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janumun · 8 months ago

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A Relentless Conquest (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 10.7k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: dueling (Sylus fighting), semi-public sex, oral and vaginal sex, Sylus’s brand of manhandling, dry humping, praising, dirty talk, rough sex, wander in wonder AU/historical AU, based in ancient Mongolia, creampie, size difference, mild rich/poor class power dynamics

Summary: What happens when you end up catching the unwanted attentions of a sleazy magistrate on a day out in town? A duel for your honor — or lifelong imprisonment — is what awaits you. That is, until Sylus, leader of the exceedingly notorious Onychinus gang, and a man you dub reluctantly, an old acquaintance, intervenes and offers the immoral magistrate a deal he cannot refuse.

[A fic where Sylus engages in a precarious duel in order to free you from the clutches of a corrupt high official; wins the duel AND the prize at stake, you.]

Author’s Notes: The things the Wander in Wonder trailer did to me were unspeakable, I had to get started on this fic right away. Another long monstrosity so it took me quite a while to hammer it out smoothly. Some terms used within, to note: *tögrögs is an old Mongolian currency and *Lungtang is the Mongolian city used loosely within this fic’s setting, as per Sylus’s alleged outfit inspiration drawn from the Mongol’s hunting fit in the current event, “Wander in Wonder” . An amazing twitter thread for the rest of the inspirations drawn for the boys’ outfits can be found here.

Link to Ao3

Perhaps you should’ve considered your course of action through before you’d tossed yourself voluntarily into the metaphorical den of lions. Caleb did always tease you for your often impudent ways, declaring you’d get yourself into hot water someday.

You didn’t quite think past saving the small, unfortunate child in front, when he’d careened straight into the Magistrate, staining the sickly bone white of his gaudy robes with the treat he’d been brandishing in hand. An action of careless innocence that could’ve saddled the boy with a severe punishment of thrashings at best. And at worst —

You didn’t even wish to entertain the horrifying notion.

You whisper a quick note of warning to the trembling child in your arms before he’s nodding his assent, making a clean dash away from the Magistrate and his burly procession of hired cronies. They do not move to stop him; the official’s beady eyes sweeping cursory across his fleeing figure before he focuses upon you once more.

“Well then, speak up, girl. How do you plan on making up for the crimes of the filthy criminal you just let escape?” He leers at you, sending a frisson of disgust through your veins. “I do not mind much, provided you are able to compensate me in full.” He holds up two thick, swollen fingers. “two thousand tögrögs.” Your stomach revolts in near horror at the exorbitant price he names.

“Speak, lass, do you possess the means to compensate me?”

“...Apologies, Sire, I do not.”

The Magistrate clicks his tongue at you, as if that son of a cur had not already anticipated your answer; your garb alone giving away your status as a mere commoner while he stood, a tall, foolish braggart of a Magistrate, who’d been a constant source of worry amongst the townsfolk as of late. “What a pity. I guess we shall have to make you pay off with what you do have on person, shan’t we?”

His eyes rove down the length of your body in a manner greasy enough, it has your fingers itching to claw them out of his skull. Thoughts of the consequences of your actions extending to your family after — your grandmother and Caleb — are what stay your hands, firm by your side. You try and maintain that demure grace firm within your body instead.

“What else are we to do if she cannot pay for what she has cost me, yes?” The Magistrate flourishes his arms wide and turns, towards the crowd that has gathered to watch, setting the stage for his perverse demands. “An eye for an eye, an honor exchanged for honor; that is the Law of our Lungtang, is it not?”

None of the commonfolk dare to speak against the tyrant’s words, lest they make of themselves a new target to harass. And you do not blame them either, the burden of your reckless actions, yours to bear alone.

The man trundles forwards on heavy steps; the large, ugly stain left across his robes growing wider in your lowered line of sight before the expanse of his bloated, sweating hand fills your field of vision. The rings around his fingers, nearly engorging the base of them as he curls his hand about your jaw to heave your gaze up towards him.

The ugly, toad-like sweep of his tongue against the top row of black and gold teeth has a chill skittering down your spine. “You’re rather lovely, you know that?” He croaks in a low, creeping voice.

You bite harsh into your bottom lip to revolt against the bile that threatens to reflux past your throat and onto the bastard’s face. “What say you become my whore then, dearest? I’d treat you very...” A slimy slip of the hand down the expanse of your body, to settle at your hip. “ well . And if you please me, you could even climb the ranks and become first Mistress, you know?” You judder at the stench of his breath, nearly in your face now. Unable to help the revulsion he inspires in you and you know; the cur in front takes it for a show of abashed innocence, with the way his leer stretches wider across his face.

“I am far too plain and discourteous for a man of your stature, my lord. If there is anything else I could do for you in recompense, I would be more than delighted to offer my services.” The words uttered, sit sickly sweet on your tongue. “I have a good arm on me and can do any physical labor you may require of me.”

The rat makes a show of deliberating your words. “It’s a pity the only ‘physical labor’ I require of you lies within my bed, dear girl.”

You visibly recoil from his revolting touch at your arm; perhaps you aren’t able to quite keep your emotions from surfacing upon your face this time round as the man grabs at your forearm tighter, gaze darkening in simmering displeasure.

“You know the law, woman. If you wish to run scot-free without offering anything in return, you must put your life on the line and agree to a duel with the offended party.” He chucks a thick, swollen thumb back at his minions, voice seething into a threatening octave. “And I wouldn’t suggest that unless you want them to crush that pretty face of yours.”

You consider ending it all; cutting the bastard open for him to choke in a pool of his own gurgling blood. You think you could do it too, before his bodyguards could get to you.

And with the loss of their Master, they wouldn’t be able to hold you prisoner within the dungeons for too long: you hoped. The stray, wild thought is all you can see within your vision.

Your hand twitches for the dagger fastened right beneath your satchel, one Caleb had lent you for protection. Fingers barely grazing against the polished hilt of the blade, cobbling together courage to see your mad plan through.

Before large, thick digits are slipping against yours to halt — a fleeting touch of caution — from behind, fracturing your hasty plan entirely.

You’re barely able to comprehend the sudden, unnoticed proximity of your interloper, before a great arm is coiling fast about the expanse of your waist, snatching you swift from the Magistrate’s claws and firm against a warm, broad chest.

“Now, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” The well-known burr, welcome, in that moment stirs joy within your belly as you reach to crane your neck to meet eyes with that familiar scarlet.

“Sylus.” You croak in near disbelief.

He exhales, low, against the shell of your ear, before he slowly lets go of you. “I’m away from Lungtang for a mere fortnight, only to find you scrounging for trouble, upon return.”

Your irritation might’ve flared at his words if not for the phlegmy clearing of the Magistrate’s throat in front.

“And who do you think you are to touch my property so carelessly, insolent fool?”

Your ire directed from the man behind to the bastard in front. You feel Sylus’ hand soothe a flex about your shoulder.

“My bad, honoured Magistrate.” He sweeps an insouciant palm at him, the grin upon his face edged to a dagger’s point. “We did not think you would be gracing Lungtang so soon with your noble presence. Or we might’ve arranged for a far better reception, for your Grace.”

Each word that slips past Sylus’ lips is a sarcasm heavy barb that turns the official’s face in front purple with each syllable uttered. “That woman owes me, you dog. I shall make her my mistress, as is only fair I extract proper recompense from her for her grave offense.”

One of the Magistrate’s men behind scamper forward in that moment to whisper urgently into his ear. The official’s eyes nearly burst out of his sockets at whatever he’s learned, wide toady gaze skittering towards Sylus as if he is indeed a rabid beast that would bite if disturbed.

He thrusts an accusatory finger at him. “You are the Onychinus’ leader.” He spits. “That gang of lawless hounds.”

Sylus’s mouth quirk into a vicious smile at the allegation. “That I am.”

“You— you,” The Magistrate seems to sputter for the space of several moments before the man at his side mutters something else into his ear.

The official straightens at whatever he’s heard, clearing his throat, once. Twice. “I am willing to pardon your crimes.” He begins once more. “Provided you can prove yourself worthy in a duel against one of my men.” The crowd around you breaks into quiet murmurs. “But,” he continues. “if you lose, Onychinus dog, then along with your little woman, you shall give up your life to my service, your autonomous tyranny within these lands shall cease to exist and you shall follow my sole command.” He pauses for a moment’s breath, as if to let the weight of what he believes to have been a devastating challenge, sink in.

But all he earns from Sylus is a raised brow. “Sounds like a deal. Let us raise the stakes, though, shall we?” He cocks his head at the procession of guards right behind the Magistrate. “I’ll take on all your men, not just your best. Give you a real crutch to get started with.”

The crowd of onlookers erupts into gasps of surprise and gibbering discussion amidst the concerning blue coloring the Magistrate’s face at the taunt. You desperately clutch at Sylus’s arm. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He meets your wide-eyed panicked gaze with a cool, gentle one of his own. “Calm yourself down, kitten. I’ll be fine.” A large hand, he places gentle at your head in reassurance but all it does instead is send your alarm flaring higher.

What had you roped the man into? Infuriating though he was. Sylus was a confounding acquaintance of years; you could not help be lured into irritation any time he were around — a man whose companionship you’d come to cherish in begrudging gratitude over your time together — but this is not what you’d wanted.

Your reeling thoughts fractured by the screeching Magistrate in front. “You think you’re all that, you shameless scoundrel? Oh, you’re just a man and I’ll make sure they break your limbs, bone by excruciating bone, before we drag you bloodied and defeated, to my estate.” He spits the time of the duel to be held tomorrow in that same fury before he’s turning on you both and trudging back off to where he came from, his procession of cronies falling along right in line.

And you’re left behind, with the metallic poison of your regret within your mouth and bone deep worry within your body as you stare up at Sylus’s form.

The next day arrives much too soon, even as sleep evades you through the entirety of your night, spent tossing onto much too warm sheets.

Now, having dragged yourself to dress and prepare yourself for the dreaded day, you trudge out of your home, chancing a brief, longing look upon the humble place over your shoulder, in case it were truly your last.

You hadn’t divulged the details of your itinerary for the day — which possibly entailed getting sold into slavery to a sleazy official, by the time noon rolled in — to Grandmother or Caleb and you preferred it remain that way for as long as possible. Your Grandmother was coming along in her years, with weakened nerves now and Caleb tended to be a frightful worrywart in matters concerning you.

“Someone’s starting the day rather early. That eager to see me fight, are you, kitten?” The familiar voice beckons. You toss a raised brow over your shoulder at your previously truant neighbour, now returned — his house having settled long vacant in his absence, over the course of his journey to Gods knew where. And the root cause of all your fretting; Sylus moves to join you by your side in two easy strides.

“Don’t you even dare try joke about it, you absolute madman,” you mutter darkly under your breath, reaching to knock a fist against the side of his torso.

The same old routine you tumble into, with him; you aren’t able to tamp yourself back from biting into the man as soon as he’s in your sights; the only person capable of wrenching out your honest, most reflexive reactions. And you hate the ease with which this incendiary of a man manages to drag them out of you.

“What took over you to throw that offer out at that bastard, when you all but had a nice, even playing field to yourself? Now you’re just—” Your mouth snaps shut against the rest of your words, bitterly swallowed.

How did you even begin to disentangle your bunched feelings on the matter? You knew how all of Lungtang chanted the tales of the fearsome Onychinus head. A conundrum of a man with a reputation as daunting as his influential mien, one that never failed to instil the fear of God in lesser men; criminals and bandits, who sought to rob their small town on the rare luckless occasion — dubbed this obscure town’s own Warrior God.

But to you, he was also just Sylus; the man you’d grown in close proximity to since your late teenage years and a person you’d grown to care for in the natural course of your odd tug-and-push relationship.

And though you remained constantly wary of the type of people Sylus associated with, in his particular line of work — a job you did not wish for, to bring even a modicum of harm onto your family by association with him, you could not help the restless agitation that needled at you each time Sylus left home, sometimes for weeks on end, on any number of his covert expeditions.

And each time he did, the very nagging, unwelcome thought intruded, that perhaps this time he might not make it home.

“Are you worried for me right now, kitten?” Sylus’s airy query breaks through your reverie, your gaze leaping to find his, fixated firm on you. Those scarlet eyes seem to lose part of their mirth at the face you’re sure you’re pulling.

You tear your gaze away first, choosing to watch the path you two trek on, instead. “Of course, I’m worried. What a silly thing to ask.” A muted wisp of words.

Ones that spark an immediate stroke of mild discomfiture at the admission; you prattle on before he can speak. “I know you’re strong, I know that. But just you against what — 13 or 14 grown men? More if that bastard intends on killing you. Anyone with half a wit and eye can see it’s a self-slaughtering mission from yards away. I don’t understand—” your indignant voice breaks, to throttle in much needed air into breath parched lungs. “I just don’t understand why you’d do that. I don’t understand you.”

Help me figure out what you’re thinking; are the words you wish to speak but your voice refuses to assist.

Sylus hums a low, throaty sound; in admission that he’s heard you.

And then he opens his mouth to speak. Divulging a ‘reason’ that makes no sense to your muddled mind, simple though his words are. “That cad disrespected you.” Garnet tips your way to meet your surprised gaze. “That’s reason enough, is it not?”

“I—”

“Don’t fret anymore.” he continues. “I won't lose, you have my word.” Long, tapered digits brush gentle at your temple, in reassurance of your worries. “And once I’m done with that weasel, he won’t ever be capable of crawling within a mile of you, let alone dare a finger your way again.”

The confession, sudden and honest, spurts warmth within your chest that readily clambers up your cheeks and floods down into your belly. A knot pulled tight within seeming to relax just that bit, in comfort of his words. Truly, he confounds you; this odd, beautiful man.

You capture his fingers against yours in an insistent hold, halting him in his tracks. “You better keep your promise to me, Sylus,” you speak, meeting his gaze, firm on yours. “Do not forget the prize that’s at stake here. You'll come out of there, victorious. I won’t afford you any other options, you hear me?”

A pleased grin edges across that beautiful mouth, skewing it wider. He angles forward, so that garnet gaze is level against yours. Flexing the catch of his digits in between yours before he’s sweeping your hand towards his parted mouth in a fleeting brush of lips against your knuckles. “If it is my victory the Lady commands, so it shall be done.” He elaborates, a mild tickled inflection to his thick baritone.

You disregard his little jibing use of the title for this one instance; his solemn promise you know he’s sealed to you; in the gentle grip of your fingers against his, garnet that refuses to stray until you see the resolve of his vow settle within that gaze too.

By the time your deliberately protracted journey finds its end at the arena, edging the outskirts of Lungtang, the Magistrate along with his chosen warriors are already there, positioned and waiting by the great stone pillars of the vast grounds.

The coming fight having attracted the townspeople to turn up in droves to watch the weaselly Magistrate take on their best warrior — hordes of curious eyes you feel boring into the two of you as you make your way towards where the Magistrate awaits.

“Here you are. Any later and I might’ve started considering you’d fled with your tail in between your legs.” The Magistrate crows out loud. “After all, my men shall soon prove how Lungtang’s criminal they so falsely worship as a hero, is more bark than bite.” The swarm of brutes — big and terrifyingly bulky — he’s brought along, laugh at their Master’s goading.

Sylus, however, remains unperturbed. “Is that so? I can’t wait to find out,” he responds, scrubbing an insouciant hand through his hair.

His apathetic response seems to key the Magistrate’s ire even higher, sputtering his rage at him. “Y-You absolute— you imbecile. I will crush you.” Creeping a hand forward for you now, “I’ll hold the girl with me. We might as well quicken ourselves, in preparation for when you inevitably fall and watch me claim my rightful prize.”

You steel yourself against the touch, palm rising to curb his approach with a polite denial but your companion is swifter; large hand darting forth to curl a harsh fist against the official’s greasy wrist.

“No.” Sylus speaks, voice a low, lethal burr you haven’t ever heard from him before. “I don’t think you will, Sire.” Whatever it is the foolish Magistrate discerns within your companion’s steady gaze, has him flinching in visible fright at the sight, sweat beading wide across his pale, swollen face.

He wrenches his wrist from Sylus’s grip, as if scathed just as you angle a curious look up at the Onychinus head; his face an impassive mask — hardly unusual — before it breaks into the tiny quirk of a self-assured grin when he catches you watching.

The Magistrate yelps in frustration, turning in on a ferocious heel. “D-Do not waste my time any longer than you have.” Barking the rest of his words; he heads toward the makeshift dais he’s had set up for himself at the edge of the ring. “Come onto the fields now so we can commence the match.”

“Sylus,” you place a hand at his arm to stall. “Duck down for a moment.”

He raises a careful brow at you and you think he’s going to refuse for a moment but then he surprises you in the wordless, compliant drop of his head close to yours. Allowing your eyes to trace his features; those familiar scarlet eyes steady against yours, the slope of his broad nose, sweeping into the bow of full, slightly scraped lips.

You realize you trust this man and what he’s offered you, whole-heartedly. And so, you wish to extend the same sentiment, reaching for the precious beads adorning your neck — an heirloom from your late parents, your most prized possession.

Plucking it up and over your head in between cautious digits before you reach to place it about his neck instead. Leaving part of your most priceless gift with him, just as you’ve decided to entrust him with both your Fates. “A charm,” you clarify, “for good luck. It has been my most invaluable escort and has kept me safe all these years.”

Sylus mutely treks delicate fingers across the worn beads of the chain, grasping it in between a loose fist, in acceptance of your faith.

“Return it to me once you’ve won.” You tell him, rapping a firm fist against the leather guard at his chest.

Large, warm digits move to curve about yours, gripping your fist against himself. “As if I could turn down such a heartfelt request, sweetheart.” A spirited grin tugs at his features. “I’ll bring your little treasure back to you in one piece.”

“Good, I’ll wait for it.” You respond. “Now, go out there and show them the might of our Warrior God.”

The Magistrate flourishes open an official scrolled document, no doubt detailing the terms of their duel as soon as Sylus shifts to take position within the field, on opposing side of the assembly of his hired goons.

You move to occupy a place up front, to stand among the vast gathered crowd, observing the proceedings as the Magistrate clutches the scroll up into the air and begins to drone out the conditions of the fight and the prize at stake — your belly stirs in nausea — you . “The duel shall be declared closed when all members of a party have been knocked unconscious; or killed, under the rare, unfortunate circumstance.” His beady eyes rove Sylus’s way. “Any objections?”

Sylus shrugs the question off entirely in the flex of an arm against his chest, in preparation of the duel. “Let us not waste our time debating inanity now, as you said earlier. Commence the fight.”

The Magistrate’s face colours a foul purple — you hope he may truly burst — but all he does is spew a cold, curt, “Begin.”

The arena hurtles into instantaneous chaos, along with the crowd’s rousing cheers and gasps of terrified delight as the Magistrate’s cronies hound Sylus all at once. Your body hunching forward on reflex to watch as the first set of blows streak straight for Sylus’s face but he ducks down with an agility, unusual to a man of his stature.

He catches two of the oncoming blows against his palms. Jamming his fists tight about their wrists before he contorts them sideways in a dull crackle of bone. The men immediately buckle to their knees in an agony of groans, their peers stepping over their fallen companions after, to grab for their opponent who springs out of their way, as if dancing the men around, with a noose placed about their grappling bodies.

A sharp jab comes right for Sylus’s side after, the crony tries and lands a hit against his ribs; the latter’s grasp flexing about his arm to break his momentum, wrenching him close into his body. Before Sylus jostles his elbow harsh into the man’s back.

Two men lunge for Sylus, aiming for his blind spot; your scraped call of warning lost amidst the thunderous din of the crowds as Sylus rounds upon his assailants. Grabbing the man he has on hand, fingers fisting tight into his garb before he hurls him onto the approaching minions, with a force violent enough, the three go bowling straight into the dirt.

The crowd’s cheer is raucous; wild as the grin that splits wide across Sylus’s face as he stretches his body tall to full length. “Come now, that’s surely not all of what you’ve got for me.” Sweat barely beginning to make itself known across the firm muscled expanse of his arms, his torso. He's hardly out of breath while his opponents gawk at him as if cornered against a rabid beast.

Your heart thrills in unexpected, startled pleasure to witness the strange, sensuous virility to his almost savage visage as he paces forward on swift, easy steps, within the ring.

You’d always known Sylus to hold a rich charisma compacted within that strong personality; an ability to entice all he came into contact with. A brilliant, perceptive mind along with that tacit, undeterred will; he’d brought flourishing business booming within Lungtang over his period of unofficial rule of the place. The uncrowned Onychinus King and a fearsome warrior; the first time you’d truly stood witness to what he was capable of, outside of devious negotiations, professional and unalike.

And to know, it was for you that he stood in that place now, socking down enemies with the streak of a great, terrifying beast that had your heart skittering within your chest and your blood thrumming within your ears, alongside the adrenaline roiling through your veins. He truly was an infuriatingly perfect man.

You joined your voice to the shouts of encouragement rolling off the townspeople, in waves for their Warrior God just as Sylus brings an opponent down to his knees with a violent sweep of his knee to his torso.

“Enough!” You hear the squeaked, enraged bellow of the Magistrate as he watches the proceedings with an increasingly incensed face. Whipping his reddening face towards the crowd to shake a threatening fist at them. “Quiet down before I have you all thrown into the dungeons!”

But the townsfolk refuse to relent; their cheers rising to a deafening roar as the Magistrate nearly tumbles out of his seat to thrust a trembling finger at the ring as Sylus tosses another of his men over his shoulder to taste the ground at his feet . The attendants at his side scamper towards the arena at once. A quick, urgent rush of communication seems to pass in between the attendants and Sylus’s remaining opponents. Before the servants are tossing weapons into the ring, ones the cronies lunge for as soon as they hit the field. Rising slow once more as they brandish their newly obtained unfair advantage at an unarmed Sylus.

A great wave of shock and indignance passes over the crowd just as you push past the row of onlookers to jostle yourself to the very front. “Hey! This was not among the rules!” You shout at the Magistrate. A sentiment the rest of the crowd joins you in mirroring but all it earns you is an insouciant shrug from the bastard, shedding any remaining responsibility of hosting a fair fight against Sylus. “And the rules didn’t indicate the participants were not allowed the use of tools at their disposal either. The opposing party’s principal should’ve brought his own if he wished for one, as well.”

“That’s not—” Your voice breaks in agonised distress just as the Magistrate turns away from you entirely to press his rotund body back into the comfort of his seat to watch his laid-out massacre once more. Son of a cur.

“Sylus!” You try and yell for his attention amongst the horrified cries of the crowd. “ Sylus, you don’t have to fight anymore! Get out of there, now! Sylus . ”

His gaze sweeps over the mass of spectators for that one split moment, as if foraging for yours. Until it seems to find and fixate upon you, his mouth forming slow shape over words you cannot hear but understand on instinct, “Stay right there.”

Your heart leaps and slams violent against the back of your breastbone with the crowd’s rising screams, just as a hefty brute lunges for Sylus; a battle axe heaved high above his head to strike a killing blow.

The first cleave of the blade, Sylus avoids, to the tumbling pummel of your frenzied nerves. The man’s fervent swings, he dodges left and right. Avoiding another enemy’s assault with a dagger aimed straight for his gut; Sylus streaks the side of his palm flat onto his wrist in a hit vicious enough, the knife goes flying out of his grasp to stick, hilt-up, useless onto the ground. Before Sylus pummels a heavy fist into the assailant’s face, plastering him down onto the ground.

The metallic chains of a flail come streaking for him, just as he side-steps past another heavy swing of the axe, catching the iron fetters of it harsh against his wrist. He ducks close into the enemy, manoeuvring the momentum of his attack into his own advantage, to wrench the man harsh into the fist he rams straight into his gut. Tumbling him sideways into the ground, unconscious.

The bulldozing axe wielding maniac, now in close proximity, careens straight for Sylus on a fervent bellow, sweeping a blow straight for his head. Sylus seizes his last standing opponent’s assault against the strength of a muscled forearm. Catching the brunt of the axe’s hilt at it before he shoves back on a ferocious, inhuman show of force.

Sylus, your heart hammers, lips forming shape over the syllables of his name in urgent prayer.

The momentum of the wide, stone blade pushed back in such violence, sends the wielder staggering back with the weight of it; Sylus turning that precious moment of weakness to his benefit as he lunges straight for his neck, seizing it within a thick fist. The core muscles of his arm, rippling with the force with which Sylus hauls him off his feet entirely to drive the man down onto the ground with a vicious snarl.

The combatant stops moving immediately, knocked out cold on the dirt; Sylus rising slow onto his feet as he stares at the man, chest heaving with the efforts of his strenuous exertion.

A grave’s quietude slumps across the gathered crowd for several, tense moments.

And then shatters into raucous chaos as the Conqueror of the duel is cheered to the high heavens; Sylus’s grin, wide and daunting, as he shifts off his fallen opponent, scrubbing a large hand back through sweat soaked locks as he starts ambling over toward the edge of your side of the arena.

And your heart — your silly little heart — soars from its place within your chest and out for him, the high of his victory, as if it were your own, throbbing brutal within your blood.

Before you know or comprehend it, your legs are moving; pushing past the crowds of onlookers, the wooden slates of your sandals skidding at dirt, as you fly across the ring toward Sylus. Your gaze entirely filled with your brilliant warrior’s expression shifting into surprise as you hurtle into him. And Sylus — that big, beautiful man understands — catches your careening body within his embrace; your momentum, he breaks against a half-swivel about his heel. Large, warm arms come tight about your body, wordless, without a question uttered, to seclude you further into that private space; just for you both in that moment.

Your arms stretching about the thick expanse of his neck as you hold on hard to him; Sylus’s low exhale you feel warm gently, into the crescent of your neck as he sinks into you. The people, his duel; none of it matter when you embrace him this close against you, the adrenaline of your unbound joy, his impressive triumph settling into your thundering heart, you feel pressed against him.

His soft, heavy laughter curls pleasant into your ears. “To the victor go the spoils, I guess.” He breathes. “Although this treasure seems particularly eager on jumping into my arms herself.”

“Of course I am.” You press yourself away from him enough to afford yourself a proper survey of his face. “Gods, you were brilliant. Thank you, Sylus.”

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye; a slow, testing touch. His gaze simmers in unusual, unexpected gentleness that siphons the breath from your lungs. “You need never thank me for anything, sweetheart, let alone this. I do not want it.”

Your own relief blooming into a smile, but before you can respond; an unpleasant, harsh voice fractures through the air — the Magistrate seething and raging as he makes his way over to you both, an army of guards right behind. Clearly, the man could not stomach a sore loss; rabid fire and venom within his gaze as he trudges toward you, screaming obscenities.

“Step back for a bit, kitten.” And you obey without further prompting, granting Sylus a wide berth for whatever he plans on doing.

He doesn’t spare a moment longer before he’s striding forward, snatching one of the Magistrate’s unconscious minions off the ground. Hoisting him high up by the scruff of his neck. The Magistrate’s steps stagger just then at Sylus’s mad display, perhaps sensing the disaster he’s called upon him.

But it’s far too late. “Here, have a present from all of Lungtang, Sire.” Sylus tows his arm back, wide, and aims — to the scurrying cries of the Magistrate — before he violently hurls the man in hand, right at the waddling official, bowling him and half his guards over like a stack of gambling plaques.

“Sylus.” You gasp at his insane spectacle.

Before the corrupt, toppled lot can even think to get their bearings back, Sylus is strolling back toward you; a quick flourish of a large hand thrown over his shoulder, in signal. “Take care of them,” he instructs out loud.

A swarm of dark clad men melt away, on his sole command, from the crowds, to pack around the Magistrate and his men, blotting their figures entirely out of your sight. “Come on.” Sylus’s voice fractures through your reverie, his frame crowding your field of vision.

“Whe— aah!” A hefty arm swoops beneath the back of your legs, sending frantic fingers scrabbling for purchase against the strength of Sylus’s shoulders as he hoists you up against his body. “What’re you doing?”

He flashes a devious grin up at you, completely at odds against the bewildered shock you know is wide across your face. “Time to get out of here, sweetheart,” is all he offers in response before he’s sweeping you away from the pandemonium he’s wrought and the boisterous crowd; discarding all of that well-earned glory behind.

The throng of on-goers tapers out the farther you get on to the road winding away from the arena; curious and awed looks alike garnered your way: at your position, and at the man — the infamous Onychinus head — who strolls easy through the streets of Lungtang, in possession of the strange woman he carries snug on the crook of an arm.

A flush creeping hot up your face the longer this spectacle goes on until Sylus’s pace — thank the Gods above — dwindles to a halt. “This should be far enough.”

“Yes, thank you. Put me down now.” Tapping fraught fingers against his shoulders in emphasis. Sylus raises a sculpted brow at you but relents, nonetheless. He steps past the mouth of the nearest back-street, well clear of people, before he helps you down onto your feet.

You lean a hand across his arm, taking a moment to scramble your bearings back.

“The brief walk back has you this out of breath, huh?” You turn a half-hearted frown at his mild ribbing; the man barely having broken a sweat himself, for having carried you all the way down here.

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to lug me the entire way, you know,” you return.

“What can I say, sweetheart? I’m rather protective of my treasures being made to rot too long among the grime.” He gently pinches your cheek in between thick, tapered digits; voice descending to a softer baritone. “And I won, as promised.” Long, tapered fingers skim heat across the angle of your cheekbone. “So, you’ll give me a pass this once, won’t you?”

Vivid scarlet flitters in inscrutable emotion to witness you cup careful palms about his own, as he touches you.

“You also pulled that insane stunt with that sleaze of a magistrate at the end there. I don’t know how you plan on getting out of that one,” you point out, but there is no actual heat to your accusation.

He exhales a half-laugh. “That’s probably long taken care of.” Stroking the fall of your hair back against your ear. “No one will come after you now.”

You step closer to him. “You do know I’m capable of worrying about you too, right? I’m not heartless.” His mouth quirks at your peeved admission. “...You’re important to me Sylus.”

A streak of something akin to surprise fulgurates for a moment’s notice within that garnet gaze, at your confession.

Your fingers trek a steady path against the painted beads of your necklace dangling at his chest. “Although I do hope you’ll never pull something like this on my behalf, ever again.” He'd brought it back to you, safe and unscathed, just as he’d said — a vow made, he had honoured.

Relief was still warm within your chest, along with the turbulence of long nursed vexing emotions, brought forth to the surface — for a man you’d known for almost half your life — by the day’s sequence of events. “I don’t think my heart could handle it.” You huff out a soft laugh.

An inscrutable emotion streaks across Sylus’s face, too quick to pick apart until it retreats entirely once more.

“Unfortunately for you,” long, tapered digits sweep about yours at his chest, capturing your hand steady within his grip. “that’s not a pledge I can offer you.” His whisper is low, throaty as it settles against you and you realize the sudden proximity of your positions.

His striking face is all that floods your vision. His gaze flickers from yours, down toward the bow of your parted lips — a remiss on his part, you can tell from how it rolls back swift to catch your eyes once more. If you did not know any better, you might’ve almost thought he meant to lean further and—

But was it really the mad conjuring of your mind and a reluctantly hopeful heart that wished to see what it thought it did? Or had you been this obtuse on purpose all along?

Your brow knits in consternation; this far removed from the persistent babbling of voices — your anxieties, the people, his duel, your uncertain fates at the time — and sequestered within the quiet alley; your roiling thoughts are loud and insistent.

“And why’s that, Sylus?” You ask quietly.

The skewed pull of his mouth is devastatingly beautiful even in its lack of mirth, this up close. “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart. Or are you going to pretend otherwise?” His thumb strokes its gentle path across your knuckles — lighting an incendiary course — your hand still placed firm at his chest. “Whatever your choice, however, know it has always been yours to make.”

The muted, steady beats of his heart beneath your palm seem to thrum past the sensitive pads of your digits as they skim a line past his pectorals, and up your body, warming it from the inside out.

You swallow against the surge of a nervous fever that takes you all at once; ploughing past that pluck of anxiety at your chest, to bet your entirety on the one gamble you’re about to make.

“Come to think of it.” Pink tongue slinks past a mouth parched, to trek a slow path across your bottom lip, end to end; the intolerable burning intensity of Sylus’s scarlet gaze scouring each single motion, sending your light-headedness thrumming higher. “You haven’t truly won yet, have you, Sylus?”

“What?” He exhales heavily. His breathing has quickened just a snick higher, you notice, underneath your feathering ministrations. You’re fascinated by how he sounds much short of breath in this one instant than he did throughout the entirety of that match. The fact sending a deluge of warm pride and desire threading through your heart.

“A winner is only one when he has been crowned as such, and received his dues.” You clarify, shifting closer against him.

Stretching up on the balls of your feet until you’re a mere hair’s breadth from his face. “You however, have yet to claim your prize.” Sweeping forward until your lips are skimming against his in a tentative, testing brush of kiss — your hammering thoughts of uncertainty, of whether he wants this too, swiped clean with the soft, guttural choke of sound that slips past Sylus’s lips at your brazen initiative. And before you can bask under the simmering warmth of what that sound does to you, Sylus is curving a large palm firm within the thread of your locks, wrenching your mouth back against his in a bruising, fervid kiss.

Eager fingers skitter at the strength of his shoulders to ground yourself against the sudden, pleasurable onslaught just as he captures your waist within the ironed grip of an arm. Almost lifting you up entirely against him until you’re suspended barely at the tips of your toes.

His grunts are warm against the inside of your mouth as his tongue skims past the easy access of your parted lips to taste you against himself. The wet muscle sliding against yours before he sucks it into his own mouth on an approving groan of desire.

You're nearly nerveless by the time he parts from you on a wet stretch of sound, barely enough distance, his breath cascades hot against your damp lips with each guttural word, keying you higher. “This is getting a bit too dangerous, kitten. I suggest we stop here if you don’t wish to reach a point of no-return.”

“No. No,” Your hands flit in fervent frenzy from the stretch of his shoulders to bunch into the thick silver weave of his hair. “We don’t ever need to stop. I want this, I want you, if you do too.” Your mouth descending back against his in the dizzy crush of lips and tongue, Sylus’s groans of pleasure you drink down against your own moan.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t desired you, sweetheart.” He whispers in harsh breaths into the pocket of space you allow him in between your kisses. “You’re the one who said it now. So, brace yourself.”

A hand you skim down the thick length of his neck, grazing at the base of his hair to support yourself against the large arms that cage your waist to lift until he’s driving you both back against the wall of the narrow alleyway, shrouding you deeper into shadows.

His kiss of gentle affection skids past the cut of your cheek, so at odds against the fierce brunt of his arousal you feel grinding into your belly. You buck against the touch just as Sylus eases you down, only enough you’re on your feet now; bodies still moulded tight against the shape of each other.

His mouth continues its work of feathering kisses across the curve of your cheek, down the delicate line of your jaw. His hips stroking against yours in gentle motions, sending the roll of his hard length against your stomach each time he guides you against himself, having you squirm in roiling pleasure, helpless against the insistence of his mouth and pelvis. Meeting his body with yours in the reflexive buck of your hips against his.

The elongated stretch of your skirt, sending a mild frisson of frustration through your nerves to feel the restriction of your movements against his. Groaning in soft defeat against Sylus’s mouth over yours, just as he cups a large hand about the angle of your pelvis. Caressing past the flare of your behind, rucking up the fabric within a tight fist to slide it, far too slow, up your legs.

A final brush of temporary farewell he kisses against your drenched lips before he descends, unhurried, down the length of your body; scarlet gaze refusing to relent from yours for even a single measured moment of mercy. A thick palm he traces, appreciative, down the curves of you as he pitches on to his knees.

Thumb warming its touch against the edge of a knee, your skirts bunched at the hand fastened about your leg as it caresses a slow, sensual path up higher. The glorious sight he is, down on his knees in between the willing split of your legs; undoing in its entirety — you shudder at the devastation he brings upon you when his fingers hone their target upon the cloth of your underwear at your hip. Skating a delicate path against the knot of it before his index slips underneath it to tug undone.

Wresting your underwear away entirely on his next sharp tug before he sweeps the mortifyingly damp cloth away from your body and under his nose for a long, obscene inhale. “You smell sweet, kitten. So much of this pretty nectar, all for me... I admit I’m more than a little flattered.” The skew of his devious smirk pulls wider at your choked sound of pleasure to witness him swipe your underwear down against his back, and pocket into the satchel at his belt.

“Sylus,” you reprimand half-heartedly, in distressed urgency.

“The victor takes it all, does he not? These are my spoils to have now, kitten.” His large palms are back at the skin of your legs, skimming a dizzying, scorching path up the quiver of your thighs. “Just as you are, the treasure I snatched for myself.”

“Let me indulge in my private feast, quietly now.” He baits in heated whispers, jaw falling open as he disappears in between the heavy folds of your skirt and — Heaven help you — the sound that scrapes raw past your throat to feel the tease of his broad tongue against your drenched slit, is unlike any you’ve ever heard before. The high-pitched squeal you cut off in the hasty wrench of your bottom lip into your mouth, heated desire clouding your swimming vision to tamp down your moans of arousal, lest any passers-by, just a few feet away from your shadowed alcove, spot the indecency of your display.

Thoughts drifting into emptiness — musing absent at how self-conscious you’d been while Sylus had carried you within his arms all the way out here; fully clothed then. And yet, here you were now, with your skirts bunched high up against your pelvis with that very same man’s wonderful tongue shoved deep inside you.

The hot pads of Sylus’s index and middle you feel skim against the tight bead of pleasure at your apex, just as the point of his tongue seeps in at your entrance, sending your hips stuttering into his steeled grip, fast at your pelvis.

You clamp a palm shut tight against your tapering moans, unable to smother them within yourself any longer. The heated plumes of your own breath crowding back against you with each shivered moan Sylus forces out of you.

His mouth brushes about the length of your folds, the bow of his upper lip bumping gentle at your tight bundle of nerves. Before he closes it within the searing heat of his mouth, sucking at your increasingly swollen flesh.

Sylus draws at the drenched slick of you like a man intent on devouring you whole, the thought drives your pleasure higher along with the rising euphoria bubbling within your body. A curious thumb parts your inner folds wider to admit the broad of his tongue deep into your slit. Your walls spasming against the breach of it as your hips judder down against the strength of his jaw.

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? You can keep up a little longer.” His smothered encouragement, the vibrations of his thick voice right against your slit send you tumbling higher upon that precipice of sweet release.

The added, ruinous excitement of not being able to see him past the abundant frill of your skirts blazes you higher; the sole nervous anticipation of not knowing where he’d touch you next has you gushing on his tongue.

A low, soft curse you hear spill guttural against your folds, vibrating straight up into your womb, “You’re practically weeping on my tongue, sweetheart. I like that.” Your answering moan you bury into a bite of your sleeve as you fold your arm about your face; a full body quiver long having taken you. You no longer hold control over yourself. “Grind down on my face, relax yourself. Yes, there’s my good girl now.”

The praise having your walls grip hard at the fingers he’s worked into you now. Propelling them at an indolent, maddening pace into your depths.

“Sylus,” you pant harshly, mind numbing into a crescendo. “I don’t — hah — can’t — much longer.” Begging for a release so, so close at hand.

“Then don’t . Let yourself go.” His groans muted against the wet heat of you. “I’ll catch you when you fall.”

The crook of his middle and ring fingers up into you has you spasming against the intrusive stretch of them. Opening you up deeper; the deft pads of them scrounge up a spot against your frontal walls that has your mouth flying open on a silent scream, head falling back against the unyielding brick of the alley as your fluttering insides clamp down violent against his adroit handling of you. “Right here, is it?” You think you hear his muted whispers spill throaty against the sensitive expanse of your thigh.

Right at the junction of your hip as Sylus sinks a bite into the pliant flesh just as his thick fingers rub up against that same weak spot inside to have you disintegrating into senselessness right above him.

You can’t fathom how he’s brought you to such complete devastation in just a few, nimble strokes of his tongue and fingers into you, against you. Never having been dragged this fast or good to the precipice by your own hand, let alone another’s. He’s away each layer of defence, piece by excruciating piece, having worked you open so thoroughly as if he knew your body like his own.

Truly a man that sought relentless victory even in between the fall of your legs.

And it is only when that pleasure point is one keyed far too high, with the incessant press of his third finger up into your walls, stretching you open — so incredibly full of just his digits alone — does your body fall. No longer capable of protecting yourself against the battering deluge of a release so consuming, your knees buckle underneath the hefty intensity of his ministrations.

Sylus’s large hand, you feel warm about your rump, to curve its easy support about it, as he presses his face further into you. Waves upon waves of pleasure, drowning your keening cries against your well-abused bottom lip. A faint frisson of overstimulation stringing you higher to gain enough conscious thought back to catch his low, guttural growl searing harsh at your drenched folds, at the sensation of you gushing all over his tongue.

You quiver in nerveless arousal to feel the fleeting brush of his kiss farewell against your slit before he rises, slow, onto his feet once more. Your body clenches in on instinctual need to catch sight of his face once more. The slick that glimmers obscenely copious across his mouth and down the strength of his jaw, the untamed, almost bestial intensity to that barely tamped heat within scarlet, as Sylus sweeps a careful thumb against your wetness has you unfurling trembling digits forward to snag around his neck, dragging him down against yourself.

Consuming the ferocity of his kiss just as eagerly in the tongue you lap at his lips, slipping along the angle of his jaw; moaning softly at the taste of you that clings still to him. Restless fingers steal in between your bodies to reach for the arousal that strains delectable and intimidating against his trousers.

Flittering your digits about the catch of them as you work them open enough along with the thick fingers that aid you to release him free for your hungry gaze. Your audible gasp of pleasure Sylus captures against the pad of his thumb edging just past the part of your lips.

He’s incredibly blessed, bigger, girthier than any you’ve ever had before. The prospect of taking that thing inside your body simultaneously terrifies and excites you.

Your dazed musings Sylus fractures in the cup of your jaw in between firm, gentle digits. “Nervous?”

“...A bit,” you admit. Adding for good measure, “Nothing I can’t handle, though.” An expectant hand you move to curve about the breadth of him to make your point — fingers barely able to cup entirely about him.

Sylus’s laughter is a low, heavy burst of sound. “Don’t worry, kitten.” He reaches down to join his fingers against yours in languidly stroking the length of him. Coasting in close to your ear as he lays a kiss of dark, hoarse promise against it, “I’ll teach you to do more than just handle it.”

Your pleased moan you throttle against his quick, vehement kiss as Sylus gathers the folds of your skirt up to bunch about your hips. Fitting himself into the space he makes, his arousal glancing hot against your outer labia; feeling him so close to where your body clenches in on tense anticipation.

He withdraws from you on a wet slip of tongue, seizing your gaze within his. The firm fist he strokes at his length guiding the flared, slick head of him against your folds to lubricate in your wetness, bumping pleasant at your sensitive bead of nerves on each indolent stroke.

You buck your hips up against his in an impatient scratch of throaty sound. Slipping the head of him so close against your slit, it almost makes you dizzy with need.

You are not, however, prepared truly for the actual breach of him as he splits you open in pleasure so blinding, it streaks right against your tender bead and up deep into your belly. Sylus’s guttural groans brand hot against the crescent of your neck in overwhelmed desire, a muted swear swallowed into the bite of teeth he presses into it. “Relax yourself a little, kitten, you’ve gone too tight on me.”

You try, you truly do as you smother past your burning need to scream, for breaths to claw into your lungs; he feels too much, too good all at once, your body incapable of doing much else except accepting the slow propulsion of him deeper into your walls.

He feels almost too much for you to handle, spearing you open so far around him you didn’t even think yourself capable of such a feat. And yet, the copious arousal that slicks in between your bodies, with the voracious clench of your walls around the hard strength of him, sucking him inside, speaks volumes. Of how you’re thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being impaled upon his length.

“More,” you pant; the slow thrusts of his hips up into yours sending your lashes flittering shut, in overwhelming euphoria and need. “I need more, Sylus.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, large hands fixing hot fetters of flesh against either side of your pelvis as he thrusts into you, each swollen stroke of his arousal sending him impossibly deep, until you feel it may truly reach your womb.

Sylus heaves himself closer into you, nearly pinning you against the wall with the sheer strength of his towering body, the heavy pumping of his hips into you, sending euphoria skating through your veins. Intoxicated on feeling the way he moves within you.

A hand drifts up from your hip to grip at the flare of your waist beneath cloth as Sylus manoeuvres your body to thrust into you at an angle that drives him hard against your swollen spot of pleasure inside.

Your hands fly in agonized frenzy to clutch at his arms, his shoulders as you grapple with the blinding pleasure he’s carving into your body. His head skews downward to catch the sensitive flesh of your neck in between the bite of restive teeth, a low moan wrenched free of your throat. His mouth strokes down the length of your skin until he teeths at the fastenings of your collar, wrenching violent at the buttons before he scatters them apart. Mouth engulfing the exposed slope of your clavicle in fervid groans.

Your fingers skitter for purchase into the silver brush of hair at the base of his neck, tugging harsh with his increasingly heavy pace. A low whine clambering past your throat when his grip upon your body tightens once more in purpose, dragging his length to the near tip of him before he rams back into you on a guttural snarl so primal, it has you violently spasming about his thick shaft, your vision blanking in for a moment.

Sylus’s face is a flood of savage bliss and heated concentration — the sight along with his pleasurably punishing thrusts into your walls — has your heart nearly trying to rip past the bruising beat of it at your breastbone. Hips meeting his in stuttering thrusts as your body bows up, sharp, toward him to chase a height of euphoria so in sight.

“You’re moaning so loud, kitten.” His throaty chuckle stirs weighty into your belly. “Keep that up and you’ll draw us an audience.” Gnawing weakly at your bottom lip to instinctively tamp your sounds just as Sylus moves to drive into you on a particularly ruinous, deliberate thrust that has your legs buckling entirely underneath you.

But he’s there to catch you, thick forearms cording about the feeble, trembling plush of your thighs before he hoists you up entirely onto him; his hushed chuckle drifting into guttural laughter. “Why try being quiet on your own when you can just make use what you have at your disposal?” His lips drive against yours in a vehement kiss of teeth and tongue, devouring you, just the way he is in between your legs. You let yourself go at last, moaning unabated into the searing warmth of his mouth, Sylus’s pace turning to near-frenzied rutting, with the sounds he wrenches from your bruised throat.

He forces you deeper against the wall, spearing you helpless in between the cool stone at your back and the unforgiving intensity of his drilling thrusts pillaging your body. Golden deep pleasure roiling pleasant just beneath your skin, to push at the confines, until you feel like you could float out of it heavenward and never return to the ground.

Your fevered gaze snags against the painted beads of your gifted charm about his neck, swinging vehement with the force of his propulsions. Drifting absent fingers against the worn orbs of the necklace, mushed mind admiring how truly lovely he looks like this for you; coupled along with that tight knit of concentrated pleasure, it makes you believe he truly is all yours to have. As if he belongs to you, with you.

That sole, deranged thought sending arousal thrumming within, so blinding, your body quivers into the tight curve of a crescent, pressing hard against his chest, a peak so close, you can feel it stirring vicious into your belly. “You’re all mine to have, aren’t you? My great warrior,” you gasp against his mouth, trembling fingers sweeping for the broad strength of his shoulders as your nails drive in, harsh.

Sylus’s response; groaned heavy against your tongue, without hesitation. “You’ve always had me in my entirety, sweetheart.”

Your body has wholly given up — a leaden weight — within his grasp, held together only by the strength of Sylus’s arms curving steeled grips about your thighs. Pounding into you with each fervid roll of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs — the profuse flow of your arousal sweltering in between your already burning bodies, the obscene squelch of it each time he withdraws from your walls only to drive back in with savage, terrifying accuracy, rutting himself so good against the spot inside that has you quivering uncontrollably around the length of him.

Your combined sultry symphony so loud within your ears, drumming along with the thundering of your heart, you’re sure any passers-by crossing the mouth of the alley would be able to hear. Your cotton-fed mind so far gone, however, you’re no longer coherent enough to care about anyone hearing your claims upon each other’s bodies. So deeply entrenched in the sole existence of Sylus: his body, tongue, his bruising grip upon you, you love so much — scoring stinging crescents as your own signs of victory, across the broad strength of his shoulders, down the firm muscle of his arms, serving to drive him only harder into you until he’s knocking half-screams out of your throat. Swallowing them up against the hungry sweep of his tongue.

Sylus’s thrusts into your body have turned erratic, his guttural moans heating your skin into a blazing furnace. You’re so close to release, you can feel the heavy crest of its deluge approaching — golden and ruinous.

His grip upon the flare of your hip shifts, pressing you impossibly deeper against him, the new angle driving the length of him against your sensitive bundle of nerves on each hammering thrust. “A-Almost—” Gasping a breathless warning.

Hurtling you so high; the frenzied pump of his hips into yours, the constant stimulation at your swollen bead sending your walls spasming so violent, you feel Sylus loose a long, guttural groan deep into your mouth. You tumble off the precipice of release just as you feel the first thick spurts of his seed searing fire against your sensitized walls; Sylus’s sultry growls keying your frenzied release so high your fingers scrape across the back of his neck to tug him harsh against your mouth. Sinking your quivering, heated desires into a vehement bite at his chest, Sylus’s digits weaving tight into your hair at the back of your head, to hold you there.

His thundering pulse you moan against in appreciation, laving absent to soothe the reddening bite at his skin, as your body convulses with the still flowing spurts of his release, stroking at the intoxicating fever of your prolonged orgasm, filling you to the brim and over; the warmth of it you feel drip past your folds and onto his sturdy thighs.

Taking several, long much needed moments to compose yourself as your sweat-slick face falls, nerveless, to press your cheek against the damp expanse of his chest, body still suspended firm upon the corded strength of his arms, his cock nestled snug and thick within you.

You claw a much-needed gulp of air past a throat, long sore. “...I fear you may have to carry me here on out, as well, Sylus, because I certainly can’t move an inch right now.”

His amused chuckle drifts warm against the top of your head. “While joined together just like this?” He teases softly. “You may truly pass out of sheer embarrassment this time if I do, kitten.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you quip right back, half-hearted, canting a languid gaze up his way. “I think I’ll be long knocked out before any pesky shame kicks in, from how good this — you were.”

You feel Sylus’s length twitch within your walls at your words, groaning quietly at the growing strain of his arousal, back to half-mast already. Truly, was there a limit to the man’s enduring stores of stamina?

But perhaps, the real question was of your own insatiable appetite too, when it came to him, as you were only newly discovering — your wrecked body responding in the muted burn of arousal, kindling into slow fire within your belly, clenching weakly at him.

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Sylus’s skewed grin tucks against your ear as he nuzzles at your cheek. “I’ll carry you out of here in my arms, as you wish, without the additional parade of our naked bodies. In return,” A kiss he feathers, against the angle of your cheekbone. “Come home with me.” He asks of you, softly.

You bury your approval in the nudge of your nose against him, catching his lips against yours in a gentle, chaste kiss, “Sounds like a done deal to me, my handsome warrior.”

End Notes: Thank you for reading! This was a very fun indulgence and I hope everyone who bagged Sylus’ card enjoyed his soft card story.

Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @Cas-tiel13 , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas , @ladyparamount

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animasolaoriginal · 11 months ago

Text

INFATUATED ♦️ ONE

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

A chance encounter under the strobe light. Hips swaying to the thumping bass. Dark eyes following her every move. Gazes meeting through the crowd. She came to him. He took her away. Changing her life forever, guiding her into submission.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Noncon/dubcon elements. Roofies. Abduction. Dom/sub dynamic. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 3.9k

A/N: Please remember: This is fiction! As much as I enjoy writing fucked-up characters, this is not real. I do not condone this behavior! Men, be nicer to women! Girls, always check your drinks! Be mindful of strangers, no matter how nice they seem and how hot they look. And be careful what you wish for! So, technically this is a modern AU of my original story Innocence Lost, picks up on some themes, but it's basically just a fucked-up man abducting a girl (it's not stated in the beginning, but she's over 18!) and having fun with her (and then things may escalate a little!). Be mindful of the tags! This may be my darkest piece yet. (Dead dove, do not eat, as they say, right?) Also pretty self-indulgent, but there is some plot between all the filthy smut that is to come, I swear. > There are no names, no physical descriptions other than a size and age difference, so you can imagine any character here! <

ONE 🟥 TWO

Innocent.

She's been innocent, the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Laughing with her friends, oblivious to her own beauty, blind to the leering stares of every single male around her. And he's been one of them, staring, watching her, looking her up and down as she moved her fragile little body to the beat of the thumping bass, motions contorted and jerky in the strobe light, hair swinging, hips shaking, lips curling into happy smiles.

So innocent.

Probably just a mask, an act. Or maybe she's really been as pure as she looked back then, he'll never know. Because as soon as he's laid his eyes on her, she's been corrupted, tainted by his dark desires. He wanted to corrupt her, ruin her, and he always got what he wanted. He lured her in, kept watching her until she noticed his stares, the darkness in his gaze, the hunger within him. And she came to him, drawn to his mystique, his persistence.

Curious little thing, clueless to the monsters around her.

He smiles at her, rakes his eyes over her body, over that outfit she chose to impress without realizing what might happen, whose attention she might attract. The tight top, squishing those small breasts (pert little nipples standing proud under the shifting breeze of the AC), showing off the flat of her stomach, the flutter of her belly after she's danced her heart out, chest heaving, sweat on her brow, beads rolling down her pale, untouched skin. Slim naked arms holding the drink between her fingers, the soft rattle of cheap jewelry on her wrists, around her neck.

Girly, cute, pure.

And that skirt, mid-thigh, tame when she's standing still, scandalous when she's moving, the fabric flowing around her legs, bending down (bending over), accidentally showing off those cute little panties beneath. Giggling when she realizes her mistake, small hands trying to cover up, but people already saw, and she's aware. She's been aware he saw everything of her. Eager eyes, big and fucking innocent, following his every move.

He takes the drink from her, stares down at her, no longer smiling, and she looks up, chin tilted, so tiny in front of him, innocent, expectant, excited. Putting the glass down, he grabs her wrist, frail cheap jewelry bending under his grip. For a small moment she's hesitant, notices the strength in his fingers, the determination behind the gesture. But she still follows him as he pulls her away from the bar, into the shadows.

How do you break an innocent girl? Show her what's what? What may happen if she steps into the lion's den wearing that skimpy top and maybe-scandalous skirt? So naive. Swinging her hips to the blasting music, bouncing those tiny tits, laughing like nothing else matters, enjoying herself. A little light in the moving darkness. A light he wants to savor before he'll let her burn out.

If she'd be any other girl, he'd have her pinned to the wall, skirt flipped up, panties ripped down, his belt open in seconds before he'd sink his cock into her tight little cunt, to ravage her, ruin her, use her like she's supposed to be used. But she's too pure to be railed against a wall, in the dimly-lit club, for everyone to see.

He still pushes her against the wall, inhaling that little gasp she issues when she hits it, looking up at him, lips parted, eyes wide, gaze blurry, pupils already dilated, the thrill of the encounter and adrenaline of the night (and possibly some drinks she was mysteriously gifted) pumping through her body. Grabbing her face with his big hands, he holds her firmly when he leans closer, takes his time, gives her time to push him away (what a rare treat, girl), but she just stands there, looking at him, a little glint in her eyes, her lips curving up ever so slightly.

She wants this.

And he gives it to her. His lips meet hers, one hand holds her cheek, thumb guiding her chin, while the other hand slips into her hair, fisting it, a tight grip to hold her as he kisses her, a soft beginning, quickly turning rougher, more hungry, desperate. And she kisses him back in the same way, mirrors his motions perfectly. Such a quick learner. Their tongues slide against each other before he pushes deeper, tastes the inside of her mouth, that sweet taste, of some sugary drink and her, so much of her, and it's intoxicating.

So sweet. Innocence oozing from every pore.

He cages her in, pushes her against the wall, feet on either side of hers, knees around her legs, and she's that tiny thing in front of him, standing there, kissing him back, but her body seems frozen, hands at her sides, immobile. Petrified? A doe-eyed thing caught in the headlights? Not for long. His hand moves down to her waist, fingers digging into soft skin, warm and smooth, slipping up under the hem of her shirt, teasing at the little mound beneath.

No bra. Too innocent (and small) to need one.

Her hand comes up then, closing around his wrist, but she's not pulling him away, she's pushing his hand higher until his rough palm closes around her breast. Tiny tits, usually not his preference, but it's cute, that little squishy flesh under his big hand, warm and soft, and the longer he kneads it, the harder her nipple pokes into his palm.

And then she moans into his mouth. His eyelids flutter, and he stares at her, lips hovering over hers, heavy breaths mingling, head spinning, the tension in his stomach making it so hard to keep his composure, to stick to his decision to spare her his usual treatment. He gropes her small tit once more before he pulls his hand back, sliding it down her side, watching her closely.

He grabs her ass cheek harder than intended and leans in to capture her mouth when she yelps quietly in response, swallowing her noises, the thump of the music vibrating through his tense body. In his mind he's already ripped her clothes off, run his hands all over her smooth, untouched skin, fingers pinching her nipples, teasing between her legs, slipping deeper, into her tight innocent warmth –

A grunt escapes him. She's gripping the front of his shirt, her small hands clinging to him while she kisses him back, eagerly, completely lost in the unexpected encounter. Eyes closed, humming against him, body inching closer, searching for his warmth. The hand on her ass pulls her against him, a little thud that makes her mewl into his mouth, before it slips lower, cups her rear, pushes her up, fingers brushing against that little damp piece of fabric, and it's enough to make him hoist her up onto his hip.

Her hands claw at the collar of his shirt while her legs wrap around him almost automatically, conditioned, programmed to submit. A deep-rooted thing she isn't aware of yet. Her pelvis presses into his hipbone as he balances her, back pressed to the wall, both of his hands now on her plump cheeks, holding, groping. He can feel her warmth, that hint of wetness, arousal she's probably confused by.

“I'm gonna take you with me,” he rasps into her neck as he leans in to shower her soft skin with hungry kisses, lips closing around her fluttering pulse, sucking the blood to the surface with a determination that surprises himself.

“What?” she breathes against his cheek, a sweet little sound in his ears, so pure, a soft hum in the atmosphere.

“Don't worry about it,” he mumbles, licking over the bruise he's created on her neck. She shivers in his hold, chest moving against him. He leans back, licking his lips, meeting her curious gaze. “You need another drink,” he says with a smirk. It's not a question.

He sets her down again, grabbing her hand, leaning over to brush his lips over her temple until she looks up at him. Then his other hand is on her chin, holding her as he crashes his mouth against hers for another searing kiss. A little whimper escapes her. She's confused, he can tell, overwhelmed by whatever is happening.

Pulling her towards the bar, he nods to the barkeeper, a gesture often used. She's leaning against him, caged between his hard body and the counter, looking up at him with those big eyes. He smiles down at her, caressing her soft cheek with the back of his finger. He's got her, he knows. She doesn't even care about her friends anymore (and they seem to have forgotten about her too, he can see them dancing on the other side of the room). All she does is look at him, mesmerized.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the bartender sliding the drinks over the counter top. He takes the prepared drink (something sugary with a special ingredient) and hands it to her, then takes the little vodka shot for himself, eyes fixed on her as he clinks the glasses together. She smiles shyly and takes a cautious sip, while he downs the shot in one go, feeling the liquid burning down his throat. The music thumps around them, the air thick and heavy with alcohol and sweat, and a tension that's just between them.

The innocent girl, sipping her drink, staring up at the man, who watches her with a predatory smirk. His hand is heavy on her hip, warm and comforting, holding her in place, thumb rubbing over her fluttering stomach. She finishes the sugary concoction and wipes her mouth, glass empty on the bar. He leans down and brushes his lips against her ear.

“Come with me,” he whispers, and she shivers, her hand finding the front of his shirt again. He steps back, his hands running along her arms until they close around her slim wrists. The bass sits low in his guts, and he can't help but move his body slightly to the music as he leads her backwards. She laughs softly, a little sway to her hips as she follows him. But they leave the dance floor and walk back into the shadows.

He watches her closely, she blinks more, eyelids heavy, lips parted, that cute little tongue out to lick them, once, twice, again, almost obsessively. He takes her to the back, past the office, the music becoming that thick beat in the distance, a deep thrum in the air, through the walls, muffled as if the world was made of cotton. He leans her against the wall, a body too easy to move by now, his hands on her shoulders as he leans down to rub his nose against hers.

“Be a good girl and stay right here,” he tells her, waiting for her to understand.

She nods slowly, licking her lips again, and he presses his mouth to hers, capturing that sweet little tongue, sucks on it, kisses her deeply, tastes the sugar and her and more. Dangerous move, but he can't help himself. He leans back, moves his lips down her jaw, along her neck, swipes his tongue in a broad stroke over that soft skin. She mewls in response, and he grins against her before leaning back.

“I'll be right back,” he says, his eyes boring into hers, making sure she does what he tells her. She nods again, biting her swollen lip.

He hasn't planned to take her, but he'll adapt, as always. It's a risky move, but he somehow knows it's going to be fine. He has an eye for these things, knows what to do if situations (opportunities) like this present themselves. Just a few calls, some more ominous nods to his employees, no problem, just a few minutes of his time to sort things out. Somewhat. He doesn't even know why he's taking her away, it just feels right. The temptation is too strong to ignore.

He shouldn't have left her.

When he returns, they are there, crowding her, two guys, frat boys probably, drunk out of their minds, slurring and stumbling, but determined to take what is now his. He's on them in no time, hand ripping them away from the frightened but still confused girl, frozen in place as hands gripped and groped her, slipping under her clothes, going places that are reserved to him.

His fist lands hard against a jaw, one of them tumbling to the floor with a howl, the other, too drunk to react, just stares at him, and he doesn't wait for him to realize what is happening. There's blood on his knuckles when the second guy goes down as well, two crumpled guys on the floor, holding their bloody faces. He grabs the girl with his left hand, carefully pulling her against him. She's swaying, legs trembling, arms wrapping around his waist helplessly.

One of the boys stirs, and he steps on his hand and kicks him back, another howl swallowed by the distant thump of the music. He takes a few steps, raps his fist against the door. A bouncer opens it, and he tilts his head towards the mess behind him. “Take care of this,” he orders, and the burly man nods, slipping into the club while he maneuvers the girl out of it.

The night is cold, semi-fresh air, but the noises are no longer muffled. The city breathes around them as he guides her to his car, parked in the back. She clings to him, barely able to function on her own anymore, eyes heavy, lips parted. He leans her against the trunk, hands holding her soft face, looks her over. She looks at him from under her lashes, too out of it to realize anything anymore. He gives her a soft kiss to her warm cheek, a little giggle escapes her.

She falls into the passenger seat, a frail little body unable to move on its own. He leans over to buckle her in, feeling her deep breaths on his chin. A short side glance shows him she has her eyes closed, chest rising and falling, head lolled to the side. His hand is on her cheek as he kisses her gently, savoring the warmth, already imagining what he could use her for. But he has to be patient.

When he rounds the car to get behind the wheel, his morals flare up, a rare occurrence, but the sight of her slumped into the seat, helpless and fucking innocent, makes him wonder how it's come to this. He's seen her dancing, in that tight top and short skirt, a laughing little light in the darkness around her. Pure. Ready to be soiled. He inhales the cold night air and slips into the driver seat, shaking his head to get rid of those damn doubts, flexing his bloodied knuckles on the steering wheel as he turns his head towards her small form.

In the end she is just another body to be used, like she should be.

They arrive at his place, and it's a blur for him to get her into the elevator, a little breathing bundle in his arms, so light and heavy at the same time. Temptation. He puts her down on the bed, watches her, how she curls up into a ball of limbs and hair, breathing softly, skirt bunched up around her hips, that sweet round butt on display, cute panties he wants to rip off her immediately. But he refrains, sighs, turns away to wash the blood off his hands.

Unbuttoning his shirt as he returns, his eyes are on her, taking in every detail. He keeps his pants on, keeps his hard erection in place for now, no matter how difficult it is to hold back. The urge to just take her is strong, push those panties aside and impale her on his thick cock. It'd be so easy. She wouldn't even feel anything, wouldn't remember a single thing. And there's the problem. He doesn't want to fuck a lifeless body, no matter how cute she looks.

He wants to see the fear in her eyes, the pain when he penetrates her, stretches her, deflowers her, possibly. Maybe even the lust growing in her pupils, that dilated look of pure bliss. Who knows, she might be into this. She followed him so willingly, she came to him, after all, approached the monster that kept staring at her. She made the first step. He just watched.

She stirs on the bed, soft little noises tumbling past her lips. He leans over her, rolls her onto her back, turns her head to the side so she won't choke on her own spit. There are other things he wants her to choke on. Later. It's almost caring how he brushes her hair out of her face, caresses her cheek, flushed and warm from sleep. Thumb finding the contours of her lips, soft and wet, pushing between them, into her mouth, searching for that sweet little tongue.

He pulls back with a deep sigh. Watching her for another moment, he decides to undress her after all. At least the skirt has to go, so he moves his hands under her body and fumbles for the zipper, then pulls it off her slim legs, nudges her shoes and socks off in the same move. He even removes her cheap jewelry, the soft clanging sounds of the thin metal filling the quiet room. She stirs slightly, smacks her lips, but doesn't wake. Not that she could, not yet. He folds the skirt and puts it on the nightstand, the sneakers he leaves under the bed, socks tucked into them, then turns his attention back to her sleeping form.

So fucking innocent in her tight top and those cute panties. A soft pink with little white bows on it. Childish almost, a girl caught in that awkward phase between adulthood and innocence, right on the verge. He doesn't know how old she is, but he trusts his bouncers to only let in girls of age. They're experts in finding fake IDs, good judges of character also. To be honest, though, it wouldn't change anything anyway. She is here now, on his bed, ready to be used, soiled, ravaged. He can't fucking wait.

But he has to, so he leans back and inhales deeply, ignoring the strain in his pants. His hands are itching to touch her, feel that warm smooth skin, pure and untouched. Almost. He can see the bruise on her neck that he worked into her. His mark. The beginning of many more, he's sure. He leans in, braced on one arm, one knee denting the mattress, his other hand tracing her jaw until he feels the little thump of her heartbeat in her jugular. His fingers curl around her neck, thumb pressed to her throat, as he stares down at her.

His mind floods with images of soft lips strained around his cock as he forces it down her throat, the tears in her eyes, the desperate grip of her fingers, trying to push him away as she struggles to breathe, spit and cum on her face, dripping down her chin, down between her tiny tits, chest heaving, throat bulging, a small body shuddering under the assault. He leans back with a groan, his stomach tensing in anticipation.

His hand trails down her side, teases those soft mounds under the top, scrapes over the hem of her panties, down her inner thigh, a little nudge and her legs open, a body to move how he wants to, so pliant. He's tempted to throw his plans overboard, the urge growing to just take her and relieve the throbbing need in his pants. His fingers are shaking as he brushes them between her legs, over the soft, slightly damp fabric of her underwear.

He can't help himself any longer, he slips a finger under the hem, feels her warm skin and the slick gathering between her soft folds. Biting his lip, he traces her slit, from the little hidden nub down to her entrance, and he can already tell she's never been touched here before, tight and pure. Maybe she's had her own little fingers in there, but she'll soon find out that it won't compare to anything he's planning to do to her.

A grunt escapes him when he pushes the tip of his finger into her hole, a little squelching sound accompanied by a little whimper. He looks up, but she's still gone, head turned to the side, drool gathering in the corner of her parted lips. He watches her as he dips his finger deeper, feels the tight grip of her cute little cunt, so warm and squishy, barely able to accommodate one of his digits. This will take some work if he wants to keep her.

He's used virgins before, broke them, ravaged them until their blood mixed with his cum, their pained screams like music in his ears, but this girl... she's too innocent to be treated like that. It's a strange feeling he's never had before. It's warm and somewhat comforting, as smooth as her tight little pussy. He pumps his finger slowly in and out, noticing the wetness gathering around it. Her mind may be clouded, but her body reacts nonetheless.

Why not start her training while she's unconscious? Might make it easier for her once she comes to. He settles next to her, pushing her panties aside more to allow his thumb to find her clit. Pumping his finger, he rubs it gently, draws tight circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves, feels it pulsing under his touch. His cock twitches against the fabric of his pants, and he grits his teeth to ignore it.

Her body shudders, little uncontrollable twitches in her thighs, her stomach fluttering, her soft breaths slightly faster as he keeps working his finger into her tight warmth. His eyes on her face, relaxed in sleep, but there's still a little twitch to her eyebrows, a little furrow, a quiet whimper falling from those plump lips. He fingers her faster, thumb pushing harder on her nub, those sweet squelching sounds making his head spin.

A tiny moan erupts from her throat, a quiet “Ah...” humming in the atmosphere, and he feels her tensing up, her walls gripping his finger, but he works it in and out still, knuckles-deep, thumb assaulting her clit. He wants to lean in and taste her so bad, but somehow he holds himself back, another trait he's new to. Instead he watches her small body convulsing under his touch, hips jerking against his hand, cunt clamping down on his digit, and when he pulls it out, her wetness seeps out of the tiny hole, trailing down to the other, dripping onto the sheets.

He inhales deeply, takes in that sweet scent of her orgasm, and wipes his hand on her inner thigh, spreading her release on her warm skin, before he leans back and brings his finger to his lips, unable to fight the urge to taste her after all. He prefers to have his face between soft thighs, drinking directly from that intoxicating fountain, but for now it'll do. His tongue laps around his fingertip, and he closes his eyes, taking her in, that sweet, sweet taste.

Before he leaves her be, he adjusts her panties and throws the blanket over her sleeping form. Then it's a short trip to the bathroom, shower turned on, clothes discarded on the floor, and he's barely in there when his right hand closes around his angrily throbbing cock.

Fuck. This girl will be a challenge. An exercise in restraint.

🟥 TWO

End notes: So, I guess the slow burn of Innocence Lost got to me, big time. I have no idea from what dark and ugly depths I pulled this story, but it is here, at least the first 10 chapters of it, the first season if you will. (And there will be more!) I'll upload a new chapter every Monday!

I hope the tags didn't put you off too much, but if you are reading this, maybe you pulled through, and I thank you for it! Thank you for joining me on this wild ride! I appreciate you very much!

By the way, this all came to be, somehow, because I've been listening to a lot of Electric Callboy recently (strangely enough, iykyk) and their video to Hate/Love kinda brought this all down. Or at least started it all. Sometimes inspiration strucks in the weirdest forms.

Thanks again for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

#ao3 original work #dead dove do not eat #dom/sub #d/s dynamic #older man younger woman #size difference #modern au #joel miller smut #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #infatuated #original fiction

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saturneras · 2 months ago

Text

Private Eyes I

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Fresh out of law school and spending the summer with your parents in your hometown, you’re looking to gain some new work experience without having to slave your life away in a big law firm. As a favor to your brother, his buddy Tommy gets you a last minute spot to work at the local police department. The chief of police however is none other than the unnervingly grumpy and mean Joel Miller aka Tommy‘s older brother and member of your brother‘s weekly poker round. The moment you meet him you know he doesn’t want you there and he is not afraid to make it known. And you sure do like to make a man lose his composure. He‘s not the first one to challenge you, but will he be the last?

Note: This is my first post, so please be gentle. This story does not aspire to be realistic or accurate representation of law enforcement etc. and is purely for your enjoyment. English is not my first language, but I’ll try my best. Hope you love to read it as much as I do writing it.

„So you really think this is all going to work out?“

Your brother Casey groans and changes lanes to take the exit. „I told you before and I will tell you again: Tommy said that he’s totally cool with it.“

„I don’t trust it. From what you’ve told me I don’t picture him as a guy who says he’s cool with it“, you reply and look at the trees passing my. Summer is here in its entirety and apart from the gentle cooling breeze rushing in through the cracked passenger seat window, the lingering heat hasn’t lifted for days. You watch your brother shake his head as he slows down at a red light and glances your way. That is what you get for staying in your hometown for the summer in a city without any public transport - relying on your older brother for a ride to work.

„Once you get to know him he’s actually pretty laid back“, he says.

„You literally told me a few weeks ago that you haven’t met anyone who is more of a control freak“, you say.

„I did not call him a control freak, I just said that he likes to be in control and does not take kindly to people distrusting that. He just likes things to be a certain way. Can’t blame him when he’s got all the responsibility." Casey shrugs, changing the radio station to country music.

„He’s a police officer”, you say. “Not the president.”

“He’s the chief of police”, your brother corrects and pulls up in front of a cream coloured building. A huge stone sign graces its front facing wall. Police Department. “Maybe you should dial down the judgy tone.”

You scoff. “I wasn’t being judgmental. I’m just trying to figure out in what kind of lions den you’re sending me.”

He grins. “Just remember that you were the one who wanted to “gain experience in the real world.” He emphasizes his quotation with his fingers. “I told you to spend the summer lying by the pool and reading your fantasy novels or whatever weird shit you’re currently obsessing over.”

You can't help but roll your eyes and unbuckle your seatbelt. "I'll try to keep the attitude to a minimum."

"Just give him a bit of time to warm up to you."

You let out a theatrical gaps. "Am I not a delight to meet brother dearest?"

Now it is Casey's turn to role his eyes. "Just don't embarrass me. The older Miller is already creepily good at mind games while playing poker and I don't need him to gain more leverage on me."

After stepping out of the car, you turn around and Casey rolls the window down further. "Thanks for the ride. Feels just like high school."

"Don't get used to it. I'll be on the site with Tommy until about five and then head over to Mickey's for a drink if you want a ride back."

"Sure", you nod. "I'll text you when I'm out."

Casey pulls out of the parking lot and you give a little wave as he turns the corner and drives out of sight. You exhale a deep breath you didn't know you were holding and turn around, facing the entrance. From what you have heard about the oldest Miller brother, you are not entirely convinced that this will be a smooth ride. Grumpy, demanding, ruthless, closed-off and moody are only a couple of words Casey used to describe Joel Miller. And even though you've known Tommy since he and your brother opened their contractor business, you have never laid eyes on his big brother before. The front entrance door swings open and rips you out of your thoughts. A woman, probably in her mid 50s, steps out of the building, looking at you and then around the almost empty parking lot. She frowns for a moment and then her eyes dart back to you.

"Are you okay there, honey?" Her voice is soft and low, sounding familiar even though you've never seen her before.

You nod eagerly. "Yes, sorry, I was just about to go in."

"Do you need another minute or are you ready?"

Taking the last couple of steps toward the entrance you grab the door she is holding open with her extended arm. "Ready."

"Is this your first time?" She asks me.

"Yes, actually", you reply.

"How are you feeling on a scale of one to 10, one being the worst?"

Well, that is unusual.

"I guess.. a good 8?"

"Great", she smiles and turns around, walking toward a desk in the entrance of the police station. "Here are the forms, if you need anything just let me know, I will be right over there and especially if you need any medical attention. Do you need medical attention?"

You shake your head quickly. "No..no, of course not. Why would I need medical attention?"

She hands me a clipboard with forms attached to it and a gel pen. "It is just protocol to ask, you know. But I am glad you're feeling well."

You sit down and glance at the files. This looks like a lot of personal questions for a summer job. Scanning the forms a couple of times, you get up towards the desk, just as the entrance door opens behind you.

"I'm sorry to bother you again, but I am not quite sure why exactly I need to fill this out? I thought I had already sent my CV over a week ago."

"Your CV? Why would we need your CV?"

"Everything good, Lori?" A voice from behind you resounds and you turn around. A guy in dark blue police uniform and a blonde buzzcut stands a couple of steps behind you and smiles.

Lori reciprocates the smile and rises from her seat. "Oh yes, Daniel. This woman is just filling out the assault report."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "A what? No, I am not filling that out."

She winks at you. "Sure, you are not."

"I think there's been a mistake. I am here for the summer job. Tommy Miller sent me."

Lori frowns and thankfully Daniel steps forward and offers you his hand. "You're Casey's sister, right?"

You exhale gratefully and take his hand. "Yes, I am."

"I'm Daniel Riley", he says and you introduce yourself.

Daniel shakes your hand, while looking over at Lori. "This is who the chief was talking about the other day."

Lori's face tenses. "Oh I am so sorry, dear. I thought you were here for our weekly office hours for women in need."

You give her a smile and wave it off. "No worries."

"Do you want me to call the chief?" She asks Daniel.

He shakes his head. "No need, I'll just give her the tour."

Lori nods and looks to you. "Well, if you need anything, I am right here up front."

"Thanks", you say and follow Daniel through the hallway leading further into the station.

He introduces you to the two officers in the kitchen having coffee and leads you through the whole floor, explaining how everything works. "You know we all thought you were Tommy's girlfriend, you know?"

"Why? Because he put in a good word?"

"More so because the chief acted like he was agreeing to taking a bullet to the chest for letting you work here for the summer", Daniel replies and chuckles.

"That sounds reassuring", you huff.

"So not Tommy's girlfriend?"

You shake your head. "No, just the sister of a very convincing brother."

"Good to know." Daniel grins. "Have you talked to the chief about your tasks yet?"

"Not yet, no", you say, walking beside him toward the back of the station.

"Well, maybe he is out or something. But he usually will show himself at the staff meeting at around 11. Until then, maybe you can help me out a bit?" His green eyes shimmer faintly in the fluorescent office light.

"Sure, what do you need?"

He opens the door to a dark room and turns on the light. Rows of shelves filled with boxes fill up the room and the room is so badly lit and stuffy that you have to squint your eyes to make out the size of it.

"This is the archive", Daniel explains rather redundantly. "I need a couple of files for a case I am working on. Do you mind getting them out and over to my desk?"

"I can do that."

"Great", he says. "I need every robbery case from 1979 to 1981 that you can find okay?"

"I'll have them right over," you say and step into the room, leaving Daniel behind you.

The room's smell reminds you of your school's old gym basement, where they used to store all the old equipment. You walk further among the shelves and try to make out the labels. Thank god, they are labeled by years, so you quickly can find 1980 and 1981. But even after having checked every shelf, you cannot find 1979. Just when you're about to asks for help, you find yourself in front of a filing cabinet towering over you and on top the missing box. Perfect. You rise on your tiptoes and stretch your arms as high as possible, only reaching the bottom of the box. Slowly, you try to move it toward you without catching dust and dirt in your eyes. The box is heavier than the other ones and it takes a while for you to move it almost over the edge. When it's just about to tip over, the door behind you slams shut.

"Hey Daniel, can you give me a hand with this one?" You asks him and the footsteps are closing in on you. You try to turn your head to take a glance at what's behind you, but the box of files tips toward you. You manage to whisper a breathy oh no, when not only the box, but the whole locker tilts and falls toward you. You flinch and try to step out of danger zone, when suddenly you are slammed against the file cabinet by something hard. Your body is locked in between whatever pushed you against the locker and the door itself, still leaning dangerously close to you, but not falling. Whatever is pressed against your back is effectively caging you in. It feels heavy and ..warm.

"Can I help you?" You asks tentatively.

"That's what I am trying to do here." The voice is low and not much more than a growl as it sounds right next to your ear. Definitely not Daniel. The man's breath trailing down the side of your throat, warming the spot between neck and your shoulder. You suppress a shiver that's just waiting to pass over your back.

"If you could just move, I can get out", you suggest and the man huffs.

"If I move, this cabinet will fall and take you down with it, Darlin'."

You move your head as much as you can and look up above you just to realise that the cabinet and with it the box of files is only being held up by two thick arms in a white dress shirt. "Oh."

"I need you to get on your knees", he says and your body tenses. What?

"Excuse me?"

He groans. "Just get on your knees and crawl, damn it."

"I don't know what your deal is, but if you keep this up you will get to know mine", you reply and your threat earns nothing but a low chuckle that dies as quick as it started.

"If you don't get out from underneath, I can't let that damned thing go. So just get on your goddamn knees and move. I can't hold it much longer."

"Famous last words", you say and try to lower yourself to your knees. The locker is so close that you cannot exactly move away from the guy behind you, so you need to slide down while pressed against him.

You bend your knees and slide your back down his front, slowly toward the floor, trying not to lose your balance. His whole body goes rigid and you are sure you imagine the quick release of a held breath once your knees make contact with the floor. You turn around and crawl out from underneath the locker, past the man's shoes. Just as you rise to your feet, a loud crash announces the final fall of the cabinet. The man's broad back is still turned to you, when the door opens and Daniel steps in.

"What on earth is going on here?" He calls.

The man turns around, illuminated by the streams of light coming in from the open door and finally you can take a good look at him. He is wearing a loosened grey tie over his white shirt and beige slacks. Except for a rogue one dangling on his forehead, his dark brown curls are neatly slicked back. The urge to run your hands through them arises, making you wonder. Maybe it's just the dimly lit room but he's got the darkest eyes you've ever seen. And these eyes are staring right at you, fixating on your face with an impression that you can't quite place. He doesn't even waste a glance at Daniel.

"Leave us", he says slowly.

A frown appears on Daniel's forehead. "Can I do anything?"

"Just shut the goddamn door, Riley," he says without any room for discussion. And when Daniel takes a step further inside he continues: "Behind you."

Daniel just huffs out a breath and closes the door behind him. The silence following his retreat is deafening. No one says anything for a whole minute, just the sound of his and my breathing filling the air.

"You're late", he finally says.

"I got held up filling out the assault forms", you reply.

The ever-present frown on his face deepens. "Why were you filling out the assault forms?"

"They thought I was looking for help", you say. "But I'm here now."

"You don't think you need to be on time?" He replies.

"I got here at 9," you say.

"Shift starts at 7:30", he states.

"Well, no one told me that."

"Did you ask?"

What is this guys deal? The outside apparently does not match the inside.

"No, I did not", you say, crossing your arms. "I assumed the department would inform me."

"Do you always assume that things are just being handed to you?" His eyes narrow slightly.

"Are you implying that I don't work for what I've earned?"

"I'm saying that you came here unprepared", he says.

"I'm not sure how well I should have prepared to be able to look through boxed files, but you're right, maybe I should have practiced dates a little before coming here or brought my stepping stool for reaching higher places so I don't get killed by a freaking cabinet on the first day."

"Are you mocking important data work?"

"No, I'm just mocking you", you say and lift your chin a little to glare right back at him.

"Rich coming from someone whose life I just saved", he says.

"If you hadn't pushed me, I could have just stepped out of the way."

"Just say thank you, it isn't that hard", he drawls.

"Do you need me to get on my knees for that too?" You snap and your eyes flicker to the muscle in his jaw twitching.

His eyes go impossibly dark and without breaking your glance, he closes the distance between you two, forcing you to lift your head to look up at him. This close you can make out the tiny golden spots that surround his irises and the soft grey streaks that run through his longer than a 5 o'clock shadow on his chin. His eyes graze quickly over your face, stopping ever so slightly on your parted lips. You can't help but wanting them to linger there.

"Careful now, Darlin'", he whispers. "Let's mind our manners."

His chest now faintly grazes your crossed arms and you can make out a hint of his smell, reminding you of a sunset on the porch after a lake day, tranquil, woodsy and so familiar it hurts.

"You're right, I'm sorry - do you need me to get on my knees for that too, sir?"

His jaw tenses and you can almost see the anger building up in his eyes. But you can't help it, you're enjoying pushing him just to see his control falter the slightest bit. He's might be an asshole, but he still makes you want to see what his face looks like on top of yo-

"I advise you to watch that mouth of yours or the only thing you'll be seeing in the future is the outside of this building, do you understand?" He says, not as calmly as before.

"We'll see what the chief has to say about that", you say and hope to whichever god might listen that the eldest Miller brother is even the tiniest bit as receptive to your charm as Tommy is.

The man in front of you lifts his eyebrows as if he has just now finally understood something. "Sure, let's see what he says."

You lean forward a tiny bit and press your arms against his broad chest. Just to annoy him and introduce yourself. "I'm Casey's sister by the way. Tommy's friend?"

The man smiles unnervingly sinister. "Oh, I know exactly who you are."

Another forceful knock on the door makes you leap a step back from him. "Sir?"

He rolls his eyes and calls back. "Yes?"

"We just got a call from the Sheriff's office, they need you on line 4", one of the officers says.

"I'll be right out", he says.

"Thank you, chief", she says and you hear her step away from the door.

Lord almighty, it can't be. No, no, hell no.

The realisation must be written all over your face because his mouth forms into the smallest grin.

"You are-

"Joel Miller, Chief of Police", he introduces himself.

You shake your head in disbelief. This can't be.

"And while you're .. adjusting, why don't you make yourself useful and tidy this up?" He points behind himself at the cabinet and the spilled files on the floor. "From what I've gathered you're probably used to cleaning up your messes."

With that he turns and brushes past me as if he had just stepped in to say 'hello', making his way to the door. Fucking sadist.

You can't even bring yourself to turn your head. Anger and embarrassment crawls all over your skin, rising up to your head. No one has made you feel this way in a long time. You run a hand through your hair and turn towards the files and documents covering the floor. He is even worse than what you've imagined. A shitty boss with an attitude? You've handled that before. But a boss with an attitude, a sharp mouth and a demand for power? That's new. The issue being that not only do you want him to suffer now, but you want to find out what exactly makes this man of stone lose his grip on the control that he so preciously protects.

Come what may, this is going to be a hell of a summer.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x female reader

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badkitty3000 · 3 months ago

Text

Look But Don't Touch

A Five x female reader one-shot; 4.5k words, sequel/request

Anonymous asked: After I read your latest post and reached the last bit... I'm gonna be greedy yet desperate if you will... 👉👈🩷🩷🩷Can I beg and ask if you please continue the subway dirty shenanigans right where you left off?? at Max's, where some filthy, sexy filthyyyy party can happen for us???? Please?? I can get on my knees like she did on the train if I have to cuz I'M BEGGIIIIIIIIIIING

Link to post this is referring to here!

Summary: Five takes you to a mysterious deli he swears you will love

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, slight Daddy kink

As you walked along the chilly subway platform, holding Five’s hand, and listening to the clip of your footsteps echo off the grungy, tiled walls, you replayed what had just occurred since you entered that train not so long ago.

I convinced Five to take me on the mysterious train to who knows where

I gave him a FANTASTIC blow job that really I should win some sort of award for

He left me high and dry (well, not dry)

We stopped at some weird ass diner that appeared out of nowhere

I was told not to worry about my cum-stained dress or the fact that I am not wearing anything underneath it

What the fuck is going on here?

You glanced worriedly over your shoulder as the train you had just emerged from took off and disappeared into the dark tunnel.

“Uh, Five? The train just left.”

He continued, unhurried, and didn’t even glance in your direction as he answered. “Another one will be along.”

You nodded, trusting he knew what he was talking about. Not that you had much choice in the matter. As you neared the entrance of Max’s Delicatessen, there was something eerie about it, and it wasn’t just that it happened to exist inside this weird timeloop subway station.

When the door to the restaurant opened, a man walked out. Not just any man. Your man. The same one that was standing right next to you and suddenly pulling you in with an arm around your waist.

“What the…?” you murmured, your jaw dropping.

The other person that looked exactly like Five was hurrying in the direction of the platform you had just left. As he passed, he gave Five a quick nod, pausing for a fraction of a second to look you over before giving you a sideways smile, and then he was off again.

You watched him go, absolutely flabbergasted, and then looked at Five.

“What is going on?”

Five didn’t answer your question. But he did look awfully mischievous as he leaned in to kiss you, running both of his hands down your back before cupping your butt cheeks, pulling your short dress up a little bit in the process.

“Remember…” he said softly while his long fingers trailed down the side of your neck. “You are mine and only mine.”

You nodded dumbly, not knowing what you were agreeing to. Leading you forward with a hand on the small of your back, you entered the diner, where you stopped dead in your tracks about two feet inside the door.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, right before every single clear green eye in the place was on you.

You felt like you had just been led into the lion’s den, except that these lions were all in the form of the man whose cock was in your mouth just a few minutes earlier. You’d had dreams like this before. Very, very naughty dreams. But this was undeniably real.

You licked your lips and let out a breathy laugh. “Damn.”

Five… your Five… put a protective arm around your shoulders as he steered you in the direction of one of the booths in the back. Tripping over your own feet as he pushed you along, your head swiveled around, taking in your surroundings. The longer you looked, the more you realized there were slight differences in each man, even though they were all clearly a version of Five.

Some were dressed impeccably in their full three piece suit, sipping from cups of coffee as you walked down the aisle, while others were in various stages of dress, with their jackets thrown over the backs of seats and shirt sleeves rolled up. There were even a few that looked like they had seen better days, completely disheveled, with their hair a mess and ties hanging loosely over untucked shirts.

You noticed one Five had faint streaks of gray in his hair, around the temples, giving him a very distinguished look as he watched you with interest. Another sat at a booth next to what you knew was his beloved mannequin, Dolores. A haughty-looking, bespectacled Five glanced up from his newspaper, rolled his eyes, and got up and left.

As you were shuffled into one of the red vinyl booths, Five pulled you onto his lap, which was odd, considering there was plenty of space to sit next to him, but you were too busy marveling at the handsome face that was nearing your table.

“I wasn’t sure you’d figure out how to make it back here,” the other Five noted casually, setting down his coffee as he slid into the bench seat across the table.

It was so surreal seeing an exact replica of Five, sitting across from you, eyeing you up with that same hungry look your Five always had, and sounding just like him; right down to the gravelly tone of his voice. The main difference was that this one had a pencil tucked over his ear.

Five’s hands were on your hips, stroking them lightly as he spoke to his doppelganger.

“Of course I did, idiot,” Five sniped back, moving his hands lower to your bare thighs. “Shouldn’t you be waiting tables or something?”

The other Five shook his head. “I’m on break.” Then he turned to you with a smile so familiar it gave you goosebumps. “Hello, darling.”

At the same time that you let out a little gasp at his greeting, Five’s fingers dug deeper into your flesh. His breath warmed the side of your neck as he gently pushed your hair to the side and brushed his lips under your jaw. You closed your eyes, your lips parting, as you wiggled against him.

“What is happening?” you asked quietly.

You had been talking to your Five, who was busy rubbing his cheek against your hair and kissing your shoulder as he massaged your inner thighs, but the Five sitting across from you answered.

“Why don’t you come over here and I can show you,” he said with a smirk while his hand disappeared beneath the tabletop.

Your Five’s head snapped up. “Don’t even think about it, asshole.”

Your eyes fluttered shut again and you let out a little moan when Five started to pull down the straps of your dress, letting them hang off your shoulders. It was like you were hypnotized, as his hands roamed all over your body and his mouth trailed hot lines over your skin. You didn’t seem to care that it was happening in front of a room full of… well… him.

Another Five that had been sitting in a different booth, wearing a full, neatly pressed suit, abandoned his half-finished crossword puzzle and sidled over. He stood next to the table and watched as Five squeezed your tits together.

“He came all over your pretty dress, didn’t he, honey?” Crossword Five shook his head. “We might all be the same person in here, but some of us have manners and know that’s no way to treat a lady.”

“Back off, fuck face,” Five growled back at him. “You know the rules.”

Crossword Five laughed, putting his hands in his pockets as he leaned casually against one of the tables. “Hey, you brought her here. You knew the risk. Besides, Waiter Five here has already started jacking it.”

Waiter Five smiled devilishly at you from across the table, his left hand hidden from view but clearly busy doing something. “Just enjoying the show.”

When he unzipped the back of your dress, exposing your bare breasts as it fell around your waist, Five spoke hotly next to your ear. “I can read that dirty little mind of yours, darling, so just remember what I told you.” His fingertips grazed the stiff peaks of your nipples. “You can look but don’t touch.”

“But… “ you started weakly as you turned your face to kiss along the line of stubble under his jaw. “But, it’s you.”

Crossword Five and Waiter Five both grinned and nodded. “Exactly,” they said in union.

Ignoring the other two, Five began massaging your tits roughly, squeezing and pinching at your nipples until you made a sharp whimpering noise. “I’m going to make you come right here,” he said huskily as he kissed your shoulder. “And they’re going to watch and wish they were me.”

“Again… they are you,” you said with a little laugh, meeting Waiter Five’s eyes.

You found that looking into the same eyes and face of the person that was quickly working you into a frenzy was very strange but you didn’t exactly hate it. In fact, maybe it was turning you on a little bit more.

Five’s cock was starting to wake up again as you rocked your hips against him, which just added to your growing desire for him.

One of his hands dropped between your legs while the other continued to play with your tits. His fingers found the wet, warm area that he had been too-long in neglecting, and you squirmed against them.

Leaving the intense gaze of Waiter Five, you dropped your head back against the shoulder of your Five, raising your arm up to stroke the back of his neck with your hand. When he began to toy with you, sliding his fingers up and down and over your swollen clit, you whined next to his ear.

With a sharp bite to the side of your neck, Five had you moaning his name out loud.

“Oh god, Five!” you cried out as you unabashedly shoved his hand harder between your legs while you thrust your hips faster.

At the sound of their name being moaned so wantonly, the other Fives started to close in, sauntering over like a pack of perverted, suit-wearing zombies. But instead of wanting to eat your brain, they clearly would have liked to eat something else.

As you continued to fuck Five’s hand, your juices dripping down onto his pant legs, you opened your eyes. At least two of the other Fives had unzipped their pants and were already starting to stroke their hard cocks. Crossword Five, who seemed to be a little less brash, was watching intently while palming the front of his fine, wool slacks. You could hear a few quiet groans from around the restaurant.

“Do you like that, sweetheart?” Five asked teasingly.

You nodded, turning your head to catch his lips with yours as he plunged two fingers inside you, making you clench down around them. “I like when you watch me get off,” you told him in between ravenous kisses. “And there’s a lot of you watching.”

Placing a second hard bite to the other side of your neck, Five gave you another warning. “I’m going to mark you up so all these fucking vultures can remember who you belong to.”

With your whimpers growing louder and your body starting to thrash around on Five’s lap, the other Fives increased their level of debauchery, too. Waiter Five was still watching you, his emerald eyes boring into you as you came closer to reaching your peak. Five was busy marking up your neck and shoulders while his fingers pushed sloppily in and out of you, so you took the chance to break a little of the rules.

Slipping off one of your shoes, you extended your leg under the table. Waiter Five’s eyes widened as your bare foot slipped up the inside of his leg, feeling the warmth and firmness of his thigh, and coming to rest against the prominent bulge of his crotch. He had not started jacking it quite yet, because his cock was still packed away, but it was very clear that it was dying to be let out. His hand caught your ankle as you wiggled your toes against his dick and he inhaled a sharp breath.

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” he whispered to you with a cocky grin.

You smiled back at him as he pressed your foot to his clothed dick and rubbed your calf with his hand. Before you could decide how far you wanted to take your little under the table foot fuck, your Five was pushing you over the edge with a few dirty words in your ear and a thumb against your clit.

“Fiiive!” you cried out, which released a frenzy of deep moans and groans across the deli.

With Five holding you tightly against him, your body trembled in his arms while the other Fives watched enviously, but also proudly, knowing it was still their name you were calling out in your moment of ecstasy. Waiter Five let out a low grunt as you teased him just a little more with your foot before lowering your leg.

Breathing fast and hard, with your dress completely useless in covering anything on your body, you took a better look around you. It was the weirdest, most depraved thing you had ever seen in your life. All of the Fives in the deli were now honed in on you.

You could see now the different stages of arousal they were in. Most of them had their hard dicks out already, stroking them slowly while alternating between making eye contact with you and closing their eyes with a quiet moan. The distinguished looking Five with the graying hair was boldly standing with one foot on a bench, casually yet purposefully undoing his belt and pants to get to work.

One of the more slovenly Fives in the back was already mid-orgasm as he pumped his fist furiously, letting go of an impressive stream of cum that landed in a sticky puddle at his feet. Another, obviously plastered Five, was clearly suffering from whiskey dick as he mumbled sadly to himself and slid down the wall. The Five that had been sitting with Dolores was in the process of shoving the poor mannequin lady under the table and between his legs.

Crossword Five was still leaning against one of the booths to the side, nonchalantly rubbing at the front of his pants with a condescending smirk on his face.“I like to prolong the pleasure, not just shoot my wad in ten seconds like these other animals,” he told you.

From a supply closet towards the back came another Five, wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt and pants with several buttons undone at the neck and the sleeves rolled up. On his hip hung a spray bottle of some kind of cleaning solution. He was wheeling a mop bucket and whistling a tune, completely oblivious as to what was currently happening in the main dining area. He stopped abruptly, his eyes landing on the fresh wet patch of jizz on the floor in front of him.

Janitor Five groaned and threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Can’t I get one fucking day off?”

“Sorry, man,” the Five who had made the mess told him with a shrug as he zipped his pants back up and ran a hand through his messy hair. “You know how it is.”

You giggled at that, but then Five turned your face to his with a hand on your chin. Despite the fact that he had spilled his cum all over your dress earlier, he was raring to go again with his straining erection still pushed between your legs.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he told you in that tone that made you almost slip right off his lap. With a rough kiss that had you aching for more, he whispered “Think you can handle a little more for Daddy?”

Waiter Five gave you a knowing grin, and then you heard the clink of his belt buckle as he started to unleash his cock under the table.

Already salivating at the thought of what was next, you shimmied off of Five’s lap and out of the booth. Pushing your dress all of the way off, you realized you had left one of your heels under the table when you were teasing Waiter Five. He noticed before your Five could, and he calmly handed the stray shoe over to you with a smile. You mouthed “thank you” and gave him a little air kiss that only he saw. While you slipped your foot into your other shoe, Waiter Five slipped his hand into his pants.

Standing there, completely naked aside from a pair of black stiletto pumps, and surrounded by a room full of the most gorgeous men (man) you had ever seen, another rivulet of moisture slithered down your leg.

They may have been different versions of the one you were devoted to, but they all had the same sharp, angular jaw; the same sculpted chest and toned arms; the same long and slender fingers that made you salivate just by looking at them. You knew how each one of them kissed, and how they fucked, and the sounds they made when you did certain things to their body. You knew how their cock tasted and how it felt inside you.

Holy shit, you wanted them. All of them. But that, you had been told, was against the rules.

That was the thought that was running through your head when you were pulled from behind and pushed face first onto the table directly next to the one where you had just been fingered. It was definitely your Five that did it, because you’d know that excited, raspy groan anywhere. Your legs were pushed apart as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

The rest of the Fives were in full jerk-off mode now, with some of them already nearing the end and others just warming up. But nearly every single one of them had their dick out and their intense green stare set on you. Watching their strong, slender hands work their thick shafts was driving you crazy and you wished your Five would hurry up and just fuck you already.

“Hurry up and fuck her, already!” Janitor Five yelled out from the back, after looking at you with a lecherous smile. He dropped his mop and started hurrying to open up his pants. “Hey, honey, the special of the day is Man Chowder. Let me fix you up a bowl.”

“God, you’re such a disgusting creep!” the Five from behind the service window scoffed.

“Why don’t you go back to jerking it into the mayonaise Brisket, you fucking asshole!” Janitor Five shot back, whipping out his dick.

“Shut up!” Five hissed from behind you, right before you heard his belt buckle hit the floor along with his pants. “God, I love this ass,” he gritted out, rubbing your butt cheek and giving it a light slap.

Five eased inside of you, slowly, while you gripped the sides of the table. You let out a shaky sigh as he filled you up and bottomed out; his hips flush against your backside. As he began fucking you, deliberately and rhythmically, you closed your eyes and bit down on your lower lip.

When you turned your head to the side, you locked eyes with Waiter Five, who was still sitting in the booth next to you and stroking himself under the table. One corner of his mouth turned up, clearly enjoying the fact that you were watching him and vice versa.

You liked being able to study his face as he worked his dick over, sliding his fist tightly over the shaft, just like you had seen your Five do in front of you before. You liked being the reason he was hard and leaking, with his breath growing more rapid and ragged by the second. And you loved the fact that you could look into his beautiful face while still being railed from behind by another version of him.

“Oh, shit… Five!” you cried out, as he slammed into you abruptly, leaning over you so that his upper body covered your back and he held himself up with his hands on the table.

“Say it again, baby,” he said softly as he sucked another mark onto your shoulder.

“Yeah, say it again,” Waiter Five demanded, making you wilt under his piercing gaze.

You raised your head, taking in the other Fives. They were all beating their dicks furiously, hair hanging in their eyes, and their brows creased in concentration.

“Fuuuck…. Five,” you moaned.

That did a few of them in right there, with the familiar sounds of their grunts and groans filling the room as they came into their hands, onto table tops, or the floor.

A loud whimper escaped your lips as Five suddenly pulled out, leaving you stretched and empty. It didn’t last long, though, before he was pulling you up and spinning you around with his hands on your waist as he boosted you up onto the table. Standing between your legs, he kissed you hard, biting at your lips with a hand at the back of your neck.

When he entered you again, it was with one hard push that had you clinging to his shoulders to keep from sliding backwards. Five held your legs around his waist with a hand under each thigh, letting you lie back onto the table.

“Fuck, I love you,” he hissed, almost angrily between gritted teeth as he slammed his hips into you again.

“I love you, too,” you moaned. You looked over to see that Waiter Five was still locked on you as he beat his dick under the table. You smiled a little and then turned to your Five again. “Baby, please…,” you pleaded, in between sharp gasps. “I want your cum inside me and his covering my tits.”

Five let out a deep growl as he slammed into you with more force. But the beautiful, pornographic noises you were making had him wanting to give you whatever you asked for.

“Fine,” he rasped. “He can come on your tits. But that’s it.”

It hadn’t even occurred to you that these Fives would be able to blink too, but that’s exactly what happened as soon as Waiter Five got the green light. In one flash of blue, he was kneeling on the seat next to you, his hand around his cock as he shamelessly stroked it harder and faster.

Now you could look at both of them at the same time. Your Five had his head thrown back while he fucked you hard, his hips thrusting manically while his fingers dug sharply into your sides. Waiter Five’s long dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he closed his eyes with a low groan.

“God damn it, I want to absolutely wreck that pussy,” the Five called Brisket groaned pitifully from the kitchen, right before he came all over his food-stained apron.

“Excuse me, but I’m going to go take care of this in private, like a gentleman,” Crossword Five declared as he made a beeline for the bathroom, his pants still painfully restricting the giant hard-on he had refused to release.

With the sounds of skin on skin slapping filling the room, and the groans of all of the Fives growing louder, you couldn’t hold back any longer. Watching as your Five’s dick drilled mercilessly into your hot core, you grabbed onto Waiter Five’s shirt, bunching the material into your fist as you felt yourself tip over the edge.

“Oh god!” you cried out as your body started to seize up with rippling waves of pleasure. “Five… YES!”

That seemed to end both of them as well, and Five filled your pussy with his cum while Waiter Five covered your tits with long, thick ropes of his own. Your climax continued on, aided by the fact that two versions of the sexiest man alive were losing themselves all over you.

Five let out a long, shuddering curse as his dick twitched out the last few drops inside you. “FUUUCK!”

Waiter Five’s wrist finally slowed when he was completely empty, and you both smiled hazily at one another, breathing heavily as your muscles began to relax again.

When Five pulled out, and you were able to right yourself again, you witnessed the insane phenomenon of a dozen other Fives reaching their ends, spewing out load after load of cum while groaning and milking themselves dry. You noticed the pervy Janitor Five had shot his load into the mop bucket.

You leaned your head on Five’s chest as you both caught your breath. He stroked your back and kissed the top of your head.

Waiter Five worked his way out of the booth, shoving his dick back in his pants and buckling his belt. He pushed his hair off his face before grabbing a stack of napkins and offering them out to you.

“Sorry for the mess, but I aim to please. And my aim is pretty fucking good.”

You laughed, taking the napkins and wiping your chest off as best you could while Five bent down to pick up his pants that were around his ankles. “Yes it certainly is. I asked and you delivered, so thank you.”

“Alright, enough chit chat,” your Five said before handing you your wrinkled and dirty dress that had been balled up on the floor. “I need to get you out of here before these shit heads get a chance to chub up again.”

You gave a little pout as you pulled your dress over your head, turning so that he could zip you up in the back. “Are you sure we can’t stay a little longer? I like it here.”

“I know you do, darling. But we only bring our girls here once, as a kind of tradition.” He turned you around to face him, lifting your face to his. “Once is enough… so don’t get any ideas.”

You smiled and kissed him softly. “Oh, I have plenty of ideas that will forever live in my head after today. But don’t worry. I’m perfectly happy to go home with you and only you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

As you were being led towards the door again, Janitor Five called out to you, plopping his mop onto the floor with a splash. “Anytime you’re hungry for more of my delicious trouser gravy, honey, just come on back. Daddy will serve you up something really special.”

There was a loud, disgusted groan from all of the other Fives and one of them threw a salt shaker at Janitor Five’s head, which he dodged with a cheeky grin. Smiling to yourself, you took one last look over your shoulder as the door to Max’s closed behind you. You caught Waiter Five’s eye, who winked and flashed you another gorgeous smile while you blew him a kiss.

Looping your arm through Five’s, you rested your head against his shoulder as you walked towards the waiting train that had just rolled into the station.

“So, are you sure this was a one and done deal?” you said with a giggle.

Five shook his head with a smile and led you onto the train. Pinching your ass and pulling you onto his lap as the train started to move, he grinned. “And risk losing you to that jerk Waiter Five? I don’t think so.”

“But maybe you could… I don’t know… share?” you teased, running your fingers down the length of his tie.

Five sighed heavily, but he was smiling as he placed a soft kiss to your lips. “You should know better by now, my love… Daddy doesn’t share.”

I have to give props to my homegirl @kaybreezy3000. She is the one who gave me the idea for this sexy plot. She is also the creator of the pervy Janitor Five in this story, because he was also featured in our collaboration deli fic World's Collide. He is such a sleeze bag and I love him dearly! 🧹❤️

I am tagging those that liked my 'coming soon' post about this fic. If you don't want to be tagged or you want your name off of this, please just let me know!

@hufflepuff4992, @dorkyfangirl24, @thesilvertheorist, @losingmymindforsoobin, @raymondeus, @sansara2462, @clownstillwritesfanfic, @jana0509, @fireheart13x, @sdherself, @tuanputri-magui, @fivehargreevesnumber1fan, @voteforevilthoughts

#five hargreeves x you #number five x you #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #number five smut #number five imagine #smut #deli fic #waiter five #janitor five #badkittywrites

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chock-and-bates · 4 days ago

Note

Hypothetically, how would King Max react if he was trying to sleep with a Charles that kept pushing him away, only to realize that Charles is actually in fact sick/injured?

you baited me into writing a 1.8k word ficlet to answer this question 😅

(i've got to stop with these borderline fluffy things, otherwise the main story is going to shock everyone.)

roar of the fire sick!fic under the cut (rated T).

Charles feels the ache in his throat in the morning, and by midday the pain has spread to low aches throughout his whole body. More annoyingly is the way his head has begun to throb, and it puts him in a foul mood.

There is little doubt he is falling ill. Charles hates falling ill.

He has been this way since childhood. He detests his body failing him. It makes him feel weak, it makes him look weak- and if there is one thing he cannot afford in the lion’s den of the Red Bull Court, it is showing any signs of vulnerability.

So he takes his evening meal in his apartments with his lords-in-waiting, ignoring Steward Russell’s sharp words and Lord Norris’s whines of boredom when he announces his plans. Over the meal he says little, letting Ollie deal with Lando’s incessant ramblings about the latest court gossip while he nibbles on his food and tries to overcome the chills that are beginning to wrack his body.

Fuck, he already feels miserable.

He excuses his lords at the earliest convenience, asking Maya to help him undress so he can slip into his night clothes despite the early hour.

“Are you all right, your highness,” his maid asks quietly as she unlaces him.

“I’m fine,” Charles lies, unwilling to even show his trusted servant any sign, “Just tired.”

When she’s also been excused Charles drags out some extra furs for the bed, beginning to shiver as the fever rises. As he burrows under the blankets, he tries to think of a way to handle Max when he undoubtedly comes to visit him in a few hours time-

He falls into a feverish doze before he can even begin to plan.

* * *

Some time later he is woken by someone climbing into the bed besides him- Max.

“Why weren’t you at dinner,” his husband grumbles as crawls closer, “I had to listen to Russell drone on and on and about the McLaren delegation reception, that’s supposed to be your job.”

His husband curls up behind him, fitting his body to Charles’ even as he lays on top of the furs where Charles is burrowed under. Max’s arm slides around him to tug him closer, and Charles barely bites back a whine, feeling unbearably hot and cold in equal measures as his head continues to pound.

There is little doubt what his husband is after, and Charles has no idea how to fight him off without exposing his illness.

“Leave me alone,” he manages to mumble, the words painful as his sore throat protests speaking. “I want to rest. Leave.”

Behind him, Max huffs, “Don’t play this game, Charles. I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a very long, very boring day and now I want my wife. Let’s make this easy, yes?”

With that he roughly begins to tug at the layers of blankets. A violent shudder wracks Charles as the chilly air creeps into the bed.

“Stop,” he whines, desperately holding onto the final fur separating him from being exposed to the cold.

“What’s gotten into you? You haven’t acted like this in months” Max sounds cross, “You’re not really going to make me drag another servant in here to whip until you give in, are you?”

He yanks off the final fur and tosses it aside. The air feels frigid against his body, and Charles can’t help a whimper, curling into himself for warmth and fighting not to shiver.

Max’s hands on him are rough as they pull him back and underneath him, “I promise I’ll make you feel good, I always do. Now will you stop acting like a nun and let me take my rights-”

Groaning in protest, Charles weakly tries to push him away, his aching muscles little match to his husband as he presses down on top of him. Max ignores the feeble protest, leaning in to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss on his neck. It’s unbearably scorching, and Charles begins to wonder if he’ll pass out from overheating if he has congress with his husband-

But nearly as soon as his lips touch his skin, Max is jerking back, staring down at Charles with a bewildered frown, “Your skin is burning.”

Charles can only whimper in reply, still weakly trying to push him away, too hot and achy with Max so heavy on top of him.

“Charles,” Max suddenly sounds frantic, “Are you ill?”

So much for hiding this.

”Yes, dammit,” he hisses, wincing as the words leave his sore throat.

Max practically leaps off of him. Charles realizes his husband must be disgusted, probably worried that Charles has infected him. He tries to tell himself this is a good thing, that it means Max will leave him to suffer alone, just like he wanted. He tries to banish the inexplicable worry that his husband is repulsed by him-

But oh, how wrong he was.

Max is beside himself, a steady stream of questions and assurances flowing out of him, too fast and cut off for Charles to possibly respond. He pulls all the furs back over Charles, tucking them in tightly before he nearly runs to the door, shouting at Yuki to go wake Physician Webber.

Charles can only tiredly blink at the scene- Max pacing around the chamber, shirtless and barefoot as he must have undressed himself before climbing into the bed. He keeps throwing worried glances Charles way, mumbling under his breath for Webber to hurry the fuck up-

Head aching fiercely, Charles lays back and closes his eyes against his husband’s panic, too exhausted to worry about the small seed of satisfaction the sight has planted in his heart.

Soon countless people have filled his bedchamber, the chaos and chatter doing nothing to help his splitting head. Webber and Oscar rushed in first, beginning to examine him despite Charles’ tired insistence that it was just a cold. Max hovered unnervingly close the entire time, alternating between sternly telling Charles to be quiet and let the physicians work and anxiously asking Webber if his wife would be all right.

Then Lord Horner and GP barged in. Horner had the audacity to ask Webber if Charles could be pregnant, and if the fever meant the baby was in danger. The question set Max into a blowout, berating Christian for his concern for an unborn child over Max’s wife, until GP stepped in to calm the king down while Horner fell over himself apologizing. In the outer chamber, Charles could hear a screeching match occurring between George and Lando, the two of them arguing over who was at fault for not noticing the queen’s health. At one point Lord Marko came bumbling in, asking if it was true that the queen was dying, all while Ollie stared at Charles, wide eyed and fearful in one corner of the room, and Sir Riccardo stood in the other, watching Max with a furrowed brow-

God in heaven, who knew the queen falling ill would lead to such a castle–wide crisis.

Finally Webber straightens up and turns to the rest of the room, “Our examinations indicate nothing more than a simple cold. Queen Charles will need nothing more than rest, herbs, and a steam treatment. I believe it will clear in good time.”

Charles lets his head fall back against his pillow once again, closing his eyes and desperately wishing everyone away as Webber explains the treatment, the chaos in the room hardly becoming any calmer.

He lays there, listening to Max argue with Webber, asking how the physician can be sure it will not get worse, and Charles feels his heart squeeze at the sound of his husband, so uncharacteristically nervous-

The feeling of a hand against his forehead makes his eyes flutter back open, especially when fingers slide into his hair in a gentle, subtle caress.

Oscar’s familiar kind eyes stare down at him, his brows furrowed with sympathy even as his lips quirk up in a small reassuring smile. His fingers flex slightly in his hair, clearly meant to be a soothing gesture, but Charles frowns, leaning away, surprised the apprentice could be this careless-

And rightfully so. Almost immediately Oscar’s hand is jerked away from him, the apprentice pulled round to face his furious king.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

All breath is suddenly sucked out of the room. An unnatural stillness falling over everyone as they watch.

“Checking the queen’s temperature, your highness,” Oscar answers quickly, his voice emotionless and even, the perfect mask.

But Max is not placated.

“You do not touch him without my permission or I will take your hand,” Max snarls, leaning closer to underscore the threat.

“My king, please, remember Oscar is the main physician tasked with the queen’s health,” Webber interjects, a nervous undercurrent to his words, “His only concern is your wife’s recovery, I’m certain he was just being cautious. He meant no harm.”

The reassurance doesn’t do much to appease Max, as he continues to stare at Oscar with steely, narrowed eyes.

”Max,” Charles meant to snap at him, but the call came out rather pathetic and whiny instead.

Yet he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed when his voice still makes Max’s head snap to him, shoving past Oscar to come stand at his side, “What do you need, sweeting? What can I do?”

His hands hover over his queen, hesitant to touch, and Charles loathes the way his husband’s nerves are pulling ever so slightly on his heart strings.

“Let them work,” Charles tells him, his voice weak, “And please get everyone out. My head is aching from the noise.”

Immediately Max barks at everyone to leave. The room quickly begins to clear, with the various lords returning to their own chambers and Oscar and Webber leaving to prepare the treatment.

When they’re alone, Max turns back to Charles. “I won’t leave you.”

He says it in his usual authoritative way, but although it is technically not a question, Charles can still hear the request underneath the stubbornness- His husband is asking not to be sent away.

Charles will need have words with Oscar when he is recovered, planning to scold the apprentice for being so careless and making such a difficult situation that Charles will have to mollify Max tonight, despite his illness.

Or at least… that is what he tries to convince himself.

“Stay then, husband,” Charles concedes, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to deal with Max’s look of relief.

His husband clambers back into the bed next to him, though he keeps a respectful distance to not overheat his feverish wife.

“You’ll receive the best treatment,” Max quietly promises him, “I’ll take care of you until you’re well again.”

He reaches over, gently taking Charles hand where it rests atop the furs. He thumbs over his wife’s knuckles, his touch strangely comforting.

Charles stares at their hands, saying nothing as they wait for the physicians to return.

#asks #lestappen #medieval au #roar of the fire #ficlet #my fic #writing tag #🍃 posting #apologies if this makes no sense considering

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theunknownmasks · 8 months ago

Note

"I don't recall harming Mana? But.. i wasn't me back then...if you mean the wars." He sighed looking away. "Do..you..really love me after all that.." He tone softer - hopeful. He needed to be reassured this wasnt just a dream that Atem wanted to be with him.

Atem knew things had been...intense between them always however, one thing he appreciated more than anything was the fact that they could at least remain good friends. Thief had became a family friend to him. Someone he considered a trusted ally.

So to hear this question, he fell quiet before he smiled tenderly before he looked at him.

"My feelings for you never changed, Thief. However, as you know my love for my family is far stronger. I would never cheat on my wife. That would just hurt Mana more than I already have. I refuse to do anymore harm to either of you."

#t: answered asks #m: atem #t: into the lion's den #OOF

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star-my · 1 year ago

Text

BTS Fic Recs ☆ Tumblr (i)

These are all available on tumblr as of April 2024. Some are likely crossposted on ao3 as well.

~Ao3 RECS HERE~ ~Recs (ii)~ ~Recs (iii)~

Almost all are complete works, those with “+” after WC are incomplete. Most are BTS x (F!)Reader.

Most of these are Mature or Explicit (usually because of smut) ~ mdni ~ italicized titles rated G or T ~ Please read responsibly

If any authors tagged here wish to be removed/untagged, please lmk! | Shoutout to @ggukkiereads who does an amazing job creating rec lists, which helped me find many of these fics

F2L = friends to lovers ; E2L = enemies to lovers ; FE2L = frenemies to lovers ; R2L = rivals to lovers ; BFB = best friend's brother ; BBF = brother's best friend etc

OT7/Multi

☆ BTS Reactions by @dreamescapeswriting | SFW + NSFW |

☆ BTS Scenarios by @btsjfans | SFW + NSFW |

☆ BTS Scenarios by @bulletproofwhalien | NSFW + SFW |

☆ BTS Scenarios by @salvejoon | SFW + NSFW |

☆ BTS Scenarios by @sunshine-and-bangtan | SFW + NSFW |

☆ Desperado Series by @heartbeatan | Mafia AU | PJM, JJK, KTH (in progress) | 60-160k(+) each

☆ The Company series by @btsmakesmehappy | Agent AU | 25-37k(+) each (in progress)

☆ Mafia BTS Reactions by @ninetailedfoxmanchi | Mafia AU (+Yandere AU) |

☆ #CodeBTS series by @yminie | Mafia AU | 1-12k each

Kim Namjoon

☆ The Ghost in Apartment 1403 series by @notsoguiltykpop | Ghost AU, Supernatural AU, Roommate AU? | ?k

☆ beauty & the bookworm by @jungshookz | E2L Library AU, Uni AU | 20k

☆ la vie en bonsai by @jungshookz | S2F2L Neighbours AU, Baker AU | 38k

☆ The Seven Nights series by @theunknowncryptid | SMAU, Mafia AU | 13k

☆ real magic by @heretobbtstrash | S2F2L Single Parent AU, Coffee Shop AU, Coworkers AU | 17k

Kim Seokjin

☆ {Unavailable}

Min Yoongi

☆ Take One by @untaemedqueen | Pornstar AU | 24k

☆ The Deal series by @untaemedqueen | Mafia AU | ?k

☆ suit & tie by @jungshookz | CEO AU, Office AU, Coworkers AU, PA AU | 21k + drabbles

☆ hellish by @jungshookz | E2L Demon AU, Roommate AU | 22k

☆ strike a chord by @snackhobi | S2L Pianist AU, Bar AU | 16k

☆ straight shooter by @snackhobi | F2L/E2L Cyberpunk AU, Dystopian AU | 14k

☆ devil with the mint hair series by @theharrowing | E2FWB Brother's BFF AU, Stoner AU | 11k+

☆ a wager of lords and love by @hisunshiine | S2L Historical AU, Arranged Marriage AU | 7k

☆ daechwita by @chemicalpink | Daechwita AU, Assassin AU | 10k

☆ stay by @luffles424 | Daechwita AU, Assassin AU | 3k

☆ daechwita by @se0kie | Daechwita AU | 4k

☆ make me proud by @moonscriptsx | Established Relationship AU, Canon Idol-verse | 6k

☆ by its cover by @kittae | S2L Cat Dad AU | 2k

☆ misfortunately, yours by @sor-vette | S2F2L Dark Fae AU, Dark Fantasy AU | 32k

☆ mixtape by @jungblue | F2L Uni AU, Radio AU | 15k

☆ cyberslut by @kimnjss | SMAU, Uni AU, Fboy AU | ?k

☆ alive aha fxck by @softyoongiionly | F2L Neighbours AU, Vampire AU | 43k

☆ a brew of wings by @inkedtae | S2F2L Dragon AU, Witch AU | 10k

☆ fury of their scales by @kpopisthereasonihavenolife | Dragon AU | 18k

☆ inheritance series by @jincherie | Hybrid AU | 21k

☆ tuxedo series by @whatifyoulivelikethat | Cat(-shifter?) AU, Roommates AU | ft JJK | 49k+

☆ Assuage series by @btsqualityy | Omegaverse AU, Werewolf AU | ?k

☆ show by @httpjeon | Pw/oP ft BTS | 2k

☆ drip by @here2bbtstrash | Pw/oP | 5k

Jung Hoseok

☆ midnight confessions by @snackhobi | BFF2L Coworkers AU, Office AU, Buzzfeed Unsolved AU | 27k

☆ the bride of ashmedai by @jeonggukingdom | Demon AU, Arranged Marriage AU | 13k

Park Jimin

☆ The Bird Cage series + The Lion's Den series by @untaemedqueen | S2L Mafia AU | ?k

☆ Set It Off series by @btsqualityy | Mafia AU | ?k

☆ the hunt by @httpjeon | Shifter AU, Fantasy AU | 8k

☆ lovebug by @httpjeon | Hybrid AU | 12k

Kim Taehyung

☆ Pied Piper by @untaemedqueen | Mafia AU, Established Relationship AU | 10k

☆ maybe i do series by @chateautae | Arranged Marriage AU, Chaebol AU, CEO AU | 410k + drabbles

☆ kinda hot by @kimnjss | BFF2L SMAU, Uni AU, Fboy AU | ?k

☆ nip it in the bud by @opaljm | Brother's BFF AU, Piercing AU | 10k

☆ heatwave series by @curly-bangtan | F2L Roommate AU | 12k

☆ under the covers by @jessikahathaway | Agent AU | 23k

Jeon Jungkook

☆ heavy lifting by @snackhobi | Coworkers AU | 13k

☆ Miss Vagabond by @bubblesuga | F2L Gamer AU | 8k

☆ blizzard by @curly-bangtan | S2L Roommates AU | 16k

☆ Sparkle by @btsmosphere | F2L Roommates AU | 3k

☆ Hands-On Learning series by @ladyartemesia | Uni AU | 5k

☆ kiss it better by @jincherie | Uni AU, Sports AU, Cheer AU | 12k

☆ ghosts just wanna have fun by @sugaxjpg | Ghost AU, Supernatural AU, Uni AU | ft MYG + KTH | 20k

☆ tell me your secrets (i'm all ears) by @jinpire | Uni AU, Hybrid AU | 7k

☆ under the bridge by @jincherie | Hybrid AU | 11k

☆ Swipe right by @ppersonna | BFF2L Tinder AU | 9k

☆ overtime by @cupofteaguk | CEO AU, Office AU, PA AU, Coworkers AU | 12k

☆ I won't stop you series by @imsarabum | Vampire AU, Fantasy AU, Office AU, Coworkers AU, CEO AU, PA AU | ?k

☆ life eternal by @jungkookiebus | Fae AU | 9k

☆ hotter than hell series by @chateautae | Demon AU | 136k

☆ Hellblazer series by @jungkookiebus | Demon AU, Constantine AU | ?k

☆ agent of love series by @ppersonna | SMAU, Agent AU | ?k+

☆ strawberry kisses series by @kimnjss | SMAU, Brother's BFF AU, Tinder AU | ?k

☆ drag me down (to hell) series by @kimvtae | Mafia AU, Single Parent AU | 58k (abandoned)

☆ Concealed Weapon by @gimmesumsuga | Mafia AU, Husband AU | 10k

☆ hate sex by @yeoreos | FWB Pw/oP | 4k

Overall Favourite Authors (If I recc'd all their works like I want to/more than I have, I'd have to make this series even longer >.<)

☆ @bonvoyagenoona's masterlist

☆ @chateautae's masterlist

☆ @flowerwrites06's masterlist

☆ @here2bbtstrash's masterlist

☆ @hollyhomburg's masterlist

☆ @icyhobi's masterlist

☆ @jungshookz's masterlist

☆ @justcallmenikki7's masterlist

☆ @kpopfanfictrash's masterlist

☆ @ladyartemesia's masterlist

☆ @luxekook's masterlist

☆ @magicalsalamander's masterlist

☆ @yminie's masterlist

☆ @yoonia's masterlist

#bts fic recs #group: bts #type: fic #i think i did a pretty good job of hiding my yoonkook bias if i do say so myself :]

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pablitogavii · 9 months ago

Text

Resolved Anger

“You’re not going! End of conversation!” Pablo was practically yelling at me at this point while still getting ready himself for this stupid party.

“And you are!? Mete a la mierda Pablo!” I was sitting on his bed wearing his oversized t-shirt with eyes crossed in front of my chest.

“I’m not taking you to lions den, where every footballer will try to fuck you enana!” He said putting on his leather jacket.

“You’re the only footballer who can fuck me then huh cabrón!?” I said angrily while he smirked nodding his head and leaning in closer.

“Dame un beso..” he said demanding it more than asking for it and I felt a shiver move down my spine.

He always claimed to be my “protective friend” but it’s a load of crap since every time we are close like this, he ends up between my legs..

“You know how footballers are hijo..keep them away from her” my dad said and Pablo squeezed my thigh underneath the dinner table.

“Te lo prometo” Pablo answered while I tried my best to control my breathing.

“Ya enana!” he was impatient and I sighed touching his face and pecking his lips with a pout..maybe this makes him let me go to the damn party!

“Take..me..with..you” I said between each kiss and he smirked rubbing our noses together.

“No y basta!” He said and I signed pulling away from him which made him roll his beautiful brown eyes at me. Idiot!

He was done getting ready adding that addicting perfume before walking up to be curled up in bed.

“Besito before I leave bombocito?” He said moving behind me but I was in no mood and he could tell.

“Estás enojada conmigo huh?” He said touching my arm and turning me to lay in my back so I can see him.

“Si..” I answer quietly because whenever he was hovering above me like this, it becomes hard to breathe.

“Hmm and if I give you your mimitos before bed?” He said and I felt my own excitement rise..I always loved when he would cuddle and kiss me to sleep.

I just nodded shyly and he leaned in leaving kisses on my neck pulling me on top of him while laying down on the bed.

“Vale, veni aquí cari” he said and I moved pulling on his jacket and he took it off to make me more comfortable. I nuzzled my face into his neck and he was playing with my hair.

“Que haces conmigo? Hm?” He said moving my hair back and looking down at my face with a smile. That damn smile..

“No te vayas..” I said sadly and he signed kissing the top of my head softly. It wasn’t that I wanted to go to that party so much that I knew girls would be hitting on Pablo like always

“Sleep..and I’ll be back quick” he said but that only made me grumpier. I tried pulling away but he wouldn’t let me and I couldn’t fight his strong muscular arms.

“Que tengas huh? You really wanna go that badly?” He said wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger and I shook my head.

“They will steal you from me..” I said and he smiled pulling you in and kissing your forehead.

“Tan preciosa..” he said and I sighed shrugging my shoulders while he moved on top of me.

“How do you think I feel when you mingle around footballers..” he said and I giggled..I knew Pablo was jealous and I loved him for it.

“Only one is on top of me every night..” I said and he smirked proudly kissing my lips and enjoying the ways my fingers played with his hair.

“Hmm estás mala..muy mala amor” he groaned when I started to scratch his back as he caught my lips kissing them passionately.

Then his phone rang..what a incredible timing boys have!!!

“Hola? Ah si, hermano..estoy list..oooh” he didn’t expect my lips sucking ontoo his neck as he gave me a warning look that made me smirk in amusement.

“Basta enana!” He said but I kept leaving hickeys all over his skin while Balde was talking about the plans for the night.

“Si que estoy escuchando cabrón!” He said while I laughed knowing he wasn’t paying attention to anything but how I made him feel now.

“Bueno! I’ll see you later Balde!” Gavi got off the call when I started kissing down his chest and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Que haces mi vida?” He said and I smirked leaving a trail off kisses and giving every one of his abs special attention.

“Making you stay with me..” I whisper seeing his jaw clenching.

“How am I doing papi??” I stopped looking up at him with arms behind his head and his eyes closed. Clearly he was very into it..

“Keep convincing me princesa..” he said and our eyes met as he held my cheeks and kissed my lips.

“J..joderrr” he groaned as I undid his shorts and started sucking him off needy for more.

“Ahhh princesa..mía..tan buena” he was playing with my hair taking off the rest of his clothes and pulling down by my legs to get on top.

“Im destroying your pussy tonight!” He sounded so angry and hot that I already had pool between my legs.

“Do it papii. I’m all yours “ I moaned making him smirk proudly.

“This was your plan all along .. huh traviesa!?” He was pounding his cock into me making my mind go blank.

“Yes! Please don’t go..just fuck me all night instead” I begged making him twist me on my stomach and get behind.

#pablo gavi #pablo gavi icons #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #fc barcelona #fc barca #fc barça #gavigif #gavi

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miss-tc-nova · 3 months ago

Text

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 15

We do love some Ruggie on this blog and I think he's learned a lot about Leona given how long they've been friends.

Premise: Ruggie is done with Leona's shit

Words: 1,503

Music Inspirations: If You Died Today - Natalie Jane

~~~Persistent~~~

“Yo, Leona, I got your dinner. Looks pretty good today.”

Into the lion’s den strolls his trusty hyena. In his hands, he holds a plate garnished with the finest suya served alongside grilled vegetables, all cooked to perfection by the palace’s illustrious chefs. At least the meat would be intriguing, if only Leona was in the mood to eat.

Leona’s sloth has only persevered since the encounter that ruined his team practice. His head has been in utter turmoil, replaying each word over and over and over—wondering if any of it was true. Then he remembers who he is and recognizes that it must’ve been lies. That person probably just wanted a few more good turns of his foolish desire before dropping him again. So he continues on this path, knowing if he did anything, he would probably end up cut even deeper. Besides, it’s not like he has anything worth living for anymore.

Leona, lying on his bed, turns his back. “Go away.”

“C’mon. I know you didn’t eat breakfast or lunch. Hell, have you even gotten out of bed at all today?”

“Leave me alone.”

“You can’t keep doin’ this, dude. You’ve lost weight, your stamina sucks, and you sleep waaay more than you used to.”

Leona doesn’t even deign to respond, to which Ruggie sighs. The plate clinks as it meets the nightstand.

“How long are you gonna keep moping? Nothin’s gonna get better if you just stay in your room.”

Leona feels his irritation bristling. “Nobody asked you.”

“Nobody has to; it’s so obvious I was sure the great Leona Kingscholar would’ve known better.”

“Oh fuck off. I don’t need your shit.”

“Look man, we both know you’re not over it. But can you please just—”

That’s it. Leona’s sitting up, glaring. With all his fury, he utters two words.

“Get. Out.”

A blonde brow arches, not even amused. “Or what? You might actually get out of bed?”

He does. Stumbling somewhat, the second prince gets to his feet and snags the front of Ruggie’s shirt.

“Shut up! I still haven’t forgiven you for the shit you pulled at practice!”

The gall this hyena has grown these past few years is incredible. “For what? Givin’ you a chance to fix your relationship?”

“There is no relationship!”

It doesn’t take much to pry Leona’s hands from his shirt. “Then why are you still keeping the secret? Why are you still holding on to these stupid souvenirs from your dates? Why am I still making payments on that stupid—”

Leona snaps, with a roar. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Ruggie isn’t even phased, looking more annoyed than anything.

“Geeze, and here I thought you were supposed to be clever. You really went downhill.”

He can’t very well hit Ruggie. Or at least he shouldn’t. But his mind and emotions are so frazzled, he’d probably miss anyway. Still, this isn’t fair. He just wants to be left alone, but here’s this snarky mutt antagonizing him over things he already knows.

“I’m just sick and tired of being picked last, okay?!” Seven, how he hates that his vision’s blurring.

Ruggie give a look of disbelief. “Last?! How were you picked last?! Someone with a higher profile than you, who could probably have anyone in the world, who is married to one of the strongest mages in the world, came to you! In public! To try an’ fix things! And you think you’re last?!”

“I’m not the one who got married!”

“Dude! You’re talkin’ about the spouse of Malleus Draconia! Wouldn’t you be afraid that he’d hurt someone if you upset him?! What if that person you loved died just so he could get back at you? What if it was your fault?”

Leona’s teeth grit together as he drags an arm across his face. It’s true these things were said to him before, but from Ruggie—a third party who hadn’t even witnessed all the chaos—Leona’s refusal to believe that someone actually cared now seems irrational.

The weary lion sits back down. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Bull shit, it doesn’t matter anymore. That person is still proving that you mean something. And I sure as hell know you still care too. But you’d rather be sulkin’ around your room like a sad puppy because someone was tryin’ to protect you and you didn’t like it? I mean, come on. Sure, it’s fucked up to be chasing someone already married, but I never saw you as happy than when you were dating. And if I had to hazard a guess, Malleus’s orders didn’t change anything.”

Daring to lift his gaze, Leona finds his friend, a genuine smile on his face.

“So are you gonna get up and do somethin’? Or do I gotta drag you outta bed by your feet like I used to?”

In defeat, Leona holds his tongue, still trying to pull himself together. Meanwhile, Ruggie sits beside him.

“You know, it was kinda crazy just how happy you were. I didn’t think anyone could make you put effort into anything, but there you were, planning trips, mailing packages, and sending letters. Never thought I’d see you smitten, but man, were you hooked.”

If Leona had one friend in the world, it was Ruggie.

“I was happy for you.”

However, Leona’s ear snags on a single word.

“Letters?”

“Yeah. Kifaji has me send big bags of letters for him now and then. Sometimes there were letters to Briar Valley. Weren’t those from you? You know you coulda just asked me instead of goin’ to that stick in the mud.”

It clicks.

Without a word, Leona is back on his feet, throwing the door open and storming out. He shouldn’t do this; he should bide his time and wait for the right moment to strike back. But he’s acting on sheer impulse. It doesn’t take long to find the man on the floor below, ambling the hall.

“KIFAJI!”

The grand chamberlain has just enough time to turn to address the prince when a fist slams against his face, sending him sprawling into the wall.

“You son of a bitch!”

“P-Prince Leona…” He’s caught between stunned and in pain. “What in the Sevens’ names are you doing?!”

“You fucking snitch!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The fact he’s more concerned with straightening his robe than looking the lion in the eye says he does.

“Don’t lie to me! It was you who went tattling to Malleus!”

The chamberlain’s lips purse. “Do you realize what shame you could have brought to the Sunset Savana? What danger you could have wrought upon its people? You could have started a war.”

“I don’t care! These people don’t even like me!”

“Leona—”

“All my life they looked down on me! Don’t act like they didn’t! Always talking behind my back! And now because of them—because of you—the only person I actually loved is married to someone else!” With his fists in the elder’s shirt, Leona shoves Kifaji against the wall. “Are you listening to me?! IT’S YOUR FAULT!”

“Wait Leona! Laugh with me!”

Hands tremble, fighting against the magic, but ultimately release his victim. He’s forced to take a few steps back, granting Kifaji space to compose himself.

“I was doing what was best. Not just for this nation, but for you too.” Maybe there’s a hint of honesty in his eyes, but Leona doesn’t care. “You had to know that nothing good would come from a relationship like that.”

Maybe he’s right. It’s given Leona grief like no pain ever has before. Yet it’s given him so much more. He had happiness, hope for a future, and real love. For a while, his life wasn’t just a grey screen passing by; it was something he actually wanted to live. Perhaps he’s ruined his chances of ever having that again, but there’s still a chance—a slim one, but a chance all the same.

And Leona is nothing, if not persistent.

“I probably woulda believed that when I was kid. But you’re no better than the rest of ‘em—all you care about is the royal image.” Leona feels the release of Ruggie’s magic, now composed despite still burning with rage. “You no longer serve me in any capacity. If my brother has any business with me, you go through my new chamberlain, got it?”

Kifaji’s mouth opens, unable to come up with any words.

“And the next time you stick your nose in my business, I’ll break it. You hear me?”

With that, the lion leaves the disowned servant standing in the hall.

His best friend catches up. “Can you do that?”

“I just did.”

“Yeah but…” There’s no point in arguing. “Hey I’m sorry for…I-I didn’t—”

“I know. You wouldn’t be the first. So as punishment…”

Ruggie’s ears downturn, shoulders tensing.

“…You have to deal with him instead of me.”

The hyena stops dead in his tracks for a second, getting left behind.

“Wait, WHAT?!”

~~~~~

Part 16

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

#gender neutral reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #twst leona #twisted wonderland leona #with reckless choices

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smiley-mcdoggington · 2 months ago

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THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR 3 MONTHS TW STANCEST TW FADE TO BLACK BEFORE THE SMUT BECAUSE IT'S TOO LONG TW ORIGINAL CHARACTERS TW ABO TW SEXUAL ASSAULT (mild and fictional tho)

Familiar streets scrolled by, ones Ford hadn't seen since he was twelve in the back of his Pa's car. Ma's thick scent blockers chaffed under his turtleneck. Stanley had said there would be no problem with their presentation, that his coach was 'cool' and if he let Stan stay in the ring, he would let Ford rejoin. Ford had his doubts, but he didn't voice them.

Stanley had one hand on the wheel and the other rested on his thigh, a tight t-shirt on and with his head cocked just slightly, leaving his bare neck exposed for Ford without even noticing. If Ford weren't so on-edge he might have done something about it.

That was another thing. Stanley refused to accept he was an omega, he acted the exact same, as if he'd never presented at all. Whimpered apologies about not being an alpha were completely forgotten, it seemed. It might make sense if he was attempting to look like an alpha but he didn't smell like one and he didn't seem to notice, either. Pa said he was asking for it - Ford wouldn't go that far, but he really wished Stanley would start taking preventative measures.

The car slowed to a halt. "Here we are!" Stan chirped in front of the ugly utilitarian building. "I talked to Coach last time, said he was cool with you scouting the joint before you make the call, I know you probably wanna think it through, but Coach's got a good lineup! I can show you some of my stuff, ah?" His eyes were practically sparkling. Ford should probably watch his matches more often, even if their old coach wouldn't be as generous as his brother made it seem, Stanley looked so excited to put on a show for him.

Ford smiled at him, lacing his fingers over Stanley's on his leg for a moment. "I'd love to see you." He said, and the car got hotboxed with pleased omega pheromones.

"Whelp!" His brother shouted in the tiny space, face ruddy and an attempt not to smile crumpling his face. "We should get going!" He left the car like it was on fire, and Ford followed him quietly into the building.

It was just as weirdly damp as he remembered, what he didn't remember was the alpha funk that permeated the whole place. Ford felt like he was following Stanley into a lion's den, he checked his blockers and stuck close to his twin, who didn't seem to notice the smell.

"Coach!" Stanley cheered, waving down the older man sweating through a wifebeater. He looked much sadder than when they were children. "I brought Stanford!" He said, bringing attention to him from the man but also all the other sweaty teenagers in the room. He kept his chin down.

"Hey! It's tweedle-dee!" Coach said jovially, walking over and slapping Ford on the back. He reeked like an alpha, Ford almost took a step away. "Jesus, kid, no wonder you want in boxing, a stiff breeze would blow ya over." He laughed, and Ford glanced at Stanley, who seemed just fine with the man this close to them.

"Um. Yes. I've only come to watch Stanley, for today." He said, and the friendly humor faded from the older man's face.

"Yeah, your brother said that." He said as if judging Ford. "Guess you're really desperate if your nose isn't in a book by now, huh?" He joked, though he didn't sound very amused.

Stan slapped his coach on the back with as much gusto as the coach had slapped Ford. "Eh, you know him. You got a good lineup for me tonight though, right? Gotta show him what your coaching can do." He redirected, a jovial smile that nearly copied the man's earlier expression.

The coach smirked, throwing a shoulder over Stan that itched very close to the exposed glands on his neck and shaking him. "You know it, Pines - I've gotta put you on your ass at least once tonight, even if I gotta get in the ring myself next to all those rutheads." He joked, and Ford stared at the arm on his twin until it left.

"Ha! You couldn't beat me if you tried."

"Big talk, kid, but I ain't seen any proof. Now get changed." He said, shoving Stanley further into the glorified warehouse.

Ford followed Stanley, who gave him a questioning look.

"If I'm going to be joining this gym I'll need to know where the omega change rooms are." He said.

Stanley looked lost. "There ain't any, there's just the one change room." He said, and Ford stopped in his tracks.

"What?" Ford hissed. "Aren't there alphas here, Stanley? Do you change in front of them?"

"Yeah?" Stan said easily. "Where else?"

"Stanley!" He exclaimed in a whisper, eyeing the other teenagers in the ring and on the bleachers. "What if one of them... You know...? It's not safe!"

"I've been changing in front of these guys since we was like ten, Six, get a grip."

"You get a grip! First you wear that obscenely tight shirt, then you refuse scent blockers, then you let some old alpha throw himself at you, now you're telling me you change in front of a bunch of unpredictable teenage alphas? Do you know what happens to omegas like you, Stanley?!" He muttered furiously.

Stanley looked like he'd been struck, before shaking it off. "You're worse than Ma, Stanford. Just calm down..."

"No! Stanley, do you want to get attacked? You're an omega! Why won't you get it through your head?!" He whispered.

"Because you said I'm a good boxer, so I'm go a keep on being a good boxer! I'm not an alpha, I'm not even trying to be one," He said with a pointed look at Ford's covered neck. "but I'm gonna keep on doing what I gotta do, Stanford. For the both of us."

"I don't want this Stanley, I don't want you risking yourself--"

"I ain't risking myself, they's the ones at risk, would you just watch me make some damn rutheads eat the mat and believe me? I got this." He said, searching for any give in Ford's expression.

Ford knew if he made Stanley choose, he would choose him. There wasn't a doubt in his mind, but Stanley looked so eager to be here of all places, and with him in tow.

"Fine. But I'm coming with you." He said firmly.

"Fine, Ma, but nothing past first base in front of the guys, would ya?" He said, completely - well - mostly misreading Ford's intent with following him.

The change room door was blue now - it used to be a flaking-off vomit green when they were younger, and Stan and the other kids would goad eachother into licking the black mold peeking out behind the paint. Ford had licked the door once in an attempt at comradery, he was not proud.

Inside reeked even more heavily of alpha, a sour smell he didn't think he would ever be used to, no matter how often his omegan classmates seemed to gush over it. Stan's locker was near the door, he clicked his lock out of place while Ford studied the room.

They were staring. Six boys, secondary gender unidentifiable under the mildewy funk of the room but certainly not other omegas. Most of them were looking between Ford and Stan as if silently trying to figure out something.

Stanley had his shirt off when one of the boys approached, stopping about a meter away from them. "Pines! Man, is this the brother you're always going on about?" He said, the smile on his face looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah, that's Stanford! You might be seein' a whole lot more a him." Stanley said, shucking his pants while he talked to the guy. Ford inched himself between the two just slightly.

"Ah shit I'm bein' rude. Mark Fischer, nice to meetcha." He said, offering a hand to shake. Ford kept his hands firmly behind his back.

Stanley snorted, putting Ford in a gentle headlock that put Ford's face close enough to his chest to feel the wirey chest hair on his cheek. "You'll get used ta him. He's just protective of his poor waify omega brother." He snarked, and Mark Fischer snorted, before his eyes widened.

"Oh shit, you another beta? Thank fuck, man, your brother reeks enough as it is." He said, and Ford kind of wanted to maul him.

"Alpha, actually." Ford said firmly while squirming out of Stanley's hold, before realizing he had no way to back it up.

Fischer seemed disappointed, but he quickly went back to looking at Stanley. "We had a pact, man."

"Yeah yeah, cry about it, at least he knows to wear his blockers so I don't claw his eyes out sharing a room with him." He said, rolling with Ford's lie like second nature.

Fischer snorted. "Now if only you'd wear yours."

"And deny the people what they want? Never." Stanley gasped, mock-affronted.

Ford watched the back and forth like a tennis match.

"Pines!" His coach barked from outside. "Get moving!" And Stanley grabbed his gloves.

"See ya in the ring, Pines."

"See ya on the mat, Fischer."

Stanley still didn't have a shirt on when he left the change room, Ford following him like a child lost in a grocery store. Was it really necessary to go topless? He could have sworn he saw people wearing shirts. He watched the muscles in Stan's back move as he strapped his gloves on.

Stanley shot him a smile. "Just watch me up there, yeah?" He said, before climbing up into the ring with practiced ease. Ford went over to the bleachers and sat in his old favorite spot right at the highest point.

Across from Stanley was another teenager - sweaty, awkward, and about Stanley's size, if a little thinner.

Their coach stood in the middle, spouting off the usual speel that Ford remembered from when he was much smaller.

Then he left the ring and clapped. "Go!" He said, and the other teenager came out swinging. Ford watched his twin duck and weave around his opponent, sending jabs at every opening.

Ford discovered that Stan was actually quite good at boxing. He remembers when they were little, a year too young to be joining but Pa had lied on the forms, Stanley pinned under larger and older kids and weakly trying to slap at them with his gloved hands while Ford made himself small on the bleachers so maybe they would forget when it was his turn.

But when Ford had grabbed a book on his way to the car, Stan had given him a look very similar to a sodden puppy in a cardboard box, so Ford had nothing to watch but people beating eachother up. Once Stan was off the ring, he immediately lost all interest, instead watching Stan drink water and then playfully jab at the others waiting at the bottom of the bleachers. Stanley didn't sit down with his friends, though, instead going up to Stanford.

"... So?"

"So? When are you on next?"

"Fight after next, Coach wants to ring me out today." He nudged Ford with his sweaty shoulder. "Gotta make sure you enjoy the show, ah?"

Ford hummed. "You did take that other guy down pretty quickly. Who are you fighting next?"

"Depends on who wins this one, and from the looks of it it ain't Fischer." He said, gesturing to the front just in time to watch Stan's friend get decked. The guy on the other side of it had to be at least half a foot taller than Stan and the thinnest one there, he punched hard, though, and under his baggy clothes Ford didn't know if he would see ribs or muscle or both.

Stanley kept Ford entertained with idle chatter, but Ford couldn't quite take his eyes off the one his brother would fight next. He wondered if he was an alpha.

Then Stanley was back up and going over to the ring with a quick pat on Ford's shoulder.

When the Coach barked at them to start, Stan immediately surged forward. Ford didn't remember all the terms, but he knew the other guy was defensive even if Stanley looked small next to him in a way Ford hadn't seen since Crampelter finally stopped growing and they caught up.

Stanley gave the other guy a solid left hook that had him stumbling, and Stanley looked over at Ford to make sure he was watching, a proud beaming smile on his face. Ford didn't know how Stanley managed to look so adorable while beating the hell out of someone.

Then the other guy swung while Stanley was looking at him, and Stanley went down. Ford was up out of his seat and running down the bleachers immediately, but paused when the Coach put one of his grubby hands on his shoulder, stopping him.

Stanley got back up swinging, his coordination was shot - concussion, skull fracture, brain bleed, death - but he managed to knock the other guy right back, actually cackling while blood dripped from his nose.

He looked insane.

He looked hot.

Stan had all the grace of a feral cat, at this distance he knew the other guy was definitely an alpha, but he was slowly being pushed back by Ford's twin. The other guy was trying to pin him but he couldn't get an inch.

He threw one pathetic punch that wouldn't even reach Stan's head - but his glove was open, thumb out, and Ford watch in slow-motion as he tried to scruff Stanley. It didn't even matter that all it did was pinch one of his scent glands, Ford didn't even know where he was until he felt Stanley squirming in his arms.

He was in the ring, and the alpha was out, flat on the solid concrete floor while Coach was yelling. Ford's entire body was buzzing when Stanley got himself free, immediately ripping his gloves off and grabbing Ford, dragging him out of the ring and out of the building while Coach made the other guy say the address and who the president was.

Stanley's normal clothes were still in his locker, he got in the car anyway.

Ford scrambled into the passenger seat immediately, trying to get a look at Stanley's face and see if he was mad but his eyes kept going back to the beginnings of a bruise on his neck. He wasn't sorry but Stanley was white-knuckling the steering wheel and staring out the windshield.

"... Stanley?"

His brother took a deep breath, and burst out laughing.

Ford hesitantly smiled at that. At least he wasn't upset. His brother ran a hand down his face, covering his eyes, still laughing. "Fuck, Sixer, what was that?" He cackled, and a drop of blood fell down from his nose to stain his teeth.

"I don't know, I just reacted." He said simply, chuckling along.

"'Just reacted' he says, holy fuck Stanford I think you scared that guy's balls back into his body." He joked, and Ford was starting to get concerned by him still covering his eyes.

"Are you okay..?" He asked, eyeing the fresh red bruise again.

"M'fine, just didn't expect you to show me up in the ring for once." He teased, wiping his eyes on his arm and trying to hide it by punching Ford's shoulder at the same time.

Ford reached out and cupped Stan's cheek, turning him to face him. "Stanley, are you okay?" He repeated.

Stan refused to look at him, face red and crumpled and breath irratic.

Then there was a knock at the window that startled both of them. They looked over and saw Fischer with Stan's gym bag.

Stan rolled down the window. "Thanks, man, don't wanna go in there when Coach tears a strip off my ass for bringing in the stray cat over here." He joked, gesturing at Ford. Both of them heard the shake in his voice it seemed.

Fischer shoved the bag through the window. "Coach ain't mad at you, we all saw what he pulled. His mom's head won't keep him on the team after this one. If it does we just kick him out, run the place ourselves like Lord of the Flies, right?"

"Whatever, nerd." He rolled his eyes.

Fischer put his hand on the door. "Listen, Pines, everyone on the team is with you except the assholes, don't worry about em - practice is cancelled anyway." He glanced at Ford and then leaned closer. "Maybe calm your ruthead brother's jets, ah? I think Coach had to call an ambulance." He nudged Stanley's shoulder, looking too amused for it to be actual advice.

Stanley chuckled at that. "Sure thing, just watch it with the hitting, yeah? You've seen my brother's the protective type." He teased, rubbing his shoulder like the tap wounded him. Ford sat up straight, and Fischer did look genuinely alarmed for a second before coughing into his hand and backing up. It did things to Ford.

"Sure, man. See you next week?" Fischer said awkwardly.

"You know it!" Stanley replied, starting the car and rolling out.

His brother glanced at him once they were out of the parking lot. "Hear that, Six? Guess I gotta cool your jets." He said, somehow making the least sexy phrase into an innuendo. Ford didn't know what that meant but he was in.

Ford hummed. "We have the rest of the morning to ourselves now, it would be wise to make sure we spend the time burning calories - need to keep consistent, after all." He said lowly.

Stan hummed. "I think those are sexing words." He put his foot a little harder on the gas. "Wanna go to our cave?"

"Absolutely."

#stancest #I don't know if Ford's unsettling autistic aura is coming across i tried my best #a/b/o dynamics #drafts

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