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sunboki · 1 month

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— THE ALCHEMIST. a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. historical! au, set in 1940’s Korea, alchemist! au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst

WARNINGS. abusive behavior toward women, impoverished communities, overall sexist beliefs of the time, reader dresses as a man, mentions of death & disease, smoking (not reader or minho), war conflict, making out??

WORD COUNT. 9.6k words

AUG'S NOTES. although it was a bit out of the blue, i had such a great time writing and shaping this universe, thank you to all the love and support thus far<3 also, huge thanks to @comet-falls for instilling the peaky blinders/historical! minho vision in my head with how incredible tooth and claw was, i truly owe it to you :)

SYNOPSIS. Cities stricken with poverty, the lack of male presence in your home while surviving in a male-dominated society leaves meager food on the table and a piling debt. Left no choice but to make a risky decision, you decide that, if biology wanted to fail you, you’d simply try another approach.

alternatively :

In which deception introduces you into an entirely new reality, and The Alchemist.

It’s one thing surviving with the knowledge you can change something, whatever it may be that’s wrong.

It’s another when that problem isn’t merely changeable, but biological.

Your problem? You’re a woman.

Not as easy to fix, right?

With your father lost in the war, fruitlessly straining to support a family of girls, the household is left helpless.

Representation is nonexistent, and merely walking outside frets harassment and laughter struck in your face at the mention of working.

A woman, working? Hilarious.

Or, apparently to the men in pubs it certainly is.

Some things you can’t change, yes, but there are always alternatives. And as for now, you’re helplessly searching high and low for that alternative, whatever it may be.

Selling yourself is possible, though the inability to remain connected to your family eliminates that option.

When you get so desperate, there’s no incentive in guarding your pride. Because being called derogatory names isn’t as bad as losing them, the people you call home.

October welcomes little warmth, biting your fingertips and sending a tremor of chills cascading down your spine. Minimal sunlight peers through dense clouds, shrouding the atmosphere in a depressing haze.

You’re on your way to the apothecary, but not to purchase anything. The pennies in your pocket won’t amount to anything in the face of medicinal prices, which happens to be one of your many alternatives.

Since day one, you’ve had a rock to rely on.

Medicine.

Lack of money meant improper living conditions, entailing sickness.

Constantly.

Whether it was your mother, your younger sister, yourself, an infection of some sort occupied your respiratory system, wreaking havoc for wallets and mental health altogether.

Purchasing necessary medication became impossible the further you drowned in your debt, to the point drastic measures needed to be taken in order to prevent death from infesting itself in the household as well.

Then came the question. If you couldn’t purchase the medicine itself, why not collect the ingredients?

Alternatives.

Behind the apothecary you discovered mint hedges that, if mixed with wormwood and balm, could aid in curing Sun-ja’s current sickness, colic.

Although, you’d have to be swift in your efforts, ensuring the shop owner didn’t notice your presence.

Too many times had you nearly been caught, risking a good beating from the red-haired, burly man regarded as Mr. Myeong.

Fiery red hair complimented an equally unruly personality you aimed not to cross by. Ever.

Yet, unlike Mr. Myeong, his wife was the polar opposite, an ideal magnet. She was petite and soft-spoken, but out of her appealing traits, you found her resilience to be most attractive.

Mrs. Myeong is stubborn. She’s strong in what she believes, sporting an unquestionably vocal opinion that can’t be quenched.

The woman is, likely, the only woman capable of sealing her husband’s mouth shut.

Hidden between thorn ridden weeds sits your desired leaves, abundant in supply.

You clutch your satchel closer, plucking as quickly as possible whilst crouched to the ground, maneuvering through tickling grasses and itchy reeds.

Your mission remains successful, until the wretched sound of a doorknob rips your head upward, the red-haired man in question standing nonplussed, arms crossed.

He wears a cocked brow, examining what you’re desperately trying to veil away.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Stealing, are we?” Black boot clad frame thumping closer, you immediately prepare to run, hair standing on end like an agitated feline.

Instead, his huge hand swoops down to grab your collar, other evidently ready to land a harsh slap to your face.

Instinctively cringing, you brace for the stinging impact.

That is, before a saccharine, lullaby-worthy voice rings from the cracked doorway, belonging to none other than Mrs. Myeong.

“Honey! Have you seen the new envelope that came in?”

Heels clicking whilst padding over cobblestone to where you two stand, her husband fixates you with a stern, threatening glare.

Finally dropping your frame to the ground, you slump forward, pulse pounding loud enough you fear your chest may implode.

Mrs. Myeong, though wearing a taut expression, ushers him off, delivering a curt nod your way, intentional brows furrowed in place.

‘Thank you’ You wish to say, but hold your tongue, watching them disappear inside.

Another time.

Walking home was rather uneventful (much to your delight), left to enjoy the crisp, cool air sifting through your lungs in steady rhythm, the lazy billows of cigar smoke dwindling from gaping doorways.

Calm.

Nothing calm ever lasts long.

Stashing the house key back into your decrepit leather draw bag, your footsteps still upon entering, struck terror-filled.

Your mother, strawn across the floor, hacks amongst her rampant coughs, body convulsing in desperate shivers, skin drenched a ghastly blue.

Sprinting to her side, you kneel down, rolling the woman over to find her face utterly battered, new black eye beginning to swell, cheek bruised a mawkish purple against hollowed cheekbones.

Sharks.

To your left Sun-ja hides in the corner, rags for a blanket pulled to her chest, shielded between the wall and a tipped cabinet.

Over and over they’ve begun visiting, to the point your mother became recognizable by her continuous black eye, her torn clothing and stooped posture.

Exhausted, she was exhausted.

Yet, she took the beatings. The torturous punches. Jarring slaps, traumatic insults, tarnishing. Your mother took it so you wouldn’t, so you and Sun-ja could live.

And it’s at that moment you make up your mind, discover this occasion’s alternative.

“Cut it off.”

“Cut.. Cut it off?” Hyunjin gapes, fingers stalling their descent down a strand of your hair.

You smile, grimacing the longer consideration poises.

No point in thinking too much.

“Yep. Give me the most boy-ish haircut you can.” You emphasize, gesturing toward his scissors expectantly.

Hyunjin, your personally appointed hairstylist, doesn’t seem too convinced. He’s debating, expertly reading your features.

Currently, you’re holed up in his room, a miniature apartment located near the furthest section of town, close to the coast.

In wee hours of morning you boarded the train here, inhaling salty, ocean-smelling breeze. Back in your old residence you met him, your neighbor Hwang Hyunjin. It’s a miracle you still stayed in contact, bond aging like the finest of wines over countless years.

Enough to where you trusted him to help you enact this alternative of yours.

Starting with a haircut.

The man stares at you through the mirror, dark, inky hair matting the longer he runs his hands through it.

Thoughtfully trying to figure out your reasoning, he evidently catches on the moment you witness his eyes roll, releasing a heaving sigh.

“You cannot be serious.”

A torrential truth keeps you from responding, gaze directed at your feet.

“Y/n,” He uttered, eyes filling with a concern you avoid meeting, avoid regarding in a whole. “You don’t have to do this, the war is going to end soon and your father will come ba—“

“He’s dead.”

Silence engulfs the room.

Collecting yourself, you scorn his frown.

“He’s dead and gone. Now I need to protect them, provide for them.“

You deny the shakiness of your voice.

“So, Hyunjin. Cut off my hair.”

Accordingly, he does without another word. Snip by snip, tress by tress falling below, scattering the tile floor in endless strands.

By the time you see yourself, it’s hard to recognize the person in the reflection. Never had you considered your hair a viable source of identity, but now that it’s so sparse, the effect is eminent.

Failing to see yourself in your own reflection beckons a different kind of sadness. For the person you’ve introduced yourself as reigns no more. She’s been replaced.

Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, embrace just as comforting as you remembered. His hand reaches to caress your cropped hair, rocking back and forth on his heels, chin resting on your head.

“Be careful, okay?”

Nodding into his shoulder, you wipe salty streaks from your cheeks.

Hurts.

“And if you need a place to take shelter, I’ll be here.”

Steadying in his hug again, you pull back, cherishing his kindness with a chaste kiss to the cheek.

“Thank you, really.”

Shaking his head at your gratitude, urging you out and lingering by the doorway till your figure retreats in the distance.

Next stop, Mrs. Myeong.

If anyone has any idea how to source the clothing you’re needing, your best chance would be thanks to her.

An hour later you arrive in familiar avenues, creeping out of sight into the apothecary in hopes the woman you’re looking for is working the counter.

Much to your pleasure, after a few unsuccessful attempts do you grasp her attention, edging forward under the guise of a regular hoping to converse.

“I need your help.”

Initially, she carries that sternness, wordlessly lifting your hooded head a bit to notice the latest adjustment. Shock written over her face, Mrs. Myeong drags you along with her, closing the door to a back room.

“My child, what is going on?” She whispers, tone urgent. You can’t help but feel fond of the affectionate nickname.

“I need male clothing and,” You hesitate, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “something to bind my chest with.”

Similar to Hyunjin, she steps back, assessing the situation at hand. Spending a brief few seconds roaming your figure, the woman works hastily toward fetching a petticoat, meticulously fitting each article atop your stock-still frame.

“You’re conceited,” she grumbles. “And foolish.” Carefully peeling off your upper-wear, she’s managed to cut a piece of thick cloth to use as a make-shift binder, assembling the fabric over your breast.

The experience, although strange, wasn’t as painful as anticipated.

“But be careful, and stay in contact.”

Your response is hushed.

“Breathe in,” The older woman instructs, securing her creation with a threaded pin before moving onto other aspects, like a proper coat and pants.

Mr. Myeong’s trousers, though having to be sewn to fit, make do, and you’re reminded to return tomorrow for shoes. Otherwise, the attire is completed, paired with a curved hat to finish.

Sure, the entire male concept is foreign, but given time, you’ll gradually acclimate.

Oh, right.

Your alternative?

Since medicine is what you know, you’ll stick with that. Difference being medicine is a men’s occupation, and so, if you can’t be a female working in the field, why not become male?

Well, somewhat become male.

It’s a risky wager, easily placing your life on the line in the process.

For your mother and Sun-ja, however, it’s your turn to take the beating. Your turn to endure.

Observation is a virtue. It can save and preserve, heed to oncoming danger, and simultaneously (and discreetly) supply useful information.

Today, seated on a bench in Daegu Station, your first observation is the abundance of people scurrying like mice.

Some tall, some short. Distinct moles, eyes. Upturned and downturned lips. Mustaches, beards. Much to see.

Your legs cross and uncross, Mr. Myeong’s oversized heeled shoes beginning to sink at your ankles. Hat strung low enough to peer out without attracting attention, your gaze is magnetically drawn to a magazine held on the adjacent side of the train tracks, title on display.

Prized Alchemist Lee Minho suspected of being the lone survivor of the Red Plagu—

Ignorant to your surroundings, your senses posed numb to the incoming train, blocking off the last few words of the title from view the moment it soars past—nearly sweeping the fedora off your head.

By the time the last few train cars passed, the man honing said magazine had disappeared, and you were left wondering if the experience was merely a figment of your imagination.

Although, you did have one lead. A name.

Lee Minho.

Where you’d find him remained unknown, deciding to rely on a magazine parlor first and foremost for more intel.

To no surprise, nearly every magazine rack lay lined with haughty opinions regarding the war and its evident cruelty.

Many onlookers of both Americans, Koreans, and foreigners alike chatter amongst themselves about their own take between gossiping hands and fumes of tobacco.

In this town, located far off in the business district by a ship port, people are everywhere.

Wives of sailors, families of soldiers off at war. Women honing gleaning parasols and ivory gloves reaching to their elbows.

Languages you’ve never heard before utter their enunciated syllables, vocabulary petulant with accent—all shrouded in dismay.

Roaming the store endlessly to no avail, you prepare to adventure back through dusty streets and battered wooden stall-shops before a peculiar name pauses your footsteps.

His name, The Alchemist, Lee Minho.

“Bring ‘em home I tell ‘ya,” An aged man by the deepened grooves of his face, hollow cheekbones and bunched wrinkles grumbles.

A fat cigar hangs loosely from thin lips, pale baker boy cap adorning a bald head.

Some sentences estranged, you identify his sentences as French, heavy in dialect, throaty and broad.

And although your fluency stay patchy, exposure from French immigrants who’ve relocated near home allow minimal understanding as to what they’re talking about.

“Say, did you hear that Lee Minho chap was a Red Plague?” His counterpart offered past his own leering cigar, foot tapping incessantly.

The other hacks his bewilderment, feeble fist pounding on an equally feeble chest.

“The Alchemist?”

The man’s astonishment returned with a nod, you lean closer, pretending to be consumed in an article.

“Said he was only nineteen when it happened. Shipped ‘em off only for disease to kill them all. One survived, now people are speculatin’ it’s him.”

Either of them sigh out long drags.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Is all the other huffs in disbelief, and upon recognizing the conversation approaching an end, you stir to action, willing your voice to deepen an octave.

Attempting to appeal in your broken French, you stall the two, cautiously claiming you’re in need of his whereabouts for an esteemed business transaction to which, through confused stares, you’re given loose directions.

Loose, but feasible.

80 Kent Avenue, dark blue doors.

Directions that, according to the sudden blank of streetlights, would have to wait until tomorrow. As for now, the world beckoned you to rest, and any progress would prove futile and rather impossible in the dark.

Luckily, a run-down Inn gifted good few hours of shut-eye before dawn peered through the windowsills and you were begrudgingly forced to your feet.

Fitting the binder snug across your body and fastening your trench coat through minuscule belt loops, you’re taught with much haste the stark difference of men’s prestige entitlement.

First access to everything, the ability to have their way with a woman whether she willingly obliges or not, and just about ten billion other things someone of your hidden status couldn’t fathom.

A man’s world is a world only possible through disguise. Yours just happens to be a last resort.

Charming the mistress at the front desk was unexpectedly effortless, not to mention how easily she spilled the details as to where Kent Avenue would be located.

Another noticeable attribute of your new appearance, no one asked as to where you were going nor your intentions, they merely dipped their heads and wished you off.

Adjustments.

Adjustments that, if you’d been born different, would be normal.

Kent Avenue lay twisted in shadows. The surrounding area brims in barely flickering labels and creaking doorways leading to who knows where. Quaint isn’t the word for it. More ancient, all-knowing.

This place has been here for centuries with many stories to tell, most just haven’t heard them yet.

Significantly dark blue doors make the Alchemist’s residence easily noticeable, starkly contrasting with wooded architecture. Massive doorknobs engraved with lions, windows shielded by moth-eaten curtains. Grand, in its own form.

You swore each door stood eight feet tall, the left in particular left slightly ajar.

Wait, ajar?

Doing a double take to ensure your vision wasn’t playing tricks on you, you inch forward, widening the dark gap exponentially until all you faced was a black abyss—apart from the miniature lamp beaming yellow light in a far corner.

Carefully tiptoeing into said black abyss, the further you explore, the greater the visibility increases. Leather cushioned furniture, clean, polished desks. The desk the lone lamp rests upon is a chestnut wooden, ink feathers residing in the upper corner.

Somehow, the matter grants envy, resentment grating your nerves. This man lives comfortably while other’s are beaten for possessing nothing. Maybe it’s a petty, unnecessary thought; and maybe you’re foolish, but all odds are against you, your disposition seems righteous.

Getting too lost in your head turned out foolish as well.

“What’s this?” A voice behind you whispers, voice ghosting chills tickling your neck at an alarming pace.

Whipping around, eyes struck wide in shock, the person responsible for the remark comes into view, his stature opposing the tone muttered in your ear seconds ago.

Not a plump business man like you imagined, not adorning a spectacle, no pipe in sight. Instead, one lone button right below the chest fits snug white sleeves cuffed by his elbows, black vest hugging a slim torso.

Conniving, cat-like eyes analyze your expressions while dark brown hair parts to the side, loose strands covering his right eyebrow. And when he reaches up to brush a few frayed tresses to the side you note sleek gloves covering long, pale fingers.

If anything, this man is more similar to a Vampire.

“Trespassing, are we?”

Collect yourself. This is your opportunity.

Swiftly brushing off your clothes, you clear your throat.

“I have an offer.”

“An offer?” A smile belonging to that of a Cheshire cat adorns his lips, one leg propping itself over the other, fingers intertwining in front of him.

Ensuring your voice is clear and concise (while keeping the deeper, male-ish tone), you state your claim, despising how utterly debilitating it feels being caught under his observative stare.

Like he sees through you.

“I would be a valuable asset to your studies in alchemy. I know about herbs and their uses better than anyone else, and where they’re located.”

Sure, the bargain might’ve sounded arrogant, but you were technically cosplaying as a man when most men of your time couldn’t shut up about themselves, arrogance was the least of your problems.

Gnawing at his cheek as you spoke, he pauses a moment, then laughs.

Amused.

Dark lashes dust above equally dark eyes, nearly black as they study you.

“You want to be my apprentice? Is that it?”

You remain close-lipped.

“I’ll tell you one thing, kid. This world is all about money,” He raises a cane from where he reclined, using the end to tip your chin up and meet his eyes.

“No?”

To which you simply stare back at him, refusing to avert eye-contact.

“I’m sure that’s what you’re here for anyways.” Rising from his place, he sighs heartily. “But see, I’m a greedy man, not a good man.”

Abruptly, his countenance falls flat.

“And my job isn’t fun, so you’re out of luck.”

Immediately, you’re frantic, trying your hardest to ignore his obvious statement to leave. The last thing you need is to run out of luck, run out of options.

And so, you hastily wrack your mind for a solution, an excuse, whatever keeps you in this dimly lit room.

“You- You were part of the Red Plague, weren’t you?” Spitting out words from the depths of your racing mind, The Alchemist stops, fixing you with an unreadable look.

Red Plague as in, the group of young men enlisted during the war that all died of a deadly disease but one. One who, many speculate is the man before you.

Breathe in.

“I may not know much about you, but I know what it’s like to want to save somebody.”

Breathe out.

Now it was his turn to stand there, and for a second you swore you saw a flash of sympathy cross his face.

You wet your lips. “I’ll run your errands and wash your clothing, I’ll clean this place spotless. Plus, it’s not like I’m a woman asking for a job, so please, give me a chance.”

Slowly, The Alchemist raises a brow, laugh disbelieving.

“Since when did being a woman have anything to do with this?”

Huh?

How.. odd.

If anything, the majority would wholeheartedly agree, likely hiring you on the spot with how impalpable such a jest seemed.

He would’ve laughed, maybe slapped your back. Would’ve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, proclaimed you his friend.

Yet, you almost feel flattered. Flattered in a strange, unrealistic manner.

Basking in a deplorable quietness, The Alchemist sighs, combing a gloved hand through silken strands.

“I have a spare room around that corner.” He points, leather gloves narrowly highlighted by orange lighting. “Make yourself useful, hm?”

And like that, even if it was a long shot, you landed it. More specifically, landed a job.

How preposterous.

How exciting.

Yet, it began hesitantly. As if he was initially testing your usefulness. Sending you on runs to the nearby gardens, having you make sure a concoction didn’t derange itself while he fetched better flasks. Easy things.

However, you didn’t complain. A boring job was better than no job, and as long as a few coins were emptied into your pocket afterward, you’d continue to work without whining.

Burdock, oregano. Motherwort that would erupt billows of chemically-infused air when added to oils or sugars.

Then you noticed The Alchemist. His quirks, his characteristics.

He shifts between a long trench coat or tight vests, his hair is always styled a certain way, though some days, when he just wakes up, he has this tiny bird nest of hair atop his head, it’s charming.

He yawns a lot.

He wears heeled shoes, maybe from his shorter height, maybe preference.

And rather peculiarly, the longer you stay in his lair, the greater you notice the many scars littering his forearms, collarbones. Miniature cuts and imprints left on porcelain skin.

Those observations, conjoined with his reactions, make for a truly interesting character.

Reactions being his dislike toward loud noises, the matter in which his shoulders scrunch at a loud clap outside, eyes blown wide, fearful.

The longer you stay in his lair, the more you notice him, nonetheless his fears. Whether suspicion clarifies anything in specific, there’s no denying he’s a man of war.

Lee Minho has secrets, and as badly as your nosiness itches to uncover them, you, as you had promised earlier, will keep your lips sealed.

And it makes you wonder, what’s life like on your side of the street? What throng of unfairness left you awash, left you both suffering?

You wonder about your oppositions and similarities in different points of each other’s lives. Minutes, decades before you ever met.

Certain stones shall stay unturned, but you hope, maybe one day, those questions will be answered.

Interestingly enough, he never asked about your name; not even when you gingerly introduced yourself as your last name, a rather awkward fit.

Likewise, you don’t complain. There’s only two of you in the house after all.

A week in, you’re finally introduced to something new.

The Alchemist plans to have you tag along with him to Port Nova, a docking station located on the outskirts of Busan.

Business thrives in ship ports, the sole source of connectivity for a growing country like Korea. Each day, millions of shipments come in from countries you can’t name, so you’re not surprised in the slightest he’s headed there for a transaction.

You are surprised he decided to have you tag along.

Even more so that, as you hop off the transit, hurriedly tailing his left, he veers off a sharp turn, approaching a worn Burlesque Club, glittering sign halfway dangling from its perch on a scarlet red awning.

English letters spell out Nova Burlesque, a few missing letters left astray to the side, electrical bulbs spasming with sporadic lighting on the dusty ground below.

In the daylight, the place appears ordinary, blending in with its crumbling, desolate surroundings.

Although, you have no doubt this place utterly delights in the eve, pink-neon inviting enough to lure unaware foreigners upon first arrival.

“Mr. Lee,” You utter, returned with a short scoff from the man who insisted you refer to him by his name, Minho.

“Where are we going?”

It’s hesitant, unsure of whether to intervene, but Minho only smirks, whispering a not-very-assuring “You’ll see” you begrudgingly go along with.

Inside is the last of what you anticipated.

Oh dear.

You’ve only been to minimal Burlesque Clubs, but the ornery perspective of faux jewelry, a glittery, hallucinatory stage, and the constant rendition of Why Don’t You Do Right whirling on scratchy records isn’t present here.

Alternatively, there’s stools scattered around a marginally illuminated clearing, some upturned, others occupied by burly men with equally burly beards.

And in the middle, a boxing ring is situated. The stench of sweat and blood soaks the air in a metallic, pungent aroma.

A brisk realization crosses your mind, a conclusion of a sort.

Play a fool’s game, earn a fool’s reward.

Only you, Hyunjin, and Ms. Myeong know the lengths you’re willing to go to secure your family's well-being, and now, at odds you can’t compromise, you have to do everything in your power to maintain your act.

This is a test.

Sifting behind you, he murmurs a hushed: “Cover your ears.” That you begrudgingly oblige to, cupping either hand over your ears as Minho clutches his leather holster, concealed within the confines of a frequently worn coat.

In a split second, a gunshot is fired to the ceiling, the bullet's shell casing dropping atop the welt of his pointed shoe.

Stunned silence ensues.

Arm still extending the revolver in the air, you haphazardly remove your hands, dragging the hat further over your face as more eyes focus on the both of you.

“I’m looking for Reiner and Manfred.”

The longer the tension rises, the further you grow self conscious.

“Already?” A man bellows from inside the ring, breaking the awestruck spell whilst gripping his opponent by the collar, fist poised and ready to strike.

Unusually, they seem to know each other.

Minho merely exhales a loud sigh through his nose, practically two times smaller than his apparent acquaintance.

Said acquaintances grumbles.

“Leave it to our champion to interrupt the show.”

And with that, he hooks the contender in the jaw, sending him pummeling down to the tarnished mat where hoards either cheer or groan, hustling money left and right over the victor.

Champion of the show? You’re adding that to your collection of never ending questions that’ll likely stay unanswered.

From the crowd arises two men. The victor from the ring and another from the crowd, dressed lavishly opposed to his white tank top-wearing counterpart.

Reiner and Manfred, you assume.

Serving as a mere shadow in The Alchemist’s wake, the four of you hustle outside, met with a nonplussed Minho and two, mildly confused (and enormously tall) men.

Foreigners, certainly.

“..Care to introduce the pipsqueak?” Reiner presumably more talkative, piques, beady eyes scouring your figure enough to where you scorn the beads of sweat collecting upon your temple.

Pipsqueak my foot.

You stave down the retort, inhabiting Minho’s shadow as the three discuss matters of a hospital transaction. Almost like you weren’t there at all, as it’s always been.

If it weren’t for the technicalities, you would’ve interjected, made your presence known. Except, other than herbal instances, you’re a novice in the business department. You’ll leave that up to your current mentor to arrange.

Again, lips sealed.

Minho, ignorant to the previous victor’s question, continues to sign legal documents supplied by the calmer individual, Manfred. You internally thank the gesture.

Well, before Reiner’s sordid gaze becomes too stifling to brush off.

“I’m Mr. Lee’s apprentice, L/N. Nice to meet you,” You initiate, fearlessly reaching out a hand he heartily shakes, features graced with amusement, massive hand practically engulfing yours.

Pardoning a gruff “Likewise”, he nearly sends you flying from the timbre of his voice alone.

“Say,” Reiner mutters, finally completing the last of the package transfers. “Don’t you think this one seems a bit feminine?”

Your jaw ticks, nervousness shrouding your being like an unrelenting fog. Minho’s fingers close around your elbow, pulling you closer, brows knit.

“Perhaps you need your eyes checked, Reiner,” He offers, tone nonchalant opposed to the vice-like grip latched to your arm.

Heftily chortling, the man only pats your back, causing your entire body to surge forward upon impact.

“Well regardless, it’s a cute little thing ain’t it?”

Manfred simply grunts his acknowledgment while you bite your tongue, coveting your retaliation when he referred to you as “it”.

No use growing angered. The feeling is futile.

Luckily, your irritable arrangement comes to a hasty close, more than gleeful to have an understandably annoyed Minho steer you from Port Nova onto a short train back to Kent Avenue, to your newly established home.

A home, but not really a home. Semi-permanent, unofficial.

Either way, you wouldn’t complain. Despite the constant efforts in diminishing your past identity, you didn’t feel as conscious when around Minho.

Safer.

As if, in an alternative reality, you could tell him. Your truths, your burdens.

No. You won’t jeopardize this opportunity. You can’t.

At least, not yet.

“I’ll be back Mr. Lee!” You shout, wielding a briefcase bag to your person, nudging the ghoulish door open using your hip.

As usual, you’re headed off on a restocking trip.

Except on this occasion, the restocking consists of hunting down a peculiar herb: Chinese Chrysanthemum. It’s an appealing plant with fluorescent leaves and a constant need for sunlight.

It’s no surprise he’s sent you to fetch such goods. After two months, you soared in and out of the residence routinely, scouring Korea while Minho hunched over a wildly diverse array of vials and flasks, glasses propped on his slightly hooked nose, hands firmly resting on a wooden exam table.

Studious. He is very studious.

However, a catch diverts itself from eye view. A catch you hadn’t considered until your two feet stepped from squealing train tracks.

Somehow, although unusually intentional, you wound up in a rather peculiar area. An area you never imagined paying a visit to in your wildest dreams.

In the midst of economic outrage and warring circumstances, you’re standing in one of Korea’s most unstable, informal districts. A place that, according to your overhearing ear, was where your precious Chrysanthemum lodged.

This district had an infamous name.

The Den.

A fitting name in actuality, where a person didn’t realize they were stuck till it was too late, unable to see where they’re going, living in belief there’s an incentive to the finish line in a race run in circles.

Also, a place the Sharks who torment your family report to.

You can hear your heart thrumming in your ears, nearly ricocheting out of your chest with its horrid cacophony.

Calm down.

Calm down. Think of the goal.

All you have to do is find a flower.

Grounding yourself, you pinpoint some viable resources.

Fertile soil, maybe even sandy, likely in the inner portion of The Den.

Plus, you’re dressed as a man, you might as well act outrageously boisterous.

But you’re not, you’re afraid. Perhaps not external, but inside, your lungs feel as if they’re being violently crushed, sinking deeper in an unsteady submersible to the very bottom of the ocean. And for a second, you truly contemplate going back, telling Minho you’re incapable of the task.

Yet, what would you say? You’re haunted by a vision that hasn’t happened? Fearful for a future event with no guarantee? If you had ever done something so horrid, they would’ve found you ages ago.

This time, you’re in their domain, invading what’s theirs as they’ve done to you.

Greater. You aren’t who you used to be, in more ways than one.

Genuinely, what is there to lose?

That’s it. You’ll complete the mission and return. No run-ins, no fear barricading your job.

In and out.

Initially, you scout out your surroundings, regarding the faint sound of voices funneling in the distance, the smell of mixtures you hate being able to identify, far off machinery croaking before smoke spurs from rusted screws and bolts.

Amongst the chatter of street vendors and the many, notorious gang members patrolling in and out of abandoned shops, you roam avidly, keeping as low a profile as possible.

Number one priority is to not be noticed. Drawing attention to yourself is a one way ticket to failure, and the last thing you need is to arrive back to Minho empty-handed.

However, through the blinding clouds of smoke billowing from exhaust pipes, a specific building, shrouded in the shadows of charcoal residue, douses your peripheral.

A Greenhouse.

Bingo.

Quickly looking around, you shrink low to the ground, racing forward to carefully creak open glass double doors and slip inside.

It feels as if you’re enclosed in a furnace. Mere seconds in and sweat already begins gathering upon your temples.

Though that becomes the least of your concerns after assessing what lies inside.

Hundreds, maybe even thousands of flowers and herbs. Rare species, some critically endangered, just sitting here.

It’s strange.

Why would, in the case such an abundance existed, not be used? Why hadn’t this Greenhouse been raptured from the inside out for such valuable items?

It’s not until a commotion stirs ahead of you that you understand the answer to the question.

With about five plucked Chinese Chrysanthemums expertly sealed into their coordinating bags, a piercing hiss followed by multiple shouts and hollers cause you to shrink back, gazing around haphazardly.

A hiss?

From your perspective nearly kissing the dirt, your vision allows a minuscule glimpse of multiple backs turned, boisterously amused men gathering around something in the front of the Greenhouse.

You feel the need to know more.

Inching forward tip-toe by tip-toe, amidst the roaring crowd, you spare a look between the sea of legs to find an utterly deplorable sight.

A cat.

No, not just a cat, cat fighting. They’re watching cats maul each other for the fun of it. As if they aren’t living creatures, but toys for their entertainment.

And perhaps it’s a foolish decision, perhaps laughable being worried, being angered, but you are and you refuse to leave knowing you could’ve done something to help them.

Hastily scouring the floors, a can of Spam discarded below Foxglove stems proves useful enough, tossing it as far as possible where it whacks against the glass wall, immediately averting their attention.

This is your chance.

As dark clouds and incoming rain thunder outside, you don’t waste the opportunity, sprinting forward while the men make toward the direction of the sound and hoisting the first cat you see into your arms.

Sprinting past narrow pathways and dimly lit streets, you force your eardrums numb to the threats they call after you, mind trained on one thing besides getting as far as possible from here.

To Minho to Minho to Minho.

A hand grabbing your shoulder causes you to shriek, swiftly dragged off where you swear your last breaths will be taken, the feline in your arms scrambling with panic.

“What are you doing?” Your captor furiously whispers, hidden in the low lighting of an apparent alleyway.

Wait. You recognize that voice.

“Hyunjin?”

How does he recognize you?

Just then does a breeze swipe past your head, sending chills trickling down your rain-soaked neck.

Your hat is gone. Must’ve fell off while you were running.

“Wh.. what are you doing?” Slipping from his grasp after the men’s hushed conversation becomes inaudible, you regard the man with an incredulous stare.

“Answer my question first,” He reprimands, and as the cat resounds a pained meow do you assess the dire nature of the situation.

You need to get this cat to Minho, and fast.

“Can’t- Can’t talk right now I’ve got to go—“

“Wait!”

Though, as your footsteps breach the security of the alley, the placating cry of crows mock your left, hurried footsteps belonging to those occupying the Greenhouse heading toward you in rampant haste.

Hyunjin’s hand holding your wrist, you grace a tight-lipped smile his way.

“Let’s not see each other like this again, okay?”

He returns a miniature grin, teeming with mischief.

“Agreed.”

Upon letting go, you race off, attempting to speedily navigate back to the train station whilst torrents of streaming droplets cascade down your face.

“Good luck!”

“Thanks, I’ll need it!” You respond back, voice permeated against the rain, eyes frantically searching for a place to evade.

Finally, a crowd appears, swarming amongst diners and flickering street lights.

Your perfect hideaway.

Swimming through the hive of people, you catapult yourself into the nearest phone booth in sight, fumbling through deep pockets before cashing a coin into the metal slot and jarring your index over slippery metal numbers.

Praying the combination is correct as you hold the wired telephone to your ear, you’re consumed with utmost relief upon hearing The Alchemist’s voice answer on the other side of the crackling line.

Amidst roaring rainfall drowning the booth, you differentiate shouting a ways off, likely belonging to the men from earlier.

“Mr- Mr. Lee?”

“Yes? Where are you?”

“Are you.. Are you allergic to cats?”

Never in your life did you think you would be so overjoyed seeing blue doors.

Clambering inside—the rather upset cat in your arms hissing their dismay—you’re overwhelmed with an unexplainable happiness seeing Minho’s face peer from the guest room.

Relief.

“L/N wha..”

Words dying in his throat as he gives you a speechless once over, your urge to hug him dissipates instantly, beckoning a new set of garments upon realizing how utterly drenched your precious disguise is.

Simultaneously shoving the cat his way before rushing to your room, you thankfully strip of your fretfully cold attire, welcomed in the comforting embrace of clean clothing.

A mere five minutes later you exit, greeted by Minho’s stockstill frame. Hand half-raised, evidently about to knock.

You forcefully clear your throat, praying the momentary awkward tension is alleviated.

Luckily, The Alchemist takes it upon himself to break the spell, eyes dancing across the floorboards in order to avoid your own.

“Well, she’s stable. Her vitals are fine, nothing too critical apart from a few cuts here and there. Just shaken up.”

Your stare of astonishment earns a confused tip of his head.

“That fast?”

Said (apparently female) cat rubbing her body along your calf with an obviously delighted purr, you appear nearly concussed, crouching down to pat the soft, striped fur lining her back.

Minho snorts.

“What can I say, I get work done.”

Maybe he is a vampire after all.

Mirroring your crouch, he watches your interaction, similarly feline-like inspection unnoticed till glancing up.

And for a swift moment, you swear he saw through you. Lips parted, eyes scrutinizing. Piecing together the building blocks to a wavering structure you’d strived so hard to build, to protect.

No. You’re overthinking. He couldn’t possibly know.

You failed to notice the forlorn look on his face, one that ushers to ask if you’re okay, fetch a hot beverage to warm your evidently cold hands.

“Might I ask how you ended up bringing this one home?”

Leave it to him to take the title as your greatest ally and worst enemy at the same time.

Ah. Right.

“Y’know I was about to get to that-”

You pause, deriding the high pitch of your voice into something more appropriate. He cocks a brow.

“As I was saying, it wasn’t my intention to bring her back, but the place she was trapped at, the place with the men- the plants..”

According to his expression, you’ve grown two heads.

…

“Go on.”

“Look, the place I found the Chrysanthemum was having cat fights. Do you remember hearing about the dog fights in Gangwon? It’s the same thing. We can’t just sit still while they’re torturing innocent animals.”

“I don’t know what you got yourself into, but I’m an Alchemist, not a hero,” He sighs, and your hand stalls its petting, face falling while the cat in your lap flicks her tail back and forth expectantly.

He has a point. You got yourself into this, you went into the Greenhouse. It’s not his duty to clean up after your messes, but perhaps you can convince him, even by a small margin.

Play a fools game, earn a fools reward.

You’ll mop the floor of your own mess.

“Minho, please. Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?”

Stifling silence making an additional appearance, you nervously await the verdict, perched rather hilariously outside of your bedroom door.

Chewing the skin of his cheek, he scolds himself for falling so susceptible to you, though you won’t ever know that.

“Fine, but you’d better have a plan.”

Ah. Great.

You don’t.

At dawn’s arrival you’re swept upward, fixing a hasty bout of tea and toast prior to dressing in the privacy of your appreciated quarters.

You don a much-needed hat, hopping aboard the first train of the day with a well-dressed Minho in tow.

Retracing your steps turns out easier than you anticipated, The Alchemist tailing you as you had done him at Port Nova.

Though, just when the task seemed a cake walk, you manage a meager detour, regarding your unimpressed mentor.

“From what I can remember, it’s around here somewhere. But I might be wrong, I stumbled upon it by accident and it looks a bit scary but I think—“

“Stop! Stop- Stop talking. Please.”

You quickly shut your mouth, allowing the man to lead instead till the sight of familiar landmarks becomes a gradual reassurance of your location.

Perhaps now it’s safe to talk.

“Mr. Lee, what did Reiner mean by calling you a champion-“

Shoved against the brick wall, your sentence dies instantly, panickedly glancing in all directions assessing the all too familiar pistol Minho‘s drawn, conspicuous in close proximity.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” He enunciates, tone unusually gruff whilst scanning your surroundings.

Your face warms an involuntary pink you clamber to ward off, drawn to the sight of his tense jaw and the feather-like arrangement of long lashes, focused on something elsewhere.

Your retort dies not only from his beauty, but upon the familiar Greenhouse coming into view.

“Looks like we found where your little friends are playing.”

Though, as the man begins forward, you grab him by the sleeve.

“Wait! We can’t just waltz in.”

His hand, slipping from the warmth of his pocket, cups your chin, unbearably close to your face to the point you can feel his breath on your nose.

Curse the butterflies.

“Well there’s no need for an introduction, so let’s listen this time, shall we?”

Left at a loss for words either from your slack mouth or the concerning amount of sweat building upon your palms, you don’t argue back, lingering right outside the door, craning to hear voices.

By the sound of it, at least four people are inside at the moment, and the longer you stay out here, the more ample time becomes for additional threats to show up.

As if reading your mind, he slips through the rugged door, gesturing for you to follow while silently navigating through dense, humid underbrush and overgrown foliage.

However, your quiet voyage is quelled when a twig, unbeknownst to the two of you, cracks under the pressure of his foot.

“Shit,” He mutters, cringing back at the immediate quietness that ensued.

The Alchemist curses as well.

Interesting.

Amidst the men bearing closer, Minho turns to you, tone urgent.

“When I get up, you run and free the cats. Don’t look back, just go.”

Nodding hastily, you reacquaint yourself with the area, ensuring a dead set beeline to where the cats were held without interruptions.

Minho, a split second before you can ask a question, whips the gun from his coat pocket, the sound of bullets whipping through the air enough indication it’s time you go.

Finnicking hands make it hard to unscrew the wired cages, surges of adrenaline helping speed up the rescue as you double check every feline has escaped.

Heeding to instruction, you don’t look for The Alchemist, solely driven to freeing the cats and fleeing the scene. No more problems.

Almost an exact replica to your last visit here, a hand drags you off right as you exit the Greenhouse doors, back pressed against his (whom you realized was Minho, not Hyunjin, thanks to the leather gloves) front.

And perhaps from running, perhaps from something else, you can feel his heartbeat, oscillating in a nonstop orchestra that sends your own heart pounding from the confines of your rib cage.

Stifling a shaky inhale you’d held in as the last of the perpetrators scattered elsewhere, you instantly step back, denying every urge to coddle him like a child, fretfully check him for injury.

A certain fondness lay reserved for Lee Minho, a fondness you can’t discern of at the moment.

“C’mon, quick, Soonie might get scared if we’re gone for too long,” He ushers, crashing your tunneling train of thought right off its rails in the process.

“Yeah-“

You stop.

“Soonie?”

“Yeah, Soonie.”

“You named her?”

“..Yes.”

It’s a genuine struggle hiding your laugh.

“I didn’t find you the type to take in cats.”

“Today you’ve been proven wrong, apparently.”

A sort of giddiness you never experienced fills your chest, wishing nothing more than to look back at the man and swoon.

How could you not? He was very much dexterous, and attractive without a doubt, that much was known to anyone who laid eyes on The Alchemist.

Your trek home proved relatively easy, able to skillfully get to the station away from prying eyes and trod along a mixture of gravel and dusty roads without issue.

Silently celebrating your success, you nudge your counterpart's hip, the unimpressed side-eye he grants doing little to dull your happiness.

“Aren’t you an Alchemist? How come you’re oddly good with a gun?”

He clicks his tongue.

“Aren’t you my apprentice? How come you’re getting yourself into trouble when your only instruction was to fetch herbs?”

You conceal a smile he obviously catches, glare failing to quiet your bubbling laughter, his own lips tugging upward.

“It was necessary Mr. Lee! And you know you love Soonie.”

“Unfortunately.”

Nearly a month into her residence, and Soonie has become an effervescent force to be reckoned with. Although initially sassy and wary, she’s transformed into the most affectionate cat you’d ever met.

You have to give it to her, she’s grown on the both of you, a lot.

Plus, you might just have to thank her for unleashing Minho’s tender side, whether that’s the two of them cuddling on the couch while he naps or him picking her up and treating her like a baby while you watch from afar.

Over the course of the five months you’ve been here, you’ve sent countless checks back home—enough to where dues could finally be paid and the hope for a good life came into view.

Everything seems right, seems ideal.

But of course, on an equally ideal Thursday evening, a thousand pounds of bricks drops right on top of your head.

“How long were you planning to keep it from me?”

He, Lee Minho, The Alchemist, voices.

Simultaneously, your stomach plummets to your feet, peeking over your shoulder to find his back facing you, hunched over a straus flask.

Then the bomb drops.

“You being a woman, that is.”

Abruptly pausing, you don’t reply, worried you’d say the wrong thing, unintentionally summon the catalyst to this arising catastrophe.

Yet, you can’t stay quiet for too long. And a fear lingered inside, a fear that if he looked at you, you would break.

“Forever.”

Doing just what you dreaded, he turns to you, wearing a horribly serious expression.

You avoid eye-contact.

“Because you thought I would fire you?”

A nod.

“And that’s why you said that, when you first came to me? That you weren’t a woman asking for a job?”

Another nod.

He sighs, pulling glasses from atop a hooked nose. You remain staring at the floor.

“I don’t decide who to hire based on what they are. If you can do your job and do it well, you’re worthy enough to work.”

Minho spoke softly, the dim, orange lighting of his lamplight doing little to shake how overwhelming the occasion is, how it feels as if your disguise is wearing, thinning to an impossible degree.

Except, your world isn’t ending like you thought it would if someone found out, so why do you feel so heartbroken? So overstimulated with realization?

“How did you..” you trail off, raging tears longing to spill.

No, you can’t afford to cry now. You’ve held out so far, it will stay that way.

Should stay that way.

Minho dips his head lower in order to fully see you in all your lip-chewing, anxiety-ridden glory. The ghost of a smile rests upon his lips.

“It was impossible not to tell. You’re unusually tiny, those shoes are massive, and, um, I do the laundry.”

Watching his once bemused expression dissipate, you mark this as the first time you’ve ever seen him genuinely flustered—and, upon realizing he’d likely seen more than necessary as well, you’re also diminished to a bright red.

The room wilts in stillness before he exhales, stepping a bit closer to where you linger by the bookshelf, your heels tapping against the frame.

Tone minimizing itself terribly gentle, The Alchemist carefully collects your cheeks in his hands, urging you to see him, see those terribly thoughtful brown eyes granting a terribly kind disposition.

“It’s been scary, hasn’t it?”

Well, you had held out thus far.

Cracking into pieces, you melt like droplets of honey in his fingertips. He perfectly catches them in the jar.

Out of anyone in this world, you can’t help but be grateful he was the one who found out, found you.

Chest bubbling with breaking sobs, Minho’s thumbs caress your under eyes, swiping away the many salty droplets in their continuous descent.

Own hands shakily reaching up to hold his resting on your face, you stand there, soaking in his wooded, earthy scent and the soft hums he occasionally emits as if a reminder he’s still there, listening to your cries without intent to leave.

“Mr.. Mr. Lee… It was so scary, I’m so tired Mr. Lee,” You hiccup, mentally berating the endlessly freefalling tears, how your once staved emotions reduced your strong, dutiful voice into nothing but a stuttering mess.

Carefully swiping drool from your chin, he leans forward, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t know why you did it, but I promise it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.”

Then another kiss to your forehead, staying there until your sniffling and breathing calms.

Gathering yourself if only slightly, you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a warm hug he gradually accepts after a beat of shock.

“Thank you, Minho.”

And just when he thought the shock faded, he’s struck again from the sound of his name leaving your mouth.

Minho.

Mr. Lee had been charming, but Minho, it was different. A good kind of different.

He particularly favored the way it sounded falling off your lips, two syllables he’d replay over and over, savoring each a little bit more than the last.

More so, he wished to substitute his nagging thoughts with you, have you narrate the phrases bouncing inside his skull.

Perhaps then everything wouldn’t be so loud, if he had your voice to nullify the battlefield.

Unfortunately forced to separate, Minho adjusts his tie, clearing his throat in a manner you can’t help but feel nervous about.

You like this flustered Minho.

“I’ll.. I’ll run you a bath.”

You wince at the rawness of your skin when your face wrinkles in a chuckle.

“Do I smell?”

Minho, frantically scrambling for an excuse, rubs his temples, exasperation evident in the grooves of his face, the curve and dip of prominent cheekbones portraying a mature visage.

“No I-“ He grumbles. “It helps calm you down.”

Merely able to halfway staunch your irrevocable glee, you call his name as he begins stepping out, ears an adorable pink.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N. L/N is my last name.”

Not allowing you view of his front-side, you listen to his whispering with delight, testing the newly discovered title on his tongue as if to memorize it.

Ah, you’re falling in love.

Or maybe you’ve already fallen.

Hastily closing the door behind himself and letting you get situated in the bath, it’s not long into your relaxing that you notice a shadow seeping through the door’s crack, a figure standing there, debating.

“Minho?” You announce amusedly, watching the shadow jump and causing you to bite your frothing laugh whilst choosing what to say next.

“Would you like to join me?”

The Alchemist audibly chokes on his saliva outside the door.

Sparing a few seconds for him to collect his oxygen, you hadn’t been prepared for when he replies a quiet: “Another time”.

Your eyebrows shoot up with surprise.

Daring.

Then his shadow, after furious shuffling, disappears, serving as a reminder of your extended time spent bathing.

Assembling the copper drain and pulling foreign nightwear over dampened skin, opposed to your usual rush to your room, you allow the chilling air to grant its harsh greeting, leaving the steamy room in its wake.

No more secrets. What a breath of fresh air.

Minho, still cooped up at his desk like routine, barely moves when you place your hands on his shoulders, adorning those charismatic glasses, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“You should go get some rest Mr– Minho,” You beckon, response a sleepy blink of his eyes, obviously exhausted.

“...I really wanted to kiss you.”

The remark drifting off as a murmur, you crane to hear him, wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Hm?” Humming, you lightly push his back toward his quarters, the man begrudgingly following your inaudible orders.

At least he’s cooperating.

Abruptly, he turns around, evading your hands that ease his back forward, sporting a pout adorable enough you might just lose your mind.

How unfair that someone could behave like this and expect you to not go insane.

“When you started crying.” His eyes flicker to your lips, if only for a moment. “I really wanted to kiss you.”

A portion of your stock-still frame wants to blame his tiredness, but another so badly wants it to be true, wants those words to be irrevocably real.

Fighting the urge to scream with how stupidly childish he’s making you feel, you reject every ounce of sensibility, looping one arm around his neck, using your other hand’s index to tug him closer by the belt loop.

Trust, the feeling is mutual.

Why waste the opportunity?

“What’s stopping you?”

The utterance barely graces air, and in milliseconds he’s crashing into your lips, a wordless confession it is real, not a mere figment of your imagination.

Stumbling to loosen his tie whilst keeping your faces impossibly connected, you fall deeper and deeper into the manner he tilts his head, expertly diminishing you into puddy in his touch.

Back and forth, memorizing your taste on his tongue.

Clumsy footsteps lead to his sofa, your fingers tangled in his dark strands, his kneading your waist.

And it’s not until your lungs cry for oxygen that you pull apart, Minho’s bottom lip tugged and bitten, yours swollen with his feverish kisses.

Both of you avidly messy, you can’t bring yourself to care, too busy enjoying the afterglow, his dazed smile.

“Whoever you want to save,” He starts, carefully smoothing over your skin with his thumb . “I will save them, deal?”

Returning that same lazy smile he directs at you, the both of you lean back on the couch, a twine of legs and limbs flailing in every direction.

Close, closer.

A part of you aches at the thought, blinking up at such a stunning tragedy. Aches knowing you can’t return the favor, can’t say the same, promise him that same promise.

Because according to the Red Plague, he’s lost that person, those people. So you remain silent, merely hoping one day they’ll receive proper eternal rest.

That's something you might be able to promise.

Tipping your chin up to where it sits right above his heart, those brilliant eyes of yours blinking up at him do little for his well-being.

Has anyone told you you’re beautiful? Because he thinks you are, he knows you are.

Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?

Minho grins deeper, brows creasing, expression doused in unadulterated adoration.

“And yet, you rope me into something else,” He whispers to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, let’s run another bath. I’ll join you this time, hm?”

FIC TAGLIST. @linocz @foxinnie8 @wonniesverse

sunboki, may 2022 ©

496 notes · View notes

fluffmothy · 11 months

Text

Tentacle Vacation Fun

The inspiration for this piece came from a cheesy nsfw audio I listened to recently that did something to my neurons.

Tw: egg preg and monster fucking

This fantasy starts as I’m chilling in a secluded sandy cove with a portion of flat rocky shore I can stand on. The regular beaches are normally packed with people for the summer, so I wanted a calmer experience for summer vacation. I’m wearing an open-backed one-piece swimsuit with a cropped short sleeve over it to complete the look.

As I’m walking over the rocky shore watching crabs scuttle, one of them crawls over this weird vine of what looks like a mix of kelp and octopus tentacle. I stop to observe it cause I’ve never seen a type of kelp like this, and I love marine life, so I’m excited to learn about something new. Since it looks like it has suction cups, I don’t know if it’s alive or not, so I poke it with a stick. No response. I get bolder and poke it with my finger. No response again. Now convinced that it’s just some weird kelp, I pick it up to observe it. The rest of its mass descends off the shore and into the water, so I give it a tug to try and dislodge it.

Big mistake (depending on who you ask)

It suddenly springs to life, entangling my wrists and ankles. It wraps around my arms, thighs, and torso, ensuring that I can’t escape. The tentacles start exploring my body as I’m now lying on the rock, bewildered and scared. They rip off the cropped shirt and slip into my swimsuit through the back. The tendrils rub up and down my stomach and ribs before quickly swiping over my nipples. I let out a whiny yelp, and this catches the beast’s attention as it starts doing it again and again and again. It’s playing with my nipples as it pokes and prods at other parts of my body, seeing what draws a reaction out of me.

A tentacle slips over my clothed cunt and starts focusing its attention there, rubbing over my folds and drawing out louder moans with the help of the tentacles now tugging at my nipples (Revenge for before) It’s just groping me for what feels like hours, teasing me and making me wetter. Sometime during its torment, the tentacles feel slicker as they begin secreting this weird blue slime and rubbing it into my skin. My body starts heating up and my mind feels a bit fuzzier. In my desperate moaning, a tentacle uses this opening to slip into my mouth and pour more slime down my throat. It all feels so good and overstimulating. Its onslaught is so rough, but it treats me so sweetly and I’m enjoying its touch. This thing is going to ruin me.

After what it deems is enough time, the monster raises my wrists above my head and spreads my legs further apart. It uses another tentacle to grab the crotch of my swimsuit and move it to the side, exposing me. Suddenly, another tentacle, thicker than the ones holding me and with a pointed but dull tip, appears and approaches my cunt. I start struggling, but the monster keeps its hold. The tendrils binding me heat up and pulsate with an almost comforting warmth. It pours more slime down my throat as it enters me, the stretch is surprisingly less painful due to the wetness and a little help from the dizzying slime, but there is still a pinch with the new feeling.

It doesn’t wait for me to adjust but thankfully isn’t too harsh with me, starting with a slow rhythmic pace, not reaching too deep. As time passes, the pain goes away and is replaced by ecstasy. I lost my virginity to this monster… and I’m loving it. The tentacles on my nipples are replaced by ones with suction cups, they latch on with incredible strength. After some time, it picks up the pace, ramming into me as I start groaning and panting from the roughness. In my hazy state, I start sucking on the tentacle in my mouth with fervor, crying from how good it feels and how overwhelmed I am. Looking down, you can see the bumps the tentacles make in my swimsuit, the ones over my nipples, the ones holding my waist, and the bump of the tentacle pushing into my cunt through my stomach.

It removes itself from my mouth and another unseen tentacle approaches my ass and prods at my hole. It’s slimmer than the rest but still enough to create a stretch. It secrets more slime as it prods and slowly slips in. It starts thrusting at a moderate pace compared to the rapid thrusting of the one in my pussy, it’s getting hard to focus on anything at that point. The tentacle in my cunt starts pounding into me and heating up and throbbing. Next thing you know, it spills inside me. There’s so much cum that it gushes out and stretches my stomach a little. There’s a brief pause where I’m able to catch my breath before it starts back up again with its rapid thrusting.

It spends the next few hours like this, fucking me in various ways and at various speeds, sticking multiple tentacles in my holes at a time, and cumming in every hole. Next thing I know, it's sundown and my stomach is distended with its cum, but it’s still going with as much fervor as before. It’s untangled its tentacles from around me except for a few to hold me and caress my sides, after all, I’ve come to enjoy this experience so much, I’m in no rush to get away. I’m sucking on another tentacle with two fucking my cunt as they suddenly speed up and start ramming against my cervix. They’re getting rougher than before, and I start screaming against the one in my mouth. One of them finally pushes past my cervix, and a smaller tentacle unsheathes itself from inside and writhes around in my womb. I squirt and cum with a scream as it beats against my walls and the other continues its thrusts. I’ve only barely retained sense after its onslaught, despite the aphrodisiac effects of its slime, but this might make me lose what little is left of it.

Both tentacles are unbearably hot as the one in my womb finally stops thrusting and cums in me. It’s so warm and thick, it comes as a comfort after such sudden rough treatment. The comfort is short-lived as the other breaches my cervix alongside the first, stretching me wide. This one doesn’t cum, but large rhythmic bumps appear in its tubed length, approaching me. Once the first one approaches my entrance, it stretches my cunt further as it pushes its way inside and into my womb. As it enters my womb, I gain a new pressure and weight in my gut. Did it just place something inside of me? Are these… eggs? (They are) I struggle to pay attention as the sheer pressure makes my head fuzzy. Next thing I know, I’m weighed down by 15 large eggs in my womb, stretching me out to make me look like I’m 5 months along. The tentacles finally release me and back away towards the shore’s edge but stay there as if watching me.

I should run, I should go get help since I was just impregnated by an actual monster, but I can’t bring myself to be alarmed. It felt so good, and my body is still so warm. This monster was so kind and gave me so much pleasure. It might be the weird slime talking, but I can only think of making sure these eggs are hatched and taken care of.

This monster has ruined me.

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someobsessionrequired · 2 months

Text

OP characters

Would they let you paint their nails?

(Only MILDLY suggestive for Shanks...because yknow...its shanks)

Luffy!

You can absolutely try! He's not against it but this boy will most definitely run off about two fingers in

His color of choice was a ruby red that was supposed to get a coat of silver glitter, sadly you did not make it that far

The few fingers you did get done are completely back to normal within a day from a mixture of picking and chewing at them unconsciously

Sanji!

Is absolutely enthusiastic that you asked him! Tells you to choose whatever color you love the most so he has a constant reminder of you

Most definitely gets a nose bleed the moment you touch his hand, but other than that he sits patiently

Takes extra care in the kitchen to not damage said nails, if they flake off over time he will ask you to fix them for him

Zoro!

Definitely not overly enthusiastic about it but will begrudgingly agree after an idea hits his 2 working brain cells

He will get you to paint his two middle fingers a lime green, and will exclusively use this opportunity to flip Sanji off any chance he gets

Does not last long though within a week all the polish has chipped off

Nami!

100% down, she will request to paint yours as well afterwards

The two of you will be rocking a cute tangerine orange, every couple weeks you two will sit and touch them up again together

Brook!

He will absolutely crack a bone joke about how he does not have nails to paint

Will let you paint the tips of his boney fingers though, he would ask for a shade of blue that reminds him of his dear friend Laboon

Shockingly with a protective coat the polish stays wonderfully for many werks

Robin!

Another who is very happily down and requests to do the same for you! She will make a whole event of the time, tea, and some light reading in-between coats drying

If this becomes a regular ocurance she will mix up colors between dark violet shades and deeper pinks

Jinbe!

This man is not quite sure what you are asking of him but agrees with a hearty chuckle

When you ask him to pick a color he will ask for dealers choice, he does not particularly care about the polish but enjoys the way your face lights up when he agrees

Sadly does not last long on him ask with so much swimming it is bound to break down quickly

Ussop!

Beyond down! Another to make a whole event of the time, hair, face mask, and nails

Paint his nails while he tells you beyond Preposterous stories, the self care will be going both ways that night and by the end both party's will be refreshed

He would choose a forest green and after it drys attempt to do little designs of vines and flowers on them, to a somewhat success

Kid!

You would not even have to ask, this man would run out of his own polish and ask if you had any

A bit annoyed when you ask to paint them for him but agrees under the terms that he can make the two of you match

This man is red all the way, the more like fresh blood the better, will let you once in a while spice it up with painting his middle fingers black

Killer!

God he really did not want to at first but he is a softy and will agree after he sees your disipointment

At first he thought about matching with his captain but quickly decided against that settling on a deep ocean blue

With the amount of fighting this man gets up too it does not last long, but once a week will go to you to have them fixed up

Heat!

Obsessed with the idea! Another to have an entire self care night with you

Will pick a deep firey orange with a lighter orange glitter on top, has you help fix up his dreads as each coat drys, he struggles with the ones behind his head so that where your main focus will be

Afterwards will do the same back for you choosing for your nails to half match his, instead having a sparkly blue on top

This will become a regular occurrence

Wire!

Loves the idea, he's a man of few words so things you can do together that do not put pressure on talking are his favoites

He would wants a darker purple as to complement his outfit, after you finish he would place his hand out and after a moment of confusion you'd understand this him offering to do the same for you!

He takes great care of his nails but fighting takes its damage on them, when they get too bad he will simply approach you and hold out his hand to show how chipped they are, you get the message and fix them up for him

Law!

Absolutely! ...not...

He rejects it flat out multiple times and after so long you just stop asking...

That is until one night all the crew was drinking and celebrating their latest victory, after several too many drinks he approaches you, definitely even in his intoxicated state finds himself struggling with his words to request what he wants

After a while of anxiously waiting for the captain to tell you what he wants he simply asks you to follow him, assuming you are in trouble you are shocked to find him request such a silly thing

Happily you lead him to your chambers digging around in your bag you pull out a matte black polish

The next morning he wakes with a ragging hangover on top of the shock of his nails now painted, wants to be angry but knows it looks damn good, continues to take damn good care of them as well

Penguin! & Shachi!

Okay if you ask one they will not only agree immediately but also drag the other along

Unshocking this will not be an easy endeavor, it starts off strong with the two of them dumping out every color you own digging though struggling to choose a color

Eventually they will settle on a color each, penguin having picked and icey blue and Shaci with an almost neon orange, they request you do every other finger with each color

After you finish up they do the same for you each boy taking a hand, it starts off fine but quickly turns into the two insulting each other over how messy they paint, it turns into a competition of who can paint better

Bepo!

Often you find yourself napping and relaxing with Bepo so after a while of this you mentioned the idea of painting the polar bear's claws

He is absolutely giggling and squealing at the idea, quickly requesting for the most fun color you could think of, this boy wants glitter and do not cheap out! A light icy blue base with as many rainbow sparkle coats you can muster up

He will treasure them and keep them as safe as he can but will come to you with tears in his eyes as they peel off, give this boy a huge and fix them up for him!!

Shanks!

Absolutely will but requests you sit on his lap as you do it, this man will use any sneaky trick to get what he wants but as long as you both are happy he's winning

Wants a shade of red that matches his hair, once you finish up his hand he will ask you to do the other hand, out of pure Instinct you look towards where his other hand would be as he lets out a deep vibracious laugh poking fun at you for the rest of the night

Mihawk!

We'll say no the first time you ask but if you mentioned it a few times he will eventually give in requesting the most simple soild black you can find

After you finish them he takes a moment staring at them before nodding at you and sending you on your way

Over the next few days you'll notice anytime he walks by a mirror to straighten up his outfit he will take a moment to appreciate the nails and how well they complement his look, he may not want to admit it but you can tell he is feeling himself up

Will eventually ask you to fix them up over time as he says he's grown fond of them

Writers note!

Thank you reading! Requests are open for headcanons, fics, and really just about anything!

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 4 months

Text

Imagine Sanji getting told off for the pantry rendezvous with you…

A/n: Part 1 got such love. It was only fair to see the other side.

Also, I read every single one of your tags and comments. I’m slow to reply but I see you x

Zeff had already spoken to you about what had transpired. The next stop was his lovestruck sous-chef who constantly drove him up the Baratie walls.

Sanji couldn’t understand why Zeff kept pulling him away from you. He’d have thought that the man had experienced some form of attachment in his younger days to understand better. But clearly, his shitty restaurant was more important.

Huffing, Sanji wiped his hands on a clean towel and grabbed a tomato from the bowl of vegetables in dire need of prep work. Quietly, he began dicing. His thoughts slowly drifting off to when he stood close to you only moments ago.

Thunk, thunk… thunk.

The unmistakable wooden leg echoed against the kitchen tiles, stopping when they reached his station. Sanji didn’t need to look up - he knew Zeff was at the other end of the counter watching silently.

A few beats passed and even the blonde-cook disliked the lingering audience. “If you’re going to stand there all day, I could use an extra pair of hands.” He said.

“That’s funny because I was thinking of feeding yours to the sharks.” Zeff snapped.

The cook slowed his knife movements and squinted. “That’s a bit extreme.”

“Trust me it’s lenient compared to the other bit I had in mind.”

Picking up a carrot, Sanji shook his head and began chopping. “I’m not sure what you’re upset about, I hardly distracted Y/n enough to slow the line.” He defended preemptively.

Zeff crossed his arms. “I’m not here to talk about your distractions although that’s high on my very long list.” At this point he’d have a full-volumed series.

The blonde-chef had worked his way through at least another two more vegetables and was busy with a cauliflower. He was biting back the urge to tell the old man that he was the one being distracting.

“You use your hands to cook in this kitchen, Little Eggplant. You don’t use them to fool around in the pantry.”

The blade missed the leaf and slammed against the chopping board. Sanji’s reaction was almost the same as yours. Muscles stiff, jaw slack as if he had been confronted with the Lord of the Coast.

How had he found out? Granted that neither of you were completely silent but you had been quiet enough to not cause any stirs from the sleeping crew.

Zeff narrowed his eyes. He could see gears ticking away in the young man’s eyes.

“Apples.” He stated which only confused the poor boy. “They sit in baskets at the top of the shelf except when they’re on the floor.”

Sanji cleared his throat and immediately deflected. “How do you know it wasn’t a drunken Patty stumbling around in there?”

The blue-haired chef was too far away to hear his name be thrown into the mix. A blessing in disguise otherwise Sanji risked a saucepan to the head.

“He’s never been that drunk.” Zeff argued.

“Well, we’re on a floating restaurant.” Sanji tried again. “It’s hardly stable ground so you know, it rocks.”

Zeff was not impressed. He moved around the counter and grabbed Sanji’s tie, pulling him through the bustling kitchen. None of the other cooks seemed to have noticed in the frenzy of the lunch rush.

It wasn’t a far walk and Zeff finally came to a stop at the scene of the crime. He walked Sanji inside the large space of the pantry and then stepped forward, pointing at the base of the metal shelving units.

“Because of your little stunt, the bolts that ground the shelves to the floor need to be repaired - trust me Little Eggplant, the Baratie doesn’t rock that hard.”

A small glaze fell over Sanji’s eyes as his mind recalled exactly why those shelves suffered. He had tried so hard to be gentle but you were far too intoxicating when he-

“Oi!” Zeff snapped his fingers loudly, a scowl on his face. “That wasn’t a cue for you to take a trip memory lane.”

When Sanji refocused and calmed the warm feeling in his chest, he noticed that the shelves were empty. Not an apple basket in sight. An oddity for a restaurant of this scale.

“Uh, where are the supplies?” He asked curiously.

The Head Chef huffed. “I’ve had them moved temporarily to fix the damage you caused. And so place can be thoroughly cleaned.”

He turned away from the boy to examine the framework. In all his years, these shelves had stood their ground. Now, after the romantic antics of two of his best cooks, they needed repairing.

He needed to find solution for the Sanji-Y/n problem otherwise no surface of the Baratie would be safe.

Behind him, Sanji’s eyes brightened as a thought came to mind. “So you’re saying that the space will be unoccupied for a while?”

Zeff nodded with a long sigh. “It’ll be a few weeks at least until-” when he finally caught on to what Sanji was thinking, his eyes almost popped out of his head. Whipping around, Zeff pointed at him sternly. “Don’t be getting any ideas, Little Eggplant!” He shouted. “Hands to yourself or you lose them, am I clear?”

Sanji held his hands up in surrender and said nothing. The moustached man stormed out of the pantry, grumbling about his blonde-haired headache. He had had enough of loved-up cooks for one morning.

As Zeff began barking orders about the kitchen once more, Sanji stayed back in the pantry for a little while longer.

He glanced at the shelves and their askew hinges, letting out a small hum. Pride filled his chest and then burst with a huge surge of love for you. Sanji couldn’t wait until the lunch rush was over to find you once more.

What difference would it make if the repairmen found some broken shelves instead?

Masterlist here (for more One Piece)

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eupheme · 11 months

Text

— seek you out, hunt you down

kraven x f!reader

rated e - 3.7k

tags: predator/prey kink, annoyance-to-lovers, outdoor sex, rough sex, references to oral (f rec.), teasing, implied established safeword, dom!kraven, possessive!kraven, softness mixed in because it’s me

a/n: something quick & smutty, based purely on trailer vibes

“We’re about five miles from the edge. If you can find your way out before I find you, I’ll let you take point until we get there.”

“But when I win, you’re going to do exactly as I say.” He rasps, the words slow - drawn out, “No more of that smart mouth. Understand?”

His eyes had flickered as you had paced. That swirling change, darkening from blue to black to gold.

Tracking you slowly, automatically.

As you had complained - tired of another day of him ignoring the map you’d been following. Insisting on taking you up and around and down and over.

So confident that he knew. That he knew better.

But, christ - you weren’t helpless. Calypso has sent you with him for a reason.

And maybe - perhaps - he was right, about some of it. Avoiding a flooding stream, picking around a jagged outcropping of rock. He did have a real track record, after all.

But he was so goddamn annoying about it.

A heavy sigh had cut you off.

The flex of a bare bicep, as his arms crossed, “Tell you what, sweetheart.”

Condescension dripping from the word as his eyes had scanned the horizon - through the forest of trees. Focusing for a second, before they were fixing on yours again.

“We’re about five miles from the edge. If you can find your way out before I find you, I’ll let you take point ‘til we get there.”

Your pacing had slowed to a halt, thinking for a moment about his offer. Stepping closer, as you scoffed.

A finger had pointed, twirling up into the branches, “No way. You’ll just use them.”

The creatures of the forest. His unnatural connections.

His tongue licked across his teeth, his look dark. Voice quiet, laced with assurance as he had smirked.

“I won’t.”

A moment, then, “Don’t need to.”

Your eyebrows had rose, challenging. Irritation prickling at his confidence, that need to best him rising.

“Fine.” You had bit out.

“Fine.” He smiled.

His own fingers reached out then, hooking around the thick strap of your belt, looped into your jumpsuit.

Giving it a sharp tug, as he pulled you between his spread knees. A slow drag of his eyes, starting at his hands, then up and up.

Tracing over your form.

A heat had burned, even then. Flickering to life, as his voice has dropped.

“But when I win, you’re going to do exactly as I say.” He rasps, the words slow - drawn out, “No more of that smart mouth. Understand?”

The look he had given you had made you shiver. Heated, as his face has tipped up to yours. Daring you.

You swallowed, before your tongue peeked through your teeth, to wet your lips. His eyes watching the movement, as you had nodded.

Letting go, as you stepped away.

“No cheating.” You reminded him, as you turned - starting to plot out your own path, “And I get a head start.”

A rough laugh, as he shifted fully onto the stump he was leaning against, slowly crossing his legs. Ensuring that he wouldn’t be able to feel the tremor of your steps, sending the direction you’d be heading.

“Fifteen minutes.” He had warned you, as his eyes closed.

“Go.”

A branch scrapes against your cheek.

A flash of pain that you ignore, a small flinch as you push past it and keep going.

Resisting the urge to look around. To check if you can see him - high in the branches above. Lurking behind a tree.

No, you decide to continue. A path's been set in your mind, during that brief second you had taken to get your bearings. Purposely taking off in the wrong direction, hoping he'd hear.

Changing course soon after. Wading through streams. Up and across logs, only to drop down half-way, to throw him off.

You think with the head start, you can make it. He was a tracker, but you were a survivor.

Keeping both of you alive, when the weather turned cruel. Stitching him up when he fell apart, when he was too hell-bent on revenge to care.

The plains were his home but the forests had been yours. A comfort in the shades of green and brown, some sort of internal compass that kept your path true. You just have to be a little faster, a little smarter, than him.

A branch snaps behind you, the sound echoing. A thrill shoots through you - fear and something more, something hot and twisting - as you take off at a run.

Not bothering to look, keeping your eyes fixed ahead.

Ducking past the tall pines and through the foliage. Your heart pounding in your throat as you eye a drop in the path you've chosen - a second before you decide to make the too-wide jump.

You land, a throb in your ankle, fingers grasping onto a shrub as you pull yourself up. There's a second as you think you hear your name - breathed out in the wind.

It makes you push on faster. Risking a glance this time, a second where you think you see a flicker in the dark shadows behind you.

Your jaw grits, as you fling yourself forward. Eyes fixing on the layers of green ahead. Where you think it's been getting thinner - some of those miles and a long stretch of time passing since you first began.

Bring the edge close enough to taste.

But there's another flicker, off to your left.

One that diverts you, a shift as you veer off-course, your straight line turning serpentine as you adjust. That spike of unease back again, with that same melding of something warm and smooth in your belly.

The rustle comes again, as you push yourself into a sprint.

Again, and then again. Echoing off the trees, a layering of footsteps that blend with yours - chasing you - until your head is spinning and each breath is coming in a short gasp.

Forgetting for a second, that this was a game.

A splintering jolt of fear coursing through you, that word on the tip of your tongue, for just an instant. The one that would end this, and bring him back to you.

But then there’s a whisper, that cuts through your thoughts. Pulling you back, as you recognize his voice. Making you remember that you had intended to beat him.

It has you skidding to a stop. Taking just a second to get your bearings, your head whipping around as you realize the footsteps have stopped.

That the only thing you can hear is your panting breath.

You see nothing. Not even a shadow.

That is, until his voice comes again - sounding so close to your ear.

“Found you.”

A cry is caught in your throat, as he crashes into you. Sending you both tumbling onto the ground, across the dirt and moss.

You’re able to roll, to push yourself up. But you’re no match for the speed that the melding of the serum and blood had given him - still rising as he’s already crouching over you.

His hand shoots out, as you duck to the side. Managing to get back on your feet - evading him for a second until the second dart of his hand finds its target.

Catching your arm, sending you down, again.

There’s a split second as you’re able to kick out. Hooking the toe of your boot around his ankle, taking him down with you. Scrabbling in the dirt as he shifts, pulling himself on top you - his weight pinning you down.

A grin, as his thighs slot with yours.

Your groan disguised as a shaky breath when he nudges purposely against your core. Straddling your leg as his hands grabs your wrists.

A knee rises, intending to connect with his back - but he uses the momentum to roll with you. Flipping you over onto your stomach, twisting one of your wrists behind your back.

The other fisting in the collar, pushing down hard. Scruffing you like a cat as he laughs - shifting onto his knees behind you.

“Good try with those tricks of yours.” Sergei sighs, with another click of his tongue, “But not good enough.

You’re panting beneath him now, all of that exhaustion catching up. A stitch in your side from the running, layered with the bitter taste of defeat.

“How did you find me?” You finally manage, as your cheek presses into the soft moss - a little wiggle as you try to break free.

There’s a hum then, at your attempt - a little jolt as he adjusts you beneath him. Pulling you onto your knees as he pushes down, leaning over you.

Caging you in, as he reveals his own trick. The words drawn out.

“I could smell you.”

His nose skims your ear, making you tremble. Lowering it to press against neck, just at the curve of your jaw. Inhaling.

The breath he exhales is slow, shaky. Edged with the low rumble of his voice.

“And right now… you smell like you wanted me to catch you.”

You moan without thinking - an unconscious rocking of your hips that sends the curve of your ass pressing against his thighs, nudging against where he’s hard.

A whimper stifled as he meets the shift of your hips with a grunt of his own. A hiss of breath through teeth as he bears down on the hand that wraps around your wrist.

Curving himself down until his mouth ghosts against your ear, and you can feel the warm curl of his breath against your skin.

“Am I right?” He croons - his voice low and smooth, as his hips rock lazily against yours, “I bet you are soaked, baby.”

You’re grateful he can’t see his expression. To see how right he was - how that heat has settled into a heady thud between your thighs.

A sigh, then, as he presses himself flush. Nudging the thick ridge of his trousers against your core, as your eyes flutter shut. Your teeth gritting, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

Lips press against your neck, right where you pulse thuds. You wonder if he can hear you, too. Where the adrenaline has bled into need, if he knows how the beating of your heart has changed it’s course.

“You couldn’t get enough of me last night.” He sighs - and you squirm again, as you remember.

His mouth between your thighs, for hours. Pulling pretty sounds beneath the little camp you set up. Over and over, until you were trembling.

You’re brought back, as Kravinoff’s voice drops.

“And I know you’ve always liked the chase. “

You do groan then, some of that strung-tight tension going slack. A pleased hum as he leans back, letting go of your wrist. His fingers wrapping around your belt instead, anchoring you to him.

“Show me.” He commands, as you finally glance back his way.

Following the line of his arm, up past the curves of muscle. To bare shoulders - the straps of his leather vest.

To eyes that suddenly fix on yours, pulling from the curve of your ass, your spread thighs.

They ensnare you, sending your heart tripping. An intensity as their shade flickers to that gold again, above the tick of a jaw.

“You agreed to listen,” He reminds you, firmly, “So show me how much you want my cock, sweetheart. You’re not getting it until you do.”

Indignation lances through you, as you consider his offer.

But desire wins out, as it always does. That pressure against the small of your back easing as your fingers find the zipper between your breasts. Tugging it down - opening you up.

Reaching between your thighs, the quiet jingle of metal as you let the pull go. Your thighs shifting further apart, an arch to your back as you try to entice him.

Watching as he clicks his tongue, the slightest shake that sends his long curls brushing against his cheeks.

“Not good enough, baby.”

With your own muffled growl, your gaze tears from him. Fitting your hand between your thighs again - hooking around the gusset of your underwear. Tugging it to the side, where the elastic digs into your skin.

Baring you.

He hums then, his other hand leaving your hip. A soft moan as his fingers trace against your folds, sliding over your slick. Teasing, making a wide circle around you clit before he pulls back, leaving you wanting.

Glancing down at his fingers, where your arousal webs between them. Leaning over you again, nudging those fingers against your bottom lip.

You open for him, and he smiles.

“Do you taste ready?” He asks you, his fingers pressing deep.

You moan around them in answer, as the coarse canvas of his pants press against bare skin. As you taste the tang of your desire, as his fingers inch towards your throat.

The pressure on your waist lifts, the clink of his belt coming a second later behind you.

His cock hanging heavy as you suck, his thumb pressing on the hollow under your chin when your teeth graze purposely his fingers.

Pulling them free, glossy again with you. A low growl as the wrap around his cock, slicking himself up with a rough pump of his fist.

The fat head slides against your folds, bumping against your clit. You hiss his name, his smile slow and dark as he wraps your belt around his hand again.

“You’d let me take you? Right here?”

He’s pressing against your entrance now, the slightest tease before pulling back. Again, and then again, until your frustration wells up, before spilling over.

“Fuck.” You whine, “Yes. Yes, okay? Anywhere you want.”

There’s a rumble in his throat, then. A deep pleased hum, “You’re so fucking filthy, sweetheart.”

Then with a grunt, he’s yanking you backwards. Spearing himself deep into you with a sharp thrust as you cry out, your muscles clenching around him as he bottoms out in you.

He’s big - on most nights he works you open with his fingers. Making you come on his tongue, unable to resist tasting you before you’re coming on his cock.

Right now, you’re both too keyed up. That sharp snap of his hips a surprise, but your thighs are slick and damp with need. From his teasing.

From the chase.

He’s hushing you - his words low as he pulls back, a groan as he fills you again.

“You can take it.” Sergei grits out, punctuating each word with a rock of his hips, “Know you can-”

With each stroke the pressure twists into pleasure. Letting him tug you back to meet his thrusts, a moan pushed from you with each one.

Your fingers curling into fists, as your thoughts begin to turn fuzzy. His cock pounding again and again against a spot he found those many weeks ago.

When the lingering looks on the road to hunt down his father had turned to touches. Layers peeled away under the blanket of stars. Committing each little sound you made to memory - remembering exactly what to do to make you cry out.

There’s none of those soft touches here. He’s relentless - a steady pounding of his hips against yours. The wet suck of your cunt as you take him, loud as skin slaps against skin.

Your boneless beneath him. A pleasure building that has you trying to reach between your thighs against, but his thrusts send you off-balance.

A hand steadying on the ground against as he groans, his head tilting back. Hair swaying with each rock of his hips, curling clinging to the sweat on his forehead.

Your voice cracks on a moan, as you try to ask for just a little more. Needing that friction against your clit, instead of the teasing slap of his balls when he grinds himself deep.

“Sergei, please-”

His head tilts forward, eyes meeting yours. There’s a clench in his jaw that tells you he’s not far off, that he just as wrapped up in this as you are.

A moment, when you’re certain he’s going to deny you. A whine in your throat - coming out broken as he pulls himself from you.

Leaving you feeling empty, ripped away from the cusp of your release.

“What are you-” You’re hissing, before he’s shoving at you, pushing you onto your back.

Crawling between your thighs, hands gripping at the fabric of your suit as he hauls your legs around his waist.

Filling you again, with another devastating thrust. It had your back lifting off the ground, your hand scrabbling as you keen - catching on the leather of the cuff around his wrist.

Clinging to him as he tugs your hips higher. Keeping you arched against him as he angles himself until he’s stroking that spot again.

And Christ, you prefer this angle. All the better to see him, something you can’t appreciate at night.

The bounce of the claw against his chest, swinging from the cord. The press of the leather knife hilt against your thigh.

The snarl of his lips when you clench down - a hand leaving your hips to trace against the space where you’re stretched wide around him.

Still letting you cling to the other, as his thumb traces up. Hovering just where you need him, as his eyes flick up to yours.

You’re sure you’re a mess. Sticky, skin dewed with sweat. Your suit split down the middle, right down to your cunt.

But his lips curls - a flash of white teeth with his sharp smile. Finally letting his thumb press against your clit as you sigh, amused by the way you rock needily into his touch.

A moment of silence as he watches, before he’s confessing.

“I liked watching you run.”

His voice is smoky and low, eyes lingering on the flushed peek of his cock as he pulls out - before it’s buried in you again.

“Think if it was anyone else, you might have made it.”

An almost idleness in his tone. Like it’s something known, like it always would be.

But that’s before he shifts - letting your hips drop, as he leans over you instead. His thumb pressing tight circles as he arcs over you, as your hands wrap around the edge of his leather vest.

“But not me.”

A moment, as his eyes search yours. A predatory look to them, unblinking as he ensnares you, once again. The smallest shake of his head.

“No. I’ll always find you.”

A long time ago, it would have been a threat. Now, it feels like a promise, seeping into the cracks of your skin. Filling you completely, utterly.

“I know.” You breath. And then, with your admittance, his head dips - lips pressing hungrily against yours.

It’s messy, all teeth and tongue. You swallow his growl as he licks into your mouth, a little tug as you pull him closer.

The press of his fingers, this new angle, pull you back to the brink. So close you can almost sink you teeth into it - that mindless feeling drifting back into your thoughts. Everything else emptying out, as you try to grasp at your release.

He pulls back, only to brush his lips against yours. The bristle of his beard tickling your cheek, as his nose bumps against yours.

“Wanna feel you come, baby.” Sergei husks, “Know you’re close, I can feel how needy that little pussy of yours is.”

His lips press against your throat again. Teeth scraping skin as he groans, his thrusts turning shallow as he ruts into you. Leaving a mark against your skin that he soothes with his tongue.

Your grip on his vest allowing you to chase the feeling, using the leverage to meet the slap of his hips.

Until you feel it about to break, his name chanted out with each heady thrust.

“S-Sergei, please don’t stop. Oh my god-”

Suddenly, it’s crashing over you. Your teeth sink into his shoulder as you come, the moan high and muffled as you pulse around him. Scoring the leather as your muscles string tight - a mark that he’ll wear with pride.

“Fuck. Feel so fucking-” He growls - never slowing, never stopping.

Leaning into your release. The way it coats his cock, makes each thrust most slick. Easing back when you finally let go, only to catch his hands beneath your knees.

Spreading your thighs open and then back. Bending you near in half so he can be as deep as he can when he comes. His own pleasure a tight ball that sparks in his belly - a foot planted on the ground as he drives into you.

“So good to me. So fucking good-” He growling, before you feel the pinch of his hands, squeezing the flesh of your thighs.

Another sloppy thrust, as his lips part on a guttural groan. Grinding himself as you milk him - feeling each twitch of his swollen cock inside your tight walls as he spills himself inside.

A secondary pleasure flaring to life, as he marks you so thoroughly. Knowing it will be dripping into your suit for the rest of the day - the thought making him moan as he continues to rut into you until you’ve taken every drop.

Only then does that tight grip loosen - you legs finally lowering.

A hand under your head as his touches turn gentle, easing you beneath him as he settles between your thighs.

Lips pressing between the curves of your breasts, a contented hum when you finally have the strength to brush your fingers through his curls.

Unable to help chancing a look, your head tilting back. Where you can just see the edge of the tree line were breaks into an open field.

Not realizing he was watching until you hear a low hum, a rough sound of amusement, “Mm. So close, sweetheart.”

You scoff, but it’s light-hearted. Still too fucked-out to care about the wager anymore.

“But I won, which means you agreed to listen to me.” He reminds you, as he pushes himself up on an elbow.

Still buried in you, even as his release has begun to leak from you. The smallest rock of his hips, as he nudges himself deeper. As his head dips so he can brush his lips against yours.

You sigh into the kiss, as you feel him twitch inside you. Swelling, as he rolls his hips against yours.

“And I think we’re not quite finished yet.”

ahh thanks for reading - hope you all enjoyed! 💖

@inklore, @spiderispunk, @tarrenterror25, @celestianstars, @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok, @mrsdarkandyandere7, @peonylie, @tangerinesgf, @whatamidoingonthissite, @earth-elemental18, @labyrinth-of-thoughts

#sergei kravinoff x reader #kraven x reader #kraven x you #kraven x f!reader #sergei kravinoff #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven the hunter

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angel-eyes05 · 1 year

Text

a spider in the snow

pairing: fem!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: you help rehabilitate an injured miguel after he returns from one of his late night patrols…in more ways than one

warnings: nsfw, fluff then smut then fluff, handjob (both m and f recieving), blood mention, an incy wincy tincy bit of angst

word count: 2.5k

notes: heyyyyy i've come back from the dead. i don't really write a lot of one shots so go easy on me for this one. just like every horny person on the internet, i’ve fallen head over heels in love with miguel o’hara. this is me giving into my impulses lmao. sorry if i do anything thats out of character idk him that well so just work with me here. i also don't know everything about nueva york and if names are different than here or something so im just gonna pretend they’re the same. if they are, great! if not, just go with it lmao. one more thing, despite being cuban i am a no sabo kid (rip me) so i had to use a translator for some of this so apologies in advance if some things aren't super accurate. ok lets get on with the show.

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Snowy nights in Nueva York have always been one of your favorite parts about moving up north. Seeing all the lit up buildings illuminated in the snow, all the people ice skating in Rockefeller Center rink just below your apartment window, the reminders of Christmas coming soon. It kept your heart warm against the freezing temperatures outside. You also loved the feeling of being able to bundle yourself up in blankets and hoodies, a mix of yours and your boyfriend’s, having an excuse to make hot chocolate, and finally being able to use the fireplace that normally laid dormant in the middle of your living room. The one con about the snow was when it would land on Miguel’s patrol nights. Your already nervous mind was only heightened by the added uncertainty of everything that could happen while he was out there. What if he got too cold while out there and it affected his ability to fight? What if it started snowing too hard and he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the apartment? You knew some of your concerns were probably dumb, but they felt serious to you.

This was one of those nights. One of the nights where you would sit on your couch, next to the cracked window, unable to sleep until you could see him come back safe. You flipped through the channels of the tv aimlessly, trying to find something to keep your mind off of the growing cold outside. You eventually turn it off after coming across the weather channel, claiming a snowstorm would be rolling into the city in about 15 minutes. Deciding there was nothing you could do about your situation, you walked over to your bedroom and wrapped yourself in your massive duvet to shield from the cold. Worries dashed around your mind about everything that could happen. Despite being verbally supportive about Miguel and his…hobbies, you really hated the idea of him sneaking out in basically pajamas almost every night to “beat up the bad guys” essentially. Even though he had explained everything to you by this point, having been dating for about three years now, you still couldn’t quite understand everything. Radioactive spiders? Corrupt businesses? Fangs and claws? Mutations? A multiverse? It was a lot to wrap your head around. But, despite all of this, all of your worries and concerns over Miguel, you stayed. Because you knew you didn’t start dating him because of his whole superhero business or whatever. You were dating him because you loved him. The real him. The way he would always press gentle kisses into the crook of your neck. How on his days off, you would be woken up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking in the kitchen just for you. How he would always whisper sweet praises to you while you would give him head. How easily he could be crumbled down beneath his rock hard exterior. The Miguel underneath the red and blue spandex. You dreamt of this as you slowly fell into a calm slumber. You fell asleep bundled up in all the blankets on your bed, arm outstretched to the opposite side the bed, almost as if you were reaching for something that wasn’t there.

After some time had passed, you’re not sure exactly how much, you were awoken by a thud coming from your bathroom. You lazily rubbed your eyes and grabbed your alarm clock to check the time. 3:47 am. Yeah, that’s definitely Miguel in there. You dragged yourself out of bed to help him out, throwing one of this hoodies over your tank top for extra warmth. You also liked how it still smelled like him after three times in the wash. You opened the door, eyes squinting from the bright fluorescent light. And there he was. You found it endearing. How Miguel was trying, and failing, to reach this massive scratch on his back to clean it instead of just waking you up to ask for your help. You look to the floor to find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide sitting there on the rug, probably what caused the thudding sound. You stood there leaning in the doorframe, waiting for him to notice you, even though he probably already heard every step you’ve taken from the bed up to the door now. “You need any help there?” you ask him, jokingly. You had seen him in much worse conditions, so you took moments like these to be more comedic, an attempt to lighten his mood sort of. It didn’t usually work. “No, I got it. Please go back to sleep,” he said, still attempting to wrap his arms around himself. You rolled your eyes and walked over to sit behind him, picking up the hydrogen peroxide off the floor and grabbing a couple of cotton balls from the first aid basket. “Mi amor, please go back to sleep, I promise I can do this by myself,” he argued. Before he could get another word in, you poured some of the hydrogen peroxide over his wound. He groaned in response and squeezed your thigh to help level out the pain. “That’s for worrying me all night,” you said to him, just over the volume of a whisper. As you began to dab the blood off of his cut, he responded. “You know I don’t want you to worry.” Once you could see he was turning his head around to look at you, you turned your eyes away. You didn’t really want to look at him right now. It’s not that you were mad at him. Ok that’s a lie, you were a little mad. But it was more of a helplessness you felt when you would see him like this. Beat up, cut, scratched, bruised. And there wasn’t anything you could do to help. Not until after at least. And it wasn’t like you were a trained nurse or anything. You dreaded the day that he would come stumbling through the window, too injured for you to take care of yourself. Or worse. The day he wouldn’t come home at all. “Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I don’t,” you said sort of coldly. You stood up from your position, waiting to patch up his back until after he showered. You changed your positions to sit from behind him to in front, ready to take care of his front side now. “I don’t want to talk about that right now tho-.” You cut yourself off when you finally saw his face

Cuts were scattered across his face, one above his eyebrow still dripping blood catching your attention first. He also had a bruise quickly forming on his left cheekbone. Once you moved your eyes more, you saw his nose marked with a deep cut going through the middle. His beautiful nose. It was one of your favorite parts of his appearance. Done scanning his face, your eyes moved down to his chest and his torso. His chest was marked with similar cuts to the one on his back. You kept your eyes on his chest in an attempt to hide the fact you were holding back tears right now. “I’m sorry mi cariño. I really am.” You knew he was. But sorry wasn’t going to keep him safe. This was one apology among many. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t sorry for getting hurt again and again and again. He was sorry for the fact you had to see him like this. If you wouldn’t have seen that he was injured, he wouldn’t have said anything And you knew after this apology as well, he would go out tomorrow night and do the same thing over again. You didn’t respond to his words. All you could manage to do was pull him into an embrace and apologize when he winced from your hands hitting his cuts. You sat there for a bit, running your hands through his hair and trying to hold yourself back from crying. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted gentle kisses there, each a little apology from him. Once you finally pulled away and wiped your face, you started to clean the scrapes on his face, this time more gentle than his back. You dabbed the cotton ball on his forehead as he held you straddled on his lap. He admired your features as you concentrated on him, rubbing your back with his fingers in the process. You didn’t say much, only a simple “sorry” if you were a little too rough with cleaning. Despite the stern face you were putting on, Miguel knew you secretly liked the way he would grab at your thighs and hips with his claws when you did something that hurt.

Once you were finished, you silently put the first aid equipment away and left the bathroom so he could take a shower. He planted a soft kiss into your forehead before you left the room. Once you crawled back into bed, you sighed to yourself. How did you end up here anyways? There’s no way you were expecting all of this when you first saw Miguel at the concert bar that day. Some days were amazing with him. Others were much harder. And while you’ve definitely had worse days with him, today was leaning on the latter option. You contemplated all of this until you heard the door to the bathroom behind you open, Miguel stepping out of the steaming room with his towel wrapped around his lower body. You were very quickly reminded of one of the reasons you’ve stayed with him for so long. The way his wet curls were laying around his head. How his chest glistened while it was damp, despite currently being tattered with cuts at the current moment. He sleepily shuffled over to the bed, dropping his towel before crawling up close to you in bed. The warmth of Miguel’s freshly showered body against yours helped to melt the majority of your worries away. It also helped that you could feel his his cock getting harder against your leg while he cuddled against you. You finally turned around to face him, cupping his jaw in your hand and rubbing your thumb across his face. He grasped your hand and pressed soft kisses into it. “I love you so much Miggy,” you finally said, breaking the silence and drawing his eyes towards you. “I really do, and I’m sorry if I ever make it seem like I don’t. You just…you scare me sometimes.” You quickly realize those weren’t the words you meant. You begin to stutter and take back your words a bit, until you see that Miguel has given you his full attention. You take a deep breath and continue. “You don’t scare me. It’s more of what you do that scares me. I never know when you’re gonna come back or if you even are. If you think I take joy in taking care of you after you come back, I really don’t. I hate seeing my boy like this. And it makes me scared that one day you’re gonna come back in a shape I can’t fix. It scares me so bad Miggy you don’t even know,” you say, choking back your tears. Once Miguel notices you’re about to start crying, he wraps his arms around you immediately. “Shhh it’s ok preciosa,” he comforts as you quietly cry into his broad shoulders. “I’m so sorry for making you worry,” he says in between kissing the top of your head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, and I love you too.”

You pull away from his hug and stare into his beautiful crimson eyes as he wipes away your tears. You suddenly fall into the overwhelming urge to kiss him. He returns the kiss with even more passion than you put into it. You quickly found yourself exploring his body with your hands, moans escaping his lips whenever you would graze over one of his wounds. You drew yourself closer to him to absorb more of his body heat, though you were quickly reminded of his bare cock as you could feel it hardening on your leg. Your hands eventually made it down there, teasing Miguel along the way as you felt him up on the way down. You then took his hard, already wet cock into your hands, caressing every ridge you could find on it. You could hear more moans exit his mouth and slide into yours as you handled him like putty. He would let out messier sounds, even a growl at one point, and jerk forward into your hand when you would tease around his tip. “F-fuck baby. Y-you’re s-so good to me. ‘N pr-retty too,” he would blurb out Feeling his cock get increasingly hard in your hand began to make you slightly wet as well. This only increased as Miguel began to take off your underwear as well, sliding two of his fingers into your pussy and placing his thumb to draw circles onto your clit. Your grip on his length becomes lazy and sloppy as you’re stimulated as well. You’re surprised at how quickly Miguel is able to find your clit, but then again you expect him to know your body so well after three years. After both of you have been at it for a while, you’re the first one to get close to your orgasm. “Fuck M-Miggy, I-I’m gonna cum,” you manage to moan out. His kisses on you get sloppy as he reaches his as well. It’s over for you once he begins to put more pressure onto your core. You let out an inhuman noise as your stomach fills with the white heat of your orgasm, shaking your entire body. Miguel takes his fingers out of your entrance and licks your cum off of his fingers. It’s then over for him when you eventually put the pressure of your fingers onto his cock. You hand is then covered in his cum once he reaches his climax in your fist, moaning intensely into the air. While he’s in the middle of his orgasm, his claws pop out of his fingers and into your hips and underneath your thigh where his hands are placed. Then, he lets out his fangs and uses them to leave hickeys into your neck, making sure not to let out any of his poison while doing so. “Just stay here with me Miggy,” you sigh out, his fangs deep into your neck. “You don’t ever need to go back out there again. Just stay here with me forever.” He simply nods at first, still sucking into your neck. Once he lets go and and begins to calm down, he responds with “Forever and always mi corazón,” whispering the words into your ear as he lays more kisses along your collarbone and neck.

You stare outside the window at the falling snow, hoping this time he’ll keep his word, but knowing deep down that he wasn’t going to. But for now, you could just appreciate your time with him now. He was all yours right now. Everything. And that was enough.

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A/N: uhhhh sorry but i didn't feel like proofreading this cause its super late for me rn sorry not sorry lmao

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #x reader #smut #marvel smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse

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retroellie · 1 year

Text

Breed Me

Summary: After babysitting, you have massive baby fever and would kill for Daryl to get you knocked up. Surprisingly, Daryl isn't completely opposed to that idea.

A/N: The number of pregnant smuts i do just shows my mommy and daddy issues but i crave daddy Daryl so :). Also, me posting 2 fics in the course of 2 days?!?! Unheard of....

Warnings: Breeding kink, Unprotected sex, spitting, squirting

Word count: 5.6K

"Shhhh" You whispered

You rocked Judith in your arms, bouncing her slightly up and down as she cooed softly. You had promised Rick you would watch her while he fixed up at a farm that was once again being eaten up by bugs and animals small enough to get in the fence. You didn't mind watching her, you actually enjoyed it. You were holding the baby up with one hand and the other you were making her bottle, shaking it up so it was nicely mixed and there was no dry formula to be seen. When you felt the formula was all mixed in with the hot water, you placed it in the little one's mouth and she took it like a hungry man would with food.

"Oh you're hungry aren't you? Huh?" You chuckled

You held the bottle for her as she sucked down the milk, only stopping to catch a breath every once and a while. You rocked her once more, walking over to sit down on one of the picnic tables that were sitting underneath the makeshift roof you guys had put there so the food was protected by rain. You watched her with admiration, her eyelids too heavy to keep her blue eyes open. Her little hand wrapped around your much bigger finger, almost as if to thank you for the bottle you just made for her.

You weren't the biggest baby type gal but Judith was the cutest baby you had ever held, her little features and her soft tiny wisps of hair. You got really bad baby fever when you watched her, seeing as you too could have a small child in your hands but it would be yours to call your own. It sounded like a dream to you, if only the world hadn't gone to complete shit when you were just starting to get your life in check and you found the love of your life. Life was unfair to you like that.

"Good morning Y/N!" You heard, looking up to see who the voice belonged to.

It was Carol, she walked towards you with a smile on her face. Carol was your best friend, she had been with you through thick and thin. A lot of people would question your relationship with her, saying how a young woman in her 20's shouldn't have best friends with people as old as her. There was Maggie or Beth, you guys would definitely have something in common. But no, you chose to hang out with carol. She was more of a mother figure to you, especially since you had lost your mom to the virus and she lost her daughter.

"Mornin' carol! sleep well?" You asked, shifting the baby slightly in my arms.

"It was alright, still getting used to all the people and the noise. Every little sound i heard i grabbed for my knife, it's torture." She explained

You watched as she made her way to the makeshift counter that held all the makeshift kitchen appliances. You would have to agree with her there, it was usually always just the small group y'all traveled in and now there's so many more people to worry about. At night you would hear other's snore, groans and moans, babies crying? It was a bit overwhelming for you, especially when you got so used to glenns sleep talking and Carl's soft snores. The only thing that stayed the same was daryl, his firm grip on you as you slept in his arms will always be there. No matter the place you slept or how many people were in the room, Daryl would always be touching you in some way.

"I made coffee and by the sound of it, you need it." You chuckled, drawing your attention back to the baby now sleeping in your arms. "I made it before this little one woke up." You said, each word becoming more and more like a baby voice.

"Ugh, you're a lifesaver Y/N!" Carol said, going right to the steaming coffee in the makeshift coffee maker.

The bottle had gone empty, not a single drop left to be drunk. You were genuinely surprised of how fast she drank it but the smile that crept on your face as you saw her small features at rest dropped all the thoughts you had. She looked calm, peaceful. It created a deep twinge in your heart that made you desperately want a baby, you're not sure if it was your motherly instincts or it was the purity that a baby brought into someone's life that you craved. You had seen a lot in the last couple of months, you're not even sure how long it had been to be honest but a baby's purity is what you needed in your life.

You couldn't make it through college or buy a house or even marry the person of your dreams, the world had gone to shit and there was no government left but you still had a body and a man who would get you pregnant in a heartbeat if he could. 'If he could' was the key, if it was the old world, he would make sure you got pregnant in the old world but it's just different now. not only is he so much older than you, which would've been a problem anyways, but he wouldn't want his kid to grow up in this world. It was too gruesome, too risky and he didn't want that for his kid.

"How long do you have the little angel for?" Carol asked, bringing you back to life.

You got up to place her bottle in the sink which was made from a bucket. You rocked her gently, you didn't want to wake her up from her peaceful sleep.

"Uhh, only a couple of hours. Rick needed to fix up the farm and I told him I could watch her." i replied

The wind blew softly under the roof, blowing on the child's bare face which caused her face to scrunch up and then relax back when you wrapped her blanket closer to her face. I smiled down at her, turning over so the wind wouldn't disturb her slumber.

"Well if you need help or a break, you can come find me! I don't think I'll be going out today, I might stick back and help with fence duty." She smiled, pouring some coffee into a plastic cup.

"Thank you, but we'll be okay! I plan on sitting out in the field to write a bit today, though jude would like to help me." you said, smiling down at the baby as she cuddled closer to your warmth.

You wondered about how you would be as a mother, it was only a small amount of time that you babysat Judith so how could you actually know if you'd be a good mom. Were you even ready for a kid or was it the baby fever that was starting to rest in the pit of your mind. There was always fear with the process of it all, especially now with the world being what it is. You're starting to think you should stop baby sitting so much, because recently, especially when babysitting, you have found yourself thinking about having kids.

"Morning sleepy head!" You heard Carol say cheerfully, almost annoyingly. It was evident who she was talking to, you know she liked to annoy only one man.

"Mornin'..." Daryl grumbled back.

You looked up from the baby to be met with Daryl walking over to y'all, his signature vest was the first thing you saw. Then your eyes scanned down his body, all the way down his hair covered face to his toned arms and then finally to his crotch. You bit your lip as you watched him walk to the counter, grabbing a bowl to pour some food into it. Everything he did was a huge turn on for you, it could be something simple as literally just walking.

Carol had been chatting him up, probably asking for some special requests for when he went out today. You were too enthralled by him to even register what they were talking about. You could see the hickeys on his neck from last night which had you blushing. You weren't going to lie, he was touchy, yes, but you were just as bad, maybe even worse. You couldn't keep your eyes off him let alone your hands, he was just so arousing in the best way possible.

You always felt so annoying with how needy you were when it came to him, you were always asking to be kissed or held or even fucked mercilessly until you couldn't walk the next day. Daryl loved it though and he made sure you knew it too because honestly Daryl felt embarrassed about being older than you, so you begging him to touch you only gave him confidence.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow, throwing it across his shoulder, still conversing with Carol about whatever they were talking about. You had stopped staring off into space and watched as Daryl picked up his bowl, walking off to you. He smiled at you, reaching over to you to grab your hip.

"Morning' sweetheart." He whispered, bringing you in for a kiss.

It was a quick peck, only lasting seconds but somehow it still had you melting into him. When he pulled away you bit your lip, looking up at him. He chuckled, even trying to be sweet, he still got you all worked up.

"Morning dar..." You smiled, going to peck his lips once more.

This one was longer, one of your hands cradled the baby and the other wrapped around his neck to keep his lips interlocked with yours. It felt where you needed to be, in his arms as you cradled a baby between the two of you. That housewife mentally you had never quite gone away, especially with daryl. If he wanted a housewife, you would bend over backwards just to be the perfect housewife for him. You pulled away from him, lips red from his facial hair rubbing against them. He licked his lips, chuckling as he looked down at Judith, touching one of her cheeks with only one finger and rubbing her soft skin.

"Hey there little ass kicker..." He said softly as she shifted in her sleep, cooing and letting out a sigh before going completely limp again. He chuckled slowly. "You stuck watching her today?" He asked you

"mmhmm" You nodded, comfortingly brushing her hair back so her hair wouldn't tickle her small nose. "We're gonna go to the big oak tree and write, maybe have a little picnic together while we're there."

You looked up at him, catching his eyes already at you. His hand, which was placed on the small of your back, made its way further down, resting on your ass as he bit his lip down at you. You so badly wanted to rip off his clothes and take him now, just everything about him made your stomach do turns.

"You look so sexy right now, you being so..." He whispered, stopping when he couldn't find the word he needed in this case.

"Motherly..." you whispered back, giving him doe like eyes.

He nodded, hand tightening around your ass as his breath hitched. He could already see you all filled with his baby, it made his hands shake violently and his mouth go dry. You then reached up, moving your mouth to his ear and whispering.

"If you come back to me in one piece, i just might let you fuck a baby into me..." You whispered so quietly; he thought maybe he didn't hear it at first.

He then choked on his own spit, looking down at you in horror and arousal all at the same time. The thought made all the blood in his body go straight to his cock, trying to swallow down his gasp.

"Okay, I made the list! Just look for the tiny red pills, that should be Alberts heart medicine" Carol called out.

This caused the both of you to jump, daryl hurriedly retracted his hand from your ass and shoved it in his pocket so he could fix himself. You giggled as he did, he turned to carol. She was presenting him a paper. You just continued to rock the baby, watching down at the sleeping child. Daryl went to snatch the paper from Carol, but Carol pulled it away quickly.

She looked between the two of you, seeing how flustered Daryl had gotten in the span of a minute or two and how his lips were red from the small makeout session you had just had, maybe even noticing how tight Daryl's pants had gotten all of a sudden. She squinted her eyes at daryl, a small smirk played on her lips.

"Just follow the list, this is an important Daryl! I know you have some distractions..." she smiled over at you, who was cooing down at the baby. "But I mean it, don't forget anything okay?"

Daryl scoffed, snatching the paper from her. He just shoved it into his back pocket, not really needing a loss for the very few things that were needed.

"I got it" He said sternly, walking past her and to the gate.

To say you were excited for his return was an understatement, just thinking about it created a dull ache between your legs. You just counted to do what you told Rick you would do, which is watch his kid and make sure she doesn't get into any trouble.

Easy enough.

You love Judith with your entire heart but dear god that child was a little shit. She spit up all over you, pulled chunks of your hair out, and even ruined your book you had been reading by chewing on it. So now you are finally childless, in your small cell that you shared with daryl. You were brushing your hair out, you tried your best to wash the spit up out of it but it still smelled of it.

Although you came back a mess and your back almost broke from carrying her everywhere, the cute little moment you had with her made up for it. She would grab onto your hair when you fell asleep and she would giggle when you read to her, as if she knew what you were saying. you were still tempted with the baby fever, wanting nothing more than your own little one.

You had come back smiling, taking out your hair from the braid it was in and taking off your spit up covered shirt, putting on one of Daryl's much bigger ones. The room was cold, the stone cell causing you to shiver. You really just wanted to collapse on the bed right now, sleep until the morning but you were obviously going to stay up waiting for daryl like you always did.

You honestly forgot about your little promise you made towards him, you were completely and utterly with the child… no thoughts besides her in your mind. So you just went along with your night like you always do, cuddling up in bed with Daryl’s shirt on and a good book in your hand like always. You hadn’t been sitting there for 5 minutes before Daryl came bursting into your shared cell, the metal barred door screeching against the floor.

He held his crossbow on his shoulder, his backpack sitting on his other one. He looked dirty, completely bloodied and bruised. It was evident he had been through hell and back this time but he still came back to you. You looked up at him and smiled, dropping your book so you could greet him. Daryl set down his things, bending down to not break anything but when he stood back up he was met with you.

You jumped on him, bringing him into a hug as if you hadn’t seen him in years. He hugged you back, hands wrapped around you roughly. You were trying to have an innocent moment, the babysitting duty you had creating a softness in you… but Daryl had other plans for you. Your words haunted him the entire trip, his dick so painfully hard against his jeans that he sometimes had to take a minute to just breathe. It tortured him, the words carved into his brain. His hands were rough, gripped into your hips bruisingly hard. You loosen your hug, his hands still attached to your hips.

“You smell like shit..” you joked, smiling up at him. Daryl chuckled, reaching down to peck at your lips and bringing your hips closer to him once more.

“Shit or not I still came back… and in one piece.” He started, pecking your lips here and there as he spoke. “And I’m pretty sure I was promised something if I came back in one piece.”

That’s when you remembered your teasing promise you had made, how could you forget? Maybe you had forgotten so the ache was less painful or maybe your mind was completely shut off, you have no idea but the thought coming back to you had your cunt clench. You needed him, you fucking needed him so badly. You lust for him suddenly coming back to you all at once.

“Then what are you waiting for…” you said, voice soaked with lust.

Daryl let out a grunt, a low deep grunt that he didn’t know came out until he heard it. He didn’t waste anytime, engulfing your lips with his as he massaged your hips. You tightened your arms around his neck, bringing him so close so your stomach was hitting his. You could feel every twitch that came from his dick, it hit your stomach perfectly and you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together.

Daryl’s kiss was rough, rough enough to bruise your lips, be bit and lapped his tongue around them. He had waited all day for this moment and he was going to savor it. He bent down, grabbing at the back of your thighs and lifting you up with ease. You wrapped your legs around him, gasping slightly as his cock was now pressed around your cunt that was only covered with a thin piece of fabric.

Daryl led you to the desk that was in your room, slamming the door shut before making his way over. He placed you on the wooden surface, your legs still wrapped around him tightly.

“Thought about this all fucking day…” he moaned, his cock twitching once more… thinking about your sweet cut being filled with his cum. “Can't wait to fill you up.”

You moaned at his words, hands lowered to unbutton his shirt so you could see all of him. He knew what you wanted, taking his hands off you so he could help you but not breaking this kiss. The kiss became sloppier as you both focused on getting his shirt off, you could feel his tongue massaging yours roughly and your teeth clashing.

When his shirt was successfully unbuttoned, you attempted to pull it off but it was getting caught on things, frustrating you. You wanted to feel his chest against you, while he fucked you roughly. Daryl pulled away from the kiss, pulling his shirt off for you when he realized how frustrated you were getting. He dropped his shirt to the floor, seeing your kiss bitten lips as you breathed heavily watching him.

It was the first time he actually looked down at you, admiring you for the first time that night. You just looked back at him, eyes scanning over his cut and bruised body. You were shaking with lust, you couldn’t control your body if felt and Daryl just chuckled at how much you craved his body on yours.

“Dirty slut…” he spit out, moving his hands down to the hem of your shirt to pull it up over your head.

He didn’t hesitate to attach his lips to your nipples, you gasped as his warm mouth wrapped around one of them, hands grasping onto the edge of the desk. He licked and sucked at them, even rolling one of them between his fingers. You could cum from just this, the heat of him and his mouth on your sensitive nipples. You tried to muffle your mouths, embarrassed by how needy you had become for Daryl that you didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Daryl noticed your shyness and only sucked on your tits harder, wanting to hear your pretty moans as he fucked you hard and deep. A particular hard pinch made you moan out loudly, back arching up into his mouth. He looked up at you, watching your head thrown back as your pussy clenched around nothing. You needed him so bad that you could beg, you wanted to feel his cock pulsating inside you all the while he fucked your baby into you.

“Please Daryl just fuck me… stop teasing…” you moaned, louder than you wanted too but you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your cunt had dripped onto the table beneath you and had made a mess out of your favorite panties. Daryl couldn’t deny you when you begged like that, he was so worked up he just couldn’t with the begging. So he did what you wanted him to, he stopped his abuse on your tits and picked you back up in his arms, plopping you down on the bed.

He undid his belt, his hands fumbling with it and then he ripped it off. You watched his every move and he watched you, he watched as you tried to hide your wet pussy away from him simply because you were embarrassed about how wet he made you. He then bent down to capture your lips in a kiss, your already kiss bitten lips trying their best to keep up with his lips.

Daryl set his knee on your aching cunt, allowing you to buck your hips on it, you attempting to dull the ache. He let you occupy yourself with that while he grabbed your hands, pulling them tightly together above your head as he wrapped his belt around them. You were too focused on humping his knee to realize what he was doing, which was exactly his goal… he didn’t have time for you to squirm.

“You know the safe word bunny?” He asked, sitting back down on his knee while he unbuttoned his pants. You whimpered at the loss of friction from his knee, you had quite literally became a whimpering mess and a completely fuck toy for him.

You nodded at his words, it took a minute for you to comprehend his words but you made them out eventually. Your body was hot, your face red and your eyes glassy. You watched as Daryl pulled his pants down his legs, his underwear being the next to go. You struggled against your restraints, the leather of his belt rubbing against your soft skin.

“Daryl??” you breathed out, the words coming off as a whisper. He looked up at you, holding his cock in his hands and pumping it lightly. You watched as he tried to hold back his hips from bucking up into his hand.

“Yeah? Is everything okay? You need me to loosen the belt?” Daryl asked, rapidly questioning you while you squirm underneath him. You shook your head, breath heaving up and down.

“Just…. Don’t hold back please.” You stated, doe eyes boring into Daryl’s.

This made his dick twitch, it felt so unbelievably hard it was starting to hurt now. He sent a smirk down at you, leaning over you once more but this time it was to do exactly what you needed him to do. He peppered you with light kisses, making sure you felt as comfortable as he could make you.

“Oh don’t worry bun… I won’t.” He growled out, continuing his light kisses on you as he ran two fingers down your body. “Gonna fuck you so hard… cum inside you over and over and over again until your tummy is full of me.”

His fingers dragged down to your panties, hooking two fingers underneath the waistband to tear off of you. You shivered as your cunt felt the cold air of the room, your wetness dripping down your legs. His words and his actions had you on edge, knowing with only a few touches from him your come undone. It was strange how only a few touches, kisses, and words from Daryl could have you cumming in minutes.

“Gonna breed you like the slut you are…” Daryl grunted, moving your legs to rest above his shoulders. “God… the things you do to me Y/N!”

Daryl could have stopped at this position, it would definitely have you cumming in only seconds… but Daryl almost completely folded you in half. Your knees were brought down to rest by your ears and your feet by your hands that were tired with only a belt. Daryl watched your face, making sure this position was okay with you. You were too lost in lust to even acknowledge the painful position, so Daryl kept you like that but slowly spread your legs further and further until you were in full display to him.

Daryl brought his cock up to your heart, slowly thrusting his cock along the wetness of it and hitting your bundle of nerves. You gasped as he did this, slowly teasing you with his cock until you could literally not handle it anymore. You were cock starved, you were going to go crazy without it. Daryl smirked at what he was doing to you, he brought his hand down to your mouth.

“Spit” was all he said and you did exactly that.

You let your saliva drop down into his hand and he gladly took it, rubbing it on your cunt along with his cock. He needed all the lube for this position, not wanting to hurt you or make it painful for you. You bit your lip hard, blood being drawn as it slid down your throat.

Daryl lined himself up with you, pushing himself into you until he was fully inside you. You went cross eyes for a minute, moaning as he had already found your sweet spot. Daryl stood there for a minute, letting you take him in and feel every inch of him. He wanted you to know thats what you will be filled up with for the rest of your life, no other cock with fuck you anymore, only him from now until forever. You squirm underneath him causing him to press down on your legs more, bending them until they were resting against your chest.

He moved finally, starting off at an animalistic pace and not even giving you time to breathe before he started abusing your cunt. You couldn’t even help the moans that fell from your lips, they were almost screaming as his dick was quite literally inside your guts. Your hands grabbed for the metal pole of the bed, grabbing into it for support. You grabbed on it for dear life as if it was the only thing keeping you down on this earth.

“Fuck so fucking tight for me, huh, bunny?” He grunted out, hips snapping back and forth violently. “Your pussy was made for me… your pussy was made for me to fuck a baby into.”

His words only made your moans louder, strangled moans coming from deep in your chest. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone thought you were being murdered, walking into your room to only see you folded in half while Daryl abused your cunt. That only added onto the fun though, Daryl would get a power rush from that, knowing that the person that walks In now knows that he’s the only one who can fold you in half like this and you would simply let it happen because you were such a slut for him.

Your cunt clenched around Daryl, he knew that meant you would be cumming soon so he set his hands on your thighs and applied all this weight onto them, lifting himself up using them. This position allowed him to fuck you deep, feeling him deep in your cunt and causing something to just flick deep down in you.

Your back arched into him, your head being thrown back as you screamed. It was too much, his full weight being on top of you and his animalistic pace… it caused you to lose your vision and I not being focused on Daryl grunts. You could see static, light white dots dancing across your eyes as you gripped whatever you could get your hands on. You were fighting against the restraints, rubbing your skin raw.

“Da…i…. Fu… i ca…” you could literally not get a single word out, Daryl knew exactly what you were trying to say though.

“Go ahead bunny, cum on my cock…” he grunted, giving you permission to soak his cock.

The coil down in your belly couldn’t take anymore of it, your toes curled and your hearing went… it was mere seconds before it snapped and your cunt pulsed violently on Daryl’s cock. Your juices came shooting out, soaking Daryl and his cock. This didn’t stop him though, he kept his animalistic pace while fucking you through your orgasm. He was so close himself, his nails digging into the back of your thighs.

“Gonna cum… can’t handle your fucking pussy anymore…” he grunted, his voice coming off in choppy moans.

You were so high, you were somewhere not on this earth as Daryl’s thrusts sped up and became messy. His moans got a bit deeper, grunting as he made one last fast movement than cumming deep inside you. His hips trembled as he came, filling you up to the brim with his cum. He stayed there for a minute, allowing every single drop of cum to fill your insides, he then dropped onto you. His cock still filled you, your legs shook as they slowly dropped beside him.

Daryl trembled on top of you, his skin on your slowly bringing you back to earth. You both laid there, sweaty and sticky. Your hands still above your head, Daryl’s face buried in your neck and his cock nestled deep inside you. You have fucked many times before but it never was this good, it never left you both speechless like this. It felt there were no words to speak, there was nothing to say other than small curses and moans.

It was about 5 minutes you stayed like that, until Daryl pulled himself away from you and pecked you on the lips. He slowly took himself out of you, watching as his cum gushed out of you. He stuck in two fingers, trying to keep it all in but you winced… your abused cunt not able to handle it.

“Sorry…” he stated, reaching over to untie you.

You lowered your arms, shakingly placing them on your stomach. Daryl watched you, feeling as if he needed to take care of your exhausted body. He made you feel good, yes, but he wore you out and he felt bad. He just rubbed your hips softly, watching you blink slowly. You were sore, your hips feeling like they were run over by trucks but you were content. The thought of having a baby rushing your mind.

“You with me bunny?” He asked softly, his voice raspy.

Your eyes trailed to him, his hair tangled and stuck to his sweaty forehead. You smiled, nodding your head weakly. You wonder if these moments will ever stop when you're big and pregnant or when you have a baby in your arms. Will you both be so in love with each other? Will you have small moments where you just stare into each other’s eyes while coming down from your highs? Will sex even be an option?

“You think it worked? I mean did you knock me up?” You joked but genuinely wondered. You didn’t feel any different, will you even feel different when it happened? Daryl dragged his eyes to your core, cum still seeping out of your cunt.

“I mean it should, I filled you up pretty good.” He said, almost proud of himself. No, he was proud of himself. He not only fucked his girlfriend until she literally fell off the face of the earth but he also probably most likely fucked a baby into you.

“Don’t act all smug asshole…” you rolled your eyes.

He chuckled, bending down to peck your lips but you wrapped your arms around him so he had no choice but to stay on your lips. You once again wrapped your legs around Daryl, already ready for another round and Daryl was completely okay with giving you it too. His lips were soft against yours, hands caressing your thighs that were placed delicately on his hips. You should be wore out, you were wore out but Daryl being on top of you like this… watching his face as he came deep inside you… you needed more.

You rutted your hips against Daryl’s, feeling his cock get hard again. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the knots that laid within his brown locks. He pulled away from your lips, looking down at your kiss bitten, red and puffy face.

“Bunny…maybe we should take a break.” He said, moving a hand to move a piece of hair from your eyes. “ I don’t want to completely exhaust you.”

You knitted your brows at him, rolling your eyes as you gave him the dirtiest look. He really thought he would tire you out that much?? You could literally never turn down Daryl’s attempts to make you feel good, like ever. You could be in the softest mood ever and than Daryl shoves his cock down your throat… than suddenly your a dirty whore for him. He had that kind of effect on you, it was inevitable.

“Daryl… this is probably the only time you will ever allow yourself to cum inside me! You think I’m going to stop at one round?” You replied, acting as if he was crazy for thinking something like that. “Plus I want to make sure it works, I want to make sure I’m knocked up by the end of the night.”

“Jesus Christ woman you’ll be the death of me…”

#daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead

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dog-park-dissidents · 16 days

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What are some of your guys punk/queer punk inspirations? I’ve really been trying to find more music that scratches the same itch as y’all cause there are only so many times I can listen to pink and black in a row

Pansy Division is the reason we're a band. They are the OG of queercore pop punk, they toured with Green Day in the 90s, they were out on stage singing "we're the butt fuckers of rock n' roll / we wanna sock it to your hole" before Ellen even DeGeneresed.

Against Me! and Laura Jane Grace's post-AM! work are also a big anarcho-queer punk inspiration for us. Against Me's albums before Transgender Dysphoria Blues, before LJG transitioned, are absolutely excellent but obviously less explicitly queer than everything since then. But they're anarcho-punk classics all the same.

Sarah and the Safe Word are some of our best friends and they're gay as shit. We've toured with them a couple times and had a blast. They've got a lot of eclectic jazzy/folk genre influences that they mix with face-melting guitar work, very genrequeer.

Rev Your Motor is basically a song off Danger Days, so My Chem might scratch your same itch as Dog Park. MCR is always a good idea.

Also maybe this is cheating but Skylar is in another queer punk band called Atomic Broad, so that's a little bit like more Dog Park.

Anyway we're also on this compilation record called Never Erased where you can sample 15 other queer punk bands like Sarah and the Safe Word, Middle Aged Queers, and many more

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doki-doki-imagines · 1 year

Text

Tags: smut, AFAB reader, oral sex (reader receiving), choking (male receiving)

author comment: here I am again. I always fall for the same rabbit hole that is Michael Kaiser. Save me. Meanwhile I hope you'll enjoy reading this.

"Needier than usual honey-" The blonde guy under you sing-sang "Missed your boyfriend's cock so much?" You hate when Michael acts like that, mostly because he is right. You missed your boyfriend so much it made your skin itch, you just wanted your breaths to mix, to have his hot lips on yours, to put your tingling hands on him. That’s why when Michael put a foot into your shared apartment, you just took his hand and pulled him into the bed, sat on his lap for a make-out that didn’t last as long as your boyfriend would have liked to, pushed him flat on the mattress, blonde hair sprawled on fresh covers, and with his usual annoying smirk framing his face, kitty-like eyes playful and ready to tease you.

Here you are now, tracing the engorged vein on his neck, your lips plump and stinging from the previous make-out session, your tongue lapping at his neck, softly sucking and kissing his pale skin, you'd like to go slower, to enjoy fully your partner's body after so long, but you really can't and maybe Michael can't too, the erratic rolls of his crotch into your warm core so soon a telltale sign that maybe he missed you too, hidden under all that arrogance. "Slow down liebe, I'm not going anywhere" You feel his strong hand on the back of your head, his fingers twitching in your hair trying not to hurt you. Fuck you wish you'd be able to slow down. You bite his freshly shaved neck, you can taste his sweat and feel his pulse, his cock twitching under your covered core, the thin undergarments you’re wearing the only barrier between your bodies. Meanwhile, Michael groans under you, trying to turn his head to loosen your grip on his neck, his tattoed hand grips your right thigh, making your rock harder on his lap, while the other hand grips your bum as hard as he can, squeezing and slapping, the sound a melody in his ears.

“Fuck Micha-“ a whimper escapes your mouth “I want you, want you all” A harsher slap hit your butt and you both groan.

“On my face, sit on my-fuck” Michael doesn’t even finish the phrase, already pushing your thighs towards his face, his index hooked on your panties, revealing finally your pussy.

“Cover your mouth and I’ll stop, you’re warned” He’s dead serious, Michael’s blue eyes so intense and your brain so inebriated that you can only nod.

Michael’s tongue is eager, licking your pussy like the finest beverage of his life, good enough to make you grip his hair and push him impossibly close to you, riding his tongue and setting the rhythm, your body squirming, more desperate than you’re both used to. You would be worried about suffocating him if Michael wasn’t so insistent on keeping your hips anchored on his face, his tongue never sitting still, his nose wrinkled and his pupils blown in ecstasy; he loves so much being used by you.

The orgasm is so near that some tears start to roll down your face, you lick some away and at that moment you feel it, his hips grinding into the air, his cock slapping onto his abdomen, precum already staining his abs.

“Micha!-Stop, I wanna-“

“I know liebe, fuck-shit-“ You try to pull away, but his strong hands don’t give you enough space for movement “just a tiny bit more-“ You finally pushed your core away from his face, but his tongue is following your warm pussy, his hot muscle licking thin air, a string of your pleasure still link you.

“Wanna cum on your dick Micha-“ The groan he lets out after hearing your words can’t even be described as sinful; it isn’t enough.

“Fuck, hop on my dick like a horny bunny, show your emperor how much you want to be fucked dumb” You almost want to cry when he finally penetrates you, he is stretching you so good it’s almost hard to breathe, the broken breath you hear after grinding on him a clear sign that your boyfriend is on your same boat.

“Liebe I won’t last long, you are so tight, fuck- choke me!” And you do, your fingertips follow the thorns on his arms, and the touch lingers a little before you grip his neck with both your soft hands.

You do as he taught, thumbs under his Adam’s apple, fingers tightening on his jugulars hard enough to fog his brain, soft enough to hear the safe word.

But you must be doing a good job, his eyes rolled back, and the meow he let out a telltale sign of his impending orgasm.

His hips stutter under yours, a slow rhythm is long forgotten, he manhandles your hips upwards so he can reach that point, the one that will make you cry harder, make you sigh like a fool for his cock meanwhile, his sinful broken moans give you goosebumps, you both losing yourself in the throes of pleasure.

Your thighs give in too tired to keep going, but Michael has long regained control, his hips doing most of the work, abusing your sopping wet hole so fast you almost jump off him, the indents of his fingers will leave nasty bruises on your skin.

It’s when you are near your apex that you let go of his neck, red bruises already evident on his neck even under the tattoo, fingers crawling to his cheek to hold his face, the softest gesture ‘till now. He looks at you, shocked to have his airways free so early, he tilts his head a bit, looking for your next move, but never slowing down his thrusts.

“I missed you so much, darling” It’s soft, almost a whisper and Michael can still hear it, the sadness, the loneliness, the weight those words carried. Sadly the blonde’s brain is fucked too good to be able to form a coherent sentence, thank God his heart gave him a helping hand.

He lifts himself up and kisses you, lips slotted with yours eating every broken moan you make, hands now pushing you into his hard body, slotted perfectly, mouths never leaving each other, oxygen useless when you can both live off your shared love.

That’s how you both cum, in each other arms, copious tears rolling down your cute face, fat droplets of sweat on your partner’s face.

“I missed you too liebe” He swipes the hair that stick on your face, his voice as sweet as honey. You nod and feel some other tears staining your face, you kiss him again, hard, you want to imprint the memory of his lips on yours. Michael kisses you with equal passion, rolling you under his body, breaths heavy and still broken.

But you both know the night ahead of you is still long.

#bllk smut #blue lock smut #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you

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divijohm · 10 months

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Game night with the pastas

🎯 This is a way to keep harmony in the mansion and prevent that hell gets there. It's like a purge day, they can do (almost) everything that they desire in this one game night as long as they behave before and after

🎯 there'll be all kinds of games you can imagine, from Mario kart to black jack to monopoly. And all of the pastas will participate in at least 2 of them

🎯 Everyone knows Ben is the king of Mario kart but, surprisingly enough, Sally is as good as if not a little bit better than him. Maybe is because everyone takes easy on her or maybe is because she's that good.

🎯 Once in a blue moon, the pastas will convince Slender to join them in the game night. When he does he absolutely SMASHES everyone in almost all games, centuries of life (and maybe his mind reading power) made him a god in games. The only ones that he doesn't win are the electronic ones but "is just because I can't play them" in his words ((the truth is that he hasn't figured out how to even grab the controller))

🎯 Surprise to some, Jeff sucks in almost every game except Mario kart and black jack

🎯 They WILL play cards against humanity in every game night. Jane, Nina and Kate are the ones that win the most although everyone has their fair share of wins

🎯 They used to make money bets in various games but it would result in almost all of them cheating and in absolute caos. Money bets are now banned for good

🎯 Truth or dare is a must for them and everyone is forced to play.

🎯 The child pastas will participate in the beginning of the game night, it'll be significantly easier and family friendlier when they're there but as soon as they go to sleep that's when the real show begins

🎯 One time (after the childs are in bed) they played a strip game. Masky was the only one fully clothed after it ends, although he didn't cheat everyone secretly thinks he did.

🎯 Blood painter and LJ are kings in "guess who" with 3 or less clues they can already get it right

🎯 They always play Uno to end the night, is quick and fun. They'll have quirky rules like the "7 no talk", "9 slap the pile" and "0 switches", combining +2s with +4s is allowed and stacking them is also allowed. Due to the huge number of players they'll combine 3 or 4 decks Wich results in an significant increase of special cards which equals more caos

🎯 They have almost all the board and videogames known to man is insane

🎯 By the children request, they one time played hide and seek in the woods. It took almost all night for it to end

🎯 Toby smashes everyone in poker, I'll not elaborate

🎯 there's always alcohol, all kinds. wich if you stop to think isn't a very good idea. Mentally unstable people some of them taking heavy medication, competitive games and alcohol aren't exactly a good mix but who cares right?

🎯 MUSIC!! They have a collective playlist that lasts AT THE VERY LEAST 13 hours. They put it on random every game night. It goes from children music, to funk to rock and heavy metal to classical to pop. Is super chaotic

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mggsv · 7 months

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Personal Chef

poc f!reader x Toji Fushiguro (18+)

summary: As you finally land your dream job as a personal chef, you quickly find out it’s not what you though it would be.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, toji is 28),food play, squirting, oral (f receiving) , SLIGHT porn with plot, praising

“You will be given your own living space in the penthouse in order to cook breakfast, lunch and dinner for the Ceo.”

“Right.”

“You will stay Monday-Friday, weekends off. You cannot stay here during the weekends. If you cannot work this way speak now.”

“It’s fine.”

“Perfect. You will not bother, speak to, or interrupt the Ceo at any given time. You are not friends, you are not worker buddies. You cook his food, that is it.”

“Right.”

“You will do the grocery shopping. Here’s what he usually likes to get, and his diet plan. Please stick to this list. If he asks you for something else then all means go ahead, however don’t get too comfortable doing so. This is your job. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Any questions?”

“…no“

“Great! Follow me.”

You stood there while the blue eyed, white haired man went on and on about your new life. You held a white folder in your hand, information about your “boss” who you weren’t supposed to formally meet, and various to-do’s. In fact you were to be completely invisible, “like a maid” the man had said at some point. You bit the inside of your cheek, almost regretting this. You hated having to adjust to new things, let alone staying at someone else’s home? The life of a private chef was something, but it was your dream. You finished college at the top of your class. You could do anything, and you chose what the little girl all those years ago wanted.

You certainly didn’t expect anything of the job other than the amazing pay and life style, instead you got that and more.

“Toji…” You moan, back arching on the marble kitchen counter. His tongue licking at your folds, licking at the syrup he poured just a minute before. “Fuck baby.. you make this yourself?” He groans, having another lick. Your juices mixed with the sweet tasting syrup went straight to his cock.

“M..Mhm..” Your hand tangled in his hair, eyes shutting tightly. You felt his lips suck on your clit, a sweet humming coming from him. Your legs twitch feeling his sticky fingers re-enter you. The sound of your juices as he finger fucked you drove you wild. Your hips rocked with the small thrusts. “Good fucking pussy..that’s my girl.”

“F-Fuck fuck-“ you whine, legs twitching at the feel of another finger slowly working its way inside. “My good fuckin girl.” Toji cooed. your hips rock against his face, his nose buried deep into your heat. You let out a small breath, feeling your cunt gush over Toji’s face. Eyes rolling as he slurped every drop, careful not to waste. “Let it all out..” he moans.

Toji never wasted his food. He always ate until he was full. His big hands pushed your thighs back, spread wide over the counter. You whimpered, your nerves skyrocketing at the thought of another maid catching you in the act with your boss. His tongue entered you quick, the muscle flicking in the right places. “Gonna cum..” You push his head further. “m’gonna cum Toji-“ He lifts his head up, eyes staring deep into yours, slick glistening on his chin.

“You gonna what?” He says. You balance yourself on your elbows. Your chest moved as you panted. Toji’s eyes trailed the pierced nubs with nothing but hunger. It was lunch time after all, and you were his personal chef. “nothing- sir.” You breathe. Toji reaches beside you, the homemade syrup still warm. He wastes no time pouring it over your breast. “That’s too bad,” he’s pulling his shirt over his head, hands moving to unbuckle his belt. His thick cock springing free, hard and leaking. “I’m fuckin starving.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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Endurance 1

Warnings: this fic will include obsessive behaviour, possible non/ducbon, bullying, and other elements which may not be specifically triggered. Please be cautious in continuing on to the story.

Character: Walter Marshall

Summary: A fellow gym go makes your workouts even more taxing.

Please reblog and leave some feedback, preferably in a reblog but you can always drop by my asks. I always love working in y'alls ideas with these AUs so I am so excited to hear from you.

As always, take care of yourself <3 be kind and be patient. Love you.

No tag lists. Please review my pinned and bio for guidelines.

You come out of the changing room and peek at the wall mirror as you pass. You admire your new bubblegum pink leggings and polka dot top. It’s a bit out there but you’ve seen neons in this place that make your retinas burn. Besides, you’ve never been shy when it comes to fashion. It’s not just your passion, it’s your job.

It’s late enough that the bodies there are far and few between. You prefer the nights when the gym feels like a ghost town. The air is quiet but not stagnant.

Your water bottle swings on its handle from your hand as your bouncy steps keep in time with the boppy music thrumming in your earbuds. Your workout mix is a nice blend of retro and contemporary bass hits. You catch yourself humming and stamp it down. Sometimes, you forget other people can perceive you, not that there’s many around to so.

You find an empty mat. They all are. You put your bottle down and start your stretches. Your late night sessions help clear your mind though it never really stops. In your mind, you’re seeing pleats, seams, and ruffles.

Your body moves without thinking. It’s all muscle memory. You’re no gym rat, you don’t go that hard, just enough to loosen up your muscles. Your note overly swoll as the young ones call it. You’re fit enough for a light jog and the stairs don’t leave you winded like they used to.

After your stretches, you slurp loudly from the straw of your water bottle, walking with it still between your lips as you head for an elliptical. You can just let the repetitive motion take over. You pop your lips off the tub and slip the bottle into the little plastic holder on the side of the machine.

As you climb up, you see another figure across the floor. The man sits on the end of a weight bench. For a moment, it looks, even feels, like he’s watching you. From there, you can’t see very well. You don’t wear your glasses in the gym since you lost a pair to a hungry leg press.

You can make out dark hair and his burly form. Hazy but wide enough to clock. Most people around here are stacked. You’re too casual for all that. And you like a piece of tiramisu with your Friday lattes.

You pick your speed and start to climb. You cling to the machine and rock your head to the music. Once more, your throat vibrates and you have to remind yourself to stop. You can’t help it, you love Destiny’s child. Does that date you? For someone working in fashion, you can’t ever risk that.

You zone out, vision blurring as you let your body do the work. The sweat speckles and slicks across your skin. Damn, you might just be bootylicious after this work out.

Your fitbit rumbles and you look down. You’re in the zone. You keep going until you hit thirty minutes and slow down. You cool off for ten minutes and swipe up your bottle, sucking on it greedily as you head back to the mats.

You swing out your arms and stretch your legs in slowly lunges. You bend forward, touching each toe with opposite hand, lingering with your ass up as you brace your hips. A sudden clang has you standing straight so fast you nearly topple onto your butt.

You throw out your arms to catch your balance as you let out a pathetic, ‘woah-oh-oh'. You look over at the man as begins reps with the heavy dumbbells. You’ve never gotten above the tens. His blue eyes flash in your direction and you give a sheepish smile.

You don’t want to seem weird so you return to your stretches. Arms up, lean to one side, then the other. You hear a strange rumble, like thunder, and look over at the man as he continues to work his traps, staring at you. You could even call it a glare.

You tap your ear bud as you face him, “sorry?”

“Do you have to make that noise?” He snarls.

Your brows pop up. We’re you humming again? Oops.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I was,” you smile and before you can tap play, he scoffs.

“Typical,” he grumbles as alternates to biceps.

He’s built. He’s arms are bigger than your head. Probably. You don’t think he’d let you compare for scale. You drop your hand without tapping.

You get down and extend your legs in front of you. His breaths underline your movement as you bend one leg over the other and push your straight arm against it as you twist. As you do the other side, facing him, his gaze flicks over again.

“You put more time into choosing that outfit than you do working out,” he shakes his head.

You blanch. Oh wow. You must have been really out of tune if he’s that grumpy. You give a tight-lipped smile and keep going. He’s not the first grouch you’ve dealt with. Your editor is a chronic miser.

You straight arms and legs and bend to touch your toes. You then pull your arms back and plant your hands. You lift your pelvis and torso and lean your head back, raising yourself in a straight line as you hang your head back.

“Form is off,” he mutters.

You lower back down and look at him again.

“Oh, uh, do you have any tips?” You ask curiously. He grimaces. You push your shoulders up and tilt your head, “well, if you think of any, I'd be happy to work on it. I’d hate to hurt myself.”

You get to your knees and groan as you push yourself to your feet. He tuts as gets down to plank, still gripping the weights. He lifts the left and puts it back down, then the right. You watch him for a minute, impressed by his strength. Your wary of lifting too much, you don’t trust yourself.

“You think your cute,” he sneers under his breath.

“Um, sometimes,” you hover across from him, “I just thought you might know more than me--”

“Of course I do,” he puffs between lifts.

“Mm, okay, well, I’d love to learn--”

“They got trainers for that,” he snips as he finishes his reps and puts his knees down.

“Right, um, sorry to bother then. I was only... asking,” you turn and grab your bottle.

You flip the top up again and slurp. You get to the bottom, sucking air loudly up before giving up. He huffs and stands with the weights, slamming them back on the rack.

“Do you have to make so much goddamn noise?” He stands straight and turns to you, crossing his thick arms. You stop short and part your lips.

“It’s empty, I didn’t--”

“It’s not the only thing’s that empty,” he taps his skull, “go back to the mall, girl.”

You scrunch your nose, “you don’t have to be rude, mister.”

“Honesty is a gift,” he snorts.

You pull your chin back. You didn’t mean to annoy him and you apologised already. You’re a nice person but you don’t appreciate his tone.

“Well, if I’m being honest,” you put your hands on your hips, “you’re not very nice.”

He chortles as a crease forms in his forehead, “and you’re not as cute as you think.”

“What does it matter what I think I am?” You challenge, “I didn’t ask you.”

“No, you just float around like some airhead and disturb everyone else,” he accuses.

You peer around, “there’s no one here.”

He drops his arms and lifts his chin. He steps forward and you waver, just a bit, put off by his size.

“I’m here,” he says.

You blink. What does that mean?

He takes another step and you stare at him, necks and cheek burning. His words strike an epiphany. It’s just you and him. He’s a lot stronger than you.

Another step and you put your hands up, “mister, you better not come any closer.”

He scoffs again, “or what? Are you going to cry?”

You pout and shake your head, “no, but I... I could scream. Or bite.”

He shakes his head, “what do you think I’m gonna do, girl? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Make yourself the victim. You need the attention to make you feel special.”

He’s getting closer.

“I said stay away,” you project your voice as best you can, “I’m not afraid of you, mister.”

He chuckles and tilts his head. He stops, just a step away from you, “aren’t you?’

Your eyes meet his and you stand trapped in the snare of his glower. His blue eyes are deep and fiery, his chiseled face is framed by dark curls and a thick beard, and his chin is cleft handsomely. He’s fearsome, a bear in man’s flesh. You’re no more than helpless hare.

You back away and his mouth slants in triumph. He’s won. You turn and gulp, gripping tight your bottle as your sneaker squeaks loudly. You scurry away, buzzing with adrenaline.

“That’s right, you run away, girl, run as fast as you can,” he calls after you, “not very, I’m sure.”

You keep a brisk walk as you hurry towards the locker room and push inside. Your heart is hammering and your breathless as you reach your locker. You put the bottle on the bench and clutch the sides of your head. You’re dizzy as you try to get a rein on your frazzled nerves.

You thought you left the bullies behind in high school, over a decade ago. In that second, you’re right back in your teenage years. Your eyes sting with tears and your stomach churns with humiliation. That glimmer of insecurity creeps back into you.

No, no. You’re an adult. You’re a grown woman. You have a job and a life you love. You’re nothing they said you were. You proved them all wrong and you will prove that butthead wrong too.

#walter marshall #dark walter marshall #dark!walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #drabble #series #gym au #au #night hunter #endurance

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lazyjellyfish300 · 3 months

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With New Eyes Every Time 🌊🪸🐚👁️

Miguel O'Hara x Reader S/O

Synopsis: Aquarium date with Miguel! 😄💕 Not much else to say. Word count 2.6k

A/N: inspired by my amazing moot @huniedeux ! Thank you for making a post about wanting to go to the aquarium and inspiring me in the process! 🥰 All thanks to you! 🫶🏽 Also really need to thank @hikaru-sama for being so patient and amazing at helping me with Spanish translations! 🖤🫶🏽 I owe you my life lol 😫

Crocodile facts I used came from: Royal Society Publishing and Wildlife Sydney AU (I kept getting confused on the crocodile embryo fact and the Royal Society Publishing ended up being the correct one in regards to that fact)

CW: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, A SMIDGE SUGGESTIVE SO MINORS DNI, BRIEF MOMENT OF GRIEF, OTHER THAN THAT JUST FLUFFY FLUFF. No mention of reader's gender.

"Well, actually, it's your turn to pick the date spot this time." Miguel hums as he gently blows on his oatmeal before taking a spoonful.

"Goddamn it...I'm so bad at choosing." You drum your nails against your coffee mug, the motion generating small tinkles of sound against the white porcelain.

Miguel smirks, "Thought since I'm a Libra, I'm the one who's supposed to be indecisive?"

"Doth mine ears decieve me?!" You clasp your hand to your chest, making a gasp of over exaggerated astonishment. "Astrology's #1 hater is reciting accurate lore of his own sign back to me?!"

Miguel shakes his head, blowing air out of his nose in amusement. "Nah, I'm still the number one hater." He winks. "Just proving to you that when you talk, I do listen. Even if I'm bad at responding."

"Bah." You wave your hand at him and sip your coffee, shifting your thoughts to where you'd like to go on your date with him this time. Truth is, Nueva York was huge. You hadn't been to all the restaurants and bars and every single spot just yet. You just had a few favorites that you kept on rotation.

Miguel, a man of routine and structure, didn't mind that one bit. Actually, there was a place you did really want to go to, you just hope he'll be okay with it since you were just there together for Valentine's.

"Perhaps..."

"Mhmm?" Miguel turns the page of his newspaper, doing his best to be responsive to you while getting caught up on yesterday's news.

"Don't be mad at me..."

"Mad at you?" Miguel's eyes flicker from the newsprint to yours. Scarlet spotlights on you.

"The aquarium." You say finally, your lips pull into a cheeky smile to indicate that you're well aware of your redundant choice but you don't care because you're dying to go anyway.

The corner of Miguel's mouth tugs a little into a half smile. "That's the spot, huh? You think I was going to be mad at you for choosing the aquarium again?"

You shrug. "Well, I do drag us there a lot. But it's so fun! I love seeing the fish and everything. You know me. I can't get enough of that stuff."

Miguel gives you a warm smile. "Well, the aquarium it is then. And believe me, that's farrr from one of my least favorite places we go. It's actually one of my favorites, too."

You echo his warmth, mixing it with some playfulness in your tone, "Oh yeah, I should've known, you love that under the sea, nerdy stuff too, huh?"

Miguel chuckles. "Guilty." He stands up, picking up his empty bowl. "Vamos, los peces esperan." (Let's go, the fish are waiting)

----

You can't help but smile giddily as you walk around the vast aquarium. It's dimly lit, and not very busy at this time, to both yours and Miguel's relief. The fact it was a Wednesday likely helped, since the rare occasion when Miguel's days off coincided with yours were quite sporadic and random.

First, you started with the reptiles. As you walked in the more brightly lit section, you peeled off your hoodie and tied it around your waist as the humidity of the exhibit started to get to you. Moisture hung in the air and the spattering sounds of water hitting rocks from the waterfall that stood tall in the middle of the exhibit created the illusion you were somewhere tropical, a welcome respite away from the March wind chill of Nueva York.

Frog croaks, monkey shrieks, and clicking and chattering of birds rustle in the exhibit, creating the ambiance of a rainforest. You look up at the large bird habitat in front of you, shielded by thin netting, groups of colorful birds hanging out in small clusters, rotating between perching and flying from one resting spot to another. A large smile breaks out on your face when your eyes land on a toucan perched on a twig garland hanging from the ceiling, busy cleaning his feathers.

"Babe look..." You say in a hushed voice. Miguel follows your gaze and his face breaks out into a smile as well, admiring the cute little bird as he ruffled and stroked his black feathers and puffed up his white bosom with pride.

Miguel nudges your side playfully with his hip. "He takes a long time to get ready, kind of like someone I know..."

You try to nudge him pitifully back in response, but Miguel stays anchored in place with a chuckle.

You move on to look at the geckos, lizards, snakes, and caimans as well. A baby crocodile sits with his belly dipped in a shallow pool of water, legs splayed out and mouth wide open, basking in the warmth emitted from the heat lamp at the top of his tank.

"He's SOOOO cute!" You gush, leaning your head just a little closer to the glass. Miguel looks away from the yellow poison dart frog exhibit and follows your squealing noises, putting his hands in his pockets as he stands next to you with a smirk.

"Not sure if cute is how I'd describe him..." Miguel tilts his head at the mini croc, its green eyes still unmoving. "He'll grow up to be an apex predator like his parents."

"Look at you, Mr. Wildlife." You look up at him, impressed. "What else do I not know about Kenny here?"

"Kenny?"

"That's his name, babe. It says so on the sign."

"Oh." Miguel laughs. "Well... crocodiles have three eyelids."

"Oh, you told me that one already, baby. What else?"

Miguel smiles and lists some more facts for you. You love it when he's like this. He was like a sponge, always absorbing knowledge that other people might have found boring or useless. He'd gladly tell you about it too, and he never ever made you feel silly or dumb for not knowing something.

"The sex of embryos in crocodiles is actually determined by the temperature at the time of incubation. So, Kenny here was probably incubated at a higher temperature which is more associated with producing males, whereas cooler temperatures are associated with producing females." Miguel points.

You click your tongue in admiration. "I learn something new every day. Let's hear one more."

Miguel purses his lips in thought for a moment, then says, "See those lumps and bumps on his back? Those are actually called, ‘scutes’. They actually enable them to be more stealthy in the water. They stop it from rippling."

Your eyebrows raise, your eyes still on Kenny and then they move to the tank beside him with the bigger crocs. "Whoa..." you nod. "Well, that proves my point earlier."

Miguel raises an eyebrow.

"Crocs have scutes. So they are s'cute!" You cross your arms triumphantly and head towards the ocean part of the aquarium.

Miguel thinks in his head that you probably wouldn't use that word for long if you knew how large crocodiles killed and ate their prey, but he doesn't argue. He smiles to himself and gives a curt nod in farewell to Kenny before he leaves to catch up to you.

----

Your eyes get big as you enter the room with jellyfish tanks. Soft blue and pink globs glide effortlessly in the water, sinking down slowly before using their tentacles to propel upwards, bobbing hypnotically in dizzying movements.

You and Miguel keep stealing glances at each other when the other isn't looking. You turn to look at him once more, the bioluminescence from the jellyfish mixed with the blacklights of the aquarium cast a soft glow on his features, the crimson in his eyes making him look just as ethereal as the beauty of the sea you're both gazing at. His full lips jut outwards subtly as he purses them in thought, his cheekbones sharp, framing that divine, sculpted face of his.

He looks at you, catching you staring at him this time. You take his hand, wrapping your other hand around his forearm to pull him closer to you. His head turns briefly for a moment, making sure you two are the only ones in the room before he leans down and gives you a soft kiss, that jittery feeling in your stomach when one of his hands cups the side of your throat, pressing you a little harder against his lips. Before you pull away, you add a lingering bite to his bottom lip, making him blush.

"Pórtate bien...." (Behave yourself) He murmurs, running his tongue along the slight puffiness on his bottom lip your teeth left behind, trying to calm the small flame you lit inside him.

Your mouth curls into a grin at the mini rise you got out of him, and you walk into a new area, marvelling at the saffron-colored coral and dainty seahorses.

Miguel moves to the other side of the exhibit where the largest tank resides with an assortment of fish swimming in and out of a large, fake shipwreck, but stops in his tracks when he sees the clownfish and regal tangs. A twinge of sadness pulls at his heart.

After watching the seahorse disappear behind a seaweed stalk, you turn and notice where Miguel is standing and your eyebrows knit in worry as you take long strides to come stand by his side, squeezing his hand.

He exhales at your touch and squeezes back in response, not needing to say anything because you can read him better than anyone. Sometimes this part could be rather hard for him. Clownfish and Regal Tangs were the species of Nemo and Dory.

Finding Nemo was Gabi's favorite movie.

You both watch the colorful fish in peaceful silence, darting in and out behind rocks, speeding up and slowing down, jolting and occasionally bumping into one another as they weave and glide through their underwater habitat around the large sunken ship.

Eventually, you pull Miguel gently by the hand leading him to one of the empty benches behind you. You sit and watch the fish together some more, enjoying the serenity of the buzzing undersea ecosystem before you, smiling when you see the comically large sea turtle next to all of his smaller fishy cohorts, dodging them and spinning like a rotisserie above your heads like it was second nature for him.

After a few more minutes, you turn to Miguel, "Well, last up is the shark exhibit." You try and brighten the mood a little, "That one's your favorite. You ready?"

Miguel turns and looks down at you, his arm still resting on the top of the bench behind you. His hand comes to give your shoulder a squeeze. "You sure? This one's your favorite. We can take our time."

You try to shake your head and play it off, "No, really I've seen it a hundred times, plus I think there's a new tank with stingrays or something..."

Miguel knows when you're trying to be too nice, a not uncommon behavior of yours. "We have all afternoon, really. I want to make sure you're having fun." He reassures you.

Your eyes melt as you sit back in your seat, indulging in staring at the fish for just a while longer like you wanted. Once you're satisfied, you let him know with a nod of your head and a squeeze of his hand and you two make your way to the escalators that run to the lower level, taking you to the shark exhibit.

As you do, you can't help but think about the times when you invited your friends and they practically rushed you through the whole experience, asking if there was anything new you could look at instead or passing up on going to the aquarium altogether, saying they've seen it all.

Miguel was one of the only people in your life who didn't make you feel bad for revisiting places you loved because it made you happy to re-experience it all over again. Hell, he was eager to and even expected an invite each time you did.

Source: Google search, from Las Vegas Magazine

You press your lips together in anticipation and your eyes go wide as if you're looking at it for the first time as you enter the large, underwater tunnel, dozens of sharks swimming in every direction, the shimmery reflection of the water and aqua light of the exhibit immersing you into a whole new world. It takes your breath away and you slow down, pausing in one spot right in the middle of the tunnel, losing yourself in the oceanic beauty above your head. It's one of those no camera moments, a time that requires silence, appreciation, and the person you love right next to you.

Miguel's watching you with sheer admiration, slightly envious even that something else could make you that speechless with adoration. He wants to make you feel that way all the time. It's memories like these with you that he's so glad he lowered the gates of his heart all that time ago. Never guessing when you crossed his path, it would lead to moments as blissful as these. The best part of the whole thing is that they won't end anytime soon. As long as you'd let him, he'd continue calling you all his. Could now be the time to make it permanent? Perhaps. No, you deserved something more planned out, something really special. He hadn't even gotten you that ring that you liked so much, sending not so subtle hints by texting him the link to it every so often while he was at work.

When he feels it's a good time, he approaches you from behind, touching the corner of your elbow, curious to know what's been on your mind. "¿En que piensas, mi alma?" (What are you thinking, my soul?)

You hum and turn around, following that low, mesmerizing voice of his, and you look up at him, the face of your lover looking down at you, warmth dominating his countenance that pulls you right in.

"Just thinking about how much I love coming here with you. You never make me feel bad for wanting to just take my time and see everything, you know? Even if it's my quadrillionth time seeing it. I just love the beach and the ocean, you know? It's like a brand new experience every time."

Miguel smiles down at you, then his eyes briefly wander, the group in front of you starts moving on so you two are left alone once again. He takes a deep breath and turns you back around so you're looking at the sea life once again, keeping his hands on your arms as he gives them a little love squeeze. "Kind of like how I see you, hmm?"

You chuckle, leaning backwards into him. His cologne enveloping you in that embrace that made your heart flutter and your knees grow weak every time. "What do you mean, Mig?"

"Con ojos nuevos cada vez." (With new eyes every time)

You close your eyes with your head against his chest and his arms wrapped around you for several moments. You bring your own hands up to his, sliding your fingers underneath his jacket sleeves in search of the warm skin of his forearms to which he softly exhales into your hair at the sensation.

You murmur to him, "Can we get smoothies on the way home?"

"Hmmm, you don't like my green smoothie recipe?" Miguel asks with a teasing grin.

"It had.. too much kale for my liking."

"Ouch."

"Sorry, baby."

"Ha, ha...well, I suppose we could. In that case we might as well get lunch. You need real food too, not just a smoothie. You're ready to go already?"

"Just a little longer?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

You smile and lean back into him once more, letting your bodies lean against each other in familiar, loving solitude as the sharks swim around you in the tunnel of the aquarium, white flashes of light shimmering against the glass every so often that the water hits the sunlight that's slowly begun to peek out from the afternoon skies above.

🌊🦈🐟🐠🐡💙

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel ohara fluff #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #Spotify

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