#leering kindly

[divinekangaroo]

I hate writing the word 'grinning' but keep defauting to it for Jack Nelson

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, husband nanami, cunnīlingus, praise, dirty talk, fįngering, secret freak nanami, hair pulling, mdni.

nanami’s always a gentleman - especially whenever he’s between your legs.

he’s the kind of guy who never forgets his manners. at least, he tries not to. as he’s sprawling both of your plushy thighs apart with a single hand, he’s bringing tender kiss after kiss toward your skin. “may i?” he’d breathlessly murmur as the tip of his nose merely brushes itself down your sopping core. browned, droopy eyes with enlarged pupils that were practically heart-shaped openly leered between the arc of your legs. he’s watching - studying you, silently admiring how your chest heaves up and down after each gasping breath. you’re impatient, so impatient, and a smile creases against his lips once you give a wordless yet needy response of ‘mhm.’

“ah, ah. words, sweetheart. kindly use ‘em for me,” he clicks his tongue, and you let off a sweet, shrilling whimper at the immediate feeling of nanami delicately blowing against your cunt. the cool air that set between your legs from his lips had you arching upward with your toes shamelessly already curling.

fuck.

nanami brought the pad of his thumb near your throbbing opening that was practically drooling before he gave it a teasing kiss. a tiny, popping squelch sobs straight from your sopping pussy and you whined, pouting once nanami licked near your nub before abruptly departing. as his lips hungrily pursed—he glanced back up at you before tilting his head. “oh, i know she’s wet,” he hums, averting his eyes toward your soddened folds before peeking back up at you. “but don’t just let her speak for you. i wanna hear my pretty wet wife too.”

besides his manners, nanami also loved another thing while being between your legs - wearing his reading glasses.

and oh, he just loved the pretty ‘lil whimpers that would slide past your quivering lips as the cold, squared lens would press against your pussy. every time - you’d fog up his glasses while you were uncontrollably rutting your hips against his face.

once he hears that cute, defeated, “p- pleaseee,” leave from your pouty, glittery lips, that’s all it took for nanami to finally dig in.

again, nanami kento’s always a gentleman.

on the other hand, his mouth.. his tongue though? a little more on the dirty side.

constantly - he’s just so hungry.

his lips were so quick at how they just cupped ‘round your nub, and you hear the beginning, loud sucks that echoed through each wall. the first sucks were always the loudest, and you’re gnawing on words that desperately - direly tried to leave your raw throat. instead, though, they just sound inaudible and you’re just whimpering the same repeated cacophonies of ‘kentoooo’ — ‘hngh-’ — or ‘fuck’ ‘s.

as your legs tremor within his firm hold, nanami starts to lave his sticky, pink tongue back ‘n forth until he eventually pried out those adorable squeals from you. he presses his face into your cunt, groaning once your legs mindlessly lock around his neck. “f- fuuuck, ‘ken, keep licking there- oh, my go- hngh-” and with teary, half-open eyes you stared as he’s jerking his head from side to side.

he’s like an animal - feasting between your thighs so viciously to the point where he sometimes forgets to even breathe.

“pretty please kento,” he adds for you, delving his tongue further inside your puffed slit before it swirls in a hypnotic direction. it goes ‘round ‘n round before stretching its way near your g-spot. that earns a small ‘ooh!’ from you as you squeeze your eyes shut. nanami’s tastebuds forevermore salivated for you, and he looked right up at you - pulling his syrupy lips away before swiping his thumb across the crack of his blushed lips. “talk to me, sweetheart.”

“hah- pretty, pretty … pleaseee kento,” you drag your words, letting off a sweet content ‘ah’ once you feel the tangled knot in your stomach unravel. his tongue was so sloppy, curling every which way between your folds before popping right back out. nanami grumbles against your pussy with his blond brows furrowed. the glimmering sleek that strings down his chin sticks against your thighs like constant dripping honey.

you tasted far sweeter than honey though - at least, in nanami’s opinion.

nanami relaxes his jaw — hearing your impatient, wanton cries for more before he gives the center of your cunt its nth kiss. “thaaat’s right- pretty please,” his voice lowers as he praises you, pitching deeper and deeper until he feels your cute ‘lil pulse in his mouth. nanami continued to lie on his chest, pushing the beige bridge of his reading glasses back with the tip of his middle finger. “mhm, such a perfect view,” he purred hoarsely, bringing two thick fingers to slide their way inside of you. he’s staring at your pussy closely, his vision seemingly even more clear after each blink.

within seconds, both digits end up disappearing, and internally, your tummy dips oh-so cutely. his fingers were stubby ‘n thick, making your toes curl even more as every minuscule inch prods into your wet core. as nanami’s tongue kept flicking against your sobbing slit, you’re letting off whine after whine. “heh.. this is probably my favorite chapter,” and as he speaks, your slick continued to fog up both lens of his glasses. “but ah- every great story comes to an end and you’re just about at your climax, right honey?”

“ ‘ken, kentooo-” you’d squeal, each babble of his name turning more breathless. your mind felt like it was just turning into mush. his tongue swirled its way around the spongy textures of your cunt as you felt both of his lengthy fingers pummel their way inside of you. by this point, it felt like you were just about to sink into the mattress.

you felt like you were being pulled in — he’s still maintaining a grip on one of your thighs, but fuck.

“ ‘m gonna … cum,” and as you spoke those long, awaited words, nanami meets your gaze. even a few glimpses of him between your thighs were enough to make you pulse at a rapid speed. his slick hair - it’s usually so well kept and neat or handsomely parted. now, it’s ruffled with blond strands sticking against his forehead with the help of his sweat. a hand of yours finds its way through his hair, roughly yanking near his soft roots. your eager tug at his hair was so hard that his nose is just tickling against your clit.

you felt a smile stretch across his lips as he’s still relishing in your fervor. you were right there … right fuckin’ there and at the brink of your very edge. from head to toe, your body felt like it was on fire - just sizzling with anticipation at a scorching temperature of a hundred degrees.

“c’mon then, sweetheart,” he throatily rasps, wetly pulling his twinned digits from your pussy. from top to bottom, you coated his fingers with your slick that had such a carnal-like shine to it. as his ruby, swollen lips kept latching against your folds, he grumbled at the arising friction in his slacks. “make a mess in my mouth, go on, pretty- give it t’ me please.”

“cum- ‘m cumming!” you’d shriek, chewing each high-pitched vowel and syllable that mewled from your lips. the pool that stirred into the inner depths of your stomach was finally at its peak. you slouch back in jubilant pleasure, loosening your grip on his fleecy strands as his tongue nibbles against your convulsing bud. your body’s just one single word - hot, and you felt like you’d just exploded right then and there. all nerves in your body violently erupt as you’re riding out your orgasm on his tongue with wobbly, numb legs.

the patterns of your breathing slowed significantly, and nanami whispered out husky, ‘thank you’ ‘s as his lips were trying to shower your dripping cunt with appreciation kisses. it’s almost sweet, in a racy way. the once steady beat of your heart felt like it was preparing to pound straight out of your chest, and you flopped your head back against the fluffed pillow that lay underneath you. nanami brings a hand toward your pussy, giving it a soft, praising pat.

your essence sloppily paints all against his palm and he flashes you a sheepish, pussy-drunk grin. “mhm, thank you, sweet girl,” and you honestly didn’t even know what he was thanking you for. ‘till the very end, nanami never forgot his manners, including at the moments where you’ve just drenched his entire face from nose to chin with your treacly slick. “and, hah- thank you,” his bleary, downcast eyes dart towards your slobbering pussy. from the hood of your clit to the very opening near the bottom, you’re soaked - cascading a pretty, wet stream of your shimmery wetness.

with a sticky ‘mwah,’ — nanami gives the center of your pussy its final concluding kiss, still hearing your shallow breaths from above as you’re trying to get over your overwhelming high. everything felt like it was spinning in circles, and the cold, glassy lens of nanami’s glasses pressing against your folds snapped you straight back into lewd reality. “think i’ll rate this book, five stars.”

and as you let off a surprised moan once he’s suddenly turning you over to lie on your back, you heard the familiar ‘zip’ of nanami’s slacks. breathily, he pants as he grinds his angry bulge against your bare cunt, sucking his teeth as you instinctively arched for him.

“fuck… sweetheart. think it’s time for the epilogue. now bend just a liiiittle more for kento, atta girl.”

[consultingskeletondetective]

Colonel's Girl

You’re the young army nurse on base and König decides to keep a protective eye on you. You don’t mind at all, the Colonel is sweet and safe - until he isn’t.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: military inaccuracies, blood and injury, angst, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex

This was your first time on a real military base. You’d done field medic training of course, but this was the first time in your career as an army nurse that you’d been shipped out to base, far from home, calling a tiny bunk room your own in a building full of rowdy young recruits. 

Their daily training brought them to you constantly with scrapes and bruises and concussions. They were feisty, adrenaline-fuelled young men, and you were one of the few women on base. The catcalling and the leering didn’t surprise you, even if it was unwelcome. 

“What time do you get off, darlin’?” Private Turner drawled in a cockney accent as you applied butterfly stitches to a bleeding split across his eyebrow. “Maybe I can come to your room and we can keep each other company-”

“Turner!” It was barked, a stern command from an accented voice. The private paled as Colonel König stomped into your clinic, and you blushed. König was a very imposing man. He was at least 6”9 by your reckoning, and just as broad, in his late 30s or early 40s with a thick Austrian accent. His years of military training had given him a thick, muscular frame, with his broad thighs barely contained in cargo trousers and steel-capped boots on his feet, a black tee stretched over his chest and biceps the size of your torso. You knew what he looked like under that hood, square jawed and piercing blue eyes, but today he’d kept it on, his eyes framed and dark. It was no surprise you blushed whenever you saw him.

“Colonel?” He stood and turned. His voice held none of its previous bravado. Next to König, he looked like a mere boy.

“Two weeks of toilet cleaning duty.” König said gruffly, “and if I catch you using that kind of language again, it will be a month. Understood?”

Turner slumped. “Yes, sir.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Turner, chastised, scampered out of your clinic without looking at you.

König turned his hulking form towards you and actually had to look down to greet you. 

“Pardon, ma’am. He won’t step out of line again.”

Ma’am . Your blush deepened. You gave him a small, nervous smile. 

“Thank you, Colonel, that’s very kind of you.”

“These boys don’t know yet how to respect a lady, but they will.”

“Once you’re done with them?” You smiled playfully.

“If I have done my job correctly.” He said kindly, before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. You giggled. 

You didn’t see much of König at the start of training, his rank and his experience meant that he didn’t end up in your clinic as much as his recruits did, but when you did pass each other in the hall or by exchanging paperwork, he was nothing less than a courteous and charming gentleman. It seemed bizarre, considering you’d heard tell that he was a brawling killing machine out on the field, but he could switch from barking stiff orders to giving you a gentle smile that made you blush in the blink of an eye. You had to routinely remind yourself that this didn’t make you special, he was just being respectful, and you weren’t used to that. It didn’t matter that he was a soldier, or nearly twice your age, it didn’t take you long to develop a crush on the handsome and mysterious Austrian. 

A few days later and you were stood in line to the mess hall. It was breakfast, and you’d seen the black pudding in the warming trays as soon as you’d stepped in. You were practically salivating as you waited, it wasn’t often you got a creature comfort like this - something that reminded you of home - on base.

“Not often we get this kind of luxury, eh, miss?” You recognised the coarse accent before you turned. Lieutenant Riley had joined you in the line, a balaclava covering his face. You knew him a little, the infamous Ghost. You’d crossed paths with the 141 on occasion, and you knew Riley, sometimes even Captain Price, dropped into the base to provide training or engage your services. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to make polite conversation with you. In fact, it seemed the norm here. The high rankers felt a bit sorry for you, while the recruits made you feel like a piece of meat or an object of ridicule. 

You didn’t mind much, you were here to do a job, and you kept to yourself mostly anyway, but the offer of friendship was much appreciated. 

You smiled a little shyly in return. “I know, right? I hope the black pudding doesn’t go too quickly. I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

“A girl after my own heart.” The lieutenant chuckled. In front of you, two privates who had been turning around to eavesdrop on the conversation - more to get a look at Ghost, than you, you understood - burst into laughing at your admission. Your ears turned red and you wished you’d never opened your mouth.

Riley didn’t seem to notice, he was holding his gloved hand out to König, who had somehow appeared next to him in the line since you’d looked away. You actually had to do a double take. For a near seven foot slab of muscle, he was stealthy when he wanted to be. 

The two of them talked among themselves in low voices and you left them to it, knowing you didn’t particularly want to hear the contents of whatever they needed to discuss.

You reached the front of the line and the private in front of you - the one who had laughed - piled his tray high with black pudding until the warming tray was empty. He turned and smirked mockingly at you.

“You can have my sausage, darlin’, if you ask nicely.” At least three recruits laughed. You wanted to shrink down so small you stopped existing altogether.

König’s brick hand clamped around the private’s tray and wrenched it easily from his grip.

“Sir-my breakfast…”

“Get out of the line, or I will feed you my fist.” König didn’t even raise his voice, the cold delivery had the private skulking off empty handed. König placed the tray back onto the counter and then he turned to you. 

“Help yourself, ma’am.” 

“Oh.” Your cheeks were crimson. He cocked his head, his eyes, the only part of his face visible through his black hood, looked amused. It wasn’t unkind. “T-thank you.” 

König tipped his hood towards you before turning his attention back to Riley, and the pair of them moved off to a separate table. You sat by yourself, chewing your black pudding, and smiling like an idiot. 

You glanced over to König a few times more than you would like to admit. He put you at ease, that’s what it came down to, it gave you a confidence you didn’t usually have around military men. 

It was that very ease that left you wholly unprepared for the following week.

It was ballistics training out on the grounds, and you caught wind of an accident halfway through your sandwich.

“Come quick!’ An officer skidded into your office, “there’s been an accident - potential fatality.”

You cursed, and gathered your supplies, before following him out of your clinic and out onto the training ground. Recruits stood nervously holding rifles, their half-shot targets abandoned. A young recruit was wailing on the ground, another kneeling beside him and pressing against his belly with a jacket, there was blood on the sand. 

König was towering over a young private - the same young man who had laughed at you in the mess hall, you briefly noted - and barking bloody murder in his terrified face. It took you more than a moment to realise that König wasn’t actually speaking German, you could just barely make a word out in his fury. 

It was easy to tune out, you’d been out in the field before, and turn your attention to your patient. You knelt beside the terrified looking private stemming the bleeding, and carefully lifted his jacket to look at his wound while the young man screamed.

“You’re going to be okay.” You said confidently, calmly. “It’s nothing we can’t stitch up. Private, keep putting pressure on the wound, just like this, you’re doing a good job.” Just this once, you were obeyed without question. 

“I will have you court-martialed, dummkopf, you could have killed him. You come onto my base, you do not listen to a word I say, and now you attack my men? You sorry piece of -”

“König,” you cut through the accented remonstration, pulling bandages from your bag, “I need your men to carry him to my clinic immediately, then you have to-”

König turned swiftly to you, those bright blue eyes visibly narrowed in the slits of his hood. “Do not fucking give me orders, nurse.” He seethed, voice ice cold with rage, fists clenched and towering over you. “You address me as Colonel, you little girl.” The white hot fury in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. You baulked, in fear, in surprise, horrified to realise tears were gathering in your eyes. You looked back down on the man in your arms and forced yourself to regain your composure.

“I need to get him to my clinic, I can’t lift him myself.” Your voice was steady, if muted, throwing your gaze over your shoulder at König and the recruits staring at you. “Please, colonel .”

König turned from you and began barking your orders at his men and within moments, your patient was being carried between three recruits back to your clinic. You turned and rushed after them. You extracted the bullet from his ribs and sewed up the damage as numbly as you treated any one of your patients. You left your makeshift surgery room with bloody hands and sweat on your forehead, surprised to find König leaning against the wall in your waiting room. He’d stripped out of his uniform to a simple pair of combat trousers and a black shirt that looked like it was losing a fight with his bicep muscles. His hood was held lax in his hand, giving you a rare glimpse at his face. It was no surprise to you that he looked exhausted. He pushed himself from the wall when you entered. Like a gentleman , you thought bitterly.

“Will he live?” He asked you, his voice soft. It was just like every other interaction you’d had on base. 

“It was a flesh wound. He’ll be fine, Colonel.” Your words were stiff, and you walked straight past him without even a glance, feeling like a complete idiot that you’d ever thought he might treat you with the slightest bit of respect. You were angry until the adrenaline wore off, then you cried in your bed.

The recruit, Jenkins, pulled through the night, and the next day he was airlifted to the nearest hospital. The accidental shooter was gone, and you didn’t care to ask what had happened. Training was halted for a few days as a result and you had a quiet week, but you weren’t complaining, as you now had a mountainous amount of paperwork to complete. You were grateful when you were able to file the heft of paper into your pigeon hole to be sent off, and rewarded yourself with a sit down in the breakroom to the main office.

You looked up on instinct more than anything when the door opened. König walked in, in combat boots and a military vest, his hood over his eyes and helmet strapped to his head, like he’d just come straight from deployment. He glanced at you with tired blue eyes, but all you could see was the fury in them when he’d scared you the week before. You felt stupid for thinking someone like König would ever be nice to you. You were just the idiot girl on base.

“Morning, ma’am.” He said pleasantly when he saw you, slipping one hand into his trouser pocket as he poured himself coffee from the pot on the table.

“Hey.” You replied, voice flat, suddenly finding your nails remarkably interesting.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” Another one word answer. You still weren’t looking at him. 

König shifted uneasily. The atmosphere in the room changed. Of course it did, he was used to you being a blushy, smiling, pathetic mess for him. 

Concerned, König crossed the small space to you. He didn’t sit. From what you could see from your lowered head, his hand was no longer in his pocket.

“If this is about what happened…you did well, Jenkins will recover.”

“I know I did fine.” You genuinely didn’t mean to snap. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

The conversation went dead, the atmosphere was palpable. You didn’t know whether it was his culture, or his military status, but König went right to the point.

“Have I offended you?”

Was he being willfully obstinate? You felt your humiliated aggravation grow. Well, you were in it now.

“Just leave me alone.”

There was a pause. And then another. Neither of you moved.

“As you wish.”

He left swiftly after that, and you finally looked up at the empty room. You felt relieved, but also hollow. It was almost like you’d done something wrong. But you hadn’t, had you? König’s coffee was abandoned on the table.

König left you alone, and that pissed you off even more. He walked past you in the mess hall, he didn’t glance down to smile at you anymore, he didn’t come into the clinic, even though you secretly hoped he would. Your self-esteem was pretty much on the floor after that, and the base got just that little bit lonelier.

Two recruits barrelled into your office a few days later, one had a busted lip and they both had black eyes. They'd clearly been in a fight, but whether that was with each other, or someone else, you didn’t care to ask. You stayed quiet as you applied butterfly stitches to their cuts, and they were happy enough to complain between themselves.

“You’re a dickhead, Williams, the Colonel’s gonna fucking kill us.” 

“Relax, he’s not going to know.”

“He’s been such a dick lately. He put Taylor on shit detail for a fortnight for having his shoelace untied.”

“Probably because he has to look at your fucking ugly mug every day.”

“You’re done.” You cut across. “You can go.”

They thanked you and left, and you were grateful to get the foul mouthed privates out of your office. 

It was getting dark outside and you were tired. You left your clinic and crossed the training ground to the mess hall. There were still soldiers out here, practising hand to hand combat under the floodlights. You gave them a wide berth.  

You didn’t see the abandoned dummy grenade wedged in the sand until your foot hooked around it and you vaulted over with an unladylike grunt. 

A large hand curled around your wrist and stilled you before you ate dirt. You cursed under your breath and turned inward. König was towering above you, your wrist positively dwarfed by his gloved hand. His hood obscured his face, shrouding him in the darkness behind him, all except those bright eyes looking down on you.

“You should be more careful.” He grunted, releasing your wrist.

Your eyes hit the ground and you mumbled a hasty ‘sorry’ before you scampered away to the mess hall. König watched your retreating back as you left.

The next few days passed uneventfully. You worked, you ate, you slept, you called home. The clinic was surprisingly empty. You wondered if the recruits were finally becoming competent enough that they didn’t need you every five seconds. You signed off your discharge sheets for the day and headed to the main office to dump them in the output box. You were surprised to find König in there, sans hood, rifling through a box of papers on the desk. He glanced up when he saw you and his expression wilted. He looked back into the box. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” He said. “I just need to find the instruction manual for the - s cheiße .” The papers in his hand fluttered to the ground. He bent down to retrieve them and winced, arm circling his broad torso. 

You frowned and took a step closer to him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Nothing.” He replied instantly as he straightened. His movements were slower than usual. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing, König, it looks like cracked ribs.”

“It’s fine, really.”

You put your discharge forms on the desk and walked up to him. “Lift your shirt.”

König sighed but complied after a moment. He lifted his dark tee to his pectorals. His deep abdominal muscles rose and fell under his breathing and you found your cheeks reddening under the sight. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his torso, and you reached out and lifted it. His skin was like lava against your fingers. He didn’t say a word as you lifted the bandage but he may have winced when your eyes widened. The right hand side of his ribcage was purple with deep bruising and lacerated with deep and shallow cuts alike, some were healing, and some were leaving blood stains on the inside of the bandage. 

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Nothing.” König grunted. “Machine gun training. One of the recruits lost control of the barrel and clocked me in the ribs. It is just a scratch.”

“This cut needs stitches.” You said automatically, tracing the underside of the welt with your fingertip. König jolted and you took your hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You didn’t.” He replied.

“I have cream that’ll reduce this bruising too-” König huffed and you looked up at him. You couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. He might as well have been wearing his hood.

“It is fine.” He said. “The bruising has disappeared a lot in the last few days…”

“ Days ?” You blinked. “Days, König? You can’t have been walking around like this for days. Why didn’t you come to me?”

There was a pause. He was trying to avoid your gaze.

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“König,” it was reprimanding, reproachful, your eyes slackened. “You always need to come to me when you’re hurt, even when I’m mad. I’m sorry.”

König’s eyes snapping to you made you regret the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. Your gaze dropped to the grazes on his ribs but your cheeks were already on fire. 

“Are you ever going to tell me why you are mad at me?”

You didn’t meet his gaze. It seemed pathetic now. “You yelled at me.”

König didn’t respond straight away. When he did - “I yelled at you?”

You fought off the sudden urge to say sorry.

“When Jenkins was shot.” You explained. “I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t like being screamed at, especially when I’m doing my job.” Your voice dropped a little. “And I’m not a little girl, I’m a nurse. You should respect that, just like the way you tell your troops to.”

You glanced up at König, he looked crestfallen. “I…” He frowned a little, as if giving up on any explanation he planned to give. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head, embarrassed, and lowered his shirt.

“It’s not important now-”

“It is important. I don’t think you are a little girl. Sometimes in battle, things like this become heated. I do not even remember saying this to you, but I am sorry. I do not think that, I truly do not, I was…one of my men was dying, I was not myself. Please forgive me.”

Your eyes met. It felt like the first time you’d looked at each other in a long time. König’s blue eyes were soft and sad.

“Um, come to the clinic, this afternoon,” you rose, flustered, “I, uh, that cut needs looking at.”

You turned swiftly and left but not before you heard König utter a single ‘yes ma’am’ before you did. 

You thought about what he said as you sterilised your clinic for his arrival. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, but you managed to keep your cool? Why didn’t he? Because he’s a soldier, you reminded yourself. He kills easily and without thought, he’s not the sweet gentleman you want him to be. You shook your head to yourself, that wasn’t the issue and you knew it. You didn’t care that he was a killer, or that sometimes he scared you. You knew what his easy dismissal of you meant - and it hurt.

König reported promptly to your clinic at 1pm that afternoon. He stripped out of his shirt and sat patiently down on the end of your bed and you had to pretend like having a 7ft goliath of a man stripped down in front of you wasn’t making your heart race. He truly was extraordinary. 

You stitched the large cut on his ribs that was worrying you the most and he didn’t make a sound. it didn’t much surprise you, you assumed he was accustomed to pain. It made your stomach flutter with something . 

He was even more impressive undressed, his body heavy with swollen, toned muscle, faded scars criss-crossing over his flesh. You had to remind yourself that you were a trained nurse just to stop yourself from drooling. 

König watched you work rather intently. “You have very small hands.” He remarked suddenly. You didn’t respond, unsure if it was a compliment or not. You both lapsed into silence for another long while. It was like a form of torture. You���d never been more embarrassed in your life. You felt like a foolish little girl, trying to play with a grizzly bear. It must have shown on your face. 

You didn’t expect König to talk again. He must have thought that you were insane - pathetic, at the very least. 

“May I ask you a question?”

Oh. “Of course.”

“Why did you join the military if you hate being yelled at?”

You sighed and finished off your final stitch. “You don’t have to mock me, you know, I already got the message.”

“I am not mocking you. I’m curious.”

Forthright . You forgot.

You took a moment to respond, busying yourself with packing away your equipment. “I didn’t join as a recruit, I joined as a nurse.” You didn’t tell him the real reason, that it was because it was him.

“Right.” 

“It’s not your problem.” 

König stood, and pulled his shirt back on. “It won't happen again.” He said. “You have my word.” 

Your gaze flicked to his handsome face involuntarily. “Um, here’s the cream. Make sure to apply it twice a day, and try to take it easy for a few days.”

König grunted, a ghost of a smile on his face. You could tell he hadn’t taken it easy a day in his life. 

“What message?” König asked suddenly. 

“Sorry?” You froze, trying to backtrack to that particular exchange.

“You said you ‘got the message’.” He repeated. “What message?”

Oh. 

“Um, did I say that?” Your voice was uncharacteristically high. König tilted his head.

“Schatz, my English isn’t that bad. We both heard what you said.”

You blushed and your head dipped. You didn’t know much German, but you knew what ‘schatz’ meant. 

“Well, you know-” fuck, shit, fuck . “P-put in your place by the guy you have a crush on. I get it. I got it. I won’t go there again.”

“Crush?” König responded like a lightning strike, before he fell silent. His brain was calculating, before his expression turned to…well, there was no other way to put it, absolutely fucking floored. “You like me?”

Oh, this was very fucking bad.

“Well…yeah? I thought it was obvious-”

“Obvious? Schatz, I thought you hated me.”

You blinked. 

“Wha- why would you think that?”

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“You called me a little girl! In front of everyone.”

When exactly had you both gotten so close to each other? It was close enough that König could look down on you, and your heart was skipping a beat.

“You can’t like me.” He said quietly.

You frowned. “Why not? Have you looked at yourself? Plus you’re…you know, nice, and the only person in this dump that doesn’t leer at me or treat me like a stupid little girl. When people aren’t dying, I mean.”

“I…” Was König hesitating? The man who had nothing to fear?

“It’s okay,” you murmured, embarrassed. “Like I said, I get the message. Why would you want a pathetic sap like me who can’t even hear a raised voice without crying?”

“Do not say that.” König looked uncertain, his eyebrows knitting together. “You are like a...a flower. Not meant for men like me.”

“A…” Your brain couldn’t quite compute what you’d just heard. “Men like you? What does that even mean?”

“You need someone younger, for a start.” He sighed. “Someone who has seen less death, verdammt, someone who has caused less death.”

“Men like your idiot recruits, then?”

König didn’t respond. 

“I have to go.” He said instead. “Thank you for the…cream.”

“Anytime, Colonel.” It was softly spoken, you watched him freeze, then you watched him go. You smuggled a bottle of wine back to your room and drank until you fell asleep. This really was a new low.

…

The days passed slowly and without incident. On the face of it, there was no difference in you, except for a notably lacklustre delivery of your care. 

You were making notes at your desk when Private Jackson and his buddy, Williams, appeared at your desk, complaining of a groin injury. 

You rolled your eyes and returned to your paperwork. “I’m sure it’ll feel better tomorrow, private.”

“I’m sure it’ll feel better right now if you kiss it-”

“Shut up,” Williams chuckled, shoving him, “you wanna get a disciplinary? You know she’s the colonel’s girl.”

Your gaze snapped up. “What did you just say?”

Neither of them answered you, they just sniggered and slunk off. You watched the empty doorway with wide eyes. You tried not to ponder on it. You pondered on it for the rest of the day.

…

You signed the bottom of Williams’ sick leave and ticked off the various appropriate boxes, flipping the page and hoping that was all that was required until you froze. It needed the signature of the patient's C.O. König. Shit. 

You hadn’t even seen König since he’d rejected you and every time you thought about that particular exchange, your ears went hot and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You were too much of a pussy to talk to him, so instead you went to his office when you knew he was scheduled to be out at training, and scribbled ‘ sign me please :) ’ on a post it note, stuck it on the front page and left the form on his desk. 

You turned for the door with a relieved sigh and accidently walked into König’s solid chest. He was standing in the open doorway, he was the size of the open doorway, wearing his combat gear although he was unarmed, his hood draped covering his face, even so, you could see he was looking down on you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you realised he was ducking to fit in the doorway. That sent heat right to your cunt.

“Oh, hello.” You said stupidly, eyes hitting the carpeted floor.

“Hello.” He greeted you, accent gentle. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, right, I’m in your office.” You stumbled over your words. “Um, W-Williams needs sick leave approved, he needs gallbladder surgery off base, I need you to sign the form. I - I left it on your desk.”

König walked past you, he smelt of sweat and sand and some sort of hastily applied deodorant. He seemed unfazed that you were in his office, he certainly didn’t seem to be trying to avoid you as ardently as you were avoiding him. You cursed yourself for being so childish.

He removed his hood and draped it over the back of his chair as he picked up the form. His eyes were darkened with war paint, fresh stubble on his jaw. 

“A smiling face.” He remarked as he read your post it note, voice muted. “The way yours used to be.”

You blinked. “Is that meant to be some kind of joke?” You asked hotly.

“Not at all.” He replied, not looking up from the form. “It used to brighten my days.” He signed the form and held it out to you before you could really process what he’d said. “Let us hope Williams makes a swift recovery, he is one of my best.”

You tentatively took the form, mind drawn back to the last encounter you’d had with the young private. 

“He called me…” You bit back your sentence before you had a chance to finish it. But the damage was done.

König’s back straightened, his fists clenched. “Something inappropriate?”

“No.” Your shoulders hunched. Why did you even bring it up? “He said I was…they’re calling me…you know…the colonel’s girl.”

You glanced up at König shyly, to see if there was any truth in it. His back had relaxed, but his stance was still guarded. 

“What?” You asked.

“I told the recruits to leave you alone.” He admitted. “Or there would be consequences.” 

“Oh.” You blushed. “But, that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No, it’s not…some of the men have interpreted the order to mean I am keeping you for myself.”

You took a bold step forward.

“And are you?”

König looked at the floor. You sighed and turned for the door.

König’s large hand curled around the front of your throat before you could turn and drew you back, right to his mouth. You whimpered into the kiss. You were forced onto your tiptoes to meet him, feeling his fingers against your oesophagus with every exhale. His lips eased wetly and insistently against yours until you were dizzy, gripping his arms and pressing yourself closer. 

As soon as it started, it was over. König released your throat and took a step back. You had to blink a few times to regain just a few of your senses. You were still on your tiptoes, and you could still taste him on your mouth. Gunpower, and mint.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was ragged, his accent even thicker than usual. Fuck, it was hot.

He turned and left before you could even articulate a response, but you were sure you saw his back muscles twitching as he went.

…

The deployment for the first active mission came about quicker than anyone had been expecting. It was practically a dummy mission, you’d been told, leading a team of recruits on a sweep near cartel lands for stray activity or potential landmines. Still, the atmosphere was palpable in the base, the recruits were scared, you could tell.

You watched from the doorway of your clinic as the men stood by the jeeps, ready to roll out. Riley had returned, and he stood next to König as the latter zipped up his kevlar and clipped on his helmet over his hood. You wanted to wish him luck, even though you knew everything was going to be fine. It was a routine sweep, and he was König, he wasn’t in any danger. Still, your stomach pulled. Fate was cruel. What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

You scrunched your eyes shut, called yourself an idiot, and jogged across the sand of the training field.

Riley saw you first, he knocked König on the chest to alert him - you tried not to read into that - König turned, face obscured, body heavy with kevlar and weaponry. He had to lower his head to look at you.

“Schatz?” 

Your insides ached at the familiar term of endearment that you didn’t deserve. Your mouth was as dry as the sand you were stood on, and you suddenly didn’t know what to say. Don’t go? Come back? How could you say any of those things to the man who didn’t want you.

König solved your problem for you. His fingers closed around your tricep, and his thumb stroked just once.

“Look after yourself.” You said quietly.

He nodded before he dropped your arm. Then you watched as they got into the jeeps and drove away.

…

The recruits were returned to you on a daily basis. Apparently, the drop point of the sweep was particularly hot for cartel soldiers, ready and willing to engage in battle. The wounds you were treating now were not the cuts and scrapes of training, it was cracked skulls and broken bones and lacerated flesh. And the men, Turner, Williams, Jackson, they weren’t the scrappy, joking lads they’d once been, they were crying and they were scared. 

You slept when you could but you were always exhausted. You were waiting for the first time one of them died on you. 

You were awoken that night by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jumped out of bed and tied your robe around yourself, already gathering your hair up to tie it back.

“What’s happened?” You called, opening the door, “who is it…oh.”

It took a moment for you to realise that you weren’t staring at the pitch black of night, but rather directly at König’s chest. He stood in a dark shirt, helmet removed, hood covering his face, head disappearing behind your doorway, but his blue eyes were bright and wild and looking down at you.

“König! You scared me half to death. Get in here.”

You stood aside and König ducked his head and walked, actually stomped, his way into your room. You prayed you didn’t have any stray underwear on the floor. His shirt sleeves were short and you could actually see his arm muscles thrumming. 

“What’s happened?” You frowned. “What’s wrong, König? Talk to me, please.”

“There was an I.E.D.” He replied, accent thick. You couldn’t imagine what his expression looked like. “Ghost saw it before I did. He pulled me out of the pathway. The fucking thing exploded five feet in front of my face. I could have died. I am a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, König, you…you didn’t die, and you’re not an idiot, okay? Every soldier misses…”

“No, schatz.” He walked forward, backing you against the wall. You swallowed when his large hand came up, pressing your collarbone back against the wall. “I’m a fucking idiot because I could have died without doing this.”

One hand curled around your hip and lifted you effortlessly, and you gasped as you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist - it was a stretch, he was so broad. König wasted no time slamming you into the wall next to your bed with enough force to rattle your bones. You squeaked, but that was all you managed to do. He pushed his hood up to his nose and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes crossed and closed as you groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips slid against his. This was nothing like the first kiss - that was chaste, hurried, this was luxurious, long, wet and slow, the whole world went quiet as König pressed his tongue between your lips and lapped at yours with sure strokes that had you whimpering. Your fingers tangled in his hood as he kissed you like that, and you forgot everything else. 

He hitched your legs around his waist and you whined, muffled, as you felt a solid lump pressing up against your clothed crotch. You didn’t care – you ground down on him as you met his tongue with yours. He growled into your mouth and it reverberated through you, before he was pulling back, kissing along your jaw and grinding his cock against your heat harder than before. 

Then his eyes were on you, piercing and bright through the dark hood, the fabric sat askew on his top lip, his lips pink and swollen with your spit.

“I want you, schatz.” He said bluntly. 

“I - I want you, too.”

Your consent was all he needed. Suddenly you were airborne again, and you clung onto him as he lowered you onto the belt and knelt between your legs. The bed actually dipped under his weight and you blushed.

“K-König,” you murmured quietly.

“No,” it was short, and stiff, as he yanked your night shirt down by your collar hard enough to rip. You yelped as the sound of fabric tearing filled the room and suddenly your tits were exposed. You whimpered in embarrassment but he’d already grabbed them in his rough, gloved hands, squeezing and rubbing, flicking and pinching your nipples between his fingers.

“Hhhh, fuck.” You blushed, biting your lip as your underwear moistened at the rough treatment.

“Fuck, do not tell me they are sensitive.” König’s voice sounded wrecked.

“Please,” it was a whisper, “please be gentle.”

“Wanted to get my hands on you for too long.” Was all his reply was as he squeezed your breast again and leant down, using his hand to guide your nipple into his exposed mouth. He sucked so hard that you thought he was trying to drink your soul out from you. Your head fell back and you gasped, grinding your wet, needy cunt as best you could on the side of his thigh. König took pity on you, lapping at your nipples until they were shining nubs screaming in oversensitivity, while his brick hand - when had he taken his glove off? - cupped your pussy through your underwear. His thumb was jammed right up against your clit. You didn’t know if he’d meant to do that, or if it was coincidental, but either way you ground up onto the solid digit until your eyes were unfocused.

“So wet for me, liebling,” he murmured breathlessly, between your nipples, “you are fucking soaked for me.” He stroked you with his thumb once and your eyes slackened and you came with a shudder, stiffening beneath him as stars danced above your head.

He let your nipple slide wetly from his mouth and suddenly those bright eyes were on you.

“Did you just have an orgasm?”

“Mmm.” You buried your head into his neck shyly, thighs shuddering as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your clit twitched against his hand. 

“Oh, sweet liebling.” He murmured, rubbing wet circles over the sodden fabric of your underwear. You shuddered as your thighs tried to close away from the intense pleasure, until one strong hand was on your thigh and pushing it wide.

“König!” You gasped. He was watching you intently as he pushed your underwear to the side with his fingers and pressed the thick digits through your sopping folds. 

“Such a pretty little cunt.” He murmured, stroking his fingertips over your slit. It opened with every heavy breath you took, dribbles of desire wetting his fingers.

“König, please,” you whined, “need you in me. Please -”

“Oh yes? Is that so?” The side of his mouth twitched up, then his finger was sinking inside you.

“Shit, fuck! K-König, you’re so big…” You felt your cunt stretching around his finger, clenching involuntarily down around it as your thighs tried to close but couldn’t, pinned open by his solid hand.

“I know, schatz.” He replied calmly. “You can take it.” He slid a second finger in without warning and grunted at how tight and wet you were, just imagining how your cunt would feel around his cock. You whined and threw your head back, the stretch aching after months of nothing, thighs shaking. You were so fucking wet that his fingers practically glided in, his knuckles against your soft pink entrance. “I want you to come for me, to loosen you up for my cock.”

“König, fuck, I…” Your cheeks were rosy. “My god, please...please move, I need-”

“Shhh, little one, I know.” He wasted no time shoving his fingers deeper in your aching cunt, and you yelped and lifted off of the bed entirely. König growled in disapproval and used the hand on your thigh to pin you down to the bed, keeping you still as he ploughed his fingers in and out of you. You moaned deliriously at the sudden intense, rough pressure to your sweet spot, watching the way König’s large hand was like a blur between your legs.

“I’m-” You couldn’t even say it before you were coming with a wet moan, your release splashing against his wrist and dripping all over the bed.

“Scheiße, liebling, making such a mess for me.” His fingers were still hard and circling your engorged sweet spot. Your body seized in panic as you gripped his wrist with all your might to try and still him. All you achieved was watching your own arms shake as he fingered you mercilessly. The noise was obscene, soaking wet come and slick filthy between your legs and soaking his hand as you squirted again, streaming down his arm with a mix of clear and white desire. You moaned and gasped and sobbed, the pleasure intense and spiralling, your pussy already felt worn out from the rough treatment.

“König, please,” you begged, “it’s too much-”

“Again.” He commanded, hand leaving your thigh and curling around your throat. “Want all of that squirt out of you.” he pinned you to the bed by your neck, using the change in position to drive his fingers roughly home deep in your aching, spent cunt. He didn’t stop when you came, and he didn’t stop when you came again - your eyes in the back of your head, body on fire with ceaseless pleasure, the bed beneath you soaked with your own humiliation. All you could do was take it, and shudder violently. 

Finally, König pulled his fingers from your gaping hole and slapped your cheek lightly, it was a wet noise and you blinked.

“Come on, little girl, do not give up on me.”

“König,” you slurred, heaving. “I…fuck, so good, never…I can’t…”

“Oh sweet one,” he cooed, crowding between your legs, pulling your thighs over his hips. “Fucked you stupid and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

You managed a tired smile as you traced your fingers down the front of his stab vest. You watched him drag the zip of his trousers down, rubbing just the once over the lump there before dipping in and pulling his cock free. It took him three tries - to extract the full, erect length of himself from the tight compression of his protective cup, before he was letting it hang heavy between his legs. 

“Fuck, König- you’re so big.”

“I know, baby,” he stroked the length of his long, engorged cock from length to tip and your eyes widened, cunt throbbing between your legs in your desperation to feel it deep in you. 

“König, please,” you begged, digging your heels into the small of his back, your wet cunt pressed up against his balls, inviting, begging him in, “my pussy - please -”

He chuckled before pressing the head of his foreboding cock against your clit and you trembled and cursed. He lent over you, hand squeezing your breast, the ends of his dark hood tickling your neck as you felt the hot, solid crown of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes were wide, nervous, feeling the pressure, the give, then the hot length sliding home inside of you.

You gasped and arched, clenching around him and his biceps shook where he held you.

“Fuck, schatz, fuck, not so hard, you will make me come.”

“C-can’t help it.” It was a whine, rolling your hips and digging your heels in harder, trying to pull him deeper. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He panted, regaining some of his composure and locking his hand around your neck once more. His hips began to piston and you weren’t prepared for it, the shift of his massive cock in your tight walls making you moan and clench and writhe. Your cunt was obscenely wet, and every noise was a squelch that made you blush, until he was pounding into your sweet spot and you forgot everything.

“Fuck, König, fuck-” it was breathless, eyelids fluttering as you clenched and groaned and sprayed his cock, his balls, with your release. “I can’t - can’t stop, fuck,”

“Guh, fuck.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. His cock not slowing, pounding you like he was trying to nail the mattress beneath you. “So tight, liebling, your pussy is drawing me in. I’ve waited so long for this.”

You couldn’t ask him to explain, you were too busy coming, your world zeroed down to the tip of König’s dick abusing your swollen sweet spot. He curled his fingers under your knee and held your thigh up by your collarbone, exposing more of your vulnerable cunt to him as he thrust hard into your aching walls. 

Your moans were broken and never ending, blushing and squirming in delirious agony as you gushed and creamed on his cock, feeling your hot release on the backs of your thighs.

“Look at you,” König didn’t even have the decency to sound exerted as he took you apart. “You can’t stop coming, can you, schatz?”

“No.” There were tears in your eyes, your fingernails digging into his arms, holding on for dear life. “You need, please -” Your mouth fell open as you came again, the splash of your squirt explosive and filthy, “you need to come, please, I can’t, can’t come again, please, König, please.”

König framed your jaw with his hand, stroking along the bone as he slammed his hips into yours, forcing more of your come straight from you with a grunt.

“Nearly there, schatz.” He said into your mouth. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Fuck, please,” your walls clenched and contracted again, vaulted over the edge and nearly losing consciousness, clenching your fucked out cunt tight if only to help him get there. “Please, come, come in me, fuck.”

“Scheiße,” he groaned, cock jamming in your tight cunt as you came so hard you nearly pushed him out. He shoved his way back in and you wailed. “You want me to come inside? I’m not wearing…”

“König, please,” it was pathetic, and he couldn’t deny you, watching your sobbing eyes with his piercing blues as he slammed into your weeping cunt for a few more torturous minutes, then his forehead was pressed to yours and he groaned as he spilled inside you. He was so deep you couldn’t feel it, but you could feel his cock twitching, and you could feel yourself clenching and coming so hard you forced dribbles of his white come straight back out of your slit and dribbling down between your cheeks. 

König was breathing heavily against you as he held himself, forehead against yours, body framing yours, and you watched him as you shuddered and tried in vain to relax. He was…there were no words for it.

You let your hands trail down his clothed back, feeling the solid and bunching muscles there, feeling his cock heavy in your squirting pussy and wondering how the hell this had happened.

“König,” you had a warm, dizzying smile on your face. “You came back.”

He nodded mutedly, face partially obscured by his hood, as he stroked along your jaw, then your lips, and let his hulking body fall and rest beside yours. “Thought you might not want me.”

You shook your head, curling into his chest the best you could. He was still inside you.

“Want you, always. Don’t-'' He'd already curled his bear arms around you, drawing you into his warm chest and cutting you off. You were suddenly so overhot you couldn’t remember what you were going to say.

“I’m sorry I upset you, liebling,” he stroked along your back, his blue eyes slack. “I have always wanted you to be mine. From the moment I saw you.”

This felt like a fever dream. It couldn’t possibly be real. You couldn’t possibly be this happy.

“I’ve always been yours, König, I still am. If you still want me.”

He tilted his head as he watched you, lips pulling up, and you blushed.

“What?” You asked.

“You,” he said simply, voice warm like honey, “are smiling again.”

[chew-n-spit]

Biting Him While He Sleeps

pairing: Kenyu Yukimiya, Tabito Karasu, Oliver Aiku, Noel Noa x f!reader (separately)

tags: reader might not be human, established relationship(except Aiku), biting festish ofc, lil suggestive(mainly Yukimiya), Fem reader but not heavily pointed out, dick mention(Aiku), I dunno ooc???, ts weird af💔, pet names(hon, mutt), unknown drugging(Aiku), light finger sucking(Noa), NOT PROOFREAD

notes: I haven't really written anything in a while. I miss writing though. So this blog exists now to satiate me. This one makes me think of Cannibal by Kesha.

Time and time again your boyfriend has either woken up to bite marks littering his neck and shoulders, or he catches you in the act of assaulting him with your teeth. He doesn't understand your little fascination with biting him all of sudden. Is it a fetish? He's open to hear out your fantasies, always, but waking up to you looming over his figure like a hungry beast is a tad bit unnerving at times. As an apology you like to lap at the wounds and marks you make with your tongue. Although he still can't put his finger onto why you can't resist the urge to nibble on him in the dead of night, and only at night...

Yukimiya

Kenyu has become more fond of your biting habit than he'd like to admit. He doesn't hate it anymore. He's somehow accepted your little late night love bites. However, he doesn't like when you bite him in places that are commonly visible during the day. When you first started, the man was absolutely horrified by how you leered over him as he stirred awake. He might've hallucinated it at the time, but were your teeth always that damn sharp? There's a shrill yelp that escapes his mouth as he jolts awake.

"(Name)... please..." He breathes out, his eyes squinting at your figure, the moonlight modestly illuminates you. You stare at him, a quiet apology exits your lips before your tongue reaches for one of the buds you bit. Kenyu's eyes snap open, urgently rushing to stop your tongue from making contact with his nipple. "You don't have to lick it!" He firmly, but kindly tells you with flushed face and you move your head back away from it. Why has he entertained this fetish of yours? He asks himself that at times like these when your nail lightly traces from between his pecs down to his stomach. Your half shut eyes linger on him as you lick your lips and he shudders. Insatiable. "I know I said you could occasionally bite places where people couldn't see but... Could you pick someplace a bit less sensitive?"

Karasu

How could he possibly sleep like this? A sharp hiss seeps from Tabito's lips as he feels yet another nip at his neck. Dainty, eerily cold hands rummaged under his shirt as a wet sensation traveled across a patch of skin at his nape. "Hey.. hey! Will ya ease up back there! How is yer' tongue just as cold as yer' hands!?" He lightly nudges your face away with his hands. A sigh falls from his mouth as he shifts, turning his body to face your figure. You gaze at him, eyes glossy, lips in a pout as silently plead with him to let you continue.

"You... Don't give me that look." His eyes roll, and arm hooks around your waist to pull you closer than you already were. "Can't keep yer' mouth off me huh? Ya lil perv. Well your teeth hurt." He motions to one of your recent bites the very apparent ring shaped bruise on his neck. "I have to get up early tomorrow hon. Why don't you limit yourself for tonight?" He bargains, internally wondering if his girlfriend was an animal of some sort in a human suit.

Aiku

He's just glad you haven't bitten his dick. Especially when you first started. Although he may not understand this little fetish of yours, as long as your bites aren't too harsh you know? For Oliver, he much prefers when you lick the marks you make afterwards.

Two strong hands grip your waist as you lay on top of Oliver chest to chest. He breathes out as your tongue glides up and over his Adam's apple. You're quite tentative to this particular spot on his neck. You continuously envelop the wound with wet warmth, and Oliver can only rub circles with his thumbs on your hips as his eyes flutter shut. There's a soft rumble that buzzes up his throat. Maybe it's your little habit that has the man still coming back to have languid nights like this. It's comforting in a way. He can't explain why, but your bites have a calming effect on him? It's so odd and he can't put his finger on it. He can't deny that he's always more relaxed after nights with you. It's always when you bite him, which is... always!

Noa

"Down." He instructs you like you're some dog and not his wife. It's a little fitting though. You're the one with your mouth hanging open, teeth inches away from the meat of Noel's shoulder. Your eyes narrow as you throw your hands up like a criminal caught. A hand grabs your chin guiding you towards his face. "You act like such a mutt." There's a tiny smile on his lips. You gasp, feigning hurt before you attempt to latch onto the finger he has pointed at your mouth. Your husband scoffs, scooping you from your side of the bed to place you on his lap. He observes your face, mainly your mouth as he prods your lips open with his index finger to examine your sharp pearly whites. Your husband was less irked and moreso perplexed the first time he caught your teeth upon his stomach whilst he slept. Now he graciously allows you to bite him before bed. In moderation of course.

"What big teeth you have..." He hums, noticing how your eyes are trained on his finger. He rubs the pad of his fingers across one of your canines, and you can't help but want to take it between your teeth. Maybe he's reading your thoughts, because you can feel a light tap at your front teeth requesting entry to your mouth. Noel's finger rests comfortably on your tongue, not deep enough to make you gag. "You're allowed to bite it, once." He voices and you slowly clamp your jaws on his finger, pressing it between your teeth. He's almost fascinated by your obsession with biting him. He silently watches you as you suck and nibble on his finger like a dog with a bone.

[sleepynoons]

jing yuan x gn!reader, 18+, not beta read

cw: yandere jing yuan (kinda unavoidable since this is a yakuza au), mentions of bodily injury and harm, ever so slight sexual tension

notes: i wanted to write smth wayyyy filthier with this au, so maybe... i'll follow up on this drabble with a pt 2.... hrm...

FOR A yakuza – and an oyabun, no less –, the man sitting in front of you is quite nonchalant. it's probably from his decades of experience and the trust he has in his men to properly protect him, but most wouldn't be able to discern either of those things by the way he looks. but you know that beneath his lackadaisical expression and his relaxed posture, there's a danger that you'll never fully be able to imagine or grasp the full extent of.

you didn't intend to put yourself in this position. you have no interest in interacting with gangs or yakuzas anymore, and you have a stronger distaste for exploitative schemes and bloodied money. it's quite ironic, actually. you were only trying to protect a little boy from a leering stranger in black, and somehow, you've ended up in the headquarters of a massive organized crime syndicate.

even worse, you've wound up receiving the thanks of jing yuan, an ex-member of a chinese triad who decided to employ his skills in japan. you've heard the rumors back when you were much younger. he can break necks with his bare hands, hold grudges until they're settled (permanently), and mask all of his cruel and sinister manners with closed eyes and a content smile.

you think you've learned your lesson. mind your own damn business, or else fate will find a way to drag you back into this hellhole!

not that you can say your thoughts out loud. instead, you take a sip of tea and keep your head bowed otherwise.

"you still haven't told me what you'd like in exchange," jing yuan muses. it seems he's trained his voice as well, with the way he speaks so gently yet so precisely. you're sure he's capable of pulling out classified information and dangerous secrets with that easy, seductive tone of his.

you're not sure how to refer to him, so you make do with something formal, something distant. "sir, i appreciate the offer, but again, i didn't save that child for something in return."

"i understand, but i'd like to give you a token of my gratitude anyway."

you've had this back-and-forth four times now. coupled with the silence in between your responses, you estimate that you've been kneeling in this tatami room for at least half an hour now.

this time, though, even if you don't want to notice it, you see jing yuan roll back his shoulders as if he's stretching, and immediately, the two guards standing beside the door pace over to remove the floor table separating the two of you. you expect the guards to return after they place the table elsewhere, but they never do.

it's just you and the oyabun, and you regret not wishing to be left alone as soon as jing yuan asked you the first time for what it is that you desired. you internally sigh, taking the last sip of your tea before the porcelain cup is emptied.

even though it's been a while since you've found yourself in a situation like this, you're grateful that your instincts and prior experience are kicking in. you're not frazzled, nor are you concerned. while it's possible that jing yuan is masterfully concealing his killing intent, you doubt he'd dispose of you when you saved his adoptive son. that means you might as well ask for something random and inconsequential so that this situation can quickly come to its end.

"fine, sir, since you're kindly insisting. how about a set of tea ware? the ones you have out are quite beautiful."

"of course."

you offer an appreciative bow and wiggle your toes, ready to get up.

but it seems jing yuan's not done. "anything else?"

you startle, but you know you must not show any weakness in front of a lethal predator. at best, from the outside, it seems like you're deep in thought.

you respond, "and maybe some tea packs along with it? otherwise, sir, i sincerely mean it when i say there isn't anything that i need or want."

jing yuan tilts his head. "i understand. however…"

the yakuza boss gets up, and you would follow along, except for the fact that he gives you the briefest of glances, enough to root you to your position. you watch as he pads over to you and sit downs next to you. the familiar prickle of heat at the back of your neck, along with the goosebumps that rake along the entirety of your arms, are clear indications of your alarm, and again, you wonder how terrifying jing yuan must be in violent encounters when he already exudes so much pressure just by lingering near you. somehow, even when you've been telling yourself to not be tricked by his facade, your instincts have underestimated the yakuza leader, and you're suffering from the repercussions of your carelessness.

a warm finger settles underneath your chin, and you let jing yuan guide you until you're looking up at him. his eyes are sharp, glinting with a mischievous, ambrosial gold, and the black and red strokes of his chest tattoos, as if drawn by a large paintbrush instead of the needles and teeth of a machine, peek out from the flaps of his loosely tied kimono. he also hums, though it sounds more like a satisfied purr.

there's no use, you think. you can't win when it comes to mind games, and you most definitely cannot put up a physical fight.

"what do you want from me," you mutter with a shaky, wispy voice.

he purrs again. "i want you to answer my question."

"i said i didn't –"

"then i'll help you find what it is that you desire."

he places the pad of his thumb against your chin, holding your head in place, and leans close, so close that your lips are barely brushing against each other. at the same time, his other hand has enclosed itself around your wrist, and has pulled your arm up so that your palm is settled right over his heart, beating at a solid, steady pace, completely unperturbed, radiating a warmth that is unlike his lifestyle or nature.

you're not sure how much jing yuan knows about you – though it's probably more than you'd feel comfortable with –, but either way, his actions make you fume.

"don't act like you know who i am." you're seething, but because you cherish your life, you grit out those words as your teeth sink deeper into your bottom lip, to inhibit your lashing out. "if there's anything i desire, it has nothing to do with you."

"oh?"

you almost squint as his eyes flash with molten amber sparks, slight intrigue, and transparent amusement.

you figure you'd make yourself clear, right here, right now. and so, you growl, "you can't give me what i want. and you never will."

"i see."

you don't know how you make it home. all you can recall are staggered steps, an almost kiss, and several rude shoves to jing yuan's men.

–

two months pass, and neither jing yuan nor his men seek you out in any way. it doesn't seem like you're being targeted by anyone else from other organizations either. you're just relieved that you can resume your peaceful life.

on one unassuming saturday morning, when you're awoken by your doorbell, you rush over to find a deliveryman waiting outside for you. you open your front door cautiously.

"here's your package. can you sign this slip for confirmation?"

it doesn't seem like the man is a fraud. you also can't recall ordering anything as of late. you sign the slip anyway because it really does seem like the man is impatient to get to the next customer, and heave the box back inside to your living room.

you open it, as the exterior doesn't seem suspicious. but your body freezes when you see the contents: a set of teacups made out of fine china and several boxes of rose buds, dried chrysanthemums, and matcha powder. there's also a letter, signed legibly enough so that you can make out the sender's name.

you were never left alone in the first place.

[hotwings0203]

Needed to get possessive alpha bakugo off my chest, ill prolly write a sequel to this tmrw cuz i got some ideas

Tw: noncon, omegaverse

thinking about childhood possessive bakugo who's pined for his omega since she joined the pack Time after time again since you were kids he'd always tried to get close to you, using a number of strange to threatening courting techniques. It was benign at first when you both were young, with him jumping up the large apple tree to get you the juiciest fruit you could never seem to reach, but when you two grew older and played together with the rest of the pack, his efforts seemed more...possessive.

He'd always single you out and force you to be on his team, following up with growling at you whenever you'd run more than a few paces in front of away from him. His sleek gold and black coat would brush up against you constantly, as if only touching you would satiate his desire for your proximity. Bloodred eyes would glare at you when you'd shyly back away at dinnertime, opting to sit away from his intense gaze.

Not like he'd let you get that far.

When it would come time for bathing with your sisters, somehow, everytime you'd be out of the loop and would end up being forced to wash yourself on your own in the cold water.

Little did you know your sisters were not-so-kindly encouraged to not communicate their congregation to you by a certain fiery alpha.

And so when everyone was by the fire, barking out laughter and telling stories of their weekly hunt, you'd sulk to the riverside by yourself, clutching your towel over your shivering body as youd sink closer in the shallow water.

You wanted to get it done as fast as possible so you could join your pack in merry-making, haphazardly scraping dirt off your paws and washing the crevices between your ears.

But as soon as you take a step towards the lush bank, you hear a heavy splash behind you.

You whip around, ears drawn back immeditaley after seeing the alpha who shamelessly follows you around like he's already claimed you.

"W-whatre you doing here? Everyone's by the..fire..." you trail off unsurely as his spiked-up wet mane shakes in laughter. His lack of concern for the reprimands he'll undoubtedly recieve for being this physically close to you send faint warning alarms at the back of your head. Usually he glowers at you and turns tail, but this is new.

"I thought the pack leaders told you to leave me alone," your lip wobbles as your tone borders on fear and indignation. Your brothers had always kept you safe from him, snarling and hiding you behind their tall legs whenever he was around. Bakugo never seemed to give up though, his own flashing teeth and sick grin mirroring their own worry pulled back from their lips.

"Yeah? But you're here though."

You swallow hard and hope he doesn't hear your whimper as you splash backwards towards the bank, but his low grumble of pleasure upon smelling your sweet fear-omones says otherwise. It proves to him that you're not as immune as your other brothers swear you are to protect yourself against him, theyre actually worried for a reason.

They know you'd never stand a chance against him.

And his muscles do ripple amid the water as he steadily stalks towards you, leering as he licks his canines and trains his eyes on your feeble form.

It seems like as fast as you flail backwards towards unseen safety, he advances twice as fast, and within seconds your back hits a hard and scratchy surface.

Bakugo chuckles a humorless laugh as you've nestled yourself in a nice, private corner away from the mainland where everyone can see you. You've backed both of you into an enormous concaved treetrunk, one that circles around 10ft and only one opening...

which you've trapped yourself in.

The roots of various plants that have grown inside this hollowed out trunk provide little cushion as you whimper and try to desperatley climb the walls.

"When are you gonna give up?"

His voice is low, raspy with mixed want and bitterness.

"S-stop, stay away from me or I'll call for h-"

"When are you gonna realize you can't escape me?" He harshly whispers right at your ear as he lunges toward you, causing you to squeal with terror.

He nips your soft ear and inhales your neck, craning his own to get a good look at the sensitive unclaimed part of your neck.

His hands grip your sides and mold the squishy parts as though they were dough, his greediness increasing exponentially as he lowers his drooling mouth to your ear and laves his wet tongue over the planes of your neck and shoulder.

You begin to shake and sob, never having been dealt with him actually touching you and being a victim to his lust. You've taken the protection of your brothers for granted, and oh how you wish you could softly howl out if you had the courage to ask for help.

But the blonde's presence itself is enough of a threat to your life and safety, that much being made clear as his hands grow claws, no doubt his physical appearance shifting from being so riled up. Your skin prick and cuts as his nails jab harder into you, his hands roaming up and down your back, feeling your hips and ghosting over the swell of your ass as well as chest.

You writhe against him which unbeknownst to you, pushes your naked chest out against his own shredded pecs, your pebbled nipples grazing his toned skin and practically making his eyes roll back in efforts not to pin you down and take you like his bitch.

"I just wanted to wash," your voice comes out pleading, and meek. You have no idea how he'll react to you being aggressive and defensive against his assault even if you had the courage to speak out against him.

"And I want to claim you as my omega," he growls directly in your ear, causing you to whine again and cower your head beneath his hounding mouth. "But I guess we'll both have to wait for what we want, huh?"

He knows you know.

You have to know.

Have to have known how badly he wants you, wants to hear your voice ring high with laughter like you do teasing your sisters, wants to hear your playful growls as you wrestle with your brothers who let you win just to see you swish your tail with prowess. He wants to feel you rest your head on his chest, wants to see you look up at him with security and ease, knowing that he's there to protect and love you.

But how can he explain that, with years of nothing but threatening looks and yards of distance between you two?

If it brings you familiarity and perhaps ease of seeing him as you've always thought to have known him, as a brute with nothing on his mind apart from taking you like an animal and conquering you, then he'll save the monologuing for later.

"After all," he heaves in the darkness of the seclusion, voicing his thoughts, "your birthday's coming up, right? You'll be of age to be claimed."

He thrusts his knee in between your trembling legs, pushing your shoulders down while following with his head and never letting his mouth rise above your unclaimed mark. You gasp as he begins grinding his knee in circles against your hooded clit, bouncing you lightly to evoke whatever sweet noises he can from your pursed lips.

You choke and sputter, suddenly grasping around his neck for leverage as you try to pull yourself up, but you're no match for him as it only serves to prove his point and enrage him from your constant rejection.

You can lie to him all you want, but your body never will.

"And trust me, little girl, when that cunt ripens for me to take, when that neck fucking sings for me to lay my mark-"

Your voice cracks into a howl as he takes one of his hands and squeezes the fat of your tit while the other spanks your jiggling ass on his knee, feeling whiplash from the onslaught of sensations.

"-I can promise you, there's no running. There's no cowering behind your brother's legs like some fucking baby, there's no using your sisters as an excuse to turn your face away from me."

Bakugo presses you tight against the wall, smothering you chest-to-chest with him and using the confined space to rut his naked erection against your thigh, his hips snapping forward and chasing years of needed release in your presence.

"I'll tie you down on my bed, face down ass-up and breed you as my bitch. I'll take you bent over and wrapped around me against every surface and floor of our secluded cave."

You blubber as you can feel yourself coming to a high, the water splashing obnoxiously at your humping against each other. In an effort to keep your pride, you try as hard as you can to grit your teeth and delay your orgasm, but he seems to catch on pretty quick.

"And then," he drops your tit and uses both hands to pry your asscheeks apart, impaling you impossibly closer down on the hard bone of his knee, your clit grating deliciously as his leg vibrates and flexes from moving you back and forth, up and down, any direction he can get your teeth to latch onto your lip and pussy clench on nothing.

"Then, you won't have to hide that pretty voice anymore. I'll get those years of silence back in exchange for your screams for help."

At this, he hugs you flush against the wall and himself as you shake from your orgasm, the water rippling at your reaction.

"So if I were you, I'd be grateful for any solitude from now on. Because you won't be getting it anymore."

[atrocityobsession]

Palatal Porcine

Hannibal x M!Reader (can be read as GN tbh, very few gendered terms.)

cw: dead dove, do not eat. Cannibalism, manipulation, murder, catcalling, implied age gap...

no smut, proof read 1x.

His grip around your waist tightened inexorably. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he noticed the man ogling you a few seats down in the dim theater. Hannibal could hardly concentrate on the music; the swell of the orchestra might as well have been the discordant hum of frayed wires. Of course, you seemed utterly oblivious to the crude leers of the man, your eyes fixated on the spectacle upon the stage before you.  

You could feel Hannibal stiffen next to you, though his mask of reverence never slipped, his facial features remaining stoic and his posture flawless. You turned slightly to peer at him, unable to discern what had gotten him so on edge. But your attention was quickly recaptivated by the opera singer as the aria began. However, unbeknownst to you, the unknown man’s eyes never left yours, tracing the lines of your jaw, the contours of your face, dark and hungry– a brazen lack of subtlety. Undoubtedly, he was aiming for your attention, willing you, telepathically urging you to glance over and meet his dark eyes. Hannibal’s acute awareness of the situation never faltered, even as he forced himself to train his eyes upon the stage. 

When the opera ended, and after the waves of applause had subsided, Hannibal tried to steer you out of the opera hall as fast as possible, brushing off the familiar niceties of acquaintances also in the audience. You took notice of this; Hannibal was behaving uncharacteristically, shedding his usual restraint and commitment to civility as he bluntly pulled you through the crowd without so much as a second glance. But the man had other intentions for you, beelining to intercept where you were walking with Hannibal, stepping out before you. Hannibal steeled himself, attempting to pull you along, past him and out the doors, but halted when the prowler shot his arm out, preventing any recourse and effectively creating a barrier between you and Hannibal.  

“Ciao, bellissimo,” the man purred, his voice oily and deep, his breath hot on your cheek. You flinched at the closeness, instinctively stepping back and, in the process, unwittingly distancing yourself further from Hannibal.

“You’re as pretty as a dream,” the man cooed at you, his hand reaching up to stroke your arm through the fabric of your suit. “I would much rather stare at you all day than anything up on that stage.”

Your face flushed a cherry red, and you began to sputter, glancing up at Hannibal for aid, your eyes wide as saucers. As Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, the man quickly cut him off. The air was permeated by the scent of cheap cologne and stale smoke, and the sour cloud made Hannibal’s nose wrinkle in distaste. 

“Darling, you are simply beautiful, I must say, I’m quite enamored. Why don’t you ditch the old geezer and come with me? I’m certain I could make it worth your while,” The man said, licking his lips before he picked up your limp hand, kissing your knuckles. He left behind a smear of saliva. A wave of revulsion and panic flooded your senses, and you struggled to come up with a response besides a feeble attempt to tug your hand out from his grasp. The man simply chuckled and held you tighter, your knuckles turning white under his harsh hold. Hannibal’s hand shot out, a bruising grip on the man’s shoulder, forcing him back. 

“The gentleman is not interested,” Hannibal interjected, his voice steady but dripping with malice. “It would serve you well to kindly remove yourself.” He said with a predatory smile in an attempt to maintain his manners among his peers. The man sighed, a sleazy smile plastered on his lips. He rolled his eyes at Hannibal, shouldering off the older man’s hand. 

“Ah, but he can speak for himself, can’t he?” the question was directed to Hannibal, but his eyes were still fixated on you, raking you up and down, and again, he licked his lips.

“Surely, someone as exquisite as yourself would want to experience the passions of a real man, yes?” This question was directed at you. Your mouth opened and closed fast as you searched for words, your mouth suddenly dry.

Hannibal exhaled sharply at the comment. Hannibal’s demeanor was that of barely veiled rage, condensing the urge to rip the man apart with his teeth into a mere shove. The man laughed as he was forced back, releasing your hand in the process. 

Hannibal took the opening, slinging his arm around your waist and quickly guiding you out of the opera hall. His free hand reached around to grab the hand the man had offended with his touch, and Hannibal began to rub small circles into your hand soothingly. He leaned down, whispering into your ear. “Pay him no mind,” his voice low and smooth as velvet. His eyes flickered back, side-eyeing the man who stood behind you. “Swine such as him is quite clearly beneath your notice.”

The man chose this moment to wolf whistle, calling out to you. “I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go!” He called out. Hannibal urged you on faster, committing the man's face to his memory. Transgressions of this caliber hardly ever went unpunished, especially not one as egregious as the execrable display that had occurred tonight— and Hannibal would see to it personally that justice would be served.

⋅˚₊⊹₊˚‧︵‿‧ ୨୧ ‧₊‿︵‧ ˚₊⊹⋅˚₊

Days passed, and you had long since forgotten the encounter at the opera house. You were a little more focused on the fact that Hannibal’s presence in your life over the past few weeks had been noticeably sparse. He had a habit of, every so often, disappearing from your life like this, but despite knowing this, you couldn’t shake the feeling this time; something else was up.

Hannibal finally reached out after one long week, with it, an invitation for dinner at his house. This was a common occurrence, as he absolutely adored cooking dinner for you. You accepted happily, relieved that he had finally made space in his busy schedule to see you. You arrived at the Lecter household fifteen minutes before eight. You knew Hannibal valued manners, and punctuality was one of the most important. In no time, you were situated at his dining room table. Soft piano filled the room, with the occasional clatter of cutlery in the background emanating from the kitchen. Transcendental Etude No. 6 in G minor. One of your favorites.

Hannibal didn’t make you wait long, setting down a covered platter before your seat. He halted, hovering over your sitting form before placing a small kiss on the top of your head. You smiled and let out a pleased exhale. Well, he was certainly feeling affectionate today. You waited for him to take his seat–the head of the table– before you moved to uncover the platter, staring down at the dish. It was foreign to you, as most of his dishes were. Hannibal took great pride in delineating each aspect of every meal he prepared, his words scrupulous. This evening was no different– as you began to take in the dish before, he started to speak with magniloquence almost immediately. 

“Today, I’ve prepared a treat especially for you, my little lamb. Langue de Porc. A French delicacy. Pork tongue. Prior to the time of you or I, langue de porc was considered a delicacy, reserved for the aristocracy and the upper echelons of society. It was a symbol of status, of refinement. A way to demonstrate one's sophistication and worldliness, often in elaborate presentations or terrines,” Hannibal explained as he began to cut into his own dish. You just stared down at the platter, your stomach inexplicably churning. For some unknown reason, you were a mix of anxiety, and as Hannibal spoke, with each word, your sense of unease grew stronger. “The meat itself was said to be infused with certain properties. Properties that served to heighten the senses.” 

You squirmed in your seat, hesitantly picking up your fork and knife. You cracked a smile, though your eyes were swimming with trepidation. Hannibal’s tone was darker, his demeanor clouded with something sinister. He watched with a sly smirk as you cut off a piece of the peculiarly shaped meat. You chewed slowly, savoring the taste. It was unique, with a mild and fatty flavor that melted into your mouth. Hannibal watched you, focusing on the way your jaw worked around the bite as if he were counting each time your mandible contracted.

Only when he watched your Adam’s apple bob, the indication that you had swallowed, did Hannibal relax, offering you a triumphant smile. You cracked a smile in an attempt to lighten the tension. “Kind of small for a pig,” You remarked. It was your lame attempt at small talk. 

Hannibal’s smile begins to stretch unnaturally at the corners. What had started as a harmless quirk of his lips had begun to transform into something sinister, his teeth bared in a grin more reminiscent of a predator; the warmth had drained away from his features, leaving behind a chilling sense of malice. 

Surely you had imagined it, right? The way his eyes seemed to glint with a predatory sharpness, dark and unyielding. The shadows that seemed to deepen around his features– his cheekbones sharpening, his lips curled up almost unnaturally. And then he began to speak, his voice slithering through the air. It was carried on an unnatural calm as if he reveled in the discomfort he was causing. Each syllable seemed to hang in the air. You dropped your fork onto the dining table, suddenly sick with the implication of his words.

“Ah, yes. An astute observation. When measured from the oropharynx, a typical length for a hog is roughly thirteen centimeters.” Hannibal casually began to cut off another tongue piece, savoring it. “This particular type of swine, however, usually measures around eight and a half centimeters.” His eyes were dark pools of onyx. Your breathing increased, knowing his following words. Willing them not to be said. 

Hannibal leaned forward so that his face was a hand’s breadth away. Your head was swimming. “Yes, my little lamb. This particular pig had a foul mouth and a tongue better suited for a butcher’s block than a human mouth.” 

As the words settled into the dimly lit dining room, your vision began to swim, your chest heaving. Undoubtedly, Hannibal had spent the days you had been apart hunting down the foul-mouthed man from the opera, slaughtering the offending profligate and, as some sick and twisted form of recompense, serving his tongue up to you on a salver--his mind diseased with perverted justice.

Hannibal cooed at you, trailing the back of his hand down your face, his fingers catching under your chin as he guided you to look up at him. 

“Oh, mon amour,” He crooned, his hand cool against your skin that was feverish with anxiety. “You look positively green. Is this idea of such delights too much for your delicate constitution?” 

Hannibal released your chin, tutting in disappointment. “Here I thought you might be a little more appreciative to my gift.” Hannibal resumed eating, his eyes never leaving yours. “A dish with a garnish of retribution. Don’t be afraid…” His voice trails lower as he lifts his own fork, a piece of the tongue skewered on the edge, putting it against your lips. The meat easily slides past your plump lips, landing on your tongue. Under his unyielding gaze, you find it impossible to deny him.

“There we go,” He says softly. “Can you hear the sound of your mind breaking when you deny yourself?” The meat settled like a brick in your stomach. “Surrender to the hunger,” he insisted, his breath ghosting over your cheek as he leaned in closer. 

You mechanically picked up your fork, slicing off a piece of the fatty pink meat, and bringing it to your mouth with much chagrin. And you realized… As you bit down and soft flesh gave way with a telltale wet squelch, your teeth coated in a greasy sheen, that this was your indoctrination. That this is what a soul’s slaughter could look like and that Hannibal was going to drag you down with him too, a substitute god for when you longed for devotion. The slimy texture lingered in your mouth, refusing to be swallowed easily. It was as if the dish itself had no intention of being forgotten, clinging to you in a way that made your stomach churn. You had become exactly what he had wanted you to be as you fell into disgrace.

⋅˚₊⊹₊˚‧︵‿‧ ୨୧ ‧₊‿︵‧ ˚₊⊹⋅˚₊

thanks so much for reading. I had this idea swirling in the noggin for about a year now and finally decided to write it. It still isn't as fleshed out as I had hoped, but alas... hopefully, I get the fervor to write more. I swear something possessed me so I finished this entire thing in about two hours 。°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°。

[death-by-physics]

I'm almost done catching up on Earthspark and I hope, hope that Ratchet shows up next season but I need him to show up a certain way

Ratchet shows up for his dunno maybe a twice a year check-in, catches sight of the Terrans, and immediently starts tearing into OP and Megatron because THERES FRAGGING SPARKLINGS AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???

And coming in behind him is Deadlock. Red optics, Decepticon symbol proudly displayed on his chest, dangerous energy overall

OP and Megatron are watching him warily because what is going on?? Deadlock??? Wat??? And Ratchet is just checking over the Terrans, muttering to himself threats on reformating OP and Megatron into toasters, ignoring the way everyone is suddenly tense because there's a very dangerous Decepticon Oh my Primus Ratchet why is there a very dangerous Decepticon

A very dangerous Decepticon who Ratchet turns around, points a finger at, and tells him to stop leering and make himself useful damnit Drift this is why I said I'd come alone

And Deadlock. Just. Melts. Awww but Ratty

Full on heart-eyes, following at his heels, speaking kindly to the Terrans and kids, the whole nine-yards

The only hiccup is when OP warily slides over and is like So Drift?

And Deadlock turns to him, fangs flashing, It's Deadlock to you

[woso-story]

Hero

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon

Ingrid and Mapi were walking home after a wonderful night out with their friends. The streets were quiet, save for the faint hum of distant traffic and the crunch of fallen leaves beneath their boots. Ingrid's black dress fluttered slightly in the breeze, and Mapi had draped her jacket over her shoulders. They laughed softly, reliving the jokes and stories their friends had shared over dinner.

As they turned onto a dimly lit street, a group of men stumbled out of a nearby bar. They were loud, their words slurred with alcohol, and their attention quickly locked onto Ingrid and Mapi.

"Hey, ladies," one of them drawled, leering. "Looking good tonight. Especially you in that little dress."

Mapi shot them a warning glance, gripping Ingrid's hand a bit tighter, but Ingrid whispered, "Let's just keep walking."

"Don't ignore us, sweetheart", another man said. "We're just trying to be friendly. What's under that dress of yours, huh?"

Ingrid felt her stomach twist, but she kept her gaze forward.

Mapi, however, couldn't help but mutter, "Disgusting pigs," under her breath.

The men didn't take kindly to that.

"What did you say, huh? Got a smart mouth, don't you?" one of them sneered as they started following the pair.

They quickened their pace, but the men wouldn't let up.

"You two look like you could use some real men," another called out. "Bet you've never had someone show you what you're missing."

Mapi's jaw clenched, but Ingrid squeezed her hand. "Ignore them, Maria. Just get home."

But suddenly, one of the men lunged forward, grabbing Ingrid by the arm. His hand slid down to grope her ass, and she let out a sharp gasp.

Mapi didn't hesitate. She shoved the man away with a force that surprised even herself. "Don't you dare touch her!" she snarled, her voice low and dangerous.

The man stumbled back, laughing. "Fucking dykes,' he spat. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Another one stepped forward, his eyes locked on Ingrid. "You just need a man, sweetheart. You'll know what's good for you." His hand reached out again.

This time, Mapi didn't hold back. Her fist connected with his face, a sharp crack echoing through the street. The man staggered, clutching his nose as blood trickled between his fingers.

"Stay the hell away from her!" Mapi growled.

But the man's friend retaliated, grabbing Mapi and shoving her to the ground. Before any of the women could react, the man began kicking and punching Mapi viciously.

"Stop it! Help! Someone help!" Ingrid screamed, her voice breaking as she tried to get the man away from Mapi.

Fortunately, her cries didn't go unnoticed. A small group of passersby rushed to the scene, yelling at the men. Startled, the attackers fled, disappearing into the night.

Mapi groaned, struggling to sit up. Blood trickled from her split lip, and bruises were already forming on her cheek and arms.

"Ingrid," she murmured, trying to focus through the pain. "Are you okay?"

Ingrid's eyes brimmed with tears as she knelt beside her. "You're asking me that? Maria, you're hurt. We need to get you to a hospital."

She called an ambulance, and soon they were at the emergency room. Ingrid refused to leave Mapi's side, holding her hand tightly as doctors cleaned her wounds and confirmed nothing was broken, though she'd be sore for a few days.

Later that night, Alexia arrived, worry etched across her face "What happened?"

Mapi gave a weak grin, despite the swelling "Would you believe, if I would tell you that I tripped and fell?"

"Stop it. That's not funny" Ingrid slapped Mapi's arm and told Alexia what happened.

Alexia sighed, shaking her head. "You should've just walked away, Mapi. Next time, dont be a hero"

Esmee and Frido showed up shortly after, their expressions a mix of concern and relief when they saw Mapi sitting upright in the hospital bed.

The next morning, Mapi posted a selfie on Instagram, her face bruised and battered but her spirit undimmed. The caption read: "You fight for the people you love. 💪"

Ingrid commented almost immediately: "My hero 😇"

The post quickly went viral, with an outpouring of support and outrage from their fans. And while Mapi’s body ached for days, her heart swelled every time Ingrid looked at her with gratitude and love.

Ingrid knew one thing for sure: no matter what, María Pilar León would always have her back.

[neetily]

SEBASTIAN BEGGING AND PLEADING FOR IT slightly forcing you into it please :3

this one is weird, maybe. but i really like creepy pervert sebastian the most </3... warnings: lying, dubcon, begging, masturbation, face humping, facial, cheeks..... wc: 2,506

It’s just because he’s bored.

That’s all— he’s just bored. A lazy Wednesday afternoon, Sam is busy working his shift at JojaMart, and Abi is… Well, he doesn’t rightly know where Abi is. All that’s important to know is that she isn’t here, and neither is Sam. Leaving just you, and him, all alone in his basement room after you supposedly dropped off some materials for his mother, and he bets it was his moms idea to have you come down to visit him just now too, right? You’d rather be anywhere else but here, huh?

Go say hi, would you? He’s not been out his room in a little while, and I think he could use some company!

Or something like that anyway… An unnecessary outing you likely felt obligated to complete out of sheer social pressure. This is why I don’t leave my room, mom.

But he’s thankful— Really! Happy that you felt the burning weight of niceties upon your weary wood carrying shoulders to kindly pay him a visit, even if only to make his mom happy for a brief moment. He’s glad that you’re seemingly unable to say no, not to his mom, and certainly not to him as he inches closer to you with a forced smiled tugging at his lips. You're in the perfect position for it too, unfortunatel.

“C’mon,” he leers at you, eyeing up the way the fabric of your clothes cling to your frame from the heat of his basement. “They’re just… They’re so cute, I can’t help myself…”

The art of acting casual never came easy to him, anxiety palpable on his face no doubt. But he isn’t lying at least, and that’s gotta count for something, right? His heart racing at the cute little pout you sport in response to his over eager affections, an expression that he’s sure wouldn’t be present if only he knew you a little better, took time out of his day to visit you and hang out with you beyond surface level hello’s and goodbye’s.

He’s trying now. Because he’s bored.

Or so he keeps telling himself, conveniently ignoring the plenty sleepless nights he’s spent fisting his cock merely to the thought of you. The sly glimpses he gets of you throughout the day burned into his mind, behind cracked door slits when you visit his mom, or behind crowds at the saloon every Friday night. It’s easy to forget all about just how much he loves whimpering your name into his cum stained sheets every night when your resting upon them right now, attempting to avoid his grabby hands as they creep closer, and closer, pretending not to hear the way you protest his touch.

“Jus’ a little…” He slurs, nonetheless approaching nearer to those chubby lil cheeks that have taunted him oh so much, oh so often. “Please,” he begs, pouting down at your pretty scowl with a twitch in his pants— he just hopes you cant see exactly how much your distaste turns him on. That'd be embarrassing, as if he wasn't being so already. “It’ll be quick, jus’— ah, jus’ lemme pinch em a little…”

It really shouldn’t sound so creepy, right? All he wants to do is squish and squeeze your cute chubby cheeks to his hearts content— as they’re begging of him right now. It’s only right that he gives your body what it’s asking of him, especially since you seemingly don’t realise it yourself. He’s just helping…

You mumble his name, but he’s a little too enamoured by the way your bottom lip wobbles as he grows closer, slowly creeping, until his fingertips hover above the apple of your cheeks and he’s so fucking close to making contact, and his cock drools a little bit in excitement over being so close to you, looming over your trembling frame, and— “Sebastian!” he hears you gasp, and the slight hint of annoyance present in your tone sends a shiver down his perverted spine. Followed by a sharp inhale of his own to recover the way you so easily knock the wind out of him, begging for his attention to which he so happily gives to you with a lazy smirk.

“Promise t’be quick, please.” He continues on regardless, unwilling to hear you out in favor of pressing the pads of his fingertips gently against your cheeks, soon followed by his thumbs, and oh you’re just as soft as he’d imagined as he presses them together… A little too squirmy for his liking, as he has to fight with the way you wriggle around in an attempt to free yourself from his grasp, but he’s not letting go so easily. Not any time soon anyway. Not when he can so readily position himself to be fully on top of you—silly girl, you should never have accepted his proposal to sit on the bed for a nice chat—straddling your hips before you have a chance to stop him, really. All so he can squish and pinch your cute, chubby little cheeks all night long if he wanted to. Because he’s bored. Because he can think of nothing better to do than to tug and tease your skin to his hearts content.

Because it’s fucking hot, actually. Obviously, rather. But he’s doing his best to hide that ugly truth, and hopes you’ll be thankful about it.

Because it’s much easier to hide behind the pure and simple want to squish your cheeks because they’re cute, rather than admit where his fault lie. And they are, don’t get him wrong. The cutest ever, actually. But it’s getting increasingly difficult to hide his hard on from you, because for as much as he ends up tilting your pretty face up to meet his half lidded gaze, you just as strongly attempt to fight back, and the way your body squirms from under him— God, he could cream his fucking pants on the spot to be honest with you. Just by looking at the prettily forced pout you’re forced to wear with his paws on your cheeks, cute kissable lips begging him for a taste, all nice and wet just for him, right? And the way your brows furrow together so cutely, sweetly knitted for his own personal enjoyment too. And— And fuck, how soft and squishy you are under his teasing touch... Pliantly allowing him to tug and pull on every inch of your cheeks he can reach, until you playfully, briefly, escape his grasp, only for him to find you once more.

“See,” He huffs down at you, unable to hide the wide smile you always seem to pull out of him. “Just teasing, s’all, promise—” a breathless laugh follows his lie, cock bobbing above you in his pants when you refuse to settle under him. If only he could just— just squeeze you a little more, y'know? Get rid of his boredom by pinching at different pockets of fat, a flash of your hips entering his mind and well, he's much faster and sneakier than you are.

It doesn't take much to get him going, and the squeak of surprise you immediately let out upon his grubby hands coming into contact with your hidden waist proves as much. Prompting a light sigh to escape him, though he's quick to recover to save face when around such a cutie like yourself. And more importantly, he was right. This is more fun, a faster cure for his boredom.

"Sorry, sorry," lies tumble from his lips, bitten before you to try and hold back on the lewd moans he so badly wants to let out for you, to show you exactly just how much fun he's having with your body right now. "I didn't mean to, I just— You're so cute and I— I mean," he can babble as much as he wants, he knows that there's no hiding the gross grin he sends your way, if your desperate recoil further into his dirty sheets is anything to go by.

"Couldn't help myself..." he finally mutters, like a dog. A broken record stuck on replay, mumbling the same excuses over and over again because all the blood in his body is rushing down to his cock and he can't make sense of anything beyond just how badly he wants to touch you. Grope you. Feel you. Do anything with you so long as his hands are on you. Like a filthy fucking pervert.

"Seb, I think— Think that's enough, right?" Your voice comes out as a quiver, a shaky sigh at best. Something so easily ignored, he thinks.

You should learn to speak up around men like him.

Because in truth, you're probably right. It's not like you consider him a friend as such, more like a welcomed acquaintance, right? And yet here he is, straddling your lap with his nails digging in to your soft sides, hard cock standing tall and proud before you as it trembles behind the layer of cloth barrier his jeans provide, and you're doing very little to stop him from going further.

Which means you must want him too, right?

Not that it'll stop him begging for it, mind you. Relenting in his prodding and touching only to be able to unzip his pants, his fat bulge spilling out for you to gasp at in the meantime. "Can I, just a little, if it's okay," He starts, practically drooling at the way you cower from him, like a coy little thing. "Can I get it out, please?" it's not really a question, seeing as he's already tugging his boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free before he even finishes asking, a fat bead of precum rolling from the tip and onto your front to stain your clothes all sticky. "I just need to, only for a bit. Hurts, see?" He begs for your attention, following your gaze down to the way his cock throbs and jerks against his barely there touch, all hard and wet because of you.

"I, I see, but—"

"C'mon, please! It won't take long, not if it's with you. Promise for real this time." He shuffles with his words, soon straddling your chest with his cock twitching right between your eyes, and the way you squint up at it, unable to decline his advancement only has his cock pulsing harder.

And without even understand exactly what he's asking for—not that he gives you much time to anyway—he sees your very nod. Meagre at best, like you'd rather just get this all over and done with as soon as possible as opposed to any active involvement, but he's not about to complain. Cock rock hard and leaking all over himself just from feeling your breath fan against his balls, and God, you can't blame him for angling his tip down against those soft and squishy cheeks to smear plenty precum across them, especially when you let out the smallest little whimper, and despite being unable to decipher if it's enjoyment or fear, he's still fucking done for either way.

"God, I'm so sorry, but—" his hips buck against you, involuntarily but more than welcome given just how fucking good it feels to graze his cock upon your face. "But you're so pretty, and— and I really like you, and, oh fuck—" he thrusts again, this time placing his hand hard against the top of his girth, so his cock in turn rubs harsher against your face in the faux pussy he's simulating right now. Your face, his cock, and then his hand. A stupid sandwich that feels oddly intimate to him, in a way that his has balls taut and his cock drooling all over you some more, as if his aim was to be as messy as possible.

And he's not lying, he really does like you. It's one of the only truths he's said so far tonight actually, proven by how he almost immediately settles into an unfair fast pace against your cheek, humping and grinding recklessly despite the squeak of his bed under his weight. An added bonus to living in the basement— nobody but him can hear the way you stifle whines and swallow moans.

It's just that you suit his cock so well.

"Look, I'm sorry," he exhales shakily, slowly, trying to keep up with the silly speed he's set for himself, but the feeling of his balls slapping against your chin is so nice, and the wet squelch of his cock gliding against your lips and your cheek and up to your squeezed shut eye— "Let me feel good, let's feel good together, okay? Please?" it's too much as he continues to plead with you, because it all feels too fucking good to be using you like this, to have you willingly sit there and let him rut like a bitch in heat whilst he begs for your forgiveness, because he's nothing but a stupid mutt with a horny cock and he can't. Fucking. Help himself.

Can't stop feeling good, not even if he tried. Drool pooling behind his teeth at the way you try your best to sit still for his rutting, but the soft scowl you wear when his precum dribbles down the side of your cheek is tell tale enough. It's gross, isn't it?. He's being nasty right now, isn't he? But he thinks that that's whats getting him off the most.

Your dislike for him and the situation he's begged himself into.

"'M close—" he intends to warn you, but this yet again sounds like some sort of pleading. An imploring to sit still and be nice. "Please please pleasepleaseplease, fuck please—" he whines, all high pitched and feminine from the way his back arches into every thrust, really angling his cock tip to squish against your cheek with his humps and fucks until finally, after you exhale long and disapprovingly against his girth, he manages to show you just how much he likes you.

Thick fat ropes of cum shoot from his tip, inevitably painting your pretty face all white and sticky with seed. Fat load fucked right against your face, coating across your eye to glue it shut as a reminder of what's just happened, if you might have second guessed it later. And even then, after he's covered you in as much cum as he can, he absently spreads his stain all over your used cheek, aiming a few shots down at your lips so that you can taste just how much fun he's been having.

Though he's not done there, not even as he begrudgingly removes his cock from your sticky face and once again straddles your waist. No, still he waits for you to say something, only so that he may interrupt with another beg.

"Um... Sebastian, can you—"

"Please let me have a taste—" he cuts you off with a pounce, planting his lips firmly against yours just to share the sweet saltiness he's just rubbed into your face.

[iamlostinthought]

i doubt suzanne collins would unless she’s got some shit to say, but imagine in the future we get a finnick book, a book about the youngest victor ever to win the games, a book from the perspective of a 14 year old child.

and then the years that come after. of growing a little older, seeing the leering way the capitol citizens look at him, and being told he now has to entertain them, not knowing what that means until he’s there for the first time, or maybe mags kindly informed him and wiped away his tears, along with his bodily freedom. how people now know him as a flirt, as a man who isn’t afraid to lay in bed besides married individuals. but they don’t know is that he doesn’t have a choice, so he makes a decision to use these people for secrets like they are using his body.

and then the quarter quell happens. and he’s told his life isn’t worth as much as katniss. that he must do whatever he can to keep her alive, for the good of the rebellion. and he does, but he loses mags.

and not to mention how he eventually loses his own life to save katniss and the rebellion. he doesn’t get to spend the rest of his life loving annie. his book would be devastating.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [11] - Bonus

King John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Set a few months after the main story. The King comforts you when you're on your period.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Kisses, pet names, period sex, p in v sex, cream pie, fingering, overuse of italics, power dynamics because he's the king, I have totally made up servant/noble dynamics because I wanted to, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 3405

You lay crouched up on your side in bed, your face buried into your pillow. Isabella had kindly warmed a metal bar in boiling water before wrapping it many times in fabric for you to press against your stomach, as well as bringing you a bitter tasting tea that she said helped with period pains.

You weren’t sure if it really did, but you’d take any help that you could at this point. You bite back a groan as a cramp pushes its blade deep into your belly. 

The door opens, the sound far away in your hazy pain half sleep state. 

“My love?” The King’s hand is soothing as he strokes your arm, his voice soft. He kisses your temple when you murmur a reply. 

You had told him this morning to go about his duties as normal, practically begged him while you said that there was no cause for alarm or worry. 

He had promptly ignored you and fetched the medicine women who were currently housed in the castle. It had amused you the first time you had found out that the King was wary of doctors. He had nearly died as a child, recalling how the continuous blood lettings and leeches had only made him weaker and weaker. How their sneering faces still leered at him in his nightmares.

It had been a medicine woman, brought to the castle as a last ditch attempt by his mother, who had given him herbs and poultice that finally broke the fever. It was now customary for several medicine women to be at the castle at once, training others and visiting villages up and down the country. 

They had talked to the King gently, reassuring him that you were not at death’s door. 

“You should be at your meetings.” You say quietly, half mumbling. 

He walks around to climb onto the bed next to you, wrapping his arm over your side to cover your hand and helping to press the heat against your stomach as he hugs you. He kisses the back of your neck. 

“I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I do not like to see you in pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

He scoffs. “Do not be. This is not your fault.” 

“It is… a little. It is my body, is it not?” 

He tuts, shaking his head and kissing your shoulder. “Do not say such foolish things.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t want to disrupt your day, Your Highness.” 

“A King can do what he wants, and what I want is to lay with you.” He gives you a light squeeze. “If you’ll allow it.”

You smile weakly. “I allow it.” 

You drift off into a weak, feverish sleep for a short while until you are rudely awakened by another tight grind of pain. You flinch, screwing up your face. 

The King tightens his arm, curling his body closer to you as if he can shield you from your own body. 

“Are you alright?” He asks gently.

You nod. “I am.”

He swallows, propping himself up a little so that he can see your face. “The wise women spoke with me about ways to help ease your discomfort.” He strokes your arm. “Later, or when you feel ready, a warm bath and some poppy tea?” 

You turn onto your back so that you can look at him. 

He strokes your cheek lovingly, his eyes soft. 

“You’re too kind to me, Your Highness.”

He tuts again, but it’s good natured. “I wish I could rid you of this pain instantly.” Gently, as if you were so easily breakable, he leans down and kisses the tip of your nose before nuzzling against it with his own. 

You grin, wrapping one arm around his neck and pull him to your lips. He kisses you lazily, licking into your mouth with a syrupy slowness that has you inching closer. 

His hand slides to your hip, squeezing lightly as you urge him nearer, eagerly stroking his tongue with your own. 

He hums happily, his warm breath from his nose hitting your cheek, and groaning when you nibble on his bottom lip. 

“Hmm, my love.” He sighs, his eyes closed, his eyelashes fluttering and kissing his cheeks. He kisses you again, slow and desperate. 

You can’t help but shift closer, moving your legs apart a little. Part of you wants him between them, to grind against him wantonly. Your cunt twitches, throbbing lightly at the thought as a spark of arousal settles in your bones. 

He groans softly as you kiss him fiercely, settling on top of you. 

You tug a little on his shirt. Maybe he could, could just rub against you. You shake your head slightly, he wouldn’t want that, you shouldn't want… Despite the ache of pain in your lower stomach, the thought is nonetheless inviting. Soothing almost. 

The semi hard outline of his cock brushes against your thigh and he moans before cutting himself off and pulling back from your lips. 

“I’m sorry, my love.” He breathes hard, his lips flushed and eyes still closed. “I do not mean to force my wants onto you-”

“Please?” You widen your legs, tug lightly on his shoulders, your body begging for him before you even have a chance to get a hold of yourself. 

He opens his eyes wide, and you mistake his look of surprise for one of outrage. 

“I’m sorry,” Your blurt out, your words running together. “I don’t mean-”

Without warning his lips are back on yours, kissing greedily as he runs his hands down your slides and gently kneads your inner thighs. He urges you wider, truly settling between your legs. He grinds his erection against your core, experimentally at first, his movements soft and light but quickly becoming harder when you groan against his lip and buck up to meet him. 

“My love, my love,” He mutters into your mouth, drinking down your responses and sighs. “Let me… let me make love to you.” He moans, his voice dark and desperate. The richness of it runs along your veins, setting your skin alight. 

“You want that?” You manage to breathe as he kisses your jaw and neck, pressing his lips and tongue to the fading love bites that litter your skin. 

He growls, a shiver running through him. “So, so much. But only if you want it.” 

You nod hazily, gasping as he palms your breast and flicks his thumb over your pebbling nipple. “I want it.” 

“Fuck.” He kisses you again, robbing the air from your lungs. “The wise women told me sometimes it helps to ease monthly pain,” he tries to sit up, fighting his own body’s urge to stay as close to you as possible, as he pulls off his shirt. “And since then, I must confess, the thought has not left my mind.” 

You run your hands along his chest, and he preens, arching into your touch. His skin is on fire under your fingers, begging for the soothing touch of your caress.

“Not that I came here to force you to-”

“You do not force me to do anything, Your Highness. I want you.” 

He groans, his eyes rolling back when you scrape your thumbnails across his chest, catching his nipples. He shivers, letting out the smallest sound. 

“It will be messy.” You say, uncertainly. 

“God, I hope so.” He kisses you again eagerly, his tongue pillaging your mouth. He pulls up your nightdress, raking it up around your waist. 

“Have you ever… before, with someone at this time?” You look up at him hesitantly, a small growing knot of worry in your chest is starting to outshine your arousal. What if he hates it? What if-

He shakes his head. “Never.” The look he gives you makes you weak. How his lips are parted, how dilated his eyes are. It’s like you're staring at the sun. 

“We can stop at any time, my love. You say the word.”

“You as well.” You say firmly. “You want to stop, you say.” He smiles, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it. “I will, I promise.” He kisses your wrist, pressing his lips to the soft skin along your arm. His beard scrapes pleasantly, the sensation zinging along your nerves. 

He helps you out of your nightdress slowly, easing it off you and groaning with each inch of skin that is revealed to him, as if he hadn’t seen you bare countless times before. 

The look in his eyes is greedy, so needy, and it makes you light headed, almost dizzy to be wanted that badly. But he takes his time, urging you back onto the mattress and lightly kissing your throat, your collarbone, inching his lips down to your breasts as he settles between your legs. 

His weight is comforting, familiar and secure and exciting. A thrill you still relish each chance you get. 

Lightly, he presses his face to your chest, reaching up to palm your breast as he kisses your sternum softly. He nuzzles the side of your right breast, groaning as he trails his tongue over your skin and then laps at your nipple. 

Without thinking, you sink your hand into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls, just how you know he likes. He smiles against you, flicking his tongue and then sucking eagerly.

You gasp, wriggling under him and pressing yourself closer to the sweet heat of his mouth. He groans louder, looking up at you with dark, lust blown eyes as he sucks gently, being careful not to overstimulate you in your sensitive state. 

“Your Highness,” You whine, bucking up weakly against him, and he moans loudly, gulping as he closes his eyes to get a hold of himself. 

He slips his right hand down your stomach slowly to press at your core through your undergarments firmly. 

You swallow, your body jolting slightly as he brushes against your clit, the sensation sparking up your spine despite the layers of cloth that should dull it. 

“May I take these off?” He asks, trying to keep his voice light and sweet despite how his cock throbs between his legs. 

You nod, a little shly and he groans again, pressing his forehead into your breast for a moment. 

“My love, please, you will make me come untouched with that look.” 

You giggle and stroke his hair. “What look?”

He tuts playfully, lifting his head just enough to give you a glare. “You know which one.”

“I do not.” You try to suppress your laughter fruitlessly. 

“Lies.” He pokes out his tongue and then kisses your chest repeatedly. “You look too sweet, you look too wanton, you look too delicious.”

You snort. 

“You doubt your King?” 

“I do.” 

He fake gasps and sits up on his knees. “This outrage, I will not stand for it.” 

“No?” 

“No.” He shakes his head dramatically, trying and failing to hide his smile. “You simply must make it up to me.” 

You grin. “With my mouth on you?” 

He gives you a soft look, but shakes his head. “No, my sweetest thing,” he slowly pulls down your undergarments, lifting your hips and then your legs gently, “By coming for me.” 

He swallows, running his warm hands up your legs and squeezing your inner thighs deliciously. 

You moan softly, your back instinctively arching. Lightly, he urges your legs further apart, groaning low in his chest when he sees arousal mixed with your blood. 

Oh so gently, he traces your outer lips with his fingers, barely skimming over your skin. He ghosts around your clit, pressing close but never quite where you need before rubbing your thighs again. 

You swallow, the sound painfully loud as you try to control your rapid breathing. 

He smiles, but does not tear his eyes away from your core. Slightly firmer this time, he caresses just around your clit. His touch is sure, precise, and your body bucks a little no matter how you try to stop it. 

He never quite touches where you need, a fraction away from the source of your ache. It burns under your skin, building and growing, as wetness seeps out of you. 

“Your Highness,” you start, unable to take anymore, but he grins wickedly, his eyes darting up to meet yours as he sinks two fingers inside agonisingly slowly at the same moment he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit. 

Your gasp, a small whine breaking past your lips as he stretches you so wonderfully, as his thumb rocks against you in a maddening, alternating pressure that has you grabbing the bedsheets for dear life. 

“There we are.” He groans, grinning and biting his lip as he moves his hand painfully slowly, revelling in how your breathing hitches and how your pussy clutches hold of him and tries to drag him deeper. “How does it feel?” 

“Good.” You sob, pressing your head back against the pillow. “So good.” 

He hums in satisfaction, stroking in and out. He watches your face eagerly as he kneels between your legs, glancing down to see your slick and blood smeared across his fingers as he pleasures you. The slight makes him groan, makes his cock throb even more for attention. 

“I want you to feel good every second of every day,” he mutters, his voice thick. “It’s my duty to fight any pain that dares to touch you.” 

Part of you hears him, but most of you is too lost in the feeling of his thick fingers. How he pushes and glides, the stretch burning away the dull ache of your cycle, the pressure on your clit making your blood sing and shiver. 

“Please,” you whimper, but you’re not sure what you’re begging for. 

He leans closer, bending forward on his knees to watch you with lidded eyes. “Anything, everything. All for you.” 

“I want, I want you to…” You swallow, grinding down onto him and mewling when he presses firmly, your thighs shaking. 

“Anything.” He repeats, gazing at you with the most love sick expression. 

“Please, I want you to be completely inside,” you moan as he strokes perfectly, the pleasure almost agonising. “I want to feel you…”

“You want my cock?”

“I need your cock.” You sob and he groans, grinning.

“As my Lady needs.” He moves swiftly, putting his fingers from you with a practically obscene sound. He undoes his trousers quickly with his left hand, groaning when the pressure of the material finally eases off his aching cock. 

He pumps himself twice with his right hand, smearing your blood and slick along his length before he lines himself up with your trance. 

“Ready?” He raises an eyebrow at you teasingly. 

You pull at his curls with one hand and his shoulder with the other, “Your Highness.” You say sternly and he chuckles. 

“Of course, my love, of course.” He kisses you sweetly as he pushes inside, a low moan rumbling through his chest as your pussy flutters and squeezes the tip of his cock. 

You gasp into his mouth, widening your legs and angling your hips to help him sink deeper. 

The stretch is wonderful, soothing and overshadowing the ache of your pain.  

The King groans your name, pressing his forehead against yours as he bottoms out. “God, you're holding me so tight,” he rocks gently, barely pulling out but rolling his hips hypnotically as he watches your face intently. 

The dark patch of curls between his legs rubs against your clit and you whine, your body trembling. 

He grins, his eyes lighting up. With every buck he adjusts the angle slightly, stroking the tip of his cock against your fluttering walls until your steady moan becomes a gasp and your grasp on his biceps tighten. 

He hums, satisfied, focusing utterly on caressing the same spot again and again. 

You shake, almost trying to squirm away from the deep current of pleasure that’s building and pulsing at the heart of you. Your breath catches in your throat, your cries growing in pitch as he utterly destroys you, taking you apart piece by piece. 

“That’s it…” He breathes heavily, groaning with each roll and thrust. He can feel his end fast approaching, the sensation building and building in his lower spine, and so ready to explode at any given moment. “That’s it, my love.” 

He swallows hard as he fights and loses against the urge to pick up the pace, to fuck you harder. This is meant to be for your pleasure, to help you. But he just can’t help himself, his body betraying him as he loses himself in the feel of you. 

You’re so close, the sweetness of it is already on your tongue. You rock up to meet his thrusts, holding onto him for dear life. 

He can’t help but glance down to where you’re both connected, his eyes rolling back at the sight. The sound that rumbles through his chest is primal, animalistic as he watches your arousal and blood coat his cock as he bullies it in and out of you. 

“You take me so well,” he gasps, one hand squeezing your thigh, spreading you wider. “You- You’re too good for me.” He swallows, his stomach tightening. “I’m, I’m,” he bites his lip, trying in vain to hold back from the pleasure that is draining his will. “God, please, let me come in you.” He closes his eyes, a high pitched whine leaving his lips. 

You moan loudly, his words pushing you over the edge. You come hard on his cock, pulsing and writhing under him as you sob his name. Your hands squeeze his arms, your left leg hooking around his hips to keep him inside. 

He gasps, his thrust stuttering as he swears loudly and comes inside you hot and thick, moaning and whimpering as your walls flutter and pulse and suck him so deep. 

He doesn’t mean to collapse against you, practically pinning you to the bed, but all his energy seems to leave him in an instant. 

A half mumbled apology leaves his lips, but you cut him off, kissing his temple and wrapping your arms around him, keeping him close. 

You breathe hard, your heartbeat slowly returning to normal. 

“I’m sure we’ve made such a mess.” You mutter, but you’re too exhausted to do anything about it at the moment.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles into your neck. “I’ll get up in a moment, ask for a bath to be run for us both to enjoy while the bed is changed.”

“I should-”

“You should do nothing but relax.” He raises his head a fraction to give you a soft look and smile. “Obey your King.” 

You giggle. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He groans softly, his cock twitching in your heat. “Maybe give me a few minutes, and we can continue once more before the bath?” 

You laugh louder at the purposefully cheeky look he gives you. 

“Is that an order?” You smile. 

But he shakes his head instantly, despite the playful expression on his face. “Never.” 

“Well, I agree to it anyway.” 

Gently, he strokes your cheek before he kisses you lightly. “How are you feeling?” 

You nod. “Better.”

“Good.” 

“Though, I fear I might have to have the King’s cock in me all week to help ease the pain.” 

“Ahh, what a chore.” He puts his hand to his head dramatically. “Needs must, I suppose.” His grin widens when you giggle again. 

“Is it…” He pauses, “I hope you did not feel like you had to…”

“Had to?” 

“Had to let me,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “I did not talk with you beforehand about coming inside, I’m sorry, I became caught up and-”

You kiss him quickly to cut off his words, only breaking away to rub your nose soothingly against his. “You asked, I wanted it too.” 

“Hmm,” he smiles. “You did?” 

You nod, and he puffs his chest out a little. 

“I know it is normally safe to do so during this time…” He strokes your neck absentmindedly, tracing your collarbone lightly. “But it is not… foolproof…” 

“I have no objections either way.” You say a little shyly, but the blindingly soft look he gives you washes any worry away. 

“You do not?” 

You shake your head, and he beams. “I love you so much,” softly, he licks into your mouth. “So very, very much.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[deathmetalunicorn1]

Eri Reader x Straw Hats Part 24- Whole Cake Island

This is another doozy of an arc, so there will be abridging!

-Sanji made true on his vow to you, as soon as he saw Big Mom, who was pleased to see both him and you, he immediately asked her, “I will do whatever you ask of me, but do not let my family, any of them, anywhere near Y/N.”

-Big Mom seemed surprised by his request, leering down at him while her children were all doing the same, angered that he was making demands when he was going to be killed at the wedding.

-When she asked him of his reason, while you were hugging Sanji close, your arms wrapped around his neck, “You know what Germa 66 is capable of. If they get their hands on Y/N, who knows the torture she’s going to be put through, to get information on her abilities.”

-This made everyone freeze, they knew exactly what Germa 66 was capable of, that’s why they were arranging this wedding, but to see you in Sanji’s arms, trembling with fear, as you wanted to back to all the others, they were a bit more willing to listen now.

-Big Mom agreed to his terms, “Katakuri, my strongest son, will watch Y/N and keep her safe.” The massive man approached, looking so fall, even taller than Doflamingo, as you were a bit in awe as Sanji agree before looking down at you, as he had told you before this meeting that Luffy would come, he knows he will, “Be good Y/N. I’ll see you soon.” You nodded softly before turning to face the Charlotte Family.

-You were scared but when Katakuri picked you up, his hands almost swallowing you up, you felt something, you could tell that he was very strong, but he wasn’t a bad person, you couldn’t explain the feeling, as he held you up on his shoulder, safe and secure.

-Big Mom, curious of your past, as she had heard a lot about you, invited you to a tea party, where she had so many cakes and tea, “You’ll be part of our family soon enough, Y/N, so enjoy yourself!”

-You were confused, looking so innocent sitting on Katakuri’s knee, “But I already have a family, my big brothers, big sisters, and my mama!” Big Mom chose to ignore you, thinking that you had been brainwashed by the Straw Hats. You would come around soon enough.

-You didn’t know that your tea had been drugged, after you ate a bit, so you wouldn’t get sick, just putting you to sleep, and once you were out, Pudding came forward and used her ability to pull out your memory, which almost looked like a movie film reel, so everyone could see it.

-Big Mom knew about the condition of your body, the scars, and she was fully ready to make each of the Straw Hats pay, thinking they had done that do you.

-Only they didn’t they were the ones who rescued you. They saw this unknown man, Overhaul, experimenting on you, making you scream and cry, terrible sounds and visuals that none of the Charlotte Family would be able to forget anytime soon.

-They saw when Luffy found you, rescuing you, and how kindly he treated you, feeding you, and how you had been treated by the other members, all with gentle kindness, other than the occasional forehead flick when you did some reckless.

-Big Mom was distraught when she saw what your abilities allowed you to do, bringing those back from the dead, tears welling in her eyes as she thought of Mother Caramel. However, when she saw the repercussions of your ability, the high fevers, and the risk it put on your life, she was torn. She wanted to see Mother Caramel more than anything, but she wasn’t willing to risk a child’s health and safety for it.

-Seeing that the Straw Hats were not the ones that did this to you, the murderous intent faded for them at least, as Big Mom demanded to know who this Overhaul was, wanting to find any information about him.

-While Big Mom wasn’t going to go after the Straw Hats, unless if they tried anything funny, she wasn’t going to let them take you back, after seeing what you have gone through the past few years. They were incompetent in her eyes, unable to properly keep you safe.

-A few days later, you thought you heard someone saying something about Luffy, but you weren’t completely sure, as you hugged Katakuri face from the side, from your spot on his shoulder.

-Katakuri was unsure of this feeling he felt for you, it was so strange, so new, it wasn’t like the feeling he felt with his cute little siblings. This was something else, but he liked it.

-He did his job, keeping you safe, keeping a watchful eye on you, even when you were playing with other children, including the Charlotte Family children, making sure that you were safe at all times.

-Katakuri was very open with you, not feeling afraid of you being afraid of him, so he showed you his snack time ritual, showing you his true self.

-Instead of being scared your eyes were huge and sparkly as you watched him eat donuts, “So cool! You can eat such big donuts in one bite!!” This is what made his affection for you grow.

-The only thing Katakuri didn’t allow was for you to see Sanji, despite feeling his heart aching, seeing your puppy dog eyes, seeing you look so cute, calling Sanji your big brother.

-Katakuri took you to a place that overlooked the harbor and pointed out the Germa 66’s ship, “That’s Sanji’s family. From what I know he doesn’t see himself as a member of that family, but he wants us to keep you away from them, to keep you safe.” You remember Sanji saying the same thing, and it made you curious, wanting to know why Sanji didn’t like his family.

-When you heard that Luffy was on the island, along with Ace, Nami, Brook, and Chopper, your eyes lit up, wanting to return to your home on Sunny with them, along with Sanji.

-Katakuri felt like scum when you cried, when he told you that you weren’t going back with them, that Big Mom, or Mama as she had been wanting you to call her, was adopting you and you were going to be a part of her family. You didn’t understand and Katakuri felt guilt, seeing you in such a state.

-It was Luffy and Ace, working together, that led Katakuri leaving you with Sanji, who held you close, hugging you so tightly and Sanji felt the ice in Katakuri’s stare when he told the cook to keep you safe while he dealt with the invaders, not outright telling you that it was Luffy and Ace, so you wouldn’t be upset.

-Your little hands cupped Sanji’s face, seeing that he was injured, having been beaten by his family, being the weakest of them all, which made tears well in your eyes.

-Your horn flared to life, and he caught your hands, halting your actions, smiling softly down at you, “Don’t Y/N. I’ll be fine. I promise.” You lifted your pinkie finger to him, and he couldn’t help but grin, feeling warm and locked fingers with you.

-You then heard a new voice, “Is that Y/N?” you both turned and saw three more men, who looked kind of like Sanji, one with red hair, one with blue, and one with green, and a lady with pink hair.

-Sanji held you close, getting ready to move to run before Reiju came over, beaming down at you, “Hello there Y/N. I’m Reiju, Sanji’s big sister!” your eyes went wide, hearing this, and while Sanji seemed okay with her being close, he took a step back when the other three tried to approach.

-You then saw another man, a large man, following them, looking surprised to see you in Sanji’s arms, as he was curious as to where you were, as he knew that Big Mom had brought you to the island alongside his useless child.

-Niji and Ichiji both came over, telling you their names, as they knew their father’s plan on using you, and if they could get you easily like this, away from Big Mom’s watchful eyes, then they were going to take it.

-Yonji came over, looking cheerful, “And I’m Yonji!” instantly your mood and demeanor went from curious to terrified, your hands winding into Sanji’s shirt, your eyes going wide as you started breathing heavily, like you were panicking.

-Sanji and Reiju were quick to notice the change as your eyes were locked on Yonji, who tilted his head to the side, confused as to why you were looking at him like that.

-Sanji was quick to put his hands over your eyes and you quickly turned, burying your face into Sanji’s chest, trying to hide from this man. You didn’t know him, but his voice… it was the same as Overhaul’s.

-Reiju was quick to slap Yonji, demanding to know what he had done to you to make you so afraid, which caused lots of yelling. Sanji noticed Reiju pointing to the window, giving him an out, as she was terrified to see you look so scared, and Sanji ran, leaping out the window.

-His brothers and father all yelled, seeing him escaping, as Sanji used his sky walk to escape, descending safely while holding you close. Sanji was willing to do whatever it took to keep you safe, and if it was his life or yours, he would always make sure that you were safe, every single time.

-Luck was on his side when he saw Luffy, Ace, and Nami again, running to safety after having defeated Cracker and escaping and he shouted, “NAMI-SAN!!” She turned, hearing Sanji as Niji was closing in on him, using his power suit to catch up.

-Sanji squeezed you once before tossing you towards the group and instantly you felt Luffy’s rubber arms wrapping around you before pulling you into his chest.

-You looked up, tears blooming in your eyes as you cried, “Big brother!!”

-He held you close, not letting you look back, as he looked murderous as Niji, Ichiji, and Yonji were attacking Sanji, while Reiju and Judge looked on, but Nami was the one to grab Luffy, and the three of them ran, looking for a place to hide.

-For a while, you were safe, crying in Nami’s arms as you told them what Sanji’s mean family had done and how Big Mom wasn’t going to let you go with them, that she wasn’t going to let you go.

-Ace just ruffled your hair softly, trying to console you, “It will be okay Y/N. We’re going to get Sanji back and then were going to meet up with the others in Wano.” You sniffled softly, giving him a firm nod and he grinned, seeing you looking happier.

-That was short lived when you were attacked by Big Mom’s children, Katakuri taking you back from Luffy, who was demanding him to let you go. You were trembling, looking scared as they were all captured and taken away.

-Katakuri had been furious to see you there, knowing Sanji had betrayed him, but when he returned to Sanji, Katakuri saw that he was badly beaten, as if he had been violently attacked. Katakuri wasn’t dumb to realize that Germa 66 had found you, and Sanji took you to safety, with Luffy and the others.

-You were crying, seeing Sanji in such a state before you scared Katakuri by leaping from his shoulder, to get to Sanji. He caught you safely, sighing softly in relief, “That was reckless.”

-Another voice then spoke up, “I agree.” You both turned, seeing Reiju there, holding medical supplies, looking upset, as if she didn’t want this to happen to Sanji.

-Sanji, through gasps of pain, as he refused to let you use your ability on him, told you that Reiju was the only good one in his family, beside his mother, Sora.

-You noticed Reiju trying not to cry, hearing her mother’s name, and Katakuri remained silent, letting you be with Sanji and Reiju, hearing the tale of how the Germa 66 came to be, and what Sora was willing to do to keep her children safe.

-You were in tears by the time he finished the tale, telling you how Reiju snuck him out all those years ago, getting him to a ship where he would later meet Zeff

-Your horn started glowing by itself as you sniffled, crying as Sanji tried to move, immediately hissing in pain, “Y/N! Calm down!” Katakuri went to touch you when a bright light filled the room and only moments later, a woman was standing there, blond, with curly eyebrows.

-Reiju’s jaw dropped open, her tears welling as the woman gasped suddenly, taking her first breath, “Mother!!” Sora turned, being embraced by her now much older daughter, surprised to see her there before she gasped, “Sanji!!”

-You stumbled back, holding your head, feeling woozy as Katakuri pulled you into his arms, pulling his scarf off, wrapping it around you as you started developing a fever, tears streaming down your cheeks.

-Sanji was in disbelief, seeing his mother there, tears welling in his eyes, but he didn’t care, he openly cried as she held him close, holding her sweet child in her arms once more.

-Katakuri was conflicted, he knew that the Germa 66 was going to die at the wedding, at least those four men who deserved it, but seeing these three, seeing the love they had, it didn’t feel right to let them die too.

-Sora was pleased to meet you, once your fever broke, as Sanji explained your ability, and how you brought her back to life, as she hugged you close, cuddling you. She was a lot like Sanji, so warm and cuddly.

-Reiju then spoke, “Y/N, what did Yonji do to make you so scared of him?” She had been wondering this, as did Sanji, and hearing this, Katakuri and Sora were also curious, but only Katakuri had pain on the mind.

-You hesitated for only a moment before you pushed up one of the sleeves on your shirt, showing your scars, making the two women gasp in shock as Sanji looked mad, seeing them again, “I… he- he didn’t do anything, but he… he has the same voice as… as Overhaul, the one who did this to me.”

-Sora cuddled you close again, vowing to keep you safe.

-Katakuri then spoke, “I know Mama wants to use you as well Y/N, when you’re older and stronger. She said it was to keep you safe, but the safest spot is with that loud mouthed captain of yours. I’ll help you all get to safety.”

-He then told you all about the plot to kill Germa 66, so big Mom could take the technology for herself, to create weapons, and you realized that she was no better than the Germa 66.

-Sanji agreed to go through with the plan, as Katakuri could see, with his future sight, that shit was going to hit the fan tomorrow.

-You remained with Katakuri, to help with the plan, as Reiju, Sanji, and Sora went to rescue the others, telling them of the plan and the inside friend they now had.

-Luffy calmed, hearing that Katakuri was willing to help you all escape, but he agreed to go through with the plan, as they had their own inside man, with Capone Bege, who was helping arrange for the wedding to go badly.

-Sora was distraught to learn what Judge had done to their children, seeing what they had become, but knowing that Reiju and Sanji were good, and that Sanji had you, she was willing to do whatever it took to help where she could.

-Bege had the idea of her being a shock factor, to stop the Germa 66, if they tried to come after them during the fallout, something Reiju agreed to help with, as she was leaving to be with her mother.

-Sanji offered them a safe place with Zeff, whom he knew would take them both in, and they liked the idea of the easy life, working in a restaurant, one that helped raise Sanji into the man he was today.

-You were in Katakuri’s arms, wearing a pretty dress, one fit for a wedding, looking a little nervous as you watched Pudding, who you found out wasn’t as nice as she pretended to be, and Sanji up on the humongous wedding cake.

-Katakuri looked down at you, giving you a tiny squeeze, one that reassured you.

-Shit hit the fan and it hit it hard and fast when Luffy and the others launched their attack, shooting Mother Caramel’s photograph, sending Big Mom into a fit of anguish, one that would have hurt your ears, had Katakuri not put mochi in your ears prior to her losing it.

-Your eyes were wide as you saw Sanji saving his family, who had been encased in hard candy, so they could be easily shot, but he glared down at them as Reiju took his hand, “Never come after me or Y/N again!”

-Reiju beamed at them as they went to stand, to attack Sanji, demanding who he thought he was before a voice spoke up, “He’s my very normal human son!!” They all turned, seeing Sora there and eyes went wide, seeing her alive, realizing that you had brought her back to life.

-Judge looked so elated to see her, trying to approach but she popped off with the mother of all bitch slaps, sending him spinning as she glared hard, “Children are not weapons! I tried to teach you this then, and I’ll teach you this now! Why do you think they had no feelings being faced with death?!”

-Reiju grabbed her mother, hugging her close and took off, using her boots to skywalk, as they rushed for the ship Katakuri had prepared for them, as Sanji had called Zeff, letting him know what had happened and he agreed to take the two women in.

-Katakuri had to make it look like he was fighting Ace and Luffy, to keep up appearances, as they were pulled into the mirror by Brulée, who was in on the plot, willing to help Katakuri, and willing to help you, after you showed her such sweet kindness, one she had never felt before, getting everyone safely to the ship.

-Katakuri hesitated in handing you over, he didn’t want to let you go, Ace saw the look in his eyes and smiled softly, “You’re welcome to join us, if you want to.” Katakuri was startled by this offer, before he shook his head sadly, handing you to Brook, “No, my place is here with my family, just as you all belong together.”

-You caught his hand, surprising him as you beamed, “Don’t forget to come and see me, okay?” he chuckled softly, stroking his thumb down your cheek, before he left, retreating to his family.

-Your eyes were huge and sparkly, watching Carrot go Sulong, which was amazing to see, as you had never seen anything like it, but she was still Carrot, as she hugged you, rubbing her cheek against her own, once she took out several of the opposing ships.

-Ace held you on his shoulders, his hat on your head, as everyone managed to escape as Luffy beamed, “Onward to Wano!!”

-You threw your hands up, cheering with the others, wondering what awaited you on your next adventure!!

[gofu-kurself]

eddie can’t get it right. he’s really trying to figure out the riff to fucking, please, please, please—of all songs—on his guitar but it’s not clicking.

billy sits reading eddie’s copy of the hobbit on their shitty couch, sprawled on his stomach and kicking his feet like the secret cutie patootie eddie knows he is.

“close, munson. almost got it,” he says without taking his eyes from the book.

eddie can’t help but smile and throw his guitar pick at billy’s face, giving up on actually trying for now, “and how the fuck would you know what it’s supposed to sound like, hmm? you listen to sabrina now?”

eddie leers at the way billy’s neck slowly flushes a deep scarlet.

“fuck off munson, we both know steve doesn’t play shit else at the moment.”

“well then help me out sweetheart, what am i missing?”

billy finally turns his head away from the book and looks at eddie, “‘m not a guitar savant fuckass, you’re just missing the little,” he purses his lips and eddie can’t help but watch at the way his throat constricts around nothing as he hums, “m-m-mmmm-m.”

“ooooh right, right. the m-m-mmmm-m part. gotcha. yeah let me try that real quick,” eddie brings his right middle finger to the neck of his guitar and the other to strum pitifully at the strings.

“real mature,” billy says while raising his eyebrow.

“my wonderous humor is lost on you!!” he wails dramatically, no actual weight to the words, “stevie woulda been crackin his cute ass up at that move,” eddie pouts while continuing to slide his middle finger up and down the frets of his guitar.

“you don’t think this ass is cute?” billy says with a returned pout as he pops it out obscenely from where he’s splayed. he pretends to go back to reading.

“that ass is a public disturbance, and you know it,” eddie chuckles at himself, “well, maybe more of a private disturbance, if you know what i mean.”

billy keeps ‘reading’ his book, but eddie can see the way his broad shoulders shake a little from how he’s trying to keep his laughter under control, “nah munson, no idea. what ever could you mean? i think you’ll have to explain—or better yet, just show me?”

“oooo a kinesthetic learner. you wanna get educational, hargrove?”

“im alllll about the academics, baby” billy says through a smile as he wiggles his ass and the book in his hand simultaneously.

eddie sets his guitar down gently and slides off the kitchen chair he was perched on. he lets his knees thunk onto the soft rug of their living room, slowly digs his hands into the crinkly threads on the ground and lets his hips wave in an overly seductive way as he crawls toward the couch, “well, ya know. im so dedicated to academia that i stuck around for a few extra years.”

“ahh,” billy breathes out like he’s never been more bored, “so you can stick something somewhere? was starting to think you can’t do anything but run your mouth.”

eddie reaches the couch and just takes a big fucking chomp out of billy’s basketball shorts clad ass because 1) goddam and 2) he’s being a little bitch and needs to be humbled.

billy’s affronted whine and the way the book smacks onto the armrest makes eddie feel like he’s on fire. he grins into billy’s meaty upper thigh and hums the riff billy had so kindly taught him how to master on guitar.

“munson. i swear to god if you don’t get on me in the next five minutes im calling steve and telling him to leave the gym right fucking now cuz i need something—” he’s cut off with a heavy oof and the full weight of one eddie munson plastered along his back.

eddie hums please, please, please into billy’s skin and lips and dick while they fool around on the the couch until steve gets home twenty minutes later. he’s sweaty from the gym and breathing hard, like he ran home.

eddie looks up from where he’s perched on the carpet sucking billy off in surprise.

“oops, may have preemptively texted steve cuz i thought you were just sooo busy with guitar,” billy says all demure from where he’s reclined against the couch cushions, shirt rucked up to his armpits from eddie’s wandering hands.

“you think he’s more academically inclined than me?” eddie says as he stares and vastly appreciates the way steve’s weathered grey t-shirt sticks to his pecs with sweat. he moves his hand up and down billy’s cock as he beckons steve over with the other.

“cmon stevie, billy’s been such a good teacher while you’ve been gone. bet he can impart so much knowledge unto us.”

“the fuck did i walk into?” steve questions, mostly to himself, as he sheds his shirt and approaches the couch with a bitchy swagger that should be illegal. in eddie’s opinion.

“a learning experience—you’re lat—“ says billy before letting his head jerks onto the back of the couch with a huff as eddie licks a stripe up his dick.

“mmm sorry babes,” he jokes while squinting at his fancy sports watch thingy, that has numbers the size of the sun, “wont happen again,” steve laughs before planting himself next to billy on the couch. he draws billy into a heated kiss with one hand and runs the other into eddie’s hair to tug playfully at the roots.

and if eddie hums please, please, please while sucking billy off, and if steve starts humming along while marking up billy’s neck, and if billy cums while they’re doing it. well…that would just be the most darndest thing wouldn’t it???wouldn’t it????

[slippinmickeys]

Familiar (2/?)

“I am your familiar,” the man said.

Just like that. As if he were informing her the sky was blue or her boots were muddy.

Dana stared at him. Not blinking. Not moving.

Then, finally: “No. You’re a lunatic.”

The man didn’t react. He only leaned back against the tree, folding his arms like he had all the time in the world.

She unsheathed Bite once more, holding it up between them.

“Who are you, really?” she hissed. When he didn’t answer, she went on. “You’re a man. All men come from somewhere. Who are you?”

For the first time, something dark crossed his features. Not anger or aggression, but genuine sadness. Confusion.  

He pushed off the tree and she took a step back. 

“Do you know what a familiar is?” he asked. 

She licked her lips nervously. Of course she’d heard the stories. But that’s all they were–stories. 

“A witch’s…assistant,” she said, her voice a mix of distaste and insecurity. 

The man threw his head back and laughed. Not used to being wrong or laughed at, a sour feeling tipped into her belly and she felt a flare of anger. 

He seemed to sense this, and humbled his laugh, taking a breath and looking at her kindly. 

“Not quite,” he said. “A familiar is an entity or spirit that assists, protects and serves. We are magical allies, bound to our witch by spell, ritual or mutual choice. We are extensions of our witch’s power.”

Dana, still put off, laughed at him. “An entity or spirit?” she scoffed. “You look an awful lot like someone who will bleed when I put Bite through your belly.”

“I am that,” the man said, quite seriously. “But I’m other things, too.” 

A zip of something, fear, maybe–excitement–fizzed through her, unbidden. 

She swallowed. “A familiar,” she said, trying the word out on her tongue. “And you’re saying you’re mine?”

“I am.”

She scoffed, loud and sharp. “I’m not a witch.”

“You’re changing,” he said calmly. “Your blood called me.”

Dana froze—not visibly, not enough for him to see, but something inside her went still. Like a sudden breath held too long.

There was a faint… something. An echo. As though a harp string had been plucked deep beneath her skin, too soft to name, too strange to admit.

She didn’t like it.

Not the words. Not the feeling. Not the way it lingered for a moment too long, like a scent in the air she couldn’t place.

She forced it away, dragging her thoughts back into familiar terrain.

“My blood,” she echoed, her voice flat.

“Yes. You’ve come into power, whether you want it or not. And that power seeks what it’s been denied for too long.”

Dana snorted. “Well, it should’ve sent for a goat or a chicken. That would’ve been more believable than… whatever you are. And better eating, too.”

He smiled faintly at that, which only irritated her more.

“I don’t want magic,” she muttered. “I want a roof that doesn’t leak, boots that don’t blister, and to not be chased out of villages by people with pitchforks.”

“And yet,” he said, voice quiet, “here I am.”

She tightened her grip on Bite. “You’ve been following me for three days. I thought you were an animal.”

“You were right,” he said. “Just not in the way you assumed.”

Her expression soured. “That’s meant to be helpful?”

“No,” he said. “Only honest.”

The boldness of him unsettled her more than any threat. He didn’t leer. He didn’t posture. He simply was —present and unafraid, as if he’d been waiting for her to catch up to something he already knew.

She yawned, too tired for riddles. Her body ached, longed for rest. 

“I need sleep,” she snapped. “And I won’t do it with a strange man nearby.”

“I’ll stay by the door,” he said. 

“You’ll stay outside of it,” she said, something in her feeling unease at the thought of him with her in close quarters. A push. But also a pull…

Low in the distance, thunder rumbled. 

“You’d leave me outside in the rain?” he asked, tossing a look over his shoulder in the direction of what appeared to be a growing storm. 

Damn right she would. But before she could tell him so, he went on.  “When the sun rises, I’ll be gone.”

“Gone?” she asked, suspicious.

His mouth quirked again. “In a manner of speaking.”

Thunder rolled low and in the ever darkening sky, she could see the flashes of lighting. Mildred had raised her to be cautious. But she’d also raised her to be kind. 

She scowled. “If you so much as breathe in my direction while I sleep, I’ll gut you and feed you to the crows.”

He bowed his head, as if accepting a sacred vow.

Dana turned and walked toward the ruined cottage. The door hung crooked on its frame, but the walls held, and the hearth hadn’t collapsed. It was more than she’d had in days.

She crossed the threshold and dropped to the far corner of the room. Her cloak wrapped tightly around her, Bite resting across her knees. She kept her eye on him—this supposed “familiar”—as he settled cross-legged by the door, hands folded neatly in his lap like a monk.

She didn’t trust him.

And she sure as hell didn’t believe him.

A familiar? What nonsense. She wasn’t magical. She was unlucky. Unwanted. Raised by a goat-keeper who taught her how to gut rabbits and punch a soldier in the throat if he got too close.

Magic was fairy-story rot. The kind of thing used to excuse fear and fuel bonfires. The kind of thing shouted at girls who stood out too much or spoke too plainly.

Still, her eyes felt heavy. Her bones ached. Her hip throbbed from the fall. The weight of exhaustion finally tipped the scales, and she let herself slide down the wall until her eyes fluttered shut.

She dreamed of fire. Of rivergrass woven into impossible shapes. Of a voice she couldn’t place whispering her name again and again.

Dana.

Dana, wake.

When she stirred, the room was still dark, though she could see the hint of dawn through the thin thatch above her. Around her, the air felt changed. Lighter.

She blinked, sat up slowly.

The man was gone.

Her hand flew to Bite.

There, beside the door, curled like a sleeping ember, was a fox.

Its fur was thick and red—red like hers. Its ears twitched as it watched her, golden eyes calm and patient.

Dana’s breath caught in her throat.

It hadn’t come in through the door. There were no tracks on the floor. No sound had woken her.

The man had vanished.

The fox had appeared in his place.

She stood slowly, knees stiff, cloak falling from her shoulders.

The fox didn’t move.

It simply looked at her, head tilted slightly, as if waiting.

“No,” she whispered.

The fox blinked.

“This… this isn’t happening.”

She looked around the room, half-expecting someone to jump out and laugh. A cruel joke. A hallucination brought on by hunger and grief.

But no one came. And the fox remained.

She stared at it for a long, silent minute.

Then, slowly, she sank back to the floor and stared into the fireless hearth.

“I’m not a witch,” she said quietly.

The fox didn’t answer.

But it didn’t leave either.

[gaily-daily-musings]

Literally no one asked for the nursing home reverse trope and because I am upset I'm taking it upon myself to make y'all suffer

(I've decided to make it a senior community rather than a nursing home)

-

Obi-Wan is 55. An official senior. He hates it. It's awful. Quinlan won't stop making fun of him despite being older than him.

Despite his initial hesitation, the community is regretfully nice. Mace and Yoda and Qui-Gon are all welcoming. He never thought he would be reduced to this but when the divorce hit he'd lost the house. He'd been living with Quinlan for over a year and felt bad for taking advantage. Given his money situation, his options were reduced to a housing community for seniors. He'd heard about it through Qui-Gon who was on his pickleball team.

There's a young man (34) working there. A maintenance man named Anakin Skywalker. Anakin is quite handsome and very charismatic. The ladies will often flirt with him and giggle over his arms. It's all harmless fun. Normally Obi-Wan isn't one to leer, but goodness he was certainly striking.

Obi-Wan near has a heart attack one day when he witnesses Anakin in swim trunks attending the pool. Lord, he's never felt like such a lecher. He's not used to this. To looking. He's a monogamous sort of a man. Never cheated. Even when he and Satine started growing apart years ago he never wavered.

Obi-Wan starts working out more for no particular reason. He was always fit for his age but feels more self conscious than ever. He tries to tell himself he was just trying to stay healthy, but he knew he was lying to himself. He feels ridiculous. The hell was he doing? Anakin was just a nice man jokingly flirting with the elderly. It wasn't serious.

The center puts together an annual event for the residents. This year they decide the theme is “senior prom”. It's stupid. Quinlan talks him into RSVPing.

Anakin is invited by Maria, one of the ladies who is particularly forward in her intentions. Obi-Wan tells himself not to be jealous and fails spectacularly.

Throughout the evening Anakin dances with several ladies. Obi-Wan yearns from the sidelines. He tries to work up the courage to ask. He's not afraid of being rejected, he's just afraid Anakin will see he's being earnest. Did he even want to be taken seriously? Did he want to pursue something real?

Maria makes her way to Anakin again as I've Had The Time of My Life plays. She has no shame as she feels up Anakin's arms and strokes his chest. He takes it in stride and winks down at her. She laughs as they spin around the room.

Three songs later Obi-Wan contemplates slinking back to his room.

“Would you like to dance?”

Obi-Wan startles. He hadn't heard him approach.

“I…uh, y-yes…” he stammers.

He takes Anakin's hand feeling like a school boy. His heart flutters in his chest. He knows Anakin is just being nice, he's already danced with everyone else after all, but he can't help the blush on his cheeks.

Obi-Wan let's Anakin take the lead as he's unsure if he'll be able to keep his head on straight.

“Did you go to your school prom?” Anakin asks.

“Yes. With my ex-wife actually. You?”

Anakin smiles. “Coincidentally I went with my ex too.”

“I didn't know you were divorced.”

“Widowed.”

Obi-Wan winces. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. You didn't know. It was years ago anyway.”

They move slowly across the floor. Obi-Wan consciously keeps his hands where they are appropriate.

“So, any kids?”

“Twins. They're 13.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “I don't envy you. I remember when my son was that age. He went through a whole goth phase.”

Anakin laughs. It's beautiful. “Aw man, you would have hated me then. I was really into the goth scene as a teen.”

They keep talking and dancing. At some point Maria kindly asks for her date back and they reluctantly part.

-

They come across each other while Obi-Wan is visiting the local park. He sees Anakin walking a dog as his kids eat ice cream. He doesn't want to intrude on what is clearly a family outing. But then Anakin spots him and waves him over.

Anakin introduces his children.

“You're that old guy dad talks about,” Leia says.

Anakin flushes.

“Did you fight in a war?” Luke asks. “Do you have any battle scars?”

After the initial awkwardness and round of interrogation, Anakin asks Obi-Wan if he wanted to join them for dinner. Unable to find a reason to say no he accepts.

For the record, Obi-Wan isn't an idiot. Normally when a young person sought out the company of a significantly older person, it was because they were a gold digger. But Obi-Wan hasn't much money to offer. He doesn't have much of anything really. He recalls Anakin mentioning that he never knew his father. With a heavy heart he realizes perhaps that was why Anakin wanted to be around him. He was an older father figure to him. Of course that must be it.

After dinner Anakin tucks his kids into bed (or rather just Luke as Leia has outgrown that). Obi-Wan helps clean up. Anakin says he should stay. It was late and he didn't want to send him home like this. Besides he had work in the morning so they could go in together.

Anakin lets him have the bed and sleeps on the couch despite his protests. The next morning Anakin sees the kids off to school. Obi-Wan makes everyone breakfast as a thank you. Anakin then drives them to the senior community. Obi-Wan gets out and goes to his apartment.

He is unfortunately seen getting out of Anakin's car. Rumors fly. His friends crowd him for details. Obi-Wan tries to tell them nothing happened but nobody believes him.

On his 56th birthday his pickleball team takes him out to celebrate. Little does he know that Qui-Gon has invited Anakin. He shows up with a present. Its pink shorts with the word pickleball on the booty. Obi-Wan's face feels warm.

Soon Anakin has to leave to go pick up his kids from school. Now gone, Quinlan takes Obi-Wan aside to ask him when he's gonna make a move on Anakin. Obi-Wan thinks he's being insane. Never? Anakin wasn't interested? Now Quinlan looks at him like he's the insane one.

“He literally gave you booty shorts! He wants to see your thighs!”

“That was a joke!”

Quinlan sighs. He asks the table if they thought Anakin was into Obi-Wan. They all say yes immediately.

“I thought you were already dating?” Bant asks.

The next day Obi-Wan sees Anakin doing maintenance in the lobby. He starts up a conversation. It was so easy to talk to him. Far too easy.

“By the way, thank you for your gift yesterday. Though I'm not sure they'll fit me, they may be a little small.” He jokes.

“I dunno, I think they'll fit just fine.” Anakin deliberately looks him up and down, lingering on his ass.

Obi-Wan gulps.

-

Later Obi-Wan is doing some swim aerobics in the pool with Yoda and Qui-Gon. Yoda mentions having had a heart attack two years ago.

“Seize the moment, one must. Lest life passes you by.” he looks straight at Obi-Wan as he says it.

Obi-Wan blinks. He frowns. He really didn't appreciate his friends barging into his love life. He tells them so.

“What love life? You're single.”

Obi-Wan has no retort.

Is it so wrong to not want to burden a strapping young man with someone like him? Someone who is wrinkled and old and has nothing to offer?

After swimming Obi-Wan grabs a towel and heads off back to his apartment. It's just a short walk over to the building. On the way he spots Anakin between the hedges fixing a sprinkler. He pauses. He looks down at his protruding belly. The worst he could do is utterly humiliate himself and be forced to avoid Anakin the rest of his life. Or until he moves.

“Hi.”

Anakin looks up. He smiles.

“Hey.”

His eyes linger on Obi-Wan’s chest. He swallows. It gives him the boost of confidence he needs.

“I was just, um, wondering if perhaps you wanted to…have dinner again? I can cook.”

Anakin hums, “I can't this week.”

Obi-Wan nearly deflates. He tells himself it's not the end of the world. It's fine. He starts to retreat, backing up the way he came.

“Sorry, of course. I didn't mean to impose. Anyway, I have to head back but it was nice to see you.”

Anakin catches his arm. “Woah, I didn't say I didn't want to, just that this week is no good.”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“But next week I'm open? I can pop by after work. That is if you're up for it still?”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Yes I'd like that.”

Anakin's hand lingers on his arm. Neither wanting to pull away just yet. Obi-Wan clears his throat.

“What would you like? F-for dinner I mean.”

“I'm not picky. Surprise me.”

“Alright then.”

“Alright.”

From the sidelines, Qui-Gon, Mace, Yoda, Maria, and several others are watching from inside the pool center. Maria sighs forlornly. “Should have known he would steal him right out from under my nose.”

“I think it's sweet,” her friend Amanda says.

“Very sweet.” Yoda nods sagely.