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nina-ya · 3 months ago

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Closet Cravings (Law x Reader NSFW)

A/N: I had meant to post this earlier in the week but ya know! hurricane things! Apologies for tossing this out so late but here it is! Pairing: Law x AFABreader CW: SMUT MINORS DNI unprotected sex, creampie, semi public sex, uhhh yeah I think that's it! • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ You don't even remember how you got here. One moment you were tossing back glasses of champagne at some frivolous banquet where you didn't quite know what you were celebrating, the next, Law had those inked hands all over you, planting needy kisses along your neck and shoulder, pulling you into the nearest storage closet to take things further. The closet is suffocating with the thick scent of sex and sweat in the air as your back digs into the wall behind you. There’s barely enough space to breathe, let alone move, but that doesn’t matter. Not with Law pressed so tightly against you, his chest flush to yours, his body pinning you in place. His breath is ragged in your ear, heavy with lust, as his fingers dig into your hips, controlling every desperate grind of your body against his.

Your dress, once elegant and pristine, is now hiked up around your waist, bunched and forgotten as his fingers slide beneath your panties, teasing the slick pooling between your legs. Every inch of you is alive, burning with the need for more, and despite Law’s own eagerness to feel you wrapped around him, he likes to keep it slow, just to torment you.

He could use his Devil Fruit to silence you, making those filthy sounds spilling from your lips disappear into nothing, but he doesn't. No, he wants to hear you. Wants to watch the way your pretty little jaw goes slack, letting out huffs and pants, your breath hitching as you try, and fail, to stifle the moans bubbling up from your throat. There’s something about the way you struggle to keep quiet, your body trembling, that drives him absolutely mad.

“You’re too fucking loud,” he growls, lips brushing against your ear, but the smirk tugging at his lips tells you that he is enjoying seeing your futile attempts at holding yourself together.

The combined heat of your bodies is suffocating, to say the least, the cramped space seems to amplify every sensation and you are acutely aware of the way his fingers slide away from your dripping hole and are replaced by the bulbous head of his cock. He rubs the tip against you, just enough to coat his tip with your essence before sliding right in. The stretch is delicious, forcing you to bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as your body clenches around him.

“Law…” his name falls from your lips in a shaky whisper, a plea, but he just responds by pulling out slightly and thrusting in all the way, ripping a yelp from your throat.

“You just look too good tonight,” he murmurs, dipping his head into your neck, grazing his teeth along the skin as he huffs with the intensity of his thrusts. “How the hell was I supposed to control myself?”

You can feel every inch of him inside you, the tight space making each thrust deeper, harder, his hips rolling in a way that makes your whole body tremble. Your breath comes in shallow, ragged pants, but the way he moves inside of you makes it nearly impossible. Your body arches against him, your hands gripping his shoulders for any semblance of support, but it’s not enough. The pleasure builds, coiling tight within you, and it takes everything within you to keep from just wailing out his name for others outside of this closet to hear.

But Law wasn’t satisfied. One of his hands slips down between your legs, pressing against your swollen clit with a pressure that rips a gasp from your lips. The shock of the feeling has your whole body jerking in response as he rubs circles against the bundle of nerves, making it impossible to think, let alone stay quiet.

He smirks against your neck, placing wet kisses down the column of your throat. “What’s wrong? Can’t hold back” he taunts.

You shake your head, biting your lip hard enough to break the skin, but it’s no use. The building pressure is too much, the pleasures all too intense, and you can’t stop the strangled whimper that escapes you when he pulls out to the tip and slams right back in.

Law chuckles at the noise, his breath fanning across your ear as he whispers, “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy the idea of people knowing what we are doing.” His words are like gasoline and he is just tossing them right into the flames of your euphoria and you can’t help but clench around him at his words. He notices, deciding to push you further, “Oh? You really want to be caught, don’t you? Come on, let everyone out there know how good I’m making you feel.”

Before you can stop yourself, a loud, desperate, shameless moan slips past your lips. His name falls from your mouth again, louder this time, chanting it as if it were a prayer. Your resolve has officially cracked, hurdling you toward that blissful high that you so desperately crave.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses out, voice strained as his own control begins to slip. He thrusts into you harder, pace growing erratic, and you can feel him unraveling before you, his breath becoming faster, fingers of one hand digging into your thigh, while the other works on your clit, his movements faltering with each growing sentence.

The small space, the overwhelming feeling of his body against yours, the struggle of trying to stay quiet- it all makes everything more intense, more desperate. Your body is trembling now, the pleasure building to a breaking point as you cling to him, your nails raking against his chest, threatening to rip his shirt, and you just can’t take it anymore. The moan that tears from your throat is loud and needy, and you just don’t care anymore who hears it.

Law’s teeth nip at your collarbone as he grinds into you, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again until you are standing right on the edge, your whole body tensing as you finally fall over it. Your orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as the pleasure floods every nerve. Your walls clench around him, gripping his cock with a desperate intensity, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as you ride your high. Your fingers dig into his shirt, knuckles turning white with the force of your grip, your head tilting back as a broken cry of his name spills from your lips. The sensation is nothing short of overwhelming with each pulse of your release so powerful that you feel you may just burst. Your body trembles beneath him as you gasp for air.

And even though you’re lost in the haze of your one pleasure, you can feel the way Law’s body stiffens slightly, using all he has left to speed up before slamming into you one last time. His grip on you tightens and he groans your name in that voice that you’re sure to replay in your head later over and over again. His cock throbs inside of you, spilling hot and deep as his orgasm takes over, each pulse of his cock sending small aftershocks through your already trembling body as his cum fills you completely, the warmth spreading as he empties himself into you.

The two of you just stay there only for a moment- forehead against forehead, heavy breathing, and despite the intensity of the moment, there's a lazy, satisfied smirk pulling at his lips.

With a languid sigh, he pulls out of you and you can feel the slick, sticky trail of your combined release starting to slip from between your legs the moment he withdraws. He sets you down gently, but your legs are shaky and ready to give out beneath you at any given moment. You reach for his arm to steady yourself as you hastily fix your clothes alongside them, as you slip your underwear back into place, you feel the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly dribbling down your thigh. Embarrassment floods your features as you go to wipe it away, but before you can clean yourself properly, Law is already pushing the door open and stepping back into the banquet as if nothing had happened. You blink, dazed, still trying to recover from the moment prior and the realization hits you- if the sounds you’d made together weren’t enough to give you away, the unmistakable sticky mess sliding down your thighs surely will.

#nina writes~✦#trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece x reader #x reader

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wolverigrl · 3 months ago

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Party (2)

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: Please don’t be mad at me, but I think there will only be 1 or 2 (maximum 3) other parts of this fanfic! Thank you all for your support, love, and comments! Much love! xx

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, alcohol and nausea, angst!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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"What if you were pregnant?"

he asks suddenly, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

I blink, the question catching me of guard. "What?"

He shrugs, though there's a serious look in his eyes. "I mean, what if you were? What would you think? We've joked about it before, but... I'm asking for real."

For a second, I don't know what to say. The thought had crossed my mind before, but hearing him say it out loud makes my heart skip a beat.

"I think I'd be happy." I say softly, searching his face. "I mean I love kids and if it happened, if we ended up with one, especially with you.." I pause, a smile tugging at my lips. "It'd be like winning the lottery. You're the most amazing dad."

His eyes soften, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. "You really think so?"

"I know so." I say, my voice steady now.

"I see how you are with your kids, how you care. You're perfect. And if it happened... it wouldn't scare me. Not with you."

For a moment, he just looks at me. His expression unreadable. Then, he leans down and presses a soft lingering kiss to my lips.

"You amaze me everytime baby." He murmurs against my skin.

The music was still thumping softly as Hugh and I made our way back to the party after our little escape to the storage room. The air felt lighter between us, the tension gone, but the heat still lingered. I caught Hugh’s eye, and he gave me a playful smirk, his hand resting protectively on the small of my back as we rejoined the crowd. I felt a little flushed, still high from everything that had just happened. His shirt was slightly rumpled, and I knew my lipstick had to be smudged from where I’d kissed him.

It didn’t take long for someone to notice. Ryan and Blake were sitting near the bar, chatting with some of the stragglers who remained. The moment we approached, Ryan's sharp gaze caught the lipstick stain on Hugh’s neck, and he raised an eyebrow. Blake followed his gaze and let out a knowing giggle.

"Well, well, look who’s been busy!" Ryan said with that signature mischievous smirk of his. He pointed at Hugh’s neck, leaning forward with a mock-serious expression. "You’ve got a little something there, mate. Lipstick, hickeys... did someone interrupt you?"

Blake playfully slapped Ryan’s arm, trying to hold back her laughter. “Come on, give them a break. It’s her birthday!” she teased, winking at me. “Though, you guys could be a little more discreet.”

I laughed, the alcohol still buzzing through my veins, making everything feel funnier than it probably was. “Oh, come on! Like you and Ryan haven’t snuck off at a party before.”

Blake threw her head back in a dramatic laugh. “Touché.”

Hugh, ever the composed one, just chuckled and shook his head, his arm tightening around me. “What can I say? You know how it is. She’s irresistible.”

Ryan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. If anything, I’m impressed. Just don’t blame us if Chris or Scott see you and start giving you a hard time.”

The party had thinned out, most people either drunk or already heading home. I could feel my legs wobbling a bit more than before, the room starting to spin slightly. I had drunk a lot tonight, more than I probably should have. The champagne, the cocktails, the shots - especially the shots with Chris and Scott. I swayed on my feet, leaning heavily into Hugh for support.

“I think it’s time to get you home.” Hugh whispered into my ear, his voice filled with warmth but tinged with concern.

I pouted, not ready for the night to end, my mind still in a drunken haze.

“Nooo, I’m fine! Let’s dance more!” I slurred, tugging at his shirt, my hands brushing over his chest. My fingers wandered lower, more out of impulse than intent, but Hugh caught my wrists gently, chuckling at my tipsy boldness.

“Love, you’re completely wasted.” he said softly, his voice full of amusement. “I’m here sobering up, and you… well, you’re ready to pass out.”

I frowned up at him, my body warm and heavy with alcohol. “I’m not ready to go!” I protested weakly, though my words were slurred, and I could feel my body growing sluggish.

Hugh just smiled, ever patient. “I know you’re having fun, but it’s time. Let’s get you home.”

I tried again, tugging at his collar playfully, but Hugh was already maneuvering us toward the exit, his arm wrapped securely around me to keep me from stumbling. I could feel my legs giving out beneath me, but Hugh, ever steady, guided me gently, never letting me fall.

Ryan and Blake followed close behind as we stumbled our way outside, where a cab was already waiting. “Need some help getting her in?” Ryan asked, though I could hear the amusement in his voice. He was clearly enjoying my drunken state a little too much.

Hugh shook his head, already opening the door and helping me inside. “I’ve got it. She’s just affectionate when she’s drunk.”

Ryan snorted. “Affectionate is one word for it.”

Blake laughed, climbing into the cab after me. “Come on, let’s get you home before you start a new round of inappropriate touching.”

“You’re doing God’s work, Hugh.” Ryan said, a grin on his face as we closed the doors. “Getting this one home in one piece.”

Hugh just laughed. "I'm sure it won’t be the last time."

I put my head on Hugh’s shoulder and put my arms around him, trying to pull him as close as possible to me.

"Baby, I'm still not tired." I slurred, my fingers running over the buttons of his shirt again.

Hugh just shook his head with a soft chuckle, gently catching my hands and keeping them still. “Sure you’re not.” he said, his voice full of warmth and amusement. “But let’s get you home, and we’ll see how awake you are then.”

Once we were settled, the cool night air and the soft hum of the car's engine started to lull me into a sleepy daze. I slumped against Hugh’s chest, my head heavy on his shoulder. The warmth of his body, combined with the gentle rocking of the cab, had my eyelids drooping almost instantly. I could feel Hugh’s hand stroking my hair, his fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm.

“Shh, just rest. I’ve got you.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I sighed, my body sinking further into his embrace, completely safe and content.

The next thing I knew, we were home. I barely registered the door opening or the cool breeze as Hugh scooped me up into his arms. My head lolled against his chest as he carried me inside, his steps quiet and careful.

“I can walk..” I mumbled, though my body betrayed me, limp and uncooperative.

Hugh just chuckled softly. “Sure you can, love. Just relax.”

He carried me up the stairs to our bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. I was half-awake now, my mind hazy but aware enough to realize I was still in my dress. I groaned, trying to kick off my shoes but failing miserably.

“Let me help.” Hugh said, kneeling beside the bed. He removed my shoes and then gently tugged at the zipper of my dress, helping me out of it with a tenderness that made my heart swell even in my drunken state. I managed to help him pull one of his T-shirts over my head, the soft fabric comforting against my skin.

As he tucked me under the covers, I reached for his hand, my fingers curling around his. “Thank you.” I mumbled, my eyes barely open. “I love you.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I love you too, y/n. Get some rest.”

I fell asleep almost instantly, the last thing I felt being Hugh’s warm lips pressing a kiss to my forehead.

The next morning, I woke up with a groan, my stomach twisting unpleasantly. The light streaming through the curtains felt too bright, and the pounding in my head made me wince. But worse than the headache was the nausea rolling through me in waves. I barely had time to think before I shot out of bed, racing toward the bathroom.

I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up, my body heaving violently as I emptied the contents of my stomach. I felt someone rush in behind me, and then Hugh was there, his hands holding back my hair, his voice soft and full of concern.

“Shh, I’m here. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” he whispered, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as I retched again.

Once I finished, I collapsed back against him, my body weak and shaking. He handed me a glass of water, helping me sip it slowly.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his eyes scanning my face for any signs of distress.

I nodded weakly, though I felt far from okay. “I feel like death.”

Hugh chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “That’s what happens when you drink half the bar with your friends.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Never again. I am never drinking like that again.”

Hugh smiled knowingly, helping me to my feet and guiding me back to the bed. “You say that now, but we both know you’ll forget by the next party.”

I shook my head, wincing as the movement made my headache worse. “No, I mean it this time.”

“Alright, I’ll hold you to it.” he teased, pulling the blankets up around me. “I’m going to make breakfast. Try to rest for a bit.”

I nodded, sinking back into the pillows, my stomach still churning. Hugh kissed my forehead again before leaving the room. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would take me again, but the nausea was relentless. Hugh disappeared into the kitchen, and I could hear the faint clinking of pots and pans.

After a few minutes of lying there, my stomach still swirling, I figured it was better trying to eat something than to keep lying there feeling like death. I dragged myself out of bed again, my legs shaky but steady enough to make it to the kitchen.

Ryan, Blake, and Hugh were already there when I entered, laughing about something I couldn’t quite catch. Ryan was standing at the stove, poking at a pan of sizzling bacon, the smell instantly hitting me like a wave. My stomach churned violently, and without a word, I turned on my heel and rushed back to the bathroom, the nausea hitting me harder than before.

I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up again. It was worse this time - my stomach heaving painfully as I coughed and retched, bile burning in my throat. I collapsed to my knees, clutching the sides of the toilet as my body shook. I heard soft footsteps behind me, and this time it was Blake who appeared, crouching down beside me, rubbing my back as I tried to catch my breath.

“Oh honey, that doesn’t sound good..” Blake said gently, her hand moving in soothing circles on my back. “Take deep breaths.”

I nodded weakly, leaning back against the wall as I wiped my mouth with the tissue she handed me. I felt shaky, weak, and utterly miserable.

Blake glanced toward the door before looking back at me with a concerned frown. “Are you sure this is just a hangover?”

I blinked at her, my head still spinning, my stomach twisting with the aftermath of throwing up again. “What else would it be?” I muttered weakly, closing my eyes for a moment to block out the light.

Blake hesitated, biting her lip. “Well… you know, it could be something else.” She paused, watching me carefully. “Y/n, have you thought about doing a pregnancy test?”

Her words cut through the fog in my brain, and I blinked at her, the thought landing like a rock in my stomach. Pregnant? The idea seemed so far-fetched, so out of place, that for a moment I just stared at her, trying to process what she was saying.

“No. ” I said, my voice hoarse. “I mean, I had my period last week, so I can't be.. you know.. It’s just a hangover.”

Blake’s frown deepened, her hand still rubbing my back. “That’s not always a guarantee. Some women still get light bleeding in early pregnancy.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes soft but serious. “You’ve been really sensitive to smells, throwing up, and you’ve been more emotional than usual… It might be worth taking a test, just to rule it out.”

I sat there, blinking at her, trying to process her words through the fog of nausea and the pounding in my head. The idea seemed so absurd that I almost wanted to laugh, but at the same time there was a small, nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Could she be right? Could all of this be something more than just a brutal hangover?

Blake gave me a soft, encouraging smile. “Look, I’ll grab a test later today. Just to be sure. You never know.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “I-I don’t know, Blake. It seems unlikely. I mean, we’ve been careful. Mostly.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Mostly?”

I bit my lip, suddenly feeling unsure. Had we been careful enough? The thought sent a ripple of nerves through me, and I suddenly felt a little more sober than I had just a few moments ago.

Blake squeezed my shoulder gently. “Don’t stress about it, okay? Let’s just check later, and if it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.”

I nodded slowly, still feeling a little dazed. “Okay,” I whispered. “Just to be sure.”

Blake smiled warmly and helped me up, steadying me as I wobbled on my feet. We made our way back to the kitchen, where Ryan was still standing over the stove, flipping the bacon with a grin on his face.

“There she is! Feeling better?” he asked with a laugh, glancing over his shoulder.

The moment the smell of the bacon hit me again, my stomach lurched violently. I pressed my hand over my mouth, barely managing to shake my head before I turned and bolted back to the bathroom. This time, Blake was right behind me, rubbing my back again as I heaved into the toilet for the third time that morning.

When I finally stopped, I collapsed back against the wall, my body trembling with exhaustion. Blake knelt beside me, her expression serious this time. “Okay, y/n. We’re definitely getting that pregnancy test.”

Blake and I stepped back into the kitchen after my second round of nausea, and the moment we entered, the smell of bacon hit me like a wall. I flinched, my stomach rolling violently. Blake was quick to jump in, giving Ryan a pointed look.

“Ryan, put the bacon away. Please.” Blake said, her tone somewhere between commanding and concerned.

Ryan raised his eyebrows, clearly confused, but he nodded, lifting the pan off the stove. “Alright, alright!” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “No more bacon. I thought we were having the classic hangover cure breakfast, but I guess not.” He shot me a teasing grin, but I could barely manage a smile in return. I still felt nauseous, and the smell lingered in the air like a bad joke.

“Thanks..” I muttered, sitting down slowly at the kitchen table. The wooden chair felt unusually hard beneath me, and the room swayed slightly as I rested my head in my hands. The world felt too bright, too loud.

Hugh, who had been standing near the counter, came over and placed a hand on my shoulder. His eyes were filled with concern. “You alright?” he asked softly, crouching down so that he was level with me.

I glanced up at him, forcing a weak smile. “Yeah, just a huge hungover.”

But Hugh wasn’t convinced. His brow furrowed, and he leaned in closer. “You sure it’s just the hangover? You haven’t been able to keep anything down since you woke up.”

Before I could answer, Blake chimed in, her voice light but purposeful. “Maybe we should all skip the bacon for now and just go for something lighter.” She glanced at Ryan, who finally relented, wrapping the bacon up and placing it in the fridge.

Ryan, with his usual flair for dramatics, gave a mock sigh. “Fine, fine. Guess we’re having toast and eggs then. Maybe some fruit if you’re feeling fancy.”

Blake shot him a grateful smile, but I could still see the concern lurking behind her eyes as she glanced at me again. We both knew there might be something more going on.

Hugh stood up, but he didn’t stray far. I could feel his eyes on me, the warmth of his hand still lingering on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time, more intimate. He knew me too well. He knew when something was off.

I looked up at him, my heart clenching slightly. There was something about the way he was looking at me - so protective, so deeply caring - that made my throat tighten. “I’m okay, I promise.” I said softly, but the words felt hollow, even to me.

Blake cleared her throat, sensing the tension. “Let’s just have breakfast!” she said brightly, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Ryan to start serving up the toast and eggs.

The four of us settled down around the table, the atmosphere easing up a bit as we started to eat. But I could still feel Hugh’s eyes on me from time to time, his silent concern hanging in the air between us. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the food in front of me, though every bite felt like a chore.

Blake glanced at me after breakfast, a knowing look in her eyes. The subtle exchange between us was enough to make my stomach twist. We both knew what we needed to do, but there was no easy way to get through it - especially with Hugh and Ryan lingering around.

“I’ll go grab something at the drug store.” Blake said, her voice calm but determined. She stood from the table, adjusting her sweater as if she was about to run a quick errand.

Ryan looked up from his phone, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you need to grab? You just went grocery shopping.”

Hugh chimed in. “Yeah, Blake, what secret are you hiding from us? If you’re buying ice cream and not sharing, we’re going to have a serious problem.”

Blake rolled her eyes but smiled, her hands resting on her hips. “You boys and your ice cream obsession. It’s nothing - just girl stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious but too lazy to press further. Hugh, however, looked from Blake to me, his concern still evident.

Blake waved them off with a casual laugh. “You three just stay here and look after y/n!” Her tone was light, but I could tell she was eager to get out the door before they asked more questions.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Alright, but if you come back with some girly drama that needs solving, I’m out. Hugh, it’s all on you, man.”

Hugh gave a half-smile, but his eyes remained on me, his concern still present even as Blake slipped out the door. The boys didn’t ask any more questions, and I was grateful for Blake’s smooth distraction.

While Blake was out, the rest of us stayed in the kitchen, casually cleaning up and chatting about the party last night. Ryan, as usual, kept things light with his jokes, but Hugh’s attention would drift back to me every now and then. I could feel it, the quiet, worried glances he gave me when he thought I wasn’t looking. My stomach churned - not just from the remnants of the hangover, but from the anxiety creeping up inside me.

When Blake returned, she had a small paper bag in her hand. She slipped it into her purse quickly, her movements smooth, as if she’d done this a hundred times. She didn’t say anything right away, just casually joined the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Hugh looked up from his spot at the table. “You’re back quick. Everything okay?”

Blake smiled brightly, her eyes flicking to me for the briefest of moments before turning her attention back to Hugh. “Yup! Everything’s good.” She clapped her hands together, clearly ready to move things along. “Alright, boys, let’s set up a movie or something. How about we go pick something out?”

Ryan groaned. “Ugh, really? But not another rom-com, Blake!”

She laughed and grabbed him by the arm, leading him and the others out of the kitchen. “I’ll even let you pick, Ryan. But you’re banned from all superhero movies, deal?”

I watched as Blake expertly herded them into the living room, leaving me alone with the test still hidden in the bag. My hands were trembling slightly, the weight of what was about to happen starting to settle in.

The bathroom felt impossibly small, the silence pressing in on me as I stared down at the pregnancy test in my hand. My fingers trembled as I looked at it, my reflection in the mirror barely recognizable. I was almost 30 years old. That thought kept echoing in my mind, louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest like it wanted to escape.

I couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts. How would Hugh react? He was already a father - his kids adored him. But this… this would be our child. Our baby. The idea of it thrilled me, but it also terrified me. I hadn’t expected this, not so soon. Not after one and a half years. My stomach twisted at the thought, nerves gnawing at the edges of my excitement.

What about my family? My mother would be overjoyed, but what would she think of me having a baby with Hugh? And my friends - they had no idea what was coming. Could I even handle all of their opinions? I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to steady myself.

Two minutes. I just needed to get through these two minutes.

The timer buzzed, and I hesitated, my heart pounding in my ears as I reached for the test.

Two lines.

For a second, everything froze. I couldn’t process it. I'm pregnant. I was actually pregnant.

My knees felt weak, and I leaned against the sink, trying to catch my breath. A mixture of disbelief and joy surged through me, but beneath that, fear crept in. This was real. It was happening. I had to tell Hugh.

I left the bathroom, the positive test still clutched in my hand. Blake was waiting near the door, her eyes searching mine. She didn’t need words - she knew. I gave her a weak smile, and she nodded, offering silent support. But I couldn’t stay here with her. I had to talk to Hugh, had to tell him.

As I walked into the living room, I saw Hugh sitting on the couch with Ryan, both of them laughing over some joke. My stomach fluttered nervously. How could I tell him? How could I explain that everything was about to change? I cleared my throat, my voice barely steady as I said, “Hugh, can we talk?”

Ryan, always the joker, raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh, bedroom conversation time? I’m sure nothing serious, right?” His tone was light, teasing, but I barely registered it. My heart was too heavy, too full of what I had to say.

Hugh noticed my tone and immediately stood up, his smile fading into concern. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice gentle as he approached me.

I managed to smile, but it felt fragile, like glass about to break. “Can we talk in the bedroom?” I repeated, trying to keep my nerves in check.

Ryan chuckled as he leaned back on the couch. “Sure, just leave the door open so I can hear all the juicy details!”

Hugh shot him a look but followed me into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. As soon as we were alone, I felt the full weight of what I was about to say, and it hit me like a wave.

I started pacing, my mind racing, words tumbling out of my mouth without making sense. “You know I've been feeling weird for a while now.. and I thought it was from drinking too much last night and because if my period but it wasn’t, and now I don’t know how to say this, I-”

“Y/n.” Hugh interrupted, his voice calm but full of concern. He stepped closer, his hands gently resting on my arms to still me. “Hey, you’re scaring me. Just tell me. What’s going on?”

I met his gaze, my heart pounding. I took a deep breath, feeling the tears start to sting the back of my eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

The room fell into an almost deafening silence as Hugh stared at me, his expression unreadable at first. My stomach flipped, unsure of what he would say, how he would react. Seconds ticked by, feeling like an eternity. Was he shocked? Was he upset?

Then, slowly, his face broke into the widest smile I had ever seen. “Wait… you’re pregnant? You’re serious?”

I nodded, biting my lip, feeling my own emotions teetering on the edge. His hands moved from my arms to my waist, and before I knew it, he was lifting me off the ground, swirling me around in a tight circle. I laughed, clinging to him as he spun us around.

“Oh my God!” he exclaimed, still holding me tightly. “We’re having a baby!” His voice was filled with pure joy, and my heart soared.

“Hugh!” I laughed, trying to catch my breath as he set me back on my feet, both of us giddy with happiness. “I can’t believe this is real.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “You’re amazing.” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “This is the best news I’ve ever heard. We’re going to have a baby.” His eyes were shining, and I could see how much this meant to him, how deeply it touched him.

I felt the sob building in my chest and buried my face against his chest, my body trembling as I cried.

A sudden realization hit me like a ton of bricks. My body tensed as the memory of last night's party flooded back - how much I had drunk, how wild everything had been. My breath caught in my throat, and I pulled back, staring up at Hugh with wide, panicked eyes.

"Oh my God, Hugh!" I whispered, my voice shaky. "I-I was drinking. I got wasted last night, and I’m pregnant! What if I hurt the baby? What if- "

“Hey, hey, love.” Hugh interrupted gently, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes full of warmth and reassurance. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“But- ” I started, my chest tightening with anxiety. "What if something’s wrong? I should have been more careful, but I didn’t even think- "

“Shh..” he soothed, pulling me even closer. His voice was soft but firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was one night, and the baby is going to be fine. We’ll see the doctor, and everything will be okay. You’re healthy, and the baby will be, too.”

I blinked up at him, still feeling that knot of fear twisting in my stomach. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I love you so much.” he murmured, his lips pressing softly against my forehead. “I can’t believe it.”

“I love you too.” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know how you’d react. I was so nervous.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes still shining with unshed tears as he kissed me softly, tenderly, over and over. “How could I not be happy?” he whispered. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted with you.”

I smiled through my tears, my heart swelling with love for him. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing through my hair. “But we’re in this together, always.”

After a moment, he pulled me back just enough to look into my eyes. “Wait... is this why Blake went out earlier? To get a test?”

I nodded, laughing softly. “Yeah, she knew I needed to find out.”

Hugh chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to thank her later!”

I wiped at my face, feeling lighter, freer than I had in hours. “We should tell Ryan and Blake.” I said softly.

Hugh smiled, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “Yeah, let’s tell them.”

We called out to Ryan and Blake, who came into the bedroom looking curious. Ryan, as always, was already grinning, clearly suspicious that something was up.

“Alright, what’s the big secret?” Ryan asked, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “You two have been waaaay too quiet!”

Hugh and I exchanged a look, and then I took a deep breath before saying, “We have some news... I’m pregnant!”

Ryan’s eyes widened for a second, and then that trademark grin of his spread across his face. “Well damn, Hugh, looks like you’ve got pretty good aim!”

Blake slapped his arm, but she was laughing, tears already welling up in her eyes. “Ryan, stop it!” she scolded, though her smile was just as wide.

Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. “Seriously, though, congrats, you two. That’s incredible!” He pulled Hugh into a hug, then turned to me, his expression softening. “You’re gonna be amazing at this.”

Blake immediately rushed to hug me, her voice quiet and full of emotion. “I’m so happy for you! And I'm so proud of you!” she whispered. “This is huge.”

I smiled, hugging her back tightly. “Thank you, Blake. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As we all sat down, the conversation naturally shifted to the baby, to the future. Hugh held my hand the entire time, his thumb brushing back and forth over my skin as we talked about doctor’s appointments, ultrasounds, and everything that was to come. Through it all, I felt Hugh’s love and excitement radiating from him. And I knew, without a doubt, that everything would be okay. We were going to be a family.

---------------------------------------------------

@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sylviavf @bethexo07 @rachb629 @chronicallybubbly @marvelgirlie-4

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#hugh jackman #wolverine #hugh jackman x you #marvel #x men #hugh #jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman imagines #fluff #blake lively #ryan reynolds #logan howlett #hugh jackedman #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #party

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seaslugfanclub · 14 days ago

Note

Heyyy !!! Love your writtings and drawings !! You Rock !! And I was really curious about your thoughts on Y/N and Ratigan's relationship! Like how Ratigan grew to like them and all- I have a funny headbanging that the park Attendant managed to save him from Lucifer the cat one time XD

Ratigan and (Y/N)’s First Introduction

————————————————————————

Being in the Disney parks is overwhelming enough, but try being less than a foot tall.

Oh sure, Disney can bring all of these fictional characters to reality, but guess it was too much work for them to size up the smaller characters!

Ratigan is not having a good time. Just like his entire life, he’s had to fight tooth and nail for even a modicum of respect. Now he has to fight even harder to get a room to himself.

Disney didn’t think that far ahead about having a rodent sized villain living amongst the others. For the first few weeks of Ratigan new existence, he had to rely on his extensive talents in order to carve out a small space for himself in the villains breakout room

Oh, how humiliating it was to sleep behind a wall socket like some common vermin!!

And the food situation! It’s nearly impossible to get access to the fridge, and the cabinets have nothing that could even begin to match his expensive tastes.

Not to mention the other villains less than stellar reactions to seeing a ra- ahem- a mouse in their living area

Most of the female villains would screech at the sight of him, jumping onto chairs and demanding for the male villains to kill him.

Yes… it certainly hasn’t been all champagne and caviar…

Ratigans new life only began to improve after his less than respectable meeting with the park attendant (Y/N)

————————————————————————

“(Y/N).”

The park attendant wiped off their brow, setting down a box full of spare costumes to turn towards the intimidating woman in the doorway.

“Oh, good afternoon Lady Tremaine. How’re you doing?”

Tremaine didn’t bother with the pleasantries,

“I have not seen Lucifer since breakfast. Would you have any idea where the little creature is?”

(Y/N) shook their head, “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Well I have matters to attend to soon, and I need Lucifer with me. Find him.”

With nothing but a small grimace, Lady Tremaine left, her shoes tapping sharply against the linoleum tiles of the hallway.

“…..ok…”

(Y/N) shuffled in place for a moment, beginning to think of the cats usual whereabouts.

————————————————————————

“Luci!! C’mon baby! *pst pst pst*

(Y/N) shook a bag of Lucifer’s dry food, hoping the sound would lure the chunky cat out of hiding.

They had been searching for a good 15 minutes without any sign of the feline, and (Y/N) was beginning to feel an anxious flutter in their chest.

Turning up empty handed to Lady Tremaine was not an option.

(Y/N)’s search had lead them to a quieter wing of the villains building, this area mainly being used for storage and management meetings. The park attendant stopped for a moment, hoping to hear the sound of little paws, before going back to shaking the dry food.

“*pst pst pst pst pst* C’mon Luci, your mama’s looking for—” (Y/N) paused, faint scuffling could be heard further down the hall.

Finally!

(Y/N) followed the sound, approaching one of the storage rooms at the end of the hallway, but the closer they got to the scuffling, something else could be heard.

….Yelling?

The door was already slightly ajar when (Y/N) fully pushed their way into the room, causing two pairs of eyes to meet them.

In the back of the room, amongst filing cabinets and schedules of years past was Lady Tremaine’s cat, Lucifer, who’s claws were primed and at the ready… and the heaving body of Professor Ratigan pressed into a corner.

From the look on both of their faces, (Y/N) walked in on something intense, although Lucifer’s expression was one of disappointment while the professors was one of quiet relief.

“LUCIFER—The hell are you doing!?!!! Go, your mama’s been looking for you!” (Y/N) yelled at the cat, who seemed physically pained to leave the rodent alone. Reluctantly, Lucifer trudged pass the park attendant, who was still admonishing him.

“Like you’re not fed enough! What, Where you dropped as a kitten!?”

Once (Y/N) saw Lucifer’s tail disappear around the corner, they immediately turned their attention towards the still cornered Ratigan.

“Professor, are you alright!? I am so. sorry.”

They dropped the bag of cat food to rush towards the rodent, slamming down onto their knees as their eyes flitted over Ratigans form.

His chest was rapidly going up and down, Ratigan obviously still trying to catch his breath. His usually slicked back hair was now falling in front of his face as he stared up at (Y/N).

He seems frazzled, but thankfully free of any scratches or missing appendages.

“…alright?” Ratigan heaved after a few moments of silence, “You asked if I’m alright? OH YOU MENTALLY DEFECTIVE WRETCH, HOW ON EARTH COULD I EVER BE A L R I G H T???”

(Y/N) flinched at the sudden increase of volume, staring down at the now manic looking rodent in shock.

“Ever since I’ve been brought to this demented park, I’ve been nothing but humiliated and scorned! Forced to fend for myself like the common vermin because YOU PEOPLE didn’t have an iota of sense that taking me from the grave would cause me to live amongst GIANTS”

Ratigan began pacing, his eyes wild as he continued,

“I have had to scrounge and scrap to continue this miserable existence, reduced to living off of stale crackers and tap water, to lay my head beneath electrical wires. I’ve been forced to scavenge in these back rooms for supplies since every employee runs off at the sight of me before I can even open my mouth for the simplest of requests. Oh! And let’s not forget me being preyed upon by that devil in feline form! I’ve been hunted by that beast for the past few hours, nearly meeting my second demise! Left alone to die like a cretin, like I’m NOTHING. DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHO I USED TO BE? I HAVE NOTHING NOW. NOTHING.”

Finally his tiny body gave out, Ratigan collapsing to the carpet dramatically, arm covering his eyes.

“Oh…I’d have been better off a bloated corpse in the Thames.”

(Y/N) couldn’t find any words, watching helplessly as Ratigan sprawled across the floor. Their throat felt tight.

They’d only been hired several months ago, and they’ve only just begun getting along with a few Villains. (Y/N) rarely saw Professor Ratigan, and when they did they reasoned that he had the same provisions that the other smaller Disney rodents had.

When (Y/N) first arrived, they got to meet Ms. Bianca and Mr. Bernard in front of their tiny apartment styled home, which was built into one of the walls of the Disney Protagonist’s building. During the quick introduction, it seemed that the company had thought of everything the couple could’ve needed.

Guess the same quality of service didn’t apply to villains…

(Y/N) sat in silence for a few minutes, allowing Ratigans words to fully sink in, before finally speaking up.

“I didn’t— …..I’m sorry.”

Ratigan didn’t lift his arm from his eyes, “Please. Spare me your pity, human.”

“Oh please, don’t start with that— I’m sorry that you’ve been screwed over, I wasn’t aware that the company’s been this irresponsible.”

Slowly, (Y/N) reached out their hand, palm open in offering,

“I’m still pretty new here, but I think I’ve got a way to pull a few strings…”

Finally lifting his arm, Ratigan looked up at the park attendant. The scent of their sincerity almost nauseating, but what else did he have to lose?

Taking (Y/N)s palm as an invitation, he lifted himself off the carpet and onto (Y/N)s hand.

Oh, how low he’s stooped.

————————————————————————

Turns out (Y/N)’s “few strings�� was the one of the villains that they had managed to befriend. With Ratigan in hand, (Y/N) went all the way to the other side of the building to the villains lounge, where they explained the professors dilemma to a very confused Hades, asking for his help.

As distrustful as Ratigan was around humans, he could appreciate this park attendants persuasiveness through subtle manipulation and use of accumulated favors.

Hades, who’s always been a fan of things creepy and crawly, (and also wanted to earn some brownie points with (Y/N) ) agreed to help their little charity case

Half an hour later Ratigan still sat in (Y/N)’s hands, looking up at the now nervous park attendant as they fidgeted in place, staring at the door of their managers office.

After a few minutes and some smoke leaking from underneath the doorway, a very pleased Hades opened the door. The god strolled up to (Y/N), patting them on the back and commenting how “he warmed him up for you” and was about to leave before acknowledging Ratigan in their palm.

“Ya’ better be grateful, tiny. You’ve found the only person in this park who gives a shit about you.”

Just as Ratigan was about to demand an explanation on what (Y/N) was planning, the park attendant strode into the office. Where the pair met eyes with a very pale manager.

The previous anxiousness on (Y/N)s face instantly melted into professionalism, introducing themselves, then placed Ratigan on the managers desk and asking him to share his current quality of life with the sweating man before him.

One slightly confused but melodramatic explanation later, (Y/N) went on to say how “disturbing” it was to see this type of mistreatment in a company who had bragged about the quality of their intellectual properties well being, and that it would be “unfortunate if word about Disneys beloved characters being mistreated got out to the general public, especially those protesting Disneys new holographic AI.”

(Y/N) went on to virtually demand that the company recorrect this oversight, and give Ratigan a fully furnished living space and amenity’s just like the other mice in the park.

The office was dead silent once (Y/N) had finished speaking.

The manager dabbed the sweat from his forehead, cleared his throat, and nodded. The pasty man tried to come up with excuses for the company before conceding, agreeing with (Y/N)s “request” and apologizing to Ratigan, who for once in his life was speechless.

(Y/N) and Ratigan left the managers office with the promise of Ratigans new home being fully constructed within two months, and full permission to take any food/ rodent sized items from the protagonists building.

Ratigan, who was still dazed with the sudden change of luck, was dropped off in the Villains lounge. (Y/N) promising to pick up some fresh food and maybe a rodents sized bed from the “good guys place” before running out of the room.

It wouldn’t be until months later that he’d fully express his gratitude…. But for now, he admitted , he is lucky that he found the one person in this park who gave a shit him.

———————————————————————

Hope this answers your request! I thought it’s be nice to learn how Ratigan and (Y/N) first met!

I’ll definitely make another post about their friendship and more fluff, but how could I resist writing some angst? 😭

#disney villains #self insert #disney imagine #disney x reader #disney hades #ratigan x reader #padraic ratigan #the great mouse detective #Hades is y/n’s scary guard dog

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

LITTLE DEATHS (IX)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER X

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body image issues, food issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, hurt/comfort, soft!Nikto, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wake up the next morning in the silk sheets of your hotel bedroom, in nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear. Your mind is sluggish and, between flashes of electricity up your thighs, the entire night comes back in slow images as you groan into the pillow.

A quick rush of a coat to cover ripped laces, the scream of sirens, Nikto arguing with authorities before you’re both released.

It was a play of luck that you explained away the snapped wrist as a simple instance of Nikto being some white knight—he’d kept you safe, you’d said. The host had been forcing himself on you; it could be seen on the cameras. Paired with his service record and a call from your investigators, they’d let you go without any further trouble.

Today, the small headache from the champagne was only a dull sting in the back of your skull; you hadn’t been drunk—hadn’t gotten to that point, anyway.

Eyes starting at the far wall, a heat builds and builds on your face as the minutes pass.

“Did we really…” you trail off in a whisper, hand coming up to your face as you roll onto your back and stifle a loud sound of exasperation, lips mouthing out, “Fuck.”

Nikto had left you shaking on his fingers in a damn storage room. Twice.

Your lips thin, legs caught in the sheets. You weren’t even awake enough to understand the potential consequences—not only the intimate encounter, but the repercussions of not sleeping with Oriel would be swift and fierce.

Never mind the broken bone.

The sharp knife of that moment is a deadly thing, it digs deep into you until your eyes are watering. That desperation in the storage room—the things you said were true. You’d silenced your phone last night because you knew the reaction would be instant; undeniable. Even now, you shift over and slide your hand over it on the side table, only to pause and take a deep breath before turning it on.

A sudden barrage of missed calls and texts slam into your ears before you slap the device back down and turn it off with fast fingers.

Your eyes close tightly, flopping back down and covering your eyes. It was instinctual the way your heart started running from you—the fear seeping back in.

They’re going to fire me, you think, hands shaking. They’re going to throw me out.

Through the heavy understanding, through the ideas you have to try and salvage this, you pause only when something makes your nose twitch. Hesitating, your hands slip from your face slowly, eyelids peeling back a millimeter at a time. Staring at the gray ceiling, your brows pull back to their normal resting point as your face goes blank.

What is that? Palms going to the mattress, you sit up slowly and sniff. It was dough, maybe? Something sweet and toasted.

Shifting, your feet connect with the cold floor, and you stand with a grunt, a tiny ache in the middle of your abdomen that makes your face heat and your hands rub at the back of your neck. A part of you was nervous more about what was outside of your door than what was in your phone—Nikto.

How would this go? Would he ignore the entire thing? Ignore you?

“He doesn’t run from things,” you mutter aloud, walking and stepping on the torn laces of your dress at the foot of the bed. Your hands grasp one of the bags in your room, not caring to check the rest of the contents before you sift through and drag out a pair of dark sweatpants.

Moving into them, the waistband is large, just as the legs are, but you’re too preoccupied to understand the way you’ve slipped into Nikto’s pants before you’re already at the door. Hands shaking over the handle, your fingers run the smooth metal before you shake your head and huff.

Walking out, the scent of fresh pancakes makes itself known as you blink at the scene in front of you. Trying to understand if you were actually awake, or if this was still some dream in the airyness of your mind. The stuttering of your heart feels real.

Nikto was shirtless.

Shirtless, making breakfast.

Your mouth is somewhat agape as you stare, struck down to a statue in the doorway as your eyelids flutter. Again, that bear tattoo writhes as the expansive muscle moves and twitches with work—Nikto’s front facing the pan that he works a spatula through. All of the ingredients are left on the counter, bought by him or already in the luxurious cabinets for your pleasure, you don’t know; flour, milk, among the others. Jams and honey.

You don’t know how long you stand there, fighting between your desire to run your hands over his bare skin and the respectful sense you know you need to keep. It’s enough time for him to slap one more scoop of dough into the sizzling pan and pass the done pancake to the side where one more rests, steaming.

You hadn’t thought your words meant that much to him.

Clearing your throat in shock, you see him glance over his shoulder swiftly. A bead of silence.

“Come. Eat,” is what he says—no emotion heard in the voice, though you didn’t expect anything less. His pale eyes dart down you, and after a small break in the air, he chuckles. “Thief, yes?”

“What?” Your brows crease. “I didn’t…” You look down and pause. It was fairly obvious that the pants didn’t belong to you. Your lips flattened, and your eyes flinched closed in embarrassment. “I must have gone through the wrong bag.”

Turning back, you hear a call from the Russian before you can disappear like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“I don’t wear them. I do not mind.” There's low electricity in the air. He doesn’t know how to go about this either.

Sighing, you shrug and nod, shifting back so you can walk to the kitchen counter and stuff your hands into your pockets. Leaning your hip to the corner, you fight the clamminess of your hands. The sweatpants pool at your ankles as your mouth opens.

“Pancakes?” You ask lowly, glancing at him.

He’s still in that balaclava, and his cargos are loose around his hips before being stuffed into dark boots that you’d never see him without.

“With jam,” Nikto grunts. “You will like them.”

You push out a tiny laugh. “I’ve had pancakes before, Nikto. I’m pretty sure most people have.”

“How would we know, hm?” Pale eyes narrow on yours, but it isn’t hostile. Nikto grumbles, moving the pan before he motions with a finger. “Those are done.”

You glance over at the pile and sigh, taking the plate with the two already done pancakes on it and padding over to grab the jam. Your eyes move down the label to find out which one it exactly is—gray isn’t exactly a large help—and open the sealed top with a tiny release of pressure.

Getting fat.

You pause, one hand holding the top and the other the glass jar; eyes blank, you stare at the plate with a steadily sinking heart. Clearing your throat, you move a hand and twist the top back on, placing the jam down and shifting to grab a fork instead.

“Do you think that the investigators will call with any updates—”

“Eat,” Nikto interrupts firmly from behind, back to back.

Your face is tight, fingers tapping the counter. There’s a tension of something between you two, but you can’t name it. Not yet. But it’s there, like a blade cutting through a corset, it’s there. It’s what got you out of bed today, it’s what got Nikto to push himself to sleep shirtless for the first time in years. The possibility of…something. Unseen, you nod and take the food—moving away from the kitchen and sitting down on the couch, you carefully dig into breakfast and shift a dry forkful into your mouth.

Eyes closed, your head slightly bows forward as you chew.

It was no secret that you were quiet today, and Nikto didn’t have to be as sharp-eyed as he was to notice. By now you would have teased him about the effort for the food, or even spoken about the mattress you slept on, Nikto had hypothesized. But it was just…silent.

Nothing.

In the kitchen, the Russian’s brows crease, lips pulling. He huffs, rolling his shoulders as his bones crack.

He’d been up last night—for a long while—doing all the things he said he would until he had the clarity to understand hours later, that everything was a million times more complicated now that he knew the truth about this ‘trip’.

And he had to know all of it.

Nikto, truth be told, was a bit quiet himself; more than he usually was. He continued with breakfast in silence, listening to the sound of your fork tapping the plate as his brain fought with itself. The Russian’s mind told him to act like that hadn’t happened between the two of you—it was unprofessional, wrong down to the core. You were his charge, and he hadn’t hesitated for more than a second before he’d ripped open your dress and played with you like you were his own.

Why? Why was he so enamored by you? It didn’t make any sense. No one had ever mattered this much to him—it was absurd.

But whatever dead part of his heart that had come back to beat again said that ignoring this would be cruel to you; if all others in your life were, that was one thing he would not be. At least to you.

Nikto grunts under his breath and grabs his plate, stacked with six pancakes, before turning, grasping the jam with firm fingers, and heaping it on top. Blinking across to you, he pauses at your closed eyes—the dip of your head. Not only was there still food on your plate but it was set down on the coffee table, resting stationary.

You couldn’t possibly be done already.

“Not good?” He asks, voice gruff.

You shake your head. “No, Nikto, they were perfect. I’m just not that hungry this morning.” Pale blue eyes stare, blinking slowly.

He didn’t know what to do.

Looking down at his breakfast, Nikto clenches his jaw. Grasping his plate and his utensil he walks over before he sits beside you, sinking the cushions and shuffling aside the blanket he’d had last night. When you look over at him, confused, he doesn’t utter a word, before his free hand sneaks up and hooks under his balaclava.

It’s a moment, he knows, a moment of hesitation that instinctually tightens his muscles, stopping him with a shake of his fingers. And then, as he usually does, he forces himself through it.

Slipping the fabric up to his nose, you stare openly at the strong jaw that comes to light, as well as the unspoken horror of scars. It isn’t even a minute before the Russian leans back with a grunt, and spreads his feet until his knee knocks yours before he shoves the first of his pancakes into his mouth with muffled chewing.

Eyes darting away, you stare at your own feet tightly.

Silence settles.

“You don’t have to do that,” you whisper.

“Да,” his words are grumbled, even if you can’t see it, his face is beginning to burn. Heavy memories coming back. He won’t stay long like this—he can’t. It hurts. “I do not.”

You sigh, hands moving up to rub along your face, cupping at it until all the whiteness of the hotel is hidden from your gaze. It wasn’t hard to feel him passing glances.

Shaking your head, your hands fall, and you move to mirror his own position—back leaning and legs kicking out, except yours go to rest on the table next to your plate.

“I think a part of me didn’t expect you to actually be here,” you say, not looking at him. “I’m not used to having to deal with…” your lips halt themselves, looking for words. “After.”

No one ever stayed. Not anyone that mattered.

Nikto’s clinking fork pauses, stuttering on its course. He licks his lips, tasting the sweetness of jam. He continues to watch you as you continue on beside him, bare skin brushing—those large biceps caressing yours.

“I don’t want things to be awkward. If you can’t do your job without something feeling off anymore, I would understand if you wanted to leave. I’m sure my mother can get another operator from KorTac to take me on, she already had two from before that might still be available. I know last night was a lot. I don’t want you to feel…pressured, I guess. That was never my intention.”

He lets you finish, sensing you need to get some things off of your chest. When had he become so soft to this? To you? He was losing his backbone here—losing that edge that kept him…him.

Or was that ever him in the first place?

“I will not leave,” Nikto speaks slowly, lips moving every scar that lives there. “We are not ‘feeling off’. No one will look after you like us, and so no one will take our place until this stalker is either taken away or in ground.”

“And the awkward part?” You ask, glancing over, getting caught by long cuts and fissures.

“We will deal,” Nikto’s chest rumbles, and you believe falling asleep to that sound would stop your nightmares altogether. “There are worse things than that, yes?”

You huff a laugh. “I guess.” A second later, you lightly bump your elbow into his side. “You’re better at this kind of stuff than I’d thought you’d be.”

Dark brows furrow.

“I am speaking truth. Nothing more.”

“Mhm,” your lips carefully peel in a tiny smile. “Sure, Big Guy.”

Nikto scoffs, rolling his eyes before he takes down more of his breakfast. He glances over to see you peeking at his old insignia tattoo—the one on his shoulder. It was strange to him, how you took so much more interest in his ink than the scars; he’d been thinking about it last night.

It was against your nature to not ask about them, and yet…you had. No one had ever not asked about the scars. But, hm, Nikto’s eyes shimmer, it only made his chest swell when you chose not to. As if you understood the sanctity of them—the importance.

That was something that he just wasn’t ready to speak about yet.

“You like it?” He speaks.

You blink quickly, looking back up in an instant. There was no use hiding it.

“What is it?” You ask him, glancing back down at the tattoo and tilting your head at it.

The image was of some sort of crest—a two-headed bird wearing crowns; holding items in their claws with a, smaller, image set into the middle. A man on horseback, spearing a dragon.

“FSB crest.” Nikto’s voice goes lower, more under the breath than previously. “Reminder of service.”

“Oh,” you mutter. “What are the colors?”

He hums. “Red, gold. Little silver. Mine is just black ink, though. Did not go back for second session.”

“I’ve thought of getting tattoos before,” you confess, moving out a slow hand to trace the outline in his flesh. You notice him still somewhat at your dragging nails, lips parting softly. “AMA would never go for it, but I’ve still wondered what it would be like.”

Nikto licks his lips, letting you feel him as he side-eyes you. His muscles soften as your heat seeps in, tingling blood under his epidermis.

“What kind?”

“A bird, I suppose,” you hum. “I think they’re lovely.”

Nikto tilts his head, but the questions can no longer sit in the back of his throat. “You continue to be their pawn. Why? I can make no sense of it, Seraph. You speak of yourself as if you are nothing.”

“I might not be anymore after last night,” you whisper, dropping your hand from Nikto’s flesh. Your eyes close; a heavy sigh on your lips. “I know it isn’t healthy, I know that. I know it’s wrong, and vile, and disgusting—but you have to hear me out when I tell you that the only thing I have is my looks—”

“That is a lie.” Nikto snarls, glaring over at your face as his plate hits the table. “Why do you say that? You are smart, Seraph, anyone with sense can see it. You are kind; good.” The Russian curses, repeating. “You are good.”

“AMA needs investments,” your voice is muffled. “I’m not the only one that has to do things like this. I’m not special.”

The man grinds out, “It does not matter if a million go through it—you are here with us. It is our job to keep you safe now. It is special to me.”

“From a stalker,” you argue, body starting to go rigid at the intensity of the conversation. You didn’t like talking about this.

“From any threat,” Nikto barks. Face close to yours and his hard, crooked nose brushing skin. “Is this not a threat to you?”

You stare into his eyes, and it’s an expression he can’t recall you having. It makes him nervous—nervous for you in a way that was similar to when you’d disappeared from his sight. It was dead. Dead how his eyes would get on the bad days—when he couldn’t differentiate between himself and his body; what had really happened and what hadn’t.

You were exhausted, and you didn’t even see it.

“You need sleep,” he drops the hard tone immediately, eyes snapping over your face in fast jerks. “You need rest. Now.”

“I’m not tired.” Pale eyes bore through you, and you relent softly. “...I don’t want any more nightmares.” Your lips open and close. “They scare me because I can’t remember them, but I know something bad happened.”

Fingers come up and brush your cheek, leaving your lips flattening before the tears can make themselves known to him.

There was just so much going on.

The stalker, now AMA and potential repercussions? You thought if you had one thing, you had your job—trials and exploitations all, but you still had that. You still had something. Now you might not even have a home to go back to.

Bare arms shift, looping around you. With a roaming of skin on skin, Nikto bundles you in his arms and lifts, legs taking your weight. He moves you as your head rests burrowed into his neck—forehead to the long cut that loops around the side of his throat to the front. That one really made you shiver; the thought of it—the error he must have felt. Without thinking, you lay a tiny kiss on the skin, and Nikto’s legs only stutter once before he pushes open the bedroom door.

Setting you down on the bed, he mumbles into your scalp before he pulls away, moving his balaclava back down with firm fingers. “What can I do?”

Your body shifts, clothed in borrowed pants and the weight of a million realities. You wished you could see the color of his eyes—those creased things that watch you so closely; the marring of the different shades of his scars.

You wished you could pick up the courage to ask him if you were his soulmate, at the very least. The hunch was dimming, taking a backburner the longer it stayed in your mind. Surely he would say something by now? Right? With how he was, you expected Nikto to be reserved about it, but now…

Now your hope was drowning itself.

You wished you weren’t damaged goods.

“Sit with me?” Your weak voice quivers, but no tears fall.

Nikto stares, head tilting slowly as his now re-hidden face is a mystery. “Да. Yes.” It’s so tiny that the words are almost lost.

So, he shifts into bed after placing his boots neatly near the bedframe, letting you scoot over as he grasps the end of the covers and moves to have his back connected to the headboard. With a large pull, the fabric slides over your body and levels at his abdomen, your head slightly above it, until scarred fingers grasp and push it down a bit.

For a bit, a heavy silence settles between the two of you. You don’t touch, you don’t talk. It’s the sound of beating hearts and rabid minds, thinking over thoughts that only serve to make things worse the longer their dark fingers are around both of your throats.

“Come,” Nikto murmurs.

Your body instantly connects to his, hands grasping into his pants and head nuzzling his thigh. His grip finds your head, running itself over it until it ends at your shoulder and pulls you tighter to him.

“Sleep. No nightmares, hm?” He glances down, trying to push a fractured joke. “We will scare them off.”

Your broken chuckle makes his chest tighten, and pale eyes avoid looking down at you for fear he’ll realize how addictive it is to have your flesh on his—the sensation of touch that was becoming a need. When was the last time he’d been relied on like this? Never, he thinks.

To be protection in the barest sense.

A boy keeping away nightmares for a girl that lays in his lap.

No weapons, no orders. Only hands and sagging bodies, and a care that was infecting him like venom—injected into his bloodstream by white fangs. It leveled out, coating him. He wanted you to be safe, and it wasn’t just because it was his job. It was because he couldn’t imagine seeing you in pain like this—in a slow death of the mind until the body rotted away with it.

It wasn’t right to him, and he couldn’t describe it as anything other than blasphemy. Sacrilege. Nikto didn’t have the words; maybe he never would. All that he knew was that he would kill millions to never see you harmed. He would rot in the deepest part of hell willingly, go through darkness and fire—but none of it could touch you. Not a wisp of flame; not an idea of torture.

You were good.

“Why do you care so much,” you whisper before you fall asleep, curious even as your eyelids are fighting to stay down.

Nikto has not taken his eyes off you. He was always honest, but this truth scares him more than any other. The nagging in the back of his skull.

“I…do not know.”

You were too good for this.

So even when he gets that text message on his phone when you’re fully sleeping, even when he shifts it out of his pocket and sees the unknown number, Nikto is not going to wake you. He’s not going to shake your head as he massages the scar that lives there, his thumb taking in the familiar bumps and dips—the trauma it caused so similar to his own.

Nikto will not tell you of the sinking in his chest.

The guard accepts that little death in his heart when he sees that image of the both of you in the storage room. He accepts the little death when he sees your tightly closed eyes from over his own shoulder, hands digging into his one-size-too-small suit. The obvious actions taking place that are still seared into his mind hours later.

He accepts the little death of the caption, all in Russian but never more vile in his mind.

‘I know what you did.’

And he accepts that this stranger's death will not be so little if he ever gets his hands on him.

TAGS:

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giuseppe-yuki · 4 months ago

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imagine poor bono and mercedes staff, when mercedes makes a ball call or something happens that involves kimi and a tiger glaring whilst yawning in the background or coming over and pushing her face into the screen to see better whilst bono is sweating she is satisfied

i can imagine that 😭

since kimi’s girlfriend is super shy in her human form, she feels way more confident lounging around in the tyre storage room in her tiger form. while it may seem that she is unbothered, rolling around on her back, yawning, and pawing at the stacks of softs, she’s still definitely alert mentally and paying attention to everything going on track. you can bet your whole life that after just one incident involving kimi almost losing a podium finish due to a bad tyre call, everybody is on their best behavior. the engineers still remember that day like the back of their hand. kimi’s engineer had nearly made kimi pit for slicks even though there was a full inch of water on the ground outside. she had nosed her way through the crowd of engineers and stared kimi’s engineer’s down until he changed his mind for wets last second, but they had already wasted a few precious seconds switching out the tire compounds. all the merc employees swear on their life that kimi’s tiger almost mauled someone that day, but kimi never believed them. standing on the podium, drenched in champagne, he truly believed his girlfriend, even in tiger form, would never hurt a fly, right?

(wrong! you would rip off just about anyone’s arm if they wronged your precious kimi)

#anais talks🎙#kimi antonelli x reader

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

Title: Something Borrowed.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (+Hisoka).

Word Count: 1.5k.

TW: Implied Non//Con, Kidnapping, Psychological/Physical Abuse, and Manipulation.

The house was easy enough to find.

It was the only one for miles. A mansion, modern and well-maintained, tucked so far into the wilderness that the soft glow of the nearest city was barely visible in the distance. Chrollo lingered on the steps leading up to the main doorway, staring up at the flagstone archway before glancing down toward the note in his hand. Its contents were concise, almost charming in their simplicity; ‘borrowed something, pick up whenever, xoxo’, followed by a scrawled address and a familiar lipstick stain in place of a proper signature. He didn’t trust Hisoka, not like he trusted the other thieves, but if there was ever a place to be betrayed, this would serve well enough.

The door was unlocked, but he still took care to shoulder it open slowly, Bandit’s Secret tucked under his arm and his paranoia seeking out falling guillotine blades or lurking snares triggered by his entry. When no daggers or playing cards came flying towards his head, he proceeded onward, unsurprised and only a touch disappointed. Hisoka wasn’t the type to lay traps. His goal was to lure the object of his affection into his arena, to bring those he thought worthy of challenging him within arm’s length. Eliminating his suitors before they ever reached his den would only defeat the purpose.

The mansion’s interior was a suitable match to its outer face. The design was new-age, industrial, the color pallet limited to that of an oversaturated white and the rich brown of recently varnished mahogany. What little furniture there was had been thrown into a state of disarray – couches overturned, tables littered with empty wrappers and splayed magazines, broken glass sprayed across the floor and wine painted into everything that could hold a stain. He made his way through the chaos with a kind of voyeuristic revulsion, attempting not to linger on the heap of clothes discarded on the edge of the neon-lit pool, the spots of blood left splattered across a marble countertop.

On some misplaced instinct, he paused as he passed the door to one of many unremarkable storage closets – significant only in the fact that Chrollo, with his nen-honed senses, thought to stop next to it. With some reluctance, he twisted the knob and pulled the door open, finding the bodies of three men; one dressed in a cheap suit, the other two in bullet-proof vests, all donning identical slit throats and glassy eyes. They’d been killed that day, evidently. Sometime in the last few hours, if the wet blood still drying on their chests was any indication. He could imagine you, rooting through the wine cabinet only a breath away, blissfully unaware that you were standing next to such carnage. That was for the best. You’d never taken well to carnage, and he’d hate for such distress to be inflicted on you by any hands but his own.

With the first floor scouted, he proceeded to the second. He found you in the master bedroom, sprawled out on the center of a king-sized mattress, stripped bare save for the white sheet loosely wrapped around you. Another half-emptied champagne bottle sat precarious ly on the bedside table, and you looked as if you’d doused yourself in water and only just begun to dry – your hair still partially damp and clinging to your skin. One of your wrists had been handcuffed to the lowest bar of the headboard, a long red cord wrapped in a deceivingly intricate pattern over your chest, but you didn’t seem terribly concerned about your bondage. Granted, you probably weren’t in a state to be worried about much of anything.

It was a strange feeling. Not exactly anger, but a different sort of rage – tight and slippery and knotted, softened by his amusement but, in the same breath, complicated by his affection for you, his hesitance to see you used to fulfill someone else’s whims. He wanted to hurt Hisoka, to maim him so severely that he had only the strength left to beg for mercy. He wanted to shake his hand, to congratulate him on a game well played and offer him a reward that Chrollo, admittedly, hadn’t thought of yet. He wanted to bend at the waist and wretch until whatever was lodged in his throat had been pulled free. He wanted to drive a knife into your throat and drag until he hit—

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. His attention was drawn to the doorway of an adjoining bathroom, where Hisoka stood, a towel around his waist and a cloying smirk already playing at his lips. Unlike you, he was clearly still in a state of semi-coherency, his posture straight and his stare intent, as if he expected something more from Chrollo than what he’d already taken. “Finally,” he said, his tone airy and dripping with self-satisfaction. “I thought you’d decided not to join us.”

Chrollo didn’t respond, only watching as Hisoka came to sit on the edge of your mattress. His towel was allowed to fall away, his hand drifting to your cheek, where you nuzzled into his palm. On reflex, his gaze narrowed, Bandit’s Secret falling into the palm of his hand, but Hisoka only laughed. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’ve kept our little playdate strictly above the belt.” He let his head lull to the side. “Much to this one’s disappointment. You have to stop neglecting the poor thing – it was all I could do to stave them off.”

Another strange irk, this one more violent than the last. His lips parted, but before he could speak, your eyes were flickering open, your lips pulling into a sleep-addled grin as you saw Hisoka above you. “Is it time to…” You trailed off, fading into a yawn as your hazy attention drifted elsewhere, towards the foot of your bed. You almost seemed unable to process him for a long, idle moment before you collapsed back into reality – your expression snapping from one of confusion to utter horror, your unrestrained hand shooting upward to clutch at Hisoka’s shirt. “Chro— He’s—”

Hisoka cut you off. “I know, dear.”

“Why aren’t you—”

“Because I invited him.” He chose to put you out of your misery sooner rather than later, pulling away from you and pushing himself to his feet. “The more the merrier, right? I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted Chrollo to feel left out.”

You looked at Hisoka like a kicked puppy, desperate to know why your master would be so cruel. A half-hearted attempt was made to sit up, but your arm caught your shackles, jerking you back down just as quickly. You cursed under your breath, groping frantically at the cuff, but whatever latch or lock you were looking for wasn’t within your reach. It was cute to see you scramble, though. “You— You promised you’d help me get away from him—”

“And I said I’d get you out of that stuffy little hotel room and help you have a little fun. You can’t hold me responsible for any assumptions you made about my intentions, sweetheart.” He found a seat on the other side of the bedroom, placing Chrollo between himself and you. “You got your fresh air, and I let you have your fun. Now, it’s time for your daddy to have his.” He looked towards Chrollo. “You are going to play with us, aren’t you?”

Chrollo would tear him apart, limb from limb, and keep him alive to watch his blood drain from his mutilated body. Chrollo would buy him a drink next time his Spiders met somewhere with a decent bar. “That depends on what you want me to do.”

With an airy chuckle, he sank back in his seat, what little rigidity he’d once had allowed to fall away with merely the suggestion of Chrollo’s complicity. “Like I said – it’s clear you’ve been neglecting the poor thing.” He paused, pressed his tongue against his teeth. “Show me what a good caretaker you can be, won’t you, dear?”

Chrollo was quiet for a long, slow moment.

Then, he brought a hand to his collar, and laughed.

It was cute – how wide your eyes went as he turned to face you; a caught rabbit backed into the furthest corner of its cage. Nails scratched against sheets, your lips parted in a silent plea to his remaining sympathy, but you’d done more than enough to earn your punishment. Hisoka would act as a witness; both to your misbehavior, and the corrective measures Chrollo was willing to take to make sure you didn’t do anything so idiotic again.

He watched your body go tense beneath him as he shifted onto the mattress, felt your frantic heart beating through your chest as he came to rest above you. He let his lips ghosts skirt over the corner of your lips, then your jaw, before falling to the crook of your neck. “I hope it was worth it,” he muttered, his voice nearly lost against your skin. He didn’t mind.

He had all the time in the world to burn your lesson into you, one way or another.

“Because you are never going to see the light of day again.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere scenarios #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hxh #hunter x hunter imagines #hxh imagines #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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