#just laying there like a dry fish

[cambion-companion]

Knot

Alright, it was put in my head that devils knot when mating/having sex. So...had to write this little ficlet.

Raphael x f!reader/Tav | SMUT | 18+ only

Scorching tension, the aching coil of your muscles as they stretched and clenched to accommodate him. Your fingers sought purchase, something to tether you to reality as ecstasy rocked with every thrust.

���Raphael.”  His name tasted like honey, burnt like whiskey upon your lips.  Your tongue felt leaden as he claimed your mouth, swallowing your pleading as he claimed you.

Amidst the haze and the heat, you noticed what a mess you were making of the cambion’s lush bed. “The sheets…”  You murmured, attempting to sit up and regain some semblance of control.

Your hair stirred in the rush of wind the sudden beat of his wings created, the leather appendages stretching wide as Raphael pushed you by the throat back against the mattress. “Are replaceable.” Raphael’s sharp claws dug against the tender flesh of your thigh as he dragged your body closer to him, drunk on the sensation of you so pliable and wet around him. He grinned down at you before a rumble of pleasure dragged from his throat. “So willing, little mouse.”  He leaned over, the skin of his wings turning the ambient firelight into a red haze. “Take all of me.”

Your eyes widened, feeling the flush of heat and heady lust his words aroused. Your body became taught as a bowstring seconds before the kill, his name spilling from your panting mouth, sweet to the taste.

Raphael fought to keep composure, failing spectacularly, burying himself deep within you, his sinful orisons of pleasure echoing your own cries. You felt his seed spill, the painful heat of it overshadowed by the pleasure as your body drank him in.

Your skin stung and broke as Raphael’s teeth pierced where your shoulder and neck joined, marking you as his own outside as well as within. He continued rutting into you, stretching you as the infernal knot took hold. You whined and he silenced you with his fingers pushing into your mouth.

Hellfire eyes found yours, your foreheads pressed together in a semblance of twisted intimacy as you nearly choked on his long digits. “Good, little one. Take me.”  

You wanted nothing more than to give in. To whatever end. Pain and pleasure mixed, your whines muffled around his fingers until he withdrew them only to replace the void with his lips and tongue. He was anchored inside, the languid thrusts of his hips sent spasms along your spine as Raphael pressed your legs down against your chest.

The two of you remained interlocked, twin flames made one, until Raphael was satisfied you’d been properly mated.  When he finally withdrew, he dragged a single nail down your chest to your navel, pressing almost until he drew blood over your womb. His tail flicked against your side as he gave you a lazy, self-satisfied smile. “You’re the image of sin, my dear.”  His palm flattened against your abdomen possessively. “Now, go clean yourself.  I will join you shortly for a thorough examination of your progress.”

[nap-thym3]

Sebastian Solace(Pressure) x Reader/Self-Insert 🌊

Part-One /Fluff/1,886 Words

____________

Synopsis: In which when I first played pressure I just stood and stared at Sebastian’s character model for a solid five minutes. So this was born. yayayaya

____________

Army crawling on your knees and elbows, your chest rattles with your wheezing breaths. Truth was, you’d never been an active person. The most legwork you’d gotten in a day was typically at work, and even then, that was minimal. Suffice to say, being thrust into this shitshow of a scenario where running from constant threats was the norm, the situation couldn’t be anymore dire.

You wave a hand about in front of yourself, fanning away the disrupted layers of dust that fluttered in the cramped ventilation shaft as your rasping coughs bounce off the walls and create a cacophony of god-awful racket. You mutter a slew of curses to yourself, clapping your palm over your nose and mouth in a pitiful attempt to stifle your coughing fit. It would be just your luck for a nearby eldritch-horror to overhear your pathetic, asthmatic-self in the vents and drag you out by the ankles. The thought alone brings an electrifying jolt of anxiety through your person, and if you had the space you’d be looking over your shoulder in paranoia. Alas, the best you could do was put your jittering nerves to use and crawl just that little bit faster. Honestly, it was an accomplishment in of itself that you managed to shimmy-shammy your adult self into such a claustrophobic passage in the first place. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve just marched straight past the most convenient and inviting looking vent in the world. Probably assuming it to be a blatant trap. Except, you did know better. Just a few feet ahead lay maybe the only place in the entire bowels of this hellscape where you felt you were well and truly safe.

Crawling out of the shaft like an NYC subway rat, you’re finally free to hack up your lungs in peace without fear of death by angler. At least, no death from this one in particular. Blindly you lean back to sit on your haunches, eyes straining to pick up any movement in the darkness.

“Oh. It’s you.” Your shoulder’s jump as a voice drawls from the far-side of the room. Soon after, a gentle glow begins to illuminate the occupied space.

Now with your gracious host offering you visibility, you blink your adjusting vision over to watch as Sebastian seemingly just wraps up whatever file he’d been perusing in the dark. Before you can even attempt to try and sneak a peek at whatever he’d been reading, said folder closes shut with a swift snap. The merchant then carefully tucks the item away into his inner-coat’s pocket. A shame, your snooping has been so swiftly shut down before it ever had a chance to begin- you pout at the missed opportunity. Sebastian catches your longing gaze fixated on his coat, and gives a condescending little pat to the area where you know the concealed document is to be hiding. Wordlessly daring you to even try. Cheeky fish.

“Not even a ‘Hello’ or ‘How are you’? I could’ve been dying in there!” You bemoan in a familiar way of greeting, gesticulating between yourselves wildly as you saunter forward. Sebastian, unphased by your usual eccentricities, drags an unimpressed eye over your much smaller form. Analyzing. Probably looking at your absolutely filthy diving suit- sweat-drenched and caked in dust, grime, and maybe even a little bit of blood as it was. At least you assumed so, if the distaste visibly evident in his features was anything to go by.

“I was hoping whoever it was would die a little more quickly.” Was his dry response, before turning his head in indifference; seeming to have found whatever it was he was looking for on your person.

You scoff, “I see chivalry really is dead.” You gripe without any real bite in your voice. Already beginning to survey the merchant’s wares. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him as he begins to preen over his nails, pretending to be checking for dirt. Or blood, you didn’t know the guy well enough to say for certain what he did in his free-time. Your attention travels upwards, from his large hands up to his round face. The light emanating from his angler’s bulb casts an almost ethereal glow to his features. Especially with the way his eyes gleam that cerulean blue that’s quickly becoming a favorite color of yours. In addition to these qualities, there’s a very light sprinkling of bioluminescent freckles smattered across his cheeks. Sort of reminiscent to that of stars. Idly your fingers twitch, the sudden urge to reach up and map them like constellations startlingly strong. All these qualities make Sebastian feel so surreal, so out of this world. In juxtaposition to all of that, you’re confident to say that if he had the means, he’d be snobbishly turning his nose up at you right about now. The mental image brings a small, secretive smile to your face.

Sebastian rolls his eyes- or at least, you get the impression that he does. His lack of distinctive pupils makes it hard to tell.

“Are you going to actually buy something today?” He snips, cocking out a hip. “Or are you just going to keep gawking at me?” The merchant sneers through grit teeth(or maybe that was just his face?).

Snapping out of your reverie, caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie-jar, blood rushes to your head as you grin sheepishly up at his accusatory glare.

“Sorry, you’re just…” you wave a hand up beside yourself, willing the right words to come to you. Sebastian, amused by your silent floundering, quirks a knowing eyebrow at you. As if saying ‘Go on?’ The soundless goading sends you into a mental spiral- what did that mean? What did he think you were going to say? God- you don’t want to accidentally offend him, but you also don’t want to sound like a complete idiot. You gulp, mouth opening and closing a few times as you attempt to formulate words that will appease him.

Seemingly tired of you embarrassing yourself, Sebastian moved to speak, assumedly in an act of mercy from this sad display. Quickly, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, before he could beat you to the punch.

“You’re just really pretty.” Mortified, you clap your hands over your mouth. Yup. Those are. Definitely words that you just said. To his face.

Muscles tensing, you brace for his reaction. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, disgust, maybe? Mocking laughter, most probably. Any and all situations your brain can conjure up are absolutely humiliating in equal measure. However, as one moment drags into two, and the silence has still yet to be breached, you cautiously look Sebastian’s way. The sight that greets you is a rare one. The infamous Z-13, Sebastian Solace, is left speechless.

The Merchant’s smug expression falters, a look of genuine astonishment crossing his face. The dim light cast by his lure does little to mask the way his stature curls inwards slightly. A slight too much, in your opinion. You can see the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching- as though internally wrestling with a response. Just as you had been a moment prior. The knowledge that he was just as at a loss for words as you were eases the tension in your shoulders, if only by a hair. Miser so does love its company, after-all. There’s a brief pause, heavy and awkward, until he finally speaks, his voice softer than usual.

“Pretty?” he echoes, almost disbelievingly. He then swallows, visibly thrown off-kilter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called… At-At least- that is to say, not in a good long while.” The second half of his sentence is murmured, as if mostly said to himself. But you had overheard, and he looks as if to have noticed the way your brows pinch in a confusing whirlpool of emotions. Mostly sympathy, pity, among other emotions neither of you were too entirely ready to put out on the table. God forbid you two express emotional maturity and speak plainly like adults. Sebastian flexes his long tail, the serpentine appendage looking as if it were going to either pull or push you away. However, before it can make any progress in either endeavor, Sebastian, -noticeably uncomfortable- clears his throat.

“Silly little thing.” He croons, swooping down from his towering height to give you a patronizing pinch to the cheek with his clawed index and thumb. “You should be mindful of your tongue, hmmm?” As he speaks, his usual edge returns to his voice. Your head helplessly tilts side-to-side with the motion of his ‘affection’. Affronted, and a little whip-lashed with his quick recovery, you swat the offending hand away from your face.

“Jerk! I was trying to be nice!” Despite the biting words, you can’t help but feel relieved to be set back on familiar ground. Whatever emotional vulnerability present in the moment prior was slowly ebbing away, returning to your regularly scheduled squabbling. Sebastian chuckles, bodily retreating to his previous stature and re-clasping his hands before himself with an echoing ‘clap’. You rub at your reddened cheeks, whether their heat was due to Sebastian’s rough treatment or from an entirely other emotion, was only for you to know.

Sebastian continues on distractedly, seeming to have already recollected his composure. “Flattery will get you nowhere here, you know. But… thanks.” You think you see his eyes dart away for a brief moment, before locking onto yours again. A curl of his typical smirk splaying across his lips.

You gasp dramatically, a goofy smile erupting on your face. “The mighty Sebastian? Saying thanks?” You tease.

Sebastian waves a hand about in the air dismissively. “Yeah yeah, just don’t let it get to your head.” He says, crossing his arms defensively. He steamrolls on before you get anymore wise ideas to- eugh, compliment him. “Now hurry up and buy something already!” He snaps, motioning to the various goodies strapped to his person. Not having to be told thrice now, you hurry and make your selections. Eager to move on from everything and anything to do with word ‘cute’. Nothing major, just a few batteries for the road and a mobile hacker or two. Sebastian seems to approve of your choices, and if the price he demands of you seems a little cheaper than the usual- well. You certainly weren’t going to complain.

Getting everything tucked neatly away and ready to go, you begin to trek back towards the vent before being stopped once more by Sebastian.

“Oh! And Traveller?” He calls. With an answering hum, you look back to maybe your only friend down here. The merchant in question seems to look like he’s turning something over in his head, before continuing with a withering sigh.

“Try not to get yourself killed out there, alright? I’d hate to lose such a profitable costumer.” He sing-songs grimly. Despite the harsh words, you can’t help but notice a slight undertone of warm endearment. Feeling like a certified Sebastian-whisperer, you pride swells in your chest at being able to read between the lines. With a barely concealed snicker at his thinly-veiled concern, you toss a final farewell his way before retreating. All throughout the next dozen or so rooms, you journey forward with a skip in your step. Feeling invigorated with newfound determination knowing that a certain merchant was counting on your safe return.

______________

eeeughh I’m so rusty with writing. Like. It’s not even funny how long this took me for just a one-shot? Idk I might continue this, I just suck so bad at staying motivated for fanfics. Anywho, hope any fellow Sebastian enjoyers out there liked this, there’s not enough content out there of him👍 please make more content guys pls I’m starved for the fics puh-LEASEE

[bi-writes]

still wakes the deep au | soap x f!reader

Installment 2/?: Warning Signs

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

Being alone feels different when there’s nowhere to run. Every wall looks the same, and the stench of must permeates in every room–the carpet must hold it in. Everything drips; the taste of salt won’t go away, and it makes your eyes dry out every time you close them and open them again. There are other people around you, men that are the cause of the knocks against the rig, but they are as alien as what lies beneath you. Every time you feel as if it’s too foreign, you remind yourself that there is nowhere to go.

The only way out of this place is by doing your job; but even that scares you all of the sudden.

Your bed is lumpy. The mattress feels dry, stiff, and it barely gives as you lay in it. You stare up at the bottom of the top bunk, trying not to think about the sound of sea water pelting your window like a threatening knock while you try to sleep.

Your mind barely gives. You keep the lamp that sits on your makeshift desk turned on. Without it, the black of nothingness from outside bleeds through the walls, and you swear you can see a thousand different shapes that claw their way out of the moonlight towards you. The rig doesn’t shake, but it breathes. It lives, somehow, deep legs connected to the seafloor to keep it from drifting off, from separating, from taking you with it, from suffocating you until your breaths are filled with water and your body is too cold to–

You jump when the lamp bursts. A jolt of electricity shatters the bulb, and you sit up in bed, clutching the sheets as you watch the lamp glow slightly before fizzling out. The room blankets into the dark, and you move shakily off your bed and pat around for your flashlight before clicking it on. The small circle of yellow light doesn’t do what you hoped; instead, it makes the shadows of every object longer and seem further away, and they start to move as your hand shakes, so much so that you cannot tell if something is coming towards you or if your mind is still convincing you of some sort of seasickness. One lodged into your brain, one that doesn’t make you nauseous but makes you paranoid that some hole in the ocean will open up and take you with it.

The thought of drowning is not as terrifying as finding out what lies beneath the surface of the water.

When you used to think of the ocean, it used to soothe you. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was crystal clear blue and tropical fish. You thought about running your fingers through warm water and kicking your feet as you watched dolphins fly beside you. When the sun penetrated the light, it shined until it showed the seafloor, where little creatures burrowed beneath bright sand, making it sparkle.

The ocean you know now is anything like it. You understand what they mean when they say “mother nature,” because only a woman scorned could eat the world the way she does. Waves touching taller than buildings. Animals so large, they would swallow you whole and let the acid of their insides quiet your screams for nutrition. An endless void, reaching miles towards the center of earth, a vast unknown that crushes heavy metals and defies physics the further and further you drop. She’s unforgiving. Mean. A terrifying, wonderful thing, and you are cheating death. You know it. She screams at you from just outside your thin walls, and you are pretending not to hear her. She’s telling you something, but you bury your nose in your books.

If it’s a warning she’s trying to give, you won’t know it until it’s too late.

The rig groans in the middle of the night. You can hear the pipes expanding, the water moving aggressively outside your window, the sounds of cranes and metal creaking that rattle off around you. Your hand shakes a little as you try and find your shoes, slipping them on as you open your door in search of a new source of light.

It’s the middle of the night, but there’s still a skeleton crew around, moving between their night shifts. You make your way down the hall, clicking off your flashlight, and you find yourself in the rec room in search of light bulbs in the utility closet there. You hear the doors swing open behind you, and you try to ignore the rowdy voices of men as you stand on your tiptoes and rummage the hundredth box for what you need. You try not to think about the whisps of something delicate you feel grazing your fingertips (because spiders wouldn’t be this far out from land, right?).

“Looks like ye need a little help, bonnie.”

You startle yourself nearly out of your skin. You trip off the ledge you’re standing on, trying to hold your hands out to brace yourself, but you never hit the ground. Strong hands grip you around the middle, breaking your fall and getting you back onto your feet, nice and steady. You spin around, clutching your flashlight to your chest, panting like an anxious puppy. You can make out his blue eyes even in the dark, bright and seemingly concerned as Soap tries to get a grip on you to keep you from swaying.

“‘S alright, lass, ‘s just me! Soap, it’s Soap.”

You put a hand over your chest, trying to calm your breathing, You shake your head, closing your eyes as you try and repeat the mantra you’ve been telling yourself since you got on this stupid rig.

Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground. Your feet are on solid ground.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I…”

“What are ye doin’ up?” He asks, clicking his tongue. “‘S the middle of the night! Reckon ye need yer beauty sleep.”

You smile a bit, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You do it to placate him. Men don’t always respond well to sharp teeth, and you haven’t decided how you feel about this one yet. He’s too comfortable. His hands are still around your arms, thumbs smoothing too easily over the bone of your shoulders. He’s too close; he steps just nearer to you, tongue sliding over that top row of teeth, and you try not to think about the way his pupils dilate at the terrified look on your face, the one your smile cannot hide. When he tilts his head to the side, you think he means to look curious, but you think it closer to prey playing with its food. The curls of his growing mohawk fall over his forehead, drawing a dark shadow over his eyes, and you can no longer try to see what might give him away in his gaze.

“The light in my…room. I need a new one, I–” You shake your head. “It’s stupid, but I just…I can’t sleep.”

“We’ll get ye all right fer bed, love,” Soap chuckles. “What’s broken, ye ken what kind ye need?”

You blink, biting your lip, thinking. He’s still touching you; he still has his hands around your arms, but now they’ve settled around your elbow, calloused fingers curled over where they rest.

“I’m not sure. The lamp on my desk, it’s–”

“Ach, those are hidin’, I’m sure o’ it,” he lets you go, reaching up and hoisting down a few boxes before reaching for what lies behind them. He carries them on his shoulder before dropping them onto the floor, and you try not to think about watching him work. He’s a large man. Strong, that much is evident, but there’s something off. You think his physical appearance hides what lies inside. He’s pretty, in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. Straight teeth, a killer smile, arms that do not give once they’re taut with use. Even the uniform he wears does nothing to hide thicker thighs and a solid middle; but you try not to let it distract you from what really remains. If he wasn’t so gorgeous, you don’t think he’d get away with that tick that must exist in his brain. The one that allows him to crowd your space without much resistance. The one that lets him smile like that, like he’s won something, like he’s gotten what he wanted not because he fought for it, but because it is what he is owed. 

He bends over and picks up a bulb that looks good enough and hands it to you. When he straightens his back, you try to catch that look in his eyes again. Maybe he knows you’re looking for it, and now he’s hiding it. Maybe he’s cooing in his own head about what a clever girl you are and trying to decide how he’ll play his game differently.

“Can walk ye back, put it in fer ye.”

You take it from him, drawing a shaky breath. You want to say no. You want to tell him you can do it all on your own, that you’re fine, but then the closet door swings open, and a group of tired-looking crew stare at the two of you as they snicker and nudge each other.

“Wot ye doin’, Soap, seven minutes in heaven with the fuckin’ feds?”

“Och–shut the fuck up, the lot o’ ye,” Soap bites back. “Just doin’ her fuckin’ job, just like the rest o’ ye, so get the fuck out the way. Middle of the night, bunch of gobshites.”

Soap puts a hand around the small of your back, guiding you past the group and out into the hallway. He follows you wordlessly back to accommodations, stopping in front of your door. Your name isn’t on it, but you don’t comment about how he knew this was yours. He waits for you to open the door for him before following you inside.

“A right mess, luvvie.”

He doesn’t let you help. He kicks your bin under the desk, carefully discarding of the pieces of glass that are scattered across your desk. He grumbles under his breath about it being too sharp and how he will do it better and how he can take care of ye. 

When the lamp clicks back on, it paints the room in that comforting orange light, and you relax as you take a seat on your bed, clutching the sheets to dry your clammy palms. He still invades your space, but somehow, with the light, it dampens the sentiment. He scares you just a little less, but if you give him just that much, how much will he use it to his advantage?

“Ye need anythin’, I’m…just down there,” Soap says finally. He points behind him, down the north end of the hallway, and all you can do is nod. “Don’t listen to the lot, bonnie,” Soap adds. “Bunch o’ old, tired bastards. Mean no harm. But if they do, ye come ta me, ye hear?”

“Uhm…Soap?” You call out as he’s leaving. You don’t know why you stop him. You don’t know why you’re talking to him; you’re certain he’s not a stranger to telling a good lie. He turns to face you, leaning against the doorway, and you clear your throat. No one should look this good on just a few hours of sleep, but he’s still blinking awake, unsettlingly calm. “This place…it’s safe, right? I mean…safe as it ought to be?”

Soap smiles, but it’s not like his other smiles. It feels unnatural. His teeth are duller. Lips drier. Maybe he’s just tired.

“It’s safe, love. Swear it. Got me on those rivets.”

You don’t know why, but when he comes close to you, you let him. You let him touch your face, thick fingers smoothing down your jaw just a little too rough, big thumb along your bottom lip rubbing just a little too hard. You hear his door shut nearby once he goes.

The ocean screams. You can hear her again now that his voice is no longer around. You fall asleep knowing he’s close, and you pretend not to notice her. Just like always.

[themultifanshipper]

Max stormed through the halls of the ER, fuming at the stupidity of his teammate.

He was going to fucking kill Checo.

Warnings: driver!reader, smut, PinV sex, injury, mention of strong ass medication, public sex?, sex in a hospital bed what more do you want from me

The door of your room slamming open startled you as Max walked in with a scowl.

"Jesus Max calm down-“

“No, I am not going to calm down!” he yelled. “That idiot put you in the fucking hospital and caused two other people to crash. I'm going to kill him when I see him!”

You closed your eyes and sighed.

You didn't have any broken bones, thank god, but your entire body was covered in deep bruising.

It was extremely painful and they'd given you some very strong painkillers and a plethora of other medication that hadn’t quite kicked in yet, so you weren’t really in the mood for Max's yelling.

He noticed your pained expression and immediately calmed down, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and took your hand in his.

“I'm sorry schat, I'm just so angry… How bad is it?” he asked, voice wavering.

“Nothing broken, but I don't think I'll be able to make it to dinner” you joked weakly.

He whined and lay his head on your shoulder and you winced, so he pulled back and stroked your thigh tenderly.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Is there anywhere I can touch you where it doesn't hurt?”

You smirked, mind in the gutter, as usual “You always know where to touch me to make me feel good, Max…”

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Go on baby, touch me wherever and I'll tell you if it hurts or not”

You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively and Max tried to swallow, his mouth was suddenly very dry.

Perhaps whatever they'd given you was finally starting to kick in.

And evidently, it wasn't just getting rid of the pain, it was making you insanely horny. Like… abnormal levels of horny. You hadn’t realized when you were alone, but the sight of Max in front of you was getting you very hot and bothered.

“Come on Max, touch me, I need it so bad…”

Your hand slowly slid up his denim covered thigh and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“Baby we can't” he gasped and got a hold of your wrist just before you got to the crotch of his jeans “We're in a hospital and you're badly injured…”

You were giving him your best (albeit a bit droopy) puppy dog eyes.

“And you are on drugs, my love”

You tried to sit up but your whole body protested so you stayed down, tugging at his shirt and pawing at his thick thighs.

“Please Max, fuck it's been so long, I need you inside me now”

It really had been a while. Between the races, your respective factory business was in entirely different countries, so you rarely had time to indulge in anything more than quickies and facetime debauchery.

Max was rapidly crumbling under your heated gaze (and your goddamn paws touching every bit of him you could reach) and his resolve didn't last long as he started going through ways to make this possible.

With every passing moment, your pain was decreasing and the heat between your legs was only getting worse as you whined at him to make you feel good.

He slowly stripped himself of his clothes and climbed over you, careful to avoid putting any weight on you.

As your body was uncovered bit by bit, he felt the anger come back, and then a wave of nausea took over.

There was barely any unblemished skin on your body, most of it coloured in various shades of yellow, purple and blue bruising.

He spread your legs and kneeled between them, running his fingers up the inside of your thighs and stopped just short of where you were almost dripping onto the sheets.

“Jesus baby, you really need me, huh?”

You whimpered pathetically and grabbed his hand to press it against you and rut against it desperately just for some relief.

The sight of you writhing and whimpering under him was overwhelming, and it didn't take long for him to line himself up and start pushing into you slowly.

Every time was like the first time with Max.

He held you in his arms, making sure you were okay as he split you open, burying inside you tight heat that seemed to be molded just for him.

You were drowsy from the painkillers but you felt every inch, every vein caress your walls as he dragged his cock in and out of you desperately.

His head dropped to the crook of your neck and you threaded your fingers through his hair while his hips rolled against yours in a slow rhythm, almost maddeningly so.

He went so deep, bumping your cervix on every slide in, and you let out low moans every time, matching his growls. You tugged harder on his hair while he nipped gently at your neck, cautious of where the seatbelt had bruised it.

His back muscles rippled under your touch and your eyes rolled back, the euphoria soon washing over your body in waves.

As soon as you started clenching around him, Max knew he was a goner. He'd missed the feeling so much, he quickly filled you up, shooting rope after rope deep inside you.

Once he was done, he rolled to the side so that he could lie down next to you but keep you in his arms as you stayed tangled together, sharing a passionate kiss.

“Fuck baby, I love you so much” you said, nails scratching at his scalp while he pressed kisses to your skin.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, making sure to not put any weight on you in the process. “I love you too schat, you have no idea how scared I was, seeing them cart you off in in an ambulance while I was stuck in the paddock doing fucking interviews…”

You hummed, fingers drawing patterns over his skin. “I’m here now, Max. And I’ll be fine.”

Max looked up at you with a smile.

“I know… but I’m still going to fucking kill Checo”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Corn Maze Date

My headcanons of the lads men taking you on a corn maze date A/N: I don’t know how other states do their corn mazes, but in mine they have food trucks and games, sweets & treats and pumpkin patches along with the corn maze [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

you mentioned wanting to go to a corn maze once and he planned his entire schedule around taking you to one

shows up outside your door telling you to get dressed

detours to try all the sweets “Zayne we need to get to the maze before it gets dark”

doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time even when you start stress squeezing it “If you hold my hand any tighter you’ll fracture it”

could easily find his way out but lets you lead

“are your feet getting tired?” carries you if you start getting tired

keeps you calm when you start to get nervous about being lost

takes over halfway through so he can go get more sweets after you said you’re kind of hungry

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

hides in the cornfield to scare you

whines and wants to be babied when you accidentally slap him for jumping out at you “I’m sorry it was a reflex” “kiss it and make it better”

lets you lead and follows close behind either holding your hand or the hem of your shirt/jacket

mini photoshoot in the maze and in the pumpkin patch

critiques the cornfield “this looks dry” “you’re a fish not a farmer don’t judge something you know nothing about”

tries to turn the corn into popcorn

uses his fire evol to light the way for you if/when it gets dark

gets bored and starts playing with your butt to entertain himself “can you stop that” “it’s so jiggly”

runs around the pumpkin patch bringing you the biggest pumpkins he can find “we can paint them when we get home!” “Why not carve them?” “and have fruit flies all over my porch? I think not”

drags you to play every activity they have before even glancing at the corn maze

teases you in the maze “maybe we should have gone right instead of left like I said”

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

picks the corn “Xavier stop you can’t take that” “the farmer won’t miss a few”

gets sleepy halfway through “we should take a nap here” “Get up”

prefers the pumpkin patch because he can lay on the hay bales

finds a tiny pumpkin and tells you it reminded him of you because it’s adorable

want to have a bite of every snack/food you get

shares all of his food with you “just open your mouth and say ahh”

holds your hand tightly while taking the lead (he’ll always be your Grandis Knight through and through)

creates fireflies to light the way when it starts getting dark while you’re in the maze

drags you into the cornfield to make out “we can’t stay hidden forever” “Just one more kiss”

somehow loses you at one point in the maze so he creates a bright ass light so you can find him

carries you on his back the rest of the way through so he won't lose you

lets you direct him while you’re being carried

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

“Anywhere is fine as long as I’m with you” happily accompanies you to a corn maze

brings the twins along because you said so

Luke & Kieran take off running in the maze (competing on who can get to the end first)

Sylus takes a bite of any food/snack you press to his lips

has a hand around your waist or holds your hand the whole day

watches with a smile as you and the twins scour the pumpkin patch for the biggest pumpkins

follows close behind while you lead the way through the maze

encourages you when you start overthinking and psyching yourself out

still teases you in the maze “oh look another dead end” “you could be more helpful you know”

lets you use Mephisto as your eyes in the sky when you get too frustrated

rubs your tummy when you eat too much

carries you to the car when you wear yourself out from running around with the twins

takes candid photos of you all day without you noticing

prints them out and keeps them in an album

[starlessea2]

That It Is (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: After a long day trudging through the sunlit wetlands, you discover your bedroll is waterlogged, and that Astarion has lost his in the swamp... AKA, the classic: ‘oh no, there’s one bed, whatever shall we do, darling?’ (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N This one has a tad more enemies-to-lovers vibe to it, but sweetness nonetheless. 

Masterlist

Night was creeping over Faerûn.

After a day of toiling through the deep murk of the sunlit wetlands, your party had found refuge: an abandoned shack a little ways inland from the swamp. It was unassuming enough through the fog that Gale had tripped over its porch, and even Astarion’s darkvision had missed the contours of the old building tucked away. 

But once scoped, you found that the place was empty. Shadowheart deemed it safe enough for you to unpack your bedrolls and dry your waterlogged boots. So you did just that—even managing to rouse a fire with an ignis and a few pieces of damp wood. 

The flames took a few moments to blaze to life, but once they did, the warmth was heavenly on your skin. One by one, you started to shed your wet outer garments, laying them out by the fire.

“Oh, bloody hells!”

A voice rang out over the crackling hearth. You turned to find Astarion on his knees, rummaging through his supply pack half-deranged.  

He flung the contents out onto the floor: some soggy books, a cask of water, pristinely-folded clothes. Then he promptly turned the pack upside down, seemingly devestated to find nothing else inside.

The rogue threw his hands up. “Gone,” he declared, with a dejected sort of laugh. “Be it just my luck after trudging through this gods forsaken waste—”

From the corner of the room, Shadowheart stopped wringing out her gloves. She gave you a look. Deal with him, she said through the shared connection. 

With a sigh, you conceded. “What’s wrong, Astarion?” You stood over the pale elf, hand on hip, “Broken a nail?” 

Irritation painted his face, but his demeanour remained playful.“Ha! Hilarious as always, my dear,” he replied, without sparing you so much as a glance. “Alas, I’m afraid my situation is a tad more dire.” 

You clicked your tongue. “Go on.”

Astarion stood up, taking a moment to dust himself off. “It seems I’ve lost my bedroll somewhere in that bloody marsh,” he finally admitted. 

Somewhere across the room, Shadowheart’s snort was quickly covered up by a faux cough from Gale. “Oh?” you said, “I thought elves didn’t need to sleep.” 

Astarion shot you a glare. “And do you need to dry your clothes by the fire? Need to eat tonight or, gods forbid, drive us half mad with your infernal singing sometime tomorrow?” 

He stalked the cabin, pointing vivaciously at your drying garments, and menial rations you’d hoped wouldn’t spoil. 

You felt your brow furrow at his display. “No need to be rude,” you said shortly. “Today’s been hard on all of us.” Pushing past him, you quickly retrieved your own pack from its place near the door. “Here—just take mine.”

Fishing around the bag, you searched for your own bedroll before producing it for him. Astarion let out a sound of disgust. 

“You could at least try to be grateful, Astarion,” you started. Then you felt it; your trusted bedroll squelched in your hand. It was pasted with a layer of thick algae, and some other mysteries you couldn’t discern. “Son of a—” you cursed. How had you forgotten when it rolled into the marsh earlier in the day?

A hand found your shoulder. “Thanks for the generous offer, my dear, but I think I’ll pass,” Astarion said, proudly. He then flicked a rather large leech off your bedroll, causing Gale to shriek when it landed at his feet. “I’d like to remain the only bloodsucker around here.”

You were about to quip back, when Astarion stepped closer—enough so that his breath dusted your cheek when he spoke. “And I think I spy a bed in the other room. That should do me just fine.” 

It took you a moment to unravel his words. By the time you did, he’d already traipsed halfway across the cabin. “Hang on a moment,” you called after him,“I already staked my claim on that earlier!”

“Hmm?” the elf hummed, feigning ignorance.

The audacity. You shot a glance back at the wizard, who immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Oh no, you don’t,” warned Gale, “I’m staying out of this one.”

To his left, Shadowheart looked equally unbothered by your plight. You scowled at them both. 

It was going to be a long night.

—

The cabin was quiet. It had been some time since you had rested in a place with a roof and four walls. There were no beasties lurking near your camp, or dangers beyond the trees. The only threat to your person was Gale’s snores coming from the main living space. He’d taken refuge on the floor, whilst Shadowheart seized the chaise lounge. 

It was a comfortable night. So in principle, you should have had no problem falling into a dreamless sleep. Especially given the feather bed at your back. 

“You know, my dear,” Astarion whispered, “I might have agreed to this arrangement, but that was under the condition that you get some sleep.”

You tried not to startle, but his words sounded so close to your ear. It made your skin prickle with anticipation—despite doing your utmost not to show it. 

“I think you’ll find I was the one who was forced to agree,” you countered, “and I’m trying. You just—” 

Shifting in the bed, you turned around to face the elf beside you. He was leaning on one arm, gazing up at the wooden ceiling as though he were watching the stars. His eyes found yours. “I what?” he asked. 

You could hear his grin; he was teasing you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down now. “You make me nervous,” you answered bluntly. 

He did not reply. Each second of silence that passed made you more and more uneasy. You couldn’t see him well in the dark. And as much as you tried to make out the contours of his face, you knew for sure discern every line on yours—every expression you hoped to conceal. “And why’s that?” he finally asked.

You let out a huff before falling onto your back. “You know why. Stop acting so smug—It doesn’t suit you."

Astarion’s laugh made its way to you. “Everything suits me, darling.” 

A witty remark alluded you, so you opted to stay quiet. Sleep was what you needed right now. The gods only know how deprived you were of it.

So you plumped your pillow and made yourself comfortable. Then you gathered some blankets to yourself. A yawn left you, but your mind felt anything but relaxed. You readjusted again, this time your body pressing into Astarion's. He moved to accomodate you; you stiffened in response.

“Will you stop wriggling around? I can’t so much as move without you flinching."

At his words, your breath hitched. You were midway through an apology before he interrupted.

“Look at me,” he said.

Despite the darkness, his thumb perfectly traced your jaw until it found the space just under your chin. Gently, he coaxed your head up.

“You know I’ve drank from you, right?” You gasped at his candidness. “I've felt your pulse on my tongue and your blood coat my teeth,” he went on. “Hells, I have your thoughts swimming in my head far more often than you probably realise.”

He paused for a moment, and in that time you breathed twice as fast as you ought to.

“You’ve allowed me that much, so sleeping beside me like this?” he said, with a lightness to his voice, “that shouldn’t matter, now should it.”

You couldn't reply. His words were likely meant to comfort, but they had only the opposite effect. As his fingers brushed your cheek, you immediately pulled back—hoping he did not feel the way you burned for him.

“No. I guess not?” you stuttered.

“Good,” came his reply. “Now sleep. I promise I won’t bite” 

He returned to his side of the bed, not overstepping the invisible boundary you'd drawn earlier that evening.

And on your side, you were left to press down whatever feelings threatened to bubble to the surface. You weren’t quite ready to let them out yet—not when you couldn’t see clearly the face he would make in response.

Right now, you just needed to sleep.

So you focused on the snores echoing from the other room, the rain pattering the windows, Astarion's breaths and your heart—which, without realising, had recently started to beat for him.

“Goodnight, Astarion,” you whispered into the dark.

“Yes, my dear," he said softly. "That it is."

[slvttyplum]

playpen- inspired by that billie eilish snippet

everyone called you a barbie, a mixed up barbie that can't make up her mind about the things she wants, always in her feelings yet so beautiful, that face of yours lights up every room, they love you, yet you hate them.

that's what you thought until your eyes laid on suguru, his baggy clothes and long black hair that draped over his shoulder like a scarf, every time you saw him you would gulp, that's who you needed, a ken.

he wasn't your average ken doll, but that's what made him stand out and reel you in, he wasn't too clean cut, and that was sexy to you. always uncertain in the things that you wanted, but you were sure about this, sure about him.

every time he walked pass, your eyes would light up. the casual days you saw him, and you didn't say anything turned into him noticing and giving you a grin and silent wave.

suguru's sweet charm turned you on, he didn't speak much, but that's what you liked about him, how polite and cool centered he was, the fascination that you had for him turned into a sweet school crush, his face always in your mind lingering, then your mind wandered.

wondering how you and him would look together and how he would treat you, it was childish but fun. seeing him around campus every time you showed up bought butterflies to your stomach and a smile to your face.

suguru didn't delay speaking to you after just waving to you and smiling, there was something about you that drew him in like a fish on a hook, but you did that with everyone, so it wasn't that surprising.

every day, walking up to you and starting a small conversation with that perfect smile plastered on his face. all he could think about for the rest of the day was you and vice versa, small crushes for the both of you turned into fixation, not knowing the other person wanted them.

the both of going back to your empty apartments thinking about each other, mouth dry and your bodies filled with arousal, the thought of touching each other sent eruptions throughout your bodies.

stripping off your clothes and laying in your bed, suguru doing the same and placing his hand on the length of his dick, slowly sliding his finger over his wet tip, teasing himself pretending it was, a small groan sliding out his mouth.

your thighs widening as you slip your hand in between and slowly sliding it down your wet core, your fingers going in between your folds and into your entrance, your body wasting no time to react and a couple of moans falling out your mouth.

a finger slipping into your wet cunt, suguru's hand sliding up and down his shaft, his other hand rubbing over his chest pretending it was you on top of him, your mind drifting and pretending it was big fingers sliding in and out of you.

the pleasure the both of you were receiving by not being in the same area, by pretending it was the other person, made the pleasure even more intense. suguru replaying your soft voice in his head as he stroked himself faster and harder, his hand tightening around his dick as he thinks back to you saying his name.

the replaying making his body jolt and warm up, his cheeks warm with pleasure and a smile on his face, he wanted you so bad that you were all that occupied his head, if only he knew you thought the same.

his name sliding out your pretty mouth as you play with your nipples and push another finger inside you and gasp, suguru's face and long hair popping up in your head. your back arching off the bed and your thighs fighting to stay open so you can keep riding your high.

the bed creaking and your head lightly hitting the headboard behind you, you wanted to stay in your head all afternoon touching yourself to him and the nasty things you've imagined him saying to you.

suguru couldn't stop either, he wanted to go on and on, simulating like you were on top of him and riding him with that gorgeous body of yours, your warm sweet voice whispering in his ear telling him to give you more.

his body thrusting upwards in his fist and his eyes squinting as his mind keeps wandering. your body grinding and rubbing yourself all over as you push your fingers into you harder and faster, a knot forming in your lower stomach. the feeling of a hot pulsing pressure in your lower stomach.

suguru jolting with pleasure and unable to control himself, his hair disheveled all over himself and a few strands sticking to his forehead from the sweat, his chest rising and falling briskly, his hand mover faster than before and squeezing the tip of his dick hard.

the feeling in your stomach dispersing as you push your fingers into yourself a final time and moaning out suguru's name, your eyes squinting as you push out your orgasm, suguru doing the same, whimpering your name.

a smile appearing on both your faces as you both catch your breath, connected with each other.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Reader receives CarolNats Nudes accidentally

Authors note: For my ease, all of the drabbles for the couples will have reader receiving the couples nudes in the same manner (Though circumstances do differ). I apologize if this becomes repetitive.

Warnings: smut (strap on, vaginal penetration)

Word Count: 675

Marvel Masterlist How They React To Masterlist

Carol smirks as she looks up, letting her eyes drink in the incredible view that is Natasha Romanoff bouncing up and down on her strap. Her hands are firmly on the blonde's shoulders and her fingernails dig into the muscles beneath them as she moves her hips. A light sheen of sweat covers her body, causing stray wisps of her red hair to stick to her forehead, and her mouth hangs open slightly as sighs of pleasure leave her. 

   It's truly a beautiful sight. One that Carol never wants to forget. So she does something she normally wouldn't do and releases Nats hip with one hand in order to grab her phone. Not wanting to distract herself or her girlfriend she quickly opens the camera app, centers the redhead in frame and takes a picture. She refocuses on the redhead and she tosses the phone back off to the side to regrab the woman's waist.

   “Fuck Tasha….you look so good like this baby”

   The Russian responds by leaning forward to capture the other woman's lips with her own and they begin to make out as Natasha continues to ride her girlfriend's faux cock. Spurred on by this, Carol moves her hands from Nats hips to her ass offering her even more assistance as she begins to thrust her own hips upward.

   Nat lets out a raspy moan “Bozhe moy(oh my god)! I’m so close!” 

   “Me too…cum with me”

   They both let out moans of ecstasy as they cum together, and they both then collapse against the mattress. They lay together, a tangle of sweaty limbs as they come down from their shared climax. 

   Once she's caught her breath Nat moves her face from the crook of Carols neck to look at her girlfriend, “Send me that picture”

   Carol cocks an eyebrow at her, “Can’t get anything past you, can I?”

   “Nope” she responds, handing Carol her phone

   The blonde does as asked and smirks when Natashas phone dings. The redhead is eager to see just what her girlfriend captured, and reaches for her phone. When she opens the message she can feel herself twitch around the toy still buried inside her, but then she notices just where the message had been sent

   “Blushing at that pic, huh?” Carol teases, earning a groan

   “You will be too when you realize who else can see it”

   Carol quickly picks up her phone and checks to see that instead of sending it in the messages between just herself and Natasha she added it to the groupchat the two share with their best friend, who they secretly both yearn for, Y/n.

   “Oh god….”

    You're just getting off the quinjet from your mission when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You shuffle some of your gear over into your other arm in order to fish out your phone and you can’t help but smile when you see the notification from the group chat. The two women were your closest friends on the team, and could always cheer you up after a hard mission, or anything else really. Because if you had to admit it you had feelings for them that went well beyond friendship. But you intend for that to never get out.

   With a sigh you unlock your phone and click on the notification, but what you see has you stopping in your tracks in the entryway to the tower. Your eyes take in the details without even trying. Carols abs, the glimpse of her strap buried in Natasha, the sheer amount of arousal dripping from Nat, her neatly trimmed bush, her expression of pure lust and pleasure….Your mouth goes dry, unlike your underwear, and your thumbs shake as you work on typing out a response

   Is this a welcome home, or an invitation?

   Neither woman had expected that from you to be honest, but they certainly aren't upset by it at all. Nat quickly types out a reply and glances at Carol before hitting send, Why not both? We're in my room ;)

[honnelander]

You know what I was thinking about? reader decides to make Sanji(thr rest of the crew are sleeping, and since she always helps him with the dishes they're always the last ones) she decides to make him her favorite desert from back home. She's not a great cook like Sanji, but she made with such love and care(plus it's really good) that he can't help but be with heart eyes all the time. What do you think?

hiii i loved this request! here is how go fish! Sanji would react to reader making him her favorite dessert:

(once again i get carried away lol)

masterlist

"What's your favorite dessert?" you ask, completely out of the blue one night.

Sanji blinked a few times, trying to focus and gather his thoughts at your sudden question.

It was a typical Tuesday night on the Going Merry, where both of you were doing your unofficial nightly ritual of washing the dishes together after Sanji had served everyone another delicious evening meal, when you had broken the comfortable silence with your seemingly random question.

The blonde cook frowned slightly at the soapy sink water, sponge in hand as he continued scrubbing the saute pan. "Uh- I'm actually not too sure, love," he answered, rinsing off the pan with clean water before handing it over to you. "Why?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow slightly as he casted you a curious glance.

You took the dripping pan from him, shrugging. "Just curious," you hummed. "I like knowing things about you."

Sanji felt his heart flutter at your kind words as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Ah, you're too kind to me Missus." He licked his bottom lip, trying his best to contain his ever-growing smile as he washed a plate. "What about you?"

"Huh?" You asked, drying the pan, like you snapped out of a daze.

Sanji had a full-blown smile now, laughing slightly. You were too cute for your own good. "Dessert," he replied patiently. He turned his head to look at you, bumping his hip with yours as he asked, "What's your favorite dessert?"

Now, sometimes Sanji couldn't help it. He just had to flirt with you. Sometimes you just made it too easy for him.

And damn if you didn't look cute when you blushed.

He leaned in towards you, his voice dipping lowly as he nearly purred, "Anything you see right now?"

"Well-" you sputtered, face turning scarlet as you nearly dropped the pan. "I, uh, I'm full. Actually."

Sanji tried his best to suppress his smile at your adorable antics as he resumed cleaning the plate in his hand. "Oh?"

"Yeah," you replied quickly. After a moment, you placed the dry pan on the dish mat. "But, um, maybe later?"

At your unsure question, Sanji felt his ears literally perk up as he repeated, "Later?"

He couldn't help it, his thoughts were running wild at the thought of you actually picking up what he was putting down. Was this really happening?

"Uh, yeah," you said, your reply sounding more like a question than an answer. You took a deep breath, your voice sounding more sure as you said, "Yeah. Later." You locked eyes with his surprised ones. "Come back here later. At midnight."

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

In his quarters, Sanji was wide awake. Laying on his bunk, he stared up at the ceiling as he mindlessly played with the cap on his lighter.

Click.

Were you serious? Did you actually ask him to meet up for a late-night rendezvous? Ahem- 'dessert'?

Click.

Ever since Nami had called him out on his, uh, crush on you, he was ashamed to admit that he found himself dreaming of something like this happening between you both for a while.

Click.

He liked to tease and flirt with you whenever he felt like it, loving the way you would just get so shy around him all of a sudden. It was just too cute for words. He was perfectly content at the moment with watching you from afar, when you were off in your own world, not realizing the beauty you emanated from purely existing.

And now you had picked up on his innuendo and were actually scheduling a meet-up?

Click.

Sanji could practically feel the nerves on his skin tingle from excitement, his heart beating faster than normal.

He's never actually had a woman return any kind of affection for him before, and if he laid here in bed any longer he felt like he was going to combust.

Clink. Sanji snapped his silver metal lighter shut as he sat up in bed, immediately finding the clock on the wall to read the time:

11:40

Ugh. It wasn't 12 exactly, but he simply couldn't just wait in his room any longer. It'd been hours since you both had finished up the dishes and these few hours of waiting had been absolute torture.

He got out of bed, wearing his usual pants and blue-striped button-down with a tie, even his shoes were on still, as he pocketed his lighter deciding to just go wait for you in the kitchen. You were pretty adamant about the meet-up time being 12 exactly, but he simply couldn't wait any longer.

Quietly, he opened the door of his room and carefully made his way towards the kitchen, trying to be as silent as he could. The ship was practically pitch-black since it was basically the middle of the night, but the closer he got towards the kitchen, he saw that a few lights were already on.

"Shit," he heard your whispered hiss. "I thought this would look better...oh my god. What if he hates this?"

His brows furrowed. Were you talking about him? Hating something you had done? He couldn't ever imagine that happening.

When he made it to the kitchen, the sight he was greeted with brought a smile to his face. There you were facing him, hunched over a whimsically decorated pink, yellow, white, and red cake, your face scrunched up in concentration, and the kitchen looking a bit of a mess.

As cute as the sight was, he couldn't help but be completely confused at what was going on. Didn't both of you just clean this entire kitchen only a few hours ago?......did you even go to bed at all?

This certainly wasn't the, uh, rendezvous he was expecting, but this was somehow better. He never knew what to expect with you and he loved that.

"Y/n?" he called out quietly.

You flinched at the sound of his voice, immediately straightening up, your eyes full of shock and surprise. "Sanji!" You put a hand over your heart. "Geez, you scared the hell out of me." You frowned slightly. "You were supposed to be here at 12."

The blonde cook took a couple of steps towards the counter, placing his hands on the edge as he leaned forward against it, examining the disarray before him, a small confused smile on his face. "What's going on here?"

"Um, well," you rubbed the back of your neck. "I wasn't quite ready yet...and I thought this would all look better...but, surprise..." you trailed off a bit lamely, slowly opening up your arms with an embarrassed smile.

Sanji cocked his head to the side. "Surprise for who?"

"You."

Now he was really confused. "Me?"

"Yeah." You were quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath and looked up at him, your expression soft and tender. "Happy anniversary Sanji."

"Well- I," Sanji stuttered. He was so terribly confused what you were on about but your expression didn't change. It was like you were waiting for him to realize what you were talking about. He let out a small breath. "I'm sorry, y/n. What are you talking about, sweetheart? What anniversary?"

Was he already dating you and it was an important anniversary for you both? Was he dreaming?

"Well, technically it's not your anniversary yet. But at midnight, it will be. It'll be ten years to the day..." you trailed off, looking down at the cake you made.

Ten years?

Suddenly, it all made sense to him. Everything. It was his ten-year anniversary....of being saved from that rock he was stranded on, with Zeff. The day that he would count as one of the happiest and hardest days of his life simultaneously.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from wavering as best he could. "Ten years from he day I was saved..." He took a steadying breath as he looked at you.

As hard as the day was for him, he couldn't believe that you actually remembered the date. He had told you part of his horrible back story months ago when he had met you, right around the time when he told Luffy that story. Never did he think that you would do so much as to even remember the month and day of when he had gotten saved. The day he got a second chance at life.

"You remembered?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course I did," you say simply, not offended by his question at all. You looked at him with a small smile, a twinkle in your eye. "It's the day that saved your life." In a quieter tone, you looked back down at your cake, a hint of embarrassment in your words, "If this day didn't happen ten years ago, I never would've met you. And I can't imagine never meeting you."

Sanji felt frozen in place as he stared at you. He felt his heartrate skyrocket.

But you weren't done with your sweet words. "Whenever you talked about that time in your life, you're always so sad over it. And rightfully so!" you quickly added, looking at him, your face flushing slightly. "But I don't want you to be sad over it anymore. So I figured I would make you your favorite dessert and surprise you with it so we could celebrate this day together but..."

You never told me what your favorite dessert was, were the unspoken words that hung in the air.

Truthfully, he wasn't a huge dessert person so he truly didn't have an answer when you had asked earlier but that didn't mean he didn't know a few desserts or two. He quickly scanned over your baked creation, looking at the details more closely and a smile twitched on his face when he realized the kind of cake you made.

"Is that a strawberry lemon cake?" he asked, his crooked smile growing wider when he saw your eyes light up.

Instantly, you looked up at him, immediately making eye contact with him, your face full of surprise. "Y-yes! It is...how'd you know..?"

"Ah, don't you know who you're talking to? The greatest chef in all of the four seas?" he asked playfully. "I know a strawberry lemon cake whenever I see one." Seeing the pair of forks and small plates you had already set out for you both, Sanji reached for a fork, looking at you with a raised brow. "May I?"

"Of course," you quickly nodded, gesturing for him to dig in.

As he took a forkful off the edge and put the dessert in his mouth, the sweetness and flavors immediately dancing on his tongue, you told him something sweet as he tasted something sweet.

"This is actually my favorite dessert," you admitted. Playing with hem of your apron (which he noted you looked so adorable in), you looked at him full of apprehension. "Do you like it? I think I could've done a better job..."

"This is the best thing I've ever tasted," he said without thinking.

And was he lying? Absolutely not. Since he was a cook, he was accustomed to so-called 'perfect meals' and all other 'amazing' creations. But this? A sweet cake made with love that was actually good? It was the truth: this was the best thing he'd ever had and he now had a favorite dessert, your strawberry lemon cakes.

"Ah, you're just saying that..."

"I'm serious." Sanji straightened up. "Something as good as this, made with love by you? And for such a...special occasion? I'm serious, y/n." He made sure he locked eyes with you, hoping you could feel everything he was feeling. "This is truly, the best thing I've ever had."

At his genuine compliment, he saw your apprehension melt away, that look being taken over by a look that radiated happiness. You were beaming. "Aw, Sanji," you said bashfully, waving him off slightly, a slight dusting of pink on your cheeks. "Well, thank you."

As he slowly made his way around the counter to be closer to you, he asked, "Wanna tell me how you made this incredible creation, Missus? I've never made one before."

At the opportunity to teach the Going Merry's chef something about food, an excited smile broke out across your face as you started explaining how you made your favorite dessert, launching into an animated explanation.

Once he was on the same side of the counter as you, practically a foot away but wanting to be closer, needing to touch you in some way but holding himself back, he listened to you explain every detail to him with a full feeling in his heart and a soft smile on his face.

Never before had someone done such a sweet and kind act for him, trying to help him heal from one of his traumas, but here you were, up all night practically so you could surprise him. The longer he looked at you, the more certain that yeah, Nami was right. He didn't like you as a friend. He liked you much more than a friend should.

He had feelings for you.

taglist: @mischiefmanaged71 @smolracoon25 @smol-book-nerd @shuujin @amanda08319 @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @whiskeypowder @jovialcat123 @xtigerlily @shadowwolf1864 @quixscentsposts @guidingstarsstuff @ateliefloresdaprimavera @chexmixtrys @princettecharlie @amitydoodlez @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @abracarabbit @commanderfreethatdust @lordbugs @sweet-little-nothings @geisterfvhrer @kenkenmaaa @dazaisfavgf @fan-goddess @shadydeanmuffin @cherrypie5 @sauceonmyshorts @hhighkey @gimmebackmyskeeball @he4vens-ang3l @selcouthaesthetics @sapphireonline @dory-98 @redskull199987 @teenyforestfairy @acupnoodle @strwberryii @luna0713hunter @tinydonkeysforlife @rand0m--fangirl @stevenknightmarc

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [2]

series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> tbd

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)

You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.

Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.

When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.

Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.

It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-

"Did she just-"

"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.

He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.

You scream.

It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.

Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.

Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.

"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."

Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.

"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."

A wink.

"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."

There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.

"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"

Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.

You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.

You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.

"Eat slowly," is all he says.

It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.

Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.

Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.

"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."

"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."

You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!

He's too strong.

The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.

Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.

You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.

"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"

You shake your head.

"That's what I thought."

Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.

You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.

"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.

You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.

"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.

His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.

"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"

Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."

He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.

"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.

Simon doesn't let you panic for long.

"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."

There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.

"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.

"No," he says simply.

For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.

Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.

"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."

Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.

"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.

"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."

Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.

"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."

You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.

Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.

Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.

Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.

You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.

He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.

"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.

"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.

Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.

"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.

"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."

The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.

"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.

The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.

"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."

"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.

You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.

Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.

"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"

After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.

Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.

"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."

His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.

"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."

Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.

The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.

"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.

"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.

They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.

Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.

You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?

The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.

It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.

"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.

They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.

"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."

You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.

Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.

"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.

"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.

Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.

People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.

The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.

It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.

"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"

Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.

"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.

By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.

The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.

It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.

Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.

The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.

These are the fledglings?

You're in a wild, barbaric place.

When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.

No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.

Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.

"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.

"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.

Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.

"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."

Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.

Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.

Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.

Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.

Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.

"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"

Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.

"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."

A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.

Wife?

"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."

"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?

"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."

"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.

"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"

"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."

"When's that, then?" Price asks.

"Before winter."

The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.

The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.

"Too tired?" Johnny asks.

You run.

Or try to, as fast as you can.

It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.

Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.

It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.

"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.

"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.

"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.

"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."

The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.

"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.

The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.

"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."

"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."

"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."

Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.

"Get in bed."

Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.

"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"

"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."

God help you, you're so tired you do.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 || 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: valley of the dolls || part two: here

summary_ where coriolanus snow wants to win you again after recovering from Dr. Gaul’s experiments, but ends up threatening you to marry him or he’ll reveal your darkest secret, just because you were his.

warnings_ NO PROOFREAD, dubcon, oral (f receiving), dark!coriolanus, angst, fluff (well…), drama

notes_happy halloween, listen to my Coriolanus’ playlist, it’s so bad I promise you’ll hate it.

♪ ♫ Coryo playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Reflections were a light of truth. Whether you liked it or not. There are no more tears to shed, you think you’ve run out of them.

“You need to put down that mirror…” your father said.

He had grown a little colder after ascending to work closely with the government. Burt you know you’ll always be his little girl. Just like you would always love him.

“I can’t stop. My skin itches, I feel like I’m burning…” you reply, looking. At yourself.

Your skin was literally shredding. As if liquid glue had been poured all over your body. Now was dry, peeling itself off. The worst parts were in your face, ribs, and thighs.

“You have visits…” your eyes almost pop out.

“What?”

“Just Clemensia…”

“I thought I said no visits until I was allowed to leave the hospital.”

“I don’t think she’ll judge you, y/n”

It was true. You were horrified when Clemensia appeared full of neon scaled and yellow eyes to wake you up and Coriolanus at the hospital.

“Fine. Let her come in…” your father nodded, kissing your forehead before leaving.

You went to look at your reflection a little more. The dry peeling skin was turning dark, creating an odd contrast with your new rosy layer.

The sound of the door made you startled, but when you turned, you spotted Clemensia already inside.

She inspects your face once she’s inches away from you. She even touches your skin.

“You look great. I’d give it a couple of days. Amazing…” You can’t resist but embrace her, which she accepts.

“It’s been two months and everyone keeps talking about you. I suspected the reason, so I patiently waited” she says, taking a seat beside you in the hospital bed. You half laugh, putting away the mirror.

“How are you?

“Good? Not? I don’t know. I don’t even know what happened” you reply.

“I guess if I was close to turning into a giant python, you were very close to turning into a mermaid” You find the humor in her words, so you laugh with her.

What was left to do either way? You thought.

“When I woke up, I had fish scales and I couldn’t stop drinking water…” Clemensia nodded. She was almost clear from the scales. Her eyes were normal again. She looked good.

“Just like I couldn’t stop my tongue from making odd sounds and movements…”

Both of you remain quiet for a little while. Until Clemensia opens her mouth and then shuts it, debating whether to speak up or not.

You already know what she’s wondering.

“Say it, Clemmie.” She sighs, surrendering to her curiosity.

“What happened with Coriolanus?…”

“He exposed me for suggesting he cheat in the games. He didn’t tell me anything the last time I saw him. It was in the Citadel, he was coming out from Dr. Gaul’s office and I was about to come in...”

You scratch your own hands for comfort. Clinging to confidence to disguise your anxiety.

“Coriolanus would never hurt you…”

“Oh Clemmie, I haven’t seen him in two months but I’m pretty sure the schoolboy we knew is completely gone. When I entered that lab, I was forced to lay in a bed and wait for hundreds of needles to attack me. And the moment I opened my eyes was a week ago…” your friend looks at you with pity, but you can’t feel bad for that.

“My mother brought me the news. Coriolanus left to the districts, he was exiled and paid to go and follow his songbird to the most filthy district.”

“Maybe he got scared. Perhaps he didn’t know Gaul was going to punish you…”

“He discovered I was sick because he called home a month after he left. A month, Clemmie. Neither one of the Snows worried for me. When I considered part of my family.” tears prick in your eyes but you can’t cry.

“He said I was important, he kissed me when he won the games. Dear lord, we promised to split the prize if one of us won. I love Coriolanus Snow, he was my best friend. I kissed him again and told him I’d see him at home the last time I saw him… All for nothing.”

Clemensia holds you tightly once again, this time brushing your dry and unhealthy hair.

“It’s going to be okay, y/n. You didn’t do anything wrong, you can rest knowing you are a good and decent person” You nod, swallowing the resentment towards that man.

“While I prepare to come back, Clemmie… Please start destroying him for me.” She smiles, caressing your hand.

“A man who chooses district over his capitol family is a coward”

…

Rumors were spread faster than disease in the Middle Ages. Coriolanus Snow was a renowned man. He let the rumors run like water. He followed Lucy Gray Baird to the districts for love. Didn’t work out, the girl was accused of murder and ran away, leaving him.

Everyone knew Coriolanus Snow had broken your heart. And that you remained confined in a hospital room. Infectious virus was the alleged reason.

When he received a call from Dr.Gaul, he internally cheered. She kept her promise of moving you to a hospital, and finally, your parents could see you. Coriolanus would be lying if he said he didn’t care about you anymore.

In fact, returning to the Capitol reminded him how lonely he actually was. Even worse when he learned Festus, Lysistrata, Clemensia and

were giving him the cold shoulder for abandoning you. Apparently, the girl he considered one of his closest friends visited you at the hospital and you spilled your side of the story. Coriolanus couldn’t blame you. He wasn’t expecting anything from you yet.

Trying to find a reason to keep his mind occupied other than attending university was to wisely make the first spend with the Plinth’s fortune. Coriolanus decided to refurbish the penthouse. And when he tried to offer a hand to your parents to do the same, he was shocked to learn it wasn’t necessary anymore.

It was a long night of talking. Your father had ascended to position quickly and now worked as part of President Ravinstill’s cabinet. Your mother had opened her own atelier in the Capitol’s downtown. When he was allowed to visit your room, Coriolanus noticed the wallpapers that looked faded and peeling now looked fresh. Your feathers lamp was long gone. It was replaced with an exotic flower look alike chandelier.

But his picture remained in your family pictures in your new bookshelves. And that’s when the guilt sank in.

The need to be okay with you grew. He remembered having an ally.

When he asked for you, your father revealed with sad but hopeful eyes that your skin was peeling, that your only cold showers felt good, but that you smiled for them.

Coriolanus got chills at the memory of you in that water tank. He supposed your process was similar to Clemensia and the snake bite.

As a man as well, your father didn’t completely blame him for growing confused about you and Lucy Gray.

He was urged to make amends with you. Tigris said it, grandma’am too. Clemensia and your parents said it too.

So he would.

…

Fixing your gloves, you look out your window. The Corso looked even more luxurious and elegant with the pink morning sky. But soon your eyes betray you, landing in your pictures. You immediately grab Coriolanus’ portrait, ready to take the paper stuck under the glass and tear it. But you don’t, you only put the picture looking down.

His memory kept haunting you. After all, he was still your neighbor.

You learned after a few more visits from Clemensia that Sejanus was dead. You sobbed so much. Sejanus was a good friend and his need to be something else killed him. Actually, Coriolanus killed him but you would never know that.

Only that his death led to the Plinths making Coriolanus their heir. That he was studying bureaucratic law and having private lessons with Dr. Gaul.

Traitor, traitor, traitor. He was even accepting classes from the woman who almost killed you.

In social matters, Coriolanus was courting Livia Cardew and you actually laughed.

Your best friend was truly gone. But you were back and you didn’t want to be overcome by the pain he put you through.

You were more than a curated girl with a broken heart that appeared in the newspapers. You were the daughter of a successful man and the daughter of the most famous designer of the capital.

And you weren’t going to start your comeback with the wrong foot.

Dr. Gaul probably wasn’t expecting to release an experiment only to return to a human body with regenerated DNA. The dry skin was replaced by a shiny and healthy new layer. Your hair grew again, longer than ever and you felt healthy overall.

The moment you stepped out of the trolley station, you slowly started to feel some heads turn your way.

The click of your heels soothed you as you made your way through the long marble stairs of the Capitol’s University. The feeling of unwanted attention grew when you went to the main office to pick up your schedule.

The secretary handed you the paper and as you read through it, someone tapped on your shoulder. You turned and it was a surprise to encounter one friend.

“Festus!…” you hug him, immediately feeling happy to see him.

“I heard you were back. Lysistrata and I split to find you. I guess I won…” he said, making you chuckle.

“You look great”

“You too. We’ve heard the craziest rumors about you and we literally spent the whole summer wondering what had actually happened” you sigh.

You wanted everyone to know what happened to you. That Gaul was a monster. That Coriolanus was a traitor. But it wasn’t the most viable. But he was your friend, you could trust him.

“What did Clemensia tell you?” You asked him, walking out of the office, and starting your way through the long halls.

“Not much. Only that Coriolanus was the biggest idiot,” he admitted.

And hearing that name out loud puts you on alert. He could appear anytime soon. And to be honest you weren’t prepared to encounter him. But you were confident that ignoring his existence would be easy.

“Well, Festus, let’s find her and Lysistrata. We have a lot to talk about…”

…

By the end of the day, everyone has your name on their lips. You spot Livia gossiping with Persephone, Iphigenia, Urban, and Androcles, the little bunch of the Academy that always made fun of you and Coriolanus for being so close.

You can’t help but remember that Coriolanus had started some sort of courtship with the mean blonde. You guess it’s because they turned out to be pretty much alike.

Overall, it hadn’t been as bad as you thought it was going to be. The hope of becoming a senator one day was still strong as the first day of classes for you turned out to be good.

You clench the zipper of your bag that hangs on your shoulder, ready to leave campus and call it a day.

It was particularly empty a few hours before the night, but there were a few still walking around. Your breathing had found a peaceful pace to follow until your eyes localized the nearest exit.

Entering there was a man, whose curls had disappeared into perfectly slicked hair, whose suit seemed to be impeccable and luxurious, whose bright loving eyes had turned into cold oceans, and whose warm smile had transformed into a frivolous expression.

Coriolanus Snow entered the hall, he hadn’t seen you, but you knew he would.

And you could have turned and walked all over campus to find another exit. But you wouldn’t.

Not when there are people already connecting dots with your presence and his in the same place.

With a big sigh, you focused your eyes on the door, in the falling sky that was preparing a sunset. You wouldn’t meet any face in the place just to avoid him. And as much as you tried to ignore the shivers, you could feel your hands shaking.

He saw you when he had you close enough to notice your red eyeshadow. He had already mastered the technique of hiding his feelings and expressions. But seeing you had erased any trace of practice. He let an inaudible gasp and almost stopped walking.

You looked very healthy in comparison to what he had heard. The scales he had seen were completely gone. Your eyes sparkled naturally and your hair looked very peculiar.

But any hope of interacting with you died the moment you passed by his side. Almost brushing your shoulders and you ignored him completely.

You had humiliated him. So he turned and started walking behind you. And the farther you moved, the more his anxiety started growing. He hadn’t even noticed he had followed you to the trolley station.

You heard him calling your name. But you ignored him. Your body relaxed as soon as the doors closed and the university disappeared from your sight.

Tears formed in your eyes, and you had to shut your eyes so harshly to avoid them from spilling.

…

It had turned into a cat-and-mouse game. You were almost running towards your apartment. Coriolanus knew your parents were working, so he had no problem chasing you to the door of your home.

“You won’t be able to run away every time, y/n… We need to talk” he said, knowing you could hear him through the other side of the door.

“I don’t want to talk with you” you replied, taking off your scarf and heels. Ignoring the way your heart still lounged for him it decreased its beats whenever you saw him talking with Livia on campus.

“You’re gonna listen to me one of these days”

“Go home, Coriolanus. Live your life and forget about me” he felt the pain in your words. And for some reason, it also hurt him.

“I can’t…” he whispered, hearing your footsteps walking away from the door.

With his obsessive nature flowing through him, he opened the door of the penthouse and was greeted by Tigris.

“Did you talk with her?” Coriolanus shook his head, and Tigris sighed.

“The other day I saw her at the market and she was so cold. I felt so sad when she said we acted like we didn’t care for her…” Coriolanus sighed at her words.

He wasn’t expecting you to encounter him with a big kiss like the one you gave him the last time he saw you. But he was getting impatient. He quickly understood that you weren’t jealous of Livia and if you actually were, you were brilliant at hiding it.

He learned that you were extremely hurt by him and his family. And he had to accept it was indeed his fault. You were the only reason he actually regretted things and wanted to say sorry.

He missed his best friend. Without you, he realized he was slowly becoming his father.

…

Of course, your mother would invite the Snows for dinner.

“Why would you do that?” You ask, polishing each fork and knife on the table, already feeling angry.

“I just want you and Coriolanus to be friends again, y/n. He’s such a good boy and he’s growing into a fine man…” you frown, leaning over a chair, facing your mother.

“He chose a filthy bohemian singer from the districts over me. That says everything about Coriolanus, mother…”

The woman also stops polishing the table utensils to look at you.

“He was just a kid, like you. We were struggling and he wanted power just like we all want… Focus on the man he is turning into, not the boy he was…” she says leaving.

“That’s exactly the problem…” you whisper.

You didn’t like the man he was turning into.

But you have to swallow your thoughts as soon as you hear voices from other than your parents. You sigh, knowing he has arrived. And it wasn’t like you wanted to impress him, but you wanted to show him that you were doing fine without him, that he hadn’t broken your heart, and that you didn’t care about him like you used to.

Coriolanus had just given your mother a hug when he saw you entering the room. To his eyes, you looked perfectly pretty.

You had an emerald dress with black tights and heels, your hair in an elegant bun, and some curls peeking over across your face. But your face was so serious. You barely glanced at him and Tigris when you greeted them. You only blink when Tigris mentions the Grandma’am was sick and couldn’t be at the dinner. Everyone noticed your awkward demeanor and your mother tried to break the ice.

“Coriolanus! Why don’t you and y/n go to check the oven?” You don’t oppose, you simply nod and leave without waiting for him to follow. But you can look over the corner of your eye at the fabric of his suit, dark grey, and his usual white rose on top of his heart. You couldn’t help but miss his curls, even when his new haircut made him mature and older.

Coriolanus saw you put on some kitchen gloves and he hurried to help.

“Let me check it…”

“I can do it myself, thanks” you reply coldly.

“Are you ever going to talk to me like a decent human?”

“Oh, I’m decent, very much compared to you. I need time, I have to put my thoughts in order” You were being honest.

“I won’t be waiting forever” he didn’t mean to sound so harsh but that’s the way he ended up sounding.

“Then you don’t really care about my forgiveness” he is about to protest, but you have moved away and taken out a giant turkey that must’ve been heavy enough to draw a sigh out of you. The whole interaction made him feel like an idiot. So he went to your side again.

“I miss you” he reveals, cringing at the sound of him being so vulnerable.

“You shouldn’t, you’re courting Livia Cardew”

“That’s not what it seems”

“I really don’t care, Coriolanus” you lied.

You start serving good portions and he has to start putting them on the table. He can hear your parents laughing with Tigris and he wishes everything was fine. Just like it was a couple of months ago. He really could see himself joking along with you, kissing you while you served the dinner, and being happy. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.

“For now, the only I want you to know is that it was never my intention to hurt you. If I could’ve avoided all the pain, I would’ve, y/n” you harshly crash the knife against one of the porcelain plates, closing your eyes to calm your sudden anger.

“If you hadn’t mentioned my name to Gaul, if you hadn’t kissed me the day you won the games if you had called the day you left the Capitol, you would’ve avoided a lot of my pain. But you didn’t… Because you care more about yourself than for the two of us as equals, Snow”

He unconsciously unlocked many unpleasant memories. So many things you would never know. But when he got onto something, he didn’t stop until he could feel like a winner.

“I won’t let go of the person that was there for me when I had nothing. No matter what it takes…” you eyed him, overcoming your fear watching him at the eye and you fulminate him, with a look of defiance that he also senses.

Coriolanus lets you pass by him and he watches you disappear into the dining table.

A couple of hours later, your father has taken away Coriolanus to drink in his office. Coriolanus is amazed by all the things the old man has achieved. He admired and respected your father. So he didn’t take too long to notice your father was drunk. He has started telling him what happened when his grandfather lived in District 1 and he visited him.

“Then our baby was born there. That house must be ashes from the war but every time I look at it in pictures, it makes me feel like it’s still there…” Coriolanus almost dropped his glass.

“So y/n was born in District 1?” Your father nods, finishing a second bottle of posca. Coriolanus had never liked to drink and he took it as an advantage most of the time.

“Let me find the birth certificate…” you father said.

To Coriolanus, this was shocking. When your father took out an envelope, he handed him the certificate. You had two names and two last names. Born a later winter baby and with a tiny imprint of your feet. His fingers traced your name.

“This is probably our biggest secret, Coriolanus. But you’re family, we trust you, boy” said your father patting his shoulder.

Coriolanus smiled, tracing your second name once again. Then turned to see you talking with Tigris outside.

Things kept getting in his favor since we came back to the Capitol.

You felt his eyes but you ignored him, focusing on an uncomfortable Tigris that wanted to talk to you.

“Me and Grandma’am asked for you a couple of days after Coryo left. That’s when we learned you were sick. I swear we asked every week, but your parents got very busy and we barely saw them. Then we had to move out because of the rent payments. It was hard…”

You analyze her burgundy lipstick and you know she’s telling the truth.

“Do you know the asshole your cousin was?” She nods.

“I do. He saw you when Dr. Gaul had you in her laboratory. Coryo was scared, he looked shocked and he knew you wouldn’t forgive him. But I told him to be a man and apologize”

“I miss the boy he was… I miss my best friend” you admit, biting your tongue because you should’ve kept that to yourself.

“I’m afraid the districts changed him… he reminds me of…”

“His father” you finish for her.

Sadly, she nods to you.

“Grandma’am keeps asking Coryo when will you be back. He always tells her he’s trying to win you back” She changes the subject, attempting to make you smile.

But you only reply with a little chuckle and a sad smile.

…

For the next two weeks, you have been drained from any sense of certainty. You have Coriolanus Snow waiting at your door every morning, insisting to walk you to university because he knew you hated having chauffeurs, the Capitol wasn’t big enough to depend on a vehicle. It was a walkable city and you loved taking the trolley. So he had been punctual and he had walked you every single day.

You barely talked and he hated that. Until two days ago when Coriolanus made you smile. He noticed you tried to hide it but it had been late. Your smile filled him with pride and he got even more obsessed with winning you back.

The luck hadn’t run out of him, because that afternoon your mother knocked on his door to invite him and his family to the release party of her new winter collection.

The invitation made Tigris extremely happy and Coriolanus knew it was a great chance to get close to you.

But you had other plans. You took your mother’s party as a distraction from him. At the atelier, you spent the following days previous to the party. Lysistrata and Clemensia wanted a dress from your mother’s hands and you had no problem with having your friends there.

Three glasses of champagne rested on the center table, you were in underwear, waiting for one of the sewers to take measurements of your body.

“I still don’t know why you want to wear light pink. It’s a boring color, y/n” Clemmie said. You giggled, and as soon as you were free to move, you slipped on a black nightgown, hurrying to grab the design you and your mother had come up with nights ago.

“Because of this… is a reformed copy of my grandmother’s dress” Both of your friends analyzed the paper and ended up nodding.

“It’s very pretty” Lysistrata replied.

Clemensia wanted a bodycon dress in silver and Lysistrata wanted a blue maxi dress. The theme of the party was flower masquerade. The winter collection was all about silver, pastel pink, burgundy, and grey.

“Hey, yesterday in the session I had of psychology, Persephone and Urban were gossiping about Livia and Coriolanus. Apparently, he called it quits with her after you returned. They only had like two dates but it wasn’t working out either way”

“In what world would Livia Cardew and Coriolanus Snow get along so well to have dates?” Your friends laugh, but you are slightly nervous about the subject.

“Everyone is so invested in you two, though. It was already a matter of gossip back in the Academy. Now that we are basically… adults? It’s more notorious” you eye Lysistrata, realizing you probably were more popular than you thought you were.

“I can’t forgive him. I can only see a selfish man. Not my boy, the one I fell in love with…” you confess.

Clemensia and Lysistrata look at each other, unsure about what they should say to you.

“You could meet the new man he is, perhaps he’s not as bad as you think,” Lysistrata says.

“But stay alert. And don’t give in so easily….” You know Clemensia is right.

And you’re still unsure about even considering giving Coriolanus another chance.

Someone knocked on the door and it was an avox, he handed you a bouquet that you took confused. It had a note.

[ I hope we can match for the party] Of course it had to be from him.

“Speaking of the devil…’

“He sent you flowers?” Clemmie asked and you nodded.

You call the avox and hand him the note. On the blank side, you wrote “I don’t think you’re wearing a light pink suit”.

“Let’s focus on the dresses…” they both nod at you.

…

It surely was one of the most beautiful parties you had attended ever. The party was letting every attendee that your family had won enough power to host something so luxurious. The saloon was full of flowers, some even scattered in the giant chandeliers that hung in the high ceilings. The avoxes all had the same black mask and were serving rounds after rounds of fine alcohol.

Your friends got a table near the stairs, they were laughing and having a good time. You stood up to get a sweet treat since you hadn’t eaten since midday. There was this guy that tagged along and he turned out to be very funny. He was getting along Lysistrata and you liked the sight.

But in the eyes of a certain blonde, who had just arrived, it set him on fire from jealousy. Coriolanus wasn’t trying to get you back in vane. He got mad after seeing you laugh with that guy. He got tired of waiting.

His evil grin grows when he overhears Clemensia and Festus saying you had confessed you still loved him but you couldn’t forgive him. That made him relax a little, so he put on his best smile and approached you at the food table.

There were cookies, pastries, and a vast variety of cakes.

You could hear many people praising your mother’s designs. As you started chewing a lavender and lemon pastry, you felt a hand on your lower back.

“Congratulations to your mother” You turned to encounter Coriolanus. He had a black suit with barely visible thin grey stripes and his signature rose, in a light pink shade that perfectly matched your dress. His mask was black as well and his look, in general, reminded you of his last-minute outfit from the day of the reaping. You felt a pang in your heart because you could see a glimpse of the boy he was at that masquerade.

“You are not going to speak?” He asked.

“I was chewing…” you said, looking away from him.

“Indeed” With his index finger, he cleaned your lips from the cream of the pastry, which took you by surprise.

“We need to talk.”

“Now it’s not the best time, Coriolanus”

“I’m pretty sure it can’t wait. I wouldn’t suit you, especially on a day like this” his words confused you and for some reason it made you feel nervous.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Like what, dear?” At the sound of his tone, you knew it wasn’t very good.

“Let’s go upstairs when the runway begins,” you said coldly.

The minutes pass flying and when the lights turn off and people gather to look at the fashion show, you and Coriolanus disappear upstairs.

There are plenty of rooms. Most of them are looked but you find one that’s open. It’s a restroom. It has low lights and a lot of mirrors as well as statues and paintings. In the center, there’s a velvet couch that you take to sit on.

You look at Coriolanus expectantly and he only eyes you deeply with his blue eyes.

“Would you marry me?” You frown, shock flooding you, but remain seated, gripping the cushion of the couch harshly.

“What?”

“If I told you I know you were born in the districts. Would you marry me?” You stand up furiously.

“DON’T YOU DARE, CORIOLANUS!” You yell, knowing nobody can hear you.

He grins and walks closing the distance between you two. You step backwards until he gently pushes you so you end up seated again.

“I told you I would get tired of waiting” Your eyes get teary.

“No, don’t cry, baby. I will treat you so right. I will make you a fine First Lady one day…” he whispers, caressing your face.

“Why are you so cruel?”

“I just want you to love me again”

“I did love you, Coriolanus. But it wasn’t enough for you” you retort with anger in your eyes. He smiled, an evil smile that made you mad, he gripped your chin so you couldn’t move away from him.

“I was a boy who didn’t know what it had. Now I’m not risking losing you again” You tried to stand up but he forced you to stay still. And then he kissed you.

His lips invaded yours. You couldn’t reciprocate, you wanted to run away and never come back. But he had other plans, he pinned your hands over your stomach and pushed you to lay on the couch.

When his knee had separated your legs, you opened your eyes in panic.

“Coriolanus, What are you doing?” He didn’t reply.

With one hand he bunched your dress over your lap and his lips started trailing kissing all over your knees to your inner thighs, you gasped and tried to close your legs.

“You can’t lie to my face that you don’t love me anymore. But I know you do. And your body can’t disguise it” he traced a finger over your underwear, the pink fabric denoting a darker spot that revealed your aching for his touch.

“Stop it” you demanded him. Coriolanus only chuckled.

“Who’s gonna understand you like I do? You can’t trust anyone but me, y/n” he said before moving your underwear aside and trailing your insides with his tongue.

You had to muffle a moan because you couldn’t give him the satisfaction, but that didn’t last long.

He had no experience because you knew he had never touched a woman. But he was a fast learner. Because he started making you feel so good. Coriolanus wanted to hear you moan his name, but he couldn't wait. He knew he was doing a good job because, at some point, you lifted one leg, your heel brushing his hip.

“I will never love you again,” you say between moans.

Coriolanus smirks.

“You already do. Just like me…”

You open your eyes and you turn to look at the mirrors. Coriolanus was under your dress and you were putting so much pressure on your stomach, trying to not lift your hips. You were so guilty. For giving into him. Because you still loved him and you secretly hoped he would be the man you wanted him to be.

_________________________________

Then the wedding, a trip to the districts, spooky encounter and finally love in part 3 or not?

Taglist: @sweet-n-serene @qoopeeya @ietss @commanderfreethatdust @starryyyshinomya44

[akariamai]

Claws, Blades, and Botanical Love

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!OC

Word Count: 1642

“Where are we going?” Logan asked in a steely tone as Wade forcefully shoved him into the discolored and slightly wrecked stolen car. It had been a day since the small celebration of the multiverse was saved and now, Wade was forcing him into another adventure.

“Listen up, my little honey badger of doom and gloom, we’re about to inject some much-needed joy into those dead fish eyes of yours. Seriously, would it kill you to crack a smile for all the lovely readers out there? They’re lying in bed, wide awake, thinking about your mopey ass at 2 in the morning. Give ‘em a little something to dream about, will ya?” Wade finished with a boop on Logan’s nose.

“What the fuck are you yapping about?” Logan snapped, slamming his fist onto the headliner of the car.

“Chill your claws, Logan. So there I was, doing my little multiverse hopscotch, trying to find the you that’s not you but is still you—don’t think too hard about it. And guess what? Every single one of you grumpy furballs has the same weak spot. I mean, color me shocked when I find out Wolverine’s out here simping hardcore for a mutant angel, Mother Nature herself with all her leafy green goddess vibes.” Wade paused, turning the engine on, before continuing, “And oh, wouldn’t you know it? She’s your soulmate, bub. Yep, the big bad Wolverine falling head over claws for Mother Earth. Who knew you had it in ya? And for my grand finale after saving the multiverse, I asked the TVA to track down your leafy soulmate right here in this universe. I know, I’m a hero. Now, where’s my applause, Logan? Or, you know, a little thank you pegging wouldn’t hurt either. Your call!”

Logan absorbed the information in silence. He gripped the side of his seat, knuckles turning white and claws threatening to come out, as the weight of the words spoken sank in. His breath hitched — a soulmate. The concept circled around his mind, relentless and overwhelming. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the car seemed to close in on him. A soulmate. His soulmate. The thought pounded in his skull, echoing louder with each beat of his heart.

His eyes darted from one side of the car to the other, unfocused, as his breathing quickened. Every face he’d ever known flashed through his mind— mutants, friends, enemies— all blurring together in a desperate search. He released his grip on his seat to only grip it tighter, digging deep into his memory, trying to pinpoint who it could be. Who from his world could possibly be the one.

“Oh, I can practically hear the gears grinding in your noggin, Wolfie. Relax, it’s not like you’ve missed out on a soulmate meet-and-greet. You never met them in your universe—they kicked the bucket before your paths ever crossed. Just like the Logan of this universe bit the dust before he got his chance to meet them. So, no need to lose any more sleep over it, bub.” Wade reached into the hidden compartment of the car and handed Logan to file. “Alright, feast your eyes on this bad boy—it’s got all the juicy deets about your little sweet pea right here. Buckle up, Logan, it’s time to dive into the love story of the century!”

Logan’s fingers hover over the file, trembling slightly. He shallowed hard, his throat dry as he stared holes at it. His breath came in uneven gasps. The file lay heavy in his hands, a stark contrast to his tight grip as if it might burst into flames of open with a truth he wasn’t ready to face. He became a monster after the death of his friends — his family — a vicious and heartless animal with no regard for human life. He had a fiery temper and alcoholic tendencies. He hesitated, his eyes darting to and from the file, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he were bracing himself for impact.

The file contained a possible future, a future he was not worthy for, but he was a selfish man who wanted nothing more than peace. Once the file was opened, his eyes were drawn to a picture of a gardener, Flora Winters.

Flora was the right mix of grit and grace. She had this magnetic way of commanding the camera’s attention, her presence effortlessly filling the frame with a blend of strength and elegance. There was a subtle, almost intangible quality that made her stand out.

“Hey, Earth to Perve, are you done giving her the ol’ eyeball striptease yet? You haven’t even met her and you’re already panting like a dog left out in the summer sun all day. I can only guess what’ll happen when you’re actually in the same room. Actually, I can totally imagine it— and if you don’t mind, I’d love to join in on the bedroom fun!”

~~~

Flora Winters spends the day slicing into the strawberries she’s grown in her greenhouse, experimenting with different recipes to find the one that’ll make her taste buds dance. She plans to sell them alongside the rest of her crops. Her life is mostly mundane, except for the occasional boost she gives her plants with her powers.

She senses a subtle tremor in the grass—a quiet warning from the trees that someone is near, getting closer. She feels the presence of two individuals stepping onto her porch, brushing against the ivy draped from the roof, ready to knock on her door.

Cracking the door open just enough to peek out, she narrows her eyes at the two men standing there. “What do you want?” she asks, taking in their ridiculous outfits. One is decked out in a red-and-black bodysuit that looks like a walking dildo, complete with a mask that only leaves his bug-eyed lenses visible. The other guy’s in a yellow-and-blue getup that looks straight out of a comic book, his muscles practically bulging out of the suit. They look like they’re about to audition for the weirdest superhero team ever.

Logan’s heightened senses pick up a scent that calms the raging animal inside him. It’s subtle—like the earth after rain, mixed with blooming flowers and a hint of something uniquely her. For the first time in what feels like forever, a deep sense of peace settles over him, like he’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for. Every instinct tells him he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Wade practically bounces on his heels. “This is it, bub! Your happily-ever-after, complete with a side of rosebuds and thorns.”

Logan shoots Wade a withering glare. “Shut up!”

But Wade, being Wade, ignores him and keeps running his mouth. “So, Flora, you should know—Logan here is a real softy under all that muscle. Sure, he’s got the claws and hair of a kitty and the whole brooding loner vibe down pat, but deep down, he’s a big ol’ teddy bear. Just don’t tell him I said that. Anyway, I’ll just leave him here and pick him up after this little playdate.”

Flora’s eyes flicker between the two, her brow furrowing as she narrows her gaze. The walking dildo keeps yapping nonsense. The vines hanging from the roof pulse with energy, eager for her command to snap into action. The thought of wrapping those vines around these idiots and flinging them far from her home is very tempting. It would be so easy.

Her eyes dart to the door—a simple barrier she could slam shut if they don’t retaliate. She hears the dildo’s yapping and the other guy’s low growling. They’re not really a threat, more like oversized children.

“Enough with your childish bickering. I want names. Who the fuck are you, how do you know my name, and what do you want?”

Wade starts to speak, but Logan cuts him off, his voice low and growling. “The moron here thinks we’re soulmates.”

Wade jumps back in, grinning. “The TVA stamped it, laminated it, and probably put it in a scrapbook labeled ‘Destined Couples of the Multiverse.’ Ain’t love just precious—like a rabid wolverine with a bowtie! So, congrats, lovebirds. Now kiss, fight, or do both. I’m just hyped to see good ol’ Logan drop the whole grumpy routine and maybe—just maybe—stop looking like he’s got a permanent wedgie. Fingers crossed he cracks a smile without breaking a mirror.”

Flora crosses her arms and tunes out the rest of the nonsense. The vines behind the two men sway towards them like serpents, coiling around their bodies and lifting them off the porch. With a flick of her wrist, the vines hurl the intruders as far as possible from her farm. She hears their screams fade as she calmly shuts the door, ignoring whatever mess is happening outside.

Wade and Logan watch the farm grow smaller and smaller until it vanishes behind the trees. Logan lands flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him, silently cursing Wade for dragging him into this. Wade, not as lucky, ends up impaled on a lonely tree stump. “Motherfucker.”

Logan gasps, “That went well.”

Wade pulls himself off the stump, glaring at his ruined suit. “I knew I should’ve handled the chit-chat! This is what happens when you let amateurs do the smooth talkin’—awkward silences and cringe-level dialogue. Next time, leave the witty banter to the pros—me.” He points at himself with both thumbs before inspecting the lacerations in his suit. “Well, there goes my uniform! Ruined! You know how hard it is to play arts and crafts with my own skin-tight, butt-hugging suit? This is what my life has come to—reconstructing fashion disasters caused by homicidal landscaping and that damn Vine Vixen.”

Masterlist

[cixteenyne]

I didn't know you were back! Welcome!

One question, will you ever follow that My Hero Academia guys series?

Please don't leave again, your writing is incredible!

Monday - Izukus’ Alone Time..

heyyy ahaaa what the flip guys it’s been a while and yes I’m back and I’ll try not to leave!! Idk I sleep a lot so I just don’t be doin shit. ANYWAYSSS onto the warnings girlypopss

(Warning(s): Vulgar language, Smut- Duh. Fem aligned, Sleepy Sex. Tired Izu. Kind of somno if you go up your ass and around the corner but that’s just what I heard

You can find Sunday here! Enjoy!

Izuku is energetic. That’s no secret, always so eager to overdo it and prove himself. That can take a toll on anyone, overdoing it that much. Especially on a Monday of all days.

Sometimes you’d see him walking through the door, exhausted, sweat covering him like it belonged there. Maybe it did.

His eyes usually so wide in the morning, worn and half lidded with little energy, yet every drop of accomplishment by sundown. The warm mixed colors giving them a shine that just makes them seem brighter.

You really could relate to him, after Shotou and Katsuki ran you dry the other day, you didn’t look nearly as bad as Izuku after a particularly long training day, but you sure felt like it, just a little more happy about it. You’d jump at a chance to do it again.

Not to say izuku didn’t enjoy the time he spent getting stronger to protect those he loves, to protect you and the others.

It was his lifestyle and he loved every bit of the life he was lucky enough to live.

So to say he was more pent up than usual with this new sudden change of training schedule, would be an understatement.

He kept his eyes on the screen. The only source of light being the soft glow it gave off onto his own view. Well, he tried to keep his eyes open and on the screen, but it really was difficult. A warm shower will do that to you.

The couch sinking pulled his head from sleep, turning his attention and what was left of it- to the person.

To you. Oh, warm you. You who were so sweet as to usher him from the door, and treat his wounds with what little first aid you knew. Which wasn’t much, but it did help. Honest. Sure saved his ass a visit and a scolding from Recovery Girl.

“Izuku? You can sleep y’know? I can see your eyes closing..”

So perceptive. Though it didn’t take a genius to figure that out. He just looked at you. Just looking. And leaning.

Leaning?

Izuku couldn’t help scooching closer to your warmth. He was a little more awake now, but he was still so sluggish. Wrapping his body around you with everything he had, which was much more than you were expecting. Falling onto you with little grace.

He keeps his head in the crook of your neck, his lips moving against it, but not quite doing anything. A kiss here, just barely there. A ghost of his warm breath. He was tired- really, but he wouldn’t pass you up.

His hands wandering and searching everywhere you let him. Tugging that down, moving this to the side. Pushing this up. Opening his mouth and laying it on whatever he could.

He took particular interest in your breasts, pushing your shirt up and sliding his tongue on them, closing his lips around them.

Closing his eyes and indulging in whatever he could take. Your moans and keens were perfect, they were going to put him to sleep, really. He needed more.

He pulled off you, holding himself up suddenly.

“m’sorry baby.. izu’s sorry.. ‘k doll? He’s sorry”

Pushing you legs apart with his own, he puts his chest to yours, laying down with a huff of relaxation. Kept mumbling various “m’sorry”s and how ‘izu’s so tired.’

Though he seems pretty eager in the way he fished his cock out of his plaid pants and pushed your panties wherever they wouldn’t be in the way. He terrible of him, doing this so late at night! He must be thinking that.

His mumbling is still on, but basically unintelligible as he whines and pushes himself in. Thrusting shallowly into you.

The couches’ leather crunches underneath you both as his thrusts meet full. Still just as slow.

His whole body basically covering you. deliberately, you think. And he can’t shut up for the life of him, his mumbling mixed with his moans and pleas that you hear mixed in make your pussy tighten.

His cock hits deep and drags right back out. His sleep worn state slugging his motions.

“P..please, fuck…- please. Please. M’sorry, j’s so tired baby..”

He whined out every word. Izuku may say he’s sorry, but he knows damn well he isn’t.

He knows.

“Zu’s gonna make it- fuck..! Make it.. all up.. to you.”

Just rambling and mumbling and whines mixed with drool and drowsiness.

He’s just so tired. And he wants you.

You can feel his cock twitch inside of you, the movement of his hips becoming snappy. Jerky and even more uncoordinated. Whining and heaving about how he’s gonna cum.

“Gonna cum. G-! Ah..! Gonna.. c-uh!”

His hips stutter as string, after rope, of too warm seed slips from his tip. He whines as he empties himself into you. So needy he is, he’s always so whiney when he’s tired. More greedy. Even someone like him can be greedy. So cute.

With no grace and all exhaustion, he drops himself. All of his weight and mass onto you. Without warning, making you huff at the impact. He doesn’t bother to pull out.

You look down at him, his head in your neck. His forest of dark green hair right in your face.

“Y’feel better?”

A question the barely conscious Izu can’t answer. Well, sorta.

“Mm..” it was all he could offer.

Good enough.

(Ahaaa hey bbg don’t steal my stuffsss ofc u can reblog coochie cakes)

[inkdrinkerworld]

for soft beefy!james... he’s so the type to cry when you cry. like you come to him in tears and immediately he’s pulling you into his lap and cradling your face in his big hands, using his thumbs to brush away your tears and asking you what happened... getting teary when you sob even if it’s over something frivolous bc it hurts his heart. idk if this is anything, feel free to just ignore but i love the way you write your beefy!james <3

oh my goodness!! this is perfect!!! mention of hate from super fans of rugby but not descriptive

he's just come back from training when he hears the hiccupping breath. it's not often that james is greeted with your tears and he feels his chest constrict at the sound of them.

"angel?" he calls, toeing off his shoes as he ventures further into the living room for you.

you're laying on your side, face halfway smushed into a pillow as your body shakes with your sobs.

"angel, what's wrong?" he asks, dropping to his knees before you. james' hands are gentle where they wipe away the racing tears.

he can feel his own emotions rising, feeling the pinpricks of tears pooling behind his eyes.

you heave a breath, clearly trying to speak. james gives you time, "m'not-" you pause, inhaling deeply, "saw that stupid advert, the one with the dogs in the shelter."

james coos, picking you up easily and fitting you in his lap as he sits on the floor. you twist in his lap and say, "m'gross jamie, got tears and snot all over my face."

james manages a laugh, though it's not his usual one. "no you don't," he kisses your tear stained cheek. "you sure the advert was the only thing?"

his hand rubs your back, waiting for your answer. you deliberate while you twist at the hem of his shirt. "saw the messages under that post," james knows which one you're talking about instantly. "s'not very nice."

james feels the pinpricks again and nudges your face with his nose. "want me to do something about it?" he knows you're a big girl, that you can handle your own battles, but james hates the ideas that some of the teams' fans can be vile.

"no no," your tone is firm. james still wants to fight it though, he wants to let is be known that it isn't alright. "it'll pass right?" you ask, eyes shining with unshed tears as you look up at james.

"course it will," he kisses your forehead, fishing his phone from his pocket.

"jamie, what are you doing?" you yawn through the words and james knows that if he doesn't get up now, you're both going to remain on the floor during your nap.

"making sure you're okay, angel." he selects a photo of you from his camera roll- one of you in his team's hoodie as you watch the game at home.

"can i?" he asks, just to be sure. your nod is hesitant. a kiss is pressed to the column of his throat in thanks.

it's a picture that his mum had taken the last time he had an away game that you couldn't go to.

'biggest supporter, biggest love xx' is the caption, james kissing your teary face one last time before standing up.

"let's go take a nap, angel;" he holds you to his chest as he walks to the room. "i love you." you kiss him, soft and slow, and a little sticky from where your tears have met his dry cheeks.

"i love you too, jamie."

[mothmanperson]

your back hit the ground harshly, the air in your lungs escaping.

you gasped for air, probably looking like a fish out of water, and someone above you yelled your name.

groaning, you moved your hand onto your chest, in a comforting manner, soothing your aching rib cage.

there was a bright light, were you at the infirmary? were they operating on you again?

through the constant beep that rang painfully through your jumbled brain your barely heard a door open and close, several voices mudding together into a panicked mess.

„oh my god! are you alright“

one called out, followed by a shadow in your blinding vision.

„i saw them move…. they’re not dead at least..“

spoke another more calm voice.

„… not dead yet…“

one muttered.

„Till!“

suddenly many gasped or exclaimed some sound of shock.

„…they fell from the ground floor, onto grass, no way they already died!“

the voice defended, sounding embarrassed.

the voices all sounded so familiar.

„huh..?“

your throat unconsciously made a noise and with a last heavy sigh you forcefully peeled your eyes open, a blue sky greeting you.

„They opened their eyes!“

the blotch of pink yelled and move colors entered your blurry line of view.

and they all matched.

matched their description.

two black, one grey, one pink, a blonde and a brown one.

and you could cry on the spot.

what a cruel vision your keeper gave you. was this your punishment? if so, you‘d rather take electric shots any day.

one rather soft, masculine voice called out your name, once again.

„are you alright? can you hear me?“

they continued, kneeling by your head, prodding at your carotid artery then laying a cold hand to your forehead.

„mhm…“

you muttered out, your breath rattling.

„they’re alright no need to worry…“

the voice reassured and Ivan- another voice excused himself to get some help.

„hey, can you tell us your name and what day it is?“

what was with these questions?

„huh…? you know my name mizi, why would you ask me that?“

you hissed out a bit to harsh for your liking, but you were always more aggressive when you hurt somewhere, and another round of relieved sighs sounded out.

„are we back in-… uhh… an— anakt garden….?“

and everyone went quiet for just a second to long.

„what- no- huh…?“

one seemingly laughed at you.

„garden..? no- it’s still anakt college, how do you keep getting that wrong“

another laughed.

finally your vision cleared up some more and your breath almost hitched.

they all died, you saw them die, live TV, sitting right next to your keeper as he laughed and cheered.

voting voting voting.

it made you sick, you did not show it.

„you alright..? did you see a ghost or something?“

till asked judging silently. and mizi gasped, her hand and sua‘s intertwined, a gently grip.

cute. but not possible.

you felt nauseous, tilting over as you held your stomach as it contracted painfully. your breathing hitched and your other hand reached for the green grass beneath you.

your fist tightened and the grass leaf snapped pathetically.

„… you’re dead…. you died— you all died fucking- haah.. dead, died— shot—..“

uncharacteristically, your breathing didn’t level out after you tried to calm down, an unfamiliar stone dropped into your throat rough. you clawed at your throat and you didn’t even notice the others fussing over you, trying to get you to lay back down, to not choke yourself out. you dry heaved multiple times.

your nails already leaving aggressive red marks as multiple hands tried to pry them off.

more people seemed to run in, not that you’d notice, halfway down the spiral of eternal darkness while heaving with the pressure of seeing your friends be shot squeezing and ripping your lungs.

and finally they ripped your hand from your throat, restraining your arms, your eyes unfocused looking at the sky.

delirious, your lips formed a trained smile, and you started shakily singing a trained song, breathless and barely above a whisper.

„what a nice dream, thank you— keep-keeper for letting… me— see them, one last time…“

you whispered, chuckling or rather hackling, before coughing.

<<previous next>>

also on ao3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Depths 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The water crashes onto the coast. The sound is dulled by the distance of your perch. The sky melds into the lake's surface as the sun hides behind a swathe of clouds.

You lean in to squint at the strokes on the canvas, sweeping your brush in repetition of the rippled horizon. You use the wnd of the brush to scratch your cheek.

Almost...

You peek above the easel and watch the small speck growing larger as it moves across the water. The fishing boat is there so often that you've added its silhouette to the acrylic tides. A stalwart to your early mornings and listless afternoons.

Day after day is layered before you in shades of cerulean, slate, and lavender. The grey sky with a tinge of golden sunlight, the waters stirring in sparkling shades of aquamarine and pearl, the coast rippled in fawn and umber. Another eye might see it and deem it finished but not you.

You step back to let the paint dry and rinse your brushes in the jar. Hmm. You're out of clean water.

You close up the easel and hook the canvas on the backside, carrying it like a briefcase as you pick up your canvas bag with your roll of brushes and pots of paint, your palette around your index finger.

You make a slow descent down the cliffside and curl around towards the shore. You veer away from the dock and head down into the silt. You put your stuff on a flat rock. You take the used brushes and palette to rinse in the shallows.

The water laps over your sandals as you linger in the soothing cool foam. The approach of evening skews the water with emerald and jade. You shake it all off and step back to dry it with a paint-blotted cloth.

You rearrange the bag so it all fits and hook it over your shoulder. You look down at the your linen apron. You can recall where every splotch and streak came from.

You take your easel and canvas and head back up along the dock. As you reach the post, the fishing boat knocks against the other end. You peer over at the man that lays a board across the spanse between.

You see him every night. You couldn't forget a man with snow white hair and golden eyes. His age is less than his locks might suggest and his eyes seem to look through you, not at you.

You smile, like you do every night. He doesn't react. Just like every other time.

The smell of fish wafts in the boat as he drags his net across the wooden ramp. You turn and press on. He's much to busy for you. It doesn't bother you. You came out here to get away from people.

Your feet leave divets in the dirt as the rock of the boat knocks in a rhythm against the dock. The man's toil adds to thunks and thuds and they fade behind you. The peace here is immaculate, you wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone else.

Past the seaside houses left vacant in the colder seasons and the smaller basins of the lake, between the rocky ridges and grassy knolls, you return to your little house.The cornflower paint chips from the wooden siding and the stairs are worn in the middle from the tramp of feet. A bench stands on the other side of the white railing between a plinthed flowerpot and folding table with a book forgotten on its slats. Home.

The spindly wreath on the front door rattles as you push through and the screen door snaps behind you. The evening breezs drifts in through the mesh as you set your easel down and rest the canvas on crate just beside the mat. You put your bag in front of the wooden stand and bask in the calm.

You hang your wicker hat and untie your apron. Your hands are covered in paint. You'll wash them before you eat. You leave your wet sandals at the door.

You pull out the pot of chowder you made two nights past from the fridge. You put it over a burner and wait for it to warm. The fare lasts you near a week when you take the time to put it together. Every ingredient must be used to its last, especially when it is so far to market. And expensive.

You scoop out a bowl and eat it on the front porch. Your eyes are too tired to read. When you finish, you recline on the bench and yawn. You lay in the dimming hue of the evening as the stars wink down at you.

A whistle carries on the wind. You sit up and look for the culprit. They are close enough to hear but that could still be far. It could even be a bird.

You take the empty bowl inside and rinse it. You retreat to the bedroom and change

You open the window to let the night in. Around here, you can do that. Not like the city and its grated windows.

You laze in the dusk shade and drift slowly into yourself. Sleep enshrines you atop the cushy bed, the water stirring from afar, the loons calling into the dark. Tomorrow you'll figure out the exact right colour for the undertow.

You're more than due to sell a new piece. You need to if you want to stay in paradise.