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yeyinde · 6 months ago

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appetite | Alpha!Simon Riley

it's been decades since Alpha!Ghost had a rut. something that's probably for the best, really. his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug. it's best kept tucked away, secured under lock and key.

but then he finds you. and you're all alone. unclaimed, on the verge of heat. poor thing. it triggers a voracious rut. decades worth of want spilling out over you. you're it, he knows. feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. he'll have you—now, forever. non-negotiable. where you go, he will follow.

but you run from him. stupid girl. didn't anyone teach you not to run from a starving wolf?

dubcon. size kink. size difference. a/b/o dynamics: knotting, rut. breeding kink. spit kink. implied virgin!reader. obsessive behaviour. possessive!Ghost. semi-public sex. reluctant reader bullied into submission lmao. forced bonds. implied kidnapping. basically, you're hunted down and fucked by Alpha!Simon who growls in your ear about how he's waited his whole life for you. and lucky him. he finally found you

AO3

It's been years, decades, since he had a rut.

(Broken Alpha. Ruined.)

Trauma, they tell him, will do that. Sever the drive in the back of his head, the one that rears—vicious and angry—each mating season, bringing with it the urge to breed. To claim. Own.

A form of self-preservation. It pitches a plexiglass of protection between him and his instincts, not letting them merge. Join. Done so because to be in rut, to want, to need, is vulnerability. It costs hypervigilance. Turns man into beast. Animal.

This bodily reaction makes an alpha extend themselves, like an overarching limb, to shield the omega they pick as a mate. Bearing their own neck to save another.

Naturally, they say, if he couldn't help himself, how could he ever hope to protect a fragile little omega?

They tell him it could be as permanent or temporary as he allows. Healing, they say. Time. Laughable, really. And utter nonsense because Ghost is fine.

Trauma tampered. Revenge sought, found. There's no one out there who could ever harm him, and still—

His last rut was before the mission that buried him alive. That turned him into the living dead. A mockery of man. Frankensteinian beast.

It's not something he cares much for, anyway. From what he remembers of his youth—vague snippets of memories, disjointed, blurred sensation; a profound need, an urge, to sink his cock into something, to plug them up, to bite—ruts have always been a nuisance. In the way. An annoyance that took time away from what he'd rather be doing.

And as Johnny enters his—skin pallid, waxy; cheeks flushed, eyes darkening like a brewing storm on the horizon; snapping at anything that breathes, whining like a dog, miserable and hot, all the time (ahm’a bleedin’ furnace, s’what ah’m)—he finds he doesn't care very much to go reclaim what he lost.

No skin off his nose. Nothing to concern himself with.

Besides. Omegas know better.

Even before he lost himself, dying, rotting in a tumulus, pretty little omegas with their soft hands and bashful smiles always went out of their way to avoid him. Miserable alpha. His scent alone wards them off—burnt leather, charred bones; sarcophagus dust, dirt—and he found himself alone during his burgeoning ruts more often than not.

No pretty little thing to tender the sweat on his brow, or bend over and present for him—offering up a sweet little cunt he got to bury himself inside, tie up nice and tight on his knot.

It was usually his hand. A bottle of bourbon. A printed porn stash he swiped from Tommy, who nicked it off their old man—

And when he did find a partner, it was always transactional. Hand to hand, an exchange of money. All clinical and detached. Empty. Fucking into a concept instead of a person; a vacuum eating away at his soul because he knew, then, that they wanted to be there almost as much as he did.

But what choice did either have when their home was the rotted gullet of a dying beast?

(Simon told them to stay away from shitty men like him, who broke bones in the throes of his heat, snapped his jowls at anything that got too close, and had to be chained to the bed like an animal during it—)

Nothing to miss. Nothing to mourn.

And it's not like he doesn't get the urge. Wanting to sink his cock into something warm, wet, is as recurring as a sweet tooth. A prickle in the back of his head after he devours his dinner that says, dessert might be nice.

He can fuck, but his knot never pops. A worry the doctors had—unsure what the consequences would be in the long run for such a virile, young Alpha already experiencing nature's version of erectile dysfunction so early in life.

(“pity the poor omega who has to deal with that rut,” they whispered. “might not be much of anything left of them when he's through.”)

Inconsequential now because he's pushing forty and his last rut was a false trigger. One dragged out of him by drugs and torture. The last true rut, natural and instinctual, was when he was eighteen.

It's doubtful he'd suddenly be cured at his age.

This is what he tells Johnny when he asks, pries. Broken fuck, ain't he? Unmated. Can't knot. Piss poor excuse of an Alpha. Doesn't he think it's—

“a shame,” Johnny grouses, words muffled slightly by the way he's hunched over the cheap plastic table in the canteen. His fingers dig harshly into his temple. “Alpha like you—” it's enunciated in clipped Queen's English, the barb makes Ghost scoff. “—ack! a waste. ma mam would be livid. no grandbabies t’show off? sacrilegious.”

—funny. If he's being honest. Laughable:

because for as long as Ghost can remember, he's always had a predilection to ruin his favourite toys. slaking his unquenchable lust on their tender skin, biting down to the bone, sipping on their marrow—

not really the sort of thing omegas today go for, is it?

his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug—

Instead, he shrugs. “hardly.”

“yer no’ missin’ it?”

“missin’ what, Johnny?”

“knottin’, ye surly prick.” He jeers, then, jabs his elbow into Simon's arm. “a bonnie omega to stick yer prick in. ain't missin’ th’, no?”

“no,” Simon gripes. The last thing Price needs is another order of protection against his Lieutenant. But to humour the alpha in an early stage of rut, he jabs out, hollow and full of wretched derision. “i can barely remember what it felt like. must be heaven, though. is that your plans for tonight, Johnny? gonna go and knot some sorry omega?”

It's meant to prod, poke. Sharp barbs aimed at Johnny's threadbare control, the same one held in place by a fraying, unspooling knot. Alphas in the early stage of rut are considered safe enough to be around. Not yet mindless drones, hosts to an ugly little parasite; a being forced to obey a single, instinctual drive to mate, to gorge themselves into a post-rut stupor.

Safe. Or so they say.

But Ghost knows what Johnny's feeling in the same sense as a phantom limb. A broken, fragmented memory. So, he twists his mockery in deep. All in jest, of course.

And Johnny pales suddenly. Wavers in his seat. The affirmative comes after a bout of contemplative silence. A jagged, choked yeah slips from his Sergeant’s mouth as he drops his head to the table, and groans. Miserable.

“go fuck yerself, Lt.”

Simon intends on taking Johnny up on that offer, lazying out on the futon with his hand stroking lazily along his flaccid cock, thumbing through the latest series of snapshots Johnny—ever the photographer—snapped up during his previous rut. Images of pretty omegas dressed up in fine silk, blood-red lingerie, and coy little grins on their faces, a vixen pastiche of demureness. Jejune appeal in all its coquettishness.

Innocent sluts—Johnny's preferred type. Ones who'll bat their eyes at him, nervous and full of faux modesty, while they rock back and forth on his face, tugging on his mohawk to make him lick their cunts just the way they like. Sweet, like candy. Dressed in sin.

He likes to take before and after photos of them—often with the pretty models unaware (adds to it, aye, Lt?). Ones with them batting their eyes at him, soft and shy in all their twee delight, and then fucked out, ruined and chewed up like a broken toy when he finishes with them. Bitten off more than they can swallow. Cheeky brats sobbing for mercy on his bed.

Likes, even more, to send them to Ghost. A little tease. One he has no compunction about partaking in. Enjoying to his heart's content.

Or—

Intended to, of course. Because what ends up happening is this:

Price calls just as he's getting into the new series sent to his phone—the tear streaks streaming down this omega’s face are particularly appealing, bound in intricate Celtic knots (Johnny, the artist), and gagged with their own panties—and tells him he has a job for him.

Something simple. Discreet. And local, too. Bears have been sighted in town—a mama and her cubs. Dangerously close.

The prelude to the phone call is a clipped take care’a it before the line goes dead.

Ghost doesn't need to pack much—he can't remember the last time he unpacked his duffle bag, anyway—and stays in the recliner until the mission file comes in, idly stroking his thumb across the pixelated, tear-streaked face of the omega in Johnny's clutch. Moussed. Messy. They make the prettiest picture, don't they? Drool dripping down their chin, a spillover from what the lacy, white panties couldn't catch.

Flesh peppered with jagged circles, bite marks. Johnny knows better than to claim them, and their neck is bereft of his teeth. Smooth. Unblemished.

To claim is to bond. To bond—

Well.

His earliest recollection of a relationship is his parents’. His mum, tied and trapped to a man she wanted no part of, but stuck. Unbondings, divorce, were rare during that time. Unheard of. Even now.

And under his old man's influence, he's always seen claiming as ownership. As possession. A lingering remnant he’s told is wrong, but can't shake. Can't change. It glues in the fibrils of his mind. A rotten, pulsing scab that no amount of sanctioned reconditioning can ever seem to get rid of, to scrape out of his skull.

(one he knows would be there no matter what because his sole purpose is exsanguination; bloodletting—

in his warped desire to protect the things he cares about, he ends up smothering them in the end. a child holding a firefly too tight in its chubby fist.)

But Johnny knows better. Good Catholic boy. Knows to keep a muzzle on himself when he sucks desperate kisses into the small omegas' sweet neck, breaking apart the blood vessels of their scent glands, soaking himself in their musk—potent pheromones of a needy omega in heat. Aching for a bite. To be held down and conquered.

It's wrong, they say. This ugly mass sits inside his chest like a foreign body. Scandalised eyes drilling into the side of his head like he's a monster for thinking this way.

And he is.

(always has been)

But he knows better. Knows to keep those uglier, rotten parts of himself hidden away from prying eyes. Got good at it, too. Enough that they let him into the brothels time and time again.

Still—

He can remember the closest he'd come during a rut to biting a shrill omega who screamed in his ear until his head rang, ached. Nearly did it, too. Teeth razoring over their jugular, pinching delicate skin.

Clarity came like a gunshot when he tasted blood. Chiselled a hole through his delirium, broke up the haze, and snapped his jaws up tight, locking them as he finished with a muffled growl, tongue swirling over his teeth for another taste. Another drop.

His ruts have always been messy. Bloody. Got him banned from several centres, brothels, where they offered up betas drenched in the artificial musk of an omega in estrus. Ones resilient enough to withstand the harsh coupling of an unhinged Alpha in need.

He had a problem, they said, with treating their workers like chew toys. Biting to break skin, drilling in deep enough to scratch his teeth on their bones.

Deranged, they hissed. Fuckin’ mental, mate. Stay the hell away!

Some are just prone to violence. Need to be half-sedated before they can mate without ripping their partner to pieces. Ghost has always been that sort. Aggressive. Hard to control. Rabid.

His appetite is bigger than the expanse of their skin. He sometimes thinks he could eat the whole world and still starve.

He hums, thumb sliding to cover the omega's neck. Trapped in his hand, his clutch. They're cute when they're ruined like this. Begging. Whimpering.

His cock gives a half-hearted twitch. His work phone chimes, signaling the end of his leisure.

shame, he thinks, squeezing his hand until the metal dents, the screen cracks, splinters. Pops. Hairline fractures split across their distorted, tear-stained face. He closes his fist over it until it breaks. Goes black.

really. such a goddamn shame.

Some things are just not meant to be—

—but they have a habit of falling into his maw, anyway.

It's a simple set up.

Man—

beast, monster, thing

—with his empty, growling stomach and teeth made to bite, tear, goes out hunting for a meal. In that search, he finds you.

You, Persephone personified: damned (eternal), standing beneath a spruce tree. Limned, halo gold, in the waning sunset's bashful kisses, you lean on the rough bark, idling your timelessness away.

Postcard beauty. Pinup demure. Alluring.

(creature of sin

and oh, do you reek:

The air is saturated in the tantalising scent of honeybush, roasted hazelnuts, and clove. Saccharine—almost nauseatingly so—but with a hint of spice, black cardamom, cinnamon. He drags in lungful after lungful until it tangles deep within his chest, nearly suffocating. Smothered in this earthy sweetness. Drowning. Drowning—

the perfect dessert)

It unleashes something in him. Chips at the lock buried deep in his mind, cudgelling through the hinges until they pop. Rusted, slick with oxidising oil. It peels back from the gate, unveiling this gaping, ravenous chasm, polluted and gangrenous, rotten down to the marrow. Noisome. Noxious. This frothing pit sloshes, geyser-like, and greedily foams at the maw, the mouth, aching for a taste. Something to quench this gnawing hunger.

This bottomless abyss hadn't seen light since he was eighteen, and—

The hollow space where his rib once sat throbs, aches. phantom bone. He holds his chest with his hand, feeling for the gap, the chasm, stolen from him. Ripped away, taken.

By you. you—

—so,

it's only fair that he steals something back.

(quid pro quo, or something, right?)

You greet him with a small nod when he wanders close, eyeing him warily under the black rim of your ballcap. Tense. Small hands curl into fists, partially hidden under the rain-soaked windbreaker nearly two sizes too big. It smells like you—honeyed milk, molasses; lilac, lavender and warm bread—and he fights the urge to pull his mask down, to shove his misshapen nose into your neck, and breathe it in right from the source. Drinking, feasting, on it.

This want is visceral. It coils in his guts, bubbling in his veins. His musk—heavier than yours, pungent—beads along his scent glands, mushrooming into the air like a fine mist.

Your nostrils flare. He takes a step closer, eyes skewering into you, taking in everything you have to offer. The rucksack left at the bottom of the tree, stained with dirt and leaves. A sprig of Saskatoon berries peeks out from the lopsided flap. And—

Ah.

Foraging is off-limits in this area unless granted a permit. One you don't seem to have based on the skittish way you keep avoiding his eye.

His scent thickens, tainted sour with faux suspicion, and you wince, ducking your chin, tucking it close to your chest, hiding from his spearing gaze.

All it does is give him a voyeuristic view of your fragile nape, your vulnerable neck.

His teeth ache. Jaw clenched up tight.

It looks so bare. So naked.

(Be a shame to keep it that way forever, wouldn't it?)

“Hi,” you stammer, seemingly oblivious to the musk you leak into the air, into his lungs. Forcing some sense of staid indifference into your tone. Like being here, out in the middle of the forest is normal. “Did you need something?”

On the verge of a heat like this, wobbling where you stand—

He wants to chew you up. Spit out the pieces on the pavement. Drink from the gash he'll rip into your jugular,

quench this unbearable thirst.

He doesn't know how you made it out here as long as you have, smelling like you do, and the thought burrows through the haze spuming, clotting, on the fringes of his muted periphery. Anger is an icy deluge of white water raging through his veins.

Under the mask, the remnants of his scarred lip curls. His hands close into tight fists. Balled up. He feels the tension crackling along his muscles, his body. Coiled spring. Ready to leap—

But:

There's clarity. Focus. Where he was meant to become a mindless monster, driven by instinct, he instead feels the pieces of himself snap back into place. Missing puzzle pieces. It shifts. Settles. Locks.

He wants you. Will have you. It's non-negotiable. Ironclad. You just—

Belong to him, don't you? Pretty little thief. And wandering around like this, reeking like you do, you must want him, too. Need him.

(protect, protect, protect—)

Honed in, drilling into your face to catch every expression that flickers past, he sees the moment you take a sniff, when realisation blooms in the inkpools of your gaze that you are less than an arm's length away from a starving predator. Supple, soft. All plush flesh seated seamlessly against brittle bone. Fragile.

“hi,” he echoes, and it sounds hollow. Garbled. Like he's speaking underwater. Thinks, for a moment, that he's buried again. Drowning under the crushing weight of dirt. His own tumulus. Suffocating. Choking on dirt—

But you twitch. Feral little thing. It breaks him out of this nightmarish obtundation; shaking the cobwebs loose. He tracks it like a viper. Attention narrowing, shrinking, into nothing but the way you move. Smell. You anchor him in his place, keeping him stable amid this horrific onslaught of emotions that rip talons down his chest.

“I–” you breathe in again, lashes fluttering. Strains of silk batting over your etiolated cheeks. You breathe him in. Deep. He sees your chest grow, expanding with his air. His musk. Has to bite down on a growl before it forms, the lash of a whip in his throat. Aching.

There's something spellbinding about you—caked in a layer of grime, briny sweat clogging your natural scent; wild and untamed. Uncharted wilderness, untouched by man and their dirty hands. A corrie after a rain shower. Snow melt. He wants to bathe in it. Carry it with him wherever he goes.

As if scenting this thickening desire, your eyes widen. You take a step back, swallowing audibly when he follows. Marionette on strings. Your shadow.

“I should go—”

And he knows he can't let you do that.

Won't.

He hums, a fickle, brittle thing in the far reaches of his chest.

“Go?” he flicks his hand toward your bag, head cocking to the side in a mockery of contemplation. “Don' think you got a permit for that, do you?”

“A permit…”

He has you. Your eyes lower, falling to the badge on his chest. Game Warden. You stare at it, eyes widening. Swallowing thick.

With you distracted, he leans in. Curves his body over you mockingly, like he's bending down to whisper a secret in your ear. Cupping a pretty little firefly in the palm of his hand.

When his shadow falls over you—dark and damning—you flinch back, fists trembling under the hem of your jacket. Brows furrowed, knotted tight. Your lower lip wobbles. You try to hide that, too, by sinking your teeth into your flesh until it floods white under the strain.

He wants to pry it apart with his own teeth. Take the bruised flesh into his mouth until you start to drool, whining from the abuse he inflicts on you in a mockery of a kiss.

(wants to tear through it, taste your blood on his tongue—)

“An’ I don't reckon tha's a good idea, pet.”

You shiver when he places his hand on the truck above your head. Boxing you in completely, nothing to spare—not even an inch.

He hums at that, cock giving a vicious jerk inside his trousers at the almost impossible dearth between your sizes, at the way he swallows you up in an instant. Has to take a deep breath to steady himself, to keep the inkblack tendrils swirling, gathering, at the edges of his periphery from bleeding in. This starving murder of crows.

When he speaks again, it's low. Deep. Kittenish licks from the tongue of a tiger; abrasive, rough. Mocking baritone of a shifting canyon, a mountainside, before it buries anyone alive under rubble.

“Not reekin’ the way you do. Might ‘ave every alpha in a one square mile radius frothin’ at jaws for a taste. Ain't safe out there.”

And it's definitely not safe with him.

He watches, transfixed, the moment this clicks. When your eyes waver between the hard bulk of his body—spread out, laxed; plumage unfurled—and the noisy clatter of the town just within reach. It's this thicket that cups your scent, that protectively curls over you, and keeps the Alpha's prowling about the market square from sniffing you out. A beaten trail. Hidden desire path no one was supposed to wander down.

Except the bear problem in the woods, infringing on town, and him, the gun bolstered on his thigh still hot from his warning shots into the bush.

(lost little Lamb—

wandered too far from the herd.)

You take another step, cautious. Small. It brings you flush against the tree. Your polyester jacket whines at the friction. He can see indecision play out on your face. Oscillating between the badge on his uniform shirt, the gun on his massive thigh, and the clamour of muted noise from the town just within reach. Alphas prowling. Their acrid scent is unmistakable even through the dense foliage spreading around you.

It's an impasse. Neither option affords you much choice in the long run—it's either stay here with him, with the heady scent of want, of an Alpha on the incipient cusp of a voracious rut; or risk yourself in town. There are police officers patrolling. Ones who can sedate an alpha who gets too out of hand, but still.

The mimesis of desire pooling around you might send you into heat sickness. That, or you'll get in even more trouble for fleeing a pursuing officer. Resisting arrest. Jail time, certainly.

The pendulum wavers. Your knotted fists wobble.

Then—

Your eyes leave his chest, the gun, trailing over his shoulder. Widening in surprise at whatever is there in the distance.

He ought to commend you, really. The rouse is quite believable—

But:

“Not bad,” he murmurs, leaning down further. If you won't jump, he'll push you—

He sees his mistake as soon as it happens.

As he bends, you drop. Waiting until his attention seemingly drifts elsewhere, to when he's distracted and off balance. Lured in by your faux attempt at distraction.

And it might have worked on a lesser being, but all Ghost has ever been is raw, unadulterated instinct.

He lashes out as soon as you move again, palm curling over your wrist in an instant. Snapping jowls of a defensive snake. Shackled. Locked. He tugs—

But the movement costs momentum. You use this against him, going limp. Forcing him to take the brunt of your weight on the spread of his fingers. Tricky little minx. His mouth breaks out in a feral smirk, tugging harshly on scars, on burns. Stretching skin. Distorting it under the mask, ugly and vicious.

Your scent plumes up around him, sickly sweet. His jaw aches, gums itch. He wants to bite, snap his jowls around the scruff of your neck, chew on your skin until you sob out his name—

In seconds, you twist. Swinging your body back in a beautiful pivot, clumsy as it is. You're all animal now. Reckless in your pursuit to escape. Throwing out pheromones at him—purposeful, he realises a moment too late.

And it works. Distracts him long enough for his grip to slacken. Your arm slips out of his grasp, and you're on your feet in an instant, darting through the thicket in a maddened dash to escape the heavy, starving alpha and his burgeoning hunger.

Escape, or—

Weighed down by the afterbirth of his sudden rut, a prickle of his old self buoys, brims, from beneath the mess. He shouldn't chase you. Should leave you alone, call someone—Price, perhaps. Bark out between a clenched jaw that he needs a tranquiliser and chains. Will have to break Simon's teeth to stop him from biting into you like a man starved, famished. Tie him to the back of his pickup truck, drag him to the edges of the forest. Knock him out. Knock his teeth in.

Anything.

Because they said this might happen. The doctors’ who poked and prodded. Therapists—all mandatory, non-negotiable, when he signed his name on the dotted line—murmured about unravelling. His self-control snapping like a twig. Sense of self retreating. All hiding away, protecting itself from the torrent of chemicals flooding his hindbrain. A heavy, unrelenting accumulation of a decades-long bout of rut celibacy all washing over him, all at once.

Said to lock himself up if it happens. Chains. Shackles. Nuts and bolts. Heavy tranquiliser. Immediate sedation.

And in Price’s office, in that messy filing cabinet he keeps, is a folder. A playthrough of everything that's supposed to happen if this happens.

(“but that won't happen, will it, Simon?”

and he'd rolled one massive shoulder in an easy, effortless shrug.

“no.”)

The failsafe is that he's meant to call in if it does. Precious seconds of clarity, cognisance, enough time for him to dial the number, to bark out the order. To be hunted down, rounded up, and thrown in a pit.

where he belongs.

He should. Should. It's the book. Rules. Coloured in red ink. No option to negotiate.

But as you slip through the dense foliage, angelic gold against the phthalo green bosky, the knot in his shoulders abates. Uncoils. In this sense of ease that permeates within him, he finds that he's shockingly cognisant. In full control. The plexiglass shatters, and in the ruins he finds purpose.

You smell good. Too good. Any alpha will scent you in an instant, will claim you. Take you. It makes something in his broken, moulted head shift. Crack. He can't let that happen. Has to protect you the only way he knows how—

To wrap his paws around your throat before any other Alpha has the chance to sink their teeth into you. To claim you.

All his. Little Persephone tucked tight against his ribs where you belong.

And if the way the air clots with your cloying smell—heady, potent; the unmistakable ripeness of an omega in heat—then you must want him to chase you. Want him to follow.

(escape, or—

a game.)

He tracks your movements, honed in on the rustle of the underbrush. When you're out of sight, Ghost flexes his hand, curling his gloved fingers over the leather on his palm. There's an itch in the back of his head. Festering. Rotting. He wants to reach in, rake his claws down the mass, shred it to pieces, but it affixes one simple truth inside of him:

you need him. want him. why else would you run in the opposite direction of help if you didn't want him to give chase?

And so, he does.

You're a crafty little thing. To throw him off of your trail, you leave scent markers on the tree trunks you pass, doubling back to run in the opposite direction.

It might have worked on someone else, but Ghost has spent half of his life buried in this thicket, and knows better than to follow smells in the forest. A vacuum, a great chasm; it plays tricks with sounds. Distorts scents wafting through the canopy, mingling with the natural loam, the disturbed humus underfoot.

Instead, he hums at your cleverness—his smart little omega—and shifts his gaze to the forest floor, roaming over the footprints sinking into the soft soil, the peat and moss. A breadcrumb trail leading right to you. Broken twigs, crushed bushes.

Ghost follows it. Places each foot down carefully, nose angled upward to catch the fresh wave of your heat leaking through the tangled furze. It beckons him forward. Calls out to him.

(come, come, come—)

This lost little lamb needs a shepherd.

He intends to give you just that.

(—find me)

The path you cut through the forest is a twisting sawtooth meant to throw him off your trail. Traps laid out in tall tussocks, weaved through sweetgrass all drenched in your scent. Pieces of your clothing torn at the hem, the shorn fabric pressed on pine needles and tangles furze.

These breadcrumb trails—a neat nest of wile, it seems—are cunning, he'll give you that.

Even with his eyes to the forest floor, he finds himself throwing a wayward glance in the opposite direction, snagged in your webbed subterfuge. Somewhere between the visitors centre and the first trail meandering into the thick taiga, you seemed to have realised that your boots leave indents in the mor. He follows the deep impressions in the podsol until he finds them shoved under a Saskatoon berry bush. Another dead end.

Clever little thing, aren't you?

But even when strays from the path, he's right on your tail. Confident in his scenting abilities. His prowess has always been tracking down wily little rabbits when they try to flee, picking them off in stasis from high above. The layout might have changed—his perch closer to the ground instead of a deer stand—but his eyes are just as keen. Your winding trail is ingrained in his mind. A long loop through the eastern trailhead, and he knows, instantly, that you'll try to throw him off at the placard where the west trail branches off through the dense conifers, and the east meanders downslope to the hidden stream where hunters like to trawl.

He feels a pinch of pride simmering low in his guts. Anyone else would have lost you three pitfalls back. He's enraptured by this pursuit. Smitten by you. Your clumsy little escape. Your sweet little ploys. He wants to chew into you, let his teeth leave jagged scars, false starts, on your bones. Permanent. Starlight—dusting meteor showers in milk white.

Ghost’s belly gives a tremendous growl. He huffs at the ache clawing against tissue, ravenous and unbearably empty.

He'll have you soon. All to himself.

The thought makes fresh blooms of pleasure spume from the rot in his chest, prickling through the layers of muskeg and peat, etiolated little sprout. Germinating in wet gangrene. Feasting on necrotised flesh.

He swipes his hand over a honeybush, catches the lingering scent clinging to the leaves. You must have fallen here. Tangled yourself in the furze, overcome by your heat.

Poor thing. Tired already.

He holds his hand up to the fading gossamer of twilight trickling through the dense canopy, clenching the lingering remnants of your scent in his fist. It's fresh. He wants to tuck it in his pocket, carry it around with him.

He finds you in a small clearing, bent down with your palm resting on the trunk of a tree. Nails digging into the rotting bark, desperately struggling to catch your breath. Your heat is a wildfire. It scorches the earth. Burns his nose.

You're no longer on the cusp of it anymore, but in the throes.

His rut, he finds, isn't too far behind.

Perfect synergy. Meant to be. You call to him, and the gaping, gnarled chasm inside of him answers with a growl—

Before you can blink, he moves.

He falls over you, felled timber. The earth shakes under his indomitable weight. Palms slam into the rough bark of the gnarled spruce you've taken respite against, boxing you in.

You fall against it with a gasp, hands pushing against his broad chest as he backs you into the tree. Little fists pounding on his sternum, mouth pinched, twisted in a snarl. There are pieces of bush caught on your clothes, tangled in your hair. Leaves. Sticks. A spot of dirt on your nose.

It's mesmerising.

The ballcap falls first. Morning sunlight over a boscage in bloom. Pitfalls, ravines. The canyons of your eyes quiver; this new topography shifting, sliding. Tectonic beauty in muted midnight.

He wants to reach in, feel these granite walls of yours with his bare hands. Clamber up the colluvium, the scree, until he reaches these rugged peaks gleaming at him, angry and feral, in fading twilight.

Time is endless. There's no limit to how long he has to know you—drink from your rivers, feast on your valleys; find all the hidden nooks, the crannies, shaded under the towering monoliths of your body. Chart your couloir. Defile your flume. Bathe in your estuary. Tangle himself inside your dells. Tame your chaparral.

Fastidiously. Expertly. Until no part of you is unknown to him.

Your chest heaves, mouth open as he crowds you further. Pressing into you. Over you.

He wedges his broad thigh between your legs, presses it tight against your pussy. Your thrashing stills when he touches you, when he angles his knee up, up—

There. Through the layers of clothing that separates his bare skin from your cunt, he feels the heat bleeding out against him. The wetness from your sodden panties. Undeniable proof of how much you want him. Need him.

“All wet f’me?”

“Fuck you—!” You spit, angry and feral, but you arch into his touch, pushing your pussy onto his thigh. Aching for friction.

It makes him hum. A low growl caught in the back of his throat.

“Reckon I'll be the one fuckin’ you, pet.”

And he will be. This is fact.

You shudder, brows notching together in a vicious glare. “I don't want you.”

It's hissed between the sliver of your clenched teeth. Full of heavy conviction. Forging truth out of lies—

And that's all it is. A lie. A fallacy.

(and even if it wasn't, unlikely considering the way you arch into him, needy despite the disdain dripping down your brow—he really just can't find it in himself to give a fuck; he'll make you want him—)

Ghost leans down, muzzle pressed against your neck. He inhales deep, audible. Chest expanding, lungs swelling. Full of the aroma bleeding out of your pores. Proof of just how much you do, in fact, want him. Betrayed by your own body.

He huffs out, paints the air with his derision. “Is that so?”

Ghost drags his hand down the solid line of the tree, dropping it to rest against the jut of your hip. He ducks his head, watching. Staring at the way his palm nearly swallows you up when he rests it over your waist. Spanning nearly the entirety of it—hip to hip.

It bludgeons into him. Knocks the air clean from his lungs.

He's always had a hunger for things he can cup in his palm. The barrel of his rifle. The hilt of a knife. Your wrist in his hand. The curve of your hip.

His gloved fingers slip under the hem of your shirt. Pads ghosting over your skin. Warmth bleeds through the leather, an unmistakable tell of your heat reaching its first equinox. It'll be all fire, all smoke, from this point onward. Desperate. Feral.

Groaning deep, wanting, he pushes into you further. Chest rumbling. Eager.

It takes a great deal of effort to pull his hand away. To bring it up to his mouth, fingers hooking over the edge.

The fight in you abates—marginally—and you watch him with a keen look of suspicion dancing in the moulted dirt spread over your nullah. Wary. Anticipatory.

He fights the urge to laugh—deep and delirious—and instead works on prying his mask down over his crooked nose, his mangled mouth. Letting the hem snap under his chin, kept there. Bearing himself to you for the first time. Naked. Exposed.

Your eyes widen, trailing down the jagged lines, mauled ridges of scar tissue. Drinking in everything he offers in the fading embers of a summer twilight.

He grins—a rivened, ugly thing—when you let out a heavy, quick breath, and your hips drop, rutting your sopping cunt over the wide heft of his thigh. Gyrating subconsciously. Quietly pleased by the way he looks—as maimed, as beastly as he is. He lets you. Lifts his knee, pressing his cap tight into the bark, and bumping the top of his flexing quadriceps at the apex of your groin, right where he knows your clit sits.

The breath you take is pulled in through clenched teeth, biting on the rind of a moan. Its shapeless silhouette ducks, hides from sight.

He lets you have it. Lets you run.

But it's not without recompense.

With his upper lip curled, he sinks his teeth into the leather tip of the glove above his middle finger. Letting you see them for yourself—these thrawn teeth he'll bury into your neck. Claiming you entirely as his.

Your pupils start to eclipse your irises. Lagoons of liquid black blotting over rugged peaks.

Ghost slowly tips his head back, dragging the glove with him. Eyes setting along his lashline, he drinks in the sight of you swallowing thickly, your gaze darting between his teeth, his mouth, and now—his bared neck. Voracious, greedy, in the way you feast on him. Drilling into the stretch of skin slowly unveiling itself to you.

The muscles in his neck flex against rimy skin. Adam's apple bobbing with his slow swallow.

You follow it all, but your gaze seems to fix itself on the brawny arch of his neck, falling—and then glueing— to the thick vein protruding from his flesh, pulsing with the steady rhythm of his heart, and the small, swollen bump of his scent gland beneath it.

Hunger, he finds, paints such a pretty picture on your face. The greedy, anfractuous glances a bludgeon into him; so heavily affixed with desire that the shake of your head when he pulls the glove free, letting it dangle from between his teeth, and drops his hand back to your skin, is minute. Meaningless.

You want him as much as he wants you.

The clause in this, the axiom, is ironclad. Irrefutable. Bound in brass when you shiver at the touch—feverish skin on feverish skin—and arch into his palm for more. Panting through clenched teeth, each hiss striking against that fraying coil leashing his threadbare control. To distract himself from the unspooling knot, the ache in his gums, he charts the first inch of skin he passes with his thumb, committing the sloping plains of your body to memory. The jut of your hip, the stutter in your breath when he runs the rough pad of his forefinger over the slope of your underbelly.

It's easy to marvel at the sheer enormity of his size compared to yours. Simon hitches his thigh firmly into your clothed cunt, nearly lifting you up off the ground. You teeter on the tips of your toes, falling forward into his chest to stabilise yourself. Little fists curling into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles tight against his the last rungs of his ribcage. Your head lifts, a glare chiselling into the soft fields of your face.

You hiss something at him—feral and scathing. He drops the glove, leans down to meet you in the middle, and eats your feeble protests from your lips in a bruising kiss. Scorching. His teeth knock into yours. Tongue lashes out to catch the vitriol dripping from your fangs. You make a noise in the back of your throat, and he swallows that, too. Devours it all.

It's a vicious kiss. All teeth, tongue. Bullying. He lets you sink your teeth into his tongue, huffing into the seam of your lips when you coo, victoriously, at the first drop of blood spilled.

In retaliation, he sets his hands over your ribs, and lifts you up off the ground. Making you gasp. Mewl. Your legs kick out as the back of your head catches on loose bark, raining it down over your shoulders in flakes. He doesn't stop kissing you throughout. Eyes half-mast, still open, as he drinks in the sight of yours rolling back in your head when his thigh, one the width of both of yours—fuckin’ hell—catches the perfect angle on your clit.

Loose-limbed, caught, you have no choice but to wrap your ankles around his waist, curl your arms around his broad shoulders. Clinging to him desperately to remain grounded, held aloft.

His hand falls down, cups the back of your thigh, fingers spanning the entire curve of your cheek. Held tight in his palm. He bucks into you—quick, hard. Letting you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, leaking spend already in the tight confines of his trousers. This groin, inner thighs, already sticky with the mess dribbling out.

You fall apart at this. Head tipping back, crown thudding against the truck of the tree. He has your lower lip between his teeth, and it pulls, skin stretching until he huffs out another breath, mocking, and unhinges his jaw, letting you go.

Mewling, whining low in the back of your throat, you clumsily rut your cunt into the hard press of his cock. Eyes hazy, liquid, with your blooming heat.

Its approach is quicker than he thought it would be, and he hums, tongue rolling over his teeth to catch the lingering taste of you. Under his hand, your skin burns. Singing with the urgency of your desperation. He answers it with a grunt, falling forward to smother you under his weight.

There's a flash of clarity in your eyes when they crack open. Brief. Fleeting. He feels your sluggish attempt to push him away, to free your hands from between your chests, and he has to dip his head to stifle another groan. It feels good to have you under him like this. Covered entirely in his bulk, his shadow.

His hand pulls away from your flesh, snaking between your bodies to catch your wrists in the palm of his hand. Only one swallows them up, and the easy way he subdued you—effortlessly—has him nearly coming undone in his trousers. Untouched.

“Fuck, want it bad, don't you?” he snarls, hips bucking into you. Chasing pleasure. He pulls your hands out, lifting to arm to trap yours in the shackle his fingers make high above your head, and—

It's devious, this.

Somewhere in the loosening agency of his self, his autonomy, he knows this is becoming dangerous. Something that ought to be stopped before he rips into you with a rabidness that promises nothing at all will remain intact when he's finished. When he's had his fill. He needs to clear his mind. To get away from the way you fit against him so perfectly. Tiny in his wicked embrace.

Like you were made to fit between his ribs. His teeth.

He gnashes them together, trying to stem the ache in his gums.

He wants to fuck you. Needs to—

But as ripe as you smell to him now—tender melon, warmed honeycomb—he knows that you're not yet ready to take him.

Ghost steps back, letting your feet drop to the soil below. With the sparse inch of space between your bodies, he breathes in the lingering scent of your breath—sharp, burning; imbued with a heady thrum of adrenaline electrifying your nerves—and finds the musk a near-perfect pantomime of ozone. The arid tang in the air just before the air. A lightning strike. It rolls over his tongue, tastes of wet pennies in the back of his throat. Heavy with anticipation.

Something he feels very keenly as well. An eagerness he hasn't met in decades. Absolutely famished for it, for this familiarity of want. Potent desire.

He mourns the loss of the way your ass fits in the cradle of his hand when he pulls it free, fingers trailing over the feverish skin of your hips, your belly, as he goes. He doesn't stop until he comes to rest on the button of your trousers, eyes flickering down to catch your gaze. Purposeful, now. Intent clear.

Nothing is stopping him from taking. Your protests are paper-thin, dissolving the moment it touches the dense blanket of humidity in the air, but he wants your submission. Wants to see your resolve break, crushed by your own hand.

The gossamer wings of a butterfly, crumpled up in your palm, and offered to him for the taking. How sweet—

You seem to realise his intentions when his thumb dips below the hem of your pants. Just a tease. Brushing against the soft skin he finds there with the curve of his nail.

Your glare is instant. The sharp tug of a drawstring pinching tight between your brow. Mesmerising as it closes over your lax expression. A fierce snap. He wants to pry it apart. Wedge himself between the seam. Create a gap wide enough for him to fit.

“I won't beg,” you grind out, acidulous. Firm.

He huffs, quietly amused by the fight still sparking in you despite the evidence of your arousal, your want of him, evident in the stain at the seam of your pants. His other hand rests on the trunk of the tree above your head, boxing you in when he leans closer. Taunting. “That so?”

You don't respond, but your glare sharpens, mouth tugging downward in a harsh frown. Displeasure sparks in the air. Cutting into him like fine glass shards. He lets it graze his naked flesh, the warning ghosting over him in needlepoint pinpricks. Entirely too captivated by you to notice the sting.

Your ire is a heady, tangible thing dripping down your brow, slashing over your cheeks. Anger, however misguided it might be, paints a pretty picture over your face. Darkens the inlets nestled in the corner of your eyes. Drenches the ravines, gorges in a startling chiaroscuro. Limns the alpines, the valleys, in a halo of golden starlight.

He wants to drink it down. Hold your fury in the palm of his hand—

Crush it between his fingers.

Because despite the dissent, your desire cuts through, and hews the air in a thick tapestry of want.

mutinous, teeth bared, but your eyes burn, rage against the prison walls, and scream, please—

His fingers dig into the bark above your head, catching flecks of sap between his nails. Knuckles turning white under the flaxen hair dusting over them, strained. The grip is unintentional. Unconscious. He keeps thinking about you beneath him. The heat of your thighs around his waist was a mere tease. A morsel when he wants a meal—

The pressure in his knuckles grounds him. Cuts through the phosphenes blanketing the edges of his vision, smothering the clarity, the cognisance, that lingers in the centre. Threadbare as it is.

There’s an ache in his jaw.

(the need to bite—)

He pulls it off, and shoves his hand tight between your thighs, cupping your cunt in his palm. Feeling the heat bleed through the gusset of your pants. The touch is harsh. Firm. He bullies his fingers into your flesh, letting out a mocking chuff when he feels the fabric dampen.

“Somethin’s’ tellin’ me otherwise.”

Your hand lashes out, grabbing the thick of his wrist. Holding firm. It should be a warning, but the obvious gap between your middle finger and thumb makes him groan instead.

“You're wrong.”

“Am I?”

You twist away from him when he leans down, chin ducking to your shoulder. Hiding. Denying him your mouth, your taste. This meagre measure of control you grapple for is easy to give. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear instead, letting you run. Flee. For now.

His voice is thick when he continues, husky. He pitches it low, lets it swirl into the seashell coil of your inner ear, earning him a shiver in response. Your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. Holding tight.

“‘m a lot of things, pet—” rucked gravel, sodden with his derision, spills into your ear. Your shudder makes him want to bite, to maim. “Wrong ain't usually one of ‘em. But you'll learn that soon enough.”

Your breath hitches. Expression morphing, shifting. Changing into something adorably beleaguered as he encircles you like a tiger, eyes drilling through the tussock, aimed directly at your head. With his body boxing you in, coiling over you like a hideous shadow, he has you trapped, caught. Little lamb writhing between the paw of a tiger.

You seem to be keenly aware of this. Your eyes are shrewd, searching, as you probe around for any escape route, but he's a bulwark around you. Inescapable.

Finding none, you suck in another breath, and slowly lift your chin, glancing up at him through your lashes. The look on your face is—

Enigmatic.

Something changes in the morphology of your mien. Fracturing. Cracking.

“Yeah?” You breathe, soft and goading. Your hips buck into his hand, rutting shallowly against the tops of his fingers. Unconscious. Like you just couldn't help it.

And he supposes you can't.

A fine sheen of sweat has been building since he took after you into the forest. Gathering around your temple, your hairline. The harsh reminder of your festering heat, once dammed by your raw disdain for him—hatred, he'd say, and doesn't the thought just make him want to laugh; you're all bark, no bite, and he knows he'll have fun breaking you in, breaking you apart—but flooded over by the primal drive to mate.

And he's perfect for you, isn't he?

Hideous bastard that he is. It's a sharp juxtaposition to your prettiness, your earthly beauty.

Under the spinel sky, you break. The hand on his wrist tightens, your hips flexing into his palm. Seeking friction. Needing pressure. Needing him. And pissed off about it. Delicious.

“Prove it,” you snap, irritation blanching the corners of your eyes arsenic white. Edging into a frenetic desperation hot enough to burn the threads of your resolve. But there's a gleam of reluctance pushing through the syrupy murk folding over you, heavy molasses. You want to give in, but there's something about him, his appetite, that makes you hold back. That makes you visibly sick at the sight of him—

Unfortunately for you, he has no such compunction to shelf his barbarity. To leash his desire, to muzzle the overwhelming urge to crush you under the weight of his accumulated need. It's decades of listless apathy. Divorced from anything resembling human emotion at the root. Carved out, scraped off bone. He was left to stagnate. A misfortunate creature submerged in a bog, dead but unable to rot.

The deluge of his savage, bestial hunger rages in his veins. It's corrosive, vile, and—

unrestrained.

Ravenously esurient. He wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go—

but first:

he needs to eat.

His meal is a feast, it turns out. Simon gorges himself until he's full. Promises that he'll stop as soon as he's satiated.

(but he's lying to himself, and to you, because he never is—

never will be.)

Tears pebble along your lash line as he feasts on your sopping cunt, licking at your fluttering rim, slurping up your slick. Your clit is pressed tight against the crooked arch of his nose, sliding and catching on the jagged ridge each time he moves his jaw to dig deeper inside of you as if he's trying to taste the seal of your womb. You pant, whine. The noise muffled half-heartedly behind your palm. Teeth sunk into your skin, lodged against your bone.

Angry rivulets rain down your cheeks, dangling like fine beads, gems, on your jaw. He wants to taste them next, as soon as he fills his gullet with the earthy tang you release.

Your tears remind of that pretty omega Johnny sent to him—a brat, he'd said; the best, Lt—and it churns in his stomach, dredging up something awful. Terrible. He wants to make you weep harder. Wants you sobbing, begging. His own little brat to take over the knee whenever he wants—

But that's where the uncanny resemblance ends.

You're not a brat. No. You're a headache. The kind that will have him written up, sat like a bad dog in his best suit, as they level him with charges, and orders, and the like. The sort of thing that even the old man wouldn't be able to string him out of—not that he would. Price is three days away from a much-deserved retirement to the mountains and sitting on his hands to keep from snatching up the pretty conservation officer who moons at him whenever he passes by.

He won't be much help to get Ghost out of trouble. That leaves only Gaz and Soap. And while he's sure they can swing it, he doesn't really want to be under their ahh, guess ye/ya owe us one, Lt/Riley.

So—

It stands to reason then that he should have you tamed before dawn. Shackled down, locked up tight. Only right considering he's the best in town to keep bears at bay. Do you really want to deal with a mama grizzly and her defenceless cubs? Or a starving male clumsily pawing his way out of hibernation?

Probably not.

So. So.

He pulls back, rests his chin on your thigh.

“Gonna be good for me, pet?” He asks, lowering his tone considerably until it catches on the gravel below.

He's not surprised when you hiss through a cloud of tears. “Go fuck yourself—”

Ghost tips his head, suckles your clit into his mouth. Tongue laving over your flesh. Blunt teeth pressing flat against the swollen bead, a tease. You tense, gasping. Hand pushing his head back, back—

“Don't, don't—” you're mewling, nails raking over his scalp. Hips bucking, pulling back. Struggling to get away. The bite marks along your thighs weep fresh blood in your struggle, filling his nose with the heavy scent of iron.

They serve as a harsh reminder of what he can do with these jagged teeth of his.

He chuckles, mouth still closed around your clit. The vibrations have you choking, spine curving into a beautiful arch.

Fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still. Trapping you. He's not quite done with your cunt, yet. And all this wriggling is something he can do without. With his hand pressed to your hips, he notches the other down your thigh. Tracing his index finger over your soft skin, dragging it close to your outer lips. Catching the tacky slick drying on your flesh with the tip.

Tiny fists rain down over his shoulders. Urging him forward, eager for more. Selfish, spoiled little thing.

What a monster he's made—

“Patience, pet,” he coos, mocking and mean. Likes the way you react to the patronisation in his tone. All taut shoulders, shaking fists. Bearing your teeth at the slight, the stinging barb. Shaking in an amalgamation of embarrassment and shame.

You seem to like it when he's a little awful to you. A little mocking. Cruel.

“Shut up—!” You hiss, lips curling as you glare down at him. “I'm not your pet—”

He ignores you. Bends down to sniff at your cunt instead, and finds his answer is the white hot desire he can taste in the back of his throat when he breathes you in.

His fingers pry apart your folds, and he greedily drinks in the sight of your drenched hole, clenching down on nothing. Poor you. His heart thunders in his chest, rages. He wants to sink inside of you—impossibly deep—until the beginning of him and the end of you ceases to exist. Rolled into a single being, atoms merged. Bodies fused. He wants to take everything from you. All of it. Eat it out of the cup of his hand like pomegranate seeds, let the skin get stuck in his teeth.

He wants to devour you whole.

(to eat—)

Settles, instead, for pawing at your cunt.

Pressing the width of it against your slit, feeling the heat of your core on the palm of his hand. Branding himself with the intensity of your desire. Another scar among many. An uncountable number of jagged asteroids cratering along his flesh, making a home out of a ghost. A shell.

Reinforced, too, by the absurdity of how terribly contrasted his flesh is to yours. Monstrous. His scarred hand rests over your pussy, encompassing it entirely with extra digits to spare. Folding each finger on top of the other to wedge between the basin of your thighs. And as his gaze comes to rest on the way he swallows you up, he is struck by the garishness of his hand—hideous scar tissue, burns—falling over your pretty cunt.

Sinful. Frankensteinian beast palming the sweet pussy of a pretty, human woman, and—

Fuck.

His cock twitches, spits out a thick glob of pre-cum.

Ghost has never wanted to ruin something as badly as he wants to ruin your cunt. You. Mess you up so badly that everyone will know you belong to him, and him alone. To brand you with the tattoo of his teeth on your mons; force a claiming bite on the pillowy skin above your clit. His ownership bracketed between your thighs, at the very apex of your hip bones. Buried into tissue right under the bulge of your womb. A fecund valley for him to lay waste; for you to grow beauty from the rot, the ash.

Cinder scraps over his nerves. Fells his resolve in a brutal sweep.

He comes undone at the seams, unravels.

Simon curls his fingers into a loose fist, passing the rugged peaks of his bone over your soft flesh. Gathering slick on thick, scarred knuckles. He holds it there, folds pried apart by his hand, content to luxuriate in the softness of your flesh, the scorching heat.

Possessively, he unhitches his thumb from the coil of his fist, and swipes it over your clit. More slick leaks out as you keen.

“Sweet omega like you should ‘ave been claimed by now,” he rumbles evenly despite the sour twist in his guts at the thought. “Might not ‘ave ended up ‘ere, would you ‘ave? Beggin’ the first alpha you see to fuck this sweet little cunt.”

“Begging?”

“Practically gaggin’ for it, weren't you?” And even though the words are his own, they sit in his gut like a stone. An angry knot tangled in his intestines, snaking its way up his gullet. Bitter. It's quelled by the sight of your bare neck. Ripe for his teeth. And his alone.

But even if you had a pretty ring made by another alpha, Simon knows that wouldn't have stopped him from taking you, anyway. Biting over the claim. Breaking it between his teeth. Precious, loving union shattered by his crooked greed. He'd have relished in it, too. Basked in the way you sobbed as he tore your alpha into pieces. An obstacle turned into a pretty effigy at his feet. Wicker pyre burning to keep him warm.

(he'd have caught dinner for you, too; hunted caribou, moose, and roasted it over the open flame. Fucked you under the blume of orange. Let the fire lick across your skin as he sunk in deep—)

He rocks back on his haunches. Mood labile, quicksilver, as his rut grows. Festers.

You deny it, breathless, as he slips the mountainous peak of his bent middle finger into your hole, stretching your rim around the scarred cartilage. You pulse around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. Rapid, quick. Wanting. It draws him in. Makes him want to spit on your pretty pussy, and then break you apart on his cock—

“Such a needy cunt, eh? Starving for a good knot, ain't it?”

You hiss out your protests, but clench tight around his knuckle. He chuckles, and it's liquid. Wet rot. Lungs polluted, spitting nocuous, black smoke into the air.

“I'm not—”

“You are.”

He pulls back, pursing his mouth, and spreads your lips apart, opening you up wide and vulnerable to his prying eyes. Saliva puddles on his tongue. He gives you a moment to clue into what he's about to do, your fingers tightening, nails digging into his scalp as you do on a shallow gasp of disgust. Then, brutish, he leans forward, and spits. Lets the glob hit your clit, and he has to hold you still when you jerk, cringing away from him, snarling out your displeasure.

“You're disgusting—”

The protests are weak. Your knees tremble, giving away the growing slickness gathering on the insides of your thigh.

He hums, watches as it oozes down between your folds, over your fluttering hole, before it falls to the ground between your legs. He lets his hand fall back over your cunt, middle finger gathering his spit. Rubbing it around your pebbled clit. It's done detachedly, perfunctory. A means to an end with hardly much concern for your pleasure. Not yet, anyway.

You've given him nothing in return yet.

He intends to change that soon.

As you grapple with the harsh reality he presents to you—one of ownership, humiliation, and pleasure on his whim—he drags his finger down, sliding it between your soft lips until he reaches your hole once more. Petting around the drenched entrance slowly, softly, humming under his breath about how wet you are.

Your hips drop, greedily chasing after his finger. You won't ask—not yet—but he likes the way you rut against him: all hateful, spiteful. Like you can't decide on what you want more—to bash his head in, or keep it locked tight between your thighs. Sweet thing.

“Need me, don't you?” He sinks his finger in. Nearly whites out at the pressure, the tightness, he feels. Soft, wet. Squeezing him in a vice as you yowl, whimpering into the stretch like it matters. Like his thick, scarred finger is the most you'd ever taken before. Sweet girl. So naïve.

He drinks in the sight of your flesh forcibly being parted around his knuckle, matting the wisps of blond on his skin as it leaks down to his wrist, until that, too, is pushed up into you. His whole finger now engulfed in the wet heat of your body as you squirm around the stretch, pulsing around him like a heartbeat.

He groans when he tastes your discomfort on the back of his tongue.

“Don't worry, lovie. M’gonna take good care’a you.”

You watch him with slitted eyes as he pushes you down to the forest floor, glaring over your shoulder as he adjusts you the way he wants. Maneuvers you around like a little toy. Forearms braced against the trampled grass, knees sinking into soft moss. Thighs spread. Cunt bare, drenched. Ready to be claimed. Taken.

He drops to his knees, shuffling close from behind you. His hand drops to your lower back, pressing your torso down further into the ground below. His cock aches between his thighs. Heavy, fat. He reaches down with his other hand to where it droops, smearing pre-cum over his inner thigh. He catches it in his fist, flushed the colours of a fresh bruise—angry red, purple—and strokes along the sensitive skin of his shaft, dragging it up and over his engorged head. Pre-cum weeps from the tip, drools long strains down to the forest floor. Puddles thick between your knees.

A prelude, perhaps, for what's to come. When he has you tied like a bow around his knot, milking all the pent-up spend from his heavy, full balls.

It's been decades since he had this—

(“shame.”

he concurs.)

Simon pulls his cock up, taps it against your pebbled clit. Drinks in the sight of you keening, cunt gushing more slick out of your empty hole, dribbling down your thighs. Mingling with the mess he already started making.

It shocks him how good it feels just to tap his cockhead on your pretty pussy. To drag it through your slit, teasing it against your fluttering hole that drools copious slick over him.

He wants to make a mess of you. Fuck your pussy until you cum, until all you can feel is the split of him inside of you. Filling you. Ruining you.

Until all you can think about is the thick drag of him against your stuffed walls. Empty without him plugging you up. Desperate for his cock, his knot—hungry little slut just for him. All for him.

He presses the head of his cock against your rim, letting it catch. Holding it there. A tease. Just a little taste.

Likes when you whimper, head hanging between your shoulders, fingers curling into the moss below. You make such a pretty picture like this—the expanse of your back bare for his eyes to roam, locking on the dimples of your hips, the curve of your waist. The plump shape of your ass inviting him in—eager for a bite. Your flesh looks bare, lonely, without his mark. The contrast of his own inked palm—fingers webbed with faded lettering, some slogan he picked up in his youth. Hands etched in black. Lines bleeding, bulky. The unmistakable tremble of an incipient artist’s first brush of a needle on real skin. Jagged, garring. Ugly. He lets his hand rest against the small of your back, groaning at the way it looks.

Sinful.

You're made for soft silk and a fluffy bed. Head resting on a plush cushion instead of your arms, forehead braced over the uncomfortable squeal of your polyester windbreaker that he didn't even have the courtesy to let you take off. No. Just trousers. Panties. Pushed haphazardly down your legs, left in a pile by the spruce tree so he could throw your ankle over his broad shoulder, feasting on your cunt.

There's a spot of dirt on your asscheek. The curve of it is scraped from the bark, red and raw.

The glare you aim at him from over your shoulder is venomous. There's a smear of moss on your cheek.

You're made for epsom salt baths. Being tended to by a besotted alpha who treats you like fine china, only to be taken out on special occasions. Brushed, always, in a fine layer of dust from disuse. Sweet, tender lovemaking under the waning summer sky. Your alpha apologising for ruining you like this, for making you take the brunt of his rut. Poor thing. Gentle kisses, and hands clasped together.

He can see it so vividly in his eye. So viscerally that it almost feels like a crime when he glances down at his cock, the weeping, engorged head almost comically too big for you. The thick of him could easily swallow your cunt up if he flattened his length against you. Covering you wholly by his girth.

It's a thought that makes his hand tighten, and nearly chokes him on a moan.

Even his thighs bracketing the backs of yours is hideous to look at. Bigger, broader—there's a considerable gap on both sides of his legs that he thinks nearly his whole fist can fit there, notched against the outside of your thigh, covering the expanse of his own. Garish.

He can't wait to lay you down on your belly, lock his thigh tight on either side of your own and rut into you like that. Crushing you under his weight. Swallowing you whole. Until anyone misfortunate enough to wander by thinks he's fucking the cold ground.

His thumb strokes along your fevered skin, collecting the sheen of sweat building up on the pad. Rubbing it in. He feels it too. This unrelenting swelter. A cage, pushing down from all sides. Inescapable.

The only way to quench it is on you. In you.

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” The words are mangled in his throat, thick with want.

Your shoulders tremble. In worry, he thinks. Scents the air like a viper, letting your emotions curdle in the back of his throat. “Just get on with it—”

He meets you in the middle of that taunt, teeth against your throat.

Ghost pushes inside with a groan, eyes rolling back at the way you swallow him up. Stretching around the considerable girth, fluttering around him. Pulsing like a heartbeat.

It's heaven.

Nirvana nests between your thighs, bracketed by rings of blood. Red. Absolution imbued in tender flesh, parting perfectly around his cock in a loving embrace.

You haven't confirmed it for him, but the tightness of your cunt around his fingers, the heady scent of discomfort burning the back of his throat when he buried them inside of you, make him mutedly aware that you're inexperienced. A fact he pockets for later because if he thinks about being the first alpha, the first man, to ever claim you, take you, then he might lose his mind, he might fall down that yawning chasm that reeks of damnation, of brimstone and ash, and never recover—

So, he doesn't. Won't.

Can't.

His pace is slow as he feeds you the fat length of his cock, eyes drilling into the way you swallow him up. Rim stretching taut, flesh paling under the strain of taking him. With one hand anchored against your hip, holding you tight, and the other curled over your shoulder, fingertips resting on your collarbones, he slowly, slowly, sinks inside of you, bottoming out with a deep groan.

The outstroke drags with it an iron scent in the air. He huffs, nostrils flaring. Greedy for more. There's discomfort leaking from your pores. His girth is more than you can conceivably take, even with the preternatural help from your heat, leaking slick down your inner thighs in thick rivulets.

He holds himself there, breathing—heavy, tremulous—through his nose. His hands shake. The pressure, the pleasure, is indescribable. It coils in his guts, spumes liquid bliss in his veins. The way you feel pulsing sweetly around him is—

Equilibrium.

Every misfiring synapse inside himself is slowed. Imbued with a potent sense of ataraxia. His mind comes to a standstill. Thoughts looping over themselves, tangling into the gossamer threads of control floating in stasis. Unmoored. You unravel him.

It's further proof that you are his missing part. His ruts in the past have been calamitous. Snarls wrenched from the trenches of his chest; a gluttonous feast—a sacrifice to Hēdonē. Violent, vicious.

But this—

It's drinking ichor from the vein of Anteros.

There's a crack in the back of his head. The sound of everything, all of it—

Falling into place.

His hands tighten. Tighten some more. He holds you, sure and firm, keeping you nestled in the anchor of his embrace, unable to run, to flee. You're his. Settled. The caveat is ironclad, bound in permanence.

And Simon moans. Deep, and low. The noise jutters out of his chest, and seeps into the evening air. Fine mist, crystallising in front of him. Phosphenes of ice cemented his decision, gluing to his cheeks. The nape of his neck.

His ears burn.

“Fuckin' hell, sweet thing,” it's a guttural growl in the hollow of his throat. “Where ‘ave you been all my goddamn life?”

It's a nauseating confession, one scraped out from the vacancy between his ribs. It peppers the air in a soft, saccharine kiss. Makes you shiver beneath him, gasping in lungfuls of loam, dirt in your throat.

He grunts. Stills. He doesn't want that for you. Ever. Would rip off his own limbs before he ever let you feel the crushing weight of dirt congealing inside of your lungs.

The way he arches over you is damning. Nauseating. He curls his arm around your shoulder, your chest, traps a heaving breast in the palm of his hand, holds tight. The other falls from your hip, closes over your mons. Greedily feeling your slick, hot sex pulsing wildly around him when he passes over your clit, toying with your stretched, swollen rim. It's perfection, this.

He pulls you up, up, leaning back on his haunches until you're balanced on your knees, nearly sat on his lap. Taking him deeper than before. He drops his head back with another moan when he feels your slick gather, dripping down to coat his balls.

Everything about you is just—

Perfection. Absolution.

Your hands fly up, curling over his forearm, mewling when he pinches your nipples between his middle and ring finger.

“C’mon,” he rasps, leaning forward to press his face into your nape. You smell sweet. “Play with ‘em for me, pet.”

Nails bite into his skin. You whimper. Squirming around on his lap. But you do as you're told. Slowly, slowly, reaching up. Touching yourself the way you like. Fingers ghosting over your flesh, brushing across your nipples. Pulling, petting, the way you like. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, watches. Devours. Commits each movement to memory. Every sound, every breath. Everything.

He keeps a slow, languid pace like this. Content to just feel you pulsing around him, listening to the slick, wet squelch of him filling you up. Over and over again. A lazy rut.

It's unexpected, he knows. You've been bracing yourself this whole time, fingers digging into the podsol, spine tightening up. Waiting for the savagery to befall you.

When it doesn't come, he feels your quiet acquiescence come in a soft breath. In the way you slowly drop down to meet the deep rut of his hips. Taking your pleasure, pulling him in deeper. There's an edge to your voice, one still dipped in threads of discomfort, a waning pain that rings out, shrill, in the satin spill of moonlight over the indigo forest.

It's good like this. Tender. Not something he'd have ever imagined for himself, and the reality of it is dizzying.

Reedy, he groans. Nuzzles his misshapen nose into your scent gland. His gums pulse, ache—

But he ignores it. Swallows it down.

He's not sure what compels him to do so. Spellbound, maybe, by this unnatural softness that spools silken threads between you. Sutured in tenderness—so unbefitting of the man he is. The monster—

His hips stutter. Jerk.

“Simon—!”

You whine into it, arching back. Sweat gathers, drips down your spine, smears into his chest, belly. Matts the thatch of hair running in sparse, patchy clusters down the thickness of his midsection. A bountiful spring fattened him up. Made him soft and pillowy over his abdomen. Something you can't seem to get enough of—pressing the flat of your back against him, leaning into it. Groaning when his arm shifts, boxing you in. Crushing you to him.

Wily little kitten, purring so sweetly in his lap.

He draws lazy circles over your clit, grunting with each clench of your cunt. You're soft in his arms. Malleable. He slides his hand up from beneath your breasts, catches your jaw in his palm. Fingers spanning from cheekbone to temple and, oh—

Doesn't that just make him preen.

He drags your chin to the side, catching your mouth in a sickening kiss. All tongue, teeth. He wants to taste, to devour, every part of you. Bones and all.

It's a fight, though. You tense in his grasp, lidded eyes snapping open, wide and around. Cheeks bulging between his fingers when you twist, trying to pull away.

“Don't—I don't want to—” he bites the protests from lips. Messy, sloppy. He flicks his tongue over yours, wrapping it around you like a satiated snake burrowing in after a heavy meal. “Don't—f–fuck—”

It earns him a nip. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. Drawing blood.

He huffs into the seam of your mouth. Only fair, he supposes, and then pulls you down—hard, fast—onto his cock. The air is punched out of your lungs, flooded into his esophagus.

“Be a good girl for me,” he warns, bucking into you. It's harder this time, deeper. Tempo increasing. Growing. He feels himself thicken. Knot fattening up. Each piston of his hips seems to knock something inside of his head loose. Common sense, maybe—

The fraying knot of his self-control winding tight. Pulling taut.

He huffs again, feeling himself slip. Lost in the sensation dripping down his spine, the unified pleasure blooming in the pit of his stomach.

The air plumes with the thickening tang of your arousal—all sweet, spice. You can take it, now, he knows, and tries not to growl when you hiccup his name wetly into the air.

The muscles in his thighs bunch tight. Corded and powerful. He arches up, up, forcing his cock deep inside your cunt, splitting you apart. Rutting desperately, edging into something animalistic.

It runs a knife along the thin skin of his hindbrain. Come out, come out, come play—

He moves you again, pulling his hand away from your jaw and pushing you back down the forest floor. He stays glued to your back. Tucks his arm under your chin, and smothers you under his bulk, groaning when your thighs give out, sliding on the sweat-slicked moss below.

“Simon, ah—” your voice tapers off into a breathless cry when he pulls his hand free from beneath you, wrapping it around to join the other. Holding on, clinging to you. Keeping you locked tight against him, under him. You can't move at all like this—

The swell of his knot bumps against your stretched rim. He presses the brunt of his weight into each thrust now, spurned on by the needy way you yowl into his forearm, drooling all over his skin. Begging for it.

“Please, please, please—”

Your body is jostled forward with each harsh buck of his hips as he gives you everything he has, feeding his cock into your sopping cunt over and over again. Eager now to fill you up, to flood you with his cum. Make you swell with it. Overstuffed.

Perfect little omega, you rut back into him with each thrust, taking his thick cock to the root. Mewling sweetly when his knot begins to catch. Too much, he thinks. It might just wreck you for good—

pomegranate seeds splitting over your teeth, blood red juice leaking from the tear. spilling into your mouth. just a drop. just a drop, and Persephone is all his

—Perfect.

He teeters on the edge of ferality and control. Spinning, spiralling. Loosefooted on the wobbling chossy. Coming undone in a magmatic end—wicked heat, ashes, brimstone; he catches fire, and smoulders you under his heat. Letting the flames lick across your skin until you whine his name, desperate and needy, in the back of your throat. The thrill a bludgeon against his skull, spilling pleasure, bliss, in the broken hole you wrought.

You tighten like a vice around him—tight, tight—and he pistons into you, burrowing deep. Deeper still. Until you thrash around beneath him, soundlessly screaming his name into the dark forest. Begging for mercy, mercy, please—

He won't. Can't.

He can't get enough of the way you feel wrapped around him like this. Silken, whitehot. Tight. Tight—

It squeezes the air from his lungs. Static in his head—

And then you let go. Pulsing, throbbing around him. Pulling him in deeper, blanketing his mind in white noise. In nothing but magmatic pleasure.

“Fuck—!” He snarls, almost angry. Vicious. Chasing after his end in the aftermath of yours. Instincts are at war within him, banging against his skull. Demanding recompense. Paid it's pound of flesh.

It's what he's promised. What it's owed.

(and he always keeps his promises, doesn't he?)

Most describe their ruts as mindless, driven by instinct. No control. But Ghost has never felt more present, more alive, than when he sinks his teeth deep into your nape, nearly choking, drowning, on your blood.

For the first time in decades, he feels the crater inside himself, suffused with spare, broken parts, seal when you yield with a mangled yowl of his name, raw and fractured as it splits between your teeth. Pretty pussy swallowing up his knot when he bullies it in deep, locking you together.

pretty little lamb—

a perfect fit between his teeth.

His rut is a voracious thing.

Ghost has you on your back for the second and third round, heels resting on his shoulders as he bucks into you. Makes you stare at him—don’t look away from me, pet—as he commandeers your body with an ease that seems to break apart all demurrals as they form, rendering you sweet, malleable, beneath him to do with as he pleases.

And you are, aren't you?

So fuckin’ sweet.

(“gonna give me a cavity,” he rasps, thick with pleasure, into your ear. he has you on your belly now. holds you down with his weight, crushes your chest against the soft moss below, thighs squeezed tight between his own. you can barely make a sound with his forearm digging into the dirt right above your crown, swallowing you whole under his bulk.

(owns you like, he finds. no one would be able to see you beneath him if they wandered by. encompassed wholly by every iota he has to give—

he cums like that. nose buried in your crown, moaning low, scorched, in the back of his throat as you twitch beneath him, unable to move at all—)

It's early in the morning when he finally finishes, when his rut begins to slowly recede, and a fresh bloom of clarity yawns over his periphery. Moonrise peppers soft kisses over his aching shoulders as he glances at you curled up against his side, sleeping soundly. Exhausted by the hours and hours of mating, fucking. Taking him, his knot, drinking down everything he has to offer.

The sight that greets him is gnarled fingers wrapping around his rotting heart, affection peeking out between the brackets of his ribs. His appetite for you is dizzying. Unquenchable. He wonders if he'll ever be able to look at you without wanting to crawl inside your body. To reshape your tender flesh around his bulk until it is indiscernible from himself.

This want is agony. It's dread, desire. Greed.

His shoulders bite back in protest when he reaches up to drag his dirt-crusted nails through the prickly hair on his scalp. As dawn slowly unfurls across the midnight blue aether, he knows he'll have to leave soon. Can already feel the creeping heat gnawing in the pit of his belly. His rut starting anew. The scant hours he has of mental clarity, moments meant to eat, to feed, and regain strength for the next marathon of fucking, are needed to feel out his next move.

He glances at you again, and feels the same covetous tug in his chest as he did before, when he was thickly entrenched in the urge to mate. But as the burnt orange of the sun smears hazy fingerprints across the moulted sky, he sees you in a new, cleaner light. You're young. Much younger than he is.

It's something he ought to worry about. To feel some shred of shame, of despondency over shackling you to himself—a defective alpha with more scars than morality—when you're in the burgeoning bloom of your freshly untethered youth. All jejune beauty outclasses nature itself. Snow melts on the alpines, trickling down to feed the valley below. Life itself—

But you are his.

The ugly rings around your throat—mangled tissue swelling in the morning dawn, caked in a thick river of blood—all signify that you belong to him. And while it's a little extreme as far as claiming bites go—one would suffice, but he buried his teeth in you over and over again, biting down on both sides of your neck, your jugular, your nape; inner thighs, mons, wrists—it’s proof enough that you are meant for him. Made for him.

His pretty omega.

The rest doesn't matter. He ought to feel shame, but instead he luxuriates in it. Stares down at you with a needy sort of possession spuming in the putrid remains of his chest, mapping out the marks he put on you. And the ones he'll add to later, not stopping until covered in the perfect impression of his crooked teeth. Tattoos of his ownership all over your body.

Mutual, of course. There's a scant patch of skin, restive and empty, above his heart, save for a fine, jagged line from a serrated dagger. He'll have you bite down on the flesh until your teeth meet inside his muscle. Scarring down to the bone. He'll go, then, to the man who inks him up whenever he has the whim to desecrate scar tissue, and have him etch midnight black against fine silver. Permanent, forever. Always.

And anyone who kicks up a fuss—stupid as they might be—he’ll sort them out. Prove to them that you are meant to be his.

(unshakeable:

his spend leaks out of you, drying, tacky and thick, on your thighs. under the sleepy citrine of the dawning sun, it's tinged pink, and looks just like pomegranate juice.)

Ghost rolls his shoulder, and reaches for his discarded trousers. He's covered in a thick layer of dirt, and reeks like soil. But the thought of being buried alive is miniscule compared to the want of being buried inside you again. The urge. Insatiable. He groans with it, cock throbbing already.

He leaves you naked. No point in dressing when he plans on going home and sinking back inside of you before midday, anyway. An unneeded obstacle, really—

The clearing is close to his truck, and he sets a leisurely pace, yawning into the dawn, as he gathers you into his arms. Carrying you to it as you drool on his chest, brows pinched at the soft jostle of him trudging through the thicket until he reaches it.

He's not in a rut when he stretches you out in the back seat, spreading your sticky thighs around his hips, sinking inside, bottoming out just as you come to, waking up with a gasp.

The intense fucking from before lingers in the air. You're soft, molasses; arching into his chest, whimpering out the name he hissed into your nape only hours ago, folding into him with a somnolent submission. It won't last, of course—

You're a vicious little thing, and his back and chest twinge with the rivers you carved into his flesh when he didn't move the way you liked. Wolfish, aren't you? Spitfire hiding under the soft pelt of a slain lamb. He wants to devour you, bones and all.

He takes his fill of your malleable concession, rutting into you with a sluggish ease. Mapping out the starlight sparking in the depths of your glossy eyes. Magnetic. It pulls him deeper. Unravels him at the seams.

His hand spans the expanse of your jaw from ear to ear. He holds you like this, thumb buried in the tender embrace of your soft tongue, and begins to understand the reason behind Johnny's niche appetite when you toy with his flesh, coquettish and sweet, suckling him in—pretty seductress—and then mewl when he pushes in too deeply, bringing crystalline gems to corners of your eyes.

Angelic innocence. The type that demands he prostrates himself at your altar, let his bones be picked clean when you so wish it. And he'll give it to you—body, blood, tissue; all of it. The entirety of him, however broken, shattered the fragments might be.

He promises it all to you without a word, drilling holes in the gaps of your eyes, chasms wide enough for him to fit. When he cums, it's to a songbirds sonata. Your moans are a whisper, your pleasure swallowed down as it ghosts over his lips, clenching around him like a vice. Pretty bow. He doesn't hold back—groans, baritone; woodsmoke, into the gathering symphony, filling you to the brim. Thick, copious. He wants it to stick. To root.

When the blood sputters back to his head, he gathers you in his arms once more. Keeps you seated on his lap—shush, pet; s’alright, jus’ close your eyes an’ I'll ‘ave us home in a bit—as he starts the old pickup, and puts it into drive. One hand on the wheel, knuckles blanching white in the glimmering sunrise; sparse forests of muted blond catching, limned in the coruscating light. The other is placed on the small of your back, holding your belly to his.

Quietly, your body eases. Melts. You press your face into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, and nuzzle into the heady scent of his sweat, his musk, still clinging to his shirt. Signing, soft and twee, in the cup of his embrace as you slip back to sleep.

He drives home like this. Mind a quiet place for once. Silent in its contentment, it's comfort. There's an itinerary still left to do, but he pushes it back for now, gaze roaming the dense green of the forest bracketing the road.

You'll like it, he knows. There's a fen on the outskirts of his territory, a little pond where wild rabbits have been known to make burrows. Deers, elk. Bears. They all come and go. You'll amuse yourself in the untamed wilderness of his abode, drawing delineations of your own as you carve out places in his home just for you.

And as he makes the turn to his hidden driveway, this buried sanctuary, he can't help but glance down at your crown, and think—

Persephone, finally home.

He finds your identification in your rucksack, nestled underneath the contraband you smuggled from the park—mushrooms, berries, bark, feathers—and sears your name to memory. Every part of you will be unravelled in the coming days, pulled from the depths of your being until it's all ingrained in his head. A gaping chasm chiselled into bone just for you. All for you.

Your address is a rental. He'll have to call them later today to cut your lease. Your job, too. They'll need to be notified on both your off time for his rut (and your burgeoning heat), and to update your contact information.

But that's later. Now, he just wants to get home. Sink down into his bed with you beneath him, and fuck you until sundown all over again. Stain the house with the scent of you. With the potent tang of your coupling.

It's yours too, after all. Should smell just like you.

And when you wake up later to him fucking his tongue into your drenched hole, fingers toying with your pebbled clit, Johnny will be busy packing the rest of your things into the pack of his pickup truck. The majority of it is already stacked on the porch, waiting for you to rearrange it all in your new house. Lease cut. His name added to your contacts as spouse, husband. Address updated. Marriage certificate laying on the table, only one line unsigned. Waiting for you.

Maybe it's too fast. You'll certainly protest like it is, bearing your teeth and hissing at him from across the room about too much, too fast, slow down, you don't even know his last name—

(“Riley,” he grouses, arms folded over his broad chest. Eyes burning in the cresting twilight. “S’your last name now as well, pet.”)

Fast—sure. He might think so too for a brief moment when he as you purring against his chest, submissive and docile after he fucked the fight right out of you, bullied you into agreeing to everything—it's for the best, after all. No one could ever protect you like he can.

Made for each other. Reinforced when he presses your fingers to the soft spot where his last rib once hung—

(“stole it,” he murmurs into the seam of your lips. “right from under my nose. only fair that i get to steal somethin’ right back, ain't it?”

the look on your face is rapturous when you press your hand to your side, eyes widening when you feel the extra rung—)

He's had decades of waiting. Waiting. And now that he's found you—

He's never letting go.

You're it, he knows. Feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. He'll have you—now, forever. Non-negotiable. Where you go, he will follow.

(after all, there's something about three-headed dogs and their bones—)

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #alpha simon riley #alpha ghost #alpha ghost x omega reader #reader in this is very much roman from succession during that one scene w connor where he tells him #“no you liked it. you asked to be put in that cage."#do w that what u will

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misstycloud · 28 days ago

Text

What about a yandere playboy x revenge-driven reader?

Yandere! Playboy is the guy on campus. How can he not be? He has everything a person could ever want. He is wealthy, handsome and has many friends. Best of all qualities; he’s great in bed.

Yandere! Playboy has been hitting beds for years now. He is young and has a right to live life to the fullest, so why shouldn’t he enjoy himself while he still can? His parents doesn’t approve of this behaviour but what can they do to stop him? Besides, he’s already told his father that he’ll find someone to settle down with when he’s older and fit to take over the company. He doesn’t want to lose the privileged life he has so it’s in his best favour to just do what his dad tells him to and find someone to marry later.

It wouldn’t reflect well on the company if its leader is a scandalous, immature playboy after all.

Yandere! Playboy who has been with most of the people on campus. The only exception are the ones he and his friends consider ‘too ugly’ or ‘just not up to standards’- which can be due to anything. It’s basically become a game by this point; who in the friend group can be the college’s number one player.

Yandere! Playboy who almost let his friend surpass him in that department. It was a close call. Good luck he found a cute girl in time so he could drive up his score just above his friend’s. He noticed her at a party. He hadn’t seen her around before so he guessed she was new. The girl looked very out-of-place, standing in a corner while everyone else were letting loose. Did she come alone? Whatever, it didn’t matter. Quickly he snatched her up. She definitely wasn’t the best he’s had, nowhere near it in fact. She was an average fuck at best. It was only after he’d brought her home and fucked her until she cried, that he realised his mistake. After the deed was done she was awfully clingy. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to nuzzle his neck, much to his dismay.

Yandere! Playboy hastily pushed her off and asked her what she thought she was doing. Confused, she responded that she just wanted to cuddle since what they did was so special. Oh no, he thought. She was one of those girls who thought hooking up once meant ‘relationship’. How could he be so stupid? He knew better than to take ‘sweet’ girls with him, they always ended up deluding themselves they were a couple. Sternly, he told her to get out. This made her confused and she wondered if she’d done something wrong.

“Yes, you’ve done something wrong.”

“What was it? Please tell me.” She whispered in a small voice.

He sneered at her. “You think we’re a couple now or some shit. Sorry to burst your bubble but we’re not together.”

The girl bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “We’re…not? Then why would you-“

“-don’t think you’re special. I just didn’t want my pal’s fuck-score to get higher than mine and you were the first decent thing I could find.”

Afterward he kicked her out. He didn’t give a shit that she was crying. Her feelings didn’t matter to him. No one’s feelings mattered to him besides his own. It was her own fault for getting her hopes up. She was cute, don’t get him wrong. But she seemed way too much of a goody two-shoes for him.

Yandere! Playboy who went about life normally after that. Occasionally he did see his latest lay around campus but she never approached him, instead she chose to send him a sad glance now and then. Pathetic.

Yandere! Playboy had been so caught up with a bunch of school work, he swore the professors had it out for him. After all that tediousness he deserved a break. He needed to relax and there was only one way to do that correctly. Unfortunately his regular ‘buddies’ were unavaliable, he’ll have to find someone else tonight.

Yandere! Playboy who searched the room filled with dancing, intoxicated people. The constantly colour-switching lights made him dizzy. No matter how much he searched he could not see anyone who’d caught his interest. He was about to give up when someone finally got his attention. It was you. Gosh you were just gorgeous. Wow, he thought. He hadn’t seen anyone like you before. Luckily you appeared to notice him too. He seductivle licked his lips while staring into your eyes and was happy when you showed equal interest.

Yandere! Playboy who didn’t waste a minute and went right up to you. You were been hotter up close. This was going to be fun, he thought as he led you upstairs.

Yandere! Playboy was in shock. What the hell just happened? The morning light shone directly in his face but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. After he’d brought you to his room for what he’d imagined to be a usual fun night, he’d been fully surprised. You were nothing short of amazing. He couldn’t recall a moment when he’d ever felt so good. Usually he was the one to lead but you took over as if for was the most natural thing in the world. Never in his life had he been so thoroughly explored. The bruises on his body still ached when he moved.

He needed more.

Yandere! Playboy became obsessed afterwards. He had to see you again. All those years of sleeping around could never amount to the pleasure he felt that night with you and he desperately wanted to feel it again. Sadly, it was like you vanished. Did you not go to the same college? He asked around but no one knew you. Strange, he thought. Weeks passed and there was still no sign of you. He was incredibly pent up now. He had been focused on finding you that he hadn’t taken anyone home since. His friends thought he was acting way to obsessed with his random person and needed to calm down. Perhaps if he spent time with someone he’d cool off. They see him up to meet one of his regular ‘buddies’ who was more than happy to see him again.

Yandere! Playboy tried to recreate the experience with them but it didn’t work. They were all clumsy and didn’t know how to make anything feel good. He couldn’t even finish that time. Frustrated, he threw them out and told them he wanted to be alone. Why wasn’t it working? What went wrong? And why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about you? It made him want to tear his hair out.

While he was deeply grumbling about his newfound problem, he was interrupted by a knock on his door. He shouted at the person to leave him alone but the knocking didn’t stop. He ripped the door open and was prepared to scream at the other person when his eyes widened in surprise. He was speechless.

There in the doorway stood you. You gave him a wicked smile, “Can I come in?”

Yandere! Playboy practically became your dog after that. He knows your name now, (Y/n). He shudders just thinking about it. Turns out you do go to another college and you’re not the most social person which explains why no one had heard of you. Not only are you fantastic on the outside, he finds you to be a wonderful person too. The more you’ve hung out, the more he’s gotten to know about you. He currently knows these five things: you always have a way to make him laugh, you share many hobbies(some which he can’t talk about even with his closest friends), you value his opinion, never talk down to him, and he absolutely loves you.

Yandere! Playboy who immediately cuts off his previous hook ups. You’re the only one for him. There isn’t a soul out there who can be your match. All of his friends have become so annoying. All they say is about how much he’s changed and it’s crazy how he’s doing a complete 180 for one single person. He ignores them. If they can’t see how perfect you are then that’s their loss, and he can’t be friends with them anymore. The only ones happy about this change are his parents.

He recalls his father saying, “So you’ve finally decided to be a real man and stop with your foolishness.”

“Yes. I have found my one and only love, the person I’m going to marry.”

His father nodded. Yandere! Playboy smiled. He had all intention to follow up with his statement. He loved you and based of your reactions around him, he’d say you loved him too.

Yandere! Playboy who was all giddy as he waited for you at the restaurant you’d decided to meet in. You had been hanging out for months now and he thought it was time to ask you to be his official partner(future spouse). It was a perfect setting. He has brought a bouquet of flowers and put on nice clothes. The ambiance was just right.

He waited.

You weren’t there yet, but sometimes you ran a little late.

He waited some more.

You still weren’t there. That’s all right! He’ll sit there until you arrive.

He sat in his chair long enough to see the staff send him pitiful looks. Where were you? It had been far too long for you to simply be ‘running a little late’. Did you get into an accident? He prayed nothing had happened to you. Quickly he pulled out his phone and sent you a text. Or well, he tried to.

‘Unable to send message’

What? He didn’t understand. Why wasn’t his text getting through? Did you…block him? No that wasn’t possible. There was no reason you would do that. You loved him. He loved you. You wouldn’t block him. All of his attempts to contact you went into the garbage. When he called; direct to voicemail. He tried looking for you, although that proved to be a lot harder than he thought. It was then he realised he had no idea where you lived. You were always at his place and he never questioned it. He went to your college and asked if anyone had seen you but they all said they didn’t know anyone by the name of (Y/n) who went there. Did you lie about where you went to school?

Yandere! Playboy who became depressed. He couldn’t find you anywhere. You had vanished, just like before. Except this time you never came back. His head was filled with questions. Where were you? Are you safe? Why did you leave him? Didn’t you love him too? He fell into despair. His parents wanted to help him and so did the friends he abandoned for you (they came back, he couldn’t understand why), but nothing they did helped. They weren’t you.

Please come back to him, he needs you.

————

A/n: for clarification, the girl in the beginning is reader’s friend.

#yandere oc #oc #male yandere #obsessed #possesive #misstycloud oc #toxic #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #playboy yandere #playboy yandere x reader #Yandere playboy #yandere playboy x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere playboy oc

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poetsblvd · 8 months ago

Text

bisous 𖤓 carlos sainz 𝒙 leclerc!reader.

❨ summary. all he wanted was a kiss, it’s not his fault the paparazzi caught it, and it’s totally coincidental that your brother’s going to kill him. ❩

❨ faceclaim. @/claudiamariewalsh on instagram <3 ❩

❨ notes. i had sm fun doing this! though it did exceed the limit i was looking at, becoming a bit long, but i do wanna do a part two to this because imo the charles x carlos beef is gonna be really funny!! i hope you enjoy xx ❩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.

liked by charles_leclerc and 30,987 others.

yourinstagram. wined and dined xo

view all 11,345 comments.

username when god has favourites 😩

username holy shit

charles_leclerc mon poupette! tellement jolie.

yourusername je t’aime cha xx

username my brother is a dick compared to charles lmao

arthur_leclerc bet you were smelly.

yourusername bet you came out of a gutter.

username now that’s more like my brother

username not carlos creeping in the likes 👀

username girl bffr he’s like 6 years older than her??

username so lol #zaddy

username don’t ever say ‘zaddy again’.

landonorris wined, dined and sixty-nined.

charles_leclerc get out.

yourusername ew you weirdo

landonorris so it’s funny when kevin in the office says it??

yourusername he has rizz, unlike you.

maxverstappen1 real.

landonorris i hate you.

francisca.cgomes so stunning my girl 😻

yourusername love u forever keeks <33

username someone look at me like she does in the third pic 😭

carlossainz55 espléndida

yourusername 🤭❤️

charles_leclerc ???

arthur_leclerc ???

landonorris ???

username lando what??

landonorris felt a bit left out there 🤷‍♂️

⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.

carlossainz55 added to their stories.

seen by yourusername and 800,567 others.

yourusername replied to this story.

⤷ mon coeur 🫶🏼

⤷ je t’aime tellement !!

landonorris replied to this story.

⤷ did you wine her and dine her??

⤷ ;) ;)

charles_leclerc replied to this story.

⤷ i bought yn a ring so similar for her 21st!

⤷ what a small world eh mate?

⋆⭒˚.⋆ text messages between yn and charles.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ text messages between yn and carlos.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.

liked by carlossainz55 and 47,222 others.

yourinstagram sunny days ☀️

view all 24,432 comments.

username SOFT LAUNCH I REPEAT SOFT LAUNCH !!

username carlos crying in the likes lol

username someone check on big bro charlie 😭

charles_leclerc poupette???

charles_leclerc que se passe-t-il?? ( what’s going on? )

charles_leclerc you didn’t say BOYS were gonna be on this trip!!

yourusername is my hair not pretty?

yourusername you haven’t complimented it yet?

yourusername it’s healthier and you haven’t noticed :((

francisca.cgomes you should be ashamed charles_leclerc

pierregasly absolutely sick of you charles !!

landonorris even i noticed her stunning hair! it’s smoother!

maxverstappen1 disgusting behaviour

charles_leclerc ??? no ??

yourusername oh?? it’s not healthier? i’m not pretty anymore?

francisc.cgomes HOW DARE YOU charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc NON poupette desolee

yourusername don’t talk to me.

username me when i dream

gigihadid 😻😻

arthur_leclerc stunning hair btw

yourusername love u tur

username he’s being nice??

arthur_leclerc too bad it doesn’t help the ugly face lol

username nvm

charles_leclerc pick up the phone poupette

charles_leclerc you’re very pretty !! you’re hair is so shiny !!

charles_leclerc we’ll go shopping soon poupette 💌

yourusername okay charlie love u 🥰

arthur_leclerc i want a new ps5

charles_leclerc get it yourself.

carlossainz55 hermosa

username poor boy

username mans desperate fr

username not when she’s soft launching mate 😭😭

⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram

carlossainz55 added to their stories.

seen by charles_leclerc and 1,678,432 others.

yourusername replied to this story.

⤷ photographer of the year !

⤷ very much thought you were gonna use the pic of me falling.

⤷ love u

charles_leclerc replied to this story.

⤷ girls’ hair get better every day.

⤷ looks oddly similar too tbh

⤷ where’d you say you were vacationing again mate?

charles_leclerc can no longer view your stories

landonorris replied to this story.

⤷ shiny hair 👀

⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ text messages between yn and kika.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ texts between yn and charles, and charles and carlos.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram

yourusername added to their stories.

seen by carlossainz55 and 986,444 others.

charles_leclerc replied to your story.

⤷ poupette you’ve never done anything wrong in your life.

⤷ i’m not mad, call me please

⤷ desolee bebe

⤷ i have that new chanel you wanted ❤️

landonorris replied to your story.

⤷ so unserious lmao

pierregasly replied to your story.

⤷ charles is going to buy the entire mall y/n !!

⤷ tell him you’re not mad at him

⤷ DONT LISTEN TO KIKA

francisca.cgomes replied to your story.

⤷ tell pierre to piss off

⤷ let charles buy you what he wants.

⤷ omg tell him you want a ferrari !!

⤷ IN PINK !!

carlossainz55 replied to your story.

⤷ mi vida your brothers texting me again

⤷ it’s very weird he’s apologising now??

⤷ he’s asking me if you want a pink ferrari??

⤷ bebita you should have told me you want a pink ferrari??

⤷ with a matching bag okay my love 🩷

arthur_leclerc replied to your story.

⤷ TELL CHARLES YOU WANT A PS5

⤷ LO TOLD ME TO FUCK OFF

⤷ STOP TELLING ON ME Y/N

lorenzotl replied to your story.

⤷ i’m very happy for you mon chou ❤️

⤷ ignore arthur he doesn’t need a new ps5

⤷ he makes his own money.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ instagram.

carlossainz55 added to their stories.

seen by charles_leclerc and 1,410,333 others.

charles leclerc replied to your story.

⤷ who do you think you are buying MY sister a pink ferrari

⤷ you be with her, okay. you date her, okay. but buying her things?

⤷ and a matching bag???

⤷ you piece of shit.

⤷ when i said we were brothers i didn’t mean this!

yourusername replied to your story.

⤷ ma vie 💌

⤷ je t’aime tellement <3

arthur_leclerc replied to your story.

⤷ y/n wants a ps5!!

⤷ brother 😃😃

francisca.cgomes replied to your story.

⤷ you picked up the correct bag for her!!

⤷ she also likes chanel and hermès !!

⤷ you’ll be outdoing charles in no time !!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ twitter.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

❨ disclaimer. i do not own any of the images above, all were found on pinterest, this is purely for fun and nothing is based on real life ❩

#౨ৎ my works #✧. carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x fem!reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc x reader

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areislol · 2 years ago

Text

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐲 // 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐡𝐜𝐬

ft. harry j. potter, ron weasley, draco malfoy, tom m. riddle, cedric diggory, regulus a. black + bonus: sirius black

warnings. might be ooc but who knows? slight suggestive, house neutral, use of 'gorgeous' but it can go for any gender. established relationship, quite long, oblivious reader (we love it), flirting, insecurities (boys)

a/n. so obsessed with them... song was inspired by jealous girl by lana del ray. oh and also an edit of draco LMAO // experimenting with the format, thank you to my sister for dragging me back into my hp phase.

spotify playlist ; 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐲

𝗕𝗼𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲, 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲...

harry j. potter

𝗼𝗵 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀.

he probably saw someone standing beside you for a bit too long, way too long for his liking anyways.

or maybe how his hand was around your waist but he wasn't touching you, it was just lingering in the air.

maybe some random person hitting on you which, harry isn't surprised about since you are quite literally gorgeous. both in and out.

but what he IS surprised about is how this boy has the audacity to flirt with you!!!

harry side eyes them so hard. not you of course, you never do anything wrong <3

he was sitting with his friends, ron and hermione, you were meant to be sitting with him but your friends were begging for you to stay and he didn't mind, really, so you were off but within a few minutes a boy from ravenclaw decided that this was the perfect time to flirt with you.

at first he didn't understand what was happening, but when he saw him placing his ugly and dirty hands on your thigh while laughing way too hard at, what he assumed was, your joke, and saw how he looked at you, something clicked in his head.

harrys' first instinct was to rush towards you and that boy, push him out of the way and grab ahold of your arm and bringing you some place else. anywhere but there.

he trusted his instinct and did so. hermione attempted to grab his arm to sit him back down but failed. ron cheered his bestfriend on but stopped when hermione shot him a look.

harry rushed there, like speed walked over there. your friend group, you and the boy all whipped towards a very obvious angry harry.

you smiled brightly when you saw your boyfriend but it faltered when you noticed how.. tense and mad he looked.

he pushed the ravenclaw boys' arm away to which he recoiled and gawped at him.

"what do you think you're doing, potter?" he sounded very offended and honestly, harry could care less.

harry didn't respond straight away, rather, looking between him and you. but every time he stared at you and saw how worried you looked he eased a bit. just a bit.

"you. stay away from them." harry stated bitterly before wrapping his arm around your waist and ushering you someplace else with you waving goodbye to your friends with a sheepish smile.

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘂𝘁𝘆. 𝘀𝗼. 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆. 𝗽𝗼𝘂𝘁𝘆.

he's gripping onto your arm tightly and you wince, he notices this and stops immediately.

but still drags you somewhere else and you notice how he's pouting and he looks so adorable :(((

you have to stop yourself from smiling from his cuteness <3

when he finally stops dragging you and stops at a somewhat secluded place you question what was wrong and he sighs.

he explains how that " stupid and ugly git" was straight out flirting with you and you're appalled!!

and he's pouty and all when he's explaining to you about his behaviour, holding your hands as he spoke which was quite adorable.

you reassure him that you love him (and will always) and you'd stay far away from that 'nasty boy'

𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗿��𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲.

harry plays little.. games on him using his invisibility cloak. when you around of course! he loves it when you smile and giggle from seeing the ravenclaw boy get doused with a green slimly substance that reeks of dung.

he pulls on his cloak, places many devices on his cloak or his clothing that makes him smell.

throughout the whole year, the ENTIRE years of staying at hogwarts he will hold a grudge against him. no buts and ifs.

he does not appreciate it when someone flirts with somebody who they know is taken. know is the keyword.

𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝗺.

harry is used to getting attention, he has gotten publicity ever since the word of him surviving the dark lord spread like wildfire.

but he still has insecurities, like everybody. sometimes he feel that he is a burden to you, all the hate and constant questioning and invasion of privacy you're getting all because of him.

when he sees him flirting with you he can't help but feel his heart burn and ache in pain. maybe you're better off without him.

but all his worries and negative thoughts fade away as soon as your hand gently and tenderly cups his cheek, as soon as you reassure and tell him that you only love him—his worries? gone. his doubts? where?

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗴𝗹𝘂𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲.

before you were dating he was by your side or near you, giving you/everybody excuses for why he was so close to you all the time

and now that you're dating? yep, no personal space! unless you need it of course.

but ever since you have been hit on he is watching you AND him like a hawk, ready to pounce and swoop right in when he's in your vicinity.

and you understand him, so he's more than happy when you allow him to keep an eye out for you (he always did but oh shush)

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗳𝗳

harry always tried to show off his skills, ever since he laid eyes on you. and this didn't change at all when you two got together and it didn't change when that boy flirted with you

it instead, fueled his need to show off, only for you though

whether it be doing flips and tricks on his firebolt, letting you go on it while he rode it, letting you see new spells he learnt from his teachers (pretend you aren't surprised) and so on.

he shows you all the secret passage ways to go into hogsmeade and sneaks you in with the both of you two under his invisibility cloak.

he just wants to let you know that he loves you so much more than that git.

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗯𝗯𝗼𝗿𝗻.

harry wont outright say that he's jealous but wont deny.

he thinks that it's silly. really? him? the boy who lived, the boy who faced the dark lord, voldemort, was jealous all because of his insecurities being triggered by some boy? no. way.

he will try to hide his red and annoyed face when you both lock eyes, making excuse that he was simply hot when it was literally snowing.

he acts like it's nothing, he hides his feelings from you, he really doesn't want to but sometimes people just don't know what to do with their feelings

it may lead to him breaking down in front of you. pull him into a hug, let him rest his head on your chest as you soothe his hair and reassure him.

𝗪𝗵𝘆? '𝗖𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗜'𝗺 𝗮 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀, 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀, 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘆

ron weasley

honestly! have you seen him in gof (goblet of fire)? this guy gets 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀.

he clenches his jaw when he sees some random guy from slytherin come up to you as you're studying with your friends and just.. stand there, next to you

he hasn't done anything yet but ron knows better. harry notices how tense and agitated his bestfriend is and follows his eyes and that's when he saw a guy from slytherin talking to you, staring down at you in awe .

oh, oh. harry knows what's up now. he nudges hermione who was writing down notes from their previous lesson. she looks annoyed at first but after looking at ron before looking at you, she understands what's happening and smirks.

"ron, don't you think you should grab y/n now? you wouldn't want him to snatch them up do you, now?"

he only grunts in response and grumbles angrily before (after harry cheered him on with a grin) standing up and stomping towards you, well, more like the boy really.

"oooh, well look who it is! a weasley! what? are you here to.." his voice trails off as he makes eye contact with you. you're giving him a stern, mother look.

he bites back his words and glares at ron. "why- i can't talk about him now?" "shut it, go away, i want to be with my boyfriend now."

you can hear him mumbling something along the lines of "i can't believe this!" and "dating a weasley? they're mad!"

while the boy is walking away you could see ron smiling proudly. "yeah that's right, im her boyfriend, skedaddle you git"

𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗻, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗴𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗻𝗮𝗽.

ron gets jealous very easily, and often.

all the constant teasing whenever he's around you, all the snickers he gets when he walks by with your arms looped with you as you two stroll through hogsmeade, make his head swarm with insecurities.

but naturally, it goes away when you state that you already have a boyfriend and point at him or when you straight out say that you're proud that he's your boyfriend, poor or not.

it makes him proud. he pulled someone like you, so good looking, kind and not afraid to let everybody know that you two are together.

his doubts? gone.

his heart thumps against his chest when he hears your words and it instantly reassures him, a proud smile spreads across his face as he pulls you into a hug, not caring about the stares that your friends are giving him.

𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀, 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿.

ever since getting together he has felt insecure, his status and looks.

sometimes he doubts himself, how could someone like you, ever like someone like him? poor, either average or not-so-good grades and... poor..

when he sees you talking to someone that is richer than him, much more handsome and whatnot his heart cant help but pang in pain.

you're much better off without him.

he beats himself too much honestly :((

so when your eyes lock with his and when he sees how you break into a big smile, when he sees you running towards him and jump into his arms, everything seems to fade away like it was never there to begin with.

just like harry, 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗯𝗯𝗼𝗿𝗻.

ron will never admit that he's jealous. unless he gets really irritated from the constant flirting and his insecurities, then he may lash out and confess his jealousy/feelings.

he'd change topics whenever you bring it up.

"hey ron?" "yes.... love?" you can hear the worry in his voice but carry on, "do you like ever get jealous? because i feel like that one time-" "aaaaah yes, look! the owls are here!" he looks up and points at nothing.

"ron, baby, there's nothing. i think you ought to get some glasses like harry, right harry?" you quirk your brows and eye harry who lifts one finger up as he chews faster before replying, "oh yeah, definenetly."

draco malfoy

mmm yes, 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗱.

the second he laid eyes on both you and the guy sitting next to you he's already plotting a plan to murder the boy.

maybe not murder but who's gonna stop him?

the worst bit was that he KNEW who it was!! it was his friend!! betrayal is what it is.

bombASTIC side eye. like he's side eyeing him so hard.

if looks could kill they'd be on the floor already ;(

draco was fine with him honestly, he was in his house and they all hated the same people.

but as SOON as he sees him sitting extremeeeeely close to you, the liking of him goes away, literally any positive feeling that he had about him is gone

not only that but he'll 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝗲𝘅 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺, yes, you heard me correctly, or, saw..

he goes into the library to flip through all the dark art/magic books and everybody is looking at him because he NEVER comes into the library, unless you're there of course or when you're dragging him there to study and whatnot.

goes to professor snape as well.

"professor.. may i ask, what are one of the hexes you can bewitch on someone? .... the horrible ones, just for research sir"

honestly snape does not care and tells him, if only he knew...

and so while you're by his side just rambling about your next class he secretly pulls out his wand which is covered by his cloak, and points it to the victim and proceeds to hex him

the stinging hex

yeah.... now the 'poor boy' is literally howling in pain.

sigh, 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘀..

"my father will be hearing about you!" or, "come close to y/n again and you will be met with something an eye has never seen before!"

draco, im pretty sure that your father is sick of you complaining to him about some 'brute'

and if he's nice enough, he won't hex them, he'll just warn them that he will hex them within a few weeks <333 lovely, isn't it?

𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗼 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘆 it's kind of scary, for everybody anyways.

he's not thaaaat clingy but when he's jealous? yeah... a WHOLE different person.

head on your shoulder, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, his hand pressed against your back as you two walk in the hallways, so so touchy.

𝘀𝗼 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆, he tries his HARDEST to ignore you but every time he forces himself to turn the other way when he sees you waving at him with your bright and stupid smile, his heart aches.

he hates it, he doesn't want to ignore you but he's so petty.

but don't worry! it wont last forever as he gives in with your pretty face.

"ugh, you and that stupid face of yours... and no i am not calling you ugly."

𝗜𝗳 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆, 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆

tom m. riddle

ooouu he's fighting the urge to just crucio this person right now, he's a 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻, not to you of course, you're his cute little ball of sunshine!

unless you're not.. but! you're still so cute and bubbly (even if you aren't but shush, you are to him!!)

but alas, he can not. he would expelled if he did or worse, go to azkaban.. and of course he doesn't want to leave his cute lil lover

but it wouldn't hurt to do it secretly right...?

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 #𝟭 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹. like WAY more hugs and pda than usual

and people (thankfully) get the hint and strays away from you.

tom always has his arm around your waist and you're practically hip to hip every day, walking through the halls, going outside, going to hogsmeade and etc.

he's keep his hand on your shoulder to make sure that everybody knows that you're his. also because he likes it there :)

hands intertwined forever!! loves the feeling of your palm against his, loves to tell the difference between your hands to his, if yours is softer, smoother, calloused, etc.

while you two are walking through the hall (hip to hip) and he *can just* sense that there's a person right behind you who has their eye on you, he slowly turns his head around but not enough for you to notice and just side eyes them like damn

𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹! he has quite an ego but not an abnormally large one. he knows he's not ugly and never doubts himself.

(and he makes sure that you aren't doubting yourself!!)

so he never gets reaaally jealous or doubts himself when he sees someone eyeing you suspiciously.

he can control his temper but sometimes he lets some actions slip. for example: clenching his jaws and eyeing the soon-to-be-hexed-victim and not taking his eyes off of them.

and when his temper goes off the radar? now you've gone done it.

good luck, you'll need it.

𝘁𝗼𝗺 𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀.

but not a toxic type of possessive although many people would believe him to be, but he's not!!

he would never dream of hurting you mentally or physically. he'd try to.. lets say 'mark' you.

giving you his jumper/jacket even when it's not cold, secretly giving you a few spritz of his signature fragrance on your cloak when you're not looking or distracted, giving you a few of his jewelry that he loves dearly.

just wants everybody to know that you're his :)

if you're in a different house than his he will make sure to 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 on how they should not touch you inappropriately, talk to you nicely or else, NEVER help you for assessments UNLESS you ask them, he wants to help you himself!!

tom is one clingy baby

cedric diggory

oh our precious boy :(

𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀!! he trusts you to the MAX, he knows that you will never leave him for some git guy who you barely know

cedric is pretty popular in hogwarts so that mean that everybody knows that you're his lover (unless you or he wants to keep it a secret but why would he?? he would be proud to have someone like you!)

but when cedric does get jealous... it's not so bad actually!!! he's never that jealous. well not jealous to the point where he despises them for his whole life and give them death glares, good god, never.

but when he sees a guy that he doesn't really like talking to you and leans too close to you, it pulls on his heartstrings and he hates it.

inside he's thinking "now why would you do that?! you have the AUDACITY to talk to my one and only!!!"

walks over to you two and smiles innocently and asks if you want him to walk you class as the next lesson is starting soon, you nod cuz?!?! how could you say no to your pretty boyfriend?!? and so you get up and leave the poor guy sitting beside you and hold onto cedric's arm and you two are off to class <3

𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂, i mean he can be protective when he needs to but he knows you can handle your problems by yourself. you're strong after all.

but after seeing you hang out with that guy he makes sure to subtly let them know that you're already taken (shouldn't he already know??)

swapping scarves, making sure to be by your side all the time, his hand on your waist, giving you his fragrance so that you could use it all the time (and then the guy sniffs the air and he's like "why do you smell like cedric?")

𝗰𝗲𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗼𝗯𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗧𝗢𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗢𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 but somehow the boy just doesn't get it!!

when he asks you for help in potions class cedric butts in and offers to help him instead of you, and you don't miss the pout on his face as he turns away.

he tries to show off his skills in quidditch to which you only smile at before cedric shows up and proceeds to just make the guy look like he was a joke.

and everybody including cedric and you notices how red and angry he looks like.. calm down

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁, 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀, 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼 𝗼𝗻. for the other boys it may take them forever to talk to you about it, but cedric? only takes about a day or so, depending on how much the boy is bothering you.

when you're away from the pestering boy and your friends he pulls you aside and talks to you about what he thinks about the guy and how he's feeling.

you understand his words and nod along, agreeing with what he said. "i'll keep your words in mind, if it makes you more comfortable i could maybe talk to him about it? maybe ignore him?"

cedric is more than happy when you do ignore him/talk to him about it.

and at the end of the day and from that very day he walks by you and cedric with a scowl and a red face.

𝗝𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀, 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀, 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘆

regulus a. black

𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲. regulus always had to give everybody death stares, even if it wasn't intentional. but to you? his gaze softens, his face seems to rest, his body relaxes and his heart starts to beat fast.

so there is, without a doubt that he will give everybody death stares and dirties except you.

and it didn't change when you two got into a relationship.. like at all... so when he sees somebody stare at you for too long (over 8 seconds) he walks over to you, passing the person and giving the most death glariest of them all.

and of course they turn their head around and pretend to focus on their work.

"mm oh yes.. this and that..." and then they stop muttering once they feel that regulus is away but when they turn to look at you once more they see regulus sitting right beside you, and even though his head is turned to face you, with a soft smile on his face, they can see that regulus is glaring at them at the same time.

scary.

𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗔𝗫, the bar is FILLED.

before you two started to date he would always be within you vicinity, some may say that it was creepy or stalker behaviour but he really just didn't want you to be bullied by his fellow slytherin so called "friends"

and the first time he saw them bully you he immediately decided, right there and then, to ignore them for the rest of his life, never help them with their homework or even interact with them. not when they hurt and outright said many hurtful things to your face.

he would be sitting beside a large tree, pretending to do his work in his book while watching you like a hawk

and when regulus sees his ex-friends or somebody/a group of people walking up to you that he deems suspicious he's quick to mutter a jinx and watch the scene unfold

many people that were around that area burst out laughing from seeing someone with jelly-like legs, and best of all, you were laughing as well!!

so you can best believe that regulus will always be there for you, jinxing whoever dares to mess with you and making sure no teachers can do a counter-curse.

𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝘁 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆. just a little bit...

but he won't ignore you on purpose forever you know, he's not that mean and petty. but when he's feeling VERY jealous then he may just give you the cold shoulder, for 10 seconds aprox, or less.

𝗮𝗵 𝘆𝗲𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘀. "i will jinx you. don't make me." "come near y/n ever again and my wand might just be in my hand and i may just accidentally flick my wand, that is coincidentally pointed at you, and 'accidentally' jinx you! or worse, hex."

he even uses his house as a threat.

"as you know.. my house is slytherin, and if you didn't know, most slytherins as the people say, are death eaters. so watch yourself now. come close to y/n and don't be surprised if the dark lord appears in your room."

𝗿𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗹𝘂𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝘂𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀.

he's not the type to overload you with hugs and pda, unless you like it, but when he knows and SEES that somebody is trying to flirt with you he is a whole different person.

one day you woke up, got ready, said good morning to your friends and went out of your common room where you saw your boyfriend standing right in front of you

"oh my word", "good morning, love. lets go eat now hm?" he slips his arm around your waist and keeps you close.

he's more affectionate than usual and you are not complaining.

bonus: sirius black

first of all, how dare you. you dare try to flirt with MY lover??? A for effort i guess.

𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱. 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬'𝗥𝗘 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘂𝘀.

image this, you and sirius are sitting beside each other, hands intertwined s he kisses your forehead while on the other side sits a very lonely, miserable and jealous person who attempted to flirt with you. your side is all sunshine and rainbows while theirs are... quite the opposite.

:))) they love their life

the reason why they flirted with you was to try to maybe swoon you but of course failed as you had a boyfriend whom you love very much.

their face is all red and hot when they spot you and sirius being all cute, snogging each other with smiles on your faces, fists clenching by their side before storming off—pushing people away who stood in front of them.

just like the others 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲. a silly protective type of guy? he won't try to be intimidating or scary, okay maybe he transformed into his dog form and scared them but that was only one time!

but maybe a jinx there and there will help them get the idea. or maybe his arm around your waist will do.

𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆'𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽.

sirius is never serious (heh heh did you get it?) unless somebody crosses the line or if he feels that they are a threat to you or the relationship.

his jealousy levels are at a 3/10 but once he you know, sense that they have ill intentions the levels SPIKE. so like.. 13/10.

when you two are walking through the crowded hallway and he spots the person walking towards your area sirius is quick to change sides and leads you away from them <3

𝗯𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲, 𝗲𝗵? not to you though, to the person.

"why, aren't you a lonely thing? do me, no... us, a favor and leave will you? you're sort of ruining our moment here."

note: if you would like to be added to the harry potter taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist 🏷️: @tomansimp, @luciphyls, @howlandhaku

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

another note: ah yes, procrastinating at its finest. life has not be treating me well ngl... anyways i hope the new addition (the gifs) look well, i want my content to be nice and presentable to you guys <3 the reason why i said sirius was a bonus was bc i uhm, kind of forgot him... and that i didn't want to add him in the picture bc im lazy like that. sorry it was short also added regulus!!! yayyy

#harry potter x reader #ron weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #tom riddle x reader #cedric diggory x reader #cedric x reader #regulus black x reader #—✧ · . fandom: harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black x reader

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phagodyke · 2 years ago

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yayy had a good time seeing a play locally (thoughts: very cool very funny good use of the stage + interesting artistic choices + made me think + I want to read the book it was based off... won't share the title tho bc I don't need tumblr knowing exactly where I live. sorry) but also its subconsciously tormenting sitting in the dark for almost 2 hours next to my flatmate (thoughts: very cool very pretty also she smells nice oh man I kinda want to touch her hair or lie on her shoulder or sit in her lap or hmm maybe i should stop thinking abt this like. right now)

#dykes will find other dykes hot + berate themselves for being 'predatory' when the gay thoughts come knocking #arghh.. on one hand im very glad i force myself to maintain strict boundaries on physical touch w ppl bc-#-i know ppl find me a lot as it is + ive been told previously im too clingy/needy/invasive/unaware of ppls personal space #its taken me a lot of work to eradicate or at least suppress that form of showing attention/affection bc i dont want ppl to feel like that #its been v useful at teaching me how to navigate impulsive behaviour #but on the other hand fucking hell man im an incredibly physical person it causes me such mental anguish to avoid shit all the time #and part of me does wish I could unlearn all this shit and go back to ignoring all the stupid social conventions abt space + affection #it would be so so easy but also so so selfish. at least this way it only affects me + my rsd. instead of everyone else #ALL THAT ASIDE...... she is very sweet i want 2 drape myself over her + take a nap. maybe even bump uglies if she happens to be so inclined #ummmm. girl if ur reading this im so sorry. not taking it back tho. what r u doing here anyway kinda gay of u to stalk me huh 🧐#ANYWY I NEED TO SLEEP sorry for using tumblr as a journal again but actually im not sorry. goodnight silly ppl in my phone #.diaries

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bunnys-kisses · 4 months ago

Note

Ciao bello, how do you do? I wondered what pastry should I order as it all look so tempting. So, I'd like to indulge myself with some mille-feuille, and hard lemonade to the side, please.

the bakery menu

there's still tons more items on the menu! feel free to submit your own order, i'd love to write more! as for this lovely request, your server this afternoon with be lando norris! thank you again for the combination and i hope it serves your fancy!

mille-feuille (“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”) + hard lemonade (possessive behaviour) served to you by lando norris (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, dirty talk, possessive behaviour/jealousy, missionary position, naive!reader,

lando never considered himself a jealous man. he believed that you were free to go about life as you deemed fit. he trusted you, he loved you. you were his number one fan and the love of his life.

so why did jealousy rear its ugly head when he saw you go up to max verstappen and pull him into a tight hug. in all fairness, your relationship was still new, you two were still getting to know the nitty gritty of one another. but still, how did you know max verstappen. and not on a casual level, but you beamed at him like you hadn't seen him in years.

lando strode over to see what his lovely girlfriend was doing. he was a bit perturbed how he saw how max had an arm wrapped around your shoulders and he was laughing. it was so painfully casual for the three time champion. it only made the jealousy grow deeper in lando's gut as he smiled at you.

he didn't want to scare off his perfect angel of a girlfriend.

even if she was in the arms of the devil. he took you in his grasp and hugged you tightly. even going as far as to kissed you on the forehead. he looked to max for a moment and raised his eyebrows, "honey." he said, "you should be in mclaren area, not red bull." he laughed, trying to play it all off. he patted your face with affection, but also a bit of ownership, "did you get lost?"

you shook your head, "no, landy." you held onto the front of his racing jacket and looked to him, "i wanted to see max before practice started."

lando nodded, "i see, i see." his gaze flicked to the other man, "how do you know my girlfriend, max?" he was trying his best to keep it cool. he didn't want another incident that was plastered all of the headlines for a week.

max looked to you then back to the other driver, "oh... she didn't tell you."

lando made a face, "tell me what?"

you piped up, "oh yeah! i just thought you knew, landy." you were still holding onto him, "max and i are technically childhood friends! i mean ya know, like a million years ago! remember, my dad was an engineer. he worked with max's dad!"

max said to you, "i see not a lot has changed. always forgetting the important details."

you frowned at max and let go of your boyfriend to punch the dutch driver in the arm, "hey! i'll have you know, i got my university all on my own!"

"and how many deadlines did you miss during your program?"

you wagged our finger at max, "ya know, verstappen. you're very lucky."

max seemed amused and looked to lando, "seems you pick them well, norris. i'll see you two later. good luck out there." then turned away, leaving you with your boyfriend.

lando narrowed his eyes at max, who was walking away, and then turned his attention back to you. he took his cap off and placed it on top of your head. he then placed a hand on the top of your head and said, "don't take this off."

you nodded, you looked so painfully sweet. lando knew that you wouldn't try to cheat on him. but your closeness to max had jealousy curl in his gut.

lando was happy that you kept to your word and wore his mclaren hat till you were on your way back to the hotel. he didn't see you with max for the rest of practice, but it still didn't deterred lando from being in your personal space as he kept a hand possessively on your thigh.

once you were back in the hotel room, lando's hands were all over you. his lips were to your neck and you moaned as you held onto him. you felt a heat throb between your legs as you were herded to the bedroom.

you ended up on the bed with a bounce and knew that lando wasn't going to take it slow tonight. you took off the hat but lando quickly grabbed it and put it back on your head, "wear it. you look good in it."

he then got his shirt off followed by the rest of his clothes, you did the same save for the hat which sat proudly on top of your head. you didn't think you looked good in baseball caps, but lando loved you in nothing but it.

he got between your legs, and leaned over you to grab a condom from the box on the night stand. he put it on with ease, his heart raced in his chest as he gazed at you with such love. but also much possession.

"is there any other drivers i should know about?" lando asked, "i don't want any more surprises."

"what do you mean, landy?"

"i know you two were friends, but you were all over him, love."

you looked at him curiously, "but that's how i greet all my friends."

he stroked his cock, you were so innocent sometimes. he couldn't be upset for too long (even though he barely was to begin with). he looked you in the eyes, and said, "that's how you greet all your girl friends." then placed on hand on your middle and the other on his cock as he slowly sank into your sweet hole.

"mmm, honey." you whimpered.

the warmth of your cunt against him made him shudder. he kept one hand on your stomach and the other on your hip as he started to thrust against you. he swore he could feel his cock inside of you as he bumped up into the deepest parts of you.

"fuck, babe." he groaned. he was hunched over you as he started to work your pussy. his thrusts were short and quick, the hot intensity of his movements made you feel good. he said to you, "i just want you all to myself. the one thing that the likes of max verstappen can't have."

he felt a pull in his chest for you. he just wanted you to be his forever. was that a crime? his thrusts became heavier, he could see the expressions that crossed your face. you looked perfect.

"but i'll always be yours, landy." you confessed to him with sucha sweet smile. it made his cock throb in you as he continued to rut against you.

"that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl." he groaned, "that's my girl, you're perfect. i'm sorry i'm a jealous bastard, i just don't want to lose the best thing i've ever had." he messily made out with you, keeping you pinned to the bed as he rutted against you.

his heartbeat raced in his ears as he continued to thrust in and out of you. you were so perfect for him. you were his perfect half, he loved you to the point that it made him a possessive fool.

"i'll always love you, lando. i mean it." you said with such a sweetness to your voice.

"that's what i like to hear." he said as he continued to thrust. the bed shifted under your movements and you were left feeling hot all over. the space between you was limited and you could feel him reach some of the deepest parts of you core.

you made out with him once more and met with his thrusts. you could feel your mouth growing dry and you body growing hotter. it felt good being so close to him. he was the perfect partner in every way you could think of.

the two of you made love, lando's possessive streak he had all day was slowly diminishing and the love he had for his girlfriend only bloomed. his kisses were sweet even though he pace was rather quick.

"shit, ah. lando." you whined as you felt orgasm creep up on you. the pleasure made its way through your body and left your breathless. you sloppily made out with him once more before with tensed up and came around his cock.

he broke the kiss and panted heavily as he continued to pace. both hands were now on either side of you to get better leverage to thrust up into you.

"you're so perfect, my angel. i want this cock in every way i can get it. i want you more than anything, baby." he panted as he put his all into your thrusts. the pleasure pulsed through his body as he moved against you. you felt like a dream. "so perfect." he panted heavily with a few more heavy thrusts. then he was finally able to finish inside of you. it shook him to his core and made his mind go blank for a few moments.

"lando." your voice felt far as you laid there, overstimulated and sweaty.

he gave a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with a large groan. his pace staggered then stopped before he pulled out and laid next to you. he pulled you into his arms and gave your cheek wet kisses as you squirmed against him.

"oh, i love you so much." he said with tenderness in his voice, "you're so perfect and i want you to myself forever."

you tried to meet his lips, but kept missing due to how fast he was moving to kiss your heated skin. you eventually took him by the face and laughed, "don't worry. you already got me, honey." <3

657 notes · View notes

vivwritesfics · 10 months ago

Text

Little Pig

Lando, his girlfriend, and their unconventional pet

ugh need me a man who will let me build my dream stables

landonorris

tagged: pigthepony

liked by y/nl/n, and 563,910 others

landonorris flo's fault

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y/nl/n handsome lil man

username1 is this how the world finds out y/n and lando got a horse

mclaren welcome to the mclaren family, pig!

y/nl/n ik i just called him handsome but you chose the worst picture

landonorris i love our ugly son 🥹

y/nl/n he's not ugly, just unfortunate

pigthepony

liked by maxverstappen1, and 43,192 others

pigthepony bitches used to want my dad now they want me

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maxverstappen1 this shouldn't shock me by it does

maxverstappen1 can p come and meet pig?

y/nl/n kinda don't trust him not to take off with her yet

y/nl/n but soon

landonorris bitches still want me, pig 😤😤

y/nl/n ...

landonorris looooooooooove youuuu

username2 omg i already love pig

username3 absolute king behaviour

pigthepony

liked by oscarpiastri, and 58,102 others

view all comments

pigthepony this is how mum and I have fun when dads away

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landonorris they grow up so fast

y/nl/n we miss you

username4 wait this is is Lando's pony?

username5 how did you not know about pig?

username4 i followed bc im a horse girl, only just become an f1 girlie

oscarpiastri check your mail

landonorris what did you do?

y/nl/n DID YOU SEND THE CUSTOM ORANGE RUG??

oscarpiastri guiiiiltyyyyy

pigthepony

liked by landonorris, and 67,281 others

pigthepony already got my first win before dad (suck it old man)

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landonorris PIG!!

pigthepony 😘😘😘😘😘😘😘

danielricciardo oooo burn

charles_leclerc pig you're my hero

username6 omg this is so funny

username7 even lando's pet has a win before him (congrats pig!)

alex_albon congratulations on the win!!

pigthepony thanks, uncle Al

username8 imagine the sass if we got a moon and pig meetup

liked by logansargeant

pigthepony

liked by landonorris, and 72,293 others

pigthepony HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU OLD BITCH 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

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oscarpiastri pig did you get your dad a rose?

pigthepony no my mum just wanted me to look handsome

landonorris y/n i hate you so much

landonorris i love pig but i hate you

y/nl/n love you, birthday boy

landonorris why is my son calling me a bitch?

y/nl/n hey now i didn't teach him bad language

landonorris my family is a mess and I love it

y/nl/n family 🥹🥹🥹

username9 what did you get lando for his birthday, pig?

pigthepony the post is his gift

pigthepony

liked by landonorris, and 84,019 others

pigthepony DAD GOT HIS FIRST WIN (after i got mine) i think its retirement time

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username10 NO PIG DON'T MANIFEST THE RETIREMENT

pigthepony i want my parents home

maxverstappen1 pig should come and celebrate with us

y/nl/n you're a bad influence on my son (pig is in love with p)

landonorris thank you my little handsome man

pigthepony i love my daaaaaaad

landonorris we'll celebrate as a family when I get home

y/nl/n family 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

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amourane · 6 months ago

Text

love notes in music

pairing: drummer!theodore nott x rich girl!reader

genre: fluff, modern au

w/c: 1.2k

summary: you always got what you wanted and the extremely hot drummer was no exception.

warnings: none

a/n: i am here to push forward the drummer theo agenda because yes yes and yes

Trouble was coming. You could feel it in your bones. Maybe it was the extra shot of espresso you had today or the wild predictions in your horoscope, but you definitely sensed something brewing. It didn’t help that Enzo had interrupted your lunch and dragged you back to campus for god knows what reason.

"Enzo if this is another one of your tricks to get me to dance with you it's not going to work. Remember what happened last time?"

You dug your heels into the grass as your best friend continued to drag you across the field. The campus auditorium came into view and you frowned. There was no reason for you to even be there today so why was Enzo tugging you along like bait?

“Yes Y/n I remember what happened last time.”

"I fractured my ankle and I do not want to wear a cast ever again. I couldn't match the darn thing with any of my clothes." You huffed out a breath at the memory of the ugly accessory that the doctors had insisted on your wearing despite your protests.

Admittedly you were a bit of a spoiled brat but at least you knew that you were. Going to a normal university was one of your father’s choices. You would have never gone somewhere so shabby on a daily basis. Truth be told on the first day, you were actually planning to ditch and go grab a chai latte. Then you bumped into Enzo accidentally and the two of you seemed to click.

It was a good friendship. He’d always be able to tell you when you were being a tad bit annoying because of your rich girl behaviour and you’d be able to join him in his multiple activities. One which led to the infamous ankle incident.

“Don’t worry Y/n, you’ll still be able to wear that Gucci jacket-”

“It was an Armani jacket.”

“Yeah yeah.” Enzo pushed open the door to the auditorium, and you were immediately greeted by the sound of drums pounding heavily. The amplified sound hurt your ears. “Welcome to the band.”

“Um...Enzo, do I need to remind you of the time when I broke a guitar?” You nervously watched the live band on stage. Technically it wasn’t your fault that the guitar broke. Enzo never did tell you how to properly use it. “And when did you join a band?”

“Please don’t remind me Y/n also I didn’t actually join the band I’m more of a-”

“Hey Enzo!”

The music stopped. Your head whipped around and your eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at the absolute hunk that had just shouted. His dark hair seemed to glow under the spotlight making him look like some sort of angel. Your mouth ran dry when he waved a drumstick at you. His fingers looked as if they’d been carved out of stone. And his biceps. God his biceps. The guy was ripped. He was a drummer as well. What was more sexy than a drummer?!

“Hey Theo!” Enzo, your backstabbing friend who knew your weakness for hot boys with dark hair that played the drums, embraced him in a tight hug. “The practice is going well.”

“I know!”

Good god, his eyes were like beautiful whirlpools of love. The two boys started talking animatedly about something to do with music. There were a few words thrown here and there that you recognised but other than that you stood watching wide-eyed at the conversation in front of you.

“Who’s the pretty lady?”

Theo turned to face you and seeing his face up close only made you want to kiss him more. He really was gorgeous. You cleared your throat, straightening your skirt. “I’m Y/n, Enzo’s best friend, and you are?”

“Theo.” He offered you his hand, which you shook. Wow, his hands were soft. You were almost jealous. Time to buy new hand cream. “Hey, I’ve heard of you. You’re that girl who nearly broke her foot when dancing.”

Your cheeks flushed. Was this your legacy now? The girl that nearly broke her foot while dancing? How horrible. You would much rather be known for your stunning looks or incredible fashion sense.

“Actually I twisted my ankle but who’s keeping track?”

“Y/n isn’t the best dancer or guitarist.” Enzo chimed in. “She’s really good at maths though, she’s my second brain.” He said it as if you were simply another organ in his body, but you let it slide, trying to make a good impression on the drummer boy.

Theo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, it's good to know Enzo has a brain to rely on."

You giggled at his remark, feeling the tension ease a bit. "Yeah, he needs all the help he can get."

"Hey!" Enzo protested, a small pout forming. "I'll have you know I'm quite capable on my own."

"Sure you are." You teased, nudging him playfully. Then, turning back to Theo, you asked, "So, what kind of music do you guys play?"

Theo's face lit up with enthusiasm. "We're a rock band, mostly. Some original stuff, a few covers. We're actually looking for a new guitarist. Interested?" He winked, clearly joking.

You shook your head, laughing. "After what happened last time? I think I'll pass. I'm more of an appreciator of talent than a participant. But I might be persuaded to attend a private concert."

Theo laughed, a rich, warm sound that made your heart flutter. "A private concert, huh? I think we can arrange that."

Enzo rolled his eyes. "Oh boy, here we go."

Ignoring Enzo, you leaned a bit closer to Theo, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. "So, Theo, do you always look this good while playing the drums, or is today a special occasion?"

Theo raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into a smirk. "I guess you'll have to come to more practices to find out."

You gave him a once-over, pretending to think it over. "Maybe. I do have a very busy schedule, you know.”

“Sounds like a yes to me. We’ve got a gig this weekend, free up some space in that glamorous life of yours and come.

You tried your best to conceal your excitement at the fact you had just scored yourself a date with a very hot drummer. Forget about trouble today was definitely the best day of your life.

"Alright, I'll be there." You agreed, feeling a flutter of excitement in your stomach. "But only if you promise me a private drum lesson afterward."

"It's a deal. I'll make sure you get the VIP treatment." Theo’s grin only widened and you felt your heart stutter at the sight. He really was handsome and if you didn’t know how he was single but that was good news for you.

“I’ve got some studying to catch up on but I’ll hold you to that.” You offered him a wave goodbye as you made your way out of the auditorium with Enzo. Theo simply smiled, reciprocating your action.

A giddy feeling overtook your body as the sun shone down on you. There were millions and millions of butterflies soaring in your stomach and you could only squeal at the idea of seeing Theo in the next few days. Before your best friend could say anything you spun on your heels, this time dragging him along with you.

“We need to go shopping right now, I need a new outfit for the weekend.”

Enzo could only groan as his feet automatically moved. It was going to be a long day.

#theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys #fluff #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott imagines #theo nott x you #theo nott imagine #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore x reader #theodore nott #slytherin boys x reader #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x you #theo nott #theodore nott x y/n

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cloudzoro · 10 months ago

Text

Pumpkin | Roronoa Zoro ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut with a little bit of plot (minors dni)

pairings: roronoa zoro x fem reader

wc: 8.4k words

cw: mutual pining, idiots to lovers, reader gets hit on in a bar multiple times, zoros feelings are all over the place bc he's a mess, monster cock!zoro, unprotected sex, soft zoro </3, marking, bad flirting

masterlist here

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You have feelings for Zoro and you know it, Zoro has feelings for you and doesn't know it. Everyone is collectively sick of your shit. It isn't until you get hit on in a bar and Zoro has to step in that he realises how deep his feelings for you run.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

If you squeeze that glass any harder, it's gonna shatter,” says Nami, nodding at the glass of beer Zoro holds in his hand. Zoro waves her off, sparing her a glance just to glare at her before focusing on the cause of his irritation. You're standing at the bar of the dingy lounge, talking to Sanji and the random guy who's been showing you around the new island the strawhats had docked up at. The place isn't too busy, so he can see you without looking past a crowd. Unfortunately, he can also see the new guy you've met. The guy is interested in you, leaning in to talk to you, which gives Zoro a nasty feeling in his chest. He chalks it up to being protective; he doesn't like how the man looks at you. For once, Zoro is actually grateful for Sanji's presence. The tall cook at your side, looking as enraged as Zoro feels, is intimidating to the guy who backs up a little.

“Your girl’s talking to other men. If I were you, I'd kill the guy,” says Usopp, and Zoro rolls his eyes. He is not even bothering to answer. You're not his girl. You're just friends. Zoro isn't even sure he's capable of falling in love. You step back from the guy, clearly uncomfortable, and Zoro starts to see red. It isn't until Chopper and Usopp reach out to grab him that he realises he's even stood up. Ready to jump into action. “Don't make a scene; I'm really not in the mood for a fight,” says Usopp, trying his best to push Zoro back into his seat.

When his eyes focus back on where you're standing at the bar, Zoro sees that Sanji has stepped in and told the man off. You're safe now. The man had run away with his tail between his legs, but the bitter taste in his mouth is still there. He watches intently as you walk back to the table where the strawhats are sitting, with Sanji in tow and drinks in hand. You set another glass in front of him, and just as you walk away to sit on the other side of the table, he pats the seat next to him. You raise an eyebrow at his request, his un-Zoro-like behaviour startling you.

“Just don't wanna sit next to the dumb cook”, he grumbles, looking down at the table instead of at you. You nod and slide into the chair next to him. Now that he can feel your presence next to him, he feels the weight lift from his shoulders.

“So y/n, what happened?” asks Nami, always a fan of gossip. You go to answer, but you're immediately stopped by Sanji, who butts in with his own account.

“That horrible ugly man was trying to steal our precious y/n away for his crew. As if she'd ever leave us.” he huffs out. Luffy laughs at how idiotic the idea of you leaving would be. Zoro doesn’t speak as he watches you sip your drink and roll your eyes at Sanji’s dramatics.

“That loser was just hitting on me,” you say, trying to play it down to get the attention off of you. Despite first appearing extroverted, you aren’t too keen on attention being on you. It's one of the reasons Zoro gels with you much better than some of his other crewmates. Once the conversation switches from the almost bar fight to whatever crazy made-up story Usopp tells, you lean into Zoro’s side to speak quietly in his ear. “I saw you stand up earlier; you looked like you were gonna kill him. Thank you, even if you were held back,” you say, laughing at how ridiculous he looked. Your thanks are sincere, even if you still tease him for it. Zoro has been a silent protector for you since you joined the crew. Everyone knows you’re in his top three Straw hats, alongside Luffy and Chopper. As much as he tries to convince himself that you’re tied with your captain, you’re number one and almost pulling a lead. It's clear to the rest of the crew that the only people in the world who can’t see how you feel are you and Zoro. Zoro offers you an amused smirk, close to a smile but not quite, and raises his glass. You do the same, clinking your glasses and continuing with your drink. You re-enter the conversation, talking animatedly with Nami and Usopp, but Zoro is more than happy to sit back and watch his family in a rare moment of peace. He only speaks whenever Sanji makes a comment that riles him up.

Luffy and Usopp are terrible influences on you. Your captain and sharpshooter like to have fun, which often includes dragging you into their shenanigans. They’re always making terrible drinking games and challenges, egged on by Brook and Franky. You, not one to back down from a challenge, always end up joining them. You’ve put more alcohol away in one night than you have in the last month, and when it's time to leave, Zoro and Robin take it upon themselves to support you as you can barely stand up by yourself. You sway as the fresh air hits you harder than expected. You almost let go of Robin completely as you lean into Zoro. You mumble something about not wanting to walk anymore, and Zoro sighs, signalling Robin to carry on ahead. He crouches down and tells you to hop on his back. You do so, settling yourself and pressing your face into his neck. He hears you mumble a thanks into his skin before passing out.

This isn't the first time one of your crewmates has had to carry you back to the sunny, and it definitely won't be the last. Zoro doesn't mind your weight on him; he brings you to your room, sets you down in your bed, and takes off your shoes and jewellery as carefully as he can before leaving and walking out to the deck.

“One of you ladies should probably go in there just to make sure she doesn’t vomit in her sleep and choke and die”, he says as he walks up to the edge of the ship to look out at the sea. Robin says she’ll stay with you and walks to the girls' bedroom.

“So when will you tell her you’re completely in love with her?” asks Nami, startling him.

“When will you leave me alone so I can enjoy a peaceful night.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“You’re annoying,” he says, unable to defend himself in any other way. Nami sighs and pats his shoulder.

“You need help, dude,” she says condescendingly. Nami has mastered the art of irritating the men aboard the ship; it’s a form of entertainment for her sometimes. “The sooner you tell her you like her, the sooner you can bone, and then maybe you won't be such an uptight freak anymore.” Zoro can tell her own comment tickles her, but before he can spit out a sarcastic response, he is cut off by the voice of his airhead captain.

“Are we talking about Zoro’s y/n kink?” he asks, loudly chewing on the leftovers from earlier’s dinner. Zoro doesn't even dignify that question with a response. He stomps off to the boy’s bedroom and climbs into his hammock. Clearly, he’d only get peace aboard this ship by being unconscious.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next day, You wake up with a throbbing in your head, and your stomach turns as you run to the ship bathroom. You empty your stomach of nastiness and head to the kitchen to get some water to drink. Sanji put some food away for you with a little note, and it warms your heart how your boys care for you. You nibble your way through your breakfast and set about looking for where everyone is.

The first person you find is Brook, sitting on a chair and drinking tea. You ask him where everyone is, and he informs you that most of the crew have gone sightseeing in the city at the island's centre. He tells you that Zoro and Usopp are the only people still in the area. Usopp is in his room, recovering from last night, and Zoro is just in front of the sunny, taking advantage of the space to get in a good workout. You decide to go and bother him.

“Hi, Zoro,” you say, approaching him. “Need a sparring partner?” you ask; seeing him shirtless is an excellent motivator. He looks at you in your sweats and tank top and laughs. He knows those are your comfy clothes and just woke up.

“That depends. Are you gonna vomit on me?”

“No”, you get defensive about your weak alcohol tolerance despite having proved your lightweight status regularly. “I don’t even have a real hangover, just a headache” you insist.

“That is a hangover, pumpkin,” he says. Pumpkin isn't a pet name; it's a nickname you were given when you first joined the crew, and almost everyone except Luffy and Robin uses it. Yet it still makes heat rise in your cheeks when Zoro uses it. It sounds different coming from him than it does coming from someone like Franky.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” If you keep pestering him, he’ll give in eventually.

“Fine, but I'm not going easy on you”, he says, enjoying how defensive you get at any insinuation of weakness.

“I’d be insulted if you did.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sparring session ends when Zoro pins you down on your back for the fifth time.

“You’re getting better at close combat. It took me a lot longer to knock you down this time,” he says. They’re simple words of encouragement, but they make your stomach feel funny. When you catch your breath, and the adrenaline is out of your system, you realise that he's still on top of you. There's something different in how you look at him now, and you hope he doesn't notice it. You're fully aware of how your feelings for Zoro have changed in recent weeks, but you figure he doesn't feel the same way, so you've kept it to yourself. Zoro isn't the relationship type.

He seems to realise by himself that he's still hovering over you, so he quickly moves himself off you and helps you up. He mutters an apology and walks with you in silence back to the ship. In the silence, all you can think about is the view of a sweaty, shirtless Zoro on top of you. You want the image seared permanently into your brain.

When you return to the sunny, you get washed and changed. While you're in the shower, you can't help the way your fingers wander between your legs, pleasuring yourself with the thought of Zoro clouding your mind. The combination of an orgasm and a shower has refreshed you, and you decide to go into the centre to find Nami and Robin. You pass Brook on the way out, who has now been joined by Usopp.

“Were you showering with your boyfriend?”

The question stops you in your tracks. Boyfriend?.

“I don't have a boyfriend, Brook. What do you mean?” Usopp matches your confused expression, looking between you and Brook

“Are you not dating our swordsman?”

“No, of course I'm not. Why would you think that?!” you ask, exasperated by his audacity. Then it clicks in your head. You remember what you did in the shower that could've tipped him off.

“I heard you saying his name.” As the words leave Brook's mouth, Usopp gasps, finally realising where the confusion has come from. You must not have been quiet enough when touching yourself to the thought of him. Usopp looks completely embarrassed, and you hope he'll keep this secret. He's too ashamed of knowing something intimate about you.

“Nope. You were just imagining things. Anyway, I have to go and find Nami and Robin, so I'll be going now. Bye, guys, see you later,” you yell as you rush off the ship to escape the embarrassing situation as quickly as possible.

You catch up with Nami and Robin pretty fast. They split from the boys a while ago and are about to wander through a local market. They're happy to have you along as company, and Robin makes sure to ask about your hangover. You tell them that you were training with Zoro before coming out, and the mention of the green-haired swordsman makes Nami smirk. You already know how the conversation will go, but it's unavoidable.

“Did you finally tell Zoro how you feel about him?” she asks. You turn to Robin, and she just smiles and shrugs, which is code for ‘I want to know the gossip, but I don't want to seem like I'm not on your side’.

“No, because I've told you a million times that Zoro doesn't think of me that way. We had a training session today, and all he did was make fun of me for being a lightweight.”

“Are you stupid? He carried you home last night,” says Nami.

“Everyone's carried my drunk ass home at least once.”

“He's obsessed with you.” She laughs. “In every way.”

“I think Nami's right”, says Robin, and you feel like you're about to be driven crazy.

“I already told you he doesn't feel the same way. He's had so many opportunities to ask me out, and he's never even hinted at it. He's nice to me because we're close friends. That's it,” you say, frustrated at the topic. “it hurts, though; I really do like him”, you say sombrely.

They're good friends to you and respect your boundaries as much as they love to gossip. They can see you don't want to discuss Zoro anymore, so they change the subject to buying cute clothes. You look around the market for handmade garments by real natives of the area. Learning about other cultures through food and fashion is your favourite part of travelling the world.

When you arrive back on the Sunny, You go straight to the girls' quarters, avoiding Brook and Usopp, and put your bags of clothing away. You lay on your bed and let yourself completely relax into it, allowing the wear and tear of the day to seep out of your body.

Zoro, however, is less relaxed than you. Luffy has been asking him what he talked about with Nami all day. He feels seconds away from punching the over-excited man. He's repeatedly said he's not interested in a relationship and certainly not you. He's insisted time and time again that you two are just friends.

“oooh, how about you go into town with her and spend some alone time?” Before Zoro can interject and ask why, Usopp hurriedly continues. “it could be a good way to have a proper talk and find out how she feels about you.”

Zoro, angered by his friend's persistence, finally responds.

“If it gets you two idiots to shut the fuck up, I'll do it. But it's not because I like her or anything.” He says, getting up and dragging himself inside. He passes the girls’ quarters on his way down, decides to pull up his big boy pants and knocks on the door. When you call to open the door, he pushes it open and sees you relaxing. He insists he doesn't have feelings for you; you’re just close friends, but seeing you dressed down and chilled causes a switch in his brain. He wishes Nami had never said anything the night before, or he wouldn't be second-guessing his feelings towards you. “You wanna come into town tomorrow?” He asks, as straightforward as he always is. You nod and smile at him. He hums in acknowledgement and shuts the door as he walks down to his bed. You know Zoro’s personality, so his response - or lack thereof - doesn’t phase you at all. You let sleep take you as Zoro begins to cloud all your thoughts.

“They’re so into each other it's gross,” says Nami, crossing her arms. “I don't understand why they don’t just fuck and get it other with”

“At least y/n is aware of feelings. Zoro doesn't even know he's in love with her,” adds Robin.

“She’s too good for him; I don’t even know why you’re trying to play cupid with them” growls Sanji.

“They’re so obvious about it that Brook thought they were dating,” says Usopp.

“Yes, she said I was hearing things, but I'm sure I heard her moaning his name”, says Brook before Usopp can even attempt to stop him. Silence falls among the group, and Nami and Robin share a knowing glance. They leave the boys to continue gossiping and go to the girls’ quarter. You don’t open your eyes when the door opens, having heard Nami and Robin’s voices approaching. However, when you feel your mattress dip, you open your eyes to see both women sitting on your bed, smiling at you. While Robin is usually the more mature of the women aboard the ship, she still needs a good laugh now and then, and you can tell that whatever they’re about to say will annoy you. Nami’s Cheshire cat-esque grin proves they’re about to either embarrass or pull you into a scheme.

“so”, Robin starts, clearing her throat.

“We just want to warn you that next time you have a wild sex dream about Zoro, you should moan his name a little quieter,” says Nami, giggling at the look of exasperation on your face. It takes you all of two seconds before you realise that Brook and Usopp snitched on you, and you jump out of bed to confront them.

Brook hears you scream his name and knows you’re about to beat his ass and has the sense to run. Usopp, however, drops to his knees and apologises, hoping to appease you. The scene is entertaining to the rest of the crew, who all chime in about whether or not you should have mercy on Usopp.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When morning comes around, you wake up and stretch. You spend a little extra time getting ready in the morning. When you leave the ship, Zoro is already waiting for you, leaning against a tree. He lets you take the lead as you walk into the town centre. The market stalls are busy, and you grab onto his shirt so you don't lose him. Zoro usually wouldn��t even bat an eye at the action. You’ve always had a mutual agreement to protect each other, but with the recent stirring feelings he's been forced to acknowledge, he’s hyper-aware of any physical contact between you. He’s taken some money from the ship to buy you food. At first, you don’t talk much, and he just watches you walk from stall to stall. You approach a stall selling jewellery, and Zoro stops behind you. The vendor looks over your shoulder at the man and pushes some chains towards you.

“What about something for your boyfriend?” she asks, and, to Zoro’s surprise, you don't correct the lady. You just nod and pick up a chain, turning to Zoro and signalling him to put it on. You don’t do it with ulterior motives; you just like buying your crewmates gifts. Maybe you didn’t correct the vendor when she called him your boyfriend to feed your secret crush, but he didn't correct her either, so no harm is done. When Zoro puts on the chain, he raises his eyebrow and asks what you think, and then he keeps it on as you pay the vendor. He still doesn't believe you have feelings for him or vice versa, so he thinks of the gift as a friendly gesture. You, however, keep getting distracted by thoughts of the chain you bought for him dangling over your face as he fucks you. He says something to you, and you have to ask him to repeat himself so you can focus on what he’s saying this time.

“We should go to that bar over there”, he suggests, pointing across the market to the bar you had been to a few nights before. You agree and follow him. You both decide to sit at the bar and get a drink each. Usually, small talk flows between you and Zoro naturally, but things seem awkward. You don’t know what's wrong with Zoro, but you’ve never seen him flounder like this. He excuses himself to the bathroom, and after he leaves, another man slides onto the seat next to you. You’re not interested, so you try to ignore his presence, and then he attempts to talk to you.

“You’re not from around here, are you? You stick out like a sore thumb,” he says, and before you can respond, he just keeps going. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, of course. You’re beautiful. What’d you say, I'll show you around?” You’d already been shown around when you first arrived on the island.

“I'm here with my boyfriend; he just went to the bathroom,” you say, hoping the guy will take the hint and leave. He doesn't and just continues to talk about himself and pitch himself as a potential partner to you. When Zoro exits the bathroom and sees the man speaking to you, he feels bile rise in his throat. You make eye contact as he approaches the bar, and your expression immediately shifts into a smile.

“Hi, babe.” The words shock him, and it takes him a second to process, but when he puts two and two together, he immediately helps you out by taking a step closer to you, so now he's stood directly behind you as you sit on the stool facing the strange man who’s approached you. He puffs out his chest and rolls his shoulders back to show off a little.

“Who’s this guy? Is he bothering you?” he asks. The role of a protective boyfriend comes naturally to him. You look up at him and nod, placing your drink on its coaster and backing up against him. His hand settles on your hip, and he internally panics about possibly going too far.

“I think we should go,” you say, grabbing his hand and turning to leave the bar. He feels that letting that loser stay in the bar and potentially harass other women while you have to leave the bar early isn't much of a punishment, so he grabs the guy by his shirt. You weren't expecting a bar fight immediately, but this is Zoro, so you take a step back and get ready to back him up if he needs it.

“You should go too; if I catch you anywhere near her, I will kill you. If I come here again and you're here, I will kill you,” he says, his other hand secured around one of his swords, and then he lets the man go. He hurries past you and out the door. When Zoro looks back at you, you’re smiling at him, and it shocks his system that you aren't even a little bit scared of him. He’s incapable of looking anywhere but you, but he knows the other patrons in the bar are watching him warily in fear. Not you, though. Your eyes are filled with something he’d never imagined to be directed at him: awe and respect. In that moment, he finally makes peace with the fact that maybe he likes you as more than just a crewmate.

“Thank you,” you say as you leave the bar. It seems like you’re always thanking him for something.

“Don’t mention it”, he says, brushing it off and focusing back on the market stalls. You pick up a few more gifts on the way home. Zoro accepts his feelings for you quickly, but now he has to figure out many other issues. Do you like him back? Is it possible for someone like him to pursue a relationship? Is he even worthy of your love? You linger on his mind when he returns to the men's quarters that night.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You had spent the afternoon with the rest of the crew planning your next destination. When night finally fell, you had decided to stay out a little longer, chatting to the remaining crewmates who hadn’t gone to bed yet. When you get tired, you get up to go to bed, and Jinbe and Sanji thank you for their gifts and bid you goodnight. When you return to your room, Nami and Robin are waiting for you. You know they’re about to grill you for details about your day with Zoro.

“So, how did it go with Zoro?” asks Nami as you sit on the edge of your bed.

“It was fun. A guy hit on me in a bar, and he pretended to be my boyfriend and then threatened to kill him. Poor guy almost pissed his pants,” you say, laughing at the memory of the terrified look on the man's face.

“And you still don’t believe he’s in love with you?” she says.

“He would’ve done the same thing for either of you,” you say in defence of yourself.

“Maybe he would’ve threatened the guy, but he would never have pretended to be my boyfriend,” says Robin. You sigh and throw yourself against the mattress.

“Why are you so resistant to the idea that he might like you back?” Robin asks. “Maybe some romance would do you good.”

“Robin’s right. You two are perfect for each other. He’s an emotionally constipated loser with no social skills, and you’re an emotionally constipated loser with slightly more social skills.” Nami has gotten up from her bed and is kneeling beside you, leaning over your face.

“That was mean”, you pout, looking up at her. “I’m not a loser.”

“But you do suck at emotions.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t see why he would be interested in me,” you say, finally admitting what has been bothering you since you first developed feelings for him. The mattress on the other side of you dips, signalling Robin has joined the two of you.

“Y/n sweetheart, you’re smart, funny, and beautiful. There’s no reason Zoro wouldn’t like you,” she says, reaching out a hand to pet your head.”We’re telling you he likes you, but he's probably having thoughts similar to yours.” Robin is always a source of comfort for you, so you appreciate her words.

“Yeah, and your boyfriend is dumb as rocks, so you have to tell him,” Says Nami. You groan at Nami’s word choice.

“Whatever, I think we should go to bed”, you huff, closing your eyes in protest. Name and Robin give each other an amused look and get off of your bed. You drift off to sleep, trying to push the topic of Zoro to the back of your mind.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You’re in the shower the next morning; it's your final day on the island, and you’ll celebrate at a restaurant later in the evening. You think over your conversation with Nami and Robin, and you figure there’s a possibility they're right. Before confessing to him, you decide to test the waters first and see if Zoro has feelings for you. You’re not the best at flirting, but you decide you’re going to try to hint it to him. After your shower, when you’re all changed into your outfit for the day, you go to the dining area for breakfast. When you enter the room, Sanji is bustling about in the kitchen, and Nami, Zoro, and Luffy are sitting around the table, waiting for food.

“Morning, Sanji” you call. The cook immediately turns around at the sound of your voice. “Think you can add an extra portion?”

“Of course, Pumpkin! Please take a seat,” he calls back, and you follow his instructions, taking the empty seat next to Zoro.

“Morning Pumpkin”, greet Nami and Zoro as Luffy greets you with your real name instead of the nickname. You cheerfully bid them a good morning and shuffle your chair closer to Zoro’s, who doesn't seem to notice until your knees touch under the table and he looks at you. You know you have feelings for him, but you're still thrown off by the way simply making contact with him causes you to feel butterflies. Sanji brings out the food, grinning at the instant praise he gets. He then retreats to the kitchen, knowing the rest of the crew will be awake soon.

“Food looks good,” you say to Zoro before shovelling it into your mouth. By the time you’ve finished only one bite, Luffy has cleared his whole plate and is whining at Sanji for another portion. “I can never understand how he puts away food like that.”

“It's pretty easy; I can’t do it as fast as he can, but I'm still pretty good at eating”, he says, noting his ability to demolish a plate of food in seconds.

“You can do a lot with your mouth”, you respond as his cheeks flush red and he freezes. You had initially meant his third sword, and it hadn’t crossed your mind that your response could be flirting. You fear you’ve made him uncomfortable as he’s never responded like this to flirtation before, and you quickly start to reassure him of what you actually meant.

“I didn’t mean it inappropriately; I just meant about your sword skills. Y’know, like your third sword thing. I wasn't talking about anything sex-related. I'm also not saying you’d be bad at it, and I'm sure you're great at oral-” You stop yourself before your rambling gets you in even more trouble. You and Zoro stare at each other for a second before silently turning back to your plates and continuing to eat your breakfast. You know Nami heard your entire conversation, even over Luffy's yelling, but she doesn't say anything to you for the rest of the day, which you’re grateful for. You spend most of your day talking to your crewmates on the ship. You accidentally fluster Zoro multiple times throughout the day. Not even attempts at flirting are causing his reactions, it's other interactions that could have way more suggestive meanings. He knows you don't mean them inappropriately; however, with the way your relationship has been changing lately, Zoro can't help but interpret them differently. At first, when he’s arguing with Sanji over their appearances, you compliment his physique, and he seems to shut down at your words completely. The second and final chance you get is when Chopper accidentally calls Zoro dad, and the whole team bursts out laughing, swordsman included. Through his tears, Usopp asks who the mum is, and without hesitation, Sanji and Nami both point at you. Everyone except you and Zoro laughs even harder. Poor Chopper is extremely embarrassed but only further proves everyone's point by crying about it to you.

“Y/N!. Everyone’s laughing at me. They're all so mean.” he cries, hugging at your legs. You lean down to his height and wipe some of his tears. You love Chopper, but you can't help teasing him a little.

“Oh Chopper, it's ok. Why don't you go and ask Daddy if he'll beat them up for you?” Chopper huffs and storms over to Zoro. Zoro barely responds to the reindeer, too focused on the fact that you'd just called him daddy. He breaks eye contact with you to pat the reindeer on the shoulder and threaten the rest of the crew into quieting their laughter. It only half works as multiple crewmates are still snickering under their breaths. Satisfied with the results of Zoro’s threat, Chopper sits next to Zoro. You think that all three of your unsuccessful attempts at flirting - even if they were unintentional - made him uncomfortable and decide that you'll apologise to him later when he's not surrounded by people. You excuse yourself to your room, saying that you'll start getting ready early. It's a perfect way to avoid Zoro without people getting suspicious.

You're in the middle of getting ready when the other girls enter the room. Nami and Robin both start comparing their wardrobe to the dress you have lying on the bed. When they decide on the dresses they want to wear, you get ready with casual chatter. Neither of them mention your green-haired problem. You try not to show your dejected mood.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Zoro isn't as lucky as you. You're all the other men want to talk about as they get ready.

“I can't believe Pumpkin has been flirting with you all day. What do you have that I don't?” growls Sanji. Zoro would usually start listing off a bunch of traits, but his response this time baffles Sanji.

“She's been flirting with me?” he says. Sanji almost falls to his knees in pure annoyance.

“You're usually pretty observant, especially with her. Have you really not noticed?” asks Usopp. It finally all clicks in Zoro’s head, and he suddenly feels like he's going to throw up. You actually might reciprocate his feelings.

“I just thought she was teasing me”, Zoro says. You're no stranger to winding him up. His temper makes him an easy target for jokes.

“She called you my dad and then acted like my mum. She already thinks you're together,” says Chopper, heart secretly pounding at the thought of the two of you actually getting together.

“and I don't think she was just playing along with the joke”, adds Jinbe. “she looked very sincere.”

Zoro listens in silence, not having the energy to argue with six men as they recount your behaviour. Sanji points out how you had interrupted their fight to compliment Zoro specifically, and Luffy recalls your comment to him at the breakfast table, which makes everyone who wasn't there gasp. You've always been a jokester, but never have you gone out of your way to fluster someone like this.

“You need to tell her how you feel, " says Franky, the only one Zoro is even thinking of listening to on romance, considering he pulled Robin of all people. “Women like vulnerability and manly emotions. You've just got to be upfront and tell her you like her. Pumpkin is special; don't lose her,” he says, offering Zoro a thumbs up. Zoro just sighs and leaves the room.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You finish getting ready and turn around to show off to Nami and Robin, who are more than happy to hype you up. Getting ready and chatting with your best friends always makes you feel better. They look equally hot, which you're not shy about telling them. When the three of you finally head out to the deck, all the guys are already there. You hear a few wolf whistles, Jinbe politely compliments, and Sanji stares at the three of you with tears in his eyes. Zoro, however, avoids looking at you until you're directly in front of him. His eyes flicker down your body, and you instinctively follow suit, checking for imperfections in your outfit.

“You look nice,” He says; it sounds like he's forcing out the words, but you thank him for the compliment regardless. The tension is thick, and you don't think you'll even make it through dinner without talking it through first. Once everyone is ready to go, you say something before it's too late.

“Can we talk first? I just want to sort this out,” you say, and he nods despite looking puzzled. “You guys go on! Zoro and I need to talk,” you call as everyone starts to leave the ship. They all immediately agree and walk away with smug, knowing smiles.

Now that it's just you and Zoro, you're still trying to figure out what to say. You look down at your hands, desperate to avoid eye contact, and search your mind for how to begin your apology speech.

“So, Y/n, what did you want to talk about?” he asks, prompting you to start. Zorosing your real name instead of your crew-appointed nickname startles you, and you finally look up at him. Zoro’s always been a scary figure to the public, but this is the first time you're feeling shaken by his presence.

“I just want to apologise for making you uncomfortable.” you stutter your way through your first sentence, and even more confusion washes over Zoro’s face. “It was completely unintentional, but I still accidentally flirted with you. I really like you, and sometimes, I say mildly inappropriate things on instinct. And I'm sorry if anything I did today made you feel bad. I'm also sorry for admitting I like you when you definitely don't like me back. Why would a man like you want me? Anyway, that's beside the point. I just wanted to say sorry so that we don't have to sit through dinner with this awkward tension I've created.” you say, taking a deep breath as you prepare yourself for his response. He takes a minute to take in everything you said to him, and you hope you didn't make it worse.

“Okay, first question. What made you think I was uncomfortable? I froze up because you flustered me, which you wouldn't have been able to do if I didn't like you." Your mind doesn't even register the initial question; you can only focus on the last half of his sentence. You don't know how to respond, being completely shocked. He continues, unbothered. “Second question, who says I don't like back? Why wouldn't I like you?”

“That's two questions.”

“don't deflect, baby” He takes another step towards you, hesitantly resting his hands on your hips. “look, I hate sugarcoating shit. I like you. The rest of this insane crew has been bugging me for days about coming clean. I like everything about you. How could you think a woman like you isn't enough for a demon?” You both probably look like idiots, holding each other with bright smiles. He's in your arms, and he does like you back. “Now, do you wanna go to dinner and pretend we didn't confess our love for each other or do you wanna kiss me?”

You don't even verbally respond to his question and lean up to pull him into a deep kiss. He kisses you back with a passion and strength that could only belong to Zoro. He's so sure in his feelings for you that it makes you weak in the knees. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth as his hands move over your body. Big palms smooth and squeeze every part of you they can reach, and you groan against his mouth as he grabs your ass.

“my bed”, you pant as he pulls away from the kiss. “If the others come back, then the girls are way less likely to barge in”, you explain, grabbing his hand and pulling him to your room.

As soon as you walk through the door you turn around to face him and pull him right back down to your mouth. It's easy to get lost in his kisses; they're reassuring you that he likes you and only you. His kisses are intense, and they make you dizzy. Your nails dig into his biceps as he moves his kisses across your jaw and down your neck. You let out a moan that makes him groan against your skin.

“Been waiting for this for so long, baby.” his voice has you in a chokehold. You couldn't focus on anything else if you tried.

“me too,” you whimper, moving your hand to his hair and keeping him in place.

“Can I mark you? let everyone see you're mine?” You frantically nod, and Zoro nips at your neck to let you know your response isn't enough. You don't need to be told. You know Zoro well enough to guess he'd want you to be vocal.

“yes, please.”

With your confirmation, he attaches his mouth back to your neck as he slowly backs you up towards your bed. His teeth anchor him as he sucks on the skin, marking it so everyone knows you’re taken. When he's finished, he trails his mouth back up to your lips and presses a soft kiss to your lips. He pulls back to take another look at you, and he feels whatever coils control his emotions tighten. You look beyond fucked out, and he's barely even touched you. You're staring up at him in awe and desperation, and he can't believe what he's seeing. He thanks every deity he doesn't even believe in that you're in front of him, looking the way you do. The way your eyes shine with love and respect makes him feel funny inside, and he needs to voice it so he doesn't explode.

“You're so beautiful”, he whispers, kissing you again. “You're too good for me” He adds. You protest but are once again cut off by his lips. His fingers find the bottom of your dress, and he looks you over again. “You look so good in this. Do a twirl for me?” when you oblige and give him a full three-sixty view of the dress, he whistles lowly. He gives you one last request to take the dress off for him while he sits down on your bed.

“Can you start me off? I can't reach my zipper,” You ask, turning around. Without a word, Zoro tugs the zip down your back, and you hear him hiss slightly at the sight of your bare skin. You face him again and slowly push your dress down your body, trying to be as seductive as possible. The satisfied smile on Zoro's face tells you you're doing a good job. You unclip your bra, and his eyes greedily take in the newly exposed skin. He's practically salivating in anticipation but remains in his seat and lets you finish. He audibly moans as you turn around and bend over, slowly pulling your underwear down your legs. You kick off your shoes and approach Zoro as he takes off his shirt so you don't have to be alone in your nakedness.

He lies back against your mattress, beckoning you to join him. You climb on top of him, pressing a kiss to his lips before trailing your lips across his chest and down his abs, stopping at his waistband. Your hands are shaky and desperate in their attempt to unbutton his trousers, but you do and follow it by yanking them down and exposing his cock.

He's big. That much was evident to anyone who looked at him, but you never expected it to be as big as it is. It clearly shows on your face as Zoro runs his hand through your hair.

“Don't take more than you can” he says as you swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock. As soon as you wrap your lips around him, he feels like he's about to burst, and he immediately uses his grip on your hair to stop you. “on second thought, if you suck me off right now, I won't last very long. C'mere,” he says, pulling you up his body. “Let me get you ready for me. Sit on my face, pretty girl,” he says, trying to help you get situated above his face.

“Are you sure?” You ask, hesitant to lower yourself at all. Insecurity creeps in on you as you think about the possibility that he might not like the way you taste or you might crush him. He growls at the question, almost considering it an insult, before he realises that you need reassurance.

“Do I sound unsure to you? You better sit that pretty fucking pussy on my face right now,” he says, pulling you down flush against his mouth. His nose nudges at your clit as his tongue explores your dripping hole. You're so disgustingly wet, and Zoro loves it. He's messy with his eating, making obscene noises, so you know just how much he likes your taste. The vulgar slurping of his tongue as he all but makes out with your pussy makes you slightly embarrassed, but it's so sexy how much he enjoys pleasing you. You lose focus quickly, unable to pay attention to anything that isn't your man's glorious tongue. His enthusiasm would've had you toppling over if it wasn't for the grip he has on your thighs. “Grind on my face”, he instructs, with a slap to your ass, and this time you don't waste any time before doing as he says. You're fast approaching your orgasm as you rock against his face, and all you can do is moan his name and reach down to grip his hair. When your first orgasm washes over you, Zoro’s grip on you holds you in place as he licks you through your orgasm. You haven’t had someone else make you cum in so long, and having Zoro there makes you feel more satisfied than you have in a long time. When your hips stop moving and your breath slows down, Zoro slowly moves you off his face and helps you lay against the pillows.

“You feeling ok?” he asks, although the giddy smile on your face and the dazed look in your eyes answer his question before you even open your mouth. The Zoro from a few years ago would’ve laughed at Zoro now, A man with the monicker king of hell giving his entire heart and soul to someone else. You nod at him, giggling as he rolls on top of you. He uses his arms on either side of your face to hold himself up. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again. You never want to stop kissing him, and he realises this when you don’t let him pull away to speak. The way you cling to him fuels his pride. He gives up on trying to talk and kisses you back. One of his hands squeezes your boob before trailing down the rest of your body and cupping your pussy. He plays with your clit as you make out, working your up again. You try to adjust your hips so that he can slip his fingers inside you, but when he doesn't do that, you groan in frustration. “If you want something, you gotta tell me,” he says, voice dark with lust.

“Stop teasing me and fuck me”, you whine, reaching between your bodies to grasp at his cock. He lets you guide him to your entrance before swatting your hand away. He slides his cock between your folds, gathering your wetness and gives his cock a few pumps to coat it in your juices.

“Are you sure you can take it?” he asks, unable to resist teasing you for a little longer. You let out a bratty whine and writhe beneath him.

“Of course, I can take it” " you insist, despite your worries that you can’t. You’ve never slept with anyone as big as him.

“Atta girl”, he mumbles against your lips before pushing his cock into your hole. “Relax for me, baby”

You try to focus on his lips, kissing and sucking wherever he can reach and relax your body so he can bottom out inside you. He gets three-quarters of the way in before he starts to get impatient. He takes a few shallow thrusts to ease himself the rest of the way in, and the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him tears a feral growl from deep in his chest. You are equally affected, head thrown against the pillows as you moan his name. He rubs at your hips, attempting to soothe you so he can start moving. When you give him the go-ahead, he pulls out most of the way and thrusts back in, slowly picking up the pace as you claw at his back, looking for something to hold onto.

“That's it, hold on tight, baby,” he says, encouraging you to scratch up his skin. You're the perfect fit for him; Your pussy grips him so good that you almost have him believing in fate for a second. He can smell your sweat in the air, and though it should be gross, he buries his face in your neck to inhale your scent even closer. Neither of you speak from this point, and you don’t need to. You’ve both already said you wanted, and now all that's left is the sound of your moans and the way your bodies intertwine. When you pull him against you, tilting his head so that you can attach your lips to his neck and replicate the pretty marks he left on your skin, he almost cums on the spot. He belongs to you as much as you do him. Your legs shake around his waist, and your moans devolve into high-pitched whimpering, signalling your impending orgasm. He's not far behind, so he reaches a hand between you to rub your clit, and you're instantly sent over the edge. Your orgasm crashes down on you as you arch into Zoro's chest as much as you can. Your legs lock around his waist, giving him nowhere to go but over the edge with you. You gush around him with a cry of his name as he groans expletives in your ear. He fills you up with his cum, cock twitching inside you. He doesn’t pull out when he's finished, choosing instead to get comfy on your chest until you calm down. His hands tenderly rub at your tired limbs. When your breathing evens out, he gently pulls his cock out of you, hissing at the loss of warmth. He leans down to press an appreciative kiss to your tummy.

“You’re all mine, yeah?” he asks, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“Always”, you respond, pulling him in to kiss your lips. His hands merely brush against your chest, and he feels himself getting hard again.

“What do you say we go for a round two in the shower?” he asks, playfully nipping at your lower lip.

“I’d like that”, you hum as he scoops you up and heads off towards the bathroom

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The other nine strawhats sit around the table at their booth, eating their meals, when Luffy realises the two of you are still not there.

“Y/N and Zoro aren't back yet”

“If they're not back yet that probably means they're banging” says nami, through a mouthful of food.

“Don't even speak about Pumpkin with that idiot” grumbles Sanji, stabbing at his plate.

“Stop complaining Sanji, it was always gonna be them” says Franky.

“Well, guess we better wait a bit before heading back to the ship” says Luffy, still stuffing his face.

Everyone's been rooting for you two from the beginning.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed :)

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #zoro x reader smut #zoro x reader #zoro smut #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader smut #zoro imagine #anime smut #anime x reader #☁️.smut #☁️.onepiece #☁️.zoro

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