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rockingbytheseaside · 14 days ago

Note

Hey 👋 there just wanted to say I really like your art and how you flesh out the characters of the fatui.

Especially pierro

I was wondering if you’re taking requests, if you could make one about how reader is deeply injured to the near point of death and the fatui (separate)

Have different reactions to seeing their beloved almost dying and find the culprit or culprits involved and have them tortured or whatever their reaction is. And they later on stay by their side making sure they return to full health not knowing what they did for them.

(but in way I like seeing their cruelty for their reader getting hurt come to light and how they would feel.)

You don’t have to acknowledge this ask but it’s just something I think about

This request was asked by several anons and @ghost3029 ages ago. Apologies if I can’t tag all the lovelies here

✦ Someone hurt you, and how they take care of the matter

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia)

(Slight tw: mention of injuries, blood, violence.)

To be the enigmatic beloved of a Harbinger means to have eyes on you - some in awe, while others with ill intent. Luckily for you and your dear Harbinger, privacy is paramount no matter what his job entails. However, what happens when you venture too close to harm’s grasp, whether by accident or by someone’s design?

✧ When Pierro saw the dangerous glint in your eyes, he knew two things were happening: you had just been embroiled in a lethal fight, and you would faint in any second due to immense fatigue. He doesn’t call out your name or contort his expression into shock or trepidation. Because in split seconds, he sprints towards you, catching your collapsed form right into his arms.

Limp and marred with wounds, even your unconscious state looks worn out as The Jester swiftly lifts you in his arms. He was undeterred by the sight of your blood slowly seeping out onto his immaculate white suit. No, the Fatui Director is a calm but unfazed man.

“You always took matters into your own hands, my divine. Ever so willful, always overexerting yourself.” - Pierro murmured to himself, before turning to face the monstrous culprit who dared to harm you, a remnant of Abyssal Corruption. “However, for someone to raise their hand at you is a sin. My beloved might be merciful when granting death, but I – don't.”

You didn't hear or register anything; the last thing you remember is Pierro's hand shaking as he held you tightly. When you woke up groggy, wrapped in the ache of healing wounds, you weren't shocked to see yourself clad in clean clothes, resting by a spacious, comfortable bed. Beside you was Pierro; unmoving, sitting. He never once left your room.

“For… How long was I out?”

“For a whole day, dear. Do not fret, the best doctors and healers in Snezhnaya worked swiftly to patch you up.” – his palm gently rested on your forehead, brushing your hair aside as he ensured your temperature was stable. Even his gaze, so often sharp with command, had softened, devotion etched into every touch or glance.

“A-and the Abyssal monster I fought? Is everyone safe…?”

“Hm? You still concern yourself with that? This dread is not yours to bear, my divine. How many times must I remind you that it is not your duty to dirty your hands? Rest easy instead. No filth will tarnish the peace I have built for us.”

✧ Il Capitano is aware you can defend yourself. He respects your might; he doesn't doubt your cunning strength. However, can he stand idle when the clash of steel begins and the threat of violence dares to draw near you? Can his heart bear witness as you endure blow after blow, even in triumph?

No, he cannot, and this is his weakness. His body cries out to quickly shield you whenever an enemy gets too close. Even when you're amidst the roaring chaos of a battle, he intercepts those who venture too close with relentless force. You were expecting that, but you groan in frustration either way:

“Capitano, this is not your battle. I can manage myself!”

“I will not let you barge into danger recklessly,” – he retorted. The Antumbra held steadily in his hands. “You're moving too fast.”

He refused to move between you and the onslaught of corrupted abyssal monsters. For a man who often reprimanded you about being reckless, your beloved hypocritically used his body as a shield whenever you were in danger.

“Thrain-!”

He rarely hears your stern voice. But the call of his true name rendered him motionless for a minute, a tense silence riveting between you. Before either of you could add another word, an abyssal mimic wielding the form of a Ruin Guard aimed straight at Capitano’s back. However, you were quicker in blocking the massive creature, taking the blow instead.

After the waves of monsters dissipated, the battlefield was left in ashes. A few of the Harbinger's soldiers scavenged the aftermath in search of any injured. You, however, clutched your disheveled wounds. Turning to face Capitano, you were met with his eerily silent and pitch-black expression.

“Listen, Capi,” - you began quietly, voice laced with guilt. “I'm sorry for… raising my voice like that. I only meant t-”

Before you could finish your mumbles, Capitano hoisted you up onto his broad shoulders and started moving away.

“Hey, hey! Put me back! I was in the middle of an apology,” - you thrashed, wiggling against his back while he kept a very resolute grip on you. Being slung like a sack of potatoes after a harsh battle only doubled your shame. Especially when he gave you a tap on your hip to keep you still.

“Shush. I've heard enough. I am dragging you to the infirmary myself,” – he added sternly, one hand holding you while the other carrying his sword. “And if it means throwing you over my shoulders and reminding you how to be inert, then so be it. Either your recklessness will kill you, or my heartache will end me instead.”

✧ For a man like Il Dottore, dissecting near-lifeless forms beneath sterile light was a ritual long devoid of novelty. But when fate laid his beloved upon that same table, the clinical detachment in his gaze curdled into something far more lethal.

Your cuts were sutured and your bleeding staunched by the deft encirclement of his bandages. As your shallow breathing mellowed down, teetering on and off your consciousness, you scarcely perceived the taut silence in the lab, or the meek voice of the Fatui soldiers that brought you back:

“We have delivered them safely, Lord Harbinger. As per orders.”

“Brought them you did, indeed. But safely…?” – his gloved grip retracted from your bandaged limbs, like a coiled snake slithering back. “Spare me your excuses, this is nothing but a horrendous job done. One command, and you botched it: return them to me unharmed.”

The Fatui soldier stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, though his head hung low. The Harbinger's eyes remained hidden behind the gleam of his mask, but the venom in his voice alone was enough to conjure the hell that would follow should any wretch dare to utter defiance.

“Tell me, if I shattered one of your bones for every drop of their blood spilled, would that seem just? Or maybe,” – he drawled, each syllable an iron weight, “For every stitch I had to use on their skin, and every roll of bandage used, you compensate by skinning your own limbs-”

The murderous tension was interrupted when your coughing echoed in the room – “... D-dottore?”

A single word, a call of his name, yet one that made The 2nd drop all his threats in an instant, kneeling on the cold stone floor beside your medical cot. “Yes, my dear, yes. Shh, I am here now. You're safe.”

Your eyes fluttered toward him, the weight of exhaustion rendering your limbs motionless. Yet even then, you smiled faintly, reassuring him to keep his anger at bay, your fingers meekly reaching for his hand. You didn't say much, too drained to squander air that your body so dearly needed for healing. And Dottore didn't mind. Holding your single palm in both hands, he clasped it close and brought it to his lips.

Like a heretic clutching an unworldly relic, he stayed there and held your wrist close to himself in a reverent prayer. As long as he could feel the quiet thrum of your pulse beneath his fingers, he would call down ruin upon Teyvat itself for every wound carved into you.

✧ Pantalone leaned closer in his seat, hand deftly reaching for the vial of saline as he pressed a dampened cloth to your wounds with deliberate tenderness. The Harbinger, ever composed in his peculiar cheer, wore his usual merry smile, opting to dismiss the servants and tend to your injuries with his own hands.

“Walk me through it again, darling, how ever did you end up with such dreadful scrapes?”

“Well, I'm telling you!” – you began with animated exasperation. “I was on my daily expeditions, doing my usual exploration around Jueyun Karst. A nice farmer on the way pointed me to where to harvest fresh Qingxin flowers. So I went on, but a group of Treasure Hoarder bandits ambushed me.”

As Pantalone listened patiently, he continued to clean your wounds, ensuring even the smallest cuts were secured underneath a band-aid, his thumbs softly gliding over the bandages to ensure they seal onto your skin tenderly.

“And- And then…! I went Pow! And then slash! I defended myself because they tried to steal all of my Mora. Thankfully, some local heard the ruckus and came to my aid. So, all in all, I got out of it with barely a scratch, in my humble opinion.”

The Harbinger shook his head, tidying up the bandage wraps before reaching to pat your hair – “Tsk, tsk, tsk. This won't do, you silly. You must be more careful when adventuring in the wild like that. No matter how minor the danger may seem.”

You could only exhale a sigh of reluctant surrender. You knew he had a point, and you did feel the fatigue catching up on you now that you were back home safely. Thus, with a loving embrace and a goodnight kiss, you decided to retire for the night. Pantalone waved a cheerful goodbye, watching your personal servants following dutifully in tow as you left his study room.

You’d sit and sulk, like a child reminded for the tenth time to be careful when playing outside. Even when you reminded Pantalone of the time you'd bested a Stonehide Lawachurl single-handedly, he'd merely sigh wistfully and kiss your cheek.

“Oh, I know, I know, my love. But still, take it slow for a couple of days, will you?” - he kept his thumb gently running down your cheek, his smile imbued with quiet reassurance. “I’ve no desire to see you crossing paths with bandits again. Rest easy, darling.”

And the moment you departed? His charming smile immediately vanished.

Without turning to face the bowing servant, he ordered courtly, his voice lacking the usual innocent warmth he used with you – “Report. Now.”

“The intel came in from the operatives we stationed on route. The treasure hoarders they spoke of are being tracked as we speak, Lord Harbinger.”

Pantalone drew in a measured breath, quelling the fire rising in his veins. Before you even made it back home to his arms, he had already received news of the attack. How was he informed so quickly? Simply because he stationed the best spies to blend into the backgrounds and keep track of your safety, so-called invincible bodyguards all bound by oath and coin to the Regrator himself.

The nice farmer you met in Jueyun Karst? The kind local who noticed the commotion when Treasure Hoarders dared to attack you? All Fatui Agents, steeped in stealth, honed in combat, disguised perfectly to serve as his eyes while you kept living the best of your life. Even the personal maids who help you with your usual nightly routines – the best of Fatui Operatives from the House of the Hearth, ordered personally to function as your closest bodyguards by the 9th.

Pantalone was no fool. He would never let his suffocating devotion eclipse your freedom, especially when you sought nothing from the Fatui. You deserved joy, unshackled and luminous, filled with wild adventures and quiet victories of your own making. He would never command the course of your life, instead, he would love you as you are, unperturbed by his status as a Harbinger.

But you don't deserve this worry. He would shoulder this dirty burden on his own.

“The Agents acted sufficiently,” – he noted dully, his ringed fingers intertwined elegantly. “Instruct them to continue tracking the Hoarders. It's clear they tried to use my beloved as leverage to get to me. Ensure each and every single one of them disappears. Make it quick and make it clean.”

✧ Smash. Tartaglia raised his arms up, the club-like piece of wood was but a crude piece of a fence he grabbed on the go. Smash. He didn't even register when he picked it up instead of his Hydro Riptide swords. No, his set of weaponry would've been much more precise. Too clean for this job. Smash. This club is slow and would deliver a much messier message. Smash.

When did blood get on his face?

The Harbinger had already forgotten the face of the person he had just clubbed to the ground, their limbs broken; crimson blooming in grotesque contrast against the pristine white of snow. The cries and pleas went unheard, like a static buzz behind his temples, drowning out everything but the pounding pulse of rage. All he could think about was how warm the vivid red looked against white.

That is until your voice pulled him out of his haze – “Childe… Childe!”

He turned to face you, disoriented as to why you're looking at him in exasperated horror, your eyes widened, and your voice breathless. Ah, he remembered now. Someone called you the 11th’s lapdog, had dared to treat you like a gutter-born wretch, and seized your wrist with rough, presumptuous fingers. That's why he chose a random piece of a wooden log. And that's why he delivered a slow, painful message to this person over a merciful end.

“... Oh.” – Harbinger stated simply, leaving the club to sink into the snow with a dull thud. “I'm sorry, sweetie. Did I take too long?”

Walking away, as if the whimpers of a bleeding man on the snow did not reach him, Tartaglia smiled at you. The luster in his eyes is still absent.

“I apologize, sweetheart, you shouldn't have seen most of that. I got too distracted.”

You remained speechless. Your silence clung to you like frost, your body still trembling not only from what happened, but from the visceral sight of it. Even when your beloved noticed that, trying to soothe you by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he failed to realize you were probably shaken from the blood around his hands.

“Come here, let's go home for now. I'm sorry, dearie, I'm sorry.”

Red, he thought again, warm like you against his cool skin.

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leighsartworks216 · 2 months ago

Text

Not Hurt, Just Bleeding

Sylus x AFAB!Reader

It's that time again, I fear. Some word choice inspired by @comatosebunny09 I couldn't help myself ;p

Warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, menstruation, blood, panic, teasing, kissing, cuddling

Word Count: 1,532

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADS Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

You wake up slow. Warmth surrounds you, bringing with it security. Even as consciousness catches up with you, you feel no need to open your eyes to check your surroundings. You know exactly what you'll find there, and you know nothing could possibly hurt you here. And yet, perfectly safe behind dozens of security measures, you bleed.

That's what really wakes you up; the wet, slick feeling between your legs. Your heart drops into your stomach with a resounding thunk. Already, you know it's too late. You know Aunt Flo got the drop on you this time.

You open your eyes, bleary and anxious. Sylus is pressed right up behind you, hugging you close in his sleep like an oversized koala. You try not to panic at the thought of getting blood on him.

Prying him off of you is an uphill challenge. You hold his hands as you peel them off your body, sliding his arms back behind you until you're free enough to slip off the side of the bed in an unceremonious heap before he can try grabbing you again. Freeing your hands is another story altogether, but you eventually manage, that wet feeling running down your leg. You're half grateful the blanket covers the mess you've left, saving you the trouble of seeing how big the mess actually is. The other half is screaming about his expensive sheets, his custom-made mattress, and the blanket he bought just for you after you complained how cold you got sleeping over.

You tiptoe-run to the bathroom, desperate to keep Sylus as oblivious to your struggle for as long as possible. He'll find out eventually. There's no way you can slip the covers out from underneath him to clean them with his stupidly huge body in the way.

Your pants are ruined. You throw them in a heap on the floor as you preemptively run the water for a shower and sit on the toilet. It's all a mess of red. Aunt Flo must think she's hilarious when she twists your uterus tightly, like wringing out a wet rag. You try not to cry as you double over yourself, praying that this is all just a nightmare.

You try to be as quick in the shower as possible. Sylus's body wash permeates the steamy air as you scrub any remaining trace of blood from your skin. You're extremely careful when you hop out not to get blood on his pristine white towels.

You cringe as you grab underwear and pants from the hamper, unwilling to run out bare and risk dripping more blood where it doesn't belong. You toss your sleep shirt back on and settle for dealing with your bloody clothes later. You've left Sylus in the dark long enough.

You don't expect him to frantically rush toward you the moment you step out of the bathroom.

"Where are you hurt?" he barks. His eyes are wide and panicked. You've never seen him like this before. Even in the most dire of situations, he's always been calm and level-headed. Backed into a corner with a smile. His hair is frazzled, hands trembling as he grabs your wrists, turning your arms over in search of open wounds.

"Sylus, I'm fine!"

He frowns, lifting up the sleeves to see your shoulders. "There's blood all over the bed, don't lie to me," he bites, voice dark and dangerous. He pulls down your collar next, then grabs the hem of your shirt to lift it up.

You grab his hands, trying to shove them down. "No, I'm fine, really! I'm not hurt!"

He shakes his head. Your hands do nothing to stop him as he lifts up your shirt and feels along your waist, your back, your hips. For so much blood, there must be a wound. Someone must have snuck in past his defenses, stabbed you or something, and then-

You grab his face and pull his attention to you. "I'm on my period!"

Everything seems to still for a moment. His wide eyes stare into yours, burdened with the last vestiges of sleep that weren't chased away with the shot of adrenaline in his system. His heavy breaths pant between you both. His hands slowly release your shirt and rest on your sides, one under the fabric and one over. You look at him imploringly, waiting for it to sink in.

Then, he sighs with utter relief. His eyes close as he hunches down to press his forehead against yours, his weight sinking into you as he hugs your body to him. "You're okay," he breathes.

You nod lightly, pressing a peck to his lips. "I'm okay." You comb his hair back. He's worked himself into a sweat in his panic. You wonder just how long he's been awake for. "I forgot it was supposed to start soon. I was trying to clean up before you woke up."

He opens his eyes to shoot you a disapproving look. "Wake me up next time, sweetie. I don't enjoy waking up to a puddle of blood where my partner should be."

"Clearly." You offer him a sheepish smile. His lips crack into one of his own with a soft chuckle.

He begins to pull away. You expect him to turn around and start stripping the bed, but instead he just hugs you closer as he buries his face into your neck. You try to imagine what he must look like, back hunched as he nuzzles into you like a cat. He breathes in deeply. "You smell nice."

"It's your soap."

He hums. "You should use it more often."

You laugh and tug on his hair, push against his shoulder. "We need to clean up before the blood soaks in too much."

He sighs. You think he may just ignore it to keep holding you here, but he reluctantly lets you go and stands up to his full height. He presses a last kiss to your forehead. "Finish doing what you need to. I'll deal with it. There's product in the cabinet. I wasn't sure what kind you used, so I just got some of everything."

You raise a challenging eyebrow at him. "'Everything'? What if what I use isn't in there?"

He chuckles. "Then I'll go get some. Just say the word."

You linger in the bathroom doorway, just watching as he pulls the blankets off and examines them for blood. Thankfully, they were spared. The rest certainly were not, as he undoes the corners of the fitted sheet and tosses them into a pile. A reddish stain still lingers on the mattress, and for a moment you feel that sinking feeling again. He'd told you before that he had his mattresses custom ordered. Who knew how long it would be before he'd get another one in?

He's completely unfazed, however, as he pulls out his phone and types up a message to someone. By the time you get a proper change of clothes and come back out, Luke and Kieran are hauling the old mattress out the door and a new one rests in its place, already covered in a clean sheet. Sylus is tossing the pillows back at the head of the bed when you sneak up and hug him from behind.

"Where'd you get this bed from?"

"One of the guest rooms," he tells you. One of his hands rests on yours, while the other reaches out to direct tendrils of his Evol in carrying the blanket over. He could do it himself, of course, but he'd much rather stay within your arms.

You kiss his back between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

He hums. His fingers stroke the back of your hands. "Don't worry about it, kitten." Blanket in place, he turns around, his hands gravitating to your waist. You see the mischievous glint in his eye too late. "I already know how you can make it up to me."

He lifts you up with ease and tosses you playfully onto the bed. You bounce on the fresh mattress with a laughing squeal of his name. He chuckles as he crawls in after you, wrapping you up in his arms as he smothers you, nuzzling against you like a giant house cat. He rolls over to have you lay on top of him, where he can massage your lower back and feel your weight against him.

You're grinning from ear to ear when you push yourself up to look at his face. "And what's that?"

He drags the blanket up around you. "Stay in bed with me all day."

You roll your eyes, but you slump back down onto his broad chest, wrapping your arms around him as best you can and scooting up to bury your face in his neck. He smells just like his bodywash, mixed with something musky and rich. You press a kiss under his jaw. "Alright, I agree to your terms."

He kisses your head. You can feel his smile as he does. His hands are much more skilled this time around as he massages your lower back, soothing away the cramps Aunt Flo brings. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @leiakitty @loliesaregreat

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #afab reader #x afab reader

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evilmenenjoyer · 4 months ago

Text

Gratitude

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

SEQUEL to City of Love. Probably not a good fic to read as a stand-alone; read City of Love first for context.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), dubious consent, rough sex after a fight, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, bruising, marking, pain play/sadomasochism, mirror sex, manhandling, hurt/comfort (but mostly hurt), lots of angst.

Tags: @apookalypse @thecutiepieishere / I do not have an official taglist yet, but I'd be willing to make one if people were interested. If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, or in any additions to this story, let me know somehow!

–––

It's three days later when you see him again, just when you were convinced he left Paris for good.

You knew it would take a lot longer for the reminders of him to leave your mind as well as your body. He's in the marks his hands left on your hips, in the scrapes and faint bruises along your back from when he tossed and squeezed you against the brick wall, in the ghost of his lips on your skin. You can still feel them every time you close your eyes, hear his voice whisper your name against your neck as he came.

It shouldn't surprise you, after everything, to have him knock on your door right as you’re getting ready to have a night out. It still nearly takes your breath away to see him, looking as impeccable as usual in his dark gray suit, smiling as if his mere presence doesn't rock your world upside down a third time.

“What part of ‘don’t ever contact me again’ did you not understand?” you ask, though right away you can tell you don't sound nearly as firm and assertive as you’d like. You wonder if he can tell you hoped, against every rational thought in your brain, that he would come back.

Judging by his smile, you’d bet he can.

“I couldn't help myself,” he responds, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender. “Can I come in?”

That part of you that still clings to rationality, that can tell a good idea apart from a horrible one, lights up like a loud siren in your brain. There's nothing good that could possibly come out of this. Hasn't he toyed with you enough already? With his weird twisted games, tracking you down all the way to a foreign country, sending you off to those horrific games?

Still, you find yourself stepping aside, leaving a gap for him to come through. You’ve never been good at controlling your impulses, after all.

The apartment you’ve been renting for the time being stands in the heart of Paris. It looks exactly what you pictured a typical, glamorous Parisian apartment to look like – high walls, hardwood floors, large arched windows with a stunning view of the city and the Eiffel Tower. It's furnished with all the essentials, and nothing more. You didn't see the need to bring in new furniture or decorations when you didn't even know for how long you’d be staying in the city. At this point, you’re already considering moving on to somewhere else.

“Make yourself at home,” you say. “But I’m going out soon.”

“I see that.” His eyes run over you as he sits at the arm of the couch, shamelessly lingering on the black dress that hugs all your curves at the right spots. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You turn your back to him, looking for the earrings you had put down somewhere when you heard the knock on the door. You feel his body heat approach you from behind, his fingertips brushing against a red spot on your shoulder blade that the spaghetti straps of the dress fail to cover.

“Did I do this to you?”

His voice doesn't sound remorseful or apologetic at all. If only, there's a hint of pride to his tone, a small smile at the corner of his lip that you can tell is there without even looking at him. It should upset you, thinking of how roughly he pushed you against that wall, but it has goosebumps blooming all over your skin around the spot he touches.

“Who else would it be?” Your voice shakes ever so slightly against your will, and you clear your throat to get rid of it.

You expect him to pull back, but instead he inches even closer. He has to lean down to mold his chest to your back, his lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck when he speaks. “I can make it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” You turn your head just enough to chase after his lips. Screw the night out. He lets you capture them, indulging you in only a quick kiss before pulling away.

“I’m serious. I have something for you.”

“Oh.” You frown at the loss of contact, turning to face him. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

Your frown deepens, and he raises his eyebrows at you. “Don't you trust me yet?” he asks.

No. Absolutely not. Still, what's the worst that can happen? What would he do while you have your eyes closed that he can't do right now; that he couldn't have done three nights ago at that bar, when you gave yourself to him so willingly?

You close your eyes, with a small sigh as if letting him know it's a nuisance. There's no real heat to it, and you both know it.

The Salesman’s hands find their way to your arms, guiding you further into the apartment. You follow his lead slowly, careful not to bump into any furniture or clutter you left around the place while picking an outfit and getting ready.

“You didn't have to give me a gift,” you say, still confused about what this is about. He stops walking the two of you, leaving you in an unknown part of the apartment. Your heart beats slightly faster than normal; distrustful, but excited. No man has ever bought you a gift before. Gifts are for girlfriends, for women they're trying to impress. Somehow, in all your years on this Earth, you’d missed out on being that woman to anyone.

“I was feeling romantic,” he explains. You feel something cold land over the exposed skin of your neck and chest, and he fiddles with a clasp at the nape of your neck. “Blame it on Paris. You can open your eyes.”

You do so, finding yourself standing in your bedroom, right in front of the large mirror resting against the wall. The necklace stands out against your skin – thin white gold chain and gemstones shining so bright you can immediately tell they're real, a ruby and a sapphire encrusted by tiny crystals. The color choice is an odd one for a necklace, prompting you to take a closer look. That's when any hints of a smile vanish from your face.

The gemstones are placed beside each other, the shapes and markings in them identical to those of the ddakji tiles you and the Salesman had played together in the subway station.

“I had it custom-made for you,” he says. Standing behind you, his reflection on the mirror takes up almost the entire background, but you don't pay him any mind. Your eyes are all but glued to the red and deep blue stones hanging from your neck, hoping against hope that you had seen it all wrong, that this was just a figment of your imagination and the real necklace will reveal itself if you just look hard enough.

It never does.

Reality hits you then. This isn’t some fun new fling, or the beginning of a Paris romance. This is the man who lured you into a horribly traumatic experience when you were at your most vulnerable, who came all the way from Seoul just to rub in your face that you didn't deserve to make it out of there alive. And now here he is. Prying his way into your apartment, your body, your mind. And you just let him.

Horror floods you, nearly pushing you to your knees right here. You touch the pendant with shaky fingers, and it takes everything in you not to grab the chain and yank it off your neck. Finally, your eyes meet the Salesman’s in the mirror.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He blinks innocently. “You don't like it?”

“Why would you do this?” you ask, unsure of whether you want to burst into tears or slap him in the face.

His fingers join yours where they rest on the necklace, only grazing your skin on their way to touching the pendant. “I thought you'd like a reminder.”

That makes you spring into action, pulling away from him and pushing his hand away with a ferocity you didn't know you still had, not since the Squid Games.

“A reminder? What makes you think I want to remember that shit?” You raise your voice; something to make up for how small you feel, by the way you need to tilt your head to look him in the eye. “If I could erase that night from my memory for the rest of my life, I would.”

“I find that hard to believe. Would you erase our night together at the bar as well?” His eyes leave yours only to look back to the mirror behind you. “Look at you. Wearing those bruises so proudly.”

For a moment all you can do is stare at him, unable to believe the sheer audacity he has to stand in your house and say these things. The worst of it all is you can’t fully deny it – you picked the dress deliberately knowing it left the upper part of your back exposed, happy to catch glimpses of the bruises he left you with if you happened to stumble upon a mirror or reflective surface throughout the night.

“I would,” you insist. “What the fuck makes you think I’d want to remember the night that ruined my life?”

A laugh comes out of him; a short, but cruel sound. “I ruined your life, is that what you're saying?”

You scoff. “Don't act like you don't know you did.”

He steps even closer to you. You refuse to step back, even when it feels like his chest is about to bump into your forehead. “Your life,” he says, “was already shit way before I came around. Debt, an awful job, an even worse home, no future prospects, no friends. What exactly was there about your life that was good enough to be ruined?”

Rage consumes you to hear him talk like that about your old life. Things were bad, yes, but there was a positivity about you that's been lost ever since you stepped foot in those games. You could barely make ends meet, and your shifts were long and exhausting, but you had hopes of going to school, of turning your life around. Your home was a tiny, shitty house in an even shittier neighborhood, but you still took the effort to decorate it and try to make it feel more like a home. Where did that go? Now, you have all the money you could ever wish for, and all you do is spend it on clothes and expensive trips you don't even have the motivation to enjoy, your only goal being getting far away from Seoul.

“At least I felt like a fucking person! Do you even know what that’s like? Feeling human?” you all but yell, grateful for the language barrier in case any neighbors happen to be listening. “I’d never killed anyone. I’d never wanted to kill anyone! I didn't have nightmares, and I didn't wake up every day wondering if I deserve to be alive after everything I did to survive!”

“You had nothing,” he reminds you, his voice cold as the winter outside. “Not even your dignity. Or did you forget how we met? How you asked me to play ddakji with you, willing to get hit in the face repeatedly not for money, but just to have my attention?”

You hold back a sob, shaking your head furiously, but it's of no use. The words sting hard enough to bring tears to your eyes; it stings even more to know they're true.

“Get out of my apartment,” you demand. You wish you'd never let him in. You wish you'd never met him at all.

“Things are different now,” he says, ignoring your order completely. “You’re rich, and you’ve matured. You’ll never struggle again in your life, if you're smart.”

“I said GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Finally at your breaking point, you push him, shoving at his chest as hard as you have the strength to. He barely budges. It's only then that you notice how cornered he’s got you, your back about to bump into the mirror.

He brings his hand towards your face, cupping your chin and forcing you to look higher up at him. You thrash and claw at his wrist, trying to push it away from you, but he only tightens his grip until it's almost painful. There’s a darkness in his eyes that’s unlike any expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“I made you stronger. You're a millionaire now because of me,” he says. “How about a little gratitude?”

Even from your position, you still manage an incredulous scoff at him. “Gratitude?”

“Yes.” A grin stretches the corner of his lips, not a trace of warmth of friendliness behind it. “You should be thankful I pulled you out of your misery.”

He moves faster than you’re ready to, grabbing you by the waist and tossing you down. You brace yourself for the impact of your head hitting the floor, gasping in surprise when your back bounces over the soft mattress instead. He hovers above you, using his heavier body to pin yours down before you even have the chance to start struggling against his grip.

“Get off me!”

“Calm down.” He holds both your wrists together with one hand, while the other manages to somehow pull your panties off your body, using your kicking legs as leverage. Your eyes widen in shock. “I’m just giving you another reminder.”

“W-what?” Your voice wavers with fear. All that fury is slowly but surely being replaced with it, or with a mixture of both feelings that leaves you heaving for breath.

He doesn't have to pull your dress up – your own struggle does it by itself, leaving the fabric rumpled up at your hips and your bottom exposed. You stop kicking him in an attempt to cover yourself, and he takes advantage of that fraction of a second to stick his knee on the spot on the mattress between your legs, stopping you from shutting them. You gasp, the heavy pressure on your core cutting off all your thoughts for a moment. You can think of nothing to do other than to yell for help.

As if reading your thoughts, his free hand covers your mouth.

You voice your displeasure through a muffled grunt. You keep on struggling, trying to kick him off you, but each movement unintentionally rubs your bare clit over his thigh that pins you down. He applies even more pressure and you cry out, mortified to feel heat pooling between your legs.

“Christ, you're wet. I can feel it.”

You can feel it too, the fabric of his pants damp and hot where it connects with you. You're torn on whether to keep fighting and essentially humping his leg or giving up, if only to have a few instants of relief.

“If you scream, I’ll slit your throat,” he warns in a hoarse whisper. “Do you understand?”

Out of options, you nod.

He releases your mouth, then your wrists. It occurs to you to scream anyway, but you force yourself to remember who you're dealing with. He wouldn’t give you empty threats. Anyone involved in bringing people into those games has no qualms about slitting your throat open and leaving you to bleed out on your silk sheets.

The Salesman makes his way down your body, now holding onto your legs with his hands.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you manage to ask, the answer rather obvious but it had all happened so fast, leaving you dazed and confused.

“Giving you yet another reason to be thankful to me.”

The sudden, damp feel of his tongue on your entrance overcomes your senses, and you wouldn't be able to hold back a shout if you tried.

Fortunately, he forgives you for it. You squirm under the sensations, but he holds your hips down against the mattress in a firm grip, immobilizing them completely and prying you open all at once. You hoist yourself up over your elbows only to be met with your own reflection on the mirror across the room, your hair a mess already and your face contorted in fear and pleasure and indignation all at once. You can’t bear to watch yourself like this, mortification entrenched into every muscle of your body that reacts to his touch as he continues to penetrate you with his tongue. You fall back towards the mattress with a broken moan.

“God– Y-you can’t–” Whatever you were about to say dies out in your throat as his lips rise to your clit, enveloping you so expertly in the wet heat of his mouth. You clench your whole body, eyelids all the way down to your toes, and for a moment you’re grateful for the hands that hold your legs open just so you don’t have to face the shame of spreading them wider.

Your hands, perfectly capable of putting up a fight once they’d been released, twist into the sheets beneath you, holding on like your life depends on it. You curse yourself for not trying harder to push him off, for not really wanting to; for always being so unwilling to say no to him. Moans leave your lips like they’re being ripped out of you, growing in volume like you just can’t help it. It makes you wish one of the pillows were within reach so you could bury it against your face and muffle them, or simply to hide yourself from how incredibly good it feels to be at his mercy.

It doesn’t take long at all. Say whatever you want about the Salesman, but this is a man who knows what he’s doing with his tongue. In only a few minutes he reduces you to whimpers and pleading, your orgasm hitting you like a wave crashing full-force over the shore. Your back arches off the bed, mouth open in a long moan, and he continues to dine on you like a starving man until the moment you fall backwards, spent.

When you come back to yourself, you’re covering your face with your hands as he presses kisses to the line of your inner thigh. You feel him make his way up your body, feel his hands on your wrists, gently moving them out of the way and exposing your face, the deep flush that has colored your cheeks.

Looking into his eyes, you’re overcome with a rush of emotions you’re not sure how to name. How can a person make you feel so many things at once? How can you still want him – ardently, desperately, profoundly want him – after everything? How can he be so addictive, leaving you already hooked from the scraps of attention he’s given you? You tilt your head just a tiny bit towards him, a silent invitation, and he leans in the rest of the way to take your lips in his.

He kisses you deeply, hungrily, holding you through the shudders that run through your body from the aftershocks of your orgasm until they subside. Kisses you like you’re more than just a hookup, tempting you to believe there must be something about you that’s special. Kisses you for long enough to get you drunk in it, like he’s happy to do nothing but this for the rest of his life.

The next time he pulls back, he removes his suit jacket and tie. You somehow manage to help him unbutton his white shirt, motivated by the promise of feeling his bare skin on yours. You nearly forget his pants are still on, letting him work on that as you press kisses to down his neck. Of course his body is as perfect as his face. He makes an approving sound that you can feel on his throat, and you follow the vibrations of his vocal chords until his pulse point, pleased to find his heartbeats as fast as yours. You can’t resist taking the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, hands tightening on your hips and flipping you on the bed so you’re facing the other side, your back to him. You hold onto the bed frame to steady yourself, body half-bent forward.

You expect him to thrust into you without warning, just as he had the last time. Before that, he brings a hand underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards, your sight landing squarely on your joined reflection on the mirror.

“Keep your eyes right there.” Now he enters you, and you watch your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion. “Watch yourself get fucked on my cock.”

The sheer filth in his voice prompts you to obey, to look. Your knuckles turn white on the bedframe and your body rocks forward with each of his thrusts; slow at first, but steadily gaining power and speed. He reaches down to rub your clit in circles, and it makes your body jerk to feel it and see it at the same time, to watch your reactions in real time. The sight of the necklace still hanging from your neck prompts you to look away, a confirmation of what’s actually happening to you that you’re not prepared to stare in the face.

His hand leaves your clit to wrap itself into your hair, yanking it back. Your body arches to follow it, your reflection on the glass confronting you once again.

“I said look,” he says into your ear. “Don’t you wanna see what a pretty mess you are for me?”

You shake your head, although his death grip on your hair makes it difficult to move. That’s precisely the issue: seeing the mess that he made you into, seeing yourself so overwhelmed and dirty and ashamed, the sounds leaving you suggesting nothing other than aching, raw need. It’s too much. It doesn’t stop you from pushing your hips back to meet his, trying to match his rhythm.

He angles his thrusts to hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “Oh God,” you croak, feeling the heaviness of tears behind your eyes and another orgasm fast approaching.

Just when you’re close, impossibly close to your release, he stops. You watch him on the mirror, panting just for a moment before he pulls out of you and releases your hair. You’re about to protest, or maybe plead for mercy, but he pushes you to lay on your back on the bed again, back inside of you before you can even think of a sentence.

“How about that thank you now?” He pounds into you, somehow even deeper from this position. “Say it.”

“Shut up,” you say instead. The pause, brief as it was, only served to make you more desperate to come, and the last thing you need right now is to hear this. “Please just shut up.”

The necklace gleams over your chest, catching his attention. The Salesman runs a thumb over the sapphire, as if contemplating something, before he presses down on the pendant hard, digging it into your skin.

You gasp, throwing your head back. He’s moving fast enough that the bed rocks underneath you, the headboard slamming into the wall, his fingers still on the necklace like he wants to imprint it into your chest. It fucking hurts, the sharp metal edges unrelenting, digging in hard enough to leave a bruise. It makes your body sing, awakes the deeply-hidden, fucked up parts of you that crave this kind of pain.

“Every time you wake up,” the Salesman says, slightly out of breath himself, but much more composed than you, “and you look out of the window and see Paris, or anywhere that’s not the gutter in Seoul, you thank me for saving you.” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust. “Say it.”

You don’t want to say it. Saying it makes you feel like it’s true, like you should give in and believe what he’s saying. That you are a piece of trash who got lucky, after all, and you should thank him for anything close to success that you achieve from now on. But your orgasm is so close you can feel the force of it numb your ears, your wrists; and in this moment, you would say anything, do anything, so long as he keeps you feeling this good.

“Thank you,” the words are just barely above a whisper, like you wish you could keep them to yourself as a shameful secret.

“For what?”

He gives you another hard thrust, almost painful if only the lines between pain and pleasure hadn’t been blurred a long time ago. You push your chest into an arch, the pendant digging even deeper into you until it breaks skin and the pain turns into agony.

“F-for saving me.”

“Good girl.”

You come then, thinking about the mark that the necklace will leave on you, thinking about how you’re going to feel it for days, how you’re going to remember it every time you feel it or see it. That there will be evidence on your body that he touched you this passionately. It feels like you’re floating, rising to the sky as you clench and unclench around him, as sound after humiliating sound leaves you.

You collapse back against the mattress when your orgasm finally lets you go, boneless and spent. You didn’t see or hear him come – in another situation, it might’ve upset you to miss it, if you weren’t still riding the aftershocks of that incredible high –, but he’s still against you, breathing hard into your neck. His release leaks from between your legs. He stays like that for a long time, slowly softening inside of you, before he finally pulls out and away from you.

You stay right where you are, unmoving. Somewhere far away, you think you can hear him searching for his clothes and dressing himself. You don’t want it to upset you, but it does; because of course he would come here, humiliate you, give you the best fuck of your life and then immediately leave, without so much as a word to you. Your head falls to the side, and even that small movement feels incredibly difficult, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep. Your vision is blurry, far-away, until it finally focuses on the large window that overlooks the city. Tiny snowflakes flutter over the city lights and the dark night sky.

“It’s snowing.”

That pulls his attention to you. He’s got his pants and shirt on, the first few buttons undone, his once perfectly-styled hair a mess. He follows the line of your gaze to the window. “Were you looking forward to it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” It feels like forever ago since the last time you even thought about it. The Salesman was right; the city is beautiful at this time of the year.

You expect him to return to his clothes then head out the door. Instead, he reaches for the covers over the bed and wraps your naked body up in them like a baby. “Ow,” you hiss when he moves you, pain exploding on your chest where the necklace was pressed against you. A few drops of blood dry on your skin from when the skin had split. You feel the Salesman lift you bridal-style, much to your surprise, but you’re still too dazed to find it in you to question it.

He sits you both on the thick windowsill, him behind you and you leaning against his chest, framed by his legs. It’s gentle, somehow more intimate than you’ve ever been with him even after sleeping with him twice. You watch the snowfall outside, mesmerized, letting the steady rise-and-fall of his chest behind you soothe your aching muscles.

It’s the closest to safe you’ve felt in what feels like forever, and you’re crying before you even realize it.

Once it starts, it’s impossible to stop it. Your body trembles with the force of your sobs, tears flowing from your eyes like they haven’t since you were a little kid, at least not this openly. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you flush against himself and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, keeping his lips right there against your scalp. He rocks you ever so slightly, shushing your cries, the sound as soothing as a soft lullaby. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you sob. You think about the snow in Seoul, about how the first snowfall always made you excited, even when it happened every year. You can feel your tears rolling down your cheeks and into your neck, your collarbones. “I want to go home.”

“Then go home,” he says, like it’s simple.

“I can’t.” How can you walk the same streets you always did, as if your life wasn’t completely changed? As if the price you paid for this change wasn’t much, much greater than you could deal with? “You’re right. I have nothing. No one.”

“You had nothing. You can have anything you want now.” You want to tell him there are things money can’t buy, but you’re so tired, so exhausted. You can’t muster the willpower for much other than wallowing in your own misery, weeping in his arms like a child. “And you have me.”

That only makes you cry harder, shaking your head. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Look at me.” He nudges you to turn to him, the angle awkward but it’s so worth it the second he cups your face in both hands, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “I mean it. Come back to Seoul.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your heavy eyelids. “You just need to see things from a different perspective. I can help you.”

He coaxes you to lay back against him, and you do so without protest, burying your face into his chest. For a moment you actually consider it. Dropping the plans you had for a next trip and following him to Seoul, letting him finish corrupting you with whatever twisted worldview he has. Maybe it would be blissful, you think, to see all that violence and bloodshed as a blessing, as something that saved you rather than ruined you. It has to be a trap, or another one of his games. But it doesn’t hurt to dream about it, just a little bit.

Little by little your crying subsides, your breaths returning to normal. He holds you through it all, stroking your hair in a way that’s so tender, so soft, like you’re fragile. Like he cares about you, or even loves you.

You silently wonder if he can love anyone at all, much less someone as broken as you.

With his fingers drawing circles on your scalp, you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

–––

You wake up alone. You’re still naked but on the bed, tucked into your blankets. There’s no confusion over what happened last night, no delusions that your brain would come up with a dream like that. There’s only memories hitting you like a truck, one after the other, and it’s too fucking early for this.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, and you jump at the sight of yourself on the mirror. You barely notice the smudged makeup from last night, your eyes going straight to the star of the show: the angry red spot right on the center of your chest, already turning into a deep purple at the center. You flinch before you even touch it, your hand hanging in the air halfway through like you’ve changed your mind. The necklace finishes it off like the cherry on top of the cake, the pair of precious stones right next to each other like eyes watching you, mocking you.

You button your coat all the way up before you leave the house.

It’s still early enough that the sun has just begun rising, coloring the sky in a bright blue that bleeds into the buildings and streets. There’s probably nothing open right now, but you could really use some coffee. Or a drink. Probably a drink.

You find him at Pont Neuf, watching the river below. There’s no one else around, the city in a rare moment of quiet and peace. He hasn’t spotted you yet, seemingly lost in thought, and it occurs to you that you could sneak up behind him, push him over the edge and just keep on walking. Sever your ties to him forever, and simply keep going like nothing ever happened, bury it along with all the other memories you try so hard to forget.

You don’t do it, but knowing you could brings you a bit of comfort. You lower your head and keep walking in the opposite direction, not sparing him another glance.

#the salesman x reader #salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #gong yoo x reader #squid game x reader #the salesman x you #salesman smut #my fics #guess who was too lazy to make a cute banner #next time i promise

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stuckinmymind22 · 28 days ago

Note

Hello Please could you write a Shanks x you. They were apprentice lovers on the pirate king's ship. After the crew separated, y/n disappeared. When Shanks found out about her, she had become a marine and didn't remember it. Oh, at least she pretended not to be. But Shanks knew what to do. She wouldn't become a marine just like that. Something happened, and he would find out and get her out of that stupid organization. Please, your work is incredible. I'll send you a gift. Take care. I hope you can accept my request.

open book | shanks x gn! reader

hi anon! first of all sorry for the late reply i know it's been a while. also thank you so much!!! when i saw this in my inbox i had an idea right away, i've been chipping away at it this past month, it helps my brain to be able to hop between projects and i kept returning to this one it was very fun to write so thank you for the inspiration (and the gift, can't forget that) love you and thanks for reading the silly things i write 💕

tags: lowkey hurt/comfort, very bittersweet, first love reunited years later, canon typical violence, drinking, swearing, suggestive (it always is with this man let's be honest), ambiguous ending ig (in my head it all works out lol)

wc: 5.9 k

a/n: i told myself i cannot go to bed until i finally finished this so if we see any typos or mistakes no we didn't, just know i tried lol

Shanks heard your laugh before he saw you. That sound wasn't something that he'd easily forget. It had been years, nearing decades at this point, since he'd hast heard it, but it was unmistakable. Shanks had never forgotten about you. How could he? You were his one regret. An injury that never healed quite right.

He hadn't understood his feelings for you until it had been much too late — until you'd been too far out of his reach. By the time he had realized how he felt, you had become impossible to find. He had tried, over the years he'd made many attempts to track you down, but nothing ever came up. All traces of you were gone, it'd been like you never even existed.

After all of this time, finally getting confirmation that you were alive lifted a weight from his shoulders — one he hadn't known he'd been holding. He looked around the dingy bar to find you. The prospect of seeing you again made him feel giddy. The feeling brought him back to his youth, to the last time you'd seen each other. It was far too late to change anything — he knew that — but talking to you one more time might finally bring him the closure he was missing.

When he spotted you, his heart stopped, but not in a good way. HE could barely believe his eyes. Yes, you were there, but you were wearing the unmistakable uniform of a marine. A rear admiral. There was no fucking way. He knew it had been years and things had changed, but there was no way you had changed that much. Maybe he had simply drank too much and was seeing things wrong, hallucinating even. At least that would make sense.

Shanks squeezed his eyes shut (a good substitute for rubbing them, he'd found) and looked again. The same scar on your forehead, one he'd watched you receive. The smile was the same, everything lined up with his memory. There was no more denying it. It was you. And you were a goddamn marine — or at least in one of their uniforms... interacting with the unit like you knew them.

Something was off, it had to be.

You had fucking hated the marines, and the World Government as a whole. At least you had the last time he'd seen you. He remembered the drunken rants you would go on, airing out all your qualms with the government — those rants he had always enjoyed, your animated passion had made them quite entertaining. Everything about the picture in front of him went against the very core of what he knew about you.

Truthfully, he had long suspected that you'd disappeared into the Revolutionary Army and that was why you'd been impossible to find. That was a seed that Beckman had planted in his mind early on, but it made perfect sense. There was more to this than Shanks knew — he wouldn't believe anything else — and he would be damned if he didn't figure out what.

The rest of the night he kept his eyes on you, clinging to the shadows. He was grateful that he was alone, it had made it far easier to avoid detection. He knew he was a wanted man, being spotted would make more difficult to decipher whatever the hell was actually going on.

As he had suspected (and hoped), you barely drank. Even when your soldiers urged you on, you abstained. While those around you were having fun and lowering their guard, you stayed alert. At one point in the night, you caught his eyes. A look of recognition and shock passed by briefly before you turned away, pretending you hadn't seen him.

Throughout it all, his feelings started to become more complex as memories of your time together came flooding back to him. You had been so close. The two of you had gone from best friends to lovers to... nothing. That still stung. Teenage heartbreak had a funny way of sticking around. It was true what they say, how you never forget your first love.

You got more chummy with your fellow marines as the night wore on, and, for some reason, it became harder and harder for him to witness. When one of them slung his arm around you, pulling you close, Shanks felt his temper flare. You were no longer teenagers and you were no longer together, he reminded himself. He had no claim to you and you had no obligation to him, but he couldn't keep watching it.

Shanks left the bar, but he hadn't given up yet. He wasn't going to let you go a second time, at least not until he got some answers.

~~~~~~~

It was all starting to get too much for you; your rowdy comrades were enough on their own, but seeing him again had been the real nail in the coffin. You needed a break from it all and you needed a damn cigarette. You excused yourself and stepped out into the cold night air, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Seeing Shanks on posters and hearing about him all the time at "work" tugged on your heartstrings enough, reigniting a sense of longing. But being in his presence? That was a whole different beast. You still missed him, there was no denying it. A part of your heart never stopped longing for him, even after all this time. He'd been your first...everything. Your naive, idealistic younger self had once thought he'd be your last too. Unfortunately, life had gotten in the way.

The disbandment of the Roger Pirates and your captain’s execution had spelt the end for you two. He’d set out to sea, as you’d always known he would. He had invited you to come with him and you told him you would think about it, but that was the last time you saw him. You ended up wandering for a while before you found yourself in the arms of the Revolutionary Army at its infancy. With your strong ideology it had been a natural progression for you. Plus, you got seasick way too much to be a pirate — ironic now that you were playing the part of a marine.

Lighter in hand and cigarette in mouth, you walked further from the bar and way from the noise. Suddenly, you were yanked into an alleyway as you passed by, met with a question and a pair of familiar eyes. “Since when do you smoke?” Your mouth fell open, cigarette falling to the ground. Shanks. It took everything in you to not reach out an touch him, to confirm that you weren’t dreaming, but the point of contact on your arm had already proven that he was in front of you.

A soft whisper of his name slipped from your lips, and he smiled at you. Shanks had always liked his name in your voice — it had matured with time, but it was still uniquely yours. “Hey, Doll.” Your eyes widened in surprise as you took in the situation. Simply saying his name wouldn’t blow your cover — you were a marine in the New World, of course you would recognize him — but the way your heart was racing might. At least nobody was around to witness it.

God, you hadn’t been this close to him in years; breath intermingling, standing practically chest to chest. It felt almost ridiculous to still be this impacted by him, but you couldn’t help it. How long had these emotions lied dormant? A highlight reel of all your memories with him started playing. You were snapped out of it when he placed his hand on your shoulder and gently called your name — your real one, not the one you had been using.

You needed to pull it together, you couldn’t afford to slip an inch when you had come this far. But, damnit, it was hard. If you were better at this, you probably would’ve raised attention to his presence, like you should have done before. You had to fulfill your role as a good little marine, and a good marine would alert to his presence. But the limit of what you were willing to do only went so far, and you could never bring yourself to hurt him. Any potential consequence to your silence didn’t matter in the moment.

“What the hell happened to you?” Shanks asked, maneuvering his body in a way that would shield you from being visible to people on the street. “Why are you a marine?” His usual easy going voice had been laced with concern and confusion. You wanted to tell him the truth, you wanted to tell him so bad. He had always been your weakness, but you had a job to do.

“Are you okay? Did something happen? Do you need help? Is someone forcing you to do this? Do they have something on you?” His continued on, uncharacteristically worried. As far as Shanks was concerned becoming a marine (especially one that had risen through the ranks) was antithetical to everything you stood for — against your very nature.

He saw the pang of remorse in your expression and realized you wanted to tell him. You weren’t keeping quiet out of fear either, that eased his anxieties. Thinking about it, you had seen him much earlier but you hadn’t done anything about it, and you weren’t now either. It confirmed that you weren’t in this position due a newfound love of the government or a sense of heavy handed justice — you had a motive. It was written all over your face, confirming that you were still you.

For some reason, the reassurance wasn’t enough, he desperately needed to know what the motive was. Shanks knew he shouldn’t push and that it should be enough to know that you were up to something, but that wasn’t stopping him. Shanks tried listing off possible reasons and gauging your reaction, but he was getting nowhere. Either you had become much better at keeping a poker face and hiding your tells or he was severely out of practice when it came to you.

You couldn’t respond or even open your mouth, you knew you could never keep things from him. Shanks had an uncanny ability to read you and figure out what you were hiding — it had annoyed the hell out of you and Buggy growing up, but here it could be harmful. Not that you didn’t trust him, but there were so many unknown variables in the area, you couldn’t trust your surroundings. There was no guarantee that you wouldn’t be overheard or seen. Letting him touch you was dangerous enough, but you were about to do something more risky.

Reaching up, you touched his face, cupping his cheek. Shanks went quiet right away, his breath hitching. It was fascinating to see that you still had that effect on him. Perhaps you weren’t the only one who had spent years being plagued by unresolved feelings, occasionally lying awake thinking of all the “what ifs”.

But this would be your last time seeing him. It had to be. You wanted to soak it all in, remembering everything about him. The universe, however, seemed to hate that idea, calls for you rang out on the street in a drunken chorus. Your unit was looking for you. It was time to go.

~~~~~~~

The next day one of your subordinates had seen members of the Red Hair pirates and had decided to be a big shot about it, picking a fight. It had been really fucking stupid of him to go after members of a Yonko’s personal crew, but he had. And now everyone had to bear the brunt of the consequences. Being dragged into an altercation, especially one involving Shanks and his crew, was something you wanted no part in. Honestly, you wanted to strangle the man for causing such a mess, but you had to act your part.

As the highest ranking official on the island and his superior, you were forced to step in and clean the mess up. The fight had already drawn blood by the time you had been alerted about it, which limited options in how to stop it without losing face. You came to the conclusion that the only way out was through, you just hoped casualties would be limited on either side.

Naturally, and unfortunately, you ended up facing the captain of the crew — a man you knew very well and someone you couldn’t bring yourself to injure. It appeared that Shanks felt the same way. Neither of you were willing to put forth any effort in this fight. It was a dance for than anything. A forced performance.

You were backed into a corner, so close to your objective, but you needed to play it carefully. You knew that you were next in line for a promotion, one that you did not want or need yet. Saying no to the offer would raise eyebrows, so you had been trying to find a way to push back your consideration. It had to be done in a way where you didn’t lose too much prestige either, you were walking a fine line. While you were going through the motions of a fight with Shanks, you were considering your exit strategies. Backing down and withdrawing, while reasonable, would decrease your standing too much. Being defeated however…

Shanks was not worried about his crew at all, he trusted they could handle it, especially considering the state of the marines. What he did know was that you would not be engaging in this if you hadn’t deemed it as necessary, and if that was the case he didn’t mind putting on a show. You were scowling but underneath that was an expression of concentration, you were plotting and scheming. He would’ve smiled at it if it weren’t for the current situation. Watching you come do a decision was something he had always found cute, and that still held true.

With your mind made up and your swords interlocked, you inched closer to the yonko still wearing a forced snarl. “Shanks,” you gritted out with no malice. Calling out his name had him soften ever so slightly, which you used to your advantage. “You need to incapacitate me. I’ll give you an opening and you cut me, okay?”

The man looked at you like you had lost your damned mind, taking a step back but you chased after him. “You need to take me down,” you reiterated, trying to convey your sense of urgency. “What the hell are you on about?” That was your idea? He couldn’t believe that you were asking that of him. “I need you to trust me,” the angry expression on your face was undermined by the plea in your eyes. You glanced around to remind him of the situation, slowly, you watched him understand your reasoning.

The last thing Shanks wanted to do was hurt you, but you had determined that would be the best outcome. He didn’t fully understand why or what you would accomplish by it, but he trusted you. A barely perceivable nod told you that he agreed. You released a sigh of relief and braced yourself for what was to come. With gritted teeth, Shanks raised his sword and brought it down; you allowed the blade to slash you. Your blood splattered onto him and he felt like he was going to be sick. Right away you collapsed to the ground; it was hard for Shanks to know how much of that was acting and how much was his doing.

“I’m sorry,” he told you as he sheathed his sword, not willing to look at you. You thanked him in a strained voice, and weakly rose to your feet. The skirmish was over. He played his part, now you had to play yours.

You ordered a full retreat and to treat the wounded right way -- there was about as many as you had expected, and to your sick sense of satisfaction, the man who started the mess was on the ground. The pirates got away with minor scrapes, but the same could not be said for your side. You could not believe the ego on some of these men for thinking they could go against them

Instead of going to receive treatment for the large gash that was dying your clothes red, you stayed put. Watching Shanks disappear again, reopening the scarred over hole in your heart.

~~~~~~~

Following the shit show of a fight, you had been brought to a marine hospital, where you were currently stuck. The doctors fussed over you almost to the point you wished you'd just died (not really, but wow was it a lot). You had finally been granted some peace and quiet when your transponder snail rang, and not the marine issued one.

"He's asking too many questions." The voice of the Revolutionary Army's chief of staff, Sabo, rang out the moment you picked up. The kid was nothing if not direct. "Get him to stop."

"Not even gonna see if I'm alright," you teased him before he could hang up. "You sound alive to me." The smile in his voice was audible. "Go fix it." With that Sabo cut the call. Without waiting for a response or providing any further information. That damn kid. He had pretty much always been like that, ever since you met him as a child.

It had been risky for him to call you while you were practically in a lion's den, Sabo might be bad at communicating but he wasn't dumb. The fact that he had called you here and now meant that it was a priority — whatever it was that you had to do. You had a pretty good guess as to what that had been about (Shanks), but you wouldn’t draw conclusions with no further details. Either way, you had to make the preparations to set out.

Your doctors had been reluctant to discharge you, but you had managed to convince them with a made up story about your hometown and the threat of pulling rank. You were grateful for your status as a rear admiral, it had made it much easier for you to acquire the supplies you needed for a journey without anyone asking questions. The only thing that raised an eyebrow was asking about an unmarked ship, but you dropped it and chose to rent a civilian one instead.

Once you left the range of the marine’s surveillance capabilities, after completing preparations and setting off, you called headquarters for more information. To your surprise (and relief) you were transferred to Dragon himself, at least he would give you complete answers.

“I heard you got hurt, how badly injured are you?” He asked in place of a greeting. “Not enough to be worried about,” you responded. It was the truth, but you left out the part about how, depending on where you were going and what you were doing, you might have to push yourself. You informed him that you had a couple of weeks of explained and excused absence. You could practically hear the man nod. Before you could ask any clarifying questions about the mission, Dragon spoke.

“He didn’t tell you anything did he?” He sounded tired. Sabo was known for doing that sort of thing. While frustrating at times, you all loved him deeply. Sabo was really smart and dedicated to the cause, which was how he managed to become second in command as a teenager. “No. He just told me to go fix it.” Dragon sighed, muttering something about “that kid,” making you smile.

“Red Hair Shanks is asking around about you, using both names too.” You had figured that was the case, but you were a bit surprised, connecting your name and your alias like that was dangerous. Dragon had a vague knowledge of your history with the man, so he didn’t bother questioning why the pirate would do that.

“You know we can’t have him sniffing around like that. What happens when a yonko asks questions? People find the answer. I don’t need to tell you the consequences, but if we found out he’s doing it, the marines won’t be too far behind, which is why we gotta nip it in the bud. We can’t afford to lose this operation. I don’t know or care why he’s doing it, just get him to stop.”

~~~~~~~

After he’d left, Shanks had been in a mood. One that the majority of the crew had never seen before. He was quieter than usual, drinking more (an accomplishment tbh), and laughing less — it wasn’t that noticeable unless you looked for it, or you were with him 24/7. he wasn't the best at playing it off tbfh. He could manage most of the time, it wasn't too hard, but when he got alone it was worse.

He felt stupid for being this affected by it all. Some of it made sense, like worrying about your well being, but drowning in emotions from over a decade ago? That felt rather pathetic. He supposed that was just what he got for bottling it all up. He had gone as far as stopping talking about you, at one point you were one of his favorite people. Not many people knew what you had meant to him at one point and even less had been around to witness it. It felt wrong to confide in others about the grave he’d dug, so he kept it to himself.

He was in his thirties for fucks sake, he couldn’t be wallowing like a teenager experiencing heartbreak for the first time — he had important things to do — but that’s what it was.

. You had been separated far longer than you had even known each other, he should be alright. But he wasn’t. Everything was so confusing and Shanks had no clue how to sort through it all.

Not only was he stuck dwelling in the unprocessed pain from his youth, which wasn’t fun by itself, but what was worse was the sinking feeling in his stomach that he’d killed you. In his mind he knew that it wasn’t a fatal blow, but he wasn’t entirely sure how he would live with himself if it was. The longer he went without any news on your condition the worse that feeling got.

When he was alerted of a sole, unmarked ship approaching them on the horizon a few days later, he actually thought about if it was worth checking — it was that bad. But he was glad that he did.

He borrowed someone's telescope already set at the right focus (there really was no good way to do that himself anymore) and looked. He thought that he saw you messing with the sail, but that couldn't be right. He passed the telescope to Beckman, who had (annoyingly) been keeping a close eye on him{ the past few days}, and asked the man to describe what he saw. It matched. What the fuck?

A series of emotions washed over Shanks, the man one being relief. He now knew that you were alive, and you were well enough to man a ship solo. The captain kept checking on the ship periodically, just to make sure he was right with what he saw. The closer the vessel came, the more certain he was, and the better he felt. Shanks damn near did a 180, falling back into himself.

~~~~~~~

The first thing Shanks noticed when you were climbing aboard was how you looked damn near green. The sight made him crack a smile. “Still don’t got your sea legs, do ya?” The emperor teased as he helped you over the railing. You let out a short laugh, trying to control the nausea. Hopefully a larger and sturdier ship would make it better. “Is it that obvious?”

You stood on your own two feet, holding strong while you put on a brave face. But he could tell. He always could. Shanks got a better look at you and realized that there was freshly dried blood on your clothes, directly over where he had cut you. Seeing the consequences of his actions like that made him feel uneasy, but it was just like you to open up a wound like that. He sighed and looked you in the eyes. To be honest, you had forgotten about that entirely. You smiled at him sheepishly.

“Glad to see you haven’t changed a bit,” he said before calling out for who you assumed was the ship’s doctor and leading you to a more isolated part of the deck. “It seems you changed a little,” Your eyes flickered from the scars on his eye to where his dominant arm used to be, neither of which had been like that the last you spoke. “S’pose I have,” he said with a smile. He sat you down with your back to the ship before leaning against the railing in front of you.

Without your permission, your eyes scanned the rest of his body, very blatantly checking him out. Shanks raised an eyebrow at the action and you decided to just commit. “I like it. You look good. Like really good.” He laughed at the very conspicuous flirtation. He supposed one thing had changed, you had gotten more bold. “I can say the same to you, Doll. Time’s done you well. ‘M almost jealous.” Shanks said, his smirk widening when you grew flustered by his words. Whatever you were going to say died in your mouth at the arrival of the doctor.

The man hoveredyou over briefly, zoning in on the bloody fabric of your clothes. “What happened?” The doctor asked. “I was bleeding,” you said cheekily. While the man stayed stone faced, Shanks let out a laugh, and you grinned over at him. “I can see that,” the poor doctor sounded tired, like he had to deal with this behavior all the time. “How’d it reopen?”

“The doctors told me to take it “easy” but I guess weathering a storm solo isn’t easy,” you answered, removing bloody shirt. What lied below was your crude attempt at patching yourself back up.

“Darlin’ I could’ve told you that,” Shanks teased. You scrunched your nose back at him, a former habit of yours, causing him to laugh.

Shanks made the mistake of looking directly at the freshly unwrapped injury. He felt sick — knowing he was the one who put you in that state nearly made him ill. He had been feeling guilty for days, even if it wasn’t fatal he still hurt you significantly. Sure, it was far from the worst injury he’d seen (especially with his lifestyle), but it was different this time, because this time it was you. And he did that.

You saw his reaction. This was what you’d been worried about. “Shanks,” you called for his attention. “I’m okay.” The attempt at being reassuring was undercut by the wince from the antiseptic you couldn’t hide. “Seriously,” you said looking him in the eyes, “you helped me out. Thank you”

He didn’t know how you could be thanking him for that, but at your insistence he let it go. With one last look, Shanks swallowed the lump in his throat. “What brings you all the way out here?” He asked.

He wasn’t about to complain at getting the chance to see you again, under better circumstances too, but he also was completely confused on why. It hadn’t escaped him that you were there all by yourself, without your uniform, and how the little ship you had come in on had no trace of government insignia.

Instead of any verbal response, you used your eyes to point to the doctor, who was busy fixing the stitches you’d torn. Shanks nodded, understanding that it was a topic for a more private setting, so he shifted gears. “Tell, what’s new with you?” Also something you couldn’t answered, for the same reasons. You had to refrain from rolling your eyes, opting to shake your head with a smile. You directed the question back onto him. Listening to him tell his stories with a big grin. This. This felt familiar.

When your wound had been cleaned, treated, and redressed, Shanks sent the doctor away with a thanks. He stood up straight and offered you a hand. “Come on, let’s go talk,” he said, pointing to the cabin with his head. You let him help you up and followed behind him, laughing when he snagged a freshly opened bottle out from under someone and continued to walk. “For real?” The man with dreads and a bandana complained as if it was a common occurrence, which would not surprise you. “Sorry, Yasopp, I’ll give it back to you later.” Shanks responded, raising the bottle above his head. “Yeah, empty,” the man grumbled to himself. A loud laugh from the captain confirmed that that would indeed be the case.

Shanks led you through the ship, opening the door to his office while still holding the bottle with ease. Clearly it was a skill he had a lot of practice in lol. He held the door for you, shutting it behind him.

“You still on duty, Rear Admiral?” He asked. You made a gagging noise at the title, “Don’t remind me.” His grin grew at your reply, he had known that was out of character for you. Typically, you would never dream of displaying this kind of contempt for your position outside of the Army’s headquarters, but you trusted this man with your life so your usual regulations were loosened. “—Or can I offer you a drink?” He continued, shanking the open bottle in his hand, spilling some in the process. “Shit,” he said automatically, pouting at the loss [it’d be funny if he licked his hand bc so real bro]. “Yeah, sure,” you laughed.

You sat down at the desk and watched Shanks. The posters hadn’t done him justice. He was rummaging around in cabinets, looking for some glasses (because this man cared about portion sizes lol). It was almost surreal to see him again. To be able to hear his voice, his laugh, his breathing, to see his smile and the way his eyes sparkled, to be able to smell him — all things you had thought had been long lost to your memory. You pinched yourself to double check that this was really happening. The reset, while confirming you were not dreaming, set you back on track. This was not a personal visit, no matter how much you wanted it to be. You had a set of obligations to fulfill and responsibilities to uphold.

“Look… Shanks…” You started, capturing his attention and interrupting his pouring into the glasses he had just found. “You have to stop asking around about me.” You couldn’t bring yourself to include how you should never try to contact each other either — at least while you remained undercover and the time table for that was unclear.

Shanks pursed his lips and nodded. A moment of silence passed and he poured out the next glass. “I figured that’s why you came,” he admitted, sounding defeated as he slid a full glass of whatever he’d just poured across the desk to you. “What are you even doing there?” He asked, falling into his chair.

This time, the silence was your fault. You were trying to determine how much you could let him know. Shanks sighed and set his already emptied cup down. “The Revolutionary Army or pirates?” “W-what are you talking about?” Calmly, he refiled his glass, focused on how the liquid fell. “Who are you working for? No way in hell your loyalty lies with the World Government.” He said looking you in the eyes and downing his drink.

He knew? Of course he knew. You should have known. You were practically an open book to him.

“Army.”

“I figured,” he smiled, refilling both your glasses.

~~~~~~~

Over halfway through the bottle the conversation had gotten more relaxed. Over time, you had naturally moved closer together, now, you were barely a foot apart. Shanks sat on top of the desk, his foot mindlessly toying with your shin. His eyes shinned as you recounted some of the countless tales you had acquired since you last spoke. You hadn’t realized how the man hung onto your every word.

When it was his turn to play storyteller, you were just as attentive. You took in his words eagerly, occasionally offering some of your own. It just felt right — so much had changed, but yet so little.

The kids you had known each other as no longer existed, you had both seen some shit and gotten rougher around the edges, but traces of them lingered. Shanks still had the same magnetic personality you’d always known, and the smile that you used to dream about, the one that had a history of making your knees weak. The damned heart of yours had been skipping beats like a child on the playground. It was all very strange. You had never thought you’d feel that way again, but that was something for you to deal with another day. Now, now, you wanted to stay in the moment before it faded away.

Shanks was deep into recounting how he met people on his crew and how long it had taken to convince one of them to join [yasopp waited like 10 years or something lol] You leaned in, looking up at him, wide eyes bright — it was a sight that shouldn’t be as breathtaking as it was. He nearly faltered, but managed to power through. You had always had that effect on him and he doubted you even knew.

A first relationship, like yours, was bound to be rocky with ineffective communication and struggling to understand feelings. When you had unofficially departed there had been many things left unsaid. At the time, he hadn’t known he wouldn’t see you again, maybe if he had he would have said something different, but at the same time he’d just been a stupid kid. It had taken time to understand what you had and what he’d lost. Truthfully, he had never let himself realize the full extent of how much he had missed you.

The worst part of it all was knowing that it couldn’t last. He understood that you had a life of your own and duties to fulfill, just like he did. Shanks knew full well that he wouldn’t fit in the picture, and he told himself that he was fine with that, but why did it hurt?

Your words trailed off in the middle of sharing a story about the formation of the Revolutionary Army with Shanks. “You can’t look at me like that,” you told him, your voice low and guarded. “Like what?” He had no idea how he had been looking at you. “Like you still want me,” your voice had weakened, a vulnerability had crept in. The response took him by surprise but he recovered quickly.

“Would that really be so bad?”

He was right… would it really be so bad?

few quick things: i love sillies who don't know how to deal with emotions in a healthy productive way, i have made the executive decision that their love is like riding a bike, you never forget it, also i totally cried writing this lmao, my bad

i love you all and thank you for reading, don't forget to drink water and have a good day (or go to sleep idk)

masterlist | silly things | directory

#pretty sure this is my first request too so that's exciting #shanks x reader #one piece x reader #x reader #canon post #request #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #gn reader

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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago

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but i'm so proud

lance stroll

tags: smut & fluff, gentle sex, uni student!reader, established relationship (dating), loving!lance, pull out method, missionary, praise

a/n: i wish every lance fan a happy and successful exam season!

two more exams. that was all that it took to finish your degree. this had been going on for too long, but after covid school got harder for you. it was hard to get back into the headspace of academia even after all these years later. but you were hopeful for this final semester of school.

you'd finally be done and you could hang-up that lovely (expensive) degree and finally work towards forging a career for yourself. but you weren't quite there yet, and as you stared at your notes so hard your vision began to blur. you needed a little help, and you knew the one person who could.

lance.

his arm draped over the back of the couch, still enough reach to rub your shoulder as you looked at him with tired eyes. the bags under your eyes had been darkening for the past week and your caffeine consumption was at all time high.

"you need sleep." your boyfriend said.

"i need to pass." you whined as you rested up against his chest and puffed out your cheeks, "i don't need another semester here. i want to finally be done. so i can visit you at more races and actually make a name for myself." you looked up at him. there was a tiredness to your gaze and lance rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone lovingly.

"can't very well do that when you're next exhausted, eh?" he asked as he rubbed your back, "how about you call it quits tonight and tomorrow morning before i go out i'll quiz you." he pulled you away a little to look you in the eyes.

you nodded softly, "sounds good." then let lance kiss you deeply on the lips. you melted into the kiss a little, finding every ounce of comfort in his lips. you were exhausted and beyond burnt out. you let him touch you, give you that affection you desired. to feel close and loved.

he led you to your bedroom and laid out across the mattress with you. he rubbed your back with your face pressed against his chest. it felt right, it felt good. it felt the kind of right that made you rub your thighs together.

"i'm so proud of you." he said lowly, "do you have any idea how proud i am of you." he rubbed your behind and your upper thigh, "trying so hard every day to be the best. i'm proud of you and i can't wait for you to hang up that degree."

you went in for a heated kiss, you melted into him and curled yourself closer to him. it felt good, it was the kind of amazing feeling that left butterflies in your stomach.

the kiss deepened, you wanted more than just his words of affirmation. you wanted him all over, you wanted to feel the closeness to him. as much as you could. he held onto you tightly and placed you on your back.

you reached out and cupped his face. he smiled at you. he was really good looking, you've seen the comments online. but you didn't believe them, what did they know? they didn't get to see him the way you did. you pulled him in for another heated kiss and you rubbed your legs together.

he moaned into the kiss and planted his hands on either side of you. he relaxed as the kiss further in intensity. felt amazing to him. when it eventually broke, he looked into your eyes for a brief moment before he grinned to himself.

clothes came off soon after. his hands trailed across your body with such heated want as you struggled to get your t-shirt off. he eventually helped you then kissed your breasts as he got your bra off. he rubbed himself up against you and gave you one last look before he said, "you're beautiful too. brains, beauty, you got it all, baby." then took off your panties.

soon you were both left naked in bed together. he continued to feel up your body and you giggled into his kisses before you ended up on your back once more. another glance was shared and then another kiss before lance got between your legs.

"ready for me?" he asked softly.

you nodded, "for you? always." then tensed up as he inched his cock inside of you. you swore under your breath and his breath hitched at the feeling. every time felt like the first time in the best way.

"how's that?" he asked softly.

you looked up at him and nodded, "good, yeah. great." you said already a little out of breath. you reached out and held onto his shoulders for a moment before you wrapped your arms around him.

it allowed him to lean in closer to kiss you on the lips. the two of you kissed as his thrusts started off slow but with force. it felt good, a steady pace that made your toes curl.

"you feel great, babe." he said lowly, "you know that right? that i think everything about is perfect." he groaned as his pace gained speed and the two of you started to move together. held on tightly to each other while the kisses continued.

you could feel your ears burn from his compliments, they made you only grow hotter with each strong stroke of his thrusts. you felt a flutter in your chest. you knew that he loved you, he loved you deeply. you were everything to him. you cheered him on and he matched that energy.

"you feel great too." you replied but lance shushed you.

"accept the compliments, honey." he said, "this is about you tonight. you need all the support you can get before your exam. all the relaxation i can provide you." he held onto the covers once more for a bit more leverage as he moved against you.

"flirt."

"only for you." he said lowly.

you could feel the tingle in your body. your held on tighter and curled yourself a little to give him a better angle to thrust up inside of you. the new angle made everything feel more intense.

"fuck, lance."

he chuckled and moved faster. he eyed your expressions, how they changed a little with each thrust. he licked his lips, "i can't wait to see that degree. you better send me a hundred photos of it. i want to see it in all of its glory." his voice was seductive and the way he spoke with such pride about you made your cunt clench around him.

"i love you."

he licked his lips and before he went in for another kiss, he replied, "and i love you more than you know." you used to say that he was an idiot for standing by you even after so many failures in school. and he replied that you stood by him through every bad race - every dnf, every 20th place. everything. he kissed you once more and gripped onto the white covers tightly.

you felt the excitement rush through you. the feeling of being under him while he made you feel good. you whined a little bit and held onto his shoulders a little tighter.

he pressed his forehead against yours, and the two of you moved together in sync. you were both sweaty, but neither care. you just yearned to feel the intense closeness.

you swore under your breath as the pleasure continued to climb through you. it was an amazing feeling. your toes curled and you felt the pick up in your pulse. "lance."

"i've got you, baby. fuck, you feel so good under me. i love how you look, how you feel. you're beautiful, baby. all mine. you're gonna kill it on that exam."

you felt flushed at the words, which only fueled the pleasure in your core. the kisses continued, they got more heated as you felt yourself close to climax. your nails dug into his shoulders when you finally came around his cock.

"fuck, baby." he purred.

you held on tightly still as he worked himself against you. the pleasure bloomed all over and made you feel flushed with heat. it felt good, so good. you couldn't deny the feeling.

"my everything." he purred.

"back atcha." you said in a heightened euphoric state.

lance quickly pulled out and stroked his cock, slick with your wetness until he came all over your stomach with a heavy groan. he squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath. that felt really good. he slowed his strokes to a stop and looked you in the eyes.

you chuckled lightly, still out of breath and sweaty, "now that's stress relief." and before he could grab you for a kiss you said, "clean me up first, lance!" and then laughed loudly.

"doesn't look too bad." lance said as he stood beside you as you pulled away from the wall. he wrapped his arm around you and looked down at you, "going to try for your master's next?"

"ugh, let me think about it." you chuckled before you leaned in to kiss him on the lips. he held you close as you both looked at the diploma on the wall. you then said, "just need a wdc on the shelf next to it to really tie it together."

"i'll work on that." lance said with a small smirk. <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula one smut #f1 smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one #lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll smut #lance stroll #ls18 #ls18 x reader #ls18 smut

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ilikerafayelwaytoomuch · 1 month ago

Text

Help me learn?

Best friend! Rafayel x inexperienced! Reader

After getting stood up on another date, you find comfort in your best friend Rafayel. But what happens when he offers to give your first kiss?

Warnings/tags: little angst, both reader and Rafayel being a lil dumb, some fluff, smut, p in v, first time reader, blowjob, fingering, use of vibrator, I think that's all?? Not proofread so sorry if there's any mistakes, I'll proof later. Around 7k words 😵‍💫

A/n: haven't written smut in a long time and I may have gone a lil overboard...but I just love this trope and Raffie 😭

Walking through the door of Rafayel's apartment, I sighed, throwing my bag to the ground. “Another dud?” He asked, turning to look at me from the couch. I sighed again.

“Yep. This one didn't even bother to show up,” I informed him. He sighed as well.

“You need better taste in men,” he stated, turning his focus back to the TV. I frowned.

“It's not that bad,” I argued. “I just don't understand how people are able to use dating apps so easily and not get stood up every other date. Am I that unattractive?” I asked, feeling insecure. This was the third date in 2 weeks that had stood me up. The ones that did show up were awful, either their manners inexistent or huge red flags. I hadn't dated at all before this, making my insecurities even more rampant. Was I really hopeless? 25 years without so much of a kiss from someone. I was tired of being alone. Inexperienced. But I refused to just have sex with a random guy I didn't like just to say I've had sex. That was proving harder than I thought though.

“Come sit,” Rafayel patted the seat next to him and I walked over and sat down, resting my head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around my back. “You're not unattractive, quite the opposite really. These guys are just stupid.”

“You have to say that. You're my best friend,” I argued.

“I really don't have to say it. I say it because I mean it. Besides I literally tell you when your outfit is atrocious, why would I lie to you?” he teased.

“Because saying a piece of clothing looks bad on me is very different than telling me I'm ugly. I just don't understand Raf. I try to be nice and do everything right. I'm fucking 25 and never been kissed for gods sake. I can't even get someone to kiss me, so therefore I must be pretty fucking repulsive,” I sniffed. I felt tears approaching and cursed myself for crying over something so dumb. These men didn't even deserve to be kissed, yet they showed no signs of being attracted to me at all. No one ever did. “Is that the problem? No one wants to kiss me because I've never kissed someone? Wouldn't someone like that in some sick weird perverted way? Yet still nothing,” I lamented, tears falling now. “I just feel so fucking stupid. I feel like I should just give up and be alone forever. Live and die a virgin.” Rafayel rested his head on mine with a sigh.

“I know you won't believe me, but I promise you, you're gorgeous. These guys are really missing out on an incredible woman. You're so kind, caring, fun and so very pretty. It's easy for me to tell you to not place your worth in worthless guys, because it feels worse to be where you are. But try not to? I know one day you'll find someone worth it,” he comforted me. I nodded. His words helped some, but I still felt incredibly insecure. He wiped my tears with his sleeve and moved slightly to grab the remote, wordlessly putting on my favorite show. I stayed next to him for a few episodes, letting his presence comfort me. I wished that I could meet someone like him who cared about me. But all I got was shitty guys. And still no experience. I felt like I was missing out on a big part of life. And that sucked. “Can I stay the night?” I asked him between episodes.

“Of course you can. I'd be happy to binge watch this with you all night and the tub of ice cream sitting in my freezer,” he smiled. I nodded.

“I'm gonna go wash up then,” I decided.

“Sure. You know where everything is already.” I got up and headed to his bathroom connected to his room. I stopped by his closet to see if I had some clothes left here. I somehow didn't, even though I could have sworn I left some sweatpants here last time I crashed at his place. I had been stood up again, but had decided to drink away my sorrows. Rafayel had picked me up and brought me here to sleep.

Instead, I found one of his shirts to sleep in and a pair of his sweats. They'd be big on me, but that was fine. I got into his shower, taking my time to wash up, using all of his fancy expensive products. Rafayel was very particular about his hair and skin care, always buying expensive products. I couldn't say the same for myself, so taking a shower at his place was like a little treat. Once out of the shower I followed up with more of his products, because how could I not. Once I was clean and cosy, I headed back out to his living room, joining him on the couch. For a moment I thought I caught him staring at me, eyes roaming my body and checking me out. I brushed it off, knowing it wasn't possible. He handed me a spoon and opened up the tub of ice cream, setting it between us and beginning to play the next episode of the show.

It was comfortable. Sitting next to him, eating ice cream, wearing his clothes and watching a comfort show. The pains of being stood up had eased some, my mind being distracted. It was always comfortable with Rafayel. He never judged me for my weirdness or crying over stupid things. In fact, he was just about the only person I ever confided in. He didn't tell me I was weird for not having experience, telling me that it wasn't weird at all and shouldn't make a difference. He was the reason I felt confident enough to try dating. But even with all of this, his next words shocked me. “I could help if you want, you know,” he randomly informed me.

“Help with what?” I asked, unsure what he was talking about.

“Kissing,” he stated as if it was the easiest thing in the world. I almost dropped my spoon, surprised. I didn't know what to think or feel. “I just mean,” he paused, growing insecure himself. “If it'll help you feel better to have kissed someone you know before trying to kiss someone you don't, I can. That way you can say you at least have experience in that,” he glanced at me nervously. “But totally cool if you don't want to, I just thought I'd offer. Actually, now that I'm saying it out loud I don't know why I said that. You wouldn't want to kiss me-”

“Okay,” I interrupted him, surprising myself as well as him.

“What?” He stared at me, surprised.

“I mean yeah, it would help. I know you and I feel safe with you so it wouldn't be as scary to kiss I don't think. It could probably help me feel more confident about things. But I don't want to make things weird or anything,” I explained, thinking out loud. It did make sense. I wanted to experience being kissed by someone I knew, not someone random. It was just a kiss. It didn't have to mean anything. He'd show me how and that would be that. Easy solution. After having kissed someone, I think I'd be less scared of initiating that or more with someone else. “Are you sure?” He breathed.

“Yeah,” I said after a beat of silence, nodding. “You can show me how it's done. You always brag about how every girl says you're the best kisser. So why not learn from the best? It doesn't have to mean anything…”

“Yeah, uh, okay,” he blinked, realizing that I had agreed to what he thought was a wild suggestion. “So, should we just–” he paused and looked at me.

“Well I don't know what to do, that's why you're here,” I laughed.

“Right,” he chuckled. “Here,” he took my spoon from me and set it down along with his spoon and the tub of ice cream on the coffee table. He stared at me expectantly and I tilted my head at him, signaling he was fully in the lead here and I had no idea how to begin. He twisted his body towards me before slowly leaning in. My breath caught in my throat at the distance. I could feel his breath on me, his nose almost touching mine. His head tilted slightly, hesitantly moving closer, before he suddenly stopped and frowned, groaning. “Ugh, at least close your eyes you weirdo,” he whined and I laughed, closing my eyes. I felt him move closer again, anticipation bubbling up in me. His lips gently pressed against mine, capturing them in an unfamiliar sensation. His lips were soft, softer than I would have guessed. He moved them against me, encouraging me to move. I did, hesitantly separating my lips slightly. His slotted between, deepening the kiss. I felt my face heating up, my whole body really. Rafayel's hand gently caught my face, pulling me into him more as our lips danced. My hands shook as I hesitantly reached for him, landing on his thighs. When he felt it, his other hand guided mine to his shoulders, wrapping around him. I scooted closer, wanting more. I gasped as I felt his tongue, teasing and exploring. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. And I wanted more. I felt hot all over, but like I needed to be closer to him. I no longer worried about how I was at kissing, only focusing on how I was feeling. Was kissing always this nice? If it was then I definitely was missing out. I felt like I was suffocating, but made no effort to stop. Rafayel was the one to pull back first, pressing his lips to mine one last time in a quick kiss before resting his forehead on mine. I felt his breath, panting onto mine. I was afraid to open my eyes. Afraid of what I'd see. Insecurity ripped at me once more. Was it awful? Is he repulsed? I peeked open my eyes to see him staring at me with an unfamiliar expression. It was like he was staring into my soul, searching for something or engraving a memory there. He blinked suddenly, backing away. “So yeah, that's uh, how you do that,” he stuttered. He backed away fully and gulped, avoiding my eyes. That scared me more than I thought it would. I took it as a sign that he hated every second, that he'd regretted his decision to offer. I nodded and bit my lip, looking away and praying I wouldn't cry. It felt even stupider to cry over. I sniffled and Rafayel's head shot up to look at me. “Are you crying?” He asked, voice trembling in fear.

“No,” I lied, sniffing again.

“What's wrong? Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?” He asked, concerned. I shook my head, too embarrassed to even explain what I felt. “Talk to me, please? What's going on in there?” He pleaded, worried he had done something wrong. He never wanted to hurt me, and if he had accidentally done something to upset me he wanted to know so he could fix it.

“It's nothing,” I told him, stopping my tears.

“It's not nothing if you're crying. Should I not have kissed you?” He asked softly.

“It's not that,” I muttered.

“Then what is it? Was it so awful and uncomfortable that it made you cry?” He asked, teasing but genuinely worried.

“Are you sure it wasn't awful and uncomfortable for you?” I asked. His eyes widened.

“Are you kidding me? Absolutely not. It was perfect,” he breathed. “Did you think I didn't enjoy it?”

“I mean I don't know. It's not like I know what I'm doing and then you just looked away like I had slapped you,” I admitted.

“You misunderstand. I did enjoy it, maybe more than I should have,” he slowly admitted. I understood what he was saying and was unsure what to say, so I just nodded. We were best friends. Best friends don't just kiss and enjoy it that much, do they? Is that a rule or something? Had we just ruined everything? Surely we could go back to normal after this…. “I'm gonna wash up,” Rafayel decided, disappearing pretty quickly. I sat on his couch, stunned. Worried. Pretty much feeling every emotion you could feel. Maybe it was a bad idea to kiss my best friend. I had just ruined everything. My one friend. I flopped onto the couch, laying down and hugging a pillow. Thoughts swarmed my head, attacking me. I pushed my eyes closed and wished them away, but instead, sleep greeted me.

When I woke up I was confused as to where I was. Then I remembered what had happened. The date that stood me up. Rafayel. The kiss. Oh God the kiss. Could we pretend like it hasn't happened and go back to the way things were? Did I even want that? I was in Rafayel's bed and I knew I hadn't fallen asleep there, so he had to have brought me there. That was a good sign? I sat up and stretched, looking around to see Rafayel was not there. I heard movement outside, likely him making breakfast. It wasn't abnormal. I had spent the night with him before and had eaten breakfast with him. That's all this was. Normal. But why did it feel so scary to face him? He said he liked the kiss, but I had a hard time believing that. Either way, the kiss has changed things. And that scared me the most. I didn't want to lose Rafayel and our friendship. I couldn't lose him. So I decided to pretend I felt normal and that my mind wasn't flooded with confused emotions. “Morning,” I greeted Rafayel entering the kitchen.

“Sleep okay?” He asked, turning to look at me. I nodded.

“Whatcha making?”

“Just some eggs.”

“Perfect, something you can't burn,” I teased.

“Everyone knows the first three pancakes don't turn out,” he argued.

“Mm, but that's the first three. Not most of them burning.”

“It was a new pan!” He pouted. “Apparently I should have made more to show you I can make pancakes just fine without burning them.”

“Next time then,” I chuckled. He shook his head.

“Better watch it or you're not eating.”

“You wouldn't dare,” I gasped.

“Try me,” he sang. I laughed, making him smile. He got a couple plates and handed me one with food on it. We sat and ate as normal. Everything was going pretty normally. Almost too much so. We avoided talking about the night before or really anything even closely related to it. Just talking about surface level things. It felt a bit tense. We were still talking and teasing as usual, but it was different. I prayed it wouldn't last and we'd go back to normal. After we ate, I had to grab my things and head home, having work to get to.

Almost a full week passed and I hadn't heard anything from Rafayel. That wasn't normal. I was terrified. I was worried I'd messed everything up and would lose him. I couldn't lose my best friend, my only friend. He said he liked the kiss, maybe even too much so…what did that even mean? Did he regret it? Regretted it because now he's repulsed even just by my sight? No. That didn't make sense. Maybe he was like me. The kiss unlocked deeper feelings for him than I had realized were there. But I knew he couldn't feel the same, he always went for the exact opposite of me. He was comfortable with his sexuality, with intimacy and things in general. I wasn't. I was too rigid and anxious. He was carefree and moved with the wind. I never gave myself a chance to think of him romantically. But after the kiss, that had changed. Feeling for him had been building up in the box I buried them in. And they wanted out. All I knew was that the silence was killing me. I couldn't lose him. I had texted him and called and heard nothing. So I took matters into my own hands.

I knocked on his door, unfamiliar to me, but it felt better than just walking in as normal. He opened the door, looking disheveled- his hair looked like his hands had ran through it countlessly, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and tank top strap sliding down. “Y/n,” his eyes widened. “Wh-what are you doing here?” He asked, seemingly out of breath.

“You haven't answered me all week-”

“Rafa?” A woman's voice interrupted me and felt like a slap to my face. It was then I put two and two together…his appearance, a woman's voice calling to him…

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I began, voice shaking as emotions took over. “I didn't realize…bye,” I suddenly spoke, turning and leaving without giving him a chance to say anything. Tears pricked at my eyes, beginning to fall as I felt my heart break. Of course he didn't like me. He only said he enjoyed the kiss to make me feel better. I should have known. I should have kept a better lock on my feelings. I went home and broke down, cursing myself for making things even more complicated. But only more complicated for myself. Rafayel probably couldn't even stand the thought of me. I should have gotten the hint when he didn't say anything for a week. I had messed everything up.

I woke up to pounding at my door. I had fallen asleep crying last night, heartbroken. Not bothering to change out of my PJs, I got up to answer the door. My eyes widened when I was met with Rafayel. I said nothing, not even knowing what to say after interrupting him yesterday. “Can we talk?” He breathed, looking unsure. I nodded and let him in. We sat on my couch, saying nothing. I didn't know what to say. I was heartbroken over someone who was never mine. My emotions and feelings were all over the place. I didn't know how to feel. “I'm sorry about yesterday,” Rafayel broke the silence.

“You don't need to be sorry. I'm the one who interrupted you and your company,” I muttered.

“Not that, well yes that. I'm sorry I'm such an asshole. That I did that to you,” he breathed.

“I really don't know what you're talking about Rafayel,” I admitted. He nodded and took a breath.

“Last week, when I offered to kiss you,” he began. “I did that because I liked you, because I like you. I didn't really mean to say it, but then you agreed and I felt like I had won the lottery. I was going to kiss the girl of my dreams. But then, after, I realized I had messed up. You're my best friend. Like you said, the kiss didn't mean anything. I panicked and worried I had messed up. I tried to tell myself the kiss meant nothing, that what I had felt wasn't that. I tried to get over it, over you, but I can't. It doesn't matter who I see or what I do, all I can think about is you. How your lips felt against mine. How if you were mine I'd get to kiss you whenever I wanted. How you mean everything to me, but I was too afraid to say anything because you were actively dating other people. Actively looking for someone that wasn't me. I thought I was okay with just being friends, that I could get over you, but I can't. It wasn't right of me to do what I did with her yesterday, wasn't right to you or her. And for that I am sorry. It was stupid. But I realized that I can't get over you. No one can replace you, y/n. I want you. I want to be yours. I want to take you on dates and show you how you deserve to be treated unlike all those guys who stood you up. I want to experience your firsts with you. I know it's messed up to say as I'm clearly not a virgin, but thinking about someone else experiencing that with you makes me so jealous. I want you to myself, even though I messed up. I'm sorry.”

“Kinda weird to apologize about being balls deep in another woman last night and then confess to another woman the morning after,” I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He laughed breathlessly.

“To be fair, I didn't actually sleep with her. I couldn't after I saw you. She was rightfully pissed about it,” he admitted.

“I was mostly kidding. I was afraid I had messed everything up. I buried my feelings for you when we first met, thinking I'd never have the chance. I didn't know that those feelings grew in the box I buried until you kissed me and they exploded out. Then I saw you with another woman and I figured I was just an idiot,” I shrugged.

“I'm the idiot. I should have just confessed to you then and there.”

“We both are. I should have brought it up after. Talked about it with you,” I nodded. An awkward silence grew, feelings out in the open. “So, what now?” I asked, unsure.

“I show you how sorry I am?” He smiled. I tilted my head, confused. “Let me take you out tonight for dinner. Take you on a proper date?”

“I'd like that,” I nodded.

“Aaaaaand if you’re so willing we could go back to my place after and I can make it up to you even more, show you how other things are done,” he smirked.

“Don't get too far ahead of yourself,” I chuckled.

“That wasn't a no?” He raised his brow.

“It wasn't a no,” I agreed. He smiled.

“I'll see you tonight then? I'll pick you up around 6?” He asked.

“It's a date,” I agreed. He smiled and nodded.

“But before I go, I have to do this,” he warned, reaching for my chin and kissing me. He sighed when our lips met, pecking my lips once more before looking at me. “Been thinking about that since last week.”

“Me too. Now get out of here I have to get ready for a hot date tonight,” I smiled at him. He laughed and stood, leaving me in my apartment.

The date went well, obviously. Rafayel had showed up with my favorite flowers, dressed nicely. We ate at a restaurant neither of us had been to, but had heard a lot about. It was comfortable. Fun. Somehow, his silliness charmed me as he wiggled his eyebrows and asked if I wanted to go to his place, as I agreed. We were sitting on his couch and I was a bit confused. We had obviously gone back to his place for a reason, we both knew that. Yet Rafayel hadn't made a move. We were just chatting away on his couch. I was getting a bit frustrated. “Rafayel?” I asked suddenly.

“Yes?” He blinked.

“When are you going to make a move?” I asked.

“What?” He stuttered.

“We both know why we're here, unless I misread every single signal in the book. Do you not want to?”

“I do!” He quickly spoke. “I just- are you really sure about this? You want me to be your first?”

“I do. More than anything,” I confirmed, tone serious. He nodded, but still made no effort to move. With everything out in the open once more, I felt a bit more confident. I chuckled before moving to settle on his lap, facing him and pressing my lips to his. Despite my inexperience, Rafayel happily complied, hands resting on my hips and lips moving against mine. The kiss quickly turned more desperate, sending waves of heat to my core. I moved to catch my breath, lowering my lips to his jaw. Rafayel gasped, bit tilted his head back slightly, allowing more room. “Someone's feeling bold now,” he breathed as I moved my lips lower, sucking slightly. His fingers tightened on my hips and I smiled against his skin.

“Just always wanted to try this,” I admitted. “Can I leave a mark?” I asked, a bit embarrassed.

“Anything you want,” he breathed, letting out a small moan as I left a small hickey on his neck. “Fuck, you'll be the death of me.” I smiled at him, sitting up to look at him. His cheeks were flushed and eyes lidded with desire. I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his chest. “Oh? This fast,” he smirked. I pouted and he laughed, helping me take the rest of his shirt off.

It wasn't the first time I had seen Rafayel shirtless, but it felt different this time. I hesitantly touched his stomach and he grabbed my hand, leading it to brush down his torso, starting at his chest. My breathing deepened, Rafayel's intense gaze on me. I eyed him curiously, brushing a finger against his nipple. He gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth. “You,” he breathed, surprised. I smirked at him.

“Figured you'd be all sensitive,” I giggled, feeling more confident and tugging on his nipple now. I continued to play with his chest, squeezing, brushing and flicking to my heart's desires as I watched him wriggle beneath me. His chest rose and fell rapidly, small gasps leaving his throat. He was even more flushed now, redness creeping down his neck. And the best of all, was feeling how hard he was, all because of me. I wanted to try more though. I wanted to hear more from him. Hurriedly, I unbuttoned his pants, trying to push them down. He wasted no time in raising his hips to help me, but stopped me from moving further. “Are you sure you want to?” He breathed, trying to catch his breath. I nodded.

“I do. I probably won't be that good at it, but I wanna make you feel good,” I explained. He nodded as I sunk to the floor in front of the couch, waiting. He groaned at the sight and threw his head back. “I haven't even done anything yet,” I teased.

“You're too gorgeous, I don't know if I can even handle you with my cock in your hands or mouth,” he admitted, making me chuckle. I insistently tugged on the band of his underwear and he listened, taking them off. His cock sprung out, almost resting against his stomach, shining with precum. I stared at the sight. “Nothing?” He asked, looking down at me. I shrugged.

“It's not like I've been this up close and personal with a real dick before,” I rolled my eyes. “It's nicer than I thought. More pretty than pictures, but I also have no idea how that's going to fit.” He chuckled at my honesty.

“Want some guidance for this or you just wanna go for it?” He asked.

“Help for now? I wanna know what you like, what you do when you stroke your cock,” I admitted. His jaw dropped, not expecting the lewd words from my mouth.

“Fuck ok. Give me your hand,” he instructed. He wrapped my hand around his cock, his hand on top to guide me. “Like this,” he demonstrated, moving it up and down and squeezing some. “Don't be afraid to squeeze it more, just have fun and go with it,” he breathed out slowly. I nodded and he removed his hand. I was hesitant at first, moving slowly before deciding to speed up. That was the right move, Rafayel moaning at the pace, his head lulling back. I continued, experimenting as he said to see what he liked. It was not only helpful that Rafayel was vocal, but also incredibly hot. I was burning up, panties sticking uncomfortably to me. Rafayel was whining now, pawing at my shirt. I took it off without hesitating, my lacy bra on full display. He moaned at the sight before throwing his head back. It was then I decided to be even more confident, wrapping my lips around him. He yelped in shock, eyes widening in shock as he looked at me. I smiled at him, humming in content that he was now watching me. “Shit, you like me looking at you like this?” He asked, and I nodded, beginning to bob up and down. His hand gently made its way into my hair, Rafayel using every bit of focus to not thrust into my mouth. “Your tits look so good, fuck. Did you buy that just for me?” He asked, I smiled and nodded, taking him further into my mouth and almost choking. I gagged and Rafayel chuckled. “Careful baby. Take it at your own pace. You can use your hands for the rest,” he suggested. I took his suggestion, using my hands to reach what my mouth couldn't. I found my pace, making Rafayel get louder as he approached his orgasm. I was surprised when he wordlessly pushed my head off of him, his hands reaching down to finish himself off. He cursed as he came, spurts landing on my breasts as I watched him in awe. He had never looked so ethereal, head thrown back as he screamed my name. He recovered almost too quickly, pulling me up onto his lap and kissing me. Before I could ask how I did, he was picking me up and carrying me to his bed, setting me down on it. I gasped as my back bounced against his bed and he dove in immediately, licking up his cum from my chest. I moaned into his touch, the feeling of his tongue on my breasts and the lewd sight of him cleaning me up. “Fuck Raf,” I breathed, chest pounding. He stopped and smiled at me.

“Did so good for me, let me repay you?” He asked. I nodded and he reached behind me to unclasp my bra, my breasts falling. I was insecure about their size and Rafayel somehow knew this. I had complained multiple times about them being too large for certain tops, he always disagreed. He was more than excited to show them the love he believed they deserved, hand immediately groping them. “Told you they're so pretty,” he mumbled, eyes locked onto them in awe as he played with them. He wasted no time in wrapping his lips around my right nipple, making me whine and arch into him. “Gonna convince you to let me see em more, my pretty girls,” he chuckled, suckling harder before switching.

“Raf,” I whined, pulling his hair slightly, my chest beginning to hurt from all the attention. He moaned at the feeling, throwing me off. He froze, burying his face in my chest. “Did you just– are you into that?” I asked curiously, tugging his hair again. His hips jerked into my leg as he softly moaned.

“Don't make fun of me,” he whined, pressing his lips into a kiss between my breasts. He trailed kisses lower and lower, making my breathing deepen as I shuddered. He paused when he reached my pants, looking up at me. “Are you sure you still want this? We can stop at any time,” he asked. I smiled at him.

“I'm sure. I want this. I want you,” I confirmed. He nodded and I felt his fingers frap the top of my pants.

“Then let's get these out of the way, shall we?” He smiled, pulling down my pants in one go. He licked his lips when he saw my panties, lacy and matching my discarded bra. “You're so cute,” he breathed, head dropping onto my stomach. “Gonna have to buy you some more sets so I can see you and worship you in them more,” he sighed, pulling them down as well. I bit my lip and looked away, afraid to see his reaction to me completely bare. He wanted none of that, gently turning my chin towards him in a kiss. “You're perfect,” he told me, looking into my eyes and making sure that I knew he meant it. “I know no one's done this before, just tell me if you feel uncomfortable and I'll stop immediately okay?”

“Okay,” I breathed as I watched him move lower, settling in between my legs. I felt his breath on me as he breathed in my scent before diving in, licking a teasing stripe across my folds. I gasped at the feeling, legs instinctively wanting to close. Rafayel placed an arm across my hips, the other gently holding my thigh so I wouldn't move. He continues to explore, slurping away as if starved as he moaned. I was doing no better myself at staying quiet, hands finding his hair and pulling slightly. When I looked down, I saw his hips rutting into his mattress, his eyes briefly making contact with mine before he smiled and moved his tongue to circle my clit. My hips jerked, held down by his arm.

I yelped in half surprise, half discomfort when I felt one of his fingers enter. “You okay?” Rafayel immediately paused. I nodded. “Just bear with it, I promise you'll feel good soon, but if not, let me know.” I nodded once more and his tongue returned, focusing on my clit. After a moment he experimentally moved his finger, gently thrusting it in. He set a slower pace, eventually adding another. “Raf, I,” I began to panic, tugging his hair up. He stopped once again and looked at me, caressing my face. “Is it too much?” He asked.

“I dont- I don't know,” I managed to get out, feeling unsure.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking for an honest answer in my eyes. I hesitated.

“Not really. I'm just nervous or something, I don't know,” I tried to explain. He nodded in understanding and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“We can stop if it's too much, I promise that's okay. I don't want you to be scared or uncomfortable. Is there anything I can do to help?” He paused. “Have you touched yourself before?”

“Rafayel,” I covered my face, embarrassed. He chuckled and moved my hands.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I only ask because if there's something you know you like and I can do to make you feel better, I want to do that. More clit stimulation? Less? Slower pace?” He rambled.

“I…have,” I winced. “But I don't really prefer my fingers and things,” I whispered, embarrassed. He nodded.

“More of a vibe gal? Does that make it more comfortable?” He asked. I hesitated, still feeling a bit uncomfortable talking about it with him. But he seemed so sincere, it was harder to be completely embarrassed. “It usually helps, yeah,” I admitted.

“Mm wait here, lemme see what I got,” he said before running off, bare ass out disappearing into his bathroom. I furrowed my brows in confusion, laying there in his bed. He returned with a smile, holding a small black bullet vibe in his hand. “Will this do?” He asked me, showing me. My mouth opened and closed. Where the hell did he get a vibrator? Was it his or some random woman's? Did he get it to use on another woman?

“Um, probably, but, whos- where,” I stuttered, unsure what to ask or how to ask it.

“It's mine. Only been used on me too, but I'm willing to share,” he smiled. My eyes widened.

“You?” I began, he cut me off with a laugh.

“Everyone masturbates sweetie. I was curious about what it's do for me so I bought one. Didn't really like it, but I'm glad I kept it because now I can use it on you,” he explained. I blinked but nodded slowly. “Now let's just hope this babys got enough battery,” he said before kissing my nose and lowering once again. I felt the cold tip of the vibrator press against my clit and I instinctively pressed into it. It clicked on and I let out a moan at the feeling, relaxing immediately. I felt Rafayel watching me, looking for any reaction from me. He turned it up another notch at the same time I felt his finger enter me again. My back arched slightly. “Better?” Rafayel asked. I nodded.

“Mmm, yeah,” I admitted. He nodded, beginning to thrust his finger before adding another. He added a third while simultaneously speeding up the vibrator, beginning to move it in small circles on my clit. His fingers began to thrust faster, curling slightly and making me cry out, seeing stars. It was an overwhelming amount of pleasure, coiling up in my stomach. “I'm close,” I warned Rafayel.

“Mm, go ahead and let go for me baby. Let me see you cum,” he lazily encouraged me, continuing his pace with his fingers and vibe. The tight band in my stomach snapped, an orgasm rolling through me. I whined as I came down, the vibrator still on my clit and overstimulating me. Rafayel had mercy and turned it off, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean. I couldn't focus on him, not realizing he had sunk lower until I felt his tongue moving across me, gathering my cum in his mouth as he moaned at the taste. “Raf, it's too much,” I pulled at his hair, dazed.

“You can handle it, love. Can't let it go to waste,” he slurred out, not making an effort to stop anytime soon. He lazily licked up my cum as I squirmed, overstimulation turning into me wanting more. Rafayel finally deemed his job of cleaning me up done, stopping to kiss me once again. I groaned into it, pulling him closer to me. I was exhausted, but I craved more. “Need you,” I breathed out. He nodded, breaking the kiss and grabbing a condom from his bedside table. He seemed drunk, drunk on my taste and me beneath him.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he muttered, slipping the condom on and pulling my legs up and onto his shoulders. I blushed, his eyes bore into mine, biting his lip. “God, you're so beautiful. Can't believe you're in front of me,” he admitted, moving his cock between my folds, but not pushing in. I blushed more at his words, not exactly feeling pretty in the compromising position. He looked down, guiding his cock into my entrance before looking at me for any signs of discomfort. I breathed in sharply at the intrusion and Rafayel was quick to reach over and grab the vibrator, turning it on the lowest setting and pressing it to my clit. “Relax for me baby. Let me in,” he instructed. My body reacted, letting him push into me further. He dropped the vibrator when he was all the way in, both of us moaning at the feeling, the vibrator forgotten and still buzzing to the side. Rafayel breathed heavily, letting me adjust. What once felt like pain began to be pleasure and I needed him to move, my hips grinding up onto him. He groaned, and got the hint, hips slowly moving back, cock almost slipping out before he moved his hips back in. The pace was unbelievably slow for both of us. “Feels so good,” Rafayel muttered.

“So full. I need more,” I told him, pace too slow. He nodded, picking up the pace by thrusting into me faster, still pulling out slow. Rafayel watched me as he moved, jaw dropped in awe when he slammed into me fully, soaking in the feeling when he pulled out. It was addicting. But not enough. I clawed at his arms, begging him to speed up. “I don't know if I can keep it together,” he warned.

“Then don't. Please Rafayel, I can take it. I need more. I need you,” I cried. He nodded and his pace immediately switched, pounding into me as quickly as he could. I cried out, holding onto whatever I could of his. His eyes never left me, watching my face or my body, watching the way everything moved as he pounded into me, watching where we were connected. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the buzzing vibrator and got an idea, reaching for it. He turned it up and pressed it against my clit, the vibration making me scream his name. The vibration was strong enough for him to feel it, his cock being sucked in deliciously while the vibrator added extra stimulation to it. “Fuck, you're taking me so well. I'm not gonna last much longer,” he warned.

“I can't!” I breathed, not even able to form sentences. Rafayel smirked, proud of himself for getting me into this state.

“Cum with me,” he demanded, thrusting a few more times before coming undone, exploding into the condom. I came just as quick, milking him for all he had, squirting slightly on his cock. Rafayel collapsed onto me, wrapping his arms around me. We stayed like that for a while, coming down from our highs and returning to reality. “Oh my God,” I breathed, embarrassed when I realized that I had squirted. “Did I really?”

“Mmm yeah. Didn't think I'd make you feel good enough to squirt on my cock,” he teased. “Gonna set my expectations high.”

“I'm sor-”

“Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for. That was fucking hot. Nothing you did today was bad. You were absolutely perfect. More than perfect. Everything I could have ever wanted and more. So don't apologize,” he cut me off. I nodded. We stayed like that a bit longer, until Rafayel sighed. “We should get cleaned up,” he reasoned but didn't move.

“We should,” I agreed.

“Before that, and I'm totally not saying this just to stay here a bit longer, we should talk?”

“About what?”

“I wanna make sure you had a good time and you felt good. That everything was okay or if there's anything I can do next time?” He asked, kissing my jaw.

“I can assure you that was probably the best I've ever felt. It was perfect. You were perfect. Is there anything I should change or do?” I asked. He shook his head.

“If you having no experience felt like that, I can't wait for more,” he laughed. I laughed with him and he sighed, getting up and pulling out. After disposing of his condom, he picked me up and carried me to his bathroom, placing me on the counter while he ran a bath. Rafayel put me in the bath before getting in behind me, wrapping his arms around me again. He was always clingy, but felt extra clingy now. I was perfectly okay with that. He helped clean me up, noticing I was on the verge of sleep. Once we were done, he helped me out of the bath and info some of his clothes to sleep in. He practically clung to me when he got into his bed after me, holding me closely and pressing a kiss to my neck. “Thank you for trusting me. Sleep well my love,” he whispered.

“Thank you for taking care of me. Sweet dreams fishie.”

#love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #rafayel x reader #lads x reader #rafayel x y/n #rafayel smut

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steviewashere · 9 months ago

Text

I'd Like For You and I To Go Romancing

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None apply Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Sex, Self-Sacrificing Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Love Confessions, Lover Boy Steve Harrington, Sad Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart For @steddieangstyaugust Day 21 Prompt: "Please." Title taken from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" by Queen.

💕——————💕 “Please.”

It’s said to him so quietly, Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. The same way he can’t really see, can’t make out the shapes in the room despite the one light through the window. Maybe it’s the panic in him, while he’s trying to fight his way through tears as he pulls his clothes back on. But the word whispered at his back makes him take pause.

A desperate little word. He wants it to mean something.

Eddie swallows. Quickly, he goes back to shimmying his jeans back on. Hits his rings on the belt buckle currently hanging loose from the loops of his pants.

It’s not that he wants to go, but it’s that he should. He’ll give some lame excuse later. Something about Wayne needing him back home—despite it being late at night, despite the fact that everybody knows Wayne works the nightshifts. He’ll say it’s because he gets anxious sleeping in other people’s beds. That he even wets the bed sometimes, even if he stopped doing that more than a decade ago. Gets nightmares so violent and lurching, he’s afraid he’ll hurt somebody. He could say that he actually hates sleeping with another person in his bed.

Despite everything in him screaming that he needs it. Because he’s a lonely, lonely person. And always wanted somebody there, needed them so close they could almost climb inside his ribs.

But he fastens the buckle of his belt and continues on with finding his t-shirt.

“Please,” whispered again, so singular, yet so drawn out, and so heartbreaking. The word pierces through Eddie’s back, kills his heart on impact, and exits his chest in one clean pass. It makes him stop searching again. “Don’t go. You don’t have to go.”

Oh, but I do, Eddie thinks, because if I let this go on any longer than it already has, I’ll have to admit how much I love you. And if I admit it and you say nothing in response, I’ll implode right on the spot. I’m saving myself. I’m saving you.

He sniffs. Grabs a random t-shirt from the bedroom floor and begins to pull it over his heavy head of curls. It’s not his shirt, he comes to find, but isn’t surprised. It’s loose on his chest, but tight on his biceps. The shirt is lightly worn. Smells like amber, like cinnamon and vanilla. Not his cologne. Not like cigarettes or marijuana or citrus-bergamot from his Irish Spring. Eddie plucks at the fabric, pulls it farther away from the skin of his chest, where his heart—resuscitated—tries to kiss the shirt with every beat.

If he doesn’t get out of here, he’ll do something stupid like break down into tears. If he doesn’t get out of here, he won’t save face. And if he doesn’t get out of here, he can’t move on.

A pleading, “Eds, please,” hits him. “Please don’t go. Don’t do this to me, too. Please, baby, come on.” Then, the bed behind him shifts. And there’s warmth on his back. A gentle brush of lips to his neck.

Steve wasn’t as sleepy as Eddie thought. Go figure.

“I…I gotta go, Steve,” Eddie states quietly, “I checked my watch. Gotta be home for Wayne, y’know?” He remains as still as he possibly can. Because Steve can read him, he’s come to find. He’ll know that Eddie’s lying if he shifts from foot-to-foot even an inch.

“He’s not home right now,” Steve immediately points out, “it’s dark out. And it’s a weekday, he’s working.”

Eddie swallows again. “I just have to go, Steve.” He doesn’t face him, doesn’t think he could. Doesn’t move, also doesn’t think he could. Just hopes, beyond all else, that Steve will just accept that and go back to bed and forget this night ever happened. That he ever touched Eddie that way. That he ever let himself get involved with a person like Eddie—not because he’s a freak and not because he’s in a different tax bracket, not that he’s above Steve, not that he’s below Steve…because he’s just him.

He hears Steve heave a deep breath.

Then, soft and tiny, “I was going to make you breakfast,” Steve says, “but this doesn’t have to…we can forget this happened if that’s what you want to do.”

“I…Steve”—

“It’ll be hard for me to let go, but I can try.” That makes Eddie turn to Steve. To see him. His limp, sweaty hair and the fact he’s only wearing boxers. The downcast eyes and twisting, nervous hands in front of him. “You’re not the first, so I’ll be fine.”

Eddie’s stomach churns and his palms sweat and he swears that his heart is the loudest thing in this room—screeching and beating and crashing straight out of him. But he brings himself to meet Steve’s volume, to ask, “What do you want, Steve?”

“I want you to stay,” Steve immediately responds, “I want you to stay in bed with me. And…and I’ll wake up first and maybe I’ll find out that you drool in your sleep and then I’ll brush back a stray strand of your hair and I want to get up and make you breakfast and then you’ll be over the moon when I hand you a cup of coffee and it’s made the exact way you love it and then we can…we can…you can…”

He blinks. Blinks again. Harder the third time. “You can…?” Eddie prompts.

“You can find somebody worth loving out of me,” Steve timidly answers, “because I already love you.”

Unable to hold himself back anymore, he takes the few steps forward to put him face to face with Steve. And, in a moment of bravery, holds Steve’s head between his hands and kisses him. Soft and exploratory. Then, passionate and disbelieving. And another, for good measure, that’s in the shape of all the words he wants to say.

“You want that with me,” Eddie states, though it sounds more like a question. Steve nods anyway. “With me. Wow. I…I wish I was better at this part, at saying the good shit. But I do love you, Steve. I’ve been in love with you since we started this whole thing between us but I…I’ve never had something like this and it terrifies me the way you’ve nestled your way into my brain.” He runs his thumbs under Steve’s eyes, catching tears he won’t acknowledge, because he’s sure he’d start crying, too.

“Do you still have to go?” Steve asks quietly, small in a way that’s unlike him. “I don’t want to keep you here if you don’t want to be”—

“I’ll stay, Steve. I’m sorry that I…I’ll stay, I promise. Let me just—let me get dressed down again and I’ll make all this up to you, swear it.” He’s jittering out of his skin; he wants to run laps through the whole house, wants to climb the walls, scream if he has to. But, in a way that’s unlike him, he continues to cradle Steve’s face in his palms and with languid, thoughtful movements, he kisses Steve between his eyebrows, under his eyes, the tip of his nose, and again on his mouth. “I’ll stay as long as you want me,” Eddie promises, “you won’t have to worry about somebody leaving ever again.”

Steve smiles sticky sweet and soft like a stack of pancakes. “Good,” he whispers, “because I never want to let you go.”

💕——————💕

#steddieangstyaugust #stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending

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richardsgraysons · 1 year ago

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Heyyy…. May i request a wife reader x dick grayson… she is mad at him and is giving him a silent treatment, but he is so done with this that he starts annoying her by saying Mrs. Grayson after every sentense and closing tightly lids

anon this is so adorable. i am going feral. also i am so severely sorry for my IA-ness.

tags — just overall fluff. some light swearing

In hindsight, you should've known that this would entail not just dating, but also marrying a vigilante. How could someone blame you, anyways? You were sitting at home, about to go to bed, when Nightwing crashed into your apartment after being chucked across the city by some villain or the other.

He had a major concussion. You didn't know how to treat thrown vigilantes who definitely had a couple of broken ribs and a torn ACL.

What you did know was how to comfort a man who was clearly in pain, who was trying to stifle his screams, because let's face it, the vigilante life should clearly not be glamorized.

He felt bad for the wreckage in your apartment. Every week, there'd be thousands of dollars at your doorstep from him, ready to pay it off. He had to be rich. There was no way he was giving your entire salary in four months and a half.

Eventually, you figured out his secret identity. And instead of being angry about it, Dick Grayson felt awfully in love with a girl who was as intelligent as he hoped she'd be. Sure she wasn't a supermodel, but she made him laugh. She made him think. She wasn't easy to get along with at times, but she made him better.

Three years later, he put a ring on it.

"I told you," you snapped, "you just keep going in stupid situations, and normally, I wouldn't mind, but it's like you refuse my help or anyone else's."

Dick knew he had a really bad hero complex. He couldn't stand anyone else getting hurt because of his issues. "I can handle it," he responded. "And isn't it just annoying that you've been mad at me for the past two days? Can't you just give it a rest?"

"I'll give it a rest when you start accepting help from others," you responded, your brows furrowing. "God, you're so—you're so—ugh!"

Dick rolled his eyes and then smirked at you, that stupid boyish smirk that made your heart tingle and everything else disappear. "I'm so what, sweetheart? What am I, Mrs. Grayson?"

You glared at him. "Dick!" You huffed, both saying his name and the insult. "That's it. I want a cooling down period. Leave me and the kitchen alone!"

He grinned, looking back at you, a mischievous glance in his eye. "Oh, I will, Mrs. Grayson. I will."

* * *

Making dinner was one of your forms of therapy. Dick was starting to go out for patrol, much to your distaste, no doubt about to pick a fight with someone who would give him considerable damage.

You didn't want him to go, you wanted to keep him here and kiss him forever, but he would leave anyways. It's my moral duty to the people of Bludhaven to keep them safe, he had said to you one night. I could never bring it to myself to disappoint these people. To make them unsafe. I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure people are as safe as can be.

And though you really disliked it, you knew that was one of the core reasons why you were so undoubtedly in love with him.

You turned around to grab the jar of pickles, still steaming from the fight, only to find that it was incredibly hard to open.

"What. The. Hell?" You hissed. You had opened it up just a day ago, and put it easily back, making sure it wasn't that hard.

Your face turned red and you looked at it again before trying to open it up, straining and groaning, only for your muscles to give out. There was only one explanation for this.

Your stupid, lovable, husband.

And after a few minutes of recollecting your pride, you stomped over to your bedroom where he was dressing. He was in the midst of putting the top half of his suit on, and your mouth turned a little dry when you saw him shirtless.

You were pretty sure that when the first time you saw him shirtless, literal heart eyes came out of your eyes. You gawked for a couple of seconds, admiring the contour of his muscles, only for him to turn around and smirk at you.

He knew what you were doing. Dammit.

"Hi, Mrs. Grayson," he teased. "Enjoying the view?"

"Shut up," you snapped, and held out the jar. "Open this up right now and stop screwing with my jars."

He smirked at you. "What's the magic word?"

"The magic word is 'I will beat you up if you don't open the jar up right now'," you responded, glaring at him. "Now. Open."

He laughed, tossing his head back, his voice echoing off the room before taking the jar. You watched intently as his triceps flexed when he opened the jar up with ease and returned it back.

"Thank you," you said, your voice having an edge to it. You were about to turn around before he grabbed you by the arm.

"What, no good luck kiss?" Dick asked huskily in your ear. It sent shivers down your spine.

"Even if I give you one, you'll still end up badly injured."

"C'mon," he murmured, planting a light kiss on your neck, his hands dancing on your waist. He squeezed your sides slightly. "I always fight better when my girl kisses me."

You looked up at him and snorted. "In your dreams," you responded, but he took this moment to crash his lips against you. You felt dizzy and couldn't help but to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

When the both of you stopped, he laughed, looking at you breathless, his blue eyes twinkling in the night sky.

"Knew you couldn't be mad at me for that long, Mrs. Grayson."

"Shut up," you grumbled, punching his shoulder lightly. "Go save Bludhaven, Boy Wonder."

He stepped out the window and then turned back at him, smirking. "You know I am, sweetheart. And when I come back, I'm gonna finish what I started."

#dick grayson #dcu #dick grayson x reader #dc comics #nightwing #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you

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macabr3-barbi3 · 2 months ago

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My wonderful Barbie,

My sister from another mister. How did I live life without your funny, witty, lovely presence in it? Our friendship is something I will treasure until I go to hell myself, and if I'm the first of us to go I'll get a dinky lil apartment and will wait for you to join me so we can rock eternal damnation together!

This donation is in your honor.

It's with no strings attached, just one of the ways I can try to show you how much I love you. If you wish though - You know that I would love to see you write a Vox or Alastor piece that makes the toes curl and the heart flutter.

❤️

first, please know that I have been sitting on this fic for literally MONTHS trying to get it done for a special occasion for you and never finding the fight inspiration to finish it. FINALLY I found the rest of the story and I am so happy to be sharing it in response to this beautiful ask, for a beautiful cause, from a beautiful friend ❤️

This is one of two fics that I am posting in your honor today to count notes for the final bits of the International Women's Day event and I hope everyone enjoys!

Another reminder (sorry I'm a broken record lol) that I'll personally be donating $3 for every 15 notes that the fics with this banner are receiving 💗find fic #1 (RadioStatic breeding kink fic) here and fic #2 (innocent Alastor x Reader) here! I'll stop counting around 12PM EST tomorrow so we can get our final tallys in.

Get more information about the event and future ones by following us on Tumblr @hellsgreatestevents and Bluesky!

Without any further ado, a casual not-quite-request from my darling from like July of 2024: promiscuous!reader x Alastor who thinks they have 0 attraction to him despite flirting/sleeping with literally ANYONE else

Tags: promiscuous fem reader; non sex-repulsed Alastor; possessive Alastor; fingering; handjob; 'It's just biology' logic lol

It shouldn’t bother him the way that it does.

Oh, it does.

Alastor watches you from the shadows of the hotel from the moment that you arrive- another deer, he supposes it’s mere instinct to keep an eye on you, some herd mentality that makes his eyes trail your form as you pass from one room to another, makes his ears twitch in tandem when yours flatten or stiffen in response to something. (He’s never reacted similarly to any other cervine Sinner in Hell, but it’s a comforting logic to cling to.) He sends his shadow to monitor you one time only when he catches a scent of distress coming from your bedroom, only for the blasted thing to tell him you were engaged in ‘personal matters’ that made his mind race and his normally dormant lower half twitch with interest. He throws up wards around your room to keep your scent and sounds contained, and assumes that will be the end of it.

It’s only the beginning- as soon as you acclimate to the Hotel, to Hell as a whole, the string of lovers begins. You would bring them to the hotel late in the day and send them off early the next morning; an assortment of men and women, sinners and succubi and Hellhounds, he’s even sure he may have seen an Overlord make an appearance, though no one of any real importance. Charlie and Vaggie finally catch wind of it, and politely ask that you stop bringing your parade of paramours to the doors of the Hotel; you agree to it, Alastor listening from the shadows around the corner, silently pleased that your brazen flaunting of your sexuality will be forced to come to an end.

Except… it doesn’t. You come home some nights smelling of cheap perfume and rancid cologne and what Alastor can only assume is bodily fluids before excusing yourself to your bedroom and emerging later smelling like yourself again- he can smell it on you, see the signs of your amorous hobbies, and no one else seems to notice or care, besides Angel Dust asking on occasion, “You look well taken care of, toots; who’s the lucky individual?”

Laughing when you respond, “who isn’t?” Like you were sharing your body with simply anyone.

It would be one thing if that was all he was subject to. But aside from your more promiscuous activities, you also rivaled the spider demon in terms of flirting and innuendo! At breakfast or lunch with the rest of the Hotel occupants, you would let suggestive comments fly across the table or lobby to everyone- winking at Angel as you swirled your tongue around an ice cream cone; dropping your voice to a lower register when leaning across the bar to ask Husk for a drink; ‘jokingly’ asking the Princess and Vaggie if they were looking for another participant when they mentioned going to bed one night. You weren’t as persistent or forward as the spider used to be- when Vaggie had growled in response to your question you had immediately backed off and apologized profusely- but you were very generous with your compliments and comments with everyone in the Hotel, even Niffty, going so far as to make a pass at Lucifer himself one night that he joined the group.

That, at least, had been entertaining- watching the King seem to choke on his own tongue as he flushed and tried to stammer out a response to your invitation to your bedroom, away from the ears of his daughter.

But your attention was never turned to him.

You never turned shy or demure like one would expect, but you made no pass at Alastor. No innuendos or offers like you made to the others, like you clearly made to the seemingly never ending stream of creatures and sinners that you warmed the sheets of. You chatted with him and laughed and spoke about music and literature but you never complimented him or invited him to your room as he had seen you do with countless others. And normally he wouldn’t care in the slightest- normally he would prefer it this way. When he thinks of the comments he got from the porn star that were always dismissed, the fumbled passes that Vox had made at him during their partnership that had never interested him in the slightest, the various offers and invitations that he had received over the years since arriving in Hell, he feels nothing.

You, though…

Perhaps it's the nature of his sinner form; the buck in him distraught at the idea that such a pretty, fertile doe didn’t think he was acceptable as a sexual partner when you would take on anyone else, and do so blatantly, right in front of him. But the thought of it keeps him up at night, his trousers tight and his antlers large and itchy, scratching at the bark of the trees in his bayou when he risks dropping his wards around your bedroom one night and smells that same scent from before, what he had thought was distress and could now recognize as being arousal. He refuses to lower himself as far as touching his straining erection, but the fact of you not wanting him eats him alive.

To his credit, he resists for a decent amount of time. Alastor lets the thoughts stew and thinks of you- what you’re doing with others, the ways they might be touching you, the sounds you might be making during it. He doesn’t allow himself to follow you when you step out in the evenings, keeps his shadow close to his side when you leave and come back smelling of sex.

A man can only have so much self control.

He’s down in the kitchen late in the evening when the light switches on, and your soft gasp of surprise graces his ears. When he looks over at you he wishes you had kept the lights off- you stand there in a mere slip of a nightgown, black and silky and clinging to the lines of your body like a second skin. Indecent. Alluring. Far, far too tempting, and he keeps his distance across the room, willing his antlers to stay as they are and not branch out to crowd the space at the close proximity to a potential mate.

He feels an eyebrow quirk up at that- mate was new, the word dangerous as it curls through his brain while he watches you, ears dropped low against your head and a blush tinting your face.

“Good evening, dear,” he says cordially, and resumes his earlier actions of making an evening cup of tea- like everything is normal, like the mere presence of you isn’t sending blood rushing through his body.

You seem to breathe a sigh of relief before fully coming into the room, wrapping your arms around yourself, the motion pushing the mounds of your breasts up ever so slightly. He forces himself to look away, to stay busy as you approach and stand next to him. “Hi, Alastor. Think I could get one of those?” You gesture to the mug he holds in his hands.

“Why, of course! Allow me to-”

When your arm drops back down he catches the scent on the air that you displace- Frustration. Arousal. There’s a second of silence before the glass he holds drops to the floor as he abandons all notion of tea in favor of reaching for you, tugging you closer so that you’re fitted against his body, tucked under his chin as he drops it down to sniff at your hair, one hand clasped around your bicep and the other coming around the back to hold you to him.

You make an alarmed squeak but don’t pull away, tilting your head up to try and look at him. The noise you make is inquisitive but not scared as he turns the pair of you, pins you between his chest and the counter and just breathes in the intoxicating cocktail of scent that you give off. He recognizes that he’s overstepping his boundaries- his mother would skin his hide if she was anywhere near Hell and knew he was behaving in such a manner- but he’s held out admirably long, and the need to know why, why, why was beating insistently at his thoughts. And after this, who knew if you would ever let him so close to you again? If you would even stay in the Hotel? The mere idea of you being anywhere else, away from his watchful eye and protection, makes his antlers ache.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs into your scalp, as eager to explain his actions away as he was to get answers from you even if he can’t bring himself to release you yet. “It’s a… biological impulse, I presume, because of our-”

“Because we’re deer?” You ask softly, the whisper of your breath tickling the skin of his chest where it pokes out of his shirt, and his erection aches where it suddenly strains against his trousers. He angles his hips back subtly, resists the urge to shove forward instead.

“Right. I’m afraid I- I was not thinking, and not myself.” He feels a flush take over his face, glad that you can’t see it where you’re held against him. “I believe if I can just- take in your scent for a moment, that should appease the instinct.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but you hum into his shirt and stay put, so he assumes it’s a passable excuse.

You stand there quietly with him for a moment before the traitorous words bubble out of his throat against his will, the curiosity overriding his logic. “Why do you show no interest in me like you do the others?”

You stiffen in his hold- and even at this sign of alarm he can’t bring himself to release you. “I don’t- I’m not sure what you mean, Alastor,” you stammer, but he can smell it on you, the nerves, the anxiety in the phrase.

“It’s not my intention to scare you- nor corner you like this,” he adds, nodding down at his arms that cage you against the counter. “Merely a curiosity, and unfortunate coincidence. You offer your compliments freely, you make advances, you have an endless stream of lovers, and yet you have never directed such attention my way. Even Niffty has been at the receiving end of your flirting, albeit in a joking manner.” You’re silent in his arms, muscles tense and face turned away from him, and he keeps his hands where they are instead of doing something stupid like brushing his fingers against your cheek and turning you to face him. “Have I offended you in some manner? Do you simply not find me to be appealing?”

“No!” Your eyes are wide when you meet his again, a sweet blush to your face as you deny. “No, I mean, you’re fine, you haven’t done anything wrong- and you’re hot, so that’s not- fuck. Fuck. It’s really nothing, Alastor-”

And there it was again- that scent that you carried with you, pheromones that broadcasted to him as clearly as a radio that you were aroused, a tinge of embarrassment tinting it now instead of the frustration from earlier and it’s simply not enough. He drops his face to your shoulder, ignoring your soft squeak of alarm in favor of inhaling deeply at the curve of your neck where it’s the strongest that he can reach. It’s heady and thick, almost feeling like it’s coating his airways as it travels through his body, cock leaking inside his trousers now. “Doesn’t smell like nothing,” he murmurs absently, and your hands come up from where they’ve been gripping the counter to fist into his shirt. An explanation, he tells himself as he meets your eyes again, dilated and wide. That’s all I need. That will sate this feeling. That will return me to normal. That will-

He’s taken off guard by your dragging him down to meet your lips, more a clash of teeth than anything else before you get the angle right, surprising him with your tongue against his teeth as you try to lick into his mouth. His noise of surprise is muffled into the kiss, and it gives you the opportunity you need to get your tongue in his mouth, stroke with the slick muscle along his own. The action makes his hips jolt forward, erection finally pressed against the warmth of your body for a blissful moment before he remembers himself and angles away again.

He tries to, anyway. Your hands leave his shirt to tug at his belt loops, bringing his hips back into alignment with yours and causing a moan to vibrate from your mouth and into his as you clumsily try to grind into him.

Alastor releases you- only for a moment, only to reposition his hands so he can hold you even closer, shift you up onto the counter to press harder against you so he can finally satisfy the instinctive craving that had been plaguing him for months- and before he can do anything further you tear away with a gasp, letting go of his hips to push at his chest and try to put distance between the two of you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, and were it not for the note of panic that now taints your delicious scent he would tease you for the calling of a being so far removed from Hell when he manages to settle his hands on your body again. “Fuck, I didn’t mean- I’m so sorry, Alastor, I wasn’t thinking,” and through your stammering your face is darkening, ears laid flat against your head.

One can only guess what sort of foolish things you’re telling yourself- that he didn’t want this, that you shouldn’t have kissed him, that this would surely result in some kind of disaster. What he was more focused on was the huff of your breath against his chest, the thrum of your heartbeat under his fingertips, the twitch of your ears. The heat of your body pressed against his as you had attempted to grind down, such an obvious display of your attraction to him that he knows he needs to cease your rampant overthinking before you do something terrible, like flee from him.

“My dear,” he says softly, and your eyes dart up, wide, trembling like your fingers against his chest. Much more like a frightened bird than the doe you were. “If you explain your hesitation, we can sort out any confusion that might linger between us, and get back to the more important matters at hand.” He brings a hand up from your hip to trace along the curve of your jaw, and the exhale that escapes you is hot against his wrist when he pulls you back against him. “Tell me your concerns.”

“You don’t actually want this,” you stutter out, your tongue darting out to wet your dry lips, and it’s all he can do not to reclaim your mouth. “It’s- you’re only reacting like this because we’re both deer, you wouldn’t normally-”

“Do you think,” he interrupts with a roll of his hips into you, “that you are the first deer demon I’ve ever come across in all my years in Hell?”

Your eyes widen. “You- but you just said-”

“Yes, in an effort to spare myself the embarrassment of clinging to a young lady that I thought had no interest in me.” He places his hands on your waist and lifts you with little effort to rest on the edge of the counter so he can step fully between your legs. “It seems that may not be the case.”

You whimper, low and broken as his thumb brushes the skin of your thighs. “It’s not,” you confess. “I’ve… it wasn’t the whole time. I mean, I like sex with other people but lately its been- killing me, wanting you. I didn’t think you would want anything.”

“You thought wrong.” He slides his hands under your nightgown, the feeling of your bare skin under his hands igniting the heat within him anew. “I want everything from you.” He clasps you to his body and grinds, his erection dragging deliciously against the soaked warmth between your legs. “You were touching yourself just moments before you entered the kitchen, weren’t you? You couldn’t reach satisfaction; that’s why you smell of frustration, or arousal. Your scent has been driving me mad, these… lovers you’ve been with have been intolerable.”

He can feel the swollen nub of your clit through your panties, wet with slick from your time spent pleasuring yourself and unable to find release. He can almost feel the folds of you molding to his shape, parting with ease to invite him in if he so wished.

He wouldn’t take you here. Alastor had craved you for too long to be satisfied with a fumbling romp in the kitchen in the dead of night- he was a gentleman, and would take you to bed and whisper the words of praise that you were so deserving of as he entered you for the first time. He would ensure that the evening was beautiful and worthy of how long you both had waited, unknowing of how easy it all could have been.

For now, though, you were both vibrating with the tension of months of pent up frustration, and he wouldn’t make you wait any longer, his own release be damned. He would show you that none of the others you had bedded were any sort of viable substitution for him.

He asks, “may I?” As he teases his fingers along the waist of your panties, and your breathy agreement is music to his ears as he simply vanishes them away and slips his fingers into your core. You’re wet for him, the smell of your arousal overwhelming now that you’re bare before him, open for his touch, and while he has little experience in this area he’s able to read the tremble of your body in his arms well enough, the whimpers and gasps that you let out into his ears. He searches, fingers gentle in their exploration as he aches in his slacks, grinding against the counter with what little leverage he has and watching your face for any sign of discomfort. He finds the answer to his questioning touch in a pliable spot of flesh that he crooks his fingers against, and your body trembles in his arms. He hardly needs your frantic whisper of “yes, there, please,” but the feedback is encouraging anyway as he presses hard, withdrawing and adding another finger at the encouraging thrust of your hips.

He wishes he could taste you, knows that you would be just as sweet on his tongue as you felt clenched around his digits. You’re both too wound for that now, as he would want to take his time in savoring you, and so he settles for letting you come undone around his fingers. He finds a promising angle by pushing up on the tips of his hooves, and that gives him the angle he needs to rut into your thigh, hot as the rest of your body and deliciously firm against his cock. Your cunt weeps with arousal, and he swipes his thumb through it for an effortless glide against your clit as he rocks his fingers in a steady rhythm.

“Please,” you whisper, and there’s a hand shoved against his belt buckle, clawing at the clasp in the little space that exists between your bodies. “I want to touch you- please, can I?” Your eyes are wet with pleasure, every inch of your visible skin flushed and your request sweet as honey in the air as you wait for his approval. He nods, and his head drops to your shoulder with a defeated groan at the first touch of your hands to his bare erection.

Your grip is firm, hot- experienced, he thinks with a distant throb of jealousy knowing how many others you had been with to have gained such knowledge. How many others had held you against a counter or wall like this with some part of their body inside of you, your delicate hand touching them in return? What was the exact number of Sinners he would have to hunt down that became familiar with the flavor of your moans before he had been given the chance to sample you?

“Fuck, Alastor,” you cry out, and he grins sharp and dangerous into the crook of your neck at the realization that none of your previous lovers mattered now- all that existed to you in this moment was him, his fingers buried in the tight clench of your body, his cock leaking in your hand, his name on your soft lips. You were pliant and warm and perfect, and he would ensure that you never needed anyone else to satisfy you for the rest of your afterlife.

His orgasm catches him nearly by surprise, hips jerking as he spills hard and messy over your fingers. His voice catches on a desperate moan of your name, and somehow this- staticky and rough and broken- is what takes you over the edge as well, your inner walls fluttering hard around his fingers and even more slick gushing from you to coat him in the evidence of your satisfaction.

You take a moment to simply breathe, bringing a hand up to rest on his shoulder before you start laughing.

Alastor is almost offended, but when he pulls back from your shoulder your smile is fond and pleased. “To think we could have been doing this all along,” you tease, and run your thumb through the mess of his orgasm and lightly against his tip before withdrawing from his pants. You roll your hips against his fingers as he pulls them from you, and the small action is enough to have his spent cock twitching once again.

“Not all along,” he says, bringing his fingers up to inspect, delighting in your renewed blush when he pops one into his mouth for a taste and is rewarded with it being every bit as delicious as he had hoped. “I’m sure with your expertise we would have graduated to more adventurous endeavors by now.”

“My expertise?” You feign offense, your tone exaggerated and your smile genuine as you look up at him. “Why, Alastor, are you implying I’m some sort of tart?”

His eyes are dark as he growls, “not anymore, you aren’t,” and scoops you into his arms to retreat to his bedroom with the ghost of your laughter echoing in the kitchen when you’re gone.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #hellsgreatestinternationalwomensday #hgiwd2025 #lilith fund #hazbin hotel fanfiction #helluvacommunity #FanCreatorsForACause #alastor x reader #alastor smut #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #my stuff <3 #ily frau <3

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crowsofdarkness · 4 months ago

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Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Two

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

The winter air of New York brushed past me as I quickly entered the office, shaking off the cold and snow from my hair. The weekend had come to an end, a lonely and quiet weekend, so I was glad to be back at work. As I closed the distance between the front door and my desk, I was shocked when my eyes landed on the figure sitting in my chair.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were taking over my job today. I could have stayed home in my warm bed,” I joked.

Bucky smiled. “My job is one thing but there’s no way I could do what you do.”

I hung up my jacket and bags on the coat rack that was behind my desk. “Do you need me to do something?”

“I had a few minutes before my first meeting so I wanted to check in with you, see how you’re doing.”

“So far so good,” I nodded. “It’s easy work.”

Bucky’s brow peaked while he leaned back in the chair. “Oh really?”

My one hand sprawled on the desk while I leaned into it, the other hand on my hip.

“I thought that since I was working for a mob gang that I would be cleaning up blood or hiding bodies but all I’ve done is run coffee and make copies.” I shrugged, eyes locked with Bucky’s. “Maybe you’re a big softy, who knows.”

The sarcasm was evident in my voice.

A low chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest and he slowly stood, the height of him towered over me. His bright eyes shined as he slowly licked his lips, our faces so close but not close enough. I could feel my heart jump into my throat causing my breath to get caught.

He smelled of cedarwood, like the outdoors, and it comforted me almost instantly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be a smartass?” His voice was low, husky, and it caused my core to twitch.

I cleared my throat. “Once or twice.”

The air shifted around us as his hand began to slowly raise, ready to move the loose strand of hair that fell into my eyes. I sucked in a breath as I felt his soft touch tuck it behind my ear, his vibranium fingers lingering on the skin of my neck.

My fingers spread over his wide chest and I marveled at the way it felt beneath. They began to graze down but the front door opened, her petite voice calling for Bucky. I hurriedly stepped away from him, creating enough distance between us.

“I brought breakfast!” Natasha smiled while holding up a brown bag.

Bucky’s gaze stayed on me for a few moments before looking towards his wife and plastered a smile on his face. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

They shared a kiss which caused me to look down at my feet, suddenly feeling very out of place.

“You rushed out this morning and you didn’t eat so I thought I would surprise you.”

It was almost as if she was avoiding me, not bothering to look my way, which I didn’t find myself complaining about. As they shared yet another kiss, I did my best to leave them be but my feet haltered when Bucky’s voice sounded in my ears.

“Can you cancel my first meeting?”

I raised a brow. “Are you sure? It’s with Mr. Stark and he’s been trying to get a meeting with you for the last month.”

Bucky cursed with his hands on his hips.

“I’m sure he would understand, right? Breakfast with your wife should come first,” Natasha said.

I couldn’t stop the way my eyes rolled.

“I can see if he’s fine with meeting later? You’ve got an hour free for lunch. I don’t think it’ll take that long, right?” I suggested.

The smile that pulled at Bucky’s lips made my heart flutter.

“That should work. Thank you, Y/N.”

I watched with sad eyes as the two of them walked into his office, his hand on her lower back.

“Hi, Mr. Stark. This is Y/N calling from Mr. Barnes office again. Something came up and he won’t be able to make his ten o'clock meeting. I’m wondering if there was any way we could push it back to one this afternoon. Give me a call back at this number. Thank you.”

I hung up the phone and rubbed my eyes with a sigh. I had spend the last hour trying to get a hold of Mr. Stark, only to be met with his voicemail.

“Hopefully he gets the voicemail before it’s too late,” I grumbled to myself.

Suddenly, there was a noise coming from the wall behind me and when the sound of a woman moaning grazed my ears, my stomach fell into the pits of my stomach.

“Oh, Bucky. It's so good.”

I cleared my throat and did my best to block out their moans, keeping my attention on my work.

You wish it was you, though.

I mentally smacked the thought away and hummed a tune to myself. It worked for a bit, the moans started to sound farther away.

“Is Bucky busy?”

I looked away from my computer and gave Steve a warm smile. “Yeah, Natasha is-.”

We both heard a very loud crash followed by Bucky’s deep moans. It caused my insides to burn and I discreetly adjusted myself, hoping the itch would subside.

“How long has that been going on?” Steve nodded behind me.

“Way too fucking long,” I grumbled.

He noticed that I had been bothered by the sounds coming from Bucky’s office so Steve sat on the edge of my desk next to me and looked down towards me.

“I need your honest opinion about something,” he said, stretching out his long legs.

I leaned back in my chair while looking up at him. “About?”

Steve ran a hand through his long hair in an attempt to get it out of his face. “I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair back to how it used to be; short.”

My eyes doubled in size. “No way. You can't. I can’t even imagine you with short hair and clean shaven.”

Steve chuckled and scratched at his beard. “It used to be my look back in the day.”

I snorted. “Back in the day? How old are you?”

“Way too old, I feel,” he laughed with me.

“But honestly, don’t cut your hair,” I said while raising to my feet. My fingers messed with his long locks. “I like it this way.”

His chest rumbled in bliss as I gently scratched his head and his fingers ghosted over my thigh.

“What are you doing tonight?” Steve asked.

My fingers were now twirling in the ends of his hair. “Are you asking me out, Rogers?”

He shrugged. “One drink?”

I gnawed on my bottom lip, weighing the decision in my mind. There was chemistry between us, it would be wrong to deny myself that especially since the one my heart had yearned for was unavailable.

The door clicked open behind me, Natasha and Bucky walking out. She was busy fixing her blouse that she didn’t notice Steve and I; Bucky, however, did.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of us, Steve’s hand on my hip while I continued to mess with the hairs at the back of his neck.

“What’s going on here?” He questioned.

Steve sighed. “Impeccable timing as always, Buck.”

I stood frozen in Steve’s grasp, unable to move because of the look Bucky was giving me. I went to explain but the front door now opened and I groaned when I saw who walked in.

“Mr. Stark, did Y/N not call you?” Bucky questioned the man while extending his vibranium hand.

He shook Bucky’s hand while shaking his head. “Tony, please. And I never got a phone call. Is everything alright?”

“I called you a few times and left you a voicemail about rescheduling your meeting today,” I informed him.

The anger radiated off of Bucky as he turned his attention towards Natasha, laying a kiss on her lips. “I’ll call you later, alright?”

She nodded and bid all of us a quick goodbye, leaving through the door Tony arrived in.

“Well it’s a good thing I’m free now,” Bucky extended his arm towards his office. “Shall we?”

Tony nodded and walked into the office.

Bucky’s eyes landed back on me and Steve. “Are you going to join us, Steve or are you too preoccupied with Y/N?”

My shoulders fell at the tone of his voice. He was clearly upset that I had decided to flirt with Steve and not continue my work.

Steve sighed. “Of course not. Punk.”

He punched Bucky’s shoulder before he disappeared into the office.

“I swear I left Mr. Stark a voicemail asking to reschedule,” I explained.

Bucky took a step towards me and I felt the heat from him engulf around me. His breathing was slow but erratic.

“I’d suggest you keep your mind on your work and not flirt with the men that work here,” his voice was low.

I scoffed. “Excuse me?”

Bucky went to speak but Tony appeared in the doorway and pointed between us.

“Should I come back? This seems like it needs to be discussed.”

“No,” Bucky kept his eyes trained on me. “We will finish this later.”

All I did was nod as I watched Bucky walk into the office now with Tony and let the door slam behind him.

#mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes and yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan

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uwuwha · 9 months ago

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And oh, I wish I could hold you in my arms || but lately my body has been so afraid

A comic for @cometquest's blocktales apocalypse au! Can be interpreted either romantic or platonic. I kind of made my own story here, but you should definitely go check the au out!! His character designs are sick as hell and I've been a bit insane about them lately 🙏🙏!

Text reads: And if I knew you a little less, and my soul held a little less pride, I'd ask for you to stay safe by my side. But in my heart, I have long known what your answer would be.

Some extras below the readmore! Fair warning it's quite long

The comic without leetspeak!

In honour of the most recent lore post

Banner says: and me I feel also not so good Griefer's saying: Dude this yogurt fucking sucks

And my original tags condensed into incomprehensible paragraphs because there was not enough space to fit all of them underneath. Dear lord.

Genuinely I keep thinking about them oh my lord. The way in a normal world they would have never met. Wouldn't have even known eachother existed except in passing and rumors. Yet in this world where everything is falling apart Griefer and Jim are the only lifelines in their towns, do they meet even if its in voicechat. The only way Roadtown can talk to Turitopulis. And if Red lives in somewhere other than Roadtown or Blackrock, then Jim is quite literally the only way Brad can get updates on his father.

So they start talking and planning and communicating. And they communicate and they learn about eachother and they start talking more than strictly necessary and days or months or maybe years later, Griefer suddenly realizes that he's looking forward to his next conversation with Jim. He likes talking to him. He finds comfort with him. He cares a lot for Jim. A lot. Like a bird trying to rip out of his chest. Over the voice on his headphones who hes never seen before.

And if he knew Jim a little less well. If he maybe he were willing to beg a little more. He might've asked Jim to go and live in blackrock like his dad, or even go to Turitopulis to stay with him. But he knows who Jim is, and he knows who he is, and if someone had ever asked him to leave Turitopulis he would've socked them in the face. And even though he's calmer and more mellower than him, Griefer knows Jim would never think about leaving Roadtown for it to defend itself. And nobodys really manning the planes except for Jerry nowdays. So he never bothers asking.

But like a riving pounding against stone, the voices know they can't last forever and one day, maybe the voices finally got to him or maybe it was an act of self sacrifice, but Jim blows himself up. And all of the sudden Brad is left with headphones that emit static, no contact to Roadtown, and a sinking pit in his stomach. Do you see my vision here. Gripping myself.

#Jesus christ people were not lying about that tumblr compression #Anyways Comicquest I hope you enjoy Jim and Brad! Even if they're a bit OOC #I really like your au and the the world you've created :3 #Also I deeply apologize for the massive wall of text at the end. I just had to let my thoughts out or else I was going to explode hjsd #My original draft actually didn't have Griefer hold anything! But I thought that was too sad #block tales #block tales au #block tales griefer #block tales accountant jim #accountant jim #apocalypse au #art #cw implied death #ask to tag #Listening to the entire hadestown soundtrack while drawing this definitely did something to me #blocktales #grim

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altacctforastarion · 1 month ago

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Hi I was wondering if I could request just some soft hcs of astarion and tav like waking tav up with burnt breakfast or tav surprising astarion with some fresh blood they got from god knows where. Basically just some sfw of them post elderbrain

Hey! Thanks for requesting, this one was so fun!

Warnings: spoilers, he sucks at cooking and watches you sleep lmao. Sfw, 18+ and mdni still because my page, works, and myself are for adults only.

Tag list: @astari0nsju1ceb0x @obsessionprofessional @lotus-ignis

- I think it starts before the elderbrain tbh. Like you wake up and he’s just laying there watching you, a dagger in his hand like he’s been waiting so he can protect you, but he just greets with a smile and a soft, “good morning, love. How did you sleep?”

- maybe he gets your breakfast on a plate before you’re even out of the tent. Maybe he sets out clothes for you, helps you put on any armor you may have. He keeps your weapons sharp for you.

- But then the world doesn’t end, and the two of you live together and you wake up to the smell of food burning, sitting up quickly and rushing to the kitchen, only to see it in disarray and a huffy Astarion standing right in the middle, angrily whispering at the charred food in front of him, blaming it for his failures.

- “Well, you would have had a nice breakfast, but it decided to burn.” He says, hissing out the word “it” and you’re sure the misshapen, burnt pancakes are quaking from his rage, “So maybe you cook something?”

- he keeps trying to cook. Eventually you convince him to just get ingredients ready and set out for you and you cook instead. Sometimes he gets in a mood and demands to help, and you have to give him constant instructions, watching his every move and even then it still goes wrong. Two hundred years of never having to touch normal food, only eating it to pretend to be alive and not a vampire, have left him with barely any recollection of how to cook.

- Other times, you wake up and he’s watching you again, sometimes playing with your hair, sometimes close enough that when you wake all you can see are his eyes and you nearly fly out of your skin.

- Sometimes you wake up and he’s no where to be seen, you don’t hear him in the kitchen, and you’ll eventually find him doing some chore you hate or have been putting off.

- I put this in multiple other works of mine, but honestly I take him saying “don’t be so nice to me, it makes me want to be nice back.” As a real thing that he means, in an acts of service kind of way. I think even when he gets comfortable sharing his feelings and caring for you and acknowledging that he’s changed, it’s easier to do a nice thing for you without saying anything. You’re a great partner, his favorite person, and no matter what you say or what you do, he will feel like he needs to do something to show his appreciation. I think early on it’s so he doesn’t feel like he owes you something, terrified of letting you be kind and being in your debt, but later it’s just a way he shows he cares. So depending on how the day before goes, he might feel this urge to do something for you in the morning, beyond just wanting to.

- that being said, I think if he’s doing a “dirty” chore, it’s because you did something that meant a lot to him. One night he talks about how the things that happened are effecting him now, long after it’s all said and done, and you’re so kind and understanding and gentle. So the next morning you wake up and he’s washed all of the dishes, the house is spotless, and he’s urging you to go fill a basin with water so he can wash all of your (specifically your) clothes.

- if you have a favorite mug it’s always clean and he never says a word about it.

- he mends your clothes. Sometimes you wake up and there he is, stitching up your clothes and sometimes embroidering them. It’s always a surprise, you don’t always see him work but if he’s embroidering he won’t let you look at it, it’s to find on your own.

- I think he does a lot during the night, he doesn’t really need sleep and if the two of you don’t go to sleep in each others arms he wanders.

- If you don’t like to talk to others he will do it for you, and if someone is even kind of rude to you he will flip out on them

—

- You surprise him with blood occasionally. Sometimes yours if you don’t have time to let him feed from you, sometimes someone else’s. You are a person who saved the world, who fought for their life constantly, after all, and those skills don’t go away because there’s less danger. Some days you find a criminal and think “ooh, a snack for Astarion”, and then kill the guy and fill up whatever you can to take to him.

- You start keeping vials and jars on your person for such occasions, just in case you find a not so willing donor that will feed your partner.

- It surprises him the first few times, waking up to you speaking softly, saying good morning and saying you got him breakfast. He looks at you, confused, about to remind you that he doesn’t eat food when he sees/smells a jar of blood in your hand. “…Darling? Whose blood is that?”

- He sips on his blood while you explain that you saw a man trying to steal purses and lured him into an alley to kill him before buying some jars and draining him. There’s more blood downstairs if he’s still hungry. It makes him very happy, but he does look at you strange for a moment because wtf do you do when he’s not there to stop you?!

- You handle the washing around the house usually, because he hates it. If you’re not in the Underdark and you have a yard, you are responsible for yard care lol, he is not doing it.

- You pick up random shit from stores for him, sometimes stealing just so he can tell you how proud he is (he is always very proud). Sometimes a new dagger, sometimes a fun trinket, occasionally jewelry

- I think if you got him a stuffed animal he would pretend to hate it but that thing would stay in your shared bed constantly. Maybe you come home and he’s asleep cuddled up with it.

- You let him handle the decorating for the most part, just because it makes him genuinely happy to design the house, and he asks for your input constantly anyways.

- You search for a way for him to go into the sun, but on the mean time he starts using umbrellas and such to go out with you, and you find him various pretty ones. You also get him a cloak, and he looks amazing in it, matching it to his outfits, putting on a borderline fashion show for you.

- I think astarion is materialistic bc he didn’t have a lot, so he hoards things for both of you and is DELIGHTED with every gift you give him, adding it to the hoard happily and giving you many kisses.

#bg3 astarion #spawn astarion #astarion x reader #astarion headcanon #astarion fluff #soft astarion #astarion fanfic

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thelargefrye · 1 year ago

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STARSEED : PERFECT LOVE … mature one - shot

pairing : king!hongjoong x concubine!m!reader (ft. concubine!seonghwa and guard!yunho)

genre : fantasy au, slight historical au, royal au, smut, romance, sprinkle angst (i'm sorry i just can't help myself)

word count : 3.7k

warnings : language, slight jealousy (mainly yn), mentions of working in a brothel

smut warnings : unprotected sex, anal sex, oral, slight cumplay / eating

note : for my secret santa @yourfatherlucifer! i hope you enjoy it and happy holidays!! no tag list for this since its a present!

as the king’s favorite, you had many advantages and most of those included being with king in a way no one else could.

something felt uneasy in your stomach. like a swarm of moths flocking around inside of you. it was a feeling you didn't like, but you couldn't figure out how to get rid of it.

"what's wrong, moonflower?" you look up at the voice that snaps you out of your dazed thoughts. your eyes easily lock with seonghwa's figure who is standing behind you. his features are so soft and comforting as he smiles down at you.

his hands come to rest on your shoulders, gently massaging them and you feel the uneasy go down. but not disappear. "hmm?" he cocks his head to the side and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i don't know... i'm just nervous i guess."

"nervous? about what?"

"hongjoong hasn't requested to see me in a while," you say with a sigh as you feel seonghwa's fingers press into your shoulders and you slowly feel the knots go away. seonghwa always was good a massages.

"i'm sure he's just busy, y/n. he is our king after all," seonghwa tries to reassure you and you appreciate his attempt, but it still doesn't settle the uneasiness. you hate it.

it's been several days since hongjoong last came to see you or even requested for you to spend the night with him. basically almost a week, and he's never went longer than a day without coming to see you. you couldn't help the thoughts running through your mind. was he still interested in you? did he still love you like he claimed?

you know he hasn't been by himself. having heard that he's been requesting for seonghwa as of late. your eyes flicker back up to the male standing behind you. seonghwa... he was so beautiful and kind. you don't blame hongjoong for taking him as a concubine, because you too fell in love with him. it wasn't hard.

perhaps hongjoong has just fallen for seonghwa harder and enjoys his company more than yours. the uneasiness returns tenfold the longer you think about these questions.

"moonflower?" seonghwa's voice once again brings you back to the present, his hand coming to rest on your jaw as he turns it to look at you. his eyes filled with worry as he looks at you.

you don't want to admit it, but you're completely jealous of seonghwa. how could you not be jealous of your lover? even when you both were growing up, he was the star of the village that everyone either wanted to marry or be. even when your village was raided and you were both sold off to the brothel, seonghwa was seen as the favorite "jewel" that everyone wanted. you were always second place to him, your own lover.

hongjoong probably only kept you as a concubine because of seonghwa.

"y/n, what's wrong?"

you open your mouth to speak; however, a knock at your chamber doors stops you. it opens to reveal yunho stepping inside, his armor hugging him nicely as he stands tall and proud.

"excuse me for interrupting, but his highness as requested to see you, y/n," you feel your heart jump into your throat as you stand up. you feel your palms sweat at the negative thoughts that fill your head.

this is it, he's going to tell you that he doesn't want you anymore. he's going to dismiss you and you'll never see him or seonghwa or any of the others again.

"hey, y/n," seonghwa grasps your wrist and you turn to look at him. "come find me later. so we can talk, okay?"

"okay, hwa," he smiles at your words before he's quickly leaning over to kiss you. his lips feel soft against your skin and you have to will yourself to not melt into his touch. thankfully before you can he's pulling away, his touch lingering on your skin even when you walk out of your chambers and down the grand hall.

yunho trails behind you, not saying anything as he escorts you to hongjoong's personal chambers.

"thank you for escorting me, yunho," you say looking at the guard with a smile. yunho returns your smile, bowing his head a little bit and you can't help but think he might have gotten taller since you last saw him. he's definitely gotten buffer, probably training with san and yeosang instead of resting. his brown hair is soft looking and he looks much happier now than when he did years ago when you first met him.

"of course, y/n," he says before his eyes are darting down each end of the hallway. there's no one else but the two of you and yunho takes the chance to lift your hand up and kiss the back it. he lets go of your hand before he's standing tall and adjusting his armor before he's turning and making his way back down the hallway.

and then you're left alone in front of hongjoong's chamber doors. you feel an ugly twist in your stomach as you knock on the oak doors and wait for his voice to let you in.

"come in," god, how long has it been since you've heard his voice. even just hearing him speak is enough to make you weak.

opening the door, you are immediately greeted to the sight of hongjoong lounging at his table, sitting in one of his plush, velvet chairs. his royal garments have been discarded, leaving him in only his thin, silk blouse and black trousers. his brown hair framing his face perfectly and you feel a wave of butterflies fill your stomach as your heart beat picks up.

hongjoong turns to see who has arrived and upon seeing you, his stoic face quickly turns into one of happiness. he stands up and makes his way over to you as you close the door behind you.

"my moonflower," he says, arms open as he brings you into a hug. his strong scent fills your nostrils as his arms wrap around your form and you can't help but to return the hug as you bury your face into his neck. you hear hongjoong let out a small laugh as his hand comes up to run over your head. "i've missed you so much."

you can't help but doubt his words. the knowledge that he's been seeing seonghwa again and again comes crashing in. if he truly missed you then why did he wait till now to request you?

"i've missed you too, your highness," you tell him, you can't help the mix of emotions that swim through you. you want to question him, but you know it will do no good. it will only make you look jealous.

"come on now, y/n," he says with a grin as he pulls away just enough to look at you, "we're alone, there's no need to call me that."

you can't help but feel flushed at his words, "sorry, just a habit," you say a little embarrassed, but hongjoong brushes it off with a laugh. "so... did you call on me solely because you missed me?"

"ah, yes, i actually have something i want to talk to you about?" he says before he's taking you by the hand and guiding you to his lavish and overly large bed. you sit down when the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

"talk about?" you feel your nerves bubble up when you watch hongjoong walk away from you and over to his desk that is filled with an assortment of stuff, but mainly parchment papers with writing all over them. however, its none of the papers that he picks up, but a small ornament box instead.

hongjoong holds the box as if it will break any second before he's gently sitting down next to you on his bed. you look at the box with confusion before you're are looking back up at hongjoong.

"this box is very important to the royal family," he begins to say as he runs his hand over it. you take notice of the white moonflower – the lunar tear – craving on the top of it. "my mother gave this to me when i became king," he adds on and you can't help but feel your palms start to sweat. "when she gave it to me, she told me about the duty my family had to the goddess and to protect this box."

"what's inside it?" you couldn't help but ask as you reached your own hand out. not to touch the box, but to touch hongjoong's hand.

"my mother told me its the spirit of a great evil. that centuries and centuries ago, pandora's soul was trapped in this very box by the goddess," he explains and for a second you want to laugh at his words. you think he's messing with you, but when you look at his face you can tell he's serious.

however, despite this information he is sharing with you, you can't help but want to ask him the one question that stands in your brain. "why are you showing me something this valuable, hongjoong?"

"because, my moonflower," he says with a smile as his hand comes up to cup your face. "i want to give it to you, to protect for me."

"me? h-hongjoong have you gone crazy or something?" you are completely caught off guard by his words. he wants to give you the box that supposedly has the soul of the most evil spirit the world has seen.

pandora is a person of myth; however, its been proven throughout the history of the world that she was just as real as you and hongjoong are. her goal was to bring about the end of the world. how she attempted to bring about the end of the world tended to change slightly, but her goal was still the same. kill any and everything.

and here, hongjoong was giving you this box to trust and hold. "hongjoong..."

"i'm giving entrusting this box because i know i can trust you," he says, leaning over as his lips ghost over your cheek. you feel a chill run down your spine as you look towards your lover right as he rests his forehead against yours. "my favorite flower, the one i love the most," he adds softly as he places the box into your hands.

his words make your heart skip a beat as his hands come up to cup your face. his breath fans against your lips as his hovers closely to yours. just centimeters from touching yours.

"but that's only if you accept the box, my love, i won't force you to take it," he says and that's when you're reminded of the weight in your hands from the small metal box.

you take a deep breath before answering, "of course, i’ll guard it with my heart, joongie." the king's smile is enough to make your heart do a flip.

“that’s not the only reason why i summoned you here though,” hongjoong said, his usual grin on his face as he gently takes the box and sets it on his bedside table.

you feel hongjoong tug on your sleeve and you turn to see his eyes filled with lust and longing and you can't help the smile that tugs at your own lips. "its been way too long since we have been one, don't you think?"

"yes it has, my king."

hongjoong's chamber was filled with a mixture of your moans and the sound of skin slapping skin. your legs were spread wide and you were practically bent in half as hongjoong pounded away at your hole. you couldn't help but arch your back as how hongjoong's cock filled you up.

"you take me so well, moonflower," hongjoong says a grin painting his lips as one of his hands wrap around your own cock, he gives it a firm squeeze that makes you cry out. your lover can't help but let out a laugh as he watches you wither underneath him.

"n-ngh! joongie! p-please!" you cry out as you feel hongjoong hit your sweet spot as he continues to stroke your cock. his thumb runs over your slit and it slowly begins to leak pre-cum that hongjoong uses as lube to stroke you off quicker.

"please what, love? use your words," he's clearly mocking you as he leans down to kiss you before he's pulling out of you and turning you onto your stomach. you can't help but moan at how hongjoong handles you like you were nothing.

"h-hongjoong," you can't help but moan as you feel hongjoong lick at your puckered hole as his hand grabs at your cock again and begins to jerk you off once more. "a-ah fuck! fuckfuckfuck!"

hongjoong laughs as he licks at your hole before he's pulling away. "does it feel good, moonflower?"

"y-yes s-so-so good, joongie!"

you let out another moan when you feel hongjoong enter you once again. you can't help but let out a sigh at hongjoong not only filling you up once again, but also at him finally leaving your poor cock alone. both his hands grip your hips tightly and he begins thrusting into you once again.

you grip the sheets below you tightly as you can't help but feel your eyes roll back as hongjoong's cock massages your prostate. you clench around him tightly as you feel your orgasm build up the longer he fucks you.

"you're so perfect, my flower," hongjoong says as he presses his chest against your back. his hands wandering over your body before they stop of play with your nipples and pinching them harshly which causes you to let out loud cry. "you take my cock so well and your body was made for me."

"n-ngh, yes joongie, only yours," you say in your fucked out daze as you felt hongjoong trail his lips down your back. you felt a pleasurable chill run over your body when hongjoong licks up your spin before his arms are wrapping underneath your armpits in order to pull you up off the bed.

you're pressed flush against hongjoong as he continues to abuse your hole, pounding away as he uses you for his pleasure. not that you mind, you would happily allow hongjoong to use your body to his heart's content in order to pleasure himself and make himself happy.

"you're so beautiful," he says before kissing your cheek. "i love you so much, moonflower," he says and the nickname that him and seonghwa and others always use for you makes your heart skip a beat. you remember when hongjoong had overheard seonghwa call you that nickname and how he had asked if he could call you that ask well.

"if i could marry you, i would in a heartbeat, but t-those bastard ad-visors of mine– fuck!" hongjoong cuts himself off as he does a particularly hard thrust before he's stilling himself inside of you for a moment.

he slowly lets you go as you rest back on his sheets, the cold material feels good against your hot skin. hongjoong moves once more to hover above you as he leans down to kiss you again.

"i wanted to ask..." he begins as he moves at a slower pace this time. "if you would come with me on my next campaign. i can't bare being without you and so i want you to be with me."

"r-really?" his question catches you off guard as you turn to look at him with just as much shock as you feel.

"yes," he says with a little laugh. "i've been trying to find a way to ask you since i got back from my last one and i even asked seonghwa if i should ask you. he scolded me for trying to hog you too much, but he eventually told me to just ask and so... yeah, here i am."

"fuck– hongjoong, of course!" you say when you feel his tip rub against your sweet spot. hongjoong gives you a teasing smile.

hongjoong doesn't say anything as he kisses you one last time before he's focusing back on making the two of you come. and when you finally do, you moan at how you feel hongjoong pumping you full of his cum. you know that when he pulls out, it will leak out of you knowing how much cum the king has.

you are left a panting mess as you feel your own cum panting your stomach. hongjoong pulls out slowly and you whine at how empty you feel as your lover turns you onto your back to look at the mess he had cause.

you watch as hongjoong bends down before licking up most of your cum that painted your skin. he then moves to lean over you before kissing you and you cringe at how you taste yourself on his lips and you can tell hongjoong is enjoying himself.

when he pulls away from your lips, you can't help but pout as he smiles at you softly before he's rolling over to lay next you. he brings his hand up to rest on your waist as he pulls you closer to you.

"i love you, my king," you said and hongjoong looks at you fondly as you brush some hair out of his face.

"i love you too, my moonflower."

its a few hours later when you are finally leaving hongjoong's chambers. your lover of course begged you to stay with him longer, pleading to spend the entire night with him, but you turned him down. not because you didn't want to spend the rest of the night in his embrace, but because you needed to find seonghwa.

you wanted to talk to him as a way to clear your conscious from those jealous thoughts you had earlier.

you kissed hongjoong's pouty lips, "next time we can spend the entire night together, my king."

"yeah, yeah, just go before i change my mind in letting you leave," his tone is full of tease as he rests on his side, his silk blankets the only thing covering his nude body.

you let out a laugh as you reach for the box before making your way out of his chambers and down the hall before you are arriving at the wing that has both yours and seonghwa's private chambers.

standing outside of seonghwa's chambers, you feel a sense of nervousness settle on you as you try to build up the fleeting courage to knock on his door.

then without a second thought, you knocked on his door. you bit your lip as you waited for your lover to open the door, and it felt like ages before you heard the door opening.

your eyes immediately met seonghwa's bright and shining ones. and then he beamed a bright smile at you when he realized who was at your door.

"ah, y/n!" he says your name and you can't help want to hear him say again and again, over and over. "did you go see hongjoong?"

"yeah, i just got back," you tell him and the box he gifted you feels heavy in your hands as you look at seonghwa. "b-but i wanted to talk to you, can i... can i come in?"

"of course, moonflower," seonghwa says before letting you, "how did your visit with hongjoong go?" he asks once the two of you are in his room and away from any prying eyes.

seonghwa had stripped you of your clothes, a wet rag in his hands as he wipes down your body. you felt a warmth spread over you as you felt seonghwa's hands roam around your body. you had to stop yourself from moaning when his hand wrapped around your cock.

"so..." seonghwa begins after he finished wiping you off, "what did you want to talk about?" his head tilts to the side as he watches you redress yourself.

"i wanted to apologize for earlier," you say, feeling embarrassed now that you say it out loud.

"what for, y/n?" seonghwa asks as he comes to sit down next to you on his bed. he takes your hands into his warm ones and sweet scent makes you want to melt into his embrace.

"i thought hongjoong was going to dismiss me from being his concubine because he had been seeing you more than me recently. i was... scared that i would never be able to see you again."

"oh, y/n, i would never let that happen," he says pulling you into his embrace. your head rests against his chest, your cheek pressing into the soft material of his blouse. "i love you so much."

you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his confession, tears brimming at your waterline as you wrapped your arms around him. "i'm sorry for being jealous, i'm sorry for not being good enough like you."

"you hush now, don't think like that, my love. you are more than enough for me, that's why i love you." you peer up at seonghwa to see him smiling down at you. his hand runs through your hair before he's cupping your face and kissing you.

you immediately melt into the kiss as your hands pull him closer to you. seonghwa moves in order to lay you down onto his bed with him hovering overtop of you. both his and your own hands roam over each other's body, pulling away your clothes so that you are both bare and pressed up again each other like you have been so many times before in the past.

seonghwa kisses down your body, his hands squeezing your flesh as he leaves his own trail of lovebites next to and around the ones hongjoong had left.

and then seonghwa is entering you, your warm hole welcoming his cock as he milks your prostate. your moans fill his chamber as his hips meet your ass and you can't help but feel loved by seonghwa.

eventually, you reach your climax with seonghwa before you're laying together in his bed. the two of you lay so close to each other that your noses graze each other whenever one of you moves.

"seonghwa?"

"yes, y/n?"

"we'll be together forever, right? nothing's going to tear us apart?"

"no, never. together forever." you two share a brief kiss before seonghwa is pulling you to rest your head against his chest. seonghwa smiles down at you before his eyes flicker up at pandora's box that sits idly on the bedside table behind you.

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