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fleshbride · 5 months

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A HOUSE IN NEBRASKA. ────── ཐི Satoru Gojo x Fem Black Reader. In which a young man and his small town lover run to a house in Nebraska to escape the traumas of their hometown. ཋྀ

♱ CW: major character deaths, suicide, angst with a happy ending, brief alcoholism, racism/microagressions, childhood best friend & country satoru, small town bullshit, a single derogatory use of ‘nigga’. fluff. pet names such as: sugar plum, doll, honey, princess, baby girl, dream girl, darling, sweet thing & sunshine. smut; unprotected sex, whiny service dom gojo, sub reader. cervix fucking, fingering, oral (f! receiving), riding, breeding, extreme amounts of praise bc satoru talks so fucking much, overstimulation, dumbification, light choking, marking, nipple play, body worship, dacryphilia, begging, pussy drunk satoru. satoru is utterly in love with you and does not try to hide it. chubby reader.

♱ this fic is inspired by a house in nebraska by ethel cain, my favorite singer <3 it’s one of my much much longer fics… this fic is actually so ouch. i’m so so so sorry guys. like yeah there’s PASSIONATE love making, but it’s so so so sad. i actually sobbed writing this. it’s not proof read so pleaseeeee excuse any any mistakes!

♱ wc: 10.1k

You didn’t think it would hurt this much. You didn’t think you’d feel them lodge in your throat, push down your esophagus with a burn. You take more gulps of water, as you gasp and choke. It helps a little bit. You swallow more. And more. And more. Until the bottle of oxycodone is empty. How many were in there? About thirty. You grasp at another bottle. Cross contamination is always the best method. Those go down your throat just as horribly as the rest.

You’re sitting on the floor now, waiting for your death to approach. The pills are burning down to your stomach, and you gulp more water. You stand on shaky legs, and stumble your way to your bed. It’s empty. Like so many other things. Like your heart.

You remember how you got to this point, in your final hours. As you collapse into your bed, eyes fluttering shut, you allow the memories to wash over you.

Two years ago, you lived in a small town in Alabama. It was your nineteenth birthday and you were intent on celebrating in a way that satisfied you. However, while legally an adult, you still weren’t old enough to do too much. And frankly, you weren’t well liked within town. Why? Well, in such a small town, even one you grew up in, that was predominantly another race… They weren’t very accepting to your differences. They weren’t very accepting to your skin, to your hair, to your body, to your personality. They weren’t accepting to you at all.

Even though you grew up there like the rest of them, played with their children, held some of their sons and daughters while they cried and helped them pass their classes, and walked the graduation stage with them. You were still an outsider.

And it was okay — because you had Satoru.

Satoru Gojo, the one of the only other people of color in the entire town — even though he was pale haired, with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, like everyone else in the town — was your best friend. You two had been best friends since third grade when he beat up some kid that called your afro ugly, and then you kicked some kid in the balls when he made fun of Satoru’s eyes, since he was Asian. Even at a young age, you two knew that those things were wrong — and you had to stick together.

And you did. You’ve stuck together all your lives, even through middle school, when your boobs started growing, and your hips started widening, and he got taller and his voice got deeper, and all of a sudden, there was this weird feeling. You stuck together through high school, when you got your first boyfriend, and he got his first girlfriend, neither of which ended well. Stuck together even when everyone twanged out, “Are y’all fuckin’?” You stuck together.

So of course, your birthday is spent with him.

Satoru still lives with his parents, technically. They own a ranch on the outskirts of town, and Satoru has his own personal little refurbished barn house, which he got for his graduation present. You’re always there, even more than your own home. Even now, you’re waiting on the wraparound porch of your house, hand over your eyes as you squint into the distance.

You can make out Satoru, on a horse, and with another at his side. He didn’t. You feel yourself squeal at the sight of the familiar white horse; your favorite one. Her name is Jezzy, and she’s the only white horse they have. You and Jezzy had bonded when Jezzy was first born, a little calf. You’ve been her favorite, and vice versa ever since. Frankly, she likes you more than the man that takes care of her.

You don’t wait for Satoru to get to your porch. You run to him, your gladiator sandals slapping against the dirt path and making your white-painted toes dusty. The pink and green floral dress you wear flutters around your knees as you sprint, the wind whipping your neck. Satoru hops down from his caramel horse, Honesty. He’s running to meet you half way, and the smile that had made its way onto your face only grows wider.

He yells your name, and you yell his, and the two of you collide. You throw your arms around his shoulders, and his arms encircle your waist as he lifts you up into a spin. “Happy Birthday, girl,” he laughs in your ear when he finally puts you down. His familiar Southern twang bouncing in your ears. He kisses your forehead, before taking a finger to run through your newly straightened hair.

“Yer curls are gone,” he says, almost sad, his lips pulling in a familiar pout. “You’re gonna get ‘em back, right? Love it when your hair’s like that.” He leans his arm on your shoulder, a familiar habit, even though he’s much taller than you.

“Yes, Satoru,” you muse, “They’ll be back next week, no worries.” You laugh as he whoops, and jumps in the air, clicking his heels together and causing dust to rise up. When he lands, he gives you a proud grin, folding his arms. You notice what he wears. He’s wearing a black polo shirt, that’s tucked into blue jeans and his jeans are messily tucked into his boots. You chuckle. Him and those fucking boots. His wind breaker is thrown over the polo. However, your eyes linger on how his chest presses against the polo. His white locks of hair frame his face, although his cowboy hat smushes his hair, and his sapphire eyes gaze at you happily. You don’t look away and he smirks.

“How’s it feel bein’ nineteen, sugar plum?” Satoru asks as he leads you to Jezzy, who’s quick to snort at you and nuzzle your face with her huge nose. You giggle and scratch her neck, pulling away a little so she doesn’t ruin the makeup you did on your face.

“Doesn’t feel like nothin’, Satoru,” you respond, jolting as he grabs your hips and lifts you to help you onto the horse. His strong hands on your hips make you bristle a little, but you should be used to it now, shouldn’t you? “Just getting older.” He grins up at you from below, giving a little laugh. “Yeah, I get it, plum. I’ll be turnin’ twenty in December, and man… I was just a tyke, wrestlin’ in the fields yesterday.”

You laugh, watching as he boards Honesty. You two start the horses up and begin trotting down the path. There’s a few seconds of silence, before Satoru asks, “You sure y’wanna do this birthday party?”

Ah. You were so swept up by Satoru’s arrival that you forgot where he was taking you. His mother threw a party for you, and decided to invite ‘damn near everyone in town’, according to Satoru. He was very dubious, considering your treatment, but you agreed to it. At first, your mother wanted it to be a surprise party, but Satoru insistently shut that down.

“I’m sure, ‘Toru,” you say gently. The male smacks his teeth, and rolls his eyes a little, before adding, “We can tell my mama to cancel everything, y’know? She won’t be mad at’cha. She knows that the townspeople are dickheads.” You refuse the urge to laugh, because he’s right. They are dickheads. However, you have hope.

“It’s fine,” you insist, “I don’t wanna waste your mom’s hard work. Plus, I’m sure nobody’s gonna do anything on my birthday.” Satoru sighs, but he doesn’t press any further. You’re not too worried; you know if something does happen, he’s right behind you, and he’ll come in swinging. There hasn’t been a time that he hasn’t. However, despite that, you can’t help but secretly feel jittery and nervous.

The rest of your ride to Satoru’s home is filled with jokes, and playful banter. The cool night air swirls around you two, making you shiver a little. You should’ve brought your cardigan. Satoru’s eyes quickly catch on and he chucks his windbreaker at you. He doesn’t say a word as you catch it, he just nods at you. You slide it on, and even in the cool air, your cheeks feel hot.

When you two get in sight of the house, Satoru whistles out, “Race ‘ya!” And it catches you off guard, but you’re quick to spur Jezzy on into canter, her strong legs sprinting forward as the two of you race towards the large ranch house. You and Jezzy win, making Satoru groan. As you both slow down, beginning to head to the stables, he shoots, “You only won ‘cause it’s your birthday!”

Your smug smile says enough about how you feel about that; even though Satoru has more experience with horses, you have your own little luck with racing — you win every race.

You watch as Satoru slides off Honesty. She brays at him and nudges his shoulder, and he chuckles, cooing to her, grabbing both of the horses’ saddle handles, pulling them into the stable. You know better than to try to get off horses on your own; you’re thrown off balance, every time, and end up on your ass. So you wait patiently as he puts Honesty in her stable, before coming over to you.

“Didn’t forget ‘ya, sugar plum,” he grins at you as he presses his hands to your hips. Instead of helping you crawl down, he simply just lifts you down. The stables smell of a mixture of horse, hay and dirt. Even though it’s not the best smell, you’re not focused on it. You’re focused on the way Satoru looks over you as he sets you on, eyes raking over your figure.

The dress that’s glued to your wide hips, draped over your plush figure. Your makeup, delicately painted on your face; he can tell you took your time on it. And you’re still wearing his jacket. He smiles, tucking a strand of your collarbone-length hair behind your ear. “Look at you,” comes his affectionate murmur, one that makes a fuzzy, bubbly feeling spread from your toes to your head. “Just a doll. Prettiest fuckin’ girl in this entire town.” You feel those feelings rising inside of you, and you try to push him away, embarrassed as you say, “Oh, stop, Satoru,” but he pulls you closer by your waist, craning down to you to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Nuh-uh, doll. You jus’ look so beautiful. You always do, but tonight you’re just… wow. Yer glowin’, Y/N.” Your heart is racing as he squeezes the plush of your waist, making you let out a ticklish giggle. Often, there are random times where he gets affectionate with you, extremely so — you should be used to these moments, but you aren’t. Your hands fist into his shirt as his lips press from your forehead, to down your chin. Your breath catches when they get too close to your lips.

This isn’t friendship anymore, is it?

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispers into your ear, finally pulling away. You look up at him, eyes wide, as you breathily respond, “Thank you…” Satoru looks down at you, smiling gently as he hold you. He murmurs, “I have a surprise for you, y’know. Think you’ll like it.” Before you can question him, he places a finger right above your lips. He’s considerate; doesn’t wanna ruin your lip combo. “A little into the party. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

The two of you pull away from each other hesitantly, and Satoru kicks at the hay as he grins at you. “Party time, birthday girl. Come on.” The two of you exit the stable, sides brushing as you walk to his house.

Within ten minutes, you regretted insisting on going. Once you entered the ranch, carols of your name and ‘happy birthday’ echoed throughout the large common room. It was decorated in gold and white, with balloons everywhere and a little banner hung up for you. Satoru’s mother gave you a large hug, and wrapped her arms around your waist, steering you around to see the cake she baked you. You were all smiles and beams, immediately falling into her, with Satoru lumbering after, your hand outstretched backwards, clasped in his.

After you saw the cake, which was tri-tiered and your favorite flavor, you were passed around from person to person. You got many hugs, from townspeople you were sure didn’t like you very much, and to be fair; you enjoyed the kind attention. You wished it was your birthday every day.

Until, you got to a certain group of young women. You had graduated with the group, even though they were nasty as hell to you. As they approached you, you knew it wouldn’t be good. Vanessa, a tall brunette with pretty hazel eyes, gave you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen, before pulling you into a hug. “Oh, Y/N! Happy birthday, baby!” She cooed, squeezing you. You swallowed, wrapping your arms around her in turn. “…Thank you, Vanessa.” Once Vanessa pulled away, her two friends, Isabel and Megan, gave you hugs also.

“Ugh, Y/N,” Isabel began, running her fingers through your shiny silk press, “You look so much prettier with straight hair! Is this your real hair?” You give an awkward laugh as you gently remove her hand from your hair, looking around for Satoru frantically. Partygoers heard her comment and turned to tune in, furthering your discomfort.

“Yeah, it’s my real hair, please don’t touch it,” you tell her sweetly, watching as she rolls her eyes a little. “I was just complimenting you! You should wear it like that all the time, it looks so much better than your other hair.” You bristle uncomfortably. Were these bitches being racist? You swallow hard and give her a nod, and a smile.

Vanessa steps forward, eyeing you over before she’s chirping loudly, “And that dress is soooo cute! But it’s kinda tight.. Have you gained weight, or something?” Your smile almost drops, but you manage to keep it up, as you let out a delayed, fake laugh. People are starting to whisper and nudge each other, and immediately, more nosy sons of bitches turn to eye you. You’ve always been a bit thicker — that’s no secret. You didn’t have the skinny white girl genes, no. You were filled in by the time you were 13, and even as a nineteen year old, you had a bit of a plump body. You weren’t overweight or obese; you were perfectly healthy. It was just the way your body was. And the fact that these girls thought they could pick on you about it?

You refused to let it happen on your birthday.

“Oh no,” you cooed gently, mirroring Vanessa’s tone, “I haven’t! But um, are you recovering?” You blink gently at her. Fine, you think mentally, if she wants to put on a show, we can do that.

“From what?” Vanessa chirps hesitantly, eyes narrowing. She didn’t think you knew, huh?

“Those butt injections you got last month!” You answer loudly, putting a hand over your heart. Vanessa’s eyes widened as she looked around frantically, as people slowly began to whisper intently. She wasn’t used to the whispers, it seemed.

You were visiting at the local doctor’s office, when you overheard the doctor’s conversation with Vanessa, she was asking some questions about pain for it. You hurried to the bathroom before you could be seen, keeping the information in your head. From the corner of your eye, you see Satoru making his way from the kitchen. He’s obviously heard what’s going on, and doesn’t look happy.

“I didn’t get no injections!” She claims, trying to take advantage of the situation, “Y/N, how could you spread such a nasty rumor?”

“Huh,” You say, “That’s real funny. So you’re just gaining weight too, hm? We should go to the gym together, do some cardio, you know? You must be eating a lot, if it’s all going to your ass!” You giggle, pushing her shoulder and making it all seem like some joke. She has no choice but to giggle with you.

“You know who I haven’t seen here?” Megan speaks up and immediately, you’re on edge. While Vanessa may be the face of the trio, she’s the one who’s more lethal and intelligent with her words. You’ve learned this too many times from high school. “Your parents, Y/N. Typical Black parents, you know? Never there when their kid needs them.” And more publicly racist. You resist the urge to grab this girl by her throat, and show her what exactly your Black parents had taught you. It isn’t like they’re absent — your father passed when you were a teen, and your mother was a chronic workaholic, struggling to provide for you.

“Crazy,” you hear a monotonous voice go behind you. You know exactly who it is, and you couldn’t be more relieved. In typical country boy fashion, Satoru is behind you, chewing on a toothpick. “Megan, weren’t ‘ya crying to me about how your poor dear ol’ daddy beats on ‘ya? Typical Megan, y’know? Always self-projectin’.” He whistles as he presses his hand to the small of your back, steering you out the ranch, the comments of the party trailing behind him. In the faint throes, you even hear, “That nigga bitch…”

You pretend it doesn’t bother you as Satoru leads you to his barn.

Once you’re comfortably nestled in the warmth of his barn, you let out your frustrations about the racism of the town. Satoru sits next to you, his toothpick still resting in his mouth. He watches you intently, before humming out, “Ya done, doll? Don’t let those assholes ruin yer day. Matter fact…” He got up, heading to his little kitchen. You only watched, still fuming a bit.

“Close yer eyes!” The white haired man yells at you, and you do so obediently, pretty brown eyes fluttering shut. You wait for him, hands folded in your lap. You hear the couch creak a little and something set on the table.

“Open ‘em,” you hear his gravelly voice tell you, and you obey. Your eyes lock on a cupcake, with a single candle in it. You soften considerably, calming down immediately.

“Aw, Satoru..” You whisper gently, placing your hand over his, eyes flickering from his face to the cupcake. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah I did,” he retorts, squeezing your hand. “You didn’t get to eat any of the cake, even though it was yours, and we needed to be alone anyways. Make a wish, honey.”

You close your eyes, leaning to the cupcake.

I wish that Satoru and I are together as long as we live, and even in death, may we stay together.

You blow out the candle then, before sliding the candle out the middle and licking the frosting off of it.

“One more thing,” Satoru says, sliding his hand into his pockets. He pulls out a golden heart-shaped locket from his pocket, dangling it around his finger. “This is for you, birthday girl.” He cracked open the locket, showing the pictures. On one side was a picture from third grade, the first day they met matter of fact — Satoru’s mother had taken it as a memento. On the other side was your graduation picture, where Satoru had his arm wrapped around you and his lips pressed into your forehead. How far you two had come.

He waves the locket in front of your face, as you gasp at the picture. “We haven’t been able to find this picture years, how did you….?” Satoru only grins and shrugs, as if it was nothing at all. In your pure bliss, you throw your arms around him. His arms wrap around your waist in turn, hugging you tightly.

You can feel tears budding in your eyes as you whimper out, “This was so nice of you…! I appreciate it so much, thank you, I love you!” Satoru laughs as he rocks you, before responding, “Shh. It was no biggie. C’mere, let me put it on for ‘ya.”

You pull away gently from each other, and you turn so that your back faces him. He drapes the necklace over your chest, using his knuckles to push your chin up a bit. He fiddles with the hooks a little before getting it right and letting go. You skim your fingers over the locket before turning back around with a smile.

He opened the locket, looking at the picture. “Man. Can’t believe I found photographs of our school, on the day we met.” He smiles a little, as he looks between the two small pictures. His eyes flicker up to you, then back down. You only watch him with softening eyes. Your heart pumps, and that bubbly feeling spreads through you again. He makes you feel so warm. You’re not an idiot, you know exactly what the things you feel are. You weren’t dense; you knew for a long time.

But you can’t bear to say a word before he did. However, you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Satoru takes a deep breath, his eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. He gathers his courage before softly uttering, "I thought that you were so beautiful… it was love, I guess." His gaze remains fixed on you, his heart hanging in the balance, waiting for your response, hoping that his words have stirred something within you.

You don’t realize what he had said at first, before it registers. You double take, eyes widening as you look at him frantically. “Satoru. Satoru. It was what?” His face is pink as he looks away from you, but you were insistent, crawling closer to him as you plead, “It was what?” Your hands grab his shirt and he whistles, looking away from you.

Finally, he mumbles out, “… Was love, I guess.”

“What kind?” You press, tears bubbling in your eyes once more. It couldn’t be. He looks at you for what feels like hours. “You know what kind, darlin’. Don’t make me repeat myself. In a way I shouldn’t.”

“Say it.” You hiss, crawling into his lap. He spreads his legs immediately, making room for you as you place yourself in front of him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “Tell me.” One of his hands rests on your hip and the other trails to play with your locket.

He looks almost shy this way, his blue eyes heavy lidded as you request his words. He sucks in an inhale before he’s saying, “I love you, Y/N…. and not as your best friend. I want ‘ya to be my girl. There, said it… Please let me be yours.”

You’re silent. He wants you to be his girl. Your brain is slow to process it, slow to understand it, slow to reciprocate. However, as you reflect upon his desire for you, a wave of emotions starts to wash over you. Confusion is gradually replaced by clarity, hesitation transforms into certainty, and the realization of his affection for you fills your heart with joy. Suddenly, everything seems to make sense, like a complex jigsaw puzzle finally coming together to reveal a beautiful picture.

“Okay.” It’s all you say. Satoru’s eyes widen, as if he was expecting a rejection. Before he can answer, you’re pressing your lips to his, finally taking the initiative for fucking once. When your lips crash against him, it’s like heaven and hell have collided in a fiery, desperate match.

Satoru’s hands grasp at you, desperate, as his tongue pushes its way into your mouth, curling against your tongue. The way you two kiss is messy, and needy, saliva coats your lips, but it couldn’t be better. Satoru pants into your mouth as he runs his hands over your body feverishly.

“Fuck,” he grunts into your mouth, pulling away briefly to adjust his pants as best as possible. “So hard, you got me s’hard, doll. Shit, shit, get up, or ‘m gonna explode..” You can feel his dick, straining against his jeans beneath you. You don’t get up from your spot, and he lets out a groan into your mouth.

Your hands are sliding under his shirt, feeling the firm abs underneath, trying to touch any bit of his skin you can. His hands squeeze the swell of your ass as he nips at your bottom lip, before sliding his lips down to your throat. He begins to kiss your throat before sucking, biting, making sure your skin is covered in dark marks.

You grab his cowboy hat and throw it off, so you’re able to sink your fingers into his white locks of hair, letting out slight moans as his hands move from your ass to your tits. He caresses them through your dress, and you hiccup as he finds your nipples.

“You ain’t even wearin’ a bra?” He asks you, pulling away from the curve of your neck, to look at you. Satoru’s eyes are glazed over, and low. His face is pink, his hair is ruffled, and his lips are swollen, but he’s never looked happier.

You shake your head, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth nervously. “It didn’t look right with my dress…” Satoru only stares at you, before he’s throwing his head back, groaning. “Fuck, I can’t do this. I can’t do this, princess, I need you so bad.” His chest rises and falls so rapidly, and you can feel his bulge pressing up against you as you sit on him.

You need him just as bad as he needs you, the wetness in your panties tells you all you need to know. Satoru is looking at you with those violently blue eyes. You realize that you’ve been holding your feelings back for years, even now — your love for him, your attraction, and your pure, unadulterated desire.

“Please,” he whispers, pressing a small kiss to your lips, “Please let me put it inside you, please, just the tip.. Please, please, please, fuck, it feels like ‘m gonna fuckin’ die, please, baby girl, need your pussy s’bad….” You enjoy the way he’s acting; you’ve never been wanted like this before, and you doubt you ever will.

“Satoru, you don’t have to beg,” you murmur, draping yourself across his body, arms around his shoulders as he palms your ass and sneaks his hand down to cup your clothed heat.

“Know I don’t,” he whispers, fingers pressing against you in a way that makes you lift your hips, and whine a little. “Look at how wet you are, girl. Any more and ya just may flood your panties.” His fingers push your panties to the side and you gasp as the cold air hits your pussy. His other hand hikes up your dress, balling it up in his fist.

“Gonna make you feel good first, doll,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your jawline. “Relax, ‘nd let Satoru take care of you, mkay?” You nodded feverishly as a finger slid through your plush folds. His finger almost immediately found your clit and swirled around it, causing you to let a little mewl escape your lips. Satoru’s lips were meanwhile pulled into a smug grin at the sound you made. He maneuvered your body, so you were lying back against the couch, legs spread for him.

He tugged your panties down your legs and tossed them somewhere, before pushing the fabric of your dress up and settling between your plump thighs. Without wasting any more time, his finger circled your entrance, teasing you. You huff a little, pouting down at the white haired man, and he grins in response before sliding two fingers into you.

You moan, arching your back as pleasure seeps through you. Satoru’s long fingers reach farther than yours ever could. He smiles at you as he curls his fingers against your walls. “Such pretty moans, good girl,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your thighs, as he begins to pump his fingers inside of you. Your thighs twitch, and you grip at the couch. His fingers are skilled, scissoring and curling, as the sloppy sound of your wetness echoed through the barn. Satoru leaned forward, enclosing his lips around your clit.

The combined effort of his fingers and his mouth had you squirming and whining beneath him. He pressed a hand to your stomach, his movements halting and eyes narrowing as they snapped to you; you know what he was telling you. Stop moving or he’d stop.

You couldn’t take that. You stilled your movements, trying your best to relax as Satoru slowly resumed his ministrations, lapping at your cunt while sliding his fingers in and out of you. His fingers curled against a spot that had your toes curling as you cried out his name. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and had another finger pressing into your heat. You let out a squeal at the slight burn, hand flying to grip his hair. “Satoru-! Ah, that’s too much!” He gave you a silencing glare, blue eyes honeyed with lust. His fingers nudged your g-spot, and the whine that left your lips let him know exactly what he had pressed.

His movements all sped up, as you felt your stomach tightening. Between each of your moans was a pant, as you cried of his name. Everytime his fingertips pressed against your g-spot, you felt yourself get closer and closer to orgasm. Mixed with his tongue swirling your clit, you couldn’t take it. Your thinking got fuzzy as the rubber band in your core was pulled farther and farther. “Toru! I-I’m close!” You whimpered, as his quick, skilled movements brought you to your peak. Your eyes rolled back as you gushed all over his fingers, breathing hard. You didn’t even notice, in your stupor, when he replaced his fingers with his tongue, lapping up your essence.

His tongue was flat against your entrance, as he licked from hole to clit and back again. When you finally came to, you were whining all over again, sensitive as Satoru flicked his tongue across your bundle of nerves. You pushed his head, letting out a. “Hold on, ‘m sensitive!” Satoru smacked your hand away, mumbling out, “Shh, doll. Gimme another one.”

He dived back in between your thighs, mouth latched onto your pussy as he pressed his tongue against your hole, fat tongue working itself while he slurped at your essence. A mixture of his spit and your juices dripped down your ass – but he was quick to slide his tongue down, licking that right up.

He was messy with his mouth, unabashedly slurping, sucking, and licking everything you had to offer, the wet smacking noises echoing through the room. You would’ve been embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good.

Before long, you were about to cum a second time, eyes squeezing closed as you gasped and spasmed, letting out a broken cry as another orgasm claimed your body. Satoru was ecstatic, lapping up your cum and guiding you through your high without breaking a sweat.

Once you came down from your high, he pulled away gently, his intense gaze locked on you. His eyes glimmered, pale hair askew as he latched his mouth back to yours. His hands gripped at your dress, yanking at the sleeves to pull them down your arms, before the entire dress was coming down to your waist.

Your lips moved feverishly as you fiddled with the buttons of his polo, and he raised his arms to slide it off. His buff form was revealed, abs firm and his strong arms moving to cocoon you against him. There were gentle words being exchanged between your lips. “So gorgeous, Y/N. Fuuuck, honey, can’t wait to feel your pussy ‘round my dick.” Satoru mumbles as his fingers fumble with his jeans. However, before he unbuttons them, he looks at you. “You sure you want this, sunshine? We can stop here, and keep kissin’. Fuck what I want, ‘kay? What does m’girl want?”

God, you didn’t think that he could get any hotter. But his consideration of your wants and needs make you get even wetter. “Satoru, I want you,” you say gently, one hand pressing to the side of his face. He nuzzles into your touch, eyes softening. “Want you too, sunshine. So much I just might go insane..” He finally unbuttoned those stupid jeans, yanking them down and his boxers with it. His length sprung out, and your eyes popped out of your head.

Satoru was the size that those fake ass dick pills promised, his tip pressing just under his belly button. His tip was mushroom shaped and fat, as pink as his blushed cheeks, and weeping fat beads of precum. His length was a bit on the skinnier side, and although his girth wasn’t anything to fear too much, his length definitely was. His dick was something straight out of porn propaganda.

“Toru, that’s not gonna fit,” you found yourself saying, your eyes flickering from his length to his pretty face in anxiousness. Satoru only leaned down to kiss you, shutting you up. “It’s okay, princess” he whispered sweetly. Even now, as his dick pressed against your stomach, his tip landed slightly above your navel. “Don’t be scared, ‘m gonna take such good care of you,” his kisses went down your neck, to your chest. He kissed around your breasts, before his tongue flicked out to lick your right nipple, hardening it. He turns his head, lavishing the same attention on your left. His hands multitasked, grabbing a pillow and sliding it underneath your back.

His kisses moved to the valley of your breasts, before going down your stomach. He pressed kisses into your love handles, to your stomach, to your cunt, which made you giggle, to your thighs, before he was holding up your legs and kissing up your calves. He even kissed your feet. He traced your stretch marks lovingly, murmuring out, “Only God knows how I’ve waited for this. For you. Fuck, Y/N, you’re just so fucking beautiful. More beautiful than any of the women in this town. Shit, I could cum just lookin’ at you��”

You couldn’t help but simper at his words, face warming as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Please just fuck me already, Satoru.” His tip slid against your clit and you let out a soft whine. “Please, just…” You were silenced by the feeling of him rubbing his tip down your slit, collecting your juices before you felt him pressing against your hole.

You hissed, hands flying up to his shoulders as your nails dug into his skin. To distract you from the burn of him entering you, he began to lather kisses and lovebites across your throat and collarbones. Your hole stretched around his tip, as tears burned in your eyes, the slight pain making you shift uncomfortably.

“It’s okay, baby girl, I got you,” he whispered against your skin, tongue sliding across your throat as he sucked more hickeys onto the expanse of your throat. He pushed his tip in, and once the burn of it faded, he fed you inch by inch of his dick. Your pussy constricted around him, sucking him in greedily as your juices coated his length.

The feeling of him bottoming out inside of you had you letting out a high-pitched whine, eyes rolling back. Above you, Satoru let out a whine identical to yours. “Oh, f-fuck,” he stuttered, his eyes squeezing shut, “Fuck, almost came. You’re so warm, ‘nd wet— You feel so good, baby doll, oh shit.. Your pussy’s grippin’ me so nicely, fuck, I-I can’t take it.. Oh my God, tell me when I can move…”

Satoru was breathing heavily, as he looked down at you, your pretty face contorted in pleasure as his tip nudged against your cervix. Just the feeling of him stretching you out had you seeing stars, euphoria coursing through your veins. When you finally adjusted, you tapped his shoulder, telling him you were ready.

Satoru pulled out, so that only his fat tip was inside of you, before rocking his hips into yours. That first shallow thrust had you release a hiccuped moan, gripping his shoulders. He took this as a positive sign. Satoru’s thrusts were slow, yet deep, and each time his tip was pressed to your cervix.

The feeling of it, thought it hurt some, was extremely pleasureful to you, and a whine of, “Faster, please,” exited your lips. Satoru’s brows furrowed slightly as he grinned. “Alright, darlin’ but when you can’t walk in the mornin’, don’t blame me!” He pulled out a little before pushing his hips into yours. He delivered you those deep strokes, just at a much faster pace.

Your tits bounced, body propelled forward as he held your thighs for stability, his dick stretching you out, stirring up your guts. The angle from the pillow only heightened your pleasure, and each thrust forced out a blissful whine or a whimper of his name from you.

Satoru let out heavy groans, not scared at all to let you know just how good you felt around him. And even better, he leaned down to let husky murmurs of praise fill your ears. “Such a good girl, takin’ me s’good… Like your pussy was made for me. You feel amazing, darlin’, wanna make you cum so bad… You feel good? Please tell me ‘m making you feel good, baby girl…” His voice was breathy and desperate in your ear, as you struggled to form the words he wanted to hear. “Please, baby? S-Shit, let me know how good ‘m making you feel on your birthday.”

His words only drive you crazier, head spinning as you gasp out, “Makin’ me feel s’good, Satoru! P-Please, please, please don’t stop, oh my God!” Satoru cursed under his breath as his hands slid from your thighs to your breasts, squeezing at them. His fingers circled your nipples, before he pulled, twisted and rolled them between his fingers. It only shoved you closer to the edge, as his tip briefly pressed against your g-spot. The brief gasp you gave from it let Satoru’s perceptive ass know, and he angled his hips to hit that spot, instead of your cervix.

The sound of your hips colliding filled your ears, along with Satoru’s raspy moans. Within no time, you were alerting him, “Toru, ‘m gonna c-cum again!” The third orgasm you had in a row, and it seemed like Satoru wasn’t stopping. He chuckled, moving one of the hands on your tits to swirl your clit in rough circles. “Mhm, go ‘head, sweet thing. Let go f’me.”

It pulsed underneath his finger pad, as your third climax seized your body. Your breathing heavy and quick as you let out gasped out, long moans and wails, your pussy clenching around his length as you creamed around him. Euphoria was spreading through you, to every part of your body.

Satoru’s eyes widened as he fucked you through your orgasm; his own was catching up to him, and it had him letting out deep whimpers mixed with his moans.

“Can I cum in you?” He gasped, hands gripping your waist. His nails digging into you so hard, crescent marks were being left on your skin. “Please, baby? Fuck, need to cum s’bad, and I wanna see my cum dripping from your pretty pussy…” He shoved his face into the curve of your neck as he began to beg. “Please, Y/N, wanna feel you around me while I fuckin’ cum, I-I need it, please, you feel s’perfect and I just wanna fill you up and watch it slide out. Wanna pump you full over and over until you’re filled with my babies—“ Satoru was rambling by now as he bucked desperately into you. He let out a shaky whine against your skin as your bodies collided passionately.

Your sensitive body quaked in his hold as he pleaded to cum in you. You couldn’t deny him, not when there were tears budding in his eyes, and his swollen dick was fucking you up like this, and he looked so pretty whining out your fucking name. You gave him a nod, even though your brain was foggy and you could barely care about what you were saying yes to.

Satoru let out a sigh of relief, moaning out, “Thank you, princess, thank you, thank you, love you, I love you—“ The feeling you got when you felt that first spurt of cum fill you was unbelievable. Warmth spread through you, as Satoru’s dick twitched and bobbed inside of you, before he was releasing his thick cum into you.

Just like he said he would, Satoru stuffed you full of his cum. He collapsed against you, face in your titties as you both breathed hard. He pulled out slowly, his dick getting a little soft. In a heartbeat, he was spreading your ass so he could watch his warm cum trickle from your hole.

And just like that, he was hard again.

You watched with dazed eyes as his dick twitched, ready to go again. Satoru grinned at you, tilting his head as he said, “I’d eat my cum out of you right fuckin’ now, but I need to feel you around me one more time.” He scooped you up, maneuvering so he was laying back and you were in his lap again. “For every year you are,” he murmured, his finger trailing down your spine, “Is every round we go. Every position we swap. I can keep up… Can you?”

You knew you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t compete with his stamina. But you nodded your head yes, and lifted your hips anyways as a mix of both of your cum slid down your thigh. “Mhm, baby,” he laughed a little, holding your hips as he guided you. “You can keep up? I’ll have you fucked dumb by round five. Maybe even this round. Hopefully ya last, birthday girl.”

Before you could even respond to his bravado, he pulled you down, spearing you on his length. You let out a squeal, as you clutched his arms. You were still sensitive, and you made sure to whine it loudly. His hands moved to grip your ass, pulling you up and dropping you back down. His tip bumped your cervix s he did so, and you mewled, pressing your face into his chest.

“Nuh uh, sugar, you can last right?” He taunted, even though his breath was shaky. “Ride me. Right now.” He wasted no time with sliding in a joke, “You ride horses so well, I’m sure you can ride mine.”

You bit your lip as you planted your feet into the couch, using your lower body strength to pull your body up. You began to bounce down on him feverishly, immediately setting a fast pace for yourself. Satoru hit all the spots you needed, and you felt your fogged brain saying that you should’ve fucked him much longer ago.

Satoru cupped your ass as you rode him, stuttered breaths leaving him. “Oh, s-shit, baby, yer goin’ so fast—!” He gasped, your pussy clamping down on him like no other. You kept going, ignoring him, as if you were using him. You had something to prove. You purposefully clenched harder around him, intent on making him cum first, to prove he was the one who couldn’t last.

Satoru, unfortunately, quickly picked up on what you were doing. His hands gripped your hips once more as he huffed, “Sweet thing’s got a vendetta. Mm, fine. I’ll bite.” His heavy lidded lapis eyes peered at you as he began to thrust upwards to meet your bounces, tip jamming against your g-spot. The only noises that left your mouth were squeals, the little bit of control you had dissipating.

Satoru quickly regained his control as he fucked up into you, watching as your tits bounced and your eyes rolled back. Your sweat covered bodies merged, and his eyes were fixed on the way his dick slid in and out of you, and the cum coating his length. The noise of him pounding into you seemed to be amplified. For another time, you felt yourself reaching a climax, stomach tightening as your jaw went slack. It was coming so fast, you couldn’t even alert Satoru.

You let out strained moans of pleasure as he continued to fuck into your sensitive pussy, bringing you to the peak of ecstasy for the fourth time. The throbbing sensation in your clit, though slightly painful, only added to the intense pleasure coursing through your body. Each orgasmic wave that washed over you was a testament to the overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing.

Finally spent, you dropped against him, whimpering pathetically as he continued to use your body like a cocksleeve. Tears filled your eyes as he pushed past your sensitivity, fucking into you like a menace. You knew he had stamina, but God, this was insanity. His hand wrapped around your neck loosely, tilting your head up to look at him.

The sight Satoru laid his eyes on was heavenly. Your hair was mussed, starting to sweat out; your makeup was becoming messy from the tears beginning to slide down your face. Your lip combo was long gone, though there were remnants on both his lips and yours. The sight of your tears only fueled him, as he kissed them away. “Thank you for letting me have your body like this, pretty. Pussy was made for me. Just divine, you’re jus’ divine.. Gonna marry you and then ‘m gonna fuck you so much that your body wouldn’t be able to escape pregnancy— You want my babies, don’t you? Say yes, tell me you want me as much as I want you…” Satoru was very obviously close, the trembling and the rambles were a tell tale sign.

You found yourself mindlessly nodding to everything he said, and it wasn’t long before he was shooting another load deep into you. You thought he was done, before he was grabbing your chubby thighs, hoisting your legs up, and locking your body into a full nelson position.

As he drilled his long cock into you once more, it was simply too much for you. You gave in, mind going blank as he slammed into you, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes were glazed over, tears still falling. Your mouth hung open as overstimulated whimpers left your lips. You came a fifth time, but you were so far gone, you didn’t even notice.

“L-Look at you,” Satoru said, his lips pressing against your shoulder, “Too much for you, yeah? Look so pretty like this, sweet girl. Fuck, fuck, fuck, ‘m cummin’ too quick—!” Satoru was overstimulated himself, but that didn’t stop him. As he came a third time, the both of your fluids slathered all over his dick as he dropped you from the nelson, and flipped you onto your hands and knees.

“Need more of you,” he rasped, spreading your ass as he messily spread his cum around your pussy and thighs, before stuffing you full once more. He pressed kisses into your spine, as he gripped your ass, fucking you from behind.

The sex was depraved, as Satoru fucked you like a man starved. You were too far gone, drooling into the couch as he fucked you like you both were dying tomorrow. But, it wasn’t long before he was finally slowing down, heavy balls squeezing as he began to have dry orgasms.

Finally, he pulled out, scooping your barely there, sex-addled body up and carrying you to his bed. He dropped down into bed, you on top of him as he threw the blankets over the two of you.

He pressed kisses to your face, and then your lips, as he whispered, “Even if we die tonight, then I’ll die yours, and you’ll die mine.” Somehow you managed to reciprocate, as exhaustion slowly claimed you. “So then, I’ll die here under you; every night, all night.”

The last thing you heard before you passed out, were Satoru’s whispered love confessions, and promises for the future.

Your honeymoon phase of the relationship seemed to be forever, although things in town got harder. People were more openly racist; vandalizing your home, your father’s grave, and your mother managed to somehow overwork herself to death. You were now alone, in an empty house, and with an empty heart. Save for Satoru.

Where darkness lingered in the corners of your life, he was the light that banished all of it. To escape, he often drove you to Nebraska, far enough but still close. The two of you found an abandoned house on the outskirts of the state. A single two-floor house. You loved it utterly.

Satoru was a bit of a criminal, stealing a bobby pin from your hair and picking the lock. Managing to get into the house, so you could see the interior. It wasn’t like anyone was there to care. When you were there, the two of you cleaned up the house, and pretended like it was your own place. It was the place where you found each other on a dirty mattress on the second floor.

Months passed. Then a year. Satoru turned twenty, then so did you. Like your last birthday, it was spent in love, and in a sex-crazed haze. You two pave your own road, feet weathering the trail to the house in Nebraska, leaving your mark. It’s in the spring, when you two are at the house, and Satoru gets on one knee, pulling out a golden ring with a bright diamond.

“When I came home after graduation, I told my mama I was gon’ marry you,” he said matter of factually, “She asked me if you knew that. I told her no, but you would eventually. So now, I’m askin’ you if you’ll bless me by being my wife.”

You screamed yes so loud, the two of you were sure you alerted others of your presence.

Your engagement angered the town. Although Satoru was a person of color too, they were sure he looked best with a white girl. It got to the point where they got violent with you. Calling you slurs, and being so racist, you became afraid to leave Satoru’s side.

But, it was okay — because you two stuck together, always.

You prepared for your wedding as best as you could in your anxious state. Satoru’s mother even bought you a wedding dress — from one of your favorite brands, Vivienne Westwood. Vivienne made the most beautiful wedding dresses.

However, your hometown was getting overwhelming. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder at any given moment. Satoru knew it was time to go.

He told his mother that he had to get you out of here — there was nothing but pain for you here. He couldn’t let you live like this. She understood, more than anything. She handed Satoru a wad of cash, telling him to visit soon.

He bought the house in Nebraska. How he found the owner, you never found out. But he bought that fucking house, and you two packed your bags and you never fucking looked back.

Nebraska was nice. You didn’t go into town often because of your anxiety, but Satoru assured you it was fine. You loved your home. You loved your future husband. You were soothed, and nothing could ruin it.

Until one day, Satoru didn’t come home from visiting his mother. You opted out that time, feeling a bit sick, and not up for the long drive. You got the call from his mother. You barely remembered anything but the words, ‘Shooting. Hospital. Coma.’ And you were catching the bus to Alabama.

You never wanted to return home, but you had to. You didn’t let them turn you away or shame you. You joined his mother in the hospital. And soon after you got there, after you held his hand, and sobbed his name, and kissed his face, and as if he was waiting for you, Satoru Gojo passed away.

The story was that Satoru got into an altercation with a group of men who said some horrible things about you. Even when they threatened him with a gun, he didn’t back down. He was always so protective when it came to you, and it killed him. And now, you were the reason that he won’t come home.

The birthday wish you made didn’t come true. Because the love of your life was gone, and you were so alone.

You stayed for his funeral. Open casket. Unlike everyone else, you didn’t wear black. You wore your wedding dress, and a veil. You were a widow, even though you hadn’t even gotten married yet. You never would. His mother held you by the waist, crying silently as she guided you to his casket. And as you leaned down to press a final kiss to his dead cold lips, nobody said a thing to you.

You disappeared soon after, with gentle words to his mother.

You retreated to your house in Nebraska, where you needed him. Months pass, and you need him still. You rot away in that house, plagued by memories. His scent still lingers on his untouched clothes, and sometimes you open the drawers to smell.

His mama calls sometimes, to see if you’re doing well. You lie to her and say that you’re doing fine. When really you’d kill yourself to hold him one more time.

You manage to force yourself to go to town, to buy things. You cry every day, and the bottles make it worse — because he was the only person you weren’t scared to tell you hurt.

And you feel so alone. You feel so alone out here. You feel so alone without him. You’re so alone out here, and you miss him more than anything. Every day, waking up without him warming you, breathing air that he does not share, it breaks you piece by piece. You feel so alone.

More months pass and you turn twenty-one alone. And you realize you can’t continue life like this.

You feel so alone.

On your twenty-first birthday, you put on your wedding dress, the one you never got to walk down the aisle in. You pick up the pills, sobbing as you whimper, “I’m so alone out here without you, baby.” You down the pills.

You remember all of this as you die, life flashing before your eyes. You’re curled up in your bed, now clutching one of his shirts to your chest. It’s like you fall asleep, despite the toxicity causing your body to fail. You finally die.

You wake up in a garden of flowers. Lillies of the valley, to be exact. You look around wildly. Cloudless blue sky, and flowers to be seen for days. You’re in your wedding dress. Is this what the afterlife is like? An endless, calming flower field? A breeze ruffles you. You begin to walk. Time doesn’t seem to pass here, because you can’t tell if it’s been seconds or days.

You know you’re dead, but why are you here?

“Y/N?”

You freeze. You know that voice. Tears fill your eyes, and you turn slowly. There he is. That ruffled white hair, bright blue eyes staring into you. You see the tears that well in his eyes, mirroring yours. “What are you doing here?” He cries, and he’s rushing to you, and he’s gathering you in his arms, cupping your face. You’re shaking your head and sobbing, because it’s him, it’s him and he’s here and you can hold him again.

“What’re you doing here, dream girl?” He sobs and he’s pressing his lips to yours, kissing you as if you’ll fade away. The kiss is salty as you two hold on to each other, tears mingling. When the two of you finally break away, he’s still holding your face, as you sob out, “I was so alone without you, Satoru! I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t live without you!”

He sobs harder and holds you against his chest, which is bloodied. “You killed yourself?” You nod ashamed, but he didn’t yell at you, or judge you. He never, ever has. He holds you, pressing kisses into your face, your hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t want to leave you — I held on, I held on until you came, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to survive,” he cried into your hair, “Leaving you hurt so much. It hurt more than getting shot did. We were supposed to have so much time. We were supposed to get married and have babies and die together when we old a-and, we didn’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whimper back, as he squeezes you tight, tighter than he ever has. If you were alive, you’d be struggling to breathe. “But I wish you would’ve let it go. Let it go and came home to me.”

Satoru doesn’t respond, instead he’s pulling away to kiss you again. “I wish I did too. I would’ve came back to our house in Nebraska, where the world was empty, save you and I. But at least we’re here. I don’t know where it is, but this is where I’ve been. Waiting for you to come. I just want expecting it so soon.” He sniffles, obviously sad.

“I had nothing left for me,” you whispered, as the two of you lace your fingers together, “I needed you still. I… I was horrible.”

“I visited you in your sleep a lot,” Satoru admitted, as the two of you began to walk. “It was the only time I could. I watched you sleep, all the time. You slept with my shirts. It made me feel good.”

You lean against him, he’s warm and he smells just as though you remember. You two walk, for a while, talking about the future you deserved.

Until you reach a house.

A house identical to your house in Nebraska.

“Well, I’ll be,” Satoru whispered, obviously shocked, turning to look at you. Tears were falling down your cheeks as you smiled, whispering, “Guess you’re stuck with me, even in death.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be stuck anywhere else,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. He pulled a bobby pin out of your hair, and just like old times, Satoru picked the lock to the door.

You two stuck together; in life and death, and you still call home that house in Nebraska.

265 notes · View notes

ladamedusoif · 8 months

Text

For The Night: A Short Story About Reading and Riding

Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Pairing: Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Summary: You might not be one of the “sweet young things” in the whorehouse any more, but a seemingly reluctant special agent helps remind you of your worth.

Content/Warnings: This is basically just smut; some slightly sweet fluff; but mostly smut; unprotected PiV sex; oral sex (M and F receiving); size kink; slight praise kink; sex worker reader; some period-appropriate terminology.

Notes: Look, we all got very excited when one of the Holy Grails of Early Pedrontent was revealed to us today. Some of us (me) were unable to stop thinking about Special Agent Ortega and his dusty, slightly skrunkly late nineteenth-century get-up. And now here I am writing what is essentially PWP for him.

This is very much a one-shot, stream of consciousness fic, so please bear that in mind (as with my Thief story I’m not entirely sure I didn’t dream some of this in a sleepy haze). There may well be errors and typos.

In this story Ortega is called Jerónimo, usually shortened to Jerón.

With love and thanks to @julesonrecord and @lunapascal for being enablers and sounding boards, especially to Lucy for suggesting Ortega’s name!

Divider by @saradika

Nights like this, nights when you’ve got no custom, again, and the rent’s looking unlikely to be paid, you want to storm downstairs and slam down the lid on the saloon piano. It teases and taunts you, like the practiced giggles and moans from the other girls in the rooms along the hall and the bedraggled grunts of drunken men paying for their company.

You read a little more of your book and try to distract yourself from the noise. Strictly speaking, whores aren’t meant to be bookish - but now and again a traveller might leave a volume behind him, and the other girls know to send them your way. Helps keep your mind busy, especially when other parts aren’t.

There’s a commotion on the stairs, and you can hear the madam’s voice as she guides another man - maybe two men? - towards the landing. You overhear the light, youthful laughter of Rosa, one of the house’s most popular girls, as she flatters and teases her client - clients, you assume - on the way to her room.

You hear heavy footsteps stopping outside your door. One of the men, further away now, is teasing the other. “Have some goddamn fun, Ortega! We’re in a fuckin’ whorehouse, we’re not on the clock now!” Rosa giggles in response as the man continues, addressing the madam. “My fine woman, can you set my second gun up with a sweet young thing for the night? Seein’ as I’m already covered.”

The door of Rosa’s room closes and the giggling gives way to silence.

The madam clears her throat. “We do have one girl who’s free, though unfortunately she’s, er, one of our more experienced ladies. I’m sorry, sir, I can see if one of the newer girls is finishing up soon…”

A second voice responds, and you realise it belongs to whoever is standing at your door. “Ma’am, it’s quite alright, I don’t need -“ but the madam interrupts him as she knocks on your door and pops her head in.

She looks you up and down with evident disapproval and hisses at you. “Put that goddamned book away, girl. It’s your lucky night, you’ve got a customer. HURRY UP!”

You shove the book in a drawer and stand up, lightly plumping your hair with one hand and tugging down the front of your chemise to reveal a little more cleavage with the other. You might not be one of the “sweet young things” any more, so you need all the help you can get.

The madam ushers him in and closes the door with a final warning stare in your direction. You try to put on a show, shifting your body into something approximating an alluring stance and looking up to meet his gaze. But there’s something in his eyes and his expression that surprises you enough to snap out of your little performance.

He’s young - mid thirties, maybe, not the inexperienced virgin boys you sometimes get in here but certainly not the old-before-their-time grizzled, abusive drunks you’re increasingly used to. And he’s…well. Handsome. Broad-shouldered, neatly-trimmed moustache, good figure, even in his slightly worn and dusty clothes. His low-slung gun belt draws the eye to narrow hips.

But it’s the eyes that stop you in your tracks. Big, dark, and warm, they look you over with a quirk of his eyebrows as his mouth drops slightly open. As a whole package, he’s handsome; but the face? Lord, he’s pretty.

He stands very still for a couple of moments, looking you up and down, up and down. He moves from the doorway into the room, placing two glasses of liquor on your little nightstand and taking off his hat with a little bow in your direction, which seems endearingly out of place in its formality. He shucks off his jacket and leaves it on a chair.

“What’s your name, sir?” you ask, moving towards him.

The eyes flick upwards to meet yours, a little smile dancing around his lips. “Jerónimo Ortega, miss,” and your heart does a little flip at his politeness, “but most people just call me Jerón.”

You repeat the name to yourself and sit on the bed, patting the space beside you. He sits down, but there’s a nervousness to him that even the rough, strong liquor can’t erase.

“Y’know, Jerón, if you really don’t wanna fuck a woman like me that’s okay. We can just, I dunno. Just talk, or somethin’.”

He shakes his head and looks up at you with a grin. He looks even more boyish when he smiles like that. “It’s not that I don’t want to…do anything, it’s just…”

You reach for his hand, broad and tanned. “I get it. You probably wish you’d got to Rosa first, huh.”

His expression shifts to one of confusion. “No, I…shit. I… I just didn’t think you were going to be so pretty.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “Sir, you’re payin’ me. You don’t have to flatter me. Usually I’m the one flatterin’ the man.”

He does a little half-smile, revealing a deep-set dimple that makes you want to reach out and kiss it. He taps his silver agency badge. “You saying an agent of the law is a liar, miss? Because I’m no liar, and you are beautiful.”

You giggle, moving your hand to his firm thigh, starting to trail your fingers up to his crotch. Usually you’d be summoning your best acting abilities around now, to avoid running screaming from whatever sweaty old man was trying to get his dick up, but now? With him? Hell, this could almost feel real.

You lightly run your hand over the bulge that’s visibly straining at his pants, drawing a moan from him, and tug gently on the watch chain that runs across his waistcoat along his middle. You pull him in towards you, fingers entwined with the silver metal, and he reaches up to cup your face in his hands as he kisses you, deeply and hungrily.

“If you wanna wash, there’s a basin over there behind that screen.” you murmur. “Might wanna get undressed, too.”

He nods and disappears behind the screen as you undo your stays and slip out of your skirt and chemise. You take down your hair and try to arrange it as artfully as you can as you lie back on the mattress, naked and hoping to God he likes what he sees.

Jerón emerges wearing only his shirt, unbuttoned to the waist. His hard cock is visible against the light cotton, and you can actually feel your nipples harden at the thoughts of having him inside you as wetness pools between your legs.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re even more beautiful naked. Can I…”

You beckon him with a nod of your head and help him out of his shirt as he joins you on the bed. It’s all you can do not to moan when you see just how big he is, hard length thick and reddened and already leaking pre-come from the tip.

“You ever had your dick sucked, Jerón?” You manoeuvre him down onto the bed, working your way down and between his legs. Hands resting on his thighs, you spread him open a little bit more.

“N-no…fucked women but not that, not…not yet”. He’s already almost rutting the air with his hips.

“Pity, really, cos this is a gorgeous dick. Mind if I do the honours?” He nods frantically as you look up at him through your lashes and guide his cock into your wet mouth. He bucks upwards immediately, mewling with pleasure at the sensation. You hum with satisfaction as you suck him, sending the vibrations through his cock as he whines in response.

You take him out of your mouth for a moment, trailing your tongue up and down the underside of his cock. “Fuck, Jerón, you like this, huh? What do you want me to do, sweet boy?”

“W-wanna… want to fuck your mouth,” his breathing is ragged as he pants the words. “W-wanna fuck you.”

“Good, darlin’. So fuck my mouth and then you can have me as much as you want.” You brace yourself between his legs, a hand lightly stroking the base of his dick, and slide him back between your lips. Jerón cries out as he starts to fuck up and into your mouth, bringing a hand to the back of your head as he thrusts harder and faster.

You take his hand and ease him out of your mouth. “You want to fuck me or you wanna finish there, darlin’?”

“Want…want you.” He’s close, you can tell, and you hope the little breather will give him a little more stamina for when he’s inside you. “Want your cunt.”

You move up his body and rest your heavy tits on his chest. He reaches out to grope them as you grind your hips against him, before rolling onto your back and easing him over on top of you.

You look up at him and open your legs as he gazes down at you, running his hand up and down his wet cock. “Look at my pussy before you fuck it, sweet boy. See what you do to me. Tell me.”

Jerón looks at your cunt as if it’s a lost treasure, bringing his free hand to trail along your slit and feel the wetness that’s been gathering there since you laid eyes on him. “So wet for me. So swollen and wet and fucking warm, sweet girl.” He brings his fingers to his lips and groans at the taste of you before getting down and bringing his face between your legs.

“Is this…okay?” He flashes you a look of those big puppy dog eyes, that handsome face nestled between your plush thighs, and you can’t even find the words. You nod and rest your hand on the back of his head as he brings that pretty fucking mouth to your core. Some men really like this. Some men like this and are bad at it. Some men think this is only for “pansies” and other terms you would rather not think about.

Jerón Ortega is not particularly experienced in this, you suspect, but he’s a natural talent, sucking and flicking his tongue over your clit while using those soft, plump lips to form a tight seal around your wet cunt. You moan and writhe on the mattress as he slips his tongue in and out of you until you come hard on his face, the tip of his nose nudging against your clit as you climax.

He shifts his broad body upwards as you hitch up your legs and reach around to grab his ass and guide his cock inside you. Even after all these years and even with being wetter than you have in a very long time, it’s still a tight fit, his size filling you completely and making you sigh with satisfaction before he’s even moved.

He starts to fuck you quickly, chasing his own high. He leans back a little so he can see you underneath him, tits bouncing as he takes you hard and deep. Sometimes he brings his mouth to your nipples, laving his tongue around the firm peak and the soft skin of your breast, moaning as he does so. You wrap your arms around his broad back and hold on for dear life as he fucks you harder and better than you’ve been fucked in your life, one big hand grabbing your tit so hard you know it’ll leave a mark and the other trying to reach between your legs and rub your clit.

“So fucking beautiful, you are,” he grunts into your ear, “so soft for me, so wet for me, such a tight, pretty pussy.” He looks into your eyes again, and you feel you might explode as those coffee-brown irises look into the very heart of you.

“Jerón…” You usually try to avoid moaning a client’s name, just as a rule of thumb. But this doesn’t feel like work, tonight, and he certainly doesn’t feel like a client.

“Let go, darling, let go, hermosa.”

And you do, with a deep wail you’re certain has been heard all over the whorehouse and in the saloon below and probably as far as the boundary of the town. And you don’t give a fuck who hears you, as you cry out his name while he fucks you through the aftershocks.

The throbbing of your cunt around his dick tips Jerón over the edge, and you feel him come, hard and deep, his warm body dripping sweat onto your tits below. He kisses you hard before he pulls out, then flops beside you on the bed.

You look over at him as he tries to catch his breath. Normally at this stage, the client throws your small fee on the chest of drawers before washing again and dragging on his clothes before heading back to the bar. Normally, you can’t fuckin’ wait for them to go so you can wash their smell and scent and come off you.

Him? You don’t want him to leave. You want him to stay. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Forever.

Your post-orgasmic haze snaps as you jolt yourself back to reality. He’s a lawman, a handsome young professional, just passing through on a job. You’ve been a whore since you were a teenager, a long time in this game. You’ve watched girl after girl win over men who whisk them away to better lives, while you stay here in this shitty little room and wait for someone to pay for your body.

In a few minutes, Jerón Ortega will gather up his clothes, dress, leave the money, and disappear out of your life. Just a gorgeous memory for you to replay in your mind when you have some red-faced toothless rancher on top of you in a few nights’ time.

His breathing is steadier now and he turns to face you. “That was…just marvellous, miss.”

You smile softly and stroke his cheek. “You don’t have to praise me, Jerón. You’re paying, remember.”

A kind of sadness flashes across his face. “Oh. Didn’t feel like a transaction to me, but what do I know, I guess.”

“Didn’t to me, either, but…”

He reaches over and pulls you close to him. “Is it against the rules for me to stay here with you tonight? I - hell, I don’t want to leave you.”

You shake your head. “Stayin’s fine, sweet boy. You sure about this? You don’t want to see if one of the other girls is free?”

He looks at you intently. “Don’t think there could be another girl for me, now.”

#agent ortega #special agent ortega #agent ortega x f!reader #agent ortega fanfiction #special agent ortega fanfiction #the sixth gun #the sixth gun fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedrostories #pedro pascal

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anto-pops · 11 months

Text

The Promise of Tomorrow - Sebastian Sallow x Female! Reader

Summary: “As utterly ravishing as you are in that dress,” he whispered against your lips in-between kisses, “I can’t deny that I would much rather see it on the floor.”

A laugh bubbled past your lips despite yourself, and you let your palms trail down Sebastian’s sides until you reached his waist. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops, tugging his lower half flush against you, and his hands fell away from your face to brace against the wall behind you, effectively caging you between him and the cobblestone at your back. “Have some things planned, do you?”

Alternatively summarized as you and Sebastian attending the Yule Ball together before he whisks you away to the Room of Requirement to do exactly what you might think.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, Garreth wearing Aunt Tessie's robes

This was HEAVILY inspired by @sallowly 's Yule Ball animation which can be found here ! The dress/Sebastian's suit are directly referenced from her work. I'm eternally grateful for being given the chance to build off of her creation ♡

The full fic can also be found here on Ao3 as per usual

“What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

Sebastian gaped openly at Garreth, internally fighting the laugh that threatened to spill forth from his mouth despite his best efforts to smother it. The Gryffindor was decked out in quite possibly the most atrocious set of dress robes he’d ever seen, and judging by the look on the red-head’s face, he knew it too. It was frilly and lined with lace, and the material looked like a curtain that had been snagged off a window and stitched into something resembling clothes.

Garreth’s face contorted into a pained expression, chancing a look down at himself and curling his hands into loose fists. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Sebastian remarked, lifting his glass to his lips in a bid to hide his growing smile. “Can I guess? Please let me guess–”

“No,” came his flat reply.

“What is it?” Ominis asked curiously, turning away from the long table of finger foods to join in the conversation. Unlike Weasley, he looked like the epitome of poised finesse in his dark, tailored suit. “Whatever it is, it smells old.”

“Oh, it looks old too. Seriously, where on Earth did you find such an antique?” Sebastian teased, and Garreth’s eyes made a full trip around their sockets before he waved off the jab.

“Ha ha, very funny. If you must know, these have been in the Weasley family for years–”

“Clearly.”

“Oh would you shut up? I get it, believe me, I know. My mother wouldn’t let me get away with not wearing them though, she kept pestering me about ‘tradition’ and a bunch of other pointless nonsense. I was fighting a losing battle trying to convince her otherwise.”

Ominis chuckled softly under his breath and twirled his wand idly between his fingers, “And you didn’t think to just change into something more fitting of the nineteenth century because…” he trailed off, the question hanging silently in the air.

Garreth grumpily shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned, looking over his shoulder towards the massive entryway leading into the Great Hall. Professor Weasley was standing watch, ushering students in with practiced ease, and when she caught sight of her nephew staring, her smile was enough to give away precisely why the Gryffindor had been forced to endure his family's horrendous dress code. “My aunt would rat me out in a second if I did. Look, can we just forget about the hideous outfit already? I need a drink.”

Sebastian had half a mind to offer Garreth the stolen flask of Firewhiskey tucked away in his suit, but he was honestly more inclined to save it for himself. Unbeknownst to his friends, he was wound tighter than a spring, the anticipation coursing through his veins causing him to shake his leg to dispel the nervous jitters he’d been dealing with since arriving. While he’d gone on plenty of dates with you in the last few years, this would be the first time the two of you attended something so formal as a couple. Asking you to the Yule Ball had nearly put him in the ground with how anxious he’d been– but attending the dance together was a completely different story.

He wanted the night to go perfectly.

His expectations were driving him up the damn wall. If there was one thing Sebastian hated more than anything, it was surprises, and that’s exactly what tonight was. One giant, looming unknown that had him thinking circles around himself. Dancing wasn’t the issue– he was great at that. It wasn’t even the hundreds of prying eyes that would be glued to you both when you eventually arrived, because he was more than used to the attention that came with dating the Hero of Hogwarts.

No, Sebastian was simply nervous to finally put his long awaited plan into action.

Everything was already set up in the Room of Requirement for later, so all he had to do was make it through the bulk of the evening without combusting or making a fool of himself. He could do that… right?

“Your nerves are showing, Sebastian,” Garreth teased as he leaned over the endless selection of food and drinks. His green eyes were crinkled in amusement as he observed the nonstop tapping of the brunet’s foot, and Ominis hummed in agreement.

“I’ve been listening to him fidget for the last twenty minutes. I don’t know why girls take so long to get ready– I’m tempted to go and find his date so he’ll finally relax.”

Garreth laughed, and in the split second following, Sebastian saw his eyes land on something over his shoulder and widen comically. “No need for that… damn.”

Nothing could have prepared Sebastian for the sight that graced him when he turned around.

There you were, looking equal parts ethereal and powerful. Your dress was like nothing he had ever seen before; it was the darkest, most striking shade of black, rippling around your legs as though it were made of liquid as you strode through the arched doorway with your head held high. Embroidered down the side and along the strapless neckline were tiny gold leaves that reflected against the candles floating overhead, giving you a regal appearance that put even Ominis to shame. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Sebastian swore that as you walked further into the room, some of the leaves from your dress trailed behind you and dissipated into shimmering dust.

You twisted your hands together nervously as your eyes scanned the massive crowd, searching for the one person who could make existing in such an overwhelming environment bearable. Sebastian’s legs started to move of their own accord, carrying him away from the table and closer to you at the same time your neck swiveled in his direction, and the way your entire face lit up when you spotted him imbued him with the confidence that he’d been lacking minutes prior.

Everything else was muted during those tentative seconds it took him to reach you, and once he came to stop in front of you with his drink still loosely gripped in his hand, it was as if no one else existed within the cavernous ballroom– only the two of you. For a moment, all he could do was stare with his mouth hanging open like a fish. The flush that spread across your cheeks had his heart doing acrobatics in his chest, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat before setting his glass down on an empty platter floating by.

“Hi,” you said meekly, flashing him an easy smile in an attempt to conceal your timorous demeanor. He didn’t need to know that you’d spent five minutes outside with Poppy talking you off the metaphorical ledge and fanning you frantically with her hands.

“Hey,” he replied, instantly cringing at the dry greeting. He quickly added, “I don’t think words can do you justice, if I’m being honest. You look otherworldly, darling.”

Sebastian’s words did wonders to school your nerves, a wave of warmth settling over you like a blanket. The soft smile that spread across your plush lips made his heart flip in his chest, and when he held out his hand for you to take, the tension in your shoulders slipped away. “Thank you, you look rather dashing yourself. Green continues to be your color,” you mused as your palm met his upturned one, intertwining your fingers through his longer ones easily.

He steered you into the room, heading for Ominis and Garreth again to give you time to get settled before the dancing started. When your eyes fell on Weasley, Sebastian watched as your brows shot halfway up your forehead, and he could hear the laughter in your voice when you asked, “Oh gods, what is he wearing?”

“Don’t bring it up. Something about ‘tradition’ I think, but he’s well aware that he looks like a decorative rug.”

You had to hide your smirk behind your free hand as you approached the two men. Garreth’s grin was blinding as he raised his glass to you in silent greeting, and Ominis must have heard you walking up, because he turned fully to face you with his kind eyes crinkled at their corners.

“I obviously can’t say for certain, but if Sebastian’s inability to form words when you walked in was anything to go by, you must look beautiful.” The blond had a tiny Cauldron Cake pinched between his skinny fingers, and he popped it into his mouth without a second thought as a blush crept up your cheeks.

“Thank you, Ominis, you do too.”

“I look beautiful?” He mumbled around his mouthful, and the sound of his muffled teasing contrasting with his neat appearance made you chuckle.

You swatted his shoulder playfully and shook your head, “You know what I mean.” When your gaze shifted to Garreth, he seemed to hold his breath expectantly. “You too, Garreth. Pink looks good on you.”

The red-head rolled his eyes playfully, but he was still grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve been told that lying gives you wrinkles, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

He lifted his glass to his lips at the same time the enchanted orchestra in the corner ceased playing. Hundreds of heads swiveled towards the front of the room as Professor Black made his way to the podium, looking all too irritated to have to entertain students during the weekend instead of… actually, you had no clue what Professor Black did in his spare time.

Probably kick Puffskeins and style his mustache.

“Welcome all, to this year’s Yule Ball. I see the festivities are in full swing already, but I’d like to remind everyone that standard school rules are still meant to be followed even on a night such as this one. That means no floozy behavior, no consumption of beverages not otherwise provided for you, and for the love of Merlin– no smoking of Mallowsweet in school corridors. That has become a rampant issue that I would prefer to not have to deal with on top of everything else.”

As the Headmaster continued monologuing, you managed to tune out the remainder of his warnings in favor of ogling Sebastian. Your hands were still intertwined, and he had tugged you closer to him so your arms were brushing against one another in his subtle attempts to get closer to you. He really did look striking in his dark green suit; it was the first time you’d been privy to seeing him so dressed up, and you bit your lip hungrily as potent, lustful thoughts filled your mind. It wasn’t until the room was full of thunderous applause that you realized the introductions were finished and your boyfriend was side-eyeing you as you blatantly stared at him.

“Something on your mind?” He whispered the question directly against your ear, sending shivers down your spine and making your toes curl in your heels.

Your hand in his tightened a fraction, and you cocked a brow slyly as your lips curled into a feline smile. “A few things, yes.”

“Anything I’d like to know about?”

“I’m sure you would, but there’s a time and a place. Don’t they say patience is a virtue?”

Sebastian hummed, trailing his thumb sensually along your knuckles as he smirked wickedly against your temple. “I find it to be more of a nuisance, but I suppose it would be a waste not to make the most of you in that dress. Would you care to dance?”

The Slytherin’s heart damn near hammered straight out of his sternum when you turned to stare affectionately up at him, the mixture of your love and desire so palpable in the air that he swore he could cut through it with a Diffindo charm. “I thought you’d never ask.”

—

You didn’t think you’d ever felt so weightless in your life.

Sebastian’s hand clasped in yours was like an anchor, keeping you grounded to the present moment as he tugged you along behind him up the winding staircase leading to the Astronomy Wing. He was moving fast– clearly eager to show you the ‘surprise’ he had waiting for you there– but he had the good grace to stay mindful of your dress and your inability to move as quickly as he could. The two of you had been sneakily stealing sips of his Firewhiskey throughout the night, so the faint buzz you had going was enough to make you slow down and consider every movement carefully as you ascended the steps.

When you reached the top landing, the brunet’s neck craned sideways to cast an exhilarated look your way, his excitement a tangible entity that had butterflies erupting in your stomach. All through the night, Sebastian’s eyes and hands had been stealing telling glances and coy touches as he twirled you across the ballroom. You knew there had been hundreds of eyes on you at one point; the charmed, gold leaves around the lower lining of your gown had fallen away in trails of sunset colored sparkles that were bound to draw attention as you’d danced. But none of it had mattered– not with Sebastian gazing longingly at you like you were the only thing that existed.

He was doing so now, and you found yourself burying your general dislike of surprises for the sake of the evening. Anything Sebastian had planned for you was something you were sure to love, you were already certain of it.

When the two of you reached the empty wall across from the familiar troll tapestry, Sebastian swiftly pulled you ahead of him and spun you around– more shimmering leaves wisping off of your dress as your back made contact with the cool stone behind it. You barely had time to register the brazen move before your boyfriend’s lips connected with yours, and then his broad hands were sliding up your neck to cup your face and tilt your head back to deepen the kiss impossibly further. He swallowed your startled gasp instantaneously, brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones so tenderly that it made your heart fucking ache.

Merlin– sometimes your love for Sebastian overwhelmed you.

“As utterly ravishing as you are in that dress,” he whispered against your lips in-between kisses, “I can’t deny that I would much rather see it on the floor.”

“Of course,” he replied with that renowned Sallow-swagger that made you melt. “But not before you get to appreciate all of my hard work.”

You hummed thoughtfully as you leaned forward to kiss him again, breathing in his intoxicating scent of cedar and something akin to old books. His tongue slipped in your mouth easily, tangling with your own so fluidly that you suddenly found yourself all too eager to discover what he had in store for you. Sebastian let you drink in your fill of him, groaning softly when you shifted your hips to grind lazily against his steadily growing erection, and then he was pulling back with a heated look in his eyes.

“Riveting as this is, I don’t feel particularly keen on taking you in the middle of the hallway.”

On cue, you felt the wall against your back begin to change. The cool stone morphed into smooth wood, and the massive entryway to the Room of Requirement revealed itself as Sebastian seemingly gazed into your very soul. “No public canoodling? Your surprise must be quite something, then.”

For the first time since finding him in the Great Hall, Sebastian looked nervous. He stepped back and rubbed his neck sheepishly, giving you a half-grin that you could have honestly mistaken for a grimace. “I certainly hope so… come on.”

He extended his hand once again and you took it graciously, moving off the door to make room for him to push it open. The brunet ushered you in, letting you enter ahead of him, and you barely made it three steps inside before you were halting completely. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open in silent shock as you took in the magical sight before you.

The Room was full of floating candles like the ones in the Great Hall, only these ones flickered with deep blue flames that seemed to cast the space in what you could only describe as pure moonlight. The ambiance had been changed as well, working in tandem with the romantic lighting so flawlessly that you were certain you had to be staring at a painting. You made a mental note to remember to thank Deek for his evident assistance. Bright red petals had been strewn across the floor, paving a rather telling path towards the slightly ajar bedroom door on the opposite side of the chamber. What was inside, you didn’t know– but the contrasting red glow from within had your mind flooding with unrestrained fantasies that made your stomach flip.

Your legs carried you deeper into the room as you took in every unique change to your secret space, and all the while, Sebastian watched you virtually glide across the floor. The enchanted leaves running down your dress added a new degree of magic to the whole scene; the trail of gold flakes that evaporated into sparkling dust made you look like some sort of enchantress that had snuck onto the school grounds, and he found himself following you across the petals towards the bedroom in a trance.

Sebastian had seriously outdone himself. You had no words.

Pushing the door open revealed more floating candles– the normal colored ones– and an amorous display that made your breath catch in your throat. He’d replaced the usual bed linens with silky, red sheets that reflected the candlelight beautifully. You spotted a bottle of wine perched between two glasses on the nightstand, and situated behind it all was a fresh bouquet of roses that left a distinctly floral scent in the air.

A large part of you wanted to cry from the affection that flooded your brain, but you willed away the urge in favor of turning around to face Sebastian.

He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed– a hungry, almost insatiable look spreading across his features. Those lust-dark eyes of his were scanning you up and down like you were a whole meal, and given the set-up in the room, you were willing to wager a guess that his mentality was exactly that. The warm lighting in the bedroom bathed him in a seductive glow, and as handsome as he looked in his suit, you suddenly wanted him out of it. Pronto.

“You’re speechless,” he observed, sounding almost timid as he spoke the words.

“That’s a word for it.”

“Good speechless or bad speechless?”

You gave him a nonplussed blink before your brows slammed down, “Why in Merlin’s name would it be bad speechless?”

Your ability to read Sebastian like a damn book allowed you to see the cracks in his confident facade as he dug the toe of his shoe into the stone floor. He shrugged, “I’m not sure. Maybe because I snuck in here and changed everything around. Although Deek did help some, so I guess I’m not solely to blame.”

There were no thoughts in your head other than the rapacious desire to be close to him, and your heels echoed off the bedroom walls as you strode over to him in the doorway to yank him down to your level. You all but slammed your mouths together, stealing his breath with the intensity of your ministrations, and the action left little room for doubt. Sebastian returned the kiss with equal fervor, winding his arms around you to crush you against his front as you bit and licked at his soft, freckled lips.

“You ought to stoke that confidence some more, because this is quite possibly the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Your praises did wonders to soothe his frayed nerves, seeing as you felt him relax under your touch as you sensually dragged your hands up to grip his strong shoulders.

He chuckled proudly, pulling away to stare anticipatorily down at you with a smug look on his face. That was an expression you were all too familiar with. “You should know that where you’re concerned, I’m a split-second confidence kind of guy. The things you do to me and you don’t even know it…” he trailed off in a gravelly voice, and you shivered as you felt his palms begin skirting down your lower back to play with the zipper of your gown.

“Oh really?” Your voice was airy, and your fingers dug into the smooth material of his blazer as you worked to maintain your composure. “Care to enlighten me?”

Sebastian tilted his head to the side curiously before leaning down to brush a tiny kiss over the tip of your nose, “I’d much rather show you. What do you say? You want to let me take care of you, darling?”

Your breath caught in your throat, rendering your tongue a useless paperweight in your mouth as it failed to form words, so you nodded excitedly instead and noted how Sebastian growled in response. Any awkwardness or uncertainty fell away when he claimed your lips again in a wet, needy frenzy, swallowing your surprised mewl as he walked you backwards towards the spacious bed. You felt his fingers return to your zipper and gently tug it down as the backs of your knees made contact with the mattress, and his hand on your hip kept you steady as his arm dropped ever-so-slightly to part the fabric of your dress. The velvety attire slipped down your body and pooled around your ankles instantly– a plume of gold sparkles erupting from it as it hit the floor.

Sebastian broke the kiss to look down at you, his long, dark lashes fanning out across his cheeks as he took in your nearly bare form from head to toe. You followed the tight bob of his adam’s apple as his chocolate brown eyes roved over your breasts before they returned to your face, and then he was gingerly pushing you down onto the bed.

As you scooted higher up the sheets, Sebastian’s gaze stayed glued to you while he shed his jacket, tossing it haphazardly to the side so he could begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. You watched him unblinkingly as he undressed– shamelessly licking your lips when his top fell open and revealed the taut plane of his stomach— and the fuzzy trail of hair leading beneath his trousers had your knees clenching together in anticipation. With his button-up discarded, all that remained were the pants, and he elected to take his time undoing his belt with calculated movements as his eyes bored into yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he admitted, and the metal clink of the buckle falling away punctuated the statement. “Gods– I was ready to leave the second you walked in, you have no fucking idea.”

You shuddered from the intensity of his words, boldly dragging one of your hands down between your legs to feel the wetness that had begun to saturate your undergarments. The sight of you touching yourself sent Sebastian into overdrive– and he wasted little time in shoving his trousers down and kicking them aside so he was donned in nothing but his briefs. His arousal was straining against the thin cotton– so much so that it had to be bordering on painful– but he made no signs of discomfort as he seductively started to crawl up the bed towards you.

As soon as Sebastian was within reach, you abandoned your soaked nether region to curl your fingers around his neck and pull him towards you, kissing him desperately. You ran your hands down his freckled chest, then wrapped your arms around his midsection to ghost the tips of your fingers along his spine. The shiver it elicited from him had heat pooling in your gut, and your need for him started to shift into something even more ravenous.

Sebastian dropped himself down onto his elbows to minimize the space between the two of you as your tongues tangled, and as he settled his lower half against yours, he ground his straining member against your clothed cunt. He groaned unabashedly, the sound low in his throat, and your lips took to wandering along his jaw, down his throat, before settling against the curve of his shoulder to sink your teeth into the soft flesh.

“Fuck– I can feel how wet you are already. How badly do you want it? Tell me,” he implored you, his eyes fluttering shut when you laved your tongue over the light imprint of your teeth. “Talk to me, darling, please.”

Merlin, his voice alone was doing things to you that rendered your vocal chords useless. You tried speaking anyway. “P-Please,” you rasped out against his spit-slick skin. “Please Sebastian, I need you– I’ve needed you all night–”

“All night, huh? What exactly were you thinking about while we were on the dance floor, hm? What filthy thoughts are swimming around in that pretty little head of yours?”

The way Sebastian was rutting against you– tempting you with every snap of his hips– was driving you absolutely crazy with lust, and your head fell away from his shoulder against the sheets with a low moan as your nails raked down his sides. To your dismay, however, he ceased his movements to sit up and plant his hands on your wiggling hips, pinning you down in place. His toned arms flexed as he applied a fair amount of pressure in a bid to still your writhing against the silky covers, and you bit your lip in blatant frustration, narrowing your eyes dangerously.

“Don’t look at me like that, I asked you a question. Tell me what you want– what you’ve apparently been craving all night. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Leave it to Sebastian to still find a way to make you beg for his cock. The nerve. You scowled up at him, “You’re really going to make me say it?”

He had the audacity to laugh at your impatience. “I would make you scream it if I wasn’t trying so hard to be nice.”

You had half a mind to taunt him further and clarify that really– this was him being nice? But then one of his hands fell away from your waist to trail closer to your drenched underwear until he had the pad of his thumb planted directly against your clit. That was the extent of his mercy, though. He made no move to provide you with any friction or stimulation– he simply stared at you expectantly.

Dammit.

Your hips twitched, unconsciously seeking the reprieve his fingers could offer you. It mattered little though; his strength kept you pinned firmly in place. “I-I want you to fuck me,” you mumbled, cheeks heating with slight embarrassment.

“Anyone could fuck you, sweetheart. You need to be more specific,” he fucking purred the statement, making your head spin and your inhibitions fly out the damn window.

“You,” came your wheezed response. “I want you– I want your cock, Sebastian, all I need is you. Please fuck me, I only want you, please.”

The sight of you flushed and panting, bathed in warm candlelight as your hands fisted ardently in the sheets, drove all of Sebastian’s blood straight to his cock. It twitched enthusiastically within the confines of his briefs.

You felt the pressure from his arm let up at the same time he removed his thumb from your aching center. Impatient didn’t even begin to cover how you were feeling, but you were all too pleased when his fingers finally pinched the fabric of your panties to tug the material down your bent legs.

Shaking his head in near disbelief, Sebastian groaned, “You sound like a fucking dream begging for it, darling. I’ll give it to you, I promise.”

His words soothed you, but you still tensed a little when you felt the tip of his finger slip inside your overwhelmingly wet heat. You sighed and spread your legs further to accommodate Sebastian’s kneeled position, and he took to trailing his free hand over your hip bones, then up your torso to squeeze at your breasts as he willed you to relax for him. Releasing your vice grip on the sheets, you wrapped your hand around Sebastian’s thick wrist while he toyed with your sensitive nipples– effectively losing yourself to the euphoric sensation until he was knuckle-deep in your clenching walls.

A keening sound resonated from deep in your chest as you rocked back onto Sebastian’s finger, testing the feeling, and you bit your lip hard at the rumbling groan your boyfriend gave in response. He leaned down to pepper kisses along your shoulder, sucking at your collarbone and gently nipping at your neck, and when he thrusted his finger minutely and curled it towards your stomach, you shuddered and dug your nails into his forearm.

“Come on,” you whined, bucking your hips more insistently in response to his painfully slow pace. The brunet nodded, pumping his finger deeper, and he couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled from his mouth at how fucking tight you were.

Sebastian worked you with the single digit for a moment before tentatively adding a second, his blood igniting in his veins at the airy gasp you let slip. Your name fell from his lips like a plea, and when he leaned up slightly to gauge your expression, the half-hooded look you bore was enough to make his stomach drop. “Gods, you’re perfect,” he virtually whispered.

By the time you were amply prepared for him, your hands had abandoned the sheets and his wrist to clutch tightly at his shoulders, your sounds growing desperate and needy. Sebastian continued to spread and twist his fingers, trying to map out precisely where to aim to reduce you to gasping screams just as he’d promised. You were beyond jittery, though, winding your fingers into his curly brown locs to tug his face towards yours and glare openly at him. “I’m about to jump your bones,” you growled, rolling your hips against Sebastian’s fingers urgently. “Come on, Sebastian, let me– fuck–”

Sebastian grinned wildly at the way your back arched clean off the sheets, the tight gasp you pulled into your lungs imbuing him with a need for you that rivaled his need to breathe. Without missing a beat, he withdrew his fingers and frantically set to peeling his briefs away to free himself from the restrictive material. His girth arched proudly against his stomach, swollen and red and so fucking tantalizing. Your eyes devoured him greedily as he tossed the pre-cum stained attire over his shoulder, and then he was crawling over you once again with an animalistic hunger reflecting in his eyes.

Hooking your legs around his waist, Sebastian braced his arms on either side of your head, gazing at you longingly as the head of his leaking cock brushed against your slick entrance. It took an insane amount of effort for you not to nudge him forward with your heels– forcing yourself to remain pliant as he pressed into you at an achingly slow pace. Your eyes rolled shut at the feeling of being breached, savaging your lower lip with your teeth as inch after inch of Sebastian’s incredible cock entered you. A contented whine weaseled its way from his throat as he bottomed out, and you cracked your bleary eyes open to find the freckled man staring at you with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“W-What?” You muttered, trailing your hands up his muscular biceps before interlacing your fingers together around his neck. “Don’t make me beg again, I already said please.”

“I was just enjoying the face you were making,” he said with a smirk, grinding his hips enough to have you trembling and arching. “Like you were trying really hard to hold back. It’s hot as hell.”

You fought a smile, tugging him down by his neck to capture his lips in yet another dizzying kiss. Sebastian bit and licked at your mouth with reckless abandon as he swallowed the sounds his efforts pulled from you, and he sighed before pulling away to brush a few strands of hair off of your forehead. He thrusted suddenly into you– catching you off guard– and your breath hitched at the same time your head fell back, effectively killing the remainder of Sebastian’s patience.

Dropping one of his hands to your waist, Sebastian withdrew his throbbing member enough so that when he snapped his hips forward, you were jolted up the bed slightly. “Ah–” your sharp cry reverberated off the bedroom walls, and his hold on you instantly became possessive.

Grasping onto you like his life depended on it, Sebastian dug his feet into the bed to lend some force to his thrusts as he worked himself into an even tempo. It felt mind-numbingly wonderful to finally be encased in your warm walls after day-dreaming about it all night. His mouth fell open with a shaky groan when he pressed his balls against your raised ass, the friction doing you both a slew of favors, and his vision flashed a brilliant white when he felt you clench around his cock and suck him in even deeper.

“Oh fuck– fucking hell–” Sebastian grit through clenched teeth, pushing himself up fully so he was no longer hunched over you. You unhooked your ankles from around him so he could maneuver your legs over his bent ones, gripping your thighs with a bruising strength that made your mouth dry up in a heartbeat. He had a perfect view of you laid bare under him this way, and he shamelessly watched as his cock glistened with your slick when he pulled out right before plunging back in.

Your spine rounded, a guttural moan ripping its way from your chest as Sebastian picked up his pace while simultaneously pulling you down onto his quick thrusts. It was pure rapture having his hands on you– demandingly shifting you around to steal his pleasure from your tight heat as he sought out the deepest parts of you. At one point, he released his hold on one of your legs to plant his broad hand on top of your stomach, relishing in how he could feel his cock each time he slid home. It was addicting– you were addicting— and the thought lit a fire in his very soul.

“S-Sebastian,” you whined, gathering the silky sheets in your clenched fists as wave after wave of sheer pleasure washed over you. With your legs held in the brunet’s strong grip, he had the freedom to fuck harder into your slick folds, pulling noisy cries of his name and desperate pleas for more from your kiss-swollen lips. Your voice was loud in the humid room, your moans echoing off the walls around the two of you– and when Sebastian bucked harder so the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the space– you gasped frantically and writhed beneath him. He had to be hitting a good spot.

“You’re stunning, darling– so fucking good to me–” Sebastian managed to grunt out, pounding his cock into you with temerity that made your looming finish all the more potent. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”

“Right there, S-Sebastian, fuck me right there, gods–”

The muscles in your stomach were tensing, and you were honestly shaking from the vigor of his thrusts. Sebastian groaned, the sound of your pleading little whimpers driving him mad with undiluted need, and he watched you blearily try to figure out what was going on as he hoisted your legs up and threw them over his shoulders. He moved over you, bending you in half at the same time he rammed his thick cock back into your cunt, and you were hardly given the space to breathe before your boyfriend was fucking you hard— his hips bucking rough and deep and so fucking good that you were left mewling and grasping helplessly at the sheets.

Sebastian pinned you to the bed and fucked himself into you, his own moans dripping loud from his lips as his hands tangled in your hair and tightened around the strands. The sting was delicious and left you with no choice but to allow your lover to pull you closer to him while he filled you up over and over. He drank in the sounds you made as your back arched off the sheets the best it could under his added weight, your thighs shaking and muscles tensing until you were barely holding on.

“Like that– fuck, Sebastian, just like that, I’m gonna come–”

Unable to give a more coherent response than a gasping whine, Sebastian dug his nails into your scalp and was rewarded with the sweet sound of you wailing his name as you came violently, riding your hips down into his as much as you could. Your hands flew to his back to rake angry red welts down his sides, and Sebastian let your legs fall from his shoulders so he could wrap his arms around you and bury his face into the crook of your neck. He sank his teeth into the sweaty skin as he gave you the last of his deep, quick thrusts before he was coming inside— your name tumbling over his lips like a mantra as he fell into bliss.

By the time Sebastian was anything approaching coherent, you were still shaking under him, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Fuck,” he murmured into the hollow of your throat, untangling his hands from your hair and smoothing the mussed locs down.

Sebastian pulled out with a small groan– your hips seemingly lifting to chase the marvelous feeling of being filled– but then he was planting his elbows on either side of you to brace himself as he kissed you breathlessly. You melted under him, curling around him ardently when he finally let himself tip sideways beside you. His chest was heaving with the deep breaths he sucked into his lungs, and you happily nestled your head atop his shoulder as your hands took to tracing invisible shapes and patterns along the taut expanse of his stomach.

You dozed off sometime after Sebastian had started murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, and when you awoke a few hours later, you were still draped over him, his fingers idly trailing up the shallow dip of your spine. Stretching the best you could without disturbing the peaceful vibe, you craned your neck to look up at Sebastian sleepily, and his eyes crinkled at their corners as he smiled down at you.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Mmph,” you grunted, voice thick with sleep. “Is it morning already? You should have woken me up.”

He shrugged and glanced at the open bedroom door, noting the lack of sunlight streaming in through the skylight. “Early morning, but not daylight hours quite yet. I figured you needed the rest.”

Humming appreciatively, you closed the minuscule space between the two of you to kiss him gently, and he sighed against your lips as his hands roved up your back once more to play with your hair at the nape of your neck. Everything about the moment was pure, and you found it all too easy to get lost in the sensations dancing over your still-sensitive body.

Sebastian broke away first, gazing at you strangely before he abandoned your hair to reach for the nightstand. “I was going to do this earlier before everything, but I uh… got distracted.”

You couldn’t hide the flush that crept up your cheeks at the reminder. “Hm, I wonder why,” you teased. “Do what, though?”

He finally found whatever he’d been rifling around for blindly and met your inquisitive stare, swallowing nervously. “I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen after we graduate. I’m sure you have your own ideas, but I just thought– well, I’d obviously like to stay together. I can’t imagine not having you beside me, but that being said, I’ll respect whatever you decide, even if it isn’t what I want to hear.”

Your stomach flipped over on itself, and your eyes went wider than saucers when Sebastian revealed a small, velvet box gripped tight in his hand. Pushing yourself off of him, he flicked the lid open with trembling fingers, and your gasp was drowned out by the hammering of your heart in your ears.

Inside was a thin, gold band adorned with a tiny, emerald gemstone that sparkled brilliantly under the flickering candlelight. Your mouth fell open as the implications of the ring bore down on you, and when you looked back at Sebastian, his eyes were scanning your face to gauge your expression.

“Is that…?”

“It’s only a posy ring, but I thought that it might make the next few months easier to anticipate. You’re my whole world, darling. I can’t fathom parting ways after everything we’ve been through, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope you felt the same.”

Warm, fat tears welled in your eyes then, blurring your vision before they were streaking down your cheeks without restraint. His anxiety leading up to arriving in the Room of Requirement suddenly made a lot more sense to you, and you realized that he’d planned all of this well in advance. How long had he been waiting to ask you? How long had he held onto the ring in the hopes that you would say yes?

He still looked nervous, but it was drowned out by the complete adoration that glimmered in his dark eyes.

“Yes,” you choked out, somewhere in-between sobbing and laughing as you sat up fully. “Yes, Sebastian– of course I feel the same.”

Sebastian’s smile was blinding, and he plucked the ring from the box and slowly slid it on your extended finger, both of your hands shaking with barely contained excitement. It fit perfectly, and you gave yourself all of two seconds to admire the look and the feeling of it on your hand before you had flipped yourself to the side to straddle him. Your hands cradled his cheeks as you dipped your head lower to kiss him over and over, his soft laughter warming your heart and filling you with a sense of contentment you hadn’t known existed until now.

“I love you, Sebastian. I’ll travel to the ends of the Earth with you, never doubt that. My future is your future– my heart has always belonged to you– of course I’ll stay with you. Whatever is to come, facing it with you is all I want.”

You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look so elated in all your time knowing him. His face lit up vibrantly at your declaration, and in a flash he had wrapped his arms around you to flip you back over so he was situated on top of you, gazing down at you with his hands running down your bare sides.

He assaulted the entirety of your face with fervent kisses, laughing softly under his breath as you returned his affections with equal force. “I love you so much, darling. You’re my everything, I wouldn’t change a damned thing about the past knowing that it landed me here with you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The remainder of the night was spent with the two of you beneath the silk sheets, the promise of tomorrow suddenly all the more exciting to imagine now that you knew Sebastian would be with you for the rest of your life. Posy ring or not, you’d already known that only death could take you from him– and even then you were certain you would find a way to keep loving him long after you were gone.

Neither one of you would have it any other way.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x female! reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow oneshot #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #my writing #dusting my hands and wiggling my fingers as I finally post this #I don't know why it took so long

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senditcolton · 6 months

Text

If You Want It Done

summary: after a disappointing playoff loss, brady reappears on your doorstep eight months after he ended things. and he has nothing on his mind but taking out his frustrations by having you desperate and keening for him once again. however, you aren't about to submit without a fight.

song inspo: NFWB by Hozier & Rats by Motionless in White word count: 5.1k warnings: feminine reader. smut! hair pulling, fingering, unprotected penetration, spanking, slight choking, oral (m receiving), and - as always - a healthy amount of dirty talk. plus somewhat toxic and insanely cocky brady.

a/n: no tricks here. just a sweet treat in the form of long- awaited Brady Skjei smut. technically it's a continuation of this blurb, but i just combined the original and the addition into one fic for you all. enjoy and happy halloween.

Sadness. Humiliation. Shame.

Those should be the emotions running through Brady as the plane lands back in Carolina after Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Finals. Because he wasn’t back ready to fight for another win. He was here to pack his bags and go home.

The best team in the Metro. Swept. By a wild card team who barely made the playoffs.

It was a disaster, an embarrassment. And Brady should feel the heavy weight of that failure, even if he might only be responsible for one-nineteenth of the blame. Or, at least, he should feel the waves of sadness crashing over him about the way it ended, or the mere fact that it did end.

But he didn’t. Perhaps he had earlier, when that final buzzer sounded and the fans in South Florida cheered. But now, having sat with those feelings for the better part of 24 hours, he was no longer sad.

He was angry.

And so, when the wheels touched down in Raleigh and he collected his car, he didn’t drive home.

Instead, he drove to yours.

A tired sigh leaves you as you pull up to your quaint cottage-style home. A long work week was cause for an even longer relaxing weekend and you were ready to start that weekend by getting inside and having a long nap. Or a strong drink. Or perhaps both.

However, after hopping out of your car and wandering up the small path that leads to your front door, your plans placed on a momentary hold when you see someone leaning against your siding, their baseball cap pulled low.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you call out, ready for this stranger to flash you an award-winning smile and tell you all about how their company could save you money on roofing repairs after last week’s storm.

But when their head lifts, you stop in your tracks as you recognize the face staring back at you.

Hell, you used to wake up to it every morning for eight months. Until he ended things.

“Brady.”

His name falls from your mouth in complete practiced apathy. You didn’t need him to know how much time you spent crying over him in the last month. You especially didn’t need him to know how your heart still skipped a beat when his eyes connected to yours.

“Did you see the game?” he asks.

“I heard.”

“And?”

“And what? Do you want to cry for you?”

There’s a humorless chuckle that comes from Brady as his head falls before he takes a step towards you.

“You always knew how to make me feel better,” he says, the sarcasm lacing his voice. And when you hear it, that dry scathing tone, you realize that you didn’t recognize the man in front of you.

Brady was always soft, gentle, welcoming. It made the dichotomy between you even more obvious; you all sharp edges and harsh words and burning fire. It was part of the reason the two of you broke up.

But this Brady… there was something different. Something dangerous. it intrigued you. But not enough for you to give in.

“I’m not going to coddle you, Brady. You should know that by now.”

“I don’t want your sympathy.”

“What do you want then?” you ask, finally taking a few steps forward, closing the gap between you and your front door. “You want my pity? You want me to say ‘poor you, poor Brady’?”

It’s your turn to let a scoff fall from your lips as you reach into your bag for your keys, Brady now behind you.

“If you wanted someone to feel sorry for you, you came to the wrong fucking house,” you explain, unlocking the door.

Before you can even reach the handle, you feel Brady step forward, his hands falling on your hips as his body crowds you into the smooth wood. You attempt to take a deep breath to calm your heart but it doesn’t help because when you breathe in, your senses are filled with the smell of his cologne. A smell so familiar. One you missed.

Brady moves closer, his body almost pinning you to the door and you can’t stop your knees from trembling as you feel the heat of him behind you.

“I came here because I missed you,” he whispers into your ear.

“And it took you getting your ass kicked to realize that?” you shoot back. Although, the waver in your voice betrays you, revealing how much your body was responding to him; his touch, his words, his warmth. Brady just lets his previous sentence continue, as if he didn’t even hear you.

“And because I know you missed me just as much.”

You couldn’t let him do this – let him come crawling back to you when he was broken or bored. You no longer belonged to him. It was a recipe for disaster.

“I think you’ve forgotten that I’m not one of those girls that would fall on their knees for you.”

“You seemed to enjoy being on your knees for me when we were together.”

“And we’re not together anymore. So, find someone else to fuck your frustrations out on.”

“Is that what you did?”

“None of your business.”

You feel his grip on your hips tighten and you barely have time to react as he effortlessly spins your body until your back is pressed against the wood of the door, your eyes now looking up at him.

“You’re lying.”

Brady almost spits out the words, as if even the barest suggestion that what you said was true was poison to him. Your eyes follow the movement in his temple, the clenching of his jaw, the storm in his eyes. This wasn’t the side of Brady that you knew.

But it was a side that you were always curious to discover. Throughout those eight months, you wanted to know if Brady had that same fire hiding within him – a passion and intensity that could match yours. And now, you could finally see it peeking through.

You wanted it to come out completely.

“And you can tell?” you ask, wielding your words with edge and precision. “Does that make you feel worse? If I told you about all the other men that ended up in my bed?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t? Are you sure? You knew what you giving up when you left. Can’t blame me for moving on.”

“You wouldn’t,” Brady repeats, one hand falling away and you barely have time to comprehend where it had gone when you feel the steady weight of the door fall away from you.

Your body lurches back, the momentum pulling you until it is abruptly stopped by Brady’s strong arms, pulling you close and lifting you over the threshold. Your feet find the hardwood of your floors before Brady is spinning you again and you find yourself pressed against the door once more, this time inside your house instead of without.

“You wouldn’t,” he reiterates, “because no one could make you feel as good as I did.”

You hear the deadbolt click, the sound causing the heat pool in your stomach. Brady’s hand moves back to your hip, pulling you close again as he leans in until your lips are barely touching. It’s intoxicating, having him this close to you once again. You are about to surge forward, connect your lips to his, let your fire burn with his. Until Brady speaks again.

“No one could make you feel as good as I’m about to.”

That statement pulls all rationality from you and you don’t hesitate to close the gap between you, crashing your lips onto his. Brady returns the kiss with as much intensity, his hands gripping you tighter while yours move to trace over his arms, his broad shoulders before tangling into that salt-and-pepper hair. The kiss is frantic, all teeth and tongues and it takes a moment before Brady finally pulls away, connecting those brown eyes to your own

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “You always will be.”

The words cut right through you; as a threat or a promise, you weren’t really sure. But the instant that Brady crashes his lips back into yours, you find that you don’t care.

God, you missed this. You would be lying if you didn’t spend many restless nights reminiscing on how his hands felt on your body. How his lips felt on your skin.

But you wouldn’t tell him that. The words would never leave your mouth, not while Brady is standing in front of you. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. At least, not yet.

Instead, you get lost in Brady’s kisses, your hands coming to tangle deeper in his hair, pulling him closer to you as your hips roll up to meet his. You think you can hear a dark chuckle rumble from Brady and vibrate directly into your body, sending sparks of electricity flowing through you. His hands roam across your body, up from your hips to the soft material of your blouse before landing on your breasts, giving them a squeeze, causing your head to fall back.

“Missed these perfect tits,” he mumbles, his movements against your chest continuing in response to the soft moan falling from your mouth. Your moan turns into a sharp gasp as Brady grips the center of your shirt and tears it open. The sound of the buttons scattering across the hardwood floor floods your ears and it inexplicably turns you on even more.

If this was any other man, you would be pissed off at him for ruining your one of your favorite shirts. But this was Brady. A new Brady.

In those eight months you were with him, he was nothing but a gentleman, both outside and inside the bedroom. And he was more than satisfactory. But you knew there had to be something underneath all that charm. An untamed animal just waiting to be unchained.

And if this was the key to its cage, you weren’t about to stop everything to cry over a few buttons. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to complain at all.

“You’re buying me a new shirt,” you mutter against Brady’s lips. Brady swiftly removes his mouth from yours as he looks down at your newly exposed bra.

“Gonna buy you something new to wear under it,” comes his response as his thumbs trace over the edge of the plain nude material and this time, you can stop your eyes from rolling in annoyance.

“Do you really think I wear lingerie to work?” you quip, staring up at him.

You can see his eyes harden and it is in that moment that you realize he was enjoying this. The chase, the tease, the dare, the push and pull between the two of you.

“If you don’t like it,” you continue, your voice taking on a sultry tone as you continue to meet his dark brown eyes, “then take it off.”

The quick sparkle that appears in his brown eyes makes you think that he has taken the bait, that you might have gained some control over the situation at hand – a situation that you were wholly unprepared for but welcomed none the less. And when Brady leans back in to lock you lips together once again, his hands wandering around your ribcage towards your back, the confidence grows.

However, it takes a sharp plummet when you feel his hands drop from your frame. If Brady had given you a split second longer, you would have broken the kiss to question or quip him again. But you have barely any time to miss the sensation of his hands on your skin before you feel them grip the back of your thighs as Brady uses his athletic strength to effortlessly lift you off the floor.

You gasp, a gasp that Brady gladly swallows before he spins, tearing his lips away from yours to look around your house. There is a part of you that wants to tell him nothing has changed from the last time he was there – the furniture is the same, your bedroom is still two doors down on the left – but your lips have already busied themselves marking the smooth skin on his neck.

There was also a power in your decisions; forcing him to find his way through your space all while doing your best to distract him. And it seems to be working as you feel Brady’s pulse shudder underneath your mouth.

You feel him take a lurching turn right and a slight flash of confusion runs through you until you feel his body lowering. The soft material of your couch hits your knees and the skirt you had on flows out around you as you now straddle Brady.

“Forgot where the bedroom was?” you chirp into his neck, feeling his desperate hands return to your torso as he removes the tattered remains of your blouse from your waistband.

It seems that it takes a minute for your words to register but when they do, Brady’s hand lifts to tangle in your hair. Another gasp escapes from your chest as his fingers tighten before pulling your head away from his neck. He quickly reverses the roles, his own lips moving to your newly exposed throat, your breath transforming from gasps to soft sighs as his mouth works against your skin.

“Who says I’m not going to take you there after I’m done here?”

“Who says I would let you back into my bed anyway?” you retort to keep some semblance of control.

Your pathetic attempt is clearly read by Brady, who makes you falter once again as the hand not tangled in your hair effortlessly unclasps your bra. His lips depart from your neck as he helps slide the material down your arms, throwing it carelessly somewhere in the room. You both hate and love the smirk that appears on his face as he takes in your heaving chest, your pebbled nipples. His dark eyes dart back up to you briefly before he is tugging you into him for another animalistic kiss.

“Seems that you like it so far,” he whispers into your open mouth before he pulls away again, lifting your body upright and pulling you closer. “I’ll take my chances.”

You wish that you could say something back, something to knock his arrogant confidence down a peg but your mind goes blank as his lips move to your collarbone, leaving faint hickeys against the taut skin before moving down to your chest. His lips close around one of your nipples, tongue moving to tease the sensitive peak as his hands rest on your ribcage, his thumbs running across the delicate skin on the underside of your breasts. Your hands fly to the back of his head, keeping him close and you can feel his lips curl against your skin. The action both turns you on and pisses you off, a combination that you weren’t sure could even work until now.

You fly into action, hands moving down to grip the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders, tugging at the material and pulling it upward before he finally breaks away to help you remove the shirt entirely, tossing it away to join your clothes on the living room floor.

His lips return to your chest, moving to leave no skin unmarred with his love bites as your hands drop to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle in silent encouragement. Brady’s hands lower before coming to grip your ass and you gasp as he pulls you forward, the action causing your hips to roll. You both let out moans at the sensation of you grinding against him and it turns you on more to feel his erection against your core.

“And here I thought I was the masochist,” you joke, moving your hips of your own volition, pressing deeper into him. The grunt that your actions pull from his chest has you grinning. “Who’d know you get this hard from getting your ass kicked?”

You must’ve struck a nerve, prodded at the memory he came here to forget, because the only thing you hear in response is what could best be described as a growl before he lifts you off of his lap enough to slip out from underneath you. Your brain recognizes the weight of his body disappearing from the couch and you attempt to turn, just to keep your eyes locked on him but Brady doesn’t give you a chance.

His large hand finds the space between your shoulder blades and pushes you forward, your torso falling until your chest meets the back cushions. You can’t stop the gasp that falls, your arms lifting over the edge of the couch as your back arches, your hips pressing back towards Brady now looming behind you.

A dark chuckle echoes throughout the room in response to your actions as he pulls the material of your skirt over your hips, exposing more of your body to him. He doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even bother removing your underwear, instead choosing to move it to the side before he slips two fingers into your already soaked core.

You let out a moan, your head falling forward as Brady’s hand moves, winding you up and my God, you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the feeling. His thumb quickly finds your clit, pressing against the bundle of nerves and you can’t stop the way your body responds to his movements.

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs. “You have no right to that attitude when you’re this fucking desperate for me.”

He emphasizes his words with a curl of his fingers, the tips grazing your g-spot and the combined sensation of his hands skillfully moving against you almost has you falling over the edge. Brady doesn’t give you your satisfaction that easily though as he removes his fingers from your core. You whimper at the loss, listening intently to Brady’s movements behind you, impatient to feel him once more.

Brady doesn’t leave you wanting for long as you hear the rustle of his pants hitting the floor and before you can blink, you feel his hands practically tear your panties down your legs before he enters you in one swift, harsh motion.

The moans that you both let out are delicious and desperate. You whine as you move your hips back, pushing him impossibly deeper. Brady groans, his hands quickly finding purchase on your hips, gripping you tight before he begins to move.

“Oh god,” you moan out as Brady fucks into you with quick hard thrusts, showing no mercy, your ass rippling every time it meets his hips. You are grateful for the couch cushions in front of you, helping to support your upper body as your fingers dig into the fabric so deeply that an irrational part of you worries you might tear it.

“Not God, sweetheart. Just me,” Brady replies, his movements barely faltering. “Come on, say my name.”

You wish you could tell him to fuck off, make a quip about his cocky attitude but your mouth doesn’t seem able to form the words or any words for that matter. The only thing you want is for him to continue. A sharp smack against your ass jolts your body forward and your head whips around in surprise, eyes connecting to Brady.

“Say. My. Name,” he repeats, now more command than anything else, every word punctuated by another spank and you are helpless to comply.

“Brady,” you whine, your desperation painted on every letter, your eyes staying locked on him, drinking in his reaction. He groans, his teeth coming to bite his lower lip, his gaze dropping from your face to connect to where his cock disappears into your pussy.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart.”

His quiet encouragement is all you need to continue moaning his name over and over. One of his hands falls from your hips to join yours in gripping the back of the couch, his body now completely covering yours, the new leverage only increasing the strength in which Brady thrusts into you. Your head falls to rest against the back cushion, the sounds of your staccato whimpers and breathy curses filling the living room along with the continuous depraved slapping of skin against skin.

You whine as you feel his hand disappear from your hip and slowly trace up your body, the softness of his touch a sharp contrast. The gentleness doesn’t last long and your whine turns into a gasp as Brady’s large hand wraps around your throat, pulling your head upwards.

“Keep saying my name,” he says, his hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear. “Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

“You are, Brady.”

“Yeah? Can anyone else fuck you like I can?”

“No. Only you.”

“That’s right. Only me,” he growls in satisfaction, emphasizing his words with his rhythm.

“Fuck, Brady, please,” you plead, your voice strained from how much focus it took to pry the words from your mouth. “I’m close.”

“Well then, come on sweetheart. Touch yourself. Remind me how good it feels when you cum on my cock.”

The speed in which your hand falls is reckless, frantic to get that additional pressure that you were craving. As soon as your fingers press against your clit, your head falls back against Brady’s shoulder in relief. His praise is muffled against your skin as he peppers your shoulder with kisses, only interrupted by quiet curses as he feels your core flutter.

It is hot, so unbelievably hot – how he’s fucking you, how he’s holding you – that it doesn’t take long for you to finally fall over the precipice, your own hand faltering against you as your orgasm rocks through your body. A groan falls from Brady as he feels you clench around him; a groan that he muffles by sinking his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, the additional sensation causing you to moan louder, hips rocking back against him as his motions halt.

The haze that pricked at the corner of your eyes slowly dissipates and you can feel Brady’s hand fall from your neck. The cool air cascades over your back as Brady lifts himself away from you causing goosebumps to appear. A small whimper escapes when you feel him remove himself from your core and steps away. The submissive part of your mind, still in control, panics in fear that he might leave. But the concern is short lived as Brady sits down next to you, pulling you back into his lap.

He wastes no time capturing you in another kiss, stealing any remaining breath from your lungs. Brady attempts to break the kiss but you don’t let him, hands lifting to cup his jaw and pulling him deeper into the kiss. He doesn’t resist and allows you to continue to kiss him, his own arms wrapping around your body.

Eventually your hands move, trailing down his throat, dancing over his chest and you smile against his lips as you feel his abs tighten in response to your fingers sinking lower until they finally reach the desired destination.

You gently take his still hard length in your hand and stroke him a few times, which was easy to do with your prior release clinging to the silky-smooth skin. You grin as you feel the vibrations of Brady’s soft moan in response to your ministrations. The cloud of your orgasm had lifted and, in its absence, your own confidence returned.

“Want me to take care of that for you?” you question, only moving far enough away to ask, your lips brushing against his occasionally. Brady doesn’t respond; you knew he wouldn’t. He had worked too hard to give up the dominance he held over you so easily. But you weren’t deterred.

You kiss him deeply one more time before your lips follow the path your hands previously traced: down his throat, over his collarbones, across his chest. An occasional moan and curse fall from Brady as you continue your descent and you grin, knowing that his resolve was slowly cracking. Your body moves, shuffling from being perched on top of his lap to kneel on the plush carpet between his thighs. Brady’s eyes are needy when your own eyes dart up to meet his stare. Your hand strokes him again but you make no attempt to put your mouth on him, the dare hanging clearly in the air.

“Baby, please,” Brady finally speaks, his hips punching upwards.

“Who’s fucking desperate now?” you quip, unable to contain your excitement at regaining the upper hand. Your jaw drops open in surprise as Brady’s hand darts out, grabbing your neck once more, his eyes growing dark.

“You want to repeat that sweetheart?” he asks, that dominant energy rolling off him again. Except this time, it doesn’t make you back down. Instead, it just spurs you on, that heat and elation as it returns – the battle, the chase. Your dropped jaw just morphs into a wicked grin and you are ecstatic to see a similar smirk twist onto Brady’s lips; a quiet confirmation that he was still enjoying the newfound push and pull between you two.

“Come on Brady. Admit it. You are just as desperate for me as I am for you,” you explain, your voice dipping again into your lower sultry timbre. “Tell me, do any of those other girls have a mouth like mine?”

You flatten your tongue against his shaft and lick a bold stripe up his length before moving your lips to leave a lingering teasing kiss on the head. Brady groans, his head falling back as his hand moves from your neck to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer in an attempt for you to fully wrap your lips around him.

“No one can fuck me like you can?” you continue, hand wrapping around his cock. “Well, you’ll never find someone who can give better head than I can.”

You don’t give him any chance to respond as you surge forward, finally taking him into your wet mouth. Your tongue traces every vein that you could feel as your hand moves against the rest of him. Brady’s moans sounding from above fuel you and you continue to work your sinful magic against his skin.

It may have been months since you two were in this particular position but you feel like a part of you will remember everything about Brady, including all the spots that make him groan and twitch and throb. Your lips move to suck on the tip, teasing the area where the head meets the shaft with your tongue.

“Fuck,” Brady curses, his hips jumping causing his cock to thrust into your mouth. You gag a little before withdrawing – not completely but only enough to catch your breath. Your eyes dart to his and find that he is already staring at you, his salt-and-pepper hair falling over his forehead. The moan you release at the sight vibrates around Brady causing an identical moan to escape him. You inhale deeply before lowering your head, relaxing your throat until the entirety of his cock is nestled in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking good at that,” he groans, his fingers twisting in your hair. You move, shallowly bobbing your head as you feel him pulse against your tongue, a tell-tale sign he was getting close. The assumption was only confirmed by the next word Brady spoke. “Fuck, baby, gonna cum.”

You pull your mouth from him, replacing it quickly with your hand and continuing the pace you had set.

“I won’t waste a drop,” you say, keeping your eyes locked to his as you wrap your lips around him once again, your hands moving to the side his thighs and pressing your fingertips up into them. Brady understands your silent request, hand once again tightening in your hair as he moves his hips upward, taking control.

“Yeah? You going to swallow it all like a good girl?”

You nod your head, keeping your mouth open and accepting everything he gives, moaning against his skin as he increases his pace. It’s only a few more moments before Brady throws his head back against the couch cushions, a long groan emulating from his chest as his own orgasm hits. You feel his cum hit the back of your throat and you greedily pull him deeper, determined to keep your word.

You let Brady collect himself and take a few deep breaths before you slowly raise your head, sliding off of his cock. You wait until his eyes connect to yours before you swallow, releasing a satisfied exhale afterwards. You can’t help but make a show of it, licking your lips before opening your mouth to show him that you indeed didn’t let anything go to waste.

Brady grins, a smile which you quickly mirror before his hands are on your body, hauling you off the floor and back into his lap. Your lips connect and you sigh, savoring the euphoric glow that surrounded the two of you. The two of you continue to make out for a few minutes, relaxing before you pull away, looking down at Brady.

“D’you feel better?” you joke, the remembrance of why he came to your house in the first place – and what it all meant now – nagging in the back of your mind. You aren’t sure if you can see sadness lingering on the corners of Brady’s smile as his hand runs soothing circles across your spine.

“A little.”

“Need anything else?”

“Maybe a shower,” he replies, looking up at you with those brown eyes that always made you weak. A sparkle that spells nothing but trouble for you flashes in his irises as his smile turns into a wicked smirk. “And perhaps a round two, starting with my head buried between your thighs.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” you breathlessly chuckle, your head shaking in playful disbelief as your tear your gaze from his.

“I just know what I want.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

His quiet declaration has your head turning back to him, connecting your eyes once again. The emotions displayed in his own stare are unfathomable and you know that this isn’t the place to attempt to decipher them. You don’t have time to unwind and unravel the mess that defined you and Brady’s connection: your prior relationship, the subsequent break-up, and everything that happened today.

So, instead, you gently climb from Brady’s lap, standing upright before stretching out your hand towards him. He accepts your offer and you help lift him off the sofa before dragging him down the hallway to the second door on the left, back into your bed.

Like he always belonged there.

Like he never left.

tagging the skjei-sy sluts (affectionate) who asked for a continuation + a few others I think would appreciate this: @smileysvech @pyotrkochetkov @cellythefloshie @comphy-and-cozy @laurenairay

#nicole writes #brady skjei fic #brady skjei imagine #brady skjei smut #carolina hurricanes fic #carolina hurricanes imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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leupagus · 9 months

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Still working on the "No Seriously, If Crowley and Aziraphale Ever Did Have Sex, They'd Have So Many Weird Conversations About It First" fic

"You already have a penis?" Aziraphale demanded, his hands on his hips. "Since when?"

Crowley tried to recall. "Turn of the nineteenth, I think?" he ventured. There'd been a fountain, and a lot of wine, and Jane challenging him to see which of them could hit the fish statue in the middle.* Afterwards he'd kept it — it was fun, being able to take a piss if you felt like it. Not to mention you could stir up a lot of trouble in public toilets if you were in a mood.**

"Really?" Aziraphale looked halfway between surprised and intrigued. "Don't you find it a bit — floppy?"

"Eh, a bit," Crowley admitted. "But they do amazing things with underpants these days."

Aziraphale laughed, the startled hiccough he gave sometimes when he wasn't quite ready to be out of his sulk. It was one of Crowley's favorite noises. "Very well," he said, adjusting his waistcoat. "Let's have a look."

"What? No," said Crowley. He'd been looking forward to showing off his cock at some point, but Aziraphale was eyeing him like the Queen about to inspect the troops.

"Why not?" Aziraphale whinged, his lower lip puckering dangerously near a pout. "We're going to have to take our clothes off when we have sex. Unless — actually, I think that's on the list of kinks, you know, sex with your clothes on, but it seems terribly awkward, not to mention you'd have to get everything cleaned afterward. Although I do have a rather good 'dry cleaner,'" he made the inverted commas with his fingers and everything, "Who's an absolute miracle worker." He paused. "Well, not a real one. At any rate, come along." And he gestured at Crowley's crotch.

Crowley, who'd had millennia of practice with Aziraphale's careening monologues, was still halfway through unbuckling his belt before his brain caught up. "I'm not pulling my cock out in the middle of your bookshop," he said — with absolutely perfect timing, since Muriel chose that moment to come bustling in.

They stood frozen for a moment, blinking at both of them as they clutched at the doorframe. "I think I, erm, heard a… noise?" They smiled, and backed out slowly. "I should go. And check, on the noise, because noises are sometimes indicators of—" Whatever else they were saying was lost with the slamming of the door.

"Small mercies," Aziraphale huffed, and wriggled his fingers; the sign on the door flipped to "CLOSED" and the door locked with a pointed flourish. "Now then!"

*Neither of them had, and it had nearly gotten them arrested, all the moreso since they'd been in Spain at the time.

**With or without an anus.

#good omens fic #ficcage of interest #crowley's musings about the time he considered getting snake penises #(yes snakes have two dicks)#are definitely going to be referenced #so many wonderful sexy fics about these guys but what *I* want to bring #is the Weird Energy #ineffable motherfuckers #good grade in sex fic

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autisticlancemcclain · 9 months

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fic rec friday 35

welcome to the thirty-fifth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. Send Down the Rain by @azapofinspiration

Lance missed rain. As much as he missed his family and his home, he missed rain almost as much.

However, rain has to exist somewhere out in the universe, right? Even if he can't go home, Lance should be able to feel rain and soak it.

Right?

Five times Lance tried to find rain and the one time he did

lance should have gotten the rain in canon. he needed that. and god did azap fucking deliver!! this fic is sweet and this fic is sad and this fic is melancholy and this fic makes you want to throw up and this fic makes you feel alive. i fckn love this fic

2. Brawler by @admiralcanthackett [GORE WARNING]

I have no summary for this beyond Lance and Keith get ambushed and Lance is a determined motherfucker who fights dirty. Keith is mildly turned on and largely impressed.

you ever want to see lance, feral, thinking only of protecting his family, rip someone’s throat out with his teeth? no? well, i didnt either, but it turns out that i needed to read it, so. and just to clarify this series isnt just lance going batshit insane, although there is plenty of that, it also has some tender klance gong over trauma so thats fun

3. nobody has to know (nobody but me) by xeah

Lance has a secret, and he’s taking it to the grave –except, he didn’t think the ‘taking it to the grave’ bit would happen quite so soon.

When the team head planetside on a diplomatic mission, Lance can’t decide if he’s ecstatic about it, or about to endure an intense bout of homesickness. Sure, the planet looks cool, the aliens themselves are pretty chill considering they’ve singlehandedly fended off Galra attacks up until now. But thanks to Pidge making the team clocks that run on Earth time, Lance knows that it’s almost his nineteenth birthday.

Yeah, he’s gonna go with the homesickness.

Unfortunately for him, the aliens they visit have two distinct qualities that, in any other circumstance, Lance would find cool; the ability to sense emotions, and the complete inability to keep secrets. That extends to their allies, as well.

He probably would have continued thinking those were pretty amazing skills –until the aliens sense negative emotions between the Paladins, and demand that to secure an alliance, the team must heal the dissent brewing in the fine cracks between each other thanks to the secrets they’re keeping, no matter how trivial.

Yeah. Homesickness probably wasn’t the right way to go.

okay, full disclaimer, this series isnt finished and i doubt it ever will be. HOWEVER. this fic is, and this fic is fucking stellar. magical realism has always been a fave of mine, and of course add vld and klance to that and ill always go feral. if you want to see amazing mcclain family backstory and tension so thick you could gnaw on it, swallow the L and read this fic you’ll only be a litle devastated that you won’t see how the series ends

4. Bruises by @admiralcanthackett

Lance is cornered by a Galra, cut off from the rest of his team. When he hears their disparaging comments, instead of asking for help when he can, he hides how hurt he is. He doesn't want them to think he's anymore useless than he already is.

you can tell that the author was mad when fae wrote this and honestly? yeah. yeah, sometimes u just have to be mad. sometimes thinks go to shit and its everyone’s fault and your pain becomes physical and you just have to grit your teeth and tell everyone to go fuck themselves. thats what lance goes thru here

5. Hybrid by @admiralcanthackett

Lance overhears one of the aliens insulting Keith after a successful mission and loses his temper.

yes another admiral fic but let me live i have always been obsessed with these fics and there are just so MANY of them okay. there will be more. but i like this one bc who doesn tlike protective lance??? who doesnt like keith realising that he’s worthy of being defended??? like cmon now

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#i mean the authors are still a little varied #ive done hundreds of these ive def had quite a few okay #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #team as family #bamf lance #witch lance #langst #fic rec #fic rec friday

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flwoie · 10 months

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BE CAREFUL WITH MY HEART — 손영재 (TEASER)

A STORY WHERE OPPOSITES CAN ATTACT — THEY JUST NEED TO LEARN HOW TO LOVE

⋆˚✿˖ SUMMARY By the time someone turns 19, their emotions can be controlled by their soulmate, and they can control their soulmate’s. Sometimes it can land in good or bad hands. So what happens if one of the biggest players you know has your heart?

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ STARRING eric x f! reader

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ GENRE soulmate au (a real one this time unlike st), fluff, comedy, angst 😼, strangers? to lovers (idk, they know each other through friends)

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ CW profanity, reader works at a pizzeria and hates pineapple pizza, homie hopping eric, more will be added in the actual fic

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ RATING 15+

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TEASER WORD COUNT 0.9k [934] | EST. WC <10k (i’m hoping it’s not too much 😭🙏)

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ SONA SPEAKING giggles im finally writing a tbz fic. i thought of this idea when i was suffering on the toilet while i was listening to the song n i thought it was such a cute idea :(. i’m posting the teaser so i could forget about it and never write. jk i’ll try to finish this but i can’t make any promises

THIS WORK IS PURE FICTION—ALL THE IDOLS MENTIONED IN THIS DO NOT REFLECT WITH THEIR ACTUAL LIFE AND CAREER.

ONE — THE LAST TIME I’LL SEE YOU

8:36. You woke up earlier than your alarm. Or maybe you set your alarm at the wrong time and slept in. Either way, you have a lot of time before your shift starts. Your phone lights up and shows a text from a friend.

✉️ sangyeon : happy birthday y/n :) ! 🎉

You checked the date on your phone. Right, it’s your nineteenth birthday today. Nineteen isn’t a special number; it just shows you have six more years before you’re an actual adult. That’s what you thought when you were younger. It is a special number. It was a number you feared because you knew someone was able to control your emotions. You expected to wake up dead, but you woke up the same way you woke up yesterday.

You looked through messages from friends and relatives wishing you a happy birthday. It would be a happy day if it weren’t filled with the smell of flour, tomatoes, and cheese. You groaned as you got up and went to your closet to look for your uniform. Your crimson t-shirt has now turned garnet red. You wonder if it’s your uniform or a shirt you bought weeks ago. You placed the shirt on your bed, knowing it’s probably not your uniform—it’s a red shirt; no one is going to notice.

You sat in front of your desk to do your makeup. As you look through your makeup bag for concealer, you notice that you don’t have a single beauty blender. You might as well treat yourself and get one today. You closed your makeup bag and put the shirt on. You lay down on your bed, waiting for the right time to call an Uber to get you to the pizzeria.

9:54. “Thank you!” You thanked the driver after paying them. You cursed yourself for calling an Uber during traffic and wished you had called them right away. The hostess greeted you when you rushed into the pizzeria.

“Wow, you’re only six minutes away before Jangjun scolds you for being late,” Karina deadpans. You eyed the kitchen to see if he was making sure your coworkers were properly making a pizza, but he was nowhere to be seen. “If you’re wondering where he is, he ran to Costco to find a gift for his girlfriend.” Not surprised. Jangjun tends to go places during work, even when there’s an angry mob of starving people.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” she said, handing you your apron, a notepad, and a pen. You put on the apron, placed the notepad and pen in your pockets, and headed to the counter to clock in.

It’s been hours since you’ve taken people’s orders, served them, and given them the bill. You would talk to Karina back and forth, the topic being mainly your soulmate. You only have a few minutes until you clock out; all you have to do is serve this couple a large Hawaiian pizza. You glared at the couple who ordered it—seriously, who the hell puts pineapple on pizza? You made your way to their table with the pizza in your hand. As you were walking, a running figure bumped into you, causing you to fall and drop the pizza. The man catches the pizza but leaves you on the floor.

“Don’t they teach their servers how to not fall?” the man asks, placing the pizza on the table.

“Don’t track stars learn how to watch where they’re going?!” you retorted as you got up. He scratches the back of his head and apologises. He quickly pulls out his wallet and takes out a twenty dollar bill. He reaches for your hand and places the bill in your hand, closing it afterwards.

“Take a twenty; you’re welcome!” he yells after he runs toward the exit. You should be mad at the guy and chase him down for catching the pizza instead of you. Instead, you’re calm and happy that he left, hoping that he’ll never come back. Maybe your soulmate didn’t want a sulky Y/N coming home from work. You grabbed the pizza and went to the couple to place it on their table.

After clocking out, you sat down on an empty table near the podium where Karina was standing. You complained to her about the guy who bumped into you and saved a pizza’s life rather than yours.

“Eric,” she mentioned. You hummed in confusion. “His name is Eric; he’s one of Kevin’s friends. He used to date Eun, Yumi, or literally anyone we knew; they’ve had a history of being together.”

Yikes. You ran into a guy who could’ve made you his girlfriend and would leave you in seconds. You took out the twenty dollar bill he gave you earlier from your pocket and placed it on the table in front of her. “He gave this to me before he ran off,” you muttered.

“It’s a trap!” Karina uttered, taking the money and stuffing it in her pocket. “He’s trying to win you over with a stupid piece of paper, a very worthy piece of paper,” she said, mumbling the last part.

A worthy piece of paper from such a worthless man. Though it was quite interesting to see him sacrifice a few bucks for a piece of dough he never got to eat. And those few bucks getting stolen from your own best friend—you might as well ask him for another when he bumps into you. After all, what’s the harm in falling into a trap?

Curse your soulmate for making you think positively of the guy instead of anything mean.

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dearorpheus · 1 year

Note

Are there any non-fiction you can recommend for people who are fascinated by your blog (especially the elements of dark eroticism, morbidity and horror)?

🖤 love that you are loving!

i will try to stick to non-fic (also refraining as best i can from re-recommending texts from previous asks but there is of course bound to be some overlap): - The Severed Head: Capital Visions, Julia Kristeva -> read about Aubrey Beardsley's illustrations for Salomé (x, x)

and supplement w Baudelaire's Une Martyre "in which the narrator lovingly contemplates the beauty of a woman's severed head at rest upon a nightstand"

- Masochism: Coldness and Cruelty & Venus in Furs, Deleuze - The Sadeian Woman: And the Ideology of Pornography, Angela Carter - Aesthetic Sexuality: A Literary History of Sadomasochism, Romana Byrne - Perverse Desire and the Ambiguous Icon, Allen S. Weiss - "Must We Burn Sade?", Simone de Beauvoir -> read also about Erzsébet Báthory, the Bloody Countess. supplement your readings with Borowcyzk's Immoral Tales (1973), Julie Delpy's The Countess (2009), Alejandra Pizarnik's La Condesa Sangrienta and/or, if you have the stomach for it:

Lorna's death in Hostel Pt II (2007), inspired by the Countess^

- Anaïs Nin's diaries + Henry and June - Abject Eroticism in Northern Renaissance Art, Yvonne Owens

Hans Baldung Grien "gave powerful visual expression to late medieval tropes and stereotypes, such as the poison maiden, venomous virgin, the Fall of Man, 'death and the maiden' and other motifs and eschatological themes, which mingled abject and erotic qualities in the female body"

- Satanic Feminism: Lucifer as the Liberator of Woman in Nineteenth-Century Culture, Per Faxneld - The Library of Esoterica's Witchcraft - the biographical Taschen on H.R. Giger's oeuvre—biomechanical, Lovecraftian-tentacular fused limbs, bodies, systems, overtly phallic/yonic symbology, darkly psychedelic... very much fantastically erotic; I have my eye on the 40th Anniversary Edition

Giger, as we know, having designed the xenomorph from the Alien (1979) series to have an intensely sexual evolution:

- DEFINITELY read about+explore ero guro (see also: Bataille's L'histoire de l'œil / Story of the Eye! though it is fiction)

brief introductory articles here and here but it's truly so rich and decadent... delve into it!! film, lit, manga, history, so on... -> watch Nagisa Ōshima's In The Realm Of The Senses (1976) too

- if you can read French by any chance, Le Corps Souillé (The Soiled Body) by Eric Falardeau looks incredible; if not, this excerpt alone is delightfully provocative even in isolation - similarly, L'espirit de plaisir: Une histoire de la sexualité et de l’érotisme au Japon (The Spirit of Pleasure: A History of Sexuality and Eroticism in Japan) by Philippe Pons and Pierre-François Souyri is something I'm hoping might see an English translation

^an excerpt from an interview with the authors

- The Art of Cruelty + The Red Parts, Maggie Nelson - Crucial Interventions: An Illustrated Treatise on the Principles & Practice of Nineteenth-Century Surgery, Richard Barnett - The Butchering Art, Lindsey Fitzharris - Death, Disease and Dissection, Suzie Grogan - The Theatre and Its Double, Antonin Artaud - Men, Women, and Chainsaws, Carol J. Clover - House of Psychotic Women, Kier-La Janisse - The Monstrous-Feminine, Barbara Creed - Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers, Sady Doyle - The Lady From The Black Lagoon, Mallory O'Meara

#that's all that comes to mind for now! loveu anon #asks #eroticism #horror

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raekensarcher · 1 year

Text

Thiam fic rec <3

I’ll probably keep coming back and adding new ones in the notes, but here’s the list I have made so far :)

(in no particular order)

1. Handle with care 190.1k words, completed

Summary: Theo's back from hell and there's a lot of shit to sort out. Liam helps with that, sometimes.

2. Stray Dogs 2 fic series, completed?

Summary: *basically Theo is like I would break so many laws for u if u just ask*

3. The things you notice 2 fic series, completed

Summary: It’s literally just Theo and Liam loving each other in their pov’s. so special to me, actually.

4. You are stuck with me (so I guess I'll be sticking with you) 30k, completed

Summary: a look into how theo and liam’s relationship built up in the background of teen wolf 6b

5. when I watch the world burn, all I think about is you 6k, completed

Summary: Theo wakes up on the McCall couch and Liam is inside of his shirt. Asleep. On Theo.

6. liturgy for an atheist 2k, completed

Summary: “I don't want to hurt people,” Liam says, eyes flashing bright and blood dripping from his clenched fists, every line of him pulled taut like it's all he can manage to stand there destroying only himself. His rage smells like gunpowder and gasoline, ready to spark and burn the entire school down around them if someone doesn't put it out.

So Theo says, “Okay, then hurt me instead.”

7. a catalogue of spectacular alive things 4k, completed

Summary: In which Theo makes breakfast, goes to a baby shower, shows up late for dinner, falls into bed with someone he loves, and drowns in contentment.

8. coordinates (we are two points in space) 4k, completed

Summary: Liam can’t control all the leaving but he can control his not-knowing where.

9. smoke rises, and with it the truth of ourselves 4k, completed

Summary: In which Liam invites Theo out into the middle of the woods, gives him a stale s'more, rambles about death, and teaches him to scream.

10. old ghosts gather in liminal spaces 6k, completed

Summary: Liam asks, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Same thing you are,” Theo says. Avoiding, searching, not-thinking, maybe.

His answer seems to appease Liam. Or maybe he’d just rather not elaborate on the circumstances that made him seek shelter in a bus stop with a boy that he only spends time with when danger is making a home for itself in the corners of their lives.

(Theo thinks everyone might be a little out of place, trapped.)

11. and I'll find my way back to you, party of two 2k, completed

Summary: On Theo Raeken’s nineteenth birthday, he is gifted three bullet wounds, two flat tires, and a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich made by the boy he might love. None of it is as bad as it sounds, really.

12. coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine 5k, completed

Summary: The funniest thing is -- most everyone seems to be under the impression that Theo's driving Liam.

Like most things in Liam's life, it doesn't quite work out that way.

13. lovers alone wear sunlight 8k, completed

Summary: Liam comes home, in more ways than one.

14. when oblivion is calling out your name, you always take it further than I ever can 8k, completed

Summary: In which Liam is terribly high and completely smitten, Theo is allergic to emotions and totally whipped, Mason has the patience of a saint, and everybody wins, except for Stiles.

15. tell me no more secrets, I'll tell you no more lies 1.4k, completed

Summary: "Look at me," he says, and Liam almost can't. "Liam."

Liam looks. "You were attacked. It was self defense."

"Okay," Liam says, and feels the blood trickle from the corner of his mouth, the iron coating his throat catching in his lungs. "What if it wasn't."

Home is the first grave.

#ill add more in the reblog when I find them in my search #thiam fics #thiam fic rec #thiam fanfiction #thiam fic recs #thiam #Theo raeken #Liam dunbar #Liam dunbar x theo raeken #Theo raeken x Liam dunbar #the way this is mostly attempted eloquence lmfao they are my favorite ever

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unrequitedloveletter · 11 months

Text

Stay- K.B x male! reader

Okay. This fic is one of three of it’s kind that’s coming out this month. This one comes out today, the next one (for Jesper) comes out on the 16th, the third (for Nikolai) comes out on the 30th.

I’ve always wanted to write something that feels authentic and in line with my experiences as a queer person in aspects of things like heartbreak, yearning, and some of the lighter parts, too, and I chose to do that in the form of these fics. I poured my heart and soul out a little bit so I hope this touches some hearts, too. This is also, by far, my favorite piece of queer fanfic that I’ve ever written. It’s also very long and so that you know what you’re getting into, I’ve added a word count to this fic for convenience.

Also, yes, there are multiple different gifs with this one but they all have their significances within this fic lol

Fic type- this jumps all over the place but the main genres in it are hurt/comfort and heavy angst

Warnings- mentions of death, mentions of and depictions of gunshot wounds/being shot, mention and depiction of yearning and heartbreak, mention of blood and mentions of physical violence

Word count- 11.6k

You had been in love with Kaz Brekker for what felt like forever, but in reality, had been two thousand days. Five and a half years, give or take. Sixty-five months. You had realized you were in love with him when you were fifteen years old, and in the time since, you'd had a sixteenth, a seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, and a twentieth birthday.

You did not know how else to state it. You loved him with the surety of a stream rippling and moving over water covered stones, ones that were always a light-ish brown but looked nearly identical to the color of his hair because they never did have the chance to dry unless someone took them out of the water.

You loved him and were as sure in that as you were in the fact that you loved to watch the sunrise from the rooftops with Inej when she was visiting, as sure as you were in the fact that you would never grow tired of Jespers jokes or the songs Wylan could play on the flute.

Some days, the fact that you were deeply in love with Kaz Brekker and had been for nearly the entirety of the six years you had known him was the only thing you could be sure of.

Because you loved Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel who was never seen anywhere without his gloves, you yearned. Yearning naturally came with loving him as it did loving anyone else, and it was intense because you had not told him how you felt. You weren't entirely sure that you ever would.

Yearning was odd. Sometimes, it was the phantom feeling of a kiss against a forehead, the overwhelming idea of how nice it would be if you could rest your head against his shoulder or simply wanting to hold his hand. It was mildly pleasant in those times, though still quite the inconvenience, you could admit.

Other times, however, it felt like a punch to the gut. It was the pain of wanting a forehead kiss. It was the pain of wanting to be hugged and a gut punch, a bullet wound, when you really wanted to know what it would've been like to be in a relationship with the one person in the Barrel who had everyone in his pocket, the one person who had become untouchable alongside you after the success of the Ice Court and all of the big heists since.

Sometimes, yearning was like waking up on the perfect morning. It was waking up on your favorite day of the week, finding that the weather outside was just perfect, making your drink of choice just right and finally having the motivation to read the book you'd been setting aside for weeks in the favor of other tasks in need of doing.

Other times, it was like being stabbed. It was an ache; a bone deep, heartsick ache. It was waking up and wanting for the one thing you could not have. It was going down to the bottom floor of the Slat, grabbing a brandy and hoping that it did the trick and got you back to normal, only to remember that alcohol did not always work that way and objecting to take the whole bottle instead. Yearning was drinking brandy from the bottle as you read a book you hated but could not give up and yearning was hoping that drinking yourself to sleepiness would have you back to normal the next morning.

Of course, the bottle of brandy never worked. It made you tired after a bit, sure, but it also left you feeling hungover and sluggish the next morning. It had Nina laughing as she commended you for surviving a rough night as Jesper wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you lightly into the booth, nodding his understanding because he was your friend and he loved you, and he'd fancied Kaz once, too, so of course he understood.

"It sticks with you," Jesper said as the two of you headed into the Slat from Fifth Harbor. You'd been grabbing breakfast and Kaz had wanted you in his offices for a meeting by nine bells. "The yearning, I mean. I've been with Wylan three years now, and damn it, it really never goes away."

"I can't let that be the case with me," you said. "I can't. I can barely survive this as it is, Jesper. If the yearning keeps going the longer I stay in love with him, I don't know what I'll do."

"There are a couple of gay bars in the city," Jesper suggested. "I can't imagine that they'll quite fulfill the needs you have but they'll be good for moving on if you flirt with the right people."

"The right people for me are the emotionally unavailable ones," you said. "I honestly don't have much of a preference, but if they've got light blue sea glass eyes, a cutting jaw and brown hair that looks glorious when it's been a few months since it was last trimmed and has had a bit of a chance to grow out, that all would be quite the convincing added bonus."

"You lovesick fool," Jesper said with a laugh as you proceeded into Kaz's office.

"Who's in on the job?" Were the first words out of your mouth, eyes scanning the area. You noticed a map of Ravka on his desk, a map of Fjerda right beside it, a cup half full of coffee placed bare milimetres away from the spot where Kaz had chosen to sit his cane while he worked. "I'm assuming Inej, if she gets in from her voyage in time, and especially if you need a spider. Raske is good on house calls and Ketterdam based Dregs business but he would never be suited to something overseas."

Kaz blinked. "How do you know it's a job across the pond?"

"The map of Ravka on your desk helps me to determine that much, though the map of Fjerda right next to it provides more of a clue," you said. "Let me guess, jewelry? Jewelry was stolen by Fjerdans who managed to infiltrate the Little Palace and steal as much as they could grab?"

"Druskelle, specifically," Kaz said with a nod. "At the orders of their new commander. The aim was to make Grisha afraid, and so they did so by breaking into the one place where Grisha felt safe and stealing something valuable.

“They aim to strike fear into the hearts of all Ravkans,” you said with a nod. “The royals are just the start, as their new commander has said to the news. I’ve kept up with the news as their managing to steal Ravkan jewels is of interest to me--I haven’t the slightest idea how they’d managed it--though it seems that the royals are angry with it. Sources say that Zoya feels like she’s been duped.”

"They are quite angry indeed," Kaz said. "Angry enough that they hired us. It'll be us three, Wylan, and Inej. Nina, too, but she's been working for the Ravkans since Matthias died so she'll meet us there.”

"What's the payoff?"

"Six hundred thousand kruge split six ways."

"One hundred thousand for a break in? Seems a bit generous from the Ravkans, doesn’t it?”

“It’s money borrowed from the merchant council. They’re paying us, essentially.”

"It’s boat and life forever spent at sea money," Jesper said pointedly, referencing a conversation you two had had over breakfast.

You’d been watching Kaz's expression, saw surprise flit across his face for a split second before he schooled his expression back to neutrality.

"You've thought about leaving?" He asked. "What, do you just need an excuse to go?"

"I prefer to call it a reason," you answered with a shrug. "And no. Leaving Ketterdam is not something that I have thought about in depth, I only started thinking of it last night. Figured I could buy a boat ticket and head off somewhere new. I could use a refresh in the scenery, learn to walk a new city until I've memorized every path and shortcut. I need something different, Kaz. I've needed something different since we were seventeen, since I watched Nina climb into a sickboat and lay beside her dead beloved."

You looked to Jesper as he slipped a supportive hand into yours, Kaz's gaze hardening as he turned your words over in his mind.

"Reason and excuse. What's the difference?"

"Reason: you have decided I am unfit to remain on the Dregs, or you have decided that you hate me, or perhaps you love me and it is something you cannot face, so we come up with a solution together. The solution being my departure," you hummed. It was too easy to joke about Kaz being in love with you when you were in fact the one in love with him, but whenever you did, it made your chest ache. You wished he'd felt the same as you did. "Excuse: I find myself with enough money to afford a cheap boat ticket and quite the large townhouse in a port city off the coast of Ravka or Novyi Zem, even the Wandering Isle or Shu Han. It is with the knowledge of the money in my account that I make the decision to buy a boat ticket, pack up what little of my belongings exist in my room at the Slat, and go."

"Ah," Jesper hummed. "Well, if you do leave, promise to visit?"

"Summer and Christmas," you said, pairing it with a smile like that would've made it any easier to think of leaving. Just because it was something you’d begun to debate did not make it any easier to fathom.

"Well, we're in for a week and a half of travel on boat," Kaz said. "To Ravka. We're meeting with the royals for two days to discuss how exactly we plan to pull it off."

"Where are we rescuing the jewels from?"

"The Fjerdan royal palace."

“I normally quite like a good gamble or two,” Jesper said. “Rather unfortunately for you, Mr. Brekker, I’m not seventeen anymore, and the knowledge that the odds are nearly guaranteed to be stacked against me does not sound exciting.”

“Well, even as such, a sharpshooting Fabrikator is needed on this job and you are the best suited for it. You can still say no, Jesper, but you’ll be missing out one hundred thousand kruge if you do.”

“Wylan will probably agree to come along. At least, if you’re putting yourself up against death, you and Wylan will probably die together,” you offered with an uneasy smile, giving Jespers hand a squeeze.

“Hand in hand, provided you get lucky,” Kaz added.

Jesper sighed. “I’ll talk it over with him, and you’ll have an answer by nightfall.”

“You’re in, correct?” Kaz asked, looking to you.

You nodded. “I’ve still got more than half of the money from the Ice Court heist left. May as well add to those funds a bit before I take them with me when I leave.” You still didn’t know if you wanted to go, but it was better to talk like you’d made up your mind as it were. You didn’t like uncertainty, had no particular fondness for variables.

Kaz nodded.

Jesper let go of your hand and left, the door closing soundlessly behind him.

“What of it, then, Kaz?” You asked. You did not mean to stay behind, not really, but you did. Kaz had more to disclose with you, as always, though it was something that went unsaid.

You were the one person in the world that Kaz would--albeit a little begrudgingly and only when he was nearly black out drunk--admit he cared about, and as such, you always got more to it than Nina did, than Jesper or Wylan or Inej or even Matthias had while he was alive.

But, you could not let that, nor how you felt about him, get in the way of your goal. You wanted to know as much of it as you possibly could before you fully committed before breaking into a palace that was located in the Ice Court, which, if your memory served, was a place with more security than any reasonable facility would’ve employed, even a place with a prison sector.

The knowledge you’d long learned pricked in your chest, the thought that accompanied it bubbling up in your mind as you met Kaz’s gaze, saw the blue of his eyes reflected in the rare Ketterdam sun as it filtered into the room through the office window.

Loving Kaz Brekker is lethal. Don’t get caught up in it.

“What of what, Y/N?”

“What of the plan?”

“Why should I tell you what my plan entails when you plan to go once all is said and done?”

“Reason versus excuse.”

“Reason: You are a valued member of my crew and to insinuate that I would ever want you gone for any reason, be it your feelings, my own, or the simple fact that I might deem you unsuited for my crew, is very insulting,” Kaz looked at you. Your heart quickened. “Excuse: I do not need to elaborate. I do not want to.”

You shrugged. “Even if you don’t want to discuss it, I need to know just how likely it is that I will make it out of the heist alive, or I will walk away and I will encourage Jesper and Wylan to do the same. Royals be damned, I am done putting my life in serious risk overseas. I did it once three years ago, and once is starting to seem like more than enough.”

“It’s not likely.”

“My survival or my death?”

“Nobody is likely to survive, Y/N,” he said. “But that’s why we do it, because we know nobody will care about Barrel trash.”

“Nina and Inej are not Barrel trash,” you spat. “Wylan and Jesper are not Barrel trash. Just because the only people who care about you, me, Wylan, Jesper, Inej, or Nina are those who’s names I have just listed, does not make us nothing. It does not make us worthless.”

“If you make it, buy a boat ticket, settle somewhere, and never think of me again,” Kaz said. “I could do without thinking of you, too.”

“The day that you let someone in, allow someone to care about you and let yourself care about them deeply in turn, is the day that my heart stops and I cease to exist, I swear to the saints.”

“The rumor is that I am heartless, so you should remain alive for a very long time.”

You said nothing, only scoffed and walked out of Kaz’s office, up to your room in the Slat.

Inej was at your windowsil by that afternoon, a grin on her face, a braid of black hair sitting on her right shoulder. She was wearing a black roughspun tunic and gray leggings along with a long black hooded coat to hold her knives and conceal her body while she scaled the buildings in Ketterdam, black boots that went up to the middle of her calf adorning her feet to finish the outfit off.

She looked exactly like what she was; a ships captain, one who always rolled her sleeves up to the elbow and had hands calloused from tying knots. She slipped through the opening of your window, vaulting gracefully off of it once she’d gotten her footing--you’d opened the window to let in a draft. The Slat always got humid in the summer and Ketterdam had a tendency for infrequent but strong breezes on days where the sun showed itself--and ended up a foot away from your bed.

“Kaz wrote me,” she said. “Though I assume it’s confirmed now, more than just possible?”

“We’re breaking into the Ice Court again, yeah,” you said, nodding. “When did he send?”

“Three weeks back. He had a feeling, according to rumor. I assume that he gave you the information while stone cold sober, though the letter he wrote to me read like he wrote it while he was drunk.”

You scoffed. “I may be one of his closest friends, but Kaz Brekker barely tells me anything. The most I can think of in regards to hints is the fact that he mentioned it just the other day while he was whiskey drunk. Said that the Ravkans need something back, something very valuable. I was given no other context clues to this.”

“You’d think for the one person Kaz Brekker will never truly let in, he’d tell you more than he does on the basis that he knows you’d never tell anyone a damn thing,” Inej commented. “Though, he’ll never let anyone in. It’s not his style.”

“Don’t I know it,” you said, sighing a bit. “Oh, don’t I fucking know it.”

Inejs face split into a pitiful smile. “Still?”

“Five and a half years gunning,” you said as you stood up. You draped an arm over her shoulders, let her lead the way out of your bedroom. “Not stopping any time soon, unless I get a one way boat ticket to Ravka or decide to live there permanently after the heist.”

“Come back to Ketterdam with me once this is through,” she said. “I’ll be staying two weeks to check out a couple of leads. Stay until I go, and I’ll take you with me to Novyi Zem. Drop you off in Cofton, where the decent houses are cheap but the good ones in the country are cheaper and have the better views of the sun while it rises and sets.”

You opened your door, left the room. “Yeah. That’ll help me tie up a couple of loose ends, too.”

Inej laughed. “What, will you leave him a note?”

“Perhaps,” you answered with a shrug as the two of you proceeded down the corridor. “A letter is more my style, I think. It’ll make Kaz hate me--for thinking to leave with just a note, for not telling him goodbye officially before I place it on his desk--but it’s what’s necessary.”

“It is not,” Inej said. “You say that you’ll write a letter of goodbye to him now, but I know you. You’ll leave the letter behind after you’ve hinted at your leave, at the very least.”

“No,” you couldn’t bear it. You could not say goodbye to his face nor hint at a goodbye, and that was something you’d realized as you thought of the heist that was to come throughout that day. It was something you realized as you thought of what would happen after it. “I can’t say goodbye to him in person. I can’t see that monotonous expression staring back at me while I’m close to tears and when he asks why, and I tell him I have loved him since we were fifteen, what then? How will I survive leaving Ketterdam--how will I survive saying goodbye to Kaz bloody Brekker, if I don’t do it in the form of written word?”

“You’ll start by drinking a lot of brandy, knowing you,” Inej said. “I started my leave off by learning how to tie every knot the members of my boat crew could. I wanted to leave, well and truly, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. I learned knot tying, I wrote letters to my parents after Kaz had found them. I’ve never fully moved on from Ketterdam--I still love these streets and if I could die here, I would do so in the middle of a fight with the handle of a knife clutched in my palm--and I don’t intend to. You are not trying to move on from a city, Y/N. You are currently in the throes of trying to move on from a person.”

You said nothing because you knew Inej was right. You were so tired of the yearning, of the constant pain that loving Kaz Brekker brought on.

You loved Ketterdam. Well and truly, you did, but if you loved Kaz Brekker much longer, you were sure you would die of a broken heart. You did not want that for yourself--you did not want to be another one of the bodies brought out to the Reapers Barge and burned on the shores.

You found Kaz sitting at a table on the bottom floor of the Slat where Inej found Jesper and Wylan, and the two of you split off.

“When do we leave?”

“So you’ve made your decision?”

“When do we leave, Brekker?”

“Three days time. Ravka first, then a couple days on foot. We’re using the summer festival as a cover up this time.”

“The royals will be celebrating with the other delegations on the White Island?”

“And we don’t have to move through the prison. It’s just a matter of getting in, getting to the palace and grabbing the jewelry and then getting out.”

“You make it sound entirely safe,” you intoned. “Quite the opposite of what it is to be, I imagine.”

“One hundred thousand kruge is all any of us are getting after the split,” Kaz said. “Less money than breaking in is worth, but I convinced the merchant council out of thirty million once. I’m sure if I ask Nikolai to give us a better offer for our time, he will be the one stuck convincing the merchant council. It means there’ll be more time for me to wonder what I’ll put the money to.”

“Expansions, investments,” you said. “More flooring at the Slat, the building next to it and a couple of construction workers to join the places together. Worth it endeavor if you think about it.”

Kaz smirked at you. “A boat ticket, a farmhouse, jurda crop in the spring that you’ll sell in the fall?”

You snorted. “Or no boat ticket, no farmhouse, no jurda. Maybe a house in the financial district and a bed that feels like laying on a blanket made from the fur brushed off of Samoyed dogs.”

Kaz only shook his head in response, and a somber kind of silence settled over the two of you. A pang struck you in the chest as your eyes ghosted over his cheekbones, ran along the surface of his lips and down from his shoulders to his wrists to the tips of his gloved fingers.

He was looking at you in a way that you could not read or understand. Kaz’s expressions had always been unreadable, always something you had tried to understand when you thought over them. You could read his expression when you saw emotion flit across his face, but otherwise he looked monotonous. Annoyingly, handsomely, monotonous.

He would never say it, but you could tell he wanted you to stay. It was present in the unexpected anger that flitted across his gaze whenever it came up, the sarcastic manner with which he discussed it.

“If you want to leave, you’re welcome to go,” Kaz said. “I don’t need you to stick around if you don’t want to.”

“Perhaps I’m looking for reasons to stay,” you said. “Reasons aside from Inejs bi-monthly visits, reasons that do not primarily revolve around Jespers jokes, Wylans flute, or the rise and set of the sun.”

“Well then, I do hope you find those reasons,”

“And I do hope that if I do not, you’ll find time in your busy mob boss schedule to pay me a visit?”

Kaz looked at the darkly stained wood of the table instead of saying anything. It made you want to punch him in the face, made you want to punch yourself in the face for daring to ask that of him.

You’d dared to ask for some small admittance that he cared about you even slightly, and when did that ever quite go the way you wanted for it to?

But then, after a couple of seconds, he spoke. “You’re to visit during the summers and Christmas time, if you keep to the words you told Jesper this morning.”

“Come visit me in Spring or Autumn,” you said. “If I end up in Ravka, it’s always quite nice to watch the leaves turn and fall to the ground during the autumn season, and spring means lots of rain, which isn’t too different from Ketterdams weather year round anyway.”

Kaz said nothing again. You got up and spun around on your feet, heading straight for the bar. You needed a brandy and to not think of Kaz Brekker or the blue of his eyes or the sound of his voice for a minimum of twelve hours.

The three days leading up to your leave were monotonous. You worked your shifts at the Crow Club, watched the sun as it rose in the mornings and and set in the evenings. You talked with Inej, laughed with Jesper and found solace in the music Wylan played with his flute.

The trip to Ravka in and of itself was turning out to be just as monotonous. You’d taken to watching the waves, to closing your eyes and breathing in the cold air, listening to the sound of the waves as they hit the boat and rocked it lightly side to side.

You were another six, maybe seven hours out from Ravka. The shore was beginning to show itself, a mere dot across the almost endless expanse of the sea. You’d stood, watching and listening to the waves, for upwards of an hour by then. Jesper had joined you at first, you’d discussed what you would do with the money--you were still contemplating leaving, where Jesper revealed that he and Wylan were debating buying a farm house in Novyi Zem so that they could visit his father in the autumn and help him sell the jurda he grew--and laughed as you shared anecdotes.

But then, Jesper left. You stood in silence for the next thirty minutes, contemplating everything as it were.

You remembered what it was like to fall in love with Kaz Brekker. It had not been easy. It had been a mess and was a mess even still, and it made you want to leave.

Leaving, you quickly realized, meant moving on. Moving on, in the end, meant that you would probably fall in love with someone new and you would experience it all over again.

Could you handle falling in love again, though? You were entirely unsure of it.

Falling in love had been a mess the first time. Once, you found, was more than enough, especially if it meant you went through a repetition of what you’d been going through with Kaz; a love unrequited and a flame never lit.

Moving on almost sounded worse, though. You’d fallen in love with Kaz Brekker and, even as heartbreaking as it was, you’d grown used to it. You could handle loving him forever, never getting rid of the ache in your chest that he’d been the direct cause of, if it meant you never fell in love again and never had to go through it all a second time or a third after that.

However, speak of the devil and the devil shall come. You barely had a second to register the sound of his cane against the flooring of the boat before he was at your right, cane leaned against the railing as he pressed his back to it. His gaze was skyward, pointedly avoiding the water.

“What of it, Y/N?”

“What of what, Kaz?”

You were not looking at him. You could not stand to look at him.

“What of all of it?” Kaz asked. “One moment, you speak like you only ever want to leave and be rid of me forever, the next you talk as though you’re not going anywhere. What of it, Y/N? What of that?”

“Nothing,” you said, shrugging your shoulders aimlessly. “Perhaps I speak like I do with the aim of keeping you on your toes. It seems to be working in my favor.”

“Make a decision and stick with it,” Kaz said. “I cannot deal with not knowing whether you are to stay after all of this is done or if...” Kaz paused.

Kaz Brekker never paused. He never hesitated in anything.

“If you are to leave Ketterdam behind,” Kaz finished. You looked over to him, saw a surprising bout of regret flash in his gaze before yours moved back to the water. “I cannot handle it.”

“Well, you will have to handle it until my decision is made,” you said. “And besides, other than these random fits and starts, you have made no effort to indicate that you really do want me to stay. If you would like me to stay, just say it, Brekker.”

A long pause passed over the two of you. Kaz felt so close, but like he was miles away all the same.

“And if I do not?”

“If I am being honest, whether or not you want me to stay plays a very little part in whether or not I will,” a lie. A complete and total lie.

If Kaz Brekker asked you to stay in Ketterdam, you would have. It was quite as simple as that, but he could never know as much. You would never ever tell him that whether or not you stayed in Ketterdam was nearly entirely dependent on him because it would break your heart and harden Kaz’s into steel.

You would be let go from the Dregs and forced to leave regardless, for Kaz Brekker loved nobody. He thought love was a weakness, and those who were weak had no place in the gang he’d built from the ground.

“Then why does my admittance of whether or not I want you to stay mean anything?”

“I told you once that the day that you allow yourself to care about another human being is to be the day that my heart stops and I cease to exist,” you said. You turned to look at him. “Perhaps I just want you to admit that you care, or perhaps I have a death wish. I shall leave that up to your own contemplation.”

“If I asked you to, you would stay?”

“If you asked me twice, I would consider it. If Jesper and Wylan asked me once, I would consider it further, but if Nina offered me a place to stay or if Inej offered me a place on her crew, I would yes on the spot. I cannot do this forever, Kaz.”

“Do what?”

You flinched, felt grateful that Kaz only turned to look at you after it had happened. You realized that you had said too much.

I cannot keep loving you and wallowing in my heartbreak for the rest of my life, even as terrifying as moving on seems, even as terrifying as falling in love again sounds, you thought.

“This,” you gestured broadly. “The heists. The near constant act of risking my life for much less money than even I, a criminal, happen to think it’s worth.”

“So that’s it, is it?” Kaz asked. “You’ve made your decision. You’ll do the heist, you’ll collect what you’re owed, and then you’ll move on? You’ll forget about Inej and Nina, about Jesper and Wylan, and...” there it was again. A pause.

“I did not say that,” you said exasperatedly.

“You implied it well enough.”

“I was not trying to imply anything,” you said, growing more exasperated by the second. There was fire in Kaz’s gaze. It made you want to kill him, made you want to kiss him, and made you want to shoot yourself in the foot all at once. “I am only trying to say that I will stay if I am asked by the right people or if I decide that I do not want to leave after all is said and done! I am trying to say that I do not know what I will do, and that if I decide to leave, you are welcome to throw a party to honor my absence! Saints know you won’t miss me, Brekker, if you’re so bloody emotionally cramped that you can’t even bring yourself to ask of me the one thing that might prompt me to stay in Ketterdam for at least another little while!”

“I am not--”

“You are emotionally cramped like nobody I have ever seen in my entire life,” you said. You knew you were being cruel, but you decided you didn’t care. “You cannot bring yourself to admit that you care about people, and how dare you love anyone else because love is weakness even when you have more of a hold on Ketterdam than Pekka bloody Rollins did in his time. Love is weakness to you, Brekker, and I look forward to the day that you wake up and realize that love does not have to be weakness, but it can be strength if you would just listen to your emotions and let it be! Saints, you are awful.”

“I am treacherous,” Kaz said somberly. “I know that. You know that.”

“Well then, it looks like we finally have something in common,” you snapped. “I care about you, Brekker, and I care about you very deeply. All I need in order to stay is for you to finally just say it. Ask me to stay, tell me that you care, pretend to believe it when I lie and say that whether or not you do really doesn’t matter at all.”

Kaz said nothing. You watched him turn around, turn his gaze to the water. You saw his gaze harden, realized he was relieving something painful--a memory he hadn’t told you about, so it seemed--and grimaced.

“Caring is weakness,” Kaz said. “Weak is the last thing that I can afford to be.”

You scoffed and walked away, not meeting his gaze as you headed belowdecks in the hopes of finding a bit of peace of mind and the will to rest.

He found you in the palace a day and a half later. Negotiations had been completed, the carriage that would get you up to the Fjerdan permafrost in the preparation stages but nearly ready to go. You’d negotiated up from 100,000 kruge per person to 200,000 kruge. Not much, compared to the money you’d grabbed for the initial Ice Court heist--the theft of Kuwei Yul-Bo--but just in the realms of being good enough.

“What are the chances we survive this, Brekker?” You were sitting by the lake, feet in the water. trying to calm your heart down. “How many of us are risking our lives in having agreed to this?”

“All of us are,” Kaz said. “Nina knows it just as well. Inej and Wylan and Jesper know it. We’re the only ones who are capable enough to do this job, and if you survive, you get a decent pay out.”

You nodded. You’d known that all along, had figured that the odds of one of the six of you who remained dying were not quite the best. You just hoped it wouldn’t have been Kaz or Jesper. Had either of them died, your heart would’ve shattered in two with no large enough pieces to put back together again.

“I’m sorry for what I said on the boat,” you were. Kaz might’ve deserved all of your cruelty, but you were still apologetic. A lot of what you had said had been heat of the moment anger, some of it just a little true but never meant to be said as you had said all of it. “I never meant to say it like that.”

Kaz Brekker went still.

Silence lapsed. It was a silence that went on for several agonizing, suffocating minutes, silence that had your watching the sun as it set encompassed only by the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, the almost silent sound of Kaz’s breathing as he sat to your right.

It was suffocative. The silence you were experiencing in that moment had made you want to die like you’d never quite experienced it before. It was intense, a pain in your chest that you could only hope would go away. It hurt. You were hurting.

“Will you go?”

“I would very much like to as of now,” you said. “But I also would not. Thinking about it has become an absurdly repetitive process.”

“If you intend to, find Genya. I’m sure she’d be willing to tailor away the crow and the cup tattoo that sits on your forearm.”

“If I am to leave, I will not get rid of it,” you said. “I will be keeping my crow and cup, along with the Dregs affiliation that it carries, thank you.”

You were being sarcastic. It was the only thing you could will yourself to do in that moment.

“How long will you go, if you decide to leave?”

“If I am to leave and not come back around to visit, I wouldn’t be expecting my presence for at least three years,” more than half of the time during which you had loved him was the amount of time you expected moving on from him to take. You didn’t quite want to move on, but you needed to. You needed to move on from Kaz Brekker, to stop loving him, or you would die of it.

You would die of the love you felt for Kaz Brekker because loving him would’ve broken your heart in the end. There was no more escaping it, no more denying it. Loving Kaz Brekker would kill you whether or not that was something you wanted to admit.

“Will you write, in the least?”

You let yourself grin. It wasn’t quite the ‘I care about you’ in the direct, forward fashion you’d hoped for, but it was enough.

“I may,” you said. “I’ll enclose a return address so that you have no excuse when you do not respond.”

Kaz smiled. You noticed how rarely you actually saw him smile. You wished you were a Heartrender for a moment so that you would be able to listen to Kaz’s heartbeat instead of your own, and the moment passed.

“Be ready at sunrise,” were Kaz’s parting words before he was walking away, the familiar sound of the click of his cane being the only thing you heard before you heard the familiar sound of Jesper and Ninas footsteps.

Jesper joined you at the lake, pulled his trousers up a bit and put his feet into the water as he wrapped an arm around you, pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

Nina did the same, hiked up the skirt she wore to her knees and dipped her feet into the water as she grabbed one of your hands, shot you a somber look. It had been the first time you’d had the chance to see each other since she left Ketterdam in a schooner designed to look like one of the ones that would go to the Reapers Barge, laying beside her deceased beloved.

She hadn’t been too involved in the negotiating process simply due to the fact that she was busy tying up a couple of remaining loose ends in Fjerda, and while Kaz had been filling her in on the details you already knew, you’d been sitting by the lake or drinking tea by one of the samovars, wallowing within the depths of your own mind and trying not to resent every single second of it.

You wanted to cry. The first time you’d seen one of your closest friends in three years and there you were, wallowing in pity and in heartbreak because you had fallen for the worst person in Ketterdam who you could’ve fallen for.

“What’s happened?” She didn’t know. You hadn’t told her.

Jesper had found out from one too many times finding you crying about it in your room at the Slat, but Nina had never seen you cry. She had never known about how you felt for Kaz because you had never quite gotten around to telling her in the hopes of avoiding her pity filled gaze, but you had meant to. You’d promised yourself you would tell her before the Ice Court and you just...never had.

“He’s fallen for the worst person in Ketterdam that one is capable of falling for,” Jesper said. “And now, every time he thinks about that person, he wants to die because it is either A: continue to live in Ketterdam and exist in the pain that this person brings on, or B: leave and move on and debate coming back to Ketterdam three years from now while hoping that one look at the aforementioned person will not have him falling head over heels all over again.”

“You fell in love with Kaz Brekker?” Nina asked. You turned to look at her, and there it was. The pity in her gaze. “Oh, Y/N. You glorious fool.”

You laughed, a tired, sad laugh. “I know it was dumb,” you said. “But, if it helps, I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. It just kind of happened.”

She gave your hand a squeeze. “He’s an idiot.”

“As am I.”

“You two have that in common then,” she gave you a grin, and you grinned back, and for a moment you felt like you were seventeen again. You felt like the boy who laughed with Nina on the boat as you were headed for Fjerda, occasionally looking to her Fjerdan to find him glaring at you because he thought you were standing too close.

You were the boy who looked at Matthias as Nina laughed at one of Jespers jokes and saw that it looked like he had stars in his eyes.

You were the boy who flinched when Kuwei said that Kaz looked at you whenever you laughed or grinned the same way that Matthias looked at Nina whenever the sound of her laugh met his ears, denied it profusely because you had not seen it for yourself.

“He’s Kaz,” Jesper said. “Never knows shit about shit with his emotions but he’ll figure it out once he lets his emotions in a little bit, if he does do so. Doesn’t want you to leave, which is clear as day.”

“He doesn’t want me to go, but he refuses to tell me to stay,” you wanted to die. you wanted to jump into the lake and die. “I wish he would.”

“If he asked, would you say yes?”

You would’ve. You would’ve stayed, for at least another little while. “Yeah.”

“So all that needs to happen for you to stay is for Kaz to ask that of you?”

“Yeah.”

“Lovesick idiot,” Jesper shouted. “Saints, I know I might’ve been this bad with Wylan, but at least he’s never ripped my heart out a thousand times and still had the gall to ask me to stay with him. If he had, I wouldn’t’ve said yes. I would’ve vowed never to speak to him again. You are a lovesick idiot.”

“I know,” you said. “I legitimately yearn for death whenever I think about it too much, it’s just that--”

“Kaz Brekker is your first love,” Nina said. “Letting go of first loves is never easy for anyone.”

“The thought of leaving and moving on is terrifying to me,” you admitted. “Falling in love with Kaz was scary enough. Moving on just means getting over Kaz and doing it all again with someone new.”

“Yeah,” Nina nodded. “Trust me, it’s never easy. If you lose him, moving on will feel like a betrayal at first.”

“You can’t seriously think that--” began Jesper.

“It’s the bloody Ice Court,” Nina said coldly. “We went from seven to six the last time. Who’s to say we won’t lose someone else?”

“It’s more likely than not,” you chimed in. “Let’s just hope we do our jobs well enough. In and out, no losses.”

“No losses,” Jesper said, cutting a flare at Nina. “We’ll make it.”

“Making it out of the toughest situations is what we do best,” you offered, grinning slightly.

You didn’t know if you were right, but you had to hope, even if just a bit.

Kaz and Jesper had been walking through the halls of the Fjerdan Royal Palace when Kaz’s mind wandered. He was thinking about you again.

Just as he had been for four years. You, it seemed, had found a way to occupy all of the corners of his mind, sneaking up on him when he’d least expected it. He’d not found a way to stop thinking about you in the days since he’d begun to at sixteen, but at twenty, he was more than happy to allow that to keep on as it was.

The thoughts were a bit of a distraction as Kaz and Jesper moved, but Kaz had set a quick pace and he was able to keep it up even when lost within the depths of his mind, so it didn’t bother him much.

He was thinking of you again.

He did not know whether or not you would stay in Ketterdam after the heist. He knew what he needed to do to incentivize you to stay, but he just could not bring himself to say the words.

He’d wanted to when it was first discussed in the weeks before, when you had brought it up as a mere possibility. He’d wanted to say it when you were in the Slat the same afternoon, had yearned to do so on the boat amidst your fighting and as the two of you sat by the lake.

All that you had wanted was an admission from Kaz; a simple admittance to the fact that he cared about you--which, deep down, he knew he did. Hell, even on the surface, he knew he did.

He’d started truly giving a damn when the two of you were sixteen and he had not stopped since. He’d liked you, at first, and then somewhere along that line, liking you had turned into romance. It had turned into a love that Kaz had always thought would remain unrequited.

All that you had wanted from him was just “Fine. Yes. I care about you and I care about you deeply.” An admittance. Even a begrudging admittance would’ve worked, Kaz knew.

What did you get instead?

Caring is weakness, he’d said. Weak is the last thing that I can afford to be.

Thinking about it made Kaz want to grab one of Jespers revolvers and use it to shoot himself in the foot.

He remained unashamed to say that he’d had his idiotic moments but that moment was not idiotic. It was the next thing below it. It was the last thing he’d wanted to say to you right then, the first thing that came to his mind.

He would’ve told you to stay if it meant you would’ve. He would’ve said it a thousand times over, but there was still the necessity of acknowledging that you did not quite know what you were going to do. You did not know whether or not you were going to stay in Ketterdam and it was entirely too unfair of Kaz to ask that of you if staying was not what you wanted to do.

Kaz Brekker was not going to ask you to stay if it meant that he was making you feel like you had been forced. He was not going to ask you to stay if you really did want to go out and see what the world had to offer outside of the streets of Ketterdam, all of the familiar walkways in the Financial District and the abundance of alleyways and shortcuts throughout the best spots in the Barrel.

He was not going to ask you to stay if it meant he was forcing your hand in the matter. If you truly wanted to leave, Kaz Brekker was not going to ask you to stay and get in the way of your yearning for a life outside of the Barrel and its depths.

He’d wanted to ask you to stay, though. That much, he could admit. He’d really wanted to ask you to stay.

But he had not, and he would not. Not if it meant he was getting in the way of some bigger dream of yours.

Kaz and Jesper proceeded to take a left, run up a set of stairs, and move down a long corridor to the end of a long hall. The heist was simple enough.

You and Nina had walked every corridor in guards uniforms the night previous, Inej had scaled nearly every corner of the building in search of a window that could be opened from the outside, only to find that all of them locked and unlocked from the inside.

All that Kaz and Jesper had to do by that point was get the jewels, open a palace window that had been locked from the inside and give the jewels to Inej, From there, Inej would get the jewels to Nina and Wylan and you were left with distracting the guards to keep them from noticing as Kaz and Jesper slipped out of the palace through the entrance and left through the White Island exits, forged papers on their person so that they held up when they were examined at the exit checkpoints.

Easy enough, when one discounted the fact that alarms sounded off in the palace every two hours during the summer celebration to alert guards to the presence of possible thieves.

Kaz and Jesper were working in that two hour window, and even with how fast they were moving, getting to the top floor of the palace was taking a lot more time than either of them had anticipated. By the time they’d reached the top, they had only an hour and fifteen minutes to get the jewels out of the triple-locked safe the royals had stored them in, exit the room and get down to the bottom floor before escaping without being noticed.

The first step was unlocking the window and pushing it open so as to allow for Inej to slip into the room.

The room that the safe was in was a perfect representation of Fjerdan honor. icy white tiled floors, pristine white walls, clear windows displaying your average scene of snowy Fjerda and the mountains beyond the Ice Court and the palace. The safe was the same depth of black as the bulky Druskelle wore, the key lock on the window just a bit darker than the safe had been.

Kaz cracked the lock on the window first, grateful that it was a simple lock that only required a key and could be picked with one of the lockpicks that Kaz had managed to tuck into the inner pockets of the rough spun coat he wore. That cut down on time significantly, made it less likely that he was to be risking his own life, though the risk had always been the fun part.

“Jesper, you get the window,” Kaz said as he moved to the corner of the room, resting the lock atop the safe that stood at six feet tall. “I’ve got fifteen minutes to crack the safe before Inej gets here, and it took us forty five bloody minutes to get from the bottom to here. We’ll be running on borrowed time with the more of it we waste.”

Jesper heaved a sigh, opened the window. He and Kaz both bristled at the harsh winters breeze that flooded through the room with the action, though Kaz’s gaze was already on the first of three locks, eyes scanning the room for clues in the numerical code.

“You’ve not asked him to stay,” Jesper said as he began to scan the room as well, eyes searching at the same time as his hands moved under windowsils and along walls, in search of number shaped dents. “All that Y/N wants is for you to ask him to stay and he’ll do it.”

“That’s the elephant in the room, isn’t it? Him wanting me to admit that I care and my continued refusal?” Kaz asked, eyes going to the ceiling, squinted, searching for a number combination.

“Fjerdan queens birthday?” He asked.

“October eighth,” Jesper said. “Thank Nina for that one.”

“No thanks are owed. The code on the first lock is six digits, and with luck, October eighth presents itself as four at most,” Kaz said. “Did you notice any numbers while we moved?”

“You had us moving like bolts of lightning. Of course I didn’t.”

“We walked six floors,” Kaz began. “Two flights from one floor to the next including the lead up to the palaces. Two flights per floor is twelve flights at minimum. Did you count the steps you took?”

“Twenty steps per flight,” Jesper said with a nod. “Try 621220.”

Kaz input the code, and to both his and Jespers collective relief, it worked.

The next lock was less simple. It was a more complex version of the lock on the window, three key locks that needed to be unlocked in four second intervals. When one wasn’t prepared for something of that sort, opening them was akin to walking through hell twice and then exiting to find you’d only left the previous circle and gone into the next.

Kaz input all three lock picks, got the first free, then the second and the third. He could feel Jespers gaze on him as he stood by the window, listening for the distinctive silence that meant Inej was just around the corner.

“I’ve wanted to ask him to stay,” Kaz confessed as he examined the third lock. It was another set of triple locks that needed to be unlocked rapidly, four seconds one after the other at minimum. There were two sets, and Kaz had to hope that they were programmed as two sets of three. There was also safe code that needed cracking. It was a word that time, thankfully. “I have, and I have almost done it several times.”

“Then do it,” Jesper said. “Forgo all fears of weakness and just tell him you want him to stay. I don’t know if you’re in love with him or what, but if you are and you don’t at least ask him to stay in Ketterdam for the sake of the waffles and the views, he will go and you will lose him forever.”

Kaz only turned his gaze to the safe. “Word of Fjerdan significance?”

“Djel,” Jesper said.

Kaz input the code as Inej slipped through the window. “Talking about Y/N, I would assume.”

“Jesper is,” Kaz said pointedly. “He’s doing most of the talking, actually.”

The code did not work.

“Maybe it’s more than four letters,” Inej suggested. “Try honor. Pride. Druskelle. Loyalty. Murdering innocents.”

Jesper gave an ungraceful snort at Inej’s last suggestion, and Kaz only shook his head, though he could admit that he’d found it amusing.

Kaz typed in pride first, then when that didn’t work, typed honor. He took a deep breath in when the code scanner gave a warning that it was the last time a code could be inputted before the lock reverted to it’s original coding--a code set during the manufacturing process, one that had been changed by the royals since the locks purchase.

He typed in his last hope. Druskelle.

The screen on the lock turned a bright green color, and relief flooded the room as Kaz grabbed the lockpicks and situated them in the first locks, moving with deft hands and feeling almost at ease as the first set of three locks clambered to the floor and sat around his feet. He repeated the process, putting the lockpicks in and working the locks within four seconds, feeling relief flood his system as the locks fell to the ground.

The final of three doors opened, and Kaz was back in his rhythm. He took all of the Ravkan jewelry that he could see in the safe--several emerald necklaces, an antique tiara worn by one of Ravkas previous queens and each Fabergé egg that had been taken--and passed them to Inej, who put them into the bag she’d had on her back and reminded Kaz and Jesper of the time of the rendezvous and the rendezvous point.

“Jesper, it’s best you go,” Kaz said. “I’ll relock the safe and meet you at the rendezvous.”

“If you don’t make it--”

“Provided that I make it to the bottom floor, Y/N will have my six. Stop worrying.”

Jesper only shrugged. “No mourners.”

“No funerals.”

Kaz did not watch Jesper go. Instead, he closed the first of three doors and got to putting the locks back in their places. He had a job to finish, money to collect, and someone to ask to say in Ketterdam on the way back home.

Kaz was on the bottom floor, close to the exit, when the alarms went off and two guards saw him, firing off two shots rapidly. Kaz was able to get one of the guards with the gun he’d thought to hide in the pocket of his coat, though he missed the shot he fired at the other.

Kaz was disoriented as his eyes moved rapidly around the corridor, searching for an out at the same time as he tried to take inventory of his injuries.

He’d been shot in the arm, if the burning pain in his right bicep was of any indication, and it felt like he’d been shot in the stomach as well.

“Oh, you’re a Ketterdam criminal,” said one of the guards as he approached. “Brekker, isn’t it? You’re one of the hot shots in that wretched Barrel spot?”

Kaz didn’t say anything, eyes continuing to rove around the corridor as he took cautious steps back. He realized he wasn’t looking for an out any longer, but instead trying to find you in a sea of black guard uniforms.

I am going to stay alive, Kaz thought. I am going to make it through this. I will not die without telling him that--what? What will I tell Y/N?

“Kaz Brekker,” Kaz said. “Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands. Pick one.”

A shot rang out from somewhere nearby.

“Who’s on your crew, Brekker?”

“The worst of the worst,” Kaz said with a shrug, trying to ignore the fact that he was losing blood and feeling in his right arm. “If you wanted names from me, shooting me in the arm and the stomach was not a good idea. How can I give you names if I fall unconscious and die before you have the chance to actually question me?”

In response, Kaz recieved a bullet wound in his leg, one that made it harder to stand and near impossible not to lean on his cane.

“That is more counterintuitive than you think.”

Another shot.

“Looks like one of your buddies is comin’ round to save your arse,” said the guard. “Too bad you’ll be dead before they get the chance.”

A third shot, though that time it went through the head of the guard who had been taunting him.

“You really can’t go one Fjerdan mission without risking your life?” Nina asked as she, you, and Jesper came into sight. “Saints, Brekker. I thought Y/N had a death wish, but it seems you do instead.”

“Can you walk?” You asked as you approached. Kaz realized he was sitting on the floor, having fallen at some point without realizing. “Ghezen, these wounds are bad. You can try, but you’ll fail.”

“I will not--”

“You might not have a choice, Kaz,” you whispered. “You need to be able to walk or I will have to carry you out.”

“We could just leave him here to die?” Nina suggested.

Kaz watched you turn around and glare at her, knowing that the fury in his gaze likely seemed futile to Nina.

“I am not leaving him here,” you said. “No. That is not an option that I am willing to consider.”

Kaz blinked, fighting off his exhaustion as you draped one of his arms over your shoulders and helped him to stand. He felt the bare skin of his wrist against your shoulder as you got to moving, and instantly, it felt like he was drowning.

The waters were rising again. He could hear Jordies voice somewhere far out, feel the water at his ankles and quickly rising to his knees. He wanted to die in that moment, yearned for it more than he did anything else.

But he was going to leave the Ice Court alive or not at all, and he refused to stay, so he forced his gaze to the ground. He reminded himself that your heart was still beating. He focused on the sound of your breath, in and out. In and out. Alive. You were alive.

Kaz had been trying to work on his touch aversion since he was seventeen. There were good and bad days both, but it seemed that that day was terrible, that it was Hell incarnate.

He wanted to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to ask you to stay in Ketterdam despite the fact that he did not want to know whether or not you would. Kaz Brekker needed to tell you that you’d consumed his every thought since he was sixteen years old, and he needed you to understand that he was fine with that.

As he slipped into unconsciousness, hearing only the sound of your voice as you begged for a medik to see to him, Wylans voice as he asked Jesper what happened and Jespers voice as he explained, he was thinking about you. He needed to tell you everything.

The following few days were a blur. Leaving through the exit point with a medik in tow, getting to a hotel and eventually heading back to Ravka in a carriage. Kaz had pockets of consciousness and every time he woke, your name was the first thought to enter his mind and the first word to leave his lips.

When he woke in a bed in the Ravkan palaces, he found you at his bedside.

“The money has been split six ways into the offshore bank accounts we were set up with during the first Ice Court heist,” you explained as Kaz looked at you. “I told Nikolai to talk to the Merchant council again, demand an additional fifty thousand for each of us.”

“On what grounds?”

“You nearly died,” you said. “You deserve 250,000 kruge for that. The rest of the crows deserve the additional compensation because they know that they’re worth more than 200,000.”

“And you?”

“I don’t deserve it,” you said. “I’ve taken to the habit of not believing I deserve anything good as of late, but I figured that Nina, Jesper and I saved your life and that does count for something.”

“Thank you,” Kaz said. He wanted to ask you to stay. He would not. “For saving my life. I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing,” you said. “I cannot let you owe me, Brekker.”

Kaz turned his head. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to die. He wished that the guard had killed him while he’d had the chance.

“You and the others will leave tomorrow at nightfall,” you said. “I wish you luck, Kaz.”

Kaz did not watch you go, only heard your footsteps and the door opening and then closing.

He turned again, sat up and took inventory of the room. It was a typical room in the Little Palace--lots of windows, bright yellows and warm blues. There were lamps burning high, and from Kaz’s first guess as he looked out the window, he assumed it was early morning, the last hour or so before the sunrise. The clock hung on the wall parallel to his bed confirmed his suspicions.

The only thing that looked even slightly out of place was the letter placed on the pillow to Kaz’s right. His name was on it, and the letter was written in your hand. He picked it up cautiously, began to read.

Kaz,

I am writing you this letter because I am a coward. I am a coward who would not be able to manage saying my goodbyes to you, confessing all of this, watching your heart become steel while mine shattered into a broken, unfixable mess. You may call me cruel, you may call me cowardly, you may choose to never reach out to me again. I will understand whatever choice you make, and I hope that you choose to cut contact. It’ll make moving on easier.

I have loved you since I was fifteen years old. I cannot handle it any longer--the yearning, the heartbreak, the constant reaffirmations that you cannot care about me, that you refuse to let yourself.--and I have chosen to leave.

I have loved you since I was fifteen years old and if I keep going as I am, the heartbreak that I feel day in and day out will kill me. When you read this, I will have explained that the money is in the offshore accounts you set up during the first Ice Court heist, and I will have told you when you and the others are to go. Jesper and Wylan are the only ones who know I plan to leave.

I will see you again as I have things I need to grab from the Slat before I go, but I ask that you do not acknowledge me. I am trying to move on, as much it breaks my heart to do so, and moving on will be a lot easier if you just pretend I do not exist.

Best regards,

Y/N.

Kaz didn’t have much time to react. He only set the letter down, closed his eyes, and willed himself to go to sleep again. He could save reacting to the letter for later if it was to be so necessary.

A week and a half later, Kaz was approaching Fifth Harbor with nothing but an ache in his heart and an extremely diluted sense of hope lingering at the corners of his mind.

The minute he found you, the hope grew stronger. He willed himself to move forward, found himself standing at your left just minutes later. His hands were gripping his cane, the typical coat gone so that he didn’t die of a heatstroke in Ketterdams summer humidity.

He was wearing a white button up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, black slacks and a black tie. He looked like a relaxed version of himself, though he was anything but relaxed.

“You wrote me a letter in the presence of a goodbye,” Kaz said. “In your letter, you say that you couldn’t’ve done this in person. You said that you couldn’t bear to watch my heart turn to steel while yours broke. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye, and you’ve been avoiding me while you’ve packed up the last of your things that were in the Slat.”

“I told you to act as though I did not exist.”

“And I listened for two days,” Kaz said. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye to you, Y/N. I have more to say to you and I am not going to be saying whatever it is that you think I will be.”

“And if I assume you’re professing your love for me?”

“Well, it’s a very good thing that Inej is currently dealing with the spies from our rivals that are within earshot, then,” Kaz said.

“My boat leaves in a half hour,” it hadn’t even docked yet.

“Then I’ve got at least twenty minutes,” Kaz said. “I do care about you, Y/N. I have loved you since I was sixteen years old, even as much as I do not want to admit that. Love is weakness to every last person in the Barrel, and I could not have anyone knowing I loved someone else.”

“Even so, loving you has been--”

“A trainwreck,” Kaz said. “A medley of heartbreak and sorrow and near constant yearning. I know. Jesper has told me all of it, as have Inej and Wylan. They read the letter you left me and while Jesper and Wylan took a more direct approach, Inej was subtle. She would bring it up in ways that felt like I was being stabbed in the gut. I know that all loving me has meant for you is constant emotion, not all of them happy, and I accept that for what it is.”

“I have to go. I have to move on--”

“Stay,” Kaz said, desperation crawling in through his blood and being pumped straight into his chest. “Stay in Ketterdam. Just for another little while.”

You turned to look at him. You finally turned to look at him.

You thought on it for a while, until your boat had docked and you and Kaz were hearing the captain shout last call for passengers.

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “I’ll stay for another year.”

Kaz couldn’t help it. He grinned. You grinned back at him, and he felt his heart grow so light it could’ve left the cavity of his chest and he wouldn’t’ve noticed.

You walked back to the Slat while talking of the next job and joking and jabbing at one another, though that time, it was different. Kaz had said as he needed to say. You were staying in Ketterdam, on the way to becoming a couple, and Kaz was happy. Well and truly happy for the first time in what felt like forever.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x male reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix

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obitohno · 2 years

Text

among the amaryllis | 01

levi ackerman x reader

synopsis ⤸

every week, you secretly leave flowers by levi’s door in the hope to eventually woo him. unfortunately, your plan fails horribly, as levi suffers with hay-fever and thinks that someone is pranking him.

chapters ⤸

៚ contents

next ᝰ

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, flower shop au, army veteran! levi, florist! reader, unrequited love, pining, mutual pining, secret admirer, fluff, slow burn, angst, smut, wet dreams, handjobs, fingering, oral sex, mutual masturbation, levi suffers with ocd, reader is short

word count ⤸

5.5k (semi-edited)

a/n ⤸

so, i originally posted this on ao3, but i never got around to finishing it, so bc i’m slowly publishing my works onto here, i thought that this would encourage me to get back to updating this one. this is also the first (n currently, only) aot fic that i've written so far, n i’m kinda crying bc of the plot bc i want my own secret admirer, ugh. anyways, i hope that you enjoy this ♡

reblogs are appreciated ~

one:

it all starts with a handful of freshly-picked daisies.

it’s saturday, and as it is also early july, it means that the sun is high up in the sky, even well after the nineteenth hour. levi is returning home from a late dinner with both hange and erwin, the former completely unaware that their short, dark haired friend isn’t at all focused on their chattering, as he’s currently more bothered about the sweat that is gathering on the nape of his neck. he swipes at it with the back of his hand, unable to hide his grimace of disgust as he wipes the same hand on the thigh of his trousers. his pace is rushed and he’s bothered enough that he blows air from between his lips to move his hair back from his face. hange continues to talk to erwin about something levi has no interest in listening to, and so when his place of residency appears around the next corner, his pace immediately quickens.

however, it appears that he lacks any form of luck, as just as he’s crossing over the road, hand already shovelling into the back pocket of his dress pants for his keys, there’s a shrill bleep that comes from hange’s direction.

levi is annoyed by the interruption, because he doesn’t have to look up to know that hange’s mouth has already split into one of what levi likes to call their ‘shit-eating’ grins. he does, however, meet erwin’s gaze, the towering blonde regarding him with an amused, yet small smile, and levi’s can’t stop his eyes from narrowing at the sight.

‘what?’ he barks, voice gruff enough to portray his irritation, worsened by a wave of hot air that billows across his face. his features screw into an expression that erwin can only describe as comical, dark brows pinching together as he reaches to wipe at the line of sweat that is now trickling down the curve of his cheek. his lips part to voice his complaint, but hange beats him to it, unceremoniously shoving their mobile phone in front of his face. he all but slaps it away from his line of sight, reprimanding his friend with a, ‘stop that, shit-face.’

hange’s grin, totally unperturbed, only widens, ‘guess what?’

levi huffs, head already turning his head away as he continues his mission to return home as soon as possible. it is erwin who asks, ‘what?’

‘aw! you’re supposed to guess, erwin!’ hange protests, hands thrown into the air. they then pause to push their glasses further up their nose, only for the metal frame to immediately slide back to their original position, aided by the slickness that clings to the surface of hange’s face.

levi grunts, ‘you going to tell us or what?’

hange releases a gleeful laugh that makes levi’s nose crinkle again, with disapproval this time. he knows that laugh: hange is plotting something, which, from what he’s learnt from past experiences over the years they’ve been friends, levi knows it’ll most likely end in disaster.

‘no,’ he says before hange can reveal their news, which only induces another groan of protest.

‘c’mon, levi! eren and the others are—!’

‘i said no,’ levi is angrily throwing open the iron gate that leads the short pebbled path to the front door of his home, stomping his way toward the front step. ‘absolutely no way in hell am i—’

he is cut off by hange’s arm curling around his neck, pulling him into a head-lock. he grunts, body engulfed by hange’s stifling body heat, and his fingers clamp around their wrist before they can reach for his hair. ‘it’s just a few drinks, levi!’ they squeeze tighter, and erwin watches with blatant amusement, leaning with his elbow propped against the stoned garden wall. ‘they’ve already started without us—we can’t let the kids show us up; we mustn’t let them out-drink us!’

levi’s hands dart out to shove them away.

hange stumbles backwards, but their grip remains solid, and so levi wavers on the spot as his body has no choice but to follow hange’s, his legs staggering to regain balance whilst still hunched over.

‘i’m not letting go until you say yes.’

‘no.’

‘c’mon!’

‘no.’

‘it’ll be fun—erwin, tell him it’ll be fun.’

‘it’ll be fun.’

that shit-headed traitor, levi thinks as he attempts to wriggle himself free a second time. erwin is still watching, knowing grin widening as his blue eyes dart to meet hange’s, and the two share a look above levi’s head. he scowls down at the ground, and squirms again.

and then hange’s mobile beeps a second time. somehow, they shift until they’re holding levi with just one arm—a fact that renders levi’s mood into a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he witnesses another trickle of sweat actually dripping to the floor—and uses their free hand to check their mobile phone for any new text messages.

‘if levi tries to say no,’ hange reads aloud in a voice that sounds far too happy for levi’s liking, ‘then tell him that—’

they proceed to read out your name, along with the knowledge that you will also be joining the group on their night out.

levi immediately stills, hand still curled tightly around hange’s left wrist. erwin cranes his neck to see the look on his friend’s face, but levi’s features are hidden by a dark curtain of hair that is due a trim any day now. the shorter man is quiet now, and when he does speak, his voice is so low that his words are unintelligible.

‘what was that?’ hange makes a show of cupping their ear with their free hand.

and with a sudden bout of new strength, levi succeeds in shoving them away with a rough push. hange gushes out a loud bark of laughter at the sight of his flushed cheeks, although erwin can’t tell if it’s due to the heat or because he’s embarrassed. levi’s hair is mussed, falling messily into his eyes as the corners of his mouth pull down into a frown.

‘one,’ he huffs, scowl aimed at the both of them as he then jabs a finger toward hange, who teases by raising their hands in mock surrender. levi starts toward the front door, keys still clasped tightly in the palm of his hand.

hange follows, grinning, ‘one what?’

erwin watches the back of levi’s head tilt towards the sky, as if he’s muttering a silent prayer, and he, himself, can only shake his own head full of blonde hair at hange’s antics.

levi turns his head to glare at hange from over his shoulder. ‘one drink—and i mean one fucking drink,’ he seethes. he stomps up to the front step and shoves the key into the lock. ‘i’ll be ready in an hour.’ and then he’s hauling the door open and before either of them can follow him inside, he’s slamming it shut behind him. they listen to the key locking shut, and when hange turns to erwin, there’s a look of satisfaction plastered to their features.

they both exit the front garden, the iron gate squeaking shut behind them and hange strains to throw an arm across erwin’s shoulder. he allows them to lead the way back down the street, toward his own house, as he lives much closer. hange hums happily, still sporting that silly smile of theirs.

‘what are you plotting?’ erwin looks at them pointedly.

‘who? me? how dare you?’ hange is laughing. ‘i would never plot anything behind our dear little levi’s back—that’s totally not my style at all.’

erwin pats the top of hange’s head, turning his own away as he glances both left and right before crossing over the road, his eyes glimmering as the corners of his mouth tilt upward.

‘just don’t upset him too much, will you?’

the gasp that escapes hange’s mouth is both exaggerated and drawn out. ‘i am offended, erwin. really. do you have no faith in me at all?’

he chuckles, but just as he’s about to answer, he is easily distracted by the familiar sight of your form lingering outside of the only flower-shop in town. you’ve moved a table to sit out in the sunshine, and you’re too busy sorting through an arrangement of sunflowers to notice the pair of them heading towards you. hange is quick to make sure that you notice them, however, and bellows your name so loudly that they gain the attention of a few passer-by’s, who peer at you curiously. you return hange’s enthusiastic greeting with one of your own, and when the two are within arm’s reach, you’re sharing an embrace with hange, wheezing out a laugh when their arms circle around your shoulders tightly. you manage a soft ‘hello’ in erwin’s direction when he waves at you politely, eyes gleaming with mirth.

when hange finally releases you, there’s a content tilting to your mouth as you guide your friends to the table, clearing a little space by placing one of the boxes of flowers by your feet. your hair is braided back from your face, loose strands dampened and curled from contact with the sweat that has formed under your hairline. they fall to frame your face, and when erwin glances at your cheeks, there’s a golden glow that gives away the fact that you’ve obviously sat in the sun for too long. the bridge of your nose is also slightly burnt, and hange coos at the reddened skin despite the embarrassed ducking of your head.

‘we’ll not stay long,’ erwin promises as he takes a seat beside hange, whom is already gushing about their plans.

‘so, we’ve decided that we’re going bar-hopping tonight,’ they announce, and by the small circle that your mouth forms, erwin surmises that this isn’t what you were expecting to hear.

‘we?’ he teases, nudging his shoulder against hange’s, who returns the gesture with a nudge of their own, sporting yet another excited grin.

you continue to pick through the delivery of sunflowers, looking for the best looking petals, long fingers easily flickering through the stems until you’ve formed a decent enough bunch. ‘bar-hopping?’ you muse as you begin to tie the bouquet together with a length of red ribbon. ‘i thought we were just going for a quiet drink or something.’

hange leans an elbow on the tabletop, narrowly missing the bundle that you’ve just put together. you eye your friend warily, quickly snatching the bouquet from their reach. ‘now, now,’ hange sings your name, placing a hand on the top of your head. my little, short friend,’ hange sighs dramatically.

‘levi’s shorter,’ you grumble in a futile attempt to defend your own honour, even though you know that what you’re saying is false. somewhere along the short few months since your introduction to the ever-extending group of friends, it’s become a running joke to constantly point out that you and levi are amongst the shortest. you’ve never really understood the reasoning why—although you do suspect that the others simply do it just because levi reacts in such a hostile manner—but just a mere inch separates the two of you, something he’s always quick to remind you of whenever he decides that you’re getting on his nerves. which, as of late, seems to be almost every time you come across one another.

hange acts if they haven’t heard you, ‘eren wants to get absolutely wasted, so we’re going to help him.’

you hum to yourself, already forming yet another bouquet. ‘mikasa?’

both erwin and hange answer at the same time with an affirmative, ‘mikasa.’

you click your tongue, disapproving. just a few years older than the pair, you’ve come to care for the both of them as equally as the other. however, their on-again, off-again relationship is hard to keep up with—you have no doubts that the pair will someday grow old and wrinkly together, but right now, it seems that the pair are breaking up more often than not. that being said, you also have suspicions that by the end of the evening, the two will be back together again.

‘alright,’ you are quick to agree to hange’s plans. in truth, you had originally planned to have a drink or two, but it’s been so long since you last went all out just for the sake of getting drunk, and so the prospect excites you more than you care to admit out loud.

however, it must have shown on your face, as hange is reaching a hand to pinch at your cheek, ‘aw! isn’t she cute, erwin? see!? levi should take a leaf out of your book—he was so grumpy about coming.’

‘he was?’ you can’t help but perk up at the mention of his name, not noticing the knowing look that hange aims towards erwin. the blonde can’t help but also spare a small smile at the blush that is now blossoming across your cheeks.

it’s hardly a secret that you harbour feelings towards the one and only levi ackerman. it’s just a small crush, you tell yourself, and on most days, you manage to pretend that it doesn’t hurt at all when you look at him and realise that the sentiment will never be mutual. so when hange’s smile broadens in a way that it looks almost uncomfortable, you don’t really understand why they’re looking at you like that.

‘he was,’ erwin confirms with a small nod, picking at the stems that you’ve decided aren’t up to standard.

‘yeah,’ hange starts, taking the time to push their glasses further up their nose again. and again, they slide back down to their original position. they huff, pushing their hair back from their sweaty face. ‘’kay, i’ve got to take a shower before we head out, because i think i can actually smell myself now.’ they then proceed to make a show of lifting each arm to sniff underneath, and you can only hide your amused giggle as erwin stands abruptly, hand reaching out to yank on the back of hange’s shirt until they’re also standing. erwin throws a farewell over his shoulder as he pulls a waving hange after him. just as they’re disappearing around the corner, hange yells your name loud enough that you’re pretty sure the entire street hears them. ‘wear something pretty! see you in an hour!’

and then they’re gone, dragged behind the wall after a scolding erwin.

you smile after them, shaking your head as you then decide that if you’re going to meet them within the hour, then you should close up shop whilst you still have the time. It doesn’t take long to clean the mess from the table, and then you’re carefully manoeuvring the finished bouquets into the small building, placing each one in their very own glass vase, complete with brightly coloured wrapping paper. you then heave the remaining boxes inside, stacking them in the storage room behind the counter before locking it shut.

the shop floor is a small space, even smaller than your own living room. but you like the fact that the trinkets that you’ve collected over the years—along with the photographs of distant family, friends, and even one of your childhood pet rabbit—decorate the little space that isn’t filled by some sort of greenery. on the right side of the shop, stand shelving units that are stacked as high as the ceiling. they display many a flower that are already in full bloom, and opposing them, on the far left is a glass cabinet that contains bulbs and seeds for every fruit, vegetable and flower thinkable. by the front door, there is a large bay window, where customers are permitted to sit for consultations where you sometimes aid them in their purchases, or where the neighbourhood children come to sit and draw the seemingly endless array of flower heads of all shapes, sizes and colours. on the wall behind the counter, you’ve accumulated an impressive collection of drawings and paintings over the years, and you like to think that these are the little things that make your little shop—amaryllis—a place you can proudly call yours.

and when you’re locking up, preparing to return home to ready yourself for your much needed night out, you can’t help but spare a wistful smile as you turn the key in the lock.

It’s small, but it’s home.

๑

four hours later, and it’s safe to say that levi is in yet another of his foul moods. when he’d first arrived at eren’s apartment, he’d instantly snapped at the host upon discovering the knowledge that they planned to travel to not one, but multiple bars. the thought of being exposed to a place where so many people will be gathering to get absolutely fucking hammered—as eren had cheered, already tipsy long before anyone had even arrived—like the filthy, stinking pigs they are, as levi had put it, is enough to form a scowl on his features that is yet to disappear, even an hour after they’d arrived at their final destination.

upon arriving at titans, his mood has somehow worsened significantly, and he’s currently sat at the end of the booth, miles more sober than anyone else. the little shits—all noticeably taller than himself, as jean had made the mistake of pointing out (he’d received a painful kick to the shin for that comment)—were all somehow managing to remain in some form of upright position. most have joined the dance floor, you included; levi’s eyes had followed your every move ever since you’d arrived significantly later than everyone else. he can’t even remember the excuse you’d babbled once you’d flown through eren’s front door, dressed in a little black dress than hange had made a huge fuss about. levi doesn’t admit that flushing of your cheeks under hange’s attentions had been, dare he think, cute. but because he has a terrible habit of running his mouth before he stops to think whenever you’re within the vicinity—and because he’d loathed the way jean had glanced at your legs for a second far too long—he’d snapped something about your dress being too fucking short. your smile had faltered, and he’d almost swallowed his pride to apologise, but before he could, you’d simply turned away, forcing a bewildered-looking armin into a conversation instead. but he hadn’t missed the way you’d been tugging at the hem of your dress since then, and each time he catches you doing so, he has a hard time admitting, even to himself, that he feels a tad guilty.

you’ve loosened your hair from your usual braid, and levi thinks that this is the first time he’s seen you like this. it’s definitely a sight for sore eyes, not that he’ll ever tell you—or anyone for that matter, especially hange, that godforsaken, shit-faced blabber mouth. his eyes lazily drag over your entire form, and you are blissfully oblivious to him doing so, downing what he guesses to be your fifth cocktail of the night. you’d compromised with sasha, and had managed to weasel your way out of risking a pair of ridiculously high stilettos, and instead, had settled with a pair of heeled sandals, the heel just an inch tall. it means, that just for tonight, the two of you are the exact same height, not that levi is really thinking about that sort of thing as he’s too busy pretending that he’s not staring at the sway of your hips as you join jean, historia and ymir in a group dance. and he’s definitely not paying attention to the stupidly upbeat song, the base so loud that he swears he can feel it vibrating in his teeth.

the remainder of the group is scattered about the club; mikasa had barged in on the group a couple of hours ago, and no-one has seen eren since. levi suspects that it’s the last they’ll see of the couple for the remainder of the night, as he’d caught them sneaking off to the bathroom stalls just minutes after they’d arrived—connie and sasha also disappearing in a similar fashion not too long after—disgusting, he thinks as he takes a long sip of his whiskey.

even erwin, located on the other side of the booth, has a pink tinge that stains the tips of his ears, and whenever he lowers his head to listen to a blushing armin stammering away in his ear, his eyes struggling to remain open. armin, tipsy from whatever cider he’s been consuming since they started drinking, is talking the most levi has ever seen him, despite the fact that he can’t make out the blonde’s words as he chatters away to the older man.

you, at least, seem to be enjoying the company of your friends, and the four of you are engaged in some sort of dance that levi doesn’t recognise. there’s a healthy glow to your natural skin tone that has been kissed by the sun—despite the slight pinking of sunburn on the tip of your nose—and you’re currently sporting the biggest grin he thinks he’s ever seen on your face. jean leans to say something into your ear, and you laugh so loudly that levi somehow manages to hear it over the music from where he’s sat. connie and sasha soon rejoin the group, staggering around so clumsily that they almost send a man flying as they duck under the tray of drinks he’s carrying, narrowly skipping out of the way. and from somewhere levi doesn’t care to find out, both reiner and bertolt suddenly appear, too. he watches for a while, sipping on his drink until he eventually tips the rest of it down his throat, quickly ordering another round of drinks, and as he waits, he suddenly feels a weight leaning against his shoulder.

he turns his head to see hange’s temple pressed to his shoulder, so far gone that their glasses are somehow missing. were they even wearing their glasses when they left eren’s apartment? he can’t remember.

‘oi, shit-face, where’s your specs?’ he raises a hand to gently rap the back of his knuckles against hange’s cheek. all he receives is a garbled sentence that he can’t make out from over the music, hange’s arm slumping around his waist as they decide that he makes an acceptable pillow. he, however, does not, and so he huffs, annoyed, and tries to shake them awake. either he’s being ignored, or hange really is that much of a deadweight when they drink, because no matter how many times he yanks on a long strand of chocolate coloured hair, or flicks the tip of his middle finger against hange’s forehead, they still don’t budge.

he gives up, expelling a long sigh. the next round of drinks arrive, and he’s sure it’s a sight; him, bored out of his mind and nursing his whiskey with an unconscious hange clinging to him. luckily, now that it’s almost midnight, it’s not so hot outside, but hange’s body heat—along with the humidity caused by so many bodies in one place—is enough to form yet another sweat under the back of his dress shirt. it’s annoying—he’s already showered and washed his hair twice today, and he’s sure as hell that he’s going to take another before he goes to bed later on, whenever that may be. it doesn’t take long for the palms of his hands to become clammy enough that he can’t resist the urge to wash his skin any longer. and so he shifts his body so that he can lean hange against the back of the booth, their left cheek smushed against the cool leather. it takes some heaving, because he’s forgotten just how heavy hange is, and by the time he’s made sure that they won’t face-plant the floor, his shirt feels like a second skin as it clings to his torso. he grimaces, running a hand through sweat-slick hair, and spares erwin a nod as his blue eyed friend manages to tear his gaze from armin long enough to acknowledge the fact that levi is heading for the bathroom.

along the way, he’s downright disgusted at the sight of eren at the end of the hallway, mikasa’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his hands cupping the curve of her backside in order to hold her against the wall as he sloppily thrusts into her. she clings to his shoulders, and when she lifts her head to gasp against eren’s neck, her eyes open just enough to spot levi and she starts, eyes widening.

‘what in the fuck—go do that shit at home, yeager,’ levi spits from over his shoulder, chin tilting as he literally turns his nose up at them. he’s sure they’re not the only couple who are partaking in the same act of an alcohol-induced fuck in the middle of a club, but it’s still enough to make levi sneer, repulsed.

he’s already pushing open the bathroom door and disappearing inside when eren yelps a loud, ‘shit, shit, shit,’ as he scrambles to tug his jeans back over his hips.

inside the bathroom, levi is dubious of just how clean the taps are, so he makes quick work of scrubbing his hands as best he can. he doubts the automatic soap dispenser is as hygienic as it’s supposed to be, and he already knows that he’s going to be rewashing his hands as soon as he gets home, but for now, it’ll have to do. luckily, he appears to be the only person using the bathroom, so he makes sure to scrub between each finger, around each fingernail, over the tops of his hands and across the palms. he repeats this twice before rinsing and because he doesn’t trust the hand-dryer either, he waves his hands in the air until they feel at least somewhat dry.

he isn’t sure how long he’s taken, but it’s obviously long enough because when he returns to the booth, erwin is guiding armin from his seat.

‘where you going?’ levi demands, shouting over the music as his hand clamps around erwin’s free wrist in order to tug him down to his height.

‘everyone’s gone home!’ erwin struggles to yell over the music, his words slurring. levi’s eyes immediately dart to the dance-floor, where he sees that erwin is telling the truth, the others now nowhere in sight.

he didn’t think he’d been washing his hands for that long.

erwin is now leading armin from the booth, ‘am taking armin home,’ he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, toward a now conscious hange, ‘hange says they’re staying at yours.’

the sigh that levi releases is so deep that he feels his entire body slump without an ounce of energy to even argue. he bids some form of farewell to erwin and a very red-faced armin, and watches them weave through the remainder of the crowd before they reach the exit. left eye twitching with irritation, levi turns to hange and reaches for them, hauling them to their feet without so much as a warning.

‘woah!’ hange bellows dramatically, arms flailing as they catch their balance by gripping a fistful of levi’s hair. he grits his teeth and he doesn’t bother with being gentle as he starts to drag hange toward the exit, but his friend is suddenly uncharacteristically sluggish on their feet, and their journey to the door takes far too long for his liking. along the way, he keeps an eye out in case he bumps into you again, but it’s clear that you’ve left with the others, as he’s sure he’d spot you amongst the crowd if you hadn’t. he briefly wonders if you’ve gone home with jean, but that line of thought is quickly quashed down before he can feel the beginnings of vexation settling into the pit of his stomach.

the journey to his home is quiet, save for the dragging of hange’s shoes against the concrete, and levi is relieved that summer nights are much cooler than the daytime as a gentle breeze manages to billow under the surface of his shirt. it cools the sweat that’s built along the length of his spine, and by the time he’s hauling hange’s wavering body past the small iron gate and into his front garden, he’s feeling less irritable.

however, just as he’s stomping his way up to his front door, his fingers digging for his keys for the second time tonight, he pauses. because on his doorstep, there is a small, white napkin with his name scribbled, in ink, across the front.

‘huh?’ hange slurs, head lolling until it thumps against his. levi isn’t paying any mind, as his gaze is still glued to the offending napkin, his feet daring to only step closer once he’s managed to sit hange on the stone wall that separates his garden from his neighbour’s. torso hunched in a position that looks uncomfortable, hange manages to ask, eyes closed, ‘why’d we stop?’

levi ignores his friend in favour of crouching before his front step, his fingers inching out toward the napkin. upon closer inspection, he realises that the napkin is actually wrapped around something, and after staring at the ink that has blotched into the texture of the paper, he eventually picks it up. hange makes a noise between a snort and a laugh from behind him, but he doesn’t acknowledge the sound as he flicks open the napkin to reveal…

daisies?

for a long moment, levi stares at the flowers, downright confused and if he so admits, offended. his neck straightens and through narrowed eyes, he looks from left to right, as if waiting for someone to pop out of the bushes and yell ‘surprise!’. he doesn’t realise that hange is watching him, bleary eyed due to the fact that their glasses are still nowhere to be found, but still grinning nonetheless.

meanwhile, levi returns his stare to the daisies, his index finger stroking over the tiny, white petals, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he brings them closer to his face, eyes scanning for any clues as to who may have left them behind.

what is most peculiar about this, he thinks, is that the roots have been left intact, as if the flowers were freshly plucked from the ground. this only confuses levi more.

he isn’t stupid enough to assume that someone has intentionally left him a bundle of flowers as a romantic gesture, so he spends the next few minutes trying to wrack his brain for the list of morons that would’ve done this to annoy him.

armin is too nice to pull something as silly as a childish prank, plus, levi has spent majority of tonight watching him hand all over erwin, so he’s immediately out of the question. jean, he doubts is smart enough to pull out daises out by the root—the idiot would definitely just snap the stalks in half, so it’s also not him. connie and eren are both spoken for, so levi also highly doubts that they’d taken a detour on their way home to drop off some flowers at his door. neither reiner, nor bertolt know where he lives, and hange is sat right behind him, so that leaves… you.

no.

levi immediately throws that thought away, because one, he doesn’t even know who you left with—if it’s any of the above, then that, alone, pulls you out of the running—and two, you’re a fucking florist, for god’s sake. you wouldn’t be so stupid to leave behind something so painfully obvious.

no. no. it can’t be you.

maybe it was just a mistake, and whoever it was had left them at the wrong door?

he looks from right to left, this time, and still, his brain comes up with nothing. and then, for an unknown reason to him, to hange, and to anyone else within a two mile radius, he brings to flowers to his nose, and inhales. there’s a faint sweetness clinging to the petals, masked by the stench of freshly cut grass. it’s a pleasant scent, but upon realising what he’s just done makes levi’s eyes widen almost comically, and from where they sit, hange has to stifle a laugh into the crook of their elbow. luckily, levi is busy with all but throwing the offending flowers to the floor, glaring down at them with a newfound dislike.

the familiar tickling of his nostrils makes his nose crinkle in a lame attempt to prevent what is inevitable, and he sneezes, head lurching forward with the unexpected force. he sniffs thickly, the noise wet with mucus, which is already forming a headache between his eyebrows. his chest heaves and his eyes are already watering, and he struggles to resist the tempting urge to rub them. he manages to turn his head to hange, who is now staring at him, seemingly sobered up enough to peer at him as if fascinated by his allergies.

levi’s lips part, but before he can speak, his nose is tingling once more, and he releases four consecutive sneezes, the gesture quickly followed by a pained groan. when he manages to lift his head, it’s to glare at the discarded stems, the petals scattered across the concrete.

‘what the fuck?’

#♡ jordy is writing ♡#attack on titan #aot #aot smut #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #snk smut

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