#Sleeping in my inbox tugging on my sleeves and such

[federfleisch]

Can I HELP YOU?

[em1989ts]

𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞

robert "bob" reynolds x reader

word count: 1.3k - masterlist

summary: when bob comes to your door late at night, you find a way to comfort him and let him know he's appreciated

contents: artist! reader, fluff, cuddling, bob's depression

author's note: a fic about someone other than five hargreeves? from me? shocking!! but i am so in love with bob rn i've seen thunderbolts twice in theatres already and i cannot get enough of him - not proofread! pleaseeee send bob requests in my inbox 🙃

Late nights were always the best in the new Avengers tower. 

The hallways were incredibly quiet, with everyone residing in their own personal spaces until morning when the team would return to their mission planning and let their snarky comments loose on each other. 

It had been a long time since you lived in New York City. After spending years on the run, then flying around the globe completing missions for Valentina, you were glad to finally have a stable home again. 

Your room was dim, lit solely by a few candles on your nightstand as you lay against your headboard, with your sketchbook and pencil unmoving in your hands as you were undecided on what to draw, yet you held the urge to create. You often did at this hour, when all else is silent, your mind tends to get creative. 

As you tapped the end of your pencil against your page, brainstorming while staring at the bright nighttime lights of Manhattan through your large window, you heard noises that didn’t match up to the taps of your eraser. 

When you paused, holding still to listen, you heard the sound of footsteps, pacing back and forth outside your door. Setting your pencil between the pages of your sketchbook, you gently laid it on the bed next to you as you quietly climbed off the mattress. 

As you peeked slightly under the door, you could see the footsteps. The owner of the socked feet was ambiguous, but you had a strong feeling you knew who it was. 

You tip-toed over and gently opened the door, watching the culprit freeze in his place. 

Bob stood there, with a look of surprise on his face. His dark blue eyes wide as his brown hair framed his face. He hadn’t expected you to be up at this hour, let alone catch him standing outside your door. 

He was wearing a black crewneck and plaid sweatpants, the same outfit you’d seen him in for the last three days. His face was flush and his brain was still thoughtless as he stared into your soul. 

“Hi Bob,” you calmly greeted, noticing his tense shoulders, “You okay?” 

“Yeah- yeah I’m fine, just um-” his body regained motion as he fidgeted with his fingers, the sleeves of his crew neck pulled over the palms of his hands, “I uh - didn’t expect you to be up this late.” 

“I’m always up this late,” you smiled at him, “Come in, come in.” 

You motioned for him to come inside as you returned to your spot on top of your comforter, picking up your sketchbook, your pencil moving with a mind of its own. 

He shyly walked in, shutting the door behind him. He had never been in your bedroom before, and he couldn’t help but take a moment to observe it. It was like a museum of your entire personality in one room, with evidence of your many hobbies and interests- books, movies, cds, art supplies - covering every inch of your living space. 

Looking up for your initial sketch, you watched as he slowly moved his gaze across your room, tugging his sleeves and absentmindedly smilingly. 

Since you’ve met him, you’ve wanted to connect more with Bob. The two of you had become friends now that you’ve been living together for a little while, but he was still a little shy around you. 

“So what’s up, Bob?” you asked, returning your attention to your drawing, “Couldn’t sleep?” 

He kept looking around as he answered, “I did for a little bit, but I uh- had a nightmare and just, you know.” 

You all had nightmares. Every few nights you heard at least one of your teammates screaming through the walls of the tower. Bob’s nightmares were rather frequent, unfortunately. 

He sat down on the edge of your bed, rubbing his socks along your carpeted floors, creating a static charge, as he stared down at his hands. 

“Same thing?” you asked. He nodded. 

Ever since the day the void took over New York, he had felt so guilty, so sorry for everything he had caused. It haunted his dreams as he closed his eyes, willingly entrapping himself in darkness. Trapping himself with the void. 

The team was always there to reassure him that they were there for him, and that he wasn’t alone. But sometimes he felt they were only saying that so he wouldn’t destroy the world with his new god-like powers. Not that he wanted to, he just wanted to help people, and maybe help himself along the way, but it would take a lot of patience and practice before he was ready for missions. 

On one of your first nights in the tower, you had been walking by his room on your way to the kitchen for a midnight snack when you’d heard him, frantically gasping and trying to catch his breath. That was the night you’d reassured him that he could always come to you to talk about whatever he needed. That offer stuck as the two of you talked more and more, and he slowly grew more comfortable with you. 

“It’s just,” he paused, not knowing how to start, “I just think I’m more trouble than I’m worth.” 

You looked up, about to protest before he continued. 

“I stay around the tower, barely leaving my room, barely contributing anything while your guys go save lives and fight bad guys and whatever else Avengers do.” 

“That’s not true, Bob,” you disagreed, “You might not think we notice, but we really appreciate everything you do. I don’t think any of us know how to wash a dish without chucking it at someone,” you laughed slightly, lightening the mood. 

“And we don’t just keep you around because we think you’ll be good enough for the team one day,” you explained, “You mean a lot to us.” 

His dark blue eyes shone with a ray of golden as he looked over at you, emotion behind his eyes as your words hit his heart, “Really?” 

“Of course,” you smiled, adding a few finishing touches in your sketchbook  before setting your pencil down on your nightstand. You sat up next to Bob, his shoulder brushing yours, as you handed him your sketchbook to show him the page you’d been working on ever since he’d stepped foot through your door. 

The sketch of him exhibiting a shy smile in such perfect detail made him tear up a bit. He couldn’t believe someone could pay such close attention to him, take such great care in the accuracy of his image, and picture him in such delight. 

He bashfully chuckled as he admired the sketch before turning back to you, “You’re really talented, this looks great,” he complimented. 

“Maybe it’s you that looks great,” you quipped in return, causing his face to flush as he looked back at the drawing. 

A yawn escaped your lips as you looked out the window once more, seeing the dark night sky becoming an increasingly lighter blue. 

“It’s probably time to sleep,” you said, moving under your comforter as you extended an invitation, “You’re welcome to stay if you want.”   

He smiled, closing your sketchbook and placing it on your night stand, making sure to blow out your candles before climbing in next to you. 

He hadn’t felt too tired since waking up from his nightmare, but curling up next to you, feeling your arms wrap around his back as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, allowed him to feel just at peace enough where he could close his eyes, and feel safe in the darkness that surrounded him.

~~~

thank you for reading!

[bernardsbendystraws]

Fresh Air

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Check out my pinned post for more of my writing.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: One night at a party seems to change everything. A strange man with a friendly smile and a sleeve of patchwork tattoos seems to make you feel at home for a change. You're finally happy to have made a good friend to lean on - especially when it comes to your not-so-great relationship with your boyfriend. But what happens if you lean too much...what happens if you fall?

Warnings: SMUT, p n v, unprotected sex, and more. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

17: Blue

wc: 2600+

I didn’t know what I was doing. 

Matt’s hands are tapping on the steering wheel, trees passing by as we drive further into the forest. The worst part was, I didn’t feel anxious. Not in the slightest. I just felt a little heavy. 

Did Manon and him ever sleep together?

“Alright,” he huffs, his hand reaching to the volume and turning down the music, “What’s up? I can practically hear you thinking.” 

I sit up a little straighter, shaking my head as I let out a sigh. “It’s… it’s n-”

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, “Just talk to me.” 

I wanna ask, I’m just not sure if I wanna know. Every possibility of them being close made me feel uneasy, almost like I was on a boat, floating and too dazed to do anything but feel sick. I let my palms run on the tops of my thighs. “I - what even happened? Did you two….”

Matt laughs dryly. “You’re worrying for nothing. It…it wasn’t very long. We started talking like a month before I met you… we went out on maybe three dates, never kissed, none of that. Well, one time we hugged and it was awkward as fuck.” 

The corners of my lips tug into a smile. Manon was a very affectionate person, a hug being awkward from her was hysterical. 

“I’m serious,” he says, looking over at me for a quick second before returning his gaze to the road. “Even if I hadn’t met you, I still would’ve broken things off. I like Manon, but just as a friend.” 

Relief pools over my skin. I take a deep breath, savoring how full my lungs feel before sighing. “Really? Sometimes I debate being a lesbian for her,” I joke. 

Matt glares at me from the corner of his eye. He shakes his head in disbelief, turning the car to drive down a dirt path. “That’s not funny,” he says. 

I crinkle my nose as I lean onto his shoulder. “I’d be a lesbian for you if you were a woman,” I announce, pressing a kiss to his cheek before relaxing back into my chair. 

The slight blush covering his face makes my heart beam with pride. I watch as his knuckles turn paler, his hand grasping the wheel tighter. “Stop it,” he murmurs, twisting the ring on his thumb as the car slowly stops.”Let’s just… let’s just go inside.”

___

The cabin was breathtaking. After getting our stuff settled in one room, the sun was already starting to set. Matt sat on the wooden chair next to me on the balcony from the room. I couldn’t help but shift every once in a while, the creaky wood uncomfortable below me. 

“You good?” Matt asks. 

“This fuckin�� chair hurts, how is your boney ass fine?” I huff. 

“How’s my boney ass fine and your–nevermind,” he cuts himself off, his eyes going wide. 

My body freezes from shifting around. I find myself in shock until my eyes squint towards his blushing cheeks. “My what?” I taunt. Quickly shaking his head, Matt refuses to speak. “Have you been looking at my ass? What’re-”

“I’m gonna jump off this balcony if you keep going, oh my god,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

The air whistles, the orange glow more prominent as the sun sinks closer to the horizon. It’s so pretty. 

“Come over here.” 

Matt’s statement catches me off guard. I look over to see him patting his lap, his eyebrow cocked at me as he nudges his head downward. My heart hammers in my chest, my hands clutching onto the wood tighter as I suck in a breath. 

“What do you mean?” I question. 

Matt reaches over, grabbing my wrist gently. “I mean, come sit on my lap. You’ll actually get to enjoy the view instead of moving every five seconds,” he says. 

I hesitantly stand up, walking over to him. Being close isn’t something new, but right now it feels different. We’re alone. Miles away from any sort of interruptions. 

“Are you… are you su - oh,” I yelp, my hands balancing on his chest as he pulls me down into his lap. 

My eyes drift up to meet his, a certain reassurance glimmering in his eyes as he hugs me in closer, nudging his chin towards the view. “I’m sure, dollface. Now, look at the pretty view and stop thinkin’ so much.” 

I let my nails gently caress over his chest, admiring how his breath seems to waver for just a second. His hands cradling me in his lap seem to tug me even closer, his cheek squishing against the crown of my head as I look out to see the orange glow starting to fade. 

It’s so silent, yet so loud. Each wind callusing against my skin keeps me grounded to reality. The patter of his heart in his chest against my hand makes my mind go flat, all my attention surrounding him, surrounding us. 

And I love it. 

___

“Ready?” Matt asks, throwing a towel over his shoulder. I nod, following his footsteps out towards the hot tub in the back, the blue vibrance glistening on his bare skin as he stands in just his swim shorts. 

After watching the view, we still weren’t tired. Matt had suggested this almost immediately, going down and prepping everything while I changed into my swimsuit. I was slightly regretting the choice of swimwear. The air was fucking cold and the simple bikini and T-shirt didn’t do much to help. But then again, what swimsuit would?

“Come in before you freeze,” he laughs. 

Goosebumps are covering my skin. Matt sinks himself into the water, looking out towards the mountains. It’s a mouth-watering sight. His hair is already slightly damp, the silver chain around his neck shimmering in the moonlight. 

“How hot is it even?” I ask, peeling off the shirt and throwing it to the side with our towels. Water splashing from movement is barely audible over the bubbling jets, but a wave of silence after the question makes me look towards him, seeing him staring at me intensely. 

I bite back a smile as I watch his eyes go wide, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. “It’s um, it’s uh… sorry, what?” he says, shaking his head as he brings his eyes back to my face. 

The warm water is soothing as I dip my body in. I sit down, my hands hovering over the top bubbles as I snort with a muffled laugh. “First, you’re looking at my ass apparently-”

“Hey!” he exclaims, swatting me with water. His head looks down at the water, his voice quieter, “I’m sorry.” 

He genuinely sounds apologetic. I move closer to him, my shoulder bumping on his as I let my thighs swing over his lap. His hands almost immediately rest on my skin. “It’s okay… I kinda like it,” I whisper, my eyes twinkling up to his for just a second, my nails grazing over the wet skin of his chest. 

“I - really?” he asks, breathlessly as his chest starts to heave for more air. 

I nod slowly, staring directly into his eyes as the water reflects into them. Everything is just so… blue, so calming. 

It feels like a breath of fresh air, the purest I had ever tasted. 

Subconsciously, our bodies seem to lean into each other. As the tips of his nose bumps mine, I feel my lips part, greedy for more air as it seems to get thinner. 

“Can I k–”

“Kiss me already,” I interrupt. 

Matt’s hand curls around the back of my neck, his nose pressing into my cheek as he tilts his head to the side. 

His lips meet mine with passion, full of energy as he moves his mouth against mine. My stomach twirls with butterflies, traveling up into my chest as I stable myself with his shoulder. 

This feels good. The other kiss was also good, but this was different. This was passion, this was desperate. 

His hand floats back down to my thigh, groping the skin under the water as he leans even further into me. I let the water carry me towards him, straddling him as I plant myself down in his lap. 

“Oh shit,” he husks, breaking away from the kiss as I feel it, feel him. 

It’s instinct. I let my hips shift, grinding his hard length into my core. The layers blocking between us feel so thin, the subtle movement of him chasing his hips upwards making me grasp harder onto his shoulders. 

As our eyes meet, I see a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Do you not want this?” I ask, slightly lifting myself up. 

Matt’s hands hold my hips tightly, keeping me in place as I try to sit down next to him. “No, I just… I want you to be completely sure. I don’t want this to be a heat of the moment kind of thing,” he huffs, looking to the side. 

I grab his chin softly, redirecting his gaze back to me, “Matt,” he bites on his lip as he looks at me intently, “I am sure. I’m sure about all of it.” 

“What about Hayden? What about Manon? It’s… I just don’t want this to only be here, when we’re alone,” he mutters. 

My heart pounds with overbearing emotions, my hands clasping on either side of his face as I make him look directly into my eyes. 

“I… I wasn’t sure then, but I am now. Nothing’s ever felt so right - or effortless. Manon and you… I understand why everything happened the way it did. You make me feel secure, you always have, it hasn’t changed how I feel. And Hayden…” I sigh, rubbing my thumb over his beard stubble, “Hayden can go fuck himself.” 

Matt smiles proudly at my remark. “Atta girl,” he praises, his hands massaging my hips as I blush at the words of endearment. 

“I’m serious,” I announce, feeling the words with every part of my soul, “I don’t care about anything as long as I have you. No matter how much chaos it is, I just…” 

Matt leans forward, his lips placing gentle kisses on my collarbone. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.” My hands tangle in his hair as he starts to suck gently as the skin. I feel the slight vibration of his hum against me, his teeth slightly nibbling into me. “Fuck, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me, sweetheart,” he purrs. 

Sweetheart. Fuck. 

My body reacts before I can process a single thing. My hands tighten in his hair, my hips rocking as I lower myself back onto his lap. I feel his hands squeeze on my hips, a slight laugh echoing through the air. 

“You really like that name, huh?” he tuts. 

As I go to respond, a sharp gasp pushes through my lips, the feeling of his hardness gliding up against my core making me run speechless. 

“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he urges, his hands traveling up my sides, his palms resting over my ribcage as his thumbs swivel directly below my breasts. 

I want him to touch me. I want him to touch me so bad. My mind feels numb, every inch of my skin burning with desire as I tilt my head to give him more access. “I love it.” 

His tongue glides over the freshly made mark. “Oh, you love it, huh…” 

Fuck. The tone of his voice is driving me insane, each movement from his lips and hands making me nothing but a puddle of bliss. I feel like I’m melting, completely palpable to his touch, being worshipped by his adoration and the moonlight at the same time. 

“God,” I breathe, my hands scratching into his scalp as his lips find my sweet spot. Matt hums against my neck, sucking even harder as my thighs tense with pleasure. 

“What do you… what do you want, baby?” he asks, completely breathless as he lays sloppy kisses down my neck, “-what can I give you, hm?”

My mouth draws open as I feel the ache between my legs grow with intensity. “I… want you. All of you, I - please,” I whine. 

“Yeah?” he taunts, his hand traveling behind my back hesitantly fiddling with the straps of my bikini top, “-want me to fuck you under the stars?” 

Even his words make my body tense with twists of knots and pleasure. I nod quickly, shrugging off the straps of my bikini top as I let him slide it off my body. My nipples perk in the cold air, his hand caressing underneath my breast as he attaches his lips to the bud. 

His eyes peek up at me as he suctions his mouth on the sensitive skin. I bite on my lower lip, my heart dropping to the pit of my gut as I watch his tongue swirl around before sloppily licking over my chest. 

My hips grind down into his lap more desperately with each lap of his tongue. Matt groans against me, struggling to keep his attention on my chest as he lets himself move to meet my actions. 

“I don’t… don’t have a condom,” he pants. 

I reach downward, tugging at the hem of his shorts, “Don’t care. I need you, need you now. Let’s… worry later.” 

Matt seethes as I pull out his hard length. His fingers dig into either side of my waist as I gently rub along his tip with my thumb, guiding it over the bridge of my swim bottoms. “Please, fuck.” 

His whimper seems to make me even more desperate. I slide his tip under the fabric, not bothering to take the swimsuit off. 

Our breaths catch at the same time, our eyes meeting as I feel him bare against me. Matt’s hands on my hips gently push me down onto his length, the stretch making me arch into him as I let my head fall onto his shoulder.

“Mmmmm,” he moans, cradling the back of my head as he gently rocks his hips up, bottoming out inside of me. 

Every part of my body feels like lava, warm and palpable with pure euphoria. I start to grind myself onto him, shrieking as I feel him rut up into me. 

“Does - it - feel - fuckkkkkkk,” he gasps, “-tightening around me so fucking good, sweetheart. I - shit,” he seethes, his thrusts becoming rhythmic as I start to kiss along his neck. 

Cries of pleasure spill from my lips as I clutch onto him. The knot in the pit of my stomach grows with each languid thrust, the closeness of our bodies making me feel completely at peace. 

It’s more than physical. 

“Matt, I…” 

“Shhhh, shhh,” he soothes, placing a hand on the small of my back as he pushes me to arch even further into him, the new angle making my eyes roll back while my thighs tense. Matt keeps me in place, making the overbearing pleasure even more intense. “Just let it feel good. Let - let me make you feel good.” 

It’s more than good. My body starts to helplessly writhe, pinned in place as he makes me feel every single thing. 

“Gonna - I - Matt-” 

Matt holds me even closer, kissing my temple as he whispers, “You got it, c’mon, I - I’m right behind you, doll.” 

Waves of euphoria crash over me. My legs practically vibrate as I feel myself convulse around him, sparks of white clouding my vision as I feel his cum spill inside of me. 

“Fuck. You’re perfect,” he husks, his fingers hooking beneath my chin as he guides my head upwards, leaning his forehead against mine. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

[arting-block]

𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 | Eleventh Doctor x F!Reader

❝is that too much to ask for? to have your husband by your side every night, whispering to you in Gallifreyan to lull you to sleep?❞

summary: being pregnant with a timelord's baby isn't for the weak. you tolerated your husband's overprotectiveness, but building a robot to follow you everywhere was the crossing the line. what started as a scheme to gain some privacy turns into a a reflection of the complicated feelings your pregnancy brings.

pairing: eleventh doctor x f!pregnant!reader

warnings: pregnancy (afab reader), the doctor being very dramatic, mild angst, fluffy ending, suggestive comments/allusions to sex, some plot bc i have no self control, reader loves sleeping

words: 6.6k

a/n: another request sitting in my inbox that i tinkered with. i had a lot of fun with this prompt :) im also physically incapable of writing drabbles bc of course i am. slightly proofread. also if you keep up with siasl i am in the middle of getting 2 chapters out shortly!!!

“What about this one? This seems like a lovely lil’ jumper.”

The Doctor holds up the article of clothing. It’s a bright canary yellow, almost burning your eyes. His face is all giddy, practically shoving the small cloth in your face. 

You sigh, grabbing the small sweater from his hands and putting it back on the rack. The Doctor’s pout would’ve been cute if it was the first time he pulled that off. “You already spent half a thousand pounds on clothing alone. Focus, please! We’re here to buy me new shoes. The swelling’s been killing me.”

You gesture to the empty cart and continue walking deeper into the store. The slides you haphazardly threw on did nothing to support the arches of your soles and you have already outgrown all the other shoes you owned. Your feet are dragging your weight as you try to find the aisle you’re looking for. 

“What if she doesn’t like the clothing we got her?” The Doctor resumes pushing the cart, walking in tandem beside you. “Bought nearly every single color there is, but not yellow. What if she really likes the color yellow?”

Stopping next to a pair of sneakers on display, you inspected them carefully. Once you determined they had the right size and decently squishy insoles, you dropped them to the ground. Kicking off the flimsy blue slides you had on, you tried to shove your feet into the sneakers, using your Doctor as a balance. He lets you grip onto his bicep, even though you’re causing him to sway with your erratic motions. 

Still, the Doctor continues on: “Surely she would like TARDIS blue? Everyone does! Did you know blue is considered a soothing color—especially dark blue? Can’t go wrong with a good blue.”

Your foot managed to slip halfway into the sneaker, but you couldn’t get your heel inside. You gave a harsh tug on the Doctor’s sleeve. “Little help here.”

The Doctor is quick to help you to a small bench, letting you lean into him before setting you down. A satisfied groan left you, happy to finally get the extra weight off your joints. The Doctor kneels down, making sure your sock is still snug on your foot, before securing the sneaker. He even made sure the laces were not too tight. You gave your toes an experimental wiggle, happy to see that they fit you perfectly. 

Your husband doesn’t rise from his sport, still lost in thought about colors and your future daughter’s opinion of them. “I’ve always hated red. Didn’t like the way red things tasted, but I bought those little shoes anyway. Kids are more drawn to saturated colors so there’s a chance she might like red…no matter how unsavory.”

“She’s gonna love whatever we give her,” you say. You prop your leg onto the Doctor, who goes to work untying the laces. “Everyone loves blue, and she would be very grateful that you thought of red shoes even though you hate them.”

The Doctor puts on the slide you discarded back on your feet. There was still that distant look on his eyes, one that you often found whenever he worried about the baby in your stomach. “What about the yellow?”

You brush a rogue strand of brown hair, tucking it away from the Doctor’s eyes. When he looks up at you, you see the worry start to melt away. “I’m sure she would let us know if she likes yellow or not.”

— — —

Before your pregnancy, your worries were few and far between. Okay, maybe not so far between, but the Doctor took extra precautions to adventuring the moment you two got married. Your feet would ache from running alongside the Doctor and the Ponds. At most you would suffer a cut or bruise, bouncing back to full health in no time. In the beginning stages of your pregnancy, you could still outrun the occasional alien or keep up with the Ponds when walking around Leadworth. 

Now that you’re in the third trimester, your main worry is getting out of bed without pulling a muscle. 

The only adventure you’ve been going on lately are trips to Walmart for your oddly specific food cravings. Mostly for the selection of spicy chips and cheap cakes. It was all you would want to eat. You tried pulling the “eating for two” card, but eventually the Doctor had drawn the line at vanilla ice cream and pickles. Though, a few heated kisses bribe him to get them anyway. 

Your pregnancy was considerably smooth-sailing all things considered. Adventuring stopped by fifteen weeks and you stayed either in the TARDIS or at the Ponds’ residence. Alien medicine subsided most of the unsightly side-effects. But because your husband was the Doctor and your hormones were crazier than ever, it meant that arguments were (unfortunately) very common. 

How could the Doctor, the most intelligent, most caring, most accommodating husband in the universe simultaneously be the most irritating person to be around?

Privacy and his incessant need to protect you.

You silently hold a grudge in your heart towards Rory for toppling the first domino. As a nurse, he couldn’t help but track everything about your pregnancy. Vitals, nutrients, cholesterol, sleep, etc. To no one’s surprise, the Doctor encouraged it and often compared each other’s notes about the effects of a Time Lord pregnancy. Nerd shit. Whatever. As long as their testing didn’t coincide with your naps, you could care less. 

Then things escalated. The Doctor was suddenly very aware that you were carrying his baby—a Time Lord baby. You don’t know why it took twenty weeks for the idea to settle, but now you wished it never did. He was rightfully concerned about your baby and you didn’t put up a fight when the Doctor got a little clingier than usual. It’s nice to have the Doctor hover next to you like a shadow, his brows pinched in worry and his eyes filled with enough love to put Cupid to shame. But then there comes a time where the Doctor is needed. So Rory and Amy were left to care for you. No big deal. 

By twenty-one weeks? Surveillance of you became a full blown operation. The Doctor made an executive decision to install cameras and mics in every room in the TARDIS. You nearly ripped him a new one when he suggested putting some in the bathrooms. What started as a meaningful demonstration for his care about you turned into an obsession. Paranoia, even. If the Doctor wasn’t in your immediate vicinity, then he forced one of the Ponds to follow you around at all times. 

They were your best friends—your traveling companions. At least they had the sense to leave the room whenever you needed time alone with your daughter. They would engage in conversation and remained silent and out of the room when it came time for you to sleep. 

You tolerated the Doctor’s overprotectiveness because of the loss of his previous family during the Great Time War and past lovers. You can’t begin to understand the depths of his grief of losing countless people spanning hundreds of years. So you gave a little (a lot) of grace towards your Time Lord husband. How can you resist when he hugs you from behind and gently rubs your stomach with so much love and care? He’s just worried and you would be too if you were in his shoes. But the limit to his protectiveness apparently does not exist. 

There was a point where neither Pond wanted to follow you around the clock every single day. You foolishly hoped that their complaints would put an end to the Doctor’s paranoia before it spiraled out of control. But the Doctor also had to leave to go on supply runs and help random aliens across the galaxy you were residing in. The Ponds needed to go back to Earth for their own sanity which would last either a few days to weeks. 

So what solution did your mad husband come up with? Build a robot to follow you everywhere. 

“Mrs. (L/N), are you certain you want to continue exercising?”

You were huffing a storm, trying to keep an even pace ahead of the walking tin-can your husband built to be his personal snitch. The straw that broke your masked indifference towards the Doctor’s overprotectiveness. The moment J-ROD’s systems were firing sparked the end of any privacy you held onto. Years ago, during a trip to a future human colony, the Doctor came across a pile of scraps. It looked nothing like a humanoid robot. You had thought that the Doctor would simply take its salvageable parts and use it for the TARDIS. Apparently your mad husband was always a step ahead, working on his Justice-Robotics Of Defense in secret. You don’t know when he completed it, but you’re certain you’ve heard J-ROD’s muffled voice late into the night and your husband’s all too eager voice responded back. 

You chalked it up to another project he was tinkering with. Little did you know he was crafting up your worst nightmare. 

“You’re programmed to do as I say,” you snap. Your pace slows and you hear the heavy footsteps of J-ROD come closer, motivating you to keep going. “And right now I want to walk.”

Thankfully, the robot is incredibly slow. Unfortunately, you are eight months pregnant. You had barely reached the five minute mark of your “exercise” and the wind has already knocked out of you. Pure spite is what is keeping you from giving out. 

The day started with a frantic kiss on your cheek and the Doctor’s promises to be back before dinner. The TARDIS has a knack for muddling your sense of time. Dinner can mean a blink of an eye or a stretch of time that feels like days. Coupled with the fact that you’re carrying a Time Lord baby meant that you are terrible at judging when the Doctor would be back. 

J-ROD keeps their distance, not because they’re sympathetic to your sour mood, but because their rusty joints keep them from speeding up faster than a slow walk. Maybe if you grabbed a hammer from your husband’s toolbox, you could cave in their knees and keep them locked in a closet somewhere. A cramp emanates from your side and you stop to catch your breath. You can barely walk for five minutes, there’s no way you can muster enough strength to bash through metal. You hear the clank clank clank of J-ROD’s footsteps. 

It is the fact that the robot would follow you everywhere and stare into your soul that irritated you. It was his blocky metal body with brown crusted joints that creaked noisily to the point it drove you insane. The damn piece of scraps would frequently interrupt your naps with its loud voice to call the Doctor for his hourly reports. It’s programmed to stay at a minimum of a 30 feet radius near you. There was no escaping them.

Your husband promised to fix his creaky joints, the loud voice, and fix his programming to call at a time that accommodates your napping schedule. He was very apologetic and did his best to tinker with J-ROD the moment you brought up complaints. But your husband is also the Doctor and he cannot turn a blind eye to beings in need. 

The only reprieve to J-ROD is when the Doctor or the Ponds were around. You knew it was irrational to get frustrated at a rusty robot whose only purpose is to protect the person it was assigned to. If anything, they were the manifestation of your husband’s worry for you. 

But your grace can only go so far before the irritation wins out. You want peace and quiet. It’s been hours. The Doctor is out saving a ship from being pulled into an unseen black hole. The Ponds were back to their daily routine in Leadworth. You are stuck in the TARDIS, heavily pregnant, and narrowly avoiding tripping over your own feet in hopes that you get away from the walking piece of metal. 

“Your heart rate increased by a factor of 5% since the start of your walk,” J-ROD says. Their polite, robotic voice is activating the kill-switch in your hormone-ridden brain. “I believe it is best for you to stop exercising. The Doctor recommends that you keep exertion to a minimum.”

You stop, only because there’s a sudden cramp in your thigh. Your sudden yelp in pain alerts J-ROD. Their laser scan is warm as it hits all parts of your body. 

“My scans indicate that you’re experiencing minor muscle spasms in your right femoral region,” they state. “Sources indicate a good massage can allevia—”

“NO!” you shout. “No, do not come near me.”

“But—”

“You will do as you’re told!”

“As you wish.”

The pain is pushing you to your limits. If this keeps up you’re going to cry yourself into labor. You can’t break down in front of a robot snitch who will tattle to the Doctor. You do not need records of your crying archived. 

But then a lightbulb lit up in your mind. 

The cramp subsided, but you grasp onto it with a sharp hiss, loud enough for J-ROD to hear. 

“Fuck…I think it just got worse.”

J-ROD’s crusted hands attempt to reach your leg. “Allow me—”

You swat his hands away. “You know what would help me? An ice pack!”

“I do not follow.”

“Run to the kitchen and get me an ice pack for my cramp,” you explain with another loud wince. You double over, trying to put on your best performance. “I’m too pregnant and tired to move. So it shouldn’t be a problem to go to the kitchen real quick and come back?”

J-ROD is quiet, trying to process the request you are giving him. His processor runs through each command, making sure it doesn’t go against what the Doctor programmed him to do. 

“The Doctor has requested that I stay by your side at all times.” 

You roll your eyes. “He also said to do everything in your power to help me. I cannot walk back to the kitchen, but I really, really need that ice pack. Please? It would help me so, so much.”

Puppy-dog eyes wouldn’t work on a robot, but you tried to put on your most convincing pained expression on your face. J-ROD is still hesitant. 

“Please?”

A beat of silence before J-ROD’s creaky head nods. “As you wish.”

You contain your victorious cheer until J-ROD is out of ear shot. The kitchen is far enough that it would take a minimum of three minutes for him to fetch the ice before turning back to you. In order for your plan to work, you would need to act fast. 

You close your eyes, concentrating on one room that you would have complete and utter silence. A room that the Ponds had curated with everything you could need during your pregnancy. A clean room with ambient lighting, a large pillow on the bed to support your belly, and a mini fridge next to the bed. The bed was softer than clouds and the blankets were fluffier than a sheep’s wool. 

A small breeze hits your face. When you open your eyes, the soft yellow door to your private bedroom appears in front of you. 

Your smile lights up your entire face. “You’re the best time-spacecraft anyone could ask for.”

The TARDIS clicks open the door in appreciation. 

“Oh! Could you keep me as far away from the robot as possible?” You pause for a moment before adding, “And the Doctor as well?”

The lights in the room flicker twice. A resounding yes. 

— — —

“Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”

“I went to get ice for her leg, but when I returned, she was no longer there.”

The hologram of the Doctor flickers as he runs through his hair in frustration. He had just saved a ship filled with thousands of people from getting spaghettified by a blackhole and not one moment later he gets news that his wife is “missing”. The Doctor doesn’t jump to conclusions just yet. He knows how much you hated J-ROD following you around. He really does take your criticism to his hearts—truly, he does—but he’s been so busy lately. Your pregnancy sparked a tsunami of anxiety he’s never felt before. He distracts himself with other things to keep his mind off of the fact that he’s going to be a father, again. 

He knows you’ve been a bit…antsy these past few days. Your fuse has been rather short and he tries his absolute hardest to appease your every whim. 

Okay maybe not every whim. He was firm in his stance with keeping J-ROD at your side at all times when he’s not there. Not even a strenuous night in bed would budge him (it took every ounce of willpower to stay firm in his decision). 

But the Doctor foolishly underestimated his own wife’s cunning. If you had your mind set on something, there was no law of physics that could keep you from accomplishing your goals. You weren’t really gone, just hiding from the robot.

Once he’s back in the TARDIS, you would come out and have a nice long chat about safety. 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Have you checked our bedroom? Bathroom? Closets? She has a track record of burrowing under the clothes like a cat.” 

“I’ve checked fifty separate bedrooms and bathrooms, the nursery, and the library.”

A frustrated sigh left his lips. 

The main lobby of the ship is lively with various beings, celebrating their survival. The Doctor, however, tucked away in his own corner of the room, overthinking himself to paranoia. You were fine, you had to be. You’re his beautiful, tough, resilient wife. There’s no way you can get lost in the TARDIS. 

But you were pregnant and out of sight from your automated caregiver. 

The Doctor is blunt with his good-byes, shouting at people to “get a move on!”. He pushes through the crowds of people bunched up in narrow hallways. The large cruise spaceship is bustling with vigor at the Doctor’s success. People rush to meet him, to give their thanks, but the Doctor has one thought on his mind. 

He practically sprints towards the TARDIS which he parked near the kitchen. Chefs and waiters jump out of his way, their food trays nearly spilling over the floor. 

“Sorry! Wife emergency!” he calls as he jumps over a trolley of food. 

The staff exchanges concerned glances as the Doctor forcefully slams into the pantry. The TARDIS slots perfectly inside, imposing and glorious in the low light. Some lingering staff peer into the pantry in curiosity. 

“Are you going to leave before the big feast?” one of the waiters asks. His large, bug-like eyes take in the blue space-timecraft.

The Doctor fumbles with this key and manages to get it into the lock. “I’ve got something much more important to worry about, but I’ll come back for dessert!” He slips in the TARDIS and slams the door shut. A half second later he swings the door open again. “Keep a baked alaska for me, would you? Love a fire on a dessert. Well my wife does. Remind me to come back for it.”

With a final slam of the door and click of a lock, the staff slowly inch away from the mysterious blue box. They didn’t get a chance to tell him that they have no idea what the Doctor meant by a “baked alaska”. 

A chef with a fish-like head leans over to his co-worker. “How are we gonna tell him the food’s ready though?”

“I don’t get paid enough to know,” the co-worker replies.

— — —

You nearly forgot how quiet the TARDIS can be without J-ROD or the Ponds constantly nagging you 24/7. 

After a lengthy shower you slipped into the comfiest pajamas. The temperature of the room was set, the lighting was subdued, and the comforter felt like pure nirvana. The pregnancy pillow that Amy bought fit snugly against your tired body. Your head was buzzing with dopamine, excited for a perfect sleep. 

No J-ROD to come to annoy you. Just peace and quiet. 

You get comfortable in the bed, hugging tightly to your pillow and closing your eyes. But there’s one thing missing from your perfect sleep. 

Your husband. 

He’s been gone an awful lot lately. It worries you how much time he spends doing quests across the universe and leaves little time to be with you. Of course you knew that saving people’s lives comes before everything else, but it still stings. The beginning of your pregnancy was wonderfully domestic. The Doctor was extremely caring, doting on you with so much love and attention that you were overconfident that your pregnancy would be the easiest in the universe. 

You noticed his demeanor changed when your bump started to show. His love for you never dulled if your sex life was anything to go by. He wasn’t angry or upset or disgusted by you. It was the fear that changed. The closer you approached your due date, the more protective he became. He’s lost so many. You know bits and pieces of his previous lives and the families he’s accumulated over his very long life. You were not his first wife, his first love, and your child was not his first daughter. 

You are his one true love. He whispers that title into your skin when he makes love with you. The Doctor said it when he first asked you to be his. The Doctor declares it loudly at your wedding. You feel it in the way he stares at you like you are the reason he even breathes at all. 

His tears dripped onto your first sonogram as he laughed with all the joy a father could have. His hands are warm against the growing bump in your belly. He doesn’t regret marrying you or having a child with you. At least, you hoped he didn't.

Behind that joy, you can see the what ifs intrusively pop into his mind. It’s scary to confront the idea that you are only human and that means you are always going to be vulnerable. He’s lost too many, all because they are near him. What does that mean for the closest person in his orbit?

Maybe you were too harsh to the clunky robot. But you wished that the Doctor himself would come to nag you instead of having a stupid robot to do it for him. Is that too much to ask for? To have your husband by your side every night, whispering to you in Gallifreyan to lull you to sleep?

You’re too tired to cry, but your heart feels heavy in your chest. You just wished that the Doctor would stop worrying and enjoy this pregnancy with you. 

It doesn’t take long for your eyelids to droop and the thoughts in your mind to fade. The TARDIS dimmed the lights the moment your heart rate slowed to a steady rhythm. 

— — —

The first thirty minutes of searching didn’t go according to plan.

Checking the cameras for your last known location and wrangling the TARDIS to reveal your room should’ve been the easiest task the Doctor had to perform. Just a couple of clicks, no big deal. 

What the Doctor didn’t anticipate was for the TARDIS to completely override his commands and show him a blank wall of text instead of the camera feeds.

SHE IS SLEEPING.

The Doctor could not believe his eyes. Does the TARDIS sometimes take him to wrong places or stubbornly not work? Yes, but never had she outright communicated that she’s actively defying him. 

“Well could you at least be so courteous and tell me where my beautiful wife is resting in?” the Doctor asks hopefully. “I would really, really appreciate it if you could ease my worry. C’mon Sexy, just for me?”

The text deletes itself before a new phrase appears. 

SHE WILL COME OUT WHEN NOT SLEEPING.

It’s times like these where the Doctor is aware that the TARDIS favors you over him. And she doesn’t make it subtle either. 

No matter, the Doctor is a master at figuring out a solution. It’s his bread and butter. Or fishsticks and custard. 

An hour passes and no sign of you. 

Does he panic? His two hearts are pounding and his clothes feel a lot damper than earlier. But that’s because he’s running around hallways, devising a plan to override the TARDIS’s control over the cameras. He never panics. Never. 

Hour three in for your search, the Doctor managed to land the TARDIS on top of Brian William’s lavender bush. He stumbles out into the yard with a jumble of wires in his fist and suspenders loose on his shoulders.

“Rory! Amy!” the Doctor calls as he barges into the house. 

He walks past a startled Rory, wearing a robe and a cuppa in his hand. The tea sloshes dangerously outside the rim of the cup with how fast the Doctor breezed by him. 

“Doctor? What are you doing here?”

Rory’s words reached deaf ears. The Doctor pulls the cushion seat from the couch, inspecting the inside and tossing the cushion over his shoulder. He walks to the mudroom to open the coat closet, splitting the racks of outerwear apart. “Amelia Pond! Where are you and your husband?”

“Doctor—”

“Not now Rory, I'm busy!” the Doctor interrupts while running up the stairs. 

“Doctor, I'm right here!” Rory calls. “Doctor!”

The Doctor rushes back downstairs and finally looks at Rory. The smile on his face is infectious. “Well why didn’t you say it before?” He walks down and gives Rory a big hug. It’s a miracle that the tea in Rory’s hand is not all over the floor. “Where's the missus? I have a very, very important mission.”

“Important enough to break into my dad’s house and squash his garden?”

The Doctor’s face turns serious. ”End of the world, galaxies imploding, world ending mission.”

Rory wiggles himself out of the Doctor’s surprisingly strong grip. He’s spent enough time around the Doctor to know when his sense of urgency and the dread in his voice are just hyperbole. “You said the same thing twice.”

“It means it’s twice as important to say.” The Doctor opens the cabinets and takes a porcelain mug into his arms. “(Y/N) is missing.”

That makes Rory’s thoughts screech to a halt. “W-What? Missing? As in ‘kidnapped’ missing?” 

The Doctor’s face looks grave, believable enough to have Rory’s stomach drop to the pits of Hell. “Missing as in the TARDIS won’t tell me which room she’s sleeping in.”

All at once Rory’s sympathies fly out of the open yard door. 

“When you said that galaxies might implode, I thought that there’s a Death Star the size of Andromeda that’s pointed at us. Not that (Y/N) got sick of you and quarantined herself.” Rory drops down on the kitchen table, finally getting a sip of his perfect tea. 

“First of all, she’s not sick of me,” the Doctor grumbles.

The Doctor yanks a follicle of Rory’s hair, to which the man jumped in pain. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“I’m the Doctor, she can never get sick. What a preposterous notion. I thought you got through medical school.” The Doctor grabs a slab of machinery from his pocket and puts the piece of hair into it. “And secondly, it is world-ending and galaxy-imploding because without her by my side, my entire universe is at stake! How am I going to be in tip-top shape to save galaxies if she’s not next to me? Think, Rory!”

Rory rolls his eyes, not wanting to give the Doctor more attention and potentially fuel his delusions. It’s nice to know that all these years, the Doctor is still in love and protective over you. However it gets to a point where the Doctor’s eccentric personality can get a bit…much. 

“Oh! Doctor is that you?” Amy asks, walking through the kitchen with her father-in-law in tow. 

Brian’s face lights up at the Doctor. “Ah, my favorite man!”

The Doctor jumps up from his chair with his hands held high. “More people for the cause!”

“I thought I was your favorite man?” Rory questions his father. 

“You’re my favorite son,” Brian corrects with a wink. 

The Doctor rounds the table and gives Amy and Brian each a rib squeezing hug. Amy returns with equal enthusiasm and a peck on a cheek. Brian pats the Doctor’s back with a smile before looking out to where the TARDIS is parked. 

Instantly Brian’s mood sours. “My lavenders! Oh, my poor sweet things.” 

“Lavenders? Really?” the Doctor asks, tossing his gadget at the table. “My wife is missing and all you can think about is squashed…purple…foliage? I think some hydrangeas will be far more fitting for your landscape. Squashing those? Now that would be a tragedy.”

“Wait, (Y/N) is missing?” Amy asks with a mouth full of a muffin. 

“Don’t,” Rory warns. “He’s being dramatic again. The TARDIS is just hiding her away from her mad husband.”

“Don’t listen to him Amy!” The Doctor zips through the kitchen, rummaging through every cabinet and drawer he can get his hands on. “This is a matter of life or death. Well, equivalent to death since it would be very hard to kill me. But it doesn’t mean the pain won’t hurt!”

Brian, Rory, and Amy watch as the Doctor takes miscellaneous parts from their kitchen and connects them to his lump of metal and circuits. Scraps of plastic jut out from the side, a few red and blue wires are exposed, and a shoelace from one of Rory’s shoes is dangling out of it. Rory thought better than to try to retrieve it; silently saying goodbye to his favorite blue shoelace with gold aglets. 

I’ll bully (Y/N) into buying me a new one, Rory vows. 

Amy flicks one of the exposed wires. “What exactly is this supposed to do?”

“Something to override a very smart and very stubborn machine,” the Doctor says, as if it was obvious. “Whenever I try to access my security feeds, the TARDIS scans my DNA and knows that I’m trying to locate (Y/N). The cameras are only accessed by me through the same recognition software. By taking a specimen from Rory, I would trick the recognition software and the TARDIS into revealing (Y/N)! Perfect. Spectacular. Genius, if you will.”

The Doctor presents his gadget with a smug grin and his head held high, like a primary school student showing off their baking soda volcano for their science fair. 

Amy takes one look at the misshapen heap of junk and asks: “Couldn’t you have just asked me or Rory to ask the TARDIS to reveal her location? We won’t need the cameras if we can ask the TARDIS directly.”

The smile on the Doctor’s face is wiped clean off. He mulls over Amy’s question in his head, not wanting to give her the satisfaction that—technically, hypothetically speaking—it could work. But his few seconds of silence and the look on his face told Amy all she needed to know. 

“My way is guaranteed not to fail,” the Doctor insists, snatching his gadget and going towards the TARDIS. 

Amy and Rory share a crisp high-five for her victory. 

— — —

You slept like a content rock for hours. Barely shifting in the bed with how exhausted you were. You would’ve kept drooling on your pillow if it wasn’t for the fact that the TARDIS decided to turn on the lights unexpectedly. 

“Fuck!” you groan, rubbing your eyes. It’s a little difficult to pull your body upright, but after a few tries (and grabbing onto the headboard), you hauled yourself up. “Please tell me you had a good reason to interrupt my sleep.”

Then you hear it.

The yelling. Things moving around. Shoes clacking loudly against the floors. The unmistakable voice of your husband barking orders and Amy’s shrill words directed back at him. 

The door to the room swings open with a disheveled Doctor entering in. His brown hair is flying every which way around his head. His cherry-red bowtie is askew, likely from fidgeting with it from worry. His face is flushed at the cheeks and tips of his ears—a telltale sign that he’s been running. 

When he sees your woken up and disheveled appearance, you see his face light up like a Christmas tree. 

“(Y/N)!” The way he calls your name like he’s coming home from war makes your heart pound in your chest. He gently presses you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “I miss your skin. Have I ever mentioned your hormones make your skin feel amazing, I mean—”

“Doctor,” Amy warns, pointing a finger at him. The last thing she needs to see (or hear) is the two of you getting too lovey-dovey in front of her. 

“I’m here, I’m here, love.” You return his sudden affection, kissing the side of his neck and sighing. “What’s gotten into you?”

Amy and Rory drag themselves into the room looking like they’re one step away from passing out. Amy leans against the doorway, smiling at the two of you and Rory looks relieved for the shouting to be over. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Amy groans. “Over six hours of scrambling around the TARDIS and having the Doctor yell at us.” 

“‘End of the world’ my ass,” Rory whispers under his breath. 

“Language!” the Doctor says, pulling himself away from you. “It’s true. The world was ending—or rather my world is ending. Which still counts since my world and the world overlap, but that’s neither here nor there. Point is…”

The Doctor hesitates. Yes, he knows he was being extremely dramatic and unnecessarily fretting over you, but he can’t help but care so deeply for you. 

Amy nudged Rory, nodding towards the door. “We’ll take this as our queue to leave.”

“And to rest,” Rory says as he stretches. 

Amy tugs her husband by the collar, giving you a small wink as she leaves. 

The Doctor looked like a sad, kicked puppy. His hair is still wild and his posture is hunched as if he’s carrying a heavy burden. His hand cups the swell of your belly, his thumb affectionately along the rounded surface. Your fingers glide through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you tame his erratic follicles. 

When was the last time you got to touch him like you had all the time in the world? He’s always been a ball of energy, going every which way across the universe. You could never keep up with his movements, with pregnancy only slowing you down. Time spent together felt intense, irritating, or simply too emotional. 

You clear your throat, pulling his attention towards you. “I was really upset earlier. I mean really upset. I didn’t like how you would worry so much that I was starting to think that you were having second thoughts.”

“About?” 

“Fatherhood.” You feel the sting of tears in your eyes, but your resolve to get this off your chest won over. “You installed more cameras, you made the Ponds take turns to watch me, you built a clunky robot to annoy me everywhere…you were out there trying to save people but I felt so lonely here. I can’t enjoy my pregnancy if you’re not here with me.”

All at once, the Doctor wanted to grovel on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. You were right, his overprotectiveness was going too far. He knew on some level that he shouldn’t tell his pregnant wife what was good for her. He may be the Doctor, but he cannot control your feelings. 

The hand that was cupped around your belly moves up to your cheek. The Doctor looked at you like you were the most cherished thing in the entire universe. Full of warmth and love that showed he truly meant to have your best interest at heart. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he admits quietly. Rarely does he ever say outright that he’s wrong, but he will push aside his stubbornness for those he loves. “You’d think that after nearly a millennium of time you are prepared for anything. I used to be a father once, long ago, so this shouldn’t scare me. But it did—still does if I’m honest. But there’s one thing I will never, ever regret.”

“Which is?” you hum. 

“Two things actually,” he corrects. “One was asking you to spend the rest of your life with me—”

You snort. “More like begging me to marry you.”

“As I was saying—” The Doctor pokes your side, causing you to squirm and laugh in his ear. “—the second was building this family with you. I was protective of you and our baby girl because you two are the most important things in this universe. Above jammy dodgers and those little rubber ducks that come in all those fun colors.”

“Those two things cannot be your second choices of ‘important things in the universe’.”

The Doctor shifts closer to you, bumping his long nose against yours. “If it were up to me, you would take all the slots in that ranking.”

You lean closer until your lips tickle over his. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

When he finally closes the small gap between you, the last thing on your mind was another nap. 

— — —

The TV in the entertainment room of the TARDIS glowed brightly in the dim room. Amy is tucked under Rory’s arm, stealing handfuls of buttery popcorn as they watch another superhero movie. Amy’s choice, of course, since she was the one who was able to override the TARDIS’s control over the cameras. Rory wasn’t too picky with films as long as there was good enough dialogue. 

“You can put down the umbrella,” the magician says through the screen.

The blonde hero, and lead character of the movie, wearily sets down said umbrella. A wind blasts his face before he is teleported to a different part of the magician’s home. 

Rory points to the magician, who is doing a location spell. “He could’ve saved us six hours of our lives and found (Y/N).”

“Just be glad the TARDIS didn’t spit us back out in space.” Amy sets the empty popcorn bucket down, never taking her eyes off of the screen. 

“I’ve been falling…for thirty minutes!” the deuteragonist yells in anger. 

Rory shrugs. “He deserved it.”

“Totally.”

Just as the main villain of the movie was getting revealed, the door to the entertainment room swung open. Bright light from the hallways spilled into the room, causing Rory and Amy to shield themselves like vampires getting scorched by sunlight.  

“What is it this time?” Amy growls, ready to throw a dense pillow to whoever interrupted her movie. She had to smuggle it from the future for crying out loud!

The Doctor pants from the doorframe. His appearance was more ruffled than they had last seen him, with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and his belt hanging loose on his hips. A few rosy bite marks are visible along his jaw and Amy fights the juvenile urge to gag loudly. 

“Can’t you put some clothes on?” Rory asks, turning away from the Doctor. 

Usually, the Doctor would respond with a snarky quip about how he already has clothes on, but no such quip leaves his lips. 

It takes a second for the Doctor to move his mouth to communicate his shock. When it does, it nearly leaves the Ponds speechless. 

“Her water broke.”

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[chrissturnsfav]

fuckgirl!reader flirting with loser!matt, but she’s drunk so he’s just acting all nonchalant abt it

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt babysits drunk fuckgirl!reader

the bass thumps in your chest, the music a relentless pulse that matches the dizzying swirl of the room. everything’s fuzzy—lights blurring into streaks, voices overlapping into a symphony of noise. you don’t remember how many drinks you’ve had, but it’s definitely more than you should’ve.

and then there’s matt. sweet, awkward matt.

"matt," you whine over the music that echoes in your ears, drawing out his name, your hand reaching for his sleeve. your fingers barely graze the fabric before you lose balance, tumbling halfway into his lap.

he catches you, because of course he does, his reflexes sharper than you’d expect. "careful," he says, voice dry but not unkind.

"i am careful," you insist, dragging yourself up and planting one hand on his chest for stability. it’s a nice chest—solid under your palm. "you’re just in my way."

"can we go upstairs?" you say feigning sweetness with a crooked smirk, your breath warm against his neck.

"nah." he leans back and manspreads on the couch, cool as ever, like he’s immune to your charms. it’s sickening.

"why not?" you pout, tugging at his arm. your dress rides up as you move, not that you care—matt’s the only one looking, and isn’t that the point?

"because you’re drunk kid," he says simply, tilting his head like he’s assessing whether you’re about to topple over again.

"so?" you challenge, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "you’re supposed to take care of me, aren’t you? that’s what guys do at parties, right? fuck pretty girls?"

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go when you wrap your arms around his neck. "m'not fucking you kid," he snickers.

you groan, a little too loud, and press your forehead against his. "you’re no fun, matt. chris would fuck me. he would probably die for the chance."

"yeah, but i’m not chris," he says, gently disentangling your arms from his neck.

"clearly," you mutter, falling back onto the couch in a dramatic heap. you look up at him, your eyes hooded and pleading. "don’t you think i’m pretty, though?"

he snorts, shaking his head. "nice try."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you demand, half-offended, half-sickened by how unaffected he is.

"it means you’re wasted, and you’re not gonna trick me into saying something stupid," he says, leaning down to pull a blanket off the back of the couch. he drapes it over your legs, ignoring your protests.

"you’re boring," you declare, crossing your arms with a drunken frown.

"and you’re a fucking mess," he counters, his smirk softening into something almost fond. "but don’t worry. i’ve got you."

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect—soft and steady, but somehow leaving a mark. it makes your chest tighten, your thighs hot, and your stomach flip.

you know he’s just being responsible matt, always the boring one, always the one making sure things don’t spiral out of control. but the way his eyes linger on yours, the hint of warmth behind the teasing, makes you need him even more.

you grab his hand, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "matt," you say again, but this time it’s quieter, your voice dipping into something softer, almost vulnerable.

"what now?" he asks, half-laughing, though his hand doesn’t pull away.

"just one little kiss, at least. please?" you say, your voice dropping into something softer, more pleading.

he laughs, shaking his head like you’re ridiculous. "not happening."

"you're the fucking worst," you whine, ripping your hand from his and sinking into the couch again.

"sleep it off kid," he says, his voice softer now. "you’ll thank me later."

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: the way i literally was writing this without even seeing this anon! i was abt to publish it and then checked my inbox and i was like :o that's perfect. so i copy and pasted the draft here.

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[soapyblubbles]

*.•° 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 °•.*

pairings: poly!marauders x nymph!reader

summary: james introduces you to his two friends

warnings: implied “sharing.” do with that what you will.

a/n: who was gonna tell me that i actually have to check my inbox to know if i have asks 🙊 anyways this is set before pieces of me !! this is dedicated to the anon who asked me about nymph!reader back in august 😭

You tug roughly on James’ arm, mindlessly cooing as you pull him deeper into the cave.

He doesn’t understand anything that you’re saying, but still he nods along enthusiastically, intently focused on each syllable that leaves your mouth. You had been surprised when he showed up earlier than usual, especially when you realized he had brought others along with him.

The two trail behind uncertainly, their rising alarm resting sour on your tongue.

The long-haired one made you especially wary.

He doesn’t show any outward signs of being nervous but you sense emotions better than most. His wild energy puts you on edge. His aura is bitter, like the unripe fruit that dangles from the trees that tower over you when you journey into the forest. There’s also a hint of sweetness reminiscent of the nectar that the bees sometimes bring you.

If the long-haired one is the fruit then the tall one is the branches, balancing out his companions' wild nature with his never ending patience. That’s not to say he doesn’t have any chaos of his own. You can feel it writhing underneath his skin, especially when he shifts around every now and again, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. Though you think that it might be because of how he’s forced to hunch over every now and again, the tips of his hair brushing against the jagged ceiling whenever the floor of the cave gets too uneven.

The taste of honey dew makes your mouth water, along with a richness similar to the dark colored treats James brings you every once in a while.

“Are we almost there?” James’ hushes them and a frown forms on both their faces. You peer at them with interest.

“James.” The tall one scolds, his throat raspy with sleep. “Don’t ignore us.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yes, yes, we’re almost there. Merlin, all you have to do is wait a few more bloody minutes.”

“Well excuse me if I decide to ask a couple questions when you drag me in the middle of the forbidden forest at this hour.” The tall one hisses back, looking far more lively than he had moments before.

You tug on James’ sleeve, straightening up as his attention instantly falls back to you. “Yes, love?”

You gesture to the cave, turning back to stick your tongue out at the two behind you. Although they're infinitely confused, there’s no doubting the fact that you’ve piqued their interest.

“Bloody brat.” The two mutter in unison.

James ignores them, trying his best to listen to your incomprehensible, but excited mutterings.

“Found the poor thing bathing in a creek when I was roaming around as Prongs.” James sighs, clutching his wand tightly as he walks the familiar path.

They stop just as you reach the entrance to what looks like a house, gazing around in awe as the glass bottles and mason jars start to come to life, fireflies moving around in them restlessly. The unnatural glow coming from the small pond by the back alcove couldn’t be from anything but magic. You lead them further into the room, pointing to the small collection of rocks and other random items, sorted in a chaotic manner.

“Wow.” The shorter one whispers breathlessly.

You push James on your makeshift bed, made up of moss and hay. You sidle up to his side with a contented hum. “Brought her some stuff when I could. But for now I figured I’d share her with m’best mates.”

They both pause at that.

“What?”

“Trust me, the poor thing can barely even understand us.” He assures his tall friend.

Seeing how unconvinced they still were, he sighs and turns to you. You perk up at his attention, letting the small stones you were messing with fall to the floor as you give him a bright smile.

“You’re just a dumb little nymph aren’t you?” He coos down at you. You nod along eagerly, eyes shining with adoration as he mocks you.

“Such a dumb girl, who’s my dumb girl, huh?” His voice was not unlike the voice one would use when speaking to a puppy and you just smiled along, practically bouncing in place at his upbeat tone. You latch onto his arm, fiddling with the fabric on his jacket.

James sighs at your actions, pulling you closer into him, your teeth making a soft ‘click’ every time you bite down on the material.

Sirius gives Remus a heavy look, the long haired boy looking doubtful when Remus walks over, hunching over you. His slender finger trails up and down your calf. “Such a pretty girl.”

You must’ve understood what he said because no sooner did those words leave his mouth, did your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him forward harshly.

With a speed that surprised even him, his arms shot out to either side of your head, letting out a loud groan as a few small rocks dug into his palms, just barely managing to stop himself from crushing you.

You let out a series of loud clicking and chirping noises, unaware of how improper your actions were. He lets out a huff, rising to his knees as you continue to babble nonsensically. “You don’t do that. You understand? Tha’s not nice and someone could’a gotten hurt.” His tone is firm and you squirm in place, peering up at him with wide eyes.

James had never spoken that way to you before.

Bashfully, you turn away from him, hiding your face in the crook of James’ neck. “Hey mate, don’t be rude to my best girl. Just cause I’m sharing ‘er doesn’t mean you need to be a prick to the poor thing.” He grumbles, petting your head softly.

Remus just sighs, shaking his head at you two before calling out, “Are y’just gonna stand there all evenin’?”

Sirius, who was still wandering around the cave, shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “Sorry mate, s’just cool in here.” He moves to sit down, but freezes when your head snaps to him. You bare your teeth, hissing with furrowed brows as you eye the way he’s just a little too close to James.

James lets out a booming laugh as Sirius’ features morph into a scowl.

Remus slaps James’ arm. “Be nice.”

[boopiemadz]

hi!!! it’s me again (sorry) because I had an idea but am struggling to write it and would love to see ur take on like. Travis who’s insecure about his weight. this might be a little weird but like im lowk insecure about my stomach and im projecting onto a male character who’s not shown w/ abs. i wonder if he’d be insecure about it and what it’d take for reader to comfort him.

also bonus points if he’s sensitive there! let the poor boy smile ffs

no pressure obviously and im sorry for lowk spamming your inbox but would luv to know your thoughts (blurb or hcs idc) :)

- 🧸🍓

NEVER apologize for sliding into my inbox ‼️

This killed me oh my shrimp, like my shayla... 😭 Hope this does this fantastic prompt justice. (and yes this is going in my popular reader collection)

!Populargirl X !LoserTravis

"Because its you." (blurb)

(collection masterlist)

You’ve noticed it for weeks now - the way he won’t take off that dang hoodie.

It’s been summer for a while. Real summer. Thick, humid, sticky heat. The kind where everyone sleeps half-naked and jumps into the lake just to feel human again.

But Travis?

Hoodie. Every day. Sleeves past his knuckles, the neckline stretched from being pulled on and off too many times. And even when he’s sweating through it, even when the sun is brutal, he won’t take it off.

Not even when he’s alone with you.

Which you are now.

It started as another pretend chore - gathering firewood. That’s what you told the others when you and Travis slipped off together, not that anyone was fooled. Van winked. Nat just rolled her eyes. But nobody followed.

You’d made out before - behind the cabin, by the lake, once in the wreckedge of the crash when no one was around. Now you’re pinned between him and a tree, his hands grip your hips like he’s scared you’ll vanish. You thread your fingers through his curls, tugging just enough to make him shiver. He’s always careful, like he thinks he’s doing something wrong by wanting you. But you’ve learned how to get him to melt - touch his jaw, whisper his name, kiss like the world’s ending because maybe it already has.

You let your hands slip under your shirt and pull it over your head. It sticks a little from sweat. When it drops into the dirt, Travis pulls back like he’s trying not to stare - but he does.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

You smile a little. “You can touch me.”

He does. Slowly, palms grazing up your sides, fingertips so light it tickles.

And then - you reach for the hem of his hoodie. That’s when he flinches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just shifts, steps back slightly, hands falling from your body like he suddenly remembered he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

Your stomach sinks.

“Travis?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes. “I’m just, I’m hot.” You blink. “So take it off?” He freezes.

You tilt your head. “You never take it off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that it’s 90 degrees and you’re out here sweating like a sinner in church. I’ve seen you wear it every single day.”

He’s already retreating into himself, arms crossing over his chest, eyes on the leaves at your feet. “It’s not a big deal.” You soften.

“Okay,” you say, carefully. “But… you flinched when I tried.” He shrugs. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Can I ask something?”

He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t stop you either.

“…Are you hiding from me?”

That gets his eyes on yours. Wide, defensive. “No.” You nod, but don’t look away. “Then why won’t you let me see you?”

He exhales through his nose. Jaw tight. Voice tight, too. “It’s not - I don’t know. I just don’t like how I look, okay?”

You don’t move. You just wait.

“I know I’m not-” He cuts himself off.

“Not what?”

He scuffs his shoe into the dirt. “Not like… the guys in magazines or whatever. The ones girls actually want.” That hits you in the chest.

You step forward. “You think I don’t want you?”

He finally looks at you. “I think you’re nice. And… really pretty. And maybe bored. I don’t know.” Your heart aches.

You reach for him, slow, so he can stop you if he needs to. Your hand lands just over his hoodie, on the soft curve of his stomach.

“Travis. I’m not bored.”

He says nothing.

“I took my shirt off because I trust you. Because I want you to know and see me.”

He blinks.

You glance down at yourself. “This body - used to be the thing I hated most about myself. I spent years sucking it in for photos, never eating in front of boys. Always trying to shrink.”

He stares at you like you just told him something unthinkable. “You’re-” he starts. “You’re… literally the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“And I still feel gross sometimes,” you say. “Even now. Even with you.” He swallows.

You shift your hand slightly, still over his hoodie. “You don’t have to take it off. But you don’t have to hide, either. Not from me.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then, slowly, he grips the bottom hem and tugs the hoodie up. It gets stuck halfway. He fumbles, mutters “damn it,” and you help him, gentle fingers pulling it over his head.

And then he’s standing there, shirtless, not breathing.

You look.

Not with judgment. Not with anything but care.

He’s real. Not sculpted, not ripped. Soft in places. Freckled and flushed. Hands at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He huffs a nervous laugh. “You’re really beautiful.”

He shakes his head, half-smiling, embarrassed. You step close again, rest your hands right on the spot he always tries to hide.

“I like this,” you whisper.

“You do?”

You nod.

"Because its you."

And maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s the way you say it like a promise. Because his arms wrap around you suddenly, tightly, like he’s trying not to cry. He presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t know how to feel okay,” he admits, voice low.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper. “You just have to let me show you you’re worth being seen.”

His hands are shaking, but when you kiss him this time, soft, slow. He kisses you back like he believes you.

A/N-

none... i have thoughts but they are too confusing to write down lol

[cynisterstuffs]

Mornings Were Made For This.

Author's note.

I AM FINALLY BACK WITH A NEW POST. Thank you so much for the support on my last fic for IvanTill titled "Paint Me Like One Of Your French Girls". I was so so happy to see quite a lot of you enjoyed it! Please don't hesitate to send comments and inboxes for requests because it will make me happy and eager to see you all enjoy and I want to know what you enjoy so I can write it HEHE. I will do Alien Stage, Honkai Star Rail, and Genshin, maybe even JJK fics, but I will mostly focus on Alien Stage and HSR. I ALSO DO X READER. PLEASE SEND REQUESTS, LOVE YOU ALL.

| MDNI - smut fic, will include the ff: M4F ,, morning sex ,, intimate sex ,, piv ,, oral (female receiving) ,, soft hyuluka (sobs i want what they have) ,, whimpering luka ,, they're married your honor ,, slight talk about having a baby so breeding kink a little? ,, very adorable aftercare ,, actor luka and hyuna !! luka not purely sub bc i think he is the type to take control but only bc he wants to pleasure so-so much hehehe

word count: 3.1k words.

The sun was shining, seeping through the closed curtains of the married couple's room. The soft chirps of birds were heard outside, and the soft hum of the AC inside, it made the air cool making the warmth beneath the blanket feel sacred for the two.

"Luka"

The blonde was curling up to his wife, eyes closed, face buried on her back, and his arms wrapped around her waist. His fingers would brush against her stomach, the soft cotton of her shirt a balm to the tips of his fingers.

Warm, she was so warm.

"Hyuna"

He replied lazily as he pulls her closer, hand slowly rubbing her stomach, his head lifted now to rest on her shoulder as he spoons her in the cozy warm bed. Luka's nimble fingers would slowly lift Hyuna's shirt but it would go back down with the motion of his hand.

"What time is it?" Hyuna murmurs as her eyes slowly opened, light blue eyes adjusting to the seeping light from the window. She yawns before she felt lips against her neck, pecking softly and even to her shoulders as Luka tugs her shirt's sleeve to expose the skin.

"Hmm... too early to leave" Luka murmurs under his breath, voice thick with sleep. He pressed soft kisses on her shoulders before he gently brushes her long dark brown hair to the side and began to kiss her nape. As he trailed pecks and kisses—one more intimate than the last—on the vulnerable spot of her neck, his hand was now against the bare skin of her stomach after slipping under Hyuna's shirt.

"Don't you have a photoshoot today?" Hyuna replied, a soft sigh leaving her lips as she surrendered to the soft kisses of her darling husband. She leaned her body closer as if seeking for his warmth, eyes still half lidded. "Your fans will think I kidnapped you. Again" she chuckled softly, another sigh of pleasure leaving her lips. He just knew where to touch and kiss to get a reaction from her.

Luka hums softly and chuckles, his kisses non-stop against her smooth tan skin. "I'll make it up to them" he smiles against her nape, and his hand slowly tracing circles against her abdomen. "You're more important, wife" he coos as Hyuna shakes her head. "We have a schedule today" she grumbled, but despite herself she was not making any effort to stop the blonde. Why would she? Of course she loved this. Luka's adorable and clingy nature.

"You say that but you make zero effort to stop me" Luka says his kisses now slowly turning into soft nibbles. "In fact, you lean into my touch as if you're asking for more"

Hyuna sighs again, soft and shaky as she bit her lower lip.

"You always sigh like that when I kiss your neck... a good indication you're liking this"

Slowly he turned Hyuna to face him and his lips tugged into a smile almost immediately before he buries his face on the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent that was just so her.

His fingers skimmed the curve of her cheek, slow and intent, catching a loose strand of silk-fine hair. With quiet reverence, he tucked it behind her ear—a simple act, made intimate by the way his touch lingered. His fingertips brushed the delicate skin beneath, gentle but charged, as if he feared the moment would break apart if he moved too fast. His lips then pressed softly against her neck, like a feather landing on a surface, before he spoke against her skin, warm breath tickling Hyuna.

"Wanna do it, wife?"

Hyuna's breath hitched as her eyes observed Luka carefully while he reached for her hand and began to press his soft lips against it and making his kisses up her wrist. "Luka..." she breathes out, brows knitted together. "Our schedule–"

"We won't do it if you don't want to" he cuts her off, voice firm. Luka never wanted to make his wife uncomfortable, she was the best thing in his life, her words were that of the heavens for this blonde male. "But... I do really crave for you, my love"

He looks up with those golden eyes that Hyuna just can't say no to. Luka's other hand slipped back down her shirt and slowly traced up, brushing against under her breast whilst his mouth was busy planting his kisses on her palm, wrist and now even up her arm.

"Just tell me no, and I'll stop"

Did Hyuna tell him no?

Hyuna could not hold herself back anymore and with her free hand she pulled him up so finally their lips could meet. The blonde male giggled into the kiss, his hand caressing her waist, the other tangling in her long dark brown locks.

The kiss was passionate, sensual and gentle. They didn't need to rush now that they could not care less about the photoshoot. She was Luka's number 1 priority.

"I am not hearing a no" Luka teased, their lips parting and he pulled her closer making Hyuna chuckle. "How can I say no to you?" she says before pressing a kiss on his cheek. "You're too convincing to say no to"

This made Luka give her a stupidly adorable grin and he pulled her in for another kiss.

Their bodies started to become warmer, the cold AC no longer an issue, in fact the blanket was becoming a nuisance. But that was a problem for later. Right now, Luka was busy trailing his kisses down to her collarbone, his hand now softly cupping her breast, fondling softly.

Oh, she wasn't wearing anything underneath, why would she? They were sleeping earlier. Any woman would remove anything underneath to get a goodnight's sleep.

Hyuna's breath hitched as her hands tangled on his soft blonde locks, her lips parted while her chest heaved up and down. "Luka..."

He knew her too well, like her body was the back of his hand. I guess that's what years of being married does to you.

Her soft hums, sighs, and moans were music to his ears as he squeezed softly at her soft breast. "Hyuna..." he whined slightly. "Let me take it off, please... want to make you feel so good." Hyuna lets out a breathless chuckle before nodding and she lifted her arms for him to tug off her shirt and tossed it elsewhere on the floor.

"So pretty... you're so beautiful, so gorgeous, my dearest wife" He complimented her like it was breathing–it came so natural to him, like it was second nature. His lips then made contact with her breast, giving it soft kisses that tickled Hyuna before giving the valley a long stripe of lick. "So perfect 'f me..."

"Luka... mhmp~"

He was now suckling on her right breast, eyes looking up at her like a sweet puppy. His other hand was occupied in fondling her left, making sure it didn't feel left out. He could worship her body like this every day and every night if she'd let him, let's be honest.

His tongue grazed slightly on the hardened nubs making Hyuna groan, gripping on his shoulders. "Fuck... oh, Luka" her voice was like a melodic tune that only made the blonde do more and more and more to get more of those beautiful sounds. Only he can achieve this.

Hyuna tugs on his pajama top making Luka pull away from her chest, slight drool dripping from the side of his lips before they kissed once more. This time it was slightly more messy, tongue against tongue, swirling and sharing their love for one another.

Slowly, Luka's hand caressed her exposed thighs as she only wore shorts that evening. "Mhm... so pretty, so sensitive for me, Hyuna" he whines against her lips before pulling away. "Ugh, I can't wait anymore... please, please, please" he begged. "Let me please you, okay? Just lie back... let me please you"

Hyuna could see the fire behind those golden eyes that was eager to pleasure her. She smiles and licked her lips, breathing heavily as Luka pushed the blanket off with his feet, fingers now in between her strong legs, pushing against the fabric of her shorts to feel that dripping core.

"Yeah... do as you want Luka, you know what to do, don't you baby?" Hyuna replied, guiding him down, hand pushing at his head slightly, a smirk on her lips. Oh, she could just see how bright his eyes twinkle when she let him.

The blonde male was now kissing her thighs, licking even as he traced up to her inner thigh. He got comfortable between her legs, looking up, gauging each and every one of her reactions. "Mhm~ so good..."

He then began to lick her core through her shorts, wanting to prolong this moment. "Mhm~ you are so pretty Hyuna..." he murmurs, as Hyuna moaned when his fingers pressed at her sensitive clit.

Luka's fingers then reached for the waistband of her shorts and he smiles. "I'll take this off now, gorgeous girl" and with Hyuna lifting her hips up, he was successful.

"Stop staring— ah!"

Without another word, Luka began to lick and suck at her wet cunt like a thirsty man. First his tongue was slow and deliberate, licking long slow stripes to wait for her reaction. When she would moan, eyes rolling back, he took this as a confirmation to keep going. He has done this so many times, he was a master at this point.

Hyuna could feel herself getting lightheaded as his warm wet slick tongue lapped up at her. She was a moaning mess as Luka quickened his pace, tongue licking and even nibbling at her sensitive clit. "L-luka...~"

She gripped on his blonde locks, moans leaving her lips as he lifted her legs on her shoulders, shaking his head to add pleasure for his wife. He looks up at her like her pleasure was his oxygen–like he needed it to breathe.

Luka's saliva and her wet arousal pooled and dripped down his chin and he whimpers, a hand now meeting with her arching cunt. "L-luka– fuck" Hyuna gasped loudly, eyes widening as her hips lifting instinctively to seek out more of him. "Don't stop"

Luka did not need to be told twice–he did not pull away either, just humming in confirmation that sends a vibration for Hyuna as he focused on her clit, lapping up and sucking on it. Of course he would then begin to use his fingers, coating it on her arousal and he giggles, kissing her clit before suckling on it again. "So pretty... so wet f'me honey, yes... that's it, just let me take care of you, pretty"

Slowly he inserted a finger, making Hyuna gasp and throw her head back before whispering a quick "more" which Luka happily obliged to by adding another finger. Slowly, he pumps it into her wet pussy while it made these arousing wet noises that he just could not get enough of. His fingers curled and reached for her sweet spot, wanting to make her feel the absolute best, his mouth never stopping either.

"Oh, fuck... Luka, yes! Fuck, just like that...~ nghh~ I-I am so close... yes~"

And before Luka could react, she indeed came on his face and fingers, coating them with the reward Luka wanted—no, needed—most.

The blonde pulls away panting, pulling his fingers out in the process, a small low laugh leaving his lips. "Hyuna... you look gorgeous"

Hyuna looks down at him, panting heavily, hair sticking to her face due to the sweat, her chest heaving. She was a pretty mess, body twitching slightly as Luka buried his face between her legs again, giggling, his chin dripping with saliva and Hyuna's sweetness.

"Mmm..." he suddenly whines. "Hyuna, darling... why did you shave?" he pouted like a puppy, licking her inner thighs of what's left.

Hyuna grumbled, playing with his hair and she scoffs. "I told you the other day, it's for the photo shoot... I have to wear those bikinis"

She gasped when Luka gave her still sensitive pussy a long lick before he sat up and immediately pulled his pajama top over his head. He was eager, panting. It was clear to the brown haired woman how he was already needy judging by the tent on his pajamas.

"As much as I would love you to return the favor... I can't wait any longer. Fuck, honey... I want to be in you so bad, please let me already. Let me make sweet love with my beautiful wife" he whimpers, tugging his pajamas down and kicking it off as he got on top of her.

"I don't know Luka, I think–" "Please!"

Hyuna wanted to tease him but it was very obvious, looking down at his aching cock, he could not wait any longer. He wasn't lying. That pretty cock might just turn redder and redder if it can't be buried to the hilt inside her warm walls.

"F–fine... you're so spoiled, ahh–!"

"Thank you, thank you, ahhh~" Hyuna was barely finished with her sentence before she felt Luka enter her, stretching her gummy walls so perfectly. He was the perfect fit. She wrapped her arms around him, gasping as Luka adjusted inside and she hid her face on the crook of hid neck. "Oh, Hyuna... you feel so good, just as always. My cock belongs deep inside you, fuck..." he whimpers, hips now moving slightly to pleasure the both of them.

It started slow—his thrusts lazy, almost teasing, as if he wanted the moment to stretch forever. Their lips met again and again, deep kisses soaked in warmth, her legs found his waist, wrapping tightly around him.

She moaned his name—quiet, needy—and something in him snapped. Luka’s breath caught; his hips stuttered once, then drove deeper, harder.

“Please, don't... stop"

He didn’t. He couldn’t. The softness burned into something else—something desperate. His rhythm grew rougher, faster, their bodies colliding with a frantic kind of rhythm, like the world might end if he let up for even a second.

Luka buried his face in the crook of her neck, one hand tangled in the sheets, the other gripping her hip as he chased the sound of her gasps. His control was unraveling with every breath, every pull of her against him. He whimpers, sucking on her neck, nibbling on it. This felt so perfect, her warm gummy walls squeezing him never felt this good before.

"Hyuna" he whimpered, hips moving with urgency. "I-i am gonna come... please, let me come inside of you"

"I want to fill you up" Luka moans in her ear, his hand on her hip gripping tighter as if to ground himself in the moment. "I want to give you everything... even my baby, please... if you'd let me"

Hyuna was in a slight shock, but she couldn't think properly while he was fucking her so good like this. She realized he was serious when he started going deeper, the tip of his cock brushing against her cervix. "L-luka–!"

"I-i need to bury all of me in you... I want to fuck my baby in you, wife... I need to breed you so fucking bad i-is that okay?" he said through moans and panting.

Hyuna's gentle yet shaking hands reached up to cup his face, panting, she then said: "D-do you really mean that...?"

"Yes, yes... more than anything" Luka replies, nodding his head eagerly while his hips could not stop thrusting, wanting more of her – wanting to give her more of him.

Pulling him in for a kiss, Hyuna tightened her legs around his waist and nodded. "Then don't hold b-back... give me all of you, Luka... fuck~!"

That was it. Luka could not hold back anymore. He buried himself to the hilt, stilling inside as he wrapped his arms around Hyuna like a protective and warm cocoon while his body and hers trembled and shook while their orgasm took over. She was a whimpering mess as he thrusts his hips slightly to get it all in her. Fuck.

Ropes of warm cum filled Hyuna as Luka began to press soft kisses around her face. "Pretty... so pretty, beautiful girl... come so pretty f'me... shh, let me take care of you" he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, hand caressing her hair as Hyuna moans, panting, head pressed against his chest.

His heartbeat was fast, and the sound made her feel at ease. The closeness as they reveled in the afterglow of their lovemaking was definitely the best part of mornings like these. "You're gonna have our baby, honey... you're gonna be a pretty mommy"

"I am sorry, did I get too rough on you?" Luka pouts as he cuddled with his wife after wiping her clean. Hyuna only chuckled before sighing. "No, you were amazing... you're so loving, you just know how to take care of me, baby. I love you so much"

The blonde giggled as he peppered her face with kisses, hand rubbing her stomach. "Of course... I love you more, honey. And soon, we'll have a new addition to our love" he grins. "Were you actually serious with that?" Hyuna snorted, eyes closed as she rested against his body. Warm, gentle, home.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Luka said with a dramatic gasp. "I waen't lying. You'll be a pretty mommy... and I'll take care of you, I'll be at your beck and call whenever. Just like always" he kissed her passionately, caressing her cheek before pulling away with a smile.

"Now, what do you want for breakfast, dear wife?" He coos, running his fingers on her hair. Before Hyuna could reply, her phone began to ring and Luka grumbled to reach for it on the bedside table.

Oops, it was their manager.

Right, the photoshoot!

"Hehe, I'll deal with him later. I'll take care of our breakfast first, gotta make sure my gorgeous wife is well fed"

At this point their manager probably has a headache from how often these things happen. He complains, sure. But can he really do anything about it? They're very famous actors and they bring the agency a lot of money! Sigh, oh well. I guess this is what you get when you signed up to manage for married actors.

Worse part is the husband is overly obsessed with his wife. SIIIIIGH.

[kbunzzi2oa]

The night he came back...Min Yoongi...

W.C -• 4.9k

Paring -• Ex!Yoongi × Ex fem!reader

Contains -• Exes to lovers, small smut scene, kissing, taking care, angst, fluff, slow burn,

Synopsis -• After a stormy night, you can't help but take care of your bruised ex boyfriend..

Nef notes! : new small imagine, currently going to post small stuff, I'm working on a SERIES FOR THE FIRST TIME! cant wait! hope you guys like this, my friend recommended me this so yeah! reblogs, comments, or even a like is enough, as always my inbox and chats are open, y'all could always talk to me!..lav y'all!

The night rain came heavy—sheets against the windows, thunder like a grudge in the sky. You were curled on the couch, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, trying to ignore the silence that had filled your apartment since he left. Since Yoongi.

College had pulled you both in opposite directions. Deadlines, miles, depression, anxiety—you’d both cracked under the weight. He hadn’t fought when you said, “We need to break up.” Maybe that’s what hurt most.

You hadn’t seen him in six months.

So when the knock came—three dull thuds—you almost didn’t move.

But something inside you stirred.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Yoongi.

Soaked. Bruised. Blood crusted at the corner of his lip. A split eyebrow. Knuckles scraped. Hoodie clinging to his lean frame like it was trying to keep him from falling apart.

“Yoongi?” your voice trembled.

He blinked at you, swaying. “Hey.”

And then he collapsed.

You dragged him inside, panic overtaking everything. He was heavy but familiar. Warm despite the rain. You set him on the couch, your hands trembling as you flicked on the light.

What the hell happened to you?

He stirred, groaning. “M’fine...”

“You’re not fine.”

You dashed for your first-aid kit. You hadn’t used it in months. Not since he’d cut his palm cooking, and you’d kissed it better.

Now, you knelt beside him, dabbing at his face with warm water and cotton pads, your hands far more practiced than they should’ve been.

He winced. “Still nurse-like, huh?”

You scowled. “Still an idiot, huh?”

His lips twitched, even as he winced. You caught the scent of blood and rain and him—so him it hurt. “Who did this to you?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. Just stared at your lips. Your eyes. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your chest ached. “You could’ve called.”

“I wanted to. A hundred times. But... I didn’t think I deserved it.”

The words sank into your skin like needles. You taped a bandage over his eyebrow, silent. It was easier than asking the questions screaming in your head.

Later, you handed him a towel and let him use your bathroom. When he came out in your ex’s sweatpants—no, not ex, Yoongi’s—and an old tee he used to sleep in, you could barely breathe.

He looked like he belonged here.

He always had.

“Couch or bed?” you asked softly.

He hesitated. “Do you want me to go?”

You didn’t answer. Just turned, walking into your room. When you looked back, he was following.

Yoongi climbed into bed like a ghost returning home. No words. Just the sound of sheets and breath and hearts.

You didn’t sleep.

You stared at the ceiling while his presence pressed into the air like fog. Your back was to him, but every nerve in your body was aware—of his breath, his warmth, the fact that you still remembered how his fingers felt on your skin.

“Why did you come to me?” you whispered.

A long pause.

“Because I didn’t want to be alone when it all finally broke.”

You rolled over. Met his eyes in the dark.

“Yoongi, what happened?”

He was quiet. Then: “A fight. With some guys in a bar. I was drunk. I said something I shouldn’t have. I’ve been... spiraling.”

You swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”

“No."

It was honest. Raw. And that’s what shattered you.

You reached for his hand. Found his fingers cold. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to drag you down again.”

Your voice cracked. “You were never a burden. You were just hurting.”

His grip tightened. “I didn’t know how to fix myself. And i hated that you were always trying.”

“I tried because I loved you.”

The words echoed. Hung in the room like smoke.

Yoongi exhaled. “I never stopped.”

Your breath hitched.

“I wake up thinking of you,” he murmured. “Fall asleep wishing you were next to me. Every day, I tell myself I made the right choice staying away. And every night, I know I didn’t.”

Tears stung your eyes.

He shifted closer, faces inches apart now. “I miss your laugh. Your dumb movies. The way you kissed my neck when you thought I was asleep. I miss you.”

You couldn’t stop it—you reached out, cradling his bruised face, thumbing over the cut on his lip. “You’re still mine,” you whispered.

He nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

The kiss was soft at first.

Cautious.

Like touching flame after months in the cold. But then his hand slid to your hip, and yours into his hair, and it was like no time had passed at all. Mouths remembering. Bodies relearning.

Yoongi groaned against your lips, pulling you closer like he was afraid you’d vanish.

Your breath hitched as his tongue slid over yours, slow and desperate.

You gasped, whispering, “Yoongi—”

And he kissed you deeper.

The tension exploded, like all the pain and want and regret combusted at once. Clothes were pulled off in the dark. You guided him onto his back, straddling him, trailing kisses over the bruises on his jaw, his neck.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed.

“For what?”

“For letting you go.”

He cupped your cheek. “Then don’t let me go tonight.”

It wasn’t rushed.

It was slow, like mourning and rebirth all in one. His hands were reverent, trembling, as he touched your skin like it was sacred. You gasped when he entered you, both of you still and breathless for a moment.

Then he moved.

And it was like poetry written in sweat and skin and gasps. Like every fight, every lonely night, every missed chance was being rewritten.

“God, I missed this,” he rasped against your throat. “Missed you.”

You moaned, fingers digging into his back. “Yoongi... please...”

He kissed you through it. Touched you like he needed to memorize every inch. And when you came, it was with his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer.

He followed, groaning into your neck, his body shaking.

Afterward, he collapsed beside you, breathless, clinging like he was scared you’d vanish.

You didn’t let go.

The morning was grey and soft.

You woke to Yoongi’s arms around you. His breath against your shoulder. His thumb tracing light patterns over your stomach.

“You still love me?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Always.”

“Then I’ll get better. For you. For us.”

Tears welled again. But this time, they were warm.

You turned to face him. “We’ll get better together.”

He smiled—small, broken, but real.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve to heal.”

And when he kissed you again—slow, tender—you believed it.

[silverinkbottle]

Catch and Release pt. 1

Summary: It's been five years since you first met Dracule Mihawk. Things haven't changed, until one night, they do.

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: Explicit references of prostitution, violence, foul language. Sexual Content= fingering, clit stimulation, the wonderful female orgasm. Just slapping on an 18+ warning here now.

F!Reader is a Madam of a ship brothel.

Author Notes: My first ever Tumblr fic! I hope everyone enjoys, I do have more coming down the pipeline! I know my writing style may be a bit different than the usual, so if you have any kind tips please drop an inbox!

Chapter 2 ->

There were times you regretted entering into your agreement with Dracule Mihawk. It was supposed to be a simple exchange of commerce. Your esteemed company on occasion and a consistent exchange of information at the notorious Warlord’s leisure. Mihawk’s favor kept overly enthusiastic pirates and marine alike from harrying the floating brothel.  Profits have never been higher,‘Unexpected’ expenses were almost nil aside from the occasional over indulgent client.

It all worked out. Practically.

A hiss escaped your lips as the leather strings of the corset around your bosom cinched a fraction tighter. Manicured nails dug into the strong wooden bedpost in front of you as you bit down a retort as a telltale ‘tsk’ came from Bathory behind you. 

“Must it be so tight?”

“If you want to show your appreciation properly, yes. It’s a beautiful piece, Madam. It has to be shown properly,” Bathory retorted as the corset’s tug cut off your retort. Thankfully it was the last set of laces as the red-haired woman stepped back with a directed thumb in the direction of the mirror behind her. 

“You are right. For once ” You reluctantly admitted as your fingertips smoothed down one of the many frilled layers of the corset’s bottom half. It was like the delicate flourish of a rose’s crimson petals layering upon each other as the wave of petals crashed into one another, leading to black silk. Small brass buckles no larger than the tip of a knife clicked into place over your bare collar bone to allow the flowing sleeves of fabric to drape down to your wrists.  Tinted lips quirked as a familiar necklace settled over your throat, a delicate little piece of jewelry. One that both infuriated you initially and softened your heart as time went on. A silver dove with its outstretched wings speckled with shattered rubies. The accessory was no larger than the center of your palm, but it felt all the heavier against the top of your sternum.

“Seems almost a shame. Gets you finery to wear and the like but hasn’t done anything with-” Bathory’s snide comment was cut off as the nosey prostitute hastily ducked from an errant steel-backed hairbrush thrown in her direction. The dove’s weight caught your breath as you spun on your stocking covered heel as sharp nails caught Bathory’s blush tinted cheeks. Dark eyes were wide in fear as you fought the urge to sink your nails into her.

“We don’t discuss the arrangements with private clients, Bathory. Ever. If we ever find you smothered in your sleep, we will know it’s because you mouthed off about the wrong client in bed. It will be YOUR fault. So let’s use this past mistake as a lesson,” You hissed before releasing your grip on the woman’s delicate features. Cool anger brushed through your veins as you knew the woman’s snide remark had some truth in it. Your company had been requested frequently, more than several times in the past few months. An unusual uptick. However, it wasn’t for ‘that’, no, the pirate was restless. Bored. As he put it, what better way to pass the time than wind you up before leaving come dawn.

“Bored. I’ll show him. Bored.” You snarled under your breath as you forced yourself to not fidget as Bathory hurriedly finished your dressings. A trademark of your ship, all crew members clad themselves in modified skirts. Their lengths reach down to the feet, but cut window-like at the thigh, bearing stockings and the like. The cut fabric is held up by garter belts and straps at the waist, easily allowing the wearer to sweep aside excess fabric in a curtain-like fashion to be pinned back with a few quick ties. 

“Not my place but-” Bathory’s words were stifled by a whirl of skirts. Your eyes narrowed further as a clear sign that further commentary from her wouldn't be tolerated. Besides, it was all too easy to pick up her next questions. Were you restricted from other clients? No. Why not take a dedicated lover amongst the crew if your needs were so insatiable? 

Because. Boring. Your nails dug into your palm as the mere word floated through mind in that exact infuriating inflection and tone of his. Mihawk made even the mere thought of someone else in your bed, a boring prospect. 

“He’s ruined me, Bathory,” You moaned pitifully as the woman rolled her eyes at your theatrics. It wasn’t something as childish as love. You weren’t that naive. No, it was the rush of excitement that came from being with one of the Warlords of the Sea. The mere sight of the sanctioned pirate made weaker men piss their boots.

“Shall I bring you last month’s berry stash for you to wipe your tears with?” Bathory deadpanned before marching over to your quarter’s door, opening it at the expected knock. 

“You’re up, Hepa. Now quickly before we have to get the salts out for the dramatic Madam Captain’s vapors. We have reached Baratie, right?” Bathory asked as the young man in front of her flashed a bright smile. A wordless confirmation that the docks of the famed restaurant were within eyesight.

“Shall I bring you the salts anyway, Madam Captain?” Hepa snickered as he mockingly offered you his arm to be escorted from the privacy of your quarters through the dimly lit underbelly of the ship. All about you was a flurry of activity as prostitutes and sailors alike moved in a coordinated dance. Gulls cried out their welcome as the flag of the Victoria waved boldly in the bright sunshine. Her Jolly Rodger was that of a blooming white rose, its stem wrapped around by golden chains.

“Madam Captain, afraid we might have some problems with a few select patrons of the Baratie if my memory of the crews are correct. I’ve already spread the word to others about potential issues.”  A hoarse voice addressed you from above as an agile form landed gracefully on the deck, swiping long black bangs from her features. A harsh jagged scar across the woman’s features did little to dim the natural beauty of pale green eyes. However, there were a few that had been deterred by Joan’s prickly nature. The woman wasn’t cowed by anything, not for any amount of money. 

“Does that include yourself, Joan? Wasn’t there that one poor fellow from the 65th Marine regiment that walked off our decks with a few missing digits? I believe your threats to  his wee -” 

Hepa’s recollection was cut off by your hand over his mouth. The crew didn’t need to be reminded of that particular incident. Nor the bribes that to be paid to that Marine’s commanding officer to keep the grievance quiet. It was the first time you heard Mihawk laugh after you complained about the incident. Scoring Joan a few points of respect with the temperamental Warlord upon their next encounter. She was the perfect 1st Mate after all, and had been for the last five years.

Adjusting the center of the small black flat bonnet, the crimson ribbons delicately flowed from the headpiece as you forced a practiced smile on your lips. The games had begun as soon as the heavy thud of the gangplank hit the docks, announcing your arrival. It was a practiced mockery of polite society with all the bows from the fishman host, expressing their delight to be hosting your company once again. On such unexpected notice too. Once again it was a simple exchange of commerce. Lusty clients would cajole company with food and drink, heedlessly ignoring the cries of their money purse as it flowed into the infamous pirate turned head chef’s pockets. You had earned the moody chef’s ire exactly once, after a dispute had broken out between clients over a favored whore. Breaking a few dishes in the process, no, the worst expenses came in the blood that would have been scrubbed relentlessly from the pressed tablecloths.

Even a mere shrug of “We are pirates, you know.” didn’t stop Zeff from charging you for that mistake. For months on end, News Coos would be commissioned to harass you at the break of dawn until you finally paid up. 

“A pleasure to see you again, Madam.”  The warm but glassy tone stirred you from your thoughts as a pair of wine glasses were set in front of yourself and Joan. A genuine hint of a smile brushed over your features as your cheeky waiter winked at your surprised reaction.

“Causing trouble again for Zeff, Sanji?” You mused as Sanji muttered something under his breath. So, the pair were bickering again, the men fought over the culinary aspects of life like dogs over a meaty bone. 

“It is to my great fortune, as I get to see your beautiful face once more. Yours and Miss Joan’s-” Sanji’s words slurred with the edge of a rasp as the flirtatious blonde’s attention slid over to Joan. Her face had hardened like stone as she snorted before idly waving away Sanji’s words like an unpleasant smell. Even that harsh rejection didn’t seem to dampen Sanji’s attentive nature as the man was all but offering to sit in your lap if it pleased you.

“Such a good boy.” You purred as Sanji recalled your specific request for wine from a previous visit. Delicate, full-bodied crimson wine flowed into the crystalline glass as you took an apprehensive sip of the vintage. It was perfect. Dry, but hints of oak and cherry lingered on the edge of your taste buds. 

“I live to serve,” Sanji simpered before his good-natured smile slid off his face as if someone had slapped him with fish as a far coarser voice demanded his attention. 

“I pity that man’s kidneys if he asks Sanji another question.” Joan muttered wickedly as Sanji’s charming demeanor had turned into a threatening storm cloud as the unruly guest jabbed a thumb into the waiter’s chest. 

“Let’s just pray for all his internal organs, hm?” You retorted with another sip of the glass. Sanji could be as short tempered as his mentor if someone pushed the wrong buttons. Your veins sung with an elevated flood of adrenaline as you watched the visible muscle in Sanji’s defined cheek jump. Oh he was becoming livid. You were about to find out about what soon enough.

The man was all but sweating whiskey as he placed an unsteady hand on the table next to your  placed wine glass. You could smell the sour notes of alcohol as he gave his best ‘winning’ smile before clearing his throat loudly. 

“It is a great honor that the Steel Madam grace us with her presence, on this fine evening. Your crew’s charm and beauty is well-known even in the youngest cadets barracks. Some would say it is their goal not to catch the most notorious pirate, but to lay eyes on your very form.” 

It was too easy to read the man. Marine. Boldly displaying his rank as a lieutenant with his few paltry stripes on his coat. The tops of his knuckles free from painful rope burn or the small cuts of errant swings during sword drills. Beyond all that, it was sheer arrogance in his smile when his other hand brushed over your thigh.

A burst of giggles spilled from your lips as you brushed off the advance with little interest. Confusion, anger and surprise flinted over the Marines face as Joan snorted into her wine glass from across the table. As your laughter subsided, you forced a polite smile on your face before allowing the cruel but practiced rejection to begin.

“You honor me with your words, Marine. Afraid you won’t be able to enjoy my company tonight, you see it isn’t because I am occupied at this very moment. No, it’s because you would bore me to tears with your little bravado and tales. Past experience has made me realize men with such pretty little lines and false sincerity have far more 'inadequacies’ in my manner of expertise. Perhaps, you should try your luck with my companion here. She does like teaching stupid puppies little tricks..” 

Joan’s sharp kick to your knee stilled your words as you winked across at the stoic woman. It was far more likely that Joan would leave the man with more than bruises and healthier respect for the world’s oldest profession.  You and your crew clad yourself as people first and then a commodity, sometimes others saw the second first.

Like now as ringed fingers harshly gripped your face, pulling your attention from Joan to the infuriated Marine. Oh, he wasn’t used to rejection as your eyes narrowed when his grip didn’t loosen. Now he was playing a dangerous game. The few quiet conversations around you stifled as onlookers waited to see what would happen next.

“You think you can reject me? You’re just a fucking whore. Aren’t even worth the trash namesake of pirate, since all the fighting you and your fucking slags do is on your back. You should be on your knees sucking my co-”

 You quickly removed the three inch long hair pin from your hat. Fluidly driving it through skin and muscle alike into the man’s other hand, placed ever so perfectly on the pristine table cloth. The sharp point driven with such finesse that not a single droplet leaked from the impaled flesh.  A pained gasp slipped from the Marine’s lips as you easily ripped out the tinted needle from flesh before neatly wiping it off with a folded napkin.

“You may not want to bleed too much on that floor. I am surprised someone as ‘well-traveled’ as you wouldn’t recognize a pirate. After all, prostitutes are one of the most profitable pirates alive. I could just as easily strip you naked, take your coin with a gentle smile, and decide to dump your broken corpse into the ocean after bombarding your stationed vessel because you failed to please me. All of those troubles are because of someone stupid letting slip about the changing of the guard and where exactly your treasurer keeps ‘stolen’ goods. All these little simple things that you can’t see potentially unfolding in front of you. All because you can’t see beyond your little shriveled worm of a thing I am sure you boast off as a cock. So, do kindly, go fuck off somewhere else.”

If it were possible for the Marine’s ruddied face to turn any harsher, you would have been surprised. Except, the little bout of entertainment was drawn to a close by the sickening noise of human teeth crashing against the floorboards from Sanji’s foot plowing downward into the man’s spine. Your head tilted inquisitively to the side as you were sure that some of the spinal column in the moaning man’s lower back had tilted a little to the right. Too far right if your guess was correct.

“Excellent choice in wine, Sanji” You hummed as the waiter stepped over the groaning lump with a well-practiced movement. Tipping in the precious liquid into your half empty glass with a slight glint of amusement.  The waiter wasn’t meant to be a waiter, no, Sanji had proven once again about the reputation of the fighting chefs of the Baratie. Sanji bent at the waist in an elegant bow before offering you his hand to assist you from the table.

“That won’t be necessary, Sanji. Thank you. If I require anything else, I will know who to ask for.” You said softly as the man’s bright smile shrunk a mere centimeter. Still, he allowed you to collect the opened bottle with little question as you passed by him with a cheeky wink. 

“I have seen kicked dogs that looked less put out than him.” Joan whispered conspicuously from behind as you both ascended the gilded staircase, the pair of empty wine glasses clinking merrily together.

“Please, Joan, not now. We have far bigger issues than him if-”

Your words froze on your lips as you reached the landing of the bar space. It was near impossible to miss Mihawk’s signature blade, coat and hat. Anyone who was anyone knew of the Warlord as several patrons gave him ample space with exchanging silent worried glances as the faintest hint of a sigh caused Mihawk’s posture to go from languid to stiff. Even from behind, you could tell he was focusing on something by the slightest tilt of his head, provoking his feathered hat to tremble from the movement. 

“He’s…listening for something” You whispered in Joan’s ear conspicuously dragging her toward the edge of the bar by her wrist. Thankfully, there were a pair of open seats across the way as few seemed to be willing to subject themselves to the loudmouth drunk at the bar. Boldly boasting about a victory over the Marines. Was this the apparent target from Mihawk’s letter? Your hand didn’t leave Joan’s wrist as a quiet command for her to wait. However, it didn’t stop her from hissing under her breath as your grip involuntarily tightened when Mihawk’s gaze met yours for the first time.

Gods, he had beautiful eyes. To targets, their orangish hue struck fear into their hearts as a bird of prey rips a mere sparrow out of the sky. Yet, you knew better. The gentle flicker of warmth as you recount stories of some long ago memory, a curious tilt of head when you lose track of the conversation. The cool resolve and defiance as you begin to bicker over something petty, followed by mischief as he begins to try to crumple your resolve. Except, now all that you could read was an air of ignorance bellied by prickling irritation as you could see a nail run over the bottom of his wine glass.

Your eyes flicked to the loud drunk in a silent question “This can’t be him. No pirate is this-”

A twitch of his pointer finger was all the answer you needed “No. But wait.”

It would be difficult to miss as the loud drunk proclaimed himself as Captain of some mighty crew. Bold and brave enough to disable a marine ship. For the warrior of the sea was the great Captain Ussopp, it would have almost been an impressive tale if the man clearly wasn’t so deep in his cups.  Even lies had a hint of truth to them. Why else would Mihawk be bothering to eavesdrop like this?

“A little push may be needed, Joan. If you don’t mind.” You muttered as you sent off the woman with a small tap on her butt towards Ussop. It was like watching an octopus camouflage itself within a new reef as the disgruntled woman’s cool expression turned into a warm, bright smile. Giggling loudly under her breath as Joan leaned forward on the bar counter, startling Usopp into almost dropping his drink. Did the man just enjoy hearing himself tell lies unaware that he could be attracting attention?

“You don’t mean you fought off all those Marines by yourself. A whole ship against a pirate crew? How frightening.” Joan whispered in a lower tone as Usopp grinned roguishly before raising his hand to his mouth in a mock stage whisper.

“Well no. You see, there is this guy..kinda our captain, Luffy, bounced it right back at the-”

Mihawk blinked slowly at this reveal as you took a few steps closer to the enraptured Joan, a far more demure expression on your face in comparison to Joan’s look of adoration. It was turning into a pincer movement as Mihawk joined with a mere request to meet this strange Luffy. Akin to a sheep amongst wolves, Usopp agreed as he slung a loose arm over Joan’s shoulder with little regard to her flicker of irritation. Guiding his ‘date’ and new ‘friend’ towards a far quieter table. Unfortunately, his associates  were far less dim-witted as the swordsman called Mihawk out by title and demands for a duel.

Fuck.

As the game was revealed, Joan shoved away a nervous Usopp with a look of disgust.The young man was looking paler and paler by the second, threatening to spew all he had drunk over the bar floor. Or was it from the escalating air of violence that whispered between the swordsmen as Mihawk indulged the whimsical, but potentially fatal request of the young upstart. All, while the orange haired woman’s emotions were as plain as day on her face; all the fear and anger, brief for a moment as it was composed into a mask of calm.

“ You look somewhat familiar to me. Makes me wonder if you kept even stranger company than this-” Joan retorted as eyeing Nami.. Only leaning away when Zoro’s booted feet slammed against the table, a clear warning for the woman to back off.

Astute dark eyes slid over to your seated form at the bar as you gave a flicker of your fingers in greeting. Even drunk, you could see him rip through the facade of silks and make-up. To the weaponry hidden underneath the elaborate skirts. The heavier weight of the leather sheath brushing against your knee was all the more comforting now. Ronoro Zoro was dangerous, even you weren’t stupid to deny that.

However, you had far more pressing issues as your brain short-circuited as the mouth-watering scent of Mihawk surrounded you like the ocean itself. Close. He was far too close as you saw the tell-tale tick of his mouth flicker. Enjoying your stunned reaction far too much as he stood in front of your seat, blocking you from view. The delicate wine glass in your other hand shattered into fragments on the bar countertop when the swordsman’s right hand brushed over your left hip bone, strong fingers possessively curling around you. A quiet demand for your attention instead of fretting over the green-haired duelist.

Not once in five years had Mihawk been this public with his touch. The world rushed around your ears as you could see but not hear his sigh as Mihawk glared over his shoulder at Joan. Peering around Mihawk, you could see that she was getting far too comfortable with baiting the challenger. However, any thoughts beyond the pressure against your hip were rendered mute.

Why now? Why was he doing this to you? Thousands of questions burned through your mind as you blinked blankly at Mihawk as prickles of irritation danced over his words as he addressed Joan.

“Leave the boy alone, Joan. I prefer opponents with their kneecaps still attached.” 

Oh. When did the woman’s mace come out as its heavy head in the glass table with a screech. Zoro’s fingers drifted towards his swords as you could feel your heart pick up from the escalating tension. Or was it from Mihawk’s tighter grip as Joan gave her potential opponent a leering smile. She didn’t work for the Warlord, she worked for you.

“Joan. Go find someone else to toy with.” Your tone sounded remarkably hollow to your own ears. Like you still weren’t present even as you could feel the faint stinging sensation of splintered glass piercing your palm. Followed by the faint glare of the bartender dutifully cleaning up the mess you caused. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at this point as your brain tried to connect unseen dots of Mihawk’s display.

It was like floating in a dream, half-awake but knowing it wasn’t real. That it could all shatter within a blink of the eye as Mihawk escorted you back down the dining floor. An infuriating barely there smile on his face from your reaction. What was he playing at? Even the screech of the opposite chair and its sturdy back did little to make you speak those words.

The world came rushing back as the stinging of glass was pinched and prodded by calloused but gentle fingers as you tried to make a fist. Mihawk quickly pressed a thumb to your wrist, preventing the action with a cool stare from across the table. The dining area of the restaurant felt all the louder now as several conversations mingled around your table, some doubtlessly about you. All you could focus on was the tinted red fragments of glass piled up on the table, pulled from your hand. The bloodied fragments were almost as red as the wine in Mihawk’s glass that he took a drink from as he tapped a finger impatiently against the table. 

“Please do stop staring at me like I am Donquixote Doflamingo acquiring you for my personal household. It was merely a bit of glass in your hand, not a mortal flesh wound.”

“It’s not that.”

“Isn’t it?”

Mihawk’s nonchalant attitude stoked your temper as he hadn’t ever publicly acknowledged the entire affair ever. Not once. Yet, now here he was acting as if it was a daily occurrence to show some sort of affection. 

“Are you dying? Are you worried about losing tomorrow? Did you piss off the World-”

Mihawk’s quiet chuckle stilled your hissed questions as your eyes narrowed suspiciously. The man was hiding something from you. He was truly dying? No. It had to be something far deeper. There was a reason behind the madness.

The light brush of his hand atop your knee underneath the table made you flinch in surprise.

“Because I felt like it, little dove. Is that reason enough?”

“Arrogant bastard.” Your voice dropped to a low hiss as you could feel goosebumps prickle over your legs as his hand reached further up to your thigh. Teasing at the silken window of fabric of your skirts in short taps. 

“I am not in the mood for games, Mihawk.” You spat as you took a deep drink from your own wine glass. Trying to keep a blank mask even as a hint of want brushed over your mind as Mihawk’s hand curled through your thigh. 

“Then tell me to stop.” Mihawk challenged as his amber gaze glinted with amusement. It was a look you had seen time and time again in bed. Wanting you to ‘run’ so that he could ‘catch’ you until you were at his mercy. Like a feline batting around a mouse for fun instead of substance. A soft ‘hm’ slipped from the quiet man’s lips as you daringly spread your legs further apart. Daring him with a move of your own.

“So. The boy interests you? That’s quite a change.” You muttered in a casual tone that pitched up an octave as agile fingers tugged at the unseen knot of your skirt’s strings. Cool air caressed your now bare thighs as the skirts now gathered to one side in a layer of fabric. Frustration and desire mingled longingly as calloused fingertips skirted against your skin. Tracing unseen patterns as you swallowed tightly as the fingers brushed near your inner thigh before retreating. 

“He has guts. A change, indeed” Mihawk retorted as his head tipped to the side eyeing your form. Quietly watching the subtle changes of your body as arousal trickled into your mind, clouding far more rational pride and decorum. The smallest increase in your breathing patterns, the start of dilation in your eyes. The keen observation made the pit in your stomach grow all the larger as the slightest deviation from the normal was scrutinized. A maddening talent when Mihawk felt like drawing out your pleasure in bed, edging you until you dangled on the tip of euphoria but pulling you back with ease.

“Ask.” Mihawk teased as fingers brushed over the edge of your hip. All it would take was a single pull of the ribbon holding up your underthings. Then you would be truly bare to the world. In public. Heat sank into your form as you could feel yourself begin to relax. It had been some time since your last coupling, and self-pleasure could only get you so far in dousing your needs.

“Mihawk.” Your voice was a mere breath that edged on a whine as your eyes dilated with the first gentle brush over your core. That little bundle of nerves would be your downfall even as the fabric of your lingerie covered it, it was almost as good as bare as soon as his pointer finger trailed over it. Slowly manipulating the digit at a snail’s pace with practiced brushes as you shifted closer in your seat.

It was almost infuriating as Mihawk was looking like the picture of elegance across the table. Draining the last bit of wine from his glass as he put it back on the table. Tracing the crystalline stem contemplating even as his other occupied hand did the same. The same slow, almost painful pace as you bit the inside of your cheek. You weren’t going to break that easily. Not yet, as you swallowed a whine as he brushed over the edge of your cunt’s lips, smearing fluid over your wanting clit. Further increasing the pleasure of the next brush as your hands tightened around the edge of the table cloth.

“Don’t give up the game so easily, dove.” Mihawk mused as you didn’t dare open your mouth to retort. It was impossible to know in the haze of lust if actual words or a mere pitiful whine would slip from you. Or if the man’s agile fingers would decide to go from teasing to dangerous. The rational idea that he wouldn’t make you orgasm in the very crowded restaurant was becoming illogical as you knew that look in his eyes.

It was all a game for him. Playing with your desires, bringing you to his desired peak before letting you go. Waiting for you to explode from a white-out blinding pleasure. It was inexplicably cruel and unexpected during your first entanglement, but now it was exciting. Dracule Mihawk was an exceptional lover when he wanted to be. Perhaps one of the man’s biggest secrets known only to you. 

He was patient. You were not.

The little game of two turned into an unwelcome three as Sanji’s gentle voice broke through your focus. A fresh bottle of wine in the waiter’s arms as Mihawk gestured for him to set the bottle down. Watching the cork of the wine bottle opener was maddening as with rotation, Mihawk’s fingers swept over your throbbing clit as you bit down on your lip as you could feel your thighs begin to tense. Your breath pitched for the briefest second as cheeks burned with embarrassment when Sanji’s concerned gaze turned from the bottle to you. 

“Are you alright, Madam?” 

A hiss of pain escaped your lips as you forced your knees upward into the table. Bucking Mihawk’s meddlesome fingers away from you for a moment as you forced a watery smile on your face.

“Yes, fine. Sanji- thank-”

Your words edged from collected to a whine as Mihawk retorted with actions of his own. Within a span of seconds, shifting your lingerie aside as cruel digits brushed over your now bare clit. Want and desire purred in your veins as you swallowed tightly, rolling your neck as if that would stop the wave of lust shorting any rational thought from your mind.

“Are you sure? You are looking a bit red?” Sanji asked gently, touching your shoulder as Mihawk’s gaze flickered from your crumbling face to the waiter’s hand. Now the swordsman’s digits drifted from your clit to your soaked pussy, brushing over the hot velvet walls as your gaze went wide at him.

Don’t you dare.

Then pay attention to me.

Jealous. He was jealous. A completely foreign idea to you that the swordsman could become so prickly over Sanji’s familiarity. Then again, he was full of surprises tonight as you forced a strained smile on your burning cheeks

“I’m fine, Sanji. Don’t worry.” It was a poor performance as your words caught on your breath as the waiter's gaze slid from you to Mihawk. The utter disdain and irritation from the swordsman rolled off him in waves now. Go. Away .Now. It was a message made loud and clear as your eyes narrowed at Mihawk as Sanji’s steps retreated.

Too far.

A scoff at the minor scolding sent anger chipping at the edge of lust and want. The reality of the situation was the absurdity of this entire dinner. Mihawk’s strange affection and daring had turned you upside down as you struggled to put yourself into a rational mindset. Repercussions could be severe if you were caught in such a vulnerable position, much less the creeping shame of the blatant display of sexuality. The realization hit you like a cold wave of water, private, you wanted this to be between Mihawk and yourself only. Selfish, greedy, all these things hissed in your head as your hand caught his wrist, lightly pushing it away. 

Why?

A curious tilt of his head as you hastily rearranged your skirts into their proper display as you rose from the table on teetering legs. Nails digging into the tablecloth to steady yourself as you took a deep breath before muttering under your breath for him to meet you outside in ten minutes.

The request was a mistake as your heels clicked restlessly against the fragmented dock. Even the gentle roar of the sea around you did little to quiet the restless thoughts that rampaged now. What was that about? Why did you stop it? What was Mihawk playing at? Did you even want that? All questions turned into aggression as someone grabbed your wrist forcibly halting your pacing. Violence and lust paired together so deliciously as you easily twisted ,while pulling a knife from your skirts, all too happily ready to slit someone’s throat. Anger singed the thought as you registered who it was.

There was a quiet screech of the blade of your knife embedding itself into the crate next to Mihawk’s head. His gentle sigh as the anger in your gaze flickered to hesitation as he released his grip on your wrist.

“We should work on your aim, darling.”

“Stop. That.” You snarled as your nails curled around the collar of his overcoat. Pulling your faces a mere inch apart as you could feel yourself being peeled back layer by layer within his eyes. It was like watching a precious gem shatter into pieces as you could see flickers of his own emotions. Want, confusion, amusement, a speckle of irritation when your grip didn’t loosen after a few seconds. 

“What?”

Your retort went to ashes in your mouth as the question was one even you couldn’t answer. Not now. It wasn’t from the pet names, no, it wasn’t the first time for that. Your heart thumped a little faster as you recalled the first time you addressed a dove. A lazy, but affectionate drawl as the heat of sex cooled around you. The critique of your ability to defend yourself? A mere speck of irritation when it came from the world’s greatest swordsman.

Then what was it?

A soft sigh escaped your lips as gentle fingertips brushed over your cheek, trying to pull you back from your labyrinth of thoughts. Followed by the skitter of goosebumps over your throat as Mihawk traced a familiar path downward. A hint of a smirk on his mustached face as he brushed over the gifted pendant nestled above your corseted chest. The involuntary scoff from you when his fingers brushed over the swell of fabric instead of the skin that lurked underneath it. 

“Now don’t pout, pet.” Mihawk muttered as your positions easily flipped with a light tug. Now the damp wood of crates brushed over your back as you all too willingly spread your legs apart to allow the swordsman's frame between them. This you could do. Could focus on as you shifted impatiently as Mihawk’s hands settled on your hips, teasing the knots of your skirt with slow contemplation.

“Do you want this?” A mere puff of words against your throat.

“Mihawk, don’t make me-” Your hand was quick to smother the bastard child of a moan and yelp as the cool sea air hit your lower half followed by delicious waves of pleasure. Your head tipped back against the crates as you tried to keep your panting softer, well-aware of Mihawk’s burning your expression. It would be over all too soon if you looked him in the eyes, he could read your body with a mere blink. Who knew when you would get this again.

“Should I stop?” Mihawk rasped as your legs quivered at the thought. While your foggy brain all but screeched in protest as the pleasurable rhythm over your clit paused. A hiss escaped your lips as Mihawk was quick to pin you back against the crate. Unable to twitch a single muscle, but feel the agonizing brush of leather against your soaked cunt. Even the scent of your own juices sent want further down your core as Mihawk lighted gripped your face with viscous fingertips.

“All I need is a yes or no..” Mihawk muttered as his eyes went wide in surprise with your next movement. Rutting, you were all but rutting against the man’s thigh, desperate to get some sort of friction against your cunt. Your panting came in short, harsh bursts as your nails desperately curled into the back of silken black hair. Pressing the swordsman against your throat to feel your thudding pulse as your whimpers pitched with relief when Mihawk’s thigh went an inch further between your legs. This was what you needed, wanted, hungered for after a long month.

Maddeningly your euphoric burst of pleasure didn’t come within minutes as expected. No, it is like standing on the edge of a cliff in your gut, never quite falling. Tears of frustration prickled the corners of your eyes as one daringly fell against Mihawk’s buried face. Shifting darkened lust to concern as he gently tipped your flushed face upward. Casually brushing away your traitorous tear as his head tipped in that silent question.

What’s wrong?

“I..tonight..was..alot. Just things on my mind.” You admitted sheepishly as your words sounded beyond clumsy. This entire affair wasn’t between fumbling teenagers or strangers. He knew your body as well as you did at this point. It was an infuriating talent of Mihawk’s to track the time it took for you to cum. With or without his assistance, he had astonishing accuracy. 

“So. Stop. Thinking.” Mihawk chidded with a note of amusement. As if your personal confession had been a mere quip instead of something as serious as this. His eyes rolled dramatically as you stared back blank-faced, you didn’t find it funny in the slightest. A hum slipped from him as you wiggled in protest as once more he trapped you with his own body. 

“I can help with that. Then you can happily prattle your worries off.” Mihawk teased as he pressed an open kiss to your thudding pulse.

“You fucker..” You hissed as he chuckled quietly against your throat. It was a dangerous start as you could slowly feel yourself starting to slip. Gods, you weren’t that needy were you? The entire evening could have been over and done without all the theatrics if Mihawk had just led with this. The telltale pricks of pain and pleasure as his teeth nipped at your sensitive throat. While his left hand gripped at your corseted right breast, feeling your frantic heartbeat beneath the cumbersome attire. Yet, the true joy came when you arched your hips supported by his thigh, as his right hand palmed at your clit. Tracing the small bundle of nerves in a slow circle as you could your breathing pitch. An immediate shift in pattern to up and down.

“Please, don’t stop..” Your voice edged on begging as you could feel your thighs begin to tighten. Closer and closer to that one thing you desperately sought as your nails sank into Mihawk’s overcoat. A selfish whisper of wanting for it to be warm bare skin instead of slicked cloth. 

“I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound like you are cumming all over my trousers, dove.” Mihawk purred as you hadn’t a chance to even think of a response. Fuck, you didn’t even think you could speak in the common tongue as your clit throbbed as the pace turned from casual to harsh. Wanting to drive every single thought from your worried head to piercing bliss.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The vulgar swears came off your lips like a blasphemous prey as your core burst from the hot heat. Your nails had to have sunk deep through fabric as you could feel Mihawk’s breath pitch into a hiss from your hands dragging over his shoulders.  Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care as all you could feel was the slow ooze of hormones and the gentle throbbing of your cunt. You even managed a half hearted apology in your hazed smile, as a new jolt of excitement hit your cooling guts. 

Mihawk had that look in his eyes. One that was both terrifying and exciting at the same time. That this little brief moment of bliss wasn’t enough to satisfy the swordsman. No. He wanted you utterly fucked out.

“Mihawk.” Your voice was a mixture of a whimper and begging as he all too easily turned you around to face the crates. Your manicured nails bit into the sodden wood with reckless abandon as he slid on hand over the cusp of your soaked cunt. You couldn’t help but shudder as calloused fingertips made a v-shape around your inflamed clit. Even having the slightest pressure near the shocked bundle of nerves made you want to whimper. Too much it was going to be too much as you shifted away from the testing digits. 

“Stay still, dove.” Mihawk ordered as he nipped at one of your earrings. Humming gentle praise as your legs spread a bit further at his gentle urging with his free hand, caressing against your inner thigh. A choked moan slipped from your lips at the first gentle touch of your pulsing cunt. It wasn’t going to be frantic or rushed like your earlier failure, no, he was going to draw you out like a taut string.  Or at least that was his usual choice of play as you couldn’t help but sag in relief at his next words.

“Let’s get you out of this rain before you catch a cold..”

“Mihawk!” Your voice turned from gentle grace to a harsh pitch as pleasure arched into your spent body. That treacherous spot in your cunt would be your undoing as tears stung your eyes as you were bombarded by waves of pleasure. Splattered by the delicious pain of your overstimulated clit, it was all too easy to sink into the blissful black once more. A snarl slipped from you as far different pain sank into the side of your throat. Even then there was a tender moment as his lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Never pushing for more as you tried to resurface from the haze. The cool reality is sinking in from the heat.

“You are never biting me. Again. Ever.” You hissed in short breaths as you struggled to catch your frazzled brain up with your current irritation. An extremely pleased Mihawk’s full body weight pressing you against the crate from behind with one hand measuring your pulse with two digits. While the other tightly gripped your waist to prevent any sort of unwanted movement. Like the silent demands on an overgrown house cat or perhaps a panther would be more accurate, Mihawk would move when he wished regardless of your grumblings. Wanting to feel your hormone addled heartrate’s erratic thumping settle into a gentle lull in the aftermath of pleasure. A quiet reminder of life since death was done at the swordsman’s so often.

Or he found it amusing that you weren’t one for much cuddling after the fact.

Eventually you settled on the answer of it being a combination of both. Your strained patience could only take so much from tonight. Between the light drizzle of rain, disheveled clothes and the pressing weight of Mihawk languid stance, it was making the little floating feelings of pleasure circle the drain. A sharp hiss slipped from your lips as you gingerly brushed over the broken skin on the side of your neck. He had bit you far too hard this time. In such a public area, marking you for all the world to see. Breaking one of the few rules of your agreement.

“You’re going to pay for this. Aren’t you?” You growled as your manicured nails tapped against the swordsman’s buried face to pull his attention from your shoulder to your throat. Flippant pain radiated from the reddish skin as Mihawk’s lips pressed over the mark gently. Your nails threatened to leave moon-shape marks as your request wasn’t something to be toyed with. No, it was demand.

Fix this. Now.

“Shall I buy you a collar then? Something frilly and obnoxious that draws even more stares to you.” Mihawk muttered against your throat, you could feel the faint twitch of his smile as your nails gripped a fraction tighter. 

“This isn’t a game. I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t exactly maintain it if I walk around looking like I had been marked like some feral cat in heat..” You hissed as captains, wealthier clientele all held out for the miniscule chance you would take them to bed. An illusion that Mihawk took great pleasure in shattering by leaving marks on your body. No one liked to be reminded that their chosen company was shared afterall. 

“So uphold your reputation. The steel-spined Madam of the Basileia Pirates, Madam Captain of the Victoria. Speculated by rumors that she has turned into a frigid bi-”

“Mihawk, this isn’t-”

“A game. I know, dove. So stop trying to play it.” Mihawk rasped as he turned you around to face him properly. There was an undeniable seriousness in his gaze as he lightly tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet him head on. Any further retorts or biting sarcasm vanished from your mind as the reality of the situation slunk in like a scavenger. Five years, this arrangement had suited you both perfectly well. Never entertaining girlish thoughts of romance except on your worst days, practical and level-headed. Now Mihawk was in the flesh, proposing an alternative.

“So, speak plainly then.” You whispered as a flicker of embarrassment edged your words at the faint tremble in your voice. Was it fear for the future? Rejection? Excitement? You couldn’t explain the confusing tangle of emotion.

“Become my Paramour.”

The word sank like a stone in the vastness of the ocean. It had an echoing quality to it as your mind burst into frantic activity. Mihawk wasn’t joking, he wasn’t baiting you into another game. He meant it. ‘It’, you didn’t even dare name the proposal in your own head. Fuck, how were you supposed to accept it outloud.

“Please tell me these long periods of silence won’t become the norm with you.” Mihawk teased as your lips went into a flat expression of irritation. As if he hadn’t just proposed something that would monumentally shift the trajectory of your reputation. To him, such a change would be a mere splattering of ink on some documentation, in comparison to the news of sinking entire fleets. Yet for you. You could already imagine the new files that would have to be drawn up on you.

“You are serious. Aren’t you.This isn’t just a whim.” 

“Have I ever been one for whimsy?” Mihawk retorted with a roll of his eyes as your hands fisted around the lapel of his overcoat. A Paramour wasn’t a mere name lauded on some favored bed warmer. It had implicit marking of partnership, your name would forever be linked to the Warlord for better or worse. Seeing you at his side wouldn’t be a random chance, but expected. Spreading out of your life from bed to crew. What would their reactions be?

“I’ll give you my answer, tomorrow. Just don’t die to some upstart. I would blame this whole proposal as a sign of bad luck” You muttered

“Such little faith, little dove.” Mihawk teased as his lips met yours in a gentle kiss. The pair of you remained like that for some time. Even as the drizzling rain turned into a true display, it didn’t matter. Only tomorrow did.

Series Masterlist Here

[jjkamochoso]

I just want to say thank you for always writing my silly little request! I was wondering if maybe you could write about Noritoshi comforting non-binary- reader about being trans/non-binary? Again thank you sm for putting up with all of my noritoshi ask ^_^

OF COURSE OMG ITS AN HONOR TO TAKE YOUR REQUESTS :'))))))) I love writing for Noritoshi (as you can all tell lmao) and you always have such cute ideas!!! I hope I was able to do the scenario justice here-- I kinda ended up going down a self conscious/uncomfortable in body route which I hope is okay but lmk if you'd like a different scenario!

Also, I wrote for a non-binary reader but if you'd like a transgender reader version I can definitely whip that up so just lmk <3 I'd love to take more of your requests when my inbox opens back up in a few days!! Much love to you <3 <3

I Love You for You

Fluff

Noritoshi Kamo x non-binary!reader

Warnings: negative self image

You know those days where everything just feels... off?

Your hair isn't going right, your outfit looks wrong, you have a weird, uncomfortable sensation flowing through your body at all times?

Yeah?

That's how you felt today.

There was no rhyme or reason for you to be experiencing such dread like this, but you were, and you absolutely hated it. You pulled down at the hem of your oversized sweatshirt, an outfit choice much too warm for the hot sun beaming down on you, but you couldn't bear to wear anything more revealing while you were in a state of self loathing. You finally slowed your jog to a walking pace, happy to be finished with today's brutal training. You made your way to a tree, relishing in the shade of the leaves, but it did little to cool you down. As you tried to catch your breath from your previous exercise, you spied Noritoshi on his way to you, a bottle of water in his hand.

"You're getting better at training every day, y/n. I'm proud of your hard work," he said, handing you the bottle with a hint of a smile on his lips. You eagerly downed the drink, grateful for the chance to cool your insides. Unfortunately, it didn't work all too well, and you were back to sweating up a storm.

"You can take your sweatshirt off, you know. It's not public indecency," your boyfriend joked, tugging at the cuff of your sleeve. You quickly yanked your arm away, avoiding eye contact with the man who was now frowning.

"I'm fine," you mumbled, looking off into the distance. "It's not that hot."

Noritoshi could tell immediately that something wasn't right with you, but he wasn't the pushy type. He understood that sometimes, people had things going on that they didn't want to talk about, and he respected that. However, he wasn't going to let you suffer in the blazing heat.

"C'mon." He nodded toward the dorm kitchen. "Let's grab something to eat."

"I'm not hungry. You go ahead."

Okay, he knew something was really wrong.

"Obviously I know something's bothering you and you don't have to tell me what, but could you please at least go inside? I don't want you to get heatstroke," he said, his gray eyes filled with worry.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," you said, not meeting his gaze, "and then I'm gonna take a nap. See you."

You hurried away from Noritoshi, not wanting him to look at you anymore. When you didn't feel comfortable in your own skin, you didn't want others to see you and any time you were with Noritoshi, it was like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and you weren't in the mood to explain all of your self doubts that he probably already guessed you were experiencing. When you got in the shower, you tried to scrub away all the feelings of self consciousness, but when you were drying off and spotted yourself in the mirror, they all came back. You ran back to your dorm as quick as you could, thankfully without running into anyone else you knew. With a sigh, you threw yourself on your bed and laid in silence, too upset to attempt to sleep like your original plan was. You stared at the ceiling, wishing you could just ignore these thoughts. For you, being nonbinary was the perfect way to express your identity, and most days, everything was fine and you were positively content with yourself. On the days you were plagued with self image issues, though, you found yourself wondering how you could look better, fit in more. Would people respect you if you dressed differently or if you aligned with a certain gender instead of rejecting that notion as a whole? You groaned.

If I changed all of that about me, then I wouldn't be me.

You were kicked out of your thoughts by a knock at the door. You ignored it, hoping the person would go away.

"I know you're in there and I know you're not napping. You can't sleep when you're upset."

Yep, Noritoshi knows you too well.

"Come in," you huffed, though you were secretly relieved he came to find you. If there was anyone who could lift your spirits, it was him. Your boyfriend walked over to your bed after setting a bag of food on the table. Your stomach growled in anticipation of the delicious meal he brought, making him laugh a bit.

"I also knew you were lying when you said you weren't hungry."

Noritoshi laid on the bed next to you, resting his chin in his hand and staring at you with a mix of fondness and concern. "You wanna talk about it?"

"I... no, it's dumb. I'll get over it."

"Do you want to get over it or work through it?"

You sat up, your eyebrows furrowing. "Are you always this profound?"

"Only around you, my love."

You playfully scoffed as he patiently continued to wait for you to speak your mind, because of course he knew you would when you were ready.

You took a deep breath. "It's about me. My body and my... identity."

That got his attention as he, too, sat up to show you he was taking you seriously.

"Today has been really, really, crappy for me in terms of accepting myself. I don't know why, but it was just impossible. Every time I looked at myself, I... didn't like what I saw. I didn't feel like I deserved to stand by your side as your partner and that's why I ran away earlier. Being nonbinary is great and it's how I want to express myself but today, it just... it didn't feel right."

He nodded solemnly. "Do you think you would feel better if you didn't use a label at all? Would that help ease some of these feelings? Maybe you wouldn't be so hard on yourself if you didn't feel pressured to fit in a certain group."

"I see where you're coming from, but nonbinary is still what feels right," you said. "It's just hard sometimes, you know?"

"Admittedly, I don't, but I do know what it's like to feel out of place or like you don't belong somewhere. But, y/n," he said, earnestly grabbing your hands in his own, "I don't ever want you to feel like that around me. I want to be that safe space where you feel totally, completely comfortable just being yourself. You're so kind, funny, and you have a heart of gold. I could list a million more different attributes that I find so wonderful about you. I'm honored to have you as a partner. I love you for you, and you should, too. Don't be afraid to show the world just how special you are."

Noritoshi gave your hands a squeeze before leaning in to give you a gentle kiss, his soft lips leaving you breathless. When you both pulled away, he kept his forehead against yours, noses brushing one another.

"There's nobody more attractive than you, no matter how you dress, do your hair, or otherwise present or label yourself. You're perfect the way you are." He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. "And I will tell you that as many times as it takes for you to believe it." Another kiss, this time on both of your cheeks. "Got it?"

"Mmm, maybe another kiss like that first one will make me remember," you teased, causing Noritoshi to blush. It felt great to know that no matter what you were going through, you had a wonderful person there by your side to support you the best he could.

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Ghost!! The next song is ghost! I love this song and It fits Dally so well.

I'm searching for something that I can't reach

M/C wants freedom from family obligations. Is trying but cant seem to reach it.

I don't like them innocent I don't want no face fresh

Good boys bore M/C. IDK they're just so predictable?

Want them wearing leather Begging, let me be your taste test

Dallas's leather jacket anyone? Also? Going for ice cream with Dally and he gets some flavor M/C hasn't tried before and if they're anything like me they hate ordering anything that they aren't familiar with so Dally kisses M/C after finishing the ice cream to see if they'd like it. (He could have just given M/C a bite but Nooo, not Dallas Winston.) (I cant stop making serious lines lighthearted and fun because have you met that little goofball?)

I like the sad eyes, bad guys Mouth full of white lies Kiss me in the corridor But quick to tell me goodbye

OH OH. They have a thing that happens where Dally is kissing M/C goodbye and a "friend" (Person that M/Cs parents want them to be friends with) of theirs shows up an Dallas ditches quick and M/C understands why but it still hurts a lil bit.

You say that you're no good for me 'Cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve And I swear I hate you when you leave I like it anyway

My ghost Where'd you go? I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me My ghost Where'd you go? What happened to the soul you used to be?

Next verse is about fake bf cause he hasn't made an appearance in a while.

You're a Rolling Stone boy Never sleep alone boy Got a million numbers And they're filling up your phone, boy

Fake bf cheats. A lot. Now Dallas knows he doesn't really have any reason to be mad, him and M/C are not exactly "just friends," but it still makes his blood boil. He is so envious of fbf that fbf gets to openly be together with M/C that he cant fathom anyone having them and still choosing to sleep around. he just doesn't get it.

I'm off the deep end, sleeping All night through the weekend Saying that I love him but I know I'm gonna leave him

Meanwhile M/C is preparing themself to leave fake bf. They don't know if their going to do it but they're pulling away from their parents, more fights, etc.

The end

Sorry for any inconsistencies in the plotline. I'm trying.

I hope you know how much I enjoy your asks. You break the songs down so diligently and include such awesome stuff. The ice cream detail? You’ve got me giggling and kicking my feet. That’s adorable. Love the fake boyfriend plot piece and the hurt M/C feels when Dally leaves. This is absolutely fantastic and I’m so blessed to have you in my inbox <3

[bazzpop]

I’ve still got some in my inbox to get to but I’ll start this earlier so I have more time!

Laudanum

Sleeping snek can’t keep a secret

Apology dance origins (this is very, very bare bones compared to the other two)

And, of course, here’s a snippet from Laudanum

—

“Crowley, watch the road!”

“Yeh, yeh,” Crowley muttered, eyes spinning dizzily when Aziraphale pulled him out of the way of an oncoming carriage, and he tried pushing the angel off him. “I know where ‘m goin’, stop fussin’.”

“Oh do you now?” Aziraphale challenged, steading the demon as he panted and groaned softly with each exhale. Oh, dear, he hoped Crowley wasn’t about to be sick. “Alright, and just where are you going then?”

“Uh,” Crowley started intelligently, almost losing his (wobbly at best) balance with how abruptly he stopped. Where the heaven was he again? He looked around, raising his glasses (like that would help him see any better) and squinting around at unfamiliar buildings, and came to the conclusion: fuck if I know. But Aziraphale was here, so he must have been in the right place. He swayed forward when the angel tugged at his sleeve, beckoning for him to keep walking, “‘M going with you, obviously.”

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know!

Friends @fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike @obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979 @eriquin | Requests @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @MauveLilyWilliams @1attheedge @whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci @owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

[judeswhore]

can u please write something abt stealing jude’s hoodies or just wearing his clothes in general 🫠

this has been in my inbox since DECEMBER and i was clearing it out so i just thought i’d post a little something since i’ve had a lot of people ask

this is kinda short and shit but anyway <3

it had become a somewhat subconscious habit at this point. reaching into jude's wardrobe, fingers automatically finding a piece of clothing that was definitely his, whether it be a shirt, a hoodie, sometimes even a pair of his joggers, and slipping it on without even a seconds thought. you'd stopped asking forever ago, had simply adopted the attitude that his clothes were yours so much so that now you sometimes did forget which things didn't belong to you.

not that jude minded, there was nothing he adored more than seeing you kitted out in his things. his tummy turned to mush and the smile on his face almost hurt whenever he spotted you in one of his hoodies, finger tips just peaking out from the sleeves. he liked it even more when you worked the hoodie he was already wearing, off him, fingers tugging at the hem, pulling and giggling until he was slipping it over his head. before he even had the chance to get excited you were undressing him for other reasons, you were pulling it on yourself, head popping out from the hole with that devious grin, chin tipping down so you could tuck your nose away in the collar and breathe him in.

"how do you keep them so soft?" jude would roll his eyes, arms wrapping around you to pull you into his chest, defeated to the fact he'd most likely lose the hoodie for a while. he'd get it back eventually, when it had lost his scent and it's softness, when you found something else of his you liked more and then the cycle would continue.

your tendency to never wear your own things meant jude wasn't at all surprised when you met him at the airport after his flight back to dortmund, your entire outfit one he was certain he'd wore only days before leaving you. he knew for sure the blue hoodie was his, it was relatively new and he distinctly remembered your chastising tone over how much it had cost. the joggers too he was certain belonged in his drawer, grey and a little washed out, rolled a few times at your ankles to make them fit. despite the distance still between you he had a sneaky feeling that the blue socks on your feet were his too, his head shaking as his lips tilted into a smile.

it was almost 3am and he could tell you were tired, face soft and a little clouded with sleep as though you'd not long since woke up, your body bouncing lazily on the balls of your feet. you hadn't spotted him yet, too busy watching a family reunite with their dad, a hand written card most definitely done by the two little boys being waved in the air.

"you've never shown up with one of those for me." his voice startled you, your look of shock turning quickly to a grin, eyes lighting up as the sleepy expression cleared instantly. you practically launched yourself at him, arms around his neck, face tucked away against his throat and his soft "umph" of surprise vibrated through you. a giggled apology was pressed into his skin, lips warm and comforting. "missed me?"

"maybe just a little." jude dropped his bag to the floor beside you so he could wind his arms around your waist, his head turning so he could press a kiss to the side of yours. he grinned into your hair.

"only a little?"

"mhm."

"you sure? because i'm kind of thinking you've tried to clone me." you untucked your face from the crook of his neck, head tilted back to meet his gaze, brows drawn together in confusion. one of his hands came up and tugged at the drawstring of the hoodie you were wearing, his smirk growing. "i'm sure this belongs to me."

you glanced down, brows smoothing over, lips parting and jude was certain you hadn't even realised what exactly you were wearing. he brushed his fingertips beneath the waistband of the joggers, blew out a breathy laugh when your eyes snapped back to his. "these as well are from my drawer and i'm sure those are a pair of socks your nan got me for christmas." you shuffled your feet and sent him a sheepish smile.

"they're the first things i grabbed."

"yeah?"

"i didn't even realise."

"i think you just missed me too much."

"they were at the top of the laundry pile."

"you can admit it, don't go all shy on me, baby." jude watched your eye roll and grinned, dipped his head to kiss you for the first time, soft and sweet before nudging your nose. his smile only grew wider when you tried to chase his mouth for more, lips turning pouty when he dodged your attempted kisses. "i bet you've raided my entire wardrobe haven't you?"

“have not.”

“what’re you wearing under these?” again the very tips on his fingers dipped into the back of your joggers and he watched your nose scrunch adorably, gaze shifting away from his. you dropped your arms from around his neck and instead pushed them around his waist, pressing into him until your chin was pressed into the front of his shirt. jude grinned and switched positions with you, his arms resting loose over your shoulders.

“your clothes are so much comfier than mine.”

“you’re lucky you’re pretty.” he cupped your jaw, ducked down and tilted your mouth up to slot softly over his. he kissed you slow, languid drags of his lips against yours until the both of you were breathless. he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, the tip of your nose, forehead last before grinning. he pulled the hood up over your head and twisted the drawstrings around fingers, pulled tight until your face was hidden behind the material.

you groaned loudly, swatted at his chest when he again kissed your nose through the little gap.

“you’re also lucky i think it’s cute when you wear my clothes otherwise you’d owe me thousands for theft.”

[devildom-drabbles]

Oh hey! I absolutely ADORE your writing style… you get the pros and cons of each character down so so well it’s amazing and yet still manage to keep it sweet and fluffy! On that note… please, if you don’t mind, a one shot on Belphie and MC snuggling playfully? But Belphie actually has a reason to stay awake! Thank you in advance!~

Thank you for your kind feedback on my writing! 😊  Aww, I’m always a sucker for snuggle fics. I hope you like how this turned out! Thanks for the prompt!

(PLEASE NOTE: Requests are still CLOSED. I’m just answering some that I had in my inbox before I stopped accepting them.)

Story - Your Warmth

Characters/Ship: Belphegor x MC Word Count: ~1.4k Warnings: None, just fluff

“Belphie!” MC exclaimed to the demon beside them.  “You’re dozing off again!”

The Avatar of Sloth’s eyes snapped open at the reminder, only to return to a half-lidded state two seconds later.  He adjusted his position on the large blanket he and MC had placed on the grass in hopes of waking himself up more.  A yawn found its way up his throat when he expressed his thanks to the human who had remained attentive to him ever since they both came outside that evening.

“At this rate, you’re going to fall asleep before the meteor shower starts,” MC remarked bluntly.  As they sat up, the additional fluffy blanket that they had brought along to keep them warm slipped down to their thighs.  “Maybe we should wait inside until it’s closer to the time it’s supposed to start?”

“No, I don’t want to risk the chance of us missing it,” Belphegor protested while tugging at their sleeve.  “Just lay back down with me.”

“Why?” they questioned, despite the fact that they were already obeying his wish.  They poked his cheek and resumed in a teasing tone, “So that I can nudge you awake another thirty times before we see a single meteor?”

“Hey, come on, it hasn’t even been thirty times,” Belphegor argued as he gently pushed their hand away from his face.

“But we’re getting close.”

“Well, we’re not going to get any closer because I’m going to stay awake.  It’s your first time seeing a meteor shower in the Devildom, and I want to enjoy it with you.”  Belphegor wrapped his arms around the human and rested his forehead against theirs.  He closed his eyes, his smile serene while he declared, “I’d choose this experience with you over sleep any day.”

“Belphie...” MC spoke above a whisper, his words making their heart flutter.

A soft breeze blew over them, rustling the trees and other plant life around them to fill the momentary silence.  Then, MC noticed that Belphegor’s breathing sounded a bit deeper than before.

“Belphie!!” the human chided, shaking his shoulder.  “Seriously?!”

The Avatar of Sloth quickly blinked his eyes open.  “Mm?  Huh?  What is it?”

“Nine.  Teen.”

The gears in Belphegor’s groggy mind forced themselves to turn.  “...Nineteen isn’t that close to thirty,” he pointed out.  “But anyway, I wasn’t asleep this time.  I was just resting.”  He tucked his head beneath MC’s chin.  “It’s your fault that you’re so relaxing to be with.”

“Well, it’s going to be your fault if you sleep through the meteor shower,” MC asserted, “because I might not be nice enough to wake you up next time.”

“Fine, fine.  What do you think I should do to keep myself awake then?”

MC hummed in thought while their fingers absentmindedly toyed with the ends of his hair.  “You could...run a lap around the house?”

“You do realize that’s going to make me feel more exhausted, right?”

“OK, then why don’t you just stand while we wait?”

“No way,” Belphegor replied as he shook his head, his hair tickling lightly at MC’s neck.  “Still too much effort.”

“What about at least sitting up?”

“Nuh-uh.  Not happening.”

MC huffed at his stubborn attitude.  “If you won’t move at all, then I’ll just take the blanket off of us.  Maybe the cold air will do you some good.”

Belphegor groaned at the idea, assuming that his vocal protest would be enough to make MC consider another idea.  However, the human went ahead with their plan anyway by kicking the blanket off the two of them.  Keeping a firm grip around MC’s torso with one arm, Belphegor stretched his free arm out as far as he could toward his feet and frantically searched for any part of the blanket to grab onto.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t reacted fast enough, and the blanket was now completely out of his reach, half-folded over in a lump at the bottom end of the blanket they were already lying on.  His annoyed grumble was cut short by a chilly gust of wind blowing across his body.

“All right,” Belphegor began through chattering teeth, “now you’ve done it.”  Belphegor turned onto his back with MC in tow, swinging them up onto his chest and tangling their legs with his to leave them trapped there.

MC squirmed within the demon’s tight embrace, unable to budge even in the slightest.  “B-Belphie, let me go!” they demanded, their behavior stemming from shock and confusion rather than frustration.

“Nope, you brought this upon yourself,” he stated with a smug grin.  “If I can’t have a regular blanket, then I’m making you my replacement.”  

Ignoring the human’s fidgeting, Belphegor’s hand slowly caressed over MC’s upper back, appreciating the softness of the clothing they chose to wear that evening.  Soon enough, MC ceased their struggle and relaxed in his hold, allowing him to use his other hand to coax their head onto his shoulder. 

“Mm, so cozy...” Belphegor murmured, basking in their familiar comforting scent and body heat.  “You might become a permanent replacement, actually.”

MC quietly laughed through their nose at his declaration.  “Thanks, but I think you’d be better off with a real blanket.”

“I don’t know...  A real blanket doesn’t have built-in handwarmers.”

“Handwarmers?  What are you—”  MC yelped at the abrupt feeling of cold fingers pressing against their bare back after sneaking underneath their shirt.  “You jerk!!” they shouted as they attempted to swat the culprit’s hands away.

“That’s not nice,” the demon replied, putting on an innocent act.  “I’m just trying to warm myself up since somebody kicked away our blanket.  Don’t you see how cold I’ve gotten?”

“OK, yeah, but now I’m getting cold!”

“Ugh, what a noisy blanket.  I think I’ve changed my mind about you.”

MC sighed in relief when Belphegor removed his hands from their skin.  Just when they thought he had returned to cuddling them, he rolled over to swap both of their positions without any warning.  The body heat that he left behind gradually seeped through the back of their clothes, relieving them of the chilly sensation that lingered there.  They watched the demon quizzically as he nestled his head against their chest and smiled in contentment.

“Yup, just as I thought,” Belphegor remarked, the sound of the human’s beating heart echoing in his ear.  “You make a much better pillow, MC.  But you’re not too bad as a blanket either.”

MC rolled their eyes in response, but they could neither hide the amusement that tugged at their lips nor suppress the desire to card their fingers through his hair.  “Whatever you say, Belphie,” they conceded, noticing him melt further into their chest the longer they stroked his head.  “But, if I’m your pillow now, then what are you going to do about not having a blanket?”

“Eh, I don’t really need it anymore,” Belphegor admitted.  “You keep me warm enough just by being close to me like this.”  He lifted his head up to gaze into their eyes, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks while he inquired, “What about you?  Do you feel the same way with me?”

It was now MC’s turn to blush as his question sunk in.  “I do,” they confessed.  They paused for a moment and then added, “Well, except when you put your frozen hands on me.”

The demon chuckled at the comment.  “Fair enough.”

Before anything else could be said, Belphegor spotted a streak of light reflecting within MC’s eyes.  “Was that...?”

The duo directed their attention above to witness the first few meteors illuminate the dark sky.

“Heh, see?  I told you I’d stay awake until the meteor shower started,” the Avatar of Sloth declared.  “Aren’t you proud of me, MC?  You really ought to praise me.”

“Oh, please,” MC scoffed playfully.  “If it weren’t for me, you definitely would’ve passed out a while ago.”

“Aw, come on, that’s not...entirely true.  Give me a little credit.”

The two of them continued to banter for a short time before finally settling down to immerse themselves in the breathtaking display in the sky.  The fluffy extra blanket remained forgotten as the demon and human found all the warmth and comfort they needed that night in each other’s arms.

[womburt]

Hello again Womburt! I hope your dong well, I’m here with a request if your up for it: poly Hels Ex and reader where reader borrows/steals the other two’s cloths. -🌖anon

Thief; Helsknight x Reader x Evil X

Hi 🌖 !!!! I am doing well thank you <3

I was thrilled to get this ask in my inbox too, perfect opportunity for more fluff mwuhahahaha

Enjoy my friend!! <3

———

“Loves, have either of you seen my sweater?”

Y/n’s voice echoed throughout the home they shared with their partners, bouncing off of wooden walls and searching for the men in question. They were met with no reply, leaving them confused.

Y/n hadn't heard either of them leave this morning, EX and Hels always came to let them know before they went out into the world. Sure, they’d slept in a little later than usual, but their partners still usually made an effort to leave a note for them. Today they’d woken up to nothing but an empty house.

Y/n stood up straight, pushing closed the drawer to their dresser and resting their hands on their hips.Their hair was messy with sleep, typically one of their partners would be right around the corner ready to tease them. Y/n frowned and looked around, eyes searched the bedroom carefully, in search of a suitable replacement for the sweater they’d been looking for.

They eventually landed on a piece of clothing strung over the foot of the bed. Recognizing its dark color instantly, Y/n smiled to themself, approaching the lump of fabric with a skip in their step. They plucked it from the bed easily, tugging it over their head with a pleasant sigh. If they couldn’t locate their own sweater, then Hels’ would definitely do the trick.

The sleeves fell over the ends of the arms, swallowing their hands into its yarn-y embrace. Y/n didn't bother rolling them up, enjoying the way it surrounded them. They could smell him on the collar, a quiet mixture of cinnamon and mahogany: it was overwhelmingly Hels.

Satisfied with their theft, Y/n moved to go downstairs in search of some kind of breakfast. They took the steps one at a time, not in any sort of rush. The wood creaked below their feet, worn-in and well-loved from all the time Y/n and their partners spent in the home. They’d come to know every way that the floor shifted underneath them, no creaking sound was surprising to them anymore.

The entryway to the kitchen stood before them. Y/n made their way in causally, swinging the sweater sleeves as they walked. Bright light came in through a nearby window, dusting the space with gold. Y/n paused for a second before changing their course of direction.

They slipped over toward the window, unlatching it and sliding the glass open. A gentle breeze made its way through the opening, ruffling Y/n’s hair. From the outside they could hear the sounds of the morning. Some chirps from their chickens, the way the trees shook as the wind moved through them. Y/n left the window, but the sounds followed them.

Poking around in the cabinets for something to satiate their hunger, Y/n found the ingredients for one of their favorite breakfasts. Smiling to themself, they busied themself with preparing the food.

Quiet kitchen noises joined the sympathy of morning coming from the window. Y/n made their food peacefully, adjusting their usual recipe to make the product size smaller than usual. After all, their boyfriends weren’t around to eat it with them.

Metal scraped against ceramic as they ate, watching the window from on top of the counter. Y/n let their legs hang off the side, swinging their feet and trying not to kick the cabinet underneath. They watched the outside again, frowning when even after they’d finished eating, their partners were nowhere in sight.

They hopped down smoothly, pushing up Hels’ sweater sleeves so they could do the dishes. Turning on the tap and setting their utensils in the sink, Y/n got to work cleaning up their mess. The process was slow, Y/n couldn’t help but look at the open window every now and then.

When they’d run out of dishes to wash and excuses to wait for their lovers to come home, Y/n sighed and decided they needed to start their work for the day. Patting their hands dry on a nearby towel, Y/n pushed their hair out of their face and made their way to the back door.

Just outside was their flower garden, and they knew it would be bursting with blossoms ready to be plucked. They’d taken an inventory of their floral shop the day before and knew it needed restocking.

Looking to the ground, Y/n realized their work boots were missing. Opening their mouth to call out their confusion to their partners, Y/n paused before the words could even leave their mouth. Looking to the ground again, Y/n’s eyes landed on another pair of shoes.

“EX won’t mind,” they muttered to themself, sitting down to slip their feet into the, much larger, boots. They were worn in from years of use, the black souls scuffed with age. Although they didn’t fit right, Y/n still felt perfectly comfortable within them. They leaned over to pull the laces tighter, feeling a little bit like a child playing dress up. When they’d determined the laces were tight enough to keep the shoes on their feet, Y/n stood up straight again and left through the back door, intent on pruning their garden.

~

“You forgot the note?”

EX asked, looking at Hels with widened eyes and a frown. His counterpart simply shrugged his shoulders, continuing his walk home.

“I thought you went in to tell them we were leaving, what else would you have gone back to the bedroom for?”

EX buried his face in his hands, shoes dragging in the dirt as a result of his lack of vision. He sighed aloud, looking back up when he nearly tripped over a rock. He let his hand settle over his mouth instead, mumbling his reply.

“mcrocs”

Hels furrowed his brows, bringing his hands up to rest on his hips.

“Your what?”

EX huffed and dropped his hand back to his side.

“My crocs! I went back for my crocs!”

Both were silent, still trudging back to the house. It was Hels who broke first, sparing a glance to the red and hole-y gag gift that Doc had given to EX for his last birthday. Hels had forgotten that EX was wearing them.

“Of course. Your crocs, how could I forget?”

“They’re comfortable! I-”

“Look, they’ve got the window open! They’re awake, I hope they’re not worried,” Hels interrupted, pointing toward the house they were quickly approaching. EX could confirm that the window was indeed cracked open, something Y/n was known to do most mornings.

“Reckon they’re out back?” EX asked rhetorically, picking up his pace to see if his suspicions were correct.

It was only a few minutes later that the two found themself rounding the gate that blocked off the backyard. Miles of flowers blossomed over the plains, and smack-dab in the center of them: a sleepy Y/n, bent over to pluck some nearby tulips.

It was Hels that shouted out to them first, bellowing their name with a grin and a hand to his mouth. They stood up abruptly, dropping their basket of collected flowers in their fluster, spinning to find the culprit. Hels waved at them enthusiastically, grabbing EX’s hand so that they could both hurry over to their partner.

“Good morning my loves!” Y/n greeted as soon as they were within a reasonable distance, reaching their arms out for a hug. They went to take a step toward the pair, but found themself stuck on a root. Within a moment, Y/n’s face fell, along with their sense of balance. With one foot caught on a root, Y/n quickly found themself plummeting forward. They stuck their hands out in defense, hoping to catch themself and take most of the impact on their hands rather than their head.

“Easy!” They could vaguely hear Hels shout at them, a pair of gloved hands coming out to catch them. EX’s grip was solid, hooking under their arms and blocking their fall. They looked up at him, finding he was already staring down at them with concern.

“Alright dear?” He asked lowly, eyes scanning them over for any injury. When their shoes came into his sight, EX’s posture relaxed further, a mischievous smile coming over his lips.

“Nice boots.”

Y/n glanced down at their feet, remembering the black leather shoes they’d borrowed this morning. Their eyes soon drifted to EX’s feet, matching his smirk with a look of their own.

“I like your crocs.”

Hels’ giggle could be heard from beside them. EX flushed a deep red, helping Y/n to stand up straight and letting go of them when they were safely upright.

“Touché” he mumbled under his breath. Y/n giggled and reached up to pinch his red cheek, looking at their other boyfriend.

Hels was watching them, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk painted over his face.

“Is that my sweater?”

Y/n rolled their eyes, walking closer to him, careful not to trip over any other roots. They wrapped their arms around his neck, pulling the knight in for a hug.

“It’s just so soft, I think I’ll keep it.”

Hels scoffed, and a hand came to rest on Y/n’s waist. They turned to find EX standing behind them, his head coming to rest on their shoulder.

“Looks better on you anyway, Hels has more than enough sweaters to share.” EX was quiet in Y/n’s ear, enough to send shivers down their spine, but not so that the knight couldn’t hear too.

Said ravenet gave in with a sigh. He wrapped his arms around Y/n’s front, effectively squishing the gardener between himself and EX.

“He’s not wrong, you look adorable.”

Y/n smashed their face into Hels’ chest, hiding in the fabric of his shirt. EX’s hand rubbed soothingly on their back, both of their boyfriends laughing at their distress. Y/n had to admit, if all it took to get cuddles was wearing their boyfriends’ clothes, they’d have to borrow from their closets more often.