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ceilidho · 7 months ago

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Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 1 | masterlist

“I’m not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,” he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a busy schedule and his mom isn’t in the picture. I need a real commitment.”

You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is you’re doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; you’re somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position.

Yet, it seems like that’s what he’s looking for, based on the information he’s told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a mess—toys strewn across the baby’s bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that it’s become something of a requiem to single fatherhood.

“So, a nanny?” you ask.

He hems and haws over that for a bit. “Bit too fancy for my tastes, but that’s more like it. It won’t just be watching the baby—I need someone who can help out around the house as well. ‘Used to run a tight ship before him, but cleaning’s not been my highest priority these days. Sure you’ve picked up on that.” He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache.

“Well…” You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish.

“I work odd hours, so I’ll be gone a lot; you’ll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think that’s something you can handle?”

A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. It’s not that you don’t think you could handle the job. You’ve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income.

“You’re military, you said?” you croak out instead.

He nods, hums. “Bit of a glorified desk job these days. They don’t put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.”

You frown at that. “You’re not that old.”

That gets him to cock an eyebrow. “Love, I’m over twice your age, easy. I’m plenty old for a first time father on top of that; should’ve already been an old hand at this, but I’ve been married to the job for too long.”

You don’t ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. It’s none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. It’s just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air.

“Well, I think—” You chew on your words and then backtrack. “—I can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I can—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and I’ll go over my schedule this week with you.”

The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. You’d put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, you’re still forced to look up at him.

“Sure can, Mister…—?” You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that he’s about to become your boss. Already is your boss.

“Price. But John works just fine,” he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic.

You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt.

“Well, thanks for the job, John,” you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

His words seem like a bellwether for something that you can’t yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you.

You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.

Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance.

You don’t know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend’s dad’s coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.

“Did you hear the Captain’s looking for a babysitter?”

“For what? To bang?”

“No, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.”

“No kidding. The Captain?”

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ say that?”

“Price, you mean? Captain Price?”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf? Yeah—Price.”

“Christ. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.”

“Give it a rest, it happens all the time. That’s why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone that’d be up for it?”

And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities don’t knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. It’s more than you expected. More than you deserve, if you’re being honest. You’re retroactively grateful that he didn’t ask you to name your rate because you wouldn’t have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.

It’s a straightforward gig. John doesn’t work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. He’s only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job.

You know better than to put up a fuss. You’re already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. You’re learning all sorts of things these days.

To your credit, he could’ve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. It’s a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before you’ve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but it’s worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.

Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysitting—or rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not have—might not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so you’ll be ready bright and early the next morning.

Babies also smell better than anything you’ve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guy’s head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When he’s cradled in your arms, you can’t help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. It’s some good shit.

You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John might’ve otherwise missed.

“He started babbling today,” you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You haven’t felt this excited in ages. “Look.”

He’s still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him.

“See?” you gush, mooning over him. You don’t have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment.

“Yeah,” John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. “Ain’t that something.”

If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you don’t pick up on it.

On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, he’s remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesn’t nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesn’t scold you the day your car breaks down and you’re forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that he’s invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.

He shrugs when you bring it up. “It’s got a lifetime warranty anyway. I’ll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.”

Unflappable. That’s the word for it. It’s like as long as he’s able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone.

Your only qualm—and it’s hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observation—is that John is more of a physical person than you are.

When he wants to move you, he does—two big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you.

You don’t hold it against him though. You haven’t spent much time around groups of men, but you’ve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, he’s gentle with you.

It’s just that—and again, John’s the first adult man you’ve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopic—you’re not completely sure whether it’s appropriate for your boss to be so touchy.

You don’t mean to insinuate that he’s being inappropriate. It’s just that—and again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and he’s done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, but…—sometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesn’t take no for an answer.

You’re never in any rush to leave. There’s not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. It’s nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what it’s like to go hungry.

Maybe that’s why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. You’re subconsciously mortified that you’ll eat his food when he’s not gone but not when he offers it to you.

At least dinner feels like something you’ve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking.

Not to mention you’ve developed something of a rapport. There’s always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (“back when you weren’t even a thought in your mum’s head,” he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations).

The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, they’re the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, you’re estranged from your family and you’ve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too.

Then there’s the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.

“Go put something on,” John tells you, a warning look in his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry,” you whisper before slipping off into the living room.

You can’t relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming; he’s light on his feet for such a big man.

The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that you’re afraid you’ll buzz right out of your skin.

For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.

Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap.

Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs until—

You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind.

“Sleep well?” John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before you’ve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams.

“Not bad,” you squeak.

You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.

As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #john price x you #john price/reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months ago

Note

may I request a what-if with the 141 where reader pranks the members by buying a fake military knife that isn’t dangerous and hands it to their baby? Like this: https://youtube.com/shorts/aQGZTdYRX6c?si=pX7ja8U4VGL2dATi

(I’m bad at explaining things so I hope you don’t mind the video link for an example)

The video link is totally fine! I appreciate you sending that in for a reference! And you didn't do a terrible job explaining, anon. I immediately knew what you were talking about! Now, this is all in good fun, but I don't recommend you doing it in real life. Can you guess who has the calmest reaction of the four?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, married life, dad!141, girl dad! 141, pranks & shenanigans

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

John is in his office. It’s the perfect opportunity.

With as much stealth as you can muster, you creep into the living room. In the center of the room is an enclosed space were your daughter crawls around on their stomach. When you approach, she babbles, and you grin down at her.

“Here,” you whisper, placing a prop knife next to her.

The thing is made of rubber and plastic. It won’t cause any actual harm. She immediately reaches for it, tiny fingers unable to completely wrap around the handle.

Backing up slowly, you call out to your husband. “John! Can you check on the baby?”

A pause. “Course, love,” he replies.

You hurry back into the kitchen just as you hear the squeak of his chair. John emerges, rubbing at the back of his neck. His head is down, gaze lowered, and when he notices his daughter, John grins.

“Hello, sweet girl,” he coos. “What do you have—” John’s gentle tone because one of sharp concern. “The fuck.”

John lunges, disappearing beyond your line of sight. He reappears seconds later with his daughter tucked in one arm and the pretend knife clutched in his opposite hand. With the pointy end pointed away from the precious cargo he carries, John slowly walks over to the wall and presses the blade to it.

The rubber surrenders, bending in on itself.

John sighs heavily, and then slowly turns his head in your direction.

You give him your best shit-eating grin as your daughter giggles manically.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“What are you doing? What’s in your hand?”

Simon sounds…calm. Why does he sound so calm? He should be stressed right now. Panicking.

“Is that a knife? That’s dangerous. Want to give it to me?”

Sure, the knife is fake. Made of flexible rubber and plastic, it won’t harm anyone. But at a glance it appears real enough. Did Simon see you hand it to your daughter? Is he aware of the joke and just playing along?

You creep closer, not wanting to give away your hiding spot.

“Very good. Hand that to daddy.”

Your daughter coos, and then Simon appears from thin air.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp. “You scared me.”

“Really?” he deadpans, holding up the prop knife.

Your daughter comes waddling out after him wrapping her chubby arms around his leg while she happily mumbles “daddy.”

“I thought it was hilarious,” you mutter as he tosses it at you.

Simon bends at the knees and scoops up his daughter. As he passes, he leans down, lips almost pressing against your ear. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on it. Didn’t fool me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He grins, and winks. “Comes with the territory of the job, love. I’d spot a fake anywhere.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Your daughter sits in her high chair, chewing on the end of the fake knife you’ve handed her. It’s just a prop, made to not cause any actual arm. She chews on the pointy end, drool dripping on to her tiny fingers.

Slowly, you back away, poised to dart down the hall to hide.

“Can you watch her?” you call out.

Kyle answers a few seconds later. “What?”

“Can you watch her?” You move out of the kitchen and into the hall.

“Where is she?”

“In the kitchen,” you shout back. “She’s eating.”

You hear Kyle’s voice soften. “What are you eating, love? What—oh. What the fuck!”

With the rise of surprise in his tone, you return to the kitchen. “Something wrong?”

Your daughter giggles and coos, arms outstretched as she reaches for her father. Kyle holds the knife in two hands, an unamused expression on his face.

“Did I get you?” you ask with a grin.

The annoyed expression melts, becoming a soft smile. “You did.”

He bends forward and places a quick kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. As he draws away from her, he reaches for you, grabbing your waist to pull you in. “And you’re a bloody menace.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

You bend at the knees, holding out the prop knife to your little one. It’s made of rubber and plastic, but it looks real, and that’s the point. With a gleeful giggle, she takes the fake knife, completely unaware of the part she’s about to play in pranking her father.

“Go find daddy,” you coax, pointing in the direction of the living room.

She coos softly, pivots, and begins to walk forward. Each step is stilted as she wobbles toward the sofa. Johnny is on the game with the boys. His entire attention is on the television.

As your daughter approaches him, she lifts her little arm above her head, holding the fake knife high in the air like she’s a tiny Jason Voorhees. From her mouth comes nonsense, just a long breath of babbling, sounds, and the occasional word.

Johnny might be on the game, but he senses her nearness, leaning in her direction. As she rounds the sofa, her tiny body disappears. The only thing you can see is the occasional glimpse of the knife point. She screeches with glee and Johnny’s attention shifts. It’s a brief look, one intended to simply make sure she’s okay, but then he’s doing a double-take.

“What the fuck!”

Johnny launches himself off the couch, the game controller flying. Your daughter points the knife at him and Johnny immediately raises his hands in surrender.

“Where’d you get that? Find it on the ground somewhere?”

You nearly snort. He’s trying to sound calm but you hear the bite of panic.

Your daughter’s reply is to charge him. Johnny sidesteps her pathetic swing before plucking the knife right of her hand.

“How—” He stops. Frowns. And then places his entire hand around the blade. He releases it. Repeats the gesture.

Johnny glances up and chuckles, locking eyes with you. “You’re bloody well having a laugh at me, aren’t you?”

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iamactuallysocute · 1 day ago

Text

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER 2

Pasta. Small talk. The period topic because it had to come too. Super senses. But you’re not exactly out of there yet. Less misfortune for you now, at least. Part 1 here

cw: menstrual cycle and talking about it, still implied fem reader, use of Y/N, another ton of cursing, Romance’s idea of flirting in general, could be a hard read there and there but it’s on purpose!! awkward conversations make the best relationships or whatever they say

AN: guys I promise this is not Romance and Abby centered, it’s just their nature to be always on your dick—y’all will get more of the others too, but they need time to come around!!

Honestly? They’re kind of dumb.

Not in a tripping over their own feet way. Not that dumb, but still not the sharpest knives in the drawer.

They’re good at this—the keeping you here part. The manhandling. The mind fuck that keep you pacing your room at night, jumping at the way Baby sometimes just… appears. They’re good at being demons. Good at playing with you like a cat does with a bird.

But smart?

That’s a generous word.

Abby, bless him, is basically the muscle brain ever. His biceps arrive before his thoughts do. And sure, he can lift you like a dumbbell and still smile, but when he talks? It’s like being dropped headfirst into a gym locker room.

Romance is smarter, in that street level, scammer way. He’s slick, talks fast, moves faster. But his brain is wired for one thing and one thing only: women. You. Them. Himself in the mirror. If it’s got a curve, he’s distracted. If it doesn’t, he’s bored. He can strategize, technically. He just doesn’t unless the reward is worth it.

Baby’s different. Not loud. Not muscular. Not flashy. But the thing is—he’s mean. Not necessarily with words, because Baby rarely speaks unless it’s worth it. But you feel it. The kind of low-level, ambient danger that simmers under that baby-faced grin. He’s not dumb. He’s just petty and doesn’t care to try harder than necessary.

He doesn’t need to know what the capital of Switzerland is when he knows how to make you panic with just a glance.

Mystery… Mystery is a different species altogether. Half-feral, part-theatre kid. You don’t know if he’s smart or not because he doesn’t talk. Just growls. Attacks. Watches you.

Never attacks you, though. Only the boys. Respect for that.

Once you saw him reading a book upside down. For twenty minutes.

And then there’s Jinu.

Your only real threat.

Because Jinu listens. He thinks. And unlike the others, he doesn’t laugh when you try to outsmart them. He watches you. Quietly.

He knew you were hiding a pin under your tongue before you even tried to pick a lock. He knew you were faking sleep before your breathing even slowed. He knew not to touch you when you were crashing out, not because he was scared of you—none of them are—but because he understood.

Understood the human part. The fragile, messy, emotional mess they’ve taken in and turned into their favorite little chew toy.

He might be the warmest.

The others mess with you because it’s fun.

Jinu’s the one who might actually understand what he’s doing to you.

You’re not even sure which is worse.

For an example, once you were walking past the kitchen, and you heard Abby in there, trying to explain to Romance why you can’t toast eggs.

“It’s not the same, bro.” he was saying, voice full of conviction. “Like, they’re both breakfast but one’s, like, a solid and one’s like… an egg.”

Romance, clearly entertained, just nodded. “Okay, but what if you did toast it, though? Like, what happens?”

You froze behind the doorway, staring into the middle distance.

You heard a wet splat. A hiss. A beep that did not sound like it should be coming from a toaster.

Baby walked past behind you, muttering, “Told them not to microwave the shell.” before disappearing.

You didn’t even have the strength to ask.

Smartest captors in history? Absolutely not.

Most dangerous because they’re unpredictable dumbasses? Tragically, yes.

And you’re stuck right in the middle.

Send help. Or maybe a better toaster.

Now though, the kitchen is quiet.

No distant grunting from Abby bench-pressing the living room coffee table. No bone-deep growls of Mystery body-slamming someone for breathing too loud. No Romance humming some song into your ear just to see if it’ll get you to slap him again (he lives for it).

Just you. And a pan. And some half-decent pasta.

The water hisses gently on the stove. You stir the noodles with a slow rhythm. It’s almost domestic. The life you once had before being stolen away.

You’d found the pasta by accident, digging through their absurdly stocked pantry—who even bought this stuff? You doubted any of them cooked. Or even knew what half the ingredients were.

So pasta it was.

Then, the sound of a door slamming open.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

“Angel?”

You don’t even have to turn. That voice is unmistakable. Smooth, way too close, Romance.

Then he’s right there, chin hovering just over your shoulder, arms caging you between him and the stove.

“Is that for me?” he breathes, voice dropping into a murmur that’s clearly meant to make your skin crawl—in a good way. “You shouldn’t have, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t.”

Then, “Y/N?”

This one’s louder. Dumber. Friendlier.

Abby.

He leans on the counter like he’s helping, but mostly just manages to look huge and tragically eager.

Romance sighs dramatically beside you, stealing the spoon right out of your hand. “This isn’t how you stir it.” he mutters, absolutely lying. “Let me show you. Elbows in, baby.”

You snatch it back. “I will strangle you with linguine.”

“Threaten me again.”

They’re unbearable.

Abby grabs a piece of uncooked pasta from the counter and crunches it loudly, nodding. “Mmm. Chef’s kiss.”

“I hate all of you.”

Romance presses in closer, whispering so only you can hear, “Say that again but slower.”

You elbow him in the ribs.

Then behind them, near the arch that leads into this part of the house, you catch movement.

Mystery.

You look at him. He doesn’t say a word—does he ever?—but he nods. He nods a little.

He wants pasta.

You blink. That… was actually really cute.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. They’re evil. Not just morally—they’re emotionally evil. Sadists with pretty faces. They’ve kidnapped you, tortured you, kept you trapped.

They shouldn’t get pasta.

But then your mind does that thing again—betrays you with kindness. You think of all of them, hundreds of years old and utterly brainless, probably never having had someone make them dinner just because.

When was the last time someone fed them with genuine love? When was the last time anyone saw them hungry and gave instead of demanded?

You don’t have to ask to know the answer.

So you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. But you reach for another pot anyway.

“Fine.” you mutter, already boiling more water. “But I swear to god, if one of you breathes on me while I cook, I will throw this spoon.”

Romance grins, settling back like he orchestrated the entire thing. Abby lets out a victorious whoop, clapping Mystery on the back, who merely blinks at him, probably wondering why humans—and their hybrids—are so goddamn loud.

They linger.

Abby tries to help by opening the jar of sauce like you’re weak. Romance throws a towel over his shoulder and starts calling himself “Chef Daddy.” Mystery does nothing, which is somehow the most helpful of all.

You keep cooking. Because fuck your empathy. And maybe fuck all of them too.

But also… maybe not yet.

Because Romance had this look on his face like he just caught scent of a very interesting meal.

It was you.

He leaned against the counter, spoon still hot from the pasta pot in your hand gently tapping at his shoulder, which he absolutely refused to take as a rejection.

You didn’t budge. Instead, you reached up with the spoon and nudged his forehead with it.

“Back. Off.”

He stepped back obediently—exactly one step. Then came right back in again, eyes dark and dancing. “Why? You’re so fun when you’re bossy.”

You shoved the spoon at his chest again. “I will put this boiling water in your pants.”

“I’d consider that pleasuring.”

“Out.”

“Make me.”

So you started to. Not seriously—more of a push than a shove, the spoon becoming your makeshift weapon as he kept leaning in, melting into your space. Every time you pressed him back, he’d disappear for half a second, then return, closer.

You shoved.

He smiled.

You swatted.

He leaned.

This went on for an embarrassingly long time.

It became a game. Not one you agreed to, of course, but it was entertaining. You pushed with the spoon, he came back with a wink. You stepped on his foot, he gasped, but it didn’t hurt him.

Abby didn’t help.

He stood by the fridge, watching with unreal levels of enthusiasm. Loved the show, really. Eating handfuls of raw pasta while at it.

Meanwhile, across the room, Mystery was sitting on one of the stools, elbows on the counter, watching the chaos with unsettling patience. Every now and then, he tilted his head slightly.

When you glanced at him, he blinked. Nodded.

“Don’t worry.” you said to him, half-exhausted, half-warmed by the tiny approval. “You’re getting your pasta. You’ve been good.”

Romance sighed, letting his head drop back. “God, I love it here.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I can tell.”

Then Jinu came into the kitchen too. After a shower, you’d guess, he looked fresh. Yeah, def a shower.

He was unbothered by the heat in the kitchen, or the chaos of Abby biting dried pasta again like a literal caveman. His eyes immediately went to the pot, then you, then Romance standing far too close with the grin of a man who had never been told no as many times as he had today.

“Everything fine?” He checked.

“I got harassed.” you replied dryly. “Repeatedly.”

Romance waved. “Hi.”

Jinu didn’t ask further. He never needed to.

Meanwhile, Baby finally showed up too—he was probably in his room—plopping down on the sofa with the smugness of someone who knew the pasta would appear eventually and refused to waste energy until then.

He didn’t say anything, of course. Just snorted at you as you turned back to the stove, one hand keeping Romance at bay, the other stirring the pot.

You were feeding demons now.

And they loved it.

“You know,” Romance purrs, voice smooth. “if you ever get tired of stirring that pot, I could give you something else to—”

You press the wooden spoon flat against his chest without even looking. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Baby, I was just gonna say knead. For dough. You really think so low of me?”

You press the spoon to Romance’s forehead.

He lets it rest there, unbothered.

“I’d make it good, you know. I’m not all talk.”

He wants that cookie.

You shove the spoon against his mouth. “Back. Up.”

“Feed me and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Abby’s laugh booms in the background. He’s practically vibrating from how funny this all is to him.

Romance leans his chin on your shoulder. “We could have a normal evening too, you know. You and me. Candles. Lighting. Towels.”

You elbow him in the ribs, again.

But he doesn’t move. He just stays there, chin balanced lightly on your shoulder, humming quietly and beautifully to himself, spoon still resting against his lips where you’ve frozen mid-shove.

It’s ridiculous.

Romance drapes himself halfway across the counter now, cheek in one hand, the other idly tracing little circles in the air as he watches you with a look that says he thinks this is foreplay. Slow blinks. Loose lips. That permanently lazy, sinful smirk.

You jab the spoon into his chest and shove.

“Back.”

Romance stumbles half a step but returns instantly.

You do it again.

Push. He retreats.

Returns. You push.

Retreats. Back again.

“Oh, angel, so rough.”

Push.

“Is this what you’re into?”

Push.

“You and me, we could have rounds, baby.”

You pause at that one.

He grins. Real smug.

Yeah. He said it. Or no—offered it. Boldly.

He wants that cookie BAD.

(He absolutely needs that pussy I’m not even kidding.)

You jab the spoon harder this time, jamming it right between his ribs with a grunt. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hm.”

Abby’s behind him, absolutely wheezing, not even trying to hide how much he’s enjoying this little routine. He’s got one hand braced on the fridge, shoulders bouncing.

So that’s two pasta bowls. Well, three, if you count Romance, though he seems far more interested in eating you than anything with carbs.

You roll your eyes and keep stirring. This used to be your job, after all—feeding hunters. You were the background person. The gear girl.

Jinu moves past Romance and Abby—giving neither of them more than a glance—and reaches for a glass of water.

“I could help.” Romance says, leaning in like it’s a secret. “I’m good with my hands.”

You swing the spoon up so fast he flinches.

Abby cackles.

You turn your back to him just to focus on plating, but you’re smiling. Just a little. Because for all the bullshit, the teasing, the chaos—they’re… oddly easy to fall into.

Then, instinct. Like muscle memory, like the part of you that used to trail behind the girls and silently hand them this and that. The part of you that feeds people because that’s just what you do.

So even as you’re fighting off Romance with a spoon, your mouth betrays you.

“Do you guys want some too?”

Silence. Immediate. Unforgiving.

Even Romance pauses. That grin still carved across his face, but for a fraction of a second, he blinks—once—like he’s recalibrating something.

Your face burns.

Too late to take it back.

Jinu, standing near the sink now, glances up from his glass of water. His eyes find yours. Level. Patient. You brace for some kind of comment. Anything. A joke. A smirk. A deflection.

Instead, he just tilts his head slightly, and nods once.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

That’s it.

Of course, the moment Jinu answers, Baby perks up from the couch. You don’t even have to look. You can feel it.

You glance over, and sure enough, he’s got that same unbothered look on his face. One knee pulled up on the couch, head resting against the back like he was born lounging. His chin lifts just slightly, that lazy sort of nod. Like he’s saying, “Yeah. Me too. I’m not about to say ‘please’ though.”

You sigh. “Okay. Pasta for five it is.”

Romance reaches out to touch your skin.

The spoon swings.

He dodges. Barely.

The garlic sizzles, sauce heating up in the pan. Mystery is still lurking by the counter, calm but observant. You wonder, sometimes, if he even eats human food. Or if he just likes the idea of it.

Meanwhile Romance is watching you with his chin propped in his hand and that usual look—smug, flirty, lazy. Except it’s not just lazy anymore.

It’s lingering.

The way you move, the little sounds you make when you stir the sauce, the way your nose wrinkles when you pout. You look like every girl he’s ever wanted to seduce and none of them at all.

He watches the way your shoulders roll when you lean over the counter, the way you slap Abby’s hand away when he wants to eat dry pasta again.

He could be in love with you.

Could be in love with you for a whole night in a king-sized bed for sure.

But also?

He’s starting to think he could be in love with you a little longer than that. A little slower.

His chest actually aches a little when you hum while plating the food.

He likes you in a way that makes him feel… young. Human. Almost stupid.

Abby, despite the meathead bravado and the shit-eating grins, watches you like someone who’s never really been taken care of.

He sees you move with purpose. The way you mutter numbers under your breath, checking the water levels, making sure everyone has a plate, a fork, a goddamn napkin. You’re on autopilot, maybe, but it actually means something to him.

You’re a little addictive.

He flexes near you sometimes. On purpose. Sure. He enjoys the way you roll your eyes and tell him his ego’s bigger than his chest. But deep down? There’s something grounding in you.

You’re tiny. Mortal. Fragile. But you got this way of swinging that spoon and facing five demons like you’re not even scared.

He likes that.

He doesn’t think about love. Not really. But if someone asked him to pick a girl to guard for the rest of his immortal life? Yeah. You’d be on the list.

He wonders if you’ll ever cook like this for someone who loves you. Really loves you.

And he kind of hates the idea that it won’t be him.

Mystery doesn’t understand half the shit you do. Not in a language sense—he gets the words. But the meaning, the little things, those human rituals, are harder.

Still, he watches.

You interest him. He’s never had anyone that close before, not without claws drawn, not without blood on the floor.

He watches how your chest rises when you sigh, how your fingers flinch when oil spits, how your neck tenses when the others crowd too close. He likes when you fight them off. That fire. That bite. You’re small, sure. Delicate, in that mortal way. That makes him feel better about himself.

He’s just watching. Not creepy. Not really.

Curious.

Your towel moment earlier still replays in his brain. The way your legs moved. How soft your thigh looked when you kicked Abby. He remembers softness. Barely.

You made him not want to snarl and want to snarl at the same time. Though the second one might be just because of all the new feelings.

Baby hasn’t said a word. Not a real one. He’s sprawled sideways on the couch with his knees up.

But he’s watching.

You don’t see it, not really. He’s good at being lazy. Detached. But every time you move, his gaze tracks you. He doesn’t flirt like Romance. Doesn’t joke like Abby. Doesn’t hover like Mystery.

He just watches.

And when you bend forward to grab the plates, the tip of your shirt riding up just an inch

Yeah. He’s looking.

You’re so… human. In the exact way he’s forgotten people could be. You breathe like someone who expects to wake up tomorrow. You speak like someone who knows how the world works. You make pasta.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he was fed without being manipulated.

Maybe he never was.

So yeah, he’s watching. And the look he wears isn’t just perverse. It’s intrigued. Interested.

You’re growing on him, whether he’ll ever say it or not.

And then there’s Jinu.

Still by the sink. Still sipping water, though the glass has been empty for a while now. He’s not thirsty. He’s thinking.

You’re an anomaly.

When he first saw you—struggling, kicking, furious in Romance’s arms—he figured you’d scream yourself hoarse and eventually give up. People collapse under pressure.

But you sulked. You bit. You kept making breakfast.

He sees it in your eyes—quiet intelligence, ruthless practicality, and something else he can’t quite pin. Compassion, maybe. That doomed, bleeding-heart sort of strength. It’s frustrating. Admirable.

And he feels something pull when you scrape sauce into the pan. Something small. Maybe stupid.

He’s glad it was you.

Out of all the humans. Out of all the possible options.

He’s glad you’re the one here.

He wonders, briefly, what your life might’ve looked like if none of this had happened.

And then he hates that he cares.

You click off the heat, twist your wrist, and scoop that steaming, creamy, cheesy pasta into mismatched bowls.

“Alright. Eat. Before I dump it all in the trash.” you say, loud and so fucking clear.

They’re moving.

You don’t even turn around to look anymore—you can feel them converging. Sharks to blood. Hyenas to bone. Fuckass demon boys to pasta.

Romance sighs loudly, arms up like he’s just come home from war. “Ugh, I knew I was in love.” he says to no one in particular, grabbing his bowl and practically moaning after the first bite. His idea of a thank-you. You roll your eyes so hard your neck cricks.

Abby ruffles your hair on the way to the counter—big hand, too warm. “You’re the best, short stack.” he grins, teeth gleaming, before lifting two bowls (his and Romance’s, obviously) with one hand and strutting off, Romance right behind him.

Mystery just slides up, grabs his bowl, and nods once—slow and respectful. A knight’s gesture. His way of saying, I won’t growl at you for the rest of the night.

High praise, honestly.

Jinu is last. He doesn’t rush, ever. But when he takes his plate, he meets your eyes again, gives a small smile—a real one, soft and rare like a whisper—and murmurs, “Thanks.” Just like that. Quiet. Real.

And then there’s Baby.

You glare at him already as you pass him his food, just because.

He doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t even nod. Just takes the bowl like it was owed to him, curls his pretty lips into that tiny, smug smile and stabs his fork into the noodles like he’s trying to kill it.

You mutter, “You’re welcome, Your Highness.” and storm off before you throw something at him.

You slip into your room and shut the door with your foot.

Click. Lock slides in.

The room is still warm from earlier. Your bed is unmade. The little hoodie you haven’t worn since the first week lies forgotten on the chair. You place your plate down, sit on the floor, and finally take the first bite.

Perfect.

But that’s not what gets you.

No, it’s the absurd realization—once again—that you just made dinner for five demon boys who kidnapped you.

And worse?

You’re the one who told them to eat.

You.

You did that.

Fucking hell.

And yet… you chew slowly. Rest your head back against the side of the bed. And breathe.

It’s quiet now.

For once, they’re not poking, teasing, calling through the door. No flirtatious taps, no dumb scratching, no towel-related things.

You can almost pretend for just a second that you’re here on purpose.

Like you’re a roommate.

Or a girlfriend.

Or…

No.

You stopped that now.

…

(idk how to make a timeskip w vibe)

It’s about an hour later.

The house is quiet now, blessedly dim. The kitchen has gone still, bowls left half-eaten in the sink because of course no one cleaned up. Baby probably tossed his fork onto the floor just to annoy others. Romance probably left his somewhere suspicious, like on the bathroom counter. Abby probably flexed at himself in the hallway mirror on his way to his room.

But none of that is your concern right now.

No, right now—you’re in your room.

Alone.

In peace.

Your sanctuary. Your cell. Same thing, honestly.

Oversized T-shirt that falls just barely past your hips and a thong. You’re not trying to be a slut, just comfortable. Your skin’s clean from a quick shower. Your limbs are warm and soft and your book is finally open in your lap, spine bent.

You’ve finally exhaled.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You freeze.

You already know who it is. You don’t need him to say a damn thing. That knock is practically trademarked.

“Hey.”

Yep. Abby.

His voice is cocky, light. Way too familiar. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the door. Your face scrunches up like you just smelled something rancid. You don’t even get up.

“No!” you call out, still seated cross-legged with your book. “You can’t. I’m literally in a thong!”

THUMP.

A thud, really.

A full body collision with your door.

Followed by—

“FUCK—”

Groan. Pained.

That was Romance.

You blink. Your jaw drops. You clutch your book.

Did… did he just run into the door?

Did the word “thong” break his entire sense of spatial awareness?

Outside your door, there’s shuffling. Coughing. Romance muttering something like, “My fuckin’ nose” followed by Abby’s absolutely delighted, obnoxious laughter.

You can hear it so clearly.

There’s the sound of a scuffle outside. A shuffle again. Possibly a slap. You imagine Abby’s smacking Romance in the back of the head, because that’s definitely what you would do. You already know Abby’s face is pressed against the doorframe, smiling, arms probably crossed over that ridiculous chest of his.

You shut your book and slap it on your lap, expression blank. Then you shout again, louder this time “GO. AWAY.”

There’s a pause. And then: a muffled giggling sound. High-pitched. Unholy. Absolutely not okay.

You hear shifting.

A breath.

A low hiss like someone just whispered something they shouldn’t have.

You close your eyes and let your head fall back against your pillow.

They’re grinding into the fucking door, aren’t they.

You sit up just enough to yell, “I swear to God, if you’re humping the door, I’m out of here!”

From the other side, laughter. Messy. Guilty. Absolutely unapologetic.

“Just the idea of you in a thong, babe.” Romance groans. “Why would you say that? Why—why—would you tell me that?”

You glare at the door. “BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD MAKE YOU GO AWAY.”

You sit there for a good one minute from that, doing your best impression of someone who is not highly aware that two overgrown demon boys are still stationed just outside your bedroom.

You don’t even try to read anymore. You know they’re out there even if they’re silent.

Romance had gone silent, but not gone. You know that much. And Abby? Abby has the subtlety of a grenade. You can hear the occasional, suppressed laugh. A little foot shifting. A deep sigh of exaggerated suffering.

You throw your blanket off with an annoyed grunt.

You’re so done. Beyond gone.

You stomp across your room in your stupid big shirt and even stupider thong, muttering curses under your breath. Fists clenched. Eyes narrowed. You reach the door. Breathe.

And open it.

Immediately, a body drops to the floor.

Romance, apparently, had been sitting right against the door. Probably with his ear pressed to it. Definitely waiting to ambush you with some stupid line or desperate plea. Instead?

Now he’s laid out on the hardwood, one leg awkwardly folded under him, hand still up like he’s trying to casually greet someone if u know what I mean.

His head turns. His eyes lift.

And there you are.

Standing over him.

Towering.

In nothing but your big shirt.

And your thong.

And his face is exactly level with the sacred, forbidden place between your thighs.

Romance gasps.

Like, literally gasps.

He’s not even trying to be subtle about it. You watch the awe crash over his face like a wave—lips parting, pupils dilating, body going completely slack on your floor. Utterly starstruck.

You don’t even cover yourself. You just blink down at him, tired. So, so tired. “Are you done?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are still locked on the space where your thighs part. You swear you can see the popcorn pop from his eyes.

“ROMANCE.”

He blinks.

“—Huh?”

“Get off my floor.”

He doesn’t move.

Behind him, leaning coolly against the hallway wall, Abby is just watching. Arms crossed. When he sees your eyes flick over to him, he raises a brow and smiles.

“Hey, cupcake.”

You step over Romance’s splayed body—he whimpers, actually whimpers as you do, and you don’t even ask questions anymore—and plop down onto your bed.

“Alright.” you mutter. “What do you want?”

Abby shrugs and walks in. He flops down beside you, his weight making the mattress dip, knees spread, like this is his bedroom too and you’re just the guest.

Romance finally drags himself off the floor, but not before another try of sneaking one last look under your shirt. He gets an angry look from you for that. Not that he minds. Probably because of it.

Then he slides onto the bed too, flopping dramatically across the mattress. His arm brushes yours. His skin’s warm. His head lolls onto your shoulder and he sighs, dreamy.

You should tell them to leave. You should throw them out. But they’re warm. They’re here. And for once, they’re not demanding, or teasing (well, not a lot), or plotting.

They just… wanted to be around you.

They’re not here to flirt.

They’re not even here to torture you, mess with your head, or demand information through grinning teeth and “accidental” touches.

They’re just… here.

With you.

And they don’t know how to do it.

Romance, still curled at your side like he’s never sat this close to another living thing without grinding against it, shifts and says:

“So, uh… how do you feel about… blood?”

You blink. Look at him.

He blinks too.

Abby chokes on a laugh. “Dude. No.”

“What? That’s a conversation starter.”

“That’s a fucking threat, man.”

Romance frowns. “I’m trying.”

You sigh. Push his forehead gently back with two fingers. “You sound like you’re trying to eat me.”

Romance’s eyes sparkle. “Would that work?”

“NO.”

“…Okay but if I said it softer—”

“Romance.”

“Alright.”

They fall into silence again. Not the heavy kind. The awkward kind. The what do we say now kind.

And it hits you:

These ancient, powerful demons who’ve probably fought gods, torn souls from bodies, destroyed empires—don’t know how to have a normal conversation.

They’re smart in ways that count when there’s fire and blood and strategy.

But here? In a bedroom?

Absolutely no idea what they’re doing.

They don’t say it outright—god forbid they ever just say what they want—but it becomes clear pretty quickly: they didn’t come in here to grope you, tease you, or steal your panties for some demented demon ritual. (Although if you left them out, you’re pretty sure at least two of them would still risk it.)

No, they just… wanted to hang out.

“So… do you, uh… eat?” Romance asks, voice unsure, like he’s never asked a real question before and isn’t sure he’s doing it right. “Like, for fun?”

“…What?”

Abby snorts.

Romance frowns. “You know. Like… just… eat? Even if you’re not, like, starving?”

But his face is earnest. So serious. So confused.

You realize it’s a genuine question.

They’re trying.

Clumsily. Awkwardly. But really trying to have a normal, human conversation with you.

And failing.

So painfully failing.

Abby adds something next, equally off the rails: “Do you… sleep flat?”

“Like, on your back?” Romance says, suddenly invested.

You blink twice. “Do I what?”

Abby shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just wondering.”

This isn’t torture. This isn’t manipulation. This is… two demon boys who don’t know how to people.

They’ve been around humans before. Of course they have. They’ve scared them, maybe seduced a few. But this? Not a chance for them.

“I can teach you.” you say softly, watching them both lift their heads like dogs hearing a treat bag crinkle.

Abby’s brows arch. “Teach us what?”

You smile, gentle and a little mocking. “How to talk to people. Like… humans.”

Romance sits up, leaning in like you’ve just told him the meaning of life. “You’d do that?”

You shrug. “You want to know, don’t you?”

They nod.

“Okay.” you say, folding your legs under you and facing them fully. “First step, small talk. Start with something simple. Like ‘what’s your name,’ or ‘what’s your favorite color.’”

Romance blinks. “…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That feels stupid.”

“That’s the point.” you say. “It breaks the ice.”

Abby leans in now, elbows on his knees, studying your face. “Alright. You’re the expert. Let’s see it.”

You smile sweetly. “Ask me something.”

Romance clears his throat. “…What’s your name?”

You grin. “You already know my name.”

He glares. “I’m practicing.”

“Okay, okay.” you laugh. “Try again.”

He nods solemnly. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“What’s your favorite… animal?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Hmm… cats, maybe.”

Abby is watching you with a rare softness. “…Do another one.”

“Alright.” You think. “Ask about hobbies. What do they like to do in their spare time.”

Romance cocks his head. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“I like…” You pause. “Stand up paddling. SUP. Have you ever heard of that?”

Both of them stare at you.

“…S’what now?” Abby finally asks.

“SUP. It’s like a big board. You stand on it. Paddle across water. Lakes, the ocean, whatever.”

“That’s… real?” Romance asks.

You nod, grinning. “Very real. I love it.”

They both just… watch you. And not in a gross way. Not even in that I want to undress you with my eyes way Romance usually leans into.

They’re watching you like you’re the moon. Like you just said something impossibly beautiful, and they don’t know what to do with it.

“If you want to talk to a human girl—or anyone really—you start by asking something normal. Like… what music they like. Or what they had for breakfast.”

They both blink. That’s it. Just blink.

“…You ask people what they ate?” Abby asks, genuinely confused.

You nod. “Small talk.”

Romance looks concerned. “Isn’t that just a weird way to track someone’s dietary weaknesses?”

You groan. “No, it’s not about poison, oh my god.”

They watch you like children learning how to hold a crayon.

You soften.

Okay. So they’re terrible at this. But they’re trying. In their own… wrong way.

And that—that does something to you.

So you sit back against your headboard, legs tucked under you, and begin teaching them how to talk.

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “When you want to talk to someone, especially someone you… like” you choose your words carefully “you ask about things they care about. Things that make them light up. Memories. Hobbies.”

Abby raises a hand.

You squint. “Yes, muscle-for-brains?”

He grins. “What if the thing I care about is you?”

You groan, but can’t quite hide your smile.

Romance leans in closer. “Okay, okay—so like, I should ask you… what makes you happy?”

“Exactly.” you say, stunned he got it. “That’s actually… yeah. That’s right.”

He beams. And it’s annoyingly beautiful. His eyes crinkle. His lips curve.

“Damn, I’m good.” he says proudly.

“Don’t get cocky.”

Too late.

You look between the two of them and sigh again. But this time, there’s something warmer in your chest. Like… pity, almost. But gentler. Familiar. Like watching stray cats try to figure out how to meow at the right pitch to get someone to feed them.

“Alright.” you say. “Let’s practice. Abby, ask me something a normal person would ask someone they like.”

Abby sits up a little straighter.

He thinks. Really thinks. You can almost see the gears creaking in his skull.

Then, with all the confidence in the world:

“If you were an animal, would you let me ride you—”

“Try again.”

“Okay. Fine. Uhh…” His expression softens just enough that it surprises you. “What’s the best thing that’s happened to you this year?”

You pause.

Then blink.

Huh.

“That’s actually… really sweet.” you murmur.

Romance nods. “Yeah, man.”

You smile. And you answer, just a little. Just enough to let them practice. They listen. Like, really listen. And when you give them a pointer—“don’t interrupt,” “smiling helps,” “use their name sometimes”—they actually nod, soaking it up like sponges, eyes wide, brains buzzing.

Romance, who usually can’t keep his eyes above chest level, is just… listening. Watching your mouth move. His hands still for once.

Abby, isn’t smiling now. He’s watching. And when you catch him doing it, he doesn’t look away.

“Okay.” you say after a small breath, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you glance between them—two demons sitting awkwardly on your bed, desperately trying to look casual and not like they’re both on the verge of falling in love with the same girl. “Now it’s your turn to answer.”

Romance perks up immediately, cocky little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ask me anything.”

Abby just nods, one arm slung lazily over his knee.

“Alright.” you say, drawing in a breath. “What’s your favorite color?”

Romance: “Red.”

Abby: “Black.”

You blink. “Alright. What’s your favorite food?”

Romance immediately: “Whatever you’re cooking, baby.”

You shove him lightly, biting back a smile. “Seriously.”

Abby hums, thinking. “I had pizza once. It was… stupid good.”

You blink. “You’ve had pizza?”

“I’ve been around.”

You try not to picture that. The demon boys—scattered across decades, slipping in and out of cities, tasting food for the sake of curiosity, hunger, or just to feel something. It’s weirdly intimate, knowing that some of their experiences are so… ordinary. And still out of reach.

“And you?” you ask Romance.

He leans in a little. Not to flirt, not this time. Just… leaning. Like he wants to be closer to whatever this is.

“I remember once,” he says slowly. “there was this stall at a market in… I don’t know, Prague maybe? Early 1800s. Meat pies. They were greasy. Burned my tongue. I liked that.”

You study him for a second. The way his lashes lower just a touch.

“How long ago was that?” you ask gently.

He shrugs. “A while.”

You nod.

Abby watches you with quiet eyes. He hasn’t said much. Maybe because he doesn’t know how. He’s all strength, sure, but even now you can see it—that lost-boy softness under his armor. The way his shoulders settle just a little when he looks at you.

So you ask him something next. “What do you like to do for fun?”

He snorts. “Fun?”

You nod, a small smile on your lips. “Yeah. Not fighting. Not seducing. Not soul-selling. Fun.”

He looks down, thinking hard. And it kind of breaks your heart that it’s hard.

Romance takes over. “He likes lifting heavy shit.”

“I like punching Romance.” Abby mutters.

You laugh. “That’s a hobby?”

Abby finally meets your eyes. “It is when he squeals like that.”

“Bitch.” Romance murmurs, shoving him, and you giggle.

They’re not just bad at human conversation. They’re bad at being human. Period.

Somewhere between the centuries of war and death and demon deals and killing things, they forgot. They forgot how to talk without needing something. How to touch without taking. How to exist without destroying.

And it shows.

It shows in the questions they ask. In how slow they talk. In the way Romance stares at your lips a little too long, not because he’s being a flirt but because he’s trying to figure out how you make words sound so soft. In the way Abby looks down when you smile, like it’s too bright, too much, like he’s not worthy of being seen by something that pure.

They’re so old. You feel it.

Not in their faces. Not in their bodies. They’re still stupidly hot, of course but, they’re tired.

So tired.

You wonder when the last time was they sat on a bed just to talk. You wonder if they even remember what normal feels like. You wonder if—

“You alright?” Romance asks suddenly, tilting his head, brushing his knuckles against your knee.

You blink, coming back to now. “Yeah. I just… I was thinking.”

You don’t blame them. Not really. Even after everything. Even after the kidnapping, the torture, the mind games, the way they keep you like a pet in a house you can’t escape. Because you see them now. A little clearer.

You’ve always been too soft for fucked up things.

“What else?” Abby asks, voice quiet now.

“Ask someone what they love.” you say, swallowing a lump in your throat. “That’s a good one. What they love doing. What makes them feel like themselves.”

And the room goes still. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… quiet. Like they’re both thinking the same thing.

That they don’t know the answer.

That maybe they haven’t felt like themselves in a long, long time.

And you sit there between them, quietly wondering… if demons can fall in love the way humans do.

And if so—

Are they starting to?

You sit back, resting your palms on your lap, the hem of your oversized shirt draping over your thighs.

“You guys are actually really fun, you know?” you say, words a bit shaky from the weight of your honesty. “I know that’s not the goal here or whatever, and I know none of us asked to be in this whole situation, but… you’re funny. And weird. And charming.”

Romance’s mouth opens like he’s about to make a joke out of that, but nothing comes out. Just this little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Abby looks surprised. Not stunned. Just… touched. Like maybe he hasn’t heard a compliment that didn’t involve his biceps since the civil war.

You glance down at your knees, then back up, slowly. “I mean it. You make me laugh. And you make me feel… less alone in this, I guess. And this—” you wave your hand in the space between you “—this is communication, too.”

They both blink.

Romance squints slightly. “What is?”

“This.” You gesture again. “What I just did. Sharing feelings. Being honest. Not in some dramatic, cry-on-the-floor way, just… expressing something real. It’s a kind of language.”

“Oh.” Abby says slowly. “So that counts?”

You nod. “That is communication. Just like when someone tells you what they like, or don’t like. Just like when they laugh at your jokes. It’s all part of… understanding someone. And being understood. I think you can be good at this.” you say softly. “You’re just… rusty. Out of practice. Maybe no one ever taught you how.”

They’re quiet again.

You glance toward the clock. Then flop back on your bed with a sigh, resting your head against the pillows.

“I’m also communicating,” you say after a beat, one arm thrown dramatically over your eyes. “that I’m tired.”

They both blink.

Romance points at you. “That’s communication?”

“Mhm. This one’s going to kick you both out in a second.”

But they don’t move. Not yet.

They just sit there—on your bed, in your space, in your warmth—looking at you like maybe the last few hundred years didn’t make sense until this exact second.

Romance’s brows pull together like he’s got something stuck between his teeth—something that might be a thought, or a feeling, or both. “So like… how do you know when you’re communicating too much?”

You raise an eyebrow. “When the other person stops listening.”

They both nod slowly, absorbing that.

Then, as if choreographed:

Romance: “I’m listening.”

Abby: “Me too.”

You groan. “I’m tired. This is me saying leave. This is me—communicating.”

Romance puts a hand to his chest. “I respect that.”

And then lies back beside you on the bed.

Abby follows, sitting against your headboard.

You sit up halfway, eyes narrowed. “This is not respecting anything.”

Romance grins, eyes already closed. “Just communicating how comfy your bed is.”

Abby lets out a deep breath. “Communicating how I might nap.”

But you don’t tell them to go again. Not yet. Because maybe you like teaching them. Maybe you like the feeling of giving something small and kind to creatures who’ve only known blood.

Maybe… this is your own form of rebellion.

So you reach over, grab your pillow, and throw it over Romance’s face.

…(cutie timeskip again guys how do I make it look good w this form of writing paragraphs)

They had slept in your bed. You had every intention of kicking them out. You swore you would. And then… warmth. Just a little shoulder pressed into your back. A breath falling slow and steady beside your neck. A chuckle that rumbled into your spine. It was nice.

They didn’t even try anything, for once. Though Romance had definitely tried to stretch that definition when he asked you, point blank, “so… does spooning count if there’s tongue involved?” He got a pillow to the face for that, obviously. But otherwise that, they just stayed close. They liked you. You could feel it in the way Romance stilled when you shifted in your sleep, like he was ready to grab you if you fell off the bed. You could feel it in the way Abby woke up before you and pulled the blanket a little higher over your body, like his muscles had finally found a use other than threatening or flexing.

It was… hard to process, actually.

Romance curled into your back, breathing softly against your neck and humming now and then like he was thinking of a song only he could hear. Abby had been your wall, broad and solid, warmth radiating off of him. You didn’t speak much. None of you did. There wasn’t really anything to say.

But god, it had been nice.

You’d woken up warm too, with one leg flopped over Romance’s hips, Abby’s hand lazily curled around your wrist even in his sleep. Neither of them commented on it in the morning. Just… yawned, stretched, and let you walk away.

That was two days ago.

You don’t let yourself think about it too long. Here you are again, crossing through the living room on your way to the sauna.

You’ve got a towel tossed over your shoulder, a bottle of water in one hand, and your flip-flops make quiet thwack-thwack sounds on the floor. You’re in your comfiest shorts and a top that might be a little too fitted, but you’re past caring. It’s your me-time.

You glance up as you pass Baby, slouched on the corner of the couch like a little prince. He looks like he doesn’t give a single fuck about your existence, and yet… his eyes are locked on you. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But he’s listening. You know it. You don’t bother saying hi. Neither does he. That’s the rhythm between you two.

Jinu’s in the kitchen, doing something quietly, back turned.

A tug on your leg.

You freeze mid-step.

There’s a hand on the fabric of your shorts, right near your thigh, tugging just enough to make you stumble. You turn slowly, your towel sliding slightly down your shoulder.

Mystery.

He’s curled on the couch, one leg up, looking up at you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

And your heart? It does this stupid thump thing, because this is Mystery. The one who growls more than he speaks. Who communicates in grunts, body checks, and the occasional perfectly-timed, absolutely terrifying death stare.

God. Okay. You breathe out a laugh that comes out a little breathless. He’s trying. He’s actually—trying.

“It was… fine.” you say softly, eyes narrowing just a little. “Yours?”

He opens his mouth, pauses, seems to forget what words are—and then his head darts sideways, toward the hallway.

You follow his gaze.

Romance and Abby are standing just far enough down the hall to be out of sight for you, but not for Mystery. Both of them pressed flat to the wall, not even hiding the way they’re watching like proud moms.

Romance gives a big, exaggerated thumbs up.

Abby nods like he just watched his kid graduate college.

You look back to Mystery. He hasn’t moved. Still holding the edge of your shorts, still looking like you might eat him if he messed this up.

Oh. Oh.

They taught him.

They used the shit you taught them and passed it along. Mystery, who probably had never asked someone about their day without also threatening to eat them, had practiced this. Had agreed to it. Had tried.

Your chest tightens with something warm. Too warm.

“It was actually a little boring.” you say, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “I read. Napped. Thought about breaking a few things. But now I’m going to the sauna.”

Mystery nods, slow and satisfied.

And then, miracle of miracles, he lets go of your shorts.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling too much. “That was small talk, you know. You did it.”

He tilts his head. “Was it good?”

“Yeah.” you say, genuinely. “It was really good.”

Mystery leans back, curling his leg underneath himself again. You watch as his fingers twitch, like maybe he’s already mentally rehearsing what he’ll say next time.

You shoot one last glance down the hall.

Romance is clapping silently. Abby does a little victorious fist-pump before turning and vanishing from sight.

You keep walking.

Since that, life had been… weirdly manageable for the last couple of days. You’d found a rhythm: dodging Mystery’s curiosity, swatting Romance away with wooden spoons, pretending not to notice when Abby flexed on purpose just because you happened to be walking by, letting Jinu pretend he wasn’t watching you. Even Baby, asshole that he was, started giving you something like respectful silence. Not kindness—but he hadn’t licked your spoon just to piss you off in like, three days. A record.

Until you got your period.

You sat there on the edge of your bed for a full five minutes, blinking slowly into the void, your body already starting to get that annoying cold-sweat feeling. You debated it. Debated and debated it until there was nothing left but the obvious.

You have to ask.

You have to ask Jinu to go buy you tampons.

Because he is the only one out of the five who would a) not flirt with you during this humiliating mission, and b) actually come back with the right size and not lube or condoms just to be funny. Romance would definitely buy you a vibrating tampon “for the experience.” Abby would get lost in the aisle. Baby wouldn’t go. Mystery would growl at the store clerk and end up on a watch list.

So. Jinu it is.

You pull on a hoodie over your too-large sleep shirt, dragging your feet down the hall. His door is half open, of course—he has that habit, always just slightly ajar.

You knock anyway.

“Jinu?”

“Come in.”

You do, hands wringing at the sleeves of your hoodie, eyes not quite meeting his. He was sitting on the bed, elbows on knees, phone in one hand. Calm. Alert.

That bigass cat/tiger is next to him, watching you. You like that fatass but haven’t really had the chance to interact with it yet. It comes up to you sometimes. You talk to it. It walks away. That’s the usual rhythm.

“Hey.” you say, almost sweet. “So, um. This is kind of awkward, but…”

Jinu just raises a brow. “You need something.”

“Yeah.” you say. “Kind of a… girl thing. I mean, obviously. I just—could you maybe go out and get me—”

“You’re bleeding.” he says, not unkindly. Just… factually.

You pause. “Oh. So you believe me?”

Yeah, you might have tried to pull the period card a few times to escape. Obviously, it never worked.

He sets the phone aside. “I can smell it.”

“Oh.”

Jinu just looks at you, serene as always, and adds, “We all can.”

FUCK YOUR LIFE<33

You groan into your hands, your entire body folding in on itself. “That’s disgusting.” you mumble.

“It’s biology.” Jinu replies.

You peek up at him through your fingers. “So what, everyone’s been just… casually aware?”

“Probably. They haven’t said anything.”

“Oh good.”

“I’ll go.” he said, already reaching for his jacket.

You exhale, finally letting your body slump against the doorframe in relief. “Thanks, Jinu.”

“You’re welcome.” he says. “Take something for the pain while I’m gone.“

“I owe you.”

And then he left, just like that.

Jinu, please come back fast.

You made it back downstairs somehow. You didn’t know how. You disassociated at some point around the base of the staircase and came back to yourself in the kitchen.

Of course, that’s when Baby walks in, gives you a once-over, snorts, and keeps walking. Not a word. Not a single syllable. Just that awful, knowing look. The smugness.

Followed by Mystery, who tilts his head slightly in your direction and does that sniffling thing you now recognized was NOT a cold.

You want to cry.

And then.

Then came the worst.

Romance.

Leaning on the fridge.

“Y’know,” he said casually. “some cultures think it’s a sacred time.”

You don’t even look up.

“I will hit you with a tampon. Don’t test me.”

“Do I get a choice in where?”

“Romance.”

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Just saying. Nature’s got you glowing.”

You reach for the nearest spoon.

He backs off immediately, chuckling all the way down the hall.

Abby, mercifully, hadn’t shown up yet. Probably off lifting a car or doing squats with Mystery on his back. That was good. Abby was not known for his subtlety. You did not need to hear anything about “female cycles” in that big golden retriever voice of his.

Jinu, true to his word, returned an hour later.

He told you he asked a lady there and fans followed him around.

God.

Fuck him for being good at everything.

This life was ridiculous.

But the heating pad worked wonders.

Anyways, quick topic change,

Humans were foolish. That had always been true.

Weak, irrational, predictable, full of desires they couldn’t control and attachments they couldn’t explain. Obsessed with meaning, choking on dreams. And the boys had learned that the hard way, over and over again. Humans screamed and cried and made art and made love and still, in the end, they died as soft and breakable as they had arrived.

So yes. They were above most humans. Far above.

They couldn’t afford to love humans. Not anymore. Because loving something that would die before you even began to understand it? That was suicide on a hundred year timer.

But you made silly expressions when the stove was too hot. You muttered sarcastic threats when they teased you. You tried to cut fruit perfectly symmetrical. You thought of everyone else before yourself and cursed yourself for it later. You were soft in a way that didn’t weaken you, but opened you instead. You spoke gently when they were awkward. You taught them things without mocking them. You saw the worst of them—kidnapping you, locking you up, testing you—and you were still nice. You helped them learn how to ask, “How was your day?” And maybe, for you, it was just a moment. A kindness. A lesson you offered like a flower you didn’t mind giving away.

But for them?

That was the first goddamn flower they’d held in centuries.

Romance told himself that it was just lust. At first.

Of course it was. He was Romance. He lusted. He loved. He prowled.

He would’ve hit it, honestly. He’d hit it seven times in one night in a king-sized bed with candles and jazz and let you ride his face into the afterlife.

It had started with your face. Sure it did. He’d been watching you since the night he dragged you out of that shower, your mouth open in shock and your wet hair dripping down your back as he told you, so gently, so intimately, to speak or be stolen.

You hadn’t spoken. He’d never loved you more.

That was new.

And exciting.

Abby, sweet dumb Abby with muscles for brains and that golden glow that always made you sigh.

He didn’t get his feelings. He didn’t try to.

He’d been worshipped before. Respected. Feared. Adored. But he started standing taller around you. Tried to be funnier. Nicer. Lighter.

He just liked seeing you move. You were so small, so alive. Tbh he missed when you used to run. That first week? When you’d slip out of your room in the middle of the night, sprinting barefoot down the hall? When he’d catch you, laughing like a fucking idiot, spinning you around while you kicked and screamed and cursed him?

Yeah. He missed that.

He liked what he liked, and what he liked was you.

He knew that when you smiled—like, really smiled—it made him want to do pushups until the world ended.

And that he couldn’t say no to you. Ever. Not even once.

He didn’t have the words for it, not the way Jinu or Romance would. But he knew this: you made him feel full in a way taking souls never did.

Mystery didn’t process it like the others. He just… stared.

You were interesting. You moved differently. You didn’t fear him, even when you should have. Even when he growled, bit, scratched—tested your patience—you treated him like a person. Not a weapon. Not a dog. Not a threat.

He followed you without meaning to now. Watched you stir your coffee. Tried to figure out why your heartbeat changed when you read romance books. Sniffed at your shampoo when you walked by.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it.

And when you answered his awkward “How was your day?”—his first ever attempt at small talk—he felt something shift in him. Something… warm.

Something that hadn’t existed in him for a very long time.

Baby would never say anything.

Ever.

Not to you, not to them, not even to himself.

But he watched. He always watched.

You were good. A much better person than him.

He still wouldn’t thank you. Still wouldn’t talk about it. But when he walked by you in the hallway and bumped your shoulder with his as lightly as possible?

That was something.

He didn’t talk to you much, no. But he listened. He always listened. And the fact that he’d now killed three spiders for you without a word?

Total love language.

Jinu… Jinu didn’t fall.

He chose.

And in you, he saw something—bright, determined, stubborn and sweet. Something unselfish.

He didn’t think it was love. Not yet.

But it was something.

And in all the centuries he’d walked this cursed earth, there hadn’t been many somethings worth keeping.

You? You might be the first.

They were demons.

Older than a lot of religions. Tired of the cycles. So tired.

And then came sweet, stubborn, soft hearted you.

They had no business loving you.

What could a human ever offer them?

What did you matter, with your little hands and your sleep-stuffed eyes and your soft, stubborn heart that kept beating even when they broke it open a little?

You didn’t even fight them anymore. Not the way you used to, at least. There was no more throwing things at their heads, or trying to crawl through the vents (twice, and Mystery bit you the second time), or crying to be let go in that hoarse, desperate way that used to make Abby’s jaw clench.

Now you woke up quietly. You padded around the apartment with tired, careful feet. You cooked. You spoke softly. You answered questions with dry sarcasm and patience that stretched longer than they deserved.

You were sweet.

Too sweet.

And that sweetness did something to them that centuries hadn’t.

But how long can they keep that to themselves?

~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh #kpdh x reader #kpdh x you #saja boys #saja boys x reader #the saja boys #jinu kpop demon hunters #jinu kpdh #abby kpdh #abby kpop demon hunters #romance kpop demon hunters #romance kpdh #baby kpop demon hunters #baby kpdh #mystery kpop demon hunters #mystery kpdh

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pascalissmoked · 2 months ago

Text

-Thighriding with Joel-

cw: thighriding, dry humping, hinting at sex, joel being a brooding mess, spicy time with grumpy joel basically

a/n: just a short drabble bc joel makes me feel funny things 😋

Joel had been in his brooding, lonely self for the past few days now. Stiff posture, arms folded, that look in his eye like the world had personally pissed him off. He hadn’t said much all day — barely a grunt during patrol, less than that when you tried to joke around.

You knew that look. He was chewing on something he wouldn’t spit out.

So you decided to make it worse.

You walked right up to him in the quiet of his living room, hands cold from the snow, cheeks flushed from the wind. He didn’t even look at you when you walked in. Just kept staring at the fire like it had offended him somehow. You kicked the door shut behind you, boots thudding on the floor, and leaned against the wall, watching him.

“Long day?” you asked lightly.

No answer.

You moved closer, slow. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t move. Just clenched his jaw tighter. You��d seen him like this before — wound up so tight he could snap steel in half. The only difference was now… he wasn’t pushing you away.

So you pushed first.

You stepped between his legs, palms on his thighs, and leaned down until your mouth brushed his ear. “You gonna keep sulking like a damn ghost, or are you gonna do something about the way you’ve been looking at me all week?”

That got his attention.

Joel’s hand shot up, gripping your hip like it was instinct. Not rough, but final — like now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

“You got a mouth on you,” he muttered, voice low and gritty.

You smiled against his jaw. “You’ve been ignoring me for three days. Figured I’d give it something to talk about.”

He finally looked at you — really looked. And the heat in that gaze made your stomach flip. His pupils were blown, breathing shallow, hands twitching like he was holding back something brutal.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he said, more warning than protest.

You straddled his lap in one smooth motion, letting your weight sink into him. You felt the shift in his body — his breath hitch, his thigh tense under you, the sharp exhale against your neck. “Yeah, I do.”

Joel’s hands slid up your thighs, rough palms dragging slow, deliberate. “You come in here, wearin’ that little smirk... sittin’ on me like you fuckin’ own me…”

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, grinding against him. “Maybe you’ve been mine since the first time I caught you starin’ when I bent over that fence.”

He growled — an actual, low growl that rumbled in his chest. His hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, just enough to make your breath catch.

“You don’t get to talk like that and walk away.”

“Then stop me,” you dared.

Joel surged up, mouth crashing into yours — all teeth and heat and frustration finally breaking through. He kissed you like a punishment, like a promise, like he’d been starving for it and hated himself for wanting it.

You ground down harder, and he groaned — deep, almost pained.

Your hips moved on instinct now, chasing every ounce of pressure, every twitch of his thigh, every time his grip shifted to hold you down tighter, rougher.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Fuckin’ take it.”

You were so close it hurt. And Joel knew it — knew every breath that caught in your throat, every tremble in your thighs. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.

“C’mon, baby. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

That was all it took.

You came with a shudder and a whimper, fingers fisting the front of his shirt. Joel held you through it, breathing hard, eyes locked on you like he was watching something sacred — or maybe something sinful.

“You needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling your hips harder against his. “Could’ve had this days ago if you’d just said the word.”

You bit his lip. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His grip on you tightened. “You got five seconds to decide if you want this soft or if you want it the way I’ve been thinkin’ about since you showed up in this town.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Ruin me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened — like something inside him snapped free. And just before he dragged you down again, before his hands shoved under your shirt like he couldn’t stand another second of distance, he said—

“You fuckin’ asked for it, sweetheart.”

And you were so glad you did.

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starmaidengarden · 1 month ago

Note

Hey so you know Floyd, Riddle, Jack howl and Epel got their own tsums. Their s/o has a weird calming affect on the tsum that was previously rolling around like crazy:, Floyd tsum squeezes his s/o arm and his s/o’s just like “boop -*pats it gently * awwe. Not too tight ok. You can sit here with me”. S/o peels it off their arm and sets it on their lap And the floyd tsum doesn’t know what to do with itself.?

— floyd: x gn!reader. no cw/tw. established relationship. dividers: uzmacchiato.

The Lounge was anything but peaceful. Floyd's tsum zipped and bounced around like living marbles on the floor, particularly a certain Floyd tsum—a chaotic blur of soft fabric and unrestrained energy. Small and squishy, yes—but it rolled like a cannonball, bit like a plush piranha, and had a disturbingly strong grip for something made of cotton and pure chaos. It bounced off walls. It chewed on chair legs. It once got tangled in Jade’s shoelaces and refused to let go until it was bribed with a shrimp-shaped keychain.

It was, in every possible way, a tiny, adorable disaster. “Floyd, get it off the chandelier,” Azul hissed one morning as the tsum swung above the lounge in a victorious display of acrobatics. Floyd, sitting upside down on a couch with a lazy grin, only laughed. “He’s just havin’ fun~! Look at him go~!” Then you walked in. You had barely stepped into the room when the tsum, mid-swing, let out a high-pitched squeaky noise and launched itself off the chandelier like a fuzzy missile.

It clamped onto your arm like a baby squid, limbs locked tight, making a delighted little chirring sound as it clung. You blinked down at it, unbothered. “Well hello there, lil’ buddy.” The tsum gave you another affectionate death grip. “Too tight, now. Easy.” You gently patted its squishy plush head. “Boop. There we go. You can hang out, but let’s not cut off circulation, okay?” Carefully, you peeled the tsum off your arm like a stubborn sticker and set it in your lap.

It blinked up at you. Then it blinked again. And did nothing. No biting. No rolling. No screaming. Just… sat there. Motionless. It was as if the physical embodiment of Floyd’s chaotic spirit had been sedated by the simple power of gentle affection. You began stroking its head, and the tsum made a little purring sound—then slumped into your lap with a heavy plush sigh. Utterly content. Floyd watched the whole thing with a slow blink. “...You broke him,” he finally said, sounding both amused and mildly sad.

You. Sitting on the couch. Calm as ever. His tsum. Usually a squeaking blur… now peacefully curled up in your lap, squished into your hoodie like a sleepy gremlin. “…Whatcha do to him?” Floyd tilted his head. “He ain’t even bitin’ no one.” “I just gave him a pat,” you said with a smile. “He got all cuddly after that.”

The tsum gave a sleepy chirp of agreement. Floyd blinked. Then burst out laughing. “AHAHA—wow~ Even mini-me likes you more than me now?” resting his head against your shoulder. The tsum immediately gave a grumpy squeak and attempted to shove him off with its stubby body. Floyd smirked down at his own tsum. “You little copycat, stealing my Shrimpy.” The tsum squeaked again, curling tighter into your lap. It was now full-on glaring at Floyd, which only made him cackle louder. “Jealous of me?” he teased. “I am you, y’know!”

Floyd grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “Tch. Don’t let him fool ya~ I can be squishier. Wanna see?” Before you could respond, Floyd had wrapped himself around you like a lanky human blanket, arms draped over your shoulders, chin resting atop your head. The tsum let out a squeaky protest, trying to reclaim its place.“Too late,” Floyd murmured, smirking against your hair. “I called dibs first.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd x reader #twst floyd #twst fluff

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ama3003 · 1 month ago

Note

could I request a Bucky x Reader where they both have secret crushes on each other, but Bucky is super cold, quiet, and avoids her because he doesn’t know how to talk to her and thinks he’ll mess it up? He mostly just stares. Reader (probs another hero) is convinced he hates her and feels hurt, and one day Bucky accidentally overhears her crying or venting about how rejected she feels. Some emotional tension and hurt/comfort would be amazing.

The Quiet Between Us

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes! Thank you for your request!!! I had so much fun writing! Hope you enjoy!

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Falling for Bucky was the easy part. The silence that came after—the distance, the rejection—hurt the most.

A.N: I know it's been a minute--thank you for your patience. I’ve been dealing with some serious writer’s block lately, and honestly, I just didn’t know what to write. I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things and trying to work through all your amazing requests as best as I can!

You always wanted to be part of something bigger.

Not in the way that meant headlines or medals or praise. You just wanted belonging. A place where your name wasn’t just whispered in fear or forgotten entirely. A place where you mattered—not for what you could do, but for who you were.

More than anything, you wanted a family.

The kind that stays. The kind that sees all your sharp edges and doesn’t run away. People who offer soft places to land after the world has chewed you up and spit you out.

You never thought you’d find it in the Red Room. But life doesn’t always make sense, and even in that cold, brutal place, something warm found its way in. Yelena.

You both were really close until Natasha's death. You hadn’t seen her since the funeral. Not until the day Alexei barreled through your apartment door like a brick wall in red spandex, muttering something about Valentina and needing your help. You tried to say no. He didn’t give you the chance.

And somehow… just like that… you were part of something new.

The New Avengers.

You didn’t feel like one. Not really. You still flinched at loud noises. Still checked the exits in every room. You were trained to disappear, not to stand in the light.

Now? You were under it.

It was overwhelming—being seen. Being known. But at least you weren’t alone.

You have a family. Yelena found her way back to you. You both would sit on the kitchen floor at 2 a.m. with melting ice cream and old music playing from the speaker.

Alexei was a walking headache, but his heart was oddly pure. He treated you like his own, even if he had the emotional range of a brick.

Walker taught you control. He wasn’t soft, but he was fair. He never looked at you like a weapon. He looked at you like someone trying.

Ava didn’t talk much. But when she did, her words hit deep. You’d sit with her on the roof and watch the lights blink in the distance, sharing quiet like it was something sacred.

Valentina was… complicated. But she never asked you to be anything but yourself. You weren't sure if she cared or if she just enjoyed your presence. Either way, she kept you close.

Then sweet, quiet Bob. You’d sit with him in the sunroom where he painted—messy, colorful things that didn’t make much sense to anyone but him.

And then… there was him.

Bucky Barnes.

You knew of him before you met him. The whispers. The ghost stories. The living weapon with a metal arm and a haunted past.

You didn’t expect to fall in love the second you saw him—but life never cared about your plans.

He was quieter than you imagined. And softer. Not soft in the way that made him weak—soft in the way that made you ache. Everything about him felt careful. Deliberate.

But when he looked at you? God. It was like time stopped.

You touched once. Just briefly. His fingers brushing your wrist after the fight with Sentry. He pulled you up and out of there. Your skin burned where he touched you—and not in a painful way. In a real way. Like something inside you had just… clicked.

You started to notice the little things. The way he waited for you at breakfast without saying it. The way his fingers would twitch toward yours like he was holding himself back. The way his voice softened when he said your name.

You started to let yourself believe he felt it too.

And then… he changed.

One day he was there—present, engaged, kind. The next, he was gone. Not physically, but emotionally. He avoided you. Stopped meeting your eyes. Conversations became one-word answers. He started taking different shifts. Leaving the room when you entered it.

At first, you told yourself you were imagining it. That he was just tired. Or overwhelmed.

But weeks passed. And the silence grew heavier.

You still have your new family. You still paint with Bob on Tuesdays and laugh with Yelena when she teases Walker too hard.

But there’s a hole in your chest where Bucky used to be.

You try to be strong. You’ve been through worse. You know how to survive without love.

But you don’t want to.

You just wanted someone to stay. To see the bruises under the surface and not flinch. To choose you when things got hard.

Maybe that was too much to hope for.

The team was spread across the common area—half on the couch, others in mismatched chairs and the edge of the coffee table.

You sat tucked into the far end of the couch, elbow resting on the armrest, staring blankly ahead—your mind somewhere else. Somewhere quieter.

“Y/N.”

You flinched at the sound of your name. Your head snapped up, heart skipping. Yelena was watching you from across the room, brows slightly drawn.

“Can you stay with us, please?” she said, giving you a soft smile. “This is important.”

You blinked, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She exchanged a look with Walker before continuing. “Val wants someone in Sam Wilson’s new group.”

That made everyone pause.

“She thinks they’re planning something bigger than they’re letting on,” Yelena added, pacing a little as she spoke. “We’ve been left out of too much lately. And she’s worried that we’re going to get blindsided. She wants us to be prepared. It could give us more credibility.”

The room fell into a tense hush.

Ava was the first to break it. “So… she wants one of us to spy?”

“Technically? She’d probably call it ‘intel gathering,’” Yelena replied, dryly. “But yeah. Someone would need to be on the inside. Get close. Listen.”

Walker frowned. “So… what, we’re voting someone off the island now?”

Yelena looked at you.

Your stomach dropped.

“She’s already picked,” Yelena said quietly. “Val thinks it should be Y/N.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“She said it makes the most sense. You’re the least visible. No PR trail. You’ve stayed in the shadows. You can slip in naturally, you’ll just have to pull the ‘I never fit in’ card She thinks the transition would be believable.”

You didn’t know what to say. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, some curious, some hesitant. But then—

“No.”

The word was sharp, sudden, and heavy.

Everyone turned.

Bucky stood stiff near the back wall, arms folded, his eyes locked—not on you—but on Yelena.

“She’s not doing it,” he said flatly.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“She’s not joining Sam’s group,” Bucky repeated, tone cold. “That’s not happening.”

Yelena raised a brow. “It’s not really your decision, Barnes.”

“She’s not doing it,” he said again, louder now. “She’s not playing double agent. She’s not pretending to be something she’s not. And she’s not putting herself in that kind of danger.”

Your heart started to thud against your chest.

You stood slowly. “Why the hell are you talking about me like I’m not here?”

Still, he wouldn’t look at you.

“Bucky, seriously,” Ava said cautiously, sensing the tension rising, “you’re kind of… overstepping—”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped, jaw tight. “This is a bad idea. I won’t sit here and let it happen.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you muttered, stepping forward. “What is your problem?”

He didn’t answer.

“Do you think I can’t handle it? That I’m what—fragile? Not cut out for this?”

Yelena’s voice cut in, trying to keep things from escalating. “She’s the best fit for this. That’s what Val said. And she wants to do it.”

“No,” Bucky said again, and this time there was something sharper under the surface—panic, maybe. “It’ll be someone else. Not her.”

You stared at him, eyes burning now.

“If you’ve got a problem with me taking this mission,” you said, voice rising, “then have the balls to say it to my face.”

His eyes flicked to you. Finally. Just for a second.

“I’m calling Val,” he said flatly. “This isn’t happening.”

That was it. The breaking point.

You stepped toward him. “Goddammit, Buck, look at me! You’re standing over there acting like you care—like you have a say in what I can and can’t do—but you won’t even look at me.”

The room had gone still. No one moved. The air felt thick.

His jaw clenched. His fists were curled tightly at his sides.

You dropped your voice, anger bleeding into hurt. “Why don’t you think I can do this? What is it really? Is it because I’m not good enough? Because I’m not you?”

He said nothing. His silence screamed louder than any insult could have.

You laughed bitterly, trying to hold it together. “You know what hurts the most? Not that you don’t believe in me. Not even that you’re trying to control this. It’s that I thought… I thought you saw me. This is the first time in weeks where you actually acknowledged my existence let alone actually talk to me. And now I realize you’ve just been looking past me the whole time.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a second—just a second—you saw something flicker there. Guilt. Fear. Maybe even something like regret.

But he didn’t say a word.

He just turned and walked out.

The door shut behind him like a punch to the chest.

You stood there, frozen in place. The silence in the room was deafening.

No one knew what to say.

You glanced at the others—Yelena’s mouth slightly open like she was holding back something, Ava looking uncomfortable, Bob frowning in that quiet way he always did, his sketchbook forgotten.

You swallowed hard, blinked quickly to keep the tears down, and ran a hand through your hair.

“I’ll do it,” you said, voice thin and sharp. “Tell Val I’m in.”

And then you turned, leaving the stunned silence behind you as you walked down the hall toward your room.

The door closed softly behind you.

But the ache in your chest didn’t.

You avoided Bucky.

He avoided you, too—but in the quiet way only he could. Slipping into rooms right after you’d left. Sitting on the opposite side of the table during meals. Eyes flickering to you, then away like it hurt to look.

But this time… you didn’t chase after him.

You were tired. Tired of caring so deeply only to be shut down like you didn’t matter. Like the moments you’d shared—those long glances, the quiet jokes, the almost-touches—were just in your head.

So you stopped hoping he’d say something. You stopped checking doorways for him, stopped waiting for your phone to light up with his name. He made it clear in that meeting. You were a liability to him. Not worth the risk.

You went through the motions: trained, ate, slept, locked yourself in your room for most of the day.

And now?

Now you were curled up in the sunroom with Bob, your head resting on your arms, your brush barely touching the canvas in front of you. He was working on something chaotic again—angry reds bleeding into deep purples, gold flicked across it like a desperate afterthought.

He didn’t ask why your eyes were glassy. Why your hands were shaking.

He just handed you a clean brush.

And for a little while, you let yourself just be. No pressure to explain the lump in your throat. No questions about your silence.

Just messy strokes. Quiet breath. Stillness.

Then came the tears.

They started slow—just a few that slipped down without permission. Then more. And more. Until you were shaking, tears falling so fast you had to put the brush down, covering your face with your sleeve.

Bob didn’t say anything. He just moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, warm and solid.

“It’s Bucky, isn’t it?” he murmured, rubbing your back. “He’s why you’re like this.”

You nodded, choking on the truth in your throat.

“I thought…” you started, swallowing hard, “I thought we were something. We were getting close. He made me think he felt something too.”

Bob listened.

“And then it’s like a switch flipped. Now he barely looks at me. I—I don’t even think he respects me as part of the team.”

You pulled away slightly, wiping your eyes. “He thinks I’m a mess. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid trying to play hero.”

“That’s not true,” Bob said quietly.

“I like him. A lot. More than I should. But this? I can’t keep feeling like this. Like I’m not enough for him to even talk to.”

There was silence.

“Maybe the mission will help,” you said after a while. “Some space. Maybe I’ll finally stop feeling this way.”

“Or maybe it’ll make it worse,” Bob said gently.

You let out a watery laugh. “Thanks. Really uplifting.”

“I mean, ice cream’s still on the table,” he offered with a small smile. “I’ll get Yelena.”

You nodded, trying to pull yourself back together.

What you don’t see—what neither of you notice—is the shadow outside the doorway. Listening.

Bucky.

He didn’t come here to eavesdrop. He came to talk to Bob. Because Bob was the only one who wouldn’t make it a big thing. The only one who might actually help him sort through the mess in his chest.

But he hadn’t expected you to be here.

He definitely hadn’t expected to hear you crying over him.

And now that he has, he can’t move. Can’t look away. Can’t unhear the words that are tearing him apart.

God, no. That wasn’t what he wanted.

He thought he was protecting you. He thought if he kept his distance, he wouldn’t ruin things—wouldn’t ruin you.

But instead, he’s the reason you’re crying into someone else’s shoulder.

He presses a hand to his chest, trying to ground himself. Trying not to panic.

He wants you. He’s always wanted you.

But wanting has never led to good things in his life. People he loves leave. Or die. Or get hurt.

And if he lets you in—really lets you in—what happens when you disappear too?

Still. As much as he wants to turn around, to pretend he didn’t hear any of it…

He walks in.

You freeze when you hear the door open.

Standing there like a ghost. Hands shoved in his pockets, face unreadable, but eyes… hurting.

“Can I talk to her?” he asked. His voice was quieter than usual. Almost unsure.

Bob looked at you. You hesitated, then gave a small nod.

Bob gave Bucky a hard look on his way out—something between be gentle and don’t screw this up—and closed the door behind him.

Silence.

You didn’t look at Bucky. Just grabbed a tissue and wiped your face.

“If you’re here to say I’m not ready again, just save it,” you said, voice rough. “I’m going on the mission. You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not here for that,” he said.

You stood, crossing your arms over your chest. “Then what? Here to tell me you were just looking out for the team? That it wasn’t personal?”

He flinched. “No. It was personal. That’s the problem.”

You blinked at him.

“I like you too,” he said suddenly, his voice almost breaking. “I do. I did. I have—since the beginning.”

You froze.

“What?” you whispered.

“I like you,” he said again, more softly this time. “A lot. And it scared the hell out of me.”

You stared at him, jaw clenched. “So you humiliate me? In front of everyone?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly. “I was trying to push you away.”

You laughed, cold and bitter. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I thought if I kept my distance, maybe it’d go away. Or maybe you’d move on. Because if you got too close—if you actually started to matter—and then something happened to you—” He cut himself off, eyes full of something broken. “I wouldn’t survive that.”

Your chest ached.

“You don’t get to decide how close I get,” you said tightly. “And you sure as hell don’t get to decide how strong I am. You don’t get to make me feel small just because you’re scared.”

“I know,” he said. “I know I messed up. I fucked it up completely. I was an idiot, and I hurt you, and I see that now. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—needed to say it.”

He stepped closer, hands trembling slightly.

“I see you,” he said. “You’re not weak. You’re not reckless. You’re one of the strongest people on this team and I had no right to act like you weren’t.”

You looked down, lip trembling.

“And I miss you,” he said quietly. “Every day I ignored you, I missed you. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was lose you.”

You didn’t speak.

“I don’t deserve you,” he added. “But I want to try. I want to make it right. Even if that means starting over. Even if that means starting as friends.”

Your voice came out small. “You really hurt me, Bucky.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll spend however long it takes proving I can be better.”

You looked up at him. He was watching you like you were something sacred. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed to breathe in your direction.

“I’m still going on the mission,” you said.

“I know.”

“But I’m coming back.”

“You better,” he said, a small, broken smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got months of groveling to do.”

“You do,” you said, voice softer now. “And I’m not making it easy.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You hesitated. “Friends first.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” he said. “As long as I get to be near you again.”

You sighed, exhaustion still heavy in your bones, but something in your chest—something warm—cracked through the ache like sunlight through storm clouds.

“You’re buying the ice cream,” you muttered, voice still thick but a little lighter.

Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Obviously.”

There was a pause. The kind of pause that held weight. Like both of you were standing at the edge of something fragile and real.

And then, without a word, he stepped forward.

Slowly. Cautiously.

He didn’t pull you into his chest or hold you too tightly like he used to—not yet. He just opened his arms.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

And then you stepped in.

His arms wrapped around you carefully, like you were still hurting—but like he wanted to be the one who helped carry it. You pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his breath catching a little as he held you like he was afraid to let go.

Not a romantic hug. Not yet.

But something even more intimate.

A promise.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again against your hair.

You didn’t answer, just closed your eyes and let yourself be held—for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. And for the first time in just as long, it didn’t feel like you were breaking.

It felt like the start of healing. Slow. Earned. Real.

****

Thank you so much for all the follows, kind messages, and lovely comments in the meantime. I see them all, and I’m genuinely so grateful for every one of you.

Your support means the world. More coming soon <3

898 notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 5 months ago

Note

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

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ptergwen · 18 days ago

Note

1, 3, and 4 with peter let’s see you got a little thick for the summer and peter is watching behind like 😮‍💨🫠 and absolutely loses it when you take it off and show off your bikini

1: "beach dates!!"

3: "going on picnic dates"

4: "wearing sun-dresses and your partner absolutely can't get enough of it"

navigation | ask box

w/c: 672

warnings: peter being horny, light swearing

a/n: excuse the wait ahh i started working on a oneshot but then i gave up and came back to this lmao (might need y'all to give me ur opinions on some of my ideas bc i'm feeling v insecure) but anyways i ended up rlly liking this one & i hope you like it too ♡

you and peter are laid out on the beach, snacking on some things you'd picked up from delmar's. you can feel his eyes on you as you pop a few pieces of fruit in your mouth. you're wearing a new sundress, and peter is absolutely obsessed with it.

one of your dress straps accidentally falls down your shoulder, giving peter the tiniest peek at your bikini underneath. he licks his lips. much to his dismay, you pull your dress back up with a knowing smile. peter chews on the straw to his soda and looks away, effectively flustered.

it's fun to see just how crazy you can drive him.

"pete?"

"hm?"

"when you're done eating, can you help me put on sunscreen?"

peter sits up immediately.

"i’m done eating."

you lift your sunglasses, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"you didn't even have your sandwich yet."

"i’m, uh, saving it for later. where's the sunscreen, your bag or mine?"

"i think you packed it."

"one second."

peter unzips his backpack and takes out a bottle of sunscreen. you put your sunglasses on top of your head, pushing your hair back.

"lemme just do my face and stuff first."

"no, no, no. i got it."

you bite back a grin. you prop yourself up on your hands, legs stretched across the towel you're sharing with peter. he squeezes some sunscreen into his palm. he dabs a little onto your nose, making it crinkle and earning a laugh from him. he gently rubs sunscreen into your cheeks.

"i really like your dress, you know. it's so pretty. you're so pretty."

"don't worry, pete. i’m gonna take it off."

"well, i like it on, but don't let me stop you."

you laugh and peck peter's lips. he kisses you once more, longer. his hands move down your neck, to your chest, your arms, rubbing the sunscreen all over your soft skin. you stand up so you can take off your sundress. you pull the dress over your head, leaving you in your bikini.

peter gazes up at you with his mouth dropped open slightly. you teasingly toss your dress at him. he catches it, eyes staying fixed on you. you lay down beside him on your stomach. you look at peter over your shoulder, waiting for him to apply the rest of your sunscreen.

"oh, uh..."

peter adjusts his shorts quickly. you smile to yourself, enjoying the effect you have on him. he squirts more sunscreen in his hands and starts to rub it into your back. you hum, resting your head on your arms.

"that feels nice."

peter sucks in a breath.

"babe."

"yeah?"

"you're killing me."

"and you love it."

peter moves on to your legs next. he massages in the sunscreen as he works his way up your thighs, drawing more noises of content out of you. his hands hover over your ass, where he really wants them. but you two are in public, and you're not that couple.

although, who's going to notice just one squeeze?

you must know exactly what peter is thinking because you roll over before he gets the chance. peter frowns. you kiss his cheek and pinch it.

"thanks for helping. wanna swim?"

peter perks up.

"right now?"

"yeah, i’m hot. do you need to put on more sunscreen?"

"not yet. let's go swim."

peter stands from the towel and offers you a hand. you use it to get up. he takes his shirt off, then takes your hand properly. you give him a once over and put your sunglasses back on. peter runs his thumb along the back of your hand with a smile that's not so innocent.

"ladies first."

"oh, of course."

you lightheartedly shake your head, leading the way to the water. peter follows behind you. you figure you've tortured him enough for one day, so you give him the opportunity to stare at your ass, which he does shamelessly.

peter decides that as much as he likes your dress, he likes it even more off.

tags (join my new(ish) taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety @girlinlovewithlove @marvelgurl @superlegend216 @angelinabelovedballerina @moniffazictress11 @superlegend216 @doubledizzy22 @mystic-writings @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lnmp89 @starlight-starks @hollandsangel @ellebutnotwoods @tayyx @valluvsu @ronweasleysslut @winchestersgirl222 @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @niktwazny303 @thismessymasterpiece @alina02 @itsjanedeluca @idkeverythingistakennn @prancerrparkerr @urfayevorite @getwellsoontana

(some are from my old taglist so just lmk if you wanna be removed!)

#peter parker smut #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #peter parker writing #peter parker fic #peter parker #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #mcu peter parker #mcu writing #{ mari’s dividers }#peter parker fanfiction

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throughparisallthroughrome · 7 months ago

Text

The Sun and His Star

The Result of This Poll

Pairing: greek god!anakin x female reader

Description: Unable to resist a friendly wager, Anakin finds himself in a world of trouble as he seeks out a Naiad he has fallen deeply in love with.

Warnings: f!reader, swearing, angst, unrequited love, mentions of death, mentions of worship, alcohol, SMUT, fingering, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, degradation, literal pussy worship, loss of virginity, corruption kink, crying, size kink, soft dom!anakin, praise kink, orgasm denial, MDNI 18+++

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: I have been SO excited to post this. This is also my first time writing actual smut and i'm pretty nervous about posting this! This is very loosely based of the myth of Apollo and Daphne, except that myth is pretty creepy and Daphne turns into a tree at the end of it so I wanted something a little more happy. Thank you guys for participating in my poll! I really hope you enjoy. As always, my requests and inbox are open!

masterlist.

Thwap!

Almost.

As Anakin's fingers trace the intricate details of his golden bow, his focused eyes never leave the target, anticipating a shot that he thinks to be perfect. Squinting his eyes, he tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. His mind ran through different calculations at a million miles a minute. Perks of being a God, I suppose.

He shook his head in frustration, allowing the bow to slip from his hand and rest beside his belongings as he sought reassurance from the comforting embrace of the ancient fig tree. Although he had the entirety of Olympus to practice, Anakin always chose the hills and forests of Macedonia, knowing the only thing he could possibly run into was a bear. And running into bears was fun for the Sun God, as archery usually is. How is the God of archery missing his shots? Anakin was lost, although he’d never admit it.

His slender fingers traced the grass, memorizing each blade's touch as he became increasingly fascinated with the Greek world. He brushed back his chestnut locks with his free hand, letting his eyes close as he breathed in the mortal air surrounding him. Greece was better than Olympus; it was his missing piece.

Things hadn’t been the same lately. Worshippers had died down at Delphi, and his typical “appear in their dreams nightmare route” wasn’t going so smoothly either. And now he’s struggling to make a shot? Could he even call himself a God, much less his father’s favorite?

Annoyed with his thoughts, Anakin summoned a fig to his hand, biting deeply into it- just for the taste. He chewed slowly, letting the juices run from his lips, down his chin, and onto his golden armor. And that was another amazing thing the Greek world had- fucking figs.

“Why so down, my friend?” Anakin’s eyes shot open out of his trance to meet his favorite rival, Obi-Wan Kenobi, God of Passion. Anakin’s fingers swiftly moved the arrow off the target behind him, not wanting Kenobi to catch his failure.

“How did you find me?” He stood up abruptly, dropping the fig onto the grass he was tracing before. His fists balled at his sides. Typically, they got along pretty okay, but with Anakin’s meandering mind, he was the last God he needed to see.

“Oh, you know, I just followed the foul stench of arrogance and failure into the Greek world. By the way, how would Zeus react if you were practicing down here, hm? Letting your talents go to waste, and possibly seen by mortals, not to mention-”

“Alright, Obi-Wan, I get it. You’ve made your point. What do you want?” Anakin watches as Obi-Wan’s smile grows before him, and a sinking feeling fills his chest.

“You don’t need to hide your failure from me, Anakin.” Obi-Wan lips turn into a smirk, watching as Anakin’s temper began to get the best of him once again.

“Obi-Wan, I’d be careful. I am Anakin, God of the sun, The All-father’s first-born son, and I will kick your ass all the way back to Olympus any fucking day. Try me. If I were you, I’d choose your next words carefully.” Anakin towers over Obi-Wan, his remarks laced with venom as he observes the smile grow on the God before him.

“I heard your worshippers are waning at Delphi. And now you’re missing your shots… Gods, Anakin, are you no longer Zeus’s favorite? What is going on with you?”

With Obi-Wan suggesting Anakin’s worst nightmare, Anakin had him up against the fig tree in seconds, his hands pulling up at his toga as rage coursed through his golden blood. His eyes searched Kenobi’s, watching the amusement dance within them. What was his game? What could he possibly want?

“Watch your fucking mouth, Kenobi. I’ll send your ass right down to Hades, and Zeus will not come to your aid again. There’s a reason I’m more powerful than you. What the fuck do you need love for when you can be God of the Sun? Zeus’s favored son? Huh? There’s a fucking reason I am celebrated more than you are. I don’t see your temples taking over the Greek world. I don’t see you massively worshipped-”

“Oh please, Anakin, they worship Ahsoka as much as they worship you. She’s your twin sister and equally on par with you despite being a goddess.” Anakin pulls a fist back and sends it flying into Kenobi’s jaw, watching as his golden blood pours from his nose and down his chin. Anakin grinned.

“Fucking watch it. That was the last comment you’re going to be making in a long, long time.” As Anakin pulls back his fist, Obi-Wan’s hands go up in defeat, signaling the white flag Anakin is looking for.

“How do you feel about a little wager?” He whispers, a hint of fear present in his voice as he watches Anakin’s golden eyes narrow at his proposition.

“And why the fuck would I do that, Kenobi, when sending you to Hades is just as easy?”

“Because I know you can’t resist a chance to prove yourself to be better than me.”

“Okay,” Anakin loosens his grip on Kenobi, letting him fall against the fig tree as he backs up and crosses his arms, “And what would this wager consist of? And make it quick- before I change my mind and punish you regardless.”

“Best of 3 shots. If you win, you can punish me as you deem necessary. If I win, well, how about we keep your punishment a surprise?” Obi-Wan pushes himself off the tree, summoning his bow and arrow in his hands as Anakin bites his lip skeptically.

“That’s too- No- what’s the catch?”

“If I win, you have to fall in love- no exceptions.”

“That’s it? Deal. This is too fucking easy.” Anakin shakes his head, picking up his golden bow and tracing the olive branch details on the upper limb.

“May Zeus be on your side, Anakin.” Kenobi holds out his hand for Anakin to shake, sealing their wager.

Anakin takes his hand, his grip firm, letting the eyes of his father, high up in Olympus, confirm the bet.

“You first, Obi-Wan.” Anakin chuckles, picking up an arrow and sharpening the end of it while Obi-Wan takes his stance in front of the tree, his shoulders relaxed, and eyes focused on the target in front of him.

Instant bullseye. Lucky shot.

Anakin says nothing, instead taking his place and shooting without hesitation.

Another instant bullseye. This was going to be closer than he thought.

Anakin’s eyes squint as he watches Kenobi make another bullseye. It’s now 2-1. Since when did Kenobi get so good at archery? Anakin shoots another bullseye, but it’s close, too close. He watches as Kenobi’s brows furrow slightly, his frustration growing alongside Anakin’s arrogance. Did he really think the God of archery would lose a challenge as simple as this?

Obi-Wan shoots his final shot.

Instant Bullseye. Fuck.

He turns around, placing his bow on his back and grinning at the angry God before him.

“May Zeus be on your side, old friend.” He repeats that phrase, eager to remind Anakin what was at stake. As he approaches Anakin to shake his hand, he grins as Anakin dodges it and steps up to the mark.

“Save it, Kenobi. I’m too excited to hear what Hades will do with you after this.”

As Anakin grips his bow, his hands are filled with sudden apprehension. He missed the shot just before Kenobi got here, and his last two were practically just luck, and- Actually, what the fuck is he even on about? He’s the God of archery, for fucks sake. Some measly love God wasn’t going to take this easy victory from him. No way. Anakin pulled an arrow from the sling on his back, letting it sit comfortably between his fingers as he lined up his shot. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his fingers do the work.

And with one swift motion of Obi-Wan’s wrist from behind him, Anakin tripped over a rock.

Miss.

“Wha- I- How? What the fuck did you do?” Anakin turned around, storming over to Kenobi who had his hands innocently raised in the air as he backed away from the angry God once again.

“I did nothing, Anakin. You lost, plain and simple.” Before Anakin had time to react, Obi-Wan’s bow was out again, this time with a red-tipped arrow.

The arrow slipped between Kenobi’s fingers, flying across the grass and into Anakin’s shoulder. He gasped, not in pain, but at the audacity of the God before him.

“Kenobi, this better not be one of your special arrows, or I swear to Zeus-” He grips the arrows, pulling it out of his skin, letting his golden blood drip onto his armor.

“Her name is Y/N. You can find her along the River Lamos. Good luck, old friend.”

And with that, he was gone.

—------------------------------

“Padme! These fucking mortals are pissing in the water again! I mean, how do they even find us out here? This is the furthest north they’ve gone in quite some time.” You let your knees hit the grass, running your fingers through the stream to purify the waters.

Sometimes, you quite hated being a Naiad. It had the perks of a goddess, but not quite the status. And Zeus forbid you ever tried to compare yourselves to a Goddess…

“Y/N, honey, have you ever tried to talk to a mortal? They aren’t the brightest. It’s not their fault Zeus made them that way.” Padme emerges from the waterfall behind you, offering her condolences as she places her hand on your shoulder.

“Maybe we should pray to Ahsoka and have her punish them.”

“Y/N! Don’t be harsh.” Padme’s jaw drops in fake shock, rolling her eyes as she joins you along the riverbed. “Besides, I heard Dionysis is throwing another rager tonight. Let’s focus on that.”

“Yeah, sure,” you mumble, picking up a rock and skipping across the water, avoiding the lilies that littered the surrounding stream.

Padme had always grounded you. You’d probably be lost without her. When you escaped your father as a child, Padme stuck by you in your request for freedom. Your new life, though promising, never quite managed to fill the void that had been there all along. As a Naiad, you felt the weight of responsibility for the ancient world, but the path laid before you was far from what you imagined. Your life was filled with adoration from cult leaders, lavish ceremonies, and the occasional taste of royalty on Mount Olympus - but an emptiness lingered within you. Something that trivial worship and sacrifice wouldn’t fulfill.

“Padme,” you pulled your hand from the water, picking a dandelion next to you and observing it. “Do you ever think about what our life would have been like if we never left Father?” She sighs.

“Y/N, if you’re questioning our decision, let me assure you, we made the right choice. To disobey the calling of such passion… well, I’d rather not debate it. Have honor in what we do, Y/N. We are irreplaceable.” Padme smiles gently at you, the sun bouncing off her chocolate eyes in a particularly irresistible way.

A forced grin stretched across your face, a desperate attempt to conceal your disdain for her reply. Padme had a knack for finding the silver lining - always seeing the good in people and situations, even when things seemed bleak. But it didn’t make the feeling disappear from within you. Every day was the same. The same taking care of the rivers and the forests. The same cults and sacrifices and worships and prayers and celebrations. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, but the truth was undeniable: you felt utterly lonely. You had Padme, but she was your sister, and she was supposed to be there. But as much as it ached you to say… You wanted a lover.

As a devotee of Ahsoka, the Goddess of the Hunt, you pledged your loyalty to her with a sacred vow. To remain pure. Sure, it was silly and not very feminist-positive of Ahsoka, but she was an Olympian. The Olympians were traditional in their ways. And that was something you had to deal with. Or workaround. Ahsoka was stubborn, much like her younger twin brother Anakin, but even though she was a woman, she was treated with the utmost respect and equality. You found yourself constantly drawn to her, admiring her strength and resilience. Every opportunity you had, you would go to her temples, offering your devotion and respect with each visit.

Snap.

Your heads snapped around in unison, your hearts pounding, as you braced for the appearance of an unfortunate mortal who had unknowingly interrupted you. However, standing behind you, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun, was none other than the Sun God himself, Anakin.

“Anakin! Your majesty, to what honor do we have to be graced with your presence?” Padme’s words were honey to your ears, and she quickly pulled you down into a curtesy next to you.

“I came for a Naiad by the name of Y/N.” Your heart dropped. Fuck. “I wish to seek her hand.” Padme turned to you, her eyes wide along with your slacked jaw. What the fuck was happening?

The first thing you noticed was his smile. A self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face, the kind that made his whole body seem to radiate arrogance. Sure, he was attractive; he was an Olympian, after all, but there was something about him you couldn’t stand. There was no mistaking the pretentiousness. You had pictured him with golden hair, but his hair was a surprising chestnut brown, the curls soft and unruly, framing his face like a halo of warm sunlight. The intricate details of his armor were impressive, reminding you of his sister’s. And when your eyes met his, you saw that same hollow emptiness in his gaze, reflecting the void you carried within. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Hopefully, he wouldn’t ruin it by opening his mouth.

“Go!” Padme whisper-shouted next to you, pushing you forward.

“Your majesty,” You cringed at your words.

“Anakin.” He mused, his smirk growing as his eyes lingered on your form. Your wet dress suddenly felt a lot wetter tighter.

“Anakin,” You faked a smile, purely out of fear of what you’d do next. “As much as I am flattered by your offer, I made a sacred vow to your sister that I plan to uphold. I do apologize. I am honored to be considered by you.” He nodded slowly, his smile widening and his eyes holding something mischievous within them.

“You know, Nymph,”

“Naiad- I mean, Y/N.” You stuttered. Padme’s eyes widen as she stomps your foot to shut you up.

“Y/N,” he winks and leans closer, his breath hot on your cold, wet cheek as his mouth is centimeters from your ear. “Normally, I would take what is mine. But you are lucky to be in favor with my sister, and that I love a good challenge. We will see just how much longer you will remain pure, my muse. You are the most beautiful creature I’ve had the privilege of laying my immortal eyes on, and I plan to have you.”

You freeze. A challenge? Who the hell did he think he was?

But before you had time to say anything else stupid, he was gone.

“Are you fucking CRAZY?” Padme grabs you, shaking your body, “You just rejected THE Anakin. Ahsoka’s brother. That’s, like, probably, the only pass you’d ever get not to remain pure. You should have taken it! And Y/N, you cannot speak to him like that! You’re lucky he didn’t just take you with him as prisoner or send you to Hades-”

“Padme! Come on, you heard him. He likes a challenge. It’s obvious that this is far from over.” You trailed off, your mind uneasy at the thought.

Realistically, you had to weigh the pros and cons.

Pros: He was hot. It would give you a higher status. You could have a family. You could be closer with Ahsoka. It would fill the void within you. He could possibly be a good person, maybe even a good lover. He could be the best sex you’d ever had.

Cons: It was Anakin. He’s arrogant and everything you could dislike in a lover. He could potentially ruin your relationship with Ahsoka and create an eternal enemy that would end your life as you know it. He could ruin your life. He could be the best sex you’d ever had.

Fuckkkkkkkkk.

Week after week, Anakin shows unwavering resolve in his pursuits.

The first week, he’d occasionally drop by, leaving nothing but wine and flowers and his sweet, sweet words.

“I’d do anything to make you mine, Y/N. Just one chance.”

“Please, you’re the love of my immortal life. I want nothing but to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

“I can’t get enough of watching you. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Let me be yours, please. I’m so in love with you. It’s killing me.”

Eventually, you began to play along. You loved how his eyes would light up when you gave him hope, but the return of his arrogant smile when you turned him down again made you roll your eyes.

The admission, though loathsome, was undeniable: you were falling for him. You gotta give it to him- consistency was key. But did the cons outweigh the pros? The situation was tricky, and not ideal. If only he were a dumb mortal and not Zeus’s favorite son. And not the brother of a God you’ve spent your entire life worshipping and having a precious oath, too. If only.

The second week saw the gifts become more intense, each one a thrilling surprise. He brought you a beautiful cat, along with some flowers from Olympus to plant near the river. The gesture was sweet, the cat was cute, and the flowers were divine, literally. Although you were tempted, you held your ground, and your answer was a firm, unwavering no.

Anakin's patience was wearing thin by week three, his annoyance growing with each passing day. He thought he had given you everything you could have desired as a river nymph, showering you with gifts that would make any naiad happy. As someone he hoped to share his life with, he offered his heart and devotion. Even though he tried, you were still refusing his advances. He didn’t take you as one for material goods, but who was he to judge? So, he began leaving you jewelry that was unlike anything you'd ever seen, intricate pieces that captured the essence of nature and water in every detail. And, of course, they were all gold. The necklace he had given you was his favorite, a simple gold sun pendant suspended on a chain, worn close to your heart.

“Do you like it, my love?” Anakin held the necklace in your hands, watching your smile grow beneath him.

“Anakin- I- It’s beautiful. I love it. I’ve never owned anything quite like this before.” You smiled up at him, the sunlight reflecting in your eyes in such a way that he’d drown if he looked for too long.

“Would you like me to put it on you?” He whispered, his eyes trailing from your own down to your lips.

“Yes,” You whispered back, allowing him to turn you around and move your hair.

His fingers moved slowly across the back of your neck, their light touch sending shivers down your arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and much to your own surprise, you let out a soft moan against his touch. His presence behind you was heavy with insolence, and even though you couldn't see him, you could practically feel his smug grin on the back of your head. He laid the necklace against your chest, and you instinctively reached your hand up to touch it, only to be met with his own as he pulled you closer.

“Y/N,” He groaned softly, resting his forehead upon your shoulder, “Please. I’m in agony.” You hummed against him, leaning back onto his chest as the sunlight washed over your wet skin.

“Ani, I can’t. You know this, baby.” You turned around to face him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for the necklace- I really love it. You’ve been so kind to me.”

He smiled back at you and was gone once again.

During week four, his presence dwindled. He came only a couple of days, mostly just to bring you offerings. This time, he started leaving little love notes instead of his usual visits you had become accustomed to.

My muse,

Every day I do not spend with you is tortuous. You are everything to me. You are the air I breathe, the Sun I worship, the light bringer of my life. I did not know love could be so powerful, so intoxicating, just like you. To me, you are love. You are the physical representation of everything I have ever wanted from this life. I’d give it all up for you. Olympus doesn’t matter if it means I could have you. And if it’s my sister you are worried about, I would have it handled. I would keep you safe and spend the rest of eternity loving you, worshipping you, and making you happy and fulfilled. Please just give me a chance, darling; that is all I ask. I feel ashamed for not coming to see you in person, but I couldn’t bear to look at you. It has only brought me pain and suffering as of late. I know it is not your fault, but you are all I want. I’m not giving up on you yet, but I feel as if maybe some distance would help you. Perhaps I’ve come on too strongly. Too confident. And if it means changing who I am to have you, consider it done.

With love for eternity,

Your Anakin.

As you held the letter in your hands, you barely noticed how your hands shook, and your body trembled. You didn’t see how you instinctively brought the letter to your heart, holding it close as stray tears cascaded down your face. And you certainly didn’t notice Padme’s presence; her soft touch was comforting on your arm as she appeared behind you.

“Honey, you should give him a chance. He’s really trying. I don’t know what that letter says, but for it to evoke that reaction from you, it must be genuine. Unless he plans to kill me or our father, then maybe not so-”

The hug you gave her was warm and tight, a genuine embrace she hadn't felt from you in years. She held you close, the heat from the sun radiating off of the both of you and sending you into more of a frenzy than ever. Even though you couldn't see him, you knew Anakin was watching, and the feeling of his intensity was a constant presence. You felt a strange indifference, a lack of concern that surprised even you. But you just wanted to feel.

By week five, Anakin had stopped appearing altogether, but his presence was still there. Maybe it was when you healed the water, or took care of the plants, or gave an offering to Ahsoka, but it always felt like he was standing right there next to you, offering a helpful hand in your tasks. It seemed that he was beginning to fill that void inside of you. And as much as you desperately wanted that, now that you were so close to having it, the idea terrified you.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” You quietly asked as Padme lit a candle, preparing for another ritual.

“Would you grab the wine and pour the libation, Y/N? I’m afraid we must move on with this for right now.” She smiled gently, attempting to lighten your mood. It didn’t work. The last thing you wanted to do was worship his sister.

As much as you hated it, you did as you were told. You headed further into the cave you and Padme made into the oasis you called home. As you turned the corner into your private quarters, you noticed the wine stacked by your “bed.”

As you and Padme ventured out and stumbled upon your own Oasis, you both set out to personalize it, infusing it with your own unique touch, making it a place you could truly call your own. The cave behind the waterfall was a breathtaking sight - lush green plants carpeted the floor around the river, colorful creatures flitted through the air, and the soft glow of candles danced off the shimmering crystals. The river ran through the cave, a constant source of fresh water, offering a home for you and your sister amidst the silent stone. It was everything you had ever dreamed of. But, as sisters, you both still needed your privacy, so it was made sure that you both had your own private sectors of the cave. Your quarters were filled with treasures you collected from the forest - musical instruments, shiny jewelry, beautiful dresses, furniture in both perfect and broken states, and writing tools. You even brought back random knick-knacks that you saw potential in. One mortal's trash is another Naiad’s treasure.

The sight of the wine on the stool made your stomach churn, as you thought about the God who had given it to you. Would it be weird to worship Ahsoka with the wine her brother declared his love to you over? Probably. You weren’t willing to risk it. Your fingers danced across the cool glass of the bottle, remembering the warmth of his hands as he placed it in yours. Honestly, what was wrong with you? This was wrong. You knew that. You couldn’t possibly love Anakin. And he couldn’t possibly love you. Anakin could have any woman, goddess, nymph, and mortal alike, so why would he choose you out of everyone?

Against all odds, he did. And he kept doing it. His absence had sparked a flicker of doubt within you. And as hard as it was to admit, you missed him.

—----------------------

“Obi-Wan, I cannot do this any longer. She doesn’t love me. Please, take my misery away from me.”

Anakin wasn’t himself. Obi-Wan could see that. Even though it seemed impossible for an immortal being to have bags under his eyes, Anakin somehow managed it. He looked rough. He looked sad. And Obi-Wan genuinely felt for him.

“Tell me more,” Obi-Wan leans back against his chair, stroking his beard as he watched the God fall apart in front of him.

“It seems that nothing has worked. I’ve tried to win her over with lavish gifts, these grand gestures of love. I’ve written her letters, given her space, and told her how I felt- how much I loved her. It-It’s not enough. She doesn’t want me. In all of my years as a God, I have finally found a worthy opponent. And this is a battle I will not win. It is a battle I will never win. I have finally been defeated. Y/N has taken my heart, and I will let her do it a thousand times more for the eternity that we live. My heart belongs to her and her only. She has filled a void within me that I never thought would disappear.” Anakin sits down in the chair beside Obi-Wan, throwing his head into his hands. He lifts his head up to look at the man beside him, and Obi-Wan instantly freezes.

Anakin was crying. The Anakin. Was. Crying. He had never been so deeply affected by anyone before, and the weight of his newfound emotions pressed down on him heavily. Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt, realizing that his attempt to teach Anakin a lesson had inadvertently caused him immense pain.

But Anakin passed Obi-Wan’s test with flying colors. The deal was that you couldn’t truly fall for Anakin until he finally let go of his pride and broke down the defenses he'd spent years erecting. Only once you have allowed him to be vulnerable and show his authentic self, could you begin to love him back. To see him for what he truly was, yes, he was a god, but he was still a man. A man who had fallen deeply in love with you. A man who was heartbroken, and finally admitted defeat. He had met his match.

“I think you should visit her one last time, Anakin. Maybe say your goodbyes. I’m very sorry I put you through this, old friend.” Obi-Wan flashed him a small smile, earning a nod in response.

“Actually, no need to apologize. You’ve taught me a valuable lesson. For years, I thought that I could never be beaten, and that I was better than anyone, and now I see that even I have challenges I cannot overcome. I have been arrogant. Selfish. And I am truly sorry. Now that I have felt true pain, I cannot imagine the suffering I have caused. I will visit her one last time. She needs to know how she has changed me.”

—-------------------------

The pre-dawn darkness had settled in when Padme left for the meeting on Mount Olympus, the air heavy with anticipation and the rustle of the wind through the trees. What it concerned, you had no idea. But she was always into politics like that, and you respected her for it. She was driven, and despite only being a Naiad, she made sure that her voice was heard and that she spoke for those around her.

You sat along the riverbed, the gentle sound of the water rippling over stones a constant companion, watching as the morning sun rising reflected off of the water and the lilies that lined your stream. The Greek world was so beautiful, and you were so glad that you were able to experience it. You watched the frogs, green and plump, hop from pad to pad, their croaks blending with the splash of the fish swimming in synchronized schools, their scales glinting like silver coins. It was peaceful, and you were thankful for it.

Before you could think about him, you felt him.

“Anakin,” You whispered, feeling his presence behind you. Your eyes began to feel heavy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I am here to say goodbye, my love.” He mumbled from behind you, not daring to move an inch.

“Would you sit with me?” you mumbled, keeping your gaze on the lilies, scared to show your solemn face. He slowly sat next to you, with more space between you than you would have liked.

‘I’m sor-”

“Anakin, I have fallen for you. You have won me over. But, I must admit, I am apprehensive because my loyalty lies with your sister, and I do not want my life to be ruined. I’ve heard too many stories of nymphs falling for a God and being destroyed in the process. I cannot give up my life up like that, and I will not. So, if you truly love me as you say, I need to to swear to me and your father that you will love me and only me for eternity, that you will never abandon me, and that you will give me the family and life that I deserve.” You finally turn your head to face him, your eyes welled with tears as he gazed upon your face, memorizing your features.

“Y/N, I swear upon every God, Goddess, Nymph, Demi-God, and whatever else out there that I will love you for eternity. That you will always have me. And I will continue to show my love, be there for you, and treat you as you deserve. You are priceless and my life as a God means nothing without you.”

You didn’t give him a response, no, he finally deserved a kiss. The one he had been waiting so patiently for.

You pressed your lips fervently against his, eagerly exploring his mouth with your tongue, while your hands became entwined in his hair. Letting out a gentle moan, he deepened the kiss, reveling in the sensation that he never wanted to end. He tasted like figs, sweet and savory, a flavor you could taste for eternity. His tongue eagerly explored yours, a silent struggle for control as he sought to please you. His hand grazed your cheek, holding you against him as if you were a second away from disappearing.

His touch traveled down your neck, finally arriving at your damp, clothed chest, where he tenderly held your breasts, his thumb moving in circular motions on your nipple. Now, it was your turn to moan.

“Baby,” He broke the kiss, holding your forehead against his as you both attempted to catch your breath. You were apprehensive. You had never done this before, and Anakin was intimidating. “Hey, look at me. It’s just me. Let me take care of you- make you feel good. Does that sound okay?”

You looked up to meet his blue eyes, his blown pupils staring into your soul, overflowing with adoration. You nodded slowly in response, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Can I hear you say it, darling?” He whispered against your lips as he peppered small kisses on your cheek and down your chin, reaching your neck. His kisses seared your skin like the sun, feeling warm and holy.

“Anakin, I need you to make me feel good. Please.” You whimpered under his touch, the warmth in between your legs growing wetter by the second. The desperation gnawed at you, a constant hunger that wouldn't be satisfied. You needed Anakin to take what was his- immediately.

He falls on top of you, his weight a welcome force as you pull him down. His kisses rain down on your neck, hot and needy, while his fingers trace the curves of your body, each touch a possessive claim. He presses himself into you ever so slightly, and you moan at the sensation between your legs.

His hand finds its way down your hips, inching closer and closer towards where you really needed it. With a mischievous grin, he carefully pulls up your wet lace dress before planting another sloppy, wet kiss on your lips. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, your breath hitching in your throat as his fingers slowly dance up your legs. His hand snakes up your thighs, rubbing them and pinching them as he continues to control your kiss, his tongue deliberate and delicate against yours. His hand slips under your top and then under the neckline of your dress, teasingly massaging your breasts and nipples. It was an overwhelming feeling, and his bulge growing between your legs didn’t help at all.

Anakin pauses, and you sense a shift in the air, a prickling sensation that raises goosebumps on your arms. You’d never been this close to anyone before. You’ve never let someone touch you in a spot so sacred, so holy. Letting Anakin feel this part of you, touch every inch of your body, it was a new ritual on its own. One you weren’t familiar with. But as a Naiad, you had a duty to uphold. You needed to worship.

‘Do you trust me?” He whispers against your lips, pulling you out of your moment of ecstasy.

“Yes.”

“I will take such good care of you. I’m going to make you feel so good, my love. It may hurt at first, but I need you to trust me. Do you want me to touch you, angel?” You nodded in response, letting out a giggle and soft smile at his sweet words.

“Of course, Ani. Please.” You practically whimpered, watching as his smile grew into the familiar, arrogant one you had met all those weeks ago.

Anakin's hand slowly moves up to your throbbing clit, his fingers gently exploring your wetness, teasing a response from you. He had you completely under his control. It was a foreign feeling, the way he touched you, and yet all you could do was subconsciously push yourself against his fingers, begging for more. Anakin was eager to memorize you. The things that made you feel good, made you squirm, made you moan, and most importantly- made you cum.

“Such a needy thing, aren’t you? Just needed me to take care of you so bad. Needed me to take away that innocence and purity you held above my head for weeks.”

Before you could respond, his thumb aggressively pressed into your clit, rubbing soft circles that evoked noises from you that you didn’t know were possible. You push yourself into him further, laying your head upon his shoulder as you sit upright, suddenly overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving you. A new fluttering sensation found itself below your stomach, feeling hotter and hotter by the second. The pressure keeps building, as Anakin picks up the pace, watching you with determined, golden eyes. You clutch his arm tighter, squeezing your eyes shut and letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Ani- I-” You barely gasped out, the knot in your stomach tightening as you were getting closer and closer to coming undone. As he worked his thumb against your clit faster, he felt the way you grew wetter underneath his touch, the way your hips bucked against him, and the way your legs shook underneath him. He let it go straight to his ego and dick.

“Yeah, angel? You like that? You gonna cum for me now?” He smirks.

“Anakin, I-” Before you knew it, he pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them up against that sweet spot where you didn’t know you needed it most, sending you over the edge. You feel every inch of his fingers against your walls, feeling so stuffed to the brim you burst. Your body convulses beneath him, and his moans mix with yours, both overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm.

“That’s perfect, just like that baby. You’re doing so good, can’t wait until it’s my cock inside you, making you cum and moan like that. Look at how perfect you are. So fucking beautiful.” He mumbles into your ear as he continues to work his fingers faster through your orgasm, practically torturing you with his touch.

You called his name like a prayer, worshiping him as you would any other God. He gave you more than they ever could, and you couldn’t help but moan his name into a new hymn you’d gladly sing over and over again. When you finally come down, he removes his fingers and licks them slowly in front of you, showing how much he truly worships you.

“Fuck, I need to get a taste.” He aggressively pushes your body down against the grass, lifting your dress and pulling your hips against his face.

He licks a long stripe up the side of your thigh, relishing in how loud it’s already making you moan. You feel him smirk against you once again as he places a sloppy, wet kiss against your folds. He licks a stripe down your center, and you instantly get goosebumps as you whimper and whine underneath him. Anakin doesn’t care, no, Anakin wants to make sure you savor every touch, lick, and kiss he has to offer. He flicks his tongue against your clit, slow and deliberately, wanting to feel your reaction against his tongue. Once again, you only grew wetter and he only grew more famished. He finally starts at an increasingly slow pace as he laps against your folds, not giving it to you where you really need it.

To Anakin, licking your clit was the nourishment he didn’t realize he missed. He had never truly been satisfied until his tongue was in between your legs, slowly savoring every fold and taste, never wanting to leave.

“A-Ani, please, I-I need it!” He pauses.

“You don’t know what you need, Angel.” He finally picks up the pace, lapping at your clit at an unrelentless pace, feeling you squirm underneath him. It was overwhelming, and you were bound to cum again any second with the way he was abusing your poor, poor pussy. Finally, the warmth returned, increasing the tension that had been building, and the knot felt like it might unravel any minute. You feel yourself on the edge; just a couple more flicks of his tongue and-

Anakin pulls away, coming over from under you with a wet mouth and nose, a sweet smile spread across his face as he pulls you against his lips.

“You taste so good, yeah? You taste that? Fucking incredible. I could drink you all fucking day.” He mumbles as he continues to hungrily kiss you, his hands holding you down as if you’d escape from him at any second.

As he lifts you upright, his arms effortlessly strip off your dress, leaving you completely exposed. His eyes danced across your skin, tracing every curve and line, drawn to the intoxicating glow your body had in his sunlight. He unconsciously started taking his own clothes off, his eyes never leaving your panting, wet figure beneath him.

As soon as his cock sprung out, you felt your breath catch in your throat. He was fucking huge. His cock was long, thick, and veiny, a beautiful pink color that would fill you up so good. He stroked it in his hands slowly, and your eyes finally made their way back to his, your mouth slightly agape in shock. He smiled at you sweetly, his hand never leaving his cock as he started to stroke a little faster, letting out a small moan as his eyes gazed upon your beautiful naked body on the riverbed.

“Come here beautiful, no need to be afraid. I’ll take such good care of you.” Anakin pulls you closer to him, positioning himself between your legs. He slaps the tip of his cock against your folds a couple of times, and you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “This part is going to hurt a little bit, okay? I promise I will never ever hurt you, but this will sting. If you need me to stop, tell me. We can take this as slow as you want. Ready, Angel?”

You divert your attention from his cock outlining you to his eyes and his soft, sweet smile. It’s no wonder that you fell in love with him, truly. He was the better of the Gods, but it was so, so easy to fit him in with the rest. Were you worried he was going to taint you and then leave? Absolutely. Did you want to change anything about the moment?

“Yes, I’m ready. I’m nervous, but-“ You take a second to cup his cheek, letting yourself smile underneath him, “I trust you, Anakin.”

With your approval, Anakin slowly pushed his thick tip into your small, virgin pussy. He groaned at the contact, watching as you let out a painful, pleasurable moan from the feeling. He filled you so entirely, so completely, that the emptiness inside you vanished, replaced by a sense of wholeness you never thought possible. He grinned at the way his cock bulged from inside you, knowing that he was going to split you in half and make you scream his name again. He could never get enough of the way his name rolled off your tongue, the way you lingered on each syllable, your back arched in pleasure as you called out for him.

“H-How are we doing down there?” He barely groans out, tracing your cheek with his finger, “Fuck, I can barely contain myself right now.”

“I-I’m okay. It stings, but I want you to keep going- I need you to keep going.” You pull yourself up slightly, putting your hands around his shoulders and pulling him further into you. He was so deep, so intoxicating as he filled you up. You kiss him, burying your tongue down his throat to silence your painful moans. It hurt so bad, but you couldn’t get enough of him. You needed more.

“Fuck, Y/N, that was so fucking hot. Can I fuck you? Please? You feel too good.”

You could barely manage a whispered "yes" before Anakin thrust himself into you with full force, slamming his cock into your cervix. You let out a loud scream, never feeling so full and overwhelmed at the same time. With his free hand, he brought his thumb back down and massaged your clit in small, rhythmic circles, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He made sure to keep checking on you as he fucked you relentlessly, watching how your head bobbed and your eyes rolled as you took him so good. You had heard stories about how “God sex” was another level, but you didn’t think it’d be this fucking good.

As he felt you grip around him tighter, he slowed down, suddenly wanting to take his time more than he had before. His eyes softened at the sight of you. Your cheeks flushed and tear-stained, your entire body wet and glistening under his sun, his own saliva dripping down your chin as you let out soft moans from his slow thrusts. You were mesmerizing, you deserved to be worshipped. And that’s exactly what he was going to do.

“I want us to cum at the exact same time, okay? Solidify our bond together. I want us to reach that point together. You let me know exactly when you are going to cum.” He whispered against your lips, pumping his thick cock and holding back a groan.

The slowness of his movement was torturous, his brows furrowing as he watched you below him, each agonizing inch he pushed into you taking what felt like an eternity. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but he had a way of making you feel like the most incredible fucking thing in all of the Greek world. You look down and watch as his thick cock slowly pushes himself into you, memorizing his every vein and freckle. He continues to impale you over and over again, groaning and moaning your name like his own prayer. The squelching of your wetness and the way he moved his hips was making that pressure return from before, except it was seeking a vengeance this time.

Anakin picks up the pace as your cries grow louder, watching your body language and responding the best way he could. He played with your tits as they bounced from the forcefulness of his cock against your cervix. The knot in your stomach returned, the pressure building more and more- eager to explode.

And as you felt your orgasm coming on, your hips bucking up against his, your cries and moans increasing, you finally opened your eyes and looked at the God above you. The sun highlighted his face like it was made for him, his hair and eyes golden under the light. His collarbone and abs shimmered, a mixture of sweat and juices making him glisten above you. He really was a god, a beautiful and misunderstood creature who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved. And in that moment, you’d give it to him.

“A-Anakin, I’m gonna- I-“

“That’s right, baby, I’m close too, push me over the edge, yeah? Make me fill you up so good and full with my Godly cum. You can do this, baby, please-“ He cut himself off with a groan, feeling your walls squeezing tighter against him, your body, golden from his sun, trembling underneath him.

“Ani- I- Fuck- I-I love you!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, the band snapped and your walls were pulsating around him. Your moans were loud, your back arched into him as you heard him curse and groan from atop you, his cock cumming deep inside you, making you his, and making him yours. He memorized the tears as they streamed down your cheek from your orgasm, your eyes squeezed shut as you were filled to the brim with pure ecstasy.

Anakin pulled out, collapsing on the grass next to you as you both attempted to catch your breath.

“Y/N, y-your- that- that was the most fucking incredible experience I have ever had.” He barely breathed out, still coming down from the orgasm you gave him.

As you caught your breath, you rolled onto your side to look at him once again, the beauty of the sun god as he lay by your river.

“You aren’t leaving now, are you?” You whisper, your eyes solemn as you trace your initials on his chest.

“Never, baby. You’re stuck with me for eternity.” Anakin beamed at you, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he pulled you on top of him into another deep kiss.

“Wait, Ani-“ You pulled away, noticing eyes were etched with concern and you let out a little giggle, “I have something I wanted to give you. Since you’ve given me all of those gifts before and- well- I meant to give it to you earlier but we got so caught up in things.” You blush under his gaze, your nerves catching up to you as you thought about your gift.

“Angel, you didn’t have to do that. But I promise I will cherish whatever you give me for the rest of time. Lemme see.”

You stand up from beside him, watching as he lay naked against your riverbed as if he had always belonged there. Except now he did. Your cheeks flushed as you turned away from him to walk to the laurel tree, feeling his eyes on you.

Your hand reached up to a branch, pulling it from the tree and snapping it off, your heart aching at your actions. As you walked towards Anakin, the laurel branch transformed into a crown under your skilled hands, its leaves shimmering with the soft light of your Naiad magic.

“I wanted to give you a piece of me, because I know that you have other responsibilities and I won’t always get to see you.” You placed the crown upon his head, before taking his hands within yours, “That laurel tree made me pick this spot. It’s always been my favorite. This crown will never die, and the leaves will never fall, it is eternal- just like our love.”

A radiant smile spread across Anakin’s face as happy tears welled up in his eyes. He enveloped you in a tight hug, and you could feel the warmth of his affection. His fingers traced the contours of your back, a lingering touch, as he whispered his thanks, each word laced with a desperation that made your heart ache. It was strange how you got here, but yet you had found that missing piece. You didn’t expect him to be the God of the Sun, Zeus’s favorite, or anything like that. To you, he was just your Anakin. Your sweet, sweet Anakin.

“I thought I’d be searching for eternity throughout the Greek world for a love like this. And yet, you were brought to me.” Anakin pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as the weight of his words came down on the both of you, “Our love is eternal.”

“Our love is eternal.”

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orphicsun · 7 months ago

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can you write a pit fighter vi smut fic where the reader works at a restaurant in zaun and vi comes in drunk and starts flirting with her pretty please 😼

Thank you sm for the request:3 hope you enjoy!

Content: 1.5k words, dub-con (Vi is drunk), casual sex, use of strap-ons (r! recieving), oral sex (r! receiving), slight overstimulation, this is rlly filthy blame anonymous for giving me the ammo to write this

Your hands are busy with several plates and your feet are sore in your shoes. Customers in Zaun have no decorum, either!

Being a waitress is not fun, especially not in a dingy restaurant like "The Sludge Pit." It's where most people are coming back from watching fights next door and want a cheap meal. To say that you hate you job is an understatement. But...money is tight, so choices are limited. It could be worse. You could be a prostitute at Babette's.

You've heard rumors that the fight tonight is going to be huge. There's a recently been a new fighter people have been placing bets on - a girl named Vi. You've heard the name before, of course. Jinx's sister, someone who was involved with a Piltie girl. You hated to get involved with all of the drama in Piltover, though; it was all meaningless. It was all just pointless drama that ended in another person in Zaun getting the short end of the stick or dead without a proper burial. Whatever happened was so hard to care about when it felt like an everyday thing.

However, something about the girl you've been hearing rumors about intrigued you. It is apparently often that this Vi chick is bulldozing men in the ring, getting drunk off her ass, and fucking Babette's whores. She got her heart broken, now she's all bitter, and you can't help but wonder what this girl is even like. What could she possibly be like when she's this well-known in the under-city?

It's around midnight. The fight is over because a huge crowd is occupying The Sludge Pit. You've got your poor hands full, tasked with scribbling down rude men's orders and serving them. Some are fucking creepy, too. You wonder if the Vi girl will be coming in tonight, but your curiosity is suddenly dashed when you hear the restaurant BOOMING with cheers from the main area.

When you walk out of kitchen, the first thing you see is the back left table seated with a black-haired girl. She's got no shirt on, just bandages that hug her body and a leather jacket. Her jeans are tightly fitted, sculpted onto her meaty things. The black pigment on her face is all messy. Next to her is a burly brunette man, facial hair covering most of his face. You've seen him before - "Loris."

When you approach Vi's table, she looks up at you and lets out a slight laugh. You look devourable, your hair back in two braids, fly-aways from the day's work. Your eyes are wide, and you look pretty terrified. Poor waitress. She's already decided that you're gonna be her next slut.

"Hi! I'll be your waitress today, what can I get for you-" Your voice is so shaky, oh fuck.

Usually, Vi wouldn't be so forward, but she just got back from the bar. There's too much liquid courage in her system, so now she's gonna get what she wants.

"Don't worry 'bout me, baby. Get my friend Loris here a burger."

You almost choke on your own spit.

Her voice isn't at all what you expected, not raspy or deep, but actually soft and persuasive. She's slurring her words slightly, but you're too focused on her eyes, the soft blue sparkle in them and the half-lidded, carefree look that is complimentary.

"Uhhh, okay! One burger coming right up!"

You soon come back with a shaky hand, plate in your palm. You set the burger down and look up down, adjusting your waitress skirt.

"One burger!"

Vi gives you a wide, lazy smile. Loris is just laughing, he's probably as drunk as her.

"Thanks, baby. How much will that be?"

"Ohhh....well, it's on the house. Since you won tonight, and all.." All rationale seems to leave you when Vi's calling you baby. Your boss is gonna chew you out for this, but the drunken giggle that leaves her mouth is so worth it.

"On the house? No, baby..c'mon, lemme pay."

You laugh and blow a stray strand of hair out out of your face. Her voice makes you imagine her throwing you around on your bed. "No, really, it's fine.."

"Hm..well, if you're not gonna let me use my money, why don't I pay you back in some other way?"

You stare at her for a second.

"What...?"

She chuckles at the cute but shocked look on your face. "Seriously. I wanna pay you back for the burger, since you're such a cute little waitress.."

She's got you in her twin-sized bed as she pounds into you at a pace you're surprised doesn't break the bed. You look utterly cock-drunk underneath her as her hips slam into yours: eyes practically rolled back into your noggin, whining on each and every thrust she gives your sopping pussy. Fuck, she's already obsessed with you.

Her hands are holding the back of your knees to keep you in position, and she pulls the cock halfway out of your pussy and slams back in, earning herself a wounded squeal from you.

"That's it, baby. Take all of my cock like a good girl," she coos, her eyes moving down to watch the hot-pink silicone disappear in your pretty pussy, and she's almost drooling at the sight.

"P-Please!! Please fuck me, oh my god!" You're screaming for her (soon you'll be creaming), and all Vi can think is how she wants to lick the cum out of your pussy when she's done plowing into you.

She laughs and spreads you legs back so she can hitch them around her own waist, still throwing sloppy thrusts into you. Your legs automatically wrap around her sides and she collapses onto your body, mouth wet and lazy on your throat. She's hardly thrusting now, just grinding up into your cunt like a dog in heat.

"Ohhh, fuckkk...this is the best pussy I've had in so fucking long, did you know that?" She's whimpering like she's not the one slinging strap..

You can't even answer with a proper response, only offering up a broken moan because in this position, the cockhead of the toy is bullying your sweet, spongey spot and making you see stars. By grinding into you, the base of the harness is catching on Vi's clit perfectly, making her her pace grow less and less composed She's fucking you like a touch deprived cave-man, for fuck's sake.

You hear feel her body tense up, and now she's pounding into you, each time your skin connects her body is pressing further into your, grinding her pussy against the harness, making you whine her name.

"You want me to cum inside you, huh? I bet you'd just love that. Wish I actually could cum inside this sweet little pussy." Her words grow more and more deranged the longer she's fucking you, and they send you right over the edge with a gasp and a cry out. For mercy, or for bliss, she isn't able to tell.

You poor legs are shaking around her waist and your voice is chanting her name like a prayer along with cute little cries of "I'm cumming for you, Violet!!" You indeed did cum, your face all flushed and your hips bucking up into hers, making her own cunt clench with need as she hits her own peak. She kisses you to swallow your sweet whines, tongue sliding against yours so you can taste the Vodka on it. She's just rutting into your pussy, and she swears she can feel your walls milking her cock like it's real. The alcohol in her system really does make her delusional.

When she's done, she pulls out of you and throws the strap-on somewhere in the floor, immediately moving down your body to suck the cum out of your tender hole.

You whine and protest, "V-Vi!! Too sensitive!"

She moves her lips to give your clit a firm suck and holds you legs open, "shh, just need to clean you up first.."

Her tongue moves to fuck your pussy as deeply as it can, filling you with the hot, wet muscle, and grazing your overstimulated g-spot until you're begging for mercy and she relented to go swirl around your previously neglected clit.

Her hands are groping your tits, your own tugging at her shitty dye-job as you buck your hips up in the air for more. She doesn't stop, giving you exactly what you want, sucking at your engorged clit and flicking it shamelessly with her tongue.

"Fuckk, V-Vi!! I'm gonna cum again!!"

Your juices paint her face so perfectly, mixing in with her black make-up and making an even bigger mess of your sopping cunt. She pulls back to see your face all red, soft little pants leaving your lips, and your chest heaving like you just ran a marathon. You look perfectly ruined, your hole still wrecked from the cock she fucked you with and your braids messed up into oblivion, but you look satisfied. She really paid you back for that burger, didn't she?

Safe to say, The Sludge Pit is her favorite place to find a meal at.

#vi x fem reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #arcane #requests

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bohemianblasphemy · 8 months ago

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MGG prompt. 🥺 Reid’s favorite holiday is Halloween and he’s disappointed when his plans fall through for the evening so you invite him to hand out candy at your house, and once he arrives he’s very into your Halloween costume, and you end up not passing out any candy. 😉😉

I love me some Spencer Reid 🥺✨ spooky smut coming your way!!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Contains: Unprotected sex, Spencer fucking you in your costume, Reader receiving oral, fishnet ripping… fun stuff!

“What do you mean you’re not doing Halloween this year?” You were shocked, leaning over Spencer’s desk as he was sitting in his chair.

“My plans fell through… so it’s just sit in my apartment and watch some horror movies that night.” Spencer shrugged, but you could see the disappointment behind his expression. He LOVED Halloween- come October and it was the only thing he’d talk about. You hated seeing him sad, especially during his favourite time of the year.

“Hey, I have an idea.” You said, the cogs in your head turning.

“Come over to mine… we can dress up and hand out candy, watch some scary movies. I don’t want you to be alone…” you said softly, hoping that he would take you up on your offer.

Spencer’s eyes had a spark of excitement from your offer- not only because of Halloween but also because he could spend time with you.

“Y-yeah! I’d like that a lot…” he gave you that goofy smile he always gave when he was excited, making your heart flutter at the sight.

“Great! I’ll um… text you the address, you gotta wear a costume though… or you’re not being let in.” You teased, making him fidget in his seat.

“Oh I will be, don’t you worry.”

- - -

The few days to Halloween rolled by as Spencer and yourself had finalised your plans for that night.

You stood at your bathroom mirror, applying the final touches to your makeup - the pink and blue eyeshadow blended to perfection, bringing your elvira costume together with the tall wig and long black dress that showed off your curves perfectly.

The timing was impeccable as you heard the doorbell buzzing, your favourite boy genius had arrived on time. You eagerly made your way towards the door, opening it to see Spencer… in normal clothing.

“Spencer I told you to dress up!” You said to him, a bit of disappointment in your voice. “What do you mean? I am dressed up…” Spencer smoothed over his shirt.

“I’m an existentialist.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you couldn’t help but laugh. He was such a dork, but you couldn’t help but admire him for it.

“Besides, it looks like you’re the star of our Halloween night…” Spencer smiled softly, his eyes running over you as he admired your costume.

The soft blush on your cheeks was undeniable, smiling sweetly at him. “Thanks Spence… come in.” You pulled the door open wider, watching him walk inside and take in the surroundings of your home.

He saw the giant bowl of candy, meant for any trick or treaters who were to pass by the house but couldn’t help but take a piece for himself.

“Got a lot to choose from…” he smiled as he unwrapped the piece of candy, putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

Smiling at him, you nodded. “Whoever comes to the door is gonna have a hard time choosing…”

There was undoubtedly tension between you both, you had no problems speaking when you were at work together but now? The air was just full of unspoken feelings and longing…

“Uhm… i have some movies that we can watch, if you’re wanting to watch something…” you turned around, trying to break the silence that surrounded you both.

“I have Halloween, The Lost Boys, Scream, The Thing- take your pick.” You handed him the DVDS that you had in your hand, he takes them and momentarily grazes his fingers on yours, making the flush on your cheeks burn brighter as you watch him go through the selection of movies.

“The Lost Boys first?” He grinned, seeing the smile on your face.

“My favourite… yes let’s do it.”

The doorbell rang, hearing a muffled “trick or treat!” From behind the wood.

“I’ll get the door… you pop the movie in yeah?” You looked to him as you grabbed the candy bowl.

“Yeah of course.” He looked as you turned around, admiring the way that you looked in your costume as you answered the door to the trick or treaters.

In that time you took handing out candy and closed the door, Spencer had taken a seat on your couch ready to watch the movie, waiting for you to come sit beside him.

Upon your return, Spencer smiled up at you as you sat down. Ready to watch as he pressed play.

The movie plays, the title card with the aerial shot of the carnival in Santa Carla is in view and you focus on the screen- Spencer, trying to get avert his eyes to the screen was looking at you, he couldn’t get over how you looked in that outfit…

He felt bad for not watching the movie, but he enjoyed watching you. He could see the excitement in your eyes as the vampires on their bikes driving off through the sandy dunes and smiled softly at your reactions.

You could feel his eyes on you, knowing that he wasn’t paying attention- but you couldn’t help but love that he was watching you instead of the movie.

You turned to face him, A dash of confidence building up inside you.

“Spence?” You whispered, locking eye contact with him.

Spencer’s eyes went wide and he swallowed hard.

“I-I um…” he stuttered, not being able to look you in the eye. His nervousness settling in as he looked toward his lap.

Using your index finger you pulled his chin up, making him look at you.

“Do you like what you see Spence?” You whisper, your sweet tone sending a shiver down his spine.

Of course he did, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you in your costume.

“Yes…” he whispered, watching you move closer toward him. The gap between you both was agonisingly thin, his pupils blown with desire for you.

Leaning in further, you could feel his shallow, shaky breaths on your lips- feeling his needy desire for you buzzing off of him.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?” You said quietly, smiling at the hitch in his throat.

“Yes… god yes.” He whined, there was nothing in that moment that he wanted more than to have you… to take you.

Taking that opportunity, you moved forward and captured his lips with yours, tasting the lingering candy on his tongue.

Spencer couldn’t help the soft moan that came from within him as you kissed, his slender fingers coming up to your cheek but pausing within an inch of you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, watching as you nodded. He pulled you into him, his other arm snaking around you and holding you closer as he kissed you once more.

Your hands reached his chest, slowly unbutton his shirt and splaying it open to reveal his torso.

“Pretty boy…” you praised him as you pulled away from his kiss; watching his chest rise and fall shakily at your touch as your fingers ghosted along his warm skin toward the button of his pants, a tent evidently filled the space in front of his zipper.

“W-wait-“ he panted, gently taking your wrist. Leaning forward he encapsulated your lips again. “I-I need to taste you, please.” Spencer’s voice was yearning.

“Hmm…” you replied, a smirk appearing on your lips. “I think that can be arranged.” Spencer watched as you stood up, extending your hand to him.

Taking your hand, he followed you down the hallway to your room. Closing the door behind you Spencer took your waist, walking you backwards to the edge of the bed and lay you down- splayed out for him as your split of your black dress bared your fishnet clad legs.

Spencer looked down at you, in awe of how beautiful he thought you looked in your outfit as he sat down on his knees by the edge of the bed.

His long fingers traced along your thighs, feeling the flimsy material of the tights. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, hands tracing further up your legs to your pelvis.

With a shaky breath, he traced lightly along the front of you- your body quivering for more.

“Can I?” He whispered, looking up at you for permission. After seeing you nod, he didn’t hesitate to dig his fingers in the tights, ripping them open to reveal what lay beneath them making you gasp.

“Spence those were my good ones…” you giggled softly. “I’ll buy you another- fuck I’ll buy you 10 pairs… they look so good.” He praised you, moving closer to where you wanted him most.

So beautiful.” Spencer was in awe as he played with the elastic of your underwear and pulling it to the side, admiring your glistening cunt.

Placing a few kisses to your thighs, he traces his lips up to your pussy- flattening his tongue against you before bringing the tip of it to your clit, swirling around the sensitive nub.

The taste of you was going to be the death of him, moaning at how good it felt- something he could never get enough of.

“Spence….” You breathed out, your hands reaching for his brown hair and pulling at them- eliciting a sudden moan from him as he continued his assault with his tongue.

Your noises filled the room, each going an octave higher as he you reached your peak, the grip on his hair getting tighter as you came hard on his lips and tongue.

Spencer looked up at you, his lips wet with your desire and his eyes filled with want.

Your eyes followed him as he stood up. Starting to fiddle with the button of his pants and letting them fall to the ground at his feet, leaving him in his briefs.

All you could do was stare- your eyes raking over his form, seeing the tent that had formed under his briefs.

He watched your eyes and smirked slightly as he toyed with the elastic, hooking his thumbs under the material and pulling them down setting himself free.

Him standing bare before you was a sight for sore eyes. “God Spencer…” you whispered, admiring him as you went to take off your costume- but he objected.

“Leave it on… please.” He pleaded. “I wanna take you like this…” he said shyly as he took a step over to you and crawled on top the sheets, hovering over you.

He looked over you, seeing you eye him from below in awe- the yearning to feel you overwhelming as he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with his tip.

“C-can I?” He whispered, his face coming down a few inches from you as you nodded enthusiastically. “Yes Spencer, please…”

Slowly and steadily, he started to move himself inside you- a gasp falling from his lips he moved his hips, listening and watching as your mouth fell open; the most heavenly sound that has ever hit his ears falling from your lips- calling his name and your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His thrusts became faster, more desperate. The eagerness to please you, to feel you- to make you cum the only goal on his mind.

“I-is this good? Please tell me it feels good-“ he was panting, desperate to hear you praise him. “Sp-Spence you feel so good- so good f’me…” you couldn’t help the shuddering words that came out, ecstasy building up in your core.

A small whimper rolled out of Spencer at your praise, whining as he continued rolling his hips into yours. The pressure of his orgasm was building up inside him quickly.

“I-I’m not gonna last.” He whispered, another whine following his words.

“Let go Spencer, please…”

Spencer’s thrusts became more erratic as he watched you fall over the edge- calling out his name as you came hard around him, clenching yourself around his cock.

His breathing became jagged as he felt himself twitch inside you, his orgasm hitting him like a tidal wave as his cum coated your walls.

“God you’re- you’re so beautiful, so perfect…” he watched as you glanced up at him with half lidded eyes and parted lips that had messy red lipstick all over them, basking in the after glow. His hair stuck to his temples, making you giggle as you unstuck it from his head. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that, wanted you…” you smiled, touching his cheek gently as though he was made of glass.

Spencer leaned into your touch, his pupils blown with admiration. “Me too…”

There was a silence between you both, before he piped up once more.

“Definitely the best Halloween I’ve had.” He smiled at his own sentence, making you giggle as he lay down beside you- giving soft touches as he held you close- content with being there in that moment with you.

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