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kentocidal · 11 months ago

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OPEN UP AND SAY "AHH..." .txt

USERS: dentist!kento nanami x fem!afab!reader

WARNING! THIS FILE HAS BEEN CORRUPTED WITH THE FOLLOWING MALWARE: dubcon, oral inspection, gloves, medical malpractice(?), oral (m!receiving), spit, dacryphilia, choking/gagging, power imbalance, oral fixation, ask to tag

NOTES: something happened to me while i was writing this. anyway, here you go. ~3.2k words.

the dentist’s office was one of those medical buildings that was clearly a house before it was an office. built in a cape cod style with a tiny parking lot that had been added far later. you had found this place online, after it had gotten some stellar five-star reviews that you trusted enough to schedule a consultation and a cleaning.

it wasn’t one of those gimmicky, commercialized dentists either. it didn’t have a tooth for a mascot, or a commercial with a jingle that never left your head. it was simply a dentist’s office. the page on google came up as “kento nanami, d.m.d., dental practitioner and surgeon.”

something about the blandness of the webpage, matched with the homey feel of the office, dissuaded your nerves. you had finally found an office you felt comfortable going to get your cleaning at.

you took a breath in as you stepped through the threshold, and found that the home had absolutely been converted to a medical building. the hardwood flooring, the almost sickly yellow lighting, the stock paintings on the walls of oceans or some tropical place. it would almost be tacky in any other place, but it felt right for a dentist’s office such as this.

the girl at the desk, clearly some part-timer, popped her gum as she looked up from her phone when you approached. “do you have an appointment?” “ah, yes. at twelve-thirty?” you nodded faintly, eyes glancing over the girl’s nametag. ‘k. nobara.’ perhaps she was studying under dr. nanami.

she hummed softly as she clicked around on her desktop for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “i see it. here, just fill this out, and i’ll send you right back.” she flashed the barest hint of a bored smile at you as she placed a teal clipboard on the desk with a pen, and you thanked her before going to sit in one of the padded chairs.

name, address, insurance information, when you had your last cleaning, reason for your visit. standard paperwork for a new patient.

how did you hear about dr. nanami?

you wrote in: online. all positive reviews! :)

you filled out the rest of your medical information before walking the paperwork back up to nobara, who took it from you and popped the bubble she made with her gum. she barely even looked at it before taking it to the scanner and making a copy. once she finished her own side of the paperwork, she looped around the desk and opened a door to lead you down a tiny hallway. “just this way, please.”

she brought you into a small room retrofitted to be an examination room. the dentist’s chair was in the middle surrounded by all of the necessary equipment. there was a television mounted to the wall, displaying what was on the computer monitor in the corner, there to reflect x-rays and other important images. nobara moved a little table filled with sharp instruments on it over to the side to allow you space to sit in the chair. you sat, taking a breath and sitting back. the leather squeaked under you, and it wasn’t the most comfortable place to be, but it was to be expected.

nobara made sure you were settled before grabbing a piece of blue medical tissue and a thin ball chain with clips on either end, leaning over you to place it around your neck as a bib.

“dr. nanami’s just finishing up with his patient, he’ll be right in for you.”

you nodded and thanked her again, to which she smiled softly before leaving and shutting the door behind herself.

it was quiet outside of the ticking of a clock behind you and faint music playing from another room. it didn’t take long for the music to be turned off, footsteps to come down the hall, muffled chatter to be heard as who you assumed to be the doctor’s last patient gets checked out.

you shift in the seat and lick your lips, nerves returning. you didn’t really like the dentist (who does, anyway?), but you couldn’t find a reason to be so worried about it outside of superstition and online horror stories.

just as you buried yourself into your head, there were two rapt knocks on the door behind you before it was pushed open. “ms. l/n?”

“ah,” you turned your head and peered over the back of the chair the best you could as the doctor entered and shut the door behind him, “yes, that’s me, hi.”

“nice to meet you.” he was tall, broad, curt; his hair was perfectly styled atop his head, wearing a blue polo and khaki slacks rather than scrubs. the only dentist-ish thing about him was the surgical mask that was pulled under his chin.

brown eyes met yours and his lips quirked up into a cordial smile as he approached. you smiled back, feeling heat rise to your cheeks; he was far more attractive in person than he was on his medical profile.

“nice to meet you as well. thank you for squeezing me in, i-”

“it’s no problem. there was an opening. it made sense to get you in here quicker rather than make you wait.” he shook his head as he grabbed the rolling stool from under the nearby desk and took a seat, dragging the computer stand over with him to start typing away.

“you’re here for a consultation, yes?”

“consult and a cleaning, yeah,” you breathed, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. “it’s… been a while.”

“when was the last time you had a cleaning?”

“three years?” you smiled sheepishly when the doctor cast you a sidelong glance and clicked his tongue. “i didn’t mean to keep forgetting! i was new to the area at that time, and it just kept slipping my mind.”

“still, it’s not good to neglect regular visits like that. i’ll make sure you schedule your six month follow-up before you leave today.”

you nodded, because that made sense. at least he seemed to care about your health, unlike some other dentists you’ve had before in the past.

dr. nanami typed for a moment more before pushing the computer away and getting back to his feet. “before we can start, i need to take some x-rays of your teeth. have you had this done before?”

“a long time ago, yeah,” you watched closely as dr. nanami took a step over to where a protective vest was hanging, watching him pull it down before approaching you again.

he used a foot pedal to lean the chair back slightly, and you went with it, your head resting against the high back of the chair. he looked much taller from this lower angle, his cheekbones high and his jaw cut and perfectly angled.

he laid the heavy vest over your chest and then leaned over your body completely to reach for the x-ray camera that was hovering overhead, tugging it down closer to you. you sucked in a breath; he smelled of some foreign, expensive cologne, the scent making your head spin slightly.

dr. nanami hummed in the back of his throat as he stepped away from you to reach for a box of gloves on the desk, tugging out two of the black latex garments and pulling them on, one at a time. you watched the latex shine in the sickly fluorescent light of the examination room, watched the way he stretched the rubbery material over thick fingers and broad palms. one by one, he snapped them on, making sure he was protected.

you shifted in the chair again when he leaned over you to bring the plastic piece to your mouth. he was so close – he had to be, this was an exam, snap out of it! – “i just need you to open up wide and then bite down on this, okay? it’s going to take a few photos of your teeth and your jaw.”

you blinked like a deer in headlights, because suddenly a gloved finger was tapping your cheek. you opened your mouth, nice and wide, and felt the cold plastic slip past your lips and rest between your teeth.

“bite down,” and you did, “that’s it. good. now stay still.”

you found yourself preening under his ministrations. he would step away and let the machine whir as it photographed your teeth and your bones and your jaw structure, and then he would be right back in your space to adjust where you were holding the piece between your teeth. he took about five or six pictures (it felt like you were swimming in his cologne) before he finally pulled the piece from your mouth with a soft pop and pushed the attachment away.

his wide, gloved hands lifted the vest from your chest, and you felt like you could breathe again once the weight was gone.

“not so bad, hm?” dr. nanami quipped, though he didn’t smile, and you laughed airily like a little girl who got caught with ice cream she shouldn’t be having.

“not so bad, right.”

he nodded once before he took a seat on the stool again and sat right next to you, pulling up the fresh x-rays as they loaded up. you were presented with the images on the television just as dr. nanami viewed them up close on the computer screen in front of him.

“your teeth look good,” he murmured, as if it was more to himself than to you. “all even – none missing. adult teeth grew in almost perfectly, though you did wear a retainer briefly, did you not?”

“yes.”

“right.” he clicked over towards an image of your molars, humming under his breath. “have you been experiencing any pain in this area?”

“hm? no, why?”

“there’s a bit of a dark spot here,” he moved the mouse over to a spot on the image, on a tooth that had to be all the way in the back of your mouth. “it could be a cavity.”

you moved your tongue in your mouth to feel for it, but came up short. “i don’t feel it, but maybe.”

dr. nanami pushed the computer away and shifted closer to you, reaching up over your body to grab the light fixture and drag it down towards you. using the foot pedal again, he brought your chair back, back, back; it felt like you were completely horizontal by now.

he rolled his stool over to be behind your head, leaning over you. it was almost as if your head was in his lap, separated only by the chair’s headrest.

he pulled the light down lower until it was perfectly on your lips. once settled into position, he moved his surgical mask back up and over his mouth and nose, and you thought that it somehow made his eyes all the more alluring to you.

“i need to conduct a further oral examination to assess the cavity. is that alright?”

“yes,” you breathed, and dr. nanami made a sound of approval.

you figured he would reach over for the metal table and grab for one of those little mirrors, or maybe even a water pik of some kind, but, no; dr. nanami leaned more over you and pressed two gloved fingers to your lips.

“open up and stick your tongue out, yeah?”

you blinked at him, heat rushing up to your cheeks once again. you felt as though your ears were playing tricks on you; dr. nanami had sounded huskier, like his voice had dropped an entire octave when he muttered the command to you.

you swallowed the saliva that pooled on your tongue before opening your mouth as wide as you could, sticking out your tongue and flattening it so he could see your teeth better.

“good girl.”

your whole body shuddered the moment those gloved fingers pressed on your tongue with the utterance of those two little words. what was this?

a part of you was saying that something was off about his ministrations, about the way his fingers pressed and almost petted the flat of your tongue before starting to explore deeper. the other parts of you, however…

it felt as though you were floating as dr. nanami brought his other hand up to your face to hook a finger in your cheek and pull slightly, tugging your mouth open just a little wider. your eyes fluttered and you made a wet little sound, only for dr. nanami to click his tongue behind his mask and murmur for you to settle.

his fingers continued their journey, probing and prodding at the warm flesh of your cheeks, the hardness of your teeth, rubbing and feeling over your tongue and your flesh and bone.

you whimpered softly when you felt his index finger rub over your molar in the far back of your mouth. it felt as though his whole hand was forcing your little mouth open, but that definitely wasn’t the case.

“what a pretty little mouth you have,” muttered the doctor, before his fingers dove down towards your throat.

you gagged harshly around his digits and kicked up a fuss in the chair, rattling the attachments and kicking your feet. dr. nanami let up only for a moment as you felt drool start to form at the corners of your mouth and coat your tongue. your eyes brimmed with tears, wetting your lashes, and dr. nanami only watched you with those golden brown eyes.

you couldn’t see the bottom half of his face, but he had to have been panting.

“your teeth are in very good condition,” he spoke in such a soft tone it almost had you relaxing again as he unhooked his finger from your cheek, letting your jaw slip just slightly closed again to try and find comfort.

“ah, i’m not finished,” dr. nanami chastised you with a tap of his wet finger on your cheek, and you whined softly under him as his forefinger started to probe and inspect your mouth yet again.

one by one he inspected all of your teeth the best he could, feeling each one, filling your mouth with the taste of latex and the scent of his cologne. your eyes were locked on his face, while his were locked on the way your lashes stuck together, wet with tears, and drool started to drip from your lips and drag down your cheeks.

his eyes flickered away from his inspection for a brief moment to watch the way your thighs were squeezing together, and that was it for him, the sign that he needed.

he pulled his fingers from your mouth and tugged his mask off of his face, placing it to the side as you heaved.

“now then,” he started, shifting back away from you as you caught your breath, “your teeth are in perfect condition, but i’m concerned about your throat. let’s… conduct an experiment.”

your wet eyes shifted hazily backwards as you tried to look at him again, only to be met by a thick cock springing free from dr. nanami’s khakis. he was leaky and drippy at the tip, and it smacked wetly against your cheek.

oh. oh.

you squirmed in the seat and moved yourself backwards (or, well, up towards him) with a bit of his help, a wet hand on your shoulder tugging your body up so your head would hang off the headrest of the dentist’s chair.

from this angle, dr. nanami didn’t even need to get up. he could stay seated in his stool and let you do all the work.

but you were his patient, and he was your doctor. he would take care of you.

he shifted his weight and took his cock in hand, guiding the tip over your spit-soaked lips. his other hand wrapped loosely around your throat, his thumb hooking onto your jaw to force your mouth open.

“there you go, nice and wide, just like that…” dr. nanami hunched over you, studying your fucked out expression. “is this okay?” “ye-yes,” you whispered, and dr. nanami finally smiled down at you. it was brief and fleeting, but it was there.

and then he gathered spit between his lips and let it drip down onto your waiting tongue.

you moaned, quiet and wanton, just as dr. nanami slipped his cock into your mouth.

he tasted musky and salty and perfect. he fucked your mouth open slowly, his hand a nice weight on your throat, helping to hold your twitchy body down as you shook with anticipation.

slowly, slowly, he worked the tip of his cock further and further into your mouth, until he was muttering, “open wider, wider, just like that, good girl, take it…”

it felt like all of your blood was rushing to your brain in this position, but at the moment, you didn’t care. all you cared about was how you choked and gagged around the tip of dr. nanami’s cock as he worked it into your awaiting throat.

he sheathed himself in your tight heat and started to rut into you as your throat fluttered around his girthy length. the room filled with the sounds of skin-on-skin, soft gags, wet plaps, and dr. nanami’s little gasps and moans.

he moved his hand from your throat to the hem of your pants, managing to undo the button and the zipper with just one gloved hand before it was slipping into the front of your panties to graze over your clit.

you gasped and moaned around his cock before starting to choke again, drool dribbling all over your cheeks and face as dr. nanami collected some of your slick on his gloved fingers to rub your clit in quick circles.

“shh, quiet. feels good, right? feels nice to have your throat fucked like this? you like it when your doctor touches you here?”

you had gotten so turned on that his words were almost enough to send you over the edge, your nails clawing at the rubbery material of the dentist’s chair.

“i can feel you throbbing,” he grunted as he fucked his cock deeper into your throat, “go ahead, cum on my fingers, cum, cum-”

his fingers didn’t stop even as you creamed in your pants and all over his gloved hand, your body jerking and your throat constricting around his cock. dr. nanami groaned low in his throat as he finished down yours, pumping his hips slowly and riding out his own high.

he pulled back from you and panted, pulling his hand from your panties and licking your juices off of his glove, then discarding both.

you laid on the dentist’s chair, head hung over the edge, boneless and still twitching from the waves of your pleasure.

“now, for your cleaning…”

—

“so, do you want to make your six-month follow-up now? or should we send you a letter reminder in the mail?” nobara popped her gum and twirled her pen between her fingers as she looked you over.

“i’d-i’d like to make it now, please.”

“sure. and don’t forget to leave us a good review online, alright?”

#kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #tw dark content #tw dentist #tw dubcon #dark.txt #tw medical #medical.txt #dubcon.txt #ask to tag.txt #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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jukeboxsweethearttt · 5 months ago

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My Little Love

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem Reader

cw:pregnancy,bleeding, talks about loss of baby:( really sad

(loosely inspired by My Little Love by Adele)

this ask!

The night was still, the moon casting a gentle glow over the Bridgerton estate. You sat in your drawing room. Your hand resting on your stomach, a vague discomfort gnawing at you. Anthony found you there, his face etched with concern.

"You don’t look well, my love," he remarked, kneeling beside you. "Is something wrong?"

You shook your head, trying to smile. "I’m just tired, Anthony. It has been a long day."

Days turned into weeks, the discomfort in your abdomen growing steadily worse.

You dismissed it as a mere illness, perhaps a lingering ailment from the winter.

But Anthony remained vigilant, his worry mounting with each passing day.

One evening, as the pain became unbearable, you clutched your stomach, a sudden, intense wave of agony washing over you.

"Anthony," you gasped, panic rising in your chest. "Something’s wrong."

you looked between your legs as blood began to trickle down.

Anthony’s face paled, and he immediately sent for the doctor.

"Hold on, my love," he urged, his voice trembling. "We’ll get through this together."

The doctor arrived quickly, his expression growing grave as he examined you. "She is with child!” he announced, astonishment in his voice. "She is having the baby!."

Your heart raced, shock mingling with the pain. "A baby?" you whispered, unable to comprehend. "How can that be?"

"It’s unusual, but it happens my dear Viscountess" the doctor explained. "We need to act quickly."

The hours that followed were a blur of pain and fear. The midwife and doctor worked tirelessly, their expressions focused and serious.

Anthony never left your side, his hand clasping yours tightly.

"Anthony," you gasped, your grip tightening on his hand. "Promise me, no matter what happens, you’ll love our baby."

"Don’t talk like that," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "You’re going to be fine. You both are."

The intensity of the labor consumed you, the pain almost unbearable. But then, after what felt like an eternity, a cry pierced the air.

Your heart surged with relief and joy as the midwife held up a tiny, wriggling baby.

"It’s a girl!" the midwife announced, her voice filled with warmth. "The Bridgerton heir is healthy baby girl."

Tears streamed down your face as the baby was placed in your arms. She was perfect, her tiny fingers curling around your own.

Anthony leaned in, his eyes filled with wonder and love.

"She’s beautiful," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "Just like her mother."

Exhausted but overwhelmed with joy, you looked up at him. "We did it, Anthony. She’s here. She’s safe."

He nodded, his eyes glistening with tears. "We did it together. You were incredible, my love."

As you gazed down at your daughter, the fears and pain of the past hours melted away.

She was the light in the darkness, the embodiment of your love and strength.

"Welcome to the world, little one," you whispered, your heart full.

"We’ve been waiting for you, even if we didn’t know it."

Anthony wrapped his arms around both of you, his heart overflowing with gratitude and love.

"We’ll always be here for you," he promised, his voice tender. "Both of you."

In that moment, the three of you were a family, united by the trials you had overcome and the love that bound you together.

The future was uncertain, but with Anthony by your side and your beautiful daughter in your arms, you knew you could face anything.

The Bridgerton estate stood tall and proud, a testament to resilience and hope.

And within its walls, a new chapter began, filled with the promise of joy and the enduring strength of family.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Don't Speak 50

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: getting close.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hate the smell of hospitals. It clings in your nose even after you leave. You can taste it. It dries out the mouth. It stains like the blinding lights against the sterile walls. Your vision is washed out in the hangover of your outing.

The doctor took your blood. He asked questions too but you didn’t answer them. Ann did. Even if you had tried, you wouldn’t have gotten a word in.

You left with another appointment scheduled and an endless list of rules. No caffeine, no lunch meat, no hot baths, only sleep on your side... Your body is a prison. It always has been but now, it’s like solitary confinement. Dark and isolating. You can’t see the way out.

You sit in the back of the car, staring at the seat in front of you. Like a child. She didn’t stop you from sitting back there but you can’t sit beside her. Maybe she prefers it too. Her touch has always said more than her words. She despises you.

The colours of the city blur. Pallid and dull with the late dregs of winter. You hug yourself and a new tide of nausea overwhelms you as you touch your stomach. You try not to. It’s a reminder. You’re not showing yet, not there, but in other ways. You can feel it even if you can’t see it.

Ann sighs as she rolls slowly down the suburban street. You recognise the brick house. You rarely see the outside of it. She hits the button below the rear view mirror and the garage door opens. You know what they do. They don’t let you out of the car outside, only in the garage. They’re hiding you.

As she pulls in, you slump against the door. She unlocks the doors and clicks the button on her belt. You unhook your own seat belt and follow her at a delay. It’s easier to just do everything she wants.

She hums as she stands, “oof, I’m sore,” she complains, “will you get the door.”

You nod and go to the button mounted on the wall. Before you can hit it, a grizzly voice wafts through the frigid air, blowing in with the wind under the open garage door. Your hand lingers before the close button but doesn’t hit it.

A man ducks to see through, “hi, excuse me,” he says as he raises a hand above him to grip the metal, “I’m looking to deliver a package...”

“Oh, a package?” Ann echoes, “I’m not expecting anything.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s for... Dr. Steve Kemp?” He shifts the flat box under his arm to read it. “It’s pretty cold out here. Think you can take it off my hands?”

“Why, of course,” she strides along the length of the car, “I’m his wife.”

The man nods as she approaches and his grey blue eyes wander over to you. His dark stubble refines the angle of his jaw as a tuque covers his hair. You squint. He’s familiar but you don’t know how. He stares for a moment then hands over the package, “just sign here.”

He takes out his phone and presents it to her. She drags her finger over the screen then pulls back to examine the box, “thank you, sir. Bit late for a delivery.”

“Got backed up with the ice up on the freeway. Everyone’s taking the back roads today.”

“Ah, makes sense,” she says, “well, you have a good day.”

“You as well, ma’am.”

He backs up and marches off without another look or word in your direction. She looks down at the box and rolls her eyes. She backs up.

“Close the door. It’s freezing.”

You tap the button and the door descends with the thrum of the motor above. You wait for her to go inside first before you follow. You hear the kids and Steve’s low timbre. You wonder why the courier didn’t knock on the front door. Maybe he did but couldn’t be heard. The TV is blaring as the kids giggle and holler.

“Steve,” Ann calls out as you leave your shoes on the mat, “you got a delivery.”

He doesn’t answer. She keeps on down the hall and drops the package on the side table against the wall. She stops to peer into the front room.

“Honey,” she says curtly, “package.”

“Alright,” he says, slightly agitated as he helps Harper build blocks into a castle. “Thanks. Any idea what it is?”

“I don’t know. Looked like more of those magazines. Aren’t those supposed to go to your office?”

“Could be an old subscription,” he shrugs. You stand back in the shadows but he finds you, “how’d it go?”

“Fine. She’s on track. She’ll have a scan next week,” she sniffs. “You made a mess in here.”

“The kids are bored. It’s too cold to go outside,” he grumbles.

“As long as I’m not the one cleaning it up,” she tuts.

“Love you too, honey,” Steve says dryly.

“Got enough to worry about with the baby...” she mutters, “I’m thinking of sending out a card as an announcement.”

“Ann, really? No one cares about a third kid,” he chuckles.

“I care,” she snips. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course I am. I just don’t see why it needs to be a whole broadcast.”

You shrink away from their argument as the children give pause at their parents’ tones. They might be young but there’s an obvious tension there. You don’t dare interrupt.

“It’s a big deal,” she growls. “It’s almost dinner time. Did you take out the chicken like I asked?”

“I promised the kids pizza. Figured we’d order.”

“Pizza? It’s so expensive these day--”

A knock cuts her off and she winces. She huffs and shakes her head. “Busy day.”

“Could be Jeff. He borrowed my drill.”

“Tell him to keep it,” she ignores the door and struts back down the hall. “You never use it anyway.”

You flatten yourself against the wall to let her pass. You stare up the stairs, wondering if you should just go and hide. When they need you, they’ll find you.

“Get the door, will ya, sweetie?” Steve says.

You hesitate. That’s all you are these days. A thing to be used. You’re not a person to them. Just a means to an end. You nod.

You go down the hall to the door. You’re nervous. You don’t like strangers. You’ve had enough of them for the day. All those nurses poking and prodding and preening over that thing inside of you.

Just get it over with. You make yourself open the door.

Before you can say a word, you’re name whispers with the wind. You’re seized and pulled into a hug. You barely catch a glimpse before the woman has you in her arms. You can smell her. She always smells of cinnamon.

“You’re alive,” she says. “Oh my god, you’re alive.”

“Huh?” You wriggle in confusion, “Amber?”

“I’ve been...” she loosens her hold but keeps her hands on your arms. “I’ve been looking for you. All these months. I’ve been...” her eyes gleam with tears. “I’ve been so afraid.”

You’re frozen by more than the chill creeping in around her. Something cracks. Like a toothpick between your fingers, you feel it. All those weeks of hiding behind a wall, of telling yourself not to feel, to just get through it. It’s more than her being there, it’s the care and gentleness in her touch. That’s different.

She lets you go and holds you at arm’s length, “hey, bub, what’s... you okay? Come on, let’s go home.”

You blink at her. You look around at your eyes burn with a glimmer of tears, “what?”

“Home, bubba. Please.”

“Why?” You breathe.

“Why? Because...” her voice trails off as you sense a shadow behind you.

You turn as Steve stands in the doorway, his hands on his childrens’ shoulders. His eyes narrow and his jaw squares, “kids, go find your mother.”

“Daddy?” Avery says.

He hushes her and nudges them both down the hall. They run up the stairs and he turns to face you. And Amber. You don’t like the way he looks at her.

“Ah, took you long enough,” he steps up next to her. “Right, dove? She really took her time. Almost like she doesn’t care at all.”

You look between them, a sinking sensation rising in your chest. “What?”

You can’t understand any of it. That wall is slowly crumbling. The only protection you have from any of this. The only thing keeping you from destroying yourself.

“As if you do, doctor!” Amber snaps.

He snorts, “as far as I have it, I’m the only one who ever tried to help you find her. Thanksgiving wasn’t that long ago, was it? You can’t blame me for your lack of follow up--”

“Bullshit,” Amber snarls, her tone and words frightening you. “I’ve been searching for months. I’ve been tearing my hair out and you’ve had her all this time. Do you understand what that man’s been doing? He just sits outside my house and--” She throws her hands up, “you’re just like him.”

“I’m helping this poor woman escape years of abuse and neglect. Neglect of her mental wellbeing, narcissistic abuse, using her to prop yourself up--”

“I never—she's my sister. I take care of her.”

“You do, Amber? So where have you been?” Steve chuckles.

She lunges forward but doesn’t reach Steve as he steps back and she’s caught from behind. Another man stands behind her, his arm hooked around her middle as he restrains her. It’s him, the delivery man. You recognise him now. He was on her Insta.

“Amb, please, calm down,” he holds onto her, “shhh, come on. Everyone, let’s be calm.”

His voice alone puts his words into effect. You feel calm. He slowly releases Amber and squeezes her sleeve. He looks between you and Steve.

Steve grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, “I should call the police. You’re disturbing my family--”

“She’s my family,” Amber growls. “Bub, please, come home.”

“This doesn’t have to be hostile,” the other man says. “We came here to bring her sister home. That’s all.”

“She is home--”

“Ask her,” Amber cries out. “Look at her. I know she wants to come home. Right, bubba? Ask her. Ask. Her.” Amber’s close to tears as she begs, “please. Listen to her. Why does no one listen to her?”

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. She’s right. No one listens, not if you don’t say what they want. No one but her. Your sister. The only person you ever had. The one who kept you behind her when your mother was having one of her fits, the one who told you to lock the door when the screaming got loud, the one who held you even when it hurt too much to be touched.

The one who loves you.

“Home. I want to go home,” you say and try to push past Steve. He turns and holds you, an arm across your chest. “No, home. With her. Amber--”

You reach for her but he keeps you from getting to her. Amber extends her arm as you wriggle against the restraint. You stomp your feet and thrash.

“This isn’t my home!” You holler. “This isn’t--” You’re breathless and dizzy. “Amber, help! Amber!”

“Let her go, man,” the other man says. He’s taller than Steve. He steps up, filling the doorway.

“Curtis,” Amber whines.

“She’s not fit. She’s manic. Having an episode. You don’t understand. She’s in treatment. I’m a doctor--”

“She says she wants to go.” That man, Curtis, grits through his teeth.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ann snarls sourly as she comes down the stairs, “there are children in this house.”

“Shouldn’t be,” Curtis sneers. “The meaning is simple. We came for her, we’re not leaving without her.”

“And who the fuck are you, pal?” Steve puts himself between you and the door. Ann latches onto your wrist and tugs you back.

“Let her go!” Amber cries out.

You twist your wrist free as the room tilts and spins around you. Your head bobbles as you look around at the hazy figures. You back up and turn, racing away from the chaos. You hear your sister wail and that man she’s with snarls. There’s footsteps and a clamour. A mess all around.

You hurl yourself upwards and stumble over the top step. You’re not thinking, just doing. You burst into the guest room and tear open the drawer in the nightstand. You grab your sweater and your journal and a few random pieces of clothing. You bundle it all up and charge back out.

“Fuck off of her!” Curtis barks.

“She’s trespassing,” Steve snarls.

“Oh, stop it! Stop it!” Ann shrieks, “would you stress a pregnant woman like this? Oh my, oh my!”

You barrel back down the stairs and stop at the bottom. You look at Ann as she touches her stomach. You curl your lip and the realisation startles on you. Locking you up in the room, not letting you out front, keeping you inside all day long...

“What is all that?” She turns on you. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Come on, bub,” Amber shouts as Ann grabs your ear. “Let her go, you bitch!”

Steve slips in his socks as he tries to hold her back. He flies back as Curtis throws him into the wall and stomps forward. Ann cries out and cowers away as the sting of her pinch throbs in the shell of your ear.

“Shoes,” Curtis snarls, “go get em.”

You look down as he glances at your feet. He turns back and grabs Steve by the back of his sweater and drags him away from Amber. He spins him by the shoulder and pins him to the wall. He snaps his fingers.

“Amb, help her find her shoes.”

Amber squeezes by and Ann moves toward you. Your sister puts her arm across you and steps up to the other woman.

“Touch her again and I’ll rip your pretty hair out,” Amber lurches as if she might actually do it. Ann shies away with a screech.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she keeps her hand on her stomach, “you wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.”

You shrink away and scuttle down the hall to the mat by the garage. You bend down the back of your sneakers as you step into them. You come back as Ann sobs.

“Oh, please, we were only helping her,” she rocks against the wall. “Please, don’t hurt my husband. Steve, baby, are you okay?”

“Fucking take her,” Steve shoves Curtis off of him as he kicks his foot into the wall. “She’s broken anyway. Can’t fix that.”

Curtis staggers a single step and tilts his head dangerously. His hand balls to a fist. “That’s fucked up, doctor.”

“Curt,” Amber puts her arm around your shoulders and ushers you forward, “let’s just go.”

“Yeah, fucking run like you do from everything, Dove. Isn’t that how it goes?” Steve snarls.

You stop beside him and waver. Amber stops too. You look at her and nod. You pull away and she lets you go. You face Steve with watery eyes.

“You’re evil. I hate you.” You say. “You don’t deserve those children. Or mine.”

His eyes flare and he stands straight. Curtis looms and you turn away. You walk forward and Amber follows. You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re going home.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #steve kemp #steve kemp x reader #dark steve kemp #dark!steve kemp #au #don't speak #librarian au #defending jacob #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #fresh

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momojedi · 7 months ago

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— TANTISS topic. hunter x gn! jedi! reader

type. loss, pt 2 note. continuation of this since a bunch of people asked me to! this will definitely have multiple parts, I'm already looking forward to sharing it with you! warnings. imprisonment, slight mentions of blood word count. 519

star wars masterlist || pinned post

With each forceful blow against the metallic wall, crimson smudges spread on it as I pull back my bloody fists with a frustrated growl. Yet, it remains useless.

Two months have passed since my confinement within this… cage . Survival wasn't on my agenda when I was apprehended; I anticipated an immediate execution upon boarding the imperial shuttle, or perhaps even before that. I was barely conscious when electric currents surged through my veins from the net, though it would’ve been a far more pleasant death. However, fate had other plans for me, which led me to Mount Tantiss.

Beyond the confines of my cell, the research facility's interior remains a mystery to me, save for the long hallway. Only scientists or the occasional presence of a commando trooper disrupts the solitude. According to intercepted radio transmissions I’ve picked up on, I'm kept in a highly secure sector, impervious even to a Jedi's escape. And right they are.

Resting my forehead against the cold surface, the weight of the safety collar around my neck feels suffocating. Attempts to remove it are met with searing shocks, rendering me powerless.

Approaching footsteps outside my cell trigger my fight or flight senses, my focus sharpening on the cell door. But as Dr. Karr stands before, me, unlocking the cell door with a scan of her hand, a sense of familiarity offers a semblance of solace, even despite her corrupt work field. Her arrival is accompanied by a young girl, a recurring visitor whose name has remained unknown to me so far. We’ve never spoken before aside from the occasional glances yet whenever I look away, I can feel her big brown eyes linger on me sadly.

Without instruction, I rise to my feet. I’m familiar with the routine by now. As the gap between us narrows, Dr. Karr's speaks up, “Your name?”

I bite my tongue, suppressing my irritation. “[Name],” I snap, pulling myself together, “same thing is was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.” Dr. Karr

types something into her datapad.

The little girl's gaze lingers, conveying a silent empathy beyond her years. Dr. Karr continues her tiring tests. “Count.”

I take a deep breath before rattling off the first few numbers in the speed of light when she loudly interrupts me with a cough. “Slowly.” I furrow my brows.

“5.”

“6.”

“7.”

“8.”

“Fuck.”

“Off.”

She lets out a deep sigh through her nose, taking down her notes. Then, she lowers the datapad. “Dr. Hemlock will be with you shortly.” And with that, she abruptly leaves as she always does.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on me as I rub my face, emitting a weary sigh. Yet, the sensation of being scrutinized persists. Then, unexpectedly, a soft voice breaks the silence. “Here.” I reluctantly pull back my hands to find the young girl, still present in my cell, offering a handmade tooka doll. I examine the creature made of straw and elastic ties, hesitantly taking it from her.

"She comforts me when I'm lonely... I thought you might need her too," she explains gently, her sincerity palpable.

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amuromi · 4 months ago

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐈𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐎 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 5.0k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I think it’s fun that Gege said Shoko cheated her way into her doctor’s license.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! unestablished relationship (fwb-ish), pet names (baby), sleepy sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering

The buzzing of fluorescents and the whirring of an overworked laptop fill the frigid air of the examination room. Everything is cold, sterile. Severe chrome and polished tile void of anything that might disrupt the uniformity of it all. Not a scratch on the metal tables or a chip in the pale blue tiling. Even the light is carved into strict form, beams of glaring light bearing down from the ceilings in rings of blinding white. Glass jars and plastic boxes line the counters and the only break from the monotony is the staggered dripping of the leaky faucet but even that has gained an almost rhythmic pattern after listening to it for so long. The truest break from the carefully curated environment is Shoko.

She interrupts the room like a flower blooming in a desert, something lovely standing alone in a featureless wasteland. She’s sitting too close to her laptop screen, bluish light carving out the contours of her face in harsh monotones. The shadows beneath her eyes stand out, deep bruises staining her pale skin. A cigarette sits between her lips, unlit and stained pinkish at the filter from her lip tint. The same color is printed on the straw of her drink that sits precariously close to her computer. It’s old, not worth saving if it gets doused in whatever caffeine-laden drink she’s sipping, but it would surely ruin her night. She hasn’t saved anything in awhile and you’ve been watching her for the better part of an hour according to the steady ticking of the clock mounted on the wall. It’s creeping close to midnight and your body is starting to ache from being perched at the edge of the examination table for so long.

An arrhythmic clicking disrupts the metronome of the silence; the clock, the sink, as Shoko pauses in her scrolling to finally type something out. She’s been hunched over this essay for longer than you’ve been watching her, reading and rereading the same lines of text as if she was worried she’d accidentally added a paragraph about the lifecycle of a goldfish into her lengthy thesis about human anatomy. It was something she was well versed in given her medical inclination. It was what best suited her as a reverse cursed technique user. So few existed in the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Tech and even if Shoko wasn’t going through the exact proceedings to achieve her doctorate, she was meticulous about the classes and examinations she needed to take. Something about nepotism and forgery had gotten her foot in the door and now she was two years into her higher education and only a few months short of the national exam. There was no doubt in your mind that she’d pass with flying colors so it made it all the more frustrating that she was ignoring you in service of her exam preparations.

It had been three days since you’d last seen Shoko and at least twenty-four hours since she’d so much as sent you a text. It was blind desperation that led you here after another call went unanswered for the third time today. She was exactly where you’d expected. There was no worry of infidelity, yet it still felt strange to be so thoroughly ignored. She was a busy woman but hearing her answering machine drone at you for the third time had knocked something gnawingly desperate loose in your head. So here you sat, like a dog waiting for a treat, watching her work on an essay. The edge of the table was bruising the back of your thighs and your back aches from keeping such a rigid posture. All this and she’d barely even glanced up at you when the door opened. Your eyes slip away from her towards her drink.

There’s a feline urge to knock it over because surely that would get her attention. It would disrupt her environment to suddenly have her drink dripping off the edge of the table, but then she’d probably be annoyed with you, and you’d surely have to clean up the mess yourself. The thought of sticky hands and cold tile digging into your knees kept your hand from tipping as you reached over to grab the can. The straw was a silly quirk likely borne of her oral fixation–the same reason she’d kept a cigarette in her mouth this whole time–but it fit nicely between your lips, and you could feel the tacky spot where her lips had been as you left your own pink print on the straw. It was as close as you’d gotten to kissing her in a long time.

She’d call you spoiled if she could read your mind, and you’re glad she can’t because you likely would’ve been sent away the moment you’d poked your head in the room looking to seduce her away from her work. You’d gone through extra effort to look nice before coming to see her. Your hair was styled and your makeup done, clothes smoothed of any wrinkles and in the colors she said you looked nicest in. Desperation oozed from you in thick waves and Shoko still couldn’t spare you a passing glance. The clock ticked by another minute. It had been your hope to get her out of her cold little cell before midnight but that plan was crumbling quicker with each passing moment. She’s gone back to scrolling, fingers stroking against the touch pad. It makes your legs shift, thighs squeezing at all the thoughts her endless scrolling conjured.

It’s seventeen minutes past midnight by the time Shoko sits back in her seat, her chair squeaking at the sudden shift in weight. She stretches her arms and her shirt rides up the slightest bit. Just under the raised hem you can see a slash of skin and you have to swallow a mouthful of spit. She groans as her back cracks and you cross your legs. The break is fleeting because she goes back to typing, but it seems more purposeful. From the angle you’re at, perched next to her laptop because you thought that would be the easiest way to get her attention, you can’t clearly make out the size twelve font, but you like to imagine that every word is articulate and insightful; a perfect thesis paper. And even if it isn’t, she’s made it this far without going through the proper channels. It wouldn’t be so hard to forge her credentials to get her into the exam. She could pass it even without all the expected years of education. She was far more intimate with anatomy, both human and otherwise, than anyone her age had any right to be. It was your hope that she’d come out of her academic stupor to reacquaint herself with your anatomy. Sooner rather than later. But you wouldn’t pout and you wouldn’t whine because she didn’t like that. Gojo is the only one she’ll tolerate acting like that, and their bond is different than what you have with her.

Girlfriend is far too charitable though you’d like to have such a formal label. You’re a girl that’s a friend at best. One she has wrapped around her pretty little finger. She starts scrolling again. You take another longing sip of her drink. It’s gone flat and tastes like cough syrup but you can feel the buzz of caffeine starting up just from those few sips. Whatever is in the can is going to leave you wired and you hate to think Shoko’s been downing energy drinks in lieu of sleeping. A thousand questions perch at the tip of your tongue; are you almost done, when was the last time you slept? You’d like to ask but it would disturb the clinical symphony of the room and you’d hate to shatter her concentration and further prolong your wait. So you sit in obedient silence wondering why you’ve bothered to wait this long in the first place.

Shoko hasn’t so much as spared you a glance since her first brief look when you came tip toeing in. Her gaze remains glued on the screen of her laptop, a grayish square reflected bright in her brown eyes. Her lashes flicker as she reads through the lines of text and you try to find something else to focus on. Something that isn’t Shoko’s big brown eyes, or that pretty little mole high on her cheek, or her graceful fingers skating over the keyboard. Instead you focus your eyes on your nails. Freshly done in a purple so pale it’s almost white; the same color you heard Shoko compliment Utahime on a few weeks ago. It’s pretty but as you watch the light dance off the pastel polish, you realize it’s unlikely that Shoko will even notice.

Another drop of water hits the sink basin and you consider getting up to leave. Shoko hasn’t acknowledged your existence in her space as a positive or negative and the neutrality of her ignorance is starting to grate on your pride. Slowly, you start to descend from the high top table, but before your feet can hit the ground a hand is catching your thigh, keeping you perched on the edge of the table. Shoko doesn’t look up from the screen but her hand is now resting imploringly on your leg. She can’t be bothered to look at you or tell you not to go but her touch will have to be enough. You readjust yourself, scooting back onto the hightop. Her hand brushes mindlessly over your skin, drifting high enough that her fingers drift under the hem of your skirt. The same skirt you’d bought on her recommendation during a trip to the mall.

“Almost done,” she mumbled so low that you would’ve missed it if you weren’t already staring at her. Her lips barely part around the words and she sounds utterly exhausted. Shoko always seems to have everything together despite always looking like she’s fighting to stay conscious with every blink. Her eyes have gone glossy as though she isn’t paying attention to anything in front of her but her hands don’t stop. Not where she’s scrolling through her essay and not where she’s thumbing circles against your thigh. A few more swipes of her finger and she reaches the final line of the document. Her hand leaves your leg long enough to hit save and close her laptop. The chair squeaks beneath her weight as she finally leans away from the desk, tired eyes pointed towards the ceiling. White light dances across her dark gaze before her lashes flutter closed with a sigh. She gives your leg a gentle pat before pushing away from the desk with a discordant scrape of her chair. It interrupts the monotony that had settled over the room but the disturbance is welcome as Shoko goes about packing up her things. She shoulders her bag and holds out her hand to help you down from the table.

“Let’s go,” she hums, brushing her thumb across the back of your hand as she leads you out of the examination room. The halls of the school are dimmed and quiet so late into the evening. The sound of your footfalls echo through the emptiness, preceding your arrival just enough for Ijichi to parse who’s approaching. The door to his office is open, spilling white light into the darkness and he cuts through the glowing haze like a towering tree, a willowy silhouette against the bright light.

“Done for the night?” He asks. Shoko hums, prompting Ijichi to tidy up his office. The jingling of his keys leads the way outside. It isn’t so late that the trains have stopped running but Shoko seems close to falling asleep where she stands and she’d likely only be made more irritable after commuting home on public transit. Ijichi is a blessed pillar of Jujutsu Tech staff, always willing to act as chauffeur for the most minor trips. He knows the way to Shoko’s apartment without the assistance of a GPS and he doesn’t seem to spare a thought to consider if you want to be ferried back to your own apartment. You don’t but an embarrassed flush blooms warm across your cheeks as you realize no one takes any time to consider that you won’t always be where Shoko is anymore. Truthfully, you could’ve gone home hours ago, but you stayed to keep Shoko company, clinging to her like a puppy.

“Here we are,” Ijichi says as he pulls up in front of Shoko’s building. “Do you need any further assistance?” It’s so formal, though that’s just how Ijichi is when he’s on the clock. You’ve only seen him lose his staunch manners once when Gojo insisted all of you go out to celebrate one thing or another. Instead of poking fun at his civility you thank him for the ride and usher Shoko out of the car. Ijichi waits until you’re inside the building before pulling off.

In the comfort of her own home, Shoko seems to be a bit renewed. The fatigue still lingers in the way her movements lack the usual precision that must come with the medical training. A hair’s breadth of error in her movement might spell disaster in an examination room but here, she’s free to be less exact. She takes her shoes off at the door and kicks them to the side rather than lining them up neatly against the wall. Her bag is dropped on the couch, nearly spilling over with how she tossed it. There’s a laziness that belies her exhaustion but it seems like the last dregs of her energy drink are still simmering in her system as she deposits you next to her bag, pushing you to sit with a hand on your shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.

When she returns, she sets a plate of fruit on the coffee table before padding off to the balcony. No matter how tired, Shoko has never been one to smoke indoors. The scent of the cigarettes might linger in her hair and clothes but her apartment always smells like vanilla and jasmine, courtesy of her favorite scented candles. She leaves the sliding door half open as she leans against the bannister and you decide that she deserves this small moment of peace. Though you haven’t really done much to disturb her in the last hour or so, you suspect she could use a moment of solitude to decompress from the stresses and strains of academia. Instead of following her past the billowing curtains you busy yourself with the tray of fruit, wetting your fingers with pineapple and watermelon.

Shoko joins you after a while and you nearly melt as she sits close beside you, wiping away a smear of juice at the corner of your mouth. Your thanks gets caught in your throat as she pops her thumb between her lips. If she takes note of your shock, Shoko doesn’t mention it. Instead she turns on some mind numbing period piece and sags into the couch. Exhaustion catches up with her quickly and she falls asleep somewhere at the midpoint of the film, lips parted around kittenish snores. She’s easy enough to carry on account of your combat training. She curls up in your arms, shifting until her nose is pressed against your neck and you stifle a yelp at how cold she is. She’s half lucid as you set her at the foot of the bed, moving her limbs with wooden fluidity as you strip her out of her clothes before tucking her in. There’s just enough consciousness left in her to remind you to come to bed when the movie is over. You’re not particularly interested enough to see how it ends but you do go through the motions of winding down for the night as the movie plays softly in the background. The dishes are washed and the doors and windows locked. By the time you’re yawning yourself the credits are rolling.

Shoko rouses the moment you slip beneath the sheets, rolling over to wrap herself around you. Her breath is slow and steady against your neck as she tucks her nose behind your ear and sighs. That’s all you expect from her, arm tossed loosely over your waist as she falls back to sleep, but then her hand begins to move. Subtle at first as she traces her fingertips over your stomach through your shirt, then more purposeful as she dips beneath the fabric to tease at your bare skin. Her hand trails higher, taking your shirt with it until it’s crumpled beneath your chin, your breasts bared to the cool air of her bedroom. Her eyes are half lidded and dark in the dim ambiance, lit only by the grayish glow filtering through the curtains. It highlights the broadest strokes of her face as she lazily climbs over you, blanket pooling around her hips as she settles in your lap. The curve of her cheekbones and slope of her nose all glow silver as her hair slips over her shoulders in a tousled waterfall. Her hands have just the slightest chill as she traces her hands up the ladder of your ribs to cup your chest in her palms. Your nipples perk against the softness of her skin, pressing into the gentle touch as she traces her thumbs over the stiffening buds.

“You should sleep,” you tell her, hand stroking over the length of her arm.

“I will,” she promises, “after.” She’s been asleep for at least an hour and it showed in her voice, sultry and graveled as she leaned down to press hot kisses over your neck. Her tongue finds the shape of your collarbone, tracing the sloping imprint before slipping lower to wrap her lips around your nipple.

“I wanted to do this the moment you walked into the exam room.” She confesses. Her words ghost breathy and ticklish across your skin as she slinks lower, leaving wet imprints of her lips against your stomach. She noses against the waistband of your pants, taking her time to pull them down. With each newly exposed inch she presses a kiss against your skin, stopping only to leave a more lasting mark. Your pants are shucked to the floor as Shoko replaces the lost warmth with her body laid between your legs. Her teeth and tongue leave marks against the soft skin of your thighs as she works her way back up your body. She leaves a burning kiss beneath your navel, then higher and higher until her lips are sealing over yours.

Her legs cage one of yours as she steals the breath from your lungs, tongue dancing over yours as she lowers her hips with purpose. With a shift of her weight, Shoko presses her thigh flush between your legs and your hips move to meet her. Each roll of your hips is like the strike of a flint that sparks but refuses to catch fire. Shoko isn’t much better as she whines pitifully, rocking hard against you with little relief. The sound of your desperate mewls turns to groans of frustration, both of you too desperate for the full shocks of pleasure to stop long enough to shed the rest of your clothes. Shoko decides on a compromise.

“Here,” Shoko pants, detangling one of your fists from the wrinkled sheets to slide it beneath the waistband of her pants. The warmth is immediate as you slip your fingers lower until they’re enveloped in the wet heat that’s gathered between her legs. Her thigh presses harder against your pussy, pace stuttering as you circle your fingers over her clit. It’s wet and clumsy as she grinds against your fingers. Her whole body trembles as she sits up to toss aside her shirt, hands immediately cupping her chest. Her breasts spill between her fingers as she pinches at her nipples. Between her soft exhales she whines something that sounds like “inside.” Her eyes are half lidded, lashes fluttering as her eyes roll back the second your fingers slip inside her.

“That feel good, baby?” You ask, gripping her waist as she rides your fingers. She’s nodding, whining a thick deluge of praise between each shallow breath.

“Feels so good,” she sighs. Her fingers that are usually so dexterous suddenly feel clumsy as she brushes her fingertips over the seam of your lips, chuffing out a soft laugh when your mouth opens to taste her skin. There’s the lingering taste of the fruit she ate earlier spreading sweetly over your tongue as you bit softly at her fingers. And when she pulls away a mess of drool dribbles down your chin and drips onto your chest as she circles her wet fingers over her nipple, hips stuttering as she shivers from the air caressing her wet skin. You can feel the goosebumps raising as you thumb at her trembling stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath her skin as she fucks herself on your fingers. Her clit twitches under the pad of your thumb as you curve your fingers inside her. She comes with a long whine, head tossed back as she grinds hard against your hand. Her pants are soaked through when you pull your hand out, patting her pussy through the sodden fabric. Shoko shrinks away from the feeling, falling back to the mattress with a satisfied huff.

In the muted light you can’t see the soft flush you know is coloring her cheeks, but she looks beautiful all the same. Hair fanned out around her head and stuck to the sheen of sweat shining on her forehead. Her lips are glossy and parted as she tries to catch her breath. You pat her hip with your wet hand, unbothered by the mess.

“You done?” Shoko shakes her head and rolls onto her back, legs untwining from yours as she moves to shove her pants down her thighs. Her panties are so soaked they’re nearly transparent, sticking to every contour of her pussy. Shoko cringes at the slick sound it makes as she peels off her underwear, kicking them to the edge of the bed.

“You too.” She’s shaky as she pushes herself up to pull down your pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your underwear. She gets them halfway down your thighs before her hand is tucking between your legs. She kisses you gently, murmuring “good job, baby,” as she tosses your panties aside.

“On your back, baby.” She’s regaining some semblance of control as she guides you to lay back against the pillows. The warmth of her body still lingers in the sheets as they brush against your bare skin, but Shoko’s hands are still cold as she maneuvers your body with ease. She can pluck each muscle of your body like a string and she’s always careful of how she moves you. Never stretching too far to strain or pulling so hard it hurts. She straddles one of your legs then lifts the other, wrapping it around her hips until she can get close enough to meet you in the middle.

Shoko pauses for a moment and you try to catch your breath, taking in the feeling of her cunt pressed against yours. Then, the air conditioning kicks back on with a gust of glacial air and Shoko shivers. The short burst of a movement drags her swollen clit against yours and you keen, falling flat on your back and bucking to recreate the feeling. It’s an awkward dance at first; she’s hot and wet against you, arousal dripping down your thighs to stain the sheets, but you need her just there and she’s rushing to meet you halfway. After another moment of erratic pleasure Shoko leans back on one arm and reaches for your leg with the other. She lifts it off her waist, pulling it over her shoulder until you can feel her shortened breaths ghosting across your skin.

Her swollen lips are whispering frantic words against your ankle that you can’t decipher, mind too lost in ecstasy to register anything past the feeling of her pussy kissing yours. Locked in the moment, Shoko pushes herself up to lean more of her weight on you. A wanton moan falls from your lips as she grinds down on you. She rest her hand against your chest, thumbing over your nipple as she fucks you into the mattress. You revel in her lack of control as her praises turn to unintelligible slurs, knowing you were the one to turn her composure to ash. She smacks her hand over yours, strengthening your grip as your hands grasp desperately at her hip. The weight of her flesh spills between your fingers as your nails bite crescent shapes into the plush of her hips.

“Closer, want you closer.” She pants, falling forward and taking your leg with her. It leaves you utterly exposed to her as she ruts drunkenly against you. The sounds coming from between your bodies is sinful, loud and wet as the slick sound of skin on skin. “Fuck, such a good girl.” Shoko praises and you feel how the words pool low in your stomach, heat gathering at the base of your spine as the sweet words start to tumble from her lips with reckless abandon.

“Always so good for me, so patient–fuck! Sitting so pretty waiting for me, baby. Thank you for waiting.” Heat gathers between her bodies as she balances on her forearm, letting your leg off her shoulder to join the other knocking around her ribs as she cages you to the bed between her thighs. She has you curled up, only half balance on the bed as she holds your hips off the mattress.

“Feels so good, m’not gonna last.” She whines. “I’m so close.” She cums hard, all shivers and stuttering breaths as pleasure seizes through her body. She’s shaking yet still desperate as she fucks herself through it, using your body for her own satisfaction. Sweat pastes the two of you together when she finally comes down, body going limp as she falls against your chest. It’s hot and sticky as Shoko nuzzles against your neck, pressing wet kisses against your racing pulse. Your own orgasm was lost somewhere in the fray, simmering just under the surface as Shoko cuddles against your chest. She’s so close that you can feel her heartbeat against yours, the quick fluttering slowing to a steady thump as your hands play in her hair. When her breaths start to shallow you wonder if she’s fallen asleep. It wouldn’t be a surprise. The day was long and exhausting, and she’d already been asleep when you joined her in bed. But after a few more beats of silence, Shoko sits up and reaches towards the nightstand. You expect her to grab the half empty water bottle sitting there but instead she finds a hair tie. There’s a look of sultry determination on her face as she pulls her hair back into a messy bun.

“Your turn, baby.” Shoko has never been one to leave you high and dry, and she clearly isn’t going to start tonight. You can hear the lethargy dripping from her tone but it doesn’t douse the flames of desire still burning in her eyes. She presses a kiss to your parted lips. One, then another, before working her way down your body. She licks at the marks blooming over your through and the sore peaks of your nipples, down the heaving expanse of your chest to kiss just below your navel before her head settles between your thighs.

“You don’t have to.” The words are full of worry. Far more concerned with her health than your own pleasure. Shoko clicks her tongue and mumbles something about “want to,” as she pulls your thighs over her shoulders.

Her eyes trail from the sopping mess between your legs up to your eyes and back down again. Your entire body jumps as she drags the pad of her thumb over your pussy, rubbing at your throbbing bud. Her tongue cleans the mess from her finger before she presses her head between the heat of your thighs. Her tongue spreads your folds as she licks up the length of your slit, gathering the cocktail of your joiner arousal on your tongue. As she flicks at her clit, you whimper, head falling back against the pillows. Your ruined orgasm roars back to life, heat flooding your body as Shoko groans against your cunt. The feeling shoots up your spine as your thighs start to shake.

The sound of your voice is almost pitiful as you cry out her name, bucking against her face. Shoko lets you, flattening her tongue as you set the pace, desperately chasing your high. You come hard, shuddering under her hands as you curl in on yourself, barely lucid enough to miss catching her cheek with your knee. The hand that isn’t searching for hers dives between your legs, wrist trapped between clenched thighs as you desperately curl your fingers inside yourself. Shoko watches you fuck yourself through it before pulling your hand away to suck your soaked fingers into her mouth. When she’s satisfied that she cleaned the taste of your cum off your fingers, she kisses your palm.

Shoko looks to be on the cusp of passing out as you slip out from under her. Cleanup is only a few swipes of a damp washcloth. She lets you maneuver her limp body so you can wipe away the sweat and slick, and you’re able to get a few swigs of lukewarm water into her before Shoko is fully checked out. Her last half conscious act is tossing her loose limbs across your naked body to pull you closer. Her skin is damp from your haphazard wipe down but you don’t have it in you to care as she tucks her nose into the curve of your jaw, humming compliments as you both dip between sleep and wakefulness. Shoko is barely coherent enough to form a sentence but she slurs it out anyway before trailing off into a soft snore. A promise to make it up to you in the morning when she’s more properly rested.

#shoko ★#shoko smut #shoko x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #★ mine!

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creative-frequency · 8 months ago

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Raphael x Reader: Act II: The Dinner, pt.2

Summary: Your patron Raphael invites you for a dinner with multiple ulterior motives. Part 2 of 2. Word count: 3853 Notes: Dinner date with Raphael at House of Hope. Some romantic tension finally relieved, making out with the devil.

Previous part

“I’ve been looking forward to spending an evening with you,” Raphael mused just as you pulled your hand back from his. His warmth lingered, burning your fingertips.

He had brought you into a grand foyer. Nervous about the new situation and Raphael’s company – and not really knowing what to reply – you gaped around at the decorative hall. Massive pillars stood in rows at each side and the ceiling was impossibly high. There were no paintings on the walls unlike in the rooms you had previously visited, but devilish sculptures stood amidst the pillars. No doubt sculpted after Raphael’s own visage. Deep red drapes softened the masonry.

Raphael lingered in the middle of the foyer while you paced around a bit, marvelling at the interior.

“Before we dine…”

You turned to look at him.

Raphael snapped his fingers. A sweet wave of nothingness washed and settled through you – silence.

“There. A little privacy from our tentacled friend,” he said with a complacent tone.

The Emperor was going to be extremely upset about you dining with the devil and denying it the chance for eavesdropping. It already had opinions and dire concerns of you lending your ear to Raphael. Even more so about sleeping in the devil’s bed, but that was a conversation you rather wanted to forget.

“Oh. It’s… quiet,” you said, bemused.

The whispering and humming of the Artefact in the back of your mind was gone. Not once had it occurred to you that Raphael might have the power to do such a thing. At the same time, it warranted slight worry about his motives for silencing your astral guide. What had he planned for the night that he didn’t want anyone else to hear?

“This way, my raven.” Raphael motioned towards the hallway and you stepped into pace at his side.

Your mind truly was wondrously silent, thanks to the devil. While it felt weird, a sense of bitter longing filled you. What a luxury it was to remain the only inhabitant of one’s skull. You couldn’t get rid of the tadpole soon enough.

The earlier times you had visited the dining hall of House of Hope, you had not exactly been keen on examining the interior design. Raphael didn’t seem to mind that you were taking in every detail of your surroundings now. Hells, he even seemed pleased at your silent awe as your gaze moved around from the massive painting of the devil himself above the fireplace.

There was a simple brass bell on a chain that was mounted into the wall. The bell was almost invisible in the middle of all the elaborate decoration, but something in it drew your attention.

Raphael followed your gaze and hummed in thought. “Go on, give it a ring,” he urged.

You moved closer to inspect the item.

“What is its purpose?” you asked but didn’t dare to touch it despite his encouragement.

“It is merely a simple dinner bell. Ring it and I will know the table has been set.”

You reached for the short chain and gave it a light tug. The bright jingle sound reverberated in your skull and made your teeth ache momentarily. If that sound couldn’t travel through different planes, nothing could.

“Satisfied?” Raphael spoke while you held your cheek to stop your head from spinning.

“And regretting it,” you asserted with a pointed glance and moved in for the seat he was offering. Raphael let out a low and soft laugh while ensuring you were seated comfortably, then took his own seat opposite.

The hexagonal table was once more laden with dishes that you had never seen or tasted before. It seemed that Raphael currently held a taste for the more exotic Southern flair as many of the foods originated from Calimshan. There was roasted goose and stuffed portobello mushrooms with cherry port wine reduction and foie gras stuffing, aqua-tinted Green Calishite cheese, pork sausages and honey-sauteed vegetables – the same dish you had eaten on your first meeting. He also served you a glass of trike, a sweet and strong wine made from palintrike. Oranges, apples, sunmelons and other fruits were plentiful on the table, cut into bite-sized pieces and served with a sweet paste made of dates.

Raphael took care of most of the conversation on his own while you ate. He told you about the ingredients and spices in the dishes, their preparation methods and the history of the area they originated from. While it was certainly interesting, you couldn’t figure out a natural way to bring up Astarion’s dilemma.

After five courses and three different wines to match, you couldn’t possibly eat anything more. When Raphael paused to sip his drink, you braced and went for the direct route.

“Can I bring my companions here for dinner?” you asked.

Raphael arched a brow at you.

“They’re not my clients,” he replied, unsurprisingly, and leaned forward. “You are. My most precious one, in fact.”

The weight of his words made you shiver and a wave of apprehension coursed down your spine. It had been evident that he really didn’t care for your companions, but when he accentuated it like that… You had to avert your eyes in a flush and focus on the empty plate in front of you.

Raphael placed his glass on the table and fixed a curious gaze to you.

“What is on your mind, little raven?”

You inhaled quickly, remembering why you had brought up the topic in the first place: “So, about Astarion…”

Raphael made a calming gesture and smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m motivated to help him.”

Your loyalties were already stretched between your companions and your devil patron. To both of them, you essentially owed your life. Raphael could stand to be pressured a bit more. You straightened up on your seat.

“How soon?” you questioned.

“As I’ve previously stated, I’ll think about it and get back to you. Don’t fret,” Raphael replied and, to your astonishment, added: “Until I offer the little vampling a mutually beneficial solution, take care not to tread into any perilous dens on your adventures.”

He was talking in riddles again and looked impossibly complacent.

“I don’t need your approval,” you replied coolly and sipped your wine.

Raphael hummed with mirth and spread his arms theatrically. “Certainly you don’t.” The balmy timbre of his voice sent another wave of shivers through you, but this time the sensation made you feel warm.

You swirled the wine in your glass, examining the deep red colour against the light of the fireplace. Raphael leaned back in his seat, gazing at you contemplatively.

“I was surprised to see you at Last Light today,” you said to change the subject. “A mere coincidence, I take it?”

Hells, you were apparently starting to imitate his way of speech now. That was too much wine.

Raphael chuckled, as though pleased with your question. “There are so many people ripe for temptation,” he replied. A non-answer.

Your brows furrowed as you remembered Mol. Had she already made a deal with the devil? You had half a mind to ask Raphael, but he probably wouldn’t provide an answer other than citing whatever patron-client confidentiality rules devils lived by. You sipped from the glass again, flushing down the thought.

“Does it ever bother you to make a living out of mortals’ suffering?” you questioned and watched Raphael’s reaction over the rim of your glass. He snapped his fingers and the glass filled up right in front of your eyes.

“Life is not a fairy tale, my dear,” he replied in a low tone, posture relaxed and not at all bothered by your questioning.

You paused to huff in thought before answering: “Yet mine already has the main antagonist on stage.”

“Oh?” Raphael raised a brow. “I didn’t realise I was the villain in your narrative,” he said, clearly amused. If the line was meant to taunt you, you held back any further retorts and sipped the wine.

Raphael didn’t let the silence sit for long, eager as he was to continue painting the analogy. He leaned forward over the table. “And what does that make you, little raven? The hero? The sage? The victim?”

You leaned back on the chair. “Isn’t it a bit too late to choose a role?” you mused. “I am clearly the underdog.”

Raphael laughed. “Everybody loves an underdog, don’t they?”

You hated the blush that crept over your cheeks. “I should hope so,” you murmured nonetheless.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed at the sight as a self satisfied smirk crept across his lips.

“The journey has changed you already,” he noted.

Despite having a whole table between you, the moment felt as intimate as him buttoning up the borrowed shirt on you that morning in his boudoir. Heady and tender feelings coiled inside you, and it didn’t exactly help cooling down your flushed skin.

“How so?” you asked.

Raphael brushed any doubts aside with a burgeon motion of his hands. “You’re no longer the tender bud I encountered at the site of calamity. You’ve grown, little raven. Flourished.”

“Right…” You didn’t really know how to react when he was suddenly showering you with compliments. “I hope it hasn’t been a complete waste of time for you to watch me grow.”

“At least I can’t say I’m not entertained,” Raphael said with a warm chuckle.

“Enjoying the show, then? I’m glad.” It was the wine talking, but damn if flirting with him didn’t make you exhilarated and hot all over.

“Very much so, my dear.”

You placed your elbows on the table and locked your fingers under your chin, never breaking eye contact with the devil. Raphael’s eyes glinted at the sliver of gold on your finger. His lips curved upwards. He too leaned over the dinner table, fingers intertwined, and immobilised you with a heated stare. The honey-tinted brown eyes had gained molten swirls. Your heart started drumming faster.

“How your features and string of tragic misfortune have entranced me,” Raphael said, surely in jest, but the voice. It was a lover’s voice, sensual and suggestive. A sharp pulse of desire shot through you. His attention was intoxicating. You wanted more. A flutter sprang to life in your chest.

You blinked and focused on trying to stay calm even though your head was spinning.

“Shall we enjoy the rest of the evening in a more comfortable setting?” Raphael asked carefully. The rumble of his voice set your very soul alight. Gods help you, you were hanging on his every word. A pulse of desire was pooling into a warm liquid that spread through your body.

“You’re the Master of the House, so I’ll follow your lead,” you managed to reply.

Raphael arched a brow in surprise and chuckled. He stood up.

“Undoubtedly I am. Come.”

He offered his arm to you like the perfect gentleman and walked you down to the next room. Just holding his arm threatened to turn your legs into jelly, but you steeled yourself, determined, though nervous to see the evening through.

The room was a small parlour with plush sofas and small tea tables littered with delicacies and confectioneries. You made a little gasp. Calimshan Knots, Mraed and different kinds of chocolate were on display on a luxurious silver tray with three layers. It looked almost too beautiful to break a piece from the work of art for a taste.

Raphael guided you to sit down on one of the red loveseats and sat down next to you. Exhilarated at the proximity, you had to force yourself to breathe, only to inhale his sweet scent of cherries concentrated in the air.

“Please. Indulge.” He motioned towards the sweets, but you felt the words had another underlying meaning. Your blood started running hotter in your veins.

Raphael examined your features with great interest.

“You said there was something you wanted to discuss with me…” you suddenly remembered.

“Ah, yes. There is a matter of great importance that your little group will soon have to resolve,” Raphael stated and his head tilted slightly in thought. “One way or the other.”

“Oh? What kind of matter?” you asked unsure if you really wanted to hear this. “I assume it has something to do with the Artefact?”

“Technically, yes,” he said, a hand to his chin, “I happen to possess an item of great interest to aid you in this predicament. I could be persuaded to part with it.”

You blinked. “And what would I have to offer in return for this item?”

Raphael chuckled mirthfully. “Very good, little raven. Your skills in the art of infernal negotiation are improving. But, for this particular instance, I’m willing to take a loss.”

Simultaneous feelings of unease and pride clouded your mind. “That’s… unexpected. You would lose hold of such an item for me?”

“If it means you win, my dear,” Raphael purred and leaned closer. “However, it still comes with its conjectures.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” you said quietly, “What would those conjectures be?”

“I’m willing to loan you this item, if” – Raphael lifted exactly one finger in the air – ”you promise to return it along with another trinket of my choosing.”

He could very well ask something impossible of you and do whatever he wanted with your soul in the end when you inevitably failed to deliver. So far Raphael had been fair in his dealings, but you had to be careful. Cryptic and unhelpful hints aside, you didn’t want to think about the Artefact, the tadpole or the Absolute right now.

“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” you murmured.

Raphael barked a laugh. “Indeed. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, my dear.”

The laugh left the remnants of a smirk over his lips. You swallowed. His scent of fire and cherries was making you go mad as it addled your poor, tadpoled brain. He lifted his arm over the sofa back and angled his body properly to you.

“You, my most troubled protege, will surely make the right decision,” his lover’s voice whispered with a rumble you could almost feel over your body.

Raphael’s hand dipped to caress your shoulder. The touch ignited a trail of fire in its path. He leaned closer and instinctively you leaned away. A proper smirk now curved his lips. So it became a chase; the fox hunted the raven. Your breaths grew shorter by the second.

He placed his other hand on your knee, a gesture to keep you still. The touch shot a wave of heat through you and you barely held back a wince. Thanks to the wine and your general ludacrity, you were already feeling wanton enough in his company, so you wouldn’t be able to take much of his enabling to finally snap and throw all noble notions into the fires of Hell.

That was presumably his goal.

“I’ve grown fond of you, little raven,” Raphael purred, “I’d hate to see you make the wrong choice.”

His every word caressed your skin, adding fuel to the liquid fire raging in your body. You swallowed to gather the last bits of your prudence and said: “I’m sure my companions and I will make the best decision we can under the circumstances.”

Raphael’s smile widened, his head leaned to the side. “That is most gratifying to hear, my dear.”

His hand still lay on your knee and you believed you felt it inch up your thigh while the other one continued caressing your shoulder, trekking up to the back of your neck. You couldn’t take your eyes off Raphael’s face. His gaze lowered to your lips. You placed your hand over his on your thigh and saw the delight spill into his expression. His skin was hot and you were already dreaming how it would feel wandering around your body; caressing, circling, fondling…

Did he do this with all his clients? Somehow you knew the answer. You could read it in the curve on his lips and the spark in his eyes. Mortals often held no such interest to him.

You were special.

In the back of all the lust-ridden thoughts, you wondered how it might feel to be loved by him, to wake up next to those molten saffron or darkened honey-tinted eyes.

You swallowed as Raphael’s fingers moved to the inner side of your thigh.

“Though I could use some motivation…” you heard yourself saying loud and clear.

The devil’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before they were lit with plain and clear desire.

“What a brave and naughty little thing you are. You never cease to surprise me,” Raphael husked. The words were latent with seduction and promise.

He leaned closer and you felt his shallow and waiting breaths fanning over your cheek. Only the warmth radiating from his body and his scent of sweet cherries, deep musk and smoky brimstone was registering at this point. You felt almost woozy, aching in the trepidation that he might pull away and not give you what you craved more and more with each passing second.

Raphael’s eyes were the colour of dark honey, his eyelashes so dark and beautiful, and the thought of his lips on you… The consuming craving to taste him was overwhelming.

“It’s the company I keep,” you intended to say, but in the end were unsure if the words actually left your mouth or were blocked.

Raphael kissed you with overwhelming heat and hunger.

He cupped the back of your head and pulled you right into him.

The kiss was searing, passionate and would’ve swooped you right off your feet had you been standing. His hand instantly made headway up your leg, fingers already tracing your inner thigh and unceremoniously delving closer to your aroused, aching sex.

You gripped Raphael’s shirt, pulling him even closer. You wanted him closer. You wanted him so much. How you wished the clothes on your back would just burn away.

He pushed you against the sofa back with his body. His mouth moved from your reddened and swollen lips to plant hot kisses on your cheek, jaw and down to your neck. You mewled with pleasure and offered yourself to him, indulging his every motion and brush of his lips.

Two thoughts fought for purchase in your head, but neither gained any foothold: were you really doing this with your patron and what consequences there would be. Your soul was already damned. He had been tempting you for weeks so it was about time for things to progress this way. Tangling your body with his surely didn’t actually mean anything.

“Give yourself to me,” Raphael whispered into your ear, his breathing tickling. His hand reached its aim between your legs and you gasped as he resolutely stroked your clothed sex.

Your whole body quivered from the delicious friction of the contact and you bit your lip. A tight sensation coiled in your lower abdomen, ready to burst at the next hint of touch.

You wanted more of him.

“So eager…” Raphael whispered. He kept your head still and close, turning it as he pleased to reach the sweetest spots of your skin. You acquiesced to all of it, too stunned, too ravenous for more to move. The grip of your fist tightened on his arm and at the hem of his shirt.

He claimed your lips again. You spread your legs and his nimble fingers stroked you through your clothes with the most perfect pressure, all the while his heavy breaths tickled your neck and the shell of your ear between demanding kisses. The more you gasped and moaned, the more laborious his breaths also became.

“R-Raphael…” Your throat was dry and your voice already hoarse.

Your hand wandered south with the goal of reciprocating the pleasure he was giving you, but the brushing motions of his fingers sped up and you waivered, abandoning mission. It was extremely hard to focus on anything else besides the pleasure Raphael was so expertly giving to you.

Amidst the kisses and hot breaths on burning your skin, your release was hell-bent on building fast and hard, and, frankly, it surprised you both.

It hit you like a pit fiend running into a wall at full speed.

You gasped for air, clutching Raphael’s forearm and felt the ravaging pulsing against his fingers through your clothes.

“Fuck…” you huffed, voice hoarse.

Raphael’s motions stopped as it dawned on him: You had reached an orgasm in a shamefully short time. It was certainly… surprising.

“Uh, guess I was more motivation-starved than I thought,” you managed to mumble in what you aimed to be an apologising tone. Your head was spinning from the sharp and intense orgasm, and it was extremely hard to think in complete sentences.

Raphael slowly drew back from you with a muted expression. No tender kisses, no praises, he was just staring at you in mild disbelief.

“I, uhm. Do you want to��?” you mumbled ambiguously, but couldn’t quite reach the shame waiting somewhere in the back of your mind. It had felt way too good to be ashamed.

You took a deep breath to clear your head and Raphael straightened his back.

Then he laughed, low and rough and assumed back his role. “Like I said, you never fail to surprise me, little raven.”

You blinked. He was acting as if he had not just kissed you silly and made you come with his fingers while both of you were still fully clothed.

“Hopefully the evening was as enjoyable to you as it was for me,” he continued in a cultured tone.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. So that’s how it was going to be. You hurried to settle your clothes into a more presentable state and hopped to your feet. Your legs were shaking and you felt lightheaded. There was no way your companions would not realise what had happened. Astarion would take one look at you and start either yapping or giggling.

“Yes, uh. Would you be so kind and send me back now?” you inquired, trying to reach an impassive tone but failing spectacularly.

Raphael paused, clearly deciding whether to abide by your request or not. Not a hint of the earlier lust was visible on his face. Either he hid it extremely well or your little display had not affected him at all. How frustrating. So he could make you come with a single finger, but you had no effect on him.

“Of course. Far be it from me to keep you here against your will,” Raphael said with an incline of his head. Not even a hair was out of place on him.

With a quick snap, he sent you back to camp right then and there. A swift look around told you that no one was awake. Good.

Only a moment later you realised that by ‘motivation’ Raphael probably had not meant to allow you to come. Oh well, what was done was done. You could only hope the consequences of your own actions wouldn’t come back to haunt you.

My writing masterlist

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x you #raphael x reader #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #the devil wears house slippers

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voraciousvore · 6 months ago

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Giganterra (Chapter 16)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (15) | Next (17)

Content Warning: soft, safe, unwilling vore; sexual themes; vulgar language

Word Count: 2.3k

------ Chapter 16: Contradiction ------

Bianca knew the apothecary with the magic potions was located down in the basement, though she had never been there personally. Glancing around to ensure nobody was observing her, she descended the stone steps into the dank dungeons below. The air was colder down here, and musty from lack of ventilation. The sound of her footsteps pinged off the walls, accompanied by the slow, steady drip of water into a pool somewhere underground. Crackling torches mounted on the walls provided dim, eerie light that made the shadows stretch and dance as if they had a will of their own.

She made it to the bottom of the staircase to find a hallway that stretched into the darkness, lined with wooden doors half-rotted from the damp atmosphere. The unsettling silence was punctuated by the occasional creepy echo, warped beyond recognition as it reverberated down the long passageway. Bianca tiptoed down the hall with an uneasy feeling in her gut, accentuated by the occasional kick from Gio as he fought against her viscera. She found the correct door and opened it with a grating squeal.

Bianca was greeted by the crash of glass breaking. “Confound it!” a male voice swore from within. “Don’t you know how to knock?” She found herself in a gloomy room that was more like a cave, with sloping, uneven walls carved out of the bedrock and an earthen floor. The cavern was cramped and cluttered with stacks of dusty tomes; papers, ink wells, and quills scattered about; beakers, glass vials, mixers, and other lab equipment; and a variety of colorful glowing potions lining the shelves. She recognized the blue anti-digestion serum among the collection.

The giant who was swearing at her turned around, a broken glass beaker soaked with fluid in hand. He was very tall and muscular, with green eyes and dull rusty hair. When he saw Bianca, his eyes widened and he dropped the beaker again, completely shattering it. “P-princess!” He clumsily dropped to his knees, head lowered. “I-I’m sorry for any disrespect! I didn’t realize...” He grimaced as shards of glass embedded his knees.

“It’s fine,” the princess cut him off, waving her hand dismissively. “I require your services.”

“Of course! To what do I owe the pleasure? I, Hunter, am your loyal servant.” Hunter stood back up, not bothering to attend to his bloody knees or his mess. He still worried that he had offended her with his sharp, uncouth tongue. He’d never met the princess in person before, so he wasn’t entirely sure how she would react, though he was familiar with her unpalatable reputation through whispered gossip among the servants. He hoped his pitiful groveling would be enough to spare him.

“I require a healing potion,” Bianca demanded, not bothering with any pleasantries.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hunter agreed. He wiped his sticky hands on his clothes, frowning with thinly veiled irritation, and searched for the correct potion on his shelves. Bianca couldn’t resist poking around as she examined her surroundings with curiosity.

“Your Highness,” Hunter said, bowing his head respectfully as he offered her a vial containing a bright tangerine potion. “You put a few drops on the affected area; it takes a few hours but it should heal any nonfatal wounds.” He crunched up his brows. The princess didn’t seem to be injured, and he’d surmised from secondhand sources that she wasn’t the type to have any compassion for others, but he knew better than to inquire further.

Bianca took the potion without so much as a thank you. She was distracted as she stared at a locked case, walled off with metal bars, harboring small bottles of a sparking lime potion. “What’s that?”

“Oh... shrinking potion,” Hunter answered in a low tone, almost reverently, as if it were some great secret.

Bianca’s eyes gleamed. “Ooooh! Can I get some?”

Hunter repressed a scowl, schooling his features into a neutral expression. “Unfortunately, Your Highness... King Richard has strict orders that he alone shall have access to those, and nobody else, not even other members of the royal family. You’d have to take it up with him, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” Bianca paused. She knew her father was paranoid about any potential betrayal, especially after her eldest brother had disappeared. “Not even as a favor for me? It could be our little secret.” She giggled and subtly leaned in, striking a flirtatious pose.

Hunter backed up a step, his forehead becoming shiny with perspiration. He was fully aware a capricious royal could be lethal when incensed. “I apologize, but I would be obligated to disclose it to King Richard if I gave you any. I’d rather not lose my head, Your Highness...” He pulled at his collar nervously. Bianca’s grin faded into a petulant pout. Hunter was already tense and flustered, but his face flamed red as he noticed that her breasts were jiggling of their own accord. To his shock, tiny hands emerged from her cleavage and a human male’s face popped out, followed by his shoulders and chest. The little shirtless man gasped for breath, also sweaty from her body heat.

Hunter’s expression morphed into a glower of hatred and disgust. “Ugh, a human. Gross,” he uttered thoughtlessly. Bianca glared at him with fiery wrath, and Hunter bit his lips and retreated back another step. “My apologies...”

Bianca huffed and stuffed Graham back into the soft crevice between her boobs. She considered pushing the issue further, but she wasn’t foolish or suicidal enough to cross her father. She turned on her heel, with the healing potion in hand, and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough behind her to knock a few bottles off the shelves. Once she was gone, Hunter scowled and began to clean up the mess.

“Entitled bitch,” he muttered to himself. “Can’t stand royalty…” He grabbed some forceps to pick bloody slivers of glass out of his knees. He resented having to grovel like a submissive dog before his superiors, but the pay was too good and the position too cushy to deny. Besides, he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. He came from a long, noble bloodline of magic-users, with a tradition of service to the equally ancient Hardon bloodline. Their service was institutionalized to the point where leaving would be treason. The secrets of magic were guarded jealously and hoarded by the royal family; exposing those secrets or abandoning his post would inevitably result in his death. He didn’t want to cause trouble; he simply wanted to live in seclusion and practice his craft.

Bianca was in turmoil as she returned to her chambers. A spike of regret burrowed into her core, as she regarded the healing potion in her hand. Was she making a mistake? She was supposed to be ruthless, to not be susceptible to weak sentiments of compassion and generosity. She was taught and raised to be this way. So why did she care now? Why did she experience irrational empathy for her inferiors? And humans, no less? Like servants, they were only supposed to exist for her personal use. They weren’t worthy of her care.

The tiny kicks in her stomach and cleavage sent her further into remorse, as if she had done something wrong. Anger flared up inside her. She entered her boudoir and ripped her necklace from her chest, glaring at the sweaty nude man who shook pathetically under her stern gaze. He looked so sad, so broken and afraid and helpless. Bianca gritted her teeth, unclasped him from the necklace, and tossed him into his enclosure. The other human, the handsome darker one, smiled up at her. The giantess turned away sharply, not wanting to allow any softer feelings to enter her heart.

She felt embarrassed, another foreign experience for the shameless princess, as the two humans watched her extract Gio from her stomach. He was barely able to hang on to the rope, with only one functional arm and his other arm alive with agony. By the time he exited her mouth, he was nearly unconscious from the narrow constriction of her throat, despite her best efforts to be gentle. Even though he was filthy after marinating in digestive acids and saliva, Bianca scooped him up in her graceful palms with the intention to clean him off with her own hands: a chore that she considered below her station, but was too mortified to request her maid to do in the moment.

Gio was too weak to protest as she carefully washed him. She tried not to manipulate his broken arm too much, but he still howled with pain every time she touched it. When she dried him off with a fluffy towel, he was almost in tears.

“Please… stop…” he croaked, scarcely audible. “You’re making it worse…” Bianca was trying to rein in her empathy, but his plaintive little voice, pleading for clemency, made her heart bleed. He didn’t even try to struggle as she cradled his small, fragile body with her fingers. Her resolve to crush down her feelings weakened.

“Here… this should help,” she murmured gently, splashing a single drop of the bright orange salve on his swollen arm. Gio was surprised to feel a pleasant, warm tingling through the limb, numbing the pain. “It should heal your bone.”

“Heal?” Gio repeated in disbelief. After all the horrible abuses he’d suffered at her hands, he distrusted that she’d bother to tend to his wound at all. She set him back down in his house on the soft cushion of one of the beds. She gazed down at him with an inscrutable expression before closing the roof lid and striding off. She needed time to think, to process; she didn’t want to look at her pets.

Gio sighed, rubbing his arm. He was glad at least that the pain had receded, but he was exhausted. He laid on the bed and closed his eyes with a shuddering breath. Visions of claustrophobic flesh walls compressing and pulsing around him flashed through his head in a phantasmagorical display. Being eaten had been a living nightmare; he couldn’t believe he’d miraculously survived.

“See, what did I tell you? He’s fine!” Cesar proclaimed. Graham shook his head in exasperation.

Gio opened his eyes. “Fine?” He sat up, incensed and offended by the callous remark. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m about as far away from fine as I can possibly get!” This was technically not a true statement, but Gio wasn’t in the mood for splitting hairs.

“But… she healed your arm, didn’t she?”

“So what? She ATE me, Cesar! Swallowed me whole!”

“And you deserved it for mouthing off to her! Lucky you for being spared!”

“Quit making excuses for her! Are you stupid?”

“Maybe.” Cesar laughed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” A dreamy look came over his face. “Gosh, she’s so hot… I think I’m in love…”

Graham, with his nude body coated in sweat and his wet hair glued to his head, couldn’t take it anymore as he listened to Cesar’s idiocy. He snapped. He grabbed Cesar’s shoulders and violently slammed him against the wall. “Stop it!” he snarled. “Shut UP!”

“What? Everything I said was true.”

“Wake up to reality, man! Don’t you understand the situation we’re in? We’ve been stripped of our clothes, our humanity, and our dignity! We’re nothing more than playthings living in a toy house! We have no protection! She can do whatever she wants, even kill us if it pleases her! We’re screwed!”

“Well-”

“And stop singing her praises! Who cares if she’s hot? She’s a selfish, barbaric monster!”

“But-”

“No buts! Don’t you understand? She doesn’t even see you as a person! Stop defending her deplorable behavior! Look what she did to Gio and me! Do you think a nice person would do something like that?”

He burned holes in Cesar with his searing glare. Cesar faltered, averting his gaze. “…No. I suppose not.” He glanced up. “But she did heal him-”

Graham let out a howl of frustration and threw up his hands. “There’s no reasoning with you! I might as well be banging my head against a brick wall!” He flopped down on his bed in a huff.

Cesar wilted as the moment dragged out. He sat on the bed, on the opposite side, and folded his hands together. “You… you might be right,” he admitted. “I just came all this way to see her, to live out this fantasy… I’d hate to admit that I was in error.” He hung his head. “I don’t think she even likes me, to be honest…”

Graham exhaled forcefully. He was done listening. “I’m going to go wash up,” he grumbled, and stomped off.

While the humans were arguing amongst themselves, Bianca ran into her brother Ronny wandering the castle corridors. He grunted in passing, but she halted his progress by blocking his path. “Ugh, what do YOU want?” Ronny growled.

“I have a question for you,” Bianca said.

Ronny gave her his characteristic sour glare. “Make it quick.”

“What do you think of your new human?”

“Huh?” Ronny fumbled to recall what she was referring to. “Oh, that thing. I dunno. I just left her in her cage.”

“You… didn’t take her out, or talk to her?”

“No. Why would I? I didn’t even want the damned thing.”

“Oh…”

“Was that all you wanted?” He crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. Bianca nodded. “Then get out of my way.” She stepped aside and allowed him to go. Yet again, she was heavily conflicted. She didn’t know how to navigate her convoluted web of emotions, so many of which felt so wrong, in blatant contradiction to her upbringing.

Chapter 17

#giantess art #giantess vore #giant women #gts #sizetumblr #macro/micro #giant breasts #tiny man #female pred #my art

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yxlnst · 6 months ago

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THE CLASS PRESIDENT’S SECRET PART 2

Part 1

🎀 Summary 🎀 : After discovering Joshua's secret stash of information on classmates in a hidden library room, you face mounting threats and surveillance as he seeks to maintain his control and protect his secrets.

🧸 Word count 🧸 : 1.042

Random

🧸 - - - - - - - - - - - - 🎀- - - - - - - - - - - - - 🧸

The threat in Joshua's voice was impossible to ignore. As you walked away from him in the crowded hallway, his words echoed in your head: "We wouldn't want any misunderstandings." It felt as if the walls themselves were conspiring against you. The chatter of your fellow students and the slamming of locker doors only served to amplify the sense of unease. You knew too much, and Joshua knew that you knew.

You kept your head down, trying to blend into the background as you made your way through the school day. You couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were on you, watching, assessing. Every corner you turned, you expected Joshua to be there, his unnerving smile masking the intensity of his scrutiny. It felt like the entire school was his stage, and he was pulling the strings.

At lunch, you sat with Sarah, who seemed to understand the weight of the situation. "Joshua's not someone you mess with," she said, her voice low as she picked at her food. "He's got people everywhere. You never know who's watching or listening."

"I didn't mean to get into this," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "I was just curious. But now..." You trailed off, not wanting to say too much in public.

Sarah nodded. "I get it. But if you're not careful, you could end up in a lot of trouble. Joshua doesn't like it when people step out of line."

As you glanced around the cafeteria, you noticed how Joshua seemed to glide from table to table, talking to different groups of students. He was laughing, shaking hands, and exchanging inside jokes. But behind that charming facade, you knew he was keeping track of everyone and everything. It was like he had a mental map of the school and could navigate it effortlessly.

After lunch, you went to your locker, trying to decide your next move. You couldn't just forget what you'd seen in that secret room, but you also couldn't risk drawing more attention to yourself. As you opened your locker, you found a small note tucked inside. It was a simple piece of paper with a single word: "Careful."

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked around. Who had put the note there? Was it a warning from Joshua or someone else? Either way, it was clear that you were being watched. You quickly stuffed the note into your pocket and closed your locker, pretending like nothing had happened.

As the school day came to an end, you decided to return to the library. You needed to understand what Joshua was hiding and why he had those dossiers on his classmates. But you knew you couldn't just walk into the secret room without being seen. You'd have to be smart about it.

You waited until the library was nearly empty, then slipped through the rows of books, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching. When you reached the small door leading to the hidden room, you paused, listening for any sounds. It was quiet, too quiet. You pushed the door open just enough to peer inside. The room was dark, but you could make out the outlines of the papers and documents you'd seen before.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside, careful not to make any noise. The room felt colder than before, and the dim lighting made it difficult to see clearly. You moved to the table where you'd found the list of names, hoping to find more clues. As you shuffled through the papers, you discovered a hidden compartment in the table. Inside was a small box, locked with a key.

Before you could examine it further, you heard footsteps approaching the library. You quickly closed the compartment and slipped out of the secret room, making your way back into the library's main area. The footsteps grew louder, and you could hear voices—Joshua's voice. He was talking to someone, and you didn't want to be caught in the library after hours.

You moved quickly but quietly, weaving through the rows of books until you reached the exit. As you stepped into the hallway, you glanced back and saw Joshua entering the library. His expression was calm, but his eyes held a hint of suspicion. You knew he was checking to see if anyone had been in the secret room. If he found out you'd been there, it would only escalate the tension.

You hurried out of the school and headed home, your mind racing with questions. What was in the locked box? Why was Joshua keeping secrets? And most importantly, what was he planning to do with all that information? You needed answers, but you also needed to stay under the radar. Joshua was clearly watching, and you didn't want to provoke him.

Over the next few days, you kept a low profile, avoiding Joshua as much as possible. You noticed that his network of loyalists seemed more active, almost as if they were on high alert. They'd watch you in class, in the hallways, even during lunch. It was like they were waiting for you to make a wrong move.

One afternoon, Sarah approached you again, her expression serious. "Joshua's been asking about you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's trying to find out what you know. You need to be careful."

"I don't want any trouble," you replied, feeling the weight of the situation. "But I can't just ignore what's going on."

Sarah nodded. "I get it. But you have to be smart about this. Joshua's not someone to mess with. If he thinks you're a threat, he won't hesitate to take you down."

The days that followed were tense, with Joshua's presence looming over you like a dark cloud. You couldn't shake the feeling that he was always one step ahead, always watching. But you knew you couldn't back down. You'd seen too much, and you couldn't just pretend it never happened.

It was time to take action. You needed to find a way to expose Joshua's secrets without getting caught. It would be risky, but it was the only way to break his hold on the school and bring the truth to light. You'd have to be smart, careful, and ready for anything.

The game had begun, and Joshua was the opponent. Would you outsmart him, or would he crush you before you even had a chance to fight back? Only time would tell.

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healerqueen · 24 days ago

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Stones of Memory

Here is my entry for the 2024 Inklings Challenge. The @inklings-challenge is an annual writing challenge for sci-fi and fantasy writers, using certain subgenres and themes.

This story is a sequel to a short story I wrote many years ago. That story is referenced in this story, but I tried to make it readable on its own, as a standalone story.

********

I wrestle my huge suitcase through the narrow door of Aunt Alice’s little house. Do they make things smaller in England?

I pause in the familiar entry, breathing in the sights and smells I’ve missed since last year. Aunt Alice’s house is stuffed to the brim with oddities and artifacts. Shelves and tables and walls are lined with interesting things. I could spend hours looking at them.

But Aunt Alice is behind me, laughing at me, holding my other bags. She’s waiting for me to move.

I drag my suitcase into the sitting room and resume my goggling. I examine old photographs, ancient weapons, cracked vases, and worn tapestries. There are so many things to see! Clocks and seashells and lamps. And there’s a story behind each one. I ask Aunt Alice about them as we make our tea, and she tells me fascinating tales. The stories of how she came to own these things are almost as interesting as the stories of the objects themselves.

Aunt Alice is a little odd at times, but I’ve grown to like her eccentricities. Her wardrobe is interesting, for one. I can never decide what I think of it. Today, she’s wearing a blouse with metallic embroidery and a swirl of bright colors on an orange background. It brings out the reddish tones in her short, dyed hair.

After tea, I begin to help Aunt Alice wash up, but she says, “Run along and take a walk before the light goes. I can take care of the dishes.”

So I do. I step out the back door into the golden evening light. Only a swelling hill and a stand of trees separate the little cottage from the sea. I smell the salt on the fresh breeze. I take the path through the trees, climb the low hill, and emerge on the crest of it. Below me, there’s a shallow bay with a sandy shore, and beyond it, the sea.

A strange memory washes over me. I walked here many times on my visit to Aunt Alice last year. But the first time was the oddest. Something bizarre happened to me when I stood on this shore. I’ve almost forgotten it until now—because it seems almost like a dream.

When I arrived at this spot last year, I found a metal cloak pin in the grass by the shore. When I touched it, I had a vision of an ancient village, a painted ship, and an attack by Vikings. I shudder now at the thought of the Vikings chasing me. It was so real. It happened to me as if I was really there.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say I traveled back in time.

I shake away the strange sense of déjà vu. Today, there is only the empty shore, with gentle waves on the sand and rough grasses ruffled by the cool breeze.

It couldn’t be more natural. There are no Vikings to be seen—and perhaps there never were.

***

The next day, Aunt Alice and I are on the road, traveling in her battered, ancient station wagon. It’s still strange to me to drive on the wrong side of the road, but I’m no longer afraid that another car will crash into us.

We’re headed to the site of a Roman fort on Hadrian’s Wall—or what remains of one. It’s amazing to me, an American, that something so old could survive for two thousand years, even in ruins. Perhaps that’s what attracted Aunt Alice to Britain. It’s hard to escape history when I’m in the company of my aunt.

The station wagon rattles bravely up and down green hills and around curves, swooping into valleys and over ridges. As we mount one more hill, Aunt Alice lifts her hand and points. “There,” she says. “There’s the fort.” On a hillside ahead of us lies a stony gray grid—a Roman ruin. A few minutes later, we tumble out of the car and hike up to the fort. Then I’m standing on ancient stones for the first time. The crumbling Roman walls stretch in orderly lines and right angles beneath my feet. Only the foundations remain, but it’s enough. It takes my breath away to think that Roman soldiers once patrolled these walls, back when they were still new. These stones are so old, but they’re still here. There’s still a low foundation, knee high. It’s amazing that it’s survived this long.

Beyond the wall, the countryside stretches away, ridge upon ridge. Hadrian’s Wall connects to the fort on either end and follows a ridge line up and down, slashing across the land.

Aunt Alice is watching me with a little smile. “Well?” she asks. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” I say. No, it’s majestic.

Aunt Alice turns me loose to explore the fort while she goes on to inspect the walls—just as if she was the fort commander in Roman times.

I wander around the rim of the fort, outside the walls. Below the walls, the ground drops quickly away in a downward slope.

I can’t take my eyes off the view, and I’m not watching my feet. My foot catches on something hard in the turf beneath. I nearly trip. I bend down to see what it is. I pat the grass, and my hand meets something sharp and cold. I pick it up. It’s something made of rough metal, corroded by exposure. It’s as long as my hand is wide, and it fills my palm. The metal is shaped like an arch, with a sharp spike sticking out of it. It looks like a pin—a cloak pin?

I suddenly remember another cloak pin—the one I found a year ago that gave me a vision of Viking times. A thrill runs down my spine. This piece of metal could be only a few years old—or it could be centuries old. What if it’s a Roman cloak pin?

I’ll show it to Aunt Alice. She’ll know. I turn and begin walking back to the fort to find her.

I move too fast, and my head begins to spin. The ground feels unsteady under me. I stumble.

The whole world whirls around me like a merry-go-round. The fort, the countryside, and the sky above mingle together in one solid blur. I can’t feel my feet on the ground. I’m floating, out of touch with the world—except for the hard metal pin I clutch in my hand.

I feel my feet on solid earth once more. The world comes into focus again. But everything has changed.

Instead of a bare hillside with a ruined stone foundation, a high wall rises above me. The fort is no longer in ruins. A town spreads out below it. The slope is paved instead of grass-covered, and it’s crowded with low thatched buildings. The place is alive with people. They’re dressed strangely in checkered fabrics, draped and pinned at the shoulders. I look down and find that I’m dressed in the same fashion, in a straight garment of thick brown wool.

A horn sounds, and I turn around. A patrol of men on horseback rides toward me. People scatter to get out of the street, and I hurry to follow, after a moment of staring. The men are mounted soldiers with shields and rough leather armor. At their head rides a man in a blood-red tunic with metal plate armor and a red-crested helmet—a Roman centurion.

Chills run down my spine. I stare. Could it be? Is this real? This has happened to me once before, and it’s happening again. Just like before, I am in the middle of another time. Am I dreaming, or have I truly traveled back in time?

Someone jostles me in the crowd, and a child darts around me, chasing a scrawny dog. The smoke of cookfires stings my nose, and a din of voices, human and animal, fills my ears. I finger the rough wool of the dress I am wearing.

It seems real. No dream could be so alive.

Then I feel the pinch of hard metal in my other hand, clenched in my fist. I lift my hand and open my fingers. The metal pin is still in my hand. But it’s no longer dull gray, roughened by the years. It’s shiny and new, shaped in a smooth curve. There’s a red jewel at one end of it that wasn’t there before. The same thing happened with that other pin—the one that took me to Viking times. Maybe it’s proof—proof that this is real.

The cavalry detachment disappears through a gate in the high wall of the fort. Dazed, I drift along with the crowd as they follow the departing horses.

A woman’s voice snaps at me. “Girl, what are you doing?” I look down and find I’m almost stepping on a flock of squawking chickens. I hastily move away.

There are so many things to see here. A woman spins with spindle and distaff in the doorway of a hut, with a baby on the ground beside her. Off-duty soldiers duck into the door of a wine-shop. A hunter carrying a spear walks past with a wolf-skin slung over his shoulder. He wears a shining neck-ring and a magnificent cloak pin.

As I keep walking down the street between rows of huts, I look down at the pin in my hand. I think this bow-shaped cloak pin is called a fibula—and it’s Roman, not British. The gem embedded in one end of it might be carnelian, or perhaps only glass, but it’s probably not a ruby.

I stare at it in wonder. Once before, a cloak pin took me to another world—another time—the time of the Vikings. Now I’m here, in a bustling Roman fort—holding a second cloak pin. It’s strange but somehow fitting. But what kind of power could do that? Time travel is the stuff of fiction.

“You, girl!” a sharp voice shouts. A man is marching toward me, dressed in Roman armor and carrying a spear in one hand, with a crested helmet under one arm—a centurion. I look up, startled.

“What do you have there?” the soldier demands in an accusing tone. He’s pointing at the cloak pin in my hand. Instinctively, I close my hand and clutch the pin to my waist.

“You stole that fibula. It’s not yours,” the centurion guesses. Other people are looking now. A few of them approach.

I open my mouth to protest. “No, I—” But only a whisper comes out. I back away, hemmed in by accusing eyes

“Take her to the magistrate!” someone says. The centurion beckons another Roman soldier, and they close in on me.

I look around for help, but there is none.

“She looks daft,” a woman says. “Look at her eyes. See, she doesn’t understand.” But I understand. The vacant look in my eyes turns to panic.

The soldiers reach out to lay hands on me. I shake them off. I turn and run, bursting through the crowd. The soldiers weren’t expecting me to put up a fight. They run after me and give chase.

My feet pound down the cobblestone street. I don’t know where I’m going. All I can think of is to get away—somewhere they won’t find me. I turn sharply to dash down a narrow side street between two thatched huts.

The Romans are still behind me, chasing me. They follow as I dash down a maze of narrow, zigzagging alleyways.

Once I leave the main thoroughfare, the streets are quieter, but they have no order. Living huts are tangled together with taverns and shops. A cat startles and flees at my approach, shrieking.

The heavy, nailed sandals of the Romans ring on the street behind me. Where can I go?

Just then, someone pops out of the doorway of a hut—a stout older woman. “Come—hide!” she says.

That’s all the invitation I need. I veer out of the street and dive through the low doorway of the woman’s hut. I press myself against the wall beside the door, ducking to avoid the low ceiling. A moment later, the soldiers barrel past with pounding feet. I’m safe—for now.

“They’ll be back,” the woman says knowingly. I turn to look at her. “Come. In here.” She ushers me to a curtain that partitions off half the hut. We duck behind the curtain, and it falls behind us. “If they come,” says the woman, “hide under the blanket.” She gestures to a low bed covered in skins and woven rugs in faded colors.

The whole place smells unpleasant, and the blankets smell worse, but I’m too desperate to care. I smile and nod gratefully. I collapse and sit on the bed at the woman’s urging. Only then do I notice how exhausted I am. I’m still breathing hard from my run, and my limbs feel like jelly. This does not feel like a dream.

The woman disappears for a few moments and comes back with a hot, fragrant bowl of meaty stew. I taste it, and it is rich and good. I wonder if I’d still like it if I knew what was in it—but I’m hungry as well as tired, and I eat it anyway.

A commotion outside sends the woman scurrying back through the curtains. Men’s raised voices reach me, hardly muffled by the curtain. The soldiers. I put down the bowl of stew, suddenly terrified. My insides feel frozen, and I can’t stomach more food at a time like this.

I feel the hard cloak pin in my sweating hand. I keep forgetting it’s there. I should probably hide it, but I can’t bear to let go of it. It seems like my only lifeline to reality and sanity, to my own world—my own time.

The novelty of this adventure has worn off. Maybe later I’ll appreciate it. Right now, I just want to go home.

I screw my eyes shut against the voices at the outer door of the hut. Any moment now, the soldiers will barge in to search the place, and I’ll have to hide under the blankets—as if that will be enough to keep them from finding me.

Then I realize—it’s quiet. The soldiers are gone.

The woman appears through the curtains, and I jump. But she reassures me: “They're gone.” Her shrewd look tells me she’s done this before. “Wait a little. Then you can go.” I try to tell her how grateful I am, but she waves me away. A few minutes later, I step out of the hut and breathe the fresh air again. I’m so happy to see the sky. The fort walls tower above me once more, with the town nestled at their feet.

I open my hand once more and look down at the cloak pin. The red jewel glints up at me like a winking eye. I reach out with my other hand and touch it gently.

The world begins to spin around me again, whirling at a dizzying speed. Then everything slows, and the world is steady once more—and I’m back at the Roman ruins, in modern England. The sun streams down above low, crumbling walls. Tourists wander around the site with cameras and neon-colored jackets. I’m dressed in my windbreaker and jeans.

I look around in wonder. Did that really just happen? Did I travel back in time? Or was it all a dream? If it was a dream, then it’s happened twice now—and it was more than a daydream. It seemed real. But it couldn’t be. Things like that don’t just happen.

But then I feel hard, cold metal in my palm. I expect the metal will be dull and gray. But the cloak pin in my hand shines in the sun, polished and new. The red gem bursts with color in the sun. That jewel wasn’t there before. Maybe—just maybe—this really did happen.

Someone calls out to me. It’s Aunt Alice. I turn and look for her as she comes toward me, carrying her outlandish, mammoth handbag. “Come up and see the walls,” she says. I’m still dazed, but I nod vaguely and start toward her, swaying a little. Aunt Alice looks hard at me. “What’s happened to you, my girl? Has history changed you?” She’s joking, with a twinkle in her eye. But she’s right—it has changed me.

“You’ll never believe me if I tell you,” I say.

Aunt Alice squints, studying me with a wise light in her eye. “I’m not so sure about that. Why don’t you try me?” I might do just that.

#inklingschallenge #team tolkien #genre: time travel #theme: comfort #story: complete #writing #my writing #writing challenge #writing prompts #roman britain time travel story #stones of memory #healerqueen

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rinwritesfics · 2 years ago

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How (Not) to Heal - Chapter 1

Plot: After being rescued from Mount Tantiss, Crosshair has to figure out how to work with the Batch again - and their new medic. It would be fine if he didn’t start to fall in love with her.

Warnings: choking (accidental), a sour Crosshair attitude (does that count?)

Word Count: 1522

Author’s Note: Started to write this before the season 2 finale, now it’s an AU. No finale spoilers. Sort of OC, but despite the name included, it is an afab reader-insert.

Chapter 1

Crosshair thought he was dreaming – or hallucinating. He had told them to stay away and keep Omega safe. Had they really come for him? The one time he didn’t want them to?

He had to be imagining it. That was the only conclusion. Some kind of new and convoluted way to torture him, make him think he was free and then get him to talk freely to betray his brothers.

No, that was it. This wasn’t real. The feeling of being carried over Wrecker’s shoulders wasn’t real. Hearing his brother’s voices wasn’t real. The only thing that was probably real was the sour taste in the back of his throat.

He blacked out a few times, wrestling in the trapped grasp of Wrecker – no, the table straps – and came to blurrily a few more.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until there was a wavering light.

If this was to be the end, and he were to die strapped to that infernal table, the only regret he had was not leaving sooner with his brothers. For so blindly believing the Empire valued him, or his siblings. But at least if he were to die in the restraints, that meant his brothers weren’t here, and they were safe.

* * *

A light shined into each eye, with a brunette just behind it. He couldn’t see sharp details, but he didn’t feel restrained. Using that to his advantage, he launched himself as best he could at her and pinned her to the wall, ignoring the dizzy feeling in his head.

“What did you do to me?!” he screamed.

“C-Crosshair, l-let go….” said the woman in a strangled tone. It wasn’t the scientist’s voice, but it could have been another. Other voices started to break into his consciousness, and these ones were familiar.

“You’re on th-the Marauder!” she rasped, and her face started to become clearer. It wasn’t the scientist at all. He pried his hand open and two sets of arms pulled him back. She sputtered and gasped, coughing and one set of hands let go of him to run to her as she collapsed. The red bandana was unmistakable: Hunter.

It was real. They had come for him.

“Omega….” Crosshair whipped his head around, only succeeding in a growing ache behind his eyes.

Wrecker loosened his grip. “She’s fine.”

“I’d worry more about Ka’li.” Hunter scowled, then turned back to the girl in front of him, gingerly examining her neck.

Well, girl wasn’t the right word. Woman was more like it. She wasn’t Omega’s age.

“Will she be okay?” Crosshair asked quietly. Hunter turned back to Crosshair, still scowling, but his eyes softened a little out of surprise.

Hunter helped Ka’li up slowly and assisted her out of the bunkroom without another word to Crosshair. Wrecker finally let go of his brother, but it didn’t matter. Crosshair sat down on a bunk and sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Wrecker shifted on his feet, unsure what to say, and opened his mouth as Hunter returned. Wrecker decided to leave.

“Care to explain what that was?” Hunter asked.

Crosshair looked away, not wanting to admit he made a mistake.

“It doesn’t look very good for you.”

“When has it ever?” asked Crosshair. “It wasn’t like you trusted me before you came for me, which put Omega in danger by the way.”

“We see that now. Is that why you sent out Plan 88?”

“I suppose the entire message didn’t get through.”

Hunter blinked, then sat beside him, waiting.

Crosshair sighed. “She looked like one of the scientists at Tantiss at first.”

“Would you like to meet her?”

Crosshair scowled at his brother.

“Thought I’d ask.”

“I didn’t say no, but I don’t think she will want to be around me, and I wouldn’t blame her.”

“She expected you would have an adverse reaction, and tried to start as slow as possible. But you weren’t waking up.”

Crosshair looked back to the floor.

“One of us will be back to check on you later.” Hunter stood up and left.

Crosshair looked up as Hunter’s boots disappeared up the ladder. And again, he was alone.

While he wasn’t completely alone anymore, he sure felt like it. It would probably be a while before he felt like he wasn’t, and it had been a long time since he actually felt that comradery. And at this point, while they had come for him, he wanted them to come check on him before he put in an effort. But he also didn’t want to approach them, and give them any reason to think he was trying to sneak up on them.

A few minutes later, light footsteps pattered overhead and started down the ladder. Omega came down the rungs and turned to face him.

“Hi, Crosshair,” she said, waving.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I know you didn’t mean it. Ka’li knows, too.”

He didn’t move, eyeing her up. “Did she send you here to talk to me?”

Another set of feet started down the ladder before she could reply and she glanced up a bit sheepishly. The unfamiliar boots, the body shape, none of those belonged to his brothers. It was the medic.

“No,” rasped Ka’li, not turning to face him. It was a surprising choice and show of trust. “She beat me down here.”

Crosshair stood up, a motion that did not go unnoticed by his sister. The smirk on her lips did not go unnoticed by him and he frowned at her.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” said Omega.

Before she made it past Ka’li, she was stopped by Ka’li’s hand on her shoulder. “Medkit, please?”

Omega nodded fervently, then scrambled back up the ladder, dropping a brown satchel down a couple seconds later.

When Ka’li turned around, Crosshair took a breath, louder than he had intended. It caught her attention and her eyes, slightly bloodshot, met his. His eyes travelled from hers and over her neck. The bruises and redness stood out, causing a pain in his chest.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly.

“I understand,” she whispered. “I hope you know until I heal that any questions I don’t answer fully aren’t because I’m mad at you.”

“Can… can I apply any bacta to make up for it?”

She shook her head slightly and gestured up the ladder. “Tech.”

He nodded, pursing his lips and looking away. He was surprised none of his brothers were here to supervise.

She held up the bag and gestured to him with it. He sat back down on the bunk. Sitting beside him, she pulled out a container of bacta and he nodded, realizing he still had some scrapes that could benefit from tending to. Slowly, she smeared some bacta over his injuries, starting with his cheekbone. For as harshly as he had (accidentally) treated her earlier, her touch was very gentle.

Up close and fully focused, he noticed how pretty she was and had to look away.

She stopped after a moment, noticing the puncture marks in his neck from the torture droid. His eyes squeezed shut as she touched his neck, examining them. He wanted to shrink away and not let anyone know how bad it was. Especially a newcomer.

“Crosshair….” she whispered.

He looked away, not wanting to talk about it.

“I can cover them, if you like.”

He nodded, still not looking at her. He didn’t want others looking at them and wasn’t ready for the others to know just how bad things had been.

She carefully applied some bacta, which stung like the others, then covered them up with a bandage like they were another scrape, then gave him a small smile.

He didn’t know what to make of her, or of her kindness. Surely she wanted something. Something he had to figure out so she couldn’t hurt his family.

“What is it you want from us?”

She looked startled, then shook her head.

“Nothing? In my experience, someone always wants something.”

She shook her head again, this time looking sad. Packing up the medkit again, she stopped looking at him. The half-smile she gave him did nothing to make him feel better and she left. He buried his head in his hands, growling, then noticed she had left the bacta canister on his bunk. The sadness he had caused was right there in front of him. Picking it up and turning it over in his hands, he knew how to fix this.

When he reached the top of the ladder, canister in hand, he was immediately met with Tech and Echo. He said nothing, just held up the bacta, and they pointed to the cockpit.

He walked into the cockpit and was met with four pairs of eyes, including Ka’li’s. The sadness in her eyes wasn’t completely hidden, but she looked like she was doing her best. He walked up to her and held out the bacta, giving her an apologetic half-smile. Her fingers brushed his as she took the canister and gave him a half-smile back. It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start.

Chapter 2

Tags: @crosshairsbabygurl

#tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #the bad batch crosshair

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pampushky · 4 months ago

Text

Creature (Both Haunted & Holy)

Vinsmoke Sanji/Reader - chapter 9 - 2.2k

You enter a hardware store, suddenly confronted with vivid memories of your pod, and your past.

ao3 | series masterlist | masterlist | next part

Notes on Selkenfolk, from the Journal of Dr. Crocus of the Roger's Pirates The transformation process of a selkie's pelt is a complex process, one that is closely guarded by the selkenfolk. Even with Pell and Coth, both of which who consider me a part of their immediate pod, would not say how exactly they transform it, just that it involves sea water.

You breathe deeply as you enter the store. It reminds you of your time as an apprentice, learning how to take care of ships, and taking stock of everything on board.

It’s an oddly relaxing setting, as you examine a few different types of nails, letting out a pleased rumble when you see the price. To your shock, something else rumbles back, and you turn to see an elderly selkie standing a few paces away from you at the counter. His face is wrinkled with age, and you can see the start of a long scar on his jaw. Curious eyes watch as you set the nails down, his own pelt— what looked to be a waxed fisherman-type coat, mottled and gray— hanging loosely on his shoulders, with a leather work apron around his waist.

“You’re a surprise,” He smiles warmly at you. “Haven’t seen any other selkenfolk around here in at least a decade.”

You trill quietly, picking up what nails you’ve decided on, before examining small pots of resin-based glues, and other small-fix items you were running low on, bringing them to the counter as you find them.

“Here, we have some quality birch and oak wood,” He leaves the space behind the counter, walking across the store to where lumber is out on display, labeled with a few small blocks on the shelf. “Specially treated by myself to repel moisture, perfect for any leaks.

“Wonderful,” you grin, examining the wood, and marveling at how light, yet shockingly durable it is as you hold it, watching how he demonstrates, tossing the block in the air and letting it hit the ground, pounding a hammer against it, and more, gesturing to the planks mounted on the wall with examples of cannonball fire, bullet holes, and more, hardly more than dents. "You've sold me on it."

It’s now that he seems to examine you in more detail, the scent of confusion rolling off of him in waves as he takes in the state of your pelt, your markings, and the scars. You freeze a bit, taking a step back as he smells the air, looking even more confused as he does. This time, he takes a good look at you, pulling out a pair of glasses from his apron pocket.

“You’re a long way from your pod,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, taking his glasses off as he walks away from you, and heading back towards the counter. “Those are the typical patterns of someone from Seal’s Drop. No one’s been from there in nearly two years, pup.”

At the mention of your home, you let out a warble of home, lost, pod, and he sighs, bowing his head, Sorrow. Home. Heal. He warbles to you, and you turn away. It makes him sigh, as he runs a hand through his hair, long and shaggy, just like your own. You follow, guarded, as he opens the door to what you assume is an apartment. Through it, you can smell tea, the kind your mothers’ drank in the mornings, and fresh fish. The shopkeep turns back to you, taking off his working apron, before gesturing for you to go through.

“Aye, come now, it seems we have much to talk about.” He holds open the door, a neutral look in his eyes. His scent of wood shaving, steel, and salt is oddly comforting, as you pass by him.

The smell of your home island hits you the moment you're through the door. Salt, pine, and smoke. You can see it in the many carved, wooden posts that hold up the roof, and the nest up in the loft of the shop, filled with thick blankets and pillows. Windows, high and built into the roof, make the apartment feel warm and cozy. The tea kettle that whistles on the stovetop, and drying fish of many varieties hang in the rafters. Shelves upon shelves are filled with various artifacts and books, and above the small hearth, is a deep navy trident, gleaming as a sunbeam hits it.

“Tide,” you whisper, crossing the room as you approach it. “It’s— I didn’t even think of it…” your voice trails off, and the old selkie sighs, sitting in a plush chair, watching as you slump to the ground before the hearth, turning to look at him with guilt-ridden eyes. “I didn’t think about it when I heard the village was destroyed. I only thought of— of my pod,” your voice cracks with a warble, “They’re gone.”

Your mother holds you in her lap as she polishes the beautiful trident, letting you run a small hand along the shaft of the weapon. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, my baby?”

You look up at her, her wide smile, and flowing black hair, surrounding you like the kelp of the ocean’s forests. And she smiles down at you, placing a kiss on your forehead, before she goes back to her maintenance, turning the weapon in her hands as you snuggle into her pelt.

“Our family watches over this great treasure,” she tells you, and you listen, leaning back into her as she lifts it with ease. “They say that the Sea Mother herself used this to bring up the oceans, and to carve the rivers.”

You gasp, just a child, imagining the great Sea Mother, the beloved parent of all life that lives in the sea and upon her shores, carving out the rivers, and filling them with fish. But strangely, you can only imagine your mother, with her long dark hair, tied back by leathered kelp as she teaches you to swim.

“Their name is Tide,” She lets you hold it, pride shining in her eyes as you look down upon the weapon with awe. “You will likely not be burdened with watching over them, but if you are, it won't be for a long time.”

She blows a raspberry into your cheek, marveling at your shrill giggle as you try to escape her tickles.

You look at the old selkie, who looks devastated by your presence, holding his hands in front of his face. He’s a harbor seal selkie, you think, with lighter dots on his gray skin, centering around his eyes. When he looks at you, he lets out a low rumble, before speaking.

“When I heard the news of what happened, that was all I could find.” He gestures to Tide, hung above the mantle, shining. “You’re one of Feann and Sion’s pups, aren’t you?”

You let out a low rumble at the mention of your mothers’ names, still not fully accepting that they are truly gone, because your pelt still smells of them, and their memories are so fresh in your mind, two years of hell be damned. Your mothers' can’t be gone. They have to be alive, and your baby brothers, and sister—

Calm. Breathe. Accept. Mourn.

The older selkie kneels before you, arms hovering carefully around you as you cry. Oh. You were crying now. Full on sobbing, in the den of a selkie who knew your mothers. He pulls you into a deep hug, crushing and comforting in a way only the touch of another selkie could, before he rumbles deep, an order of notes that only members of your greater pod, would know, doing his best to comfort you.

This selkie, this man, is related to you, and the shock makes you cry harder, recognizing the pattern of white and pale gray dapples along his cheeks because they mirror your own. When you stop crying, not even realizing you’re both curled into your semi-seal forms. You are tucked into his side like a pup, a deep rumble from his chest soothing your fears as he holds you close. You are dwarfed by him, suddenly realizing why he calls you pup still. How much had you missed out on, because of Arlong? How badly had he stunted your growth, forcing you to remain small? And how much did you have to heal, before you could reach that size, if ever?

He rumbles, saddened by your small form, a low warble echoing from his throat as he throws his head back, his tail thrown over yours as he holds you close.

Protect, pup. Safe here. Pod.

“I’m Pell,” He says, when you both pull apart, settling back into his humanoid form, and gesturing for you to sit as he walks to the kitchenette, grabbing a heel of bread, dried fish, and a cup of tea. The chair you sit in is plush, almost immediately sucking you in, surrounding you in warmth as he sets the food and mug on the armrest. “I’m probably where you get the leopard seal from,” he scratches the back of his head, and picks at the corner of his pelt, as you look at him in wonder, nibbling at the dried salmon. It tastes just like home, with the same spices and all. “Feann is—was. My daughter— yer mom— I left the isles shortly after she and Sion became mates—yer other mom– wasn’t nothin’ personal, just wanted to retire elsewhere,” he gestures to his den, and you can’t help but laugh, finally noticing some very familiar pictures hung on the walls, seeing your older sister's grinning face, and your own baby photos. “Aye, uh, well, I wish I didn’t, now.”

“You didn’t know,” you hate how empty your voice sounds, and your grandfather sighs. “No one could have predicted what happened.”

To your shock, he clicks at you, a scowl on his face. “So serious. You are just like my late Coth, and just like Feann. Fate will do what it must, but you’re here now.” He shakes his head, laughing a bit at your seriousness.

He then stands, grinning in the same way you do, and with a start, you realize your mother, Feann used to as well, upper lip pulling back and showing off the sharpness of her teeth when she smiled. “I can imagine. But… we have some catching up to do, I always hoped, people made it out… but I was never sure until you walked into the shop.”

It’s then that he leans back as if to examine you, taking in your pelt, your skin, everything. His eyes linger on the flowers in your hair, a playful glint shining within them as he does so and then travel over your scars. He lets out a deep, proud rumble, nodding to himself, walks over to the mantle, and takes Tide down from the mantle, before offering it to you, laughing as you take it with shaky hands,

“This is yours now, pup,” He smiles at you, and it reminds you so much of your mother. “My time on the seas has been over for a while. But Tide,” he runs a hand over the shaft, and the leather grip, almost nostalgically. “She’s not done yet.”

You gap at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and he laughs, slapping a massive hand onto his knee at your reaction. He does, however, lean forward and frown, running his fingers over your pelt. It feels reassuring, how he does it, gentle and knowing. It’s like being wrapped up in one of his crushing hugs all over again.

“Now this… let me get this ready for you, into the shape of a proper selkie of the sea,” he stands, and shuffles over to the door, grabbing a leather apron off it, and putting it on, turning back to you expectantly. “Well? We haven't got all day. You need that pelt modified for work, and probably a few supplies for whatever ship you're on,” his eyes are sharp, shining with humor as you dash over to him, looking for an apron as well. “Aye, take this one— you’ll be needing that. I’ll send you on your way with Tide, the pelt, and whatever supplies you need.”

“What— I can’t—“ you protest, grabbing for your pockets as your grandfather laughs, “That’s so much!”

“Consider it a gift,” He pulls a set of goggles over his eyes, and rummages through a few cabinets as he leads you back into the shop proper, pulling out thick sewing needles and leather sheets, along with many jars of shells, salt, and even one labeled ‘crushed pearls’.

“You’ve never seen a pelt modified before, have you?” He glances over his shoulder as he makes his way to a large tub, turning the tap above it. The scent of seawater hits you, and you watch as he tosses in the contents of the jars, pulling out a long rope of kelp from a bucket near him. The scent is intoxicating, and he laughs when you rumble. “Aye, that's for your pelt– it'll take just an hour.”

“Shit– what time is it?” You immediately panic, glancing around for a clock.

“It’s just noon, pup.” He makes the water steam, a lazy hand hanging in the tub. “Now, how did you manage to shape your pelt into that?”

“Long story,” You feel small again, looking down at your feet, as Pell claps you on the back, a soothing rumble in his chest.

“We have time,” He nods for you to pull up a chair. “Go flip the sign and lock the door at the entrance to the shop, I'm closed for the day. You’ll be out of here by three, at the latest." His scent overwhelms you, and you feel like you're among family for the first time, in a very, very long time. "Besides, I may come out of retirement, just to kick some teeth in."

#black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x you #one piece insert #one piece x reader #one piece x you

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