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comfortless · 7 months ago

Note

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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hyacintho-surrexit · 2 years ago

Photo

Exterior Wood New York An illustration of a sizable traditional beige, two-story wood exterior house with a hip roof

#beige exterior #stacked stone walls #wood shake siding #shingle roof #bay windows #hip roof

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ceilidho · 1 month ago

Text

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon.

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is.

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort.

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board.

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land.

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead.

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day.

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though.

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess.

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility.

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs.

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener.

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another.

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself.

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch.

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words.

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn.

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own.

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more.

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest.

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops.

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there.

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan.

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face.

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality.

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him.

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat.

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week.

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs.

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do.

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose.

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat.

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well.

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

#ceil writing #soap x reader #cod x reader #soap/reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader

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awjoffrey · 2 years ago

Photo

Traditional Exterior

#Example of a classic beige two-story vinyl exterior home design weathered siding #cedar shake #exterior #shingle siding

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peppermintquartz · 2 months ago

Text

The watch strap is worn out and stained on the inside. Buck takes note of it, and when Tommy's taking a shower, picks up the watch to see if there's an inscription anywhere.

Nothing. Just a regular watch.

But if Tommy has worn it to this state, then he probably really likes it.

Buck hums to himself, then takes a picture of it, front and back, with a dime for scale in case he needs it, and puts the watch back where Tommy left it.

They miss their dinner reservations the next week when Buck sees Tommy in a new shirt and decides that Tommy is not allowed to wear that shirt for more than five minutes.

He ends up gasping for breath under Tommy, his legs and arms shaking with exertion, and Tommy is no better, one thick arm wrapped about Buck's soft middle, biting marks into his shoulders.

After they both came - Buck first with a desperate wail, dragging Tommy after him with an equally desperate "Evan, god, Evan" - Buck is a limp puddle of satisfaction. His gaze falls to the side and he sees the bedside lamp, its shade faded to a nondescript beige. It's clean, because Tommy is on top of his housekeeping, but it's old.

"How long have you had that lamp?" he asks, his words slurring together while Tommy wipes him clean.

"I don't know. Since I left the army, I think? It works." The washcloth is tossed towards the laundry basket and Tommy mutters a happy "three points!" like the dork he is when it lands among the dirty clothes.

Buck turns his head and smiles at Tommy. "I love you."

"I love you too. So, frittata or ramen? I have some frozen shrimp dumplings I think." He kisses Buck on his forehead, like Buck didn't cause them to miss their dinner.

"Frittata and ramen," Buck says, because he knows he can get away with being spoiled for a while.

Tommy only chuckles fondly.

Buck stares at the matching lamp on the other side. Beige.

Tommy holds onto things, Buck discovers. DVDs, CDs, tools from his army pilot days, his high school football jersey. Not necessarily because of sentimental value. Because they still work.

But some things are old and breaking apart, like the clock in his living room, or the fan that's in the garage, or the ancient vacuum that chokes every five feet.

Like it doesn't occur to Tommy to buy a new and better one.

"It still works," Tommy says. His vacuum coughs. "It just needs a little tinkering. I'll make do."

When Buck gives Tommy new watch straps, Tommy just. Blinks. And then he smiles that soft, amazed smile, as if he can't believe Buck is real. Like he can't believe anyone will notice something so trivial about his stuff, and do something nice about it.

"Thanks," he says, and switches out the straps.

Buck buys white lampshades and paint, and he makes it a date for them to paint the two lampshades. Purples and blues, with a touch of pink. Buck jokes that it's his bisexual lighting. They're hideous, objectively speaking, but they were painted by them both, and Buck figures he can get better ones in the future when they're tired of these.

After they replace the old beige ones, Tommy rides Buck, lit only by the new bisexual lighting lampshades.

When Buck replaces the clock, the fan and the vacuum, Tommy helps to discard the old ones.

"You deserve nice things too," Buck tells Tommy when the latter sputters something about making do with the old stuff. Buck kisses him and repeats, "You deserve nice things too."

If he can keep bringing that slightly stunned and amazed and soft expression to Tommy's face, Buck will consider himself a good boyfriend.

#tommy kinard #bucktommy #evan buckley #tevan

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toruro · 1 year ago

Text

— ✧ the cake in the back

pairing. choi seungcheol x reader

description. cheol is a regular at your bakery, and it's all because his son loves the banana bread you make—at least that's what he tells himself. it also doesn't hurt that you're cute. and polite. and totally someone he'd like to fuck.

genre. smut, fluff

tags. rich dilf cheol, bakery owner reader, or4l (f receiving), car s3x, kitchen s3x, pet names (angel), cr3ampi3, aprons ... hehe

w/c. 3.8k+

a/n. IGNORE THE TITLE OKAY I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY. look i know it's corny and i literally am writing this on a whim but happy father's day

"soobin's not with you today?" your voice is cheery and gentle when you greet your regular.

mr. choi smiles and shakes his head. "shocking, i know," he laughs in that deep and velvety tone that has you bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet out of pure giddiness.

"a pleasant surprise," you reply, putting on some gloves as mr. choi approaches the counter. it's near closing, and it's around that time of day where people usually don't come in as much, so you've been alone and just cleaning up the space yourself. "what can i get you, mr. choi?"

the handsome man chuckles, flicking his wrist as he pushes some hair back, the reflective surface of his wrist watch (that you definitely don't want to know the price of because it might just make you pass out) glinting under your bakery's warm lights. "thought i told you to stop calling me that. seungcheol is much better considering ..." he searches for the words for a moment. "... we see each other so regularly," he concludes.

"i've got to maintain some level of professionalism, don't you agree, mr. choi?" you tease. "the regular, i'm assuming? two banana breads?"

"you already know it."

grinning, you nod and pull up a box. "how's soobin? i haven't seen him or you in a while. i'm starting to miss my favorite customer."

"i'm sure soobin would be flattered to hear that. he's doing well, i couldn't bring him today since he's got a swimming class this evening," seungcheol explains, pulling out his wallet that's donned in some brand name that looks so expensive you don't even know how to pronounce it. you move down the counter grab some of the bread which is on your far left, and he walks down on the other side to match you, keeping up the conversation.

"ah yes. he seems to be around that age to start learning. better now than never, honestly. my younger brother didn't learn until he was older and it did not seem easy," you say with a giggle, bringing out the tongs to grab two small loaves.

seungcheol nods in agreement. "that, and i'm planning on taking the two of us on a vacation spot in a few months ... not sure where yet, but soobin's been wanting to go to a beach location for ages," he tells you, and your heart swells.

the image of soobin and seungcheol, goofing around on a beach send a warm feeling through your body. it's also maybe an added plus that there's a flicker in your mind of what seungcheol would look like in nothing but swim trunks, skin shining from the water under the beaming sun, dark hair splayed across his forehead.

you wonder what he's hiding beneath that plain, beige t-shirt of his. his arms are somewhat exposed, and from just the little bit of muscle that peeks out and flexes when he moves around, you think you can safely assume he's got much more going on in the places where your eyes can't reach.

realizing he's still right in front of you, you blink down hard as an attempt to pull yourself back into reality, eyes flickering up at the handsome man in front of you.

"s-sounds fun," you say honestly, packing the bread and handing it to him over the counter. in this moment, seungcheol catches sight of the apron you've got on. it's light pink and hugs your figure so nicely, he can't help but comment on it.

"new apron, huh?"

shyly, you look down and nod. you hadn't expected him to notice. "uh, yeah. my employees got it for me as a birthday gift, actually."

seungcheol furrows his brows as he hands you his card so you can charge him. "it's cute. was your birthday, um, recent?"

you nod casually, tapping at your machine for a second before handing back his card, trying to ignore the way his comment first comment has your stomach flipping and flopping around. "yeah, it was a few days ago."

"i'm sorry, i didn't know," he says sincerely, causing you to frown.

"hey, don't worry about it. it's not something i expect my customers to know and—"

"let me treat you to something," seungcheol says abruptly, cutting you off mid-sentence. he realizes after that it's a bit rude, but something about the way you brush him off as just a customer makes him feel the need to prove you wrong.

"i—i'm sorry?" you ask, and for a moment seungcheol almost mistakes your confusion for apprehension, but then he drinks in the way you look up at him curiously, lips slightly parted, and he relaxes.

"you're closing soon, right? let me ... treat you to something," he repeats. "a coffee or something, if you don't mind."

"oh, i can't possibly impose like that, especially when you've got to pick up soobin and—"

"i wouldn't be offering if you were imposing. he's getting picked up by my friend anyways—his son and soobin are going to have a play date and stuff and—" he's rambling, seungcheol knows that, but he can't seem to care. "basically what i'm saying is you don't have to worry about that. seriously. wait—not that i'm forcing you. you can totally say no, i just ..." he sighs, "don't want you to say no because you think you'll be imposing. 'cause you won't be."

when you smile brightly up at him, eyes glittering and laugh cheery, a wave of relief washes over seungcheol. "i—thank you for the reassurance. i'd love to get coffee, but i do have around twenty more minutes before closing and i still have some stuff i need to clean up and i'm not sure if you—"

"i'll wait." he pauses, then adds, "and help."

you're a bit apprehensive at first—a customer helping you out with closing? but you're quick to learn that once cheol has his mind set on something, it isn't the easiest to pull him away from it—and right now cheol is determined to treat you, as he put it.

the next forty-five minutes is spent with you directing seungcheol around your bakery. he's a surprisingly fast learner and before you know it, all the pastries are loaded in the back, the dishes are cleaned, your floors are swept, and suddenly you find yourself outside of your shop with the doors locked, standing next to seungcheol who watches with you a clouded expression.

"thank you so much for the help," you say bashfully. "you're already taking me—" is it too soon to say he's taking you out? oh well, what's done is done. "—taking me out. isn't this a little too much?" you joke, wiggling your brows.

seungcheol chuckles and shakes his head, pulling his eyes out of his pocket and twirling around the chain around his fingers. fuck, he has really nice fingers—

seungcheol's voice interrupts your thoughts "do you have a car or—"

"i usually take the bus home," you explain, rocking back and forth on your feet. cheol frowns, but doesn't say anything. maybe he can fix that, but that's an thought for another time as he points at his suv, all black from top to bottom, with tinted windows and full black wheels.

there's a silence that envelopes the two of you when you slip into the passenger seat, placing your work bag on the floor. seungcheol is already in the driver's seat, key stuck in but not turning on the engine just yet.

you glance between the sight of your bakery out the window, and back at seungcheol who already has his gaze on you.

"you're going to have to be transparent with me for a second," seungcheol says seriously, locking eyes with you as you shift your body to face him. "and i want to make sure we're on the same page about ..." about whatever is going to go down.

you bite down on your lip, and even though cheol knows you're doing it absentmindedly, he can't help but feel his pants grow tighter at the way it puffs up when your teeth release it.

"i ... i think you know we're on the same page," you reply shyly, shifting a little in your seat to try and make up for the silence.

"you want this?" cheol clarifies, one eyebrow cocked up.

a feeling of pride swelters in his chest when you reply without hesitation, "i do." and then a bit more quietly, you add, "i, uh, have for a while."

now cheol usually likes to tread lightly; he doesn't want to mess around and is great at keeping his dick in his pants but there's just something about the way you look at him so cutely.

you look at him like you know all the nasty things he wants to do to you, and you bat your eyelashes like you don't care—like you'd let him. like you'd take every damn thing he gives you without a single word of complaint, and it's driving him crazy.

again, cheol is great at keeping his foot on the brake, but then you swipe your tongue over your bottom lip and suddenly he's slamming his feet on the accelerator.

wrapping one hand around your neck, he pulls you to smash his lips onto yours. it's a gentle kiss—tentative, as if you're both testing the waters. pressing against each other as your faces tilt, your hands find purchase in his hair when cheol laps at your bottom lip. that's where it all takes off.

the kiss turns from innocent and sweet to sloppy and fast within a matter of moments and suddenly you're grappling at his arms, his hands are searching for your tits, gripping at the flesh and before you know it, you're being thrown to the back.

seungcheol nearly slams your back down onto the seats, your loose shirt riding up your stomach in the process to reveal the lower half of your bra. "fuck," he mutters, low and under his breath in that raspy sort of way that has your clothes feeling too hot and your cunt too empty.

"seungcheol," you moan, unbuttoning your work pants and shoving them off your legs, along with your panties in one go, leaving your wet cunt open and bare. he doesn't take a moment to shuffle back and bring his face down to be level with your core, eyes looking up at you with some kind of mischievous glint that has your stomach churning.

with a bit of hesitance, he places a soft kiss over your clit, watching you carefully to see how you react. when you whine and arch your back against the leather seats, he figures that that reaction is good enough, and this time lets his tongue out, swiping it against the throbbing bad.

"sweet," he murmurs, lips moving down against your folds. the movement and vibrations send sparks through your core and up your spine, and you shudder at the feeling as one hand flies down to grip at his dark hair. "so fuckin' sweet," he repeats before diving his tongue back, swiping it up and down between your folds.

"ah-h-h, seungcheol—fuck," you whimper when he presses the wet muscle flat against your drooling hole, continue to circle around and tease you. fervently, cheol—to put it bluntly—makes out with your cunt. digging his face in between your legs, his nose brushes against your clit when he adjusts his neck to lap and suck against unexplored areas, leaving you mewling into your arm as you try and sit still for him.

there isn't much room in the back, and to be frank, your limbs are in an uncomfy position, and you can only imagine the strain cheol is feeling, bent over and legs in an awkward position when he holds your hips and pulls you closer so he can smother himself in your pussy. he doesn't seem to mind though, lifting his head every few moments to grin up at you with hazy eyes, glossy lips, and a drenched chin, off-handedly commenting something dirty about how nice you taste, how he could live between your legs, how you're driving him fucking insane.

it's the meticulous flicks of his tongue, the deep and guttural words that escape his honeyed lips, and the girth of his fingers when he finally plunges them into your warm cunt that bring you to your edge. it only takes a few rubs and curls against your aching walls before your shaking, crying out his name as you thrust upwards, holding his face down so you can grind against him.

and he whispers the words, "cum angel," so sweetly—a complete contrast to the way his tongue is scooping up all your arousal—and so you cum like you never have before.

fuck my life, you think to yourself as the waves of your orgasm finally hit you. cheol rides you through the high, and he does it good. so good, you're left breathless when he pulls away from your cunt with a dopey smile and feather light kisses all up your thigh and stomach, and then finally your lips.

"my place?" he asks, stroking your cheek gingerly as you blink up at him. and when you nod hazily, he pats you lightly, helping you back to the passenger seat before helping you slip on your panties and pants back on. this time, when cheol gets back into the driver's seat, he places one hand on the steering wheel, the other secure over your still quivering thigh. "relax angel," he murmurs, and you can't help but burn at the gentle words. this can't be the same man who ate you out like you were damn piece of cake just moments earlier.

the drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. if anything, you're fucking enthralled. when he stops at a red light, cheol looks over at you and when your eyes meet you can't help but giggle together until you're cheeky, grinning mess by the time you pull up to his house.

parking in the lavish drive way, cheol tells you to hold on for a second, getting out of the car and making his way to your side, to open the door for you.

"i didn't know that this what you meant by coffee," you giggle, stumbling out next to him and letting him wrap an arm around your waist to help you up the steps to his house. it's a beautiful estate, really, but you aren't too focused on admiring the luxury right now—you're much more interested in what's to come between you and cheol.

and you're about to find out soon enough because as soon as he opens the door, lets you in, and closes it behind you, cheol's hands are all over you. with your eyes closed as you two engage in a hot mess of tongue and teeth and lips, your rocking back and forth in his arms, his legs leading to you to some place you're not really aware of until you feel something hard and cool press against your lower back.

"wear the apron," cheol tells you firmly when he pulls away, pressing you against his cold stone counter. you knit your eyebrows together in confusion, but let your bag that's still on your shoulder drop onto the counter, taking out your apron without hesitation.

it's now that you realize you're in his kitchen. if you weren't in such a ... intimate setting, you would have admired the design, the appliances—all of it. perhaps you'd even wonder what it's like to bake in here, cooking up soobin's favorite banana bread with cheol by your side and—you save those thoughts for another time.

"w-why?" you murmur in response to cheol's request, as you pull the apron out, pulling the pink strap over your head, tying it behind your back as the ache between your legs begins to creep up on you again. cheol's big hands find purchase on your hips again, holding down you down with a firm grip as he turns you around and pushes your back down.

"'cause," he grunts out, and you nearly moan when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling and fabric rustling as he shoves his pants and boxers down. it hardly takes a second before his hands are at the hem of your own pants, yanking them down and giving you a moment so you can step out of them.

you wiggle your ass around for a second, turning to look back at cheol with pleading eyes and ask him to just fuck you already, but then he locks a hand under your jaw, cupping the underside of your face and pulling it up so your back arches into his touch. you can feel the angry, hard head of his cock prodding against the plush of your ass and the feeling of him brush against you has you whining.

"patience, angel," he coos, pressing his face next to the shell of your ear and placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head before easing his way through your folds. you can't even see him but you just know he's big—fat length rubbing up and down your folds as he coats himself in your arousal as you whisper incoherent pleas for more.

"cheolie ..." the nickname slips from your lips with out as much as a brainless thought but it has cheol's head rewiring.

"fuck, say that again," he demands, snaking the hand that's not holding your face down your back until it's gripping the cute little bow of your apron.

you hum as you feel him tugging at the fabric, jerking your body backwards and pushing your cunt harder against him, the fat tip brushing against your sensitive clit. "cheolie!" you mewl again, and you're really not expecting the way he jams his cock into you in one go. not that you're complaining of course.

'cause how could you complain when he's stretching you out so nicely? when his cock is so long it's already hitting kissing your cervix and hitting spots inside of you that you didn't even think were possible to reach? when he's so deep that his balls are pressed against your burning core and his pelvis is flush against your ass?

"you feel so good," cheol moans, and you squeeze around him even tighter when you hear the low, gruff words escape his lips. "this pussy was made for me, huh?" he breathes out with a chuckle, as he pulls out halfway before pulling the strings of the apron so your core meets him halfway, slamming his cock back into you.

"oh god," you moan loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you try and swivel your hips against his for some added stimulation.

"gonna think abt this every time you wear this, won't you?" cheol grunts, twisting his fingers around the bow in the back so he hold onto it tighter.

the thought runs through your fucked out mind for a moment; you're gonna have to walk into work tomorrow, and if you're wearing the apron, you'll have to sit through the day knowing that you had cheol's cock buried inside of you under this same fabric—if you aren't wearing it, you'll have to come up with an excuse for your lovely employees as to why you're not wearing their precious gift.

which option you're going to go with, though, is swept from your mind when cheol sticks a finger into your mouth and presses down on your tongue as he fucks into you harder.

what a moment, you think. getting railed on the counter of a man who you always thought was out of reach. your insides feel like jelly as his fat cock runs against your walls, veins and curves pressing and dragging through you as heat envelopes you.

and as his thrusts increase in force, you start to realize that cheol is nothing if he is not relentless. just when you think you've whimpered his name so much you think you might lose your voice, he's ramming into you harder, punching the air right out of your lungs as broken moans and squeaks that have him losing his damn mind.

"what a fuckin' angel, creaming me cock so well," he praises, yanking you back and forth at an unforgiving pace to match his calculated thrusts. you feel like you're being thrown around in the best way possible, body throttling every time his hips crash against your ass and cause you to lurch forward and arch your back even more.

and as he goes on, the rub of his cock against you, the press of his balls against your clit, his hand in your mouth and pressing against your jaw—it's all so much and so fast and so good until you're shaking and thrashing in his hold.

"mmf—cheolie, wan' cum," you choke out when you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

"yeah? my pretty angel's gon' cum on my cock?"

"yeah-huh," you answer dazedly, body jerking back and forth as his hips snap more haphazardly now, but still hitting that one sweet spot that has your vision going bleary. "can i cum, cheolie?"

and you ask him so fucking sweetly, he can't hold it in anymore, dazedly grunting out something along the lines of, "yeah, angel, cum f'me," before he spills his hot seed inside of you. the sensation of his cum painting your walls white is the final thing you need before joining cheol with your own orgasm, clenching around him so tightly that it has him gripping down on your hips in a way that you know you'll have bruises tomorrow. not that you mind.

how could you, when you just had the most mind blowing orgasm of your life with the hottest guy you've ever met. as you twitch against him, cheol finally pulls himself out and you whimper lowly at the feeling of being empty even though you know you'd probably pass out if you had his dick in you any longer.

gently, cheol strokes your back and caresses the taught muscles, untying the apron that quite literally had you in a chokehold, letting it fall from your figure. "'m sorry," he murmurs into your neck, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, "was i too rough?"

"n-no," you say, face burning when you realize just how croaky and fucked your voice has become. cheol only laughs at you as you dig your face into your hands as you mumble bashfully, "it was ... great." you're slightly embarrassed, yes, but when you catch the look of endearment on cheol's face, you start to think twice.

as you both attempt to even out your breaths, cheol looks down at you panting against the counter, cum spilling out of your fluttering folds. vaguely, he wonders what you'll look like in a bikini in the bahamas. huh, he thinks, maybe he'll have to ask soobin if it's okay to bring an extra certain someone with them on their vacation this summer.

a/n. how i managed to get this out in one day i don't know. the cheol effect i guess. anyways, hope u enjoyed!

tags. @xcynthiaaa @synthetickitsune @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @blinkjunhui @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @marzmeltdown @todorokiskitten (strikethrough could not be tagged)

#seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol smut #seungcheol x reader #scoups imagines #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seventeen imagines #svt smut #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #📝 writing

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oukabarsburgblr · 5 months ago

Text

drabble...

"Daisuke...wake up. You promised me you'd accompany me this time."

There were quiet noises of (m/n) whining while shaking a sleeping ravenette, the (h/c) kneeling beside the arranged thick futon in the dim room. "Mmm..." A groan escaped the ravenette's lips who rubbed his sleepy eyes, opening to see a pouting (h/c) over his face, possibly the greatest thing to wake up to in the mornings.

"...where's Haru?" "He's still asleep. I knew that bitch wouldn't wake up." "Sousuke?" "Like a log." A stifled laugh came from Daisuke as he groggily sat up, pinching (m/n)'s cheek. "I'm up, I'm up." He beckoned the (h/c) to stop sulking.

The four friends were on a glamping trip and (m/n) had a tradition to always explore the town nearby on the second day of the trip in the early morning, but almost every night before, they would play games or pull some random bullshit to tire themselves out so (m/n) was left alone most of the time.

Sousuke had been the solo driver of the trip yesterday so there was no point to waking his tired ass up, Haru was ignoring his pleas and Daisuke had promised him that he would wake up that morning to accompany his adventures.

Now here he finds himself, brushing his teeth and washing himself, getting ready to explore the nearby town. It wasn't remote nor rural, in fact the place was quite popular for tourists so he wasn't exactly surprised when he drove with (m/n) to find a huge shopping complex.

Daisuke wanted to laugh when he saw their outfits when (m/n) pulled out his shirt from his bags. They were matching to say the least, Daisuke Yuichi donned in a white polo shirt, beige khakis and a navy cap on top of his rich black hair. (m/n) (l/n) with a beige sweater, brown pants and a printed scarf tied around his head with strands of (h/c) nested snugly and a pair of sunglasses perched on top as well.

It looked like they were on a date. Well, Daisuke already considered that the second Sousuke wasn't waking up as (m/n) pulled him in further into the shopping mall. "Should I try this?" The (h/c) excitedly placed a maroon glasses into the frame of his face, checking himself out in the mirror. The brand of Emporio Armani, Daisuke's second favourite, etched into the side of the temple.

"Looks good on you. Let's take it." Daisuke shrugged, his hands crossed over his beefy chest, smiling at the (h/c) switching out sunglasses where his own was now on top of Daisuke's head. "You say that with every pair I picked." (m/n) rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't help you look good in everything." He called the attendant to pack three pairs of specs, all of them (m/n) had touched when he had walked into the store, mindlessly swiping his card when the (h/c) attempted to pay for himself.

"Thanks, Daisuke. I'll buy us lunch." "You know you won't." He smirked as the (h/c) smacked his back, muttering insults under his breath. (m/n) never paid for anything around the ravenette, Daisuke using his card his dad feeds money into weekly. There was a porter he had hired from the mall's services, quietly following them around carrying (m/n)'s purchases.

He was more than happy to spoil his prince, buying him luxurious gifts for his birthdays or giving into (m/n)'s spending habits, it won't ever leave a dent into his account anyways.

If Daisuke had looked a tad bit older, maybe more like his father, passerbys would've thought it was a sugar daddy-baby situationship, it was in fact just two close friends shopping together, one of which leaning into more than friends.

His large pale hand was on (m/n)'s lower back as they waited in line in a desserts store, the two making small talk with each other with the ever increasing bags on the porter's arms.

"You'd think they'd be up by now?" Daisuke shrugged again, not even thinking of anyone else whenever he's with the (h/c). "Doubt it. They wore themselves out pretty bad yesterday." "Didn't you suggested to do rock climbing when we got here?" (m/n) glared at the ravenette.

"Hey, not my fault Sousuke wanted to go up until the top." Frankly, it was actually Daisuke challenging the redhead to see who could climb the highest since Sousuke was fairly known to be more athletic than him and he had also been the one to drove them to the homestay.

Daisuke still lost, but he was currently alone, eating ice cream with his crush so who won at the end anyways. He bit into the green pistachio soft serve treat, relishing at the taste, although he had eaten better ones before. The ravenette wiped off a smudge of caramel from (m/n)'s lips before licking his own finger mindlessly, not noticing the flustered expression the (h/c) had for a split second.

The adorable headscarf was still around his head, Daisuke always liked how (m/n) was so versatile. "Wanna check out more stuff?" "It's already past noon, Haru's going to get mad at us." "We could stay a bit longer. Swarovski is just at the other end."

(m/n) eventually caved in and exited the retail store with a few boxes of fresh jewellery and a proud look on Daisuke's face who had bought similar pieces to the (h/c)'s. He tipped the porter handsomely before driving them to their homestay, a satisfied smile resting on his lips as he unconsciously placed a hand around (m/n)'s thigh.

The (h/c) was happy he got to spend religiously today, ignoring the hand around his leg as he checked himself out in the dashboard mirror, adjusting his new maroon specs. The grin on his face dropped as soon as he saw a certain redhead frowing, his arms crossed as he stood at the entry of the homestay.

"Think he's mad?" "I don't care either way." (m/n) groaned at Daisuke's response as they parked in the driveway, the ravenette nonchalantly exiting his side and went to retrieve their purchases at the trunk of the car. The (h/c) went up to Sousuke, trying to console him while the latter only glared at the ravenette who was ignoring him.

"You idiots, do you realise how long you've been out for..." Haru had finally joined the premise, pulling at (m/n)'s ear who yelled at him, saying it was his fault for not waking up as the blonde dragged him inside the house, ready to scold how they had abandoned them past lunch.

Sousuke who had always been the one to save (m/n) from Haru's merciless jabs, ignored the pleas and instead stood face to face with a certain ravenette, holding strings of shopping bags with a straight line on his lips.

"You didn't do anything, did you?" The redhead wasn't pissed but his tone indicated that he was. Maybe he was, just a tad bit jealous that Daisuke got to spend time with (m/n) for hours alone together. "Do what? We just went shopping, dumbass."

Daisuke rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes as he walked past the steaming redhead. "Can't say we're not dating though. Matched a bit too well today." He teased Sousuke one last time before running inside. A pissed ex-delinquent chasing after him to murder the ravenette, not liking the implications he stated.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

This is canon to the Sousuke Daisuke universe idc. I mean all drabbles are canon except for the smutty ones. Consider them as fun fillers, a peek inside their intertwined lives. I love Daisuke haha. I think I had been giving Sousuke a lot more love lately.

Have i ever mentioned how much I love Lee Won? Never read the manhwa but he's such an icon haha

See ya!

Taglist :

@tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer @a-short-ass-disappointment @chikai-k @mello-life25 @miyuuuki @simpsations @sugar-p0p @kiiyoooo @helloanime @garlicforthewin

I keep forgetting abt the taglist😭 forgive me my loves

#oukabarsburg #x male reader #bottom male reader #male reader #x bottom male reader #daisuke yuichi #oc x male reader #oc x reader #male oc

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

Text

K-9 — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Chapter I

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

Simon Riley is crushing on an uninterested, tired medic.

''I don't mean to be rude, but I'm getting tired of seeing you here.'' Your blunt words are met with a quiet chuckle, the masked man looking up at you with pure amusement in his eyes.

'' 'M trying not to get injured, bird.'' Oh, but he isn't. He's actively getting injured just so he can drop by and get your help. It's stupid, really, how his obsession with you began. He thinks about the first time he saw you, standing right next to Price, an unamused expression as he went on and on about his team, telling you stories of their missions and time together and despite how bored you looked, your attention was solely on him.

He took that chance to look at you, to truly admire you, noticing the way you pull up your glasses every few minutes even when they're not sliding down your nose, the way your eyes were focused only on Price, paying attention to no one but him, legs crossed while sitting next to Price, your face resting on your hand.

''Clearly not trying hard enough.'' He can't help the way his cock twitches at your bored tone, the small frown on your lips just making him think how pretty you'd look with his cum all over your face— he shakes his head softly, trying to get his mind out of the gutter, focusing on the fast and professional work you're doing on his injured arm, pulling the skin back together with a beautifully done stitchwork.

''It's hard being out there.'' He tries to make conversation and all you can do is hum in acknowledgement, gaze focused on the way the needle digs into his skin, coming out of the other side just to be pulled back together with the thin, transparent thread.

''Y'know Gaz was hanging from a chopper by a bloody rope?'' He knows you're close to Gaz, he has seen you talk to him often, and so he tries to desperately make conversation again.

''Scared the shit out o' the old man.'' His efforts work as a small snicker escapes your lips, stopping working on his stitches as you collected yourself. You look up at him with an amused glint in your eyes, nodding your head. God, he has never seen something quite as beautiful.

''Cap told me about it. Poor guy had his whole waist bruised.'' You let out another small laugh before turning your attention back to the deep cut in his arm.

''If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're getting injured on purpose.'' His heart almost stops as your cold eyes look back up at his, an eyebrow raised, yet there's a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you notice his lack of response.

'' 'M not.'' Is all he can say, the knowing look you give him enough to make his blood boil, traveling all the way down to his throbbing cock, thankful for the black hoodie sprawled across his lap to prevent the blood from leaking into his jeans. You ignore all the... beige flags, knowing he's not stupid enough to actually get injured on purpose. You finish stitching him up, throwing away the tools used and the bloodied gloves.

''Keep the wound dry for 24 hours, if any of the stitches come off or the wound opens, come to me.'' You softly pat his shoulders, a small yawn escaping your lips as you look up at the clock on the wall; 0200.

''Tired?'' He asks sarcastically, earning him a way-too-hard pat on the shoulder. Simon woke you up at 2 in the morning, claiming his wound couldn't wait. It wasn't even as bad as he made it seem, though you appreciate your work with the TF141 more than you let on, so you decided to help him. It isn't the first time he wakes you up at outrageous hours, claiming to need help for things ranging from a pathetic paper cut to a gunshot wound. This time, his arm was the only thing affected, a cut big enough to need stitches.

''Very. Now get out.'' Your hand sneaks into the back of his uniform, tugging softly and he gets the message, standing up and allowing you to guide him out of your office like he's a child. He doesn't care if it's you.

''Goodnight, Simon.'' You can barely keep your eyes open and he feels a slight sense of guilt at keeping you up, knowing you'll have to be awake again in less than 3 hours.

''Night, Doc.''

[NEXT]

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darylssunshine · 5 months ago

Note

daryl x reader

“whoa hey, you’re bleeding.” reader maybe not realizing it until she looks down. falling into his arms and daryl callin for help. whump whump whumppp . set at the prison ?

Family

word count: 1.1k

a/n: finally getting into the swing of things with requests. hope you enjoy anon <3

~~~

The sounds of people yelling and the banging of chain link fences echoed throughout the prison courtyard. You jabbed your knife through yet another walker, grunting as you pushed it through its thick skull. You, along with everyone else in your small group, including Carl, had been at this for at least an hour now, but it was necessary to keep the prison safe. Still, the constant stabbing motion had your upper arm aching. Probably acid and bile rising up from your stomach, too.

“I got the last one!” Glenn called out from the middle of the formation, sticking his knife right in the middle of the walker’s eye. Audible sighs of relief could be heard from the group, along with a victory ‘whoop’ from Carl. Standing right beside you, Daryl was flicking the excess undead blood from his knife and his hands, wiping the rest on his pants. He shaked a stray hair out of his eye then wiped a hand down his face, sighing and sheathing his now blood-free knife.

“Jesus. Glad that’s over. Can’t wait to do that again tomorrow.” He scoffed, leaning against the fence and stretching his overused right arm.

“I know, right? My arm is killing me. Gonna have to… ” You trailed off, suddenly feeling a wave of dizziness wash over you. You leaned your arm against the fence for support and lowered your head, squeezing your eyes shut.

Daryl stopped leaning against the fence and took a cautious step forward towards you. “Hey, you okay?”

You immediately snapped your gaze back up to the archer, desperately trying to seem like you had your shit together. “Yep. Yeah. I’m okay.” You placed your free hand on your hip to simulate normality. That’s when Daryl looked you up and down and his eyes suddenly went wide.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey, hey! Yer bleedin’!!” He quickly stepped toward you, glancing down sporadically.

You placed your hand on your stomach, discovering the right side was wet and sticky. It was, in fact, blood.

“Fuckin’ damn it.” You mumble, before going limp and falling into Daryl’s arms, him catching you by the armpits.

His heart immediately started racing when he caught you and layed you carefully on the dying grass. The few that surrounded you stepped back to give you some space. He instantly got on his knees and inspected your injuries, praying to whatever deity was listening that you hadn’t gotten bit. After a string of mumbled expletives, he shouted, “I need some fuckin’ help over here!” To no one in particular, his frantic eyes never leaving your closed ones.

What he didn’t see happening behind him was Rick rushing to get Hershel, while Maggie and Glenn hurriedly grabbing a makeshift stretcher and bringing it to wear you laid. He quickly got to his feet and helped you onto the stretcher. He was by your side the entire time and throughout all of the noise and chaos, you could swear you could hear Daryl whispering, “They’re gonna be fine. They’re gonna be fine.”

—

You groggily opened your eyes and instantly felt a stinging on your right side. The events of the past hour flooded back, and you wince. You cautiously felt the area, and thankfully you felt a clean bandage.

Judging by the beige ceiling and the firm yet surprisingly comfortable mattress you were on, you had been placed in Hershel’s room. You slowly moved your head to the side, expecting to be met with an equally beige wallpaper, but to your surprise, you were met with a sleeping, hot headed, brunette, redneck.

He was spread out in a chair he had brought from the dining room. His head was lolled towards you, his hair in his eyes and snoring quite loud. You smiled, heart slightly skipping a beat at the thought of him not wanting to leave your side.

“Hey.” You rasped, cringing at your own voice.

Daryl, being a naturally light sleeper, immediately blinked awake. It took a second for the fog of sleep to leave his brain, but it left fast when he realized that you were awake. That you were alive.

“Holy fuck. (Y/N.) Hey. How’re ya feelin’?” He rambled, scooting the chair closer to the bed and sitting on the edge of it.

“Like shit. But I’ll be fine.” You sighed in response.

“Good.” Daryl said softly, letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Hershel said you probably got scratched by a walker. That true?”

You averted his gaze from his and started picking your fingernails, a nervous habit you’ve had since you were a child. “It happened while we were dealing with that hoard. I didn’t wanna make a scene.”

You heard him sigh deeply and didn’t speak for a moment. You turned your head back towards him, and he had his head in his hand, almost willing himself to speak. He looked up and his eyes looked redder and puffier than they were before. “Why th’ fuck would ya do tha’?”

You slowly sat up in a somewhat sitting position to better look him in the eyes. “We all have to protect this place, Daryl! This family! It’s something that most don’t have these days.”

“We coulda had one less person in th’ family if you’d told me about tha’ any later.” He motioned to your wound with a nod of his head.

“You guys can function without m-” You were cut off from your half-joking comment.

“I can’t, ‘kay?! I can’t. So shuddup. Don’t say tha’.” He suddenly raised his voice a little, making you shut your lips and look at him with your full attention.

“Look. I don’t want ya gettin’ hurt. I care about ya. Always have.” He gazed into your eyes with such a fondness you could’ve started crying right then and there. And you would’ve, if he didn’t look away from you in sudden embarrassment. “Yer the only one who keeps me sane ‘round here.”

You sniffed, chuckling to cover up the tightness growing in the back of your throat. “That why you stayed and kept me up with your snoring?”

“Shuddup.” He repeated, sounding exasperated, but you didn’t miss the slight smile on his face.

He then stood up, flexed his probably sore neck, and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. More heat blossomed onto your cheek at the sudden contact.

“Gonna go get Hershel now that yer awake.” He said softly before walking towards the door.

“Can you bring me dinner after pleeeeease?” You asked, your hands in a prayer motion and your eyelashes batting.

He turned around in the doorframe, his hands in his pockets.

“Sure. ‘S a date.” He drawled, winked, then walked away like nothing happened.

Maybe you should have thanked that walker before you stabbed him.

#daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #asks #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon x gender neutral reader #gender neautral reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon whump #daryl dixon angst

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lightseoul · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 2 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.8k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, adult themes (not smut lol) (yet) (jk) (unless...), the mission finally starts, so much plot from here on out y'all so buckle up

a/n. i didn't get to include the most important bits that were supposed to be presented in this chapter because i got carried away with the buildup lol. exciting times ahead y'all. i have so much in store for you with this series. don't be a stranger and let's talk!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

You can only stare back at the woman peering at you, her face painted with a thick layer of makeup, her hair styled to staged ‘effortless’ perfection, and her body wrapped in an outfit that’s equal parts provocative and refined.

Her image is so flawlessly curated—so much so that you barely notice the apprehension that’s hidden amidst her features, if it weren’t for the fact that that woman is you.

You can barely recognize yourself—and perhaps that’s the point of all this.

Asahi and Moriyama didn’t have to explicitly state it yesterday—they need you to put in every ounce of effort to make sure that you succeed, and that includes doing everything you can to supplement your quirk all the while keeping your real identity lowkey.

Even if it means looking like this.

You’re about to give in to your second thoughts and change out of the black, low-cut tank and beige cardigan you have on when an array of knocks echo from what you think is your front door, and you freeze.

With a cautious glance at your bedroom’s wall clock, you think you’re supposed to feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that it’s 9:00 PM on the dot, the exact time Bakugou said he’d pick you up, which means no villain or mal intentioned person is at your front porch, but that doesn’t come.

Instead, the sense of dread that’s been stirring in your gut ever since you got swept by Asahi’s men yesterday only magnifies, leaving you a bit cold and…are you shaking?

You don’t get to dwell on that, though, because another round of rapping resonates from your foyer again, which somehow pulls you out of your nervous stupor. You hurriedly run to the door, not even bothering to check through the peephole, opening it with a turn of the knob to see Bakugou.

Wearing a white face mask and decked in a fitting black hoodie, with his ash-blonde hair peeking through the sides of a dark baseball cap.

His fist is frozen mid-air as he stares at you, eyes slightly widened in shock, as if he didn’t believe you’re capable of this thing called punctuality. He promptly brings it down, though, schooling his expression into a neutral one, but not before giving you a quick once-over.

“Hey,” he offers, voice gruff and way lower than you remembered it back in high school.

“Hello,” you counter, looking back at your messy apartment out of habit. “I’m almost done. I just need to grab my purse.”

And, because you genuinely need to know for the sake of what you’re about to do, you ask: “Do I look okay?”

He must’ve not been anticipating that question, because his eyebrows furrow ever so minutely like you just caught him off guard. “Yeah,” he eventually replies after studying the entire length of your body once again.

And, you may have just imagined it, but you swear to god his eyes linger on your chest for a beat longer than necessary before he meets your gaze.

“You clean up…” he pauses, like he’s grasping for the right adjective, before settling with: “…decent.”

At that, you feel yourself deflate a bit. Maybe you wanted a more affirming answer, definitely not because you want that from him, but because you need to look good. However, if there’s anything the rumor mill told you back when you were still teenage students, it’s that Bakugou Katsuki was a man of few words when he was serious, let alone appreciative, so you take his comment in stride.

Besides, in comparison to how you looked yesterday, anything is an improvement, really.

“Thanks,” you respond, and you debate for a second whether or not to say the next thing but ultimately decide on it. “…And you look mildly disguised.”

That seems to ruffle Bakugou’s feathers. “Mildly?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling unsure about your honesty. “I get the hoodie and the cap and the face mask, but there’s no hiding your hulking frame, man.”

And really, there isn’t. How are you supposed to conceal a torso as large as that?

You gesture to his chest and shoulder area for further emphasis. “I don’t think you can pass up as a regular citizen but like as a non-descript athlete, maybe?”

To your dismay, Bakugou merely grunts before shaking his head. “This’ll work.”

Apparently already over your suggestion, he glances past your shoulder as he shifts his weight on his other foot. “Can you grab your purse now? We’ve to get going.”

Now, you’ve got half a mind to argue and try to convince him that maybe going for a better disguise is better in the long run but you’re silenced by his domineering gaze. So instead, you nod before rushing back to your bedroom and grabbing the bag you already prepared beforehand, as well as your phone that’s charging on top of your bedside table.

Although it won’t be of much use later, or in the coming few weeks, if everything goes according to plan.

“Ready?” he asks when you return to the doorway with your things in tow.

“Yup,” you retort as you lock the door behind you, and just like that, you’re well on your way to a potential death sentence.

You’re in the elevator going down to the ground floor by the time he speaks up again. “We’re commuting,” he starts, not looking at you but instead scrutinizing the barely hanging on floor buttons. “Can’t risk raising suspicion by driving there.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” you ask just as the elevator dings, signifying your arrival.

The doors burst open, and he steps out. “You’ll see.”

The commute to wherever the hell it is you two are going is quiet.

Bakugou didn’t divulge any further details as you stepped out of your building, wordlessly ordering you with a stern look to just follow. Frankly, you don’t like how you’re being kept in the dark, but you don’t contend. You’re acutely aware that you have a limited number of cards to play with Bakugou, and you have to play them right, if you want to even survive this mission without your partnership falling apart and jeopardizing the entire thing. Wasting a card on stupid information would be downright foolish on your end.

Even the walk to the bus stop is silent, and so is the entire ride. Despite it being quite late into the evening, the vehicle is still somewhat crowded, which you chalk up to it being a Friday night. You find yourself relaxing in your seat as the realization dawns on you—perhaps there was no point in getting too riled up about getting noticed.

And besides, you’re taking extra precautions, too. You’re not sitting next to each other, because he’s trying to stave off attention while you’re straining to catch it. Maybe not of these strangers, but of the people you’re going to meet later on.

Roughly 10 minutes and a short subway ride later, you climb up the underground stairs to a stop you vaguely remember hearing from your coworkers about. You recall how she described an old party district right in the middle of Musutafu, and sure enough, the text on the street signs match the name she recounted during one of your lunch breaks.

“Over here,” Bakugou calls out from a few feet ahead of you. You quickly quit your observing and follow suit, mindful of keeping an appropriate, not at all questionable distance between the two of you.

After what felt like walking five blocks from the subway, you see Bakugou halt and make a left into a poorly lit alleyway. You hesitate for a second, having been on autopilot and going straight for the last how many minutes. You’re able to swiftly gather yourself, though, steering in the same direction.

The moment that you do, it instantly registers to you that you’re not just in the party district anymore. If the dingy signages and the palpable seediness of the alley are any indication, you’re most likely in the red-light district now.

Suddenly, everything feels a bit too real, and you barely catch yourself stumbling back on your feet. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who instinctively moves to reach out for you from where he’s standing. He pauses, though, when you’re able to regain your bearings with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Sorry,” you offer meekly.

He eyes you with the very same inexplicable expression from before. “You good?”

You’re not about to tell him you’re scared shitless, so you give him a half-hearted nod. Turning to study the exterior of the small building, you take in the lightly peeling paint and the booming music emanating from it. “This the place?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat. “Are you sure you’re good?”

You whip to look back at Bakugou, who, if you didn’t know any better, is now looking apprehensive.

You decide then and there that you have to get your shit together.

Bravery is contagious, but so is fear.

For a second, you contemplate using your quirk on yourself to calm your nerves down, but eventually decide against it. There are much bigger fish to fry tonight, and what’s the point of learning all those damned breathing and grounding techniques if you’re not going to use them?

“I’m ready,” you finally tell him after a moment of both of you standing there. “Let’s go in before we start looking unusual out here.”

If Bakugou notices the unease you’re sure you’re radiating, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gives you a curt nod, before turning to open the door.

And when he does, you’re almost instantaneously flooded by the music that was just escaping through the cracks and crevices of the run-down building. You fight the instinct to cover your ears as you step into the large room behind Bakugou, eyes quickly darting all over the place to drink in the scene before you.

Right in the back of the space is a stage that extends in the center as a runway to the middle of the room. The orange and pink mood lights illuminating the area are relatively dim minus the bulbs lining the set and walkway. And, beneath the elevated platform are what have to be pleather seats littered all over the floor—all of which are occupied by decidedly rambunctious men.

You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose as their boisterous laughter fills your ears, opting to face Bakugou instead.

“Hey,” you call out to him, who stops in his tracks to look at you. You sneak a glance at the people at the bar nearest the two of you, just to make sure they’re not listening in, before you continue. “Are you sure this is the place?”

You don’t have to peek beneath his mask to know he’s now scowling at you.

“What am I, a dumbass? I told you, this is it.” He then shifts away from you, far enough that you barely hear his next words. “…It has to be.”

Well.

That’s not exactly comforting.

Your discomfort only heightens when the already faint lights dim further, and the music switches from a pop song to which you know a bit of the lyrics to a rap that, if you were to base it on the first phrase, is all about having explicit, unprotected sex. The crowd of men cheers in anticipation, and as if on cue, a woman dressed in nothing but a two-piece lingerie emerges from the back of the stage, confirming your speculation of what the place is.

A strip club.

You watch as the woman confidently struts towards the center, and apparently, you’re no better than any of the men here because your gaze slowly roves over her slim and toned body, eyes catching at her cleavage that’s leaving nothing to the imagination. You can’t help it—you look down at your own chest, sinking in disappointment at the contrast before promptly looking up in embarrassment, only to find Bakugou studying you closely.

“It’s a strip club,” you blurt out, flustered at getting caught in the act. His eyes only narrow in a way that tells you what you’re already telling yourself: Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, much to your relief, only moving to the far corner of the room where there are miraculously two seats unoccupied. You follow him with no further questions asked, plopping in the chair to his right, thankful you’re wearing black trousers so that your skin doesn’t have to go into contact with the sticky furniture.

You take the opportunity to clock the rest of the room, cataloguing the bar at the other end of the area near the entrance where a barista is swiftly taking and making orders all at the same time, while the men seated on the stools struggle to decide whether to look at the man or at the stripper now performing an elaborate dance around the pole. Amidst the decorated wall adjacent to the bar is a door with a restroom sign on it, and you squint just enough to see it’s only one stall for everyone. You make a mental note to hold in your pee, at least until you get out of here.

And, because you’re feeling nice, you shift to regard Bakugou with a good-natured smile on your face. “I hope you peed right before leaving your house.”

“What?” he says loud enough for you to hear him over the noise they’re calling music. “I can’t hear you.”

“Shit, right.” You lean in ever so minutely, and Bakugou mirrors you. You try to ignore the new-found proximity. “I said,” you repeat, with a little more volume this time, “I hope you peed right before fetching me. I bet the toilet’s filthy as shit.”

To your delight, not that you’d admit that to him in this lifetime, Bakugou smirks at your little quip after confirming the lone comfort room with his own eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, princess,” he starts, and you stiffen at the nickname, “I’m not the one who has to sit on one.”

You’re about to retort with something along the lines of what if he has to poop out of the blue, or at least try to, because the pet name has you gagged against your better judgment, when a ridiculously tall man clad in all black appears out of nowhere, startling you.

“The f—”

“Dynamight,” the behemoth of a guy cuts you off, eyes trained on the pro-hero beside you and completely ignoring your presence. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Took you long enough to approach me,” Bakugou sneers, oozing with the confidence you can’t find within yourself right now. “I hate sleazy places like this.”

To that, the man only bows his head slightly, face solemn but devoid of remorse. You watch him as his eyes finally drift to you, albeit for only a split second, before looking back at Bakugou. “Follow me, sir.”

The ash blonde does so, perhaps a tiny bit begrudgingly, and you speedily get up along with him. The two men turn to move, and you’re about to take a step closer towards their direction when a long arm shoots up in front of you, keeping you in place.

Any protests die in your throat when you look up and see the guy’s menacing glare.

“If you don’t mind,” he grits through his teeth, “Only Dynamight is needed.”

“She’s with me,” comes Bakugou’s commanding tone. You chance a glance at the pro-hero, whose countenance is so serious you’d be afraid if you were the one he’s talking to.

“But, sir—”

“It’s the two of us or we’re leaving,” Bakugou demands.

The two engage in a stare down which you witness for what feels like a few minutes before the man finally looks away, frustration etched across his intimidating features. He glares at you once more, as if you’re the one who’s insisting on being Bakugou’s plus one, and you’re about to be convinced that he’s mentally chanting a spell to make you disappear when he gestures for you to follow him with a flick of a head.

You gradually release the breath you didn’t know you were holding as you shadow them as they enter one of the doors on the wall perpendicular to where you were just stationed. It leads to a staircase that swerves in the middle, and you lock eyes with Bakugou as he makes the turn ahead of you. Neither of you says a word, opting to keep on trailing the man, even as you land on the second floor, which looks more and more like a prostitution den.

Once again, your conjecture is confirmed as you walk down the hallway and past several sets of doors on both sides, from which emanate a cacophony of sensual moans and groans. You wonder what Bakugou’s thinking right now, although you can’t get a read on him as you can only observe his backside.

Finally, after what seems like a tortuous eternity, the man stops right in front of the door at the end of the hallway, and you pause right behind him.

He looks back at Bakugou and you with what you’re pretty sure is caution, before knocking on the door twice, and then another two times but in rapid succession.

“Come in,” is what the muffled voice on the other side says.

And so you do.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, because you’ve never actually been in a service room before, but you at least anticipated a bed on which certain…activities can be done.

But what you’re met with instead seems to be a refurbished lounge room with floor-to-ceiling brick walls, black and red quilted couches, and a bar at the far side all lit up with moody orange lighting.

And smack dab in the middle of it—sprawled so languidly all over the furniture—are three individuals.

Three individuals who immediately look at Bakugou.

It’s them, alright. You don’t need your extensive training in reading people to know that these are the ones you came all the way here for.

You quickly take note of their appearances. The seemingly old man who has to be in his late 50s is seated—quite relaxed—in one of the scarlet solo chairs. He’s slim, bordering on frail, but the glint in his eye as he peers at Bakugou tells you that it’d be unwise to rule him out as one of your main threats.

Juxtaposing his age which is further revealed by his shoulder-length salt and pepper hair is the young woman plastered on the couch adjacent to his.

Or maybe ‘woman’ is a bit too generous…

It’s not obvious at first glance, but you immediately notice how some of her body parts appear to be outright robotic in the literal sense. Perhaps it’s her long, pin-straight, jet-black hair that softens her entire look, but there’s no mistaking what seems to be an artificial left eye, a metallic right arm, and angled, silver lips. She’s wearing long pants so there’s no telling which other parts of her are made up of what you think is steel, but the ones visible to you already tell you enough.

And then there’s the third and last man, who, in comparison to the other two, is remarkably…plain.

There isn’t an air of age-induced wisdom around him, nor is there anything peculiar about his body. He looks like just about any other 40-year-old-ish Japanese man you know, with short black hair, an unassuming face, and semi-formal clothes that are quite loose on his not-buff but not exactly thin body either.

But to your surprise, it’s him that the hilariously huge guy from earlier directly reports to.

“Pro-hero Dynamight, sir, as you requested. And…” the ‘escort’ trails off, and for a split second, you feel kind of sorry you’re here and making things complicated for him. “…he brought company.”

“Finally,” the plain-looking man pipes up from his seat, and even his voice is generic. “And here we thought you were never going to come meet us.”

Placing what suspiciously looks like a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him, the man shifts to fully regard Bakugou. “I see that you’ve deciphered the messages we’ve been sending you?”

“No shit,” comes Bakugou’s blunt response, and for a beat, you seriously consider using your quirk on him to make him calm the fuck down.

You decide against it.

To your chagrin, he drones on. “Y’all gotta do better. That was barely even a code.”

At that, the old male barks out a laugh while the plain-looking man only chuckles. “Of course, we expect nothing less from the #2 pro-hero. But…” the latter trails off, eyes finally landing on you. You quickly put on the most endearing smile you can muster, suddenly regretting not touching up your makeup upon sitting earlier. Thankfully, though, he smiles back, before redirecting his focus back on Bakugou.

“I see you brought precious cargo. Is there any reason why she’s here with us?”

“We want in your organization,” Bakugou replies without hesitation. “The both of us.”

And when none of them say anything in response, Bakugou presses.

“You need me, right? I heard you’re planning an attack. I want to join.”

“Yes,” the old man finally speaks up, not even denying it yet his voice is riddled with misplaced humor. “We do, in fact, need you. But what use do we have of this girl?”

“She’s got a useful quirk,” Bakugou supplies, before turning to look at you and then back at them. “Luck. She boosts the success rate of anyone she works with.”

“Luck?” the old geezer says back so incredulously, you feel your eye twitch in annoyance. If he only knew what you were fully capable of. He can’t, though, if you want to get out of this entire situation alive. “I don’t think we’ll need that as long as we have you, boy.”

“Well, tough luck,” spews Bakugou, a little bit too sarcastically for your comfort. “Because, as I’ve told your little lackey here,” he gestures to the definitely not little guy from earlier, “It’s both of us or I’m out.”

“The both of you, huh?” muses the plain-looking man who’s seeming to be more and more like the leader of the group by the second.

Once again, silence envelopes the room when none of them utter a single word, with you and Bakugou watching in anxious (you) and impatient (him) anticipation. You observe their facial expressions as they have a wordless exchange, and judging by how the ancient and the robotic girl are looking at the ordinary man, you guess your hunch about him is right.

Eventually, they appear to reach an agreement, and the leader adjusts just enough to look at the both of you directly.

You brace yourself with bated breath.

He flashes you a modest smile.

“It’s a deal, then.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3 @certaindreampost @3ve88 @tsumuus @4acoffee @anonymity-222 @lousypotatoes | @matchat3a @harryzcherry @h0nestly-though @cc1306 @gold24fish @bakukags @zennypiee @wannabewolf @kameko-ko @lovra974 @arc6021 @kooromin @surprisemodafakas @ilovedenk-i @st4ntwic3 @j1tterbugaboo @call-memissbrightside @arael-asuka @bakugosgothhoe

#btw just a friendly reminder to pls be nice esp when asking to be included in the tag list!#maintaining it is quite taxing and it doesn't help when people are not exactly kind about it and/or disappear entirely after requesting :')#depending on how high-maintenance it gets i might scrap it tho #anw pls enjoy this chapter! i worked hard on this <3 #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

I recently found ur page and omfg I spent hours yesterday reading all ur work!!!! What a lil fic of Sirius and reader but like pre relationship where she's in the hospital (u can pick reason) and she refuses to see anyone and just asks for Sirius

Thanks for requesting my love!

cw: hospital, mention of stitches

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

Sirius feels awkward and stiff as he pulls back the curtain, though for all he knows you’re too hopped up on pain meds to even know it’s him. Really, that’s the only reasonable explanation for the directions the nurse had just delivered: “She said she’ll only see Sirius right now.”

He has no clue why you’d ask for him. He’s probably the least comforting of your roommates, and as soon as he catches sight of you, knees tented in front of your chest and hands clasped around your ankles, his worry for your choice deepens.

Someone’s tried to clean you up, but they’ve done a shit job of it. There’s still blood crusted on your chin, and your face is blotchy, your cheeks smeared with dark gray like you’d wiped across them with your hands only to spread your makeup off to the sides. James had said you’d cried the whole car ride to A&E, but Sirius still wasn’t prepared to see you like this. His chest feels hollow and achy.

“Hey,” you say, voice scratchy. If hearts have strings, you’re playing his like a fiddle.

“Hey, doll.” He goes for a smile as he sits on the edge of your little cot, managing to sound halfway normal. “Come here often?”

You start to grin, then stop like it hurts. Sirius stops, too.

“Yeah, you know,” you say, “now and then.”

“Don’t see why.” He makes a show of looking about him, at the papery blue curtain and beige-ish linoleum floors. “Place is sorta depressing.”

You roll your eyes, and Sirius’ heart lightens to see you in a better humor. “Yeah, I think I’ve judged my hangout poorly. I’m dying to get out of here.”

He’ll bet. You’ve been here hours longer than him. James had been the only one home with you when you’d tripped on the stairs and bitten through your lip, and Sirius and Remus had only found out when they’d gotten home and seen the note James left, his already scribbly handwriting worsened by haste and panic. By the time they’d arrived they’d missed most of the action (Sirius was secretly thankful for that) and James had filled them in before the nurse had come out to inform them that you’d gotten three stitches in your lip and summoned Sirius back.

“I can understand that.” He gives you his best approximation of James’ easygoing grin. “You ready to go home then, gorgeous?”

The shift is slight, but Sirius sees your bravado fade, a shyness entering your expression. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you,” you say.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother to hide his curiosity. “Why’s that?”

“Because I know you’ll be honest with me.”

He feels his eyebrows go up. “About what?”

You shrink a bit, knees drawing closer to your chest. Your voice is small when you ask, “Is it awful? I mean, do I look awful?”

Ah. Sirius can see why you’d want him for this, but you’re wrong in your assumption. He’d absolutely lie to you if he needed to, just like Remus or James would in his place. But you’ve asked for him, so Sirius tries to do right by you.

“You could never look awful, dollface. Be sensible.” He squints his eyes teasingly, reaching for your ankle and giving it a reprimanding little shake. “It’s just a couple of stitches, you haven’t been warped unrecognizable.”

You frown, and it’s even more upsetting than usual. Your eyes look heart-breakingly insecure. “Are you sure?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure.” Sirius scoffs like you’re unbelievable. “You said it yourself, babe, I wouldn’t lie to you.” He definitely would, but there’ll never be an occasion for that. He can’t imagine you genuinely looking bad. “I can clean you up a bit, though, if you’d like.”

You blink. “Um, yeah. If you think it would help.”

“Brilliant. Sit tight.” Sirius gets up and starts going through drawers, sifting through medical supplies for something he can use.

“Fairly sure you’re not supposed to do that.” You sound like you’re trying not to smile.

“Fairly certain my taxes pay for this place, and they’ve left my best-looking roommate with a dirty face.” He finds a box of mini-wipes, turning back to you. “Don’t tell James I’ve said that.”

“Oh, I’m definitely tattling on you,” you tease, and Sirius is caught between feeling triumphant and worried that you look very near to grinning. He has no clue how easy it is to tear your stitches.

“What, you want us to match? That’s cruel, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “He won’t punch you.”

Sirius huffs a laugh, holding you still with a hand on your jaw as he wipes gently at your chin. “You haven’t known him as long as I have.”

Your brows flick up as you meet his eyes, disbelieving. “Our James? You really think our James would hit you for saying he’s not the best looking roommate?”

“Well, not if you’re in front of me,” he muses. He throws out the first wipe, ripping open another. “He already feels bad for you, so maybe that can work in my favor. If you are going to tell him, lean on me as we walk out, okay, doll? Give me a fighting chance.”

The corner of your lips twist as you close your eyes and Sirius wipes sideways across your cheek. “Yeah, fair enough. I’ll do my best for you.”

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pretentious-blonde · 2 months ago

Text

yours

pairing: remus x reader

summary: after inviting remus's oldest friends to dinner to introduce his new girlfriend, a secret slips that could alter their entire relationship

warning: alcohol

a/n: it is my second fic as the first one seemed to go over well. also this was supposed to be just a happy dinner but I got carried away :)

The kitchen filled with the smell of sauteed garlic and onions, the sound of pots gently simmering on the stove as Remus bustled about, trying to prepare for the evening ahead. The soft, golden light of the afternoon sun was pouring in from the window as it helped illuminate the room. He was dressed the same way he always was, casual but put together, a simple beige jumper and his well-worn jeans. He rolled up his sleeves once more as they kept falling down his long arms, and pushed his glasses back into place so he could get a better look at the task at hand.

Despite his outward appearance, there was a certain stress that was palpable radiating off him. His eyes kept flicking to the watch on his wrist whenever he had to stir the pot on the stove, awaiting the arrival of his childhood friends.

You entered the kitchen behind him, now changed out of your pyjamas from that morning, you joined your boyfriend as he moved around the kitchen with practised ease. He flicked his hair back from his face with a sharp movement and you could feel the nerves he was trying to ignore, feeling the flutter of your own heart at the excitement of meeting his two closest friends.

“Rem, you need to sit down for a moment?” You ask with a chuckle as you place your hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to wear yourself out before they even get here.”

He glanced up from the stove, relaxing slightly as he took you in.

“You look beautiful, darling,” he said with a small smile. He gently kissed the side of your face before turning his attention back to dinner. “Just want everything to be perfect. Like you.”

You playfully tap his shoulder with a grin. “It will be,” you reassure him, squeezing the top of his arms. “I’m sure I’ll love them.”

The brown-haired boy let out a soft smile and shook his head. “They can be quite…boisterous,” he tells you after a little thought. “Don’t take anything that comes out of their mouths too seriously.”

You raise an eyebrow and lean against the counter, crossing your arms with a teasing smile. “Boisterous huh?” You smile at his wording as he frowns, cheeks spattering with red. “I’m sure I can handle that. Besides, if they’re anything like you, I might even enjoy it.”

He laughed at your confidence but he still had a hint of concern, he knew the two well. Very well. Their personalities were huge, and to the wrong person, it could really rub them the wrong way. “Well, I warned you. James is going to start with something juvenile about settling down, and Sirius—“

“—will probably give me all of the details about how you used to be a notorious prankster in your youth?” You completed his sentence with a smirk on your lips. “I can handle that easily, I’ve dealt with worse. Remember the time I accidentally stood on Flitch’s cat in front of him? I survived that…sort of.”

He laughed, a deep warm sound that flooded into the room, it never failed to make your chest feel warm. “Alright, alright. I guess you can survive anything then, dove.”

You gave him a playful wink. “Precisely. Now, why don’t you sit down and let me finish up in here. I swear I will not burn anything.”

He reluctantly strode over to the chair, pulling it back as he relaxed into it, watching you work in his absence. “You have my full trust. Just one thing ok?”

“What is it?” You ask, your eyes sparkling in the dim light, he can’t help but admire the sight of you. All dressed up pretty for this evening. All this effort for his sake.

“If they get too much, tell them to piss off. They can handle it.” He tells you are he rests his chin on his hand, his lovesick expression completely covering his previous stressed one.

You shake your head at him. “Stop worrying, I’ve got it covered,” you grin at him. “Just enjoy the fact you have having dinner with your best friends, please?”

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door that echoed through the flat, followed by muffled chatter. Remus leapt up and gave you a quick kiss to your temple before he made his way down the stairs to let them up. You smiled as you heard your boyfriend’s voice greeting your guests, the conversation was muted but grew louder as they made their way inside.

“Domestic life certainly suits you,” a voice called out, filled with playful disbelief.

“Gonna need the secret,” another chimed in, the tone equally light and teasing as the first. “Is it a charm? Potion perhaps? Is that how you got her to say yes?”

You hear a thunk and suppress a giggle, Remus had probably tapped one of them to shut them up. “It’s called ‘being patient’, you heard of it?” He asks sarcastically. “Behave, otherwise you are being kicked out the way you came.”

Only a few moments later, two men appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, their eyes glowing as they took in the sight of you and smiles growing even wider. The one with glasses, James you presume from the conversations you have had previously, was the first to speak.

“Well, well, well,” He began, entering the space. “Looks like Remus is a lucky guy. I’m James.”

He holds out a hand for you to shake, which you do with pleasure. “Lovely to meet you.”

The darker-haired man followed, his expression playful. “I agree with James here, you sure you didn’t use any spells here Moony?”

You lock eyes with Remus and look at him puzzled, he had never mentioned that nickname before and looked flushed. Oh, you were so going to enjoy finding out more of what your sweet boyfriend had kept from you, and you were going to love every second of it.

You shook Sirius’s hand and matched both boy’s expressions with a confident smile. “I’m afraid there was no magic involved,” you told them with a small chuckle. “Pure luck and fate.”

Remus rolled his eyes but his heart swelled with your admission. “Okay, okay, enough,” he placed a hand on each boy’s shoulder, ushering them to the dining table. “Darling, why don’t you go sit at the table? I can handle the rest.”

You nodded at him, not noticing James and Sirius sharing the same look as the pet name fell from their friend’s lips. You sit down at the table, which is still in the kitchen thank god, you were happy that Remus was still in the room and hadn’t left you to fend for yourself.

James and Sirius took their seats opposite you, glancing at your boyfriend with overdramatic smiles. “Settle down,” he said, his parental attitude had you stifling a laugh. “I hope you’re both hungry.”

“Starved,” James said dramatically whilst placing his hand on his stomach. “You have outdone yourself here Moony. Where have you been hiding your culinary skills all this time.”

It was Sirius’s turn to speak. “Yeah, I always thought you were more of a ‘charred toast’ kind of guy.”

You rolled your eyes at their antics. “It was a joint effort,” you pipe up. “I like to think of Remus as my trusted sous-chef.”

“Sous-chef?” James’s expression feigned surprise. “I didn’t know you had culinary ambitions, Remus.”

The man hovering over dinner scoffed. “I shall have you know I am very skilled with a spatula,” he waved it in front of him to emphasise his words. “Just don’t ask me to make a soufflé any time soon.”

Sirius laughed and leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling well at home. “So, what’s on the menu tonight, chef?”

“Ratatouille and herb potatoes,” you tell them. “Remus’s choice, he has been asking for it all week.”

“Sounds French so it must be fancy,” Sirius says with a more serious tone, making you giggle. “I shall see if it lives up to your praise.”

Remus made his way over from the kitchen counter, oven mits on as he delivered the steaming hot food to the table. He removes the gloves from his hands and throws them absentmindedly on the table next to him as he takes his seat next to you. He gave you a reassuring nod as he tugged his chair in, brushing his leg against your own, perhaps an accident but still the action made your heart soar.

“It looks lovely sweetheart,” he tells you softly, his eyes shining with nothing but adoration, looking proud, finally able to show you off to his friends. They both shared another glance as they witnessed the interaction.

“Well, Moony,” James said with a teasing grin plastered on his face. “Never would have pegged you for such a sap. It’s…nice.”

Sirius chimes in next. “You’re practically glowing mate, all loved up.”

His cheeks reddened slightly but his expression never faltered. “You are just jealous because you are the last bachelor,” he smugly replies.

You playfully nudge his shoulder before turning your attention back to the boys. “So, I’ve only heard bits and pieces from your time at Hogwarts. Care to share any stories Remus may have been keeping from me?”

A spark appeared behind James’s eyes, clearly ready to divulge precious information. “Oh, where do we even begin? What about the food fight in The Great Hall? Or the time we charmed the sorting hat to only speak Swahili during the sorting ceremony?”

Sirius barked out a laugh as the memories came flooding back to him. “And don’t forget the time we made everyone's hair turn red for the Quidditch house cup! That left everyone pissed for weeks!”

The boy next to you couldn’t hide the embarrassment on his face as he shifted in his seat. “Yeah, well…I didn’t really have a say in these schemes. I was just dragged along for the ride.”

You laughed gently, leaning into his side as to reassure him, trying to ease his mortification. “Oh, I bet you had a lot of fun, though. Sounds like you relished making mischief.”

He blew a large puff of air out of his lungs, amusement gracing his features. “I do admit, it was fun. But only because I was with these idiots.” He gave the two boys sitting opposite an affectionate, albeit exasperated look. “It got me out of my shell, that’s for sure.”

James lifts his glass as if making a toast. “To our precious Moony, then. For not only surviving our escapades but apparently, also surviving us.”

Sirius nodded along before raising his own glass. “And to his lovely girlfriend, for entertaining him in our absence. We are eternally grateful for your sacrifice.”

You laughed wholeheartedly at their words before looking over at Remus. He was entirely fixated on you, his eyes filled with the familiar warmth they always have when directed at you. “I’m flattered,” you say teasingly. “Glad to see my sacrifice has been acknowledged.”

You felt a gentle hand rest on your leg under the table, Remus’s gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you, darling.”

It was now your turn to blush, feeling a wave of fondness rush through you. The dinner flowed smoothly, with the boys speaking over one another in their attempts to relive their past misadventures. Remus’s hand never left your thigh, even when he waved an accusatory finger at Sirius trying to blame him for some previous mishap in a prank long ago. You rested your palm over his own, intertwining with his, letting him know you were right there with him, even among the raucous that was ensuing at the table.

Sirius, clearly merry on one too many glasses of wine, leaned back in the chair with a tipsy grin. “You know,” he began, his body now turned to face your own. “It’s really something the way you handle our Remus. Not everyone can manage his…unique schedule.”

You paused just before you were about to take another bite, the words hanging in the air, fork hovering above your plate. You turned your attention to Remus next to you and his expression made your nerves spike. His face was pale. Too pale. Like all of the blood had been drained from him. His eyes were locked on Sirius, who seemed oblivious to your boyfriend’s clear horror.

You placed your utensils down and frowned, confusion swirled around in your head. “Unique schedule?” You echoed his words, trying to make sense of Sirius’s previous comment. “What do you mean?”

Remus’s knuckles were turning a shade of white as he gripped the table, trying to keep his composure before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Sirius,” he said, but the strain in his voice was noticeable.

James picked up on what was happening and kicked the man next to him under the table. “Mate, I think you’ve had enough,” his laugh is fake as he taps the side of Sirius’s now empty glass. The action does nothing to lessen your clear confusion. You glance up at Remus as if to ask for an explanation.

“It’s nothing, dove,” he said, clearly trying to regain his composure. “Just an inside joke.”

Sirius and Remus share a quick glance, the darker-haired boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and begins to speak again. “Alright, new topic. Did we tell you about the time the Lily finally pranked James for the first time? If you thought he was head over heels before, nothing would have prepared you for how he acted after that.”

You shook your head and urged him to carry on, but you couldn’t help the seed of doubt that had just been planted in your mind. Questions buzzed around in your head and the fact that your boyfriend’s leg would not stop bouncing next to yours did little to calm you down. He was silent as Sirius dove into his story, not even smiling at the jokes he was sneaking into the tale. He just felt…frozen. As if all the joy had been sucked out of him in that moment. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to bring this up later.

The rest of the evening proceeded with a renewed focus on lighter topics, but the shadow of Sirius’s comment lingered in the air, adding a layer of tension to the otherwise warm and affectionate atmosphere.

After the plates had been cleared away, James and Sirius insisted on doing the washing up for the two of you. What would have been a thoughtful gesture was clouded as Remus refused to look in your direction for more than a few seconds. It was clear that whatever was brought up this evening had rattled him. He was scared.

The evening came to an end with James and Sirius gathering their things, still cracking light jokes about Remus and his new girlfriend, though the air was notably tenser than it had been earlier. Remus’s smile was tight as you both walked them downstairs and to the door.

Sirius lingered slightly behind, now looking a little bit more subdued, his earlier drunken state had mellowed out as he pulled Remus in for a quiet apology, one only he could hear. “I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to—I thought—”

Remus just nodded solemnly, already dreading what might occur once the two of you were left alone. His jaw was clenched as he reached over to open the door, avoiding his friend’s eyes. “Get home safe, Pads,” he said with defeat, voice hoarse with emotion.

James offered you a warm smile as he passed you by, his face softer as he spoke to you seriously for the first time that evening. “It was great meeting you, I have to introduce you to Lily sometime,” he glanced over at Remus, his posture still stiff. “Take care of him for us, yeah?”

“Of course,” you replied earnestly, but when you looked over at the tall man next to you, he seemed completely detached from what was transpiring around him.

When the door clicked shut, the silence that followed was unbearable. He was the first one to move, climbing up the stairs back to your flat, waiting for you to follow. You both stood frozen in the kitchen, waiting for the inevitable conversation to start. He was rigid, his mind going a hundred miles an hour.

This is what he had been dreading, you finding out. There was no doubt in his mind. If he told you the truth, you would leave. You would shove all of your things in a bag and just leave. The only reminder that you were once here would be the toothbrush left in the bathroom which he would stare at in the morning when he inevitably got up. Taunting him about what he could have had.

You could feel the pressure in the room increase, and as much as you didn’t want to bring it up, you knew that there was no other choice if you wanted to get answers. You couldn’t live with the doubt you felt after seeing his reaction. Not when it seemed this important.

“Rem, what was Sirius talking about?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to scare him more than he already was.

His back stiffened even more at the question, he turned slowly to face you, his expression failing to mask the panic underneath it.

“It’s nothing,” he spoke too fast, too quickly, his words sharp and defensive. “He was just… drunk. You misheard.”

You frowned, trying hard not to feel hurt by the clear lie and dismissive tone. “No, I didn’t. What did he mean by ‘unique schedule’? Please, do not lie to me.”

“I’m not,” he said sharply, harsh tone making it hard not to flinch away. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his knuckles changing colour as he tried to keep his emotions from leaking out. “Just drop it.”

“Why are you being like this?” You pressed, your question valid. He had never acted this way before. Ever. He was always so open with you, even down to the most mundane things. This was the same boy who answered your every question, every query. Were all those answers just lies as well? “I just want to understand.”

But the poor boy couldn’t even look at you, couldn’t meet your gaze as he knew the expression you would be wearing. The one that would break him completely, especially with the knowledge that he made you feel that way. The fear inside him began bubbling over, his ribs tightened and his breath quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly as the facade he wore so well started to unravel. He shook his head and began to pace, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can’t—“ his voice cracked painfully. “You don’t understand—I can’t lose you.”

The words caught you off guard, they were not the ones you expected. “Lose me? Remus, you are not going to lose me.”

“You don’t get it!” He suddenly burst out, voice ragged and raw. His breathing was erratic now, on the verge of hyperventilating and it took everything in your power not to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Tell him everything is going to be okay. “If you knew—if you knew what I am—you’d leave. You’d be gone, just like everyone else. And the worst part is I wouldn’t even blame you.”

You watched as the man you love completely shattered in front of you. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he ran them over his face, a weak attempt to hide the tears that were already forming in his eyes. His breathing was shallow as if he was fighting against an invisible force trying to suffocate him.

“Remus,” you whispered gently, taking a step towards him, but he jerked backwards, scared of you touching him. He spoke, his voice was filled with anguish.

“I’m a monster,” he choked out, his words tumbling over one another as they exited him, rushing to get out. “W—werewolf.”

Pained, he managed to get the last word out, but there was no relief when it was finally uttered it. “Every month I turn into something dangerous, something that could—will hurt you, and I—I didn’t tell you because I was terrified. Terrified you would leave. Terrified that if you knew the truth, you’d see me for what I am. I know it’s selfish but—”

His voice broke completely and his legs gave out beneath him as he collapsed on the couch, his face now buried in his hands as his body vibrated with adrenaline. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his body shaking more with every ragged breath that left him. “I should have told you, but I’m selfish. I wanted to keep you, even if that meant lying to you. Sweetheart I’m—I’m so sorry.”

Your heart shattered for the man in front of you, watching him fall apart, consumed with nothing but fear and guilt. You had never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so catastrophically broken. The sight made your own eyes sting with tears as you wanted nothing more than to reach out for him.

Without saying a word, you moved towards him, kneeling down slowly and gently prying his hands away from his tear-streaked face. “Remus,” you say shakily, cradling his face in your hands with all of the softness you could muster, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Remus, look at me. Please.”

His watery eyes met yours, filled with so much pain and self-loathing, it nearly took your breath away. He gazed at his sweet girl, too sweet for him. She didn’t deserve this burden. She didn’t deserve any of it. If he could take it all back and never have met her he would, the look on her face was almost too much to bear. He wanted to run away. Far away from here. But he had to listen, you deserved that. He would hear what you had to say. He would do anything you asked of him.

“I don’t care,” you tell him firmly, trying to keep the tears from spilling and your voice steady. He needed this right now. Needed you to tell him it was all going to be okay. “I don’t care what you are. You could never be a monster to me. You’re my Remus. You’re the man I love. The man who is kind to me, who is gentle. The man who treats me like I am the most precious thing in the world. That is all I care about.”

He stared at you with utter disbelief, not fathoming the words you just spoke to him. The words were spoken softly, as if they were the simplest of truths. “But—but I could hurt you. I could—“

“You won’t.” You interrupted him, brushing a fallen tear from his cheek with your thumb. “You would never hurt me. I trust you, Remus. I trust you with everything.”

His lip quivered again and more tears followed. “I don’t deserve you, you know that? Not in a million years do I—”

You lean in before he can continue his sentence, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips. Your hand cupping his face gently as you try to pour everything you felt into him, you feel his hesitancy as he doesn’t reciprocate. “Yes, you do,” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just enough to meet those amber eyes you have grown to love so much. “You deserve love, Remus. You deserve to be happy. I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a broken sob, lurching forward and burying his face in your shoulder as he clung to you like a lifeline. Holding you close as if you would disappear from him. “I love you,” he whispered in your ear over and over again like a mantra, words slightly muffled against your now tear-soaked skin. “I love you so much.”

You run gentle fingers through his brown hair, shushing him and pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. “I love you too,” you whisper as you hold him close. You would tell him as many times as he needed to hear it, letting him cry until the storm inside him finally began to calm.

After a long moment, not that you minded one bit, you pulled back slightly. You brushed the tears from his cheeks with a tenderness he had long forgotten. “You know,” you said with a wet smile, trying to lighten the mood between you both. “For a self-confessed ‘monster’, you really are just a big softie.”

A watery chuckle escaped him and he shook his head at your audacity, his grip still holding onto you firmly. “Only for you, dove,” he murmured, his voice still thick with emotion, but at least there was a small smile playing on his mouth, tugging at the corners.

You grinned and pressed another firm kiss to his lips, this one he allowed himself to feel and he melted into you, arms tightening around you once more as if he was afraid to let you go. “I’m yours,” you tell him. “No matter what.”

Remus pulls back just slightly, gazing at your face with a mix of shock and adoration, his brown eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them and full of emotion. His lips twitched into a playful smile as he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Mine huh?” He asked, his voice quiet but teasing. “Sweetheart, I have to warn you—it’s a terrible deal. Comes with occasional transformations and an excessive collection of books, overwhelming amounts of tea too.”

You laugh softly, seeing your Remus return with the same playfulness you were unaware you missed so much. He leaned in closer, his lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. “But I’ve got a pretty decent return policy. You’ll get a lifetime of love, some awful jokes and me being hopelessly, utterly devoted to you, sweetheart."

Your heart swelled at his words, but before you could respond, he pressed his lips to yours once again, this time slower, softer, and full of all the love he had just confessed. When he reluctantly pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, still keeping you in his arms. “I’m yours, darling,” he said with raw honesty. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

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merakiui · 7 months ago

Text

angels in tibet.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, obsession, abo/omegaverse (alpha azul & omega reader), knotting, brief implications of breeding, mirror sex, sugar daddy, age gap (azul is 50 and reader is 24) note - while experiencing a nasty bout of low self-esteem, you fear azul has lost interest in you. on the contrary, he can't get enough.

I’m not sure about this…

You fidget in front of the horizontal mirror, tugging at the sheer material of your violet babydoll. It’s a beautiful piece, matched with a pair of dainty, crotchless panties, but there’s something about it that doesn’t fit right. Will this make you more irresistible? Were you irresistible to begin with? Maybe you’re worrying over nothing. Azul is a very handsome alpha, looking as affluent as he sounds and smells. It’s natural he would receive all kinds of compliments. Having attended dozens of dinner dates with him throughout the year, you’ve grown accustomed to the occasional interruption—an omega overwhelmed with his presence or an alpha hoping to gain another wealthy connection.

Compared to the exquisite company he keeps, you feel worthless—a speck of nothing versus a brilliant something.

A gentle knock at the door shakes you from your self-conscious spiraling. You pat yourself down to give your anxious hands a mindless task.

“J-Just a moment!”

“Is everything all right?”

You glance at yourself in the mirror once more. “Yes, I’m fine! I’ll be out in a second.”

“There’s no rush. Take your time.”

Steeling your nerves, you swallow razored insecurities and reach for the knob.

Stop thinking about it. Lots of omegas approach him all the time. It’s the same for alphas and betas. Sometimes they approach me, too. You crack the door open and nervously step out into the bedroom. But he looked so happy when that one omega was talking to him…

Azul’s cerulean hues snap up to view you from where he lounges on the end of bed loveseat. His stare trails up the length of your legs, assessing every inch of you as if you’re a rare gemstone and he’s a skillful lapidary. You cover the distance to reach him, suddenly shy.

He runs his hands up your arms once you’re within reach. “I was right to assume that set would look stunning on you.”

“You’re always right,” you say with a superficial giggle, admiring his dusky eyeshadow behind the lenses of his glasses. You swipe his hair aside and lean down to press a kiss to his forehead. “It’s nice. Thank you for the gift.”

Azul hums his acknowledgment. His hands crawl along your sides, grabbing at your hips. You allow yourself to be pulled down to his height, his thigh between your legs. Your bare pussy brushes against beige trousers, and it sends a pleasant shiver up your spine. His fingers dance across skin, searing in the same way his lips are when they ghost over the juncture between shoulder and neck. He licks and nips at the area for a moment before withdrawing slightly, his tongue free of the bitter, medicinal taste of suppressant gel.

“No blockers?”

“It’s fine. I’m with you, and my heat isn’t scheduled for another week.”

“What makes you think I won’t give into libertine impulse?”

At the sly implication that he’d mark you as his, you feel a fresh bout of slick pool between your legs, leaking out onto his thigh and wetting fine fabric. Azul notices this and chuckles.

“Y-You wouldn’t,” you manage through your embarrassment, shifting awkwardly.

“Is that right?”

“You probably want a better omega o-or a strong alpha. Someone like yourself.”

Azul, who had contented himself at your neck, pulls back to look at you. His hands settle upon your waist to hold you still—to prevent you from wriggling away.

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing… I just assumed—well, you’re…you. I’m me.”

He frowns, easily reading between the lines. “Do you find yourself undesirable?”

“You’re popular. Rich. Good-looking… You could have anyone you want.”

“Variety means nothing if it doesn’t include my favorites.”

“I’m your favorite?”

“Such disbelief… Is it really so surreal?”

“But I’m nowhere near your level.”

“Who said you had to be?” Azul takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses the top of it. “You’re perfect as you are, mio tesoro.”

You spend a long minute watching him. He can’t really mean that. Azul isn’t your boyfriend or your alpha. He’s the parody of one—a sugar daddy who spoils you with luxurious trips and hefty allowances, and in return you offer your time, companionship, and body. Tonight is no different. Just another dinner as per the arrangement. Another night spent in a high-rise hotel. Another transaction.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, ice crystallizing each word. “You’re just saying that.”

“I have no reason to lie.” He glances past you at the tall floor mirror, an idea sparking in lust-lidded eyes. “I’ll prove it.”

His intentions are lost on you, even more so when he moves you off of his leg and onto the cushions below. You sit with your back against the bed, a concoction of curiosity and caution bubbling within you. You can smell him, crisp like a new car, the musky, unforgettable scent of salt and sage. Before you can ask, he lowers to his knees and parts your legs to get a look at your dripping pussy.

“So eager…” he muses, his breath fanning across your folds. You bite back a whine. “And it’s all for me.”

“All yours. Always yours.”

Another wave of alpha arousal blankets the room, thick like smoke. You realize he’s done away with his scent blockers for tonight. Could that explain your territorial jealousy and dampened mood? Is it because it’s bothersome to think that another omega expressed so much desire towards Azul—that they were treated to his enticing smell even though it’s a luxury often reserved for you? Is it really his money you’re after or something grander?

You want to think it’s the former.

It must be, right? There’s no way it could be the latter. You’re just caught between fantasy and reality, bordering a beautiful illusion garnished with the impossible.

Azul’s fingers dig into the soft pudge of your inner thighs, spreading them further despite your weak attempt to shut them. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Don’t hide from me, principessa. It’s nothing I haven’t seen already.”

“Still…” You flinch when he presses the pads of his fingers against your slit.

“What’s the matter?” He lifts his hand for you to see. Your slick clings to his digits in dewy strands. “You’re so wet for me, and yet you seem…distracted.”

“It’s nothing. I’m thinking.”

“About?” When you refuse to answer, he leans in to lick a languid stripe up your cunt. You slacken against the bed, a gasp rattling through your lungs. Azul makes a dramatic show of licking his lips clean. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me, bambolina.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, worrying your lip between your teeth, as you debate your next admission. Rather than say it outright, you tiptoe around it with a shaky mumbling: “D-Do you usually call other omegas by pretty names?”

“Just you.”

“Just me?”

“Have I not been unfalteringly faithful to you all this time?”

“You have. I’m just wondering…”

Azul waits for you to finish that sentence. When it becomes obvious you’ve lost it, he fills in the blanks. “I thought of you all throughout tonight’s dinner. So much it nearly spoiled my appetite.”

Unconvinced, you crack your eyes open to glimpse him. His head is between your legs, lips centimeters from your cunt, and it leaves you wilting once more. He looks good on his knees in his fancy suit. You wish he was yours.

What a dangerous wish.

Azul meets your stare. He removes his glasses and hands them off to you.

“Be a dear and hold these for me.”

“Looks like a new pair.”

“I thought I’d try circular frames again. What do you think? Fitting, no?”

“Very fitting. Like an old man.”

Azul’s grip on your thighs tightens ever so slightly. His voice comes out sharp and strained when he speaks next. “Is that so? I assure you I’m still plenty youthful.”

“You age like wine, Mr. Ashengrotto. The finest kind.”

“And your beauty is timeless.”

“You say it so easily, but do you mean it?”

“Most ardently.”

Your argument is stifled when he leans in to taste you again. This time, rather than retreat, he remains between your legs. His lips are warm and soft against your pussy, his tongue all too tempting as it trails over the area. A startled gasp slips past parted lips when he pushes in, and it isn’t long until you’re deflating against the bed.

Your doubtful thoughts are temporarily silenced, numbed with slow, slothful salacity. You grab fistfuls of his hair, tugging it tousled, and he groans in response to your harsh treatment.

“Ooh… Mmh, fuck…” You blink up at the ceiling, breathless.

Too good.

You push him closer to your crotch, to which he rewards you with a sloppy slurp of your slick. The obscenity of it all has you hot and aching, and you submit bonelessly to the bliss he provides as if you’re simply drifting down a calm river. Azul laps at your folds like a man parched. He hums his appreciative delight, each vibration shaking you to your core, and the sensations only serve to triple your pleasure when one of his hands slides over to find your clit. He tweaks it between two fingers just to listen to you come undone.

It takes everything in you not to crush him between your thighs. Although with how hungrily he fucks you with his tongue, you think he might enjoy the suffocation. He sets a sweet pace, one that has you grinding down against his mouth in a desperate attempt to reach your climax. You open your mouth to beg for more, but all that tumbles free are shaky gasps and low groans.

As if sensing your unspoken need, Azul draws his tongue out. A thin strand of saliva strings from your pussy and his lips, connecting both for a fraction. Just when you think he might’ve finished, he swaps his tongue for two fingers. They stretch you open while he nurses on your clit. Slowly, like he has all the time in the world in this opulent hotel room, he curls his slim digits inside you. They press against your walls, searching for the spongy spot that will have you seeing galaxies. Once more, you’re reduced to a foggy-headed mess.

In this room, where nothing else matters, it’s just you and him. There is no outside world. No other alphas, omegas, or betas who might distract him. No other factors that might convince him to toss you aside, to grow tired of you, to abandon you…

Azul takes full advantage of your woozy state, pumping his fingers in and out. Paired with the way he lavishes your clit with attention, it sends you spiraling into a sudden orgasm. You grip his hair forcefully, pin him in place, and gush on his face with a strangled moan. He stays between your legs to lick you through it, running his tongue across your folds to gather as much of your slick as possible. And then he’s pulling away to offer you a boyish grin, seeming quite proud of himself. It adds deceptive youth to his weathered features.

Blinking pleasured tears away, you gaze at him until his figure gradually gains clarity. His face is wet, glistening with your essence, and it fills you with newfound heat.

“That was quicker than I expected,” he says, his voice a playful purr. “Were you anticipating this? Or perhaps my technique is simply unmatched. You’ve always been so sensitive for—”

You move without forethought, grabbing at the jewel-encrusted lapels of his fashionable jacket to yank him up to your height. His blue eyes are blown wide, his mouth parted in the middle of a mute question, when you smash your mouth against his. It’s short and sloppy. You taste yourself on his tongue.

“So impatient…”

Recovering from the momentary startle with newfound cupidity, Azul surges forward for a real kiss. You breathe him in and come away with a noseful of pheromones. It spins your mind dizzy, banishes rationality to dark, desolate corners, and renders you addicted. You allow him to lick into your mouth to taste expensive wine in every crevice. You’re avaricious in your approach when you pull him closer, desiring to feel his weight against yours. He falls on top of you, his hands placed on either side of your head to keep himself propped, and you peer up at him through glazed eyes. It brings you smug satisfaction when you reach between your bodies to feel his erection straining against his pants.

Breathing hot and heavy, you scrabble to grab hold of his shoulders. “Kiss me again.”

“Aren’t you forward? If I didn’t know any better, I’d hazard a guess that you’re jealous.”

“I—” you clamp your mouth shut, debating your words, before opening it again— “I am. I want you all to myself. I want you to look at me and only me during our dinners. I hate when other omegas talk to you… It’s not fair. Why do you have to be so amazing?”

Your confession catches him off guard, for he blinks at you owlishly. The surprise doesn’t remain for long, though, because he quickly composes himself. A gentle smile graces his face next.

“It’s mere courtesy. I assure you I’ve thought of you the entire evening.”

“Just me?”

“Only you. At every hour of the day. Even when we’re apart.” His hand slides down to interlace with yours, and he leans closer to kiss both of your cheeks, one at a time. “I think of nothing else. Si il mio universo.”

“R-Really? So that… That omega who spoke to you—”

“They were kind, but I have no interest.”

You frown, suddenly perturbed. “But you could’ve if you wanted to. We’re not together in that way. There’s nothing stopping you.”

He raises a brow. “Is that what you want?” Your face falls further into dismay and he chuckles. “I don’t mind. You’re allowed to be greedy around me. I’m all yours tonight.”

But I want you forever.

Azul helps you up from the bed and leads you over to the mirror. You stare at yourself—at the you adorned in fleeting finery—and grimace. Is this really you? Is this who you want to be, an unclaimed omega stuck in a stagnant situationship?

“Tell me what you see,” he whispers, running his hands along your sides.

“Myself.”

“Anything else?”

“She’s a fool who’s jealous for no reason. For a dumb reason, actually.”

“‘Dumb’?” He scoffs. “No such thing.”

“But it is! It’s because—” I want to be yours. “I’m just being immature. I’m sorry. It’s ruining the mood.”

“Not at all.” Azul grasps your chin and turns your head towards the mirror. “When I look at you, I see in color. You make my world so indescribably vivid. Very few can accomplish such an impressive feat. You should be proud.”

“Why?”

“You’re a smart girl. I’d have thought you would’ve realized it by now.”

You track his hand like it’s a spider you’re hellbent on catching. Carefully, with keen intent. He speaks in honey-coated hauteur, as if anyone could’ve deciphered the meaning in his declarations, and it would’ve irked you if not for your distracting thoughts.

He’s never told me any of this before. Is he saying it to placate me? Or does he actually mean it?

The answer is right there. You just don’t want to believe it.

Rather, you can’t. It’s impossible.

“For the record, I disagree with all of this negative self-talk. You’re not dumb or immature. Not in my eyes.” His arms close around you from behind, and he laces his hands together at your front. “You are a goddess cut from the rarest cloth. A beauty brighter than light itself, mia stellina. Sometimes I wonder if I should lock you in a little cage. That way you’d shine for me. Just me.”

Laughter squeezes through your teeth. “You’re being more dramatic than I am tonight.”

“You think so? I’m only telling you what I see and how I see it.” Azul takes your hand and guides you back towards the loveseat. He lowers onto it and then tugs you onto his lap. Just like before, he directs your attention ahead. “Why should I covet others when you’re right here?”

“That’s just convenient. It’s because we’re using each other.”

“How cold… And I have been nothing but authentic in my adoration.”

“Yeah, right. We both know—” You squeak when he shifts you only slightly so that he can unbuckle his leather belt. It slides away from his waist, soon discarded on the bed. “Sure, it’s authentic, but that’s because it has to be. B-Because it’s part of our deal.”

“Is that what you think? Your oblivious nature is most endearing.” He hums, half-listening. You roll your eyes at that, to which Azul tuts. “We’ll have none of that. Here. Since you’re so keen to argue, why not help me out of my jacket as you mull over your next retort?”

Unamused, you turn to face him. He looks awfully pleased with himself as he stretches his arms out. Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, you undo the single button and gently peel the coat away from his person. It’s so silky, crafted from a material you’ve never known before, and you take care folding it for later. Azul watches you with a smile.

“I’m not arguing.”

“Is that not what we’re doing right now?”

“I’m just saying…” You huff, your cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “Ugh. You’re being so obtuse.”

“Why don’t you turn around and say that to your reflection instead? She needs to hear it more than I do.”

Begrudgingly, you comply with the first instruction. You lift yourself off of him just enough so that he can pull himself from his clothes. As for that second part, you treat it like a suggestion and keep your lips clamped stubbornly shut. Azul rumbles with laughter, affectionately pinching your cheek. You think he may have picked the habit up from his family. He’s spoken about them scarcely, but from what you’ve learned both his mother and grandmother have always had a knack for physical fondness. It’s cute that this gesture seems to run in his blood.

“Eyes open and ahead, mia bella ragazza. You deserve to witness just how charming you are as you come undone around my cock.”

Nodding mutely, your arousal heady, you line yourself up until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. One hand holds your waist to steady you while the other presses against your clit. You whine, legs trembling in anticipation, and lower yourself slowly.

“A-Azul—”

“Don’t look anywhere else. Ahead, tesoro,” he reminds you, kissing along your jaw. He reaches to procure his glasses from the bed, fitting them on his face one-handed.

Your body responds to those pleasant pet names without a shred of shame. Even though this isn’t your first time with him, you can’t stop your breath from hitching or your heart from skipping. For the sake of an easily ingested excuse, you deign to blame it on your upcoming heat. Why else would you be this desperate to feel him inside, as close as he can possibly get pressed up against you like this? Azul’s hand slides over your thigh to rub at your clit, and your walls flutter around every inch you’ve managed to take thus far.

You remember you’re meant to be watching yourself in the mirror then, so you gaze at your reflection. Azul’s voice is deep and gravelly in your ear, thrumming like thunder, when he murmurs his praise: “Good girl. Just like that.”

As if to further humiliate you, a testament to just how carnally you crave him, you clench tighter around him and whine pitifully. He chuckles and rewards you with a soothing smooch to your cheek. You heave a satisfied sigh once he’s slotted inside.

“Why do you want me to watch myself?” you ask, fighting through the haze while he busies himself with your clit. “Mmh…”

At this rate, you fear you might just somersault into your heat. Which, now that you’re considering it, wouldn’t be such a bad thing… Maybe he’ll give you a claiming bite, mark you as his omega, and then it’ll be a real relationship. Maybe the heat is the push he needs.

Don’t think about that sort of nonsense. He would never…

“I want you to take in every part of yourself,” he explains matter-of-factly, “and know that I will never trade you for anything.”

“But other omegas—” The words are choked off in a yelp when he thrusts up inside you.

“Are not you,” he finishes, a minacious edge in his tone. “What must I do to prove to you that I’m telling the truth?”

“You could—ah. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m being unreasonable.” You shake your head. “Just… Just promise me. Please promise you won’t get rid of me.”

“Why, I would never! The mere assumption that I would stings… I feel as if I’ve just been slapped.”

“I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just… I… I know you’re allowed to see other people—and I am, too, of course—but I like being the only omega you spoil. I like feeling special.”

“And you are.” He squeezes your clit to draw another reedy moan from you. His other hand crawls up your side to slip under your sheer babydoll. He cradles your breast, kneading it gently. “You’re my special girl. That will never change.”

“O-Okay… I believe you.” Your lashes flutter when his fingers brush against your nipple. “You… Ooh… You can cum inside tonight. It’s safe. I think…”

A shadow passes over his face. As if your words have stoked some sort of possessive fire in him, he slips his hand out from under your lingerie to grab at your hip. All of his previous smooth, sultry edges harden into something rough. Fingernails dig into your flesh, leaving little half-moons in the forceful wake of his grip. Your tongue trips over itself at the sudden shift, but the treatment isn’t terrible.

“You know very well I’d take good care of you if that happened,” he mumbles, kissing the space just below your ear.

“If what happened?” you ask, playing stupidly innocent even though the image reflected back at you makes his implication more than obvious.

“Why don’t you start moving first? Then you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

You shudder, drunk off his pheromones, so potent they cloud your brain like smog, and shift in his lap. He groans lowly at the friction and it encourages you to move with confidence. You lower yourself, lift yourself halfway off, and then lower again. This is executed for three more jerky rotations before you slam yourself down in one go. Azul sucks in a breath. You don’t quite catch what he says. It’s a jumble of words in his native tongue. With the harshness dripping from every syllable, you think he’s saying some colorful words, each one brought on by the tight hold your pussy has on his cock.

“Perfect,” he manages next. You continue to bounce with reckless abandon. “You’re so—oh—so perfect. Ho bisogno di te… B-Bisogno—ah, no, need.”

You watch yourself, your ravenous gaze flicking from your pussy stretched around his cock to his hands glued to your hips to his head bowed near your neck. His canines are so close. Any closer and he could tear into you, bite you hard and deep enough to make you his.

“W-What was that phrase you taught me? The one about—haa—love… Not love, but sorta love.”

“Mmh… Which one? There are many, principessa… You’ll have to be more specific. Ti amo is ‘I love you,’ but that’s—nngh—not the one you’re looking for, is it?”

“The not-quite-love one… Um—oh! Adore… Adoro…”

“Aah, ti adoro.” He pronounces it in a pleased hum before breaking off with another groan. He drags your hips down to meet his when he bucks up into your gummy pussy. “If you’re saying it platonically, you would use ti voglio bene. Ti adoro is more intimate.”

“It sounds pretty when you say it.”

“Of course it does,” he brags, his ego satiated. “Why don’t you try pronouncing it?”

“Which one?”

“Whichever.” Azul kisses your scent glands and you mewl, your thoughts soupy and incoherent. “With such a tempting smell, I’m baffled you’re not yet mated. Ah, but you’re still young.”

“Hmm… Yeah, I just haven’t found the right person.” You place your hands over his. “W-What about you? Why haven’t you—”

He tuts. “Now, now. Before we get into that, I’d like to hear you say it. Ti…”

“Adoro. Ti adoro!”

“That’s right. Ben fatto, mia cara. You say it so sweetly.”

“I do?”

“Mhm.” He noses at your neck and sighs. “Sweet and musical.”

Relishing in the compliment, you tilt your head to reveal more of your throat. You roll your hips slowly, taking him in patient strokes. “I still think it sounds better coming from you.”

“Perhaps I should say it more often.”

“Please. Oh, please do. I wanna hear it always—every day!”

His teeth scrape your skin then. You brace yourself for a bite that never comes. Rather than allow your unmet expectations to dishearten you, you focus your attention ahead.

“I’ll send you a voice message when we’re apart.” His hands travel up your body, beneath lacy lingerie, and finally close around your tits. You watch him in the mirror, following his movements as he shamelessly fondles and gropes. “And when we’re together like this I’ll say it over and over. As many times as you’d like.”

Now it’s clear. He’s placed you on his own pedestal, admiring you like one might a sculpture. You aren’t the omega from dinner. You aren’t those alphas who hunger for his status. You’re unlike any of his other connections. You’re a personal treat he indulges in, a prized portrait he’s free to touch at his own discretion, and you allow it because he’s unofficially yours behind closed doors.

Part of you knew this all along. You just couldn’t see through your self-doubt.

“Thank you. I love—” You catch yourself, stumble over a gasp, and thank the stars for that. “I love your voice.”

Azul’s aged features soften with a smile. “And I love yours all the same. Why don’t you touch yourself so that I can hear more of it?”

You do just that, obediently circling your clit with two fingers. Amidst your own sounds, Azul’s groans, and the loud smack of skin on skin, it’s enough to bring you even closer to the edge. You’re almost there, nearly teetering over into the abyss, but then you stop.

“Wait… I want—wanna look at you.”

“You are. The mirror—”

“Not enough.”

Wordlessly, you peel his hands away and lift yourself off of him. Azul stares at you, awaiting your next move. Before you can regret your spontaneity, you hold onto his shoulders and position yourself to straddle him on the loveseat.

“I read about this and wanted to try it,” you admit as you sink down. Your relieved sigh joins Azul’s in unison. “I like looking at you. The real you. Not just your reflection.”

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

With this proximity, you’re free to gaze into his powdery blues, trace every wrinkle beneath your fingers, adore him so intimately. Azul presses his forehead to yours, meeting your sultry stare. He wraps his arms around your waist, his palms settling against your lower back. No words are exchanged, but the intention is clear. You rock your body like the rolling tide, effortless and hypnotic, and he matches your lazy pace with grace. Now you’re breathing together—soft huffs between moans—and it’s a lustful duet that pairs well with the salacious squelch of your bodies.

Even though this moment will inevitably end, you never want to leave. You want to stay wrapped up with him, pressed close and breathing him in like he’s perfume. You want to bathe in his scent until it mixes with yours and marks you as something special. Something irrefutable. A bond that can never be broken.

“I wanna go on a trip,” you mumble absentmindedly, your mouth inches from his.

He steals a quick peck. “Do elaborate.”

“Not just any trip. A honeymoon—like a pretend honeymoon! I know it’s a lot to ask—”

“Nothing is ever too much. If I may, why a honeymoon in particular?”

“I just wanna know what it feels like.” You melt against him, your arms sliding away from his shoulders to loop around his neck. “Without having to go through the marriage part. That involves actually finding someone and falling in love and…yeah.”

“I understand. We can plan something.” Twin sapphires flick from your lips to your eyes and then back. “Shall I make you Signora Ashengrotto for the duration of our faux honeymoon?”

Your hips almost stutter to a halt, and you blink back at him in surprise. “Signora… Wouldn’t it be signorina?”

“If you were unmarried, yes. It applies because you’re young.” He flashes his teeth at you in a proud grin. “But in this scenario you’re all mine, Mrs. Ashengrotto. Thus, you’re signora.”

“Mmh… I like that. The sound of it…”

You sigh dreamily and close what little distance is left. Softly like swaying seagrass, it’s a meeting of mutual moods—of lust embellished with love. The two of you kiss like you’re starved, like you’re each other’s only source of oxygen, like this is your last night together. You’re in the clouds; euphoria is at your fingertips. Every drag of his cock coaxes you closer and closer to your climax, your body alight with a fiery urge. You don’t want to break this sinful spell and face a reality in which he isn’t yours. It’s too cruel.

So it’s a shame when he pulls you down without warning and, rather than bite your neck, sinks his pointed canines into your shoulder instead. You would’ve been content to let him claim you, but that idea is soon knocked from your skull when you feel warm, thick cum flood your walls. You snuff the urge to beg for more, dangerously avaricious. You’re sure that’s just a product of your encroaching heat. The normal, level-headed you wouldn’t dare beg him for a baby.

But a baby would give him a reason to keep you around, wouldn’t it?

I shouldn’t. He probably doesn’t want a family at his age… It would be wrong to force it.

Azul pulls away only slightly to speak. His attempt is muffled when you kiss him again. You lick your blood from his lower lip. It’s strong and metallic, staining the corner of his mouth a deep vermillion. He pursues, nibbling at your lip in return. And then, just as you roll your hips once more, you feel it—his knot swelling against your ass, fat and thick. All for you.

“I’m going to—”

“Yes! Oh, please—yes.” You shift in his lap, grinding down with a desperate sort of determination. “Please knot me. I want it. I’ve always wanted it.”

“Always?”

Your head bobs in a hasty nod. It was more of a private fantasy—a mental indulgence you delighted in during dreams. And now it’s happening. You’re so happy you could cry. Azul, upon seeing the light in your eyes, bucks up towards you in a sharp, sudden thrust. You suck in a breath through grit teeth and bore down. The push is heavenly and hellish all at once, a delicious pleasure-pained strain as your slick walls stretch to accommodate him.

“Almost… You’re doing well, tesoro,” he grunts, his brows pinched together with concentration and exertion.

To provide you with an extra shred of help, he massages your clit. And that’s all it takes. The rest of his knot pops inside, now connecting the both of you, and it leaves you feeling much fuller than you were before. Ecstasy crashes into you like a tumultuous wave, pulling you into a rushing current. It seems to happen in a flash. Collapsing against him, you dig your nails into his shoulders, your cunt clenching like a vise, and cum around his cock with a bawdy cry.

You don’t notice tears wetting your face until he’s lapping at the trickling trails. Azul coos at you in a lilting voice. This one is different from the patronizing tone he uses when he’s being playful. This one is intensely fond. “Oh, che brava ragazza. Molto buono.” He holds your face still and kisses each cheek. The wet smack of his lips on your skin brings you back to yourself. He brightens when you finally lock eyes with him. “There she is. My sweet girl, you’ve done so well.”

His flowery flattery warms the stone hearth that is your heart.

“Don’t let go of me. Stay here,” you plead even though you know that won’t be for another few minutes. You’re stuck together, and with this comes the delirium of mellowed rapture.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He runs his hand along your back, soothed in the same way you currently are.

You rest your head against his shoulder and inhale deeply. “You smell so good… Why aren’t you mated yet? I’m sure your mate would be happy to have you as their own.”

“I would hope so.”

“I’d be happy…t-to have someone to call my own! I think it’s a wonderful thing.”

“As do I.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“I already have.” Something sly flickers in his gaze. It’s cold, creeping up your spine like a shadow. Without meaning to, you shiver. “And I’m not going to let her go. She’s always been mine. From the moment I met her, I was certain of this. She just can’t see it yet.”

You blink at him. His words play in loops, but you can’t comprehend his meaning.

Surely he’s not talking about…

You bark out a short laugh. “Stop messing around when we’re stuck together.”

“Aw. I thought it was plenty amusing.”

“Your sense of humor is so crooked!”

“Perhaps.” He pulls you flush against him and pets the bite on your shoulder. “My apologies for being so boorish.”

“Hm? Oh, that’s nothing. It’ll heal.”

“I do hope you feel better.”

“Ah, that… Sorry. I don’t know where my head was at earlier. Thanks for tonight, by the way. You’re too good to me.”

“I’d do anything for you. Never forget that.”

“What a scary sentiment…”

“Is that not a facet of love?”

“Depends. You don’t have to do everything for someone just to prove that you love them. And someone might not want that kind of love…”

“In the event of an unwilling spirit, I suppose the easiest solution is acceptance by way of entrapment.”

“What?”

“They say a room of glittering gold is still a cage even without the shackles. Perhaps there is no better love than the suffocating kind.”

“No way. That’s totally wrong!” You shake your head in amusement. “What a warped sort of love!”

“Is it? I’ve always believed this was most tangible—undeniable, even. Proof of one’s devotion.”

“That’s less romantic and more…obsessive. Don’t you think so?”

“There’s a phrase we sometimes say. Amore non è senza amaro.” You nod along, expecting the translation. But Azul merely smiles. “Well, I’m only saying such things to pass the time. Think nothing of it.”

“You really are an old man, speaking utter nonsense.”

“How you wound me with your slander!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Nonno,” you tease, winking.

Azul feigns hurt. “To think I would be called that at my young, young age… My heart crumbles.”

You smile. Maybe it really was nothing. Although I was sure that he… It’s not really my problem. We’re not even together.

Still, something is nagging at you. A heavy word despite being so little—merely three letters.

Yet.

We’re not even together yet.

Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

And yet, something tells you it’s not.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #n/sfw #tw: abo #tw: omegaverse #tw: knotting #tw: age gap

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repulsiveliquidation · 8 months ago

Text

Two is Better than One || The Orgy

Part 4 of The Orgy

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

warnings : Mommy/Daddy kink, oral sex, anal sex, pillow riding, plug usage, strap-ons, swearing, dirty talk (degrading)

The cameras flashed with every move she made. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was flawless. Her suit was impeccably made. It fits every curve, toned muscle, and pound of flesh she had, not a single stitch out of place. She was La Reina of course, perfect in every shape and form.

The beige complimented her skin beautifully, her confidence allowed for nothing underneath to look so elegant and poise. She smiled like she owned the place, the cries for her to look a certain direction normally bubbled her anxiety but tonight she was feeling herself.

Down at the other end of the red carpet stood another blonde who knew she was gorgeous. Her tie sat on her chest in a perfect knot, her shirt was pressed and her pants had the perfect crease down the front. The black and white brought out the color of her hair and her mesmerizing eyes. She sauntered in with full confidence, shoulders back and chin up for all the photos she knew would have her best side. She looked over and saw the Spaniard at the end, talking to the most beautiful girl she had ever seen.

The girl had on the most beautiful emerald dress that showed off her curves, the thin straps and satin material brought out the beautiful blues and greens in her eyes. The gold necklace and accessories around her wrists rang through the sound of flashes going off. Leah made a beeline towards you, tapping the Spaniard on the shoulder and greeting her politely. You smiled and handed her a mic as well, slipping into the perfect segway of the World Cup final.

Nothing beats a story about the final straight from the captains themselves. This was a promising story and you had the privilege to be the one to write it. The two captains enjoyed the rivalry that had been quite light over the years but there was evidence of a lot of maturity between them and the admiration they both had for each other was very apparent.

Leah explains how the game only motivated the girls to play harder and work harder. Seeing it from the stands and knowing what Alexia had gone through was something that Alexia echoed when asked what it was like playing the Lionesses and not having Leah on the pitch battling it out.

The two made their way into the auditorium, parting ways a little more starstruck than when they set foot on the carpet, the image of you was one that both captains had running around in their minds that night.

Leah approached the bar and asked for a whiskey sour, standing at a cocktail table drumming her fingers on the table while her head bobbed to the music. She sips the last bits of her drink when the smell of your perfume enters her orbit. You had walked behind her towards the bar, a big smile on your face as you sipped the margarita that appeared in front of you a little too quickly.

Leah took a deep breath and walked up to you, handing her an empty whiskey crystal glass and asking for another. You smiled at her and minded your business, not wanting to talk to her more than you needed to, being a journalist and all. Leah surprised you though, leaning on her arm as she stirred her drink.

“I loved doing that interview with you, by the way, Y/N.”

“Oh, I appreciated your time, I’ll make sure to use all the best parts in the final cut!” you thanked her, sipping on your drink nervously. The English woman carried herself well and towered over you a little, smirking a little too smugly at you.

“Are you here with anyone?” Leah asked forwardly, the two double shots of whiskey drinks on an empty stomach already gave her a little buzz.

A little taken aback and flattered by her line of questioning, Leah was happy to see you shake your head. You were about to ask her the same when the slightly more intimidating captain appeared behind you and asked for a rum and coke in the sexiest accent you had grown to love.

“Hola, Y/N. Leah,” Alexia acknowledged, taking her drink from the bartender with a quiet “gracias,” at the end before she sauntered off back to her friends.

“She knows your name,” Leah said, pointing out that her tone suggested that she knew you before the red carpet interview. Leah was a little disappointed that she had never seen you till tonight, let alone know your name.

“I work for Barça, I’m their sports writer,” you explained, finishing your drinking and asking for water.

Just as Leah’s about to ask you more about your job, your producer texts you that the star guest, Aitana Bonmati just arrived and you need to interview her. The latest Ballon d’Or winner was your last interview before you could clock out and enjoy the party so you make sure to tell Leah that you wanted to talk to her and take up her time.

“She’s my last interview, have an extra strong marg waiting for me?” you tell her and run off, smiling when you hear her stutter her agreement. Leah smirks and turns to the bartender, “You heard the woman, have a marg ready when she’s headed over here again, yeah?”

Over at the Spain delegate table, Alexia had been chewing on the little stirrer in her glass, eyes dark and staring so hard, Marta was sure there would be lasers coming out of her hazel eyes if she put her mind to it.

“Are you trying to kill her, Reina?”

Alexia snapped out of her angered trance and brushed off her co-captain, annoyed that her attempt at wishing for Leah’s downfall was interrupted.

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Ale, if looks could kill about half the room would be dead. You’ve death-stared everyone she’s talked to.”

“How do you–”

“You’re not as subtle as you think, capi. Go get yourself another drink and wait for her at the bar.”

Alexia huffed and stood, readjusting her jacket before walking to the bar. She stares at Leah sitting there, immediately deciding to occupy the seat you were in before you left. Just as she’s about to lift herself into the barstool, Leah pipes up and what she says tips her anger past its boiling point.

“Someone’s in that seat,” Leah provides, looking at the Spain captain with a smile.

“And who might that be?” Alexia asks, albeit a little roughly.

“Your new sports writer, Y/N. She’s asked me to save her the seat.”

“Well, I’ll wait for her too then.”

“Do you need to have everything I have a chance at, Putellas?”

“Please, the better team won that day. And it wasn’t England.”

“You fucking–”

“Hola capi!”

Both their heads whip around and look at you, your big smile making both of their anger dissipate. The bartender listened and had a fresh margarita waiting for you like you requested and Leah smiled as she pushed it towards you. Alexia helped you into your seat and Leah glared at her. You were starting to get a hint of what was going on, feeling a little proud of yourself.

“What were you girls arguing about hm?” you ask innocently, raising your strong drink to your lips. Leah and Alexia nursed their drinks and didn’t answer you before the Spaniard mumbled something in Catalan. You understood the language and giggled, replying to her snarky remark. Alexia laughed and added to it, making you laugh a little harder. The English woman on your right had her eyebrows crossed, a look of pure annoyance on her face.

“I-I made sure he made your drink strong, did he make it right?” she interjected, reaching for your chair to swivel you to face her. You take a long, flirty sip and smile, nodding your head.

“It’s perfect Leah, gracias,” you compliment, rubbing her arm. You feel the ripple of her muscles under her jacket and realize that she’s flexing on purpose, making a conscious effort to feel around a little more.

“Did you make sure no one stole my seat while I was gone?” you ask cheekily, knowing that Ale probably came up here and tried to take your seat.

“She did but I made sure it was kept safe for you, princess,”

A dark blush creeps up her neck and Leah decides then and there that she wants to keep your neck that shade of red with all her bites when the annoyed Spaniard interjected and spun you back around towards her.

“¿Qué trato tienes con ella?”

"¿Por qué Ale, estás celoso capitán?"

“¿Te estás olvidando de quién perteneces, princesa?”

"Mm, papi, ¿no podemos agregarla a la lista de cosas bonitas que colecciono?"

“¿Es eso lo que quieres, niña bonita?”

"Sí, papi, la quiero tanto" you beg, pulling your best puppy eyes that are guaranteed to make Alexia fold. It does the trick and she nods, swigging down the last of her drink and standing. She steps towards Leah and adjusts her jacket, smirking a little.

“Williamson. Come with me a second.”

Leah scoffs and stands, following the Spaniard to a quieter side of the room.

“What, Putellas?”

“She has requested for you to join us in our room tonight.”

Leah can’t believe her ears. She blinks a few times and asks the two-time Ballon d’Or winner to repeat herself.

“She wants to fuck you, Williamson. You want her, don’t you?”

“You two a thing?”

“A thing of convenience, yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Good. We’re in room 116, meet us there in fifteen minutes.”

Alexia leaves with you on her arm, a little drunken smirk on your face. Leah walks back over to the bar and asks for a cold glass of water. She chugs it all and waits ten minutes before she walks over to the elevators. Her hands sweat a little, and she’s nervous. She stands in front of room 116, hesitant to knock. Just as her right hand gets the courage the door opens and it startles her but your welcoming face calms her racing heart.

“Come in, you’re right on time!”

You walk in behind her and Leah gawks at the bed and all the stuff on it. There were more toys there than she had at home, harnesses that looked custom-made, and dildos that looked hard to take. Alexia sat in the meeting chair near the window, leg crossed and arms on the rests. Leah stands a little intimidated before you sit in Ale’s lap and look mesmerizing under the tinted orange lights.

“Welcome Williamson, I’m surprised you didn’t chicken out,” Alexia teases and you smack her arm, leaving Leah to cover her chuckles with a few unconvincing coughs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Putellas.”

“Play nice the two of you or you’re not fucking me.”

Alexia sighs and regroups, taking a deep breath.

“Leah, welcome. I’ve got a few rules that we use to make this enjoyable. Would you like to say your safeword, amor?”

“Strawberry,” you answer obediently, snuggling back into Alexia’s arms.

“Mine is Apple,” Alexia tells Leah before Leah decides to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed.

“Watermelon,” Leah supplies, leaning forward on her elbows. She smiles, watching your eyes sparkle as she winks at you.

Alexia gets a little annoyed but keeps talking. Her hand around your waist tightens and you lean into her more, green dress a little creased where her hands feel you.

“You will do as I say when I say it, no arguments understand.”

Leah was about to answer her but you piped up with a voice so soft and subtle that it sent shivers down Leah’s spine.

“Yes Daddy,” you whispered to Alexia, standing up and sauntering over to the side of the bed. Leah smiles and watches you, and you smile, seeing both the captain’s eyes on you.

“Mind if you help me take this stunning dress off Mommy?” you ask Leah, watching as her eyes go dark when you use that name on her. Leah nods, walking over to you and helping you unzip your dress. You smile at Alexia and watch her fiddle with her jacket, knowing she’s already feeling hot inside.

“May I?” Leah asks you, pushing the emerald material off your shoulders. You smile and nod, feeling the English skipper’s hand take in all your curves and edges. Leah leans in and kisses along your shoulders and back, whispering how beautiful you looked in that dress and how she longed to see it on the floor in a pile next to her clothes.

Alexia stands in front of you and tilts your head up, eyes boring deep into yours. She smiled kindly, leaning in and pecking your lips. You kiss her back and Leah takes the opportunity to mark your neck up how she wanted to earlier. You moan into Alexia’s mouth and smile against her lips, reaching your arm behind to cradle her head.

Alexia pulls away from you and you step to the side as Leah crashes her lips on Alexia’s. Alexia grabs her face and kisses her back hard, moaning into Leah’s mouth. You stand and watch, biting your lip and rubbing your thighs together. You’ve slipped your underwear off and unclasped your bra, climbing onto the bed how Alexia liked. Leah pushes the Spaniard’s jacket off as hers comes off too, hands in pants struggling to get each other naked fast enough. Hands roam and explore, muscles taut and on display for you to feast your eyes on.

When the two of them finally pull away, you’re on your knees and smirking, holding Alexia’s strap in your hands. She smiles and takes it from you, Leah helping her put it on. There’s a dramatic shift in power in the room, with you and Leah taking a more submissive role as Alexia takes control.

Leah gets on her knees beside you just as Alexia gives her her first command of the night.

“Lay on your back Leah, wanna use your mouth.”

The tingle that sentence sends down Leah’s legs was one that she hoped happened every time Alexia shoved her cock down her throat. Leah did as she said, laying on the bed with her head at the edge. Alexia caressed her cheek and smiled, kissing her lips briefly. Leah sat between your legs, a little buttplug in her hands that you didn’t know was coming.

Alexia’s cock sat on Leah’s face as she caressed her chest. Leah’s nipples perked at her touch, the cold room keeping them rock hard. Leah moaned and smiled, licking up the silicone as the blood in her body slowly rushed to her head.

Alexia stood tall and pressed her cock to Leah’s lips, watching her face get more and more red. Alexia’s hips fuck into her mouth slowly, hands holding her head steady. You, on the other hand, pushed Leah’s legs wide open to play with her wet folds. Leah’s dripping, feeling your fingers play with her clit and ass.

Alexia gently wrapped a hand around Leah’s neck, feeling the cock bulge in her throat. Your fingers slipped into Leah’s pussy and she moans, the vibrations sent around Alexia’s cock and she felt it in her palm. Alexia smiles and chuckles, slapping her breast a few times before speeding up her hips. You sucked on the buttplug and Alexia watched, eyes hooded and lips already red and bitten from concentration. She pulls out and spits into her open mouth messily just as you slip the plug into Leah, hearing her moan and pant in pleasure.

Leah scoots up and feels the blood from her head distribute properly, the plug inside her settles just right and she looks up at you with a smirk. She licks Alexia’s spit from all over her mouth and makes sure to keep her eyes on Alexia.

“I wasn’t expecting that but I am so fucking thankful I said yes.”

“Ready for more, Mami?”

“Fuck yes,” Leah pants, turning over and waiting for Alexia to give her further instructions. Alexia smirks, hand reaching for your face and kissing you hard. Leah watches, eyes bouncing between you and Alexia. She takes your breast in her mouth, sucking noisily as you lay down for Alexia.

“Open those pretty legs for me, mi amor,” Alexia asks, and Leah latches off your breast with a loud pop. Your legs open wide and you’re soaked, pussy glistening for Alexia to enjoy. She swipes her fingers through your folds and licks her fingers clean, both you and Leah watching her in awe.

Alexia looks at Leah and she feels immediate obedience fall over her, ready to do her every wish.

“I want you to ride her face while I fuck her pretty pussy. And when I say ride her face, I mean use her like the fucking whore deserves to be used. Got it?”

“Yes Daddy,” Leah replies easily, the title sending pleasure through all your veins. Leah settles on top of you and lowers herself onto your mouth, hands gripping your hair as she grinds down on your tongue. Alexia pushes your legs back as wide as they can and thrusts her hips forward for her cock to effortlessly slide into your pussy. Leah moans when you start sucking on her clit, your hands massaging the plug in her ass gently as you sucked.

Alexia watched you and Leah closely, hips pounding into your hole hard. She almost bent you in half, legs wide open which only helped her cock into your pussy deeper. Leah slipped off your face and turned around to face Alexia, leaning forward with her hands gripping Alexia’s big ones as she ground a little harder on your tongue. Alexia held her steady and kissed her roughly, moaning into Leah’s mouth. You spanked Leah’s ass and fucked it with the plug inside her, feeling her hole clenching on your tongue that you just slipped in. Alexia leaned back and you cried out for her to fuck into you faster, eyes rolling into your head as you struggled to focus on eating Leah out while Alexia fucked your brains out.

Leah was close too, thighs shaking as your skillful tongue suckled and flicked over her sensitive clit. Alexia fondled your clit with her rough hands, angling her hips up into your sweet spot to push you towards the edge. You pulled the plug inside Leah out and that was more than enough stimulation for her to come, orgasm ripping through her hard. She shuddered and moaned your name alongside Alexia’s, collapsing off of you and panting hard. Alexia grinned and simply pulled out, turned you onto your knees, and pushed her big cock back into you. You moaned and cried out for her, feeling your arms get pulled behind your back.

Alexia held you down and pounded into you, lips muttering dirty things into your ear to spur you on.

“You take it so well, amor. Can’t wait to see Leah on the end of my cock when I’m done with you hm? You wanna come all over it and make her taste how much of a good girl you are for me?”

“Yes Daddy!” you scream, coming hard and all over her cock. Alexia ruts into you despite your cries of sensitivity, pulling out only when she knew she’d leave you shuddering for a good thirty seconds afterward. Alexia kisses you and holds you as you settle, kissing your damp hair gently.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Leah compliments, the stars in her eyes tell Alexia that she’s more than ready to take her cock.

"Ven aquí, cariño,” Alexia beckoned, Leah crawled over and kissed Alexia’s neck slowly going lower and lower. Soon she was face to face with her wet cock and Leah immediately took it in her mouth, tasting you all over it. Leah moaned, eyes locked with Alexia’s who looked almost feral.

She studied her expressions and smirked a little menacingly, eyes dark and lust-driven. You sat obediently by her side, watching Leah suck Alexia’s cock and taste you on it.

“Doesn’t she taste like magic, cariño?”

“Yes Daddy, she does,” Leah answers, kissing the tip before kissing Alexia passionately. Alexia tastes you on her lips and you can see their tongues fight for dominance, the exchange of your taste turns you on immensely.

Alexia settles in behind Leah and smiles at you. She caresses down Leah's toned defender thighs, knowing exactly where Leah could feel Alexia’s cock on her. Alexia kissed her shoulder and neck, whispering in her ear only for Leah to hear.

“Want me to fuck your ass, cariño? Did she get you nice and loose for me?”

“Yes Daddy, please fuck my ass,” Leah begged, feeling a shiver run down her spine. Leah bends forward onto her elbows, pushing her ass out for Alexia. Alexia leans in and spanks her hard, kneading the defender’s meaty ass. She looks over at you and chuckles, seeing your thighs rub harder together as you refrain from touching yourself without her permission.

“Need something, amor?”

“Wanna feel good Daddy, please…”

“Hmm, but I’m fucking our guest amor, I can’t do you both,” Alexia points out matter-of-factly as if Leah wasn’t even there. And boy did that turn her on.

“Please Daddy, it hurts…” you say, hips grinding down on the bed when Alexia gets an idea.

“You wanna show your latest collection how good you are at riding, amor? Want to grind that gorgeous pussy on a pillow and show her how you make yourself come?”

“Yes, yes please Daddy, I’ll show her how good I am for you,” you tell her and grab a soft duck feather pillow and straddle it, grinding your hips gently for Leah and Alexia.

Leah watches you through hooded eyes and a melting mind, feeling Alexia’s tongue slip into her ass as her fingers rub soft circles over your swollen clit. You put on a little show, grinding seductively on purpose to show Leah all the tricks up your sleeve.

Leah moans when Alexia’s cock slips into her, feeling the cold lube and thick appendage stretch her wide. Leah grips the sheets but keeps her eye on you, watching your hips ride that pillow expertly. Your face is full of erotic expressions when Alexia chuckles.

“Faster amor, I think our guest loves your little show, don’t you Leah?”

“Y-Yes!” Leah exclaims, feeling Alexia’s hips fuck into her ass harder. Leah’s head droops as she moans in pleasure when a large hand grabs her hair and forces her to look at you riding the pillow.

“Eyes on her, cariño. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? Isn’t she just perfect?”

“S-She’s so beautiful, Daddy,” Leah croaks out, feeling Alexia pull her back against her chest and her hand moves from her blonde hair to around her neck. Alexia’s hips smack her ass with a loud clap, echoing through the hotel room.

You can barely hold back anymore, holding the pillow taut and grinding your clit down in a particular way that shoves you head-first into your second orgasm of the night. The sight of the two captains fucking and Alexia’s dominant side on full display was more than enough for you to get so turned on and come so hard your ears were ringing. You almost missed the part where Leah begged and begged Alexia to let her come and make a mess on her cock.

“Daddy, Daddy please!”

“Please what, Mommy? You want to come?”

“P-Please, please! I’ve been so good!”

“You have been the perfect guest cariño, so perfect for us Mami,”

“Close Daddy, so fucking close!”

“Come cariño, come on Daddy’s cock,” Alexia allowed, pounding into Leah’s ass a couple more times before Leah almost passed out from her orgasm. You caught her and kissed her everywhere, Alexia caressing her cramping legs as Leah slowly came back.

“Fuck, that was-”

“Exquisite.”

Alexia threw her harness off and laid back, pulling the two of you into her sides. You gave Leah a look that she understood immediately. Leah’s hands roamed naughtily down between Alexia’s legs as you took Alexia’s breast into your mouth. Alexia physically relaxed into the mattress and chuckled, opening her legs a little to let Leah in a little more. Leah’s fingers slipped into her pussy and pressed up immediately, finding her sweet spot and rubbing it hard.

Alexia moaned Leah’s name and yours, cradling your head that sucked her breasts one after the other. Her breath shallowed and her chest heaved, hand on your head as you leaned over her and licked her clit as Leah fingered her.

“Amor! Ca-Cariño!” she cried out as she came, feeling her ears ring and legs shudder hard. She panted and you slipped back beside her. Leah gently pulled her fingers out of Alexia and she sucked on them, moaning at the taste of the Spanish captain.

“Delicious,” Leah stated, settling back into Alexia’s side.

“When you come to England in two weeks, stop by?” Leah asked you and Alexia, pecking both your lips.

“Sí, we have to play both sides out no? Like Champions League,” Alexia states seriously, you and Leah laugh and she starts chewing you two out in Catalan again which somehow lulls Leah to sleep.

Two weeks later, when you and Alexia make your way to England for the second leg of the Champions League semi-final against Chelsea, they crash at Leah’s house for the night. Alexia sat in the living room grumbling about the lack of good football on TV while you and Leah tried to reheat the takeout Leah had picked up from a local Chinese place down the street.

After dinner, Alexia suddenly got a little antsy, snuggling into Leah’s chest while you sat between her legs. Her hands were less subtle, finding their way under Leah’s hoodie, caressing the warm skin gently. You were the same, already settled on Alexia’s lap kissing her neck. Leah smirked and turned the TV on a little lower before caressing down Alexia’s arms.

“Does Daddy need something from us?” Leah asks, kissing Alexia’s ear softly as she whispers into it.

“Want you two, couldn’t stop thinking about that night at the hotel,” Alexia admits easily, melting into Leah’s embrace. Leah watches as you grind down on Alexia’s crotch when she shakes her head and looks back at Leah.

“Want you to fuck me Leah, want amor to watch you use me, cariño please,” Alexia pleads so beautifully, eyes filling with tears that only make Leah’s cunt throb.

“I can do that darling, you promise to be good for me angel?”

“The best, I am the best.”

“That you are, baby. I want you two in the room naked and on your knees at the foot of the bed.”

They scramble and Leah grins, turning the TV off and taking her time before she goes into the bedroom. She stood at the door and heard hushed whispers, before silence. She walks in and smiles, seeing the two of them exactly where she wanted them.

Alexia sits a little taller than you do, rocking a little on her knees in anticipation, clearly not accustomed to giving up control in the bedroom but seeing Leah’s eyes change and go dark with pure lust and sexual motivation only made her core ache in eagerness of what was to come.

“You,” Leah points rudely at you, “on the bed at the head. Not a fucking sound,” you nod and scramble onto the bed where she asks, hands folded neatly in your lap.

“And you,” Leah steps in front of Alexia, “lay down in the middle and be a good girl.”

“Yes Mommy,” Alexia answers, lying in the middle of the bed obediently. You settle at her head and caress her brunette and blonde hair, while Leah sits comfortably between her legs. Leah wastes no time and dives into her dessert, slurping and sucking on Alexia’s folds, fingers drumming up her muscular thighs that threatened to crush her head between them.

Alexia’s hands don’t know where to put themselves and Leah pulls them into her hair, eyes fixated on the thick Spaniard in her four-poster bed. Leah slips two fingers into Alexia like she had the last time they fucked and it sends Alexia’s brain spiraling, having tried to desperately recreate that feeling since Leah left the next morning.

You too can’t decide what to do with your hands, having been trained by Alexia to wait for instructions before moving a muscle. Leah can tell that Alexia has given up all her power today and that she held the reigns. It was a power that made her chest swell with pride.

“Ride her face, darling. That’s all her slut mouth is good for, isn’t it?” Leah taunted but Alexia only got wetter, the slick practically pouring out from the Catalan.

“Yes Mommy, she eats pussy so good,” you supply, straddling Alexia’s face before she can say anything. Leah smirks and presses her fingers up into Alexia’s sweet spot that she remembered from the last time. Alexia moans right onto your cunt, lapping up your juices that made your thighs sticky.

Leah pulls her fingers out and climbs off the bed, pulling her favorite strap out and securing it to her hips. Alexia can’t see what she’s got on but she can hear it and it sounds heavy. You ogle at the appendage between Leah’s legs and your eyes go wide, the ribbed dildo was long and thick, surely as big as Alexia had ever used on you.

Leah thrusts three fingers into the Spanish woman and fingers her hard and fast merely to open her up, Alexia’s legs struggling to keep themselves open as you leaned forward to ride Alexia’s tongue that had slipped into your heat.

“She feels so good Mommy,” you tell Leah, watching her fingers push into Alexia’s gaping pussy till the webbing. Her slick made a wet patch on the blanket under you three, your slick making a mess on Alexia’s beautiful face. She was in heaven, she thought, the two weeks of dreaming about this day made it worth the wait and it was more than she was expecting.

“She does feel good, sweetheart. Can you hear how wet she is?” Leah teases, reaching out for you for a kiss. You kiss her hard and moan, feeling Alexia’s big hands grab your ass for some stability.

“Want something a little special, darling?” Leah asks as she pulls away from you. She pulls her fingers out and watches you nod, tongue out like a panting like a dog. You think that Leah’s gonna let you have a little fun with Alexia but you were in for a little surprise like Leah said.

Leah presses her Alexia-covered fingers into your mouth deep into the cavern, pressing down on your tongue to pull a gag out of you.

“That is my favorite sound in the world, cariño,” Alexia pipes in, grinning wide with her slick-painted chin and lips.

“It is music to my ears,” Leah chimes in, pressing her fingers deep into your throat again to hear you gag. Tears fill your eyes and you stumble a little, falling forward onto Alexia’s torso.

Leah pulls out a strap from under her pillow and gives it to Alexia. You slip off her and stare, connecting the dots in your head.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you while Mommy has her way with me, got it?”

Leah smiles, helping Alexia pull the harness on. It settles right above her cunt which leaves it all for Leah while you could comfortably ride Alexia at the same time. Alexia sees the dildo Leah’s got on for the first time and smiles, stroking it gently.

“Will it fit Mommy?” she asks innocently, grabbing the lube Leah handed her to coat the toy with. She made a show of spreading the lube all over it, using the leftovers for her cock.

“We’ll get it to fit, darling.”

Leah manhandles you onto Alexia with her clean hands, spanking your ass hard as you look close to tears. She guides the toy into your pussy and you whine, the stretch was more than Alexia’s tongue could prepare you for.

“So full Mommy, feels so good,” you sigh, bottoming out on Alexia’s cock. She smiles and caresses your thighs before you add something that sends lightning through both Leah’s and Alexia’s veins.

“Your turn Daddy,” you grin and bite your lip, kneading Alexia’s breasts. Her hands on your hips suddenly go tight and Leah’s hands on your waist press you forward to expose Alexia’s heat. Leah swipes a little more lube on the tip and slides herself home, kissing your back as whines and whimpers leave Alexia’s mouth.

“Fuck, Mommy,” Alexia starts but takes a sharp breath when Leah bottoms out, “your cock is so big.”

“Too much, darling?”

“It’s perfect Mommy,” Alexia moans, moving her hips on her own. You began to ride her cock, feeling Leah’s thrusts which felt like she was fucking you too. You hover over Alexia and take her cock, feeling her thrust up into you as you try your best to ride her.

Leah ruts into Alexia like a dog in heat, the sticky lube creaming at the base of Leah’s cock as she enjoyed the view of your tight grip on Alexia’s cock to spur her on.

Alexia moaned loudly, feeling the ribbed cock inside her graze over her sweet spot. It jerks her hips which sends her cock so deep inside you that you’re sure you can feel it in your stomach. Your hand caresses your belly and lo and behold, there’s a cock shaped bulge just above your belly button.

“Oh Daddy, you’re so deep!” you moan, canting your hips on her cock faster to chase your high. Leah grips your waist but feels the skin tug under her hold and moves them just over your palm resting on the bulge that came and went.

“Daddy, you really are deep darling,” Leah tells Alexia whose hand, which is the biggest of the three, rests on top. She smirks when she feels the rhythmic pulse of her cock inside you.

“¿Cerca?” Alexia asks you and you nod when she feels Leah fuck into her pussy harder. It sends shivers down her spine and pleasure right through her body. Her eyes roll into her head and she smiles in pleasure, pulling you down for a searing kiss. Leah leans back and fucks up into Alexia’s swollen sweet spot, making sure the whole ribbed cock grazed it over and over again.

You aren’t sure who came harder.

You aren’t sure who screamed louder.

You aren’t sure how you ended up in a suspiciously Leah-scented hoodie.

Alexia asks herself the same question.

“Hello, darlings,” Leah’s voice sounded distant but comforting until there were kisses pressed to your head and several more on Alexia.

“What happened?” Alexia asked, tucking herself into Leah’s side and looking up at her.

“You two fell asleep the moment you came at the same time. I cleaned you up and put fresh sheets on. Now I need you two to finish this bottle of water before the pizza I ordered gets here.”

“We haven’t got any more games over here do we?” you ask Alexia as she sips on the water while Leah gets the pizza from the delivery man at the front door.

“No, but I think I can convince Jona to have international training to use the facilities at Arsenal or something because I need her dick again.”

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