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fyorina · 1 month

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ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking.

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side.

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics.

��I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction.

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk.

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately.

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?”

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you.

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk.

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there.

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is.

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge.

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt.

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple.

He smiles.

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route.

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants.

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is.

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to.

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest.

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.”

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him.

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs.

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent.

God, he’s gorgeous.

You hate him.

You’ve missed him.

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can.

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs.

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips.

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.”

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago.

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective.

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?”

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions.

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him.

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace.

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time.

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying.

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch.

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs.

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did.

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work.

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk.

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek.

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes.

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for my sixteenth birthday because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything.

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t.

“I know,” he murmurs.

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly.

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses.

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

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tasteracha · 4 months

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sweet venom

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

warnings: afab!reader, possessive behavior, unprotected sex, smut - MINORS DNI.

synopsis: request from my baby @astraystayyh who asked for grinding and lipstick and i kind of didn’t follow much of either but they’re there!!!!! 1.8k.

you can hear hyunjin doing his live in the next room - he made you swear to not click into it, saying that he’d be much too nervous if he saw you there. you listened, you’d do anything for him if he asked, but you held back the fact that the walls were thin and it was like you were there anyways. he didn’t need to know that.

you were usually fine with it. you were usually happy to hear him giggling along with his fans, ecstatic that he had so many people who loved him and wanted to spend time with him. it was just one of those things that came with being in a relationship with an idol that you just got used to. but right now, you were in an unusual mindset of wanting to be the only one that loved him, wanting to be the single person that he was spending time with. you didn’t want to share him, and while that might be selfish you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

it took thirty minutes of you seething in bed to come up with your half-baked plan. you walk over to your spare closet, keeping your steps light as you dig through it for a small paper bag hidden in the corner. you’d been keeping it for a special occasion, something you could wear as a treat for hyunjin, but this seemed like a better opportunity. you loved catching him off guard, as rare of an occurrence as it is.

you weave through the flimsy tissue paper in the bag and pull out a set of delicate lace, stark red against your skin. it was a beautiful lingerie set, something you had splurged on quite a bit, beautiful patterns of fabric complimented by thin bows and mesh paneling. you knew it would drive hyunjin crazy.

you swipe on some matching red lipstick and a few coats of mascara before pulling on the fabric, shivering a bit at the cold air hitting your exposed body. you weren’t one to show off this much skin typically, but it was worth it for this. you push away your discomfort as you step into the hallway, feet feather-light on the hardwood until you reach the door.

you press your ear to it, hearing his voice as clear as if it was right in your ear. him giggling at someone’s comment, him making jokes that weren’t meant for you, him flirting with them like you weren’t in the same apartment as him.

you push the door open abruptly and falter, your plan standing on shaky ground as you take him in. his hair is pushed back, a pair of metal rimmed glasses framing his face perfectly, and he’s spread out like a whore. he’s sprawled into the headboard of the bed, your bed, legs open and you see red. his head perks up like an animal, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“oh,” you can see the blood rush to his face as he twitches a bit, eyes flickering back and forth between you and the camera. “um. something came up, i have to go. bye!”

he turns the live off, and you already know that he’s going to be trending on twitter in a matter of minutes, but you don’t care. twitter can talk about him all they want, but he’s living and breathing in front of you and suddenly there’s too much space between you to bear.

“you think you can show off like this for other people?” you crawl onto the bed and stop in front of him, kneeling between his legs, setting your hands on his upper thighs. “you think you’re allowed to show them my property? you’re mine-“

he cuts you off with a huff, pulling you into him by the waist, leaving you sprawled into his lap. your hands brace onto his chest to keep yourself from crashing into him, and you can feel his heart beating under them, light and fragile like a hummingbird’s wings.

“you talk too much, did you know that?” he teases, leaning back to take in your body, eyes roaming up and down. it’s a testament to how much you trust him that you don’t want to hide from his gaze, that you preen under his attention instead.

“hmm,” you swing your legs over his, fully straddling him. “i don’t think that i talk enough, actually.”

you grind down on him, satisfaction thrumming through you when his mouth drops open in a surprised moan, and you take the chance to kiss him. his lips immediately surrender to yours, letting you lead him as you rake your nails down his chest, the thin material of his t-shirt doing nothing to stop the sensation. his hands, still on your hips, pull you into him again, making small circles that are in tune with the way his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest.

you trail your lips down his neck, leaving red lipstick stains in your path downwards. you bring your teeth into the equation, complimenting every rose-shaped pucker with a sharp thorny bite. the whines he lets out are sweeter than any melody that has ever hit your ears - you’d never let anyone tell you that you weren’t a musician when you could play his body this well.

“not-,” he cuts off with a groan when you bear down into his lap, kissing his collarbone to soothe him. “not where people can see, love.”

“i’ll do whatever i want,” you growl, meeting eyes with him as you suck a mark right under his jaw. “you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

it’s a little ridiculous that a live has gotten you this worked up, but with the way his breath is picking up and his chest is heaving under you, you’re pretty sure he’s right there with you. you lean back to appreciate your artwork, pausing your hips and grinning at the way your lipstick stains have dotted his neck and smeared around his lips. they’re physical marks of your claim on him.

“okay, sorry,” he whines, voice thin. “i won’t do it again, i was close, why did you stop -”

you shush him with another kiss, cradling his face in your hands. you pluck his glasses off his face, throwing them at the foot of the bed without care - it’s not like he needs them to see, anyways. they were getting in the way.

“you’re close already? baby, if you’re going to come today, it’ll be inside me or not at all,” you murmur against his lips, pressing a few pecks there before pulling back again. he shudders, a fully body thing that sends your own body into a delightful hum. you’ll never get used to the effect that you have on him, you’ll never understand how it was you that he picked.

you help him pull down his sweatpants and boxers, holding back a smirk at how hard he is. you barely have time to push your panties aside before he’s pulling you back into him again, a hard grip on your hips for the countless time; you hope he leaves hand-shaped bruises on you that last for days.

you raise up and ease him into you, the wetness that’s been building up since you walked in making the slide almost too easy. when he bottoms out you pause for a moment, settling in his lap and letting yourself get used to the feeling of him inside you. he fills you up so perfectly, nestled within you like he was carved specially just for you. the streak of possession comes back full force, something nasty and dark curling up in you at the thought of no one else getting to experience this ever. you were going to keep him forever, he is yours.

he swipes his thumb across your lips, smearing the lipstick everywhere before he pushes it into your mouth. you can taste the sticky sweetness of the makeup as you swirl your tongue around him, and his eyes are so dark on you that you almost can’t see his irises anymore.

you lift up and drop back down, once, twice, over and over god it feels so damn good. the angle you’re at makes him drive into that spot inside you that burns in pleasure, and soon enough your knees give out, unable to keep yourself upright.

he takes it as permission to flip you over onto your back, the weightlessness making your stomach flip before your back hits the mattress. he cradles the back of your head in his hand, keeping it from hitting the headboard as he looms over you, lining himself back up and pushing back inside you in one go.

his hair falls into his face, swinging along with his body as he rocks into you. the headboard squeaks but it’s nothing compared to the symphony your combined breaths create.

your hands reach up to cup his neck, thumbs sliding against the droplets of sweat rolling down his temples. you pull him in for another kiss, nastier than the others, full of gnashing teeth and dirty licks into each other’s mouths until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. his hand trails down your side, fingers pressing into your ribcage before going further down, down, down.

he parts your folds with his fingers, expert motions locating your clit easily. he rubs small circles into it, in time with his quickening thrusts, and you have to screw your eyes closed because it’s too much.

you feel your orgasm approaching faster than you thought it would, something about his near feral motions hitting parts of you that you hadn’t discovered yet. your entire body tightens with it, wave after wave of what seems like never ending pleasure wracking your body, going from your core all the way to your toes and the tols of your fingers.

he comes inside you with a growl, burying his head in your neck as you milk him through your own aftershocks. you can feel his heavy breaths on your skin, his entire body enveloping yours as you float through the haze he’s put you in.

you come back to yourself when he pulls out, letting out a pitiful whine at the loss of contact. he runs a hand through your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before dashing away, coming back just as quickly with a water bottle and a warm washcloth to clean you up with.

he goes to unhook your bra, knowing that you hate sleeping in them, but you pause his hand with a weak grip.

“you like it?” you ask, asking for the verbal validation that he did even though you know.

“do i like it?” he asks, incredulous, raising a brow at you. “you look divine. i’m going to paint you in this one day.”

“good,” you sigh in content, letting him undress you fully. he makes quick work of his own clothes, sticky with sweat, and he goes to retrieve his phone.

“my love?” he calls out, timid, his eyes wide as he looks down at the screen. “would you kill me if i told you i never turned off the live?”

“what?” you hiss, fully awake now. “please tell me you’re joking.”

“i am,” he giggles, showing you the black screen he was looking at. “that was revenge for interrupting my live, you jealous baby.”

“i’ll show you revenge, hwang hyunjin!”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin smut #hyunjin #stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n

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blkkizzat · 4 months

Text

꒰ა 𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 ໒꒱

a/n: IDK if this will be a series yet but I really wanted to turn the tables on the JJK men and write a drabble on what it would be like returning that alpha feral energy to them lmfao. for now this a one off! I may do more in the future. cw: trueform!Sukuna, canonverse, y/n being feral, dirty talk, fantasizing, intrusive thoughts and, of course, objectifying Sukuna's thighs. crack drabble lol wc: 925 Black fem coded but no descriptors.

You were with Sukuna in his throne room. The one task you were given was to stand next to him, look pretty and be silent while he handled business with the various cursed and sorcerer associates who requested an audience with him.

You fidgeted as you stood to his left, never good at remaining still.

Uruame stood to his right, stoic as ever.

But you did try your best to behave, eyes roaming around the room to find any source of focus.

There.

Your eyes widened before slightly narrowing as you honed in on your target, now perfectly entranced by–

Sukuna’s thighs.

You loved Sukuna’s entire body, but most of all you loved his thighs. No love couldn’t even really quantify your affections –you were obsessed.

Man spread out on his throne, a thick muscular thigh was exposed from Sukuna’s robes as he lounged back looking uninterested in whatever the curses in front of him were speaking of.

Unconsciously you chew your lower lip, letting your mind wander. You easily get lost in your thoughts of Sukuna's thighs.

Your mouth watered at the way the well-defined muscles beneath his skin created a sculpted landscape. It was a feast for your eyes and you didn’t fail to notice each subtle flex of movement they made.

Even the thigh still clothed in the fabric of his robe clung to the Herculean contours of the sinewy curves beneath them, rippling beneath the fabric in a way that made moisture pool in your panties.

The wide breadth of his thighs flaunted his sheer physical prowess, a testament to being The King of Curses.

It would feel oh, so good to relish the way his muscles flexed beneath you. Your hips would spread open near to the point of straining as you imagine vigorously riding his thigh.

Unintentionally you were turning yourself on more than you even realized.

Your thoughts spiral further to picture Sukuna making you get on your knees after. He would look down on you with the most devious grin as he commanded your tongue to clean up the sizable mess your filthy lil’ cunt made on his thigh.

Your stomach tightened at the thought of tracing the prominent vein on his inner thigh all the way up until you reached—-

A small whimper escaped you.

Shit.

Sukuna’s eyes immediately snapped to you, raising a hand to silence his cursed subjects speaking.

“What is it, Y/N?”

Sukuna was annoyed you couldn’t even manage to stay still for a few hours as he had long sensed your restlessness. However, the current level of distress he read on your features had him curious as to what changed.

“It’s nothing, my King.”

Sukuna was unmoved.

“I don't ask questions twice, Y/N.”

“Um, but it’s really nothing much at all… I-I, well…It’s just that uh, I was thinking…”

“Spit it the fuck out woman I don’t have all da—

“—you thicc as fuck Kuna!”

Utter silence.

A pin could drop and it would sound like the acoustics of a concert stadium.

Silence in general has always made you feel awkward and this was really awkward.

Sukuna wasn’t saying anything, likely processing your statement and the fact you interrupted him to make it.

More nervous than ever you couldn’t help what proceeded to spill forth, a dam of words broken as you attempted to explain yourself further.

“I-I mean your thighs daddy, you too thicc! You got the yams, thunder thighs, them wupples, hamhocks, you a real thighrannosaurus rex ,a thunty king even– y-you just thicc as fuck! Like damn daddy, ya know!?”

The reality of what you were saying didn’t hit you until you had finished and you slapped your hands over your mouth, your eyes wider than saucers.

You had been unable to be able to control the word vomit you’ve been oppressing.

Although you did have to admit in finally confessing your obsession you felt like a sinner absolved and a weight lifted from you.

No lies were told though, so who could really blame you?

Sukuna was still silent. His expression unreadable.

The curses in front of Sukuna are frozen. Worried that a single move would cause his ire to explode at them reducing them to mere molecules for even witnessing whatever had just occurred.

Uruame’s face, oddly the most expressive one of the bunch, was clearly questioning what in the ever loving fuck was wrong with you. But more than anything Uruame was puzzled as to why you were still even being allowed to take breaths.

More silence followed.

Yet after what seemed like a millennia to everyone else in the room, Sukuna finally spoke. His tone was calm, yet icier than the frozen temperatures outside his palace.

“You know how easily I can kill you, right Y/N?”

You nearly had to bite your own tongue off as your intrusive thoughts had zero regard for your own life and threatened to bubble up out of your throat again.

Honestly? If we're being real, you wanted nothing more than to drop to your knees and stick your head up his robes.

You would gladly die if it was from his massive thighs suffocating you, busting your skull like a tiny grape.

But then you wouldn’t be able to enjoy riding Sukuna’s thighs anymore and you didn’t want an afterlife where you couldn’t access Sukuna’s thighs.

Reluctantly, yet obediently, you gulped them down, swallowing any more embarrassment you could bring to The Curse King at this moment.

“Yes of course, dadd– my King.”

“Then stand there and shut the fuck up brat.”

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2024. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

a/n: when writing this I thought, what would @ryomens-vixen do? and here we are. lol. next up: still working on lactation kink yakuza!toji fic, ceo!gojo and nerd!geto fics.

tags: @littlemochabunni @biscuitsngravie @halobuns @honeeslust

Reblog to objectify Sukuna's yams but comments and likes are always appreciated!

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demonpiratehuntress · 4 months

Text

Ace + (Name) Day

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

summary - part 2 to "marry me", since someone wanted the wedding :) Ace chooses his birthday to be the date of your wedding, and you wonder why until he tells you.

warnings - none

a/n: happy birthday to the man who never fails to make me feel better regardless of my mood, our very VERY special fire fist <3

After proposing to you, Ace wanted to immediately start planning the wedding. Being pirates, you couldn't have a very big, very extravagant ceremony, but you didn't want one. You insisted that just being his wife made you happy enough, but Ace wanted you to have a wedding.

And he chose his birthday as the date.

Except that he didn't let you keep track of the date, so you wouldn't know he did that until the day came.

Marco helped you shop for a dress, Thatch baked an absolutely gorgeous cake and the rest of the crew decorated the ship as best they could to suit a wedding ceremony. Naturally, Whitebeard was asked to officiate. Ace even had backup plans upon backup plans for anything that might go wrong, a testament to how much he wanted this day to be perfect for you.

And when you walked out in that long white dress, a radiant smile on your face and nothing but happiness and excitement in your eyes, Ace swore he would have broken down in happy tears right then and there. As he watched you come down the improvised aisle, walked down by Marco, he couldn't take his eyes off you and felt them brimming with tears. You looked absolutely stunning, and for the first time Ace found himself speechless. His tongue was tied. A lump formed in his throat. He was marrying the most beautiful woman to ever exist.

Marco handed you off to Ace at the makeshift altar, which was really just you and Ace standing in front of Whitebeard's seat. You smiled up at your soon-to-be husband, and Ace's knees knocked together. It wasn't often that he got nervous, but you looked so amazing it was damn near impossible for him to keep it together.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate a love that is truly rare among pirates," Whitebeard began, trying not to read off of cue cards Marco held up from the back. Still, it was extremely sweet.

You barely listened to Whitebeard, your gaze transfixed on the stunning man before you. He did not wear a shirt, as predicted, so his tie kind of just...hung there. It might have been tacky to anyone else, but it made you giggle and you loved it because it was just so him. He still looked godly, so handsome you could cry. And the smile on his face...nothing in the world made you happier. You wiped a few tears from his cheeks as Whitebeard finally got to the questions.

"Do you, Portgas D. Ace, take (Last Name) (Name) to be your wife?"

"I do."

You smiled even more, as Ace hadn't even let the captain finish before he gave his response.

"And do you, (Last Name) (Name), take Portgas D. Ace to be your husband?"

"I do."

Now it was Ace's turn to smile, and you both felt butterflies bloom in your stomachs. You had been together long, but you still gave each other that sickeningly sweet feeling every time and it was only compounded now by the fact that you were making your union, your marriage, official.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Ace didn't hesitate, he was grabbing you and pulling you forward to press his lips against yours as soon as that sentence ended. He kissed you passionately, moulding his lips against your own with such fierce love that you could barely stay standing. His grip on you was the only thing keeping you from collapsing as he stole the air from your lungs with his absolutely breathtaking kiss. When you pulled apart, you were both breathless and Ace rested his forehead against your own with a soft smile.

"Oh, and happy birthday Ace."

Your eyes shot wide open when you heard that, and panic filled you. You hadn't realised it was already his birthday, it wasn't like you forgot but you had just not been able to keep up with what day it was.

"Ace-"

"Shhh," he put a finger to your lips, "I wanted to marry you today."

"Why?" You mumbled against his finger, blushing madly. "It's your-"

"Our day," he corrected, still grinning, "I wanted to marry you today because...(Name), I've never really felt like I could celebrate my birthday. I hated my existence more than anyone else until you came and made me feel like I was worthy of living. You came and made me feel like I had a purpose, and that purpose is loving you. You've given me a reason to live, a reason to exist, so I want to dedicate this day to you. To us. I wanted to marry you today because you are the best gift that I could ever receive."

Your eyes went wide again, before you smiled softly and felt tears fill your eyes, "Ace...that's so sweet. That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard. I love you, I love you so so much." You pulled him in and hugged him fiercely, peppering kisses all over his face.

"I love you too," he sighed happily, enjoying your passionate affection.

The rest of the day was spent celebrating the official union, with lots of partying, lots of eating, and most of all...lots of drinking. Laughter and cheering filled the air, and there was no happier atmosphere than that on the Moby Dick that day.

Later on, you pulled Ace aside and handed him a small giftwrapped box, smiling.

"I would have left it with everyone else's gifts but I wanted to give it to you personally."

He took it slowly, already overwhelmed by the love you'd shown him today, and stared at you in awe for a moment - as if he couldn't believe you were real. Then he opened the present slowly, and what he saw inside melted him entirely.

It was a beaded bracelet just like his necklace, only it had both your intials carved onto the beads, with a heart in between.

"This..." He looked up at you again, actually starting to cry again, "(Name) this is..." He couldn't even describe how much it meant to him. His hands were trembling, but he slid the bracelet on immediately. "This is perfect. I'm never taking it off."

"I'm glad you like it," you beamed, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

He turned at the last second and connected your lips with his again, arms winding around your waist so he could hold you against him as he locked you in another dizzying, world-rocking kiss.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..."

Praises and 'I love you's' fell from the fiery commander's lips repeatedly, his lips finding as many places to kiss on your face as he could. You smiled, giggling a little cause it tickled, and held him close.

"I love you too."

Eventually you and Ace were called upon to slow dance in front of everyone, and you happily wrapped your arms around your husband's neck as you gently swayed together on the improv dancefloor. Your head rested on his shoulder, and his chin on top of your head, and as you listened to his heartbeat, you knew...this was where you had always been destined to be. Safely wrapped up in Ace's arms, for the rest of your life.

"To Ace and (Name) Day!" Someone cheered loudly, eliciting even louder cheers from the rest of the crew.

You smiled at that, and Ace grinned, as both of you spoke at the same time.

"To Ace and (Name) Day..."

a/n - i hope this was as good as expected! and again, happy birthday to our loveable, fiery goofball, Portgas D. Ace!

#one piece #op #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #one piece ace #one piece ace x reader #one piece ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you

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popponn · 7 months

Text

weekend news, at night. [itoshi sae x reader]

note: while im cooking i will take a break from writing by writing. no warning, use of japanese honorifics, written with post canon in mind but not explicitly said. a fluff, as usual. and am i truly in love with this guy now. writing something with him in mind is a stress reliever. somehow. un beated, not proofreaded.

“Ah! Sae-san!” you swooned, your hands clapping dramatically as you smiled towards the flat, cold expression Itoshi Sae displayed within the TV.

Across you, another Itoshi Sae—the real one, the living one—watched you with an expression that was somehow even flatter. While you did realize the judgmental stare he was giving to you, who sat across him on the dining table, you chose to promptly ignore him. Sae, who had been watching this display for an hour, decided that it was time to question your brain, “What are you doing?”

“Hmm. Fangirling, I think?” you answered whilst propping your chin on your palms. Never once your eyes left the TV on the living room. “Sae-san’s expression there is really good. I like cool guy who is pretty dry.”

At that very moment, Sae truly wondered if you finally snapped. He had heard about the negative effects of overworking and you did sleep for two hours per day for a week. The fact you pretty much went on a full day hibernation yesterday was a testament to that. But then he remembered how you sometimes gets when teasing him and maybe the slight signs of insanity had always been there.

“I’m here,” Sae eventually decided to say.

“I know, Sae. You are,” you replied. You did not spare a glance towards him as you cheered the moment Oliver Aiku entered the screen, “Ah, Aiku-chan, as handsome as always! Oh, isn’t that Isagi-kun in the background? I miss him!”

Sae really wanted to go to bed all of sudden. He didn’t want to deal with you like this on a rare, empty weekend night.

Therefore, with that in mind, Sae closed his tab and stood up. “I’m going to sleep,” he told you before promptly walking to your shared bedroom.

He could only took a few steps before he was suddenly stopped by, hugging him with a cheeky smile staring directly into him. Sae frowned and your grin grew wider. A thin veil of apology laced your words as you wrapped your hands around his back even tighter, “Sorry. Was it to much for you, Sae-san?”

His eyebrows furrowed at the nickname, “Drop it.”

You laughed, then somehow pulled him towards the bedroom whilst walking backwards like a penguin. The sour expression Sae wore didn’t fade, however he followed you nonetheless without making you letting go of him. “Sorry, sorry. Really, this time. But seeing you being that rude while being so cute really refreshed me!”

Hearing your reasoning, Sae didn’t hold back, “Is your brain really okay?”

“Has anyone who overworked for a whole week ever have an okay brain?” you asked back lightly and somehow bitterly. As the two of you approached the door, Sae pushed the tablet he had been holding in one hand towards you.

“Hold it,” he said. Thankfully, you didn’t try anything funny this time, accepting it with one hand whilst draping the other on his shoulder. Sae rested a palm behind your head and opened the bedroom door.

You let out a coo, almost identical to the one you gave to the screen just a few moments ago, “Aw. Sae wants to cuddle with me?”

Sae didn’t even bother to gave you a reply as he closed the bedroom door, the two of still embracing each other while walking to the bed like a pair of actual goddamn penguins kissing each other.

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nicksbestie · 2 months

Note

hi :3333

maybe johnnie looking after his autistic gf [fem reader] after a hard day at work, like shes overstimulated/overwhelmed n tearful & quiet? and maybe asking jake for advicebc johnnie isnt sure how to help[?]

u dont have to stick to that exactly, feel free to swap their roles around or change a part if it makes it easier to write :3

i loved this prompt <3 i hope i did it justice!!!

Work Day

warnings : none!

pairing : jake/reader (platonic) johnnie/reader (romantic)

word count : 1141

There were a lot of hardships that came with being disabled, and nobody knew that better than you did. It was even worse when it was a disability that wasn’t always visible to the naked eye, because outsiders would doubt the struggles that you faced every day, as if they weren’t real because they couldn’t see them. However, this didn’t mean that nobody saw your hard moments, they were just reserved, as much as possible, for the closest people in your life.

Like tonight, when you had just sped home from work, desperate to be back in a familiar setting, and had nearly stormed in the door, unintentionally slamming it behind you. You had been through what was possibly your worst day in a long time. Everything had bothered you, even the things that you were normally fine with. You had forgotten how to do some of the work that you needed to know how to do to finish a project which had a fast approaching deadline, and you had piles of other things to complete which had fueled you being incredibly stressed. That had been the start to you being incredibly overwhelmed, and every little thing that piled on after that had made you feel like sobbing and screaming in frustration at the same time.

Finally getting home, you threw yourself down on the couch, screaming into the cushion before going completely quiet, the tears that you couldn't let out at work coming out of your eyes now. Had you known that your boyfriend was home, and no more than one room away, you would have skipped the screaming part, but you couldn’t take it back. You noticed that he ran out of his room as soon as he heard you, eyes worried when he spotted you laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, but not really seeing anything.

“What’s going on?”

The concern was evident in his voice, but you just didn’t have the energy to talk, so you just slowly shook your head, crying. Though your relationship was relatively new, you knew that Johnnie understood what your silence meant, and you knew you probably wouldn’t be speaking much for the rest of the night. Luckily, the couch was wide enough for two, and he laid down next to you, quiet as well.

“Awful day?”

You nodded, not really moving much else of your body, despite him being so close to you. You would’ve normally immediately curled into his side, and the fact that you didn’t was really a testament to how bad you were feeling. Not having the same struggles, Johnnie often felt rather helpless when it came to your bad moments, but he was always there. He just didn’t always know how to help. He was learning, and he was taking in every new part of you with stride, and doing everything he could. However, sometimes, you just needed someone who fully understood you, and Johnnie knew that too. There wasn’t any jealousy there, simply understanding and love.

“Do you want me to call Jake and ask him if he can come over for a little while?”

You nodded again, knowing that he was going to ask that, and being incredibly grateful for it. You loved your boyfriend, more than you could put into words, but there were times when you needed someone that didn’t need you to fully explain what was going on for them to understand. Plus, you weren’t feeling very verbal, so it would be a lot easier for someone who could relate to verbalize your feelings to Johnnie. Johnnie gently laid a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to make the phone call. Due to the fact that Jake and Johnnie don’t talk on the phone all that often, Jake picked up quickly, immediately concerned.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“Not really, but I’m okay. It’s her, she’s struggling today and I don’t really know how to help.”

You could practically hear Jake’s expression, knowing it was one of empathy. You’d seen it in person too many times to count.

“Oh no. Do you want me to talk to her?”

“She’s not speaking right now. Do you mind coming over? Are you busy?”

Jake laughed down the phone line, but there was no cruelty behind it.

“Of course I’m not busy. Even if I was, I’d cancel. I’m on the way over. Am I on speaker?”

“Yeah, you are.”

You could hear the sound of Jake getting into his car, and knowing that the two closest people in your life that you cared the most about were willing to drop everything to help you made you want to cry and smile at the same time. As he drove, he asked various questions, having a general idea of what was going on, but still wanting to fully understand before he attempted to help. By the time he arrived at your house, you were wrapped up in your weighted blanket, curled up next to Johnnie, noise canceling headphones over your ears. Johnnie gently tapped you, alerting you to Jake’s arrival without scaring you because you couldn’t hear the door opening.

You knew they were talking to each other because you could see Johnnie’s lips moving, and you could pick up a lot of the words, but didn’t really care too much to insert yourself into the conversation. A lot of it was Jake explaining why you had shut down, why you didn’t want to talk, because it felt like it cost you too much energy, and how both of them could help. After a couple of minutes of speaking to Johnnie, Jake moved more into your eyesight, waving, and offering a gentle hug. Taking him up on the offer, he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing tightly for a little bit of deep pressure therapy before letting go and sitting down on the opposite side of you.

A fact about your relationship with Jake was that due to the often moments of you both becoming nonverbal, or semi verbal, each of you were fluent in ASL. Johnnie was learning, but not completely fluent yet, and you and Jake began having a conversation of your own. Upon learning that you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he asked Johnnie if he would mind getting up to get you some food and he could continue talking to you, which, of course, he didn’t mind at all. He immediately got up to get your comfort foods, and you and Jake continued to talk about how you were feeling, and what they could do to help. At the end of the conversation, all three of you ended up just spending a lot of quiet quality time together, watching some shitty comedy on TV and making a bad day a lot better.

#johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fanfic #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert fic #johnnie guilbert fanfiction #johnnie and jake #fanfic #jake webber fluff #jake webber fanfic #jake webber fanfiction #jake webber #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert smut

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otomestatus · 4 months

Text

know it's for the better; manjiro s. / reader

an: wanted to write an original work on this blog and this has been consuming my little thoughts!

Your eyes flutter open, welcoming the light from the afternoon sun. Your cheek was rested upon the flat surface of your desk as your arms encircled the circumference of your head. Blinking once, twice, your vision was met with a mop of soft blonde hair also laying on your desk. The owner of said hair had his face hidden in his arms, his body rising and falling gently with each shallow breath. The classroom around you was painted in a reddish glow as the sun began its descent in the horizon. Birds chirped, leaves rustled out the window, and you felt at peace. Slowly you rose in your seat, your finger gently reaching out to poke the top of his head.

“Hey, Mikey…” You speak barely above a whisper, your tone light and feathery. He shifted and hesitated to poke his head up to meet your gaze. He stares at you with this groggily look in his eyes.

“Whaaat…?” Mikey groans, his hands coming up to rub the sleep from his eyes. There is a dull ache in the hollow of your chest as a full view of his face enters your sight. He’s tired and no doubt going to complain about being hungry, but you’re losing yourself in your own thoughts. It’s the way his blonde hair frames his face and how his dark lashes flutter each time he blinks. You had always known the truth. Ever since you were kids you had always known and will always continue to know. It was an irrefutable fact that you were unequivocally, undeniably in love with Manjiro Sano. So as you sit here and admire the way the afternoon sunset blankets his face in its warm glow, you can feel your heart stutter. You hesitate with your next words, but you know the day must come to its end.

“We should head home…” It’s a murmur, but it’s loud enough for Mikey to hear. You don’t know when you’d become so shy.

Mikey hums, propping his elbows up on your desk and cradling his head in the palm of his hands. He looks unconvinced and a small part of you had been hoping it meant he wanted to spend a little longer with you. To sit in the comfort of each other’s presence and talk idly about anything and everything in between. You are holding your breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I don’t have anything to do until later so I’m fine.” He grins, wide and warm, and your cheeks dust a gentle pink color. There’s something in his smile, something so bright. Yet, something so distant like a far off memory from a moment lost to time. You want to cup your hands around his cheeks and hold him there. No rhyme or reason, you just want to bask in that smile for as long as possible. You adore it more than could be described with mere words. The ache prodding in your sternum is a testament to all the ways you have loved him so. All the way you will continue to love him. And, perhaps, that is the problem.

“You okay? You’re just staring.” There’s a slight tilt to his head as he stares at you, curiosity brimming in his dark eyes. You flinch.

“Oh… Yeah, just…” You hesitate before continuing, “You’re pretty.”

You don’t know what compelled you to say it. And maybe you’ll never know either. However, Mikey’s surprise quickly dissipates and invites a wide, toothy grin in its wake. You expected him to laugh or make fun of you for such a compliment, but his expression is anything but displeased. He chuckles, “Haven’t heard that one before.”

There’s something familiar in the way he says that. Your mouth opens slightly then shuts again. Your head turns slightly to look out the window. The sky is void of clouds and there’s a distant sound of children playing. It’s all so familiar, all so tender. His voice brings you back to him.

“You get it, don’t you?” He asks, his smile never wavering. You don’t understand or you do, but you don’t want to. It’s easier to pretend. However, he’s staring at you, eyes knowing yet their emotion is completely unreadable. A child screams and laughs in the neighborhood across the street. A breeze dances through the open classroom window. You understand.

“I saw it on Takemichi’s face.” You shift, sitting straight up, your own expression blank. Across from you he leans back in his own chair. His eyes appear gentle as if they’ve fully reached acceptance. You hadn’t, though.

Mikey laughs, “Yeah, that’s Takemitchy! Always showing exactly how he feels.”

He isn’t fazed when you don’t laugh, or frown, or even chastise him for finding humor in it. No, he knows you like the flowers know spring and the animals know winter. He knows you like how the stars know the moon. There is not an inch of your personhood Mikey does not know. You want to feel vindicated, but you don’t. That surprises you. The sun hasn’t moved an inch. The sky is still vibrant hues of orange and red and the cicadas play their tune.

“Manjiro…” You begin.

Mikey grins, “I always liked when you called me that.”

“Huh?”

“Manjiro. I always liked when you called me Manjiro.” He’s looking at you longingly and you’re looking at him with such a sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

You exhale softly, “I’ve always liked you.”

“Liked?” He hums. You don’t tense. There’s no reason to.

“Loved.” You admit, “I do. Still.”

He seems to ponder this. Silence fills the air and this classroom feels almost suffocating. His head lulls back, his dark eyes staring up at the ceiling tiles. You rest your left hand on your desk and pinch your index and thumb together-- the nail of your index scratching lightly at the side of your thumb to nervously pick the skin. That ache in your chest is amplified by the wave of nostalgia crashing into you.

“I really wanted to hear that before I go.” Mikey’s tone is laced with despondency. There’s a lump in your throat and you can’t swallow it, you can’t get rid of it. Just like how you couldn’t get rid of the love you held for him all these years. Maybe even for the rest of your life. Your bottom lip quivers, but you force a sharp inhale to maintain your composure. The cicadas are quiet, the children are gone, and the leaves of the trees aren’t rustling in the wind. There is just an eerie quiet and your own grief blossoming along your ribcage.

“So you’re leaving?” It’s a question that you don’t want to know the answer to, but you ask it anyway. Mikey lifts his head up to meet your eyes. They are your favorite sight.

“Yeah, I’m leaving.” And it sounds so final, so permanent because it is. You gasp and your eyes prickle with tears you were desperate to hold at bay. That was a fool’s goal after all.

“Do you love me?” Again, a question, but this time it’s important you know. You need to know.

Mikey’s eyes fell to the desk in front of him, “How could I not?”

You’re stifling a sob and he’s staring at you with a tenderness you want to slap off his face. Deep down you knew it. The moment Takemichi came by your apartment after arriving back from the Philippines, the moment he locked eyes with you and sputtered out a desperate apology. Twelve years and you were bleeding out from all the love and grief you tried to keep inside. Twelve years of wondering where he was, what he was doing, and why he was destroying every piece of a past you longed to go back to.

“I don’t want this to be a dream…” You choked out between sobs, hiding your face in your hands so he cannot see the tears you shed for him, “Manjiro, I don’t understand…!”

There’s the sound of fabric shifting and the chair scraping against the floor before his hand connects with your head, fingers combing slightly in your hair. It makes you cry harder. It would be easier for him to rip your heart out, but he’s kind and he’s gentle. He’s your Manjiro.

“Know it’s for the better.” He leans down and whispers these words into your ear. Before you can even respond, your body jolts awake and alone in a twin sized bed you had grown to hate. The rain outside your window beats down against the glass. Your alarm clock reads 2:31 AM. In this tiny apartment you begrudgingly call you, you are inconsolable. You are a weak heart. So you turn and shove your face into your pillow, screaming into the soft plushness of it with all the pain you’ve bottled up in these twelve years. For the first time in all those years, however, you finally feel as if you can breathe.

#tokyo revengers x reader #manjiro sano x reader #mikey x reader #mikey sano x reader #manjiro sano x you #manjiro sano x y/n #manjiro x reader #tokyo revengers x you

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hyewka · 10 months

Text

STRICTLY PLATONIC [teaser] | choi beomgyu

SUMMARY. fucking your best friend was supposed to be a one time thing in the hopes of relinquishing feelings for your ex, but a one time turned into a weekly and cuddles after sex are way too intimate for your liking. but beomgyu insists that he’d never catch feelings for you, that he’s experienced in these types of arrangements. he still saw you as his best friend! it was totally only platonic for you too… right?

GENRE. smut, fluff, angst, college au, a hyewka fic with plot and structure.. sort of

TEASER WARNINGS. nothing explicit just some marking lol

AUTHOR NOTE. the dream fwb fic ive been wanting to write for ages so thank you to the ask i recently replied to as it was the main motivator for this 😭 this is going to be a long one so we're going the traditional route with a teaser, im opening a tag list so if you wish to be added send an ask or comment!

You’ve never seen Choi Beomgyu in a different light. That’s what you liked about him, that everything was so… constant. Your life could crash and burn but hey, Beomgyu was still Beomgyu— your friendship was a variable in your life that stayed undeniably the exact same.

You know, until you allowed him to fuck your brains out.

Even the sole fact that you have given the thought of Beomgyu being a ‘sex symbol’ has you quivering out of sheer horror— Beomgyu… has never been a sex symbol. Sure, he fucked around, and has a reputation and yeah sure, he was crazy hot when he isn’t showing signs of extreme sleep deprivation …but you’ve just never seen him in that light.

And to have let it simmer in your thoughts for longer than a second, makes you just a tinge hesitant in letting the silly goof pull you into the dancing crowd. You whine, “I’m tired Beomgyu! My heels are killing me.”

He either doesn’t hear over the blasting music or isn’t going to give it up because he pulls you in anyway, crashing your head right into his chest and you let out an instinctual ouch at the hard surface. Your eyes are wide looking up at him, sputtering out an unbelievable sentence. “Have you—have you been working out?”

His grin widens, holding up your arm to guide at feeling out his biceps. “Every now and then.” He doesn’t mind the minute it takes you to actually feel every muscle through his shirt, in fact he’s relishing in your sudden pique of interest in his body.

Whether he’s flexing them or not doesn’t show in his face—he looks completely relaxed and you finally admit—Beomgyu is getting toned.

“Why? You hate working out.” You could barely muffle those words with the way he had you engulfed in his arms, leaning his head in your neck, swaying side to side as if the song blasting was off of Taylor Swift’s Lover and not a Lil Wayne remix.

And he hasn’t even gotten a drop of alcohol yet.

But it’s true, Beomgyu hated the gym. Like, even more than you did. Which is a testament in and of itself.

He pulls away from the crook of your neck, a pout on his lips. “Didn’t you say your type was muscular men? At Halloween weekend?”

Halloween weekend was a year ago, the first frat party you managed to get into with the help of Beomgyu’s friend, Jake. You barely remember anything from it. Other than the occasional retells of the nights by Yunjin’s words, which are always a different version of the same story... so a not very credible source. “I mean, I guess they are. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know, just saying. Jaehyun was suuper muscly.” Okay, the random mention of your ex…maybe he had some drop of alcohol.

“Are you drunk?”

“You took too long to come back, lost at beer pong.”

“How many shots?” you interrogate.

“Two.” At your suspecting glare, he continues on, “Four…five…like, at most seven.”

Your eyes bulge out, huffing out a scoff. You guys always got wasted together! Noticing the furrow of your brows he holds you tighter whining, “I know I know, sorry, I tried telling Heeseung but he’s a savage cruel man, I was practically force fed that cup.”

You don’t doubt that he attempted to persuade Heeseung but you do doubt the force feeding, it only takes a couple nudges before getting Beomgyu to drink. “I’m just slightly tipsy, not drunk yet anyway. I pledged to never ever get trashed without you. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You slap away the hand he puts up over his chest, incredulously, losing your control over the fits of giggles when he takes your flying hand in his, taking advantage by intertwining your fingers together. “What are you doing?” your cheeks probably hurt from all the smiling, you don’t know, you think your nerves are numb.

“Can’t a guy hold his twin flame, platonic best friend’s hand?”

Skinship was not an unfamiliar with Beomgyu—he was always a naturally clingy guy. You figured when the first ever official lunch hangout you’ve had with the boy and a few of your other friends, had included a lot of random footsie.

You didn’t even know him that well in high school. Who plays footsie with an acquaintance? Choi Beomgyu, that’s who. Yet even after some reluctance that day, you end up letting him have his childish, sort of endearing fun.

Though this was all but childish, the innocently mischievous twinkle of a scrawny teenage boy had been long gone, instead replaced by the most attractive man’s hungry, lust filled gaze. “Who told you to look so sexy today?”

The theme was Angel & Devil—to match with Beomgyu, you insisted on giving him the angel outfit, and you the costume of a devil. Matching was always the fun part of these parties. “Only today?” you drawl, making an exaggerated sultry trail with your finger on his chest.

“God, shut up, you know you’re always hot,” You don’t expect the seriousness of his tone, especially when you were just teasing, but he snakes his hand around your waist, pushing you further into his body, your tits suffocatingly pressed against his chest.

You do not expect the slight squeeze to your ass, your eyes shooting particularly wide, blood rushing up to trickle your cheeks. “But I like it when you’re a little devil, makes you so sexy and alluring.”

His face buried into your neck again, this time not missing the chance of taking a deep inhale. Beomgyu could stay like this forever, filling his lungs with you, and only you. “Still can’t believe I had my hands off you for so long little devil.” Your eyes flutter shut, taking quick breaths as he moves his soft lips to your neck, wet kisses with a slip of teeth nibbling just slightly to tease, planning on coloring you with all the pretty purple hues.

And you’re sure he was well on his way until you sober up at the abrupt change in the DJ’s track.

“Beomgyu, not—not now, we’re in public.” And surrounded by tons of people that you’re either friends with or know. That broke one of the most important pillars of your agreement—to keep the fuck buddies ‘thing’ a secret.

You don’t expect the speed of his instant pull away when processing your words, blinking his pretty lashes and the tipsiness away—his doe eyes are too much of a weakness, the little furrow of his brows something you desperately want to kiss and smoothen out. “Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry.” he scratches the back of his neck, genuinely apologetic.

And eats away at you. You know Beomgyu well—he hates keeping things secret, he’s the type of person to flaunt relationships all over his feed in that lovesick puppy way that most women could only dream of having—but you weren’t dating. And that was the boundary set.

You didn’t ask him to pull away completely though, but here you were, awkwardly as distanced as you could be in the middle of a rager with sweaty college students rubbing their bodies against each other. As gross as that was, you zero’d in on something less of a given: the fact that you’ve never felt this way with Beomgyu. Ever. It was like you were starring in the most awkward coming of age indie movie, y’know, without the crazy scenery and cinematography.

And more often than not, you find that these occurance of realisations, become more and more frequent. You feel things you’ve never felt a certain way with Beomgyu. Which only brought you to realize something else; Beomgyu was now a changing variable in your life and you’re not entirely sure how to handle that.

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meieis · 3 months

Text

Afraid of losing you, Lute x Reader

My note: I know, I already have a fiction series (I didn't know what to say...) but this was bothering me too much. Anyway, I'm working hard on Seraphim yn x lute, but for two days I could only write the introduction, finally, I started this and... It was good!

Synopsis: You are the right-hand, Lute's subordinate and new lieutenant, Lute became the commander of the exorcist angels after Adam's death. After the war in which she lost Adam, she is afraid that if heaven goes to war with Hell again, she think she lose you.

Warning(?): Swearing, nothing else.

It was hard being lieutenant. Especially after losing the war with Hell, this was harder because Lute lost her arm and Adam as a bonus, Even so, she could still do the same, she did before, but that doesn't change the fact that you were appointed the new lieutenant just as Lute was the old lieutenant.

At first Lute seems cold, harsh and rude, and sometimes she even intimidates the winners. Ironically, your personality is no different from her, maybe you're a little more disrespectful? (to those other than Lute and kind to lute) Being Lute's right hand or her left hand, since she lost her left arm, she needs someone there for her left arm... probably..., ahem ahem. Anyway, it was difficult to be Lute's right hand or her employee, kind of a heavy workload.

Lute continued to train exorcist angels with one arm, a testament to her ability to do all the work with one hand. You, her subordinate and new lieutenant, were always by her side. You helped her with everything. Lute gave you the toughest job. From the outside, it might seem like Lute was just using her subordinate, the new lieutenant, you, but it was actually a show of trust on Lute's part, because Lute never trusted a other angel enough to give they a job or paperwork.

Lute had a rough day today. “Y/N go and buy me a coffee, quick” she sat down at her desk tiredly and rubbed her hand against her temple. She ordered sternly. "Okay sir. I'm buy it from your usually coffee shop and usually coffee, right?" Lute frowned at the question, "Yes! I didn't tell you the name of the coffee to buy, so hurry up and buy usually coffee!" She said angrily, and sighed angrily "Okay, Sir" you quickly left the office and went to get coffee, Lute sighed again and thought about her conversation with Sera

"because of you!" Sera said sternly. Lute frowned but remained silent. “You have trampled the name of Heaven! You have been defeated by a few useless ones in Hell!” Lute said nothing again. Sera scolded her for a while, blaming her for the war that happened. Sera just... kind of mocked her, but Lute couldn't say anything. All she did was clench her fist as Sera scolded her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when you opened the door, "Sir?" You said as you walked in, as if asking if she was there. “here.” Lute said briefly and firmly and you walked in and handed her the coffee. “Sera, I had a meeting with him today or something” You looked at Lute “Did you have a meeting with him today?” This question caused Lute to shout angrily, "Of course not!" She sighed angrily and leaned back in her chair.

"Fuck... That fuking bitch, all she does is cause trouble for us. As if she wasn't the one who gave us those guns and ordered these exorcists thing" she said angrily and continued "She blamed me for not being able to protect Adam, where was she at the time? She was in a good mood! She didn't come to help, she didn't even care about the people who died!" Finally, she growled angrily and stopped talking and drink her coffee.

"Sir, it wasn't your fault..." Lute rolled her eyes "I know, everyone says the same." You looked at her at Lute's words "but it's real, sera is just looking for someone to blame. She would never blame herself" she preferred to drink the coffee and didn't say anything, finally she handed you the empty coffee cup.

"You're right." She handed you the empty coffee cup "Here. Take this, go outside and throw it in the trash" You gave her an exasperated look at Lute's expressive command as she were giving an order to a dog, but she ignored your look and continued to hand you the empty coffee cup.

You took the coffee cup to throw it away and went out and Lute was lost in thought when she was left alone, Sera was right... She could have saved him if she had noticed that one-eyed little Maid... Although it was too late now, probably if Adam were here right now... He mocked of her for being sad. Lute knows she shouldn't blame herself, but still... She can't help it. She feels her eyes starting to fill with tears, when you opened the door and her gaze turned to you “Y/N come here.” you obeyed the command and Lute instantly wrapped her arms around you, (if you were shorter than her) she slouched and buried her face in your chest because you were shorter than her, (if you were taller than her) you had to slouch because of her movement because Lute had her face buried in your chest, it seemed like she had no stop hug.

You don't remember how long you and Lute stayed like that, at least once, Lute's the emotion wore off you and Lute continued day normally. At first you thought you were crying for Adam, but in reality... Maybe if the order came to kill the sinners in hell again, she might lost you at that time. She can't cheat a second loss.

extra :

On the way home she thought, if she loses you it will only get worse. That's why she will keep her distance from you, that is, she will treat you coldly. She made her decision. Her only hope is not to lose you and for you to be okay. Maybe she doesn't know why she got so attached or like to you, maybe she needed someone to stand by her after Adam's death? Despite everything, there's only one thing she knows and that's that she wants you to live.

#hazbin hotel lute x reader #lute x fem!reader #lute x reader #hazbin hotel lute #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #lute x reader hazbin hotel #lute x yn #hazbin hotel

144 notes · View notes

aevallare · 3 months

Text

oneiric

pairing: astarion/f!tav/shadowheart

word count: 7,854

AO3 link if preferred!

warnings: threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal fingering, strap on, MFF, dom!tav, sub!astarion, sub!shadowheart, oral sex, strap blowjob, orgasm denial, voyeurism, post-epilogue, humiliation, breath play, dirty talk, blood drinking, ear rubbing, multiple orgasms, rough sex, praise kink, teasing, hair pulling, face sitting

preview:

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Shadowheart snorts. Auri can't stop thinking about what Astarion said in bed the other night. She says, “The problem is that I have trouble letting go of control with people that I don't trust. And people that I trust are few and far between.”

Astarion smirks. “Yes, I can see how that would be difficult. I tend to be the one doing the controlling, if we can call it that, but letting it go can be just as…” Astarion trails off as if searching for the perfect word. “Fulfilling.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

enjoy!!

-----

Auri’s no fool. She has no right to the intricacies and full truths of what Astarion went through in the centuries before the tadpole, when he was a spawn rather than an adventurer and when Auri was a jester rather than the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. People recognize them, now, in the street. “The hero and her lover!” they call out when Auri and Astarion walk by, though his vampirism is luckily still a secret.

Auri chafes whenever she hears it. He spent so long being nothing but a possession, and he’s her equal in every way and then some. Most days, Auri thinks she’s the one who should be treated as lesser.

Neither of them should, really. They’ve both done a lot of healing in the years since the Elder Brain.

“Does it bother you? That people only think of you as an extension of me?” Auri had asked once.

He’d raised an eyebrow at her. “What use is there in being bothered by people who I could kill before they blinked?”

It’s a marvelously succinct way to put her fear to rest and a testament to how much he’s healed since the day that they met on the beach so long ago, but Auri’s never been very good at letting things go.

So she gives him power in every way that she knows how, even in things that don’t really matter. He chooses what tasks they take on and where they bed down for the evening. He decides if they walk or if they hitch a ride with a carriage passing through.

And in bed, he takes control. And Auri’s never wanted for anything. And gods if they aren’t happy. She loves him and he loves her and that’s everything she could ever want and then some.

They don’t have a home, really, but that’s just fine. There’s always a room for them at the Elfsong in between travels, and in one such interim period, as Auri dozes, Astarion comes through the door and says, “Shadowheart sent us a letter.”

“Mm?” Auri’s voice is groggy. “What’s it say?”

Astarion sighs. “Among all kinds of nonsense about the menagerie of beasts that she’s acquired, she misses you desperately and me a little and we should come spend a tenday with her if her friendship ever meant anything to us.”

Auri blinks. When was the last time she saw Shadowheart? She can scarcely remember.

“Naturally,” Astarion continues, “I will write back to tell her that her friendship has not in fact ever meant anything to us–”

Auri purses her lips and rips the letter from his hands.

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

It’s almost dawn when they arrive, but Shadowheart’s expecting them. She sits at a small table in front of the door with a drink in hand, and when she finally sees them, she stands and waves. Auri’s vision in the dark is terrible, but when Shadowheart wraps her in an embrace, it’s like coming home. She welcomes them both in though she stops short of hugging Astarion, and when they step into her cottage, she’s easy to see in the candlelight.

The years have been kind to her. Her body’s turned soft in a beautiful way and there are wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and lips that only come from smiling a bit too much.

And she looks happier than Auri ever remembers her being before.

“You must be exhausted,” she says. “We can talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

So they rest. And the next day, they talk. And things are exactly as they used to be in the way they always are with good friends who’ve gone through the hells together.

Auri helps in Shadowheart’s garden. Astarion hunts. And they relax.

There’s only one problem.

Shadowheart’s cottage isn’t small, exactly, but there’s little space for privacy. Any intimate moment she and Astarion might try to share carries the risk of Shadowheart’s intrusion.

“I can think of worse people to happen upon us in the act,” Astarion says on the third night of their stay. Auri’s face warms and if anyone’s attuned to the flow of blood in her body, it’s Astarion.

“Stop it,” Auri whispers, his lips brushing against the spot where he always feeds, and Astarion smiles.

She can almost hear how sharp his smirk is, even in the dark.

“Would you like her to find us?” he asks, notably making no move to touch her. “Would you like to fuck her? To watch me fuck her?”

It’s all Auri can do not to rub herself against his thigh between her legs, to seek whatever mediocre release that might bring. Astarion kisses her neck. He’s not even going to drink from her.

“Sleep well, lover,” he says, smug, self-satisfied, and says nothing else at all though he can smell the slickness between her legs and the racing of her heart.

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

It’s the wine that starts things, though maybe that’s reductive. Auri hasn’t stopped thinking about what Astarion said for the last two days (and she hasn’t had any kind of sex in six days).

And none of them are shy. Maybe that's the problem.

“The last person I brought home was fun enough,” Shadowheart says, swirling the drink in her glass. “The problem is that I'm finding I have less and less patience these days for partners to pick up what I like, and I'm not really interested in a long-term relationship either.”

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

“Don't get me wrong, darling; I'm more than satisfied to tie you up and take very good care of you, but–”

Auri's cheeks flush red. Shadowheart stares at both of them intently.

“I'll get you both more wine,” she says, and she takes their glasses from them, and Auri and Astarion are alone.

“Is that something that you–” Auri swallows hard. “Is that something that you want?”

“Is that such a surprise?” Astarion cocks an eyebrow. “My body's mine, but I like to use it to please yours. I'd venture you like the same.”

Heat creeps up Auri's neck. Astarion's grin is wicked.

“Have you wanted to take charge all this time?” His voice is low, conspiratorial. Auri crosses her legs self-consciously, though it doesn't really matter. He can no doubt smell her all the same. “Then how about a bet?”

Auri's mouth goes dry. She can hear Shadowheart in the next room over.

“A bet?” she repeats.

“A bet,” he confirms. “I could tell how entertained you were by the idea of her joining us. If that's something that you want, get her into our bed. If you succeed, I'll let you do whatever you want with me.”

Every muscle in Auri's body is wound unfathomably tight. Astarion drank before they slept yesterday, but Auri remains unsated. And she makes a decision.

She’s no great seductor, but she’s no blushing virgin either.

“Well?” Astarion starts, voice smug. “No time like the present, is there?”

Auri eyes him in her peripheral vision. “A bit rich of the immortal to say to his mortal partner.”

“If it helps, I want you to succeed just as much as you’d like to watch her squirm on your fingers.”

The blush that rises to her cheeks is violent. “Astarion–”

He chuckles. “You’re welcome to tell me I’m wrong.”

But he isn’t wrong and he knows that he isn’t, so Auri scowls. Shadowheart returns with the wine. Auri has trouble finding her voice for the rest of the night.

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

Auri’s not scared to proposition Shadowheart, exactly. Given everything they’ve all been through together, sex isn’t actually intimidating at all. But Auri fears making her uncomfortable.

She’s saved the pain, though. The next day when she steps into Shadowheart’s flower patch with the intention of broaching the subject, Shadowheart beats her to the punch.

“You two aren’t nearly as quiet as you think you are, by the way.”

Auri’s jaw drops. “Pardon?”

“I heard you talking last night. You two aren’t half as quiet as you think you are.”

When Auri flushes, Shadowheart laughs. “I’m flattered, really, though I have to admit that I can’t imagine you…” She trails off before picking up the sentence again. “I can’t imagine you taking control that way.”

Auri’s embarrassment at being overheard gives way to irritation. “Seriously?”

Shadowheart shrugs. “It’s not personal. You’re just quick to let others take the lead if they want it.”

Silence falls between them and Auri lets it hang in the air for a moment before shrugging because that’s the kind of stupid thing that Astarion would do. ��Alright,” she says. “Your loss.”

And it works. Of course it does.

“I didn’t say no, did I?”

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

Shadowheart’s always enjoyed sex, though partners have grown more subpar as she’s gotten older. It’s not their fault, probably; she’s just gotten more particular.

And this is risky, probably, letting Astarion and Auri invite her to bed. Auri’s as sensitive as they come, and Astarion’s relationship with sex is complicated, though Shadowheart doesn’t know the details.

“Come to the room you put us up in,” Auri had said. “And don’t bother having clothes on. I’m not interested in wasting time.”

So here Shadowheart is in the room that Astarion and Auri have been sharing. She grins; Auri acting like this is altogether foreign, but she’s apparently taken Shadowheart’s earlier words as a challenge. When Auri registers the smile on Shadowheart’s face, her eyes narrow.

"Here's what's going to happen," Auri says. Astarion sits in a chair in the corner, unbound but bidden sit still, bare from the waist up. When Auri steps up to her, Shadowheart doesn’t flinch, but Auri guides her downward until she’s kneeling next to him. Auri takes their faces in either hand, stroking Astarion's cheek as she stares down at Shadowheart.

To her, Auri says, "You are going to make me come. And then I'm going to fuck you."

Astarion’s lips part but he doesn't speak. Auri smiles at him. "And if you behave, maybe you'll be allowed to come after."

On her knees, Shadowheart’s at the perfect height to watch as his cock strains against his trousers. Auri dips down and takes Shadowheart's mouth with her own.

"Are you ready, then?" Auri asks when she pulls away, and in unison, Astarion and Shadowheart nod.

Auri takes Shadowheart's face between her thumb and forefinger, gripping tightly. "Today, we share. But his fangs and his cum are mine alone. Understand?"

Again, Shadowheart nods. Auri's eyes cut to Astarion. His cock and his face are both enraptured by the sight.

He nods a second time as if agreeing to something that Shadowheart isn’t quite privy to.

Auri's attention snaps back to Shadowheart. "You're going to make me come," Auri repeats. Shadowheart licks her lips. "Yes. We'll put that mouth to work, and then if you satisfy me well enough, you'll get your own.”

Shadowheart’s not grinning anymore. She’d forgotten, somehow, in these years sequestered from Baldur’s Gate, just how commanding a presence Auri can have when she tries.

She just doesn’t usually try. She’s almost always content to let Astarion take the lead.

Not today.

“Show me what you can do, then,” Auri says, an invitation if Shadowheart’s ever heard one. When she rises from her knees, she can feel Astarion’s eyes on her, roving over every curve of her body even as Auri starts to undress in front of her.

Auri raises an eyebrow, looking at Shadowheart with such distaste that it stops her in her tracks. “Did I say you could stand?”

When Auri’s intent becomes clear, the slickness between Shadowheart’s legs grows. Auri sits on the edge of the bed and tilts her head to the side, staring at Shadowheart, unimpressed.

“You can crawl to me or you can stay standing where you are. It’s your choice.”

For a brief moment, Shadowheart wonders what kind of punishment she’d incur if she didn’t comply, but Auri considers her hardly at all. Only her lower half is bare, and she stares straight through Shadowheart to find Astarion.

“How’s the view?” Auri asks, an undercurrent of nervousness in her voice that wasn’t there when she was talking to Shadowheart.

Astarion breaks the character of a perfect submissive for only a moment to say, “I don’t think you’re supposed to care, darling.”

And that’s enough for Auri’s mask to slip firmly back into place. She locks back onto Shadowheart and says, “I’m not a patient woman. Make your choice before I give your chance to him.”

Shadowheart falls to her hands and knees once more, and when she’s near enough, Auri spreads her legs. She crawls between them, as was certainly Auri’s intention all along, and she lays a hand on either of Auri’s hips as Auri fists a hand in her hair.

And very quickly, Shadowheart sees what Auri’s intentions are. When her tongue makes an experimental pass over Auri’s clit, Auri laughs. “Oh, I know you can do better than that.”

When Shadowheart chances a glance upward, Auri isn’t even looking down at her. She’s staring right over Shadowheart’s head at the place where she knows Astarion is sitting. She’s going to make Shadowheart work for it.

Well. She’d been honest about that, Shadowheart supposes. And if that’s the game, Shadowheart will play. She feels exposed entirely, back to Astarion and face buried between Auri’s legs, but it doesn’t matter. Letting control go–

There’s no person better to do that with than Auri.

When Shadowheart slides her tongue up the length of Auri’s slit, she finally gets a reaction. Auri exhales contentedly, and she says, “That’s more like it.”

Shadowheart wonders if Astarion can see how wet she is. The angle certainly allows for it as her lips pull at Auri’s clit, and it seems that she’s finally gotten Auri’s attention. When Auri’s head tilts back, it exposes long-scarred spots on her neck courtesy of Astarion’s fangs. For all the control she’s exerting, Auri’s wet, too. Desperately so.

Two of Shadowheart’s fingers slide in with ease. The hand in her hair tightens, and Shadowheart’s gripped by the desire to please. The soft noise that Auri makes as Shadowheart’s fingers seek the perfect spot inside her spurs her on, and this time when Shadowheart looks up, Auri’s staring right at her. “Another,” she says, her voice ragged and her neck blotchy.

When Shadowheart complies, a grin breaks out across Auri’s face. Shadowheart’s tongue flicks across her clit and her fingers don’t stop. Auri’s hips roll into her face and hand until Shadowheart’s not even doing much but teasing her clit. Auri fucks herself on Shadowheart’s hand until she’s satisfied, and when she cries out, just a bit less controlled than she has been so far, Shadowheart drags the flat of her tongue along Auri’s clit. “Fuck,” Auri hisses, her nails scraping against Shadowheart’s scalp as her hips grind against her face.

And for this brief moment, Shadowheart’s in control. Her lips find Auri’s clit once more, and the orgasm that tears through her body pushes Shadowheart’s face even further into her cunt. Her fingers fuck Auri through the orgasm, and when Shadowheart pulls her lips away for fear of the pleasure becoming pain, Auri tugs her face upward. Shadowheart’s fingers leave her, and Auri pushes her lips to Shadowheart’s. When her tongue bids Shadowheart’s mouth open, she gives no resistance, but the kiss doesn’t last long.

“That’s my good girl,” Auri says, voice still quivering, and a chill runs up Shadowheart’s spine. Auri hasn’t stood from the bed and Shadowheart’s still on her knees. She runs a finger down Shadowheart’s jawline delicately. “Astarion’s looking lonely. Could you go give him a taste of me, please? You did so well that I’ll even let you walk.”

Astarion's knuckles are white on the armrests of the chair when Shadowheart stands and turns. Shadowheart wouldn't be surprised if his nails have carved trails into the wood. When Shadowheart pauses, Auri says, “Go ahead. Have a seat in his lap. Kiss him, even, if you’d like. But your hands stay above the neck until I say.”

When Shadowheart does as Auri says and straddles his hips, Astarion doesn’t hesitate. One of his hands snakes behind her head to drag her in closer, and Shadowheart’s hips roll against the erection that she can feel press against her entrance even through the layers of fabric he’s still wearing. She moans as Astarion’s lips find her greedily; she’s no doubt soaked the front of his trousers thoroughly even in the little time that she’s been on top of him.

“How’s she taste, my love?” Auri asks. She sounds a bit further away than she had before, but Shadowheart can’t make herself care.

Labored, with Shadowheart’s mouth still half on his, Astarion says, “Divine.”

There’s something about his reverence that makes Shadowheart blush, his eyes half-lidded and meeting her gaze with undisguised want.

Auri hadn’t said anything about not moving her hips against Astarion’s cock through his clothes even though Shadowheart would rather have him inside her. Shadowheart puts a hand on either side of Astarion’s face and kisses him again, hard. Astarion stutters out a strangled noise like he might spend himself without ever undressing at all, and when his head jerks back, no doubt trying to wrest control of his own body back, one of his fangs catches against Shadowheart’s lip.

The soft skin there tears and Astarion’s eyes dilate instantly, fully alert. Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible, but his cock hardens even more beneath her. He can drink from her. Shadowheart doesn’t care–

Astarion’s fingers are torn from her hair and a smaller, rougher hand takes their place, yanking Shadowheart’s head backward.

“Misbehaving when we’ve barely started?” Auri asks. This position exposes Shadowheart’s neck to Astarion entirely, and his fangs are bared as he stares at the spot where Shadowheart can feel her pulse pounding. “I told you his fangs were mine.”

“It was an accident–” Shadowheart stammers out, but her train of thought stops dead when something hard presses against her cunt.

Auri’s mouth is at her ear and the hand not pulling at Shadowheart’s hair tugs at her hip. “Oh, it was an accident. I understand.” Auri’s voice is low and dangerous, and when Shadowheart’s eyes dart to the side to glimpse what seeks to bury itself inside her, she almost shudders. Auri’s strapped a cock to herself that has Shadowheart’s mouth watering. It’s a fraction from filling her, and–

“Accidents happen,” Auri continues. Her breath is warm and wet against Shadowheart’s cheek and her teeth nip at her earlobe. “So I’ll forgive you just this once as long as you make sure he knows how good it feels to have me fuck you.”

When Shadowheart looks back down at Astarion as she asks, his lips are parted, and Shadowheart’s too caught up. When Auri pushes into her with a single, decisive thrust, her body jerks forward and she cries out.

Shadowheart only notices the drop of blood that drips from her lip at the motion because Astarion’s eyes lock on it instantly. When it falls into his mouth, Astarion’s eyes flash and his hips instinctively buck upward, seeking any kind of pleasure for himself, but Auri’s having none of it. Her grip on Shadowheart’s hair releases so both of her hands can fall to her thighs, nudging her upward so her knees are on the chair.

Her body’s out of reach of Astarion’s for any kind of meaningful contact, and that’s exactly what Auri wanted. Astarion exhales a laugh, a smile of disbelief on his face, and Shadowheart can see him come to the conclusion that she had roughly two positions ago.

Auri had taken their slights against her ability to be dominant very personally.

But Shadowheart doesn’t get time to ruminate on it. She’d complained about not being able to surrender control with any partner meaningfully, but she’s falling apart at Auri’s touch. Her breasts are in Astarion’s face and they ache to be played with, but he’s not going to disobey Auri’s command not to touch below the neck. Auri’s hips meet the curve of Shadowheart’s ass time and time again; Shadowheart wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dripping onto Astarion’s lap.

As if Auri’s in her head, one of her hands drops between Shadowheart’s legs. Her thrusts have grown shallower, seeking the spot that will make Shadowheart’s vision go black and her mind go blank. Auri finds it with ease; the slightest pressure on her clit will send Shadowheart over the edge.

But it never comes.

Auri drags her hand through the slickness that’s pooled between Shadowheart’s thighs but she avoids the place that Shadowheart wants her to touch the most. Her fingers leave a wet trail along Shadowheart’s ass until Auri finds what she’s looking for.

Shadowheart gasps as she’s penetrated twice, Auri’s cock in her cunt and finger in her ass. She buries her face in the crook of Astarion’s neck, but Auri doesn’t stop.

“Come for me, then. You’ve earned it.”

And Shadowheart shatters. She’s never been loud, but this climax pulls profanity from her mouth. She doesn’t scream, but it’s close. Her mouth is wide against the flesh of Astarion’s neck; she could bite him if she wanted. Her breasts are flush with his chest and his entire body’s rigid as she heaves against him, Auri’s cock still inside her. As the orgasm passes and she regains control of her body, she pushes herself back up, and as she does, Auri pulls her cock and finger out from inside her.

Shadowheart shudders at the loss and Astarion breathes in deeply through his nose. Auri kisses her tenderly on the cheek, a light brush of lips against skin that’s entirely at odds with the role she’s played thus far but very much like the Auri that Shadowheart’s known for years.

“Why don’t you take a moment on the bed for me?” Auri asks. “You look like you need to catch your breath.”

Astarion looks at her with unbridled hunger, but Shadowheart does as Auri bids. Somehow, desire still thrums in her stomach, but she has no doubt that she won’t be left wanting. She lies down on the bed, turned to face Auri and Astarion, and Auri asks him, “Is this what you wanted when you said that you wanted me to succeed in getting her into bed with us?”

The lust in his eyes wars with the smirk he wears. “You know that it is. You never disappoint, darling.”

Auri chuckles. “You’re only saying that because you want to get off.”

“I can mean it and have ulterior motives at the same time.” His words are stilted, his veneer of restraint slipping by the moment as he stares at the length between Auri’s legs. “Can I?” he asks, pupils blown wide without even being touched. Auri’s cock is still slick with Shadowheart, and Astarion stares at it intensely.

“Eyes on me, my love. You've been so good so far. Don't ruin it.” When Auri tilts his chin upward until their gazes meet, her nails scrape along his jawline. “Can you what?”

When Astarion runs his tongue over his fangs, Shadowheart shudders even from her place on the bed.

Astarion’s voice is always composed, a weapon just as much as his daggers are. Here, though, half-naked and staring up at Auri in submission, he sounds different. There’s desperation that makes the muscles in Shadowheart’s stomach clench when he asks, “Can I suck your cock?”

“I suppose you have been good, accident notwithstanding,” Auri says, and that’s invitation enough for Astarion to leave the chair where he sits to kneel in front of her. Shadowheart inhales sharply. When Astarion’s lips part, Shadowheart sees just the briefest glimpse of his fangs.

She feels every bit a voyeur as he takes Auri’s cock in his mouth and his hands reach around to grip the curve of her ass. Auri runs her fingers through Astarion’s hair, tilting his head back even as he takes her. “Yes, you are just wonderful,” she says. Shadowheart is more than satisfied to watch, but Auri turns to her, apparently uninterested in her remaining a bystander. “He’s doing so well, isn’t he? Doesn’t he look pretty with my cock in his mouth?”

Shadowheart nods. Words feel impossible. Auri looks down again at Astarion and he stares right back up at her. Her cock slides down his throat with ease.

Gods.

Shadowheart’s rarely seen Astarion surrender in anything, but when he yields to Auri, he does so wholly. Auri’s cock slides in and out of his throat so obscenely that just watching makes Shadowheart’s insides burn. When Auri motions to her, Shadowheart nearly misses it. She only pulls her attention from Astarion’s mouth when Auri snaps her fingers.

When Shadowheart approaches, Auri says, “Answer my question properly, please,” and one of her hands falls between Shadowheart's legs. She came only minutes before, but when Auri’s fingers seek entrance, Shadowheart sighs like she hasn’t been touched properly in an eternity. “He deserves to hear it, I think, for putting on such a good show.” Auri doesn’t look at her but her fingers are expert. “Tell him how pretty he looks with your cum in his mouth.”

Astarion's nostrils flare. Auri thrusts her hips forward, and when she does, she buries her cock in his throat.

“You're marvelous,” Shadowheart says as reverently as she ever spoke about Shar. Auri smiles.

Saliva runs down Astarion’s chin and he makes no move to wipe it away. Auri says, “Marvelous really is the only word that even remotely describes him.”

The heel of Auri's hand presses against Shadowheart's clit and she moans as Auri's cock slips from Astarion's mouth. A thread of cum and saliva hangs from his lips, and Auri says, “He’s so marvelous, in fact, that he's going to fuck your ass while I'm sunk to the hilt in your cunt.”

The image that pushes into Shadowheart’s mind makes her every thought go blank, and finally, Astarion’s decorum breaks, if only for the briefest moment. When unwieldy lust flickers across his face, Auri smirks.

“You said yourself that I should watch you fuck her. What better view than when you’re both on top of me?”

They’d discussed this, of course. Shadowheart knew that. To hear Auri vocalize it so plainly still sends lightning down her spine. Astarion swallows hard. Auri jerks her head upward and nods toward a jar on the small table beside the bed. “Off your knees. You know what to do.”

When he does as she says, Auri kisses him before he steps away, and her fingers leave Shadowheart’s cunt. She pulls her back toward the bed with one hand and teases her nipple with the other, every brush of her fingers electric against Shadowheart’s skin. From the corner of her eye, Shadowheart can see Astarion. The hand he has wrapped around himself glistens with lube.

“You're going to look lovely riding my cock,” Auri whispers in Shadowheart’s ear. Speaking quietly is unnecessary; Astarion can no doubt hear her, but it has its intended effect still. Goosebumps rise on Shadowheart’s arm. Auri continues as she lies back on the bed, pulling Shadowheart on top of her. “You're going to be so full, but we all have to remember the rules.”

Shadowheart nods again as she had before, a leg on either side of Auri’s hips, but Auri's eyes narrow. She grips Shadowheart's face roughly; Astarion's cock is so hard that it looks painful. “Tell me the rules, and I'll fuck you within an inch of your life.”

Auri’s a performer to her core. Shadowheart’s known that for a long time, but she plays this role particularly well. The head of her cock rests at Shadowheart's entrance. Breathlessly, she says, “His fangs and his cum belong to you.”

Auri smirks. “Good girl.”

And finally, Shadowheart sinks down onto Auri’s cock, exhaling as she does. There’s no resistance. Auri slots inside her with ease, and her hands slide up Shadowheart’s stomach until she reaches her breasts, squeezing almost cruelly.

When Shadowheart cries out, Auri’s smirk widens, a wicked expression that only serves to make her wetter, though she isn’t sure how that’s possible. Auri’s hips grind upward, and Shadowheart regrets ever saying that she couldn’t imagine Auri in control. She’s well on her way to a second orgasm when she feels movement behind her.

Her mouth goes dry. Shadowheart doesn’t know how she managed to forget that Astarion was there, but the spell that Auri’s cock has cast between her legs apparently drove out all awareness. Auri’s hands leave her chest; one finds purchase on Shadowheart’s thigh and the other tugs at her braid firmly, pulling her downward.

Auri nips at her earlobe. Her cock pushes into Shadowheart, slow and deliberate. Auri knows that she was close before. Her breath is warm against Shadowheart’s ear.

“You have to be patient, beautiful. You’re not allowed to come again until he can feel it, too.”

Auri’s hand on her thigh ignites the heat in Shadowheart’s core as it trails toward her clit, and she whimpers, “Please.”

“Please what?” Auri asks, canting her hips upward again. Her fingers have stopped just short of the place Shadowheart wants them to be. “Ask for it. I want to hear you say that you want me to touch you.” Her tongue runs along the curve of Shadowheart’s ear. “I want you to look at me when you say that you want my lover in your ass.”

Shadowheart's had tens of lovers, and this is far from the first time she’s taken someone this way, but the weight Auri puts in her words lends even more taboo to the act.

And she’s never been full in both places at once.

The length inside her pushes against the spot that makes Shadowheart’s vision go white. She clenches her eyes shut. “I want–”

Auri’s movements stop entirely and her voice goes cold. “I told you to look at me when you beg.”

When Shadowheart's eyes open, it doesn't even seem like it's of her own volition. Auri's words force her to look on their gravitas alone.

Auri’s eyes are a piercing green. Shadowheart steels her jaw.

“I want you both to fuck me until I can't walk,” she challenges, and Auri’s grin is all teeth.

Auri jerks her head at Astarion behind her and Auri's fingers finally brush against her clit at the same moment that Shadowheart feels Astarion's hands on her ass.

His hands are cool but Astarion's always cold; it isn't unexpected and Shadowheart’s attention is more consumed by the deliberate way that one of his fingers works its way inside her. When she gasps, Auri calls her back, and her feather-light touch on Shadowheart's clit is maddening.

“You're doing so well,” Auri soothes, and Shadowheart's body reacts to the praise accordingly. The wetness between her thighs distracts her from the mild discomfort of Astarion's intrusion until Auri says, “Go on. She can take another.”

A second finger stretches her, and this time when Shadowheart moans, Auri cocks an eyebrow. “His cock is bigger than that, and you want to take it, don't you? You want to come on my cock and his?”

The lube that runs down the curve of her ass is debauched, and Shadowheart nods. “More. Please.”

“You heard her. One more finger, and after that, you'll be allowed to fuck her.”

Shadowheart’s so close, but Auri’s pace with both her hand and cock have slowed. When a third finger enters her, Auri stops moving entirely. “You can't come yet. You have to take him to earn it.”

When was the last time a lover made her feel this undone? Shadowheart whimpers this time as Auri's words roll over her, trying desperately to grind her hips downward. When she does, Auri's hand reaches up and finds her throat, stopping the movement before Shadowheart can find any relief.

“Do you want to fuck her, my love?” Auri asks, looking over Shadowheart's shoulder at Astarion.

Astarion is normally the perfect picture of control, but his voice is strangled when he says, “Yes.”

The hand on Shadowheart's neck tightens and she gasps. She feels Astarion's lips against her shoulder and she draws in a ragged breath. Auri's smirk is wide and wicked.

“Have your way with her, then. You've earned it.”

When his fingers leave her ass, Shadowheart would fall forward if not for Auri's hand around her throat. She misses his touch instantly but there's no time to mourn the loss because the head of his cock pushes against her entrance immediately.

“Alright?” Astarion asks, voice strained, as if restraint is causing him pain.

When Shadowheart opens her mouth to answer, Auri's grip on her neck tightens.

“She's fine,” Auri says, and she's right, of course. “She was made to take us.”

Astarion waits for a signal that this has become too much, but Shadowheart’s not interested in anything other than more. He eases into her slowly and the fullness is so much and Shadowheart thinks that she might split in half.

It’s like a dream.

Despite her words, Auri’s touch has turned gentle. She’s giving Shadowheart time to adjust, but their consideration is just another kind of torture. When she tries to lean backward, forcing Astarion’s cock in deeper, Auri holds her steady. “Patience, beautiful,” Auri says, a repetition of what she’d said earlier. Shadowheart whines audibly and Auri pulls her forward, far enough down that her nipples brush against the fabric of Auri’s shirt. Auri gives her a kiss so gentle that Shadowheart wants to scream.

“Please.” Shadowheart doesn’t recognize her own voice. She’s never been the type to beg. “I need–”

Auri kisses her again, stealing away the vocalization of her desire, and when they part, she says, “I know what you need, but you have to be patient. The only one allowed to hurt you here is me, and I don’t want to hurt you like that. Understand?”

Shadowheart would let her do anything, but finally, blessedly, Auri rolls her hips. The movement is minimal but it sends pleasure to her every extremity, and Auri says, “You like that?”

Shadowheart nods; words are impossible. Astarion’s finally fully inside her. There are stars behind her eyes. The likelihood of her coming apart increases by the moment. Again, Auri fucks upward, and this time, Astarion meets her rhythm. When they thrust into her at the same time, Shadowheart thinks that this might just be the end of her. Auri kisses her a third time and Shadowheart pants into her mouth before Auri says, “Sit up for me. I want to watch him touch you.”

“I don’t know if I can–”

Auri cuts her off again. “You can hold out. I know you can. You can’t come for me yet.”

Shadowheart chews her lip so hard that the spot Astarion’s fang had cut open starts to bleed again as she forces herself back up onto her knees. He inhales sharply as blood again runs into her mouth, and if there was any control left in him, it disappears. One of his hands falls between her legs and the other grabs for her breast as his nose pushes into the flesh of her throat.

He can smell the blood. He doesn’t need to see it.

“You wanted me to watch you fuck her, Astarion,” Auri says, her own hands gripping Shadowheart’s thigh and hip respectively. “So make her come.”

She’s a toy, really, now, which is only fair considering how Auri had fucked her while more or less using Astarion as furniture. Astarion twists her nipple hard, and she’s so close. She strains for the orgasm desperately and Astarion’s teeth are on her neck–

And Auri says, “Stop.”

The sweat on Shadowheart’s brow grows cold as the one-word command ices her oncoming climax. Auri’s voice is stony. “You were going to bite her.”

This isn’t fair. Just one more moment would have been enough–

Astarion doesn’t deny what Auri accuses him of, and Shadowheart is caught in the middle both literally and figuratively.

When she says, “On your back,” to Astarion, he doesn’t hesitate. In fact, if Shadowheart didn’t know better, she might say that it was a ploy on his part. Shadowheart wants to whimper when Auri’s cock leaves her cunt, but when Astarion moves, he pulls her with him.

With minimal awkward adjusting, and agility that doesn’t quite make sense to Shadowheart, Astarion pulls her with him so that they’re both lying on the bed, her back flush with his chest.

And he’s fucking her, still. Shadowheart doesn’t know how much more her body can take. The sound of his hips meeting her ass grows louder, and that alone is sinful enough, but then Auri says, “Stop moving.”

Astarion’s hands squeeze the soft flesh of Shadowheart’s ass, moving her up and down the minutest fraction, but otherwise, he listens. It’s torture.

She needs to come. She has to. But her words are gone. Noises come out of her mouth that she doesn’t even recognize.

Auri’s on top of her, then, her cock brushing against Shadowheart’s clit. She strokes Shadowheart’s cheek with a single finger.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. And I know what you need.”

Auri sheathes herself in Shadowheart’s cunt in a single swift, nearly cruel motion, but Shadowheart would take it over and over again. She’d do anything for this feeling of fullness; any pain registers only as pleasure. With her every movement forward, Shadowheart moves not only on Auri’s cock but Astarion’s also. It doesn’t matter that he himself isn’t moving. Shadowheart isn’t the toy anymore. Each thrust fucks Shadowheart on Astarion and Auri’s cocks both.

Auri’s hips push against Shadowheart’s clit each time she moves forward, and she’s been so close for so long. It takes no time at all to fall off the cliff of her pleasure. Shadowheart reaches behind her, seeking purchase on anything to ground her. What she finds is Astarion’s hair, and as she rides out her orgasm, she feels him breathe in against the heat of her neck once more.

She can’t talk. All she can do is bask in the afterglow of the second orgasm Auri’s given her until Auri caresses her cheek once more. She tilts Shadowheart’s face side-to-side. Shadowheart can’t catch her breath. She draws in an insufficient gasp of air, and Auri says, “You can give me another.”

Shadowheart’s sure she misheard. “What?”

Auri grins. Shadowheart’s always thought her somewhat plain, but here, she shines, her cock sliding out from Shadowheart’s cunt. The sudden emptiness makes Shadowheart shiver, and when Auri’s on her knees, she holds out a hand to help Shadowheart rise to her own until Astarion’s cock leaves her as well. To Astarion, Auri says, “You can stay there.”

When Auri steps off the bed and turns her back, Astarion grins.

And Auri had thought he might be uncomfortable playing this game.

Auri unfastens the cock from her hips and lets it fall to the floor without fanfare. Shadowheart can’t tear her eyes away as Auri snaps, and she knows a prestidigitation spell when she sees one. The tendrils of Auri’s magic wrap around Astarion’s cock, and Auri flippantly says, “No offense, but I prefer him clean.”

“None taken,” Shadowheart manages.

“You can touch yourself while you ride his face if you want,” Auri says. “He does a good job, though. Trust me. You shouldn’t need to.” She speaks casually, as if the previous orgasm hadn’t fractured Shadowheart’s reality on a fundamental level. Auri continues, “I’ve called you beautiful a few times now, but you are especially beautiful when you come. You come apart like you were born for it.”

The fire inside her re-ignites. It’s simple for Auri to pull heat back between Shadowheart’s thighs as if it had never gone. She’s never had hesitation about Astarion’s fangs anyway, but even if she did, Shadowheart doubts that it would have mattered. Auri could say anything right now and Shadowheart would do it.

Astarion’s eager from the moment Shadowheart’s cunt meets his mouth. She sighs (even squeals a little; her clit’s still hypersensitive from everything that’s come before) and watches as Auri wraps a hand around Astarion’s cock. She strokes him only briefly before straddling his hips and sinking down onto him.

Auri sighs through her nose contentedly as she takes him. “There’s nothing in the Realms that feels as good as you do.”

There’s a rumble in Astarion’s throat that Shadowheart can feel as his tongue swipes against her dripping entrance. He licks her clean before his mouth turns its attention to her clit. There’s no foreplay needed; Shadowheart’s a mess. Three fingers slide into her with no warning and no resistance.

“Come here,” Auri says, and Shadowheart wants to watch, wants to see Astarion’s cock slide in and out of Auri’s cunt, but she can’t focus on anything except for the fact that Astarion has hurtling much too quickly toward a third climax. She leans forward because Auri asks her to, and the consequence is the angle of Astarion’s ministrations changing. When Auri takes Shadowheart’s bottom lip between her teeth, Astarion’s fingers curl against the perfect spot. His lips draw at her clit harder than they had before, and Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible for her body to crave climax again.

“That’s it,” Auri croons. “Let me see you all fucked out one last time.”

What’s she supposed to do but come in Astarion’s mouth? If Shadowheart had neighbors they would hear it as the pleasure crashes down around her. Shadowheart grinds her cunt into Astarion’s mouth and he takes what she gives, fucking her until she’s satisfied, and when the convulsions stop, Auri’s holding Shadowheart’s face in her hands.

“Beautiful.”

And after everything, it’s this that makes Shadowheart blush most. Astarion’s tongue drags along her slit one last time as if her cum is something it’d be a shame to waste. She slides to the side much less gracefully than she’d intended, but neither Auri nor Astarion seem to mind.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Auri asks her even though she’s looking at Astarion.

Shadowheart doesn’t know how she finds the words, but she does. “What’s that?”

“He loves having his ears rubbed.”

Astarion exhales in anticipation, and Auri rolls her hips, tilting her head back as she does. Shadowheart repositions behind Astarion, crossing her legs and pulling his head into her lap. Her fingers barely even brush the tips of his ears before he shivers, and Auri’s voice is softer than it has been yet. “What did I say was mine?”

“My fangs and my cum,” he says, words strained. Shadowheart knows that tone. He’s close, and that’s more than fair; they’ve been teasing him this entire time.

And Auri’s not done. “You’re not even going to fight me on this? You’re not even going to argue and pretend to not remember what I said belonged to me?”

“Oh, darling, I’ve been good, haven’t I? And you’ve more than made your point, as I’m sure we’d all agree.”

Auri’s smile is wide and affectionate, no less in control but entirely the ray of sunshine that Shadowheart’s used to. When Shadowheart’s thumb and forefinger rub small circles into his ears, Astarion says, “Shit.”

Auri leans forward until her chest is flush with his. Shadowheart would feel like she was intruding if not for Astarion’s hand gripping her forearm so tight that she feels like it must be the only thing binding him to this planet. “Are you hungry?” Auri asks, voice low.

“Starving,” he hisses, and Auri pulls her hair over her shoulder to expose his claim. He stares at it with pupils dilated.

“Then feed while I fuck you,” she says, her hips rising and falling as punctuation. “And fill me with cum when you’re done.”

They’re lost in each other as Auri rides him with her own hand between them, but Shadowheart’s never forgotten. When Astarion’s fangs tear into Auri’s skin like he’s never fed before, his nails dig into Shadowheart’s arm, and her fingers tease his ears still. He thrusts into her, any of his remaining discipline lost, and Auri’s fingers lose rhythm on her clit at the same time. She comes with a gasp even as her blood drips down her neck onto his shoulder, and he follows barely a moment after. Astarion grips her to his chest with his other arm as she collapses on top of him.

Elf ears are more sensitive than even half-elf ears; Shadowheart’s quick to let them go in the aftermath, but to her surprise, Astarion doesn’t release her arm.

And, to be frank, Shadowheart’s not entirely sure what comes next.

Auri tilts her head up to look at Shadowheart from her place on Astarion’s chest.

“Why are you still up there?” Auri asks her. The performance has completely fallen away.

Shadowheart blinks at her and Astarion scoffs. “If you don’t come down here and cuddle, it’s not unlikely that Auri will start crying.”

Auri blushes. “That’s not– I would not–”

But Shadowheart acquiesces without a thought, her naked body slotting in next to Auri and Astarion like that’s where she was always meant to be. When she does, Auri glows, putting a hand to her cheek with earnest tenderness.

Shadowheart asks, “What happens now?”

Auri slides off of Astarion’s chest and faces her; Astarion presses himself tight to Auri’s back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I obviously–” Shadowheart swallows hard and sighs, rolling her eyes. “This is stupid. This just isn’t going to be weird when I wake up tomorrow, is it? What happens now?”

“Who cares?” Astarion pushes a curl that’s fallen into his eyes back up into his hairline.

Auri snorts, punching his upper arm lightly. “I care, but I don’t disagree with the sentiment that ‘who cares?’ is supposed to convey. If there’s anything to figure out, we can figure it out tomorrow. Tonight was its own reward.”

Auri kisses Shadowheart’s forehead. Astarion buries his nose in Auri’s hair and brushes hair that’s fallen into Shadowheart’s eyes behind her ear as he'd done for himself only moments before then closing his eyes.

Shadowheart settles in under the comforting heat of Auri’s arm and resolves that they will just have to come visit more often.

But, yes. They can figure it out tomorrow. And whether this ever happens again or not, tonight was more than enough.

Shadowheart sleeps. No dream could ever compare.

#shadowheart #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #shadowheart x tav x astarion #smut #bg3 smut

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moumouton4 · 2 months

Text

Taking The Next Step || Dabi x reader

A/n : I really missed writing for my favorite dazing vilain

Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : No mention of gender for reader, in the beginning : verbal fight, tension, aggressiveness, but it eventually gets fluffy

Summary : Expressing his feelings isn't his strong suit. Though for you he would gladely do anything

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 886

You are pinned against the wall, one of his hands heavily pressing your shoulder to the back, while his other hand hovers above your neck, successfully holding you flat against the cold surface of his secret apartment. You could feel his breath hitting your throat, with each stinging word he spat your way.

“Why can’t I just burn you ?!?” he raged. And indeed, the heat emanating from his body was so intense that you wonder if he, even through the layers of clothes, would be able to give you burn marks.

“Why can I burn you and all the feelings you have been growing inside me to ashes ?! Everything would be so much easier !” he continued lashing out.

If you didn't know better you would bet he was going to bite your throat off. But you have known him for so long you knew he wouldn’t actually be able to bring himself to hurt you. In fact the mere thought of something happening to you was unsettling to him.

He had dreaded this moment to come, the one when all his previous efforts to keep his feelings for you at bay, always pushing and burying them deep in the depths of his heart, will reveal itself powerless in the face of his overwhelming attachment to you. Call it love or whatever.

"I feel like I'm going crazy" he sighed, his blazing azure eyes only holding yours as intensely as ever.

He felt it in the depths of his being, like a lingering thought in the back of his head that told him again and again how addicted he was to you, just as you were to him. Truth be told, if you were anyone else, the question wouldn't have been asked twice. He would have been immolated without the slightest remorse, and everything would have been much easier - emotionally - for him to handle. Hell, if you weren't who you were, he'd never have looked at you and given you an ounce of his attention.

Keeping your gaze in his, you manage to perceive a hint of vulnerability swirling in his blue orbs. He soon found himself at a loss for words, for the simple reason that he couldn't go on spewing hatred and imaginary threats against you.

He released his grip on your throat, his hand descending to the small of your back. His breathing calmed and he let out a soft sigh before resting his head on your shoulder. You felt his hand trace circles on your visible skin, a testament to his inner turmoil.

"I-I can't stand being here without..." his grip on your waist tightened a little "... without you anymore" his voice carried an apprehension foreign to his personality.

For a moment, you didn't realize what he had just said. Running your hand through his ebony locks, you gently scratched his scalp where the white roots of his true color emerged, as if to urge him to express himself again.

"I want you to come here with me... so I can make sure everything's all right" he mumbled, as if afraid you would reject him, as if you hadn't proved your loyalty time and again, even after learning about his past.

You smiled, pushing his head a little closer against your neck. He just wanted to ask you if you wanted to take the next step and move in with him. Things had changed a lot by now, and while the final blow was about to fall on the villains, Dabi only wanted one thing : to have you close to him, where he knew he could protect you.

"Of course I do" you pulled away a little and kissed his cheek tenderly "Besides, I spend so much time here that it's as if I already lived here"

Relieved by your answer, a small smile formed on his lips. He buried his face against your neck, nuzzling against it. You were about to wrap your arms around him, but he took you by surprise and carried you bridal style against his chest, his step confident as he steered you towards the couch.

Adjusting his grip around you, to make sure you were comfortable as he sat down, he lowered his gaze to you "It's the only way I feel complete" he mumbled so quietly you would have sworn it was a dream.

"But you already are, Toya" you whispered his real name, which always held a conforting aura over him, placing your hand against his cheek, which he leaned against.

He didn't even dare speak for fear his voice would give away too much of his feelings, he just squinted his eyes, acknowledging your words. But you could feel it in his grip that your words meant the world to him. You could see it in his gaze that he was thanking you for accepting.

"Thank you for considering having me here" you replied.

Sometimes words didn't matter in the face of the strength of your relationship. In the end, it was the others who had to watch out, because now Dabi was going to become even more protective over you and if he were to learn that anyone in this town would even look at you the wrong way, they would understand why they say blue flames are more devastating than red ones.

#my hero academia #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia x reader #dabi #dabi imagine #dabi x reader #dabi fluff #toya todoroki #toya todoroki imagine #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki fluff #touya todoroki #touya todoroki imagine #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki fluff #fluff #miri-writes

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ghcstao3 · 6 months

Text

Soap likes to draw. It’s a simple fact of his life, and just about anyone who knows him knows it too. On or off base, he’s usually never without a notebook and an apparatus of some kind, because it passes the time, and it serves well to document his missions in further detail for both himself and debriefing.

Everyone knows this, and Soap is aware of that. What no one knows, however, is Soap’s favourite subject, because that’s a notebook that’s kept secret and often left only to be used on leave.

The only person who knows is Ghost, whose form fills those pages in some way or shape, because Soap knows damn well no matter the effort he’d never be able to hide such a thing from him, especially not once they’re living together beyond work.

(Of course, it doesn’t help, either, that Soap prefers to study Ghost while he sketches, rather than drawing solely from memory—because how else would he capture the most intricate of details?)

That being said, Soap could trace the fixation back to a single moment in time, where an itch to scratch branched off into a near obsession from only a couple of seconds, and that moment is the first time Soap ever sees Ghost’s face.

It’s unexpected, the way Ghost pulls off his mask in front of the 141 and company. His eyes are almost squirrely, never quite meeting anyone’s gaze, but Soap doesn’t think he’s ever been so in love.

He doesn’t get quite enough time to memorize, however, before another mask is being slipped over mussed blond hair and pale scarred skin, and suddenly Soap is overcome by the desire to draw Ghost.

To draw Simon.

When they finally arrive back on base following the Las Almas operation, Soap doesn’t waste any time pulling out his notebook and drawing Ghost to the best of his memory. When he finishes, he knows he’s gotten some things wrong, but he hasn’t much to work with. He erases and pencils in new lines tens if not hundreds of times trying to get it right, but it simply isn’t possible.

It’s too bad for Soap, because he just isn’t satisfied with his current result, and it’s too bad for Ghost, because Soap is a persistent, stubborn sonuvabitch.

They’re not quite on leave when Soap begins his endeavour, just between missions. He starts by making a purposeful show of drawing the 141, forcing them to sit so he can, supposedly, get everything perfect. It’s under the guise that he sucks at drawing people (a complete and utter lie), and what better way to practice than with those waiting around.

Soap saves Ghost for last, and it’s a damn good thing he does, because what a difficult affair it is convincing him to sit for, what Ghost deems, “a stupid art project”.

“I have better things to do, Johnny,” Ghost tells him. “And you do, too.”

Soap shrugs. “Maybe. But I won’t stop asking ‘til you agree, Lt.”

Ghost would continue to push off the request—a true testament to his resolve, really—but Soap would continue to insist, so finally, eventually, Ghost breaks.

The encounter is more than reluctant, but Soap figures that Ghost has realized it's either now or later that it happens. He still wears his mask, of course, but it’s only the balaclava—so at the very least, Soap could get his eyes just right.

And that’s a better start than none.

They’re tucked away in a quiet corner of the base for Soap’s “stupid art project”. Ghost shifts constantly while Soap scribbles away in his notebook, first unsure where to look, then unsure of where to put his hands. Soap wears a smile the entire time.

“You’re allowed to move, you know,” Soap says after much too long of a time. He keeps himself from laughing. “It’s better if you do, really.”

Ghost glares daggers at Soap. “You didn’t want to tell me that sooner?”

Soap grins at the Lieutenant but makes no further comment. He’d rather have his life spared for the time being.

Once Soap has finished, he doesn’t say anything. He just sets his pencil down and closes his notebook and makes to leave. Ghost watches every movement closely and remains silent himself. Only, he doesn’t move from his spot, and Soap can almost feel that he has a question he’s debating to ask.

It never ends up phrased as a question, but Ghost’s hesitation is so palpable it might as well have been.

“Let me see.”

Soap hadn’t expected Ghost would want to, though a part of him had most definitely hoped otherwise. He doesn’t put up a fight for such a reason, instead wordlessly passing the notebook to Ghost to browse.

It’s Soap’s turn to fidget as Ghost flips through pages. Most take only a few seconds, nothing more than an impassive look, but Soap knows the moment Ghost stumbles upon the page of his face, sans mask. There’s an instant of realization from them both, and the world feels at a standstill.

When Ghost clears his throat, Soap does his best not to flinch. Maybe this endeavour isn’t worthwhile. Maybe it’s nothing more than an invasion of Ghost’s privacy. Of his person.

Finally, Ghost looks up at Soap, his hardened gaze no different from the one he always wears. There’s no emotion in them, and Soap doesn’t know if that makes everything better or worse.

Soap doesn’t notice how tightly Ghost grips the notebook until later, when he spots the accidental smudge of graphite from the Lieutenant’s thumb.

“When did you do this, Johnny?” Ghost asks. His voice is low and steady as usual, but there’s a near unnoticeable strain that sends guilt through Soap’s body. By now he’s certain he’s made an irreparable mistake.

Soap swallows. “When we got back from Las Almas, sir.”

Ghost looks back at the drawing and nods. He does as Soap had and closes the notebook, sliding it back and standing from the bench where Soap had told him to sit. Soap waits nervously, impatiently, for Ghost to say anything, to curse him out, to tell him to get rid of it, but soon it seems like he would do nothing of the sort.

“Not bad,” is all he tells Soap, before walking off to disappear to God knows where. Soap stays glued to the spot for a solid five minutes following, until he finally feels like he can breathe again.

Not bad. Soap supposes it could’ve been a lot worse.

#i hope i haven’t posted this before #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #soapghost #ghoap #ghostsoap #writing

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separatist-apologist · 26 days

Text

The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

“How is life with the cop?” Gwyn asked from behind a stack of books. Emerie was perched on the counter like usual, while Nesta flipped through several new books that had just come in.

“He’s not a cop,” she reminded her friends. The fact that anyone could look at him and believe he was anything but a criminal was a testament to Cassian’s charm. The whole town loved him, greeting him by name whenever he walked down the road and all but throwing themselves at him at any given opportunity.

It annoyed Nesta. All of it annoyed her. She disliked how easy he was to live with and how much she looked forward to coming home at night so they could cook and talk together. She was supposed to be keeping tabs on him and figuring out his game, but all Nesta had learned about was Cassian’s past.

“Did you ever ask him about Brent?” Emerie questioned.

It ought to have disturbed her how easily her friends believed Cassian was a criminal capable of framing a suicide. Gwyn and Emerie hadn’t flinched when Nesta told them about her suspicions, for whatever that said about them

“No. I don’t need to ask him,” Nesta said, thinking about how Cassian had smiled when she’d told him what had happened. It made her divorce a lot easier, if nothing else. What Nesta really wanted was an explanation. Surely there was more than just the threat on the lawn.

She couldn’t ask without admitting she knew what he was.

“It’s obvious he did it because he likes her,” Gwyn added with an impertinent wink.

“What would you know about men liking women?” Emerie asked.

Gwyn shrugged. “I know enough.”

“Maybe we should tell him about—”

“No.” Gwyn’s voice went icy cold at the suggestion. Labeled the town home wrecker, Gwyn was shunned by all the well-to-do women in town who didn’t want to admit that what happened to Gwyn was rape simply because the man in question was a good ‘ol boy.

Nesta hated seeing all of them—hated the way they acted so high and mighty, like somehow they were good people despite their willingness to protect a rapist. Nesta would have liked to see Cassian kill him.

Hell, she would have liked to have done it herself, and she knew Emerie felt the same way.

“We don’t need a man for that,” Nesta reminded Emerie, earning a bright grin in response.

“How long are you going to let this go on?” Gwyn asked, clearly desperate to change the subject.

“Until she gets him naked,” Emerie teased.

Nesta could help her flush. “I don’t want to see him naked,” she lied as Emerie and Gwyn made booing noises and pointed their thumbs down. All Nesta thought about was Cassian—they’d been living together for two weeks and he spent more time without a shirt on than he did wearing one. He could hardly be blamed—it was miserably hot outside and Nesta refused to turn on her oven, so they were cooking outdoors each night.

And Cassian often just forwent his shirt, giving her access to his toned, broad chest and the rippling muscles against his stomach and back. All she could think about was what the rest of him looked like.

Nesta hadn’t had sex in over five years—since before she’d been dumped in this small town. She’d tried to go on one date with a man named Tomas—and he’d decided he was going to have her whether she wanted him or not. Nesta had been fortunate to escape, biting his ear so viciously there was still a chunk missing.

After that, Nesta never bothered again. No one had been tempting enough until Cassian sauntered through her front door, made worse by the knowledge that he might be there to kill her. He clearly had no qualms about it.

Still, he’d been surprisingly kind to her and Nesta caught herself forgetting what he was. She never mistook him for a cop—that was still a joke—but she was starting to see him as a man she could like.

A man she could strip naked, if nothing else.

It was Nesta’s pride that got in her way. She simply could not be the one who made the first move. It was making their living situation tense—Nesta was actively trying to break him.

“Do you swim, Cassian?” Nesta heard herself asking after dinner that night, thinking about the black swimsuit folded up in her dresser.

He shrugged. “I know how, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Nesta leveled a long look at him. “You don’t look like a man who can swim.”

Cassian paused. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Nesta shrugged, rising to her feet. “You don’t look like you can swim.”

“I can swim,” he told her, falling right into her trap. The male ego was a fascinating thing. “I didn’t bring swim trunks with me, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Nesta said, her tone implying she thought this was just a clever excuse to get out of swimming. She then sauntered off, undressing herself to put on that bikini.

She felt nervous, looking at the high straps of the bottoms that revealed the cheeks of her ass. Not to mention how out there her breasts suddenly were.

Was it too much?

Nesta threw on a cover up before marching out. Cassian was still in his athletic shorts—no shirt—and a pair of slide on shoes. “Where are we swimming?”

“There is a little lake a couple blocks over,” she informed him, grabbing two towels from the bathroom. “There’s a community pool, too, but I never use it.”

“Why not?”

“Too many children,” she said, though in truth it had more to do with the fact that the pool was always filled with people who didn’t like her, and Nesta didn’t want to be surrounded by people staring and whispering.

“Makes sense,” Cassian said, though after a pause he added, “You don’t want children?”

That felt like a loaded question. “Maybe someday,” she replied, unwilling to examine why he might ask her that. Cassian only nodded, his broad hand resting absently on his stomach. Nesta was trying to ignore the trail of hair that began just beneath his naval before vanishing into his pants, too.

That was a little more difficult. Nesta forced herself to look straight ahead as they walked and answered Cassian’s endless stream of questions like she was interviewing for a job. So what if he was hot? That was his problem—not hers.

Except, Cassian was hell bent on making it her problem as they tramped over the dirt path that led from the sidewalk to the lake. Nesta could hear children laughing in the distance, though the rocky patch of shore that she and Cassian had chosen was free of everyone but themselves.

Nesta pulled off her coverup, ignoring Cassian. Behind her, he made a soft, strangled noise she chose to believe was about the rocks digging into the soft soles of their feet.

But deep down, she knew he was reacting to her outfit.

The water was warm and still somehow refreshing even in the late evening air. Nesta waded in deeper and deeper, embarrassed that so much of her body was on display. Some part of her appreciated his reaction, though she didn’t want to admit that, either. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her with genuine appreciation.

She turned toward the shore, water up to her chin, to find Cassian standing there.

Totally naked.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded, turning away like it mattered. She’d seen everything, and oh, how she wished she hadn’t.

He was ridiculous. The sheer size of him…Nesta shuddered. She wanted to know what it was like to feel him on top of her. Even knowing everything she knew, Nesta still wanted him. What would her sisters say if they ever learned this? Nesta couldn’t help but take another look as Cassian waded into the water.

Just like the rest of him, Cassian’s thighs were big and muscular—they looked like they could easily crush her, should he ever want to. And his cock…fuck. He wasn’t erect and yet Nesta had a good sense of the size and girth of him. Did he fit inside women, or did he merely wedge in half and call it good?

“I told you I didn’t have trunks,” Cassian said, submerging himself so she didn’t have to feel so guilty every time she looked his way.

“You could have kept your underwear on!”

“Nah,” Cassian replied with a shit eating grin. “I wanted you to look at my penis.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things, if I had to guess. I’ve never seen a therapist so who can say for sure?”

“Why…why would you want that?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms over her chest as though he could see her through the murky, blue-green water.

“C’mon, Nes—”

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, immediately irritated he couldn’t remember the most basic parts of his pretend job.

Cassian rolled his eyes, reaching for her shoulders. Nesta flung back, splashing him in the face. If he touched her she was certain she’d be ruined. Better to give the illusion of resistance, at any rate. Make him work for it.

“Come here,” he murmured, putting his hand on her hip. Nesta’s heart thudded in her throat, gagging any potential retort. All she could think about was his broad, callused hand touching her bare skin and how close he suddenly was. “This isn’t wrong.”

Oh, but it was. He still thought she didn’t know who he was but Nesta was painfully aware that she was letting herself get felt up by a man who was part of the people hunting them. Nesta braced her hands on his strong chest intending to shove him away when a new idea struck her.

“This is nothing,” she told him, catching the flash of hurt. “It can never be anything, Cassian.”

“What are you saying?”

“That this is going nowhere. You’re my guard, I’m—if we’re going to do this, it can only be casual. Nothing more.”

Cassian’s reactions were better contained this time. Nesta had no idea what the mobster holding her was thinking. Only that he had her pinned with that stare and his thumb was rubbing lazy circles against her hip bone.

“I’ll take whatever I can get when it comes to you,” Cassian finally murmured, his gaze darting to her mouth. Nesta inclined her chin and then oh. Cassian kissed her, yanking her so she was flush against the hard slab of his body. He should have tasted like the heat—Nesta was certain she did—but somehow Cassian’s mouth reminded her of snow covered mountains and swaying pine trees.

Nesta slid her arms around his neck before wrapping her legs around his waist. She was painfully aware of his cock and how it seemed to span the entirety of her back. That was likely the water and her arousal confusing her…though she didn’t need to reach between them to know Cassian’s cock was of monstrous proportions.

Right then, though, it felt safe. She wasn’t having sex in the water for UTI based reasons, and kissing him was good enough. Cassian, for all his many crimes, was tragically, a good kisser. It would have been so much easier if he wasn’t. Surely he had some sort of flaw? Other than his career and his unflinching ability to point a gun at another man's face.

Nesta kissed him rougher at the memory, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip. The inherent violence oozing from Cassian was clearly doing something for her. Nesta knew, right then, that Cassian wasn’t going to kill her. Maybe everyone else, but she believed in her very soul that Cassian had no intention of taking her life.

Why would he be kissing her if he did?

“Fuck,” Cassian breathed, the only words spoken before he returned to kissing her. Nesta took the opportunity to thread her fingers through his thick, dark hair, tossing the pony tail that kept half up off his face into the water behind them. He was so beautiful it made her sick—what happened to greasy older men in sweat suits? Since when did criminals look as good as Cassian did?

Nesta considered dragging her tongue out of his mouth to ask, but remembered only at the last minute that he didn’t know that she knew the truth about him. Better not to tell him, either—what if he decided to tie her to a chair and torture her? Why did the thought of that turn her on?

Nesta didn’t notice Cassian’s hand until he pushed aside the thin strip of cloth hiding her pussy from the world and brushed his fingers over her aching clit. Nesta jerked in his arms, pulling away to bite his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Cassian whispered as Nesta rocked against his hand. It had been so long since someone touched her—or, that’s what she told herself, anyway.

Still, it wouldn’t do to just take her pleasure at his expense. Ignoring that she was desperate to touch him, Nesta lied to herself that it was only fair to reciprocate. Nesta gripped him right beneath his blunt head so she could rub her thumb against the slit of his cock.

Cassian groaned. “Christ,” he swore, eyes fluttering shut.

“Is this what you like?” Nesta asked, stroking him once.

“Harder,” he rasped.

Of course he liked it a little rough. Nesta didn’t bother mentioning to him that she did, too. She merely tightened her grip on him and stroked again, delighting in Cassian’s open mouthed moan. Was that all it took to bring a man like him to his knees? Nesta couldn’t think about it given the way his finger was teasing her entrance.

Cassian plunged himself inside of her, eyes on her face. “That’s it,” he murmured, arching into her hand. “Take what you need.”

What she needed was him to throw her down to the floor and fuck her senseless. Nesta wanted Cassian to fuck her so hard it reset her completely, turning off the endless stream of thoughts in her mind. Even then, Nesta forgot they were in a dusk drenched lake where anyone could walk up and witness what was happening. Normally it would horrify her.

But right then, all she could think about was what he tasted like when he came. Nesta kissed him again, sliding her tongue against his in an attempt to find out.

They lived together, she reminded herself. If she wanted to taste the rest of him she could. It was tempting to ask him to put her down, get dressed, and take her home. The only reason she didn’t want the realization that she’d talk herself out of the whole thing if she stopped now.

And Cassian’s hand felt good against her aching body. Nesta was full on grinding against him, drowning in the feeling. She barely knew what she was doing to him, though Cassian’s desperate panting told her whatever it was, he liked it.

Nesta bit the sensitive skin between his shoulder and his neck hard enough to leave the imprint of her teeth behind. Cassian’s hips bucked into her hand and she wondered just how long it had been since someone had touched him like this. Nesta knew he was close, could feel the vein beneath his cock pushing against her fingers.

It half disappointed her when he did, though the sight of his parted lips and head thrown back felt religious, somehow.

“Quick off the mark, huh?” she whispered, lips against his skin.

Cassian’s grip around her body tightened the moment Nesta tried to wriggle free.

“I can sit here all night,” he all but growled, fingers moving inside her faster. “But we’re not leaving until you make you come on my hand.”

“Cass—”

“That’s right,” he praised, licking from her collarbone to her ear. “Imagine how good you’ll feel when it’s my cock instead of my hand.”

Nesta couldn’t help her little moan. It was tempting to demand he show her right then and had they not been submerged in water, Nesta might have foregone all her common sense and asked him to. Instead she closed her eyes and let herself pretend the fingers pumping in and out of her body was his cock.

Cassian used his thumb to draw tight circles around her clit, working her in tandem until Nesta was panting, too, lips pressed against his sun soaked shoulder. She couldn’t stop herself, much like it seemed Cassian couldn’t, either. Nesta came, rocking her hips against him while moaning against his skin. Cassian, for his part, chuckled softly as he ran his nose through her hair.

“I can’t wait to see you undone,” he whispered before turning her face so she had to kiss him. Nesta did, still overwhelmed by the pleasure still rocking through her. He was sweeter somehow—cooler than the air around them, softer than anything she’d ever touched.

“Do you think there are alligators here?” he asked when Nesta wriggled away, still held in his arms. She twisted to look behind her.

“I’ve never thought about it.”

Cassian only shrugged, some apprehension creeping into his expression. “Maybe we should get out.”

It only occurred to her once they were on the shore that Cassian might have wanted her to leave for different reasons.

CASSIAN:

All Cassian wanted to think about was Nesta’s pussy clenched around his fingers. The water had washed it all away and yet he could still feel the phantom grip of her tight around him and knew that if he could get himself inside her, she’d wreck him. Cassian wanted her to—was so desperate that he began constructing arguments in his mind as to why they should that very night.

Fuck her casual fling or whatever she’d said. Cassian wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t end with the two of them together. Seriously together. So he’d lie and pretend he didn’t mind because she’d never give him the time of day if she didn’t.

And what did Nesta know, anyway? She’d been alone for the last half decade, wholly on her own and taking care of herself. Let her see how it felt to be taken care of by someone else. She’d soften just enough for Cassian to make his move…and, he supposed, tell her the truth. After he had her and there was nowhere for her to go but back to his bed.

Sure, she’d rage and scream at him for a while…but in Cassian’s fantasies, she was so in love with him that she forgave him after maybe one well-deserved slap to the face. Perhaps two. No more, though. He’d figure Rhys out, too, which he figured would be a little easier. Maybe even welcome. After all, the youngest Archeron might be more willing and compliant if she knew her sister was part of Rhys’s family.

“Agnes.”

A man’s voice cut through Cassian’s musings. Looking up at the figure approaching, Cassian immediately decided he didn’t like him. Maybe it was the general smug look on his otherwise forgettable face.

Or maybe it was the way Nesta’s spine immediately straightened and her once soft face began icy and cold.

“Tomas,” she said without any affection or warmth.

That should have been enough to see the man walk away with his tail tucked between his legs. Cassian might have, had she looked at him with such open revulsion. He crossed his arms over his chest instead, spreading his legs ever so slightly in an attempt to intimidate the other man. Cassian knew he was big and he knew people were wary of him.

Most of the time, they had nothing to worry about. But this man?

Maybe he ought to be a little worried.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” Tomas said, tilting his head so Cassian could see a chunk of his ear was missing. “Busy?” Nesta only shrugged, her fingers balled to fists.

“You should hit me up some time. Finish what we started,” Tomas said, not bothering to look at Cassian at all.

“I don’t think so,” Nesta replied, never one to mince words.

Tomas opened his mouth to respond but Cassian had enough. “Take care,” he said, shoving past without a second look. Nesta came with him, keeping close as though she expected him to grab her and start running.

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice nearly drowned by the screaming crickets in the distance.

“No one,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Liar. An old boyfriend?” Cassian asked, trying to imagine that man doing anything for Nesta beyond getting on her nerves.

“Not even that,” she mumbled, her eyes strangely glassy. “We went out one time. Never again.”

Cassian felt his blood grow icy. “What did he do?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she snapped, too prideful to tell him the truth. Cassian could scarcely think, his mind running through a million new images. He could Nesta, helpless and scared while a man—

“Did he touch you?” Cassian asked, not caring how he sounded. Nesta looked up at him, eyes wide.

“He tried,” she finally admitted, turning her gaze back to the sidewalk in front of them. “I took some of his ear for the trouble.”

“Good girl,” he praised.

If only it did anything to ease his own fury. Cassian couldn’t get the images from his mind, utterly wrecking his otherwise perfect evening in the potentially alligator-infested waters. Nesta wanted the world to think she was the kind of person who wasn’t afraid of anything. That she could weather any storm.

And Cassian didn’t believe for a minute that she hadn’t been scared.

Instead of following her to bed, Cassian once again took his place on the sofa and he waited. Just like with Brent, Cassian decided to take things into his own hands while hoping Nesta wouldn’t notice. Or, if she did notice, she’d at least look the other way. Cops went rogue all the time…why couldn’t he?

Except, Cassian wasn’t a rogue cop. This was just who he was, who he’d always be. Some people were talented singers or good at crochet, but Cassian’s great skill was with a weapon. Slipping from the house, Cassian became one with the shadows as he channeled his inner Azriel. This place was supposed to be safe for Nesta and since he’d arrived, all he’d uncovered was endless harm that had happened.

What was the point of witness protection if anyone could just touch Nesta any which way? Why not send her back home and let Rhys—Cassian shook his head, the image of Rhys holding a gun at Nesta’s beautiful face slipping into his mind’s eye unbidden. He’d talk to his brother later—but Nesta was off limits to everyone. Even Rhys.

Especially to Tomas.

It was easy enough to find him, though. Tucked away in an old, plantation style house that set Cassian’s teeth on edge, Cassian discovered that Tomas must have come from some amount of money. His father did something—Nesta had mentioned it. He didn’t remember, too fixated on her mouth even in memory. Christ, but she’d been coming on his hand only a few hours before and if life was fair, he’d be in her bed while she came on his face, too.

But life wasn’t fair.

Cassian broke in through the back with ease given Tomas hadn’t thought to lock his doors. It was a blessing here in this rural little town—people felt safe. They trusted their neighbors even when their neighbors were rapists, because people in these parts thought you could tell who was a monster by sight alone.

Cassian knew better.

Cassian slipped up the steps, ignoring the ugly art on the walls and the pictures of a life that didn’t seem worth very much. He might have been interested in other circumstances but that night, all Cassian wanted was to get back to Nesta.

Tomas slept soundly in the master bedroom, unaware Cassian prowled the space looking for anything interesting. He found, helpfully, a phone with a text message from a woman threatening to kill him.

Perfect.

Maybe, he thought with amusement, they’d ask him to help investigate. Oh, how he hoped they would.

Cassian sat on the edge of the bed, letting his weight wake Tomas gently from sleep. The man looked up, bleary eyed and still unaware that Cassian had pressed the barrel of his gun into his mouth.

“Shhh,” Cassian murmured as he brushed a piece of Tomas’s hair from his frightened eyes. “My finger might slip if you move too quickly.”

Tomas tried anyway, but Cassian was bigger, stronger, and faster. With one hand, he slammed Tomas back to the bed and held him there by the throat.

“I’ll kill—”

“You’ll what?” Cassian interrupted, cocking his weapon. “Will you try and rape me, too?”

“That bitch is a liar—”

“Try again,” Cassian snarled, pressing his gun so roughly to Tomas’s temple he was certain he’d left a bruise. At least the scene would look angry, he reasoned. Like two lovers fighting over something Cassian was certain was stupid given how dumb Tomas was. Still, he was ready to be done.

“Whatever she told you wasn’t true,” Tomas said, apparently deciding he’d risk his own life rather than admit to anything honest.

Cassian made a buzzing noise with his throat. “I’m sorry, that’s the wrong answer.”

“Wait—”

If Cassian had the capacity for mercy, he might have listened. He didn’t, though. Cassian pulled the trigger with a sigh, as if the entire thing was some horrible imposition. In a way, it was. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be thinking about what Tomas had done to Nesta and how no amount of killing could take any of it back. She was still hurt, would have to live with his actions for the rest of her life.

Staring down at the lifeless body before him, Cassian wished he could kill him all over again. He could have shot him a couple more times, but Cassian didn’t want to risk someone hearing him and catching him in the act. He slipped back into the night unnoticed and was on the couch before Nesta ever woke.

And Nesta loved to be up early. Feigning sleep, Cassian waited for her to speak first. “Want to do yoga with me this morning?” she whispered, coming to sit on the arm of the couch where his head was. Nesta wore a pair of tight black leggings and an even tighter top that made Cassian’s insides achey. No, he didn’t want to do yoga with her unless it was a euphemism for sex.

And then he desperately did.

“Sure,” he heard himself saying like the liar he was. It didn’t stop Cassian from pulling off his shirt just so he could watch her eyes drift down his body.

C’mon, Nesta, he pleaded silently, Take your shirt off too.

She didn’t, though Cassian swore she wanted to. Maybe he was just delusional, reading too much into her minute expressions. He did catch her eyes slide down his naked torso briefly, and that carried Cassian through the miserable humidity as Nesta walked him through yoga. He was drenched in sweat by the time they made their way back into the air conditioning, panting from exertion and the heat.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Nesta he was going to shower. Had Cassian not turned his head at the exact right moment, he’d have missed that look on her beautiful face. Luck was with him, smiling when he opened his mouth to speak the words.

“Cassian,” she whispered. It was the only word she needed to speak—he knew what she was thinking. Cassian merely reacted, reaching for her body and hauling her upward before she could change her mind. Instead, he kissed her with all the pent up desperation he’d felt the night before, pouring his want and need into her so she felt it.

Among other things he was sure she was feeling. Cassian was nearly dizzy from the rush of blood to his cock, legs trembling despite how easy it was to hold Nesta against that floral papered wall.

Nesta’s mouth tasted like sunshine and mint and with little effort, Cassian managed to free her thick hair from the loose braid she wore. “You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered, certain if he told her how he really felt, she’d freak out. Better to ease her into it.

Nesta merely fisted his hair between long, slender fingers and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. Cassian could scarcely think as she bent forward and licked the column of his throat up from his collarbone until she reached his ear. When her teeth tugged against sensitive flesh, Cassian nearly came in his pants.

Fuck.

He was no better than a school boy.

Nesta was something from his darkest fantasies come to life. Ignoring how utterly insane her body was—and Cassian was struggling to ignore that fact—the way she kissed was something from a daydream. What would happen when he got that mouth around his cock? Cassian was desperate to find out.

Desperate enough to pull her off that wall, sloppy kissing her down the short hall until he could drop her on her bed. Cassian hadn’t seen the room and despite all the bright light flooding through open windows, Cassian knew he wasn’t going to see it right then, either.

“Take this off,” he demanded, straddling her hips as she laid flat on her back.

“Why should I do anything you tell me to?” she replied, traitorous fingers teasing the hair beneath his navel.

“Because I’ll tie you up and gag you if you don’t,” Cassian replied, too aroused by the thought.

A soft breath escaped Nesta, those icy blue eyes darker than he’d ever seen them. Something told Cassian she’d like a little roughness, at least when they were in bed. Caught up in his fantasies, Cassian almost missed Nesta arch her back off the bed, pressing her hips against his own as she peeled off that tight top.

All thoughts flew out of his head when she took that bra off, too. “Christ,” he thought he whispered, though maybe he just thought it. He had both in his hands before his mouth crashed against her own, teasing pretty, pink nipples against his calloused thumbs.

He wasn’t giving her back. When this was all over, Cassian would drag her kicking and screaming back home if he had to, but he wasn’t letting her go.

Not now, not ever.

Cassian was greedy, rubbing his cock against both the fabric covering them. He wanted to be buried within her and in service of that goal, because nipping bruising kisses along the side of her neck.

Mine, she’s mine.

Nesta threaded her fingers through his hair, yanking the hair tie out so his own dark hair fell like a curtain around his face. Cassian felt brand-new somehow, remade in her eyes. “You are…” Everything.

Cassian took a nipple in his mouth to keep himself from saying so, letting her imagine all the things he thought she was. Nesta raked her nails against his scalp, unaware of how good it felt to be touched like that. She wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t revere him. She wasn’t some weird groupie hoping to be a mob wife, nor was she some scared little thing that offered tentative touches and whispered words about if he had a weapon.

No one ever thought he was funny when he whipped out his cock.

He needed to do this right, to make her as obsessed with him as he was with her. That was, when the inevitable truth was revealed, Nesta would be more forgiving.

“These need to come off,” Cassian murmured, lips pressed to the flat skin of her stomach as he hooked a finger into the waistband of her leggings. “I need to taste you.”

Nesta merely lifted her hips in offering, leaving Cassian to grind himself against the mattress in order to keep himself together. If Cassian thought anything would be easier once Nesta was fully undressed, he was wrong. Everything about her was a dream, right down to the neat square of trimmed hair Nesta maintained between her legs.

Realizing that maybe he was just an animal, Cassian pushed apart her legs so he could look at her in the golden sunlight.

Words failed him. Not that he’d ever been a particularly loquacious man—that had always been Rhysand’s forte—but even then, nothing seemed adequate. She was perfect, too good for his blood-stained hands.

If Nesta was an angel, then he was the devil. He intended to drag her to hell with him, regardless of what she deserved. He’d already killed for this woman—twice. And as Cassian lowered himself between her legs, he knew he’d spend the rest of his life doing it. Cassian’s allegiance shifted right then—he was still a General, but he served Nesta Archeron first.

Everyone else, second.

The first taste of Nesta Archeron’s pussy was an awakening. Cassian groaned, unconcerned with seeming unaffected or like he had his life together. She was so wet and sweet and when his tongue found her clit, Nesta arched herself closer in encouragement. That was all Cassian needed to convince him to pull her against his face, breathing be damned.

All Cassian could think about was her face and what she’d look like when she came. He tried to look at her, but Nesta’s breasts got in the way of his view…not that Cassian was complaining a whole lot. There were worse things he could be staring at. Everytime Nesta took a breath, her breasts jiggled, sending a thrill of arousal straight to his balls. Did he rush his way through eating her out to feel her wrapped around his cock? Or did he take his time so he could continue staring at her tits?

Deciding he’d just use his finger as a replacement for his penis, Cassian slowed the circles he was making around her clit to gently push himself into her body. Whatever he’d been imagining was nothing like the reality of having her body clenched around him. Silken heat utterly stopped his whole body, turning Cassian into a mindless robot capable only of chasing pleasure and nothing more.

He needed to be inside her. Cassian didn’t want to wait and yet he didn’t pull himself away, either. Vowing he could do a better job, he returned to licking her with a vengeance while his finger began pumping in and out of her body.

Just wait until you see all the things I want to do to you, baby.

Next time he’d sit her on her face and have her suck him while he took his time. The thought was so arousing that Cassian desperately ground his cock into her bed, unable to stroke himself. He wasn’t going to last, he reminded himself. He knew the second he got himself inside her, he’d have minutes to get her off again before it was all too late.

Better to have her come on his tongue, just in case.

And she did, fisting his hair to hold him close, taking what she needed without a care or concern. Was this love? Cassian was certain it was. Moreso when he raised his head and she pulled him toward her, not worried that his mouth was wet from her. Nesta kissed him like she wanted him, like she was drowning in all the same feelings he was.

And when he notched the head of his cock against her still convulsing cock, he nearly told her everything. How he felt, the truth about himself—everything. Her tongue was in his mouth, which was the only thing that kept Cassian from speaking. He would have rather died than stopped.

Though, she stopped when Cassian thrust himself inside her, arching her neck to look at the shared space between their bodies. “Cassian,” she whispered, squeezed so tightly around him that somehow, Cassian couldn’t breathe.

“You can take me,” he replied, because what else was there to say? He was buried to the balls in her body and the only thing that could have convinced him to stop was her direct plea to remove himself.

Nesta looked up at him. “Who said I couldn’t?” she asked, fiery as ever.

Cassian couldn’t help his laugh. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, sliding himself out as much as he could stand—which wasn’t much, to be fair.

It was pleasure like he’d never experienced, like how he’d once dreamed it might be back when having sex with women was just a distant fantasy. No one could compare to the perfection that was Nesta Archeron, and no one ever would.

“You fuck me so well,” he panted, wrapping his fingers loosely around her throat. What did she like, he wondered? What did it take to get her off? He wished he’d asked before hand, if only to ensure he wouldn’t fuck this up. “Tell me how you liked to be fucked.” Nesta’s gaze found his, sharp enough to kill him if she’d wanted. “You talk too much,” was her only reply.

Cassian couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop his desperate thrusting, couldn’t stop his babbling.

“You look so pretty wrapped around my cock. I’ll bet you’d be prettier on your knees,” he said, reaching between them to rub at her clit.

Nesta moaned loud enough that anyone passing by wouldn’t have to guess at what she was doing. Good.

“You belong to me,” he panted, watching as she began to crest again. Her cheeks were flushed, her long hair a tangled halo around her beautiful face. And her tits bounced up and down just the way he’d hoped they would back when he’d been eating her out. He’d never forget this, would spend the rest of his life stroking his cock to the memory.

“You’re mine, Nesta,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her throat just enough to heighten her pleasure without scaring her. “You’ll always be mine.”

Nesta came with a strangled scream, clamping the walls of her pussy around him so tight it felt like she was intentionally trying to pull the come from his balls. It worked—Cassian came, too, burying his face in her shoulder to breathe her in. “Fucking hell,” he whispered, not thinking about what he’d just done.

All he could think about was how good it felt—and how badly he wanted to do it again.

Cassian needed to get her out of this place before they got caught.

He needed a plan.

#nessian #better late than ever right??

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