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nyxronomicon · 9 months

Text

pudding

Diavolo x MC (GN pronouns / MC has a vagina)

a/n: I wrote most of this shortly after reading the lunatic pudding devilgram in the OG!OM app. in fact I distinctly remember getting stuck on the sex part bc i didn't really write smut yet... look at how far I've come lmao <- exclusively writes smut now

tw: breeding kink, aphrodisiac, size kink (Diavolo's big cock once again), mating press, rough sex, Diavolo goes a lil feral, a little bit of nipple play, fingering, oral (MC receiving)

The adrenaline from running from demons all afternoon wore off as you and Diavolo settled in his room. He’d locked the door behind himself before turning around to face you.

"That was quite the chase." He said, keeping his distance from you now that you were in private together.

"I can't believe how potent one bite of lunatic pudding was." You responded, shaking a little. You looked at Diavolo, remembering he's not immune. "What about you, not feeling very romantic?" You smirked.

Diavolo chuckled. "Don't test me. I'm at my limits of self restraint." He smiled nervously. He fidgeted a moment, realizing he needed to protect you until the effects wore off. Even across the room your scent became harder to resist with every passing second. And he still had 23 hours to go.

"Thank you, Lord Diavolo." You took a seat on his couch.

"It's no trouble at all." Diavolo responded, stepping closer to you. You watched him carefully, there was something different about him, as if the royal facade was gone and he was himself. Come to think of it, this was the first time you were alone with him. "I need to freshen up- don't hesitate to call if anything happens." Diavolo stepped into the master bathroom as you nodded back to him.

23 more hours. It was all you could think about. Your secret crush on the prince had your heart racing at the possibilities. What were you going to do for 23 hours in Diavolo's bedroom…? You knew exactly what was on his mind. It was on yours too, if you were being honest, but you didn’t want him to do anything he would regret with you. So, you busied yourself thinking of something to distract him.

"Want to listen to music?" You smiled, pulling him out of his dark fantasies. "If you close your eyes maybe it'll keep your mind off- uh…"

Meanwhile, Diavolo splashed water on his face. His thoughts raced as he looked at himself in the mirror. I have to control myself. I can’t succumb to my desires. How would it look if I took advantage of an exchange student? He shook his head as if that would cure his sinful thoughts and exited the bathroom.

His resolve shattered the moment he saw you again, his mind stuck on how easy it would be to overpower you, a mere human.

He chuckled at your hesitation. "The intense attraction I have for you?" He said, sitting on one of the accent chairs on either side of the couch. Diavolo had his doubts about your plan, mostly because it was your intoxicating scent that was giving him the most trouble.

Your face felt flush. "Uh, yeah…" you laughed nervously. "I'll play something. Stay there."

"I'm not one of those brothers you can command, you know." He smiled, watching you move as you flipped through his vinyls. "But if you wanted to-" he caught himself and stopped, blush dusting his cheeks. You looked back at him, catching his golden eyes for a moment before he looked away.

"If I wanted to… what?" You gave him a coy smile before turning back to the records. You were surprised to find your favorite musician in his collection and put it on the player.

"Ignore me, that was the pudding…" he said, still blushing as the record began to play.

"Close your eyes." You commanded, testing his unfinished words. He looked at you a moment before closing his eyes with a soft smile.

"I'm not doing this because you told me to." Diavolo clarified. "I'm doing this because I want to know if it helps." He remained frozen in his seat.

You quietly walked closer to him and admired the handsome demon. Your eyes trailed from his jawline down his neck. His well tailored uniform left a lot to your imagination but you had plenty of time to undress him with your eyes. 23 hours, to be exact. You leaned on the side of the couch closest to Diavolo as you studied his strong hands. You could practically feel them running up and down your body.

As the first song ended, Diavolo's eyes slowly opened and caught you looking at him. "I thought you came closer." He had a darker intensity to him. "I hope you weren't thinking about trying anything."

"Why, were you?" You shot back at him with a grin, matching his intensity.

He smiled and buried his face in his hand. "Of course I was. I still am." His face remained in his palm. The record continued to play as the two of you paused, afraid to say what was on your minds.

"What if…" you hesitated, knowing this was not something you could take back after saying it. "What if… I want you to try something?" Diavolo's fingers clawed into his hair, keeping his face hidden.

When he didn’t respond, you spoke again. “Diavolo… I… have a crush on you.” He chuckled before a brief pause, the weight of your words heavy in the air.

"The truth is…" he began, "I had trouble resisting you without the pudding." Heat rushed to your face as he peeked at you through his fingers. You stared at each other with desire. “You’re making this very hard for me…”

Diavolo took a deep breath. His mind was screaming at him to fuck you. He knew he could overpower you, it was all he could think about. And now, it seemed that was exactly what you wanted. But he couldn’t shake the thought of how improper it would be. He stood and turned to walk to the balcony for some fresh air, stopped by your hand catching his wrist.

He froze. He wanted you so bad. There was no telling how much of it was his natural attraction to you and how much was the pudding’s effect, but Diavolo’s thoughts were consumed with you. How he wanted his hands on your body. His teeth on your skin. And god, what he would give to fill you with his cum so thoroughly that you’d carry his heir…

These thoughts had occurred to him in passing, he’d even jerked off to the idea before but this was so much different. He could normally distract himself, but everything that came to mind was you. He needed to fuck you. Maybe that was the answer- maybe it would dull the pudding’s effect.

He felt his eyes darken with desire, desperately attempting to calm himself down.

The two of you were frozen there for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, his fingers loosened and slowly intertwined with yours. He turned around, you could see the darkness in his champagne eyes. He looked demonic. He suddenly pulled you toward him until your faces were inches from each other. His free hand trailed up your arm at a glacial pace. It gave you goosebumps. Finally, it settled on your cheek.

"Is it ok if I stop restraining myself?" He whispered, lips brushing against yours as he waited for a response. You could tell his muscles were tense, like this gentleness was taking all of his self control to maintain.

"... yes-" you barely had time to finish saying the word before his lips crashed into yours. He was ravenous. His tongue grazed your lips and you parted them, allowing him to explore your mouth. It was electric. He dropped your hand and suddenly pulled you tightly against him by the hips, his other hand remaining on your jaw. He deepened the kiss and you lost yourself in a haze of desire, hands gripping his uniform.

He slowed his movements and hesitated before pulling away. His fiery gaze met yours, still gripping you tightly. “... fuck.” He mumbled before dropping his head to your shoulder. He nuzzled you for a moment before gently kissing your neck. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this…” His voice was low and sultry. “One bite of pudding... and I’ve completely lost control…” He peppered kisses on your neck between thoughts. “I wonder…” He started slowly unbuttoning your uniform. “What will my subjects think?”

Heat rose in your body as he continued to unbutton. “Do they have to know?” You whispered. Diavolo did not respond as he pushed your shirt open, exposing your chest. He sucked on your collarbone to leave his mark while running his hands over your torso.

When he was satisfied with the bruise left, he brought his lips to your ear. “I guess not.” He whispered then sucked on your earlobe. You let out a moan which made him chuckle. “I love that sound…” He said, nuzzling into you again. He pulled away and swept you into his arms to carry you to his bed. He sat you on the edge and admired you for a moment. “Are you sure this is ok?” He asked, lust burning in his eyes.

“I want you, Diavolo.” You responded, finally slipping your uniform jacket off. Diavolo helped you remove your top completely and pushed you back onto the bed. He crawled on top of you, pinning your hands down with his as he locked you in another kiss. He was needy and desperate, it seemed the effects of the pudding were only getting more intense.

Diavolo sat up and urgently began unbuttoning his shirt. You tried to sit up with him but he pushed you back down.

“Don’t move.” He said, removing his shirt and undershirt revealing his muscles. He leaned over you again, caging you against the bed. One hand drifted to your neck, holding it firmly as he tangled his tongue with yours again. You trailed your fingers along his bare chest, pinching his nipples as he groaned in response.

“Two can play at that game.” He growled, trailing kisses down your chest until he reached a nipple. He flicked it with his tongue, watching it harden before enclosing his lips around it. You moaned and bucked your hips. As Diavolo’s mouth worked your nipple, his fingers rubbed your arousal through your pants. He unfastened them as he trailed kisses further down. Diavolo looked up at you for a moment, his golden eyes looking into yours as he removed your pants. He bit his lip as if asking for permission. You gave him a silent nod.

Diavolo started rubbing your pussy, simultaneously appreciating its beauty. You leaned your head back and quietly moaned. This encouraged him to use his mouth to pleasure you, pressing his tongue against your clit. As Diavolo slipped his fingers in your cunt, your moaning became louder and more erratic. He was stretching you to fit his throbbing cock.

“Diavolo… feels so good…” You moaned. He allowed himself to be rougher, gripping your hips to keep you from squirming in pleasure. His tongue swirled around your clit and he could feel your walls shudder around his fingers, your wet pussy nearly ready for his length. He stuck another finger in for good measure, finding your g-spot as you moaned his name.

His fingers slid out and he smirked at you. “My turn.” He said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He stood, tugging you by the legs to the edge of the bed. You watched as he removed his belt, then his pants, then his boxers. His huge cock sprung up, eager to feel you.

Diavolo positioned your ankles on his shoulders as he lined himself up with your pussy. You felt the tip slowly push in, your body adjusting to his size. You could feel the stretch- it was a tight fit, but as he bottomed out inside you, it made you feel so satisfyingly full.

“So big…” You murmured.

“You like that, hm?” He chuckled, leaning over you and folding you into a mating press. He began to thrust, the friction reminding you of how good he was making you feel earlier. Moans dripped from your lips as his pace increased. Diavolo’s last shreds of self-control had disappeared, he was now fucking you completely recklessly.

“Fuck… Dia…” You panted, feeling your cunt tighten around him as he continued.

“Gonna… put a baby in you…” He growled, capturing you in a rough kiss as your knees hit your chest. His cock was pounding you so hard, all you could do was whimper as his tongue slid into your mouth. The effects of the pudding made Diavolo forget all about your pleasure, his relentless pace quickening as he neared his orgasm.

“Been waiting for this… so long…” Diavolo mumbled, each thrust of his hips threatening to push you over the edge. “Want to breed you… Make you mine…” His dick rammed into your g-spot so precisely, finally you felt the wave of pleasure shooting through your body. You felt yourself tighten around him, shockwaves of ecstasy turning you into a blubbering mess as his orgasm followed shortly after.

Diavolo growled and moaned. You could feel the cum filling you, the added pressure in your cunt only sending more aftershocks through you. He thrust a few more times, cum sputtering out in waves as you both came down from your high. Breathing heavily, you pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face as his gaze lost the demonic aura he had moments before.

You were slow to catch your breath, Diavolo unmoving on top of you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his cock still lodged inside you. You ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’m afraid that didn’t help.” Diavolo sighed after a long pause. “I want you even more now.” You felt his cock twitch inside you, still rock hard.

“Well,” You smirked. “We still have 22 hours to kill.”

#obey me smut #obey me diavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo x reader #obey me fanfiction #diavolo smut #it was nice to write Diavolo again tbh i missed him lol #it's like he was designed in a lab for me...

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rustedhearts · 5 months

Text

santa baby (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: a private christmas lavishly celebrated in the bedroom of hollywood’s new favorite ‘it’ couple.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1993) ✶ christmas carols ✶ main masterlist

tags: fluff; some christmas smut; steve is so rich.

lovely adorable dividers by @chechelia

"santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me. been an awful good girl, santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

—santa baby, eartha kitt

malibu, california, december 1993

"And then Nike wants a photoshoot for their new shoe collection. They're requesting you as their face...but, I don't know, the deal is—"

"Angel, grab my lighter, please?"

You stood from your leather swivel chair, pushing it away from the conference table to head toward Steve's gym bag near the door. You pulled his lighter from the front pocket and handed it over to him, just as he slipped a Marlboro between his lips.

"Thanks, honey," he mumbled, reaching out to rub your thigh as you sat back down.

"As I was saying: Nike is offering a quarter mil for the deal, but I think we can squeeze more out of 'em. If they want to make a contract deal with you, we're gonna need more—"

"Who says I want a contract deal with Nike?" Steve interrupted gruffly.

You adjusted the necklace on your chest—a gorgeous golden locket from your first Christmas with Steve. You polished it regularly and kept it in its velvet case when not in use. But it was rare that it wasn't in use.

The meeting had been going on for two hours at this point. You were tired, bored, and already positive Christmas was going to be spent at a photoshoot for Nike in L.A. Your parents called last weekend and asked if they should set a place for you at the dinner table for Christmas—but just like Thanksgiving, you told her it was "unlikely."

And just like Thanksgiving, it broke your heart to hear her sigh.

"You'd be an idiot not to take it, Harrington, c'mon,” Mikey huffed.

Steve slid a glass ashtray closer to his side of the table and tapped his cigarette over the litter. "What d' you think, baby?"

You were still in a daze, fiddling with your necklace and checking the state of your manicured nails. Steve tapped your thigh to break you out of it.

Looking up, you glanced at Mikey quickly—noting his eye roll—before shrugging at Steve. "Oh, um...I don't know."

Huffing, Mikey held out his hand to silence you, and you tried not to burn at the dismissal. "Yeah, Steve, look—"

"You might wanna lower that hand if you wanna keep it, Mike," Steve cooly grumbled, taking another drag of the cigarette.

"Look, Steve, I think it's a good business decision. This is literally my job, man, but you gotta let me do it."

Steve hummed, inhaling through his teeth. When he exhaled, a stream of grey smoke furled from his nose.

"I'll think 'bout it."

He made quick work of stamping out his cigarette, pushing away from the table in his chair as it sizzled out. He pulled your chair out next, holding an empty palm upended for your waiting hand. You slid your fingers in the open space and flashed a small smile, grateful for his comfort in your obvious lack of it.

"Wait, guys—Steve, we're not done!" Mikey called after the pair of you as Steve made a path for the door.

Winding his arm around your shoulders, Steve pulled you in close by the crook of his elbow to plant a kiss on your head. "Ready to go home, angel?"

"Mhm."

Throwing a sly grin over his shoulder, Steve shrugged. "Looks like we’re done, Santorini."

Wrapped in a pair of pink silk pajamas, you lathered smooth vanilla cream over your feet, massaging the soreness from five-inch heels as Steve huffed and puffed over the bedroom carpet with every pushup. He counted under his breath between grunts, face screwed up with exertion. The muscles of his back flexed and tightened with every decline.

"I know—forty-five—you're—forty-six—watchin' me."

Cheeks swelling with warmth, you smiled down at your hands as you smoothed the rest of the lotion in. "Whatever."

Four pushups later, Steve hopped up from the floor and adjusted the front of his boxers, bulging with a distracting amount of fullness. The blue light of the television screen cast a sheen over the end of the bed spread, and Steve crawled over it to flop next to you. You let yourself smile again, reaching out to brush a clump of soft, shampooed hair out of his eyes.

"What's a' matter?" he mumbled into the mattress, cheek squished.

You shook your head, placing the lotion on the nightstand. "Nothing—"

"Don't lie."

A sigh shuttered through you. Fingers approached his hair again, delicately swooping and sweeping through—more a comfort for you than him, though he melted into the mattress.

“It’s silly…I just wish we could spend Christmas together.”

“We are,” Steve replied.

“You know what I mean. Without Mikey and Big, and random endorsement guys, or a million fans screaming and taking pictures. Just us. Like it used to be.” Your voice was smaller than you wanted.

You didn’t realize how sad the prospect of a Christmas spent with strangers and money-hungry people made you. You turned your eyes toward the television as a commercial for Campbell’s soup came on.

Steve stirred on the bed, bringing his cheek to rest on your bare thigh. He kissed it, greedy for the bare, clean flesh scented of bubble bath and shaving cream. His teeth scraped the tender space of your inner thigh and you squeaked.

“I know,” he muttered, pressing another gentle kiss.

A moment of silence passed between you. The television buzzed with muffled chatter and the bright, blaring colors of holiday advertisements. Steve rubbed a rough hand over your soft skin, and you leaned back into the silky pillows against the headboard as you massaged his hair.

“I know what will cheer you up.” Steve tapped your thigh twice before sliding off the bed.

Tucking your legs in, you watched him disappear through the french doors of the closet you shared. He rummaged for a few moments—the roll of drawers opening and closing—before reappearing with a gilded shopping bag stuffed with tissue paper. It was far too neat for Steve’s heavy hands, but the thought of him asking a clerk for gift wrap made you smile.

“For me?” You pressed your hand to your chest and grinned coyly.

Steve placed it on the bed before you. “Well, open it and see.”

“It’s not Christmas ye—“

Steve placed his hands on his hips and fixed you with an arched brow. You plucked the tissue paper from the bag with a giggle. The paper revealed a black shoe box in the bottom of the bag, and once retrieved and placed in your lap, you removed the lid and came to a pair of mint green Mary Jane pumps.

“Oh, Steve,” you cooed, picking one up. It was sleek and gorgeous. “They’re beautiful.”

Steve kept his bottom lip firmly between his teeth to hide his smile. But seeing the warmth that gathered on your face, the brightness in your eyes—Steve wanted nothing more than to keep you this happy for as long as he could.

“Y’ like ‘em?”

“Love them, Stevie. Thank you.” Cradling the shoe close to your chest, you looked up to smile at Steve—but caught the back of him rushing into the closet again.

“Steve? Where are you going?”

“Hang on!”

Paper rustling followed Steve’s wobble as he reappeared with an armful of bags and boxes, some wrapped with velvet bows and others bare. You pressed up to your knees and watched him place them near the small, slim Christmas tree in the corner of your bedroom by the window. He huffed once all were dropped on the floor.

You crawled the length of the bed and peeked over the edge toward the tree. “Those are…all for me?”

Steve always spoiled you, especially on holidays and anniversaries, but this was a new extreme. Maybe it was the few months spent apart earlier this year that made him want to adore you more. A newfound appreciation for you and your love, and a new desire to express it the best he knew how.

“Yeah,” Steve scoffed, pushing his hair away from his forehead. “C’mon, open ‘em.”

“But what about Christmas?”

Steve scratched at the nape of his neck, sighing. The sourness of his expression made you drop back on your heels. He stepped over your presents to come near the end of the bed, hands bracing your cheeks.

“Would you hate me if we celebrated early? Because…you’re right, baby, we won’t be able to spend it alone. Mikey wants me to do all these shoots and stupid shit, and I have trainin’ and shit—“

“Okay,” you interrupted, throwing a sweet smile up his way. “As long as I get you all to myself right now.”

Steve pulled you up, the heel of his palms tucked under your jaw. His mouth devoured yours, tongue and teeth and warm lips. "M' all yours, angel."

When your lips were buzzing and numb from his mouth, Steve hoisted you off the bed and spun you around. Giggles subsided, you took in the array of colors near the tree.

"Well, if it's Christmas then you need your presents, too," you told him, and you scampered off toward the guest room down the hall before he could object.

You returned with your own bags and boxes for Steve—and though you felt terrible that there were half as many, you knew Steve would be just as happy with a sparkly red bow on your ass as his only gift.

And in the true spirit of Christmas, you slipped to the kitchen and concocted an array of lavish snacks and treats meant for the holiday specifically. Wine, champagne, cheeses, expensive French chocolates, cured meats, and you even splurged on a little caviar. Well. Steve did.

You made your own little Christmas in the comfort of your bedroom, clad in a pair of tiny silk pajamas that Steve kept tugging at. You fed him chocolates and licked the remnants from the corner of his mouth, and he wound his fingers in the back of your hair and pulled tight when he just couldn't help it anymore.

"Mm...Steve...let go," you giggled, smushed against his mouth by his iron hold.

Steve chased after your lips with a playful nip. "Nah, I want you...right here." He peppered more firm kisses between words.

Kisses that tasted like rich dark chocolate and bright, bubbly champagne.

"But I want you...oh!...to open some presents, too."

Steve groaned from his place in your neck, nuzzling and licking. "Just a little longer."

You wound your fingers in his hair and laughed, allowing yourself to be pulled into his lap. He tugged you down against him and latched onto your throat. Groans and whines muffled the transatlantic accents of the old Hollywood movie on the tv behind you. Steve’s bulge was stiffening against the satin bow of your pajamas.

“Steve,” you whined. “C’mon, open your g-gifts.”

Steve lifted off your neck with a wet pop, leaving a ring of saliva and swollen tooth marks in his leave.

He rubbed his thumb over the sore patch of flesh and raised his head to catch your eyes. “Fine.”

He kept you planted firmly in his lap as he tore the wrappings and ribbon off various boxes and bags, kissing your cheek and neck and mouth as his own version of gratitude with every one. You wrapped the Ralph Lauren tie around his neck and let it hang loosely, spritzed the cologne on his chest and kissed the seasoned skin, and even stuck a silver bow on the top of his head.

"Thank you, angel," Steve murmured with another gentle kiss. "But you know what my favorite gift is?"

You quirked a brow and slipped your arms over his shoulders. "What's that?"

Steve took the shiny bow from his head and placed it in his palm. You watched as he brought it behind you, a grin toying on your lips while you waited for it to touch your own head. Instead, a resounding smack echoed through the room, and a sting gathered in your ass. Steve smacked the bow on with a heavy hand, and you jolted upright in his lap with a gasp. Grabbing a handful of flesh, Steve gave it a jiggle and grinned sideways.

“You.”

Surging forward, you planted a sticky kiss on his mouth. Steve, unable to contain himself, pushed to his knees and hoisted you with him. Soon, you were splayed flat on the mess of wrapping paper and ribbon, a pair of rough hands working the buttons on your silk. Your fingers dragged through his hair as he tugged your little shorts down, writhing and whimpering as his hot breath fanned new patches of skin.

He drew a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, causing your fingers to twist tightly in his hair as your core clenched. His tongue circled your navel, causing you to giggle and twist away, tickled by his hot breath and wet appendage. Steve chuckled at your reaction, wide hands bracing your waist.

He dipped down to place himself between your legs, but you tightened your hands in his hair and tugged him up. Steve furrowed his brows, crawling up toward your face.

“What’s wrong—“

“Nothing, nothing,” you panted, clawing at his firm, muscular chest. “Just want you. Want you now, please, Steve.”

Amusement lightened his features once more, brow quirking up. “Aw,” he chuckled. “You just can’t wait, huh, baby? You need me that bad?”

“Uh-huh! Please, please—“

Steve kissed your babbling mouth, pulling his boxers down. “Shh. It is Christmas, angel. It’d be naughty of me to make you wait.”

You giggled breathily as he hooked your legs over his hips. “R-right. Like that’s ever stopped y—oh!”

Steve pressed until his pelvis pressed against yours, elbows crinkling a bag beside your head as he hovered. His palm cupped over the crown of your head, leveling your gazes.

“It can stop me now, too, honey,” he muttered. “S’ you better be good, hmm?”

“‘M good,” you mumbled, head bobbing up and down. Your thighs were already quaking. “‘M always good.”

Steve gently kissed your mouth again. Another at the corner where your mouth creased, so gentle and sweet.

“Yeah you are,” he whispered.

But enough talking. Steve wanted to devour you, and he snatched at your hands to slide them over your head as his hips began to move. Fingers intertwined and clutching tight, you held on with all your might as he fed pleasure in and out. You did nothing to silence your whines and cries, and he grunted into your neck in time. He was slow and languid, deeper and deeper every time he came back.

“Kiss me, kiss me, please,” you huffed with need.

Steve slid his mouth across your cheek and latched onto your own. You sighed against his lips with relief. Moans echoed into each other’s mouths, refusing to release the other as his thrusts grew frantic.

When he spilled into you, he gasped sharply against your cheek. You shuddered and writhed as warmth flooded you, and stroked his hair lazily when he fell down.

“Christ,” he groaned, cheek squished against your chest. “Fuckin’ Christmas angel.”

You giggled breathily and kissed his temple. “I think that was all you, handsome.”

Steve snickered, nipping at your breast and causing you to squeal. “I’ll take that. C’mon, flip over. Wanna play with you a ‘lil more.”

“Steve,” you laughed, and he lifted up to frown.

“Come on, angel, it’s Christmas,” he huffed.

“Only if I get to wear some of my new stuff.”

Steve immediately sat back, wiping sweat from his head. “Fuck yeah, baby. C’mon, go, go.”

He smacked at your ass as you crawled toward your new lingerie piled near the tree, and you fell into a mess of giggles as you collected them.

You scampered into the bathroom, and Steve chuckled to himself when he heard all your giggling. He snatched the bottle of champagne from the floor and poured another glass, easing back on his elbow to watch the door for your appearance. He grabbed the Polaroid from the bench at the end of the bed and pulled it open, aiming for the door.

When you appeared, the flash shuttered through the room like a white snap. Steve tossed the Polaroid toward the mess of gifts beside him and grinned as you twirled.

“Look beautiful, baby. C’mere, lemme get a better look.”

You crawled your way over in a ruffled mint green teddy and matching panties, and Steve snapped another photo of your arched back.

An early Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #boxer!steve #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader

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asumofwords · 4 months

Text

Midpoint - Michael Gavey x Reader

Synopsis: The semester break came along quicker than you thought it would, and you decided to stay on campus for the break to get ahead in your studies. What will happen when you go head-to-head with a certain ill-tempered maths student in a war of pettiness?

Warnings: This fic is 18+, readers discretion is advised. Arguing, pettiness, name calling, low blows, tension, degradation, ripped stockings, finger fucking, rough fucking, fucking in public, p in v, creampie, cum eating.

Word Count: 8.7k

Notes: Hello my angels, Happy New Year, heres to all the filth that will continue to come from the cesspool that is my mind. Thank you all for your patience, I have been so excited to write for Michael, and so I hope you enjoy this as much as I have writing it !! heheh ;) <3

Part 2

There was a soft amber glow that cast over the library, the dark wood warming with the golden light that peaked through the windows, patches of wooden floors illuminated in some spots with coloured lights from stained glass windows.

For the most part, the library was empty bar three other students who had stayed behind for the break, getting ahead on their work for the next semester.

You were one of them, and with the sheer size of the library, you wouldn’t have known there were others inside if you had not seen them when walking down the endless isles of books in search for the ‘British Working Class Movements’ for your history course.

It didn’t take long for you to find it, and by the time you settled into a secluded corner down the back, the sun had already begun to set. You flicked on one of the green and gold table lamps and began to read, periodically taking notes on a page as you went.

It wasn’t that you needed to study ahead, it simply gave you something to do whilst the break droned on, few students having stayed behind making it lonely, but a bit more bearable than making the long trip home.

You loved the library, the stained wood, smell of old books lining the walls, and the quiet of the place was a nice haven to get away from the usual hustle and bustle of college. Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to either their next class or their next party, and although you weren’t a loner per se, you didn’t always feel like being in the constant lights and sounds that came with socialising. And so the library was the one place, besides your dorm, where you could have a nice piece of solitude.

Settling over the page, you gained a steady rhythm. Read about one movement, then write anecdotes as you went, taking the time to pause, re-read, and really absorb the information as much as you could. It was fascinating, and you enjoyed learning as much as you did.

By the third hour of continuous reading and note taking, your hand began to cramp, and so you decided it was time for a short break. You stood up from the desk, stretching your arms above your head, a small sigh escaping your lips as your back cracked and muscles pulled. You twisted your upper body to each side, softly grunting as you felt your back click again and again, sighing loudly as a particular pop took away an ache that had settled between your shoulders. You continued on with your languid stretches, trying to get some of the stiffness out of your body from being hunched over the desk for so long.

You wondered how much more time you should spend writing notes, or whether you could go back to your dorm and laze about on the bed. Luckily for you, you didn’t have a roommate, and were able to make the space feel much like your own. You didn’t have too much furniture, the room not allowing for it, just your essentials and a few trinkets here and there that you had collected. Your real pride and joy however, was a Peace Lily that you had saved from sure death. Now, it sat proudly on your study desk, growing dark green leaves and flowering its soft white flowers.

The idea of going back to your dorm seemed tempting, after all, you didn’t really have to be studying, and you had just recently bought the new Harry Potter book and wished to read some more of it, make a nice cup of tea, sink into your sheets and get lost into a fantasy world.

A soft jangling came from between one of the large book shelves, and soon a man peeked through. His icy blue eyes caught yours and you watched as he assessed you from where he stood, albeit awkwardly, gaze dragging up and down your body.

He was tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair that sat messily atop his head. He had a sharp aquiline nose, and lips that pulled up naturally in its corners.

You recognised him from somewhere, but where you couldn't be sure.

Perhaps he was in the same classes as you?

He continued to stare at you, shirt tucked into his pants, small carabiner attached with a USB dangling from a belt loop, his tongue pushed into his cheek.

“You right?” You asked, shifting on your feet, wondering if he needed something from you.

His lips pursed as he looked at you from down his nose, “Are you?”

You furrowed your brows, “Huh?”

“You've been moaning in the back of the library like a tart.”

You bristled, “I beg your pardon?”

Who the fuck-

“Some of us are trying to study.” His arms were stiff by his sides, and before you had the chance to reply, he spun on his heel, shoes squeaking loudly in the aisles as he marched away.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, feeling angry and also slightly embarrassed about the encounter.

Had you been making a lot of noise?

You didn’t think so, especially since the library was essentially empty anyway. You had even chosen the furthest corner of the floor as well, tucked away behind rows of books and out of sight.

You sat back down at the desk and tried to continue writing notes, but instead, you found yourself feeling far too self conscious, and wondered if you were even breathing too loudly. But before you got too self critical, you remembered that the library was practically empty, and you had specifically chosen a spot the furthest away from the other three students.

If your stretching and little sighs had disturbed him, he was either hanging around your area, or had the hearing of a bat.

So after about an hours more of study attempts and a half a page more of notes, you decided to call it a night, packing away your belongings before taking the book with you, not bothering to check it out.

As soon as you got back to your dorm, you headed straight to bed, not feeling in the mood to make a cup of tea or even open your new book, no longer looking forward to enjoying yourself and settling in. Instead you laid on your back staring at the ceiling, stewing about how the man in the library had spoken to you, and vowing that if you saw him again, you'd give him a piece of your mind.

And by your luck, you did see him again.

The very next day.

You got to the library around midday, deciding that you weren’t going to do a late night of studying, deciding to have a relaxing night in to pamper yourself, maybe even watch a movie in the common rooms if the tv free, or do as you had intended the night before; a cup of tea and your book, and maybe even some ‘me’ time.

The library, despite all its windows and the suns rays peeping through, was cold, and as soon as you stepped foot into it a chill ran over you. You walked through the endless rows of books, not seeing a soul as you climbed the stairs to the second floor, dust settled into the crooks and corners of the staircases and bannisters, the smell almost overwhelming, until finally, you saw him.

He was sat in the centre of the room at one of the large study desks, multiple books opened around him as he furiously wrote down notes and equations. His head didn’t lift at the sound of your footsteps, too busy in his own little world studying for God knows what, so much so, that it was a wonder that you had even managed to disturb him the day prior, which now only seemed to fuel your anger.

You were never one to back down.

You walked straight to him, toes almost kicking the leg of the table as you looked down at his neat writing, his hand flying across the page in rapid succession, no calculator in sight despite the lengthiness of the equations.

It was impressive, you noted begrudgingly, the way he worked so swiftly, and just was you were about to gain his attention, he spoke to you, hand not once slowing as he worked.

“What do you want?”

It wasn’t rude, just as it wasn’t polite. If anything, it was abrasive, like the rough cobblestones outside, and not once did he look up at you.

It caught you off guard.

Your mouth opened and shut as you tried to think of something to say.

Was it really worth being hot headed and saying something the day after?

Would he even remember?

Or would you be embarrassing yourself further?

Ultimately you gave up, deciding that there was no point to saying anything anymore, sighing in resignation as you walked around the length of the table continuing to yours.

You got about three steps away before he spoke again.

“Remember that you’re in the library this time.”

You spun, staring daggers into the back of his head, hand gripping the strap of your bag, “What the fuck is your problem?” Your chest heaved in anger, waiting for him to turn around or answer you, but he didn’t.

The sandy haired man continued his endless equations, leaving you standing behind him as though you had spoken to a ghost. It was maddening, the rush of your blood loud in your ears drowning out the steady scratch of his pencil.

How dare he?

He was just like all the others, like every other man on campus who felt they could speak however they like at any woman as though you were beneath them.

You stood there for what felt like minutes, but was mere seconds.

Realising that you weren’t to get an answer from him, you continued on your way to your secluded little table, stomping through the aisles, your footsteps echoing loudly in the space on the wooden floor.

When you got to the table, you all but threw your bag down, the heavy textbook slamming onto the wooden surface, making a large bang.

Never in your life had you been so agitated, ripping the chair away from the desk, letting the legs scrape on the mahogany floor.

One after the other, you yanked your books out of your bag, your notebook and pens, throwing them onto the table without a care. You could feel the heat of your anger creeping up your neck and into your face, and despite your attempts to calm yourself by studying, you ended up just re-reading the same paragraph over and over again, not once absorbing it.

By the time you decided to give up, the sun had begun to set, and so you hastily scrambled to shove your things back into your bag, not even bothering to tuck your chair in softly, throwing it against the desk and storming out the way you came.

He was still in his regular spot when you stalked past him, his head turned down as he read through his notes, multiple empty chocolate wrappersw spread across the table.

“Fucking asshole.” You muttered as you walked past him, not bothering to spare him a second glance as you huffed and stormed away, hoping to find some peace in your dorm.

When you got to your dorm, you were so hungry that you began to feel sick. Realising that in your anger you had forgotten to eat, you wandered down to the pub not far from campus and got a cheap little meal, eating quietly in the corner, a telly playing a soccer game on the screen in the back.

There weren't many patrons that night, but you could hear the pool table being used in the distance, the loud clacking of the balls being sunk, drowning out the soft sound of the telly. The pub stunk of stale beer and cigarettes, ring stains on all the wooden surfaces from sweating glasses.

It was still early when you finished, and so you made the decision to check out the commons and see if a tv was free.

The night air was cold as you walked back to your dorm, your teeth chattering in your skull as you sped walked, wrapping your arms around yourself to get back into the warmth of the old building. Lights illuminated the old stone walls in a yellow light, casting shadows on the cobblestones and bare trees around you.

It would have been spooky if you weren’t used to it by now, and could understand how first years would become spooked at night alone, walking through the courtyards.

As you made your way towards the common room in your building, you couldn’t help but think about the man in the library. His sandy hair, blue eyes, sharp features and sharper mouth. Who needed a heater when you had this man to fire you up? You could almost hear his grating tone as he mocked you, his glasses shining in the library as he looked down his nose at you.

He made you feel small, unwanted. But you had worked hard to get into Oxford, and you, whether he liked it or not, had earned your place.

It wasn’t unlike the men you already knew in STEM to be somewhat assholes, especially towards women or any degrees they deemed ‘unfit’ or ‘unworthy’. You had heard many scoffs and sneers at the Arts students, or English Literature kids, especially if it was women, from the STEM boys who seemed to hoard together like a bunch of flies. Or better yet, like a Rat King, unable to break the connection between each other despite how much they fought it.

It was, to follow the pun, a rat race.

The hall was dark as you walked to the commons, but from the window of the door, you saw the tale tell sign of the telly being on. You wondered momentarily if it was anyone you knew that had stayed back, perhaps one of the girls.

Maybe you could settle down with them and watch whatever mind melting soap opera was on, and lull yourself into a stupor.

The prospect of talking to someone almost dissolved your sour mood, and by the time you opened the door, peering into the flickering light illuminated room, a small smile had begun to pull at your lips.

But that smile was short lived as your eyes met a pair of pale blue ones.

You watched as his lips pulled down in recognition of you, his head turning to look back at the telly. Your heart began to race in your chest again, the door clicking shut behind you, the soft sound of Doctor Who’s theme song filling the room, the screen reflecting off of his rectangular lenses.

It didn’t help that the small drinks you had at the pub seemed to ignite your previous disdain for the man, as well as dampening your, for a lack of a better word, cognition.

In that moment, you were at a loss of what to do. You wanted to watch tv, but the idea of being anywhere near him infuriated you. Yet, at the same time, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction by leaving, indicating to him that you had given up, and that he had won.

“You going to stand there all night?” He teased cruelly, eyes not once turning back to you, locked on David Tenant as he ran through an abandoned warehouse.

You bristled, teeth grinding down against each other as you stormed past him, “Fuck you.” You dropped down onto the cushion on the other end of the couch.

From the corner of your eye, you could see his lips purse slightly, obviously hearing you.

No matter how much you tried, you could not get comfortable on the couch, and it wasn’t because the couch had a natural groove from the many people who sat in it, or the obvious stains on the covers and arms, some recognisable, others dubious, nor the permeating cigarette smell that emanated from deep within the foam, but rather because he sat all too comfortable beside you, watching a show you wished you could watch alone.

You shifted against the arm again for the umpteenth, huffing softly in the room. Your ass had fallen asleep because you sat ramrod straight and refused to relax, tucking your legs beneath you not leaning back. No matter what you did, you could not settle, body gearing up for a fight.

When you shifted again, it seemed to pull his attention away from David Tenants doctor.

“You gonna keep huffing in the corner like a baby?”

Your already fragile thread of patience snapped.

“What the fuck is your problem? Have I done something to you? I don’t even know who you are.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him. The man sneered, leaning towards you on the couch, “My problem is vapid little cunts like you. Getting by on mummy and daddy’s money whilst the rest of us have to work to stay here. You just party and fuck each other like rats.” His cold eyes razed up and down your body, watching as your face morphed from anger to offence, and then, to rage.

You shot up from your seat, moving to stand over him as he looked up at you, face barely containing his hatred.

“I don’t have ‘mummy’s and daddy’s money’, I’m here because I worked hard to be here.” You hissed, hands clenched into fists at your sides, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know you’re friends with Felix Catton and every other vapid, useless cunt that hangs off of his every breath.” His voice lowered, hatred simmering behind his light illuminated glasses.

Your brows furrowed, “Felix and I have a class together. Assigned seating. We walk there together. If-” You straightened, looking down at him before it hit you.

A laugh of disbelief flew from your lips, and soon enough the cocksure anger melted away from his sharp features, replaced by confusion.

“Wow.” You huffed, a bitter laugh filling the air, “You’re jealous.” His eyes narrowed on you, “You’re jealous of Felix.” You watched as his mouth snapped open, “Maybe if you weren’t so-“

“-I’m not fucking jealous of those nobodies.”

Snorting, you shook your head, “Nobodies… Yet people know their name. I don’t even know who you are.”

You waited for him to give you his name, to finally tell you who this infuriating man was, the credits of Doctor Who playing in the background as you stared at each other. Your chest heaved, but all you felt looking down at him was irritation.

“Your anger is misdirected." You growled, "I thought you would be smarter than that.”

The man's jaw ticked, “I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I don’t.”

You turned away, suddenly drained from the whole interaction. You didn’t bother to turn back and look at him, or even say another word. You wanted to go to bed, no, needed to go to bed and get away from the man on the couch before you tore your hair out.

As you opened the common room door, his voice called out to you.

“Y/n L/n.”

The way he said your name sent goosebumps rising on your skin, each syllable pronounced slowly, as though he was savouring your name on the tip of his tongue. Your hand paused on the door as you pushed it open, looking back at him.

“And who are you?”

Before he could answer, you left, slamming the door shut behind you. You marched straight back to your room, hands in such tight fists that your nails left half crescent moons in the flesh of your palms.

You lay awake most of the evening staring at the ceiling with the interaction on your mind.

He knew you by name, even thought you were friends with Felix, and whilst you weren’t not friendly with him, you wouldn’t say you were closely acquainted. You drank at the same parties sometimes or saw him down at the pub, but the only one-on-one time you had with him was in class.

Whoever this man was, and whoever he thought you were, he was wrong. And now he was going to regret it.

You knew he would be there, in fact you betted on it, getting up extra early to go to the library to do the one thing you planned on doing that day.

Piss him off.

If there was one thing that men hate the most in the world, it was not being in control, and that was doubled if it was with a woman.

You sat at the table he always did, spreading your textbooks and papers, pens, notes, snacks, water bottle, and even IPod Nano on its surface. You had brought extra things with you today in your bag to spread across the table, some things not even needed to study, but used to take up more space and soil his little territory.

The sun had barely even risen by the time you laid it all out, but you knew it would all be worth it.

And it was, because not even fifteen minutes later, he arrived to the sight of you at his desk, humming as you looked at your notes.

His feet stopped not too far from your (his) table, watching as you met his gaze, devoid of emotion. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling, watching as he clenched his teeth in irritation.

He was almost shaking with anger.

Got you.

You kept the image of innocence, looking back down at your notes as you tapped your pen against the tables surface loudly. You could see his fists clenching in your periphery at his side, his pale green button up shirt with long beige pants shifting side to side as he stood angrily watching you.

“What are you doing?” The blonde’s voice cut through the quiet of the library, irritation evident in his tone.

You didn’t bother to look up, pen still clicking rhythmically against the table, “Hm?”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Placing the pen on your page delicately, you looked up, “Pardon?”

The mans cheeks flushed an angry red as he stared down at you, lips pulling into a tight line, “Whatever you think-“

“-I’m sorry,” You interrupted him, leaning forward to look up into his eyes sweetly, “Do I know you?”

The man leant forward and sneered, “Gavey.”

“Gavey?” You titled your head, biting your lip softly in thought.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

“Yes.” He grit through his teeth, looking down at your spread notes and gear.

Then it came to you.

“Gavey! Michael Gavey!” You beamed up at him, leaning slightly forward on the desk.

Now you knew why he was so familiar.

“You’re the maths genius.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Anyone who had heard about Michael Gavey knew about his stellar intellect when it came to maths, and unfortunately for him, they also knew about his little antisocial outbursts, “You yelled at Oliver on O week.”

You watched with delight as the anger fell momentarily from his face, and embarrassment replaced it. You leant further forward, putting both elbows on the table as you rested your chin on your hands, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Is it true then? You can do any sum just in your head?”

If it was true, he needed to be studied by a team of scientists.

And maybe a behavioural therapist.

Michael stood taller, proud to have been recognised for this part of him as he watched you bat your eyelashes at him. His shoulders rolled back, eyes glimmering with determination behind his glasses.

Men were so easy.

You just stroke their ego a little and their guard comes down immediately.

“Ask me.” His voice was soft, confident, waiting on bated breath to show off his born skill.

You smiled, “Alright. Seven-hundred-and-eighty-nine multiplied by six-hundred-and-fifty-four.”

Without missing a beat, “Five-hundred-and-sixteen-thousand-and-six.”

“Divided by twelve.”

“Forty-three-thousand point five.”

“Times nine.”

“Three-hundred-and-eighty-seven-thousand-and-four point five.”

You leant back in your chair watching him. It was impressive, and if he wasn’t such a prick, you would have openly praised him. But you didn’t have it in you in that moment to give him anything but a lengthy stare, using the time to get a good look at his face without the sneer.

He was handsome, a long face framed nicely by his ‘devil may care’ hair. You wondered if he even bothered to brush it in the morning. The longer you looked at him the more you could see how his sharp features and soft lips would in fact get him the attention he so desperately craved, if only he wasn’t as insufferable as he was. In fact, the more you thought about it, if things had been different, perhaps you would have pursued him, maybe even asked him out for a drink.

Instead, he had made an enemy for himself, and being petty at this point was a hobby for you that you took great time and pleasure in doing, especially if it was for assholes who made the first move unwarranted.

“Hm.” You tapped your pen against the table, “How do I know it’s correct and you're not just making it up?”

This seemed to anger Gavey.

“I’m not making it up. I do the sums,” He narrowed his eyes, “In my head.”

“I don’t have a calculator to confirm this. For all I know, you could be lying.”

The anger was back, “I’m not lying. I’m never wrong.”

“Sure.”

“I’m a genius.”

“Uh huh.”

Then came the vitriol, his shoulders tensed in rage, “What would you know anything about maths? You’re a History and Philosophy major.” Michael scoffed, seeming to think that his disdain for your degree would upset you in the slightest.

You sighed loudly, pulling the earphones from your Ipod to begin putting them in your ears. You looked at him pointedly, putting a sad little smile onto your lips.

Show time.

“It’s a shame, you know.” You said sadly.

“What?” Michael responded, over-eagerly.

The earphones sat in your ears and you scrolled down to a song you wanted, letting the music begin to play loudly just to piss him off, the noise turned up high enough for him to hear the lyrics. You didn't show it, but it was too loud, and most certainly hurt your ears, yet it was worth it to see his nose scrunch up.

“That you’re a snob.” Your voice rose over the music in your ears, unable to hear anything but the loud bass line that bounced in your head, “You’re actually cute when you’re not sneering at me.” You let your eyes drop back to your page, ignoring his presence as you strummed the pen loudly against the wood of the desk, unable to hear if he responded, but also not bothered to hear him. You had ended the conversation just the way you wanted.

And it would drive him nuts.

What you hadn’t seen was his mouth opening and shutting multiple times as a blush spread across his cheeks. He stood idly by, utterly unable to produce a single word or sound bar clearing his throat. Michael disappeared from your periphery as he left to sit at the table at the end, dropping into his seat to begin his studies.

But it proved to be fruitless, because as he attempted to settle into the endless stream of equations, all he could hear behind him was the tinny sound of your music blasting from your earphones and the steady grating tap of your pen.

He tried, in vein, for over an hour to focus, before giving up and storming out of the library. It was only then when you lifted your head, smiling at his retreating figure in triumph.

I win.

Not a word had been written on your page, and not a thing had been absorbed in your head. You lowered the volume of your music, a ringing settling into your ears, before packing up your things to go back to your dorm, deciding that a job well done was deserving of some respite, and in your good mood you would actually read your book.

You spent the rest of your day and better part of your evening reading, lounging, and snacking on some chips as you snuggled into your sheets.

Being the creature of habit that you were, you ended your triumphant day going to the pub to have another cheap meal and a drink or two, spending a considerable amount of the evening chatting up another student who had also stayed behind during the break.

He was cute, and funny, and although he hinted more than once that he would like to continue your evening back in either one of your dorms, you didn’t have the energy to entertain a potentially dull night of barely there pleasure.

He smiled too wide and had too much confidence to really know what he was doing, and you felt immediately that he would be the type to get his and leave you high and dry. So you parted, promising emptily to get another pint together soon enough, though you knew it wasn’t your stellar verbal company that he wanted.

Sinking into bed that evening was an easy and pleasurable experience. You crawled into your sheets, smile on your face and victory on your tongue. Your tit-for-tat was successful, and now you could finally just focus on your work, and not the sandy haired Michael Gavey who seemed to invade your every thought.

The sun trickled through the curtains by your bed, a warm stream of light hitting your face. You woke with a stretch, body slowly waking up with the day.

You didn’t have much planned after yesterdays success, and didn’t have a want to do much at all, but there was only so much lounging in bed one could do over the many weeks of break, so you decided to go back to the library, at least for an hour to make up for yesterdays losses (despite the personal win).

You looked around your room and settled on a skirt and some tights with a turtle neck sweater, unable to find anything else as a pile of dirty clothes had slowly accumulated in the corner. You made a note to yourself to take it to the laundromat later with some coins and your book.

The walk to the library was the same monotonous one as it always was. The same stone walls, the same dark wooden detailing and floor, the occasional beautiful stained glass window, and the ever strange silence of an empty college. There was a light layer of frost on the grass outside, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it would snow. The trees were bare except for a handful of orange and brown leaves, hanging on for dear life, or perhaps, holding on with dead fingers.

Rigor mortus of the petiole.

The steps creaked beneath your feet as you made your way up to your usual spot, the library cold as it always was, causing you to wish you had brought a warmer jacket with you. When you got to the landing, you expected to see him, sandy hair, glasses slipping down his sharp nose, hunched over the same textbook as he wrote out his equations with dizzying speed, but the tables were empty, and the aisles were barren, and all that was in the library was you.

Briefly you wondered for a moment if something has happened to him. Had he gotten sick? Too ill to crawl out of bed, laying in his sheets with a fever and no one to comfort him?

You frowned at the thought.

Why did you care?

His ego was likely too bruised to show his face, and was hidden in another alcove or other smaller library somewhere else, or perhaps even in his room.

Maybe he even had friends, and decided to spend the day with them, likely another student in STEM.

You could have sworn you saw him and Oliver Quick in the pub one night together.

You walked past his empty table and continued down the end to where your little nook was, grazing your fingers along the spines of the books as you went. Each ridge another spine, each spine another thousand upon thousand of words that had been read, dissected, and rewritten by many a student. You liked to think about how many hands had touched the pages, how many eyes had skimmed the words, how many bags, beds, tables, couches, cars or trains they had been in over the years, and how many times you had read them, or held them in the same spot.

You emerged from the isles to your nook.

It was not what you had expected that morning.

Certainly not what you had expected any morning come to think of it, but even so, your steps halted and your heart began to quicken, anger slowing creeping up your neck, heating your face.

He was sat at your table.

Your table.

His glasses had slid down almost to the tip of his nose, a long slender finger daintily pushing them back up to the bridge, lips pouted in their natural pout as his hand flew about his notes, writing equation after equation in a speed that would intimidate even Einstein. Michaels hair was disheveled, as though he had run his hand through it multiple times, as he contemplated the pros and cons of sitting there.

He must have landed on the pros.

“What are you doing.” You bit out, an irritating sense of dejavu seeping into your bones.

Michael didn’t look up at you, your feet almost pushing through the floor, anger rooting you in place.

“Hm?” Came his noncommittal reply.

It set you off.

“You’re in my seat.” You hissed, swiftly stepping towards him.

The light from the window beside him cast shadows across half his face as he looked up at you, he sucked his teeth loudly, “Your seat?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” His head dipped back down to his notes, his blue eyes looking up at you from under his lashes as his hand continued to write, “This is a public library. It’s a public seat.”

You stormed forward dumping your bag atop his hand, his pencil scraping across his notes on the paper, “You know exactly what I mean.”

His jaw ticked, steely blue eyes flicking to where you dumped your heavy bag atop his notes and own text book.

“I’m sorry, I’m not tutoring on break.” His tone all too demeaning as he over pronounced each word.

Your hands slammed down onto the desk as you leant forward towards his face, “I don’t need a tutor and you know it, you miserable little cunt.” Anger boiled inside of you, building and building, ready to burst.

Michael bristled, “Who the f-“

“-Oh, fuck you, Michael. You’re a miserable piece of shit, thinking you’re above everybody else, sneering at anyone who dares to be happy. I’ve seen you, always sulking about in the shadows because no one can stand to be around you.”

The silence was almost deafening.

Oh God.

That was a low blow.

You had taken it too far.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very guilty, “Michael,” You started, “That was-“

A pale hand lifted in front of your face, the man standing almost near silently in front of you. He went from below you, to towering above in a split second, his sheer size double your own. He stared down his sharp nose at you with a look of contempt, the rage behind his eyes flickering with barely held restraint.

“Do you want to know what I think?” His voice was low, lower than you had ever heard it go, emotion almost drained entirely from it except an icy edge which sent the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

You stayed silent, watching as he stepped away from the desk, chair scraping on the wood to come towards you slowly, your heart beating like a drum behind your ribs.

Though you could step back, his eyes kept you glued to where you were, head craned up to look at him as he came closer, the tension in his jaw growing with every passing second.

It was unnerving, and everything within told you to run, but something made you stay.

Call it guilt.

Or intrigue.

His hand dropped to his side, slow, calculated steps coming closer, each one as silent as the next as his cheek twitched whilst looking you over.

“I think,” He began, a foot away from you, voice low, “That you’re just desperate enough to accept the scraps that they give you, because you fear if you don’t,” Another step, taking him toe-to-toe with you, “That you’ll be a nobody like me.”

Your mouth became dry, lips slightly parted as a tinge of hurt spread through your chest.

You shook your head faintly, “I don’t think you’re a nobody.”

A brow lifted, “You called me a nobody.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wrong because it was hurtful? Or wrong because you have more in common with me than you do with them.”

You shook your head, “Why is it always about them?”

“It is always,” He sneered, “About them. I have watched you take what little you can get from them like a beggar. Talking to Felix in the hallways, doing his homework for him, smiling at him like a dolt.”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“I’ve seen you.” His shoe bumped against yours as he leant forward, “You’re nothing to them. How long was it before they even learnt your name?”

“Stop it.” You whispered, feeling tears prickle in your eyes.

Michaels head tilted, “Why? It’s the truth.”

“It’s not.”

The sandy haired man clicked his tongue at you, head tilting, “You and I both know that’s not the truth, is it? What did Farleigh call you again?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek, leaving a wet track in its path. Your lip wobbled as you tried to keep your composure.

You didn’t know how he knew.

You didn’t know how he could have known what Farleigh had said to you that night, drinking in the pub together.

You hadn’t even meant to join them, but their table grew bigger and bigger until it swallowed your own and soon enough they were buying you shots. It was never a regular thing, you were never quite in the circle, but not quite out of it either. More-so lingering in the nothingness of neither here nor there.

Michael looked at you pityingly, not in a way where he held empathy for you because of it, but in a way where he pitied you for being the way you were. It was demeaning. Cold.

Detached.

“Parvenu.” His lips pronounced each syllable slowly, darkly, and it made you ache.

Another tear fell as you took a sharp intake of breath, sniffling roughly.

Shame built inside of you.

It was humiliating to relive that moment, let alone with Michael. And now that you knew he had witnessed or heard it, you wondered who else may have been there to hear Farleigh’s degrading comment and snort of a laugh followed. The way he would raise his brows at you the rest of the night as if to say ‘See? You don��t belong here, and we can all see it’, ‘We let you here because we can’.

“I don’t understand-“

Michael interrupted you, "-You let them walk all over you, and for what? Parties and accolades?” The corners of his lips turned downwards, “They don’t even respect you. Do they know that you’ve stayed behind on break alone? Do you think they’ll think of you in their mansions? Do you think Felix would ever-“

“-You talk about them as if they’re irredeemable, but they’ve been far nicer to me than you have.” Another tear fell, and your stomach tied itself in knots.

The anger seemed to simmer in his eyes, “They don’t deserve you.”

Your brows pulled down in confusion, “What?”

“You let them use you, chasing after their fleeting affections. It’s pathetic.”

Anger began to simmer inside of you, “Pathetic? You know what’s pathetic?” You leaned up on your toes, “The fact that you have so clearly been watching me, and everything that I do, and not once have you tried to be my friend. Do you know what’s pathetic?” Your voice began to rise, heat inside of you rising with it, “Your anger and hatred of them clearly stems from jealously and embarrassment because they would never talk to-“

Your eyes widened in shock, his lips crashing against yours as he yanked you forward, hand at the back of your head pulling you in tightly. You were so in shock, you didn’t know what to do, standing stiffly in his arms as the other circled your waist and pulled you against him.

It only took a second for your brain to come to with what was happening, your eyes sliding shut as you kissed him back roughly, all teeth and vitriol as you bit the soft flesh of his lips roughly. He hissed, pulling you closer, your feet stumbling against his as he backed you towards the wall of books beside the desk.

Your spine hit the shelf roughly as he shoved you back, both of you panting before you grabbed his shirt angrily, yanking him back towards you. You were so furious, so almost feral that you needed this more than you would have thought.

There was something about him, something about him that made you want to pull your hair out and also sit on his face to silence him.

His kisses weren’t skilled, but they were filled with passion as his teeth clashed against yours, a fight for dominance ensuing as you let a hand slide up into his hair and pull. A grunt came from deep within his chest as you yanked at the roots cruelly, hoping it would hurt him. Heat built in your gut rapidly, the need for him growing stronger with each passing second.

The hand on your waist slid down further, pulling up your skirt as his fingers pressed against your clothed core. You gasped into his mouth, hips thrusting forward from the pressure. With the other hand disappearing from the back of your head, it met the other between your legs, hooking into the gusset of your tights before you heard a loud rip, cold air immediately hitting your core.

You gasped loudly, Michael taking advantage as he slid his tongue into your mouth, flicking it upwards against the back of your teeth. He tasted faintly like chocolate, and it was a taste that you didn’t mind at all. His fingers immediately sought out your centre, sliding impatiently between your folds to gather the wetness from your entrance.

His movements were sloppy, yet focused, drawing it up to your clit as he rubbed fierce circles into it that bordered on painful. You nipped his bottom lip harshly again, yanking his head back and away from you to look at his face as two long digits circled your entrance.

The pupils of his eyes were enlarged, almost swallowing the blue of his iris whole. His cheeks were flushed a dusty pink, and lips a deep red after your bites. The glasses upon his face were slightly skewed and lightly fogged, the hair atop his head sticking up in different directions from your rough handling. You didn’t even get to observe him for longer before he roughly shoved the two fingers inside.

“Fuck.” You hissed, back arching towards him, shoulders roughly pushing into the bookshelf.

A mean smirk pulled on his lips as he crooked his fingers against the front of your walls, quickly thrusting his hand in and out with dizzying speed. Your breath caught in your throat, brows pulled down as you looked at him, low whine falling from your lips.

“So wet already.” Michael teased, thumb lightly brushing your pearl, a spark of intense pleasure shooting up you.

You pulled his head back towards you, moaning into his mouth as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, the sound of your arousal loud in the both of your ears. Michael pulled up one of your legs, hooking it around his hip, the cold metal of his carabiner pressing sharply into your inner thigh. Pleasure began to wind tightly in your gut, his long fingers reaching parts of you, your own couldn’t.

Panting against his mouth, your hand flew behind you to grip one of the wooden shelves, elbow bumping against the spines of the books.

His pace never once faltered, all those hours of quick equations all day boosting his hand strength and stamina. You were surprised that he even knew what he was doing, but the questions floated aimlessly in the back of your mind, not quite sticking.

Your nails dug into the wood of the shelf, hand falling from his hair to his shoulder as your head fell backwards against the shelf, your peak barreling towards you.

“S’close. Please.” You whined, rolling your hips into his hand.

A mean laugh broke your peace, his fingers pulling out of you sharply, preventing you from reaching your release. Your eyes flew open, brows furrowed in frustration as you looked at him, smug smirk on his lips as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on the arousal soaked digits.

You moaned weakly looking at him as he did it, hips rolling towards him in an attempt to get him to touch you again. Michael lips pouted at you as he pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop.

“Touch me.” You breathed, pulling him towards you with your leg, the zipper of his cargo pants pressing against you sharply. You sighed, rubbing your centre against his pants, a wet patch no doubt beginning to stain the front of them.

“So desperate.” He cooed at you, your core clenching at his words as your eyes fluttered.

The hand that had been inside of you quickly made its way to the front of his pants, the other joining as he hastily undid his belt, not pulling it through the loops, followed by his button and zipper. Michael hastily reached into his pants and pulled out his hardened length, the tip pink and weeping, veins crawling up the sides.

You swallowed thickly as you looked down.

Oh shit.

Michael was very well endowed.

You didn’t know what shocked you more, the fact that he had such a sizeable cock, or how he thrust it up into you without warning. The stretch was bordering painful and you cried out loudly, Michaels hand slapping across your mouth to stifle the sound.

“Quiet.” He hissed, pushing in to the hilt, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. Your eyes screwed shut as you whined into his palm, your walls struggling to accommodate him as he slowly pulled out, each vein and ridge catching on your inner walls deliciously.

The slow heat inside of you began to build once more.

Michael thrust into you sharply, your head banging against the back of the shelves as he kept his hand against your mouth, the other holding your hip against him. He set a brutal pace, fucking into your slick walls without abandon as he chased his own pleasure, punching the air out of your chest.

“Fuck.” He hissed, forehead pressing against your own as he looked down to where you were joined, the leg you stood on stretched on your tippy toe to meet his height as he fucked you, “Your cunt is fucking tight.”

“Mmm.” You moaned, eyes slipping shut as the coil within your gut began to wind rapidly, each brutal thrust stretching you wide against him with painful pleasure.

“You gonna cum?” He panted, his eyes shutting behind his glasses that slid down his nose, “Can feel you squeezing my cock. Fuck.”

You nodded desperately beneath his hand, eyes opening to meet his steely gaze as he pulled his head back to watch you, the book shelf creaking as he fucked you against it.

You were so close, so fucking close.

“Go on.” He commanded, “Cum on my cock like a little slut.”

Your core clenched around him, blinding white pleasure coursing through you as you came, his hand falling from your mouth as you moaned loudly, the noise echoing in the library.

“Shit, fuck. I’m gonna-“ Michael’s thrusts stuttered as a long moan burst from his lips, the warmth of his cum filling you.

You whined, hands gripping his hair as you crashed your lips against his, kissing him lazily as you both panted, his cock throbbing inside of you as your walls squeezed every last drop from him.

Michael pushed as deep as he could go, the warmth of his cum beginning to leak around the base and down your thighs as you pulsed around him. Your mind was blank, fuzzy warmth spreading through your limbs in a soporific manner. He broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at you, glasses slightly foggy.

You searched his eyes and his face before a smile cracked on your lips. Michael mirrored it with a lopsided grin, huffing as he breathed out deeply.

Feeling a burst of confidence, you let a hand brush between your legs, swiping some of his cum that had dripped onto your thigh up to your mouth. You licked it off your finger slowly, opening your mouth to let him see the mess on your tongue before swallowing.

Michael’s adams apple bobbed, his cock twitching inside of you, “Fucking hell.”

You huffed another laugh, leaning forward to kiss him again, sliding your tongue into his mouth so he could taste himself as well as you on his tongue. He hummed loudly, dropping your leg to cradle your head in his hands.

When you broke away once more, you couldn’t help but notice the glaringly obvious.

Michael Gavey just fucked you in the library.

His tongue wet his lips as he looked at you, “Was that good?” A beat, “For you?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, “You?”

“Yeah.”

Silence began to stretch between the two of you before you shifted your hips, Gavey took the hint and slowly slid from your walls, causing you to whimper from the overstimulation. He tucked himself into his pants as you righted yourself, looking down at the gaping hole in the gusset of your tights.

“Well this will be an interesting walk home.” You mused, a hum of a laugh tickling the back of your throat.

Michael snorted, “Made quite the mess.”

“You did.”

Michael smirked, “It wasn’t all me now. I can’t take all the blame.”

You let your skirt drop, smoothing it down as you stepped away from the bookcase, looking back up at him.

“I suppose not. There was effort on both ends here.”

“There was.”

You nibbled at your lip, the unspoken words just at the tip of your tongue, “Michael-“

“-27. We’re in the same block.” His eyes searched yours.

Room 27? Why-

“Did you want to get a drink?” Michael blurted, shifting on his feet awkwardly as though you hadn't just fought and angrily fucked against a bookshelf.

You looked at him closely. There was no sign of insincerity in his eyes.

He was offering an olive branch.

You let a smile wash over your face, enjoying how his own came to match it.

“Sure."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

Taglist: @magnificentdelusionr @twglitching @fan-goddess @mydemimonde @itsshizyne @4v1d-m3t4l-3nj0y3r @liv-cole @lcecgg @sepherinaspoppies @marihoneywk @trashy-panda777 @bellaisasleep

#Michael Gavey x reader #Michael Gavey x y/n #Michael Gavey #Saltburn #michael Gavey fanfic #michael Gavey smut #Saltburn fanfic #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey smut #michael gavey fic #michael gavey #ewan mitchell #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fic #michael gavey fanfic #Michael gavey oneshot #saltburn #michael gavey saltburn

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lilmisssweetdreams · 3 months

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ fingers dimming the lights

mdni, 18+ only

the home office is bathed in warm, ambient light—it always is at this time of the night, familiar and soothing, exactly like the figure sat at the desk, hunched over her laptop. alex knows her work schedule is erratic, she works with people all over the world like he does, different time zones and different countries, and not that she’s a slave to her laptop but she does work a tad too much if you ask him.

still, he lets her be and stays in the corner of the room, flicking through his book. he lets her be that is, until he sees her rubbing her eyes tiredly and stifle another yawn. she reaches for the mug next to her, brings it to her lips, and frowns. it’s empty.

then she stretches like a cat—back arched, arms elongated—before curling into herself. that, evidently, does it for him.

silently, he sets the book aside and walks up behind her. she barely even notices until his hands are on her shoulders, feeling the knots in her muscles, trying to massage the tension away.

“you’re tired,” alex tuts and feels her shrug. “come to bed. it’s almost ten.”

she snorts lightly. “you know i can’t for another two hours at least, besides, i’ll be free tomorrow. then i’m all yours.”

“you’re already all mine,” he teases and kneads the knots again. (he does make a mental note though, to get her a proper warm bath tomorrow; bubbles and salts and candles and all.)

“come on, love,” alex tries again but she only hums a bit. and then she turns to him with a full pout.

“i wish, babe. but i’ve got to have a very grown-up, professional zoom call while trying to hide the fact that i’m wearing pyjama bottoms. two more hours, i promise.”

and just like that she’s back to facing her laptop, back to clacking away on the keyboard, making that soothing sound of her nails against it that he loves so much. right now, alex bends down and kisses her neck gently.

“when does your call start?”

“umm, eleven…”

the suspicion in her voice makes him grin and then he places a few more kisses down her neck and on her shoulders.

“could relax you a little till then,” he murmurs, “put you in a better mood.”

she tilts her head up to him and laughs. “what’s got you in a mood, sweet boy?”

the moniker makes him smile wider. his fingers continue tracing soothing patterns, and his lips leave gentle kisses on the nape of her neck.

“just need you to take a short break, ’s all. your laptop won't run away, baby, the the call is still an hour away.”

the next time alex looks at her, there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. that, and the way she subtly bites her lower lip… and alex knows he’s won her over

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the first thing he does is lay her down on the bed, then he dims the lights until their bedroom is just as cosy as her workspace—all warm and golden.

the anticipation of it has definitely gotten to her. alex can almost see her trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, her nipples peaking out from her thin t-shirt, hair an effortless mess. the sight of her sends his neurons into overdrive and he feels the familiar tingling as all his blood rushes south.

“let me take care of you, darling,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”

his words effect her immediately, make her toes curl and her mouth part almost as if she’s anticipating the gasp that he will draw out of her.

“there’s my sweet girl,” he trails a hand over her leg—starting from her ankle and up her calf and then up her thigh until his fingers are at her hip. the knot of her pyjama shorts is next.

all he has to do is give it a light tug before he’s sliding it off her legs. she helps by lifting up her hips, then eagerly shimmies out of her underwear.

“look at you now,” alex teases. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to her stomach. "come on, baby," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”

something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and alex drags a finger through her slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing her and spreading her open while his mouth presses kisses all over. her lower stomach first, then her thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds her clit and a jolt goes through her body.

“fuck fuck fuck alex…” she moans out loud and a thrill goes down his spine.

fuck, here he is—tasting her and touching her and making her feel this way. his girl, she is his girl. and oh he’s never been one to be primal and possessive but all he can think about at the moment is that she is his.

she is his and he is hers.

and he loves her.

he loves her so fucking much.

she gasps when he sucks on her clit, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. her thighs tremble under his hands, her muscles shifts and alex doesn’t stop her at all when she squeezes her thighs together—the pressure on his head is delicious and spine-tingling anyway. it’s heady and intoxicating, just like her scent, her taste.

“oh god, al,” she moans loudly. “fuck, just like that…” her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while she squirms under his touch, grinds herself against his face and alex takes it all.

his tongue laps at her folds, his nose pushing against her clit and her screams are like music to his ears. better than anything he’s ever heard. better than anything he’s ever created.

his cock throbs desperately, twitching and hard, dying to feel her clenching around his now, to feel her squeezing him until his vision goes white and he fills her up. he can practically see the image in front of his eyes—his cum dripping out of her, making a mess on her thighs. mess that he could clean up with his tongue or with his fingers and push all of it back inside her. fill her up completely.

she clenches around nothing then and for a moment alex almost cums in his pants. but he can tell she’s close now. her hips rock against his face and her thighs squeeze his head harder. nails dig into his scalp making him hiss but she’s so close, he can almost taste her release on his tongue.

“so perfect for me,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over her clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”

“so, so close…” she trails off and alex can’t resist the urge to place a kiss on her thigh. a soft request maybe or even a way to coax her.

“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against her clit. his tongue thrusts inside her again and she mewls out his name again. louder than before.

“don’t stop, al, don’t—” and he feels it then, feels her drenching his lips and his chin. feels the spasm of her thighs and feels her ragged breaths reverberating through her body.

just like she requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop she has to over, fucks her with his tongue till she’s completely done riding out her orgasm. only once he feels her body go slack does he straighten.

and alex is met with the loveliest sight he can imagine.

her hair is sprawled all over the pillow, messy and gorgeous. her face is flushed, lip bitten till it’s raw and red. alex sees a sliver of her underboob from where her t-shirt rode up but it’s when he looks at her thighs does he see all the red marks he’s left behind…

all the kisses and hickeys and slight stubble burn. light bruises on her thighs from holding onto her so tight.

she’s marked and some primal part of him can’t get enough of the sight.

quickly alex moves to her and captures her mouth in his. her tongue slides in his mouth instantly, and alex knows she can taste herself on his tongue. quietly, she moans in his mouth and he feels like he’s going to burst right then.

but there’s the matter of the fucking call…

he has no idea how much time has passed but he knows she needs to leave soon while he tosses and turns restlessly in their bed, surrounded by the scent of her, still tasting her—

“where are you going?” her voice comes out as a breathless rasp and alex realises he’s pulling away.

“well… well, i though you had the call, love…”

she clicks her tongue and her smile turns into her grin.

“oh you’re not leaving this bed,” she declares. “i’m texting them that i don’t feel well.”

slowly, a smile spreads over his face and alex shudders under her touch.

“whatever happened to being adult and professional,” he teases breathlessly but she’s already pulling up his t-shirt, already lifting it over his head.

“oh no,” she tuts, “none of that. not when i have much better things to do…”

#♡: fics #smut #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner smut #alex turner fanfic #arctic monkeys #arctic monkeys fanfic #minors do not interact #female reader #no minors allowed

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tswhiisftteedr · 2 months

Note

Heyyyy, could you do a oneshot f!reader x Zestial nsfw pretty please ? 🙏

Tea Salon ☆ One Shot

Zestial x Salon Owner Sinner!Fem!Reader:

A young woman with big dreams ready to be achieve was what you were, after making a deal with Overlord Rosie you soon found out that your Salon wasn't the only thing that would bloom in your afterlife...

Warning: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Honestly Nothing Kinky, Husband and wife, Praise kink, Creampie, Oral(Female receiving), Old English, NOT PROOFREAD.

Words: 5907

Note: okay if you know anything about business, I am so sorry cuz I don’t, I just did some quick research so if it just looks like a bunch of gibberish (Rosie and reader’s meeting), I am sorry! Also a lot of Rosie in the beginning, like zestial is mentioned but doesn’t show up until the shop is open for a little while.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

In your living, you've always appreciated the simplicity of nature-oriented lifestyle reminiscent of earlier eras. It's not that you have anything against new technologies; you own a smartphone and laptop, after all. What irks you is the over-consumerism perpetuated by planned obsolescence.

Your expectation when purchasing something is that it should function and endure, offering value for the time and money invested. The capitalist mindset, with its overproduction and resulting overconsumption, is something you strongly dislike.

Capitalism inherently creates a class conflict between capital and labor. While capitalists aim for high profits, workers may endure exploitation, receiving wages consistently lower than the true value of their labor.

When you had finally passed away due to a malfunctioning smart car and had discovered that even in the afterlife, people still had to work tirelessly to meet end means, you couldn't deny that you felt disappointed.

With a background in restoration, you secured a position in a somewhat upscale restaurant – well, upscale for Hell's pride ring standards. Although you initially started as a garbage boy, you quickly ascended the ranks to become a server.

Devoting longer hours than your colleagues, by choice, you harbored a goal beyond mere survival in the hellscape. You held an ambition, a genuine dream – to establish a tea salon and sustain yourself through it.

Envisioning your own establishment, you aimed to offer freshly baked treats and brewed tea for guests to enjoy while engaging in lively conversations and gossip.

You were well aware of whose assistance was crucial for your project. Overlord Rosie served as your golden ticket to a thriving salon. You needed her help to secure a building in the border zone shared by her and Overlord Zestial, as both of their people were of interest when envisioning the kind of establishment you hope to open.

After three months of relentless work and an additional month of patiently waiting for an appointment on her end, you finally managed to secure a meeting with the elegant cannibal;

"So, what do you have for me today, darling?" she inquires.

"Well, Madam Rosie—" you begin, but you're promptly interrupted by the demon before you.

"Oh, dear, no need for all those 'madam' formalities for a sweet thing like you. Just call me Rosie. But if you insist on honorifics, then ‘Miss Rosie’ will do!" The leader of Hell's cannibal district and owner of the Rosie emporium cheerfully encourages you to address her casually. Despite the power difference, her amiable attitude eases any tension surrounding your sales pitch.

"Oh, very well then. Ahem, Miss Rosie, I'd like to seek your assistance for a passion project of mine," you pause, collecting your thoughts.

"I'm interested in opening a tea salon. It's been four months since I arrived in hell, and I've been searching extensively for the perfect building. Coincidentally, it's situated on your side of the shared border zone with Overlord Zestial. I understand it's not owned by you as part of the border zone, but being on the edge of your colony grants you some jurisdiction."

"Is that so," she replies, sipping her tea. "I appreciate the idea of a tea salon near my territory. Please elaborate more about the idea itself."

"Of course! I personally dislike the over-consumerism that existed on Earth and persists in hell. My goal is to establish one or two shops at most—something familial and local instead of a big chain. I aim to offer freshly baked and brewed drinks for my customers, who would come from all over the Pentagram. I do acknowledge that most of my clientele would be from your people, Overlord Zestial's, and those from the Radio Demon's territory. A simple analysis suggests that sinners from those areas may be more in tune with the concept, as they hail from eras when such establishments were more common," you explain.

"Well, that's all delightful, darling, but, as you rightly point out, the concept isn't foreign in these circles. Your salon is certainly not the first in these parts. No offense to your aspirations, but I'm struggling to see what sets you apart, something that would entice me to invest."

"As for standing out, I may or may not have direct access to products from the living world," you reveal, prompting Rosie to set down her cup.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" she remarks, now more intrigued.

"Yes, indeed it is. I can assure you that not only would my products be fresh, but they would exclusively feature ingredients from the living world – a culinary experience many down here yearn for. Additionally, I can promise you the highest quality of tea, such as Ceylon," you confidently declare.

"And how would someone like you, who sought an Overlord's assistance, have access to such materials? I'm not necessarily doubting you, but connecting the dots is a bit challenging," she says joyfully.

"Oh, I apologize, but I cannot disclose the identities of my procurers. I've signed an NDA as obtaining items from the world upstairs isn't their primary business. Additionally this avoids attracting requests from other companies, I'm afraid they'll have to remain nameless," you explain.

"Well, isn't that convenient for you, fufufu~ I suppose you'll have to prove your word in other ways," she remarks.

"Indeed, perhaps I have an idea on how to do so that you'd like to hear," you suggest.

"I'm all ears," she replies.

"I've noticed there's a kitchen in this building, so I was contemplating rescheduling another meeting soon after this one. During that meeting, I plan not only to bring in earthly ingredients but also to bake something for you. This would showcase my kitchen skills while simultaneously proving my capability to provide the desired products," you express.

"Well, that does seem feasible. I'll pencil you in for next Monday," she replies, jotting something down on her notepad that had been on the coffee table since the start of the meeting. "Now, shall we discuss payment?" she asks.

"Yes, please. As mentioned earlier, I'll handle the supply for my business. What I need from you is assistance in acquiring the building, help with renovations since it's a bit run-down, and perhaps some promotion to your people concerning work, as I'll still require staff when I eventually open. I've checked the listing for the building itself, and I have more than enough for the purchase. However, when renovations and promoting are considered, my budget becomes a bit tight. I was thinking of a BNPL for that part," you explain.

"Alright then, that doesn't seem too bad. How about this: I get 10% of the overall monthly revenue from your establishment. I still need to make some money, after all, fufufu~ Additionally, we can consider a 1-year BNPL plan to repay the renovation loan. And one more thing: to prove your establishment's worth, aim for a minimum 20% net profit by the end of the year since opening day. How does that sound to you?" she inquires.

"10 percent isn't too stiff, but a 20% net profit may be a little challenging in only a year of business. However, I believe in my dream!" you cheerfully exclaim.

"I'm glad you agree, though I still need some collateral for your loan. But let's discuss that after I get to see your skills in action," she tells you a bit more seriously.

"Makes sense," you reply.

"I think that's all for today unless you still have something to talk about," she asks.

"No, that's all from my side," you tell her.

"Wonderful, darling! I hope to see you Monday at 12:35 a.m.," she says as she stands up and points to the door.

"Yes, so do I," you respond as you exit the room.

Leaving her building, you were more than pleased that the meeting had gone well. Once home, as you collapsed on your couch, releasing all your stress, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the chance encounter with that imp during your first month in hell;

On that day, you had ventured to imp city for errands, finding Carmine products a bit too pricey for your liking. Seeking an alternative for self-defense, you visited a gun shop there.

Exiting the store, you witnessed a heartbreaking scene—an imp being beaten up by a group of sinners, degrading names thrown at him. While you refrained from intervening, as it wasn't your place, the revelation that they were targeting the imp simply because he was an imp, compelled you to approach and ensure he wasn't fatally harmed.

Before you could rouse his battered form with a shake, he uttered, "The hell you want."

"Oh, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," you reassure him.

"Bullshit," he retorts loudly. "Listen, fucking pickpocket, those assholes already took everything I had on me, besides my clothes. And I sure as hell won't be stroll down these motherfucking streets in my underwear. So, if you wanted anything, too bad, now you have until the count of ten before I blow a hole in your skull," he rudely warns.

"First of all, I'm not going to rob you. Second, how are you going to shoot me if you just said you had nothing on you? And thirdly, I was serious about checking on you. It's unfair that they beat you up just for being an imp. It's messed up, honestly. Since sinners don't have specific races like back on Earth, they just go after other beings to exercise their racist ideology," you say.

"Humans sure do love their racism," he remarks, still untrusting but more open to conversation.

"Sinners are down here for a reason, but hellspawns are different. They're currently living their lives, just like humans did back on Earth. And yet, the damned are considered superior? That's just messed up," you express sincerely. In your view, hell's hierarchy wasn't fair. ‘If this was the sinners' punishment, why categorize them as better than imps—creatures born here, not getting punished for misconduct.’

With that sentiment resonating in your words, the imp seemed more at ease as he responded to your next words. "Anyways, you need medical attention. Let's get to a hospital."

"Do you have the money for medical bills, or even the admission fee? 'Cause I sure don't," he replies, a grin on his face, strangely charming despite his black eye and cut lips.

"Yeah, sorry, pal. I can't afford the rates for treating you; I'm saving for something big," you convey with sadness in your voice.

He chuckles at your honesty. "Thought so," he replies, allowing his body to rest against the brick wall of the alley even more, as if surrendering.

"My place is far from here. Do you have any first aid supplies at yours?" you inquire, a slight panic setting in, concerned that if he fell asleep, he might not make it, even though he wasn't bleeding excessively. Yet, he didn't appear likely to stay conscious much longer.

"Yeah, but it's too far from here," he begins, heightening your anxiety. "Though my office isn't. There's some there too," he adds, his eyes glossy, appearing on the verge of passing out at any moment.

"Alright then, just give me the address, and I'll take you there," he somewhat reluctantly grumbled out the location before passing out.

Entering the address into your phone's search engine and hoisting the imp onto your back, you walked to the location.

Quite aware that cab drivers might attempt to take extort you, especially considering you were a human carrying an injured imp, you opted for the slower but more cost-effective walking route, reaching the destination in about 25 minutes.

Climbing the stairs to the seventh floor drained your energy, but your adrenaline surged upon encountering a hellhound and two imps inside the office.

The hellhound growled and barked aggressively, while the female imp simultaneously yelled and prepared for a fight. The only one not seeing red was the male imp, who was trying to make sense of the situation.

"What the hell happened to Blitzø!??" the hellhound demanded.

"Yeah, what the hell did you do to him!?!??" the female imp added, brandishing a knife.

"Millie, calm down. If they brought him here, they're most likely not the ones who hurt him," the male imp reasoned with the female.

"Yeah, it wasn't me. He got beaten up by a group of supremacist sinners," you explained as you gently placed him on the couch in the room. "He told me he had a first aid kit here, so I brought him here as neither he nor I could afford the hospital bills."

"And how can we be sure you aren't part of the jerks who hurt him, huh?" the female imp asked, her nerves still on edge, clearly showing concern for the imp. ‘Well, no, Millie showed concern a lot about Blitz.’

"You can just ask him when he wakes up, but right now, he needs help. So, can any of you bring the kit, and we'll get this over with."

With reluctance, the hellhound, whom you soon learned was named Luna, retrieved the kit and left the healing to the male imp, Moxxie. They preferred you not to touch him any further.

After briefly stepping out to grab some missing antiseptic, you observed as they took care of him. You had convinced your way into staying until he awoke; the thought that his injuries might be worse than you initially thought haunted you, and you couldn't bear the idea that he might have died if you hadn't brought him here fast enough.

After Blitzø had regained consciousness, he thanked you and offered a 50% discount on your first kill. Curious about the statement, you informed him that you weren't aware of what his company specialized in. He somewhat joyfully played their commercial for you.

Finding it all very intriguing, you inquired about the possibility of them visiting the living world for a different purpose, which he confirmed but clarified it wasn't their company's business.

Tugging a bit at their heartstrings, particularly after saving Blitzø, you divulged your ambitions. To stand out and make your dream a reality, you needed something unique, and they held the key to it. Your request was for them to procure ingredients from the human world.

Blitzø exhibited reluctance, but Millie underwent a 180-degree shift, genuinely eager to assist you, with her husband supporting her. After some persuasion, you struck a deal with I.M.P. In exchange for 5/7 of the usual kill price and keeping things on the down low, they agreed to provide you with a weekly shipment of the groceries.

Returning to the present, it was now Monday, and you found yourself 10 minutes ahead of schedule, standing in front of Rosie's emporium with a large cooler containing your ingredients.

An employee inside noticed you through the sizable glass entry doors and came out to guide you to the kitchen. They assured you that they would inform Rosie of your arrival and gave you the green light to start setting up.

True to your word, you efficiently prepared the kitchen, and right on schedule, Rosie arrived to find a clean and ready-to-use workspace, along with the promised fresh and earthy ingredients;

"Looks like you're a woman of your word, aren't you, dear?" Rosie remarked as she grabbed some dairy products and checked the expiration dates on them.

"Of course, and I wouldn't even dream of lying to you in the first place," you assured her.

"Oh, how trustworthy you are, fufufu~" she teased.

"Of course, now should I begin?" you asked, and she replied affirmatively.

With that, the baking commenced. Your choice of treat for today was a Charlotte au fraise. In about 35 minutes, you finished the preparation.

The dessert needed to chill for 8 hours in the fridge, but anticipating such a wait, you had invested in a 'chill crystal' for today and the future. This crystal is essential for cooks and bakers alike in hell as it significantly reduces the time a dish needs to be refrigerated.

Using it, your 8 hours turned into 25 minutes. During that time, you cleaned your equipment and the kitchen and, of course, brewed some tea for Rosie.

Upon reaching the 25-minute mark, you brought out the cake, cut a slice for Rosie, and served her a cup of tea. She relished every last bit of it;

"This was all wonderful, y/n," she expressed. "I am sure of it now, I will definitely invest in your dream!"

"Oh, thank you, Miss Rosie! You don't know how much this means to me!" you exclaimed joyfully.

"I'm glad I can help. But now that we've agreed I'll lend my assistance to you on your adventure, I still need you to agree on the collateral for the BNPL I want."

"Oh, of course. What is it?" you asked.

"Well, it's elementary, dear. What I want is... your soul!" she told you.

"Oh, well, that's only until I pay you back, right?" You asked worriedly.

"Yes, of course. If everything goes well and you pay me back before the deadline, you'll get your soul back. But if you exceed the time limit, your soul will indefinitely belong to me. I hope you understand that," she explained.

With a gulp, you spoke up, "I understand, Miss. Rosie."

"Wonderful, then... 'It's a deal,'" she declared, and with those words, a bright pink contract materialized, altering the entire room's shade. Nervously, you picked up a pen from the table and signed your soul away.

As you pulled away from the contract, a pink chain momentarily appeared around your neck, then vanished in a flash along with the contract.

The demonstration went well, and you got what you wanted. While having your soul signed away was nerve-racking, you believed that if you made your vision work in time, it would return to you.

You begin to double your efforts, working your ass off harder than before. On your days off from the restaurant, you checked on the renovations of your building, and about a month later, everything was completed. After a long time of sucking up to the influential guests of the restaurant, you earned enough money to quit and open your shop.

With Rosie's promotion to her people, you efficiently built a staff, even recruiting some from other districts. On the 7th of August, you finally opened the doors to your shop, and it turned out to be a tremendous success.

The turnout exceeded expectations, but you had trained your staff to handle it. Business was booming, meeting Rosie's conditions in about 5 months instead of a year.

Just as you had envisioned, people from all over the pentagram flocked to enjoy the services your establishment provided. Surprisingly, sinners from Zestial'd district emerged as your number 1 clientele, surpassing even Rosie's people.

With your salon becoming the hot topic of his district, it caught the interest of the governing overlord. Since his people were captivated by your establishment, he decided to pay a visit himself. And so he did.

Upon the first approach to the building, he was delighted by the overall aesthetic.

While he wasn't from the era when salons first became popular, being about two centuries older, the entire ambiance brought a sense of nostalgia, even though he wasn't alive when they gained popularity.

Another aspect that pleased him was the evident respect guests and staff showed to the establishment during a service. People were polite, and the quality of the food served was impeccable.

He was currently enjoying a cup of tea with none other than Rosie, discussing the success of the establishment;

"You've madeth a valorous investment, mine lief friend. This salon is nothing but successful; you've hath found quite the gem,” Zestial complimented Rosie as he sipped his tea.

Setting her cup down, Rosie responded, "Oh, quite the contrary, Zestial. My dear little owner was the one who reached out. Sparkles in her eyes and a big dream in her heart. With hard work, she achieved those ambitions, beating my expectations and regaining her soul in less than half the time I expected."

"is yond so? Quite the guts and perseverance the lady hath,“ he replied, taking another sip of his tea.

"Yes, though I honestly didn't expect your people to enjoy this place so much. Really messed up my calculations," she said, playfully feigning frustration.

"well, sinners art inherently unpredictable creatures by nature. Plus," he paused to take a bite of a fruit tart on his plate, "with desserts like this, i don't expect anyone to intermit long ere coming to tryeth those folk for themselves. Speaking of which, i would love to compliment the owner and chef for such marvelous worketh, “ he said once he had swallowed his bite.

Rosie replied, "Well, that's the fun thing – they're both the same person. She works diligently as both showrunner and employee! But yes, I can get her if you truly wish to speak to her."

"yond would beest appreciated,“ he told her.

Meanwhile, you were on the phone with a decor company, trying to arrange something for Valentine's Day in a month – or more like Valentine's week, with new decor from the 7th to the 14th.

Once you hung up, Rosie entered the office and informed you of the situation. Without questions, you followed her into the main room of the salon, and let's just say you were nervous;

Gazing at your form, Zestial spoke out, "i wilt sayeth, miss y/n, i greatly enjoy thy establishment, and so doth mine people.”

"Oh— thank you so much, Zestial, sir, I- I mean, Mr. Zestial. Sorry, I meant Overlord Zestial! So sorry!" you stammer.

"quite the nervous one, isn’t the lady?" he did add with a bawbling chuckle. he said to Rosie, who only nodded in agreement. "well, nay needeth for worries. 'zestial' is quite fine, child." he added with a small chuckle.

"Oh, alright then. Thank you for your praise, Zestial," you said with a soft smile, which he returned. ‘Satan, was he handsome.’

"Hey, how come you call him by his name right away, and I'm still 'Miss Rosie'?" Rosie teased.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Rosie. I've just gotten used to it," you replied, and they both laughed at your flustered state.

This soon became a common occurrence for you, and quickly after that, Zestial came more and more often to the point that your salon became Zestial's meeting spot when discussing business. Consequently, he had his own VIP room for such occurrences.

Simultaneously, you grew closer with the Overlord, becoming more comfortable around him. About a month later, you found yourself crushing on the man, giving him a fair amount of treats on the house to show affection.

And don't think said affection went unnoticed by him. Being an old soul like him brought wisdom, especially in the romance department.

Actually, Zestial himself found himself enamored with you, leading to him declaring his desire to court you;

You were tidying up the VIP room after one of Zestial's meetings, swiping down the table. As you prepared to leave the room, the Overlord spoke up.

"y/n, darling, may i hath't a word with thee?” he asked.

"Yes, of course, Zestial. What do you need?" you replied, your voice slightly quivering, because, 'fuck, did you love the fact he started calling you romantic pet names.'

"well, mine lovely business owner, i hath't to admit something to thee, so prithee did put the rag down and sitteth, " he requested. You obliged. "It seems that I have found mys"'t seemeth yond i hath't did find myself having fallen for thee,“ he began, making your breath hitch.

"i eke did notice yond thee seemeth to feeleth the same, or am i wrong?" he inquired, causing you to shake your head and answer with a weak, flustered 'no.' "did doth bethink so," he said with a chuckle. "then, as we both feeleth for one another, i'd like to court thee, unless thee hath't something 'gainst me doing so.”

"Yes— I mean no, well, um, shit," you stammered. Taking a breath, you spoke out again. "What I meant to say was, yes, I would love to be courted by you, more than anything, actually," you admitted.

Standing up, walking behind you, and wrapping his arm around your figure, he leaned down to your ear. "well, isn't yond perfect. I can't wait to hath't thee all to myself still,“ he whispered, somewhat sensually, leaving you in shock yet longing for more when he pulled away.

And with that, the courtship began. You found yourself taken out for nights on the town to nice restaurants, sweet notes and love poems left in your office for you to see, and evenings spent at his castle in the fireplace room, listening as he serenaded you, oh so lovingly.

You honestly couldn't wait for you and him to become official. You might have thought that being spoken for after such a short time was idiotic in the past, but Zestial was just so perfect and all you needed in your afterlife. It was obvious that you would marry as soon as he asked you.

About 5 months after your initial meeting, you found yourself dining with your suitor at quite the fancy restaurant, fancier than the one you used to work at actually.

"how art thee liking thy food, mine sweet y/n?” Zestial inquired.

"Yes, it's wonderful. What about yours, Zestial?" you asked back.

"everything is eke wonderful on mine end, " he replied, then added on, "Mine darling, would thee mind stopping thy meal for an instant? I'd like to break with an important matter with thee.”

"Oh, why, of course," you replied, putting down your utensils. You were now accustomed to Zestial and his ways, but his next move surprised you.

Zestial had stood up and got on his knees. "mine love, despite not having known thee for yond long did compare to mine long existence, i cannot see myself spending mine life beyond the grave without thee. Thou art high-sighted, talented, ingenious, and quite quaint, to a sir like me, and i would did bet many others, ye art quite literally breathtaking. Yond is accounting for thee as a whole, not just thy aesthetic attributes. So, y/n l/n, would thee doth me the honor of being thy husband for eternity?” He said as he pulled out a ring box, opening it to reveal a beautiful green diamond ring.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you gasped in surprise, your eyes widened at the stunning ring before you. The green diamond sparkled, capturing the essence of your feelings.

"Oh, Zestial..." You trailed off, a wave of happiness and love washing over you. Tears of joy glistened in your eyes as you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, a thousand times yes!" you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement. Zestial's face lit up with a radiant smile as he gently slipped the ring onto your finger.

As the dazzling gem adorned your hand, sealing the promise of eternity, Zestial rose from his kneeling position. You both shared a tender embrace, sealing the moment with a passionate kiss. The restaurant's ambiance faded away as you were immersed in the warmth of Zestial's affection.

The patrons and staff discreetly applauded, offering their congratulations to the newly engaged couple. Zestial held you close, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions.

"to our dateless love,“ he whispered, and you clinked your glasses together in a toast. The night continued, now infused with the magic of your commitment to each other.

From that moment forward, you and Zestial embarked on a beautiful journey, navigating the twists and turns of the afterlife hand in hand, bound by an eternal love that transcended time and existence.

And so, your wedding unfolded in a splendid ceremony. Radiant in your role, you felt like a true queen that day, with Rosie officiating and injecting humor into the proceedings, eliciting laughter from you, Zestial, and your guests.

The day was a jubilant celebration, offering you the chance to become better acquainted with Zestial's fellow overlords, including Carmilla Carmine: Holy Arms Dealer and Alastor: The Radio Demon. Despite their contrasting personalities, they played nice for the sake of the occasion.

However, that was a few hours ago. Now, with the reception concluded, all the guests had departed, leaving you and Zestial in the intimate confines of his castle, specifically, his bedroom.

Following tradition, this was the night of your nuptials, the night where you and Zestial would come together as one for the first time;

Seated at the edge of the king-size bed in your now shared room, you adorned yourself in an exquisite, intricately embroidered transparent nightgown, awaiting Zestial.

The faint click of the door drew your attention, and your now-husband entered, pushing the door open with a subtle yet confident gesture.

"Well, mine dearest bride, “ Zestial said, his voice filled with an underlying lustfulness that sent shivers down your spine. "'t seemeth we finally hath't some time high-lone.” He stepped closer to you, his presence filling up the entire room.

You could feel his eyes roaming over your exposed body, drinking in every inch of you like a starving demon discovering a feast fit for a king. While you tried hard not to squirm or show any signs of discomfort, your heart raced faster than it ever had before as he spoke words of praise.

"T-thank you, Zestial," you managed to croak out, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach.

His voice dripping with false surprise. "thee behold absolutely stunning in yond gown, y/n.”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to caress your exposed thighs, his touch sending electric shocks coursing through your entire body. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, fighting the urge to whimper aloud as he continued to tease you. ‘Were you always this needy?’

"art thee eft for me to claim what is rightfully mine?” he asked, his eyes flashing with hunger.

You nodded vigorously, as he slowly undressed himself, revealing his tall, imposing frame covered in black fabric that clung tightly to his lithe figure. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants.

As he stood before you, nude except for his dark briefs, you couldn't help but marvel at his imposing presence. He towered over you like a giant spider, his erect member straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

Trembling slightly, you open your legs, inviting him to climb onto the bed and join you. Without hesitation, Zestial crawled onto the mattress, positioning himself between your spread legs. He leaned forward, his mouth hovering inches away from your pussy, his breath hot against your sensitive folds.

"Tell me, mine own lief jointress," he purred, his voice low and husky. "Would thee liketh me to gust thee first?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you replied, your voice cracking slightly. "Yes... please..."

Zestial's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your sensitive flesh. You let out a soft moan as he began to tease you, tracing light kisses along your thighs and inner thighs before finally reaching your wet, quivering entrance.

He sucked on your sensitive folds, causing your hips to buck and writhe involuntarily.

As he continued his lewd assault on your most intimate areas, his tongue darted out to lick and circle your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You arched your back, crying out his name, your nails digging into the sheets as he relentlessly pleasured you.

"Oh, Satan... Zestial!" You panted, your breath coming in short gasps. "I'm going to—I'm almost there!"

"Good girl," Zestial growled, his voice thick with desire. He increased the pace of his assault, sucking harder on your clit and thrusting his tongue deeper into your wetness.

Your moans turned into incoherent moans of pure ecstasy as he brought you closer to the edge of orgasm.

Just as you felt you were about to cum, he suddenly pulled away, leaving you craving more. "Not yet, mine own dram naughty bride," he purred. "We haven't begun yet. “

He stood up straight again, his hardened member now fully exposed, throbbing with anticipation. "do thee wanteth me to filleth thee up anon?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.

You panted heavily, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Yes, please, Zestial," you pleaded, your voice hoarse from your intense arousal. "I need you inside me."

“Are thee sure mine own loveth, thy so bawbling i’m afraid i might breaketh thee. ” He teased, which only made whine pleadingly.

Without further ado, Zestial positioned himself between your spread legs once more. Slowly, he pushed himself into your tight, wet entrance, filling you up to the brim.

A mixture of pain and pleasure radiated throughout your body as he began to thrust rhythmically, his massive member stretching and stretching you further than you ever thought possible.

Each thrust was accompanied by a low groan from both of you, the sounds of your bodies slapping together filling the quiet room.

Your nails clawed at the sheets, leaving long, deep scratches in the fabric as he pounded into you relentlessly. Your orgasm built up faster than before, approaching its peak once more.

"Cum f'r me, mine own lief," Zestial growled, his eyes blazing with lust. "Let wend and releaseth all yond pent-up desire. “

You cried out his name, your body convulsing violently as you climaxed again, your juices coating his member and dripping down your thighs.

Your orgasm seemed to fuel him further, and he picked up the pace, thrusting faster and harder than ever before.

"Yes! More, give me more!" You begged, your voice barely recognizable from the pleasure that consumed you.

As your body continued to shake with each powerful thrust, Zestial groaned deeply, his fingers digging into your hips for support. Suddenly, he groaned loudly, his entire body tensing up before shooting his hot seed deep inside of you, filling you completely.

Finally, he pulled out of you, his cock still twitching as he collapsed beside you on the bed. Panting heavily, he reached over and brushed a strand of sweat-drenched hair from your forehead.

"That wast. quite wond'rful," he managed to croak out between heavy breaths. "Howev'r, i doubteth a single round shall suffice to satisfyeth mine own needeth, consid'ring i've been anticipating this moment f'r months. ”

“Oh.” Was all you had the time to say before your night of passion continues.

"Thank you, Zestial," you panted, your own breath returning to normal. "That was... amazing."

You reached over and caressed his cheek, your fingers trailing down to his chin. "Could we... do it again sometime?"

He chuckled softly, his eyes softening slightly. "Of course, mine own lief jointress," he replied, chuckling at your somewhat innocent neediness, his voice still husky with satisfaction. "We has't all the timeth in this hellish w'rld togeth'r anon. "

You lay there for a while, basking in their post-coital bliss, their hearts racing in sync. Eventually, Zestial stirred, moving closer to you. "Do thee needeth aught else bef're we retireth f'r the night?” he asked, his hand trailing down your stomach to rest on your hipbone.

“No, I just want you close to me.” You answered,

“Of course.” he replied softly, placing a kiss on your forehead as you fell asleep in each other’s arms….

Old English in order of apparition;

"You've madeth a valorous investment, mine lief friend. This salon is nothing but successful; you've hath found quite the gem, ” = "You've made a good investment, my friend. This salon is nothing but successful; you've found quite the gem,”

"is yond so? Quite the guts and perseverance the lady hath,“ = "Is that so? Quite the guts and perseverance she has,"

"well, sinners art inherently unpredictable creatures by nature. Plus," = "Well, sinners are inherently unpredictable creatures by nature. Plus,"

"with desserts like this, i don't expect anyone to intermit long ere coming to tryeth those folk for themselves. Speaking of which, i would love to compliment the owner and chef for such marvelous worketh, “ = "with desserts like this, I don't expect anyone to resist long before coming to try them for themselves. Speaking of which, I would love to compliment the owner and chef for such marvelous work,"

"yond would beest appreciated,“ = "That would be appreciated,"

"i wilt sayeth, miss y/n, i greatly enjoy thy establishment, and so doth mine people.” = "I must say, Miss Y/n, I greatly enjoy your establishment, and so do my people."

"quite the nervous one, isn’t the lady?" = "Quite the nervous one, isn’t she?"

"well, nay needeth for worries. 'zestial' is quite fine, child." = "Well, no need for worries. 'Zestial' is quite fine, child,"

"y/n, darling, may i hath't a word with thee?” he asked. = "Y/n, darling, may I have a word with you?"

"well, mine lovely business owner, i hath't to admit something to thee, so prithee did put the rag down and sitteth, " = "Well, my lovely business owner, I have to admit something to you, so please put the rag down and sit,"

"It seems that I have found mys"'t seemeth yond i hath't did find myself having fallen for thee,“ = "It seems that I have found myself having fallen for you,"

"i eke did notice yond thee seemeth to feeleth the same, or am i wrong?" = "I also noticed that you seem to feel the same, or am I wrong?"

"did doth bethink so," = "Thought so,"

"then, as we both feeleth for one another, i'd like to court thee, unless thee hath't something 'gainst me doing so.” = "Then, as we both feel for one another, I'd like to court you, unless you have something against me doing so."

"well, isn't yond perfect. I can't wait to hath't thee all to myself still,“ = "Well, isn't that perfect. I can't wait to have you all to myself forever,"

"how art thee liking thy food, mine sweet y/n?” = "How are you liking your food, my sweet Y/N?"

"everything is eke wonderful on mine end, " = "Everything is also wonderful on my end,"

"Mine darling, would thee mind stopping thy meal for an instant? I'd like to break with an important matter with thee.” = "My darling, would you mind stopping your meal for an instant? I'd like to discuss an important matter with you."

"mine love, despite not having known thee for yond long did compare to mine long existence, i cannot see myself spending mine life beyond the grave without thee. Thou art high-sighted, talented, ingenious, and quite quaint, to a sir like me, and i would did bet many others, ye art quite literally breathtaking. Yond is accounting for thee as a whole, not just thy aesthetic attributes. So, y/n l/n, would thee doth me the honor of being thy husband for eternity?” = "My love, despite not having known you for that long compared to my long existence, I cannot see myself spending my life beyond the grave without you. You're ambitious, talented, ingenious, and beautiful, to a man like me, and I would bet many others, you are quite literally breathtaking. That is accounting for you as a whole, not just your aesthetic attributes. So, Y/N L/N, would you do me the honor of being your husband for eternity?"

"to our dateless love,“ = "To our everlasting love,"

"Well, mine dearest bride, “ = "Well, my dearest bride,"

"'t seemeth we finally hath't some time high-lone.” = "It seems we finally have some time alone."

"thee behold absolutely stunning in yond gown, y/n.”= "You look absolutely stunning in that gown, y/n."

"art thee eft for me to claim what is rightfully mine?” = "Are you ready for me to claim what is rightfully mine?"

"tell me, mine own lief jointress," = "Tell me, my dear wife,"

"Would thee liketh me to gust thee first?” = "Would you like me to taste you first?"

"not yet, mine own dram naughty bride," = "Not yet, my little naughty bride,"

"We haven't begun yet. “ = "We haven't begun yet."

"do thee wanteth me to filleth thee up anon?” = "Do you want me to fill you up now?"

“are thee sure mine own loveth, thy so bawbling i’m afraid i might breaketh thee. ” = “Are you sure my love, your so small I’m afraid I might break you.”

"Cum f'r me, mine own lief," = "Cum for me, my dear,"

"Let wend and releaseth all yond pent-up desire. “= "Let go and release all that pent-up desire."

"That wast. quite wond'rful," = "That was... quite wonderful,"

"Howev'r, i doubteth a single round shall suffice to satisfyeth mine own needeth, consid'ring i've been anticipating this moment f'r months. ” = "However, I doubt a single round will suffice to satisfy my needs, considering I've been anticipating this moment for months.”

"Of course, mine own lief jointress," = “Of course, my dear wife,"

"We has't all the timeth in this hellish w'rld togeth'r anon. " = "We have all the time in this hellish world together now.”

"do thee needeth aught else bef're we retireth f'r the night?” = "Do you need anything else before we retire for the night?"

Thanks anon for requesting!

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yuujispinkhair · 5 months

Text

Wildest Dreams

You're supposed to write an article about a charity event at The Shrine, the casino of the Itadori family, but soon get swept away by the Yakuza Prince himself. It's probably a bad idea to get close to a dangerous man like him, but he's so tall and handsome as hell. Why not allow yourself to live your wildest dream, at least for one night? -> This is part of my Blog Anniversary Event (closed). @cometcoffee103 requested the song Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift for Yakuza!Yuuji.

Pairing: Yakuza Prince!Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut, Yakuza AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: 18+, a bit of smut (not very explicit), taking pictures during sex, mentions of alcohol, mentions of organized crime. This story is set in the same universe as my Yakuza AU, but you don't have to read that to understand this story. All you need to know is that Yuuji is the younger brother of the Yakuza King Sukuna, and this version of Yuuji is a bit of a playboy, but in a very sweet and charming way ;) All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

The casino is bustling with people, all of them dressed to the nines, including you. But you feel out of place here, despite the nice dress you are wearing and the red lipstick you put on. Everyone around you is someone important, someone insanely rich or influential, politicians, actors, businessmen. And Yakuza.

You gulp hard. Your hand trembles a little as you bring your wine glass to your lips to take a small sip. You shouldn't even be here. You usually only write short lifestyle articles for your magazine. It was your boss' job to attend the charity event in The Shrine, the biggest casino in the whole city, the casino of the Itadori family, one of the most powerful Yakuza clans in the country.

But two hours ago, you received that fateful message: "Put on your nicest dress and hurry to The Shrine. I'm at the hospital and can't make it. I need you to write the article about the charity event. And try to add something personal about the Itadori brothers! That will get our readers hooked."

And so you are standing here, clutching your wine glass while trying to blend in with the millionaires around you, feeling the hairs on your arms stand up as you wonder how many of them are criminals.

You don't even see him coming until he is right in front of you, moving gracefully like a tiger. A broad smile lifts his lips, and golden eyes meet yours.

"Hey, don't you like the wine? Should I get you another drink?"

You take in a sharp breath. You know the man in front of you. Of course you do.

Itadori Yuuji, with his pink hair and golden eyes. Tall and muscular in his tailored black suit with a pink dress shirt and black tie. Looking just as rich as he truly is with the diamonds sparkling in his ears and the gold rings on every finger. But the scars on his handsome face also tell a story about the other life he is living. His life in Tokyo's underworld.

He is one of the people you got sent here for. The Young Tiger. The Yakuza Prince.

Your heart flutters nervously. But you force yourself to get a grip and be professional. And so you clear your throat before smiling politely at him and shaking your head,

"No, thank you. The wine is perfect, Mr Itadori."

He blinks and then throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"Ahh, please don't call me that! I am Yuuji for someone as cute as you."

Oh?

For a moment, you are caught off guard by his directness and the shameless flirting. But the Itadori charm is well-known. Both Itadori brothers are infamous for being big flirts and playboys who collect women just like they collect fast cars and expensive jewelry.

He points at the press card dangling on a chain around your neck,

"You're here to write about the charity event? How lucky that you ran into me! I can tell you everything you want to know. Come with me!"

You hastily follow him, not daring to waste this chance to get the article your boss demanded from you. And also not daring to turn down the Yakuza Prince's offer.

You spend the next fifteen minutes in a fancy VIP booth while Yuuji answers your questions for your article. Though half of the time, he is blatantly flirting with you. He isn't shy about it. Clearly, a man used to always getting what he wants. The spoiled Prince of Tokyo's underworld.

But you have to admit that his boyish charm works on you. Somehow, his loud laugh and broad sunshine smile make him seem less intimidating than his name suggests. If you didn't know who he was, you wouldn't even be nervous around him. He is so sweet somehow, making you laugh and feel more at ease at this event where you feel so out of place.

And his good looks certainly work their charm on you, too. He looks dashing in his suit, which accentuates all his firm muscles. The undercut and the pink hair on top look sexy on him. You realize that you have unconsciously scooted closer to him.

His golden eyes look thoughtfully at you, making your heart jump.

"You don't look like you enjoy this event very much. I hate these things, too. All those boring people who try to talk business with me, and no one dares say something funny. I don't know how Sukuna is able to endure this all the time."

He sighs and rolls his pretty eyes. The eyes that then land on the low neckline of your dress. His smile grows bigger, and your breath quickens. Yuuji's large, warm hand lands on yours, giving it a squeeze.

"Hey, cutie, let's leave this boring party, ok? Let's drive out of the city, away from the crowds. We can have some fun, and you can get an exclusive interview with the Yakuza Prince! Not just boring facts about this event, but more personal things. How does that sound?"

Everything in you screams to say no. It's insane to leave with the Yakuza Prince. He might not be as dangerous as his big brother Sukuna, but he is still a powerful Yakuza who can easily kill someone, as the scars on his pretty face prove. It's crazy to imagine getting in his car and driving to an unknown place with him. It's wild to imagine being alone with him.

But somehow, you find yourself biting your lip and nodding as you lift your head to look up at his handsome face. Somehow, your heart is beating so fast that you feel dizzy. Somehow, your skin tingles with excitement. You know you want to go with him. Even though you know there is a high chance this is going to take you down, you can't bring yourself to say no.

And so the words leave your mouth,

"Ok, let's go. Let's sneak away."

Yuuji smiles his bright sunshine smile at you, just as dazzling as the diamonds sparkling in his ears and the various gold rings on his fingers. There's a cheeky glint in his golden eyes,

"I'm very good at sneaking away."

He grabs your hand and pulls you with him, striding with fast steps through his casino, and starts running when you're halfway out the door, laughing loudly, as if he is relieved too to finally leave this fancy event behind. As if he is finally free.

He leads you to his car, a red Porsche, his favorite one, as he lets you know while he holds open the door for you, so charming that you can't help but feel light-headed from all the butterflies in your stomach.

Yuuji drives like someone who knows this city belongs to him. A bit too fast, the music a bit too loud, but it's perfect the way it is. It makes your pulse flutter and your body fill with a giddiness you can't remember ever feeling before.

You leave the city behind you, making an excited tingle start under your skin and spreading through your whole body. It feels like an adventure. Exciting, bubbly. As if your wildest dreams are coming true.

Yuuji parks his car on top of a cliff, turns off the engine, and turns to you with his big sunshine smile.

"So, what are your questions for me, princess?"

You laugh softly,

"Well, my boss said I should try to add something personal about you or your brother. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? Not about the Yakuza Prince. Tell me about Yuuji."

He smiles and leans closer to you, his large hand cupping your cheek while his golden eyes travel slowly over your face. His thumb caresses your cheek, the gold ring on it gliding smoothly over your skin. Yuuji's voice is low, and you can hear the smile in it,

"Then let me tell you a secret. I hate all those stiff, formal events. I rather want to go clubbing or play video games with my friends. I enjoy spending time at my pachinkos and making my best friend Megumi play the arcade games against me, even though I know I suck at those games. And I like to hang out at my pizza delivery service. I don't care that it's only for ... tax-saving purposes. I love pizza! I want to adjust the recipes and make the best pizza in the whole city! That is my new passion!"

His eyes glitter excitedly while his voice drops to a softer tone, low and almost seductive,

"And I like this here. What we are doing right now. Drive out of the city and look at the sunset. I know I can see it from my penthouse, too, but it's not the same."

His words could sound arrogant, the words of someone who grew up rich and has no idea how normal life works. But he doesn't sound like that. There's an almost melancholic tone to his low voice. As if this evening with you, where he ran from his obligations and the glittering fancy party, is his wildest dream, too.

A soft smile lifts your lips, and you catch yourself leaning into his large, warm hand as you look deeply into those gorgeous golden eyes,

"Then let's stop this stupid interview and just enjoy your free evening."

His answer is a broad, boyish grin that makes your stomach flutter. You chuckle when Yuuji leaves the car and comes over to your side, opening the door for you like a gentleman and offering his hand to lead you to the fence at the end of the cliff, where you have a majestic view over the ocean and the beginning of a beautiful sunset.

But your gaze strays to the man next to you. The Yakuza Prince. Or out here, just Yuuji.

You look at him, at his side profile, hit once again by how good he looks. So tall and handsome as hell in his tailored black suit with the light pink dress shirt and black tie. More stunning than any sunset could ever be.

Yuuji turns his head, catching you staring at him, and laughs happily as he reaches out to wrap a strong arm around you and pull you in front of him, making your pulse flutter with how easily he can manhandle you.

He stands behind you, so tall and strong, his muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you safely, his body pressed against your back, warm and buff. You can feel his firm muscles and smell his sexy and expensive perfume.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his kisses on your neck.

You tilt your head back to rest against Yuuji's shoulder as you look up at him and are met with a smile even more beautiful than the sunset.

A warm, large hand cups your chin, and then soft lips capture yours in a slow, sexy kiss that makes your knees weak. Who would have thought that the Yakuza Prince would be so gentle when he kisses you for the first time?

You have no idea how long you kiss him. You get lost in the feeling of his warm lips on yours and his tongue caressing yours with those deep, sexy flicks. Your hand is tangled in his pink hair as if you don't ever want to let him go again.

The two of you only pull apart to watch the rest of the sunset, with Yuuji's arm around you as you lean against his strong body, unable to stop smiling while your pulse races and your heart hammers in your chest, your skin tingling all over from the sheer craziness and excitement of it all.

+++

"Do you want to spend the rest of the night with me?"

Your heart misses a beat at Yuuji's question. You feel dizzy when you turn around in his arms to look up at his handsome face.

The deep scars across his nose and on the side of his lips tell you about the dangerous life he leads. His title tells you about how dangerous he himself is. You know he is bad, so so bad. But you cannot bring yourself to turn him down when he smiles that big smile at you. You cannot say no to him when every fiber of you craves him, if only for one night.

And so you nod and place a hand on his broad chest, playing with his black tie as you breathe softly,

"Yes, I can't think of anything else I would rather do."

And he smiles that attractive boyish smile at you and leans down to kiss the corner of your lips,

"I will always remember this evening. The pretty sunset, with an even prettier girl. You in that dress, with your red lipstick and the sweet kisses. Please tell me you'll always remember it, too."

You nod happily before cupping his cheeks with your hands and getting on your tiptoes to kiss him again, breathless and passionate, before whispering against his lips,

"Say you'll see me again after tonight, Yuuji."

And his arms tighten around you, strong and muscular, and he nods,

"Of course I will."

You don't hesitate when he leads you back to his car and holds the door open for you. You smile when his large hand lands on your thigh on the drive back to the city, slipping under your dress to caress your inner thigh, dangerously close to your already-soaked panties, making your heart beat wildly as you grab the leather seat.

You giggle breathlessly when he leans over and kisses you at a red light, making your head spin with the sexy flicks of his tongue before he pulls away again.

You eagerly say yes when he asks if he can accompany you to your apartment. Your dress is already halfway off by the time you manage to unlock your door in between passionate kisses.

You moan when Yuuji's large hands knead your ass and his warm lips suck on your neck. You palm the hard bulge in the Yakuza Prince's fine suit pants all too happily, gasping at how big and hot he feels. You leave a trail of clothes on your floor, leading to your bed, where you spend the best night of your life.

Ruffled sheets, the rhythmic beating of your heart in synch with the headboard banging against the wall. Yuuji's heavy body on top of you, pressing you down so deliciously into your sheets. Loud laughter, even louder moans, and dirty whispers in your ear. Kisses and lipstick marks all over his tan skin. His clothes on your bedroom floor, your hands in his pink hair. Every inch of you brimming with pleasure while you're tangled up with Yuuji's strong body all night, finding utter bliss on his sweet mouth and his gorgeous cock. Smiling when he asks you to please let him take a picture of you while you ride him.

Tomorrow morning, he will leave, get in his sportscar, drive back to his fancy penthouse, and continue to live his fast life as the Prince of Tokyo's underworld. You don't know if this will only be one night and you'll never stand before him in person again after this. But you know you both will always remember this night.

And you will see him again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams.

AAAHHHHH thank you so much for this prompt, babe!!! I was so happy to write for Yakuza Prince Yuuji again aaaahhh!! I am crushing so much on him all over again omgggg 💗💗💗 I NEED HIM BAD!!!

I hope you liked staring at the sunset and staring at sexy Yuuji ;) Please let me know what you think!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

#yuuji x reader #yuuji x you #itadori x reader #itadori x you #yuji x reader #yuji x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #yuuji smut #yuji smut #itadori smut #yuuji x y/n #itadori x y/n #yuji x y/n

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drakulana · 2 months

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a little piece of heaven // trafalgar law x fem!reader

it's finally here! part 3 to the first spark series! i know its been a long time coming. be sure to read the first two parts first! i hope y'all enjoy!!! i've had lots of fun writing this!!

⟡ part 1, part 2 ⟡ content: mutual pining, slooooooow burn up until the end, fluff, suggestive ending ;) but nothing nsfw ⟡ wc: 8.5k

⋆⭒˚.⋆

She awoke with a warm feeling all around her. She hadn’t remembered laying down in bed. She was surrounded by a familiar scent. Pine, hints of amber, undernotes of antiseptic. A scent she had come to know as her captain’s. A scent she had only been this close to in her head. It was comforting, warm. The bed was bigger, and the blankets were heavier than her own. Wait, why am I in his bed? She reflected on the night before. She was so tired, running off of maybe a few minutes of sleep and caffeine. She had worked herself too hard, pushed herself a little further than her body liked. Law’s words from last night echoed back to her, reminding her of what had happened. “Y/n, you can go to bed, it’s almost 3:30.” He had told her with a sincere tone. She shook her head at him, “No, it’s okay, I can keep working,” she assured him before looking back down at her page.

She must’ve fallen asleep after the short interaction between them. She cringed internally from embarrassment. Falling asleep in the captain’s office while doing work, how could she let herself go so unchecked? She finally let herself take in the scene of the morning. The clock read 6:42am. She didn’t sleep for long, exhaustion still heavy in her limbs. She looked around the room, letting her eyes adjust to the light. Law’s bed was in the corner of the office, his desk opposite to it on the other side of the room. There were two book cases. One by his bed, the other by his desk. Both were organized, but the one next to the bed had comic books, and sci-fi novels. Something she didn’t think her captain would read, but she found it endearing to know that the cool and collected man had a nerdier side to him.

“You’re awake,” Law voiced without looking up from his book. “Sleep well?” He glanced up at her, scanning over her. She took in his appearance, he had dark bags under his eyes, the shadow of the brim of his hat casting down on them giving them a darker look. He was still in the same clothes from the night before, she doubted he had hardly moved from that spot at his desk. His golden eyes glinted with something she couldn’t quite make out. She tore her gaze away, fearing she had stared too long. “It was okay,” She answered him, getting up from her place on his bed. The atmosphere of the office was thick. There was an undeniable tension that floated around the two, coating the walls and everything around them in unspoken words. She made her way towards him, “I’m sorry I took your bed last night, that wasn’t my intention.” He let his gaze wander as she spoke. “I don’t mind it,” He assured her with his usually composed tone. He watched her smooth her hands down her rumpled up clothes, and run her fingers through her messy hair. Law felt a slight disappointment set in as she started to gather her things, but he never let his demeanor falter. She took one last look at Law with a tired sigh. “Thank you for letting me sleep here, but you look like you could use some sleep yourself, Captain. I’ll go so you can get at least a few hours.” With one last look, she exited his quarters and made her way towards her bunk. With her heart racing, she made her way down the seemingly never ending corridors of the Polar Tang. She longed to get into her own bed, under the comfort of her own blankets. She wanted to mull over her thoughts. Turning the corner, she finally saw the door to her bunk. Relief rushed through her, visibly relaxing her. That was until she heard her name being called from the other side of the corridor. She inwardly cursed before turning to meet her crewmate. It was Shachi. He looked panicked. Any ounce of resentment melted away from her as worry filled her. “What is it, Shachi?” She asked him, worry lacing her voice. His cheeks were flushed red like he had been running all over the ship. “Did you by chance load the fuel in the ship?” He asked her. She paled. “No, I thought Penguin did that.” She and Shachi shared an equally fretful look.

“Penguin thought you had done it,” Shachi’s voice shook with anxiety before Penguin ran down the hall. “Did you not get the fuel for the ship?” He asked her, almost trembling. She shook her head at him, sharing his anxious gaze. She sighed, “Was there none in backup?”

“Only enough to get us to the next port.”

“Shit.” She ran a hand through her hair, “Well somebody is going to have to tell the Captain.” She looked at her crewmates, neither of them moving from their spots. They looked at her, almost expectantly. She caught on. “No, absolutely not. I am not telling the Captain that we forgot the fuel.” Law was a meticulous man. He was precise, detailed. He left no room for trivial errors such as one of his crew members forgetting the fuel. Something like that was a given in his eyes. She was not going to face the wrath of her sleep deprived captain, especially when said captain gave her warm fuzzy feelings that she tried to ignore. Sure, he may have let her sleep in his bed, but that did not mean he would let her off easy for forgetting something as crucial as fuel. Shachi and Penguin kept looking at her, before one of them spoke up, “Please tell him for us, he likes you! He won't yell at you the way he will at us.” They pleaded.

“Like hell he won’t!” She refuted, “He doesn’t like me any more than he likes you guys. Please don’t make me tell him.” Still, neither of them gave into defeat. They stood there at a stand-off between the three. Apprehension hung in the air. Penguin finally spoke up, “Please, last time I told him we forgot something he put me on waste disposal duty for a month,” He shared a serious look with her. “I can’t go through that again. It was traumatizing.” He put his hand over his face, dramatically. She looked at the pair, incredulously before giving in. “Fine, but you owe me. Big time. The both of you.” She pointed her finger at both of them.

“Thank you! Thank you s-”

“Oh, save it,” she cut them off. She was far too tired to deal with her crewmates. Although she couldn’t blame them, it was an honest mistake on all of their parts. They had spent their whole last day on the previous island running grueling tests and checks on everything in the submarine. She could understand how they all let the shortage of fuel fall under their noses without notice. The question was, was her captain likely to take an understanding approach to the situation? She wasn’t too sure.

She put her things up in her bunk before making her way back to her captain’s quarters. She hoped that he hadn’t gone to sleep, she hated the idea of disturbing the rest that he needed. Begrudgingly, she knocked on the door. Not too long after, a ‘come in,’ was sounded from the other side. She turned the door knob and opened it to meet her captain’s eyes. “(Y/n), back already?” He asked her as she stepped into his office. Law was still sitting in the same spot as his desk as he was whenever she had left. She gave him a look, one that was laced with slight distress. “What is it?” He asked her, wondering what could’ve possibly happened in the short amount of time that she was away.

“Captain, promise you won’t get mad?” She asked him. He raised an eyebrow at her, staying silent as a cue for her to continue. “The fuel for the ship wasn’t stocked before we left the last port,” She admitted to him, looking away from his steel gaze. It was silent in the room. The loud kind of silence. The kind that rings in your ears uncomfortably. She could feel the irritation start to build within the room before a sigh escaped Law’s lips, “Who was in charge of the fuel?” another silence fell over them as she mulled over her next words. She could say that they didn’t exactly assign someone the job, and risk all three of them getting punished, or she could take the blame. Penguin’s dramatic words echoed through her head, ‘Last time I told him we forgot something, I was put on waste disposal duty for a month… It was traumatizing.’ She took a breath before bringing her eyes back up to Law’s expectant gaze. “It was me. I forgot to restock the fuel.” The look Law gave her was far from one of approval. It was disappointment. The look hurt, coming from her captain. “Before you yell-”

“You’re on waste disposal duty for a week.” He cut her off calmly. There was no yelling. Law was far too tired to raise his voice, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to raise his voice at the woman in front of him. It was clearly a mistake, however Law detested mistakes. There was protocol, and they were required to follow it to prevent such thoughtless mistakes.

“Capta-” She was about to protest, but all her captain did was cut her off once more, “That is an order. Would you like to make it two?” She shut her mouth, not wanting to make the punishment any worse for herself. She hung her head, feeling like a child being berated. She would’ve much rather him yelled at her, “Yes sir,” she replied defeatedly.

Law’s jaw ticked at her words, something unreadable flashing in his eyes, “We’ll stop at the next port, and you will be responsible for gathering the fuel,” he ordered her. “I’ll tell Bepo to make a stop for the next port,” He stood up from his desk and for a second, she thought she’d get out of there without a lecture from her captain. She made her way to the door, Law trailing behind her. He stopped her, leaning closer to her. “Next time, be sure to double check everything before you clear the ship to leave the port. We don’t have time to forget things. We don’t have time to change our plans. You’re lucky we’re close enough to the nearest port to be able to refuel. Take this as your only warning,” He spoke low, his breath fanning against her ear. His voice held such authority. It was a reminder that he was in charge. Their eyes locked, and suddenly it was evident how close his face was to hers. Her heart skipped a beat, “Yes, Captain.” It came out almost in a whisper. She kicked herself for sounding so pathetic. Law didn’t move away at first, letting himself study her features. For a second, she could’ve sworn that he was looking at her lips, but he pulled away before she could question her thought any further. The butterflies that had been living in her gut fluttered around causing her blood to rush to her face, and warmth to gather in her limbs. Wordlessly, he turned away from her, both of them leaving the office. Her face was flushed, and all she could think about was taking a nice long nap until they reached the next port. She’d need the energy if she was going to restock the ship’s fuel all by herself. She sighed to herself before making eye contact with Shachi and Penguin. “You two, you owe me. Wake me up when we get to the next port.” She walked past them and into her bunk, finally ready to get some rest.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

She awoke a few hours later as the ship was ascending to the surface. She gave herself a few minutes before getting up, letting her mind wander. She thought about her captain. He was so enigmatic, carrying himself with such conviction with little explanation. Even before she joined the crew, he had peaked her interest. A pirate, from the worst generation, taking a hundred pirate hearts to the Marines, and becoming the youngest warlord. He was feared, for both his intelligence and his power. Trafalgar Law had been on her radar for quite some time, but being the elusive surgeon he was, she could only ever get scraps of information. Most tucked tail and ran when he was brought up in trades of intel. He was dangerous, and everyone knew it, but he was vital to her work. She was a journalist after all, she wanted to study him, learn everything about him and write it down. However, now it was more personal than she had ever imagined it would be.

It was no secret Law was an attractive man. He carried himself with confident assurance, hardly ever faltering in the face of conflict. He was tactical, calculated. He planned for everything, and accounted for any mishap that could happen along the way. Those golden eyes of his were ones of a hawk. He never missed anything, nothing went under his nose without him knowing. Being involved with the man was enthralling. From the electric touches, the heavy wordless gazes, the comfortable silences, it made her crave more. She wanted to know him, personally. To know what went on behind his eyes would be a privilege.

She was ripped out of her reverie by a knock at her door. She sat up, voicing a come in. Shachi opened the door, “We’re here at the port,” He informed her, sticking his head through the opening in the door. She glanced at the clock, 4 p.m. The next port was on a summer island, She had a few hours of daylight left to gather the fuel, and hopefully make it back to the ship to pick up her work where she left off. She stripped out of her clothes, the same ones that she had slept in. They still smelled of pine and amber. She changed into a tank top and some shorts, then slipped her boiler suit over her clothes, tying the top half around her waist. She made her way out onto the top deck where everyone had gathered as they docked at the small island. It was a village island that mostly made its profit through workshops that produced clothes. It wasn’t a very big, or significant island. (Y/n) hoped that she could get all of the fuel before all the locals turned in for the day, hoping she could get some information about this island. She didn’t know much about it, other than with who and what they traded.

She found her colleagues conversating amongst each other as she approached. “Where’s the captain?” She asked Bepo. The polar bear turned towards her, “He said he’s staying behind to finish work,” he answered her. Typical Law. She only hoped that he would get enough rest, and by the looks of worried annoyance on Bepo’s face, she could tell he was worried about that as well. It was no secret that their captain hadn’t gotten much sleep lately. He worked day and night, without yielding. He never took time for his well being, and was a hypocrite amongst his crew, as he always held everyone’s health to the highest standard, except for his own. Right now he was working on researching the sickness from the island they had just left. His work was unyielding, and he wouldn’t let himself rest until he was done.

The crew docked, and (Y/n) made her way off of the ship, finding the nearest fuel station with as many berries as she was provided to get the fuel. The town was quiet, and didn’t seem to care too much about the pirates that were occupying their port. Either unbothered, or laying low, the woman couldn’t complain. Shops, and stands lined the roads, some turning down into small neighborhoods. The fuel station sat at the end of the row of shops. She couldn’t help but to note that it was quite inconvenient for the station to be so far from the port.

The bells jingled as she walked into the fuel station. It was a small shop. The walls were tiles with white and yellow tiles. Drink coolers lined the back walls, and there were four aisles of various things, from chips to toiletries. “Welcome!” a voice had called to her. The voice was very familiar. Her eyes met with a tall man with shaggy black hair that fell over his eyes just slightly. A light shadow dusted his jawline. It took a minute for her to recognize the man standing behind the counter, before it hit her. He was an old classmate from her home island. How he got halfway across the world, she had no idea. She approached the counter with a surprised smile, “Yori?” The man’s eyes snapped up at hers, really looking at her for the first time since she had entered the station. “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?” He looked her up and down, taking in her appearance.

“I’m here to get fuel,” she smiled up at him, “It’s been a while, what have you been up to? I wasn’t aware that you had left the island,” she decided to make a little small talk. It wasn't everyday that she saw a familiar face.

“I work here at this station, I moved here about a few months ago. My grandmother lives here, I came to take care of her,” He told her, “What are you up to? I thought you were a journalist. I didn’t know you became a pirate,” A small humorless laugh left her mouth, the sudden question almost feeling like an intrusion, “Wow word moves fast here, huh?” she broke his gaze, briefly loo “I’m still a journalist.” She left it at that, not letting him into any close details. It was better if he didn’t know anything.

“Yeah, I noticed the ship at the dock. How long are you going to be here?” He asked her, “Maybe we can get a drink, catch up. It’s not everyday that I see someone from back home.”

“I think it's just for the night. I have to get this fuel for the ship before I can do anything else. I did want to know more about this place, maybe if I get done in time enough we can?” She smiled up at Yori. He nodded before asking how much she needed. She told him, and paid. It took quite some time to fill all of the fuel canisters, but once they were done all she had to do was trek back to the ship. “Would you like some help?” Yori asked her.

“That would be nice, if you don’t mind,” She told him. With the two of them, the trips could be cut in half, only needing three trips to get all the fuel back to the ship. Those three trips were not fun ones. It was hot, and the walk felt longer each time they made it. The fuel was heavy, weighing her down each step she took. She was sure to be sore tomorrow. The feeling of sweet relief set in as they set the last of the fuel canisters on the dock. “Thank you for helping me, Yori,” she smiled at him. Just as she was about to bring up the drink when she heard footsteps on the deck of the Polar Tang. She looked up to meet the eyes of her captain looking down on her and a man that he had never seen before. “Oh, hi Captain,” she looked up at her captain, “I thought you were working.” Law seemed irritated. His gaze followed over her, and then over to the man standing next her. “I was,” he replied, tension entwining his words. “Who’s this?” he asked her, the irritation seeping into his tone. It was evident that he still had not gotten any sleep. Dark bags hung under his eyes and his face was void of any color. Any longer without sleep and he would start to look sickly. She could feel his eyes scanning over her. His gaze was almost disapproving, and it made her shift on her feet. “This is Yori, he’s from my home island,” she informed her captain, “He was helping me with the fuel.” The man standing next to her that Law had just come to know as ‘Yori’ gave a half smile at her captain and a slight wave towards him. (Y/n) looked over at Yori, “I think I got it from here, thanks for helping me,” she smiled at him. Yori shared the smile, “Anything for an old friend,” He looked her up and down, although that didn’t quite catch her eye. It caught Law’s, though. Yori stepped a little closer to her, “If you decide that you wanted to catch up, come find me. I’ll tell you more about the island too. I know you like to write stuff like that down,” a small graced her lips as she nodded. Yori turned and walked away, leaving just the woman and her captain.

Law had already made up his mind that he didn’t like this Yori guy. He didn’t like how he had looked at (Y/n), akin to a dog looking at dinner. He didn’t like how close he had stood to her, like he had an obligation to be in her space. A feeling set into Law, one that knotted up his insides and made his head grow hot. He looked down at the woman on the dock below him gathering up fuel canisters to bring up to the deck. To him she looked stunning with her hair pulled back, a few flyaway strands framing her face. Her skin glistened under the unforgiving sun. She was wearing a white tank top with the boiler suit tied around her waist. The suit was tied in a way where you could clearly see the jolly rodger of the suit visible. She wore it with confidence, and with pride. It warmed Law to see her wearing the jolly roger with so much dignity. Eventually Law stopped staring and made his way down to the dock to help her with the fuel. “If you needed help carrying the fuel to the ship, you could’ve ask me,” Law said to her as he grabbed two of the canisters.

“I didn’t want to bother you, captain. I was hoping you were getting the rest that you needed,” She had noticed the dark bags as soon as he had walked onto the deck. She was worried about him, to say the least. She knew he was a busy man, but how he could work efficiently while so exhausted remained a mystery to her.

“I’ll rest when my work is finished,” Law shot back at her. The tone came out ruder than Law had intended, but from the looks of it, it didn’t even phase her. A small hum came as a reply to him, “At that rate, you may never sleep again,” She was only half joking, and it came out in a snarky way. Law always had some kind of work to do. At some point he would have to find a stopping place, but he never found one. Once he finished one thing, another arose. It didn’t help that someone kept creeping their way into his mind, nesting their way into his frontal cortex, refusing to leave. He decided not to reply to her comment, concerned he might say something he didn’t mean. They worked in the silence for the rest of their time together, neither one striking up a conversation. After almost an hour, all the fuel was moved from the dock, to the deck, and then down to the boiler room. The moving of the fuel was grueling, and she was surprised Law had decided to help her, considering he was so exhausted she didn’t understand how he still had the stamina for physical labor. She was also sure he was still upset about her forgetting the fuel with how he was acting. He truly was resilient in everything he did, no matter the conditions he was put under. She couldn’t deny, whether it be of biased intention or not, her captain was a remarkable man.

They were done now, and the sun hadn’t even begun to set. The rest of the crew was out on the island still, and (Y/n) still had time to meet up with Yori to get some details about this island that she only knew the basics about. Sure, he wasn’t a local, however his grandmother was. Surely he knew some things about this tiny island. Something worth writing about. Everywhere had potential, you just had to look in all the right places. She stood in her bunk, changing into some casual clothes. She had finished all her duties, so there was no reason to wear her uniform. She no longer sported the jolly roger, but instead settled into a pair of jean shorts and a brown tank top. She styled her hair up, leaving a few strands to fall down and frame her face. She wore a few pieces of jewelry to tie the outfit together. Two necklaces hung around her neck, stacked. A gold chain, with a simple gold heart locket, paired with a golden choker that had pearls dispersed every couple inches from each other. She layered some gold bracelets, with some rings. It was nothing over the top, but something to make her look nice. It wasn’t everyday she had gotten to see an old friend whom she had grown up with. She grabbed a crossbody bag, placing her notebook and some pens inside before slinging it over her shoulder. As she walked through the corridors of the ship, she passed her captain’s quarters, deciding to check in with him before she left the ship. She knocked on the door, three times like always. A ‘come in’ was voiced from the other side.

She opened the door to his office, the yellow light from his desk lamp spilling into the blue-lit hallways. She stepped in, closing the door behind her. Law looked up at her, taking in her appearance. For a split second, he was left speechless, only able to to breathe out the air that was left in his lungs. He rarely got to see her in casual clothes, and to him, it was a privilege he had even got to see her like this. She cleared her throat before speaking, breaking him out of his observation. “I’m about to go meet up with Yori, is there anything you would like me to do before I leave?” She asked him, standing in front of his desk. A bad taste in his mouth formed whenever the stranger's name rolled off her tongue. Yori. Law didn’t forget the way he had looked at (Y/n) like she was a piece of meat earlier when they were on the dock. He wouldn’t understand how special he was to have her dress up for him. He wouldn’t appreciate the way (Y/n) dressed into clothes she normally didn’t wear for him, or how she took extra time to look nice for him. How she had adorned her neck and her hands with gold, for him. Law couldn’t lie, he was just a bit jealous.He tore his admiring gaze away from her, pushing down an envy he hadn’t felt in a long time. She looked expectantly at her captain, waiting for an order, or for clearance to leave the ship but Law couldn’t seem to get the words out of his mouth. His mouth ran dry, and his breath caught. It was strange for the woman to have this effect on him. Words lodged in his throat trying to crawl up his windpipes, only to rest at the tip of his tongue unable to escape his mouth. After what felt like hours, he was finally able to push out a simple, “No.”

Law’s staring didn’t go unnoticed by her, for a second she worried to herself. Did she look okay? She turned to leave the office, but stopped at the door. “Captain, can I ask you something?” She looked back at the man who was looking at her with something that she couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes. Law nodded at her, cuing her to continue. “Do I… look okay?” She cringed at her own words, immediately wanting to take them and to stuff them back into her mouth. The question sounded insecure, something she never wanted to be seen as in front of her captain. She wasn’t one who seeked reassurance, especially on things as trivial as appearance. Law took in her appearance one more time, wondering how she could possibly be asking that. He cleared his throat before mustering up the strength to push out the words that were held in his throat, “You look beautiful.” Carmine red rose into her cheeks. A soft ‘thank you,’ left her lips, leaving them decorated with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you later,” She beamed once more before turning and leaving through his office door.

She left Law with only himself and his tired thoughts. His thoughts were consumed by the woman. In the past few days, his remedy for distraction had been piling up the work so high that he didn't have time to think about his crewmember. That remedy only lasted for so long before she wormed her way back into his head. Law was exhausted, yet he couldn’t find the urge to lay down in his bed. He shuffled around some papers on his desk, taking note of every paper that had that pretty cursive handwriting that he had grown to favor instead of his own. Law knew it was inappropriate to feel this way about an insubordinate. It was wrong. There was a power imbalance. Law always considered himself a morally correct man, but in this moment, he questioned every moral about professionalism he had. Breaking one rule wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

⋆⭒˚.⋆

As (Y/n) made it back into town, the sun had started to set along the horizon. Pink, red, and orange, danced in the sky amongst the clouds. There was denying the beauty of the scene. You couldn’t see another island for miles, just one small piece of land in solidarity. It was just the coast and the ocean. The sky, and its clouds. It was a peaceful island, most of its locals being middle-aged to older people. By the time the sun had started to set, all the stands and shops started to close down for the day. She took note of how some of the vendors would leave some of their belongings in their stands. Crime must have not happened often around here. It was uncommon in this day and age to be so trusting.

She made her way to the fuel station at the end of the road. Every step she took, she grew more uneasy. She pushed off her sudden apprehension, forcing a step forward toward the station. She stepped into the fuel station, the bells on the doorway jingling as she entered, a reflexive greeting coming along with the door. Without the sun shining into the station, the building took on a whole new atmosphere. Yellow lights hung from the ceiling, filling the station with a low buzz. She wrapped her arms around her to ease the unsteady feeling that was sinking into her gut. She approached the counter where Yori stood. For the first time since she had walked into the station, Yori had looked up from whatever was occupying him. A smile grew onto his face, his gaze setting onto the woman in front of him. Under the harsh lighting, Yori looked older. He no longer looked like the boy she knew from back home. His face had filled out, and smile lines had just started to form on his forehead and under his eyes. It was a reminder that time had gone by. They were no longer the kids that they once knew each other as. The incessant buzzing of the fluorescent lights was cut through by Yori, “Are you ready to go?” She nodded at him. He walked around the counter, and led her out of the building, locking the door behind him.

The sky had now morphed into a scarlet red, fading into dark oranges. The sky reflected off of the water, making it seem bigger than it was. A cool breeze blew through the emptying streets making goosebumps rise to the surface of her skin. They walked for a few minutes, useless small talk between the two, before arriving at a small bar at the very end of the aisle of shops and stands. It was dimly lit, and small. The walls and the floor were wood, alcohol brand sign posters hung up around them. The occasional WANTED poster was posted amongst them. There weren’t any that she hadn’t seen before. Most of them were the new generation pirates, others old and worn from being on the wall for years. Yori led her to a booth on the back wall. Coincidentally, her captain’s poster hung right above the table. He smirked down at them, sword on his shoulder, that infamous hat handing over his eyes.

WANTED

DEAD OR ALIVE

TRAFALGAR LAW

500,000,000

She couldn’t lie, it crossed her mind to take the poster off the wall, just so she could have it for herselfl. She shook off the thought. It was inappropriate to think of her captain that way. Even if he looked good in that particular photo of him. She turned her attention back to the man in front of her, who she had just realized had been talking the entire time she was daydreaming about her captain’s wanted poster. She hoped Yori hadn’t noticed her ignoring him, but by the looks of it, he hadn’t noticed one bit. She tuned into his words, “...and that’s how I ended up on this island taking care of my grandmother, and making minimum wage,” Yori let out a long sigh, “Thanks for listening, it feels really nice to get that off of my chest.” Guilt tugged at her chest as she nodded, “It’s no problem, really,” she replied, trying to keep her facade up. Yori smiled and said something about going to grab some drinks, leaving her alone in the booth. (Y/n) let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, letting her gaze follow back up to the poster hanging on the wall. She looked around the bar, making sure no one’s eyes were on her before grabbing the poster off the wall and folding it up, slipping it into the back of her notebook. She grabbed all her pens, and set the notebook in front of her. She intended on getting her information and then going back to the ship for the night.

Yori brought back drinks to the table. He set hers in front of her before sitting down in front of her. “So tell me about yourself. How did you end up being a pirate?” He chuckled a little with the question, and she had prepared for this. It wasn’t every day someone from your childhood ended up being a pirate. She let out a fake little laugh, “Oh you know how researching things go,” She smiled before changing the subject, “So tell me more about this island and its occupants,” She opened the notebook in front of her, not wanting to dwell on the fact that she was now a wanted woman. Yori took the hint and started giving out information about the island.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

A few hours had passed, and a few drinks in, the conversation had strayed from the island and onto people they had grown up with. Yori had told (Y/n) about all the classmates that ended up doing good for themselves, and the others who hadn’t. Now they were on the topic of the teachers. Gossip was never something she had typically indulged in, but it wasn’t every day you saw someone you knew on the Grand Line. The laughter between them died down, and (Y/n) looked at the clock on the wall for the first time since she had started taking notes about the island. It was 10pm now, and the sun had disappeared along the horizon. “I better go, it’s getting late,” She told Yori as she gathered up all her things, and put them all back into her bag. They stood up from the booth. “Let me walk you back to the dock, it’s dark out,” He offered. She took his offer and they headed back out to the street. It was far colder than it was whenever they first arrived at the bar, however the walk to the dock was not far so she didn’t have to suffer for long. The stars hung high in the sky, illuminating the land, and dotting the water. They reached the edge of the dock, and Yori turned towards her. “Thank you, for tonight,” he told her. He gazed into her eyes much deeper than she had liked. She took a step back from him before returning his thanks, “Thank you for all the information about this island.” Yori stepped closer to her, reaching out to put his hands on her waist, “Yori-” he cut her off with a quick kiss. She pushed back from him, “Oh, um, Yori… I’m sorry, but this isn’t that,” She told him, creating a far distance between them. Yori stepped back with embarrassment. “Oh,” was all he said. She couldn’t help but to feel bad for the man. She didn’t think she sent any mixed signals. She slowly backed up onto the dock,”Take care of yourself, Yori. Thank you for all the information on the island,” She told him before turning around and walking towards the ship, grateful to get out of that awkward interaction.

She made her way onto the ship. The corridors were empty, there wasn’t a crewmate in sight. She was happy to be back within the metal walls of the ship. She made her way to her room where she put down all her stuff. She stripped her clothes, and changed back into the boiler suit. It was late, but she still had some work she had to get done, and she still had to report to her captain. She got dressed, and grabbed her notebook from her bag before leaving her room once again. She was going to get some cleaning done, and do the waste disposal before they left the island. The halls were silent, and all she could hear were her footsteps clinking on the floors. A familiar door came into view. The captain’s quarters. Her heart skipped a beat thinking of knocking. The butterflies in her stomach betrayed her as they started to flutter around in her stomach, trying to crawl their way up her throat. She took a deep breath, letting the cool air of the ship fill her lungs. She was now standing in front of the door, with her hand raised. She knocked, hearing a faint ‘come in,’ from the other side. She turned the knob and walked into her captain’s office.

The air was always cooler in his office, and it always smelled of ink, paper, pine, amber, with a touch of antiseptic. She had come to find this smell comforting, and she thought back to this morning, waking up in between his sheets. A heat fought its way up into her cheeks. She looked at her captain sitting at his desk, hunched over some paperwork. He hadn’t looked up since she had entered the room. She made her way in front of him, breaking the silence, “I gathered some information about this island, if you’d like to hear it.” She offered it to him. She knew that the island held no importance, but she figured she’d offer him the chance to hear what she had gathered. Law looked up at her, motioning for her to continue. She opened her notebook as a folded up piece of paper floated its way down onto his desk. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she went to go snatch the paper up, but Law beat her to it, grabbing the paper in between his two fingers. “What’s this?” he asked her, unfolding the paper. She wanted to melt into the floor. Embarrassment coursed through every limb. Law looked at the poster, smirking a bit, “My wanted poster?” He took a good look at it before handing it back to her, the smirk on his face never falling. “This one is a bit outdated,” He told her, his smirk never falling. It flattered him, really. She folded the wanted poster back up, shoving it in her notebook, humiliation burning through her cheeks. “Tell me about this island,” Law told her, changing the subject, motioning for her to sit down. He knew the island held no importance, and he knew that she still had work to do, but he selfishly decided to keep her there a little longer. It had been a long day, and as much as he’d hate to admit it, being around her relaxed him. He watched her as she opened up the book and started to list off all the things that she had uncovered about the island. He listened to her intently as she spoke, her eyes lighting up every now and then whenever a name was mentioned that could bring some significance to the island. It didn’t take her long to go through all of the information. It was a small island, and there really weren't any reputable names tied to it, aside from the other pirates who would dock and leave just like their crew did. Still, Law took in every second of the information exchange. Once she was done, she looked up at Law with those wide eyes of hers that he swore would bring him to his knees one day. A small, rare smile graced his lips before dropping like it was never there, “It seems you got a lot out of today,” He told her. She smiled wide at him, and nodded, “I did! Yori really filled me in on this place. It’s not as boring as it seems.” She flipped through all of her pages, missing the way Law’s jaw ticked at the mention of the man whom she had spent time with that night. The man that she had gotten all dolled up for. Law knew he shouldn’t feel this way. He knew jealousy was not right, but he couldn’t deny the discomfort that tugged in his gut when he pictured her with someone other than him. It was an unhealthy attachment. It was inappropriate.

(Y/n) sat across from Law, still oblivious to his inner turmoil. Oblivious to the new feeling that made his head feel hot and his stomach sink low. Without looking up at her captain, she went on about her night, about how Yori caught her up on people from her hometown. How he told her about all the best places to eat on the small island. She missed the way Law’s jaw ticked every time she mentioned the man’s name. She missed the way Law’s leg started to bounce up and down, impatiently. She was too busy flipping through the pages of that beloved notebook, “Oh! Look, I even got a map!” She pulled the map out, walking around the desk to where Law was sitting. She unfolded the map and laid it out in front of him, “It’s really nothing impressive, though, I grabbed at one of those stands down the strip” She looked down at the map, “You can keep the map,” She offered to him, turning towards him. Her knees brushed against Law, and for the first time since she had started rambling she met the eyes of her captain. They were close. She could feel the warmth coming off of Law’s body. The breath she was breathing in caught in her throat. Law cleared his throat, but made no attempts to move back, selfishly relishing in the moment, “Thank you,” he told her. They stayed there for a minute or two, looking at one another before (Y/n) sighed taking one last look at her captain. “I still have some work I need to get done,” She told him, “I still have to do the waste disposal before we leave, and I was going to try to clean up the boiler room a bit.” A feeling of regret from that afternoon gnawed at Law. He felt as if he was too harsh towards her, rude even. He didn’t want her to overwork herself. He knew he was being a hypocrite whenever he made the judgment of her working too much. Law wanted to keep her there for longer. He wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted to hear her sweet voice ramble on about nothing in particular. It had been a long day of Law’s work. He had hardly gotten anything done between being exhausted, and pacing back and forth trying to clear his mind of the very woman standing in front of him. He couldn’t deny the peace that washed over him whenever she sat on the other side of his desk, working away on her own things. “Actually, I was hoping to get your feedback on some of the work I did today,” He told her. He hadn’t actually done a lot of work. It also wasn’t something that she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t like she was well versed in pathology or anything medical outside of reading Law’s textbooks when she was bored. “Oh, okay!” she cheerfully replied to him, making her way back over to his desk. She walked around to his side, standing next to him, expecting to see some new work on his desk, but she couldn’t make out what was new and what was old from the mess that was his desk. She was standing close to him, again, and he could feel the warmth off of her skin. He could smell the sweet floral perfume she had put on before she left the ship earlier that day. He was growing impatient, playing this waiting game that he had made himself, and it was only getting in the way of his work which was the opposite of what he had intended.

Law was not an impatient man, but he was tired of weighing the moral costs of making the move. He was tired of ignoring the warm feelings. He was tired of pushing away the lingering thoughts, and burying them in work. He was sleep deprived, and that’s the excuse he decided he would tell himself tomorrow morning. Standing up from his chair, he reached out for her hand. A small gasp fell from her mouth, as she followed the pull towards him, “Cap-” he cut her off, sliding his hand to cup her cheek, the other resting on her waist. He pulled her into a kiss before she could even finish the word. The kiss was electric. White hot pleasure coursed through his veins, as he finally allowed himself to indulge in what he had wanted to for months now. He briefly broke apart, and stuttered words started to fall from her pretty mouth, he shushed her with another kiss, this one deeper. This one filled with need. She let him explore her mouth with his tongue, as he lifted her onto the edge of his desk, slotting himself in between her legs. “C-Cap-” she gasped, but he cut her off again, ”It’s Law,” He corrected her, leaning down to her ear, “In here you can call me Law,” He nipped at her ear, wrapping his hands up in her hair. He trailed down to her neck, leaving kisses and nipping at the skin every now and then. “Law,” she tested his name on her lips. His name sounded so sweet, the way her honeyed voice breathed out the syllables. His grip on her waist tightened, as he listened to her form words that he paid no mind to. “L-Law, this is wrong,” she breathed out, “you're my captain,” Law broke away briefly, “I know,” he told her.

“Law,” this one came out more of a whine, one filled with need. It made the all too familiar warmth blossom in the pit of his stomach, once again. “I still have things I haven't done,” she pushed against his shoulder, “I h-ave to finish the w-waste disposal,” Law’s kisses were unforgiving, and unwavering. She was melting in his hands, watching herself be turned into putty at the hands of her captain. Law broke his kiss, and looked up at her. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, “Don't worry about the waste disposal, I'll make Penguin do it,” He told her. As much as she wanted to feel guilty for letting him dump it on someone else, she couldn't. She was too busy trying to make coherent thoughts as her captain continued his actions. Law’s fingers ran up her figure, finding the zipper of her boiler suit. He looked at her, silently asking for permission that she granted with a nod. He slowly undid the zipper to the suit, kissing his way down to her chest. He breathed in her scent, pulling her body impossibly closer to his. He pushed the top of the suit off of her body, leaving her top half in a thin tank top.

He looked at her closely, closer than he had ever been able to before. Her cheeks were red, and her lips were swollen from his kiss. Temporary red marks littered her neck and chest where he had nipped at the skin. Her hair ruffled from him running his fingers through it. He hesitated for a second before asking her, “How about we take this somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” She nodded at him, as he led her to his bed. He laid her down on his plush mattress, crawling on next to her. She took a deep breath. Pine, hints of amber, antiseptic, Law. His golden eyes took in her figure, in his sheets. In that moment, without difficulty, he could confidently say that she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. He could feel himself falling, and for just this one night, he would let himself. He crawled over her, entrapping her body under his. He let his hands roam over her body, “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered to her. She took his face in her hands, kissing him passionately. For tonight, they both let themselves indulge in this little piece of heaven they had been granted.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

a/n: thank you all for taking the time to read this series, it means a lot to me, and i'm glad others can enjoy my work. i've had lots of fun writing this!

@drakulana 2024 // i do not give permission to copy, translate, or repost, any of my content without my consent

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dabislittlemouse · 7 months

Text

tainted angel🪽 (pt.3)

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 4

ෆ DABI X HAWKS’ LITTLE SISTER

ෆ cw: Dabi being a flirt and a pervert, corruption kink, smut and dubcon incoming, stalking

The dead silence of the night is always something that calms me down. When the whole city is asleep, that’s when I head out, walking on random dark alleyways and empty parks with no destination in mind, just to clear my head.

Though this time there was a destination. It had been 3 hours since the phone call with my angel, by now she should be asleep.

Unless she was lying to me. That will get her in trouble.

But no. As I reached her house and climbed on her balcony, the lights were already off. A grin forms in my face as I notice that the balcony door was open, letting the chilly breeze creep inside her room.

So inviting.

Entering inside, I can see some of the surroundings, my eyes easily adjusting in the darkness.

Ah.

There she lays, in a deep sleep wearing nothing but a silky nightie, her white fluffy wings smaller and spreading on the bed. Her pretty golden hair falling on her face, her breathing is slow and soft, my hungry eyes already fixed on the movement of her chest. She has to be a real angel, cause no human out there has ever looked this mesmerising. My scarred hand reaches to remove the hair off her face, careful to not wake her up. My finger caresses her cheek softly, then it goes down to her chin, and trailing lower, reaching her chest.

I can see her nipples perking through the fabric of her nightie.

You’re a fucking tease y’know that babe? Leaving the balcony door wide open, wearing something like this. You knew I was coming didn’t cha?

I reach closer, my face mere inches away from her figure, as I take in her scent. Fuck, the same sweet intoxicating scent as before. It makes me salivate, the sight in front of me is making it harder and harder to not do anything reckless right now.

I am more than capable to fuck her just like this, or play with her lovely tits while I jerk myself off. Until she wakes up, panicking and horrified at the sight of a stranger stroking his cock to her sleeping figure. Damn that would really traumatise you angel.

I need to be patient. Can’t have her scared off, running to her brother for help, where’s the fun in that?

“Oh, I’ll make you fall f’me” I whisper, my lips press softly against her forehead. “I’ll have ya question your morals and your sanity soon enough”

I reach to the pocket of my coat, grabbing a few small blue flowers that I picked while walking earlier. Thankfully they weren’t crushed. I put them right on her bedstand, a little gift for when she wakes up in the morning.

Before I make my way to leave I notice the amount of plushies and small figurines she’s collected around.

“Cute” I mumble to myself before disappearing in the night. She’s gonna have to tell me ‘bout her collection one day.

****

The tomorrow’s meeting was about all the support and supplies we’d be gathering on the upcoming war against heroes once Shigaraki wakes up. A bunch of boring crap really, but as a lieutenant I had to show up and pretend that I care. Didn’t get much sleep last night, and for some reason those bastards just looove to have meetings in the morning. Helps to start the day fresh they say. Buncha’ idiots.

My mind is filled with nothing but her.

Damn it doll, y’gonna have me lose this war if you don’t leave my mind. I’ll have to punish you real bad for that.

“Hawks, what a pleasure to have you back again!” ReDestro says. I sit back on the chair, a lazy smile spreading across my face at the sight of the number two hero.

I jerked off to your sister’s voice last night, hero. And you have absolutely no idea.

I cough slightly, trying not to laugh.

After the meeting ends, I reach for Hawks, throwing an arm around him as if we’re close buddies.

“Oh hey man!” he laughs nervously.

“Such boring meeting don’t cha think?” I say, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I offer him one but he declines.

“Yeah maybe, but every meeting has its importance.” he replies and I just roll my eyes.

I remove my arm off him, my eyes fixed on his.

“How is your sister doing?” I grin, puffing smoke out of my mouth, directly on his face, which is irritated with annoyance.

“Since when do you care about her now? I told you to not bring her up” Hawks replies sternly.

“Man you’re no fun. M’just trynna have a conversation here.” I raise both my hands, but he knows better than to believe I don’t have any sick intention behind all of this.

“I made sure to warn her that day to stay far away from you” Hawks says.

“You warned her that same day?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yup. She has no business with you”

The same day she was warned. She ignored the warning and continued talking to me on the phone the other day, giving me the damn blue balls with her sleepy sexy voice. Angel, aren’t you naughty?

Not containing my thrill any longer, I head outside the PLF mansion, walking towards the forest. Outside it’s sunny, the brightness making me squint and almost killing my eyes.

I grab my burner phone, dialling her number. She picks up almost immediately.

You thrilled too huh?

“Rise and shine, angelface. Slept well?”

Of course you slept well. You lay there so pretty and peacefully, I saw you myself.

“Morning Dabi!” she says, excitement clear in her high pitched voice.

After a small chitchat, I decide to.. poke her a little.

“I hope you liked my gift~” I say and for a few seconds I was met with silence.

“…gift?” she mumbles in confusion, before letting out a small gasp. For sure her eyes fixed on the blue flowers that popped up out of nowhere in her nightstand.

“Stop with those jokes” she laughs nervously.

“Y’think I’m joking around? You wound me princess, after all that I went through to gather some pretty flowers just for you..”

Her breathing becomes irregular. Damn, did I scare you?

“H-How did you get them in my room?”

“How do you think?”

“Umm…”

Poor angel, you’re stressing out.

“By the way” I interrupted, changing the topic. I decide to not answer her questions, and just leave her be with her thoughts. “Hawks told me you’re forbidden from talking to me~”

“Y-yeah but..” she swallows. “He won’t give me any reason why. And also, I don’t need guidance anymore, I am not a child..”

“Exactly” I grin. “You’re a big girl. M’sure you’re more than capable of making your own decisions, right princess?”

“Yeah.. right” she says, doubt in her voice. “But anyways, about the flowers you still didn’t-”

“Oh shit, I gotta go. Talk t’ya later” I say, before hanging up.

I have in fact nowhere to go. I just wanted to leave her drown in questions without answers, in overthinking and confused emotions. As much as I want to get her and make her mine, I decide that to have her yearning for me and her poor little heart burning for me is way better instead.

Her brother won’t give her a clear answer as to why I should not be approached. She still doesn’t know how those flowers got there, her brother’s best friend would never do anything bad right? Like, getting inside her room in the middle of the night when she’s asleep, salivating at her like a depraved man. He would never.

But you’ll see much more of me soon.

I send her a text message, I need to move things further.

If she shows up, there’s no turning back.

Tags: @mostlyheinous @touyalove @awalkingshame @ch3rrykoolaid @dabihawksluva @syrenkitsune

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peachesofteal · 11 months

Text

Alone / Chapter 3

Part of the Sassy series. Chapter 3/3.

Simon Riley/female reader 9.1k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Praise kink. Size difference/kink. Blood and violence. PTSD. Trauma. Panic attacks, night terrors, catatonia, relationship issues, emotional hurt/comfort. Medical stuff. Angst. Mentions of having a uterus/children. Soft dad Simon Riley. Simon is a great dad, that's all. Soap is a good uncle. John Price. Simon is living in a nightmare.

If you’re living in a nightmare, then Simon is living in hell.

It plagues his every waking second, invades his consciousness when he’s finally able to get to sleep, envelopes his reality at work, at home, everywhere. Anywhere. The sun has permanently set and there is only darkness now, only the bad, only the evil left, his existence devoid of your golden rays, his life bereft of your warmth on his face.

It is easy to feel like a ghost. On the days he doesn't have Theo, or he's not on an op, he struggles to keep himself functioning, struggles to make sense of his day to day. The violence helps, when he's with the 141, the familiar feeling of executing, of hunting grounding him in a reality that doesn't seem so far fetched, doesn't seem so outlandish. When he's home, Soap helps by calling and texting incessantly, and Price consistently drops by, inviting him for dinner or asking him to look something over. Everyone makes an effort, to make sure he's not forgotten, to make sure he knows they care.

This hell, this nightmare, feels oddly similar to being buried alive. It feels comparable to being trapped beneath the ground, dying, slowly, the air around him casually evaporating with every breath he dares to draw. It feels like when the earth tried to pulled him back under, when the clay tried to trap itself inside his lungs, clogging the passages of his alveoli, dirt mixing with blood mixing with saliva, caking itself in his throat and into his very conscious.

It only feels different, feels less like hell and more like his old life, when he’s with Theo.

Sometimes, he pretends that it is still his old life. That he’s just out with Theo at the park, and when they get home, you’re going to be there. Or, he and Theo are out for “guy’s night”, as you used to call it, at the restaurant down the street, and you’re out somewhere else with Price’s wife, for a monthly happy hour that will undoubtedly bleed into dinner, and end with the two of you on the couch watching some god awful tv show until Price comes to collect her. He pretends when he’s grocery shopping that he’s checking off your list, each section sequenced to reflect the supermarket’s organization, something you always did to help make it easier for him, to get him in and out as quickly as possible, because you knew how he felt about large places with lots of bodies and too many obstacles. He pretends that the house that he rented is actually his home, pretends it the house down the street, the one that you live in, the one that you two of you bought together. He pretends that the bed is empty because you’re just working late again, up with tired eyes in front of your laptop, your brain computing and processing lines upon lines of numbers and formulas of things he doesn’t understand.

All of these things, they happened before.

Before you were plucked from a springtime walk, Theo left crying in the pram on a sidewalk while you were injected with something that rendered you unconscious until you woke in a concrete room halfway across the world.

Before the phone call. Before the video.

Before the rescue. Before the massacre. Before he snapped. Before his rage, the path of bodies left in his wake, before Soap had to pull him off a corpse that he had pummeled to death. Before he cut off the hands of every single person who had touched you. Before the sound of the men begging for their lives lived in his head, before the intensive, four times a week therapy sessions that had to last hours long just to get him back to baseline. Just to get him back to a point where he could take care of Theo, take care of you.

Before the hospital and the damage from the infection and the complications from the injury to your lung.

Before the catatonia and the night terrors and the panic attacks that left you confused and alone inside your own head.

Before the rot invaded his home. Before its sticky, tentacled ropes of poison spread across the walls. Before it cast its sickly shadow across your face.

Before, when you still called yourself his wife. When still wore your ring. When you still told him you loved him.

Before he failed.

Before you left him.

Before.

“I hate them.” Your sullen voice crackles through the phone, muffled and distorted. It’s the best reception he’s gotten in eight days, and you still sound like you’re a million miles away and underwater at the same time. He swallows the disappointment.

“They can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, they’re bad, Si. They’re all helicopter moms. Prissy and obnoxious. One of them won’t even let their kid use the slide because she’s scared about some kind of toxic lining on it. I don’t know. Why did you bring your kid to a playgroup if they’re not allowed to play?” You huff, and he’s glad you’re not on a video call right now, because he’s smiling, his eyes are closed and he’s imagining you pacing in the kitchen, waving something around in your hand for added effect, tops of your thighs peeking out from under the hem of a too big t shirt. He knows if you caught him grinning when you’re all cross, there’d be hell to pay.

“Is Theo havin’ fun?”

“Eh. Yeah. He’s bigger than all the other ones his age so he kind of gets to do what he wants.” He chuckles at that, foolish pride blooming across his cheeks, and he can practically hear you rolling your eyes through the phone. “Still struggling with the concept of sharing.” You add, and he nods to himself. It's not a surprise to either of you, and sharing has been a work in progress at home.

“He’d learn how to share a lot faster if he had a sibling.” He offers, and you laugh on the other end before abruptly going silent, like you’re holding onto to a secret. “Sass?”

“I did it.” You breathe.

“You did what?”

“I did, what we discussed. Last month, just before you left. I went to the doctor and… she took it out.” He sits straight up, boots scuffing along the dirty safehouse floor.

“You got your IUD out?” His bones rattle in his body, eyes wide while he waits for you to confirm it.

“Yeah, Si. I… I’m ready. I want to start trying when you get home.”

“Are you sure? I thought you said-“

“I am. And I know… what I said. But I talked to my doctor, and she helped lessen some of my anxiety about it. I had an ultrasound to look at my uterus and she thinks the chances are good. I… feel good about it.” He pads the silicone ring with his thumb while he takes long, deep breaths to steady himself. “So, I guess, you better hurry and get home so we can start trying because it takes two, ya know?” You laugh again, but he hears the wet sound in the back of your throat, the thick, syrupy sound of your tears, and his heart clenches in his chest.

“I-“

The timer on his watch goes off. It’s loud enough that you can hear it, and you sigh.

“Gotta cut the line?” you volunteer, and he grunts out a yes even though he wants to stay on it for hours more, telling you how much he loves you, how excited he is, how he can’t wait to give you another baby. “Be safe, okay?”

“Always. I love you. I’ll see you real soon.”

“I love you too.” He presses the end call button and tucks the phone away in his pocket, leaning his head against the wood paneling of the door. Another baby, you wanted to have another baby.

He’s still grinning like a complete fool when he comes down the stairs to where Johnny and Kyle are hunched over a tiny aluminum table, shoving some sort of MRE down their throats. When Gaz spots him, his brow furrows, and he half hollers with a mouth full of food to Johnny.

“What’s got ‘im in such a good mood?”

The hallways in the medical office building are beige, a shade lighter than the darker beige carpet, which complements the brown chairs of the waiting room. It used the bother him, the blandness, but now he supposes he’s grateful for it. It’s less distracting. Less obtrusive. It lets him think, which is exactly what he’s doing, thinking, about you, about Theo, when he pulls the big walnut colored door open and spots you curled in on yourself in a waiting room chair.

He’s surprised to see you here before him. He’s surprised you even showed up if he’s being honest. He knows how you feel about therapy in general, and with the way the last couple’s session went, he’s shocked you’re willing to give it another go.

It burns just the smallest amount of joy in his gut.

Don’t. Don’t get your hopes up.

“Hi.” You croak.

“Hey, Sass.” Your face is guarded as you nod up at him, everything in your expression haunted and hesitant, the emptiness he knows you’re carrying around inside of you spilling out through your features as plain as day. He can’t stand it. “Sleep okay? Have a good late-night chat with Soap?” He probes and you scowl back at him, fire sparking behind your eyes while he fights the urge to smile. There’s my girl. He doesn’t mean to goad you, doesn’t want to anger or upset you, but he’ll take what he can get.

Besides, he already knows you must have in fact, slept better than usual, because you didn’t call Johnny. And he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night to the half a ring-hang up that you’ve started doing in these past few weeks, something that’s developed since the day the two of you watched Moana with Theo, and you fell asleep next to him on the couch after your panic attack. The day that felt like a dream, when Theo asked to go for a walk to the playground, and you shyly asked if he wanted to come along. The day that he’s been replaying over and over in his mind, the day that felt like progress, that felt like something more than this nightmare he’s been living inside.

He’s about to ask how Theo was for you this morning when the office door opens, and Dr. C is smiling at the two of you from the other side.

“Hi guys, come on in. I just need to grab a tea.” He motions for you to go first, and you falter in your steps before you’re brushing past him, your fingertips grazing the hand that lays lax at his side.

This time, he doesn’t hide his smile.

“How is she?” His pacing comes to an abrupt halt when his therapist, Dr. C comes out through the door, a tablet in her hand, lines of her face nearly impossible to read. She motions to a set of chairs, the uncomfortable ones that line the hall, and then takes a seat opposite of him.

“The staff psychologist here wants to release her to an assisted living facility until she shows improvement.”

“No.”

“Mr. Riley, I-“

“No. She can’t go to one of those places. She can’t.”

“They have places that specialize in care for cases like your wife. It’s not like sending her to a nursing home.”

“I don’t care. She needs to come home, with us. Theo needs her. I need her. Once… once she gets home, she’ll do better.” Dr. C sighs.

“She’s catatonic, Simon. She’ll need her PICC line for nutrition and medications, another IV for fluids. She’ll need someone to bathe her, turn her, do her wound care, things you’re not prepared to do.”

“The fuck ‘m not.” He doesn’t know how to do an IV, sure. But he can do everything else. And he knows he can hire a nurse or someone to do the other things, the medications, the tubes, the wound cleanings. “I’m not sending her away.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“It’s not happening. She’s coming home. With me.”

“Johnny took Theo to the park today. Bug tripped comin’ off the slide and nearly cut his chin open. He’s okay, just a deep scratch but it scared him. Johnny said he cried for you the whole way home.” He strokes the pad of his thumb across your cheek, watching your eyes for movement from where they stare, straight ahead, out the master bedroom window. You’re curled on your side, knees tucked up to protect your abdomen, hands clenched under the mountain of pillows.

It's been so, so long since he’s heard your voice. So long since he’s seen you smile, or laugh, or even engaged in a single word that’s being spoken to you.

He feels like he’s losing you. Like you’re slipping away from him, drowning right in front of him.

It feels like Theo is losing his mom.

It feels like he’s losing his mind.

Sometimes, he wants to scream at you. Wants to grip you by your jaw and turn your face towards his and force a reaction from you. Wants to pull the tube that’s feeding you free from your chest and force you to eat on your own. Wants to beg and plead and cry at your feet, wants to shake you until you have no choice but to tell him to stop.

Dr C. has told him again and again that it will take time. That you’re healing, your mind and your body is processing an unfathomable trauma, and that what’s happening to you, this catatonia, is the way your brain is helping protect itself.

So, he tries to remember you, like before. He clings to his memories. The videos on his phone. The live photos that feel like stolen snippets from someone else’s life. He carries it all with him, every day. He shows you the photo and videos on a slideshow every night in hopes something will bright light to your lifeless eyes. He rubs your back and holds your hand, tries to comb through your hair as gently as he can, waters the plant that sits on the windowsill. He does Theo's bedtime routine in here now, reads his stories aloud to the two of you, Theo always curled up against him while you lay unmoving beside him. He reads from the stack of books that you have sitting next to your side of the bed, the collection of them that you were working through before you were taken. He massages ointment into your scars, press the pads of his thumbs into the arch of your feet like he did when you were pregnant, lays awake beside you and speaks aimlessly about nothing. He presses his lips gently to your cheek, your forehead, your mouth. Anything, everything he can do to try to bring you back.

Nothing works. The bed feels like a grave. The house feels like a mausoleum. The only life left inside of either of you is your son.

He sits there next to you until he hears the front door, the sound of Johnny bringing Theo back after their adventure out for takeaway forcing him to pull your blanket up under your chin, tucking you in gently until he’s satisfied it’s to your liking.

“I’ll be back up, after dinner, okay? I’ll bring Theo in to say goodnight.”

“So, how have things been?” Simon likes Dr C, a revelation that he’s grown comfortable with in the past year or so. She is easy to talk to. She does not flinch away from the gruesome details of either of your lives. It helps that she specializes in PTSD and war related trauma therapy as well, of course, but she offers him warmth, and understanding in his sessions. He feels comfortable with her. He feels so comfortable with her, that when you were in desperate need of help, he thought of her first. He feels comfortable knowing that you’re seeing her for therapy and that you’re receiving the same kind of care and patience that he has. He knows Dr C is good at her job, and it brings him comfort, in a strange way, to know that someone who has helped him, is helping you, and the two of you now, together.

“Mrs. Riley?” she tries to encourage you, and you meet her with a half hearted nod and a shrug.

“Okay, I guess.” She looks at him next, the same question bouncing around the room.

“We spent some time together, three weeks ago. Watched a bit of a movie with Theo, and then we all took a walk. Went to the park, even.” Your hands flex and tighten where they sit in your lap, shoulders high and tight.

“That’s great, I’m sure Theo was very excited. How do you feel it went?” He stays quiet, giving you time to talk if you decide that’s what you want. You don’t, and it doesn’t surprise him. Start slow. Nice and easy.

“It went better than the last time we uh, tried a family activity.” He provides when you stay tight lipped, and you immediately cringe, guilt snapping across his skin. Could’ve phrased that better. He wants to grab your hand, stroke his thumb across your knuckles and press his lips to your pulse point all while telling you it wasn’t your fault. Wants to tell you he loves you, that nothing that has happened, has been your fault, even though he knows your own mind is eating you alive with the idea. He can see it all now, the stuff in your head. The awful, hellish landscape that has become your mind. He wants to take it away. Wishes he could scoop it out of your brain, pull away every piece of dark and infectious rot that plagues you, separate it from your nervous system like he's a surgeon. He can't. He's tried.

Dr C. allows the room to fall silent for a moment, as is her custom, before moving on. She does it for you, more than anyone. Gives you time to prepare, to switch gears. It also gives you an opportunity to speak, if you choose to.

You don’t, usually.

“We’re at the six-month mark this week.” His heart stops in his chest. No. “We did agree, that after six months, we would evaluate where we are and potentially discuss how you’re both feeling about the separation. Do you think that’s something you might be open to exploring, Mrs. Riley?” He watches your throat bob with a swallow, your gaze shifting from its absent state to something hopeless, something worried.

“It’s not the right time.” He rushes out to ease whatever it is that’s causing you turmoil. The therapist nods at him, acknowledging his words, but keeps her eyes on you.

“Mrs. Riley?” He holds his breath while you look down at your lap, eyes searching for something on your skin, some kind of an answer he hopes you won’t find. The room is dead silent while you slowly lift your neck, head turning so your eyes find his. Just like a hundred times before.

Your voice is soft, angelic when you finally speak.

“Yes. I would open to talking about it.”

The scream is hard to distinguish. In the dark, it could just be a part of his ever-present nightmares, just another piece of his mind twisting his memories and his reality together to form a special kind of hell. It’s hard to tell at three in the morning, but he’s sure he’s awake in his own bed, your body twisting and turning beside him, terror pouring from your lips while you sweat against the sheets. His pulse thunders in his ears, the broken cries coming from you echoing throughout the room and stopping his heart.

He rolls onto you immediately, trapping your kicking legs beneath his, a hand coming up to cradle your face and tapping your cheekbone with the pad of his index finger, a gentler way of trying to pull you out, a method that has had varied success in the past.

“Come on, sweet girl. Wake up for me.” Your mouth presses into the pillow and you scream, your body shaking in his hold, face wet with tears. “Shhh. It’s alright. You’re alright, you’re safe.” You’re terrified, and he can’t soothe you, can’t wake you to bring you into reality, the desperation he feels compounding when your wet cheek presses into his palm. You thrash, arms swinging, and he tries to hold you steady while your voice crests with a sob that shifts in a shriek next to his ear. “Sass! Please. I’m here, I’m right here.” His voice breaks, raspy and raw, but nothing reaches you, nothing matters. You’re not here, you’re still there. In that room with the concrete floor that’s stained with your blood. Your hand moves again, this time making contact and digging into his face, his flesh parting beneath the fine edge of your nails, blood pooling underneath them when he pushes your arm away, pinning it down by your side while you cry. He’s helpless, trapped in this hell alongside of you, drowning beneath the current of your nightmare while you free fall through your terror, unconscious and unable to be woken. He can’t even feel the sting of his cheek, can’t feel the small wounds that are leaking blood down his skin, none of it registers. All he can do is hold you, talk to you as calmly as he can while you sob, your voice eventually falling into soft whimpers as you slowly settle.

“Daddy?” Theo’s little voice calls from the door, where he’s standing wide eyed and terrified and Simon curses while you shiver in his arms.

“It’s okay, bug. Go back to your bed.” Theo shakes his head no, unable to look away. He looks so scared and Simon’s heart shatters inside his chest, something he thought wasn’t even possible anymore.

“Mum?” Theo cries, face scrunched up, hands clutching his blanket to his chest. Your cries are muffled now, and although you’re still shaking, he can’t leave Theo in the doorway, watching you like this.

Simon pulls the blankets back up over your body, tucking you in as tightly as he can manage and then scoops Theo up, carrying him down the hall while he shushes him, running his fingers through his hair while he cries.

“Shhh. She’s alright, Mum’s alright. She’s just havin’ a bad dream. Just like we do sometimes, yeah?” Simon coos while Theo sniffles, his face resting on Simon’s shoulder, blanket tucked between their bodies. “C’mere, let’s lay down.” He lays Theo on his kid’s sized bed, curling his own body around him, most of Simon’s legs hanging off the end. Theo holds onto to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to burrow himself in Simon’s body, to hide there from his own fears and nightmares, and he rubs his back soothingly until Theo is blissfully asleep, safe in the arms of his dad.

He clips your nails short the next morning. You stare out the window and say nothing.

There’s a lot of noise in Simon’s head.

He can see your mouth moving, can see Dr. C’s mouth moving, but he can hardly hear either of you, your voices drowned out by the white noise-static sound that’s cutting through his brain, slicing down into his flesh, past his sternum to where his heart beats slowly.

“I don’t want a divorce.” The words ricochet between his ears, and he feels like he’s been doused with cold water, the shock of your words startling him from his stupor as he blinks stupidly at you. You don’t want a divorce. Joy, pure, unaltered, endless joy fills him until he’s nearly smiling, his cautionary behavior going out the window with your admission. You don’t want a divorce. Your voice is heavy with the weight of everything you’re feeling, and it feels sick to feel how he does right now when there are tears spilling over your waterline and down your face. “B-but I don’t know if I can be… how we were. I don’t know if I know how. Or… if I deserve…” you trail off, and he closes his eyes against the sinking feeling in his stomach. You don’t say anything else after that, lip tucked between your teeth, brow creased like you’re concentrating. The therapist says your name, twice, to try to bring you back, and then when you finally make eye contact, she continues on.

“Do you see a path, in your mind? A path forward, for your marriage?”

“I do-don’t know… I don’t know what it would look like.” Dr C. let’s the room go quiet again, and he’s surprised when you lift your gaze to his once more, your eyes seeking something in his. He’s not sure what it is, doesn’t know what to give you in this moment, which is a foreign concept, considering he used to be able to anticipate your moods and moves, your decisions and your ideas. The two of you used to know each other like the back of your hands and now… sometimes it feels like he’s in love with a stranger.

“I have an idea.” Dr C. says and you straight a little, looking at her with a somewhat grim expression. “Have you considered going on a date?”

“A date?” you blurt, and he tenses.

“Without Theo. Just the two of you, somewhere you both feel comfortable. Leave your expectations at home and take the time to talk to one another, one on one. Reconnect.” You’re going to say no. There’s no way you’ll go for this. You gnaw on your lip for a minute while your fingers play idly in your lap. He braces himself for the rejection, for you to say it’s too much, too soon, that you’re not ready, you can’t do it. All of these things, he would not blame you for.

All of these things, make him grateful he doesn’t have Theo tonight, and that he’s got a fresh bottle of bourbon on his kitchen table.

“Okay, well. I guess we can call Price and see if they want to babysit?” He turns to look at you, dumbfounded, mouth slack with shock while you give him the most nervous, the most hesitant smile. It blinds him, momentarily confusing him, like it’s a trick. Like it’s all wrong, and you’re going to change your mind, or something else is going to happen and derail this. It’s also, all right. You, smiling at him, looking like you actually might want to… spend time with him, see him without it having to be the usual Theo pass off. Like you might still want this, want him.

Dr C. clears her throat expectantly, and he stumbles to get his words out, to catch up.

“Yeah, Sass. Let’s… set it up.”

“Mum better?” Theo’s little fingers fold over his board book, eager smile on his face as he tips his head back to squint at Simon. He’s heard you, in the bedroom earlier, arguing with the nurse that comes every morning. It was quite a surprise for her when she got here, to see you sitting up in bed, eyes blinking and brow furrowed, Simon helping you rotate your wrists that have grown stiff and sore. “Pa’cakes fa Mum?” Simon smiles. Sweet lad.

“Yes, we can make Mum pancakes. She can’t really eat a lot but I’m sure she’d love to have breakfast with you.” He rubs his chest absentmindedly, stroking over a particular raised bump of skin, a scar from an op years ago. You had been running your fingers over it, this morning when he woke up, shocked to feel you turned into him, tucked up against his chest, your hand tracing light touches over his skin. Your voice had been rough, scratchy from lack of use, and you complained that every muscle in your neck and back ached, along with you joints.

He said you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

You told him you loved him.

And then Theo woke up.

It’s a messy process, making pancakes with his son. Theo likes to do everything himself, including pouring the milk and cracking the eggs into the bowl. You usually handle it with such grace, such patience, giving Theo the time he needs to explore the mechanisms of it, feel out what interests him and explain every step to him. Simon tries to embody that part of you, he does, but it’s not as easy as you make it look. Especially when Theo cracks three eggs on the floor.

“Uh oh!” he yells, and Simon closes his eyes, breathing through his nose until his chest is thoroughly expanded. He wants to be upstairs, with you. Wants more than the two hours he got at dawn before Theo woke up and then nurse came over, wants to hurry it up so they both can be up there, sitting with you, him and Theo. “Sorry, Daddy.” Theo’s sad voice brings him back to the now, and he snaps his eyes open to see his disappointed little face, eyes worried as he looks at the batter bowl.

“It’s alright, bug. Accidents happen. Let’s try again, yeah?”

Forty minutes later, Simon’s finally got a stack of pancakes on a plate, him and Theo sitting on the bed next to you, and a cup of coffee in his hand. He’s cutting them one by one into little pieces, and then handing you the fork so you can help Theo.

“Don’ need ‘elp mum!” Theo exclaims, wrapping a paw around your fingers and pushing the fork into his mouth, chewing with a smile. You laugh and lean over to kiss his head.

“Where did my baby go? I swear just last week you were saying your first word.” It’s meant to be sweet, to be a throw back to when Theo was actually a baby, but it settles like lead in the bottom of Simon’s stomach, and when he glances up at you, you’re wearing a faraway look, thinking about something he cannot name.

Five days after the joint therapy session, Simon is standing in your living room trying not to feel completely dumbfounded. Or terrified. Or elated.

Or anything. He’s trying not to feel anything at all, because if he does, then it will mean something, it will matter, and it will possess the ability to ruin him. If he lets himself feel it, the hope, the happiness, it will make it all that much worse at the end, when this doesn’t work. When it’s too much for you.

He had even called you later that night, after the session, to make sure that this was something you actually wanted to do, that you hadn’t felt pressured into it by being in a room with him and the therapist. When you had doubled down, he hid his surprise as best he could, and reassured you that he also wanted to go when you asked him in a small, hesitant voice if he thought maybe, it wasn’t such a good idea.

“Can I have a kiss?” you ask Theo as you bend down, the curve of your ass displayed in the black cocktail dress you chose to wear. The dress, that had him gaping like a fish when you came down the stairs, the dress that highlighted the ins and outs of your body that he used to be so bloody familiar with. Theo wraps his arms around your neck as tight as he can, little face happy and excited with the prospect of spending all night with Price and his wife, who will assuredly allow him to eat all the cotton candy flavored ice cream he wants and put him to bed late. They’re taking him to theirs, something they’ve done in the past (albeit for far less joyous reasons) which works better for everyone. That way, they can sleep in their own bed instead of your guest bed or his couch, and Theo doesn’t have to be woken in the middle of the night to be carried home.

Price’s wife ruffles Theo’s hair as you hand her his little backpack. Simon pretends not to notice the way John tracks her movements, the way he catalogues everything she does with Theo. He pretends not to the see the brief flicker of something across his face, the flicker of wanting that shadows his blue eyes before they clear again. It’s not Simon’s place, to know these things. To notice them.

Instead, Simon bends to scoop Theo into his arms, giving him a big hug and breathing in the smell of his baby shampoo before placing back on his feet gently, his little boy grinning up at him with a face full of love that twists his heart sharply.

“Thanks again.” You smile at her, and she nods while John takes the backpack, and she takes Theo’s hand in hers. “You know the drill.” You shrug and she laughs softly before agreeing.

“We do! We’re going to have a lot of fun, huh Theo?” Theo nods excitedly and you manage to give him another kiss on the cheek before straightening.

“Alright, well. One of us will grab him, in the morning. I’ll text you.” You’re looking at her funny, something different in your eyes, something he’s not sure how to interpret. It’s odd, but it passes in a blink, and then she pulls you into her arms, whispering something in your ear that he cannot hear. You answer her softly, a quieted hum of words, before stepping away and giving the final nod to Price.

“Alright, honey. You two ready?” John’s hand presses to the small of her back, a reassuring and guiding touch, and then they’re all out the door, Theo holding both of their hands while they make the trek two blocks away to their own house. You watch them until they’ve faded from sight, and then turn around with your hands on your hips, a nervous expression that probably mirrors his, on your face. The hardwood beneath his feet feels like fucking sand.

“Well… should we?”

“You don’t get it! You’re not listening to me!”

“There is no one in your life, on this planet, who understands the way you’re feeling more than I do.” He tries to explain it, tries to reason with you. Tries to make you see that he gets it, that he knows how it feels. You won’t listen, you don’t budge. You only take a step backwards, hand outstretched against his chest as a warning.

“No you don’t! You didn’t die, Simon. You came back.”

“So did you.”

“No, I didn’t. I… I was fucked up before and you know it. Whatever was left was taken. I didn’t fight hard enough. I didn’t survive. It wasn’t enough.” Your voice is high, reedy, and a warning bell goes off in the back of his mind, the memory of your panic attack from last week fresh in his memory. You still have the stitches in your hand from the bathroom mirror glass, and he winces when you make a fist and thump it against your thigh.

“Hey, hey. It's okay. You’re getting-“

“Stop!” you cry out. The haunted expression on your face looks all wrong, and he knows you’re sinking farther and farther into your own head, going somewhere he cannot reach you. “You fought and won, you survived. I was too weak. I c-couldn’t… I tried. But I failed.” You let out a gut-wrenching sob, arms wrapped tight around yourself. “I wanted to die! I gave up. You had to fucking save me, Simon.”

“Sass-“ He tries to reach for you, tries to pull you into his arms, into his body where he can protect you, but you jerk away.

“Don’t touch me. I can’t… I don’t know what to do.” Your eyes are glassy, chest heaving while you struggle to breathe, fingers dug into your own scalp for dear life. “I don’t… I can’t do this.” You’re gasping now, trembling, eyes wide and panicked, and he steps closer, brushing his fingers along your forearm back and forth until you’re softening to him, slumping forward into his chest.

“It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re here, Theo’s here, I’m here. You’re not alone. There’s nothing to fear.” He says it over and over into your hair, lips just above your ear while he eases you to the floor, your fingers tight in his shirt, tears wetting the fabric. “I’ve got you.” He soothes, and your body folds up into his easily, his arm going around your back to hold you firm while he rocks the two of you in the dark of the bedroom until your gasping breaths turn to quiet sobs, and you fall asleep against his chest.

He takes you to the Italian restaurant. It’s the one he took you to after the two of you bought the house, when you first moved over here. It’s dark, and secluded, and only has two entrances/exits, both of which he can see from the table in the back. Most people consider the candlelit, barely lit atmosphere romantic, and it is, but for the two of you, it serves a different purpose. It allows you to relax. It allows him to remove his mask.

Tonight, it allows you to feel comfortable in a dress that clearly displays more skin than he’s seen you show in eight months. The darkness swallows your scars, drifts around you in an inky black cloud, envelopes your shoulders like a blanket. The candlelight flickers across your face, and he watches you sip your wine, putting the glass down and picking it back up again and again, before either of you have even ordered dinner.

“You look beautiful.” He offers it gently, tentatively, unsure of where to start, where to take this. A gift has been dumped in his lap, a priceless, perfect, beautiful gift and now he doesn’t know what to do with it. His heart wants to rip the band-aid off, tear the wrapping paper free, uncaring if he makes a mess or crinkles the paper, but his mind knows better. His mind knows he has to take it crease by crease, ribbon by ribbon, ensuring each fold unfurls correctly, ensuring each edge comes easily.

“Thank you… you look pretty good yourself.” Your lips curl into a little half smile over the rim of your glass and he can’t help but return it, indulgently sinking into every word you say, every glance you give him. He feels intoxicated, drunk on you, flying high from the way you’re looking at him, like you still know him, like you still love him.

“So.” You play with the fork on the table, turning it from back to front repeatedly and he beats back the urge to reach for your hand and still you, to try to calm your nerves. It's me, Sass. It's just me. I'm right here.

“So.” He parrots back, and your fingers wave in the air like you’re trying to conjure something. A safe topic of conversation maybe, or another glass of wine, since yours is now nearly empty. The candle sputters and then steadies, illuminating the expression of worry that’s etched into your face, and it spurs him forward, pushes him into momentum until he’s laying his forearm across the table, palm up, waiting, hoping.

He holds his breath.

You stare at him without saying a word for a long time, the restaurant and its patrons moving around you, the world continuing to turn while his oxygen depletes, and he holds himself as still as a statue. You stare, and you stare until-

Your hand lands in his, perfectly curled along the inside of his fingers, thumb pressed to the curve of his wrist, and you blink furiously at your lap.

When you lift your head, there are tears in your eyes, fat, wet tears that fall down your cheeks when you open your mouth.

“I miss you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“THEN TELL ME!” your mouth drops open in shock and shame licks up his spine, horror icing through his body inch by inch as he stumbles to apologize. “I’m sorry, Sass. I’m sorry, I… I don’t mean to yell, I.." The words trail off when he comes up empty. He has no excuse.

It’s been a long, long time since he’s raised his voice when speaking with you. The memory of the last time, the aftermath of the op where you intentionally disobeyed him and put yourself at risk feels a million miles away right now, and just like yesterday all at once.

Except now, it’s not him running away from you.

It’s you that’s running away from him.

Dinner flies. It feels like a dream, a soft, fragrant dream that he can smell and taste, something tangible, touchable. Something real. You order another glass of wine, and he orders a pour of bourbon, and then another. It lubricates the two of you, easing your tongues and pushing you into conversations that feel safe. You talk about Theo, and Johnny, and Price and his wife. The two of you go back and forth about the finer details of an op you’ve always been fond of arguing about.

His eyes don’t leave your face the entire time. He tries to decode your expressions, your posture, your body language, all through the meal and then after the check is paid. He watches you as he leads you out of the restaurant onto the street, clocks your steps as you turn in a circle on the sidewalk, a sly, hopeful look reflecting on your face when you step closer and say,

“Walk with me?”

It’s a long walk from the restaurant to the street where your respective houses sit, but he doesn’t mind. By the time the two of you are crawling to a stop in front of his door, you’ve got your hand in his, your arm pressed to his side, and he can feel the heat of your skin through his jacket. You’re quiet until you’re turning towards him on the front step, his sanity being held together in this moment with some tape and glue, and you step closer into his orbit, fingers lightly holding the front zipper of his jacket, head tilted back, face turned up towards his. You're the sun, you're the sun, you're the fucking sun and you’re not wearing your armor, there’s no vacant expression on your face, no layer of fear or sadness or anger. You look… like his wife in this moment. You look like Theo’s mom, his partner, his bomb tech, his sweet girl.

You look like you’re still his. You’re looking at him like he’s still yours.

Your lips part, and he leans into you, mouth hovering above yours, just out of reach for so many reasons. He shouldn’t do this. It’s too fast. You’ll pull back. You’ll slip away. This is too risky, it’s too much, it’s too fast, you’re not thinking clear-

“Si.” You pull at him. “Kiss me.” He’s powerless to the command, or request, or whatever the bloody hell it is. It doesn’t matter, because he’s pressing his mouth to yours in less than a second, the searing heat of your tongue pushing into his mouth sending a cool shock down his spine and lighting every muscle in his body on fire.

Home. He’s home.

When he opens the front door, he doesn’t hear anything. No kid’s television shows, no sounds of you or Theo. No happy little boy running to greet him. No sign of you on the couch, no sound of you in the back or in the kitchen.

He finds you in the bedroom, alone.

“Where is Theo?”

“He’s at the Price’s.” your voice is hollow. Empty, like your facial expression. Haunted, like your eyes. The quiet of the house makes him wary. Something prickles along his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk and I… didn’t think he should be here.”

“Talk about what?” It’s a grunt, a gruff question that he levels nonchalantly while he waits for you to speak as he strips off his boots and sits down on the bed. He doesn't ask you anything further, doesn't push for elaboration. He doesn't want to. Can't bring himself to hurry whatever it is along, uneasiness snaking up his spine while he observes your uncomfortable posture.

“What do you see? When you look at me?” you ask, and he frowns.

“I see… you, sweet girl. Theo’s mom. My person, my wife.” You don’t respond, you just continue to stare at your feet, so he says your name, your real name, as softly as he can manage, hoping to pull your attention.

“Your person is broken.”

“No, she’s not.”

“She’s a nightmare.”

“Stop.” His tone cuts through the air and you jerk, your eyes finding his, the despondence behind them enough to make his head spin.

“I should have died there.” You croak. “I should have died, Si. It would have been better than this. You could have buried me, moved on.” Nausea sweeps him. He feels ill, like he did when he found you in that room, like he did when he loaded you onto the heli barely alive. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before speaking again.

“This… this will get better, Sass. You’re still healing, physically, mentally… it doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time.” He tries to pull your hand into his lap, but you wrench it away, standing up from the bed.

“It’s not that easy.” You pace back and forth, and he wants so badly to stop you, to hold you and tell you everything will be alright. That he understands how you feel, and he promises you’ll feel better, one day. Even if it feels like it might never be true. His skin itches beneath his clothes.

“I know it’s not. I know that it feels impossible right now and-“

“No.” You cut him off.

“No?”

“No, you don’t know. You’re not hearing me! You haven’t been listening to me at all.” You whirl on him. “I’m not like you Simon! I’m not… I don’t deserve you, or Theo, or anything. I don’t-“

“That’s enough. I can’t listen to this anymore.” He snaps, rising to full height. His temper breaks, his own sadness and anxiety burning together to form something else, something desperate, something afraid. It's not what he meant to say, not what he meant at all. He wants to tell you again, that it's not true. That you do deserve him, and your son, and good things. That you aren't weak, or pathetic, or dirty. He meant to tell you that he doesn't want you to say these things, these awful things about yourself anymore because speaking them out loud just makes them feel all the more true to you. It comes out wrong, all wrong and too sharp, too harsh and you step backwards, pulling the bedroom door wide before he can stop you.

Your voice is a shattered chime when you whisper to him over your shoulder.

“Your wife is broken, Simon. She’s gone.”

You’re tangled in one another. He barely gets the door locked before he’s lifting you by the thighs and pressing you against the wall as gently as he can manage, his cock hard for you beneath the thin cotton of his briefs, your hips rocking forward against him while your head leans back to expose your throat.

“Sass.” I love you. It almost spills from his lips, but he holds it back at the last moment, groaning into your skin instead, and you whine his name back to him, fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt, your hands pressing to his stomach while he rucks the bottom of your dress up past your hips. It’s not gentle, it’s not sweet. It’s frenzied, and frantic, and spurred on by the way your hands push and pull at him, your mouth desperately seeking his, your nails digging into his scalp as you press yourself against his cock.

“Please.” You whimper, and how can he possibly deny you anything? He cannot. He would never. You reach beneath the waistband of his pants and grip him, hand stroking up and down his length, thumb pressing across where he’s dripping with pre-come.

“Bloody hell.” You’re squirming where he holds you up on the wall, his fingers pulling your thong to the side and stroking through where you’re soaked for him, circling your clit with quick touches until your thigh muscles are tensing around his waist. His size compared to yours is glaringly obvious in this position, your legs spread so wide before him, the mass of his body overtop yours like you're pinned beneath a mountain. He loves it. Always has.

“Fuck, Simon. Please.” You beg again, your hips flexing, seeking friction, his hand spread across your rib cage to hold you steady while he unzips his pants and lowers you down the wall a fraction, just to the right height, just so he can-

Your breath hitches when he pushes inside of you, head tipped back, eyes clenched shut with your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Christ." he hisses between clenched teeth. You whimper, the noise something off key and he stills, cradling your face with his palms and lowering his mouth to yours again. "I know." He soothes you. "You're taking me so well, sweet girl." You’re so tight, so warm and wet and perfect for him it makes his head spin, makes his knees feel like they might collapse. You relax around him, softening and he praises you, nipping your bottom lip while he grinds his body against yours. "There you go. Good girl." He fucks you deeper, harder and harder until he's sure he could be hurting you, burning to bury himself as far as he can, burrow himself beneath your skin so you're never without him again.

His. His girl. His wife. His love. His home.

You’re home. You’re home. You’re home.

He feels the swell of emotion rise inside of him, the sum of all his feelings, all his pain, all his hope coming together until he’s fucking crying, pressing his face into your neck to hide his tears.

“I love you.” he chokes, lips grazing along salt dotted skin, and you whimper something in response, something that sounds like I love you too, except slurred together, mushed between moans while he thrusts up into your cunt over and over.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He pulls you along with him towards your orgasm, his fingers working your clit expertly, the muscle memory searing the two of you together until you’re both gasping, shaking messes, bodies spent from explosive endings that were too much, too soon, when all he wanted was to be notched inside of you forever, fit within you perfectly, like it always was before.

You go languid in his arms, the sheen of your sweat glossing across your chest and up your neck, the corners of your lips upturned while you pant. He says nothing, just holds you there, stares down at you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone gently, like you’re a thing made of glass, fragile and precious, the most valuable thing his arms have ever held.

As the seconds tick by, your smile shifts, fades like the setting sun, and your eyes change from half lidded to alert while your mouth tilts, the smile slipping away into a frown and then… into an o of surprise.

“Oh my god.” You clasp your hand over your lips and unwrap yourself from around him, standing on your own two feet. “Oh.” You whisper it now, an adject expression of dismay on your face, and he holds his hands up, palms out, to try to contain you where you stand against the wall, like you’re a frightened animal he’s trying to catch.

“Sass.” He levels, keeping his voice even and steady, but you ignore him, stumbling to the couch where his black hoodie is sitting. You pull it over your head with trembling hands, your head shaking back and forth while it falls to your mid-thigh.

“This… I’m… I didn’t mean… I wasn’t-“ You cringe, your hand going to side of your face to cover your ear, like you’re hearing something that’s too loud, and horror washes through him.

“It’s alright. You’re safe.” He tries to calm you but it’s fruitless, your eyes are wide and frantic, and they’re darting between where he stands and the front door.

“This… I d-don’t… this was wrong.” The word smarts across his face like he’s been slapped. Wrong? “I… I meant t-to go slow to… not…” He gets within arm’s reach of you before you’re moving away, stepping backwards on hesitant feet, hands clenched together like you’re holding onto yourself for dear life.

“Sass, listen to me. I-“

“I ca-can’t.” You’re panicked now, breaths coming in staggered gasps, and he wants so badly to hold you, keep you close to him, reassure you, promise you that everything’s okay.

He tries to move closer to you, to reach out to you but you’re already running away. Already moving towards the door on unsteady legs, clips of words spewing from your mouth that don’t make any sense. His vision doubles, then triples, and the world feels out of sync, off balance while air rapidly leaves his lungs and his brain feels like it's being split apart. No no no. Please don't go. Please. He can't breathe. He can't move. He can't do anything but watch his nightmares play out in real life, watch as you hold your head in your hands and slam your eyes shut like you too, are feeling what he's feeling. Please don't go. He's a child again, a small, frightened boy, screaming and crying and begging aloud to no one, pleading with someone to save him, to make it all stop.

You reach for the door handle and he cannot bring himself to move. He's frozen in time, frozen to the floor, the gleam of his wedding ring mocking his heart and his hope while you tremble, your legs unsteady beneath you, his come leaking out from your body as you abandon him, run from him, leave him. Again.

When the door clicks shut, he falls against the wall and succumbs to the first panic attack he's had since Theo was born, slumped over in his living room, empty handed and alone.

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