#the whole ‘if a fire were to break out’ is from me as well

[inseobts]

Fire in Our Hearts

portgas d. ace x fem!reader

after a painful breakup ace and you are forced to face everything unsaid — in a night of anger, longing, and love that neither of you can walk away from.

a/n: second attempt at writing smut, and second failure lmao sorry

words count: 2.3k

tags: no graphic body part descriptions, breakup, jealousy, argument, mild smut (it's just spicy), angst to fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sun burns high over the Moby Dick, but the air between you and Ace is heavier than a storm.

“You never listen to me” you snap, arms tight around yourself.

Ace stands there, frowning “I don’t need you telling me how to live my life.”

You feel your heart break a little “I’m not trying to control you! I just want you to be careful!”

Ace scoffs, turning his head like he can’t even look at you and that hurts more than anything.

You take a shaky breath, then say the words you can’t take back “Then you’re better off without me. So you can do whatever the hell you want.”

Ace freezes. You wait for him to say something. Anything.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, silent.

Your chest tightens painfully. You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Fine,” you say, voice cracking “Have it your way.”

You turn and walk away and Ace doesn’t follow.

And just like that, it’s over.

A week later…

The ship docks at a lively island. Whitebeard gives everyone a day off to party. You wish you could stay in your room, but Marco pulls you out by the arm.

“Come on, you’ll feel better after a few drinks” he says.

You don’t argue. You’re too tired to argue.

The tavern is packed, music loud and messy. The crew drinks and laughs, filling the place with noise. You sit at a corner table, nursing a drink, trying not to look at Ace. Trying and failing.

He’s across the room, leaning back in his chair, relaxed. Too relaxed.

That’s when you see two girls, pretty and smiling, slide into the seats beside him. They giggle, touching his arm, whispering in his ear.

And Ace... let them do it.

He smiles a little, says something you can’t hear. One of the girls leans closer, brushing her chest against him.

Your stomach twists.

You slam your drink down harder than you mean to. Some beer splashes over the edge.

Thatch whistles low beside you “Ouch. Looks like he’s moving on fast.”

You glare at him. Thatch raises his hands like he’s innocent.

You can’t stay here. Not another second.

You get up fast, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Without a word, you push through the crowd and stumble out the door.

The cold night air hits you hard. You breathe in deep, trying to stop the burning in your chest.

“Stupid,” you whisper “I’m so stupid.”

You wipe your eyes quickly. You’re halfway back to the ship when you hear footsteps behind you.

You spin around.

Ace.

He’s jogging after you, face serious.

“What do you want?” you snap, voice sharp.

Ace stops a few feet away, breathing hard “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms “Oh, now you want to talk?”

He frowns “You just ran out! What was I supposed to do?”

You laugh bitterly “Maybe not flirt with the first girl who smiled at you!”

“I wasn’t flirting!”

“Oh yeah? Looked like you were having fun!”

Ace steps closer, eyes burning “You were the one who said we’re better off apart! You’re the one who walked away!”

You feel your whole body shaking.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt!” you shout “It killed me, Ace! And you just—you just sat there! Like you didn’t care!”

Ace opens his mouth, then closes it. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says, voice low “I didn’t want to lose you. I just… froze.”

You glare at him, breathing hard “Well. You lost me anyway.”

The space between you is full of all the things you didn’t say. All the things you should have said.

Ace takes another step closer. You don’t move away.

“You think I don’t miss you?” he says, voice rough “Every damn day?”

You feel the tears threaten to spill again. But you don’t look away.

“And you think I don’t miss you?” you whisper.

For a long second, neither of you speak. The night is too quiet. Your heart pounds loud in your ears.

Ace’s hand twitches at his side.

You know if he touches you now, you’ll break... but you really want him to.

You stand there, fists clenched at your sides, heart hammering in your chest.

“You don’t get it, Ace!” you yell, voice cracking “You don’t get how much it hurt! You acted like I meant nothing! Like you didn’t even care if I left!”

Ace’s jaw tightens “That’s not true—”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?!” you shout, louder this time “Why didn’t you chase after me, Ace?!”

Your voice shakes, broken “You’re supposed to fight for the people you love!”

Ace looks like you just punched him in the gut.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he crosses the space between you in two fast steps.

You’re about to yell again, to push him away, to scream everything you’ve been holding in but Ace grabs your face in his hands and crashes his mouth onto yours.

You gasp, stiff for a moment, shocked.

Then you melt against him.

The kiss is rough, desperate, full of all the anger and love you couldn’t say in words. His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, closer, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You clutch at his shirt, fists twisting in the fabric, holding onto him like you’re drowning.

Ace groans low in his throat, deepening the kiss. His lips are hot and wild against yours, like he’s trying to pour all his feelings into you at once.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, faces inches apart.

Ace leans his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice wrecked “I’m so damn sorry.”

Tears blur your eyes, but you smile a little, shaky “You’re such an idiot.”

He chuckles, broken and soft “Yeah. But I’m your idiot. If you’ll still have me.”

You don’t answer, you just kiss him again, harder this time.

He lifts you up without warning, making you yelp against his mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him like you’ll never let go again.

Ace carries you, half-stumbling, back toward the ship. Neither of you cares who sees. The crew’s probably still too drunk to notice anyway.

He doesn’t even make it to your room. He pushes you up against the first wall he finds, kissing you like he’s starving.

Your hands fumble at his open shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. His skin is burning hot under your touch, like he’s made of fire.

Ace groans again, mouth trailing down your neck, teeth scraping lightly at your skin.

“God, I missed you” he breathes against your throat.

You grip his hair, pulling his head up to look at you “Then show me.”

His eyes darken, full of heat and something deeper, something that feels a lot like love.

Ace kisses you again, slower this time, but just as hungry. His hands roam your body, careful and rough all at once.

You lose yourself in him.

In his touch.

In his heat.

In him.

“Fuck” Ace breathes against your mouth. His hands move lower, squeezing your ass, lifting you up without warning.

You gasp and wrap your legs around his waist, locking yourself to him. You can feel him, hard against you, even through your clothes.

Your hands fumble at the few buttons left of his shirt, pushing it fully off his shoulders. His skin is hot, burning under your fingers.

You run your hands over his chest, nails scraping lightly. Ace shivers under your touch, eyes dark and wild.

He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs “Off. Now.”

You lift your arms and let him yank it over your head. The cool night air kisses your skin, but Ace’s hands are warmer. His palms slide up your sides, thumbs brushing over your breasts through your bra, making you shudder.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful” he whispers, voice rough like gravel.

You kiss him again, messy and hungry. Ace’s mouth trails down your neck, licking and biting, leaving marks he knows you’ll see later.

“Need you,” he groans against your skin “Need you so bad.”

You clutch his hair, dragging his head back up to kiss you again.

“Then take me” you whisper.

That’s all he needs.

Ace pins you harder against the wall, one hand slipping down between your bodies, his fingers brush over your panties, pressing just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You whimper into his mouth.

Ace chuckles darkly “So needy.”

Now you shove his pants down too, hands greedy. His skin is hot everywhere. When you finally touch him properly, Ace groans so deep it vibrates against your chest.

He kisses you again, desperate, messy, almost too much.

Almost.

Ace pauses, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Tell me you want this” he says, voice shaking.

You look him straight in the eyes “I want you, Ace. Always.”

With a low growl, he pushes into you, filling you all at once. You both moan at the feeling.

It’s messy, rushed, raw... years of love and pain and need crashing together.

Ace moves fast, hips snapping against yours, hands holding you like you’re his whole world. You bury your face in his neck, biting down to muffle your cries.

When you finally fall apart in his arms, crying out his name, Ace follows right after, holding you so tight it almost hurts.

But you don’t care. You never want him to let go again.

You don’t know how long you stay wrapped around each other against the wall.

Time blurs. Your body is weak, trembling, but you don’t care. You only feel his skin against yours, his arms around you, his breath warm on your neck.

He sets you down gently, like you’re something precious.

You cling to his shoulders a second longer, legs shaky. Ace kisses your forehead, soft and slow, so different from the way he kissed you before.

“Come here” he murmurs.

He scoops you up again, carrying you bridal. You bury your face against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat pounding fast under your ear.

Ace carries you up to your shared room on the ship.

He kicks the door open with his foot, laughing softly when you squeak in surprise.

“Relax” he says, voice teasing but full of love.

He lays you down on the bed carefully, following you down, covering your body with his.

You shiver, even though you’re not cold.

Ace notices. He grabs a blanket, pulling it over both of you before wrapping his arms tight around you again.

For a while, neither of you says anything. You just breathe together in the dark, feeling each other’s warmth.

Then, quietly, Ace speaks “I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes.

He looks wrecked, like he’s scared you’ll leave again.

You touch his face gently “I’m sorry too.”

Ace leans into your hand, kissing your palm. Then he says it... so soft you almost don’t hear.

“I love you.”

Your heart stutters.

You blink up at him. His cheeks are pink, his eyes shining like he’s terrified and hopeful all at once.

You smile, a real one this time.

“I love you too, Ace.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it forever. Then he kisses you again, slow and deep, hands sliding up and down your back under the blanket.

“Never leaving you again,” he mumbles against your lips “Even if you try to kick me out.”

You giggle, nuzzling closer “Good. ’Cause I’m not letting you go either.”

Ace grins, that wide, stupid smile you fell in love with.

He tucks your head under his chin and hugs you tighter. You feel his whole body relax against yours, like he’s finally home.

You drift off to sleep in his arms, warm, safe, and loved.

For the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right again.

The sun slips through the curtains, warm and soft.

You groan, trying to roll over but you can’t move.

Ace has you trapped, one heavy arm around your waist, one leg thrown over yours, face buried in your neck. He’s snoring softly, breath tickling your skin.

You squirm a little “Ace… let me go, it’s hot.”

“No,” he mumbles, voice hoarse with sleep “Mine.”

You laugh under your breath, heart full. You poke his cheek “We need to get up. The crew’s gonna notice.”

Ace groans dramatically “Let them.”

He tightens his arms around you like a giant, overgrown koala.

You sigh, smiling. You’re not really trying to escape anyway.

There’s a loud bang against the door.

“Oi, lovebirds!” Thatch shouts from outside “You alive in there, or did you die from all the action last night?”

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. Ace groans louder and buries his face deeper against you.

“Go away!” he yells toward the door, voice muffled against your neck.

Another bang.

“We’re takin’ bets if you both can even walk after what you did!” Marco’s voice adds, laughing.

Your face burns hot. You shove your head under the blanket, groaning.

Ace chuckles low against you, his hand sneaking under your shirt again, teasing circles into your hip.

“They’re just jealous” he murmurs.

You peek out from the blanket, raising an eyebrow “Jealous of what?”

Ace smirks lazily, looking like the smug bastard he is.

“Because I’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world… and she’s all mine.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to melt, but you can’t stop smiling.

Another loud bang.

“Seriously! Breakfast’s getting cold! Unless you two are planning to eat each other instead—”

“WE’RE COMING!” you yell back, red-faced.

Ace snickers, clearly very pleased with himself.

You grab a pillow and smack him in the face with it. But even then, he just grins wider, grabbing you around the waist again, dragging you down into the bed with him.

“Five more minutes,” he begs, voice soft against your ear “Please.”

You sigh dramatically, but you don’t move.

Maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe forever wouldn’t either.

[azzibueckers5]

chapter 3: i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song)

cross posted on ao3 here, and tumblr chapters 1 & 2 here

chapter 3: in which azzi worries for paige's nutrition levels and appreciates good countertops

content warning: explicit sex (wc: ~6k)

AN: suprise, surprise, these two wouldn't leave me alone. at the expense of my gpa. happy finals? ummm. this is entirely plotless. like completely. hopefully I managed to capture their dynamic shift the way I was intending? idk you guys tell me. I wanted to make sure they were still paige and azzi at the end of the day. ummm I'm not as proud of this as I was about the other two chapters but I can't tell if that's because it's actually not as good or if I just really like writing monologuey angst and hate writing dialogue/smut. uh. without further ado, six thousand words of pure nonsense!

the thing about being best friends for eight years and teammates for at least half of that time is that you see each other in various states of undress quite often. (especially when you’re an eensy weensy teeny tiny bit more than best friends and practically live inside each other’s skin.)

you would think this fact would have at least minimally prepared azzi for the whole getting-naked-to-have-sex thing. this is tragically not the case. 

like. okay. azzi knows, objectively, that paige is a very attractive person. has noticed the cut of her abs, and how nice her hands are, and how biteable (yeah. she said it. biteable.) her jawline looks when she tilts her head. but the difference between thinking all those things and having paige actually underneath her, with miles of smooth skin to put her hands (and mouth. hopefully. if she can pick it back up off the ground, where it’s been for the last minute.) is entirely overwhelming. 

she feels dizzy with all the things she wants to do, doesn’t even know where to begin. paige is looking entirely too smug, however, laid out underneath azzi in just sweat shorts and an old, thin calvin bra and smirking like she knows every thought buzzing around in her head, so azzi decides kissing her is a decent place to start.

(azzi called her a slut when she discovered that paige hadn’t worn a shirt underneath her sweatshirt. paige had simply said yeah, for you. and well. here they were, fifteen seconds later, azzi straddling her on the bed.) 

this kiss is slower than their previous ones, less desperate, but it stokes the fire that’s been burning in azzi all the same, and it only burns hotter when paige’s hands slide up underneath her tank top to cup at her breasts. 

evidently, paige gets tired of the material in her way after approximately 10 seconds and mumbles out “ off ,” tugging at azzi’s shirt. 

she tugs it up over her head, but before she can busy herself with the skin below paige’s collarbone that’s been calling to her, she gets distracted by the look on paige’s face, like azzi just made a half court buzzer and not that she’s merely exposed her nipples. 

“ azzi,” paige practically moans, looking dazed.  

and then she blinks and all of a sudden she’s looking up at paige from underneath her, both arms pinned above her head with one of paige’s hands, the other dragging featherlight touches down to trace at azzi’s nipple, goosebumps erupting across her chest. 

paige kisses her again before she has a chance to protest her inability to touch, and it distracts her decently for a few minutes, until paige begins trailing her mouth down to suck a bruise into azzi’s throat and her mouth is freed.

“ paige,” she whines, “wanna touch.” she wriggles her hands a bit, testing her grip. if azzi really wanted to, she could break free in seconds, and by paige’s eyebrow raise when she pulls her head up from azzi’s neck, she knows it too.

“can’t concentrate when your hands are on me, baby. you gonna be good f’me? ” and. okay. that’s. azzi feels herself throb. 

she swallows back the whine that desperately wants to rip from her throat and lets out a “yeah,” voice high and breathy. 

paige’s “ good,” is pressed into the skin of her collarbone, and then she trails lower, mouthing at one of azzi’s nipples. 

she doesn’t think she’s ever been this turned on in her life and and paige has barely touched her yet. fuck’s sake.

paige releases her hands when her mouth moves south, migrating down azzi’s stomach and bringing the hand that was just pinning azzi’s up to thumb at her nipple, dragging her mouth across the smooth, dark skin of her abs. she takes her time tracing the ridges of muscle with her tongue and overall being a general tease, but azzi’s hand stay above her head, hips twitching whenever paige nips at her navel.

the blonde pauses her descent down azzi’s stomach when she gets to her waistband, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes.

“we don’t. we don’t have to have sex if this is all like. too much.” paige says, and despite how much effort it looks like it takes for her to say it, azzi knows with certainty that she means it, would roll off of azzi in an instant if asked and just bask in her presence. 

the sincerity somehow makes her impossibly wetter. 

she throws an arm across her face to try and mask how much the sentence affects her.

“paige- i swear to god if you don’t touch me ,” she muffles, through her forearm, and she can hear the smirk in paige’s reply. 

“eager, are we?”

“ yes,” and she can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed because then paige makes an approving noise in the back of her throat and tugs off azzi’s sweats. 

it is entirely impossible to feel self conscious with the laser focus of paige’s eyes on the wet patch of her panties, but azzi squirms anyway, suddenly almost entirely bare to the heaviness of paige’s gaze.

“ jesus, az.” she breathes, hands flying out to trace at the patch of moisture. her touch is feather light but azzi is already a livewire, and the brush of her fingers against her clit isn’t enough to do anything except make her keen quietly, desperately. 

paige seems content to just look, which would be nice. if azzi wasn’t already soaked through and needy.

she decides getting paige out of her clothes is a good way to move this show along, so she reaches out to drag the older girl back up and strip her out of her shorts and bra to even the playing field a little bit. she tugs paige’s shorts off first, and then pauses, a slow grin spreading across her face. 

“paige madison bueckers, are you wearing a matching set?” her grey, simple calvin underwear matches the faded fabric of her bra, and. azzi is so, so gone for her. 

she grins, not even a little bit embarrassed, and says, proudly, “nothin’ wrong with bein’ an optimist, ma,” before crawling fully over azzi and bending to slot their lips together again. 

paige planks above her with one arm next to azzi’s face, the other tracing lines down her abdomen, pausing when they get to her panties.

“can i?” 

“ please,” is all azzi can muster, hips shifting in anticipation. her blood is simmering already, from paige’s kisses, but she needs more like she needs the air in her lungs to breathe. 

paige smiles, tipping her head down to azzi’s shoulder to watch as her hand slips under the silk of azzi’s underwear and slides into the wetness she finds beneath. 

they both moan at the contact, and azzi’s hips twitch again, begging for more. 

and then paige's thumb is pressing on her clit and she sees stars , keening high in her throat. paige pulls her head up to watch azzi’s reactions, and slips a finger inside, gazing in awe as azzi arches her back up in a bow, drawn taught with need. she slides her finger out, before curling it right back in and repeating the motion, all the while rubbing at azzi’s clit, and azzi feels wetness slide out of her and drip onto paige’s hand. 

and then paige adds a second finger and she goes from turned on to desperately close in a matter of seconds, moaning paige’s name and reaching up to grip at her blonde hair as her mouth returns to azzi’s chest. 

she watches the veins on paige’s wrist move with the motion of her hand, and listens to the slick sound of her fingers moving in and out, and. fucking hell she’s going to come. 

paige fingers curl particularly hard on one thrust, and she’s suddenly aware of the ring still on one of paige’s digits, now probably covered in azzi’s slick, and.

“paige, paige, m’gonna come, fuck.”

and then paige tears her hand away from azzi’s cunt, leaving her clenching around nothing, and she whines in despair, finger scrabbling at paige’s back.

“shhh, baby, wanna taste you that's all,” paige says, mouth already dipping lower to drag across azzi’s breast.

“ mean-” is all azzi can get out in response, still reeling from the taste of her high in such close reach. 

“i’ll make it up to you,” paige promises, from her navel, and azzi knows she means to sound cocky but it comes out breathless instead, like she’s just as affected by this as azzi is.

azzi believes her.

paige traces the waistline of her panties with her tongue, before reaching up to tear them off and exposing azzi fully to her gaze. her hips twitch at the weight behind her stare, and her cunt throbs in anticipation as paige reaches out to drag a finger down through azzi’s soaked folds.

“ fuck,” azzi breathes , just as paige mumbles out a dazed “you’re so wet for me, hmm?”

azzi is going to combust. and then, paige drops a kiss to her clit, before attaching her mouth for real, and forget combustion. azzi has ascended to a higher plane. 

paige takes her time with it, tracing her tongue up and down azzi’s folds, and she feels like she’s being lit on fire by her mouth, trying to wriggle her hips to get closer to the flame. she was so close just a minute ago, and she still is, but she needs more to get off, itching for a finger, more pressure on her clit, anything .

“paige, i need it” she whines, and she doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, exactly, just knows that paige can give it to her. 

“you need more, baby?” she questions, words vibrating into azsi’s core. 

she moans in affirmative, but before she can give a verbal agreement, there are two fingers back inside of her and all she can do is wail instead, surrendering to the pleasure that paige is pulling out of her.

and then all of a sudden paige goes from light strokes of her tongue and only minimal pressure on her opening to sucking on azzi’s clit, hard , and thrusting her fingers inside at the perfect angle, and azzi sees stars, thrashing a little bit in ecstasy. 

her words are incoherent now, just a mush of paige’s name and various pleas, and lightning builds up again in her abdomen in no time, heat curling in her core. 

and then paige nips, slightly, at her clit, timed perfectly with a curl of her fingers, and azzi shatters, entire body tensing up as she comes. 

she feels paige flop down next to her, but the world is still buzzing, toes tingling, and she can only muster up the energy to squeeze their fingers together in thanks, vision still white. 

she’s never come that hard in her life.  

when her breathing returns to normal, and her body starts to feel less like she’s floating away on a different plane, she’s reminded of the feral part of her that wants to touch and pleasure the girl lying next to her, and she straddles paige, leaning down to kiss her and moaning at the taste of herself. she breaks the kiss for a second to finally drags paige’s bra off and fling it behind her, and then miles of unblemished skin are staring back at her, just begging for her mouth.  

she bites at paige’s collarbone, before dipping down to take a nipple in her mouth, smiling a bit at the hitch in her breath. she explores a little more, leaving marks as she goes for good measure, and then she brings her fingers to the waistband of paige’s underwear, asking silent permission. paige nods, and azzi moves back up to kiss her for a bit as she traces her fingers through the pool of slick, dipping her fingers under the elastic and swallowing the quiet moans that paige releases.

paige is so, so wet, and azzi needs to put her mouth on her right now. 

“can i eat you out?” she mumbles, pressing the words into paige’s skin.

paige’s hips twitch, and she moans, wantonly, before breathing out “ c’n do whatever you want, az.” 

she doesn’t need more encouragement. 

“‘ve never done this before, can you- can you tell me how to make it good?” she asks, voice shy. 

paige just looks at her for a second, wild and turned on, before replying, voice hoarse, “s’you, azzi, it’s gonna be good.” 

azzi rolls her eyes, because: unhelpful, but allows it for now anyways, and scooches down, mouth catching everywhere she can on her descent. 

she tugs the offending material off, eyes catching on the meat of her thighs, and then situates herself between her long, endless legs, just looking for a second, admiring paige splayed out before her and exposed, just for azzi . 

she’s not even trying to be a tease, but there’s just so many things she wants to do and she can’t keep her mouth on one place for too long, sucking a mark into the pale, unmarred skin of paige’s pelvis, and then one on her inner thigh for good measure, leaning back to admire her handiwork. 

“azzi, baby, you’re killing me,” paige moans, sounding wrecked, and she hums before finally focusing on the patch of wetness at paige's core. she curls an arm under paige’s thigh and drapes it back across her hips to hold her steady, and then licks a tentative stripe up paige’s center, humming happily at the taste and intentionally sending vibrations into paige’s cunt 

she blonde makes a high, needy sound azzi’s never heard before above her, and she doubles down at the encouragement, sucking at paige's clit into her mouth and humming again in warning when her hips try and lift up to grind against azzi’s tongue. 

she looks up, and notices that paige’s eyes are closed, so she lifts her head briefly, requesting, “wan’ you to look at me, p,” and savors the way her blue eyes fly open, strangled sound escaping her mouth. 

“ jesus christ,” she whines, when azzi’s mouth returns, and she mumbles out a string of curses when her tongue trails down to trace at paige’s hole, but doesn’t break eye contact. 

a secret, possessive part of her mind relishes on the thought that paige has probably been fantasizing about some version of this moment for a long, long time. azzi is determined to live up to her dreams. 

she drags her mouth back up to paige’s clit, and slides the hand not currently pinning paige’s hips down on the bed down to run her fingers against the wetness pooling at her opening, sliding her fingers back and forth. 

“ please- azzi-” is all paige gets out, but it's enough, and azzi slides a finger in, sucking lazily at her above it. paige is so wet, and her walls clench down on azzi’s finger when she crooks it, and she knows she just came, but azzi may or may be getting off on this too. no one has to know. 

she adds another when paige lets out a particularly delicious whine, and she feels drunk on the sounds coming out of paige’s mouth, of the taste of her cunt on her tongue. (she is definitely, definitely into women. one hundred percent confirmed.)

it only takes another minute of azzi’s mouth on her clit, fingers curling inside, before paige is coming with a cry, thighs clenching momentarily around azzi’s head. she keeps her fingers pumping slowly, working her through it, until paige whines in overstimulation and drags azzi’s head away with the hands that are still tangled in her hair. 

she looks ruined, pupils blown and chest heaving, and azzi takes a second to kneel above and admire how pretty she looks like this, flushed and covered in marks.

“tha’ was nice,” is what paige decides to say first, still breathing hard, arm thrown across her face. idiot. 

azzi hums, amused. “should do it again sometime.” 

“i’d prolly be down.” 

azzi just rolls her eyes and crawls up paige’s body to lie closer to her, tangling their legs together and curling up under her chin. “yeah, yeah. prolly. okay, champ.”

“you did not just call me champ.”

azzi presses her laugh into the nook between paige’s neck and shoulder, like she has a million times before, but now there’s sweat cooling on their skin and pleasure still buzzing through her veins, and she feels a new kind of comfort in her favorite place. 

she smiles into the open skin in front of her, nipping at it lightly, and paige giggles- giggles - above her. she feels giddy with all the happiness radiating off the blonde, her own contentment settling into every crevice of her mind. 

“you’re gonna be a problem f’me aren't you,” paige mumbles into her hair, affection ruining any chance at seeming annoyed.

azzi hums, dragging her fingertips through the hair at the base of the blonde’s neck and lets contented silence settle around them. 

and then, because she can’t help it: “i made you finish faster.” 

paige squaks and rolls them over, planting herself above azzi and looking like the picture of indignation. 

she gloats again, “i’m just sayin’. i’ve never even gotten a girl off before and you only lasted, what, like, four min-” 

paige cuts her off with a kiss, pressing the brunette back into the mattress and slidling a leg between azzi’s to nudge her between her thighs, right where she’s already wet and waiting again. she detaches their mouths for a second, mumbling out a “four minutes, i’ll show you four minutes ,” and starts mouthing kisses down the column of azzi’s throat.

…

round two (or is it three? she doesn’t really know how to keep track of when one starts and another begins) comes to a begrudging halt when azzi hears paige's stomach grumble, loudly, for the second time in under a minute. and then she thinks about how she hasn’t eaten since 11am, and it's probably getting on to be 7pm, and she makes an executive decision to extract herself from paige’s limbs and go find them something to eat. 

both objectives prove to be difficult. 

extracting herself, because paige has decided that now that she can touch azzi whenever and however she wants, she has to be touching azzi at all times, however she wants. she allows this until paige actively tries to stop her from putting on a shirt, claiming that she’s being unfair and latching onto azzi’s back to press kisses to her shoulder and making it impossible for her to pull the faded graphic tee she finds thrown on the desk chair over her head. 

this results in some light making out against paige’s dresser until her stomach rumbles for the third time and azzi is reminded that they’ve both played a full 40 minutes of basketball and gone multiple rounds without sustenance, and despite paige’s insistence, azzi is not sufficient enough for dinner. 

they compromise on clothing by each throwing on a pair of faded boxers that paige digs up, and azzi steals the calvin bra that paige had been wearing earlier, which delights paige, who in turn  throws on the tank top azzi had been wearing. 

she smacks paige on the shoulder when she nudges their socked feet together and drawls “thank god we didn’t take our socks off. was worried we was bein’ gay.”

ridiculous. she’s ridiculous.

her “you’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” lacks heat and is muffled into paige’s shoulder, because smacking her had turned into being pulled into a hug, just because. 

“you sure you believe that?” is the response into her hair. azzi pinches her waist and ignores the subsequent yelp. 

and something warm and fuzzy solidifies in her stomach at how easy this already is- the coexisting and the sharing clothes and the physical intimacy. 

it’s not like she was worried that it would be awkward, that the sex would be bad, but the reassurance that she and paige are just as compatible as they’ve always been- even more so now that they are solidly on the same page- makes her feel like shitting rainbows or puppies or some equally as idiotic metaphor that is always used for people who are ridiculously happy. 

she buries her grin in paige’s shoulder and just takes it in for a second. 

but also. food. 

finally dressed enough to brave the massive windows that line the kitchen, azzi pulls herself from paige’s embrace and goes to walk through the door, but is stopped by a hand on her hip. 

“nah, nah, wait a second, baby. gotta give you the proper attire.” 

paige disappears into her closet, and azzi is left standing in the doorway, confused, because paige had just been throwing an absolute fit about azzi hiding any more skin, before immediately groaning when paige returns wearing a large, wide brimmed brown cowboy hat and holding an equally as ridiculous looking tan one in her outstretched hands. 

“i am not wearing that.” she crosses her arms in protest, mouth twitching to hide her grin.

“i told you. it’s mandatory here, az. this one’s my favorite.” she flips it, to show off the paige written across the side. “hat police are gonna getcha if you don’t. i’m just protecting you.”

“you just wanna see me in a hat that has your name on it,” is her response, but she lets paige place it on her tangle of curls anyway. 

she still feels a little bit like she needs to be sent to an asylum, because hello, but as her and paige traipse down the hallway, bumping hips and hat brims every five seconds and laughing like it’s the funniest joke in the world, she figures paige will have to be sent there right along side her, and. well. that doesn’t sound half bad at all. 

she leaves the other girl to the task of fishing their phones out from the various spots they were abandoned in the living room and wanders into the kitchen to evaluate the food situation. 

and here comes the difficulty of her second objective, because paige has, like, nothing to eat. their mini fridge in storrs had more nutrients than the empty monstrosity that is paige’s stainless steel refrigerator. 

“i don’t understand how you’re alive,” she states, when she hears paige’s feet on the hardwood floors returning back to the kitchen.

“ummm door dash. obviously,” is her response, as she places their phones on the counter and hooks her head on azzi’s shoulder. “think there’s chicken in there that hasn't expired, though.” their hats bang together, almost knocking them both off, and paige’s hands shoot immediately from azzi’s waist to the tops of their heads, fighting to keep them both balanced. 

affection wells up so strongly in azzi at the stupid gesture that she just has to turn around and kiss her. 

this does knock paige’s hat off, and it falls to the floor behind her, but it's fine because her hands have returned to azzi’s skin where they belong and her tongue is tracing azzi’s lower lip and actually. maybe this is enough sustenance. 

she shivers, partly from the finger currently brushing her nipple through the thin cotton of her (paige’s) bra, and partly because she’s standing directly in front of the open fridge . 

which beeps. loudly. because it’s been open for too long. and okay yes. food. they need food. 

“gettin’ cockblocked by my own damn appliance is a low,” paige mumbles, when azzi pulls away to turn back around. 

“we’re not having sex again until you can go more than five minutes without your stomach grumbling.”

“bro. you kissed me .” 

her stomach rumbles. 

at azzi’s pointed look over her shoulder, “yeah, yeah. lemme see if i have tortillas.”

paige hip checks her on her way to the pantry and the domesticity of it all has azzi grinning like a fucking lunatic as she pulls the ( barely non-expired) chicken and some cheese from the drawers and finally closes the doors. 

there is nothing even remotely resembling a vegetable in paige’s kitchen, but azzi figures chicken quesadillas are as good as they’re gonna get for now and lets paige bumble around getting a skillet on the stove while she sits on the counter to supervise and check her texts. 

she has 27 from the team group chat which she ignores in favor of the 3 waiting for her from aaliyah.

5:09 lili: bro where’d you go 

5:21 lili: azzi fudd u little slut

6:48 lili: so im guessing ur not coming to team dinner

she giggles at her phone, and, just as it always used to be, summons paige in exactly four milliseconds, the blonde sidling up beside her to peer over her shoulder, never one to miss out. 

she laughs, too, when she sees the texts, and snatches the phone from azzi’s hand when she nods at paige’s silent request. she backs up and takes a photo of azzi, sitting on the counter, cowboy hat askew and probably smiling at paige behind the camera like a freak.

paige shows her the photo before she sends it, and. jesus. azzi looks positively debauched, hair wild around her face under the hat, the paige on the brim front and center, and marks littering her neck. she’s looking at the camera like the sun is shining out of paige’s ass, and. 

she looks so happy . and so utterly paige’s.

she doesn’t realize that paige sends the photo accompanied by she’s looking at her dinner until after.

“ paige,” she whines, when she sees, but paige is already reopening the camera and sending another photo, this time of herself, tongue sticking out and self satisfied smirk present across stupid, beautiful face, marks of her own visible on her collarbone. 

they watch, in real time, as aaliyah sends back a string of nonsensical letters. and then, simultaneously, both their phones start buzzing incessantly. aaliyah has apparently decided that their old uconn group chat that had fallen out of disuse when the two of them stopped being able to interact needs immediate updating. snitch.

CD’s favorites +paige 😛✌️

lili: [2 screenshots of her texts with azzi]

lili: GUYSFHDSJKALFG

lili: WE PRAYED FOR TIMES LIKE THIS

kk: NO FUCKING SHOT

nika: RU SERIPUS 

ice princess: YALL R BACK TG?????

they watch in amusement as more people begin to chime in, and even though some of them are under the impression that they’re back together, it doesn't matter. the responses get particularly funny when people start sending in tweets of clips of the two of them from the game. 

caroline: should’ve known yall were back on ur bs

caroline: [link to a tweet with the caption oh they are soooo back tg above a video of their interaction in the first quarter: giggling at each other and touching for way longer than necessary under the pretense of azzi helping paige up. it has 5k likes.]

azzi sends a simple im never texting you anything ever again aaliyah. 

kk: dont u have dinner to enjoy

paige, who has grabbed her phone while azzi was crafting her text, giggles at her own phone next to azzi. 

paige: yes. she does. 

paige: muting this gc now 

paige: nosy freaks

and then, she plucks azzi’s phone from her hands, mutes the gc, and drops their phones down on the counter. 

“not ready to share you. we can text them later.” she grins at azzi, and tries to slide between her legs, head coming in for a kiss.

azzi gives in to a chaste peck before pulling back. “dinner first. kissing after.”

paige groans, but obliges when azzi shoos her back to the stove, hopping off the counter after her to assist with the assembly. 

as she digs around in the cabinets to find cooking spray, she prompts, “so. tell me how dallas has really been.”

the chat as they cook, filling each other in on the bigger things that have happened in the last year as they move seamlessly around the kitchen, like bob getting promoted and azzi getting a new car. and it’s a little bittersweet, at the reminder of the distance that’s grown between them, but azzi finds herself simply wanting to know more, share more. they can’t change the past, redo the last year and figure their shit out earlier, but she’s surprised to find herself beginning to be okay with that as long as she has paige now, and in the future. 

the warm simplicity of it, the domesticity of moving around the kitchen in sync, makes azzi’s heart feel like it's about to burst out of her chest. and she knows she must be really gone because paige gently smacking her ass every time she passes by is somehow cute. lord help her. 

“missed this,” she says quietly at one point, when paige comes to stand behind her at the stove to flip one of the quesadillas. it's the understatement of the century, but she knows paige will understand the thousands of meanings embedded into the two words.

“yeah,” she agrees, dropping a kiss to azzi’s shoulder. “me too.”

they decide to eat on the floor, backs against the kitchen cabinets, because it allows for them to be touching in multiple places, paige’s legs splayed out in front of them and azzi practically in her lap, balancing their shared plate on her knees. she ignores how ridiculous she feels at the fact that being able to be as close as possible to paige takes precedence over the convenience of sitting at an actual table. 

her prefrontal cortex has been replaced by a picture of paige’s face. whatever.

as they scarf down their quesadillas, azzi hears one of their phones vibrating on the counter above them with a call. she reaches above her, fumbling around without looking to try and find it so she doesn’t have to stand up, and smiles triumphantly when her hand makes contact with the buzzing plastic. 

of course it’s her mother. 

paige grins, and swipes to answer it before azzi can protest. 

katie’s opening line is “34 points! i’m so proud of you, honey!” and they can hear tim echoing his agreement in the background. azzi knows very well that this is a front and that the last thing she’s calling about right now is basketball, but she plays along. 

“hey, mom, thank you,” she says, suspicious. 

“any particular reason you were playing so well, anything to do with that phone call we had last week?” 

and. ah yes. there it is, not even ten seconds into the call. paige looks like she just won the lottery, the bitch , shit-eating grin sliding across her face. azzi mouths don’t and tries to feign innocence. “nope, just. y’know, felt good today.” 

tim’s voice adds on to the humiliation ritual that is azzi’s life, asking, “not showing off for anyone or anything?”. 

“nope.” she says, popping the p and letting them sit in silence for a second. 

she sees paige open her mouth in her peripheral and lunges to try and cover it but its too late, and paige’s cheerful “hi katie, hi tim!” is muffled through azzi’s hands.

paige is so, so dead. azzi is going to withhold kisses from her for like. at least 10 minutes. 

her parents are immediately a chorus of smug hellos and laughter on the other end of the line. they all suck. 

“so you guys finally figured your shit out, huh?” her mom asks, and what is happening? why is azzi being subjected to this?

“azzi’s fault,” paige claims, amidst the younger girl’s protests. “do you know how dumb your daughter is?” she continues, showing off for azzi’s parents like the absolute kiss up that she is. azzi mentally extends the no kissing time frame by another 10 minutes.

“well of course! that’s why you’re the favorite.” says her dad, laughing on the other end, and azzi groans into paige’s arm. 

“ oh my god. i’m hanging up on you guys. we’ll call you tomorrow,” she whines, but the laughter only continues. 

her parents and paige chat briefly, getting updates on their lives with azzi chiming in occasionally with commentary, and her mother begrudgingly lets them hang up after informing them she was going to call amy like the absolute gossip she was. 

paige tries to kiss her in the silence following the dial tone, but azzi’s mental timer is still running and she’s not about to let paige start something on the floor of the kitchen, so she pushes paige up off the ground to start the dishes. 

she decides to put on music while the blonde begins loading the dishwasher, and slides back onto the counter, grabbing paige’s phone so she can connect to the speakers she knows are hidden somewhere in the room (paige has too much money for her own good, but at least she has taste.)

“what’s your password?” she tosses at paige. it's weird having to ask, and it's a melancholy reminder of the last year, but then.

silence in response. she glances up, confused, and immediately laughs at paige’s caught expression. 

“ oh my god. you love me so much,” she exclaims, typing in 3505, the same as it's been since that first summer session before azzi’s freshman year. “this is a new phone, too, i can tell.”

“yeah, yeah, okay. chill. changing it felt wrong.” her voice is bashful, almost embarrassed, and, well, that just won’t do.

she pulls the blonde over and traps her between the vee of hips by tangling her ankles behind paige’s back. her arms wrap around paige’s neck, and azzi takes in how beautiful she is, faint blush painting her cheeks. she knows there must be some lingering insecurity, god knows azzi would need centuries of reassurance to come back from the amount of time paige spent pining, and she tries to pick her words carefully to squash as much doubt as she can in one go. 

“i’m sorry it took so long for me to figure out, but i am so, so in love with you. like a concerning amount.”

paige’s blush deepens, and azzi’s heart swells at how happy she looks, here in the dim light of her kitchen in azzi’s tank top.

“ sap.” paige tucks her grin into azzi’s shoulder, before pulling back to look at her. “s’okay. we got here eventually.” 

and, yeah. they did. 

she leans in to kiss azzi, who meets her halfway, and then the open dishwasher and pan in the sink is forgotten in favor of paige’s mouth on her throat, her stomach, her thighs, her cunt.

she eats azzi out slowly, reverently, like she’s trying to memorize every sound she makes, every nerve ending, every shift of her hips. paige works her up in mere minutes, azzi’s back arching against the marble countertop and paige’s name tumbling from her lips. she keeps her there, on the edge for a second, just looking up at azzi, taking it in.

and it's nice, or whatever, that paige wants to savor the moment, but azzi wants to come. she doesn’t even know the words that are coming out of her mouth, begging for paige to do something, anything, babbling incoherent strings of baby and paige and please. 

her fingers curl in paige’s hair and tug, and then paige is slipping two fingers into the heat of her and sucking her clit in her mouth and that’s all it takes for azzi to break, the world around them ceasing to exist.   

paige pulls away, dazed, and azzi drags her back up for a kiss to taste herself, licking into paige’s mouth and humming in content. (azzi has her so pussy drunk that she doesn’t even make a dessert joke. life is so beautiful.)

but then paige frees her mouth from azzi and mumbles “just so you know, i’m winning. it’s 4-3,” sly grin spreading across her face. azzi is confused for all of three seconds before she shrieks and shoves paige off of her. 

“are you counting orgasms?”

“i’m just saying -”

“oh my god. you’re keeping track of orgasms . paige madison-”

“you’re just annoyed ‘cause you’re losing, ma,” she shrugs, and pats azzi's thigh in mock consolidation. azzi loves her so much that she feels like she doesn’t know what to do with all of it.

she figures a good place to start is to drag paige down the hallway and back towards her bedroom to even the score. she’s never been very good at losing.

AN: hi hello i hope you enjoyed. as always please tell me if you did PLEASE I'm a slut for validation and it will probably make my month. im gonna say very definitively that this is the last chapter, but an angsty paige prequel is hitting my line so you might get that at some point too? idfk. if the smut was terrible I deeply apologize I've never actually written it before so please allow for some grace as I discover how many synonyms of the word vagina there are and how somehow NONE OF THEM sound the way I want them too. sorry for the tangent love you xoxo

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Punishment”

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

part three of Camden’s sin but can be read as a stand alone

part 1 here and part 2 here Masterlist here

Summary: Alfie finished too fast—and you made the mistake of laughing. He makes sure you regret it, thoroughly.

WC: 3,5k

Warnings: intense smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, oral(f!receiving), fingering, overstimulation, light bondage, filthy language, rough sex, cumplay dom!alfie, reader is Tommy Shelby’s sister

Two weeks and a half. That’s how long it had been since you’d last seen Alfie Solomons. The longest you’d ever gone without him since this whole secret affair between you two began.

It wasn’t your choice, of course. Tommy had sent you off on some godforsaken business trip to the other side of the country, and you couldn’t refuse, couldn’t afford to raise suspicions.

“It’s only gonna be two weeks. What’s the problem with that, eh?” Tommy said with that tone.

You twisted a piece of hair around your finger, trying to play it cool and sound casual. “You know I hate being away from home. Besides, I’ve got meetings scheduled with Solomons and—”

“Meetings with Alfie?” he interrupted sharply. “I’ll handle them. Don’t worry.”

And that was that. With Tommy, it was always final.

But being away from Alfie was pure maddening torture. You craved him like air. Every single night you were away you burned for him, remembering the way his hands roamed your body, setting it on fire. The thought of him, the feel of his rough hands on your skin, made your pulse race and your body ache with an emptiness that only he could fill.

Now, finally, you were back. And you knew exactly what kind of welcome Alfie would have in mind, how he’d want to make up for lost time.

You could hear him pacing from the hallway outside his office, the heavy sound of his boots, like a caged beast. His frustration was palpable, each step a silent promise of what was to come. He was waiting for you.

The moment you pushed the door open, he was on you. No time for greetings. No words. No sweet kiss or pleasantries of any sort.

Nothing but desperation as he slammed you against the wall, his hands all over your body like he’d gone half-mad. The force of his touch was like a jolt of electricity to your body, and it felt as though the weight of your separation melted away in an instant.

“Four ‘undred an’ seventeen hours, right, an’ thirty-four fuckin’ minutes.” His voice was low, rough. “That’s how long it’s been since I last had you.”

You gasped out a breathless laugh. “You counted the minutes?”

“I counted the fuckin’ seconds, darlin’. I did. Pathetic, innit? Absolutely fuckin’ pathetic.”

His mouth crashed onto yours with no finesse, just hunger, a type of hunger you haven’t seen before, not even in him. His kiss was feral, consuming, and you could taste the desperation in every frantic movement of his lips, as though he couldn’t get enough of you, like he was trying to memorize the feel of your mouth on his.

��Treacle… my fuckin’ girl, yeah? My gorgeous little shiksa, come back to drive me up the bloody wall.” he murmured against your mouth.

His kiss turned even more heated, all tongue and teeth, he was so lost, going so fast he didn’t even notice how he bit your lip until he tasted the blood, but still, he didn’t mind. It was rough, wild, a reminder of how much he needed you, how much he’d missed you. His hands were everywhere—pulling at your hair, grasping at your waist—and your body responded instinctively, aching for his touch.

“Alfie… fuck… slow down,” you gasped between kisses.

“No. No, I’m not fuckin’ slowing down, alright? I’m fuckin’ dying here, woman,” his voice was raspy, breaking like a man on the edge. “It’s been weeks. You understand that? Left me starvin’ like some poor sod left out in the cold, yeah? While you were off playin’ secretary for your brother.

“I know, I missed this too but—”

“I don’t care for bloody excuses, yeah?” he spat. “Fuckin’ Tommy sending you away, blah, blah. Well while you were on your little vacation I almost gave me cock a fuckin’ third-degree burn wankin’ myself raw thinkin’ about that tight little cunt of yours.” He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye. “Suddenly I’m a fuckin’ fourteen-year-old boy again behind the synagogue, pants ‘round me ankles and fucking my fist.”

You looked at him then, he was a wreck. More disheveled than his usual self, beard grown out, eyes hollowed with exhaustion as if the last time he had slept was right before you left. His rugged appearance—eyes heavy, body tense—only made the need for him feel more urgent, more raw. He looked like he had been existing in some kind of torturous limbo without you.

“I even thought of shaggin’ some whore while you were gone, get a tart to come and please me, but they’re not my treacle. Do you think I want anyone else? I’d rather rot, yeah? I’d rather go insane than stick me cock in someone who ain’t you, than live without this.”

“You look like a mess,” you whispered.

“Yeah? well that’s cause I am a fuckin’ mess for you,” he muttered darkly, fingers fumbling with his belt. “And you’re gonna pay for leavin’ me alone for weeks, yeah? That’s called fuckin’ retribution.”

In one swift move, he lifted you, with your legs wrapped around his waist, and he began yanking up your dress—

“No fuckin’ knickers again,” he growled, half laughing like a man unhinged. “Bloody menace you are.”

Two fingers ran through your slick heat, Alfie groaned like a dying man when he felt how wet your already were for him.

He pulled his fingers out and shoved them into your mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he growled. “You fuckin’ taste how desperate you are for me too?”

You sucked on his fingers, moaning around them, eyes wild.

He nearly came in his trousers.

“God damn,” he muttered, dragging his fingers free. “You’re gonna kill me, woman.”

Before you could even say something back, he slammed into you with one brutal thrust that had your back arching hard against the wall.

“Oh God—you’re tighter than I remembered, like a fuckin’ vice,” he hissed. The intensity of his thrust rocked you, sending shockwaves of sensation through your body, making you gasp for air. You could feel every inch of him as he filled you, like nothing else in the world mattered but him inside you.

And just like that, he came.

A single groan ripped from his throat, long and raw. He buried his face in your shoulder, rutting helplessly into you, already spent, already getting soft. His entire body shuddered against you, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. You could feel his heart thumping wildly beneath your skin, his desperation burning through you as he clung to you, unwilling to let go.

You blinked. One minute. Maybe. If you were being generous.

He stayed there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to your skin like he’d just been shot. Avoiding your gaze.

“Fuck…fuck—oh you little—” He pulled out with another groan, shaking and panting against your shoulder like a man that had been defeated.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh—but it slipped out anyway. It wasn’t cruel, just an amused little chuckle.

“That’s it?” you teased softly, knowing exactly how dangerous this game was.

“Don’t fuckin’—don’t fuckin’ start,” he groaned, hiding his face in your neck like a wounded animal. “Don’t even look at me, I swear to God—“

He stepped back, murmuring incomprehensible words, adjusting himself, glaring like he could burn a hole through the floor.

“Don’t you dare… Don’t you fuckin’ dare look smug about this,” he growled. “That fuckin’ mouth… that’s why I lasted sixty seconds.”

You grinned, teeth biting into your lower lip. “Think it was more like thirty.”

He groaned again. “Right, well now I’m insulted and limp—cheers, love.”

⸻

You didn’t hear from him for a week.

There were no sweets. No flowers delivered by one of his men when your family wasn’t home. No filthy telegrams full of his usual depraved words.

Nothing. Because Alfie Solomons had never been so embarrassed in his life. The way he’d lost control and came way too fast—like some bloody virgin teenager who’d never touched a woman before. It was simply unacceptable.

Now it was a new week. Another scheduled meeting, and you were back in Camden. Only this time, he didn’t look happy to see you, he wasn’t smirking like he always did whenever he saw you.

No. He was just staring, reclined in his chair with his arms crossed over his stomach.

“You humiliated me, yeah? You know that, don’t you?” He said as soon as you stepped inside his office.

You blinked. Here we go.

“Alfie—”

“No. Shut your gob and let me fuckin’ talk,” His voice was calm. “It is a fact. You shamed me. Laughed. Mocked a man in his moment of weakness, in his darkest hour, right? and that is a vile, a very evil thing to do, treacle, a very unkind thing.”

“I didn’t mock you,” you tried. “I—”

“You laughed, woman. You know what that does to a man’s ego? to a man’s pride?” his voice still calm but harsh. “Now I have a very big ego, probably not as big as what’s between my legs, right? But it still hurts, treacle.”

He stood slowly, and for some reason he looked bigger, broader, dangerous.

He walked to the door and flicked the key, and slipped it into his pocket.

“Alfie,” you said, heart starting to pound. “What are you—”

“You ain’t leavin’ this room,” he said, walking toward you with such calm that it was terrifying in a way. “Not ‘til I prove myself that you’ll never laugh again, is that clear?”

You swallowed hard.

“Oh yes, treacle. You won’t be laughing tonight,” he muttered. “You’re gonna cry. You’re gonna cry and you’re gonna be begging me to have some mercy on you. But I won’t.”

What happened next was so fast, your mind barely had time to register it. One second you were standing in front of him, and next—Alfie had ripped your dress open, buttons flying everywhere across the room as his big, greedy hands claimed every inch of your body as his. He touched and kneaded every ounce of your soft flesh. Every touch of his hands was an insistent claim, possessive and almost brutal, making your skin burn beneath his fingertips.

The next second he shoved you back onto his desk, flat on your back, completely naked and sprawled across a mess of his paperwork.

“Now you…” he panted, eyes dark as sin. “You’re gonna be a good girl and you’re gonna lie there looking pretty for me, yeah?”

You nodded, breath getting heavy as he pulled off his belt.

“Give me your fuckin’ hands,” he ordered, voice rough, commanding—and you had no choice but to obey instantly.

He tied your wrists together with the leather, tight but not so much that it’d hurt. And then he dropped to his knees on the floor like a man in prayer. He gripped your thighs, dragged you to the edge of the desk, and spread you open—so your soaked, pulsing center was right in front of his face.

He let out a dark chuckle. “Well, would ya look at that? Eh? Fuckin’ soaked.”

He slapped your pussy once—softly, playfully—but it was enough to make you whimper and squirm beneath him.

“I’d call a photographer in here—proper one, yeah? Ask him to take a picture of it…Immortalize this perfect fuckin’ cunt forever. But I’d have to shoot the bastard in the ‘ead. No one sees this an’ lives to tell the tale.”

He slapped your wet heat again with his fingers, his touch drove you crazy with need, instantly jerking your hips against his hand, desperate to feel more of him.

“Please, Alfie—” you whimpered, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable. You wanted to reach out to him, grab his hair and pull him until his face was buried in your cunt, but the belt around your wrists made it impossible.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll start in a moment, treacle, alright?” He muttered, eyes fixed on you. “Don’t rush me. Let a man admire somethin’ so divine, yeah? You’re a proper masterpiece down ‘ere.”

And then he began. Slow. Purposeful. Teasing you like he always did. His thick fingers slid along your folds, slick with arousal, brushing over your entrance again and again—but he didn’t touch your clit.

He avoided it with expert cruelty, knowing exactly how to drive you mad.

“You look so pretty squirming like that,” he murmured, voice dangerously low. “Enough to make a sane man go fuckin’ feral. And I was never sane to begin with.”

Finally, his thumb pressed down on your clit, in firm, relentless circles, and you cried out, your head dropping back with a gasp. The sensation was overwhelming, making every nerve in your body ignite with pleasure, and you couldn’t help the little whimper that escaped your lips.

He already knew exactly how to undo you. He always had the right pressure and pace that shattered your control in minutes.

“I’m close—Alfie—I’m gonna—” you tried to warn him, but the orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. Your legs jerked and your whole body clenched tight. The sheer intensity of it made your vision blur, your back arching off the desk as you lost all control, the world shrinking down to nothing but the pleasure that he had built inside you.

Alfie groaned, relishing in the way your body trembled because of him. “Beautiful. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful cumming for me, treacle.” His voice was thick with pride, like he was savoring every drop of the pleasure he was giving you.

“Tell me—what other man can make you cum like that, eh?” He waited. “Go on then, tell me, what other fuckin’ geezer’s ever made you cum like that, yeah? I’ll wait.”

“No one,” you sobbed breathlessly. “No one, Alfie.”

But he wasn’t done with you. Not even close. He didn’t offer you even a second of mercy before pushing two fingers into your soaked cunt, knuckles-deep, fucking you fast and hard with them. Each thrust of his fingers was a ruthless reminder of just how little he cared for your exhaustion. His pace was brutal, relentless, and you could feel the heat of his body burning into yours with every movement.

“You’re gonna take it,” he growled, an evil smirk on his face, “gonna take everything I give you tonight.” His words were more like a command than a question, and you had no choice but to obey, your body moving to his rhythm without thought.

Your second orgasm slammed into you before you even had time to prepare for it, and by the time he started working toward the third, your legs were trembling, you felt overstimulated, and your tears were pooling at the corners of your eyes. The world spun, and you could feel every nerve on edge, your body gasping for air, trying to recover, but Alfie refused to let you—he was pushing you past your limits, over and over again.

“Oi, you alright, love? You still with me? There we go… That’s my good girl. Cryin’ and takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ.” His voice sounded tender but at the same time you could notice the mocking undertone in it. The tenderness only made the harshness of his touch more pronounced, like he was playing with your body as if it were a toy he could control.

He slid a third finger back inside you, curling it to hit your g-spot, while his mouth feasted on your clit—sucking, swirling, biting, making obscene sounds against your wet heat. His lips and tongue worked you with cruel precision, his fingers curling to drive you even closer to the edge, while his groans against your clit made your body tremble even more.

“Missed the way your cunt tastes,” he grunted. “Like syrup. Could bottle it. Sell it next to my rum.”

His groans mixed with the sounds of your slickness, your whimpers, your hoarse cries. Each sound seemed to fuel him more, pushing him to devour you completely, to take what he wanted without any mercy. Your pussy was overstimulated to the point of pain—it was almost torturous, you wanted to scream at him, asking him to stop, but you were still begging him for more.

His fingers inside your hole pumped in and out, fast, deep, unrelenting. The pressure was building so intensely that it felt like every cell in your body was firing off, and yet you couldn’t pull away. His grip on you was too strong, too perfect, keeping you right there at the edge of oblivion.

And when your third orgasm hit, it damn near knocked you out, your vision blurred for a second, feeling lightheaded. Your whole body seized up, unable to control the overwhelming wave of ecstasy that took over, and you cried out his name, unable to form anything coherent as you gave in completely.

You cried out his name, hips bucking. He pulled away and stood up, licking his fingers clean as he looked down at you—completely ruined.

“You gonna laugh now? Still got a joke in ya, do ya? Gonna laugh now, eh?”

“No… Alfie, I won’t, I promise,” you choked out through a moan, your whole body trembling. You could barely catch your breath, feeling like you’d been torn apart and put back together in the most brutal way possible.

“I’m not convinced, you see?” He said darkly. “Think I gotta make the point a bit clearer, don’t I? Think you still got a lesson to learn.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, and though you were exhausted, you couldn’t help but want to see just how far he would push you.

He shoved down his pants, and you saw just how hard he was—like a rock, dripping precum. The sight of him, so desperate and thick with need, made your heart race again, despite the overwhelming sensation of your body already having given so much.

“You ever laugh at me again,” he warned, “I’ll tie you down to this desk and keep you here for a fuckin’ week.”

He pushed into you—slow, deliberate—and every inch of him burned like fire inside you. You gasped, your walls stretching to accommodate him, feeling every inch as he filled you completely, slowly, almost torturously, until there was nothing left but the raw sensation of him inside you.

“Jesus Christ,” he gritted out. “I’m never getting used to you. Tight little thing… so soft…”

Then he began to thrust, setting his pace hard, fast, brutal—and your body practically lifted from the desk with every stroke. It was so deep, so relentless, that you felt like you might shatter at any second, your body giving itself to him in ways you hadn’t thought possible.

“You feel that?” he groaned, slamming into you harder. “You feel how deep I am? That’s me in your guts. Rearranging fuckin’ furniture. Writing my fuckin’ name on your insides.”

You could only sob, eyes fluttering back as he took you over the edge once more. Every thrust felt like it was taking you apart, and you were powerless to do anything but feel it, over and over again, until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but give yourself to him completely.

“You were so smug, laughin’ at me the other day, but look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock… That’s poetic justice, that is.”

He snapped his hips harder, faster, until your thighs shook and you screamed his name, feeling another climax approaching.

“Come on, treacle,” he panted, “give me another one. Last one. Around my cock.” He said, breathless, pounding into you with ferocity. His voice was a mix of desperation and satisfaction, as though he couldn’t get enough of the sound of you breaking, of you being his in every possible way.

You fumbled with the belt, moving your wrists and trying to break free from the tight grip of it. You wanted to push him away, you felt like your tight hole couldn’t take it any more—too sore, too overstimulated. The belt bit into your wrists each time you struggled, leather creaking, and still—he didn’t let up.

“Nuh-uh, treacle,” he said with a wicked smile, “the belt stays where it is. Don’t fight it. Just take it.” He owned every part of you, your body, your cries, the very air in your lungs. Your struggle only made him hungrier.

God, you wanted it so much. Even in the pain—even in the overwhelming stretch of it all—there was something about the way he held you as he pounded into you, that made you feel worshipped in the filthiest way.

He snapped his hips harder and your final orgasm tore through you, whimpers hoarse, crying out his name. He felt the delicious pressure of your cunt squeezing him, and already knew that was his undoing.

“Fuck— Oh darlin’, I’m right there” He muttered through his teeth.

His own orgasm followed quickly after yours, he pulled his cock out of you, cum shooting out of him and getting all over your thighs and stomach in warm, pearly white streaks. The heat of it spread across your skin, marking you as his in the most primal way.

He grabbed his shaft, letting the tip of his now half-hard cock smear his cum all over you, as if he was painting you with it. The head of his cock dragged across your belly, your thighs, messy and unapologetic. His gaze never leaving you, eyes dark with something animal. There was reverence in it, too. Like you were a canvas and he’d just finished a masterpiece. Like the mess he made of you was art.

“I swear, so help me god,” he growled through a grin, “one day I’m just gonna fuckin’ die on top of you—big stupid grin on my face, cock still inside you, ‘cause there’s no better way to go. And even dead, I wouldn’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

“You’re insane,” you breathed, body limp.

“You made me insane. You did this to me”

He untied your wrists gently, rubbing the marks on your skin to ease the discomfort, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You did proper fuckin’ good, love. Amazing. Treacle, you’re bloody magnificent, you know that?” he murmured, arms wrapping around you as he let you rest against his chest. His fingers traced slow circles on your arm.

His eyes dropped to your stomach, staring at the mess he’d made.

“I’m gonna buy one of those…” he muttered, breath still ragged, “one of those bloody Kodaks or summat. Take a picture of this right here, and then I’m gettin’ it tattooed on me chest.”

You let out a laugh, amused and wrecked. “Is that your version of being romantic?”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “It’s the most romantic I’ve ever fuckin’ been, innit? Don’t get used to it.”

You tried to shift, to pull your legs together and sit up, but they wouldn’t cooperate. They felt like jelly, trembling, completely boneless after all he put you through.

“You can’t walk, can you?”

“Barely.”

“Good,” he said smugly. “That’s how it should be.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this part (many more coming) thank you so much for your support and nice words!! it makes me so happy🫶🫶

[ttdamian]

Buried hope

⸺ summary ; How would an encounter between Jason and his dead lover go?

⸺ Authors note ; Jason todd x gn! reader. English isnt my first language. Feel free to send request while i figure out how tf tumblr works. wc : 750 drabble. not beta read.

Gotham never forgot how to mourn.

Even the sky bowed under grief, sagging clouds weeping into alleys where saints and monsters shared pavement. Jason stood beneath that sorrow, soaked to the bone, every footstep echoing like an accusation.

He hadn't come looking for you.

That would imply hope — and he’d buried that six feet under, right next to you.

So, when the blade met his throat— not metaphorically, but actually— he didn’t even raise his gun.

It shimmered like moonlight made solid, kissed steel now slick with rain and vengeance. He smelled ozone and blood. He saw boots—familiar, scuffed. And then…your eyes.

Dead people weren’t supposed to have eyes like that.

But there you stood—your boots silent on the wet rooftop, a blade poised against his throat. You were a ghost wrapped in flesh, breathing air that shouldn’t fill your lungs.

You were real. Solid. Breathing. Soaked. And angry.

Still breath taking as ever.

He didn’t speak. He feared that if he did, the moment might break, and you might fade. After all, you weren’t supposed to be standing. You weren’t supposed to be anything but ash.

He had held your body.

He had buried you.

The ground hadn’t just taken you—it had swallowed you whole. The day he put you beneath it, something in him went with you. Something he hadn’t felt since…well, since the last time he died.

Now, here you were. Rainwater traced the hollow of your cheek like a tear that refused to fall. Your face was harder now, older. Not by time, but by torment. The city had shaped you again, carved you anew like a statue unburied from ruins.

"Do it," he said, voice low. “If that’s why you’re here.”

You didn’t speak.

And yet you screamed.

Not with sound—but with every ounce of what you were. Your silence was not absence. It was mourning. It was accusation. It was betrayal and survival and something Jason couldn’t name because he hadn’t earned the right to.

His eyes traveled to your grip.

Steady.

But your jaw tightened.

Not fear. Not doubt.

Pain.

Jason exhaled, slow. “They told me you were gone. I saw the blood. The wreckage. There was a fire.”

Your gaze didn’t shift.

He swallowed. “I brought you home. I... couldn’t even close the casket myself.”

Still, nothing.

Only the storm spoke. Thunder rolled in the sky like distant drums, a funeral procession above the clouds.

He wondered what they had done to you. Who had pulled you back. What hell you’d clawed through to stand here now. He saw it in the weight of your shoulders, in the way the sword didn’t want to leave your hand.

"You died," he said, softer now. "But you came back."

And wasn’t that the story of his life? Of all their lives?

He could laugh, if it didn’t feel like blasphemy.

Instead, he dropped to his knees.

Not in surrender.

In recognition.

In reverence.

The blade followed, pressed now against his cheek, trailing his jaw like a lover long gone. A line of red bloomed beneath it—just a whisper of blood. It felt holy.

Jason closed his eyes.

“I deserve it,” he said.

Maybe not for what happened.

But for everything else.

The times he didn’t come back soon enough. The times he let his anger drown his grief. The nights he dreamt of you but let you fade by morning. The way he let the world move on while some part of you still bled beneath it.

You watched him.

The man who once lit the world on fire for justice. Now kneeling in the rain, waiting for your judgment.

And then—

You dropped the sword.

It clanged against the concrete, the sound sharp and final. Like the closing of a door. Like the exhale of a spirit released.

Jason looked up.

You stepped forward.

Your hand hovered over his face—not quite touching, but there, trembling in the space where memory and reality finally collided.

He didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare.

You let your fingers ghost across his cheek.

And that was it.

That was all.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t explain. You simply turned, cloak catching in the wind, boots silent as dusk, and disappeared into the rain.

Jason stayed there, kneeling.

The blood on his jaw mingled with water, turning pink, then clear, then gone.

The sword lay beside him.

Still warm.

Still theirs.

Still yours.

He didn’t chase you.

Some things had to be earned again.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[bestkage]

I need you to know that “wee woo wagon” is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard

A lot of the composition of Honestly comes from my own personal experiences so Wee Woo Wagon actually came from my own mouth as well 😭

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ CEO KENTO FUCKING HIS WIFE

Tw- reader is his secretary n wife!!! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ not proofread :p

Thinking about CEO Nanami fucking his hot ribbons of cum further into his secretary wife’s cunt. :3 Your upper half is craning over his polished work desk and your limbs are shaking and strained from being crammed in the same position for so fucking long.

Your once well-ironed pencil skirt is now bunched up around your waist and the pristine buttons of your white blouse struggle to contain the ripe swell of your breasts that's smushed and spilling out onto his important documents— exposing all the purple hickeys and love marks that he imprinted on you earlier for the whole world to see.

His once orderly combed golden blonde hair is now in disarray, matted with damped sweat and his bangs fell across his hazel eyes, hindering his vision as he struggled to keep up his vigorous pace— he teetered on the verge of losing his mind as he feverishly gazed down at the sight of his creamy pool of cum threatening to spill from your stretched-out hole.

Streams of his milky sperm are trailing down your tender thighs, glistening under the ambient light and pooling on the sleek marble floor. As his swollen cockhead nudges the remnants of his release deeper into the depths of your womb and stroking your overstimulated walls to the verge of tears.

You let out a high-pitched whine in response to the overwhelming overstimulation following your blissful and toe-curling orgasm just from a minute ago.

You desperately tried to wiggle your hips to detach yourself from his toned pelvis in an attempt to break free from his harsh hold which only earned you a burly groan from the blonde because of your sudden movements making his sensitive shaft drowning deeper into the tight depths of your drooling cunny. And it was obviously no use because of his unyielding grip on the sides of your ass cheeks that was leaving you trapped in his powerful grasp.

“Kennn…sir! What if someone sees—“You fussed worriedly, your heart racing as you quickly realized the precariousness of the situation. Anyone could open the door at any moment and witness their usually dignified and honorable boss entangled in such a disheveled and scandalous scene— his slacks shamelessly pulled down his ankles while he was slamming his hefty shaft and stretching out his wife's pretty cunt like a possessed madman. He’s like a whole different person this way.

You're seemingly trying your best to hold onto the desk for dear life as he frantically pounds your aching cunt with an intense rhythm, causing your tummy to press hard against the unforgiving surface and making it a challenge to keep your balance and remain upright because of how sore you are.

“Then I’ll fucking fire them, no one is stopping me from breeding my wife’s pretty pussy.” he babbled stupidly. “Can’t wait to have cute little blonde babies with your gorgeous eyes running around, darling”. His voice dripped with possessiveness and was raw with desire as he eagerly expressed his anticipation for starting a family with you. :(

You immediately whimpered at his intriguing words, your body betrays you and somehow you don’t even give a fuck about anyone seeing when you were arching your back deeper against him and pressing your chest further into the cool surface of the desk as you took the rest of his relentless pounding.

The sensation of his heavy balls rubbing against your puffy clit with each forceful thrust was practically sending you spiraling into another orgasm. He leaned over you— pressing his weight into your supple form, showering your back with a trail of fervent kisses. “You’re mine, all mine” he declared with a deep growl, his breath quickening as his throbbing cock pulsated against your slick, tight walls.

And then when you’re approaching your next orgasm, he’s babbling a bunch of shit you never even expected to hear escaping from Kento's lips. Telling you “cum for me again sweetheart, let everyone hear how fucking slutty my sweet submissive wife is”.

You made a split-second decision to glance over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of how fucked out and messy Kento looked with his tie askew, his chiseled face flushed, and beads of sweat glistening everywhere. Maybe your husband is losing his mind after all.

[mywritersmind]

WE’RE LIVE. - LN4

summary : he tries to kiss you on camera, just some bits of you two at the f1 live event with cute couple vibes.

listen up : i kinda hate this. short but cute!

words : 730

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“I’m reporting live from the first annual F1 launch event! I’m so excited to be interviewing and speaking to all of your favorite drivers and influences in the sport!” My smile is award winning, my posture straight, and my dress perfectly fitting my body.

I’m so distracted by Lewis Hamilton arriving that I don’t even see the bomb running up to me. I’m met with Lando Norris’ smiling face, coming straight for me.

He’s coming straight for a kiss I realize and dodge him immediately. His lips collide with my cheek as a small laugh breaks out of me, “Norris!” I eye him, his eyes a bit dimmer after my block, “We’re live!” My words slip out as his eyes widen.

In a second, his confused face turns to a masked smile, “And I'm so glad we are!” His eyes catch mine again, making me smile softly. He looks good, like really good.

In a suit, his shirt unbuttoned, and his hair perfectly curled, he looks like a disney prince. One that’s smiling at me in that slow easy way he does.

“You got questions for me, little miss reporter, or are you just gonna stare?” He’s such an idiot for saying that live, the media will eat him alive, but I'll kiss him until he can’t breathe so he’ll ignore it.

“I would say I'm surprised you’re here but we all know you love an opportunity to dress up.” I hold my microphone tight in my hand.

He tilts it towards him to answer, “Well, I heard you were gonna be here and had to look my best.” Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. It makes me smile anyway.

“Stop flirting with the reporter, Lando!” A voice calls out from the red carpet, we both turn to see Lando’s other half and his girlfriend.

Oscar Piastri is quiet, but never around us.

Lando tries to lean into me but I push him away gently, “You want me to ask you the real questions or would you like to greet your twin?”

He turns back to me, his hands in his pockets, “I’d like to keep talking to you.”

⋆༺

He finds me again in the hallway. I've been searching for the entrance after going to the restroom and getting completely lost.

“You look edible.” Is what the romantic and heartthrob, Lando Norris, says to me just as his hand meets my waist and he pulls me in.

“That is not earning you a kiss.” I put my hand on his chest as that same cheeky grin arrives.

He pulls me in a bit tighter, whispering in my ear, “You look fucking beautiful, Y/n. You always do.” That, earns him a kiss.

He pulls away which doesn’t happen often, “I can’t believe you dodged me earlier!” I laugh and push him away, walking ahead as I hear his dress shoes on the tile. “Can’t a guy kiss his girlfriend on live television?”

“Can’t a girl do her job and not get fired?” I look at him and am not at all surprised when I see his soft smile and stunning eyes shimmer.

“I love you.” He slips his hand into mine in such a soft and honest way that it makes me blush. “I love that you love your job and I love that you get to be here with me and I really love that dress on you.”

I roll my eyes at the last bit as if I don’t know he’s going to be the one taking it off of me tonight. “I love you too. Even if I have to be surrounded by orange every day of my life-”

He scoffs, “Hey! It’s-”

“If you say papaya I might slap you.”

“Can’t mess up my face before I go on stage love…” there’s a glint in his eye now, “But you can mark me all you’d like later.”

I kiss him again. Because we’re alone and because I truly love this complete fool of a man.

“Go change, Papaya man.” I drop his hand when I see the entrance, “But make sure to come home in that suit.” I wink as he raises a brow.

He doesn’t let me go until he kisses me one last time, just outside the doors to his whole world, and perfectly private for us.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: Everyone at HQ was convinced there was something going on between you and Miguel. Just...no one knew what. But one group of spiders were determined to figure it out.

Warnings: None! Just a lot of goofiness and a whole lot of fluff :3

When you have a superhuman with superior senses, they’re bound to be perceptive to their surroundings. Now when you have an entire lobby the size of multiple football fields filled with superhumans with superior senses, very few things will go unnoticed.

It’s why people very quickly realize that you and Miguel have…something between the two of you. It’s just that no one is quite sure what.

Camaraderie? Maybe, you were one of the first spiders to join the society.

Friendship? Perhaps, but it was known that Miguel wasn’t one to do friends. Not with the amount of loss he has gone through.

A relationship? This one seemed the most unplausible. Miguel was, well, Miguel. Stoick, cold and calculating. Meanwhile, you were you.

You had a light that drew people in, kindness that knew no bounds and warmth like a fire on a cold winter’s day.

Everyone knew the saying ‘opposites attract’, but it was like comparing night and day with the two of you. Regardless, a small little group within the society were set on trying to figure the two of you out.

~

“Ain’t no way the two are together, she’s too good for him!” Hobie argues, his legs kicked up on the table in front of him.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s why they work together. Because she makes him better?” Miles says, but his tone of voice failed to hide his skepticism.

“I think you should just leave the two of them be. Besides, what happens if you figure it out or not anyway?” Peter says, feeding Mayday as he does. Immediately a chorus of arguments breaks out from the group.

“OKAY! Okay, forget I asked,” he says with a shake of his head, while Mayday just laughs at the commotion.

They spot the two of you walking into the cafeteria making conversation none of them could make out.

“Look at them,” Gwen says, “have you ever seen the guy happier than he is with her?” she asks, and Hobie snorts.

“C’mon mate, you call that happy? Mans got that frown tattooed on his face, can he even be happy?” he says, but they all continue watching intently.

You glance over to the table they were surrounding, and they all brush off your gaze pretending as though they weren’t just studying the two of you like specimens under a microscope.

You wave your hand, a bright smile on your face while Miguel only glances over for a moment before continuing to walk. You jog to catch up to him, grabbing a tray and picking up things you wanted for lunch.

They watch as they see Miguel pick up the empanada, the last one left. He pauses for a split second, holding it before turning to place it on your tray. Almost as though they were straight out of a cartoon, they freeze at the interaction.

You seem to be slightly surprised as you, saying something to him but he only brushes you off before continuing on.

“Did…that just happen?” Pavitr asks. Everyone at HQ was aware of Miguel’s fondness for the food (even if he did hurl one right at Miles when they first met), there was no way he would give one away so easily for just anyone, right?

“Somebody pinch me,” Gwen says, and Hobie jumps at the request.

“OW!”

~

Miguel never lets anyone help him out when he’s injured. That was just a known fact. He could walk into HQ battered and bruised and wouldn’t even look in the infirmary’s direction once. After depending on himself for so long, he wasn’t going to stop now. Besides, what were First Aid kits for after all?

The only way he was going to the infirmary was if someone dragged his unconscious body there themselves.

Well, unless you were there.

“Miguel O’Hara I swear to god, you better get your ass to the infirmary or so help me I will tie you up and drag you through the halls myself,” you say sternly as you both reemerge in the Lobby. The rest of the Spiders there continued with what they were doing, but their attention was zeroed in on you both.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at you as if trying to say ‘Just try’. Had you been anyone else, you would have backed down by now but you didn’t.

“You wanna test me right now? That was a nasty hit, I will not be letting it get infected under my watch,” you retort, and he puffs.

“This is nothing, I’ve dealt with worse,” he scoffs, and in an instant your finger shoots out, making contact with the side that got hit with the anomaly’s flames. Miguel can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the pain from the impact hits him.

Your eyebrow raises, an expression of disbelief on your face before it softens. Murmuring softly, you say something that only he can hear.

For a moment he studies your face before sighing, finally relenting. With a triumphant smile, you place a hand on the man’s broad back, leading him towards the infirmary with a gentle but firm hand.

There, Pavitr is laying in bed recovering from an awry mission of his own. The doctors had ordered bedrest for the next 2 hours at least. Superior healing or not, they were not going to risk it. So there he lay, slinging his golden bangles up and down bored before he hears the two of you come in.

“Mr. O’Hara-" a doctor’s voice can be heard, but he is quickly interrupted.

“She’s got it from here,” he says, Miguel’s tone final. A small “yes, sir” can be heard before footsteps fade away, the doctor’s office door closing once more.

“You know, you should really let the professionals help you,” your voice can be heard.

“You dragged me here, you can deal with the consequences,” he says, and you just laugh fondly before your voices quieten, murmuring too quietly for Pavitr to hear.

Curiosity builds as he recalls the conversation he and his friends had, and before he can stop himself he shifts silently to the side, just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of you both from the small gap between the hospital curtain and the wall.

There, Miguel sat on the bed, a disgruntled expression on his face but his eyes were soft as he watched you fuss over his side.

He only watches for a few seconds before pulling away, this being a clear invasion of privacy, and his boss’ privacy no less.

It wasn’t going to stop him from telling everyone else though.

~

“This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea,” Miles says, grasping onto the ceiling like his life depended on it.

“It’s only a bad idea if we get caught, so Shut. Up,” Gwen says sharply, hanging from her place on the ceiling as they watched the fight from above.

Gwen had come up with the mighty fine idea of sneaking into a mission between the two of you. It wasn’t often that it happened, Miguel more often than not only went on missions with only Lyla by his side. But when he needed a partner, it was always you.

“Why did you have to bring me with you,” he whispers, “Miguel already doesn’t like me. He doesn’t need more of a reason to.”

“Because I needed backup and you can turn invisible. And let’s be real, Hobie would be laughing his ass off getting us caught, Peter would bring Mayday which would get us caught, and Pavitr is already on a mission, now shhh,” she whispers, turning back to watching the scene below.

You swung from pillar to pillar in the abandoned factory with practiced ease, a carefree laugh escaping your lips as Miguel stands on the ground fiddling with his watch.

“The anomaly’s last known location was here,” Lyla’s voice echoes out, and you let out a sigh.

“Why can’t villains have easy powers. Maybe a giant blob that is easy to take down? Why do they have to be so complicated? What’s this one again, a freaky shadow monster?” you think out loud.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Miguel retorts, glancing up toward you for a moment before turning back to Lyla. “Do a scan of the place, will you?”

“What do we say~” Lyla responds, and you giggle softly while Miguel huffs.

“Please,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“Please, Lyla,” he says a little louder now, irritation growing in his voice.

“Already done,” the AI snickers, and he groans out loud as your laughter bounces off of the walls, a fist held out for Lyla to bump.

“The two of you will be the death of me,” he says lowly.

“Oh, don’t be like that, grumps. You’d be too stubborn to die,” you retort before tensing up, the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the familiar feeling of your heightened senses at work. The moment you sling yourself up is the moment a loud thud sounds out from where you once stood.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that the anomaly was in the far right corner,” Lyla says before disappearing.

“I really need to do a rewrite of her code,” Miguel mutters to himself.

In your previous spot emerges a dark figure, plumes of smoke emerging and dissipating from its form and allowing it to disappear into the shadows with ease.

With a simple nod, you get to work. Like a well-oiled machine, you work in practiced synchrony, bounding across the walls and slinging webs.

And just like that the anomaly is captured, the force field around it effectively trapping it for the ride back to HQ so it can be sent back to its own universe.

“That was…kinda lame,” you snicker, pulling off your mask

“Told you so,” Miguel says as he opens up a portal for you both, dragging the anomaly behind him.

“Don’t say that to me,” you pout.

“What, can’t handle the truth?” he retorts, a smirk playing across his lips as your bickering voices fade through the portal.

“…was that a smile,” Gwen asks as she watches the spot where they both had stood.

“Was that what it was?” Miles asks, a shudder racking through his body.

~

It was late at night at the HQ, and at this time everyone else had already gone back to their own universes. The few that lingered were the ones finishing up after a late-night mission.

Or, you were Peter B. Parker frantically searching through the kitchen for a bottle of milk for Mayday after a playdate with a select few spiders that went on for way longer than expected.

Mayday was an easy baby. Always happy and smiling, but that all disappears when she was hungry and you did not want a spider baby on a rampage.

“Alright, alright, give Daddy a few seconds to warm up your milk please?” Peter pleads as Mayday continues to babble angrily, crawling all over him.

She pauses for a moment, attention drawn elsewhere as she hangs off of her father’s back before leaping.

“Hey, lil spider!” You say with a laugh, catching her in your arms. “What are you doing here so late?” you ask.

“Playdate with Miles, Gwen and Hobie. Time really flew and she refused to leave until now,” Peter sighs tiredly, and you pat him on the back before putting her up onto your shoulders. “What are you doing here so late?”

You shrug, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

“Working late. Like you said, time really flew,” you say, but Peter knew that wasn’t the full truth.

“Working so hard that you need two cups of coffee?” he asks, holding out the bottle for Mayday to take, which is what she does happily as she snuggles up in her father’s arms.

“What can I say, caffeine doesn’t really work on me,” you grin, pouring the coffee from the machine. “Goodnight, Peter, Mayday,” you say, ruffling her red hair fondly.

And as quickly as you appeared, you disappear.

~

People didn’t often disturb the big boss man Miguel when he was working. Not if you wanted to stay on his good side.

It was even less often that someone barges into his room full of screens as he monitors the Archno-Humanoid Polymultiverse, let alone a group of them.

“We heard you talking to someone! And laughing,” Gwen says hesitantly as if she couldn’t even believe it herself. But she was invested in figuring out what the deal was between the two of you now.

“Well, do you see anyone around?” Miguel deadpans, his arms wide and gesturing around broadly. You could barely stifle the giggle as you sat on a beam high up on the ceiling, going unnoticed.

“W-well, no…But!” she says, and Miguel raises an eyebrow which makes Gwen shrink in her spot slightly before recovering. “But we heard you. There was someone here, wasn’t there?”

Hobie, ever the perceptive one tracks his eyes along the ceiling before spotting you swinging your legs with an amused look on your face. It seemed as though no one else had noticed though.

Miguel watches Hobie spot you and his eyes narrow in his direction, as if saying ‘I dare you to say anything’ to which the spider only raises his hands in mock surrender.

“No. There wasn't." He says, his tone final. "If that’s all you’re here for, I have important work to get to. So why don’t you go bother someone else, yeah?”

~

“I give up,” Gwen says, slumping in her chair. “We’re never going to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Jess asks, walking up to the group.

“Whether or not there is something going on between those two,” Miles says, nodding towards you and Miguel talking over in the corner of the room.

Jessica only hums, a knowing look in her eyes but she doesn’t say anything. Only asks a simple question.

“What makes you think so?”

“Everyone here knows that there’s something there, even if they want to admit it or not. She’s one of the few people he tolerates, they’re together almost all the time and he actually seems happy around her,” Gwen reasons.

“You could have just asked, you know,” you say, coming up on their conversation with an amused look on your face.

Their expressions range from flustered to simply amused and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up as you make eye contact with Jess.

“And to answer the question,” you reach down your suit, pulling out a simple chain with a ring dangling off of the end.

“We’re actually married.”

The group goes silent for a moment, eyes wide as they stare at the necklace in your hands, trying to process your words.

Then, all hell breaks loose.

A/N: Hehe, I'm quite happy with this one :3 This is my first attempt at writing Miguel, sorry if I butchered him but I am absolutely hyperfixating on him after seeing ATSV in theatres yesterday.

Based on the prompt by @imslightlycreative though slightly changed :)) I hope you all enjoyed <3

Part two out now!! Read it here.

[theorphicangel]

maybe I’m thinking about the moment sukuna sits yuji down and finally tells him the truth about him and reader

( full fic before this is here but not needed to read this drabble!!)

sukuna finally sits yuji down, it’s only the two of them in the living room with sukuna’s twin brother, Jin, away at work.

yuji was busy playing with his fire truck in front of the couch until he hears his uncle to come sit next to him.

'hey yuj' come here for a sec'

the little one comes by, his toy fire truck that sukuna had gotten him for christmas still in hand. his eyes are wide and curious, giving his uncle his full attention. just at this sight, sukuna feels his stomach drop.

how the fuck was he supposed to break it to a six year old that you won't be around anymore? yuji practically worshipped you, from the first time that he introduced the two of you, yuji got obsessed. he followed you around and bombarded you with questions, asking every little thing about you. he gave you his shitty drawings and you kept them, putting them on your fridge. you'd make time to sit and play with him, diving into yuji's imaginative world a whole lot better than sukuna ever did.

you were patient and caring around him which sukuna appreciated a lot, it made yuji look up to you and treasure you greatly.

but now...well it's not the same. you haven't come by in weeks and yuji's began to question your disappearance.

'well...' sukuna hesitated, his tongue suddenly caught in his throat. what were the right words? how should he phrase this correctly so that his nephew doesn't end up in complete tears?

'yuji, you know-'

yuji cuts him off, stating your name.

sukuna lets out a dry cough, 'yes...about her' he can't bring himself to say your name. '...well we broke up. a couple weeks ago.'

sukuna lets his words digest. yuji looks down at his lap, fiddling with his truck, trying to comprehend. 'broke up?'

'yeah,' sukuna sighs, 'we're not seeing each other anymore.'

silence forms in the living room excluding the clock on the wall suddenly loud in its tick-tick-tick-tick.

'so...she won't come over anymore?'

'no, she won't'

'oh, okay.' there's clear sadness in the six year old's voice, immediately disappointed and now sukuna understands what his brother meant when he said that it would hurt yuji more than it would hurt him.

sukuna throws a hand at reassurance. 'it's okay bud because you still have me... and-and we'll do fun things together alright?'

yuji nods before speaking again, reflecting a little.

'but aren't you sad?'

sukuna wasn't prepared for that question. he struggles to come up with a quick answer, hesitating. 'yeah...i am.'

'i don't want you to be sad 'kuna' yuji mumbles, kicking his feet.

'it's okay yuji, i'm-'

sukuna's words are cut off by yuji coming in for a hug. his toy is discarded with yuji now focused on the task of wrapping his tiny arms around sukuna's large frame. sukuna shifts yuji onto his lap and returns the hug.

sukuna barely hugs his nephew, only in circumstances where he knows he won't see yuji for a long time.

'i hope you feel better soon.' yuji mumbles, his voice muffled. sukuna says nothing more as suddenly his throat is caught and words fail to escape from his lips. if it didn't hit him before then it sure does hit him now.

he hopes yuji doesn't notice his eyes getting blurry.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️

[chilumi-shipper]

Dragonic Beings

Zhongli x Fem!Reader / Neuvillette x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Breeding Kink, Marathon Sex, They both have two cocks, Double Penetration, Overstimulation, Manhandling, Cunnilingus, Oral Giving, Neuvi is an ancient virgin

Summary: They fuck you in semi-dragon forms.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Zhongli

You looked up at the man that was almost two times taller than you.

He was breathing heavily, his limbs glowed a bright golden color, and most notable of all, he was completely naked.

Actually...

That isn't the most notable thing here...

As you looked down, you saw two bulging hard cocks between his legs, both emitting that same glow that his limbs have.

The tips leaked with pre-cum, twitching as if asking to be touched.

You stood there in shock, and your husband could only look at you sheepishly. "...I'd understand if you refuse my request. You are human after all, my dear. I do not want to hurt you."

"N-No... no... I..." You took a step closer to him, looking up into his eyes. "Darling, you said that being in this form... would make you feel the most pleasure during our intercourse, correct?" He nodded at your question, looking away as if he's ashamed.

"Then..." You untied your robe, letting it fall to the ground to show off your body to him. "Use me all you want for your pleasure, dear."

He knew he had to control himself.

But still, he had you on your shared bed within a second, "I need you to be well lubricated, my dear." As he spoke, you noticed that his tongue was longer, had a slit in the middle and thinner than his human form.

Above you, he bared his tongue, gliding over the valley of your breasts before making his way down to your cunt, already pooling with wetness.

His tongue... it does wonders, and he probably knows that given the smirk you feel against your skin as he licks into you.

"Darling..." You mewed, toes curling when he took your clit into his hot mouth, sucking on your pussy earnestly while his tongue entered your hole.

Your hands itched to grab onto something, eventually ending up wrapped around his horns. He ate you out like a hungry man served a feast prepared by the gods' hands, and you held onto his horns, pushing and pulling to get him to prod at the sweet spots.

He pushed you to many many orgasms without a single break, and by the time he parted with your cunt, a string of cum still connecting his lips to yours, you were soaked and looking ready.

"Zhongli..." You parted your legs, letting him have a look at you sopping wet core. "It's your turn to pleasure yourself."

He locked eyes with you, his gaze piercing as his breath turns heavy. "Y/N, I need you to understand. When I start, it will be very hard for me to stop. I will use you until I'm fully satisfied and I've filled you up with my seed." You raised your hand to caress his cheek, smiling despite the seriousness of his tone. "And it may take more than just one round."

You brought his face down to give his lips a sweet kiss, "That sounds amazing..." You whispered, lighting a fire in his core as you gave him your full consent.

"You're gonna make me insane, darling." He sighs, knowing that no matter how he explains, you're not gonna pass up on this moment. "I truly may want to fuck you forever, you taste too divine..."

Your body perked up with excitement when he talked like that, it's something you don't hear from his often, but it really turned you on.

The tip of one of his cocks prods at your entrance, the other was left hanging between the both of you as he pushed in. A groan immediately left him when your walls clamped down.

He pushed until the whole thing was in, staying still to let you accommodate his length before slowly moving to caress your insides.

Your lover has two massive cocks, even just the one inside you already made you feel full, but you still couldn't help but look at the one between the both of you, left red and hard, precum still leaking from the tip, looking like it's about to burst.

"Ughh, darling..." His hand instinctively went to grab yours when it went to rub his neglected dick, but you don't stop, still caressing up and down, even occasionally rubbing the tip with your thumb and spreading the precum.

You tightened around him, catching his attention. "Fuck me, darling, please..." And so he does, from slow thrusts, he switched to a fast pace, starting to pound into you over and over.

Moans echoed around the room, and no matter how much you tried to stop yourself, he hammered whimpers, cries, even begs out of you. You couldn't even rub his other cock anymore, so he opted to fuck both your pussy and hand with his thrusts.

"Ohh, love! I'm gonna cum...!" You cried, legs opening even more to let his tip hit all the way to the entrance of your cervix.

Hearing you say that, he went even faster, and you felt the cock in your hand drip juices on your stomach, probably indicating that he's also close.

"Cum with me, darling." He groaned, giving you a few more hard thrusts before a large amount of liquid flowed out of him, covering your stomach as you felt your core fill up with your shared cum. His seed spread warmth all over you, inside you, and you felt your body relax.

Of course, even with the massive amount of cum that came from both his cocks, his hardness did not falter, and you still feel the hard shaft filling up your inside.

When you looked up at him, you see his eyes glowing gold, behind them held the gaze of desire. He picked you up, sitting you on his lap with his dick still inside you.

You can't help but feel bad for one of his lengths, if it had feelings it would probably be sad being left out of your pussy.

"Zhongli..." You slowly got up, up until only the tip of one of his cocks was inside you. He growled at what you did, but you immediately reassured him by grabbing his other shaft and lining it up to your entrance. "Can I put both inside me?"

He nodded excitedly, holding onto your waist to guide you down so both the tip were inside you. It was really gonna push you to the edge, but you wanted it, and you can't disappoint the cute little dragon that is your husband.

You pushed yourself down, stopping halfway as you felt his cocks stretch you out to your limit. "Ahh, it hurts..." Tears coat your eyes and so your lover's gaze softens.

"My darling, it's okay, take your time. You're such a good girl for me." He wrapped his arms around you, tucking your face into his neck as he kissed your temple.

"That's it, my dear, you're doing so good." With his encouragement, you managed to take both of his length entirely. He lets you cockwarm him for a few minutes just to let you get used to the girth of his cocks.

Then, his brutal thrusts start. He holds onto your waist, even his tail wrapped itself around you for a better grip, bringing you up and down on him like a fleshlight. Your mind blurred as he moves you faster and faster, you were left to drool and mumble nonsense as he makes you fuck him.

You came many times before he did, and his cum was just as before, filling you so much to the brim that some flowed out of you.

Not once after that did he pull out of you, he let you rest for a few moments before urging you into another position, after every orgasm the cycle continues.

With your legs pressed against your chest, against the wall, over the table, in front of the mirror, he did it all. You were fucked dumb, but you loved it. You could not think straight or speak anything coherent, but all you would say anyway was how good you felt.

When he finally softened, pulled out of you, he let you lay down on your shared bed, kissing you softly. "My dear... I love you so much." You could not close your legs to prevent the excessive amount of his cum to spill out. "I'm sorry for being so rough."

"Love youuu..." You slurred tiredly, your eyes slowly shutting as exhausted took over you.

Zhongli smiled, proceeding to clean you up nice and good. He then laid next to you, cuddling you and proving you with warmth.

After such a long night, he's gonna treat you to the best pampering day of your life.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Neuvillette

Never once has the Chief Justice, in his thousands of years of age, ever had an intimate moment, perhaps because he has also never had a romantic partner to revel in a moment of hot bliss.

So when you got around in the point of your relationship where you started living with him, wearing more dainty and loose clothes around him, kissing him on his face, neck, lips, cuddling with him every night, he started to notice the slight warmth that engulfs him when he interacts with you.

That warming bliss he felt quickly turned into burning desire, one that deeply confused him. It felt like he was thirsty, and only you, touching you, could satiate his thirst, as well as ease the hardness that keeps bulking up in his pants.

There was even this one time, you were both caught up in a heated make-out session, and Neuvillette felt light-headed as something hot exploded out and covered his crotch. He really did just cum while making out with you, no other form of sensation pushing him over the edge.

Long story short, you tucked your blushing lover to bed with a kiss to his forehead, explaining to him that it was okay and that you were flattered while he continuously apologized for what he did.

Ever since then, Neuvillette has been doing some research about all those sexual things, even asking a poor librarian to explain to him in detail about why he feels so attracted to you.

"Why do I always imagine my wife and I doing these 'sexual' things?" The poor librarian wanted to evaporate as he was forced to explain to the Chief Justice what horniness is and discover for himself the true nature of the Iudex of Fontaine (very horny for his wife).

You noticed that he has been showing signs of... really wanting you... all the time, so you eventually invite him to do it.

Now... there is one problem... something he had neglected to tell you.

When you both stripped yourself down of both your clothes, you did not expect to see two girthy shafts begging for you.

"Ah..." He said flatly, seeing your shocked expression. "I... seem to have forgotten to inform you of... this."

It's hard to explain how you were both shocked.... and turned on by the sight. You reasoned to yourself that it makes sense cause he is a dragon.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N. I'm afraid I never had to say to anyone that I have two... so I forgot." He looks ashamed, and your heart nearly broke for your sweet dragon.

"Honey, it's okay. I... like them." You laughed a little at what you said, but you still caressed his cheeks to reassure him. "Do you want me to suck them for you?"

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

His eyes widened, oh but his mind immediately wanted to say yes. "Please..."

You bring one of his shafts into your hot mouth, covering it with your saliva to smoothly take it in and out. Your tongue worked wonders to lick around him and press against his tip as you suck at the top.

His thighs quivered at the foreign feeling of pleasure, he wished you would never stop, but he also can't help but notice his other cock, left dry and hard as a rock, standing with obvious veins running through it as it craves the same treatment as the other.

It may be selfish but he took the length into his hand, pressing it onto your cheek while you were still working on his other. You look up to see your blushing husband looking sheepishly at you.

You part from his cock with a pop. "But of course, how could I forget this one. Ohh, just look at it..." You feign pity for it, before pressing your lips at the tip, giving it a sweet kiss.

As you cover his neglected cock with kisses, Neuvillette looks at you with shock, shock ignited by his love for what you're doing, peppering his length with kisses before you suck on it hard... it works him up to his climax.

And when he reached that euphoria, cum spurts out of both his cocks, one filling your mouth and the other exploding to cover one side of your cheek as well as his thigh.

You swallowed, smiling at the expression he had on his face as you did so. "You seem to like that, darling..." You giggled, looking down at the mess between his legs while you wipe some cum of your face with a towel you prepared.

"But it seems like it's not enough, is it?" You added, seeing his two cocks harden once again.

"My love, I apologize... I believe that a dragon possesses a higher stamina for these kinds of activities." He looks shameful, avoiding your gaze.

"It took a minute for me to suck you off before you came, honey..." You sit up on his stomach, and he finally gets to fully see your naked form.

He drools at the sight of you, "...Is that a bad thing...?" He asked, hoping to not have disappointed you.

"No, of course not. I just didn't realize I was that good."

"You really... make me... um... feel good..." He says in stutters, having no knowledge in this sort of thing, he has no idea how to praise your... service(?).

You grab hold of one of his cocks again, lining it up to your heat. "I'm sure you'll make me feel good too, my love."

As you plunged him deep inside you, he couldn't take his eyes off where you two connect, his mouth watering at the sight of you fully taking one of his in. He might as well have heart-shaped pupils with the way he's looking at it.

You started with rolling your hips, making him hit all the spots inside you that had your eyes rolling back. "Oh Archons... You fill me up so... good..." You moaned, and he feels a great sense of accomplishment with the way you praise him.

You started lifting yourself up and down to caress his dick, and his eyes travelled to your bouncing breasts, and, seemingly on instinct, his hands cupped your mounds and massaged them, feeling flushed at how soft and squishy they are.

As he did so, you looked at and smiled at him, never ending your your movement. Your hand reached to caress one of his own, encouraging him to keep going.

Neuvillette's moans were laced with some sort of humility, quiet yet you hear the lust within his being. He tries to keep them in, but with every hit of his tip to your inside, he could not hold back the whimpers to builds up within him.

You notice this and stop bouncing, which ushered a whine out of him. But his hands immediately go to your waist when you start squeezing him with your pussy walls.

"Ughhh... Y/N... T-That feels..."

"Let it out, darling..." You keep him tight and snug inside you. "You like me squeezing this cock with my pussy, right?"

You feel liquid falling on your lower back, and as you looked, you see his other cock, exploding with more cum. "Hmm, this one seems to like a little bit of dirty talk, huh?"

With a few final bounce and squeeze, you both came together again, him filling you up with his thick, warm cum.

After that, you proceed to clean up the poor little dragon, laying down and looking so blissed out from the session.

As you wipe his one of cocks clean, "I'll make sure to give this one some attention next time." You secured your promise with a final kiss on the tip, and Neuvillette once again realizes just how much he loves you doing that.

You lay down next to him, cuddling him into your chest, and, while quite embarrassed, he was more than happy to lay his face right onto your boobs. He tries not to think about how you had just sparked the greatest feeling of pleasure within him and how he's eager to learn more from his library friend so he can make you feel just as good as you make him.

The Chief Justice has finally realized the solution to that burning desire he feels, the reason for his wild imaginations when it comes to you...

He can't wait to tell his librarian friend every detail he has learned on his first night making love with you.

I hc Zhongli to have experience, so like, he knows what he wants, knows how to prep you for it, knows how crazy he gets and how much stamina he has to keep going.

Meanwhile, Neuvi has no experience, so he's discovering what he likes for the first time, discovering how to make it work with his anatomy and yours, and he kinda gets addicted to the feeling of making love with you so he will definitely crave it more in the future.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

How would the LADS men react to their MC being really sweet and soft spoken but become toxic during video games (screaming, cursing out players, laughing when they lose)

Crash Out

You were so composed and well spoken in public. Little did your man know what he was in for when it came to you and video games. A/N: I watch a whole lot of CoryxKenshin, Berleezy, Joeiaco, PeegTV, and Britani so I kinda (hella) be screaming and crashing out everytime I play video games CW: Strong language

Zayne

Zayne is the type thats worried about your cortisol levels as he’s watching you yell at the tv. He would definitely brings you cold water and some fruit while trying to gently coax you off the game for a while, but would only end up doing as you say which is to leave you the hell alone.

You currently have a death grip on your controller and trying very hard not to yell into the mic on your headset. You failed.

MC: You fuck ass camping bitch what kind of bullshit is this?!

Zayne: Uh honey?

MC: Yes baby?

You leave the match — slamming your headset to the ground — and focus on Zayne giving him with the most innocent look

Zayne: Are you alright?

MC: Im good why?

Zayne: You sound like you’ve forgotten yourself

MC: Oh because this musty PT Cruiser built bitch was camping the third floor during the entire match pissin’ me the fuck off

Zayne: …

MC: …

Zayne: Why don’t you take a break?

MC: I will

You give him the sweetest smile before grabbing your headset and slipping it back on your head

MC: Right after I blast this little bitch to hell and laugh in their face

Zayne: ……….ok

Rafayel

Rafayel is the type to just check in sparingly to avoid being the one in the line of fire. He was not trying to catch a stray when you were raging, but he also just wanted his girlfriend back, but instead he had hot headed Hades on his hands. Rafayel comes in to find you at your PC set up he can tell something is wrong even with your back to him

Rafayel: You seem angry

MC: I CAN’T BEAT THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME

Rafayel: WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?!

MC: I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU

Rafayel: YES YOU ARE

MC: *Heavy sigh* I’m playing this game Scrutinized and I'm supposed to file all these reports while also making rounds around the house because there's two killers trying to kidnap me and I don’t fucking understand how this lucky charms bitch keeps getting in the house

Rafayel: Have you tried taking a break?

MC: I DON’T NEED A FUCKING BREAK I NEED TO BEAT THIS MANS ASS WITH A SKILLET AND HOT GRITS

Rafayel: ……..I miss my sweet girlfriend where did she go?

MC: Im sorry Raf

You pull him how down by his collar and give him a quick kiss

MC: Check back in an hour I should be done with night 1 by then

Rafayel nods and leaves you to scream at your computer. He silently leaves littles treats on the desk for you. He’s scared he might be the one to receive your wrath if he bugs you too much.

Rafayel: Done yet?

MC: BITCH GET UP OH MY GOSH

Rafayel: nervermind ._.

Xavier

The type that tries to help, but only ends up pissing you off unintentionally. He just wants to help, but you don’t want his help because you know the second he gets his hands on the game he’ll not only beat it, but would beat it in record time.

MC: I’m about to rage I'm about to rage I’m about to rage

Xavier brings you a glass of water and sits it on your desk

Xavier: What's wrong baby?

MC: I have yet to beat this fucking game this damn Nun from hell keeps spawning everywhere

Xavier: What game is it?

MC: Nun Massacre

Xavier: You don’t seem like yourself want me to try?

MC: Xavier I love you however if I let you try this game and you beat it in one go Im not eating with you for a week.

Xavier: I just don’t like seeing you stressed

MC: and I don’t like seeing this refrigerator built bitch get the best of me

Xavier: and you don’t want my help?

MC: No

Xavier: Are you sure

MC: Yes

Xavier: ……you’re sure?

MC: Ask me one more time and see what happens

Sylus

Sylus is so amused seeing you get so mad over a game. He’ll be egging you on for sure he’s not even trying to make it better. He wants to see your anger practically radiating off of you. You’re on the brink of raging? He’s chuckling in the background. You’re about to slam your hands on your keyboard or throw your controller? Go ahead he’ll buy you a new one.

MC: *yelling into the headset* FUCK YOU BITCH …. YOU SOUND LIKE YOU’RE EASY TO DRAW SHUT THE FUCK UP TALKING TO ME TURN YO MIC DOWN

Sylus: *Chuckling* like they’re easy to draw?

MC: YES! That bitch was just mad because I found her camping spot and sniped her ass

Sylus: You should do it again just to make her mad

MC: Oh trust me I'm on her ass now her play style is corny I'm not letting her team win this match

Sylus: Would you like me to bring you anything while you show her who’s boss?

MC: Water and some cherries please

Sylus: I’ll be back in a minute

Sylus walks out and can still hear you yelling all the way in the kitchen

MC: GET FUCKED BITCH SUCK MY DICK

Sylus brings backs what you asked for and kisses your cheek before making himself comfortable to watch you cuss people out over a game.

Sylus: A dragon growing her horns

[irlsiths]

NIGHTS LIKE THIS ⟡ ݁₊ .

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“i think about you, and nothing else..”

bsf!chris x reader

contains: fluff ! (slight) making out, a tiny bit of angst

you sighed quietly as you watched the sun set in chris’s car. gosh, it was so peaceful. it was quiet, but not an awkward quiet.

you glanced at chris, who was staring straight forward. the sun hitting his face in just the right way. he was beautiful. was it bad to feel this way about your best friend?

you just looked back at the sun, listening to the cars go by.

“y’know..” chris started, breaking the silence, “i—i know i don’t say this often but.. i love these moments with you.” he muttered softly, glancing in your direction for just a second.

you slowly turned your head to face him, a subtle smile resting on your lips as you spoke, “i do too.”

he just quietly stared at you, his eyes wandering down, not so subtly. before they suddenly looked back up into your eyes.

“you’re like my little getaway.” you joked, chuckling. and you earned a small chuckle from chris aswell.

but then, you shrugged. “no, seriously man. i can always be myself around you.” you smiled shyly, looking at him.

he smirked, turning his body to face you more. he liked that, liked that you were your true self around him, and only him.

“i love you man, you’re my bestfriend.”

his smile almost immediately faded, and he scoffed under his breath, facing forward. “yea, ‘f course.”

your smile was quick to falter as well, and you furrowed your eyebrows at him. what is he talking about?

“what? what is it? what did i say?” you said softly, not wanting to make him even more upset than what he obviously is right now. but, damn, were you curious.

he huffed, shaking his head. “nah, it’s nothing.”

but you sighed, you didn’t like when he got like this. all—quiet and upset. you weren’t gonna let him sit there and sulk.

“chris, seriously. what’s the matter with you? talk to me.” you said softly, gently trying to grab his hand to get his attention.

“no, i hate when you do that shit.” he said almost immediately, tugging his arm away, he was on fire now.

“that whole ‘best-friend’ thing. it’s all bullshit, and you know it!” he ranted, not even taking a glance at you.

“fuck, baby. i’m—so sick of waiting for you! waiting for you to finally be mine. you’re so blind—god, you’re so stupid.”

your lips parted in shock, and you just stared at him. trying to wrap your head around the fact that he liked you, back. you couldn’t even believe it,

so this wasn’t all one-sided feelings this entire time?

“chris look at me.” you whispered, and it didn’t even leave your lips all the way before chris turned to you. his eyes tired and upset.

“i don’t see you as just my friend.” you shook your head, not breaking eye-contact with him. “you’re so much more to me.”

he paused, staring at you for a second before whispering back.

“c’mere.” he mumbled, gently reaching over and pulling you onto his lap, hesitantly placing a slow kiss on your lips.

you smiled placing your hands on both sides of his face, tilting your head to kiss him back. just as eagerly, and slow.

it didn’t take long before chris started getting needy, licking your lips as he silently begged for your permission to taste you.

once you parted your lips, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, arching his back to be closer to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as your tongues fought for dominance.

if anything; chris was making the most noise. letting out needy whines and moans, mumbling your name against your lips.

you gently ran your fingers through his soft hair, earning another groan from chris. gosh, he was so gone for you.

he huffed, getting impatient now. he gently started grinding against you, trying to show you how much he needed you.

“backseat, now.”

💌 hi, this one was so long i’m sorry 😭 but i’m back, (hopefully for good) should i make an nsfw part 2?

[lizzyiii]

Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.

you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag

Sevenmas

pairing | aemond x wife!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.

determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond

a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

My Dearest Babe,

It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.

I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.

Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.

Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.

One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.

But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.

Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.

The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.

The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.

Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?

Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.

Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.

You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.

This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.

Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.

You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.

And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.

There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.

Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.

In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.

The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.

Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.

They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.

The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.

You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.

There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.

Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.

But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.

The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.

You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.

The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.

You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.

You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.

In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.

It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.

Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.

His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.

But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.

He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.

And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.

Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.

Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.

Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.

The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.

Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.

Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.

You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.

Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.

“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.

“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.

A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.

The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.

Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.

You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.

Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.

As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.

You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.

Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.

Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.

The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.

Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.

The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.

The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.

Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.

Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.

You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.

Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.

You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.

Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.

“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.

The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.

Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.

With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”

Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.

“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.

There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.

Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”

Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.

“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”

With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.

The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.

“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.

“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.

The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.

His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.

Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.

“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.

You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.

“The babe is crowning, my lady.”

But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.

There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.

“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”

With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.

Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”

A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.

Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”

Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.

Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.

The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.

You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.

Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.

The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.

Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.

The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.

The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.

Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.

The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.

Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.

Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.

The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.

Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.

The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.

At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.

It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.

The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.

On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.

You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.

The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.

You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.

With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.

If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.

With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.

The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.

Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.

The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.

Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.

The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.

It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.

When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.

The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.

As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.

Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.

Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.

Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.

Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.

The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.

With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.

Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.

With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.

But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.

Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.

Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.

The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.

As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.

You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.

“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.

He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.

“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.

Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.

Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”

A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”

Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.

“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.

“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.

Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.

You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.

“I needed fresh air.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.

For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.

“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”

The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.

Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”

Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.

One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.

With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.

Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.

Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.

“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.

Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.

“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.

“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.

With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.

Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.

“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”

You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.

A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.

In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.

Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.

A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.

Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.

Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.

Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.

“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.

The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.

Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”

His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.

“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”

His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”

“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”

The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.

With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.

Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.

His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.

Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.

When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”

You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”

A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.

His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.

“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.

“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.

Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.

You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.

As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.

“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”

Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.

He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.

Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.

His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.

“You're so wet for me already.”

You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”

As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.

Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.

Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.

The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.

“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”

You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.

“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.

The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.

He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.

His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.

Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.

His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the peace did not last.

You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.

Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.

Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.

Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.

Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.

Lavender oil.

You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.

With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.

The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.

His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.

“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”

You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.

You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.

A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.

You were being watched.

Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.

Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.

But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.

You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.

With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.

“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”

For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.

Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.

As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.

For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.

Hope You Enjoyed!

[arixella]

Even Without Power

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x female! reader

a/n: : clearing my drafts 😭

summary: Captured and cuffed with sea prism stone, you and Luffy endure fear and helplessness—until the crew arrives, and Luffy unleashes his fury to protect the one thing he refuses to lose: you.

wc: 1.7k

contains: Protective!Luffy, Sea Prism Stone imprisonment, captivity angst, emotional hurt/comfort, intense tension, slow and tender post-rescue intimacy, and Luffy being dangerously furious when someone threatens you.

Your head was pounding.

The first thing you noticed was the cold stone beneath you. The second? The tight weight around your wrists.

Sea prism cuffs.

Then you heard his voice.

“(Y/N)... hey, wake up. Please.”

You opened your eyes slowly, vision blurry—but there he was. Luffy. Sitting on the ground next to you, wrists shackled just like yours, his hat hanging off one knee.

“Luffy?” you rasped.

His eyes softened instantly. “You’re okay.” His voice cracked just a little, relief pouring out like a flood. “Thank god.”

You tried to move, but the sea prism cuffs made every muscle scream. “Where…?”

“Some bastards grabbed us when we were separated from the crew,” he said through clenched teeth. “I woke up first. Tried to break the chains, but…” he held up his wrists with a bitter laugh, “I can’t even stretch.”

You glanced at him. His face was pale. His hair clung to his forehead. He was furious. But he was holding it in—for you.

And then the door creaked open.

“Well, well,” a voice drawled. A tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek strolled in, a small crew of thugs behind him. “Our little captain and his pretty friend are finally both awake.”

Luffy’s body went rigid.

“Don’t talk to them,” he said lowly.

The man smirked. “Aw, come on. We just wanna have a little fun.” He stalked toward you, eyes lingering far too long.

Luffy snarled. Actually snarled. “I said don’t touch them.”

You flinched when the man crouched beside you, brushing a finger under your chin. “They’re a cute one. What do you think, Straw Hat? You sure you wouldn’t rather trade places?”

“Don’t touch them!” Luffy bellowed, lunging against his chains. His whole body shook with rage, fists clenched so tight they were turning white. “If you lay one more finger on them—”

The man chuckled, unfazed. “What’re you gonna do? You’re powerless.”

Luffy’s eyes burned—pure fire behind them, like he was ready to kill with just his stare. “You don’t get it,” he growled. “Even if I can’t use my powers… I will still tear you apart if you hurt them.”

You felt it—his presence. Even cuffed, drained, and chained to a wall, Luffy still felt like a storm ready to break loose.

The thug paused, like he finally noticed the danger in the room. The way Luffy’s aura shifted—deadly, protective, unyielding.

“Y’know what?” the man said, standing. “Maybe we’ll just give you two a little more time to think about your situation.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, you slumped.

Luffy turned to you immediately. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” you whispered. “But… he scared me.”

“I won’t let him touch you again,” Luffy said fiercely, eyes locked on yours. “No matter what.”

You leaned against his shoulder. He leaned right back.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” he said softly, like a promise. “I don’t care how—I’ll find a way. I’ll protect you.”

The cell was cold, silent—except for the soft clinking of chains when either of you shifted.

You sat beside Luffy, arms brushing, wrists heavy with sea prism cuffs. Every time he glanced at you, you saw the storm still behind his eyes. He was still furious—at himself, the enemy, the cuffs. All of it.

“We’ll get out soon,” he muttered, gaze fixed on the locked door. “The crew’s gotta be looking.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “But…”

Before you could finish, the door creaked open again.

Same guy. Same smug smirk. This time? A little more confident. Like he was sure no one was coming for you.

“Well, Straw Hat. You said I shouldn’t touch them,” he said with a sneer, walking toward you, “but what’re you gonna do if I do it anyway?”

Luffy’s voice dropped into something cold. Dangerous.

“Don’t.”

But the guy just laughed—and then grabbed you by the arm, yanking you roughly toward him.

That was it.

Luffy. Lost. His. Mind.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF THEM!”

He lunged. Full force. The chains snapped taut with the impact, but it didn’t stop him from fighting like a wild animal, dragging the entire wall if he had to, roaring with fury.

You cried out as the man shoved you against the bars, but then—

“BOOM!”

The wall behind the cell exploded.

Smoke. Dust. Screaming.

“(Y/N)!!” a voice called—Nami. Then another—Zoro. Usopp. Sanji. Robin. Brook. The crew was here.

The enemy turned just in time for Zoro to charge him, blades flashing.

Sanji darted straight to you, kicking the guy in the gut and dragging him off you.

Luffy’s cuffs clattered to the ground as Franky, with his giant hands, crushed them open. The second they were off—

Luffy didn’t move.

He didn’t even look at the enemy yet.

He rushed to you.

“(Y/N)!” He dropped to his knees in front of you, grabbing your face gently but frantically, eyes scanning every inch. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Tell me.”

You blinked back tears, heart hammering. “I’m okay—just bruised, I’m okay—”

He crushed you into his arms before you could finish.

“I was gonna kill him,” he mumbled against your shoulder. “I was gonna kill him if they didn’t show up. I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t protect you—”

“Luffy.” You cupped his cheek, making him look at you. “You did. You protected me the whole time. And we’re safe now.”

He exhaled shakily, nose brushing against yours, eyes still burning but softer now.

“…Okay,” he whispered. Then he turned slowly—toward the enemy.

Sanji had him on the floor. Zoro stood nearby, arms crossed.

“Don’t kill him,” Nami warned.

“I’m not gonna kill him,” Luffy said, voice flat. “But he’s gonna wish I did.”

You didn’t stop him.

Because in that moment, Luffy wasn’t just a captain. He was a storm wrapped in rubber and rage.

But before walking away, he looked back at you one last time.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, gently. “And after this… I’m not letting you out of my sight.

Hours later you were back on the Going Merry. It felt like heaven compared to that dungeon.

You were clean, bandaged, wrapped in warm clothes, and finally free of the sea prism cuffs. But the whole world still felt a little heavy.

You sat on the bed in the infirmary cabin, staring at your hands. Your wrists were sore, skin still red where the cuffs had clamped down. And your body ached, sure—but your heart ached worse.

Then the door opened quietly.

Luffy stood there, silent. His vest was off, bandages around one shoulder, and he looked... tired. Not physically, but emotionally. The kind of tired you don’t sleep off.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You smiled weakly. “Hey.”

He walked in slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should, until you patted the bed beside you.

He sat—then instantly leaned into you, head dropping to your shoulder like a magnet. His arms wrapped around your waist tight, like he still thought someone might try to pull you away again.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured.

“You didn’t even try.”

“…I didn’t wanna leave you alone.”

You reached up, running your fingers through his hair. “You saved me, Luffy. Even when we were chained up. Even when you couldn’t fight. You were still protecting me.”

His grip tightened.

“I hate that he touched you,” he mumbled, voice rough. “I hate that I couldn’t stop him. If the crew hadn’t shown up—”

“But they did.” You turned toward him, placing your hands on his cheeks. “And now I’m safe. I’m here, Luffy. With you.”

His big brown eyes met yours, vulnerable and wide. “I thought I lost you.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “You didn’t. You never will.”

He closed the tiny space between you and kissed you—soft, slow, and a little shaky. Like he needed to feel you to believe you were real.

Then he pulled back, just a little. “I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

You blinked. “In the infirmary?”

“With you,” he said, laying down right beside you and pulling the blanket over both of you. “Right here. All night. Not going anywhere.”

You smiled, letting your head rest on his chest as he curled around you.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he mumbled sleepily.

You tucked your hand over his heart. “Good. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Outside, the ship rocked gently with the ocean.

Inside, in the quiet warmth of that cabin, Luffy held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And this time, he wouldn’t have to fight to protect you. Because now, you were both home.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.