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written-in-flowers · 2 months

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His Student: Demon!Yeosang x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubus!Yeosang x Fem!Human!Reader | side pairing: demonline x reader

Word Count: 11k

Genre: smut (lots), angst MINORS DNI

Summary: YN's animosity with Yeosang reaches a head after a cruel prank. Will the teacher be taught new things by his insolent student?

Tags: enemies to FWB, master/salve dynamic, enslavement, mentions of domestic abuse, sex fighting, sex wrestling, degradation, name calling, nipple play, breast play, breast slapping, spanking, humiliation, light cock and ball pain, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough oral sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, slight blood play, tickling, tickling feet, self-lubrication, tit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, voyeurism, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, gangbang, cream pie (massive), belly bulging (slight), hate fucking, fight fucking,

@pirateeznet

Previously on Pretty Pet | > Next

***

Sunrises. Chittering birds. The warmth of a lover. The smell of a hot breakfast or dark coffee. There were many things you’d rather wake up to aside from the pallid, stern face of your handler, Yeosang. Blinking your eyes open, you let out a soft groan seeing him on the side of the bed. You wondered how long the weirdo had been watching you, since he said nothing to you. It unnerved you. You rolled on your side to turn your back on him. Could he not see you're recovering from San?

Two months of living with your new masters was exhausting, if nothing else. Being San’s housewife proved more difficult than expected. Lots of travels into the city, buying ingredients for dinners you don't make, having clothes he tore apart mended, and pretending to tidy up a house that is already clean was a lot. Hongjoong remained undecided about his “schedule”, so it changed regularly: you’d either be enduring sex training by him or one of the servants, sitting in a cage with kitten ears waiting for him, or whatever he felt like assigning for the day. Interchange that with lessons with Yeosang, who was not the most understanding or gentle of teachers. He was critical, bossy, and demanding. If you missed a note, he made you play the piece again. If your voice cracked on a high pitch, he rolled his eyes and told you to sing again. According to him, musical talents should come easily to someone, and you kept proving him wrong.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” you heard him say. “Time to get up. You’re going to miss your lessons.”

You’d never, ever, ever tell anyone how much you’d enjoyed taunting him that first day. Seeing the strict, austere demon crumble in your hand gave you a sense of triumph. It felt good getting back at him in the best way.

“Boo-hoo,” you grumbled into your pillow. The toll the previous night took on your body showed in your sore muscles. Thankfully, the creams helped with the tender areas. “I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick.”

“Yes I am,” you gave several coughs, “See?”

“You can’t get sick in Hell, idiot,” he scolded. “You’re already dead. You only get sick if someone curses you with pestilence, which you’re tempting me with if you don’t get up right now.”

“Do it, Demon Boy,” you challenged. “Then you can tell Master Seonghwa why he can’t have sex with me tonight.”

Brown eyes rimmed with crimson glared at you. For a second, you saw him considering it before his loyalty to Seonghwa won over.

“You were permitted to miss breakfast with Master Seonghwa, but you aren’t missing your lessons. The Masters are at work, Jongho is on his way to start your morning routine, and I have to prepare us for the day. Get up.”

“What if I don’t?” you shot at him.

“I’ll have Mingi throw cold water on you and drag you out of that bed,” he threatened. “Then, you can walk around cold, naked and wet.”

“Bet you’d love that, huh?”

He didn’t answer you, but instead turned on his heel and left. Rolling onto your back again, you soaked yourself in San’s bed. The youngest brother worked you particularly hard the previous night. He’d gotten particularly worked up from his day at the arena, so in usual fashion, he came home half naked and harder than a rock. It started in the living room, where he tore at your dress and panties before taking you in the hallway towards the bedroom. Heated passion drove the both of you last night. You simply couldn't get enough of one another. You knew you'd have a similar night with Seonghwa, if he wished.

“Morning, sunshine!” Jongho poofed into existence as you slipped off the bed, holding the thin chemise he always put over you. “How’re you feeling? I heard Master San was pretty wild last night.”

“It was nothing unexpected,” you answered, sliding on the chemise. “That cream you made helped with the bruises.”

“Master San can get a bit rough when he’s in the heat of things,” he said, “So I knew you’d need it. I’ll bring you some tea while you’re bathing.”

“Thanks, Jongho.”

He let you walk into the bathroom alone while he disappeared to the kitchen. It took several minutes of convincing and reassuring your handlers that you can bathe yourself. You told them you weren’t a baby who couldn’t wash herself. Not that you hadn’t minded the extra-close attention, but the bathtub seemed the only place nobody disturbed you. Sliding into the water, you added a few drops of bath bubbles and watched them form in your hands. The calming scents wafted up from the surface, which you inhaled deeply. Bath time was always the best time. Wiping the cloth over your skin, you let yourself soak in the relaxing warmth.

You’d grown to enjoy your life in the Black Keep. It was extremely more preferable than the House of Kisses. During San’s days, walking through the streets in your casual dresses and heels, you’d pass the brothel district to see the other slaves. You pitied their situation, even if Mingi insisted they deserved and chose this fate. He didn’t understand the reality of the circles. It’d been one of the realizations you made about the high-borns: they don’t visit the circles. Those places are for the damned to endure, not the demons. The farthest they’d gone, you’ve assumed, was to their different workplaces. You’d explained to Mingi that a life of servitude was more appealing than suffering a brutal punishment. Yes, they lived in poverty, subjected to vile sexual acts every night, and abused by their “owners”, but better than the circles. Much better. You in particular were especially lucky.

“Fucking pet…”

She’d been a skinny, unwashed thing. You’d walked back through the district from the merchants’ street when you came across her. Her body wrapped in a sheet of muslin fabric, the young woman stood outside a brothel peddling herself to passersby. You knew from experience that being put out was a form of punishment. They’d work, eat and sleep outside the brothel rather than in the comfort of the inside. She’d seen your fancy dress and lace collar, and glared at you. You couldn’t help glaring back. It’s not as if you asked to become their pet. It was fate. You don’t even know if they bought you legally. San only slit Rufus’s throat and they took you as theirs.

“Are you planning on marinating in there like a chicken or are you going to get out? We’re on a schedule that you’re already late for.”

Where you’d expected Jongho, you received Yeosang instead. You huffed in annoyance, “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, preparing for the lesson? You know, tuning the piano or the cello or finding the right books to put my nose into?”

“I already did,” he said stone-faced. He walked over to the shelf of toiletries and towels, grabbing one of them for you. “Sorry that I don’t dawdle. Unlike you, I understand schedules and adhere to them.”

“It’s not the end of the world if I don’t show up on time.”

He came to the tub, extending the towel to embrace you. “Out. Now.”

You grumbled, standing from the comforting water into the cold air. He wrapped you in the towel, and began drying your body. “I can dry myself, you know.”

“I do,” he said, starting at your feet and working to your knees, then your hips. “But I have a job to do and I do it.”

As he dried you, you noticed he caressed certain spots. At first, you thought he was being careful with the areas San spanked in his heated moment. Yet, you couldn’t help seeing the heavy lidded eyes and longing stares. You rolled your eyes. He lingered over marks San left on parts of your body. Absent-mindedly, he traced the light bruising he found with delicate fingers regardless of location. His cold digits left goosebumps on your skin.

“I thought we were on a tight schedule, Yeosang,” you interrupted his admiration.

He coughed awkwardly, “Yes, we are.”

He hurriedly dried the rest of you, put you in your chemise again, then took you to your dressing room. Wooyoung stood there waiting with a Seonghwa-approved dress: a wrap-around pale pink dress with flowers painted onto the hems. Your hair done into a braid, he tied a matching ribbon to the end of it. In the mirror, you saw the angelic, innocent virgin Seonghwa wanted. You also spotted Yeosang looking at you in the mirror. The same lust-filled stare gazed over your body, no doubt undressing you piece-by-piece again. You ignored him, and walked out of the room first.

“Morning, Mingi,” you said to your bodyguard who stood outside your doors.

“Morning, YN,” he replied, nodding as you passed by him. “Have fun last night?”

“Loads,” you grinned. “Have fun listening to it?”

“You know I did.” You sensed him watching the ends of your dress swishing in each stride, and stifled a laugh. “You’re a demon’s weakness, you know that?”

“It’s becoming more obvious by the day.”

Yeosang came into step with you, then walked ahead. You shook your head at him. Seeing his straight strides, his proper posture and head tilt, Yeosang showed his superiority even while walking. Even with his status as a “servant”, he thought himself above everyone around him. Mingi claimed they are half-brothers, sons of Satan, the Prince of Wrath. It explained Yeosang’s quickness of anger, even if subdued by his sophisticated manner. If he is so important, why was he content with servitude and not having his own lands?

“You’re a son of Satan, right?” you asked him from behind.

“A grandson.”

“Then how come you don’t have your own lands like The Masters?”

“I’m not part of the direct bloodline,” he said stiffly. “I am a son-of-son. Only those with direct relation get the finer things.”

“That still makes you his blood though. You’re his grandson.”

“And not directly from him. Direct bloodline implies it is someone right after him like Master Seonghwa, Asmodeus’s son from the 18th generation.”

“18th?”

“Those demons born between 1701 to 1800 obviously,” he said over his shoulder. “We won’t be covering the 18th generation for a while. We're still covering the 12th generation.”

“The medieval period, I know.”

“The High Middle Ages, YN.”

“Well, what generation are you, Mr. Know-It-All?”

“20th,” he said. “I was born in 1904. My mother was a demon of wrath and my father, Satan, took a liking to her. She was his mistress for many years. Same for Mingi’s mother. The Princes don’t take ‘wives’, if you couldn’t tell on your own.”

“What generations are Masters Hongjoong and San?”

“Master Hongjoong is from the 18th generation as well; he was born in 1755, while Master Seonghwa was born in 1754,” he said. “Master San is the youngest, being born in 1910.”

“I guess I’d be a 20th generation, if I was a demon?”

“Yes.”

“Which would make you older than me?”

“Psh, I’m much, much older than you, but that doesn’t seem to matter to you. You’re generally disagreeable and insolent to anyone regardless of age.”

“No, Yeosang, I’m only disagreeable to you.”

He opened the doors to Seonghwa’s apartment without retort. You liked shutting him up even if briefly. Mingi stayed by the doors while you followed Yeosang into the music room. You’d missed the cello lesson according to the clock on the wall, so he took you over to the piano next. Sitting beside him on the bench, you watched him open the music book on the stand for you to read.

“Let’s start with Chopin today,” he said, turning the page to one of the compositions. “He truly is one of the greats. Small children are able to play this, so let’s see just how much better a seven-year-old would be compared to your mediocrity.”

You wanted to kick him under the bench. It made you want to prove him wrong. You paid close attention to each note he played and repeated them back. He kept a distasteful expression every time you matched his notes. You remembered bits and pieces from those piano lessons your mother’s friend gave you. Mama hoped you’d become a famous musician one day; she said you had the talent if you practiced hard enough. Eight-year-old YN wanted to make her happy, and playing the piano and singing did that. That is, until He broke the small electric piano she’d saved up for your birthday.

‘Nobody wants to listen to that shit!’ he’d shout, kicking it aside before sitting down.

You never played again.

“Well, I suppose you aren’t entirely useless after all,” Yeosang said when the lesson ended. You’d played the song perfectly, and you knew it bothered him. “Master Seonghwa will be pleased when he hears you after dinner. Try to remember it between now and then.”

He stood up from the bench, and you stayed behind. You heard him gathering books in the next room, but you let your fingers trace the black keys. A melody came to you in particular. ‘Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel…You’re an angel to me.’ She always sang while she cleaned, even if under her breath. Her voice became your welcoming jingle. It was how you knew she was home. You'd learned how to play it by listening to the tune enough and working on it secretly in your room. Her face had lit up when you played it for her on her birthday.

You missed her smile.

“What song is that?” Yeosang’s voice cut through your memory. It irritated you. Are you not allowed even a few minutes to yourself? “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a song from home,” you answered. “You wouldn’t care.”

‘You’ve got natural born talent, baby girl.’

“Ugh, you humans are so sentimental. It’s-”

“-Fuck you, demon-boy,” you snapped over your shoulder, fingers slamming down the keys in emphasis. “Not everyone had parents who didn’t give a shit about them.”

“I’d rather have no parents than one who smacked me around,” he remarked. “Come on, Master Seonghwa will be here soon and he’ll be cross if he sees you all weepy like that.”

You heard him leave, and anger boiled in your veins. It angered you because he was right. You would’ve rather not had a father than the one you lived with.

“YN!”

Leaving the bench, you walked through the apartment to the dining room. They’d already put down the fine china and utensils for lunch. You pushed your father from your head as you sat down. Putting the cloth napkin on your lap, you wondered what you’d be having for lunch. Mama used to make peanut butter and jelly, with fruit and juice on the side. She’d put a cookie and a note inside for you. She loved you, and you treated her so terribly. You remembered purposefully leaving the bag in your locker so your friends didn’t ridicule you. Having loving parents amongst your friends was embarrassing, even though now you wished you hadn’t cared.

“YN? Yeosang?”

Yunho appeared in a puff of smoke, in his usual servant attire. “Morning, Yunho,” you said politely.

“Sir,” Yeosang bowed. “What can I help you with?”

“I’ve come to inform YN that Master Seonghwa won’t be coming home for lunch,” he said. “He has a lunch meeting with his superiors, so he can’t stop by. You’ll be dining alone today. He sends his deepest apologies and hopes you enjoy lunch.”

“That’s fine,” you said. “I understand. Thank you, Yunho.”

He nodded, disappearing once again. You sighed softly to yourself. Finally, a moment of peace. When the servant brought the first course, you thought you might scream.

‘Sorry, Kitten. I hope you enjoy your day. I’ll see you tonight.’

The pink post-it note was attached to the tray cover. Inside, you found apple slices and a cup of caramel sauce. Mama added caramel because she knew how much you liked it with the apples. It was cruel. It was a sick joke. Seonghwa must have read your mind or learned or guessed and thought it’d be funny to taunt you. To spite your master, you ate them. He likely expected you to storm out and not eat for the day. You'd prove him wrong. You'd show him. You can be strong. You've been strong and tough your whole life.

Main course hurt equally: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with barbecue chips. Your favorite brand specifically. Tears blurred your vision, but you held them back. You could feel Yeosang a few feet away; you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You ate the sandwich with a dry mouth.

“You must be thirsty,” said Yeosang. “Here.”

A juice box. The cartoon apple beamed at you delightfully, the brand name over their head and another apple in their hands. Yeosang stuck the tiny plastic straw in the box for you and put it where your wine glass usually sat. It became apparent whose idea this had been.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

He only laughed, walking away and back to his corner. You drank it anyway. It reminded you of the time fourteen-year-old YN brought lunch on her first day of high school. The kids, dressed in the popular fashion of the time, laughed when they saw the ham and cheese sandwich and loving note. You’d never felt more embarrassed than that moment. Was that when you stopped loving her? Or was it when she called you ‘sugar bear’ in front of your friends? Or when she wore a t-shirt with your face on it for your birthday? Your throat clogged up with sadness, and you stopped eating. She loved you and you were embarrassed by her.

Dessert? Chocolate chip cookies. Her chocolate chip cookies. You knew by the texture and misshapen outlines. In a fit of rage, you grabbed the plate and tossed it across the table. The expensive plate bounced off the edge and shattered on the wooden floors. You glared at Yeosang, who’d gotten a kick out of your reaction.

“What’s the matter, YN? You don’t like cookies?”

The juice box in hand, you hurled it at him. The distance was quite impressive, and the stain it’d leave pleased you. Yeosang gave you a shocked expression that turned sour quickly. You threw your napkin onto the ground and stormed towards the doors. They slammed closed the second you reached the threshold. They might have hit you if you’d taken another step.

“Where do you think you’re going, slut?” Yeosang growled, fire in his voice.

Anger normally burns like hot coals in one's belly. It scorches everything in its path through the blinding red rage. Yet, that rarely happened to you. Your rage stung. A real, hateful, borderline murderous rage pinched your nerves, and flowed through your chest like a bad heartburn. A biting pain started in your chest and rushed to your hands and your feet. This wrath never daunted your anger. It seemed to add it.

“Away from you!”

The doors suddenly burst back open again, wood cracking the edges and a door knob flying off. You breathed deeply, fighting back the caustic acid in your throat. You charged through to the front doors, pushing them open with force. The sudden burst startled a quiet Mingi, who sprung into action right away.

“YN, what’s going on?”

You didn’t answer him. Immediately, the Black Keep felt suffocating. The elegant white walls and carpeted floors smothered any air in your body. The sun glowing through the tall windows felt hotter on your skin. For the first time since you arrived, you resented this stupid house. This pretentious, obnoxiously wealthy home for horny demons. It sickened you. Mingi’s deep voice called after you, echoing in the high ceilings, but you kept moving. You never explored the mansion yourself because you’re so confined to your “schedules”. Fuck schedules. Fuck rules. Fuck everything. Fuck your snobby, self-serving bastard masters.

You found your way outside after several turns and staircases. Glass doors led to a grand staircase down into the vast gardens of the Black Keep. Outside, you finally found a refuge to make your own. The faint sweet scent of flowers and fresh air filled your lungs and cooled your hot skin. Everything felt electric. A growl came through your throat that you didn’t think possible. In the seclusion of a maze, the scathing pains cooled down with each breath. Hot tears finally spilled from your eyes. You wished they’d killed you that night or sent you back to your brothel. That way you wouldn’t be wishing to see her again.

Finally, you found yourself in an enclosed space. Gravel covered the walkway in and around the fountain and benches. The fountain, you saw, was three tiers of water and flowers spiraling and blooming from the top. Flowers in various shades of pink and white grew from the green leaves and vines. You plopped down on one of the benches and stared at it. Briefly, you thought about her again. She loved flowers. She claimed your father once liked them too; he owned a florist shop in town, but you found that hard to swallow. Flowers are delicate; he was anything but that. Your masters are exactly the same. They hide behind their pretty belongings and silly aesthetics. They dazzled you with good sex and pretty things to pacify you. Just like your bosses. Just like every other man in your life.

But you turned their games back on them. You used them like how they used you. You stepped on them to reach the top. You’d been a college drop-out with no references or experience in anything. Jobs weren’t hard to find, but good paying ones were. A pretty girl working in an office full of men, you knew what you had to do. You destroyed long-standing careers, marriages, familial relationships and friendships to get what you wanted. No man or woman could say no to you. Your beauty rendered them powerless. A flash of a smile, a touch of a hand and a suggestion pulled them into you like fish on hooks. You heard the whispers around the office. You knew what people said behind your back.

“YN’s a maneater.”

“She’s a snake in the grass.”

“A viper with pretty teeth.”

“Who exactly do you think you are?” Yeosang came into the space, and you didn’t look at him. “Hello? Answer me, slut.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You lost that-”

“-I said leave me alone, slave,” you let the insult drip from your voice.

“You don’t get to be alone anymore. You lost that-”

“-And I’m taking it back!” You fisted a few pebbles from the ground and launched them at his shiny, black shoes. “Go away! Now!”

Yeosang growled deep in his chest and charged at you. The moment he gripped your wrist, you slammed your fist into the center of his face. Your knuckles burned, but it felt worth it to see his nose bleed. The two of you scowled and snarled at one another. Like two animals in a cage, you clashed at once. Yeosang punched your cheek hard, bringing a stinging you’d grown used to right away. You wrestled him to the ground, something you didn’t know how to do but did it anyway. Dirt and gravel shifted as the two of you slapped, punched and kicked one another. You saw the red in Yeosang’s eyes fill them completely, dark and angry as he bared sharp fangs. The brief second let you slam your fist into his jaw. His body felt hard and hot against yours even under all the layers. You could tell he had a similar build to Mingi, albeit smaller and shorter. Grabbing at his arms, the hard muscles flexed under your hands. When your body collided with his, you took in the slight, strong frame. He'd be fuckable if you didn't hate him. The two of you paused for a moment, both of you panting heavily and bleeding. You stared up into his face, seeing his wide eyes and soft lips. He gazed down your own face as if really taking you in. Then Yeosang ripped the ties keeping your dress closed.

“Fucking slum slut,” he grunted through his teeth, tearing the fabric with his sharp nails, “You think you have power here? You think you’re something special? Think again.”

“Like you’re any better!” you hit his kidney area, and rolled him over. You tore at his clean, white shirt. The buttons popped off when you opened it to reveal his smooth, chiseled chest and abdomen. Grinding your hips, you pinched and rubbed his nipples. “Look at you,” you growled, rolling his nipples while moving your hips, “You’re just as slutty as me. All of you are.”

“Fuck you!”

He slashed at your cheek and pushed you off him. Falling onto your back, you knelt upright as he went for you. His body flung in reverse, he pushed you onto your back and grabbed at your panties. You kicked your legs and bucked your hips as the arousal built up in your lower region. The sound of tearing fabric, and the cool air brushing your sex made it clear. He'd torn them off. You grabbed at his black hair, pulling at it while he resisted. Burying his face in your crotch, he wildly licked and sucked your clit. You didn’t dare let out the noises in your throat. His tongue slipped and slid over your hard clit. Two could play that game. Roughly removing his belt and unzipping him, you spat on his semi-hardon and stuck it in your mouth. The two of you laid on your sides, each one trying to coax a single moan from the other and resisting.

“Fucking whore,” he seethed, rapidly rubbing your clit, “You never say no to dick, do you?”

You nearly ripped off his pants when you broke out of his grip. Dick hard and red, it pulsed in your hand as you grabbed his balls underneath. “And you don’t say no to my mouth,” you shot back, spitting on him more and wetting his delicious cock. “You act like you’re better than me, but I see how you look at me. You want to fuck the shit out of me every minute of the day.” You tugged at his ballsack, earning a loud hiss, “My pussy dripping in your mouth…My ass gripping your tiny cock.”

“It’s not tiny!”

It really wasn’t, but you’d never tell him that. He rolled you onto the ground, straddling your hips and roughly tugging on your bra. Your tits filling his hands, he squeezed them as he placed harsh kisses on your neck. His dick, throbbing and wet, pressed right to your sex. You reached down to him, and continued stroking him while he bit and sucked your nipples. Heavy breathing, grunting and groaning came between you. You hungered for him. You hated that your body betrayed you so easily; it gave him a power you never gave up to anyone. His expert tongue teased the tips of your nipples, sucking the pebbles until they grew harder. His large cock leaking into your hand, so close to your sex, you thought you might go insane with need.

You shoved him off you and started humping him. Focusing on your pussy rubbing the head, you smirked in pleasure at his whimpering. Yet, he refused to show any arousal. Yeosang kept squeezing your tits, which sent you into a new whirl of pleasure.

“Slut,” he slapped your breast hard, “Slut, slut, slut.”

He emphasized each word with a slap to your tits, which had you pinning down his knees. You saw his dick standing straight up, and you smacked it hard. It wagged in the air, and you heard Yeosang give a painful hiss.

“Slave, slave, slave,” you mocked him, slapping his dick and balls. You knew he liked it by how he grew even harder. “You’re a bigger whore than me. Each of you,” you lifted his dick to slap his testicles and make him jerk. “All of you are a bunch of whores. I only have to flash you and you all drool like fucking dogs.” You stroked him while smacking his balls, the combination of pleasure and pain making him leak in your hand.

“Don’t make me laugh!”

He grabbed your hair and pulled you over again. His dick slipped into your throat, choking your airway with his girth. “We only have to touch you a little bit, and you get soaked! Look at you now,” he shoved himself in and out of your mouth, “Taking my dick like a champ as your little cunt gets wet for me. You slum sluts love cock. You crave dick all day.”

You started sucking him earnestly, humming around him in your throat and grabbing his pert ass cheeks. Yeosang groaned when you forced a finger into his asshole, the move making him fuck your throat faster. Snug walls sucked your finger further inside him, pulsing at this new intrusion. You felt his hole growing wetter, but not with what you expected. What appeared to be a thin, clear cum worked as a lube. Self-lubricating. You never found anything hotter. Yeosang grew louder, moaning against your pussy and pushing into your throat.

“Going to make you my cum dump,” he said, eyes closed, “I’m going to make you swallow my whole load. You’d fucking love that.”

Sinking two fingers into you, you grabbed his arm and pushed him onto the ground. You continued sucking him off, straddling his head, and forcing his knees apart. Yeosang groaned and panted loudly as you fingered and sucked him. He hooked his arms around your thighs, and pulled your pussy onto his mouth. Neither of you spat any more insults. You’d make Yeosang cum like that whore he truly is. You’d get one over on him with your throat and fingers. Reaching deep inside, you found the spongy parts of his prostate. He moaned loudly on your clit, flicking the sensitive nub and sucking on it obscenely. His walls tightened around your fingers, and you matched your fingers' pace with your mouth. You grinded against his tongue, whimpering when it slipped inside you. He slapped your ass much harder than San ever could. You dug your nails into the fleshy part of his inner thigh before dragging them down. He bit the inside of your thigh. You smacked his balls hard. A primal hunger came out of each of you. Your body wished to give in, but your mind didn't let you. You tasted him leaking into your mouth, which you used to spit into your hand and shove back into his ass.

“Too bad I don’t have a dildo to fill this pretty hole,” you taunted him, “Whores like being fucked in their ass.”

“You would know,” he said, mouth full of pussy. He grabbed your hair, holding you in place as he pushed up into your mouth. “You’d fucking know, wouldn’t you, bitch?”

You kept his legs open as you fingered him faster, spit making it easier to slide in and out. He was practically riding your hand after a time, and you started riding his long tongue. You wouldn’t cum first, even if the sensation started building behind your clit. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Cum for me, bitch,” he smacked your ass with both hands, “Cum like the fucking whore you are.”

“You first, asshole,” you used your hand to smack his balls while you throated him again.

His tongue reached up to your g-spot, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head. You heard his moans grow louder, much like when you’d given him the handjob. The slick sounds of his wet cock and hole being used nearly sent you over the edge. The moment you taste thick salty cum, you begin sucking him harder and fingering him deeper. Once your thighs trembled, Yeosang kept the same pace and forced you to his face. It was too close to tell, but you both came. His cock stifled your feral groans and your pussy muffled his high moans. You hated to admit he tasted so damn good. You stroked and sucked each drop, loving the slightly sweet taste in the process.

When you both finally came down, you moved away from him and wiped your mouth and fingers on the end of his coat. He did the same with your dress, the wetness clear against the cotton fabric.

“Just couldn’t get through lunch without some dick, huh?” he spat with a smirk. “You slum sluts are unbelievable.”

“You didn’t complain when I was finger fucking your ass.”

“And you didn’t when I came down your throat. Cock-hungry, cum-eating skank.”

“Not as bad as being a desperate, small-dicked prick.”

He spat in your direction, and stood up. “Get cleaned up and come to the library. We’re not done with your lessons today.”

You didn’t dare flop down into the ground. On jelly-legs, you used the fountain water to clean your hands and mouth before following him through the garden. Neither of you said anything on the way back to the library. Mingi spotted your limping and torn dress, and glared at Yeosang.

“What did you do?” he said, hands clenching at his sides. “The Masters will whip you for this.”

“I didn’t put it in her,” Yeosang said, walking past him without stopping. “I know her cunt is theirs even though it should be everyone’s with how horny she is all the time.”

Mingi’s glare diminished when he saw you. Removing his jacket, he put it over your shoulders and buttoned it to cover your body. “Are you okay?” he touched your tender cheek, pulling away when you winced. “They’ll put him on the whipping post for this.”

“I’m fine, Mingi,” you assured him. “It was just a bit…rough, that’s all.” He tried hiding the intrigue in his eyes, but you caught it and stepped closer to him. “You know I like things a bit rough,” you said in a whisper, “Especially rough enough to make me cry.”

“I should’ve gone with you then,” he said, wiping underneath your lip. “I’d give you something to really cry about.”

“Sounds like fun.”

You brushed yourself against his crotch as you turned in his arms and walked into the room. They make it so easy. It was amusing. Finding Yeosang in the library, you saw he’d pulled out several leather books. By their worn out spines and the corners, you guessed they must be several centuries old. The one scroll he’d taken out seemed delicate and frail as he carefully unrolled it on the table.

“Lose the jacket,” Yeosang ordered, “If you insist on acting like a whore, Master Seonghwa should see it when he returns home.”

Rather than argue, you removed the jacket.

And the dress.

And your bra.

In nothing but your heels, you sat in front of him and took one of the copies on the table. “What’s first in the curriculum?” you asked, pretending as if you sitting naked was entirely normal.

“Oh, so you do know words with more than two syllables,” he said, acting surprised. “Look at you, little scholar.” He took his own copy of a book titled ‘Literature of the Kings: A Collection of the Middle Ages. “We’ll start today with writings from the high middle ages. Master Seonghwa likes to talk about them, so try and keep up. Maybe you'll actually remember the time period.”

“The middle ages are all the same to me.”

While you both went over the first collection of old writing, you knew Yeosang kept looking at your body. You liked the attention and obvious struggle he faced. As he told you about something called The Cranberry Tales or whatever, you stretched to show off your chest to him. He’d finished with you in the garden, but here he was struggling to focus on his lesson plan. You wanted him to admit he was hornier than you and his masters combined. The men you used in the previous life liked to think themselves superior to everyone; they acted like the titans in their fields. You knocked them down a few notches with your pussy. It felt particularly good with men who acted above you, the secretary or office manager. Once you sat on them, they crumbled like broken cookies.

Yeosang made it through the literature lesson, and you moved to History and Geography of Inferno. The map on the table detailed the various circles, inner and outer rims. Each part in different colors, it depicted which territory belonged to which prince. You'd seen the map before, since he brought it out every lesson. Seonghwa and Yeosang believed if you lived in Inferno, or Hell as other people know it, you should know its lands. You decided to stand on his side of the table, hands on the edge as you moved in front of him.

“Where are we on here?” you asked, rolling your hips into his groin casually.

“In Prince Asmodeus’s domain, as I've told you before,” he pushed right back into you, arms going through yours to point to the light red space on the map. One hand casually grabbing your breast, he continued, “Everything from this end of the circle to this end is his. The whirling winds where you came from are on this side away from the main city. I understand why you were put there now…” he pressed his lips to your ear as he pinched your nipple, “You just had dick and now you want more. I guess you like my ‘tiny dick’.”

“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the one pushing your dick into my ass.”

“Because you make it so readily available to me.”

“Like you wouldn’t take it if I didn’t dangle it in front of you like a dog wanting a treat.”

“I’d fuck you like the bitch you are.”

“The only bitch is you.”

You squeaked when a hand smacked across your ass again. He went back to explaining the areas of the map, where the inner cities were and which families lived in them. When he demanded you repeat the information back to him, he cupped both your breasts and squeezed them. It only mildly distracted you. As you described every prince and their heirs, Yeosang nibbled at your neck and slipped his hand between your legs. Your pussy, still wet from the garden, felt sensitive to his touches.

“-And this is our family,” you pointed to the serpents around the thorny rose, “Master Seonghwa is the heir to the land, with Master Hongjoong and Master San right after him-”

“-Yes, I am the heir of this land.”

Yeosang and you jumped apart when Seonghwa stood in the doorway. Removing his tie, his dark eyes glinting with interest. “And the heir wishes to know why his Kitten is naked and grinding into his loyal servant?”

“I was hot,” you said, standing straight and killing the desires inside you.

“Very,” Seonghwa said, eyes gazing up your body. He stopped and gasped when he saw your split bottom lip. “Kitten, what happened?” He went straight to you, cupping your face to see it more closely. “Oh, Kitten…Yeosang, what-Wait, what happened to your face?”

The redness on the bridge of his nose stood out against his porcelain skin, and so did the welt on his cheek. Even though he'd tried fixing himself up, he hadn't done a supreme job.

“Did you two have a fist fight?” he asked him.

“Yes, Master,” Yeosang admitted. “She was being disobedient and having a temper tantrum.”

“After you pulled a mean prank on me at lunch.”

“You humans are so damn sensitive,” he remarked. “It was only a joke. It's not my fault you can’t take a joke.”

“Nobody was laughing but you-”

“-Enough,” Seonghwa intervened, “You two argue like children.” He straightened his jacket as he said, “And you decided to fight? Where? In the dining room?”

“No,” you answered.

“Then who blew the dining room doors?”

“Yeosang!”

“What?! It wasn’t me! It was you!”

“I’m a human. I couldn’t have.”

“You did it somehow!” He snapped. “You slammed them open or pushed them hard to frame me.”

“Shut it,” Seonghwa snapped. “Where did you do it?”

“In the garden,” you said.

“She’d stormed away from me when I told her not to,” Yeosang explained quickly. “I only followed her to bring her back into the house.”

“And instead of bringing her back you decided to hate fuck her again?” he asked, hands on hips. “Yeah, I can smell it on both of you. What did you do?”

“Hit each other,” you answered.

“I mean sex-wise,” he elaborated, “What did you do to one another?” Not getting an immediate response, he said, “Oh, now you’re both suddenly ashamed?”

“I finger fucked him,” you answered, “While I sucked him and slapped his balls.”

“And I…” Yeosang hesitated. “I tongue fucked her pussy and fucked her throat.”

“Oh yeah?” The small descriptions intrigued your master, a smirk spreading on his face. He lifted your chin and examined your other injuries. You winced at the thumb touching your jaw, and he placed a soft kiss on it. “How many times did you both cum?” he asked, licking the caked blood on your broken lip.

“Only once,” you replied, your body warming to his hot tongue.

“A quick one then?” a low rumble came from his chest, and you knew what ran through his mind.

“Yes,” you answered in unison.

He looked between the two of you, then said, “Come with me.”

Nervousness killed the arousal Yeosang started up again. There’d been no specific rules against sex with the other servants. They only said nobody could have vaginal sex with you. Is he punishing you for the door? It was Yeosang, not you. Maybe for fighting him? You can imagine that. Seonghwa likely believed fighting wasn’t lady-like. Reaching Seonghwa’s bedroom, you took in the tall canopy bed with its white floral curtains and white bed covers. The sunlight dimming outside left the room in a golden glow, bringing out the bright colors in the room. Seonghwa removed his jacket, putting it behind a chair he brought closer to the bed.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, taking a seat and relaxing in his chair. On a table beside him, he poured himself a brandy. “And finish what you two started in the library.”

“Sir, really,” Yeosang huffed a laugh, “This isn’t necessary-”

“-Do you both need to be fighting for the sex to happen? Is that your foreplay?”

“It’s not my fault he gets hard berating me all the time,” you said, shooting him a glance. “He’s always calling me names and insulting my intelligence.”

“I’m not saying anything untrue,” he replied. “You’re a cock-starved slum slut. Is that not true?”

“And you’re an uptight, snobby small-dicked bitch boy,” you spat. “That sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Seonghwa laughed, sipping his brandy, “You two really can go at it, huh? Keep going. This is fun.”

“If my dick is so small, how could you gagged on it when I fucked your mouth?” he challenged, stepping to you.

“Psh, you call what you did ‘gagging’? The only thing that made me gag is your gross tasting cum. I wouldn’t eat it even if it was the last edible source in the world.”

“Look who’s talking. Master Seonghwa says your pussy tastes like honey, but I think it tastes like rotten fruit.”

You pushed him, and he pushed back. That sharp feeling in your chest returned, pooling like saliva in your mouth. You swallowed it back even if it hurt. Showing any sign of desire would mean Yeosang won. You wouldn’t let him.

“Slap her,” Seonghwa said, eyes trained on both of you. “You’re going to let a slum slut talk to you like that? She’s a filthy human, and you’re a grandson of Satan. How dare she disrespect you that way.”

Yeosang took his words to heart and smacked you again. “Ooh, that was hard,” Seonghwa laughed, “Kitten, don’t just stand there. Hit him back.”

So you did. Yeosang blocked the hit and slapped you. When he reached for you, you turned him onto his back on the bed. Once more, you tore at Yeosang’s clothes much more harshly this time. The broken buttons made it much easier, and it came off with his coat as well. Yeosang squirmed when you took his nipple between your teeth. As you teased his nipples, he reached down to your own to pinch them hard.

“Come on,” Seonghwa drawled, “You two can do better than nipple stuff. Bite each-Haha, yes! Like that!”

Yeosang sunk his canines into your shoulder, making you yelp in pain as he drew blood. You did the same back, and the taste of his blood stirred your hunger. It tasted like a good rare steak. You supposed demon blood tasted that way. You’d started grinding into Yeosang as you bit across his collarbone. The sting of pain didn’t stop him from pushing you onto your back. He straddled your stomach and started slapping your tits again, using wide swings to add extra pain. You cried out as he did it to them at the same time, enjoying the stings of pain with your arousal. Trying to wriggle out from under him, you undid his pants to pull his cock out again. You held his hands on your tits as you slipped his length between them.

“Oooh a nice tit fuck,” Seonghwa said, “How delightful. You’re not going to give in that easily, are you, Yeosang? I didn’t think the sons of Satan could be so weak.”

“He is weak,” you confirmed, glaring at him as you pumped him with your breasts. “He’s already dripping on my tits. He loves my tits, don't you? Huh? My soft tits and hard nipples?”

“You fucking bitch,” Yeosang growled.

You laughed mockingly at him, and he slapped your face. Still laughing, you grappled with him as he tried getting you onto your front.

“Pin her down,” Seonghwa cheered, “Get her ass in the air.”

“What’s going on here?” a curious voice came from the door. San appeared, fresh from work, and he stopped next to Seonghwa when he saw you and Yeosang on the bed. “Are they wrestling?”

“Hate fucking. Care to watch?”

“Absolutely. I love a good hate fuck.”

Forced onto your front, you tried lifting Yeosang off your back. Laying on your horizontally, he held you down while he began landing hard slaps to your ass. Your kicking and jerking amused the three demons.

“Finger her,” Seonghwa called out, “Make her cum first.”

“Darling, just grab his dick. It’s right there.”

You curved your body as much as possible to reach Yeosang’s hardening cock. Yeosang in return slipped two fingers into your aching pussy. Seonghwa cheered for Yeosang when he spotted the butler listening to his instructions. Yeosang spread your legs further, putting one hand under you and another over you and he fingered your pussy and rubbed your ass hole. Whining and whimpering, you spat on your hand and worked him up and down. You felt him pulse with each stroke. With a hard squeeze of his shaft, the brief pain distracted him enough to lose his grip on you. Sitting on his chest, you spat on his dick and stroked him with both hands. Yeosang’s fingers tickle the tops of your feet until you become ticklish. You kept jerking him off even as you fought the tickling sensation in your feet. He went further up your feet until he reached the center of your sole, which had you kicking to escape them.

“Ticklish much, slut?” Yeosang teased before grabbing both ankles.

He rolled you onto your front, pinning you down with his body and continuing to tickle your feet. Laughing from the tingling feeling, you tried moving your feet from him but when he turned around against you, using the empty space like a chair, it was over. Strong arms wrapped around your legs, he kept tickling your feet and backs of your legs.

“Is it weird that I’m kind of into this?” San asked his brother.

“Hongjoong’s into it, so let that be your answer.”

“Tickling isn’t that weird…”

You eventually kicked a foot out, and scrambled away from Yeosang. On the other side of the bed, you stood ready to tackle him.

“Uh-oh, she got away, Yeosang,” Seonghwa jeered. “Just grab her!”

Yeosang lunged for you, managing to yank you onto the bed by the hair. Bent over, he brought you into the middle by an arm around your thighs. You struggled in his grasp. Your lower half in his lap, Yeosang resumed tickling your feet with one hand while holding your face into the bed with the other. Shimming your hips around, your pussy pressed to his cock easily. Yeosang let out a soft moan when you slipped him between your thighs. Grinding up and down, you fucked Yeosang with your thighs.

“She’s thigh fucking him even in that weird position,” San chuckled. Finally seeing him, you saw he’d pulled up his own chair and drank from a brandy glass. “God, that’s hot.”

The door opened again when you rolled off Yeosang. “Ah, so this is where everyone is!” Hongjoong walked into the room, and saw you and Yeosang on the bed. “Well, well, what is going on here?”

“Fight fuck,” San answered, “Pull up a chair.”

All three men groaned and laughed when you slammed a fist into Yeosang’s face. “Pet can really throw a punch!” Hongjoong laughed, shocked by the blood dripping from Yeosang’s mouth.

“Put him inside you, Darling,” San suggested. “Milk him with that delicious pussy of yours.”

“And he’d love it,” you growled at Yeosang, not hesitating to slide him inside you. Bouncing fast and hard, you pinned him by his shoulders and fucked him. “Who’s the fucking whore now, hm? Who’s the whore now?”

“It’s still you, bitch!”

Yeosang punched you this time. Teeth cutting into your cheek, he used the moment to force you onto your back. Blood tinged your mouth, which you gathered and spat on him. This only angered him more.

“Fuck her, Yeosangie,” Hongjoong called, “Fuck her!”

The three brothers hooted when Yeosang curled you and shoved his dick into you hard. The bed bounced in every thrust. You refrained from moaning in each blissful push. Stars exploded in front of you whenever his dick went particularly deep. You swore the man was drawing out your sanity bit by bit. You clawed at his arms, his hands and back to distract him but he kept on going. The stabs of pain did not stop him at all. Even as blood peeked out of the hard scratches, Yeosang seemed unfazed.

“You can tap out any time, Kitten,” Seonghwa said, “You can give in and let him fuck your pretty holes.”

“N-No,” you grunted, trying to slide out from under Yeosang even if his cock hit your g-spot perfectly. “Oh fuck, no. No, no, no, fuck you, no!”

Sensing your orgasm, Yeosang started pushing deeper. The brothers having a perfect view of Yeosang inside you, they started counting his thrusts.

“Bet she cums in, like, ten more thrusts,” Hongjoong said.

“I bet five,” Seonghwa replied. “She’s already curling her toes, look.”

“Darling, come on, don’t give in that easily. You hold on so well for me in my bed.”

You used all your strength to get Yeosang off you. Once separated from him, putting one arm on his throat, you squeezed his balls as you started sucking him.

“That’s my girl,” San said approvingly. “That’s it. Give him a nice blowjob.”

“Fucking hell, Yeosang! You almost had her!”

“Kang Yeosang,” Seonghwa scolded him, “If you don’t turn that bitch around and get back to fucking her, I’m going to put you in the greenhouse. You remember how stretched your ass hole got when Dennis finished with you, don’t you?”

This threat caused you and Yeosang to roll onto the hard floor. A shock of pain went from your head to your back, with you breaking Yeosang’s fall. Scrambling over you, he took advantage of your hard fall and lifted and spread your legs. Your head stuck against the bed frame, the awkward position nearly choked you. Keeping himself up on his hands, Yeosang fucked you in a reverse position that pleased your audience.

“I bet you she passes out,” Hongjoong tapped San’s arm. “He’s got her in a rough position.”

“Darling, don’t give up,” San encouraged you.

“No, do give up, Darling,” Hongjoong said, “I want to fuck you after Yeosang.”

“Hell no,” said Seonghwa, “It’s my day so I’m fucking the loser first.”

Using Yeosang’s tactic against him, you started tickling Yeosang’s feet. He collapsed right at the first few brushes. To keep your audience happy, you managed to maneuver yourself on Yeosang so they could see you jerk him off with your soaked cunt.

“She’s so fucking wet,” San moaned. You saw the bulges in each of their pants. San palmed his down to focus on you instead of his own pleasure. “How long have they been at this?”

Seonghwa told his brothers what you and Yeosang did in the garden. While he recounted the story, Yeosang knocked your elbows so you fell onto his chest. Locking his legs around yours, he stuck his hand to your pussy and started rubbing your sensitive pussy quickly. You managed to stick him between your thighs again, grinding into him. Both of you grunted and groaned, restraining your needy whimpers as you fucked on the ground. You refused to let him win. Even with your bloody mouth and aching muscles, you fought against him.

“Holy shit, they did that?” Hongjoong laughed. “Sounds to me like they’re both whores. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Neither do I,” said Seonghwa, “But it riles them up. I figured a one-on-one will settle things between them.”

“By how they’re fucking, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Yeosang turned you into your front and stuck himself in your ass. Your sudden scream delighted the three men. “She loves it in her ass,” Hongjoong said, “Give it to her hard, Yeosang.”

“Fuck her ass,” Seonghwa chanted.

The three brothers began chanting as you clawed at the hardwood floors. Pleasure pounded into you in every thrust. When your moans finally broke and became louder, the chanting ended and you heard clapping.

“Make her cum,” Seonghwa said, “Get that slum slut to cum really hard. I want that pussy nice and sloppy for me.”

“Darling, stop being a wimp and fight back!”

“She’s too fucked out to care about fighting-Oh, oh, oh, I think it’s happening!”

You punched at Yeosang’s arms, hoping it might cause him to collapse, but he held strong. Your face pressed to the floor by his hand, you trembled and pounded the floor as you came. You felt humiliated and defeated. Yeosang laughed in triumph. Hongjoong and Seonghwa cheered at your quaking legs and stiff muscles. They encouraged him to keep going, but Yeosang pulled out and stood over you. He kicked you over onto your back, smugness on his blushing face as he put his foot on your chest. His muscles tensed and body rocked back and forth. Thick drops of cum fell right onto your face and neck. This time, you didn’t catch them in your mouth but instead turned your head. You hated how he laughed in the face of your defeat, humiliating you further by cumming all over you.

“Oh, all of a sudden you don’t want cum in your mouth?” Seonghwa asked in disbelief.

“Darling,” San moaned in disappointment, “You were doing so well. What happened?”

“Yeosang’s cock happened, that’s what,” cackled Hongjoong, who stood to unbuckle his pants. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“No, it’s mine,” argued Seonghwa, taking off his shirt. “Like I said, it’s my day with her so I go first.”

“Then I’m going second. San goes last.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re the youngest.”

“And the biggest,” he argued back.

“Oh give me a break. Don’t use that excuse again.”

“On the bed, bitch.”

Seonghwa took your ankles and Yeosang took your arms. In a single swing, they threw you onto the bed. “Fuck, look at that,” Seonghwa groaned, removing the rest of his clothes and climbing onto the bed, “Her pussy is so damn wet.”

“She’s a whore,” Yeosang said, tapping his dick on your mouth, “They’re always wet.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

He swiftly slid inside, and immediately began pounding into you. They both laughed at your instant moaning. Hearing you moaning, Seonghwa shook his head and slapped your cheek. “Losers don’t get orgasms,” he said, “They get their slutty hole fucked and pumped with cum. They don’t get to finish.”

“You should’ve considered that before fighting me,” Yeosang said, swiping his dick on your face. “Unless you lost on purpose, which is just pathetic. So, so pathetic.”

When you wiggled, Yeosang grabbed your arms to hold you down. San and Hongjoong appeared to keep your legs spread wide as their older brother quickly finished inside you. You quivered feeling hot cum shoot all over your walls. Being held down made it hard to escape the overstimulation each one brought. Hongjoong and Seonghwa switched places, and he swished his hard tip over your gushing sex. He chuckled when you whined, doing it even more to hear you cry out. He fucked you exactly how you expected, hard and fast. His hips snapped into yours while he rubbed your nipples. You nearly came again until he did first, adding his milky cum to Seonghwa’s load.

“Oh fuck, look at this.”

They all groaned at the cum oozing out of your pussy. “Let’s see how much it gushes when I fill her up,” San said, sticking himself in you next. “I thought for sure you’d win, Darling,” he said, fucking into you hard. “I thought my wife was a winner.”

“Ma-Mas-t-er…”

“Shut up, whore,” Yeosang said, smacking one tit until you cried. “Keep talking and I’ll shut you up myself.”

“She’d probably like that,” said Seonghwa, tweaking your nipple hard. “She’d suck dick all day if we let her.”

“I wouldn’t complain!” San whimpered, on the verge of an orgasm. “I’d take her to work with me too. Let her suck me under the desk.”

“We should do that,” Hongjoong said, eyes brightening at the new idea. “It’d make my work day so much more fun.”

The thought set San off. He came in several deep thrusts, bulging your belly like always, and pushed back all the cum that leaked out of you. Yeosang, hard from watching them use you, finally took his turn. Your masters laughed and beckoned him to go faster inside you.

“I’ll pay you fifty-gold if you make her cum again,” Hongjoong told Yeosang.

“Fifty-gold and a weekend off,” added Seonghwa.

“And your choice of a brothel whore,” said San.

Playing with your clit and pounding your sweet spot, you saw stars as you came. Your high-pitched squeals and quaking body amused them, but angered you. Yeosang forced himself as deep as possible as his cum joined the mess already inside you. Your masters finally released you, watching you cry from the overwhelming sensations running through your body. When you moved to close up, they held you apart.

“I want to see it,” Hongjoong said, looking to see their combined fluids seep out of you. “Haha, it’s so full. If she were even half a demon, we might’ve just knocked her up.”

“If only,” said San with a pout. “She’d look so pretty pregnant.”

“I’ve never fucked a pregnant chick, surprisingly.”

"Are you okay, Kitten?” asked Seonghwa, cupping your face and kissing you. “Sensitive? Any pain?”

“Yes.”

“Here, lay back against the pillows.”

“I’ll call Yunho. Yunho!” San called into the room, the butler appearing when summoned.

You hardly paid attention to anything else. You glared at them, “You’re a bunch of whores too. If there’s a House of Kisses, then this is the Palace of Whores.”

They laughed at your frowning face, and Seonghwa cooed. “Don’t be a sore loser,” he said, smiling and kissing you again, “You did well too. You’ll get him next time.”

“If you want,” San came up next to you with a wet cloth, beginning to clean your face, “We can practice together. I’m quite good at fight fucking, I’ve been told.”

“He really is,” agreed Seonghwa.

“I’m more of a spectator.” Hongjoong knelt in front of you, another damp cloth in his hand. He went to touch your sex, and you clammed up, shaking your head. “I’m not going to do anything. We need to clean you, baby.” He gently pushed your legs apart and cleaned the sticky mess coming out of you. “We can’t have you walking around dripping like this.”

“Just get some rest, Darling,” San pecked your lips, “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You promise?” you asked softly.

“I promise,” he said, nuzzling your nose gently. “Be a good pet and sleep.”

The last words you heard as you drifted to sleep were Hongjoong’s:

“Dude, what happened to your doors?”

****

Yes, what happened to the doors? Yeosang wondered about this as the masters converged on you. His body slumped into a nearby chair, sweat sticking to his skin and matting his hair. All the adrenaline in his veins died out after his third orgasm of the day. Surely, he’ll be needing that weekend off. The smell of apples clung to his nostrils even with the sweat and sex in the air. Your fruity fragrance always stuck with him after being around you too long. He wondered which perfume you owned had such potency. It usually wears off after a short amount of time, but yours always stuck around.

“Yeosang,” Master Seonghwa approached him, pouring a brandy for him, “Here. For you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he nodded, mustering energy to grab the glass and sip from it.

“She’s something, huh?” he asked, leaning in his own chair and finishing his brandy. “I’ve never had a human who can take such a pounding like that. They usually give up in the first few minutes.”

“She’s a whore, Master. It’s what she’s made for.”

“Humans are made to be blank slates for the world to fill up as they grow,” he said. He saw his master staring at you intently. Yeosang only saw that stare in one situation: when his mind was turning. “They’re meant to be given choices, leading them one way or another, and they’re given free will to choose. Kitten chose herself each time…”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“What does she smell like to you, Yeosang?”

“Master?”

“When you are near her, what does she smell like?”

“Apples,” he answered, “Apples covered in cinnamon.”

“Are you fond of cinnamon-apples?”

“I do enjoy them on occasion.”

“Hm, interesting.” He poured himself another brandy, “She smells like honey to me.” He smiled softly, “Golden honey spread over fresh, warm bread.”

“I am aware, sir.”

“Hongjoong tells me she smells like strawberry ice cream,” he said. “You know how partial he is to strawberries in general, but he says she’s like the ice cream specifically.”

“Huh,” Yeosang said, leaning in his chair. “That is interesting.”

“San says he smells orange slices.”

“So fruit based scents,” Yeosang concluded. “What does that tell you?”

“Remember when I kissed her?” he said, “Licked her bloody lip and all?”

“I do.” He’d found it a pleasurable sight.

“My throat stung.” The silence that followed the words left many things unsaid. “It stung as if I had acid reflux. At the time, I thought it was something I ate but now…”

“Do you believe otherwise?”

“I do. You tasted her blood. How do you feel?”

Yeosang took a moment to think about it. In the heat of passion, he’d owned the stinging in his throat to his low growls and snarls. He thought it might’ve been the deep breathing drying out his mouth. Yet, as he took a purposeful swallow, he realized it stung slightly. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach might have been his tensed abdomen or another thing entirely.

“The same.”

“Huh…And the doors-”

“-I would never damage your property, sir,” Yeosang interrupted. “Not even in the hottest of rages would I do that.”

“Then who did it?”

“I’m not sure. She might have touched it without realizing and pushed them hard. This house is very old, Master. It is possible.”

Seonghwa chuckled, “Yeosang, you are not so blind.”

“Then what do you believe happened?”

“I think Kitten hasn’t been entirely honest with us,” he said. “I must think about this more.”

Yeosang felt a pit of worry break through him. “Master, what happened between-”

“-Dennis…” the name came from Seonghwa without realizing.

Yeosang’s blood went cold. “What about him?”

“Let’s put her before him,” he suggested. “I’d like to see what happens.”

“What happens? Sir, I don’t believe that is the best idea. Dennis will drain her, then rip her apart. You’ll have lost-”

“-Let me worry about that. You go and enjoy your weekend off. I recommend that brothel in the high street. It’s called Scarlet Silk. They truly have a nice selection there.”

“Master, the greenhouse is meant for disobedient slaves and for the maids,” he said, not letting it go so easily. “YN might be a bit untamed, but she doesn’t deserve such a harsh and cruel end. What happened between me and her was nothing. It was a spat between rivals. I would never truly harm her or wish her to be harmed. I could’ve easily have crushed her if I-”

“-I said I will worry about it, Yeosang,” he said with finality. “Clean yourself up and get some rest. Jongho can see after Kitten tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master.”

Regret tore his insides as he left the room in nothing but a sheet. Walking through the quiet palace, he worried about what he’d just done. He’d played the prank in hopes of heating you up for sex. Yeosang enjoyed the small spats and insults you threw at one another. He knew if you figured that out, he’d never have a peaceful moment. He’d struggled to keep himself together in the library, where you left yourself bare for him. He might have taken you right there if Master Seonghwa had not intervened. The two of you could always have an amicable relationship like you and Jongho.

But, where was the fun in that?

***

Y/N: hmm, interesting, no? We might start learning a few new things about YN now. As always, thanks for reading, and please reblog and like <3

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #kang yeosang #yeosang ateez #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you #yeosang x yn #ateez smut #ateez x reader #yeosang smut #kang yeosang smut

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

Text

Come After Dark [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You swallow your nerves and take Loki up on his seductive invitation. (w/c 3.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Mild somnophillia. Language. Mild angst to fluff. Sub(ish) Loki.

The hair on your arms felt like needles, every ghostlike pricking shiver vibrating invisible strands. Was it cold tonight? You couldn’t tell. Heat thumping low in your belly blossomed as you made your way through the midnight gloom of the tower. Shadows danced the walls, stretching and fading in haunting rhythm. Come after dark, he’d said.

You shivered again, recalling the way his breath had caressed your jaw, a palm spread on his chest against porcelain shirt buttons. His questioning stare had moved from your hand to your eyes, his brows a line of reluctant, smouldering resignation. He had left you in that hallway, music beating a solid bass through the wall against your spine. The words that had circled in your mind ever since fluttered back around the endless loop.

I will cease my wooing of you, since that is what you wish, he had murmured, as he unfurled your fingers from his chest. Loki then raised your knuckles to his lips. Parted, only slightly. But if you decide you want this, whenever you want this, he’d whispered against the skin. Come after dark.

That had been days ago. A week? Time had slowed and sped up in frightening synchronicity since that brief conversation. You and he had been dancing around your flirtations for months, but in each moment when he swooped gently to kiss you, to let his hands wander to your own, to break the seal of workplace propriety – you bailed.

His absence made everything come in bright clarity. In deepest reds and brightest blues you saw for the first time how much more he was than a distraction, than something to be feared in awe from a distance. Like a predator behind glass. Fear. What was it you were afraid of? Of how much you want him. Of how how has the power to elevate or decimate in the palm of his-

You shook the thought away, seeing the potted plant that signalled the end of the corridor come into view. One more turn.

Silent breaths rose and fell as his door suddenly loomed. It stretched up into nothingness, its out of place mahogany intricacies making you smile in the eerie darkness. Lifting a fist to knock, you paused. A feeling rose that was difficult to place. The ornate brass knob was cool to the touch, but even from one small twist it was easy to tell it was - Come after dark, -unlocked.

You held your breath, twisting on the exhale. There was a soft click as the mechanism relented, a cool brush of air wafting against heated cheeks. The goosebumps on your forearms bristled.

A feeling of dread suddenly descended, sinking through the excited trepidation. What if he didn’t mean it? What if, I’m just breaking into his room-

You recalled the gleam of his darkened eyes, the blue of his irises barely visible at the rims of wide pupils. The hum of his voice as he enunciated each word with painfully laden precision, as thick as double cream; Come after dark,

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. As your eyes adjusted to a deeper darkness, the room’s layout came into view. A short corridor which was the mark of all your accommodations led into a living area. You could see the elegant curves of an ostentatious sofa, the rise of a fireplace and the shadowy reflection of a mirror glinting above. Floor length curtains swept around the corner windows. Of course Loki has the corner apartment, you mulled, noticing dinner-plate sized vegetation poked around the corner from some kind of plant. Your fingers reaching to absent-mindedly rub the waxy leaves as you padded over luxurious carpet. White carpet. Your bare feet sank into the pile, each cushioned step landing on the heel making your breaths quicken as you worked closer to the bedroom. The door was open, just a crack. After this, there was no turning back. You would never be the same. You could tell. Good, you thought; feeling your heart thunder. Like an astral projection, you felt your fingers slide around the edge of the door, peeking inside. A wave of adrenaline soared up your body like a tide; animalistic energy bursting new heat from every pore. There he was.

Spread like a sculpture; a living Bernini glowing in soft cracks of moonlight glistening on his skin. One long thigh rested open atop twisted sheets, an arm outstretched on the empty side of the bed reaching for an invisible lover. The curves of his muscles rose and fell along each line of his body, white sheets painted teasingly across the sharp dents of his hips. His obliques clenched with each soft breath, perfect face turned towards the shards of moonbeam bathing him in ethereal light. Dark curls lay spread against the pillow, like splatters of oil on canvas, winding across the cotton and the broad flat of his pale shoulders. Your mouth felt dry, and your eyes. You realised you hadn’t blinked in about thirty seconds. He looked so peaceful, it would be a shame to- Oh-

Your eyes fell on his crotch as he sifted within dreams, something long and thick nudging horizontal upwards against the sheets.

Your breath hitched as a well of saliva rose in your mouth, moistening your lips. You would be lying if you hadn’t imagined him thrusting his fist against that huge cock in these very rooms while he moaned your name, fuelling your forbidden fantasies. On the edge of this very bed, by all accounts. He was always a gentleman in your presence, something you had wished many times he would abandon to urge you to take the leap.

But after all, here you were. Here I am. His brow furrowed, a light moan snaking from his slumbering throat. Beneath your pyjama shorts, the slick of arousal that had been growing since you had left your own apartment warmed. Slipping.

You squeezed around the door, tentatively making your way to the empty side of the bed. Now what, you thought, letting your eyes roam over his sprawled form as you resisted the urge to jump on him...do I wake him, should I- “-Loki?” you whispered, voice shaking. Your fingertips traced the thick cotton rumpled at the bed’s edge. His breaths continued to slowly rise and fall, the erotically devastating fan of dark lashes against his skin, undisturbed. “Loki?” you repeated, resting on the side of the mattress, “Mmm...” he mumbled groggily, frowning in his slumber. He sighed, outstretched fingers twitching. You smiled, watching the strong veins in his forearms tense before relaxing into smooth surrender.

Following the delicate lines of the summer duvet draped lazily across his torso, you let your eyes track down the folds. It ran diagonal, exposing the taut carving of violent muscle rippling down his chest, his stomach. The duvet rested teasingly over his hips, an exposed leg hanging open sluttishly as the other stretched down to the end of the ornate bed-frame. “Lo-kii…” you cooed seductively, shuffling closer.

You waited. He didn’t stir. You frowned.

Beneath the duvet, the god’s swollen cock twitched against the cotton.

Your eyes ran up the lines of muscle contoured in the moonlight, up the shadow of his cheekbones to his peaceful brow. A thin line formed between his eyebrows, softening. Without realising it, your outstretched fingers ghosted down the centre of his abdomen, cool skin making heated tips tingle. You edged closer on your knees, making the firm mattress bounce slightly. But still, he did not stir. Nerves burst in stars deep in your belly, the gravity of your audacity making you dizzy as you fought to hold your nerve.

Cautiously, you lowered to his flat stomach, placing a kiss just above his naval. A shaking gasp escaped your nostrils, the electric eroticism of his energy humming from every inch of his skin as you moved lower. Fine hair coating down from his naval grazed your chin, its feathery softness a stark reminder of the warm heart beating beneath his stoic exterior. You paused on the dip of his adonis belt, frozen hunched in place as he stirred. The pillows rustled, followed by a soft thump as his cheek fell to the other side.

“Don’t s-stop…” he softly slurred, hips nudging upwards beneath the sheet. Outstretched fingers gripped the sheet to your side in a loose fist, the fingernails catching on cotton before relaxing.

Oh, god.

Your trembling digits wrapped around the blanket’s tip, pulling down. And all the time, your eyes never left his moon-drunk face. Tentatively you ran your fingernails lightly over the taut skin of his ribs. Shivers rose in the muscle beneath your careful touch as the sheet was brushed aside below. You let the heel of your palm search in half-darkness for the root of his subconscious desire.

It didn’t need to search far. Loki moaned softly, his lips parting with a puff of air. A rogue strand of hair buffeted from his face as you clenched around nothing, the wetness between your legs wild and unstoppable, his gentle whoreish sounds making your inner-beast writhe. The god’s breaths were a roar in the suffocating silence. “Please,” he breathed in dreams. It floated, lingering like perfume. Or maybe it was your imagination. Reluctantly, your palm left the velvet skin of his cock and planted on the farthest side of his body. You loomed over him. He’s like my prey, thought reverently; holding back a giggle. Like a virgin and a vampire, about to be sucked dr-

The smile faded, replaced by something stronger than the fear of him waking and recoiling in disgust. That this had all been a misunderstanding. That his sultry flirtations and invitations and unlocked door were just coincidences. Nothing more. Tilting your head, you bit your bottom lip and watched as his light frown returned. He squirmed in slumber, ropes of shoulder muscle shifting against the pillows. You allowed yourself to finish the thought, -Sucked dry.

Taking a deep breath, you dipped down and covered the head of his majestic cock carefully with your mouth. It was warm, the round tip resting on your tongue, the jolt of his thigh splayed to the side not going unnoticed as you let your slick lips slide against him. He’s been hard for a while, you pondered, savouring the settling of his sex inside your mouth. Where he belongs. A thick vein pulsed against your tongue. Your mind crackled with energy, every nerve screaming to shake him awake and fuck him into the headboard between messy kisses and half-formed words. “Mmmm...ye-shs, p-please -m-more…” Loki exhaled groggily. You wondered if he was dreaming of you. Muffled, his lashes fluttered with pleasure beneath shuttered lids. The thump of your heart was deafening as you focused on the taste of him filling your mouth. The sweetness of his velvet skin stretched over unforgiving muscle, fresh and deep like autumn pine. Plump veins slid further down the flat of your tongue as you grew braver, each ridge that bumped against the muscle lovingly caressed. The creases of your mouth cracked slowly as you slid him further inside. And it suddenly dawned on you, how large he truly was. The scent of his shaft filled your nostrils as you lapped softly at the tip, enjoying each stolen moment of second-hand pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, blood pumping and heating the mess between your legs. Loki whined softly, hips beginning to roll in dream-soaked waves. You wrapped your fingers one by one around the thickness of him, brow furrowing as you felt the weight of his cock twitch in your grip. Slowly, you drew your tongue over the sensitive frenulum, feeling his hips shudder as you licked to the leaking tip.

“You came…” a gravelled voice shifted in the darkness, making you jump. Your head snapped towards him, fearful eyes wide. A mischievous smile tugged at his beautiful lips, shadows cast by the moonlight carving deep grooves beneath his cheekbones. “Quite the one for drama after all, aren’t we, little fox?” The words were mumbled coyly, raising an eyebrow as you sat upright. Loki’s voice was husky with something, but it wasn’t sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, using his free hand to dramatically whip the remaining duvet from his body and letting it sprawl to the floor.

“I thought you might enjoy the illusion of voyeurism,” he smiled, rubbing a flat palm on the mattress beside him. “As usual, it seems, I was correct.” “You were awake?” you scoffed, admitting to yourself that the desired effect was likely lost by the wandering of your hungry eyes over his unbearably naked form. With sudden clarity, you realised his hard manhood was still wrapped in the punishing grip of your fingers. “Mmmm,” he hummed, smile wider now with the mocking echo of his slumbering moans. His stare dropped in stages down your body, across every line of your form kneeling on his bed in the moonslick gloom. If he was searching for resistance, he would find none. “I’m sorry if I-”

Before the final words could form on your tongue, Loki was kneeling in front of you. His hips pressed flush to your stomach, those long fingers that had brushed your own so many times beneath the conference table digging into the small of your back. They sank lower, cupping your ass with a ragged groan from his throat. “Enough,” he growled. But it wasn’t a threat. It was a plea. Loki buried his face in your neck, kissing ravenously up the curve towards the angle of your jaw as your nails dragged down his chiselled abdomen. The god’s breath was hot, decadent.

Both of you raised on your knees, a tangled primal mess of hair and fingers and teeth and tongue as the past burned. Whispers of desire fluttered in the sliver of air between you as Loki’s hands spread against your ass-cheeks, down the backs your thighs. He rested back on the bed, letting you fall over him in a flood of pure need, straddling him immediately. “I’m going to fuck you into this headboard, Laufeyson” you heard yourself mutter as you stooped to place wet kisses on his collarbone. Loki chuckled. “Oh I do hope so,” he rumbled under his breath. “I’ve thought about it enough.”

His eyes tracked over your loose pyjama top like a hunter, running his hands up the curve of your waist until your vision blurred. With a soft pop, you were free. Loki groaned. The flat of his cock lay nestled between your legs, pressed tight against your wet cunt. Pleasure fired with every frustrated rock of his hips, seeking salvation. His palms cupped your breasts, burying his face forwards as your wound your fingers in his hair. “Fuck me,” he gasped desperately against your chest. The skin was moist with moans and sucks and kisses as he pushed your breasts together, his proud features absorbing all you had to give. “Fuck me, please.”

You held your breath as you rose up, hand feeling between his legs and lining him up. The tip of his manhood brushed against your aching heat, a premature moan of anticipation filling the air from you both. “There’s no going back after this,” you said; voice trembling over shaky breaths. The god’s eyes rose from the sight of his cock hovering at your entrance, the same determined look of intent curtaining his features as had in the hallway. “You shall not want to go back, darling,” he murmured, a familiar smirk curling his lip in the gloom. A dimple flashed. “Believe me.”

The words made you clench just as you sank onto his cock, his sheer size making you choke on air as a strangled gasp erupted. Loki’s hands guided your hips, rocking you gently down his length. His eye twitched, brows slanted as his chin tilted to the ceiling. But still, he kept his gaze on you. “Loki-” you whined, feeling each ridge and vein of his shaft press and drag against your little cunt. Nothing was supposed to feel this good.

Loki let out a ragged exhale he’d been holding, whole body shuddering as he filled you to the hilt. Careful fingers rested on your hips, pulling you gently back and forth. You could feel your walls begin to stretch, the sopping stickiness of arousal coating his cock with each gyration. “Good?” he grunted, concern lacing his voice. You nodded mutely, strands of hair sticking to your parted lips as you moaned obscenities above him. How fucked-out you must look, and you’d barely started. One of your hands gripped his headboard, the other steadying on his chest as Loki let you take him. All of him.

With every roll of your hips, your clit pressed against his pelvis; sparks of pleasure setting your belly alight with new desires. Every soft sigh of your name, good girl, that’s it, pushed you higher; confidence building. You started to bounce, thighs tensing with every slam to the root of his shaft. The desire to close your eyes and let yourself drown in ecstasy was overwhelming, but the urge to watch the god you had craved writhe beneath you was stronger.

“G-gods, my sweet little f-fuck...f-ox…” Loki growled, giving into himself and making you fly into the air with a targeted thrust. He caught your waist, sinking you down with merciless precision, “you’re even more d-deadly than I expected.” The headboard slapped against the wall, each ca-lunk of wood on plaster making you tighten. Fingernails sank into the leather covering as the beat grew louder with every synchronised groan from your throats, of every squelching slap of your bodies moving as one. You didn’t stop to wonder who was on the other side. You didn’t care. Loki grit his teeth, the veins in his neck straining as his hair mussed against the pillow. He slipped a hand behind your head as you leant towards him, sucking the pleasure point of his neck with moans so dirty you surprised yourself. “My patient god,” you grunted wetly against his skin, tightening your cunt around his throbbing sex, “I want your cum covering every inch of me when tonight is over.” The noises he was making were filth. Every curse and uhhhhh and sluttish moan driving you feral as you shook the walls with all your might. Loki was nearing his limit. Men and gods, you surmised, were not so different in some respects.

His eyes rolled back, a hiss filling the hair as his jaw set in smouldering intent. You smiled, placing both hands firmly over the leather seal of his headboard. The flutter of his thumb against your swollen clit was all it took to push you over the edge, tumbling with a strangled cry of his name into an abyss of pleasure. Moonlight shattered around his tense body, cutting in shards where each bladed muscle of his godly formed tightened and bulged beneath the grip of your thighs.

Syllables of your name exploded one after another as he let himself come undone, arching up to catch your open mouth in a filthy kiss. The pressure of his cum swelled inside your slit, leaking against his shuddering thrusts as his whole body trembled. Your cries intertwined the air like wafts of smoke, rising and ebbing before with a final broken sigh, you collapsed on top of him. Your fingertips followed at a snails pace, scratching down the skin of the leather headboard. Seconds passed, before Loki’s nose nestled beside your ear. “Worth the wait,” he murmured against your hair. “Mmm-hmmm,” you confirmed groggily, deep in the pillow. Words were too much. “It wasn’t a question,” he said quietly, before pressing a kiss to your temple. You managed to raise your head, seeing the crescent fan of his lashes rise to reveal eyes sparkling with something new. “You,” he whispered, knuckles trailing lovingly down the curve of your damp neck, “however long it took. You were always worth the wait.”

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#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki fanfiction #lokismut #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki x yn #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki gif #loki marvel #somnophilia

1K notes · View notes

shogunish · 3 months

Text

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟲]

synopsis. all that mattered was the taste of strawberries and whip cream on your lips and his hand caressing the nape of your neck.

words. 2.8k

warnings. none

note. IT'S FINALLY HERE 🥳 i hope you guys have as much fun reading this chapter as i had writing it 🥹🥹

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as you thought, you didn’t belong to these sorts of people.

grandeur surrounded you like the sea encapsulated an island in the middle of nowhere.

men dressed in expensive suits filled the dimly-lit hall with their wives hanging on to their arms like the finest jewelry. waiters and waitresses alike steered their way through the crowd with practiced ease and grace in their feet all while carrying a silver platter around, giving champagne away like candy and offering little treats.

such things were foreign; you only had seen such things on tv and for a moment, you felt somewhat intimidated by the sheer scent of money in the air. sometimes, you forgot that satoru worked for a great company, enjoying a high ranking and an even greater paycheck if his tailored suit was anything to go by.

“you look amazing,” satoru reassured you with a whisper in your ear. “don’t be afraid. i’ll be with you all the way.”

and his words did soothe your worries, but not the rapid pounding in your heart. maybe you wouldn’t feel so light-headed if satoru didn’t wear this damned suit and didn’t add a hint of his cologne on his neck and wrists. even his hair was styled and you swore you had suffered a heart attack when you first laid your eyes on him.

smoothly, with your palms clasped around his arm, satoru guided you through the crowd like he had never done anything else. a pinch of pride shone in his eyes; not only did you look stunning, but you also wore the dress he had picked for you.

“it’s too expensive,” you had argued with a pout on your lips when you saw the price tag still attached to the graceful thing. “i can’t possibly wear that.”

and look at you now, turning the heads of his colleagues as he showed up with you.

like a ship in the vast sea, satoru steered you from person to person just to exchange some pleasantries and introduce you to those he worked with for the majority of the time. to your surprise, it was easier than you initially believed. occasionally, he even snuck a little snack from the platters and shared the small treats with you.

it was at these times that your satoru shone through the cracks of the styled businessman in your hands.

everything was going smoothly until your not-date date suddenly got stolen away by some chubby business man in his fifties and drowned in the sea of people and lights and grandeur.

“satoru?” you called out softly, worry in your eyes when you realized he wouldn’t hear you over the soft tunes spilling from the speakers.

damnit.

how hard was it to find a 1,90m man with white hair and dazzling blue eyes in a crowd of people? yeah, you were surprised as well when you found out it was indeed hard.

heels clacked against the polished marble floor when you found yourself at the bar, giving up on finding satoru for the time being. next to you, three ladies chatted amongst themselves. draped in diamonds and silver, they gleamed in the dim lighting of the grand hall like they were gems themselves. their eyes found yours when they appeared to recognize you.

“oh, you have to be gojo’s date for tonight, right?” lady #1 chirped in kind and mildly surprised tones. you recognized her; she was the wife of one of the businessmen satoru had introduced you to earlier. at least one face was somewhat familiar.

“i think it’s the first time gojo brought a woman with him, right?” the second lady added with a glass of champagne in her manicured fingers.

you perked up. “excuse me? the first time? i fear i don’t quite follow..”

lady #3 sat back in the bar stool and flashed you a smirk, her lips painted a deep burgundy as she spoke, “gojo’s never shown up in the company of another woman. many have tried to become his plus one, but he always brushed them off.”

“yeah, you should’ve seen everyone’s faces when he first started talking about you and how well you get along with his son. lots of hearts were broken that afternoon,” lady #1 giggled as your face fell into disbelief.

sure, you suspected that satoru was popular with the ladies. not only was he handsome to the bone, but he could provide a stable life, he was funny, charming, smart and– you were getting carried away.

before a response could make it out, the topic suddenly shifted when one of the ladies realized she hadn’t shown off her newest necklace which glimmered and split the lights into the colors of the rainbow.

at this moment, you realized that you truly didn’t belong in the same boat as them when they talked about tiffany’s jewelry, mansions, vacations in malaysia and venice. the topic of satoru and his lack of female company was wiped clean from the shared canvas of their mind and was instead painted with problems and luxuries you couldn’t even dream of having.

luxury meant for you ordering takeout twice a month when the delivery app had some sort of sale going on.

satoru’s strong arm wraps itself around you like a blanket of comfort as he sweeps into the conversation with one of his charming smiles. the eyes of those women were as drawn to satoru like a flock of moths to the flame as he spoke in soft, suave tones that had even your heart beating a tad bit faster. a bit harder.

“excuse me, but i fear i must steal my lovely lady from you.” satoru flashed them a gentle smile and left the women giggling amongst themselves as he guided you towards the balcony, away from all the hustle and bustle, away from unnecessary attention that wasn’t his.

the moon hung high in the sky in its entirety, filling out the dark heavens above as it watched over countless twinkling dots. below the balcony railing, city lights glimmered in bright neon colors. streets were alive with as many people as there were stars in the sky and yet all of them seemed so far away when you finally breathed.

“sorry.” satoru broke the beat of silence before he combed his fingers through his snowy hair. leaning against the steel railing, he looked handsome. the moonlight caressed his features with the touch of a lover while those cerulean irises bathed in the infinity of the skies. or so you thought. “i didn’t expect anyone to need my attention tonight when it was reserved for you."

heat rose to the apples of your cheeks and suddenly, your heart was pounding underneath your ribs. this feeling budding in the core of your heart was blooming with each word satoru said. especially tonight.

there was no child to take care of. no stomach aches that made you feel horrible.

in this little corner, you found a glimpse of paradise with satoru by your side.

“don’t worry about it,” you said, resting your elbows on the railing and letting your eyes drift towards satoru like he was pulling you into his orbit. “you must be really important when you’re stolen away from me in the blink of an eye.” up until this moment, satoru didn’t know that a chuckle could be like silk in the form of sound and dribble into his ears like warm honey.

leaning closer to you, satoru bumped his shoulder against yours – or rather his biceps. even slumped over, he was still taller than you.

“so tell me, have you been gossipping about me while i was gone?” it was a light-hearted joke, you knew, and still you had half the heart to let satoru know that you would never talk about him behind his back.

you shook your head, eyes crinkling at the edges as you gave satoru a smile. “not about you. but they had a lot to say about their men.”

that seemed to pique satoru’s curiosity if his cheeky grin and the twitch of his ears was anything to go by. a funny look was painted all over your face; one that made satoru only more curious than he already was.

“don’t look at me like that.” he almost pouts. almost. “you can’t just say you got some juicy details on my colleagues and then seal your lips shut.”

fuck. if anything, you wanted him to seal your lips shut. ever since you had laid your eyes on satoru, dressed in that tailored suit which accentuated the slimness of his waist..your thoughts decided to wander and they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon.

“my man and i argued and he got me a tiffany’s necklace. my man gifted me this dress, my man gave me this, my man gave me that,” you mocked voices, tone going up by a pitch before you ended the show with a sigh slipping past your lips. those ladies weren’t bad people, but gods were they exhausting. “it felt like a competition.”

“what, don’t tell me you’re jealous.” a teasing lilt lingered in satoru’s voice. he couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face when you shivered and pouted your glossy lips. if only you were his..he’d pin you against the railing and kiss you stupid until your lipgloss was smeared all over his lips.

“of them? never.” shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you leaned your weight against satoru’s strong frame and basked in the way his warmth seeped through the fine fabric of his suit and into your pores, keeping you warm and toasty. “i don’t need fancy things to have a happy relationship.”

acting on auto-pilot, satoru rested his arm around your waist and pulled you a little tighter against him. “well..what would you need to be happy?”

now that was a question you had never given much thought. the only answer that you could come up with sparked the butterflies in your tummy to life. right then and there, you swore you were a silly teenager again who had come face to face with her crush and there was nowhere to hide.

you didn’t know if the goosebumps on your skin came from the pounding of your heart or the chilly breeze passing by.

“..maybe someone who can communicate his feelings. someone who’s fun but can be serious when the time calls for it. someone who buys me a year worth of pads and prepares a hot water bottle for me. someone who eats so many sweets that it’s a miracle he doesn’t have diabetes yet.”

usually, satoru would like to tease you and say something so cheesy that you were certain you’d regret opening up to him, but he just looked at you with those infinitely deep eyes that glimmered in the moonlight. his hold around your waist tightened.

“you know, i think i’d also be happy with someone who gets along with megumi and doesn’t know how to use my stove. someone who laughs when i buy all the pads with wings and dozes off on my shoulder. someone who brought cookies when she asked if she could help me watch over megumi.”

a smile, that of a lovestruck fool, graced satoru’s lips as you stared at him with round eyes and shock written all over your face. for a moment, he feared you’d ask “me?” like you didn’t even dare to think that satoru could be into you when it was so painfully obvious that it was you.

the moment he saw you standing at his door with that batch of cookies in your hands, he knew it was you.

“gojo, there you are! there’s that man i wanna introduce you to.” one of his colleagues popped the intimate bubble satoru had carefully crafted for the two of you. bubbles were meant to pop eventually, but this was probably the worst timing ever. “oh, you can bring your girlfriend, too! he’ll be delighted to see her!”

this was the hellish equivalent of getting cock-blocked, he thought.

apologies swam in the irises of satoru’s eyes as he furrowed his brows and let out a defeated sigh. he would get his chance. and it’d be tonight.

“shall we?” satoru offered you a hand which you gratefully took before he led you back inside.

an hour or two later, you found your arms looped around satoru’s biceps as he escorted you back home. street lamps lined up next to the concrete going through the park illuminated the space around you, adding a golden glow to satoru, to you, to the feelings that wouldn’t stop growing.

you only took a break on a bench when you mentioned the ache in your feet. walking around in heels for an entire evening, for hours on end, was not one of your many (hidden) talents.

words of memories past fell from your lips like honey as you recalled something about you changing shoes in the middle of an important event.

if satoru was honest to himself, he wasn’t truly paying attention to what you were saying. he did add an occasional hum of approval or offered a chuckle, but what he really focused on was the glimmer in your eyes, the sound of your voice, the way your hair fell. you were imperfect, he knew, but to him, you were perfect for him from head down to your pinky toe.

he wanted it all. he wanted it all for himself.

“..and then there was– oh.” following your line of sight, satoru spotted a small food stall illuminated from within and occupied by an elderly lady who seemed to be distracted by the malfunctioning radio. but that wasn’t what stood out – it was the strawberry crepes being sold.

“you want some, don’t you?” satoru chuckled, cerulean eyes glowing even in the dim lights of the street lamps lined up right beside the two of you.

“how did you know?” you inquired with curiosity laced in your voice.

shrugging his shoulders, satoru smirked. “you’ve been with megumi and me for a while now. it’d be a shame if i didn’t know what you wanted just from a glance.”

you couldn’t protest when satoru already strolled over to the elderly lady and ordered two strawberry crepes. gladly, the lady prepared the sweet treat and even added some extra whipped cream for satoru as if she could sense his sweet tooth. within mere ten minutes, the crepes were done, warm and adorned with ripe slices of scarlet strawberries.

sauntering back to you, satoru handed you your crepe, sat down right next to you and enjoyed the first bite which was as messy as it was sweet. a frown was etched onto satoru’s features as he dropped a strawberry onto the ground. a sweet treat forever lost and never to be savored as god intended.

taking note of satoru’s misery, you offered him one of your strawberries with a gentle smile adorning the curve of your lips. “here. you can have mine.”

“are you sure? it’s your strawberry after all.” who would’ve known that an insignificant thing such as a strawberry would bring a blush to his cheeks? sky blue eyes blinked once, twice at the fruit between your fingers before settling on your face. this was the chance he had been waiting for all evening, he realized.

“you’ve got some whipped cream on your lips.”

“huh?” hastily, you rushed to wipe your lips with your index finger and when you were done, you lifted your face again for further inspection. “is it gone?”

oh, how sweet you were. amused, satoru shook his head. “no. right there.”

nimble fingers tilted your face upwards while cerulean irises gazed into the cracks of your soul as satoru leaned in, closed the gap and sealed your lips with his own.

for a moment, your muscles froze. was this truly happening? was satoru actually kissing you? or was this another one of your daydreams right before he dropped you off at your doorstep? no, it was better than a mere daydream – it was reality.

fingertips twitched, needing to hold his face, his shoulders, anything. but before you could even lift a finger, satoru pulled away with a smile on his soft lips and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “this is much better than a strawberry.”

like a fish, you were left gaping at the man who just kissed you with the care of a lover. you wanted to say yes a thousand times over, but not a single words made it past your lips. satoru liked you, that much you knew. he had said so himself earlier that evening and yet, you were still left speechless like a canvas that was waiting to be painted with his love and kisses.

“it is,” you finally breathed, set aside your crepe and cupped satoru’s cheeks as you pulled him in for another sweet kiss.

lips melted into each other like candle wax as they danced with each other, explored and got to know each other all over again. no words were needed to explain the feeling, now in full bloom, engulfing you and satoru like a cocoon.

all that mattered was the taste of strawberries and whip cream on your lips and his hand caressing the nape of your neck.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon, @risuola, @ayanominitrash, @lordbugs, @phoenix666stuff, @hotvinimon, @stevenknightmarc, @sukunasleftkneecap, @erigaur , @lu-lynds, @staryukis

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru fluff #fic. the gojos & i

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lizzyk137 · 2 months

Note

Could you please write my idea for jethro Gibbs 🙏

Imagine Gibbs seeing you doing a million steps nightly skin care routine and just laying under the covers and waiting for you to be done and come to bed already and slowly getting frustrated

Maybe a little toddler cuddling in bed with him and Gibbs fake complaining to them about you

“Mommy is taking a long time huh?”

Nightly Routine- Gibbs X Reader Fanfic

Summary: Gibbs' daily night with you doing your skincare routine. Warnings: None, per fluff! Thank you so much for requesting this! I'm so sorry it took so long; I get into funks where I hate everything I write. It's longer than I wanted but i couldn't help thinking about his little family and the adorable dynamics! Hope you enjoy! ❤️

Want to read more, visit my Masterlist!

He watched as you grabbed yet another bottle to spray on your face. This was the third thing that you had sprayed on your face in the past 10 minutes.

He knew every step you did morning and night. This spray was step seven of the night. He didn't understand why you had to do a long skin care routine every day. You were beautiful. Your skin was soft and flawless, unlike his that was full of cracks. He'd remind you every day how beautiful you were and occasionally telling you that you could have it worse, aka his skin, but you'd always shake your beautiful head, the light bouncing of your hair like a halo when you did, and you'd always tell him you loved every line and crack on his face, it was beautiful.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Gibbs turned his gaze down beside him to look at his youngest son, who was holding his badge. He didn't know where he grabbed it from, which concerned him, but his son was always fascinated with it. He even had asked him to show him how to flip it open and around like a real agent does.

"That's great, baby! Can you read the next line?" You cheered from your vanity as you applied the next cream to your face.

Gibbs smiled at you. Even when you took time for yourself, you were still present with your son. "I think you know these letters so tell me what they are." Gibbs spoke up next as he pointed to the word N.C.I.S in the large font that was at the top of the badge card.

Gibbs had helped sound out every word for his five-year-old on the badge card, and you still were doing your routine.

He sometimes would get annoyed with how long it took, not really because of the time but because he wanted you in his arms, your attention fully on him before he had to leave and capture yet another monster. But you didn't ask for anything. You were raising three of his beautiful, making a beautiful home, went above and beyond at work as a special education teacher all the while taking away any baggage or worry, he has carried back from work and restarting him every day so he could be a better man for you and his kids.

You could've asked for more. Way more. But you didn't. You were young when you had first gotten pregnant. A drunken one night with Gibbs, which eventually led to him falling head over heels for you and asking you to marry him. You were worried since having your oldest that you wouldn't be present enough with your career and taking on the father role when Gibbs worked overtime. He actually had to sit you down and tell you it was okay to enjoy doing your skin care and that those minutes were for you to enjoy and unwind. You felt guilty, but after Nathan turned four and you had another on the way, you were thankful for that skin care routine each morning and night.

Your son was nestled into his side, his light brown hair falling into his eyes as he slept. He gave a quick kiss and looked at the clock. 10 p.m. He waited for the quick pitter patter of feet, and then their door opened, revealing his beautiful daughter, a stuffy in one hand, and a book in another.

"Daddy, could you read this?" She came over and sat beside Gibbs, Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing falling into his lap. His daughter was incredibly smart for her age of ten. She had Down Syndrome, and since day one, she's defied every pressure society has given her, excelling above and beyond and making a name for herself in school and the community. She was far smarter than him on subjects, and he always loved it when she taught him new things. His heart burst every time she told him she wanted a career in the same field as her daddy.

Every night, she comes at exactly ten o'clock and asks him to read her a chapter because her eyes got too tired, and he was happy too even though he wasn't the best reader. He perched his glasses on his nose, her head resting on his chest.

He finished the chapter and looked at the clock. 10:30 and you were in the bathroom blowing your little fan to dry your face. He heard the drawers being opened and you were rummaging through them.

The door opened a peak, and he saw his oldest stick his head in. "Hey, I just got back from Josh's. Where's Mom?" Gibbs just raised his eyebrows in reply, earning a small chuckle from his son. "Ah, skin care."

He nodded as he sat the book and his glasses down on the bedside table. Nathan came over and sat beside Sophie, his head resting on the top of hers as he played with her fingers, something that always calmed him down after a long day at school and practice.

His youngest stirred, his eyes blinking open before asking where his mommy was.

His smiled and chuckled, "Mommy is taking a long time, huh?" His joking tone making even his youngest smile.

He heard you laugh at his joke from the bathroom before coming out, your skin glowing and bright. You placed your hands on your hips and just gave him a look before coming over and putting a kiss on your two oldest kid's heads. Each was falling asleep, and he chuckled over how much room they were taking up. His youngest crawled over him and pushed himself in between his siblings whose hands were still clasped.

You both pulled the covers over your sleeping kids before you made your way over to Gibbs. He was glad you had conned him into a king-sized bed, especially since there wasn't much room left for the both of you to sleep. You crawled in next to him and snuggled into his chest, the last few knots of worry leaving him, and he sighed.

"I took a while because I was trying to get off permanent marker from my face." You mumbled into his chest.

"It's okay, you deserve your time, baby, no need to explain." He kissed the top of your head. "I do think we need to explain to the kids that they're bed hogs."

"Or we could just get a bigger bed." He eyed you before smiling and nodding his head as his way of saying yes.

He rubbed your soft cheek with his thumb, your breathing slowing down, your long lashes fluttering closed before he finally closed his eyes.

#ncis #ncis fandom #ncis gibbs #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs #gibbs #gibbs x reader #ncis team #ncis fanfiction #jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #fatherly gibbs #skincare #agent gibbs

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yelena-bellova · 1 year

Text

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Four

Chapter Four: Learning Curve

Plot: With the prospect of both a biography and a new team member, Y/n learns more about the modus operandi of AFC Richmond.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: f!reader, language, minor innuendo, (16+)

A/N: This is really the last chapter before things start to get going, so hang tight through the filler, because we’re about to take off lol

—————

Though she spent very little time there, the KJPR office was somewhat of a safe haven for Y/n.

Working at Nelson Road Stadium had proven to bring a level of chaos Y/n wasn’t used to. When she’d make the drive across town for her weekly meetings with Keeley, she was assured the only focus would be work.

So when Y/n entered Keeley’s office and found her boss on the couch, holding two cups of coffee, she was a bit thrown.

“Hi!” Keeley greeted.

“Morning,” Y/n replied, shutting the door behind her, “What’s this?”

“I thought we could have breakfast,” Keeley smiled, holding up the cups, “I want to hear all about your first week.”

Y/n tried to hide her true feelings on the matter, knowing Keeley had all the right intentions. It wasn’t many bosses who cared so much about their employees.

“Okay,” Y/n conceded, setting her things on the far end of the couch and joining Keeley in the middle.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just got cream and sugar,” Keeley explained as she handed Y/n the takeaway cup, “I hope you’re good with dairy.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n chuckled, taking a sip of the drink, “It’s lovely.”

Keeley grinned victoriously. “So,” she kicked off her ridiculously high heels and tucked her feet under her, “How’s it going? Are you loving it?”

Love was a strong word in the case of Y/n’s feelings towards AFC Richmond. She liked Rebecca, she liked Higgins, she…could tolerate Ted. Coach Beard, whose lack of first name didn’t seem to bother anyone, and Roy Kent seemed decent. Some of the Greyhounds were more friendly than others. The work was something she was perfectly skilled at. But Y/n couldn’t say she was in love with any part of the job.

“It’s…” Y/n struggled to answer truthfully while staying grateful, “Definitely a unique place.”

“It’s a lot to get used to if you’ve never been in that world,” Keeley replied, picking up on the top notes of what Y/n was saying.

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded, relaxing a little, “That’s not to say that I’m not happy there. I just think it’s going to take a little while to adjust.”

Keeley took a long sip of her drink before speaking, “Well, if there’s one thing I learned being there, it’s that you’ve got to leave yourself open to new things. I mean, when I first met Rebecca, I was fucking terrified of her. Felt like I was gonna piss myself anytime she looked at me.”

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion.

“But,” Keeley rested an arm on the back of the sofa, “Once I decided I wasn’t going to be intimidated by her anymore, we became best friends. Now I can’t imagine my life without her.”

“That’s wonderful,” Y/n smiled softly down at her coffee cup, trying to hold her tongue as much as she could, “For you guys, but…I can’t say that I’m looking for anything more from Richmond than a decent place to work.”

One look at Keeley’s face and it was clear nothing about that answer was computing. “Why?”

Y/n slowly shrugged as she searched for the proper answer. “I just…I don’t know, I just feel like there’s your personal life and your professional life and the two don’t really go together. That’s not to say it doesn’t work for some people,” she gestured towards Keeley with her cup, “It clearly did for you. Just…I don’t see that in the cards for me.”

Watching Y/n as she sipped her coffee, Keeley felt reminiscent of the very time she’d just described. She’d cracked Rebecca open, and this felt like another grand opportunity.

“Well,” Keeley smiled knowingly, “I think it’s worth investing time in the people you work with. Like us,” she reached forwards and tapped Y/n’s knee, “I want us to be friends.”

Y/n chuckled, feeling trapped between a very pink rock and an equally pink hard place.

“Even if it takes the whole season,” Keeley continued, narrowing her eyes, “And endless weekends sat in the owner’s box together…”

“This is getting into HR territory,” Y/n smirked.

“Shows what you know,” Keeley replied smugly, “We don’t have an HR department yet.”

Unable to stop herself, Y/n joined in with Keeley’s laughter.

“Now,” Keeley bent down and slipped her heels back on, “We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Rising from the sofa, Y/n felt like she was going to get whiplash from how fast the atmosphere shifted from work to anything but.

—————————

Keeley and Y/n made the short drive to Nelson Road and went straight up to Rebecca’s office. Y/n had daily meetings with the Greyhound’s owner and Higgins, but Keeley only popped in once a week.

“Morning,” Keeley knocked on Rebecca’s door, but entered without asking.

“Good morning,” Rebecca said in a voice Y/n had quickly learned only came out when she was stressed.

“Something wrong?” Y/n asked as she set her purse by the coffee table.

Rebecca took a breath, “Trent Crimm will be joining our meeting this morning. Apparently he has a proposition he’d like to talk to us about.”

Y/n confusedly looked to Keeley before bouncing back to Rebecca.

“Trent previously worked for The Independent,” she continued, “I don’t know if you read the article about Ted’s panic attacks last season, but he was at the helm.”

In fact, Y/n hadn’t read anything about Ted’s panic attacks until recently. And if she had heard the name ‘Trent Crimm,’ it hadn’t made a lasting impression.

“So…” Y/n started, “Do we like him or…?”

“I suppose it’s neutral,” Rebecca sighed, “Or that could change within the hour. We’ll see.”

Y/n gave a thin lipped smile, “Fun.”

By the time the three letters hit the air. Higgins was knocking on Rebecca’s door, Trent Crimm in tow.

“Good morning, all,” he greeted, “I’ve brought our special guest.”

Rebecca stood to her feet, smoothing her blouse as she did, “Trent. Always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Trent said, his voice smooth and even as he shook Rebecca’s hand.

“I believe you’ve met Keeley Jones,” Rebecca gestured to her friend, “But you haven’t met our latest hire. This is Miss Y/n Y/l/n, she’s heading up PR alongside Keeley.”

Y/n stretched her hand over Rebecca’s desk to take Trent’s.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Y/l/n,” the former journalist greeted.

“You as well,” Y/n replied, keeping an even expression.

Rebecca gestured towards the chair on the opposite side of the desk, “Please.”

Trent took a seat while Y/n, Keeley and Higgins formed a united front on either side of Rebecca

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I requested to meet with you,” Trent said, pausing briefly after, “As you know, I recently left my position at The Independent in favor of pursuing other creative avenues. However, having spent much time here, as well as other clubs, I know how unique AFC Richmond is.”

Unique. The same word Y/n had used to describe her feelings on Richmond. So she wasn’t the only one who saw it…

“Not only this past season,” Trent continued, “Being relegated only to make a triumphant return, but the team, the coaches…” Trent spread his hands, “It’s all quite special in contrast to other clubs.”

Finally, Trent paused the flattery and got to the heart of the matter. “I’m quite interested in writing a book about AFC Richmond. It would, of course, contain some of the club’s rich history, but I’d specifically like to focus on this season, which would entail shadowing the club for its entirety.”

Red lights. Big, red flashing lights went off in Y/n’s head.

“Well,” Rebecca stuttered, reaching for her tea cup, “That is…certainly a proposition.”

“Quite,” Higgins agreed, that nervous smile pasted on his face.

“It’s wonderful to hear,” Y/n added, glancing briefly over to Keeley and seeing the same panic in her eyes, “That the club’s so highly regarded.”

Trent smiled easily as he waited for an answer.

“But,” Rebecca said rather loudly, before catching herself, “I feel that the final say can’t come from me. I think it’s only right that Coach Lasso be the one who decides.”

“Yes,” Keeley interjected, “That’s a very good point.”

Speak of the devil, or whatever inhumanly cheery being he channeled each morning, The Final Say rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Good morning, Viet-“ Ted began as he strolled in.

All at once, in nervous relief, Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins and Y/n all shouted, “Ted!”

“Hey, look who’s here,” Ted grinned, pointing to Keeley, “Hi, Keeley.”

“Hello, Ted,” Trent turned in his chair.

Ted stopped in place, before shaking the man’s hand, “Trent Crimm. Are you kiddin’ me? Hey, nice to see you, man. You know, they got a big ol’ Ziploc bag full of your hair ties down at the lost and found. You should pop on down, i-if you still want ‘em.”

Ted went about placing the daily delivery of biscuits on Rebecca’s desk, something Y/n still didn’t understand.

“Mr. Crimm has requested to follow the club this year,” Rebecca paraphrased, grinning unnaturally large at Ted, “He wants to write a book about us.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ted raised a curious eyebrow.

“I think there’s a story here worth telling, Ted,” Trent said.

“Yes,” Rebecca smiled, “And we all,” she gestured to her own team, “Love the idea, but obviously as manager, we thought you should have the final decision.”

Ted sucked his teeth, “Oh, okay.”

As he began to think it over, and while Trent’s back was turned on the group, Keeley, Rebecca, Higgins and Y/n began to mouth and gesture a silent chorus of ‘no’ to Ted.

“I mean, geez, you know…” Ted stalled, his eyes bouncing between his co-workers and Trent.

It was a nightmare waiting to unfold, Y/n tried to communicate that passionately with each shake of her head. All eyes were already on Richmond, waiting for them to mess up. Waiting for some drama that could be exploited. They didn’t need someone describing every failure in graphic detail, catching every ugly moment…

Ted felt otherwise.

“Sure, what the heck? Why not?”

Y/n grimaced.

“When can you start?” Ted asked, “No time like the present. Except 11:11, that’s my wishing time. Or 23:11, if I’m at a military base or Euro Disney.”

“Right, well,” Rebecca breathed, “Decision made. Wonderful,” she smiled at the newest addition to the Richmond fold, “Trent, welcome.”

Y/n kept the same polite smile, praying her face held.

The chime of Higgins’ mobile broke the awkward silence.

“Holy shit,” the man exclaimed, “Zava is leaving Juventus.”

“Whoa,” Keeley cried, reaching for her phone in time with Rebecca.

“Wait,” Y/n paused, “‘Zava’ Zava?”

Ted gasped, “What about their kids?” He earned himself a brief glare from the foursome across from him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what any of those things meant. I thought it was like Greek mythology or something. I was just lost. I just went with that. Sorry.”

“Zava’s a world class striker who’s about to leave his club in Italy,” Trent explained for Ted’s benefit, but Y/n listened as well. She knew nothing more than the name.

“Ooh,” Ted replied, “Cacio later, Pepe.”

“Apparently,” Higgins began to read from the headlines, “He wants to play in the Premier League because his wife binged The Office and she wants to live in England.”

“I think you mean Scranton, Pennsylvania, buddy,” Ted pointed toward Higgins.

“We didn’t do it first, Ted,” Y/n replied, glancing up from Google quickly, “Ricky Gervais?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Ted remembered, “Y’all did a premake over here.”

Higgins brought them back to the original topic. “If we got Zava,” he breathed, “That would be amazing.”

“He would be huge for the club’s brand,” Keeley added, “He’s got, like, 90 million followers. One time he just posted the word ‘7 million likes.’ It got 10 million likes.”

“Yes, but he is very expensive,” Rebecca countered, “And isn’t he supposed to be a bit of a diva?”

Y/n was scanning the top search results for the star player, already not thrilled with the level of consistent inconsistency she saw. But Keeley was right, he was on his way to Beckham level status.

“Yes, huge diva,” the blonde answered, “Enormous. He goes through teams like you go through manicurists.”

“The fumes make me dizzy,” Rebecca defended, “And I overshare,” she quickly looked to Trent, “Please don’t print that.”

“We have to balance what he’d do for the brand versus the enviroment he’d create,” Y/n spoke up, “But, yes, generally speaking, he’d be incredible.”

“Zava has gone through 14 teams in 15 years,” Higgins spoke for the other side, “Leaving behind nothing but chaos and trophies,” longing developed in the man’s eyes, “Beautiful, shiny trophies.”

Rebecca sighed, “Yes, but, Leslie, who wants to deal with all that drama?”

“Apparently, everyone who can afford him,” Higgins answered, scrolling an article, “Chelsea, Arsenal, United, West Ham…”

“I say, let’s just go for it,” Rebecca said, barely letting a beat pass after the utterance of her ex’s team, “I mean, maybe he’s a handful, but who doesn’t love a handful?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking salted peanuts,” Ted replied, “Yes, please. If you’re talking Skittles though, no thank you. You know, the dye melts and it gets all over your fingers, makes ‘em all sticky,” Ted laughed before pointing to Trent, “And that, you can print.”

“Wonderful,” Higgins decided, “Let’s set up a meeting.”

“Great,” Rebecca cheered as the rest of the room voiced their own enthusiasm, “Let’s go get Zava. Zava-dabba-doo!”

Keeley and Y/n each collected their things and headed for the door with Higgins and Ted.

“This is exciting,” Keeley said cheerily.

“Potentially a huge headache,” Y/n replied, ever the more pessimistic, “But it could be great.”

“So, am I to assume,” Trent asked Rebecca, not having moved from his spot, “You’re going to pursue a notoriously mercurial player you can’t really afford simply because the team your ex-husband owns wants him?”

From the door, Ted, Higgins, Y/n and Keeley all gave an encore of the previous performance, gesturing wildly to Rebecca to answer ‘no.’

Following Ted’s lead, Rebecca responded truthfully. “Yes.”

A second of silence passed before Trent gave an approving smile, “Love that.”

Feeling safe leaving Rebecca and Trent alone, Y/n followed the group out and down the stairs. Keeley informed her along the way that she was off to oversee a commercial shoot, but to text her if she had any questions. Regardless of Y/n’s reservations, she admired that Keeley was a hands-on boss.

Once in her office, Y/n set down her things and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that she needed to speak to Ted. He’d gone forward with Trent Crimm’s book idea without even considering the possible repercussions for the club. One week on the job had shown Y/n that Ted was optimistic to a fault.

“He knows what he’s doing, he knows what he’s doing,” Y/n muttered to herself, taking a deep breath and sitting down at her desk. She’d barely made contact with the chair before she was back up, “Nope.”

Descending down the staircase with purpose in each step, Y/n made a beeline for the coach’s office, passing Keeley and Isaac. She knocked on the door twice before poking her head in.

“Well, hey there, Y/n,” Ted greeted from his office, waving her over, “Come on in.”

“Hi,” Y/n smiled, shutting the door behind her and coming to stand before Ted and Coach Beard’s adjoined desks. The latter wasn’t in yet. “Do you have a second?”

“Hey, for a fellow ex-pat, you can have two,” Ted joked.

Y/n had prayed on multiple occasions that she’d learn to appreciate Ted’s off-beat humor as everyone else seemed to. God had yet to deliver.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re considering,” Y/n gestured circularly with her hands, “All the angles of what allowing Mr. Crimm to follow us this season means.”

“Okay,” Ted replied, moving to sit down at his desk, “Speak your mind, small fry.”

“Look, I know that a book all about Richmond sounds flattering,” Y/n explained, “And it is, but…regardless of whether he currently works for a publication or not, Trent is, at his core, a journalist. And some journalists may say they’re out to capture the good, but most of them are only interested in capturing the bad. And he’s going to be here for,” Y/n shut her eyes to accentuate the point, “Every single moment of the season. Which means every slip of the tongue, every mistake, basically,” she gestured between Ted and Coach Beard’s chair, “Any wrong move you or the team make will be put into print and potentially inflated to make you look even worse. It’s just…” Y/n took a breath, “Not the best idea.”

To his credit, Ted not only listened to Y/n’s points, but seemed to genuinely consider them.

“Well, I appreciate you bringin’ all that up, Y/n,” Ted finally replied, “Really. But I’ve known Trent a while and he’s a good egg. He’s not gonna try and paint us any other way than which we are.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “This is the same man who wrote about you having a panic attack on the pitch.”

“Oh,” Ted waved the memory off, “He was just doin’ his job. Ain’t no water needs to pass under that bridge.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/n replied, her mouth hanging open at the lack of thought that was going into this.

“All that aside, I think Trent’s gonna do a bang-up job,” Ted smiled, “And if anything comes up, we’ll make sure to let him know to leave it out.”

“Okay,” Y/n clapped her hands together before holding them up, “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait, what was that?” Ted asked, pressing a hand to his ear for added comedic effect.

Y/n threw him a courtesy chuckle as she made for the door, letting the faux smile fall as soon as her back was turned. She could officially go on record of saying she’d tried to save the club’s reputation. If Ted wanted to sabotage that, it wouldn’t fall on her head…

Emerging in the hallway, Y/n was more in her head than her surroundings. A solid blonde and blue blur in her peripheral vision, Jamie Tartt, brought her back. He was laser-locked on something down the hall.

Y/n came to a stop, glancing down the way from them to see the back of Roy Kent, bobbing down the hall, and Keeley standing by herself, with a bag over her shoulder.

“What are you looking at?” Y/n asked, more confused than curious.

“Science,” Jamie mumbled, his eyes following Keeley as she turned on her heel.

Y/n squinted at the reply, “Huh?”

“I think Roy and Keeley broke up,” Jamie answered.

“They were dating?” Y/n asked, her eyes now trailing Keeley as well.

The question finally broke Jamie’s focus and he turned to Y/n, “How could you not know that? I thought you and Keeley were mates.”

“She’s my boss,” Y/n gave a sideways glance, “Her personal life is none of my business.”

Y/n turned to Jamie, who was already tuned out of the conversation. “But something tells me it’s yours so,” she clutched the rail and swung up the stairs, “Have a good one.”

Behind her, Jamie mumbled some reply as they went on their separate ways.

—————————

Later in the day, after extensive research on Zava amongst other tasks, Y/n’s phone buzzed with a text from Keeley.

Are you free for a drink after work?

She sighed tiredly, out of all the people trying to befriend her, Keeley’s efforts were the hardest to combat. Maybe because she was sunshine personified, maybe because Y/n could tell she didn’t have an dis-genuine bone in her body…all she knew was she truly didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

A second text came through, offering salvation.

Promise it’s work related.

Y/n sent a reply immediately.

Sounds good. Text me where.

Once quitting time came around, Y/n drove to the posher side of Richmond and the address of the bar Keeley had given her. It was more upscale than the Crown and Anchor, but not so much so that it would be obscenely priced.

To her credit, Keeley dove right into the business of it all when they sat down. She told Y/n how at the commerical shoot, she’d run into an old friend from her modeling days and had offered her a job with KJPR. Something along the lines of a liaison coordinator between clients.

“Okay,” Y/n shrugged, “I don’t really see how this involves me though.”

“Well,” Keeley slid her martini glass away, “I was wondering, since you’ve got so much experience, if you wouldn’t mind helping me help her get adjusted? It’s a bit of a jump from her previous jobs and I just want to make sure she does well.”

While Keeley could sometimes appear naive, she wasn’t to be underestimated. Y/n knew this already. She was never in the KJPR office for more than twenty minutes at a time. She barely knew the names of the other employees. Keeley knew all this as well.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at her boss, “That’s not why you asked me out tonight.”

Keeley held her gaze a few seconds before breaking with a small smile, “No, it’s not. I just said that so you’d come.”

Y/n rolled her eyes only in half-annoyance as Keeley cackled.

“But I really would appreciate your help with Shandy whenever you’re around,” Keeley said firmly, “She’d benefit a lot, learning from you.”

“Sure,” Y/n shrugged, not even realizing that she was smiling, “Fine. But if she’s as deceitful as you, I want nothing to do with her.”

Keeley chuckled, “Fair. How’d your day go?”

“Fine,” Y/n sighed, twirling the olive on the toothpick of her drink, “Sounds like you had a better one though.”

“Yeah,” Keeley replied, her voice dropping and her eyes suddenly turning sad.

Y/n didn’t need to be told not to pry into anyone’s life, it was a professional courtesy she wanted herself. But if the members of AFC Richmond were so personally intwined, there was a certain amount she had to know.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/n carefully broached the topic.

“Yeah, of course,” Keeley replied softly.

“You and Coach Kent…” Y/n awkwardly ran her finger along the bottom of her glass, “Were you…?”

Keeley gave an almost imperceptible nod, averting her gaze back to her drink.

“I don’t need to know anything,” Y/n held her hands up, “I-“

“No, it’s fine,” Keeley dismissed her, “I mean, it sucks, but it also helps to talk about it.”

Not the intended result, but Y/n wasn’t going to shut Keeley down. It felt like girl code.

“I don’t know, it just…” Keeley pressed a hand to the side of her face, “Really came out of nowhere. I keep thinking back and trying to find where things started going wrong, but I can’t find anything. I mean, I’m wracking my brain constantly just wondering what I did wrong.”

“Look, I don’t know the situation,” Y/n replied, “The little I know about Coach Kent, he seems like a…” she searched for the right word, “Somewhat difficult person.”

Keeley breathed a laugh, “Yeah, sometimes. But not how you’d think.”

“But…maybe things just didn’t work because they didn’t work?” Y/n suggested, trying to ease a fellow woman’s pain a little, “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Keeley replied, not yet meeting Y/n’s eyes, “I just…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Judging by the longing in her eyes, Y/n knew the next words would only reflect the love that remained on her end.

“Right, enough about me,” Keeley said, perking back up, “I just spilled my guts to you,” she poked Y/n’s arm, “Now you’ve gotta give me something.”

“I’ve got nothing to give,” Y/n chuckled and took a sip of her drink.

“Oh, there’s gotta be something,” Keeley squinted, “Have any of the players started hitting on you yet?”

Y/n nearly choked, “Thankfully no.”

“Are there any you want to hit on you?”

This time, Y/n was thankful she didn’t have anything in her mouth or else she definitely would have choked. “No,” she replied, her voice going up in pitch.

“Oh, come on,” Keeley laughed, “There’s gotta be someone.”

“Absolutely not,” Y/n swiped a hand through the air, “Unless you count Dani Rojas picking me up and spinning me around like he’d just come home from war, there’s been nothing.”

“Oh, that’s just Dani,” Keeley smiled, “He’s a sweetheart. But I’d bet you five quid, someone’s already got their eye on you.”

Y/n scrunched up her face at the possibilities of the thought. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“What?” Keeley shrugged, “You’re mad fit, you’re there all the time…someone’s gonna notice you.”

“Subject change,” Y/n shook her head,“Dear God.”

The night went on like that: Keeley trying to see how uncomfortable she could make Y/n until she laughed, which only resulted in them both laughing.

—————————

Richmond’s first match of the season arrived on a clear Sunday afternoon in Chelsea.

Y/n got herself to the stadium, clutching her Richmond badge just in case Rebecca had forgotten to put her name on the list. But sure enough, she sailed right on through security and rode the elevator all the way up to the VIP box. Coming down the aisles of seats, Y/n spotted the trio that were quickly becoming her group. Higgins, Keeley and Rebecca were huddled together in deep discussion.

“What’d I miss?” Y/n asked as they parted, taking the vacant seat next to Rebecca.

“According to Higgin’s wife’s, friend’s, sister’s airline stewardess’ massage therapist,” Rebecca sputtered, “Zava’s going to sign with Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Y/n sighed, feeling a bit deflated, “That’s too bad.”

It didn’t take long for the crowd to begin chanting, though neither team had come onto the pitch yet. Y/n glanced down at the field and spotted Roy Kent, facing the crowd and giving a reserved salute. She’d forgotten he was a Chelsea legend.

Y/n glanced over to Keeley, who was firmly squeezing Rebecca’s hand, and felt a twinge of sympathy pain.

But as quick as the crowd had been to cheer on Roy, their attention flipped as Zava himself came through the VIP section, taking a seat in the front row.

Y/n sighed, “Well, that’s a bit of salt in the wound.”

Not before long, the match kicked off. It had been a solid year since Y/n had been to a game, and even longer since she’d been remotely interested. But working for a club, she had to get back into it to some extent. She reacquainted herself with the rules as the clock ticked, her eyes bouncing between players. By the end of the first half, it was 1-0 in favor of Chelsea.

A loud gag came from Higgins, breaking Y/n out of her thoughts. “Is he okay?”

Rebecca didn’t seem at all concerned, “What now?”

“I might’ve jinxed it,” Higgins replied nervously, looking over towards where Zava was seated.

Y/n leaned forward to see an older man approaching the striker, shaking his hand confidently.

“I knew it,” Rebecca complained.

“I’m confused, who’s-“

Y/n’s sentence stopped in its tracks as the older man took off his sunglasses, revealing himself to be Rupert Mannion.

“Oh,” Y/n’s mouth hung around the vowel.

“Would you please go and find out as much as you can from your vast network of lip-reading massage therapists?” Rebecca asked of Higgins, who promptly departed with his phone.

Y/n took the opportunity to scan Rupert from a distance. He looked perfectly pleasant and somehow, that let Y/n know he was as dangerous as he’d been made out to be.

“Rupert’s gonna land Zava,” Rebecca stated.

“You don’t know that,” Keeley replied.

Rebecca sighed, launching into a story, “Years ago when I was bartending in that private club, Rupert and his then wife came into the bar,” she laughed, “He was the life and soul of the party. Buying rounds of drinks for everyone, telling stories. Just charm personified. And he left me a massive tip. And then about a week later, he came back without his wife and asked me out. I, of course, said no and then he left.

“What a dick,” Keeley replied.

“I’ll second that,” Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the dick in question.

“But then he came back the next night, and the next night, and the next,�� Rebecca continued, “And he would just sit at the bar with a drink and chatted to me till close. And he just said ‘It doesn’t matter if you ever go out with me. It’s just worth it being here to get to know you.’”

Y/n and Keeley looked out at the air ahead of them, both contemplating the almost magic of it.

“It’s a fine line between stalking and romance,” Keeley mused.

“And after about six weeks of that,” Rebecca was building towards the conclusion, “He asked me out again. And I said yes without any hesitation because by that point…I just felt so lucky because he wanted me.”

Y/n gazed over at Rebecca, feeling the pang of understanding only women could share. The same one she felt for Keeley.

“He made me feel special,” Rebecca said, old emotion welling in her throat, “Chosen,” she glanced over at where her ex stood, “He made me feel like that.”

Y/n and Keeley looked over to a grinning Rupert, charming many laughs out of Zava.

While Keeley reached over and took her best friend’s hand, Y/n met Rebecca’s eyes and gave her the warmest smile she’d given anyone at Richmond so far. Through that, she hoped, Rebecca would know she was with her.

Not a moment later, Higgins shimmied his way back through their row.

“Well?” Rebecca asked as the three women straightened.

“I just got off the phone with my son’s karate teacher,” Higgins began to recall the trail of communication, “Who used to date the woman who ran Zava’s avocado ranch-”

“Would you please get on with it?” Rebecca rushed.

“He might be going to West Ham,” Higgins nervously answered.

“Damn,” Y/n fell back in her seat, more disappointed with more context.

“Shit,” Keeley exclaimed.

“I knew it,” Rebecca shrugged, entirely unsurprised. “Rupert always gets what he wants.”

The four of them sat there, wallowing in defeat, before Rebecca’s posture perked up again.

“You know what,” she pulled her purse from the floor, “If Rupert can sweet-talk Zava into joining his club, then so can I.”

“Yes,” Keeley cheered her friend on, standing up to let her out the row.

“Alright,” Y/n nodded, proud that Rebecca was willing to fight for the club. Better yet, despite her desperation, she could handle it with grace.

The second half began and the Greyhounds came out on the attack with a new vigor. Y/n wasn’t sure what happened in the locker rooms between halves, but something had changed during the fifteen minute break and it was working for them. Colin delivered the ball to Jamie, who passed it to Sam, who made a spectacular kick that bounced off the goal post, hitting Dani in the face, which resulted in an even more spectacular rebound into the net.

Keeley was out of her seat cheering, hugging Higgins before tugging on Y/n’s hands excitedly. Even though she was only getting re-familiarized with the sport, Y/n felt a pit of joy in her stomach as she watched the team celebrating on the pitch.

After the point, Rebecca made her way back down the row and rejoined the group.

“Well?” Y/n asked, extending her hands in anticipation.

“Did you sweet talk him?” Higgins asked.

“Uh,” Rebecca adjusted her coat, “What’s the opposite of that?”

The three of them thought a moment.

“Sour-yell,” Keeley came up with.

“Yeah,” Rebecca nodded, keeping her eyes on the match, “I did that.”

Keeley, Higgins and Y/n looked to one another in confusion. Any dignity Rebecca possessed seemed to disappear in the face of Rupert Mannion. But now, it had possibly cost them Zava, and Y/n felt the opportunities slip through their fingers.

The game, however, ended better than Rebecca’s conversation. A 1-1 draw and Richmond left with a goal on the board. The team was proud, and in turn, Y/n felt an inkling of pride.

“Right, well,” Y/n sighed as their section began to empty, “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Rebecca replied speedily, gathering her items, “I don’t think I can handle another run-in.”

The foursome picked up and left, heading back into the stadium.

“No one else was around for your…” Y/n fished for some better term for Rebecca’s blow up, “Sour-yell, right?”

“Thankfully, no. But I still think we need to get straight back to the office,” Rebecca answered as they climbed the steps, “It’s not safe here.”

As they made their way out, an above head TV screen spoke unavoidably loud.

“Please welcome the newest member of Chelsea Football Club,” one of the team’s staff said from the press room, “Zava.”

Keeley, Y/n, Rebecca and Higgins froze under the picture, unable to look away as Zava picked up the contract and paused before signing.

“I have changed my mind,” he told the room full of journalists, “Zava will not play for Chelsea.”

“Oh,” Rebecca sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t watch this.”

As she left, Keeley followed with Higgins and Y/n bringing up the rear.

“Zava will play for Richmond.”

At hearing the name of their club, the group hastened back around the hall corner, mouths agape. As the press room filled with question after question that Zava would leave unanswered, Keeley hugged Rebecca and squealed. Y/n found herself laughing, pressing a hand to her chest in shock.

“So he responds well to yelling,” Y/n exclaimed.

“You did it,” Keeley grinned as she squeezed her friend, “You did it!”

Rebecca looked proud of herself, and rightfully so. This was a win for her, for the brand, for the whole of AFC Richmond. The season had just taken a massive turn in, potentially, the best direction.

“Okay, definitely back to the office,” Keeley made a plan, “We’ve got to put out a statement.”

“Right,” Rebecca smiled, victoriously leading her team out of the stadium.

—————————

After writing up an official announcement with Keeley, Y/n headed out for the night. She made it down the staircase just as the last of the Greyhounds were leaving the locker room, dressed for a night out.

“Ah, Y/n,” Sam called, giving a little wave.

“Hey,” Y/n greeted, “Congratulations on that goal today,” she looked to Dani with an awkward smile, “And…you too, I think?”

Dani laughed, “It was magnificent.”

“That it was,” Y/n chuckled.

“Listen,” Sam interjected, “The team is going out for a celebratory drink. Can we convince you to come and join us?”

Y/n shut her mouth and wracked her brain for replies that wouldn’t make her sound like an asshole. She liked the players, from the few interactions she’d had with them, but going out to a club with them was definitely not in her job description.

“That’s really sweet,” she smiled, “But I actually have plans.”

“Ah,” Sam nodded, painting his face with mock defeat, “Perhaps next time? When we win?”

“Maybe,” Y/n smiled, realizing she’d have to come up with another lie when the time came, “But you guys have a great time.”

“Oh, it is already a great time,” Dani replied as he began to make his way down the hall, pumping his fists in the air, “We got Zava!”

Sam and Y/n shared a laugh before bidding each other goodnight. Y/n waited a few minutes in the hall until the last sports car had left the lot before exiting herself.

Once back in the safety of her apartment, she changed into pajamas and flipped on the television. Keeping the volume low, she pulled out her cell from her purse and dialed a familiar number.

“Hey,” her sister’s voice came through after two rings.

“Hi,” Y/n sang as she moved around her kitchen.

“How’s the great football executive?” Caylee asked.

Y/n scanned the contents of her freezer, settling on a frozen lasagna. “Definitely not my title. And definitely not one I want.”

“What? Who wouldn’t want to be in charge of a team who score goals with their face?”

Y/n got a laugh out of the memory, “You watched the game?”

“Of course I did,” Caylee replied, an smile evident in her voice, “Still don’t fully get it, but I watched it.”

Watching as her dinner spun in the microwave, Y/n smiled. Thousands of miles between them and it felt like her little sister was just in the next room.

“Well, ‘one’ would not want to be in charge of a team that scores with their face, or allows a tabloid writer to tail them all season,” Y/n listed off the incidents of the week, opening the microwave before it could beep, “Or gets photographed coming out of a bloody sewer.”

“Ah,” Caylee understood immediately, “Still got that ten foot pole?”

Y/n could finally sigh in exhaustion without worrying anyone would catch her. “Cayl, if you spent two seconds here, you’d understand why.”

“No,” Caylee calmly said, her voice jumping an octave, “That’s never been my thing. It’s always been yours.”

Setting her dinner down on her kitchen table, Y/n took a seat. “It’s not that it’s a bad place, it’s a good gig. The people are just…a lot.”

Caylee hummed, decoding what her sister meant. It came off condescending.

“What’s that?” Y/n asked, semi-annoyed.

“Nothing,” Caylee replied.

“It’s something.”

“Nope,” Caylee popped her lips, “Just wondering if you ever get lonely up there in your cold corporate castle.”

The thing about talking to people who knew you…was that they knew you. Caylee was the only person that could see through Y/n’s barriers and knew exactly what prompted their creation. She was the one person Y/n couldn’t hide from.

“How could I ever be lonely when I’ve got you?” Y/n finally answered, reaching for the tv remote.

Caylee snorted, “Alright, c’mon, fill me in. I wanna hear everything.”

Y/n channel surfed until she hit Sky Sports, where the highlights of the match were being played. The main attraction, of course, was Dani’s goal.

“I don’t even know where to start…” she smiled, watching the replay and settling in for the night.

—————

Heartfirst Taglist

@lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield

#ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso x reader #rebecca welton x reader #keeley jones x reader #jamie tartt x reader #heartfirst

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃

Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader

word count: 3.7K

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie

➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist

Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.

Get away.

The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.

It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.

The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.

Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.

Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.

You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.

The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.

Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.

Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.

You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.

Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.

A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.

Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.

It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.

Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.

“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.

Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.

You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.

In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?

“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.

Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.

It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’

Oh.

Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.

“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.

Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-

They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.

“Got you.”

His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.

Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.

Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.

Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.

“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”

The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.

“I- I don’t-”

“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”

“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.

“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”

The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”

Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.

“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”

Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.

It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.

Mills leaps.

Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.

Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.

Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.

“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.

“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.

“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”

Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-

God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.

Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.

A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.

“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”

His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.

Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.

Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.

The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.

“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”

Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.

It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.

“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“

Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.

“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.

There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.

Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.

“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”

Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“Good Girl.”

END

Join the Tag List Misc Character Taglist: @glassbxttless, @peachyproserpina, @pansa-1-san @htccu7gho9

Gif belongs to @zachsnydered

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miasmaghoul · 11 months

Note

since phantom apparently gets on his knees *a lot*, have you thought about him getting on his knees for mountain? how much smaller he'd look? how mount would be SO pleased with it??

perhaps........boots..............

It's not that Aeon is small, exactly.

He's...slight. Lanky like Rain, but narrow like Dew. Doesn't take up much space, visually speaking. Or physically. Not with the way he can bend and contort himself.

He can usually be found in the most awkward positions possible in the common room; scrunched up against the arm of a couch, or curled around himself like a pillbug in one of the armchairs. Not to isolate, it's just how he's comfy.

Mountain doesn't understand it. Has no idea how anyone could be comfortable wrapped up into a ball of their own limbs, not when something as simple as crossing his own legs can make him feel claustrophobic. He does find it endearing in Aeon though, a little quirk that he can bundle up and keep in a water-spotted mason jar in the back of his mind.

Aeon isn't exactly small, but he enjoys making himself look that way.

Between Mountain's legs, he looks the smallest.

It's been a while since Aeon knocked on his door, interrupting his thrilling evening activity of dozing off in front of the fireplace. Most of that time has been spent on his knees, though not in the way Mountain is used to.

The room is quiet, save for the crackle of dying logs and the dull rasp of horsehair on leather. Aeon's hardly spoken the whole time he's been working, now well on his way to getting Mountain's boots to a mirror shine. Mountain's fingers glide through Aeon's soft waves while he watches his shoulder work, blending the shock of brilliant white near his horn into a sea of black for something to do.

Aeon hasn't spoken a word since he cracked open his tin of polish. Hell, he'd barely explained himself in the first place, slotting himself between Mountain's knees and asking where his boots were. Mountain hadn't woken up quite enough yet to do more than gesture towards the closet.

He's awake now, though. Has been since Aeon shoved the awful things onto his feet and laced them tight. Mountain can't stand his uniform boots under normal circumstances; they cut him off from the song of the earth and their slight heels make his ass sore. They're relegated to the depths of the closet between tours, wearing them an inconvenience at best and a nuisance at worst.

And yet he'd let Aeon put them on him. Let the other ghoul brush them, scrub them, apply some sort of cream to them and start the cycle all over again. It's a process Mountain never bothered familiarizing himself with - Rain has always polished his boots for him - but seeing the meticulous way Aeon works is fascinating.

As is the not-small tent in his pants.

It's obvious with the way he's kneeling, legs tucked tight under him with the sole of Mountain's second boot on his thigh, just to the left of that flannel-covered bulge. The first has already been polished glossy, firelight reflected in its gleam. Aeon's posture is tight, strained, but his hands move with the same relaxed precision as they do on his guitar.

"You really like doing this, huh?"

Mountain rubs at the base of one horn and Aeon gasps through his nose. He nods slowly so as not to dislodge the hand on his scalp, but doesn't answer. It's a shame not to hear that shake Mountain knows will be in his voice, but it's graced his ears enough to be easily imagined.

Aeon looks up as he swipes his brush over the toe of the boot, leaves shine in its wake.

Mountain thinks his eyes shine brighter.

They're heavy lidded and blown nearly black, pupils ringed with shimmering violet. His long, dark lashes flutter over flushed cheeks, a light dusting of color painted over the bridge of his nose. Spit-slick lips sit parted, exposing just the tips of his fangs. He looks like he's been ravished despite the fact that Mountain hasn't so much as kissed him yet.

It's lovely.

"Pretty little thing," Mountain coos, dragging gentle knuckles along the hollow of Aeon's cheek. He sighs and leans into it, nuzzles the back of his hand like an affectionate cat. His tail supports that imagery, wrapped around Mountain's forearm and squeezing gently. "You almost done down there, moondrop?"

Aeon nods again, the pink tip of his tongue flicking out between his fangs as he refocuses. It's not that he's rushing the other ghoul to finish, but Mountain wants to hear his voice. Wants to know why, exactly, Aeon shuffled his way here in his pajamas with his leather care caddy and decided to give his boots the royal treatment.

Mountain scratches at his scalp, Aeon shivers, and a sweet little wet spot soaks into his flannels.

Mountain's own cock twitches against his thigh at the sight. He's remained mostly soft for the duration of this, despite the effect it's clearly having on the other ghoul, but the reveal of Aeon's lust-slacked face was enough to have him chubbing up. He rubs at the ridge of the head through his jeans, noting with a smirk the way Aeon's brushing hand stutters.

Mountain massages himself with a lazy hand, rests the other on Aeon's downturned face, caresses his cheek. Drags his thumb along a fang-swollen lip and makes a pleased sound at the way Aeon licks at the tip of it. Mountain stares at the other ghoul's clothed stiffy while he plays, watching it strain against the seam of his pants. He'd like to reach down and give it a good squeeze, but he resists. Wouldn't want to interrupt.

He sticks his thumb into Aeon's mouth instead, and the groan it earns him is well worth the silence he's endured.

The scratch of the brush stops soon enough. Aeon picks up a discarded chamois for one last bit of polish, a few swipes over the calf and along the zipper, finishing his self-imposed task with a pleased sigh. He doesn't move Mountain's foot, leaving it resting heavy on his thigh while he sets his supplies back in their places. Mountain watches him with a smile curling at the corners of his mouth - Aeon sucks at his thumb the whole time, drool slipping out around the invading digit to wet his hand.

"If I take this away," he murmurs, hooking his thumb behind Aeon's lower fangs, "will you tell me what's gotten into you?"

Mountain hooks a finger under his chin and drags Aeon's gaze upwards. He's flushed darker now, sweaty along his hairline, stunning eyes nearly closed. Mountain grips tighter, gives his head a shake, and he swears he can hear Aeon's brain rolling loose in his head.

He gurgles out an uh huh and Mountain chuckles, pulling his hand away. He wipes Aeon's drool off on the other ghoul's shirt and Aeon bites his lip, quivering hands sliding up to rest on Mountain's knees. They'd started shaking the moment he'd finished his work. Mountain watches his throat work as he swallows, still palming his head through rough denim.

At length, sounding drunk on something Mountain is intimately familiar with, Aeon speaks.

"Wanted to...for a while now," he murmurs, idly squeezing at Mountain's legs.

"Wanted to polish my boots?"

Aeon's eyes flick between the place Mountain works his cock and the shine of the leather. He chews his lips and nods again, narrow chest heaving more and more as the minutes pass.

"You don't take very good care of them," he chides, a surprisingly stern tilt to his voice. Mountain raises an eyebrow. "It's a shame," Aeon continues, tilting his head to further admire his work.

"Didn't realize you were such a stickler for uniform maintenance," Mountain teases, tapping Aeon's other leg with his toe. "I hardly wear the things anyway, I don't -"

"You should," Aeon interrupts, eager and a bit breathless. "They suit you." His slim hips move of their own accord, a quick, pointless little hump and Mountain could not possibly mistake for anything else.

"Is that so?"

Aeon nods, lithe fingers drifting from Mountain's knee to ghost over supple leather. He can see the pale reflection of the other ghoul's hand in it - he really did do an incredible job.

"They're hard to play in," Mountain complains, flexing his ankle. It pushes the sole of his boot into Aeon's thigh and the kneeling ghoul sucks air though his teeth. "Not flexible enough."

"Just gotta break 'em in," Aeon offers, and there's that shake Mountain wanted to hear. His smile morphs into something devious when Aeon shifts enough to spread his knees, looking up at him with frank desire. Couldn't be more obvious if he tried.

"And how would you suggest I do that, little star?"

Aeon sighs, grips his ankle, and guides Mountain's foot to rest against his crotch. He hisses, brow furrowing at the first hint of contact, and the ghoul leans forward to rest his cheek on Mountain's knee. He reaches an elegant hand up to fondle Mountain's visible tip, rubs it with two fingers, and with a groan Mountain presses the toe of his boot into Aeon's stiffness.

"Fuck, just like that," Aeon gasps, hips hitching forward immediately. "Don't hold back," he encourages, peering up at Mountain through those thick lashes, "treat me like your kick drum."

Aeon gives him a squeeze, and Mountain does.

#miasma's work #the band ghost fic #oh look another one that got away from me #mountain ghoul #aeon ghoul #mountain/aeon #mountain x aeon #im not rereading this one before posting so if you see mistakes #no you dont

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watercolorfreckles · 3 months

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hi, thank you so much for your wonderful writing :))

I've especially loved reading Deep Blue and I was wondering if you...do continuations? if not that's totally okay, just thought I'd ask :)

have some ice cream :) 🍦

Thank you, thank you! Sorry for taking so long to get to this request. Hope you like it!

Deep Blue - Pt. 4

siren x pirate

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

When his eyelids parted again, the midday sun split the room, haloing the sleeping siren in a honey blaze. Her hair pooled around her head in golden spires where she'd sunken against the cotton pillow during the night.

Her shoulders swam beneath the gauzy knit of the pirate's shirt, pearl-pink skin peeking free. She smelled of the ocean, all salted breezes and chalky sands.

She seemed peaceful, chest swelling with even breaths. An outsider may have labeled her harmless.

The pirate knew better.

His fingers itched to caress the delicate curls framing the siren's forehead all the same. The supernatural charm of a siren, he told himself. He caught his hand when it twitched halfway to action.

He stood up, tearing himself away from the magnetic pull of her. He turned around, shaking out the clumped waves of his hair. His clothes, too, were scratchy with the crust of dried salt. The folds of fabric creased like paper.

He stepped outside and cranked out several pumps of water from the rusted spigot, scrubbing it over his face and hair. The cool droplets streamed fissures down his neck and chest. He pumped fresh palm-fulls to spread over the rest of his exposed skin.

"If you're trying to drown yourself, I can do a much better job of it."

The pirate startled, straightening. "Golden. You're...- How are you feeling?"

Clinging to the open door, the siren stood awkwardly on foreign limbs. The hem of his shirt hung a few inches above her knees; a curtain brushing against his clumsy first aid.

Though her posture painted her a wounded damsel, her eyes were predator-sharp. It set his teeth on edge and sent something primal in his instincts jangling.

The siren's nose crinkled, scanning their surroundings. He tracked her gaze as it roamed over every rock and tree and bump of the earth. "What is that smell?"

The cabin boy snorted, cranking fresh water into his hands to dump over his head. "Dirt."

"Repugnant.”

"Yeah, well... As much as I love it, the smell of salt water and fish can get old as well."

When he glanced up again, he studied the siren more closely. Instead of itchy, irritated skin--sun-dried and chapped--she was glowing as ever. Her golden hair hung in silken waves hardly so much as mussed by his rough sheets, not gritty and salt-riddled as his own locks had been. Her skin faintly shimmered in the daylight.

The only thing about her that wasn't perfect was the red stain weeping through the muddied fabric of her bandage.

Her eyes followed the drip drops puddling beneath the spigot. She wet her lips.

The cabin boy watched her. "Are you thirsty?"

As he'd learned from his hours of curious reading, most sea creatures didn't drink water. They gained their hydration through the food they ate, or their bodies were designed to filter out the harmful sully of salt from the seas they swam in.

Though, his siren was a sea creature no more.

Her feet twitched, seemingly with the urge to take a step, but she hesitated, toeing the wooden step's treacherous edge without letting go of the door.

A small smile cracked the pirate's lips. This creature who had held his life in her hands mere hours prior, capable of capsizing ships and carving out the hearts of men, was afraid to walk. Afraid to fall.

Gravity did have an unforgiving vice above water that it didn't below, weightless and languid in all its honeyed drifting.

He found himself standing in front of her. Ever drawn to her as a moth to its fiery death.

She hissed at him when he offered his hands toward her, sounding like a startled housecat. Jerking back, her heels snagged the rim of the top stair and she fell with a yelp. "Don't touch me!"

Though the cabin boy held up his palms in surrender, the mermaid swiped at him with dull, paddy fingers for good measure.

"Easy," he said, "I was only going to help you."

"Why?"

His brow creased. "...Why?"

"Why are you trying to help me at all?" she demanded.

"You saved my life."

"I tried to drown you! You should have left me there, I would have been better off! Your 'help' is a scourge, a curse!" She pushed herself up onto wobbly feet, smacking his hand away when the pirate reached out again, reflexively, to assist her.

He heaved a sigh, stepping back. “You would have bled to death.”

“It would have been better!” There was something terribly broken in her voice. A windchime once ringing melodic lullabies now cracked and shrieking. She staggered down the remaining two steps, swaying unsteadily on her heels. Her voice softened. “It would have been better than this.”

Guilt twisted the cabin boy’s stomach. “Golden…”

“No. I am now a prisoner in this…weak, defiled body. I have been stripped of every last thread of my identity. My tail, my strength– The ocean has disowned me, I am cursed to die a fumbling human. There is no greater disgrace! I want nothing more from you.” She shoved past him, limping and teetering as she went.

“Where are you going? You’re injured, hungry, and wearing nothing more than my shirt,” the pirate protested, following after her. “You can’t venture into town like that. Many men would take that as an invitation–”

The siren rounded on him, promptly stumbling and catching herself against his shoulders. Her eyes were alight like an August day.

“I know perfectly well what your kind feels entitled to when they come upon a beautiful woman. That is the very foundation of why you are so easily captured under our sway,” she spat. “Your desires overwhelm you, and our songs coax you to believe you can have all you want if only you surrender to us. I cannot make you believe what you do not already want to. You invade our home and hunt us in our own waters, you take and take and take, then call us monsters when we do not let you have us too. As if we are sunken treasure for you to pluck from the seafloor and sell to the next hungry pirate.”

Any response he had readied died behind the cabin boy’s teeth. He wanted to protest that they ‘weren’t all like that.’ That some pirates led with honor, and that many men were decent. He was decent, wasn’t he?

And yet… He still felt homesick for his captain, his crew, his ship. The very ones who cast him to his death for the mutinous act of having a heart.

He swallowed. “I freed you.”

“And for that alone, I spared you. Yet you damned me. Spare me further humiliation and leave me alone.” The siren gave his shoulders a sharp squeeze before letting go, limping away again in the direction she had chosen.

His eyes followed her, clumsy and graceless, all the way to the start of the dirt road that led into the village.

She would certainly be a spectacle there. With shimmery skin and perfect hair of spun gold, eyes like winter fire and only half dressed, she would steal the attention of every human she passed.

She might be found out for what she was. She might be overpowered and hurt, or taken advantage of.

The possibilities burned through him.

She’d begged him to stay away…

The siren’s bare feet kicked up dust along the path that sent her coughing, batting at the air with the same fury she’d faced him with moments prior.

The sight coaxed a tentative smile from the pirate’s mouth. Cursing the sky, the earth, the gods of sea and shore and everything else, he followed after the grounded mermaid.

He would not be responsible for any more of her misfortune. Even if it cemented his own.

He’d always thought the ocean to be fair, even in all its cruelty. It did not shrink itself for the convenience of others. Its crashing swells that swallowed ships whole did not ask for any less from the creatures within it.

He had to believe that there was hope for her, his siren, creature of water and night and song. She would be whole again. He had to try.

General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @thelazywitchphotographer @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost @tobeornottobeateacher @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , @distractedlydistracted @pensivespacepirate , @appleejuicee , @deflated-bouncingball @maybe-a-cat42, @m0chik0furan , @mercurymomentum , @fairysprinkles , @vuvulia , @amongtheonedaisy , @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room , @scorpio-smiles , @inkygemuwu , @wolfeyedwitch , @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo , @lem-hhn , @fanastywhump , @smallangryfish , @ladybookworm @freefallingup13 , @acaiaforrest , @a-blue-comedy , @puppyaddict , @talkingsperm , @qualitychaoslover , @deckofaces ,@7eselt , @annablogsposts , @lunatic-moss-studio , @medusas-hairband

#writeblr #my writing #fantasci #fantasci snippet #fantasci tumblr #fantasy drabble #writing snippet #heroes and villains #writers of tumblr #creative writing #flash fiction #female villain #hero x villain #fantasci writing #fantasy tumblr #siren x pirate #mermaid

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h0efor2ho · 4 months

Text

RUN

Hongjoong X Reader

Based on my head cannon of Ateez; Who's a Dom, Sub Or Switch

WC :1.6K

TW : Primal play, degrading, name calling ( bitch, slut), jealous HJ, Marking, Unprotected ( dont do this ) Cream pie,

The car ride home was silent. The only sound in the cab being the hum of the engine and Hongjoong's soft breathing. He hadn't said a single word since you came back to your table from the bar, informing you that you two would be leaving the award dinner early. You knew something was bothering him but you knew better then to push him about it. So here you sat wordlessly as you watched the street lights pass by your window. It didn't take long for you to pull up the long drive way to your shared home. He puts the car in park but made no move to turn the engine off.

You look over at him deciding to finally break the silence. "Joong what's wrong?" you ask as soft as possible. You watch as he slowly turns to face you, his hand coming up to cup your face. He leans in and places a soft kiss to your lips, pulling back slightly to look you in the eyes. You feel his breath fan over your face as he speaks "Did you have a nice chat with Bang Chan tonight?" His voice calm. So that's what this had been about. The two mens groups have spent a lot of time together over the years with Woo and Changbin being best friends.

"Really Joong" you look him in the eyes "He was congratulating me on our engagement and complimenting on what a good job you did on picking out my ring" again he leans in and kisses your lips. "He couldn't take his eyes off you" he says against your lips before pressing into them again. This time you can feel the force behind it. "He was just being polite" you murmur back. He once again pulls back, this time his hand slides down to grab your chin. "You should know better then to be overly friendly with other people my love" You watch as he licks his lips, his eyes visibly changing as his demeanor does as well "you belong to me"

You can feel your heart rate spiking as you watch him, watching you. "I know I do Joong" you breathe out. "Oh but I don't think you do my pet" he laughs, his grip on your chin tightening a bit. He leans in for one more bruising kiss before pulling away, a sinister smile creeps along his lips as he says one singular word that sends a chill down your spine...

"Run"

Your eyes widen as your breath hitches. He leans back in his seat as he starts counting down from 60 "60, 59, 58.." you quickly undo your seat belt before throwing open the car door and taking off toward your house. You can hear the amusement in his voice behind you as he keeps counting. You race up the front steps, you fingers shaking as you punch the code into the front door keypad. Quickly making your way inside you close and lock the door behind you, hoping it will buy your a few seconds. Racing down the long hallway you throw your heels off, your bare feet meeting the cold marble of the floor. Your mind is racing, you need to find a place to hid and fast before he makes his way in the house.

You opt for one of the large closets in the bathroom on the main floor of the house, but not before throwing your purse on the steps, trying to make it look like you made your way up there. Quickly you situate yourself in the closet, opting to leave the door open a crack due to the loud click the handle makes. Just as you close the door you hear your front door open and close again. The house taking on an eerily quiet atmosphere. Then you hear it, Hongjoongs heavy footsteps as he makes his way deeper into the house.

"Oh were is my good girl?" he bellows out from the front of the house. The possessiveness in his voice sending a shock right to your core. "Come out, come out where ever you are!" You hear him walk around for what feels like forever before you finally hear the bathroom door open. You press your hand over your mouth to keep from saying something or for your heavy breathing to be heard. You hear his foots steps grow closer then just stop "Did you think you could really hide from me you stupid slut" he says with a chuckle before yanking the door open. You let out a small yelp as light floods the small closest. There he is standing in the doorway, glaring at you with hard eyes.

Before you can utter one word he has you in his arms, mouth crashing into yours. A vice grip on your arms. "You'v been a bad girl" he whispers against your temple. His hands coming to roam your body. "You know what happens to bad girls right" His voice is husky and deep and you're going to have to change your panties after this from how wet it gets you. "What are you going to do to me Joong?" you ask him in a small voice. He doesn't dignify you with a response, his mouth already exploring your neck as he spins you and pushes you back against the counter. His hands coming to your thighs pushing your dress up aggressively.

He lets out a growl when his hand comes in contact with your core and how wet your panties are. "Filthy slut, what did hearing how he couldn't stop looking at you turn you on?" His hand pulling back before coming forward again giving your clothed covered cunt a smack before gently rubbing it. A small moan leaves your throat at the action. " This pussy is mine and only mine" Your head thrown back as his other hand comes up to grip your breast through your dress. "To many layers" he growls as he grabs the neckline of your gown and tears it in half. The shards hanging from your body, your chest on full display for him. "Such a little slut, no bra" he coos as his head dips down, taking one of your hard nipples into his mouth. His warm tongue flicks your it before he get gently clamps his teeth around it.

"Fuckk" you cry out. He pulls off with a pop of his mouth. "Turn around" he says as he all but does it for you. The front of your hips meeting the edge of the counter. You look up and lock eyes with him in the mirror as you watch him push your dress up around your hips. You hear the clink of his belt buckle before you feel a weight of his heavy cock against your wet hole. "You have been such a fucking whore tonight" he says as he slides the tip of his dick up and down your slit "I planned on eating this pussy tonight but you wanted to be like that so now you get no prep" he growls as he shoves himself into. The sound that comes from you is almost inhuman.

No matter how many times he fucks you, you think you will never get used to how long his cock is. Joong hits places no one else can inside you. He gives you no time to adjust as he sets a brutal and punishing pace. His hips snapping back and forth crashing into your ass with each thrust. Your hips are smashed against the hard counter and you know there will be buses tomorrow. You almost cant take how he keeps hitting the same sweet spot inside you. Your head dropping down go rest on your hands before you feel a sharp pain in the back of your scalp.

"You will look at me while I fuck your cunt slut" he growls out yanking your head up by your hair. Bending over he latches onto your neck, bitting and sucking on it, littering your skin with pretty red and purple marks. Marking you as his again. Your moans coming out in broken gasps as he has that spot in you again and again. It doesn't take long before his thrusts start to falter, his erratic rhythm changing ever so slightly that tells you hes close. With one hand still twinned in your hair making you look at him, he snakes the other around your body and finds your clit.

Rubbing small circles against your swollen nerve has your vision spotting. "That's it, that's my good little slut. Cum all over my cock for me baby. Do this for me and I'll fill you up" Its to much for you to handle, and your vaulted over the edge. Your body spasming as you contract and grip his cock tight. Pulsing around him as he drives in and out of you. It only takes a few more thrusts before hes rutting into you, grunting out curse after curse as he empties himself deep in you. You two stay like this for a moment, feeling your bodies joined as one. He gently releases your hair, letting your head settle on your hands, still looking up at him.

He looks down as he slowly pulls out of you, watching as his cum starts to dribble out of your swollen hole. He quickly takes two fingers, scooping it up and pushing it back in. You let out a throaty moan at the pain yet it feels good. You watch as Hongjoong quickly reaches for a wash cloth from the closet behind him, wetting it with warm water he makes quick work of cleaning you up. Slowly he helps you stand up straight, turning you to look at him. You watch as he scans your body, his eyes falling on the marks on your neck and chest.

"Let's try and see someone flirt with you now" he smirks down at you as he places a soft kiss on your lips "Your mine pretty baby"

#hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #ateez #ateez hard thoughts #ateez smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong ateez #hongjoong hard thoughts #hongjoong hard hours #hongjoong headcanons #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios

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diaryofaprettyprincess · 2 years

Text

eddie munson x popular!hyperfem!reader where he works at Scoops Ahoy with Robin and Steve. he hates it there, mainly because of the ‘god-awful outfits’ (his words), but he needs extra money on the side and the movie theater wasn’t hiring, so here he is.. (he refuses to wear the hats though--but his hair is loosely tied back so he gets away with it (which steve is jealous of because for some reason he still has to wear them (probs because eddie sold the manager weed for free as long as he didn’t need to wear those dumb hats)).

so, he’s just scooping icecream to little brats, his ringed fingers tired from mainly erica demanding to try more flavors for the past hour before she decides to leave without buying anything.

but, when he sees you come in, he forgets anything. ‘m thinking of that one scene with rachel mcadams in the move ‘the hot chick’ (iykyk) (you’ll understand maybe later hehe)..

your hips sway as eddie swallows thickly, his grip on the icecream scooper making an indent on his palm..god, why did he have to work there?! he’s wearing possibly the most dorky thing known to man-kind, and here you come, your posse and all; short skirts, heels, and lipgloss galore. eddie’s been obsessed with you since middle school, and you know that (you take advantage of it alot (and you admit that he is cute (even with that uniform on))

the girls behind you giggle as they see him, steve hiding in the backroom with robin because they are quite literally terrified (and embarrassed to be seen by such a popular group) of you.

though, your eyes set sweetly on eddie as you smile warmly.

“h-hi,” he stammers, his voice cracks a little and he just curses himself in his head for sounding like a fuckin dork.

you giggle, “hi,” you twirl your hair, “i didn’t know you worked here..”

eddie chuckles nervously, “e-yeah, gotta earn money somehow..”

you smile, knowing what he does on the side, but choose not to comment on it anyway.

“right, well, can i get a strawberry milkshake, please? small. annn’...that’s all!” you bite your bottom lip, bouncing a little on your heeled feet.

eddie clears his throat, “y-yeah, sure.” and you smile, turning back around to talk to your friends.

he turns to face the blender, beginning to make your drink, muttering a small, “fuck,” his eyes clenched shut as he cringes at his lack of game. you chatter away with your friends, most of them fawning over you (because...who wouldn’t?). but you just thank them kindly, or respond with a nice compliment to them back.

that’s what eddie liked about you. you were kinda mean..fiesty-- but never have you made fun of someone that didn’t deserve it. you were nice. nice to his friends in Hellfire, but most importantly, you were nice to him.

once your milkshake is done, he rings the bell on the counter with jest, his arm extended out in front of him. you turn around, and he swears he feels like he’s gonna pass out by the smell of your shampoo that makes him weak. how do you smell so fucking good?

you giggle, biting your bottom lip before you drag your tongue across the whipped cream, humming exaggeratedly at the test.

yeah, he’s definitely gonna pass out. he smiles, a breathy laugh falling from his lips as his eyes watch your glossy lips move.

“so,” you say slowly, “uhm, how much do i owe you?”

your eyes wide, a small flirtatious smile settling on your lips--and immediately, eddie can’t think properly.

“d-don’t worry about it,” he stutters out, and you tilt your head like a small puppy. “’s on the house.”

you smile wide and gasp softly. “really?” your voice is high, and--so so nice.

eddie nods quickly, his eyes flipping from your lips to your eyes.

“thanks!” you say, and your friends laugh girlishly, squealing.

you give him a little wriggle of your fingers as he watches you walk away, his hand waving back slightly.

he’s sick with love until he hears Robin clear her throat behind the break room’s counter.

“shit.” eddie mumbles, turning around to face the smiling girl.

“yeah, ‘shit’, is right; your game sucks, dude.”

“also, you gonna be the one to cover for her order? because, neither of us are gonna be doing that for you, buddy.” steve speaks behind robin, hands on his hips as a shit-eating grin creeps up on his face.

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” eddie grits out, annoyed. “i’ll pay for it,, i got it.”

“good, because i’m not covering for you, man..”

“ah, don’t worry steve, eddie’s gonna be covering two things: y/n’s drink order and the front of his pants..”

eddie quickly looks down, his eyebrows furrowed as he realizes that he has a fucking semi..

jesus, fu--

“sooo.. do you needa take a small bathroom break to fix your..situation?” she smile smugly, gesturing her hand to eddie’s crotch-area. steve’s laugh is boisterous from behind her at the white board.

“fuck, fuck, fuck! i hate you guys, this is all your fault--fuck!” eddie’s hands immediately cover himself, as he pushes the door open to the break room, flipping both robin and steve off when they laugh, as he tries to find the nearest bathroom to fix his...issue.

“God, i love working here..” robin sighs, wiping tears from her eyes. steve nods in agreement, and the pair burst out laughing again.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x bimbo!reader #eddie munson x popular!reader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #obsessed!eddie munson #perv!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff

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cloginthedrain · 10 months

Text

rooftops and vigilantes (part three) (matt murdock x reader)

summary: matt brings a coffee-deprived reader her drug of choice, and she repays the favor, twice over.

masterlist | previous

word count: 1745

notes: filled to the brim with banter, shameless flirting, and, shocker, more coffee. hope u like this one!!! theres more too come, think of the following chapter as a continuation of this one. :*) a special thanks for all of the kind comments! x

comments and reblogs and tags always appreciated <3

—

“Matty, you’re an absolute angel,” is the first thing you breathe as Matt approaches the door frame, your coffee in one hand and his white cane, folded up, in the other.

He’s wearing his department store suit, the one that makes you antsy.

“Matty,” he chuckles. “That’s a new one.”

“Yup,” you dismiss him, “you wanna come in?”

Still clad in the same sweatpants, Hello Kitty, you thank God he can’t see them, and you move to grab his arm (and your steaming hot coffee) to guide him to your lumpy, secondhand couch, though you knew he didn’t exactly need you. Any excuse to touch him.

Now settled into the couch, you take in the heavenly aroma, holding the warm, very full paper cup to your chest. You take a sip.

Extra bitter, intense, doused in some combination of cream and sugar, the latter being Ellie’s doing, you’re sure of it.

“Damn, a red-eye,” you remark, hand to your heart. “You know me.”

“Well, it seemed dire.”

“It was… is!” you practically yelp in defense.

“Enough to make a blind guy fetch you coffee?”

You almost spit out your drink, finding the comment hysterical. “You keep up Matt Murdock.”

“I have to, with you,” He shrugs, tugs off his red shades. A smile threatens in the corner of his lips, you take notice. You also pay special attention to his pretty brown eyes, a rare sight, always hidden away with his shades.

You’ll take it.

Kicking back, your feet, warm with fuzzy, starry socks, are on the coffee table resting on your legal pad, covered in notes written in smudged, black ink. You hold your coffee even closer to your chest, to wield off some of the butterflies.

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if that’ll do much, and make peace with the fact that you really are head over heels for a hot lawyer playing vigilante. You’re never, ever going to live this down.

Breaking the silence, you offer: “So what’s on the agenda for you today, Mr. Murdock?”

“I have the morning off, and then Foggy and I are meeting with a client,” Matt states matter-of-factly. Explains the suit.

“Good,” you say, scheming.

“Uh oh.”

“No ‘uh oh’,” you whine. “I figure I repay your kindness and make us some French toast, I apparently make the best. I maybe have three, four eggs left, should be enough.”

“… I could go for some French toast.”

“Yeah?” you beam. “Alright, come on.” You love to cook, you tug him up, and practically drag him to the kitchen. This time, holding his hand.

You were never tactful with your attempts to woo Matt, why start now. Clearly whatever you’ve been doing is working, because he doesn’t put up a fight. Once you’re in the kitchen, you raid the fridge and pantry for your ingredients.

Once that’s sorted, you resolve to retreat to the living room.

“Here, hold on.”

“Alright.”

Squatting in the living room, you scour your record collection for your favorite record. Folksy, easy listening, and lowered to a comfortable volume, one suitable for a lazy morning. Once that’s spinning, you return to the kitchen.

You carefully crack four eggs in your bowl, pour the rest of your milk in the mixture, cinnamon, a splash of vanilla, and an extra splash for good measure.

“Cinnamony,” Matt observes. He’s over your shoulder. The closeness is welcome.

You imagine too vividly the ghost of his hands on your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. You close your eyes for a moment, and take a shaky breath.

With Matt, you had to pace yourself.

“Mhm,” you mumble lamely, preoccupied.

You whisk your mixture with a fork, all too aware of your proximity to Matt, but try to ignore it, and you move to start the stove. After soaking your brioche bread in the mixture, you flip it on the stove till browned, humming quietly to your favorite song on the record.

Once browned, you top your French toasts with a sprinkle of powdered sugar and a light layer of maple syrup, and you wonder if you should’ve also made bacon or maple sausage.

“Alrighty,” you say, setting the plates down.

“Smells great, sweetheart,” He smiles graciously, cutting into his French toast with his fork. “Thank you.”

At this point, his suit jacket is long discarded, white dress shirt sleeves rolled up onto his arms. You were antsy.

“Mhm.”

You make a point to roll your eyes at the name, but you suppose you could get used to it, especially if Matt were the one saying it. You meet his brown, unfocused gaze. Your eyes involuntarily travel along the chiseled outline of his face and are drawn to his slight stubble, perfectly maintained.

You meet his brown, unfocused gaze.

“You’re staring.”

Your eyes dart away, stare at the bundle of fresh baby’s-breath resting against the ridge of the dark blue glass vase, so effortlessly pretty, like Matt, you think to yourself.

Blagh, you’re getting too sappy.

“No, I, uh,” you start, unsure of where you’re going to end. Your mouth has had a mind of its own when it comes to Matt. You’re the furthest thing from tactful.

Matt just waits expectantly, amused. Cheesing. Bastard.

“Oops?” you offer helplessly.

He just laughs and says, “Alright, sweetheart.” And he goes on, digging into his French toast.

—

“Ellie, it’s hopeless,” you whine, muffled, head resting on your folded arms. It’s the next day. “I’m a complete dunce when it comes to Matt Murdock.”

The last of the afternoon’s drip coffee is steaming out of your open cup, empty sugar packets and cream cups neatly discarded on a napkin beside you. You hardly touched your muffin.

Ellie’s flipping chairs onto tables as you sulk in your usual booth, closing up for the day, when she says, “He clearly likes you.”

“You think so?” you look up, eyes twinkling.

“You’re not that dense, Y/N. Come on. The coffee, the incessant flirting. He’s blind, and he’s coming to your apartment, which means he memorized the route. It’s sweet. He’s clearly pursuing you.”

You’re flushed at the thought. “It is kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“That you got a blind guy delivering your lazy ass coffee?” she quips. “You heard of delivery?”

“Hey.”

“I vote that you actually talk to him. He’s a sweet guy who likes you. A lot.”

“El, I don’t know about that.”

Ellie gives you a stern look.

“Fine, I’ll try.”

—

“I’m seeking legal representation,” you say later that day, a man of your word. You would talk to him. You make your way further into the conference room, across the big table and Matt is surrounded by stacks of documents.

Your hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, layers now wild, wiry, and free, front pieces framing your face effortlessly. You’re wearing your dark wash overalls, with embroidered floral details, and a flimsy excuse for a tank top. Your canvas bag weighs you down, shoulders lopsided.

You’re holding two drip coffees, Ellie’s of course, and biting your lip.

“Sure you are,” Matt says matter-of-factly. Then his head tilts. “That coffee?”

Dumb question.

“Sure is,” you set them down, one in front of Matt, and one across the table from him. “Can I join you?”

“I gotta get through these documents, but I’m sure you have something to do.”

“Always,” you affirm. You drop your canvas bag to the floor, as you sink into the chair across from Matt.

“Good, you’ll keep me company.”

He resumes tracing his documents with his finger, reading with an ease you envied. You were far too distracted, staring past the screen of your clunky, old laptop, where you had some sort of work to do—the details escape you with Matt across from you.

His sleeves were rolled up, sleeves tight around the circumference of his arm, his tie loosened, collar in disarray. His cologne, inescapable, clouding your consciousness.

You clear your throat, and open a blank Word document in your browser, to at least pretend like you’re doing something. You’re hoping to work up the courage to at least talk to him, like you promised.

Once you’re finally settled into the groove of working, Matt throws it all out the window. He abruptly stands up, standing behind you, observing your movements. You tense up, and your clacking on the keys stops abruptly.

“You’re awfully cute when you’re concentrated, sweetheart,” he comments tactfully, smirking, arms folded.

You’re taken aback, but you don’t hesitate shooting back: “And how would you know?”

Matt leans forward, breath just barely tickling your ears: “I’ve been told I have a knack for these sorts of things.” You want to roll your eyes so hard. Matt has you doing that a lot lately. You swat him away.

You turn around in your seat to strain your head upward to see through his deep red shades, to search his eyes. Your gaze, accusing and scrutinizing.

“Who told you that? Foggy?” you spit back, almost outraged that someone could be so cocky. Meanwhile, Ellie and the butterflies swarming in your stomach had you believing he was sweet. You knew better now.

You brace yourself as you stand up to face him, you’re looking up. You feel woozy, Matt’s cologne and musk overwhelming your senses. You open your mouth, a half-rehearsed confession built up on the tip of your tongue.

Cocky piece of shit just bends his head close and says, voice gruff and unwavering, “Drop the act, you want me.” You promptly shut your mouth.

Your heart is already pounding against your ribcage, and your knees begin to totter and tremble with poorly concealed anticipation.

“Matt,” you set out to say sternly, but your voice betrays you, and Matt gets a kick out of it— you just know it.

Matt steps forward, a step closer to you, and reaches instinctively for you, grasping toward you. His hands finally fall around your waist and bring you against him.

His right hand momentarily leaves your side to tuck a rogue tuft of hair behind your ears. You almost yelp. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, cradling your head in his hand before closing the space between you two, pressing his overwhelmingly soft, blush-pink lips to yours hungrily, tugging at your bottom lip with a distinct cruelty. Matt's tongue is beginning to invade the space between your parted lips, and you begin to suppose the least you could do was return his eagerness.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock #daredevil x reader

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mangoshorthand · 2 years

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No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch1

SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Aged up Five because things get smutty...obviously.) Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

In this opening chapter, you’re a nice, normal girl having a nice normal evening. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter One: Nothing Personal You’re about to turn in for the night. Today was long and tomorrow promises to be no better. You know you’re lucky to have your position, only six years into a real career, but it doesn’t make it any easier to be constantly talked over. Your co-worker, Charlie, was particularly infuriating today, sneering at your idea and then pitching the exact same thing with a few words changed. Of course, he got claps on the back from all the old farts in the meeting room. Fuckers. No matter how much your HR department talks about equality, you know it’s just a bullshit boys’ club.

You rub your hand across your eyes and forehead. Your feet ache from wearing heels all day. Dressed to the nines just to be treated like furniture. You'd kicked them off as soon as you came in the door; shedding your nice, conservative dress with relief. You’d thrown on a pair of sweatpants and, after slinging your bra over the bedroom door, covered your top half with an old camisole. Maybe a little tattered, but comfortably so.

You intended to go for a run tonight but, fuck that: you’ve earned a bit of self-indulgence. After turning on an old sitcom, you get up from the couch and cross to the freezer. It's time for a pint of ice cream. You know it’s going to be easier to imagine seeing Charlie’s bitch-ass face tomorrow morning with the cool carton in your hand. Are you binge eating? Yes. Do you care? No.

You close the freezer door only to reveal a gun held inches from your temple. You drop the ice cream, hearing its frozen-solid thump on the floor. Your wide, terrified eyes meet the intruder's and you collapse to your knees, legs having totally given way.

“Cookie dough, huh?” says the man who will soon send a bullet into your brain, splattering gore onto your fridge-freezer. “I’m more of a Cherry Garcia guy myself.”

You look up at him, trembling. Somehow you know this isn't a robbery.

He’s young. Younger than you; maybe twenty. His posture is casual, as if he's standing in line at a McDonalds rather than about to shoot you execution-style. He's relaxed, his head tilted backwards slightly. He’s dressed impeccably in a well-fitting but otherwise nondescript black three-piece suit. His hair is swept neatly to one side and a wry, cocky smile fills his face even as he clicks off the safety. His jawbone could cut glass.

“Please,” you whimper, feeling your heart beat frantically in your throat. For all the world, you think it’s trying to thump out your lifetime’s worth of beats until this man stops it prematurely, “why?”

“It’s nothing personal,” he says. His smile doesn’t falter...but then your eyes meet his green ones, beseeching. Something flickers in his; something human.

You don’t know why you do it- it’s not a conscious choice. Feeling as if your bladder and bowels are about to let go, you fall forward with your eyes still locked on his, trying to hold onto that piece of pity, that piece of mercy as you hold his gaze. Desperately, you wrap your arms about his waist, hands coming to rest somewhere between his thighs and buttocks, your nose pressed into his lower stomach.

Clearly, whatever he expected from this encounter, it wasn’t this. As the TV plays the familiar sitcom theme tune, his cool demeanor cracks. The smile runs off his face like water down a drain. You hear his hand contract around the gun as he presses the barrel into your temple. It’s a horrible metallic sound and you hear it in all its minute detail: just like your heart, your brain is also making the most of the time it has left, stretching the seconds like taffy; every micro-perception coming upon you in vivid detail. You don’t know why, but you know that your only hope is to maintain this eye contact. You’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this. Anything to save your life.

His expression hardens. You clutch him and your vision blurs as silent tears come.

“Please…don’t”

At some point in the countless, interminable seconds you stare into his face, you become conscious of where your mouth is. As you breathe raggedly, your lips graze the material covering his groin. You know he’s noticed too. His posture changes uncomfortably and the gun slackens slightly.

He inhales sharply through his nose as he looks down at you, eyes ablaze. With anger? Disdain? Maybe. You can feel him hardening rapidly beneath his pants. He shifts again and something presses gently into your chin. You feel your face flush yet you dare not move.

He breaks eye contact and a thrill of fear rushes through you. The one thing tethering him to you and it’s gone. You’re living your last moments now. His neck arches, Adam’s apple standing out in harsh relief as he looks up, eyes on the ceiling, breathing hard. He stays that way for a second or two, trying to compose himself. You want to beg him, to bargain, to tell him you’ll do whatever he wants… but fear and overwhelming instinct keeps you silent but for hitching breath. At last, he looks down again, though not resuming eye contact. His gaze seems to rake what parts of your body he can see. You’re sure he catches a glimpse down your camisole to your naked breasts. You know your nipples must be prominent. Your cheeks burn.

And then, again, your eyes meet. A tiny movement; barely there and surely unconscious on his part. His pelvis moves forward, the pressure of his hidden but rock-solid erection becoming fractionally more pronounced on your mouth and chin. He inhales, throatily, his eyes lidded now. Not a trace of the cocksure smile of a few moments ago.

Then, from under his breath.

“Son of a bitch.”

He seems exasperated. His right hand slackens and the gun falls to his side. As he steps back, your overtaxed nerves finally fail you. The world falls away as you sprawl forward onto your cheap kitchen linoleum.

Five holds a glass of single malt. This isn’t how things are supposed to happen. Is he losing his touch, can’t even take out a single target these days? Does he shit his pants because a girl looks up at him now? He knows he’ll have to finish what he started, so why is he putting it off?

…Because shitting his pants wasn’t the problem: her tits were. Or her lips. Or her hair. Or the way her breath warmed his crotch, penetrating the layers of fabric between them. It had been unsettling: the way his hips had moved, seemingly without conscious design on his part. The body wanted friction…wanted her. He sighs, sweeping his hair back and altering his seated posture, the better to accommodate another growing erection.

This all because he’d fucked up that first time, when he’d trapped himself in the teenage body, sentencing himself to a few years stewing in hormonal rage and frustration. He’d coped with it, (for the second time) and he’d thought it was over, that he was controlled now the body had grown beyond sexual maturity. Sure, he was over the horrors of puberty but the virility was still…a problem. A problem perfectly summed up by the fact he'd just popped a boner on a barstool.

She was a pretty girl but not breathtakingly so. The photograph in the file hadn’t done her justice. She had seemed just a suburban twenty-something trying to make it in the big city... and that’s what she is. So why had her eyes assailed him so much? Something in them…or something they saw in him?

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes and forehead.

“Tough one, son?”

He looks up at the old man sitting a few barstools down and gives him a slight smile.

“You might say that.”

“Chick stuff or job stuff?”

Five lets out a slightly dark chuckle, “Both, my friend.”

“I’d call that a double-whammy. Ain’t life a bitch?” the man replies, draining the last of his drink.

Five gestures to the barman, wallet in hand.

“Whatever my friend over there’s having.”

The man toasts Five with his empty glass and goes back to playing with his bar mat.

He'd wanted retirement. He'd wanted to just let it all go. They're where they should be, powers all intact. Theoretically, there had been nothing to stop him just checking out. His real body got tired easily and would have relished the rest, but this body? No siree. Not with all those healthy young neurons firing up there his brain, his muscles, bones and joints strong and ready for another lifetime's activity.

After a few weeks of vacation, he was bored out of his mind, full of pent-up energy and feeling pretty stupid dressing the young body in old-man clothes. Full retirement had not suited him so, eventually, he'd told Herb that he was happy to work on a freelance basis. The occasional project had kept him sane over the last six years, as well as giving him an excuse to wear suits again. It was simply easier and less unsettling to self-image to wear a style that would suit a man of any age.

Five’s moral code was liberal (to say the least) but he drew the line at committing murder out of sheer boredom. Up until this evening, his duties had been strictly analytical- he’d been acting more as a consultant given his status as the founder of the Commission in some remote permutation of himself. Herb asked him to take on this job as a favor, (something about cost-saving and briefcase scarcity) and Five reluctantly agreed.

Her face rises unbidden to his mind’s eye. He takes a sip of scotch, savoring the burn on his tongue and throat as it goes down. The way she blushed, the way a tear rolled down her cheek. Her beautiful, pleading, wide-pupiled eyes. They had stirred something in him beyond his sexual frustration…but it’s no use dwelling on that.

Necking the last of his drink, Five decides. He can’t leave things as they are. It’s time to take action.

The blanket you woke up beneath is around your shoulders. One of the two cops, Officer Roja, sits on one of your dining chairs, facing you. She taps the end of her biro contemplatively against her notebook. Behind her, Officer Boden assesses the apartment, craning his head around doors and taking in the view from various angles.

“Can you give me a description of the man?”

The mug of coffee Officer Rojas made for you warms your fingers but it barely penetrates the bone deep numbness that’s settled all over you.

“He was young…white. College aged, I’d guess. But he was wearing a nice suit. Like a jacket and a waistcoat. It wasn’t the sort of outfit a college guy would have, I’d think. And he seemed…he seemed older when he spoke.”

“Mhm.” she said, taking a note. “That’s great, you’re doing really well. Can you tell me anything about his appearance? His face?”

You cast your mind back and find your memory disturbingly exact. His image is burned into your brain, his voice easily recalled. If you had to, you think you might be able to pick him out of a line-up by his smell alone- the smell of his aftershave.

“He had dark brown hair. Longer at the front, shorter at the back. Kinda…swept over. Green eyes. That sort of green that changes in different lights.”

She raises her eyebrows as she scribbles, impressed at recall you sense must be rare in other witnesses. The idea makes your cheeks burn with shame, although right then you aren’t sure exactly why.

“His nose was…it was straight but a little hooked? There were two small moles- maybe birthmarks on his cheek. His left cheek,” you gesture at the corresponding spot on your face.

“How tall was he?” prompted Officer Rojas, nodding.

You shake your head, unsure. You spent most of your time on your knees looking up at him so perspective was hard to gauge. The only thing you have as a reference was how his groin ended up right by your mouth as you knelt.

“Under six foot but I can’t tell you more than that. Five seven? Maybe eight?”

“Thanks ma’am, that’s so great.”

From beside the fridge-freezer, Officer Boden cuts in.

“You passed out here?”

You nod.

“But you woke up there-”

You nod again, feeling your face spasm with suppressed tears.

“-and the door was still locked from the inside?”

You feel your eyes screw up and sobs begin to puff their way out of your tightly-held lips as the tears come. Rojas places a hand on your arm.

“It’s okay, ma’am. You’re doing perfectly.”

“This building got cameras?” Boden continues, brusquely.

You nod, trying to speak through sobs.

“Uh…th-there’s one at the front door, one in the elevator. Maybe there are others? I- I don’t know.”

You just cry for a minute then, remembering the way he’d just been there when you closed the freezer. Aside from the Cookie Dough melting on the floor, you might have thought you imagined the whole thing. When you open your eyes, it’s clear that a silent conversation has been going on between Rojas and Boden. She’s giving him a look that means: leave this with me, dumbass. When she turns to you, her voice is gentle and her eyes concerned.

“I’m going to ask you something now, and you can just nod or shake your head. You don’t have to go into detail just now, okay?

You nod your understanding.

“Did this man hurt you in any way?”

You shake your head, tears still falling.

“He just held the gun to your head for a while? He didn’t hit you, kick you or anything like that?”

You shake your head again.

“Did he…did he touch you inappropriately?”

You shake your head for a third time, but the idea draws another sob from you.

“Ma’am?” says Rojas, softly, but Boden speaks again.

“You say you passed out here but you woke up there,” he indicated the two spots with a sweep of his arm, “that means he moved you. Did he perhaps drug you? You eat or drink anything? Maybe he injected you with something?”

This shocks you into speech, “No. No, I just passed out. I was scared. I haven’t been- everything’s fine.”

The way his hips moved fractionally towards you recurred in your mind: the way you could feel his erection against your face…but then, other things didn’t match with that picture: his ‘just business’ attitude and the way he hurriedly disengaged from you after that moment. He seemed…almost scared by what was happening…but he wanted you for at least a moment: that part you couldn’t deny.

And the worst thing? You couldn’t deny that, for at least a moment, you wanted him too.

You open your mouth to tell them, but something stops you. It seems wrong in a way you wouldn’t be able to explain. It seems unfair: it was a moment of vulnerability for both of you.

“I haven’t been raped,” you say, much more calmly, “I don’t think there was time, anyway. My show was starting a minute before I passed out. When I woke up on the sofa, it was still before the first ad-break. I could only have been out for a few minutes.”

Both cops look at you. You know what they’re thinking: it only takes a few minutes. You know that’s true butas you think back to that look in his eyes as they held yours, you know that he didn’t.

“You got family, Miss?” said Boden, “Or a friend, maybe? We gotta take you down to the station but after that you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Herb spills his tea into his saucer as Five blinks straight into his office once again, eyes aglow and energy high. Slapping the file onto Herb’s desk, Five doesn’t apologize for his rude entrance, too pumped to tell what he has to say.

“Got him Herb. Guy called Chet Monroe. Real piece of shit. For once I can’t wait to take this fucker out.”

Recovering himself, Herb swallows his last sip of tea.

Five Hargeeves had never failed to take out a target before. When Dot brought Herb the report from field agents that police had been seen escorting the mark, completely unharmed, from her building, he’d been extremely perturbed: Hargreeves was known for being volatile and following his own ends, the timeline be damned, and him going rogue had always meant very bad things for The Commission.

When a message from Five arrived requesting a meeting, Herb was unsure whether to be terrified or relieved. As it happened, Five was apologetic and only requesting to perform some recalculations. To this, Herb acquiesced immediately, just thankful to have Five working with them rather than against them.

He just has time to say: “Chet Monroe?” before Five launches into his spiel.

“Sex trafficker!” he says, triumph obvious in his voice. “The meat merchant. He’s the one who sources vulnerable girls, makes them feel safe and then pulls it out from under them. When I take him out, we preserve the timeline and we save a few girls...from him, anyway. It’s win-win. It's always nice when they're some real shitbag. I’ll waive my fee on this whole thing.”

“Let's see,” says Herb.

He opens the file and shifts the papers inside, looking at the potential new mark with interest. After scanning the information, he finds himself smiling with more mischief than he usually employs with Five.

“This seems more…vigilante than usual for you. I guess your brother would be proud of you.”

Five responds with a scoff, “You mean that bargain-basement batman? No, this is just about the math- him being an evil piece of shit is just a bonus. And then, guess what? He’s only one link in the chain further on. Two months after I meet her, that human shit-stain cat calls my girl and she tells him where to stick it. That will make him pissed off enough to beat the shit out of one of his girls, which means she’s too ill to rob the grocery store, so-”

Herb nods and waves a hand.

“I’ve read the files."

He knows the chain reaction that would eventually lead to timeline destruction. This certainly wasn't procedural, but since being in charge of the Commission, Herb had come to learn that timelines were far more malleable than he'd been led to believe. Most procedures, he discovered, were more to do with matters of bureaucracy than they were to do with paradox prevention. It was a discovery that was, at first, unsettling to him but now he finds it oddly freeing. After contemplating Five for a second, he makes his decision.

“Dot chose that girl mainly for ease of access. Single, lives alone, no combat experience. Seemed a waste of your skills but she was in your city, in your timeframe. Wouldn't even need a briefcase.”

"So you'll sign off the switch? This guy's in my timeframe too: don't need a briefcase for him either.”

Herb grins.

“You know,” he says, taking another sip of tea and fixing Five with a knowing look, “she sounds pretty special.”

He didn't miss the proprietary look that crept into Number Five’s eyes when he said ‘my girl’. Five doesn’t respond to the implication.

“Will you sign it off?”

Herb grins, “Of course, I'm sure Dot will understand.”

With a flash, no thanks and no goodbye, Herb is left alone, shaking his head.

“Ah, young love.” he murmurs with a little smirk, glad that Five is out of earshot.

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03. Here is a link to the whole series

This is the first chapter of four Five X Reader Fics that are all posted on Ao3. I am in the process of writing a 5th. Smut is ever-present but takes a back seat to plot and character study in later instalments

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