#when before he would be too scared to do any of that and just let the torment happen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

guliexe · 2 days ago

Text

—ON THE LOW 18+

Dealer!Nicholas/Wang Yixiang x Female!Reader

warnings/tags: slow burn, dealer/stoner!nicho, i call him weno in this, soft dom!nicho, shy!reader, loverboy!nicho, drug use, shotgunning, romantic, making out, dry humping, praising, fingering, oral (f. receiving), p in v, mating press, crying, unprotected sex, confessing, aftercare

♡ you started buying weed for your friends and ended up falling for the dealer—turns out, he fell even harder.

w/c: 9.7k (no proofread)

You’d seen him around long before you ever spoke to him. He wasn’t the kind of guy you could ignore. Not because he was loud, Weno was anything but loud, but because he had this presence. Calm, quiet, and detached, like nothing ever really touched him. He was always there but just out of reach. The kind of person who didn’t care if people were watching, but somehow still ended up being the one everyone looked at. You had a couple classes near the same buildings. He always showed up late, always dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed—big hoodie, baggy jeans, backpack hanging off one shoulder. Never rushed. Never looked stressed. Just there. He’d walk past where you and your friends were sitting on the grass and barely glance your way. But even that one second felt heavier than it should. You didn’t know much about him, but you noticed him. You always had. Weno wasn’t exactly a mystery, everyone on campus knew what he did, they just didn’t talk about it. Not out loud, anyway. The stories passed around in whispers. That he sells, and it’s good shit too. That he never chased customers, people came to him. That if he liked you, he might give you more than you paid for. That if he really liked you, you’d know.

You didn’t know if any of that was true. But what you did know was that your friends wanted weed and were too scared to go get it themselves. So they asked you. Apparently, being the quiet one made you the designated “safe” option. It wasn’t like you and Weno were strangers, anyway. You’d talked a few times now. Nothing long, quick chats during pickups, the occasional hi at a party when you passed by each other. He’d never made you feel weird or unsafe. Just… flustered. A little warm in the chest, a little unsure what to say next. He had a way of watching you that felt deliberate, even when he said nothing at all. Your friend had shoved some cash into your hand at the last minute, babbling about how “he’s chill, he’s not scary, just please go for me, I can’t” — and you’d sighed, texting him before you could overthink it. He told you to meet him behind the dorms. 6:30. You almost didn’t go. You weren’t sure why he made you nervous, he hadn’t done anything to deserve that label. But something about him felt sharp beneath all the calm. Like he could see through you if he wanted to. When you rounded the corner that evening, he was already leaning against the side of his car, phone in hand, headphones around his neck. The sun was low, painting the edges of his face gold. You caught yourself staring before you could stop. He looked up as you approached. “Didn’t expect you,” he said, not moving. You blinked, “Why?” He shrugged, “Thought one of your loud friends would be the one to show. You’re not really the type to do this.” It wasn’t teasing exactly, but the way he said it made your face warm. You cleared your throat. “They made me come.” “Mm,” he hummed. “Figured.”

He pushed off the car, pulling a ziplock from his hoodie pocket. You reached for it automatically, but he didn’t hand it over right away. “You ever tried it?” You shook your head. “No. It’s not really… my thing.” He tilted his head slightly. Not judging, just observing. “Didn’t think it was.” he chuckled softly, then he handed it to you, fingers brushing yours for half a second too long. You looked down at your hand, not at the bag, but at where your skin still tingled. “You’re good,” he said quietly, “Let me know next time.” You nodded, muttered a soft thanks, already starting to turn away, but then he said your name. You froze and glanced back. He was still standing by his car, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily spinning his keys around his finger. The way he looked at you made your stomach flip, like he wasn’t just looking at you, but through you. “You always do stuff for your friends?” His tone was casual, but the question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” He shrugged a little. “They want something, and you’re the one who shows up.” A pause. “That happen a lot?”You weren’t sure how to answer. It did happen a lot. They asked, you went. Not because you wanted to, but because it felt easier than saying no. You glanced down at the ziplock in your hand. “I guess,” you mumbled. “I don’t know.” He hummed low, like that told him everything he needed to know. You looked back up, ready to say something else—anything, maybe even defend yourself, but he beat you to it. “You’re a good girl.” The words were soft and genuine, but they landed heavy. Your breath caught. His gaze didn’t waver—steady, calm, like he hadn’t just said something that made your skin go warm all over. You didn’t know what to do with that. You didn’t even know what it meant coming from him. You just knew it made something flutter in your stomach. “Thanks,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You turned and walked off a little too quickly, heart pounding, ears hot, his voice still echoing behind your ribs. You’re a good girl. You didn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. It wasn’t long before your friends asked again. Same excuse, same tone, a whiny “please, he already knows you” and cash pushed into your hand like you owed them something. You hesitated more this time. Not because of them, but because of him. You hadn’t stopped thinking about last time. It replayed in your head again and again. You stared at his contact in your phone for some minutes before typing out the message.

You

hey my friends wanna grab again

He replied two minutes later.

Weno

same place 7:30

When you showed up this time, he was inside his car, driver’s door open, music playing low through the speakers. He looked up as you approached and smiled, lazy and half-lidded. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “Hey.”You tried not to sound nervous. You weren’t even sure why you were nervous. This wasn’t new. You’d done this before. But this time, it felt different. You felt different. He stepped out, shutting the car door behind him as he pulled the same ziplock from the pocket of his jeans. You took it wordlessly, but his fingers brushed yours again, on purpose this time. You could feel it in the way he didn’t rush, didn’t pull away immediately. “Still not trying it?” he asked, tilting his head. You shook your head. “Not yet.” He raised a brow. “Why not?” “I just… haven’t.” You tucked the bag quickly into your jacket pocket like it might deflect the attention. “You scared?” The way he asked it wasn’t mocking, just curious, like he wanted to understand you, not challenge you. You hesitated. “No,” you said finally. “Just don’t wanna.” He nodded slowly, watching you again with that unreadable expression. “Still doing things for your friends, though.” You pressed your lips together. “I guess.” “They ever do stuff for you?” You blinked. “What?” He shrugged. “Just wondering.” You didn’t answer. Mostly because you didn’t have one. He could probably tell, because he didn’t push. He just looked at you for a long second, eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to meet your gaze as he rolled a blunt for him. “You should stop letting people use you.” The bluntness of it caught you off guard. You shifted on your feet, unsure whether to say thank you or tell him it wasn’t like that, even though maybe it was. “You don’t even like them that much, do you?” Your breath hitched. “They’re my friends.” “Mm,” he hummed. “If you say so.”

After that, it happened a few more times. The same routine: a text, a time, a quiet walk behind the dorms where he’d be waiting. Sometimes he was standing. Sometimes in the driver’s seat with the door open. Sometimes already smoking, low music humming from the speakers. And each time, it got a little easier to look him in the eye. But also harder not to look too long. Weno never talked much. He didn’t fill silence just to hear himself speak. He asked things, small things, personal in ways that didn’t feel invasive, just seen. He was trying to piece you together quietly, without making a show of it. You’d come with your friends’ money in your pocket and leave with more than you paid for. Not every time, but enough that you noticed. When you offered to give him more, he just shook his head, said “You’re good,” and he meant it, it wasn’t just about the cash anymore. You didn’t tell your friends about how often you started going. Sometimes it wasn’t even about picking up anymore. You’d hand over the cash, but he’d wave it off. “Not this time.” You started to wonder if he even gave you real amounts. If this was still a deal or just an excuse. What you did know was that somewhere along the way, something started to shift.

It was in the way your pulse picked up when his name lit up your screen. In how you started getting ready earlier than you needed to. In how you made sure your outfit and make up was cute before leaving, like that would help keep your face from giving you away when he looked at you like he always did. It was on the low. No one really knew how often you were seeing him now—certainly not your friends. To them, it was still just you doing the awkward task they were too scared for. They didn’t know that half the time you went to Weno now, it wasn’t even because of them. Sometimes they didn’t ask at all—you just found yourself texting him anyway. And he always said yes. You weren’t sure when it stopped being about weed. You weren’t sure it ever really was. Sometimes you’d sit with him for a while. In the passenger seat of his car, parked in the same quiet lot behind the dorms. He’d roll one and lean back with the window cracked, slow smoke curling out into the night while music filled the silence. He never pushed anything on you. Never asked why you stayed. But you stayed. You weren’t good at talking about yourself, and he didn’t make you. He just gave you space to exist, and maybe that was what started doing it. Maybe that’s why you kept feeling warmer every time you saw him. More sure that he saw you. And you started to open up to him. You two would hang out and talk about anything and anyone very frequently.

You were curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked under you, jacket zipped halfway. The night was cool, and the air smelled like weed and cologne, smoke curling from the blunt between his fingers. His playlist low in the background that made it feel like time moved slower in his car. You hadn’t said much in the last ten minutes. Just sat there, letting the silence hang. But it wasn’t awkward. Weno never made things awkward. You gave him a small smile, eyes drifting out the window. The streetlights cast a warm glow across the dashboard. He tapped the ash into the tray and leaned back, one arm stretched across the back of your seat like he didn’t even think about it. “I don’t get it,” you said quietly after a moment. “You do this with all your clients?” “Do what?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly, playful but unreadable. “This.” You motioned vaguely between you. “Sit in the car, talk like this, not charge them.” He chuckled once, deep and soft in his chest. “No.” You blinked. “No?” He turned his head, looked right at you, and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “They’re not you.” Your stomach fluttered. You tried to play it off, but your smile gave you away. He tilted his head slightly, watching you through the soft haze in the car. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” Your head snapped toward him. “What?” He smirked, exhaled a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. “Client,” he added after a beat, but the pause was on purpose. His smirk deepened like he knew what he was doing to you. Your face went warm immediately. “Shut up,” you muttered, covering your smile with your hand. “I’m serious.” His tone was calm. “You don’t talk much, you don’t ask dumb questions, you never waste my time.” “Oh,” you said quietly. But your smile stayed. “So I’m convenient.” He leaned a little closer, voice dropping low. “Nah. You’re cute.” Your heart jumped. You didn’t know where to look. You didn’t know what to say. So you laughed—awkward and soft, trying to bury your face in your hands like that might cool your cheeks. You left a little later than usual that night.

Three days later, when your screen lit up with a text from him, you answered in less than a minute.

Weno

u free tonight?

wanna chill for a bit?

♡

You

yeah :)

same spot?

♡

Weno

pull up at 10

no rush

You tried not to read into it too much. But you still picked out a different hoodie this time, your favorite one, did a little extra on your make up, styled your hair in way you knew framed your face best. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything. But your hands still felt warm as you walked out to meet him. His car was already there when you arrived. You climbed into the passenger seat, familiar now with the way the door stuck a little when you pulled it. Same playlist was on, and the heat was turned up just enough to make the inside feel cozy. He glanced over as you settled in, eyes flicking down to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “Hey,” he said, voice smooth, quiet. “Hey,” you murmured back, smiling a little.

The next hour passed easily, like it always did when you were with him. You talked about nothing and everything, classes, music, random campus drama you weren’t even involved in, movies you both halfway remembered, the last weird dream you had. He laughed more than usual tonight, low and slow, eyes squinting a little when something you said caught him off guard. His hand rested on the steering wheel as he listened, thumb tapping the leather in a lazy rhythm. He made you feel comfortable, like whatever you had to say mattered even if it didn’t. Like he was listening just because it was you talking. At some point, he lit up. You were mid-sentence when he leaned forward to spark the lighter, the soft flick of it barely cutting into the music. He offered it to you once out of habit, holding the blunt out between two fingers, and this time you didn’t shake your head immediately. You hesitated. Then, before you could overthink it, you took it. Your fingers brushed his. His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze lingered longer than before. “You sure?” he asked, voice soft, a little more serious now. You slowly nodded. “Yeah. Just—don’t laugh at me if I cough.” He smiled, “I won’t.” He leaned back into his seat. “Promise.” You inhaled, a small hit, like you’d seen him do a hundred times now. It burned, made your throat tickle, your eyes water just a little, but you didn’t cough. He watched carefully, still smiling. “Good girl,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened at the words, heat blooming under your skin before you could stop it. You handed it back to him quickly, trying to focus on the burn in your lungs, the soft thrum of bass in the background, anything except how warm you suddenly felt. Time got slower after that. An hour passed in a haze, soft laughter, lazy conversation, both of you sinking deeper into your seats, the windows fogging slightly. He smoked again, and passed it back and forth to you. Your body felt lighter. Music melted into the background, his voice a little rough now. You both stared out at the empty parking lot for a while, just existing. It was quiet in the way that felt close, not awkward. Every time your knee brushed his, he didn’t move. Every time you shifted, his eyes flicked toward your mouth, then back to the road like he didn’t want to get caught looking. And maybe it was the high, or the way the space between you had been shrinking since the start, but something changed. You turned to say something and caught him already looking at you, staring. His arm was still draped behind your seat, but now his fingers were brushing your shoulder, light and casual. You blinked at him. “What?” you whispered, voice lower than before. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long second, eyes warm, thoughtful. “C’mere.” You didn’t even think. You just leaned forward, heart thudding quietly behind your ribs as his hand slid slowly to the back of your neck. He tilted his head slightly. His lips brushed yours soft at first, testing. Then again, firmer. You leaned into it. Your heart stuttered, hands unsure of where to go. One found the edge of his hoodie. The other pressed lightly to his chest. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been thinking about this for a while. He wasn’t in any rush now that it was finally happening. You kissed him back slow, high and a little breathless, your skin buzzing all over. He pulled back eventually, just enough to look at you, eyes dark and steady.

“You’re high,” he said, almost teasing. “So are you,” you whispered. He smiled, gaze dropping to your lips again. “Yeah. But I still meant it.” You smiled, small and dazed, and tucked your legs under you again, curling back into your seat. The car was quiet for a few more minutes. Nothing changed. But everything had. And when you finally said you should go, he didn’t stop you. Just nodded, reached over, and opened the door for you like he always did. Before you stepped out, he caught your wrist gently. You turned back. His eyes searched yours for a moment. “Text me when you get in.” You nodded, “Okay.”

You

made it home :)

♡

Weno

good

was starting to think u got lost

♡

You

nope

just still thinking

♡

Weno

about?

♡

You

you

♡

Weno

yeah?

what part

♡

You

the obvious part

♡

Weno

i liked that part too

didn’t rlly want u to go

♡

You

u didn’t?

♡

Weno

nah

wanted to kiss u again

♡

You

i wanted to too

but i got nervous :(

♡

Weno

it’s ok bby

will i see u again soon?

♡

You

yeah

if u want to

♡

Weno

i do

♡

You

can’t wait

goodnight weno :)

♡

Weno

me neither

gn <3

You didn’t stop thinking about that night. Or his texts. Or when he said he wanted to kiss you again. The way your heart stuttered when he called you bby like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was already normal between you. It wasn’t, not really. But it was starting to be. You’d kept texting after that. Not every second of the day, but enough. Little check-ins, good mornings, music recs, late night questions that felt heavier than they sounded. He was never overly forward, not the type to blow up your phone or say things just to get a reaction, but everything he did say stuck with you. You were head over heels. Smiling at your phone and then burying your face in your pillow like an idiot every time. So when one of your friends mentioned the party coming up—some frat guy’s birthday, everyone was going, “you have to come, it’s gonna be huge”—you didn’t think much of it at first. Until she added, casually, “Pretty sure Weno’s gonna be there too, so you can’t get us some stuff as well?” That made your heart skip. You played it off, said “yeah, cool” and shrugged, but your brain had already started spiraling. What if you saw him? What if you didn’t? What if he ignored you in front of everyone? What if he didn’t? You told yourself you weren’t going for him. But you still stood in front of your closet longer than usual. You picked a dress—short, tight, something you hadn’t worn before. Simple, but it hugged you in all the right places. You did your makeup with more care than usual, spritzed perfume on your neck, your wrists, let your hair fall soft and full around your shoulders. You didn’t tell anyone why you looked a little extra tonight. But you kind of hoped he’d be there. And you really hoped he’d notice.

The house was already packed by the time you got there—music thumping through the walls, bodies crammed together in every corner, red cups in almost every hand. Lights low, flashing sometimes, music echoing through a speaker in the living room. It smelled like sweat, beer, weed, and cheap cologne. Typical. Your friends disappeared as soon as you walked in, squealing at someone they recognized near the kitchen. You stayed back for a second, just long enough to scan the crowd. Not because you were looking for anyone. Not on purpose, anyway. And then you saw Weno. Leaning against the far wall near the stairs, hoodie half-zipped over a white tank, cargo pants hanging low on his hips, the hem of his boxers peeking a little. He wasn’t dancing. Wasn’t talking loud or laughing or drinking like the rest of them. Just standing there, calm and unreadable, eyes lazily moving through the room like he’d been here a hundred times before. He was talking to someone, dapping them up quick, pulling something from his pocket and handing it off like it was nothing. No one looked twice. Just a quiet exchange, over in seconds. He didn’t try to be subtle, he didn’t have to. People came to him. You stayed near the edge of the crowd, drink in hand, pretending to be more focused on your friends than you were. But your eyes kept drifting back. He looked good. Effortlessly good. And he hadn’t seen you yet. You tried not to look over too often. Tried to focus on your friends and their chaotic conversations, the loud music, the colorful lights. You laughed at jokes that didn’t really register. Nodded along. Sipped water from your cup and told yourself it wasn’t that serious. He wasn’t even talking to you. He was doing his own thing. Still, your gaze kept drifting. Just to see if he was still there. Still. Every time you checked, he was. Some minutes passed like that—just you pretending to be more chill than you felt while your friends chattered and moved toward the crowd. You stayed behind, needing a second to breathe. You slipped into the kitchen, mostly empty now, except for the quiet hum of the fridge and the faint bass vibrating through the floor. You reached for the fridge handle, intent on just grabbing some cold water and hiding out for a bit, but when you turned, he was already there. Standing just inside the doorway. Watching. Your breath caught.

He didn’t say anything at first. His eyes scanned you slowly—top to bottom, unhurried. You felt it like a heatwave, settling low in your stomach. His gaze was darker than usual. Focused, sharp. You dropped your eyes immediately, trying not to fidget. Tugged lightly on the hem of your dress like it might help somehow, like maybe it covered more than it did. You felt your cheeks flush without him even having to speak. You weren’t even sure why you were so nervous. You’d seen him like this before, but something about tonight made it worse. Made you bite your lip without thinking. Made your cheeks burn just from the way he looked at you. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, voice calm and even. A little rough from the smoke, but still warm. You glanced up, heart racing. “Yeah,” you said, “Wasn’t really planning to, but… my friends dragged me.” He smiled a little. “I’m glad you came.” Your breath hitched. You weren’t expecting that. “You look good tonight.” It landed heavy in your chest. No teasing. No smirk. Just him saying it like it was a fact. Your whole body flushed. “Oh,” you said, voice small. “Um. Thanks.” He nodded once, eyes still on you, and then glanced back toward the hallway. “I’m heading up to the balcony for a bit. If you wanna get some air.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Just gave you one last look—soft, lingering—and pushed off the doorframe to leave. “Come find me,” he said, and then he was gone. Leaving you standing in the kitchen, heart racing, lip caught between your teeth, wondering how the hell he always made you feel like this without even trying.

You lingered in the kitchen for a while after he left, pretending to scroll through your phone, half-listening to the party still pulsing through the walls. Your friends had fully disappeared into the crowd by now, probably dancing or taking shots or screaming over music. You told yourself you were just cooling off. Just getting a break from the noise. But you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at you. The way he said it—You look good tonight. Like it wasn’t up for debate. Like he meant it, and he knew you’d heard him loud and clear. Eventually, you texted some excuse about needing air, said you’d be right back if anyone even cared that you left. You slipped out of the kitchen and made your way upstairs, heartbeat loud in your ears, feeling a little ridiculous and a lot nervous. The hallway was quiet, just some closed doors and the muffled hum of bass below. You found the door to the balcony slightly cracked open, soft breeze pushing in from the night. You pushed it open gently. There he was. He sat on a low, beat-up couch tucked against the wall. One leg stretched out, the other bent, arm thrown over the backrest like he owned the space. Head tilted back just slightly, hoodie slipping off his shoulder, lips parted around the blunt as he took a slow drag. The ember glowed red in the dark, lighting up the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. He looked unfairly good. Like the air belonged to him. Like nothing touched him. He turned his head lazily when he heard the door, eyes finding yours through the smoke. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at you, then took another slow hit, exhaling with a quiet sigh before speaking.

“Knew you’d come.” You swallowed hard, heart kicking up again like you hadn’t already spent the last fifteen minutes trying to calm it down. His voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something behind it—something that made your chest tighten a little. You stepped out and quietly shut the door behind you. You sat down beside him, slow and careful, the cushion dipping under your weight. His knee brushed yours just slightly, warm through the fabric. You glanced over, then down again, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I just—I’d rather be up here with you than down there in all that chaos.” That got him to finally look at you. Head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed just a little like he was trying to read deeper than what you were saying out loud. He didn’t answer right away. Just flicked the ash from the blunt, leaned back again, eyes still on you. You breathed in through your nose, steadying yourself. Then softer, barely louder than the wind, you added, “I missed you.” He turned his head fully now, letting the blunt rest between his fingers. The pause that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Warm. His eyes softened just a bit. “Yeah?” he said, voice a little quieter than before. “I missed you too.” It landed in your chest like a weight—like the kind of thing you weren’t sure you were allowed to want, but did anyway. He leaned in a little, not close enough to crowd you, but just enough for his knee to press softly into yours. His eyes didn’t leave your face.

“You been thinking about me?” he asked, voice still calm, but something about it made your stomach twist. You blinked. Heat rushed to your cheeks again, and you had to look away. “…Maybe.” He smiled at that, small and crooked and unfairly attractive. “Same.” And then he took another hit like he hadn’t just wrecked you with a single word. He let the silence hang for a few seconds after that, the blunt burning slow between his fingers, and then he said it quietly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Come closer.” Your eyes flicked to his, heart stuttering a little. He didn’t look away, didn’t shift or make room, just waited. You hesitated for a second and then moved, scooting over until your leg was pressed fully against his. He reached out casually, like it was second nature, and slid his arm around your shoulders. A soft tug, and suddenly you were leaning into him, your head falling against his chest like it belonged there. You could feel everything. His warmth, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady thump of his heart under your cheek. His hoodie smelled like smoke and laundry and him. He brought the blunt to his lips again, took a hit, then lowered it and turned his head slightly toward you.“Want some?” he murmured. You shook your head, just once. “Not right now.” He hummed, didn’t push. Just let his hand stay where it was on your shoulder, thumb brushing idly against your arm. You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he. You both just sat there, pressed together on the old balcony couch, the party a muffled storm below you, the stars wide and scattered above. You listened to the wind. The soft scratch of fabric when he shifted. The occasional drag and exhale as he smoked. You closed your eyes for a second and just let yourself feel all of it.

He shifted a little, moving his hand lower on your arm, caressing the skin, his breath warm against your hair. You felt his heartbeat quicken just a bit beneath your cheek. The silence between you was thick. to be noticed. You glanced up at him, your eyes catching his in the dim light. There was something softer there now. Something unspoken, but heavy. Without breaking eye contact, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering near your temple. Your breath hitched. He leaned down just a little, voice low and casual, “You’re beautiful.” You swallowed, barely able to meet his gaze as your face flushed again. Then, just like that, he closed the tiny gap between you. His lips found yours slow and gentle, before deepening the kiss, like he’d been wanting to do this all night. You melted into him, your hand slowly reaching up to rest on his chest as the world around you faded. It’s not gentle anymore, it’s urgent, needy. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you closer as his tongue slides against yours, deep and demanding. You whimper softly, the sound lost in the press of his mouth, your body melting into his. He pulls back just enough to whisper in your ear, voice husky, “Wanna get out of here? I’ve got my car nearby.” Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it. You just nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, breath catching again as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

He doesn’t rush you, just laces his fingers through yours, warm and firm, and gives your hand a gentle tug. You follow without thinking, legs shaky as you leave the balcony behind and slip back into the quiet hallway. The party feels distant now, like the world narrowed down to just him, the weight of his hand in yours, the aftertaste of his kiss still lingering on your lips. The walk to his car is quiet, but not awkward. When he unlocks the door and slides into the driver’s seat, you hesitate for half a second before slipping in beside him. The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you both inside the low, warm hum of the vehicle. He leans back, legs stretched out, calm like always, but there’s a heat behind his eyes when he looks at you. A spark still flickering from earlier. “I’m gonna roll real quick,” he murmurs, pulling out his tray and grinder from the center console like it’s second nature. You nod, watching him work—his fingers nimble, methodical, the lighter’s flame briefly illuminating his face when he brings the blunt to his lips. The car fills with the earthy scent of smoke, and his head tilts back slightly as he exhales, half-lidded. He looks so fucking fine like this, bathed in shadows and smoke, hoodie loose around his collarbones, the faint red glow of the blunt lighting up his lips. Then he turns his head toward you again and you don’t even get the chance to fully catch your breath before he leans in again, free hand finding your cheek as he kisses you.

The smoke still lingers on his breath, and you melt into it, moaning softly into his mouth as his tongue slides against yours. His fingers are on your thigh, squeezing gently as he pulls you closer. The kiss turns messier, full of need, soft gasps and low groans echoing through the car. Your hand grips his hoodie low, holding on like you might fall apart if you let go. He pulls back only enough to whisper, breath ghosting over your lips, “Could do this all night.” Then his mouth is on yours again. More heat, more tongue, more breathless little noises spilling from your lips as your body starts to tremble in his hands. Without breaking the kiss, his hands move, one sliding up your thigh, the other settling on your waist. “C’mere,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low but soft. You barely register what he means until his hands are guiding you, pulling you gently, firmly, right onto his lap. One leg at a time, knees sinking into the seat on either side of him, hands braced on his shoulders, your dress hiking up as you settle onto him, straddling him, face to face. He leans back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded, red from the weed, blunt still between his fingers. One of his hands slides up your side, fingers grazing your waist and ribs over the thin fabric of your dress. He takes his time with it, like he’s learning your shape. Your breath stutters as his hand travels higher, stopping just under your arm. He brings the blunt to his lips again, takes a long, slow hit, his chest rising beneath you, and then leans in close. His free hand curves around the back of your neck, guiding your face closer to his. You part your lips on instinct, and he exhales the smoke right into your mouth, warm and slow, curling over your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe it in, heart thudding, and then he kisses you. Kisses you like he’s taking the air right back from your lungs.

Your breath catches when you feel his hands slide down, beneath the hem of your dress. He pushes it up slowly, bunching the fabric around your waist until the cool air hits your thighs. You shift slightly, nervous, thighs tightening around his hips as he exposes more of you. He doesn’t say anything, just stares for a second, eyes flicking down to where your panties are now visible, his palms firm on the back of your thighs. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, mouth finding your neck, and everything gets messier after that. He kisses down the side of your throat, open, warm, wet, his lips dragging along the skin, tongue flicking against your pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips twitch against him. You whimper quietly, trying to stay still, but he’s already pulling you closer with both hands, guiding your body into his like he knows exactly what you need. You tilt your head for him without thinking, shy sounds escaping your mouth as he works his way up to your jaw, then down again, kissing a little rougher now. “Weno…” you whisper, voice breaking around his name. “Shh,” he murmurs, his voice low against your skin. “You’re okay.” Your arms wrap around his shoulders instinctively, face burning as you shift in his lap, unintentionally grinding down just slightly. His reaction is immediate, a quiet groan right into your neck, his hands tightening on your hips. “Just like that,” he breathes.

Your hips grind down harder without thinking, breath coming out in shaky gasps as the friction starts to feel almost too good. His hands slip under the back of your dress, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your movement like he needs it just as bad. You’re whimpering into the heated space between you, clinging to his hoodie, your body trembling slightly with every slow drag of your hips over his. Your panties are soaked. His pants are straining. The windows are fogging up, and the whole car smells like weed, sweat, and heat. He tilts his head, catching your mouth again in another deep, tongue-heavy kiss, like he can’t stop tasting you. His hand slides up your waist, grazing under the curve of your chest over the thin fabric of your dress, and you shudder, moaning softly into his mouth. Then he pulls back, just a little, resting his forehead against yours as both of you try to breathe. “Fuck,” he whispers, chest rising and falling beneath you. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” You blink at him, dazed, lips swollen and barely parted, still trying to catch your breath. He looks at you for a long second, hands still on your waist, grounding you. “I don’t wanna do this in the car,” he says, voice rough. “You deserve better than that.” Your breath hitches, heat flaring even higher at how serious he sounds. “Wanna go to my place?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your side. You nod slowly, shy but needy, your fingers curling in the collar of his shirt, a little scared to let go. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “Okay.” He kisses you once more, soft and sweet, before pulling back just enough to reach for the keys.

The door shut with a quiet click, sealing you into the warmth of his place. It was dark, mostly, just the glow of a streetlamp slipping through the blinds, casting faint lines across the floor. Neither of you spoke. You turned slightly, lips parting like you might say something, but he was already reaching for you. His hands found your waist in the dark, pulling you in with no hesitation, and his mouth was on yours before you could even breathe. Kissing you hungrily, deep and needy. Everything he hadn’t said tonight was pouring out of him all at once, into the way he held you, the way his lips moved over yours. His grip was firm, hands splayed over your hips, your back arching into him as you kissed him back just as desperately. He walked you backwards without breaking the kiss, slow, steady steps through the short hallway, lips never leaving yours. You barely registered the corners of the space or how you ended up where you did until the back of your knees hit something soft. And then he was lowering you onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath you, and your breath caught as he hovered above you, eyes dark and steady on yours. Then, without a word, he zipped down his hoodie and took it off. Now just in a white tank, it clung to his frame in all the right places, the cut of his collarbone visible, shoulders broad and sharp under the light. He looked down at you for a second longer, breathing hard, gaze lingering on your face like he couldn’t believe you were really there. Then he leaned down, kissing you again, less rushed, but just as intense. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips ghosting over the fabric of your dress, moving deliberately, memorizing the shape of you. You whimpered softly into his mouth, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. He pulled back for a second, eyes flicking between yours, voice low and wrecked. “You good?” he asked, forehead brushing yours. You nodded, cheeks burning, lips swollen already. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m good.”

He didn’t wait long after your answer. His mouth moved to your neck, warm and open, lips brushing your skin before he started kissing, slow, deliberate, dragging his tongue gently along the curve of your throat. You gasped, breath hitching as he sucked softly at a spot just below your jaw. Then again, a little lower. Your hips twitched beneath him when you felt his teeth graze you. “Weno—” you whispered, but it came out as more of a breath than a word. “You’re so pretty” he murmured, voice barely there, like he was talking to himself. “Always are.” His hand moved down slowly, slipping over your waist and along the outside of your thigh before sliding back up under the hem of your dress. His touch was patient, teasing, he didn’t rush. Just let his fingertips brush along the top of your thigh, higher and higher until they were tracing the edge of your panties. He pushed the fabric of your underwear to the side, slowly, and let his fingers slide between your folds, touching your bare heat. You gasped, head tilting back into the pillow, lips parting in a silent moan. “Shit,” he whispered, breath warm against your collarbone. “So soaked f’me, baby.” Your cheeks burned, thighs tensing slightly around his hand. He kissed the hollow of your throat, then lower, just above your chest, tongue wet and warm as his fingers began to move—slow circles at first, barely-there pressure that made you squirm beneath him. His free hand gripped your waist, holding you steady like he could feel how close you already were, how much you wanted him. “You’re so sensitive,” he muttered, voice deep and low, teeth grazing your skin as he kissed up to your ear.

You whimpered his name, hips grinding into his hand without meaning to. His fingers never stopped moving, dragging slick circles against your clit as he kept his mouth on your neck. Every kiss felt more urgent, but not rushed. It wasn’t just lust. It was something else. Something heavier. And then he leaned up, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think about you all the time,” he murmured, breath warm, fingers still teasing between your thighs. “Even when I’m not supposed to. Even when I try not to.” Your heart flipped, aching at how raw it sounded coming from him. “I don’t even think you know what you do to me,” he continued, a soft kiss behind your ear. “How long I’ve wanted you like this. Letting me touch you.” The words hit harder than anything else had—deeper than the kisses, deeper than his touch. Your chest tightened, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers slid into his hair, pulling him down until your lips met again. Your moans melted into his mouth, the rhythm of his fingers picking up as your hips rolled up into his hand. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider for him.

And then, without warning, he shifted his hand lower, deeper. Your lips parted in a quiet gasp as he slid one finger inside you, slow and careful. Your walls clenched around the intrusion, already aching from how worked up you were, how long he’d been teasing. He didn’t wait long before easing in a second finger, stretching you just a little more. His movements were smooth, curling them up inside you just right, drawing out whiny, breathless little sounds from your throat you couldn’t hold back. You buried your face in his shoulder, hands gripping his bicep, your hips rocking involuntarily into every slow thrust of his fingers. He moved deep and steady, his palm pressing into you, thumb dragging lazy circles over your clit in rhythm. He kept moving inside you, slow and deep, curling just right. You were so close, the tension winding tighter and tighter in your stomach, breath catching with every stroke. But just as your legs began to shake, just as your hips bucked up into his hand with a quiet, desperate moan—he pulled out. You whined at the loss, hips stuttering forward instinctively, chasing the friction. “Weno…” “I know,” he murmured, breathless himself, voice thick with need. “I know, baby.” He leaned back just enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere to the side. The soft light coming through the cracked door hit his chest just right—shoulders broad, abs toned, skin flushed and warm. His chain shifted against his skin when he moved.

Then he was reaching for you again, hands gentle. “Can I?” he asked, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. You nodded, cheeks hot, eyes wide and dazed. “Y-Yeah” He pulled it up slowly, lifting it over your head. His eyes dropped to your body as it was revealed to him—bare chest, soft skin, rising and falling with every shaky breath. He leaned his mouth to your nipple, giving it a soft suck while sliding your panties down your legs, dragging his hands along your thighs as he did. Then he moved lower. He settled between your legs like he belonged there, hands spreading your thighs gently, thumbs brushing along the inside. You whimpered, body already arching at the sight of him down there, the feel of his breath ghosting over your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, eyes locked on your soaked center. And then he leaned in. His tongue was warm, slow, one long, deliberate lick up your folds that made your back arch off the bed. Then again, this time with more pressure, more intent. His mouth locked over your clit, sucking softly before he flattened his tongue and circled it. You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling as your thighs tried to close around his head. He just groaned into you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer, keeping you wide open for him. The sounds—wet, messy, sinful—filled the room along with your breathy moans, soft whimpers, the quiet creak of the mattress beneath you.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved with purpose, lapping, circling, flicking. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but moan, soft and desperate, your hips twitching with every stroke of his tongue. And then you felt his hand again. Sliding up the inside of your thigh, fingers trailing through your slick folds before one dipped inside you, curling instantly. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. He added a second immediately, stretching you and pumping into you while his mouth never left your clit. “Weno—fuck,” you whimpered, body jolting as he curled his fingers just right. Your walls clenched around him, needy and tight. His groan vibrated through you when he felt it. His tongue pressed harder, fingers pumping deep and slow—each drag of his knuckles making your toes curl. Your moans got higher, breathier, as your body trembled under his touch. “You close, baby?” he muttered against your clit, fingers never slowing. “Wanna feel you cum on my fuckin’ fingers.” You nodded, frantic, too far gone to speak. Your back arched, thighs shaking as he held you open, ruined you with his mouth, pushed his fingers deep inside you until the heat building in your stomach finally snapped. You came hard, legs trembling, hips stuttering, a loud moan spilling from your lips as everything clenched and pulsed around him. Fingers still working you gently through it while his tongue slowed, easing the intensity but never leaving you empty. Weno pressed one last kiss to your thigh, lips lingering as he pulled his fingers from you slowly, savoring the way your body jolted at the loss. He sat back on his heels, chest rising and falling a little faster now, eyes heavy as they dragged up your body.

You watched, dazed, flushed, and breathless as he reached for the waistband of his cargos, unbuttoning and sliding them down. They hit the floor with a quiet thud, leaving him in just his boxers—black, stretched tight over the obvious bulge straining against the fabric. He palmed it slowly, eyes still fixed on you, thumb pressing down over the thick outline like it ached. You squirmed beneath him, breath catching again when he leaned forward, caging you in with his arms. He kissed you slow and deep, tongue sliding over yours, moaning into your mouth. Then he reached between you and pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, hissing softly when his length sprang free and brushed against your thigh. “You still good?” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his thumb caressing your cheek. You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Yeah… I want you.” That was all he needed. He reached down, guiding himself to your entrance, dragging the tip through your slick folds, teasing you both with the heat of it. His hand found your waist again, grounding you as he pushed in slowly—inch by inch, thick and hot and stretching you just right. You gasped, nails digging into his biceps, body arching as he filled you completely.“Fuck,” he breathed out against your mouth, kissing you again as he bottomed out. “So tight. So good.” He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried deep, letting you adjust while he pressed soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips. His hands smoothed over your sides, grounding you. And then he started to move.

He started slow and deep, rolling thrusts that dragged every inch of him along your walls. Your body clung to him, welcoming each stroke like it had been waiting, aching, for this exact moment. His hands moved down your sides, palms warm and firm, before sliding under your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist. The new angle made you gasp, your head falling back into the pillow as he sank even deeper. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice all breath and gravel, “So fucking perfect like this.” You whimpered, lips parting with every slow rock of his hips, every soft press of his chest to yours. One of his hands slipped under your back, pulling you closer, the other traveling to cup your breast, squeezing gently, thumb circling your nipple. “Love your body,” he murmured against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone. “Every inch. All mine now, yeah?” You could only nod, breath shaky, heart pounding. He moved again—long, deep thrusts that made your thighs tremble around him, that had you clinging tighter to his shoulders, trying to ground yourself in his touch. “So fuckin’ good,” he groaned, kissing your neck, “Fuck—look at how you take me.” He slid his hand down to your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you up into each thrust, letting you feel just how hard he was holding back. You cried out softly, tears blurring your vision as the heat coiled tighter and tighter inside you. You felt stretched, full…loved. Every part of him was on you, in you, his lips, his hands, his voice. He slowed for just a second, chest heaving as he looked down at you.

His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your lip as he whispered, “No one’s ever made me feel like this.” You blinked, another tear slipping free. He caught it with a kiss. He pushed in deep again, groaning low as your body clenched around him. Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips parted in a sob, overwhelmed. The pleasure, the emotion—it was too much, and not enough. You gasped out his name, voice broken, tears spilling freely now. “You’re doin’ so good,” he breathed, kissing the corner of your mouth. “So good for me. You feel so fuckin’ good—can’t get enough of you, baby.” He cupped your breast again, his other hand squeezing your ass as he rocked deeper, firmer, filling you completely with every thrust. The mattress creaked beneath you, skin slapping, breathy moans and whimpers. He lift your legs higher, folding them up toward your chest as his hands slid beneath your knees, guiding you open. His body shifted with yours, hovering close, his chest pressing to yours as he settled into the new position. You were utterly vulnerable, and so full. “Fuck,” he breathed as he pushed back in—deeper, impossibly deep, the new angle hitting something inside you that made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. Your thighs trembled against his sides, your arms wrapping tight around his shoulders as he rocked into you again, slow and hard. His face was right above yours, eyes dark, mouth parted, breath hot on your cheek. His forehead pressed to yours. You pulled him down, fingers tangling in his hair, and kissed him hard, messy, open-mouthed, desperate. You sobbed into the kiss, the pleasure blurring everything, making your whole body feel like it was about to break apart in the best way.

He moaned against your mouth, thrusts picking up just slightly, deeper and deeper, hips pressing you into the mattress. One of his hands cradled your cheek as the other gripped under your thigh, holding you open for him while his body kept driving into yours, filling you perfectly. “You feel like heaven,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw between gasps. “So good for me, baby… fuck.” Your body clenched tight around him, your moans turning into cries as your nails dug into his back. “Weno— I’m close, I—please,” you gasped, barely able to form the words through the sobs that kept catching in your throat. “I got you,” he panted, hips grinding down, pace relentless now. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel you.” It only took another stroke. One more hit just right, and you shattered. Your second orgasm came, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sobbed his name, legs shaking violently around him. You clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth. “Shit—baby—fuck—” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut as your body pulsed around him. “So good. So fucking good.” He barely lasted another few thrusts before he was pulling out quickly, stroking himself through the last moments, his body jerking forward with a final moan as he spilled across your stomach, thick and warm. He collapsed onto his forearms above you, forehead to yours again, breath ragged, lips ghosting yours.

He was still above you, body trembling slightly as he caught his breath, his lips brushing yours in soft, lingering kisses that felt more like confessions than touches. You were trying to breathe too, heart racing, chest rising and falling as your mind spun. Every nerve in your body was still alive, aching with how full he made you feel—physically, emotionally, all of it. And yet, even in the quiet after, something heavy sat in your chest. You swallowed hard, fingers fidgeting at his sides, your eyes darting everywhere but his face. You could feel it pressing against your tongue—those words—so big and so terrifying, but so real. Too real to keep inside. “Weno…?” you whispered, voice barely audible. He blinked down at you, soft and hazy from the afterglow. “Yeah, baby?” Your lip trembled as you looked up at him, wide-eyed and afraid. “I… I think I’m in love with you.” The second the words left your mouth, your stomach dropped. You felt exposed, like you’d stripped yourself bare in a whole new way. Your eyes filled with panic—what if he didn’t feel the same? What if this ruined everything? “I—I’m sorry,” you added quickly, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to ruin it, I just—fuck, I don’t know, I just feel so much and I couldn’t keep it in and—” He cut you off with a kiss. Not a soft one, not a careful one, but deep, sure. His hand cupped your face as he leaned into you, kissing you like he needed to feel every word you’d just said on his tongue.

When he finally pulled back, his thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching the little tear that had escaped down your cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he whispered. “You could never ruin anything.” Your heart fluttered painfully. “I’ve been in love with you,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Since before I even knew what to call it. You don’t scare me, baby. You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.” He kissed you again, tender. His hands wrapped around you, pulling you close until your body was pressed to his, skin to skin, and you could barely breathe from how tight he held you. You buried your face in his neck, arms tucked between your chests, your heart pounding against his. The silence that followed was heavy with warmth—safe, soft. Eventually, he shifted just enough to reach for the blunt on his nightstand, lighting it with a quiet flick of his lighter. The glow lit up his face in soft orange as he took a long drag, exhaling with a sigh, head tilted back slightly. You curled into him, cheek pressed to his chest, ear catching the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His arm came around you instinctively, holding you tighter, and his hand drifted lazily into your hair, fingers combing through the strands. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. He held you like he was never letting go.

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darknight3904 · 2 days ago

Note

im beggingggg please a soft dom tommy worshipping reader after she had the courage to show him her naked body (she’s insecure about it because of scars and struggling with self esteem in general)🙏

Every Damn Inch

Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Insecure about your appearance, Tommy shows you how much he appreciates you

Warnings: Nudity, body worship, hint of oral f! receiving, Tommy Miller: dad bod

Word Count: 1.8k TLOU Masterlist

Jackson glowed at night. Soft yellow lights string illuminated main street as you walked home, hand in hand with your boyfriend of three years, Tommy.

“Excited to go home?” Tommy asks, “You’re practically dragging me along, hon.”

You laugh and squeeze his hand in yours, “I just washed the sheets today. M’excited to take a shower and then get in bed.”

“You gonna do that thing where you wrap yourself up like a burrito in the duvet?” Tommy asks

“Probably.” You grin

“Well then, let’s get home.” Tommy chuckles, speeding his legs up to match you pace.

The soft sounds of the water hitting the shower curtain slip under the crack of the closed bathroom door. Tommy has slipped into a soft pair of sweatpants, giving up the jeans that had been digging into his middle all day. He’d have to trade for a new pair of pants soon, your cooking wasn’t doing any favors for his waistline. It wasn't his fault all of your dishes were so damn good he had to have seconds.

Lying back on the bed, the soft duvet tickles his bare upperhalf, the scent of the homemade detergent from Harriet fills his nose as his eyes slip shut. That 80 year old knew how to do everything, from headshots on infected, to perfectly scented detergent, she never failed to impress him.

Tommy begins to doze as he waits for you. Dinner at Joel’s had been surprisingly tolerable considering his brother couldn’t cook for shit. Tommy sighs and scratches at his stomach, thinking about how far the two of you had come.

He and Joel had found you one day on patrol. It’d been wickedly cold and a sudden snow storm happened upon them, forcing them to hole up in an old development about eight miles west of Jackson. Tommy had chosen the big blue house, the only one of the culdesac that still had most of it’s roof to take cover in. They’d only been in the house for half an hour, shivering their asses off while trying to light a meager fire in the old fireplace in what was once probably a beautiful living room when they heard you.

They’d left their backpacks unattended by the front door and foolishly walked away. Joel had been the first one to move after seeing a flash of red darting back up the steps, Tommy hot on his heels.

You reminded him of a skittish deer. Dressed in clothes too big for your frame and wrapped up in a big red quilt as you crowded into a corner, scared out of your mind. Wild eyes and even wilder hair met Tommy’s eyes as you held a bag of the jerky Joel had packed for them to share.

It took another month to convince to you come back to the safety of Jackson. Tommy had come back to the blue house every day, bringing you food and new clothes along with a hair brush. He’d talk to you and eventually you began talking back, telling him little things about your past. He’d won you over late one afternoon after sliding a container with two chocolate chip cookies across the floor. You devoured them and then hopefully asked for more.

“Gotta come back to Jackson with me for more. Joel’s little girl can make you all the cookies you want then.” Tommy said, “She’s got a mouth on her but the kid can bake like you wouldn’t believe.”

Before he knew it, you were on his horse, hands wrapped around him as the red quilt sat shoved in his bag, it was the only thing you wanted to bring from the blue house. If he’d known all it would take was a couple of cookies to get you into the safety of the walls, he would’ve told Ellie to bake them weeks ago.

Now, the quilt sat nicely folded on the couch downstairs, you’d washed it four times to get the grime out of it. Eventually, you told Tommy it was from your grandmother, a gift for your 16th birthday back before the outbreak.

You dry yourself off with the soft purple towel Joel had given you for your birthday last year. Running a brush through your hair you sigh as your reflection stares at you in the mirror. You’d never been happy with your body, growing up in the early 2000’s as a teen hadn’t helped either. You’d never been that perfect girl the magazines at the grocery store advertised.

Even now, you didn’t like what was looking back at you. Face a bit too round, hair too short, not to mention the zit that’d formed on your cheek. You swore even your arms looked weird if you let them hang at your sides for too long.

Dropping your towel you picked up the soft fabric of the big T-shirt and flannel pants you often wore. The light of the bathroom makes the scars on your body stand out more.

Running your hands over the rougher bits of skin, the raised bumps and pink lines that litter your body, you try to block any negative thoughts that might come with your scrutiny.

Tommy was head over heels for you. He was fucking obessed with all of you. Sure, it’d taken a few months for you to let him in, camped out in the spare bedroom of his house since he’d deemed you too scared to live on your own or in one of the homes that had been converted into apartments in Jackson. But, one day you’d decided to trust him whole heartedly, and eventually somehow it’d blossomed into something more.

Tommy wished you could see yourself the way he did. Instead, you often wiggled away from him, never fully being interested in skin to skin contact beyond hand holding. This unfortunately resulted in the lights always being off during sex, the first few time’s it’d left him fumbling in a dark abyss and accidentally hitting you in the face with his elbow. He’d gotten better since then, making sure to be careful with his limbs and learning to hone his other senses to bring you pleasure.

The sound of the bathroom door has him lazily opening his eyes. You stand there illuminated by the glow of the bathroom for a second before you flip the switch, leaving the nightstand lamp to light your way as you walk towards him.

Tommy sits up, scooting up the bed so his back rests against the plume of pillows you inist the bed needs. You’re dressed in your usual sleepwear, an old shirt of his, the design too faded to make out and the pajama pants with red and green checks on them. Your hair drips darkening the shirt as you toss your dirty clothes into the hamper and stare at yourself in the mirror, your brow furred as if you’re displeased by what looks back.

“You comin’ to bed? Blanket burrito awaits.” Tommy’s teasing voice fills your ears from behind

Without another thought, you grit your teeth, fuck it, it’s now or never. You let out a soft noise as you pull the tshirt off, your head nearly getting stuck as you go. Then comes the pants as you untie them and twirl around to look at Tommy.

“Woah.” He breathes, probably shocked that his girlfriend has just suddenly stripped, “You want me to hit the lights, baby? I didn’t think you were in the mood.”

Fuck you knew it. He hated what he saw. Hot shameful tears begin to burn in your eyes as you blindly nod and reach for the clothes that you’d tossed onto the floor. You’re never fucking getting naked again.

“Wait, wait.” Tommy’s deep voice stops you, before you know it, he’s standing infront of you, hands cradling your face so you have to look up at him, “Why’re you cryin’?”

You shrug as if you don’t know, “I’m not.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” Tommy grunts

He looks at you for a moment, eyes scanning your sad face before his gaze softens, “Mmhm, I know whats goin’ on now.”

You scoff, how could he possibly know just like that?

“C’mon, come sit with me.” Tommy pulls you toward the bed, “N’ leave the clothes there.”

You drop the shirt back to the floor shivering in your nervous and very nude state.”

Tommy pats the edge of the bed, “Sit right there.”

You sit down, listening to him as your arms fumble, crossing over yourself as your face heats up. This is embarrassing.

Tommy surprises you, you expect him to sit beside you, instead he kneels down, hands resting on the sides of your upper thighs, rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Now, I’m all for a surprise strip tease but this is somethin’ new for us.” He softly says, “You gonna tell me what brought it on.”

You tongue feels like lead in your mouth as you swallow thickly, “I guess, I just…I wanted you to see me. Wanted to know if you’d still like me after you did.”

Tommy laughs softly like its the funniest thing in the world, somewhere deep down you know he’s not laughing at you so you stay put, nervously twitching in his hands. A kiss is pressed to one knee, then another, right ontop of the scars you got after face planting while roller skating as a kid.

“Like? Baby I love you.” Another two kiss, this time to your thighs, “All of ya, I swear..”

You sigh and he gently squeezes your flesh, “I mean it. Been dreaming about seeing you with the lights on.”

You shrug, “It’s not anything to look at.”

“Not anything to look at?” He scoffs, “You’re fulla’ shit.”

“Tommy.” You counter, your voice dripping in disbelief

He says your name in the same tone, matching your eyebrow raise too.

Big hands leave your thighs and begin to gently run themselves across your body, followed by soft kisses, his facial hair tickling as he goes.

“What’re you doing?” You gasp when he kisses at your collarbone

“Mmhm.” Tommy mumbles into your skin, “Showin’ my lady some love. That ain’t illegal now is it?”

“Well no…” You sigh

“Then I’ll keep goin’.”

Wet kisses litter every inch of your skin by the time he’s done with you. He’s officially seen every inch as your back is cradled by the soft mattress. He’s kissed down your body and ends with a kiss to the soft patch of hair between your legs.

“Prettiest girl in all o’ Jackson. Can’t believe you been hiding all this from me.” Tommy says

“I won’t anymore.” You say, confidence boosted by his kisses and soft words

“S’ right, you won’t.” He affirms, hands spreading your thighs apart to get a glimpse of the wetness between them “Now, stay right there, gonna worship every damn inch of ya’ baby.”

Hope you enjoyed, anon

This is loosely edited, sorry for typos

More Tommy here

#Tommy Miller #tommy miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfic #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fluff

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98tsuki · 1 day ago

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caleb / xia yizhou x reader. 979. angst. no evol au. he gets his heart broken here, sorry to him. ׄ ׅ ⊹ ﹫ part one.

it’s been nearly a month since he dropped you off at his place. four weeks since he last heard your voice, twenty-something days since you broke down in his car, one hundred and sixty-something hours since–

he can’t sleep. can't rest, can't function properly. he reaches over to check his phone to see if you’ve seen any of the texts he’s sent you since then, hoping you’ve read anything, but to no avail. he’s been left on delivered since the day after he saw you walk into your friend’s arms before driving off disheartened. the entire drive back he’d second guessed everything he’d done before your sudden request. had he been too overbearing? too touchy? he’d apologize. he’d get on his knees and beg and grovel if he had to. anything to wake up to the sound of your sleepy voice humming in the bathroom again.

it's eating at him because you've never been this distant with him before. even when you were mad at him you'd made an effort to still talk to him. the silence is cold and unforgiving. it stings. it stings.

his phone dings and he shoots up to grab it. had you seen his messages? were you coming home? do you miss him like he misses you–

his heart sinks. he then chides himself for feeling down, especially since it was right for her to text him anytime she wanted. dick move for ghosting her for as long as you were incognito, he supposes. his entire psyche feels off without you here to knock sense into him for being a shit boyfriend.

to her. not to you.

er—not boyfriend. or not boyfriend yet. close friend. they were just… friends. the three of you had always been superglued together. him, her, and you. three of three. it wasn't fair to her to not respond to her messages either.

her immediate reply doesn't ease his heart. a wish goodnight followed by some cute emojis. a stark contrast to your lack of response.

he’s hit with an overwhelming wave of sadness, a pang in his chest resounding with ripples of discomfort and melancholy. were you avoiding him? giving him space? why? he didn’t want space. he wanted you and your crooked grins and your loud laugh and the way you held on to him when you were scared and the way you searched for him in your sleep. he wanted you home–here, in your shared home–most of all, for you to fill in the cracks you left gaping for days on end. for you to walk through those doors and promise you’d never leave him like this again.

his heart hurts. it aches, aches for someone who isn’t even here to soothe it. aches for someone who isn’t even his to begin with–why? he was already set with her, had everything he could ever need in a person with her. she was kind, caring, and the two of them have a connection no one could ever compare to, but–

but.

she wasn’t you.

she wasn’t the one who saw his bruises afterwards. the one who gave him a space where he didn’t always have to posture being someone dependable. yes, she was his weakness, but you were his oasis away from the reality he was shaping for someone else on his own. he supposes that’s why your arguments sting harder than any other. you didn’t need him. not in the way everyone else did.

he sits up suddenly, eyes wide and heart threatening to burst out of his chest. she wasn’t you, could never be you, and suddenly he realizes he’s been doing it all so, so wrong. he let you walk into the arms of another man when you were upset and his chest squeezes, shaking hands fumbling with his phone to call you once again, tripping over his feet in his shoes. haste makes his actions sloppy.

he’ll apologize. he’ll plead for you to come home, and you’ll talk things out and he’ll get to hold you again. he’ll get to see your smile, and all will be right once more. he's sure of it. it has to be. you promised the three of you would always stay together. you promised.

“hello?”

he pauses, voice stuck in his throat. why was xavier answering your phone? were you still mad at him? he’ll fix it. he’d do anything to hear your voice again.

“hey, man,” he tries, and immediately can tell the other man is frowning on the other end. “are… are they there? i want… i’d like to speak to them. if that’s cool.”

silence stretches for eons as he waits for a response. he hears shifting, and what he thinks might be a faint yawn, and then–

“baby, wake up. someone wants to talk to you.”

the phone almost slips out of his hands. his heart beat slows, each beat echoing inside his entire body. he hears your voice faintly, sleepy and confused, and with xavier's gentle coaxing, you clear your throat and the phone is handed to you.

“hello?”

his voice comes out a whisper. “hi,” he breathes, and closes his eyes when you fall silent. “when are you coming back? when will you come home? i miss you. was it me? did i do something wrong?”

he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels something hot and wet drip onto his arm. “please come home,” he sniffles quietly, hands gripping the phone tightly. “i’m sorry. whatever happened, i’ll fix it. please.”

your silence is killing him. he doesn’t know what to do or why this is overwhelming him so much. all he wants right now is you. you, all of you.

“i’m sorry, caleb.” your voice murmurs out finally. “i'll stop by and pick up my things tomorrow. i just needed time.”

the line cuts shortly after that and his heart splinters.

#98fics #lads x reader #lads x y/n #lads x you #lads fic #lads angst #lads caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb x y/n #caleb fic #caleb angst #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb lads

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naomi-nana · 19 hours ago

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✎ᝰ. back to friends . twisted wonderland

he confessed, but your reaction was anything other than what he expected. he shouldn't have told you about his feelings at all.

featuring : azul, idia, malleus

cw : gn!reader, angst, bad grammars, not proofread

a/n : sorry for the delay in getting out requests, but i really want to write this after listening to back to friends by sombr lol ╰(*°▽°*)╯i promise u i will continue writing the requests after this. pls enjoy! i wrote this in one sitting lol:P

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

azul is spiraling. he's drowning in regret as he watched the moment you turned your back at him. why did he confess to you? he was such a fool for believing someone like you would fall for him. you're easily way out of his league.

he can do anything to get you to like him back—contracts, persuasion, anything. but he didn't do any of those things, because what azul felt for you was like no other. he fell for you, and he looks at you with childlike awe.

you're not someone who can be bought with money, and you're not someone whose feelings he wants to buy. he wants to obtain your love through his own effort without using anything else.

he can't help but stare at the empty table in mostro lounge—one that he reserved for you to sit on every time you visit. but now it's empty; and it's his fault.

he wished he could turn back time and change what happened, or that he could've been brave enough to chase after you just to have some closure. but he didn't—because beneath all his theatrics, azul is scared. heck, he didn't even look at you when he confessed.

he wants to pretend that he can go back to how things were. but how can he, when even the silence you left behind is louder than anything he has ever heard? he sighs in frustration as he rips yet another script he was going to use to talk to you.

though one day, when azul walked by your empty table for the nth time, he saw a note. and it was from you. he quickly snatched it before anyone can see it. when he opened the note with trembling hands and saw what was inside, his shoulder dropped in quiet devastation.

"heya, azul. i couldn't find you at all, so i left you this letter. i appreciate you confessing your feelings to me, but i don't think we can work out. i'm so sorry, let's stay as friends, okay?"

he sighed as he took out a pen from his pocket and wrote, "but of course! i do not mind in the slightest, name." with shaky hands.

maybe in another universe this could work.

IDIA SHROUD

idia is not sure where it all went wrong. one moment you're sharing jokes and laughter with him through voice calls, and the next, you completely avoid him.

he can't help but blame himself with how pathetic he is right now. why is he getting distracted by romance? why did he have to fall and confess his love to you? why did he have to destroy everything? friends aren't supposed to fall in love.

he wished he could reach out to you before you walked out of his room a few days ago—he wished he could make things right again. say something like, "nah jk, lolol. no way i'd fall in love with you." but he didn't. because what he felt for you was not a joke.

when ortho told him that you wanted to talk with him but was too scared to reach out first, idia stared at his monitor for a few moments—contemplating what to text you.

should he just say the truth and tell you that he still has feelings for you? or should he just scratch all of that and say that he was just joking? should he ... not text you at all?

idiot, he mutters to himself under his breath as he types a sentence and quickly deletes it all. he scratches his neck in frustration—he can't just ask ortho to give him a template to text you. because you're not anyone, you're his precious friend.

friend? are the two of you really only a friend? but you approached him at orientation. you helped him avoid the ultimate extroverts at school. you genuinely smiled at him. you even visited his sacred gaming lair a couple of times. so, what are we?

ping!

you glanced at your phone when you heard a message notification. it was idia who texted you. you nervously picked your phone up and read the message.

"hi, srry 'bout yesterday. i was jk, lolol. wanna play some games?" you stare at the message for what felt like minutes. it's not what you wanted, but it's more than you expected. with a smile, you typed back, "yeah, sure. why not?"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

malleus wonders if this is simply part of being human—to hold something dear, only for it to slip out of his grasp so easily. is it his fault for confessing? but he was just being honest. he was just telling you what he was feeling towards you.

he didn't expect you to simply smile softly at him and leave quietly. is this how humans accept love? he thought to himself as he watched you walk away from him. or, is this how they reject and deny the feelings they have?

malleus does not beg, he does not chase. but when he sees your face shift into something else right as he uttered the word, 'love', he wants to run up to you and embrace you in his arms—begging for you to accept him.

but is that what you want? is he going to be selfish and disregard what you feel? no, he's not like that. instead, malleus simply stood still almost every night at the place he confessed, silently hoping you'd return.

and return you did. you were just as startled as malleus was when you suddenly locked eyes with the dragon. you opened your mouth to talk, but so does malleus draconia. "... malleus. you're here." you muttered, yet your gaze was anywhere but on him.

"so are you, child of man. i apologize for appearing desperate, but i can assure you i am not." he smiled, though not a genuine one. you both only stared at each other, silently hoping that either of you would break the silent first.

"name," he spoke, staring at your eyes. "i am sorry for being selfish yesterday. i was not in the right mind, and i ended up disregarding your feelings completely. we can stay as friends, if you'd like." he hoped you won't. he hoped that you'll want to be more than that.

you pursed your lips nervously. you do love him, but you're too scared to admit your feelings. what if your friendship is destroyed just because of this? what if, instead of becoming friends right after, you become strangers instead?

"... sure. we can stay as friends."

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use (with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

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bumblebeeonthistle · 2 days ago

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You've been hurt, and Levi is not happy about it

Tags: Levi/Reader, slow burn, pining, injury, mild yandere Levi Ackerman

Excerpt from my Levi X Reader fic.

You’ve never been late for your training sessions before.

Had it been any other person, Levi would’ve been annoyed. But because it’s you, he’s worried. You don’t strike him as someone who’s ever late for anything. Like him, you seem too punctual and meticulous to be late.

After twenty minutes have passed, he begins the trek back towards the barracks.

He knocks once when he reaches the door to Shadis’ office and doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before opening the door and entering.

Shadis lifts his gaze to meet Levi’s cold stare, abandoning the paperwork he’d been in the middle of finishing when Levi barged in.

The door slams shut behind him, but he doesn’t break eye contact with his former Commander as he strides over to the desk.

“I thought your training session was cancelled this week,” Shadis says, unperturbed.

“Where is she?”

A pause.

"Where. Is. She."

“In the medical wards.”

Levi's eyes narrow into slits.

“What happened?”

Shadis lets out a huff.

“Some thugs attacked one of the groups during the cadets’ wasteland excursion. Said they were after the ODM gear. She was captured but escaped by herself, apparently killing one and knocking out four of her other kidnappers in the process. One escaped on horseback. A bullet grazed her right temple and she got shot in her left thigh. Lost a lot of blood and is still unconscious, but otherwise she’ll be fine.”

Levi feels the blood in his veins freeze, cold fury seeping into every crack of his being. A metallic taste fills his mouth as he bites the inside of his cheek so hard that it draws blood.

“Wasn’t that excursion supposed to be without dangers? Where the fuck were the Instructors when it happened? And where are those shitheads who did it now?”

The Instructor ignores his first two questions, but answers his third.

“As we're speaking, the four surviving kidnappers are being transferred to the Interior to be questioned by the First Interior Squad.”

Levi just glowers at the him. After a moment of silence, Shadis sighs.

“I don’t know any more besides what I’ve already told you. She hasn’t woken up yet, so we haven’t gotten a chance to question her. All we know is from the other cadets present during the kidnapping.”

Not entirely satisfied, but accepting that he won’t get any more information out of Shadis, Levi leaves the office without another word.

Before Levi can think about what he’s doing, his feet lead him to the Training Camp's hospital wards.

You'll be fine. You’re fine.

He chants the words in his head like a prayer.

This is why he keeps people at an arm’s length. This is why he never lets anyone get close. He is so fucking tired of worrying about people, of caring, of being scared. Scared of losing.

He has already lost so many.

If Levi hadn't been so engrossed in his own thoughts, he would have heard the muffled voices from inside the hospital wards from far away. But as it is, it’s first when he steps inside the wards and is met with three pairs of curious eyes that he realises that you already have visitors. Had he known, he probably wouldn’t have come. For the other cadets to witness him in this state would be unacceptable.

He freezes in the doorframe.

Then, before he can help himself, his gaze wanders to the only occupied bed in the room.

You look smaller, much less...intimidating in your unconscious state, one side of your head wrapped in bandages, splotches of brownish-red peeking through the otherwise white fabric. His eyes linger on your left thigh but find that it’s covered in white sheets, hiding your injury from his view.

Well, at least you don’t look like you’re in pain, which is a good thing, he guesses. Because if you’re anything like him, then he knows anaesthetics won’t work on you.

Then, he shifts his attention to your visitors. Two boys are sitting on the left side of your bed, one brunette and one blonde. Levi assumes one of them must be Yeager. Another young man is sitting on the other side of your bed, idly stroking the back of your hand.

For some reason, the sight makes his blood boil. Despite the other man’s seated position, Levi can see that he’s tall, much taller than himself. And blonde with golden eyes.

His diametrical opposite, he thinks bitterly.

Why does he care?

It’s the younger blonde who moves first. He scrambles to his feet, salutes, and addresses him with a squeaky, albeit respectful Captain. The brunette’s eyes suddenly grow wide with realisation, jaw dropping before he hastily follows suit.

The young man is the last to rise. His salute is impeccable, so unfortunately Levi can’t scold him for it.

“Shouldn’t you brats be in bed by now?” Levi asks, not giving away any of the emotions currently threatening to shatter his mask of indifference.

“Yes, Captain,” the two boys comply in unison, but the young man remains silent.

Instead, he raises his eyebrows, his eyes trailing up and down Levi as if seizing him up. Levi only offers a cold stare in return. After a couple of seconds, the man lowers his gaze, and all three of your friends file out of the room.

As soon as they’re gone, Levi strides over to your bedside. For a long moment he just stands there, content to merely observe your breathing, unconscious figure. He reaches out a hand to swipe a stray lock of hair away from your face but stops himself before he can touch you. His eyes travel yet again to your thigh covered in white hospital sheets and he has to resist the urge to take a look at the injury.

He doesn’t want to be a creep, after all.

After one last look, he leaves the wards to fetch his horse. Not to go back to headquarters, though. No, he’s going to the Interior. He’s going to make those four men sing. He’s going to make them talk, and then, he’s going to make them wish they’d never been born.

And lastly, he will grant them their wishes.

Read the rest on ao3! Call my name || Levi X Reader

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mrstsugikunik · 2 days ago

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KOKUSHIBO HEADCANONS

Pairings...Kokushibo x Reader

I see him as being really mean with his partner at first. Like stand-offish, doesn’t really talk as much, and no physical touch. Like NOTHING at all.

The only type of ‘love’ you’ll be getting from him is when you’re around him. He’ll only acknowledge that you’re there and that’s it. Like you’ll just be like: 😐🧍‍♀️Then he’s like: 😐👍

Another example of him avoiding it would be if y’all’s hand would brush against each other he’ll pull away hastily and walk away. And it’s weird too because he doesn’t make any noise when he walks…

So many stares…it’s so unsettling how he will stand or sit in place with all SIX of his eyes staring intently at you. He could almost burn a hole right through you if he could…AND what makes it worse is that he never BLINKS! When he does he frog blinks 🐸 . No one can’t convince me he doesn’t- It adds to the demon characteristics.

He has long, sharp claws. Period. The anime nor manga depicts him having them but I will. All demons in my head do.

Whenever Kokushibo speaks (which is almost rare in itself — You almost thought he was mute upon meeting him) it lowkey shifts all your organs because it’s SO DEEP. Like why the HELL is your voice that deep, it doesn’t make sense! Sometimes, it scares the life out of you when you think you're alone when you're not. You’ll just be doing your own thing and BOOM 💥 The most intense, heavy, heart shaking voice is suddenly filling the space.

Even when you and Kokushibo eventually become a couple, he will still refer to you by your name. The only time you're addressed as something else is when he’s addressing you as his wife.

No joke, but I see Kokushibo taking really good care of his hair. He combs thoroughly, washes at least 2 times and conditions his hair and lets it sit for 30 minutes. In conclusion, he has soft, fine hair.

Kokushibo likes complete silence. He likes to meditate and in order to do that silence is key. If you were to make too much noise around him he would open all 6 of his eyes from his meditative state and stare you down until you get the idea.

👁️👁️

👁️👁️ ⇦Him

👁️👁️

—

You: ....Sorry....😓

He will not show physical affection for a long while. It is not in demons to love especially when it’s their prey of all things. It sometimes bums you out but you understand. When he’s past that barrier it’s awkward at first. Kokushibo did not know how to give a proper hug. He was so stiff, and what made it worse was when he patted you on the back 2 times which were kinda rough. He doesn't mean no harm by it, it's just weird having someone show him affection.

And don’t get me started on y’all’s first kiss…mans cheeks are literally covered by eyes and you're just looking like: 🤔 Like how does that work? Kokushibo just closes his bottom eyelids and lets you do your thing.

Random but if you’re lying to Kokushibo about whatever his top eyes will squint in judgement

We know this man is for the most part emotionally unavailable but I think his eyes will give him away before he speaks out his true emotions. Even being with him for quite a while you will learn to pick up on this. From the occasional slight eye twitch when he’s annoyed, to his eyes narrowing in question or irritation, or when he closes a pair or two of his eyes to not get sensory overload.

Please don't ignore him, he takes it to the extreme to where you won't see him for weeks or if he's petty enough MONTHS. He rather you talk it out instead of creating unnecessary drama and tension.

Demons do not need to sleep, like at all. It's really a choice whether or not they do or not. Kokushibo will sometimes indulge on this...One night you had woke up because the heat was getting to you and when you turn towards Kokushibo you had paused to look over him, it looked as if he wasn't even breathing. And to make it even more perplexing is that he sleeps like a mummified Pharaoh. Unmoving, stiff, and very quiet. You of course knew that humans and demons were not the same but seeing them act upon their unnatural ways always was very interesting.

The eyes on his sword do indeed give him secondary vision. It's never confirmed whether they do or not but I think they do. Its canon in my world 🙂‍↕️ If he's in battle and there's a lot going on he will use his sword to his advantage in exterminating the threat faster. He also uses his sword as a means to look over you if he's not there. Its kinda creepy...

If he meditates outside, he would not mind if some birds land on his head.

You had feared when your cycle would come by because you just KNEW he could smell it. And the most EMBARRASSING thing of it all is that he would never mention it at all or give any hints. You: "You're aware of it, aren't you?😣😅 Him:....Yes....😐 Then you'll just stare at him a second or two longer and he ever so slowly turns his head to look at you...

A/N: Might do part 2 sometime in the future...these are hard

#kokushibo x reader #michikatsu tsugikuni #demon slayer #x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kimestu no yaiba #mrstsugikunik

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weepwoopwomp33 · 3 days ago

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The New Guy in Town

summary: you're a villager from Pelican town, in Stardew Valley! People are whispering though, swapping stories about the strange, new fellow - you can't help but wonder what's really going on. Is he a new friend, or someone to be feared?

(set in Stardew Valley, where you can farm, fish, and build relationships with the townsfolk - some game mechanics mentioned)

cw: sfw! satoru gojo x reader, sdv! au, fluff (so far), small town things - 915 words

a/n: might be a series (part one?), also should be studying but the idea wormed itself into my brain and now we're here

Credit to @strangergraphics for the divider! inspired me in the first place cause pretty flowers <3

The news spread fast. A man with white hair was digging into trash cans in broad daylight — expertly avoiding eye contact and running for the hills when a villager strolled by.

Sometimes, he’d be found passed out in the middle of the night, and Linus would complain (to whoever would listen) of the rocks stuffed in his backpack — makes him a real pain to drag home, so I take a little something for repayment! He’d chuckle, skipping pebbles as he recounted the story to you, perched on the stone beside him.

Chin in hand, you tilted your head towards the older man. “What an interesting character,” you mused.

“Oh! I’ve heard of him too!” Haley exclaimed, her delicate hands flying to her mouth. Soft winds caressed her hair, as she balanced atop the fallen log. Click! The perfect shot, you smiled, digicam in hand and motioning her over.

“Honestly, he doesn’t seem like a bad guy,” she says, hopping off the trunk and floating over, “Gross? Yeah, definitely. Irredeemable? No.”

“I think you’re right,” you reply, “But I don’t really know him — haven’t even seen him around — so I can’t comment…”

Haley hums in agreement, peering beside you at the photos. A delighted gasp escapes her lips. “You’re so good at taking photos, [name]! These look so good!” She’s clapping now, short, and sweet.

“The photos always turn out good because you’re modelling,” you nudge her shoulder, and she giggles, before dragging you to the grassy ground.

“You big flirt!” Haley lightly shoves you back. A beat later, her voice drops conspiratory and low, “I’ve also heard that he doesn’t really talk to anyone else in Pelican town. The other townies are kinda scared of him too, they speak about him in hushed towns and scurry away when he comes near. He’s been here for weeks — weeks! — and he hasn’t joined in any community events, or festivals. My sister tried reaching out to him, but he just smiled, and said ‘maybe next time’.”

Haley’s older sister, Emily, was so welcoming and open. You’ve been gifted a few precious stones from her before — she claimed they would help the energy of the house, and bless your fishing. If Emily couldn’t get through to him…

You hum thoughtfully, “Oh well. Maybe he’ll warm up over the next few years. Let’s leave him be.” Though, you can’t help the curiosity that blooms in your chest.

Haley laughs, “Yes. Let’s leave him be!”

“Now,” she’s rummaging through her little leather bag, and pulling out a light blue cardigan, “What do you think of this?”

Haley dashed off when she saw the moon beginning to climb the sky — Emily’s going to be furious. You waved her off, and pulled out the rod and bait. Fishing time!

Fishing at night brought you many opportunities. One: rare and exotic fish swam up from the depths; they were pretty to look at, all glittering scales and perplexed expressions. Two: they sold for a pretty penny, and you did love having extra cash on hand. Three: barely anyone was around at the late hour; you wouldn’t trade the peace of the night for anything.

The quiet always gives your mind too much space to wander. Tonight, it wandered straight to the town’s newest oddball.

The tight-knit community of Pelican town was quite intimidating — even you, with a family name that went back generations, sometimes felt like an outsider. But then again, digging through the trash? Your nose wrinkles at the thought. Linus mentioned that the man was a miner, so there’s no way he was short on cash — so why was he rummaging through garbage? You had to admit, it didn’t exactly make him look good.

You shivered, remembering the way Linus had laughed when he’d mentioned the rocks in that man’s backpack. Maybe he was just strange, or maybe something sadder was going on. Remembered his small smile when Emily invited him — like some part of him was afraid to join, in disbelief that he would be welcomed.

You recast your line and watched it ripple across the water. A large purple fish fights its way to the surface. Maybe he needed help. Maybe you owed it to him to at least try. Tomorrow, you thought, lips pressing into a determined line.

Tomorrow, you’d talk to him. Packing your gear into a box, you set on the road home.

Underneath one of the lamp posts, lay a mop of snowy hair. This time, instead of a bag of rocks, he’s clutching books close to his chest — agricultural books?

Oh dear. For all your talk, your palms still felt clammy as you wiped them on your jeans, your heart still got stuck in your dry throat.

You wondered if Linus would know what to do. Should you get him?

No. The bearded gentleman would just pickpocket this guy again.

A minute later, you crouch next to his head, tapping his shoulder, and shivering as a gust of wind blows by. He doesn’t budge — knocked out cold.

Peering down, you get a closer look at his face. Long lashes, barely kissing his pink cheeks, and the tip of his nose the same colour. At this rate, he’ll freeze to death.

You place your gear box by the lamp, and the gravel crunches.

Hoisting the man up, onto your back, you briefly wonder how this choice might change things. Either way, you’d get your answers soon, you conclude. Tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever he wakes up.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #stardew valley #gojo x reader fluff #weepwoopwomp33

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avocadorablepirate · 24 hours ago

Note

hiii!!! i was wondering if you can make a fic with the one piece males dating a short reader with a massive scythe and is actually super skilled with it (bonus points if you add law) you dont have to ofcourse!! i love your work!!

Hello, hello! Of course I can do this and of course I will add Law (wouldn’t dream of leaving him out)! Thank you for requesting and I’m so happy to hear that you like my work :) 💕 I hope you like this as well. I also hope you don’t mind, but I’ve written it as headcanons with a short one shot for each of them.

××××

Tiny But Lethal

Pairing: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Sabo, and Ace x fem!reader

Summary: Exploring what some One Piece men would be like with a short S/O whose weapon of choice is a scythe.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: reader is kinda made fun of for being short, some light swearing, mentions of injuries, nicknames, Luffy’s is pretty platonic, Zoro’s implies that they’re attracted to each other but not dating (nothing else that I can think of, but let me know if you find anything)

Super excited to write this cause this is my first time writing something for anyone besides Law. I’ve stuck to Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Sabo, and Ace cause well, they’re some of my favourite OP men. Since this is my first time writing for most of them, I’m not really sure how well I’ve captured their personalities, and some of the headcanons/fics are pretty short, so feedback would be great. But anyway, I hope you guys like it!

Luffy

Outright calls you short as heck when he first meets you. “Damn, you’re tiny!”

Immediately asks you whether you can use your scythe to catch him some fish. He has no clue what it actually does.

Number one hype man. Constantly yelling your name from the sidelines like a proud cheerleader. But also never misses a chance to poke fun at your height.

Zero self awareness, or any awareness for that matter. So if he yeets you across a battlefield, he fully expects you to stick the landing.

Don’t even bother trying to act all dark and threatening when he’s around, man does not care and will not get the memo. “Is my tiny slicer going to pull some moves?”

He doesn’t fear you at all - but every time someone else does? He’s wheezing. “You’re scared of her?? But she’s tiny!”

xxxx

The Sunny rocked gently in the calm sea, the afternoon sun casting a warm golden glow over the deck. Laughter from the crew filtered across the ship, a peaceful lull slowly setting in. You sat leaned back against the railing, eyes closed as you drifted in and out of sleep.

“Oii Y/N~” came the singsong voice of your captain, followed by bouncy footsteps. “I’m hungry, could you catch some fish for me?”

You cracked one eye open to see Luffy looming over you, arms crossed and that stupid grin plastered on his face. He then pointed towards your scythe like it was a kitchen utensil.

“Luffy,” you deadpanned, “This is a deadly weapon, not some glorified fishing rod.”

“But it’s so big and sharp! You could easily slice a tuna or something.”

You stood up with a sigh and a roll of your eyes. “I’m not using my scythe-”

Before you could even protest, snap. Luffy’s rubber arm shot forward, coiling around your waist.

“Luffy, don’t you-!”

Too late. He launched you like a cannonball, laughing like a madman as he watched you soar across the sea.

You screamed as the wind roared in your ears, the ocean rushing up to meet you. With a quick flip midair, you angled your scythe just right, and dived into the water, blade first.

A massive splash rocked the Sunny - and the crew stood frozen as they watched in anticipation. A rush of bubbles followed, and two seconds later a giant fish, impaled right throw the middle, burst from the water. You surfaced behind it - soaking wet and scowling.

Luffy cupped his hands around his mouth, then grinned from ear to ear. “You did it! Coolest fishing spear ever!”

You swam back to the ship, Sanji and Usopp hauling you and your kill up with a rope. From somewhere on the deck Zoro muttered, “Idiot.”

Luffy ran over to meet you, hands on his hips as he looked at you with absolute pride. “Let’s do that again!” he beamed.

You wrung the jacket you had been wearing, glaring at him before you jabbed a finger into his chest. “Do that again, and I’ll use you as fish bait next time.”

Luffy laughed once more, not taking your threat seriously. He never did.

Still…as you watched him fawn over your catch and ramble excitedly about how cool you looked, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

Monkey D. Luffy was an absolute menace to society. But somehow - he was your menace.

Zoro

Kinda underestimated you the first time you met. Huge mistake. You called him out on it, and ended up goading him into a duel. Needless to say, the Sunny was nearly cut in half by the end of it.

Now he smirks every time someone doubts your abilities and just takes a step back and watches as all hell breaks loose.

Thinks your scythe style mirrors his own swordsmanship. Loves sparring with you.

There’s something about the way your small frame handles such a massive, deadly weapon that he finds…intensely attractive.

Lowkey think that the dynamic between the two of you would be similar to how things are between him and Tashigi: rivalry, respect and just a hint more of exasperated fondness.

Tries to play it cool, but actually finds it endearing when you’re trying to be ominous. It’s only a problem if you’re threatening him. Then it’s just annoying. And hot.

You once yelled at him for carrying you over his shoulder, he yelled back. “I’m trying to save your life!” The building was about to explode. You had no idea. He had no time to explain because, well, the building was about to explode. You’re still miffed about it though. Ah romance…

xxxx

Some say the only direction Zoro knows how to follow is the one that leads to you.

To those people, Zoro says he’ll fight them if they ever say it where you can hear.

But deep down, he’d agree. Even in the midst of chaos he always finds you. And in this moment with Marines closing in from all sides and the Sunny beginning to pull away from the island’s shore, that unspoken truth was obvious.

Zoro blocked another strike aimed for his side, knocking his opponent’s weapon out of their hands in one clean move. But his attention wasn’t on the fight anymore.

It was on the ship.

Luffy was on the deck.

Zoro’s brows furrowed. He knew that look - that stupid grin. His idiot captain was about to use his rubber powers to grab the both of you and haul you onto the deck without a second thought.

Something both you and Zoro hated.

He turned, scanning the battlefield. And then he saw you.

You were sauntering towards a Marine Captain like they had a death wish, scythe balanced lazily over your shoulder, and the arrogance of someone who knew they could rain chaos down on anyone stupid enough to challenge them.

“Damn it Y/N,” Zoro muttered under his breath, knowing you were not going to like what he was about to do. Still, he couldn’t deny - you were kinda hot.

Zoro didn’t have the time to call out to you. He just moved as fast as he could.

You didn’t see him coming. One second you were closing the distance between you and your target. The next, you were in the air, strong arms casually tossing you over their shoulder. Your anger boiled over when you saw who it was.

“Zoro!? What the hell!?” You yelled, desperately trying to get out of his grip so that you could go take care of that asshole of a Marine Captain who had decided to underestimate you.

“Will you stop wiggling! I’m trying to save your ass!” he growled, dodging the following onslaught that came from the Marines as they noticed the two of you retreating.

“You could’ve given me a warning! Now put me down!” You continued to squirm violently, tempted to use your scythe to make him listen.

“You’re light,” he snapped, glancing back at you. “Now shut up. We don’t have time for arguments. There’s no way I’m getting slingshotted-”

“Zoro~!”

Ah shit.

Luffy’s rubber arm rocketed out, crossing the distance and wrapping around the both of you. Zoro cursed. Your expression turned murderous.

“Luffy I swear to-!” You tried yelling just before Zoro was yanked off his feet and both of you were flying through the air - a blur of limbs, weapons and swear words.

You crashed onto the deck of the Sunny - Zoro landing first with a grunt, instinctively shielding you from the impact. For a second you were cradled in his arm, breath knocked out of you, face way too close to his.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, breath warm against your cheek.

You were blushing before you could stop yourself.

Luffy’s loud laughter then snapped you out of your trance, pulling your attention away from Zoro. You scrambled to your feet, aiming your scythe at the rubber man. “I will end you, you stretchy idiot.”

Zoro stood beside you, cracking his neck and matching your glare. “Not if I end him first.”

“Sorry Zoro, sorry Y/N!” Luffy said with zero remorse, skipping off toward the galley.

You and Zoro exchanged a look - exasperated, exhausted, but also not at all surprised by your captain’s nonchalance. You then sighed, dragging a hand over your face. “Remind me again why I joined this crew?”

“Definitely not because it came with free air travel.”

You snorted despite yourself, rolling your shoulders to ease the ache of the landing.

“You sure you’re okay?” Zoro glanced at you from the corner of his eye as he brushed off the dust on his sleeve. You looked at him, catching the way his eyes now scanned you like he wasn’t entirely convinced you were alright.

“I’m fine, Zoro,” you said, softer than before. “Thanks to you.”

He grunted, looking away quickly, “Tch. Don’t get used it.”

You watched the way he lingered by your side a moment longer before heading below deck, and couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because even if Zoro couldn’t follow directions to save his life, he always found a way to you.

Sanji

Instantly smitten the minute he saw you. You were probably holding your scythe like a warning sign. Didn’t work, he’s just fallen harder.

You would expect someone of your height to struggle with wielding a scythe, but you don’t - and in his eyes, the battlefield becomes your stage, where you move with the grace of a dancer.

Cue nosebleed every time you make a clean, graceful strike.

*Hearts in his eyes* “My angel of death!”

Beats up Luffy and Usopp if they make short jokes about you. Only thing worse than imitating Sanji, is imitating you.

Will lug that weapon around for you even if you don’t ask him to. “It’s a gentleman’s duty. I shall hold the murder stick, my love.”

Tries to sneak nutrients into your meals. “There’s still time for you to grow…” You glare. He melts.

xxxx

Nami had made it clear - no run-ins with the Marines. Stay low, get the supplies, and get out.

Simple. Something you had done a hundred times before.

But all that went to hell when you passed a group of Marines loitering near a wall plastered with wanted posters. One of those wanted posters being yours.

“That’s Y/N L/N bounty? Must be a mistake.”

“She’s so short, can she even lift that thing?”

“I bet I could take her. Knock her out while that scythe weighs her down.”

A chorus of laughter followed.

Sanji stiffened beside you, immediately noticing you had stopped in your tracks to listen. He reached out to hold you back, but you were faster.

You spun with the grace of a dancer - one smooth arc, metal gleaming, and then a splash of red. The Marine was on the ground, your scythe pressed just against his ear where the blade had nicked him.

“Still think you can take me?” you murmured, voice cold and steady.

He whimpered under your blade. The remaining Marines were quick to react, drawing out their weapons. You were still focused on the first when one lunged from the side, blade catching your cheek.

Sanji reacted before things could get worse. He grabbed your arm, landed a square kick to the Marine’s chest, and then pulled you into a sprint. Both of you ran back to the Sunny - and from there it was a quick escape accompanied by Nami’s furious yelling.

Later, tucked away in the medbay, Sanji knelt before you, gently brushing your hair back to dab at the small cut on your cheek with some antiseptic. You winced at the sting of the alcohol pressed against your open wound, and Sanji’s brows furrowed.

“You should have let me handle that guy,” he muttered, lower lip jutting out in a pout, irritation edged with concern.

“They needed to see what I can do with a scythe,” you replied casually, watching him as he continued to clean your wound. “Besides, I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he said, pausing to meet your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I like seeing you get hurt.”

You tilted your head, a small smile forming. These were the moments that made you realise just how much he cared.

“It’s just a cut.”

He huffed, clearly very annoyed. “Still. If anyone hurts my beautiful lady like that again, I’ll crush their faces into the pavement myself.”

You chuckled. “Protective huh?”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “When it comes to you? Always.”

Law

Not one to quickly judge, but the sight of you with a scythe caught him off guard. Didn’t except you to wield a weapon that’s almost twice your size. Nevertheless, he is impressed.

Your sparring practice = Law’s secret favourite pastime. He’s standing in the corner, arms crossed, lips twitching.

He knows you’re strong, knows you can handle yourself - but he still worries. If he can’t see you on the battlefield, he’s looking for your scythe. And if that’s nowhere in sight? Then it’s full-on rampage mode. You were actually just behind him. But on the bright side, ten enemies were KO’d in an instant.

Makes you sit in his lap under the pretext of you being “too short” for the table (that’s a lie, the table is the perfect height). But everyone’s too scared to comment on the image of Trafalgar Law and the tiny scythe-wielding menace.

The height difference lowkey kills him. Cause how is someone who’s so short and carries a weapon that’s definitely too big for them, just as intimidating as him??

Internally combusting every time you wield your scythe. But no one can know, cause he’s the Surgeon of Death. A tiny Grim Reaper cannot be having this effect on him.

xxxx

You stormed into Law’s quarters, boots thudding heavily against the floor with purpose. The door slammed shut behind you, hard enough to rattle a nearby stack of books. But Law didn’t flinch. He barely looked up from where he sat scanning some maps he found at the Marine base you had just raided.

“You almost got us both killed!” you snapped, voice low but furious.

Without lifting his eyes, he replied flatly, “We’re not dead though.”

You scowled, tossing your scythe against the wall with a loud clatter. The dried blood on its blade was a reminder of just how close things had gotten. Marching forward, you slammed your fists against his desk, demanding his attention. “That’s not the damn point.”

This time, Law looked up - gaze sharp but unreadable as always. “I’m the captain. I made the final call.”

“Disrupting my fight was your ‘final call’!?” you shot back. “If I hadn’t noticed you in time, that scythe would have had your blood instead!”

He stood slowly, pushing the maps aside, then stepping towards you calmly. He was always composed. Even when you were cracking. “I make better decisions when I can see you.”

You crossed your arms, “Some would argue the opposite.”

He stood in front of you now, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of something. One hand rose, his thumb brushing under your eye.

You flinched.

“How did this happen?”

You blinked. You hadn’t even felt it. Hadn’t even known that it was there. But Law had seen it. Even amidst all the chaos of a battle - he had.

Without another word, he guided you to sit on the bed behind him. You didn’t resist, the fire in you having dissipated, replaced by something quieter. Law crouched in front of you, grabbing the first aid kit from his bedside.

He didn’t speak while he cleaned the wound, careful and methodical as always - dabbing antiseptic, then gently placing a small bandage under your eye. You’d torn through a squad of Marines today, and yet he touched you like you were something that might break.

When he was done, he didn’t step away. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to the spot just beneath the fresh bandage. He lingered there - silent and unmoving. Not asking for forgiveness, just holding you for a long quiet moment.

You closed your eyes, breathing out a sigh as you let your chin rest on the top of his head. “I’m not mad, that you made a call,” you whispered. “It just…sometimes it feels like you don’t think I’m capable enough.”

He pulled back slightly, gaze locking with yours. “I know you’re capable,” he said. “You’re precise, lethal, and brilliant. Everyone out there fears you.” A beat. “But that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

You studied him for a moment, then allowed a tired smile to form. “You overthink too much.”

He smirked. “And you don’t think enough.”

The maps lay forgotten now. He nudged you back gently onto the bed, then lay beside you - finally calm. Peace, for Law, was simply being next to you.

Sabo

Pats you on the head after you do something. Doesn’t matter whether you like it or not - it’s happening.

He’s always complimenting you on your scythe technique. Just genuine admiration for you.

Thinks you look adorable when you’re sharpening your scythe in a corner. Everyone else is terrified - as they should be.

You try being all tough even around him, but he sees right through it. You’re his “tiny terror”.

Busting out a laugh every time you’re threatening someone - which totally ruins your vibe. You’re threatening him next. He’s still laughing.

Would also be one to worry if he loses sight of you during a fight. Nobody wants to get in his way then.

xxxx

The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, casting light over the Revolutionary Army’s camp. A few new recruits were scattered around the area - some fumbling through basic drills, others lounging about. You sat calmly on a tree stump, your scythe resting in your lap as you sharpened its blade. You could feel the stares - half curious, half fear - but your face gave nothing away.

“That’s the one they call the Grim Reaper, right?”

“Her? That thing’s taller than she is!”

You paused mid-stroke.

Your eyes flicked up, locking onto the group of wide-eyed recruits. They froze the moment your gaze landed on them.

“Wanna see what I can do with this thing that’s taller than me?” you asked, voice cold and clipped, driving the scythe’s blade into the ground.

Silence.

Then - laughter.

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound, death glare sharpening as it found its mark.

Leant casually against a nearby tree, was Sabo, clearly entertained. When his eyes met yours he offered a lazy, amused smile - equal parts teasing and utterly enamoured.

He pushed off the trunk and sauntered over to you.

“Trying to scare the recruits again, my tiny terror?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to look up as you continued sharpening your weapon. “What do you want, Sabo?”

He grinned. “Just dropped by to say - you look adorable right now.”

You froze, and slowly turned to stare at him, disbelief clearly written on your face. “Adorable? I’m sharpening a deadly scythe! I should be terrifying!” You gave an annoyed huff and went back to your task.

He crouched down beside you, an almost fond smile on his face before it turned into a cheeky grin. His tone then shifted to one of exaggerated affection.

“You’re so terrifying~” Sabo cooed, ruffling your hair. You shot him a glare, somewhere between exasperated and flustered. He then leaned in, grin widening when he caught a hint of colour creep up your cheeks. “But also, really, really cute.”

You scowled and swatted the top of his head with the base of your scythe, earning a dramatic “ow!” from him even though you barely tapped him.

“Did she just whack the Chief of Staff over the head!?” One of the recruits yelped in horror.

Sabo rubbed the back of his head like it actually hurt, still grinning like a fool. “Think they find you scary now?”

“Keep teasing me and I won’t use the blunt end next time.”

He leaned in even closer, lips almost brushing yours. Sabo stared at you for a while, a soft smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but blush again. “Would be totally worth it.”

You shoved him lightly, and he laughed as he stood and offered you a hand. “Come on, tiny terror. I made lunch. You’re going to need all the energy you can get if you’re going to keep terrifying the newbies.”

You muttered something under your breath but took his hand anyway. And as he led you off - still chuckling at your annoyed grumbling - the recruits watched in stunned silence.

Ace

“Hot damn.” That was his first reaction after you casually decapitated someone trying to sneak up on him. He’s now down bad.

You’re his “travel size Grim Reaper.” Short, lethal, and just for him. You hate it. He says it more.

“You’re dangerous.” he says eyeing your weapon and then you. “You like that, don’t you?” You say with a grin. “I’m crazy about it.”

Came up with a combo move where he coats your scythe with his flames. Insists on calling it the “Fire Reaper Flash”.

Comes to your defence when you’re in an argument with someone, but it doesn’t really do much, you’re far more intimidating than him.

Gets this mischievous glint in his eyes when someone underestimates you, “Want to see something cool?” Cue destruction. Uses the Fire Reaper Flash for extra effect.

xxxx

The battle field was chaos - flames, smoke, pirates shouting and scrambling for their lives. And in the middle of it all, there was you. Short, scythe-wielding and completely unbothered, as you moved through the ruckus as if you were taking a stroll through the park.

Through the smoke, Ace emerged, after knocking out an enemy with a flaming punch to the gut. He spotted you and grinned wide.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself, watching with a smirk as you swiftly dealt with a pirate that got in your way. “That’s my travel size Grim Reaper.”

You stopped in front of him, rolling your eyes. “I told you not to call me that in front of people.”

He chuckled, scanning the area around him. “They’re all unconscious, sweetheart.”

“Not that guy.” You pointed your scythe at one final pirate who was left standing - bloodied, furious, and charging at you with all the power he could muster. Someone was clearly mad about losing.

Ace spared him a glance, then looked back at you, completely unphased. He wiped the soot off your cheek, then tilted your chin up like he had all the time in the world.

“Ready for our ultimate couple move?” Ace cackled, eyes sparkling as if he had been waiting all day for this exact moment. Maybe that was why he ‘accidentally’ got caught while trying to raid a rival pirate crew’s base.

You groaned. “Do we have to?”

But he was already charging up, the heat around his body intensifying. Flames curled around his arm, and with a grin full of mischief and pride, he shot it towards your scythe, close enough to singe you, but obviously not.

You watched as his flames wrapped around the curved blade - beautiful but dangerous. It hummed in your hands like it was alive, the metal glowing a brilliant orange. But it didn’t burn you, Ace made sure of that.

The pirate was now fast approaching, shouting all sorts of profanities and how “tiny creatures” didn’t scare him. You didn’t even flinch.

Then you moved. One quick dash, your flaming scythe cutting through the smoke. The moment the blade made contact with its target, fire exploded, the force sending the pirate crashing into the dirt, flames licking at his coat before fizzling out.

Ace let out a low whistle, watching as the fire died down. “See!? I told you Fire Reaper Flash was a sick move!”

“You nearly set me on fire,” you muttered, flicking ashes off your sleeves and scythe.

He strolled over with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “You would’ve been hot - both figuratively and literally then.”

“Shut up.” You tried to scowl, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a smile.

Ace laughed, slipping his arms around your waist in one smooth motion. His hands were warm against your back as he pulled you close, forehead bumping gently against yours for just a second before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek - warm, soft, and just a spark of heat.

“We should come up with another move,” he murmured. “Something that screams us…Hot and Deadly, how does that sound?”

You groaned again. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you,” he said with a wink, fingers intertwining with yours.

Then still laughing, he tugged you along and headed back to the Moby Dick - leaving behind fire, chaos, and one very unlucky pirate crew.

Kinda have a thing for Ace now, I mean who wouldn’t?? 👀

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itzahazbinwriter · 1 day ago

Text

Too Hot in New Orleans

(Human!Alastor x f!Reader)

CW: GRAPHIC SMUT. Alastor being a tease, referenced death, referenced violence

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (one day I'll have a pretty banner thingy like other people do) - THIS IS AN 18+ STORY

(CRAZY thank you to my girl @degen-fics for betaing this for me and making sure i didn't use the same words/phrase 50+ times <33)

If you enjoy this, want to talk about this besides on Tumblr, or just want to - maybe come join the VoxTech discord server where I'm feral as fuck. And also there are some other amazing artists, writers, and fans! https://discord.gg/e6GXYCwqtu

-----

Hot. It was just too hot. Every inch of you dripped sweat in the unrelenting summer New Orleans heat. The thought of even the littlest of clothing made you too warm. Even your slip had been peeled away in a desperate attempt to cool down. You laid on the cooler wooden floors of your home, a silk robe discarded nearby. There was nothing on this planet that could move you from this only mildly cooler spot.

As if summoned by the very thought, there was a knock at your door. You groaned, hoping they'd go away. Opening the door would mean more heat and you couldn’t handle even just the idea of that. You closed your eyes, just wanting to be cool. Please go away, you pleaded with them silently. But some things were not to be.

After a moment, there was a pause in the knocking and you imagined they'd be listening at the door to hear if anyone was home. Thankfully, your bare form was tucked out of sight from the door. It'd be a scandal if anyone could see you lying naked in the parlor of your home. No proper young lady would dare!

The knocking resumed and you groaned again. Wasn't it obvious that no one was home or didn't want to answer the door? You startled when you heard a familiar voice call out your name. Alastor... good gracious, how could you have forgotten about your plans? Quickly, you sat up, calling out, "Be right there!"

Standing, you quickly draped your robe around your form before answering the door. You opened it and instantly greeted Alastor, your smile matching his own. Before he could say anything, his smile faltered.

“Hello, Alastor! I--” You started to speak before you saw his cheeks start to turn pink as his eyes darted down your form then quickly back to your face.

"Perhaps I should come back some other time since you are.... Ahem… indisposed." He averted his eyes, something he never did, favoring eye contact. You glanced down and let out a soft startled noise akin to a squeak. The silky robe you put on was falling off one shoulder and open down to your navel, showing one of your bare breasts to the famous radio host.

"Al, I am.... oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Gasping, you clutched the silk robe closed so as to not expose yourself any more. Your cheeks burned as you fumbled over another apology, tears stinging at the corner of your eyes out of sheer horror.

There was a long moment of silence that scared you more than anything. “Cher..." Alastor's voice was lower, more gravelly than you'd ever heard before, notably without his usual radio perfect transatlantic accent. A moment passed, as if he was trying to decide what to do next.

You watched him with wide eyes, feeling your skin prickle under the scrutiny. Was this the end of your pseudo-friendship with him? You opened your mouth to speak but never got the chance. He pushed forward into your home, making you stumble back. The front door shutting behind him sent a chill down your spine. It felt so… final, but you had no idea what to expect.

For a moment, the only sound between the two of you was shaking breathing and eerie silence. Then, Alastor leaned forward, one hand softly cupping the left side of your face as he delicately pressed his lips to yours. You let out a small gasp before pressing your lips against his, scared but too enthralled to draw back. He pulled back for a moment, eyes seeming to search yours for something. You didn’t know what he looked for, but you nodded before he closed the tiny gap between the two of you.

The second kiss sent another unexpected chill down your spine. Kissing Alastor felt so dream-like; never had he expressed interest beyond friendship with you. The faint early attraction you had to him never fully faded, but you were content enough with the situation. For him to now kiss you like this, react like this… it was a fantasy come true. You couldn’t believe this was real, but if you were dreaming, you never wanted to wake up as you moved your lips against his.

Carefully, Alastor placed a hand on your hip and closed the gap between you, pressing against you lightly to make you step backwards into your home. You let him guide you as the two of you continued to kiss, too distracted to care where Alastor took you as long as the kissing didn’t stop.

It didn’t take long for your knees to press against the couch and you eased yourself down, finally breaking the kiss and his hold on you. Breathing hard, you stared up at the smiling man hovering, hesitating over you. “Do you want this?” His voice was barely above a whisper. Despite it all, he was still a gentleman.

Instead of answering verbally, you reached out and fisted the fabric of his shirt, having abandoned his usual suit in the unforgiving heat. He used one hand to hold your wrist before you could try to pull him down on top of you. “I need your words, cher. I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop once we…” His voice trailed off, leaving you a little breathless at the implication of you making him lose his careful control, making him crack from his perfected radio persona simply by showing him your body.

“Alastor,” his name sounded like a prayer from your lips as you tugged his shirt despite his grip on you, “I want this. I need this.” Something behind the radio host’s eyes seemed to change and it sent a spark of desire through you as he let go of your wrist, leaned down and closed the distance again, biting your bottom lip before kissing you.

You released your grip on his shirt as he closed the gap between you. Instead, you slide your hand over his shoulder and the nape of his neck, his hands wrapping around your waist. Thick brown curls tangled around your fingers as you tugged lightly. Alastor growls into the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. Breaking the kiss, he pulled back long enough for you to get a good look at him. His eyes were wild, but stern. “Don’t tug, darling. I’ll have to tie you up otherwise.” Oh. That sent some thrill straight through your body. Your heart raced as you stared at him, mouth open and chest heaving. “Oh cher, you look good enough to eat.”

Alastor leaned back down again, kissing you even deeper than before, using his tongue to push past your lips. It felt like he was going to consume you, and you wanted nothing else. You arched your back to press your upper body to his; the silk of your robe teasing your nipples into hardness, sending an electric pulse to your loins. He swallowed your moan before sliding his hands down your back, gliding over the silk robe, to angle your hips against his. Arching into him, you moaned again when you felt firmness against your inner thigh. He broke the kiss and pulled back enough to stare into your eyes, and you whimpered. Another smile tugged at his lips, before he licked his lips. “I’m going to savor you…” He promised in a whisper before pulling away slightly. “But not on your couch, cher.”

Alastor stood, pulling his arms from behind you. His eyes scanned over you and you could only imagine the picture you painted, panting and staring at him with your robe barely covering you anymore. Despite the heat, you shivered and bit your bottom lip, tearing open the tender flesh. Blood started to spill from your lip and his eyes focused on it with a sharp, thrilling intensity. Shakily, you took in a deep breath and felt the silk robe start to slide down your shoulder again as you started to sit up from the couch. “Alastor…” It was hard to recognize your own voice, low, gravely and breathy.

He extended his hand to help you up. As you grabbed his hand, it felt like he was on fire, just like you. It took barely a tug of his hand for you to be pressed against him completely again, barely balanced on your feet. Quickly, he pressed his lips to yours again, tongue swiping at the blood from your lip. A wave of arousal crashed through your body again as you pulled away, hand still in his, and pulling him towards the stairs. His lips were stained a faint red as you stared at him.

To you, there was nothing in the world but you and Alastor. Not even the oppressive New Orleans heat could compare to the desire burning in your heart and loins. You led him through your home, up the stairs, and to your bedroom, glancing behind you every few steps to make sure this wasn’t a fever dream. He followed, grin still in place.

As soon as the two of you reached the bedroom, Alastor closed the door behind himself. “Darling, I simply must taste you.” You gasped as he spun you to face him, the light silk of your robe flying open. His eyes trailed over your skin, slowly moving from your lips to your neck, down to your exposed breasts and tightened

nipples, tracing over your soft stomach and down to your most private area. Nervous, you bit down on your bottom lip and tried to move your arms in front of your body. Him being fully clothed… it felt surreal to be bare in a way no one but perhaps your mother had ever seen. Having forgotten you held one of his hands in your own, it startled you

when he pulled the arm away from you. “No, cher. Let me see you. Let me worship you.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, my darling…” Hearing the proud man beg for you, your knees nearly gave out beneath you. You moved your arms out of the way and released his hand to shrug the robe completely off, breathing hard.

“Alastor…” His name felt like a prayer falling from his lips. “Alastor, please…” you begged him breathlessly. He didn’t hesitate to close the gap between your bodies. One hand reached up to cup your cheek as he kissed you again. You felt the soft cotton of his shirt brush against your skin, teasing you even more. Shifting your legs, you could feel moisture between your thighs - the moisture that previously only came when you touched yourself.

Alastor’s other hand drifted to your waist and pulled you completely against him, chest to chest, hip to hip. You shuddered at the feeling of him straining against his pants, opening your mouth to let his tongue move against yours again. His hand moved from your bare waist, up your side with the softest of touch so goosebumps formed, slowing down along the sides of your breasts. He pulled away to stare into your eyes, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re lovely, far too lovely for this lowly sinner… but I will cherish you as you’ve never been cherished before. Is that alright, my love?”

You didn’t have a chance to answer before he reclaimed your lips for a passionate kiss then moved his lips down to your neck. He pressed delicate kisses to the column of your neck, moving down with each one. “Alastor, please… I, I don’t know if I can stand much longer.” You barely recognized your voice, breathy and desperate as it was. He pulled away from his kisses, grinning as both of his hands moved to your hips, gripping the fat of them tightly.

“Of course, cher. I’ll take care of your every need.” He lifted you with ease and moved in such a way for your legs to be wrapped around him. The very core of your being pressed into the hardness in his pants and you let out a breathy whimper. “Oh, you make the best noises. I wonder what others I can get from you.”

There was no way he didn’t feel your wetness seeping into his trousers and the thought made you blush and try to hide your face in his neck. He chuckled before he took a step forward and then leaned down. “Let go, darling,” he ordered once you felt the softness of your neatly made bed against your back.

You obliged and fell back onto the bed, sprawled out so he could see every single inch of your body. His stare felt like electricity running through your body before he slid onto his knees. He hovered over your naked form, looking intensely at you as your flushed chest heaved. “Do you still want me, cher?” The whisper felt heavy in the moment and you knew he’d stop if you asked, but that was the furthest thing from your mind.

“Yes, Alastor, please.” You reached up, lightly tugging him down on top of you, him having to brace himself with his arms to not fall completely on you - it was one of the few times he seemed just as off balance by this as you. Your lips met again. Intoxicating was the only way to describe his kisses - every move made you warm like whiskey, just as addictive on the tongue. He obliged you a few kisses before starting to kiss down your neck, each spot tingling for a moment after every time he pressed his lips against your skin.

Once he reached your collarbone, he switched from soft kisses to playful bites. His teeth scraped lightly against your bone and you shivered at the intense feeling. “Al…” He hummed in response before switching back to kisses as he kissed down the center of your chest, trailing towards your breasts but stopping for a moment as he reached the skin in between them. His eyes darted up to meet yours before he moved to begin kissing and nipping at the mound of your breasts. An animal-like whine escaped the back of your throat at the sensation of his mouth on you; the whine turned into a keening noise as he slipped his tongue over your nipple before dragging it into his mouth. He started to suck lightly against your breast, making your back arch towards him. His hand slid behind your back, your nipple hard between his lips as he held you close.

A light graze of his teeth against your nipple made you moan louder than you ever imagined. You felt him grin against your breast before he sucked a little harder. Your hands clawed at his clothed back, needing desperately to touch him, to let him know how good he made you feel. His chuckle against your back made your nipple

vibrate, sending another sharp flash of arousal to pool in the bottom of your stomach, maybe even leak out of you with how you were spread out underneath Alastor. After a few more moments of sucking, he pulled away; a string of drool stayed connected between your nipple and his mouth as he moved to the other breast to give it the same attention. His hand on your back flexed, nails starting to press into your skin and trailing down in claw marks down your spine. Instead of pain, the pressure made you whimper again. “Alastor, Alastor, please.” You chanted his name, desperately wanting him to do more; whatever that was.

The clawing down your spine stopped right at the small of your back and he pulled away from your nipple with a tiny last lick as he looked at you. You could only imagine with mild horror how you must look. Completely bare to a man that was fully dressed, not even one courting you as your breasts heaved after having your nipples teased even further.

“Beautiful, cher. Simply beautiful.” He praised as he slowly drew back to kneeling on the bed, pulling his arm from behind your back. You smiled at the compliment before watching with rapt attention as his hands came up to his neck before he started to untie his bow tie. Letting out a shaky breath, you watched as his nimble fingers moved. He

started to unbutton his shirt once the tie was tossed to the side. It was a sin, what you were doing. But as the first button came undone, as you saw more of his chest, the less you thought of heaven and hell. No, your eyes stayed on him, flicking up to his face to see him watching you with hazy eyes.

Before popping the second button on his shirt, he stopped. His smile turned mischievous as he instead took a small step back from the bed before falling to his knees. The change in angle made you gasp as you moved to stare down your body to see Alastor staring at your bare sex. Instinctually, you tried to close your legs but strong hands grabbing your knees kept you bare to him. “Now, now, cher. I did want to taste you…” He trailed off as he used his grip on your knees to pull you to the edge of the bed, bringing your sex only inches away from his face. You let out a gasp at how close he was as he moved his eyes to meet yours. “I just know you’ll be the sweetest thing I’ll ever taste.” He cheekily winked at you before leaning closer, still smiling.

Your head fell back against your blankets when you felt his breath against your bare skin. His hands slid from your knees up the front of your legs until he grasped your hips again. A whimper escaped you and he chuckled before pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your left thigh, your right thigh, then just above your wet slit. It felt like forever and an instant all at once as he slowly licked his way into your slit. His low groan seemed to reverberate against your skin; your back arched at the intense sensation.

Alastor took no time licking further into you, lapping at the wetness that he caused. Immediately, you had no thoughts in your head besides a chant of his name. The only thing you could look at was the white ceiling as you made noises you didn’t think anyone was capable of making. His tongue moved against your lower regions, dipping in and out of you and his hands slid from your hips down to your thighs, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The idea of him leaving marks on you, a physical reminder of the intense pleasure he was giving you… You moaned loudly again and he paused in his tongue motion to look up at you.

“Eyes on me, cher.” He commanded and you obeyed without question, propping yourself up so you can watch him devour you. His grin widened before he moved back in. But instead of going directly back to your slit, he licked his way a little further up until it felt like live electricity was running through you. You desperately tried to keep your eyes on him, whispering his name at how ethereal he was making you feel. “Ah, there she is…” He focused all of his attention on the nerve, sucking it into his mouth and pressing his tongue against you.

“AL!” You screamed his name, eyes clenched shut . He didn’t pull away, instead choosing to continue lavishing attention on the sensitive nerve ending. After a moment, he stopped sucking and instead just gave it the tiniest licks. It completely escaped your notice that one hand slid away from its resting place on your thigh and moved in between your legs. The lightest bit of pressure from his fingertip against the entrance to your body made you whimper his name again. “Al… Alastor, Alastor… please…”

“Shhh, darling,” he cooed in between licks. “I have to prepare you. You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?” The questions made you shudder, arousal overwhelming you. A moan came from the back of your throat as his tongue pressed against your clitoris and the tip of his finger started to enter you. You clenched your muscles as Alastor continued to push his finger in and out of you while his tongue worked against the sensitive spot. It felt like time stopped as he slowly licked and fingered the place that was only meant for your future husband, but all you wanted was Alastor. Nothing but Alastor. Slowly, you felt a second finger join the first, stinging at first but slowly he worked you open. He started moving faster than before; the squelching sound obscenely loud besides your panting breath. “Al… Al…” It felt like the only thing you could say was his name.

Slowly, he pulled his mouth away and you saw the way your slickness coated all around his mouth, shining obscenely in the daylight. If your mother wasn’t already dead, you’d send her straight to the grave with how you were acting. You whimpered as he gave you one of his charismatic grins and then pressed a sweet kiss on your thigh. “You’re doing so well, darling,” he praised you easily before curling his fingers against a certain spot inside you. Spots danced in front of your eyes at the intense feeling, your whole body tensing up at each touch. He hit again and again, making sure to keep his eyes locked on you as he gave you ecstasy. “Do you want another finger, sweetheart? Can I prepare you to take my cock?” The only response you could manage was a long whine of his name as his fingers found that spot again and pressed, holding there until it felt like you were about to lose your mind. He pressed a kiss to your lower stomach, just above where his fingers were working in and out of you, as a third finger joined the first two.

The stretch hurt more than you thought - it’d been so good until now. You tried to pull away but Alastor’s other hand moved to your stomach and pinned you there as he moved in and out of you. “I…I…” You struggled to get the words out as he kept you in place with his hand and his eyes.

“Does it hurt, mon cher?” Amusement tinged his voice. “Poor thing… what if I just…” His words trailed off as he pressed the spongy spot again, making your back arch. The pain faded as he continued to move his fingers inside you. “There she is… my pretty little thing… such a darling, taking me so well.” Hearing his praise made you roll your hips against his hand. “Oh? Does she want more?”

You didn’t finish nodding before he slowly pulled his three fingers out of you. Your throat went dry when he licked his fingers to clean your wetness from his skin. “You really are delicious, cher.” He stood again to his full, towering height and you felt so bare and vulnerable as his eyes raked over every visible inch of your skin. “But to really savor you… I’m going to have to ruin you.” It sounded like a promise and you nodded in agreement, reaching for him.

But, Alastor didn’t let you reach him before he started unbuttoning his shirt. His dexterous fingers moved quickly, button after button falling open and baring his skin to you. Scars marred his skin, light indentions against his darker skin, and you made yourself watch the man’s hands as they dropped to his trousers. “C…can I?” You finally managed to speak, biting at your bottom lip. “I… I want to… you know.” Raising a hand to your lips, you hoped he knew what you wanted without you having to say the scandalous words. His fingers never stopped moving as he took off his belt, carefully setting it off to the side, though leaving his shirt open and fluttering around his chest.

“No need, cher. I much rather have all of you.” He gave you a charming grin and wink as he slowed down but still started to unbutton his trousers. Your mouth went dry as he pushed the pants and underwear down to the floor, revealing himself to you as intimately as he was seeing you. Head swimming a little, you wondered how he’d… fit inside you. He looked much larger than three fingers and that was painful at first. “Don’t panic, darling. I’ll take good care of you,” he promised, drawing your eyes from his narrow hips up to his face. “Now be a good girl and move so you’re completely on the bed.”

There was a pause before you complied, moving to lay across the bed properly as it felt like there were a thousand butterflies in your stomach. You glanced quickly at the vanity that showed you how flushed you were, how debauched you look. A chuckle drew your attention back to Alastor as he moved closer to you. His warmth radiated from his skin as he climbed onto the bed next to you before positioning himself almost on top of you. The silky skin of his cock brushed across your thigh as he moved, drawing a breathy noise out of the back of his throat, one of the few noises he’d let slip during the whole time.

The two of you met eyes and you felt like you couldn’t look away; he must have cast a spell on you to make you feel like this, to make you want him this badly. Alastor leaned down to kiss you again, his teeth grazing your tender lip. Not wanting to be an inactive participant any longer, you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. His tongue pressed against yours as you felt him adjust on the bed before you felt something brush against the bundle of nerves he’d found before. It took you a moment to realize that it was his… He greedily swallowed whatever mewling noise you made before prodding the tip against your entrance. “Relax for me, my love. It’ll hurt less.”

Alastor distracted you with another tender kiss as he rolled his hips forward, using one hand to guide himself. His tip caught on the edge of your entrance before sliding in. The pain struck like lightning. “H…hurts…” you whimpered and he tensed for a moment before stopping moving. Closing your eyes tightly, you wanted to move away from him but his weight kept you on the bed.

“I promise, cher, it gets better, just relax.” He shushed you, pecking you between each word he whispered against your lips. “I’ll make you feel so good… just…” His hips moved forward, pushing him further into you. Your body stretched around him, clenching against the intrusion. He hissed out your name as he stilled his hips again, moving the hand from his cock to hold onto your waist.

The touch made you open your eyes again, taking in the wild expression of the man on top of you. Alastor’s eyes looked predatory as he gave you a smile with a shaky exhale. “Just a little more,” he promised before moving his hips more. You felt his hips press against yours and you never felt so full and whole, even with the pain of stretching around him. “You’re mine now, cher,” he promised in the stillness of your room. “I’ll never let you go now.” The possessiveness made you shiver and he hissed at the feeling.

Another moment passed before he looked deep in your eyes, looking for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it as he started to move his hips back. The movement made you whine a little, the pain fading a little as he moved out. You could tell Alastor was starting to lose control because he wouldn’t stop talking - babbling, really, about everything he was feeling. “You’re so tight, so perfect for me…” Overwhelmed at the praise, you captured his lips in a kiss, desperate to find the pleasure he promised.

As soon as it was just the tip of his member inside you, he started to push forward again, a little faster than before. The air seemed to be pushed from your lungs as the pain returned, though not as sharply as before. Alastor shifted his hips slightly to the left and the tip pressed against the spongy spot he’d previously found with his fingers. It felt like fireworks were going off in your head as pleasure shot through you. Was it possible to feel this good without him inside you? You doubted it and never wanted to try. Moaning, you moved your hips against his, wanting more. A choked laugh escaped him as you wiggled underneath him. “Shhh, cher, I’ll give you everything you want and more.” He promised, pressing his forehead against yours and exhaling as he pushed back into you sharply, hitting that spot and stretching your hole against the base of his cock. “Do you trust me?” You didn’t even need to think before nodding. His ever present smile turned a little sharper, a little more dangerous. It sent a thrill through you, knowing this man was all yours.

Moving his hands, he intertwined his fingers with yours gently. He guided your hands above your head, all the while slowly fucking himself into you with a ferocity that should have sent you running but it was too late; he ruined you, just like he promised. “Keep your hands here,” he ordered before pulling his hands away. The backs of his hands trailed down your arms, along the sides of your breasts before pausing to squeeze them and flick at both nipples at the same time. He punctuated the movement with another hard thrust that was almost too deep, a touch of pain coming back but the pleasure never fully ebbed away.

Your hands twitched as you tried to keep them where Alastor told you as his hands moved down from your breasts, tickling along the soft roundness of your stomach before clutching at your hips with bruising force. He nuzzled his face into your neck, pressing kisses to the soft, tender skin; you could only imagine the number of marks he was leaving on you. A tiny groan escaped you as he thrust his hips into you again, moving faster. Pressure was building inside you and you were only vaguely aware of what was happening to you. It never felt like this with the few innocent touches you’d ever given yourself. “Al… Al, please…” You didn’t know what you were pleading for; all you knew is that you wanted - needed more from the radio personality turned your lover.

“You want more?” Alastor spoke mostly into your neck before biting down a little harder than before. You cried out his name as he started to suck and lick at the tender spot. “I’ll give you everything I have and more, cher.” Your heart fluttered at the promise and you could almost imagine being married to him, having him take you like this every night. Whimpering, you arched your back and moved your hips against his as he moved faster and faster within you. He hit that magic spot within you with each thrust and you felt your everything tightening as you seemed to near a peak, closer and closer to tipping over from the sensations he was stirring inside you.

Alastor squeezed tighter on your hips and hissed into your neck. “You’re so soft, so good for me, my darling. You squeeze me so well, making me want to give you a baby.” A gasp escaped you before you could stop it, quickly thinking of you being round with a child, his child, and him giving you as many babies as you wanted. “Is that what my girl wants?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from whining what someone could only assume was a yes. He grunted and with a sharp thrust, it felt like a dam within you broke. Your whole body trembled at the overwhelming pleasure, fireworks shooting behind your eyelids. It only took a few more strokes of his hips before you felt Alastor collapse gently on top of you, face still buried in your neck.

Several moments passed as you laid on your bed, drenched in sweat and trying to catch your breath under your lover. He pulled back and pressed a small kiss to your forehead, following one on your nose then lips, more chaste than any other you’d shared in the afternoon. You moved your arms down from where you’d been holding them to brush a hand over his sweaty hair, laughing lightly as you realized he’d never taken off his glasses, leaving them askew on his face.

Slowly, Alastor pulled out of you and you blushed as he stared at where you’d been joined. You could feel his seed spilling out of you, making you blush as you tried to cover yourself. “It’s a little late for that, darling,” he cooed as he moved off the bed. With him standing in front of you, you took a moment to admire him as you sat up. “I hope it was… satisfactory for you?” The formality of the question made you laugh louder than perhaps you should before nodding.

“You’re wonderful, Alastor,” you assured him as you slid to the edge of the bed. He offered you his hand and you took it, standing next to him, feeling the slick of his release beginning to slide down the inside of your thighs. “I’ll run us a cool bath. We should be able to cool down.” Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to Alastor’s cheek before going to the bathroom to run the two of you a bath.

----

It hurt. When you realized that Alastor left while you were in the bathroom, daydreaming of a future that would never be. The news broke a few days later - Alastor, famed radio host and darling of New Orleans was the Bayou Butcher. Rumors said he died while cannibalizing his latest victim. You threw the paper away as quickly as you could, avoiding the radio entirely. That day… he could have killed you as easily as he fell into your bed. And then he vanished into the afterlife before you could even ask him why.

#alastor x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #smut #no plot whatsoever #just smut #hazbin smut #i wrote something #human alastor #female reader #hazbin hotel #i regret nothing #how do i even tag this #praise kink go brrrr

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chefboyroui · 2 days ago

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I've been pondering how much each villain masturbates, how they do it, do they ever have sexual relations with civilians. I'm more interested in other people's thoughts so you can definitely just skip mine.

William- In his route it is said he falls in love easily and moves on, I can see this also being that he helps a person learn to follow their desires and then sets them free. I picture him jacking off a couple times a week, as soon as he shuts the door to his room, rocking his hips a little bit, or maybe in the shower. He could probably sleep with mostly whoever he wants even without using his power, and he probably has flings more than one night stands.

Liam- In his route he admits to sleeping with women if he thinks it will make them like him. In general, I think he masturbates by humping into something, like folding his pillow on his bed.

Harrison- He's attractive and probably wouldn't have a problem wooing a partner. I don't see him going for a relationship, but maybe hooking up with the same lady occasionally. I can see him trying to read and being too horny to concentrate so he quickly goes to the bathroom to rub one out to some detailed fantasy.

Elbert- Definitely propositioned a lot but ignores it. I don't see him having much of a sex drive until MC, he probably has a lot of trust issues around intimacy given his past.

Alfons- Yes.

Jude- I think he's very busy and his mind is always working, but with so much testosterone, he definitely jacks off several times a week. Sometimes it's in his office, he drapes a cloth over his torso and leans back, jerking it with reckless abandon to some made up story about a gorgeous lady he saw. He also does it in bed, and when he's really into it, he gets on his knees and thrusts into his fist. He's obviously wealthy, so I bet women are willing to overlook his surly attitude, and when he acts and talks like a gentleman, he turns even more heads.

Ellis- I think he masturbates nearly daily and would do whatever would make a lady happy.

Roger- Just from what we see from other characters' routes, Roger is totally DTF. If he gets MC off, he wants to let off some steam too. In one of the events he says he has a hard time picking up ladies. I see him having a wank anytime, after waking up, while waiting on some test results, after missions, before bed, in the middle of the night... He's also one I see needing to have a towel handy as he shoots thick ropes of cum, and has a short refractory period. Probably jacks off daily if not multiple times a day.

Victor- Like Jude, very busy. Probably does not think about sex until he finally retires for the night. I can totally see him having a secret sex dungeon and inviting Will to join him and MC if MC asked.

SPOILERS FOR VICTOR, ROGER, AND JUDE BELOW

Victor- He has a high libido as evident in his route and the event where the villains are abstinent with MC for 2 week and in Victor's story it is because MC got too worn out from so much sex. He carried strong feelings for MC for years, and I don't see him having casual sex or any other relationships because he doesn't want to drag someone into his world.\

Roger- In his route he says he likes to get a lady after going to the strip club, so maybe he pays for sex? I wouldn't be surprised if his size scares people away.

Jude- Due to his route, I doubt he ever pays for sexual acts, and probably doesn't want to get involved with anyone, so he gets pretty pent up.

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fleurdeserre · 1 day ago

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Rafayel: Hidden Shadow [Extended Version]

Abysswalker Rafayel x Reader

Content warnings: explicit sexual content, knife kink / knifeplay, blindfolds, switch Rafayel, brat for brat kind of dynamic, some blood (just a bit), porn with feelings

Word count: 4.7k

Summary:

You feel hot all over, which is weird considering you should be more terrified at the idea of Rafayel of all people being held at knifepoint. But you would never hurt him, you would rather drive that dagger straight through your own heart than ever let it break Rafayel’s skin. Still, for whatever reason you’re ecstatic about the idea of him being wholly and unabashedly at your mercy. This sort of power was never something you craved for, or enjoyed for that matter. Being a princess comes with quite a lot of it after all, anyone could be executed at your whim. But there is something oh so precious in how much Rafayel trusts you to not take his life even when he gives you full authority to do just that.

My take on what was going on in the Hidden Shadow four-star card and what followed right after.

A/N: this secret times audio was giving me the brain worms. I couldn't rest until I wrote this fic. P.S. I've spent waaaay too much time trying to figure out how their leather outfits work and how to get them both out of all those layers.

You can read the fic here or on AO3, whichever is more comfortable

(divider by tsunami-of-tears)

Rafayel has always been a mystery to you, if you’re being completely honest. From the moment you first read about Lemuria, to then being gifted with a living breathing Lemurian, to now meeting him again so many years later. Truly, how could he even be real? Such a beautiful being whose tears turned to pearls, whose voice was able to transfer one into dreamland, whose blood had healing and according to some myths even resurrecting properties.

Back then at Moonbath Lake, when you set him free, you thought it would be your last encounter, even though he said he’d return to find you one day. You couldn’t even dream of it. Why would he even remember about any of it? He probably only suggested you came with him out of gratitude for releasing him. He must have realized you were just as trapped in that palace as he was.

Today is different, though.

Today you’re not a princess. Not really. Rafayel gave you the opportunity to escape for just one evening. You’re out in the desert, in the middle of nowhere, so far from the palace and the ball, so far from Her Highness’s birthday celebration. For now, you’re just you. And you’re with Rafayel.

He’s decided that it would be a great idea to teach you how to stand up for yourself and hold your ground in case something happens. So, now you’re having a swordsmanship practice in the desert. You feel free, ecstatic, with sweat slowly sliding down from your hair to neck, to spine. The sound of heavy breathing and the swish of your swords colliding is the only thing you hear apart from the rising wind. The setting sun is the only indicator to how much time has actually passed since you’ve started.

Rafayel stops and steps aside, looking into the distance and apparently finding something there. “Let’s stop here for today,” he says out of nowhere.

“Why?” you ask, your brows furrowed. Though, your sore muscles groan in response to your protest as if telling you it really was enough for one day. But it’s not like the two of you have all the time in the world, you’ll have to return to the palace very soon.

Rafayel sheathes his blade and looks back at you before replying, “A sandstorm approaches. We must return to our tent.”

True, the wind was getting stronger in the last few minutes but you didn’t think anything of it. Rafayel is far more knowledgeable when it comes to living in the desert, though, so you trust his judgement and follow him. Still, you decide to tease him a bit just because you feel like it, “What, are you scared of a little breeze?”

A sandstorm is no little breeze, you know it and Rafayel knows that you know it. So, he responds with an eye-roll, “Huh? I’m not completely unaffected by the harsh environment.” Then he turns around to face you and walks backwards, his voice is lower than before when he says, “But a competent assassin can still fight despite the sand.”

You get to the tent and he gentlemanly opens and holds the fabric for you to enter it. Only then does he whisper, “Would Your Highness like to try?” You almost want to ask what he’s talking about when he takes out the dagger that was hidden in his boot. He tosses it in the air and catches it by the blade, extending the hilt to you. “With your determination, let’s do it,” there’s a challenge in his voice, a little lilt betraying his serious tone.

You take the dagger without uttering a word, still unsure where this is going, when Rafayel takes out a blindfold—where did he even find one—and ties it at the back of your head, his fingers quick and efficient. Now you can’t see anything and the realization makes your throat go dry for some reason.

“Now, Your Highness’s eyes are covered. How is it?”

He must be inquiring whether it’s too tight or not but all you can say is, “Dark.” Your cheeks flush from how stupid it must’ve sounded. Of course, it’s dark, that’s the whole point of a blindfold.

“Stay calm,” his voice is steady beside your ear and you reflectively turn your head towards it, as if to catch a glimpse of him. You can’t, of course. “When sight cannot be relied on,” he whispers into your right ear, then quickly moves to the left one, “The other senses must be utilized.” Shivers go down your spine for some reason. It’s so weird to be able to hear him, feel his body heat and the touch of his hand, yet be unable to see him, or anything for that matter.

“Try and catch me,” with that Rafayel’s body disappears, leaving only cold air behind. You turn around, blind and disoriented without him. You pause, trying to take in your surroundings with your other senses, the way Rafayel told you to. You know you two are in a tent and it isn’t too big, so it’s not like he can hide too far away. You try focusing on the sounds around you but the wind’s whistle outside the tent is the only thing you can catch, until a rustling noise comes from your right. Without much thought, you throw yourself in the direction of the sound, colliding with Rafayel’s body. With a quiet groan he catches you in his arms but loses his balance in the process, so now you’re both going down.

You land on top of him, still mindful of the dagger in your hand, you wouldn’t want to accidentally stab Rafayel. “Not bad…” he muses, “but it was only a matter of luck.” You can’t help but think if he made the sound on purpose, so that you could find him easier, or maybe it was just a misstep on his part. The latter seems unlikely, though.

His hands come to sit on your waist and that is the moment you realize you’re straddling him, which…isn’t ideal—a compromising position for a princess—so, you try moving up and away but he doesn’t let you, tightening the grip around your waist. “Sit down.” He seems so calm about it, you let yourself relax. But when your hands go to untie the blindfold, he stops you. “Don’t remove the blindfold just yet.”

“Didn’t I pass your test? I caught you,” you protest with a pout. However, if having the blindfold on guarantees you can feel his body under yours for just a while longer, you don’t mind it that much.

Rafayel huffs out a laugh. “Even in darkness, one must be able to pinpoint an enemy’s vital points with ease.” He reaches out and takes the hand that you have been meticulously keeping away from him with the dagger’s sharp tip facing upward. He directs your wrist towards his body, so that the dagger is now between the two of you. Your heart skips a beat at the realization that the blade must be pressed really close to his body. Your palm becomes clammy and your throat tightens all of a sudden.

“With a weapon, only some strength is needed to wound the stomach,” his voice is calm and collected but to you this stops feeling like a lesson. His hand is still holding your wrist, steady and unshakable, as if you’re not pressing a deadly weapon into his body. Then he begins navigating your hand higher up. “The chest.” He lets go of your hand and you instinctively pull it away from him, too scared to hurt him. “Not there. Your Highness needs to go lower.” He takes your hand once more and pushes it a bit lower. You hear the dagger’s sharp tip catching on his zipper. “It will be a fatal blow if you stab here.” You bring your free hand up from the floor of the tent and put it on his chest right under the dagger. The feeling of leather and the metal buckle under your palm sober you up enough to realize the dagger is right above where Rafayel’s heart must be. “It ensures one’s victory,” he sounds raspy now, as if it only just occurred to him that you could easily end his life here and now with one swift motion. You wouldn’t, though. And he knows it. So, whatever it is that made his voice go from steady to hoarse, it’s not fear.

He doesn’t stop there, though. Now he’s pulling your hand up and adjusting your grip on the dagger. “The throat is also a vulnerable area,” he croons. You once again use your free hand to feel around the area the dagger is pressing into. Your fingers find the soft, warm—a bit too warm—skin of Rafayel’s throat. His Adam’s apple bobs under your touch and a gentle huff falls from his lips. You almost jerk back at the sound with how unexpected it was. “Scared?” The challenge in his question clearer than ever.

You have never backed away from a challenge in your life, so your left hand goes to hold the back of his neck and your right one grips the dagger tighter. “Never mind, Your Highness’s hand is slightly cold.” You can feel shivers going down his neck and that makes you smirk. You feel hot all over, which is weird considering you should be more terrified at the idea of Rafayel of all people being held at knifepoint. But you would never hurt him, you would rather drive that dagger straight through your own heart than ever let it break Rafayel’s skin.

Still, for whatever reason you’re ecstatic about the idea of him being wholly and unabashedly at your mercy. This sort of power was never something you craved for, or enjoyed for that matter. Being a princess comes with quite a lot of it after all, anyone could be executed at your whim. But there is something oh so precious in how much Rafayel trusts you to not take his life even when he gives you full authority to do just that.

“Try to do what I just said.” You choose to do this your own way, though, so you adjust your grip on the dagger and drag its sharp edge over the exposed skin of his throat. You’re very careful, since you still cannot see anything. It’s a gentle caress, nothing more, but Rafayel’s body shivers once again and you know this round is yours. He arches his back a bit chasing the ghostly feeling of cold metal kissing his skin ever so lightly. He heaves a breath and says, “It’s the correct spot, but Your Highness‘s hand still hasn’t moved. An assassin wouldn’t be this slow.” His voice way weaker than before, lacking bite. Does he want you to move your hand? To leave a fresh cut?

Ignoring his words, you let your hand wander. The tip of the dagger, slowly going down his chest, it ends up back where you started. His stomach. “Carelessness leads to an assassin’s death,” Rafayel warns you, as if this is still a lesson of self-defense.

“Oh?” You curse the blindfold, preventing you from making a show of innocently batting your lashes but you still manage to pout your lips a little to make a point. “So, is this where I should strike?” You press the dagger just a bit closer to his body—somewhere around the area where his navel should be—so that he can feel the danger through the thick layer of leather.

“No, that is not it either.” A half whimper falls from his lips, his breathing is so much faster now that you drag the dagger even lower. When you get to where his lower abdomen should be, he catches you by the wrist, says, “Um… stop right there,” and clears his throat

He huffs out a laugh, trying to regain some semblance of control. “As a rookie, Your Highness’s courage is commendable.” You stay silent, very obviously caught red-handed. “Yet does a simple blindfold excuse a person’s brazenness?”

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” you say, still feeling the weight of his hold on your forearm. It’s burning your skin even through layers of leather. Your face feels hot, too. You’re probably as red as fresh strawberries.

“Your Highness didn’t do it on purpose?” Rafayel coos, much closer to your ear now.

“Nope,” you say and shake your head once, holding it high.

He chuckles. “Your Highness’s acting is lackluster when it comes to being clueless.” Rafayel flicks you on the nose and you—surprised—momentarily lose balance and fall onto him only catching yourself in the last possible moment, pressing your palms into the tent’s floor.

Your face hovers right above Rafayel’s, you can feel his breath on your lips. “Sorry,” you mumble into the tense silence.

“It’s fine,” you hear him say softly before a gentle hand starts caressing your cheek. Then, in a split second, you feel your world turn upside down, as he flips you over, switching your positions so that you’re laying under him and he’s the one hovering above you. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you hear nothing but the thump-thumping of your heart. “I forgot to mention. A good assassin must be able to counterattack.”

His nose buries itself into your neck, inhaling you like you’re a drug that he just cannot get enough of. The dagger lays forgotten beside you, while Rafayel is pinning your hands to the floor. “Is Your Highness prepared for the next lesson?” He whispers into your skin, and this time you’re the one shivering. A gasp escapes your lips, as you feel his wet, hot tongue on your throat.

“Rafayel—” you moan breathless, not even you know what you’re asking for but somehow he seems to understand.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ll take good care of you, Your Highness.” With that his lips finally find yours. It’s as if your whole body has been ignited. Every little touch, his body weight, every point of connection with him feels ten times more intense with your vision still blocked by the blindfold.

However, you have had enough of darkness, so when he finally releases your hands, you use them to take off the blindfold. A second to adjust to the light and refocus your vision, then you see Rafayel taking his leather gloves off with his teeth. Your lower abdomen makes a backflip at the sight.

Rafayel tsks. “Ah-ah, I don’t remember telling you to take it off. Your Highness is taking waaay too many liberties. What should I do in retaliation?” He taps his chin with his index finger in mock ponder. “I know.” But before you can ask him anything, his now bare hands reach your legs. Slowly, gently they make their way from your thighs to knees, to calves where Rafayel’s quick fingers undo the laces of your boots and take them off. He then starts trailing slow, deliberate kisses from your ankle up.

When he gets to your inner thigh, you reflectively try closing your legs because his breath tickles you but you just end up bracketing his head and trapping it there. Rafayel chortles which tickles you even more, so you huff out an embarrassed “Stop!” and push his head away. He has other plans, though. He resumes the kissing and you gradually melt into it again.

“I can’t stop,” he says after a peck. “Not ever.” Another one. “How could I?” This time he sucks the skin into his mouth and leaves a little bite on it. “Your Highness is the definition of perfection. I could never get enough of you.” He then hooks his finger under your thigh garter, pulls it away then lets it snap back into place, you hiss in response and send a sharp glance his way. “Oops,” he drawls.

“Rafayel, please—”

“Please what?” he asks with his cheek pressed to your thigh. His brows are furrowed—the picture of innocence—as if he doesn’t know what it is you want him to do.

“Take off your clothes and get down to business,” you have no problem with using the petulant princess tone right now. Your patience is wearing thin.

He smirks, clicks his tongue and bows his head. “Your Highness’s wish is my command,” he replies with reverence, you can still hear the smirk in his voice, though.

Rafayel is quick with unbuckling the belt of his cloak and taking it off, his boots follow it to the opposite corner of the tent. You look at him mesmerized as he’s undressing himself bit by bit. When you catch him staring back at you smugly, you look away, self-conscious. “Is Your Highness waiting to be undressed by yours truly? Or am I just too distracting for you to do it yourself?”

“You have truly worn me down with all those sword practices,” you complain in a needy voice. “I guess you have to help me out of my clothes now.”

“At your service,” Rafayel says, taking one of your hands and leaving a gentle kiss on it. Then he starts unbuckling and unzipping your garment from neck down. When you’re finally laying completely bare under him, he looks at all the parts of you that were inaccessible to his gaze before like a man starved. Next thing you know there’s a hot wetness on your nipple, he’s licking it, then playfully grazing it with his teeth, then back to licking again. He sucks at your skin—every inch he can get to—like a cat playing with a ball, impatient and eager, easily distracted by some other yet untouched part of your body.

His own body—so warm and sticky after a whole day in the desert—weighs down on you. You let your hands run through his hair, carding through the strands damp with sweat, massaging his scalp, then getting down to the back of his neck. Your gentle caresses turn to scratches, as you feel Rafayel hump into your leg faster and faster with each passing second. Arching your back does nothing to loosen you up, to bring you some friction, relief, so you huff in frustration and pull Rafayel’s hair demanding his attention, as if he’s not the one currently painting your upper body into all the shades of red imaginable.

“Your Highness is sooo greedy,” he whispers into your skin wet with saliva, his breath making you shiver. He presses his knee between your legs and you wheeze, cursing under your breath. “Maybe I should make you beg for it…” his voice deepens.

Oh hell no, he does not get to tease you, to now just taunt and torture you. Not on your watch. So, you use one of the techniques he taught you to overpower and throw him off of you. You land on top of him with a grin, as he stares at you speechless. “Guess it’s time for the student to surpass the master, don’t you think?” As you say that, your gaze lands on the dagger discarded beside Rafayel. You reach out and take it before you can even think of a reason why. All you know is you want to see him this time, just hearing him get all hot and bothered by the threat of a knife at his throat was not enough.

“Be a good boy, yeah?” You put the blade to the side of his neck and Rafayel whimpers. His breath audibly hitches and his eyes—oh those eyes—there’s fire in them. Not just sparks, fireworks lighting up in the eyes so reminiscent of the sea you have only seen in your dreams. “Easy now,” you shush him, gently cupping his cheek with your free hand, “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

You really want to feel him inside already but you can’t resist the urge to tease him just a little—not exactly revenge but retribution—so, you let your hand roam his body. His chest is rising and falling in quick succession but he doesn’t say a word. You don’t need words to know he’s enjoying this very much. His body is telling you all there is to know. He’s looking at you with pure devotion but the lower your hand gets, the hazier his gaze becomes. When you finally encircle his length he sighs, screwing up his eyes, apparently unable to continue looking at you. He must really be on the edge, huh.

Rafayel is lucky you’re not in the mood for more teasing, so after a few pumps you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink onto him. Moans intertwine and mix in the pent-up space. You leisurely start moving up and down, more focused on his face than anything else. Eyes devouring every little detail, every small, subtle shift in his expression. The way he bites his lip trying not to whine when the reminder of a dagger at his throat comes in the form of increased pressure.

He’s enjoying this. But that is not the realization that shocks you. What does come as a surprise, though, is that you are enjoying this no less. Oh, God.

“Please,” Rafayel pleads, his voice pulled tight.

“Please what?” you can’t help but return his jab from before.

“Your Highness, please let me touch you.” Desperation in his hazy gaze, as if he might combust if his fingers don’t at the very least lightly brush your skin right about now.

Instead of gracing him with a verbal response, you take one of his hands and put it on your waist. He doesn’t need more permission than that, so his other hand is quick to follow. The next thing you know his hands are guiding you up and down, building up the tempo to his liking. The friction picks up speed and intensity, and you start panting in earnest.

You try staying focused and minding the dagger still at your lover’s throat but he knows just how to unravel you. When Rafayel’s fingers find your clit, you are truly and utterly gone. Head thrown back, body pulled so tight, it’s akin to a string on the brink of snapping, you’re almost ready to let yourself go, fall into the abyss. That’s when you hear a sharp hiss, your eyes fly open and find Rafayel’s. His fingers are still working you towards that release but you forget all about it, your heart drops when you notice blood trickling down his neck. The dagger—its blade red and shiny—falls from your hand, you catch Rafayel’s wrist and pause all movements.

Your throat is tight, as you stare at the cut on his throat. It doesn’t necessarily look deep, but it’s there nonetheless. You shake your head in disbelief. How could you let this happen? “I—” your voice gets caught in your throat halfway through. “I’m so sorry, Raf—”

“It’s nothing,” he reassures you and tries resuming his movements but you don’t let him.

“It’s not nothing, Rafayel, you’re bleeding!” you try not to let panic consume you but you’re doing a poor job of it.

“Hardly,” he scoffs but when he notices how terrified you look, he’s quick to sit up and pull you into a hug which comes off awkward in your current position. “Hey, shh, I’m fine,” he soothes you, as apologies keep falling from your lips repeatedly, the last one dying on them, as you’re cut off by a kiss. Confused and still kind of in shock, you freeze at first but when Rafayel doesn’t tone it down, you respond in kind, forgetting about everything else, just losing yourself in him wholly.

You blink once and find yourself under him once again, he flipped you over so gracefully you didn’t even notice. When he finally draws back and lets you take a breath, he cups your cheek gently and says, “I trust you.” With that he kisses your fingers and puts the dagger back into your hand again. Your grip on it is unsure, timid, hand shaking as he holds it tightly and pulls it towards his chest. The sharp tip grazing hot skin. The red outlines of the fish—your bond mark—glowing softly in the dim light and reflecting off the blade’s surface.

Rafayel starts moving inside you again, breath getting heavier with each circling motion. But all you can think of, all you can see is the dagger in your hand. He trusts you, you remind yourself and put your free hand over the fish imprint, covering it with your whole palm, securing it. Now, even if the dagger gets too close to him, it’ll have to get through you before it ever reaches him. You will never let anything touch him. That right is only reserved for you.

His thrusts pick up the pace, his hands are all over your body but he doesn’t touch your arms. He pinches your nipples, rolling them with his fingers, drawing circles all over your skin. The howl you kept trapped in your throat slips out, when those sneaky fingers of his find your clit once more. “Your Highness, this is your last lesson for today, so listen carefully,” his voice comes through the haze of your mind. “A good assassin should also know when to rely on their partner and let go. So, do it,” he dares you.

Your vision whitens, something pulling hard at your navel, as you do what you’re told and let go. Mouth falling open in a loud gasping moan, as you feel Rafayel coming undone inside you with a moan just as loud as yours. You grunt a little, when his exhausted body falls onto yours, completely spent. Thankfully, you had the foresight to throw the dagger aside.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and lets himself fall to the side and off of you.

You only realize you have cut the back of your palm in the process of it all, when Rafayel takes your hand into his. He frowns looking at the small cut, then pulls it closer to his mouth. First, he kisses it—a soft, there and gone touch—then he licks it once, twice. The cut stings a bit at the contact with saliva but it’s kind of satisfying. “Your Highness isn’t above licking up wounds, are you?” A challenge. Again. It hasn’t even been a whole minute since the last one.

You push him down by the shoulder and bring your own mouth to the cut on his neck. It’s not even bleeding anymore but you lick up the maroon stains on his skin, the metallic taste hitting your tongue. You swipe it across the cut a few times, then start kissing and sucking at it, hoping to leave a love bite on top of the cut, surely that’d make up for the fact you accidentally hurt him. Rafayel moans and you’re glad to hear him sound so utterly wrecked instead of in pain.

Pulling away, you hear him scoff. You look at him quizzically and he just shakes his head, taking your wounded hand again and showing it to you with a smirk. “Ta-da!” There’s not a cut in sight.

“How—” you want to ask but then the realization hits you, your eyes widening a bit. Did he just trick you into drinking his blood for it to heal you? That’s ridiculous, it was only a scratch. You huff out a laugh and hit his arm lightly just to be petty.

“Your Highness is so easy. We should probably work on that next,” there’s a lightheartedness in his voice.

“So, when’s our next lesson, Master?” you ask teasingly.

He tries not to show what that nickname does to him but you still see it and take note for the next time.

“Any day,” he replies. “Every day.” He kisses the corner of your lips. “Any time.” A kiss on the other corner. “Tomorrow, or the day after that.” A deep kiss on the mouth. “You say it. I am yours whenever.”

#my fanfiction #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #rafayel love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x mc #qi yu #qi yu love and deepspace #fanfic #lads fanfic #lads smut

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marigold-hills · 9 hours ago

Note

Hi Marigold, 😁, I know atm you are busy with other projects, so I am not expecting this any time soon. When you get a moment, I would love you to consider the following prompts for Wolfstar: 3, 14, 25, 27 from the prompt list. So much angst in those lines 🫢👀

hey! I’m sorry this took so long! Hope it was worth the wait.

3, 14, 25, 27

“I know it hurts.”

“I made a mistake.”

“I’m scared.”

“Please stay with me.”

🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟

Remus is alone in the Shack. He sits on the small, ruined bed and looks at the scratches of claws gauged into the wood.

He made them - the wolf made them - the last time he transformed alone.

It’s been so many months since then. So many moon rises and moon sets with company that he’s forgotten what this was like. The waiting.

The Shack’s windows are bordered up. He can’t see the sky and can’t tell the time. Can’t tell how long is left except for the steady breaking of marrow deep inside his bones (the wolf getting ready, laying in wait, always close, always separated by nothing but the barrier of Remus’ own flesh).

He doesn’t have his wand. He never brings it. Moony could break it, he said when asked. It belongs to me, not to it, he didn’t add. I want nothing of mine contaminated by it.

He doesn’t bring his nice sweaters or his nice shoes. He wears an old beaten up shirt and jeans torn at the knees he’a long grown too tall for.

Today, he wears a shirt he stole from

the bed of someone who should be here. It’s black and has the face of Jim Morrison printed on the front. The person who should be here slept in it the previous night. It smells like him, still.

Remus is too tired to pretend that isn’t why he took it.

He’s not angry. Not anymore, and maybe he wasn’t in the first place. It’s not the person’s fault that someone could be dumb enough to go where he knows a werewolf would be.

But he knows the wolf near lost its mind at the smell. He’s too worried to let anyone close again.

The person is a contrarian. Remus knows this. Should have known.

The footsteps on the rickety stairs try to be soft.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Sirius says before he says anything else.

“It’s soft,” Remus doesn’t lie but doesn’t tell the truth.

“You don’t even like The Doors.” Sirius stands in the sliver of light forcing itself through the cracks in the boards. He’s solid, real.

“I like some of their songs just fine.”

“You like been down so long because it resonates with your self-deprecation, not because you enjoy it.”

Remus doesn’t have an answer to that. He lets himself fall backwards on the bed.

“What are you doing here?” He asks. “I told you not to come.”

“And I told you I would anyway.” Sirius sits on the bed, next to the bend of Remus’ knees. “You might have convinced James with your talk of boundaries or whatever, but we both know that’s bullshit.”

Sirius, Remus knows, only swears if it’s about his mother or to make a point. To make it stick.

“I made a mistake,” Sirius adds, “a really fucking big one.”

“It’s not about that.”

“No?” He doesn’t look convinced. “Last month I sent someone to the Shack and this month we’re not allowed to spend the moon with you. I’m not stupid, Remus.”

A hand placed on Remus’ knee. Sturdy. Solid. Real.

“I know you’re not angry with me. I know you’re not angry with James. Peter, bless him, had nothing to do with it.”

“Peter turns into a rat. Moony would have him for a snack,” Remus scoffs.

“There it is.” The hand squeezes, like a victory, fingers strong on the achy tendons. “You’re scared.”

Remus is too tired. He turns on his side, away from the voice that sounds too self-satisfied and the hand that feels too soothing.

The dichotomy of Sirius - comfort wrapped in barbed wire.

“You think Moony has gone onto some kind of blood lust.”

“You don't know shit,” Remus lies. Remus is so tired of lying.

“You think that he smelled that dumb wanker, and now he’ll turn on us.” Sirius doesn’t let him deflect. A hand on Remus’ elbow, pulling him back. “You think Moony will turn on his own pack.”

They’re eye to eye now, Sirius above him.

“Prongs had to…”

“I know what James did. You had that hoof-shaped bruise on your arse for weeks.”

Remus tries to turn away. A hand on his neck. Solid, sturdy, real. Not pushing. Holding.

“Prongs has had to get rough with you plenty of times before. Do you know what Moony does? Mewls like a cat. Apologises. Licks his face.”

A hand in his hair. Holding.

“He’s just like you, when you let yourself be real. He’s you, Moony. Would you ever hurt me?”

Eyes, solid, silver, stern.

“Never.”

Sirius releases the grip but doesn’t move away.

The moon pulls at Remus’ navel. At the place where his brain connects to the stem of his spine.

“I’m scared,” Remus says. Thinks of the waiting. “Please stay with me.”

“You just have to ask,” Sirius says, leans forward, breath against Remus’ brow. They’ve never been this close before. “Anything you ask.”

Remus’ mind dissolves into pieces of itself and pieces of the other. He hears shouting or maybe howling or maybe he hears nothing at all. Only a whisper, I know it hurts, I’ve got you, I have you. I’m right here.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #remus x sirius #dead gay wizards #fanfic #marauders era #marigold micros

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thatgayunoriginalbastard · 18 hours ago

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Sharpwolf Vampire AU Fic Idea

When Telemachus was young, a few years old (so after Ody left) there was a vampire attempting to assassinate him, Tele only surviving due to divine intervention (probably Hermes since he wants to keep his great-great-grandson alive while his great-grandson is off at war), but since his neck was bitten he turned into a vampire

Penelope was horrified when she found out what happened but would never kill her son even if he has become a monster and so she keeps him hidden away in the castle and finds ways to procure blood for him, mostly animal blood that she collects when making sacrifices to the gods but occasionally if he's getting particularly hungry she'll let him drink some of hers (she wears long sleeves or cuffs around her arms as he only drinks from her arms so that doesn't accidentally turn her by going for her neck)

Telemachus has grown up isolated, hating himself, and barely getting any socialization because Penelope wants to minimize the amount of people who know him and because when he was a young teen he decided he was probably in control enough to be allowed to roam the palace at night...only for him to come across a new maid being harassed by a guard and he killed the guard right in front of the maid which freaked her out so much she tried to attack him, making him to kill her too out of predatory instinct

When the suitors started showing up his cravings just kept getting stronger due to all of his anger, being able to hear and smell the suitors very well even where he's locked away, also hearing how awful they are from how Penelope talks about them when she visits (he has offered to kill them for her several times and she refuses every time)

One nights he ends up sneaking into the palace just so he can see just how many men there are while he assumes they're all asleep...but it turns out Antinous is very much so still awake and fascinated when he finds out that the rumored prince is real and still alive

When he starts to make some comments about Penelope, Telemachus can't help himself and goes to attack him but Antinous is able to block him from his neck, Telemachus biting into his arm instead and *instantly* Antinous is into it

Telemachus, after pulling himself off of Antinous' arm, is readying himself to kill Antinous only to be shocked when the suitor isn't scared of him at all and is actually...nice to him?

Antinous offers him more of his blood in exchange for conversation and when Telemachus points out that he could just take it Antinous tells him that he won't do that, which is very true

Telemachus accepts the offer and Antinous lets him drink more of his blood then answers a few questions before he hears someone coming and leaves

Antinous, to Telemachus' surprise, doesn't tell anyone about his secret and a while later Tele seeks him out to ask him why, Antinous explaining that Tele's existence is already just a rumor and most think he's dead and for him to try to convince anyone that he's alive and is just hidden away because he's a vampire would be an impossible task, then gives him more blood in exchange for more questions and casual conversation

This goes on for a while until Penelope notices that his cravings for human blood has been going down and puts together that he has been feeding, which makes her very nervous after the last time she knew about him feeding on someone other than her and he has to explain what's going on

Penelope, who has dealt with Antinous during the daytime, is very suspicious but has no reason not to believe Tele and also knows that she can't really stop him in any way that matters without basically chaining him up and hoping he isn't strong enough to escape, so the next day she basically interrogates Antinous and reluctantly agrees to allow the whole arrangement to continue, telling Antinous where Telemachus is hidden so that the two of them don't risk being caught

Things get better for Telemachus as being able to have human blood so consistently has helped him physically and mentally and he gets closer to Antinous who eventually offers to teach him how to fight since Antinous uses their first encounter as an example that just because Telemachus is an unnatural predator, he isn't perfect and should know how to fight just in case he needs to defend himself and while Telemachus is nervous because he doesn't really want to be better at killing people Antinous convinces him by saying that maybe if he knows what he's doing then he'll be able to stop himself from doing anything bad

Telemachus gets better at fighting, he and Antinous get closer and closer, and eventually Tele catches feelings

One day the two of them decide to practice in the castle training grounds so Tele can have more space since nobody else should be up that late but they end up staying up so late that they're still out when morning comes and are found by another suitor who is able to put together who Tele is and, thanks to the sunrise coming, figures out that Tele is a vampire

The suitor is staying out in the sun so Telemachus can't do anything about them so Antinous tries to protect him, talking to the other suitor, but the two end up fighting and Antinous gets hurt in a way that makes Tele think he's fatally injured which makes Telemachus so scared and angry he runs out into the light, bites the suitor, starts drinking his blood despite the fact that his skin is actively burning, realizes that Antinous is still alive, lets the suitor go, and takes Antinous away with him so they can both heal up

Antinous questions his very dumb choice which leads to Telemachus confessing his feelings, expecting Antinous to reject him, only for Antinous to say that he's loved him ever since he first tried to kill him

[insert sex scene with lots of biting here]

The suitor who Telemachus attacked tries to tell the other suitors about what happened with Antinous and Telemachus but they just assume he's either crazy or just pissed off Antinous, lost to him in a fight, and is trying to come up with an excuse, which makes the suitor dedicated to exposing Antinous and Telemachus

Penelope learns about the rumors the suitor is trying to start, goes to Telemachus, finds out that not only did he attack the suitor in literal broad daylight but she also finds out about Antinous and Telemachus kinda sorta getting together (maybe she sees them in a state that's clearly post-sex cuddles or maybe the two of them are just really damn obvious) and has a whole lot of feelings about the situation mostly because of how dangerous it is and she and Tele get into an argument that ends with Penelope forcing Antinous to leave the palace since, as he clearly isn't pursing her anymore, he has no reason to stay

Telemachus is reasonably upset but Antinous figures that it's probably for the best, promising to visit when the whole suitor situation blows over, even though they both know he probably won't be able to

Antinous is, however, able to negotiate staying one more week so he can have any arrangements for his return home made which is able to be a small comfort for Telemachus, at least until Penelope moves Telemachus to her room, locking him in there so she can know where he is at all times

Near the end of the week time limit the big storm happens, Penelope is confident that Odysseus will return soon, and she gives the challenge to the suitors

Antinous actually does his damn best to win the challenge, giving the impression that he does actually want the queen, because he figures that if he can win the challenge he can prove that he is worthy of Telemachus

The whole "Hold Them Down" thing happens led by the suitor who Telemachus attacked, determined to use the strength and anger within all the suitors to manage to get the queen and use her as bait to prove that Telemachus is real and a vampire, only to be shot through the throat by Odysseus

"Odysseus" happens but Antinous is just doing everything he can to look for Telemachus without getting killed, going to Penelope's room to warn her only to discover that she let Telemachus go because Tele was able to hear the plans and already warned her and she let him go to keep him safe which just makes Antinous freak out because he knows that that means Telemachus isn't safe because even if the suitor who hates Tele got shot, with all the bloodshed from Odysseus' return happening then there's no way he won't expose what he is and probably get himself killed

Antinous comes across the weapons room, breaks the door open, and starts looking for something to protect himself and Telemachus, but is found by Odysseus

Things go from bad to worse when, before Odysseus can kill him, the angry suitor pulls out the whole draft version of the song and with the help of the other suitors starts to kick Odysseus' ass despite being shot through the throat, yelling out to Telemachus to come and try to kill him for real if he really loves his father

Homeboy gets instant karma when Telemachus does show up, the suitor and Tele fight, but since Tele has gotten fight training (which the suitor didn't know), he kills him, draining him of all his blood

On the high of murder and seeing all the threats around, he goes on his own little bloodthirsty rampage to protect his father, murdering suitor after suitor all in front of Antinous and Odysseus, who is seeing his son for the first time in 20 years and learning that that son is a vampire (for extra drama points Ody is actually be a monster hunter on the side, a fact made ironic by him becoming a metaphorical monster to get back to his son who became a literal monster just a few years after he left)

After all the suitors are dead but Telemachus is still high on bloodlust, smells the blood from Odysseus' injuries, and goes to attack because he's just in hunting mode having drank more blood that he ever has before and being surrounded by so much death that he doesn't recognize his dear injured father but Antinous gets in the way, losing a decent amount of blood before finally snapping Telemachus out of it

Telemachus stops, Antinous doesn't die thanks to Odysseus' help, Telemachus and Odysseus have their reunion, Odysseus goes off to see Penelope, and Telemachus and Antinous are left alone and surrounded by the carnage

Telemachus feels awful for nearly killing Antinous and apologizes, Antinous calls his bloodthirsty rage hot, they laugh, they kiss, they talk, (maybe they have sex surrounded by corpses because they kinky like that) and the chaos is finally over

Thanks to Ody's monster hunting knowledge he figures out ways to let Telemachus actually live a semi-normal princely life, Antinous sticks around as a lover/blood supply bag, and all is well that ends well

...so how obvious is it that I'm still not normal about the end of Castlevania Notcturne season 2 and all the shit with Olrox and Mizrak and am coping by projecting onto Sharpwolf?

I don't know if anything will come of this but I might make it a fic? I mean, this post is basically a fic outline so...who knows. Depends how I feel and if literally anyone but me finds the idea interesting. But yeah.

I am incredibly tired and stayed up far too long writing this thing I hope to god this is at all coherent

#epic the musical #epic the musical au #vampire au #telemachus #antinous #odysseus #penelope #sharpwolf #telemachus x antinous #antinous x telemachus #antimachus #fanfiction #fanfic ideas

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