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last-words-ofashootingstar · 2 months ago

Text

Allure

Part Three: Smoke

❥ Park Seonghwa x fem reader x Kim Hongjoong

Part One & Part Two

➯a/n: YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BEOOOOTCHESSS ITS HERE HOLD ONTO YOUR PANTIES. finally finally finally!! im so glad i got to write this, and if there's enough demand i'll spoil yall with pure smut of these three emotional wrecks 😎

✃ "This is home."

♫ "I don't smoke except for when I'm missing you." -Smoke, Mitski ♫ Allure Soundtrack ♫

✫彡wordcount: 13k (whoops)

(>ᴗ•)♡´･ᴗ･`♡genre: smut, yandere, a/b/o

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: i regret nothing GENERAL: alpha MATZ/omega reader, pack dynamics, family trouble, angst, heat induced illness, shmoking shweed 🍃, worshipping the moon, general werewolf things, briefly proof-read. SMUT: highlights include; hella dirty talk, heats and ruts, fingering, threesome, emotional sex, like seriously emotional on a soul level

⁂taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

ALLURE ⁂fic taglist: @potatomountain @spooo00oky @choichaeyiul @cheynalexilaiho @haven-cove @hwasbabygirl @gong-fourz @chaoticfloral @hyukssunflower @unlikelysublimekryptonite @tinybada

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

˚➶ ｡˚ PART THREE ˚➶ ｡˚

"You shouldn't smoke, y'know?"

The words slip up your throat and past your lips before you can stop them. That seems to be a common reoccurrence with your body now adjusting to having your blocker ripped out. You're starting to be less surprised with the thoughts that tumble out without your consent, but you still look a little shocked as you speak so plainly to the alpha.

"Sorry," you mumble, averting your eyes as Seonghwa looks directly at you while nursing the joint between his fingers.

"Why's that?" He asks tartly, a puff of the smoke rising into the air. It dances around his head as it slowly dissipates.

On the side of the road, you're sat on the edge of the concrete- with Seonghwa standing like a guard tower next to you. The van is just a few long strides away, and you can hear the chatter as San and Wooyoung fight about how to correctly change a tire.

"It's bad for you," you state simply, "for your lungs."

"I'm fine," he dismisses quickly, taking another long puff. "I'm a big bad wolf."

You huff out a laugh at his deadpan voice: so flat that you almost think he's serious, but when you look up at him you find a small smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, okay, talk to me when you're coughing up a lung," you joke as you go back to facing the field, locking your gaze as you feel him move to sit next to you.

His legs sprawl out further than yours into the grass as he mirrors your position, leaning his weight back on his hands and looking at the vibrant summer colors.

"Can I ask you somethin', Omega?"

You hate the way your wolf prances in joy when he calls you by your status. Nobody ever does that anymore, only to Alphas to show respect. "Sure?"

"Tell me about your past packs. I want to know everything."

He doesn't say it like a question, but he doesn't use his commanding voice. It's a small gesture, really it's the bare minimum not to force you to tell your story, but you're still grateful for the opportunity to think it over before you open your mouth.

You don't do so for a few slow moments, but when you do, you tell the truth to him. "I hated them, mostly."

That seems to peek his interest, he draws in his legs and rests his arms on his knees as he leans towards you, flicking his joint to the road before his eyes become unblinking even though you never meet his stare.

"In my born pack, I never felt like I fit in. I was the first Omega born in a while, the only one there even. They didn't bother to teach me about anything. How to nest, hunt, none of that. I wasn't involved in rituals or even taken to The Thing. My mom was okay, I guess. She loved me, but I guess not as much as she would have loved me if I were a different status... cause when I turned eighteen they threw me to the curb."

You still remember it clearly, the look of disgust on your older sister's face as she finally got to tell you how disappointing you were to the family of strong Beta's.

"But my last pack... I was a lot happier. Alpha Fairchild was very sweet. He took me in under his wing when he found me. He and his wife taught me how to nest, how to control my fangs and claws, how to present if I ever got a mate, stuff I should've know all along... There were other Omegas there but still, we were a little, uh, different I guess, from the rest of the pack. They didn't let us do rituals, but I did start going to The Thing every year with the Fairchilds."

He watches, owl-eyed, as you speak softly, committing every word to memory as he absorbs them.

"But-" You clear your throat before you can get choked up on your emotions, "they passed a couple years ago. A rouge broke out of the prison and decided that I'd be a good snack. My Alpha fought him but... but age was catching up to him, he wasn't as fast as he used to be."

His wolf whines internally as he sees a tear roll down your cheek, deep regret settling in his bones as he remembers how they mocked your late Alpha.

"His wife got sick when their bond was broken, and she never recovered. Told me I should lead the pack in their absence, but honestly she had a fever so high it could have touched the moon."

The silence between you is only broken by the far off voices of his pack.

That is, until he speaks. "You'll be a great leader."

"Yeah, right-"

"I'm serious."

You finally meet his gaze, and you can see the sincerity swirling in the dark brown of his eyes. "You will be a great addition to this pack. Selene knows what she's doing, doesn't she? Every member of this pack is a leader in their own right, and you're no different, Omega. By our side, you could rule the world if you wanted to..."

He cups your cheek with all the gentleness in his heart, thumb stroking your cheek bone as he continues, "you're already feeling it, aren't you? I saw the dents in your tub, no little Omega on blockers could cause damage like that." Your heart skips a beat as his hand trails down slowly, tracing his bite with the pad of his index finger. "Mind, body, soul, and wolf... I can feel you, just like I feel Joong. Can't you feel us?"

You can't believe your eyes as you see the first born Alpha tearing up, caressing your neck like you're a piece of ancient fine china that will shatter at the slightest bit of pressure.

"Can't you feel me?"

The sounds of the others become muffled to you as he rests his forehead against yours, a tender gesture that makes your wolf melt into his.

"We are what we are. Why do you fight it, Omega?"

The affectionate bond is broke when someone shouts, making you jump back. "Hey, love birds! We fixed it!" Mingis voice pulls you away from Seonghwa, and you scramble back to the van with a heat on your cheeks and a lot on your mind.

As you climb into the vehicle, you catch a glimpse of the oldest member. Exactly where you left him, unmoving until Hongjoong grabs his shoulder and snaps him from his trance.

He blinks a few quick times, and the tears and tenderness are gone by the time the van lurches to life.

˚➶ ｡˚

The farm house staring back at you is giant. Compared to your house that's a lifetime away, it may as well be a mansion that's been plopped down in the middle of nowhere.

The last few hours of the journey were awkward, more so than before your midnight rendezvous with Hongjoong and your mid-morning conversation with Seonghwa. So, you were grateful to be out of the cage on wheels.

Lia and Wooyoung immediately jump out of the van, running up onto the wrap around porch and into the tall door. San and Mingi follow after, carrying the small amount of bags: all but yours which is clutched to your chest as you gape at the house.

Under pretty much any other circumstances, you'd have been thrilled to start calling this place home. But Seonghwa places his hand on the small of your back, and you're reminded that this will most likely become the house that you're locked in for the foreseeable future; two criminal alphas and their pack along with them, trapping you.

Hongjoong arm finds its way around your shoulders. "Welcome home, Dolly~" He chimes while bending to kiss your head.

"You'll like it here," Seonghwa says in a much more lukewarm tone, "our pack isn't very big, but they'll respect you. You can have free rein of the estate, but if you try to pass the gates, you'll regret it." He moves his hand and grips the side of your head, kissing in a way that's akin to affection, to love. But it's much too forceful and piercing to your soul. Especially paired with his words.

"Alpha!" A deep voice comes barreling towards you, and you look up from the dirt to see the tall figure that accompanies it. "Thank goodness!" He tackles Seonghwa off of you, into a crushing hug. "Thank the moon! I was about to lose my mind," he chuckles, and you almost miss the small, fond smile on the alphas lips as he pats the man's back.

He turns and acknowledges you briefly with a hello and a bow before he gives Hongjoong the same treatment. He doesn't hide his glee like his other half does, he laughs softly and hugs him back just as tightly.

"Holding down the fort for us?" He asks as they release each other.

"Barely," he sighs before turning back to you, holding out his hand. "I'm Yunho, nice to- ow!"

"No touching." The brunette alpha groans, pulling you into his side possessively.

"Oh, of course! Sorry, sorry," he apologizes quickly, and while he's looking at you- it's clear that the apology is to his offended alpha. "Well, it's nice to meet you, we were all thrilled to hear."

"Yeah..." The small pinch on your side courtesy of Seonghwa urges you to continue, "thank you. Nice to meet you too."

"Well, uhm, Yeosang and Jongho are out by Greenes territory doing recon, why don't you both- sorry, you three all come in and get settled."

You're too anxious and swarmed in thoughts to care about what they're talking about, just tightly holding onto your bag as you follow behind Yunho and Hongjoong.

Your body doesn't seem to have trouble going up the stairs and onto the porch, but it halts at the doorway. You search the area visible to you. It's a warm looking home. Inviting. Lived in but not dirty. Decorated tastefully. It looks like a regular farm house. And that makes your stomach hurt, knowing that's far from the truth.

"Let's go, omega. Hot as fuck out here." Seonghwas voice from behind you startles you back to life, and your legs comply as he pushes you into the building gently as he can manage.

The slam of the door makes you flinch, holding your bag tighter to your chest.

When he yells, you twitch away, stumbling further into the home even though it's not directed at you. "Jesus, a man leaves for a few weeks and his house becomes a reck!"

"Sorry, man, we were kinda busy breaking you out from prison," San quips as he passes into the living room to your left.

"Hey, omega!" Hongjoong bounds up to you with his ever present manic glee, grabbing your hand and almost making your drop your only earthly possessions. "I'll show you around!"

The first floor is lively, everyone buzzing with energy from the alphas return. He shows you the day room, with a big colored tv which enamors you for a bit until you're drug to the large kitchen. He tells you that you have full access, but don't try anything dumb with the knives or they'll become off limits. There's a bathroom, a laundry room, and a door that has multiple locks on it. He tells you not to worry about that last one.

The second floor is a little more quiet. You only see Lia in the halls before she disappears into one of the many rooms. He opens up every door while he speaks a name. "Yunho," he explains at the room with a disheveled look, "hm, he needs to pick up before Hwa gets on his ass." The next door reveals a room with a huge bed and nearly nothing else, "Wooyoung." A room with a heavy smell which makes you shiver, "Yeosang," and you make a mental note to avoid that person when you meet them.

The next room makes up for it, the soft and comfortable smell of an omega washing away the fear briefly, "Mingi." The next room,which shocks you because, there's an obvious smell of a female beta, "Sannie and Cheonsa. She's probably outside tending to the animals." The next door is already open, and Lia waves to you. "Lia, as you can see," he waves back and leads you to the last door in the hall, "and her brother, Jongho."

"That's all of us! You'll get used to a full house soon," he grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs to the third and final floor. "This one's all us." You know he means you, him, and Seonghwa. Because there's not even a hint of any other scent besides them despite being in the same house.

It's overwhelming them.

It's one straight hall coming up the stairs, and behind them is a small open library area. One door is the bathroom. One is an empty room, save for a few boxes. You try to push away the quick remark he makes about making it into a nursery, but that makes your stomach hurt as well. The second to last in the hall is an office area with two desks, overflowing with stacks of paper and files. He says you don't have to worry about what they do in here, but you know it has to do with their 'line of work'.

The furthest door in the hall nearly makes you gag , but your wolf is howling and prancing excitedly. It smells, no, it reeks of the two alphas. He opens the door with a wide smile. A proud smile.

You step in hesitantly. There's an open door, a closet with neatly hung clothes over a set of drawers. "We'll make some room for your clothes as well. Next time I go to town I'll get you some, you didn't pack a lot." The bed side tables on either side of the enormous bed have a lamp and little things strewn on their surface. On the left is a walkman, a nail file, a framed photo that you can't quite make out from this distance. On the right is an ashtray, a small vase with fake flowers in it, and a half burned candle.

"You can make yourself at home, I promise. I know it will take a while to get comfortable... But you can make this place your own as well." He urges you forward and takes your bag gingerly. "I'll help you unpack."

It's not an offer, you quickly realize as he unzips the large duffel bag. You stand there anxiously in the middle of the room as he takes your things out and sets them on the dark grey comforter that knocks another wave of their mixed scent into the air every time he sets your things on it. "If you need anything too, don't be afraid to ask." He smiles over his shoulder at you. "You won't be going anywhere for a while, so let us know how to make you comfy!"

The nonchalant aura around him makes you angry. Acting like you're a prized guest, and like they didn't forcefully bond with you and drag you more than half way across the country.

He notices your tears before you do, pausing with your own walkman in his hands as he turns around. He discards it on the bed and fully turns to you.

With a sigh, he sits on the edge of the mattress. "Come here."

When you make no move to come forward, only standing still and crying with your head down, he uses his commanding voice. "Omega, come."

Your wolf nearly breaks her hind legs with the force she pushes you forward with. And despite your deepest anxieties and fears nagging at you, you find yourself standing between his knees. "Omega, look at me," he does it again, forcing your eyes to meet his with only his words. "You scared?"

"Yes..." It's barely above a whisper. But he catches it. You could whisper at the volume of an ant and he would catch it.

"Omega, tell me something that would comfort you."

You fight the words on your tongue, but it's useless. You're only grateful they haven't used that voice to do darker things. "I want to be home."

"Something else, omega."

"I want to nest."

"Stay."

He leaves you quickly, and your feet are rooted in place despite your pout. You blink away the remaining tears in your eyes, tired of crying over that which can't be changed. You're here. You're mated to two criminals. You're stuck in the middle of nowhere.

About seven internal wars later, he returns with his arms packed. "Here you go! Set it up wherever you like, Dolly."

He drops everything on the floor, and you hesitate to break his command of 'stay' before taking a step toward the pile and looking curiously.

"Can..."

He looks up from the pile, eyes eager, "hm?"

"Can I do it on my own...please?"

It's as if you can see the way his wolf's ears drop along with his eyes, but he nods nonetheless and takes a finally glance at you before he closes the door behind him.

˚➶ ｡˚

You wanted the corner of the room. Your wolf wanted the bed, arguing he said anywhere.

Halfway through building your saftey nest in the far corner, you get tired of her incessant howling.

You settle at the foot of the bed, building a small bed, just enough room for you incase they get ideas of joining you; they'd end up on the floor. You tuck your empty bag under your head, leaving your things where Hongjoong left them, too afraid to encroach on their space although they'd done much worse to you.

If you focus hard enough, you can smell the faint memories on the fabric. Smells that remind you of home. Smells that lure you to fitful sleep.

The sound of your soft, even breaths, reach Hongjoongs ears from his place in the office next door.

"She's asleep," he informs the others in the room quietly, followed by a threat, "wake her up and I'll kill you."

Yunho nods quietly, brining out a manilla file from his lap and setting it on the desk where Seonghwa is sat behind, and Hongjoong is sat ontop of. "Pictures of the Greene territory. Alpha's house is up on this hill, it's a good bit away but they'd hear any commotion, so we need to be in and out with whatever you've got planned."

Hongjoong leans over disinterested and glances at the developed photos. "How many in the house?"

"We've seen about six come and go, but Yeosang is out there now sniffing to pin point for sure."

The eldest wolf simply hums an acknowledgment, glaring at the photos of the large, smiling pack.

A silence drapes them gently while the leaders commit the layout to memory.

"So-"

"How-"

The beta bows his head, letting the elder speak first. "How many sales since we left?"

"About the same, some customers dropped when you guys' names hit the news. Only a few, though."

"Okay. What were you going to say?"

The brunette shifts in his seat, both of the alphas gazes now fixed on him, on his awkward heartbeat.

"About your mate... I don't mean to be crass-"

"Out with it." Hongjoong snaps, leaning towards him in an act of dominance, "what about her?"

Yunhos face drops, his back pressing into the chair, "do you really know that she's meant to be yours? She seems so... docile."

"You're questioning us?" Seonghwa grumbles, lip snarling upward, "has the few weeks of being in charge gone to your head?"

"No, no!" He shouts, quickly placing a hand over his mouth and lowering his volume, "no, Alpha... I'm just worried for her. It doesn't seem like she'll fair well here. She seems... a bit weak."

"She'll fair just fine, because we're going to take care of her. And you will as well. Everyone here is to treat her with the utmost respect and care. Yes, Yunho, we really know she's meant for us, ask something stupid like that again and you'll earn a trip to the basement."

"S-sorry," he pouts to himself, wiping it away before he looks up, "am I excused? I haven't slept well the past few weeks, I'd like to rest."

"Go," the alpha huffs, already beginning to sort through more papers.

"And be quiet in the hall!" Follows the second man, whispering loudly as the beta scampers away.

˚➶ ｡˚

A knock at the door is foreign. For you to hear, and for Seonghwa to do at his own door.

He doesn't get a response as you groggily lift yourself up, so he comes in anyways, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he sees your state.

"Dinners ready, we're waiting for you."

You blink up at him, and become brave as you shake your head.

"You aren't hungry? You need to eat, your heat is-"

"Do you all eat together?"

"We do, everyday except weekends. Wooyoung and Cheonsa are wonderful cooks."

"That's nice..." You sniff the air in attempt to find the wafts of food, but find nothing. With your senses, you can't smell anything other than the scents of your mates permeating in the wallpaper. "I'm not hungry."

"Come on, let get you some-" He reaches forward to your small nest, where you cower back even more, cutting him off-

"I don't want to."

A mute moment falls between you as he stares down at you, and you down at the floor. When you dare look up, your gut fills with regret.

His lip is snarled up on one side, canine on display and eyes glinting dangerously in the filtered light from the curtains.

You immediately lower your head, moving at a snails pace as you roll onto your side, then your knees, kneeling in your small nest. "Please, Alpha, I don-"

"You don't get a free pass to be disrespectful just because you're my mate. Pack dinner is non-negotiable, Omega. Do you understand?" You hear the movement from him, but you don't dare look at him again.

"Yes..."

Another beat of silence.

A pregnant pause.

His gaze burns your soul as he takes in every inch of you.

Your trembling fists at either side of your folded legs. Your lowered head, bites on both sides of your neck. Submitting to him so easily, making yourself small as you kneel on the little nest you've built in his space. Already smelling like him and his mate just by napping in their room.

He almost doesn't want to let the heavenly scent of you be tainted by leaving the room.

Almost.

You yip quietly as he tugs you up by your bicep, head still hanging low as you tune out his grumbling. He's careful going down the stairs, watching your feet closely as you descend.

His grip doesn't go away until you're standing infront of the table.

"Oh my gosh!" A sweet and soft voice coos, and it's quickly followed by the warm embrace of two hands cupping your face. Both calloused and gentle as a spring breeze, the caressing makes you open your eyes wearily.

The woman holding your face and smiling up at you immediately calms your anxious jitters, and your wolf is drawn into a sense of safety- one that feels like Hyolyn or Chungha, in a way. Like a fellow woman you could lean towards.

She has shining grey eyes that crinkle with her smile and brown fluffy hair. "Oh, she's so cute!" She coos softly, petting your cheeks in a way that makes you simultaneously confused and comforted.

"No touching, Cheonsa," Seonghwa chuckles from behind you, making the woman pout briefly as she steps back.

For a moment, you wonder why he was less stern with her- but your curiosity it settled when her round belly comes into view. You blink at it a few times before you hear her laugh.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to stare!" You move to bow, held upright by the man as the laughter spreads to the seated members of the pack.

"It's okay, she's pretty big, huh? I'm only six months, she must take after her dad." She cradles her stomach as she moves away to take the seat next to the buff beta. He has an air of proudness around him as he smiles at her. "Sit down, dear, we won't bite."

You rush to take the seat next to her, instead of the one next to Hongjoong and the unfamiliar man with green hair.

Despite the fact that she couldn't have been much older than the rest of you, she had a motherly aura that made you feel less like you wanted to dive out of the nearest window.

Seonghwa takes the seat you had passed up, giving Hongjoong a chaste kiss to the head which makes the smaller alpha beam.

The table is octangular and a bit cramped, but nobody seems to mind besides you. Though you won't voice your thoughts, you won't even look up until prompted. Across from you, Hongjoong speaks while reaching over and handing you a plate, "we all serve one another during dinner, it's our own little ritual of respect."

He begins loading the plate with a multitude of foods, a comfortable silence in the room. Comfortable for the pack, at least. You're starting to get restless as you watch his fingers effortlessly maneuver the serving chop sticks.

Your eyes go up his arm and scan the tattoo on his inner arm before you finally land on his face. He has a smile on his lips. One that's not manic or worn with an edge. One that says he's content, happy.

He gestures you to set the plate down, and hands you the chopsticks after you do so. "Serve anyone you like, Doll," the glint in his eyes clearly says he hopes you chose him, or Seonghwa even.

You take a moment to survey the circle.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa, who you won't serve for a list of reasons. The green haired man with an aura that almost seemed quiet, until you caught a whiff of his scent. Yeosang, your wolf connects as you remember the smell of the room you saw in your brief tour. San and Cheonsa, who you assumed wanted to serve one another. Wooyoung, Mingi, and Lia already had plates- apparently having served one another before your arrival. That left Yunho, who avoided your gaze, and a short and unfamiliar but strangely comforting man.

With everyone else accounted for, this must be Jongho. He doesn't smell like a werewolf, upon a further sniff. Similar to Lia, in that way. Actually, similar to Lia in a lot of ways. Soft features, brown eyes and hair, chubby cheeks. Was he unfamiliar? You felt like you'd seen him before. Maybe in a news paper or something reporting the groups crimes-

"Omega," Seonghwa hums, breaking your staring contest with the unwilling participant.

"Sorry..." You took a deep breath and decided on Yeosang. If he was as scary as his scent came off as, it'd be best to show him some respect and get on his good side. You shakily clench a piece of meat in the chopsticks and hold it out in offering.

He sits up straight and holds his plate up with both hands, seemingly surprised that you picked him out of any other open plate.

The alphas seem similarly surprised, watching as you fill the other man's plate before carefully handing over the chopsticks.

He makes quick work of filling Seonghwa's plate, almost as nervous as you as the alphas glare at him. Hongjoongs glare quickly falls into a childish pout, turning to face your lowered head. "Why him?" He drags out.

"Uh?" You look up with wide eyes, "I dunno... He has cool hair."

Wooyoung cackles at the bewildered faces of the leaders, and the noise makes smiles spread across the entirety of the table.

˚➶ ｡˚

The smell of lust is that of overly salted caramel butterscotch.

Seonghwa's is, at least.

You bury your nose deeper in the fabric of your bag and whine.

It's the dead of night, completely silence in the house. Darkness only broken by the moon filtering in through the windows. And you haven't gotten a wink of sleep.

The smell of the room keeps your rowdy wolf rolling on her back and exposing her underbelly, begging for her mates. And it doesn't help that the sources keep it fresh and wafting. And it especially doesn't help that the elder alpha seems to be having a wet dream.

You -against your best judgment- hold onto the end of the bed frame and peek your eyes over.

Hongjoong is laying face down with one of your few pieces of clothing under his head, half under the blanket.

Seonghwa is completely above the covers, on the other side of the bed and leaving a gap between them that they clearly left for you to fill.

The sight of him makes you slick — slicker, that is.

Only in his boxers, one leg bent to the side, tattooed fingers resting idly over the tent that-

"Hm? 'Mega?" He hums sleepily, blinking down at you.

You duck back into the false safety of your nest, breathing heavily like you just ran a marathon. Over the fast thrumming of your heart, you hear the bed creak ever so slightly. His steps, in reality are soft and somewhat clumsy from his newly woken state, but they feel like little individual earthquakes to you.

"What are you doing awake?" He asks quietly, sniffing the air curiously. "Aww," he reaches and pats your head softly, earning a sound that you rarely ever heard yourself make. You purred.

His smile was soft and earnest as he pets your head, taking a knee just outside of your little safe haven. "You need help?"

Yes! Your wolf wants to scream. Desperately, yes!

You shake your head, no.

He hums, clearly not convinced. His eyes trail down your body and to the little bed you've made. "That can't be as comfy as a bed, can it?"

You don't answer, simply staring up with wide eyes.

"Come lay with us, just until we can get you a mat or something and make your nest more comfortable, yeah?"

You can't lie to yourself, and you certainly can't lie to Seonghwa with his senses that listen to your heartbeat and pick up on every flutter of your eyelashes. Maybe it will help you sleep. You need a good night of rest.

"Okay..."

˚➶ ｡˚

The first floor is a hive of activity, people to and from and here and there. A multitude of barely familiar scents mixing together. The clink of cutlery and the distant hum of voices.

You're thankful that Seonghwa didn't drag you down like he did last night, they allowed you to come at your own pace; and if any of them notice you standing at the bottom of the stairs (they do), they don't say anything.

"Why don't you get something to eat?" A soft suggestion comes from behind you. Lia, you turn to see. "We won't bite," she jokes as she slides past you.

Unfortunately, you think, you do bite.

You follow loosely behind her, taking a small bit of the food off the serving plates before standing awkwardly in the doorway.

The chatter stops slowly and you can feel their eyes on you, but you try your hardest to ignore it as you over-think where to sit.

Over the open seat between Hongjoong and Yunho, you choose the one between Mingi and Jongho.

"How'd you sleep?" Cheonsa asks over the silence, clearly trying to break the ice.

"Fine, thank you... and you?"

"Oh, I was up and down all night — baby is acting I owe her money, kicking me like that," she laughs, bringing a small smile to your face.

The chatter between the pack members returns, and you keep mostly to yourself as you eat.

"- so he wants to see us in person to clear things up, shouldn't take us too long," Seonghwa says as he stands, catching your attention. He comes around the table to stand behind you and you freeze.

It's quiet again, the members know better than to talk over their leader; especially when he has the stern look on his face.

Your chair scrapes against the tile as he pulls you back, only a little bit.

He slides his finger tips down your jaw and under your chin, tilting your head to look up at him. "Will you be okay while Hongjoong and I take care of some business?"

You nod, hesitantly. You'll obviously be okay. But your wolf doesn't want them to leave.

"I'll be fine," you force out a verbal response and he hums approvingly.

Before he backs away though, he comes closer. Close enough to peck your lips gently, before backing away quickly and taking his plate to the kitchen.

Hongjoong is on you next, and he seemingly forgot the meaning of "privacy", as he shamelessly grabs your hair and tilts your head to meet his eager lips. You jump in shock, although you don't try to pull away as he licks your tongue a few good times before finally pulling away.

"Ooooh~" Wooyoung whistles, cut off by a hit to his chest from Mingi, "ow! Dickhead!"

Their bantering is lost on you as Hongjoong speaks, "be good, Dolly."

You face your plate once more as you feel your ear heating up with embarrassment- and something else.

From the door, you hear Seonghwa shout, "Yunho, you're in charge!"

Thankfully, the remaining members leave you to your own devices again as everyone finishes up, slowly filtering out and leaving you at the table on your lonesome.

And you sit there. For a long time, you just sit. And you think. And then, you begin to cry.

Because it's only been an hour. And you find yourself missing your alphas.

You keep your noise to a minimum for the sake of the wolves that you can hear in the other room, but one thing slips your mind.

There's another alpha in the house, and he can smell your scent turning sour.

Within seconds, he's snuck up on you, a frown on his face at the smell of an upset omega.

"Hey..." Yeosang whispers as he pulls out a chair one away from you, slowly sitting so as not to spook you.

You mumble out a small, "sorry," as you try and wipe your flowing tears, turning away from him.

"Do you, uhm, do you wanna talk about it?"

"What?"

He looks around the room like he's never seen it before just to avoid your gaze.

You sigh before looking back down at the table you've stared at for more than an hour.

Silence.

Painfully awkward silence and the stench of tears.

A low grumble comes from his throat, seemingly without his knowledge because his eyes widen and he bows his head with an apology. "Sorry, sorry," he rambles, "I'm sorry, my wolf just hates when others are sad."

"Sorry..." You sniff, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Oh, no, no! Uhm, you know what, can I-" He holds his hand out, "can I just? May I?"

You look down at it cautiously, eyebrows screwed up in confusion, but your wolf tells you to take his hand. And so you do.

He wraps his fingers around your hand gently and holds it, and you slowly do the same.

Even more confusion paints itself on your face as your sadness fades into a dull tug in your heart strings. "How are you doing that?" You blurt out.

"I'm from a pack of healing wolves, it's just second nature to us." He says in a soft tone, something sad in his eyes.

"Thank you, Yeosang," you say simply.

The sadness is gone when he smiles up at you.

˚➶ ｡˚

The alphas return sometime in the night, as you sit on the porch with Cheonsa and Lia, talking about simple things and listening to the bugs chirp.

"Welcome back!" Cheonsa says before you even notice they're approaching.

"Ladies," Hongjoong greets with a playfully bow.

"Everything good here," Seonghwa asks more formally, leaning over you and scenting your head.

"Yup, all quiet here."

"Good. Could you give us a moment with our mate, please?"

They're up and into the house before he even finishes his command, leaving you alone with them in the dusk breeze. You greet them with a small smile, and a simple, "you're back."

"What, you expect us to abandon you?" Hongjoong jokes as he sniffs the air, a look of distain quickly overcoming his smile,"hey-!"

"You smell like Yeosang, why?" Seonghwa interjects with a cold glare, both of their stares making you shrink up.

"Oh, he helped me-"

"Helped you?!" The blonde pounces on you and sniffs all over, trying to pinpoint the smell and letting out a growl as the wind prevents him from doing so. He pins your wrists to the wooden porch and moves his nose all along your neck and chest.

"Not like that!" Your wolf whines at the mere thought of another alpha- another wolf touching you so intimately.

Hongjoong pauses, and so does Seonghwa who was about to rip the door open to get to the man you smelled of. From above you, the younger tilts his head, his grip lessening enough for you to hold out your hand — where the smell is most potent.

"I was crying, so he held my hand and did some healing stuff I don't totally understand, but it helped," you explain quickly, hoping to save Yeosangs head from winding up on a stick.

"Aw, why were you sad?" Hongjoongs tone flips immediately as he helps you sit upright, dusting the dirt off of your back. Seonghwa sits down next to you both, ignoring all the furniture in favor of being on your level.

"Cause I- my wolf, she missed you..." You admit with a hushed voice, shifting under their intense eyes.

Something hits them after you say that. Hits their noses.

Underneath Yeosangs strong alpha scent is you. More specifically, your arousal.

"Oh," Hongjoong smirks, "she missed us, huh?"

"Come." Seonghwa stands up quickly and grabs the door knob before turning back and picking you up, slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of feathers, "not fast enough." He growls as he opens the door, ignoring your (light) protests, and ignores every thing and every one else as he carries you through the house and up the stairs; all the while Hongjoong follows with a aura of... something that can only be described as manic hunger.

You land on the bed, and the brunette is above you before you even know what's happening. He straddles your chest and grabs your hand; grimacing at the smell of another wolf on you before nuzzling his cheek all over it. You almost gape at the sight of him rubbing against your hand like a cat, but his blond paramour distracts you — tugging away your pants with one fell swoop.

You gasp as your slick soaked panties are exposed, the cold air that hits you has no business feeling so good. You cross your legs with an embarrassed whine, only for them to be pried right back open.

"Don't hide, Dolly~" Hongjoong coos, trailing his nails up your legs teasingly.

"They'll smell i-"

"Let them."

You can't argue with them, not when they've got you this worked up over such simple things. You take a deep breath before you do something you haven't in a long time, you let your wolf drive all of your actions.

You take your wrist out of Seonghwa's control and slide it all along his neck, allowing yourself to purr as the foreign scent is overwhelmed by your mates.

And overwhelmed it was, completely washed away and replaced by the mixed scents of the duo by the end of the night.

˚➶ ｡˚

The next day, breakfast goes about the same. It's less awkward, more flowing conversation. It's just you, your alphas, and San by the time a car horn blares outside.

"Ah, that's Jongho, he's taking us to Greene's territory so we can finalize our plan," Seonghwa speaks as he reaches across the table and goes to put more food on your plate.

"Oh, I'm not hungry," you shake your head with a polite hand out to stop him, "thank you, though."

"You've barely eaten," Hongjoong points out with a frown, looking up from where he was filing his claws. He points with one of them dramatically, "you eat. You're still in heat."

"Maybe it's settled down, I don't have much of an appetite."

"But we still haven't knotted y-"

"I'll take your plates! You should get going!" You cut him off with a heat rising in your cheeks, "you have zero tact."

"That's not a word!" He yells after you before looking toward Seonghwa, who's clearly just as confused and concerned. "Is that normal?" He turns to San, "no, right?"

"No, heats don't just go away, especially fresh off of blockers and fresh mated." San has a thoughtful look, watching as you clean the plates.

"Keep an eye on her," Seonghwa orders the beta, taking one last glance at you before leaving.

˚➶ ｡˚

You sit up with a sharp cry, tumbling off of the bed and onto the hardwood as you continue to fight your nightmare.

Downstairs, Yeosang flinches from the loud noise; dropping the basket of eggs Cheonsa was handing over.

Yunho, the designated leader in the alpha's absence, snaps into action. He leaps from his place on the couch and dashes up the stairs, telling commands all the while. "San, Wooyoung, check the borders! Cheonsa, hold up in the basement! Everyone else check the house!"

Immediately, two wolves are above you. In your nightmare induced panic, you don't register that they are Yunho and Mingi.

You slap away the hands that come towards you, fighting yourself into the corner, where you pull your knees to your chest and hide.

"Hey..." Yunho whispers slowly, lowering himself to your level, "hey, you're okay." He takes a shaky breath and lets it out as a sigh. "Mingi, go and get some water, will you?"

With a nod, Mingi is running to carry out his orders.

As your panic subsides, pain fills its place. A deep pinch in your stomach and a wave of unbearable heat across your entire body. You look around with wide eyes, searching for your alphas.

"Where-" you double over and groan, claws digging into the nightstand, "alpha?"

"I don't- I don't know, they were supposed to be back-"

"Where is my alphas?!" You bare your teeth at him, forcing a growl back down your throat as you see the kind man flinch. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Yunho. But something is wrong!" You wail as a pain akin to being punched in the stomach hits you.

"Yeosang!" It's your turn to jump as he yells out the open door.

Your cries carry through the home, nothing but raw panic and pain.

You see a blur of green, but that's all before your blurry vision gives out and leads you into darkness.

˚➶ ｡˚

"Heat build up? I didn't even know that's a thing..." Wooyoung sighs, leaning against the doorway of the alphas bedroom.

You're laid on the bed in a fitful unconsciousness, Mingi and Cheonsa working carefully to build a nest around you out of your mates clothes. "It's horrible," Mingi whispers, "I had it once, I should have seen this coming..."

"It's no one's fault," Cheonsa contrasts, leaning back and resting her hands on her belly. "It's a messy situation."

"Yeah, you could say that again," Lia quips with a pout as she turns a fan to face you.

"I can't heal it?" Yeosang asks again, biting at the skin around his nails.

"No," San and Mingi both reply, and the ladder continues; speaking from experience, "she needs to mate to get rid of it."

"Where the hell are those knot heads?" Wooyoung grumbles, fishing in his pocket. He pulls out a blunt and a lighter earning a look from Cheonsa.

"Is now really the time?"

"I'm stressed out, okay?!"

Your nose twitches in your sleep as he lights it, and as he begins to smoke it, your eyes peek open with a hopefully groan of, "Seonghwa?"

"Hey, sweetie," Cheonsa greets you softly as you wake, "how are you feeling?"

You curl up on your self and look for the source of the familiar smell, eyes landing on Wooyoung. "What is that?"

"Ah, weed?" He answers like it's a question.

"Want it, please?" You whine, eyes filling with tears. Seonghwa isn't here. Hongjoong isn't here. This is the next best thing, in your pain addled mind. Maybe it will taste like their kisses.

"Yeah, yeah of course," he approaches slowly and carefully hands it over, all of them watching as you hesitantly wrap your lips around it and breathe in. You barely get enough to have it on your taste buds, but it's enough to trick your wolf into believing it's one of Seonghwa's fleeting pecks or Hongjoong's dominating french kisses.

And that's enough to put you back to sleep for the time being.

˚➶ ｡˚

When you wake again, you can't stand the heat of the house; even with windows open to let in the breeze and a fan pointed at the sweat-soaked bed.

You allow San to carry you outside, although his touch burns your body. The relief of the cool summer breeze on your heated skin is worth it.

You lay on the porch, tucking a jacket that smells equally like the alphas under your head.

"Where are they..." You whine as another wave of pain settles in your gut, "they said it would be quick, they've been gone all day!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll be back any time."

"How can you know that?"

"I know them."

You leave it at that, listening to natures nightlife in silence between other members of the pack coming to check on you.

It must be hours later. Others stopped coming and going a bit ago. The moon is high in the sky.

Even the bugs seem quieter.

"What the fuck is that smell?!" A bellowing shout nearly had you breaking your jelly-like bones to stand.

"Alpha!" You nearly screech, diving right into Seonghwa, wrapping your arms around him and scenting all over his chest — the dry blood splatter completely lost on you.

"Omega-" He can barely get a word out before you change targets and give Hongjoong the same treatment, also completely ignoring Jongho.

"Where the hell have you been?" San sighs a breath of relief, slumping in his chair where he'd faithfully been watching over you through all the hours of the night. "She has heat build up, she scared the shit out of us!"

"Greene spotted us so we improvised, took him out on the spot but his men blew our tires- heat build up?" Seonghwa's eyes darken, looking over to where you cling to Hongjoong.

His mixture of adrenaline, bloodlust, and the effects of his upcoming rut proves to be a deadly combination.

He snatches you from the younger alpha and growls as he pushes you to the wall of the house. "You stupid omega, I should have knotted you the second I was free. Do you know how dangerous heat build up can be?"

San shrinks up on himself as he hears the rumble in his leaders voice, quickly entering the house and gesturing for Jongho to follow.

"Dolly," Hongjoong begins with a similarly dark tone, "are you finally ready? Just say the word and we can make it all better~."

"Oh, please, yes-" Your words turn into muffled moans as Seonghwa's lips collide with yours roughly. He tastes like copper and cinnamon sugar as he forces his tongue into your mouth. You gladly grant him entrance, closing your eyes and opening your mouth to kiss him back just as passionately.

Hongjoong slides behind you, sandwiching you between them. The aching in your body is beginning to melt into a deep longing, a burning primal urge. A loud moan comes up your throat and into Seonghwa mouth as Hongjoong slips a hand into your shorts.

You blink your eyes open as Seonghwa pulls away, his eyes deep red and his claws cradling your face. "Why'd you stop?"

"You taste like smoke," he observes, his hips having a mind of their own as they press to yours; subsequently grinding his bulge against Hongjoong's hand that's toying with you.

"It tastes like you, I missed you," you admit plainly, which earns a smirk from him as he looks down at the way your hips grind subconsciously.

"Poor Omega," Hongjoong purrs from behind you, "you're soaking my hand, this all for us?" You whine a 'yes' as his hand leaves your heat, watching closely with wide eyes as he brings his dripping fingers to the older alphas mouth.

He takes the offering, eagerly. Licking and slurping your essence from every bit of his hand, moaning all the while you continue to watch and grind.

"Please, Alpha," you cry, claws slicing his shirt as you clings to him and pull him closer. He either ignores or doesn't notice your pleas until you whimper, "mate."

His tongue pauses, as does the fingers prodding at it. Both of them are on the same wavelength, working wordlessly in tandem. Seonghwa lifts you by your waist, allowing Hongjoong to easily swoop you up into a bridal hold.

He looks down at you as he carries you quickly to the room, smiling almost wholesomely. "What a pretty mate Selene gave us~."

He lowers you into the mess of clothes on the bed, the nest you'd fixed up between fits of unconsciousness. The sound of fabric slicing makes you jump, and you notice then that Seonghwa has ripped your clothes from top to bottom in one single swipe. They work together to completely rid you of your clothes, one lifting while the other pulls away the torn fabric that offends them by shielding your body. Like they've done this a million times before, they work in fluid unison. And you simply let them, watching and admiring.

You whine once more as Seonghwa stands, beckoning him to come back. "Shhh," Hongjoong shushes you gently, lowering himself to lay next to you. He drapes a leg around yours, prying your legs further open. "Don't you worry, Dolly," he leaves soft kisses all over the side of your neck — his side, he thinks. He laps over the healing mark he's left while his hand finds your wetness once again. "Your mates will take good care of you."

With no resistance at all, two of his fingers find their way inside of you, curling right up on that spongey spot that makes you gasp as stars fill your vision. "Hongjoong!" You let out his name in a shaking howl as he keeps his fingers pressing against that beautiful bundle of nerves, slowly harder and harder and- "fuck!" You cry as a wave of pleasure crashes into you.

You barely hear Seonghwa chuckle over your own panting and whining, Hongjoong similarly letting out a soft laugh as he wraps his free arm around your shoulders.

You blink your blurry eyes, letting the blondes face come into focus above you. "Feeling better already, 'Mega?"

"M-more," you whisper needily, humping down on his fingers with reckless abandon.

"Don't you worry, gorgeous," Seonghwa comes into your view from the other side of the bed, making the mattress dip and drive you further onto the fingers that scissor inside of you. "We'll give you more, give you everything you need. You want a knot, hm?"

He coos darkly as you nod desperately, eyes widening as you take in his naked figure, "knot, yes! Yes, yes, please!"

"You want two knots?" Hongjoong muses, slipping another finger into your core with close to zero effort, making you arch your back to try and suck him deeper.

"Need them! I need you!" Your words are jumbled and fast, but they latch onto every syllable and commit them to memory.

"Hmm~" Seonghwa blinks at you with his red eyes burning into your soul, and you don't look away. "Can a little Omega like you take a rutting Alphas knot?" His words are teasing, but make you pout all the same.

Hongjoong is giggling like he's watching a comedy, like he's not bringing you ever closer to another orgasm, as you babble and beg. "I can! I can! Please, Seonghwa!"

"I might break you-"

"Oh, do it! Please!"

He trails his claws across your cheek with an adoring glint in his eyes before he speaks, "how can I say no to that?"

With the promise of his knot, you let your pleasure crest once more, digging your own claws into the fabric below you as you mewl loudly.

You distantly feel Hongjoong withdraw, a soft grumble of protest leaving you as his body warmth disappears. It's quickly replaced by Seonghwa's as he climbs ontop of you. A soft tap on your cheek makes you realize you've closed your eyes, and you peek them open to face him.

"This is your last chance to back out, Starlight," the new nickname makes your head spin and your heart flutter. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes flicking between red and brown. "Once I'm inside of you, my wolf won't let me stop."

Hongjoong climbs back onto the bed with his clothes discarded, settling himself behind your head. He gently pets Seonghwa's messy hair back, gazing between the two of you.

"I need-" You stop yourself when your wolf corrects you, "I want you." You peek to the other alpha, "both of you. I have to have you."

"And have us you will," Hongjoong leans and kisses Seonghwa, making the man lurch forward to kiss him back passionately. You moan softly as you watch them, finding yourself clenching around nothing. "Elders first," he pulls back with a teasing quip, tracing down his neck to the years old mark, "unless you want me to-"

"I will throw you out the window," Seonghwa deadpans.

"Fair enough," Hongjoong chuckles before leaning back to give him space. Even he knows when to stop poking the proverbial bear. That bear, in this instance, being an alpha in a rut — a first born, at that. He may be his mate, but so are you, and he knows his wolf is fighting tooth and claw to knot with the pretty omega that bares his mark; because his wolf is too.

"C'mere," Seonghwa growls deeply, yanking you to the middle of the bed by your hips and making you yelp in surprise. "You're gonna be a good mate, take it all?" You nod quickly, desperately, wiggling your hips.

He groans as he has to lean down to rub his tip against your weeping heat, eyes flicking as his wolf howls for a better position. He has to stop himself from moving too quickly, claws still out and proud. He tenderly grabs the back of your thighs before ruthlessly folding you in half and bringing your hips up to what he deems an acceptable level.

You let out a fleeting gasp, quickly replaced by a sigh of relief as he pops his tip into your awaiting hole.

"Hold her," he orders as his eyes trace every inches of your body.

Hongjoong quickly complies, warm hands squishing down on the back of your thighs with a purr. He watches with eyes taken over by black as Seonghwa inches his hips forward; cherishing and savoring every slow moment as he fills you with a snaillike pace.

You're sure you'll explode from the pure euphoria that races through your body as he stretches your walls, making you moan and whine and flutter around him.

As his hips finally still, a deep rumbling sound comes from the depths of his chest.

You, in all of your pleasure filled delirium, don't notice it as you pant and moan, sucking in sharp breaths as you feel your core molding itself to fit him perfectly.

Hongjoong, however, has his ears tuned in to pick up on any little noise either of you make; so he lifts his head from its place in the crook of your neck to be sure he isn't hearing thing that aren't there.

You let out a soft whine as his body warmth leaves its place by your side, and similarly look up to the eldest alpha.

You blink up at him and tilt your head; and another deep rumble comes from the man.

"Baby," Hongjoong glances at Seonghwa's blissed out face, his eyes sparkling, "you're purring?"

He says it almost like a question, but it's most certainly a statement. The sound is weak and clumsy, but it's undeniably purring.

"Shut up," Seonghwa growls between his teeth, breathing heavily. He places his clawed hands over Hongjoong's, pressing your legs to your chest rougher. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his head against your calf, another purr leaving his inked neck.

"Seonghwa?" You whisper, making his eyes snap open.

He looks completely enraptured, like he's almost forgotten where he is, as he rakes his eyes over you once again.

"I was right, I should have done this a long time ago."

"Wha- oh fuck!" You shriek as he suddenly and without warning begins to pound into you. Your feet sway and bounce, your back arches off the bed, your jaw pried open with embarrassingly loud sounds of carnality. You bring both of your hands to your mouth to dull your noises, the heat on your face now burning all the way to your ears as the realization dawns on you that all the members of the pack might very well be woken up by the sound of the alphas ravishing your insides.

The both of them growl, Seonghwa much louder than Hongjoong; who moves to grab your wrists.

He pauses his rhythm to lean over your folded up figure, slotting himself under your legs so that they rest on his shoulders, as Hongjoong pins your hands above your head. "Don't you try and hide from us," he groans deeply, sniffing at your neck. "Aww, she's embarrassed," he looks down at you while chuckling darkly, "don't be embarrassed, Love."

Your jaw drops as he starts his movements again, this time slow and intentional. "They all know you're in heat," he hums into your jaw before giving it a teasing lick. He leans up to gaze down at you, nails digging into your skin as he holds himself back.

"And they all know we're fucking~" Hongjoong adds with a smirk as he traces one of his hands all the way down your body, "might as well let them know how well we do it, right, Alpha?" He meets eyes with Seonghwa, and the onslaught of pleasure returns ten fold.

Seonghwa is pumping into you ruthlessly, the sound of wetness and skin on skin echoing with your wails of elation. Hongjoongs nimble fingers play with your clit like he's an expert on your body. And all you can do is writhe and moan; trapped beneath them in a whirlpool of lust.

"Please, please, please," is the only word in your vocabulary until, "Alpha!"

You howl as the tension inside of you snaps and releases a gushing wave of slick onto the alphas' pelvis and hand. The heat is like you've been filled with a million blinking stars, unlike anything you've ever felt before.

The blinding pleasure knocks you out of control and has your omega taking over, and you don't even realize the words that come from your own lips. "Knot me! Please! Oh, please, Alpha! I want your pups!"

Your pleading sobs have Hongjoongs neglected member twitching and leaking, standing at full attention while he watches his mates fuck like a pair of rabbits.

They have a similar effect on Seonghwa, whose wolf begs him to do as you ask. He manages to tear his eyes away from your fucked-out face and towards his other precious mate. "Fuck," he growls under his breath. He gives you one last good slam before withdrawing from you, making you sob.

"No, no! Please, Seonghwa! Akma!" It takes all of his years of training his wolf not to bust out and knot your perfect body as you cry his name.

You fidget and grind your hips in an attempt to get him back, but it's futile. "Shhh," he coos, clawed hand cradling your cheek and pushing it gently so you face the other alpha, "you'll get both of our knots by the end of this heat, I promise, Darling. But look at our Joongie, he needs some loving, huh?"

You focus your eyes on the younger alpha, eyes flicking everywhere around his body with pure adoration until they land on his member. It's leaking on his stomach, rising and falling with his heavy breaths as he controls himself. "Uh-huh," you agree with Seonghwa with a half-there answer, licking your lips subconsciously.

He moves away from you, letting your legs unfold from your body. "Have at her, Baby," he smirks as he hears his boy dive into you and begins kissing you sloppily. And then he settles himself with his back on the headboard to watch, fisting his own member slowly to keep his wolf appeased.

Hongjoong is half on top of you, forcing his tongue into your awaiting mouth as his hands fondle your breasts with a mind of their own. His hips, similarly, move to grind his cock against your leg without his knowledge. Now that Seonghwa has given him permission, the lower ranking alpha is buzzing with excitement and anticipation, slowly sinking deeper and deeper into his wolf's control.

You gasp and pant as he finally pulls away, his lips finding purpose in sucking little marks into your neck and shoulders that soon resemble a galaxy with how many he's leaving in his wake. "Joongie, please mate me," the soft pleading moan with his nickname makes him freeze.

"Present for me." He blurts with a newfound obsession in his mind. "Will you do that for me, Dolly?"

You blink. Once, twice. As you think. Presenting to a mate, especially to your alpha, is a big deal... Putting yourself in a completely vulnerable position and saying with that action that you trusted the other wolf to take care of you fully. Not just sexually, while of course that was part of it, but in every sense of the word. It's a vulnerable position, and putting yourself in that position says you put yourself fully in the others hands.

They watch with bated breath as your mind moves a million miles an hour. Seonghwa knocks his foot against your arm, "you don't have to if you aren't ready, Gorgeous."

Hongjoong nearly jumps out of his skin when you move under him, and he backs up to give you room, not wanting to spook you into stopping.

You turn yourself over, gazing up at Seonghwa as you settle yourself between his legs. You rest your head on his hip and close your eyes blissfully as you move to kneel. Your shoulders rest lower on his legs, slumping yourself with nothing but your bottom in the air. Then you move your hands behind your back, wrists crossed and ready to be held.

"Knot me, Alpha," you whisper lustfully.

Seonghwa is almost jealous that he didn't think to ask you to present first — be he knows he'll get his chance. Their poor little Omega, on blockers for so long and suddenly having it out made your heat bad enough. And then heat sickness multiplied it by a hundred. He'd be surprised if you allow them to leave the bed at all for at least two weeks. Really, he has to commend your willpower.

But right now, he can only admire how beautiful you are, especially as you submit to his mate fully.

Said mate is nearly bouncing off the walls, chest puffed out pridefully as he savors every second that he looks at you. Art truly imitates life, he thinks as he finds himself wishing that he could capture this moment in a sculpture, in a painting, even a measly photograph would suffice.

He feels a pang in his gut and growls loudly, eyes stuck in a pure black void as he comes up behind you. His wolf is clawing at the walls of his enclosure, and he doesn't have the strength to fight him anymore. He lets the beast take control of his body.

He's speared you open on his member before you even register that he's behind you, uncontrollable moans spilling past your lips and pilling up on Seonghwa's hip in the form of drool. When Hongjoongs clawed hands encase your wrists tenderly, you're a goner.

Over your own babbles of ecstasy and mindless profanity, you don't take in the words he's saying. You can tell he's being just as talkative as you, praises upon praises purred toward you as he uses his grip on your arms to pull you back into his frantic thrusts.

What finally makes you and your wolf listen is his deep rumble, followed by dark chuckle. "Oh, oh fuck~ Our pretty puppy sent me into an early rut," he mewls, eyes looking back into his head as your heat burns so pleasantly around his previously neglected member.

If it's the pet name or the words along with it, you can't tell, but you shake with an unexpected and sudden orgasm, soaking his legs and dripping on the sheets as you wail.

"Oh you like that?" Seonghwa chirps, petting your sweaty hair away from your face, "little puppy likes being told how good she is for her Alphas?"

You nod frantically, huffing and puffing to catch your breath as Hongjoong and his relentless wolf refuse to give you even a brief respite. Though your pussy feels like it can't take anymore pleasure, your omega brain knows it can and will. You can feel your heartbeat in your clit, and Hongjoong can feel it pulsing around him.

He drops your hands and you let them fall boneless, allowing the wolf you presented yourself to do as he pleases. His claws find a home on your hips, just barely scratching you as he holds you in place to repeatedly stuff you to your limit. "Fuck," he begins growing and purring nonstop, switching between the two as pleasure completely clouds his mind.

Seonghwa laces his fingers into yours, holding your hands tightly as you get your insides reshaped. You're mouthing and nipping at his hip, your eyes —when not screwed shut from the overwhelming pressure building in you once more— are glazed over and glowing. Not that barely there glow of an omega. No, not like that at all. They burn bright and blink like the stars that Selene handcrafted. Starlight begins to fit you more and more, he thinks with a grin.

"Look at you, Starlight," his praises continue, "taking a big bad alphas rutting cock." The words make your face burn hotter, how is it even possible? He knows his dirty talk has heavy effects on you, almost as much effects as Hongjoong dragging and knocking against that spongey spot inside of you that he found earlier. With every. Single. Thrust.

"You're gonna make me pop a knot early, Dolly," the blonde chimes in as well, making your cunt twitch in anticipation. He bends down and kisses across the scars on your back, purring something softer that makes your heart thrum with something different, "our Omega is such a warrior."

With those gentle words of admiration spoken while he has you in such a dominated position, you feel a burst of emotion blooming in your chest; making you cry out.

They feel it too, you realize as Hongjoongs hips stutter and Seonghwa's eyes grow soft with love.

You've finally let them in completely...

Mind, body, soul, and wolf.

You feel like a piece of thread, being woven in with them. You can feel their emotions, their intentions of protecting and providing for you. You feel the deep possessiveness they hold in their hearts for you. And you feel their power rushing through your veins.

All of these things, all at once.

Hongjoong wraps his arms around your chest from behind, staying deep inside of you; but you can barely feel it because something is deeper than that — the feeling of your souls being tied together, bound by the moon that shines in through the window, shining with pride at its job well done bringing you to your alphas. Bringing you to your fated pack. It shimmers, bathing you and your mates in its ethereal light. You finally feel something you've never felt before.

You felt like you were home.

Not a place, or a pillow to rest your head on at night. No, that's not home.

Home is the scent of happy wolves mingling in the living room. Home is serving each other at dinner. It's Cheonsa's warm aura, Lia and Jonghos chubby cheeks making their eyes wrinkle when they smile. Home is Wooyoungs humorous cackle, and San's watchful eye. Home feels like the softness in Yeosangs eyes as he takes his members pain. Home is like the fierceness with which Yunho snapped into action to protect the pack when he heard you cry. Home is the pack taking care of you after only a few days of knowing you.

Above all, though... Home is Seonghwa and Hongjoong. The smell of smoke lingering with the eldest alphas signature salted carmel. Roasted hazelnut coming so strongly off of the younger than you can almost taste it. The two of them mixing together to create a sweet scent that you want to drown in.

It's Seonghwa's fierce possessive nature, and the small smile he has when you interact with his hand-picked pack.

It's Hongjoongs ever present manic glee and giggles, the way he tries so hard to make you feel at home.

It's the feeling of their claws caressing you with care, holding themselves back so as not to harm you. The weight of Hongjoong on your back, protecting your body as you're far off in your own head. The reassuring squeeze Seonghwa gives your hands and the smile tugging at his lips as he feels your bond being completed. The way they give you time to process all of this, and so much more. Their patience with you even as their wolves howl incessantly.

Seeing you come back to yourself, Seonghwa slowly stops the soft pets he gave your head and smiles, "welcome home, Starlight."

Hongjoong peeks at you from behind, a smile gleaming in the moonlight. Pride overflowing from his very being at the fact that he got your last wall down and helped to complete the bond.

You have a smile of your own gracing your features as you look from Hongjoong back to Seonghwa, finally answering his question from days ago.

"I can feel you."

˚➶ ｡˚ ALLURE ˚➶ ｡˚

˚➶ ｡˚ EPILOGUE ˚➶ ｡˚

The kitchen and dining room is as lively as ever as Seonghwa carries you down from the third floor for the first time in three weeks. Everyone moves to work together seamlessly and set the table, the record player in the living turned up loud. "Hey, guys," he greets as you enter, "look who's back in business."

Everyone pauses. But it's not like before. It's not awkward or tense. Everyone has a smile on their face as they see you for the first time in almost a month.

Compared to last time they saw you, you were positively glowing. Not a trace of pain or anxiety on your face. Your scent didn't burn anyone's noses, instead it wafted gently and calmed them- much like the other pack omegas did.

"Hey," you smile sheepishly, looking down at the table as Seonghwa sits you down.

"Ah, praise Selene!" Cheonsa yelled with a laugh as she tackled you from the side in a hug.

Lia came up on the other side of you, similarly embracing you, "we thought you'd never come down! We were stuck with these guys again it was horrible!"

"Hey!" Wooyoung yelled offendedly before throwing you a smile as he handed you a full plate.

"Thank you," you smiled kindly, one hand on each of the women's arms as they refused to let go of you.

"C'mon, let the girl eat," Yunho swatted them away with the newspaper he held, shooting you a lopsided smile of his own.

Everyone settles in their seats, and peace overcomes you at the table with the members that you can feel through your minds.

Hongjoong comes bouncing down the stairs with a pep in his step, towel around his neck to catch the droplets of water that slide off his hair. "You left without me!"

"The food smelled too good, I couldn't wait anymore!" You argue, pouting as you sip some juice.

Seonghwa hides his prideful grin by taking a bite of his own. Not even a month ago, you couldn't smell the food from your bedroom no matter how hard you tried, and today it was what finally lured you out of the nest you've made of their bed.

"Aw, how could I stay mad at that face?" He coos, cupping your jaw to kiss you passionately.

"Zero tact," Mingi whispers to Yeosang, who nods.

Hongjoong pulls back with his eyebrows pushed together, "that is not a word!"

...

Minutes later, Jongho is leaned over a dictionary, and everyone crowded around him, some having placed bets.

"Oh there it is!" San shouts, "it is a word!"

"Tact: to talk or act carefully so as not to offend or disturb others," Lia reads with a chuckle.

"Damn," Wooyoung slumps, digging in his pocket and slapping down a five dollar bill into Yunhos awaiting palm.

"Told you," Mingi quips with a roll of his eyes, "Hongjoong has zero."

"You little brat!" A chase ensues around the kitchen, joyous laughter filling the room.

You rest your chin on your hand and watch fondly. You see Seonghwa do the same out of the corner of your eye, watching your mate chase the other omega around the table full of smiling faces.

Yeah. You think. This is home.

˚➶ ｡˚ THANK YOU FOR READING ˚➶ ｡˚

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez hongjoong #yandere hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #yandere seonghwa #hongjoong smau #yandere ateez x reader #yandere ateez #yandere werewolf #yandere x reader #yandere fic #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #seonghwa smut #hongjoong smut #smut fic

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bookshelf-dust · 10 months ago

Text

the art of dancing in the kitchen

carmy berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,479

warnings: literally nothing? this is pure fluff with slight swearing and little baby innuendos. i did make reader a hairdresser because i just love the idea and it makes so much sense for this.

synopsis: nothing brings you more joy than spending time with carmen…except maybe having him help you bake.

a/n: i swear to you, i think this might be my favorite fic that i’ve ever written. i love it so much and it made me so happy to write. i found myself smiling at the screen while typing, if that tells you anything. i think i’d definitely like to continue writing things in this universe, too! carmy is so fun for me to write and i love coming up with ways to make him feel tangible. (also shoutout to the first pic because if you know, you know.) i hope you enjoy this one and happy reading!! <33

————

Carmy never sees you run as fast as you do when you’re leaving work. In this case, it’s just so he can eat lunch with you, but you rush out of the salon door just as fast.

Your sundress catches the wind, the hem flying behind you as you jog up to the passenger side door. You catch a glimpse of Carmen through the dirty window. His curls are crushed underneath that worn blue cap, but today it’s turned the wrong way around on his head.

It makes him look boyish. The hand rubbing over his mouth in an effort to hide a grin doesn’t help his case.

If you’re honest, you’ve been giddy since six that morning, when you got up and remembered that Carmy was meeting you for lunch. And when you got to work and found it was much slower than expected, with no show after no show, you were so grateful for the blue eyed man waiting for you outside. In a loading zone, no less.

You hop into the car, pulling the door shut behind you distractedly. You’re too eager to see him, and before you can even say hello, how are you, how’s life—anything—you’re kissing him.

His lips feel a little chapped against yours, the skin slightly dry and cracked, but you don’t mind. It feels like he’s just shaved, his jaw all smooth, and he smells like cinnamon and dish soap and cigarettes, but you’d be a liar if you tried to claim that wasn’t the best smell in the world.

You pull away from his kiss, locking eyes with him, where his pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed like he’s been pinched. “Hi, gorgeous,” you say.

Carmen laughs, that little shy one that’s more of a big puff of air than a chuckle. He shakes his head at you, still not used to someone being so excited about his presence, so…enamored by him.

“Hey, you,” Carmy answers, placing both of his hands on your cheeks. He stares at you for a moment. He’s trying to drink you in. He does this every chance he gets because he literally cannot believe you’re real. He’s not dissociating, he’s not daydreaming. This is his life.

Your already broad smile widens as you take the opportunity to stare back at him. Your eyes wander to his just-too-long sideburns. “I think it’s time for a trim again, Carm. Lookin’ a little grizzly there.” You ruffle his curls, which feel surprisingly clean.

Carmy watches you bite your thumbnail in an effort to conceal the laugh threatening to burst from your throat due to your own horrible joke.

“Ha, ha. So funny.”

He puts the car in drive and listens to you giggle to yourself as you fasten your seatbelt. Neither of you say much on the very short drive to the park across the street, knowing you’ll be able to vent as much as you please while you eat.

“Cross your fingers our bench is free?” you say, raising your hand up towards Carmen. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as if that also counts as a way of manifesting your favorite seat. Carmy lifts his fingers in the air, the middle crossed over the index and gently knocks his hand against yours.

You pull into the parking lot, the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires filling your ears, and your gaze immediately flies to the bench underneath the biggest tree with the most shade and the best view for people watching. “Fuck, yeah!” you shout, a brilliant smile blooming on your face as you unbuckle.

Carmy laughs for real this time, the corners of his eyes going all soft and crinkly at your joy. “Run over there and claim it, yeah? I’ll grab everything.”

You push open the car door and stand quickly, smoothing the sweet ruffles of your dress. You wink, already starting to happily jog away. “Yes, chef!” Carm catches your salute just before he reaches in the backseat for the cooler and bag of food he brought with him from the restaurant.

On your bench, you prop your hand on your chin, tuck your foot under your thigh, and watch as Carmen walks up the short little incline to you. He looks gorgeous.

He’s wearing jeans, Levi’s that hug his ass and thighs just right. He has on an old “I heart New York” t-shirt that he only wears when he hasn’t caught up on laundry (and only bought for that same reason a few years ago).

His curls and necklace bounce almost in sync, and you can’t help but think that he just looks so pure and free.

And he’s got this glint in his eye that’s directed right on you.

“Ebra made your favorite. He heard I was meeting you for lunch and insisted he do it,” Carmy says, snapping you out of your how-could-this-man-get-any-more-sexy daze.

He places the tin foil wrapped sandwich in front of you, pretending not to notice the way you’re gawking at him. “I swear he’s never been so gentle with roast beef.”

You smile, pulling up the strap on your dress where it’s started to slip. Carmy leans over the table to press a kiss to your shoulder. It makes your stomach flip.

“Did he make yours for you?” you ask, mouth watering impatiently as you lift the still-warm bread up so you can take a messy bite.

Carmen hands you a napkin. “Put that over your chest—yeah, like that. So you don’t get your dress dirty.” He rips open a bag of chips for you to share. “But to answer your question, fuck no he didn’t.”

You toss your head back and laugh. “You’ll have to tell him I said thank you for making such a yummy lunch for me.” Your boyfriend watches as you suck a stream of au jus from your thumb.

Carmy scoffs playfully. You wink at him. “I did have the cutest delivery boy though.”

His brow raises, and the corners of his mouth quirk while he chews on the handful of potato chips he’s just shoved in his mouth. “Oh yeah?”

You hum. “Yep. Cute even with roast beef stuck in his teeth.”

Carmy falls for it, quickly taking a sip of his drink like he’s going to wash the beef free. But the twinkle in your eye tips him off. “You’re fuckin’ with me?”

You wipe your grinning mouth. “‘Course I am, Bear.”

Carmen raises up from his side of the picnic table just enough so that he’s leaning across to meet you halfway. He waves you closer with his hands. “Come on now, you owe me a kiss for bein’ a little shit.”

You brace your palms against the worn—and slightly damp from last night's rain shower—wood, quickly connecting your lips with Carmy’s.

You do this thing where you start smiling into the kiss and in turn it makes Carmen smile because your giddiness to have your mouth on his is insanely fucking contagious, and he’d be a damn fool not to join in.

When you pull apart you make sure to quickly kiss both of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “There’s your tip for being such a pretty delivery boy and bringin’ me lunch.”

The both of you settle into quiet conversation, catching up on whatever as you finish your sandwiches and drinks. Carmy reaches across the table to hold your hand, rubbing the pads of his fingers over your polished nails. He likes the way they feel.

As a surprise to end your lunch hour, he pulls out a little back holding two oversized oatmeal raisin cookies. One for each of you. And he knows those are your favorite. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat when you see them. It makes him laugh, makes his stomach flip.

“Marcus made a batch of these, just tryin’ out cookie recipes? We thought having them out front for people to grab on their way out would be smart.”

You take the cookie from him. “That is smart. And I already know it’s gonna be yummy.”

“Damn straight. I ate like, four of them as my breakfast and lunch yesterday. But that’s not important. How’s work so far?”

You’ll have to berate him about that later. The man cannot eat cookies and wash them down with Pepto Bismol and call it a day.

You demolish your cookie within seconds. “Work has been so fuckin’ slow today, Bear. We’ve had all these no shows, so I got set up and then they don’t come and now I’ll have to send them the files about the fee.”

“You want me to yell at ‘em for you? Tell them how they’re missin’ out on the world’s best haircut and color?”

You smack him playfully on the wrist. “I just love my job, y’know? So it sucks when I sit there playin’ on my phone instead of listening to all the gossip my customers bring me.”

Carmy downs the rest of his Coke and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “If it helps, I’ll let you give me that trim after service tonight.”

“At least I know you won’t cancel on me.”

Carmen watches you for a minute, losing himself in now fucking ethereal you are. He’s never imagined himself using the word, but that’s the only proper way to describe you. And he secretly loves you cutting his hair because your hands feel so good, especially when you wash it for him.

“I’ll tip you real good too, baby.” Carmy blushes at his own joke and it makes you laugh. Mid-laugh though, your eyes widen like you’ve just had an idea. It feels a little devious to him.

You pull out your phone. “Oh! When I was doomscrolling this morning, I found this video of blueberry muffins—dammit, of course I can’t find it now—but they had the…the…”

You lift your hand, wiggling your fingers in a sort of sprinkly motion like you’re try to demonstrate what you’d seen. “The crumbly shit, Carm! I don’t know what the fuck it’s called.”

You reach over and take both of his hands. “Point is, they looked really yummy and I wondered if you’d help me make them?”

Carmy starts chuckling. He definitely knew what you were talking about with your hand gesture, since you’re always making them and he’s got them memorized by now, but it’s so fucking fun to see your brain work.

He begins to gather up your trash and put it back in the bag he brought it in.

“Yeah, I think I have enough flour and shit. There’s some frozen blueberries in the back of the freezer. But do you want the crumbly shit, or streusel?”

“Carmen, sweet angel baby, I don’t know what streusel is.”

“It’s usually got cinnamon and nuts and shit, so that’s what we’ll do because I know how you like your nuts, love.”

You take his hand when he offers it to help you stand. You smack a big, wet kiss on his lip. You let your eyes drag up and down his form before you begin to walk back to the car.

“Sure do, Carmy.”

————

“You don’t need a recipe or anything?”

Carm presses a sweet kiss to your lips and passes you a few fresh blueberries to snack on. He’d grabbed some at the store on the way home because was he really going to teach his girlfriend how to make muffins with a questionable bag of frozen blueberries? Fuck no.

“Nah, it’s all pretty simple. I’ll tell you everything to do, and I can write one out for you if you ever wanna make ‘em when I’m not home.”

You pinch his sides, raising up on your tippy toes to express your giddiness. “Really? Holy shit, I love that.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh. “Yeah?” Carmen cups your chin, tilting your mouth up to meet his because he wants a kiss.

You start to talk while his lips are still on yours. “It’s your handwriting. I have a thing for it.”

He bites your bottom lip playfully. “You’re insane,” he says, smiling through each syllable. He pulls back briefly. “That reminds me, I got you somethin’.”

Carmen walks to the living room and pulls something out of his work bag. “Does this have to do with my insanity?” you ask, jokingly.

He shakes his head. “Only with your insanely cute ass.” He holds up an apron. “It’s your honorary chef apron. Ta-da.”

It’s the same blue as his at work, except it has a ruffled hem and the logo for The Bear embroidered on the chest. Your brows shoot up.

“You got this today, Carm?” The alarm in your voice makes him smile.

Carmy walks up to you and starts tying it around your waist. “No, no, not today. I got it awhile back, but you bringing up muffins made me remember I’d ordered it. It came with the chef’s whites and shit.”

“You got it made for me?” Your voice pitches up a notch, causing Carmen to spin you around so you’re facing him.

“‘Course I did. Couldn’t leave my number one out. And yours is cuter than everyone else’s.”

Your eyes water, just slightly, and you start smothering Carmy’s face with kisses until he starts to giggle boyishly. “Okay, okay!” he fusses, “No tears, only muffins.” He grabs your hips and moves you in front of the counter where he’s laid out all the ingredients for you. “Let’s get movin’ now, yeah? This shit is making me hungry.”

————

“Why do they tell you to fold it in? I’m not doing fuckin’ laundry, Bear.”

Carmy is sitting on the counter next to you, watching you intensely. There are floury handprints on your apron and you have your tongue poking out in concentration. He keeps bringing a straw to your lips every few minutes to keep you hydrated, like this is a very important surgical operation.

“Probably ‘cause it looks like folds when you do that?” You smack him on the knee and continue to fold in all the ingredients, pretending like you don’t see exactly what he means.

Once you feel like it’s all combined you let go of the spatula and turn to Carmen.

“What now, Bear?”

“You gotta mix up the sugar and the flour and the cinnamon, and then you can add your little nut mixture and I’ll show you how to do the butter.”

You reach for the collection of small glass bowls Carmy set out for you. “So sassy,” you say, shaking your shoulder just a little.

He smiles at you and extends a socked foot out to lightly kick you on the butt. But you were expecting it, so you reach behind you and grab his ankle, tickling the bottom of his foot, which is where he’s most ticklish. It’s his Achilles heel.

Carmy releases a short bout of laughter before pulling away from you to catch his breath. “Fucker.”

You grin, leaning over the sink to wash your hands for the umpteenth time. “But I’m your fucker, angel boy.”

He hops off the counter, scooching in behind you to press a kiss to your clammy cheek. “Can’t argue with that,” he says.

Carm watches over your shoulder as you add a small mix of crushed almonds, granola, and pecans to your streusel topping. “Good job, baby. Now I need you to cut a few pats of butter and add ‘em in. Just do a few—yeah, just like that—and you can start mixing it up. You can use your hands if you need to since it gets so difficult to stir.”

The warmth of Carmy’s chest against your back should be unnerving, what with him observing your every move.

But it isn’t. Rather, it's comforting. When the butter combines with your little potion mix as much as it can, you use your hands to make sure nothing gets left behind.

“You’re very good at making sure the crumbly shit is crumbly, lovebug.”

You look over your shoulder at Carmen as you finally slide the finished tray into the oven. “I’m givin’ you a run for your money, aren’t I, Bear?”

He smiles at you, reaching around your waist to untie your apron and lift it over your head. He hangs it on the little rack meant for keys. “Might have to tell Marcus about this. Get you in there, helpin’ him decorate donuts and shit.”

You push up on your toes and wrap your arms around Carmy’s neck. His go around the small of your back like that’s the only job they’ve ever had.

“So you can throw them on the floor?” you quip, biting your lip to hold back a laugh. You know you’re being a little shit, but at least it’s a memory you can all laugh at now.

Carmy’s lips quirk up at the corners. His right hand lowers and squeezes at the fat of your ass, a little menacingly, but loving all the same. “Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

You lower your forehead so that it’s resting on Carm’s chest. He feels your giggle against his skin. Feels the way your fingers play with his necklace where they rest at the back of his neck. It’s giving him goosebumps.

“Nope,” you say, that cute little teasing lilt to your voice.

Carmy tightens his grip around your waist and lifts you up into the air, spinning you around his small kitchen a few times. Just enough that you squeal out of surprise, out of pure, unadulterated joy because of this romantic ass gesture that feels straight out of a story book. You pop your feet up for good measure. You could never let Princess Mia down like that.

When he sets you down, you both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath with these stupid happy smiles on your faces. And right there, you both feel that little bolt of electricity. The one that tells you this will never go away. This connection is everlasting.

It takes a minute for you to register that you’re both shuffling lightly across the floor, in gentle, sloppy circles.

You look down at Carmy’s socked feet and back up to meet his eyes. “Does this count as dancing?”

He scratches his nose. “Couldn’t tell you.”

You kiss the spot where he was self-consciously rubbing. “Maybe we should practice, you know, in case we need to dance someday.”

Carmen snorts. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

You play with the curls around his ears, remembering your promise to give him that trim. “Have you ever danced, Mr. Berzatto?”

He kisses you. “Only alone in my room.”

You kiss him. “That what you do when I’m not around?”

He kisses you a second time. “Yep. Busted. But Richie used to try and make us play Just Dance with him when he got drunk.” He grins at the little chuckle you let out. “What about you?” he starts. “Have a past dancing career?”

You shake your head, admiring every little freckle on his face. Every little dry patch of skin, every line.

“In high school, me and my girlfriends would usually just hold hands and spin around in a little dance circle since we were all single. It was very cool of us.”

“I would’ve paid to see that,” Carmy says, cupping your jaw. You grin up at him, eyes twinkling. You imagine you’ve got big ‘ol pink hearts fluttering back and forth at him.

You both melt into each other after that. Slowly shuffling around the kitchen, hips swaying to music that isn’t there. Usually Carmy would be on the verge of shitting his pants in a situation like this, but…it’s you. You’re safe.

Why wouldn’t he dance with you?

Carmen brings his lips to your ear. “Is there music in your head right now?”

“Rick Astley,” you whisper.

Carmy blinks.

And then he tosses his head back, laughing. “Seriously?”

“Nope. I just wanted to hear you laugh,” you say, and kiss the chuckle right off his lips. He kisses you back, pecking your lips three times in quick succession because one is just never enough. You tug on a curl. “We’re stupid in love, aren’t we?”

“We’re dancing, shuffling like old people really, in my shitty kitchen on a weeknight, and waiting on blueberry muffins that I’m pretty sure we’ll finish within the hour.”

“Oh my god, Bear.”

“Yeah, baby. We’re stupid in love.”

You are. And when you sit on the kitchen floor, your socked feet in his lap, eating warm muffins and getting butter all over your fingers and down your wrists, that only confirms it.

Those are the best damn muffins you’ve ever had. And Carmy’s lips taste like blueberries for the rest of the night.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

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birthanon · 3 months ago

Note

Hey BA!

Loved the story you wrote recently, huge fan of birth denial (as long as no actual harm is done, y’know y’know).

How about a story for a solo birth in nature? I’m a big fan of trying to hold the birth off with nothing but willpower; trying not to push, enjoying the crown. Maybe walking a hiking trail while she pushes.

Hi! I'm so glad you liked it, thanks for reaching out with a prompt! This is definitely a gentler prompt than I've done before, but I enjoyed the variety. Thanks for the opportunity to write this, I hope you enjoy as well!

Also, yee-haw, two birth fics in one day! Trying to get through all the asks people have sent in. I'm so excited to get to everyone's! It might take some time though, so be patient with me!

This fic contains: birth denial, solo birth, unassisted birth, nature birth, fpreg

Sharla had a birthing plan. There was an obscure hiking trail near her that was fairly easy, that ended in a beautiful meadow with a little lake. It was about two miles long, and no one really knew about it. She’d never seen anyone else there in the years she’d hiked the trail. So, as soon as her contractions started getting serious, she got in her car and began her drive. Her plan: hike up the mountain and birth in her favorite spot.

She’d prepared herself well, studying all she needed, practicing breathing techniques. She used them in the car ride up. Once she arrived, she waddled out of the car and headed to the little outhouse. As she used the bathroom, another contraction came. She pushed with it, a small tentative push as the pressure grew. Then, water splattered into the toilet. Water that definitely wasn’t pee.

Well, she thought, This baby’s coming fast. Better get hiking.

She used the toilet paper to wipe herself off, breathed through a contraction in the stall, shaking her hips to ease the pain which seemed far more intense without her waters cushioning everything, then began to head out.

She walked slowly, stopping with every contraction, keeping her legs together to try and help herself to hold off on pushing until she reached her destination. She wore a maternity sundress, so the only thing between her and the outside air was her panties. It was a crisp spring morning. Beautiful. The birds were singing, and she was out among it where she belonged.

As she walked, she cradled her round belly with both hands, trying to ease the weight of her sore back. And though she didn’t push, her own walking and the power of gravity was slowly pulling the baby down, stretching her little by little as she walked. It was a delicious feeling, painful, yes, but primal, normal. And so long as she didn’t hurry it, her body would be free to stretch as slowly as it needed to.

Things were going well. Sure the baby was moving faster than she’d intended. Sure, with each trail marker she was walking her waddle was becoming more and more distinct. But she was confident she’d make it.

By the time she reached the one mile marker, halfway through the hike, she was feeling less confident. The contractions were coming more and more frequently, and they were hurting more, becoming more insistent. Though she’d managed to not push, her body alone had managed to force the baby all the way through her canal and it was now resting just inside her lips.

She paused at the sign, leaning against it, fishing one of many water bottles from her pack and taking a heft swig. Her hand reached up her dress, feeling at her panties. There was a slight bulge there, but when she slipped her hand inside, she didn’t quite feel a head.

At least until another contraction hit. She groaned with it. She was bent over, and it made the contraction much worse. Her heavy belly weighing on her belt as it tightened inside her dress. She breathed through the growing demand to push, but still felt the sting of her lips as they began to part, just a tiny bit. Just enough that her finger slipped through and felt a smidge of wet head.

As soon as the contraction ended, she capped her water bottle, and continued walking. Not far down the path, another contraction. She breathed with it, commanding herself not to push, feeling the sting of her lips as they just began to part.

Three contractions later, and she was feeling rather hot. She stopped, leaning against a tree to weather a fourth contraction, then carefully removed her panties and shoved them in her dress pocket. It felt better, without a barrier there. Without the clothing rubbing up against her tender, stretched parts. She drank some more. Weathered yet another contraction, closing her eyes and moaning with it, her hand resting on her bulging lips, not constraining it, only supporting it.

As soon as it was done though, the baby slipped safely back inside, and she continued her hike. A hawk flew overhead. Bees buzzed in the air. Another contraction, more stretching. She panted. Her body demanded she push. It was getting harder and harder not to listen, but she knew, the second she gave in, her baby would shoot forward, and then she’d never reach the lake. So she breathed, she panted, she moaned, she stretched, but she continued on. Never pushing.

The next contraction was even harder. It stopped her in her tracks. She caught a tree trunk to keep her balance as her body naturally bent, trying to get in a better position to birth. The head eased forward, spreading her even further. She moaned with the pain, thinking, surely, the head must be nearly out. Yet, when she reached down to check, there was only about a square inch of head showing. Good, she thought, continuing her trek.

She focused on the green of the trees, on the fascinating rocks on the trail. Anything, but the growing demand to push. As she reached the marker for a mile and a half, though, she gave in. She stopped, her legs spread, she sunk into a crouch, flustered and sweaty, and pushed, moaning.

The baby shot forward, searing pain in her lips as they stretched around the sudden crown. She gasped as she noticed her mistake, and forced her legs closer together, nudging the head just a bit back in. I can’t do that again, she thought. I have to reach the lake.

She was almost there, but the near crown was making walking awfully difficult. The beautiful surroundings were calming, but her hips ached. She reached down, walking with one hand supporting the growing head, feeling it ease forward just a smidge more with each contraction.

The stretch hurt, but it felt primal, natural, here in the wild, where all things had given birth since the beginning of life. A tree caught her as she stumbled, reaching out its helpful branches, eager to assist the new life. A boulder stood stalwartly as she leaned against it, head spinning, against a particularly strong contraction. The head, ever lower, her legs, ever wider.

Then, finally, just as the head reached a full crown and she was sure she could take not a single more step, she reached the top.

A crystal blue lake, reflecting the perfect sky above, radiant with dazzling light, surrounded by a forest of aspen trees, whispering excitedly to each other in the breeze.

Gasping in relief, Sharla waddled her way to the edge of the lake. A boulder waited there, providing a perfect companion. She held onto it. As the growing pains of a contraction came, she crouched, pressed her chin to her chest, and, finally, blessedly, pushed.

The head surged forward. She gasped as it surpassed a full crown and shot right out of her, into her hand, water splattering the dirt beneath her.

Her legs were exhausted, trembling. She needed a new position. First, she checked the cord, making sure it wasn’t around the baby’s neck. No cord, but she enjoyed the tiny softness of the baby’s features.

Then, as the shoulders shifted, she moved. She pulled a tarp from her back pack, still crouched, her baby’s head hanging from her. She spread it by the lakeside, with a flick of her arms. Then, she collapsed back onto it.

Now leaning against the boulder, she pushed with her next contraction, curling forward, around her round, heaving stomach. Her legs were spread apart, making space for the shoulders, which inched out of her.

The contraction ended, leaving her heaving for breath. She looked up, watching a bird dive into the water for prey. She watched water twinkle as it fell from the bird’s talons in a cascade of fire-like droplets. Then she went back to pushing, and stretching, just a bit more. One shoulder out.

She leaned back against the boulder once more, grateful for its steady presence. Her baby was cradled in her hand, damp head, one shoulder. She pushed, one last time, curling in on herself, giving it her all, then the baby was out.

Crying in relief, she pulled it from her, and held it against its chest. It was beautiful, it was hers. And her crying turned to laughter, as she sat amongst nature, life’s newest gift safe in her hands.

#birth denial #birth kink #giving birth #birth story #fpreg #fpreg birth #unassisted birth #soft birth #birthanonanswers

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eightball-chronicles · 5 months ago

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Cheering Up Daisuke!

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inspired by some absolutely delicious art by @al1en-invasi0n !!! check em out theyre so yummy :3

this MIGHT be my first time writing a tk fic (it is) so please don't bully me gangalang ,,, criticism is accepted just be nice to me [cry] also was writen on laptop so if the formats weird i apologize oops ...

lee!daisuke, ler!curly (NON SHIP !!!!!)

tw / cw : tks, starts off a wee bit sad, mention of jeopardy (j*mmy)

word count : 3151 under the cut

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"Get it through your goddamn skull! That vent is strictly off limits! Fully fuckin' collapsed inside!"

It was safe to say that Swansea was pissed. Daisuke, just released from the emergency foam he'd accidentally triggered, was awkwardly shuffling in place as he received yet another earful from his mentor. He messed up, sure, but really? His legs hurt already from being trapped not too long ago, he didn't want his head to follow suit.

"You looking to get impaled, electrocuted, and cooked?!" Swansea's usual scowl was far more intense than usual; it was obvious to Curly, at least. As captain, he knew he'd have to intervene soon. Before he could, however, Daisuke spoke out:

"Yeah, but like, you can't fit in there to fix it, right? So I can totally handle it."

An uncomfortable silence filled the utility room. the three men stood in as the younger's words marinated. Swansea's eye twitched, clearly agitated. Curly really needed to say something - if he doesn't, who knows what Swansea would-

"Captain."

He stiffened slightly, worried what the older man was planning. Swansea extended his hand out to the captain, demanding the axe. Curly saw Daisuke twiddling his fingers from the corner of his eye. Both their heads moved in unison with Swansea's arm. "Swansea," Curly started, handing the mechanic the axe, "this could've damaged the pods. You can't let something like this happen again."

"Yeah, yeah...I got it." Swansea took the axe and swung it to rest on his shoulder. "Loud and clear." Slightly less tense than before, Curly placed his hand on his hip. "Keep the axe until you've cleaned this all up, yeah?" Swansea nodded with a huff, shifting his attention to his intern. Who was still fidgeting his hands. He looked up shyly as he spoke: "It's ok to be big, boss! "My gramps was super huge! And he lived until, like, 60!"

Oh shit.

Curly nervously looked to Swansea, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Daisuke, unaware of the weight of his words, smiled softly. Curly's attention shifted when he noticed Jimmy standing by the utility room door. He saw it as a reason to excuse himself from the heavy tension between the two men before him. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Curly swiftly made his way towards his co-pilot. Daisuke, finally noticing Swansea's mood, silently cursed at his captain for abandoning him. And as soon as he did...

Swansea went off. Yelling all sorts of nonsense about safety and protocol that Daisuke didn't care to hear for the thirteenth time that week. Instead, trying to focus his attention on the conversation taking place behind his mentor. Unfortunately, he found it to be quite difficult. Something about being sane, psych evals, Anya - what was that about cartoon horses?

Just as the two men started to walk off, Swansea yelled louder, noticing his intern not listening. This brought a new wave of lecturing, and Daisuke was *not* having it. He didn't even care if Swansea said the winning lottery numbers, he just wanted him to shut up. Much to his dismay, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon...

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Curly just sent Jimmy away after receiving a letter from the higherups. He reread its contents again, confirming what it said as if he had somehow misread the whole thing. Pony Express is shutting down? How could this happen? How will he tell the crew? Although instructed to not break the news until later, Curly was unsure if he could do that. Sighing heavily, the captain decided to get some fresh air. Well, not exactly - just whatever was breathable outside the weighty air of the cockpit.

Ready to open the door at the end of the hallway, Curly was stopped by Swansea's presence behind it. He noticed something off immediately; his familiar frown replaced with a more concerned expression. Curly questioned it without a second thought, to which Swansea replied: "It's about Daisuke. After you left, I kind of went off. I...I think I went too hard on him. I've lectured him a bunch of times before, but he seemed more down this time."

"Oh? How so?" Curly asked, putting a hand to his chin. Swansea shifted his weight before continuing: "After I run my mouth to him, he usually puts on this dramatic act and pouts when I dismiss him to go somewhere else. This time seemed different. I don't know how to explain it, but I think I hurt the kid."

Swansea ended his explanation with a deep sigh as he lowered his head; he clearly felt guilty, and Curly understood as much. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"I'm not too sure how thrilled he'd be to see me right now. I don't wanna scare the poor thing any more than I already have. Plus, I don't know where he's at."

Curly nodded before Swansea spoke up again. "Do you think you can talk to him?" The captain thought for a brief moment before reaching out to the worried man, patting his shoulder. "Of course I can. I'll go look for him and cheer him up, promise! You can go rest if you'd like, just make sure the foam in utility gets cleared up later, yeah?"

To this, Swansea relaxed, wearing an uncommon smile. He nodded as he thanked Curly and walked off. The now determined captain headed off with a mission in mind; he was going to get Daisuke to smile, no matter the cost.

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If you disregard the sobs, the cargo room was quiet. The vast space left a slight echo on Daisuke's cries. He sat on the stairs, head between his knees and arms around his shins. His mind ran as fast as the ship he resided on. Why was Swansea so much angrier than usual? He was just trying to help; he was his intern after all. Then again, he practically called him fat and kinda sorta maybe implied he would die at 60...

Damn, why would he say that?

At this point, Daisuke's thoughts were racing a million miles a minute. The grip on his pants tightened as he cried. God, he's a screwup. No wonder his parents sent him away on this internship. He was annoying at home, and he's annoying in space. Will he ever learn to keep his mouth shut? He was so lost in his head that he didn't hear the door open behind him, or the footsteps that followed it.

"Daisuke?"

Said boy jumped a foot as he frantically wiped his eyes. He turned to face the source of the voice, trying to put on an act and forced a smile. But that smile shook, and Curly noticed. "Hey, captain! What's up?"

"I should be asking you that. Are you ok?"

Daisuke flinched slightly, his fake smile faltered as his shoulders began to tremble again. "I...I-I just...Swansea..." He didn't get anything else out after that, nothing that was intelligible, at least. He broke down again, turning around and placed his head back on his knees. Curly frowned as he made his way to Daisuke. He sat to his left on the stairs, rubbing the boy's back as he tried to soothe him. He let him cry it out until he was left only sniffling. Only then did he decide to speak out. "C'mon Daisuke, talk to me. Swansea found me earlier and said you were down. What's wrong?"

He let out a small whimper upon hearing his mentor's name. Shakily, he started: "I-I don't know, I should've just listened to him. I just wanted to help! B-but I screwed up...I-I could've gotten myself seriously hurt, o-or killed, or broken the pods! Those are like, s-super important! Even I know that, yet still acted c-carelessly. N-not only that, I totally offended S-Swansea! H-he probably hates m-me, I c-can't believe I said that...I'm a t-total f-failure, I-" He was getting more panicked as he spoke, voice as shaky as ever. Curly cut him off as he stopped rubbing his back and pulled the boy to him by his waist. Daisuke yelped slightly at the sudden change of contact, yet melted into the side hug.

"Kid," Curly started, "do you know why Swansea talked to me?" He felt a slight head shake on his shoulder. "Because he was worried for you, Daisuke. He told me he went too hard on you; that he feels bad he might have hurt you. I've never seen a more guilty face on him. And trust me when I say that means a lot. I've worked with him for I don't even know how long. He didn't mean to - Daisuke?"

His speech was cut when he heard small chortles from the boy in his arm. Curly glanced down, seeing his shoulders tremble once more, differently this time. "Did I...say something funny?" he asked, a confused smile on his face. Daisuke shook his head again, a hand over his mouth. "Nohoho, it's just - your hahand-" Curly's gaze shifted to where his hand resided on the intern's side; it had started subconsciously rubbing him there as it was on Daisuke's back. "What about my hand? Are you hurt here? Oh no, I'm so sor-"

"No! No, it's not that. I'm not hurt."

"Oh? Then what is it?"

Daisuke felt his face heat up. Thank god Curly couldn't see his face. He shifted slightly, unsure how to answer. "I just - it's not - you didn't - uh..." He peeked up to the captain as he trailed off, where he was met with a genuinely concerned face. "I'm afraid I don't follow, you know you can tell me anything, ri-"

"It just tickled is all..." He mumbled.

"Come again?"

With a whine, Daisuke buried his face further into his hand, leaning more onto Curly's shoulder. No matter how many times asked, he didn't say more. Curly, in attempt to get his attention, pinched the boy where his hand still laid; on his waist. What he didn't expect, however, was for Daisuke to chirp at the touch. Now it was Cury's turn to get his mind thinking. Which didn't last long, however, as Daisuke's squeaky voice spoke up:

"IT TICKLED ALRIGHT?!"

If he wasn't blushing before, he sure was now. Curly saw the back of Daisuke's neck turn bright pink. Realization struck him shortly after, where a mischievous grin appeared. To confirm the suspicion, Curly pinched his side again, earning another bird-like sound. Oh, he struck gold.

"Daisuke...are you-"

"Shut up!"

Daisuke's neck was now a deep red, his face buried deep in his palms while his fingers grabbed at his hair. His captain walked in on him crying, then he continued to cry *on* his captain, and now this?! Could this be any more embarrassing?! Well, yes, it could. Curly pinched his side for a fourth time. Daisuke whipped his head towards him only to be met with a grin covering half of the blonde's face. "Oh, Daisuke...that isn't a very nice way to speak to your captain now, is it?"

Fuck. He's cooked.

"W-w-wait, I-I didn't me-EEHEHEAA!"

Daisuke was interrupted by his own squeal as Curly opted for pinching at his waist repeatedly rather than in intervals. He instinctively curled in on himself; arms wrapped around his torso while he brought his knees to his chest. While trying to twist away from the offending hand, Daisuke unintentionally leaned into Curly, who went in with his other hand to pinch at the giggling boy's other side.

He squealed again from the tickly assault suddenly appearing elsewhere. Daisuke started jumping left and right, trying to escape from one hand only to be attacked by the other. Curly switched to poking before long, as this made the younger let out soft snorts as he weakly kicked his legs. The captain chuckled under Daisuke's evergrowing laughter, finding his reactions amusing. "I just cannot believe you told me to shut up. I'm wounded, Daisuke, and your words are the blade. How could you say such a thing?!"

Said boy could only whine in response, "I dihihidn't mehehean toooooo! C'mohohon cahaptahahahain!"

"Oh really? And how can I be sure of that, hm?"

"Plehehehease! I prohohomise! I'm sohohorry, I'm sorryyyyy!"

"Hmmmm...let me think." Curly pondered dramatically *way* longer than needed as he continued to poke at the intern's torso. Daisuke continued to squeak and giggle as he 'spaced out thinking.' Suddenly, the blonde perked up, "Alright, I've thought about it! I'm not stopping~" He then proceeded to move both his hands to Daisuke's hips, massaging the bone tenderly.

The reaction was instant. The brunette shot his arms down, body spasming on impact. Grabbing Curly's wrists, Daisuke cackled loudly, unable to control the volume of his voice. His legs now fully kicking out as he spoke, "AAAAAHAHAHA! SHIHIHIT! GOHOD DAMN IT CUHUHURLY STAHAHAHAP!" To this, he gasped loudly; he would've acted out clutching his pearls had his hands not been occupied. "And just who do you think you are?! Talking to me like this...you're awfully ballsy for someone in your position."

Daisuke could only answer in giggly babbles, unable to get any coherent words out as his hip bones got circles drilled into them. Curly only clicked his tongue in mock annoyance and grabbed Daisuke's left arm with his right, lifting it up. In once swift motion, he left the boy more vulnerable than ever. He gave him a break during this - he didn't want to kill the kid. Taking in big gulps of air, Daisuke had yet to notice the position of his arm. Only when he tried to rub his eyes did he glance up. He knew what was coming.

Panicked, he locked eyes with his captor, smile wide and bright as his face matched his complimentary floral shirt. "C'mohohon captain! Y-you knohow I didn't mean ihit right? Rihight! S-so let's juhuhust forget this ever happehened!" Daisuke tried to reason with him, but Curly was having none of it. On the contrary, he was having too much fun. "Nuh uh, kid. You've gotta learn how to speak to your superiors. Tsk, young ones these days thinking they're all that. Even though you crumble the second I do...*this*."

As he finished, his free hand quickly snaked behind Daisuke, going straight to his ribs. He pinched, squeezed, poked; anything to get the brunette to squeal. And squeal he did; his bubbly laughter echoed in the ample space of the cargo room. He tried to grab Curly's hand with his free one, but the captain kept dodging, scratching a new rib in the process. He chuckled as he felt weak tugging on the arm he held up. "

"Plehehehease, I'm sohorry! I sweahahahar! I-I mehehean it!"

"Oh, are you now? And how can I believe that?"

Daisuke groaned between giggles before he spoke, "I prohohomise! I promihihise I'm sohorry!"

Curly lifted an eyebrow at the intern, his bright smile showing off the gap between his front teeth. The sight brought his own smile to grow in size. "Okay, let's say I believe you then. You're forgiven, bud."

"Thehen why aren't yohohou stohohohoping?!"

He chuckled at the naivety shown before him, shifting so he faced the boy before he answered, "Did you forget why I came here in the first place?" Daisuke whined in response, brain short circuiting as he felt fingers drilling into his torso, letting out a scream at his uppermost rib was attacked. "Oh c'mohohohohOHAHAH - CURLY! Quit ihihit! That tickles!"

Curly shook his head slightly, seeing the intern's blush deepen upon saying the word. "Sorry, Daisuke. Swansea said you were being gloomy earlier. We can't have that now, can we?" Said boy threw his head back as Curly formed a vibrating claw against the space between his highest rib and armpit. He snorted loudly from the sensation, barely able to form coherent words. "OKAHAY, OKAY! I'LL CHEHEHEHER UHUP! PROMISE! I PROHOMIHIHISE!" Daisuke ended his plea with a wheeze, laughter getting more strained. Curly saw this as a sign to wrap things up, slowing his fingers until the tickling came to a full stop. He let go of the boy's hand, where it fell to his side as he curled into himself next to his captain.

Curly once again rubbed the younger's back, hoping he didn't go too far as he giggled between gasps of air. Daisuke held his sides, still feeling the tingly sensation on his body. Once his breathing calmed down a bit, Curly decided to speak up, "Are you alright? I didn't do too much, right?" He received a head shake in return; the redness on the boy's neck showed he was too flustered to speak.

"You really shouldn't be too hard on yourself, you know? Swansea cares for you. He doesn't show it much, but he really does. Sure, he gets mad sometimes, but that's just who he is. Like I said earlier, he's the one who came to me about you; he was worried sick!" Daisuke glanced up at Curly's speech, eyes widened slightly with curiosity. "To tell you the truth," the blonde continued, "his own kids moved out a while ago. I think he misses them; not like he'd ever admit that, though. I have a suspicion that you remind him of them. Gets his dad-gears turning. His fatherly instincts probably kicked in earlier when you set off the foam. Do you get what I'm trying to say?"

Daisuke nodded his head, a tiny nervous smile on his face as he took in the confession. Did Swansea really feel that way? "Do you really think that's true?" Curly's gaze met his, flashing him a proud grin; "I know it's true! Don't tell him I said anything, though. He'd deny it to the moon and back." To this Daisuke breathed a sigh of relief, letting a small chuckle slip. He sat up from his ball-like position to fully face Curly, returning the smile. "Thanks, captain!"

The captain felt his heart slightly melt at the sight of the joyous boy. Wrapping his arm around him for another side hug, rustling his hair with his other hand. "No worries! I'll always be here. As long as you keep that attitude at bay. Don't think I won't put you in check, young man." Curly poked his side as he finished, earning one last squeak from the previously giggly intern. Daisuke jumped out of the captain's arms before he could try anything again, dramatically taking a defensive stance. He winked in his silly pose. "No promises~" he sang as he walked backwards to the door. It automatically opened, causing him to turn around and jump slightly. Curly stifled a laugh as Daisuke turned around, face slightly dusted pink. He stormed off, grumbling as he left the cargo room for good. Curly giggled to himself, still sat on the stairs, reflecting on his crew and each of their colorful personalities.

Yup, he was glad to be captain.

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hai guys ^-^ i hope yall enjoyed !!! i love daisuke sm hes my gf i love my gf ♡

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#august writes #august fics #mouthwashing #mouthwashing tickle #mouthwashing tickles #lee!daisuke #ler!curly #tickle fic

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denwritesandcries · 1 year ago

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YJS HCs – body types

Pairings: Yellowjackets x fem!reader

Summary: Okay so, I was thinking about body types so I could add details to my Shauna fic, really small things like skin marks and other stuff and that made me think about the other yjs too. I'm not used to writing headcanons, but here are a few that I couldn't get out of my head.

Word count: 1,9k.

Content: my personal headcanons, cursing, suggestive, fluff, insecurities, hurt/comfort, recent pop culture references so i guess modern!AU??

Note: This is so random and specific I don't think anyone will read it but I wanted to write it so badly.

English is not my first language.

shauna shipman

- I think Shauna is the most athletic of the girls, since in the first episode it’s said that she is the fastest on the team. Not necessarily thin; she is solid. Solid and warm. A warm wall seeking your touch all the time.

- She would always try to keep one hand on you and every time she touched you, her skin would be scalding hot, as if she barely needed gloves in the winter and only wore them because you told her to.

- Big spoon! She likes to wrap her arms around you and let her body wrap you completely when you cuddle or sleep together, her weight relaxing against you.

- Shauna is strong, like really strong and she knows it, her arms and legs are toned from training and she takes advantage of this to tease you at any opportunity, carrying things for you willingly (your backpack, shopping, whatever, she would be exactly like the *aggressively moves all groceries to one hand to hold yours* meme), rolling up the sleeves of her flannels ‘cause the muscles stand out, pressing you against walls/counters or simply carrying you during makeout sessions and nothing you do will take away the smug smile on her lips – well, barely nothing.

- She would also wear tank tops and shorts frequently just to make you nervous and receive compliments. It's ridiculous ‘cause she really thinks she's being subtle (she isn't).

“Shaunie, you sure you don’t want a jacket?”

“No, I’m good like that.” She's not, but she won't admit it.

“It’s raining.” You insist.

“The cold doesn't bother me anyway.” She shrugs, but leans back against you, placing her chin on your shoulder.

You snort, “Sure thing then, Elsa.”

- Shauna has a happy trail! Little baby hairs going up to her navel where she melts into a puddle when you caress her, goosebumps covering her skin in the same second.

van palmer

- I believe Van has rough hands from her goalie gloves! They're always warm even if the rest of her body isn't ‘cause of the constant movement – she expresses herself a lot with her hands too. She likes to run them down your sides just to see how your skin crawls, sometimes she does it out of nowhere just to scare you because she thinks it's funny.

- I think her skin is very sensitive, the kind that's full of moles and burns easily in the sun – you're constantly reminding her to put on sunscreen, but it's no use – she loves it when you trace patterns on her spots before bed or when you're bored somewhere.

- Her skin being so sensitive also means that hickeys and scratches are really hard to hide on her. She doesn't mind, in fact she seems to enjoy it a lot, you catch her a lot of times watching the marks spread across her shoulders and neck as they take days to disappear. That doesn't stop her from teasing you tho.

“It's been a week and there's still a purple mark on my neck. What are you, a damn vampire?” She mocks.

“Nah, you act like you wouldn't love me to be your Edward Cullen.”

She lifts her chin at you, “A leech then.”

"Van!"

- She has a belly and is very proud of it! She says it's the best for defending the goal and that it makes her fall to catch the ball less painful; She'll flex her muscles like a gym athlete when she's changing playfully just to seduce you (it works every time). She loves it when she lies in your arms after a bad day and you squish her tightly, it helps her calm down.

- She also has a happy trail, but she is too ticklish, like really ticklish. Many of your makeout sessions end up interrupted by her giggling when you drag your hands too softly under her shirt, she prefers firm touches.

- Van definitely has lots of small scars spread across her body from accidents over the years, that little weirdo (affectionate).

nat scatorccio

- Nat is as pale as a ghost, it would be impossible not to notice when you made her blush for any reason. She would try to distract you so you don't pay attention to it, but it wouldn't put off anything.

- The dark circles under her eyes are extremely pronounced, both due to her paleness and the heavy makeup she wears, so you always know when she's had a bad day or simply hasn't slept enough. She will complain incessantly about you making her stop and rest, but she will always do what you ask.

- I truly believe that she has lots and lots of moles all over her body, especially on her back.

- Some are bigger than others, large spots on the skin and she pretends that her heart doesn't warm with the fascination you have for them, but the prominent red face says everything you need to know.

“They look like small constellations, Nat," you sigh dreamily, hands soft on her naked skin, “Man, I wish I knew a single shit about stars so I could name them.”

“I’m shirtless in front of you and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

- I think she would have a lot of acne, especially on her face from sleeping and forgetting to take off her cheap makeup often, you would have to do a skin care routine together for her to really start taking care of it.

- She definitely has a tattoo scar that she got from one of those shady professionals before she was eighteen and didn't take care of it properly. You almost freaked out when she showed it to you out of fear that it would get infected. In the end she ended up with a weird drawing and a skin failure, but for Nat it was totally worth it, she says it makes her look like a badass (it's definitely not just because you kiss the mark every time you see it).

lottie matthews

- Alright then, let me tell you, this girl is FREEZING from head to toe. No matter how well she dresses up, her whole body will remain strangely cold, which worries you at a certain point, so what better way to keep her warm than to have her glued to you like a koala all day?

- She would place her cold hands on your neck just to bother you and then smile innocently when you took them in yours to rub them and blow warm air on them. That smartass.

- Lottie is tall (at least a lot taller than me) and I think she would have a lot of growth marks, you don't grow like that as a teenager without some.

- Light streaks on the back, hips, legs and thighs that would vary in tone over time. I think she would have the habit of hiding them so that people wouldn't comment, wearing long stockings with her skirts at school parties.

- She would be so flustreaded if you showed that you liked them by running your hands up her inner thighs, scratching her back gently to feel the smooth texture of the taut skin. It makes her feel so loved.

- She has sun spots on her face, around her eyes and cheeks. You think it's so beautiful that you could admire it for hours, anywhere, but you usually do it in bed in the morning.

“Are you watching me sleep, dear?” Lottie mumbles as she wakes to find you giving her a love gauze.

“Hm-hm,” you deny quietly, “‘Not watching you sleep. I’m watching you.”

“Oh.”

jackie taylor

- Now, Jackie would have stretch marks and be completely insecure about them. The girl needs constant validation about everything that concerns her and you better give it to her, she just wants to feel loved.

- Marks on her hips and chest that most of the time wouldn't even be visible, but she would still remember they were there. You run your hands down her sides as gently as possible and she will have tears in her eyes as you snuggle, heart warm.

- Your support helps her feel more comfortable with her own body over time, but she still wants compliments every day and will give you hints ‘til you comply with her requests.

- Jackie has freckles! This is actually one of the things she likes most about her face, the trail of dots around her nose and eyes. She’ll melt into a puddle on the floor if you start to kiss them one by one, but will lose patience if you decide to count them and stop the act of leaving wet kisses on them. She's not very good at waiting.

“Babe!” She whimpers.

“Just a second, sweetie, I’m almost finishing.” You continue, a look of pure concentration on your face, muttering “35, 36, 37…”

“No.” She says, hand grabbing the collar of your t-shirt and pulling you against her, “Come back now.”

- Jackie isn't necessarily icy, but she gets cold very easily and isn't shy about asking for your coat or jacket when you're together. Your girlfriend is a princess, better treat her like one. She'll squeeze her body against yours in bed and steal the blankets to stay warm.

- She has spots on her arms! Hundreds of light spots on the outside of the wrists to the shoulders, it's almost imperceptible, but so cute. Make sure to always let her know how beautiful she is.

misty quigley

- I think Misty has acne scars on her shoulders and cheeks, little red dots spreaded. She don't mind it most of time, but can be very insecure about it.

- She would be really suspicious if you just showered her with compliments out of nowhere just ‘cause you think she’s upset, so acting is better. Actions speak more to her.

- Place soft kisses on her shoulders, gently bite her cheek so she rolls her eyes in that nervous way she does. Make her feel beautiful as she is – because she is.

- She would be so pleased with you spoiling her that she would pretend to be sad about it a lot of times just to get your attention, she is an evil little genius. It’s captivating.

- She has freckles too! Little dots on her face so lightly that you only see them when she takes off her glasses, but they are there.

“I kiss you everyday, how did I never notice your freckles before?”

“Oh, I don't know.” She shrugs innocently, “Maybe you should take a closer look, baby.”

- She thinks she's so smooth but in reality she's a mess, the girl can't pick up social cues to save her life.

tai turner

- Okay so, Tai is the type who takes the football really seriously and works hard to win and to do that she would try to stay in shape as much as possible. I can easily imagine her doing extra training sessions and her friends teasing her about it, ‘cause Tai, it's a high school team.

- Because of this, I think she would have stretch marks on her back and calves, light fine lines that stand out against her dark skin. These are marks of her effort, so she shows them with great pride.

- She gets very smug and her skin crawls when you run your nails over the marks on her back.

- Tai is strong, strong enough to break someones leg on the field (sorry not sorry allie) and will show off for it whenever she gets the chance. She likes to wrap her arms around you from behind and lift you off the ground when she's passing by.

- She has sun spots on her face and arms! You think it's so cute, but if you say something silly and cheesy about it she'll roll her eyes and tell you to stop embarrassing her.

You sigh, “You are so, so pretty, Tai.”

“And you are so, so lame.” She echos, “...Come here, let me kiss you.”

- Happy wife, happy life. Always make her feel appreciated, she deserves it.

#yellowjackets x reader #lottie matthews x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #van palmer x reader #misty quigley x reader #taissa turner x reader #shauna shipman x reader #jackie taylor x reader #yellowjackets #yjs #yjs headcanons #denwrites

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mercurygray · 2 months ago

Text

Advice for a Long Fic

Someone asked me recently for advice about writing a long fic, and I started making a list before realizing this was probably a post rather than a message.

I know I've said most of this before, and none of it is new advice. As with any advice, take what you think will serve you and leave what you think will not. Everyone's process is different.

-*-

Start a new folder in the place where you save your things. This is your new big project folder. You are going to save all the things here.

Decide whether you are going to write the whole thing and then post it, or post it as you go. There are benefits to both of these approaches. I am a post it as you go person, and I have friends who think this is the dumbest approach imaginable. It is whatever works for you and causes less anxiety.

I have a spreadsheet for all of my characters. While I didn't reference it too often while I was writing, the act of making the document helped solidify people in my mind a little. It was also nice to have in case you felt like doing an askbox game on a slow day.

Come up with a naming convention for the things in the big project folder. When your chapter is 'done' it should be switched to the naming convention. Mine was Darkening Sky - Working Chapter Title (for things that were still in progress) and Darkening Sky - 35 - Chapter Title for things that I'd finished. This helped me find things later after I'd been working for three years and would not have remembered what was in a document.

I personally like the model of doing a separate document for each chapter. This allows me to move these episodes around at will without the danger of possibly deleting a large chunk of text. This does not work for everyone! If you like one big document, use one big document.

The other reason I liked lots of little documents is that it gave me the opportunity to slot in other things that I didn't think were originally going to be chapters. When I first started working on TDS, I had a lot of flashes of ideas for different things throughout the whole story, and I wanted to get them down all at once. Some of those made it into the final story. Some did not. Some of them were written for one part of the story but got recycled into a different part. But they are all in the big document folder in case I needed them.

I also did something for TDS that I've never done for a story before - I wrote down all the different story beats and show beats on notecards and I laid them out on my floor underneath cards that had the show episodes on them. (You may have seen pictures of this.) By putting the plot points on notecards, rather than a list, I had maximum flexibility to move them throughout the story and could visualize over a larger space where the story was going. This also allowed the story and the characters to go places I did not think they would go.

Give yourself grace and time. It will not all happen overnight. It does not need to all happen overnight. The people who are expecting it to all happen overnight are not the people you need in your life.

Having said that, a schedule can be a wonderful and valuable thing. I was trying to post a chapter every two weeks during the pandemic, and then when work picked up again I scaled that back to once a month. The schedule was not for the readers. The schedule was for me. Having something to keep myself accountable was helpful to me to prevent burnout (a chapter a day, no thank you) but keep myself moving forward.

I am going to say something provocative here: There is Writing the Fic, and there is Doing Fandom On The Fic. Doing Fandom On The Fic is the "New chapter coming soon!!!" sorts of things. I would be very cautious about feeling like you need to do the second thing. Work on it first. When it is done, it will promote itself. (If you have already created the Doing Fandom thing as a part of your creative process - great! share that! But don't go out of your way to Make Something Just To Have Something.) There is a time and place for the second thing, and it fills a specific need, but there is a different and I would argue more effective way to do that, which is -

Find a Pit Crew. This is an endurance race, not a sprint, which means at some point you are going to look at what you have on the page and you're going to want someone to tell you that you are doing a good job. You're going to need someone to change your tires and change your oil and talk to you at ten o'clock at night when you want to rip everything up. This is not a big public server - this is one or two trusted friends who will listen to your bonkers AUs and what your characters ate for breakfast. Create a server for you and those two people and go have fun. If no one else shows up to this party, you and those two people are still having a great time, and that is what counts.

#writing advice #asked and answered

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froggiewrites · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I’ve been thinking about your Doflamingo fic nonstop since you posted it! Saw your requests were open and thought I’d throw mine into the mix.

If you’re interested in writing something else for Doffy, maybe f!reader teasing and edging him.. or she tries and he reminds her who’s in charge?

If that’s too much, feel free to ignore >.< I love your work, keep it up!

Anon, I need you to know this has been HAUNTING me since you sent it. Genuinely I was going to work on another request first and I couldn't because I couldn't stop thinking of Doffy in cuffs. Thank you so much for sending this in, I had a LOT of fun with it, it even turned out like double the length I was originally intending.

Coup D'état

Pairing: Doflamingo x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You try to tie Doflamingo down and take charge for once. As much as he seems to enjoy himself, his pride won't let you take control from him, and he decides he has to put you in your place. Warnings: Smut, Bondage, Edging, Overstimulation, Slight Praise Kink (Doflamingo receving), Switch Doflamingo Word Count: 3.8k

You have fun with Doflamingo. You enjoy your arrangement, where you have made yourself available and he takes his pleasure freely, really, you do. But the cocky smirks, the demanding hands, the smug laugh while he keeps you at his mercy…they grate at you.

The idea begins as an innocent little fantasy. You imagine your roles reversed, with him at your mercy for once. You imagine him pinned beneath you, moaning sweetly, crying out your name. You imagine his rough wandering hands at first pinned behind his back, then tied, then handcuffed to the bed. You imagine him, legs spread, cock twitching and red, absolutely puddy in your hands. You imagine pushing him closer and closer to the edge, never quite letting him reach it, as he screams and cries and begs for you to grant him the pleasure he usually takes so easily. You imagine him a hundred different ways, his voice ragged and wanting, and you imagine it frequently. But fantasies are just that: fantasy. It’s harmless.

Until you find yourself admiring a set of handcuffs.

They’re sea prism stone, of course. Used by the Doflamingo Family on their prisoners, kept far far away from Doffy himself. The chain is extra long, presumably to allow them to attach to a table or hang from the ceiling. They’re a tool of imprisonment, of torture, and they belong nowhere near your dear king.

They’re cold beneath your fingers. You rub your thumb lightly against the material, and you wonder if they’d take too much of his stamina. Surely they aren’t pure sea prism stone, not for simple prisoners. Surely they’d just be hard to break, and stop him from using his strings to force you to open them. He’d simply have to ask you nicely. And really, would that be so bad? For the high and mighty Doflamingo to simply ask for once?

You pocket the cuffs.

You still convince yourself this is all theoretical, simply an idea, even as you begin to plan how you would get him into the cuffs. Not when he’s sleeping, that’d be too big of an invasion. You don’t want to break his trust like that, or risk him waking up in such a vulnerable position after one of his nightmares. And you know he would never simply agree to put them on if you asked. He would tease you relentlessly for even thinking of it, pin you down and take you until you cried, until you agreed with him about what a silly idea it all was in the first place. So you needed to find an opportunity.

You try not to carry the handcuffs with you everywhere, both because that would get you caught and because it would make you look patently insane. Instead you hide them in Doflamingo’s room, like a slightly less insane person. If you find a moment to use them, you can, and if you don’t, no harm no foul!

Opportunity comes quicker than expected. Doflamingo calls on you, as he always does. He’s stressed, shoulders tensed, jaw clenched, vein popping on his forehead. He needs relief. You can provide that, you know. And what a relief would it be for him to allow himself to lose control for once? To let you take care of him? When was the last time someone took care of him willingly, with an open heart, and not simply because he demanded it? It certainly hadn’t happened in the time you’ve known him.

He’s laying back on the bed, already half dressed, splayed out and ready for you. He gestures for you to climb on top of him, get to work, and you do so gladly. The kiss is messy, all tongues and teeth as he works off his rage from the day. He readies himself to grab you, grope you as he always does, and is surprised to hear the soft click and feel the cold against his wrist.

“What…what is this?” In a rare moment of control, he doesn’t immediately throw you off of him in rage. He doesn’t even seem angry, really, just confused.

“They’re handcuffs, dear.” While he’s distracted staring at his contained wrist, you manage to capture his other one, the chain of the cuffs looped a few times around one of the wooden slats of the headboard to restrict his movement. He can still move his hands, but he can’t reach you when you’re below his chest. A precaution to ensure he doesn’t just grab your head and force you to work at his pace anyway.

“Sea prism stone handcuffs?”

“Yes.”

His eye twitches slightly as he gives a familiar irritated grin. “And why, exactly, am I wearing these?”

You consider your words carefully. “I want…to be able to give you what I’m willing. When I want to give it. Instead of you just taking it.” He doesn’t answer you for a moment as his brow furrows in what you fear is rage. “I can take them off, of course. I have the key, I can–”

His booming laugh cuts you off. “So you think you can handle being in control, little bird? Really?” He chuckles again, the sound deeply condescending, as everything about him is. “Be my guest, Try to see if you can handle power. Once you realize how out of your depth you are, you can unchain me and I’ll show you what happens to those who aim too high above their station.” There’s a challenge burning in his eyes, one he expects you to back down from, and it makes you bristle.

“I’m going to make you lose your mind, Doffy.” You slide down as you say this, hands dragging down his abdomen as you make your way to his clothed crotch. He just chuckles again, condescending smirk still firmly in place. Instead of touching him, however, you start to slowly strip, exposing your skin to his watchful eyes. He looks pleased until you hear the soft jangle of metal, and his expression sours as he realizes he can’t reach you.

“Get over here.” His voice leaves no room for argument. Unfortunately for him, you’re more than willing to make some.

“Hm, I don’t think so.” You throw your shirt somewhere off into the distance, starting to slowly work off your pants.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to do that, darling. I’m perfectly fine down here.” You hear a thunk as he tries to pull his arms forward again, and you can’t help but laugh, the light airy sound doing nothing but pissing him off.

“Move. Now.”

“Hm…no.” You give him a gentle smile, trying to keep the obvious smugness to a minimum. The rage in his eyes indicates you’ve failed. Once your pants are off, you see his eyes linger, waiting for you to fully expose yourself to him simply because he wants it, and so you still your hands.

“Wha–You’re stopping there?” His voice is filled with a baffled frustration. He’s shifting in his restraints, legs kicking out slightly in protest. You softly pin his legs down with your hands, no force behind the gesture, and surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

“I’ll let you see more when you’ve earned it.”

“I have to earn it?”

“What, you think you deserve it just because?” Your tone is slightly too mocking, and you can see him pull his hands forward harder as the headboard creaks slightly. Uh oh. You need to mollify him a bit, so you try to coo sweetly instead. “If you’re good, and I know you will be, you’ll see everything you want soon. Will you be good for me?”

He scoffs, but he can’t hide the red in his cheeks or the tent in his pants. “Get to work,” he mutters, no real anger behind it.

“Of course, darling.” You pop the button on his shorts, relieving some of the pressure, and he lets out a quiet sigh. You slide them down quickly, as well as his boxers, freeing him entirely. He’s possibly harder than you’ve ever seen him, already twitching and ready, precum leaking from his tip. He’s clearly enjoying this more than he’s letting on.

You lean forward, giving him a good view of your tits, before running your fingers along his abdomen, your tongue following the same path. He lets out a quiet, shaky moan, the sweetest noise you’ve ever heard, before he quickly swallows the noise. You wish you could bite his neck, mark him enough that everyone would see your handiwork, but you know if you get within reach of his hands he’s going to do everything he can to force you to give him what he wants. You settle for leaning down and nipping at his hip bone, which causes him to yelp. You didn’t even know he was capable of making such a vulnerable sound. You look up from hooded lashes to see his cheeks flushed a delicious pink, his eyes watching your movements with rapturous attention. You bite again, harder this time, and he once again fails to suppress his cry. You kiss the spot, the action almost (but not quite) an apology, before moving further down, moving your attention between his legs.

Your hands run lightly over his thighs, feeling the way they tense and jump as he tries and fails to predict your next movement. They’re firm beneath your fingers, as strong as every part of him is. You lean down, nose brushing so very close to where he wants you, before you press a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh. His breath shudders, a shiver racking his body.

“Y–you’re really taking your time, aren’t you?”

You’re kind enough not to comment on the stutter, on the loss of composure he so desperately wants to hide from you. “Just taking time to appreciate the beauty in front of me, dear. You don’t normally let me worship you quite so thoroughly. This seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“I—hah!—” he grits his teeth as a nip against his inner thigh makes him groan, “I thought you worshiped me quite thoroughly last time.” He’s referring to a few days ago, when he fucked your mouth, hips snapping harshly enough that you could barely talk for an entire day after. You had certainly spent enough time on your knees then, though your hands had been clasped around his thighs instead of in prayer.

“I suppose that’s true. Things are a little different today though, wouldn’t you agree?” With that, you finally give him a taste of what he wants, gently taking his cock in your hands. For a moment you just hold him, feeling the way his body reacts to the smallest touch, then you allow yourself to slowly start pumping. His hips jerk, trying to get more stimulation, and you take your hands away, tutting lightly. “Given, not taken, Doffy.”

You start again, and though his hips still twitch, you can tell he is making an active effort to sit still. Good behavior like that should be rewarded. You lean forward, giving the smallest of licks to his tip, and he gives you a beautiful, wanton cry in return. You slowly open your lips, engulfing him in the soft, wet heat of your mouth as one of your hands continues to work him. The other has a strong grip on his thigh to keep yourself steady, your fingernails digging into his skin. You had always been on the receiving end of such marks, never the giver, and now you finally understand his obsession with them. The small half crescents tell anyone else, I was here. He was mine. You can’t help but smile at the thought.

You slowly descend deeper, taking as much of him as you can without gagging, as he tries desperately not to buck his hips into you. You glance up at his face, finding his eyes closed, head thrown back, hands gripping onto the chain of the cuffs in an attempt to ground himself. His expression is pure bliss, nothing in his pretty little head but the feeling of you wrapped around him. You can’t see a trace of his earlier frustration, his furious need for control. You very gently scrape your teeth against him, and he nearly sobs. You continue to work his cock with your mouth and hand, every once in a while releasing his thigh to free up your other hand to play with his balls, working him closer and closer to his edge.

You can feel it coming, feel the electricity begin to run through him, and right before he releases, fully embraces the pleasure he has allowed you to bestow upon him, you stop.

You remove your mouth and hands, backing up, watching him hit a wall instead of his orgasm.

“Huh?” He makes a pathetic little sound of confusion, eyes shooting open to look at you sitting between his legs, blinking innocently. He looks bleary, unsure, still a little lost in the pleasure you so abruptly took away. “Why’d you stop?” He whines.

“I decided you’d been good enough to see what you wanted to earlier,” you purr, reaching for the clasp of your bra. You allow your tits to bounce freely as you throw the fabric to the floor, and his pupils grow as he watches their motion, nearly forgetting what you’d done in his arousal. You slowly slide off your panties as well, making sure he can see the notable wet spot from where they were pressed against your core. His eyes follow the spot until they’re also discarded on the ground, leaving you finally fully exposed to him, dripping and ready to take him. “Well, was it worth the wait?”

“Please,” he rasps, “Finish what you started.” You press your thighs together, instantly warm from the sound of his begging. How many people have had a king beg at their feet like this? How many people has he allowed to bring him to heel, defanged and downright docile? You may be the only one who ever has. You may be the only one who ever will.

“Who am I to deny you, dear, when you’re doing so very well?” You keep your voice sweet and kind, and you can see his cock twitch at the praise as he whimpers. You align yourself over him, slowly and deliberately sinking down onto him. He watches as you engulf him, easily taking him with how wet you are from his submission. Once your hips fully meet, you sit still for only a moment, allowing yourself time to adjust, and you once again hear the cuffs clink as he tries to reach for you. “Just one second, my love. You’re doing so well.”

After fully adjusting, you start to ride him recklessly and without abandon. You watch his face, taking in his fiery expression as he focuses on the bouncing of your breasts as you work. You allow yourself to glance down a moment, seeing the way his cock disappears into you and you fall into him, and moan at the sight. He’s beautiful, and he fills you so well. You pray that this won’t be the only time, pray that you’ll be able to tie him down and take him to your content as much as you’d like. You can see the ecstasy on his face, feel how relaxed he is beneath you. He’s enjoying this just as much as you are, if not more.

Your thighs continue to work, starting to burn as you continue to bounce on him, but you don’t stop, don’t falter, until his moans begin to reach a familiar pitch and you know he’s about to release, then you stop again, pulling yourself off a him, and sitting back again. He nearly sobs.

“Ah, not quite time, Do–”

Snap.

You briefly see splintered wood flying through the air before you’re pinned on your stomach, cold metal wrapping around your midsection and pinning your arms. Doflamingo is behind you now, rough hands grabbing your hips and digging in. You feel his nails leaving their mark as he leans in to growl in your ear.

“I was gracious enough to let you think you were in control, and this is how you repay me? Teasing me, degrading me, keeping the pleasure that is rightfully mine? I think you have a lesson to learn.” The chains dig into your skin as his hands slowly begin to move, roughly grabbing at any bit of skin he can. Breasts, thighs, ass. Anything within reach is his, as it always is and always should be. “You should be grateful I’m kind enough to teach it, little bird. Look at me, showing you grace. Pay close attention.”

He pulls the chain tighter and you cry out, a sound that makes his furious grin grow even wider. He pinches your nipples, and you can feel his warmth breath against your ear as he whispers to you. “Did you really think you could do whatever you wanted?”

You whine as he tugs again. “Was it just what I wanted? You seemed like you enjoyed it a lot.”

You can’t see his face, but you can feel the heat it radiates, hear the way he swallows to compose himself. “You’re delusional. One little gift to you and you think you can do whatever you want.”

“I—ah!—I would never do anything you didn’t want, Doffy. I did it because you enjoyed it, that’s all.”

“Lies,” he huffs out, but you know the reason he buries his head in your neck is embarrassment, plain and simple. Even as he bites down, nearly hard enough to draw blood, you know in your heart he’s just desperately trying to regain the control he gave you, make you forget the power you had over him. His hands begin to shift lower as he presses his back further into you, ensuring you can feel every inch of him. He aligns himself with your entrance, plunging in in a single smooth stroke. He doesn’t give you a moment of rest, pounding into you without mercy immediately, using the chains and his strong hands to maneuver you into whatever position he desires.

He presses your face into the mattress, balls slapping against your ass as he continues to take and take and take. You’re breathless, making soft whimpers and whines as you feel him fill you, taking you deeper and deeper, hitting spots you couldn’t have dreamed of hitting yourself. His fingers dig into your hips as he pulls you impossibly closer towards him, hard enough that you know he’ll leave bruises.

“Who’s in charge here, little bird? Do you remember yet?”

“You, Doflamingo!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t hear you. Who’s in charge?”

“You, Doflamingo! You’re in charge!”

“There we go. Was that so hard?” He grants you a bit of mercy in the finger he brings to your clit, but in return he pulls the chains tighter, watching as they push into your skin. “See what happens when you know your place, dear?”

You can only moan in response, growing closer and closer to your edge, and you expect him to pull away, take your pleasure away just like you did his. You’re pleasantly surprised when he allows you to fall over the edge of your orgasm, and even more so when he continues to work you through it, extending and intensifying your pleasure. It’s only once you come down from your high and feel his rough fingers push even hard into your oversensitive clit that you realize what’s happening.

You cry out, trying to pull your hips away, but he continues to thrust into you, not slowing for even a moment. “What, you wish to deny me even now? I guess you haven’t learned your lesson quite yet.”

You let out weak moans as he continues to work you, again and again, never granting you a moment’s respite. His hands continue to wander as he leaves his marks on you: bites on your neck, your shoulders, your back, and fingerprints on your breasts, stomach, and hips. Every inch of you is covered in him, as it should be, as he wanted, and you’re left sobbing beneath him, entirely overwhelmed. He doesn’t stop at your first orgasm, or your second, or your third. It is only as your fourth orgasm approaches, heat rising again in your stomach, that he finally slams into you one final time, shooting his cum deep into you, filling you fully as you clench once again around him, your body trying to pull him ever closer even now.

He collapses on top of you, pinning you to the bed, his heavy breaths the only thing you can hear over the blood rushing in your ears. He wraps you in his arms, forehead pressing into your shoulder blades. He only speaks after composing himself, once again crushing any vulnerability he showed earlier. “Do you understand now?”

“Yes, Doffy.” Your voice is weak from crying out, but you ensure he hears you, even as you’re muffled in the bedsheets. A silence follows, like he’s waiting for something else, but you cannot grasp it, your brain entirely mush after the marathon you’ve just had.

“You’re forgetting something, little bird.” He sighs into your back. “What else do you have to say to me?”

You cannot for the life of you figure out what he wants, so you go for the only sentiment you can manage to hold in your thoughts for more than a second. “I love you?”

He barks a laugh, voice filled with amusement. “Appreciated, but not quite right. Try again.”

You think back to his beautiful whimpers, the look of bliss on his face. Then you recall the way he hid from you after. “I’m..sorry?”

“There we go.” His touch is as gentle as he is capable of as he caresses your thigh. “Now, where is the key to these things?”

“In the pocket of my pants.”

His warmth leaves you, and you make a soft noise of discontent against your will, one that makes him laugh at you again. He carefully removes the chain from you, eyeing the angry red marks it left behind. He leans down, and you can hear the telltale click of the cuffs opening. You half expect him to throw them somewhere, either out the window or out the door, anywhere to ensure they’re far far away from him. Instead you’re surprised to see him tuck them into the gap between the mattress and the bed frame, along with the key. Keeping them close and available. Interesting.

He lays down again, grabbing you and easily maneuvering you into his side as he allows himself to relax again.

“So…you liked the cuffs?”

“No.”

“But you–”

“Don’t try my patience anymore than you already have, little bird. Just be grateful I’m letting you sleep here after the stunt you pulled.” Even with his harsh words, he pulls you closer, burying himself into your warmth. You can’t help but smile.

“Of course, dear.”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #donquixote doflamingo #one piece x reader #x reader #doflamingo x y/n

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hummingbird24220 · 18 days ago

Note

May I please request swordsman! Reader who can understand swords?

I've seen in a couple fics where swordsmen are able to talk to their swords after bonding with them but the idea of reader being able to with out a bond present would be so funny! Idk if it's a skill reader learned (like a special technique) or a devil fruit power but reader just absolutely clowning on the swordsmen in one piece as a whole. Idk if the swordsman themselves can talk to their swords but I feel like it's funnier if they can't. Reader learning all about Zoro as a kid from Wado and all the embarrassing things it's seen (its been with him so long)

The only other swordsmen I can think of are Law and Mihawk. Readers experience with their swords are a little different

I feel like Yoru(I think is the name) has to much respect for Mihawk to tell any embarrassing stories like Wado but would still be embarrassing with how much bragging it does. It's very proud to have Mihawk as it's owner (he's the best swordsmen afterall)

Law's sword, Kikoku is just as cautious as it's owner but can't help but to take this opportunity to tell reader to tell law to take better care of himself

(You don't have to write for law or Mihawk if you don't want to! I just wanted to add my thoughts on them! You could just do Zoro with his three swords or any other swordsmen- honestly I have lots of thoughts about this 'prompt' so sorry for rambling <3)

(I have more thoughts if you like this request enough if not no worries!)

This is a cool idea! Thank you for requesting <3 I havent met Law in the anime yet (still on baby episodes) but i did a smol google and stalk. Sorry if hes OOC! Kinda went into it with the mindset of 'if the sword vibes with the wielder, then the wielder can kinda understand the sword' - but thee reader is fluent in swordeneese ;)

I saw your other message about you wanting a Swordsmith reader - i wasn't too sure how to incorporate it to the story so its a bit of a doozy. I could do a part 2 - focusing more on the swords being cared/repaired if you like, maybe with some scenes with shanks and his sword (reader tries not to acknowledge his sword so he doesn't think shes nosy or something? big bad shank emperor vibes ((when really hes a softie)))

Let me know if you want part 2 ^^

Enjoy <3

Sharp Tongues, Sharper Blades (Part 1)

One piece x Swordsmith!Reader

You didn’t set out to be a menace. That just sort of... happened.

Your Devil Fruit—unofficially dubbed the Blade-Whisper Whisper Fruit by a very drunk shipwright—granted you the ability to hear and speak to swords. Not just your own. Not just special, bonded blades. All swords. All the time.

It was less of a superpower and more of a constantly running group chat in your head, filled with temperamental steel with centuries of backstories and too many opinions.

Zoro’s swords were loudest of all.

You had snuck into the Sunny’s training room while the crew was off eating. You were supposed to be sharpening some of the crew’s utility knives. Instead, you were crouched beside Zoro’s swords, whispering like you were conspiring with old friends.

"Alright, alright—Wado first," you muttered, eyeing the pristine katana resting in its scabbard.

Wado Ichimonji’s “voice” came through calm and noble, but with the weary sass of someone who’s seen too much.

“It’s about time you listened. Do you know how hard it is being the only reasonable one among these idiots?”

You snorted. "You're literally a sword."

“And yet more emotionally mature than your average swordsman.”

"Tell me something embarrassing."

There was a pause.

“…When he was ten, he practiced shirtless in front of a mirror because he thought he’d grow muscles faster that way.”

You had to cover your mouth to keep the laugh in.

Sandai Kitetsu gave off an unhinged energy, like a cursed blade that listened to heavy metal and screamed into the void for fun.

“I told him to stop juggling me. That was not a test of fate. That was plain stupidity.”

"How many times has he tried to use you while drunk?"

“Seven. Eight if you count the time he mistook a mop for me.”

Shusui (grumpy, old, and dramatic) immediately interjected.

“Hmph. That mop had better stance.”

You pressed your forehead to the wooden floor, wheezing with laughter.

"Wado, how do you deal with him?"

“Love, patience, and the ability to ignore shirtless mirror flexing.”

You wiped your eyes. "You're killing me."

A familiar voice suddenly barked from behind you.

“What the hell are you doing with my swords?”

You turned slowly to find Zoro in the doorway, brow furrowed, arms crossed.

Think fast. “...uh, bonding?”

He looked skeptical. You grinned.

“Wado says you used to practice shirtless for gains.”

Zoro’s face turned ten shades of red.

“WHAT?!”

From the sword rack, Wado Ichimonji whispered smugly: “He also cried after losing to a squirrel once.”

Dinner on the Sunny was loud, chaotic, and usually filled with the sounds of Luffy trying to steal food off every plate within reach.

Tonight, it was also filled with the sounds of you barely containing your laughter as you side-eyed Zoro across the table.

He was trying to act normal, gruffly chewing through his rice like it hadn’t been hours since you’d had a little... chat with his swords. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his eye kept twitching every time you looked at him and smirked.

You were so going to milk this.

“So, Zoro…” you said casually, poking at your food. “Ever get into any fights with… squirrels?”

He froze mid-bite.

Luffy blinked. “Wait, what kind of squirrel? Like a big one?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes at you. “You said you weren’t gonna say anything!”

“I said nothing about dinner,” you replied, grinning. “Besides, Wado told me. I’m just the humble messenger.”

Sanji leaned over from across the table, intrigued. “Oi, moss-head, did you really lose to a squirrel?”

“It was strategic retreat,” Zoro grumbled.

Robin was sipping wine, completely unbothered. “How charming. Perhaps we can find you a rematch.”

“I’LL KILL THAT SWORD,” Zoro snapped.

You snorted into your drink. “I don’t think that’s how swords work, sweetie.”

Wado Ichimonji—propped up nearby in its sheath—was practically vibrating with smug energy in your head.

“Tell him I still have the scar. Right on the saya. From when he tripped into a tree trying to dodge it.”

You bit your tongue. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Okay, laugh later.

“Anyway,” you said, taking a bite, “the real scandal was the mirror thing.”

Zoro dropped his chopsticks.

Usopp looked between you and Zoro. “Wait—what mirror thing?”

Nami raised a brow. “Oh no.”

Brook’s skull tilted curiously. “Was it about his form?”

“Or lack of muscles?” Sanji added with a smirk.

“HE WAS TEN,” Zoro barked, face red. “DROP IT.”

You smiled sweetly. “But you believed it would work. That’s the cute part.”

Zoro shot to his feet. “I will personally throw all your tools into the sea.”

You shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll just ask Wado what your favorite shampoo is and swap it with mayonnaise.”

Wado, gleeful: “It’s lavender. He says it’s for 'clarity.'”

Zoro screamed into his hands.

Across the table, Luffy was just staring in awe. “Your swords talk back?! That’s so cool!”

Zoro glared at you. “They don’t talk.”

You leaned back in your chair, arms behind your head, grin wide as the ocean.

“No, Zoro. They don’t talk to you.”

The galley was quieter after dinner, lit only by warm lanterns and the soft clatter of dishes. Sanji was elbow-deep in soap suds, humming a soft tune as he washed. You were drying plates beside him, content for once to enjoy the stillness after a meal full of teasing and near sword-based homicide.

“You know,” Sanji said, glancing over, “for someone who spent dinner instigating Zoro into an aneurysm, you’re surprisingly helpful in the kitchen.”

“Gotta stay useful somehow,” you replied with a shrug. “Besides, I only poke the moss bear out of love.”

He snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

As he turned to scrub a pot, a glint from the knife rack caught your eye. A particular chef’s knife—slender, perfectly weighted, lovingly honed. It practically vibrated with attention as you passed.

“Hey,” it whispered, voice soft and precise, like a blade gliding through ripe tomato skin. “That man. The one with the cigarette and perfect fingers. He’s a good one.”

You blinked, surprised. Most blades didn’t care for conversation unless they had drama to spill or blood to remember. This one was… almost reverent.

“You want me to tell him something?” you murmured under your breath, pretending to clean the counter.

“Tell him I appreciate the oil he uses. The cloth. The sharpening stone. And the way he holds me—steady, confident. It’s rare to be treated with such respect.” A pause. “…His julienne game? Immaculate.”

You stifled a chuckle. “Right, I’ll let him know.”

“What was that?” Sanji asked, glancing over.

You hesitated. Normally, you’d play this kind of thing for laughs. But this blade wasn’t mocking. It was genuine. So you dried your hands, turned to him, and leaned against the counter.

“Your favorite knife just wanted to say you’ve got great technique,” you said casually. “Like, really appreciates how well you take care of it. The oiling, the sharpening, the… julienne game. All of it.”

Sanji paused mid-scrub, frowning. “You serious?”

You nodded. “Dead serious. It’s almost poetic about it. Kinda adorable, honestly.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the Sunny.

Then Sanji—cool, composed Sanji—turned pink at the ears.

“…Tch. Stupid knife,” he muttered, looking away. “Gonna make me emotional over a hunk of steel.”

You smiled. “Steel’s got feelings too, apparently.”

He shook his head, but there was a softness in his eyes as he went back to scrubbing.

“I always knew that one was special,” he murmured. “But... thanks for telling me.”

You gave the knife a quiet pat. It practically purred in your mind.

“Tell him he makes me feel like art.”

You looked over at Sanji, this man who danced around a kitchen like it was a ballroom, who wielded his tools with precision and pride.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “He really does.”

You hadn’t meant to end up at Mihawk’s castle. That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

A pitstop, a storm, a bit of misdirection from a smug talking dagger who told you “he’s got the best view in the East Blue,” and here you were—on Kuraigana Island, standing in front of the most intimidating sword you’d ever laid eyes on.

Yoru. Black blade. Supreme Grade. Taller than you. Probably older than everyone you’d ever met combined. It radiated authority.

You hadn’t even tried to speak to it yet.

It waited, mounted in quiet glory behind Mihawk, who was calmly sipping wine like you weren’t internally panicking about what this sword was going to say to you.

“I hear you speak to blades,” Mihawk said, not looking at you.

“I do.”

“I presume you’d like to speak to mine.”

“…A little.”

He finally glanced at you, gold eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t speak to just anyone.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “It doesn’t need to. I don’t ask to hear them. I just do.”

Mihawk raised an eyebrow. “Then proceed.”

You turned to Yoru, stepping close.

The second you entered its aura—because yes, this sword had aura—you heard it.

Rich. Deep. Regal. Like a baritone dipped in ink and forged in centuries of ego.

“Finally. Someone with the taste to recognize me.”

“Oh boy,” you muttered under your breath.

“You may tell the boy—sorry, Dracule Mihawk, Wielder of the Blade Supreme, Greatest Swordsman of the Era—that he is… doing a satisfactory job.”

You blinked. “That’s it? You just want me to tell him he’s adequate?”

A pause. Then—

“…And that I am still undefeated. Still untouched. Still flawless. Unlike that moss-haired one. Wado said he once slipped in mud. Disgraceful.”

You held back a laugh. “You brag more than a sword with arms.”

“My existence is a brag.”

You turned back toward Mihawk, who was watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Well?” he asked.

You cleared your throat.

“Yoru says… you’re doing a satisfactory job.”

He blinked.

You smirked.

“And that it is still undefeated, untouched, and flawless.”

A long pause.

“…Of course it did,” Mihawk muttered.

You hesitated, then added, “Also it wanted me to let you know that Wado thinks Zoro once slipped in mud. So. Clearly, your sword is keeping up with the gossip.”

Mihawk took a very long sip of wine.

“I expect you to never repeat this,” he said flatly.

You gave Yoru a wink. “No promises.”

As you turned to leave, Yoru called out—low and proud:

“Tell me—did the chef’s knife like his compliment?”

You blinked.

“…How do you know about that?”

“We all talk, child. You think I don’t keep tabs on the competition?”

Oh. Oh no.

Even ancient blades were messy little gossip gremlins.

You weren’t supposed to be here overnight.

And yet, here you were: Mihawk’s castle guest for the evening, curled up in a surprisingly cozy chair by the fireplace with a cup of hot tea, while the man himself read quietly across from you.

You hadn’t spoken much. Mihawk wasn’t the chatty type. But the sword? Oh, Yoru had no such issue.

“You’re slouching.”

You frowned. “I’m not slouching.”

“Your spine is curved like an inferior blade.”

You glanced at Mihawk, whispering from behind your mug, “Yoru says I’m slouching.”

He didn’t look up from his book. “Yoru says that to everyone.”

You leaned closer to the sword, which rested behind Mihawk’s chair like a smug throne.

“You ever say anything nice?”

“I allowed you to address me directly. That’s the highest honor I offer.”

You stared. “That’s… genuinely the most pompous sentence I’ve heard from an inanimate object.”

“I’m not inanimate. I’m revered.”

Mihawk finally sighed, turning a page. “Yoru, must you?”

“He needs the practice. You’ve been brooding at the fireplace like an oil painting all day. I’m carrying this conversation.”

You snorted into your tea.

“Also, remind him,” Yoru added, voice dropping dramatically, “that it is time to oil my hilt. I detected dryness. This is unacceptable.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh. “You have dryness detection?”

“Superior craftsmanship has superior needs.”

Mihawk glanced up at you, then at the sword.

“…Did it say something ridiculous again?”

“Yes,” you said, barely holding it together. “It wants you to moisturize it.”

“I do oil it,” he muttered, clearly offended.

“Not last Tuesday. You skipped.”

You fell off the chair laughing.

Yoru, ever composed: “She is unworthy of my presence.”

You wiped your eyes. “Then why do you keep talking to me?”

“Because someone must appreciate my glory. And I’ve exhausted Mihawk’s capacity for flattery.”

“I never flattered you,” Mihawk said without looking up.

“You held me up to the moon once.”

“That was a duel. You were reflecting light.”

“It was symbolic.”

You choked.

Later, after Mihawk retreated to his room (muttering something about “blades with superiority complexes”), you sat beside Yoru again in the quiet dark.

“…You really love him, huh?” you asked softly.

There was a pause.

“He is a warrior worthy of me. A craftsman of battle. A bearer of precision, discipline, and solitude.”

You nodded.

“…Also, have you seen how well he grooms his beard? That is commitment.”

You grinned, whispering, “You’re kind of obsessed with him.”

“As he should be with me.”

You leaned back against the stone wall, letting the warmth of the fire and the low hum of Yoru’s self-importance lull you into calm.

Maybe you didn’t mean to stay here. But honestly? You could get used to this.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped onto the Polar Tang wasn’t the crew. Or the high-tech submarine layout. Or even Law himself, who was exactly as grumpy and sharp-featured as you expected.

It was the sword.

Kikoku.

You didn’t even have to look directly at it to feel it watching you. Not menacing. Not hostile.

Just… wary.

You’d felt cursed swords. Wild ones. Vengeful ones. But Kikoku wasn’t like them. It wasn’t cursed. It was careful.

You didn’t speak to it right away.

Law met you in the upper hall with a raised brow and crossed arms. “You’re the one who talks to swords?”

You nodded. “They talk to me, mostly.”

“Tch. Great,” he muttered. “Just don’t touch anything.”

“Don’t plan to,” you said, and then, softer, to Kikoku: “May I?”

There was a long pause. Then, softly—softer than any blade you'd ever heard—

“…You’re not with the Marines?”

Your breath caught. “No. Definitely not.”

“You're not with the World Government? Cipher Pol?”

“No.”

“You don't plan to experiment on anyone while you're here?”

“…Also no.”

Kikoku exhaled—if a sword could do that.

“Alright.” A pause. “You can talk to me. But keep your voice down. He's always listening.”

You glanced at Law, who was standing just far enough away to look disinterested.

Yeah, that tracks.

You stepped a little closer to Kikoku, careful not to make sudden moves. “You okay?”

“I am functional. I would be better if he got more than four hours of sleep a night and remembered to eat food that wasn’t coffee and spite.”

You smiled. “Should I tell him that?”

“…Yes. But phrase it gently. He pretends not to care, but he does.”

You turned to Law, who looked extremely done with your presence already.

“Kikoku says you should sleep more.”

Law blinked. “You asked it that?”

“Nope. It told me on its own.”

You paused, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. “Also said you live on coffee and spite.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“…Tch. It talks too much,” he muttered, brushing past you toward the bridge.

Kikoku, smug now: “He heard me. That’s what matters.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, grinning. “You’re a softie.”

“He won’t listen to anyone else. If I have to nag him myself, so be it.”

You liked this sword. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t gloat. It didn’t care about power or titles.

It cared. About its wielder. About his health. About keeping him safe.

It whispered like a quiet protector in the middle of a warzone.

You looked after Law as he stomped down the hall, coat flaring like always.

“Hey, Kikoku?”

“Yes?”

“…If he ever needs help, I’ll be around. Just whisper.”

“…Thank you.”

You weren’t technically snooping.

You just happened to be in the Polar Tang’s small medbay, tidying up after helping Bepo rewrap a sprained paw, when Kikoku—leaning quietly in the corner, within arm’s reach of Law’s desk—whispered to you again.

“He had another nightmare last night.”

You froze, hand still on the edge of the cabinet. “…About Flevance?”

“No. Corazon.”

That made your chest squeeze a little.

Kikoku wasn’t like the other swords. It didn’t speak unless it had to. And it never gossiped.

So if it brought something up… it mattered.

“Does he talk about him?” you asked quietly.

“Never. But sometimes he mutters his name in his sleep. Apologizes to him. Tells him it wasn’t supposed to go that way.”

You turned to the blade, frowning. “Why tell me this?”

“Because you’re the only one who listens. And he won’t say it himself.”

“…You want me to say something to him?”

“I want him to stop carrying everything alone. If that means you talk to him, fine. But don’t push.”

Just then, the door opened behind you.

“Talking to my sword again?” Law said flatly, stepping in with a clipboard.

You didn’t jump—barely.

“I was just…” You paused. “Yeah. I was.”

Law raised a brow. “You realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I realize how ridiculous you sound, constantly pretending you don’t want people to care.”

His eyes narrowed.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Kikoku just… it worries about you. That’s all.”

Law scoffed, moving past you toward the desk. “Swords don’t worry.”

“Kikoku does.”

He set the clipboard down harder than necessary.

“…And what did it say this time?”

You hesitated. “That you had a nightmare.”

That stopped him cold.

You added, gently, “That you talked to Corazon.”

Silence. Heavy and tense.

You didn’t fill it. Not this time.

Law slowly turned, shoulders stiff. “I don’t talk about that.”

“I know. And you don’t have to. But you don’t have to carry it by yourself either.”

His jaw clenched.

“Look,” you said, stepping closer, “Kikoku isn’t trying to betray you. It’s worried. I’m not here to drag your past out of you. I’m just… here. If you want someone to talk to.”

Law looked at you for a long moment. Eyes searching. Calculating. Vulnerable, maybe—just a crack behind the walls.

Then he looked away.

“…Tch. Tell Kikoku to mind its own business.”

You smiled faintly. “It did. That’s why it told me.”

You turned to go, pausing at the door.

“Kikoku’s a good sword,” you said over your shoulder. “And you’re not alone, even if you keep pretending you are.”

You left the room in silence.

Behind you, Kikoku whispered, ever so softly: “…Thank you.”

It started out simple.

You were at a neutral dockside tavern with the Straw Hats and Law’s crew, sharing a temporary alliance and, supposedly, a peaceful meal.

You had barely touched your drink before Kikoku whispered in your head:

“They’re here.”

You looked up to see Zoro walking in, swords strapped across his hip, expression set to ‘grumpy and ready to duel.’

“Oh boy,” you muttered.

Then Wado Ichimonji chimed in—loud, dramatic, already fired up.

“I smell that blade. The smug one. The one with the silence complex.”

“Wado, please don’t start.”

“I never start. I finish. Tell the butter knife to sheath its judgment.”

Kikoku, cool and sharp: “Your wielder can’t even find the front door without walking into a tree.”

“Okay, that’s—”

Wado: “He’s got spirit.”

Kikoku: “He’s got concussions.”

You choked on your drink.

Zoro and Law sat down across from each other like two cats about to hiss. You sat between them like a hostage.

“I know you’re listening to them,” Zoro muttered to you.

“Don’t drag me into this,” you hissed. “They’re being ridiculous.”

Law looked equally annoyed. “Kikoku never talks like this.”

You turned to him. “Maybe because she’s never had to be in the same room as that one,” you said, gesturing to Sandai Kitetsu, who was screaming in the background.

“FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT.”

“Not helping,” Kikoku snapped.

Zoro narrowed his eyes at Law. “Your sword thinks I’m stupid, doesn’t it?”

Law sipped his drink. “That’s because you are.”

You groaned and put your head on the table.

Meanwhile, Shusui had entered the chat like a war general summoned from retirement:

“We should settle this with an honorable duel.”

Kikoku: “You’ve been retired for five owners. Sit down.”

Sandai: “I will SETTLE THIS BY BITING THE OTHER SWORD’S HANDLE.”

Wado: “Tell the emo blade to respect its elders.”

Kikoku: “Tell the museum piece to update its technique.”

At that point, you stood up so fast your chair nearly fell backward.

“I am not facilitating a steel-themed group therapy session right now. You four can air your issues without me as the interpreter.”

Law: “You’re the only one who can understand them.”

You: “And I would like to not die of psychic sword-related migraines today, thanks!”

The entire table stared.

Then Brook leaned in, cheerful as ever. “Yohoho! So are the swords dating or fighting?”

“They’re doing both,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Kikoku and Wado: “We are not dating.” “I have standards.”

Sandai: “...I’m open to a polycule.”

Zoro stood. “I’m leaving before someone stabs someone, and it’s me.”

Law nodded. “I second that.”

You sighed, gathering your things. “Next time I’m bringing duct tape. For the scabbards. And my own ears.”

As they left, you heard the swords start back up again—Wado muttering insults, Kikoku returning fire with surgical precision.

And in the background:

“FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT.”

You were finally back aboard the Sunny, the sun warming your shoulders as the sea stretched endlessly in every direction. Peaceful. Blissful.

Or at least, it was, until Luffy burst onto the deck holding a cutlass, a bread knife, and a rusty kitchen cleaver like a kid who just found treasure.

“DO THESE TALK?!” he shouted, shoving them toward you.

You blinked, gently pushing the bread knife away from your face. “Luffy, where did you get these?”

“Found them in a barrel! They were just sitting there! Like, waiting to be alive!”

You sighed. “Okay, but—wait. That cleaver is literally still covered in jam.”

“SO DOES IT TALK?”

You closed your eyes and concentrated.

The cutlass: “I was once wielded by a man named Jerry who only knew how to scream and swing. It was exhausting.”

The bread knife: “I'm not technically a weapon. I was forged for croissants. Please stop using me for melons.”

The cleaver: “…I yearn for peace. I miss the days of slicing fruit and feeling needed.”

You opened your eyes. “They’re tired.”

Luffy gasped. “THEY HAVE FEELINGS?!”

“Yes. Mostly exhaustion.”

Brook appeared beside you, gentle smile in place, holding his cane sword. “May I?”

You took it with care.

The second your hand touched the hilt, you felt it. Not just voice, but emotion. Waves of grief, laughter, music. The weight of time. Of silence. Of death and persistence.

And then—warmth.

“…He still plays for them. Every night, even if they can’t hear. I remember each note.”

You swallowed hard. “Your sword remembers your crew, Brook.”

Brook tilted his skull. “Oh?”

You nodded. “Every performance. Every time you stood beside them. Every time you wept while you played.”

A soft pause from the blade.

“He’s kind. Gentle. A little forgetful. He sometimes uses me to stir soup.”

Brook laughed. “Yohoho! I did do that once!”

“But… he remembers them. Always. Even when he forgets where he left me.”

You looked at Brook, voice quiet. “It says you’re the reason it never went dull. That your heart, even now, is sharp enough for both of you.”

Brook put a hand over his chest. “That is… deeply moving. Thank you, (Y/N).”

The blade hummed in your hand, full of music.

Later that night, you sat alone at the ship’s railing, feet dangling off the edge, gazing at the stars. You’d talked to so many swords—heard chaos, tragedy, bragging, battle cries, jokes. So many voices.

And for the first time… silence.

But not lonely silence.

Just… peace.

Your own blade rested beside you, quiet and still.

You smiled. “Thanks for sticking with me.”

It didn’t speak.

It didn’t need to.

You already knew.

#x reader #one piece #luffy #sanji #reader insert #nico robin #nami #tony tony chopper #usopp

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copper-16 · 1 year ago

Text

You Didn't Let Me Finish

Ingrid had a rule that she had held onto ever since she started working as a stripper: she doesn't sleep with clients.

Usually.

Ingrid doesn't usually sleep with clients. Exceptions must be made for most rules anyways though, right?

(a/n: Yes it's a stripper fic. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, this is just a silly little idea I had in my head and decided to write on a whim. Feel free to skip if it's not your thing! Also I didn't proofread it, so ignore any mistake lmao)

Sometimes, Ingrid wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up here.

The Norwegian had done a semester abroad in Spain when she was in university, and found that she absolutely loved the city. So when the opportunity to move to Barcelona presented itself after graduation, she jumped at the chance to go. Her study abroad had been in Madrid, but it was still Spain, right?

And the Norwegian actually preferred Barcelona to Madrid, the longer she lived here. She enjoyed the energy of the city, how posh and lively it was, how wonderfully kind the people were. The job she was offered was modest, and despite the fact that she got by, Ingrid wasn’t all that comfortable with living from paycheck to paycheck if she didn’t have to.

Which was exactly how she had found herself at Dollhouse. It was the most exclusive strip club in Barcelona, catering only to those clients who could pay for the supreme services, and they only accepted the best when it came to their girls.

The owner had taken one look at Ingrid, roving his eyes up and down the dark haired woman with interest before he was nodding, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. Her ability to speak both English and some Spanish came in handy, and she became a regular for many of the international clients.

Ingrid was paid well, only worked three nights a week, and it helped her to nearly double her salary with the tips she was given. She gave lap dances, some pole work, did a few shows on the main stage, served customers when asked. It was an easy gig, and she couldn’t help but feel appreciated given the reaction that she could stir up in most men. It was addicting, really. She felt powerful and in control, her confidence only rising the longer she worked there.

It wasn’t sex. People often got that mixed up, that being a stripper meant sex. It could mean sex, if that was what the girls wanted, but Ingrid had little interest in the older men who came into her rooms. She was as gay as they came, and it was very rare for them to receive a female client, and Ingrid had never had the pleasure of having one, not personally.

But she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, if the right person came along.

It’s just, nobody had.

But perhaps that would change.

—

It was a Sunday night, which meant that the Dollhouse was relatively calm. Ingrid was in the back room with a few of the other girls, getting ready for her show in around thirty minutes when Miguel came back.

“Ingrid, Misa!” He called, and both women turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. They stood, setting their makeup down to walk over to their boss, who was in charge of the scheduling.

Miguel was gruff but kind, and he always made sure the girls were comfortable and not exploited. He could be a bit rough around the edges but he never failed to make the girls feel cared for as people and not just objects, and in return they did their best to make his life as painless as possible. It was a good gig, they all knew that, compared to the nasty bastards at some of the other places around town.

“We have two clients in separate private rooms. Footballers, booked after winning something big I think, I want the two of you to take them,” Miguel explained, and he looked between Misa and Ingrid with a critical eye, clearly trying to decide who to send where.

Despite the fact that Ingrid was Norwegian and Misa was Spanish, the two actually looked quite similar. Ingrid was paler, taller, and less tattooed than Misa was, but in terms of build and physical appearance, they were rather alike.

“Misa, I want you in Room One and Ingrid in Room Two, Misa your Spanish is better than Ingrid’s. The girls will cover your sets for the night so don’t worry about that. They’ve booked for the rest of the night so make sure to give them their money's worth but you’re free to leave when you are done, alright?” Miguel decided, and Ingrid and Misa both nodded.

“Oh and–”

“If they do anything creepy we will come find you,” Ingrid and Misa rattled off in perfect unison, and Miguel scowled at his predictability before he shooed them away to go get changed, the two women smiling at the action.

Ingrid and Misa walked back to the changing room, each of them looking through the different lingerie sets they could wear.

“What are you thinking?” Misa asked as she pulled out a purple lace set before shaking her head, shoving it back in her closet.

“Well if they paid for the whole night then clearly they have money, probably want something expensive and distinguished. Footballers can be assholes and handsy, and they think too much with their dicks and not enough with their heads,” Ingrid scoffs lightly, and Misa snorts as she looks over at the dark haired woman’s closet.

“Hmm…you’re going to wear this,” Misa decides, pulling out a hunter green piece of lace, and Ingrid raises her brow before nodding her agreement, looking over at the Spaniard’s closet.

“And you’re going to do this, I’ve seen you in it before and your chest looks amazing in it,” Ingrid says with an air of finality, and Misa smirks at the outfit before they both went into their changing rooms to slip their clothes off and put the lace on. They don’t bother with robes, the hallway to the private rooms is secluded from the rest of the club anyways, so the two women make their way back together, chatting lightly about their day jobs, what their weeks look like.

By the time they make it to Room One and Room Two, the women are both relaxed and ready to do their job. Neither of them really has any idea what lies beyond the door besides a footballer, so with one final goodbye they both enter the passcodes to the room before stepping in.

Ingrid closes the door behind her before turning around, and she can’t help the way that her eyebrows jump in surprise when she sees who it is sitting at the table.

The room is set up with a bed, a couch and two loveseats, as well as a table with four dining room chairs. Lap dances are usually given in the chairs at the table or the loveseats, but the rest of the room can be utilized however the girls may choose to.

The thing that surprises Ingrid though, is the fact that the person sitting at the table is a woman, and not a man.

The woman stands, the chair rustling against the floor as she pushes it back before she steps forward to examine Ingrid. Her gaze is curious but not sharp, her entire body language relaxed. She’s clearly a footballer, her body muscled and well built.

She can’t be more than a few years older than Ingrid, and she’s just an inch or two shorter than her with light, sandy blonde hair that is straightened just past her shoulder. Her hazel eyes take Ingrid in, the light lace that covers her body, and she nods appreciatively for a moment before cocking her head.

“Hello,” she offers, and Ingrid is quick to respond, the woman’s gaze making her feel a little bit hot.

“Hi,” Ingrid responds, not entirely sure what to say. The woman was speaking to her in English, so clearly she recognized that the Norwegian was a foreigner, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she noticed that before she had even spoken.

“Why did they send you in here to me?” The woman asked curiously, her hazel eyes still boring into Ingrid. The question is surprising, considering the fact that they were at a strip club. They sent her in here to do her job, but the Norwegian gets the sense that isn’t what this woman means, so she answers with more candor.

“My coworkers' Spanish is better than mine. Presumably your friend only speaks Spanish, but you clearly can speak English well, so here I am,” Ingrid supposes, and the woman nods slowly before her lips quirk up in a smirk.

“My friend can speak enough English for tonight, I promise. I think you should switch rooms…I insist actually. I think she’ll be quite charmed by…” the woman looks down at Ingrid once more before her gaze returns to the dark haired woman’s eyes, “...you.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise before she nods in agreement, never one to say no to a client request unless it really was something she couldn’t do.

“If that’s what you wish…” Ingrid trails off, still unsure of the woman’s name.

“Alexia. And my friend's name in the other room is María,” she supplies, and Ingrid regards her for another minute before slipping out of the room, Alexia turning back to sit down in the chair she had been in originally.

The Norwegian walks over to Room One briskly, rapping on the door three times before she steps back, waiting for Misa to come out. It only takes a few seconds for the Spaniard to slide out of the room, her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

“We need to switch, the other woman requested it,” Ingrid explains, and Misa nods for a second before she looks back at the room.

“Can you believe it’s women? And god, if the second one is as hot as this one…” Misa trails off, practically drooling, and Ingrid can’t help but laugh lightly, because really she quite agrees. Misa is the only other gay woman at Dollhouse, and Ingrid finds solace in the fact that she isn’t alone, calmed by the Spaniards presence.

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Her name is Alexia,” Ingrid adds before the younger woman can leave, and Misa nods before she gestures back at the room next to them.

“Names Mapi,” Misa supplies, and Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow at the fact she’s now been told two separate names for this woman. But honestly, if she was even half as attractive as the first woman, Ingrid was seriously going to be in trouble.

The first woman, Alexia, hadn’t exactly been her type per say, but objectively she was very attractive.

As Misa disappears down the hallway Ingrid takes a deep breath, trying to center herself and remain calm at what is about to occur. She knew what the deal was with men, how to dance and act.

But women were different, Ingrid knew that even if she had never had a female client. They were more watchful, more appreciative, more in tune.

And well, if this woman was as attractive as Misa was making her out to be, she might be in a bit of trouble.

The green eyed woman punched in the code before she stepped into the room, once again shutting the door behind her.

Ingrid turned around, taking in the room and the woman who was settled on one of the room's two armchairs.

And god was Misa wrong.

This woman wasn’t attractive.

She was mind numbingly, astronomically stunning, and it takes everything in Ingrid not to let her jaw physically drop.

The woman had her hair down in beach waves, lighter highlights against the brunette of her hair accenting the dark strands, framing dark eyes and supple, light pink lips that are set in a smirk.

She’s wearing a button down that has far too many buttons undone, but it only serves to show off her cleavage, biceps straining against the tight black fabric. She has on gray dress pants, and she shifts her shirt sleeve up to glance at her watch before she stands, making her way over to Ingrid.

“Hola princesa,” the woman greets softly, her voice raspy and deliciously low, and if Ingrid wasn’t wet at just the sight of her, she was now.

If there was anyone who was going to break her rule of not sleeping with someone, it would be this woman. That was assuming she wanted to as well, but if the glint in her eyes was anywhere near as serious as it looked, Ingrid thought her chances might be relatively high.

She scrambled to gather as much Spanish as she possibly could. It was a little pathetic that she wasn’t more fluent, but between this being her third language and the fact that her work was in English and most of her friends spoke the language, her Spanish could definitely use some work.

“Hola,” Ingrid rushed to reply, internally cringing at how bad her accent was while understanding washed over the woman’s face, and she switched to a heavily Spanish accented English.

“Ah, English, no?” The woman suggested, no malice in her tone, and Ingrid let out a small sigh before she nodded.

“Si,” she acquiesced in a bit of a defeated tone, but the woman simply tipped her head back in a delicious laugh, something light and breathy, her neck on full display. She had a tattoo on it, and Ingrid could see more ink peaking back at her on the woman’s available skin.

It did absolutely nothing to help the green eyed woman’s aching core, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the problem at hand, to the fact that she needed to get on with the performance for this woman.

“Sit?” Ingrid asked gently, gesturing to the table and chairs that surrounded it, walking over to pull one of them out.

The woman made no move to walk over, seemingly not done with the conversation.

“I’m Mapi,” she said instead, and Ingrid raised her brow at the woman, clearly a little curious.

“I’ve been told by a confident source that your name is María,” Ingrid sidesteps the introduction to ask the question, watching the way that the woman’s eyes darkened with lust when she says her name.

“Have you now?” Mapi drawls, the surprise clear in her face. The smirk is back, and she finally begins to walk toward the table, but before she sits she stands in front of Ingrid, still only looking her in the eyes.

The Norwegian keeps waiting for her to drop her eyes down, to look over the lace that could hardly be described as modest, but the smaller woman seems hell bent on keeping her eyes trained on Ingrid’s.

“And you are?” She asks lightly, the dark haired woman answering her question quickly and easily.

“My name is Ingrid,” she murmurs, once again gesturing at the chair, and this time Mapi takes her up on her offer. The Spaniard sits down before she looks up at the Norwegian, who strolls over to turn the music on.

“Any requests?” Ingrid questioned, looking back at Mapi to find the woman staring at her with hooded eyes and a hungry gaze. She shakes her head, finding no offers.

“Whatever you prefer,” Mapi decides, and Ingrid observes the woman for a moment before nodding, turning back to the speaker system. She sets up her playlist, playing the song TiO by Zayn, which had been a recent favorite of hers.

The song is a bit of a quicker pace, which she liked to start out with. It was easy to flash the quick movements before she let things get sensual, and her approach for this woman is absolutely no different.

She turns back toward the table, walking over in long strides before she comes to rest in front of Mapi, her ass pressed back into the table behind her.

“Can I touch you?” Ingrid asks in a low voice, tossing her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. Mapi looks up at her with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact before she nodded carefully.

The Norwegian stood from the table, stepping forward. She turned, rounding the chair that Mapi was currently settled in, just watching. The brunette didn’t look back at her, but did meet her eyes when Ingrid finally circled all the way back to the front of the chair.

It’s at this point that Ingrid brings her hand up, resting it over the Spaniard’s collarbone carefully. She slides her hand up, coming into contact with bare skin as she pushes her middle finger inside the cuff of the woman’s popped shirt.

The dark haired woman plays with the collar for a moment before she begins moving once again. She drags her fingers around to Mapi’s back, stopping when she is standing in front of the Spaniard’s back, pressing both of her palms to the brunette’s back, fingers down. She slowly runs her hands down, into the small of the footballers back, before she shifts, moving them to caress her sides gently.

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, however, continuing around the chair. Her hands travel over the Spaniard’s arm, down her side and around the underside of her chest before she splays it over the top of the brunette's abdomen.

The muscle beneath her palm is rock hard, and she cannot help but let out a harsh breath at the feeling. She hopes that the footballer doesn’t notice, but when she looks up to see that Mapi is smirking back at her, she considers the effort fruitless.

Ingrid’s hands retract from the Spaniard’s skin, and she shifts so that she can move her hips down and into the brunette’s lap, her back to Mapi’s front. It’s a bold first move, but she’s quick, in time with the song for just a tease before she’s gone, several steps away.

Mapi is watching her with eagle eyes as Ingrid runs her hands up her own sides, squeezing at her own chest, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling for emphasis. It’s a little pornographic, and perhaps a little bit of a sell out, but she doesn’t care.

The Norwegian makes sure to spend several moments just watching, teasing herself in whatever way possible, reveling in the way that the Spaniards eyes darken at the sight. Her nipples strain against the lace, hard and begging to be freed, but the dark haired woman ignores them in favor of returning to the footballer.

The song changes to Lose Control by Teddy Swims, something more slow and sensual. Ingrid stalks back to the brunette, her intent clear when she places her hands on the woman’s knees, sliding them up her thighs before squeezing, lightly.

The Norwegian moves her hands up the Spaniard’s side as she settles in her lap, her knees spread wide as she presses forward into the brunette’s personal space. She moves her hips slowly in an infinity pattern, sensual and enough to drive any man crazy.

And yet still, Mapi has yet to touch her. Her arms remain listless at her sides, rather awkwardly. It’s a staunch change from the male clients she has often, who feel that they are allowed to touch, to take as much as they want. They consider the fact that Ingrid has been paid for, that they are allowed to do whatever they want to her, within reason.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for this woman, however, and it only turns Ingrid on more. She leans forward even further, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other remains firmly planted on her side. Her lips are on the shell of the woman’s ear as she speaks, her voice low.

“You can touch…you know,” the Norwegian drawls, her words breathy and filled with lust. She leaned back to look the footballer in the eyes, noting that her gaze was dark, the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

They held the others' gaze for a moment, neither moving until finally, finally Ingrid felt two hands carefully, respectfully placing themselves on her side, down toward her lower back.

It was the Norwegian who moved them, removing her hands from the Spaniard to place hers over the brunette’s, sliding them lower, lower, lower, until they were resting firmly on her ass. Only then did Ingrid remove her own hands, planting them on the back of the chair as she rolled her hips down into the brunette.

Mapi was staring at her intently, and she gently palmed at the Norwegian’s ass to test, rewarded greatly for her efforts when Ingrid arched into her, letting out a breathy noise.

The dark haired woman’s body could only be described as fluid as she moved above the Spaniard, finally moving her leg to hook over the back of the chair, wrapping around the brunette’s back.

Mapi slid her hands up, pulling Ingrid’s body more flush with hers. The Norwegian smiled, their faces just centimeters from one another. The Spaniard’s breath on hers was hot and insistent, her eyes roving over Ingrid’s face, finally eyeing the lace that covered the dark haired woman’s body.

“You like it?” Ingrid purred, a smile evident in her voice as she gripped Mapi’s shoulders. The Spaniard scoffed lightly, looking back up at Ingrid.

“You could say that,” the brunette hummed, her voice thick and low. It sent a shot of heat straight to the Norwegian’s core, and she arched even further into the smaller woman.

Ingrid turned her head, brushing her nose against the Spanaird’s temple, her breathing shallow.

“I don’t sleep with clients,” the Norwegian explained, and felt the shift immediately from the woman beneath her, the instant reaction to move away.

Ingrid had to give the footballer that, she was nothing if not respectful. It only made the Norwegian want her more, only made her flush further at the thought.

It was her choice.

Ingrid intercepts her hands, shoving them back down onto her ass before she brought her own to the brunette’s neck, pulling her in.

“You didn’t let me finish,” the dark haired woman pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Mapi reached forward, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip slowly, softly.

“Lo siento, princesa,” Mapi soothed, her expression willing Ingrid to continue. The Norwegian smiled gently, leaning down so that her lips hovered over the Spaniard’s throat.

“I don’t sleep with clients, not unless I want to,” Ingrid continued, her hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her fingertips trail up Mapi’s side, running over ridges of muscles and soft skin, dipping under her shirt before they retracted. Never direct, always teasing.

“And trust me, I want to,” the Norwegian promised as she brought her face back to level with Mapi’s, her eyebrow quirked, almost daring the Spaniard to disagree.

But the brunette would never do that, especially not when she has the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on sitting in her lap.

They are left staring at one another for a few moments, their eyes flickering back and forth between the others eyes and lips, waiting to see who breaks first. A game of wills, a question of who is going to hold the power.

It’s the Spaniard who snaps first, lunging forward to capture Ingrid’s lips in her own. She’s impatient, unable to resist having Ingrid in front of her looking so delectable, without doing anything about it.

Mapi’s mouth is hot and insistent on her own, the brunette’s hands coming up to cradle Ingrid’s face as she kisses her senseless.

It’s only a few moments later that the Spaniard presses her tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth, silently asking for entrance. The dark haired woman allows her access instantly, completely floored at the feeling of Mapi’s mouth on her own.

The footballer swipes her tongue over the roof of Ingrid’s mouth, smiling into the kiss at the whine that slips past Ingrid’s lips at the feeling.

The Norwegian’s head is dizzy, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of the Spaniard, of her hands being everywhere, of the press of her lips to Ingrid’s. It feels as though life is being breathed back into her, transformed into a fire that is sent straight to her core.

She knows that she’s soaked the lace beneath her completely, but she can’t bring herself to care. Especially not when Mapi leans back, gesturing for her to stand. Ingrid is quick to comply, not bothering to try to make herself seem as cocky as she was pretending earlier.

It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked properly, and something in this woman’s eyes tells her that the Spaniard is exactly what she needs.

“Get on the bed,” Mapi instructs, and Ingrid is quick to comply, walking with purpose before laying back on the bed, sitting with her head up near the pillows, still clad only in her lace.

The Spaniard stands from her spot on the chair, flipping the lock on her watch open as she sets it on the table in front of her. She pulled her shirt up from its spot having been tucked into her pants, looking over at the Norwegian as she undid the last few buttons.

She laid the shirt down on the table, the picture of control and composure. The loss of the garment leaves her in only a black bra, which contrasts against the tan of her skin. She loses the belt she had on but elects to keep her pants on, instead moving toward the bed.

Throughout this, the footballer had never let her eyes leave contact with Ingrid, not wanting to let the Norwegian out of her sight, even for a second.

Ingrid lays back as Mapi joins her on the bed, crawling up the Norwegian’s body until she was positioned over the taller woman’s body, where she had wanted to be from the beginning.

“You tell me to stop the minute you do not like something, si?” Mapi asked, her voice clear and leaving no room for argument. The Spaniard had no interest in making Ingrid do anything she did not want to.

“Si,” the Norwegian parroted, squirming just slightly under the Spaniard, desperate for her to do something.

Once she has confirmed Ingrid’s answer, the Spaniard is quick to begin her descent down the woman’s body. She captures the dark haired woman’s lips in a bruising kiss, applying just the right amount of pressure and tongue to have Ingrid gasping for more.

She releases the Norwegian’s perfect, plump lips only in favor of working her mouth across Ingrid’s jaw, sucking and nipping lightly at the skin there. When she reaches the dark haired woman’s ear, she works her lips down and over the column of Ingrid’s throat. She pays close attention to the areas that make the taller woman let out a heavier breath, or the ghost of a whine, doubling down on her attention to those spots.

She kisses over soft, pale skin, and down toward the soft flesh of her chest. Ingrid is arching into her before she even reaches her destination, desperate for more.

“Can I–” Mapi removes her lips only to start a sentence that is never finished.

“Yes, please, do anything to me,” Ingrid gasped, her entire body on fire at the thought of Mapi’s mouth over her chest, at the apex of her thighs. A flush is blooming on her chest as the Spaniard pulls the lace down, revealing Ingrid’s chest.

Her nipples are peaked, aching to be touched and played with. The footballer doesn’t even bother with using her fingers first, simply leaning down to wrap her mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipples, her hand coming to cover the other.

“Aye, María,” Ingrid hisses at the feeling, her whole back leaving the bed as she arches into Mapi’s mouth. Her hand has flown to the Spaniard’s head, her fingers tangling in the brunette’s hair and tugging lightly.

Mapi doubles her attention at the feeling, swirling the tip of her nipple around her tongue, teasing her teeth over the sensitive area. Ingrid ate every lap of attention up, basking in it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel so much, and it was turning her on in a way that was borderline painful.

“Please, more,” the Norwegian begged once attention had been laved to both sides of her chest, and Mapi released her other nipple with a lewd pop sound. The footballer raised a brow at her, but Ingrid shook her head, her breaths shallow and desperate.

The stripper is well aware of the irony, given her profession. She’s the one who is supposed to be pleasuring, not the other way around. But there was something about the way this woman composed herself, something about the reverence with which she touched the Norwegian that made her comfortable.

Mapi considers the request for a moment before she relents, pulling further at the lace, signaling that she wanted it off. The dark haired woman is quick to comply with her request, removing the hunter green fabric before she threw it to the ground, already forgotten.

Ingrid lay back down on the bed, her hair splaying out against the pillow. The Spaniard watched her with hungry eyes, her lips turning up into a smirk.

“So beautiful,” she murmured softly, her words filled with clear appreciation. “Espléndida, princesa,” Mapi whispered as she returned to Ingrid, softly holding the Norwegian’s face in her hands. Her lips were gentle against the taller woman this time, leaving the Norwegian with the feeling that she was delicate, and deserved to be treated as such.

Oh, and what a different feeling it was to be touched by the Spaniard, as opposed to the heavy handed men she usually interacted with.

To be touched and praised as though she was the most important thing in the world. No drug could compare, not to her anyways.

Even as she trails down the Norwegian’s body, Mapi stops to press kisses into her skin, imbuing the fire of their interaction with a level of sweetness and ingenuity Ingrid had not been expecting.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared the Norwegian for what the first run of the Spaniard’s tongue through her would feel like.

She is unsure of where her voice ends and Mapi’s begins, but all she knows is that two moans are filling the room, both equally desperate. Ingrid clutched at the sheets desperately, her hands fisting the pristine white fabric beneath them as Mapi ran her tongue through her again.

The Spaniard eats her out as though it will save her, with an intent and passion that Ingrid cannot remember ever having in the bedroom. She brings her tongue up to circle the Norwegian’s clit several times, and every time a new wave of pleasure washes over her.

“You taste perfect,” Mapi mumbles against her heat, and Ingrid flushes completely at the praise, struggling to compose her own pleasure. She attempts to bring her hand up to cover her own mouth, something that Mapi notices instantly.

“Aye, I want to hear you,” the Spaniard chides softly when she sees what Ingrid is doing, and the dark haired woman lets out a filthy moan as she removes her hand, at the feeling of Mapi’s finger teasing at her entrance.

“Is this okay?” The footballer confirms, waiting for the fervent head nod that she receives from Ingrid before she finally dips her finger in at a painfully slow rate, before curling gently.

Ingrid is writhing under her, letting a string of mewls and moans that tumble from her lips of their own accord. She doesn’t care that she had no idea if anyone can hear them, only focused on her own pleasure and the feeling of the brunette’s body near her own.

“Si, si, si,” Ingrid begs, moaning unabashedly when Mapi adds a second finger, curling with more purpose this time.

The footballer could admit, her plan had been to tease more than this. She was a playful woman, and enjoyed picking her partners apart before allowing them to come, usually.

Something about this Norwegian, the flush in her chest and the noises slipping past her lips, has Mapi throwing her entire playbook out the window.

She’s more than happy to continue this, so long as Ingrid continues making those noises.

“You like that, princesa?” Mapi asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. Ingrid nods tightly, her chest arching up as the Spaniard curls her fingers deep within her.

The set of her jaw, the way it opened with pleasure left Mapi flooded with the need to please, so the Spaniard lowered her mouth down to Ingrid’s clit, sucking lightly. The dark haired woman cries out, her hips rutting down into Mapi as the footballer continued her brutal pace.

“Fuck!” Ingrid wailed, her voice dripping with need as she hurtled toward orgasm. Her hips grew erratic, jumping into Mapi’s hand as her whole body squirmed. The brunette could tell that the dark haired woman was close, doubling down on her pace and intensity, intent on getting her there.

It only took a few more curls of Mapi’s fingers from deep within the Norwegian for the taller woman to let out a sharp cry, her whole body tightening. The Spaniard couldn’t help but smirk against the dark haired woman’s core as her whole body began to shudder, her orgasm working through her like a forest fire.

Her whole body was arched off the bed, the sheets gripped in her fists as Mapi worked her through her orgasm, her entire body shaking. She collapses against the sheets, her breath coming in quick gasps as waves of pleasure flooded her system, her eyes still screwed shut.

It took her a few moments, but she forced her eyes open when Mapi removed her fingers from Ingrid. The green eyed woman looked up at the Spaniard, who had sat back on her heels, her own breath short and lustful.

The brunette reached her finger up to her own face, brushing some of the arousal away from her lips with the pad of her thumb as Ingrid looked up at her. The Norwegian’s dark hair was a sharp contrast to the pillow, the flush of her chest and stomach the complete antithesis to her pale skin.

Mapi would never see a sight prettier than this under her again, she knew that for certain. Ingrid turned her head, glancing over at the clock and realizing with a rush that they still had several hours before either of them had to go anywhere.

When the Norwegian looks back up at the Spaniard, it’s with a smirk on her lips, one eyebrow raised, almost as though she was challenging the brunette.

“Fuck, princesa,” Mapi swore before surging forward to claim Ingrid’s lips once more, pressing her back into the bed.

Ingrid let herself moan out, half at the feeling of Mapi’s body above her own, and half of the self satisfied feeling of knowing that it was going to be hard to walk tomorrow.

So yeah…maybe some rules are worth being broken every once in a while.

#ingrid engen #mapi leon #woso #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #misa rodriguez

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