple mirror travel wouldn't be able to reach that far.

No matter, you could simply contact Donald or Riku on your Gummi phone and go home.

But of course, the first time a phone specifically made to communicate between worlds doesn't work is when you need it most.

So you did the only thing you could.

And showed him your Keyblade.

He muttered something to himself, widened eyes never leaving the blade in your hand. His feathers ruffled in surprise and intrigue, the slight curl of them being… strange. 

It was as if they were smiling.

Your eyes flickered to his own- noticing his scary… intense gaze.

You didn’t dare break contact, being far too focused on those piercings eyes. 

Those haunting, golden eyes. 

Eyes that looked just like Xehanorts.

The Headmage led you to a rundown cabin, home to a variety of ghosts and cobwebs. The building reminded you of the ones in Halloween Town; rundown with mischievous creatures inhabiting the spaces. These ghosts just looked like marshmallows.

You let out a low sigh, allowing yourself to fall on the dusted couch in the lounge. Debris flew up under your weight, flying into the air before dissapting. Your gaze was focused on the ceiling above, dazed as rain droplets fell to your cheeks and the wooden floors below.

The building was silent, aside from the rain. Wind blew against cobwebs, flying past your face and sticking to the rotting wood. Splinters and jagged pieces spiked up, parts of the walls ripped apart from age and student endeavors.

It was lonely here.

You didn't have anyone in this world.

Not even Jiminy fucking Cricket.

You hadn’t been alone in a long time.

The door creaked open, "Myah- it's really pouring out there!"

...

Twisted Wonderland.

That's what this place was called.

A world very befitting for its name.

Everything about this world was off— or at least— Night Raven College was.

Students seemed to love and adore the beings you had tried so desperately to keep away. They had dorms dedicated to them, embracing their darkness and allowing themselves to fall under its curse. Darkness that you had to get rid of.

Of course, they didn't actually know about the dangers you faced, finding these villians to be great and kind. They didn't know of the death and tragedy caused- the mistakes you had to fix.

It was strange though. Worlds weren't supposed to know of one another, otherwise chaos could ensue.

So why was Twisted Wonderland a combination of them all?

You suppose that's how this place got its name.

Everything in this world was twisted. Villians were considered heroic; great and all mighty beings that you and Sora definitely didn't beat.

While in the botanical gardens you sometimes laugh, imagining Leona's face if you told him you helped kill Scar. He gives you weird looks, telling you to shut up and go back to sleep. You try. It doesn’t work.

It wasn't until the Riddle incident did you realize why you were sent to this world. Darkness and hatred had been accumulating in the corners of this realm, seeping into the depths of people's hearts.

It was at times like this that made you miss Sora.

You turned over on your bed, eyes focused on the ceiling above. Moonlight seeped in through the wooden cracks, bits of the glowing celestial body peeking in. It was almost speaking to you, luring you towards it with the promise of comfort.

Kingdom Hearts.

Your eyes shut, turning away from the beckoning moon.

Well whatever. You had another long day ahead of you.

…

Thoughts? This was just a quick wip that I made in like an hour lolll. I’m thinking of doing another part tho, where we dive into character interactions and such. Rlly wanna write for Silver and a KH! MC!

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 28 - No-holds-barred beatdown, exposure, used as bait

CONTINUATION TO DAY 13 go read that one if you haven’t (or if you need a refresher it’s been so long lol)

Hi I'm still kicking <3 only three left after this, I WILL be finishing these, NO MATTER WHAT RAAAAAH. my goal is to be done before the 15th but we'll see how that goes. I'm going to try 😓

The prompts used aren’t the best, but they were the only ones that even vaguely fit lol. The third one doesn’t even come into effect until the very end. Also this was only going to be one more part. but. they kept talking.

Warnings: violence, injury, a handful of previous warnings from day 13

Day 13

ao3 link

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Sky and Warriors woke up at the same time.

Twilight stirred from his spot on the ground, having let his mind wander as he’d waited. His body still ached a bit, and it wasn't helped by his stint on the cold floor, but he sat up anyway as Warriors’ eyelids fluttered, and a squeaky moan came from Time’s back, Sky’s tail flicking. Twilight looked between the two, then went to Sky first, since strangely enough it seemed like he was waking up faster.

Legend sat next to Warriors, saying something to him as he woke, and Time watched the two with slightly narrowed eyes. He looked at Twilight as he walked up, flicking an ear as Warriors let out a disbelieving noise and Legend squawked angrily.

“Here,” Time said, carefully leaning over and sliding Sky off his back. “I’m going to go make sure Legend doesn’t bite him. And that the captain doesn’t stomp our veteran by accident. Or on purpose.”

Twilight nodded, and sat down next to Sky as his blue eyes flickered open.

“Easy Sky,” Twilight woofed as he moved a little, and Sky twitched his nose.

“Ow...” he groaned, and Twilight gave his ear a gentle lick. “...Oh, hey rancher... why’re you so big?” he asked blearily, squinting as he tried to sit up. His paws slipped out from under him though, and Sky stared at them in bewilderment, the expression honestly adorable on his furry face. He wiggled a few toes, and stared at the fur and claws, blinking in shock.

“Rancher?” Sky repeated in more of an alarmed voice. “What’s going on?”

“Short version? We all got turned into animals,” Twilight admitted, giving Sky a little push with his snout in order to help him sit up when he tried again. “We fell down here and all transformed somehow. You’re one of those cat things on your island, a... was it a remake?”

“A remlit,” Sky corrected, sounding a little calmer, but still disturbed. He studied his paws, and tilted his head back, trying to look at his ears and tail. “Huh. Just like Legend that one time. Those... women did this to us?”

“Yep, the creepy voice ones. Or something down here did, we’re not exactly sure. But it’s their fault somehow,” Twilight confirmed, and watched intently as Sky shakily stood up, paws trembling. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m— yeah. This is just... weird,” he admitted. “I... this was dark magic, wasn’t it?”

“We think so, yeah.”

Sky frowned and looked around the dark cave, large ears swiveling, and both he and Twilight jumped as they heard a distressed whinny. Twilight whirled around, and saw Warriors attempting to get to his hooves, his legs wobbling underneath him.

“Easy Captain, don’t move too quickly,” Time warned, and Warriors snorted, tossing his head.

“Don’t ‘easy’ me, I’m not staying like this a moment longer than I have to!” Warriors said, nearly falling over. “Horses are fine, I like horses, but I don’t want to be one!”

“Actually you’re a unicorn,” Legend said helpfully, and Warriors huffed angrily as Time moved to his side, helping to steady him.

“Right. I’m a horse with a big pointy stick on my head. Wonderful.”

“At least you can stab things,” Legend continued, nose twitching in amusement. “You didn’t have a weapon before, and now you do. Besides, I think the horn really compliments your flowing locks.”

“I could almost say the same,” Warriors snorted. “Flowing locks indeed. Finally the mystery of the pink hair is solved. I wouldn’t have guessed a bunny rabbit would be the cause but you—”

“Now see here—”

“All right, that’s enough,” Time said with a sharp look at the both of them. “Captain, are you feeling all right? We all saw how rough that transformation was.”

“I’m fine,” Warriors mumbled, pawing at the floor.

Twilight glanced back at Sky, who was sniffing at the scratches on his side with a wince on his face. He’d managed to stand by himself though, and so Twilight moved over to Warriors, the captain’s legs still wobbling.

“Relax Captain, we’re going to fix this,” Twilight reassured, and Warriors made another annoyed sound, his tail swishing.

“So long as we don’t need opposable thumbs,” he said. Twilight sighed.

“We’ll manage, Captain. I know this isn’t ideal, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re used to having four legs,” Warriors said in a sharp voice, and Twilight flattened his ears in annoyance.

“I’m stuck like this too, Captain. Just because I’m more used to four legs doesn’t mean I don’t want my regular ones back,” Twilight snapped, his worry and fear at the whole situation abruptly bursting out. “Now if you’re done arguing with Legend we still don’t know where half our group is, so if you’re able to walk without falling over let’s get going.”

Warriors blinked, obviously taken aback, and Twilight turned away from Time’s frown and stuck his nose up in the air to sniff for any more familiar scents.

The faintest hint of one that wasn’t rock or cave smell wafted by his nose, and Twilight turned in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint it. He caught a bigger whiff, and gestured with his head.

“I think I found someone else,” he said, and Time hummed in a growly way.

“Are you guys ready to move?” Legend asked, looking askance at both Sky and Warriors. Sky hesitated, his legs still wobbly, but when he walked around in a small circle he was able to keep his footing. Warriors gave a curt nod, his legs looking steadier, and he didn’t look over at Twilight.

Twilight felt a little sting of shame, but he swallowed it back. He could apologize later.

“This way,” he said, turning into the darkness, and the others followed along behind him, Warriors’ hooves clicking against the stone floor.

They kept the pace slow, in respect for both small and unsteady legs. Twilight felt impatience simmer under his fur, but he knew he couldn’t just run ahead. He was currently one of their few lines of defense, and who knew how many monsters might be around down here?

Sky and Legend walked together beside him, Sky asking questions about being an animal, Legend answering as well as he could. Warriors was obviously listening in as well, and Twilight even noticed Time’s ear swivel back when Legend started in on ways he dealt with fights.

Twilight... probably ought to be giving tips as well, he certainly had plenty of knowledge to draw on. But he was intent on following the scent, keeping a nose out for any others, watching for monsters, and also looking for a way out. Legend could handle the crash course in being an animal.

What a disaster.

Twilight sighed and kept sniffling, trying to identify exactly who’s scent it was he was following. He stepped past a couple large rocks that glowed faintly green, and as the scent grew steadily stronger, Twilight suddenly paused, his stomach sinking. Even with the strange overtone to it, he suddenly knew exactly who’s scent he was following.

He bolted, leaving the others behind, knowing the source of the scent was close. Twilight turned a corner, intently sniffing, and sure enough a few moments later his paw bumped into a small, grey-blue creature.

Twilight froze, and lowered himself to the floor, almost not believing what he was seeing.

“Oh boy... champion?” he asked, nuzzling gently at him. Wild don’t move, unconscious, and Twilight gave his head a small lick. “Hey, wake up for me?”

A chirrupy groan came from Wild’s still form, and his eyelids flickered, blues resting hazily on Twilight’s face.

“Mm... Twi?” he mumbled, ears twitching. “Where... ow... why does my whole body hurt?”

Twilight winced. “Well, it ah... might have to do with the fact that you’re a squirrel.”

Wild blinked slowly, his gaze still bleary. He flicked his ears again, twitched his tail once, then jerked to his feet with a completely flabbergasted expression.

“A WHAT?!” he yelped right as the others all rounded the corner and caught sight of him. Legend took one look at Wild’s bushy tail before his face cracked into a huge grin.

“Champion you’re— you’re a squirrel!” Legend spluttered, then burst into uproarious laughter, looking at Wild with pure glee on his face. “That’s the best thing I’ve seen all day!”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!” Wild screeched, his fluffy tail sticking straight up. He looked a solid mixture of offended and freaked out. “WHAT’S FUNNY ABOUT TURNING INTO A SQUIRREL?!”

“It’s hilarious, actually,” Legend cackled, wheezing as he fell backwards, nearly tripping Sky. “A squirrel! No wonder you’re such a hoarder!”

Legend burst into another peal of laughter, and Wild stumbled backwards, every bit of him tense. Twilight moved towards him, and Wild let out a panicked little chirp.

“Wild, it’s okay,” Sky said, and Wild twitched his nose as Twilight gently nuzzled his head. He could hear Wild’s tiny heart beating like a drum.

“Are you hurt at all?” Time asked, and Wild shook his head, his tail lowering a little.

“No, I’m fine. I just... no. Don’t like this.”

Wild swiped a paw over his face as his nose twitched again, and Twilight very firmly held back the urge to laugh. Now was not the time, even if Wild being a squirrel was admittedly... rather hilarious. At least on par with Legend being a rabbit.

Maybe Farore has a sense of humor.

“Hey, you’ve just gotta adjust,” Legend said as he gave himself a shake, finally getting ahold of himself. “Just think how it could be worse. You could be a bug or something.”

“But I’m a squirrel!” Wild chittered frantically, his tail whirling all over the place. “I’m tiny! I’m defenseless! I can’t even hold a weapon like this!”

“Wow. What a hardship,” Legend said in a deadpan. “Being a small mostly-defenseless woodland creature.”

Wild opened his mouth to retort, then slowly closed it again, staring at Legend like he hadn’t truly looked at him until now.

“Oh. Uh... you’re... a pink blupee thing?”

“A rabbit. We all got transformed, Wild, calm down. I’m sure we'll be able to fix it,” Twilight reassured, and Wild groaned, pulling his tail over his face.

“I hate this. No thank you. Nope.”

“Join the club,” Warriors sighed, and Twilight sat down beside the little ball that was currently Wild, giving him another lick. Wild uncurled a little, looking at Twilight with thinly-hidden panic in his eyes, and Twilight’s chest tightened. Wild rarely looked so rattled.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” he asked quietly, and Wild nodded.

“Just sore,” he said quietly. “That transformation was awful. Is... everyone else okay?”

“We don’t know. We haven’t found everyone yet,” Twilight explained with a sigh. “No sign of Hyrule, Wind, or Four.”

“But I’m sure we’ll find them,” Sky said hopefully, his large ears spread wide. “If nothing else I’ll be able to hear them with these big old things.”

Time chuckled, and Wild’s tail flicked around, the champion obviously still distressed. But he took a deep breath and sat up, determination in his eyes. Sky watched Wild’s tail swish around as he studied everybody’s animal forms, Sky’s pupils going wide, and suddenly shot out a paw to bap at it.

Wild jumped, and Sky immediately drew back, spouting apologies.

“Sorry! Sorry It caught my attention and I was just going to watch it but then I... I don’t know why I did that,” he finished in bewilderment.

Time let out a huff from nearby. “Instincts. Never know when they’re going to kick in. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve eaten rocks without thinking.”

Twilight wasn’t the only one who gave him a strange look at that.

Unfortunately none of them got to press the question, since right as Twilight opened his mouth to ask, a loud rumbling sound came from somewhere in the cave, the ground shaking under their feet.

Warriors stumbled, and Sky and Wild both fell over, the cave shaking so violently Twilight wondered if it was about to fall on their heads. He quickly positioned himself over the smallest members of the group, but the shaking abruptly stilled, and the cave went deathly quiet.

Then Twilight growled as a familiar voice suddenly spoke.

“You have all faced the magic and come out unbroken. You have passed the first stage,” the croaking voice echoed through the cave. “The second stage still remains. Survive and we will collect the chosen downstream at the crystal waters.”

“Good luck! I can’t wait for you to finish,” the other voice said excitedly, and Twilight saw Warriors flinch.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Legend growled, and Twilight saw Sky’s claws slide out.

“Return us to our normal bodies!” Warriors shouted, the whinny echoing off the walls.

“I don’t think she can understand you,” Wild pointed out, then raised himself to his hind legs, showing off the sword-shaped patch of white on his belly. “Here— RETURN US TO OUR NORMAL BODIES YOU CULTY FREAKS!”

There was no reply.

“I doubt she liked being called a freak,” Time said dryly.

“Yeah, probably not. But still. Rude,” Legend sniffed. “Guess we’ll just survive phase two then.”

“We need to find the others,” Twilight spoke up, unable to keep the worry from his voice. “Now.“

“She said we all survived the magic though, doesn’t that mean they’re all okay?” Wild spoke up, and Sky’s tail flicked worriedly.

“She didn’t say anything about other dangers, though.”

As if summoned, a monster’s howl rang through the tunnels, and everyone stiffened, heads turning toward the sound.

“Wild, Legend, on Twilight’s back, Sky, you sit on Time, we’ll save the most time,” Warriors said quickly, and Legend helped Wild scramble up onto Twilight’s back, Sky carefully moving to sit on Time’s. “I’d... take one of you, but I don’t know how steady I can keep myself.”

“I’ve got them,” Twilight reassured, noticing the frustration on Warriors’ face. Warriors met his gaze, and Twilight lowered his head, ears flicking down. An apology for earlier.

Warriors looked at him a moment, then nodded back, apologizing as well.

Twilight breathed out, a little of the nauseating emotions rolling around in him easing a bit. He may be tired, cold, hungry, in pain and worried, but that was no excuse to take it out on Warriors.

They needed to work together to get out of this mess.

They all rushed off, Warriors having trouble going at a pace much faster than a walk, but pushing himself anyway. That had been a victorious sort of monster cry, and they didn’t have time to waste. Even if Warriors kept tripping on his hooves and barely catching himself.

“So,” Wild said after a minute, and Twilight flicked an ear to show he was listening. “How come you and the old man are wolves while the rest of us are... everything else?”

“I was wondering that too,” Legend spoke up. “...I still think it’s beyond unfair.”

“I don’t know why,” Twilight admitted. “Your form says something about your person, they reflect your spirit... or it does in my case. Even though the circumstances are weird, I’m guessing it’s the same for the rest of you. I guess mine and Time’s just happen to be similar.”

“And I’m a squirrel,” Wild grumbled, and Twilight sighed.

“Yeah. Squirrels aren’t so bad though. They’re hardy, smart, good at climbing, jumping... besides, we can’t all be unicorns,” Twilight pointed out as he hopped over a rock, and Wild and Legend both let out small huffs of laughter.

“I guess not. Still pretty strange there’s so much variety,” Wild hummed. “I would’ve guessed we’d all be wolves.”

He was quiet for several seconds, and Twilight turned his attention back to navigating through the dark cave.

“...Wait a second, if our animal forms reflect us, and Legend is a bunny—”

“Don’t you dare finish that thought.”

Wild chittered out a laugh.

His amusement faded when another snarl echoed through the caves though, and Twilight exchanged a glance with Time, trotting even faster. If anyone was hurt because they couldn’t get to them in time, Twilight didn’t know what he would do.

The green rocks increased in frequency around them, the darkness of cave a bit less intense. Twilight could hear water now, and regular grumbles and snorts that sounded like monsters. Time caught Warriors when he tripped again, and they all ran down the sloping passageway.

They turned a corner, and Twilight’s eyes went wide.

An underground stream flowed in front of them, wide, but fast, water a crystalline blue so bright it looked unnatural. More of those green rocks were scattered in and around the water, and though Twilight couldn’t see colors the best as a wolf, he could tell the mix of them was rather pretty.

But more important than the water or rocks was the group of moblins on the other side, one dragging a motionless deer behind it, another trying to bat away something running around by its feet.

“Hey!” Wild shouted, and leapt off of Twilight’s back, rushing over to the stream and attempting to hop across the rocks. His paws skidded on the slippery stone, but he managed to hang on and keep going. Twilight barked for Legend to hold on, and jumped into the water, quickly swimming across.

The water was achingly cold, but Twilight ignored it and Legend’s small squeak of dismay, paddling as fast as he could. The current wasn’t too fast for him, and Twilight leapt onto the shore right as a moblin kicked the small figure at its feet, making it squeal in pain.

Whoever it was went flying, and Twilight lunged for the moblin, teeth bared. Legend clung to his fur as he bowled the moblin over, and Twilight heard Time snarl as well, a different monster screeching in pain.

The disgusting tang of monster blood got in his mouth as he snapped at the moblin, but Twilight didn't let go until it let out a dying gurgle and went limp. He raised his head, watching Time struggle with his own moblin, Sky trying to help where he could, and also saw Warriors hurriedly trying to cross the water beside Wild.

Nobody had reached the moblin dragging the deer by the leg though, and Twilight whirled towards it, leaping at the beast with his fangs bared.

It saw him coming, and dodged his lunge to its neck, Twilight’s teeth closing around its arm instead. It snarled in anger as it dropped the deer, then raised a large club above its head, eyes glinting maliciously. Twilight knew he wouldn’t be able to move in time to avoid it, but then Legend leapt off his back, attaching himself to the moblin’s face and scratching and kicking at it furiously.

It screeched, and Twilight bit it on the wrist, making it drop its weapon. The moblin gave its head a violent shake and Legend went flying, but the opening was what Twilight needed to leap forward and finally bury his teeth in its neck.

He heard a splash behind him, fear ratcheting into his throat, but he couldn’t let go until the moblin fell still and it was stubbornly refusing to do so.

Come on, die already! Twilight thought with a snarl, abruptly twisting his head to the side.

A sickening crack rang out, and the moblin finally fell still, its tongue lolling. Twilight felt a lurch in his stomach at the more violent instinct he’d given into, but he swallowed it back and spat blood from his mouth.

He turned back to the water, and felt a quick flicker of relief as he saw Time standing over Legend's limp form, viciously attacking anything that came nearby. There were only three moblins left now, and Warriors was attempting to handle the other two, Wild goading them on and distracting them while Warriors attacked with his hooves and horn.

Which just left the question of where Sky and the other animal had gone.

Twilight whined anxiously, looking around the bloody shore for any sign of them. There was a lot going on, but he was sure that he would’ve noticed one or the both of them being hurt.

Twilight suddenly saw splashing, and he hurried over to the water, ears pricking as he saw a lithe shape struggling towards the shore, Sky’s large ears visible beside it. Twilight leaned way out, prepared to jump in if necessary, and when both heads dipped below the water, Twilight quickly splashed in and gently snatched them both by the scruff.

He dragged them to shore and set them down, then frantically sniffed the both of them, Sky's scratches reopened, the other animal's tail bleeding.

“Are you two okay?” Twilight barked urgently, and the lithe, creamy colored animal nodded shakily as he scooted closer to Sky.

“I’m good,” Wind’s voice chirped tiredly from it, turning his head so that Twilight got a good look at the swirl of blue on his head and back. “Or good enough. This... is so weird.”

“Yeah,” Twilight agreed, then turned his attention to Sky, the poor remlit panting with exhaustion in a soggy heap on the ground. “You good buddy?”

“Give... me... a sec...” Sky coughed, a shiver running through him.

Twilight nodded, and glanced back at the battle just in time to see a moblin charging for them, eyes crazed.

Wind squealed in alarm and Twilight leapt to intercept the monster, snapping at its neck. Somehow it managed to dodge the attack, and abruptly slammed its club into his side, making Twilight yelp in pain.

He was knocked to the ground, but despite the pain he got back up almost instantly. The moblin was running for Sky, and a feral snarl escaped Twilight as he leapt back at the moblin again. This time he managed to knock it off-balance, and Twilight and the moblin went sprawling to the ground, snarls and the snapping of teeth ringing through the cave as they struggled.

Twilight ignored the sharp ache ringing up his side and focused only on taking down the moblin that had been charging for Wind and Sky. It gave as good as it got, and Twilight was already scratched and kicked and sorely aching when the moblin suddenly raked its claws into his muzzle.

A sharp sting ripped across his face, and Twilight yelped in pain as he reeled back, tears welling in his eyes.

“Twilight!”

Something snapped in Twilight, and despite the sharp pain, he lunged back in again, snapping ferociously at the moblin’s neck. He clawed and tore and shook the monster under him, and it wasn’t until something pressed against his side and shouted his name that Twilight realized the moblin had gone still, and it was silent in the cave once more.

Twilight stumbled back, panting as blood dripped from his face and mouth, staring at the ripped-up moblin below him. It was barely recognizable, and bile rose in his throat, shame and disgust slamming into him. Something suddenly butted gently against his side, and Twilight wearily raised his head, seeing Time looking at him with alarm in his eye.

The older hero was gently supporting him, and Twilight wondered why before he suddenly realized his legs were trembling.

“I’m okay,” Twilight said finally, sitting down with a whine at the pain in his side and face. At Time’s incredulous look, Twilight huffed. “Seriously, I am. Nothing’s broken, just bruised, I can tell.”

“Bruised ribs are no joke,” Warriors said as he walked by, but he didn’t stop to bother Twilight about it further. He was making his way over to the deer, who was still lying ominously still on the ground. Legend at least had stirred nearby, but he looked a little dazed, a paw held close to his chest.

Fear lurched through him and Twilight struggled back to his feet, Time still supporting his side, and he walked slowly over to Legend and the deer.

Time didn’t further question his injuries, but Twilight could feel his gaze on him as they made a brief detour for Twilight to wash some of the blood from his mouth.

I get it old man, you’re worried.

Twilight swallowed, the taste of blood still in his mouth.

I am too.

They made it to where Warriors had gone, and Twilight sat down with a huff, the others all gathered around in a loose circle. Twilight looked around at them all, bloody, disturbed, weary and damp, and lowered his head down to rest on his paws.

Are we anywhere close to getting out of here?

Twilight breathed out slowly, and tilted his head to look at the deer, a light brown and with a few speckles of pale green scattered around on his back and face. Warriors knelt beside him, and gave the deer and Legend both as much of a look-over as he could.

Wind scampered past, his feet making little paps on the floor, and he sniffed at the deer, then looked fearfully at Warriors.

“Is Hyrule okay?” he asked, fur still a little damp.

“Yes, Hyrule is okay,” a voice groaned, and Twilight turned to see the deer raise its head, blinking dizzily. “Ow.”

"Traveler!" Legend and Wind said at the same time, both looking relieved.

“Careful,” Warriors warned, but Hyrule shifted around anyway, moving like he was going to stand up.

He immediately toppled over when he tried, his hooves going everywhere, and Wind let out a sympathetic little noise. Hyrule blinked, attempting to correct himself, and when he failed, stared up at the near zoo standing around him.

“Um. So why do I have four feet and feel like I got doused in dark magic?” Hyrule asked, sounding surprisingly unconcerned. “Also... why’s there a unicorn just standing there?”

“That’s me,” Warriors said grumpily, and Hyrule blinked.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Weird cult ladies, we were dumped in a cave, dark magic stuff,” Legend summarized from where he'd moved to sit beside Sky, and Hyrule nodded, accidentally hitting his antlers on a rock.

“Ow. Yeah... I remember now. I thought I heard Wind when we fell, and I got up to go find him, but then I felt all that dark magic and blacked out,” he reported with a scrunch if his nose. “And now I’m a... deer?"

“Looks like it,” Warriors said, and Twilight heard the grim smile in his voice. “Welcome to the hoof club.” Hyrule looked around, then blinked, staring at the eclectic pile of animals gathered near Sky. "...Is that rabbit wearing a vest?"

Warriors snorted out a laugh, and then attempted to give Hyrule a crash course in who was who, and also how to walk with hooves. While they stumbled around, Twilight took the opportunity to look around at everyone else, making sure they were all still accounted for. Time was beside him still, a few scratches on his leg, some blood staining his muzzle. Legend and Wild were huddled beside Sky, trying to warm him up while Legend nursed his injured paw, and Wind and Warriors were cheering Hyrule on as he tried to raise himself up on wobbly legs.

That meant the only one missing now was Four.

Twilight looked at the stream, remembering the croaky voice’s mention of water. The exit must be somewhere near here if they were going to be... collected, but they couldn’t leave without Four.

Where could he be?

“...okay, so I know Twilight and Time are the wolves,” Wind said, and Twilight looked back to see him moving to sit next to Sky as well. “Wild’s... a thing? Furry thing?”

“A squirrel,” Wild sighed. “And Warriors is the unicorn, Sky is the cat thing I forget the name of, Legend is the rabbit,” he said with a snicker, and Legend glared at him. “And you're a... I actually have no idea what you are.”

“He's an otter,” Legend said grumpily, attempting to tie his vest into a sling with one arm. “They swim around and eat clams.”

“What’s a clam?” Wind asked.

“Shellfish.”

“That’s not very nice of him,” Hyrule said as he wobbled over, and Wild and Wind joined in on his laughter while several of the others rolled their eyes.

“Enough goofing off, we still need to find Four,” Twilight spoke up, and everyone turned to look at him. "And any ideas on how we're going to deal with these witches or whatever they are?"

"We head downstream and see what happens I suppose," Time sighed. "Our smithy must have heard that message too, he’ll know where to go."

"He could be hurt though," Wind chirped worriedly, rubbing a paw over his whiskery cheek.

"And what if he was unconscious somewhere and we missed him?" Legend added.

"Twilight or the old man would've smelled him though, wouldn't they?" Warriors pointed out. "Twilight's been looking for scents this whole time, surely he would've gotten some sign of him."

"Wait, what if he got turned into a fish or something?" Wind suddenly gasped, looking at the water. "What if he's down there and—"

"Quiet!" Sky suddenly shouted in a croaky voice, his wide ears held out.

All of them went silent, and Sky swiveled his ears around, looking ruffled, but a little less like a drowned rat as he carefully sat up. Twilight pricked his ears too, and for a moment, all anyone heard was the noise of the stream rushing by, and blood and water dripping softly from wounds.

Then Twilight heard a pained cry so soft he could barely make it out.

"That was Four," Sky gasped, obviously able to make it out better than him. "He... wait."

He pricked his ears, and then his eyes went wide.

"I can hear those women, they have Four!"

Twilight jumped to his feet, biting back a whine of pain as his side sparked angrily. "Then we need to go help him, come on!"

“We can’t just rush in there without a plan,” Warriors whinnied, stomping a hoof. “Rancher you’re injured, Hyrule can barely walk, Sky practically drowned, we need a plan if we’re going to be able to—”

“Then I’m going by myself!” Twilight snarled, and whirled around and took off, ignoring the others’ shouts and cries to come back.

Twilight’s paws pounded against the stone as the others’ voices faded behind him, every step sending a jolt up along his injured side. Blood was drying on his face, sticky and uncomfortable, but Twilight only ran faster, listening for any more signs of Four.

He knew he would need the others’ help. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take them on by himself, and Twilight especially knew he was being incredibly stupid by running off alone.

But he didn’t care.

Every moment could matter for Four.

[aizawasbrazybaby]

❥𓂃𓏧Freak Like Me

𖦹Warnings: Corrupt Cop!Nanami x Fem!Reader, Pet names? (Calls reader Beautiful a lot), Semi-public (car sex), p in v sex, Oral (fem receiving), Very brief mention of blood, Cervix kissing, Dubcon (consent is implied but he doesn’t ask before touching reader)

𖦹Word Count: 1.7k (I had to restrain myself from making it longer🥲)

🫧: Hello everyone sorry for any mistakes I always try to proof read at least twice before posting. Also I’ll be attempting to upload here and WP on Fridays at 5pm est.🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Summaryᐕ: It was supposed to be a late night traffic stop…only he was off duty and everyone knows what happens after dark.

Air moved deeply through your lungs harshly exiting your nose. Those fluorescent blue and red lights flashed obnoxiously bright, forcing your eyes to shut into a squint. The officer’s tall figure strutted over to your old compact sedan that was honestly hanging on by the grace of god herself. His blonde hair and white skin contrasted the chilled bitter darkness. Fingers tapped the window and signed for it to be rolled down. Your eyes hit the back of your head as you followed the lawful command.

And holy fuck…

A chill ran up your spine. He looked like the finest piece of art man could make- so much so you had to do a double take at the patrol car to see if it was the real deal. That this wasn’t an elaborate prank by some shitty tv show or idiotic influencers that didn’t know how illegal impersonating an officer was.

“Pretty late for a lady like you to be out here dontcha think,” he glanced at the bloody scrubs in your passenger seat, “long night?”

“That easy to tell?” your fingers rubbed at the dark circles under both eyes, “sorry but is your bodycam on?”

A strange mix of a laugh and hum rumbled in his throat, “license and registration ma’am.”

A demand.

Mint intertwined in his cool breath as he let out an annoyed sigh waiting for you to gather your things. As if you initiated the traffic stop on him. He softly snatched at the forms you handed to him.

“What has you out here so late, nurse ____?” His gaze flickered back to the passenger seat.

“Doctor,” you corrected.

“What?”

“It’s Dr._____ I’m not a nurse.”

He grinned, “well, many apologies for my ignorance.” You looked in his narrow eyes and something shifted in you. In both of you. Your pants felt almost suffocating on your throbbing pussy as that honey-like essence pooled to your center.

“I-I just got off work at the hospital,” you pointed behind you, “third twelve hour shift this week. I pulled over to get some sleep, heard somewhere that driving tired is as bad as driving drunk.”

Why’s his stare gotta be so intense? Your mind raced. Eyes lowering to his beautifully plump lips. Watching his tongue swipe teasingly slow over the bottom one before it was held between his teeth.

Good fucking God.

“Have you been drinking tonight?” You could have swore a glimpse of a grin flashed just as quickly as it had disappeared . His calloused fingers softly traced your jawline, thumb running across your lips. A line was crossed. Several lines. But shit it’s been so long since you’d been caressed. And the man before you was so alluring. You leaned into Nanami’s touch- your eyes fluttering shut for a second before burning into his.

“No, officer.”

“Why don’t you step out for me beautiful,” his voice low and seductive. Embarrassment burned through you from how quickly you obeyed. Horny and stupid. Desperate and horny. He looked you up and down then grabbed your hands. Cold to the touch but you didn’t pull away, placing them behind your head, “Lock your fingers.”

Holy hell he was close.

You could feel the heat emanating from his mouth. Circling you he stopped behind, pressing against your back. His belt. The service belt was nowhere to be found. Pressure started at the wrist and worked its way to your waist. Outlining the shape. His fingers trailed over your breasts. so. very. slow. Each finger took its time feeling the buds that hardened under.

Desperation made itself known from a slight gasp that morphed into a whimper, “shit.”

Nanami groaned in response. He walked back around, hands lowering to the fat of your ass gripping and squeezing. He placed a kiss on your cheek and nipped at your jaw.

“Sir,” you glanced at the abandoned strip of road, “not out here.”

His hand pulled to the front rubbing your pussy through your thin sweats. His digits worked their way inside feeling how wet you were. Snatching a moan from your throat that your own ears struggled to recognize. No panties. A bold move on your end.

“Get in the backseat,” his teeth caught on your bottom lip. An arm rounded your waist pulling you away from your car before opening the door for you. He blocked your head from hitting the top of the doorway like he would if sticking you in his squad truck.

Before you could speak your sweats were around your ankles. His eyes looked back at you as he kissed up your thigh, “want me to stop?”

“No!” Your voice was under a shout. Loud. Desperate. And beyond fucking horny for the stranger with his upper half leaning between your legs. The other hanging out the car.

He chuckled, “okay doctor.” His tongue ran up your slit catching the enticing liquid that glazed parts of your skin. Ecstasy swam through your veins and straight to where the man was now sucking your sensitive clit. Hands sliding through his healthy locks he moaned on your cunt. You hissed at the feeling.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

You sat your head up seeing Nanami dig in your pocket and pull out your phone. He flashed the screen and your heart skipped a beat. “Don’t.” From his shit eating grin you knew he wasn’t gonna listen. He firmly pressed the green answer and tossed you the phone.

“Hey JESS,” you stifled the moan that clawed to be set free. The cop pushed your thighs apart, thrusting his middle and ring fingers inside. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sudden intrusion. Savoring that pain spiked with pleasure.

Is that mommy? Your six year old asked sleepily in the background.

Hey Miss.____ I was just checkin on ya. It’s pretty late just wanted to see if everything was okay

“Y-yes hon everything’s fine just got off work a bit late.”

Nanami unbuttoned his slacks, releasing his erection. Lining himself to your pussy that clenched around nothing. He smiled from ear to ear slowly inching himself deep.

That’s good. Baby Kiri keeps askin for ya wanna say good night before I put her to bed?

“No!” you lowered your tone, taking a fistful of Kento’s shirt, “no need I’ll s-see her when I g-get home.”

He took the phone muting and keeping it on speaker, “lemme hear you beautiful,” his pace increased. Squelching and your squeals filled the car, “fuck darling n-nice and loud. That’s it.”

“Nanami,” you whimpered, “fuck pleaseee.” You dragged.

“Uh uh Kento when I’m fucking you,” he smirked.

Why not? Hello? ___ are you there? Is everything okay?

He thrust one last time before plunging his cock deep inside. And fuck. Fuck. fuck. fuck. His tip was pressing against your cervix. Your legs started to shake slightly but enough where he noticed. And you clenching tight around him had his eyes rolling back and breathing heavy.

Unmute. “I-I’m fine Jess. Just in a bit of a s-situation right now.”

His hips rocked slowly bringing that tight coil closer. His teeth glided over your throat, “gonna drive me crazy hang up that damn phone,” you could sense his lust from his deep whisper.

Should I send someone out there? What’s happening?

“No need, ‘mtaking good care of her,” he growled at the nanny.

Who is this? Where’s ___??

“Gonna have to, ah, call you b-back.” You tried your best not to let it out but that moan slipped through and no doubt she picked up. Nanami took your phone tossing it atop those dirty scrubs.

Oh…ohh, it clicked. She hung up immediately.

He slammed his hips into yours. Faster. Stronger. Until that coil grew so tight in the both of you that you were shouting each other's names as you came. His hot cum filling you up so full and you leaving your cream all over him that is splattered just below his belly button. Drained of all his energy and stamina he rocked into you riding out the high to both of your orgasms.

“Kento,” you said breathlessly, “thank you.” Of course he didn’t know what you were thanking him for. Didn’t know you’d been so deprived from a man’s touch. You craved some kind of sexual interaction. Didn’t know he relieved so much of the pent up stress from work and being a single mother.

“Any time beautiful.” He panted but managed to keep a smile on his handsome face. He pulled out looking for something, anything to help clean you up. When his eyes landed on you, you pointed to the front seat.

“Got a few baby wipes in the glove compartment.”

He nodded. You watched as he climbed out zippering his pants as his head fell back. Taking in the cool night breeze. God he was something to behold. Walking around the front he took out the pack of wipes and jogged back to you.

“Does anything hurt? Are you alright?” He asked back to his monotone as he wiped your thighs and intimate parts.

“I’m alright.”

“Think you can walk?” he shimmied your sweats back up, shoving something in the pocket. Before you could even answer he pulled you to the edge of the car by your legs making you yelp. He held you like a bride before placing you in the driver seat.

“Hope so.” You said quietly. His hand grabbed the back of your head through the window pulling you in a kiss. Long and passionate. If you knew anything it was that this man was gonna be the death of you. You felt yourself getting wet all over again.

“G’night…officer Nanami.” You looked deeply in his eyes.

“Get home safe.” He didn’t smile or break the contact. He climbed back in his car shutting off the lights and starting his car back up. Digging in your pocket you pulled out his business card that had his number written neatly in blue pen on the backside. Your mouth gaped open and looked out your window as he was passing you. Driving slow he seen the card in your hand and winked at you. That shit eating grin back on his lips.

Staring daggers back at the card you wondered how long you were really out for.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You shift on your feet. Your arches kill and your hips feel like they're splitting apart. For all you know, they are. Every day is a new fun side effect. 

You lean on the counter, standing vigil at the customer service till. Unlike the pharmacists and their assistants in the back, you don't get a chair. You refuse to complain, you know it would only add venom to their gossip. Even here, you're not safe from the whispers. 

The break room is a nest of snakes. You learned that one day as you walked in on a conversation that couldn't stop soon enough. You know they talk about you, there really isn't much else to do around Hammer Ford. Even if it's only borne of boredom, their words still hurt. 

The pharmacy is quiet but for the fuzzy noise of the overhead speakers playing outdated songs on repeat. You reach to rub your lower back. You’re not that big. Not as big as you will be but you don’t know how much longer you can stand in the same spot for eight hours. 

You stare at the till, the blue border on the screen blazing into your vision. You can’t help but drift into you even less glorious future. This won’t change. You’ll be stuck here, working hour after hour, only you’ll be poorer and more tired. You’ll have a whole other person to take care of and look how you’ve done just taking care of yourself. 

Your chest rents and you let out the breath trapped beneath your dread. Something clacks onto the counter and shakes you back to reality. You face, the customer, your vision slowly narrowing back to focus. 

You glance at sigh then down at the bottle on the counter. He has one of the novelty stuffed rabbits in his hand and a jar of cream. He puts those down too and you squint at them curiously. You take the bottle of vitamins and wave them towards the scanner. 

“I read you should take iron and folic acid. Those have both,” he says, “you also should be sitting down.” 

“What?” You frown, the bottle still in your hand, and stare at him. 

“This cream should help with the dry skin. The book said as you grow, you’ll get itchy--” 

“What are you talking about?” You put the bottle down and cross your arms. 

“Do you have a belly belt?” 

“Sy,” you say his name firmly, “are you... are you trying to give this to me?” 

He huffs and pulls out his wallet, “you need it.” 

“How do you know I don’t have it already?” You ask, thoughts scrambling at his kind, thought it edges along presumptuousness. 

“Do you? What do you need then? Stuff for the nursery?” His eyes roll upward, “not much room up there for a baby.” 

You want to shrink into nothing. You straighten your arms and grip the edge of the counter, “I know. Sy, this is a nice gesture but... I barely know you. It's too much. Not your responsibility.” 

“Mm, and where’s the man who should be taking responsibility?” He reaches to pluck up a chocolate bare from shelf on the other side of the till. He drops it on the counter, “you got cravings too?” 

You shake your head. Ugh, you hate how quickly your hormones have your heart racing and your eyes misty. It’s so nice of him despite being completely off putting. No one else, not even your own mother, even tried to help you. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, “sore? Tired? You got morning sickness?” 

“Sy, please,” you raise a hand and set your tone, “really, I can’t... I can’t. Okay, it’s not... it’s not right.” 

“Isn’t. He should be here--” 

“Please,” you pull the stuff towards you, “I’ll put all this back on the shelf and you can just go--” 

“I got money,” he slips his thumb into his wallet, “I wanna buy it.” 

You blink at him. Daye, the manager, watches from down aisle. She looks less than impressed. Shoot. 

“Okay, do you want a bag?” You ask as you ring in the items. 

“Be easier for you to carry,” he says as he offers a hundred dollar bill, “not too heavy.” 

You cringe and take it, stretching it out and checking with the marker. All larger bills have to be throughout vetted. You put it in the drawer and count his change and hold it out to him. 

“That’s for dinner. Get some protein--” 

“No, take it,” you insist, “what are you doing?” 

His forehead lines and he looks back and forth, “what he should be doing.” 

He doesn’t take the money so you put in on the counter. You unfold a paper bag and put the items inside and push it towards him. Your skin is hot with embarrassment. Worse than any judgment is pity. Does he think some vitamins and stuffed bunny is going to solve your issues? 

“I want you to take it and go please,” you say quietly as you notice another customer coming towards the counter.  

It’s old Ed Parriser; his wife, Ginny, is in line with the town gossip, Lynette. He has a bottle of advil and heartburn medicine. You wonder if those are symptoms of his marriage. 

“There you are,” you shove the receipt in the top of his bag, “I need to help the next customer.” 

He lingers then reluctantly grabs the bag, crumpling the top in his large hand. He gather up the money and closes it in his fist. Reluctantly, he backs away, looming just at the end of the counter as Ed puts down his haul. 

“Hello, sir, how are you today?” You ask. 

“Eh, I’m doin’ okay,” he answers in his wheezy way, “ha,” he scoffs as he watches you scan, “I thought Ginny was tellin’ one of her stories again.” 

“Oh yeah?” You look up curiously, putting on a sunny smile, “what did she say?” 

“Said you got yourself knocked up like a floozy,” he chortles, “maybe I’ll just start listening to her--” 

Ed grunts as suddenly he’s grabbed by the collar of his plaid shirt. Sy has him in a death grip knuckles rolled into the flannel as he snarls down at the man, “keep talking and you’ll need those pills. I’ll split your fucking head open.” 

You stand, dumbfounded by his surge of anger and his threat. He’d only ever been soft spoken, even if he was huge, but he’s rabid like a wolf in that moment. Ed smacks his forearm and wriggles. 

“Let go of me, you lump--” 

“Sir, excuse me,” Daye’s smoker’s creak rises from her throat, “is there a problem? Do I need to call the sheriff?” 

Sy puffs through his nose, chest rising and falling as you watch him weighing his options. He wants to keep going. His blue eyes flick over to you and he lets go, raising his hands. 

“Nothing,” he grits out. 

“That’s right, nothin’,” Ed rubs his neck with a cough, “he just protecting this--” 

“Keep going,” Sy’s rolls dangerously low as he towers over him. The old man snaps his mouth shut so his jowls tremor. He looks at you then Daye. 

“Know what,” Ed clears his throat, “I think Ginny was here yesterday. I don’t need all this.” 

As Daye nears, the old man hobbles around Sy’s fuming form. The larger man sneers at the manager as she nears, her phone in hand. He points it at him, “leave. Now.” 

He sends you one last look, his cheek ticking. He spins on his heel and marches out. You bite your lip and look down at the two bottles in front of you. You grab them and gulp. 

“I’ll just put these back,” you offer. 

“You keep your drama out of this store,” Daye warns, “or I’ll talk to Willard.” 

You sniff at her threat. Willard gave you a good deal on the upstairs apartment but people weren’t happy about. Even if the faucet is leaky and the fridge rattles. 

“It wasn’t--” 

“Keep it out,” she snaps and snatches the bottles from you, “if you can lean, you can clean.”