#form&rum

[undyingdecay]

pairing: robert reynolds x reader cw: smut, afab reader, phone sex, pillow humping, faint overstimulation, mentions of nursing, mentions of breeding.

this had been your third away mission this month. 

you and ava—who still didn’t talk much unless it was necessary—had been flown out to mazar-i-sharif, a city currently red-flagged in quiet backchannels between the cia and what was left of stark intelligence. there were reports of reality seams warping in the industrial district, things slipping through and slithering back—too fast to record, too quiet to leave proper trace. the initial scout team sent out—disguised, civilian—had stuck out like fucking neon in a blackout. none made it back. one body was recovered, bloated and arched backwards like it had been hit with a concussive blast inside its own skull. a single tooth embedded in the inner cheek.

being part of the so-called “new avengers” made your gut churn with something like betrayal. not just guilt. the name “new” carried a kind of sacrilege in it, like pissing on an open grave and calling it progress. it was a marketing team’s word—something valentina must have approved while chewing her way through a cocktail olive and a classified kill list. natasha. steve. even sam had ghosted off radar, half the team scattered or dead or morally gutted. “new” meant hollow.

you and ava tried not to talk about that. you blended as best you could. ava knew how to disappear; you knew how to talk. it worked.

by the seventh club of the night—a collapsed-looking industrial rave wedged into a half-burnt bakery—you were raw-eyed and bone-tired. the music had teeth. the air reeked of cheap rum, cannabis tar, and that too-sweet, too-human scent of sweat and sex. the man wasn’t there. neither of you had even a quarter ounce of faith in the blurry polaroid that had come paper-clipped to the mission folder. ava didn’t even look at it. you had stared at it until you swore it moved.

you called it a night. no leads. nothing but phantom static and whispered names: “the gold man,” “shining eyes,” “godflesh.”

once you’d gotten back to the hotel—an over-warm maze of marble and carpets worn to threads—you muttered a soft “goodnight, ava,” and she returned it without looking at you.

you peeled out of your mission gear like shedding skin. the hot water from the shower felt criminally good. you wrapped yourself in a towel that smelled faintly of bleach and cigarette smoke, then finally dropped into bed. the hotel’s linen was too soft, luxurious in a way that felt untrustworthy. like it had been cleaned too well. like it had something to hide.

you reached for your phone without thinking.

and then you froze.

the screen lit up, casting a cold white glow over your face—and what stared back at you made your stomach drop. a few texts from bob earlier that morning, just the usual: updates, soft check-ins, his quiet way of saying he missed you without actually using the word. but then—beginning at 10:47 pm and flooding up until three minutes ago—your entire notifications tab was nothing but his name. call after call. message after message. some in all lowercase, your name typed out like a chant. others blank. just missed connections. pleas, maybe. the sheer volume of it made your skin prickle.

you glanced at the hotel clock. 11:52.

you didn’t even bother scrolling through the texts. the knot forming in your chest was too tight, too familiar. you hit “call” immediately, heart crawling up your throat with the kind of panic you usually reserved for the aftermath of gunfire or something moving behind your reflection.

it rang once.

then—his voice.

not even his full voice. just a breathy, broken whisper of your name, dragged out and trembling like it hurt to say. a soft whine that slipped through the line like he was trying to crawl through it.

in the background, something wet echoed faintly—too loud, too slick, unmistakable in its rhythm. the kind of sound you knew couldn’t be faked. there was too much of it.

“‘m sorry—couldn’t help it.”

the desperation in his voice was so thick it lodged in your chest, cracked open something you weren’t ready to look at too closely. warmth stirred low in your belly, sharp and immediate.

“tell me what’s the matter, baby,” you cooed, soft and coaxing, a slow sweetness that you knew would ruin him. you heard the stutter of breath, the shudder on the other end of the line—and then a choked, broken sob.

“need—more,” he gasped. “need you, please.”

your fingers tightened around the phone.

“are you touching yourself the way i taught you to?” the question came out hushed, threaded with something tender beneath the heat.

it had taken time—real time—for bob to even see masturbation as something other than a task. something he rushed through with clinical detachment, like brushing his teeth. just another way to get his body to shut up. before you, it was never pleasure. it was barely release. just something to get over with, to check off in silence before staring at the ceiling again and wondering if he still belonged to himself.

“mhm,” he breathed.

you heard the shift of fabric, the rustle of movement as he repositioned. his voice came through again, this time soaked in shame and need both: “i wanna touch you—please, can i use your pillow? mine won’t feel the same… it—it doesn’t smell like you.”

you sighed, deep and indulgent. as if you weren’t already aching. as if your thighs weren’t already pressing together.

of course you were going to say yes. you always did. bob using your pillow as a makeshift toy wasn’t exactly a surprise anymore. it had become a habit. one you were still trying to break him of—not because you didn’t like the thought, but because it was a nightmare to clean. you’d caught him more than once trying to sneak it into the laundry pile like it hadn’t been completely soaked through the night before.

but what did catch you off guard—what dragged a small, stunned exhale from your lips—was the sudden flicker of movement on your screen.

his camera had turned on.

the phone had been propped up against the lamp on his nightstand in a rush, tilted just enough for you to see the full, devastating picture: bob, flushed and panting, his boxers shoved halfway down those strong thighs. a plain white t-shirt clenched between his teeth, his jaw tight from biting down. his chest heaved. his arms were braced on either side of your pillow, caging it in like it was alive—like it was you.

his hair was damp and curling against his forehead, clinging in slick strands. his hips were moving in slow, desperate grinds. the pillow beneath him was already soaked.

“you’re such a pretty boy, bob,” the words tumbled from your lips unfiltered, thick with heat. you didn’t even realize you’d spoken until you heard the tiny, helpless whimper he gave in response.

you shifted under the covers, already sinking down into them. your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts without hesitation. your body answered for you.

patience.

but just barely.

“oh—oh! fuck—”

bob’s voice pitches up, ragged, cracking in a way that sounds like it’s being wrenched out of him, not spoken. you hear the slap of skin against fabric and the low, animal creak of the bedframe with every thrust. the rhythm’s brutal now, desperate and without elegance—he’s fully rutting against the pillow like something that forgot how to be human, all survival and instinct and you.

tiny, pitiful 'uh-huh's slip from his throat like affirmations, little nods to some fantasy playing out behind his glassy eyes. your name gets lost in there too, choked on the back of each whine like it’s the only word he knows anymore. you can’t even tell if he’s aware he’s saying it, or if it’s just muscle memory now—etched into him like scar tissue, something old and automatic, something holy.

and despite the slight tilt of the camera—angled just-so against the lamp, like he couldn’t even wait to set it properly—you can see it. all of it.

his cock, flushed and leaking, glistening wet in the low yellow light of his room, absolutely soaking the pillow beneath him. the precome is everywhere—slicking down the shaft in thick ropes, pooling at the head, gluing soft chestnut curls to his pelvis in damp little tufts. a dark, spreading circle blooms on the pillowcase like a halo, obscene and devotional, a shrine made of mess.

the cotton’s clinging to him now. you can tell it’s started to catch—too saturated to offer any friction anymore, but still he grinds against it like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. like if he stops, he’ll fall off the planet completely.

“fuck, fuck—please,” he keens, voice cracking, “are you… are you touching yourself? please, just wanna make you feel good, ‘jus wanna—”

his words dissolve into a hitching moan, his hips stuttering.

the way he says it—make you feel good—it’s not about control. not with bob. it’s always been about purpose. something to do with his hands that isn’t destruction. something to be useful for, other than ripping the sky in half. it’s service. it’s worship. he wants your pleasure like a man wants salvation, like maybe if he brings you there, he’ll be pulled from the pit too.

and it hits you then—how much of bob exists in this exact moment. every part of him that doesn’t know how to exist quietly. every ugly, wanting corner he doesn’t show the others. not to walker. not to bucky. not even val. none of them would believe this part of him even existed—the part that mewls your name while soaking through your pillow, raw and exposed and beautiful in a way that would terrify them.

you let your fingers dip lower, slipping through your own wetness, and it’s instant. a spike of pleasure that borders on pain, aching and hot as it shoots up your spine. you groan low, and the sound must’ve carried through the speaker because bob freezes, chest heaving.

then—

“are you—are you really?” his voice is breathless, full of awe, like the idea of you actually touching yourself for him is some miracle. he groans, hunching deeper into the pillow, fucking it harder. “jesus, oh my god—thank you—thank you—”

as if you’d gifted him something sacred. as if your body was an answered prayer.

your thumb brushes your clit and your legs jerk. a slick wet sound rises between your thighs, echoing faintly through the call—and bob sobs. sobs.

he keeps swallowing—again and again, compulsively—his throat working like it hurts, like the absence of you is something stuck in it. you can see the way his adam’s apple bobs with each gulp, frantic and shallow, as if he’s trying to tamp something down but it keeps rising, flooding.

you know what it is.

he’s used to having something in his mouth—you. his tongue, his lips, his whole desperate mouth always latched somewhere: your tits, your shoulder, the inside of your thigh. nursing. nuzzling. mouthing. needing. it’s never been about sex, not just—not only. it’s something older, more infantile, more devout. a craving that doesn’t end at climax. a part of him that needs to cling. to suck. to soothe.

and now?

now he’s alone. no skin to mouth. no nipple to drink from. nothing to suck between his flushed, spit-slick lips except air, which he swallows like a starving man pretending it’s soup. you can see the gloss at the corners of his mouth, how they twitch like they’re trying to shape around your name again. it’s almost sad. it’s almost holy.

then it hits him—fast, like he didn’t see it coming. like his body made the decision before his brain could catch up.

“i’m—cummin’!”

the words rip from his throat like a gunshot, fast and panicked and soaked in relief. his whole body seizes—a full-body convulsion like his bones are short-circuiting. he hunches deeper into the pillow, the muscles in his back flexing so hard you can see them ripple even under the shitty lighting. 

his fingers claw at the sides of the pillow, gripping so hard you swear you hear it tear, the fabric giving under his strength with a muted ripping noise that makes your breath catch.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—gonna get you pregnant—fuck, gonna fill you up,” he’s babbling now, coming so hard he’s barely even conscious of the words leaving his mouth. “make you warm, make it stick, i—ohhh—”

and then it happens.

you watch it happen.

the pillow’s already soaked, but now it’s worse—somehow wetter. the flood of come from his cock is viscous, obscene, splattering thick into the ruined fabric like he’s pouring himself into it. it’s leaking from the tip in heavy, twitching spurts, trailing down the plush cotton and sticking to his thighs, the base of his cock smeared in creamy slick and sweat and saliva from where he’d drooled earlier without noticing.

you swear you can hear it—the wet sound of him milking himself against your ghost. the cum doesn’t even soak in fully anymore; it pools, thick and syrupy, catching the yellow glow of the lamp in a way that makes your stomach twist with hunger.

your own fingers stutter.

he’s still grinding, even through it, rutting forward like he doesn’t know he’s finished. his hips have a mind of their own, cock pushing against the hot mess he’s made like he wants to fuck it in deeper, like he believes if he presses hard enough, it’ll reach you.

he’s letting out plaintive little cries now, weaker, softer, like his body’s finally started to register that it’s empty. that the release didn’t fix it. that even in the wreckage—come-sticky, thighs trembling, pillow soaked and unusable—he’s still hungry for something he can’t reach through a screen.

still, he rocks lazily against the pillow in slow aftershocks, hips twitching like muscle memory won’t let go just yet. it’s less about getting off now and more about staying close to the feeling of you. the last trace. the last pulse.

then he turns his face toward the phone—his cheek pink, wet with sweat and saliva—and smiles.

it’s a dreamy, breathless little thing. a laugh spills from him, all shaky and sugar-sick, like he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling anymore. he just knows it was for you. that it meant something.

it doesn’t matter, though.

not when he lets himself melt across the bed like butter left out too long, one arm sliding off the mattress, his legs spread open and useless. his boxers are barely clinging to one ankle now, and there’s a damp patch on the sheets beneath him where the mess finally leaked through the pillow.

his eyes flutter shut.

“love you ‘s much,” he murmurs, voice thick and blurred at the edges. “miss you ‘s much.”

he says something else, low and soft, words smudged like watercolor. you don’t catch it, but it doesn’t really matter. you get the shape of it. the feeling.

you pause for a second, letting the sound of his breathing settle into you—deep and rhythmless, the kind of sleep that only comes after something raw. then you slip out of bed, padding softly toward the bathroom.

there’s the brief rush of water, the soft hush of skin meeting towel, the familiar ritual of cleaning up under sterile hotel light. you avoid the mirror. avoid looking at your own flushed face. not out of shame—no, never that. just reverence. quiet.

when you return, you glance down at the phone still glowing on your bedside table. the screen’s dim, but the call hasn’t ended. bob’s still there. his camera’s tipped just slightly now—angled toward his chest, rising and falling, slow and steady. his mouth is slack in sleep. he’s beautiful in the way aftermath is beautiful—ruined and soft and done.

you smile.

sliding back under the covers, you nestle the phone beside you like a second heartbeat. you don’t even bother turning it off. just let the weight of his presence settle into the bed with you, real as anything. real as warmth.

you fall asleep to the sound of bob’s breathing.

(bob now has such a nasty habit of sending you the most filthiest things while your away, from little voice messages of breathless whimpers to full on videos of him fucking himself into his fist.

always paired with a message under it reading; 'love you so much, look at the mess i made' all while you're seated on a plane right next to ava on your way back home)

[an-absolute-nightmare]

alcohol in chocolate smells and tastes significantly better than alcohol not in chocolate but by god is it still Bad

[defmaybe]

That's So True

12 Days of Christmas: Day 10, January 3rd, 2025

aespa’s Uchinaga Aeri/Giselle & Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

5.3k words

Christmas Masterlist

The chatterings of the party goers fill the house, with a faint hint of Gracie Abrams’ That’s So True hanging in the air. The place reeks of cheap perfume (you added the cheap part by yourself, you really don’t know which is expensive and which is not), beer, and rum.

You’re somewhere in the house, playing a game with your friends, and your friends of friends. The bottle spins, as the players are watching it expectantly, anticipating the next candidate for truth or dare. It slows down, and the sounds of people’s breath hitching can be heard as the tip of the bottle goes near them.

(The stake here isn’t anything more than shame, really. Still, it’s a pretty huge predicament for college students.)

Finally, it stops, claiming Yoo Jimin as its victim. You watch her whine in slight disappointment, but there’s a glint, there’s a glint in her eyes that shows something more—excitement.

“Truth,” Jimin says.

You’ve always considered yourself lucky to be within Jimin’s radius, even if it’s just being a friend of a friend. There’s the obvious—her gorgeous, angelic features. You swear you can just look at her face all day without doing anything else, and that would’ve been enough for you.

Then, there’s her personality. It’s another thing you’ve always admired. She’s a leader, a goddamn 4.00 achiever, the perfect epitome of a student. She’s a debate team president, and now she’s sitting in the same circle as you, playing truth or dare, ready to be asked the most embarrassing questions.

“So,” Beomgyu begins, tapping his knees in a rhythm. He’s the faculty’s drummer, after all. “Alright, I couldn’t think of the question. My bad, guys”

The others watch Beomgyu with a slightly annoyed expression (they still love him, of course).

“Don’t start if you don’t know how to continue, man,” Jimin scoffs, turning to others for a spark to her question. “So, anyone?”

Nothing seems to run through your mind at the moment. You’re not an idea kind of person, to say. Your mind is blank.

“What is the worst–” Taehyun utters, but he seems lost on where to go next. The words hang in the air without closure “–fuck.”

“Is that fuck an exclamation, or it’s a part of the question, huh?” Jimin playfully teases him. “I mean, I can answer that if it’s the latter~”

God, she’s so charismatic.

Taehyun chuckles. “I’ll go with the second choice, then,” he says.

Jimin lets out a mischievous smirk. “Well, this is about two years ago, more or less,” she starts her story, as everyone in the circle gathers around to listen intently.

“I was fucking a guy, riding him like crazy. He was whimpering and moaning and all that stuff, you know? I thought he was perfect, being a submissive little slut like that,” Jimin says, an expression of wrath forming on her face. Fuck, she looks so hot when she’s mad. “I’m still mad at him, goddamn it.”

You only nod along with the story like the others, listening to her carefully.

“Everything was going so damn well. God, I even remember how he moaned like a bitch, ‘Nghhh~ Jimin, your pussy feels so good. Jimin, I’m your little man-whore, nghhh~’, like that,” Jimin mocks the poor man’s words while also mimicking the riding movement. You can see her breasts moving along with her motion.

This is fucking arousing. You’re starting to feel the tent inside your pants forming. Imagine being Jimin’s little man-whore like that, watching her tits jiggling while she’s on your cock. A few more shots and you could’ve been drooling all over the floor, being a laughingstock for all of your friends like that.

“That–That’s a very vivid imagery, Jimin,” Minjeong adds. The others are nodding along with her.

Jimin shrugs. “Guess I can be a bit–shameless, you know?” she says with a giggle, making the crowd smile along with her.

“Alright, back to the story. I was riding him, and he was moaning,” Jimin continues. “Everything was going fine. Then he fucking slapped my tits.”

You can see Minjeong clenching her lips, hard. She’s trying not to burst out in a huge laughter, so is Taehyun, so is Beomgyu, so are a lot of other guys in the circle.

Jimin shoots the crowd a glare, whining in frustration, “Come on, guys! He fucking slapped my tits!” Jimin then slaps her chest softly, and that breaks the group.

The crowd erupts in laughter, unable to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation. Kai is already on the floor, dying from the hilarity. You can’t help but chuckle along with the guys.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!” Jimin shouts, but the laughing crowd doesn’t seem to care, still laughing. You watch as Jimin leans back, watching the scene unfold around her, annoyed.

“Hmph!”

“Alright–Alright,” Yizhuo says, still laughing. She then reaches out to her friend for the bottle. Yizhuo wiggles it in her hand slightly, before she spins the bottle again, bringing the crowd’s attention to the object. The bottle rotates. Everyone, mostly still smiling, are watching it with anticipation, ready to see who will be the next victim of the game. Gracie Abrams’ That’s So True seems to repeat itself. The DJ probably forgot to turn the repeat function off. The guitar rings around the house. The bottle continues to spin, continuously slowing down second by second.

And it stops.

At you.

Fuck.

“Since Jimin picked truth–”

“Yeah, I know,” you quickly cut Yizhuo off. “Dare me something.”

You glance around the group. The men are thinking. The women are thinking. They’re probably trying to imagine the most embarrassing thing they can do to you.

“Hmm,” Beomgyu makes a thinking sound before seemingly having an idea. “Grind on somebody’s lap for thirty seconds.”

Your eyes widen in shock, trying to comprehend Beomgyu’s words. “Grind?”

“It’s the worst I could think of without taking off your clothes,” he nonchalantly says, shrugging.

“He could’ve done it for thirty-one seconds, you know,” Soobin chimes in, and the circle erupts in laughter, as you watch the events unfold shyly.

“Ha–alright, man,” Beomgyu says, still giggling. “Who’s going to be the lucky person here?”

The laughter subsides, and the circle focuses their attention on you. You look around the crowd, all red and flustered. Fuck, what is happening?

“I–uh–”

“I don’t mind,” Jimin blurts out with a loud burp, eliciting a few giggles. “I’m already taking a lot of flak tonight, so–come grind on my lap, pretty boy.”

Your eyes widen once more, not believing the words that just came out of Jimin’s pouty lips. Is she–Is she inviting you to grind on her lap? Your mind goes haywire. Your breathing quickens. Fuck, you can’t focus.

“C’mon, you’re already a bitch either way.”

You slowly get up from the floor, all anxious. You walk towards Jimin, who’s invitingly spreading her legs wide, gesturing you towards her.

As you reach Jimin, you lower your plump ass onto her lap. Jimin’s hands creep up your waist, gripping you in your place. Your body shudders at her touch.

“Alright, someone get the stopwatch,” Taehyun says. Yizhuo would be the one to do it, setting the timer at thirty seconds.

Your ass is hovering just above Jimin’s lap, leaving a small space because you just can’t bring yourself to. Suddenly, Jimin pulls you down onto her crotch, making you yelp.

“Nghhh!”

Jimin bursts out a laugh at your submissive response. Her hold on you is firm. She’s only allowing you to move sideways. Yeah, you’re definitely not leaving her before the timer runs out.

“Ready?” Yizhuo asks.

You take a deep breath on top of Jimin before replying, “Y–Yeah.”

“Alright, go!” Yizhuo then presses the start button.

Thirty seconds left.

You move on Jimin’s crotch awkwardly. Your hands find their grips on her strong shoulders. You feel the friction between your ass and her lap heating you two up in the space between. This feels so weird, yet so weirdly comforting. You somehow feel so safe on top of her like this.

“Mmm, just like that, bitch,” says Jimin, and you can only smile shyly in response.

Twenty seconds left.

Jimin starts to thrust her hips up your ass, making you bounce softly on her, her hands still gripping onto your waist tightly. You’re trying so hard to stifle your moan from coming out and embarrassing yourself.

You feel–reduced, reduced to her little man-whore, yet you find comfort in it. Your eyes start to flutter. Your vision is filled with stars.

“C’mon, moan for me. I fucking love it when men moan,” she encourages.

Ten seconds left.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s Jimin’s charm from below you. Your moans leak out from your lips as your movement quickens. You’re feeling like a bitch right now.

“Nghh~”

“Fuck, yeah! You’re putting on some show, pretty boy!” Jimin cheers, and that only spurs you on. Her hands are tightening on your waist. Your motion becomes more and more frantic. You’re revelling in the way she’s talking you down into her bitch.

“Alright, time’s up, guys.”

Your hands find purchase in her hair, as you grind her crotch recklessly. Your whimpers are echoing through the room. Through your narrowed eyes, you see Jimin watching you like a predator, smiling wickedly, taking in the view of her nasty little slut grinding on her lap like this.

“Guys.”

Your pants are tightened from the sensations pooling below your ass. Your whimpers become loud moans. You grind on her crotch as quickly as possible, and it feels so great, being reduced to her little man-whore like this. You swear that you can just do this forev–

“Guys!”

You’re snapped out of your little trance. It takes a blink of an eye, and you see Jimin laughing under you. Around you, the guys just watch in shock (there’s nobody filming, luckily), some having their mouths hanging open, some having their eyes widened.

“Time’s up,” Yizhuo says, showing you the zeroes on her phone.

“Oh, s–sorry,” you reply, before regretfully leaving Jimin’s lap. She’s still laughing under you.

—

You chug in a cup of beer, and another, and another. You’re still trying to make sense of what just happened earlier. You just grind on top of Yoo Jimin’s lap recklessly, moaning and whimpering on top of her. 

God, you were such a bitch.

“Hey.” Suddenly, a sound comes from your back, sounds familiar. You turn back to face its owner.

It’s Aeri, right hand holding her beer cup.

“H–Hey,” you reply nervously. The image of your intimacy with Jimin is still playing in your head.

Aeri shoots a look of concern towards you. “Are you okay? You seem a bit–red,” she asks.

“I–I’m okay, just a little drunk,” you answer, trying to brush her off the fact that you were just dry humped Yoo Jimin minutes ago.

“By the way, the guys were just talking about you,” Aeri says with a giggle. Her thumb is pointing towards your friends’ group that are trying to impress the women. “You grind on Yoo Jimin’s lap?”

Fuck.

You can only stand still in your place, unable to move a limb.

Aeri laughs at your petrified reaction. “Oh my god, you’re such a slut!” She gives your shoulder a friendly slap.

“I–It was a dare, Aeri,” you say apprehensively. That’ll prove fruitless, of course. She’s already thinking you’re a slut. She’s still laughing at you for doing so.

You wouldn’t call Aeri your closest friend, even if the distance between you and her is smaller than that of you and Jimin. You two greet each other in class. You two greet each other outside of class, but that’s it, nothing more, nothing less.

Aeri is more of a carefree type than Jimin. Getting a B is already an achievement for her. She drinks twice a week, stays over at somebody else’s place once a week. Her friends would call her a slut, and she’d happily accept it.

“Are you going to grind on someone’s lap again tonight?” she asks, giggling. “Or maybe eating some ladyfingers~”

“My god, Aeri.” You slap her shoulder softly.

“Alright, see you around!” Aeri says. You wave at her, and she waves back, before she disappears into the crowd again.

Why are you even here?

—

You’re sitting alone on the bed in the house’s bedroom. There’s a Little Fish poster on the wall. The owner sure has some taste. A few vinyls are stacking on top of one another near its player.

You’re trying to comprehend what just happened earlier. You were grinding on a popular girl’s lap, then another one came in to mock you. Oh god, it’s over.

A knock on the door pulls you out of the destructive cycle you’re in, at least.

“Yes?” you utter, and the door opens.

It’s Jimin. She’s peeking through the space between the door and the wall, as if to make sure that no one else is in the room but you (well, there’s no one else here). She then quickly enters the room, closes the door, and starts walking towards you.

“Uh–okay?” you say, puzzled by how she’s acting.

“Heyy,” Jimin greets you again. She seems a bit more–drunk?

“Hi, Jimin.” You figure that you should apologize to her. You just embarrassed her and yourself like that, and her nonchalant reaction may have been a mere defense mechanism!

“Look, I’m sorry about that dare. I should’ve controlled myself better. I’m sorr–”

Your train of thoughts is derailed by her fingers invading your mouth, making your entire body shudder in surprise. Your eyes open wide at her action. Fuck, what is she doing?

“Strip, now,” Jimin orders, drunkenly, fingers playing with the insides of your wet cavern, before she pulls them out, leaving you empty.

“Wh–What?”

“I said ‘strip’, bitch boy. What the fuck is so hard about that?” Her eyes are barely open.

“B–But–”

She plunges her wet fingers into your mouth again, stifling your slutty moans and whimpers. Her hand reeks of alcohol and something that screams her.

“Slut,” Jimin drunkenly utters, before using her free hand to unbutton your shirt, slowly revealing your abdomen inch by inch. “Just–ugh–be a good boy and listen to me, alright?”

You are starting to get lost in the haze of desire, and you can say nothing but nod at her filthy words. Your hands go to your belt, hastily unlocking it from your slutty waist. Your pants come off a little too easily, now pooling on the ground. Your cock only has your boxers left to cover it.

“A slut with a big cock–” Jimin chuckles, using her free hand to stroke your cock from the outside, and you can only moan into her filthy hands “–fucking perfect.”

You’re still sucking on her fingers enthusiastically, like a common whore. Your hands can only sit still by the sides. You don’t dare to touch her body again yet after what happened out there.

“You can touch my tits, you know. You’re standing like a rock, and it’s fucking weird,” Jimin says, and that gives you the permission to her voluptuous breasts.

Your hands start softly, from merely wandering on her tits from top to bottom. You can feel the bra underneath her midriff shirt. It’s barely containing her chest. God, fuck, she’s huge.

“You fucking love my tits, don’t you?” Jimin asks, fingers still busy exploring your mouth. “Strip for me and I’ll let you suck on them.”

You then stammeringly pull your boxers down to your ankles, freeing your cock from its tight confinement. It springs free in excitement, and you just can’t wait to plunge it into Jimin’s puffy cunt.

Your shirt follows suit as Jimin finally unbuttons it completely. You quickly get rid of the restrictive garment, and now, you’re completely nude in front of Yoo Jimin.

“Great body,” she says with a giggle, finally taking her fingers off your slutty mouth. Jimin then takes your hands towards the hem of her top, pulling it upwards, revealing the black bra that’s barely able to contain her tits. They’re almost spilling from the confinement. Fuck.

“Yeah, I fucking know they’re big, slut. Just–wait a sec,” she sneers, as her hands reach towards the back of her bra, hastily unlocking it. And with that, the garment comes off. You’re greeted with the sight of her breasts hanging gorgeously in front of your face, with brown nipples topping them. Her nipples are already hard, so ready for you to–

“Mmm~ s–suck it, slut,” she groans, her body trembling before you, hinting the pleasure she gets from this. Her hands press you harsher into her tits, wanting you to take in the taste.

Jimin reeks of the earlier alcohol, with a hint of salt on her nipples. She has been sweating a bit. God, imagine if you get to taste her after a workout, her body slick, shining with sweat. The salty taste on her tits permeates your tongue. You get to taste her sweat like that. What an experience that would be?

You keep sucking on her tits like there’s no tomorrow. When you suck on one side, you’ll use a hand to knead on the other, feeling the divine softness in your hand. You’re hungry, and only Yoo Jimin’s breasts can satiate your burning hunger.

“Wh–What a bitch,” Jimin sneers, but that only drives you further into the seemingly unending lust of yours.

Suddenly, Jimin grabs onto your hair, yanking your head back to face her beautiful features. It hurts, but in Jimin’s hand, your cock only grows harder and harder.

“Alright, get on the fucking bed,” Jimin orders, and you quickly complies with it.

Jimin follows you onto the soft bed, climbing onto it while her eyes are roaming your pliant body. She’s almost drooling at the sight, seeing you all being submissive for her like this.

She quickly discards her shorts and her already-drenched panties, and you can only watch her show in awe. Her pussy looks nothing short of puffy, so mouthwatering.

She then climbs on top of your pliant body, ready to fuck you senseless on your cock. She lines herself up with your length, before slowly lowering herself down.

At the first contact, both of you groan with the intense pleasure coursing through your bodies. Her pussy feels utterly diving, so fucking tight. Your breaths come out in a stuttered rhythm. Your entire body trembles in pure bliss.

“F–Fuckkk~” you mewl. Your mind can barely register anything but the tightness of her pussy enveloping your thick cock.

“Y–You goddamn s–slut, why is your–ugh–cock so b–big?” she moans, her body shaking in the pleasure you’re giving her.

“I–It’s g–genetics,” you answer her coyly.

Jimin bursts out a laugh on top of your cock, clearly amused by your reply. “God, you’re such a bitch, aren’t you?”

You can only shyly giggle. She’s almost at the hilt now, but the pleasure is already too intense for you.

“G–God, you’re so damn tight, J–Jimin,” you utter, unable to make sense of her otherworldly grip on your cock. God, she’s so tight.

“Th–Thanks,” she replies, her voice still stern. Her hands are drawing lines on your chest with her neatly-manicured nails. The sensation is just too much—on your abdomen, on your cock, on your mind.

Finally, she’s at the hilt. She screams in pure ecstasy. You’re splitting her open with your cock. Both of your eyes are fluttering in bliss. This feels so good.

“Oh f–fuck, you’re so–so big!” Jimin shouts. You watch as her hands are shaking on top of you, unable to handle the sheer size of you.

You say nothing, instead creeping your hands up her pillowy breasts, adding another hue of sensation to her. You start to play with her nipples, making her body spasming on top of you.

“G–Goddd~” she mewls.

Jimin then moves back up. Your cock reappears from the base once more. The feeling around your cock is ecstatic—her inner walls grazing your cock like this. It’s insane.

“Nghhh~” you moan, trying to comprehend the feeling.

“I–I’m going down now, s–slut,” she says, before ramming back down. The sound of flesh slapping into each other echoes through the room.

“Fuck!” Both of you scream in unison, involuntarily.

She moves up again, then down, then up, then she finds her rhythm on your cock. Her pussy feels unreal. She’s gripping you like a vice, so tight, so right. Without knowing, you’re plowing into her pussy with reckless abandon.

You pound her roughly with any force you have, aiming to fill her womb with your salty nectar. The sounds of moaning and flesh slapping rings through the room. The room reeks of sex. Your hands creep up onto her big breasts again. They feel so soft in your hands, and you decide to give them a firm squeeze, making Jimin’s body writhe above you.

“G–God, y–your hands, s–so good,” she says, voice barely above a goddamn whisper. Her back arches. Her eyes are fluttering. She’s falling apart.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your trance. Your motion comes to a halt in surprise.

“Heyyy, I know you guys are in there~”

Fuck, it’s Aeri.

Jimin quickly covers your mouth with her drool-stained hand, not wanting you to alert Aeri of your presence. She’s still grinding your cock recklessly, and you’re doing your best not to moan like a slut (even if you already are).

“I–It’s–ah–just Jimin here, A–Aeri,” Jimin says, trying to hide the fact that she’s using you as her fucktoy. Though the evident stutter in her voice gives way.

“C’mon, Jimin, don’t hog him just for yourself. I wanna use him too! Pleaseeee~” Aeri pleads. You can feel the desperation coming from the outside.

“Ugh, this fucking woman,” Jimin scoffs, hips moving on top of you in a hypnotic motion. Her breasts are jiggling as she moves. “Just–don’t forget to lock the door!”

You hear a happy giggle from the outside. The door opens, and here comes Aeri, still in the same clothes as the time she called you a slut earlier in the night. Though she’s already in the process of hiking up her crop top up. Her bra is slightly visible.

“Wow, Jimin, he’s already inside you? Naughty, naughty girl!” says Aeri as she closes the door. A loud click is heard.

“Tsk, says the college’s slut,” Jimin scoffs, before she goes back to riding the soul out of your pliant body.

“God forbid a woman be a little slutty, I guess,” Aeri sneers before taking off her crop top.

Aeri’s cup size, though not as large as Jimin’s, is still pretty damn impressive if you’d weigh in on this topic in the men’s circle. Her bust is also barely contained by her lacy bra, can’t see why someone wouldn’t be caught within her presence.

Your eyes are glued to the barely contained breasts of Aeri’s, despite being buried deep in Jimin’s cunt. Aeri sways her hips playfully, pulling you into another trance. It doesn’t stay for long though. Jimin calls you back into action with a flick on your taut nipple.

“Hey! Don’t–mmm!”

Jimin plunges her fingers into your mouth for the umpteenth time, it still works, of course. You’re still sucking her slender fingers like a whore (you’re a whore, her whore). Your hands roam over her body to have a grab on her large bust hanging gorgeously above your face.

“Fucking wh–whore,” Jimin sneers, unimpressed by your antics, although drowning in the pleasure of being touched by you. She seems to really want you as hers, doesn’t she?

“Ngmm~” you can only whimper out.

“Oh, come on, Jimin. Don’t be so harsh on him!” Aeri protects you, as she slowly takes off her bra, waiting to use your body in some way. “Don’t want him to cum so fast. You know how much of a slut he is, right, baby?”

You nod sheepishly with Jimin’s fingers still inside your mouth. Degradation only makes you cum faster, and you wouldn’t want to piss Jimin and Aeri off by cumming before them.

As Aeri’s bra comes off, you’re greeted with her perfect breasts. Her dusky nipples are already hard, ready to be sucked and nibbled. You’re so ready for the second pair of tits for tonight.

“Oh, c’mon, Aeri. You’re distracting him!” Jimin whines, her hands are trying to divert your attention back to her bouncing on your cock. It works, sometimes. You can see Aeri giggling in the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, alright, how about–” Aeri takes off her shorts and panties in a single swoop, putting her mouthwatering cunt on display for you “–I sit on his face.”

God, she looks so delicious naked like this.

Back to her latest words first, though. Did she just say she’s going to sit on your face?

“Seems fair,” Jimin replies, gesturing Aeri to your vacant, unused face.

“Wait, I can’t–”

“You can, slut,” Jimin commands. Her voice is stern. Her pace on your length remains reckless, trying to coax the cum out of your full balls. “Don’t think you have any say in this, bitch. Tonight’s my–no–our night.”

You only whimper in response. You’re going to get double-teamed by Jimin and Aeri, and you couldn’t be happier than this.

Aeri then climbs onto the bed, approaching you like a predator eyeing its prey. She puts her legs on both of your sides, caging your head with her meaty thighs. Her pussy is just right above you. And slowly, she lowers herself onto your face, ready to suffocate you with her cunt.

“Oh god,” you utter, so lost in the throes of pleasure Aeri is about to give you.

She lowers just one of her knees close to your head. You’ve seen a video on this before. It’ll help the woman to not get tired too quickly. Her pussy is so close to your face now, and you can do nothing but stick your tongue out, ready to eat her out.

“Oh, and,” Aeri says, halting her motion slightly, making you groan in disappointment. “Do you want to kiss me, Jimin?”

“Ah, not my thing. Sorry,” Jimin replies with a polite smile, keeping her movements erratic on your cock. God, this feels so good.

“It’s fine,” Aeri says, before completely sinking herself onto your face, making you take in her taste.

“Fuckkk~” Aeri screams. Her body is shaking in the pleasure you’re giving her. Her hands grip onto the sides of your head tightly. She doesn’t want to let you go.

It’s not hyperbolic to say that Aeri’s taste is insane. You’re completely hypnotized by her flavor on your tongue. She has the perfect amount of saltiness, and the perfect amount of musk. Aeri’s pussy is driving you haywire, even if it’s in a different way that Jimin is making you feel.

“So–perfect for–a facefuck, god!” Aeri shouts, starting to ride your face like it’s hers (it’s hers).

The sensation is unreal. Jimin is trying to pump cum out of your cock with her grinding motion as if you’re her fucktoy (you’re her fucktoy), while Aeri is riding the shit out of your face as if you’re her fucktoy (you’re her fucktoy). The scent of her pussy is filling your nostrils, and you can’t help but grab onto both women’s breasts.

“Goddd~” Aeri groans, body shaking on top of you. Jimin says nothing but letting you play with her tits, though a few whimpers are leaking out of her lips.

Aeri’s juice tastes so damn good, and you’re happily lapping her up hungrily. Her juice is running down your chin to your neck, creating a filthy trail on your pretty face. You’re revelling in her taste. You’re revelling in the way you’re pleasing her. You’re revelling in the way she fucking keens on top of you.

“S–So, you’re not all just a pretty face, huh?” Aeri asks, her taut body trembling on you. She keeps riding your face frantically. God, she really is going for it.

You answer with an even more intense movement of your tongue, making Aeri scream on top of you. She grinds on your face even faster and faster.

Inevitably, you’re going to reach the precipice. You can feel the heat pooling in your crotch. You’re going to cum inside Yoo Jimin’s pussy!

“Nghh~ g–gonna cum,” you say. It’s barely coming out with Aeri’s cunt on your mouth like this. 

You hear Aeri giggle softly above you, body trembling in pleasure. “Well, this is rather fast, isn’t it?”

“You’re late, Aeri,” Jimin says, slightly dissatisfied with Aeri’s complaints. “Maybe you can come here instead of whoring out while he’s balls deep inside of me.”

Aeri giggles again. “Fineee~ just let me know when you guys are fucking.”

“G–Girls, gonna c–cum–nghn.”

Both Jimin and Aeri quicken their pace on top of you, chasing their own orgasm. They really want to cum with you, don’t they?

“A–Alright, I’m c–close–ah,” Jimin utters. You can hear her frantic breathing from below. Her grip on your waist becomes tighter. Your left hand alternates between her breasts, giving them the treatment they deserve.

“M–Me too,” Aeri says. Her muscles tense up under your touch. Her brown nipples are harder than ever. The three of you are going to cum at the same time!

“Nghh, I–I’m so c–close, girls. C–Can I cum inside you, J–Jimin?” you ask. The feeling is irresistible now. You’re so, so close.

“F–Fucking fill my–my womb, bitch,” Jimin scoffs, her voice stern. “Breed me like–like the whore you are.”

Her words spur you on, as you thrust up into Jimin’s cunt as fast as humanly possible. Your mouth ravages Aeri’s folds recklessly.

Jimin would be the first to break. Her cunt gushes out clear liquid onto the bed. Her body spasms on top of you. You can feel her wetness pooling on your stomach. Aeri follows suit. Her squirt leaks out of her pussy onto your face as you happily drink it. Both of them scream, forming a cacophony that fills the room. 

“Yes! Yes! Fucking–Fucking love this cock.” Jimin shouts. You aren’t so sure who’s going to hear that, but you don’t care. You’re about to cum inside of her.

“G–God, I’m painting your face so good!” Aeri says.

You let go. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum into Jimin’s womb. You’re breeding Yoo Jimin with your cock. Your entire body writhes under both women’s bodies. 

“I can feel it twitch inside me!” Jimin says excitedly, softly raking your body with her nails.

Your eyes flutter in ecstasy, unable to make sense of the sensations on your body. There’s the feeling of Jimin’s ass on your cock. There’s the feeling of Aeri’s thighs on your face. There’s the scent of sex and sweat filling the room. That’s So True can still be heard. It just won’t stop, will it?

Finally, you come down from your precipice. You’re panting along with the women, trying to catch your breath in this post-orgasm bliss. Fuck, that felt good.

“Slut,” Jimin sneers, getting off from your cock at the same time as Aeri unlatches herself from your face. “Bathroom, now.”

You quickly comply with her order, getting off from the bed and walking towards the bathroom. You feel so submissive, so pliant, yet it feels so right, being their little bitch boy like this.

“One more round?” Aeri jokes, giving your ass a slap, making you yelp.

“Oh, definitely,” Jimin says, determined in her voice.

“M–Maybe, I gotta take a break.”

—

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲

Pairing: bf!Jack Abbot x F!reader

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Jack finds everything about you attractive. That includes menstruation.

Warnings: PORN-NO-PLOT. Unprotected p-in-v. Period sex + descriptions of menstrual blood (obviously 😔👌) Oral f!receiving.

Author’s Note: Brought to you by 1 half shot of disgustingly sweet rum. Enjoy, anon! (sorry for the abrupt ending LOL)

Masterlist

There hadn’t been a day Jack wasn’t willing to take you. 

No matter the time or day. if you called, he’d come. 

Whether in the terms of coming home to you, or, ejaculation. Commonly, it was both. 

Maybe he was too willing, if, there was such a thing. Beckoning to an almost urgent text you sent him earlier into his shift, how badly you needed him, his touch, his cock. How you’d almost been tempted to pop into the ER at ten o’clock at night just to work him urgently into the lounge and stuff his dick halfway down your throat just to feel something, anything at all. 

He’d assure you through a quick text he was getting off early tonight, and, in a non-tech savvy, old man fashion, unironically paired it with a gen-X approved winky face built from a semicolon and parentheses. 

Hours later, he unlocked the door to his apartment with an unusual pep, pushing in. And, when he saw the dim, warm lighting peeking through the crack of his bedroom’s door, he could already feel himself stiffen, just the littlest of amounts. He pressed the entry wide, his tongue sliding out to wetten his bottom lip as he saw you, legs stretched, body so comfortably laid out against his mattress, making his mouth water like his eyes had only just laid on the most saccharine of desserts. 

He felt his stomach plummet, and his cock pulse. 

And, without a moment's notice, moved quickly to launch himself into bed with you, making you squeal as his massive palms wrung around your ankles, tugging you towards his broad body. Before you stuttered a bit, palmed his chest and squeaked a gentle ‘wait.’ 

Jack blinked, his dire movements had haltered for a second or two. Before you had explained to him; you were bleeding. As in, menstruating. In all, vivid honesty, Abbot couldn’t give one, singular fuck. 

He’d reassure himself that you were comfortable, almost annoyingly so, fingertips tapping and pressing over your body as if he was doing a routine checkup. Thumbing over your belly, noting the quiet bloat below your navel, lips gliding over your tits, bookmarking the tenderness of your breasts. And, oh, was he hungry. 

Starving. With an all-too familiar heat that roiled deep in his belly. 

Once you were scathed of all your clothing, Abbot's eyes silently worshipped over your nude being, pressing his left hand into your cushy thigh and creasing it back against your hip, allowing your other leg to reign free. 

“Good girl,” Jack cooed, soothing warm, worked palms over your form. “Relax for daddy, honey.” 

His words always found a way to your pussy before they hit your brain, making her throb adjacent to his cock. You’d suck on your teeth when he swiftly ducked his face down between your legs and pressed a chaste kiss to your tummy before paving a path of wet, audible smooches down towards your needy, sensitive cunt. 

He pecked your clit, already so swollen and desperate for him. Just the quick, sweet gesture made your hips squirm a little against his comforter, then, he stuck out his tongue and lapped a long, hot stripe between your gooey folds. That’s how he’d make you whimper. 

“Jack–” You’d breathe, “Yes!” 

It was so hard for you to keep even an ounce of composure when it just felt so fucking good. Jack had grunted into your cunt when his tongue tasted a particularly thick moisture, teeth grazing that gorgeous, sensitive pearl as he licked a little deeper, a little more desperate. 

And every messy, sopping noise, just a little more grotesque. 

He’d part your puffy lips with his thumbs, flatten his tongue and rub it up and down the inners repetitively. 

“Jus’ tastes so sweet,” his tongue stroked you again, “Even like this. Mm–fuck.” 

Rasping through his words, the tip of his tongue nudges against your entrance. You shook out a moan as your front teeth sunk deep into your trembling, bottom lip. 

As if to tease you, Abbot slowly withdrew from your cunt, his glossy, deep green eyes meeting with yours. It’d only take a flickering diversion in your gaze’s direction to notice Jack’s chin coated in spit, slick, and a lot of sticky, crimson blood. You’d whine, securing fingers into his silver curls and gripping. 

“You–you really don’t have to…” It was shaky, a little scared. 

“Honey. I want to.” He’d grit, eyes glimmering. “Need to.” 

You’d detach a fist from his hair to anchor it into his duvet. Spreading your thighs wider as you felt your brain only growing dumber. Hips lazily hopping towards his fluid-smeared chin, forlornly. It’d only been a minute and you felt every nerve wailing for another inkling of stimulation. 

And Jack always aimed to please, right?

“Does my sweet girl need my cock instead?” He’d almost sneer. 

Jack knew the answer, of course. It was there, being reciprocated back to him through your blown, sparkling pupils. Though, with your gaze held tight to his, you nodded. Quick and hastily. 

Plucking down his boxers by the elastic band, he wrung them around his thick thighs, balls hanging heavy over the hem’s edge. His cock was obscenely plump with blood, the head thick and broad, crying heady beads of opaque slick. You wanted to cry. 

He’d precariously position himself over top of your supine body, gathering up all that goop gushing out of your hole with his tip with long, languid strokes within your swelled folds. Your jaw went slack, and you choked on an absurdly pitched moan–Jack always found a way to make you sound like a pornstar. You were keeping his neighbors in your prayers. 

He gripped the base of his shaft and aligned himself with your entrance, you felt his nose brush tenderly against your flushed cheek, pursing his lips into a thin line. 

“If you’re still all achy–” He began, voice forcing through a grunt. “—this’ll help, sweetie. Promise.” 

At that, he pushed in. And you moaned–oh god, did you moan. Something that ripped straight from your chest and shrilled from your pretty, drool slick lips. Abbot hissed, and worked a heavy palm over your mouth. 

“Shhh, I know.” He sucked in a breath, held it, then released it against the shell of your ear. “But you can take him, mhm… Doc knows best.” 

It was the straight, whole truth. Disgustingly dirty being said in a moment like this one. Every drawn, lengthy thrust of his dick felt hazy, like heaven on earth. Making you moan with every hearty press to the squishy, ribbed spot against the ceiling of your pussy, your walls clenched and unclenched with each tantalizing, circular rub of his index to your clit. 

Your nails clawed and dragged down the expanse of his chest, mewling as the coarse, thatch of hair crowning his cock scratched a little too close to the hardened pearl already being toyed with, courtesy of his digits. You squeezed and clamped around him. Already riding the edge of your impending climax. 

He felt the twitches and tightens of your body, hyper focused on every little detail, from the scrunch of your nose when he drove a little deeper, to how your thighs would spasm, stretching just a little wider for him. Each rut of his hips became more and more repetitive, ornery and fixed on getting you to cum before him. As always. 

Frenzied, your smaller hands began gripping and grabbing different parts of his body, waist, biceps, neck and squeezing him tight as your fingertips barely brushed against his damp, salt and pepper curls.

Adding fuel to the already raging fire, the pad of his thumb shifted to your clit and pressed. Holding a firm, consistent pressure to the bundle of nerves.

This had caused the dam to break. Your legs slung around his hips and tugged him close, feeling your stomach coil and churn deep. And, you could never get over the cliche-ness of how your toes curled, and your eyes rolled back somewhere deep inside your skull. 

Fuck, he was good. 

Jack’s hips spurred and jerked as the muscles in your cunt contracted around his member, holding back had been proven impossible with the sinful, tight stimulation you had been effortlessly providing every nerve ending in his shaft. 

His balls tightened and drew up like clockwork, he’d twitch, hard, and follow that involuntary spasm with thick, hot ropes of cum shooting deep inside your pussy, filling you up to the brink before he’d even think about pulling out–he’d praise himself every night for getting that vasectomy all those years ago, or else he’d have you knocked up twice over by now. Twins each time. He was so very confident if he was never snipped, it’d be sure to stick. 

Your body comfortably went limp against the jumbled mass of pillows and sheets, utterly and absolutely fucked out. Spent. Done.  

“That’s my girl,” If his words weren’t so gentle, so sugary, you’d be too dazed and laxed to realize he was still here. Absentmindedly gliding his knuckles up and down your waist. “Feel better now?” 

Although it’d be a gross understatement to just nod and state, “Yes.”  it was all you could really do, as your orgasm still thrummed throughout your entirety.

It felt so dreamy, so dazed. And, it really did help. Every little, minute ache that seemed to twist into your pelvic floor and pinch had floated away to seemingly nowhere. And you couldn’t help but feel just slightly more pleased than usual. It was a relief. A gentle warmth that lulled you.

Along with Jack’s cock, still shoved halfway to the hilt into that pretty cunt of yours, knowing the mess that would await him once he pulls out. Blood and cum just oozin’, all messy like. He was procrastinating. Rightfully so, his washer and dryer broke down a couple days prior.

Plus, his sheets were the utmost unfortunate color of light grey.

[sh4nksslvt]

Romance By Impact

A series of unfortunate training accidents, unexpected collisions, and very confused pirates—featuring awkward kisses, deadpan reactions, and maybe a few new feelings.

shanks x reader | zoro x reader | mihawk x reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, accidental kiss, light romance a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff a bit cringe, akward, and confusing word count: 3k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

The tavern was rowdy in the way only a Red-Haired Pirates pit stop could be—laughter bursting at the seams, ale spilling like waterfalls, and someone’s boot hanging from the ceiling for no discernible reason.

You were seated at your usual corner table, safely tucked away from the wildest parts of the madness but still within arm’s reach of chaos if it happened to wander over. Which it always did. Because, of course, you were with them.

Tonight, chaos arrived in the form of Lucky Roux barrel-rolling across the floor, chasing after a chicken that had apparently stolen his sandwich.

You sipped your drink without blinking.

“Should we stop him?” you asked no one in particular.

“Nah,” came Shanks’s cheerful voice as he flopped down next to you, drink in one hand, and a smirk stretched wide across his sun-warmed face. “Roux’s gotta work through that betrayal himself.”

You tilted your head, watching the chase. “That chicken has excellent footwork.”

Shanks snorted. “It’s always the poultry you least expect.”

He nudged your shoulder with his, and the casual warmth of his presence settled around you like a blanket that smelled faintly of salt, rum, and trouble. You’d been with the crew long enough that this kind of night was practically a lullaby—boisterous, ridiculous, and, in a strange way, comforting.

“Bet you five hundred berries Benn falls asleep with his eyes open again,” you said.

“Double if he does it standing up,” Shanks countered immediately, raising his mug.

You clinked glasses in solemn agreement, like any two upstanding degenerates would.

The crew roared around you—music blaring, a couple of drunk pirates arguing over whether a narwhal could beat a sea king in an underwater arm-wrestling match—and for once, nothing too insane was happening.

Until it did.

It started innocently enough, as these things tend to.

Yasopp challenged Shanks to a drinking game. You were pulled in as the impartial referee, a decision that now, in hindsight, seemed… foolish.

Very foolish.

“I swear on my entire alcohol stash that I won’t cheat,” Shanks said solemnly, hand on his heart.

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know the rules yet.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “So I can’t cheat if I don’t know how.”

“…You are so full of crap.”

“Don’t judge me with those eyes,” he said dramatically. “Your judgment is louder than Benn’s gun.”

The drinking game was a disaster within two minutes. Shanks was supposed to drink only when you called “go,” but he insisted he had “emotional premonitions” of when the right time was, which led to half the table being soaked in rum, and you nearly getting knocked off your seat laughing when Yasopp fake-passed out from "betrayal."

The grand finale happened during a particularly rowdy round, when Shanks, in the middle of turning to dodge a flying peanut (launched by a vengeful Lucky Roux, still chicken-less), whipped his head around—and smacked right into you.

Forehead, nose, lips.

An accidental kiss.

A very smack-worthy, full-on, blink-and-you-miss-it kiss.

There was a beat of silence as your heads bumped slightly, your faces still awkwardly close. He blinked at you. You blinked back.

“…Well,” you said, completely calm, “that’s one way to dodge a peanut.”

Shanks blinked again, then burst out laughing, tipping backward so hard he almost fell off the bench.

“You—” he wheezed between laughs. “You just got accidentally smooched, and your only comment is about a peanut?! DAHAHAHA”

You took another sip of your drink. “You missed the peanut. Poor reflexes.”

“I’m an emperor of the sea!”

“With poor reflexes.”

The table erupted in laughter. Yasopp fell off his chair. Benn, true to the bet, was already dozing with his eyes half-open in the corner.

Later that night, the party simmered down into lazy chuckles and off-key sea shanties. You and Shanks were still at the table, now sharing a plate of spicy skewers someone had abandoned (their mistake).

“So,” he said eventually, nudging you again. “About the kiss.”

You looked up from your skewer squinting at him. “You’re not gonna propose or anything, right?”

He almost choked. “What?!”

“Some people get very dramatic about first kisses,” you said matter-of-factly. “If you were about to declare undying love and offer me a life of sword-swinging romance, I was gonna need at least three more drinks.”

He stared at you for a moment. Then grinned, slow and wide.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Shanks stretched, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “I was gonna make a cheesy joke about how that kiss stole my breath away, but now I feel like you’d hit me.”

“I might. Gently.”

“Deserved,” he admitted.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, settled deep into the bones of the night, the kind of silence that says we’re fine, we’re good, we’re idiots, and it’s okay.

Then Shanks leaned his elbow on the table and gave you a smirk that was half mischief, half curiosity.

“But seriously,” he said, “not even a little flustered?”

You thought for a second, then shook your head.

“You’re not my first accidental kiss, Shanks.”

He gawked. “What?”

“There was this thing with some guy once,” you said, picking up another skewer. “He fell asleep mid-training, woke up, swung his sword, tripped, face-planted into mine. Lips. Boom. Instant nap buddy.”

Shanks looked personally betrayed.

“I thought we had something special.”

You shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “Sorry, I’m a walking magnet for chaos. If anything, this makes us even.”

He was quiet for a beat, then started chuckling again.

“You know,” he said, grinning, “I think I might like that about you.”

“Not the chaos part, right?”

“No, especially that part.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping shoulders with him again. “You’re lucky I’m immune to charm.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

You turned to him, deadpan. “Try aiming better next time. If you're going to kiss me, at least make it count.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

And then Shanks’s grin turned absolutely feral.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

You got up, stretched lazily, and patted his head like one might a particularly smug golden retriever.

“It’s a ‘you spilled sauce on your shirt’ distraction, actually.”

He looked down.

There was no sauce.

You were already halfway to the door.

“Hey!” he called after you, laughing. “That’s cheating!”

You raised your mug in a mock-toast without turning around. “So are emotional premonitions, Captain!”

ZORO

The sun was brutal. The kind of heat that could fry an egg on the deck of the Thousand Sunny if you weren’t careful—or cook your brain if you were dumb enough to train during it.

Which is why you, naturally, were dumb enough to train during it.

“Your stance is all over the place,” Zoro grunted from where he stood, shirtless and already glistening with sweat. His swords were tucked under one arm like an afterthought.

You adjusted your footing. “You said that five minutes ago.”

“And it’s still true five minutes later. Amazing, right?”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” you muttered, shifting again.

Zoro snorted. “And you’re a terrible student. So we’re even.”

It was a typical afternoon—Zoro had been training solo on the upper deck until you wandered in with a practice sword and what you claimed was a completely reasonable curiosity about swordsmanship. He, of course, took this as a challenge to prove why he was the best swordsman on the ship.

You took it as a challenge to mildly annoy him while improving your footwork.

“You're using too much shoulder,” he said, stepping around you. “All power, no control.”

“You sound like Sanji when he critiques my chopping skills.”

Zoro scoffed. “Don’t lump me in with the eyebrow.”

You grinned. “Hit a nerve, mosshead?”

“Try again, and I’ll knock you on your ass.”

“Oh no, sensei, I’m quaking.”

Zoro rolled his eyes, stepping in to correct your posture, hands rough but surprisingly careful as he nudged your wrist and shoulder into position. He stood too close for it to be entirely comfortable—not for you, at least—and his breath was warm against your ear when he muttered, “Now, swing.”

You did.

Too fast. Too hard. Too ambitious.

Zoro moved to block—too late.

There was a flurry of movement. Your feet caught on each other. His elbow knocked into yours. Balance gone. Two bodies tumbling—

And then—

Wham.

His weight half on top of you. The practice sword somewhere nearby, long forgotten. His lips smashed awkwardly against yours—messy, breathless, more collision than kiss.

Silence.

Hot, stifling, vaguely sandy silence.

Zoro lifted his head, eyes wide like someone had just hit him with a frying pan. His nose bumped yours again.

You blinked at him.

“Well,” you said, voice dry, “that’s one way to teach me about impact.”

Zoro scrambled back like he’d been electrocuted, nearly tripping over his own sword in the process.

“I—I didn’t—That wasn’t—” he pointed at you, flushed, eyes wild. “You fell!”

“Correct,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I was there.”

“We collided!”

“Yep.”

“Your face was just—right there!”

“I imagine it still is.”

Zoro stared at you like you’d grown a second head. You sat up fully, dusting off your shirt, and glanced around.

“Honestly,” you said casually, “I’ve had worse landings.”

“That was your mouth!”

“Well, it wasn’t your foot, so I’m counting my blessings.”

He stood there, mouth slightly agape, looking like his brain had entered maintenance mode. You picked up your fallen practice sword and twirled it idly.

“Anyway,” you added, giving him a once-over. “You okay? You didn’t, like, sprain your pride or anything?”

Zoro blinked. “I—I kissed you!”

You looked at your wrist like you were checking an invisible watch.

“And I’m still breathing,” you said. “So no emergency.”

“You’re weirdly calm about this.”

“Zo, you once mistook a cactus for a training dummy and challenged it to a duel. Our standards for ‘weird’ are skewed.”

Zoro turned scarlet.

“That was one time.”

“I still have the sketch Usopp made of it.”

“I will burn it.”

You shrugged, walking past him toward the rail to stretch your sore legs. “Go for it. I have backups.”

He followed after a second, still visibly flustered, arms folded tightly across his chest.

“So,” he said slowly, suspiciously, “you’re not… mad?”

You looked at him. “Mad? You tripped and accidentally kissed me. I’m not gonna sue you for emotional damages.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

“It wasn’t, like, a move or anything—”

“I know.” You smiled, folding your arms. “Though if it was, I gotta say—clumsy technique. Room for improvement.”

That shut him up.

For about three seconds.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You kissed me.”

“That doesn’t mean I like you!”

You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say you did.”

More silence.

Then Zoro turned abruptly toward the rail and muttered, “Well, maybe I do.”

You stared.

He stared harder at the horizon.

“…Did you just confess to the ocean?”

“It’s neutral ground.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“And you’re annoying.”

You stepped closer, bumping your shoulder against his.

“Do you always fall on top of people when you’re into them?”

“Only the ones who can take it.”

You smiled, surprised and not surprised at the same time.

“I’m flattered.”

He side-eyed you, still red in the ears. “So… you don’t mind?”

“The accidental kiss? Or the part where you basically admitted you like me?”

“Both.”

You gave it a moment. Then shrugged. “I don’t mind either.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

You looked him up and down. “You’re hot, skilled with three swords, and somehow managed to trip and kiss me without impaling either of us. That's impressive.”

“You have low standards.”

“I have realistic standards. And I’ve seen you snore in a tree upside-down. I’m not exactly expecting poetry and roses.”

“…Good. I don’t do that stuff.”

“Obviously.”

You leaned on the railing beside him.

“You know,” you said casually, “if you want to properly kiss me sometime, you could just ask.”

Zoro stiffened.

Then, very slowly, he said: “…You mean, like... on purpose?”

You nodded. “Yeah. With mouth coordination and everything.”

He looked like he was solving a physics equation in his head.

“That’s… bold of you.”

“I am bold.”

He glanced at you, then at your mouth, then away again, scowling like it personally offended him.

“Maybe later.”

You grinned. “You say that like I’m on a schedule.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “annoying brat,” but didn’t walk away.

Later that night, you found a small bundle of snacks on your bunk—your favorite, carefully tied with a red string.

There was no note.

But Zoro was mysteriously missing from post-dinner drinks.

And when you found him again, fast asleep on the training deck with a slight smile and a very obvious blush…

You didn’t say a word.

But you did steal his bandana and left a note in its place:

“Next time, I’m aiming for your mouth. On purpose.”

MIHAWK

The first thing you learned after arriving on Kuraigana Island was that everything was too quiet.

The second thing you learned was that Mihawk didn't do "chit-chat."

He spoke in silences and glances, moved like a blade through shadow, and regarded most human emotion with the polite detachment of someone observing a minor weather event.

You weren’t sure why he agreed to let you stay, but you weren’t complaining. Something about “discipline” and “training potential.” Or maybe he just liked the sound of your sword clashing against his—it was hard to tell.

Currently, the clash in question was taking place in the overgrown courtyard behind his castle. Vines curled along shattered pillars, moss blanketed stone steps, and two crows cawed disapprovingly as Mihawk parried your strike with less effort than someone brushing lint from a coat.

“Tighter grip,” he said, flicking your blade aside.

“I have a tight grip,” you huffed, adjusting your footing. “My bones are humming.”

“Your technique is humming,” he replied, stepping around you. “Your bones are just trying to keep up.”

You gave him a look. He returned it with a subtle, unimpressed tilt of his head.

“I’m going to hit you eventually,” you muttered.

“Unlikely.”

“Says the man with a bird for a butler.”

“Perona talks more than you. And she’s a ghost.”

You lunged again—he sidestepped effortlessly. Your momentum carried you forward, and before you could recover, Mihawk moved. A blur. His hand on your arm, redirecting. Your balance tipped.

One misstep.

You fell.

So did he.

Right on top of you.

His hat flew off.

Your mouths met in a brief, surprised, and completely accidental kiss.

It was soft. Barely a second. Warm. Smelled faintly of red wine and leather.

Then—

He blinked.

You blinked.

The crows blinked, probably.

“…Well,” you said, still flat on your back. “That’s one way to parry.”

Mihawk didn’t move immediately. His face was inches from yours. He was clearly calculating something—trajectory, blame, moral ramifications, possible prison time.

Then he leaned back, brushed nonexistent dust from his coat, and offered a gloved hand.

“I believe that qualifies as a technical error,” he said flatly.

You took his hand and stood. “Are you talking about my stance or the kiss?”

“The latter,” he said. Then, after a pause, “The former was already unsalvageable.”

You snorted. “Charming as always.”

“Mm.”

He turned to retrieve his sword, as if he hadn’t just accidentally kissed someone in the middle of sword training on an abandoned island.

You rubbed your jaw. “You kissed me.”

“I landed on you.”

“Lips-first.”

“That was not intentional.”

“Shame. You’re weirdly good at it.”

Mihawk paused mid-step. His eye flicked to you like a dagger. You could’ve sworn one of the crows wheezed.

“I am proficient in many skills,” he said at last.

You nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll add ‘spontaneous kissing’ to the list.”

“Remove ‘self-preservation,’ while you’re at it.”

You grinned. “I’ll take my chances.”

He turned back toward the castle with his usual smooth grace, pausing just long enough to say over his shoulder:

“You’re due for footwork drills. Ten laps.”

“For kissing you?”

“For falling.”

“Again, you fell too.”

“And yet here I am. Standing. Composed.”

“Smug.”

He didn’t deny it.

You did your laps. Begrudgingly. Grumbling.

By sunset, Mihawk was seated on the stone steps, wine in hand, his sword resting beside him like an extension of his arm. You joined him, flopping down with a huff and sweat-damp hair.

“You planning to avoid talking about it forever?” you asked.

He sipped his wine. “Define ‘it.’”

“The part where you kissed me.”

He glanced sideways. “Do you truly require verbal confirmation of what your mouth already knows?”

You blinked. “Is that your version of flirting?”

“It’s my version of clarity.”

You stared at him. “So you’re not denying it?”

“I am denying the accident. Not the effect.”

You tried not to visibly short-circuit. “That was almost romantic.”

“I could try again,” he said calmly, still watching the horizon.

“Oh yeah?”

“Properly this time.”

You hesitated.

Then turned to face him. “Alright.”

He looked at you fully now, gold eye sharp, steady. There was no dramatic lean-in. No swelling music or cinematic pause.

He just placed his wine down, leaned in slowly, and kissed you.

Softly.

Deliberately.

His lips were cool from the wine, but his hand warm as it rested lightly on your jaw. No rush. No fumble.

Just precision. Control.

Steel and silk.

When he pulled back, you were pretty sure the crows had tactfully flown off.

“Well,” you said faintly. “I see why people fear you.”

“Because I kiss well?”

“Because you do everything like it’s a duel.”

He raised a brow. “Is that a complaint?”

“Not in the slightest.”

You leaned back, satisfied. “So... are we dating now?”

“That depends,” he said. “Will it interfere with training?”

“Only if you kiss me mid-swing.”

He gave the faintest smile. “Then we’ll manage.”

Later, you found a red wine left near your sword. Wrapped with black ribbon. No note.

Very Mihawk.

You kissed his cheek in the morning.

He didn’t protest.

But your next sparring session? Brutal.

You limped for three days.

© dollywons for the dividers <3

[bbokicidal]

Maybe Our Last .:. SKZ [L.FX]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Lee Felix x Fem!Reader Warnings : DUB-CON, Tentacle penetration I don't know HOW ELSE to word it!!, Hentai-esque themes, Monster Fucking (essentially), Throat fucking (kind of)

Kinktober Day 6 of 10 : Monster fucking w/ Felix Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 3.8K

I'm going to write a small snippet here because I need this to be clear; There is no sex between Felix and the reader; Changbin is the character who becomes the tentacle monster so technically he's fucking them both lol, and both Felix & the reader experience a sort of aphrodisiac which is why this is labeled as Dub-Con. If you don't like this type of shit just DON'T FUCKING READ IT LOL - also I've never written anything like this before so if it's bad... oh well.

You’d caught his eye the moment you walked into the party; The outfit, the style you’d worn your natural hair in, the dramatic makeup, the contacts, the thigh highs, the cute shoes – 

Felix had seen that character multiple times before; A beauty from one of his favorite animes in the world and now it was like she’d come right to life in front of his very eyes in the form of your Halloween costume. 

If he was honest, Felix wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his composure around you that night. You already made his heart race before, your demeanor was always so pleasant and kind towards him any time the two of you had bumped into each other or conversed as your friends spoke with each other, and now he knew you were about as big a nerd as he was; Which made you 10 times more attractive. As if you could get any more perfect.

Hell - He wasn’t even sure how he got you to sit down and talk to him on the couch like this; Your legs thrown over his lap, his hands resting respectfully atop them while the two of you chit-chatted as if you weren’t sitting in the middle of a massive college Halloween party. Biggest one that happened on campus, actually; Changbin just had that reputation going for him; Couldn’t let his people down this year, could he?

Music blared around the two of you, people dancing and singing, drinking ungodly concoctions of Rum and juice and edible glitter and making out against the walls; someone gagging just behind at the smell that was slowly flooding out of the downstairs restroom and towards the kitchen. Though, it felt as though none of it mattered as you were in your own little world with Felix.

“Yeah, I mean - her basic outfit is just so boring so I guess I tried to recreate the ascended version; I just think it’s cooler.”

“Definitely.” Call Felix a loser. He can’t keep himself from staring over at you in admiration, awe rushing through his veins the more you talk about what you thought of the show and what your opinions on different arcs were. His replies remain short and sweet - and you try your best to keep the conversation going, you do, but it’s hard to focus when he’s just so… pretty.

With a pink knitted sweater tucked into light wash jeans, he’d managed to secure a small pair of white wings to his back. He’d buttered up his look by applying glittering hairspray to the platinum locks that fell down over his shoulders and framed his face so well, a chunkier rose gold glitter overtaking the freckles on his cheeks. It seemed to complete the look for the cutest pixie you’d ever seen in your life; Not that you’d seen many.

“So you know the guy who lives here?” You question, tone soft. You’d heard of him before but you’d never talked to him personally; You’d really only been invited to the party because he was a friend of a friend. 

Felix’s lips part before he nods, a shy and polite smile overtaking his lips. “Ah - Yeah. Changbin’s a close friend of mine. He’s pretty cool, I guess.” His eyes darted over to peek at said friend, Changbin’s head popping into the restroom as his hand secured its hold on the doorframe. He looks as though he’s investigating something but Felix hasn’t a clue what, so instead of fretting about it he turns his attention back to you. “You don’t?” Felix quips before continuing. “I mean - you don’t know him?”

You blink a few times, offering a small shake of your head. “Oh, no. He’s a friend of my friend, Hyunjin. They’re practically attached at the hip and I see him around every so often but I don’t think I’ve ever had a full conversation with him before, you know?” You smile, giving a shrug. “We just don’t really run in the same friend group I guess. No big deal.”

The hand that had previously been resting against your shin - which was placed in Felix’s lap as you lounged back on the sofa in Changbin’s living room - moved to instead gently grasp at your knee. Felix giggles, “You should talk to him sometime. He’s genuinely one of the nicest guys I know. I get that his physique can be kind of intimidating but he’s really a nice guy. Maybe after the party we can –”

“Oh my God,” A girl shrieking from behind the sofa causes your body to jolt in surprise, your leg pulling off of Felix’s lap. He selfishly misses the contact immediately but lets his gaze pull from you to the young woman standing just over your shoulder. She’s turned away, her hand shaking as she points to the bathroom doorway. Changbin was gone, but where his hand had previously rested was now an oozing trail of green slime. Like something had slapped against the doorway and left a puddle that dripped down the polished wood. “Changbin?!” She cries, free hand pressing over her mouth. “Are you okay?!”

Hyunjin pushes past a few people to get to the girl, his hand resting against her arm as he glances between her horrified expression and the bathroom doorway. “What -?! What? What’s going on? Why are you yelling?” He stares down at her, the girl trembling under his touch. Her face had gone ghastly white, her joints blushed with blood that tried to push through to her extremities that had long lost all sense of warmth.

“Changbin,” She gasps out her friend’s name, her fingers shaking horribly as they dig into her cheek in terror. “He was trying to figure out what that awful smell was but I just – I saw him get pulled into the bathroom by something! I swear, it was like a monster - It was –”

The atmosphere turns horridly tense. The air thickens with dread as people begin to back away from the bathroom and some even turn to leave, wanting to get out of the house in case something horrible had happened. What if it was another person and Changbin had just been attacked? What if there was a serious sense of danger in the house now? And as you listen in, your chest feels heavy enough to cave in on you. You didn’t know Changbin well but that didn’t mean you didn’t care about him. He seemed like a genuine guy and right now you could only hope that this was some sick, cruel Halloween prank happening.

By the time you push yourself up off of the couch to even move into action Hyunjin is already in the bathroom doorway. His rushed demeanor comes to a sudden halt as he stops where the door cracks open, his gaze settled behind it and directed towards the shower. Everyone seems so quiet now, waiting impatiently for Hyunjin to give them some sort of update.

The only response they get for at least five seconds is the color draining from his face. His jaw clenched as he huffs out a breath before his body turns back to the living room and he pushes himself to leave the bathroom as quickly as possible.

He points, throwing his arm towards the front door that isn’t too far from where you stand. “Get out!” His voice leaves his throat in a scratching scream, begging for people to run from whatever it was he had seen in the bathroom only moments ago. “Get the fuck out!” He cries. “Run! Fucking run!”

People scatter; Dust settled on a shelf for decades now disturbed and dispersing into the once pure air. Footsteps are loud and heavy as some book it for the upstairs area, their shoes thumping heavy against the wooden steps. Most head for the front or back doors, Hyunjin’s hands pushing people to move into action as screams and cries fill the house and drown into the music still playing from the stereo speakers. 

The bathroom door slides open and what emerges makes your blood run cold.

That wasn’t Changbin.

That was a monster.

With eyes pure white and veins pulsing angrily in his throat, the Senior exited the bathroom not on his own two legs; Maybe not of his own free will. His head lulled as if he was no longer present, the parasite within him pushing him to exit and begin to attack. His upper half looked as if it had been melted and glued to the body of an octopus - if that octopus had biohazard green tentacles and slime oozing from every orifice. It pushed out of the corners of his mouth as his expression turned into a heavy scowl, his head tipping in the direction of the people scrambling for the front door - one of the tentacles reaching out in a quicker manner than expected. It had taken him so long to reveal himself that you were sure he was sluggish when it came to movement, but the tentacle seemed to snap out and wrap around the closest person’s waist.

Hyunjin gasped in horror as the wet surface slid and soaked his band tank, grabbing onto him tight and curling around him a few times to ensure he couldn’t escape from its hold. The tip of the tentacle smothered his cheek in goo and he visibly cringed, pulling his head back as far as he could while it rubbed against his face.

You hadn’t even realized your own body had become frozen in its place until Felix had reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours to pull you back to him. “Hey,” He yells over the noise, gently tugging on your arm, “We’ve gotta go!”

Your eyes drag to Felix before you nod, surely out of it by everything you were witnessing. This had to be some horrible nightmare - surely. Changbin wasn’t some scary tentacle monster and Hyunjin wasn’t getting smothered in goo and this house party was not just taken over by some… alien octopus parasite!

Felix moves to guide you as far from Changbin as he can get you, which isn’t very far unfortunately. His attempt is futile; The moment he rounds the couch it’s already too late. A tentacle had wound around your ankle and begun to lift already, refusing to let you go while suspending you mid-air. Felix, also refused to let you go.

He cried out as his hand was ripped from yours, watching you be lifted towards the ceiling as you screamed and begged for him to find a way to get you down. “Felix!” Your gasps were slashes to his heart, the knife twisting and digging into the muscle, ripping it apart. “Felix - Help me! Help me!”

Though he’s no better off. A third leg had wrapped over Felix’s chest, slime oozing from what looked to be the suction cups of the tentacle - only open and gaping as they sucked and clung to his sweater tight. Felix’s mouth opens though no sounds escape, his body only reacting as it knows how to when he’s this terrified. His hands come down on the tentacle and he hates how smooth it is, how slimy and wet it feels against his skin. “Let me go,” He gasps out, his head turning to look over towards Changbin’s upper half. Not that he’s really Changbin anymore. “Changbin-hyung! Let me go! Let me go, I’m your friend!”

Felix’s head snaps in your direction instead as he hears your voice letting out soft whines. The tentacle holding you up by your leg had tightened its grip and squirmed down towards your inner thigh, still wrapped up against you so snug that it made the soft fat beneath it bulge under your thigh highs. He didn’t even bother to take in the way your skirt had flipped upside down to reveal the pink panties underneath - He didn’t care. He was instead watching a separate tentacle rubbing against your face as if it were nuzzling you, smearing a pale green goo over your cheek and towards your mouth that made you spit in disgust. The tentacle pushes lower instead and wraps loose around your neck, your eyes darting down to watch as the suction cups open and release what looks like a sort of gas.

Your gasps are immediate, the sweet scent filling your body as you cried, “What the fuck is that?!”

Felix barely even registered that the tentacle wrapped over his chest had done the same, and when he did he was dumb enough to look down right into it. The scent was… nice. Pleasant. It made his body hum with a pleasant vibration that made him feel so warm and fuzzy. A feeling akin to being drunk for the first time - feeling a little out of it, a little loose. It felt immediate, too. 

His body slowly began to relax as the gas fogged around his head, the cups closing shortly after to let the air around your bodies clear. His eyes slowly pulled back to you, and though you were a bit hazy now, you were still there. 

The tentacle wrapped over your neck slithered down towards your chest, wrapping beneath the swell of your breasts tight so the fabric pulled taught against your curves - and the poor pixie across from you couldn’t stop himself from looking. He didn’t even feel guilty about it at the moment either. In any other circumstance he would’ve been too respectful and shy to even steal a quick glance but now, something about it felt so shameless. 

The tentacle slipped lower to give your body more support, leveling you out so you could essentially lay as though you were in bed instead of being hung upside down. How kind of it.

Felix swallows hard as his eyes trail over. He watches the tentacle holding onto your leg adjust itself so your thighs push apart for it and your body seems to naturally comply, your head tipping back as you allow the creature that was once Felix’s best friend to bend your body to its will. He finds himself whimpering when the tentacle pushes higher, the tip of the appendage wriggling and squirming over your skin until it tucked under your skirt and pried at your panties.

Your lips part in a sharp gasp, a heavy blush coating your cheeks at the realization that it’s trying to get at the most intimate of spaces on your body. The appendage curls tight around your panties before it begins to pull back, though when they refuse to move from your hips because of how snug they are - it opts to instead rip them right open. The fabric falls like nothing from your body before the tentacle moves back to work, your skirt ruffling against your hips and thighs as it pushes over your slit and curls the very tip around your clit in an effort to make you moan. And it works, of course.

Felix’s cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you being touched like this. He knows it’s gross - knows it’s dirty and knows you’ll no doubt judge him for enjoying nasty Hentai like this (if you even live to see the next morning…) but he really can’t help it. He can’t help that he’s getting hard at the sight of you like this. It’s like a scene right out of a movie he’d watched recently - The tentacles, your stupid Halloween outfit…

“Felix…” Your soft call of his name makes him snap back into reality - which isn’t far from his fantasies right now. His hands tightened down on the tentacle wrapped over his chest as he felt something push between his own legs; An appendage separate from the others had slipped up his left leg and prodded at the bulge in his jeans, curling slowly around the outline of his half-hard cock while he whined. His lashes fluttered and he squirmed at the feeling, the friction more than enough to make him chub up just a little bit more. 

He curses, whimpering under his breath. “Fuck,” Felix gasps, biting down hard into his lip to stop any other sounds from escaping from his mouth.

His gaze darts back to you just in time to see the tentacle between your legs begin to squirm back. The cups along the inner section of the appendage open slowly and begin to once again ooz the slime that had slicked up your face and soaked into your costume’s top. It dripped over your inner thighs and as you sucked in a breath, the tip of the tentacle pushed carefully into your entrance. It eased it’s way in until it was nearly five inches deep - though this wasn’t quite like having sex with just.. Some guy. First of all - this was a monster; Second - the tentacle was thick. 

It felt as though it was attempting to split you right in half, wriggling deeper before finally pulling back and pushing into you once more.

“Oh my God,” Your voice leaves in a desperate hum. Felix watches in both shock and awe as your head falls back at the feeling of your pussy being filled to the brim; The little suction cups kissing at your walls every time it pushed into you further, the tip squirming against the entrance to your cervix and begging to be let in - to fill you until you would burst.

Felix’s head swirls as his gaze drops once more. He stares at the tentacle wriggling its way into his waistband, his mouth dropping open to let out a moan that makes him feel disgusting. He’s enjoying this and part of him loathes himself for it. “Shit,” He whines, the appendage wrapping around his cock when it slipped into his boxers and smothering his length in slick, sticky goo. It soaked through to the denim of his jeans and caused a heavy, damp stain that made him embarrassed and made him whine in protest. His hands curled into fists, reaching down with both to try and rid the appendage from his waistband before another - smaller and thin as a rope - wrapped tight around his wrists at lightning speed. He trembles as his arms are pulled above his head, no longer able to defend himself against the tentacle wrapping around his cock and making him twitch and writhe in pleasure. “Fuck – Fuck,” He cries, his toes curling in his sneakers at the ache that forms through his abdomen. “Fuck –!”

Your eyes finally press open as you hear Felix whining across from you, your gaze settling first on his flushed and desperate expression before falling to watch as the tentacle below wraps around his cock and coats him in goo. You can’t see anything but you know it’s a delicious sight.

Though, the appendage previously touching Felix seems to realize something of its own - It can’t fill Felix like it can with you, so it would have to find another way to inject its semen into the man.

“Shit,” Your whisper is barely audible as you peek up, watching the tentacle drag over Felix’s chest before coming up and prodding at his lips. He barely has time to react as it forces it’s way into his mouth, pushing at the back of his throat and making him choke on a whimper as goo drips down the corners of his mouth. His gaze meets yours before you watch as his eyes flick down between your legs, watching the tentacle between your thighs pump into you quicker than before. Your shaky, unstable moans meet Felix’s ears and he hates that the mix of seeing you getting fucked and having his mouth used at the same time are what makes him coat the inside of his jeans in cum that mixes with the goo left behind.

Your gasps become frantic as the tentacle pushes further into you, stretching you as much as it can before it suddenly stops, burying itself into your walls and pumping something out of the cups that had once again opened. You can feel it; It’s hot and heavy, thick, creamy. Holding a promise of your demise.

It’s the same moment that the tentacle buried in Felix’s throat seems to release the essence, Felix choking and gagging and closing his eyes in embarrassment as it fills his mouth full. The tentacle retracts as quickly as it came, black leaking from the corners of the pixie’s mouth as he swallows and spits at the same time - trying to figure out what it is and what to do in his post-sex haze.

The appendage between your thighs retracts and as exhaustion waves over you, so do the rest. Your body falls from the air and hits the ground with a heavy thud, Felix’s following only moments later. You land on your side, eyes glossy with tears of fear and pleasure as you look over at where Felix lay on his stomach to your right. His eyes are closed, though it’s not long before they slowly flutter open and attempt to meet your gaze. Felix’s hand slowly shifts from his side, coming to meet your own. His fingers curl into your palm as he sighs out, his body giving into the exhaustion and slumping against the hardwood - his cheek squished against the floor and his brain shutting off.

While you remain conscious a while longer, your eyes slowly move around to what you can see of the room. Hyunjin sits slumped against the wall, black ooze dripping down his chin and throat. His mouth had been filled the same as Felix, though while it happened a bit earlier on after he was grabbed, his body had already begun to turn. He was no longer present, his lower half bubbling and steaming and his legs gone, four appendages already present and squirming as the others began to form. 

Your eyes slowly dragged back to the blonde laying beside you, your thumb swiping over his knuckles in admiration. You take in the way his hair falls over his eyes, the way his lips part and the way the chunky rose gold glitter on his cheeks only adds to the charm of the deep brown freckles painting his skin. Part of you was… happy, that he’d fallen asleep before he’d seen what had happened to Hyunjin; What would happen to him now, too. Though as you lay in exhaustion and attempt to fight the sleep, as your brain clears itself of the fog and begins to be overrun by the slime that had entered your body and taken control of every functioning system left inside of you, and the fear settles into your chest; The realization that this would be the last time you would be human, the last time you would see Felix’s face. So you fight the sleep a little longer, just enough to try and memorize every detail of the man laying across from you before he becomes a monster, too. Your head pounds with the need to rest as your eyes finally drop closed, your body slumping and going loose as your future ahead of you lay unknown. But again, holding the promise of your demise.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[allyeilishh]

ᥫ᭡ DRUNKEN KISSES ── .✦ B.E.

Pairing: Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: You got pushed to drink by your friends, even when you didn’t want to. And when you called Billie to come get you, she didn’t hesitate for a moment.

W/c: 2.2k

a/n: I got a little lazy towards the end so I’m sorry for that… but I hope you enjoy it took me like three hours to write this

The loud music thumped in your chest, vibrating through your entire body. You could hear voices laughing and talking around you, but you couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. The lights flashed all around you, a colorful burst of light going around the entire room.

The scent of the room was a mix of alcohol, sweat and strong perfumes, a scent that was awful and rather strong, but you got over it eventually. People were filled in the house, the expensive paintings and luxury all over the room. Even the sink looked like it cost a million bucks.

You didn’t exactly wanted to go to this party—you knew it was just going to be filled with people in their twenties that had nothing better to do with lives. Your friends had forced you to come. They had been pushing you to come to one of the parties they had been hosting for a while, and you always turned them down.

Because frankly, nothing was better than spending your weekend with your girlfriend, Billie. You liked the peace and quiet, the laziness of the weekends, spent in bed or the couch. All with Billie, cuddled under a blanket. But you haven’t been spending a lot of your time with your friends lately, barely texting them, so you felt like you owed them a bit. So you agreed to come.

But now, you were regretting that decision. You were sitting on the couch, your friends surrounding you. Riley, a friend from high school, was sitting on your left, and Bailey was sitting on your right. Your two other friends, Amelia and Charlotte were standing in front of you, arms crossed.

A red solo cup was resting in your hands, and you were acting as if it were a cup of poison. You had never drank before, and you didn’t really plan on ever doing it. You didn’t like the feeling of being out of control of your own body, especially if something else had that control. So you never tried it, not even a drop.

The smell was strong, but a mix of something fruity. Sense it was your first ever drink, your friends did decide to water it down a bit with some juice. The strong, alcoholic scent filled your nostrils, and it felt like your nose hairs would burn off just from smelling it. You made a face of disgust, pulling the cup away from your nose.

"Come on, it’s not that bad! Just some vodka and rum. I mixed it with some Hawaiian Punch. It shouldn’t be too bad. Just a little sip.“ Riley encouraged, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently shaking you.

"It’s so good, you’ll love it! We all had some before.“ Amelia spoke, a smile forming on her face. She looked between you and the cup, as if she was magically going to move the rim of the cup to your mouth.

You swallowed, the nervousness filling your chest. You wanted to turn them down, to say no and just hand the cup off. But you felt like you owed them. You had to at least try. You took a deep breath, bringing the rim of the cup closer to your mouth, taking in the scent of the fruity alcohol once more.

You tilted your head back, your friends all watching in anticipation. And once the liquid hit your tastebuds and went down your throat, the burning sensation immediately started, and you pulled the cup away. The taste was bitter, a little mix of the juice was there, but the alcohols overrided it. The burn reached your throat, and you felt like the muscles in your throat were melting from the burn.

You let out a series of coughs, almost choking on the drink. You heard your friends chuckling around you, and Bailey gently patted your back, trying to help with the digestion.

It took a few moments, but the coughing eventually subsided, and you were left with the bitter taste of alcohol on your tongue, making your face curl in disgust. Your tsked, trying to get the taste off your tongue.

"Take another sip!“ Charlotte encouraged, a wide smile plastering her face. Like she liked to see you suffer.

You shook your head, but before you could verbally respond, Amelia perked up. "Just one more, okay? It’ll get better over time.“

You wanted to say no, to get up and go home, but you felt tempted. Maybe they were right, maybe it would get better. You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes before you took another swing.

Then they encouraged you again. And you drank again. Then again. And again, and again, and again until the cup was empty, and they were already fetching you another cup. But without the juice. And you drank it.

As time passed and your friends chatted around you, you felt your vision started to become blurry and bouncy. Everything you were looking at suddenly had a shade of blur, and it looked like waves were going through your vision. You tried to blink multiple times to fix it, but it didn’t.

Your head was starting to feel heavy, and you felt like you were out of your own body. Like you were a piece of jello on the couch, melting into the cushions and becoming one. You didn’t like that feeling. You didn’t like it at all. It felt like you were out of your own body, and you were in third person. It felt so weird and unnatural. You hated it.

You slowly stood up from the couch, and your legs almost buckled under you. Your friends curiously looked at you, asking where you were going. You apologies for the early dismissal, and gave them all weak, half-assed smiles. You tried to walk, but you were stumbling over your own feet. But eventually, you got to the front door, and you stumbled out onto the porch, sitting down on the concrete.

You rubbed your temples, as if you were turning the gears in your brain to start working correctly again. You took a deep breath of the fresh air, letting it fill your lungs. It was the one natural thing you had in your grasp right now.

You didn’t want to stay here any longer. The smell of the alcohol you drank reeked off of your clothes, and your hair was a little messed up. You knew you couldn’t drive in your condition. Your vision was impaired and you could barely walk without tripping over your own feet. It was too late to be walking alone, even in this nice neighborhood.

So, you called Billie. You had to squint to look at your phone, making sure it was really her before clicking the 'call' button. You pressed speaker, feeling too weak to hold your phone to your ear. You put your phone on your legs, hanging your head as you heard the phone ringing.

Billie was quick to pick up, answering the phone on the second ring. She spoke with a sweet, loving voice, the adorable little tone she always had when she spoke rang through the air, practically healing your ears. "Hii, baby. How’s the party? You havin‘ fun?“

You let out a small groan, which somehow mixed with a giggle. You moved some hair out of your face as you spoke, your words completely slurred, and barely understood through the phone. "Heyyy, bils… it’s goin‘… amazing, here. Buttt I don’t feel too good. Everything’s all spinny an‘ blurry an‘ I feel like jelly… can you come f‘me?“

With your slurred words and how you described your symptoms, a worry built up in her chest. Were you safe? How much had you drank? She pushed her worries away, knowing she needed to be strong for you. She spoke again, her voice softer, sweeter, just to not worry you. "Of course, my love. I’m on my way right now. I’ll be there soon. I love you.“

"Love you too!“ you said with a small giggle. Apparently, your drunken self got really flustered when Billie showed affection. The blush on your face that Billie couldn’t yet see had spread all over your face, even to your ears. You hung up the phone giggling, almost kicking your feet. Almost.

When Billie arrived, she didn’t even bother to turn off the car. The bright headlights of the dodge challenger were pointed right your way, making your eyes squint and blink a few times.

Billie instantly hopped out of the car, and quickly jogged towards you. There was a hint of worry on her expression, but she hid it rather well. She kneeled down in front of you, gently taking your face into her hands. She scanned over your face and your body, checking for any injuries. She let out a sigh of relief as she found none, her shoulders slumping.

"Hey, love. How you feeling? Still all dizzy and blurry?“ she said softly, gently rubbing her thumbs over the soft skin of your cheeks. Her eyes held a delicateness to them, looking at you as if you would break under the slightest pressure.

You nodded, a giddy smile forming in your face as her hands touched your cheeks. Her palms were warm, a stark contrast to your cold cheeks. You didn’t wear a jacket, not thinking you would’ve been waiting outside, at night for 10 minutes. But you didn’t care now. You were with Billie, and that’s all your mind could focus on now.

Billie smiled softly, before gently helping you onto your feet. You wabbled a bit, but she helped you find your balance as she led you to the car. She gently placed you in the passenger seat, closing the door once you were buckled in and comfortable. She quickly rounded the car, getting into the drivers seat and backing out of the driveway.

The carride was mostly silent, except for your little babbles that you would spurt out, shifting every other minute. Billie’s hand stayed on your thigh, gently rubbing and squeezing the milky skin beneath her palm.

Billie could tell you were more of the sleepy drunk, seeing you barely awake in the passenger seat. But there was something keeping you awake. You didn’t know what, big it was something.

The car came to a stop as Billie pulled into the driveway of your shared house, and she killed the engine before rushing back over to your side. She opened the door for you, unbuckling you and letting you lean on her as you began to walk inside. You let out a small giggle, feeling Billie’s warmth against yours. She was always so warm. You never could understand how.

Billie helped you up the stairs and into the bedroom, gently sitting you down on the bed. "Stay here for a second, okay? I’ll be right back.“

Billie quickly jogged out the room and back down the stairs, entering the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water. She then went back upstairs and into the bedroom, opening the bottle of water as she approached you yet again.

"Drink it, love. It will help with the hangover tomorrow.“ Billid said softly, letting you take the water and drink it. It helped clear your mind a bit, and it was a soothing balm to the bitter taste that lingered in your throat.

You placed the waterbottle down on the bedside table, rubbing your eye. Billie quickly took notice, and gently began to take off all your jewelry, putting it in its designated spot in your jewelry box. She then began to change your clothes for you, placing you out of your shiny dress and into a pair of comfy shorts and one of Billie’s hoodies. It was always more comfortable to sleep in Billie’s hoodies.

You melted into the comfortable clothes, quickly warming up. You layed down on the bed, curling under the duvet. Billie quickly followed, gently pulling you into her chest, letting you listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. You felt your cheeks heating up again, a giddy giggle leaving your lips again.

Billie couldn’t help but laugh at your giddiness, seeing how flustered you could get just by simple acts and touches. She gently stroked your hair with her fingers, weaving through the soft locks. She gently leaned down and placed a soft, gentle kiss on your lips, whispering quietly to you. "My little angel.“

Your cheeks heated up even more at the petname and the kiss, which you leaned into. But when she pulled away, you instantly puckered up your lips, as if asking for another one.

Billie chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes. She never minded when you asked for kisses. It was her favorite thing anyways. She gently placed another kiss to your lips again, and you leaned into it, feeling at ease.

Once she pulled away again, you felt your eyes drooping, the tiredness taking over your body. Billie continued to gently comb through your hair, trying to help you fall asleep. She smiled at your sleepy face, just on the verge of passing out.

But then, you lips puckered up again weakly, asking for yet another kiss. Billie rolled her eyes with a sigh, speaking with faux annoyance. "You can’t get enough of my kisses while your drunk, can you?“ But it wasn’t a complaint. She leaned into a kiss once more, capturing your lips into the third kiss. Her soft lips brought your into your slumber, your lips falling limp as Billie gently pulled away.

She pulled your sleeping form into her chest, rubbing your back with her hand. She rested her chin on the top of your head, speaking quietly and softly to your sleeping, drunk form.

"Goodnight, my angel.“ ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

a/n: guys I just realized I accidentally forgot three ENTIREE paragraphs so if you re-read this and it looks different that’s why 😓 I’m sorry

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

In his den Mefistofeliks has a little stash of things that remind him of his human and of cats he's close with. It started when he was still a kitten because of his human and there's only a few cats who know this stash of mementos even exists.

The inspiration for it was his human, Erik, who made a little baby album of a sort after he adopted Feliks, and over the years has been adding pictures and other things such as his paw prints etc. So wanting to do the same Feliks stole a few of the printed pictures and scraps of paper with Erik's handwriting (the closest thing he could find as his human's paw print) and stashed them in his den at the studio. Over the years said stash grew, he kept stealing a picture or a note here and there, and few pieces of Erik's clothing including one of his favourite pairs of socks. He also got there his latest collar that he wore only once to please Erik. He doesn't like wearing it, but he still very much likes to have it (he knows Erik saved the very first collar he got for Feliks, tiny kitten one that also was worn only once).

Besides his human's things he has lots of mementos of other cats. Most weren't exactly gifts but more of a "oh you can keep it if you want" type of thing, but Ram Ram Tamek and Kasandra, who both knew about it for years have both gifted him things and would sometimes tell other cats that hey this specific thing you dont want to anymore, Mefistofeliks may want it. Eventually two more cats would learn about it, both by accident, said cats being Bombalurina and Munkustrap.

From Tam he's got a little round mirror, a scrap of an old blanket they often used to share as kittens and a photo of the two of them Tam stole from Erik (Tam may tease him a bit for being sentimental, but he still helps with getting the things, and he saved the other piece of that blanket and another copy of that photo too).

From Kasandra he's got two of her bracelets, a broken silver one he saved from when they first got together, and she didn't know about the stash yet (he gifted her a different one then), and a golden bangle with little stones she gave him when they finally and for good sorted their relationship out and went from partners to being just friends.

From his daughter, Wiktoria, he's got a piece of cardboard with her paw prints on it and red and black marble from a little stash of them she found in some forgotten corner of the studio (she saved herself a matching white one).

From his parents, he's got one of Bywalec' ascots and an old broken pair of glasses, and from Plameczka a couple of her hair rollers, plus a few feathers from her feather duster (it took a time to get those things to save, he doesn't see his parents as often anymore)

From Misto a long piece of the glittery rainbow he used in his tricks, from when it accidentally ripped one day and a few playing cards from his favourite, although very much no longer complete deck (Feliks wasn't the only one to receive cards from his cousin, few went to Tugger and Victoria as well).

From Victoria a gem that fell off her collar and a pink ribbon bow she made once for him so the 3 of them could match as family (Misto saved the one she made for him too).

From Bomba he's got her hair clip sometime after they become friends. It was an old one, with a broken clip part (she let him have it after he helped her find a replacement).

From Demeter he's got a silver and gold handkerchief which was bit of an "I'm sorry" note after she accidentally messed up his arm (he wore it over the bandages when it was still healing)

From Munkustrap he's got feathers, saved from every catch Munk would share with him all the times Feliks would visit his cousins at the Junkyard. Munk saw the arrangement Feliks made of the feathers several times when visiting before he realised they were from birds caught by him. It took for a very specific feather to appear there for him to catch on (Munk has saved all the flowers Feliks has ever conjured up for him too, took him one catnip fuelled visit to his den to learn that). Later, one of scarves Munk had in his den, a brilliant blue one, made it's way over to Feliks' (Feliks may or may not have said it reminded him of Munk the most of all things Munk's got and that he liked how soft it was)

[stottlemorgan]

Stupid / Arthur Morgan x GN Reader

Summary: Arthur patches up your wounds and y’all have a little cutesy moment between snarky words and smarting pain. Tags: Gender neutral reader as requested! Bits of talk about wounds, a little bloodiness, a mention of needles but it’s quick. A little mixture of cute and sexual tension. Word count: 1,084. Author’s Note: This was a request from a sweet Anon! Thank you for your request, dear, I loved writing this! I used a pic of Horseshoe bc it's cute okay I know the Murfree brood hang about Beaver Hollow but I don't careee they suck xo Ao3 Link. All photos above are sourced from Pinterest.

“Wha’d I tell you ‘bout walkin’ through Murfree country alone?”

The sting of Arthur so gently pulling the fabric of your shirt from within the gashes on your shoulder pinches your features into a wince. “Barely told me anythin’, actua–”

“I told you enough. You ain’t got no right to snark at me when you’re lookin’ a bloody mess.” He grits out firmly over you as he cleans out the wound with an alcohol saturated cloth.

“It ain’t that bad, Arth–” your muttering cuts off into a gasp before you groan loudly, gritting your teeth, your spine locking up as smarting pain bleeds through your muscle. Your watering eyes flit down to the sight of Arthur pushing a needle through your skin and he’s quick to shove your face away with his forearm, averting your gaze and shuffling closer to you on his knees, forcing his torso between your legs. The graze of his belt against your inner thighs spurls a heady shudder up from your seat and through to your aching shoulder, cutting the edge of the pain with a confusing pleasure. Arthur’s hands work steadily unlike your hammering heart as your thoughts swing between the sizzling split in your skin and the heavy press of his chest to yours. A scoff puffs against your neck and you smell the rum he had been nursing before you’d stumbled into his tent, beaten and bloody, almost tearing the flap of his tent in order to keep yourself upright. You squeeze your eyes closed, dragging a breath in through your nose.

“Ain’t that bad, is it? I hadn’t started sewin’ you up yet,” Arthur glares up at you briefly, the bristly hairs of his brow shadowing his enlarged pupils in which reflects the flickering lamplight, “idiot, drink the damn whiskey.” He nods toward the bottle of whiskey grasped in your better hand, your knuckles lightening with the force. The liquid sloshes as you shakily take a large swig, your throat constricting and trying to fight the burn. You cough hoarsely. Arthur tuts, a sound you’re all too familiar with, and he continues his ministrations. He takes his time, keeping his focus and, despite your shaking and panting, you find your own focus drifting to him. You watch the sweat on his flushed neck glimmer as his throat undulates with a gentle swallow, and you notice the barbs of stubble poking through his skin around his jaw.

Feeling your eyes cross slightly due to his close proximity, you trail your gaze upwards, over the stretching scars on his chin as he presses his lips together in concentration. Over the peek of his pink lips. Over the warm light that forms a glowing edge to the silhouette of his pointed nose. “You’re lucky he only had his knife.” He mutters close to your ear, and you curl your toes, shifting your grip on the whiskey bottle to clutch the neck. You don’t respond, feeling the thick pads of his fingers pressing against your fresh stitches, testing their tightness. A dull throb waves through your shoulder, making you take a clumsy gulp of whiskey, it spilling in a small dribble down your chin as your eyes remain fixed on Arthur’s face. On the beauty marks peppering his sun kissed cheek. On his tired eyes, so slowly blinking as your own meet them. His expression is open, curious, a silent question. What’re you lookin’ at me for?

You tense slightly, having thought he had been still examining your injury. The spasming muscle beneath your wound makes your brow pinch and Arthur’s own brow follows suit, though it’s soft, concerned. His hand drops to your arm, lingering before dropping to your thigh. If your blood were not desperately fighting to repair your wounds and turn your stomach, your face would be as flushed as your shoulder, blooming with cerise and plum. His other hand, he wipes on his shirt before moving to thumb at the driblet of whiskey coalescing at your chin. A shaky breath leaves you, and Arthur breathes it in subtly, his hand lowering to rest against the side of your neck. Calluses graze over the soft skin and the hair at your nape. You feel the whiskey bottle slip from your fingers as he takes it and places it on the floor whilst keeping the hair-prickling nearness.

“You should rest,” Arthur whispers, and the feeling of your laboured breathing against his chest brings forth a twitch at the corners of his mouth. He rubs circles into your lower neck with his fingers, urging you to relax, which your body understands. Your shoulders sink slightly.

“Okay,” you return his tone to him, and you hear his breath mirror the shake in yours. You keep your hands where they are, worried the alcohol and dizzying pain is tempting you into the realm of fools. Your fingers wriggle languidly with the itch to feel the sheen coating his skin. His eyes flit between yours, the blue of them incandescing like the setting sun reflecting upon the shimmering seas. You swallow the spit dumbly pooling in your mouth.

“I’ll check on you in the night, make sure you’re not seizin’ or feverin’.”

“You will?”

“‘Course I will–” His gaze flits to your mouth, then your shoulder, now cleansed and stitched, he shakes his head, “stupid.

“Now, c’mon. Getch’your ass up.” Arthur begins to stand with a grunt, and as he does, he pulls you up with him. You groan at the pressure of his burly arm hooking beneath yours, lifting your bad shoulder up, his other holding your waist carefully. Letting him drag your stumbling and exhausted body out of his tent and through camp, you whimper and huff with each step to which he responds with low, calming hums, trying to gentle you. He pushes the flap of your tent open with his hip, guiding you in and laying you down on your cot in a messy heap of torn clothes, which he helps you strip off before settling a blanket over you.

“Hey, wait–! I ain’t stupid–” You croak, your offence to his earlier words sluggishly making itself aware. Arthur chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, now you’re real stupid,” He pats your knee before making his way out of your tent, “Night. Try not t’roll outta bed this time, saves me the back ache.” You grunt, slurring your words,

“Night, Arthur.” The heaviness of slumber sweeps through your limbs, and soon enough, your mind, ridding you temporarily of discomfort.

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @frillydolle @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[2b4st4r]

The one who thinks

Straw hats x mind reading reader

Words: 9,896

Warnings: mental strain, mind reading, emotional detachment, judgment, district, and use of y/n.

A/N: I’m sorry i didn’t post this yesterday, it took me a while to write this.

✧♬•*¨*•.｡

A salty breeze, thick with the scent of the Grand Line's unpredictable whims, ruffled your (H/C) hair. The sun, a warm weight on your skin, beat down on the familiar shores of your small, unnamed island – a speck of green in the vast, blue expanse. For years, you've called this humble patch of land home, a place where the waves whispered secrets and the coconuts ripened under an ever-watchful sky. Yet, your reputation, unlike your dwelling, stretched far beyond these tranquil shores.

Tales of your uncanny foresight echoed across the Grand Line, carried on the winds from bustling port towns to hushed pirate coves. They called you the "Mind-Reader of the Calm Belt," or the "Oracle of the East Blue," though your talents knew no geographical bounds. It all stemmed from the Nōshoku Nōmi, the Mind-Read Fruit, a Devil Fruit that had intertwined its enigmatic power with your very being. A simple touch, a single finger placed gently on a forehead, and the swirling thoughts of another became a crystal-clear stream in your mind. No secret was safe, no intention hidden.

This unique ability had made you a legend, particularly among those who thrived on risk and reward. You always knew an opponent’s next move, their true intentions, and their deepest desires long before they even consciously formed them. Betting was never a gamble for you; it was merely a formality. Every wager placed, every challenge accepted, ended in your favor, solidifying your fame and filling your coffers. But today, as the familiar rhythm of island life hummed around you, a different kind of current was stirring on the horizon – one that promised to pull you into the unpredictable depths of the Grand Line once more.

The Salty Siren

The air in "The Salty Siren" was thick with the scent of cheap rum, stale sweat, and an undercurrent of something undefinable—the very essence of Grand Line ambition. Laughter boomed, tankards clanked, and the low thrum of a plucked string instrument vibrated through the wooden floorboards. You sat at a scarred, heavy table in the heart of the tavern, a semicircle of onlookers captivated by the card game unfolding before them.

Your opponent, a burly fisherman with a tangled beard and a perpetually hopeful glint in his eye, groaned as you laid down another winning hand. Gold coins, glinting dully in the tavern’s flickering lamplight, steadily piled up on your side of the table. He was already down to his last few berries, his earlier bravado replaced by a bewildered frustration.

"One more hand," he grumbled, pushing his final coin forward, "Double or nothing!"

A hush fell over the crowd, their eyes darting between your calm demeanor and the fisherman's desperation. You tapped a finger to your temple, your gaze distant, as if truly pondering the monumental decision. The fisherman, meanwhile, sweated, nervously shuffling his cards. In your mind, his thoughts were an open book: a frantic jumble of hopes, anxieties, and the exact sequence of cards he planned to play. He was so sure this time, so convinced he had the winning hand.

A slow smile stretched across your face, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "Alright," you said, your voice cutting through the silence. "But I'm raising the stakes."

You pushed forward a small, ornate compass, its brass casing gleaming. "This," you announced, "and all the gold on my side of the table."

Gasps rippled through the onlookers. The compass was rumored to be a rare find, said to point to a treasure long lost. The fisherman's eyes widened, greed battling with fear. He nodded, unable to resist the lure.

You barely glanced at your cards, a confident smirk playing on your lips. Then, with a flourish, you laid them down. A gasp, then a chorus of exclamations, erupted from the crowd. The fisherman stared, his jaw slack, as your hand proved, once again, to be unbeatable. He hadn't just lost his money; he'd lost his last hope.

You swept the compass and the overflowing pile of gold toward you, the weight of it satisfying in your palm. "Beginner's luck," you quipped, a playful wink thrown to the defeated fisherman. The crowd roared with laughter, a mix of admiration and awe in their eyes. For you, it was just another Tuesday at "The Salty Siren."

You scanned the faces in the crowd, a playful glint in your eyes. They were a motley crew of fishermen, small-time merchants, and a few dusty travelers, all buzzing with the lingering excitement of your win. "Anyone else feel like trying their luck?" you called out, your voice cutting through the tavern's din. "Don't be shy, the cards are calling."

A hush fell, followed by a few hesitant murmurs. Most knew better than to challenge your uncanny streak. Just as you thought the moment might pass, a figure detached herself from the shadowy edges of the tavern. She moved with an easy confidence, her silhouette framed by the late afternoon sun filtering through the grimy window.

With each step, a new detail emerged: a striking shock of orange hair, bright as a tangerine, that tumbled past her shoulders. Her clothes, though simple, were clearly not of island make, suggesting a traveler from distant shores. As she approached, a knowing smirk played on her lips, a mirror to your own. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, met yours, holding a challenge that was both intriguing and entirely new. This wasn't just another hopeful gambler; this was someone who truly believed they could win.

A flicker of genuine excitement sparked within you. It wasn't often someone approached with such a bold air, especially after witnessing your streak. Most were either too intimidated or too shrewd to try their luck. This woman, however, radiated a quiet confidence that was both alluring and a little bit dangerous.

She pulled out a stool opposite you, her movements fluid and unhurried. The faint scent of tangerines seemed to cling to her, an unusual aroma in the musky tavern. Her orange hair caught the lamplight, turning to spun gold. As she settled in, her eyes, sharp and assessing, met yours.

"Well, well," you began, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Looks like we have a brave one. Most people flee after seeing a few of my hands."

A playful smirk danced on her lips. "I've heard tales," she responded, her voice surprisingly smooth, like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "They say you know every card before it's played. Every move before it's made." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze unwavering. "But sometimes, a good navigator can find a way through any storm."

You chuckled, a pleasant warmth spreading through you. "A navigator, you say? And what kind of storm are we talking about here?"

She simply raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her expression.

"Alright then," you said, leaning back in your chair, your eyes gleaming with anticipation. "What's your game, brave navigator?"

A knowing smile touched the woman's lips. "I've heard you're good with cards," she began, her voice a low purr, "but how are you with the dice? Let's play a few rounds of Liars' Dice."

Your smile widened. "An excellent choice, Navigator. A game of wits and deception, where knowing your opponent is everything." You nodded, signaling to a tavern hand who quickly cleared the cards and produced a wooden cup filled with five rattling dice. The fisherman, still smarting from his loss, grumbled and moved away, making space for the new challenge.

As you prepared the dice, your gaze drifted past the orange-haired woman. Tucked away in a dimly lit corner, a man with a remarkably long nose was practically vibrating in his seat. His eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and fascination, were fixed on the game. He clutched at the collar of his brightly colored shirt, looking as though he might bolt at any second. Must be one of her friends, you mused, noting his palpable anxiety.

Beside him, another figure leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His moss-green hair was wild and untamed, and a single, scarred eye peered out from beneath it, a perpetual scowl etched on his face. He seemed utterly unconcerned with the unfolding drama, yet his gaze, sharp and unwavering, was also directed at the table. Interesting company she keeps, you thought, a flicker of intrigue passing through you. This wasn't going to be just another easy win.

The game began, the rhythmic clatter of dice in the wooden cup filling the silence. You held your cup, the dice tumbling within, your eyes almost teasing the orange-haired woman across from you. A low hum escaped your lips as she made her first declaration, a casual claim about the number of dice showing a particular face. You then pressed a finger to your temple, an exaggerated act of deep concentration, as if truly mulling over your next move.

In reality, your Nōshoku Nōmi was already at work, sifting through the layers of her thoughts. The dice in her cup were no mystery to you, nor were the calculated risks she intended to take. But beyond the numbers and the strategic plays, a far more intriguing detail emerged: a flash of a Jolly Roger, the scent of sea salt, and a fleeting image of a vast, uncharted map.

A slow smile spread across your face. She wasn't just a cunning player; she was a pirate. The revelation didn't stir a flicker of fear within you, only a heightened sense of amusement and a touch of admiration for her audacious spirit.

You met her gaze, a new glint in your eyes. "Ah," you murmured, your voice a soft, knowing whisper that cut through the tavern's ambient noise. "Interesting choice, pirate."

Nami's smirk faltered, just for a fraction of a second. Her intelligent eyes narrowed, a hint of suspicion replacing her earlier confidence. She didn't flinch, didn't outwardly react beyond that subtle tightening of her jaw. "And what makes you say that?" she asked, her voice calm, though you could sense the sudden surge of caution in her thoughts. "Just a lucky guess, or do you have a trick up your sleeve that no one's told me about?"

You let out a small, exaggerated gasp, forming an 'O' with your lips. "Oh my," you feigned, your hand fluttering to your chest. "To assume such things of a humble island dweller! Why, that's almost as rude as accusing someone of... well, never mind." You paused, letting the silence hang in the air for a beat, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'd like to say it's just a lucky guess, Navigator. A simple, intuitive 'read' on the situation, if you will." Your smirk returned, more pronounced now, a silent challenge in your gaze.

Nami's eyes narrowed further, her initial surprise replaced by a sharp analytical glint. The easygoing pirate façade dropped, revealing a calculating mind beneath. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, intense tone. "A 'read'?" she echoed, a flicker of something akin to suspicion, but also a grudging respect, in her expression. "There are very few people who can 'read' me, especially not like that. What exactly are you, islander?"

You let out a soft chuckle, a sound that held no malice, only a hint of amusement. "Oh, those rude assumptions again," you murmured, shaking your head lightly. "You'd think people would learn." You picked up your dice cup, giving it a theatrical shake, the dice rattling a steady rhythm. The conversation hung in the air, a subtle understanding passing between you and the orange-haired pirate. Then, with a knowing look, you gestured for her to continue the game.

The rounds flowed, each declaration from Nami met with your seemingly innocent contemplation, a finger pressed to your temple, and then, inevitably, your winning reveal. Your pile of gold continued to swell, while hers dwindled, the shiny berries vanishing at an alarming rate.

A thin sheen of sweat appeared on Nami's brow. Her initial calm began to crack, replaced by a growing frustration that she struggled to mask. Her moves became slightly more erratic, less calculated. You could feel the subtle shift in her thoughts, a rising tide of desperation replacing her earlier confidence. She'd bite her lip, her eyes darting between your serene expression and her dwindling coins, a quiet panic beginning to set in. The long-nosed man in the corner, Usopp, seemed to shrink further into his seat, a silent testament to Nami's spiraling luck. Even the moss-haired swordsman, Zoro, though still outwardly impassive, had a slight crease in his brow, his single eye now fully focused on the unfolding game.

Nami slammed her cup down with a little more force than necessary, a sharp clatter against the wooden table. Her breath came a little faster. "Just one more hand," she grit out, pushing her last few coins forward. "Double or nothing. This time... this time it's different."

You merely smiled, the dice already in your cup, ready for the final, inevitable play.

You hummed a soft, knowing tune, the sound barely audible above the tavern's renewed murmur. "Double or nothing, you say?" you mused, a glint in your eye. "A brave last stand. Very well."

The dice rattled, a tense silence falling over "The Salty Siren." Nami's breath hitched, her eyes glued to your movements. You shook your cup, a confident, easy rhythm to your hand, then slammed it down. A quick glance at your mental image of her dice, a faint smile playing on your lips, and then you made your declaration.

Nami, her face a mask of desperate hope, hesitantly called your bluff. But just as before, your revealed dice lay undeniable, a clear victory. A triumphant smile bloomed on your face as the last of her coins slid across the table into your ever-growing pile.

Across from you, Nami went utterly ghost white. Her jaw slackened, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and utter defeat. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her looking as if she'd seen a ghost, or perhaps, lost her entire life savings.

In the back, Usopp's jaw dropped, a quiet, guttural sound escaping him. Even Zoro, usually so stoic, raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. They both knew Nami's reputation. She was a master at this, renowned for her uncanny luck and sharp wit. The very idea that some random island girl had not only beaten her, but utterly outmaneuvered her by a landslide, was simply flabbergasting.

Luck? they wondered. Or was this something else entirely? A shiver of unease, or perhaps dawning realization, ran through the pirate duo as they watched you, effortlessly raking in your winnings.

You let out a soft sigh, feigning sympathy, though the triumphant smile never left your face. "Such a pity," you chirped, gesturing to her empty space on the table. "I'm afraid I've rung you dry. A clean 0-10, if I'm counting correctly." You then offered a quick, mock pout. "Maybe next time, Navigator."

Nami, however, was in no mood for pleasantries. She let out a frustrated growl, muttering something about "this stupid game" and "rigged dice." With a huff, she shoved her stool back and turned to stalk away, her orange hair swinging with her exasperation.

But just as she took her first step, you subtly pressed three fingers to your own temple.

"Bye-bye, Nami~" a playful, singsong voice echoed, not from your lips, but directly inside her mind.

Nami froze. Her body went rigid, every muscle locking in place. The noisy tavern, the clinking of tankards, the distant hum of conversations—all faded into a dull roar as her mind replayed the impossible sound. She hadn't imagined it. It was clear as day, a voice only she could hear, and it had called her name.

Nami slowly, stiffly, turned around. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and dawning comprehension, locked onto yours. Your lips curved into a small, knowing smile, and in that moment, she knew. She hadn't imagined it. You had done it. The voice in her head, the impossible knowledge of her name—it all stemmed from you.

You held her gaze for a beat, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. Then, with a practiced ease, you began to collect the piles of gold from the table, sweeping both Nami's forfeited winnings and the previous loser's coins into a worn leather pouch. You stretched, a fake yawn escaping your lips, as if the day's events had simply tired you out.

"Ah, long day," you announced to the lingering crowd, your voice carrying easily over the tavern's renewed chatter. "I'll see you fellows later." With a final, lingering look at the still-frozen Nami, you slung your pouch over your shoulder and casually made your way towards the tavern's exit.

You strolled out of "The Salty Siren," a faint, self-satisfied smile playing on your lips. The Grand Line was full of interesting people, and it was always fun to play a little. As you passed the shadowed corner where the orange-haired navigator's companions still sat, you paused.

"Next time, you boys should support your friend," you called out, your voice light and teasing. "Who knows, maybe the results would have changed... although I doubt it." You winked. "Bye-bye, Zoro and Usopp. Have fun on the next island."

The long-nosed Usopp nearly fell out of his chair, his eyes bulging. Zoro, who had only moments before seemed utterly unaffected by the world, visibly stiffened, his hand unconsciously dropping to the hilt of his katana. They hadn't said a single word to you. How did you know their names? The question hung in the air, thick with unspoken implications, as you stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, leaving behind a bewildered pirate crew and the lingering scent of mystery.

You stepped out of The Salty Siren, the setting sun painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple. The cool evening air was a welcome contrast to the stuffy tavern, and a contented sigh escaped your lips. Your amusement at the pirates' stunned reactions was palpable.

A few seconds later, a furious yell ripped through the night. "WAIT!"

Nami, snapped out of her stupor, burst through the tavern doors, her eyes blazing. "Usopp! Zoro! After them! Now!"

Usopp, still wide-eyed and trembling, scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his trusty slingshot. Zoro, ever the picture of quiet intensity, was already out the door, moving with a surprising burst of speed despite his earlier nonchalance.

They scanned the darkening street, their eyes darting left and right. The dusty road that led away from The Salty Siren was empty. The small dock, usually bustling with activity, was quiet. No one. It was as if you had simply vanished into thin air. The only sound was the distant lapping of waves against the shore and the frantic beating of Nami's frustrated heart.

The familiar silhouette of the Thousand Sunny appeared on the horizon, its lion's head figurehead a beacon in the moonlit sea. Nami, Usopp, and Zoro boarded, the deck creaking softly under their weight. The usual lively atmosphere of the ship was subdued, a lingering tension from their earlier encounter.

"She just... vanished!" Usopp exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Like a ghost! No, like a ninja! Or maybe a ghost-ninja!" He shivered, already imagining elaborate, terrifying scenarios.

Zoro, ever pragmatic, merely grunted. "She was fast. That's all." But even he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling. He'd seen powerful opponents before, but someone who could disappear without a trace, and know their names without being told... that was different.

Nami, however, remained unusually quiet, staring out at the gentle waves. Her mind was replaying the final moments in the tavern, the victorious smirk on your face, and then… that voice. She turned to her bewildered crewmates.

"It wasn't just that she disappeared," Nami said, her voice low and serious. "And it wasn't just luck. She knew. She knew everything."

Usopp gulped. "Knew what, Nami?"

Nami's gaze hardened. "She knew my moves before I even made them. Every single one. And when I was walking away... she said 'Bye-bye, Nami' in my head." She paused, letting the revelation sink in. "Not out loud. In my head. And she knew your names too, Zoro, Usopp, even though we never spoke to her."

The wind seemed to pick up, carrying the weight of Nami's words across the deck. A new kind of apprehension settled over the Straw Hats. This wasn't just a powerful opponent; this was something entirely different. A mystery that promised to shake up their already unpredictable journey across the Grand Line.

Nami recounted the events in the tavern, the dice game, and the impossible knowledge you possessed, her voice tight with a mixture of frustration and awe. Usopp, ever the storyteller, embellished on your vanishing act, adding dramatic flair about "ghost-ninjas." Zoro, true to form, simply grunted in agreement with Nami's core points, his hand resting on his sword.

Luffy, whose usual response to anything mysterious was immediate excitement, bounced on the balls of his feet. "Shishishi! Someone who knows everything? That's amazing! We should find them and ask them to join our crew! Imagine all the adventures!" His eyes sparkled with childlike wonder.

Sanji, however, stroked his chin, a cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding him. "A woman who can read minds, eh? And knows names without being told? That's... unsettling, but also rather intriguing." He puffed thoughtfully, a swirl of romanticized danger in his gaze. "Perhaps she possesses a truly unique kind of beauty that transcends the physical."

Chopper trembled, hiding behind Usopp's leg. "Mind-reading?! That's terrifying! What if she knows all my weaknesses?! What if she knows about... about my reindeer form?!" He quivered, imagining his deepest fears exposed.

Robin leaned against the railing, a thoughtful smile gracing her lips. "A Devil Fruit user with precognitive abilities, or perhaps a unique form of empathy. Fascinating. To know one's intentions before they manifest... that could be a formidable asset, or a dangerous threat." Her eyes held a deep, unreadable curiosity.

Franky pounded a fist into his palm, a wide, excited grin on his face. "SUUUUPER! A human lie detector! We could win all the bets! And she just vanished? What kind of technology is that? I gotta meet her and see how she does it!"

Brook tilted his head, his empty eye sockets seemingly gazing into the distance. "Yohohoho! To know one's thoughts without a single word... such a profound ability. I wonder if she could read my thoughts if I asked her to look at my skull? Though, I have no brain to read, so perhaps not! Yohohoho!" His skeleton fingers tapped a cheerful rhythm on his cane.

The diverse reactions painted a clear picture: you had left an unforgettable impression on the Straw Hat Pirates, sparking a mixture of wonder, fear, and intense curiosity.

A palpable energy filled the Sunny's deck as the Straw Hats discussed their next move. The mystery of your abilities had clearly captured their attention, pushing aside their usual boisterous activities for a focused discussion.

"So, we're going back to that island first thing tomorrow morning?" Nami confirmed, tapping a finger against her chin. The frustration of being outsmarted was still fresh, but now laced with a determined curiosity.

"Yep!" Luffy grinned, already picturing the adventure. "Someone who can do all that sounds super interesting! We gotta go find 'em!"

Sanji twirled his cigarette. "Perhaps she'll be waiting for us. A lady of such unique talents wouldn't simply vanish without a trace... unless she intended to be found."

Usopp, despite his earlier fear, puffed out his chest slightly. "This is a job for the great Captain Usopp! I'll devise a strategy to smoke out this ghost-ninja-mind-reader!"

Robin's gaze drifted towards the darkened island. "Her abilities are certainly a rarity. It would be... illuminating to learn more."

"SUUUUPER! I'll make sure the Sunny is ready for a quick departure at dawn!" Franky declared, already heading towards the ship's controls.

"Yohohoho! I shall prepare a song for our new acquaintance! Perhaps a 'Mind-Reading Melody'?" Brook mused, his skeletal fingers already mimicking a violin.

Chopper, still a little wary but drawn in by the crew's enthusiasm, ventured, "We'll have to be careful though! What if she really does know everything?"

The decision was unanimous. With the first rays of dawn, the Straw Hats would set sail back to the small island, their minds buzzing with questions and theories about the enigmatic figure who had so effortlessly outmaneuvered their clever navigator. They were determined to find you, to unravel the mystery of your powers, and perhaps, to see if you truly were as unbeatable as you seemed.

Meanwhile.

You hummed a soft tune, the cool night air a balm against your skin as you walked the familiar path home. The weight of the leather pouch in your hand, heavy with the day's winnings, was a comforting presence. Your home, a small, unassuming cottage nestled amongst the trees, awaited, quiet and empty as always. A hollow space, filled only with the lingering scent of old books and the quiet hum of the sea.

But that wasn't your first stop.

Your footsteps turned instinctively towards the cluster of ramshackle homes on the outskirts of the village, a place where the laughter of children often mingled with the strained sighs of their parents. These were families whose hands worked tirelessly, whose backs ached from dawn till dusk, yet whose meager earnings never quite stretched far enough.

You approached one such home, a dim light flickering within. A small boy, no older than seven, sat on the stoop, drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick, his thin frame silhouetted against the weak lamplight.

"Evening, little one," you greeted softly, making sure not to startle him.

His head snapped up, eyes wide, before breaking into a shy smile. "Miss (Y/N)!" he whispered, scrambling to his feet.

Just then, a woman, her face etched with exhaustion but her eyes kind, appeared in the doorway. "Oh, (Y/N)! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

You offered her a warm smile. "Just passing through, thought I'd see how you all were doing." You extended the pouch. "And I had a rather lucky day at the tables. This is for you."

Her eyes widened, and she tried to refuse. "Oh, (Y/N), you don't have to, really—"

"Nonsense," you insisted gently, pressing it into her hand. "Consider it a gift from the universe. Make sure these little rascals get a proper meal. And maybe a new blanket or two." You ruffled the boy's hair, earning a giggle. "Remember what I told you, little man? Even the smallest of dreams can become super big adventures."

The woman's eyes welled up, a grateful tear tracing a path down her tired cheek. "Thank you, (Y/N). Thank you so much. You're a true blessing to this island."

You lingered for a few more moments, chatting with the woman about her day and listening to the soft murmur of the younger children within. When you finally turned towards your own quiet home, the weight of the empty pouch was a small price to pay for the warmth that now filled the hollow spaces within you.

The familiar creak of the floorboards echoed in the stillness of your home as you stepped inside. The cottage, though undeniably your own, always felt cavernous after a day spent amidst the boisterous energy of the tavern or the soft warmth of the children's home. You closed the wooden door behind you, the latch clicking with a quiet finality that seemed to seal away the outside world.

The main room was sparsely furnished. A simple wooden table, a few mismatched chairs, and against the far wall, a worn, overstuffed couch that served as both a sitting area and your bed. Dust motes danced in the sliver of moonlight that pierced the small window, illuminating the quiet solitude of the space.

You walked to a small, built-in shelf, pulling down a ceramic flask and a single, chipped cup. The aroma of sake, sharp and comforting, filled the air as you poured a measure. The liquid slid down, a familiar burn warming your throat. You didn't drink to escape, not truly, but to simply dull the edges of the quiet. To let the thoughts that constantly swirled, the echoes of a hundred minds you’d touched, recede into a manageable hum.

You settled onto the couch, its well-worn cushions molding to your form. The fabric was soft beneath your fingers, a familiar texture in the quiet dark. You took another slow sip of sake, listening to the distant, rhythmic sigh of the waves. The hours bled into one another, marked only by the dwindling level in the flask and the deepening shadows in the room. The world outside, with its pirates and its mysteries, felt distant and unimportant. Your gaze drifted to the ceiling, then to the dark corners of the room, devoid of personal trinkets or mementos. Eventually, the warmth of the sake, coupled with the day's quiet exertions, pulled at your eyelids. The cup slipped from your fingers, landing softly on the rug. You didn't stir, your breathing evening out as you finally passed out on the worn cushions, alone in the silent house.

The morning sun, already high, streamed through the small window, a harsh, unforgiving light. You stirred, a dull ache throbbing behind your temples. Waking up was usually a gradual ascent from the depths of sleep, but today, it was a slow, painful crawl.

A thick haze clouded your mind, making thoughts feel like distant echoes. It wasn't just the lingering warmth of the sake from the night before; it was the residue of overuse, the mental toll of the Nōshoku Nōmi. Reading minds, especially when pushing its limits to discern intentions as deeply as you had with Nami, left you feeling… stretched thin. Your senses were muted, colors seemed less vibrant, sounds muffled. Your body felt heavy, as if gravity had intensified just for you.

You opened your eyes, but the world was a blurry watercolor. The familiar patterns of the wooden ceiling swam above you, indistinct and wavering. A faint, metallic taste coated your tongue. You lay there for a long moment, simply existing, waiting for the fog to dissipate, for your mind to reassemble itself piece by painful piece. Each thought felt like wading through thick mud, requiring immense effort to grasp and hold onto. This was the cost of knowing, the aftershocks of peering so deeply into the minds of others. The silence of your home, usually a comfort, now felt oppressive, amplifying the internal thrum of your overtaxed brain. Slowly, agonizingly, the edges of your perception began to sharpen, the colors gaining definition, the sounds of the distant gulls returning to their usual clarity. But the dull throb remained, a constant reminder of the unseen drain your power exacted.

Meanwhile, across the island, the Straw Hat Pirates combed every alley, every market stall, every secluded path. Luffy called out your name with boundless energy, Sanji scouted with surprising stealth, Usopp peered through binoculars from the highest trees, and Chopper sniffed the air for any trace. Nami, her brow furrowed, studied maps and questioned locals, while Zoro silently patrolled, his sharp senses alert. Franky clanged around, hoping to spot a clue, and Brook drifted through the more crowded areas, his musical inquiries drawing curious stares. They searched with a focused determination, but the island, which had seemed so small last night, now felt vast and empty. You were nowhere to be found.

The Day Begins

Despite the lingering haze, you moved through your small cottage with practiced ease. Each motion was deliberate, a slow, methodical process to counter the lingering effects of the Mind-Read Fruit's toll. You ran a hand over your face, a dull ache throbbing behind your temples. Even now, counting your own fingers felt like a monumental task, their individual outlines blurring at the edges of your vision.

You splashed cool water on your face from a basin, the shock a welcome jolt. You brushed your hair, ran a hand over your clothes, making sure you appeared put-together, even if your mind felt anything but. It was a routine born of habit, a way to anchor yourself when your internal world was in flux.

A deep breath, and you pushed open the wooden door, stepping out into the bright morning. A genuine smile touched your lips as the warm sun hit your face, the gentle sea breeze a familiar comfort. The island was beginning to stir, the distant sounds of villagers going about their day drifting on the air. Unaware of the frantic search being conducted by a certain pirate crew, you began your day, ready to face whatever the Grand Line had in store, one quiet, knowing step at a time.

You approached the bustling town square, the aroma of fresh bread and simmering stews filling the air. Your stomach rumbled a gentle reminder of its emptiness. While the sight of the children's beaming faces was always worth it, your generous spirit often left your own pockets rather thin.

You stopped at a fruit stall, its colorful bounty a stark contrast to the vendor's sour expression. "Good morning, my friend!" you chirped, your voice bright despite the lingering haze from the night before. "What wonders do you have today for a humble islander?"

The vendor, a stout man with tired eyes, merely grunted, pushing a basket of bruised apples forward. He, like many in town, harbored a quiet disdain for you. Your uncanny winning streak in every bet, your constant upbeat nature despite never truly working a "proper" job, rubbed them the wrong way. It was an unspoken resentment, a quiet bitterness that you, with your strange talent, always seemed to come out on top.

"These apples are all I have left," he grumbled, avoiding your gaze. "Take 'em or leave 'em."

You picked one up, inspecting it with a theatrical sigh. "Oh, a true test of character for these poor fruits," you mused, a playful glint in your eyes. "Tell you what, my good man, how about these, and a few of those overripe bananas for a special price? I'm feeling particularly generous today." You offered your most charming smile, knowing full well he'd try to overcharge you.

He squinted, then grudgingly named a price. It was steep, but you simply nodded, pulling out a few measly coins. It wouldn't last you long, but it would sustain you.

Just as you handed over the payment, a voice, sharp and laced with an unmistakable blend of frustration and triumph, cut through the market's chatter like a knife.

"MIND READER!!!"

The shout reverberated, sending pigeons scattering. You froze, your hand still outstretched towards the vendor, your back to the source of the sound. The blood drained from your face, the familiar warmth of the sun suddenly feeling cold against your skin.

The sound of your title, hurled across the market, hit you like a physical blow. You'd revealed your power to the orange-haired woman, Nami, once. A brief, playful peek into her mind, a subtle hint that you knew more than you let on. You’d expected her to perhaps obsess over it for a night, maybe even a day or two, but this? A public accusation, shouted in broad daylight? No. You should have known better. Navigators like her, especially ones who prided themselves on their intellect, wouldn't let such a challenge to their understanding go.

Quickly, instinctively, you plastered a wide, disarming smile onto your face, masking the flicker of genuine surprise and irritation. You turned slowly, meeting Nami’s furious gaze. She stood there, flanked by the long-nosed Usopp and the moss-haired Zoro, a determined fire in her eyes.

"Aww," you cooed, your voice dripping with faux sweetness, loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. "Isn't it that navigator I so soundly beat yesterday? It's a little pathetic to blame your losses on something so... stupid, wouldn't you say? Almost like you can't accept you were simply outsmarted."

The surrounding market-goers, who had been muttering amongst themselves, now stared, their expressions a mixture of confusion and intense curiosity. The vendor at the fruit stall, his earlier disdain momentarily forgotten, watched the unfolding drama with wide eyes.

Nami's face flushed with anger, her fists clenching at her sides. "Stupid?!" she practically shrieked, ignoring the stares. "You knew my moves! You knew our names! You read my mind, didn't you?! Don't you dare try to play coy, Mind Reader!" Her voice rose with each accusation, echoing through the square.

You chuckled, a low, confident sound that barely registered over Nami’s furious outburst. "My, my, Navigator," you purred, stepping closer, your smile unwavering. "Such accusations. Are you truly so upset about losing a few berries that you'd make up such fantastical tales?" You glanced around at the bewildered faces of the townsfolk, playing to your audience. "Mind-reading? Really, now. What a notion."

Before Nami could retort, Zoro and Usopp stepped forward, their expressions a mix of suspicion and unease.

"Don't try to deny it!" Usopp cried, pointing a trembling finger at you. "You knew our names! And you just vanished last night like some kind of spirit!"

Zoro simply stared, his single eye glinting dangerously. "You know something," he stated, his voice low and guttural, a stark contrast to Usopp's dramatics. "Don't play games."

As if on cue, the rest of the Straw Hat crew emerged from the milling crowd, drawn by the commotion. Luffy, his infectious grin already present, bounced forward, eyes wide with excitement. Sanji gracefully glided up, his usual chivalrous aura somewhat disrupted by the intensity of the situation. Chopper peered nervously from behind Luffy’s leg, while Robin observed with her characteristic serene curiosity. Franky’s large, cyborg frame made him easy to spot, and Brook, ever the gentleman, tipped his non-existent hat.

Their presence, a veritable gathering of notorious pirates, sent a ripple of fear through the market. Vendors abandoned their stalls, and townsfolk scattered, leaving a wide, empty circle around you and the Straw Hats.

Luffy took another bouncy step closer, his eyes fixed on you. "You're the one who can read minds, right?!" he practically shouted, his excitement overshadowing any immediate threat. "That's super cool! Will you join my crew?!"

You met Luffy's eager gaze, a playful glint in your eyes. "My, my," you purred, shaking your head slightly. "Such wild imaginations you pirates have! Reading minds? Joining crews? I'm just a simple islander trying to buy some fruit. You've clearly mistaken me for someone far more... fantastical."

Luffy's brow furrowed slightly, a rare moment of confusion. "But Nami said you knew!"

"Yeah!" Usopp chimed in, pointing dramatically. "And you vanished! Like poof!"

Zoro simply eyed you, his hand still near his sword. "You have a strange aura about you. Don't play dumb."

Sanji lit another cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke. "While I'd love to believe such a charming lady is merely an innocent fruit shopper, y/n-swans instincts are rarely wrong."

Robin chuckled softly. "It is rather convenient, isn't it? Such consistent victories against seasoned gamblers, and then, a sudden departure from the scene."

Even Brook joined in. "Yohohoho! If I had eyes, I would be squinting them at you very suspiciously, Miss! Yohoho!"

Just then, the fruit vendor, who had been listening with an increasingly bewildered expression, smacked his forehead with a resounding thud. His initial disdain for you melted away, replaced by a sudden, profound realization. "You clown... that makes perfect sense!" he mumbled, staring at you with new eyes. "Always knew everyone's next move, always won every bet... I thought you just had insane luck! You can read minds, can't you?!" His voice, though quieter than Nami's, was filled with a dawning awe. The market, though mostly empty, seemed to hold its breath.

You let the vendor's shocked exclamation hang in the air, allowing the full weight of his realization to settle. The Straw Hats watched, a mix of expectation and raw curiosity on their faces. After a long moment, the playful façade finally dropped. A soft, genuine smile, tinged with a hint of mischievous regret, touched your lips.

"Aww," you sighed, a dramatic sigh that belied the glint in your eyes. "I was hoping this whole charade could continue a while longer. You lot are rather entertaining, you know."

Then, with a deliberate, almost theatrical movement, you pressed three fingers to your own temple, just as you had that night in the tavern.

"It was a fun game for a while, wasn't it?" a collective voice, clear and undeniably your own, echoed not in the air, but directly inside the minds of every single person present—the wide-eyed vendor, the stunned Straw Hats, even the few brave townsfolk who hadn't fled. Your lips remained still, no sound escaping them.

Nami gasped aloud, her hands flying to her head. "It's real! She really did it! She's doing it again!"

Luffy's eyes practically popped out of his head. "WHOA! That's so cool! Did you guys hear that?! She just talked in my head!" He immediately pressed his own fingers to his temple, squinting in concentration. "Can I do it too?!"

Usopp shrieked, tripping over his own feet and landing on his backside. "GHOST-NINJA-MIND-READER! SHE'S READING OUR MINDS RIGHT NOW! SHE KNOWS WHAT I'M THINKING ABOUT RUNNING AWAY!"

Zoro narrowed his single eye, a dangerous glint within it. "You have a Devil Fruit," he stated, not a question but a blunt declaration. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword.

Sanji adjusted his cigarette, a new kind of respect entering his gaze, mixed with a hint of bewilderment. "To speak without moving one's lips... a truly elegant ability, for a truly enigmatic lady."

Chopper whimpered, burying his face in Usopp's leg. "She knows I want cotton candy!"

Robin's serene smile widened, a true flicker of delight in her eyes. "An extraordinary power. A unique form of telepathy, perhaps. Fascinating."

Franky's jaw dropped, his robotic eye lights blinking rapidly. "SUUUUPER! Mental communication! My brain could use an upgrade like that!"

Brook let out a ghostly chuckle. "Yohohoho! To hear a voice without an ear... such a strange sensation! I have no brain, yet I hear you! Astounding!"

The fruit vendor, still frozen, could only stammer, "You... you are a clown! You knew everything!" His face, once resentful, was now a portrait of bewildered awe.

You let out a genuine yawn this time, a sound that quickly turned into a soft groan as you lowered your fingers from your temple. Your head throbbed, a relentless drumbeat that resonated deep within your skull. The earlier smile faded, replaced by a grimace of pain. The lingering effects of the previous night's overexertion were clearly still with you, amplified by this recent, powerful projection into multiple minds.

"I guess I can't stay here anymore, so..." you began, your voice trailing off, a hint of weariness in your tone. The Straw Hats, though startled by your mental communication, were now watching intently, a mix of awe and suspicion on their faces.

You lifted your hand again, but this time, you placed your entire palm flat against your forehead, all five fingers spread wide. The air around you seemed to shimmer, a faint distortion that made the market stalls behind you waver. Then, in a blink, you were gone. Not a vanishing act like the night before, not a hasty retreat, but a complete, seamless disappearance. You were simply invisible. The space you occupied was empty, a sudden, baffling void where you had just stood.

A New Layer of Power

The trick of invisibility was a discovery you'd made a while ago, a deeper facet of the Nōshoku Nōmi that extended beyond mere thought-reading. By subtly manipulating the minds around you, you could essentially erase your presence from their perception. You could become invisible not just to the human eye, but to the very minds you chose to interact with, a ghostly whisper in the conscious space. It was an ability you used sparingly, for truly escaping sticky situations or for moments like these, when you wanted to dictate the terms of engagement.

As the Straw Hats gawked at the empty space where you once stood, your voice echoed once more, directly into their minds, clearer than any shouted command. Your lips, of course, remained still, unseen by any.

"If you want answers, meet me at the old lighthouse by the western cliffs. Midnight. Come alone. All of you."

A flurry of startled exclamations and bewildered silence followed your mental directive. Luffy, ever direct, just grinned, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Nami's frustration was still palpable, but now it was overshadowed by a burning curiosity. Even Zoro, usually so unconcerned with mental games, had a flicker of intrigue in his eye. The stage was set, and the game, it seemed, was far from over.

A Night of Waiting

The market square remained eerily quiet after your disappearance, the lingering scent of fruit and dust the only proof of the recent confrontation. The Straw Hats stood amidst the scattered goods, a palpable tension in the air.

"The old lighthouse?" Nami muttered, her brow furrowed in thought. "That's a tricky spot to get to, especially at night."

"But she said all of us," Luffy chirped, already radiating excitement. "She wants to meet us! Shishishi!"

Usopp, still a little pale, nervously clutched his slingshot. "She knows our names, she reads minds, and now she can disappear and talk in our heads! This is getting super scary, guys!"

Zoro simply grunted, his gaze fixed on the empty space you'd occupied. "If she's playing games, she'll regret it." His hand rested on the hilt of his katana, a silent promise.

Sanji lit another cigarette, the smoke curling around his contemplative face. "To command us telepathically... a truly unique ability. We'll have to be on our guard, but also... curious."

Robin's eyes gleamed with intellectual curiosity. "A direct invitation. She clearly wishes to engage with us on her own terms. The lighthouse is a secluded location, ideal for a private discussion."

Franky pounded a fist into his palm. "SUUUUPER! A secret meeting with a mind-reading disappearing person! I'll make sure the Sunny is ready for anything!"

Brook, ever the optimist, strummed a cheerful, if slightly eerie, tune on his violin. "Yohohoho! A night rendezvous with a mysterious lady! How wonderfully dramatic! I wonder if she has any bones to pick with us? Yohohoho!"

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, the Straw Hats made their way back to the Thousand Sunny. The evening passed with an unusual quietness on the ship, each crewmate lost in their own thoughts and theories about the enigmatic figure they were destined to meet. The promise of answers, and perhaps a new adventure, hung heavy in the salty night air.

The old lighthouse stood sentinel on the western cliffs, a weathered stone finger pointing at the moonless sky. Its lamp, long since broken, cast no welcoming beam, leaving the jagged rocks below cloaked in deep shadow. A persistent, salty wind whipped around its base, carrying the roar of the restless Grand Line waves far below. The air was thick with the scent of brine and damp stone.

Exactly at midnight, the Straw Hats arrived. They spread out, a semicircle of watchful eyes and taut muscles, their figures dark against the slightly less inky sky. Luffy, ever impatient, bounced on the balls of his feet, his excitement barely contained. Nami scanned the shadows, her brow furrowed, while Usopp trembled, clutching his slingshot with white knuckles. Zoro leaned against a crumbling wall, his hand hovering over his katana, a silent promise of swift action. Sanji's cigarette glowed a steady ember in the gloom, and Robin’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the tension. Franky’s joints whirred softly, and Brook hummed a low, anticipatory tune.

Silence stretched, broken only by the wind and the crashing waves. Minutes bled into an eternity.

"She's late," Usopp whispered, his voice cracking. "Maybe she's not coming! Maybe she was just messing with us!"

"She'll come," Zoro growled, his gaze piercing the darkness. "She wants something."

Just then, a voice, soft as a sigh, yet clear as a bell, spoke from directly behind Luffy.

"Took you long enough."

Luffy spun around, his eyes wide. Everyone else instinctively tensed, some drawing weapons. You stood there, materializing as if the shadows themselves had coalesced into your form. Your smile was faint in the dim light, but utterly knowing. The subtle distortion in the air around you, a tell-tale shimmer, was the only hint of your recent invisibility.

"You really came," you mused, your voice carrying easily over the wind. "I'm impressed. Most people would have just left, convinced I was a ghost."

Nami stepped forward, her frustration finally boiling over. "Who are you?! And what was that stunt back in town?! How did you do all that?!"

You chuckled, a pleasant sound that seemed out of place in the tense atmosphere. "Questions, questions. Always so eager to know. Let's just say I have a… unique way of understanding people." You paused, your gaze sweeping over each of them, lingering for a fraction of a second on each face. "And as for the 'stunt,' Navigator, I believe it was merely a demonstration. After all, you seemed so convinced I was just 'lucky'."

Luffy, surprisingly, cut through the tension. "So you can read minds?! That's awesome! Will you join my crew?! We need a mind-reader!"

You met his eager gaze, a genuine smile now touching your lips. "Your enthusiasm is charming, Captain. But joining a pirate crew is quite a commitment, wouldn't you say? And besides," you tilted your head, your eyes sparkling, "I don't believe you've even introduced yourselves properly."

Sanji, ever the gentleman, took a step forward, sweeping into an elegant bow. "Pardon our manners, lovely lady. I am Sanji, and I am at your service." He shot a glare at Zoro. "Unlike some uncouth moss-heads."

Zoro merely grunted, his hand still on his katana. "Roronoa Zoro."

Nami sighed, shaking her head. "I'm Nami, the navigator. And these are Usopp, our sniper," she gestured to a still-trembling Usopp, "Chopper, our doctor, Robin, our archaeologist, Franky, our shipwright, and Brook, our musician."

Each crewmate offered a brief greeting or nod.

You listened, your smile growing wider. "A diverse bunch indeed. It's rare to meet a full crew of such... distinct individuals. I've heard tales, of course. Straw Hat Luffy, the aspiring Pirate King. The Navigator who can map the impossible. The Swordsman who aims for the best. The Sniper who tells incredible lies. The Doctor who fears too much. The Archaeologist who seeks forbidden knowledge. The Shipwright who is super. And the Musician who has no eyeballs but sings so well." You paused, letting the implications of your words sink in. "You see? I know quite a bit more than just your names."

A stunned silence fell over the Straw Hats. Your calm recitation of their dreams, their roles, their quirks – details you could only have gleaned from deep within their minds – was more unsettling than any threat. Even Luffy's boundless enthusiasm seemed to waver for a moment.

"How... how do you know all that?" Nami whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.

You merely smiled, the night wind ruffling your hair. "Let's just say, my dears, the world is full of interesting secrets. And some of them, are simply waiting to be read."

Acknowledging the Unseen

A heavy silence descended upon the lighthouse, broken only by the mournful cry of gulls and the relentless crash of waves against the cliffs below. Your words, spoken without moving your lips, had peeled back the layers of their defenses, laying bare their deepest aspirations. The shock of being so thoroughly "read" was evident on every face, even Luffy's boundless exuberance momentarily quelled.

Nami was the first to regain her composure, though her voice was still laced with an almost fearful awe. "You… you really are a mind-reader. A Devil Fruit power, then?" Her eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now held a glint of genuine vulnerability.

You offered a small, enigmatic smile. "A Devil Fruit, yes. The Nōshoku Nōmi. And it's not just thoughts, Navigator. It's intentions, desires, memories... the very essence of who someone is." You gestured vaguely with a hand. "It allows me to perceive the unseen currents that guide every soul. And to influence them, if I choose."

Usopp gulped, visibly trembling. "Influence?! You mean you can make us... make us do things?!" He imagined himself suddenly compelled to jump off the cliff, or worse, to tell a truthful story.

"Hardly," you scoffed, a flicker of amusement returning to your eyes. "My power isn't about control, Sniper. It's about perception. And, at times, about making my presence... inconvenient to minds that wish to perceive me." You paused, letting the implication of your earlier invisibility sink in. "That's why I vanish. I simply make your minds believe I'm not there."

Zoro, who had been studying you intently, finally lowered his hand from his sword. "So you're not an enemy then?" he asked, his voice low and cautious.

"An enemy?" You considered this, a thoughtful expression on your face. "I have no quarrel with any of you. I simply live my life on this island, in my own way." You glanced out at the vast, dark expanse of the Grand Line. "Though, I confess, the thought of new experiences is always... alluring."

Luffy’s eyes lit up once more. "Then join my crew! You're super strong! And we could use someone who knows everything!"

You laughed, a clear, melodious sound that echoed in the night air. "Your offer is certainly... persistent, Captain. But as I said, being a pirate is a big commitment. And I'm not entirely convinced your crew is ready for someone who knows all their little secrets before they even whisper them to themselves."

You watched Luffy's face, his genuine enthusiasm a stark contrast to the usual guardedness you encountered. His sincerity, a pure, unblemished desire for adventure and companionship, was refreshing. You had read countless minds, seen the intricate webs of ambition, fear, and self-interest that drove most people. But Luffy's mind was a wide-open sea, a constant current of boundless dreams. The thought of joining such a crew, of stepping away from the predictable quiet of your island life, sent an unexpected thrill through you.

"Your offer is... compelling, Captain," you admitted, a slow smile spreading across your face. The lingering headache from your power's overuse was still there, but now, a flicker of excitement began to push through the haze. "But I have my conditions."

Luffy's eyes widened, a wide grin stretching across his face. "Conditions?! Shishishi! Anything! What are they?!"

You surveyed the rest of the crew, each of their reactions a fascinating study. Nami's initial shock was giving way to shrewd calculation, weighing the benefits of your power against the undeniable strangeness of it. Zoro's single eye remained fixed on you, assessing, vigilant. Usopp, still a bundle of nerves, seemed to be actively trying not to think about anything embarrassing. Sanji looked torn between chivalrous deference and male curiosity. Robin's curiosity was palpable, a silent invitation to unravel deeper mysteries. Franky was practically vibrating with excitement over your abilities. Brook, ever the comedian, seemed utterly unperturbed.

"Firstly," you began, your voice firm, "my power is a tool, not a parlor trick. I won't use it to spy on your personal thoughts unless absolutely necessary for the crew's safety, or if I detect genuine malice towards one of you. And believe me, I'll know." You let that hang in the air, a subtle warning.

Nami scoffed, crossing her arms. "And how do we trust you on that? You just admitted you read all our minds!"

"Because," you responded, meeting her gaze, your smile unwavering, "I have no reason to betray you. My life here is... quiet. Predictable. The thought of adventure, of truly seeing the Grand Line through your eyes, is far more appealing than any petty mind-games. Besides," you added, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "I'm perfectly capable of winning my own bets, thank you very much."

Luffy punched the air. "Sounds good to me! What else?!"

"Secondly," you continued, "I go where the winds take us. I won't be a navigator, that's Nami's domain." You offered her a respectful nod. "But if I sense true danger, a trap that even the sharpest minds might miss, I will speak up. My insights may not always be what you want to hear, but they will be honest."

Nami seemed to relax slightly, a small, almost imperceptible nod of acceptance.

"And finally," you said, your gaze returning to Luffy, "I'm not a fighter in the traditional sense. My strength lies elsewhere. I won't be charging into battle. But I will use my abilities to help the crew, to anticipate enemies, to uncover hidden paths, or to simply make our lives a little easier when the situation calls for it."

Luffy grinned, stretching his arms high above his head. "Okay! That's it?! That's super easy! Alright! You're in! Welcome to the Straw Hat Pirates!" He bounded towards you, arms outstretched for a characteristic rubbery embrace.

You braced yourself for impact, a small laugh escaping your lips. The hug was unexpectedly warm, a strong, genuine embrace that, despite the lingering pain in your head, sent a jolt of something akin to joy through you.

"Wait a minute, Luffy!" Nami interjected, hands on her hips. "You just accepted her without even asking her name!"

You pulled back from Luffy's enthusiastic hug, a soft smile on your face. "My apologies," you said, meeting Nami's gaze. "My name is (Y/N)."

"Alright, (Y/N)!" Luffy cheered, seemingly oblivious to the lingering questions. "Welcome aboard! Let's go have some adventures!"

Usopp, after a moment of stunned silence, started to jump up and down. "We have a mind-reader! A mind-reader who can disappear! This is going to be the most amazing crew ever! No one will ever surprise us again!"

Zoro, a rare, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips, merely grunted. "Don't get cocky, Long Nose. Surprises always find a way."

Sanji, ever the suave one, bowed once more. "It is an honor to have you join us, (Y/N)-swan. Dinner awaits your sophisticated palate."

Robin offered a graceful nod, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I look forward to learning from you, (Y/N)."

Franky pumped his fists. "SUUUUPER! Our crew just got a whole lot more fascinating!"

Brook, of course, was already composing a song. "Yohohoho! A new crewmate, with such an extraordinary gift! I shall call this the 'Mind-Reading Ballad'! Yohohoho!"

You looked at them, this ragtag collection of dreamers and fighters, each so distinct, each so open in their own way. The hollow feeling that often accompanied your quiet nights was beginning to dissipate, replaced by a nascent excitement. Your island, your familiar routine, would now fade into the background. The Grand Line, with all its unpredictable currents and untold secrets, awaited. And this time, you wouldn't just be reading minds; you'd be living a new story, right alongside them.

[rumwik]

This year's Rum bunny! I'm currently offering this pose as a YCH, you can fill out the form here if you're interested 🐰

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane Preference] And Their Favorite Hot Drink

Every time I say I want to make at least three, and every time it takes me a month to make three. But between today and tomorrow, I want to post something else with a cozy/winter theme, so stay tuned. Meanwhile, in my little self-promotion corner, I'll let you know that you can find my fanart here, and here you can find a fanfiction I'm working on, if you want to check out my other projects!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

Hot tea.

With lots of cookies, not just one or two like nobles who drink tea to be chic.

He drinks tea because it makes the cookies taste better and softer.

And if I told you he prefers fruity tea?

Basically, he likes a strong flavor, and fruity teas have the most aroma, although having grown up as the Kirammans’ ward, he’s learned to drink it in any form.

Viktor:

Sweet milk.

Or milk and honey.

Occasionally, milk, coffee, caramel, and whipped cream if he wants to be fancy, but he never has the time, so it’s usually just sweet milk.

He has such a stockpile that statistically, at least one bottle is expired, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t pay attention to those things.

Ekko:

Cappuccino. It’s quick, it’s hot, it gives energy, and the milk makes it sweet enough without adding sugar.

Easy to find and great for the group because it’s not expensive—just steal an industrial-sized can of milk and some instant coffee, and he can make it for more than 20 people.

Tea is problematic because there are no plants in Zaun, and in Piltover, they either sell it in small doses or loose.

Vander:

Hot chocolate, because I say so.

This man was born to be a father, and what do kids love? Hot chocolate.

Hard to come by in Zaun, which is why he always adds chocolate bars or cocoa powder as an extra price in his smuggling deals.

It became his favorite because of the connection it has with his kids and his happy place.

Silco:

Whiskey doesn’t count as a hot drink, and that’s a bit of a problem.

But luckily, coffee exists.

Not American coffee, long and watered down, but espresso.

He holds the small cup in his hands to warm himself, but subtly enough that no one notices.

Jinx:

Sugar.

Not a hot drink, sure, but any drink works for her if it has enough sugar.

Milk and honey remind her of when she was little, tied to special occasions when her parents actually managed to get honey.

But pretty much anything works for her: fruity teas with three tablespoons of sugar, hot chocolate with one spoonful, cappuccino with two…

Vi:

Anything works for her as long as the cup is big enough to warm her hands.

Simple and easy-to-find drinks are great, sure, but no one can convince me her favorite drink isn’t either hot chocolate with rum or a complex, spiced Piltover-style beverage.

She doesn’t mind sweetness but never adds sugar to her drinks—she’d rather choose something with natural sweet notes.

Caitlyn:

Tea.

English breakfast tea with sugar and milk is something her parents made her during festive mornings, so it holds sentimental value.

But the tea she’s used to drinking is Oolong or Yorkshire, typical of the five o’clock tea tradition with her mother and occasionally their guests.

Mel:

Coffee and variations.

In my little artist brain, Piltover has an ethical equivalent of Starbucks, and that café is Mel’s happy place.

Coffee is easier to find for sure, but coffee-based drinks with caramel, ginger, and plant-based milk are absolutely her favorite.

She loves sipping them slowly, savoring the flavors, taking half an hour or more to finish her cup.

Sevika:

Whiskey.

No, she won’t accept that it doesn’t count as a hot drink.

She doesn’t like milk, but if she’s forced to have it, she spikes it with whiskey or gin.

The same goes for hot chocolate.

She’s not a coffee person either; she doesn’t see the point of drinking something so bitter without a real purpose.

[teastyun]

¨༺ the sweet taste of submission

arcane sevika x female reader pirate au (nsfw)

being blackmailed into piracy, you never expected anything less than cruelty to encounter you in your foreseeable future. but what happens if you become best friends with the captain's quartermaster? are you able to prevent any further feelings from developing?

a/n: happy release of season 2!! i'm watching the first arc at a public viewing event in my city with my closest friends and hope to win all the plushies hehe,, update: i did not win any plushies but i got a vi voodoo-doll from the series made by jinx and several other things including a coin with sevika on it 🥹

mastlerlist

walking into your crews' favourite tavern called The Last Drop, the hot and stuffy atmosphere immediately hits you as you're able to only her the chatting and brawling of your crew mates. the tavern is filled with almost your whole crew drinking and singing popular sea shanties as one of two guys would drunkly wrestle in the farthest corner of the wooden tavern, but your eyes only caught on Sevika at the biggest table through the dimmed lights talking to her mates despite all the commotion surrounding her.

Sevika is in her usual thin black linen shirt, where a few buttons were missing and her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her slightly damaged prosthetic arm from today's battle. her other biological muscular arm looks taken up by scratches and bruises, which also coats her collarbone and cheek with hints of dried blood and forming bruises. her revealing muscular cleavage is layered with sweat, making it hard for you to look away from someone who was once only a close friend to you.

"y/n! you're in a for round or not?" your best friend calls over the loud noises of the crew from the table they managed to claim. your eyes left Sevika and followed the voice, where your friend held up a tankard of rum and deck of cards which were about to spill all over the table due to your already tipsy friend.

grinning, you pushed yourself through the crowd, desperately hoping no one saw you gawking at Sevika a minute ago. battling the hot and damp temperatures of the room, you opened a few buttons of your linen shirt beneath your leather vest before you sit down on the seat your friend saved you.

"at least try to not gawk at her like a nasty dog," your friend murmurs as they filled your tankard with rum and eye you with playful eyes. "eyes on the drink," you counter your friend who was about to spill your tankard.

you take a silent gulp of your drink and a mouthful of bread, before y'all's night officially start with your first round of poker, trying desperately to forget Sevika, who is plaguing your mind.

only a few weeks ago, you and Sevika were inseparable from the day you two were blackmailed to join piracy with Slico as your Captain. at first, you two started as mere sailors, but Sevika eventually became the Captain's trusty quartermaster. you, on the other hand, voluntarily remained the chef cook of the ship, loving your own big quarters that was daily filled with most of the crew eating whatever you managed to provide that day. Sevika would always stay in late in your kitchen, eating with you after the crew left and helping you wash up the mess of the day. you two were always touchy, especially when you two were alone in each other's quarters, separated from reality. she would always put her lower hand at your back when she reached to grab something next to you and rest her arm on your shoulder as you tell her your most private thoughts on anything. as much as she liked to touch you, you would always massage her sore muscles she requested after any battles (aching to hear her rare small moans casually escaping) and help her fix her mechanical arm anytime she's too tired for it.

the problem is, your liking for her didn't stop just there. recently, you've noticed the uneasy feeling in your stomach whenever she was with you, which you desperately tried to get rid off in order to save your friendship. you tried to put as much distance between you and Sevika as you could, which she slowly but surely noticed over time. confused by your actions, she also distanced herself from you. your once close friendship turned into confusion and slowly into unaccounted hatred. not only did you loose your friendship, but the romantic feelings for her grew even stronger due to the lack of interaction with her. and fuck, you hated everything about it. you're hyperaware of her presence anytime she's near you and you can't help but grow agitated at her presence that fills any room you're in.you even tried to fuck your horniness out of your system with several other women, but nothing hindered the constant thoughts you have of Sevika plaguing your mind. the image of her touching, groping, fucking you eft your knees weak at the mere thought of it.

as you sip from your tankard and relish the sweet burn in your throat, a gaze lingering on you burns into your consciousness. your first instinct is for your eyes to wander to Sevika, who's eyes seemed to be fixed on anything but you. as your eyes wanted to wander back to your group, all of a sudden you notice the tavern girl sitting down in Sevika's lap. her lacy white straps of her garment fell off her shoulders, revealing her bust to Sevika's sight, who grinned at her before her eyes knowingly set on you. questioning your gaze, her eyebrow arched as she kissed the woman's shoulder. her grey piercing eyes never leave yours as her lips trace her collarbone.

your breath starts to quicken up, not able to leave your eyes off of her kissing the woman's bare breasts as she moans and throws her head back, unaware of the game you and Sevika were playing in that moment with each other.

"i need to go," you tell your best friend, before you leave them the rest of your deck and finish the last drop of the tavern's burned rum, desperate for any numbing of the storm of emotions that were risking to bust inside of you. your friend stops mid-action to examine your unclear gaze.

"don't do anything stupid," they tell you with affection in their eyes, but respecting the distance you seem to need. you smile before you wave at your crew to call it a night. you desperately try not to throw another glance at Sevika as you exit The Last Drop and enter the humid night.

inhaling the smell of sea, you push the sweaty strands of hair off your face and exhale shakily before you try to process whatever happened inside the tavern.

desperate to feel the deck beneath your worn leather boots, you walk away from the loud tavern and head to your ship.

arriving at the docks, a mate on night watch nods at you before he returns to his duties. his gaze towards the vibrant town. the slight sway of the ship immediately calms your senses as you walk further on the ship.

stopping at the worn wooden railing, you rest your weight on your forearms and link your fingers to stop them from trembling. the sea always mesmerised you since you work for Captain Silco. it's truly the only place in the world that calms you merely by it existing. beneath the silver moonlight the sea glitters magically in reflection to it. the only sounds audible are the waves hitting the shore and the rafts of the ship occasionally flapping with a hue of wind, leaving you at ease.

the heavy creaks of wood beneath someone's feet rip you from your peace as you immediately recognised the person behind the sound, but your eyes maintain fixated on the waves dancing around the ship.

the person joins you as she turns to lean against the railing with her back to the sea, watching you as you still avoid eye contact with her.

"why are you avoiding me?" Sevika crosses her arms and cocks her head closer in your direction. her grey eyes slice you open and all the peace you just restored was instantly destroyed.

"why would you look at me with someone's tits up your face?" you counter bluntly, still avoiding any eye contact with her.

she chuckled merely at your response, "why, would you have preferred them to be your tits?"

shocked, your eyebrows furrow and you loosen your hands to grab the railing, "what? fuck, no!" your voice rises.

"then why would you care about whose tits are in my face?" her voice sounds unusually calm, sending you into a spiral of emotions as you turn to finally make eye contact with her for the first time since the incident at the tavern.

your hand automatically grabs the hilt of your sword tugged into the leather scabbard around your waist, needing any support as you try to challenge the grey eyes piercing into yours. Sevika notices your motion but chooses not to comment on it.

"answer my fucking question," she takes a step towards you and you can feel her breath mingling on your skin. "tell me, why are you avoiding me?" she says slowly, watching every move of yours closely.

unsure about how to react, you maintain the tense eye contact with her. you're trembling on the inside and your grip on the hilt of your sword hardens to avoid your muscles from starting to shake.

"because i can't stand your face," you lie to her. "i can't stand your presence anymore," you continue. taking a deep breath, you whisper with only truth "and i don't know how to feel about you anymore."

her eyebrows furrow as she comprehends your words. she seems to look for any signs of emotions on your face, before she bluntly says "i don't believe you."

"prove it." she pushes you with her biological arm, "fight me, love. show me how much you can't stand my presence."

you stumble a step back at the nickname, gripping your sword even tighter as you free it from its hilt. she pushes the sleeves of her shirt up as she stretches the sharp pointy fingers on her mechanical arm, watching every move of yours. you are a skilled fighter, but you prefer to not fight your beloved ones, especially those who you secretly adore to an extend that's slowly killing you inside.

Sevika flicks the blade of your sword against her mechanic arm, but you were quick to dodge her swinging her arm back. it only results in you two going further into the fight, leading her to leave several small cuts across your torso as you managed to dodge any of her attacks on you. across her eyebrow sat a small deep cut from the tip of your sword, the blood dripping down her face. the fight becomes more serious and deadly with each second you fight.

the eyeing of night watchers expands into a crowd including half the crew watching the ongoing fight. "looks like we've got an audience," Sevika mumbles as she smears the blood off of her eye with her bare hand.

catching your breath, you turn to examine the audience around you two. "i assume our fight has became more interesting than their gambling games in the tavern?" you say in a low tone only Sevika could audibly understand. she grins at your question before she counters, "how sweet of you to think that we haven't become their new gambling game, love."

"what?" you exclaim in surprise as she arches an eyebrow at you and her grin deepens. "Renni?" she calls into the audience, revealing a tall guy with a mechanic nose and green vibrant cords attached to it. he's handling any gambling games in your crew.

"yes, quartermaster?" he responds, resulting the chatter in the audience to silence immediately. "how many people bet on me winning the most rounds?"

the gambling master grins at her question. "the whole crew, quartermaster. all but one," he calls, eyeing the girl in striped red trousers and long blue braids dangling as she spins to him. her dirty gunpowder-covered hand shot into the air.

grinning, you watch Sevika narrow her eyes at the girl who's showing nothing but pride in her evaluation of you winning.

huffing, Sevika turns to you and mumbles, "don't get your hopes up, the Captain's daughter never won a bet in her life."

cocking your head at her damaged ego, you whisper with a wicked smile "i don't care," before Jinx intervenes with a pointed finger at you two, "actually, i've won several bets concerning you guys."

you watch Jinx with curiosity as Sevika only narrows her eyes at her again.

"several?" you question in confusion.

"how many times have you guys bet on us?" Sevika asks, her eyes wandering through the crowd as she watches everyone's reaction.

"i lost count." Renni states simply. "but it was usually whether you guys would fuck or kill each other." the crew laughs at Renni's blunt truth. you blankly stare at him as you loosen the grip on the hilt of sword. Sevika chuckles at the situation as she whispers to you, "so, they actually believe we'd fuck each other rather than kill."

"what's your take on that, y/n?" she continues as the tip of her sharp finger trails your jawline. the sensation of the light pressure clouds your mind and no words can be formed in your head all of a sudden. she knowingly smiles at your reaction and her finger travels beneath your chin as she guides your eyes to look at her, her breath mingling with yours.

your unoccupied hand pulls your hidden dagger out of your vest as you press it against her throat. her grey eyes darken as she grins at your unexpected move. she holds her hand in the air, showing any submission that was left in her.

"do you actually want to know?" you whisper as your eyes move between her narrow eyes and full lips despite her grin, the tip of your dagger pressing into her dark skin as a drop of blood runs down her neck.

her eyes darken at your question and the next thing you felt was her hand at your lower back pulling you on the hard wooden deck. your sword loudly slides across the wooden deck, hitting several obstacles of all kinds on its way.

she straddles your hips as her mechanic hand squeezes your throat and the biological one pins your wrists above your head, the dagger still in a tight grip in your dominant hand. "fuck," you murmur but wouldn't dare to break eye contact with her. "that was a dirty move."

"you can forfeit now, if you want." she suggests. "and why the fuck you wouldn't even dare to look at me all those weeks." she moves closer to whisper in your ear, "Jinx will loose her bet either way, may as well save your energy."

you gasp as a shudder ran down your spine as her breath tickled your sensitive skin beneath your ear. gathering all your strength, you try to pull your wrists out of her grasp. "i never yield," you say as she looks at you with the wicked smile of hers. your conversation was so quiet, only you two were able to hear each other as the crew chatted and the waves were dancing.

"i strongly recommend you to yield, love. save yourself some embarrassment," she tells you, but you're not having it. you try to lift your hips, but her core presses you even harder into the wood. "if you want me to yield, you have to make me," you whisper with a shaky breath that escapes mouth as you feel heat shooting down your core at the position you two are in. she quirks her eyebrow at you as she watches you writhe beneath her. your eyes wander down her neck to the her buttoned down shirt, revealing heavy breasts and pointy nipples through the thin linen. wandering down further, you see the swell of her core pressed into yours and you feel your breath becoming uneven.

"you're obviously loosing," she whispers. you squirm beneath her and your movements seem to affect Sevika as well. she presses her legs even harder against your waist, but can't help the heavy sigh that left her mouth as the scabbard around your waist seems to graze her core. "just yield," she said breathlessly as her eyes darken.

a shaky breath escapes your lips and you stop your squirming, visibly satisfying Sevika as her grip on you loosens. you immediately start fighting again and almost knock her off, but she grumbled "fucking stop," before she readjusted her grip on you and slid her leg beneath yours.

her mouth corners pull into a sly grin as she watches your reaction. your eyes went wide as you gasp, your warm and soft core directly pressing onto her knee. still, you try to push her off by trying to lift your hips, but the thin cotton of your brown trousers didn't do you any justice. your clit pulses at the friction and you try not to roll your eyes. she leans down to whisper, "what's wrong, love?" as her eyes switch between your eyes and your lips. "yield," she commands as her shining grey eyes pierce yours.

"no," you whisper and you feel her mechanical hand tighten around your throat. her knee pressed upwards and your head falls back as your eyes flutter closed from the friction you're experiencing down in your core. you name rolls of your tongue as you moan, arching your back as she readjusts her knee against you.

"i can basically feel your heat through your trousers," she whispers breathlessly, "you must be so wet right now."

shocked if anyone would hear you two, you gasp and tried to wiggle your wrists free, but miserably fail again. "what if anyone hears us?" you ask, but your eyes wouldn't leave hers to look around. that piercing gaze of hers results in another rush of heat spiking through your legs right into your core. "so, go on and yield," she tells you as she's grinning again, "so we can finish it in your quarters."

exaggerating her point, she presses her knee upward, sending your back arching. you almost forgot where you are, until crew mates were chanting Sevika's name. despite the crew's chanting, she keeps her gaze fixed on you as she closes her eyes to whisper against your lips, "please."

"yield, so i can finally fucking kiss you," she whispers breathlessly and you feel her lips grazing against yours. exhaling, you look at her with such intensity in your eyes, wondering if she really just said what you heard.

"fine," you murmur. smiling, she finally releases her hold on you as you push yourself up to yell, "i yield!"

standing, Sevika reaches out to help you stand up as the crowd cheers as if they've just won a triumph in a battle. you swear you heard a frustrated Jinx trotting off, leaving you chuckling in disbelief. the crowd disperses over the whole deck and Sevika whispers "i'll make it up to you, love."

"just," you start, "just shut up and hurry." you go to grab your sword as you push through the group of people. you hear her chuckle somewhere behind you and you can't suppress the smile that's growing on your lips. pushing your sword back into your scabbard, you walk down the stairs to your kitchen quarters with Sevika close behind you. her real hand rests on your lower back until you reach downstairs, away from any noise and other drunk pirates.

you turn around to pull her into an aching, hot and longing kiss. fuck, her full lips felt so soft compared to the rough and deep kiss, leaving you moaning as she bites your lower lip.

your sword hits the wooden table behind you as Sevika hoists you up on it. the kiss grows more frantic with every second, both of you sighing and moaning as the other would occasionally bite at the others lip. your arms slip behind her neck and her mechanical arm pulls you even closer to you as she stands between your thighs, which are hooked around her waist.

moaning, you grind against her trousers' seam, which you felt her press onto your core a few minutes ago. you break the wet kiss as your head falls back, feeling the perfect angle pushing against your clothed clit.

she grunts before her hands slip to hold each side of your hip to stop your frantic movements.

"fuck, i'm about to come undone if you won't stop, love," she says as she rests her forehead on her shoulder to catch her breath after she manages to stop the grindings between the two of you. before you could respond, she kissed you rough and messy as her hands slide over hips up to your waist.

her name spilled out of her lips after her real hand moved further up to cup your tit beneath your leather vest. her thumb teases your still clothed nipple as both of your hands softly pulled her hair, urging her on to continue. "Sev-," you gasp as her index and thumb pinched your nipple.

she's watching every single move of yours like you're the most beautiful person she ever witnessed. your eyes hazily fix on hers and you feel the emotions rising in all of a sudden. looking at her, you’re reminded of the feelings you’ve recently developed for her and the fact that you still owe her an explanation for your behaviour the last few weeks.

nonetheless, she smiles at you as you’re seemingly lost in your own thoughts. "Sev," you say again, trying to start whatever coherent sentence you were about to voice, but her lips on the shell of your ear interrupted the last string of thoughts you had.

"go on, love," she whispers and a shudder runs down your spine from her warm breath tickling your nerves. inhaling, you try to not concentrate on her lips that were moving down further and further with every wet kiss she presses on your skin. not to forget, her hand was caressing your tit, although it already moved on to your other one.

"i‘m sorry," you say, your hands playing with her hair to calm yourself. "i‘m so sorry, Sev," you continue, in- and exhaling to calm yourself "i really didn’t want to treat you like an enemy the last few weeks."

Sevika stops in her kisses as she expands her posture to look eye-to-eye with you. her mechanical hand still rests on your lower back as your hand drive off of her. continuing on, you look away almost in shame, "i don’t know why i haven’t communicated my feelings with you from the start. i hope you can forgive me for the last few weeks."

a smile grows slowly on her lips as she’s lost in her own thoughts, "so you have feelings for me, love?"

surprised by her reaction, you answer "i mean, isn’t it obvious considering what we’re doing right now? you’re hand is still on my tit!"

laughing, you shake your head at her surprised face but the smile on her lips never left. her mentioned hand moves up to your neck to pull you into a heartbreakingly loving kiss that you never want to stop.

"i forgive you, love," she whispers against your lips, "under one condition."

breaking the kiss and looking at her expectingly, she continues, "promise me to always come to me if something is in your mind. i don’t want us to end in a fight again."

smiling, you answer, "i promise." hooking your arms around her neck again, you say with a grin on your face "speaking of our fight, you still owe me something."

"you don’t have to remind me," she says with a laugh before her lips find yours again before her hand finds the opening of your scabbard. skilled with only her mechanical hand, she opens your trousers and traces the lines of your underwear.

"just so you know," she says as the sharp tip of her index finger slides down your pussy, "when we grew apart, i slowly realised that you mean more to me than a best friend."

she presses a kiss on your forehead, then on your cheek and lastly on your lips before she pulls away to react to her finger circling your clit over the cotton of your underwear. sighing from the sensation and love at the same time, you smile at her through hazed eyes as your hand slides down to trace her suggestive cleavage you were eyeing the whole night before you pinched her pointy nipple underneath her shirt.

exhaling in pleasure, her movements quicken on your clit. your breathing grows more rapid with every bolt of sensitivity you feel in your core. realising how close you were, she releases her hold on you and swaps her mechanical hand with her biological as she slips two fingers into your fold underneath your underwear. you whimper when she enters you with both thick fingers at the same time, but her kisses around your throat soothe the sting, which quickly turned into pure pleasure. moaning, you feel her curling her fingers to test your g-spot, making you see stars as she sucks and bites hickeys on your neck.

grasping for any hold on her, one hand fists the back of her shirt as the other one pulls on her hair as her movements quicken with every moan that escapes you. the table beneath you creaks loudly with every thrust of her, but when you come, the only thing you were able to process was the stars you were seeing and the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. you scream her name as your long orgasm takes several seconds, leaving you panting with tears in your eyes.

when you're able to recognise your surroundings again, you see Sevika watching you with unsteady breaths and clouded eyes. "fuck, my soul left me for a second," you indirectly praise her and she immediately smiles at your sentence. again, she leaves several kisses around your face.

"i'm so glad to finally call you mine."

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Pleeease can you write something where reader takes care of Alfie's psoriasis?? Like he's trying to act super macho about it, like it doesn't bother him but then gets super soft when she starts treating it 🥺

“Loving you”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Alfie’s Masterlist

Summary: Alfie can’t help but let his guard down — and his softer side show — when you tend to the skin condition he usually keeps hidden.

WC: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk.

The cold air filtered through the open windows of the Solomons’ home. The moonlight painted the room in hues of pale blue, casting long shadows over the heavy wooden furniture and the worn rug underfoot.

Alfie trudged into the sitting room, his broad shoulders seemed to sag slightly, the day’s weight visible in the furrow of his brow. But you noticed something else too, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the subtle shift in his stance. He was uncomfortable, you could see it clear as the day, and you could also see the irritated skin on his neck, raw and red, flaking with scales that trailed down along his flesh.

“Let me guess,” you began, tilting your head to appraise him. “It’s acting up again.”

He stopped short, his face an unreadable mask. “Dunno what you’re on about, woman.” His voice was gruff and dismissive. “I’m bloody fine, ain’t I?”

“Alfred Solomons,” you said, standing to meet him, hands on your hips. “You’ve been scratching yourself like a dog with fleas for days. Let me see.”

“Look,” he began, throwing up his hands defensively, “this ain’t a bloody—what’s the word—interrogation, yeah? Just got home, haven’t I? Thought we’d sit down, have a nice supper, maybe a drop o’ rum after, yeah? Not get a bloody inquisition.”

“Come on, Alfie,” you said gently, breaking the silence. “Sit down.”

He turned to look at you, his brows furrowing. “I told ya, love, it’s nothin’. Just a bit o’ skin, right? Nothin’ to fuss over. I’ve lived with it this long, ain’t I?”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “Yes, you have, and you’ve done a fine job of ignoring it, but it’s bothering you, I can see that. Now, sit down and let me help.”

Alfie’s lips pressed into a firm line, his pride warring with the truth of your words. You’d seen him win fights with men twice his size, talk his way out of impossible situations, but here he was, hesitating like a child caught misbehaving. It was almost endearing if you ignored the fact that he was internally suffering.

Alfie stared at you, his jaw twitching as he weighed his options, he could refuse—he was, after all, Alfie Solomons, a man who answered to no one— but there was only one person who always made Alfie give in, and that was you, his wife. With a grumble under his breath, he lowered himself onto the armchair, sprawling out like a man whose kingdom had just fallen.

“Woman, you’re bloody relentless,” he muttered under his breath, the way he said it lacked any real heat; it was more a gruff acknowledgment of defeat.

“Take off your shirt,” you said softly.

Alfie cocked his head, as a smirk began to slowly form on his lips.

“Right, well, love, if you fancied seein’ me bollock naked, yeah? You could’ve just said so, straight up. Saved us all the fuckin’ theatrics. I’d have you up against that fuckin’ wall by now, makin’ a goddamn mess of things.”

You didn’t even blink, you knew how Alfie’s defense mechanism had always been humor, he’d crack a joke to avoid taking things too seriously. But you knew that behind every laugh, every sarcastic remark, there was a man scared to take a hit to his pride by asking for help. After all, he was forced to carry every burden on his own all his life, that until he met you.

“I’m serious, Alfie.” Voice flat, no smile this time. “Take the shirt off.”

Alfie huffed, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness. “You’d think I was some feeble old man the way you’re carryin’ on,” he grumbled. “I don’t need lookin’ after, love. I’m a bloody force of nature, yeah?”

“Yes, you’re a force of nature,” you agreed with a smile, “but even storms need a bit of care sometimes.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing, his shirt finally coming off and landing in a crumpled heap beside him. You bit your lip as your eyes roamed over his body, the patches of red, inflamed skin were stark against his otherwise light complexion. Some areas were cracked and dry, while others looked painfully raw.

“Alfie,” you murmured, your voice tinged with concern. “It’s worse than last time.”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, his tone rough. “Don’t you bloody start, right? I know what it looks like. Just a bit of dry skin, that’s all.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m not starting anything. I just want to help. Dry skin doesn’t look like this.”

He relaxed under your touch, though he still looked straight ahead, his jaw set stubbornly. “Fine, then. Do your worst.”

You knelt in front of him, settling between his legs as he sat back in the worn armchair, the lamplight cast a soft glow over his battered chest, the heat radiating from his skin palpable before you even touched him. He’d ignored it, neglected it for so long that it was the worst you’d ever seen it, and it must be hurting him so much, those angry red patches that bloomed across his torso and shoulders, the edges raw with peeling skin, irritated and roughened by days of stubbornness.

Your fingers moved carefully, barely grazing his side at first, his muscles tensed beneath the contact, a knee-jerk flinch more from instinct than actual pain, as if he was used to bracing for something harsher.

“Not so bad, you said?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

“That why you haven’t even taken your shirt off when we fuck?” you asked, eyes locked on him. “’Cause you didn’t want me to see how bad it got?”

There was a pause, a flicker behind his eyes, something he tried to smother with a scoff. You knew you’d hit a sensitive topic by saying that.

“Well, aren’t you a fuckin’ detective now, eh? Bloody Sherlock Holmes,” he let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Didn’t think you needed to see it. S’not pretty. Nothin’ romantic about it.”

"You shouldn’t feel insecure about it," you said.

"Pfff, insecure? Bollocks, that is," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Men like me—we don't do insecure, right? That's for… for poets and posh lads with too much time on their hands."

But you saw the truth behind his eyes, that split-second crack in the armor, Alfie would never admit to feeling insecure about the way he looked, not even to you, his biggest confidant. And so you decided not to push the subject, you knew better than to fight a war you couldn’t win with words, besides, you had better ways of proving how handsome he was to you, like worshipping him with your mouth, or cunt.

“It must be driving you mad.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smirk. “Got more important things to worry about than a bit o’ itching.”

But you weren’t fooled, beneath his bravado, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as though resisting the urge to scratch.

“Stay still,” you instructed, scooping a dollop of ointment onto your fingers.

He flinched as you began to apply the salve, his usual boldness faltering. “Bloody cold, that is,” he muttered.

“It’s supposed to be soothing,” you said, your voice low, patient. You leaned in, working the ointment into his skin with slow, deliberate movements.

His skin was hot to the touch, the irritation beneath your fingertips angry and inflamed. You moved with care, smoothing the salve in small circles, avoiding the worst of the raw spots. Alfie exhaled through his nose, his body twitching beneath your hands before slowly relaxing, like he couldn’t help but lean into your touch once the sting eased, giving way to relief.

“That stuff smells awful,” he said, wrinkling his nose. There it was that stubbornness again, like accepting help, or letting you soothe the ache, meant weakness. You found it amusing, how in so many ways, this big and dangerous man reminded you of a little boy.

“Doesn’t matter how it smells. It’ll help,” you replied, working your way across his chest, thumbs grazing the curve of his collarbones, tracing along the tender edges with a gentleness that made his throat bob in a tight swallow.

“Still feels like I’m being fuckin’ punished,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to where your hands moved over his ribs.

“You’re not,” you murmured, catching his gaze briefly. “You’re being looked after. Big difference.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackling of the fire. Alfie’s eyes were fixed on a point just above your head, his jaw tight as though willing himself not to react. As you spread the ointment slowly over the worst of the irritation, you felt it happen, the first shift in his breathing, from shallow and tense to something deeper. The slow drop of his shoulders, no longer braced against the tenderness. The subtle release of his clenched fists, his fingers unfurling where they’d been pressed into his thighs.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Of course I do,” you replied without hesitation. “You’re my husband.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, well. Don’t reckon you signed up for all this, did you? A husband with bad skin and worse manners.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “But I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“You’re good at this,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

“Good at what?”

“Lookin’ after me. Puttin’ up with me. All of it, really.”

He was so stubborn sometimes, too caught up in his own worries to realize that you didn’t do this out of obligation, you did it because you loved him, because giving him this kind of comfort was something you’d gladly offer every single time he needed it.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you resumed. “It’s not putting up with you, Alfie. It’s loving you.”

He turned his head fully this time, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the vulnerability in his gaze took your breath away. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, woman,” he said quietly.

“And you’ve got a heart you try too hard to hide,” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch, letting out a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah? Got a reputation to maintain.”

“All your secrets are safe with me,” you promised with a smile.

For the next hour, you worked diligently, your fingers gentle as they massaged the ointment into his skin. Alfie, for his part, remained unusually quiet, his usual stream of sharp wit replaced by a rare, unguarded vulnerability.

When you were finished, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work, the redness had diminished slightly, the skin looking less angry.

“There,” you said, capping the tin. “That should help.”

He looked down at his chest, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“You’re a good woman,” he said gruffly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t reckon I tell you that enough.”

“You don’t,” you agreed, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, eh?”

The tin of ointment clattered softly against the wood floor as Alfie pulled you up into his lap, the gruff tenderness in his hands making your breath hitch. He didn’t bother with words, not at first, he simply held you there, his rough palms trailing up and down your back, grounding you both in a moment of rare softness.

“Come here, pet,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a low rumble in the space between you.

You settled on top of him, your knees bracketing his thighs. His beard scratched softly against your cheek as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the faint lavender oil you always dabbed behind your ears before bed.

He buried his head against your chest, breathing deep like he needed to memorize the scent of you to survive. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a purr, like a satisfied cat curling up in a patch of sunlight. There were only a handful of moments in his life where Alfie Solomons had let the world slip far enough to be this soft, and all of them had been with you, the only person he trusted enough to see this side of him.

“You smell good,” he said, the words muffled against your skin. Relaxing moments like this always softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look younger, almost boyish. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his beard, and he sighed, the sound deep and contented.

He shifted beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips as though anchoring himself. “Dunno what I’ve done to deserve you,” he said, the words heavy with sincerity.

“I don’t like when you say that. You’re not bad, Alf” you replied with a small smile. “Under all that grumbling and growling, you’re a good man.”

It was the truth. Yes, maybe he’d done bad things, things he couldn’t forget, things that haunted him every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror. But you saw more, so much more. You saw a man who had raised himself from nothing, who’d survived when the world tried to break him, who’d watched his friends die in trenches and still found the strength to carry on. You saw a man who’d opened his heart to you, who’d bought you your dream house and treated you like a queen in her own palace. Who had only ever been gentle with you, patient, kind, giving, even when he didn’t know how to be those things with himself.

His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. “Not sure half the blokes around here would agree with that one, love.”

“Don't care what they think, they're not my husband,” you said simply. “You are.”

That seemed to strike something deep in him. His eyes softened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I am, ain’t I?”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding at the same time. He kissed you like a man who knew how fleeting happiness and peace could be, who understood the weight of a moment like this.

The kiss deepened, his hands moving with more urgency now as they traced over your body, making you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “You make me feel the same way you did all those years ago.”

You laughed softly, a low, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate right through your chest when he leaned to capture his lips into another kiss. It was still slow, languid, the kind of kiss that made time crawl, your tongues sliding together with unhurried precision. His hands kept wandering, greedy and possessive roaming all over your body, gripping the small of your waist to ground you, kneading the soft flesh of your ass, tracing the dip of your spine, splaying wide across your lower back as if trying to brand you to him.

The hard length of him beneath you was impossible to ignore, thick and insistent against the thin barrier of your underwear, and when you shifted again, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging your cunt over him with maddening friction, he let out a raw, broken sound that made your core clench.

“Gonna ride you,” you murmured, voice thick with hunger. Alfie was a man who thrived on control, sure, but when it came to you, he had no problem handing over the reins now and then. In fact, he loved it. Watching his missus bounce on top of him, taking every bit of pleasure she deserved? That was a big, fat yes for Alfie.

You grinned at his reaction, emboldened by the crack in his usually composed demeanor, the way his eyes had gone half-lidded, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. You reached between your bodies to undo the fastening of his trousers, unable to wait one second more than necessary.

He chuckled low and hungry. “Yeah? Right, well—fuckin’ hell, woman—’course you wanna ride it.” He spread his hands, leaned back like he was bartering with God. “I’m all yours, ain’t I? Go on then, fuckin’ take what’s yours. Ruin me proper.”

He watched you, eyes locked on your hands, on how they were working his pants open, making his chest rise and fall with deep, shaky breaths. His hands didn’t stay behind, his rough fingers were roaming over your ribs, up your sides, then down again to knead your thighs, your ass, as if he truly didn’t know where to land next.

“You’re too bloody good at this,” he muttered, voice all hoarse and reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, how he’d landed such a beautiful woman, convinced her to marry him, and now had her on top of him eager to please him.

"It's the experience, been riding you dumb for ten years," you said with a smirk.

"Mhm," he huffed. "And you get better every fuckin' time, pet."

He loved this, especially on those days when he was bone-tired, when his skin was on fire, his back ached, his knees throbbed, his hips screamed, or the days when he had to deal with “fucking cunts,” as he’d put it. Nothing would make him happier than leaning back, letting go, and having a damn good orgasm by doing absolutely nothing, just watching you take control and do all the work for him.

You’d barely gotten his trousers down before his cock sprang free, slapping against his belly, so thick, so heavy, flushed and glistening at the tip like he’d been waiting all fucking day for this moment. The second your fingers wrapped around him, firm and instinctive, he gasped and his hips jerked like he didn’t give a toss about dignity anymore.

“You’re too bloody impatient,” you shot back with a teasing smirk, stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist just enough to make him curse under his breath.

You shifted your weight, lining yourself up, your thighs bracketing his hips as you positioned yourself over him. His hands flew to your hips, holding you steady, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, as the head of his cock brushed against your slick heat. Your breath hitched at the contact, at how easily your soaked folds parted to welcome him, at how swollen and desperate you already were.

“Impatient?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Love, you’ve been teasin’ me for the past ten minutes. If anyone’s impatient, it’s you.”

You rocked your hips just enough to let his head catch at your entrance, not yet taking him, not fully, just dragging your wetness over him, back and forth, until he growled.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” he snapped, his hips jerking up, desperate for more friction, to be buried inside you. “You tryin’ to kill me? Playin' this bloody games with your poor 'ol husband? My fuckin' heart can't take this teasin', It's delicate, It is.”

“But it's too fun to tease you,” you whispered, lowering yourself an inch more. The stretch made you gasp, thick and delicious as always, and you swore you could feel every ridge and every vein of him.

He was watching your face now, intently, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen, but you could see how hard he was fighting the urge to slam up into you. “Don’t fuckin’ tease,” he growled. “Be a good girl and sit on it proper.”

You obliged, how could you not when he talked like that? You sank down in one slow, torturous motion, your walls clenching around him inch by inch. The sound he made was filthy, a half groan half praise, guttural and deep. His head fell back, teeth gritted, chest rising with labored breaths as you took every last inch of him, seated fully, snug and wet around him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped. “That’s it. That’s my pet. Perfect fuckin' cunt, still as tight as the day I first filled her up, yeah?"

You moaned, rolling your hips in a slow circle, grinding down with a filthy little twist at the end that made his cock drive right up into that sweet, aching spot inside you. Your breath caught sharp in your throat, eyes going hazy, Alfie groaned low like the wind had been knocked clean out of him, his hands clutched at your hips, guiding you with a kind of reverence, like you were something holy and he was the lucky bastard who got to worship at the altar.

He was trying hard to let you do your thing, let you take your time and move at your own pace, riding him how you wanted, but God, you were squeezing him so tight and dripping all over his cock, that it was almost imppossible to stop himself from thrusting up into you like a beast.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Ridin’ me like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

“Maybe I was,” you shot back, voice breathless, your lips brushing his ear as you leaned in.

Alfie met your movements with thrusts of his own, rolling his hips up hard, deep, making you bounce in his lap with every needy grind. His hands gripped your hips, firm but never too harsh, thumbs pressing into your flesh like he needed to memorize every curve, every quake of your body under his. The coarse trail of hair beneath his navel rubbed right up against your clit with every thrust, each drag of his body with that maddening friction made you jolt and shudder.

"Ohh, Alfie... feels so good," you moaned gasping into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders like you couldn’t get close enough. "Please don't stop, don't stop fucking me like that."

“Not stoppin'. Can’t stop when you’re so bloody perfect,” he rasped, his eyes dropping to where your soaked cunt was swallowing him again and again, wet sounds filling the air with each slap of skin against skin. “Perfect cunt. Perfect tits. Perfect wife.”

His head snapped forward so he could bite at your throat, not hard, just enough to make you whimper. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your slip up with urgency, bunching it around your waist until the fabric was out of his way and he could have a better view of everything, from your body glistening with sweat, your thighs shaking, to the way your soaked pussy kept taking his cock like you needed it.

That was the thing with Alfie, he never knew where the fuck to look, it was all too good. Your supple breasts, so soft and perfect, jiggling with every thrust, just begging to be grabbed. Your face, fuck, your face was so hot, those little pouts you made, the way your eyes fluttered shut when he hit a good spot deep inside you. And the way his thick cock slid in your cunt, coming out so wet and slick, your juices coating his navel and trickling down to coat his balls.

“Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, voice thick. “You’re grippin’ me so tight—fuckin’ hell…”

You leaned forward, your hands braced against his chest, hair falling around your face as you found the perfect rhythm, grinding down in slow, greedy strokes that made both of you moan. His cock filled you perfectly, thick and hot and stretching you with every thrust of his hips.

Alfie’s attention was drifting, his eyes moved from the place where you two were connected, to the soft bounce of your breasts with every motion, your nipples peeking through the thin, rumpled slip. He licked his lips, rough hands sliding up your waist, over your ribs, until they cupped your breasts and gave them a slow squeeze.

“Look at these fuckin’ things,” he muttered. “Drivin’ me mad, the way they bounce when you ride me like that…”

Then he surged forward, mouth latching onto one of your nipples through the damp fabric, the hot drag of his tongue and the sudden suck of his mouth made you cry out, your hips stuttering as the pleasure hit you like a jolt.

“Alfie—” you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he pulled the slip down, baring your chest fully. He didn’t hesitate, he wrapped his mouth around your nipple and sucked hard, filthy sounds filling the air as he groaned against your skin. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak, then he moved to the other breast, biting down just enough to make your back arch.

"I'd kill a man for your left tit," he mumbled, voice muffled, barely undertandable with his mouth still sucking around your nipple. "And then I'd kill another for the right one. Fuckin' perfect things."

“Shit—Alfie—Feels... so good… so full.” you moaned, grinding harder now, the added stimulation on your nipples sending you spiraling, and if that wasn’t good enough, you felt your clit catching on his pelvis with every thrust down, making your walls clench even tighter around him.

“Fuckin’ ride it—show me how needy you are. You like me suckin’ on your tits while you fuck yourself on my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, you were so drunk in the pleasure he was giving you that it was impossible to articulate words, you just let that intense pleasure ripple through you.

“You are mine. Mine, yeah? All fuckin’ mine.”

“Yours,” you choked out, your voice breaking on a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that your body jolted, eyes fluttering shut, vision blurring with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s my good wife. So sweet and tight for me, drippin’ on me lap.”

The praise hit you like a shockwave, heat coiling in your gut, your body was desperately trying to chase your high. Just like as if he’d read your mind, sensing what you needed, his hands gripped your hips with force, lifting you up and slamming you down on his cock over and over again at the same time he thrusted up to meet you with rough, almost desperate violence. You weren't riding him anymore, he was fucking you through it.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his voice rough and unraveling. “Take it, my filthy little missus. Show me how good I make you feel. Ride it like you mean it.”

You cried out, the pleasure now becoming unbearable, forcing your body to clench hard around him, making your thighs tremble, the slick sound of your cunt milking him was louder now, filthier, wetter with every thrust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and hot and perfectly angled to build your orgasm.

“Cum for your husband. Let me know I’m the only bastard who can make you feel like this. Just me. Just your fuckin' man.”

You snapped. Your head fell back, your mouth dropped open in a cry of pure ecstasy as you came hard. Your cunt spasmed around him, soaking him in a rush that made him curse and grip you tighter.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s it, pet,” he groaned, voice strangled. “Milk it. Milk my cock just like that. Gonna leave that pretty cunt drippin’ my cum for for weeks. Fuckin’ ruined.”

Alfie followed you just a couple of thrusts later, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. He came with a low, shuddering groan, his cock pulsing inside you, flooding you with his cum as he clutched you tight, holding you in place like he couldn’t bear the thought of you ever pulling away.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat and sex, his release leaking out of you slowly as his softening cock stayed inside. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, while his lips pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Ahhh—fuckin’ hell, yeah—that’s what a man needs, innit?” he groaned, voice thick and slurred like he was drunk on you. “To come home after a long day of dealin’ with cunts and madness, yeah, and have his sweet little wife sittin' pretty on his cock—riding him like it’s her god-given job.”

"Glad to hear I'm good at my job," you teased, voice raspy, still trying to catch your breath.

"Ohhh, you're the fuckin' best, pet. Not one fuckin' soul like you," he muttered, still breathless. "God broke the mould when he made you, thank fuckin' Christ he did."

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slowing little by little as his breathing evened out. For a long moment, there was just the sound of your shared breaths, the creak of the armchair as he adjusted to hold you closer, with his nose buried in your hair.

Then, softly, quieter than you were used to hearing him, he spoke.

“Thanks for takin' care of me,” he said, a little raw. “Proper, like no one ever has. Not just the shaggin’, love, though—don’t get me wrong, yeah, that’s… exceptional.” He smirked faintly, and you laughed. “But it’s the other things. All the little things you do for me.”

Your throat tightened as he continued, getting to hear this sweet side of him was something you’d never get used to, not because it was rare, he gave it to you more often than he probably even realized, but because it always felt like a little secret, meant only for you.

“I’m not easy, right? I know that. I’m rough and moody and loud as hell. And yet you—you’re always there. Calm. Warm. Always fuckin’ takin’ care of me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “So I just wanted to say thank you. For stayin’ even after all these years. For seein’ the worst of me and lovin’ me anyway.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words could ever manage, and when you pulled back, your voice was thick with emotion.

“You’re not the worst, Alf. You never were.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you tighter against him. Looking at you with eyes that said “I love you. I’d be lost without you by my side.” You felt it in your chest, in your bones. He made you feel like the most loved woman in the world.

“Well, I’ll tell you what you are,” he murmured. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

AN: Thank you so much for your request!! You gave me the perfect opportunity to write this cause I’ve actually been thinking for a while about a fic where the reader takes care of Alfie’s sciatica, but I absolutely loved your idea🩷🫶🏻

I hope that you and everyone else enjoyed this. Your support means the world to me!!

One more Alfie fic to go and then I’m officially done with requests heheh😮‍💨

@ficthots

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[girl-lostconnection]

Popping cherries and squeezing lemons

Warnings: [Alpha!Kyle x Beta!Reader x Omega!John Price, omegaverse au, biting, lactation, John milking Reader, smut, John is mean bastard, Kyle might be bastard just as big as John, forced rut, possessive and obsessive behaviour, abrupt ending, jealousy, unhealthy relationships]

Kyle knows you for so long and he has always been there for you — a warm palm on your shoulder, a smile you could feel with your cheek when he’d press close to you, a tickling feel of his lashes when he’d nuzzle into you.

Gentle and affectionate.

Kyle is a good alpha, the proper one — none of expected possessiveness and weird habit to put you under his thumb and press down till you pop out of the socket so he can have you loose and defenceless.

Kyle is a good friend, you know as much because you know him since forever — his hand in yours, school lunches spent together and first drinks shared — noses scrunched, laughter bubbling in your chests.

You watch him throughout the years, the gradual and imminent transformation into adult of a pretty boy with hair that smelled like sun and coconut oil, with dimples that always made you press smooches to his cheeks.

You were inseparable once — a double trouble, never leaving school without the other, never leaving each other behind.

Kyle has been there for first kisses and first dates, Kyle has been your date to the school dance when the time came because who else would he go if not with his best friend?

Why would he want for anyone else?

Kyle has been there and has been a good friend and maybe that’s how everything happened the way it is.

Because, to say the truth he should have done many things differently.

And he would have if he knew what would happen.

Just to start with the first one, Kyle would have never vouched for your transfer as 141’s medic.

He would have never introduced you to captain John Price.

It was an oversight, really, his youthful naive conviction that just because Price is omega nothing would go wrong. Surely captain has better things to do than to take sudden interest in team’s another beta.

Well, Gaz miscalculated and now has to watch as his own captain ropes in his own sweetheart, sinking the hook in the skin so soft it’s almost welcoming.

Dragging you lower and lower.

A touch here, a caress there, a hug too tight and an arm draped over the shoulders. 

Nose rubbed on your temple, lent jacket when you forget yours, knuckles rubbing between your shoulder blades so you’d stop hunching and straighten up.

Nothing that should alert Gaz per se, nothing unusual — Price is their pack’s lead omega, Price is the captain and it’s normal that his instinct is to care and have everything under control.

But it’s always somehow more dubious with you — touches lingering, John’s smiles stretching his lips under that beard of his, his eyes crinkling when you’d tilt your head to look at him.

Price smells like cherries and rum, like smoked sugar poured in the wound to form a crust, like blood mixed with honey.

Price is poison and cloying sweetness, Price is oppressive heavy smokiness that’s not even alphas can tolerate.

Too much, too sweet, too rich — his scent is heady enough to make men lightheaded, his scent wrapping around him like a serpent — scales rustling, coils tightening.

John’s smell hardly anyone likes, that’s one of the reasons he usually wears blockers and takes suppressants. But even those don’t fully help with the bloody thing.

It’s nothing new to him and he made his peace with it a long time ago, even before it got thicker, before people started getting headaches just because they can’t stand it.

But you do for some reason. 

You seem to genuinely like it — never once complaining about it, never turning away, never trying to evade John’s touches or cuddles.

Making John’s omega vibrate with excitement cause that’s a good mate right there — letting him be affectionate, letting him grip your limbs and pull to his chest when it’s colder outside. He can’t have you catching hypothermia so in his arms you go.

It’s nothing at first, at least not that he thinks about it much at the very beginning, simply welcoming you with a firm handshake and short nod.

Just a new shoulder that he really hopes is as sturdy as Garrick said.

Pup has been singing you praise ever since he got his foot in the door and that definitely should tell Price something.

Whether about Kyle’s own heartache or your utmost competence, John isn’t sure at first.

But while he doesn’t know you — he knows Gaz.

And as young as Kyle might seem to be, sergeant is a sharp one.

Cold-headed and incredibly good, sniffing out imperfections like it’s his bloody specialty, raw power of his honed by self control most would develop after years of discipline.

John at times wondered who was it that made genius confident Garrick rein himself in this tightly?

He gets his answer shortly after you arrive.

Around the same time that he decides to actually give it a go with you as another beta. Nothing to lose at this point and it won’t do to have just four of them.

Latest incident landed Gary on medical leave until further notice, so their barracks are even emptied than before.

And it goes well, you are soft-spoken and honest, you respect the hierarchy and you blend into the team well enough to make your transfer a permanent one. For John, you, as lovely as you seem to be, are just a teammate at first.

Someone who can stand all of him and not only carefully cut out and molded parts that he presents.

Just someone to sit with at dinners and someone on whose shoulder he can lean on without seeing them scrunch their whole face cause apparently his omega reeks.

You are so different and so new with your fresh scent and careful touches and attentive eyes.

Being so good to him, making his omega stretch out and show off, because you really do like how he smells, don’t you, sweetheart?

Not only leaning into him, but turning your head to nuzzle in his neck when his instincts take reins and he has the whole team huddle with him for warmth. 

It’s fucking freezing in the safe house and he runs as hot as a bloody furnace might so it’s a question of preserving warmth. For the most part.

Doesn’t help that John’s scent gets heavier, that his blockers thin out until his team has to choose between warmth and getting a bloody migraine.

Kyle and Simon has to breathe through the mouth, Johnny just opts for hiding his face in Simon’s throat but you…you don’t turn away and don’t hide your face.

You just look at John, eyes a little dazed, lips slick with saliva from when you licked them.

You know you shouldn’t look at him like that, you know that fraternising with the commanding officer is frowned upon, that no one would understand and that surely, John himself would hardly want a beta when he’s an omega this prime. 

But in the moment it doesn’t matter one bit, because Price — stern, controlling and heavy-handed Price purrs.

Low sound that reverberates through your chest and ribs, flips the switch in your head, makes you want to nuzzle into him and sit on your knees as he pats your head and calls you good.

Cause everyone knows that happy omega is purring omega and if you could make your captain purr then you definitely did something right as team’s beta.

So with a quiet groan you press your face in his neck, aching to touch his hands, to intertwine your fingers with his so he can be everywhere, so you never have to leave.

Highly fucking inappropriate, you’d be lucky if he just has given you a smack like you are a naughty pup. 

But John instead pulls you in, thick calloused fingers of his stroking your own scent gland when you lean closer as he coaxes out the clean fresh smell — too faint for his liking right now, but oh, so delicious. 

Like water from the mountain springs, like snow, like ice in his usual drink, like morning’s fog. 

You dilute his oppressive sweetness, soften the edges of his, get the team a gasp of fresh air when they feel like crawling out of the safe house and blowing the cover.

Such a good beta, pulling your weight in the team and clearing these muppets’ heads, aren’t you, sweetheart?

John smiles at you when you look up at him unsure if you can keep nuzzling into him like that, if he’s okay with you doing it. 

His fingers tightening around the nape of your neck, pulling you back to tuck under his chin. 

Kyle can wait, sweetheart. Surely, he won’t mind if you get acquainted with his captain a little closer, right?

Nothing bad about it, just some bonding time, some pack connection building, some warmth only you can give to pack’s lead omega.

Kyle would understand, love. 

Kyle most surely would not fucking understand, tongue of his licking the inside of his teeth, tracing the canines of his, pressing on the sharp edge of them. 

He can’t put his finger on what exactly is going on or what his captain is doing, but Kyle can sense that something is in fact happening. 

He can’t tell if that’s too much, because Price is the captain, the top on their food chain, the strongest link between them all.

But he is also omega and while they are a tight knit unit, they couldn’t help but recoil when John would rub his scent on them.

Not even realising that they do.

John has tried to be there for all of them and it’s no wonder he touches you more than the rest if only you seem to like his smell. That only you seem to like John’s omega and get fiercely adored in return.

But Kyle doesn’t like that one bit. 

Not when you return to your bunk half lidded and drunk on something worse than a stiff drink, your hair and clothes seeped through with rum-soaked cherries and smoked honey.

Your neck still tingling from how much captain Price (“Johnathan for you, love”) rubbed his face on it, his beard scratching you in a way that made a sweet ache unroll in your belly.

You don’t speak to Kyle much after your evening visits to Price’s office. Not anymore. Your limbs too heavy and your heart thumping, because your captain can be smelled all over you even hours later.

Heavy, sickeningly sweet, domineering pressure that spreads over your skin like a fever, that swallows and topples over your own scent. 

Kyle has always loved the way your his beta smelled— fresh and clean — keeping him in line, clearing his head when he’d lean in too close or his eyes would linger too long on the sliver of your skin when you’d stretch.

Kyle always loved that he could press his face to your shoulder and it would be easier to breathe, your fingers rubbing behind his ears and the back of his neck. Light massage from the beta he was pining after for as long as he remembers.

He always felt like nothing would separate you, not when you spent so much time together, practically joined at the hip — his scent mingling with yours, your limbs intertwined, his palm staying on your shoulder as a silent claim.

At least, it did before you got transferred to his team and Kyle’s captain took sudden liking to you and huddled you under his wing. 

Now it feels as if John can hardly go without touching you through the day at least couple times — rubbing his smell on your clothes, scenting you when you’d come to him — only encouraging your tentative reach for soothing that he as omega can provide.

But oh, he can provide so much more than that and Kyle doesn’t fucking like the enthusiasm he sees.

Because recently it seems like Price is very up to showing what else can he give you. What else could pack’s lead omega bestow upon you if you had only given in.

Kyle doesn’t like the idea of sharing his favourite beta.

Kyle likes even less the fact that he isn’t even sharing anymore — nowadays you are tucked under captain’s wing and wrapped in his scent.

Fucking unfair, that is.

You aren’t John’s to take, you aren’t anyone’s, frankly and if someone should have gotten the chance to have you, it would be someone who took all the right steps and ensured that you were theirs and theirs only.

Someone like Kyle, maybe.

After all, he saw you first, he knows you the longest, he has been slowly easing you into the idea of him courting you proper.

Into him giving you a bite and rutting into you until your legs are would shake and your scent would sweeten and you’d bathe him in your own pleasure. So his sharp citrus can be softened by you, so your ice can melt into his basil. 

So you two become better together, so he gets you all to himself forever and always. Without his captain’s weird glances and weird touches and heavy cloying smell that makes Kyle’s head ache.

Kyle knows it’s not right to just rope you in, simply on the basis of scent compatibility alone, it’s not right to influence your judgement or take advantage of your cravings. You are beta, you are more sensitive to smells, they should be better than that.

But here comes Price with his sickening sweetness and his deceptively soft smiles and his hard eyes — edges of them so sharp it’s a wonder he doesn’t cut through glass with his glare. 

Price who asks for you during his heat.

Just for comfort, he swears, just to have some company.

After all, his scent gets almost poisonous to others during this time of the month and you seem to be the only one who tolerates him so well.

Isn’t it perfect how well you two work together?

Price who smiles at you, practically glowing from the moment you appear on his doorstep and pulls you in — noses at your cheeks and neck, locking the doors behind you.

No need to go anywhere, sweetheart, he has everything ready. Want to see his nest? He made it perfect, he hopes you’d like it, he hopes you’d stay.

Just for a moment, love. You just smell so good, it’s so much easier to breath when you are here. 

Price who pulls you in his nest, nuzzling in your throat, licking at you gland, his pants already sticking to his skin because fucking hell, he hasn’t been this soaked since he was in his 20s.

But here you come with your awestruck gazes and your clear scent and it’s like the dam bursts.

And you know, sweetheart, John is older, John has been alone longer, John doesn’t mind playing dirty to get what he wants.

But sorry, love, being fair and going through courting and easing you into the thought of being with John, like he is some pup eager to get his paws on you?

No, that’s just silly.

He can see you leaning into him, can feel your nose nudging his scent gland — your chest expanding when you would breathe him in.

You are perfect.

You are for John and only for John.

And you wouldn’t leave your captain to just deal with his heat like that, would ya, sweetheart?

No, he knows you’d be good to him, can see how you look at him, can feel the way you lean into him and sniff the air, catching him out of the crowd.

The first time you tugged air in and turned your head blindly, finding Price in the crowded mass hall he almost bent the fork, he was holding, in half.

You, already so well-attuned to him, you, already needing him so badly and already coming to his office late at night when it would get too much.

Seeking him out, being good and asking politely for just a morsel of his attention.

Pretty thing, how did Kyle even had enough self control not to mount you the first day he saw you? You must have smiled at the lad, offered your hand, breathed him in and world became brighter.

Did you like it, sweetheart? Did you like Kyle with his long fingers and full lips and gentle touches?

Would you have agreed to spend the rut with Garrick if John hasn’t gone off his suppressants to induce his early heat?

Well, if he had to guess, now we will never know. It won’t matter anyway after today.

John who kisses all over your face, groping the fat of your hips and tummy, palms sliding up to get handfuls of your tits — kneading until you shiver, until your nipples plump under his touch, until your smell gets sharper.

Ice cracking, river roaring, rain finally dripping down.

Here we go, love, fucking finally. 

Your shirt will be probably ruined but it’s so worth it when John can finally massage your chest, fingers rubbing your soft skin, his lips ghosting over your shoulders. Such a perfect mate for him, Garrick’s loss is John’s gain. 

John coos “it’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got ya” and sucks on your tits until you start kicking and sobbing — too sensitive, too raw for the first time, it’s never happened to you before and you don’t know what’s going on. 

That’s okay, love, nothing to fear, he is going to take care of you like a good omega.

Your good omega.

John will give you some proper loving that Kyle never got around to giving.

John promises as he massages your chest, milk beading on your nipples, squirting out in thin dribbles when he presses harder. Oh, you are just gorgeous, aren’t you?

John murmurs “bein’ so good for me, sweetheart” and pulls your shirt off, pressing himself harder into you — his smell wrapping around you like a heated blanket, cloying your head, pulling you under.

Cherries dipped in rum, honeyed infection, smoke of sacrificial incense.

Price coos when you whimper “too hot, Captain, I can’t—“, because of course you can, love. You have to, the process has already started. Can you feel it, sweet thing?

The way your tits ache without his hands on them, the way your vision tunnels on him, your thighs cramping when the change wrecks through you.

Ever been in a rut before, love?

He bets you haven’t.

Never before have you experienced how it feels to have a hunger this raw in your chest, the phantom cracking of your ribs opening you up like a Viking’s eagle, like a can that Price finally cracked and now he drags the lid off of you.

Opens up the way to the slick warm insides of yours, deliberate calloused fingers on your tits milking you for him.

Going to be a good alpha for him, won’t you? Going to take care of your John and take him as he is, forever and always, aye?

You won’t need Kyle anymore, you won’t need anyone but John, he will take such a good care of you, he murmurs, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it in his mouth with areola.

Hungry, impatient, maw of his scorching on your over sensitive flesh when he gorges himself on the taste of yours, eager to get every drop.

Eager to have your heart on his tongue and your milk in his mouth.

He knows it must feel overwhelming, like you are melting (like he is melting you), tears and snot running down your face, your pupils blown wide, your fingers curling to hold on tighter.

Just like that, sweetheart. It’s not going to be scary, John’s got you, you can let go and give in. Nothing bad would happen, he promises.

You’d be good for your captain, wouldn’t you?

But you are so gone you aren’t sure whether or not you can promise him anything at this point. You just know that you are still leaking, your mouth watering when you turn your head and nose at John’s scent gland.

Cherries — ripe and achingly sweet bloom on your tongue, your teeth aching to sink into his gland and god, this is fucked up, this is so wrong, you can’t do this.

Not to your captain, not when John was so kind to you.

But John licks his lips and angles his head to give you more access, nudging you to dive deeper to taste firsthand.

John has your sweetness on his tongue and on his beard, John has a cheeky “pop that cherry, lovie, don’t be shy now” slipping from between his teeth when he pulls your hand in his pants.

Pushes it between his thighs, letting you scoop up generous amount of slick and pull it out to take a look.

And well, that’s just mean of him — his scent so much brighter there, heat under your skin boiling you alive, fever of him ravaging your body when he makes you suck your fingers dry.

Taste him, sweetheart, see if he’s as sweet as he smells.

You watch John with heavy half-lidded eyes, sharp ice of your scent cutting through his, your hands dragging his sweatpants off.

Too far gone to care about ethics or propriety, too far gone to remember the Kyle you like — the Kyle who kisses you where it hurts and Kyle who often cups your tummy with that dark look in his eyes.

Like he is imagining something.

Like the future that he wants is so close he can almost taste it.

But all you can taste is John — thick hairy thighs of his opening for you when you dive down to drag your tongue to his leaking hole, his scent driving you half feral.

It’s sticky and sweet and you are drunk on him, not a thought in your head when you bite his thighs, not a single thing bothering you when you finally get a proper taste of him.

Straight from the source.

Room is too hot and too humid, sweat dripping down your back, your heavy chest still leaking, nipples aching and you are so bad, so greedy for imagining Kyle’s fingers massaging them and promising to make it better.

Price who coos at you when you are between his legs, lapping up his slick, making you captain feel so fucking good, being so good to you omega, making John feel safe and cherished. 

Eating him out like you won’t get another chance, teeth scraping soft skin, your throat clicking when you almost choke on him.

Greedy beta, got your mouth full, don’t you?

John wonders what would Kyle say if he saw you like that — deep between John’s legs, slurping up everything he gives, disheveled and drugged up on his scent.

What would Kyle say if he saw that gone, empty look in your eyes when you look up at John like he is god you didn’t know to worship, like he is everything there is, like he is the end and the beginning.

Bacchus driving you mad, pouring ambrosia down your throat until you don’t remember your own name.

He is sweet as he rasps in your ear that you are so good to him, such a perfect beta, such a good mate for him, his fingers stretching you out.

Using his own slick as the lube.

You don’t remember much detail after that.

Just your teeth all over John and his thighs trembling when you’d force them to stay open because he cannot just invite the wolf in and expect it to sit like a dog.

And the heavy clouding smell of cherries, alcohol bitter on the root of your tongue, saccharine affections of Price’s — bloody and feverish, melting you down.

So he can shape something new out of it.

John let’s you go only in a few days and only because Kyle almost takes the door off it’s fucking hinges, throwing away the discipline and threatening to use Simon as a battling ram if he doesn’t get you back.

Simon grumbles that he wants nothing to do with this whole situation and disappears before Garrick wrangles him and actually tries to take the doorframe out of its set.

Kyle is sharp citrus, almost bitter in the aftertaste, basil of his ripening until the underlying sweetness stuffs down the throat of anyone who dares to breathe in.

Kyle is mad, because this is unfair, because John cannot bloody take you simply because he wants you and no one else fucking wants him.

He gets exactly three more words out before he is being dragged in by the scruff of his neck, hit with scent so sweet it almost makes him retch. The cloying sweetness of rotting meat, the honeyed infection spreading all over him.

John in heat is dangerous.

John in heat is mean mean bastard of a man and he doesn’t tolerate someone trying to take his favourite beta away when he still might need them and when your tits are still leaking.

But Kyle feels it before Price even gets to say to him to fuck off and zip it up if he doesn’t want to get hell and high water.

Kyle feels you because of course, he fucking does — a hound attuned to your scent, a lovesick pup of an alpha that always kissed your jaw just shy of your scent gland, his breath ghosting over it.

His mouth watering at the mere thought of finally sinking his teeth into you.

You were always his, he can find you anywhere, he will find you anywhere if you ever leave so, please, don’t.

Kyle likes being good and likes you thinking that he is good, that he is different, that he is the proper alpha.

Kyle sneers at John, trying not to breathe through the nose and crouches down in front of a nest he can’t get in.

Even half feral and aching for you he knows better than to get in the nest he was not invited into.

Price just might murder him in cold blood and throw him out of the window, later claiming that it was either self defence or the fact that Kyle’s heart couldn’t take it and the lad decided to end it all.

That would have been an interesting conversation to have straight after heat.

So Kyle crouches in front of the nest, you scent ripe with something he doesn’t understand, the change that he didn’t feel before.

Ice of yours now poking like you are an iron maiden, embrace of yours would bleed him dry probably, considering the state you are in right now.

“Baby, look at me.”, Kyle murmurs, his voice gentle when you groan, nuzzling in John’s pillow, rage bubbling under his skin, cauterising his bleeding heart. Dull throb of his head driving him mad — cherries and ice cold water, rot and frost, honey and cream.

…cream?

Kyle tugs air in against his better judgement, John’s scent hitting him with full force, strong enough to make Garrick’s teeth ache from instinctual urge to claw at him until captain is bleeding and pliant.

“Love, look at me. Please, doll”, Kyle coos instead, eyes raking all over you, eyes lingering on the swell of your tits, on the creamy fresh scent that curls around him like your usual hug.

Almost like nothing changed — his hair still smelling like sun and coconut oil, your eyes still crinkling in the corners when he smooches your cheek. “Talk to me, baby”

But the memory leaves as fast as it came, Price’s heavy presence right behind like an artillery recalibrating to hit him — gears turning, ammo restocking.

Price doesn’t like him here, doesn’t like that Kyle’s citrusy rage makes you whimper, doesn’t like that you still crawl out of his nest into Garrick’s arms.

“That’s good, love, you are doing great. Tell me what hurts, tell me how to help.”, Kyle babbles, cradling you in his arms, not liking the same half drunk look in your eyes that you usually sport after an evening with John.

Kyle saw you first, Kyle had you first, you are Kyle’s beta.

But you whine and pull his palm to cup your tit, his brain short circuiting, his molars aching when he opens his mouth to ask what do you mean. And then it hits him.

His fingers flex, sinking in the soft flesh, massaging it gently and milk squirts out your nipple, lending on Kyle’s shirt, scent of cream heavier in the air, John’s teeth almost grazing Kyle’s nape when the man growls out “gentler, muppet”.

As if Kyle doesn’t know how to treat you.

Kyle had you before John could even dream of someone like you, Kyle knows all about your firsts, Kyle takes responsibility for taking most of them.

And this…here he should have been first too. But that’s okay, baby, it’s alright, it’s not your fault. He knows you’d be good to him. He knows you’d let him make it better.

Kyle licks your nipple, lashes fluttering, his vision tunnelling to you, rotting cherry clouding his mind when he sucks you in and you whine.

Babbling something about “Kyle, sensitive—” and “alpha, please” like you don’t know it’s enough to make him pop a hard-on.

Kyle flicks his tongue against your swollen nipple, eyes of his glued to your face when you start crying, everything in him crawling out to take-take-take.

You look so pretty when you cry for him, fat tears and flushed face and heart pounding, making your scent richer, making Kyle want to down you in one sitting.

He holds back only on years of discipline and self control, but god, you are not making it any easier, baby.

Not having any pity on him at all when you let him suck your tits and drink his fill, when you whimper for him, but reach for John.

Naughty thing, he should have taken you before bringing you to John’s lair.

Should have guessed that pack’s lead omega would harbour you close to his chest. Should have known you’d get hooked on Price and drunk from his scent alone.

Kyle should have remembered that you were always a lightweight.

Well, he will remember it for the future, his long fingers prying your jaws open so he can finally kiss you, ignoring John’s head nestling closer to your tits and ignoring John’s mouth latching on your left nipple in so he can suck on it. Greedy bastard.

Kyle licks into your mouth, slow and certain, biting your lips till you whimper and bleed for him, till he can finally get what he always wanted.

He hums softly and licks the blood off, glances up to see tears streaming down your face.

Poor baby, you must be so sensitive. So tired.

Captain’s scent alone probably didn’t let you rest much.

You couldn’t pull away from John even if you wanted to, but judging by the sated and relaxed look on Price’s face — you didn’t want to.

Judging by glaring lack of pants on both you and captain and entirely befuddling amount of bites on John’s legs — the man wouldn’t be able to pull you off even if he tried. And he didn’t plan to try shit.

Your and John’s scents are mingling in the air, mixing into something entirely new, Kyle’s throat clicking when he tugs it in, part of him wanting to throw up, other part of him wants to fuck you silly.

Cherries and cream, rum and ice, rot and frost.

John is a glaring cavity in here, John is an infection, John is dangerous and he made you ache, he made you different, he coerced you in here.

He also made you lactate, Kyle’s mind whispers, shiver running down his spine when he licks his lips and pops your right nipple in his mouth, curling around you.

Perfect darling, so that’s how you’d taste if he threw the propriety out the window and pumped you full until you were bouncing a chubby pup of his own on your hip.

Pup with your crinkling eyes and Kyle’s hair, pup with your nose and Kyle’s smile. Smelling like your milk and coconut oil Kyle would use for their hair.

For a moment the fantasy seems so vivid, so real that he forgets himself.

Forgets John’s hands trying to peel his away, forgets your pleading “can’t cum anymore—” because that’s just silly, baby, of course you can.

Whatever happened with John doesn’t count, right?

John himself shouldn’t count, that wasn’t fair, that wasn’t by the rules.

Let’s try this again, okay? He is going to do his best, you just stay where you are for him, love.

Kyle knows you are going to be so good to him, Kyle knows you wouldn’t just leave him in a state he is in, you like him too much, he just knows it.

Maybe you should go back to whatever you were doing between John’s legs, take some pressure off frustrated captain while Kyle feeds his knot to your hole.

You look slick enough to take him to the hilt, just arch a little, will ya?

And then it all goes black. Wraps veil around your eyes — cloying sweet and brightly tangy.

You come back from your mandated medical leave after another week — still sore and still tired but it’s better now.

No more heat, no more pulling of your skin, no more leaking of your too full, too big tits, no more unending slick out of your holes.

Nothing out of ordinary.

You come back to the mass hall smelling like water from the mountain spring, like morning fog, like clinking ice in tall glasses.

Like you again.

At your arrival Kyle perks up, ever so worried, ever so soft and friendly like he didn’t ravage you with the desperation of man starved of any affections. You’d pity him if you didn’t know any better and didn’t know Kyle. Starved of affections, your ass.

John sits on the other side of the bench, moving aside to make space for you, ready to take you back under his wing and wrap you in his scent and pull you under.

Lead omega, prime omega — his raspy praise still rings in your ears, his hands still knead your hips when you close your eyes.

They watch you and very pointedly try to not look at each other.

Two grown man in a squabble over something that could have been solved with a conversation or two.

But they don’t want to talk, do they? That only want to take and take and take.

Because apparently you are their favourite beta.

You sigh, rolling your aching shoulders and plopping yourself right between them — your knee pressing into John’s thigh, your elbow nudging Kyle’s.

You really are no better if the only thing you want is to take just as much. Just as selfishly.

Some people say that you can’t have a cake and eat it. Well…maybe they should watch how you will.

[diceroll65]

coachella - b.e

billie eilish x fem!reader

summary: you decided this year that you were going to go to coachella by yourself, due to all your friends being busy. you were nervous at the thought, but believed it would a good experience overall. although, you have an unexpected interaction that leads to a night of bliss.

warnings: smut, foreplay ofc, drunk sex (both intoxicated), dom! billie/sub! reader at first, eventually sub! billie/dom! reader ☺︎, very soft & sensual

you were in the crowd during doja cat's set, baby pink flask in hand and swaying you hips. at this point, you are borderline drunk and having the time of your life. you now feel an unknown presence beside you, and begin to direct your attention to whoever just approached you. your eyes are met with eyes seemingly made of ice that are penetrating your soul.

"you here alone?" she asks, eyebrows raising slightly. with your body still moving to the beat, you give her a loud "yeah", attempting to talk over the roaring bass. "mind if i join you?" she asks, with a bit of desperation in her voice. "sure" you say, smiling sweetly. billie is eyeing your flask, and brings the cool metal up to her lips. “what the fuck is this?” she asks, her face puckering. "90 proof coconut rum" you answer, laughing softly. "tastes like shit" she responds, bunching up her lips while her nostrils flare. she brings the flask back up to her lips, taking another gulp. "then why do you keep drinking it?" you giggle, rolling your eyes. she responds with a shrug, handing you back the small, metal container.

not much time passes and you are so drunk that you don't realize you are now slightly leaning forward. your lower half is moving to the beat of the song. you then realize that by the friction against your ass, you are doing it against billie. great. before you could stand up recovering from the embarrassment, you feel hands on both sides of your ass. you give up with the thought of humiliation and submit to the gesture. billie grips hard onto you, as your hips move with a quicker pace.

the set is now over, and you want to be in an open proximity. you grab billie's hand, and run straight to a vacant california field. you both are wavering back and forth, trying to walk straight. obnoxious laughing is heard, as you both are now hand in hand. you begin to run in circles, which leads you both to get very dizzy. you both fall instantly, with you laying parallel to each other. belly laughs erupt from both your mouths, when you both go silent, falling into a trance exploring each other's eyes. your smile begins to transition into a pursed expression. you both sit up at the same time, grabbing each others jaws as you crash into each others lips. a makeout begins to initiate, when billie grabs the back of your head, ushering your body against the grass. she removes her hand, placing it next to your head that is sustaining her weight over your figure.

"where's your tent?" she asks, breathing now heavy due to the passion. "not too far from here, come on" you say, getting up and reaching your hand out for her to grab. she instantly latches onto your hand, standing up and aimlessly following you. you notice how sweaty your hands are from anticipation, hoping she doesn't notice. you get to the tent and without any warning, she grabs your bottom lip with her thumb. she drags down your lip, while smashing her lips against your wet mouth. you groan in response, the lust gelling over the volume of the confined space. you throw the flask in the corner of the tent, as she begins to reach for the hem of your form-fitting top. she is now looking into your eyes with a sense of yearning. you grant approval, where she plants soft kisses on your tummy while lifting the shirt over your head. her lips dally over your moisturized skin, as you attentively follow every course of action she pursues. your beseeching eyes portray all your thoughts of the current exchange. billie detects your gaze, leaning forward and grazing your cheek with her nose. "what do you desire, my love?" inquiry evident in her voice. "i-i..." you respond, as she drags her chin down your chest, remaining eye contact. "where do you want my mouth? huh? here, maybe?" she says, resting her face onto your denim center. she slightly bites the seam of the crotch of your jean shorts, pulling them away your sex slightly. "mhmmm mmm yes. i want your mouth against me, please" you state, reaching for the button of your shorts. she shoos your hands away, taking the fastener in her hands. billie undoes the clasp with ease, lifting the waistband off your bare hips. she drags the pants down, along with your underwear in one graceful motion. the shorts with the underwear inside them are now laying next to you, as you shiver at the thought of prospect. she is looking at you with a gaze of bewilderment, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. her fingers dance across your stomach, as she says "such a glorious sight" leaning forward to leave tiny pecks where her fingers once were. you reach up to her, tracing your hand down the middle of her torso, feeling the presence of her ab line.

she removes your hands from her body. "all about you, mama. ease your mind for me", she insists. both your arms lay collateral in regards to your form, fingers wiggling with nervousness. her fingers dawdling over your figure, gliding over every part. she glances down toward your sex, and looks back up to you smiling. she rests her stomach against the blanket that is laying on the floor of the tent, her face now centimeters from your glossy center. she brings her lips together, as she blows against your entrance, as your legs voluntarily open wider. she giggles at your reaction, as she does it again. this time, a little moan slips from your lips as your upper half slowly lifts off the hard ground. "so responsive" she whispers, as her mouth collides with your center. her tongue paving a direct path from your entrance to your clit. her tongue remains stationary upon arriving to your clit, letting you feel the pressure. a muffle shriek pours out, as you bring your hand to cover your mouth. she reaches up to grab your forearm, taking the hand away from your lips. "no no, don't conceal it" she instructs, her eyes meeting yours. "give it all to me, mama" she says soothingly, as she continues to make a meal of you. "oh- oh fuck holy fucking shit right fucking there" you breathe out, your whines begin to increase in volume. "oh my godddd, i'm right there i'm like right-" you say, as your legs begin to close encompass around billie's head. billie's pace quickens, as her lips latch onto your clit. you close your eyes, as the unworldly sensation begins to take over your body. "there we are, such a patient girl" she praises, as you produce a guttural moan. you release as she kisses your stomach, her hand flying to your clit to help you ride it out. she then goes to lay down beside you, smiling.

the burning in your chest begins to subside, as you turn your head, meeting her impressed gaze. your eyes fill with wonder, as you get up, grabbing billie's back, laying her down in the former place where you were laying. a shocked giggle tumbles out her lips, as her eyes widen. "let's take this off, yeah?" you question, reaching for the edge of her lakers jersey. with a now submissive glance, she slowly begins to nod her head, lifting her arms. the jersey conjoins your attire next to you both, as you gaze at her nude lace bra. you reach behind, as your nose rests against hers as you look into her eyes. she nods as one hand comes in contact with the clasps, unfastening them. the bra falls beautifully, as you grab a strap tossing it to the pile of clothes. your eyes take in every inch of her upper half, smiling softly looking at her hard nipples. your thumb then rubs along her nipple, leading to a delicate gasp spilling from her perfectly shaped lips. "you like when i caress you like this?" you ask, lusciously. "ye-yes i do it feels so good" she says, her voice now a higher pitch. "mmm you didn't think you would be getting this treatment, huh?" you question, with a sly expression. "n-no" she says, her mouth remaining ajar. "you always get back what you put out, you know" you state, as you bring your face down to her upper half, as your tongue traces figure 8's across her abs. your tongue halts, as you replace it with your lips, picking up the skin with your suction. you let go of the skin, and place a delicate kiss over the area. your hands roam over her stomach, pausing at the top of her jeans. you once again look into her eyes, searching for commendation. another soft nod occurs, as your fingers quickly undo the button. you tug the pants off in one movement, tossing them. the only article of clothing left on her was a black lace thong. she is the one to kick them off immediately, making you giggle at how zealous she has become. your fingers find their way to her center, grazing over it gently. she attempts to lean into your digits, when you took your other hand and delicately push down her hips. "you're one to talk about patience" you giggle. you place two fingers in between your lips, coating them. you then rest them against her entrance, applying a little pressure but not yet slipping them in. she groans, seemingly desperately eager. you then bring your other hand up to her clit, your thumb now resting there. you then insert the digits simultaneous to you rubbing her clit. she gasps as she glances at what you're doing to her, sucking on her lip. you pick up the pace as you notice her quiet moans turn into quiet screams. at this point, she is gripping onto the blanket that lies underneath her. "jesus christ oh my fucking go-" she says, panting. you are going at an impossibly fast pace, as you slow down to insert another digit. you pick up the pace again, observing the way her eyebrows would dance in response. "you there yet, baby?" you ask, as she rapidly nods with a breathless "yes yes yes." "cum for me, darling" you grant, waiting for her to fully lose herself to the feeling. her groan could be heard for miles, especially in the tent next to yours. you help her ride out the orgasm, slowing your pace against her clit. you then stop, and she sits up, opening her eyes once again.

"so, what's your name?" she asks, as you playfully roll your eyes in response.