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nemesyaaa · 3 months ago

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buffalo 66' au ! old!serial killer!rafe x young!sugardoll!reader (how they met, and their first night together.)

you were red and you liked me 'cause i was blue. but you touched me and suddenly i was a lilac sky.

warnings : lmfaooo this part always killing me but here it is....rafe being 90% of the warning part and the menace he already is, kidnapping, daddy issues, urge of sexualing your own self, slight of stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, dark!rafe, violence, mentions of threats, r being a missing girl, age gap, size difference, choking. rafe being mean to the reader. slight of daddy kink. sick attitude. dirty talk. attention whore. just minors DNI. (why it's bigger than my grocery list actually...). please carefully pay attention to the tags !!?

author's note : it's my first time writing a dark fic so don't expect too much 🙏🏿 you can read this without watching buffalo 66.

some girls were the trailer park princess, and others the queen of the gas station.

as the girl of the gas station, you were there all day on the road of these men much older than you, who had and drove pretty vintage cars who were literally bigger than you. those rich daddies surely had more money than your poor father who was always sitting behind the desk of his shop waiting for the night.

your father never gave you any attention, not even a look, he didn't care about what you did on your summer days as long as he never saw you. so you stayed all day at your playground queendom across from the pitiful, filthy motel where you lived. because here at least the men were looking at you.

of course they were looking at you, you always gave them something to look at with your tiny dresses that showed your naked thighs, your tits pressed together in that backless top. you always dressed in that soft and milky blue shades. as the sea and the sky, you were blue.

while their wives found you sick, you could feel their stares every time you leaned down to grab the keys that they forgot to give you each time. you could feel their eyes completely charmed by the way your summer dress rode up above your ass, and your panties stuck out.

fully bent over, you could hear the groans of these old men, the way they forced their hands themselves to not touch you when you wanted nothing more than to see them give in to the young temptation that you were.

you had a power in them and you loved to see them completely crazy.

you worked as a gas pump attendant. in reality, you did it behind your father's back because it allowed you to stay in the company of these men who only had eyes for you.

you always put on a show for them, and it always worked because you were irresistible.

but there was this guy every time, a regular customer, cold and short-spoken who never spoke to you.

he had a beautiful and luxurious car and you always wondered what job he did to drive such an incredible vehicle, and to spoil you so much with all this money.

he never said thank you for your service. after all, you were paid for it. his eyes were blue as you. he could park and glare at you for hours, sitting deep in his seat, a cigarette stuck between his opened lips.

he was so much older than you, so much to the point it was indecent. when you had first seen him, you had melted like sugar.

as you were coming back from the ice cream parlor, your lips sucking that delicious vanilla ice cream, you sat on the edge of the gas station, right in front of his car, your legs completely spread, white cream melting and dripping between your thighs. he rubbed his painful boner through his boxer.

you were sick, you let him look at you with this completely perverted stare while you let chunks of ice fall into your cleavage.

his eyes were all over you, but this time it was different, because this time it was him who was thinking about you while touching himself. this time it was him who was sick about you , him who had all these furious ideas about you. he pumped himself so hard, biting his lips harshly. and you continued your depraved show, while he jerked off, his big cock shaked and leaked in his own hand, his thick and already experimented fingers moved around his length faster and faster, the sweaty and dirty sound of his balls slapping, the squeaking noises of his chair, his arched back making the chair shaking. you thought of the veins of his dick engorged of blood pulsated against his hefty strength. that was enough to make you fully wet.

you wanted nothing more than to make this old man reach for you. but the problem was, you were too young and naive to know how mad he was, and what he really wanted to do with a pretty doll like you.

you stood up when you finished your ice cream, putting your dress back on neatly, and leaned down, leaning your porcelain princess arms over his car window.

you shuddered when he spread his cum on your face without any warning, smeared the remains of vanilla ice cream over your sloppy lips gloss with lick of drool.

he pushed his big thumb against your little mouth, pushed it into an o shape, and you closed her to start licking up the drops of his cum.

but like every time he came here, he never spoke to you. you had just seen the car leave, while you still had the taste of him on your lips. it was rude.

the next day, your father sent you out to do some groceries on a sweltering hot summer day, tired of seeing you around doing nothing. what he didn’t know was that this was probably the last time he saw you. and even shoupe that you had seen earlier in the morning, and who had told you to be careful, something with a killer around.

when you were done with the grocery, you started walking through the empty parking lot.

you thought you were alone, even though there were a few empty cars.

but it was a mistake, a terrible mistake that you were going to regret.

“didn't shoupe tell you to be careful this morning, sweetheart ? because i'm pretty sure, he did. ”

you screamed when the man grabbed you by the waist, pressing your little ragdoll body against his chest much stronger. the stranger quickly covered your mouth, and bruised your pretty lips with violence without any caring, shoved down his fingers between them to the point that you almost choked with your own breath and saliva.

“ you hurt..me…! ” you tried to say with a lot of difficulty, as his firm grip crushed against your breasts.

“ not yet actually, doll. but i promise, i will if you continue to fight. so beware, or i will fucking kill you. not a threat, sweetheart. it's a promise. “ and you knew that even god couldn't save you at this time.

you tried to bite him, but your teeth barely touched his skin. his lips hovered above your ear, you could hear his deep older voice warned you.

" bite me one more time, and i will break you. i love wrestle with you little girl, but i think you will really hate the way i fight. because when daddy fight sugardoll, he kills. and tiny things like you are so easy to wreck. and you dont want to die today, right ? you're too young for that. do you got it ? nod if you got it, yes. smart baby, understand easily that she needs to listen and not fucking run away. ”

his strength was heavy. you had stopped resisting a few minutes ago, even when he put you in his car.

he started driving, with a smirk, he looked in the rearview mirror before telling you.

“ what's the matter, sugardoll ? don't want to put a show for me, anymore ? ”

he had taken you to a shitty old motel down the road, where no one would be able to pick you up here. you knew he was intelligent, you knew it because you understood that every time he came to see you, he tried to learn more about you, but not to know you no, but to know when would be the right time to kidnap you. you knew it because he had stalked you carefully.

he had tried to tie you up while you tried to struggle one last time. but he had grabbed your jaw so violently that you felt your face shiver in his hands. “one more move, and i’ll show you how dolls are really treated, how i have no fucking bother to kill a tiny thing like you. ”

“i’m not going to run away.”

"i know.” he shushed you with a sick evil smirk. “ but it's not because you don't want to, sugardoll .but more because you can't.” he said, while releasing your jaw.

“ that's the small but important difference. i kidnapped you. do you even know what it means ? "

you started to cry, tears running down your cheeks.

“ you want a real reason to cry? fine. i can do that for you. i kidnapped you but you want to know the big part of all this? is that no one will come for you. your father doesn't love you , and that's why you work in this stupid gas station. you love the attention of these men so bad that you feel obliged to sexualize yourself to feel desired but me, i wanted you the first time i saw you. i let you do it, i let you play with them, but now it's all over. since i own you, this game is fucking over. ”

“shoupe will come after me ! ”

“but maybe you won’t be around to see it anymore.” he looked at you, and shushed your tears, while staring in your wet eyes. “ yes, i really like when you give me those tears, cry to me, little girl i'm the only men that really got you. ”

you glared at him as if he had fallen from the sky.

“ but now you have to be careful, don’t get on my nerves. i know it's hard for you, but don't do stupid things. ”

he placed your hand on his lower back, where you had felt the metallic coldness of the gun. and you shivered.

"yes, you got it. don't ever get on my nerves.”

“ how can i get on your nerves ? you don't really seems like a bad guy. more like a sweet guy ? ”

“ i'm not. and i'm not trying to be so watch your mouth. “

“ but i really think you are. can i hug you ? ”

“ try it, doll, literally try it. just try to touch me, i dare you. and i bet you will never tell me i'm the sweetest guy again. ”

“ can you at least bathe me ? ” you asked seriously.

“ jesus, do you think i'm your slave or whatever ? do you forget which position you are in ? in the captive one. so do not ask me those stupid things again. and don't try, no, never try to run away because, i can promise you that when i will find you, it will not be a pleasant time for you. and not even a little, but to the point, you will ask me to kill you. and i will be in a mood to accept your request ? yes, me. ”

you nodded as the kind and little girl you are who cannot argue against this tall man. he released your small face, and you were bathing alone. while you were taking your bath, alone in the tub, you heard rafe on the phone without being able to understand what he was saying but after that call, he left the room.

you had decided to buy some food with the little money you had at the food and drink vending machine.

with a happy smile, you went back up, hoping to please him. but you had found him on the chair in front of the TV.

“look, what…”

“i think you’re really nice. but not at your own good, sugar. ”

“ i just wan…”

“ get on the bed, now. ”

he couldn't help but relaxing when he saw how your blue dress was so tiny, already showing your soaked underwear.

" no whining. " he said as he shoved himself deeply in your tight abused cunt, your ragdoll body pressed down in the mattress, his thick stronger arms hugged your small waist, while thrusting harder and harder, your walls clenched around his fat cock. you can felt the size growing bigger in your wettering pussy, as he turned you into a real crybaby, tears flowing down your cheeks. you were caged by his beefy and muscular body on the bed, gasped on the edge. “ you wanted to act like a big girl ? then take it like a big girl. no fucking whining, i'm just giving you what you want. ”

he was literally buried inside you, snapping your hips, moving in and out. the atmosphere was hot, you felt the heat, there were trails of saliva around your mouth. “stop whining babydoll, daddy is not at his worse actually. and you don't want to see this happen.” you wanted to hate him but it was like you appreciated him being so mean to you, your pussy was dripping, your fluids drenching him, your sticky walls surrounded his girth. " yes, that's it. pull up some juices for daddy, make it easier for him to destroy you. "

everytime you runned away from him, he lifted your head with a grunt, and with a wild thrust inside of you, making you drip even more as his glistening tip reached your spot, the dirty and wetness sound of his moves echoed in the room, your body trapped against his taller one.

with a hand on your throat, you were arched to the point where he could see your wetted eyes rolled up. "try to run away again, and you will have the fucking pleasure to be a momma, as well as a missing girl. i'm not asking you to take my cock better.” he said with a threat. “ no, i'm telling you to do it as your fucking job. ”

all teary, you could bet that rafe didn't know how big he was for telling you this. you were trying your best actually. he was rutting in you, holding your tiny size with one big hand, getting so feral everytime he saw your small body twitching when he pushed himself further. your moans were loud, as your squirted more than one time on him, your dripping walls clamped his hard cock. even when your third orgasm flowed against your bulging pussy, creating a mess at the surface, he continued.

" you know sugardoll, you better work faster for my cum, because i will only stop when i will see how creampie your pussy is for my dick.”

he stuffed your puffy messy cunt, while your pumped his fingers who slidded deep down in your throat, your warm and bullied tongue fighting to not dropped them.

you slobbed more with the overstimulation. you felt like this man was insatiable. rafe loved to see you, his sugardoll in pain, taking so much for him.

when he finally stopped teasing you, and fighting himself to not cum, and clearly toying you, he exploded, making you cried out. all your body was filled with spasms.

you expected something from rafe when he pulled out, a little soft spot, or at least, just one look but he just went to the bathroom. alone.

you expected him to be sweet for you, like the sugar you were for him. and you knew, that you will work for this later.

when he came back, you looked at him, always attracted by his charisma, the way he made you felt so tiny by his big size, the way he was old enough to make you feel like a little girl, just the way his raised voice made you feel so small.

“ can i sleep with you ? ”

“ whatever. just don't touch me. ”

“ you're not gonna be my big spoon ? “

“ what the fuck is this ? i'm not gonna be your spoon. jesus, can you just sleep and not ask for any stupid things that you think i will do because you're already so obsessed with me ? and give me your hands. ”

he tied them up on the bed with your little blue ribbon.

“ just in case you think you can escape me. ”

“ i can't sleep like that ! ”

“ i fear it's not my fucking problem, sugardoll.”

“ fine. i will talk and talk all night. ”

“ i can fuck you all the night too. but one of us will not survive this. so stop being so damn annoying. ”

“ what if i want to pee in the middle of the night ? ”

“ you're strong enough to hold it. and you fucking better be strong enough to hold it. ”

“ why are you so mean to me ? why you kidnapped me ? ”

“ sugardoll, listen to me. look at me, yes. eyes on daddy right now. i swear, and you need to listen carefully because i will tell you once, just once, so your dumby brain need to pay attention, if you're talking another time, even if i see your lips moving, just a twitch, i will put my dick right in your mouth, making you suck it for without a break until the sun rises again. and i can promise you that after, you will never talk to me because you will never be able to open that mouth again. do you got it ? nod your head if you got it, doll.”

and you nodded.

as a doll, you were conditionned to listen to your owner, even if he was so mean to you. but you were as soft as sugar, always melted around, already thinking he was the best guy around.

“ sweet dreams, sugardoll. ”

i promise one day i will write something very good, just give me a chance. i think the only sweet thing in this work, it's rafe calling r " sugardoll ", he's so mean please 😭😭 i think i make him a little too dark to the point, i'm questionning about how he can be sweet to the reader now ????? but i guess, it's part of the game. tysm @bunnyrafe and @fae-of-prey me a lot !

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choccy-milky · 4 months ago

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💖🎊the end, & thank you for reading!!🎊💖

im so thankful for all the support i got on this story, and i wouldn't have finished it if not for all of you, and for the love i got for seb and clora. so thank you again for giving me the motivation to write this 600k+ monster, and to see it through to the very end. LOVE YALL💖🫶 (ao3/wattpad)

#THAAATS ALL FOLKS #so surreal that after over a year i wont have the thought in the back of my mind of 'oh i need to start on the next chap soon'#its freeing but also empty🥲 im sure ill still have moments where im like CRAP I NEED TO UPDATE--oh wait nvm LOL #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian x mc #clora clemons #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #choccyart #my first ever longfic i managed to finish... all my other attempts in other fandoms i fizzled out at like 60k or 70k words #all thanks to yall supporting my brainrot 🙏🙏whether it was a year ago or a day ago🙏#there are some regular readers i had in the VERY beginning that i still think about BAHAHA......hope theyre doing good #and if they ever remember my fic and think about reading it again AT LEAST ITS ACTUALLY COMPLETE AND GOOD TO GO WOO #i feel so accomplished...SIDEQUEST COMPLETE😤

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cyber333angel · 4 months ago

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SOMONO WITH LOGAN HOWLETT you laid peacefully on logans bed sleeping, the blankets covering only just a bit of your thighs as you hugged the pillow tightly. enjoying your slumber as if half of your ass wasn’t exposed in your tiny sleep shorts just tempting your boyfriend anytime he walked by the door.

he contemplated on what to do, walking back and forth with a semi hard bulge in his pants not knowing if he should wait for you to wake up or just play with you a little bit while you slept so he didn’t interrupt your rest. the decision was especially hard because he had just got back from a failed mission so he just wanted to let out a little steam on his favorite girl. however, logan was not a very patient man, he liked to get things done immediately when he could. so naturally with you, he could only give into the temptation.

and that’s how you woke up with your panties pushed to the side with logans cock buried deep inside your cunt. your pussy just swallowing up all of his thick length as you stirred awake from the sudden pleasure. you hear pants and deep growls of “fuck..” behind you as your boyfriend gripped the fat of your ass tightly. you slur out a whine to the man, “mm lo-logan!” and he wasn’t surprised that you woke up — honestly he expected you to wake up much sooner from the rough pace that he was going at. “you up baby? you were sleeping so nicely I didn’t want to wake you sweetheart, I hope you don’t mind.” and of course you didn’t mind, this was an amazing way to wake up from a nap. “s’okay daddy..but slow down a bit.” hearing a deep grumble from him, a little reminder that he taught to you about how to talk to him with manners.

“p-please..!” logan chuckled at you with a wide grin, “atta girl.” with that he softens up his pace with slower thrust, sliding in and out of your sopping hole letting you feel every sensation. how wide he stretches your cunt out, the echos around the room coming from the slick in between your legs along with the grunts and low growls from logan. not long after logan felt himself on the verge of cumming, mumbling to himself as he got faster trying to to chase his climax. “m’gonna cum daddy..!” you cried. the man behind you nods “me too fuck…give it to me baby c’mon.” the feeling of logan trying to bury himself as deep as he can into your cunt has your legs twitching in the bed, he makes sure that your hole is painted with his cum. with this he has you panting below him, beads of sweat at his forehead. the climax taking energy out of you even with your long nap. suddenly you feel the touch of your boyfriends rough hand, softly grip your throat and bring your head closer up to his head. he whispers “good girl.” as he leave a sweet kiss on the top of your forehead.

#logan howlett x reader <3 #logan howlett #logan smut #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan x reader #this is like the rafe somomo fic but with wolvie #bc I have been reading soooo much smut of him these couple of days and idk #need him bad

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sceletaflores · 2 months ago

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no logan actually has me in a chokehold, all I can think of is him being away for a mission but you’re so needy for him that you grab one of his flannels and ball it up and shove it in between your legs and then basically humping it to get off, and maybe he comes back early from said mission and you don’t hear him come in so he’s just watching you for a while before he’s had enough and decides to take matters into his own hands, btw love your writing keep up the good work!!💕💕

nat’s note: i read this and immediately had to put my phone down and walk away to breathe for a second. your mind is so beautiful anon, thanks a bunch for sharing! hope you love it <333

|| feat. logan howlett x fem!reader || 18+ SMUT MDNI ||

Six days is a long time.

Six days without Logan is almost unbearable.

The first three days were fine, nice even. You had the whole house to yourself, free to sprawl out on the couch and binge watch the guilty pleasure shows he always makes fun of.

The quiet was a welcome change—you could really relax, could sit with your thoughts.

Then day four rolled around, and things changed.

You started to notice the little things—the leather jacket he left slung over the back of the dining room table chair, the way the bed felt too big without him, how cold you were at night without him plastered to your back.

By day five, the quiet wasn’t soothing anymore; it felt empty.

You missed the sound of his voice, missed his scent melded in the sheets of your bed, missed the warmth of his body next to yours.

And by day six? Well, six days without Logan wasn’t just lonely anymore—it was a special kind of torture.

It wasn’t just the emotional closeness or the comfort of his presence you longed for—it was the rough scrape of his stubble on your skin, the way his body pressed into yours, heavy and demanding. The way his voice dropped when he growled your name, hands gripping your hips with a possessive edge that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t just miss him, you craved him.

It was settling in an unbearable ache, low in your stomach. A constant thrum that served as a reminder of just how much you missed his touch.

You didn't realize just how spoiled he'd gotten you. You haven't gone a day without at least four orgasms all year. Logan made sure of that, enforces it like it's a house rule he'd die before breaking.

You’d gotten too used to the feel of his hands roaming over your body, the way his lips traveled from your mouth down to the space between your thighs, the way his cock brushes against that special spot inside you each time he slides home in your pussy.

Your body longed for him in a way that made it almost impossible to focus on anything else. Every thought seemed to circle back to Logan, to what it would feel like to have him here, right now.

The worst part—no amount of toys or creative use of your hands was enough to soothe that ache. It didn’t matter how many times you tried to satisfy yourself; nothing worked.

The frustration was unbearable.

You blame that for your lapse in judgement when you made your way into your shared closet.

It was completely innocent at first, just you looking for something to wear to bed.

You only happened to trip over a shirt Logan must have left strewn across the floor before leaving. One of his favorites, a worn down brown and red flannel you'd seen him in countless times.

Before you even registered what you were doing, you bent down and scooped it up, burying your face in it. His scent—earthy, woodsy, and unmistakably him—hit you like a freight train as heat began to pool between your legs.

Suddenly, it was like Logan was there, surrounding you completely, teasing you with his absence. The ache deepened, twisting into something even more unbearable.

It was almost too much. That raw desire you’d been trying to hold at bay snapped its leash, and suddenly, the thought of going to bed wasn’t even an option.

You were already soaking wet by the time you made it to bed, greedy lungfuls of Logan's scent enough to get you there in no time.

The flannel was warm in your hands, the roughed up fabric felt oddly comforting against your fingertips and the skin of your cheeks.

As you settled onto the mattress, a thought crept in. Wicked and indulgent in a way that made your ears burn with shame and your stomach swirl with heady arousal that fanned the fire raging between your legs.

Before you could stop yourself, you slid your panties off, your body already tingling with anticipation

You pulled the shirt between your legs, pressing it against your dripping core, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a vice.

You moaned at the feeling, the first rush of relief flowing through you like water through a desert. The friction, the smell, it was almost like he was in bed with you, touching you, guiding your movements. But no matter how nice it felt, it still wasn’t enough.

The ache was only just lessened, the thrum of need was still there, undeniable and persistent.

With a whine, you leaned back on the bed, knees bent, legs spread wide, and you started to rock your hips against the fabric. Every movement sent delicious waves of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t the same. Not quite. You needed more—needed him.

Your fingers gripped the flannel tighter, dragging it harder against your aching clit. Eyes squeezing shut, you let out a desperate moan, hips working so fast the bed frame started thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the fantasy of him—of him under you, of his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer. His voice low and gravelly as he whispered filthy things in your ear.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and you were so lost in your thoughts, so caught up in the moment, that you didn’t even hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the heavy footsteps making their way through the house, getting closer and closer.

But when the door to the bedroom creaked open, your eyes shot wide, and there he was.

Logan, home a day early.

He’s stood in the doorway. His sharp gaze locked on you, jaw clenched tight. His eyes darkened, filled with lust and something else—something dangerous.

Your heart pounds frantically in your chest, but your body refused to stop moving, hips still grinding slowly against his flannel as if they have a mind of their own.

You expect him to say something, to scold you, maybe—but instead, a slow, dirty smirk spread across his face.

Without breaking eye contact, he crosses the room, shedding his leather jacket with a deliberate slowness as he does. He drops into the chair sitting in the corner of your bedroom, legs spread wide as he leaned back, watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I didn't say to slow down," he growls, the edge in his voice making your stomach flip. "Keep going, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

The command in his voice was irresistible. Your body responding before your mind could even catch up, hips rolling against the flannel faster again, a soft whimper slipping from your lips. The friction feels even better knowing he’s watching, eyes dark and heavy with desire as he sees you fall apart.

"Logan, please" you gasp, hips moving faster.

"Please what, darlin'?" he hums.

"I don't- ah! Anything, please," you rush out, eyes glued to the obscene spread of his legs, where his strong thighs stretch the thick denim taught.

Logan shakes his head with a dark chuckle. "No, you wanna get yourself off without me you do it. Can't have your cake and eat it too, baby."

You whine, high and loud as tears burn at your waterline, threatening to spill down your cheeks. "I can't," you sob, voice tiny and pitiful in the quiet of the room.

"Don't be like that, princess," he chastises, clicking his tongue at you disapprovingly. "Know you can come just like this. Bet that pussy's been drippin' for days, huh?"

You nod pitifully, biting down on your lip as your legs starting trembling on either side of the balled up shirt.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, voice dripping with lust. “So needy you couldn’t even wait for me, huh? You missed my cock that bad?”

You nod again breathless, the pressure building between your thighs becoming unbearable as his words wash over you.

“Bet you were thinkin’ about me, weren't you?” His voice drops, rich and syrupy, and it crawls over your skin like a slow burn. “All this time, wishing it was me between your legs instead of that fucking shirt.”

Your movements grow more frantic, eyes dropping to his lap, zeroing in on where his thick cock presses against his thigh, tenting his jeans lewdly. Your mouth waters, lips dropping open with a quiet moan as you imagine him slipping between them, fucking your throat and making your jaw ache.

“Such a dirty little thing,” he purrs, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “You like putting on a show for me, don’t you? Gettin' off starin' at my cock while you fuck yourself with my shirt? Goddamn, I can see how fuckin' soaked you are from here.”

The flannel was soaked now, wet and clinging to your folds as you desperately rub yourself against it, your body trembling with need. Every roll of your hips makes you more desperate, more sensitive, pleasure coiling tight in your belly and almost ready to snap.

Your moans grow louder, filling the room as you chase your release, the rough fabric of his flannel dragging against your swollen clit in all the right ways. Logan watching you—making you do this—had you teetering on the edge, your breath coming out in sharp pants.

His voice was a constant stream of filth, each word sending shock waves of pleasure straight to your core.

“Atta' girl, that's it,” he rasps, his voice rough and commanding. “Come for me. Drench that shirt, baby. Make a mess of it. I’ll fuck you right after, promise.”

You were teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling with need as you rock against the flannel harder, faster, desperate for release.

"Come on, baby," he goads, leaning forward in his chair, eyes burning with something feral as he licks his lips. "If you get it nice and dirty for me, I'll wear it for you."

That was all it took. The thought of Logan walking around in his shirt after this, the fabric soaked with your essence, staking your claim on him, has you coming.

Your body shudders violently as waves of pleasure crash through you, pulling you under. Your back arches off the bed, hips jerking erratically against the flannel as you cry out his name, hot tears spilling freely down your cheeks.

Logan growls in satisfaction, eyes locked on you, watching as you tremble and gasp through the aftershocks. He stands from the chair, slow and deliberate, stalking toward the bed with a dark gleam in his eyes as his hands drop to his belt.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, voice thick with desire as he climbs onto the bed, caging you in with his body. His lips brush your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s my turn, baby. And I ain’t even close to done with you yet.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

a/n: wow this really got away from me lmao...it was not supposed to be so long ANDDD sorry for the low-key fade to black ending but I had no idea how to end this heheh okay bye love you!

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rafeandonlyrafe · 10 months ago

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unexpected consequences

words: 700

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, p in v sex, condoms breaking, pregnancy/breeding talk, unprotected p in v sex, established relationship, mention of marriage

“oh fuck, yeah.” you moan out, fingers gripping rafes shoulders. “right-right there.”

your moans are extra loud today, having been apart from rafe for nearly a week after he had business out of the country. rafe is just as pent up as you, thrusting harshly into your cunt to the chorus of his grunts.

“close.” rafe warns, but you could tell anyways by the swelling of his cock that he wouldn’t last long.

“oh my god, yes.” you moan out, back arching off the bed as your release pushes through your body, cumming with a final shout of your boyfriends name.

rafe drops his head into your neck as he cums inside of you, pushing as deeply as he can as your cunt pulses around him. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press soft kisses to his head while rafe pants through his orgasm, until you shift slightly and feel it inside of you.

“rafe, pull out.” you shove at his shoulder, causing him to look up in concern, but he slips his softening cock out.

“what is it baby?” rafe asks. you look down at the condom he always wears, where theres always a bit of white cum gathered at the tip, but this time it looks practically empty, like he just rolled it on.

“rafe.” you hit his shoulder, causing him to flinch and look down.

“wha-” rafe suddenly realizes the issue, rolling himself off the bed as he walks into the bathroom, no doubt to inspect the condom and tell you what you already know is true.

“it broke.” rafe says when he comes out a moment later.

“i know.” you admit, shifting your hips from side to side again. “i can tell.”

“im so sorry baby.” rafe says with a sigh, laying on the bed next to you but not pulling you into his arms, not sure if you want to be touched.

“its okay.” you hum softly, mind still reeling. “you didn’t know.”

“what are we gonna do?” rafe asks, knowing you’re not on birth control due to affecting other medication you’re on.

“well, i can take a plan b in the morning…” you say quietly.

“or.” rafe encourages you to continue, able to tell that you aren’t finished.

“or we could wait and see. i mean i probably won’t get pregnant just from one time, right?” you shrug.

“what about if it does take? and you’re pregnant?” rafe asks, looking at your tummy.

as if you’re thinking the same thing, you lay your hand over your stomach, knowing that even if you are pregnant there is nothing in there yet, but the thought alone has you rubbing gently over your skin. “i don’t know.” you admit.

“i want to keep it.” rafe blurts out. “if-if you are pregnant.” rafe can’t take not touching you any longer, pulling you close to him and tangling your limbs together.

“are you sure?” you raise your eyebrows. you think rafe would be an amazing father, knowing how protective he is of you, and how he strives every day to take even better care of you. “we are so young.”

“i love you. i want to be with you, i want a family with you. why not start now?” rafe questions. he won’t admit it to you yet, but he’s been thinking about taking the next step, having even gone ring shopping to see his options. “besides-” rafe smiles, “why are you trying to talk me out of it? you’ve always wanted kids.”

you grin back at him. “i know.” you let a giggle free, feeling giddy about the possibility. you’ve always wanted to become a mom, especially because you have so many younger siblings. “so, are we doing this?”

“yes.” rafe says definitively, pulling you in for a kiss, a comforting one that you truly need.

“oh my god, im so excited.” you break the kiss to mumble against his lips.

rafe nods in agreement, lowering a hand between your bodies to touch your stomach. “probably too early to start talking to your tummy, huh?”

“definitely. i mean, we don’t even know if i’m pregnant, it may take a couple tries…” you trail off, hoping rafe gets your intention.

“well, i will just have to keep cumming inside you.” rafe shrugs. “in fact, we shouldn’t take any chances and i should fill you up again right now.”

rafes hand lowers from your stomach to your thigh as he grabs your flesh and pulls your leg over his hip, spreading your thighs for him as your cunt rubs up against his quickly hardening cock.

“rafe!” you shout with a laugh, but don’t stop him as he begins to grind his cock into your core.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

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ohbo-ohno · 3 months ago

Note

cuckolding - simon ‘sells his sperms’ to reader and her bf who’s infertile. they can’t afford ivf so the traditional way it is but just the tip and jerking off into her pussy. that’s what was agreed anyway

simon ends up taking whatever he wants from her because how can we fuck if we aren’t properly aroused sweetheart? let’s do a few rounds to increase the chances eh? she’s so desperate for a baby that she complies. she’s secretly into it even. poor reader’s bf :( watching her make out with this stranger and take his cock in her mouth too

hello beloved. im ghoapifying this. pls forgive me

smth about johnny having kinks that he doesn't want to admit to/doesn't recognize... him subconsciously looking for a way to get those needs met...... it's delicious

thinking about you and johnny deciding you want a kid but after months and months of trying with no results, you're starting to lose a bit of hope. the both of you get your fertility checked, and johnny is pretty crushed to learn that he's shooting blanks. makes your relationship a little rocky for a while tbh bc he becomes kinda obsessed with proving his own virility to himself

when you two eventually decide (through a mix of dirty talk, pillow talk, and very emotional conversations) that you want to try ivf, you realize pretty much immediately after that you don't have the thousands upon thousands of dollars necessary just lying around. it's johnny who consoles you when you realize you won't be able to afford the treatment, and it's johnny who decides that he's going to fix the problem himself

(ghost is looking for odd jobs when he spots the listing on craigslist. smth so terribly worded that he almost thinks it's a joke, at first. there's not a single comma used properly, it seems like every other word is misspelled, but the earnestness is clear through the screen. the request was posted five minutes ago, and ghost is the eighth comment - a quick glance at the other accounts shows him that he's the youngest by at least a decade)

soap and ghost message, for a while. soap is pushy as hell, asks for pictures of ghost's face and gets a few of his cock instead. says he's not sure if ghost is the right pick, since he looks nothing like johnny, but keeps messaging him anyway. simon is pushy as hell, asks everyday when they're gonna meet up, gets pissy when johnny keeps pushing it off

(soap sends pictures of you sometimes. they start out innocent enough, pictures of your face from your instagram or your side profile when you won't catch him with his phone up. johnny finds it easy to ignore the guilt he feels when ghost says send me one of what i'll be fucking and johnny does, sends a picture of you fucked out and face down that you had no idea existed. you're limp, slick and come dripping from your hole, and johnny can't help the way he gets hard when ghost's only response is one without your useless spunk inside her. she won't have to put up with it much longer)

when you finally meet ghost, you're unaware of all of this, of course. johnny had just told you he wanted you to meet a friend of his from work, and you'd been excited to go out for a night on the town with him. you'd found simon off-putting, to be honest, but he'd already said he'd be picking up the tab, so you just indulge in a few more shots than you normally would and stay cuddled close to johnny most of the night.

johnny only tells you the real reason he introduced you two when ghost says 'm steppin out for a cigarette, i'll pull the car around for you two and lumbers off, lighter already out.

ye still want a bairn, right? johnny had said, eyes bright as he wrapped his arms around you, kept you pressed close to him. simon can give one to you, to us. he's not even gonna charge us, bonnie, how great is tha'? you'd gaped at him a little, and he'd interpreted your expression as fear. hush, naw, don't worry, lass, i'll be there the whole time. promise i won't let him hurt you, yeah? we can even hold hands, alright?

the time between you sitting in a booth with your legs thrown over your boyfriend's lap and your back flat on your bed is a blur in your mind

simon is heavy over you, both of your wrists held in one of his hands as he ruts against you. you're drunk enough that you can't focus on much but the heat between your thighs and the long kiss simon has kept you locked in. he strips you easily, forcing you high up on the bed so you can rest in the pillows, forcing your legs around his hips so he can pin you

it's only when he pulls back to undo his belt and strip himself that you finally remember johnny is in the room too.

he's bent over the edge of the bed, hardly two feet away, and you can hear the sound slick sound of him fisting his cock, can feel the way the bed shakes just a bit as he fucks his own hand. you sort of whine, reaching out for him, soothed when his free hand links with yours, his own eyes a little wet like they always are when he gets so hard that his thoughts melt away

"eyes here," ghost grunts, big hand covering one half of your face as he forces your gaze away from your boyfriend and back to him. "you don't need to look at him. he's not the one gettin you knocked up, is he?"

you and johnny moan in tandem for that, and your eyes are wide as saucers when you finally look down at the battering ram between ghost's thighs, the ruddy tip of him leaking as he strokes himself.

"you're too big," you manage to gasp, squirming back.

ghost makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, lining himself up with your drippy hole and pushing in without warning. you nearly squeal at the stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders and pushing against his thighs with the heels of your feet. your squirming doesn't stop him, and he doesn't give you even a second to adjust as he uses his weight to sink himself to the hilt inside of you

he makes you look in the eye while he fucks you. and he talks a lot - he says more while he's inside you than he did your entire evening in the bar earlier

you feel good, huh? this the first time you ever had a real man fuck you? yeah, the brat humpin' the bed isn't enough for you. bet you always felt empty when he fucked you, but he didn't even need to stretch you out before rutting here. a hand rubbing your clit, making you nearly scream from the added pleasure as he fucks you so hard that the headboards slamming against the wall. bet my seed'll take first try he grunts into your ear, and you hear johnny moan from your left. might even give you more than one, huh? have you fat and round with my babies, make him watch you grow and take care of you, if he can even manage that.

when simon finally comes, he fills you up more than johnny ever had. makes you wait to come until he does first, too, tells you that he googled it while pinching and twisting your clit until you burst beneath him, your cunt squeezing his soft cock as your eyes roll back in your head

(johnny cuddles you, after. he tries to fuck you but ghost won't let him, holds him back by the hips and squeezes his balls until he goes soft, spits i don't want your spunk fucking with mine. you gonna waste my time like that? thought you wanted me to fuck your girl pregnant? were you lying, johnny, or you just so fuckin' desperate that you'll break our deal? and johnny whines and cries but listens, holding you close and pressing his cock against your folds but never inside of you)

((ghost doesn't leave the next morning. doesn't leave the next week, actually. he fucks you every day, even when you insist that you're not ovulating anymore, that he doesn't have to keep trying to get you pregnant. the first time he eventually lets johnny fuck you again, he holds him by the hips and stuffs a few fingers inside you along johnny's cock, says she got used to me, johnny, we'll have to give her a little extra if you want her to let you fuck her again and laughs when johnny whines.))

(((he doesn't even leave when you take your first pregnancy test and get positive results. he rubs your back as johnny scoops you up off the ground, rumbles his own quiet congratulations. a few days later you try to hint that he can leave now, that you and johnny don't need him anymore. he doesn't listen, but that's okay, because you can't quite imagine what you would do if he did leave, how you and johnny would function without his rock steadiness - you're relationship had been a rollercoaster before simon, insane highs and terrible lows, all smoothed out when ghost came into the picture and started playing referee for the two of you)))

((((when you're eight months pregnant, you lounge in a rocking chair as johnny rubs your feet and simon builds a crib.))))

#this accidentally got way longer than i meant it to be #asks and answers #ghoap x reader #bo writes #not to self promo but................ i do in fact have a cuck kink fic......................#you should go read it it's my challengers fic

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slowd1ving · 4 months ago

Text

KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs.

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives.

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building.

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often.

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted.

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs.

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time.

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition.

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there.

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head.

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.”

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious.

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell.

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men.

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don’t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of.

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt.

But he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t.

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze.

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does.

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth.

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up.

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material.

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together.

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin.

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too.

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break.

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that.

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way.

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason.

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking.

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons.

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more.

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good.

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front.

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you.

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away.

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice.

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor.

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze.

He’s never seen it before.

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you.

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips.

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t.

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene.

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been.

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste.

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz).

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow.

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts.

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of.

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point.

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence.

You’re harsh as winter.

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment.

Or two.

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen.

Fucking his hand has never felt like this.

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin.

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing.

But he forgets how cruel you are.

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile.

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred.

What the hell?

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock.

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet.

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously.

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences.

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange.

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood.

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense.

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage.

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night.

“A-ze. What do you want?”

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you.

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation.

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke.

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please.

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons.

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips.

What a mess.

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together.

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him.

Fuck.

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from.

He’s beautiful.

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks.

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words.

Well.

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones.

・゜゜

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elizzsush · 3 months ago

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The Mask | Jason Todd X Reader

Red Hood X Villain Reader

— in which you, a shy nerdy vigilante/Wayne family obsessed barista- is actually a villain that torments the Red Hood at night.

AU: Soulmate (bc I can)

Rating: Sfw

Note: Y/N is based off of Furina from Genshin bc I thought this would be fun and I saw a prompt somewhere, I think? It’s just my interpretation of it as to not step on anyone's toes!

Also, this isn't really a imagine. It's more of an Idea I was thinking of and needed to get out of my head! So that's why it's kind of not finished? Most of my stuff is WIPs anyway so this isn't really new.

_________________________________

You were a popular villain.

People loved you. Maybe not the theft and distraction you caused but hey- we all have flaws? “I will teach this city the true meaning of Justice!” You’d boldly claim standing on the stage that was Gotham city’s tallest building- scarily close to the edge. “Join me- and together we’ll cleanse this city of its evil and corrupt ways!” You’d state so boldly.

You loved for the attention, the lights- cameras and reporters. That’s why the red hood could only shake his head. Another psychopath spewing their ideology like it should be praised- like it was the absolute truth.

Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.

The world wasn’t black and white enough for an ideology to trump all the others and ‘cleanse this city’. Fuck, not this city- not even close. Gotham was just in too deep. Too much crime, too much of a drug problem or a poverty problem- too much of everything. The joker was a prime example of that. The evil of this city boiled up into one twisted person… Anyway, you were an attention seeker, classic villain profile. Does it for attention- maybe mommy or daddy didn’t give you enough love? It didn’t matter. What happened was you were breaking the law and Jason was still on Bruce’s keep an eye on list. So, he’d keep his hands off the bigger more horrible criminals.

Still sometimes, only sometimes, he'd find himself listening a little too closely to your ideals- Like you believed in the death penalty for Gotham hardest to kill roach: The joker.

So, while Red Hood was chasing you... Well, it'd started off small, you’d steal from the rich of Gotham- sometimes even Bruce Wayne himself. -Those days Jason found himself chasing after you slower, not that he’d admit that. It was a classic Robin Hood situation and Jason… didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand you were breaking the law, in the other, power to the people. Eat the rich.

Jason knew how it felt to grow up struggling so too see you helping people? It was almost nice.

What annoyed him though was your loud, for the people persona. “I will judge all of Gotham! Batman himself can’t escape my judgment!” Okay, slow down… you were fast and agile, but Batman would be able to catch you. And if Jason really put his back into it, he could too. Still, that never stopped you from making bold claims. It garnered attention, it was bold and daring and just what the people wanted. Your ideal matched up with what so many people were fed up with the batman for.

Eventually your behavior began to escalate. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep the Bats eyes from you. “This is a cult...” He muttered while he hides away on the roof of an abandoned building you holed your followers up in for a speech.

“My loyal follower!” You’d greet them with a smile and a bow. You’d put in stage performances. Sometimes with Jason, except he never knew, and the performance was just you and him fighting on the stage. Most days, some days it seemed it was just you acting and being alive on that large stage. Others you were preaching your words to the cult your loyal followers. You were building an empire and catching the attention of other criminals.

An empire that while he agreed with, went against the bats no kill rule. The longer you stood on that stage the less safe from the bat you were.

And no matter how much he wanted to agree with you, a small part of him still wanted... something from batman. You would be an issue.

“How much longer do I have to do this…?”

Red hood was no detective, but he was raised by the greatest one. So, while he was lacking in that department compared to the rest of his family (Even if it was just by a smidge.) He still noticed how after a speech or a fight- your smile, no, your persona dropped.

It was a persona you probably garnered for attention.

but still...

So how…

…That just didn’t make sense.

“Can I have your autograph…? Please?” A civilian would ask shyly, hiding behind a Batman themed phone case with a Robin themed charm hanging from that same phone.

The worst part of it all? You didn’t ask for the Red Hoods autograph. You asked for Jason Todd’s autograph, you were a fan of the Wayne’s. Gotham's golden family. No actually, it was the way you jumped up and down eagerly when you thought he was far enough way and did a dumb victory dance.

He sighed and leaned against the alleys stone wall as he watched you leave. A sense of worry invaded his mind as he watched you in your nerdy and totally lame Superman shirt walking away. All while staring at your phone.

He was surprised you recognized him. He was never in the public spotlight- maybe here and there when he was younger. Not now, not anymore. His death and how vague it was left question. Ones people didn’t ask when he wasn’t there, dangling in front of them like bait to a fish, they’d ask why and how and while they had a cover up: One the bat, the world's greatest detective made up. It still was messy. You must be a real fan.

He wasn’t even sure if that was really you…

It had to be though, there was no mistaking it. So, with your civilian name in his head, he walked back home.

“…so… lonely…” `

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porcelian · 4 months ago

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OFFERED TENDERNESS

Summary: In which you and Jason appreciate eachothers trust in different little ways.

Warnings: fluff, because of course its fluff, idiots in love, nothing worth mentioning as a real warning.

Notes: if you know where the songs are from i love you ^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^ i should watch bride and prejudice again lol. My favourite pride and prejudice movie (probably because i haven't watched the other ones yet.. :⁠,⁠-⁠))

Word count: 1k.

Masterlist. Navigation.

The soft rays of the sun felt light on his skin, waking Jason from his slumber. His eyes blearily opened and tried to adjust to the light streaming into the room from the parted curtains. He yawned before turning to your side of the bed.

You always took the side closer to the window, enjoying the view before drifting off to sleep. Jason, on the other hand, slept closer to the door. He insisted it was more practical in a dangerous situation. He also preferred fewer blankets, claiming it was easier to pull off of himself.

Jason expected this to be like any other lazy morning. He usually woke up earlier than you. He would turn to your side, wrap his arms around you, and pull you closer. You'd be cocooned in warm blankets, running hot.

Jason sought you out for warmth whenever he got cold. You’d open your arms, and both of you would curl up together. You’d spend a moment in each other’s embrace, talking, making lame jokes, and then start the day.

He thought this day would be the same, accustomed to the routine. So, when his arm reached over to your side and found it empty, he panicked. He shuffled out of bed, looking around the room. You weren’t in the bedroom. You weren’t in the bathroom, brushing your teeth (with kids’ toothpaste, as he noted you liked the watermelon-scented one).

It was when he entered the hallway outside of your shared bedroom that he heard you. It was like sweet music to his ears. You were singing along to some song (horribly, yes, but still).

He peeked his head in and saw you organizing groceries in the kitchen. Almost on instinct, he moved forward and wordlessly wrapped his arms around you.

“Where were you?” He tried to mask the concern lacing his words.

You didn’t lose a second before soothing him, “Oh, I’m so sorry, honeybee. We needed groceries, and I thought I would drop by the market quickly.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He reassured you. You were alright, and that’s all that mattered to him.

“Ya’ know, I’m pretty tired today. Wanna get take-out?” You turned to face him, running your hands through his hair, slowly caressing and massaging.

He didn’t answer your question. Instead, he nuzzled into the crook of your neck and mumbled, “You smell really good, baby.”

You started to laugh because it tickled. Jason didn’t relent, almost as if he was burning the sight of you into his mind. The smile in your eyes, the sound of your laughter.

If he could capture the sound of your laughs, the look you get when you're relaxed and comfortable, and keep it in a bottle forever, he would.

Jason couldn’t exactly do that, so he made do with his many attempts to make you smile.

“Answer my question, sunshine.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your nicknames. Never did he ever think he’d be called something sweet by someone. In your eyes, he’s sweet like honey and warm like sunshine.

Jason had never said it, but your affections made him feel like a boy again. He didn’t need to say it. You knew it, though. You cherished every moment you saw his eyes light up just a little bit when you did so.

You thanked him every time in your mind for trusting you with this piece of him.

*****

It was your and Jason’s weekly movie night, one of the rare nights you had him to yourself. Of course, you put all of your effort into making the experience comfortable and enjoyable for Jason.

The smell and sound of popcorn and soda bottles opening filled the kitchen and the living room. Hearing the opening intro of the movie, you yelled out for Jason.

“Wait! Pause it!” You sped through the apartment, almost running into the couch on which Jason was currently curled up. “Don’t start without me.” You gave him a fake pout.

He dramatically rolled his eyes. “I would never, baby.” He placed his hand on his heart, offended you would even suggest he would do this.

“Okay, okay. Start it.” You smiled. “Do not skip the songs! ‘No Life Without Wife’ and ‘Take Me To Love’ are masterpieces we cannot skip.” You emphasized the last few words.

Your dedication to the night made Jason feel something warm inside his heart, spreading through his entire body. He stared at you, taking in every detail. Not like he hadn’t already, but at this point, it had become something he did without even noticing.

You did notice, though. You could feel his blue-green eyes on you. The feeling made you feel fuzzy all over. You turned and stared back at him, the movie all but forgotten at the moment.

“Take a picture, Jay. It will last longer.” He chuckled at the smug grin on your face, finally looking back at the movie.

“We better start watching it, or we’ll end up like last time.”

“Uh-huh, I’m not falling asleep again! Don’t know about you, mister.”

“If anyone’s going to fall asleep, it’s you.”

Both of you continued this little game for a few moments before you moved closer to him.

“Is this okay?” You asked.

“Yes, it’s okay. Thank you.” He muttered the last words quietly.

You cuddled closer to him, slowly grabbing one of his arms and intertwining your fingers. It was a habit of yours, he thought. You always did it without fail. Jason was thankful for it. He thought it grounded him. A warm, peaceful feeling spread through his body as your hand touched his.

He thanked you every time in his mind for trusting him with this piece of you.

(Unfortunately, neither of you finished the movie that day. Both of you had fallen asleep. But in your mind, that wasn’t a loss at all. You were together, and that’s all that mattered to you.)

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teastainedprose · 7 months ago

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Mark You Pretty (Homelander x Reader)

My brain saw this post and ran with it. Homelander bruises you. 13k words, Homelander x GN!reader (Warnings for bruising, mild Sadism/masochistic play)

The first time Homelander bruises you, it's an honest mistake. He didn't mean to grab you that hard. Not really. Sometimes Homelander forgets how delicate normal people can be. It had been a reflexive thing, snatching you about the arm just above your wrist as you reach over him to gather up the handouts from the meeting.

"Leave it," Homelander mutters with eyes still fixated on the stack of papers set before him, gloves creaking as he briefly tightens his grip on your arm before releasing you. The small gasp you make as you withdraw doesn't penetrate his concentration. He doesn't notice how you rub at your arm, expression pinching up while stepping away. You're another faceless worker bee and Homelander has no time for you. The meeting is over and you shuffle out with the other nameless non-supe Vought employees. His attention is back to the paperwork in front of him, mind buzzing on how to handle the downswing in public opinion on The Seven. You're forgotten as Homelander turns back to the task of being Homelander.

He doesn't even register that he hurt you until the next day. It's the top you're wearing that does it. Long sleeved and out of season, which draws his attention to you for the second time this week. He registers the blooming bruise peeking out from under your sleeve when you bend over to offer handouts about the table. He blinks, clocking the imprint as a mirror of his gloved grip. There's no guilt associated with this realization, simply an understanding of the connection. He did that to you. Homelander marred your pretty skin with a bloom of purple where he grabbed you. Suddenly, it's satisfaction that's coiling in his gut. He likes how you wear his mark.

For better or worse, now he notices you.

Homelander lets his eyes wander up your arm, snagging briefly on your ample chest before flicking across your face. You instantly look away, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. Cute. He smirks as he takes you in. You're a charming enough little thing. A bit too skittish for his taste, but the bruise he left on you keeps drawing Homelander's eyes back over and over again.

For the entirety of the meeting, Homelander lets his attention wander to you while his eyes roam your form. He's shameless with the ogling and never looks away when you catch him at it. No, he's only further pleased by it. He makes sure to catch your eye as his lips curl up and part slightly, his tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. That gets a blush across your cheeks and you're quick to break eye contact. This only amuses Homelander further and galvanizes him to find further ways to unsettle you throughout the meeting. You are his distraction to make this presentation a little less dull.

The meeting ends and Homelander puts you from his mind once more as soon as you walk out the conference room doors. You're nothing but a passing amusement, something to play with at the next meeting perhaps. He's already letting the image of your blush and the bruise he left on your skin fade from his thoughts before something catches in Homelander's ear later that day as he strides down the hallway.

There are many curious sounds within Vought Tower and Homelander has heard plenty. People whispering secrets across phone lines and into ears. Muffled moans of employees sneaking off to empty conference rooms or even broom closets for salacious rendezvous. The one that catches him now? It's soft, more a quiet exhale with a moan undercutting the sound. He blinks, pausing to look towards where the sound came from. It's your office Homelander finds himself standing outside as he cocks his head to the side. He watches you as you sit at your desk, clearly not thinking yourself observed. X-ray vision lets him watch as you press two fingers into the bruise he left on you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to hold back that noise. You moan again all the same, your enjoyment evident as your face twists into a brief flash of pleasure.

Oh, isn't that interesting?

Now Homelander's fascination with you ignites. His eyes seek yours constantly throughout every business meeting the two of you find yourselves in now. He's prone to stepping too close and invading your personal space whenever Homelander comes across you, which has jumped in frequency. He even has the gall to hook his pinky on the sleeve of your shirt one day, tugging it up enough to check if the bruise is still there. By then the purple has faded to a duller, splotchy green. His mark is almost gone and Homelander finds he doesn't like that one bit.

The second time Homelander bruises you, it is very intentional.

He's bolder the second week. Homelander deliberately holds you back after one meeting with a flimsy excuse. Those massive doors ominously shutting close after everyone else has filed out. Now you're trapped inside the conference room with him. It makes your pulse skitter with terror, which is an utter delight to Homelander. He can smell the fear off of you. A heady scent that stirs a primal need within him because it's mingled with your arousal as well. That fact alone has a smirk on Homelander's lips as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back and under his cape as he leisurely strolls over. Normally, such posture would be non-threatening but on Homelander it's anything but.

It's a terrifying sight yet compelling. Homelander is ever the perfect superhero in looks. Vought's true golden boy that you and countless others privately swoon over in the break room despite his reputation. yet even you have learned that Homelander isn't the squeaky clean supe he's portrayed as. The looming trial only adds further credit to the rumors that circulate about him. Still, it's thrilling, and you may be a little too into the danger Homelander represents. You can't help the anticipation coiling in your belly as you watch him stalk closer.

He traps you there against the wall, shifting as he places a palm flat against it. You stare at his chest as Homelander slides his hand down, lifting it to cup your chin to tilt your gaze up to meet his own. "Er, you wanted to talk sir?" You manage to push the words out, flushing at the tremor in your voice. He smiles and those too sharp canines flash. You shiver, eyes wide as you meet the clear blue of his gaze.

"You bruise easily, don't you?" Homelander muses, his hand on your chin shifting to stroke down your cheek before moving to your neck. Electric heat shoots up your spine from the chaste caress, the leather of his gloves smooth against your skin. His fingers curl around your throat as you feel his thumb ghost over your pulse point. Your breath hitches at the subtle threat but then he's sliding his hand down to tighten his fingers about your shoulder. Homelander digs his thumb in just below your collarbone to the point of pain as he watches you intently.

You hiss in response, eyes squeezing shut before you huff out a sound. It’s not a pained noise. An echo of the sound he’d heard by chance last week. He eases up, a knowing look on his face as you open your eyes again.The scent of your fear lesses, while your arousal fills his nostrils. You like the pain. He smirks all the wider while leaning in to ghost his lips over your cheek.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Homelander rumbles out, breath a hot caress against your skin. For the other day or just now? You don't know which he's apologizing for and there's not much time to ponder over that because Homelander's lips are against your own in the next breath.

His mouth against your is Homelander's sort of apology, more for him than you but you enjoy it all the same.

#Homelander #Homelander x reader #homelander x you #Homelander Writing #lil masochist reader~#he's making that face in the gif for CERTAIN #I had an idea for a third mark but you guys will just have to imagine finger marks on hip bruising #a bitch is tired #I didn't proof read this #ENJOY IT RAW BB #I haven't forgotten my gazillion drafts and fics and asks #I just am...a finicky creature

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temeyes · 10 months ago

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when you're a ghostsoap stan, but have urges to self-ship with either of them

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dinsbeskar · 19 days ago

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Two's Company, Three is Torture (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron finds new ways to please his wife as Annatar and Halbrand have their way with you; or:

Sauron Smut 2: Electric Boogaloo

Sequel to Evil Will Find Her // AO3 Link

Warnings: Annatar/you/Halbrand - there's 2 of them now, I am sorry!! Threesome, P in V sex, double P in V sex, overstimulation, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), fingering, teasing, praise and degradation (sporadic use of sl*t/wh*re)

A/N: This fic is @sansaorgana's fault, I blame her for everything 😂 One Sauron is a lot, two of them is torture, but you take it like a champ.

Word Count: 3.1k

"I think," Annatar murmurs in your ear, "that you like this, love."

You can feel Halbrand smirk against your neck and continue his attentions licking and kissing up to your ears, biting your earlobe and making you moan.

"Is that right, angel? Is this making you wet for us?" Your already ragged breath hitches at Halbrand's rough voice in your ear; his fingers trail to your chest, kneading your heated flesh and you gasp aloud, making them chuckle.

"I don't think she's capable of intelligible speech at the moment, right sweetheart?" Annatar continues his ministrations, teasing your mound, tracing idle circles every which way, except for where you ache for them.

When your husband returned to you, it was not a form you'd have instantly connected to him. Obviously you knew it was him, your souls singing in their close proximity, his inability to hide his thrill at your presence. But he was clearly a Man, not Elvish in appearance as he had been, and roguishly handsome, with dark curls and the beginnings of a beard. In other words, opposite in every way to what you were used to.

Once you'd got over your shock at his return, and said all you needed to say after your centuries apart, you got to admiring him. Rugged where he had been ethereal, dark in countenance where he had been unearthly and radiant, rough and untempered, calloused hands and stubbled skin that set you ablaze with every gentle touch.

It was unfortunate then, that you did not get the chance to enjoy him as much as you'd have liked, thanks to Galadriel discovering his identity, forcing him to flee. You'd lain awake thinking of him often before he returned to you, and you continue that particular ritual after he flees, but now he appeared more and more often as Halbrand; would he be upset to learn you desired him however he might appear, that the fair forms he chose to please you were wasted on you, if you'd be happy with some man from the Southlands?

You'd stayed in Eregion after Sauron had fled, to await his inevitable return after he'd set his plan in motion in Mordor. You were sure he would have to disguise himself once again, and to your great dismay you mourned the King of the Southlands. Surely you should be happy with him, however he appears, however he acts? Your lord husband had returned to you, that was the only thing that mattered.

So when Lord Celebrimbor lets slip that Halbrand is back and waiting on his front porch, your heart soars. And you feel an unmistakable wave of arousal. He had been nigh insatiable for the weeks he'd spent with you while they forged the three rings; frankly, even the mention of his name was enough to warm your blood and wet your thighs.

"Don't you think we should let him in?" You ask softly, "We can't let him freeze, and we can treat with him tomorrow?"

"Lady Galadriel was very clear, I won't break my word to her." Celebrimbor will not be swayed so easily, and it is only when his favourite apprentice, Mirdania, tells him that Lord Halbrand is injured, it is cold, we should let him in for the night if only to tend his wounds, that he concedes and goes to speak with him himself.

You know your husband will have his way, and so you settle into your soft warm bed to wait for him; he'll be along, he always knows where to find you.

By the time he slips through your door in the dead of night, you have drifted off, hugging a large leather bound tome, candle burning low.

He greets you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, before curling around you and pulling you close. You open your eyes to find the room near dark, with only the moon illuminating the pair of you. His strong arms around you and his familiar smoky scent immediately put you at ease, and you nestle closer, beyond content that he is by your side once more.

"You feel different, my love."

He tenses a little, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"I'm here now, that's what matters." He seems to say it more for himself than you, but you take it anyway, always so greedy for any sweet sentiment he bestows upon you.

You notice long hair tickling your neck, and the distinct lack of friction on your skin from Halbrand's facial hair, and you realise he has disguised himself once more. It would have been nice to give Lord Halbrand a parting gift, you think to yourself, but after all how can you complain when you know he is the most beautiful creature in Middle Earth, whatever form he takes.

Lord Annatar is a taskmaster, and his long hours in the forge make you restless and wanting for him. Thankfully for you, he does not require rest and is always the obliging husband.

It is during the afterglow one night when he had ravished you senseless, that the two of you speak of Halbrand again.

"Beloved, I have a question for you."

"It had better be a good one, I was falling asleep," you grumble, but you turn to face him anyway, head resting on your hand while you trace his chest.

"I think it is." He is uncharacteristically slow to speak, making you wonder what could possibly have him so tongue tied.

You take his hand and lace your fingers together, reassuring, steadfast in your affection.

"I know your heart like it is my own," he avoids your gaze, seemingly far-off in his own thoughts, but continues, "and of late I wonder if perhaps you're missing something."

Your brow furrows deeply; what could you possibly long for, now that your soul has returned to you?

"I know you were unsure when I came home to you, that I was... unlike myself," he searches for the words, something you have never seen him need to do. "I could not appear as I once did, and I worried that Halbrand would repulse you-"

"You could never, my love," and you grip his fingers tightly, kissing his palm, "you could appear to me deformed, with three heads, no body at all, and I would still want you." You cannot help but interrupt him, to soothe the nagging doubts he appears to have.

"-but I was wrong." He looks at you finally, his expression making your stomach drop.

"You weren't repulsed at all, in fact you enjoyed the low man from the Southlands far more than I ever thought possible." He graces you with an affectionate smile, and your heart begins beating again.

"He was... different. But he was you, and that is all I ever need." You lean in to kiss him deeply, entwining your fingers in his long silky hair.

"I thought perhaps," he pauses, an uncharacteristic blush painting his features, "that you might want to see him again?"

Your heart melts, aching in your chest as you reflect on his question. Of course you'd like Halbrand in your bed once more. But you were very happy with the man in front of you too. The choice made your head spin.

"I want you, only you, however you appear. He had a certain... quality, that I enjoyed, I cannot lie. But I love you, and I couldn't be without my Lord of Gifts now that I have tasted him." You kiss the tip of his nose, and feel his soul swell against yours, caressing you tenderly.

You roll over and nestle into his chest once more, pressing your back against him insistently, his arms wrapping around you instinctively. After a long pause he speaks again.

"What if you could have both?" He asks, tone steady but heart racing.

"Wouldn't that be nice..." You murmur, already halfway between waking and dreaming. You pull his arms tighter around you and sigh, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

He can only but watch you, eyes crinkled at the corners with a beautiful genuine smile, the like of which he keeps only for you. He kisses the top of your head and waits for dawn.

That is how you ended up in your bed, wrapped in two pairs of arms, with two mouths driving you to distraction, adored and sinfully worshipped.

"I think, my lovely wife, that you don't want me to know how much you love this." Annatar's fingers at your entrance halt, and you whimper, begging in breathless moans for him to continue.

"That the attention you crave from me cannot possibly be satisfied by one pair of hands, that I must build an army to ravish you, one by one, until you're a shaking quivering mess." His warm breath ghosting over your skin as he teases you is driving you wild, and you buck up into his fingers. He withdraws them completely and fixes you with a scolding glare.

"Ah ah, you're not chasing us tonight, there is more than enough for you, greedy little thing, you have to exercise patience for once." Halbrand's smile is so sweet, you could almost forgive him, no, them, the torture inflicted upon with two pairs of hands, two mouths, not to mention-

"Do you think she's ready? She's dripping for it, she'll feel so fucking good," Halbrand turns to his counterpart, his hard cock throbbing for your attention, seeming to beg to be allowed to touch you further, a reminder of who is really in charge here.

"Do you deserve us yet, love?" You'd beg for their touch if Annatar had not already silenced you, his lips pressed to yours as he languidly strokes himself.

The moment he pulls away, Halbrand takes his place, worrying your bottom lip with his teeth, kneading your flesh with such desperation, it wrenches your heart. He retreats slightly to give you a reprieve, to let you take in a breath and to stare at your face in wonderment.

Your hair is mussed and tangled, your blushing face covered in a sheen of sweat, your lips parted and panting; he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

Annatar cuts short your respite with a bruising kiss, pulling your head back with his fingers in your hair, tugging at your scalp deliciously, the twang of pain shooting straight to your core.

Halbrand reaches between you and finds your swollen clit, so eager to please, his patience already thin and wanting.

There is nothing but the two sweat-slicked bodies pressing you into submission; you can think of nothing else but the thrills they bestow on your frazzled senses.

Annatar's hard length prods insistently at your back, making you giggle and reach around for him. You feel his lips at your neck; you can picture his self-satisfied expression as he taunts you with his caress, running the tip of his cock along your entrance.

You arch back against him, pulling him closer, but Halbrand holds you firm, claiming your lips for his own once more.

They are relentless; one pulls away so you can catch your breath only for a second before the other steals it, devouring you like starving men.

"You know just how to please us, angel," Halbrand murmurs in your ear, shifting your weight and positioning you over Annatar's lap.

He eases inside you slowly, languorously, with one hand around your throat pulling you back into his dangerous embrace. You lock eyes with Halbrand, looking up at you through hooded eyes, panting in tune with you, his every breath matching yours.

As Annatar starts to move, your toes curl and you reach for Halbrand, your hands on his shoulders as you tense your thigh muscles against the long, leisurely strokes inside you. It isn't long before you feel yourself clench around him, relieved to finally find your release.

"Not yet, love," you hear Annatar sigh, brushing your hair over your shoulder and pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

He robs you of the fullness in your core as he pulls out, breath shuddering as he mourns the loss of your tight wet heat around him, but he perseveres; tonight is for you, his pleasure can wait.

They make eye contact over your shoulder and Halbrand's face lights up; it is his turn with your cunt and he doesn't hesitate, burying himself to the hilt, teasing your breasts with his tongue as you press closer to meet his thrusts.

One hand is entwined with his sweat-soaked curls, the other woven into Annatar's long golden hair, pulling them to meet you in a clash of tongues that spikes a wave of slick between your thighs, provoking a long guttural groan from the pair of them as they take you in all your glory.

"So fucking tight on my cock, so wet, listen to those moans, you'd fuck us both over and over until you can't stand, wouldn't you?" Halbrand's stream of consciousness is ceaseless as he ruts into you, as Annatar traces your sides and kisses you languidly.

The polar opposite sensations have you in a spin and you grip the bedsheets, desperate for any kind of release from this exquisite torture.

"You are beautiful like this, love," Annatar whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe, "anyone would think you like being the Dark Lord's needy little plaything? Is that it? You so enjoy being at our mercy, like a good little slut, that you'll take anything we give you." His voice is becoming rough, his pupils blown, as he gives himself over to the pleasure the three of you share.

Every drag of Halbrand's cock is accompanied by a ragged moan that reverberates in your core; you run your fingers through the soft hair on his chest, face buried in his neck, as Annatar sucks a deep bruise on your neck, fingers tracing your entrance as Halbrand bounces you on his thighs.

You feel Annatar's length once more at your entrance, and you can't breathe. No way is he about to do what you think he is planning. You gasp as Halbrand's thick cock enters you, followed by Annatar's long clever fingers stretching you deliciously, robbing you of breath and sense.

You arch your back, breasts in Halbrand's face only for a second before he takes a nipple in his mouth, giving you all the attention you crave and more.

It's too much, your sensitised flesh screams for release, as Annatar adds another finger, then another, whispering praise in your ear with every addition.

"Good girl, so good for us, are you ready for me, love? Need you, want you, can't wait any longer..." he withdraws his fingers as Halbrand slows his thrusts, idly pumping into you as a wordless agreement passes between them.

"Tell us to stop," Halbrand groans, gripping your thighs like you might slip through his fingers, "tell us you don't want this and we'll stop, tell us you don't need this just as much as we do, that you haven't dreamed of us taking you at once..."

Even if you wanted them to stop, you couldn't find the words to do so, all powers of language and reason seemingly spent.

"She would never," you hear Annatar behind you, readying his cock with your wetness, tip at your entrance. "She wants this more than us, don't you, sweetling? So sweet, so fucking good, but a needy slut all the same-"

He interrupts himself by sliding into your cunt, thrusting up and moaning in your ear, offering you his fingers that you take in your mouth gladly, muffling your scream as you taste yourself on his fingers. You rest your forehead on Halbrand's, body tensing at the new intrusion; they give you a moment to adjust, to accommodate this alien sensation of both of them inside you.

"Are you ready, love? You're ours, and we can have you whenever we wish." Halbrand gives a low chuckle at your parted lips, your blown pupils, and throws all caution to the wind.

When they both thrust inside you, you see stars, you can't breathe, it's too fucking much-

"Don't fucking come, that's a good girl," Halbrand has to be the one to speak, Annatar is buried in your neck, thrusting in time and panting, kissing every inch of you he can reach.

They have you fixed between them, nowhere to go, no way to move, prisoner to their attentions. The way they're stretching you out, you're not sure you'll ever be content with one husband again, you're so thoroughly spoiled with two.

Halbrand finds your lips and swallows your moans, finding your swollen clit amidst your tangled flesh; so in tune are the three of you that you don't know where you end and they begin.

You feel hands clawing at your breasts, tracing your sides, pulling at your hips, but there is no distraction from the incredible fullness in your core. Your thigh muscles burn as you take every delicious inch twice over, the sweet spot inside you coiling, inflaming you and driving you to madness.

"Done so well, love," you hear Halbrand say between groans, "do you think you should be allowed to come?"

They both smirk at you adoringly as you cry out, pleading, trembling.

"Please, fuck... please, I've been so good, please..." Your throaty moans are lost as your husbands hungrily claim your lips one after the other, someone's fingers in your hair, tracing the sensitive tips of your ears; you’ve lost track, only feeling flesh on flesh.

"Come for us, darling, such a good needy little whore for us, for your Dark Lord, given us everything, and you always will, won't you?" Annatar's question breaks you from your reverie and you whimper.

"Yes, love, everything, always." You don't know what you're saying, and you don't care, totally lost in the spell he has cast over you.

Stars explode behind your eyes, warmth floods your body, and you're wracked with a pleasure that surmounts anything you've ever experienced with him before. You can feel them pulsing inside you, a satisfying warmth filling you up as you greedily take it all, your walls milking every drop of seed deep into your womb.

It's too much, intense and drawn out, but they hold you between them, wringing every clench and moan they can from you as you ride your high, exhausting every last drop of pleasure from you, before laying you down between them, still touching you all over, encompassing you in every which way.

It takes a minute for you to come back to them, but when you do, they're already kissing better the bruises they've left, soothing your aching muscles.

"We should do that again," you murmur, each hand tracing their faces, revelling in the different sensations they afford you.

"We have all night, love, rest for now." Halbrand chuckles, stroking your hair, as Annatar parts your thighs, and settles his face between them.

"On second thought-"

You don't get much rest that night after all.

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #the rings of power #they're a lot!!! i am sorry!!!#i actually have a lot of thoughts about this fic but im just gonna drop it and run lmfao sorry!!#this is probably one of the filthiest things I've ever written #i have no words #thank you for reading!!#my fic

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jays-bookmarks · 1 year ago

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Relief (Blade x gn!reader)

@genshin-obsessed so I heard u like Blade 👀

Summary: After being cursed with immortality by the Abundance, you joined the Stellaron Hunters as a doctor. Today, your most stubborn patient finally comes to you for help. Words: 835 Warnings: reader is implied to be shorter than Blade & can be held in his lap (but our Bladie is a strong boy so he can hold anybody uwu)

You muttered to yourself as you walked around your office, organizing your medicines and checking equipment. As the only doctor in service of the Stellaron Hunters, it was important for you to keep everything in tip-top shape in case of emergencies. Although Elio usually told you in advance if a mission would be particularly bloody, there was always the possibility he would withhold one of his predictions. You couldn’t get complacent.

Despite your regular interactions with the other Stellaron Hunters, you felt you couldn't truly connect with any of your “teammates”: Kafka was always inscrutable, Silver Wolf seemed to treat reality like a game, and Blade… Blade was the only one who you thought could understand you. You had both been cursed by the Abundance in your own ways, after all. But after he ignored your attempts at friendship for so long, you had resigned yourself to an eternity of loneliness in your empty office.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a knock on your door. You paused for a moment. Neither Kafka nor Silver Wolf were due for an appointment, leaving only one other person…

You opened the door to see Blade standing with his arms crossed. His expression betrayed nothing of what he felt, but you could see a tension in his shoulders. He didn’t speak as you blinked up at him in surprise.

“Blade. Come in,” you said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Blade went to sit down in his usual spot, and you quickly busied yourself gathering the necessary materials to make the painkiller you devised specifically for his condition. You couldn’t mix the medicine in advance, as its effectiveness faded quickly with time, so you always kept the raw ingredients on hand.

You glanced over your shoulder at Blade. Your gaze flicked over his body as you observed him. To the untrained eye, Blade seemed fine as ever, if a little irritated, but you knew how to read him after having treated him for so long. You could tell he was holding back more pain than usual. The fact that he was here of his own volition told you all that you needed to know.

You took a breath, then walked over to him. The medicine you made would work in time, but you could provide him with a more immediate source of relief. Gently, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

He stiffened at the contact but didn't push you away. You closed your eyes and poured your energy into him, letting it wash over him and dull his pain. You focused until you felt Blade’s breathing grow more even and his muscles relax.

You felt lightheaded as you pulled back. The process had taken much longer than you anticipated and had cost much more of your energy as well.

You tried to step away toward the counter, not wanting to linger too long in Blade’s personal space, but a wave of dizziness hit you and you stumbled. Before you could hit the floor, Blade caught you in his arms.

“What did you do?” he asked, panic bleeding into his voice.

You knew you would recover in time—the Abundance’s curse would not let you go so easily—but the pain was still nearly unbearable. Your breathing was shallow and your vision blurry. Blade adjusted his grip on you and pulled you into his lap. His arms shook slightly as he held you.

“I’m sorry… I just wanted to help…” Your voice was weak and shaky as you spoke. “It… it'll pass… I'll be okay…”

Though you said this, you were still on the verge of tears. You were not like Blade—you hadn’t spent an eternity in combat and had yet to become numb to the pain of pushing your body to the limit. What he bore with a straight face was agony for you. You tried to hold back a whimper.

Blade tightened his grip around you.

“Why?” he asked.

“I… just wanted to give you some relief…” you said. You pinched your eyes shut to try to block out the pain. “Did… did it work, at least?”

Blade was silent for a while. Then, he pulled you closer, letting your head rest against his chest as his breath fanned over your face.

“…Yes,” he said. “Don’t do it again.”

“…Sorry…” You breathed out, letting your eyes fall shut. After what you had done, you were completely exhausted, and Blade's embrace was so warm… You fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart, for once free of worries as Blade held you close.

The next day, Kafka would enter your office only to see Blade glaring at her to stay silent. You were still slumbering in his arms. He had stayed in that same position all night, not caring about the fatigue in his muscles nor the ache that came with it. Kafka smiled knowingly, holding back her teasing words—if only for now—as she closed the door, leaving Blade alone with you.

#literally crying holding myself back from pulling for blade bc I need to save my crystals for imbibitor lunae #so this is my gift to him instead #for those of you who have read the arcana the reader's condition in this fic was inspired by julian's curse #where he can heal any injury by taking it on for himself #but i kinda changed it to just general healing powers since blade wasn't actually injured in this scene lmao #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x gn reader #star rail x reader #star rail imagines #star rail x gn reader #star rail fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade x gn reader #hsr x reader #hsr fanfic #hsr imagines #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #star rail x gender neutral reader #star rail x you #star rail x y/n #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x y/n #honkai star rail

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morphids · 2 months ago

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surrender to the sea, hange zoë

pairing: pirate captain!hange x noble!reader, they/them pronouns used for hange with afab anatomy for both

summary: your father’s shady business deals with a pirate crew lead to collateral damage.

warnings: kidnapping, pwp, explicit sexual content 18+, minors dni (consensual no dubcon here), poc friendly!! hange is a freak, r is SO down bad (same), r is dissatisfied w her life, tension, acc insane executions of gay panic, theres so much exposition before the smut im so sorry bear with me, cunnilingus, fingering, general filthiness — enjoy.

wc: 8.8k, sorry i cant stop yapping.

a.n : listen i tried to stop myself but im weak to my own devil thoughts ok hange worshippers wya

—

Jolting, you sat up in your bed, awakened from slumber by a whipping crash, followed by splintered glass cracking on the hardwood floors of your quarters.

Heart thumping in your ears from the shock, your head instinctively turned towards the shattered window, where the translucent fabric of the curtains were being dragged out with the cool night’s wind. Brows furrowing, your gaze turned to a small, thick object on the floor, illuminated by hints of moonlight, presumably the very cause of the shattering.

You felt an odd feeling, something in the wind warning you that you weren’t alone, you looked over your room, checking for anything out of order. There was nothing out of place, it wasn’t until your second skim over the room that you saw it. A shadow in the darkest corner, the corner where light barely hit it, something to do with the measurements of the architecture, you’d been told. It was there though, undeniably.

“Who are you?” You spoke, shakily, loud against the otherwise still atmosphere, your voice caused a small laugh to come from the unknown shadow.

“That’s your first question?” They spoke, an air of condescension about them.

“I should like to know the identity of the person who has broken into my quarters,” You steeled your voice, trying to portray an image of fearlessness though you were betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as they clutched onto the bedsheets for any hope of comfort, “May you at least come out from the shadows?” Your fear was definitely betrayed then, as the person stepped forward, the light now casting shadows over their features.

You looked them over, noticing a slight reflection from the glass in their spectacles, a black band covering one quarter of their face, obscuring the right eye. You shook, this was no person from court, maybe not even from this city. Their hardened features, accessories and strange attire placing them from somewhere else entirely. Who is this stranger? What business have they with you?

You find yourself lacking words, having been woken up in such a way was causing a lack of signals to be sent to and from the brain. You were just staring at them, stunned to silence.

“No more questions, huh?”

“I-I just, am confused,” You responded, blinking away tears that formed as you truly grasped the situation you were in, and anything that could happen from here.

“Well, let me explain then,” they shrugged, “You’re coming with me,”

You ogled, “Coming with you, where exactly?”

“As it turns out, daughters are the best way to get a man to pay up,” They chuckled, you didn’t like the implications of this, at all. What did this have to do with your father? Last you had spoken to him, he was furious at you, having been ‘disrespectful’ to one of the countless suitors he had tried arranging for you. You don’t know why he still bothered; every time each one of the suitors had travelled and began any attempts at courting you, you’d reject them.

“I hope you know I’m not going to marry you,” you’d said to one of them, once. You could almost laugh at the gears turning inside their heads as they looked at you as if you were an entity. You’d add in a couple of comments here and there about how their attempts were foolish and in vain, how they coat their dark intentions behind sweet words and promises. You could always see through them. Plus, it was hard to deny the entertainment you’d get from seeing their flustered faces, set on denying all accusations whilst having no actual defence, before huffing and wandering away, not before having words with your father about how they would never marry such a disobedient and insolent woman. Was this your father trying to teach you a lesson? No. That doesn’t feel right, they emphasised paying up. Pay for what? You wondered, had your father been up to something?

“Unfortunately, that makes you collateral,” they paused, looking down as they adjusted the sword that was clinging onto their side, sheathed away, for now. You hadn’t even noticed it before, shuddering as you realised you were completely defenceless. Not a weapon nearby you could use, even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to formulate an attack, regardless. “So, you’d better listen to what I say, and come with me,”

After a beat, with no response, they continued, “I will only ask nicely once, princess,” Sighing as one hand moved to their hip, the other remained on the hilt of their sword, “I’d prefer to do this cordially, if you wanna make it ugly, that’s your choice.”

You blinked, truly at a loss, what the fuck was happening?

“If I go with you, will you tell me what’s going on?” You hated the way that sounded on your tongue, so helpless and lost— a feeling you resented, pride dissipating and crumbling into a tiny speck.

“You have to come with me to find out,”

—

Wood creaked beneath your feet, steps hesitant as the stranger escorted you along the way, your vision totally blinded as they had wrapped a cloth around your eyes. Closing your senses from the rest of the world, all you could do was rely on the sounds of hectic chatter and sea waves, a salty scent around you.

You’d been walking for what felt like miles, but your manor wasn’t too far away from the sea, that stretched out to meet a vast ocean, the only connection between your country and any others. You knew you had been taken to the coast, based on the cries of seagulls and the humming water.

The stranger’s hand was placed on the lower of your back, guiding you, as well as deterring you from any sudden moves. You probably would’ve tried to run away from them, were it not for the clang of metal that was attached to the stranger’s hip.

“Can you at least tell me your name?”

“I think you’re confused on our roles here, sweetheart,” They chuckled, “You don’t get to order me around,” They added a slight push at your back, emphasising the fact that they hold all the cards, whilst you’re just leverage. That was the only part of this you understood.

Sighing, you sneered your lip. You were starting to get pissed off, this stranger completely disrupted your sleep, blindfolded you, is kidnapping you, and you still have no clue as to why. You needed answers.

Your steps came to a halt, when you felt the stranger press you forward to nudge you, you hardened your legs to the ground.

“I’m not continuing,” A pause, “You said you wanted to do this cordially, then tell me your name,”

The stranger sighed, you could almost hear the roll in their eyes, “Look, we’re almost here, okay?”

“Just a few more steps and then I’ll tell you,”

Another nudge at your back, along with a hand meeting yours, “Watch ya step,” They spoke, guiding you up what felt like a ramp, their hand leading you.

A door slammed behind you, the stranger removed their hands and disappeared for a short time before you felt them behind you again, fingers untying the knotted cloth. You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Were they going to kill you?

Your eyes felt slightly raw after being covered so tightly for that long, after you adjusted to the air and light around you, you could take in your surroundings.

The room was slightly dimmed, lighted only by a few oil lamps that burned away in their designated corners, you noticed countless jars on the shelves, preserving different sea creatures and other things you could not recognise. Notes and maps were scattered all over the floor and the desks, piles of books, rustic and handmade, but neat and organised— in its own way. This was the room of someone who studied and researched, you could recognise the frantic illustrations immediately, could feel the passion that lingered in the room.

The stranger moved in front of you, “You just gonna stare?” Your eyes took them in now, fully in vision this time, with no more shadows to hide behind, no more cloth. Their eyes were a soft, dark brown, layers of hair falling over the sides of their face, the tips rimmed with leftover structure from saltwater. Strong jawline and a strong nose, their glasses sat atop the bridge, leaning down slightly, the black band you noticed before still covering their eye. Their attire consisted of a loose black, long-sleeved shirt, a large slit down the chest area, not tied with the laces, allowing you to see the vast black strings with pendants that made up the necklaces wrapped around their neck. You recognised it as a shirt that was traditionally stitched for men, though they certainly looked much better in it than any man could. Loose black pants which emphasised their slender waist, with dark long boots, you could see scuffing on the edges of them from wear, the laces splitting from frequent tying. You let out a sigh, before speaking.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hange,”

“You’re not from this land,” You say, “You’re a person of the sea,”

Hange hummed, their hand meeting their hip once again.

“Are you going to kill me?”

They let out a laugh, one so inappropriate it almost made you feel stupid, “Sweetheart, if I was going to kill you, d’you think I’d have taken you here?”

“Well, it would’ve been foolish to kill me in my quarters,”

“Leverage needs to be alive to be worthwhile, that’s the whole point,” The way they spoke unnerved you, with their charismatic words and smug voice. Hints of a smirk tugging at their lips.

“Where is ‘here’, anyway?” You didn’t feel stable, the floor rocked up and down slightly, your stomach turning a little as you adjusted to the slight weightlessness of the structure. “We’re on water, I can hear the waves,”

“Don’t worry, we haven’t set sail yet,” They walked over to their desk, moving around some papers, studying its contents, “There’s still business to tend to before we do,” In other words, your father.

You watched them, the way their sword clung and clanked against the hardwood of the desk, their tall stature almost reaching the short ceiling of the cabin, hand splayed on the desk for stability. Hair tied up at the back, with strands spilling out of their tie.

“What’s my purpose here?” Your arms crossed over your stomach, fingers grabbing at the sleeves of loose fabric of your nightdress, feeling vulnerable.

“Your father’s in some trouble,” They chuckled, your heart sank, “He owes me,”

“For what?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions, princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” you replied, voice tensing. “Do not address me as such,” Hange’s lips tilted, noticing your misgivings, the tense shoulders and a quip in your upper lip. Distaste. Interesting.

“Your father’s trying to make you one. Queen Consort, as I’ve heard,” Your brows furrowed.

“I do not follow,”

Hange looked up from their pages, gazing right at you. You tried swallowing, throat dry, as they hoisted themselves off the desk and stepped closer.

“He commissioned us, my crew,” Hange spoke, “To track and retrieve the Marleyan jewel.”

“I thought that was legend, an ancient myth of a mystical jewel, passed down from stories.”

“Oh, it’s very real, my lady.” You sighed, at least they were addressing you properly this time.

“And a very dangerous job, at that.” You stared at Hange, looking for any hints that this was just an elaborate joke. None were found, though. They were serious.

“I lost two good men, almost the rest of my crew for that buffoon,” They sighed, a flash of anger in their eyes, rubbing the skin of their jaw, “We retrieved this jewel, and your father tried to rob me blind, I want compensation.”

“Why would he go to those lengths? I do not understand,”

“For you, princess.”

When you did not answer, Hange continued, “Apparently this was his golden opportunity, get the long-desired jewel to gift the King an offering for your hand to the prince. Establish power and riches, and a good suitor for his daughter.”

Your stomach churned, you knew your father was adamant on marrying you off, but this? This was something different, sinister. You knew Hange was telling the truth, the intricacies of the story fell into place too well to be a lie.

Your father was truly a despicable man, hungry for power, and uncaring of those he stepped on to get to his station. Now you were paying for his greed. You think back to your mother, wishing she had outlived him, maybe you would be different, now.

“He cost me two men, our stock and supplies,” Hange pressed, shaking their head, “I can’t have that.”

“So you take me for ransom?”

“If he is not willing to pay up, I’m taking it upon myself to make him. One way or another, he will pay.”

Tears rimmed the ducts of your eyes, you blinked them away, a futile attempt to not show weakness. You know what that meant, either in physical currency or emotional currency, even if he cared little for you, he’d be paying with the loss of a guaranteed seat. To a man like that, that’s punishment enough. You chewed the corner of your lip, nerves eating you up.

“I can’t believe he’d do this,” You could actually, it was more the disbelief of how quickly your situation had changed, “All to marry me off to a disgusting man, be done with me whilst he sits comfortably,”

“You don’t wish to marry a handsome prince? Live a life of wealth and comfort?” Hange looked amused, almost perplexed that this was against your wishes.

“I wish for nothing of the sort,” You sneered, “I crave a life of my own choosing.”

Hange’s features softened, feeling a tug of pity before shutting the feeling down. They almost related to you, almost. Before reiterating to themselves that you were the same as all the other rich nobles. Wealthy and comfortable in your ostentatious manors, with even more ostentatious dresses, whilst the rest of the population suffered, starved and fought for dregs of burnt bread and half pints of spoiled milk. You were no different. No different.

“Careful, my lady, or I’ll sail this ship with you in it,”

You let out a saddened laugh, “Better than what he was planning for me,” You snuck a glance at the circular port window, watching as people were busying themselves with tasks. Filling up crates of fruits, dried fish, barrels of wine and weapons. You mulled for a second, it could be worse, Hange could’ve killed you at the first meet, or even worse, your father successfully got his hands on the jewel, and shipped you off to live a life with a prince who couldn’t even fold his own clothes, or bathe himself. You could visualise your father sitting back, smug and content as he finally got what he always wanted. Abundant wealth and power.

“I do not wish to stay here.” You said, voice more confident than it had been the entire time. Hange looked up at you, surprise taking over their features, “You may demand whatever compensation you require from my father, but…”

“When you set sail, I wish to come with.”

—

Hange had left the captain’s cabin for quite some time, leaving you inside alone as you couldn’t be allowed on the deck yet, not trusted to not do anything stupid yet. They had to check on a few of the crewmates first. You were an interesting character to say the least, Hange could tell you were stubborn, though that’s normal for a high-born, accustomed to making demands and having them realised. It was easy to imagine you not mixing well at court, with your disregard for hierarchy and noble customs. They almost laughed at your conviction when you said you wished to board the ship, of your own accord. The most determined glaze over your features. That was an unexpected oversight, Hange didn’t expect you to go so willingly. A part of them was relieved, content they didn’t need to make it bloodier than it had to be. They have morals, after all. Hurting an innocent woman would provide no respect amongst their crew, not when the real fish was the father.

The crew’s respect and admiration for the captain of the ship was of utmost importance, they need a leader they could trust and admire, it was easy enough to have mutiny on your hands. The ship was passed down to Hange from their father, but the trust and good dynamic of a solid crew, you have to earn yourself. Hange had established that respect from one of their first expeditions, under their confident lead the ordeal had been speedy and efficient. Hange ordered the rewards to be split and distributed as was deemed fair. With multiple feats over harsh waters and perilous expeditions, Hange had consistently proved themselves as a strong leader, they ran a tight ship and their crew meant everything to them.

You sat there in your silly nightdress, ennui eating at your brain as you sat, wishing you could change into something else. Arms wrapped around your legs, looking around as you waited. Deciding to get up, you looked around the room, it was rather nice, for what it was.

You walked up to the shelves, sea oddities neatly placed preserved in jars, with linen labels pinned underneath. You noticed various species, octopi, starfish, eels, crabs and lobsters, and other creatures you had never seen before in your books. There were also drawn illustrations of the anatomy, their organs and bone structure— did Hange do all this?

Your eyes trailed around, landing on the maps and compasses discarded around the tables and floor, with coded markings and notes around certain landmarks, sketches of what you assumed to be distant lands. Looking in awe, wandering at all the things you had never heard of, let alone seen before. Hange must be so knowledgeable, so well-travelled, so.. free. All the things you wished you could be.

Running your fingers over the maps, you jumped back into propriety as the cabin door swung open, Hange’s footsteps filling the room. They looked at you, having noticed your sudden switch in demeanour.

“You inspecting my collection, my lady?” Their back was to you, hanging their outer coat on one of the nail pegs that had been hammered into the wall.

“I’m sorry, I..” You looked down, “I was just curious,”

“It’s alright, I’m quite fond of it myself,” They joined you, standing to your side and looking at where you had been caught touching the delicate papers.

“You did all of this?”

“Is that so surprising?” They chuckled, crossing their arms over their chest. “No,” You paused, “I have just never seen anything quite like this,”

“There are many wonders out in the world, I like to keep note of them,” “For plundering?” You joked, too late to bite it back before it slipped out.

They laughed, “Not everything is to be plundered, sometimes it’s enough to just take it in and observe,”

You looked up at them, there was something you couldn’t quite place about them, yet. They were unlike the pirates you had read about or heard bedtime stories of as a child.

“The world has many corners of beauty, they’re deserving of respect and admiration." Agreeing, you pointed at the display of jars, thinking back to your own research on botany, categorized and illustrated, frowning as you realised it was all left behind. All those hours spent bending your neck under candlelight wasted. “I have a similar collection, pressings of flowers and plants- a little like yours, illustrations and marked under their specifications: edible, toxic, healing,"

Hange looked at you, "Sounds wonderful," unexpecting to have anything in common with someone of your stature, and yet, here they were. "It's all in my quarters, so I doubt I shall see it again," You breathed out, trying to not make it seem like a loss. Hange's gaze turned towards the floor, feeling slightly culpable that they had taken that away from you.

Straightening their back up, they moved back to their satchel, opening it wide and grabbing some folded clothing, jars with some clear liquid, slightly cloudy. Moonshine, you noted. Easier to distil your own rather than paying double for liquor.

“This is for you,” They hummed, holding out their hand waiting for you to walk over and grab them.

“What is it?”

“Provisions,” They shrugged, “And some clothes, we don’t have a lot aboard, but you can have my cast-offs, they were going to be left at the port anyway.”

You looked at them like they had grown seven heads, not expecting sudden kindness from someone who kidnapped you only a few hours ago.

“This where you say ‘thank you, Hange’.” There was the smugness again, an impish look on their features, you rolled your eyes you stepped closer.

Grabbing the items from them, “Thank you, Hange,” You felt meek, under their heavy gaze as you said their name for the first time. It felt strange hearing it from your own mouth, “Any longer in that nightdress and I probably would’ve thrown myself overboard,”

They laughed, “Don’t think you’ll prefer my clothes any more, truthfully, but if you’re going to stay here for now, might as well blend in.”

“Anything is better than this,” You ran your fingers over the fabric.

“Get dressed, it’s mealtime soon,” “You’re letting me eat?”

They looked at you strangely, “I’m not letting a person on my ship starve, I’m not barbaric,” They stated as if it was obvious, it might’ve been, but not to you.

“Thank you,”

Nodding, Hange left you to get changed. Giving you privacy as they shut the door behind them, you waited a few seconds before undressing. You weren’t accustomed to wearing pants, nobility requiring you to wear frilly dresses that cut off your circulation and itched at your neck and wrists, you were rather excited to adorn some comfortable cloth, for once.

As you manoeuvred the loose shirt over your limbs, you noticed a lingering musk of salt and sandalwood? It was rather pleasant, you would normally make your own scented oils and perfumes from boiled flower petals, lavender and honeysuckle, plants native to your country. This scent was uncommon, usually gifted to you at court from wealthy travellers. You lifted the fabric closer to you, inhaling, it truly was divine. Is this what Hange smells like? You couldn't honestly say you hated it.

Slipping your legs through the pants, they were a bit over your standard size, you tucked the wide bottoms into your own boots. You were glad you opted for your hunting boots rather than your daily shoes. Not quite sure that you had put everything on properly, as the fit felt odd. Looking down, everything felt slightly too big and made you feel like a child in adult’s clothing. Frowning you tried tucking in the shirt, though that didn’t really seem to help either.

There was a knock at the cabin door, “Are ya decent?”

The concept made you chuckle, Hange treated you with a lot more respect and propriety than some of the men at court.

“Yes.”

“Never had to knock on my own door before,” Hange joked, letting themselves in, gazing over at you in your fresh clothes. Their smile dropped ever so slightly as their eyes travelled over your new attire. Hange's poet blouse hanging on you, you had, of course, actually tied the laces at the chest, you were a Lady after all. Kinda suits you, they thought, before shrugging it away to hidden corners.

"Does it look alright? It's a little big," "You complaining?" You flustered, not wanting to come across as ungrateful, "Not at all, I-" "I'm messing with you, may I?"

When you nodded, they walked up closer to you, eyes unreadable. You stiffened up, back a little straighter when they brought their hands to the bottom of the blouse. Watching their movements hesitantly, Hange did not make contact with your eyes, they were so close to you. Catching that hint of sandalwood again, almost intoxicating as you honed your vision onto their hands. Looking for anything else to concentrate on, it didn’t help much as Hange focused on undoing the bottom three catches, revealing your uncovered abdomen. They grabbed at the two, now separate hangs of the shirt, your breath hitching when their fingers delicately grazed your bare skin, a minute jerk of your stomach as Hange began tying the fabric together so it fit tighter around your waist. So that was the trick to it, then? You must admit, it was an improvement.

You let out a heavy breath when they were done, and finally stepped away. It was harder to breathe when Hange was that close, you will not let that happen again. Feeling far too clouded upon their proximity, perhaps you were allergic to the fragrance, you reasoned.

“Better?” Their voice lowered, awaiting your judgment,

“Much, thank you.”

—

Mealtime came quickly after, you hadn't expected it to be so busy, or so populated. How many people does it take to effectively run a vessel of this size? Hange led you to the upper deck, evidently the largest space aboard, where mealtimes commonly occurred. A large pot of warm meat stew was being led out by a small woman from the galley, placed upon the floor as the crew grabbed portions as they pleased. Hange passed you a ceramic dish, before ladling a couple spoonfuls into your plate.

Thanking them, you looked around, spotting barely any dining tables or chairs, mainly stools or planks of wood nailed together to form a bench, most taken up by the sailors, as others sat themselves in the grooves on the ship deck, some on the rim of the ship itself. You shall not risk that, you thought, still adjusting to the feeling of a rocking vessel.

“You’re probably used to something more polished, but this is how we eat here,” Hange shrugged, “Try to enjoy the stew, Sasha truly works wonders with very little,”

“Landing at port was a godsend, I used fresh meat this time,” The brunette who brought out the food spoke, overhearing the conversation, who you assumed was Sasha. You stilled, this time? What about every other time, you thought, shuddering. Well, no time to adjust like the present. Sticking the spoon into the stew, you took a mouthful, before looking up at Hange in wonder, eyes wide, “This is delicious,”.

“Thank Sasha, she keeps us all standing,” Hange joked, placing a hand upon Sasha’s shoulder.

“What do you normally eat?” You asked, directing your question over to Sasha,

“Usually what we can grab and preserve for a long time, dried meats, beans, your city has a lovely selection of fruits so we’ve stocked some of those, too!” She smiled at you, and you found that she had quite a comforting presence, feeling at ease, you hoped you could form a friendship with her.

Hange excused themselves, as they had something to attend to with someone called Levi. You watched them as they walked away, interacting with their crewmates, laughing with them over something you couldn’t hear. They definitely knew how to command attention, their entire being was self-assured, and confident in themselves and their abilities. Dragging your eyes away, back to Sasha, who watched you with a smile on her face.

“You’re not what I expected when Hange told us the plan,”

“I hope I haven’t disappointed,” you retorted, not really knowing how else one could respond to that. Sasha simply laughed, “It’s a great deal different, but not disappointing,”.

—

You had remained on the deck, the crew wanting to have a little friendly spar for morale. If this was the only entertainment you could get, you’d gladly take it. Having finally secured a spot on one of the benches, you watched as different spars played themselves out.

After a few, though, it was all starting to become a bit monotonous. Feeling your eyes glaze over, you were suddenly conscious of the fact that you hadn’t had a good nights rest since Hange took you, where would you even sleep tonight?

Your attention was redirected when a crewmember called out Hange’s name, challenging them to a spar. The newly formed crowd cheered as Hange made their way into the sparring space. A smirk on their lips as they vaunted, hand clasping their sword as it was unsheathed. Finally take a good look at it, it was a fine piece of metal, sleek and thin. The handle was adorned with intricate patterned etchings.

You took notice of how Hange handled the blade, slender fingers wrapped around the hilt as they pointed it towards the opponent. No shaking, no hesitation. A sturdy, stable grasp, with an arrogant side smile that captivated you, eyes glued on their movements as the opponent tried to disarm them, unsuccessfully. Hange was slightly more agile, their body flowed like liquid, vivacious as they fought. It seemed like they could almost foresee the man’s footing and which way he’d direct an attack. They must’ve sparred together many times. A few more attempts and Hange trapped his blade, lifting his own up and twisting their arm. His sword fell to the floor with a clang, reverberating against the wooden deck.

“Damn it, Captain!” The opponent yelled out, frustration in his voice as he thought he’d actually win this time, Hange only hung their head back and laughed, the strands of hair that edged down their face slipped back, exposing their jaw and neck. A gentle smile escaped your lips as you watched, they looked so liberated, so strong. Hange truly was an enigmatic figure, they carried themselves with authority that you can’t say you’d ever seen elsewhere. They were charismatic, magnetic, you could see that they truly had the admiration of their crew.

“You’ll have to try harder to beat me,” Hange teased, sheathing their sword, a mischievous glaze in their eyes as they landed on you. Your heart picked up, unable to pull your own gaze away from theirs, almost enchanted when you noticed the corner of their lips tilt up.

Breaking away from the contact, you felt your ears grow warm. Deciding to find the wooden deck the most interesting thing around you, until scuffed boots appeared in your line of vision. Looking up, Hange had stepped closer to you, placing their hand into a pocket of their pants.

“Time to retire, my lady?”

Fumbling, you flustered, “Where am I to sleep?” Members of the crew were scattered, some sleeping on the floor of the deck, some had set up rustic hammocks, whilst others continued to wander the floor.

“In my quarters,” Hange stated as if it was obvious, “Unless you’d prefer to sleep next to that lot,” They pointed at the others, crewmates who slept on their stools with their heads resting on their arms placed on the brim of the ship. The expression on Hange’s face made it clear that they were mocking you, perfectly aware of how you would not prefer that option.

“I fear my spine would crumble,” You jested, your lie blatant.

“Come,” They nudged their head towards the stern of the ship, where the Captain’s private quarters were. Hange’s comfortable room with all the fascinating oddities. You’d much prefer sleeping there, you thought.

Following, Hange led you back to their space, all things considered, you felt rather guarded there. Strangely safe and sound. Something tugged at your mind that Hange wouldn’t stand for anything to happen to you, not even for you specifically— Hange’s crew appeared quite companionable, you attributed that to their leader. You wondered how far those pleasantries extended, what acts of horror were allowed and which were not.

Closing the door behind them, Hange hung up their outer coat on its peg, rolling their shoulders as a minor stretch. Bringing their hands up to the back of their neck, rubbing the tender muscle atop their skin.

You stood, clutching your elbows under crossed arms. The silence in the cabin contrasted the raucous crew outside, some still sparring.

“Was that moonshine?” Your voice broke through the quiet, looking towards the jar of liquid Hange had brought you as 'provisions'. "No, it's grog," "Grog?" "Rum and water," Pulling a face, you continued.

"Is it good?" "Not really, but we don't drink it for its taste." Nodding, you picked up the jar, inspecting. "Did you make it?" Hange scoffed, smirking to themselves, their arms coming to cross over their chest, "It's far easier to steal from merchant ships, they're always overloaded with stock," "I see."

"I think I would like to try it," Hange raised their eyebrows at you, a playful look struck their features. "Oh?" They continued, "I brought it for you, thought you might need a little pick-me-up, have at it."

Uncorking the jar, the aroma of the liquor invaded your senses. "It smells strong," Hange nodded, watching with a devilish face as you brought the rim to your lips. After a gulp, you couldn't hold back a cough as the force of the harsh drink burned through your throat, your lips twisting and your eyebrows squeezing together. "That's revolting," "Yeah, it's pretty bad," Hange laughed, grabbing the jar from you and taking a bigger gulp for themselves, passing it back to you. Truly, you don't know what possessed you to take another sip, but it became easier to tolerate.

A few half hours passed, and you had placed yourself on Hange's wicker couch, your bed for the foreseeable. Arms wrapped around your legs which pressed to your chest. You were definitely feeling the effects of the liquor, tolerance much lower than Hange's, who sat on the floor beside the couch. Feeling far more relaxed, your tongue was a tad looser, speaking to and asking Hange questions you would've otherwise probably not asked. Truthfully, you were curious, there was a lot you wished to learn about them. When you first met Hange, you expected a lot of things, you didn't anticipate them being quite as respectful and honourable towards you as they were. There was more to them than what was seen on the surface, you wanted to see what lay deeper.

"But why? Why do you choose to live a life of piracy? Wouldn't it be far safer to live on land?" "Not everyone is lucky enough to be born atop riches, that's an irregular gift given only to a few," Hange spoke, their words thoughtful despite having drank even more than you, "Life at sea is more forgiving than the hardships on land." "Yes, but... there must be something else, even with the hardships at land?

"No offence, my lady," Pausing, "What would you know of hardship on land? My father worked his hardest, damn near broke his back, just to be cheated and stripped of his dignity by the greed of others." Looking down at your knees, a pull of guilt struck, knowing that it was because of people like you, and your father.

"This was his way of ensuring his own future, on his own terms and not under the boot of the wealthy who build their livelihoods on the backs of others." Hange sighed, taking another sip of grog, "At least on the sea, what you see is what you get, fight for what you want and share the rewards. It's not the most honest work, yes, but it's far more honest than those sitting in ivory towers clicking their fingers for anything they desire."

You watched as Hange spoke, their words were true, honest reflections of everything they stood for. Pirate or not, Hange had more substance than you'd ever encountered in anyone else in your life. More than those who coat their words with sugar, kissing up to their higher-ups all for a sliver of what they had.

Hange passed you the jar, and you swallowed another sip, barely tasting the alcohol by this point. This was the first you had heard of Hange's family. "I understand that," you hummed, "I've always thought it unfair, why others are seen as less based on menial things such as money. I suppose my father was my introduction to that, a part of me has always despised him."

"I wondered why you came with me so willingly, though if I had your father I would probably have been similar." Laughing, you nodded, "Truthfully, I have felt disillusioned from my life, perhaps I wanted something refreshing, a different way of being."

"Besides, you intrigued me, I find you fascinating," Your words slipped out, the grog having seriously impacted your inhibitions. Hange's eyes met yours, impish and deviant. The edge of their lip quipped up, delightfully amused. "Is that right, my lady?" They leaned their weight on their right hand that was pressed against the cabin floor, as their left remained hanging off the leg they had propped up. Your skin burned underneath their gaze, and you found that your tongue shattered. Unable to respond, all you could do was meet their half-lidded stare, thunder in your chest, as it lifted up and down. Shit. "I think that's enough grog for you, princess,"

Breaking contact, you pointed at Hange's shelves, to where their collection lay, clearing your throat before speaking. "Like your collection, it-it's fascinating, I wish I could've grabbed mine," You deflected, altering the matter, anything to stop the thunder in your chest and remember yourself. Anything to stop the blaze before it spread far beyond control.

"When we set sail, you can start a new collection." They softened, "One with all the new plants you'll see,"

—

You felt like shit the following morning. Head thumping with each movement, you could only sit on one of the benches with your hands holding up the weight. "Grog fever?" Sasha's teasing voice rang out through your ears, "Been there."

"This is awful," "First time?" "Obviously," You rubbed your eyes, as Sasha lightly patted you on the back, "You'll survive,"

Two presences joined you and Sasha at your bench, one was shorter with black hair, and the other stood upright, with scraggly blonde hair. "This is Levi, he's the First Mate, pretty much Hange's second in command," Sasha spoke, introducing you, "Don't mind him, he's a bit of an ass." "The other is Reiner, also a bit of an ass," She giggled, finding entertainment within herself.

Levi nodded at you, a silent greeting which you didn't mind as listening and speaking were already hard enough with the thumping in your head. Reiner looked at you, before pulling his hand out to meet yours. "Lovely to meet such a beautiful lady," He declared, eyes scouring down your body, "I'm looking forward to having you aboard," His words reeked with flirtation, his cold eyes geeking you out, discomfiting, not like the handsome brown ones you melted into yesterday.

Almost as if reading your mind, Hange appeared, they had left the ship this morning, as apparently, they had some errands to run. Hange set their hands on Reiner's shoulders, carrying an indistinct countenance. "Reiner, I have matters to discuss, come," They spoke, before walking a few steps ahead, waiting for him near the stern, arms crossed.

"Coming, captain," Reiner followed their lead, you kept glancing over to them as Sasha picked up chatter with Levi. You were straining your ears to catch snippets of their conversation, a little difficult over Sasha's voice in front of you, the little you could make out came from Hange: Not this one.

As you switched your attention back to the table, wondering what the hell that was about, you had just bypassed Sasha's looking towards you, her brows crinkling and face pulling into a look of recognition. Huh, she thought, how about that?

—

As the day passed, the time to set sail was nearing, planned for sometime within the next two days depending on supplies and readiness. Apprehension was harder to ignore, you thought about what your father was currently doing, and his reaction upon discovering you had not been in your chambers the following morning. Mulling, you cackled to yourself, clasping your hand over your mouth to mask the giggles as the gravity of what you had done struck you. Never did you imagine your life to end up in this way.

Hange entered their quarters, hanging up their coat, "What's so funny?" " "I just can't believe what I'm doing," your laughter settled down, breathing returning to standard as Hange placed themselves next to you on the wicker couch. "Yeah? You 'n me, both," They chuckled, pausing, "Hey, uh- I wanted to give you this,"

You studied them, catching a modest element of hesitation on Hange that you weren't familiar with seeing. Hange handed you a book, of beautifully bound brown leather, the spine stitching exposed with light-coloured thread. "What is this for?" "You left your notes behind, so this is for your new collection," You gaped at them, prompting Hange to continue, "For all the new plants you'll see and learn about,"

Wordless, you looked between Hange and the book in your hands, feeling the skin at your cheeks heating up. "Hange, this is- thank you, so much," Nodding, Hange steeled, standing themselves up, nearing the door before speaking, "The shantyman is going to play for a while, the crew loves him, so you don't wanna miss it," It was customary for ships to bring musicians. They'd sing songs and play tunes to boost morale amongst the crew, to carry them through the harrowing nights, and oftentimes even spread their hopes for some romance. You definitely wanted to witness it, Hange held the cabin door open for you as you both made your way to the deck.

The musician was doing his thing, leading the crew in song, banging a drum as melodies rang through the vessel. You noticed Sasha dancing with the crewmembers. It was a little overwhelming, the events you had attended at court were much milder and reserved than this, uppity, really. People would rarely dance, it was almost taboo. This was far distant from that, it was fun, delightful even—almost hedonistic in style.

You weren’t quite sure how to join yourself with them, the dances varying from person to person made it hard to fall into a step. Hange noticed your hesitance, before clasping your hand and pulling you towards them. Their hand resting upon your waist, drawing you tighter as they moved into a dance. The air in your lungs tripped over itself, shortening your breath. Stomach pressed against stomach.

Looking up at them, Hange donned a smug smile, higher up on one side of their mouth as it hung from their lips.

“Dance with me, princess,” Hange hummed, their voice lowered. There came the thunder in your chest again, the blaze was spreading.

“I’ve told you to not address me like that,” You whispered, the contention you planned on executing in your voice was nowhere near where you had planned. Instead, it was mild, for fear that would fumble over your own words, as your tongue shattered once again.

“I can’t help it,” They grinned, skimming over your flustered appearance. You don’t know what kind of sorcery Hange held, what alluring magnetism in their blood drew you to them. You felt yourself begin to melt into their tempting gaze, as you blinked.

“Careful, don’t look at me like that or I might begin to get the wrong idea,” Hange’s head sank towards your neck, your breath hitched. Their proximity was intoxicating, you found you couldn’t bear the weight of it. Pulling yourself away from Hange, you rushed to the cabin, pushing open the door and letting yourself inside.

Letting out a bulky breath, your face was burning up, body temperature way over standard as you rested your hands on Hange’s desk. Clamouring to compose yourself. Hange knocked at the door, before entering. Shutting your eyes, you remained still.

“You okay?” Ignoring them, you relented in your stance. The tension in the room increased, heart pulsing as you heard their footsteps reach close.

“I think I have fever,” You mumbled, Hange was right behind you now. You could feel their warmth reaching your back.

“Stand and face me, dear,” An assertive hand maintained at your waist, turning your body toward them Hange held down your gaze, keeping their hand in its place, squeezing. “This is no fever,”

Their free hand came to meet your jaw, thumb ghosting over the soft skin. Hange lowered their head towards you, their face so near, your sanity was in a thick haze, heavy and clouded. "I can see the dark in your eyes, my lady," Hange hummed, relishing in the glaze in your eyes, at the darkness pooling in your pupils as you glimmered up at them, eyes doe and lips plump from biting. The heat from their voice raised your skin, touring down your spine as an ache between your thighs pulsed.

Hange's lips brushed against the velvety flesh at the base of your neck, tentative. You shivered as you felt their lips leave delicate kisses, hand tightening around your waist. You shut your eyes, reeling in the sensation as Hange's igniting touch drew shaky breaths. Thighs clenched together as their lips reached the base of your ear, teeth tugging at the skin. You whimpered, as Hange's hands grabbed at the top of your thighs, just underneath the curve of your ass as they directed you to the top of the desk. Placing themselves between your thighs, before whispering, "Will you indulge me, dear?" With another kiss on your ear, you crumbled, arms wrapping around Hange's neck as your legs folded around their waist.

"Please, Hange, I can't bear it," You panted, core clenching around nothing, as desperation took over. Hange sighed, hearing their name fall from your lips as your body trembled was a sight to behold. Their lips finally landed on yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. Quivering hands grabbed at the back of their head, tightening around Hange's hair, trying to release the buildup of tension in your bones.

Lips broke apart, "Do you know what it does me seeing you wear my clothes?" Voice impassioned, almost hoarse. The hand at your hip moved to the catches at your shirt, reminiscent of the way they grazed your skin that day. Undoing the catches, your abdomen and breasts exposed, goosebumps forming from the sudden coolness of the air. Hange observed as your stomach jerked, smirking as they watched how your body responded. Hand slipping in between the open fabric, meeting the bare skin as you gasped before the shirt slid off your shoulders and onto the cabin floor.

Hange whined at your revealed skin and dishevelled state, the most disordered they had seen you. Their hand cupped your breast, watching as your lips parted and the sweetest cries escaped. Fingers stroking at your hardened nipples, as your pants were slowly being dragged down your legs. Your hips squirmed as Hange went on their knees, head just at the top of your shins. One hand still massaged your nipple whilst the other was around your ankle, holding your leg in place as they lapped their tongue up the skin, retaining steady eye contact. As their tongue reached your inner thigh, your head hung back, and you bit back choked whimpers, hips jolting with anticipation.

"Hange," you rasped, squeezing your thighs around their head, your nails coming to meet the top of the back, "Yes, my dear?" "Please," you pleaded, you had already come this far, you needed to feel it through, you could barely sit up, losing strength in your back. "Patience, sweetheart,"

Fingers left your breasts and made their way to the hem of your underwear. Hange bit their lip at the line of the dampness that had seeped through the thin fabric. "Fuck," they mumbled, tugging the material down where it remained hanging at your ankles, so dishevelled, so messy.

The tips of Hange’s slender fingers reached your dripping heat, arousal covering your thighs as they ghosted sensual touches over your warm slit, puffed and leaking. Thighs tensing as the feeling released itself as strangled whines. Hange was obsessed, exhilarated by the sweet sounds that left your dear lips.

“Fuck, Hange,” Hips rolling into their fingers, pressing closer for more touch, chasing the sensation as it came, "That feels fucking good," "Such rotten language," Hange taunted, the tip of their finger burying into your soaking entrance, stretching the silky walls, “Looks like I’ve been a bad influence,”

Leaving a few more kisses on your thigh, Hange stood back up to reconnect your lips, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip. The kiss successfully distracted you, as more fingers entered, slowly rocking into your flesh, as bliss overtook the initial sting. Hips began to tilt, grinding against the pressure. The sounds leaving you were indecent, vulgar, as Hange augmented the pace, rocking their fingers into you. Suddenly you were glad for the singing out in the deck, obscuring the noise within the cabin. Your head fell into their neck, whining as you could only sit there and take it. Fingers stuffing your swollen centre, pressing against the squishy barriers.

The muscles in your abdomen tensed, clenching around Hange's fingers as your hips buckled. "That's it, dear, you're taking it so, so well," Your eyebrows pinched together, voice escaping you, "Taking me like such a good girl,". Hange spoke, voice purring. That was the nail in the coffin; the honey in their words, the strain in their voice as you felt your release shattering through you. Hips convulsed as your arousal spilled all over Hange's fingers, grabbing their shoulders for support. A few more pumps and Hange removed their fingers, looking down at your clenching hole at the trickling cum, their hand completely drenched.

Hange kissed you, before you broke away and uttered words that led Hange to understand they could never have their fill, "More, please," you begged, voice breathy and whiny as you tightened your legs around their waist. Chuckling, endeared Hange responded, "My, my, dear, you're truly filthy."

Hange moved themselves down to your pussy, still swollen despite its release. With a quick glance back towards you, cheeks flustered and eyes black. Desire tensed your features as your chest heaved up and down, breasts exposed and legs spread, quaking. Such a heavenly sight.

A touch over your slit, Hange spat on your folds, the sight eliciting languid moans from you. It truly was filthy. Pussy clenching with desperation as it grazed you, spreading down your slit with the weight of gravity. Hange pressed their tongue against it, carelessly lapping up the cum that had been leaking out of you. Frenzied guttural groans liberated into your centre as they sucked, the vibrations left you reeling as your hand came to clasp your breast, kneading. Trailing over your own nipple, Hange was not about to accept that, slapping your hand away and rolling their fingers over the bud.

Overstimulation left you choking, tears spilling from your lids as Hange worked their warm tongue over your sensitive folds, drinking in the saltiness as one hand played with your nipple and the other ghosted over your opening. Thighs tightened around their head, cutting off Hange's air supply as you rutted your hips over their face, pushing yourself closer against their tongue. Nose nudging over your clit as their head bounced against you.

“Hange, fuck— I’m, mhm- I’m gonna cum, please let me come,” You babbled, stammering. Needy. You took them in, nose, chin and cheeks wet from your arousal, saliva running down; their eyebrows pulled together with determination and eyes rolling with indulgence, as if you were the tastiest meal they ever had. The taught restraint you had carried your entire life totally dissipated as you surrendered to Hange’s command over your body. Fingers filling into you, knuckles deep, rubbing over the squishy flesh. The added penetration forced out the second catharsis, sucking Hange in as you released over their face, tainting their glasses.

Resting your back on the desk, breaths heavy as you came down from whatever entity had possessed you. Panting. You covered your face with your hands, as your clandestine actions struck you. The drunken, indecent impropriety you fell into and enjoyed.

“No use being bashful now, my lady,” They teased, dragging away the hands that obscured your face. Grabbing your face, reconnecting your lips with gentle touches. Kisses so tender you couldn’t find it within yourself to see anything wrong.

How could something so honeyed be perverse?

—

um yeah, this is my application to hell…

#pirate hange bc im obssessed #also why is there barely any fics on hange like have yall seen them???#someone call the doctor cos i am SICK #lowkey an essay on my hatred towards rich people 😭#also ive been reading lots of sappho can u tell #lesbian #hange zoe x reader #hange aot #hanji zoe x reader #attack on titan fic #wlw smut #hange zoe fic #hange zoe #hanji zoe

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