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mead-iocre · 3 months

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Call Me ‘Love’ | Leah Williamson x Reader

There’s a new viral trend on TikTok.

It’s pretty simple. Not a dance trend or a catchy song to lip-sync to.

All you have to do is film your partner’s reaction to you calling them by their real name. It often makes for some funny reactions from the partners who found themselves falling victim to this trend.

Perhaps for some couples, this wouldn’t elicit much of a reaction, but you knew your girlfriend well enough to anticipate that her reaction would likely make it worth trying the trend.

Outside of your families, friends and teammates, Leah was what most people would probably describe as…professional. She had captained her national team into winning the euros not too long ago, and as a result, the increase in media attention and scrutiny made her more conscious of the kind of person she portrayed herself to be in front of the media.

On the pitch she was every bit a captain— a true leader. She’s has determination, grit, and a competitive drive that can pull the team together until the final whistle. Leah was very vocal on the pitch and unafraid to call out the referees for bad calls. She’ll get right up to their faces and stand her ground. Fans often joke online that they can hear her shouting from the stands.

To add to that, she was a damn good player too. Leah is a crucial player to her team for both club and country. She’s fluid on the pitch, and her confidence in her skills is reflected in the way she plays. She’ll make risky but clean tackles, she can whip a wicked long ball, and she can score the odd goal when the opportunity lands on her head. Her confidence and skills can often leave people unnerved or in awe– depending on who you ask.

It doesn’t help that while your girlfriend has a pretty face, she can also look quite intimidating at times. Furrowed eyebrows, lips pressed together in a tight line, and blue eyes darker than usual— all this combined is what you lovingly refer to as her classic “Captain Williamson face”.

The increased media attention has made the defender slightly more closed off during captain duties. Gone was the goofy, smart-mouth girl who was more than happy to yap at the cameras during media day. Nowadays, she may come across as slightly aloof and distant at times

but that was only for the cameras.

With you, Leah was still the same girl you fell in love with. The girl with a wicked sense of humour and a dirty mouth that went along with it. When she was around familiar company, the girl often made the most outrageous remarks— with jokes and quips that should not be repeated around those who can’t understand her sense of humour.

Another surprising thing about the Arsenal defender and England captain— she can get pretty clingy. Physical affection is one of your girlfriend’s love languages and you are always more than happy to indulge her whenever. Your mornings together start with kisses, and your day ends with kisses. The blonde always needs to be touching you at all times whenever you are around— a hand on the hip, an arm over your shoulder, or a head on your lap. The intimidating captain they see on the pitch is definitely not the same girl that whines whenever you accidentally forget to give her a kiss before she leaves for training.

Even though she might try and deny it, your girlfriend was a romantic. She loved planning dates, wearing matching clothes, and the cheesy nicknames.

And that’s why you were so excited to try out this new TikTok trend on her.

——————————————

You situate your phone on the dinning table, fiddling around to make sure it is slightly hidden from view. You have it leaning against a vase which holds a charming bunch of tulips that the blonde had bought for you the other day. The back camera of your phone is pointed towards where your girlfriend usually sits during meals right across from you. The other decorative vase is what will hide your phone from the blonde, but is deliberately placed at an angle so your phone’s camera can still capture her reaction.

You glance at it one more time, making sure the record button is on.

“Did you want extra parmesan on yours, baby?” You hear your girlfriend shout from the kitchen.

“Yes, please!”

You hear a “coming right up, madam!” before you hear the sound of a drawer being pulled open and then shut.

She’s probably grabbed the cheese grater.

Soon the smell of savoury aromas reach you. You detect the earthy fragrance of garlic first. Then it’s the smell of onions sautéd in olive oil, mingling with the sweet aroma of ripe tomatoes. The scent of freshly chopped herbs— probably basil and oregano— adds a refreshing note in the air, while the unmistakable aroma of Parmesan cheese grating fills the air with a hint of nuttiness. It’s a familiar and comforting aroma simply because it’s the smell of the one and only dish that your girlfriend can successfully cook without setting the kitchen on fire. Not a moment later, Leah appears with a plate on each hand and a grin on her pretty face.

And a smudge of red pasta sauce on her shirt.

Mean, scary captain, my ass.

Dressed in an oversized white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, grey Nike sweatpants, and her favourite fuzzy house slippers; your girlfriend is the least intimidating person in the world right now.

She walks the short distance to your spot at the dinning table, placing a plate down in front of you. You eye the dish in front of you— the only dish perfected by your girlfriend. The blonde can’t make scrambled eggs right— they will either be too soggy or burnt— but she can make the dish that has become your comfort food since you’ve started dating her.

You hear a throat clear from beside you. Leah is still standing, her other hand still holding her own plate. “Doesn’t the chef get a kiss?”

“Uhh— I don’t think my girlfriend would like that” You grin up at her. With her blonde hair tied in a loose low bun, she looks a lot more relaxed then when she first came home earlier after training.

“Baby, give me a kiss before I burn my fingers off from holding this hot plate”

You roll your eyes playfully, before squealing at the ticklish poke given to your side.

“Oi! Don’t act like it’s a chore to give your girlfriend a kiss when she rightfully deserves it”

You stand up from your seat slightly, reaching up to grab the side of the blonde’s neck to pull her closer and press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Thank you for dinner, chef”

The smile that spreads across Leah’s face is one you would like to bottle up and keep close forever.

“Pleasure is all mine, madam” And then her lips meet yours again, this time with a lingering bite on your lower lip just before she pulls back.

You almost forget about the video.

Once the defender was seated in her own chair, you both dug into your dinner.

“…how is it?” It’s sometimes still striking to you that England’s golden girl is the same shy girl in front of you, waiting for you to compliment her on her cooking.

“That’s bloody delicious that!” You raise a hand up for a high-five and your girlfriend’s palm meets yours in a satisfying smack. Before she call pull her hand away, you grab hold of it and press a loud kiss to the back of it. The bashful giggle coming from the blonde almost makes you regret the prank you were about to pull on her.

Almost.

You decided to let the blonde get a few bites of her dinner, not wanting to start too early otherwise she will figure out that something was up. But now it was time.

Bringing your napkin up to wipe at your mouth to disguise the grin that was already growing on your face. You swallow your last forkful of pasta and clear your throat to get your girlfriend’s attention. Immediately, as if almost instinctually, in the middle of scoping a bite of pasta into her mouth, the blonde looks up and all her attention is on you.

“Do we still have more parmesan, Leah?”

The look she gave you was almost comical. Her mouth immediately drops into a small frown and her eyebrows furrow, a wrinkle appearing on her forehead. You itch to remind her not to frown but you cannot break character now.

She swallows her mouthful, a frown still present on her face. “What?”

“I said I want more parmesan—“

The arsenal defender picks up her napkin, wiping at her mouth, before balling it in her fist and dropping it by her plate. You nearly smile at the sight. Leah is the type to always neatly fold her napkin– an endearing habit you have grown to mirror over the past couple of months of dating her. She is clearly annoyed. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry— can I pleaseee have more Parmesan, Leah”

She narrows her eyes at you from across the table. “Don’t do that”

“Do what?“

“Don’t call me Leah. You never do that”

“Yes I do”

“Only when you’re mad at me” That was true. You only ever called Leah by her first name when you were mad or annoyed at her. It’s usually the first telltale sign that you were about to start an argument. You lowkey loved that she knew you so well and mentally reminded yourself to reward her for that later.

“You only call me “love” or “baby”. Don’t call me Leah” You nearly laugh at how she spits her own name out at the end, as if it was a cursed word. You couldn’t wait to watch the footage back.

“But Leah is your name”

“Not to you”

You compose yourself, wanting to drag this prank for as long as possible, and raise an eyebrow at her. “What if I want to?”

“No you don’t.” You almost laugh at how genuinely frazzled she looks. Hair a mess, loose strands falling out from her bun and now framing the sides of her face. The slight pout on her lips contrasts the stern tone she tries to take on.

At your eyebrow raise and your lack of verbal response, her fork clatters onto her plate. She’s serious now. “Baby, what the fuck are you on about”

But you were having too much fun to stop now. “Nothing. Now will you please go grab the Parmesan, Leah”

“No.” The defender crosses her arms across her chest, leans back and slouches in her chair. A familiar look of determination on her face, so similar to the face she makes whenever she’s marking a difficult opponent on the pitch; however this time, her opponent is you. “Not until you call me what you really call me”

“Dickhead?”

“Oi! Don’t be crass at the table”

You roll your eyes for extra flair. “You’re being ridiculous—“

“Me!? You’re the one addressing your own girlfriend by her government name, mate”

You stand up from your chair, ready to walk to the kitchen and grab the damn parmesan yourself, but you are stopped by an arm around your waist pulling you into your girlfriend’s lap. You right yourself on her lap, sitting sideways with your arm over her shoulders.

She wraps an arm around your waist with one hand gripping your thighs to steady you. You nearly break once you look up and catch sight of the pout on the defender’s face.

“Are you mad at me?” Her tone softens. It’s the same tone she uses whenever she’s feeling particularly clingy and she wants attention, so different from the tone she uses when she adorns the captain’s armband on the pitch.

“Babyyy” When you don’t reply Leah grabs your cheeks, gently squishing them together so your lips are forced into a pout. She leans up and places a smacking kiss on your pouting lips, frowning slightly when you don’t react at all. “Hey! Are you actually mad or something? Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it”

Determined as ever, the blonde grabs your cheeks again with a hand on your jaw and pecks your lips a few times, drawing back slightly to gauge your reaction. When you once again give her nothing, an eye roll is your only warning before you feel a sudden, but very sharp, bite to the side of your neck.

“Ouch, love!”

“Aha! I’ve got ya!” You bring a hand up to feel the stinging bite on your neck, and your fingers graze the teeth marks left by your very own girlfriend.

“That bloody hurt!” You try to scowl at the blonde but it’s kind of hard to do when you see the big grin she’s currently sporting. You do nothing to stop your lips from curling upwards into a smile.

“Can you please go back to calling me “love”– please” Leah pleaded, the ‘e’ whiny and prolonged.

She’s so bloody cute.

“Yeah. I think I’ve had my fun. Prank’s over!”

“Wha– prank?!”

You point at your phone that was still propped up against the vase, just slightly hidden from her view but now the sole focus of her attention.

You squealed at the pinch to your waist. “Don’t ever call me Leah unless you’re mad at me. I only respond to ‘love’"

“Yeah? What about ‘Captain’?”

“Baby, you know exactly what happens when you call me ‘Captain’” You barely had time to react to her words because the next thing you know, your girlfriend has you in a fireman carry and was walking down the hallway towards your shared bedroom. You playfully attempt to wiggle out of her strong hold, and is awarded by a sharp slap to your ass to still you.

“You know what, I think it’s time for dessert, baby”

This was supposed to be up for Valentines Day yesterday lol but I forgot to schedule it.

Even if you don't choose to celebrate Valentine's Day, I hope you had a great day yesterday. Don't forget to take advantage of the heavily discounted Valentine's Day gift sets and chocolates.

Please accept this short fic as a token of my love and appreciation for you

-- kisses (and an extra kiss because it was Valentine's Day), butter.

#woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine

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the-californicationist · 4 months

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he comes closer and closer...

Price/Reader - TW: bondage, explicit consent, anal fingering, begging, male whimpering, edgeplay, blowjobs

“I want you to remember, especially in an hour or so, that you asked for this,” you kissed his bearded cheek softly, smelling his cologne, “Begged for it, even.”

“Aye. I did,” he replied, his accent thick and heady.

Captain Price was fully naked and strapped down to his office desk, tied with a length of paracord. His body was stretched out like a rubber band, his skin shining from sweat and covered in dark hair. You could hear his labored breathing and feel his eyes on you, watching you as you walked around the desk, rubbing his arms and legs with your hands, playing with his nipples, fondling him everywhere except where he wanted you to.

“And yet, you say I’m being unfair?” You pouted playfully, settling yourself between his knees, purposely avoiding his twitching cock.

“Edging involves at least a little…attention. Touch me, love. Please.”

“Begging again? How desperate you are tonight,” you smiled, lowering your mouth just above where his pink head could reach. Watching his hips and cock strain towards you was enchanting.

“Baby, please, it aches. You can’t…please, don’t just leave me like this.”

“Maybe just one little taste, hmm? Just to see if you’ll be a good boy.”

“I will,” he strained harder, fighting the ropes, “I will, I promise. Please-please-please…”

“I don’t know, Captain. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, love, I remember. Please, just -”

“Tell me.”

He sighed, and you watched his abs flex on the exhale, his belly convulsing with his ragged breaths,

“I have to warn you when I come, and…”

“And?” You drug out the word like a sticky strand of taffy, pulling it to the point of breaking.

“...and if I don’t, I can’t have your cunt.”

“No, you can’t. So, be good, John. Show me you want this pussy.”

He growled,

“Fuck, I want it right bloody now. Please, baby, I -”

“Shh. Enough. You need to learn patience, my darling. We’re just getting started.”

You put a dollop of lube in your hand and rubbed it all over his shaft. He was so swollen, and the cockring you put around him had kept him that way for a while. It was wrapped around the base of his shaft and under his balls, stretching the skin and keeping it rigid. He was grunting as you worked him, his whole body reacting to your touch. The desk creaked as he strained against it. You were a little concerned about its integrity. If he broke the straps, or the desk, there were no rules left to bind him.

“Mmm, unhgh…yeah, just like that. Fuuuuuck…” Price groaned loudly.

You stopped, pulling away from him with a wet pop.

“Ah! No, no, no…” He complained.

You ran your fingers up and down his torso, threatening to touch his cock again. Every time you got close, you could hear the wood of the desk cry out, stretching from his strength.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked him, licking his nipple, biting his skin.

“Oh, fuck, yes it does. Please, come back.”

You returned to his cock, but instead of quick solid strokes, you pulled him slowly, painfully slowly, and at an odd angle, so none of his regular sensations were available for him to hold onto. Each time you pulled up and over his cockhead, he would grunt for you, like an angry bull.

Changing your grip, you massaged his balls and he sighed. Then, you rubbed his inner thighs and the skin behind his sack and between his legs, pressing on his internal root, jerking it as if it were his cock at the surface. It made his dick flag up and down as you did so, and he did everything he could to move you either forwards or back, being cruelly teased by your positioning.

You stopped again. You heard him groan deep and low. His cock was rosy pink, flushed with blood and thicker than you’d ever seen it. You put some lube on your finger and dipped between his legs, finding his asshole, warm and covered in thick hair. He jolted, as much as the ropes would allow.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you remember Warsaw?”

His eyes were wild, but then they went ice cold, the realization washing over him. You chuckled, continuing, rimming your finger around his hole as you spoke,

“You found me during our field training, and you held me down, plunging those fingers into my pussy and my ass, not allowing me to come for a whole evening, telling me that only bad soldiers got caught, and since I was bad, I didn’t deserve an orgasm. Have you been bad, John?”

You slipped a finger past his outer muscles, feeling the smooth skin inside of his asshole, massaging it in slow, aching circles. He held his breath, but he was shaking his head back and forth, protesting against your appraisal of his sins. You checked in with him, pausing your movements.

“Green or yellow?”

It took a few moments, but he growled out a very clear,

“Green, love. Green.”

You pushed your finger in until you found the spot you were looking for. You began to rub little firm circles inside of him while jerking his cock with your free hand. There was so much to love about the feedback you were getting from him. His face was wide with intense pleasure, and his pupils were fully blown. You thrust your hand around him faster, focusing on his head. As soon as you saw his eyes clench shut, you removed yourself from him entirely.

“No! Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, frustrated and desperate for you to let him finish.

“Mmm, about to break a rule, Captain? You never were good at following orders.”

You sucked his cock into your mouth, softly, gently, and applied almost no suction. He bucked against the table, slamming his hips and back into the wood. You could hear the ropes tightening against their bites. He was groaning and shaking from your warm, wet mouth. You lay your tongue at the base of his head and began to lap at his skin in long, slow licks. It was too slow and soft for him to feel any release, but it was enough to drive him past the point of normalcy.

“Fuck! Fuck, more. More, love. I need more, please. Please. Please! Fuuuuuuck.”

You put your finger at the entrance of his asshole, but you didn’t enter him again. Still, he throbbed in your mouth, just the idea of you touching him inside gave him the same sensation. You pulled him out of you and leisurely massaged his dick again, keeping him right on the edge of his pleasure. Price was literally trembling with every moment of your touch, loudly grunting, unashamed of his behavior.

Then, you decided to finger him again, taking it away the moment his breathing changed. You put him back in your mouth. Then, you took him out. At one point, you left him altogether, making a cup of tea and drinking it while you sat in his office chair, watching him watch you. Smiling. He thrashed against the ropes.

He really was terrifying, objectively. Price could kill you in less than a second if he wanted to. He was enormous, muscular, and sharp as a knife. There was no where you could run, and there was no chance of you fighting him off. As you watched him writhe and pull at his bindings, you studied his form. His strong legs and huge ass provided immense leverage against the desktop, bowing the edges of its planks downward - ever so slightly - as he thrust against it. The captain’s wide chest bulged with his mountainous shoulders, causing the rope to whine as it tightened on its knot, the fibers stretching past their limits. Every time he threw his hips down in blissful agony, the whole room shuddered. He was like some sort of beast you’d caught in a trap. A tiger by the tail.

Finally, you decided to end his suffering, but he didn’t know that. As you approached the desk again, he began to beg you,

“Please, love. Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, let me come. I’ll be good. Baby, please…”

There it was. That’s what you wanted. An obedient Price was a rare sight, and seeing him unfold right before your very eyes, like a rose in bloom, relaxing into your will - it was mesmerizing. You wanted to rub your nose in those pliant petals, bend them back away from his honeyed center. You were hooked.

“Mmm. That's it, baby. Surely, such a good boy deserves a reward, hm?”

“Oh, fuck,” his tone was dark now that he knew what was coming.

You put your mouth on him and grabbed his balls gently in your hand, sucking him with a strong rhythm, massaging his heavy sack with each thrust of your head. Price wasn’t that long, but his girth was a struggle. You pushed past it, giving the man what he’d been waiting for, choking yourself, pulling off his cockring and letting the blood flow back into his core as you swallowed his head in the back of your throat.

"I'm gonna come. Oh, my God. I'm gonna fuckin' come, baby. Yes-yes-yes...ahhh!"

The wait was so worth it. With each bob of your head, he seized and panicked. It was as if every suckle was giving him a separate orgasm, and he came like a firehose. It squirted down your throat, hot and salty, and he was screaming for you. You were certain the whole base could hear him, even though they were all the way in the barracks. His legs locked out straight, pulling the ropes tight, and his back arched off of the desk in perfect agony.

You drained his cock by pulling out the last few drops from his shaft, licking them up like dripping ice cream from a cone. Then, you untied his legs and hands. He lay there, panting, his face twisted in complexity, feeling aftershocks and riding them out, sated and drunkenly happy.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, girl, you better start runnin'. As soon as I get my legs, you are in for it.”

You bolted for the door, looking back at him over your shoulder, grinning. He had already rolled off of the desk and was trying to throw on his shorts, stumbling, slowly catching his bearings, quickly getting ready to hunt you down.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

Read Part 2 here.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price smut #john price smut #afab reader #Female reader #x female reader

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shadowdaddies · 25 days

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Distraction

Azriel x Reader

A/N: I keep thinking about how this scene from Captain America: the Winter Soldier would fit so well for Azriel x reader on a spy mission

warnings: none

A knock on your door shook you from your daze, wide eyes alert in a prepared defense until you heard the familiar voice rumble lowly through the wooden doorway.

“Are you ready?” Azriel questioned, rough voice sending an unrecognizable thrill through you as you strode towards the door. Turning the handle, you looked up to see hazel eyes darkening as the striking Illyrian swallowed, gaze raking over your form in the fitted dress you’d donned for the evening.

“Ready, Az,” you nodded, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of admiring your friend’s appearance. He was dressed in a fitted all-black ensemble, tailored to show his impressive physique and highlight his features. He looked like a Prince of Darkness as he stepped to the side, holding out an arm for you to take.

“You look very nice, Azriel,” you smiled, playfully nudging him with your shoulder as he led you down the hall to the grand ballroom.

He stiffened slightly at your words, as though shocked by the compliment, before he turned to face you. “You look...” he paused, taking a deep breath when he stepped back to look at you. Something sparked in your chest when he spoke again. “You look beautiful.”

Nodding, you looked away in an attempt to hide your blush as well as Azriel had hidden his shadows for the evening. You were both undercover from the Night Court, attending this ball in Hybern to find information on potential traitors.

Since the war was won, Prythian had absorbed the kingdom of Hybern, but many were still resistant to the ideals of the Continent. You were sent with Azriel to the new ruler of Hybern’s birthday celebration to gather intel, searching for those who might pose a threat to the High Lord and Lady’s restructured kingdom.

With Azriel’s shadows, he would be quickly identified as the infamous shadowsinger of the Night Court, but with his shadows hidden and you by his side, you could blend in with the other fae relatively easily.

Which is why you now carried your shimmering skirts, shoes clicking down the marble floored halls with Azriel on your arm. You had expected to be more nervous going into the event, but something about Azriel’s touch kept you grounded, feeling calmer than ever.

Approaching the double doors that led to the grand ballroom, you nodded your appreciation to the guards who opened the doors for you both. Words escaped you at the beauty of the room before you, murals of fairies from old lining the walls along with gilded chandeliers and twinkling faelight. It was beautiful and romantic, a far cry from what you had imagined Hybern to be.

Feeling a tug on your arm, you looked up to see Azriel flashing you a knowing grin as he guided you towards a servant. Picking up two drinks from their tray, he murmured appreciation to them before handing you a glass. You half-expected him to say something about the beauty of the evening, but surprise didn’t find you with his words.

“Remember our story. Keep it vague and learn what you can tonight,” Azriel murmured, his warm hand rubbing affectionately on your waist at odds with his words. You nodded, remembering your role new mates as your role for the night, and that his touch meant nothing more.

Twining your fingers with his, you led Azriel to a couple who stood by the hearth, smiling as they both listened to the band play its lively tune. You chatted with them, learning the gossip about several royal families who did not approve of the new structure in Hybern.

“Well done,” Azriel murmured, his lips warm against your knuckles as he pulled them, twirling you in a playful move across the dance floor closer to the next target for intel.

You wished the giggle that escaped you was more effort than it was, but something about you was truly drawn to Azriel. He was gentle with you, but fiercely defensive of those he cared for. A skilled warrior and good friend.

Swallowing, you willed your emotions beneath the surface to plaster on your face of grace. Swiping another glass of faerie wine, you focused on the faux feelings you’d manufactured for the evening, ignoring those you really felt towards Azriel as best you could.

You were deep in conversation, laughing and joking with the female visiting from Vallahan when Azriel’s fingers tensed around your waist. Feigning ignorance, you smiled lazily at your “mate.”

“Is everything alright, my love?” You asked - the question you’d planned beforehand if anything unplanned were to arise.

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you, more wild than you had ever seen his bright hazel eyes. “I am just aching for a dance with my mate, is all,” he purred, teasing voice betraying the shaking fingertips that hovered your hips.

With audible “awws” and cooing at two new mates who couldn’t resist to be apart, the other fae ushered you towards the busy dance floor, where Azriel took your hand and waist, back held in surprisingly impressive form.

“I know the male in the opposite corner from where I face,” Azriel whispered in your ear, soft as if he were telling you sweet nothings. You ignored the hitch in your breath, gaze flicking briefly to a tall, burly male in the corner whose own eyes flicked to Azriel with curiosity.

“Come with me,” you whispered back, not missing how Azriel shivered at your lips on his ear. He followed you, hands loosely intertwined while you wove through the crowd towards the dark corner of the room opposite from the suspecting male.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the male moved through the ballroom, gaze scanning the crowd including yourselves as though he were looking for someone.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, pulling Azriel’s body tight against your own, which was pressed to the cold wall.

“W-what?” he choked out, and you had to bite back your grin at the uncharacteristically flustered spymaster.

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Kiss me,” you demanded, willing yourself not to look to the presence you could sense nearing you.

Azriel’s eyes practically glowed as he searched your face, searching for affirmation before one hand found your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a deep kiss.

An electric energy shot through you, the spark hitting your chest hard enough to steal your breath at the feeling of his soft lips on your own. You melted into the kiss with ease, both of your bodies interlacing like two halves of a whole.

You were dizzy for air, completely forgetting everyone else around you when Azriel pulled away, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock.

Pushing back, you scanned the area for potential threats before deciding you couldn’t find anything. “Azriel, what happened? Are you okay?” You whispered, thumb stroking his cheek to keep up the charade of new mates.

“I- you’re my...” Azriel stuttered, just as you caught sight of the suspicious male slipping out onto the balcony.

“Come on, Az. Let’s see what they’re up to,” you whispered, keeping a note in your mind to ask him what he was distracted by at a later time.

Part 2

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aetherdoesthings · 1 month

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hello!!! i hope ur having a good day/night! can i request headcanons or fics (whatever you prefer!) of reader falling asleep because of work and the monster trio's reaction to it? thank u!!

hello!!! i hope you're having a good day/night too!

forethoughts: gonna be out of my country next week for vacation, so probably not going to upload as much, but i'll try. i hope you enjoy!! also did tumblr remove yellow from the color choices? odd.

notes: gn!reader

Luffy

“Y/N! Check it-” With a kick, the Captain of the Straw Hat Pirates stepped into your office, holding a slab of meat. His excitement plummeted as his eyes fell on you. Your head was resting on top of stacks of papers, a quill in between your fingers. Your entire body was limp against the wooden desk in the corner of the room, the lamp above your head still burning bright.

“Y/N?” Luffy walked closer to you, his sandals thudding against the planks below. He tapped your head, shaking your shoulder, until he could see the slightest movement coming from you.

You shrugged Luffy’s hand off of you, forcing yourself to sit up. “Luffy?”

“Why’d you fall asleep?” A small frown appeared on Luffy’s face. You knew he didn’t like you overworking yourself and filling up your time with ‘boring stuff’.

“It’s just a nap. Promise.”

“Are you overworking yourself again?”

“N-No.”

“Y/N… I already told you. If there’s too much work for you, just tell me.”

“It’s fine, Luffy.”

“No, it’s not fine. I don’t want you to overwork yourself to the point you fall asleep. Come on.” Luffy shoved the meat into his mouth, his hands wrapped around your arms as he dragged you in the direction of your shared bed. Without much protest, your head was now resting on top of pillows, a soft blanket plastered on top of your body.

“Sleep. Okay? You better be asleep by the time I come back.” Luffy pointed a finger at your face. You let out a chuckle, nodding your head.

“Thank you.” You whispered softly.

The corner of Luffy's mouth stretched up to his eyes. "I asked you to join because I wanted to go on adventures with you, Y/N, I didn't ask you to join my crew because I wanted to see you work until you fall asleep! Please take care of yourself, otherwise we can't go on adventures anymore."

Zoro

“Oi, Y/N, it’s my turn. You can go back inside.” Zoro climbed up the crow’s nest, getting ready for his shift of watching over the ship. When he got up there, he saw you curled up into a ball on the side, fast asleep. He stared at your figure for a moment, before climbing into the circular space next to you. He flicked your forehead, gently slapping your face, to no avail. You were dead asleep, a quill balancing in between your fingers. Zoro placed a hand on your arm, retracting immediately. You were freezing cold.

“Tch. Falling asleep on the job.” Zoro crossed his arms, staring at your unconscious body, putting his swords aside as he surveyed the scene.The inside of the crow’s nest was littered with papers and notes, an empty bottle of ink haphazardly discarded on the side. Anger and annoyance clouded Zoro’s head, the urge to wake you up and scold you for prioritizing your work over the safety of everyone. But in the cold winter night, a drop of warmth entered Zoro’s heart as he stared at your curled up figure, shivering slightly, but still dead asleep. There were heavy eyebags visible on your face, your lips cracked. The veins on your hands were visible, bulging out at Zoro.

“Damn it.” Zoro scoffed, as he reached a hand out towards you, dragging your body closer to his. He propped you up against his chest, letting you use his body heat as a source of warmth in the cold night. “Always overexerting yourself, you idiot. Should’ve brought a jacket instead of your papers. Geez. Now I gotta take care of you.”

You were still knocked out, head resting on Zoro’s shoulder. Zoro let out a scoff, placing a hand around your shoulder, warming you up. “Tch.”

Sanji

Finally done with cleaning up the kitchen and preparing the next day’s meals, Sanji headed back to the bedroom you shared with him. He tried not to make as much noise as possible; at this time, you were most likely asleep already. He stepped into your room, closing the door as quietly as he could.

“Eh?” Sanji looked at the bed. The blankets were still neatly made from this morning, pillows organized with no wrinkles. He turned his attention towards your desk in the corner of the room, a small smile on his face. At least you didn’t go missing. You were dead asleep, head resting on your left arm, your right holding onto a quill. Sanji tiptoed over, examining your sleeping figure.

My dear Y/N… Sanji sighed, plucking the quill out of your fingers. Without waking you up, his hands curled around your neck and the back of your knees. Without breaking a sweat, Sanji scooped you up, letting your head hit the pillow before the rest of your body was on the mattress. He draped the blanket over your body, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Sweet dreams, my love.” Sanji whispered, before heading back over to your desk. He took a seat, rolling up his sleeves as he stared at the sea of papers and ink. As the moon itself was about to go to sleep, and the sun slowly woke up, Sanji stayed there, helping you organize all your work and sort out all your notes, filling out blanks you had left or letters you needed to write. He didn’t care if he lost some hours of sleep; in a few minutes, he’d have to ‘wake up’ to start prepping the next day’s meal anyways. As long as you were well rested and taken care of, Sanji didn’t care if he would have to lose hours of sleep.

#one piece #op #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #monster trio #overworked #aetherasks

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unamused-boss · 4 months

Text

The Player and The Cheerleader

Billy Hargrove x Cheerleader Reader

Summary: All Billy thinks cheerleading is that's it's just flips and splits. The view changes when he has a run in with a certain Hawkins High School cheerleader.

...........................................................................

Billy didn't care for anyone by any means. Either it be in Indiana or California. If he doesn't see you as someone worth his time then he didn't talk to you or give you the time of day. One of those groups in specific were cheerleaders. From his point of view they were only pretty girls to look at, that's pretty much how everyone treated the cheerleader at this point. Pretty things to look at.

The cheerleaders sometimes had to share the gym with the basketball team. Which did peeve some the guys on the team but as long as the cheerleaders were pretty they could handle it. But there was one odd ball on the cheer team, the captain. Always mouthing off the players when they got to close to the cheerleaders or a ball got to close to hitting one of them.

"Hey! Shit for brains!" A voice can be heard from then other side of the gym. "I thought the point of the game was to get the ball in the basket?!"

"Jeezu..." Tommy huffed. "Can you seriously be pissed about the same thing every time? It's just a ball." He answered to you. Clearly tired of your constant shouting at the basketball team when a ball would go the wrong way.

"And it's just balls between your legs, and they can just as easily deflate." You sassed back. To Billy, it was almost comical to watch. You with the tough guy act, puffing up your chest to a dude way taller than you with colorful pompoms in each hand on your hips.

"What a bitch..." Tommy huffed again.

"Oh get over it." Billy snapped. "What's captain pompoms gonna do?" He laughed at his own statement. Like said before he found the whole conversation comical-

WHAM!

A basketball went flying right into Billy Hargroves head. He snapped his head around to see the who had the nerve to hit him. His eyes met with captain pompoms. The two had a stare off. That's what it felt like for the rest of practice. The two practically eyeing each other the entire time.

After that stunt was over, after constant staring at one another, Billy had only one reaction in mind. A big one.

The next day followed. Billy knew where he could cut you off and corner you, in-between Mr. Johnson's chemistry class and Mrs. Shoffer's English literature class. It happened fast no one could react to it, actually you doubt anyone saw it happen. What you thought was just another normal day of school turned out to be more than that. A harsh hold took your arm, taking you away from the crowd into the more secluded part of the hall. Where you came face to face with a fuming Billy. His jaw was clenched and eyes held anger.

"What, you think you're real funny for the shit you pulled yesterday?" He interrogated. "Try it again see what fuckin happens..." His threats did not stop. Well his empty threats. As much as you are terrified of what he could do, you knew he'd never act on them. Your brave front was standing strong. Taking in every threat, comment, and remark he could throw at you. To get a reaction, if you were a guy you would have answered with your fists at his first remark. But you are not. You are you. You knew the exact thing that would make him even more angry.

" You are nothing but scuff on the gym floor, and that's all you will be."

Billy did not like that one bit. Who does this bitch think she is? His fist rose into the air, readying to strike. The force came down, you felt the air brush past your face, to only make contact with a metal locker. The sound ricocheted through the hall.

You open up your eyes. Now, again, staring at him. Anger was not held in his eyes anymore. If was fear and sadness, to you it was peculiar expression to see on his face. The actions that just happened finally caught up to you, you inhale deeply not knowing you stopped breathing. Everything caught up to you.

SLAP! Your hand came down, striking Billy Hargrove in the face. Hard enough to leave a mark. Not knowing that one had just been healed from another hand. "What the hell is your problem?" You yelled, agitated. "God, you fuckin creep." You make your way back to your class leaving Billy stunned. He didn't know what to do. He has never had someone react to him like that before. It intrigued him. He had an interest in you now.

After that encounter Billy made it his mission yo agitate you as much as possible. I mean, how else are you supposed to show someone you like them. From poking you with a pencil in class, purposefully missing the hoop so the ball bounces into your direction, anything at all just so you could look at him. He was succeeding and he was royally pissing you off. Until on fateful autumn day, everyone had gone home for the day. Except for the extracurriculars that took place after school. Two of those being basketball and cheer practice. Just as the practices were about to start, Billy took notice that you weren't with the cheer team. Which he thought was odd, but instead he chose to go smoke a cigarette before practice. He made his way to the small alley like way that was outside the gym that lead to the track field. And the sight before him made him stop in his tracks. there you stood cheer practice outfit and all with a lit cigarette hanging from your lip.

"I thought cheerleaders didn't smoke?" Billy joked to you, giving you his famous smirk.

"And I thought shit stayed in toilets, but I guess I was wrong since you're here." You said taking a huff of your cig.

"Damn, always ready with a comeback are you?" Billy said, lighting his cigarette.

"Why are you messing with me Hargrove?"

"Ouch, last name basis now sweets?"

"Shut up." You won't deny it, that dumb nickname that he started calling you grew on you. "Is this because of me smacking you?"

"No."

"Was it me hitting you with a basketball?"

"No." He said blankly again.

"Then what is it?"

Billy took a huff of his cigarette then looked you in your eyes. No hate or anger, something you can only describe as adoration.

"I find you interesting." Was his only answer.

"What?" you were confused by this answer. What was so interesting about you that made Billy intrigued. " Your like curious about me or something?"

"Exactly."

"You know curiosity killed the cat, Hargrove." You sassed.

"And satisfaction brought it back, and I am not satisfied yet so get used to me sweets." He said taking his cig a stomping it out onto the ground walking away.

You grumbled at his response, inhaling the last of your cigarette with blushing cheeks. Stomping out your cigarette then making your way into practice. 'Why does this asswipe make me blush'.

...........................................................................

Weeks of this teasing have gone by. Everyday Billy would find a new way to make you mad, blush, or embarrassed to get a reaction out of you. He claimed "It's because you so cute." Which made you blush even more. Gosh, you couldn't stand half of the guys at this school. Why was Billy the only one making you feel this way?

Truth be told, Billy had seen you around way before he had met you. How you walk down the hall with your head held high, looking away in disgust at the "popular" kids, over all not conforming to what a cheerleader is by Hawkins view point. You fought, yelled, got in people faces. Billy love all of it, it made him excited. Excited to talk to you and ask you questions, even ones you deem are stupid. All he wanted to do was to be around you. Damn, he loved it in a way.

Practice had ended for the day leading off into the weekend. A light rain pour had come down, everyone else had a ride to get them home. Everyone except you, well you did but he was running very late. Billy made his way outside to find you standing in the walk way waiting to be picked up. Cigarette hanging from your mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Billy asked.

"Waiting." You simply put.

"Do you want a ride?" He asked.

"No, I have a ride." You said. "But he's running late."

"What your boyfriend?" Billy said, the words had jealousy behind them.

"No." You sighed. "My brother you dipshit."

"oh..." He sighed. A silence fell between you two. Not uncomfortable, but nice enough for you two to be around each other. But Billy had something building in his stomach, a nervous feeling. He hated it. He needed to tell you something.

"Hey." He called to you, you turn your head to face him. "I wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened."

"What?" You were confused by what he just said.

"I said I'm sorry, did you not hear me?" Billy said, He turned his body to face you. "I said I'm sorry." You just stood there silent. Still taking in the fact he is saying sorry. "I'm sorry that I almost punched you into a locker. I realized I was acting like someone I didn't want to be, and you calling me on my shit. It made me look at you differently. I noticed more about you. How you always make sure the other cheerleaders are okay, how you genuinely care about the people you have around you, and you don't take any shit. And- shit I'm bad at this." He's now embarrassed by everything he just said. Heat rises to his cheeks and ears.

You step toward him, placing your hand on his arm. "I thought you were doing pretty well." You smiled, comforting him in a way. He just looked at you. You never smiled at him directly but now that your smile was intended for him. 'damn' He wants you to smile at him all the time.

"Do you want to go on a date?" He asked straight out. You were shocked by his forwardness, but not entirely surprised.

"You want to go on a date with me?"

"Hell yeah, why wouldn't I?" He made it seem like you were speaking a different language. "Listen one date is all I ask, her if you still think I'm a piece of shit I'll stop everything that I'm doing."

Your smile grew even wider. "I would love to go on a date with you Billy."

"Dang, back on first name basis already? Looks like I'm getting a second date already." He joked to you, in turn caused you to laugh.

For the remainder of your time you and Billy talked till you had been picked up. You both talked about anything and everything. It was pure bliss, you loved every second of it. You both were abruptly interrupted by the honking of your brothers car.mYou said your goodbyes to make your way to the car. The smile that held your face did not drop. I didn't drop on Billy's either, when getting home Max found it incredibly disturbing to see her step brother so giddy.

That following night Billy arrived to your house to take you on your promised date. Which one date turned into another and another and another. Till it reached throughout the whole school that Billy Hargrove and the cheer captain were finally official. With many guys questioning Billy as to why he picked you out of everyone, to which he said if they insulted you again he had no problem with dealing with them himself. Girls just snuffed their noses up to you since you now made Billy officially off the market. Not like you cared, he's your boyfriend now and you have him all to yourself. So you could say everything did work out in the end. You and Billy have each other.

"So I guess we have Tommy to thank since he is the reason we met?" You joked.

"Hell no, I would have went after you even if you didn't hit me with that basket ball." He smirk.

"Jeez, you are something Billy." You smiled, leaning into him to seal your lips in a kiss. Yeah, nothing could beat this.

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shotmrmiller · 5 months

Text

Loba

Pairing: John Price x GN!Reader

TW: Some gore description. Thats it, i think.

WC: 2.4k

There was something odd about you, John Price's neighbor. To the untrained eye, you were an average person. But John's been a sniper longer than he's been captain, which meant he was perspicacious. His ability to intake information and process it was second to none. And so, he'd like to think he knew what he saw when you once looked at him in passing. The eyes of something that sits atop the food chain.

Yet, he can't help but doubt himself. You're a small thing. Soft, plush, comely. You greet everyone with a smile. Bake homemade chocolate chip cookies for the surrounding neighbors on occasion. Sit on your knees, digging your fingers into damp soil, planting flowers in the garden. Had it been a trick of the light? He supposed it didn't matter. As much as you intrigued him, you had a partner you sent off to work with a polite kiss on the cheek and lunch bag in hand every day. Ordinary.

Until one day, normal turned abnormal.

John liked to sit on his porch, tea in hand, and people-watch. He hid it under the guise of reading the paper so he wouldn't put people off— but he liked to be observant. And being observant meant knowing the routines of his surrounding neighbors. So, John noticed that your partner hadn't been home in two weeks. And you, his pretty little neighbor, are irate. Slamming the front door closed after taking out the trash, hands digging into the planting soil with such ferocity he'd think it was hiding treasure, and not one greeting to anyone. Not even him.

And that definitely didn't sting, he tells himself. You were unavailable and clearly in love if your temper as of late had anything to say about it.

One afternoon, John is sitting outside in his customary spot when he watches your car pull up into the driveway and park. You open the driver's door with such force that he thinks it's about to come off the hinges and get out with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, and lips firmly pressed together.

Oh? That's a first. Granted, John's deployed a lot so he's not home all the time, but he's never seen you this upset since you moved in next door 6 months ago.

Your partner hops out of the passenger side and runs up behind you, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Honey, please, forgive-," and John watches you turn around, get in their face, and snarl— like a dog ready to fight. Teeth bared in evident hostility, the skin on your nose scrunched up in fury. You look unreservedly feral, John thinks.

He hears you let out an animalistic growl before you notice John sitting on his porch. Pivoting on the balls of your feet, you stalk towards the house not waiting for your partner to follow.

If John coughed to cover the chuckle he let out at the sight of your partner scrambling behind you like a pathetic puppy, he'd never admit it.

Later that evening, John hears frantic pounding on his front door, and he freezes. It's almost midnight. He can't help but think that his enemies have found him, so he quietly moves to his bookshelf and grabs his loaded handgun. Pulling the slide back to chamber a round, he moves to cover when he hears a recognizable voice alongside the knocking.

"Please, Mr. Price, I only want to ask you something!"

With the handgun behind his back, he approaches cautiously, before undoing the locks and cracking it open a smidge. It's your partner, and they look jumpy.

"This is not an appropriate hour to be knocking on doors, by the way," he grumbles.

"I know, Mr. Price, and I apologize but I had an emergency."

John frowns. "I'm not the coppers."

"I just had a quick question for you."

He points the gun as he opens the door wider, finger on the trigger while still holding the firearm out of sight of your partner on the other side.

"Right, then. What is it?"

"I wanted to ask if you've seen my partner. They still haven’t come back and they've been gone since before I got home. I already called to file a missing person report."

John clenches his jaw.

"No, I haven't. I'll keep an eye out for you, though. Now, if you'd excuse me."

"Yes, of course. Have a good night, Mr. Price."

Closing the door, he tightens the grip on his gun. John is an interrogation expert. Reading body language is his second nature— so he wonders why they lied about calling the police.

In the morning, John goes out to ask if you'd come home when he notices you in the yard gardening with a pleased smile on your lips. His heart stutters at the sight. Oh, how lovely you looked taking care of your home. What he'd do to have a person like you for him to come back to— that he wishes it was you is a secret he's taking to his grave.

John shakes his head and clears his throat to catch your attention and you turn your head.

"Mr. Price, Good morning!", you greet.

Walking over to stand next to your kneeled form, he says, "Good morning, love. I'm only wanting to check up on you. Your partner came over late and seemed very distraught at your disappearance."

You purse your lips in annoyance. Interesting.

"I'm so sorry. I hope they didn't wake you, Mr. Price."

"Not at all, love, I tend to stay up late. And please, it's John."

You curl your mouth into a dimpled, teasing smile— enchanting him.

"Alright, John."

The way you said his name so alluringly is going to haunt him in his dreams, he knows it. With flaming cheeks, John pulls at his facial hair to distract himself from the direction his thoughts take.

"Right," he swallows hard, "Well. I—uh, figure that you didn't want your partner to know where you were, so be aware that you could always tell me anything. If only to know that you aren't missing."

He hears you sigh before taking off your gardening gloves and moves to stand when John reaches his hand out to assist and you take it. Your hand is so tiny in his, it makes him reluctant to let go. Dusting your pants, you say, "They knew where I'd be going. They've been letting me starve, and I'm ravenous." And your eyes look up to his.

There it is again. That predatory gaze. Like you'd eat him whole.

"I don't—" and you cut him off.

"I've got to take care of myself. I'm not going to sit around hungry, and I can't eat apologies."

Tipping your head to the side, you open your mouth to tell him something when the both of you are startled by a car honk. John quickly moves to block your body with his, the need to protect being instinctual, when he realizes that it's your partner in front of the driveway— and they do not look pleased.

John feels your hand on his bicep as you step around him, and he feels the egotistical urge to flex.

"Seems like I'm needed elsewhere. It was a pleasure speaking with you."

He looks at you with ocean-blue eyes and murmurs, "Pleasure's all mine, love. Remember what I said."

John follows the movement of your hand tucking a lock of hair behind your ear before you say, "You'll be the first person I go to, John", and you jump again at another honk.

He sees your eyes flick from him to the car and back at him— and the toothy smile you give him sends dread, like molasses, down his spine.

"I'll be seeing you, then."

And then you're getting into the car and closing the door with a slam, tires screeching on the pavement. Gone.

As John walks back to his house, he tries hard to not think back on your pointed ears, or how sharp your canine teeth had been, or how your pupils had dilated when looking at your partner— like a predator catching sight of its prey.

It's the witching hour, and John startles awake to breaking glass and some crashing from next door. Your house. Ripping the blanket off of him, he sprints to his closet and slips on some sweats and laces on his boots before taking out his NATO rifle— heading towards the back of his house. He slips out through the back door and walks up to the fence separating his backyard and yours. John slings the rifle to his back and jumps, fingers hooking over the edge of the fence, and climbs over it.

On light feet, he crouch-walks while aiming the rifle at your house fully alert. His ears pick up some human whimpering, and then a deep, low rumble that sends vibrations into his chest. What is that?

Clenching his teeth, he walks up and peers into the door window and his blood freezes in his veins. The house is a mess. Glass litters the floor, and the dining room table is splintered into pieces. Some blood splattered on the walls and smeared on the kitchen tiles. He turns the door handle, and it opens. Unlocked.

John thinks the worst has happened. A home invasion turned homicide. That he'll find your body lying in a pool of blood. Your normally captivating eyes lifeless. He shakes himself of his mild panic— now is not the time. Walking further into your home, boots softly crunching on debris, he spots your partner on the living room floor.

And they're bloody with injuries, trembling violently. John runs up to them and grabs their shoulder.

"Are you alright?!" he shouts. But your partner isn't responding, rather looking unblinkingly into a darkened hallway. John notices and swiftly aims his rifle down the hall. Then he hears or rather feels, another vicious guttural growl. Then he spots two glowing orbs in the dark like reflective tape shining with artificial light.

The orbs then rise, almost to the ceiling, and draw near slowly. John can't remember the last time he froze during a tense altercation, but then again, whatever the hell that is, isn't something he's ever dealt with in combat. He's snapped out of his reverie when the figure is lit up by the living room light and his jaw drops.

It's something out of stories. Tall, human body-shaped covered in black fur standing on two legs. Large human hands tipped with curved claws. Saliva dripping from its bared teeth and extra-long canines. Golden eyes with black slits and a long, scrunched snout. A werewolf.

Your partner screams before scrambling to hide behind John's body like a shield.

"Please! I didn't mean—", their pleading is cut off by another ferocious growl. John looks up at the werewolf and instantly recognizes those eyes. He's seen them before, on you— his cute little neighbor.

John remembers saying once that if you cannot recognize the target, you are the target. And those molten-gold eyes weren't looking at him but rather behind him. The werewolf's long arm reaches out to touch John's shoulder, slightly pushing him to the side. Its intent is clear— It's a predator on the hunt.

He shuffles out of the way and witnesses the werewolf wrap one clawed hand around your partner's ankle and yank— pulling them into the darkness. John hears them wailing, pleading for their life. Sees them clawing at the floor trying to stop the drag of their body but to no avail.

Not even a minute later, there's a sickening crunch and then the screaming stops— nothing but John's heavy breathing, soft gnashing of teeth, and more bones breaking. He slowly gets up from the ground and waits. For what, he doesn't know.

John then hears a door open and close. Something sounds like sticks being snapped into place, a loud muffled whimper, and then a door opening again. Out steps you, wrapped in a blanket with your hands and mouth dripping blood. Exhaling, he slowly walks up to you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

"That was you, then," he questions and you nod.

John sucks in a breath before asking another question.

"Why did you eat them?"

"They took the role of handler yet wanted me human. Domesticated. Shoved in a closet during a full moon. As if that could stop me."

You lock eyes with John, pupils blown wide open.

"Besides, no man can tame a predator by acting like prey."

He nods, head hanging low, conceding. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders and the other on your lower back, he kneels and with a grunt picks you up— carrying you out the front door.

"Let's get over to my house, I'll have this taken care of."

John feels your warm breath against his neck and grips your body tighter. Unlocking the door, he steps inside and deposits you on his couch, then jogs to his bedroom and gets his phone. He's tapping the screen when he hears you.

"John, I'm still hungry."

He stops and closes his eyes for a second, before moving to the door and holding it open.

Looking at you with a stony gaze, he says, "You will be home before daybreak. Not a minute later. Do I make myself clear?"

You nod and run up to him. Picking up his hand, you press his open calloused palm onto your cheek— nuzzling it— and give it a bloodied kiss, before running out and disappearing into the night.

John raises his hand to look at his palm and closes it tight. He already has blood on his hands, what's a little more. Back to his phone, he dials a number and puts it up to his ear.

"Simon. Yeah, I know it's late. Listen, I need you to come over. There's some cleaning up we have to do. Bring a mop." and hangs up.

If holding on to your leash is how you stay with him, then he's holding it with an iron fist and never letting go. Although, it'd probably be a good idea to move away from this neighborhood if he wants to show off his cute little neighbor wife.

A/N: I got inspired by shakira's song ofc. love it. Thank you to my beta for gassing it up. You a real one.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price fanfic #captain price x reader #captain price #cod x reader #mw2 #john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain price x you

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samkerrworshipper · 4 months

Text

acl’s | sam kerr x reader

this is me trying to work through my devastation but it’s 3am, i’m crying and writing this on my phone. :( it’s a blurb btw

you have to admit the timing of the call should be a little bit of a shock.

it doesn’t cross your mind when your girlfriends contact pops up on your phone, but in hindsight it probably should.

it’s not odd for sam to call you multiple times a day when she’s away on camp, if she has a spare minute here or there, so you are delighted when you see her face pop up on your screen.

you press the green button almost immediately, pulling your phone up to rest at your ear.

“Hiya chook, how’s the weather treating you?”

When you don’t get an immediate response you become a little bit worried, but nothing abnormal.

“Y/n? It’s Emma here.”

It’s when the voice of your fiancés coach hits your ears that you are immediately worried.

“Emma, what can I do for you?”

You’ve talked to Emma hundreds of times, but you can tell from her voice that this is different.

“Look, Sam’s just come off the pitch after a little incident, it’s looking like she’s done her ACL.”

Your gut wrenches, and it takes all of your power to stop your lunch from pouring out across the dining table your sat at.

“What?”

Your head immediately begins to reel, 9 months. That’s the Olympics, Emma’s last season at Chelsea, so many things that Sam has over this year that are now done.

Your mind goes back to Sam’s previous ACL injury, how she’d talked about how it had been the hardest thing mentally and physically for her, that it was almost the end of her career.

“It’s not looking good, we’ll have to wait until she’s had scans to confirm the severity but both her and our doctors are fairly certain it’s her cruciate ligament.”

You take a deep breath, fuck.

“Okay, okay. Is she okay?”

It’s a stupid question, of course she isn’t okay, she’s done her fucking acl, but your concern goes further than her obvious injury.

“She’s in a lot of pain, and she’s pretty torn up. Millie has been keeping her company but all she wants to do is talk to you.”

You nod your head, you know you shouldn’t have to prepare yourself to talk to her but you take your time to take a deep breath, keep yourself strong for her.

“Can you put her on for me please, Emma?”

You hear some bustling around.

“Of course, she wanted me to call you to get the facts straight, but i’ll put her on now.”

You hear a little bit more bustling before complete silence, and that seems to be your queue.

“Sammy, honey?”

You hear a deep, laboured breath crackling from the other side of the phone.

“I’m here.”

Her words are strung out, you know that Sam will be trying her hardest to keep it together, she simply isn’t one to be publicly over emotional, no matter the situation.

“Hi honey.”

You know the best thing right now is to leave her to talk about her injury, you leave ghe ball in her court.

“My whole year is over.”

You hear her voice break, and you know that she’s crying even though you can’t hear any sobs or evidence of tears.

“I’m right here chook, so are all the girls, whatever you need.”

When you hear a sob, it takes everything you have to not start crying with her.

“Need to see you, need you here.”

Sam’s not a needy person, so to hear her asking for something like this is concerning to you.

“How about I turn on facetime chook, will that make you feel a bit better?”

When you hear a little murmur of a ‘yes’ you click the button, waiting for it to connect once she accepts the request.

It’s a matter of seconds before you are met with the visual of Sam, her head resting on Millie's shoulder on a physio bed, tears cascading freely down her olive skin.

“Oh Sammy honey.”

She only begins to cry more, and you are fairly certain once this call ends you’ll be rushing straight to the bathroom to expel all of the bile that’s built up in your throat.

“I’m supposed to be captain, I need to be okay, I need to play the olympics, I couldn’t play the fucking world cup. This could be my last major tournament.”

You want to tell her that she’s being ridiculous, but it would achieve nothing, Sam needs to feel validated in her feelings right now, not like you and the whole world are against her.

“Sam this isn’t your fault, you couldn’t have avoided it, it was just a stupid freak accident, unfortunately it happens in the sport you play.”

Sam looks so broken, Millie’s matching her energy, the normally energetic blonde looking very sullen.

“What if this is it for me?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, it’s a stupid statement but a very real feeling that Sam has.

“Sam, how about I come to Morocco? I’ll catch the next flight out, and i’ll come and be there for you, is that something you want?”

You don’t want to step over her boundaries, but just the look on her face tells you that she needs to be comforted, she needs to cry and whilst her teammates are great, Sam is never going to be that vulnerable in front of them.

“You don’t have to.”

Her own statement contradicts every single feeling you can see inside her.

“I want to.”

Sam’s tears only begin to fall heavier.

“Please, I need you.”

#woso #woso community #sam kerr appreciation post #sam kerr imagine #i love sam kerr #samantha may #sweet sam #sam kerr x reader #sam kerr #screaming crying throwing up #woso imagine #woso imagines #chelsea wfc #chelsea women #acls #fuck acls

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fallenneziah · 3 months

Text

More 09 trans!ghost smut for my dudes.

Cw: Gloryhole, trans!ghost, 09!Ghost, amab reader. A/B/O dynamics. Blowjobs. Getting to the point where I kind of just want to make a male OC for my little man Riley.

A/n: I bring you more food. *Shakes bag*

You knew Ghost wasn't yours. Of course your side of base had gotten up to some lasting habits the last little bit including marking down those going away for their heats. You had ways of dealing with it. Especially since Captain MacTavish was being handed as many under the table favors as you were.

You didn't mind it. You didn't mind trying to do some paperwork and feeling the intense heat filling the room from under your desk. Smelling pheramones that licked off the paint on the walls and stung your nose.

Feeling Ghost's fingernails digging into your thighs, throat relaxing as he sloppily caught the spit that dripped down your balls with his tongue. Looking up at you as best he could while he pressed his face flush to your groin. Moaning and soaking himself in your scent and your skin.

Ghost certainly wasn't yours. But you had every right to be jealous of him. He was the town whore for his captains and COs. The recruits very rarely got to have any of what he could offer. You were just lucky you were in his roster of cocks to suck when he felt like it.

He was extremely professional off the field. But as soon as he felt he wanted it or that heat set in. Simon Riley was a changed man.

He wasn't one to get embarrassed either. So seeing him waltz into your office was no shocker. Nor was him walking over to your desk, pulling his hoodie over his head, tossing it in the corner of your office and then promptly shoving his face in your crotch.

"Well you're proud aren't you?"

He'd only huff, waiting impatiently for you to give him the word, before you finally leaned back and spread your legs, letting him unzip your pants and pull your cock out. Stroking the flaccid length, pulling up his mask to get his warm mouth over the soft head.

Crystal blue eyelids fluttering as he pressed himself down into you.

Riley was your good boy as far as you were concerned. Fuck the sounds coming from MacTavish's room or hearing him taking a pounding from a second lieutenant he had been avoiding all day.

Today you felt particularly on edge for one reason. Simon's heat would be starting sometime. He'd not been acting well the past couple days so it was clear that you were right. But you hadn't seen Simon since then.

And that made you upset. Knowing he could be in heat and he went to someone else before you.

Your jealousy kept you from doing work, getting up and wandering the halls. Just get it out of you, maybe hear Riley taking it in that pretty pussy.

You walked near the bathroom, hearing the door swing open and a recruit walked out. He zipped up his pants, looking around and spotting you. Quickly he rushed away embarrassed, not wanting to be caught up in whatever was happening.

Odd. You went to the bathroom, pushing open the door and hearing chuckles and groans. Sounds of sex filled the air, the smell of lingering sharp wine filled with putrid semen slicking the floor.

One of the lieutenants saw you, unsure if you would be in on what was happening.

"What's going on?" You asked, but it didn't take long for you to catch one particular scent you knew well. Peppermint candies and kindle staining the walls of scent. Hitting you like a blast of cold air on a summers day.

"One of the soldiers is in heat." The lieutenant said. You saw two of the bathroom stalls open in either side of one locked stall. You knew them well. The inspection team could never figure out what the holes were for.

You squatted, bending down to see familiar shoes and bunched combat pants. You grinned wickedly, feeling arousal stir in your gut. "Slutty boy..." You muttered, standing.

"You know which one?" You asked, knowing they wouldn't. They shook their heads.

You didn't waste any time. You walked to the stall to the right, seeing the kid in there pressing his groin further against the hole in the stall. Breathing heavy past his lips and bucking lightly.

You touched his shoulder, making him jump. "I-I-"

"Times up kiddo."

He blushed, gripping the top of the stall divider and screwing his hips a few more times, no longer able to draw out his orgasm.

A slick pop could be heard,followed by a sharp deep breath from the middle stall. A low groan, and a jostle on the stall dividers meant someone had found their new spot across from you.

You ushered the kid out, sloppily he wiped his cock and shoved it, still hard and throbbing in his pants.

You didn't feel much remorse, closing the stall door and locking it. No one came in until you were done.

You slowly unbuckled your belt, bending down to the hole. "Riley~ you're being a bad boy." You said lowly.

You heard a soft whine, seeing a hand reach through the hole, wiggling fingers. You grabbed it, pressing his fingers to your lips.

"Please."

You could tell he was desperate, the smell was almost sickening.

You pushed him back through, undoing the flap of your jeans and pulling the zipper. You pulled your cock out, slowly stroking it, feeling the veins pop and your cock grow hard just from the thought of his lips pursed around your swollen head.

Pre-cum slowly built up on the tip, and you fed it into the hole, feeling warm breath sweep across the tip. You shuddered, keeping your thumb pressed on the base of your cock. You couldn't see him, but you felt him jostle, his lips brushing your cock, moaning a little.

From the second stall down, someone was having their fun, their cock burrowed deep inside Riley's dripping tight cunt.

Simon took your cock in hand, slowly licking it, lapping at the pre-cum before going over the head. Your cock pressed into his throat, feeling his tight reflexes tense around your fat length.

It was hot. The noises, the groans, the slapping skin and squelching juices. You couldn't help yourself, thrusting forward and forcing him to take more of you, his nose brushing against the stall divider.

He pressed his palm flat on the divider for stability, forcing his throat to relax and awkwardly bobbing his head on your cock.

You could imagine sparkling blue eyes leaking tears down freckled pale cheeks. Choking and spitting up saliva, tongue feeding against the bottom of your cock as you force him to take more like a big boy.

But this wasn't enough. Not for Riley, or for you.

"Come on, you're taking your sweet ass time."

The voice next to you said, a cocky attitude and a rough accent.

"You can wait your fucking turn." You replied, knowing exactly who was behind that door. You chuckled, groaning softly as Riley's lips sucked your cock, pushing himself down, choking and then pulling away. Saliva dripping from his sore, raw lips to the tip of your swollen cock.

"You know, Riley. You're really a slut."

Riley let out a soft moan, his body shaking and jerking as he was taken.

"F-Fuck... Captain please..."

You hummed lowly, urging him back onto your cock. You felt pride knowing without even seeing him you could coax him back to your cock. Knowing that Riley was rightfully your slut no matter what anyone said. "Fuck... Suck it like you mean it. I know you can do better that that." You gripped the top of the divider, forcing your groin flush against the hole.

His warm wet mouth and throat were perfect. Tight and hot. Just for you.

"Good boy, good boy, choke on it, come on, I know you can, you fucking slut, you love sucking me off, don't you, taking my thick cock and letting everyone hear."

Riley batted tears away from his eyelashes, his knees feeling weak as he felt seed pooling into his cunt. He choked, forcing himself down on your cock, tongue lapping at the underbelly of veins as his own orgasm dripped into his messy pubic hair.

It felt so hot. He couldn't remove one more inch of clothing but fuck. This was all he could do to combat that feral little beast inside him that wanted to ride cock until his hips fell off or someone put a baby in him.

Wanting to drive seed from you, wanting to taste it, to enjoy it like he always did. He continued to suck, your hips pressed to the cold stall wall, hearing choke and feeling him swallow. Your orgasm building up, your cock pulsing in his mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, Riley, I'm gonna cum, gonna fill that pretty mouth, gonna make you drink every last drop. God damnit you're a good fucking boy, aren't you?"

Simon only sucked. Kept his mouth going and busy. With one last swallow you groaned, shooting your load in his mouth. His gag reflex went haywire, trying to swallow and coughing on the thick spend.

Pulling away from your cock and choking it up down his chin, dripping into the floor. He panted, swallowing thickly to recover. Your cock still twitching in the hole, leaking the last drops.

"F-fuck."

"I know you're not done."

The other stall door closed, a recruit stumbling out, looking back to make sure they weren't caught, and left the bathroom.

Simon panted, knees shaking. You slowly pulled your cock away, wiping what Simon didn't get and tucking yourself back into your jeans. "When you're done you know exactly where to go."

You fixed your belt and opened the stall. Letting the soldier waiting impatiently inside. You still heard Simon choke and pant, knowing you seared his insides with another imprint. Still your slut, still your hole, no matter how many other men thought they could fill him full. You'd always, always exceed.

#simon ghost riley #cod smut #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader smut #call of duty #male reader smut #dom male reader #alpha male reader #omega simon riley #trans simon ghost riley #09 ghost #ghost x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #Simon ghost riley x male reader smut #little blurb

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tarjapearce · 6 months

Note

OMFG NOW U HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING WITH MIGUEL AND READER INTRODUCING BABY BELLA (that’s just a nickname i’d give gabriella if she was my daughter 😭) TO FOOTBALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭

i’m from germany that’s FOOTBAAALLLL

I was watching a kid play after I came home from work and AHHH reminded me of this ask!! (And don't worry, over here in Honduras we call it football too c: ) Hope you like :')

WARNINGS: Fluff, domestic shenanigans ~

There was little changes in your life after Gabriella was born. Domestic life sure had its perks, and with Miguel everything was thrilling, exhausting and tearjerker.

You had moved to your new home. A two floored home that you and Miguel bought to grow in. Gabriel remained in his now single apartment, teasing his older brother to no end once he saw him with one of your aprons as he cooked dinner while you were bathing Gabi.

Chaos was a constant part of your lives, discovering things as new parents sparked things between your relationship with Miguel. Your teamwork had improved significantly, and so your communication.

Even though there were little misunderstandings here and there, Gabi seemed the common ground that you needed to not fall back into the bad habits pre-marriage you had and sometimes slipped away into your new stage of life.

Gabi or Gabibi, a little play word for Habibi, a little nickname you've given her after watching foreign novelas with Miguel, had grown into a wonderful one year old toddler. And today, she'd witness her Papa's first soccer game.

Chubby cheeks, vivacious eyes that followed Miguel everywhere, a bubbly laugh that instantly melt him was always there whenever he showed up.

His princesa, his Solecito was always shining hard on his rainy days or whenever he had a fight with you. But now, she was resting on your lap, looking for him among the other team players after you lathered her skin with sunscreen and put a little hat to avoid any discomfort.

It wasn't hard to miss her dear Papa, not when he yelled like no other to Peter, and was bossy enough to make him the captain.

Gabi's eyes followed Miguel and she'd squeal and blabble overjoyed whenever he dribbled and kicked the ball here and there. She'd make the grabby hands to him and mumble a pa pa while clapping whenever he was close enough.

"Yes, that's Papa"

You smooched her cheeks while she kept her eyes on Miguel. Another loud squeal came after the whistle echoed, announcing the half time.

Miguel approached and she called him with baby and drooly words. A toothless grin came into her face while Miguel loomed over the both. Just like you, her eyes always looked at him with such marvel it made him weak.

You handed him a towel to dry off the sweat. He then kissed your temple and took Gabi in his arms to them shower her chubby and lovely face in kisses, earning him a raucous laugh and squeal while her tiny hands touched his.

"If I get a to score a goal, is for you and Mama, ok?"

"Ma ma"

"She's been cheering for you nonstop."

You chuckled while getting her back to drink some water.

"I heard her over the field"

"Even though my ears have suffered a bit, she loves watching you play."

"Pa pa!"

"Yes, mi princesa?"

Gabi blabbed and clapped, eyes keen and settled on the ball.

"You think she likes it?"

You took her again as Miguel drank from his bottle.

"Wanna find out?"

---

And against all odds, Gabriella had seemed to take a liking in watching Miguel play. Things seemed to take a turn for her when there was game nights in your own home.

Meaning, Miguel, Peter, Jessica's husband and Gabriel would gather up in the living room to yell and watch at the screen, beverages and snacks on the table. Despite the noise, Gabi wanted to be there, next to Miguel.

It was comical and endearing to see her mimic him whenever he was angry. If he yelled, she'd give a presumably angry screech, and if he celebrated, Gabi would clap and burst into a laughing fit.

Miguel had gotten her a little soft ball that she loved kicking, Miguel would enter his narrator mode and build up the tension to then help his daughter score.

He lifted her up in the air and tickled her.

And now, seeing her kick the ball and play in a little league school team, made his chest swell in pride.

His smile widened as he waved back at Gabi, that had greeted him right after scoring her first goal ever. A little cupcake was to celebrate as you recorded while your dear six years old baby girl smeared Miguel's cheek with frosting.

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff

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ms0milk · 2 months

Text

𝟏𝟔 | 𝐇𝐞𝐦 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"This is so much worse than fury, and you rip your hand away from his to take a step back. You didn’t mean to. Bakugou stares like a dragonslayer, heartbroken."

cw blatantly suggestive, an accidental kiss and the panic that follows. bkg doesn't know why he's been looking for you. you couldn't be angry about it if you tried. laughter, bite marks, magic, a warm hiding spot. 8.1k

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A slap across the face and the spatter of blood that follows in an arc across fine rugs. Bakugou bleeds when he tries not to think of you. You are too easy to be with and too difficult to find.

Your prince and fragments of rehearsal fineries that you would beam at if you appeared in this frigid foyer– which he knows only because you’ve done nothing but smile at him for seven cursed days– storms towards warmer hallways. There’s nothing for it but to track you down. He wakes up and you are not outside his door. He eats and meets and eats again and you do not materialize behind him or emerge from shadowed corners to brandish a weapon when unpleasant lords are unpleasant. Are you still following orders or are you finally sick of him?

Bakugou pretends he is not walking quickly. A maid has pointed him in your direction. The waitstaff here has no particular affinity for either of you, so they’ve tried their hardest to answer his questions this week and be rid of Alderans for the day. After all, once he finds you he doesn’t bother anyone else until dawn.

Find is a strong word, the maid thinks as she chews a dry lip. You don’t seem to be hiding from him.

It's the busiest morning, second only to tomorrow’s actual ball, and Bakugou has spent the whole of it in dress fittings and board meetings and appetizer tastings. He was meant to rehearse the first waltz with Fuyumi but for four days in a row she’s had her hands full with final adjustments to royal rosters and seating arrangements. The king is home afterall. And he does not dote on his daughter.

Bakugou turns up a second staircase once he arrives in the center castle and barks at a guard, stationed and startled, in the doorway where he emerges. Shinsou clutches his chest and stares at the imposing prince, heavy but silent.

“Boo. You seen my captain?” Bakugou only half-waits for a response from the apprentice before following his intuition to the left. You like to hide in odd places.

“Yeah,” Shinsou breathes and finds his position again, “carrying her lunch to the catwalks.”

Bakugou grins and hopes you can feel him wherever you are, rolling his eyes.

She was in common clothes– I think, headed towards the throne room.

Haven’t seen her, sir.

Your Alderan? It’s freezing, she should request a jacket from the supply corps.

Five days ago he found you rehousing spiders in the rafters of the greenhouse much to the chagrin of delicate flowers. Two days ago he finally spotted you among a dozen soldiers all helping the blacksmith resilver the inlay of the soldier quarter’s door. Yes, he’d told you to leave his babysitting to Kirishima but he didn’t expect you to listen.

Yesterday, Bakugou caught you wandering through the ninth-story walkways, the walkways sculpted onto the side of the castle like wasp nests where the archers hide. Your fingers gripped the hem of your padded tunic, red with cold, and your back pressed flat to the white castle marble even as you craned to gaze the city and sea over the edge of the balustrade.

Your prince almost screamed when he glanced out one of ten thousand pale windows in his search when instead of the depressing gray sky, it was your braids whipping in the wind outside, several stories higher in the air than he would have liked you.

“Eyes!” He jerked the window open and stuck out his head.

“The marble is too smooth Highness, please stay inside.”

White pointelle curtains rattled on their rods with the ferocity of the afternoon wind. “Come now,” he’d barked. He swallowed a roar to keep from startling you off the wall. You turned from the view towards his outstretched hand and half a golden body out the little window, and smiled.

You smiled from the cobwebs when he asked you what the fuck you were doing in blue begonias. You smiled at him among the crowd when he mimed flexing from the gallery to mock the blacksmith. You smiled when he caught you practicing sword forms for bored children and again when he and Kirishima joined in. You smiled without thought and he warmed at the sight of it. He laughed.

He laughed when the florist shrieked over a clutch of spider eggs and he laughed when you hammered Aizawa’s door crooked in your distraction. He laughed when Kaminari tried to teach you to juggle apples in potion storage, and very softly he laughed when he found you asleep beside proofing ovens.

The castle’s vanity seeps into every orifice, it bleeds from the seamless walls and into seed-sized crannies. Family portraits, royal crests, kingdom’s colors, wards against death written in old Takoban like they think this is the only kingdom on the continent where people might live forever. Superstition and agitation nick the Alderan like thorns through cold blue hallways. He itches for forests. On the third floor of the East Wing there is a great open gallery. It presides over the grand staircase of the castle’s entrance so that an invading army couldn’t so much as piss over the threshold before the legion of soldiers that fit upstairs fired off their arrows.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself a roost here, warmaster.

He knows where you are. He can hear the king shouting from an open door downstairs and crosses the entrance gallery, bathed in warm sunlight from its volley of windows. It takes him exactly as long to walk it as it takes stained glass heat to pink his shoulders and with a perfect golden hue he dips under a doorway to find you perched at the lip of a ledge. You’re always about to fucking fall off something.

You sit cross-legged behind a black railing, picking at the cup of fruit beside you. Your hair is getting longer, wilder, and your braids tumble with white ribbons as you follow the scene below. Two stories below the ballroom is awash in afternoon light and hundreds of potential floral arrangements with the king dead in the middle, roaring at artisans. Prince Natsuo is slightly behind him and his neck is an agitated red. You pop a berry in your mouth.

You were always going to love the catwalks– the thin system above important rooms that servants use to gauge crowds and light the tall candles. All of tomorrow it’ll be crawling with footmen and today it looks like it’s already been dusted in preparation, although it’s not meant to be seen. You sit comfortably in its shadows and watch.

Tension melts from his veins when he finds you and nothing replaces it, so Bakugou isn’t quite sure what he’s thinking when he slips inside to be closer. Jeanist taught him too, he can be quiet. You wipe juice from your lip with your thumbs and polish it with a lick. Your fingertips are purple. You run them through your hair to push the braids behind your shoulders and focus again on the agitated king and his crying arachnophobic florists.

“You stare like the best of ‘em,” Bakugou whispers as he drops behind you and cups a hand over your mouth in case you make a startled sound, although, you react before he actually finishes the thought or announces himself, and jerk forward to catch his gentle hand with your teeth.

King, prince, artisan, maids, seagulls, and dustbunnies pause their meeting to agree that a grunt did in fact come from the chandeliers and that they aren’t insane, before continuing their jury over the fate of the party decorations. A whiff of caramel is the only thing that keeps you from breaking the hand with your bite and just as quickly as you attempt to reveal the intruder through pain, you swing your arm around to cover the prince’s mouth before he gives away your position with a yelp or fireblast. The momentum flattens you both.

Maybe one day Bakugou will remember that you are filled with the same fire that he is, before trying to bother you. When did the urge to bother you even occur to him? Both of you, square on your backs to hide properly in shadows, are close enough for your hand to still be firmly planted over his face like a muzzle. He smiles first this time. You smell like blackberries.

Your prince wires his jaw shut when he laughs in the shadows to keep from kissing your palm. In the seconds that the king and his entourage fall silent, Bakugou can only just barely contain huffs from his nostrils and the wet at the corners of his eyes. You stare like always and he must have melted fast enough because horror and apologies haven’t tumbled out of you yet. His dragon’s nails have gotten longer. Loose and wild hairs frame the face he only ever knew as perfectly kempt and unreadable. He cannot stop finding new things to notice here on the itchy rug beside you and he’s grateful you have only covered his mouth because his firebrand eyes gleam when you succumb to your own smile. Immediately you hide it behind your own free hand to stay quiet and the pair of you swallow stupid mirth in the dark.

Where did his anger go? “Ow,” the prince rasps when he’s collected himself and pulls your hand into his.

“Excuse me, Highness,” you whisper back. Your smile still rattles him like a blow to the side of the head. What the fuck is it about you that makes his pulse drum? Bakugou rolls onto his back. If you were sick of him you probably wouldn’t lay so close.

He tilts his gaze back to you, “What are you doing up here?”

Watching, you mouth like you’re signaling him to shut up. You pull your hand away from his and look over your shoulder towards the ledge where roars and curses roll up from the king like crashing waves.

“Why?”

It’s as close as Bakugou has ever seen you come to rolling your eyes. You blink at him and press forward. Something horribly soft started to grow the night you helped him carry drunk friends to bed. Something like rot. It eats away at the strongest parts of him, the parts of him that are poised and beautiful and ready for war. It’s eating you too. The strongest parts of you that are silent and obedient and deadly.

You drag your body across the floor to be closer to him– so much closer– so close that your thigh practically drapes over his and you cup your hand to his ear so you can whisper an answer that he can’t even focus long enough to hear. Maybe the rot started earlier. Maybe he should never have picked a fight with you.

A sudden scream flies up from the ballroom and Bakugou reacts before you do, less to offer protection and more because he knows you’ll launch right off the walkway if he doesn’t hold you down, but still his hold is protective when the scream is followed by a pillar of white orange fire that flies high and soots crystals in the chandelier. It’s brief and scalding like a geyser and you are not strong enough to protest your prince tucking all of you under his chest in the interim. You smell like home, like forests like moss. The scent of the sea is finally falling out of your hair.

“In what world is this my responsibility?” the king seethes. His drop in volume is menacing and it echoes violently in the empty room, “pick your own fucking flowers, I have work to do.”

The ballroom doors are not meant to be closed or opened with such force and they scream louder than he can when he burns his way through, leaving the prince and his artisans in the cold and terrible hall. A ball in Takoba is an oxymoron. A malicious idea. Bakugou leans back on his arm to release you and sits up to watch Natsuo console his workers. The eldest Takoban prince wears patience well. Whose idea was this party? The same person who sent for Enji? Belligerent. Bakugou hasn’t seen the queen in weeks.

He grumbles before he turns to look at you, “Missed what you said.” But when he does finally look, you are so much Alderan that the cold of Takoba falls off his shoulders like frost. Maybe that’s why he’s been searching for you. The fire that only a life in his castle could stoke, ravages the blacks of your eyes. Even though you are silent, he knows what you’re thinking.

“Down girl,” he grins and kicks his legs out from under him to settle more comfortably. Flowers below are picked in whispered consensus and the room empties under your glare. The sun has started to set. The far wall of the ballroom is, in classic Takoban fashion, one long series of windows taller than most houses and the sea shines behind it in a trick of rolling warm shapes like smoke from a fireplace. You both linger at the edge of the shadows up on high. Bakugou watches you shamelessly.

“I will not attack the king.”

“Who’re you trying to convince?”

You think for a few seconds and turn to him with an awkwardly soft look that crackles into a smile too easily for you to be the same girl who grew up learning how to kill in his castle. Everything you do but fight is bizarre. Like blue fire, he cannot make himself look away from you.

“What’ll you do at the ball?”

“What do you mean?” The ballroom is empty so there’s no need to whisper but neither of you know how to talk to the other.

Bakugou cocks his head and doesn’t need to hope you know when he rolls his eyes anymore because he can finally do it in front of you. He crosses his arms, “Do you dance? I can’t think of anything else to keep you distracted enough to avoid assassination.”

But you are already distracted by something and he can see the moment you stop listening to him talk. All the better, he thinks. He might have just asked you to dance with him.

“Your hand Highness, I– mers–” and you reach forward to take up his bitten fist like touching him is suddenly the easiest thing in the world. Your fingertips are ice-cold. The rot spreads. “You startled me, I’m so sorry.”

Now Bakugou isn’t listening. You rub at the divots your teeth left in the side of his palm and press them like imperfections in pie dough. Your hands are so much more slender than his. So much rougher. Do you feel it too? The death of fury? How the ocean slowly laps at the bonfire until wood can no longer fight back? Do you remember the library like he does? He wants more than anything to sit in a nook and read for a thousand years in recovery from this trip. Is it a safe place for you, or has he ruined it? Do you miss home like he does? Or has he ruined that too?

“No. I’m sorry,” he admits before thinking. He startled you after all, but immediately he is silent with realization; breath holds in his lungs. Fuck, that’s not– you asked him so clearly not to do that. Is he incapable of leaving you with anything? You watch his fingers twitch for a moment like you can feel his heartbeat there and then look up at him and stare. He’s not sorry for sneaking up on you at all. That’s not what he meant.

Eyes was an apt nickname, if not a little mean. Bakugou has never envied telepaths before. How ignorant he was, to think of you as the bloody little girl in a velvet carriage. You hold his hand now with just as much strength as you did all those years ago; obviously it was strength and not desperation. You did not hang laundry to thank him. You did not catch fruit to thank him. You didn’t learn to fight the rain or windows or soldiers or the sea for your prince. It was only him, making magic for you.

“Never thought I’d hear a sheep apologize to the sheepdog.”

He startles a little, just a slight widening of his eyes, because you hold his hand up to see the ring of teeth clearly and cover your chuckle with the tips of your fingers.

“Callin me a sheep?”

“You are biteable like one.”

Do you know what you’re doing? Bakugou wonders as his own smile escapes the confines of horror. He snatches his hand back and leans against the black iron railing to face you. Quick wit, quicker draw, why do you hide such pleasant things under such a ferocious– the Alderan blinks and his face falls for half a second again in realization.

You blink back because you cannot read his mind, “Are you okay, sir?”

The same fire. If he stopped and thought for a single fucking second you wouldn’t have been the enigma protecting his home. You would have been a girl that he wanted very much, to talk to in his ceaseless boredom. He melts into a smile again and this time his teeth glint, “Don’t call me that.”

Winter really has arrived; the sun sets faster with each second and soon the ballroom below is a great orange pool. He was meant to rehearse the opening waltz today and the thought of you watching him, concealed, makes his ears hot. Florals drift up and up from their vases where they’re warmed in afternoon light.

You cross your legs and turn too, so that the prince isn’t just staring at a profile. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“To what?”

“The ball, Highness. Are they fun?”

“You’ve attended balls,” he grunts and scans his memory for the last party thrown in Aldera, although you don’t appear in the pictures his brain conjures up. “They’re fine. Loud.”

You nod. There are ten-thousand things he could think to ask you and a hundred more questions he knows that the answers will spur but sitting beside you in the dark without a threat to either of your lives is new and overwhelming. Your wild hair makes wild shapes.

“Fuyumi wants to dress you up.”

You don’t find that as funny as he does and you’re gawking when you turn from the view of the ballroom to look at him. He thinks you aren’t afraid of him– he hopes– but he knows you still won’t say what you long to for fear of sounding unprofessional. He’ll have to work on that.

“She gave up on Ochako years ago.”

“Is it a gown?”

“Takoban,” he rests his head on the metal too, enjoying all the scandalized expressions your pretty lips make, “frilly lace, the works.”

You consider this for a moment and make the shape of his name before swallowing it. One more time, “I see.” And you turn back away to think some more, about how to phrase something unprofessional. He’s teasing, he hasn’t seen the damn thing but for a moment your prince can see you so clearly, sewn tight into a dress made of sealace. You try to speak again, fail, and lean closer. Your breath is sweet from fruit and your bowl is empty behind you.

“I can’t wear blue for another second, Highness, I’ll hurl the tailor into the sea.”

Bakugou spits over the railing in amusement and huffs, a subdued panic, when he crosses his arms again.

“Highness please,” you chuckle, “I’ll get violent,” and you smile under the frown, which just serves to make you look even more like a dragon– like you’ll make good on your word– and less like an obedient footsoldier. How do you do it? What are you doing to him? Bakugou can only stare with a rough affection because if he tried to speak right now something might come out.

You run a hand back through your braids to settle them where you like them to lay. It’s draconic, regal, every way you sit perch and glare from the clearest part of any room. His mother calls it King’s Corner, or the Seat of the Queen, that perfect spot where you can see everything important without showing your back to a soul. That’s always where he finds you. That’s your secret. He pinches an ear between his knuckles to try and cool it down.

“Takoba’s lucky you aren’t a mage,” he manages. He has to look away to say it but he does manage, “should thank you for it.”

“I did try,” you don’t need to manage back. Proximity to him isn’t eating you alive. “And I don’t work for thank yous, thank you very much.”

When Bakugou was ten years old he celebrated his birthday in a parlor with boughs of cherry blossoms and sweets for which he never really had an appetite. He was doted on and he worked hard to deserve it so that anything he wanted to do that day, and any birthday thereafter, was his. You were not celebrated with cake. He wouldn’t know until years later that his mother brought you gifts and good food on your birthday because he could find you every day of the year at work somewhere in his castle. You did not fall ill, you did not fail, and on his birthday you, nine years old, practiced forms in the paths between spring orchards just downwind from the parlor. Jeanist was seated inside with him among the family’s guests. No appetite for cake. Bakugou only celebrated ten birthdays and you have never stopped breaking his heart.

“Tried what?”

You ruffle your own hair so you don’t have to look at him either because at least one thing embarrasses you. “Magic.”

“Magic.”

“It’s not funny,” you chirp at his flat tone and round on him with your legs crossed. He leans back when your voice comes out a bit louder than expected and his bitten fist aches when it clenches. “I would copy you.”

The rot makes him weak and useless and susceptible to your stare, but the rot makes you fearless.

“I used to watch you studying– when we were really little– when we were both supposed to be eating with everyone in the Hall. You used to,” you look briefly to your side like someone important might be watching you acting so casually and it dims that fire he needs in your eyes.

“Used to what?” he smiles. He knows you watched him, you must know that too. Finish, please finish your story, he wants to hear your voice tell you more about home.

“Used to watch you flail your chubby arms until sparks came out.”

When Bakugou laughs this time he tries not to hold anything back, if only just to douse you in oil and keep the fire alight. Fucking please, just talk.

“I used to try every night too!–” you laugh, slightly louder, “– wind up my arms tight and spin around my room after curfew– disturb the horses– pretend to be a dragon.”

“Your runty prince looked like a dragon?”

You grin, “My runty prince taught himself magic, didn’t he? What’s wrong with wanting to breathe a little fire?”

“I don’t breathe fire, dumbass.”

“You still make miracles. Ever seen a dragon?”

“Of course I have.”

“Have you ever sheltered from a spray of ethereal flames?”

He frowns and smirks, confused, as if to ask, why have you? And the flint tinder in the bright part of your eyes sparks white hot.

“Melting, crushing, it’s completely inescapable without a barrier mage,” you pull your knee up with a bit of theatrics and lean because with everything inside of you except for actual realization, you want him to listen too. “Pink and red, blue, green golden and white hot. Highness, has no one ever told you how beautiful your magic is? You make magic like a dragon, who wouldn’t want a blessing like that?”

No one would want this cursed fucking magic that prickles his palms with sweat in the dark for no other reason than because you are looking at him, when all he wanted was– he just wanted to see you– watch you, he didn’t need you to watch him back and now the fire of Aldera he keeps trying to warm beside will blast him all the way to the wick. This is the flattery he hears so much about from his blushing mother.

“‘s not special. My magic maims people.”

“So do I.”

He frowns deeper, “Not the same.”

“I worked hard to maim people, it’s not the same because what I do isn’t beautiful.”

“That’s not–” he doesn’t think that. Don’t think that he thinks that, “–work isn’t beautiful. War isn’t beautiful.”

“You’ve never seen war. Highness you make–”

“Fuck off,” he tosses at you like it’s ever worked before.

“I won’t.”

“Eyes–”

“– it’s beautiful.”

“I make bombs.”

“You make starfall.”

Bakugou stares. Rough affection, yeah right, he’s melting.

You fall back on your hips when you realize you’ve broken clear through the confines of professionalism and the embarrassment sets in quickly. Eyes dart sideways, chest and knees turn. Your embarrassment is a subtle grip on fraying rugs. What do you do to your heart to make it pull so strong in every direction? Is it a spell? One that makes him quiet and happy to wait for his silent guard to speak again. This must be how the queen feels. You turn fully back to the rising orange light of the ballroom below and your lips part before any words are actually ready to come out.

The first time you try to speak, he doesn’t hear you. Bakugou traces the path between your shiny scars with his gaze. One below your ear to the one at your eyebrow and down again, past an old cut in your cheek. You couldn’t douse the forest fire behind those lashes if you tried. Not under orders or oath. Not from embarrassment.

“What does it feel like?” You whisper, looking a great distance down past abandoned flowers.

Both of you have fallen closer to each other in the waves of your nothing conversation, so much so that your shoulders would press together if the rot just ate away a little bit more. Bakugou’s heart sinks into the ballroom. It plummets like a drowned man.

“Gimme your hand.”

This is a fucking mistake, but all your prince can see is the last time pure joy ever sailed across your face in an evening spent around your wonderful campfire. He caused and extinguished it with one spark thrown into your cupped palms, the last time you ever tried to make magic. “I won’t hurt you,” he rumbles even though it kills him to look at you now.

Your side of the catwalk begins to glow at the lips because the sun has set far enough to climb walls towards the ceiling. You glow with it. Pink in a thousand places, ears and throat, lips, because you’re thinking too hard about what it is to be a proper guard and how much it is probably not raising your voice to delight in magic that does not belong to you. The corners of your mouth tremble. Who was it that told you you talk too much?

“Is that an order?”

“No.” Of course not.

You study the details of the itchy rug for too long, in the new light at its edge. Bakugou used to hate hiding up here in the cold but it was the only place the idiot children his mother sent him here to entertain couldn’t find him. He couldn’t be happier now, now that no one but you can see just how hard he flounders without fury.

Your hips swivel back towards him in precise decision then you fold your knees neatly underneath them to get closer. A few white ribbons in your hair seem to catch fire as the sunlight climbs higher and the sun dips lower out an infinite distance. Every mile it is far, is a mile Bakugou can feel in measures of chill. If Aldera is at the center of the world, Takoba is the outer edge and you remind him just how blessed he is when his hand melts at your Alderan touch. You reach and pull both his fists into the space between your bodies from where they lingered in the air.

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t,” he breathes, watching all the shapes your fingers can make together. He’s a prince, this is ridiculous. He sits up tall and stretches his arms out so you don’t need to reach so far, and makes a safe place for your strong fingers, those calluses and scars, to rest atop his open palms.

“Don’t call me sir.”

You are looking at him and considering something about his face, or his words, who knows– one of your eyebrows twitches in decision. It’s remarkable how steady your heads are. You are sure of everything you do even when it’s destructive and disruptive and punishable by death.

Laid out plainly like this and stiller than either of you have ever been together, your fingers and wrists, your palms, even your fingernails are so much more delicate than his. Like if he closed his golden fists, you’d disappear. Compared to the princess you have the hands of a farmer, but not a single thought– past how each other part of your body might look beside his– is allowed to rattle through his head when you watch him, straight ahead, and smile.

“Okay.”

He clears his throat. He’s a mage and magic is easy. He’s not going to set off the sweat on the back of his neck. “Don’t be nervous,” Bakugou grumbles to the dark.

You grin and ghost a thumb over the warmth and damp of his open palm, “Who are you trying to convince?”

“It’s this stupid fucking magic,” he bites. A bead of sweat drips through his knuckles onto the floor and if he’s not careful he might take out half the castle. Prince and apprentice assassinate world’s most fucked up royal family– he can already see the dossier sitting pretty on his mother’s desk.

You’re suddenly in a wonderful mood and you sit up slightly at the beginnings of warmth under your fingertips. He can hear your knees squeak and count your heartbeats in the veins of your wrist that his own fingertips reach. Those eyes again– always your eyes. They’re colored like any normal pair anyone might ever see but he’s one of few people who watch the dragons. You must have watched them too, too long, for your gaze to become so similar.

It feels like any other second of Bakugou’s life. Setting fire to own hands and measuring the strength of his magic in reds and whites. It’s an ordinary moment for many whole seconds until your prince follows the beginnings of light up from his palms, to your starving and unabashed awe. The sparks bubble up as hungry fish would in a pond, and then jump, spit, between your fingers like cooking oil. Your touch is so gentle at first. You train and measure your own skill every day so that Jeanist’s recruits don’t lose varied limbs, but as your excitement wells up you spill a bit from your seams. You rise slightly higher and give him more weight to hold and your prince dissolves into a smile.

Four hands rest inside one another and fire from the dragons illuminates your hiding place.

“Highness,” you whisper and startle a thousand times at every new color Bakugou ignites between your fingers. You’re fully up on your knees now having risen higher and higher to watch his magic as best you can and Bakugou sits on the floor beneath you, rotting.

“Highness what,” he whispers back.

You abandon the thought and jump when a green sparkler squeals through the air between you, and when your prince thinks to pull away your fingers are already wrapped tight around every part of him you can manage. He could have done this for you a thousand times; your joy was always this simple, raw, and unjealous. Purple and gold soar across the highs of your cheeks and hug your jaw. It’s all he can bear, to love this smile and to know that his sweat is plastered across your hands and soaked through the cuff of your sleeves, and so he freezes with the realization and embarrassment and with your last words.

“Highness, thank you.”

He doesn’t have the wherewithal to speak yet. The smile he loves. The magic dies with his concentration and as the sun finally crests your walkway for its fleeting moments of warmth, Bakugou tries to muster something like confidence because you’re looking at him with a softness he didn’t realize you had. Is it overwhelming because he knows you could kill him? Maybe it’s because he’s never wanted to kiss anyone before.

Bakugou’s pomegranate eyes dart up to you, saying goodbye to the last of the light and something like sugar scalds his throat. That new thought is fleeting because your golden prince drains the life from it like a butchered animal– gods, can’t he leave you with anything?

“Told you I don’t bite,” he grins and swallows the last selfish thought to death, “that’s your job right?”

You beam before bursting into deep and hungry laughter in the sun-soaked air above him. Whatever. Bakugou supports you as you cling to his arms and struggle to stay upright in your laughter. You’re overflowing. He smiles and huffs, he can’t help that. He can’t help goosebumps either but you don’t need to know about those and he’ll never utter a word. He still needs to meet the dressmaker for alterations and finalize the appetizers, and make sure the kitchens send dinner to your door.

“Highness,” you breathe like a bird and try to collect yourself enough to stop laughing. You plop back onto your hips, “Highness–”

“Highness Highness,” he taunts. The sound of it will make his ears bleed. Bakugou palms for a handkerchief with one hand and lets you hold his other. You cling to the bite you left there. Your legs overlap. “This is ridiculous,” he chuckles when your joy almost folds you in half, “A real joke might kill you.”

“Let it,” you breathe, canines twinkling, and dip slightly closer, laughing, to press your lips to his.

It’s so easy, you don’t mean to. You are lightheaded in the warmth of the sunset, magic trembles across your sensitive skin and you only want to be closer. Just close enough to bury yourself in that place that is so safe and that fills you with such a horrible comfortable joy–

As Bakugou reaches inside his tunic for something you lean too close. Your chest falls over his lap before either of you remembers that it shouldn’t be like this, that there are a thousand other places your prince belongs and ten thousand rules you have engraved on the meat of your skull to keep comfort at bay. It’s so warm with your eyes closed and his smile tastes like cinnamon. He doesn’t pull away.

You only realize what’s happened after that smile falls dead against your lips. Venom and rage betray a soft exterior. He’s soft against your touch. He’s soft like he’s never fought a day in his life. Your hands hold his beautiful golden head right where you need it and in the quiet, your eyes open to blinding and beautiful sunlight.

A touch is all you wanted, gods know why– they’ll never tell you– and you draw your chin back an inch to breathe. Bakugou is staring violently and his eyes are more like targets now than cherry pits. Eyebrows wider, higher, than the sky, he stares like his heart has stopped. What happened? He doesn’t look like anyone but himself anymore. You freeze.

Prince Bakugou is staring at you until he’s not, on the itchy rug in the sunset of the great black catwalks, until his eyes close and he kisses you back. Soft, closed lips brush so hot they’ll leave a mark, they’ll brand you and everyone will know what you did. The doom spreads quickly. You have never been so graceless in your life as you are now, falling backwards out of his warmth and stumbling onto your feet. He’s still on the ground and you only know he is holding you because sweat drips from the fingers of yours that he clutches.

“Wait,” he gasps. This is so much worse than fury, and you rip your hand away from his to take a step back. You didn’t mean to. Bakugou stares like a dragonslayer, heartbroken.

You run. Before you can breathe or be reasoned with, before you hear him call your name, you turn and dash through the back doorway alone. If this were Aldera, where would you hide? The frozen air of the seashell castle whispers straight through your flesh as you, sprinting, stumble your way past the castle’s vanity. There is a nook in the wall of the principal staircase where only Jeanist can find you. There is a seat on a high window in the Great Hall that you can reach with a library ladder. There are two tiny battlements in the east corner of your queen’s castle without a real way to get inside and on any day but a lightning storm, you can wedge a hunting knife in loose mortar and climb the masonry over its edge to lay and nap and stargaze at the tallest point of the most beautiful kingdom. An ant couldn’t hide in Takoba. There’s not one dark seam for the bugs.

A guard barely moves in time to avoid being crushed under your boots because fuck this horrible waterlogged place. The ocean drips out of your ears like tears from a seashell, drop by drop because you picked a fight with the goddess and thought yourself lucky to live before you realized she had made a home for herself inside your heart. Now you laugh with your prince and you touch him happily and you spar with him and hold nothing back and you tell him how much his magic helped you to live.

Resisting the urge to kill him, fighting to win Mitsuki’s favor, the threat of blue fire and a mage you doused in the sea, it was all so much easier than this. It could have been that easy forever, what were you thinking?

“Y/n!”

You weren’t, that’s what being too content gets you.

When Bakugou calls your name again his voice cracks because you are so much faster than he is at slipping through corridors. There is nowhere to hide in this awful country. Why are you running? If you were just slightly calmer you might have known where you were but white windows will always look like white windows and Bakugou is not so slow that you can ever really outrun him.

You duck under a low wall and its hanging tapestry and emerge on the other side at the edge of a stretch of empty hall. Setting sunlight pours past ten silver vases and someone left a window open, so lace curtains flow around a pedestal with its silvery prize in the center.

“Y/n, please.”

Agony. This isn’t what you want. When Bakugou calls to you one last time you have no choice but to face him because he has never asked for anything before, and when you do, tears drip off the highest parts of your cheeks.

He lets the tapestry fall over his shoulder and stops at the front of the long, long room. Neither of you speak for an eternity besides the sound of breath being caught again, him at the edge and you in the center being swayed by cold air. His shaggy hair has been pushed back too many times in his rush to follow you and his eyes glow unobstructed. Bakugou’s broad shoulders fit too perfectly into his baubled tunic. It’s easier to watch him than to think.

When he leans forward, you step back, and he pauses like you might start sprinting again.

He doesn’t realize there’s something rotten stuck in the depths of your throat that keeps you from straying too far.

“I–”

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, reading your mind. He’s never looked like this once in his whole life. He fell a step closer in his panic and when you do not run, his fists unclench from where they draw blood at his sides. “Don’t cry.”

You shake your head and he cautions another step. How can you ever go home now? How much longer can you survive here? The thought is suddenly and immediately overwhelming and Bakugou freezes again when you drop your head into your hands. It’s too much, you can’t believe how badly you want to hate him again and how much easier it would be than this.

“Y/n,” he whispers. His voice is candled ash. You know exactly how close he is even with your eyes closed because Alderan fire is unmistakable and you know too that he’s giving you a moment to escape.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Prince Bakugou’s magic-worn hands reach up from where he wires them and you snatch them both, and all their kiln-fired warmth, out of the air before he can touch you like you might break the first finger that moves. You don’t mean to bare your teeth either, you hope you aren’t, if you are he doesn’t care. Your prince stands above you, brows knit and eyes stupid with worry.

“Forget,” you plead in whispers.

He pulls your grip higher so that he can rest his palms under your ears. You aren’t doing anything but hanging from him. He moves easily because you do not stop him and he brushes his thumbs over stray hairs and their wild shapes. Silence is worse than his rage, but he’s trembling and his eyes never once look away from yours. He’s studying, contemplating something that continues to break his heart.

“Highness.”

Bakugou cups your jaw like it might bruise and tilts your head up just enough to kiss you. He could not care less about broken fingers.

His lips quiver and press just once to yours before pulling back, reconsidering, and dipping into you again. Your hold on his hands and his hands at your throat are melting, shaking, sweating. His chest swells above yours. You melt with him because you have lost your mind and push against the body you know can hold you. It can pull you from a current and throw you over its shoulder. Bakugou can lift you in strong arms, he can make you laugh until not even an order could compose you at your station.

You part your lips to be closer. He tangles his fingers in your braids so that you can take whatever you want. Your prince tastes like his favorite pastries, and Alderan peaches, and gold, he tastes like he’s fireproof.

Wet drips from your bottom lip in the mess of it all, before Bakugou tilts your chin in strong hands to catch what he’s missed. The slick of your tongues, a clicking of teeth, you want to eat him whole. He’s going to devour you.

He holds your face now to move you as he’d like– four feet tripping over each other to find a wall– and you grip at the patterns on his tunic between stolen breaths and steps stumbled backwards. Magic crackles where he touches you like he can’t control himself. His voice comes out with his gasps in growls because there is too much and nothing to say. You have forgotten apologies.

“Your hands” he breathes between nips for the softest warm parts of you, “cold.”

“The window–” but he kisses you again before you can finish. His hands are shaking, he is a starving dog and still he holds you like you’re going to break. You terrify him.

How long have you wanted this? There’s not enough focus left for your brain to turn its wheel and if there was you wouldn’t have pulled him so close. You suckle at his lower lip because his heartbeat tastes like home and he lets you dip inside again when you’ve had your fill. He fills you with himself in return. Wet, soft against you. It’s clumsier than sparring, and so much warmer.

At the end of cold hallways, where servants bustle and where there is still work to be done, the guard who barely survived your warpath ducks out from under the tapestry. He only wanted to check you were okay, but in the almost empty hallway Shinsou’s hand falls slack and his baton slips from it. It rings out against white marble and your heart stops beating at the same time as your prince. Your wheel groans in its new turning. The guard stares and you bristle.

You do not hear what Bakugou says in your panic but he does not let you go so easily this time. You will run, you’ll find somewhere to hide in this prison because that is your job and no one has ever done it better than you and there you will figure out what to do.

The last breath you take before darting away is shared in the sunlight with your prince, and just as you tip in a hint of escape Bakugou cups your cheeks one last time to keep you still. Your claws jump immediately back around his. He stares. His eyes are a study over every scar and warm flush, the violence of your sudden caught fear, even the parts squished and wrinkled in his hold. His magic vibrates unlit through your skin for one more second just one more second he takes to look and then he whispers,

“Okay.”

You take off the moment he releases you to deal with the apprentice and slip as best you can around a blue-tiled corner. Seedsized carvings raise their axes and little white waves fall. Sparks fight the chill on your jaw.

You forgo the seaside for fear of worrying your prince again. Manure pools around your pretty white boots because in the stables, horses don’t mind if you need to cry. The ocean swallows the last of the sun and you are suddenly a child again rinsing the blood from her face and into the hay and finding a dark place to hide. Every step is labor. Agitated white stallions complain to you in a line about their dinner and restlessness, and about chickens roosting inside uninvited, and about the woman who has sat here for hours and done nothing to help them.

The port city of Takoba shimmers at twilight under the hill that the stable looks out on. Its waters are silver and beg you to join them on all sides from their great distance. They have the advantage as you turn your back to the view.

When you amble towards the last empty stall, a figure drowning in blue is perched on a bed of straw. She is sickly beautiful and she stares like she hates everything she gazes upon.

“Majesty,” you startle and forget to take a knee.

Where you tread carefully in borrowed clothes, the Takoban Queen is happy to ruin her gown sitting up to her hips in straw beside a very plain horse. She runs a brush over the sheen of its black mane.

“Yes?” She sighs, defeated, until she turns to you and cocks her head like she might have expected someone else. Hundreds of translucent layers fall over themselves in her skirt like a flower and catch imaginary light for every inch that she moves. There is an ache so deep in your bones, chilled first then charred like dipping cold hands in hot water, you struggle to compose yourself. You cannot muster the question of why a queen might be hiding in the belly of her stables but you could guess.

“You were crying.”

“Please don’t tell Mitsuki.”

When will you be allowed to go home? The queen looks between her horse and the space you haunt above her, and pulls a second curry comb from the depths of her soft straw seat. “They’ll find you if you stand in the open like that.”

The day drags on like a dream you have made from picturebooks of Aldera and the man that you will never be free of, but queens don’t much mind if you need to cry either. You crumple into the spot she digs out for you in the straw and until it is too cold, the two of you sit quietly in shit together.

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#a hymn to black water #i make good on my promises #this one really took it out of me- editing was an afterthought there might be more mistakes than usual #thank you for loving these weirdos #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #fantasy bakugou x reader #fantasy bakugo x reader

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