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babyfoxflower · 2 months ago

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The Hunter and the Hunted

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader

*Disclaimer: This story is an AU and does not follow Hellaverse canon. Alastor is pretty much just a hetero, if this offends you in anyway, then I suggest you block me and go on your way.*

Synopsis: This the story of Alastor and the love of his life, his huntress, the charming Y/n Rosier. A rare beauty out on the bayou, his heart is instantly stolen by her. He’ll do anything for his beloved, even if that includes murder.

Story Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Violence, Blood, Hunting, Murder, Mentions of Child Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, 1920s Attitudes Towards Women

Chapter One Next

Alastor looked up at the now darkening sky. It was getting late and the only thing he managed to find on his hunt were a few measly rabbits that he stuffed into his hunting sack to make carrying multiple of them easier.

“At least we can make a stew out of these,” the disappointment clear in his voice.

He was hoping he’d find a nice big stag to bring home. His mother was quite fond of venison, and even had a special jambalaya recipe that included it. But he knew what ever she made would be delicious.

He took off his glasses and gave them a quick cleaning, he forgot his cleaning cloth at home and had to use his shirt. A bad habit he knew, but it was better than nothing.

He straightened them back onto his face, “Alright, time to go home.”

He started his way back, humming to distract himself from the lousy feeling in his chest.

“GOD DAMNIT!!!” A voice yelled from deeper in the forest.

Alastor stopped dead in his tracks.

That sounds like a lady. I wonder if she needs help.

His gentleman nature would not allow him to ignore a damsel in distress, so he set off in the direction of the voice.

“FOR HEAVENS SAKE! MOVE YOU DAMN STAG!”

Alastor was taken aback when he finally found the source of the noise. It was a woman alright, but a woman who did not match the voice that was coming from her mouth.

She was so beautiful, that Alastor almost couldn’t believe his eyes. He had never seen such a lovely creature in all of his twenty-three years of living. He blinked his eyes a few times to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Please, move,” a little whimper escaped from the lady, which snapped him back to reality.

She seemed to be trying to pull a stag with what looked like a makeshift pulling device made out of rope and twigs.

“Excuse me, Miss. Do you need some help with that?” Alastor asked her, while approaching slowly as to not frighten her.

She jumped at the sudden noise before quickly turning her head around to see who was there.

“Oh, thank god! Yes please, Mister. Could you please help me if it’s not too much trouble?” A look of relief on her pretty face.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I’m always willing to help out a lady,” he smiled kindly.

“You’re too kind, Mister! I was scared that I would never be able to get this thing back, haha.”

“May I ask how you ended up in this predicament? Did you find this stag dead?” He queried.

“I shot this stag myself,” she motioned her head to the rifle in her hand that he somehow managed to not notice until she pointed it out.

Hmm, must have been too distracted by her beauty.

“Ah I see. Please forgive me, Sweetheart. I didn’t notice your gun. And might I also ask about this contraption?” He pointed to the device.

“Oh! I just threw it together, I thought it would make it easier for me to move this damn thing, but it did nothing,” she glared at it.

Alastor shook his head, “You ladies are quite clever, far more clever than men. But sometimes, however, you need a man’s strength,” he said while easily lifting the large animal over his shoulder.

She blushed, marveling at him, at how strong he was, “I can’t argue with that.”

She led the way to her house, making small talk.

“So, what’s your name, Mister?” She asked, smiling softly.

He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten to introduce himself, his mother would scold him if she was here.

“Alastor. Alastor Hartfelt. And what might your name be, my dear?”

“Y/n Rosier. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alastor!”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I assure you that the pleasure is all mine,” he replied.

Y/n blushed, she had rarely been called beautiful by anyone outside of her family.

“You’re quite beautiful, yourself! I’ve never seen anyone with such a pretty complexion before, and your eyes, they’re such a lovely light brown, not to mention your chestnut hair…did I just say that out loud?”

Nice going, Y/n! You probably freaked the gorgeous man out!

Alastor was the blushing mess now, his heart pounded inside his chest. He even nearly dropped the deer.

Me? She thinks I’m beautiful? Why does that make me feel both so happy and shy at the same time? Pull yourself together, Alastor!

But he quickly regained his composure, “You did, haha! Thank you, my dear, most people don’t compliment my appearance.”

“Well, they should! Such a handsome man deserves to know it.”

They continued to converse. He told her about his mother and her cooking, how there was no one who could make better food. She told him how she had to do all the cooking and housework, because of how frail her mother was.

She talked about her three little sisters, how much of angels they were. Though she admits that it’s hard having to act almost like their mother.

“I’m their big sister, not their mother. I just sometimes wish that Mama would feel better enough one day to actually be our mother again. That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it? I’m sorry for going on about my problems.”

“No, your feelings are valid. And you’re correct, you’re not their mother. I understand your frustration. My mother sometimes treats me like I’m still seven years old.”

“Are you her only child?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s it then. You’re her baby! Of course she doesn’t want to let go of your childhood. But I also understand your frustration.”

He knew that. But it was nice hearing out of her mouth, she made it sound all the sweeter. He loved his mother. She was a kind soul, not a gentle soul by any means, but a kind one. Y/n seemed to be both kind and gentle.

“I want to be my Mama’s baby again, but I haven’t been that since the first of my little sisters were born,” she looked thoughtfully out into the distance.

“Well, one day you’ll have a husband to take care of you.”

“Yes, until I have a baby and then this whole thing will just repeat itself.”

“You don’t have to have a baby.”

“Hmm, what do you mean?”

“You can be married without having to have children. I know if I ever get married, unless my wife really wants children, we’ll probably never have them. Not that I don’t like children or anything like that but I can’t see myself as a father.”

Y/n stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. But then she smiled, “I don’t want children either! I wish more men thought like you, Sugar. But I know once I get married, I’ll be expected to birth many children and keep my husband’s blood line going.”

Alastor looked at the tops of the trees, “That’s the thing, I couldn’t care less about ‘continuing my blood line.’ In fact, I think it should just die with me.”

“Why?”

“I hate my father.”

“Oh. I didn’t care for mine either.”

Y/n then changed to more lighthearted topics. Going on about her hobbies outside of doing housework. It turned out she played the piano and sang just like he did. Of course, her piano was an old hand-me-down going back generations. But it played just fine.

His heart wouldn’t stop pounding as walked beside her. He was so charmed by her. Her looks, her kindness, the way her nose wrinkled up when she laughed. It was actually kind of overwhelming. Sure, he interacted with beautiful women before, but something was different about her.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost like she had bewitched him in the best possible way.

Little did he know that she was equally as charmed by him as he was by her. She loved the formal way he spoke, how much of gentleman he was, how bright his smile was. It gave her butterflies in her stomach.

Finally, they reached her house. It was a one-story cabin with a little picket fence surrounding it. Suddenly, three adorable little girls came running to Y/n. She got on her knees and embraced them.

“Why were you gone so long, Y/n?”

“We were worried.”

“We missed you.”

“I know, I know I was gone for far too long! I missed you little ones too,” a motherly tone in her voice.

Alastor smiled, “What cute little girls.”

They looked up at him and then back to their older sister, their eyes asking if it was okay to talk to him.

“My little darlings, this is Mister Alastor. He helped me bring home that big stag,” she pointed to the dead animal.

They turned to him and smiled, “Thank you, Mister Alastor!”

“It was my pleasure, dears.”

Y/n got up, “Come on, I’ll show you where to put the deer,” she turned to him.

She led him to a shack behind the house, it was full of tools for gutting and skinning. In the middle was a table, she told him to place it on there.

“I cannot thank you enough! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to feed my family. Thank you so much, Alastor!”

“Please, Sweetheart, again it was no trouble at all! I’m glad I could be of assistance to you and your family.”

The tallest of the little girls came up to him, “Excuse me, Mister Alastor. Will you be joining us for dinner?” Her eyes full of sweet innocence.

Y/n’s face lit up, “Yes, why don’t you join us! It’s the least we can do to repay you.”

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but I have to get home to my Mother. She’s also counting on me to get dinner home,” he motioned to the sack tied to his belt, “Perhaps another time though?” He looked from the little girl over to Y/n.

“Of course! Stop by anytime! You’re always welcome here now,” her smile couldn’t possibly be any sweeter.

Alastor tipped his cap, “Adieu, my dear. And adieu to you, little dears.”

“Adieu, Alastor!” Y/n waved to him.

“Adieu, Mister Alastor!” The little girls said in unison, waving their little arms.

I hope I see him again soon.

“He was handsome, are you going to marry him, Y/n?” Her littlest sister asked.

“She’s not going to marry someone she just met, Louise!” The middle one said.

“Now, Marie don’t shout at Louise. But no, I’m not going to marry him.”

“Awww. You two would be so cute together!”

Y/n pinched the girl’s cheek.

“Annalise, come help me prepare for supper.”

“Yes, Y/n!” The oldest came running to her big sister’s side.

Alastor got home just before sunset, much to the chagrin of his mother.

“Boy, you better have a good reason for being home so late! I was getting worried,” she looked at him sharply from her rocker.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I brought home some rabbits for dinner,” he kissed her cheek.

“It took that long to catch some rabbits?” She said teasingly, taking the sack from her son.

“I met a girl,” was all he said before going upstairs to wash up.

———————————————————————

Alastor lay awake in his bed that night. He stared at the ceiling, counting the wooden panels. He often had insomnia that caused him only to get three to five hours of sleep.

“Y/n,” he whispered.

I wonder if she has trouble sleeping. Or is she someone who sleeps like a baby? I wonder if she snores, I bet it’s cute if she does.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? He had just met her that day but already she was causing him to lose sleep.

Is she a side sleeper? Would she mind if wrapped my arms around her waist and hold her close? What if I stole a kiss or two? Would she wake up with an adorable annoyed face?

Alastor grinned just thinking about what it would be like….

What if I kept kissing her all the way down from her lips to her neck? Would she moan at the sensation? What if I nibbled and sucked at her neck? Would she like it? I bet she would. I bet she would beg for more.

What a sight that would be. But he had to stop such thoughts, since did not feel like cleaning his sheets the next day.

He turned to more wholesome thoughts. Like what kind of food did she like? Would she like it if he cooked for her? Did she like venison or did she just hunt it out of necessity? Does she like jambalaya?

What a silly question, everyone in Louisiana likes jambalaya.

He thought about what it would be like coming home to her everyday. Her sweet smile, her warmth. Her wonderful laughter.

“Alright, I have to see her again soon. Or else I’m going to go mad.”

He decided to visit her next week, he figured it would be enough time in between. He didn’t want to come off desperate.

Finally, he rolled over on his side and managed to get a few hours of shuteye. In the morning, his mother would shake him awake and tell him to get ready for church. Then he’d tell her that he’s a grown man and doesn’t have to go to church. She would then do the sign of the cross, and cry out to the Holy Mother to please bring her sweet little boy back.

He loved his mother a lot, however the devoted Catholic side of her was something he could do without. But of course he would go to church with her, because again he loves her. And would do anything for the people he loves.

#alastor x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #human alastor x reader #human alastor x female reader #human alastor x y/n #human alastor x you #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut

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rangerbarbz · 4 months ago

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Mail Call

Here is my first Stan fluff because my mans deserves some love. Let me know what y'all think and thank you so much for all the support. I love you forever babes <3 (I didn't look over this so i apologize if there's any grammatical errors or typos)

“Mail Call”

You worked for the Post Office at Gravity Falls, Oregon, and you absolutely loved it. It was a relatively easy gig that had great benefits. Plus, you got to meet some “interesting” people to say the least. One of those people was the owner of the Mystery Shack himself, Stan Pines.

You delivered mail to the Mystery Shack every day but Sunday, so you saw him quite a bit. The first time you met him, he happened to be outside with a young boy and girl who you assumed were his grandchildren. You parked your mail truck beside the mail box and reached behind you for a package addressed to 618 Gopher Road.

Your presence caught the attention of the young girl who began running over to you. The older man was right behind her with an unhappy expression on his face. “Good afternoon! Is this for you, sweetie?” you asked the girl. She was beaming at you with a glimmer in her eyes.

“Yup! Thank you mail lady!” She snatched the package excitedly from you and started to turn around, but was blocked by the older man who now had his arms crossed.

“What is that and how did you pay for it?” he asked, scrunching his eyebrows together. You were surprised by the depth and raspiness of his voice. It was quite attractive, if you were being honest.

“It’s pig shaped cookie cutters for my new baking show I’m filming with Waddles, and I paid for it with your credit card. Okay, bye!” she said all in one breath. Before he could even respond, she was bolting around him to get inside the house. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is she your granddaughter?” you asked. He looked at you like he had forgotten you had been standing there.

“Ah no. Mabel’s actually my grand niece” He chuckled. “Good kid when she’s not spending my money.”

You laughed and glanced up at the broken sign above you two. “I’ve actually never been here before. You work here?”

He scoffed. “Work here? I own this place, toots. I’m Mister Mystery himself.” He was grinning from ear to ear. You held your hands up in defense.

“Oh, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a celebrity,” you replied jokingly. He laughed in return.

“Name’s Stan Pines.” He held out his hand towards you. You smiled and reached out towards him. The size difference between you two was made even more obvious when you wrapped your hand around his to shake it. You introduced yourself to him, but he raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer to you. You realized that he had not heard you and repeated yourself.

“Huh. Pretty name,” Stan said, releasing his gentle grip. You let your hand fall to your side and began to play with a stray thread from the seaming of your work pants. Was he making you nervous?

“Thank you, Stan. Yours too.” He laughed once again and gazed down at his shoes. You suddenly heard a fire alarm blaring from an open window followed by black smoke.

Stan groaned. “I better go see what the hell that kid’s doing. I, uh. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Hopefully with no more packages that is.”

You giggled. “I cannot guarantee any more packages, but I will 100% be seeing you tomorrow.”

He winked at you. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” You felt your cheeks grow hot as you gave him a little wave goodbye and entered your mail truck. He was giving you a toothy grin and waving back at you. What you didn’t see was him wiping the sweat from his brow and palms. Very few people made Stan Pines nervous, and you had become one of them.

The next few weeks, you continued flirting back and forth with each other. It became the highlight of your day when you stopped at his mailbox to already see him standing there. He always asked you how your day was before telling you some outrageous story. Some days it was about a kooky visitor at the Mystery Shack while others it was You enjoyed listening to his gravelly voice and watching his borderline theatrical gestures as he spoke.

He was undeniably sexy for a man his age. His glasses accentuated his strong jaw, and his thick ashy hair was to die for. You also found his blunt personality and his confidence to be alluring. You only ever saw him in his Mr. Mystery suit, but you weren’t complaining. It helped show off those muscles from his boxing days, and he always looked so sophisticated.

One day when you drove your usual route around Gravity Falls and stopped at the shack, he wasn’t there. You frowned and looked around to see if maybe he was walking up to you. Alas, you couldn’t find him. You put his electric bill in his mailbox and left wondering where he could be.

You eventually returned to the post office after tapping anxiously on your steering wheel the entire time driving back. You stepped out of your mail truck and walked into the office to begin sorting packages.

The bell above the door jingled meaning someone had walked in. “Hello, welcome to the Gravity Falls Post- Stan?” You had turned around to see him standing sheepishly in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. He was missing his fez and you got to see his thick gray hair. In his hands, he was holding an envelope decorated with shiny, brightly-colored stickers.

A slight blush started to spread across his face. “Hey, Doll. Sorry I didn’t see ya earlier today. I was working on this letter.” His eyes wouldn’t meet you. This wasn’t the suave man you usually spoke to.

You grinned. “Stanley, you know you could’ve just put that in the mailbox, and then I would’ve come to get it, right?” He snorted and shook his head.

“Yes, smartass, I am aware.” He approached the counter that you were standing behind. “I came here because this letter is for you.” You could feel your face heat up as he handed you the sparkly envelope still not looking at you.

“You… You wrote me a letter? Why?” you asked, running your fingers over the pink letters that spelled your name. Stan then turned his head to you and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Look, I, uh,” he paused, “I like you. Our talks make me… happy. And… Oh just read the damn letter! That’s why I wrote it anyway. I’m no good at these things.” He crossed arms in frustration. He scoffed. “If you don’t feel the same, that's fine. I mean who would? Especially-”

“Stan!” you interjected. His eyes met yours. You gave him a reassuring smile. “I like you, too. Like a lot. Between the looks and personality, it was impossible not to fall.” You couldn’t believe you just said that last part out loud. Hopefully you didn’t scare him off.

Stan gave you a toothy smile and rubbed the back of his neck. His face was beet red. Frankly, it was very satisfying to see him so flustered. “Well, thank you, Doll. You’re a babe, too. Inside and out.”

You giggled at his strange way of complimenting you. “Thank you, Stan. You’re a sweetheart. I can’t wait to read this letter on company time.”

Stan laughed. “That’s my girl,” he said as he began walking out the door. He opened it and before he left he said, “You should come over after your shift is done. I know Mabel is dying to hear what you thought of her handiwork there.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll see you then, Doll.” He gave you a slight wave and shut the door behind him. You could hear the sound of him yelling “YES!” from the other side. As soon as he peeled off in his Diablo, you carefully opened the envelope to reveal a piece of notebook paper with just as many stickers. It said in the same pink ink your name was written:

Dear Y/N,

I hope you don’t think I’m some dork for writing you a letter instead of telling you face to face how I feel about you. I’m a little rusty in the romance department. I wanted to tell you that I always look forward to our talks. I never thought I would crush on someone who delivers me bills and tax forms. What are the odds?

You make me feel young again. I like how you cut up with me and how you don’t treat me like some old man. I like how kind you are to the kids and how you make my pacemaker work extra hard. I really hope you will come around more often. I also wanted to invite you on a date this Saturday night out of town. I’ll pick you up. You do enough driving. Plus, only tools don’t pick up their date.

Love,

Stanley Pines

P.S. I think you’re cute in your work uniform despite what you think.

#fluff #pines family #grunkle stan #stanley pines #imagine #stanford pines #grunkle ford #ford pines #ford pines x reader #gravity falls #stan pines x reader #stan pines fanart #mabel pines #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fandom

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ienjoywritingfilth · 5 months ago

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The night of the Concert

K I’m new here but I hope you like this even though it’s just filthy and horny and I like it like that. Maybe you will too.

pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!reader

trope Best Friend's Dad! Joel Miller

summary: your bf breaks your heart and you turn to the only person you can. It happens to be Joel Miller, your best friend Sarah's dad.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), dubcon, oral, infidelity, p in v, absolutely filthy talk, daddy mentioned, other shit but I've forgotten.

word count: 4.3k

The day is warm and the fan spinning next to you isn't doing much to help. You and Sarah are seated on her couch, you cross legged with her foot in your lap as you paint her toenails a vivid green.

"I think he's gonna ask me to be his girlfriend," you say with a giggle as Sarah's eyes widen.

"Really? Holy shit that's huge," Sarah says, watching as you swipe the green Polish onto her remaining nails. "He hasn't been serious about anyone since Mariana."

Mariana is your boyfriend Jeremy's ex girlfriend. A beautiful woman with high ambitions. You can't stand her and go to great lengths to avoid her when you see her on campus.

Sarah is your best friend of several years, ever since your first day at college when you'd both been lost on your way to Chemistry. She's the reason you're with Jeremy in the first place. She's seen you through final exams, bad frat parties and your first college boyfriend.

"You two will have the cutest babies!" Sarah says dramatically as you wave her off.

"Gross. I'm only twenty-two, dude."

Sarah shrugs.

"At least when you have kids you'll have a better reason to call him daddy."

The two of you bust out into braying laughter, so loud and for so long that when her dad comes in from the backyard he's grinning at the two of you.

"What're you two gigglin' about for so long over there?"

Sarah's dad Joel Miller is about the nicest man you've ever met. Respectful, loving, patient and funny. You love being over at their house because you love seeing such a healthy familial dynamic at work. It's no wonder Sarah is so happy all the time. You envy that.

"Nothing dad!" Sarah says, still wiping the tears from her eyes as the two of you continue to giggle.

"Yeah, nothing," you add, holding a pillow to your face to hide the laughter.

"Okay, well the burgers are on the grill, jokesters. Can you get your mom? Think she's upstairs in the office."

Sarah nods, pushing off the couch and heading upstairs.

"You staying for dinner, darlin'?" Joel asks you politely from the kitchen.

"If you and Mrs Miller don't mind," you nod, coming to walk into the kitchen.

You don't want to go home tonight. Your parents work long hours and the house is often empty. You're often here at the Millers place, eating dinner, studying, just hanging out. They always treat you well and always invite you to stay for meals.

"We never mind," Joel insists as he mixes up the salad. "We only mind when you call us Mister and Mrs Miller. Makes us feel old."

"You're not old," you insist with an eye roll as you absently play with one of the edges of the decorative napkins.

"Tell that to my knees."

You laugh at that, turning to see Sarah and her mom Angela entering. Angela wraps you in a side hug and asks about school as the four of you gather around the dinner table.

"I'll be glad when exams are over," you say with a roll of your eyes. "They stress me out so bad."

"You say that and you always get top marks," Sarah says as she adds the tomato to her bun. "I bet you got an A+ on your last exam."

"Yeah," you nod shyly as you add ketchup to your plate.

"Your parents must be mighty proud," Joel offers before a sip of beer. Angela nods in agreement.

"Yeah, your daddy must be so proud of you," Sarah drawls as she plates her salad, winking at you.

The Miller parents look confusedly to one another when you and Sarah can't stop giggling.

----------

Date night with Jeremy! Dress with the stripes or the jeans? Where is he taking you? Ice cream and walk on the beach. Sundress with the polka dots!!!!! You're a genius Sarah Miller. I owe you big time Just pay me back by making me maid of honor at your wedding What are you up to tonight? I'm taking my mom to see the Bangles for her birthday. Awwww. Have fun!

You toss your phone onto your daisy-patterned coverlet and stretch. It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon and you're in the best mood.

You take a shower, slipping into the sundress Sarah recommended. As you do your hair and makeup in front of your mirror you fantasize about what awaits you this evening with your boyfriend Jeremy.

You've been seeing him for three months now and he's always a gentleman, always taking you for thoughtful dates. Sarah introduced you as they're both in the same Philosophy class. Sexually he's just a little too eager, too quick. There's a lot to be improved, but you're happy to keep learning together. He's so handsome and smart. You love how he looks in his glasses when he's pouring over a textbook.

A few hours later you’re showered, smelling delicious and wearing your shortest dress. You spin in front of your mirror before affixing a delicate lace bow to the back of your hair. You feel beautiful and you sigh dreamily.

Your phone beeps and you glance down to see Jeremy’s sent you a message. You smile to yourself, swiping up and reading the text.

Hey I'm sorry I don't think this is gonna work out. My ex and I have been messaging the last little bit and we're gonna give it another shot. I just wanted to be up front with you.

You read the text over and over several times. It takes you that long to understand what’s happening. When you do you call Sarah, but it goes straight to voicemail. Over and over. You’re panicked, tears sliding down your face. You need to see her. You need comfort.

---------------------------

You arrive at the Miller home shortly after eight, pounding on the door as you sob. You’re surprised when Joel answers the door in jeans and a t-shirt, looking like he’s just woke up from a nap with bleary eyes and his hair mussed.

“Fuck, I’m sorry to wake you up Mr. Miller,” you sniff, wiping at your wet eyes. “Is Sarah here? It’s important?”

“Are you okay?”

He must see the frantic way you’re looking around or the tears that stain your cheeks.

“Jeremy broke up with me,” you tell him without hesitation.

"I'm so sorry," Joel grimaces, rubbing at the back of his neck and the clear display of discomfort. "Fuck I wish Sarah was here for you, or even Angela. But they’re at that concert tonight."

That's right, the Bangles.

"Fuck I'm so sorry I forgot," you say shaking your head. "I'll leave-"

"Hold on now, I'm not sure it's a great idea for you to be driving right now," Joel insists. "Why don't you come in for a glass a water and a chance to calm down a bit?"

Under normal circumstances, you would be embarrassed at taking up his time. But considering how emotionally wrung out you are right now, you simply nod and follow after him like a sad puppy.

He sits you on the couch and joins you moments later, passing you a glass of water. You drink it shakily as Joel smooths hair hair, watching you all the while.

“I feel so embarrassed,” you tell him once the glass is drained. “Acting crazy.”

“I know what heartbreak feels like,” Joel confesses. “It can make you crazy.”

You smile shallowly and nod at him before looking at your lap. “I’m a fucking idiot for thinking he was into me.”

"That's nonsense," Joel insists, taking your chin in between his thumb and index finger.

"It's true," you say with your voice wobbling. "I thought he loved me,"

You whimper, tears falling down your cheeks. You're surprised when Joel pulls you into his sturdy arms.

"Aw honey," Joel says holding you and rocking you gently.

One large hand goes to cradle the back of your skull, the other around your waist. You dissolve into tears as you say the last word and Joel holds you tighter. You bring your arms up around his neck, holding him as you cry, feeling safe and protected in his muscled grip.

"It's gonna be okay."

"Why do people always say that? It's not going to be okay!"

You pull away from Joel sharply, burying your face in your hands. You feel as Joel's body comes to shuffle next to yours, the cushions dipping as he moves until you're thighs touch.

"Honey---"

"Nothing is going to be okay again," you whimper, turning to face your friend’s father. Joel looks so anguished for you, his hand coming to cup your cheek gently.

"I know it seems like that now but I promise you there's lots of men out there."

"None like Jeremy." Your face crumbles. "None that will love me like him."

Now it's you who throws yourself into Joel's arms, burying your face in his shoulder as you cry. He rocks you slowly, petting your hair as you tears soak his flannel.

"He ain't the only guy in the world."

"He was special. He thought I was beautiful."

"You are," Joel insists at your jaw, still rocking you gently. "You're so fucking beautiful and don't you forget it."

His words rumble through his chest and you can't help but feel your body soften at them. You didn't realize how much you needed to hear them until right this moment.

"Thank you Joel," you sniffle, kissing his cheek gently without thinking.

You feel him stiffen a moment, registering what's just happened. But he doesn't pull away. He keeps holding you, arms tight.

And the sting of Jeremy's rejection seems to dim. With Joel's arms wrapped around you it's almost like he's shielding you from all that. It makes you feel grateful, and it's not long before you’re overtaken with emotion.

"Thank you for everything," you breathe against his jaw. "You're so understanding."

"Not a problem," Joel says in a thick voice.

And suddenly something in the air changes as Joel loosens you in his grip. A quiet hum, a vibration, starting between the two of you. Your hand is on his hip now, mouth tilting towards his face. You see his dark eyes dart from your eyes to your mouth and back again.

"You're always so kind to me," you whisper, not breaking his gaze. Joel's breathing deepens and you feel all resolve leave you.

Your mouth goes to his, tentative and gentle and you attempt to kiss him. He immediately pulls back from you, eyes wide.

"Hey whoa," he says, pushing you gently back by the shoulder. "What're you doin'?"

You don't answer. Instead your hands trail down his stomach, tripping over his belt and coming to slide over the growing bulge between his legs.

"Something that we both want, I think."

He hisses at the contact, trying to jerk out of your touch.

"I don't," Joel says quickly. But he doesn't pull your hand off of where they rest over his jeans.

You don't know if it's the rejection from Jeremy or because you're doing something so wrong, but you can't stop wanting to touch Joel. There's something intense about this grown man getting red in the face, his breathing quickening as he allows you hand to gently massage him through his pants.

"You deserve to feel good, Joel," you whisper as your hand goes to his zipper. "Let me make you feel good."

Joel makes a murmur of protest as he watches your fingers dragging the zipper down. He seems shocked, as if his body won't obey his brain. He makes a noise of protest when you slide your hand underneath his boxers, feeling his cock twitch.

Joel flinches when your fingertips slip under the band of his boxers and graze his bare cock. He knows it's wrong when you wrap those same fingers around his shaft, but he's so fucking hard. He can't remember the last time he was this hard.

"You gotta---" he starts, but the rest of his sentence becomes a tight hiss as you you take him out of his pants. You marvel at the size of him, your fingers unable to meet at the base when you pull him free of his boxers.

"So big."

Joel watches you gaze at his cock, muffling a groan as you tilt forward and let a bead of if saliva drop from your mouth onto the head of his twitching cock. When you give a short stroke down, coating him in your saliva he feels he has to say something.

"I'm married," he says weakly.

"Shhh," you murmur against his bearded cheek. "Let me do this for you."

You make a whimpering groan at the sight of him, thick and the weeping.

"Honey, I---" He's leaning back into the couch almost like he's trying to stop what's happening.

"Shhhh," you soothe against his jaw once more. "Just enjoy it."

Your hand begins to stroke up his shaft, using his copious pre-cum to glide. He growls lowly, hips sliding back and forth.

"Such a big cock," you murmur, watching your hand slide up his girthy length. Joel makes a strangled noise before breathing deeply. His gaze is locked on your hand watching it delicately slide along his straining cock.

Use your mouth. Use your fucking mouth.

He hates that this thought comes to him as he watches his daughters college friend jerk him off. Hates that this will be played on loop in his mind for years to come. Hates that his marriage of twenty three years is about to be flushed away for twenty minutes of pleasure.

But he doesn't hate it enough to stop.

"This...Mmmm... Shouldn't be doing this," Joel groans. You squeeze the tip and his head falls back against the sofa. "Fuck, you gotta stop-"

But even as he says this, Joel's hips are jutting forward, urging your palm to slide over his length over and over.

"You're such a good man, Joel. You deserve this," you murmur against his ear, tongue coming to gently trace the lobe. "You deserve to feel good."

Joel watches your thumb circle the rosy head of his cock and he shudders. Pre-cum starts at the tip, beading there enticingly.

"You deserve to come," your warm breath fans against his neck. "Don't you?"

His head jerks back against the couch, eyes slamming shut as his cock twitches in your hand. You can see him relenting, his body twitching.

"I shouldn't be doing this," Joel pants, thrusting his cock between your fingers.

"You should.” Your mouth begins sponging kisses to the underside of his jaw. "Keep going. Lemme make you come."

Your wrist snaps as you jerk him off faster, the wet sounds of his flesh turning you on even more. You wonder if he'll fuck you if you try to mount him.

"This is so fuckin' wrong," Joel pants, his hips thrusting harshly against your palm. He's grunting, his hips off the couch as he fucks into your hands.

He's just saying words, no thought behind them. It's wrong but he doesn't fucking care. All he cares about is the steadily building orgasm that you're bringing forth with every twist of your wrist.

Your eyes are fixed on his face, watching as Joel's mouth goes slack and his eyes crack open, trained on your hand around his cock.

"Want more, Joel?" You purr against his jaw. "My mouth?"

Joel breathes shallowly, eyes going from his cock to your mouth over and over.

Your hand slides quicker and Joel gives a strangled groan when your head lowers. You tilt your face, meeting his gaze as your tongue comes out to lick the head of his cock long and slow. Joel nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck," Joel grunts, his cock twitching. He breathes shakily before his eyes seem to darken. "Do it again."

You flick your tongue against the mushroom head before suckling gently at the tip. Joel's eyes roll back as you do this, tasting the sweet tang of his precum.

You pull off, lower lip grazing the head of his bobbing length. You watch as he grits his teeth and his eyes find yours.

"You wanna fuck my mouth, Joel?"

It's like he remembers who you are and what this is because you see regret cross his features.

"N-no," Joel grits out with a wild flail of his head. "Gone far enough. This is---"

He's denying it, trying so hard to move back from you but you know he's close, the head of his cock is mauve and it twitches in your grip.

"Would feel so good," you croon, tongue starting to circle the bulbous head once more. Joel is groaning, his hands in tight fists at his side. "I know you wanna fuck my mouth."

Joel is trying so hard not to give in. He tries to remind himself that you're his daughter’s friend, that he's happily married, that he isn't this kind of guy. But you’re so fucking sexy right now, desperate for his cock in a way his wife hasn't been for years.

You swallow the first inch of him and he groans low and loud, his hips twitching. You pull him out slowly before you glance up at him, the throbbing head of his cock slick against your wet lower lip.

"When's the last time you fucked someone's mouth, Joel?" You tease, and he sees the mirth in your eyes when he all but whimpers in reply.

Joel's head is thrown back, a ragged sigh escaping him. He shouldn't want this, he shouldn't let you keep going.

But then you take the length of him in your mouth, almost gagging at the thickness of him, and all coherent thought leaves him.

You bob up and down on his length, eyes closing in bliss. Joel is carding his hands through your hair as you suck him off.

"Fuck, take it deeper," he rumbles, and you feel his large palm on the back of your head, pushing. "Swallow it."

"Yeash shur," you manage through a mouthful of cock.

Joel can't hold back, he starts to thrust up into your throat, grunting as he fucks it. You hold onto his thighs, eyes watering as the bulbous head slips further and further.

When you sputter you feel Joel come back to himself, gripping you by the back of your heck and pulling you off of him. You whine in protest as you sit back up, the sight of Joel's hard cock, still glossy with your saliva between you.

“You need to stop.”

Joel watches transfixed as go to a stand beside the couch between his parted legs. He makes a sound almost pained as he watches you slide your fingers under your dress, tugging down and stepping out of your lace panties.

He just stays rigid when you crawl into his lap. You slide your wet slit along his cock, feeling as sharp huffs of air escape him. You feel heavy with power, your mouth going to his ear.

"When's the last time you fucked college pussy, Joel?"

You smile when you hear the strangled sound escape him. You can see he's soaked with pre-cum, a shiny sticky collection wetting the coarse hairs at the base of his shaft. His eyes are stuck on the seam of your pussy teasing the head of his cock.

"It's okay to like it," you promise him. "It's okay to want this."

"I wanna put it in," Joel grunts.

Your mouth is at his ear, warm and husky.

“Put it in.”

Joel groans and you feel his thick fingers start to squeeze your hips. He's not inside you yet, but he's so thick and warm against your pussy lips. He’s hypnotized, urging your pussy down, desperate to feed his cock into you.

“I need it," he whispers in a daze.

"You can have it," you encourage, breathlessly as you watch him grip his cock and guide it to your waiting hole.

"This is so fucking bad," Joel groans, half aroused, half disgusted with himself as he begins to feed his cock into your twitching pussy.

You grin, fingers digging into his shoulders when the bulbous head breeches your entrance.

“Tell me to stop,” he almost begs but you shake your head.

“You deserve this,” you say. “Deserve to fuck my tight pussy.”

You’re married. You have a kid. This is fucking wrong.

All those worries are gone the second the head of his cock feels the velvet clench of your cunt. He can’t look away from where you’re both connected. Without warning he sheaths himself deeply, watching your brows crumple as you take him to the hilt. Joel watches your pussy swallowing his cock, knowing how fucking wrong it is and hating how he has no intention of stopping.

"I fuckin’ deserve this," he pants out, watching your tits bounce as you slide along his length. You ride him well, experienced, full of energy. He can’t remember the last time Angela rode him like this, like his cock was everything.

“Yes you fucking do,” you groan out, bouncing in his lap. He grips you tightly, fucking into you like you’re a human flesh-light.

He does deserve this. He works hard, he’s a good father, a loving husband. He’s never done anything like this before. Would never dream of fucking a girl who’s been over at his house for months, who’s never appealed to him like this until this very moment. A girl who’s tits jump with every thrust of his cock, whose wet mouth forms a lurid ‘O’ when he hits a particularly good spot. He deserves to have you ride him here in his house, a desperate, needy fuck.

Joel feels everything in him tightening as he watches you peel the dress off your body, tossing it over your shoulder and he sees you’ve forgone a bra this evening, letting the rhythmic slap of his cock up into you make them jiggle enticingly. You sit there naked, riding his cock with no shame or hesitation.

“You feel so good,” you tell him through a groan, your eyes falling shut.

He feels his balls contract when you start to cup your breasts, pinching the nipples as your head falls back. Joel can’t help but dart forward, latching onto your breast and laving at the taut nipple. You moan as he continues to fuck you, pausing when he grips your wrist.

“Make yourself cum,” He orders, forcing your hand between your legs. “Soak me.”

You nod doing as he says, rubbing your swollen clit for barely any time at all before you shuddering.

“Gonna cum,” you moan, head tilting back once more.

Your hands fly behind you, gripping onto his knees. Joel can see everything, see’s how your clit rubs against his shaft and your thighs shake.

"Fuckin' do it sweetheart," he croaks. "Fuckin' soak my cock."

He holds your hips again, entranced at how you slide up and down him, your arousal seeping down into the curled hairs at the base of his cock as you cum. He watches all of this in amazement, his breathing shallow and rapid.

You pull yourself back, your pussy fucking drenched as you slowly continue to pump yourself up and down on him. He’s still so hard, aching and desperate for release. He casts a feral smile at you.

“Keep fuckin’ yourself on it,” he tells you.

You nod and he watches your plump mouth curl into a smile.

"You wanna fuck me full of your cum, daddy?"

Without warning Joel suddenly goes rigid.

You think he's going to come but instead he's red-faced and gripping your waist. He pulls you off of him, his cock still hard and throbbing, slick from your earlier release. He shakes his head, panting.

"Fuck. No. We gotta stop."

"But---"

"This ain't right," Joel insists, tucking himself still hard back into his jeans with shaking fingers as you arch up.

"But I want to."

"And if you keep going I'm not gonna be able to stop you," Joel lets out a shaky laugh, unsmiling as he tilts down to grab your dress. He passes it to you politely averting his eyes; as if this belated gesture means anything after all he’s done and seen. You frown.

"Joel."

"I'm married and you're Sarah's friend. If that wasn't enough, I'm also two decades older than you."

"I like older men," you insist, trying to swing your thigh over his. Joel stops you, hand pressing you back gently.

"You're too young to know what you want," Joel says sharply.

"That's not true."

Joel surveys your face for a moment, concern softening the edges of his expression.

"You just got dumped by the boy you love. You’re not thinking properly."

"No," you shake your head. "That's not it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," you say, hands reaching for his zipper again. "I just want this."

Joel shakes his head gently, fingers gripping your wrist and pulling you off of him firmly.

"Honey you gotta stop," he says, taking your hand and placing it back in your lap. "This ain't you."

You don't like how Joel is looking at you, like he's peeling your skin from your body, peering in to see what he shouldn't.

"I could make you feel so good," you promise him, hand coming to palm him through his jeans once more. "Our little secret."

You see his resolve waver before his hand grabs your wrist, pulling you off of him. He's looking at you with concern, with compassion. With pity. It makes the sting of his rejection more potent. You pull on your dress now, feeling the first pangs of humiliation starting.

"You need to go, honey. Right now."

Now that the moment is sobering you feel a flash of panic.

"Are you gonna tell Sarah?"

"No." Joel shakes his head. "I'm not gonna tell anyone. But I think maybe you shouldn't come around here for the next little bit."

"I understand," you say staggering to a stand. He walks you to the door in awkward silence. He opens the door and then he finally speaks.

"You are a beautiful, smart woman. Don't let one idiot make you forget."

You eyes grow misty and you give a shallow nod before turning.

"Thank you, Joel."

#pedro pascal #Joel Miller #the last of us hbo #hbo the last of us #tlou joel #joel x reader #joel the last of us #AU #AU Joel MIller #Joel x Reader #Joel x You #Joel x OC #smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x original character

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scivors · 2 months ago

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Andre Nikto head canons

We have little information about Niko but here's what I've gathered..

((Also I'd like to kindly add, hi, hello, my name is Mika and I am a Bosnian. The chances of me adding some accurate slav head canons are always high but never low!!🙏🏻 ALSO IM TERRIBLY OBSESSED WITH NIKTO SO IF ENJOY THIS AND YOU WANT DATING NIKTO HEAD CANONS PLEASE LET ME KNOWWW))

Genuine head canons:

Andre Nikto (Никто) is a (scary) Russian military man, roughly 193/194 centimetres (when you compare him to Simon's height) He suffers with acute dissociative disorder (better said DID) yet is still serving the military cause of how he preforms during battle.., so the military still views him as a ideal soldier for combat despite his disorder..

No hate but from what I've seen in some art works claiming it's his "face reveal" you people have to understand that under his mask, his face is disfigured.. so, no he won't be an attractive super model under that mask of his..

I don't think you people are aware how badass Nikto is as a character, almost SIMILAR as Ghost who's in the military for the same reason as everybody else, to risk their life.

Although judging by Nikto's voice lines, he doesn't care who he's killing..if it were up to him, if his teammates serve him zero purpose he'd care less if they die..(after all, you're just a target..) but being a professional, he can't allow that to happen to his teammates

If you look up closely, Nikto wears a military uniform that is different from everyone else with MP-0 written on it. Now if you don't know, MP stands for Military Police (enforcement agencies connected with, or part of, the military of a state.) and zero next to it meaning "nothing" and this is important which is what Nikto refers himself as..

Yeah so about that..

I have a theory about Nikto's nickname

After being captured and brutally tortured with whatever sick tendency mister Z had in store for him. It was Mister Z that couldn't really get much Information about Andre.

They would start torturing him while repeating to Andre that he's nothing, he's no one, what he is is nothing but what he is is everything. Those words play in the back of his head and they never seen to go away.

(This is extremely relevant cause Mister Z tried to get to know a bit of Andre by looking through some research come to find his citizenship and language are censored making him a nobody. Keep in mind, if he found any information about Andre viewing from personal life etc. it will be used as blackmail..)

After recovering his scars and taken to therapy after 7 years he was diagnosed with DID

NOW moving on to the DID part

(What I said about the fact that people overlook Nikto's disorder, I mean it..

Some don't really write about his disorder which is fine but when someone does it gets messy. )

Alters aren't easy to deal with, it's actually gonna haunt you till the day that you die cause there's no cure for it. And in Nikto's case it's from PTSD and Nikto is very aware of his alters..

Let me tell you how Nikto's disorder affects him. Switching can be consensual, forced or triggered, Nikto values silence as much as the next person cause he's dealing with much inside his head already. The kind of guy that would "watch TV" while dissociating with a 100 yard glare with very slow blinking and a slight headache..

There are times where his personalities would correct him when hes referring to himself (example: I'm up..(his personality correctes him) WE'RE up..)

"He made us do this" (and other voice lines I can't recall..)

Maybe cut bits of an apple with a knife and eat it while watching TV..

He has medication prescribed for him but he didn't wanna depend on medications cause they're just drugs..they're nothing to him but just drugs..

He has dissociative amnesia too, sometimes he would wander around confused maybe even annoyed. The amnesia appears to be caused by traumatic or stressful experiences endured or witnessed..Although the forgotten information may be inaccessible to consciousness, it sometimes continues to influence behavior

Like I said he likes quiet people, someone who doesn't waste their air on small talk..

Example; don't really talk to him about the weather, unless you have something interesting to say but if the conversation is gonna go nowhere , don't talk..he finds that a waste of time

People assume just because he's Russian that he likes vodka, he doesn't like vodka...-He doesn't like any alcoholic beverage cause it makes his problems a lot worse,...maybe If you were lending him some as an offering, he'll take it but he has SOME self control, he's okay with coffee, though..

It's relevant cause he stays awake at late hours since he finds it difficult to sleep, he'll stay up late with no music, nothing, just a silent room. It doesn't matter if he tries the military tactic where you just close your eyes and turn off your thoughts, it's very different when you have voices screaming inside your head...

Despite everything he's still intelligent, so being smart + strength + sharp reflexes and you got yourself a criminal

Death doesn't phase him, but to him death is like sleeping, he's not scared of death considering that he's been through hell those past few months.

He likes the simple things, don't complicate anything..because he's quick with catching an attitude..be blunt and forward and stumble over your words..

Nikto shows confidence in the battlefield,just like König, except he has a high rush of adrenaline and will laugh at the enemies death.

Fun fact: in this one comic Price calls Nikto "psycho"

And it's without a doubt that he is one.., a sadistic, sociopathic, psychopath

After splitting, his alters can and will get more aggressive and do more harm and damage to others cause they're doing the most at protecting the host.. (depending on the alter, some wanna protect him while some wanna hurt him)

Oh by the way about the intelligence part, I mean he has a good good memory with remembering faces..

He doesn't like people looking at him funny, he'll get angry really fast and annoyed at the same time.., he won't show hesitation when it comes to approaching you and asking you what are you looking at (it's like trying to avoid eye contact with a homeless man Infront of a store, that's how scared you would be)

He's slow with jokes or any form of humor that you throw at him??? You'll be excited to tell him a joke, and when you do he just looks at you and tells you never to do that again..,or just straight up tell you he doesn't get it...??? and probably trying to explain it either he gets it or not he'll still tell you that it's not funny

He doesn't argue, or he does? Arguing with him will costs you avoiding getting objects thrown at you so you can get out of his sight..tragic, now you have a teammate that hates your guts and won't apologize for it.

#nikto x reader #andre nikto #cod nikto #cod mw2 #nikto #modern warfare #modern warefare ii #call of duty nikto

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murdockparker · 8 months ago

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Our Cottage

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: A first anniversary is nearly as important and memorable as the wedding day—if only she had remembered it. Or, at the very least, hoped her husband also forgot. Knowing her husband? Unlikely.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: fluffy fluff!! cheesy as cheese gets I'm afraid, mentions and illusions of sex but no smut (sorry babes maybe next time)

A/N: Another self indulgent fic for me myself and I. You're welcome to read it if you want I guess—I have nothing else to say about it

The room was too fragrant.

Maybe it was her sensitive sense of smell that had awoken her, but something about the near ten bouquets that adorned her bedchambers led her to believe that both could be true.

“What in the world?”

“Good morning, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, knocking unceremoniously on the door. “I do hate to intrude on your beauty sleep, but I was instructed to beat the drapes and I’m afraid this is the last room I have left to do.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) groaned, sitting up in bed, “I bet it’s time for me to rise anyway. Can’t sleep the day away.”

“You’re much more forgiving than Mr. Bridgerton,” Mrs. Crabtree smiled, entering further into the bedchambers. “As much as I miss the young master’s presence here at the estate, if he found out that I awoke you early,” she laughed quietly, “I reckon the mister and I would be packing our bags before nightfall.”

“Oh please,” (Y/N) peeled the covers off of her body, stretching her legs, “Benedict loves you both dearly—”

“But he loves you more,” the woman points, making good work of taking the drapes off the wall. “Why, do you think Mr. Bridgerton would purchase the same amount of flowers for me?”

She looks closer at the bouquets—all full of a different variety of blooms. Most filled with her favorites, but a handful were a collection of his favorites as well. “Why did Benedict purchase all of these flowers, anyway? It seems excessive…”

Mrs. Crabtree’s smile seemed secretive at first, fading in realization after looking Mrs. Bridgerton in the eyes. “Oh, my dear, you’re serious.”

“Benedict is usually known for romantic gestures,” (Y/N) said indifferently, “I do not recall a time he did something quite like this, though.”

“Well, I can recall a time Mr. Crabtree and I had to clean up a shocking amount of paint and a few precarious handprints across his study…”

She wished she was still in bed, wanting nothing more than to pull the covers over her bright red face. It was one of the many nights of their honeymoon—Benedict had the bright idea to try and paint with their bodies instead of brushes. She thought he had the decency to clean it all up in the morning. She thought, anyhow.

“I-I’m sorry you had to clean up such a mess,” (Y/N) said, praying the apology could transcend lifetimes. “I will be sure to let Benedict know he needs to be more careful with his oils.”

“Oh, your love keeps me young, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “But as I was saying—do you really not realize why your husband had purchased so many flowers?”

“Not a clue.”

“Perhaps it isn’t my place,” Mrs. Crabtree said slowly. “But you and the master have been married for a year now.”

“Yes, yes,” (Y/N) waved. “Nearly year of marital bliss—”

“A year ago, today.”

“Today is… surely not…”

Noticing a perfectly placed card in the bouquet on her nightstand, she grabbed it and quickly sped over the looping font.

Dearest,

I hope these blooms find you well, I instructed the Crabtrees to be extra careful in their delivery this morn. As exquisite as the flowers may be, and I insisted on their exquisiteness, they could never hold a candle to you. Light of my life and song of my heart, how pleasantly perfect the last year has been.

Happy anniversary, my love.

Yours forever,

Their anniversary. Their first anniversary, and she had completely forgotten about it.

“Mr. Bridgerton is still visiting Kent until this evening,” Mrs. Crabtree explained, as if the young missus didn’t know. “I’m sure that provides ample time to prepare something for his arrival, at the very least twelve hours give or take.”

“How could I have forgotten?” (Y/N) was beside herself, forgetting her anniversary? Her first anniversary? Surely it wasn’t an omen of some kind. She was holding onto his note rather tightly. “What kind of a wife am I?”

“Not a terrible one,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “Why, I recall forgetting quite a few of my anniversaries as well.”

“Not your first one though, correct?”

“Well, no—”

“We need to go to town,” (Y/N) said determinedly, flinging her closet open, eyes scanning over every sensible dress she owned. “I need to figure out a way to top whatever spectacle my husband has planned for this evening.”

“I’ll call for a carriage,” Mrs. Crabtree sighed, knowing full well that the drapes will not get finished this afternoon.

“If we were in London, why, I’d have hundreds of choices on what to get Benedict,” (Y/N) said, skimming through the few booths at the market. Life out in the country was agreeable, favorable even, but it was moments like these that she truly missed the convenience of living in such a populated place. “I just do not see how I am to make a gift with anything here.”

“Perhaps, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, carrying a basket full of fresh fruit and veg—taking every opportunity of the market while they’re out, “perhaps you should try gifting something from the heart?”

“What to wives usually get their husbands for the first anniversary?” (Y/N) asked absentmindedly, fingers running over a healthy pile of apples.

“I find that most women in your place have the pleasure of gifting news of an heir right around or before the year mark,” Mrs. Crabtree said, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. “I don’t suppose you can surprise Mr. Bridgerton with such news?”

Her face went red. “No. Decidedly not.”

“Shame,” Mrs. Crabtree clicked, “I was rather hoping to be doting on a babe sometime soon…”

“What did you give Mr. Crabtree for your anniversary?” (Y/N) tried to change the subject, ignoring the perfect thought of a little baby with Benedict’s eyes. Perhaps they would have her nose? Her smile?

“Well,” the older woman’s face lit up, “our Henry was the best kind of gift—for me or Mr. Crabtree. I wish I could be more help in that regard, dear.”

Defeated, (Y/N) threw a handful of apples into her basket. The apples weren’t even all that good this time of year. Perhaps she could convince Mrs. Crabtree to bake a pie. Either way, a snack for the horses and their hard work this morning.

“Please forgive me for speaking out of turn, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree spoke quietly, “but your husband loves you dearly, I am quite sure he would be most content with any gift you give him.”

“Oh I am sure he would be well suited to accept anything I made or purchased,” (Y/N) agreed. “I rather think I could sneeze on a piece of parchment and he’d write to the National Gallery to induct it into their collection.”

“He would,” Mrs. Crabtree agreed, holding back a laugh.

“Why did I marry such a thoughtful man?” (Y/N) groaned, fist clenching tighter on her basket. “I am destined to be in this predicament every year until the day I perish, aren’t I?”

“To be in a happy marriage, ma’am?”

“To have to deal with my inadequacy for gifts,” she corrected. “We are but a competitive match, after all. Chess is a blood sport with us,” (Y/N) laughed, recalling the last time they had played the game. They both were of the same mind, irritating as it were, it was as if they were playing themselves. It usually ended well regardless, with one under the other in the bedroom. “He probably has been planning something since we were wed, I’m sure. How do I ever top such a thing?”

“Might I suggest the baby narrative again?”

“Mrs. Crabtree, I know you mean it in jest, but it really sounds like my only option at this point.”

“I cannot help my need to see perfect little Bridgerton babies around the estate,” Mrs. Crabtree said cleverly. “But I also know when that day comes and you and Mr. Bridgerton do end up having children, it will be the most welcome of presents. Just, not this year, hm?”

“No,” she sighed, “not this year.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Crabtree nodded. “Perhaps we should head back to the estate?”

“I suppose,” (Y/N) sighed again, kicking a stray rock off of the path. “No use in sulking at the market when I can sulk in the comfort of my own home and await my perfect husband’s arrival with his perfect present.”

“Chin up, dear,” Mrs. Crabtree laughed, putting the baskets away in the carriage. “It’s endearing that you care so deeply about Mr. Bridgerton's gift. I’m sure whatever you land on will be just perfect.” A tease of sarcasm, a tease at her young missus.

“You’ve made your point,” (Y/N) grumbled, hopping into the cab. “Perhaps I should just accept defeat.”

“Oh, well now that won’t do,” Mrs. Crabtree admonished playfully, closing the door behind her. The carriage begun moving home. “You yourself said you were a competitive match, and I for one would like to see Mr. Bridgerton bested. All men need to be reminded that the wife is the true head of the house from time to time.”

(Y/N) snorted. How she cared so deeply for the staff here in the country, the Crabtrees were always a breath of fresh air. “He’s well aware.”

“Remind him anyway,” Mrs. Crabtree said absentmindedly.

As if struck by lightning, Mrs. Bridgerton knew exactly what she could gift her husband.

Benedict was exhausted. His family’s bad timing is never lost on him, needing his immediate attention at Aubrey Hall for one reason or another. His mother’s correspondence begged him to come urgently, a matter only meant to be discussed in person rather through letters. With a heavy heart he left his wife behind, knowing he’d only be gone for a handful of days anyway, even if he would be missing the majority of their anniversary day.

Benedict grinned wickedly. They still had plenty of the night, however.

When he originally had purchased My Cottage, he never expected to share the less-than-humble estate with anyone else, but like it was meant to be—and he had a very good reason to believe it was—(Y/N) made it her own and took to the country as well as he thought. She had even made fast friends with the Crabtrees, who, by all regards, Benedict thought of as family.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” Mr. Crabtree greeted, nodding to the young master exiting the carriage. Anthony had sent for him with a family transport—knowing Benedict would not want to leave (Y/N) without—all the more reason for his brother to agree to come to Aubrey Hall. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Crabtree,” Benedict nodded back, jumping down to the dirt path.

“How was your family, sir?”

“Dreadful,” Benedict groaned. “Made even more taxing by the two entire days of travel there and back. Do they not realize how far Wiltshire is to Kent?”

“I am sure the viscount is well aware,” Mr. Crabtree said, treading lightly. “I am also sure that they would not have called upon you for a small matter, either.”

“No,” Benedict sighed, rolling his shoulders. The trip had been a long one, his muscles ached. “It was a good reason for my visit, but it still pained me to be from my wife for so very long, especially today.”

“Ah, well, your missus has not been herself since you left,” Mr. Crabtree said. “I am quite sure that seeing you will be a happy reunion indeed.”

“Please ensure that you and your missus find your lodgings in the cabin, this eve,” Benedict said, as if the thought just occurred to him. Asking his staff to stay at the cabin by the pond became a regular occurance, especially after his marriage. “It is my anniversary, after all.”

Mr. Crabtree smiled. “Already done, sir.”

“Excellent,” Benedict said, trying his best not to grin from ear to ear. “Have a good night.”

“You as well, sir.”

Benedict knew that dinner would be waiting for him inside, Mrs. Crabtree probably having already made his favorites. After his day of travel, he was ravenous—more for food in this very moment than anything else, but he would settle for his wife, too.

“Darling,” Benedict called out, removing his boots by the front entryway. “Your fantastic husband has returned!”

Silence.

“Darling?” He called again, only to be met with the ticking of the grand clock in the foyer. “Playing hard to get, it seems…”

A shimmering of light caught his eye. Candlelight was emitting from his study, his studio, flickering from the crack under the door.

Odd.

“(Y/N)…?”

He opened the door cautiously, only to find his wife hunched over an easel. She had a streak of blue paint on her right cheek, a smidge of green right across the bridge of her nose. Benedict couldn’t recall the last time he saw something so endearing.

“Oh! Benedict!” (Y/N) said, nearly jumping five feet into the air. “You’re home!”

“I am,” he laughed, shutting the door to the study. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Cooking,” she deadpanned, posing with a hand on her hip, painters pallet in the other. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“After all my begging to get you to pick up a brush, you decide to do it whilst I’m away?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I cannot decide if I am touched or hurt.”

“It was meant to be a surprise!” (Y/N) laughed, setting the pallet down. “A gift for you.”

“A gift?” Benedict mused, walking closer to his wife. “And what did I do to deserve such a gift?”

“You married me,” she said simply, wiping her hands of any wet paint. They were still covered in a kaleidoscope of colors, but all dried down and hardly worth the effort to clean at the present moment. “A year ago today, I gather.”

“Oh yes,” Benedict said knowingly. “That is today, isn’t it?” His wife grinned up at him, looking more beautiful than the day he met her, a day he could have sworn was burned into his mind forever.

“So I’ve been told,” (Y/N) said. “I hate to admit, but I started on this later that I would have liked, only working on it for the last eight hours—”

“You didn’t happen to forget our anniversary, did you?” Benedict crossed his arms, his voice teasing.

“Of course not!” She lied, keeping her voice even. “You are just an impossible person to make a gift for, that is all.”

“Ah,” Benedict clicked. He did not believe her, but forgave her all in the same breath. “I see.”

“So it is not yet finished—”

“May I see it?”

“No, not yet,” (Y/N) said, turning the easel away quickly. He couldn’t have possibly seen what it was from where he was standing, anyway.

“What if…” Benedict crossed the room, carefully opening the closet in the wall. “We showed them together?” He pulled a similar sized canvas from the contents of the closet, covered in a plain white sheet. Of course he painted her something, it seemed only right. She married an artist, after all.

“Yours is going to be much better than mine,” (Y/N) said, nearly melting into the floor. “I will feel inadequate comparing our work.”

“Nonsense,” Benedict scoffed, walking back towards his wife. “They were both made with the same amount of love, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps…”

“Come on,” he said, nudging her arm with the corner of his canvas lovingly. “On the count of three?”

She nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

She spun the easel around just as Benedict removed the cover from the canvas in his hand.

Laughter filled the room.

“Oh my darling, I could kiss you,” Benedict said, voice full of love, his eyes not straying from her canvas for a moment. “Granted, I have wanted nothing more than to kiss you since I arrived—”

“Out of everything we could have painted,” (Y/N) giggled, brushing hair out of her face. “We picked the same subject?”

On both canvases laid a landscape rendition of My Cottage, one obviously more well-done than the other. Benedict’s gave a sense of perfect imperfection, something worth hanging in a gallery or museum. (Y/N)’s, while being done by the hand of a novice in only a handful of hours, gave it the sense of home, the shared feeling the couple had every day at their estate.

“We share the same mind,” Benedict surmised, setting his work on a neighboring easel, putting both side-by-side. “What a stunning collaboration on our end.”

“You jest,” (Y/N) pushed Benedict playfully. “Yours is far superior to mine. A toddler could have done better work.”

“Nonsense!” Benedict said, pulling his wife into his side, kissing her temple. “You obviously put such care into it, no matter how lopsided the left side of our home may be—”

“Benedict—”

“It’s brilliant, my love,” Benedict sang, turning (Y/N) to look directly at him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

“Truly?”

“Well, I fear I am still waiting on my welcome kiss…” Benedict sighed.

“Needy, needy man,” (Y/N) bubbled, rocking on her toes to reach her husband’s face, all but happy to oblige.

After a total of four days apart, the kiss was one that was worth waiting for. Saccharine sweet and slow, it was welcoming, it was home. Much like their first kiss, Benedict idly wondered if (Y/N)’s lips were always meant to be captured in his own—as if they were quite literally made for each other.

“Oh dear,” (Y/N) giggled, pulling away from her husband’s embrace, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his jaw. He needed to shave.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Paint,” she said, swiping her thumb across his cheek. “Entirely my fault. I’m not even sure how I got it on my face to begin with…”

“Hardly the first time,” Benedict quipped, leaning back in to kiss her once more.

“Do you really like it?” (Y/N) asked, resting her head on his shoulder—their attention somehow turned back to the canvases. “Or are you lying to me?”

“I would never lie to you,” Benedict said. She believed him. “But, I do suppose a few more hours would boast well to the quality…”

Another playful slap to his arm.

“Where are we to hang yours?” Her hand grazed his masterpiece. He must have finished it ages ago, hiding it away for just the right moment. “The entryway gets too much sun—”

“What about our bedchambers?” He offered.

“No, I want our guests to admire your work of Our Cottage,” she hummed, focusing her attention to the beautiful wreath he lovingly added to the front door. She loved adorning their door with fresh flowers, a detail he surely could have overlooked, but still included anyway. “Perhaps in the drawing room?”

“Our Cottage…” Benedict mumbled happily. “I think it’s high time we changed the name to that, don’t you agree? Seeing as it is no longer ‘my’ anything, not with you here.”

“Considering it still is not a cottage in the slightest, I have a few disagreements on that alone,” she teased. Their estate was nearly the furthest thing from a cottage, nearly a small mansion. “But yes… Our Cottage seems fitting.”

“And where will we hang your masterpiece?” Benedict pulled her tighter into his side. “Shall we hang them side-by-side? Allow our guests to see just how talented the Bridgertons can be?”

“Oh I am quite alright with stowing this away until forever,” (Y/N) laughed. “No guest needs to see this poor attempt when the true artistry falls onto you.”

“Poppycock!” Benedict dismissed. “My wife worked very hard on this, I refuse to just ‘stow it away’.”

“Well, then where do you suggest we hang it?” She said, trying not to smile, his praise flooding her senses from her head to her toes.

“I may have a few ideas…”

The wondrous scent of flowers filled their home once more, something that happened more and more frequently in the summer months, when flowers of all sorts were in season. Benedict made sure he outdid himself from last year, adorning each room in their home with at least two bouquets each, rather than just a load in their bedchambers. His reasoning? They only get the once to celebrate their second anniversary, might as well make it special.

“Should we move this one?” (Y/N) asked, holding a rather large assortment in her hand. “I would hate for her to be overwhelmed by the scent…”

“Darling, she’s fine,” Benedict said, grabbing the bouquet from his wife. “But, if you insist, I shall make an exception on this room.”

“She’s a baby,” (Y/N) giggled, watching her husband clumsily run across the hall to place the bouquet in their bedchambers. “I do not think she has the capacity to admire such a thing yet.”

“We want our daughter to be well versed, do we not?” Benedict said, returning to the nursery. “Best we start her on the language of flowers as soon as we can. An educated lady is a respected lady.”

“You’re impossible,” (Y/N) grinned.

“So I’ve been told.”

“God, she’s so perfect,” she said, looking over the crib with a look one could only describe as lovestruck. “How did we manage to make such a beautiful thing?”

“You did most of the work,” Benedict said, suddenly beside her. “I only showed up the once, if I recall.”

“Oh hush,” (Y/N) leaned up against him, feeling the warmth of his body touching her own. “A perfect anniversary present.”

“She’s been quite the gift the last few months, I’ll give you that,” Benedict hummed, his fingers lazily rubbing shapes on the top of her arm. “But I’m afraid that title still falls to the gift from last year.”

Framed perfectly atop the crib of their precious baby girl was the rendition of their home, the one (Y/N) had worked so hard on a year prior. While it had looked a bit more polished after Benedict offered his wife some very well needed advice, it was still lopsided and patchy, but very much full of love. He had hung it two weeks later, after it had completely dried and framed, causing his wife to sob tears of joy on the placement.

Their daughter was born only nine months after.

“Our Cottage,” she sighed happily.

“Our Cottage,” Benedict kissed her temple, looking down at his daughter and back at his beautiful wife. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #hi i love b.b and no one can stop me #if anyone wants some wine with a side of this CHEESE come and see me

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 months ago

Text

A Night Forgotten

Part Six

This is going to be a longer one

He looked at the drink on the table, seeming intrigued. Picking it up without permission – he still had that bad habit of thinking the world was his oyster and he could pearl dive any time he pleased, regardless of personal space or property rights – he held it to the light and look up at it. One dark brown eyebrow cranked up with interest. Then, he took a sip from her straw, seeming to savour the flavour a moment, measuring it across his palette. When his curiosity was satisfied, he put the drink back down in front of her.

“Interesting,” was all he said.

This was all very typical Erik.

“What did you mean by what you’d said earlier? And don't give me any half-baked answers like the last one,”Emoni demanded, taking up her new drink and sucking down a mouthful.

He shrugged and nudged his chin towards the barge. “Vegas is the city of vice and sin, Daniels. Did you really think I was only interested in coming here for a wedding, especially knowing you were here – having fun without me?”

Her heart thumped into her throat. She took another sip for courage. "R-really? And why's that?"

His gaze moved back to hers, locked on and held hard. A simmering heat warmed up those inky-black orbs that stared into her soul and a small confident smile graced those luscious lips. "You know why."

Emoni now knew what a deer in the headlights felt like. A nervous energy radiated out of her tummy and flowed across her limbs, making her hands shake. She put the drink down and refused to look away.

“What are you saying?”

Emoni required full disclosure. No games. She wasn't built for innuendo. With her, direct was always better.

“What do you want with me?”

With slow, purposeful movement, Erik uncrossed his legs and leaned into her. His knee wedged between hers, and his hands leaned on the arms of the lounge chair Emoni sat in outside of the ballroom, caging her. His mouth moved with clear intent towards hers, stopping as he pillowed very softly right over them. It was an almost-kiss. His half-lidded eyes looked directly into hers without flinching.

“I want you to have the best damn night of your life with me. I want you to let go and tap into your wild side…explore Sin City and forget morals…”

Emoni blinked slowly at him and then she parted her lips to speak.

“…And?”

“…I want to fuck you.”

She’d never been more scared of sex in her life than she was in that moment. Even her first time had been comfortable. She’d planned that night out in detail after all, fully prepared. Since then, She’d only been with two other men – one a short summer fling, and the other a toxic relationship. After they'd failed, She’d sworn no more until Mister Right came along.

Erik was staring at her in the face right now, telling her that he wanted to fuck her, and the heat in his eyes said it would be to within an inch of her life. Emoni knew his reputation, she knew he was skilled and hung and… oh my God, it didn't matter that he had a potential witless fiancée back in Wakanda waiting - Emoni wanted him! She felt like she’d been waiting all her adult life for this moment. It was terrifying.

She gathered her courage. Could she do this? It was crossing some serious moral lines that she’d once upon a time, when she’d been younger and more naïve, believed in maintaining at all costs. She didn’t understand why she was struggling with this. After all, she did plan on leaving tonight with some random fine ass man!

Yet, it hadn't been her who'd made the proposition. Erik was the engaged one.

“What about that potential fiancé of yours back in Wakanda? And that model chick back in Cali?” Emoni challenged.

He frowned a bit. “What about them?”

Emoni shoved on his shoulder and tsk'd. “Aren’t you engaged?!”

“No, that’s where you have it all twisted. They want me to marry this woman back in Wakanda but at MY request, I want to find my own suitable princess. Fuck all that old fashioned bullshit.”

It was her turn to frown. “What does that even mean?!”

Erik shrugged. “She's obviously not someone I want to marry. She feels the same to be honest. She’s got her own shit going on with some dude she’s into.”

Now, Emoni was getting angry. “So, you thought you'd just go on out and get a piece of your own while the cat is away? Any port in the storm - that it?”

That infuriating smirk crawled up his dimpled cheek. "Not any port, no. A particular one, yes."

Her jaw fell open. "You're unbelievable! You have the audacity to just…"

{ Kiss }

Emoni didn't get any more out as he leaned forward the rest of the way and kissed her for the first time. Her toes curled. She thought her head was going to explode from the pleasure. Seriously. Holy shit, Erik Stevens could kiss! Emoni wanted to curl up in his lap right then and there and let him kiss her until the end of the world rained down upon their heads. His lips were plump and soft, his tongue tasted sugary and it slithered into her mouth so skillfully she almost fainted. The little breaths he released shot straight to her drenched folds. It was the type of kiss she’d had wet dreams about.

“You're using me,” Emoni trembled against him as he pulled back a bit.

“I'm not,” he vowed, very assured.

She shook her head as he dipped over her lips with peppering kisses.

“What is this if not using, Stevens?”

His tongue slipped past her open mouth and twined with hers. He growled, and she heard it over the music in the background. She felt it in her ribs.

“You're thinking too hard – again,” he contested. “Stop. Just feel.”

“This is crazy,” Emoni whimpered. “You'll hurt me.”

Erik pulled back to stare deeply and intensely into her eyes. Emoni searched his gaze, this overpowering emotion between them strong.

"I won't. Come with me," he took her hand, and backed up to give her room to stand with him. He tugged, and Emoni flowed up into his arms, which held her tight to his muscular frame. He smelled incredible – a spicy, musky cologne that tantalized her senses. His lips hovered over her ear again like he did on the dance floor.

“Be mine, Emoni. Let me show you. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Oh damn, fuck, shit, I’m doomed, aren’t I? Emoni thought.

Gathering her purse, she threw a last look over at the dance floor as he led me away.

———

The interior of Erik’s sports car with butterfly doors was pristine and smelled like him. They zoomed off away from the wedding, the garter Erik removed from Emoni’s thigh wrapped around his gear shift and his mask resting atop his head. Emoni clutched onto the handle above her seat and clenched her thighs together. It was something about the speed and the way Erik maneuvered the car that turned her on. A few stray curls had slipped from her up-do and fell into her eyes. She looked pleasantly disheveled.

“Have you ever been a passenger princess before?”

“H-huh?”

Erik gave Emoni a quick glance with a chuckle. He reached out to turn down his music so she could hear him better.

“Have you ever been a passenger princess?”

Emoni slowly nodded her head, “I’ve ridden passenger side with my ex many times—”

“No, no. Have you ever been a passenger princess?”

Emoni pondered his words, too intoxicated to think straight. She finally understood what he was asking her and a fresh wave of arousal showered her. This was going to be a long night of fucking and sucking for the both of them.

“I—no. No, I can’t recall that I have…”

Her chest heaved up and down as she watched Erik take his free hand to grip her knee closest to him. He forced her leg apart and his fingers pressed firmly into the flesh of her inner thigh.

“Take your panties off and give them to me.”

“What do you plan to do with them?”

“Keep them. Enough questions, Emoni. Remember, relax and just enjoy.”

Emoni exhaled and went to work taking her red lace panties off. She slowly held them out for Erik to take and he plucked them out of her hand before taking a quick whiff and placing them in the front pocket of his cotton dress shirt. Emoni sat there with her mouth unhinged and wide eyes.

“This is what’s gon’ happen. You’re gonna cum from my fingers like a true passenger princess, and you’re gonna clean the mess you make off of my fingers. Understand?”

“Erik—”

“For the duration of our evening of naughtiness, Miss Emoni, you are to refer to me as daddy. Your Highness is good too…”

Erik stroked her chin quickly before making a turn. So many rules to his little game. What if she wanted to make some rules too?

“…okay. And if I don’t?”

“Easy,” Erik cut his dark eyes at her, “You’ll get a spanking.”

“As if—”

“Emoni, I’ve waited for this moment for a very, very, very long time. I’ve wanted to do things to you…things you wouldn’t be able to handle. One of those things is putting you over my knee and spank that impertinent ass. Stop with the questions, okay? Breathe.”

She was stunned to silence.

[ Relax ]

Emoni exhaled and relaxed into her seat. She giggled to herself while staring out of the window.

“Maybe I am prudish. Who am I to deprive myself of a good time? Even if that means being a bad girl.”

A slow, sly smirk crept up Erik’s face.

“So, when do we get to cement my position as passenger princess, daddy?”

Erik almost slammed on his breaks. Emoni brought her knees to her chest and teased Erik while inching her dress up past her thighs. He was fighting the urge to take his eyes off the road. The smooth, shiny flesh of her beautiful legs had him drooling. The sight of those petite ankles, the slim width of her feet and their pretty arches, along with those adorably painted toenails made him uncomfortably aware of his growing erection. Shit, he'd never been a 'foot man' before, but he had the feeling that after tonight, he was going to be a convert to the cause. Every inch of her body would be revealed to him soon enough and he couldn’t wait to taste and touch.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Tell me more,” Emoni cooed, blinking her eyes seductively with a bite of her lip.

“Your intellect turns me on. When you’re mad you make the cutest face and I just want to nibble all over your cheeks. You always smell amazing. I wish I was your first instead of that dumb ass nigga all those years ago. You make me feel all types of ways and I just—I just—”

Erik turned his gaze toward her.

“You just what?” Emoni questioned.

{ Say It }

“I’minlovewithyou.”

The words came out jumbled as if he were forced to say those words. Emoni stared at him unblinking.

“…Did you just say that you love me?”

“I did…didn’t I?” Erik chuckled nervously, “uhh—”

[ Say It ]

“I love you too!”

They were at a red light. Both Erik and Emoni stared into each other’s eyes.

BEEP! BEEP!

Erik blinked away suddenly and floored it. Emoni’s head collided with the seat. She glanced over at Erik, catching his eye. Both of them giggled.

“I’m so in love with you, Emoni Isabella Davis. DAMN. It feels so good to say that. I’ve been dying to say that to you.”

“We’re in love,” Emoni said with a whimsical laugh, “love! I’ve wanted to tell you how much I love you for so long! What a relief!”

“I know, right?! Such a relief.”

“I love you Erik N’Jadaka Stevens,” Emoni said cheerfully.

“And I love you, my precious Emoni.”

Erik’s hand slipped between Emoni’s thighs and she gasped with excitement. His touch was electric. Like a zing she felt it from head to toe. Her chest thrust out and she grabbed onto his wrist. The tips of his thick fingers feathered over her plump outer lips. She hadn’t waved in over a month and for a second she wanted to refuse his hand out of embarrassment but it just felt too good. He grunted like a primal animal when his fingers tore away from her moist center.

Erik inspected his fingers and neither of them could believe how much arousal seeped from her opening. She’d never been that wet because of a man. You’d think she used lube to get herself that slick. Slowly, Erik sucked on his fingers. Emoni whimpered at the visual.

“Fuck,” Erik licks his lips, “Spread your legs more for me, baby…”

Emoni opened up wider and watched Erik’s hand creep between her legs again. This time, he parted her lips to feel further in between. His middle finger flicked upward on her clit and her back arched from the seat. Erik maneuvered the car through a tunnel with the windows down and one hand on the wheel. Erik couldn’t believe how wet she was. Emoni could feel herself climaxing already. She threw her head back, shut her eyes tightly, and closed her thighs around Erik’s hand.

The pulse under her skin began thrumming with speed. She felt a little dizzy from his intimate touch. They were simpatico in their desires for each other, it seemed. Maybe she wouldn't end up quite so devastated from this in the morning. She hoped, anyway. She was feeling as bold and sexy as she had while drinking that cocktail at the reception, and although she had little experience, she’d done enough reading on the subject, and seen plenty of porn. Emoni knew what might work, and she rolled with it, allowing the buzz from the alcohol to chase away her inhibitions.

“You just came for me…already? Mmm…you needed me, baby…I’m the only one that can make you feel like this…”

“Yes, please, daddy, stick your fingers inside…”

“Like this?”

Erik slipped two fingers deep – his middle and ring finger – groaning as he fit his fingers into her powerful passage. She expanded and lubricated his digits more the deeper he went. With each decent, her walls would clench. Emoni didn’t know this, but Erik’s dick was painfully hard. It was morning wood times a hundred. Hard and unyielding. Pulsating with a need to be freed. Balls tight with an unbearable lust to be emptied. More precum than he’d ever witnessed staining his briefs.

“Oh, shit, that pussy feels amazing, Princess. Damn, this pussy is nice and fuckin’ wet.”

“it’s so deep…oh, fuck…daddy…right there…more…unh!”

Emoni’s legs spasmed with her second release. This time, she creamed all over Erik’s fingers. Jolts of pleasure came over her body the more Erik finger-fucked her. He didn’t stop, he needed to see it again. He pulled into a parking spot outside of a Karaoke club and unfastened his seatbelt swiftly. Erik brought Emoni’s seat all the way back and he leaned over her body to capture her lips. His tongue snaked into her mouth while his thick fingers pumped in her deeply. The flesh of her cleavage bounced, she was breathless, and her eyes were closed tight.

Erik broke the kiss to watch her face. Emoni’s eyes slowly slid opened and her gaze connected with Erik’s.

“Watch me…I want you to watch how beautiful you look cumming for me,” Erik pulled down the mirror so she could watch her face, “You look like a goddess, baby. So beautiful…so wet for me…such a good girl…”

Emoni blinked back tears of pleasure. Erik couldn’t keep his mouth off of her. He was attacking her neck now like a wild beast, licking and nibbling all over her flesh. His lips made its way to the tops of her breasts, the sensation mixed with his fingers going in and out of her causing her to moan out loud. The windows are rolled down, surely someone heard.

“Daddy! You’re making me cum again!”

“Cum, baby, let it out…that’s it…”

Emoni tore her eyes away from the mirror and smashed her lips into Erik’s. One hand fisted the front of his cotton dress shirt while the other squeezed his bicep like she was trying to pop a muscle. When the last bit of tremors wore off and their kissing stopped, Erik’s fingers gently slipped out of her opening. Emoni dropped her eyes down to his hand and couldn’t believe how much cream coated his fingers.

“Suck.”

Emoni parted her glossy lips and Erik’s fingers sat on her tongue. She wrapped her lips around his fingers and suctioned while staring into his dark eyes.

“I can’t wait to have you, Emoni. I’m so hard right now…”

His fingers left her mouth and Erik raised her seat into its original position. He fixed her dress and smoothed a few curls from her eyes.

“Where are we?” Emoni asked, still on cloud nine from that amazing foreplay.

“Karaoke. I want to watch you sing.”

“Wait…Erik, I’m a terrible singer! Why can’t we just go back to your beach house and fuck?! This is embarrassing…” She covered her face with her hands.

“Remember what I said, this is a night to let loose and have the best fucking time of your life. Stop worrying about being perfect all the time, Emoni. Come on.”

Erik made sure he was decent before leaving his car and walking around to open Emoni’s door. She grasped his hand and Erik helped her out of her seat, fixing her dress and hair before retrieving her hand bag. He closed the butterfly doors and led the way towards the entrance. Emoni’s heart was hammering away at her chest. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this in front of an audience.

———

Emoni was about to experience Karaoke the Vegas way. They entered a vibrantly lit bar decorated with neons of all colors. Although she was nervous, she actually loved the vibes already inside KAMU Karaoke. Erik guided her towards an open high-top table next to the karaoke stage. He pulled out her seat and startled her by picking her up and placing her on the stool.

Erik took a seat across from her, rolling up the sleeves to his cotton button down and undoing the first two buttons so he could loosen his tie easily. Emoni couldn’t look across at Erik without clenching her thighs together. He gave her a knowing smirk as if he could read her mind.

“You want another drink?!” Erik asked.

“Uhh—how about shots?!”

“Shots?! You sure?!” Erik gave her a scrutinizing look with his thick lips twisted, “Whatchu want?!”

“Chilled Patron shots with a lime garnish please!”

“Ooh, my kind of girl!” Erik reached over to caress her chin with his thumb, “I’ll be right back!”

Erik hopped down and headed towards the bar.

Two months ago, if anyone would have told Emoni that she’d one day be the recipient of Erik Stevens’ sexual interest, and that she’d actually crave him back, she would have laughed herself silly. Now, she wasn't finding the idea so funny. Provocative? Certainly. Humorous? No.

Erik had returned with four shots, carefully placing them down on the table before taking his place across from her again. They each grabbed a glass, toasted each other, then tapped it on the table before knocking it back. It went down smooth and the taste of the lime on her tongue was an added bonus.

For several long seconds, they stared at each other – Emoni was caught off guard and clearly surprised by what had transpired between them. Erik smirked with amusement at having thrown her for a loop again. His eyes drifted lazily down her form during that momentary pause, appreciating her beauty. He surprised Emoni by reaching across and tugging gently on a curl.

“Take down your hair.” Erik commanded.

Emoni gave Erik a nervous glance before reaching up to remove the pins that held her curly updo in place. When she’d retrieved the last pin, Emoni placed them in her bag and shook her curls out with her fingers. Chocolate-brown ringlets framed her face and fell into her eyes. She looked over at Erik expectantly as heat crept over her melanated flesh.

“Different,” was what he came up with, and Emoni could just barely make out what he said over the noise around them.

She scowled at him. That wasn't the word she’d been hoping to hear. 'Beautiful,' 'amazing' or maybe even 'tasty' would have been much more appreciated. 'Different' was safe and utterly unflattering. Sheraised an eyebrow in displeasure.

“Quite,” She said louder and with a bitter tone so he'd hear her, and then she rolled her eyes.

He knew exactly what to do to piss her off.

[ Relax ]

Emoni exhaled and a calming sensation washed over her body.

Unexpectedly, in that same moment, that familiar voice of his sent a shiver up her spine. “Different and delicious, Daniels.”

She nearly dropped the shot glass.

“Drink every drop for me,” he bade in that same compelling tone, “I want to taste it on your lips and tongue later.”

Instantly, the flash of desire warmed her lower extremities, making that fluttering in her stomach kick up a pace. She felt her nipples tighten at the thought of what was to come.

Oh, no - absolutely not a mistake coming here tonight.

“Are you gonna go up there?!” Erik raised both of his brows at her.

“I don’t know. There’s too many people here!”

“Emoni. Get your fine ass up on that stage and have some fun! Trust me, nobody will laugh or make fun of you, baby. And if they do…I’m knocking ‘em out.”

Emoni looked over at the stage and giggled at two drunk white girls singing Spice Girls- Wannabe. Her eyes moved over the crowd of people and most were cheering them on and singing along while others were too drunk to care. Emoni knew she could do it. She’d presented in front of a larger audience before at work and during her college days. With a final exhale, Emoni finished her shot and stood up from her stool carefully. The two girls exited the stage and that gave her the opportunity. She gave Erik one look and he gave her an encouraging smile with a tilt of his head.

Emoni walked towards the stage and took her time climbing the short staircase. Instantly, she could feel people watching her. She walked up to choose a song, tremors in her fingers a reminder of how nervous she was. Emoni found a song and grabbed a mic before turning to face that room full of people. Erik was standing closer, a reassuring look in his eyes that gave Emoni a boost of confidence. The song started and the crowd instantly started vibing to the classic.

You've been waiting so long, I'm here to answer your call

I know that I shouldn't have had you waiting at all

I've been so busy, but I've been thinking 'bout

What I wanna do with you…

She cleared her throat a little and gave a nervous nod in Erik’s direction when he shook his head for her to keep going. Suddenly, she felt like she could do anything. One look at him and she forgot all about how afraid she felt.

I know them other guys, they been talking bout the way I do what I do

They heard I was good, they wanna see if it's true

They know you're the one I wanna give it to

I can see you want me too

Now, it's me and you…

Emoni was swaying her hips to the sultry beat, giving off seductive energy, locking eyes with Erik, and not once did she stumble over her words.

It's me and you, now

I've been waiting (Waiting)

Think I wanna make that move, now

Baby, tell me if you like it (Tell me if you like it)

It's me and you, now

I've been waiting

Think I wanna make that move, now

Baby, tell me how you like it!!!!

People were out of their seats, wolf whistling and clapping. From the looks of it, she was the most entertaining that evening thus far. Some men gave her hungry looks, some women envied her, and the others were so excited they sang along to the lyrics. Erik couldn’t contain his smile and his utter shock. Emoni Davis was having fun and cutting up. She strutted over towards Erik with her adorable self and started singing to him with the sweetest voice and her finger pointed at him. Erik’s eyes grew wide and his smile widened with his dimples popped out.

Baby, I’ll love you all the way down!

Get you right where you like it, I promise you'll like it (I swear)

Just relax and let me make that move (It's our secret thang)

Keep it between me and you!!!!

It's me and you, now (Oh Yea-a)!!!!

I've been waiting

Think I wanna make that move, now (Move now)

Baby, tell me if you like (Tell me if you like it)

I’ve been waiting! I’ve been waiting!

The music faded and Emoni covered her face while the audience cheered her on. She couldn’t believe she did that. Emoni gracefully exited the stage and she held out the mic for Erik to take.

“It’s your turn now, Stevens. Let’s see you get up there and sing!”

Erik challenged her with a single brow raised and a slight smirk. He snatched the mic from her hand, brought it to his lips, and leaned in towards her face.

“Watch how I outdo you.”

Emoni folded her arms sassily with a scowl and a smirk. Erik slipped past her and to that stage. She was about to witness Erik Stevens singing. She needed to record this. While he searched for a song, Emoni rushed to retrieve her phone. She made it back in time when a song she recognized started playing. When she realized what it was her eyes lit up and she started giggling.

Yeahhh yeah—yeahhhhh!!!!

Girl, I wish that I could spend time with you each and every day

Playing all my love and emotions that's the thing that's got me open

And I don't know what it takes to let you know you're my girl

To let you know you're my baby

And even when they say we won't stay around

If they only knew that we were meant to be together

Forever and ever whatever there's no better thing

Me and you girl, that's why I write you love letters saying!!!

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it…

Erik sang to his heart’s desire with his eyes closed and a hand to chest. He knew all the words without even looking at the screen. A true Millennial. He had all the black people in the room jamming. Emoni Could only imagine a twelve–year–old Erik singing to this and writing love letters.

Sometimes I want to be the one you be checking for, can I get a second for me

Me and you to be alone tell me if you think it's wrong

Love is nothing but the time it takes you to say I'm on your mind

Let me tell you I'm always there, oh yeah

Let's get a little time away, go to the movies on a Saturday

Meet me at the finish line so I can tell you one more time

Girl, you know I'm not scared to let you say that…

Erik was down on his knees singing to Emoni! She was stunned. Everyone made too much noise, almost drowning out Erik’s singing.

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it

I like the way you look at me

I like the time we spend, baby

I like what we have grown to be

I like it, girl, don't you know I like it!!!

He dropped the mic and threw his hands up while the room erupted with applause. This man could do no wrong. He left the stage and walked up to Emoni. Erik grabbed her chin and pressed his lips into hers. They tongued each other down, both unable to contain their laughter. They returned to their seats while the next person took the stage. Emoni fanned herself while staring at Erik.

———

“What did you mean by different?”

They were both seated on top of the front of his sports car sharing French fries from In-N-Out and staring up at the crescent moon. They needed to eat something to soak up the alcohol.

“You have a different aura about you when you’re less wound up and tense, Emoni. I’ve awakened something in you that’s been locked away far too long. I’m sorry you had to feel like you needed to tuck some of the best parts of yourself away because of that stupid nigga. I see your potential, even beyond your beauty. I always have.”

Emoni tucked her chin and blinked away tears. She hated being so vulnerable. It was definitely the drinks. She gathered enough courage to look at him again.

“Thank you,” She gave him a warm smile, "You’re the only man to ever see me as more than just my physical appearance. You challenge me and your cleverness and natural born leadership turns me on more than that pretty face and those plump lips of yours. And don’t stare at me like that, Stevens, I just might leave a wet spot on this car…”

He sat up straighter, encouraged by the fact that she'd taken that much effort to pay attention to him.

“…When you laugh with true sincerity it sounds nice, you have impeccable table manners, are well organized, and you smell rather pleasant on a regular basis." She counted them off once more and then nodded, satisfied. “There, we're done.”

All of her compliments were rather touching, honestly, but one in particular grabbed his attention.

“It's Wakandan. Custom.”

She blinked. "What is?"

“You said I smell rather pleasant. It's my cologne. It comes from Wakanda, and is tailored so that everyone smells whatever they most desire from me,” he explained, hopping off his car and approaching her side. She looked ready to melt by the time he'd bent down in front of her and leaned over her, putting his neck near her nose. “What do you smell?”

Her warm breath panting against his neck sent electric tingles down his spine.

A beat later, she had her nose pressed against the lee of his throat and was taking deep, drawing breaths in and sighing in pleasure on the exhale. When she moaned in longing, Erik thought he'd never heard a more desirable sound, and his body reacted by going hard and tight. "What do you smell, my princess?" he coaxed, placing his mouth next to her ear, caressing the delicate skin with his soft lips. “Tell me,” he whispered, in a dark, enticing tone.

She began to pant, and her hands crept of their own accord to grip his shoulders. With a light pressure, she dug her nails into his skin.

His heart began to pound hard in his chest.

“Sandalwood, cinder ash, wine, and…red roses.”

Ghosting his lips up the side of her throat, he sighed, pleased by her imagination. “Beautiful. That's your idea of love-making, Daniels. How you see it…with me.”

“Hmm?" she asked, slowly coming back into herself, pulling away from his collar. Her grip on his arms eased up. "Love-making? With you?”

Erik wanted to set a sultry tone that would linger with her thoughts after this round was over.

“The scent is meant to evoke your passion and trigger your unconscious desires for me,” he explained in a soft murmur. “Black satin sheets and silver moonlight…you want me to dominate you, but you want it done seductively at first then rough. A warm fire and wine…you want things between us to burn slowly and smolder before we lose all control and overindulge in each other.”

“…I haven't been able to unwind in, well, a long time.”

Emoni was embarrassed to admit.

“That's because you play too little and work too hard,” Erik agreed.

“I can't help it,” she breathed a frustrated sigh. “There's always so much to do, and it's hardwired into me to get it all done!”

“As your boss, I command you to ease your mind. You can loosen up a little," he tried to sooth her. “Just forget the world outside for now. Relax and enjoy this.”

He gently placed his lips over the curve of her neck and shoulder, leaving small, barely-there kisses as he went. With a quick swipe, he touched his tongue to her warm skin. She was powdered with honey dust, a delicious treat he hadn't expected, and which explained how her skin sparkled under the light. Underneath it though, she tasted as if she'd just stepped out of the ocean.

The flavour had his chest going tight and sent his dick straining for its freedom.

Mine.

If anything could have confirmed for him the truth of what his heart and body had been telling him for years, that right there had done it.

“Tell me something you’ve always wanted to do but you never did out of fear.”

Emoni pondered.

“Uhm…oh! I’ve always wanted a belly ring but I’m too scared to get it. It’s such a sexy piercing, you know?”

“Hmm, I like belly piercings. You should do it.”

“Oh, no. I think I’m good.”

“Emoni, c’mon, ma. You could get one tonight.”

“Tonight?!” Emoni looked up at Erik with wide eyes.

“Okay, how about this,” Erik ate the last fry, chewing it and swallowing before he spoke again, “If you agree to get your belly button pierced, I’ll get a tattoo. Whatever you want.”

“…whatever I want?” Emoni pointed to herself.

That didn’t sound too bad. She loved the idea of deciding what Erik should get tatted on him.

“Yes. Whatever you choose, Baby girl.”

“Okay. Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

Erik grinned at her before reaching out to grab her hand. He walked her towards the passenger side and helped her in before sliding across the car to his side, causing Emoni to laugh.

Drunken nights with the Prince of Wakanda was absolutely glorious.

———

They stepped inside of a parlor and was greeted at the front by a receptionist. Erik inquired about piercings and a tattoo and luckily they had artists on staff that evening. Emoni was allowed to chose what ring she wanted to decorate her navel. She wanted to find the cheapest option since Erik was the one paying for the service.

“This one looks okay.”

It was a simple piercing. Nothing too flattering. Erik frowned slightly.

“I don’t really like that one. Are you sure?”

“I—I don’t want to get something expensive, Erik.”

“This one looks really nice. Very sexy…”

“What?! This is too much—”

Erik gave her a look, “Moni. Stop it. I’m treating you.”

Emoni rolled her eyes, “So, you’d buy me something like this?”

Erik pointed to a dangling belly button ring with 14K white gold diamonds. Emoni gawked at him.

“Erik…that costs 2700 dollars…”

“Okay, we’ll get that one then—”

“I MEAN…you’re offering…”

The receptionist giggled.

“You’re a trip. Just admit you want me to spoil you.”

An impish glint appeared in her gaze, followed by a very wicked, sultry smirk. "You’re going to spoil me, Stevens.”

Erik blinked in astonished exasperation.

"…Beautiful," he murmured, moving in to feast upon her luscious mouth. "You're so fucking beautiful, Daniels." He groaned, losing himself in the singe of his blood from her touch and flavor.

“We’ll take this one,” Erik pointed to the expensive piercing through the glass.

The receptionist retrieved the belly ring and Erik whipped out his wallet to pay for everything. Afterwards, they sat down in the lobby until they were serviced.

The artist is from New Orleans. Emoni could make out the inspiration from The Big Easy. Anxiously fidgeting, she looked around, admiring the photos and art. Erik stroked her back to calm her down.

“What was in those drinks? I can’t believe I’m about to do this shit—”

“Ready?”

A heavily tatted Asian woman with hot pink hair walked out to greet them. Erik and Emoni stood up and he grabbed her hand as they followed the woman towards the back of the shop. She was led over to a table for her to lay back on. Emoni spotted the tools she planned to use and almost freaked out if it wasn’t for Erik calming her down.

“My name is Suzie. I’ll be taking care of your piercing. Beni, the shop owner, he’ll do your tattoo. Did you read over the paperwork thoroughly?”

“Yes,” Emoni gave Suzie a nervous smile, “Sorry, this has me feeling nervous.”

“It’s alright. Believe it or not, belly button piercings are relatively painless when you’re relaxed. Too much anxiousness can make it uncomfortable. It’s important to stay calm. I mean, you definitely should because there are risks. Let’s take a look at your navel…”

Emoni went to lay on her back on the table and she remembered that her underwear was no longer in her possession. With wide eyes, she glanced over at Erik and they both burst out into a fit of laughter. Suzie watched the exchange with confusion and a smirk on her face.

“So…I’m not wearing any panties. Is there something I could cover up with?”

“Oh! Sure,” Suzie giggles, “I have a pad I can place over you.”

Suzie went to grab a pad and Emoni lifted her dress up to her chest. Erik’s eyes raked over her exposed flesh. He couldn’t wait to have her. All of her.

Suzie draped the pad across her, placed new gloves on her hands, and began sanitizing the area thoroughly. Emoni glanced over at Erik and he gave her an encouraging nod with two thumbs up. Suzie used a surgical marker to mark where she’d pierce. This was a good chance for Emoni to make sure the piercing location is where she wanted it to be.

The moment of truth.

“Breathe in…”

Emoni inhaled and Suzie pierced the area.

“Breathe out…”

She exhaled a shaky breath.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Suzie asked.

“No, actually,” Emoni chuckled, “it was quick I could barely register the pain.”

“Good. Now, there will be some discomfort. Be careful with certain garments. Use a mild, fragrance-free soap or saline solution to gently clean the area around the piercing. You can also try a saltwater mixture of half a teaspoon of sea salt per cup of water to remove dried secretions. Avoid twisting or rotating the jewelry while cleaning, as this can cause irritation and introduce bacteria. Rinse the area thoroughly and pat dry with a lint-free cloth or clean, disposable paper towel. Don't rub the area dry. You can also soak the area in a sterile saline solution for 5–10 minutes daily. Don't use alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, bacitracin, or other ointments, as these can slow healing or irritate the area. Any questions?”

That was a lot of information at once, but Emoni understands what she needed to do. She was given a bag filled with items to start her cleaning process since she didn’t have anything handy until she got home.

“I think I’m good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It looks good on you. If you guys want, you can head back to Beni.”

“Thanks,” Erik helped Emoni off the table. They both admired her new body jewelry in a mirror before exiting. They entered the next room and it was dimly lit with a reclining leather chair. Beni had just finished setting up what he needed and then he looked up at the pair with his pure hazel eyes. He stood at 5’7 with thick curly brown hair and tattoos covering his entire body. He shook Erik’s hand first and then Emoni’s.

“I’m Beni. So, what are we looking to do?”

Erik pointed to Emoni, “She’s deciding tonight.”

Emoni smiled brightly, “What’s your pain tolerance?”

Erik cocked his head and smirked at her before lifting his dress shirt, revealing tiny raised scars, “Emoni…really?”

“Jesus, my brother,” Beni stared in disbelief, “scarification?”

“Yeah. So to answer your question, baby girl, I have a very high tolerance.”

Emoni hadn’t seen Erik shirtless in years. She was rendered speechless. Erik wanted to know what she was thinking, but that could wait until they were alone. For now, it was time for a tattoo.

“Snap out of it, gorgeous. What do you have in mind for me?”

Emoni blinked away from him and looked at Beni, “Uhm…my name. Get my name tatted.”

“Simple. That okay with you?”

Erik gave a half shrug, “Fine with me. Where do you want your name?”

Emoni couldn’t tear her eyes away from his body. She wanted to feel the raised bumps against her fingertips. Skimming each one like braille. It was so fascinating and sexy at the same time. And don’t even get her started on his muscles—

“Princess?”

“Oh—uhhh—right bellow the V-cut,” She pointed to the area while looking at the physical display of hard work in the gym and discipline in the kitchen. It was his lower right side, only visible if he were naked. Discrete.

Imagine sucking his dick and staring at your name inked into his flesh, Emoni thought.

“You’re so naughty. I know exactly why you want it there,” Erik chuckled, “Fine with me. Let’s get to it.”

Erik made himself comfortable and Emoni sat on a stool at his side. Beni placed the transfer paper onto Erik’s skin and afterwards he began tattooing.

“Tickles a little,” Erik smirked with his eyes closed.

It took about thirty minutes and when Beni finished, he let Erik take a look.

“The best decision I’ve ever made. Permanent and meaningful.”

Erik tugged on Emoni’s hand, drawing her closer and crashing his lips against hers. They tongue kissed ferociously and Erik’s hand made its way between her legs again, stroking her pussy lips. Emoni whimpered into his mouth and held onto him tight, trembling from head to toe even in the aftershocks. Finally, when the sensation became too much, she took her hand from his shoulder, smoothing it down his arm, and silently requested he remove his hand from between her legs before she made a mess. He complied easily, refusing to break off from the kiss quite yet, however. Wanting more…

“Not here,” Emoni gave Beni a look but he was too busy cleaning, probably used to this.

Erik groaned in disappointment.

Pulling away reluctantly, he looked up at her. There was desire in her eyes. Her quaking hand was still holding onto his wrist and she was struggling to regain control. All he did was stroke her outer lips. Obdurate, steadfast, tenacious Emoni Davis had finally let her barrier down. With shimmering chocolate orbs for eyes, and candied lips, she looked positively edible… and scared half to death.

@hearteyes-for-killmonger @imagining-greatness @chaneajoyyy @uzumaki-rebellion @lisayourworries @ratedbadgal @bombshellbre95 @cancerianprincess @dameshaemonique @6lack-1otus @thickemadame @thickeeparker @stinkalinkkkk @ehniki @electrixt @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @bxolux @sweet2krazee @seyven89 @ispywithmylileye @geemamii @unbotheredblackchild @nubianbabee @adoreesun @blackpinup22 @nayaxwrites @cocoa-puffs @dersha89 @honeytoffee @thickianaaaa @modelmemoirs @why-wait-4-eventually @queenfaithmarie @angelicniah @soulfulbeauty19 @aijha @novaniskye @callmemckenzieee @blowmymbackout @lahuttor @momobaby227 @blackerthings @kenbieee @princessxotwod @palmstreesallday @kokokonako @coolfancyone @soulsparker @richgirlaesthetics

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #erik killmonger

259 notes · View notes

vermilionsun · 2 months ago

Note

Headcanons about how the LIs would kiss the MC for the first time? Definitely not ideas to draw-

oMG— HI HI HIIIIIIIIIII 🙋‍♂️🙇‍♂️ *exploads*

𝓐𝓲𝓼

✩ Probably happens in a dimly lit, secluded part of Eridia—perhaps an alleyway where the air is thick with the pungent stench of rotting garbage and decay. The narrow space between the crumbling buildings offers a rare moment of solitude in that God-forgotten city.

✩ Ais's eyes, usually sharp and alert, soften as they linger on the MC.

✩ In his defense, emotions were running H I G H. It's not his fault they were right there, looking so beautiful and absolutely enticing.

✩ His gaze remains locked on theirs, searching for something—maybe permission, maybe a sign that they feel the same pull that he does. When he finds it, his resolve seems to crumble, just a little.

✩ With a deep breath, as if steeling himself, Ais reaches out. His hand, usually so steady and sure, hovers for a moment before finally brushing against the MC’s cheek. The touch is surprisingly gentle.

✩ Yeah, the consequences could wait

✩ The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far he can go. But when the MC responds, the kiss deepens, becoming more intense.

There’s a rawness to it, an urgency that leaves them both breathless.

✩ Ais’s other hand comes up to cradle the back of the MC’s head, pulling them closer as if afraid they might slip away. The world around them—the decay, the danger, the darkness—melts away, leaving just the two of them, lost in the moment.

✩ When they finally pull apart, Ais’s breath is ragged, his forehead resting against the MC’s as he struggles to regain control. His eyes, once so unreadable, now shimmer with a vulnerability he’s never shown before.

✩ “Don’t make me regret this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, a plea wrapped in a warning.

𝓚𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓼

✞ The bitch /affectionately has been dropping shameless hints the moment he met them the very same day

✞ It is a wall. A very nice wall, if he has a say. He's the type to trap them between a rock and a... hard place [you guess which is which]

✞ "Well, he looks at me and I look at him And he looks at me and I look at him And he looks at me and I look at him" And it goes like that for a few agonising long moments. Mfr is like :3

✞ His expression is gentle, but there’s a depth of emotion there that he hasn’t fully expressed before. Eventually, mister giraffe leans down for a long peak. There’s no rush, giving the MC all the time in the world to decide if that is what they want.

✞ He kisses them with a kind of reverence, as if they’re something precious, something to be cherished.

✞ Oh, don't get me STARTED ON THE HAND PLACEMENT

✞ One hand on the small of their back, firm yet gentle, guiding them closer to him. The other hand tangled in their hair, fingers softly caressing the back of their neck.

✞ When they eventually pull apart, Kuras’s eyes remain closed for a moment longer, as if savoring the feeling, the memory of their lips on his. He smiles, but it’s tinged with a kind of sadness.

✞ Next moment, he's holding them tight against his chest, allowing them to feel the steady beat of his heart.

✞ “Thank you”

𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻

🗡 Takes place in The Wet Wick, buzzing with its usual crowd—a mix of unsavory characters, mercenaries, and those looking to drown their troubles in strong drink.

🗡 Leander leans in his chair, his posture relaxed. His fingers tap lightly against the rim of his glass, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

🗡 “You know, I can’t tell if you’re doing this on purpose,” his words, like always, are laced with that effortless charm.

🗡 Leander watches them for a moment longer, then, with a slow, deliberate movement, reaches out. His fingers lightly graze the back of the MC’s hand, sending a shiver up their arm. Leander’s touch is warm, and his lips even more so as places a soft kiss upon the bare knuckles, emerald eyes gleaming with adoration.

🗡 He then moves their hand to cup his cheek, leaning in...

🗡 The kiss is everything the MC might have expected from him—confident, intense, and undeniably passionate. His lips move against theirs with a kind of practiced ease, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

🗡 His hand comes up to the small of their back, pulling them closer, his body pressing against theirs.

🗡 When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. His eyes are darker now, filled with something deeper.

🗡 He gives a small chuckle, though it’s softer, more vulnerable. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this”

𝓜𝓱𝓲𝓷

🕊 rOOFTOP KISS

The night sky is overcast, casting a muted gray glow over the city. A cool breeze rustles the MC’s clothes as they sit beside Mhin, both of them watching the distant lights flicker across the chaotic city below. The two of them sit in silence, a silence that’s not uncomfortable but rather familiar.

🕊 Mhin's shoulders are slightly less tense, their gaze lingers on the horizon rather than avoiding eye contact. They mightt be on the edge of letting something slip through the cracks of their defenses.

🕊 “Why are you still here? With me?” It’s a question born of clear curiosity, neither insecurity nor doubt.

They turn to face the MC, their heart beating a little faster.

🕊 For a moment, Mhin looks like they might pull back, might retreat into themselves the way they always do. But instead, they hesitate, their breath catching slightly as they move closer.

🕊 “Because I want to be.” It’s not an elaborate answer, but it’s the truth, and Mhin values honesty above all else. “Are you sure?” Mhin asks, their voice quieter still, almost like they’re asking themselves more than the MC. The MC nods, their gaze steady. “Yes.” 🕊 That’s all it takes.

🕊 Mhin is the one to close the final distance between them.

🕊 The kiss is delicate, almost fragile, as though Mhin is afraid to break something—perhaps the walls they’ve built around themselves [too late for that tho---] It’s not rushed or passionate, but slow and measured, like they’re trying to make sense of it.

🕊 Mhin’s hand hovers near the MC’s cheek, as if they want to touch but aren’t sure they should.

🕊 When they finally break the kiss, Mhin pulls back slowly, their gaze searching the MC’s face for any sign of regret or hesitation. There's definately color in their cheeks.

𝓥𝓮𝓻𝓮

✦ The alleyway behind The Wet Wick, where the flickering light from the tavern barely reaches. It's late, the streets mostly empty except for the occasional passerby, and the two of them have just slipped out of sight, away from the bustling noise of the tavern.

✦ “You really should be more careful around me, you know,” Vere says, his voice low and lilting, dripping with mock concern.

✦ He steps closer, his movements smooth, almost predatory, like a cat toying with its prey. He tilts his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes as he closes the gap between them.

✦ His hand moves to brush lightly against the MC’s arm, the touch barely there, more of a tease than a real caress. It's intoxicating, his scent a mix of something sweet and dangerous, like poisoned honey.

✦ They can’t tell if he’s about to kiss them or kill them—and that’s exactly how Vere likes it.

✦ His lips are soft, but there’s a dangerous edge to the way he kisses them, his teeth grazing their bottom lip just enough to send a shiver down their spine.

✦ His hand comes up to cup the side of their neck, his fingers lightly pressing into their skin, holding them in place as he deepens the kiss.

✦ It's as much a test as a promise, a dance on the edge of something darker, something dangerous. It isn’t just about fun for him—it’s about control.

✦ When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his eyes w i d e and hungry. He lingers close, his lips still barely brushing theirs.

✦ “You’ve managed to exceed my expectations,” Vere murmurs, his voice soft but dripping with intrigue. "Kiss me like that again, and I might actually start to like you.”

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soft-girl-musings · 9 months ago

Text

Stranger Danger

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

MK Spring Bingo entry #5

tags: reader is being stalked & responds in a way the author (a woman) has been taught to, emotional protector steven grant to the rescue, no use of y/n

wc: 1,138

fic summary: There's safety in numbers, do you want mine? (too soon?)

_____________________

“Oops, careful!”

Steven drops the last of his veggie wrap as a pair of kids rush past the bench he’d been hunched over. As he picks up the debris, he sees where one of them dropped their hat. He picks it up and half-jogs after them to return it.

“Gotta stay aware of our surroundings, yeah? Don’t want to lose our valuables.” The kid rolls their eyes but thanks him before running off to catch up with their friend.

“Oh my gosh, hi!”

Steven turns around to find you walking swiftly toward him, your smile too wide and tone too familiar.

He’s never seen you before.

“... hello,” he answers cautiously, taking one step back but failing to put much distance between the two of you. You practically cling to his side when you approach, takeaway cup and phone in hand.

“Sorry I’m late, but you are terrible at giving directions, mister.” Taking his arm, you begin to walk away from where you’d appeared.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s forgotten conversations or plans. But as he racks his brain for something, anything tied to you in his memory, Steven notices the panic in your eyes and the slight waver in your voice.

Your hands shake a bit as you unlock your phone, passing your cup to him. He takes it, still bewildered but obedient. “I swear, the cafe never spells your name right. Let me make a note for next time.” You type swiftly, showing him the screen.

being followed, please pretend you're my boyfriend

Steven doesn’t know you.

But he nods, grasping your arm closer with his free hand and gives his most convincing grin. “Steven with a ‘V’, love.”

Relief instantly washes over your features and you relax a little. “Right. I’ll remember that… Steven.”

His smile grows before he remembers why you're holding onto him. “Do you want to sit down? Or go somewhere else, maybe I could call someone–”

“N-no, it’s fine. Let’s just sit. In plain sight,” you half-whisper. Steven nods, ushering you back to the bench in the middle of the busy square. When you sit, you don't let go of his arm.

Instead, you type into your phone as you speak. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Steven glaces at your notes app again.

do you see a man in a black jacket?

Steven scans the area, careful not to look too suspicious. Unlike the person he’s sure you’re referring to: a man in dark clothes, hands shoved into his pockets and rigid as he looks around with increasing urgency. His prominent frown grows when he sees Steven next to you.

“Yeah,” Steven says to both your questions. He looks away from the menacing figure, but sets your drink down and wraps his arm around you. He's glad to feel you settle into his side, still shaking but catching your breath.

“I take it you don’t know Mr. Black Jacket?”

“No, I do. Sort of. He’s a regular customer of mine,” you sigh. “One who doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Ah.” Steven keeps the guy in his periphery, splitting his focus between him and you. “Stalker, then?”

You freeze up at the term. “Yeah… he’s been pretty relentless.”

You meet his eyes, which are swiftly filling with concern. “Thanks again for… this. I usually find a mom or another woman to walk with me until he leaves, but I saw you with those kids and just… panicked, I guess.”

“S’not a problem, love.” Steven knocks your foot with his, drawing a small smile from you. “Glad to help you feel safe.”

You laugh a little. You let your gaze drift over to the man in black, an uneasy pit growing in your stomach when you briefly make eye contact.

“He usually goes away after a while. I've told the police, but they can't do anything unless he… you know.” Your brow furrows as your grip loosens. “I don't mean to take over your afternoon, but would you mind waiting with me?”

In that moment, you could have asked Steven for the moon and he'd find a way to lasso it down for you.

He squeezes your hand. “‘Course I can. Lovely day with lovely company, quite the ideal afternoon in my books.”

Steven dives right into talking about anything and everything that comes to mind– which, as you learn, is a lot. Normally he'd hit a wall after a few minutes, either because he'd realized he had talked himself in circles, or his less-than-captive audience was visibly zoned out. But you hang on his every word, grateful to be arm in arm with a stranger describing the supposed viscosity of ancient Egyptian embalming oil. It's a welcome distraction.

So distracting, in fact, that after an hour you realize the crowd has thinned around you. With Mr. Black Jacket nowhere in sight.

“I think he's gone,” you sigh with relief. Steven stands when you do, handing your things back.

“Patience won out in the end,” he beams. You see a brief look of panic cross his features.

“He doesn't know where you live, does he? Do you need an escort?” Steven's already taken a ludicrously long lunch break, but the inevitable lecture from Donna would be worth it if it meant ensuring your safety.

You shake your head. “I've been careful.” Extending your hand, you smile. “It was nice to meet you, Steven with a ‘V’.”

“Likewise, love.” He shakes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Another look crosses his face before he continues.

“Do you want my mobile number?” His words come out too fast; if you hadn't spent the past hour listening to him, you might have missed what he said. “Just in case you need someone to wait with you again, or keep an eye out. Would that be alright?” He shakes his head, stepping back. “'Matter of fact, forget I said anything, don't want you to think you've traded one creep for another–”

“Sure.”

Your simple answer stops him in his tracks. “Oh, you don’t have to–”

“No, it’s fine. Really. When you offered, it felt nice to know someone could be in my corner on this side of town.”

You take out a scrap of paper and a pen from your bag. “How about this: you write it down, and I’ll add your contact if I ever need my knight in shining armor again.”

Steven concedes, pen and paper in hand as he scribbles his number down (then asks for a new paper in case the first was too illegible).

When you leave, he watches until you turn the corner. He goes the opposite direction, back to the museum. Part of him hopes you’ll never have to reach out, for your own sake. The rest of him hopes you do anyway.

_____________________

A/N: oh steven, the man that you are. a couple more bingo prompts will be focused on this dude, which is excellent practice for some exciting projects down the line...

as always, ty for reading <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #just edited the word count lol #mk spring bingo 2024 #moonknightevents #moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant/reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant/fem!reader

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axeeglitter · 2 months ago

Text

Melorius's shop: Piracy in the blood

Ethan stood on the bustling street corner, peering into the dusty window of a small costume shop he had never noticed before. The worn wooden sign and faded paint suggested the shop had been there for decades, yet it was the first time Ethan had seen it. Desperate to find something unique for Halloween, he decided to step inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, a bell jingled, and a thick wave of musty air hit him. Inside, the shop was crammed with racks of elaborate costumes. Everything from Victorian attire to knight's armor hung on the walls. The dim lighting gave the place an eerie, antique feel.

At the back of the shop, behind an old wooden counter, stood a man with silver hair and a long beard. His deep-set eyes watched Ethan with a knowing smile, though he said nothing.

Ethan felt a shiver run down his spine, but he brushed it off. He needed a costume, and this shop seemed to have exactly what he was looking for. Approaching the counter, he caught sight of an ornamented portrait painting, covered in dust, hanging on a nearby wall. The portrait looked ancient, almost as though it had been forgotten for centuries and neglected. Ethan was intrigued by it but before his brain could really focus on it, the owner appeared in front of him. “Good morning, sir, how can I help you today?” said Mister Melorius in a kind, peaceful voice.

"Hello, I was wondering if you had any costumes for a Halloween party I’m going to tonight? It’s not really my thing so I don’t really know what to wear, I know that some of my friends go as Super Heroes, other into officer. I simply have no idea what to get that could fit me." Ethan said, his voice wavering slightly.

The shopkeeper’s smile widened, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he went in the storage and came back a couple seconds after holding a box and placed it in front of Ethan. “Trust me son, this is exactly what you need!” No words were exchanged, just a simple gesture for him to take it.

Ethan, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and apprehension, picked up the box. It was surprisingly heavy. He didn’t ask any more questions, simply nodding in thanks before heading to the small dressing room tucked away in the corner of the shop.

The dressing room was cramped, with an old mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. Setting the box down on a rickety chair, Ethan carefully opened it, revealing the contents: black trousers, a white, billowing shirt with a deep V-neck, a thick leather belt, knee-high boots, and a weathered coat. An ancient looking leather harness and a couple of weapons sat neatly on top. “A pirate costume?” he thought out loud. “I mean, it could work, Julia always said she had a thing for Will Turner so maybe wearing this I’ll have a chance to approach her and finally invite for a dinner date.”

Ethan stood there in the cabin holding the clothes between his fingers, there was something undeniably authentic about the outfit. Ethan couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward it. He removed his own clothes and began to dress, starting with the shirt. The fabric felt soft but heavy against his skin, the deep V exposing more of his chest than he was used to. Next, he pulled on the black trousers, which fit snugly against his legs.

As he tightened the leather belt around his waist, something shifted within him. His breathing grew heavier, his heart pounding in his chest. "What... what the hell?" he muttered, glancing at his reflection.

The moment he slipped into the boots, a sudden surge of heat coursed through his body, like an electric shock radiating from his feet to the top of his head. He staggered, gripping the chair for support. His reflection blurred, the mirror rippling as though it were water.

He gasped, watching in disbelief as his body began to change.

His shoulders started to broaden, muscle bulging under the fabric of the shirt. His chest heaved as it expanded, growing thicker, more defined. Hair sprouted between his pecs, the once-smooth skin now covered in coarse, dark fur. The hair spread quickly, forming a dense mat that stretched down his abdomen and forming a happy trail, stopping just above his groin.

"What’s happening to me?" Ethan’s voice trembled, but it was already deeper, rougher. He tried to pull the shirt off, but his arms wouldn’t obey. His muscles flexed against his will, as though they had a mind of their own. He could feel the power growing in his biceps, his forearms bulging with veins that snaked across his skin like ropes.

A strange anger began bubbling up from deep within him, replacing the fear he initially felt. His usual calm, quiet demeanor was slipping away, replaced by something far more aggressive, primal.

His hands, once soft and delicate, now looked like they belonged to a man who had spent years working under the sun, gripping ropes, handling weapons. The calluses formed almost instantly, thickening his palms, making them rough and unyielding.

"No... no, stop this!" Ethan’s thoughts raced, but his body continued to morph. He watched helplessly as his legs lengthened, growing taller, more imposing. His thighs swelled, pressing against the fabric of the trousers, the muscles there thick and corded. His calves, too, became more defined, the boots now fitting perfectly around his larger frame.

Then, he felt it, a sharp prickling sensation on his face. His jawline, once clean-shaven, began to darken as bristles of hair pushed through his skin. Within seconds, a thick, wild beard sprouted, covering his face. His reflection showed a man he didn’t recognize, a man far older than his 25 years.

The muscles in his face hardened, his boyish features replaced by a rugged, weathered look. His nose seemed to grow more prominent, his cheekbones higher, more angular. His lips twisted into a sneer, a cocky, arrogant grin that didn’t match the terror screaming in his mind.

"No! This isn’t me!" Ethan’s thoughts screamed, but his body didn’t care. His hands reached down on the chair, grabbing the leather harness and securing it around his chest, making sure his heavy muscled hairy pecs were pushed even higher, almost slipping out of his V line shirt. Then he grabbed the weapons before securing them too inside the harness.

He stared at his reflection, feeling the heat rising in his groin. His cock, which had always been average and uncut, now strained against the fabric of his trousers. It grew bigger and thicker with every beat of his heart. Like if his blood was transporting inches and girth with them. Then as he saw his bulge growing heavier and heavier inside his well-used pants, he started to feel a rush of sensations around his cock head. Suddenly he felt an awful pain around his girth as his foreskin disappeared in dust. His cockhead started to rub against his pants again and again. The sensation was growing duller and duller, and soon, it was something his new dick was used to. The sensitivity in his dick head dulled as though it had endured years of rough handling. His groin felt foreign to him, yet powerful. It belonged to this new body, a pirate’s body. Ethan tilted his head back up only to be met with a cocky grin plastered on his face. Suddenly, the tingling sensation started again, this time in his arm pits, legs, and most particularly around his new huge cock. From the corner of his eyes, he could see millions of hair follicles starting to grow, faster and faster, thicker and thicker, curlier and curlier. Ethan wanted to scratch, to get this itch to stop, but the only reaction he could summon from this new foreign body was to scratch his pubes before his hands automatically rise to his nose where his lungs took a deep breath. His brain was assaulted by a new sensation, his potent musk.

The smell hit him hard, an overwhelming musk of sweat, rum, and saltwater. He reeked of the sea; his skin slick with a sheen of sweat that only added to the intense masculinity radiating from him.

"No, please... I’m not this man..." Ethan thought desperately, but the man staring back at him in the mirror was no longer Ethan. He was someone else entirely. He clenched his fists, feeling the raw power in his grip, the authority in his posture. He was no longer the shy, soft-spoken young man who had entered the shop.

A sinister voice echoed in his mind, low and gravelly, as his reflection smirked. "Ye be Captain Blackstorm now, lad. No turnin’ back."

The room around him shimmered and dissolved. Ethan’s heart raced, his mind spinning as he tried to comprehend what was happening. But the harder he tried to hold on to his old life, the faster it slipped away.

Ethan blinked. Darkness swallowed him for a couple of seconds and suddenly, he was no longer in the dressing room.

The creaking of wood, the crashing of waves, and the scent of saltwater overwhelmed his senses. He found himself standing on the deck of a massive pirate ship, the Blackstorm, surrounded by a rough-looking crew of only men going from 20 to 45.

Ethan tried to scream, tried to move, but his body no longer obeyed him. His mouth opened, but the words that came out weren’t his own.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK! RAISE THE BLOODY SAILS, YE SCURVY DOGS!"

His deep voice boomed across the ship, the crew scrambling to follow his orders. His body moved with the confidence and swagger of a man who had been a pirate captain for years, barking commands left and right.

"No! I’m not Captain Blackstorm! I’m Ethan! Stop this!" His mind screamed, but his body didn’t listen. The pirate captain’s cocky grin was plastered on his face as he stood at the helm of the ship, guiding it through the turbulent seas. …………..

As the days passed, Ethan’s soul became trapped inside his own head, a prisoner in a body that was no longer his. He could still think, still feel, but he had no control. Every time Captain Blackstorm laughed, every time he bellowed orders, Ethan was forced to watch, helpless and horrified, wondering if he would ever go back to his college life and see his friends and family again.

His thoughts grew darker, more confused, as Blackstorm’s memories began to replace his own. He couldn’t remember his last name anymore, or what his life had been like before the transformation. The more he tried to hold on to his identity, the more it faded.

Soon, even his name felt foreign. He wasn’t Ethan. He was Captain Blackstorm.

One night, after a particularly brutal raid on a coastal town, Blackstorm stood on the deck of his ship, surveying the spoils. Among the prisoners was a young man, dressed in fine clothes, clearly a young officer from the Spanish Marina. The man was elegant, his sharp features framed by short, curly hair. Blackstorm’s eyes locked onto him.

"Bring ‘im to me," Blackstorm growled, his voice dripping with hunger.

Blackstorm’s eyes locked onto the sailor’s terrified expression, and a predatory grin spread across his face. Ethan, trapped deep inside, recoiled in horror, not knowing what was coming but powerless to stop it.

“Tell me son, what is your name?” “My name is Paulo sir.” Said the young men with fear in his voice. He knew that he wanted a chance to survive, he had to do what this captain wanted. ��And tell me, Paulo. What were you doing out there? You look around 22, a bit old to be a cabin boy.” “I was just promoted as an officer, sir. Please don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything. Please.” Paulo broke almost in tears as he remembers the legend of the captain of the Blackstorm.

"Ye look soft, lad," Blackstorm sneered, his breath hot and reeking of rum. "But ye’ll toughen up. I’ll make a proper sailor outta ye."

Ethan’s thoughts screamed in protest, but the words coming from his mouth weren’t his. "No! Stop this! I’m not him!" But the pirate captain’s voice continued to fill the air as if Ethan's consciousness no longer mattered.

Paulo, trembling in Blackstorm's grip, whimpered, "Please, sir, I’m no pirate. I, I’m just an officer."

Blackstorm chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on the young man’s shirt. "For now! Ye’ll learn soon enough, lad. Now get below deck. I’ll see to yer trainin’ myself."

Ethan’s body moved of its own accord, dragging Paulo down to the captain’s quarters, where the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns. It smelled of sweat, rum, and the salty sea air, Blackstorm’s natural musk now, deeply embedded in the walls and furniture. Ethan wanted to gag at the overwhelming odor, but instead, his body breathed it in like it was the sweetest scent.

Ethan watched helplessly as Blackstorm tossed the young officer onto the bed, his powerful muscles flexing with every movement. The younger man looked terrified, eyes darting to the door as if considering an escape, but Blackstorm was faster. He pinned the young men down, a dark hunger in his eyes.

Paulo struggled beneath him, but Blackstorm’s calloused hands, worn from years at sea, held him firmly in place. "I’ve had my eye on ye since we boarded yer commander’s ship, lad," Blackstorm growled, his voice low and gravelly. "Now, ye belong to me."

"No! I can’t let this happen! This isn’t me!" Ethan’s thoughts were frantic, but the captain’s grin only widened as he leaned closer to the young men, inhaling his scent. The fear radiating off the man seemed to excite Blackstorm, fueling his dominance.

"I’ll make ye a man of the sea, lad," Blackstorm whispered, his hands roaming over the butler’s body, feeling the smooth, uncalloused skin beneath his fingers. "You see, what makes a great captain is not the fear he inspires in his enemies; Noooooo… It’s the respect he inspires in his crew. If you have a crew devoted to you, then nothing is impossible. And I make sure that each and every one of my men are the best versions of themselves. And in exchange, they are devoted to me. Now, you have a great potential, lad, let’s see what’s hidden under the surface. We’ll start with rum, but soon enough, ye’ll learn there’s more to bein’ a pirate than just sailin’."

Ethan screamed internally, but his body reveled in the power and control Blackstorm wielded over Paulo. The pirate captain’s beard brushed against Paulo’s neck, and Ethan could feel the younger man’s pulse quicken in fear.

As Blackstorm grabbed a bottle of rum from the bedside table, uncorking it with his teeth, he forced the officer to drink. "Take it, lad. Ye’ll need this to survive aboard the Blackstorm."

Paulo sputtered, coughing as the harsh liquid burned down his throat, but Blackstorm gave him no respite. He shoved the bottle back into his hands, forcing him to drink more, the warmth of the rum spreading through his body.

With every gulp forced down his throat, Paulo could feel the heat rising in his body. Drops of sweat started to appear on his forehead as his legs started to shake and tense with pression. Soon a crack was heard as his pants started to tear at the seam. The same started to occur on his chest, then his feet. His short brown hair started to grow longer and curlier, his face sharpened a bit, his cock lengthened and lost his foreskin and the sensitivity that goes with it and his body hair started to grow under his pits, and around his cock. Soon Paulo’s body was totally transformed. A perfect specimen of a young manly men devoted to his new life style of pirate.

"Now, lad," he growled, his hands unbuttoning his new crew member’s torn shirt and pants, exposing the smooth, tanned skin beneath. "Let’s see what ye’re made of."

Ethan’s mind fought desperately to regain control, but his body didn’t listen. His hands—Blackstorm’s hands—caressed Paulo’s body with rough, experienced strokes, exploring every inch of his skin. Paulo gasped, his body responding despite himself, a mixture of fear and arousal flashing in his eyes.

Ethan’s thoughts screamed as he realized what his body was about to do. He wasn’t even attracted to men. All he wanted was to get to the party to ask Julia on a date. Ethan could feel his thought getting muted, they were growing weaker, drowned out by the sensations overwhelming his body.

Blackstorm’s cock stirred in his trousers, hardening as he pressed against Paulo’s thigh. The once-shy, soft-spoken Ethan was gone, replaced entirely by the pirate captain who reveled in his dominance, who craved the control he had over his captive.

Paulo, now panting under Blackstorm’s touch, whimpered, "Please... sir… I need … you” Blackstorm silenced him with a rough kiss, his beard scraping against his chin as the pirate’s tongue claimed his mouth.

The taste of rum lingered on the Paulo’s lips, and Blackstorm groaned, his hands gripping the man’s hips tightly as he ground against him. His cock, thick and heavy, strained against the leather of his trousers, begging to be freed.

With a swift motion, Blackstorm yanked down his trousers, exposing his throbbing length. The pirate captain wasted no time, positioning himself between Paulo’s legs, his rough hands forcing them apart.

Ethan’s mind was a swirling storm of panic and confusion, but it was drowned out by the primal lust consuming Blackstorm. His cock brushed against the ass, and with one rough thrust, he entered the younger man, groaning as he buried himself deep inside.

Paulo gasped in pain, his body tensing beneath Blackstorm, but the pirate captain didn’t stop. His thrusts were hard, brutal, and unrelenting, his cock stretching the ass in ways he had never experienced before.

"Take it, lad," Blackstorm growled, his voice thick with lust. "Ye belong to me now."

Ethan, trapped in the pirate’s mind, could only watch in horror as Blackstorm claimed the young men with each powerful thrust. The pirate’s body was drenched in sweat, his muscles flexing as he moved, the scent of musk and sea growing heavier in the small cabin.

Paulo, now whimpering beneath him, began to relax, his body slowly adjusting to the brutal rhythm. His soft cries turned to moans as Blackstorm’s cock filled him over and over again, stretching him until there was nothing but pleasure.

The captain grinned wickedly, leaning down to whisper in his new lover’s ear. "Yer mine now, lad. Ye’ll be beggin’ for more soon enough. Now cum for me, Esteban"

Ethan’s thoughts were fading, his sense of self slipping away with every thrust, every groan of pleasure that escaped his lips. He could feel himself being absorbed into Blackstorm’s mind, his old life nothing but a distant memory. Paulo could feel every thrust going deeper and deeper, he was moaning in pure pleasure not remembering what just happened to his body. As he heard Blackstorm, he felt his body tense. Suddenly, a rush of feelings opened in his brain and he fainted in pure bliss as he started to shoot his cum and his old life. He couldn’t remember where he grew up, what was his work, what was his name. All he could see were Blackstorm, the sea, and the name Esteban flashing in his eyes.

Finally, with one last powerful thrust, Blackstorm came inside Paulo, filling him with his seed and cementing his dominance over his new crew member. The pirate groaned, his body shuddering with release as he collapsed on top of the younger man, his chest heaving with each breath. Ethan screamed one last time as he felt himself being totally assimilated in this new life that was given to him.

For a moment, there was silence. The only sound was the soft creaking of the ship and the distant crash of waves against the hull.

Blackstorm rose from the bed, pulling on his trousers and adjusting his belt. He glanced back at Esteban, who lay panting on the bed, his body trembling from the intensity of their encounter. He went to his personal clothes and grabbed a white shirt, a crimson red sleeveless coat, a black leather trouser and a pair of leather boots before putting them next to Esteban.

" Your name, your life and your future are mine now," Blackstorm growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. " Get some rest, lad, ye’ll need yer strength for tomorrow’s session."

As he left the cabin, Esteban’s soft, exhausted moans followed him and after a couple of hours, Esteban got up and dressed himself before walking on the deck of the ship as a new men. Blackstorm grinned to himself as he saw his new devoted crew member smiling at him while groping his manhood to adjust it.

Ethan was gone, lost forever in the depths of the pirate’s mind. Only Captain Blackstorm remained, cocky, ruthless, and forever bound to the sea. ............ Mister Melorius was walking back to his counter when he heard a tingling resonating in his left ear. As he turned back, he saw the portrait behind him start to vibrate as the golden plaque under it shone while a new text appeared on it: “Captain Blackstorm, commandant of the Blackstorm. Respected and beloved by his whole crew, adventurer of the seven seas and beyond. 1718” Melorius smiled, knowing Ethan, or Blackstorm, was on for a great adventure and will remain in history as the greatest captain of them all.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys! Hope you'll enjoy this story created from @tf-vigilante's prompt: "A shy and soft college student enters Mister Melorius's shop looking for a costume. Even though that kind of costume is not like his personnality at all, he is weirdly compelled to ask for a pirate costume. What will happen to him ? How will his Halloween night turn out to be ? Maybe this will be truely life changing…" Hope you guys enjoyed it and as always, feel free to send me asks if you want to pick a costume from Melorius's shop! See you soon!

#male transformation #my writing #mental change #male tf #reality change #tf #gay #personality change #ask me anything #Melorius #halloween tf #nerd to hunk #nerd to jock #pirate tf #time travel tf #straight to gay

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fanaticsnail · 5 months ago

Text

She Was Mine

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,000+

Synopsis: A new transfer is tasked with guarding Doflamingo as he visits the world government headquarters. Doflamingo becomes intoxicated and reminisces about the love of his life to this new transfer, confessing he still loves her and wants to be with her.

Themes: Doflamingo x f!reader, drinking, intoxication, confessions of love, injury, talks of death, assassination, canon divergence, Lourdes Jordi is an OC (and an unfortunate venting target), Doflamingo is a sloppy drunk.

Notes: @feral-artistry said Doflamingo is a sloppy drunk who dials his exes and shows up on their doorstep. I needed to see it, so here is my little take on it. Image is a screen grab from one piece.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

The newest transfer in the world government center did not truly know what he was expecting while on the infamous ‘Warlord Watchdog' shift. Many marines shied away from signing up for such a feat, opting to remain fixed on their assigned tasks and not put forth their names for extra credit.

Jordi didn't know. He truly had no idea what exactly he had placed his name at the top of the sign up list. A pay rise? Certainly. The month off from night shift? Absolutely. Babysitting an inebriated violent blonde man in a pink, feathered coat as he cried into the twelfth wineglass in a row, babbling about a love once forgotten to all that heard him? Not exactly what he was hoping for.

Donquixote Doflamingo had been drinking all day, lazing about and perching on the round table in the center of the meeting space. He had flirted with both Sir Crocodile, and Vice-Admiral Tsuru in the same sentence, reaching for Mihawk’s red wine glass and taking a lengthy swig and winking at him once draining it dry.

All of the guards in the room were on edge, but Jordi remained steadfast and strong. He did not want to be placed on Donquixote duty, and instead had hardened his resolve to ask Tsuru to be assigned to Mihawk or Kuma. Instead, Tsuru took his competency and stoicism as a sign that he could handle Doflamingo for the remainder of his time at the world government headquarters.

As Doflamingo reached for lucky number thirteen for the afternoon, he halted his soft sob and sniffed back a solemn smile.

“She was mine,” he whispered, his fingers shaking as he finally made his eyes focus on the glass, “You know? She was all mine. I had her, if you catch my meaning.” Jordi gulped back his fear, darting his eyes over Doflamingo's face and attempting to understand where he was coming from.

“Name, officer,” the tall blonde barked at him, prompting the young man to jolt back in his stance.

“Jordi, sir,” the younger man stated, his nerves no longer born on his features. “Lourdes Jordi of the Fourth Flight, reporting to Vice-Admiral Tsuru, sir.” Doflamingo clicked his tongue, lulling lazily in a drunken stupor as he hung the wineglass off to the side.

“And you're, what? Eighteen? Nineteen, even?” Doflamingo slurred, his glasses falling askew on his features as he looked the young man over.

“I'm twenty-two, sir,” Jordi nodded to Doflamingo with a deep furrow in his brow. Doflamingo cackled, his eyes puffy from his earlier depletion of emotion.

“Ah, then join me, Mister Lourdes.” The king of Dressrosa gestured to the seat in front of him, “Share in one of these piss-poor excuses of a rosé with me. It's sweet, dry and absolutely disgusting. She would never approve.”

Jordi was at an impasse. On the one hand, he was on duty serving the world government in babysitting the messy, drunk warlord. On the other, he needed something to numb the pain of babysitting the aforementioned messy drunk warlord.

Glancing at the time, he noticed it finally ticked over to six in the evening, which meant his guard shift had ended for the day. Sighing out, he slowly retracted the empty bar stool from its position tucked beneath the table and took his seat. Doflamingo chuckled, topping up his wine glass and pouring one for the bronze-skinned younger man.

“Have you ever been in love, Mister Lourdes?” Doflamingo asked him, flailing the rose bottle as he spoke, spilling a small trickle from the top and dampening the mahogany table. Without waiting for an answer from the younger man, he continued.

“She was… everything to me. My whole world, my northern star shining in the night and bringing me hope in the dark. My angel, my darling,” the Donquixote king of Dressrosa trailed off a series of pet names in both Dressrosian and Marijoan, leaving Jordi feeling far more out of his depths as he initially felt embarking on such a feat.

“My sun bringing my warmth in the deepest winters, my moon rising the tides of passion in my soul,” Doflamingo again began to sniff back his glassy tears, prompting him to raise his hand to his face and remove his ruby glasses. Placing them on the table, he pinched his brow and began to sob against his fingertips.

Jordi thought on his feet, raising his wine glass outwards and upwards in a gesture of good will. He offered a small sentiment in his speech, his lips curling in a sympathetic smile.

“Shall we toast to her memory, king Donquixote?” the younger man suggested, prompting Doflamingo to look through his fingers up at him curiously. Jordi pressed on, “You are mourning her passing, yes? Should we not toast for her?”

“She's not dead,” Doflamingo snarled, releasing his eyes from his hands and reaching forward and brushing his wine glass against Jordi’s with a sarcastic grin, “She just tossed me aside, ruining me for any other potential partner because she destroyed my soul and shattered my heart like porcelain on concrete.”

“Oh,” was all Jordi offered in response, sheepishly biting back his empathetic grin and raising his glass to his lips. The liquid touched his tongue, the sweetness spreading over his palate and igniting the follicles on the back of his neck in response to the tart tang. He grimaced at the flavor, prompting Doflamingo to laugh in a low snicker.

“Tastes like piss, doesn't it?” Doflamingo teetered off his laughter and drained his glass in one fell swig, “Drink up, boy. You need to get on my level here.” Jordi groaned quietly, knocking back the sweet liquid and hissing as soon as it impacted his stomach.

Doflamingo poured himself another glass, pouring Jordi’s one second and placing the empty bottle on its side against the table before giving it a small spin. Watching the glass rotate, Jordi shook his head and formed a question in his mind about it.

“You seem awfully upset, sir. What exactly did she do?” Doflamingo sighed forlornly in response, his heart pooling in his eyes and glazing them over with glassy emotion.

He hastily drew his shirt open and pointed to a small mark in his chest. Jordi leaned forward, examining the divot and noticing the precision in the mark and how the raised welt healed in a soft silver.

“She stabbed me in the chest with her favorite blade,” Doflamingo smiled proudly before the tear that threatened to spill finally teetered over the edge, “Do you know what that means?”

Jordi sat back in his seat, his eyes widening as he took in the information that someone was close enough to Doflamingo to land a single blow. The divot in his chest was enough of an indication of the intimacy of such a heinous act on someone so dangerous.

“What does that mean, sir?” Jordi whispered, his eyes darting between the unadulterated gaze given to him from the warlord. Doflamingo sobbed, raising his glass to his lips and taking a lengthy gulp.

“It means,” he grunted back the bile rising in response to the hasty drainage of the alcohol, “She loved me. She truly loved me.” Jordi’s eyes widened at such a deranged conclusion, prompting him to raise his glass to his lips.

“What brings you to that end, sir?” Jordi tested him with his voice even and unwavering, “A blade to the chest would hardly mean such an expression, surely?” Doflamingo leaned forward, his motions slowed by the alcohol and slurred in each action.

“Because, Mister Lourdes,” Doflamingo snarled at him, leaning in closer before his lips curled into an unfamiliar and highly expressive pout, “If she wanted me maimed, she would've aimed for my face.” He leaned closer, gesturing to his cheeks before gesturing to his throat, “And if she wanted me dead, she would've aimed for my jugular.”

Doflamingo sat back in his seat and spread his knees wide, relaxing into his chair with a prideful smile.

“No, Mister Lourdes,” he continued, sniffing a lengthy inhale through his nose and smiling a true grin, “No, she loved me so much. She was mine, sh-she loves me.” Jordi nodded along politely, fearing the delusion that was expelling from the blonde warlord.

“Who was she, sir?” Jordi’s curiosity peaked, his eyes never leaving the lengthy blonde eyelashes or ruby tint of the warlords irises, “A pirate, a marine, a princess?”

Doflamingo slurred a name familiar in reputation enough to him that had Jordi's glass drop from his palm and shatter on the ground beside him. His lips parted in shock, his eyes widening and staring in shock and disbelief.

“There's-... There's no way-...” Jordi whispered, watching as Doflamingo's eyes glazed over as his consciousness slowly departed from him.

Doflamingo collapsed on the table, the weight of the potent fluids finally igniting his veins and causing him to buckle beneath his stupor. Jordi signaled the barkeep to call for backup to move the ten foot giant.

Lying in your bed, you are suddenly awoken by your Den-Den snail. Rolling immediately to your side, you sit completely upright in your bed and click the speaker to awaken the sentient technology.

You state your name in a monotonous drall, not allowing the fact you were in the midst of an REM cycle not seconds ago dissuade you from conversing precisely.

“State the target,” you utter darkly, not paying attention to what the snail was morphing into to match the distinction of the person on the other end of the call.

“Cara mia,” the voice on the other end slurred back at you, “Te amo, mi princesa.” You groan, lulling your head back and rolling your eyes at the all too familiar voice. You could almost taste the alcohol from within the mouthpiece, the snail missing the signature glasses and eyes looking red and swollen.

“Donquixote,” you utter in return, your malice dripping in venomous viscosity in every syllable, “I informed you the last time, lose this snail code. I refuse to-.”

“-Please, my love,” his hush whisper cut through the piece, his desperation pouring from his lips like warmed honey, “Please, I just want to hear your voice. My heart is with you, always. Let me hear your voice. Let me hear your melodies sing for me their sweet song.” You growl, rolling your eyes and prompting you to lie back against your pillows and pout.

“You’ve been drinking,” you note, feeling his tone shift and slur along with his uttered praises. “What have you been drinking?”

“I had tequila with breakfast, a mimosa or two to follow,” he slurred, prompting you to wince back at his confession, “Everything started getting blurry at the fourth shot, or maybe it was the absynth? I know that it got foggy for a minute there when I drank from the swordsman's wine.”

“Ah, you've mixed poisons then,” you nod before shaking your head at his confession, “You will likely not recall making this call, like all the others you've made in the past.”

“I remember them all, my love. My darling, the siren who sings my praises as she shepherds me into my doom,” he coos into the mouthpiece, “Mi princesa, mi reina, tell me you love me. Tell me, please.” You shake your head.

“It’s been a long, long time, Doflamingo,” you utter darkly, shaking your head and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“But a bat of an eyelash,” he whispered in return, “A beat of a butterfly’s wing.” You shake your head, closing your eyes and mourning your lack of slumber.

“You have had much to drink to spoil your mind and sour your words,” you sigh into the receiver. He returned your sentiment, sighing in a sarcastic breath back at you.

“My mind has never been clearer,” he slurred, “My thoughts are only of you and that pretty knife you pressed into my chest. Your lips close to mine, your thighs straddling my waist, my mind only thinks of you.”

“Doflamingo-,” you sigh, his voice cutting you off with a sorrowful sob.

“As is my heart. Always with you,” he sobbed, his breath hitching and his tobe coming out in soft sniffles, “Just-... Just tell me you love me. Tell me you feel something for me. My heart can't take it.”

You huff out your resolve, shaking your head and closing your eyes shut. Your heart panged with guilt, feeling your heart reignite with passion long since forgotten and lost to the ages that fell between you.

“Of course I did,” you whisper in a hushed hiss into the mouthpiece, “Or I would've carved out your eye, split your face with my blade, or simply killed you to prove my loyalty to the assassin's guild for the celestial dragons.” Your dark confession raises a hum from the other end of the call.

“You 'did'? Does that mean you no longer feel for me?” you shake your head and glance up at the ceiling. He sniffs, his heart pouring out to you over the transceiver with each passing moment.

“I-...” you began, reopening your eyes and sighing in exasperation, “...You know I do, Dof. That's why I've taken out each person who's presented me with a contract to kill you.” He swoons, his voice crying for you in a keening mewl.

“My guardian angel protects me as I still draw breath?” his tears spill with each hushed whisper, “Even though you're prevented from being with me, our love was never sanctioned, and our world's far distant from one another. You still love me even now, don't you?”

Emotion began to well in your chest, springing up like a forgotten fount being pumped at a rusty, iron piston. You bite back your sorrow, feeling it overcome you with grief.

“Of course I do, Dof,” you admit into the transponder. Your heart soars for him before you remember the state he decided to call you in. Shaking your head, you bite back your emotion and ask him, “Will you still love me in the morning?”

After taking a moment to collect himself, Doflamingo sniffed back his sorrow and confessed to you.

“I will love you all mornings until my eyes close in their eternal slumber,” he whispered his dark confession, “Each day the sun rises, I will love you. And for each day the light disappears on the horizon, I will mourn for you as I remain alone in my love without you beside me.”

Sighing and shaking your head, you close your eyes as your heart splits in two at his confession. Clapping your palm over your lips, you refuse to allow him the luxury of knowing he'd moved you so easily with such pretty words.

You, a hardened assassin made to prove your devotion by attempting to kill Donquixote Doflamingo for the Celestial Dragons as their prize jewel in their vast treasury. He survived your attack, the dragons understanding that his healers were some of the best available and not questioning his survival when you presented them with your soiled blade and somber expression. They found it entertaining to have someone like you in their armada.

Their forgiveness came as a double edged blade: you were their preferred contract killer and were to live a life of luxury, and you in turn were to never return to your old life as a bounty hunter for someone as lowly as a Vice-Admiral. You were welcomed into Marijoa with opened arms and granted a title amongst the menagerie.

Doflamingo was a hindrance, and your love for him was depicted as weakness. Stabbing him was the easiest way to part from both of those inhibitions. The heart was an easy choice, considering how it broke yours to make such a terrible decision.

“You still there, my love?” Doflamingo's voice echoed within the transponder, breaking you away from your reflection.

“Always,” you respond in kind, closing your eyes and focusing on his words. His breathing was labored, his soft groans and cries for you coming across in each breath.

“Come to me?” he whispered to you, his heart in every cracked syllable as he coaxed you to come closer with his beckoning cry. “I want to see you. Please come to me?”

“We both know I can't,” you utter in return, “My face is too recognisable these days, and my reputation as an assassin for the celestial dragons has the seas part for me as welcome.” He groaned for you, his heart in every gruff whine.

“But do you want to?” he whispered, “That's all I want to know. Do you want to see me? To be with me? To lay beside me and watch the clouds with me?” You press your head back into the pillow and stifle a soft sob for him.

“Of course I do,” you utter in return, “I love you, Doflamingo. Never doubt that.” He whimpered in the mouthpiece, prompting you to shake your head and utter, “As always, if you remember any of this conversation. I'll be waiting.”

At that final word, you hung up the receiver and ended the call between you. The calls were getting more frequent, his drunkenness prompting his sloppiness and desperation between every call. Slouching back into your bed, you wait for sleep to claim you back into its arms.

That slumber never comes, reflecting in turn the call that you never received from Donquixote Doflamingo. No matter how many times he calls you while drunk on whatever fluid of choice of the evening, his call once sober never arrives.

As you prepare your coffee in the morning, your sleeplessness provoking you to make a greater caffeine to liquid ratio, your Den-Den roars to life in its soft, frog-like, chirp. Expecting one of your superiors, you almost drop your earpiece as an all too familiar voice purrs at you.

“Are you still waiting, my love?” Doflamingo asks you, his breath halting in his chest as he anticipates your answer, “I-... I meant every word. Every syllable. Every breath,” his voice crackles in the snail distorts his voice briefly, “As promised, I still love you in the morning. All that remains is one question.”

You suck in a soft breath, waiting to hear his words as you grip the handle of your coffee cup further.

“Do you still love me in return?”

#one piece #x reader #donquixote doflamingo #Doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #one piece x reader #doffy x reader #i just wanted something romantic and pretty #and doffy was right there #he is a messy drunk #poor Jordi

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