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holybibly · 1 year ago

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𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 | 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: smut, Priests!AU

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 9,9k

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: It is said: "The best way to get forgiveness for sins is to repent." Priest Wooyoung will tell you how to do this.

𝔚𝔄ℜ𝔑ℑ𝔑𝔊: Priest!Wooyoung, Hierophilia, church sex, religion kink, dirty talk, masturbation, humiliation, blow jobs, rough oral, power play. spanking, fingering, orgasm delay, overstimulation, dom/sub and more.

𝔄/𝔑: And so it is that I have come to please you with something wicked. I don't know why I get so inspired, but I don't care. My opinion is that Priest Wooyoung is hot as hell, that's all. There will probably be another work released this weekend, but I won't tell you what it is. Of course, the unholy hours are available as usual. It's time to repent for the sins, bunnies, and, as the saying goes, Hell's empty, all demons outside.

You have never thought of yourself as a religious person, not under any circumstances whatsoever. You never knelt down in front of your bed, covered your eyes with trembling eyelids, and whispered softly, "Hail Mary," before you went to sleep in your cold and lonely bed.

Never asking God's mercy and forgiveness, you were as far from faith and piety as you could be. The last time you had been to church was years ago, when you came to communion with one of your distant relatives. The feeling was all too familiar, yet as alien as the shattered fragments of a mysterious dream you remembered having long ago. You walked slowly up the rain-slicked stone steps of your hometown's old church, as smooth and dreary as the weather today. The thin branches of the dead trees, devoid of the usual green foliage you knew wrapped around them at the beginning of each spring, reached up to the sky as if in prayer—brittle and outstretched—like the hands of a sinner.

"What am I doing here?" You asked yourself as you wrapped yourself more tightly in your soft cashmere coat and let out a convulsive sigh.

You didn't know how to answer that, and you couldn't seem to find the right one. That place... it seemed to call your name, and you couldn't resist the mysterious magnetism. The church was old and gloomy—the kind of church that people do not tell you the most pleasant stories about. Your eyes wandered over the faded, dark boards and the pointed spire, topped by a crooked, spiky cross that looked almost sinister as the rain swirled around it. The place had an air of desolation about it, and for a moment, you wondered if it was haunted.

It was the same church that your mother had gone to when she was a child, always dressed in her most beautiful clothes and with ribbons of silk woven into her hair.

"Did this place always look as spooky as it does now?" you asked her once.

The cold wind whipped through your long hair as you pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the church and made your way in. The rusty metal hinges sobbed pitifully at the sound of your action. The inside of the church was musty and smelled of incense, and visually, it was the same as millions of other churches: furnished with rows of wooden pews, with dusty Bibles lying in compartments attached to the backs of the pews. Narrow Gothic windows, decorated with the faces of sexless angels, stretched up to a vaulted ceiling.

There was no one there, which was what you would have expected, considering that there were only a few cars in the car park when you arrived here. You felt stupid for being here, completely unaware of what the purpose of your visit was in the first place.

The echo of your footsteps on the dark, faded midnight-blue velour floor was the only sound in the church. As you walked towards the back of the church, where the neatly decorated altar stood, your fingertips glided weightlessly along the cool edges of the old pews. Dark and full of suffering, the heavy crucifix hung over the altar like an unbearable sacred burden. There was a small confessional not too far from it.

One day, when you were a little girl, your grandparents took you to the church and insisted that you have a confession of your sins. Sitting behind the curtain, you felt so grown up; the small room seemed so much larger in comparison to your petite body. With your head bowed, you solemnly told the priest that you sometimes took a few extra biscuits when your mother wasn't looking, and he, in turn, instructed you to recite the Hail Mary a few times.

As you approached the confessional, you lazily tugged at the heavy velvet curtain, running your fingers over the faded fabric, which was worn in places. You wondered what sins you could repent of now; you didn't often reflect on what you'd done or seek forgiveness, at least not from an all-powerful divine being you weren't even sure existed. You opened the curtain and jumped at the sharp sound of metal rings as they scratched against the beam on which it was hung. The inside of the cabin was dark, and there was a smell of dust in it. You coughed and breathed in the small particles that stuck to your tongue in an unpleasant way.

"Hello, my dear."

You jumped at the slight echo of the soft, melodic voice that came from behind the metal bars of the confessional. Leaning against the door, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your fast heart pound. Squinting, you hoped to get a better look at the dark figure of the priest on the other side.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was here." You said it quietly. "I... I was just lookin' around."

"You're new, right?" The voice was beautiful; with every vowel the person formed, you could hear some kind of melody, low and languid, almost seductive, and you suddenly realised that your hands were covered with goose bumps. Was the temperature in the little cabin any cooler than it was in the rest of the church? You couldn't be sure, but you found yourself unconsciously pulling the tails of your coat closer to your body.

Intrigued by the man on the other side of the small grate, you took a step further into the small room and looked around.

"Something like that."

"You don't come to places like this very often?" The voice made more of a statement than a question.

"No." You agreed with it. "I can't remember when I've been to church lately." You whispered in reply, so quietly that you could hardly be heard.

Silence fell between you, and, not quite understanding what you'd done, you reached out and pulled the curtain, shrouding yourself in darkness. Through the metal bars, you saw a slender man's figure and carefully sat down on the velvet bench.

"So why did you come here today, then?" The priest asked, although there was something in his tone of voice that told you that he already knew the answer, perhaps even better than you did. Was all this small talk a normal part of confession?

"I... I'm not really sure, just an instinct." You crumpled the soft fabric of your cloak between your fingers, growing more nervous with every second of the small talk between you and the mysterious priest.

"I understand, of course." He replied with a note of familiarity, as if he heard the same thing every day of his life.

Feeling even more insecure than before, you raised an eyebrow and shifted into the uncomfortable seat beneath you. There was something special about this priest, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was.

"Is something bothering you, dear?"

You bit your lower lip as you tried to process what he said. Was something gnawing at you? Was there something that was bothering you to such an extent that you were beginning to feel pangs of conscience? Deep down inside of you, in the depths of your mind, where you didn't dare to go?

"Maybe?" You finally managed to say it, but it sounded more like a question. Your whole body was on edge, and you couldn't understand why it was so. You weren't afraid, no, but there was definitely a sense of something out of the ordinary. Something that was forbidden.

"You've been doing a lot of thinking lately, haven't you?" The man asked you a question, and all of a sudden you found yourself with your eyes half closed in bliss as you enjoyed the silky texture of his voice. It sounded like an angel was singing, but with a dark undertone. "You have been asking yourself questions, perhaps even too alarming ones."

You nodded weakly in acknowledgement of his words; despite the barrier between you, he seemed to be aware of your silent response.

"You're afraid you're bad." He said simply, and you could almost swear that he was laughing at the last two words, there was a hint of mockery in the tone of his voice.

Hearing him say that made your mouth dry up and you coughed slightly, trying to clear your throat.

"Holy Father, what makes you say things like that?"

"Are not all of us afraid of something like this at some point in our lives? We are afraid of ourselves, afraid of our sinfulness."

There was a blink of confusion on your face, a complete bewilderment at the strange turn this conversation had taken. And yet, somehow, you felt compelled to go on and hear more.

His voice dropped to a hoarse, velvety whisper that sent waves of heat down the length of your spine and caused you to squirm in your seat. Was this how you were supposed to feel at this moment?

"Let me tell you a little secret, dearie."

"I-am I listening?" Your heartbeat quickened as a single streak of pale light fell on the man behind the small bars, and for a moment you saw a dark, fox-like eye.

"We are all bad men. Every single one of us."

A shiver ran down your entire body, and you could feel the stuffy air in the confessional getting hotter and hotter.

"Even you, dearest child." He moved closer to the mesh holes in the barrier that separated the two of you, and you could make out the shape of his lips, diabolically curved and full. "Especially you."

"F-Father…"

"Wooyoung." He fixed you. "My name is Wooyoung. "

You repeated his name softly, sliding your tongue over each letter; your voice was barely above a whisper, but you could hear the man inhale sharply as his name came out of your lips. His name was sinful and sweet, almost wicked, like a serpent that tempts you to do the most evil of deeds. This man cannot be a priest at all. But if he was not a priest, who was he then?"

"You are," he began, and you could almost feel the smirk on his beautiful lips as he spoke. "Very naughty girl.

Oh, my God. This wasn't really happening. Was it? No, he couldn't have meant it. He was a priest, for God's sake.

"And what is your suggestion that I should do about it?" You asked shyly, looking down at the palms of your hands, which were now covered in shallow marks from where your nails had dug themselves into the damp skin. You couldn't see Wooyoung, but you were sure that the look in his eyes would be nothing less than piercing and malicious. "Should I say the Hail Mary several times? Pray for atonement for what I have done? You haven't even told me why it is you think I'm a sinner."

He let out a dark, dry chuckle, and you heard a muffled sound as you guessed that the palms of his hands were making hard contact with his thighs.

"Shall I show you?"

"Show me what?" Your eyes narrowed and a strange sense of anticipation began to well up inside you.

"How do I have the knowledge that you are a sinner?"

You chewed on your lower lip in thought, and then you cleared your throat with a kind of self-assured finality.

"All right. But I'm beginning to think that you're a little overconfident." You added that last part in an attempt to lessen your sense of vulnerability in front of this man. You had doubts that anything would change, but something told you that you would need all the confidence you could have.

Hearing your words, his hand reached out and pressed against the grating metal, and he let out a low purr. Up close, you could see the prominent veins that ran down Wooyoung's slender hand, his long fingers adorned with a number of expensive rings, and you tried desperately to suppress a certain feeling that threatened to force itself upon you.

"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.

Instantly, your entire world was enveloped in a bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head, you saw clear images of unspeakable darkness, depravity, and longing. You recognised them as your dreams, as fleeting thoughts that you tried to push away, as shadows that danced on the walls of your bedroom in the late hours of the night. All of these images had been ripped right out of your mind.

You jerked your hand away from him as if it had been burned, and you cried out in pity as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the dark confessional, multi-coloured spots dancing in front of your eyes as if they were mocking you and your mind.

"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.

"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.

"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."

Were they?

Now you could see your own breath steaming, and in one quick, desperate movement, you rushed to the curtain, tore it aside, and stepped into the light. As soon as you were out of the stall, you slumped limply into the front pew of the church, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

There was a rustling sound in the cabin before the door on the priest's side of the room opened slightly, and a man stepped out of the darkness—Wooyoung. He was of average height and was dressed entirely in black, like a second skin, with the exception of a crisp white collar. His black hair flowed like silk down to his sharp jaw line and framed the chiselled features of his face. With fierce dark eyes and full lips that curled into a wickedly seductive smile, he was handsome—beautifully handsome.

You should have been afraid of him after what he had just shown you. You should have turned around and run away and never looked back—away from this church and away from Wooyoung. As you have always sworn, you should have left your hometown forever.

But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.

"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"

He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.

"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.

"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.

"Oh, poor, sweet child." He said this in a drawl, dragging the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes along the floor and carefully folding his hands behind his back. "Absolutely not. I am going to make you repent for all of your sins."

He came to a halt just a few feet in front of you, tilted his head, and looked down at your body. There was a sense of nakedness and vulnerability under his piercing gaze. You felt completely helpless.

"Throughout your entire life, you have committed so many sins that it will take me a long time to get you to repent for them," he said. Wooyoung was talking about it as if it were the most common thing in the world.

"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.

"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.

"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.

"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."

Were they?

But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.

"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"

He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.

"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.

"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.

"What if I have no desire for repentance?" You said it in a defiant tone. You wanted to be brave; you wanted to be strong and confident, but something deep down inside of you told you that Wooyoung was not the kind of person that you couldn't help but obey. His whole aura told you that if he wanted to, he would fold you up like an origami piece. But there was nothing you could do about it; you had to test the waters to see what would happen if you refused to bend to his will.

He looked at you so intently that you felt he wanted to eat you alive right then and there.

"But I have a feeling that's not the case, is it?" He said this as he ran the tips of his fingers along your jaw. You tensed as he touched you, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine as Wooyoung lazily ran his thumb over your lower lip. "I think you want to get on your knees before me, child. You wish to repent."

Your eyes widened at the sound of his words, and a smirk of arrogance spread across his perfect scarlet lips. Why haven't you fought back?

He leaned forward so that his gorgeous face was only inches away from yours. You squeezed your thighs together as warm wetness began to pool between them, realising he was even more beautiful up close, like sin itself.

"I could smell the sweetness of your cunt from the moment you walked into the church, you little slut." His voice dropped a couple of octaves, and you shivered at the feel of his hot breath on the skin of your body.

The vulgarity of his words made you gasp, but you couldn't deny how your mouth watered at the sound of his velvety voice saying the words 'cunt' and'slut'. God, he was doing something to you, but you were... You were attracted to it.

"I smelled that smell when you walked into the confessional, when you heard my voice, when you said my name." His eyes sparkled in a devilish way, trapping you in his gaze, and if you hadn't been so excited, you would have noticed the black shadows dancing along the edges of his irises.

He was speaking to you in an almost patronising manner now, and you froze in place as he pulled your lower lip down and gently ran his thumb along the inside of it until the pad of his finger was slick with your saliva.

"Wooyoung..." You exhaled, looking down at your hands, fidgeting aimlessly in your lap. Your cheeks were hot and flushed, and by the way Wooyoung looked at you, with a predatory hunger woven into the perfect features of his face, you could tell that your shyness was only turning him on even more.

"There's never been a girl in my life that has been so desperate for a fuck as you have. Your desires ... they are almost tangible." He was so close to you now that his hot lips touched the round of your cheek, sending a wave of electricity through your body as he spoke. "I have met many sinners in my life, as you can imagine."

"Are you going to punish me for that?" He raised an eyebrow before straightening up and looking down at you, seemingly completely satisfied with your answer. A majestic expression of all-encompassing power was frozen on his face as he spoke.

"No, darling, of course not. I wouldn't want to punish you, but I am going to make you repent. And the first sin you will have to do penance for will be lust." Wooyoung said, and you found yourself biting your lower lip at the commanding tone of his voice. "Stand up." He gave you the order.

You did as he asked you to, got up from your seat, and stood in front of the so-called priest. He moved around you in a circle, as if considering what to do with you, never allowing you to escape his dark gaze. His tongue stretched out to lick his plump lips in a sensual way; finally, he sat down on the spot where you had been a few seconds before and ran his hands over his muscular, thick thighs.

You were standing in front of him, completely at his mercy, your head bowed in respect as he looked at you like a predator from his seated position, your skin burning under the weight of his gaze. You could almost feel his eyes as they crawled over your body, peeling away layer after layer until they reached the very core of your soul.

"Get undressed." There was a metallic edge to Wooyoung's voice as he crossed his legs and leaned back, his long hair falling over his handsome face, making him even more vicious. "Now."

You opened your mouth to speak, words of protest hovering on the tip of your tongue, but you closed it immediately, realising that it was better not to protest. The feeling of submission came again, sharp and clear, and you quickly pulled off your cloak and threw it to the ground behind you. The soft fabric pooled on top of the midnight blue velour. Then your jumper and your jeans joined it, your hands shaking as you unbuttoned them and pulled them down to your hips.

As you shyly wrapped your arms around yourself, you suddenly realised that your nipples were hard and swollen and could be seen peeking out from under the thin white lace of your bra.

Wooyoung leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his sharp chin resting on his palms, before he glared at you.

"You have to undress completely, darling."

You nodded obediently, reached behind your back to unhook your bra, and with timid reluctance, pulled the lace straps off your shoulders. You lowered your eyes in shame and looked down at the floor, while Wooyoung kept his gaze fixed on you.

"In atoning for our sins." He began to speak softly, reaching out to your face and gently guiding your chin so that you looked up at him. "We do not have the luxury of being modest." Wooyoung patted your cheek in a condescending manner before he hooked his fingertips into the waistband of your panties, which were nothing more than a thin piece of white lace. He let out a sweet moan as he slowly pulled them off of you, inch by inch, revealing the smooth skin and the wet folds of your pussy.

You blushed as you watched him rub the lace between his fingers, and a thoughtful look came over his handsome face as he said.

"They're wet, darling." He finally said it in a sarcastic tone, his lips curling into a disgusted grin. "You really are a whore, aren't you? You walk around in wet panties and have depraved thoughts, and no less so than about a person who wears holy garments." Despite the roughness and harshness of his words, you could still see the mischievous gleam in his eyes. He tucked your panties into his trouser pocket.

"It's really pathetic, isn't it?" His tongue flicked over his plump lower lip until it was glistening with saliva, and a quick glance down at his crotch showed that he was hard. "You are so lucky that I am here to help you rid yourself of all the sins that you have committed, my child."

The humiliating nature of the situation was turning you on far more than you were prepared to admit. Your clit was throbbing with pain, so intense that it was beginning to distract you, and your thoughts were constantly wandering off in a thick, lustful haze.

"Show me how you touch yourself at night when you are alone with all those sordid thoughts. I want to see you give yourself over to sin." Wooyoung ordered you as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest in a casual manner. It was impossible to ignore his erection in this position, and your mouth fell open a little when you noticed just how massive the bulge was.

"Y-yes, sir." You whispered. Your mind was spinning with lust as you parted your legs slightly for easier access, your hand hesitantly touching the warm, soft flesh of your inner thighs, shuddering as you discovered the abundance of your juices running down it.

"Keep going, darling. Don't be shy." In response to his words, your fingers touched your neglected, throbbing clit, spreading a sticky, warm wetness and massaging it in slow, firm circles. You whimpered softly, partly from pleasure and partly from the thick humiliation that was blooming in your throat, to which Wooyoung only gave a wicked grin.

"Come on, we both know that you can do it better than that." He reproached you. "I'd like to see you fuck yourself, darling."

You swallowed hard and hesitantly let your fingers slide between the wet folds of your pussy. Your behaviour was beginning to irritate Wooyoung, and all the playfulness was gone in an instant, and a venomous bitterness appeared in his voice. With the silver of his rings digging uncomfortably into your skin, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His gaze was as intent and as dark as the night, and you shivered at the sight.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I said, fuck yourself."

It was such a rude and vulgar thing to say, especially coming from someone who was a priest, and it took your breath away. In obedience to his command, you immediately slid two fingers through the soft, wet folds and into your cunt. You let out a long moan as you felt your silky walls stretch around your fingers, and, trying to get more of the feeling, you began to move them back and forth. Trying desperately to keep your balance in this awkward position, your knees were getting weaker by the second, and you could feel yourself starting to orgasm.

"You don't expect me to believe that your slutty little cunt can only hold two fingers, do you?" Wooyoung mocked him, biting down on his plump lower lip with her perfect set of teeth.

Gritting your teeth against the invasion, you sighed heavily and added another finger. The soft walls of your vagina squeezed your fingers like a velvet vice with every move you made. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away the shame that was quickly engulfing you like the flames of hell. The wet, squelching sound of your fingers moving in and out of your pussy was nothing short of vulgar.

"Harder, show me all of it." Wooyoung's sharp command came out, and you did your best to obey, curling your fingers and rubbing them roughly against the small, spongy bundle of nerves inside you. You were breathing heavily, your forehead and neck glistening with sweat, and your lips red and swollen when Wooyoung finally told you to stop. It was cruel, the way he waited patiently and calculatedly until you were about to come, only to deny you, but you couldn't bring yourself to complain; it was your punishment after all.

Your fingers picked up the glistening wetness that flowed from your cunt, and as you looked at Wooyoung, you brought it to your mouth and wrapped your lips around your fingers, licking it and sucking every last drop of it.

He rose sharply from where he sat, shading you and towering over you like the very embodiment of God—or the Devil? Wooyoung wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on your hairline, with a look of genuine affection on his handsome face. This tenderness did not last for long, however, and after a few seconds, he was back in his unrelenting position of authority.

"On your knees, dear." You did so without hesitation, your knees immediately touching the faded and discoloured velour.

"Look at you, stripped of all your dignity, on your knees, writhing in despair, like a bitch in heat. Aren't you a sight to see?"

You blinked slowly, looking up at him with a fawn's wide-eyed innocence, squeezing your legs together as another wave of excitement surged from your needy cunt. Wooyoung taunted you; there was no way he would show you mercy—you could see it in his eyes as he looked at you coldly, his pretty mouth pressed into a thin line.

"You have no pride, my dear, but you must still do penance for that, to be sure you will have forgiveness for that too." He lifted one foot and placed it on the seat of the bench, presenting you with a polished, expensive-looking shoe. "Clean it for me. With your mouth, my dear."

You raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung but didn't argue, for fear that he would punish you more severely and in more subtle ways if you didn't comply. His boot looked clean enough; not a single scuff could be seen on the shiny leather, and as you moved closer to the bench, you ran the tip of your tongue along the leather in an experimental way. It didn't taste like much, which was a relief to your anxiety, and soon you were flattening your tongue and licking the hard material as if your life depended on it.

"Good girl." He cooed, but there was very little in the way of kindness in that reassurance. As if you were nothing more than a pet, his hand stroked your hair. You were relieved when Wooyoung pulled away and removed his foot from the bench, shuddering at the thought of all the dirt you were putting in your mouth.

"Look at me, my darling."

Your eyes fell on the large bulge at the front of his dark, neatly pressed trousers, and you moved away from the bench so that you were now level with his crotch. A beam of red light shone through the stained glass behind him, reflecting off the black stone of his ring as Wooyoung ran his fingers over his belt. As he slowly unbuckled the belt, the church was silent, except for the faint jingle of the metal buckle. Your gaze lingered for a moment on the image of the Virgin Mary that stood in the corner of the church. Was there judgement in her eyes? Was there a sense of disgust? Her face was as divinely serene as ever, and you couldn't tell.

Too handsome to be a saint, he bowed his head towards you, long strands of black hair falling down to frame his face. Wooyoung unzipped his trousers, taking a moment for a lewd touch of his bulge before pulling out his hard cock. The head of his cock was wet and turgid; a thick drop of pre-cum rolled down its length, and you wanted to follow its movement with your tongue.

"What do you crave, huh?" He asked, hissing as his hand slid up and down the length of his thick cock.

"Do you crave something that can't be satisfied?" His words flowed in a rhythmic flow, and his tone was so soft that you could almost swear that he was singing to you. It was the voice of an angel that was calling out to you. "Do you take all that they give you, only to find that you're still starving to death?" You bobbed your head up and down, desperate and needy, and parted your lips as he rubbed the head over your lips, staining them with pre-cum, making them slick and shiny. You were giddy, stunned by the pure, erotic beauty of this man, this stranger, whom you had so willingly allowed to pollute you in this house of God.

"You're a greedy little animal, aren't you?" Wooyoung taunted you with a throaty grunt as he slapped his cock against your cheek. You kept your hands on your hips, waiting obediently for further instructions. You grew more and more restless by the second, not having his dick in your mouth or in your hand.

God, you were one hungry little thing, you really were.

From where you were on your knees, he looked ethereal, his full lips moulded into a perfect, sensual shape. It was fascinating to watch such a man let himself fall apart like that, his chest rising and falling and sweat forming on his forehead as he moved his hand over his thick cock.

He let out a low, guttural moan as he picked up the pace and came closer and closer to the edge, throwing his head back towards the vaulted ceiling. You were so turned on that you were sure your juices were already dripping onto the carpet beneath you, forming a small puddle, a dirty declaration of your desire. The unpleasant throbbing of your cunt only intensified as you witnessed Wooyoung's approach to orgasm, his breathing choked and ragged.

He looked down at you and licked his luscious, almost sinful, lips.

"Open your mouth, dear." As if you knew he wanted it, you parted your jaw and lowered your head to his cock. Wooyoung jerked his cock a few more times before he released a silky stream of hot, salty cum into your open mouth, an animalistic roar of pleasure escaping from his lips like music. "Don't even have a thought about swallowing."

You felt the thick stream of his cum begin to flow down your tongue and into the depths of your throat, but you ignored the instinctive urge to swallow. Wooyoung pulled his trousers back on, buckled his belt around his waist, and sat back down on the bench with a cold indifference. There was not a single trace left of the erotic image that you had seen just a minute ago.

He patted his muscular, thick thighs and looked at you defiantly, and you obediently walked over to him and sat down on his lap.

His warm thigh pressed against your cunt without pity as soon as you sat down, and you pressed against him desperately in pursuit of the pleasure he hadn't allowed you to have yet. At the same time, Wooyoung slapped your bare bottom with the palm of his hand.

"You have been impertinent to me, which means you have an anger that makes you want to sin. And that is one of my favourite sins, my dear. Wooyoung said as he put his hands on your hips to stop you from squirming on his leg. "To see all the terrible things people can do just because of a little anger is both fascinating and funny."

He lifted you slightly and placed you on his lap. You obeyed him without saying a word. He manipulated you like a doll, positioning you so that you were completely on top of him, your long hair falling in your face and your head tilted forward. You clenched your jaw as hard as you could, terrified of what would happen if you let a single drop of his sperm come out of your mouth. You winced and whimpered as he wedged his knee between your legs again, his hand brushing the tender junction of your ass and thigh.

"I can feel the rage burning deep inside you, my child." Wooyoung held your hands behind your back as he restrained you, tears welling in your eyes. He used his other hand to press down on your lower back and used his knee to press down on your wet cunt. You let out a scream, the piercing sound muffled by your closed lips. The texture of his cum seemed to get thicker the longer it remained on your tongue, and you had to clench your jaw tighter, praying that nothing would accidentally drip out. You couldn't afford to be disgusted by how bitter and cold it had become, coating your mouth with every slight movement you made.

"Isn't that so? Answer me, dear." He growled as he began to massage your ass so hard that you could feel his nails digging into your soft skin.

All you could manage was a pitiful "mmmm.".

"Angry, naughty girl." He said, his voice full of fake sympathy as he ran his fingertips along your thighs in preparation for what was to come. "We can't let this pass unnoticed, can we? You need to repent."

Without warning, he slapped your ass so hard you almost forgot the cum in your mouth. Your body jerked forward before he caught you and brought you back. He didn't give you any time to recover from the blow, as he landed a second one on the opposite side of your ass. Your eyes welled up with tears and concentration as you struggled to keep your mouth shut. Tears started streaming from your eyes down your flushed, hot cheeks as he hit you again with even more sadistic aggression than the first two times. Wooyoung continued his merciless assault, each blow harder than the last, until he landed a particularly hard blow that you were sure would leave a bloody handprint on your skin. The force of the blow was almost enough to bring you to a scream, and for a moment, your lips parted. A small stream of cum ran from the corner of your mouth and down the side of your chin.

You hoped that he hadn't noticed, but you realised that you were out of luck when he let go of your wrists and took a firm grip of your hair instead. As he leaned down to speak roughly into your ear, he dug his nails into the battered, red skin of your ass as he pulled your head back.

"I will have no choice but to extend your punishment if you make a mess, my dear." When he warned you, Wooyoung's voice was deep and quietly ominous, like the ocean on the brink of a storm. He waited for a nod of understanding from you before he let go of your hair and returned to his previous position, running the palm of his hand lovingly over the swollen expanse of your ass.

You closed your eyes and took deep, slow breaths as Wooyoung spanked you over and over again without stopping. You would probably have enjoyed the spanking if it hadn't been for the added responsibility of holding a tonne of cum in your mouthYou s you squirm under his touch. His knee was still pressed relentlessly against your cunt, and his trousers were no doubt slippery from your excitement, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body every time you jerked in response to another loud slap against your skin. The sound was almost deafening, echoing off the walls of the old church in a dull echo.

Your punishment turned Wooyoung on once more, his hard cock pressed against the side of your body.

"It's turning you on, you little bitch." The tone of his voice would have been venomous, but it still remained angelic in some way. "I shouldn't be surprised about that. It doesn't matter what kind of touch you have, is it? You're such a needy slut that even the most innocent of touches makes your cunt wet." He ran his fingers through the tangled hair at the back of your head and let out a mocking chuckle. "You can swallow now, darling."

You swallow the cold, sticky cum, gasping in relief as it slides down your throat, immediately following his request. You could still taste it on the inside of your mouth, a faint hint of savoury sweetness tickling your taste buds. After he had spent a few seconds stroking your battered bottom in gentle, soothing movements, he grabbed hold of your sides and lifted you up until you were back in a sitting position on the edge of his lap. For the second time that night, he unbuckled his belt, sliding his trousers and boxer shorts halfway down his hips and freeing his thick cock.

Your stomach churned at the sight of Wooyoung's big, thick cock, but you knew better than to give in to your dark desires. All you could think about was how much you wanted to feel it—to run your hand along its veiny member, to curl your lips around its warm, velvety length, to jump on it and take it so deep into your cunt until you were sure you could feel it deep inside your belly. Wooyoung was absolutely right: you didn't care how he touched you at all. You were longing to feel his touch in any way that was possible.

"Pampered little sluts like you are always too used to being given everything they want without having to lift a finger to get it." He said this as he used his thumb to massage the wet head of his cock. He lifted you up and guided you to straddle him, his hands gripping the soft curves of your hips. Your breath caught; you were so close to your desire that you could almost taste it on your tongue.

"Is that what you wanted, darling?" Wooyoung hummed sweetly as he wrapped his long fingers around your wrist and pressed your hand down onto his cock. Instinctively, you grabbed hold of it, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you ran your fingers along the prominent veins that adorned the length of his cock.

"Yeah, Holy Father." You said it breathlessly. "God, yes. This is what I have been craving so much."

"You little whore, you ought to know better than to take the name of the Lord in vain in the presence of a priest." Wooyoung teased, and you could feel his hot, cinnamon-scented breath on the back of your neck. The pleasure rippled through your body.

"Please, Wooyoung, please, I want to repent." You came close to whimpering. Your hips jerked in Wooyoung's tight grip in search of some kind of relief, and he reached forward to hold you tightly.

"You must try harder, darling. I want to see you try to repent." He placed his hands on either side of you, and the corners of his sensual lips curled up slightly into a wicked grin as he leaned back against the bench and looked at you from under his half-closed eyelids. You leaned forward and held his cock upright by the base. Sitting up, you rubbed the flushed head along your soft, wet folds, pushing it past your entrance and stretching the small hole with his thick, hot cock. Your heart pounded in your chest, pounding against your ribs as you slid on top of him all at once. At the obviously intense pain of his thickness stretching your narrow, silky walls, tears streamed from your eyes.

"Dear Lord." You let out a loud moan and rolled your eyes back as he suddenly filled you to the brim. Wooyoung didn't move, maintaining a majestic coolness, but you could see him sucking his plump lower lip into his mouth when he could feel your pussy enveloping him, a soft hiss coming from the back of his throat.

"That's it, my darling." He praised you, not being able to control himself, and he began to knead your plump tits in his hands. You squealed and barely moved your hips, still trying to get used to the idea of having something so massive and so hot inside of you. "I want you to fuck yourself on my dick. Can you do that for me like a good girl?" he asked.

"Yeah, Holy Father." You replied breathlessly. You leaned over Wooyoung's shoulder and grabbed hold of the edge of the bench with both hands to prop yourself up. As you began to move slowly, up and down on his cock, Wooyoung pressed his mouth to your sensitive nipple and ran his tongue over it.

You were starting to sweat, but you continued to fuck yourself as ordered, gaining momentum with each thrust of your hips.

The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the empty church and mingled with the muffled, lascivious moans that escaped from your throat. You had never experienced ecstasy like this before, and you were not sure if you would ever be able to experience it again. You were insatiable, moving your hips in an almost painfully hard rhythm, your knuckles white from the force of your grip on the bench. The head of Wooyoung's cock reached your cervix, and you saw stars, unable to think of anything else but your inevitable orgasm and the devilishly beautiful man beneath you.

"Fuck, oh, fuck, Wooyoung, please..." You screamed out the words in an incoherent manner, completely consumed by the intense pleasure you were feeling. Wooyoung was a lot less eloquent than you and tried to control himself, but it was obvious that he was going crazy as well, judging by how hard he was pressing down on you. You could be sure that the marks that his hands had left on your body would be there for a long time to come.

He growled as he lifted his hips up towards you, and streams of tears began to run down your cheeks with renewed force. It hurt, but you loved the pain, you craved it, and you knew you wouldn't be able to forget it for weeks and weeks.

"I'm so close... oh fuck, I'm... I'm..." You let out a loud moan and threw your head back.

With that, he pushed you away from him with such force that you fell off his lap, your ass touching the cold velour carpet, his cock coming out of you just as you were about to come. You sobbed pitifully and looked up at Wooyoung with your eyes wide and glassy as he rose to his feet, his cock glistening with the wetness of your cunt.

"I don't think you're sincere enough in repenting; you're still full of sin, full of forbidden and dark desires, my dear." Wooyoung said it in a dismissive manner as he looked down at you. He leaned down and ran his long fingers through your hair, pulling you up until you were kneeling. "I know what you want, negligible girl. You want to cum. But unfortunately for you, today I'm the only one who can do it."

He mocked you, taking pleasure in the look of misery on your face as he forced your mouth open. He then shoved his cock into your mouth, letting you taste the arousal of your own as it covered him, and without any warning at all,, he began to fuck you in the face at a fast, merciless pace. Gagging on his cock and taking shallow breaths through your nose as he pushed down your throat, using your hair as a rein to guide your head, there was nothing you could do but take what was given to you. You felt his cock twitch, and then your nose was pressed against the smooth, hot skin of his pelvis, one hand holding you in place as warm ropes of cum shot down your throat. He released you and threw you on your side like a rag doll when he was sure you had drunk every last drop.

Too humiliated to look into the eyes of the gorgeous man who had brought you to this state, you began to sob, pulling your knees to your chest. There was no more holiness in Wooyoung than there was in the devil himself. Like the wolf in sheep's clothing, he wore a robe. At the moment, you were nothing more than a whimpering mess, bruised and humiliated, with a sore throat and trembling lips.

And yet somehow your cunt was throbbing and leaking, desperate for filling.

"Please, Wooyoung..." As the words left your lips, you felt numb and didn't even know how you could speak. "Please."

From where he was standing, he looked sinfully delicious, towering over you like a fallen angel dressed in black and sin as you lay on the floor, and you watched in disappointment as he tucked his dick back into his trousers. With what little strength you had left, you tugged at the hem of his trouser leg, and he tilted his head questioningly, a sensual smile crossing his plump lips at the sight of your hopeless state.

"Please. I don't know what you want me to repent for, but please.... Just... please. I'll do anything for you. Wooyoung..." You were on your knees, pressing your cheek against his thigh like a cat begging for food.

"What do you want, my child?" He asked in a voice that was patronising and majestic. He gently stroked your cheek with his thumb, wiping away some of the tears that had partially dried as he did so. "Wasn't that enough for you? Isn't it enough that my cock fills your mouth and your cunt? Are you going to ask me for more when I have already given you so much?"

You lowered your eyes in shame.

He grabbed you roughly by the shoulder and jerked you to your feet, throwing you onto the bench as he did so. Wooyoung licked his lips as he admired the sight of your naked body as it lay on the wooden bench, the angry red marks on your skin, and the blackened bruises that adorned your thighs.

"Do you want to cum? Is that what you want, you little slut?" Wooyoung asked you as he dropped to his knees and spread your thighs wide open. When you didn't answer, he smacked you hard on the inside of your thigh. "Answer me, bitch."

"Oh my God." You sighed, melting at the teasing sensation of the cold air of the wind on your hot and needy cunt as he spoke. "Y-yes Holy Father. That is what I want."

"Isn't it?" Wooyoung purred, holding your hips in place so that they would remain open for his pleasure. "I will be gracious to you, because that is what God commands us to be."

Suddenly, he lowered himself forward and buried his gorgeous face in your pussy, stroking vigorously between the folds of your pussy and collecting your sticky secretions on his tongue. You moaned wildly, one hand tangled in his black silk hair, reflexively rubbing your pussy all over his face. He wrapped his plump lips around your clit, sucking just enough to leave you stunned, and ran his tongue between your soft folds, swollen from his previous actions. Squirming helplessly under his ministrations, you cried out as he let go of one of your hips and slipped two long fingers inside you.

It was brutal—the way he moved his fingers inside you in a merciless way, his mouth working fervently over your clit. The edges of your vision became blurred, and soon you could feel the walls of your pussy beginning to contract, a sign that your climax was nearing.

"I... I... damn!" He flicked your head once more with the tip of his tongue, and then you came, throwing your head back in euphoria as you were consumed by your orgasm. Your cunt vibrated as Wooyoung laughed mockingly, and it was then that the whole situation became clear to you: you had been fucked, well and truly. He wasn't going to let you breathe; instead, he continued to play with your throbbing clit, a third finger thrusting into you with a dirty, lewd slurp.

"This is too much..." You whimpered as his tongue moved quickly around your sensitive clit, and his fingers spread you lightly as they went. You had no choice but to accept what he was giving you—the pleasure coursing through you so strongly that it became unbearable—but you were sure that was what he wanted—to punish you with what you craved so much.

He ran his fingers inside of you, guiding them so that they hit the deepest places that no one else had ever been able to reach. He twisted and turned them, brushing against something that was spongy and sensitive, and for a moment all you could see was white as you came for the second time. Just as you had feared, Wooyoung had no intention of stopping; now he was sucking on your clit with such passion that you could barely move, and you fell limply to the back of the bench, your legs twitching under his tight grip. He continued to push his fingers deep into you, your body shuddering weakly each time the tips of his fingers made contact with your cervix.

"Wooyoung, please stop." You begged, but all he did was laugh maliciously and spread his fingers out inside of you, stretching you even further. He pulled away from your clit with a loud pop, and you were on the verge of a sigh of relief until he removed his fingers from your core and replaced them with his sinful lips.

"N-no, that's too much, please!" Now you were sobbing openly as he lowered his head to lick the stripes between your folds, his thumb circling your defenceless clit, his long silken hair tickling the sore skin on your inner thighs.

Wooyoung sucked one of your labia into his mouth before he pushed himself deeper into your entrance and began to fuck you with his skilled, long tongue. You felt the familiar tightness in your stomach once more, and the muscles in your thighs clenched as he pinched your clit with two fingers. The coil in your stomach snapped without warning, and then you came, but this time everything was different: a wave of clear liquid burst from your overstimulated cunt and soaked Wooyoung's face and the front of his perfect shirt.

Eventually, he pulled himself away, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he looked down at the mess that you had made.

"You filthy little thing." He laughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and licked his wet fingers at the mess. "So, what do you think? Have you come to understand how you can repent of your sins?"

"Y-yes, Holy Father." You said you were clenching your legs in a protective manner in case he decided to go for another round.

"Good." He rose to his feet again, looking just as untouched as he had been the first time you had seen him, except for his hair, which was slightly dishevelled.

Your whole body was aching, from your sore ass to your swollen cunt, from your hips to your back. You were sure that for the next few weeks, Wooyoung would be the only thing on your mind. "I will be waiting for your return, my child. I need to be sure that you have understood the righteous path and that you are living without sin. Do you understand me, dear?"

"Yes, Wooyoung, I am definitely going to come back to confess."

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thinkinonsense · 8 months ago

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THE BOY IS MINE✮

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

C/W: cursing, obsessive behavior, and slightly sexual content (mostly flirty behavior except at the end)

Word Count: 980

A/N: this is inspired by the song and video for the boy is mine by ariana grande. kinda just wanted to write about someone being obsessive and crazy. if you haven't seen the music video, I would suggest it. it's pretty short so I hope you enjoy <3

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Missions weren't always as exciting as they might seem; bosses were demanding and cruel. The danger was inevitable but you needed to eat so there wasn't much of a choice in finding other work. This would have to do for now but sometimes a girl needs to create her own excitement in life.

Which is exactly what you did when you met the Wolverine.

It was a quick first impression but God, it was one to remember. You were sent to settle a deal with a couple men upstate when a strange man pins you to a wall in the hallway; pressing his hips to the front of your black skirt and a hand over your mouth. He smelled of cigar smoke, wood, and mint. Without hesitation, you sink your teeth into the meat of his flesh until he moves it.

"Who the hell are you..?" You hiss.

"Stay here." He ordered.

The man walks away; metal claws shoot out of his hands as he attacks the businessmen at the table. You had never been so furious. The last thing you needed was for some stranger to come and take your credit. This was your job; not his.

Despite being livid with the stranger, you couldn't help but notice how attractive he was. The man sunk his claws in all their guts; you watched them fall one by one until only the two of you were left in the warehouse. Once you snapped out of his trance, you swiftly reached across the table for the paperwork. His hand lands on top of your latex glove, stopping you.

"I can't let you take that, princess." He says.

"I don't take orders from animals." You put on your best fake smile.

"Really? Because it looks like you did just a couple of minutes ago."

He had you there.

You notice a pair of dog tags dangling against his chest. One of your hands grabs them, pulling him to you. The side shown to you says, Logan while the other says, Wolverine.

Cute name.

Over his shoulders, you saw more men running in. A pleasing smirk spread across your face, leading him to turn around and see what you were smiling at.

"Since you handled that last group so well all by yourself," You swiftly knock him down with a heel to his chest, catching him off guard. "I'll let you take the next ones too, Wolvie."

Just as the men entered, you snatched the paperwork and booked it out the window to return it to your boss.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It had been months and still no run-ins with Wolverine. It was beginning to drive you insane; flashbacks of him pushing you up against the wall with his hand over your mouth replayed in your mind almost every chance it could. Your days were spent sketching pictures of him so you wouldn't forget his face or searching for him.

It felt sickening how much you needed to see him again. Your apartment was decorated with sketches of him. He took up every inch of space in your head. This wasn't like you. Normally, you don't entertain the men you encounter but something about the Wolverine was intoxicating. This wasn't some schoolgirl crush. This was a full-on obsession, and you knew it.

The only thing you could do was make him just as obsessed as you were; making him yours.

It took weeks but you finally managed to create your potion for the Wolverine. Now, all you had to do was find him. You asked around to see who he works for and it didn't take long until the name Charles Xavier appeared. Before you knew it, you were back in your latex apparel and standing on the roof of the mansion. The potion was strapped to your belt as you crawled down the brick walls and into his bedroom window.

Almost everyone was out on a mission that evening except for Logan and a handful of students downstairs. You knew if you came any other day, Xavier would have seen you coming and you couldn't have risked that happening.

It was late, midnight by the time he came upstairs. You sat on his bed, waiting perfectly for him. The second you heard his heavy footsteps, your heart almost pounded out of your chest at the thrill.

When the bedroom door opens you are greeted with the scene of the man of your dreams in a white tank top, blue jeans, and a beer in his hand. Instead of running like you assumed he would, Logan stands still with a smirk on his face.

"Didn't think I would see you again," Logan said. He wasn't moving as fast as you would like him to, so you used your whip to bring him closer until he's knees hit the front of the bed.

"It's simply meant to be, Wolvie."

Quickly, you pull the red potion from your belt and pop the lid open. One hand snakes its way up to his jaw, holding him still while the other moves closer to pour. He stops you by pulling off your lacey black mask, finally revealing all of your pretty face to him.

Logan knew exactly who you were. He had been looking for you too; searching every abandoned warehouse and sketchy alley in town. No one knew your name so he thought it was a lost cause and tried to move on. He should've known that you would show up at some point for him again.

Honestly, Logan thought it was cute that you brought some sort of love potion. Little did you know, you had been haunting his mind ever since that night. He wasted no time in smacking the potion out of your hands; laying you back and inching closer until his lips ghosted over your throat.

"I don't need a damn potion."

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #james logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett smut #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman wolverine #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #mcu #avengers #marvel mcu #marvel comics #x men #wolverine smut #logan howlett angst #wolverine angst

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woozivrsefactry · 9 months ago

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c.sc — sex is the real weapon

pairing : mafia boss!choi seungcheol x assassin!reader synopsis : you have been assigned to kill the mafia boss choi seungcheol. unfortunately, he is not gonna be an easy beat/ w.c. : 1.5 k tw : piv sex , unprotected sex , slight spanking , mentions of knives , sort of manipulation , sort of power imbalance , unaliving cheol in the end

The night was silent, the kind of silence that was heavy with anticipation. You perched on the rooftop of a tall building, overlooking the city's bustling streets below. Neon lights flickered, casting an eerie glow that danced with the shadows. The target was in sight.

Choi Seungcheol, the notorious mafia boss, was known for his cruelty and power. He was feared and respected equally, a man who commanded absolute loyalty and fear from those around him. Taking him down would be the pinnacle of your career as an assassin.

You had spent weeks tracking his movements, learning his routines, and understanding his security measures. Tonight was the night you would make your move. Dressed in all black, you blended into the shadows, your heart steady and your mind focused. You were ready.

Seungcheol was at his favorite club, a luxurious establishment that catered to the city's elite. You had timed your approach perfectly, knowing he would be alone in his private suite, away from his usual entourage. Silently, you made your way into the building, easily bypassing security.

The hallway leading to his suite was dimly lit, and you moved with the grace and silence of a shadow. Your hand hovered over the knife strapped to your thigh, the cold metal a reassuring presence. As you reached the door, you paused, listening for any sign of movement inside.

Slowly, you turned the handle and slipped inside. The suite was opulent, filled with expensive furniture and decor. Your eyes scanned the room, landing on the figure seated at the large, mahogany desk. Seungcheol looked up, his sharp eyes meeting yours instantly.

"So, you've finally come," he said, his voice calm and collected. There was no surprise in his tone, only a quiet acceptance.

You froze, your mind racing. How had he known?

"You're not the first they've sent," he continued, leaning back in his chair. His lips curled in a smirk and his eyebrows quirked. "But you might be the last."

"You're not an easy man to kill, Choi Seungcheol," you replied, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

He smiled a predatory grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You took a step forward, your hand tightening around the handle of your knife. "I'm here to finish what others couldn't."

He stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. "And what makes you think you'll succeed where they failed?"

"I don't make mistakes," you said, determination in your eyes.

Seungcheol moved closer, his presence overwhelming. You could see the confidence in his eyes, the dangerous glint that spoke of a man who had seen and done things most could only imagine.

"You're brave," he said softly, his voice like velvet. "But bravery can only get you so far."

Before you could react, he was in front of you, his hand reaching out to grasp your wrist. His grip was strong, almost painfully so, but you didn't flinch.

"Let go," you demanded, your voice low and dangerous.

His eyes bored into yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in their depths. Curiosity? Admiration? Lust? You couldn't tell.

"Why did you become an assassin?" he asked suddenly, his grip loosening slightly.

You frowned, taken aback by the question. "Why does it matter to you?"

"It matters to me," he said simply. “You’re to pretty for a dangerous job like this one, sweetheart.”

"I don't have time for this," you snapped, rolling your eyes and him and taking a step back. "You're my target, and I intend to finish the job."

He raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. "Then do it."

You moved, your knife slicing through the air with deadly precision. But he was faster, his hand catching your wrist and twisting it, the knife falling to the floor with a clatter. He pulled you close, his other arm wrapping around your waist, holding you in place.

Your breath hitched, the proximity overwhelming. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath brushing against your ear.

"You're a good girl," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "But not good enough."

For a moment, you were at a loss. This close, you could see the intensity in his eyes, the raw power and confidence that made him so dangerous. And yet, there was something else there too, something that made your heart race and your resolve waver.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. It was a tentative kiss, a test, and when he responded, deepening the kiss, your world tilted on its axis.

His lips were soft but demanding, his hand moving to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, as if both of you were trying to drown in each other.

The rational part of your mind screamed at you to stop, to remember your mission. But the heat, the need, was too overwhelming. You wanted him, wanted to feel more of him, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Seungcheol broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "You really want me, huh?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes."

He didn't need any more encouragement. His hands were on you, pulling at your clothes, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck. You moaned softly, your own hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours.

Clothes were discarded in a frenzy, both of you too lost in the moment to care where they landed. Seungcheol's hands roamed over your body, his touch setting your skin on fire. He lifted you effortlessly, laying you down on the plush carpet, his body covering yours.

His lips found yours again, the kiss hungry and demanding. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to be as close to him as possible. His hand trailed down your naked side, his fingers exploring and teasing your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"You," you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders. "I want you."

He didn't hesitate. His hand moved between your legs, his fingers brushing against your core. You gasped, your body arching into his touch. He teased you, his fingers moving with maddening slowness, drawing out your pleasure. His teeth grazed over your neck, bruising hungrily and moving lower. His middle and ring finger scissored you open for him as his thumb harshly rubbed over your clit, making your hips jerk up.

"Please," you begged, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your ear. "Patience."

But you didn't want patience. You wanted him, needed him, and you couldn't wait any longer. You reached down, getting a hold of his dick and guiding him closer. Seungcheol chuckled at your eagerness, before finally listening too your demands. Seungcheol groaned softly as he entered you, his movements slow and deliberate. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, your bodies moving together in a classy rhythm.

Seungcheols hands gripped your thighs and hips tightly, leaving its bruise marks. You gasped and moaned as his cockhead hit deep inside you on all the right spots. When seungcheol was satisfied with this position, he manhandled you get on your hands and knees, chuckling proudly as he smacked your ass and entered you again. He kneaded your ass raw with his strong palms, making you gasp out his name louder.

You could feel the tension coiling inside you, ready to snap, and when it did, it was like a wave crashing over you, drowning you in sensation. Seungcheol followed soon after, his body tensing before he shuddered, a low groan escaping his lips. His cum followed in a string as he exited you slowly, falling over you.

There was a long silence and for a while the loudest sound was of the two of you breathing. Seungcheol kissed the lobe of your ear. “God was that amazing.”

You smiled, “mm, so good.”

You wiped the still warm dark blood from your dagger, sliding it back in its strap on your thigh garter. You put on your black dress back and look back at choi seungcheol’s lifeless body. What an idiot, you thought to yourself.

Men would be men, always. All it takes is one seductive move to get them on their knees. He had a great dick, and was a great fuck – you’d give that to him. But he was too much of an idiot for a mafia boss, killed so shamefully, naked and leaking in his private room at such an luxurious bar. You chuckle to yourself, thinking how his men would react to find their boss lying ass naked in the middle of the room, killed.

“I told you, seungcheol, didn’t i, that i intend to get my work done?” you speak out loud to the dead body as you put on your shoes, “i told you i don’t make mistakes.”

#svt #svt smut #seventeen #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt headcanons #seventeen smut #choi seungcheol #seungcheol #scoups #scoups smut #scoups x reader #seungcheol smut #seungcheol x reader

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robolvrr · 3 months ago

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private show ੈ ♡˳

galaxy girl. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　

swerve x fem! camgirl warnings: nsfw. mutual masturbation.

one.

tossing this thing, far, far away from the lost light wasn't sounding like that bad of an idea.

really. he even had the nerve to fumble through an lie, assuring the now ragtag bunch of contraband-loving thieves having witnessed the magic on it that it wouldn't be a worry. he had it.

besides, rodimus badges were on the rise and whether any of them liked to admit it, it would be nice to earn one. not that swerve has. yet.

this kind of secret if found out? would land them all in magnus levels of trouble.

.. so why is swerve here? locked up in his habsuite, fist crunched between dentae and perspiration sweating down his helm? he asks himself these questions too late, which is a bittersweet epiphany, because by the time he does self reflect its usually long past knee-deep in scrap.

this is all kinds of wrong. he's all kinds of messed up and this infatuation with earth and humans and pretty, pretty girls has gone too far because he isn't even one -

"shouldn't i be tellin' this to .. rung? rang?"

the mumble of course met with silence. that is, until the pitch black screen zaps to life, temporarily fading his crestfallen expression to a faint reflection on a light, persimmon backdrop. the backdrop being evidently your bedroom, which you decorated just for him he acknowledges.

right. he had it, alright. credits, that is, enough to get one more show.

a personal one where he didn't have to bump shoulders or awkwardly squeeze his legs together, swipe prompts away while arm to arm with fellow crewmates to unlock his interface panels.

before swerve can talk himself out of this stupid idea again, the dreamy call of his designation bursts from the speakers instead. starstruck, he panics. slams a digit in a flurry on the audio controls, wincing a moment with a mortified grunt.

thank the primes he's mute. he can only hope it wasn't loud enough to warrant an complaint from a neighboring bot.

"sweeeerve.. you there, sweetie? i know you said you were nervous."

nervous? him? oh, buddy if you only knew! he slowly shifts forward and you'd have wished his camera were on, because it'd have been so cute seeing how delicately he handles the dented laptop, worried lip slipping between metal teeth.

tap tap tap. it's so hard typing.

[ Lol. Just haven't done this before. ]

he isn't sure what to expect at first. you're propped up, comfortable atop your tower of pillows. satin hides most of your chest and torso, but a split towards the front with a crinkled hem suggest the lingerie you wear is meant to be opened. unraveled, like a present. skin glittering like those earth movies and their shiny vampires, nipples pebbled through tempting fabric.

you look like a princess. you look like a goddess.

"oh? i'm popping your cam cherry then, mm?"

it takes him a second to understand what you're saying. his face grows hotter. he actually has to fan himself with a vibrating servo - you're a tease, sheesh!

[ HAHAHAHahaha. I guess. ]

swerve wants nothing more than to slam his helm against the wall. please don't torture him like this. not before you even start.

as if your hear his agony, a giggle tickles his audials. you finger the soft opening of your nightwear, head tilted and lips pouted.

"alright, alright. i bet you're frustrated. but! i am a woman of my word."

frag, you're actually listening to him. a whiny part of him reminds that this is transactional and while it could shatter his confidence a tad, he's perplexed because you don't act like its just another job.

in fact, he's a little dizzy staring, watching you place both your hands near the wall behind you. then your legs are spreading, further and further and further, until he can see your glossy...

valve. cunt. pussy. the foreign words make his intake dry.

you're so fraggin' small. and he's bigger than you, way bigger, which isn't a feeling that graces his processors much. your small fingers, flirting with garters stuck tight at warm thighs. small mouth, huffing and panting while you work your.. you have a node?

it's so tiny. he has to squint to see it. blue visor hot enough to burn, his panel mechanisms move on their own embarrassingly fast, chubby spike ramrod at his torso.

"f. hah. hahhhhh, okay, uh.."

okay good, he's still on mute, to his relief. he doesn't even want to ex-vent because it might risk smothering your mildly, aggravated whine. you mewl. he laughs, in disbelief.

"y'know.. these kind of shows turn me on the most. cause if i can't see you, can't hear you.. i wanna make you overload more. drives me crazy."

engines revving, his strokes stutter upon hearing the terminology. must have known that too - are you a mind reader? - cause you smile, all-knowing.

"yeah. i wanna make you overload with me, swerve. would that make you feel less stressed out?"

[ Yes. Primusy es. ]

he doesn't bother correcting. instead he's fallen head over pedes watching you curl ring and middle deep inside, gagging on whines when you spread just enough to gape. he almost breaks when you whisper how you've never done it with a cybertronian, but you'd like to someday. that it was one of those fantasies none of your toys could even fulfill.

"d-don't think i could take you, hah. you bots are so big - fff - bet you you could show me a good time with just your hands."

swerve notes you like it, pressure, on that glossy nub, blunt of your palm grinding down hard. his jaw is tight as he jerks off in tandem, seeing the sticky juices gushing and wanting to shove his face right there. kissing, nonstop, until you spasm. the screen looks blurry. he's losing control.

"i'm so wet for you. do you like it?"

"are you kiddin'? c-course i do!" swerve almost chuckles again, right servo moving so fast its an sloppy mesh of squelches and rasps. keeling over, desperation paints his weakening demeanor. seeing you rise and fall chasing that high with him like an turbofox in heat is excruciatingly compelling.

"frag, frag, 'm so close baby, please, please-"

you smack your cunt. he lets out a quiet 'bwuh?' and shoulders sag seeing you squirm with a squeak. he could do that to you. he could be tender enough to do that too and he'd leave a sting that'd stay for days.

"so close, so c-close - i - shit - i'm gonna cum," what a surprise, to feel lubricant trickling down from near offlined optics, don't stop talking please, please, please - "swerve, you're gonna make me.. !"

white noise.

a dull, crackling hum fills his processors. he can't hear himself or you, the minibot crying while transfluid puddles, berth not cool enough to dampen the flames pulsing at his core. his charge is too much, knocking air he doesn't need straight from his chassis.

like dead to allspark, your dulcet whines drag him to the afterlife with cradling embrace.

by the time he's back online, his panels aren't closing nor can he lift himself, energon parched. he barely can see the text chat anymore as it is.

[ feel free to play with me again, swervey. you sound so sexy. ]

the screen is pitch black once more, taunting. to his horror, arousal floods his sensors, groan low.

damn it.

robolvrr 2025.

a/n: yeah so i'm actually insane. you're welcome. i'm just saying i'd give that bartender a ride he wouldn't survive. 　

#transformers #maccadam #valveplug #swerve mtmte #swerve x reader #mtmte x reader #first contact au #/nsfw #/nsft #transformers x reader #lost light x reader #mtmte swerve #transformers x human reader

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navybrat817 · 1 year ago

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Hollow

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky touches on memories from the past and wants to start a new tradition with you.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal fingering, dirty talk, slight use of knife, established relationship, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Fic #7 for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! Newlywed Mob!Bucky won the poll.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A different side of Bucky came out when the leaves began to change. Subtle, but different. It wasn't noticeable to most since he showed people what he wanted them to see. It was a skill he perfected over the years, almost as if he wore a mask to hide his true self. What you saw, however, was ice in his eyes, the same that no doubt ran through his veins. Something weighed on his heart and mind.

You were determined to get to the bottom of it.

As his partner, it wasn't just your job to chase his demons away, but a need to protect him from whatever haunted or hunted him. You wanted to soothe him and let him know he wasn't alone. You knew if the roles were reversed that he'd eliminate anything or anyone that removed the light from your eyes. To have someone that loved you that much was still a bit of a dream.

How thin is the line between love and obsession?

“I can hear you thinking from here, Printsessa,” Bucky said. He knew you were watching him as he sat in his study, even as he focused on something else in front of him. He didn’t turn his back to anyone, except for you. He knew you would never put a knife in it. That was how much faith and trust he had in you. “Don’t want to join me?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” you replied, walking further into the room so you could get a better look at him. He had the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up, giving you a moment to admire his metal left arm and the tattoos on the right. He commanded the room without standing.

“It's never an interruption if it's you,” he reminded you.

He twirled one of his signature knives between his fingers before he went back to work. The love of your life was an expert in many weapons, but had an affinity for knives. While it didn’t surprise you to find the head of the Bratva with a weapon in hand, you hadn’t expected to see a pumpkin in front of him. “Pumpkin carving? You’re just full of surprises.”

He snorted a little. “I like that I can surprise you.”

Watching him start to carve a pattern in the pumpkin with ease, his eyes narrowed in concentration and hand moving with care, was like a dance. He led with confidence and control. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

“Do you know why some people carve pumpkins?”

You finally took a seat beside him on the sofa, resting a hand on his thigh. His muscles relaxed and you wondered what had him so tense. “I think most do it today to decorate, but some do it to ward off evil spirits,” you said, moving your hand in slow, circular motions as he hummed in acknowledgement. “Is someone haunting you? Do I need to scare them away?”

He tilted his head, a glimmer of pride flickering in his blue eyes as he smiled. “You’d scare them away? You don't think I can handle them myself?”

“I have no doubt you could handle them on your own,” you said with complete certainty. He more than earned his Winter Soldier nickname. “But if something or someone is after you, I want to help.”

He studied you as he lowered his knife and covered your hand with his, holding it like a lifeline. Some protected and fought for him because it was their sense of duty. Others did so out of loyalty to his bloodline. You did it out of love.

Because you did love him.

“No one is after me. At least not today,” he assured you, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it. “But thank you.”

“Then why are you holding my hand like you can't let go?”

The look he gave you melted your heart a bit. “Because I don't want to let you go.”

It was almost as if he was worried you'd bolt if he released you. The only time you'd run would be when you wanted him to chase you. Or maybe he imagined someone would try to take you away from him. He'd never let anyone get you. “What's on your mind then?”

And how do I help?

“My family,” he admitted, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “My mom used to carve pumpkins. I haven't done it in years.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. His family wasn’t a topic he discussed much, so you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Did she teach you how?”

A faint smile appeared and fell just as quickly. “She did,” he said, admiring his handiwork. “I thought it was strange at first, you know? Encouraging me to pull out the insides and leave it hollow. And to carve a face? It almost seemed like a form of torture. Probably why dad demanded I use a decent knife.”

He didn’t hide the hint of anger when he mentioned his dad. You turned your hand over so your palm connected with his, letting him squeeze it to ground him. “But that’s not why your mom did it. She was teaching you to do something beautiful instead of harmful.”

“That's exactly what she did,” he agreed, leaning forward to pick up the knife. “It also encouraged my critical thinking skills. You can’t just dive in without a plan. You have to think it through.”

Bucky sometimes teased that his best friend, Steve, was the man with a plan. The truth was, they both were. Each brilliant in their own way, there was a reason they stayed in power and why so many feared them.

“And I felt proud when she displayed them. Valued,” he continued, his voice a little choked up before he cleared his throat. “It was a tradition I didn't realize I missed.”

Maybe the nostalgia was the reason his eyes looked a bit colder in the fall. “Sounds like a beautiful memory,” you said.

“I hadn’t formed beautiful memories in years until you came along,” he said, his lips skimming your temple. “But you're my family now.”

Tears didn't fill your eyes, but you felt them in your throat. The man was ruthless when the occasion called for it. Terrifying in his rage. You were the lucky one who would never be on the receiving end of it. Only his love. His need. But you could take his rage if you had to.

Like his old memories, you could make it something beautiful.

“You're my family, too,” you told him. You hadn't expected that of Bucky when you met and part of you wanted to stay away from the dangerous world he helped rule, but how could you not want a life with him?

His gaze softened, which warmed your heart. “And I would feel very proud if you helped me finish this,” he said, moving further back against the cushion and opening his legs for you to sit between them. “Maybe it can be the start of our own tradition.”

Your heart raced as you stood up and took a seat on the edge of the cushion, exhaling as he pressed himself against you. “I’m not good at this,” you said, closing your hand around the handle as he placed the knife in it. You didn’t want to ruin the intricate design he already worked so hard on.

His warm breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “We’ll do it together.”

“Guide me?” You asked.

“Of course, Printsessa.”

At the root of everything, Bucky was a man who didn’t want to walk this earth alone. Power and money meant nothing if he didn’t have someone to share himself with. It would’ve left him as hollow as the pumpkins he worried about carving as a child. And if helping him finish this one would make him happy, you’d do just that.

Time passed as he helped you cut into the pumpkin and urged you to follow the stencil, the smell from the pumpkin seeds off to the side bringing a pleasant layer to Bucky's woodsy cologne. There was something intimate about him having you close, his hand directing where yours should go. Like when he taught you how to properly shoot a gun. He said you didn't need his help, but he gave it to you all the same.

Your hold almost slipped when his metal hand snaked between your thighs, softly rubbing your pussy through your underwear. It barely covered your mound, just like your flimsy nightgown. “How am I supposed to concentrate?” you asked, arching as he firmly pressed his palm against you.

“You asked me to guide you. I will,” he said, the light scratch from his scruff making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“You're distracting me,” you whispered, trying to keep your breathing nice and steady.

“Would distracting you be so bad?” he whispered back close to your ear. “We're almost done.”

His fingers gently played with your clit through the fabric, drawing a breathy sigh from you as you squirmed. His almost feathery touch made you all the more determined to finish up, especially since he refused to let you close your thighs to get any friction. You were on the edge of release and he was relentless in loving you.

But he didn't let you come.

“Good girl,” he praised once you finished carving, stopping his fingers as you set the knife down. You bit back a whimper as the rising pleasure faded. “It's beautiful.”

“It is,” you breathed. Instead of a smiling face you saw on so many pumpkins around Halloween, he designed a merged sun and moon. “It's us, isn't it?”

“It is,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he gestured for you to hand him another knife. “You're my sun.”

“That makes you my moon,” you said, stiffening when you felt the blade at your shoulder. “What are you-”

Bucky sliced through your strap and kissed your bare skin. “I'm starting a new tradition,” he said, doing the same to the other side before he slid your nightgown down. He dragged the knife across your exposed breasts, taking great care not to cut you. “Carve a pumpkin. Cut your clothes off. Make you come.”

“You mean tease my pussy without getting me off,” you said without much bite.

He chuckled, a deep rumble as he set the knife aside. “I always get you off. I’m going to make you feel so good, Solynshko.”

With gentle kisses along your jaw and neck, his large hand slid up to fondle your breasts. The rough pads of his fingers teased your nipples as you gasped and reached back to grasp his hair. He moaned as you twisted your fingers in the strands, his hand sliding down to your wet heat again. Thankfully, he didn't tease you through the fabric this time. His fingers dipped into your underwear and you knew he was eager to feel your arousal.

Everything in your core tightened when he caressed your folds. You met his gaze as you tilted your head back, wanting him to see your desperation as his gaze darkened. “Make me come, please.”

“People beg me for money. Power. Mercy,” he said in a low voice, nuzzling your cheek as he sank a finger in, your walls contracting around him. “Not you. It's only pleasure you ask for.”

“It's you I'm begging for,” you admitted in a whisper. Even when you pushed or questioned why he wanted you of all people, you gave him your love. You yielded only to him and you would never bend your will for anyone else. To deny him would be to deny yourself.

He brushed his lips along your jaw and dipped another finger in as you shuddered. “You begging for me to fuck your pretty pussy with my fingers? Make you ruin this couch before I give you my cock?”

Your head fell back against his shoulder as you bit your lip. “Yes, I am. Ruin me. Love me,” you moaned.

“I love you more than anything,” he promised as your eyes slipped shut, dots of white dancing behind your eyelids.

He gripped your jaw to turn your head back to him, seeking out your lips with his. There was nothing tentative in the kiss, his ice meeting your fire and creating an explosion of need within both of you. Your body hummed as you felt the peak of your impending climax, ready for him to tear you apart.

“Come for me, Printsessa,” he demanded against your lips.

Your pussy clamped around his fingers as you lost yourself to the daze of your orgasm, shamelessly crying out his name. Your juices dripped down his fingers as he helped you ride it out, praising you in your ear and guiding you the way he did with the carving. He was telling the truth before: He always got you off.

“Are you okay?” you asked once you caught your breath, the question you meant to ask the moment you entered his study. He seemed more at ease, though lust now clouded his eyes.

“I'm okay,” he said in a rough voice, slowly pulling his fingers out as you sagged against him. He pulled you closer, enveloping you in his strong arms. It was safe. It was home. “But I think you need my cock.”

“I think I need it, too,” you smiled once you caught your breath, knowing his cock likely twitched in his pants as he tasted you on his fingers. “And you owe me a new nightgown.”

“I ordered you a new one before you came in here,” he said, his expression smug as you turned your head to stare at him. “Now sit on my cock. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“Bossy Pakhan,” you teased.

But if giving you orgasms, ruining your clothes, and making new memories brought the light back in his eyes, you wouldn't complain.

Oh, to belong to him. Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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the-kr8tor · 8 days ago

Text

The Less I Know The Better

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Synopsis: An office holiday party gone awry.

Word count: 8.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, part 3, mockumentary AU, Co-worker AU, Co-worker! Hobie, slight loser! Hobie, CW alcohol, CW food mentions, CW injury.

Navigation

Co-worker AU Masterlist

Part 3 >>> Part 4

Your whole body is stretched to perfectly line up the holiday garlands on the conference room walls. Back aching and arms starting to cramp while Jessica stands a few ways behind you. She instructs you on where to tack on the scratchy garlands with its sparkly tinsel. The air smells like cinnamon and ginger bread. The food is all laid out on a long foldable table, the sight alone has your stomach rumbling.

“Here?” You struggle a bit, arms aching as you tiptoe on the highest step of the ladder.

“A little bit further up.” You're starting to think that she's just playing with you. She notices your strained huff as you sweat from the harsh camera lights pointed right at you. “Sorry, I would help but the company will not pay me hazard comp if I fall, especially while I'm pregnant.”

“You're pregnant?” You almost fall back, metal ladder wobbling under you briefly before you manage to balance yourself. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you were almost grateful that the documentary crew wasn't there to witness it. Just their cameras that they placed on each corner of the room whilst they shoot b-rolls of the rest of the ‘cast.’ Great.

“Whoa, you okay?” Jess holds up her hands, quickly crossing the distance to steady the ladder.

“Yeah, um congratulations.” you exhale out a nervous bout of air. “That was almost the end of me.” With a nervous laughter, you climb back up the steps to pin the garland. You don't even care if it's lopsided or not, and Jessica doesn't speak up about it either as she grasps her stomach. “Crap, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I bet he was nervous too.” She takes a deep inhale. “I'll be back in a second.”Jessica leaves but comes sauntering back inside. “Can you start decorating the food table, thanks.” Before you could say yes, she's already heading towards the bathroom.

“Okay,” you climb down the ladder with measured steps. You're still a temp so that means if you get injured on the job, you won't get worker's comp. Just three months to go and you can finally breathe easily when you're officially an employee.

Once your feet are back on solid ground, you head towards the sparsely decorated table. There are saran wrapped dishes placed, courtesy of your co-workers. There are also a few dishes with tin foil covering on top of it to keep the heat in, and an empty punch bowl ready to be filled with juice. That makes your mind wander back to Hobie and how he's doing. You two have become casual friends throughout the past few months. He smiles at you whenever he delivers your mail, and would sometimes start a friendly conversation with you. “It's gettin’ colder, innit?” He asks, “What're you havin' for lunch?” And you'd answer back with a smile and a friendly reply. After that he’s gone and out on delivery again. And of course you sometimes have lunch with him together with the rest of the lunch club. But it doesn't feel the same as before the bar incident. You don't know what changed when you tried incredibly hard to not let exactly like this from happening. The awkward glances and the polite smiles have made you feel…bad. Frustrated. Like you've done something terrible to your friend.

MJ has been apologetic to you, and has taken it upon herself to seek out Hobie and his band to personally apologize to them. You start to notice that they've been hanging out more after that. Without you usually, well, more than usual. You don't mind it, or you keep telling yourself that you don't. She comes home telling you stories about the band and Hobie more and more. “He only likes the blue sour patch kids.” And, “yeah, he also told me that there used to be another band member.” You're happy that she found a new friend, and sometimes, just once, you wish that she'd invite you to one of those hangouts. You always liked being alone in your own little bubble of comfort. And MJ knows that, being your friend for a decade or so, she knows how introverted you are. She says that you're her favourite because you know how to listen. But you like to talk too. Not as much as her or as social as her, but it's nice to just be around people, to be invited to sit at the same table as them— to just talk and be listened to. Just like how Hobie is with you. But recently, you two have been missing each other in the office. Usually you would arrive just in time at the exact moment he arrives. But lately, you keep finding yourself alone in the office hallway while you wait for the elevators to open.

The lunch club is at least consistent, and you always eat with them in the break room. You're too afraid to ask where Hobie is or what's happening to him. Maybe he's planning on quitting? Maybe the band is just ramping up their performances from every weekend to every day? Either way, you haven't spoken to him in a while other than seeing him briefly with his mail cart. Why do you feel bad for missing him?

With a sigh, you look outside the window where a fresh drizzle of snow covers the whole empty soccer field right next to the office. The weather has been icy and chilly, more than when you walked to the bus stop. And the feeling’s mutual inside the office. Everyone just wants to go home and stay home. Hobie did invite you to that concert he was talking about a couple of months ago. You're still thinking whether or not you should go. Are you even still invited to that?

As you rearrange the red plates with printed garlands around it, an arm shoots out next to you. For a second you think it would be Hobie coming to fill the punch bowl or to place his contribution, but based on the rich cologne, it's Harry.

You know the scent well ever since you two started carpooling together. It all started on accident really when the ground was too slippery from sleet and he practically begged you to take you home, worried that you'd crack your head on the pavement on your way to the bus stop. After that it snowballed from taking you home occasionally, to giving you a ride home every night. He offered to drive you to the office every morning too if you hadn't told him that he actually lives out of the way from your side of town. He just sighed with a lopsided smile and accepted to only take you home to save you a bus fare. You liked the conversations with him, and you always offer to pay him back but he just shrugs and asks you to buy him a cheap cup of coffee from the convenience store on the way to your place. A cup of coffee turns into talking on the hood of his car while you two chat the night away while munching on chips and gas station hotdogs. It was a surprise kind of friendship that you never thought would blossom into something more than just being co-workers.

“Hey, ice princess.” He smiles, cheeks red from the biting cold outside as he places bottles upon bottles of red punch on the table right next to the bowl. “Your domain’s expanding.”

“Sorry about that.” You joke back, earning a rare chuckle from Harry. “Did you go outside in that weather?”

He blows at his palms, the tip of his nose is rosey. “Yeah, I forgot these in my car.”

“You should warm up, don't want you getting hypothermia now.” You cheekily side eye him.

Shaking his head with a grin tamped down by biting his lip, his cheeks grow redder. “Using my own words against me, wow.”

“I try my best.” You shrug, stacking the plates in a neat pile before you go around him to grab the box of decorations under the table. He helps you lift it up, and you give him your thanks as you place it on the table. It's filled with Santa Clauses, dainty snowmen, and tiny pine trees. “I heard about your sale, congrats.”

“Yeah,” he puffs out his chest with pride as he opens a bottle to fill the bowl. “Thank you, it was a tough sell.”

“I heard, literally, we're desk neighbors. I heard everything.” You say as you place the figurines of Santa next to a savoury smelling dish. “It was like I was watching ‘the wolf of wall street.’”

“Was I that loud?” He mutters while the gurgle of juice fills the bowl. “How about I treat you—” he swallows thickly. “— as a sorry for being too loud, and as a celebration.” Avoiding your eyes, you gaze at him, blinking slowly. “Nothing fancy, just dinner.”

“Okay,” you slowly say. You two technically always have dinner together. But this time it'll be a far cry from eating in his car while mustard dribbles from your fingers and he makes fun of you for putting mustard on your hotdog. It's still just dinner, right? “What do you have in mind?” You can practically hear the docu crew snickering from somewhere once they review the footage. This is probably ‘hot goss’ for them, or that's what Lyla always tells you when they focus on a couple in admin.

“There's this Thai place I've been meaning to go to.” Harry exhales shakily as he continues to pour the second bottle of punch. “Do you like Thai? We can go someplace else if you want.” He almost stammers out the last word.

You smile with endearment, fingers unconsciously playing with the snowman figurine in your hand. “No, I like Thai, that sounds great.” You even surprised yourself at how composed you sounded.

“Yeah?” He boyishly smiles, a brown curl falling over his eye as you nod. “Cool, great. I'll pick you up this weekend.”

“Okay,” you nervously nudge him, and he hides a growing smile. “Be careful, it's almost full.”

“Oh yeah, shoot!” He tips the bottle back before the juice spills over the old carpet. “Thanks, do you need help—?” Before you could say something, a shrill ring of a phone interrupts you both. He takes out his phone and winches. “Sorry, it's my dad…”

“No, it's okay, go ahead, I'm good over here.” You wave him off, and as he leaves, you notice him grimacing at the garland you just put up. “Shit,” you huff, placing the snowman down on the table as you make your way back to the ladder.

It's the last hurrah before the holiday break starts, and you're incredibly glad that you got hired into a company that has a week off during the holidays. So you definitely want to make the place look good or at least presentable to maybe impress your bosses.

The metal creaks under you while you climb up the highest step. You stretch yourself once again as you pluck the garland out to fix it. Something almost falls from within the thick garland, and you catch it in your hand before it falls. Opening your palm, you see a mistletoe all bundled together with a red ribbon. You stare curiously at it since this came from a box labeled ‘office holiday decorations.’ A mistletoe at an office party? Is that even appropriate? You chuckle at the thought.

“How's the weather up there?” A familiar voice asks and you crane your neck so fast that you accidentally fling yourself from the rickety ladder, grip loosening as your fingers brush along the cold metal step. “Oh shit!” You gasp as Hobie rushes in to catch you.

Bracing yourself for impact, you don't feel it as Hobie took the blow of the floor for you.

“Oh fuck, are you okay?! I'm so sorry, Hobie.” You take his cheek as he groans from under you. Your legs are beside him, accidentally straddling him while the mistletoe lands right on his chest— right in between the two of you. “Are you hurting anywhere?” You ask, frazzled and worried.

Hobie lifts up his head with a wobbly grin, eyes gazing at you softly then over to the fallen mistletoe. “Does this still count?”

You follow his line of sight. “Wha— Hobie!” Your cheeks run heavy with warmth when you realize what he's talking about. As you look down, your eyes are fixated on his goofy grin and handsome face. His wicks frame around his face, piercings glinting under the blinking Christmas lights.

“Why do we always find ourselves like this, lovie?” He reminisces about the time you fell on him during Lyla's earthquake scare while you're just trying to even out your breathing lest you fall unconscious on top of him.

“What happened?!” Jessica comes running after the sound of the ladder clatters on the floor. You're immediately rolling off of Him on the floor before she could even wrap her mind around the position you two were in. “Are you two okay?”

Hobie, still on the floor, lifts his hand and gives her a thumbs up. While you could only look at the carpet and how it feels under your clammy hands.

The rest of the office follows, all clambering over each other to witness the commotion. Miguel groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, while Lyla gasps at the scene in front of her. The lunch club walks in, eyes wide before shifting their vision over to a very flustered you and Hobie, who's still a puddle on the floor with the mistletoe on his chest; they all give him a knowing smirk. Meanwhile the camera crew are running to check if the mounted cameras captured the scene.

“If you're hurt, you gotta file a worker's comp, Hobie.” Lyla shakes her head when Hobie dramatically groans as he stands up weakly. “C’mon, man, you know I'll still give it to you without all that.” Miguel glares at her. “Pretend you didn't hear that.” She tells him.

Miguel could only wave it off with a scoff and returns back to work. Hobie gives you a hand, but before you could reach for it, Harry returns and helps you off the floor himself, earning a glare from Hobie.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks you after lifting you off your feet. “Nothing damaged?”

You shake your head, “no, I'm fine, Hobie saved me.”

The two men meet each other's eyes. Their jaws are set, moreso with Hobie while Harry looks more annoyed.

“Are you sure you're okay, Hobie?” You crane your neck and take your attention away from Harry to gaze at Hobie worriedly.

He cups your elbow and gives you a genuine smile. You haven't realized that you missed him this much for your heart to beat as loudly as it is right now. “Yeah, ‘m fine, lovie. Just glad I was there to save you.”

Lyla looks between you and the two men sizing each other up. She glances at Gwen briefly as cameras capture their knowing stares. “Alright, show's over!” She claps her hands together and shoos people away. “Y/N, are you really okay?”

“Yeah, I was just clumsy and good thing Hobie was here to save the day.” You flick your eyes to meet his own gentle look. Harry stays behind you, hands tucked inside his pockets while Pavitr picks up the ladder off the floor. “I'm really okay, I need to finish this.”

Stepping to the side, you head towards the table again and take out the decorations robotically as snow drifts down on the frosty glass. You say thanks to Pav before he gives you a smile and heads back to his desk.

“Good, Brown and Osborne, come with me.” Lyla says sternly, you've never heard that tone coming from her before.

“What?” Hobie asks while he stretches his shoulder.

“Why?” Harry groans.

“Because I said so, now.” She pushes them outside, leaving you alone with Jessica and the cameras.

“Damn.” Jess relays what you had in mind.

“Couldn't have said it better myself.” You look at each other before returning to work like nothing happened. Or you like to pretend to at least.

—

You don't know what happened in Lyla's office with Hobie and Harry, but the two are now avoiding each other like the plague, even more than before. Harry stands near the plastic Christmas tree, nursing a red plastic cup filled with punch. His jaw is clenched, shoulders kept straight and aligned to the wall behind him. He looks like the grinch with all the holiday lights and decorations around him. A classic Christmas tune filters through the air while everyone chats around the room. It's peaceful, even Hobie, whose eyebrows were furrowed together when he first entered, is now happily filling his plate with food.

The camera crew stands on each end of the room, giving everyone space after a very irked Jessica told them to back off or she'll call security on them. You still have no idea why Miguel even lets them in to begin with. Or perhaps it's the big bosses on top who are letting them film for tax break purposes. There's nothing interesting to film in the company anyway— or at least one that doesn't include what happened earlier, or back at the bar, or in front of your apartment. Maybe they should just ask to film you instead of pretending they like documenting the day to day work of an electric toothbrush company. At least then you'd have enough money to have your own place.

Gayatri and Gwen are talking about their classes whilst you listen until Hobie saunters in with two glasses filled with eggnog, one bitten in between his teeth, and the other in his hand. And a filled plate that he has to juggle all together lest there's an accident on the old carpet. His button up is open to a more casual look, necktie nowhere to be seen, while his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a few tattoos along the way. You spot a spider on the underside of his elbow, and a music note near his wrist. For once you thank the bright fluorescent lights for showing them to you.

You side glance at him, unsure whether the drink was for you or not. He can't speak with the drink in between his lips, so he wordlessly tells you to grab the other cup in his hand simply with his eyes and a muffled call of your name. With a chuckle, you take the drink and he can finally speak as he releases the rim of the cup and places his plate beside a sweet smelling baking sheet of caramel fudge brownies.

“Thanks, Hobie.” You smile sweetly at him, and the two interns share a brief look.

“Where's ours?” Gwen interrupts Hobie before he could even say the two words.

“‘m not an octopus, Gwendy.” Hobie scrunches his nose at Gwen, sipping teasingly at his drink, leaving a milk mustache on his upper lip.

“Fine, chivalry truly is dead.” Gayatri sighs and takes Gwen's hand as they glare at him before heading towards the food table where Miles and Pavitr are talking beside a plate of mashed potatoes.

“Can you believe them?” Hobie nudges you and takes the space where the two women were.

“Maybe they really like eggnog.” You joke with a smile, sipping casually at the warm drink. It's creamy with a hint of warmth lining your tongue. “Oh, you got a little something…” pointing at your upper lip, he wipes at his mouth, miraculously missing the milk mustache. “No, right…” you take a handkerchief from your pocket and wipe it for him. “...here. There, you don't look like a baby anymore.”

For a moment, Hobie looks like a deer in the headlights. Blinking, he composed himself, smiling through the fog of shyness. “Got it all, love?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning against the table as you two gaze at each other. You suddenly feel a wave of déjà vu. “T–The eggnog is really good, Hobie. Did you make it yourself?” In your flustered stupor, you try to make casual conversation as he stares at the handkerchief in your hand.

“It's Ned's recipe, but yeah I made it all by my lonesome. You kept my handkerchief?” He almost said breathlessly.

“Y–Yeah, you said I can keep it— but if you want it back.” You try to hand it to him but he chuckles and pushes the cloth back towards you.

“Nah, ‘m jus’ surprised you kept it.” Hobie scratches the back of his head,

You flick your eyes to the checkered handkerchief. “Thank you again.”

“Stop sayin' thanks, love, your smile’s enough for me.”

“Cheesy.” You say, muffled against the rim of your cup.

“What's that?” He plays along as his eyes glimmer.

“Nothing, I just said you're a cheese ball, Hobie Brown.” You tease with a lilt in your tone.

“Everyone fancies a cheeseball, don't you think?”

The two of you chuckle whilst the party continues to go on without the two of you. The snow stopped falling outside, covering the parking lot and street with a soft sheet of snow as the world seemed to come to a standstill. The gentle piano rendition of ‘jingle bells’ plays in the background, while the laughter of your co-workers instead of clacking keyboard filters through your ears. Hobie gazes at you with the same fondness back at the bar before you had to walk out in the cold. And you mirror his expression, lips curled into a subtle smile, body turned towards him as you two cradle matching cups of eggnog.

With liquid courage courtesy of the drink, you finally ask him. “How have you been, Hobie?”

“Fuckin' busy.” He sighs, hand placed inside his trousers pocket. “The show on the twenty fourth got us all bloody busy. The interns can't join so Yuri and the others have to work twice as hard without ‘em. I don't have a stand in though. That's why I've been out of it these past few weeks.” With the tip of his shoe, he nudges your heels. “I've been takin’ my lunch with the band just to get an extra hour of practice in. Why? Did you miss me?”

“No one can replace Hobie Brown.” You nudge him back, earning a wobbly smile from him. “And no, I had the lunch club to keep me company.”

“Well, shit, and ‘ere I thought you missed my presence.”

“I’m pretty sure that's called a delusion.”

Hobie laughs, a deep rumble that has the whole room staring briefly at him. And unfortunately, the cameras too. But for the first time, you don't mind all the eyes and lenses on you when his laughter fills your chest with warmth. And you're pretty sure it's not from the spiced eggnog.

He opens his mouth to say something, hand reaching for your elbow but before he could say it, Miguel calls for everyone's attention.

“Time for secret Santa, everyone gather around in a circle—”

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Suddenly, out comes Lyla, dressed in a fluffy Mrs. Claus suit. It looks expensive to boot, and not like anything you see online. Does she use it every year? “I come bearing gifts!” She lifts up the giant velvet sack in her hands, barely lifted up from the weight of it. You remember that you had to put your present in the day before per Lyla's request. Your eyes nervously glance at the recipient of said gift.

Suddenly, Peter walks behind her, dressed as Santa, but in a blue suit rather than the iconic red. “We come bearing gifts!” He helps lift the sack over Lyla's head, earning an annoyed look from Lyla. It seems like they didn't talk about this beforehand.

Hobie shakes his head, smiling and clearly amused. “Fuckin' hell. C’mon, let's get our presents before Miguel gets to his fifth glass of eggnog.” Grabbing his plate, he slowly eats his way towards the slice of red velvet cake in the center that's crowded around by a mishmash of pastries and cold cuts. Your holiday cookies are piled up on his plate while he munches on poor frosty the snowman’s head. “It’s good.” He says, muffled by the cookie in his mouth. You chortle at him, lip bitten from tamping down a squeak of delight at his reaction.

You follow beside him, making a circle around Lyla and Peter. “Why, is Miguel a lightweight?”

“He gets to his sixth and he gets…chatty.” He offers you something on his plate, and since you already ate, you only took a mini muffin from it.

You can't imagine Miguel being chatty out of everyone whilst you munch on the tiny muffin. “Does he spill company secrets?”

“I wish, he talks ‘bout his personal life.”

“Ow, we better finish this quick then.”

You don't notice the way the interns are looking at the two of you from across the circle. Harry sidles up next to you on your left, biting into a kebab.

“Hey, Harry.” You smile at him.

“Hi, princess. Where'd you get the muffin?”

“From over…” Craning your neck to look for it on the table, you can't find the tiny muffins. “...I don't know actually.” You laugh unsurely. “I got it from Hobie.”

Hobie, without missing a second, says. “We're all out of it, bruv, that's the last one.”

Yep, definitely déjà vu.

Harry scoffs. “Right.”

You glance at the two of them as they avoid each other's line of sight. You really do feel like a referee whenever you're in between them.

“Alright, rules.” Peter says, and a groan echoes around the room. “Come on, we've got new people here so I gotta say it again. First of all, I hope none of you said who's your secret Santa before because you can only say that once after they open their present, capiche?” Another round of groans can be heard. “It's just not fun when everyone knows!” Everyone gives him an unenthusiastic nod. “Second, no second rule, just have fun!”

“That is the most dad thing I've ever heard.” Gwen says, and Peter dramatically frowns.

“It’s because I am a dad, Gwen!”

“Alright, enough, let's start because the lasagna isn't agreeing with me right now.” Miguel gruffly says, fifth drink in hand.

“Great,” Hobie says sarcastically. “‘Too much information' Miguel is ‘ere.”

Miguel scrunches his face and plops himself beside the dessert table. All without giving Hobie lip.

“Wow, he just accepted that.” You say, surprised.

“He gives up after his fourth drink.” Hobie bumps his elbow with yours as you two laugh. Unbeknownst to you, the camera is zooming in on Harry's disgruntled expression.

One by one, names are called to grab their presents. Some are happy about their gifts, like Miles, who got an old CB radio from Peter. But most are trying their best not to disappoint the person who got their name. Just like Gwen and her stuffed bunny rabbit gifted by someone in I.T. and like Miguel, who got a pair of airpods which Hobie reacted with a coughed out ‘arse kisser.’ No one dared to say who it's from after that. You have a feeling it's from Harry since he has a similar pair. It'll be revealed after everyone gets their presents anyway.

“Alright, this one is for… Hobie!” Peter exclaims as he hands the neatly wrapped present to him.

You bite your lip, fingers playing with the hem of your sweater as he opens the gift carefully. You only hope that he likes it since it took you so long to finish it.

Hobie whistles out as he admires the vintage leather jacket. “Damn.”

His finger skims over the metal buttons that you painstakingly polished and then over to the stitched holes that you carefully stitched to make different patterns of. You're not a seamstress of sorts, and you had to watch a sewing tutorial on how to make a lightning bolt simply with a needle and thread. The aches and blisters on your fingers are evidence of that. Turning the denim around, his eyes widen at his band logo that's stitched at the back. He recognizes it from a band t-shirt they used to give out. The fabric was cut from the front of it and then stitched on the back with neat running stitches. At the hem, his initials are painted in big bold letters.

“I said not to go over the limit.” Jess has had enough of the expensive gifts.

“I–I didn't.” You blurt out and everyone turns to you. Hobie included as his smile grows. “I thrifted the jacket and I made all the restoration myself. I didn't go over, it's even below the budget.”

“Okay, sorry about that.” Jess sighs, still clutching the hundred dollar gift card to some baby clothes shop. “Still,” she waves it around to make a point. “I see a pattern.”

“It's okay.” You resist the urge to meet with Hobie's eyes, or anyone's on that matter.

“You got this for me, lovie?” His voice is an octave higher, like he can't believe that you'd work so hard on a present just for him. Especially something that's so meaningful to him.

“Yep,” you pop the letter ‘p’ to hide your bashfulness. You finally gather the courage to look at him, finding that his warm honeyed eyes are looking at you softly that you forgot what just happened. “Do you like it?”

Harry side eyes the two of you, skimming over the band logo with a heavy look.

“I fuckin' love it.” Hobie says with a breathless sigh. “Where'd you even get the shirt? I lost mine years ago.”

“I asked MJ if she knew where to get it, she tried but couldn't find it so she told me to try talking to your band mates.” You nervously pick at your nail, rambling on. “Turns out Ned still had his.”

“Let me guess, he got you to pay a pretty penny for it, hm?”

You shake your head with a chuckle. “No, he gave it to me for free, as an apology for the bar. He's actually quite nice.”

“Good thing you asked him and not James. You picked the nicest one of us.”

“Please, you're plenty nice too.”

“‘m nice to those who deserve it, love.” He puts on the denim jacket, all the while watching you in the corner of his eyes. Thankfully, it fits him like a glove, except for the sleeve that's a few inches shorter, but he doesn't seem to mind while he has the biggest grin on his pierced lips. “How do I look?”

“You wear it well.” Is the only sentence you could manage that doesn't have the word ‘handsome’ or ‘gorgeous’ in it.

“Thank you, love.” He rubs the rough denim, smiling like a kid who just got what he wanted for Christmas. “It's perfect. I also have—” Your name gets called suddenly, interrupting his words.

“There you go, kiddo.” Peter hands you an expensive looking paper bag that's all tied with a sparkly navy blue ribbon.

“Oh, thanks.” You mumble out.

You were planning on opening it later after the party but since everyone opened theirs already, you suppose you had to. It feels like a birthday party of sorts where everyone’s singing you a happy birthday while you could only stare awkwardly at the candles on the cake. The cameras come around you, not trying to miss anything. Unwrapping the ribbon, and feeling like a goldfish inside a tank, you put your whole arm in the bag, feeling something smooth inside as you pull it out. The paper bag drops by your feet as you gasp at the gorgeous antique looking box in your hands. It's about the size of a textbook, it has some weight too.

“What's in the box!” Peter acts and you immediately get the reference to it. While most people rolled their eyes at it, you and Miles chuckled at the joke.

You run your thumb across the peony flower engraving around the metal clasp. It's well made, something you see at some expensive antique shop that looks like all the items are either cursed or haunted. Now you're afraid that when you open it famine and disease will escape out of it. But as you unclasp it, rows of vibrant paint tubes greets you. There's a handful of paint brushes along the top of it, by the looks of it, it's just as well made as the box. With a nervous chuckle, mouth agape, it seems that not just the bosses got the ‘arse kisser’ gifts.

Jess huffs but shrugs, accepting that people have gone over the price limit. At the end of the day, it's just a nice gesture.

“Who?” You instinctively look at Hobie, cheeks warm at the prospect of him being your secret Santa. But he just shakes his head, mouthing ‘not me.’ Then you look over to the group of interns and they all mirror Hobie's gesture.

A tap on your shoulder has you looking over to your left. Harry smiles softly at you, green eyes shining.

“Don't worry, I got it on sale.” He whispers to you, index poking the side of the box. “I saw your paint set back at your place, most of the tubes were almost finished so I thought I'd get you some new ones. This is what they call serendipity, I think. ”

“Harry,” you sigh out while everyone has moved onto you and your expensive looking gift over to Gayatri and her secret Santa present. “This is too much. I think there's every colour in here.”

“That just means you don't have to buy new ones for a while then.”

“I would've settled for just one tube.” You lean closer so as to not disturb the rest of the party with your conversation.

“Can't, you deserve all the colors of the rainbow.” Harry comes closer until his shoe kisses the side of your heels.

“This is definitely more than the rainbow, Harry.”

“You're welcome, princess.” He nudges you, hand lingering on your bicep.

Hobie swallows thickly next to you. The camera crew are eating it all up it seems.

Peter gasps as he lifts up his present, interrupting you and Harry. “It's a dragon onesie!” A crocheted one in fact as you chuckle at his reaction.

“It's for Mayday so don't try to wear it, mate—” A strained cough roars above the merriment.

Everyone looks over to the source where Miguel is hacking out a rough cough, a swollen hand clasped around his neck as he wheezes out. A caramel brownie falls from his other hand, rolling across the floor. Your eyes widen with panic as he keels over on the carpeted floors, bumping on the dessert table as food tumbles out and decorations falling while he's still coughing.

“Shit! He's choking!” Jessica runs over to him, palm slapping Miguel's back.

Everyone crowds around Miguel in a panic. His lips are swollen, eyes red as he continues to choke.

“I'm calling an ambulance.” Gayatri has the right idea and dials the number.

“Move over!” Harry speed walks behind Miguel, arms wrapping around his middle and trying to do the Heimlich maneuver on him.

Gasps echo around, worry and panic setting in.

“He needs CPR!” Peter argues with Harry and Jessica while Gayatri’s frantic call to emergency services roams above the voices.

Hobie crouches down, grabbing the fallen brownie on the ground and smells it. The harsh lights of the crew and their added space makes the situation worse and claustrophobic. Not an ideal environment for someone who can't breathe.

“What—?” You ask and Hobie has a lightbulb moment.

“Peanuts! There's bloody peanuts in this!”

You immediately push people away and bolt over to your desk, rummaging through your bag for the orange cap and leaving the paint box on your table.

“Does anyone have an epipen?!” Jessica yells in a panic, but you're already pushing Peter away from trying to do CPR on Miguel as the needle meets Miguel's thigh in a quick and practiced motion from you.

Within a second, Miguel inhales deeply, colour returning to his lips. His fingers and lips are still swollen, but at least he's breathing much better now.

“Holy shit!” Harry exclaims, eyes darting over to Miguel and over to you with something flitting across his expression.

“Holy shit.” Hobie says breathlessly, mirroring the same expression on Harry's face. You can't quite get a good read on them as you heave, hand still clasp around the epipen. Are they impressed or something?

“Damn, newbie.” Lyla pats your shoulder, then a round of applause follows around. You almost cower from embarrassment.

You look at Hobie, who's still fixated on you. “I always have one on me since MJ’s also allergic to peanuts.” You explain since he might be wondering why you carry it around. He smiles at you, eyes twinkling. “Keep that in mind, Hobie.” You say since they spend a lot of time together.

“Sure, l–love, whatever you say.” He stammers out, crouched across from you. Even when everyone pats you for a job well done, he can't keep his eyes off you.

“Nice save, princess.” Harry says, nodding and grinning at you.

“F–Fuck.” Miguel groans out a laboured exhale, head slowly lifting up. “Thank you.” You curtly nod at him, pride filling your chest.

“Alright, everyone, give Miguel some space!” Jessica shoos people put. “He needs some air.” The documentary crew gladly filters out and weirdly happy that they got some interesting footage. A bit fucked up, you thought.

“He still needs to go to the hospital.” You say as Hobie helps you up on your feet. Miguel is still on the floor while Jessica and Lyla tend to him.

“Ambulance is on the way.” Gayatri nudges you as the group gazes down at Miguel. “What else do you have on you, girl scout?”

“Narcan and antihistamines.”

“Shit,” the lunch club gasps in tandem.

“Remind me to always bring you when I go out to dinner at the seafood place.” Gwen shoves you lightly with a smile as you mirror her expression.

“Does this mean the party's over?” Peter asks and everyone just stares at him.

—

“Love, wait!” Hobie runs after you, sliding on the ice as he tries to keep himself on his feet. You stop and open your arms to catch him mid slide. He collides against you in a flurry of snow and giggles. “Sorry!” He laughs in your arms and he feels warm despite the weather.

“What's got you running on ice?” You laugh, a puff of smoke filtering from your cold lips. Your hands are still on him, and his touch lingers for a second before he pulls his backpack out and grabs a wrapped present inside. “Secret Santa's over.” It's merely a whisper as you stare at the brightly wrapped gift with ballpoint doodles all over it.

“I know, I jus’ wanted to give you somethin'.” He inhales, eyes bright and soft under the glare of the snow. The denim jacket is tucked under his thick coat, peeking under it and you smile at the thought of him loving it so much that he's still wearing it.

“You don't have to, Hobie. I told you that I already forgave you.”

His palm rests above your own. “It's not an apology present. You're my mate, and I give presents to my mates.”

There's warmth behind your eyes as you lean over and hug him without second thought. Hobie embraces you back, chin tucked on your shoulder while he smells like eggnog and cookies.

“You haven't opened it yet.” He chuckles, breath fanning the shell of your ear.

“I know.” Moving away, his hands hover around your sides for a second or two before fully leaning away. “I just wanted to say thank you. You made working here bearable.”

Hobie inhales shakily as he stares into your eyes. “You make it sound like you're leaving.”

“Not leaving just yet, Hobie. I've got rent and debts to pay.” You hug the soft present against your chest, his smile doesn't leave his lips while he gazes softly at you. “Can I open it here or…?”

“You can open it.” He says immediately, chuckling nervously while he scratches the back of his neck. “It's something for the concert on the twenty fourth so you don't have to borrow anymore.” Sniffing, he gestures at the present with his head. “You're still goin’ right?”

“Of course. You and MJ have been working hard on it. I won't miss it, I promise.” Your words have him grinning even more.

Carefully unwrapping the present and unfurling the blue crêpe paper, a black crocheted cardigan greets you. The soft thread has sparkles weaved around it, and when the light hits it, the whole thing almost glows. You choke on a gasp.

“Shit, did you make this?” You ask, impressed and happy.

“I did, I hope it fits because I jus’ fuckin' eyeballed it.” Hobie says with a bit of nervousness. “Look at that, you gave me a jumper and I gave you one. It's serendipitous.” He chuckles out the last word. “It's not a leather one, but I think this suits you.”

You can't help but reach for him and hug him again. “You’re right, it looks comfy. Thank you, Hobie, I love it.”

He pats your back, and you can feel his face tug into a smile. “‘course, love.”

A car horn honks behind you, and Harry rolls down his window, waving you over impatiently. You and Hobie unlatch yourselves away, and with him holding you at arm's length.

“In a bit!” You gesture back as you turn towards Hobie one more time. Not knowing what to say next, you could only bite your lip bashfully with a smile. “Thank you again, Hobie. I'll see you at the concert.”

“Bye, lovie.” You begin to walk away but he calls you back. “Oi,” he gets your attention and Harry's. “Drive carefully, yeah?” You realize that he's talking to Harry and not to you.

“I always drive carefully, Hobs.” Harry scoffs, getting out of his car as snow crunches underfoot. He goes around the hood to open the passenger side and waits for you.

Hobs?

“‘course you do, prick.” Hobie says under his breath while you enter the passenger side and give him one last wave.

Harry glares at him while he returns to the driver's seat. Rolling up his window, he turns to you, eyes softening as you meet his eyes. “Ready to go?” He glances briefly at the cardigan in your hands.

“Yeah.” Your smile doesn't fade.

—

The concert wasn't what you thought it would be. Instead of a dark bar with crusty seats and sticky floors, you stand in a decent domed concert hall that has food vendors to the side together with the various band merchandise. Both teenagers and adults attend the event, smiling and listening to a pop group playing on stage. There's still bright lights flickering in and out, spotlights shining around while the sound system booms and bounces all over the walls. Above the stage, a banner reads 'F.E.A.S.T. annual children's hospital benefit.’ Now you feel silly when you first thought that you'll once again tread around a bar.

“Are you sure you want to come here instead of the movies, princess?” Harry loops his arm around your hips, palm resting atop your side comfortably. “They have 4D. Y’know the ones that spray water on your face.”

“It's a charity, Harry.” You hold the back of his hand, craning your neck to look at him.

The first ‘dinner’ wasn't just a regular celebration dinner at all. Turns out it was an actual date, and you only realized it when he picked you up from your place and handed you a sweet smelling bouquet of flowers. He did the whole thing too, opened the car door for you, pulled the chair for you. Shared a slice of cake for dessert with you, and even secretly paid for the whole meal when he said that he was only going to the bathroom. He was sweet the entire time, a lot more talkative outside of work and the regular car rides, but a good date nonetheless. Immediately after walking you to your front door, he asks for another date with a sheepish smile. You said yes. You did promise MJ that you'll try. So try, you did. Then after a coffee date, you two went to a drive in theatre. The next thing you know, you two are already on your fifth date. Or is it your fifth? You lost count after the butterfly sanctuary date.

You haven't kissed him, apart from a chaste peck on the cheek, there's no lip locking. And he hasn't asked for it nor made a move to kiss you either. It's alright though, you're still not ready to seal the deal just yet. Maybe it has something to do with today, or maybe with a certain someone. You like Harry enough, but there's a nagging feeling on the back of your head for some reason.

“I know, it's just— you know what, this is nice.” Harry relents and pecks your temple. That'll need some getting used to. “I saw a Korean corn dog stand over there, do you want one?”

You're too distracted from looking for the band and Hobie's familiar gait. “Yeah, sure, Harry.” Turning back to him, you squeeze his hand. “I'll wait for you at the front.”

“You sure?” With a nod from you, he unwraps his arm from your side. “I guess I'll call you if we get separated.”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. This isn't like the bar.”

Chuckling, he pats the small of your back before walking towards the food stalls. And you see the familiar camera crew looking around, befuddled and looking lost. You immediately, yet subtly walk away, hoping that the crowd will help camouflage you.

As you make your way towards the front, you see MJ's familiar head of red hair. “MJ!”

She turns around, squealing and bounding towards you. “You made it!” Hugging you, she squeezes the life out of you. “Is that new?” Her eyes flick over to the black sparkly cardigan you have on.

“Yeah, it was a gift.” You hold her at arm's length as she bounces on the balls of her feet excitedly. The rest of her band stands behind her, all visibly excited as they give you a friendly yet quick greeting. “Remember to breathe, we don't want a repeat of the talent show.”

MJ rolls her head back and groans audibly. “Don't remind me! I still have nightmares from it! Good fucking thing we're not on for a little while.”

“Oh, I thought you guys were playing first before Hobie's band?”

“Change of plans apparently. They get to go on first.” She says as the spotlights go wild after the band playing on stage bows to the clapping crowd.

“Where are they anyway—?”

“So where's the new guy, huh? I need to see if he's hot so he can get my approval.” She tugs you to her side, bouncing up and down.

“He's not my— he's buying me a corndog.”

“A man after your own heart, I love that.” She pokes your chest.

You rub the point where she poked you. “Yeah, I guess so. Where's Hobie, I need to wish him luck—?”

A loud guitar riff bounces around the walls, signaling the band's arrival. The lights turn blood red, and the crowd goes wild at the sight.

Hobie looks stunning under the light, wicks pulled together in a ponytail, top almost sheer as it shimmers in the spotlight. His pants are tight and flared at the bottom, all tied together by silver accents, a belt that has a spider on the buckle, and numerous rings and necklaces on him. But most of all, the jean jacket you gifted him fits perfectly on him. He put his own spin on it, adding his own flair with a few buttons and patches while the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. It all made you smile.

MJ screams each band member's name, voice cracking when she yells Yuri's name. Her band follows behind, fully screaming out together with the audience. MJ leads you towards the front to see them better, clutching your arm tightly and grinning brightly.

“Hobie!” She screams at the top of her lungs, earning a guffaw from you. “She made it!” Pointing at your head, your heart almost lurches in your chest when his eyes meet yours.

Immediately, the nonchalant look turns soft for you. But as quick as it came, he cranks his charm to a hundred and winks at you. A few people shriek, thinking that the wink was intended for them. You aren't sure if it was even for you.

The lights make his eyes glow bright red, skin looking like it's on fire as he shreds his guitar. Yuri's almost haunting singing voice adds to your swirling thoughts.

“Let's go, Hobie!” You add to the screaming fans, cupping your mouth with your hands for added volume. It has Hobie almost cracking a smile as you see his lips tug up, and he's clearly fighting with it as he swallows.

MJ guffaws, following your cheer with another.

“Hey,” Harry appears beside you, eyes flicking over to the band briefly before turning to you. “They ran out of corndogs!” He yells above the music.

You miss how Hobie sneered at the sight.

“That's okay!” You grin, yelling back. “Just enjoy the music, Harry!”

“Yeah,” he nods, and you feel his hand wrap around your own. It's not weird in the slightest since you two held hands before. “You must be MJ!” Harry leans in front of you, making you stand on your tiptoes to see Ned playing on the drums.

“What?! Oh you're the guy!” MJ does the same, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you! You better take care of my girl!” You almost shush them both.

“I will, don't worry!” Harry nods and reciprocates MJ's fist bump.

MJ stands back up, “I approve.” She whispers into your ear, giving you a thumbs up.

You chuckle, putting your arm over her back to half hug her. You wonder if Hobie can see the three of you clearly while he's on stage. Or if he knows that he's got people rooting for him. MJ hoots and hollers, and you feel a hand cupping your cheek, moving your head towards Harry's face.

“Yeah, you okay?” You ask him, smiling until you feel his lips on your own. And the sound of a wrong guitar chord squeaks out.

129 notes · View notes

potatoplace · 7 months ago

Text

You Can Have It - Chapter 4

Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader

chapter 3 | chapter 5 | series masterlist

Story Summary: You've been a baker for 75 years, and are finally moving on from the Winter Court to the City of Velaris to start your own bakery after your grandmother passes. After your grand opening, the High Lord and Lady of Night become daily visitors to your bakery for months, every day having your most popular pastry- one that increases fertility for a short time. All the while, the two alphas want nothing more than to call themselves yours.

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, nothing else I don't think

Words: ~7.4k

Author's Note: it's heeeereeeeeee aaaahhhhhhh RHYS AND FEYRE YESSS I hope you guys all like this chapter! And I can't wait for more cutesy lil interactions with them, all to start come the next update ☺️

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The past month and a half had passed so swiftly, you could hardly believe it. Your days were filled with overseeing a few details of construction, and picking out every last piece of furniture that would be in your bakery, apartment, and garden. You and Mor went on lunch dates every Thursday, and most your other lunches were spent with Rella and sometimes Arana after shopping, or with Marcus between stints of supervising the construction.

Your dinners you spent alone most of the time, dedicating yourself to cooking every last recipe in your Night Court Favorites cookbook, enjoying your love for cooking as well.

The time you spent in your hotel room was either passed by reading the Healer of Time series that Gina had recommended to you, or creating your menu pamphlet for when you are finally prepped and ready to open your bakery.

It was completed already, and sent off to the printers for a custom metal press to be made. You had decorated it with a drawing of your bakery on the front, and the name Sparaiya Bakery. The rest of the pages were filled with drawings of your pastries, with the ingredients and, in some cases, added benefits next to them.

Construction had gone by quickly, and you could hardly believe it when finally, your large custom pink marble tub was flown onto the second floor of your bakery by three very strong Illyrians. It was a foot wider than your wingspan, and deep enough that you could float in it, and it also had pretty good veining done on it at your request. It was by far the most expensive piece of furniture on your second floor, coming in at 1,175 gold marks. But you didn’t care, you wanted your dream tub.

The most expensive thing in your bakery by far were your ovens, each one coming in at 2,000 gold marks with a lifetime warranty, and in a soft, pale blue. You have ten stoves in total, seven of them were against the wall separating the kitchen from the front room, taking up the expanse of it. Each are on an elevated platform so that you could see inside of them without needing to bend over. The other three were against the back wall of the building, slightly smaller oven sizes but with a stovetop on each of them, so that you were able to make the filling that some of your pastries require.

The kitchen was completely done at this point, as was the front room of the bakery. Your kitchen was decorated with the pale blue stoves as well as matching cabinetry with silver handles, and white marble countertops with silver veining. The wide window you had took up half of the wall in the center of it, allowing for more cabinets, as you would likely need them for all of your bakeware and ingredients.

The kitchen was exactly how you’d imagined it when you had envisioned it a month ago, as was the front room.

You had the cedar logs of bakery and it’s furniture stained slightly darker, wanting it to have the cozy feeling of a darkened cabin in winter. The log chairs and benches all had different shades of pastel cushions attached to the seats, and the backs of the chairs. The tables were beautiful as well, the carpenter, a kind beta named Oren, had done a fantastic job on all of the wooden furniture you had.

And the display cases Arana had made for you were lovely, two on each side of the wooden counter Oren had also made for you. Arana had made them of matching wood, with a glass dome on one side, and sliding glass doors on the back facing where you would be standing. The shelves were also made of glass, and you’d had Rella enchant them to be unbreakable, just in case.

There was also a counter running along the back wall of the front room, matching the counters in your kitchen, as well as having the same cabinets below.

Your fireplace- it was exactly what you had wanted, made of different shades of grey stone, and positioned on the left wall, even with the midpoint of the dining area.

Your front door had yet to arrive, but the artist working on it was bringing it by in the next week.

The upstairs was nearly finished as well, your bathroom, personal kitchen and bedroom were all fully decorated. Your bathroom and kitchen were both done in a soft, baby pink color, matching the marble of your tub perfectly. You had a small round dining table, perfect for four, made by Oren in the same stained wood as everything else. In front of your fireplace on the right hand wall, you had a matching couch placed parallel to it, and two chairs placed of to the sides and slightly in front of it, with end tables on either side of the couch.

And your bedroom was absolutely perfect, your nest filled with blues of nearly every shade, with white and silk thrown in every now and then. So many pillows, you have so many pillows. Back in Winter, you had been so focused on your grandmother that you hadn’t even truly settled back in, and your nest was one of the things you had consistently neglected.

But not anymore. From now on, you would honor your omega’s wishes, perhaps even find an alpha who would treat you right in the next few years.

You had a few bookshelves lining a wall of your room as well, and you were determined to fill them all in the next three years with books you’ve read while living in Velaris.

Everything about your apartment upstairs was perfect, you couldn’t have been happier with any other turn out.

And truly, the main thing left for you to do before you could declare your bakery’s construction complete is your garden. The enchantments are complete, including ones to keep the planters waterproof to avoid any possible leakage, as well as keeping the air crisp and humid for your soon-to-be plant babies. You have yet to fill the planters already in place with dirt, or pick up the plants from Winter though.

But that was your main goal for the next week.

You had finally moved in the night before, after Marcus had given you the all clear. Your bill with him came out to be 120,000 gold marks, and every single one of them was well spent, as you had your perfect bakery and perfect apartment.

You had woken up this morning and made tea for yourself in your kitchen, and stared out at the lovely view you had from your massive window. There were a few younger fae out already, skating along the Sidra. It had yet to unfreeze, the temperatures had stayed low ever since you had arrived in town.

You almost felt like winter was holding on a bit tighter, just for you.

You finished your tea and breakfast around nine, then got ready for the day, dressing in one of your new winter dresses, this one in a soft pink, with delicate silver flowers embroidered along the hems of your sleeves. You threw on a white scarf, hat, and mitten set, then made your way down the stairs, and out the of what will soon be your front doors.

You were planning to find a florist this morning, as well as find a garden supply store so that you would be able to visit Viviane later in the week.

Rella had told you of a nice florist who was on the south side of the Sidra, just west of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, so you were making your way there.

The streets were rather slick this morning, so you took your time in getting to the florist’s shop, as Mor had said, there was nothing quite like eating shit before a meeting or going somewhere- which you’d had more than your fair share of in the past month and a half, running around town so often.

Finally you reached the shop, painted a sage green on the outside, and there was a garden along the side of it that you could see wrapped around to the back as well.

You walked inside, making sure to stomp the snow from your boots before you entered. At the counter was a beautiful high fae, with lovely light golden brown hair in a messy bun atop her head, a few strands escaping it and framing her gorgeous face.

“Hello,” you said with a wave as you made your way to the counter. “My name is Y/N, Rella told me that you’re a florist?” You asked hesitantly.

“Rella sent you? That was so sweet of her, make sure to tell her thank you for me, Y/N! My name is Elain, it’s lovely to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, and you got a lovely breeze of her scent, jasmine and honey- another omega. You took her hand, surprised at the grip that the delicate looking fae had. “Did you need a florist for something?”

You nodded your head, answering “Yes, I’m opening a bakery in the next couple of weeks, and I was hoping you would be able to supply seasonal flowers every week.”

“Yes, I should be able to do that. Do you have a color scheme in mind at all, or just the seasonal aspect?”

“Jus the seasonal flowers, any color combination will be lovely, I’m sure.”

Elain smiles at you, her soft chocolate eyes crinkling at the edges slightly. “Very well, Y/N. Do you know how many bouquets you’d like weekly, and a price range?”

“I suppose I’d need…” you thought on how many tables you had inside of your bakery, as well at the mantle of the fireplace. “A dozen bouquets every week, I believe. And price wise… I’m not really sure, do you have a set type of plan?” You asked, feeling unsure.

“Yes, for a dozen bouquets my base price would be around 25 gold marks a week, and for slightly larger bouquets or more rare types of flowers, it could get up to double that.”

You thought about it for a moment. “I think that I’ll let you choose whichever flowers look best together, but I don’t need very large bouquets.”

Elain pulled a contract from beneath her counter, along with a quill and pot of ink. She wrote in the details of your request, then slid the paper over to you.

You read it over, then signed it and slid the page back to Elain. You handed your bank card to her, and she pressed it to her ledger before passing it back to you. “Alright, you’re all set up to start your deliveries, when you know the exact date just come back and let me know, okay?”

You nodded your head, then finally looked around the rest of her shop. There were large bags filled with dirt, gardening tools, large displays of seeds, and even a few types of planters on display. “Oh, you sell gardening supplies too? That’s perfect!” You said, happy to have likely found everything you needed to complete your garden.

“Yes, we even have carts that you can borrow or purchase to take everything home,” Elain said, already moving from behind the counter. “Are you starting a garden, as well?” She asked.

“Yes, just a small one for a few plants and herbs I need for my baked goods,” you replied, already moving to look at the types of dirt she had on offer.

Perfect. Elain already carried dirt from the Winter Court, exactly what you needed for your plants.

“I’ll take- oh, I think ten bags of the Winter dirt, please,” you said, hoping that it would be enough to fill up your planters. “And I’ll purchase a cart as well, that will probably be handy for just about all of my shopping for the bakery,” you said with a chuckle. Elain brought a cart over, and the two of you loaded ten large bags of dirt into it.

You also grabbed a few different sizes of hand shovels and a couple of watering cans, putting them into your cart.

“Is that everything you’re needing today?” Elain asked as you approached the counter once more.

“Yes, Elain.” You handed your bank card over, and tucked it back into the collar of your dress once she gave it back. “Thank you so much, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” you said, moving to push your cart through the front door.

“Did you need any help with your garden at all?” Elain asked before you left.

“Not at the moment, I just need to fill my planters with dirt today. But in the next week I’ll be transplanting some things from the Winter Court,” you replied, and her brown eyes lit up.

“Would you like some help?” Elain asked brightly. “I’ve been so bored during the winter, there’s not much to tend to, I’d love to help you out,” she said, with so much hope in her voice you couldn’t refuse.

“That would be lovely, Elain. I’ll come and get you once I have the plants back here, alright?”

Elain beamed at you. “Sounds like a plan, Y/N. I’m free all of this Wednesday, if that would end up working for you. If not, I’m sure I’ll be able to slip away for a little bit,” Elain suggested.

“I’ll try and get the plants here by Wednesday, Elain. Thank you again!” You said as you pushed your cart into the outdoors.

Luckily, the cart seemed to be enchanted to have the snow speared from its path, and you made it back to your home without much trouble.

Now the hard part: getting all of the dirt upstairs and into the planters.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

It took you a few hours to finish the planters off, and you were more than ready to wash the dirt from your skin by the time three in the afternoon rolled around, but you forced yourself to write a letter to Viviane, asking to come and grab the plants Wednesday morning before you did so.

You ran hot water in the tub, then let it fill up while you stripped your clothes from your skin and placed them in your laundry bin. You slipped into the tub, loving how your wings were able to sink beneath the water comfortably as well.

It was the first time they would have a proper wash in over a month, and you were looking forward to how soft and fluffy your feather would feel afterwards.

Taking your time, you spent over an hour in the bath carefully washing the first and debris from your wings, refilling the tub once so you could rinse clean. Afterwards, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, one that was so soft that you had bought all of your towels from the same vendor, even for the bakery, in varying shades of blues, pinks, and purples.

A reply from Viviane had landed on your desk while you were bathing, confirming that she would pick you up in front of Mor’s townhome at eight on Wednesday morning.

You’d considered buying baking supplies and bakeware today, but after the hauling of dirt you were too tired, and nothing sounded better than getting a takeout from Sevenda’s and curling up on the couch in front of your fireplace with the third Healer of Time book.

But getting Sevenda’s would require going outside again, and going across the Sidra…

You had the ingredients for the chicken curry you had made on your second night in Velaris, and that, you supposed, would be less daunting of a task than leaving your home.

You got dressed in a soft sweater dress, another recent purchase of yours, and let yourself read for a half an hour on the couch, until your stomach was growling at you to loudly to continue ignoring. Fine. I will make the damn curry.

You stood up from your couch and went into the kitchen, chopping and stirring and waiting until finally you had your dinner. Your cooking skills had improved in the month and a half since you’d made this recipe, and you could tell in the taste of the curry.

Seated at the table, you read while you ate, so lost in the gripping story that you hadn’t realized you were done with your food until you ate a spoonful of nothing.

“Oh,” you said to yourself, then got up and rinsed your bowl out. You were so tired already, and it was barely six in the evening.

Today would be a good day to start getting back into a baking sleep schedule, if you were so tired already… And then you would be able to get up bright and early in the morning, make yourself some breakfast, then head to the Palace of Bone and Salt to buy enough baking supplies to make each of your recipes three times, to make sure you still have all of the techniques you need down pat before your grand opening.

Grand opening. You could hardly believe it, you’re so close to your dream becoming a reality, and it’s been almost nothing but fun the entire journey.

That was definitely in part to the wonderful fae you’d met in Velaris, each one that you worked with you helpful and friendly. You truly couldn’t have asked for a better start to your new life here.

You allowed yourself to read until seven thirty, then forced yourself to get into bed.

It took a little while for you to fall asleep, even with being tired, but soon enough you drifted off, thoughts filled with bags of flour and the pastries you would make tomorrow.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Picking out your bakeware took you longer than expected.

Did you want glass or metal bowls? Pink or blue ceramic? Wooden utensils or metal utensils? You were so indecisive, trying to choose between whatever you liked most and trying to have a color scheme- but then you realized it doesn’t matter, all of them will be used for the same purpose.

And if you love all of your bakeware, then who cares if they don’t match?

So you’d gotten possibly double of everything that you needed, but that would just make it easier for you to do more batches or different things at once in the future. And you’re fine with that.

You’d carefully made your way home, trying your best not to break any of your new dishes.

Your only casualty was a cute mixing bowl you’d picked up for your personal kitchen, it was pink with little duckies all around it. You would get another at some point.

It took you two hours to have everything arranged the way you wanted, and immediately after getting your kitchen set up you went out again pushing your cart back to the Palace of Bone and Salt to get your baking ingredients. That shopping trip took you a bit over an hour, and by the time you got home you were tired once more, but more than ready to start baking again.

You had never gone much over a week without baking, ever since you were six years old. You felt like apart of you had been ripped away, until your hands finally sank into dough once more.

It was magical, how happy baking makes you. You baked for the rest of the night, probably eating far too many pastries for dinner, but you don’t care, because they’re pastries you baked, in your bakery.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Two days later, it was Wednesday, and Viviane had picked you up as promised.

“So, how’s Velaris treating you so far?” She asked as the two of you were on your knees in the greenhouse, working to free the last of three hornberry bushes you needed.

“It’s been amazing so far, the change of pace as been absolutely wonderful, and getting closer to the grand opening of the bakery I’m getting more and more excited! And everyone has been so kind so far, I feel so welcome.”

Your four combined hands finally pulled the bush out of the ground, and you carefully placed it in the cart holding the rest of your plants.

“That’s so great to hear, Y/N. I’m glad you’re settling in well, you deserve it after all you’ve been through,” Viviane said, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Did you need any other plants, dear?”

You looked over the cart thoroughly. “Nope, that’s all I need Viv. Thank you so much!”

“Of course, Y/N! You know this section of the garden practically belongs to you, right? You and your grandmother are the reason our birth rates and overall health as a court have gone up. If you need anything else from here, just write me again, okay?”

You nodded, smiling gratefully at her. “Oh, by the way, the money you gave me was far too much,” you said, and Viviane opened her mouth to speak. “But it is very much appreciated, Viv. It’s made getting the bakery perfect so easy.”

Viviane grinned at you. “I knew it was the right choice, telling you once you were already in Velaris,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s true, I would never have accepted it,” you agreed, chuckling along with her.

The two of you stood from where you were kneeling, dusting the dirt from your dresses. “Are you ready to see my bakery?” You asked, holding your arm out for Viviane to take.

“I have been since before it was built, Y/N,” Viviane replied, taking your arm and winnowing the both of you back to Mor’s townhouse. “Lead the way, dear.”

The two of you trekked back to your bakery, taking longer than usual with the cart’s wheels snagging on the snow.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s perfect!”

Your front doors had been delivered yesterday, perfectly depicting the change from dawn to day to night while snow falls over the Sidra, more beautiful than you had thought it could be.

“Isn’t it?” You asked dreamily, still slightly disbelieving that it was real, even when you’d been living here for the past five days. “Come on, let me show you the inside,” you said, unlocking the doors and dragging the cart inside after Viviane had entered.

“This is so cute! I wish you were open right now, I’ve been dying for one of your hornberry tarts. Leo does a good job, but I don’t think he’ll ever get them perfectly like yours, Y/N,” Viviane said, referencing the pasty chef you’d trained before moving.

“Well, if you come back for the opening or any time after, I’ll make sure you get a few to take home with you. I’m sure Kallias would like some as well,” you remarked with a smile, recalling how fond the High Lord was of your pastries.

“He’ll probably join me once you’re open, he won’t say it but I know he misses your baking. He does this cute little pouty face whenever something doesn’t taste perfect,” Viviane said, always ready to talk about her alpha. “Well, I’d better get going Y/N, I have a few meetings I need to get to, but let me know when your opening is and I’ll do my best to stop by.”

“I will, Viv. Winnow safe, okay?” You said as the two of you hugged, taking in one last breath of her calming snow and cranberry scent.

“I will, dear. Have fun planting!” Viviane said, winnowing away after giving a little wave goodbye.

You immediately set to taking the plants upstairs as quickly as you could, wanting to get Elain over at a reasonable hour.

It was eleven thirty when you finished, each and every last plant taken up the spiral staircase and placed next to the planter it would be replanted in.

You washed your hands, then put your winter wear on and headed into the city, going straight for Elain’s shop. When you arrived, the door was locked, so you knocked loudly on it. Elain came to the door a moment later, already dressed to leave the indoors.

“Lovely, Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it today!” Elain said excitedly, locking her shop up behind her. “And I get to see your bakery, I’m excited for that too!”

The two of you made your way to your bakery slowly, the two of you appreciating the people milling about as you walked.

“This is a gorgeous bakery you’ve got, Y/N,” Elain said once the two of you were standing in front of it, you unlocking the door.

“Thank you, Elain,” you said, swinging the door open and letting Elain inside.

“Oh, the inside is so adorable! Now I have such good ideas for your bouquets, after seeing the space. I’m thinking a blue flower in every weeks bunches, keep the winter theme going a bit.”

“I love that idea, Elain, that’s perfect!” You led her to the kitchen and up the stairs, and she rushed towards the garden.

“This is amazing! Who did your enchantments?” Elain asked once she was in the garden, the air even colder than it was outside.

“Gabrella, in the Palace of Flame and Steel,” you replied, joining her in the garden. “And this is my little garden,I’m excited to get everything planted. And please, don’t feel obligated to stay at any point, though I do truly appreciate your help.”

“I love to see new plants, and I’ve never seen any of these before. I’m guessing they’re native to the Winter Court, with the dirt you bought and the climate you’ve got here,” Elain said, hitting the nail on the head.

“You would be right, Elain. I use all of them in my pastries. All of them are pretty easy to plant, just make sure their roots are covered and then water them until the soil is completely soaked,” you informed Elain, already kneeling in front of one of the planters.

The two of you got to work, Elain watched you plant one of the bushes before moving to her own, planting it with expert hands.

As you worked, the two of you spoke of your lives, mainly your hopes for the near future. You spoke of your bakery, how excited you were to see it finally in action, and how the people of Velaris would react to your business. Elain talked about her mate and alpha, Lucien, and how they were hoping to have children soon.

“We’ve been trying rather vigorously,” Elain tittered, and you blushed along with her.

“Well, I cannot promise that it will work for sure, but I do make a fertility pastry with these berries,” you say, pointing to the spiky berries on the hornberry bush that you were currently planting. “We have seen a significant increase in births the Winter Court over the past five years, though that could be due to the end of everyone being imprisoned.”

“Anything at all that will help, we’ve been trying for the past five years with no luck so far. As long as it tastes decent, I am willing to try anything, I’ve wanted to be a mother for so long,” Elain said, sighing after she did.

“I believe they’re rather delicious, but you’ll just have to see for yourself,” you laughed.

Within two hours, you and Elain were sitting back on your hands, looking at your now completed garden. “Thank you for your help, Elain. Would you like to go to lunch with me?” You asked, wanting to thank her in some way other than words, and you had a feeling she would turn down any monetary payment you would offer.

“I would love to, Y/N. Did you have a specific place in mind?” She asked, already getting to her feet. You followed her up, then lead her over to the kitchen sink to wash the dirt from your hands.

“There’s this great noodle place on the west end of the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, if you’re interested? Or we can go someplace else, if you’d prefer,” you offered.

“Noodles sound great,” Elain said, smiling softly at you.

“Noodles it is, then.”

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Lunch with Elain was nice, and you walked her back over to her shop before heading home. The two of you had gotten to know each other better, and you were happy to know that you might already have three omega friends in your new city, very different compared to your sold one in Winter- Viviane.

When you got back to your home, slightly surprised to see Marcus outside of your doors.

“Ah, Y/N, there you are!” He said, walking over to meet you. “I was… I was hoping that I could ask you something.” For the first time since you had met him, Marcus sounded nervous.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me- on a date?” He asked.

You hadn’t seen it coming. You’d enjoyed his company, yes, he was fun to talk to and nice to be around.

“I… uhm…” you started, unsure of what to say.

“Look, there’s no strings attached, if you hate it halfway through, or even right when I pick you up, we can act like it never happened, hmm?”

You considered it for a moment. Would it really be so bad to go on a date with a handsome, friendly alpha?

“Okay, yes, I’ll go out with you. What night were you thinking?” You asked, looking up at Marcus nervously.

“Would tomorrow night at six work for you?”

You nodded your head. “Yes, tomorrow would be fine,” you respond. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow night at six, Y/N,” Marcus said before departing from you with a wave, leaving you to slink inside of your bakery and contemplate what had just happened.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

“You’re going on a date with Marcus? Oo, tell me what you’re going to wear!” Mor said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

“Just a dress and some tights, Mor, nothing fancy,” you said after swallowing your bite of salad.

“Well, at least tell me you’re excited for the date?”

“I guess so.” Mor stared at you, disbelief in her eyes as she chewed the last bite of her sandwich. “What? Marcus is nice, really nice, I just don’t feel any kind of spark towards him, that’s all.”

“At least give the male an honest chance, alright?” Mor asked of you before paying for the tab. “I’ve got to run, but next week you will tell me all about the date, yes?” You nodded your head. “Good. I’ll see you next Thursday, have a good date today doll,” Mor said, pressing a kiss to your cheek before leaving the restaurant.

You finished your salad, then walked the short distance home from the restaurant in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf.

Perhaps you should be getting ready excitedly at this point already, but you knew in your heart that you wouldn’t find that spark with Marcus. After all, you’d known each other nearly two months at that point, and you’d never looked at him as anything other than a friend.

But you supposed that going on a date, even one that you know you won’t go out with again, could be fun.

So you baked for a few hours, then took a long bath to make sure their was no flour left on your body. Getting dressed was easy, you simply slipped on one of your old favorites, a cute pink wool sweater dress that goes to your knees and some warm tights. You put on a little bit of eyeliner and a tiny bit of lipstick, but it only took you ten minutes to get ready. It was only five thirty.

You picked up your book and read, already on the fourth book of the series. By five fifty five, you had on your winter wear and boots and were downstairs.

Marcus knocked on the door exactly at six, looking handsome as usual.

“Shall we go?” He asked, extending an arm to you.

You took it, then said “Yes, lead the way Marcus,” with a gentle smile.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The date was fun, that was true. But you felt no kind of connection with Marcus besides that of a friend. He seemed to sense as much when he dropped you off at your door later that night.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Y/N.”

“I did too, Marcus, but…” you trailed off, unsure of how to say it.

“But you don’t feel the connection?” Marcus asked, and you nodded in confirmation. “It’s alright, I had to take my chance, right? An omega as amazing and wonderful as you, well, you’re a catch to any alpha with eyes and ears, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Marcus. And I’m so sorry, I wish it could have worked out. You truly are a magnificent person, and I’ve loved getting to know you over the past two months. Friends?”

“Friends,” Marcus confirmed, giving you a brief hug before pulling away. “I’ll see you at your bakery’s opening, when was it again?”

“It will be next Friday, I’ve decided,” you declared brightly, glad that things with Marcus could still be pleasant.

“I’ll see you next Friday, Y/N,” Marcus said before walking away, leaving you on your doorstep once again.

You sighed and headed inside, going straight up to your bedroom to get undressed and wash your face. After you had, you flopped into bed, wishing that you’d been attracted to such a kind, helpful alpha.

But you’d find someone, at some point. You would meet at the right time, the perfect time, and everything would fall into place from there, you were sure of it.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

“It didn’t go well, did it?” Mor asked as you sat down across from her in the noodle restaurant.

You sighed. “No, it was a fine outing, just not a good date,” you said. “I did have fun with him, there just isn’t that connection there, you know?”

The two of you ordered quickly when the server came over, then went back to your conversation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to give it one more date?"

You nodded your head. “I’m sure, Mor. There’s no point to it, if I haven’t felt any kind of attraction in the two months we’ve known each other.”

It was Mor’s turn to sigh. “Okay, okay. Do you have any other alphas that you might like to date?” Mor asked, wiggling her brows at you.

“None that I can think of Mor, you can tell Viv that I’m happily single at the moment.”

Your food arrived then, and the two of you tucked into your food, both of you humming happily at the taste.

“So, my bakery opens tomorrow,” you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence while eating, and Mor quickly swallowed her current bite.

“Tomorrow? Oh, that’s so exciting Y/N! What time do you open? I’ll try to get there near then, but no promises, I might be sleeping in.l

“That’s fine, Mor, I’m opening at seven so I don’t really expect you to be awake at that time,” you laughed, knowing that the alpha was the opposite of a morning person.

“Mother no, I would never be up that early for anyone,” Mor giggled. “Have you sent out flyers or anything yet?”

“Yes, I had some pamphlets printed up with the menu, they’re being distributed around town as we speak!” You said brightly.

“That’s good, that’s good. I hope everything runs smoothly, Y/N, you deserve it after all of the hard work your put in.”

“Thank you, Mor. I just hope that people like my pastries.”

“Y/N, just based on that little sampler basket you brought me at the beginning of the week, the people here will go nuts over your bakery,” Mor reassured you.

You had brought a basket of pastries to every person that had helped you in starting your bakery: Mor, Marcus, Rella, Arana, Oren, and the stained glass artist, Wren. You’d actually brought five baskets to Marcus’s office, enough so that he could have a basket of his own, and plenty left for the crew that had worked so hard to bring your dream together.

“Thank you, I’m glad to hear that. I hope that you can make it tomorrow, I believe that Kallias and Viviane will be stopping in later in the day, so long as nothing pressing comes up.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you and them tomorrow, then, Y/N,” Mor said as she gave you a quick goodbye hug, her citrus and cinnamon scent washing over you again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mor,” you said with a smile, managing to get your bank card down on the bill first.

You walked home alone, knowing that you needed to make sure everything was in order for the next morning as you went, taking a little longer to savor the warmth of the sun. It had started to warm a little bit, and most of the snow was cleared from the streets at this point.

You used your three hours before your self imposed bed time to check everything twice and make sure you had enough ingredients for everything you needed to bake in the morning, as well as plenty of tea and coffee for people to drink.

Your time to sleep went by too quickly, and soon enough it was four in the morning. You took a quick bath, then donned a comfortable lilac dress with a back scooped low enough for your wings to be free, something you’ll want as you will most likely be spending the next fifteen hours working in the kitchens and the front of house.

Finally, you thought, so happy that your grand opening is finally here.

You rushed downstairs, turning on the fae lights so that you could see your work.

Most of the pastries were done proving, and ready to go in the oven. You had plenty of your winter berry jams ready to go, all you need to do is make more dough and get it proving.

You spend the next two and a half hours working quickly and efficiently, the rush that baking on a large scale gave you fueling you on, faster than ever before.

You had just finished stocking up the pastry display cases, medicinal on the left and typical pastries on the right, when Elain showed up at the front door, bright eyes and perfect hair even at the early hour, You rushed over to unlock the door, opening it to let the sweet fae inside, and you flipped the open sign over as you shut the door.

“It smells absolutely wonderful in here Y/N. Lucien is bringing the rest of our family around, I made them all promise to show up after they devoured that basket of pastries you delivered to my house,” Elain said, shaking her head lightly at them. “I was able to try that hornberry pastry thought, it was divine. Tell me you’ve got plenty ready to go?” Elain asked.

“Oh yes, I’m already thinking it will be my most popular pastry, I’ve got two dozen ready already and another five dozen in the process of being made,” you reassured her, already going behind the counter to grab her a pastry and place it on a plate. “Here you go, and if you ever want to take some extras home, just let me know,” you said with a smile, loving that she immediately took a bite of the pastry.

“Seriously, these are so good,” Elain said, right as a crowd of people pushed through the front doors.

In first was a red headed male, who made his way straight to Elain, placing a kiss on her cheek and swiping the pastry from her fingers. Lucien, presumably.

Next in was a tall, bulky Illyrian with hazel eyes, holding hands with a beautiful fae- Nesta?

“Y/N?” Nesta asked, making her way over to your counter after she met your eyes. “I didn’t know you were the one Elain was working with, what a small world.”

You nodded your head, meeting her strong steel grey eyes. “Yes it is, I didn’t know that you were related to Elain, either. It’s nice to see you again, I’m hoping I can make it to that book club of yours in the next couple of weeks,” you said.

“That would be nice, Y/N."

“Introduce me,” the large Illyrian said after gently nudging Nesta, having followed her over.

Nesta rolled her eyes, a small but affectionate smile on her lips as she said “This is Cassian, my mate.”

Cassian stuck his large hand out for you to take, and when you did his hand practically swallowed yours. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Now, am I allowed to order right away or should I wait a little bit?” The alpha asked, eyes already turned to the pastry cases.

“You can order right now, if you’d like,” you responded, letting him look over the options for a moment.

“Oh, Nes, we are so getting the hornberry pastries, remember that little promise that you made to me?” Cassian asked, turning his mouth to Nesta’s ear, whispering something that made the fae’s face turn beet red before she nodded. “We will take two of those, plus three croissants.”

You handed them their pastries on a large plate, telling them “Bring it up here when you’re done, or if you need a to go bag.” They left the counter, Nesta still blushing profusely, even when they sat down.

You looked back to the door, seeing Mor and another Illyrian next to her, this one with shadows swirling around him, occasionally dipping into his ears. They moved over to the right side pastry case, peering through the glass at what you had on offered. You glanced away from them and back to the door, and that’s when you saw them-

The most devastatingly beautiful male and female you had ever seen, power thrumming off of them in gentle, soothing waves, and their combined scents washed over you- citrus, sea, jasmine and lilacs. A perfect, heart stopping blend of two alpha scents that set your mind and body on fire in the best possible way. You felt so awake now, so present as you stared at them both, trying to memorize their faces as quickly as you could.

This. This is the feeling you wanted to feel when you went on a date with someone.

The couple moved closer to you, and Mor introduced them.

“Y/N, this is Rhys and Feyre, our High Lord and Lady.”

Oh, Mother, you are so fucked.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Feyre said, extending two beautifully tattooed hands to grasp yours. “Mor has told us so much about you, it’s nice to finally put a face to her kind words.”

Your heart nearly stopped, you were sure of it. “It’s lovely to meet you as well, High Lady-”

“Oh none of that, please call us Feyre and Rhys,” Rhys said, his strong voice pulling your eyes away from Feyre’s hypnotic ocean eyes. His were just as mesmerizing, violet with flecks are stars in them, just as beautiful as his mate’s.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Rhys and Feyre,” you corrected, your hands still captive in Feyre’s.

“Alright you two, stop hogging my friend, I’d like to have one of her delicious pastries for breakfast,” Mor said, breaking the spell the two alphas had over you, and you finally looked away from Rhys’s eyes to lock onto Mor’s.

“Did you know what you wanted, Mor?”

“Yes, I’ll have one of those cute little cheese danishes, and a cup of coffee with some cream please.”

You nodded your head, then set to grabbing Mor’s order. With your head turned from the group, though, you couldn’t help but close your eyes.

You are so fucked. They are mates, they are a couple, you will never have them. Remember that, you thought to yourself, before turning around, Mor’s coffee and danish in hand

Mor tapped her bank card to your ledger before you could stop her, sticking her tongue out at you. “You can’t make me not pay, Y/N, I just won’t do it,” she said while smiling at you, then left the counter to take a seat in front of the fireplace, where Elain and Lucien were now sitting.

You turned your head back to the couple that you knew would stay in your thoughts for days, maybe even weeks to come. “Did you two know what you wanted?”

Series Taglist: @icey--stars @breadsticks2004

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year ago

Text

💐💐💐

imagine being a kindergarten teacher who meets reid

maybe its thru JJ, maybe you've got Henry in your class, and she kindly, warmly strikes a friendship with you after Henry moves into 1st grade. and its a little unorthodox but jj and her husband are always willing to help out (when their schedules can allow) with school events and so yeah, you become friends.

and when jj introduces you to her friends/colleagues - there is of course a little bit of an intimidation factor (because hello...they are fbi) but penelope makes you feel so welcome (because of course she does. and you tell her your students would love her. and she offers to teach a tech class and youre like ok they're five but yes let's do it) and morgan shamelessly flirting, and emily being hot and intimidating and then there's reid, quiet, awkward, wont-shake-your-hand reid.

but there's something to it - a mutual nerdiness, perhaps, or how reid doesn't make you feel "stupid" just because you're an elementary school teacher and not a professor at a college (despite the fact that in many places you need a least a master's to teach).

imagine weeks later when you run into reid at the coffee shop. completely random. the sky is gray, uninteresting, and promising rain. he surprises you by remembering your name before there's a shy yet earnest quip when he says he's got an "eidetic memory." and you laugh warmly and spencer thinks its one of the best sounds he's heard all morning.

and it goes slowly from there, but it moves naturally, like a caterpillar forming its chrysalis

(when you tell reid this, somewhere after the 4 month mark since you've long stopped counting individual dates, he says; "did you know the word comes from the greek word 'khrusos' - which means gold - because of the gold color or metallic sheen of some pupae".

and in that moment, that singular moment, you admire the honey-gold tint of his eyes in the late afternoon sun spilling luminescence across the sidewalks and across shiny car windshields and think that you could already see the shape and color of whatever butterfly that was going to burst from its cocoon).

one time you refused to come over his apartment because "the kids used glitter today" and you didn't want to get it all over his place. so he came over instead, and you watched the iridescent sparkles swirl down the bathtub drain together.

imagine spencer reid laying his head in your lap, something heavy and unspoken between you, shaped in the spread of his fingers across your hips, in the erratic pulse of his heart pressing into your shins

the school doesn't celebrate Halloween, but they have an annual "trunk or treat" where people CAN dress up and trick-or-treat out of the trunks of their cars and spencer starts helping you, decorating the trunk with fake cobwebs, and skulls, and eventually diving into convoluted themes that you're not convinced kids aged 5-10 are totally going to get.

"it's jaws." he says, holding a shark head made of paper mache, "you know, the 1975 film? you said we couldn't do slasher horror movies because they're too gory for the kids but i'd argue that this movie stands alone as a great horror film with how Spielberg creates consistent tension throughout the whole film considering we don't see the shark until an hour and twenty-one minutes into the run time."

(the kids don't really get it, it's true. "sharks aren't monsters." they would say, or "sharks aren't scary." or "is this from Baby Shark?" but you and spencer have fun, passing out candy, sharing small looks to each other--so that makes it all worth it).

imagine something soft, sweet, something quiet shared over coffee with spencer. something gentle amidst all the chaos, the heartache, and stress of his day-to-day job.

"I don't know how you do it," you tell him, "seeing the worst of what the world has to offer day in and day out."

his long fingers stroke the underside of your jaw, "i don't know how you manage a room full of fifteen 5 and 6-year-olds." he pulls a face. "especially with the germs."

imagine bringing spencer lunch at the office - earning the knowing, sly looks from his friends and team, knowing you can't hide against a room full of profilers and knowing it doesn't really matter anyways.

:) ok that's all i got. <3

#i dont feel like writing a fic about this so have this instead #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

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bumblehoneybee · 7 months ago

Note

Okok so I saw that you wanted Knuckles requests and I have some capital “A” Angst if you’re up for it!!

What would happen in a scenario where Knuckles is forced to chose between his beloved, and the Master Emerald? Especially if his S/o - perhaps bloodied and beaten - is demanding he chose the Emerald over them because he’s “got a fucking job to do.”

AUGH I’m sorry, the angst is flowing rn- have an awesome day/night!!

Don't Touch

"Don't touch it." You said, voice cutting through the air like a knife. Everyone jerked back, surprised that you could make such a sound, make such an angry coldness coat your voice. Your face was just as cold. "Don't touch it."

It was golden and shimmering in the light that pierced through the rocky ceiling above. Something like this, buried deep underground, held obvious value. Knuckles was excited to see it, as was Sonic and Tails, the trio eager and interested to figure out what this new strange floating liquid gold thing was.

You, on the other hand, hung back with Amy, eyes flitting between the golden mass molding about midair and the various carvings that decorated the wall. Depictions of something long lost, people forgotten to time, they unnerved you.

The writings, the symbols, you didn't quite understand them, but you knew that most likely, they meant this new treasure was bad, bad news.

"O-kay?" Sonic drawled out, an amused if perturbed brow cocked your way. He didn't know you to be so. . . serious. "Why?"

"It doesn't seem safe." Amy piped up for you. "It shouldn't be able to move like that on its own."

"The emeralds can as well." Knuckles countered.

"The emeralds are jewels." You say, backing away. "This thing is. . . alive."

"Technically the emeralds are too. . ." Knuckles murmured. Sonic shrugged at him, running a loop around the pedestal the golden glob floated above. "What shall we do then? Leave it?"

"I could make something to contain it." Tails offered. His tails spun him up to get a more aerial view. An obvious stress coated you, body tensed and twitching like you were expecting the treasure to attack Tails. "It would take a few days, but it would solve the issue with not touching it."

"An issue only to our newest member." Sonic teased, nudging you with his elbow. You jumped, not noticing his approach. "What's got you so uptight? Aren't you excited to see your first treasure hunt be so successful?"

Any answer you could conjure up was lost on the tip of your tongue. You didn't know how to explain the foreboding sense of doom you felt looking at this treasure, but it rocked you to your very core. It wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, still twisting and melding like it did when you all first entered, but still. . .

You felt scared.

And it was obvious to everyone. When Sonic's gentle ribbing didn't ease your mind, he grew a bit doubtful. Knuckles too was losing interest in the treasure in favor of aiding your distress. Luckily you seemed to relax as he approached, leaving only Tails near the globby gold.

"Like I said," the little fox dropped down before you, and your shoulders sank, "I can make something and-"

In the blink of an eye, everything went golden.

Everything felt. . . muffled, but your chest screamed in agony. Piercing pain rocked up and down your spine, like you were stabbed right in the heart. It hurt terribly, but your throat was too clogged to cry out. You couldn't even claw at yourself, to try and escape the muffled pain that was sinking into your very bones, cause your arms were lax and useless.

And you couldn't breathe.

Knuckles' immediate reaction to watching whatever that gold shit was pierce through your chest was to punch it, but the liquid metal easily cradled his fist and sent him flying back. He could hear the others crying out, a mix of your name and exclamations of what wasn't working on the new found monster, but over all that he could hear the sound of you choking.

And you were, stood there gilded and losing shape fast. Your body drowned in shimmering yellow, giving rise to a new figure, bulging and bulky, with red eyes that surveyed the scene around it. Soon, a smile cracked across its face.

Then Sonic slammed into its side. A distinct hiss rang out from the beast, a crater in its body from where Sonic hit. It sizzled a weak blue color from his strength and power, but quickly refilled its shape.

It gave Knuckles an idea of its weakness, however, and he called out to the others. "Fire! It can't take the heat!"

"Already on it!" Tails replied, readying some large gun Knuckles didn't see him pack for the trip. A wall of flames spewed from the tip. The beast shrieked at the heat, slithering away, towards the wall. "Get back here!"

Tails gave chase, flying up towards the open ceiling while the rest raced to climb up after. Upside, in the sunlight, the creature shined bright enough to blind. Knuckles squinted against the sheen, watching it twist into the air with a crackling laugh.

You were inside it. This bastard had taken you hostage, and was now-

"It's headed for Angel Island!" Amy cried, pointing to the streak of gold now tearing through the sky. "Knuckles-"

"Get something to contain it!" He demanded, already racing towards the nearest teleporter to take him back home.

"Knuckles and I will protect the emerald!" Sonic shouted, volunteering himself as aid, to Knuckles' half buried irritation.

"And we're going to save them!" Knuckles snapped back. "Even if it kills you."

"Kills me!?"

Knuckles didn't spare a response.

By the time the pair made it to the island, the monster was already circulating the emerald. Something appeared to hold it back from consuming the gem, allowing Sonic an opening to slam into the beast once again, knocking it away from the alter.

Were you in there? Were you fighting? Were you alive?

Knuckles threw himself into battle. He caught Sonic on his recoil, throwing the hedgehog back at the monster. The extra momentum made a deep impact, but also meant that Sonic was thrown across the island, hopefully aimed for land. Knuckles didn't have time to check as he blocked whips of golden goo from splitting his face in half.

He threw punches back at the beast, fighting through the uncomfortable vibrations that shook through his arms. But all the while, he couldn't help but wonder: was this hurting you? The monster shuddered and bent beneath his attacks, but didn't seem to feel them. Were you feeling them? Was he hurting you?

A rouge tendril of gold whipped out, clipping Knuckles on side and spilling the first blood onto the ground. He grunted in pain, scolding himself for getting distracted, only to balk at the splat of the beast hitting the floor.

It was as sudden as your devouring. The beast shuddered, whining in a high pitched cry of a voice. It lowered towards the ground, melting into more of a tall blob, but before Knuckles could throw a punch, it opened.

The golden, metallic flesh peeled back, exposing you amongst the amalgamation. Your eyes were bloodshot, exhausted. There were veins of gold webbed to your body; were they draining your energy? Your life?

“Knuckles,” you croaked out, and he hated how his name sounded like it was being peeled off of your throat, “it’s okay.”

“It’s NOT okay!” Knuckles shouted back at you. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists, unsure of what to do, how to protect you.

“It’s okay.” You murmured, quieter now. A hand strung up in strings of gold reached out. Knuckles knew better than to touch — he had seen how that horrid thing swallowed you whole — but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into your cold palm. “Don’t worry about me. Protect the emerald.”

Knuckles whined your name, struck by the lump in his throat.

“Do your job.” You said, almost scolding him. A worn out smile crossed your face, only to be swallowed as the monster collapsed around you.

Rage burned through Knuckles. This thing had eaten you, was hurting you, and by Chaos, was he going to save you. He could hear the yell of Sonic, racing back to the battlefield, hear the distant whir of machines that indicated more allies on the way.

The beast made a lunge for the emerald. Knuckles intercepted it, and thus the all-out brawl started once again.

#knuckles x reader #knuckles the echidna x reader #weehoo #this was fun!!!#does it make sense? probably not but i think i got the feel of the sonic universe down #who knows lol

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vigilante-3073 · 1 year ago

Text

Helping Hand

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Putting together a bookshelf becomes a lot more complicated without the help of a super-soldier.

TW: Fluff, girl construction, mild flirting.

Y/N sat on the floor in the middle of the living room. Various wooden pieces were scattered around the floor along with a singular pink bowl filled with screws.

Y/N had bought a bookshelf to put up in the nearly empty apartment that she lived in with Bucky. The place could definitely use some decor in order to start feeling like an actual home.

She sat on the floor in front of the television as it played some overly dramatic reality show that Bucky insisted he loathed, but secretly loved.

Y/N put the screws into the wooden pieces with the backside of a metal nail file as the door opened.

"Doll, you home?" Bucky called, tossing his keys into the dish on the table by the door.

"In the living room!" She called without looking up from her project.

Bucky made his way into the living room, bright eyes finding the chaos that had unfolded while he was out.

"How was therapy?" Y/N asked, tightening one of the screws.

Bucky looked around the room slowly "What the hell are you doing?" Bucky questioned.

Y/N looked up at him, "Building a bookshelf," She stated plainly, turning her attention back to the pieces.

"We don't have any tools. What are you using?" Bucky asked, looking around for evidence of a recent trip to the hardware store.

"This," She said, holding up a nail file proudly.

"What is that?" Bucky asked, making his way over to her.

"My building nail file," Y/N said.

"You're seriously using a nail file to put together a bookshelf?" Bucky asked incredulously.

"Yeah, it's worked out well for me so far," Y/N stated, looking down at the book of instructions.

"Did Steve let you put together stuff with that thing?" Bucky asked.

Y/N dropped her hands to her lap with a huff, "No," She admitted reluctantly.

"He always did it for me, but I swear I can do it myself," Y/N said, looking up at him.

Bucky sighed, squatting down beside her "What kind of screws are they?" He asked.

"I have no idea. They have a little 'x' on top," She said.

"I'm gonna run to the hardware store and them I'll help you put the rest of it together, okay?" Bucky questioned, she nodded.

...

Bucky lifted the bookshelf, sliding it back against the wall of the apartment. He took a step back, standing beside Y/N as they admired their handiwork.

It had taken Bucky under an hour to put together the rest of the shelf with the appropriate tools.

"Now that the shelf is put together, I bought you a little something to put on it. Wait here," She said, rushing out of the room.

She returned quickly with a blue gift bag, white tissue paper sticking out the top.

"You didn't have to buy me anything," He said.

She waved her hand, "It's a gift. Now, c'mon, open it," Y/N said, holding it out to him.

Bucky sighed, taking the bag from her hand and pushing aside the tissue paper. He reached into the bag and pulled out a boxed set of books.

His brow furrowed as he turned the plastic wrapped books in his hand, "This is The Lord of the Rings," He stated.

"Yeah, Sam told me that you read them when they first came out and I thought you might like to have a copy of your own," Y/N said.

Bucky stepped forward, tossing the gift bag onto the couch before placing the boxed set up onto one of the shelves.

He stepped back again, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her body close to his side. Bucky pressed his lips to the crown of her head, "Thank you for thinking of me, doll," He said softly.

"I always think of you," She stated, wrapping her arms around him.

He ran his hand over her back gently, "I do have to say, you did a pretty good job with that nail file," Bucky said.

"That's girl construction, for you," Y/N smiled.

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barns fanfiction

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gardens-light · 8 months ago

Text

The Intern

With the alliance between the Autobot's and the U.S government straining by the day, clearly something needed to be done to restore faith and trust- despite the classified operations of N.E.S.T successfully defeating the Decepticons over two years ago. Therefore, Major Lennox and his commanding officers created TTF- Transformers Talent Forge. An internship offered to only the most skilled and promising personnel within the U.S Defence Force , providing an opportunity of a lifetime to work side-by-side with N.E.S.T and the Autobots...

Content: Mild Coarse Language. Events takes place in 'Transformers- Revenge of the Fallen.' Autobot/Ratchet x F/Human reader. Reader Insert.

Intern Series- Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (End)

Word Count- 3,500K

N.E.S.T- Diego Garcia. 8:30am

"Come on, Private! Keep up!"

"Ye-Yes, sir." Snapping out of your daydream gaze, running after your lieutenant.

Pulling the strap of your military duffle bag a little more over your shoulder. Trying not to stare at the sights and sounds that surrounded you in the hangar, as you followed Lieutenant Smith's footsteps. Roughed up concrete lined the floors, only the unpredictable pattern of tyre marks 'decorated' what once was a smooth surface.

Various military personnel roaming around tables and various stations filled with all sorts of gizmos, gadgets and computer systems lined either side of the hangar. Creating an almost 'catwalk' like feel for the concrete flooring which ran through the middle.

"Alright, so this is where we communicate with the JCS. And this area serves as the Autobots' hangar."

Your curious gaze wandered over the various vehicles which was casually parked on the left side of the hangar.

"The living quarters are to your right. Third door down. But once introduced to our Major, you'll be debriefed further and provided a map- this place is like a maze. I don't know what it's like where you're from Private, but here. Every day's different. So learn quick and learn fast." Lieutenant Smith slowly halted, facing you with a smile. "But don't think you'll be going through this alone. You're among family now-"

"Excuse me!" a commanding tone filled the hangar, drawing your attention to the scaffolding-like structure which stood in the centre of the military space. Lining up perfectly with the concrete 'catwalk.'

"And just like any other family household, we occasionally have our fair share of rodents." Lieutenant Smith whispered into your ear, causing a smile to tease the corner of your lips.

Complete awe flashed across your features, eyes widen as your gaze soaked in the sight before you.

H-Holy shit... that's Optimus Prime!

"With this so-called AllSpark now destroyed, why hasn't the enemy left the planet like you thought they would?" Director Galloway questioned the Autobot. His voice holding a firm tone, as he adjusted his glasses once coming to the landing of the scaffolding-like structure. Which brought him and other military personnel more to Optimus' height.

"Forgive the interruption, General." Galloway's scowl expression faced the monitor before him. Seeming not to care that he was talking directly to the Pentagon, "but after all the damage in Shanghai, the President is... hard-pressed to say the job's getting done. Now... under the classified Alien/Autobot Cooperation Act, you agreed to share your intel with us, but not your advancements in weaponry.-"

"We've witnessed your human capacity for war." Optimus' smooth yet authudicating tone rumbled throughout the hangar, his words almost holding a sharp edge. "It would absolutely bring more harm than good-"

"But who are you to judge what's best for us?-"

"With all due respect, we've been fighting side by side in the field for two years!" A small chuckle came to you, as Major Lennox's familiar tone came to your ears.

"We've shed blood, sweat and precious metal together!" Lieutenant Smith called out.

"Soldier! You're paid to shoot. Not talk."

Lieutenant Smith rolled his eyes at Galloway's snarky comment. His unamused expression turning to you as he whispered, "don't tempt me."

"And the... newest members of your team. I understand they arrived here after you sent a message into space, an open invitation! Come to Earth! Vetted by no one at the White House!-"

"Let me stop you right there, Mr. Galloway. It was vetted right here." A voice from the Pentagon crackled through the monitor. "And in my experience, the judgment of both Major Lennox and his team, has always... been above reproach-"

"Well... be that as it may, General. It is the position of the President when our national security is at stake... no one... is above reproach." Galloway turned his attention back onto Prime. "Now... what do we know so far? We know that the enemy leader, classified NBE One, aka, Megatron. Is rusting in peace at the bottom of the Laurentian Abyssal, surrounded by SOSUS detection nets and a full-time submarine surveillance."

"We also know that the only remaining piece of your alien AllSpark is locked in an electromagnetic vault. Here on one of the most secure naval bases in the world! And since no one can seem to tell me what the enemy is now after, well.. there's only clear conclusion!... You! The Autobots!" Galloway's glare narrowed. "They're here to hunt you!"

You begun to slowly shift your weight from one foot to the other. The smile fading upon your lips as the atmosphere within the hangar begun to grow tense.

"What's there to hunt for on Earth besides that? 'The Fallen shall rise again'?... It sounds to me like something's coming. So... let me ask, if we... ultimately conclude that our national security is best served by denying you further asylum on our planet. Will you leave... peacefully?"

All eyes turned on Optimus. The tension grew thicker. You could almost hear everyone hold their breaths as all hung onto his answer.

"Freedom is your right. If you make that request, we will honor it. But... Before your President decides, please ask him this... What if we leave and you're wrong?"

A heavy sigh escaped your lips. Why do I have a feeling that I've came at a bad time?...

Optimus straightened his posture as Lennox ran a hand through his short, brunette hair. "That's a good question-"

"Major! The intern is here!" Lieutenant Smith shouted from the ground. A small smirk teasing his lips, knowing his voice briefly deafened Mr Galloway while he awkwardly climbed the steps down.

"Here... let me take your things." You looked at the lieutenant, holding out his hand. Simply gesturing towards the scaffolding stairs with a slight nod. "You'll be fine."

Taking a couple of deep breaths before handing over your duffle bag, your heart slightly picking up pace as you climbed the stairs. Flashing the soldiers a weak smile, as their curious gazes turned away from their monitors and onto you.

"So, is it every day that the government comes round to bite your asses?" your cocky tone slightly eased the tension in the air. Greeting Lennox with a salute as his soft gaze fell onto you, a relieved smile teasing his lips.

"At ease, Private. No need to be so formal... nah, they don't come by often. But when they do, it's just my ass that gets bitten." A small chuckle left Lennox as he embraced you with a warm, tight hug. "Ah Valkyrie... it's been so long. How you've been? Keeping out of trouble?"

"You know me, Lennox." You looked up at him with a warm smile, slowly breaking away from his embrace. "Trouble just seems to follow wherever I go. Speaking of which... things gotta be bad for you to pull some strings to get my name picked."

A nervous chuckle escaped his lips, lowering his voice to just above a whisper as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "You have no idea." Guiding you a little closer to railings, Lennox cleared his throat and gestured to the Autobot. "Allow me to introduce you to the leader of the Autobots, Optimus Prime. Prime... this is Private Y/N, aka 'Valkyrie.' She's the intern I've personally chosen for Ratchet."

Swallowing your nerves, your heart fluttered a little as Prime's stern gaze softened. A welcoming smile spreading across his face plates as his blue optics settled upon you.

"A-A pleasure to meet you, sir."

"The pleasure is all mine." His smooth, calm tone melted your nerves. Causing a sweet smile to tug at your lips, "I've heard a great deal of good things about you from Major Lennox. He said you're quite an experienced medic, and had been... trained specifically for field duty, correct?"

"Correct. I've been serving the U.S military for three years. My experience varies on and off the field."

Optimus nodded in approval, a glimmer of hope flickered within his optics. "Regarding your earlier observation, I won't lie that things have been... difficult here. My medical officer, Ratchet has been... having issues with the interns assigned to him." Exhaustion crept into his words, rubbing his temples. "He's... not exactly impressed with them, and it's gotten your superiors... annoyed to say the least."

Lennox gave you a weak smile, "and... I figured, if anyone could work with Ratchet, despite his... rough edges, it's you. You're one of the best damn medics I've ever fought alongside with! And you know I've seen my fair share of skilled personnel during my career."

Your curious gaze flickered between the two, " so basically... you picked me because the Autobot keeps kicking out his inexperienced interns... how long have they lasted?"

Optimus and Lennox hesitated for moment, giving each other nervous glances before the major finally spoke up. "The longest was a week... the shortest was two hours."

"What?-"

"He's just... very strict with his demands. But you out of anyone would understand how a unit are highly dependent on the medical expertise of their medic!" Lennox gave your shoulder a comforting pat, "you've got what it takes, you've been out there! And to be fair it's not just him. The previous interns were... problematic too- but! I have full faith in you!-"

"Behind Ratchet's gruff exterior and sarcastic tone, lies a soft spark and a bot who genuinely cares for his team." Optimus assured, "you just... need to chip away at his concrete walls. Are you... familiar with Cybertronian biology? Or at least came up close to our kind?"

"Unfortunately... no. But that's why I'm here, to learn and become apart of this team." A small smirk teased the corners of your lips. "But as for getting 'up close' to your kind... does shooting a Decepticon in the face count?"

Optimus coughed out a chuckle, the air almost getting stuck within his vocal processor while Lennox tried to hide his smirk.

"Well... I suppose I should introduce you to Ratchet." Lennox spoke, finally clearing his throat and composing himself.

Optimus simply nodded, giving the pair of you a warm smile as Lennox gently guided you away from the railings and back towards the stairs of the scaffolding.

---

Approaching the neighboring hangar, which was surprisingly on the smaller side than the previous. Lennox paused before opening the medbay doors, giving you a slight glance over his shoulder. "You... might wanna wait out here for a minute. Ratchet... hates surprises."

"He's that bad, huh?" crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

"No. No, it's just..." a heavy sigh left Lennox. "The... 'higher ups' are constantly breathing down my neck and second guessing our whole operation- not just N.E.S.T, but the internship too. Surely you heard Galloways bullshit."

"I did... but I won't add further stress by poking and prodding you for information about what's going on. I'm sure I'll figure it out."

Lennox gave you a weak, appreciative smile before entering the medbay, leaving you outside as you subtlety peeked your head around the corner of the large door frame.

"What have you done this time, Ironhide?" the major attempted to keep his casual tone, as his footsteps echoed upon the tire-marked concrete flooring.

"Blasted Decepticon punk got a lucky shot at me!" Ironhide snarled as he man-handled the large cannon that refused to retract back into his forearm. An annoyed expression flashing across Ironhide's face plate while sitting at Ratchet's peds, a small huff escaping him as the medic pushed his servo away.

"That's what you get for being reckless during the mission." Lennox took a deep breath before turning his attention onto the Autobot medic. "Ratchet... I have someone important that I'd like you to meet."

The yellow and red Autobots' annoyed glare briefly flickered towards Lennox, before turning back to Ironhide's arm. "And who, exactly, do I need to meet right now?"

Lennox hesitated for a moment. "Your... new intern..."

Ratchet immedictly paused, his glare narrowing onto the major. "What?! You know I-" a heavy sigh escaped the medic as he stopped himself from arguing. Closing his optics tightly while pinching the bridge of his nose, "... who is it?"

"Private Y/N but she mainly goes by the nickname, 'Valkyrie.' She's a personal friend of mine- we fought alongside together back in my old unit during her first two years of service. You'll like her."

For the love of Primus, please tell me that this some sort of joke. Ratchet's servo ran down his face plate, Lennox's unfaltering expression caused the Autobot to let out a frustrated sigh. Great... another intern to get in my way. Just what I need! "... bring her in then."

Lennox briefly glanced at you over his shoulder, his hand giving a small gesture behind his back.

Taking a deep breath and composing yourself for a moment, before entering the medbay. Greeting both Autobot's with a professional smile, saluting once you reached Lennox's side. "Pleasure to meet you, Medical Officer Ratchet, sir. I'm looking forward to working with you."

Ratchet's skeptic expression slowly melted away, as his optics soaked in your appearance. Your polite yet professional tone made his shoulders relax, your body language and how your military uniform framed your toned and confident physic, grapsed Ratchet's attention. The suttle scars upon your skin was Lennox's proof that you were indeed experienced within the field.

She's certainly not giving me a awkward smile, or hiding behind Lennox. Perhaps... she's not gonna be as bad as the others.

"Likewise... Valkyrie... Welcome."

A low purr emerged from Ironhide's engine, as his optics roamed over your relaxed frame. His voice just above a whisper, "oh... she is a babe- ah!"

Annoyance flashed across Ratchet's optics, his gaze narrowed onto Ironhide as he whacked the weapons' specialist upside upon his helm. The medic's free servo clutched onto Ironhide's forearm tighter than necessary, causing the gun-metal coloured Autobot to wince in pain.

"Anyway..." attempting to ignore your confused expression, Ratchet's attention returned to Ironhide's arm. Picking up one of his tools from a nearby table, and adjusting a bolt within his comrade's inner circuits, "I assume Lennox has debriefed you..."

"Only that I'll be working alongside you. Learning and understanding what it's going to take to patch up you Autobots."

I suppose that's a good starting point. "You're going to be helping me in the medbay, yes. Though for your first day, today I'll just get you to learn basic Cybertronian anatomy. And depending on how the day goes, I might get you to watch how I treat the common injuries we get." Ratchet's optics briefly flickered at you, "and I mean, just watching. Don't try anything unless I say so. I've... had some rather eager interns in the past that didn't know how to stay put."

You gave the Autobot a firm nod, "understood. I know how annoying it can be, when someone's trying to stick their nose into your work."

A small, suttle sigh of relief escaped Lennox as he witnessed Ratchet's expression becoming more... neutral. A genuine smile teased the corners of the medic's lips, his optics softening. Fucking finally...

"Well... I'll leave you two, to it." Lennox whispered, patting you on the back. And giving Ratchet a 'I-told-you-so' smile, before leaving the medbay.

"I believe Lieutenant Smith placed your belongings on a desk over there." Ratchet gestured towards a stainless steel desk, it's 'human size' looked almost like dollhouse furniture, compared to the hologram monitors and workspaces that was more to Ratchet's height. Your duffle bag almost drowned under the piles of folders and paperwork, "apologies for the mess. But... feel free to settle in. Once I'm done with Ironhide, we'll start your training."

You briefly gave him a sweet smile, before approaching the desk which was somewhat tucked neatly away in the corner close to you. Ratchet continued fixing and adjusting the stuck cog within Ironhide's forearm, the gun-metal Autobot wincing as his cannon finally retracted.

"Hm... Perhaps your interns should of been femmes from the start- ah!-"

Ratchet's glare bore into his comrade's optics, a low snarl rumbling in the back his vocal processor. As the medic's grip upon Ironhide's forearm tightened, scratching his paint, "shut. It!"

The weapon's specialist pulled his limb away, but his teasing smirk never leaving his lips. His flirtatious gaze lingering on you for a brief moment before turning away, and finally leaving the medbay.

A heavy sigh left Ratchet as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Taking a moment to compose himself before looking at you, only to raise an optic ridge. Annoyance should of bubbled within his chassis, as his gaze watched you organize the mess upon the human-sized desk. Taking a brief glance into the files, before you placed them in their respected piles.

Instead, curiosity peaked his interest as you seemed become distracted by a particular folder within your hands. Ratchet's spark subtly pulsed a little quicker, as his optics soaked in your focused expression. It was as though he seemed to... admire your interest...

"That folder you have there... might be classified."

"Oh!" quickly snapping the folder shut, surprise slightly flickering across your features as your wide eyes witnessed the medic kneel towards you. The realization of the size difference between you becoming more obvious than before, "sorry. I was... just curious... about Megatron."

"I... understand your curiosity. But those papers relating to Megatron are restricted for a reason." His firm tone matched his body language, holding out a servo towards you.

Only for a mixture of appreciation and surprise flicker within his optics, when your soft gaze looked up at him. A sweet apologetic smile spreading across your lips, as you held out the folder towards him. The object looking comedicly out of place within the palm of his servo. She... didn't argue or protest? Just... accepted the restricted access...

"He seemed like one tough son-of-a-bitch."

A small hint of concern eased into you, as Ratchet's servo curled into a tight fist.

"You... could say that." Ratchet's tone slowly changed back to his gruff demeanor, but his words held a sharp edge. "He was one cruel and sadistic bastard. He and the Decepticons would stoop down to any level! Even if that level is tearing out the still beating spark of their foe!"

Sympathy and concern softened your features. The hidden memories reckoning within his words, tugged upon your heart strings.

"I've... had my fair share of encounters with him. Almost came close to... deactivation more than once because of him."

A small moment of hesitation stole your voice before you could squeak out your question. "De...activation...?"

A heavy sigh escaped Ratchet, as his optics briefly looked away from you. It's probably best if she hears it from me, than the others. "In 'our' terms... it basically means death. I've... came very close to it by Megatron's hands."

Ratchet's spark fluttered as you placed a hand over his closed digits. Your gentle touch sending warmth throughout his frame, causing his shoulders to relax. A stuttle heat slowly spread across his faceplate, as his processors burned your sweet, comforting smile deep into his memory core. Why... does she make me feel... so-

"Badass ice-cream truck coming through!-"

"Excuse me. Excuse me!-"

A small yelp of surprise escaped you, as two playful voices suddenly disturbed the air as a 1930's Chevrolet truck came into view. The pink and white paint almost completely faded away, only to be overtaken by dirt and rust.

The back of your legs pushed up against the stainless steel desk, as you leaned backwards. Confusion washed away your previous expression, as the voice's came from the singular vehicle. Ratchet closed his optics as annoyce begun to bubble back up within him.

"That... would be Skids and Mudflap..." the medic sighed.

Your confused yet curious gaze followed the 1930's ice-cream truck roam around the other side of the medbay hangar, leaving new tire-marks upon the concrete flooring as it circled two Mini Coopers. The red and green colours shining like new, polished metal compared to the truck.

"Hold up-"

"Those are nice. Yeah baby, it's upgrade time-"

"Yeah, sir yeah! Look here, it's my booty call right here!"

You looked at Ratchet with a puzzled expression. Giving the medic a silent question as he rubbed his temples, do they... even know what a 'booty call' is...?

The sound of turning cogs, whirling gears and shifting positions filled the air, making your eyes widen as the truck separated into two small Autobots. Possibly coming to Ratchet's waist if they stood next to his 20ft frame.

"Time to get my sexy on with the green-"

"Green? No, the green's mine! I call green!-"

You quickly reached for Ratchet's servo, your touch barely covering the tip of his digit, as the medic remained knelt beside you like a protective giant. A small gasp escaped your lips as Skids tackled Mudflap to the ground, causing violent vibrations to echo throughout the hangar and beneath your feet. You winced at the sound of metal clashing against metal, as the twins fists collided. Another vibration echoed through floor, like a ripple through water, as Skids grabbed his brother into a headlock, flipping the younger Autobot over his frame and forcing Mudflap onto his back.

"I got the green!-"

"That hurts man!-"

"It's supposed to hurt. It's an ass-kicking!"

Another heavy sigh escaped Ratchet as he tried to compose himself, still rubbing his temples while his free servo still welcomed your soft touch. For Primus sake...

#x reader #gardens light #fanfiction #fanfic writing #bayverse x reader #transformers x reader #transformers fanfiction #bayverse transformers #autobots x reader #x y/n #autobot ratchet x reader #ratchet x reader #bayverse ratchet #autobot ratchet

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pleasantphantomhologram · 4 months ago

Text

Pair: Jason Todd x Y/N , Jason Todd x Reader

Warning: None, Purely fluff and love no plot, Non-Hero Jason Todd.

Summary: You are an independent woman outside your relationship, but when you are with your lover, Jason Todd, you are not Y/N the independent woman, you are his spoiled girlfriend.

A/N: I just love this trope 😉

No one dares to mess with you at your workplace because it is you, you always take your work very seriously that everyone depends on your capability as a manager, and they like your work and leadership. They are not scared of you, they just respect you so much.

But when you are going home, you totally change your armor, and come home as Jason Todd's girlfriend. When you arrive at your home, Jason it is already done with his work at his studio.

FYI, Jason it’s a blacksmithing artist, who accepts a request from many clients to make some industrial, decorative and everyday items from metal. He has a small studio behind their house, and most of the time he works there. Yes, you are correct he is always at home, and did most of the domestic chores, and Y/N mostly did the cooking.

He was in the middle doing some laundry when he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.

“Babe…” said Y/N.

“Laundry, babe.” Y/N walk into their laundry room and saw Jason almost finishing his laundry. You hug his waist and bury you face in his broad chest charging her social battery that is already zero percent.

“God, I hate my work” You whined. Jason just chuckled at your whining and caressed your hair.

“Welcome home babe. How is work?”

“Awful.”

“Aw, so sorry to hear that, but I know you did an amazing job today. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, can we just order Chinese food or pizza. I don't feel like cooking today.”

“Sure, the usual?”

“Yeah,”

“Okay, I will order your favorite pizza. Go, change your clothes.” She obeyed his words and walked into their bedroom.

The Pizza’s guy has arrived and Y/N is already sitting comfortably on the couch, waiting for Jason to bring the Pizza. When you are at home, you are always spending time reading your favorite novel on the couch with Jason sitting on your side. Sometimes he just lays there playing with his Nintendo Switch, sometimes he also reads your novel collection.

Like now, he brings out the pizza and puts it on the table. You take one slice in silence while still focusing on the novel. Jason at the same time eating the pizza while positioning himself sitting behind you. Y/N adjusted her sitting position and now leaned comfortably on Jason who had hugging her waist from behind.

This is what it looks like when you are at home, if you are tired and don’t want to cook, Jason won’t say anything and just order some take away. It’s simple and efficient. After all the pizza’s gone and you're already feeling sleepy, you just spoon over Jason and hug him back, he is not saying anything but to hug you back.

“Jay..”

“Hmm”

“Let’s sleep.”

“In a minute, I need to finish this chapter first.”

“Kay..” and you fall asleep not long after that. After he finished the book, he carried you to the bedroom and took you to bed. You whined a bit when you can’t feel his body heat around you.

“A bit sweetheart.” He said after he took off his clothes and joined you in bed.

You always love being a small spoon around him. The way his arm securely hugging you from behind makes you very safe and warm. Sometimes, you are the bigger spoon and Jason just hugs your chest and buries his face on it.

“Y/n..”

“Hmm..” you answer half asleep.

“What do you want to eat tomorrow?”

“... Hmm, up to you baby. I will cook it for you.” You answered again.

“I miss your pancake.” He said.

“Then we bake a pancake tomorrow.”

That’s how life is with Jason Todd as your boyfriend. The next morning, you are the first one who is awake and slowly get out of bed leaving Jason who is still sleeping soundly.

It’s Saturday morning and you are on your day off. On the weekend you usually do groceries with Jason after you two have breakfast. Jason is awake when he smells your pancake, he get out from the bed and walks into the kitchen.

“Morning baby.” he greets you with yawning.

“Morning Jaybird. Do you want strawberries or blueberries?”

“Both are fine.”

“Okay then.” You put the pancake with both topping in front of Jason who already sits on the table.

It’s a ritual for both of you to have breakfast together every morning. It’s not a rule, it’s just a habit that forms after you live together for years. Even though you are not the breakfast kind of person like Jason, you usually cook breakfast for him then an oatmeal with banana and blueberry for you. After all, The most important thing to you is coffee.

Suddenly when you two were having breakfast, you feel a sudden pain appear on your tummy.

“Babe..”

“Yes Y/N.”

“I think my tummy is hurting.” Jason pause his eating and stare at you.

“Wait, I think your cycle is here.” He said, yes, Jason memorized your menstrual period. You massage your tummy slowly.

“Fuck.. I forgot.” You whined at him then ran into the bathroom to check it and, yep, your period is there.

“Oh no, Jaaay. I ran out of some pads.”

“Wait, I already bought your pads yesterday. But I forgot to put it in the bathroom. wait let me bring it to you.”

Y/N is washing her panties at the wastafel when Jason knocking on the bathroom doors asking permission to enter the bathroom.

“Babe, here are the pads.”

“Thank you Jaybird.”

After he gives the pads, Jason is preparing some heat pad and warm pillow on the couch for Y/N. He knows that her period is so terrible and she hates everything when she’s on her period. He also brings some chocolate and snacks on the couch and wait Y/N to come out from the bathroom.

She comes out from the bathroom and then plops to the couch beside Jason. Her boyfriend hurriedly give her a warm pillow and a heat pad then just surrendered when Y/N made him a human teddy bear to hug.

“Still hurt?” She nodded weakly.

“ You want some ibuprofen?”

“No… I just wanna hug you.”

“Okay, but if it is getting more hurt, you should take ibuprofen alright?”

“Kay mom.” She said.

Y/N loves her boyfriend so much.

#Jason Todd x reader #Jason todd #Jasontoddx reader #DCU #DC Fanfiction #fanfiction #JasonTodd fanfiction #Spotify

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theragethatisdesire · 11 months ago

Text

perzītsos - bakugou katsuki x afab!reader, 18+!!

uh....surprise! i really love asoiaf, and i've seen so many posts about barbarian!katsuki, but i wasn't really successful in writing him, so here's my take on a fantasy au with katsuki. this takes place pre-fire and blood, really in the "medieval" days of the targaryen dynasty, with a targaryen heir!reader. i took some creative liberties with targaryen marriage customs, but i think they're sorta fun.

this is a beast of a one-shot, but there's lots of lore preceding this (do i smell a prequel?), including that reader asked for katsuki's hand in marriage, and neither of them were really expecting to wind up in a marriage bed together. i normally don't write virginity loss, but i made an exception for these two, i really do love them!!! fair warning, there's lots of high valyrian in here, which i don't speak fluently either, so i'm going to add some translations at the end :)

"perzītsos" - "little flame"

enjoy <3

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 13.5k (told ya it's a beast)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut. bakugou is roughly twenty-eight in this fic.

cws: virginity loss, aged-up characters, fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving, male!receiving mentioned), reader has female anatomy, smut, pretentious amounts of high valyrian pet names

𖤓

Leaving the raucous merriment of the great hall behind, its stone walls bursting at the seams with the raunchy, jeering calls of Bakugou’s soldiers and the titters of the ladies of the court, only seems to emphasize the echoing silence of your chambers. The servants had completed the arduous job of transferring your things into your new apartments today; you recognize the tapestries that had decorated your walls since you were a child, now dwarfed by the massive dimensions of your new quarters, and the candelabra you’d been gifted by a nobleman at your seventh name day sits upon a newly constructed ebony desk.

Nearly every hard surface in the room—desks, tables, even small areas of the floor—has been covered in the fat, yellow beeswax candles crafted in the kitchens many stories below your feet, flames dancing and casting shadows this way and that over the stone walls. Many a night have you forgone sleep in favor of losing yourself in the waltz of a small fire on a wick, the sometimes-frantic, sometimes-untroubled rhythm of the flame in the breeze of an open window. Tonight, though, not even the hundreds of flames, these little extensions of the hot, ancient blood that flows through your veins, can distract you from your fate.

“I remember these rooms,” you say offhandedly, bringing one hand to the fine curtains that hang around the tapestry bed, “they were my mother’s.”

Bakugou stays stock still where he stands, letting you examine the marriage bed. The wood was brought into these chambers several weeks ago, alongside a handful of master carpenters. The bed is enormous, easily large enough for three people to get a full night’s sleep without touching each other. It had been built inside of the room so that the intended dimensions could be fulfilled without the worry of actually fitting it through the door, which it would not. The sight of it makes an apprehensive shiver rock through your frame.

“You were born here,” Bakugou says gruffly, catching you by surprise. “I remember.”

You turn to face him, eyebrows raised cautiously at his decision to speak. Considering what lies before you both, the breach in his silence is appreciated, if unexpected. He’s hardly said two words to you all night; two words besides the lengthy wedding vows you’d exchanged before gods and men alike, speaking them practically into each other’s mouths in the purring, labyrinthine cadence of the Old Tongue. The metallic taste of his blood, brushed onto your tongue by his own thumb, is still nestled between your teeth, worryingly permanent.

“You remember?”

“Hardly.” Bakugou diverts his gaze from you to where your marriage bed lies, squinting his eyes as if he’s trying to remember what it had looked like more than twenty years past. “I was three.”

It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, given that you’d practically been raised alongside Bakugou, taken your first steps, tasted your first victories, had your first stumbles under his watchful crimson gaze. The required distance had been there, as you’d always been more of an heir than a little girl, and Bakugou had been busy with his training anyhow, but he was a steadfast part of your memories, even if he had been mostly in the blurry peripherals until the most recent years. This confession, that he had stood in the same room as your howling, bloodied form had been brought into the world, makes you feel more exposed than you already do in your thin gown.

Bakugou must take notice of how your shoulders unintentionally tense up, because his lips pull into a small frown, not one of anger, but seemingly guilt. You sigh, rolling your shoulders back and squaring yourself to face him, trying not to let your cheeks burn hot as your nipples peak under the singular layer of fabric hiding the finer details of your body from him. He’s intimidating, and both of you know it, but considering that you’re the reason you two find yourselves in this room, you think that maybe you should be the one to guide him along.

Bakugou approaches you slowly, making a noticeable effort to dull down the soldier’s swagger he normally walks with, holding your gaze with what you surmise is his best attempt to look open and mild-tempered. You notice how he pointedly avoids looking at your body, how it’s silhouetted by the candlelight and showing itself as a dark, shapely shadow in the white fabric of your gown. He’s close enough to touch now, toes only inches from yours. You’re reminded of how close you stood during the ceremony, how he had sworn to give his life for you, to you. Ānogar ānograro.

“They’re waiting,” you say quietly, eyes darting to the four servants in each corner of the room. Bakugou follows your gaze, and his frown grows deeper.

“May I speak freely?” It’s a laughable question coming from him, but it’s a kindhearted gesture, so you bite into your lip and nod your acquiesce.

“You’re my husband,” you say, trying not to feel discouraged at the pink tinge that rises to his cheeks, “I always want you to speak freely.”

Through a stiff nod of understanding, Bakugou lets a deep breath exhale through his nose before pinning you in place with a scrutinizing gaze. “Have you been…kissed, before?”

“Of course I have, Bakugou.” You can’t hide the breathless chuckle that comes fluttering from your lips, the dangerous hint of a relieved smile that begins to carve into your cheeks.

“Katsuki,” he says, the corner of his own mouth curling when his simple request for familiarity wipes the glimmer of smugness straight away from your face. “Your husband, remember?”

“Katsuki,” you repeat, letting the letters make a home for themselves on your tongue. Something flashes in his eyes, and he clears his throat. You can’t make out the shape of what’s flickered across his face, but you can feel the heat thrumming from his eyes to yours.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?” Your nose wrinkles in confusion, entirely lost on what point he’s trying to make. Katsuki narrows his eyes, clears his throat uncomfortably.

“What else do you have…experience with?”

Oh. He wants to know if you’ve been touched, where you’ve been touched, possibly even by whom. It’s your turn to shuffle your bare feet on the cold stone floor, to look solidly ahead at the v in the collar of his loose tunic, the slope of his neck, anywhere but his eyes. Your stomach begins to roil at the implication of this, of baring yourself to him wholly. It won’t be the first time you do it tonight, and certainly not the last.

“I’ve– um, done most things.” You somehow summon the courage to meet his gaze again, staring up defiantly. “I hope that’s not a disappointment to you.”

“You had no obligation to me before today.” Katsuki shakes his head, as if to dispel the very notion that you even have something to refuse to apologize for. It brings a spark of warmth to your heart, a hum of satisfaction pulsing through you that you’d chosen your husband well, at least in this regard. “But you are a virgin?”

You can’t control the way your eyes go wide, blinking hurriedly at him when he asks the question. Your fingertips grow hot, and you aren’t sure which potential answer would be the least mortifying, so you opt to stick with the truth.

“Yes,” you say, so lowly it’s near a whisper, “I’m a virgin.”

Katsuki swears quietly in the Old Tongue, and though you’re more focused on your feet than his face, you can see the awkward repositioning of his feet, how his hands clench and unclench at your confession. He’s your husband, you scold yourself, you have no need for fear. You jerk your head up to look unflinchingly at his face, unapologetic in your stance. Despite the way he had voiced his indifference to your prior experiences, you can see some strange mixture of relief, nerves, and that same undefinable heat rising to his face, coloring his features and darkening his eyes.

His eyes run over your consummation gown, long, loose, and traditional as they come, lovingly hand-stitched by your longest serving lady-in-waiting. Your handmaidens had taken the liberty of freshening you up after the feast, scrubbing most of the heavy, ash-black ceremony makeup from the bridge of your nose, wiping the kohl from your eyes until you were bare. Your elaborate wedding hairstyle had been let down and reworked into a long, singular braid down your back, loosely secured by a knot of cowhide. That, amongst other things, is for him, and only him.

“After this,” Katsuki wets his lips with his tongue, “we won’t share a bed again–”

“Katsuki–”

“Not until you’re ready,” he amends. His fingers twitch by his sides, a boyish gesture for a man of his massive stature.

“I’m your wife,” you say, puzzled and looking up at him, “I may be a virgin now, but I’m no stranger to what that entails.”

A heavy breath shakes through Katsuki’s frame, and his brows knit together in an expression of comfortingly familiar exasperation. You almost want to smile back at him.

“I expected as much,” he says, one hand reaching forward ever so slowly to brush tentatively through your fingers dangling at your side, to pinch at the thin fabric of your gown and rub it between his fingers, “but that’s a matter for the morning.”

You catch the implication in his tone, in the way he’s holding the sheet separating you from him. There’s something to be taken care of. Your palms turn clammy, fingers beginning to tremble by your sides. It takes everything in you to set your jaw and look up at him, shoulders rolled back and expression carefully schooled into something that you can only pray approaches a warm neutrality.

“Would you like to take it off?” Your eyes flit from your gown to his face.

Katsuki considers you, dragging his eyes over your frame at an agonizingly slow rate, still maddeningly rubbing that fabric between his fingers. Suddenly, his face crumples into a scowl.

“You’re shaking,” he says matter-of-factly. Your cheeks warm, wishing he wouldn’t have brought it up. “Are you nervous?”

“Not of you,” you answer him truthfully, willing the tension in your spine to melt into pleasurable anticipation. Katsuki catches your meaning instantly, the concern in his eyes glittering into something more akin to the anger that settles so comfortably into the frown lines on his face, that strikes his sharp features so suddenly and beautifully you almost gasp.

“Turn around,” he barks suddenly, his posture straightening into that of the formidable general you’ve known him as all your life, not the surprisingly gentle husband he’s shown himself to be in the last few minutes. You start in his arms, beginning to spin on your heels to follow his command when his hands catch you by the shoulders, an apology writing its way into the fine features of his face.

“But you said–”

“Them.” Katsuki jerks his head towards the servants posted in each corner who are, miraculously, turned away from the two of you, heads down and poised towards the corner. You look up to Katsuki in amazement, and his eyes soften. “I wouldn’t speak to you that way.”

“Oh.” It’s light and not enough when it falls from your mouth, and you want to apologize, but Katsuki’s already loosening his grip on your shoulders, urging you to spin.

“Now you,” he says gently, “turn around.”

Too stunned by the duality of him to argue, the whetted and wartorn angles of him contrasting with this unbearable softness, you turn your back to him, urging yourself to relax under the weight of his hands. Katsuki’s hands subtly squeeze your shoulders, as if to warn you of their departure, and the next time you feel his touch, it’s on the end of your long braid, his scarred fingers fumbling with the cowhide tie.

You hold your breath as you feel the tension along your scalp go slack; he’s gotten the tie off of your braid. Katsuki’s fingers begin to methodically comb through your long hair, starting at the bottom and working his way up, deftly avoiding knots and keeping the lightly-oiled strands from tangling themselves as he undoes your braid. He’s surprisingly good at it, and an unexpected pang of pain accompanies your curious thought as to whether he’s had much practice undoing a woman’s hair, something so sacred. Before you can ruminate on the hurt beginning to come to a simmer in your chest, Katsuki’s spinning you back around, causing the calming perfume of your hair oil to cloud around your head as your hair fans out. It centers you, gives you the wherewithal to look up into his eyes.

Katsuki’s face is candid, beautifully so, in the way he regards you. Crimson eyes dart over every feature you have to offer him, now so wild and unbidden compared to your usual state of being, and he reaches a tentative hand towards your hair, before flinching and pulling back. You shake your head, bringing a hand out to catch his and pull it back towards the part of you he so clearly wants to touch before you can think better of it. Katsuki’s eyes widen, only momentarily, before his face settles into an expression of quiet approval, and he runs his fingers through your hair again, less purposeful this time and more for the simple pleasure of memorizing the feel of you under his hands. You blink up at him, waiting.

“Gevie,” he mumbles under his breath, watching how his fingers card through your unruly hair. He mistakenly brushes your nipple, still peaked under your consummation gown, and realizes what he’s done when you gasp lightly.

“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, surprising yourself when you realize that you mean it. Your back has already begun to arch unwittingly towards him, as if your body has accepted him as your husband while your mind is still trying to wrap itself around the idea. “Touch me.”

You can see the thought cross Katsuki’s face before he even reaches for your gown, pinching it at the hips on either side of you.

“Do you want to take it off, or would you like me to?” Katsuki says, hardly louder than a whisper. You blink, still trying to marry this man with the outspoken, ruthless general you’d invited to the altar with you.

“Traditionally, the man–”

“I know,” Katsuki says, a bit of an agonized bite behind his words. You bite your lip, worried that you’ve finally overstepped, but he sighs, heavy and surrendered. “I know what happens traditionally. I don’t care. We’re doing this on your terms.”

“My terms,” you repeat slowly, trying to gather his meaning.

“Yes,” Katsuki affirms, “your terms. Now, do you want to take your gown off, or do you want me to?”

You want to run to the washroom to realign your expectations, is what you want to do. This is supposed to be quick, you remember your handmaidens preparing you with monstrous stories of being unceremoniously bent over the bed, gown ripped to shreds or simply shoved above your hips instead of carefully pulled between a considerate thumb and finger. You study him, study that freshly sincere affection on his face, his willingness to bring you through this unscathed and…dare you say it, satisfied. Your hand, which, so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed drifting, comes up to cup his sharp jaw, plush palm giving against the angle of his face.

“I want you to,” you say, nodding when his eyebrows raise in surprise. “I want you to take it off of me, please.”

Katsuki only answers you with a curt nod of his own, schooling his momentarily bewildered expression back into one of careful concentration, more for your benefit than his, you think. You can feel a slight tremor in his hands when he brings them to the strings that suffice for your gown’s sleeves, little more than strips of fabric tied in loose bows over your shoulder. Despite the painstakingly beautiful embroidery in the stiff linen, curling flames and stars rising from the hem of your gown, everything else about the design of the garment reveals its purpose: to be removed.

You hold your breath while he works at the tied strings, partly because you feel like you should and partly because the slightest brush of his fingers over your skin feels so climactic that you feel that it should make a sound, maybe that of pottery breaking or lightning clapping across a dark sky. It’s silent, the slip of the linen through itself, three cautious pulls and your gown is sagging on one side, the collar falling until your nipple is almost exposed. You gulp and try to look up to Katsuki, but his jaw is set, even grinding a bit in concentration as he keeps his gaze centered firmly on the bow he’s set upon on your right shoulder. You study him, looking for any indication that he’s anxious, or pleased, or disinterested, but he’s an unreadable mask of focus as his large fingers tug on the bow. It slides loose as easily as the first one had, and your gown slips from your body and crumples around your feet on the floor.

Katsuki sucks in a sharp inhale, forced to take in the sight of your naked body now that he’s finished his task. You watch intently as his eyes drag over every part of you, slow and savory, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. You’re so exhilarated by his wild eyes taking you in, you almost forget to be insecure, to be nervous. This is something you might grow to enjoy, you think; Katsuki’s carefully concealed appetite.

“Am I alright?” You feel your mouth form the words, hear them float into the charged air. You don’t think you meant to ask, but once it’s out, you’re glad you did. It may be a politically-made marriage bed, but as fate would have it, your crown sits upon the head of a young woman, a young woman looking into the eyes of the man that would have her for his own, wanting to be thought of as a thing to be admired. Katsuki’s eyes flicker back to yours, and his brows knit together.

“Alright?” Katsuki’s eyes leave yours once more, and he meets his own gaze with a bold hand on your hip, thumb rubbing circles over your hipbone. “You’re more than alright, but you already know that.”

You feel so small, so silly when you tell him: “I was hoping you’d be the one to remind me.”

Katsuki understands then, meets your fixed look upon his face and lets that molten desire cool into something more digestible, easier to hold, and then he speaks. “Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

When you’d learned the Old Tongue as a child, you’d been taught to purr the sounds, to run them together like the slow, controlled flow of ink from the end of a feather. You learned to curl the consonants behind your teeth and let them breathe the same air for a beat, to birth the sounds into the world off of your tongue instead of simply pushing the air out. But when Katsuki speaks the Old Tongue it’s…a growl, forceful and quaking with restrained power. Raw and godlike, the words sound like they were written with his low rasp in mind.

Wife. His beautiful wife. Your breath hitches in your throat at the same time as a vicious swell of desire rips through you, mouth beginning to hang ajar. Katsuki frowns slightly, tilts his head.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Take me, then,” you say, breathless from your own courage. Katsuki’s eyes widen, and if you could see clearly through your own sudden lust, you’d see the corner of his mouth twitching. “Make me your wife.”

“I will,” Katsuki comes closer, speaking not smugly, but matter-of-factly. He slides one hand around your waist, thumbs at your chin with the other. “But there’s an order to these things.”

No sooner have you opened your mouth to protest Katsuki’s condescension than he’s closing the wide gap between his height and your plush, open lips, pressing his mouth to yours, and your mind goes quiet. You’ve been kissed upwards of a dozen times at this point, something you were proud to remind your ladies-in-waiting of this morning while they giggled and squealed about your big night with the general. A few princes, a handful of noblemen’s sons, the expected suspects. All your ladies had said in return was “Those are boys. The general is a man. You’ll see the difference.”

There’s nothing demanding or unkind in the way his fingers are pressing into the plush curve of your hip, but it’s firm, steady in a way you’ve never dreamed about being held. His hand spreads across your jawline, keeping you tilted up and open for him to move his mouth against. There’s none of the hurried pecking, no errant tongue forcing its way between your teeth before you can even offer– Katsuki’s a man. You understand now, understand your handmaidens’ flushed cheeks and the way they fanned themselves theorizing about whether your new husband was as ruthless in bed as he was on the battlefield. Katsuki makes a fire catch behind your ribs, a desperate urge to impress, to keep your now horrifyingly-apparent lack of experience under wraps.

You bring a hand to the back of his neck, willing yourself not to tremble, and card your fingers through the close-cropped hair, smiling when Katsuki’s lips stutter against your own. His grip on you tightens, one big hand slipping to the nape of your neck and pulling you flush against him. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting like ceremonial wine and something mannish and mature; you’re hardly able to swallow the gasp that threatens to reveal how the pit of your stomach is beginning to curl in on itself. Your breasts are pressed tight against his chest, only separated from his skin by his linen tunic. The fabric kisses your sensitive nipples, brushing against the untouched skin, and despite yourself, you whimper pathetically into his waiting mouth, cheeks warming.

Katsuki pulls back, to your disappointment, and you begin to chew at your lip, frantically thinking through the last several minutes to wonder what you’ve done wrong. Had you been too forward, touching him back so quickly? Your fretting dies down quickly when you see that Katsuki’s only stepped back to finger the hem of his tunic, ripping it over his head. You only have a moment to catch a blurry flash of honed muscle and scarred skin before he’s back on you, calloused hands wrapping around your hips. It only takes a few moments of him kissing you, of your fingers dragging absentmindedly up his veiny forearm, before you ask him for what you want, palms pressed flat against his chest and pushing lightly.

His brows knit together, and his eyes flicker over your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. You take a deep inhale, hoping to hide how rapidly you’ve lost your breath to him, steeling yourself to look him in the eye.

“I want to see you.”

Katsuki’s face screws up almost comically, and he tilts his head.

“See me?”

“See you.”

You take a step back, keeping your hands on his arms, holding him just where you want him and– is it a sight. He’s sharper than you would have imagined, deep grooves carving into his skin where his muscles bulge beneath it. You suck in a sharp breath as you let your eyes move slowly from his hardened stomach to his broad chest, little nicks dotting his skin where a stray swordtip had punctured armor, and a particularly nasty gash cutting across his front, stretching from his shoulder to his ribcage. It looks like it should have been fatal. Katsuki crosses his arms over his chest, maybe in an attempt to stop you from ogling him like you are, but it’s counterproductive; all he’s done is give you a golden opportunity to watch the skin of his arms stretch to accommodate the way his biceps swell and shrink with the movement, the twitching and flexing of each individual muscle laid bare for you to see clearly.

When your gaze finally returns to his face, you almost want to snort at his expression: pink cheeks, a scrunched nose, and eyebrows lifted to indicate just how entirely unimpressed he is with your drooling.

“Done ‘seeing’ me?” Katsuki asks, mouth lifting in just the smallest hint at a smile. Your heart flutters lightly in your chest; it’s the first attempt either of you have made at humor since your betrothal, and it’s hugely relieving to have something to smile about.

“It was only fair that I take my turn,” you say, gesturing down at your bare skin. Katsuki’s lips lift a little more until his gaze lowers; his eyes darken as he lets himself take you in. You can see the same thought crossing his mind just as it occurs to you: you belong to each other now, every bit of skin, muscle, heart that you’re bearing to each other isn’t just your own anymore. That scrunch in his nose, the scar across his chest, the way he narrows his eyes to study you. It all belongs to you now.

Katsuki steps forward, letting his hand interlace with yours, fingers hanging in the spaces between your own.

“Are you ready?” His question is no more than a puff of air against your forehead, both of you mercifully standing so close that you aren’t forced to look in his eyes when he asks.

“Yes.” Your voice shakes despite your attempt to be resolute in your answer, and you tighten your fingers around his in apology. It’s all new.

Katsuki kisses you again, slower and warmer than last time. It’s not desperate or hurried, but it is sensual, a promise of what awaits you when he lays you down on your bed. You sigh into his mouth, growing comfortable now with the feel of him on you; so comfortable, even, that you don’t notice he’s been backing you up until your back hits the poster of the bed, effectively pinning you between the hard, ebony wood, and Katsuki’s strong chest.

Your confinement does something to him. It’s immeasurably minute, the way his breath seems to puff out a bit heavier, the sudden jerk of his fingers into your hips, but it’s there.

“When you said you had experience…” Katsuki says, voice gravelly and dangerously close to a pant, “what did you mean by that?”

“I–” you pause, swallowing thickly around the growing lump in your throat, “I’ve been kissed, and I’ve…been touched.” You settle on that, hoping he grasps what you’re suddenly too shy to say.

“Did he make you cum?” He asks it so quietly, you almost wonder if you’ve heard him correctly, but you do hear him, and your chest caves in on itself as the breath leaves your lungs. You’ve snickered over such things with trusted girl friends, your ladies in waiting, but to hear it so gruffly, from the lips of a man—your new husband, no less—is a shock to your system.

“I think so,” you murmur, hardly able to form the words. You can’t see him, his head hunched over your shoulder and his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, but you can practically feel him frown.

“If he had, you would know so.” Katsuki presses a soft kiss on the cartilage of your ear, travels down to bring your earlobe between his lips. He moves farther down, kissing gently down the slope of your neck, so slowly as if not to scare you.

“How would I know?” You can’t believe you’ve even dared to ask the question, not entirely sure you’ve prepared yourself well enough to hear his answer. Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath against your collarbone, pausing his ministrations where he’d begun to lick and suckle at the prominent angle of it. Your face warms as you realize how deeply his faint touches have begun to affect you, how your chest is beginning to swell and sink with heavy breaths, how your skin tingles and sparks in anticipation of the next absentminded swipe of his knuckles, of the light pressure of his mouth.

“I can show you,” he whispers, and the world stops turning for a moment, “if you’d like.”

“Yes,” you breathe out before you can think better of yourself. You trust his hands, the steady way that they graze the curve of your hip and splay out against the small of your back. He’s stable and unwavering, keeping you afloat.

Katsuki nods against your shoulder, almost imperceptibly, and brings one of those strong hands up between your shoulderblades. He spreads his fingers out, forcing your back to arch for him, and brings his free hand up to your chest, pausing when he’s only a hair’s breadth from your breast. His eyes meet yours, a concentrated divot appearing between his eyebrows as he searches your face for any signs of discomfort. You arch into his touch, surprising even yourself with your boldness, and your jaw drops a bit at the sensation of his rough palms on your soft, supple breast.

Your eagerness spurs him to action, and he bends at the waist, scattering a litter of kisses across the top of your chest. You hold your breath as he dips lower, but your attempt to remain silent fails entirely when he closes his lips around your peaked nipple. A horribly broken whimper slips from your lips, and you squirm, though whether your body’s trying to push you into or away from the wet heat of his mouth you can’t tell.

Katsuki’s mouth stretches into a ghost of a smile around your flesh, or so you think, until his teeth graze your nipple properly and a quiet cry bursts from you. He smiles fully with your breast still between his teeth. His hand holds your back firmly in its bowed position as he moves to your other breast, twisting his tongue around your nipple there and kissing gently along the fat curve of the underside. He continues his descent, grazing his lips over your stomach, and you don’t realize he’s on his knees until he’s suckling softly on your hipbone, one hand now sprawled over your stomach. Katsuki rubs his thumb over the top of the thatch of hair between your legs, almost reverently, and it makes you regain your bearings, gulping.

“W-what are you doing?” You nearly cringe at the sound of your own voice, words syrupy and thick on your tongue.

Katsuki raises a cautious eyebrow, pulling back from the slight bruise he’s begun to place upon your hipbone. He’s still moving carefully, ghosting over where he wants to touch you as a warning before pressing his skin fully to yours, unwilling to spook you just yet, but something’s quickly changing in him. His jaw ticks as he considers you, looking down on where he kneels between your legs with wide eyes.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Katsuki asks back, looking genuinely confused. Your cheeks are aflame.

“You’re on your knees.” It sounds too simple as it leaves your mouth, an insult to your own intelligence, and you scowl in frustration, looking off to the side. The quiet chuckle between your legs snaps your attention back to Katsuki.

“I’m on my knees,” Katsuki agrees, leaning in and brushing his lips against your inner thigh, sending a full-body shudder racking through you, “for you. Do you…not like it?”

Your mind, foggy in the places you’re accustomed to using and glaringly sharp in useless departments like, for example, the way Katsuki’s eyes are glinting dangerously in the low light, struggles to find an answer for his question. You do like it, seeing this hulking, powerful man kneeling before you, tucking his chin up to the supple flesh of your thigh and blinking up at you curiously, but not for any reason that you can put your finger on.

“I didn’t say that,” you say carefully, willing your senses to come back to you. “I just…you look like you’re planning something.”

Another cutting half-smirk flashes across his face, gone as soon as it appears. “You’ve never been tasted before, have you?”

“Tasted?” You try to keep your face from showing your shock and confusion; surely he’s not about to do what you think he is. Katsuki hums an affirmative, placing another kiss to the clammy crease of your thigh and your cunt, a gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it.

“Do you not want me to?” Katsuki tilts his head, expressionless. You try to find the answer to his question on his face, but he’s blank, leaving the decision entirely up to you. “It’ll help with the pain.”

The pain, that’s right. Soon, he would be taking you for his own, stretching your body in a new way that you’d heard the whispers about: bloody bedsheets, sore between the legs, pleading for the end. You chew into your bottom lip, considering your options.

“Do you want to?”

“I do,” Katsuki says, eyes dark and unreadable, “I want to make you feel good. But we’re doing this on–”

“My terms,” you finish for him, nodding, “I remember.”

“Good.” Katsuki nods, and you try desperately to ignore the heat that thrums through you. “So, if you don’t want it, I won’t. Simple as that.”

You think for a brief moment. Katsuki’s admitted to wanting something of you, of your body, perhaps for the first time since you’d gotten him wrapped up with you. You repeat his words over and over in your head, trying to make sense of them. I want to make you feel good.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Katsuki knits his brows.

“I want to try it,” you say, and add with a shaky exhale, “being tasted.”

If you’re not mistaken, Katsuki’s shoulders shiver between your legs, his eyes glazing over a little at your words. You feel pride ringing in your chest, seeing him uncoil, even if it’s only the slightest bit. You’d chosen correctly. Much as he did when you asked him to undress you, Katsuki nods tensely, and he moves deeper between your legs, nudging your knees apart for himself.

“It’ll feel good,” he murmurs quietly, picking up one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder, “but if you want me to stop, tell me, alright?”

You nod down at him, knowing that every bit of your nerves at being so exposed is showing all over your face. Katsuki flits his gaze down to your cunt, glistening in the candlelight and humiliatingly wet from his touch, and you can see him bite into the inside of his cheek, see his eyes flutter closed. Despite your embarrassment, you’re keen on watching, learning from him. Katsuki leans in, and his tongue slides between your wet folds, but even over your choked noise of surprise, one thing rings clear in your mind at the startling new sensation.

Katsuki groans, louder than you’ve ever heard, languid and gratified, face pressed so firmly into your center that you can already feel his shadow of stubble scratching the insides of your thighs. His hand, wrapped around the thigh over his shoulder, suddenly tightens, fingers digging into the meat of your leg much harder than he’s touched you yet. You focus on the muscles of his jaw, tensing and straining on the side of his face, while he licks into you like a man starved.

The way he eats you is such a deviation from his feather-light touches that you almost can’t believe it’s the same man, lewd noises echoing throughout the room as he suckles on something between your legs that you hadn’t even discovered properly for yourself, only swiping at it blindly in the darkest hours in your chambers. Your back curves viciously, breathy moans spilling from your lips, fingernails clawing into the ornately-carved posts of your marriage bed. Katsuki holds you tight against him, eyes hooded in bliss and mouth moving ceaselessly against you.

You’ve snuck a hand down between your legs before, rubbed shyly at the growing wetness, at the swollen skin, and experienced maybe a glimmer of the feeling that’s now glowing hot in the pit of your stomach. You would almost feel panicked at the spiraling, swooping sensation; that is, if you weren’t so wholly consumed by the white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Katsuki– I, it’s so– oh,” you trail off, losing your words as Katsuki establishes a rhythm of flicking his tongue between your legs right on that damned spot that you wish you’d known about before, maybe you could have prepared– “Oh, Katsuki, it’s– so good.”

Katsuki elicits a sound that’s closer to a snarl than anything else you can think of, tightening his iron grip into your skin. One of your hands absentmindedly fists in his hair, and before you can find the presence of mind to rip it away, he moans, openly and unashamedly, eyes screwing shut. He likes it, your foggy mind realizes, and you dig your fingers in harder, anchoring what’s left of you to the earth using the straight, sandy locks.

The heat, the sparks that are flying around every nerve ending in your body, begins to pick up an overwhelming speed, and all of the sudden, you feel like you need to kick out, to curl in on yourself, to scream so loud the windows blow out.

“Katsuki,” you say desperately, making watery, scared eyes at him. Katsuki’s brow furrows, and he only holds his pace, red eyes glaring into yours. You’re trying to warn him, but no words will form, and you can’t catch your breath, panting and clawing at his hair and almost sobbing until–

Everything peaks. A broken cry comes shooting out of your throat, your standing leg threatening to give out under you, and you writhe and twitch on Katsuki’s face, shamelessly surrendering to the most intense tidal wave of pleasure you’ve experienced in your life. From the fuzzy peripherals of your consciousness, you can hear Katsuki groaning encouragingly into your wet cunt, still dutifully moving his tongue against you and smearing the evidence of your arousal all over his cheeks. When the world comes back into focus, it’s dazzlingly harsh, your muscles weakening as soon as Katsuki’s face clears into its typical arrangement of sharp angles and hard lines.

“Oh–” you gasp, your one good knee finally buckling underneath you. Luckily, Katsuki has already begun to stand, and one of his strong arms darts out, catching you around the waist. You wish he wouldn’t look so smug.

“How do you feel?” Katsuki asks innocently enough, but even in the aftermath of that, you don’t miss the twitching at the corner of his shining mouth, the expectant arch of his eyebrow.

“Good,” you pant, willing your cheeks to lose even a portion of their heat, “it was– fine.”

“Fine?” Katsuki’s eyebrow raises fully, disbelievingly.

“It was good,” you reaffirm, glaring at him. Katsuki grins brightly, the most light you think you’ve ever seen enter his face. It makes you blush almost as hard as the orgasm he dragged you through. Something wild and wicked flickers in your mind, and you look up at him curiously. “Do you…do you want me to do that to you?”

Katsuki’s smile drops as quickly as it came, and his cheekbones darken, a deep flush spreading over his face. You almost wonder if you’ve misstepped, upset him in some way, until you catch him palming over his pants. Your throat tightens.

“No,” he says, all the mirth drained from his face, “no, you don’t have to– no.”

“Alright,” you acquiesce, transferring your weight from Katsuki’s firm grip around your waist back to your feet, finding your legs weak and shaky beneath you. Your gaze floats over your shoulder, back to the plush sheets of your marriage bed, and Katsuki clears his throat, backing away a step so you have the room to climb into the bed, lay yourself down.

You’d expected to feel shyer, but there’s surprisingly no urge to curl in on yourself, not even Katsuki’s eyes take you in, darkening in the candlelight. The aftershocks of pleasure— white-hot, addictive pleasure he’d introduced you to— are still echoing through your limbs, and you’re just curious enough to bite back your initial trepidation. You want to know what else he has to teach you.

Katsuki begins tugging at the laces keeping his pants snug around his waist, loosening them and shooting you one final look, one last assurance. His eyebrow is cocked questioningly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he looks a little nervous. You nod, holding a breath deep enough in your lungs that it aches, and his pants hit the floor.

You’ve seen naked men, here and there, over the course of your life, and your ladies had described enough of the act before you that you can’t find yourself shocked at the sight, but more so at the wanton aching that ricochets through your limbs, chill bumps erupting over your arms and shoulders rolling of their own accord. You don’t have much to go by, but you’re fairly sure he’s big comparatively, so hard that the tip is an angry shade of red. Katsuki climbs over you before you have much chance to look further, but the damage is done; a fresh wave of arousal courses through you, and you widen your knees to let him situate himself.

“I’m going to get you ready,” Katsuki says between chaste kisses to your lips. “Is that alright?”

“But you already–,” you feel frustrated at your own inexperience, knitting your brow at him, “I’m ready.”

“You’re not,” Katsuki assures you, and before you can bite back another retort, his battle-scarred fingers are rubbing softly through the mess between your legs, and your jaw falls slack. Katsuki’s monitoring you for any signs of unease, eyes bright and focused on your face. You’re wet enough that he’s sliding through your folds easily, meeting little resistance as he rubs tight, concentrated circles into that spot that he’d used to make you see stars earlier. “Do you trust me?”

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage to hum an affirmative, biting back the breathy noises trying to break free of your throat. It’s a wonder, how so little effort from him has your blood molten in your veins, limbs pliant and muscles twitching.

Katsuki’s fierce gaze doesn’t let up, but you understand why when you feel it: a finger, presumably, stretching you in a new, uncomfortable way. You’re unable to contain the gasp that bleats out of you, eyes flying wide, and Katsuki’s hand stills, eyes squinting as he tries to determine the nuances of your reaction. It’s novel, and admittedly, makes you a bit restless, but it isn’t unpleasant, and embarrassingly, your hips cant up into his hand, answering for you. Katsuki works slowly, never ceasing the small circles he’s rubbing into you, letting the discomfort align with the deliberate, savory pleasure that’s now ever-present in your core. When he begins to move his finger in and out of you, working you open, you realize it feels good, more than good, even.

“Alright?” Katsuki asks, distrusting of the whimpers and shaky moans beginning to fall from your lips. “Talk to me.”

“It’s strange,” you admit, words fragile and breathy in the space between your lips, “but I like it, it feels good. Really good.”

Katsuki hums approvingly, teases your entrance with the rough pad of a second finger. He arches his eyebrow at you, the question hanging silent, but clear between you. The prospect is daunting, but you welcome it; he’s already shown you so much, made you feel so much. You trust him, nodding eagerly.

“Please.”

Katsuki works his second finger in, grinding his jaw when you choke on a moan, rolling your hips into his palm. He nods, letting you wriggle your hips around as you need to, to ease the stretch of him inside of you. You can feel the power behind the lightness of his touch, eyes flitting down to the strained, corded muscle of his forearm as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. He’s holding back, and when you think wildly of what might happen the day he doesn’t have to anymore, your body clenches around him.

Katsuki pulls a face at you, amused. “What is it?”

“What?” You pant, feeling that knot begin to tie in on itself tighter and tighter behind your bellybutton.

“Y’liked something, thought of something,” Katsuki studies you, mouth quirking up into a little half-smile, “I could feel it.”

If you were any more present, you’d be mortified, but all you can do is reach a hand to stroke along the bulge of his bicep, dig your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Was thinking about you,” you admit shyly, trying to force your words to come out a little less broken than you know you sound, “you’re strong.”

“I am strong,” Katsuki agrees, curling his fingers against something inside of you that makes you jerk, makes him smirk at you.

“You’re holding back on me.”

“I am,” he says, placing a kiss to your shoulder, “you’re not ready for it. Need to go slow this time.”

“One day you won’t,” you say, mustering all the strength your hazy mind has to offer to look him squarely in the eye, watch his reaction. Katsuki inhales sharply, eyes widening at your boldness, only to narrow at you, predatory and curious. His fingers have stilled momentarily, and you pull your stomach muscles, jerking your hips up against his hand, frustrated. Katsuki only glares down at you, jaw ticking.

“One day I won’t,” he finally answers you, pulling his fingers from where you’re throbbing and needy. You almost whine, but bite into your lip before the admission of desperation flies from you. “If that’s what you want.”

You don’t have the chance to answer before Katsuki’s sucking his own fingers into his mouth, sucking you off of them. Your jaw stutters, and you gape at him as his eyelids flutter, a low groan rumbling in his strong chest.

“Taste good,” Katsuki says, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, “sweet.”

“Can I try?” The question flies from your lips before you can even think to contain it, and your eyes grow even larger, shocked at your own debauchery. You’re seconds away from stuttering out an apology when Katsuki’s massive hand appears in front of your face, fingers glistening in the candlelight.

“Here.” Katsuki offers his fingers to you, eyes dark and hungry. You only stare at him for a moment, trying to discern if you’ve done something horribly wrong, but he’s completely sincere, brushing his wet fingers along your bottom lip. You open your mouth, suck him in. It’s more viscous than you would have imagined, sticky and thick on your tongue, but it’s pleasantly gamey; a little bitter, a little sweet. You don’t realize that you’re suckling on Katsuki’s fingers until he groans again, deep in his throat, gritting his teeth.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, pulling his hand free from your lips.

“What’d you think?” Katsuki regains his composure quickly, tilting his head at you with something impish sparkling in his eye.

You’d chosen your new husband due to his unwavering dedication to the kingdom that he’d sworn his life to protect, his kingly attributes that had set him so far apart from your other, softer suitors. You hadn’t even thought to consider what other sides to him might be lurking beneath the formidable exterior of decorated general; could it be so that the red-cheeked, boyish creature above you, so intent on helping you explore your body, was the fierce warrior that had supposedly cut down over a hundred enemy soldiers entirely on his own?

“I liked it,” you say, biting into the smile starting to grow on your face. The way his eyes light up makes you feel like a vixen, like somehow, you can be a woman after all. “Everything is…it feels good.”

Something virile glints in Katsuki’s eyes, but you don’t shy away, holding his gaze. “Good.”

“I want to…I want you to have me. I want to have you.” You’re not even sure if you’re making sense, tongue heavy and useless in your mouth. Katsuki’s hand has wandered back down between your legs, rubbing lazily at the wetness there, and it’s got that steady heat creeping back through your limbs, setting your nerves on fire.

“You’re sure?” Katsuki asks, raising his eyebrow at you. All the mischief has drained from his face as he examines you, and while you appreciate his caution, the craving for something more is growing uncomfortable.

“Please,” you say, tilting your chin up to press your lips gently to his in reassurance. Katsuki is finally convinced, it seems, because he rolls off of you and settles his back against the headboard, reaching an errant arm over to tug you on top of him.

You hadn’t anticipated this; Katsuki’s set you right on top of his hips, your dripping cunt placed firmly against his hard cock, back ramrod straight from the sudden exposure, nipples peaked in the charged air. The feel of him pressing insistently against where your body needs him most makes your head spin; you hadn’t expected it to be so distinct, hard and thick beneath you.

“What are you–”

“It’ll be easier this way,” Katsuki says, looking very much like he’s putting all his effort into appearing unaffected, but only a moment ago, you felt his hips twitch upwards into yours, “you can control it.”

“I don’t– I don’t know how to do it. Not the right way, I mean.” You’re burning in your humiliation, hot in so many different ways now you aren’t sure if you could even count them, but you’re bared completely to him, and you figure your dignity was left somewhere crumpled on the floor with your consummation gown.

“Don’t worry about that,” Katsuki says sternly, looking so unbelievably flustered that if you were any less preoccupied, it would make you giggle, “not yet. You need to get used to having something inside you, first.”

Something inside you; him, thick and hard and drooling wetness onto his bellybutton. That’s right. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, doing everything in your power to ride the wave of exhilaration going through you. You roll your hips experimentally, once, twice, swallowing the gasp that aches to leave your jaw.

“Just like that,” Katsuki mumbles, so quietly you almost think you hadn’t heard him, “take your time.”

You take his advice, bracing your clammy hands on his neck. You grind down on him again, feeling sparks of pleasure shoot up your body. With each swipe of your hips, you can feel your cunt grow wetter, feel that bottomless want in your stomach open a little more. The growing hunger in you is primordial, some hidden part of your mind directing you. The urge to have something inside of you, to feel full in a way you can’t begin to imagine, is causing you to grow restless, fingers drumming anxiously on Katsuki’s shoulders. When you meet his eyes, a muscle feathers in his jaw, but he stays silent, hands placed gently on your hips as he watches you grow accustomed to his girth, the weight of him between your legs.

“I think I’m ready. Can I?”

Katsuki stays silent, only nods sagely in assent. His grip on your hips grows tighter as you lift yourself up, reaching down blindly to grip him. He sucks in a breath when your fingers wrap around the length of him, and your eyes flit to his in alarm, but he only shakes his head, brow furrowing.

“Go ahead.”

You nod back, wincing at the anticipatory trembling of your thighs on either side of his hips, pulling his cock up from his stomach. You rather like the smooth feel of the skin in your hands, and you think briefly that maybe this will be something to revisit later, having him needy and in the palm of your hand. The swollen head catches, and you almost gasp at the surprise of it, how a dull thud of satisfaction rings through your body. You inhale deeply, and begin to sink down.

Katsuki’s fingers dig into your hips even harder, but you hardly feel it over the incomparable stretch between your legs. You’re sure now that he’s big; he has to be, the way it feels like your very insides are moving to accommodate him. You’re trying not to huff at the feeling, but a whine escapes you, and Katsuki’s tight grip stops you just as you’re nearing the halfway point.

“Okay?” He’s tense, coiled like a snake, all the muscles in his strong body locked, but his eyes are concerned.

“Uh huh,” you manage, wiggling your hips around and dropping yourself down a couple more inches, making you both gasp, “s’just big.”

“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses, throwing his head back. You pause, body contracting around him in your attempt to take him wholly, only a short distance from the blonde hair at the base of his cock.

“Is everything alright?”

“Can’t say shit like that,” Katsuki grits out, voice hoarse. You realize with a slow, muggy blink that you haven’t yet heard him swear, not in the Common Tongue, haven’t yet seen him become so unraveled and yet, at the same time, so rigid. It’s affecting him, that instinctual part of your brain supplies, it feels good for him.

If you were any less dazed, you’d smile. Katsuki Bakugou, High Commander of the fiercest army the world has seen in over a century, famed warrior an ocean over, is practically twitching trying to bite back his own pleasure as you take him inside of you. The rush of adrenaline that thought sends through you gives you the motivation to let yourself go, nestling the entirety of him deep inside yourself and meeting his hips. You choke on a moan, eyes prickling with tears.

“Oh,” you pant, lifting yourself just a bit, trying to squirm away from the discomfort.

“Does it hurt?” Katsuki grunts, eyes running over every bit of your body.

“No, it’s just,” you keen again, interrupting yourself with breathy, whiny little noises, “full.”

Katuski makes a noise that you think was meant to be a hum of agreement, but only comes out as a growl. If the white in his knuckles and the sharp, tense bone of his jaw is anything to go by, his arousal is only barely being held back, restricted to a tight leash. You’re not his first, not the only wet warmth he’s buried himself in, and this isn’t at all the first time he’s experienced this white-hot, carnal pleasure that’s licking up your veins. You find the strength to blink back the budding tears in your eyes, to really look at him.

He’s holding it together well, fingers grounded where they dig into your fleshy hips, crimson eyes looking you up and down, taking you in, but like the quiet snap of embers in the background, ruining the illusion of the room’s heat emanating from you and Katsuki, his body betrays him. His muscles are jumping under his skin, twitching involuntarily like the hide of one of the cavalry’s prize stallions, ready to run. Katsuki’s fucking a princess in his mind, you think, a future queen, and he’s proceeding accordingly, trying to keep his caresses light and his infamous temper in check.

You blink at him, vision watery, and realize suddenly that, for the first time in your life, you want to be a hot-blooded, wild, mortal. You want only to be a woman with a man inside of her, and you want to be regarded as such.

“Still doin’ alri–” Katsuki cuts himself off with a grunt when you roll your hips, biting back a wince at the unfathomable pressure in your stomach, the depth of him snug inside you. “Wait–”

“I’m fine,” you say, surprising even yourself at your sharpness. Confidence swells in your chest as he squirms under you, kissing away the burn of how he’s worked you open.

“But–”

“Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon,” you say down to him, looking upon your new husband with hooded eyes as you grind your hips down into him, adjusting to the strange stretch that accompanies his body inside of yours. Each movement of your hips into his makes it easier, soothes the slow throb of your body trying to make room for him. Pleasure begins to ignite again along your fingertips, and when you scoot forward a bit, pushing your hips back, his cock nudges something inside of you that makes your jaw drop.

Katsuki’s eyes widen momentarily, but you can see the moment he loosens the leash, succumbs to his baser instincts. His grip on your hips loosens, shoulders slackening, and his eyes darken, lids dropping a bit just to cover the tops of those crimson irises. He’s beautiful, godlike even, planes of hardened muscle at your command, the flames from the candles reflected in his eyes. Katsuki drags his gaze over you, nostrils flaring, bringing one hand up to the back of your neck and pulling you to him, pressing your foreheads together. The shift in him makes you gasp; the calm force with which he chooses to exert his strength.

“Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke,” Katsuki says against your lips, all trepidation gone. You shudder in his arms, letting pleasure wrack down your spine like fire catching. “Yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros.”

Your blood sings at the low purr of the Old Tongue, poured into your mouth like a fine wine, but you curdle at Dārilaros. Princess. “Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys.”

Katsuki nearly snarls, swears under his breath. “What did I tell you about saying shit like that?”

“You call me your wife,” you say, thoroughly pleased with yourself at his rapid unraveling. It’s never been like you not to have the upper hand. “Treat me as your wife.”

Even a hair’s breadth away from his face, you can see Katsuki’s last shreds of honor, that warrior’s heart, dying out. His eyes flicker over your face as you fruitlessly roll your hips, not able to get to the full extent of your pleasure with him gripping you so tightly. For the first time, you can feel his hands tremble against your skin. He’s only steps away from joining you in your damning mortality, finding the raw, primal humanity deep down inside of him. You rut your hips at him again, useless against his resolute grasp.

“Please,” you sigh against him, not even thinking to be ashamed of the breathy, needy plea you let out, not even wholly sure of what you’re begging him for, “make me feel good again.”

Katsuki groans, low in his chest, and nods, a covenant you’re building in the hot air between your mouths. His hands grab into your hips more fully, and he lifts you, only part of the way, before sliding you back down the length of him. You gasp into his mouth, caught off guard by the punch of him back up into the space he’s carved out for himself. It feels like he’s in your lungs, your breath coming out labored and pinched.

“Move,” Katsuki commands, settling back a bit and forcing you to sit up straight, hands on your ribcage. You’re bared completely to him again, and it’s still horrible, but the arousal dims any humiliation that threatens to rise. “Move.”

You wiggle your hips again, moving shakily along his cock, but Katsuki’s not pleased, evidently, as he digs his hands back into your hips.

“Like this,” he says, using his iron grip on you to correct your movements. Katsuki drags you up and down his cock in smooth, fluid motions, and despite the slowly-easing discomfort, your nerve endings come alight, the molten want finding a new peak as he rips a moan out of your throat.

“Oh–”

“Better?” Katsuki huffs, a vicious grin cutting across his face. Your arms flail a bit as he moves you, rolling you along his length as if you’re nothing more than a doll to him. Katsuki notices your awkwardness, takes one of your hands and places it firmly on your breast. You follow his lead, thumbing gently over one hard nipple, and, at the jolt of pleasure, you quickly bring your free hand to match on the other side, letting your head fall back.

“Katsuki,” you pant, quickly losing your composure and falling victim to the sensations devouring you, “it’s– that’s so good.”

“I know,” Katsuki breathes, still pulling you this way and that, “you’re perfect, so soft around me.”

You’ve never gotten to be soft; iron princess on the iron throne, made of embers and scalding steam, but for him? You bloom, pretty as a petal, letting your body meld into his like it was always supposed to be here. You’re not soft like silk, you let yourself be soft like candlelight, like magma, like the crashing of the ocean when you’re far enough away that the waves won’t get you, drag you under. Soft like doom.

“I feel– fuck, I think I– I need more.”

Katsuki’s lips twist at the breathless curse that flies from your lips, so foreign and funny-sounding in your regal mouth. You want to tease him right back, but he slides you off of him, and the loss is so devastating, your bottom lip nearly juts out as it did when you were a child. Before you can protest too much, Katsuki’s laying you on your back, hands sliding along your thighs, and you follow your instincts and bring your legs up to wrap around his waist.

“If it’s too much…” Katsuki trails off, losing his words when he goes to brush your bottom lip with his thumb and you suck him in voraciously, nibbling on his finger.

“I’ll tell you,” you promise, spitting him out and letting your own hand flutter across his cheekbone. He’s almost glaring down at you; so intense is the desire in his eyes that a small part of you wants to shy away, but you don’t. You wiggle your legs that much wider, arch your back, lean into the burn of him. You were born for the heat.

Katuski’s mouth quirks up in a little smile, already so fond it makes your chest ache, and he slides back into you, groaning when your cunt sucks him in greedily. You try to embrace the novelty of it, the dull throb of his cock splitting you wide, digging your nails into his arm by mistake. Katsuki swears in surprise, and you jerk your hand away, until he looks down at you admonishingly.

“Go ahead, perzītsos,” he hums, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your hairline, “I won’t break.”

He pulls back and thrusts back into you, harder than you’d expected, and your nails return to his wrist beside your head, digging half-moons into the pale skin. He’s different from this angle, not so agonizingly deep in you, but nudging against something inside you that renders you incapacitated, fuzzy-minded and pliant in his arms. Katsuki’s not faring any better than you, eyes hooded and little grunts slipping from his lips each time his hips connect with yours.

“What does it feel like?” Katsuki asks, beginning to look out of his mind with need. “Ivestragon nyke.”

“Deep,” you choke out, letting your jaw drop when he leans down to lick into your mouth, “full, I feel– full.”

“Good,” Katsuki mumbles, “good. Doesn’t hurt?”

“No.”

In answer, Katsuki moves his hips faster, snapping them against you with brute force. He’s keeping that ever-cognizant eye on you, monitoring you for any indication of pain or panic, but even through the haze of the tightening knot in the pit of your stomach, you can see him tumbling over the same edge that you have, lost to your baser instincts. You’re soft to him, your warm walls hugging him snug as he chases an end for you both, but sharp in the way your fingers claw into his skin, your teeth nip into his shoulder. Mine. Mine. Ñuhon.

“Katsuki,” you warn him, the balloon of pressure welling in your belly, growing so large you feel as though you might choke on it.

“I know,” he says, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. His voice is broken and ragged and tastes like hot coals, like copper and bronze and prophecy. You drink him down eagerly, so out of your mind with want that you’ve transformed. You’d entered the room as a blushing virgin of the highest, most noble bloodline, and here you are, twisting and keening under him, all molten limbs and whorish pants. Sweat dapples your forehead, drool smeared over your chin, and you’ve never felt more beautiful.

“I’m so– it’s the, the same,” you gasp, familiar words devolving into nonsense, “but it’s not enough, I don’t, I–”

“Here,” Katsuki growls, closing one strong fist around your wrist and sliding your arm between your writhing bodies, “just like I did it, remember?”

You find the same sensitive spot that Katsuki had shown you quickly, swollen and raw with pleasure, and try rubbing shaky circles over it, try to maintain some semblance of a rhythm and imitate his earlier movements. It’s uneven and inconsistent, but the added stimulation rockets through you, and your back pulls taut as a bow, arching off the featherbed.

“Close?”

“Yes,” you gasp, still not grasping what you’re close to, but feeling very much as though you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, that same rushing building in your ears. You somehow had the presence of mind to register that what’s building inside of you now is different than it was with his mouth between your legs; it’s faster, wetter, fuller, and it feels like it’s choking you.

“Come on,” Katsuki urges you, bordering on a snarl as he pants desperately into your mouth, “want to feel you cum around me, feel this little cunt milkin’ my cock.”

“Kat–” you try to call out for him, so overwhelmed the edges of your vision are going dark. He’s grinding his hips into you forcefully, pinning your fingers to the apex of your cunt, forcing you to rub yourself harder.

“You can do it, raqiarzy, come on–”

You cut him off with a loud sob of his name, thighs caging him in and the innermost walls of your body clamping down on him. Light bursts behind your eyelids, the white-hot flames of dragonfire and the embers of a burning forest exploding as your body is racked with wave after wave of bliss. Katsuki’s skin breaks under your fingernails, the slight dampness of tearing flesh familiar even in the haze of your orgasm. He works you through it, driving his hips into you despite the vicious tightening of your cunt around him, whispering affirmations into the pallid skin of your shoulder. Every muscle in your body contracts painfully, and you’d feel ashamed of the sounds escaping you if you could find enough wherewithal to care.

“Close,” Katsuki grits out, rolling his hips into your still-contracting cunt as your high begins to dwindle, “you ready for me?”

“Uh-huh, please, I– yes,” you babble nonsensically, interlocked ankles bouncing at the small of his back. As your orgasm drains from your veins, your muscles go lax, zapped of the fervent energy that had overtaken you. You find your body to be pliant and receptive, but your mind solely focused on watching that same ethereal pleasure that had possessed you wash over Katsuki. “Yes, I w-want you to cum.”

“Fuck,” Katsuki swears, hips stuttering, “take it, take it all–”

A guttural groan accompanies a sticky warmth flooding your insides; you squirm in his tight grip and moan at the sensation of being filled, feeling a fresh rush of arousal flow through you as you feel his cock twitching inside of you. You bite deep into his shoulder to muffle the pathetic mewls slipping from you at the feel of both his and your cum leaking out of your body, pooling in a little puddle underneath you. Everything is so earthy and musky; Katsuki’s salty skin between your teeth, his bruising grip into your hips, the stink of sex and sweat permeating the bedsheets.

Katsuki’s chest heaves against yours as his hips rock into you one last time, the thatch of blond hair at the base of him pressing against where you’re swollen and achy hard enough to make you whimper. When you wriggle around underneath him, he seems to snap back into himself, propping his upper body up on his elbows and bringing a hand to your face, thumbing over the arch of your cheekbone.

“Y’alright?” His carmine eyes are still glazed over, words gummy between his teeth, but the tenderness of his hand as he strokes your cheek lets you know he’s there.

“I’m alright,” you say, and you mean it. Something so deep in you that you don’t even have a name for is throbbing, and your body is still clenching and fluttering around where he’s softening inside of you, but your limbs are heavy and your head is in the clouds.

He’s a sight to see, a sight you commit to memory; sweat glistens on his pale skin, his eyes are hooded and sleepy, and a contented, lazy grin is starting to tug at the corner of his mouth. Katsuki pulls his hips back, pressing his lips to your temple in apology when you murmur something unintelligible, but hinting at discontent. You feel empty in a way you had never known you were supposed to, not until you’d learned what it meant to be fulfilled.

“Anything hurt?”

You shake your head, not sure how to verbalize that you’re not feeling any pain, but a deep-seated satiation that hints to the fact that you might never be able to lift yourself from the bed again. Katsuki’s still caging you in, heavy body crushing yours, when a jarringly unwelcome sound floats over his shoulder.

“Ah, um– Princess? I need to confirm–”

“I know,” Katsuki, sliding back into the skin of a general with ease, growls over his shoulder, “that you’re not daring to speak to my wife while she’s naked underneath me.”

Even given everything, your cheeks flare, and you shove at Katsuki weakly, making apologetic eyes at the attendant despite your humiliation. “It’s his job, Katsuki–”

“They can’t send a woman for this shit?” Katsuki cages you in even further, glaring at the servant who’s nearly shaking in his slippers. “Well?”

“I–I can fetch a female servant to confirm the consummation of the–”

“Do that, then.” The attendant’s soft footsteps as he scuttles away are hardly overshadowed by your breathy, tired giggles.

“You didn’t have to terrorize the poor man,” you swat lightly at Katsuki’s chest, “it’s his duty to confirm that the marriage has been consummated. The priests won’t have it any other way.”

“I’m sure he heard enough,” Katsuki grumbles, flopping onto his back beside you. He opens one eye, notices the sheet dragging dangerously close to your nipple, and tugs it up to your chin, closing his eye again and humming contentedly. His arm pauses for a moment, like he wants to stretch it over your shoulders, but he pulls it back by his own side, thinking better of it. You aren’t sure if you want to be held, if the intimacy outside of your duty as his new wife will be too grating against your already-raw nerves.

“My ladies will be here soon,” you say quietly, “to bathe me and help me prepare for bed.”

“Figured,” Katsuki grumbles, sounding entirely displeased at more people disrupting your peace. Something about it warms your heart, some small part of your mind hoping that his displeasure is rooted in a desire to keep you all to himself, hidden beneath the sheets.

“Your own attendants shouldn’t be far behind.”

“My what?” Katsuki sits up on one elbow again, looks down at you disbelievingly. “I don’t need any…ladies.”

“You’ll get used to them,” you tell him offhandedly, wondering if you’re being truthful. You’re just beginning to get acquainted with the intricacies of the man behind the title, but the general seems fiercely independent to you, and the image of him getting his hair scrubbed by a flock of servants is enough to make you chuckle to yourself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you assure him, “I’m sure you’ll be a perfect royal specimen.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow in irritation. “You didn’t inform me that ladies would be a part of my duties.”

“We can get men!”

“That’s worse.” Katsuki’s face screws up in an ugly scowl that makes you laugh outright. The lightness of your laughter makes his face fall a little, the hardened exterior giving way to the same man that had kissed reverently up the inside of your thigh, had been so achingly gentle with you when you weren’t sure what you would need to get through the night. A man you think you could love.

You look into each other’s eyes, something like starlight, like candlelight, like true, gods-given warmth buzzing between you, when the door creaks open, a gaggle of ladies and one priestess entering the room. Katsuki groans, tugs the blankets even further up your chests, the moment broken.

Ignoring his grumbles of protest, you pull yourself from the blankets with ease, baring your nude body to your ladies. There’s no shame in front of these women who have raised you, much to Katsuki’s astonishment. You don’t miss the way their eyes catch on the purple blooms on your hipbones, the way they squeal with excitement when you lay back and spread your legs for the priestess, displaying the thin trickle of Katsuki’s seed still steadily leaking from you. The priestess nods solemnly and leaves in the same manner; at least that’s done.

Your ladies do an absolutely dismal job of trying to appear subtle as they stare at Katsuki’s still-heaving chest, his narrowed eyes darting around the room suspiciously, his round biceps– your closest lady, Alanna, whisper-squeals in your ear about how huge your new husband’s arms are, and you have to pinch her cheek harshly to get her to stop, sensing Katsuki’s tangible discomfort from across the room. He behaves well as they bathe you, sitting up in bed and watching silently as you’re preened and fawned over, as your tangled hair has a brush torn through it and is twisted neatly into your nighttime braid.

A group of women hovering silently by the door, eyeing Katsuki nervously, appear to be his newly-appointed handmaids. You do both Katsuki and the women the favor of dismissing them for the night, unsure of how Katsuki, who is still gripping the sheets to his chest like a young, blushing maiden, will react to being pampered and scrubbed by foreign hands.

“You can dismiss those serving girls for good,” Katsuki says gruffly, clean and ambling over to a looking glass to swipe a brush through his hair. “‘M not a boy, I don’t need any help getting myself to bed.”

You conveniently slide past the omission on the tip of your tongue– before Katsuki’s anxious staff had left, you had requested them to bring a hot bath, all of Katsuki’s bathing things from his old chamber, a freshly-dried sponge from the Narrow Sea for him to wash himself with. It’s enough to keep it to yourself, seeing how content he is in his new living space now, that you could do something for him amongst the chaos you’ve now thrown his life into.

“We’ll see,” you hum, picking at a stray cuticle over the covers and trying not to ogle him too obviously.

He’s still blessedly nude, unabashed in his swagger around the room as he dries himself with the strips of soft, woven cloth your ladies had left behind per your request. When he approaches the bed you’re laying in, you stiffen, unaccustomed still to these small intimacies. Royalty has proven to be a lengthy and lonely existence in your experience, and sharing it with someone is foreign to your solitary nature. Your own parents had had their own separate chambers, as every monarch before them. It was Katsuki’s one condition to accepting your proposal; you were to share bedchambers, like a common husband and wife.

“Princess?” Katsuki is hesitant when he approaches you, as if he already senses your trepidation. You will yourself to unclench your muscles, to relax your shoulders. You have no right to make him feel unwelcome in his own bed– the bed you now share.

“I told you I don’t want you to call me that.” You try to offer him a playful smile, but it only glimmers across your face. This is yet another bridge you need his guidance over.

“You did,” Katsuki nods sagely, the corner of his mouth twitching as he remembers the circumstance of that particular conversation, “I’m sorry, perzītsos.”

“Come to bed.”

“Are you sure?” Katsuki cocks an eyebrow at you, looking down at the huge bed warily.

“It was what you wanted.”

“Only if you want it.” Katsuki sighs deeply at your look of not-quite-belief and sits on the bed a respectable distance away from you. He reaches for your hand, a question, not a demand, and you slide your fingers into his calloused palm, humming contentedly when he runs his large thumb over your knuckles. He stays like that for a moment, contemplative and looking at your hand, bare of all of its usual finery and rings. “What did I say earlier?”

“When?”

“Before.” Katsuki raises his eyebrows enough that you catch his meaning.

“That we were doing things on my terms.” Something in your chest, warm and wet and laden with flowers, swells big and tight enough to pop.

“That didn’t just apply to, ah, earlier,” Katsuki coughs uncomfortably, flicking his eyes up to you, “that’s for all of this. Our…our lives are…the same now, and I don’t want you to think I need you– seven hells, that’s not what I meant–”

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” You interrupt him suddenly, a saccharine smile curling the corner of your lips. Katsuki flushes a vicious red, frowns and shakes his head in confirmation. “Neither am I.”

“No?”

“I haven’t suddenly found myself married before, so no.” It feels silly, all of the sudden, to have guarded yourself at all. Katsuki is many things, but above all, he is steady, a resolute rock against an angry ocean. “But while I feel many things about our…unexpected union, one thing I do not feel is alone. We can do this on our terms, not just mine.”

Katsuki nods again, looks back down to your hand in his, and cracks a wry smile. “This is why you’re the politician.”

“I’m a princess,” you deadpan, “not a politician.”

“But I can’t call you that,” Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes. The lightheartedness lifts the atmosphere in your bedchamber, oppressive with marital expectations and the stuffy heat of candles left burning too long, and it gives you the needed weightlessness to have your eyes slowly blinking closed.

“Exactly,” you agree matter-of-factly, stifling a yawn. “Will you call someone in to dispose of the candles?”

Katsuki snorts, pushing himself off the bed without answer. Before you can protest or feel hurt by his sudden abandonment, he crosses the room and bends at the waist, blowing out one of over two dozen candles. You can only watch in growing fondness and amusement as he huffs at each little flame, the room growing darker by the moment. By the time he’s finished, your eyes are hardly open, drifting shut as you sink into the pillows. A satisfied throb echoes through your body as you wriggle down beneath the sheets, the lingering evidence of Katsuki’s presence on and in you bringing a warmth to your cheeks even in the now-dark room.

The last thing you register as you slip into the beginnings of a heavy sleep is the dip of the bed behind you, and a thick, muscled forearm creeping stealthily over your waist.

“This alright?”

All you can muster is a tired mumble of acquiesce, nuzzling into the firm chest behind you. Katsuki chuckles quietly into your hair, a dark, soothing sound that has your mind careening towards sleep, eager to melt into this world of warmth and comfort in his arms.

“Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos.”

───── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ─────

as promised, high valyrian translations here :)

Ānogar ānograro = "Blood of my blood."

Gevie = "Beautiful"

Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys. = "You are beautiful, my wife."

Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon. = "I will have what is mine."

Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke, yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros. = "If you will have me, then have me, but I will have you as well, princess."

Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys. = "I have no crown when you are inside me. I am a woman, I am your wife."

Perzītsos = "Little flame"

Ivestragon nyke. = "Tell me."

Raqiarzy = "Beloved"

Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos. = "Sleep tight, my little flame."

#this was a labor of love #truly took forever #but i LOVE it so i hope you guys do too #aged up character #aged up characters #bakugou katsuki #aged up katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #katsuki smut #mha x reader

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