#TW: mild alcohol use

[danascullysjournal]

If You Will Let Me

An X-Files Post-Milagro Fic

WC: 4,200 

This is chapter is part of a larger fic on AO3.  If you like, the full work is available here.  

TW: Demonic possession, Demons, Physical Harm, Trauma, Medical Trauma, Mild Alcohol Use

____________________

Chapter 19: Protecting Us

Sleep had come in short, interrupted segments during the red-eye flight from Chicago.  Though both were leery of letting down their guard, sleep deprivation had taken its toll, and Scully had found herself succumbing to the constant white noise and gentle vibration of the airplane as it carried them home.  Instead of nightmares or demons, she was roused by turbulence and sporadic cries from a baby a few seats in front of them. 

Through slitted eyes, she saw Mulder’s head cocked back, lolled to one side.  His slow, quiet snores were strangely reassuring.  Here, there was rest.  A cautiously optimistic thought drifted through her tired mind.  Maybe they really did leave the demons behind them.  Sighing contentedly, she carefully lay her head on his shoulder and drifted back to sleep.

The plane landed in DC well after midnight, leaving both agents partially rested, but groggy and sluggish as they collected bags and headed out to the parking garage.  Their footsteps echoed through the empty concrete cavern, closing in on the car.  Each step was further from the calm security of the airplane cabin, further from the reassurance of other people around them.  

“Just us again.”  Mulder offered a thin grin.  “Ready for more quality time?”

Scully pressed her lips together, looking up at him.  “I can’t be that bad, can I?”

“Never.”  He meant it, but somehow the sentiment caught in his throat and the word fell to the ground, hollow. 

Weary, they headed home through empty downtown streets, uneasy silence between them.  Bleak buildings towered above them, their shadowed facades sliced by dull blades of flickering street lights.  The darkness was suffocating.  

Neither dared to mention it. 

____________________

The lights in Scully’s bedroom were on, but it did little to calm the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach.  The unease had only grown since leaving the airport.  Since being alone with Mulder again.  She sat up for what felt like the hundredth time, studying him carefully.

There had been no question, once they had finally landed in DC, of where Mulder would stay.  His apartment was still drenched in the memories of her blood, and she couldn’t bring herself to sleep alone.  But her bed felt smaller, shrunken down by their bodies prudently spaced apart.  It was uncomfortable.  Awkward.  Mulder was doing his best, she knew.  He was respecting her insistence on putting their relationship on hold…  But it all felt stilted.  Cold.  The void between them was mere inches, but somehow insurmountable.  It was a chasm she had created for protection, but it only served as a glaring reminder of her vulnerability, her loneliness.  Her emptiness.

It ached to be filled.  

She felt the pang just as much, if not more.  Their breathing seemed magnified, echoing within the emptiness, reminding her of what should be.  With each breath, she cursed the house.  Cursed the demons.  Cursed the chasm of her own making.

Cursed the breaths she took and let out, silent, too afraid to begin again.

Sleep wouldn’t offer her a reprieve.  It kept its distance, just as Mulder did.  Just out of reach.  She fidgeted with the oversized comforter, examining the machine-made stitching that divided the blanket into thick patterned poufs.  Stitching fabric, stitching skin.  That was easy.  But all of this… this was not. 

The question of Padgett was layered thickly over the uneasy confusion between them.  That man… or body… or spirit…  She couldn’t reconcile the pieces.  She had been held fast and attacked by a man she knew to be dead.  But it had happened.  Hadn’t it?  Residual visions of the cold corpse strangling her, cutting into her, challenged the validity of her memories of the body.  The autopsy.  Everything.  

It had been him.  But logically, it couldn’t be.

Except…

Samantha hadn’t been real.  Mulder had said as much.  She coveted the certainty he seemed to possess.  In the midst of insomnia and awkward tension, it seemed as good a topic to bring up as any.  Anything to break this barrier of emptiness. 

She cleared her throat. 

“Mulder, how did you know it wasn’t her?”  

He stared at her for a long moment.  The silence was sharpened by the disbelief and hurt etched on his face.  When he finally spoke, it was with the voice of someone betrayed.   “How could you ask that, Scully?”

“I-”

“Don’t you think I would know the difference between my own sister and an evil spirit?”   

She hurried to clarify, struck by the anger in his eyes. “Mulder, I do, that’s why I’m asking- what was your litmus test?  How did you know?  Because I really think that was Padgett… but that’s impossible.  He’s in the morgue.”  She licked her lips nervously.  “Isn’t he?”  

Her eyes screamed the fear she refused to admit.

Mulder’s glare softened.

“Oh.”  He lowered his head, rubbing his forehead with his hands.  “I’m sorry, Scully.  I shouldn’t have thought-”

“It’s okay.”  Her fingers touched his.  “We’re just… both on edge.”

His hand closed, enveloping her small fingers in his palm.  He squeezed softly, briefly, before his hand retreated back to his side of the canyon between them.  He gazed toward the corner of the room, at nothing in particular, recalling the demons that had manifested the shell of his sister.  

“It was almost her.  Almost.”  His voice was grim.  “It looked like her, walked like her.  Acted a lot like her.  But the voice.”  He nodded, as if to himself.  “That’s how I knew for sure.  Every time she- they- appeared, the voice would be close to what I remember, but not quite.  It’s like… they could get every other part of my memory of her right, but something stopped them from having her voice.”

“Like they didn’t know how?”

“Or they couldn’t.  I’m not sure yet, but I think it has something to do with possession.  Owning.  But the demons don’t have my sister, they don’t have her soul, or her voice.  So they… try, with what they can get from our minds, but it’s a facsimile.”

Scully’s brow furrowed.  “Like a bad photocopy.”

“Right.”

Crossing her arms, she straightened herself up.  The implications of Mulder’s theory shook her.  “If you’re right… they have him.”  Her blue eyes were uneasy.  “That voice… the body… it was Padgett.”

“You’re sure?”

She looked away.  “I’m sure.  I don’t know how they would have gotten him… unless he isn’t in the morgue anymore.”  

Mulder thought for a moment.  “What if it isn’t about the body at all?  Maybe what they need is the spirit.  The soul.”

The bedroom fell silent again, save for their breathing.  She felt him watching her, carefully, like a parent watches a child who has just fallen hard.  Checking for signs of injury, of fear.  Ready to console and reassure.  For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she resented it. 

“I’m fine, Mulder.  Really.  And anyway, maybe they won’t come here.  We’re so far from that place.” 

Mulder studied her, the skeptical eyebrow she usually wore planted firmly out of place on his forehead.  “How do you think demons travel, Scully?”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Well, I don’t know.”

“I don't know either, but I doubt a few miles are too much for them.”  He considered.  “I should be thrilled you’re so open to demonic possession as a possibility, really.  Never thought I’d see the day.  Wish it was better circumstances though.”

She cast an irritated sideways glare. 

“I’m not just open to anything.  I know what I saw.  This particular incident- it’s hard for me to refute.”

“But you could.”  His tone was flat.  He sat up alongside her.  

She shrugged.  “Anyone could.  It could be hallucinations induced by psychosis, perhaps exacerbated by sleep deprivation, or-” 

“That’s what you believe?”  

His voice held a tinge of ridicule, but she chose to ignore it. 

“Of course not, Mulder.”  

He nodded, then looked at her pointedly.  “You don’t believe it, but that’s what you’ll say to Kersh?”

Scully sighed. 

“Not just that, no, but I do feel it’s my obligation to provide all the facts as well as offer plausible explanations.  I’m aware of what Kersh will think if I only present one account with little or no verifiable proof.”

Mulder scoffed.  “That’s my point.  You’re good at that.  Explaining things away.  We were almost destroyed, and possessed, and you come up with some alternative, something that’s logical, and safe.”

“There has to be an explanation for what we experienced, Mulder.  Supernatural or otherwise.  I’m not denying what we saw, what happened.  I was there too, remember?”  She felt anger rising and tried to tamp it down.  “And what’s so bad about being safe?”  

“Safe isn’t always what’s right.  Or best.” 

She eyed him carefully, her lips sealed in a grim line, and stood slowly.  Arms crossed.  Shielding her heart.  “This isn’t about the case, is it?”  

He held her tired gaze with his own exhausted eyes. 

“Maybe I should sleep on the couch.”   He sighed as he pushed aside the plush comforter.  His feet padded down on her floor. 

She watched, pensive, caught between turning away in defeat and anger, or lunging at his hand in desperation.  Her body failed her, and she stood dumbly, staring.  As he turned and grabbed his pillow, she cleared her throat and found a quiet sliver of her voice. 

“I’m trying to protect you.  To protect us.  All the I love yous in the world mean nothing if we’re dead.” 

Mulder stopped short, pillow dangling from his unconsciously tight fist.  He took a deep breath before he spoke.  “I respectfully disagree, Scully.  Every time I said ‘I love you’ to my sister, it mattered, every time you said it to your father.  And to your sister.  You can’t say death negates that- you’re the one with a good family.  A nice, loving Catholic upbringing- how am I the one explaining this to you?”

His eyes bore into her, demanding an answer that she couldn’t give.  

It was no easier for her to banish the demons herself than it was to admit to him: fully loving someone, anyone at all, was confusing.  His idea of love in her family was so very opposite her actual experience.  Much as the Scully household had lauded it, love was a word.  A duty.  What she found with him was different from any of the compulsory, sanitized definitions she had learned in childhood.  She found herself possessed by it, but paralyzed by her own confusion and fear.

When she finally spoke, it was cautious.  Timid.   As if her voice carried words that would shatter, should she dare throw them carelessly. 

In truth, the words couldn’t shatter.  But she could.

“I think… you know more about love, believe more about it, than you say you do.”  She drew in a deep breath.  “More than I do… but I - I want to learn...”  Suddenly she felt astoundingly ignorant.   Love should be the first thing learned in life.  But what she had learned, had experienced, seemed horrifically wrong.  A shadow of what should have been. 

If her assertion meant anything to him, he didn’t show it.  Instead, he surveyed her thoroughly, almost clinically, studying the creases in her forehead, the thin, drawn line of lips pursed tight.  The squeezed skin and fabric on her chest from protective crossed arms, wrapped too tightly.  The blinking of pale eyes that fought emotion.  He was a profiler at work.  

Finally, his eyes rested back on hers.  

“Do you feel protected?” 

Scully pressed her lips together even tighter, the soft rose color draining from them in favor of nervous white. She lowered her gaze, well aware that he already knew the answer.

“Me either, Scully.”  He ran his fingers through his hair and over his jaw, raking over scratchy beard stubble.  “Listen.  I’m tired, I'm frustrated and I don’t see a point in pretending there’s nothing between us when there is.  And we know it.  And I’m pretty sure the demons know it too, or I wouldn’t have ended up a possessed puppet on the floor.”  His voice was rising, exasperated. “And then, after shoving me away the entire day, you try to tell me that love is meaningless?  I don’t understand, Scully.  I’m trying.  But I don’t.” 

“I didn’t mean that it’s meaningless.  It isn’t meaningless.”  She felt hot tears she had fought so hard to contain, and turned abruptly.  “I’m getting us something to drink.  That might help.”  

She moved to the doorway, checking each corner carefully as she went as a matter of course.  And paranoia. 

Mulder looked at the clock on her bedside table.  2:37 a.m.  He blew a heavy sigh.  “I dunno if that’s the best idea, Scully.  We have to be back at work in 6 hours.”

She shrugged and left the bedroom without looking back.

____________________

He should go after her. 

He stood staring, his lips twisted in an uncomfortable frown.  Maybe he had been too harsh… almost certainly, he realized.  They were both haggard from the past few days, and he felt his patience stretched too thin, balanced precariously on the blade of a knife.  He should go in, apologize, and be there for her.  He tried to work himself up to it. 

“Dammit, Scully… I’m no good at this either.  I’m sorry.”  

His muttering was nothing if she didn’t hear it, though.  He tossed the pillow back onto her bed, moving toward the doorway. 

The shuffling in the kitchen, opening of cabinets and drawers, made Mulder hesitate.  He could hear her talking quietly to herself.  Processing, or cursing him, he couldn’t be sure. 

He huffed in irritation, wishing he could see inside her mind the way the demons had seen into his own.  But he was not omniscient, and stood painfully aware of his inadequacies.  Without speaking to her, he would remain woefully incapable of seeing or understanding what she truly needed from him.  

____________________

Scully startled a bit, surprised by Mulder’s silhouette in the doorway.  

“Oh, hey.  I didn’t hear you coming.”  She shut the cabinet door with the back of her hand.  The wine glasses made a pleasant clink as she set them on the counter.  “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.  I won’t pour much.  I don’t want a hangover any more than you do… I just… It’s been a rough week, we both could use this.”  

She grabbed the corkscrew from the counter and twisted it into the top of a new bottle.

“We um… we didn’t have some amazing family, Mulder.  Not like you think.  Not- I mean we had everyone.”  She kicked herself for being so callous.  “I know it was hard for you, with your dad.  And Samantha.”  

The cork pulled from the bottle with a low, satisfied pop.  

She looked him over, his tired, worn features darkened in the doorway, his eyes studying her.  Part of her still wanted to hold back, to keep her emotions and experiences locked away, where they couldn’t be used against her.  

So many people had used her weaknesses as weapons to break her down.  Including Padgett.

But this was Mulder.  If she wouldn’t take that chance on him, would she ever, with anyone?

She gathered herself.  “We cared for each other.  We still do, what’s left of us.  But… Dad was military, you know.  We had respect.  Duty.  Loyalty.  I know he loved us, but he didn’t say it much.  Didn’t show it.”  She looked down, feeling small.  Vulnerable.  “Not like you do, I mean.  Didn’t hug much…. He tried, did the best he could.  But.  It did hurt Mom… and us.”  

Sighing, she turned from him to pour the wine. 

“When I said you know more about love, I meant it.  It’s… it’s hard for me.  You’re different, and caring, and… I do want to protect you from them, if they come here, but I’m also just scared.  Scared that I won’t be what you really want.  That I can’t be, because… I don’t know how.”  She took a small sip from her glass, letting the red wine warm her throat.   “But I want to learn.  I do.”

She turned back, regarding him cautiously.  So much of herself had been laid bare, and she searched his face for signs of understanding.  Anything that would help to unbind the thick knot in her stomach. 

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thoughtful line.  It was a small gesture, but encouraging.  He took a step forward.

“Thank you for listening, Mulder.  For being so patient with me.”  She smiled softly,  holding out a glass.  “To learning what love is.  With you.”

He offered a strange, tilted grin, stepping closer.  

She felt a sudden chill on her skin.

“Love is complicated.”  The voice rasped unnaturally through Mulder’s mouth, and the grin grew into a sadistic smile.

Scully’s eyes widened in realization.  She shuffled backwards, running into the counter.  The wine glass dropped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. 

His sneer stretched, shifting.  Changing.  Molding itself into the sallow face she had come to fear more than anything else.  In her periphery, she could make out black, wavering mist filling the kitchen, dimming the lights.  Pulling itself into pillars of smoke.  Before she could think, the dark shadow of his hand clamped down on mouth, hard and cold, slamming her head against the cabinet.

Her stifled cry slipped through the blacked fingers. 

“Dana wants to know how to love.”  Padgett’s voice trickled through pale, cracked lips tinged a washed-out blue.  “I could have taught you.  But.  The heart wants what it wants.  Doesn’t it.”  An icy finger traveled across her collarbone, fingernail raking across the path the scalpel had pulled through her skin. 

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, its rhythm mixing with whispers of ravenous souls that beckoned from the inky swells.  She shook her head against the force of his hand, straining against his leaden weight. 

Mulder… he was still in the bedroom.  

Maybe he could hear.

She tried to scream, but only managed a muffled, gasping yell against the rotten skin of his palm.

____________________

The clattered ringing of broken glass made Mulder’s stomach drop.   

He ran. 

“Scully?”  He barreled through the hallway and into the kitchen, driven by a panic that had become second nature.  As he entered, the familiar, writhing darkness surrounded him. 

Whispers called to him from inside the mass of smoke.  Whispers that sounded almost like Samantha.  And another voice, one he wished to never hear again.

____________________

“We can’t leave a story unfinished.”  The words wavered, sung in a sickening chorus of voices, Padgett, and thousands more.  His cold eyes stared, unblinking.  “It’s time.”

She felt the licking of dark mist over her arms, beginning to grasp and tighten.  Cold.  The souls pricked into her pores.  Opening her.  Pressing in as Padgett’s body held her fast, his icy fingers digging at the flesh above her heart. 

Her blood, a sacrifice to them.

Her heart, his possession.

Her soul, theirs.

A feral scream retched out of her lungs. 

“Scully!”  Mulder’s voice cut through the whispers around her.

Like a rag doll wrung by a child, Padgett’s head twisted backwards.  He stared Mulder down, thin hiss began to rise from his throat.  His eyes shone white, glowering at the interruption.  

The inky swells of spirits drew themselves up into wavering pillars, pressing on the ceiling, pulling themselves toward Mulder.

It was a small distraction.  But enough.  Gathering all her strength, Scully pushed herself away from the counter, turning to shove her shoulder into Padgett, forcing him off.  She met nothing but the chill of stale air and tumbled down, landing on the hard kitchen floor.  The dull thud of her body was muffled by violent hisses of the demons around them. 

The kitchen lights were obliterated by the masses filling the apartment.  Scully tried to focus through the darkness.  She felt dizzy from the gash on the back of her head, sickened by the oppressive smell of rotted flesh that hovered in the room.

“Mulder?”  His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer. 

“Scully, I’m here.”  His eyes searched, frantic in the darkness that had filled the kitchen.  “Keep talking… I can’t see you.”  He was breathless.  “Please?  Scully!”

She answered with a weak, muffled moan.

Padgett’s form had dissolved itself into a thick, inky mass, covering the floor, enveloping her.  Mulder plunged his hands down into the icy swells, searching desperately.  His fingers met clammy, cold skin.  Slick with blood. 

“Come on.”  Mulder’s hand traversed the wet skin on her arm, finding her fingers. 

“I can’t.”  The voice was small.

He squeezed her hand tightly as the towering forms that filled the room unwound themselves and poured over them.

“We can, Scully.  We have to.”

But she didn’t want to.  

Neither did he.

The darkness washed over, whispering.  Calming.  He felt ribbons of inky fingers wrapping around him, digging in.  Beginning to enter.

A cracking, thunderous pounding shattered through black kitchen.  Again.  And again. 

“Open the door!”  

The apartment door shook with another fist.  

“Ms. Scully?  Open up!”

Ringing inside his head, Mulder heard the demons scream.  

He screamed with them.

Metal jingled, then scraped and turned inside the deadbolt lock.  The door flew open, slamming into the wall, doorknob crumpling the drywall behind it.

The demons released their grip.  He could feel them in his skin, like a needle pulling from a vein, as they ripped themselves away.

The kitchen lights glared into his eyes, and he squinted.  

He could just make out the blurred forms of four men before he lost consciousness.

____________________

The landlord stood near the doorway with the police officer, giving space for the paramedics to work.  

Glass shards were strewn across the kitchen floor, sparkling in the incandescent light.  In the middle of the room two figures lay still, hand in hand.  Spilled wine and spattered blood marred the floorboards.

The blonde paramedic surveyed the kitchen, shaking his head.  “Looks like it started as a fun time, anyway.”  He stepped over the empty wine bottle on the floor, making his way to the bodies.  “These usually do.”  

“What do you mean?”  The landlord looked irritated, while the remaining men exchanged looks. 

“Off record,” the officer said blandly, “looks like domestic violence.  Started as a good night, then things went wrong.  And now there’s a mess, probably some charges to press when they sober up.” 

“Pulse and respiration on both?”  

The dark haired paramedic nodded to his partner. “Yeah.  Barely.”

The landlord stared at the two forms on the floor.  Behind the woman trailed a smeared path of wine mixed with blood, as if she had been pulling herself toward the man.  

“Doesn’t seem like domestic violence to me.”  He shook his head and looked away. 

The officer squinted and surveyed the glass shards on the floor, the blood spattered on the cabinet door.  “We’ll decide that.  Tell me about this renter.”  

“Well, she’s really quiet, but a good tenant.  Pays rent early.  Works for the government, I think.  Takes great care of the place, it’s one of the best kept apartments in the building.”  He shrugged.  “She’s almost never home, but when she is home, there’s never complaints.”

The police officer nodded, writing in his notepad.

“Do you know the man here?”

“Not by name.  I’ve seen him a few times, I think.  Nothing unusual or bad that I recall.”  The landlord sighed.  “Sorry ‘bout all this.  Just, Barbara never complains. She’s been here forever, so when she called so concerned at this hour, I figured there’s a problem.”

“Yeah…” Raising his eyebrows, the officer pursed his lips.  “It looks like there was a problem, alright.”

“This one’s pulse is really weak.  Let’s get her out first so we can start an IV, get her stabilized.  Then we’ll move him.”  The blonde paramedic rose to retrieve the gurney from behind him.

As if in response, the man on the floor gasped for air, arms flailing wildly.  His eyes were wide and he growled, as if fighting something unseen.

“Whoa!”  The dark haired paramedic grabbed an arm, pinning him back down.  “Hey, you’re okay.  You’re okay.”  He turned to other men, frantic.  “Can I get a hand?”

The officer was already crossing the room.  He planted himself firmly on the other arm while the paramedic tried to calm the man down.

“Sir, you’re safe-”

The man’s eyes rolled backward, and he stiffened, turning his head to the side. 

The policeman looked to the paramedic, concerned.�� Just as they began to roll his body over to a safe position for a seizure, the man’s eyes refocused.  He blinked, twisting his head back slowly to look up to the officer.  

“Where… is she?”

The officer hesitated, but saw the panic in the man’s eyes.  “We have her, sir.  She’s safe.  Who are you?”  

The man’s body relaxed and he closed his eyes, satisfied that the woman he was with was alive.  He licked his dry lips and drew a labored breath before he spoke.

“Fox Mulder… FBI.  She’s Dana Scully.  FBI… You have to… keep her safe.  Don’t leave … don’t leave her alone…”

The men glanced at each other.  

“What happens if we leave her alone?” The police officer’s eyes shot back to the bloody cabinet door.

Fox Mulder rolled his head toward the voice and cracked open his eyes.  “If you leave her… if you leave us… he comes back… they… they come back.”

____________________

A huge thank you to all of you who take the time to read these updates, to encourage, and to wait while I take too long to write!  You are so very appreciated.  

[joelsgreys]

secondhand smoke l masterlist

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

with every word you say, like smoking a pack a day set up the world you hate for me to fix i know you’ll never change, you’ll never take the blame i shouldn’t have to save every mess secondhand smoke - brynn cartelli

summary: After your mother leaves your father, you quit college and move back home to Austin, Texas—someone has to take care of him, and you’re all he has left. When his demons slowly but surely become too much for you to handle on your own, you find comfort and safety in the arms of his former best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. AU. NO OUTBREAK. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, reader’s father is an addict. DBF!JOEL (sorta?) HEFTY AGE GAP (though i will not specify her exact age, she falls somewhere between 21-25 and Joel is 50) reader’s parents are separated, reader’s parents have an age gap (it is not specified, but is implied her mother is younger), mentions of a toxic marriage, allusions to infidelity (reader’s father), daddy issues, more mild-ish mommy issues, child has to be the parent type of deal, Joel is widowed (car accident), Sarah is 18, angst and a lot of it, smut and a lot of it, secret relationship, fluff, soft and protective Joel. each chapter will be tagged appropriately.

one - welcome home

*more chapters to be added

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

if you’re interested in updates, please follow @joelsgreysupdates for notifications!

[lazyjellyfish300]

The Woman He Didn't Choose Part 4 🥀

Bachelor!Miguel O'Hara x Fem! Contestant Reader

Synopsis: You're on the show Singles in Paradise with former Bachelor!Miguel and other Spider-Verse favs dealing with another contestant's interest in Miguel making you jealous while you're doing your best to move on with someone new at the same time. Word count 5.7k 🖤 s/o to @migueloharasoulmate for the inspiration and ideas behind this chapter, ily.

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 5

A/N: If you're unfamiliar with the show Bachelor in Paradise, here's a clip to give you an idea. Basically, it's another dating show usually in a tropical location where single people couple up, and new arrivals come in every so often and ask people on dates to shake things up, leading to drama and chaos, and couples can choose to stay together or break up in the end and there's typically an engagement. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO RIGHTS TO THE SHOWS THE BACHELOR OR BACHELOR IN PARADISE, ALL RIGHTS TO THE OWNERS. I CHANGED THE NAME OF THE SHOW IN THE STORY.

TW: MINORS DNI, ANGST, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, FIGHTING, DRAMA, DANA IS MESSY, SEXUAL HARASSMENT: not too graphic (DANA DOESN'T UNDERSTAND CONSENT), MILD SMUT(BRIEF, MOSTLY SUGGESTIVE, JUST TOUCHING, DESCRIPTION OF ORAL SEX f receiving BUT NOT DETAILED), BETRAYAL, ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY (SORRY, IT'S ALL FOR THE DRAMA), DRUNKENNESS, ALCOHOL

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

That morning that Dana arrived

You desperately tried to divert your attention away from the sight of Dana and Miguel walking away together, arm in arm. You stood up, furiously trying to keep the tears that were building in your eyes at bay, pacing the room in a panicked circle until you decided to go find Felicia, cameraman in tow to your displeasure.

Dana was yapping Miguel's ear off as they sat down on some empty chairs by the pool. Miguel nodded his head, not letting a word she was saying funnel through, looking off occasionally to try and find you, when he finally spied you quickly across the resort, seeming to be in distress. His brow furrowed, craning his neck to try to see where you were running off to.

"Miggy?"

Miguel's eyes dart back to Dana and he clears his throat. "Sorry, go on..."

He tried to brush off his slight ick at her using his nickname. He didn't even know her like that. After all, she only lasted until week 3 on his season when woman after woman complained about her to him during their one-on- one times. His nickname sounded way better when you said it, anyway.

"I asked you on a date, silly!" Dana smiles waving the date card, batting her lashes.

Miguel manages a weak smile back at her. "I'm flattered...but to tell you the truth, I came here for someone else."

Dana's smile fades, trying to play off the fact that her ego was a little bruised. "Eheh...really?"

Miguel nods, looking down.

Dana tries to keep her tone sweet, but it's clear she's upset when she speaks again. "You're not still stuck on "what's-her-toes", are you?"

Miguel responds flatly, saying your name, a little defensive after the flippant way she referred to you. "I really am sorry, but it would be dishonest to us both if I went on that date with you..."

Miguel sees you on the beach, sitting on a towel next to Felicia, appearing to be crying.

"'Scuse me..." Miguel jogs away, leaving Dana fuming.

Felicia hugs you and you both rock back and forth together for a bit. "Dude...don't be upset. Seriously... let them have each other... You're SO much better than that. You're happy with Peter, right?"

You look at Felicia with a trembling lip.

"Noooo...you're not still...?"

"Ladies?"

You and Felicia jump, you turn and see that Miguel is standing above you both. You hide your face, desperately trying to fan yourself and hide evidence of your tears.

"Oh heyyyyyy, Miguel!" Felicia says nervously, trying to distract him. "Look, this is kind of a bad time."

Miguel isn't persuaded by the poor attempts to turn him away. He says your name softly. "Can we please go talk?"

You sigh and look up at him, abandoning your efforts to conceal yourself, letting him see your tear stained face in its entirety. "No thanks, I'd rather not."

"I said no to the date, alright?"

Felicia's eyebrows raise. You two look at each other. Your feminine high council of two unsure of what to make of this revelation.

Miguel's lips tug upwards a little, giving him that shy smile. "Please, can we go talk some more?"

You look at Felicia and she shrugs her shoulders as though she was trying to put the ball in your court.

You nod, standing up, turning down Miguel's offer to help you up as you shakily get on your feet. You look to see if Peter was around, but you couldn't spot him yet.

You and Miguel walk along the beach again, this time the sunlight hitting you directly and no alcohol in either of your systems. Both of you squint your eyes, raising your hands to try and shield yourselves from the intense glare of the sun, finding a shady spot further down the shore.

You do spy Peter in the distance. He's about to get on some jet skis with Ben. He gives you a shy nod and a wave. You wave back, giving him a smile, grateful he was far enough away to not see your sadness.

Miguel clicks his tongue out of nervous habit, unsure of how to start the conversation.

"So, you turned her down, huh?" You ask.

Miguel nods looking at you with his lips pressed together. "Yep..."

"Why?" Your tone a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

Miguel blows air out of his nostrils shortly in amusement. "I saw the footage of her saying she wanted to fuck Gabe, so..." He looks down, shaking his head, then looking back at you. "I'd rather not be with someone who actually wants to bang my younger brother."

"Huh..." You exhale, deeply relieved.

Miguel nudges you playfully. "Were you jealous or something?"

"God-No!" You answer too quickly, scoffing.

Miguel raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

You nudge him back, but he barely moves, your comparatively smaller frame no match against his. He snickers in response. "Yes, really,...you smug bastard..." You say, shaking your head.

"C'mon, at least a little bit?" Miguel prods, his eyes a little more hopeful.

"I just think you can do way better than her." You state, not willing to admit to your lingering feelings just yet. You don't need to, however. Miguel can see the ghost of your love you still harbored for him on your face. It was still alive, even if you weren't ready to say it aloud.

Miguel gives you a soft smile in admiration. "Well, thanks for looking out for me..."

"No problem." You answer, looking up at him.

"But, I am a grown ass man. Trust me, I have better judgement than you think." Miguel says playfully.

"Ohhhhh I SERIOUSLYYYYYY beg to differ." You scoff, throwing a stray stone into the ocean absentmindedly.

Miguel's eyebrows raise. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Another stone you threw plops, making a splash.

Miguel watches your actions, trying to figure you out. "My judgement sucks that bad?"

"Mhmmmm..." Another stone plops into the water. "Just look at how your engagement ended up."

Miguel nods, not denying the reality. "Touché..." He chuckles as you throw a new stone a little harder, making a small grunt in frustration.

His playful expression fades as it clicks for him, just how much BS he put you through all this time.

"I never did apologize to you, did I?" He says.

You turn and he's looking you in the eyes. You hold his gaze but you look down momentarily, a little thrown off by its intensity. But then, you realize this is all you ever really wanted to hear from him.

You lift your head, and you feel the pitter patter of your heart as you realize he took a few steps closer to you.

"I am sorry..." Miguel whispers, reaching for your hand. You flinch, moving your hand away. He notices and raises his hands in a surrender position, lowering them back to his side.

"I'm sorry that I put you through so much. For misleading you that night in the fairytale suite, for the shit storm you weathered on social media, for dumping you and hurting you, for letting my mom give you a hard time, making you relive your trauma week after week....I-" he closes his eyes.

Apologizing was foreign to him and not his favorite thing to do, but he owed it to you to find a way to release it all at once this time, even if it made him uncomfortable. You were more important than his discomfort.

There was an elimination ceremony tonight, and Dana might have been his only chance to stay longer in Paradise. The odds were not looking good for him to find someone to give him a rose. Not unless this apology could somehow undo nearly 6 months worth of heartache. Slim chance.

"I am so sorry." Miguel repeats. "You're an unbelievable woman, and you deserved better than what I put you through."

You try to find a trace of insincerity on his face but there is none. Vermilion hues of his eyes, honest and true. His mouth molds into one of his smiles that you love so much.

"You're really strong, too, you know..." Miguel says, a little bashful. "To be able to handle everything you did...I admit, it didn't sink in for me until an embarrassingly later time than it should have. So if I end up going home tonight, at least I know that I put it all out there..."

You listened to him, your eyes widening every so often as he continued and recounted his full story, how Xina ended up being a snob when the cameras were off and his future in-laws were racist and how this whole process, this damn show, completely blinded him, making it so every decision he made was a mistake, including letting you go.

The host, Jason Donner watches the scene play back live. He clears his throat a little uncomfortably at Miguel's open criticism of the show, but mouths to a producer that they'll edit it later with a nervous smile and a wink.

Back on the beach, you blink slowly, your heart left with more confusion than clarity after his confession. You really liked Peter, a lot. But there's no denying Miguel still had you in an iron grip. And, he just said everything that you ever wanted him to say, apologizing at last.

But yet, you couldn't help but wonder if it was only because he didn't have you anymore. Because he didn't have Xina anymore. Because there was nobody new in Paradise that could catch his eye, yet...

"Well, you don't know how much that means to me. That's all I ever wanted you to say, Miggy..."

Miguel melts internally at your voice. Your usage of his nickname adding double insult to injury. The fact that it's coming from you triple confirming that he's very much in love with you, right now, in this very moment.

It's on the tip of his tongue. He conquered his fear of apologizing, what's being afraid of a little love confession? He owes you those three words. He opens his mouth to speak.

"I need some time." You say, cutting him off.

"Time?" He gives you a slightly puzzled look. If it means you'd eventually give your heart back to him in the end, he'll give you whatever you need in this moment, but he's still not sure what you meant.

You gulp, going on to elaborate. "As much as I wanna just forget the past, I need some time to heal from it."

Miguel nods slowly. You were being honest. It hurt. But you were honest.

You continue in a careful voice. "I still want to explore my new connection I made here..."

Miguel nods again, trying to forget the now forming lump in his throat.

"I owe it to myself to see things through with Peter." You say, holding your breath at his reaction.

You release it when you see Miguel nod a third time, giving you a smile, although it's clear it's forced.

"I understand." Miguel says, tracing the sand with his toe. "No matter what happens...you know where to find me. I'll always care about you, one way or another."

You give him a solemn smile, opening your arms out to him.

Miguel's face warms up and he accepts your hug eagerly, his body stiff at first, then willing himself to relax completely. A quiet sigh escapes him as you two hold each other for the longest moment, both closing your eyes, your hands tightly gripping the back of his tank top.

The scent coming off his skin making you feel as if you were at home as long as you were wrapped around him.

The course your love ran on was far from smooth. Your two hearts seemingly molded perfectly for the other were just dealt the most unfortunate of hands from life's deck of cards.

A truly bittersweet moment, but it set a positive precedence going forward when you both said your piece to one another.

You pull away, giving Miguel's hand a fond squeeze in farewell and he turns back towards the ocean.

A couple of tears run down his face as soon as his back is to you.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Later, the group is enjoying the pool. You and Felicia are sunbathing. Dana, Peter, Ben, George, MJ, Web-Slinger, and Miguel are all swimming. Somehow, Dana is managing to throw herself at all of the men.

The only exception is Miguel, who's floating silently in the deep end safely away from her antics atop a large inflatable flamingo, the pink bird slightly crushed under his built form.

You peer over your sunglasses and glance over at Felicia, both of you seething with silent annoyance at the sight of Dana trying so blatantly hard to flirt with your men without any shame.

You relax when it appears that Peter and Ben are staying faithful, nicely and awkwardly ducking away from her advances. You feel a little bad on the inside for MJ even though you were currently dating Peter, watching her touch George's arm in silent claim over him when Dana came swimming dangerously close.

The merriment is interrupted when a figure walks down the stairs.

"Noir?"

Everyone stops what they're doing, turning their attention towards him as he comes walking quietly towards the pool, Jess notably absent from his side.

"What's going on?" Peter jumps out of the pool, walking to his side as Noir plops on an unoccupied chair with his head in his hands. "Where's Jess, is she okay?"

"She's pregnant." Noir says quietly. Everyone freezes, looking at each other with confused expressions on their faces.

Peter looks puzzled, then at the ground, trying to sort it out in his head. "But how...? We've only been here for a couple weeks?"

Noir explains, "The child is her ex's. The man she was dating before she came on the show. She's two months along. She's gone home, understandably so."

A few mouths fall open, reacting to the news, the camera rapidly switching back and forth to get everyone's experessions. You and Felicia grab each other's arms in silent comraddery.

Peter nods slowly, taking this in. "How are you doing with this, then?"

Noir blows air out of his mouth. "I'm still in shock, I admit." He stands up. "I just came back to let you all know that I'm going to be leaving too. I'm meeting her in her home state and we're figuring this out together. I wouldn't feel right staying here."

Everyone nods, the shock turning to silent joy at this news, wishing him and Jess nothing but the best.

Peter walks over to you, placing a hand on your waist, Miguel's cue to paddle to the other side of the pool, trying not to watch.

Peter's eyes search yours, "You doing alright?"

You smile, ruffling his damp hair. "Yeah, I'm alright."

Peter reaches down underneath his beach towel, retrieving an envelope. "Jason gave me a little something..."

You smile brightly when you recognize it's a date card. You take it out of its envelope and read it aloud.

"Peter, Choose a lucky lady to accompany you tonight and let your love set sail. -Jason Donner"

You look up at him, "I'd love to," as you pull him into a kiss.

Across the way, Miguel unfortunately witnessed you locking lips with Peter. He takes his sunglasses off, casting them to the side of the pool, hopping off the inflatable flamingo and disappearing underwater.

Peter and Ben then leave with Noir to help him pack his bags. You and Felicia turn to each other.

"It's getting late, we should probably go start getting ready?"

Felicia nods. Most of the others get out and head back to their rooms as well. Felicia addresses Dana, out of forced politeness,

"Are you going to come get ready for dinner with us?"

Dana shakes her wet hair, smoothing it as she struts back towards the pool. "Nah, you girls go ahead. I know how you ladies are with your hair and makeup. It barely takes me an hour to get ready. I like to keep things simple." She winks in George's direction who smirks back at her, MJ turning a shade of green.

Felicia rolls her eyes like a pair of dice. Thankfully, her sunglasses shield her true feelings. You both make your way back to your room along with the others.

Soon, just Dana and Miguel are left in the pool alone, Miguel back atop his inflatable sunbathing post. Miguel's eyes are closed as he lets the heat gradually absorb the water droplets on his skin, seemingly unaware that she's lurking nearby.

Dana smiles slyly, biting her lip at how fine he looks right now. His muscles and happy trail are on full display, and he's still soaking wet. Paradise looks good on him. She can't resist approaching him, even though he turned her down earlier.

"He's hot, I'm hot, we're both single. I can do whatever I want," She thinks.

Miguel's eyes open in alarm when he feels his inflatable shake as Dana tries to climb on it next to him. "What the...?"

Dana giggles flirtatiously. "Relax, Miggy. I just wanna sit next to ya."

Miguel curses. The inflatable is already nearly at its limit with his weight alone, and it's looking like it's going to capsize under both of them. He just wanted to relax in peace and dry off.

"Stop, you're gonna make us-ARGGLLLGGGHHH!!"

Miguel's voice gets cut off as the flamingo flips, knocking him off and landing him on top of Dana. She squeals and giggles at the water splashing her face, wrapping her legs around his torso underwater.

Miguel thrashes, partially blinded by the water in his eyes, trying to grab onto the side of the pool, anything. His hands find Dana's waist for a moment and she takes that opportunity to mount him, wrapping her legs tighter around him and her arms around his neck. Miguel sputters, not fully grasping what's happening, his vision still blurred by the pool water.

At that very moment, Ben Reilly comes walking back for his forgotten beach towel. He freezes when he sees the sight in front of him: Dana straddling Miguel in the pool. Miguel's back was turned to him, but he could clearly see Dana all over him.

Both of them are oblivious to Ben's presence. Ben slowly backs away, confirming that his eyes aren't lying to him before he turns around, quickly and quietly slipping away to go find Felicia immediately.

As soon as he flees, Miguel finally pries Dana off of him. He grumbles as he gets out of the pool, Dana calling after him with an exaggerated pout on her lips. She smiles to herself, shamelessly looking at Miguel's ass as he walks away, resuming floating solo in the pool.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

In yours and Felicia's room

You look at yourself in the mirror as you put on a large pair of hoop earrings, turning your face delicately to the side as you do a final glance at your makeup. You look absolutely beautiful with your hair done, new sundress highlighting every curve of your body, lips glimmering with your favorite lip gloss, the ocean air of paradise giving you a bewitching glow.

Felicia and Ben are sitting on her bed. Felicia's all dressed up as well, her hair in beachy waves and her lips an alluring red. She's looking nervously at you.

"I don't know what to say..."

"It's fine." Your voice has a slight thickness as you speak. Felicia's eyes have a look of pity when it appears you're just trying to put a brave face on.

"I'll be just fine. I'm used to being let down by now. It's nothing new with him."

Just a while earlier, Ben had found Felicia; he sat her down and told her exactly what he saw in the pool: Dana and Miguel all over each other.

"No way...Miguel said he turned her down."

Ben shakes his head. "I'm telling you, that's what I saw, babe. I swear I'd never lie about something like that."

"I know, I know..." Felicia says slowly, bringing her hands to her face in a contemplative manner.

It's true, Ben was honest. There would be no benefit for him to lie about such a thing. He was just trying to look out for you because he knew you were Felicia's bestie, and you still had a complicated thing for Miguel.

"I'll tell her." Felicia said.

And so, she and Ben did tell you, and it felt like another stake was driven through your heart in that moment. That all too familiar feeling of disappointment that Miguel always left you with.

Such a stupid girl... but could you really be surprised? But this betrayal hurt differently than the others. He poured his heart out to you on that beach, apologizing for everything he put you through, only for this incident to cancel it all out. Just prepping your heart so he could shatter it once again.

He said he didn't have a thing for Dana but he clearly did. Maybe because she was the only girl available on the beach. She felt comfortable enough to be all over him as soon as she thought they were all alone and nobody would find out.

You press your tongue against the back of your teeth as you stand up, trying not to cry once again as you pat Felicia's hand on your shoulder. "I'm good...I'm gonna go meet Peter. I need to focus on my relationship with him. Fuck Miguel."

Felicia and Ben watch you leave for your date with a solemn expression.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

A soaked Miguel is walking towards you on the same pathway. Shirtless, his coffee colored locks in a mop on his head, beads of water trickling down those abs, straight out of a sports magazine. But, as soon as you spot him, you abruptly change directions, going the other way.

Miguel's pupils enlarge when he sees you all dolled up. How jaw-dropping you look in the late afternoon sun. Your dress flows away from you like a sea goddess. But why are you avoiding him?

"Hey!" Miguel calls after you. You speed up. The cameraman wheezes, chasing you like it's Maury and not Singles in Paradise. Miguel picks up into a jog, catching up to you in no time, your speed no match for his thanks to his long legs.

Miguel goes to grab your arm and you yank yourself away. "Get the hell away from me."

Miguel feels a jolt of confusion and hurt. "What's wrong...?"

"What isn't wrong with you, huh Miguel?" You whip around, your words coated in venom as you hurl them at him. "Everything! Do me a favor and stay the fuck away from me for the rest of Paradise. Or even better, leave Paradise altogether and go home!"

Miguel stops in his tracks, his heart damaged in his chest. He thinks hard about what could've happened. What could he have done this time...

Oh no...

Dana. Shock. You must have seen it.

"This is about Dana, isn't it?" Miguel says, speeding up to catch you again. "Huh? C'mon talk to me! NOTHING happened! She came on to me! She threw herself on me when I was in the pool..."

"Just STOP!" you turn around, screaming. Your face on fire. Tears of frustration flowing like a waterfall. "Just leave me alone...I'm tired, Miguel!! You broke me for the LAST time! Stay the fuck away from me!! If you have even the tiniest shred of love left for me in your heart, you'll stay the fuck away from me..."

Miguel is desperate, his grip on you is slipping, his heart is drowning. He can't lose you now, not when there was an elimination ceremony tonight and he might get sent home before he could help you see the truth. Now you hated him forever, and there was no fixing it.

"Please..." Tears are running down his face. "Please..."

"I'll see you around, Miguel. I have a date to go on." Your lip trembles as you turn away, leaving him alone under a palm tree. He clasps his chest as he watches you walk away to have an unforgettable evening with another man, his heartache seemingly painful enough this time to physically manifest with an empty feeling that overtakes his whole body.

"No..." He covers his face with his hand, using the other to steady himself against the tree as his muffled cries cause his shoulders to shake.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Peter is waiting for you on the dock wearing tan khaki shorts and a white button down shirt. The wind is blowing his hair gently in the wind, his 5 o' clock shadow lining his face after a clean shave. Those chocolate brown eyes land on you and he gives you a big smile, his body getting warm at the sight of your beauty.

His face turns to worry, however, as it appears you're upset.

"Hey you...what's wrong?" He takes you in his arms, and you hold him close. His scent is different than Miguel's but it's still delicious, his aftershave giving him a fresh, clean aura.

He holds you in silence and you look up at him. He gives you a little smile, swiping his thumb under your eyes, catching some tears. "Wanna talk about it...?"

You sigh, starting to calm down, your hands on Peter's waist. "Yeah, maybe in a bit, though?"

Peter nods, running his hands up and down your shoulders, making you shiver in a good way. "Course, cutie... Let's get on this boat and get you comfortable...how's that sound?"

You manage a smile, and he wraps his arm around you, guiding you to a large, white yacht where warm blankets, champagne, fresh fruit, and finger sandwiches await.

Peter wraps you in a bundle with a glass and as much food as you like as the boat departs from the dock. The dark blue seas pave away, kicking up white bubbles of sea foam effortlessly as the vessel slices through the water.

It's absolutely stunning and romantic. You lean backwards against Peter and he rests his chin on your head, talking in hushed tones only the two of you can hear as you take in the magnificent ocean views, feeling like a bird gliding along the water.

It's one of those experiences you have to just take in with your eyes, committing every image to memory, the feeling of his hands on your body alone causing you to fall deeper and deeper for him.

For the first time in a while, Miguel manages to not cross your mind involuntarily as you converse with Peter, both of you diving head first into the breath-taking palette of the tropical sunset together. The conversation flows and it's just easy.

He listens patiently as you describe your conflicting feelings about Miguel and how he hurt you. Peter nods, not interrupting you. His eyes wander, looking away as though he were lost in thought, but only for a moment before he looks at you again, reassuring you with a squeeze of his hand.

This other side of your relationship you're exploring with him is comforting. As your yacht date draws to a close, you get even closer to him, the incoming darkness of the night going to your head and the champagne traveling swiftly through your veins, filling you with blazing want. You bite your lip as you press your body a little harder backwards against Peter.

As though he could read your mind, his lips part open a little and he presses back with equal force, one of his hands traveling a little further down your body.

Your eyes roll back when you feel his fingers on the outside of your dress, just above your sex, resting your head backwards against him.

"Naughty..." He whispers, nibbling your ear. He continues to entertain your tease as the boat heads back to shore. The darkness is on your side, keeping your sensual antics hidden from the captain's view.

---

Once you get back, the other couples of paradise greet you warmly once again. Miguel keeps his eyes straight ahead, doing his best to ignore your obvious joy with Peter, signaling a successful date. You and Felicia go off again to have your girl time, the cameras eagerly on your heels so as not to miss any tea that spills between you two.

Miguel tries to control his seething annoyance as a different camera focuses on him. Surely, the audience would revel in this well deserved karma that was being served to him, even if you were blind to the truth and he was wrongfully misunderstood.

The only people left around the fire pit right now are Miguel, Ben, Peter, and Dana. Miguel can't help but notice Ben and Peter are getting rowdier and rowdier, the latter starting to get a little too carried away.

Peter had a right to celebrate, sure, but Miguel was starting to become worried that he was overdoing it. Peter stumbled back and forth between the bar and the fire pit, his steps becoming sloppier in the sand with each trip as the liquor began to settle in.

Miguel coughed and tried to mind his business. Dana was lurking close by, butting into the drunken conversation between Peter and Ben, her's and Peter's voices fighting for dominance over the other.

Miguel's eyebrows traveled up higher and higher on his forehead as he listened to the nonsense leaving Peter's mouth. You couldn't really be into this guy, could you? He was complaining about dating and his love life in general outside the show. He made remarks that were borderline misogynistic, how women weren't genuine nowadays and "real ones" were hard to find, and blah blah blah. Ben was slumped backwards, snoring loudly. Miguel was the only sober and alert witness at this point.

Miguel winced and looked for you, but you were far off having a chat with your bestie. Totally unaware that Dana seemed to be pushing the line with Peter, something that Miguel was picking up on quickly, his sobriety giving him binoculars of clarity that everyone else was missing.

Miguel tries to stay and watch as long as he can, but he realizes he needs to use the restroom. He decides to shake it off for now, deciding that Dana is just being homewrecking-Dana, and that Peter is just acting out of the ordinary due to excessive inebriation.

Miguel uses the men's room, washing his hands, and goes back outside, walking along the long garden path back to the beach. He figured he'd take one more stroll along the shoreline to clear his mind before the Elimination Ceremony, making peace with the fact that he's probably going home tonight.

He hears a rustling in some bushes and a woman's soft moans, stopping him dead in his tracks. He shakes his head, trying to continue and move along.

Probably just one of the couples having some nighttime fun, a typical occurrence in Paradise.

But then comes the sound of a suspiciously familiar man's voice, groaning a name that Miguel did not expect:

"Dana...."

Miguel whips around and follows the sound, making himself stealthy as he tries his hardest to crouch down and stay hidden. He scrunches his nose in pain as the twigs and leaves scratch his exposed legs and forearms. Then, he sees it.

The voice moaning Dana's name belongs to none other than Peter B. And here he was, eating her out in secret behind a small clearing of palm trees. Her swimsuit coverup was pulled upwards and her bikini bottoms to the side as she bit her lip in pleasure, her hands tugging at his hair.

Miguel's mouth falls open in disbelief, his brain short circuiting, not willing to fully connect to the vision his eyes are witnessing. Nausea emerges within him, followed quickly by waves of raw anger, this sick display of betrayal unfolding right in front of his face while you were happy and unaware, being faithful to a man who didn't even have his ring on your finger.

The edge of the camera nudges Miguel's shoulder and he jumps in alarm, hissing at its foolishness in possibly revealing his position. This show really had no shame in the lengths they'd go for some drama, but did they really have to be all up in his space like that?

The cameraman breaks a twig under his foot, leading to a loud snap, causing Peter's head to shoot up in a cold sweat as Dana frantically tried to straighten her clothes, bolting in the other direction.

Miguel makes a run for it too, struggling his way out of the bushes the same way he came in, branches and twigs giving him a new layer of scratches and pokes.

Once he's back on the moonlit path brushing off his button up shirt and swim shorts, he straightens up and sees Peter stumble a few feet in front of him, fresh from the scene of the crime.

Peter drunkenly locks eyes with Miguel, brown meeting burgundy. His eyes widen in fear that he's likely been caught, Miguel responding with a look of disdain that contains the highest level of disgust and fury he can muster.

Peter gulps and clumsily stumbles away, leaving Miguel alone once again, seething with rage, his mind running a million miles per second.

Once Miguel begins to calm down a little, his trusted logistical thinking begins to take over again, but it's overwhelmed by dread as he slowly begins to walk, placing one foot in front of the other, and repeat.

Deep breaths.

He feels his heart shudder under the heavy weight of this burden he must now bear.

He'll have to break your heart once again, even though you already hate him forever.

The whole trajectory and name of the game has just changed as he knew it within a matter of minutes.

This simple knowledge he now carries would shake up everything.

The dwindling hours he has left before the Elimination Ceremony tonight looms overhead ominously.

He rubs his face, letting out a small groan as he trudges heavily onward, preparing to face your wrath once again.

The host, Jason Donner speaks in a voiceover:

Stay tuned for another drama-packed episode of Singles in Paradise!

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

@miguelhugger2099, @kodo1221,@mimiemie, @laysmt, @cheerrioeoz @spicydonut25 , @thisistotesnotspam-heart , @famouscattail , @thekidscallmebosss , @librababe99 , @ce3stvu @irishbl0ss0mz, @nommingonfood @mauvecherie-writes , @royale-skeleton-key , @thesilenthill @dimitri-needs-therapy , @a-lil-whore @aisyakirmann @sylveon-of-heart , @hobiebrowns-wife @weirdothatwritess , @reader-1290 , @thesmutconnoisseur , @koyukilove

@hardlystrictlystarwars , @lareinamorgan , @serpentineaerodynamics ,

@envyjmoney, @clementines-valt, @the-pan-liquid

@stellasloth @migueloharasoulmate , @cynwing

[cherishedhope]

“Safe with me.”

Synopsis: How he reacts when his s/o gets injuried. Characters involved: fatui!Scaramouche, Xiao, & Childe. TW: Very mild descriptions of injuries. A bit of cussing. Probably not a trigger, but this could be OOC. A/N: Ah yes, the good ol’ ‘injured reader’ hcs/scenarios. I got lazy near the middle of Scaramouche’s scenario, so eh. Have fun with that. I wish I could’ve come up with a better title, but that’s all my brain juice managed to squeeze out. Also, I think I’m getting the hang of formatting! Haha. This might be out of character so bear with me. As always, GN!reader. NOT proofread.

Request status: open!

— You and I both know damn well he isn’t going to take this situation lightly. When I say he is upset, I mean he's pissed. Infuriated, even. How dare someone have the audacity to injure his significant other? Are they simply begging for death? — If you try to make light of the situation, he’ll shoot you a piercing glare to shut you up. He doesn’t find these circumstances to be amusing at all. Even if your injuries aren’t too grim, he’s still going to dispose of the treasure hoarders, and yes he’ll do it behind your back even if you oppose that idea. He isn’t a fatui harbinger for nothing. There isn’t anything you can do that will hinder him from annihilating them.

“Worthless as expected.”

You bit down gently on your lip as those harsh words sliced through your ears. Even though at this point you were used to Scaramouche’s degradation, it still stung a bit to hear those words easily exit his mouth. You weren’t given enough time to ponder over your boyfriend’s hurtful words because shortly after, the sharp stinging of alcohol swabs dabbed repeatedly on your open cuts. A hiss of pain was instantly drawn out of your lips. Hell, cleaning the wound hurt worse than the actual injury itself.

"It isn’t my fault that the treasure hoarder snuck up behind me,” You mumbled, rolling your eyes at him. Your hands clenched in your lap, being balled up into a fist when the swab tainted with rubbing alcohol hit a particularly deep cut on your shoulder. Scaramouche’s indigo-colored eyes flicked over to your clenched fists for a brief moment before he went back to cleaning up your wound. “mistakes happen.”

The room falls silent, the only noises being the grinding of your teeth and the occasional hiss of pain slipping past your lips despite your efforts to keep it down. While Scaramouche still managed to maintain his cold demeanor just as always, you failed to notice the slightest hint of worry in his gaze with each pained noise and every sign of discomfort you displayed. The truth was, he was utterly disgusted. Not at you nor your actions, but with the existence of that one treasure hoarder who held the audacity to lay his repulsive hand on you. The hand that held such a tight grip on the dagger that sliced cleanly through your flesh, ripping a large hole in your clothes as well as your skin. When the news had reached him that his significant other got wounded during a battle, Scaramouche was livid. The wound itself was not fatal, but still. However, it was fine now. He was here with you, tending to your wounds. You’re okay.

“Are you an idiot?” A bitter scoff was brought out of his mouth, his fiery orbs seemingly drilling holes into your soul with how intense his glare was. He tossed aside the cotton swab that was now covered in blood and reached into the first aid kit to pull out a bandage. The pads of his fingers brushed softly against your skin as he delicately wrapped a bandage onto your shoulder. His face softened as he spoke the next words, his voice still remaining cold, yet there was also warmth detected in his tone. “I wasn’t mocking you, I was referring to how pathetic the treasure hoarder looked as he begged on his knees for mercy.”

You blink once and then twice in confusion as you try to process his words. Oh, so that’s what he meant. A sheet of awkwardness fluttered down in the room. Both parties remained silent once again. Scaramouche glowered down at the first aid kit as he began to put away the clean roll of bandages and cotton swabs. The transparent box was snapped shut, the sharp noise being obnoxious in contrast to the deathly quiet room.

“You’re lucky those useless underlings found you when they did. Who knows what would’ve happened had they not spotted you. You’d be dead!” His voice was the first to break the silence. In fact, he had done that twice in a row now. You weren’t surprised in the slightest. You already knew he would start scolding you the second he was sure you were safe. It was just his way of showing how much he valued your safety. “Now, I need you to tell me just what the hell went through your mind when you decided to let your guard down in the middle of a fight.”

The lecture lasted two hours straight. About 90% of it was him constantly telling you to stop being in your own little la-la world and to pay more attention when in a fight. There was no mistaking the sprinkle of fear hidden behind his eyes as he scolded you mercilessly. Yet, despite how harshly he was reprimanding you, you couldn’t help but notice how tightly his arms were wrapped around your waist later that night. How he held you a little bit closer to him when you two retired for the night.

You weren’t allowed to go complete any commissions the next day. Mr. Fandango man held you hostage in the camp. And when you were finally permitted, — yes, permitted. He’s paranoid, okay? — to go do your daily comissions, he stationed some fatui underlings to accompany you with your work. If he wasn’t so busy, then he’d go with you himself considering he’s much more reliable than some worthless underlings. However, he made sure himself that the underlings were qualified enough to look out for you.

Better safe than sorry.

— Hm, I wonder what kind of flowers your culprit wants at their funeral. Maybe sunflowers? Ooh, how about daisies? Heck, Childe will pay for them himself out of spite. — You thought he was clingy before you got hurt? Well, multiply that by a hundred. He’ll be spoiling you rotten during your time being injured, despite the wound being just a couple of teensy weensy cuts. — It’s not just little cuts in the grand scheme of things, okay? Anything can get tainted by bacteria, which can then lead to an infection, which could also lead to death, and then- and then-! (we get it, childe. chill.)

“I brought you some flowers.”

Your head swivels in the direction of the sudden, yet familiar voice that had just come out of nowhere. You had been preoccupied with cleaning the minor cuts that were littered across your fingers. It wasn’t anything too bad. It was all due to some sharp ice that a cryo abyss mage had spawned above your form. Luckily, you had dodged it fairly quickly. The problem was that the large block of ice had completely shattered when it smashed onto the ground, the tiny shards of ice flying up into the air and cutting up your hands.

A head of messy ginger hair comes into your line of sight. It was your significant other, Childe. He was holding a bouquet of roses in his gloved hands as he slowly approached the table you were sitting at, pulling out one of the wooden chairs and sitting down on it across from you. “Are those for me?” You asked, pointing your forefinger at the flowers he held in his hand. It was almost impossible not to let your eyes wander over the gorgeous bright red petals. They looked as if they had been tended to with the utmost care before being picked fresh. You could only imagine how sweet the aroma must smell.

“Who else would it be for?” The tone of his voice was teasing as he passed the bouquet over to you. You gratefully accepted it, and after pressing your face into the soft petals to get a nice big whiff of the pleasant smell, you gently placed the roses in a glass jar that was filled with various kinds of flowers. Cecilias that had been imported from Monstadt, qingxins that were plucked from the highest mountains in Liyue, and hell, you even had sweet flowers in the jar.

And they had all come from Childe. That wasn’t even counting the scrumptious, expensive sweets he had bought for you as well. He had been spoiling you rotten ever since the scuffle you had with the abyss mage. On the contrary, you hadn’t gotten injured that badly. It was just a couple of cuts on your hands. Although, the 11th of the fatui harbingers didn’t just treat it as if it were just ‘some cuts.’ He had been treating you as if you were fragile porcelain. Something that couldn’t be easily replaced if broken so carelessly. His eyes trailed over to the small bandages that were fitted on your hands. The worried and slightly enraged look in his big blue eyes hadn’t faded away the entire day.

“Are you feeling better, darling?” Childe lowered his voice to a gentle whisper as he kindly took your hand in his own, taking extra care in trying to avoid holding it too tightly lest it stings for you. The fabric of his gloves felt soft against your hands as he held them gently. A coy smile fell across his lips. “I take it you liked the flowers?” You nodded your head leisurely as a response. While you felt slightly embarrassed due to how much he’d been spoiling you, you couldn’t help but feel loved. Despite his status as a fatui harbinger, which would scare many people off, you couldn’t help but love him dearly. He appreciated you and your presence greatly and treated you as if you were a higher deity. Like you were the jam to his peanut butter.

The grip he held on your hands tightened ever so slightly as he continued to gaze deeply into your eyes, a loving, yet determined look in his own. You were here, safe with him. He would protect you till the day either you or he perished. Damn it all if he ever failed to protect you again.

You are the love of his life, and he is yours. Nothing could ever change that fact.

“By the way, did I tell you about how I murdered every abyss mage in the vicinity and beyon-”

“Childe, what.”

— He is freaking out. — Why didn’t you call out his name? Didn’t he tell you countless amounts of times to call out for him if you ever found yourself in danger? He was supposed to protect you, damn it! — He blames himself for it. 100%. He should have been cautious and kept by your side. He should’ve been there, and he wasn’t. — Even after he tears through the treasure hoarders with his spear, he still feels furious the more and more he stares at your wounds. How. Dare. They? — While he’s also furious, he’s also terrified. He can’t lose you. He can’t. He just can’t.

Your vision was blurry and your mind felt foggy as your brain scrambled around to try and process what was happening. Everything had been going well a few minutes prior to this very moment. You were on your merry way to Wangshu Inn to visit your beloved, when suddenly you got ambushed with a horde of swords and bows. The roughness of the rope dug deeply into the skin of your wrists as you were pressed up against a tree, your body battered and bruised. It had all happened in mere seconds. You barely had enough time to process or defend yourself from all that was happening, let alone even think about calling out for your significant other. And when your brain did clear up enough to think about calling him, you felt hesitant to do so.

You watched in a daze as the treasure hoarders ruffled through your belongings in your bag. All of your items were strewn around the camp so carelessly. The treasure hoarders didn’t want to just settle for your pocketbook. The greed that filled up their hearts gave them an intense lust for riches. Not that you had any. You hated every single moment of this scenario. It felt as if you were some helpless damsel in distress whom relied on others to come and save them. It was humiliating.

But it was either get saved or more than likely suffer a gruesome death.

“Xia-!”

Before you can even finish speaking his name, all of the treasure hoarders are dead and lying lifeless on the ground, Xiao standing menacingly over their still bodies. Your face paled just looking at the sight. While you knew your boyfriend wasn’t a stranger to ending lives, he never unleashed his fury in front of you. However, you knew it would happen either way. Xiao wasn’t a merciful soul to those who harmed the people he actually gave a shit about. Even if he didn’t like killing humans, he’d do so without a thought if a measly mortal were to put your life at risk. It had taken Xiao a split second to stalk up to your restrained form to break you free of the restraints that held you in place. Before you could utter a single word to break the silence, you felt callous hands untying you from the oak tree. The scent of fresh blood floated up your nostrils, the strong metallic smell making your stomach feel queasy. At this point, Xiao had gotten rid of his mask and was focused on getting you safe and sound. His eyebrows scrunched together in sheer frustration as his eyes scoured over every inch of your body, the bruises and slashes never once leaving his eyes. While there was also fury, there was also a clear sense of worry shown through how shaky his fingers were as he finally undid the ropes, how uneven his breathing was as he caught you in his arms. (more like snatched you into his arms.) He was trying his hardest to remain calm, but he couldn’t.

“Xiao, I-”

“…Are you okay?”

Even his voice trembled as he desperately tried to keep up a stoic facade. You knew he was panicking. He knew he was panicking. How could anyone not panic upon seeing their significant other is bruised and bleeding? While the injuries certainly would not result in your death, all he could think about was what could have happened. He could be burying your body right now instead of holding you close to him. He clutched you as if you were his most prized possession, which you were. He knew he had to get you to a healer, but he had the hardest time letting you go. He needed to hear you say it. To say that you were all right. That you wouldn’t leave him.

Your arms wrapped around his torso as you hugged him gently, slowly rubbing your hand up and down his back soothingly as you tried to comfort him. “It’s all right, Xiao. I’m still here. I won’t leave you. I’m okay.”

Those words were all it took for him to crumble down. His hands tightened around your waist exponentially as he held you close, his head pressed into his shoulder as he calmed yourself with his presence.

It would all be okay in the end. Because when it all came down to it…

“You’re safe with me, (name). No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it.”

“That’s nice and all, but could I please go to a doctor-”

“Oh, right.”

“The curtains have closed and the seats have become bare. The show is over.”

© 2023 cherishedhope. do not repost on other platforms, modify, steal, copy, or use without explicit permission.

[nanaminokanojo]

BAD NEWS | CHAPTER INDEX/PROLOGUE (Ongoing)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t be more dead wrong, and maybe there isn’t really anything holding you back from acting on it now that you’re all grown up…except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think. MAYBE you’ll be the exception...maybe not.

CHARACTERS: drummer!geto suguru x (fem/afab) reader | gojo satoru | itadori yuuji | kugisaki nobara | fushiguro megumi | sukuna | fushiguro toji | nanami kento | choso | tsukumo yuuki | shoko ieiri | utahime iori

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | band au, tats, piercings, the whole shebang | college au | stupid pining | aged-up characters | friends to lovers (?) | this is gonna have smutty stuff because why not?

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts; just skip them. you’re not missing much | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon (consent >>>), etc. | again, god-awful pet names i’d cringe at if a 3d person says it | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

AKI’S NOTES: I would like to express my sincerest thanks to everyone who loved and supported “Thawing Ice Queen” as well as those who participated in the poll on which smau I’m going to write next. So, this is what won in said poll, and I hope it gets as much as love as TIQ if not more. Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, and I actively respond to comments as well as Asks. Also, if you’re interested, I will include you in the tag list. Just message me through whatever avenue you’re most comfortable with. Happy reading!

ADDITIONAL NOTES: i will be using pics and other media which would fit situations and make the smau-ness of this piece a little more realistic and entertaining when i believe it’s appropriate/fitting to the plot (as i've done with TIQ). having said that, with regard to inclusivity, i just want to put it out there that they will not necessarily be aimed as the exact descriptions to fit a supposedly generic reader nor will they be representative of a specific race or color (even if you’re/the reader is gojo’s sister here). it’s all for the simple fact of media availability, for funsies and the fact that i don’t exclusively write in consideration of those aspects when using reader-insert characters unless i specify it. thank you for understanding.

MASTERLIST

CHAPTERS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240331]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[seijorhi]

Wither and Bleed

sorry for the wait y'all <33 Daishou Suguru x female reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader w.c 4.6k tw: dubcon, yandere themes, kidnapping, nsfw, stockholm syndrome, mentions of blood, alcoholism, mild smut

Daishou eyes the bottom of his glass dispassionately, watching the amber dregs of whiskey roll as he slowly tilts it – pointedly ignoring the sound of footsteps approaching, the low, mocking whistle that follows.

“I’d say it’s good to see you, Daishou, but I gotta be honest, this place is a dump and you look like shit.”

There’s a flush high on his cheekbones, his eyes are glazed, bloodshot. Despite the heaviness in his head, the liquor fuelled haze and exhaustion that makes pulling a coherent train of thought… somewhat difficult, he’s not so far gone that he can’t recognise the grating voice and accompanying laugh. 

One more. One more, and maybe then he’ll stumble off home to continue drinking in peace. That, or he’ll pass out the second he hits the couch. At this point, he’s not picky. 

“Another,” he rasps at the bartender, whose only response, aside from the surly look he sends Daishou’s way, is to unscrew the cap of the bottle of cheap whiskey and tilt it back over his glass. Glaring, all the while. 

Once upon a time, Daishou might’ve said something to that. Made some snarky remark, goaded him ‘til he got a rise – or got his ass thrown out.

(You’d chide him for it, too, in that exasperated tone of yours. He’d be tempted to think you were serious, but you’d sigh, call him hopeless and your hand would snake in his on the walk home anyway.)

Disdainful sneers, the staring, the whispers and pointing, baldie behind the bar wouldn’t be the first stranger to recognise him. Daishou can’t even blame the guy, really. A woman goes missing, all eyes turn to the husband. The boyfriend. The ex. He might be a piece of work, depending on who you asked –an asshole, arrogant, a conniving son of a bitch – but hell would freeze over before he’d ever lay a hand on his girl. On any girl. 

So, yeah, he gets why the guy’s staring at him like he’s the scum of the earth. Doesn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. 

“You planning on ignoring me, then?” 

“Trying to,” he mutters, accepting the drink with a short dip of his chin. The whiskey burns on the way down, warming his chest through. Bottom shelf liquor’s too cheap to enjoy for much else. Daishou closes his eyes, “Leave me alone.”

And that stupid, suit-wearing, smug asshole laughs, and pulls out the seat next to him. 

Fucking terrific.

Kuroo tuts, motioning at the bartender for a drink of his own, “Aw, c’mon. That’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?” He waits a beat for the reaction that doesn’t come, the mirth in his eyes fading somewhat, then sighs. In a more sober voice, he says, “I heard Yotsuya Motors dropped you. I’m sorry, man.”

The muscle in his jaw tightens, his knuckles turning white. Dropped was a good way of putting it. Closer to the truth than the bullshit story they’d peddled online and to the fans, the one wherein Daishou and the Yotsuya Motor Spirits had amicably reached the decision to part ways before the beginning of the new season. 

‘This isn’t a position any of us want to be in, Suguru. You’re a good player, you’ve done well this past season, but you have to consider how this looks for both the team and the V League as a whole. We’re not saying you’ve done anything wrong – of course not – only that the public perception holds weight these days.’

And so it went. He’d sat there, numb, and listened for fifteen minutes while the head coach and upper management explained that him ‘voluntarily’ stepping down was in his best interest. Pretending, all the while, that they were on his side. That they for one second actually believed in his innocence. 

The cowards couldn’t even look him in the eye. 

None of which makes enduring his old rival’s fake fucking sympathy any easier. 

“For what it’s worth,” Kuroo continues, “while you’ve always been a cheating rat bastard, you don’t strike me as the girlfriend murdering kind–”

One minute, his drink is in his hand, the next, he’s hurled it against the wall behind Kuroo’s head, the glass shattering on impact, cheap whiskey sliding down the paint, and Daishou’s on his feet, chest heaving, muscles taut. Hands shaking as they flex and curl around nothing. 

For once, Kuroo’s stunned into absolute silence. 

The whole bar stills, a deathly quiet falling over the room. The other patrons gawk at him, wide eyed and horrified – a violent unravelling they’re eager to glut themselves on – no noise but the forgotten hum of 80’s rock drifting through the speakers. 

No one breathes.

No one moves.

Daishou, shaking, trembling in the cold wake of his own dissipating rage, shudders out a strangled breath. “She’s not–” the words stick in his throat; tight, painful. He forces them out through gritted teeth, “She’s not dead.”

Kuroo, staring back at him with some inscrutable expression, says nothing. Does nothing, aside from slowly lowering his drink – still untouched – down to the bar, as though Daishou hadn’t just pitched a glass tumbler right past his head. At his head, technically. 

“Out,” the bartender snaps after a tense beat, jabbing one thick finger towards the door. “Get the fuck out!”

Daishou can barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. 

“She’s not dead,” he repeats, his voice hoarse. 

Through all of this, it’s the one thought he won’t entertain. No matter how many times he’s hauled back into the police station, or someone recognises him from the news and the dirty looks and whispers start. No matter how much hatred and vitriol and accusations are thrown his way, that thought alone is constant. 

You can’t be dead.

“Out!” 

Daishou doesn’t need to be told a third time. He spares the raven haired bastard one last look on his way out, sneering, and lets the door sweep shut behind him. 

The place was a shithole anyway.

And he can pretend, for a minute or two, that the churning, sick feeling eating away at his insides is the liquor, that the sheen in his eyes is purely due to the icy bite of the wind as he stumbles off in the direction of home.

Too much alcohol flooding his veins, too screwed up to register the prickling on the nape of his neck, or the footsteps that follow after him, down the narrow laneway – a shortcut he’s taken a thousand times.

When the blow comes, striking hard and fast at the back of his head, Daishou drops like a stone.

—

When Daishou was seven years old, he fell out of the tree in his backyard and broke his arm. He also managed to knock himself out – for all of about five seconds.

Long enough to scare the hell out of his parents, anyway. When he woke up, bleary and dazed, his parents hovering over him, Daishou didn’t feel any pain, not immediately. That’d come later, trying not to blubber and wail in the back seat of his dad’s car on the way to the E.R. At first, though, it was just… sort of like being shaken from a deep, deep sleep. Disorientating, more than anything else. 

This isn’t like that at all.

Coming to, all Daishou can focus on is the pain in the back of his skull. His eyes are too heavy to lift, his limbs sluggish and sore. From a dry, cotton mouth, a low groan escapes him.  

At first, he assumes he’s at home – lying sprawled on the bathroom floor, having hurled up his guts through the night. Wouldn’t be the first time, and considering his sorry state, he’d hazard a guess that it wouldn’t be the last, either. 

“Suguru.”

Warmth. A loosening in his chest. Despite the discomfort, the sound of your voice never fails to soothe. In the weeks that you’ve been missing, Daishou’s dreamed of waking up beside you. Of rolling over and cracking an eye open to find you right there, fast asleep and curled up beside him, where you’ve always been. 

Where you’ve always belonged. 

You stir when his fingertips trace along your jaw, smile in that sleepy way of yours, catching his hand, keeping him there. And even in his dream, when there’s no reason for his chest to tighten, a lump to settle in his throat at the sight of you, it does. 

“Suguru, listen to me!” your voice pleads.

There are other dreams, ones where you’re lying on the living room floor surrounded by a pool of blood. There’s a kitchen knife sticking out of your chest, and he’s the one holding it. 

Daishou prefers the ones where you’re alive. Safe. Home with him. 

“You have to wake up.”

Why? He wakes up and you disappear again. Cheek pressed to the cold bathroom tiles, sick to his stomach and head throbbing.

And you still won’t be there.

“Please.” Your voice sounds… different. Not soft and loving, not the sleep tinged murmur he usually hears. “Please, Suguru, you’ve gotta wake up! Open your eyes for me.”

Daishou doesn’t want to. Pounding head or not, he’d stay in the dark with you – your voice, strained as it is – as long as his subconscious would allow. But that’s not a choice he gets to make, leaden lids slowly prying open, squinting under the influx of light.

The first day or two after you disappeared, Daishou convinced himself that despite all the evidence to the contrary, you weren’t gone gone. An accident, a miscommunication, dead phone, fuck, a fight he didn’t remember picking; he clung to any excuse, any explanation that left room for you walking through the door, sheepishly abashed over all the fuss caused. 

He would’ve forgiven you – for anything. 

The days passed, the cops came by, dragged him in for questioning, and Daishou started to realise that you weren’t staying with your parents, or a friend. You weren’t pissed at him for something stupid he did or said. You weren’t coming home on your own. 

Which left the alternative. 

People who disappear like you did; out of the blue, no warning, no trace – they don’t come back unscathed. 

If they come back. 

Daishou’s had weeks now to sit with that – while he drowns himself in bottom shelf whiskey and cheap beer, wallowing in his own fucking misery, you’re going through an unimaginable hell. 

Blinking against the brightness, the room slowly comes into focus, his eyes adjusting, and Daishou’s heart leaps into his throat. He forgets the pain. Forgets that he’s spent weeks – months, now – thinking over every awful eventuality and drinking himself stupid in the process. All he sees is you; sitting up in bed, hair tousled, wearing an old, faded tee two sizes too big, looking the way you do in the dreams he has where you never disappeared. 

“Suguru,” you gasp, the noise choked, halfway to a sob, your wobbling smile mired by the sheen of tears brimming behind your lashes. 

But Daishou doesn’t see that. Doesn’t register it, not as he scrambles forward, his desperation to touch you, feel you, make sure you’re here and you’re real overriding every other sense–

Only for the cold, metal handcuffs hooked from his wrist to the broken radiator to pull taut, jerking him to a stop. 

“… The fuck?” he mutters, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. Experimentally, he tugs on it again. 

It doesn’t budge. 

Daishou swallows, mouth dry, blood running cold, and as this new, unsettling reality takes root, slowly drags his gaze from his cuffed hand back to the bed. To you, watching him with a devastation that has his heart clenching. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, his subconscious sings, the warning bells tolling, and for the first time since he opened his eyes in this unfamiliar room, Daishou sees you.

The mottled marks of red and purple, fading yellow littered across your exposed collarbone, trailing along your neck. The shadows under bloodshot eyes, the pallor of your skin. 

And Daishou remembers.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him through tears, the words spilling out as though you’re confessing some great, unforgivable sin. “It’s my fault, Suguru. It’s all my fault.”

His mouth opens – all that comes out is a strangled rasp of your name, which only serves to make you cry harder, shoulders shaking and a hand clamped over your lips to stifle them. 

Daishou’s never wanted to wake up from a nightmare so badly. He’s never wanted so desperately to pinch himself and prove he’s not dreaming.

But at the sound of footsteps approaching, a change sweeps over you. You stiffen, freezing for the briefest of moments before you hastily set about wiping away the evidence of tears, shooting him a pleading, desperate look he doesn’t really understand.

Not until the deadbolt clicks and the door swings open, and Daishou’s confronted with the man who took everything from him.

One by one, the pieces fall into place with horrifying clarity. 

The bar, their ‘chance’ meeting, all that goading– ‘For what it’s worth, while you’ve always been a cheating rat bastard, you don’t strike me as the girlfriend murdering kind.’ 

A small, insane part of him wants to laugh hysterically.

He settles for a baser instinct. Strains against the chain at his wrist, face twisted into a feral snarl, and hisses, “You fucking asshole.”

Kuroo’s eyes crinkle with a grin, but his attention doesn’t remain on Daishou for long. On cue, you shuffle to the edge of the bed, shoulders low and eyes glistening. “I-I’m sorry, Tetsurou,” you murmur, meek and demure.  

The fucker laps it right up. Coos as he makes his way over, disregarding his other captive entirely. Two long fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. He holds you there, lets his thumb brush along your lower lip. You shiver, and that too he greedily drinks in. 

He doubts very much that Kuroo’s forgotten about him, yet the way he stares at you – insatiable, a craving that goes too deep, a yearning too consuming – and you back at him, Daishou may as well have been invisible 

A wave of disgust seeps through his bones, tainting his blood, curdling in his stomach – but he doesn’t look away. He can’t bear that, either. 

When Kuroo finally decides to close that gap and kiss you, you don’t offer a shred of hesitation. You surrender to it, breath hitching when he catches your lip between his teeth and nips at it– 

(The way you used to when he’d do the same.)

–and when he breaks away, a strand of his spit still connecting you, and moves to cup your tear stained cheek, you nuzzle into him, peppering soft little kisses to his palm.

“I know, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice a touch deeper, clearly affected by how sweetly you’re trying to pacify him. “But actions gotta have consequences. I warned you what’d happen if you brought him up again,” he pauses, and chuckles a little, “and you know I’m too much of a jealous bastard to let that kinda stuff slide.”

Hooded, hazel eyes flicker back to him, pinning him in place. The amusement in Kuroo’s face fades, leaving behind a blistering cold contempt as he regards his old high school rival. 

Daishou sneers back. 

“You said you loved him.”

“I don’t,” comes the immediate response. Too quick. 

Kuroo scoffs. “You still mumble his damn name in your sleep. He the one you’re imagining when I’m buried inside of you, making you cum, sweetheart?”

You’re fucking right it is, you piece of shit, Daishou thinks viciously. The words themselves sit on the tip of his tongue, prideful and sharp, itching to be inflicted. Damn the consequences, he might’ve said it just to see the look on that bastard’s face – except Kuroo isn’t even looking his way. Isn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention, idly toying with a lock of your hair as if you aren’t clutching at him, eyes betraying your panic like a deer in headlights, and Daishou feels sick all over again. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“N-no, of course not!”

“No?” Kuroo’s brow arches upwards. “You sure ‘bout that?”

There’s no answer you can give that’ll convince him, yet silence proves equally damning. You seem to realise as much, mouth opening and closing as you try and fail to conjure up the right words to diffuse the situation. Kuroo offers you no out, letting you dig your own grave with the shovel he’s given you, taking some kind of sick satisfaction in your distress. 

Unable to summon anything more than a choked squeak, you stretch upwards again, a delicate hand on his jaw, and kiss him. The action is desperate and clumsy, borne from panic over passion or affection. Kuroo accepts it eagerly all the same, one arm snaking around your waist to draw you closer – or rather, to keep you from slipping away ‘til he’s had his fill of your lips. “I love you,” you murmur against him. “Only you.”

Though they’re shaky, the words stand stronger than those that came before. 

His nose nudges against your own, a look of contentment gracing his features. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. On your knees, pretty girl.”

Your face crumples in dismay, lips parting only to fall shut with an audible click. As Kuroo’s grip on you loosens, you obediently slide off the bed and onto your knees.

“Arms up.”

Trembling like a leaf and looking faintly ill, you obey, letting him tug your shirt – his shirt, from the looks of it – up and over your head, carelessly tossing it aside. And though you flinch, biting down on your bottom lip, eyes glossy, burning with shame and humiliation, you don’t make a move to cover yourself.

You must know better.

His blood roars, heart thundering violently against his ribs. There’s no pretending he doesn’t see the love bites and bruises spanning your chest, nor the smug, triumphant look in that fucker’s eyes when he notices Daishou looking, his body tensed, shaking with barely contained fury. 

Kuroo strokes your cheek, “Keep your eyes on me. Just you ‘n me, yeah?”

You nod. Without prompting you reach for his belt, the clinking of metal and the hiss of Kuroo’s zipper rattling in his skull, the deep, husky groan that slips from his lips when your fingers slide into his pants and curl around his cock, pulling it out.

“Good girl,” he purrs.

Daishou doesn’t want to watch you kiss a trail from Kuroo’s navel down to his cock. He doesn’t want to see the way your thumb swirls along the head of his dick, smearing his pre only for your tongue to follow its path, lapping it right up.

He doesn’t wanna watch you lick your lips, lean in and suck Kuroo’s cock like a well trained slut while he palms at your tits, but between the rage and disgust and the nausea crawling up the back of his throat, Daishou’s frozen in place.

Guided by the not-so-gentle grip he has on the back of your hair, you take more of him into your mouth with every bob of your head, your other hand diligently working away at what doesn’t fit. He allows it for a minute or two, watching you try your best to take all of him with a hiss of pleasure.

Eventually, though, greed wins out. Kuroo’s hips cant forward, bucking past your lips to force his cock deeper, grazing the back of your throat. Eyes widening, you make a surprised noise and try to pull back, allow yourself a little breathing room to set a pace you're comfortable with, but Kuroo’s having none of it. He growls once in warning, grip tightening around your hair, holding you in place, and begins to fuck your face in earnest.

“That’s my good – little – whore,” he grunts, each word punched out with another cruel thrust of his hips. 

The sounds of you gagging on the dick in your mouth, your choked little whines and whimpers burn through Daishou like wildfire, igniting something deep. A faint stirring in his gut he wishes, more than anything, he could smother entirely. 

He doesn’t look away. 

It’s only when the lack of oxygen becomes too much and you claw at Kuroo’s thighs, tears streaming down your face that he finally relents, letting you pop off his dick with a heaving gasp. With nothing else to tether you, you collapse against his legs, boneless and panting, your eyes fluttering shut. 

They crack open, however, looking up when his hand comes to a rest on the crown of your head, “Say it again. I want to hear it.” 

The demand takes a moment to process, but you swallow and tell him what he wants to hear. “I love you, Tetsu. More than anyone.”

He grins, lazily stroking your hair, “I know, sweetheart. Now c’mon, up on the bed. I’ve been been dreaming of your perfect little pussy all day, wanna fuck you properly.”

—

Hours pass. Half a day, a day. Maybe longer. There’s no light down here, no windows to track the path of the sun, the shadows creeping across the floor, but he can feel the endless drag of seconds and minutes ticking like a slow suffocation. 

After fucking you to the edge of exhaustion, Kuroo had carried you out, cradled to his chest like something precious, and left him alone in the dark. 

Left Daishou to scream and rage and cry like a fucking baby. It doesn’t help any. His bones and muscles ache, the skin of his wrist rubbed raw trying to move to a position that doesn’t scream with discomfort, the cold, unforgiving floor beneath him offering no relief. Mere feet away lies the bed Kuroo fucked you on, with its pillows and blankets, soft, plush mattress.

With his eyes adjusting to the complete lack of light, Daishou can only make out a vague shape in the darkness. In some kind of fucked up way, he decides it’s a blessing in disguise.

Being able to see the bed’s another cruelty, the promise of comfort and warmth when he’s shivering and cold and lying in his own filth, placed just out of reach. And while the thought of lying in the sheets he’d fucked you in (raped you in, a voice reminds him) makes his stomach turn, he’s not so sure that given the chance, he wouldn’t shove those thoughts aside for a soft reprieve and a few hours of rest.

Some messed up part of him wonders if the pillows and sheets still smell like you.

So no, it’s a good thing he can’t really see the bed, or the door, or much of anything, really.

Besides, it isn’t the hunger pangs or the lack of sleep or the dull, throbbing pain from his joints that bother him the most, it’s the feeling of inhaling razor blades doused in fire he’s subjected to with every shallow, rattling breath. The last taste of water he’d had… would’ve been before the bar, however long ago that was. Too long. More than a warm bed, more than food or freedom from the cuff around his wrist, Daishou thinks he’d just about kill for a single sip of water to wet his throat. 

More than likely, that’s the whole fucking point. 

Left to rot in the darkness, Daishou has plenty of time on his hands to think, musing over the bed in this little windowless room, and the other door he suspects must lead to a bathroom. That asshole went to some effort in getting him here, he’ll admit, but he doubts all this was solely for his benefit.

You were here when he came to; obviously he’d kept you down here, the question was for how long? Did he keep you chained up and hungry in the dark when you wouldn’t play nice? The way you’d melted for him, the affection, the goddamn look in your eyes when you’d said that bastard’s fucking name–

The fear that’d shone there when you’d said his. 

Daishou knows from the depths of whatever’s left of him, that he could never, ever hate you. If he starves to death alone down here, if you’re the one to plunge a dagger into his heart yourself, if you forget all about him and buy into the delusional fucking nightmare that psychotic prick keeps peddling, he’d love you. That much is immutable.

But hatred’s too soft a word for the thorn riddled vines that sprout and twist inside of him, ripping away at muscle and flesh, choking his organs, his veins, everything that he is – because of Kuroo. 

When he hears those footsteps again, the clicking of the altogether unnecessary locks, Daishou can’t help the wide grin that cracks at his face. “Was wonderin’ when you’d come back down to gloat,” he croaks, manages a laugh too, though it feels like dragging his vocal cords over sandpaper.

Having flicked the light switch on (half blinding Daishou in the process) Kuroo fixes him with a sardonic smirk. “Missing me already?”

“Hate waiting around.”

“Ah well, what can I say? I had better things to do.” His smirk broadens, a cruel glint under too bright fluorescent light as he plops himself down on the bed Daishou’s been doing his utmost to ignore and stretches out, rolling his shoulder and neck. “Prettier things.”

A stab of something dark and ugly wrenches between his ribs. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spits through cracked, dry lips, and before he can think better of it, adds, “Mommy didn’t love you enough, Kuroo? That what this is?”

Kuroo doesn’t snap the way he expects him to. He doesn’t lash out like he would’ve when they were hot headed teenagers desperate to grind the other into the dirt and lord it over them. The muscle in his jaw jumps and his eyes narrow, sharpen – but his expression is quick to smooth over. Water off a duck’s back. He lets out an amused snort, rising from the bed. 

“Y’know, as entertaining as it was watching you self-destruct, losing your volleyball career, your fans, friends, all those nights you spent searching for her at the bottom of a bottle – and it was entertaining, believe me – I think I like this better.” 

A short, sharp burst of pain. Warm copper spills over his tongue. 

“You’re not gonna survive this. Even you’re smart enough to have realised that much.” He crouches down low, at eye-level, just out of reach, appraising him with a tilted head – as though Daishou’s some whimpering puppy at the pound. 

Daishou’s not a fucking puppy. 

“Most likely it’ll be the dehydration that kills you first,” Kuroo continues. “That only takes a few days, but with water, you could probably make it two, three weeks before your body starves itself to death – plenty of time for your muscles to begin to atrophy, which’ll be painful as hell, not to mention how bad the isolation’s gonna fuck you up. And who knows, maybe I’ll be nice and bring you something to drink every now and then, throw you some scraps from dinner. I might even let you out of those cuffs for an hour or two, so you can walk around down here, stretch those legs of yours before they completely shrivel up… But you won’t see her again, ever.”

Scowling and hateful, Daishou spits at Kuroo and bares bloody teeth. 

Kuroo wants to treat him like a dog, fine – but wolves gnaw through flesh and bone to free themselves from hunting traps, and he ain’t about to just keel over with a whimper and make this easy for him.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Tension crackles through the air like an oncoming storm. 

Daishou falls back against the radiator, breathing heavy and Kuroo wipes at his cheek with the pad of his thumb and huffs out a dry laugh, eyeing the bloody digit. Looking back at Daishou, he stands. “You look thirsty, I’ll go get you some water. Can’t have you croaking on us just yet.”

He’ll bite his fucking throat out if he has to. 

[fandomxpreferences]

Fair Game

Masterlist

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader, Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader

TW:18+, cheating, dysfunctional relationship,alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, spanking

Summary: JJ sets his sight on something that isn't his.

Word Count:4.8k

JJ watches you intently over the rim of his red solo cup, the plastic crushed between his fingers so hard it's seconds away from busting. You're hanging off of Rafe's arm as he ignores your attempts to garner his attention, too caught up in his shitty conversation with his even shittier friends.

You're entirely too pretty in your sundress that sits just below the curve of your ass to be asking for an ounce of affection. The world should be falling at your feet, and JJ wonders if you know the power you could hold if you decided you want it. 

You're all soft glowing skin and sun-bleached hair, the type of ethereal beauty that isn't of this world. Your effervescent personality radiates wherever you go, and he's seen guys fall under your trance on more than one occasion without you even noticing the effect you have.

JJ isn't sure of a lot of things in life, but the one fact he's absolutely certain of is that Rafe Cameron doesn't deserve you. He doesn't cherish you the way he should, or kiss the ground you walk on, grateful to even be in your presence. JJ would. 

He doesn't have a lot going for him in terms of money, but he damn sure knows how to treat a lady. JJ swears, hand to God, that you belong in a museum. Though, on the flip side, he doesn't like the idea of anyone else getting to observe you the way he does.

He stares with steely blue eyes and rigid muscles as you resign to your fate, folding into yourself when you realize you're just a background character in your boyfriend's life tonight. You're too nice, borderline angelic, as you keep up the persona of a doting girlfriend. 

Though, JJ has been laser-focused on you for the majority of the evening and doesn't miss the way your smile falters for half a second or the way the light in your eyes dims. He hates it. JJ could treat you better, he knows that as much as he knows the ocean will be waiting for him in the morning.

He wonders if your lips taste as sweet as they look or if you still use that coconut coffee lotion that he got a whiff of one day that hasn't left his mind since. He doesn't understand just what you see in the kook king if he's being honest. 

He figures it must be your habit of forgiving too fast, always wanting to see the best in people even when there's nothing good to begin with. He's convinced that Rafe doesn't buy you flowers or open doors for you, both things he would do religiously if given the opportunity. 

He doesn't think that Rafe takes his time with you, worshipping you like a priceless artifact the way you deserve. Oh, but JJ would. He'd kiss every inch of your body, and spend hours drowning you in love and affection until you're sure you're swimming in a sea of it.

He isn't usually one to be enamored, especially with a kook. He also wouldn't consider himself the type to steal another man's girlfriend, but the way the moonlight is bouncing off your face makes him think maybe he doesn't know himself at all. 

His eyes stay glued to your figure as Rafe whispers something in your ear, jealousy rearing its ugly head. That should be him sending a shiver up your spine and getting drunk off the scent of your shampoo. 

He briefly tries to think of a game plan to get you alone, if only for a minute, when fate hands him his wish on a silver platter. You're moving toward the keg now, no doubt acting as Rafe's personal bartender. 

His feet carry him forward with purpose, any logical thought erased from his mind the closer he gets to you. He swears you must be a siren, emitting some sort of magnetic pull that he couldn't resist even if he tried. 

"Hey. Y/N, right?" 

He feigns mild ignorance, not wanting to come on too strong. He knows your name; it's engraved on his heart in a pretty script that matches your handwriting. 

You turn around, bright smile growing wider upon seeing him. It's always present, a permanent staple of your personality just the same as your bubbly laugh and kind heart. He speculates that your parents never taught you about stranger danger as his own grin split his features, signature dimples popping out on either side. 

"Hey, JJ!"

His heart skips a beat upon hearing you say his name, your saccharine voice floating to his ears like a summer symphony. It skips again when it registers that you know who he is, and he thinks this might be what kills him. What a blissful way to go. 

"What's a pretty girl like you doing over here all alone?"

His eyes light up at the way a blush stains your cheeks, your hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Oh, I'm just getting Rafe another drink."

He nods his head and lets out a disappointed 'ah', pretending like he didn't already know your answer. 

"He let you wander off all on your own? Some boyfriend."

He knows the comment is out of pocket, and does his best to make it sound playful even though a clear tone of disdain slips through. You chuckle lightly and raise your eyebrows for a second, and he feels the tides start to turn. 

You don't jump to Rafe's defense the way he's heard before in passing. In fact, you almost seem to agree with the sentiment. 

"Whatcha drinking? You look thirsty."

He doesn't even know what that means. How does someone look thirsty? It's better than what he wants to say though which is 'You look like someone I could love for the rest of my life and then some.'

"Just water. I can't really drink."

Your eyes are cast toward the ground as you answer his question, and his eyebrows furrow. Now, JJ has seen you out drink frat boys before so he knows that's not the truth. Not the whole truth, at least. You used to be the first one to grab a drink and the last one to turn down a keg stand. 

Now that he thinks about it, you used to do a lot of things that you don't anymore. You used to be louder, more adventurous with the mouth of a sailor despite looking innocent as a nun. He hasn't been able to focus on anything but the idea of what you'd look like tucked into his side, and it's hitting him like a train how much you've changed. 

You're more reserved, timid almost. Always perfectly put together with styled curls and flawless makeup. 

"Can't or aren't allowed to?"

The words leave his mouth before he can stop himself, rage flooding his system as he puts the pieces together. Rafe doesn't love you; not for who you are. He loves the way you boost his image, a perfect prospect to be his future trophy wife. 

"It's not that I'm not allowed,"

Your eyebrows pinch together and JJ has to stuff his hand in his pocket to resist the urge to smooth over the creases with his thumb. 

"Rafe just usually gets too drunk and causes problems. It's easier if I'm sober."

JJ tsks, displeased with your excuse, and takes a daring step forward. 

"You know, we're playing a life or death game. No one makes it out of this alive, so you might as well make the most of your time."

He extends his cup to you, a sparkle in his irises as he beckons you to take a risk. You mull over his words for a moment, turning to look at Rafe. He hasn't even noticed you're gone, and some days you wonder whether he'd know if you stopped showing up altogether. 

JJ tilts the cup forward, a mischievous smile on his lips when he sees you considering the idea. He laughs victoriously when you take the cup and bring it to your lips, chugging the contents with ease. You don't even grimace at the strong liquor, holding it out to him and nodding. 

"Bottoms up."

He takes the hint, leading you to the side where his private stash is hidden in a bush. Your head whips around when you hear loud laughter, and JJ follows your line of sight to the beer bong table. 

"Wanna play?"

You smile once again, your eyes lighting up at the idea.

"Fuck yeah."

He cheers you on, giving you high fives and sideways hugs each time you sink a ball, completely obliterating the other team. Not to his surprise, Rafe doesn't come looking for you once. 

On the contrary, he seems preoccupied. JJ's stomach sinks when he sees Rafe sitting by the bonfire with another woman curled up in his lap, her hand trailing dangerously close to his belt. You're well past intoxicated at this point, most of your body weight leaning on JJ for support. 

You don't seem to miss your boyfriend at all, or even realize he exists, and this sparks his interest. He's been so focused on the fact that Rafe doesn't seem to care for you, that he hasn't even stopped to think that maybe you don't care for him either. 

"Don't wanna."

JJ's head tilts down to look at you, confusion evident in his ocean eyes as you slur into his shoulder. 

"Don't wanna what, cupcake?"

Your movements are sloppy as you shift your head to peer up at him through glassy eyes and long lashes, and JJ's hold on you tightens. 

"Dont wanna go home with him."

His eyes rake over your features for a second, trying to figure out if these are just drunken words or sober thoughts. He can't help his curiosity, his free hand coming up to smooth out your messy hair. 

"Why not?"

You huff dramatically, eyes rolling so hard JJs sure you can see the back of your skull. 

"S'no fun. You're fun. And pretty."

You grin as your eyes flutter closed, and JJ chuckles. 

"You think I'm pretty?"

Your eyes suddenly shoot open and you stand up straight, albeit on wobbly legs. 

"Have you seen yourself? You have these lil' dimples and fluffy blonde hair and a cute laugh. Don't even get me started on how good you smell."

Your fingers poke his cheek and ruffle his hair as you say it, and he barely contains a groan at the feeling of you tugging on the strands. 

"If you don't wanna go with him, I'll take you wherever you ask me to."

You perk up at this and take his face between your hands in a way that squishes his cheeks and makes his heart pound. 

"Your place!"

His eyes widen slightly as he tries to shake his head, a giggle falling from your lips when his hair tickles your hand. 

"I don't know, cupcake. You're really plastered and-"

You cut him off, doing your best to look stern although it doesn't quite work. 

"Please? I'll be good, I promise. Just wanna sleep."

He mulls over the idea for a second before lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you toward the parking lot. You squeal in glee, paying no mind to your boyfriend that looks seconds away from fucking a stranger. 

It breaks JJ's heart, the fact that this is nothing new glaringly obvious to him. He briefly wonders if you would have even gone home with Rafe, or if the asshole would have left you to find your own way back. Find a way, you did.

Any guilt he had before is destroyed, and he sets you on his bike before placing his helmet on your head and climbing on. You wrap your arms around his torso instantly, heat radiating off your form as you mold your body to his. 

"Don't let go, okay?"

He feels you shake your head and nuzzle in further, your arms tightening in the process. 

"Never."

Wind whips around you as JJ speeds toward the chateau, your body naturally leaning with his when he takes a turn. The coolness that comes with the blanket of night raises goosebumps on your bare arms and he brings a hand down to hold your trembling fingers.

"Almost there." He promises, and you squeeze his hand in acknowledgment. 

True to his word, it's only a couple more minutes before he comes to a stop and helps you steady yourself in the grass. 

You follow him silently as he leads you up to the porch, your feet stumbling a bit as you try to climb the steps with airy giggles.

His hands never leave your waist, ensuring you don't face plant while he guides you toward the spare bedroom. 

You take in the space through blurry vision; posters plastered to the walls and various t-shirts scattered about. It smells of old spice and weed, a scent you've come to associate with the surfer in the past few hours. 

It's wildly different from Rafes pristine and minimally decorated room that always makes you uneasy. Nothing about it feels warm or safe, you're always terrified to leave a stain or bump something out of place.

Standing here now you're immediately engulfed in comfort, and you can't help the feeling of being home.

JJ watches as you strip off your dress, trying and failing to avert his eyes from the bare skin now in front of him, as he argues with himself that he's not seeing any more than he does when you wear a bikini. 

His gaze follows you while you float around his makeshift room, your small hand gripping one of his t-shirts. You slip it over your head like you've done it a thousand times before, closing your eyes to inhale the lingering fragrance of JJ. 

He's engulfed you in every way except physically now as you curl up under his comforter, a blissful smile on your features. 

JJ is frozen in place, trying to process this entire night. Somehow, he's ended up with you in his bed in the most domestic way possible and his mind can't quite make sense of it. It seems so foreign yet so natural at the same time, something in his chest screaming that this is how it should have always been. 

His lust turns to adoration when you nuzzle into his pillow, butterflies trying to claw out of his stomach as he notices you seem to feel the same way. You look at peace with your hair fanned around your head like a halo and hands tucked up under your chin to hold the blanket close. 

He fights every cell in his body as he turns around to let you sleep, but stops when your tired voice rings out. 

"Where are you going?" 

You sound so angelic with a soft tone that makes his heart melt, a tinge of sadness lying under the surface. 

"I just assumed-" He cuts himself off, turning to the side just enough to meet your gaze. 

You look so small and innocent, big doe eyes silently pleading for him not to leave. He knows it's a bad idea; you'll probably kick him in the dick as soon as you wake up sober and realize who you're laying next to. 

Despite that fear, he craves your tender touch and glances between you and the door as war wages in his head. 

"Stay with me. Please?" You whisper, and his eyelids flutter closed. 

Who is he to deny you? He's been willing to burn the world down and dance in the embers just to see you smile ever since he first laid eyes on you, so how is he supposed to turn down such a simple request?

He hesitates for only a moment just to avoid seeming too eager before joining you in the safety of his bed. Something about you calls out to him, and his body overrides any objections his mind may have made. 

Rafe is long forgotten as you snuggle into JJ, his muscular arms finding purchase around your waist. You hum in contentment, your mind cloudy from the alcohol but still coherent enough to understand where you are and who you're with. 

You fall into a deep slumber almost instantly, the warmth radiating off his body acting as a sedative. He follows suit, drifting off against his will. He already feels like he's in a dream, and he dreads the fact that he'll probably wake up to an empty bed. 

His worries are erased when he's awoken by sun rays beaming through the broken blinds to find you still cuddled into him. Your legs have tangled through the night, bringing the two of you impossibly closer as he can't tell where he ends and you begin.

He just lays there in silence, basking in the beauty of your morning hair and soft snores. It doesn't take long for you to stir, and his heart rate spikes so quickly that he thinks he may have a heart attack. 

"G'morning." You mumble, and he stays quiet not wanting to pop the bubble of paradise the two of you are in. It's not until you press a lingering kiss to his arm that he finally speaks up, unaware if you know it's him your lips are touching. 

"Morning."

He feels you grin against his skin as you register his deep voice, still thick with sleep. Every second that passes feels like a bomb waiting to be detonated, ticking toward the inevitable moment that you rouse from your sleepiness enough to put the pieces together. 

The other shoe never drops though, and you turn around to bury your face into his bare chest. He stiffens for a second before relaxing into you and looks down when he feels you tilt your face up to peer at him. 

The confusion and anger that he was expecting are nowhere to be seen, tranquility swimming in the eyes he thought would hold fire. 

"Sleep well?" You whisper, and he nods slowly; unsure if he ever actually woke up. 

"Best sleep I've ever gotten."

You hum in acknowledgment, and he nearly combusts right then and there. 

"Me too."

This gives him a little more confidence, the idea that you slept better with him than Rafe going straight to his head. His heart pounds in his ears, and he's sure that you can see it trying to break out of his chest like a cartoon. 

"I hate to be the one to bring it up, but won't Rafe be wondering where you are?" 

The words taste like acid on his tongue, and he wishes he could take them back the second they hang in the air. You let out a long sigh and prop up on your elbow to see him better. 

"He's most likely waking up with his flavor of the night in a far more compromising position than this, so honestly? Probably not."

The casualty with which you say it makes JJ's stomach plummet, an air of familiarity around the statement. He doesn't press for more details, sure that it's not something you want to talk about. 

"He's a fucking idiot." 

He says it before he can think better of it, and is relieved when you bark out a short laugh. 

"Yeah, he is."

JJ's brows pull together as he analyzes your expression, trying to decipher what's going on in your head. 

"So why are you with him?" 

He knows it's none of his business, but the way you seem so open compels him to ask anyway. You flop back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, placing both hands on your stomach before turning your head to the side to look at him. 

"I don't know. It just kept going on, and the longer we were together the harder it seemed to leave."

Your use of past tense catches his attention and he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Were together?"

It's only two words, yet you know exactly what he's asking. 

"No way he wants anything to do with me after this. He's allowed to fuck who he wants, I'm not." You scoff. "It's kind of just the way of the kooks. There's the prim and proper trophy wife and then the side pieces that actually hold his attention. It's fucked, but it seems to work for most of them."

JJ crinkles his nose at the idea, disgusted that anyone could see you as anything other than the catch you are. 

"What about you? Would you be happy with a life like that?"

You purse your lips for a moment, digesting his question before shaking your head. 

"No. I'd rather be broke and in love than miserable and cushy." You answer honestly, and JJ smiles. 

"Stay with me." He almost begs, any shame demolished by the mere idea of getting to hold you every night. 

Your eyebrows shoot up at his forwardness, and you run a finger down his jaw while leaning in closer. 

"You think you could treat me better?" You tease, but JJ's face is stoic as he replies. 

"I know I could."

This elicits a real smile, the one that causes your eyes to crinkle in the corners in a way he hasn't witnessed since you started your tumultuous relationship. 

"Convince me." 

There's a sultriness to your voice that causes his brain to go haywire, and he glances at your lips in a silent request for permission. You answer by closing the gap between your mouths, kissing him slow and soft. 

It doesn't say that way for long, quickly turning into clashing teeth and battling tongues as he takes dominance over you.

"God, you taste even better than I imagined." He sighs, licking his lips as he tastes the cherry lipgloss that somehow still stains your lips. 

You moan into him when he shifts on top of you, your mouth falling open when he trails his lips down your jaw before sucking at the pulse point beneath your ear. 

"Is this okay?" He stops for a moment to check in, and your only response is pressing his face back into your neck while he smirks. 

You relish in the way he feels against you, the oversized t-shirt giving him easy access to where you crave him most. 

He pushes your panties aside and dips a ringed finger between your folds, groaning when he feels how wet you are already. 

"All this for me?" He rasps, and you nod quickly.

"I'm the luckiest motherfucker to ever walk the earth." 

Your lip quirks up at his statement, your body burning hot under his gaze. You've never felt so desired, and it causes you to drip onto the sheets. 

He makes quick work of your clothes, stripping you down so you're sprawled out beneath him fully nude. Under different circumstances, nerves would cause you to try and cover yourself up. You don't even consider the idea as JJ stares at you like you're a rare piece of artwork the world has never seen. 

He thinks he must have died and gone to heaven as he takes in the expanse of silky flesh that's at his disposal. There's so much he wants to do, but he starts with exploring every inch of unmarked territory. 

"You smell so fucking good. So soft and breathtaking."

You're a blubbering mess of moans and gasps as his lips attack anywhere they can reach, sucking amethyst bruises into your skin. 

"You're so god damn stunning. The prettiest thing I've ever seen. Look at you panting and shivering when I've barely even done anything." He keens, and you arch your back to press into him. 

"Patience, baby. I want to take my time with you."

You start to whine but are cut off by a moan when his lips attach to your nipple. He's slow and deliberate as he nibbles and laps at the perked mound before giving your other the same attention. 

By the time he kisses down your stomach and sits in front of your heat, you're begging for some kind of relief. 

"Please, JJ." You whimper, and he looks up at you with lust-blown pupils. 

"God, my name sounds like the prettiest song coming from those sinful lips."

You don't have a chance to respond before his mouth wraps around your clit, and you cry out when he plunges two thick fingers into your slick. He curls his digits in the most delicious way, finding that sweet spot that sends fire down your nerves with ease. 

He doesn't waste any more time teasing, aware of how desperate you are for your release. He moans into you when your walls clamp down, the vibrations nearly sending you hurtling over the edge into blinding pleasure. 

He takes you in, mesmerized by the way your body glistens with a thin sheet of sweat and writhes against him. You're bucking into his face, chasing that sweet end, and his other hand rubs at his painfully hard cock through his sweatpants. 

"Come for me. Let me have it all. I wanna memorize how you sound and taste." He groans, and he continues his movements as your body spasms. He lets you ride out your high and drags his tongue across you in broad stripes before moving back up to your face. 

You accept his tongue eagerly, letting him explore your mouth before licking your arousal off his chin. 

"Taste how sweet you are, angel?" He pants, and you nod before reattaching your lips to his. 

He moves to grab a condom out of the nightstand, and you stop him to suck on his fingers. 

"I'm on birth control." You assure him, and the last of his restraint disintegrates. 

He rips his sweats and boxers off in one motion before positioning himself at your entrance. 

"I need you now. I don't think I can make this slow and sweet." He growls, and the way you blink up at him nearly makes him bust instantly. 

"Fuck me, JJ."

That's all the instruction he needs, and you release a strangled gasp when he thrusts into you. His hips clash against yours as he bottoms out, and he uses the last of his willpower to give you a moment to adjust. 

You grind against him subconsciously, and he sets a brutal pace. The bed creaks as it slams against the wall, the rhythmic thumping combining with your sweet sounds to create an intoxicating melody. 

He props one elbow beside your head while his other hand grabs your wrists and pins them above you. Your brain goes completely blank except for the feeling of his cock pistoning into you and the way his face contorts in pleasure. 

His furrowed brows and gaping mouth bring you closer to that second release, and his head drops onto your chest when you clench around him. 

"How the fuck are you so tight? God, you're gonna kill me." He strains, and your eyes roll back in your head. 

He's quick to flip you onto your stomach, large hands bringing your hips to be level with his as he slides back into you. Your face presses into the bed as your fists claw at the sheets, your back arched so sharply that it brings a delightful mix of pain and pleasure. 

The sound of shrill moans and strangled grunts bounce off the walls, surely alerting anyone else in the house of what's taking place but you don't care. The feeling of him inside of you combined with his bruising grip is enough to drive you mad, and it makes you delirious in the best way. 

"You're taking me so fucking well. Like this pussy was made for me." 

You whimper at the lewd praise and his hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap as your thighs quiver. 

"You gonna be a good girl and come on my cock, baby? Soak me and these sheets? Come on, make a mess. Make me proud."

Stars erupt behind your eyelids as white-hot pleasure surges through every square inch of your body, your muscles contracting as your second orgasm rips through you violently. You feel JJ become more erratic behind you, a broken moan tearing from his lips as he coats your walls with hot ribbons of cum.

He slowly comes to a stop, both of you disheveled with tangled hair and flushed skin as you try to catch your breath. You collapse as soon as he relinquishes his hold, and he gently pulls you into his chest and hikes your leg over his waist while you wait for the feeling to come back to your limbs. 

"Holy shit." You mutter, and he chuckles before nodding in agreement. 

"Was that enough to persuade you?" He jests, and you give him a lazy fucked out smile while he rubs his thumb along your thigh absentmindedly. 

"Hm, I don't know. Might take a little more to really seal the deal." 

JJ licks a stripe along your cheek playfully as you giggle before dropping his mouth to your ear. 

"That's just the beginning."

@genius2050

[zeltqz]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 [𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃]

⋆♱✮♱⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST.

♱ SECTION ONE

pairing. ex!ran x reader

length.

authors note. the long awaited series lmaoaoaaoaoo. if you read it before i took it down, wipe that shit from ur memory pls lol. i changed a lot up so don't try and remember anything from the previous version bc it's not the same <3

♱ SECTION TWO

SYNOPSIS. Bonten is forming and in the midst of it, you find yourself caught in the sticky webs of your ex-boyfriend and current Bonten executive, Haitani Ran.

GENRE. exes to lovers, crime, love triangle, porn with plot, unhealthy relationships, post-breakup, flashbacks to past relationship, bonten timeline

WARNINGS. please proceed with caution: heavy adult content, violence, drug use, criminal activity: gambling, prostitution mentions, etc.

♱ SECTION THREE

taglist form to be notified when each chapter drops.

CHAPTER LIST

Chapter One 7.9k words

content. angst, first meetings, mentions of alcoholic mother in rehab, drinking mentions, bonten timeline, smoking mentions from Ran in flashback

Chapter Two 7.2k words

content. smut, smoking, fluff

Chapter Three 5.2k words

content. pretty mild chapter, not many warnings

Chapter Four - 5.5k words

content. smut (again #noshameatall), mentions of violence; bruised eye, busted lip and concussion, more smut...but less detailed near the end, mentions of gangs

Chapter Five - 5.4k words

content. NSFW!!! prositution work, reader has a gun put to her head, minor violence

Chapter Six - 7k words

content. smoking, mild drug use, SMUT, mentions of past alcohol addiction, murder/implied death threats

Chapter Seven - 9.6k words

content. buckle up guys, there's a LOT. detailed drug descriptions gun play; shion puts a gun to rans head, TW FOR DRUGS!!!! reader does drugs, sanzu injects drugs like a lunatic, mentioned whorehouse, gambling, sanzu and mochi talk badly about women so tw objectification.

08. -> to be posted

09. -> to be posted

more chapters tba

[dcminions]

IN  THE  SOURCE  ,  you  will  find  four  hundred  &  ninety  one  gifs  of  KIERNAN   SHIPKA  in  the  movie  ‘  wildflower  ’  (  2022  )  .  please  don’t  claim  these  gifs  as  your  own  .  like  &  reblog  if  you  plan  on  using  them  or  just  enjoy  them  ! tw  :   kissing ,  alcohol  ,  drinking  , implied sexual activity , mild nudity . if  you'd  like  to  donate  to  my  ko  -  fi  ,  click  here  !

[somanyratsinthewalls]

The Crew's Whore Part 6 (+18)

The Crew’s Whore (Part 6) (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great talent. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Nami x Robin x Female!Reader

WC: 2200

TW: gossip, alcohol consumption, making out, lesbian sex, wlw, threesome, fingering, face sitting, ass play, squirtin! three girls, mild voyeurism, oral sex, Sanji having an aneurysm.

— —

It was growing late in the evening aboard the ship. The table in the center of your bedroom was littered with wine bottles and empty chip bags. Robin was laying on her back on the loveseat in your room while you and Nami were laid on your bed. You were on your stomach, propped up on your elbows facing Robin on your couch while Nami had settled against the pillows at your headboard. The three of you were all reading through the huge stacks of trashy magazines you had purchased at the last island. 

This was a guilty pleasure of yours. The life of a pirate isn’t exactly one that allowed many feminine wiles. Because of that, the three of you loved to splurge on girly gossip rags whenever you arrived at civilization. 

“‘Hot or Not? Marines’ I’m voting not.” Robin skims through the pages of the magazine and comments at the articles. “Oooh here’s one. ‘Who is Your Warlord Boyfriend? Take This Fun Quiz to Find Out.’ I hope I get Mihawk. He’s probably the least offensive of the bunch.” 

“Wait check how old it is, is Jinbe still in there?” Nami closes her magazine. Robin flips through the pages and settles on one. 

“Damn, this is only from a few months ago. Could you imagine if he was???” Robin chuckled. 

“We could never let him live it down.” You laughed as you flipped through your own magazine. “I’m sure he was quite the stud back in the day.” 

“I mean… if you’re into that!” Nami couldn’t help but let out a boisterous laugh. The three of you laughed together, there were at least 2 empty bottles hanging around your room from just this evening. You grab a handful of potato chips and shove them into your mouth. You take a gulp of wine to wash them down. 

“If Sanji knew we were having convenience store cinnamon buns and spicy chips for dinner, he would have a fucking heart attack.” Nami remarked with a smirk. 

“Doesn’t that make it taste better?” Robin smiles as she takes a drink. 

You both hum in agreement and raise your glasses to the middle of the room casually. 

“How exactly did you assure that the ever present cook would leave us alone tonight?” Robin looks up from her magazine quiz to meet your gaze. 

“I jerked him off before we left for town. 10 minutes in exchange for peace all night? An easy deal to make.”  You smirked. 

“Not in the galley though, right? ‘Cuz we like? Eat there?” Nami cocked her head at you, annoyed. 

“No of course not!” You shoot back and return to your magazine. “Not today at least.” 

Suddenly a pillow was launched at your head and you felt Nami next to you kick your shins. 

“Gross!” She half scolded half laughed at you. 

“Hey don’t look at me! Blame your cook for his appetite!” You toss the pillow back jokingly at Nami. 

“Honestly he’s been much more enjoyable to be around now that he finally has an outlet for his proclivities. I have to extend my gratitude!” Robin remarks. 

“No thanks needed, it’s what I enjoy doing. If it makes being around a ship full of sweaty men more tolerable, then I’m only reaping the extra benefits.” You smile and kick up your feet behind you. 

“OK I know I said I’d never ask about it, but like… there’s no way they can all make you cum, right? Like, most of them are certifiably stupid.” Nami asks, feeling curious after a few drinks. 

“Hah!” You laugh. “Not really at first with some, no. But… men are surprisingly trainable. Even the stubborn ones are very easy to bend to exactly how you like it.” 

“Ew sorry I asked.” Nami rolls her eyes and returns to her magazine. 

You chuckle and go back to reading the article ‘Latest Beauty Craze: Moisturizer Made From Sea King Semen. Would You Try It?’ You finish your wine and settle back onto the bed. 

“You know Franky’s dick vibrates, right?” You burst out into the silence. 

“AAAAH!” “Yes.” Nami and Robin reply differently but at the same time. Robin laughs and Nami contemplates killing both of you before she wrestles you playfully onto your back. 

“You are so nasty!” Nami huffs out from above you. 

“You have actually no idea how nasty I am.” You grin up at her before taking her by surprise and flipping your positions so that she was on her back with you hovering over her. 

“You don’t say? Maybe I’d like to find out why the freak cook likes you so much…” You weren’t expecting her to match your flirtatious energy so you were shocked to say the least. Suddenly the tides were shifted again and Nami flips you back over and straddles your hips. 

“I’d love to show you..” You look up at Nami with half lidded eyes, her hands pinning your forearms above your head. 

Nami leans down and kisses you, gently at first. You softly moan at the feeling of her soft lips on yours and she uses this opportunity to kiss you harder. Nami moves from your lips to kiss and bite at your neck while she yanks your shorts off your body. You gasp sharply at the cool air hitting your now exposed sex. Without reacting, Nami quickly pulls your sports bra over your head, leaving you completely naked on the bed. She hovers over your nude form with a wicked smile on her face. 

“Your turn.” You smirk and tug firmly at Nami’s top. She sits up briefly to remove her crop top and lets her breasts bounce freely in front of you. They were absolutely stunning. Your intrusive thoughts got the best of you and you buried your face between them, relishing in how the soft, plush skin feels against your cheeks. You placed a small kiss between her tits before you slide your hand down to cup her clothed sex. 

“Let me taste it.” You seductively whisper up at her. 

“You’re so cute, I’m starting to see why the boys won’t put you down.” Nami remarks at you before getting off of you to remove her shorts and panties. Snapped out of your frenzied foreplay, you both remember that you aren’t alone in your bedroom. 

“Care to enjoy her with me, Robin? You’re more than welcome.” Nami asks while fluffing the pillow laying under your head affectionately. 

“You girls look so pretty, I think I’ll just watch for right now, if that’s alright?” Robin winks at Nami and settles back on the loveseat. Nami winks back as she moves to straddle your face. 

“Hear that, y/n? Robin said we look pretty. Don’t you agree?” Nami teases as she lowers her slick pussy down towards your waiting mouth. You felt your cunt clench as you saw Nami’s pink lips glisten with arousal leaking from around her tight hole. 

“Mhm…” You reach your arms to hook around Nami’s thighs so she couldn’t escape your hold. “So fuckin’ pretty…” 

You pull Nami down to sit fully on your face and she shrieks as you begin to kiss and suck at her clit lightly. You pay sweet, loving attention to Nami’s sensitive bud as you knead at the soft skin of her hips and tummy with your hands. Nami throws her head back and moans, her long orange hair tickling your forehead. You spend what feels like both an eternity and the blink of an eye between Nami’s legs and you had barely noticed the pulsing throb of your own cunt. 

“Oh sweet y/n, you’re doing such a good job making her feel good. I think it’s only fair you get a reward too, don’t you?” You hear Robin coo from across the room on the couch. Suddenly you feel two slim fingers stroke up and down your wet slit teasingly. You groan into Nami’s pussy at the sensation. 

Once deciding you had received enough torture, Robin’s pointer and middle finger slip easily into your wet walls. She curls them gently to just barely graze your sweet spot and pulls back. She repeats her actions until you were whining and begging underneath Nami. 

“You focus on making Nami cum, sweetheart. Once you do that, I’ll let you have yours. 

*easy enough…* you thought to yourself. 

You slide your tongue backwards from her clit through her now dripping folds. Continuing further, you use your hands to pull Nami’s ass apart and begin licking at her tight ass. 

“HOLY SHIT- Y/n! What are you?!” Nami jolts and looks back at you. 

You look back up at her and rub small circles around Nami’s asshole. 

“If you trust me, I can make you cum so hard.” You ask breathlessly, so close to your own release you could taste it. 

“I… yes…” 

You smile and continue rubbing the tight hole. You return to suckling and licking Nami’s clit and slowly slip your thumb into Nami’s virgin ass. 

“Ah!” Nami shouts. 

You pick up your pace with your mouth and you can tell the woman above you is getting close. A few moments later you feel Nami’s body jerk forward and she slams her eyes shut. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck, fuck, shit, I’m gonna-  AH!” You feel Nami’s muscles tighten all over her body, inside and out. Droplets of Nami’s release splatter all over your face and neck and the feeling makes you groan and clench around Robin’s fingers. Nami collapses to the side of you with heavy breaths. 

“Wow you did such a good job girls! Now it’s your turn to cum, y/n. Would you like that?” Robin’s soothing voice reaches your ears. Now that Nami was off of your chest, you realize Robin never had gotten up, only using her Devil Fruit powers to play with your pussy from across the room. 

“Yes, fuck! Yes I want to cum, please!” You pant out, exhausted from being on edge for so long. You look at Robin with pleading eyes. You see she has hiked up her skirt and discarded her panties, using a hand to gently rub at her cunt. This hand was also soaking wet, so she must have just finished herself. Robin uses the fingers inside of you to hammer into your g-spot repeatedly, and another hand to push down on your stomach. 

“Shit, yes! I’m so close!” You cry out and writhe against the comforter. 

“Come on, give it to us.” You hear Nami purring up at you from her head now resting on your thigh. She lifts her hand and uses it to rub your clit in tight circles. The combined sights and sensations sent you into a brain melting orgasm and you feel fluids and tension leave your body. You couldn’t form words so you just arched your back and moaned at your ceiling. 

You flopped down bonelessly on your bed and caught your breath. “We should probably shower and change before bed, right?” Robin suggests as she stands up. 

“And we should probably sleep in my room… unless we want to change the sheets.” Nami looks at you and giggles. 

“Yes to both.” You throw a towel on and give one to Nami to wear to the bathroom. The three of you casually leave your room and head down the hallway of the ship to the bathroom. Upon exiting your room, you run into a certain ever present cook coming down from the kitchen for the night carrying a pile of folded clothes. 

“Oh, hey Sanji.” You all greet him in passing. 

“Y/n I took the liberty of doing your laundry today, shall I put it in your room?” Sanji smiles brightly at you. 

“That would be great, thank you Sanji.” You give him a kiss on the cheek as you enter the bathroom with the girls. You chuckle, remembering where your lips had just been. The three of you turn on the showers and strip down. 

“You know that skin cream article was actually really interesting, I think I’m gonna buy some.” Nami makes casual conversation as you all enjoy your showers. 

Suddenly you hear a man scream followed by the sound of a body hitting the wooden floor of the ship. The three of you look at each other. 

“Oh my god. My room! Sanji probably passed out!” You clasp your hand over your mouth. 

The three of you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. 

“Let’s clean the room and leave him there. That way we can gaslight him into thinking it was a fever dream.” Nami grins. 

“You’re a genius.” 

xx

[pinkcherryblossom18]

I Bet On Losing (You)

Aegon ii Targaryen/Reader

Summary: Another trip, another month of nothing but grueling time spent with a family that neither you nor Aegon truly wish to be part of. A family that pushes you both, to anger and to tears.

I almost cried while writing the ending...take that as you will.

TW: Modern AU, Chubby!Aegon, Angst, Mild fluff, Hints of smut, Miscarriage mention/refrenced, Descriptions of a miscarriage, Past suicidal thoughts, Forced abortion mention, Aegons childhood, Referenced alcoholism, Otto Hightower, Viserys Targaryen. This is some heavy shit. 

Word Count: 7.7k

The backseat is full of blankets that Sunfyre has easily taken over with a quick leep from the back where his dog bed is along with his food bowl and water bowl but you knew that Aegon was already going to feed him whatever you two picked up in the five hour drive. Along with Sunfyre and the blankets is a cooler, it’s small and painted red, inside it holds a pack and a half of hard seltzers for both you and Aegon when you two get to the Targaryen summer home. A bottle of rum is also within it but you two have promised not to touch it until you got there as it was your only bottle of actual alcohol for the month. Something that you two had started with in three months of dating and a tip from the fifth AA meeting that you both went to before you both got involved. 

Its a vacation that neither of you wanted but one that you two have no choice in as Aemond had threatened Aegon over text and Alicent had made sure to call you every day over the past week, asking for speciality items the two of you may want or wondering if she should perhaps visit, just to help you pack. You had kept the peace and politely turned her down, instead you asked if she was alright and how everything was going and if she had finally gotten some kitchen staff to come to the summer home to help. She hadn’t. 

She had been quite certain that you were the only one packing, it wasn’t entirely true but not exactly wrong either. More so it was you having to fold everything when Aegon just tossed his clothes into his suitcase. 

A sigh comes from beside you and the hand that you hold in your own squeezes with a strength that most wouldn’t think that the plump frat boy that was Aegon would possess. It doesn’t matter as you squeeze back. Both of you have reserves for this trip; neither one of you wants to go. Both for the same reasons but also your own. 

It wasn’t an option though, that was abundantly clear to everyone who attended. Aegon’s father only made it mandatory so that they could all be together for once, so that they actually looked like a family and not a clumped together mess of lies, vices, insults and piercing glares that started physical fights. The only way out was if someone had a life threatening cause that made them stay away or if you were Daeron, you had already been invited somewhere else. The boy had used that excuse since he started high school, always having a reason to be away and you couldn’t blame him. 

Two hard seltzers were already opened, they both rested in the cup holders with you both separating hands every once in a while to take a sip, then your hand conjoined once more with ferocity that only came from the clingness that was adopted by anxiety and dread. 

Aegon sighed again but you kept staring out of the window. Cars flew past, those in them ranged from color to gender to what they were doing. Some had white skin, others bronze; some were women and some were men and most of them were on their phones or talking to another that was in their car. You wondered what people would think if they looked into Aegon’s car, they would probably see two people who were both frowning with one gripping the wheel so tight that the sound of the leather against flesh was audible and the other looking out the window with sad looking expressions, watching as the cars passed. 

It was probably a horrid sight, they most likely thought you two to be displeased with each other, two people going through a rough breakup but forced into a space so small that it was bound to be suffocating. It wasn’t the truth and you both knew it so that was truly all that mattered, it was the upcoming couple of months that was weighing on the both of you like bags of bricks that was close to breaking your backs each time this reunion was set. 

Aegon sighed again and you breathed deeply, trying to push off the questions until later when the roads weren’t filled with cars all too close to experience the type of anger that can come from the both of you. But it all seemed inevitable when he sighed once more, again. 

You didn’t even move your head off of the window when you asked him: “If you want to say something just say it.”

“I want to say absolutely nothing,” he replied quickly and you rolled your eyes and looked at him. A small quirk of a smile was on his face and you fought to keep one off of yours. 

“Oh?” His smile widens more and you lean your head back onto the seat, staring at him as he stares out into the road. “So you're just suddenly having breathing problems?”

He nods. “Which is a good reason to go back home,” he says, eyeing an exit that leads to the opposite direction of your intended location. 

You laugh and shake your head at him as he starts to move toward the exit. “Aegon, we’re literally thirty minutes away from the house. Plus your mom would want to visit us if we told her that was the reason,” you state and he sighs. 

Shaking his head, Aegon flashes you a small pout that only grows bigger when he faces away from you again. “You have to spoil my plans?” He whines childishly. 

You only shrug. “Make up a better plan,” you say and he only scoffs. 

Silence takes over the car once more but with an atmosphere that shrouds that tension that had once been there. Small smiles stay on both of your lips and only leave when you both sing along to a song that plays on the radio. 

The tension returns when Aegon turns onto the exit and the car approaches the small grove which leads to the house. In any other circumstances, you would have been delighted to visit the God’s Eye, the Riverlands provided beautiful spaces of untouched land surrounding it and it was a popular place for tourists and people on vacation. Houses close to it were expensive and those who held as much wealth as the Targaryens did could secure one. 

“How much do you want to bet that mom is going to ambush you with marriage questions an hour after we show up?” He suddenly asks as soon as he turns on the gravel road leading to the house. 

You shake your head. “I’m not playing this game.” It always leads to losing at least a hundred and only gaining very little. 

“And why not?” He asks, playing innocent too well for who he was. 

“Because you cheat,” you shoot at him and Aegon only chuckles.

Aegon never lost at this game, even in the last few years that you two had been playing it you’ve never won. Had never even come close to winning. 

Groaning, Aegon gently slaps at your leg in some type of encouragement. “Oh, come on. It’s just a bit of fun,” he says, trying to coax you into his asinine idea of a fun game that only he can win. He knows it too but it’s never stopped him from trying to persuade you. 

“Not for my wallet.”

He shoots you an unimpressed look. “Come on, how much?”

You sigh and pull out your phone, ready to record your bets and the money that you’ll probably lose. “I’ll bet ten she’ll wait until tomorrow during lunch to ask me.” Last time she had asked you not even an hour after you two arrived. “How much do you wanna bet that your dad won’t even remember my name?”

Aegon snorts. “That’s unfair, he never remembers.” He pauses before tapping your phone. “Twenty. I bet thirty that Aemond will only speak to us a total of nine times for the entire two months.”

“That’s too easy,” you say, typing down the bet. “How much do you want to bet how long it’s going to take for Otto to mention class structure?” 

It had happened as soon as he sat down that first night last year, the year before that he mentioned it before you two had even shown up at the house. 

“Forty that he mentions it as soon as he sees you,” he says confidently. 

You think about it for a moment. “Fifty that he’ll do it during dinner,” Aegon nods at your words and you add “and Daemon makes fun of him for it.”

“He didn’t last time,” Aegon points out.

“That was because he was too busy staring down your sister's shirt.”

“So?” Aegon shrugs and then a smirk comes onto his face. “I said something and I was staring down your shirt.”

A chuckle comes from you when Aegon glances at your breasts. “That’s because it’s a natural state for you at this point,” you quip and he only shrugs.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

You shake your head and move his head so that he’s looking at the road, his headlights starting to reflect meaning that you were close to the gates. “Look at the road before you make us crash into a tree.”

“It would at least get us out of this.”

Like every year, you and Aegon are—surprisingly—the first ones out of the rest of his siblings to show up, pardon for Rhaenyra. It’s only her, Daemon and their three youngest children, the eldest three had opted for driving in a less crowded vehicle but forgot that Jace was now living in the North for college so it was taking longer than normal. Rheana and Baela were still in Driftmark with their grandparents but had said that they would be there in a week or two. 

The meetings have gone smoothly so far, Rhaenrya was kind and welcoming as usual and Daemon had kept his distance but still made his normal quick quips. Alicent had been the one to greet you two, with a big hug and a smile as she led you inside with Sunfyre following you and leaving Aegon behind with the luggage. She had shown you the new additions to the house, mostly in the kitchen which included more counter space, like it wasn’t already a vast block of wood. 

Thankfully, she hadn’t mentioned marriage yet.

Later, you heard the sound of Dreamfyre through the house, then Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes when the boys finally showed up. The only indication that Aemond was here was Vhagar hopping onto your and Aegon’s bed and curling up in a ball right on his pillow. She hissed and scratched at him when he attempted to take her off of his pillow but allowed for you to pull her into your lap, petting languidly at her graying pelt with soft purrs. 

Vhagar hissed when Aegon’s hand went near her and you laughed, continuing to stroke the cat’s fur. “That’s unfair,” he pouts. 

You shake your head at him and look down at the old cat in your arms. She was old but you never knew how old, all Aemond had told you was that she went through two previous owners in his family before ending up with him. And that Rheana was still upset about the fact that Aemond got her mother’s cat. “She would probably like you more if you didn’t kick her all of the time.”

A snort comes from Aegon and he plops down beside you, making Vhagar grumble before settling down again. “In my defense, I was eight,” he said in self-defense. 

“No, you act like you’re eight,” you quip.

A small shriek comes from your lips when Aegon pokes your side. “That’s rude,” he murmurs, his head settling on your shoulder. 

“You love it,” you say and he hums in agreement. 

His pale hair spreads over your shoulder like a waterfall, you remember when it was longer before he cut it and sometimes you found yourself missing it. Your hand starts to play with the ends of his hair and chuckle when some strands tickle you under your chin. His eyes open a few seconds later, never truly able to handle silences for too long unless it was in the morning, with you both still dreary from sleep and finding comfort in each other's arms basking in it like you would die without it. 

Sometimes his hand would travel downward and trace over your stomach, bringing in a certain sadness to your mornings that not even the greatest of warmths could fix. No other warmth than Aegon’s, who ran hot and held you during nights when the sadness from three years ago settled back in like a tidal wave. 

You two could try again, truly you two could. It wouldn’t be difficult considering that you both fucked like rabbits anyways but you couldn’t do it. 

Fear lingered heavily on your shoulders everytime Aegon would bring it up, even as something to get you more worked up during sex or it just slipped out. It always ended there and the ruined orgasm was nothing more than a small hindrance to what you felt. To the fear that clung to you like glue; that hovered over you and would shadow you for the rest of your life. 

It didn’t matter if it wasn’t your fault. 

The anguish followed you everywhere, on every piece of happiness that resembled what you felt when you heard the news. Even with Aegon and him recovering reminded you of your loss, how he was more focused on stopping, wanting to be present, wanting to be there unlike how his father had been. How you both had fallen back into that old routine when it happened, how you both cried all night with a bottle of whiskey in your hands and your arms wrapped around each other.

Those bright blue eyes look up at you, full of stars and adoration. You were sure that if anyone else saw him like this, they would believe that this was Aegon Targaryen, the party clown, the alcoholic, the druggie and man whore. You were sure the same could be said about you. “Yes I do.” He let in for a kiss but then yelped and pulled back with a pained groan. Vhagar growled at him and went to strike him again. “Fucking—Aemond!” He yells and a few seconds later you hear soft steps coming toward your room, Aemond’s was only a few rooms down as he refused to be any closer. “Get your cat before she rips my balls off!”

Aemond glides in with quick strides and scoops Vhagar off of your lap. “That would be an improvement.”

“Hey Aemond,” you greet him and he flashes you a small smile.

“How was the trip?” He asks. “I imagine it was difficult having to deal with two dogs.”

You stifle a laugh behind your hand as you feel Aegon nestling further against your neck, only pulling away for a second to say: “That was actually funny, brother,” with a mocking smile before shoving his face back into the crook of your neck. 

In his arms, Vhagar glares at Aegon and then jumps out of Aemond’s arms and leaves. “Not as taxing as usual, one of them was more behaved than usual.” You giggled when Aegon nipped at you with his teeth before relaxing once more. “How was the trip? I heard about that hurricane in the Stormlands, I was meaning to call but never got the time.”

He only shrugs and leans on the door frame. “It was nowhere near me.”

“What grave news for all of us,” Aegon mumbles, hot breath raising hairs on the back of your neck. 

You swat Aegon’s back and smile at Aemond. “I’ll talk to you later Aemond,” you say, voice sweet and cautious unlike how Aegon is being. 

He nods. “I’ll see you then,” he says and then leaves.  

A loud thud echoes throughout the room when you push Aegon off of you and he accidentally falls to the floor, not expecting to be shoved. “Can you not be civil with him?” You ask, exasperated. “Especially with everything that went down a few months ago.”

Aegon pushes himself off of the floor ad lays down on the bed before shrugging. You turn toward him, seeing him propped up against the pillows, your eyes darting to the exposed skin of his stomach for a second before looking back at him. The only indication that he knows is a small smirk on his lips. “He would despise it if I treated him like you and mom do,” he states simply. 

“Kindly?”

“Like glass.” Aegon shifts and grabs your ankle, and you scoot closer to him on the bed. “It didn’t work on me, it doesn’t work on him.”

You huff. “Well I can’t comfort him the way I comfort you.”

That smirk on Aegon’s face widens and he moves his face closer to yours, hand finding the back of your thigh and throwing it over his legs. You stumble and fall onto his chest before righting yourself up. “I might be needing some of the comfort now,” he breathes, his eyes catching themselves on your breasts. 

“Not going to wait until midnight?” You ask him. 

Aegon groans, his head falling back against the pillows. “We always wait until midnight,” he whines.

You shake your head at him. “There’s a reason for that,” you say pointedly. 

His head emerges from the pillows, a mischievous smile on his face. “Perhaps if my grandfather hears how I fuck you, he will leave you alone,” he says, his hands starting to push up your shirt. 

You push his hands down with difficulty. “Maybe he will say that I am corrupting you,” you counter. 

His eyebrow quirks. “Maybe then I can convince father to send him back to Oldtown for retirement as his memory is deteriorating, rapidly.”

A giggle comes from your lips and you lean down, pecking his lips. You go to pull away and almost fail at such a task when Aegon’s hand threads through your hair, wanting to keep you where you are. “Merry Christmas to me then,” you mumble against his lips. 

“No one in this family has ever resented early presents,” he says, “this would be put into the photo album as the best one yet.”

You laugh and sit up straight. “That would be your favorite present?”

A lewd smile comes onto his face. “Second to that blowjob you gave me last year,” he says, his smile widening at what you presume to be at the memory of you sucking his brain out of his balls.

You poke his chest. “Your turn this year,” you remind him. 

Once more his hands go under your shirt, one going up and the other playing with the top of your pants, waiting to be invited in. “Another early Christmas present,” he hums, his fingers grazing underneath your bra. 

Humming, you bend down and kiss his lips once more. “Sure…at midnight,” you say and jump off of him, laughing at the pout on his face. 

“Tease,” he shoots at you, hatefully but his lips are upturned.

You blow a kiss at him. “Love you too,” you say before leaving the room.

The dinner table is filled with individual whispers. Awkward glances are exchanged every now and then when one thinks that they have spoken too loudly but despite that, everyone keeps to their own. 

Jace, Luke and Joffrey are talking to each other, though it’s mostly only the oldest two and the six years old seems content on listening but not understanding what his older brothers were saying. 

Aemond and Helaena are immersed in their own world of bugs, college and whatever else they liked to converse about. 

Rhaenyra and Daemon are busy with little Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya but Rhaenyra is exchanging small talk with Alicent. 

You and Aegon are talking only to each other, still taking bets and wondering who was going to win the first one. Small quips are made about his family, about what they were doing when they weren’t all together that he somehow knows and what he is sure is going on with his own family. You put little faith into his words but are sure that he’s most likely right about most of it. 

All of you are waiting for Otto and Viserys to show up and pretend to be one big happy family for the rest of the dinners that are on their way. The fabrication of feelings was only made for the older man as he was growing only sicker as the days went on, Alicent had spoken to about it during her monthly calls to check up on the both of you.

You’re sure that she’s only calling to make sure that you’re both sober still and not passed out in an alley somewhere like you two would have been four years ago.

Soon enough the door opens and you can hear the sound of a cane tapping against the ground and a scratchy voice followed by another one that sounded more refined and arrogant. Now came the part that everyone despised the most, now card the need to act like you all loved each other to some degree other than mild tepid disinterest that you all held for each other. 

The sound stops and in the threshold of the dining room stands Viserys Targaryen. His face was wrinkled and pallid; his structure was seeming to be on the verge of becoming bone thin and even with the cane, he still needed the assistance of Otto Hightower to walk. 

A shaky smile was spread over his lips as he looked at the viewage in front of him, finding nothing wrong at all. “Ah, what a joyous sight! All of my family together again,” he says joyfully. 

The dinner went downhill from there. 

Stories were exchanged. Happenings that were not given to others in the family were talked about and only a few jabs here and there were thrown but not enough to elevate the underground tension that lingered underneath everyone’s skins. The wine flowed freely, everyone besides Alicent, Otto and Helaena were already on their fourth or fifth cup of the red liquid. You and Aegon went through it as slowly as you both could, only refilling your glasses when the other was done with theirs; the two of you were only on your second glasses and still regretfully sober. 

You could feel Otto’s eyes on you the entire time, judging and calculating, rounding up whatever he had in his arsenal to eventually fire at you. Alicent was also watching you but was also keeping her eyes on Aegon, watching and perhaps waiting for one of you to slip back into your old habits. 

Otto cleared his throat, tearing you away from Helaena who had been telling you of some drama that was happening at her work. “I wasn’t aware that the rabble was still with us this year,” he says smoothly, taking a sip out of his glass. 

Aegon’s hand nudged yours, twenty five added to your wallet already. Now Daemon just needed to butt in like usual. 

The smile on your face fell and was replaced by a fake one. “Well I’m surprised that you’re here as well Otto, especially eating dinner for the early bird special was only two hours ago,” you say innocently. Chuckles disperse across the table by those who are listening. 

A sardonic smile copied your own. “I don’t have a big enough appetite to eat twice,” he remarked. 

You nodded. “Many don’t when they get older.”

“And how is college?” He asks. “Still studying…English?”

Your eyes narrowed into slits. “Yes, you say and nod toward the top of his head. “Your hair looks great tonight, but I would recommend trying to master the comb over.”

A wicked look comes into his eyes. “How is college?” He asks, taking a sip from his cup. 

You shrug. “It’s alright, the classes were different toward the end but I came out on top.”

“Not a common occurrence,” Aegon mutters beside you. 

Alicent gasps. “Aegon!” She chides. 

Aegon only raises his hands up in surrender. “Simply stating a fact mother, you have always told me not to lie,” he says cheekily. 

She only sighs, a changrine look on her normally perfectly molded face as she looks away from her eldest son.

Under the table, Aegon passes you twenty five dollars and you grin in satisfaction. 

It’s a few minutes later when you are halfway through your meal that Alicent turns back toward the both of you. A look is in her eyes that helps to remind you that she is Otto’s daughter. 

With her hands clasped in front of her, she peers at the both of you thoughtfully and you reach into your pocket, ready to hand Aegon his bet money. “Have you two considered…moving along in your relationship?” She asks, sounding hopeful for the news that she has pestered you both about for two years now. 

Aegon shakes his head and plucks the ten out of your fingers from under the table. “No mother, we still aren’t ready yet,” he says calmly. 

A disappointed look is on her face, all of the hope and yearn draining out quickly. “After four years?” She asks, her voice slick with confusion. “I married your father after a year.”

“Months,” Aegon whispers to you.

At the same time you tell her: “We just aren’t ready yet, Mrs. Targaryen. With college and work, life is just too busy at the moment,” you explain, hoping that this will be the last she will bring it up. 

“The AA meetings must take much of your time as well,” Otto says slyly. 

Agitation nips at your heels with barbed teeth, making them bleed and hoping that you will soon see nothing but red. “They do but we only go on Wednesdays and Saturdays,” you explain to him, trying to keep your voice even. 

Otto opens his mouth once more but Jace intervenes with a gliding grace. “I met someone,” he announces and everyone’s attention goes toward him. 

“Really?” Aegon asks in disbelief. 

“Who is it?” You ask, hitting Aegon on the arm. 

“What is she like?” Rhaenyra asks, a bright smile on her face. 

Jace breathes deeply. “His name is Cregan, he’s on the hockey team,” he says and everyone stops in their tracks for a moment. 

“He?” Alicent asks and a quick glance toward the end of the table, you see Otto’s lips curl up in disgust. 

Jace nods. “Yes, he.”

The smile on Rhaenyra’s face is still bright when she asks: “When can we meet him?” 

A smile is on Jace’s face, relief is in it. “He’s in Winterfell right now with his family but he should be free soon.”

Alicent nods. “Well we have more than enough room Jace, it would be nice to meet your…friend,” she says slowly. 

“I had a male friend once,” Aegon pipes up, “the memories still make me—

“Aegon!” Alicent shouts, her eyes darting toward you. 

You sink into your seat as Aegon places his arm on the back of it. “Oh she doesn’t mind, we’ve had our own play dates with our male friends before,” he says and you feel an overcoming heat on your cheeks from both embarrassment and the memory. 

 A groan comes from the chair from the end of the table as Viserys leans forward, looking toward his second son. “Ah Aemond, how is Alys?” He asks. 

The air grows stiff as everyone stills, even Aegon stops in his laughing tracks and stares at his brother. Worry paints his eyes and you're sure that he would be ready to assist his brother should he need it. “I wouldn’t know,” Aemond states, his face an absent canvas of burdening pain. 

Viserys only looks disappointed, seemingly not noticing the breath that the rest of the table holds. “Well that’s unfortunate, she was quite lovely,” he remarks. 

At that, Aegon pushes away from the table and stands before reaching down to grab your hand. “Excuse us,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically choleric. 

Alicent’s eyebrows furrow as Aegon pulls you out of your seat. “Where are you going?” She asks, concern lining her voice. 

Aegon only brushes that concern away and starts to leave, bringing you with him. “Somewhere where I don’t want to pull my brains out of my ears. Come on,” he whispers to you. 

“It was nice seeing you again,” you say to the table before turning toward Helaena. “I’ll talk to you later, Hel.”

Aegon pulls you out of the room and down the hall toward the stairs. His jaw is set tightly, anger toward his father plain in every muscle of his body as you two go up the stairs. 

He pulls open the door into your room and pushes you up against the door once it is closed. “You are one of the rudest men that I know,” you joke. 

A grin comes onto his face but his fury is still evident. “Must not know many men then,” he remarks.

“Aegon—”

He cuts you off by mashing his lips with your own, stopping your words as he releases all of his anger that he possibly can into one kiss. Your arms go around his neck and pull him closer and you two only part if it is entirely necessary. 

Pulling you toward the bed, you pull away from his lips with heavy hesitance. “It’s not midnight yet,” you tell him. 

He only shrugs and pushes you down on the bed before glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s seven, close enough,” he remarks before grabbing your jaw in his hand and kissing you hard.

Sunfyre has made his home in your lap despite being too big to fit. Not that he cares. The golden only tries to snuggle in further whenever you try to push him off of your lap and you know exactly who he learned that from.

The sound of the shower is starting to lull you into a daze and a yawn falls out of your lips, a sudden tiredness starting to cling to your bones. You settle against the pillows and close your eyes, water hitting porcelain, the weight on your lap along with the slight nip in the air combined with the heat the Sunfyre is giving you; a light sleep comes to you easily. 

It’s the sound of the door to the bathroom hitting the wall that makes you jolt awake and Sunfyre finally gets off of your lap. You look toward the direction of the noise and see Aegon staring at you sheepishly.

You shake your head at him and then let your eyes drift down toward the wet landscape of his torso. Droplets of water cling to his pale skin and drip down every now and then, making your eyes follow them. They fall over his shoulders and down between his chest and over his stomach, traveling over the slight bulge and finally being taken by the towel wrapped around his waist, something that you’re surprised that he’s even wearing. 

Aegon looks at you, amused. “Do you have no shame?” He asks, striding toward the bed with a smirk on his face. His hand plays with the towel around his waist, looking ready to drop it at any second; no matter if you tell him to or not. 

You roll your eyes at him. “Do you?” You ask, leaning up on your elbows, jostling Sunfyre who only grumbles unhappily before settling down again. 

He places his hand on his heart, looking at you with mock offense. “Of course I do, I’m a proper gentleman after all,” he says, kneeling on the bed, moving closer to you with every beat of your heart. 

A small snort comes from you and your arms wrap around his neck when he props himself above you slightly. “Yeah and I’m queen of the seven kingdoms.” He hums softly as his lips meet yours,digging into you with everything that he has. Grasping onto your sides and pushing a grumpy Sunfyre out of your lap so that he could take the dog's place. You pull away, hand massaging the back of his neck and the back of his scalp. “How bad do you think this is going to be?” You ask. 

He raises an eyebrow. “On a scale of one to ten?” He laughs and kisses you once more before sliding off of the bed. “Twenty six.”

You flop back down on the pillows, letting out a long sigh. “That’s not reassuring,” you whine before turning your head to watch as Aegon changes. The clothes he takes out are fairly simple, he doesn’t truly care to dress up for his family much. Only for galas or certain restaurants does he care to dress up to the nines, always tempting you throughout the night. 

As you watch him, your fingers start to intertwine and trepidation builds up in your very core. Nervous for the dinner and the looks that Otto has given you for the past month that you two had been at the vacation house. All of them were slimy and cruelly calculating. It was only a matter of time until he mentioned what happened. He had last year and you both had left early, that was the second year you two couldn’t make it through an entire month alone with Aegon’s family.

“Do you think he’ll bring it up again?” You ask Aegon. 

Aegon huffs and you watch as red starts to color his pale cheeks, his fists clenching around a freshly pressed shirt, no doubt wrinkling it. “I hope not.” He shakes his head and scoffs. “He better not or I’ll bash his already flat face in.”

Pushing off of the bed, you walk toward him before wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You press a kiss against his shoulder blade and he looks over at you. “My hero,” you whisper, smiling into his skin. 

The dinner goes as it always does, separate chatter among chosen groups with very little intermingling. Jace talks to you every now and then or even Baela who had only shown up with Rheana two nights ago. Helaena makes an effort to speak to you as well and a few sentences are exchanged between you and Aemond but not enough to win you that bet. 

You don’t converse with Rhaenrya or Daemon, not even to Alicent who wasn’t speaking with anyone. Otto was even talking, seldom only to Helaena and Viserys but that still weighed something. Her shoulders were sagged, the pressure of cooking, cleaning and managing getting to her more over the last week now that the rush of conforming to a new schedule and making sure that everyone was settled was over. She had even taken your request for help when she was cooking dinner, truly showing that she was starting to get into the stressed stages of the trip. 

It's a few minutes later when you all start dessert that Viserys clinks his spoon against his glass and stands. Daemon and Otto sit up in alert, ready to catch the older man should he fall away from his wobbly legs. 

With a groan of pain, Viserys raises up his glass, ready to do a toast that always marks the first month of the trip. 

Alicent stares at Aegon, waiting for something to happen as you both rarely ever stay this long. Normally, you two would have left last week, over all of the bullshit that circles around the family. The bullshit that Aegon says had started his whole drinking problem. 

Viserys clears his throat and a weak smile forms on his lips. “It brings me unattainable comfort to see you all here for these two months. All together again as friends, family, cousins, uncles, fathers and mothers. It’s a sight that I do not get to see often,” he says and you smile warily. 

A quick glance around the table shows that everyone is doing much the same. 

And Alicent is still staring at Aegon. 

Viserys seems to not notice it and his smile only grows bigger, warmer even. No matter if the words that he says are nothing but spit in everyone else's food. “To my family, it is always a joy and pleasure to be around you all.”

He goes to take a sip from his drink and the rest of you go to follow but a whisper makes it to your ears. 

“That’s bullshit,” the whisper snaps. 

The table goes silent, all of you stopping in your very tracks. 

Alicent glares at her son. “Aegon,” she whispers harshly at him but Aegon isn’t looking at her. 

His eyes remained focused on his father, narrowed and of poisoned hate that you almost wonder if Aegon had ever even loved his father. If he had at any point in time, it doesn’t show.  

Stopping his action, Viserys looks at his eldest son. The son that he had killed his first wife for, only to have one with another woman. The son he sought for but never ever truly wanted when it came to competition with his eldest daughter. “What did you say?” He asks, his voice a cold that you had never heard come from him. It didn’t match him; his face, his body, his very demeanor but it sent chills down your back anyways. 

Slowly, Aegon stands up and blue meets blue in a harsh battle of dominance and emotions padded with soft fluff that's finally deteriorated and grown into a poisonous black mold. “I said that’s bullshit. Family,” he scoffs and then shakes his head, “we don’t even know what that word means.”

You reach up and grab his hand, those harsh eyes meet yours and watch blankly as you shake your own head. Not here, you hope he can see. Not here, not now. Not like this. 

He doesn’t seem to understand your meaning and faces his father again. 

“Aegon, sit down,” Alicent says harshly, backing down when Aegon settles a glare on her. 

A dark look painted his features as he shook his head, the jerking motion making you grip tighter on his hand. “No, you might all pretend that this is nothing more than a slight inconvenience but we all know the truth: this is the worst two months of our lives every year.” A cruel laugh passes his lips and he runs a hand through his hair. “Why do you think Daeron never shows up? If you remember him.”

Viserys looks at Aegon, offended. “Of course I do,” he defends quickly, unconvincingly. 

“You liar!” Aego shouts and Viserys flinches. “You know you can have all of the speeches you want but we all know who they’re really for. You’re perfect Rhaenyra.” You glance at the woman, she only looks at the table and Daemon looks at Aegon murderously. “Rhaenyra who has never done anything wrong in her life. The perfect heir, the perfect child. The perfect whore.”

Daemon jerks out of his seat and Jace follows him with a large crashing sound from his fists hitting the table. “That’s enough,” Jace warns. 

Aegon is still only looking at his father. “Come on, those are no Velaryons but they look quite similar to her old bodyguard. What was his name again sister?” He asks, turning toward Rhaenyra. “Harwin? I think that’s it.”

The next to stand is Alicent, fire in her eyes as she leans across the table to look at her son. “Aegon, you have said quite enough. Make your peace and be done with it,” she snaps at him. 

Aegon only nods but it is not submissive, he is far from done. “Yes mother, I have made my peace with Rhaenyra but can you say the same?” He asks her and Alicent doesn’t respond but doesn’t sit down either. Aegon ignores that and looks back at his father. “My perfect wife and my perfect kids, that was what you would say to your clients during galas but it isn’t true is it?” 

He points as he talks, starting with his second brother. “Aemond fucked a woman twenty years older than him and got her knocked up. Helaena is so high all of the time that she can barely walk in a straight line. Daeron is never here, he would rather be anywhere but here!” He shouts.

It is now that he looks at his mother again, a cruel smirk on his face. “Mother—oh mother,” he leans closer to his mother and it is then that you can see just how much they look alike, “you still crave that realm's delight don’t you?”

Viserys bangs his fists on the table. “Sit down Aegon or I swear—

“Swear what?” Aegon snaps. “I always knew I was going to get disowned at some point, so that doesn’t scare me. Perhaps you’ll swear that you’ll make sure my girlfriend has a miscarriage again. Well you and Otto.”

The table goes quiet and tears start to prick at your eyes, phantom pain caused by the tea that Viserys had handed to you that day causing you to taste bile on your tongue. 

The pain comes back tenfold, as does the feeling of blood running down your legs and the screams that tore your throat open as you laid there on the bathroom floor in Rhaenyra’s arms, sobbing profusely as Alicent went out searching for her son.

The ride to the hospital is fresh and clear in your mind. The fact that you could have died is a whisper in your brain, fresh and still cutting jagged lines into you. The doctor had only meant to soothe you but all you had wanted was to join your child in a similar fashion. 

A similar fate. 

The hangover from when you were released from the hospital and went straight toward the bottle is still loud and clear to you. The jackhammer against your skull when you woke up on the couch, curled into Aegon and wanting nothing more than to go home still throbs whenever you look at a bottle of whiskey. 

The funeral had been fast, you didn’t want to be there longer than you had to be. The small, dead baby lying in the even smaller casket had you throwing up. 

Little Aenar Targaryen, a little boy who had never had the chance to take a single breath of air, never got to even meet his parents who loved him like no other. 

Little Aenar Targaryen who never got his little stuffed dragon that his grandmother had made for him—the stuffed dragon that you threw away in a sobbing rage a few months after the funeral—or the room in his new home that you and Aegon had made so meticulously with the help from Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Alicent and Rhaenyra. Who had never got to see the handmade butterflies Helaena had made him or lie in the crib that took his father and two uncles to build. Never got to see the walls that you, Alicent and Rhaenyra hand painted a wonderful light blue color—the color was no longer there, neither was the crib or the butterflies. 

All because of your blood. Your status. 

Otto would have rather seen you and his great grandchild dead than alive and full of blood not tainted by the blue that he and the rest of his family carried. He hadn’t failed to remind you of such a thing in the years since, only managing to make you and Aegon leave early and not come back until it was necessary. 

Though it wasn’t Otto this time. It was Aegon. 

In all of his pent up rage and padded room full of wrath that were straightjacketed to the walls, the miscarriage had been the biggest and burliest of them all. More likely to burst out of its confinement and it was only second to Aegon’s childhood, full of neglect and mental abuse that had started his drinking problem at the ripe age of twelve.  

A small sniffle and a squeeze of your hand made Aegon look at you and all of the rage went away in a flash. Regret replacing it. “Aegon, stop,” you whispered to him, your voice raspy with the straining effort not to cry. “Please.”

He nods and faces the rest of his family. “Goodnight family, it was a true joy and pleasure to see you again,” he says curtly before storming off, the sound of the dining room doors slamming sounding his departure. 

Pity is all that you see when you look around you after Aegon leaves. Alicent is reaching towards you when you stand up. “Excuse me,” you say before leaving the room swiftly.

Aegon is throwing clothes into your suitcases when you get to your room. Every single item is piled on top of each other but you can't bring yourself to care like normal. “We’re leaving,” Aegon says harshly, clearly expecting it to be someone else. 

“Yeah I kinda figured that,” you whisper and Aegon whips around.

He quickly gathers you in his arms, squeezing you against his body, like he's trying to protect you from his own words. His hand is a soothing and clutching presence as it grips your hair, fingers scratching in the same rhythm as your tears. “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t do it anymore,” he whispers to you before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You pull back and smile slightly when Aegon’s thumbs start to wipe away your tears. “I know but Aegon, do you know what could happen?”

He shrugs. “I get kicked out of the family Christmas picture, that’s the most that he’ll do. The rest of them…I’d leave now just in case Aemond decides to slash my tires,” he jokes and you chuckle at him. 

“That would keep you here,” you quip.

“Of course, perhaps he’ll do it when he passes by Kings Landing on his way back to the Stormlands.”

A laugh bursts out of you. “You’re awful.”

“I know.” He grabs your hand and the suitcase, the rest could be left here, none of it was truly important and Alicent would more than likely send it to you during their second month in this hellscape. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

[sashi-ya]

❀˖ KINKTOBER 23 MASTERLIST ㅤㅤㅤOct 15th - Oct 31st

ʚ 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱 ɞ

- this list belongs to the fics posted from the 15th to the 31st of October. Unfortunately, Tumblr doesn't allow to have 31 links together in the same post, so this is the second half of Kinktober. For the fics posted on the 1st of October till the 14th, please visit THIS LINK: MASTERLIST OCT 1ST-14TH - mdni, do not copy, repost or translate without permision. - writing and posting 31 fics is a lot of work for us writers, please reblog, share and leave feedback! thanks ♡ - tag system as an extra tw: soft kinks 🤍 | mild kinks 💜 | hard kinks 🖤 |

❀˖⁺ OCT 15. wedding night ⋆ basil hawkins x f! r 🤍 synopsis. after the party, it's time to start the first night of your lives as one single soul.

❀˖⁺ OCT 16. strap on/ pegging ⋆ eustass kidd x f! r 💜 synopsis. sometimes even the strongest pirates like to leave their pleasure in their lovers' hands... or should I say strap ons?

❀˖⁺ OCT 17. sleep play ⋆ portgas d ace x f! r 🖤 synopsis. Ace is a man who would do anything to please you, specially if your body lays tempting by his side...

❀˖⁺ OCT 18. cumdump ⋆ kuchiki byakuya x f! r 🤍 synopsis. sometimes stress can be too much for the head of the Kuchiki clan... get ready, because when Byakuya gets back home you will have to help him release all that built up tension... inside of you.

❀˖⁺ OCT 19. humiliation ⋆ trafalgar law x f! r 🖤 synopsis. Law has built himself a reputation as the sadistic surgeon of death; well, there you are to prove why he gets called that way.

❀˖⁺ OCT 20. getting caught ⋆ shanks x f! r 🤍 synopsis. friends that secretly wish to be lovers. A party, some alcohol and a convenient pantry closer to your needy bodies... you are at risk of getting caught, but still don't mind.

❀˖⁺ OCT 21. fear play ⋆ äs nödt x f! r 🖤🖤 synopsis. toxic and crazy, fearless and frightening... Äs will do anything to have you, will you let him? -even if he doesn't really care-

❀˖⁺ OCT 22. writer's choice ⋆ adult! ishida uryu x f! r synopsis. an AU where Uryu becomes the ruler of the Quincy years after TYBW ends. A different type of king, that still needs someone to serve him.

❀˖⁺ OCT 23. medical play ⋆ kisuke urahara x f! r 💜 synopsis. Kisuke isn't a doctor, but he needs to learn more about the human female anatomy in order to improve his gigai prototypes... would you let him use you for the sake of science?

❀˖⁺ OCT 24. cock warming ⋆ sosuke aizen x f! r 🤍 synopsis. would you let Aizen sleep inside of you on a cold rainy autumn night?

❀˖⁺ OCT 25. haki/reiatsu ⋆ shanks x f! r 🤍 synopsis. a friendly tug of war, of power and will; when bodies are joining, you will let Shanks win.

❀˖⁺ OCT 26. shower sex ⋆ sosuke aizen x f! arrancar! r 🤍 synopsis. serve your master, clean his body... give your body.

❀˖⁺ OCT 27. femdom ⋆ ishida ryuuken x f! r 💜 synopsis. and until Masaki isn't out of his head, fix his body, fix his mind, take control and drag him down.

❀˖⁺ OCT 28. fleshlight ⋆ a! kurosaki ichigo x f! r x a! ishida uryu 💜 synopsis. when your heart is divided in two, why chose one part... if you can have both?

❀˖⁺ OCT 30. cnc ⋆ sosuke aizen x f! r 🖤🖤 synopsis. are you all alone late at night? bad, bad things can happen to girls like you

❀˖⁺ OCT 31. blood play ⋆ mayuri kurosutchi x f! r synopsis. like a drug running through your veins, that's exactly how much you need Mayuri...

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

[greycaelum]

Hi! Could you maybe make something protective Satoru-like? Maybe the reader is bothered by some drunken while coming back home?

Overall just angsty-fluff with comfort. Your style of writing is really to my liking and I've been thinking of taking a request for a while. I hope its not too much ❤️

Kaleidoscope Series—Love Me Now, Love Me Never Chapters: { Tipsy }

—Gojo Satoru X Sorcerer Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

"You sure you don't need me to drive and pick you up later? It's a den full of wolves." Satoru crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe as he watch you wear the Jimmy Choo black pumps fitting your Friday night fashion for a girl's night out. "Satoru, baby. You don't know how to drive." You looked at him and sighed. "Y'know I don't need to drive, I can just whisk you away in a second back to bed!" He gasps dramatically and argued.

𑁍 Genre: mild angst to comfort, sfw (mild suggestive content)

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.3k)—/ alcohol, suggestive violence (not towards reader), the reader being bothered in the club—/

𑁍 A/N: Hi sweetheart, I hope you like this one. Drunk trope isn't my forte but it was fun writing this, better late than never —Grey,

Having a Gojo Satoru as a boyfriend means there's often a 6'3 giant lurking around you. Or if he's unavailable, undoubtedly one of his subordinates is tailing you in the shadows. It's a compromise you both reached knowing your lover has many enemies and it's for your protection too. Satoru won't take it kindly if ever something to you. He will lose it.

"You sure you don't need me to drive and pick you up later? It's a den full of wolves." Satoru crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe as he watch you wear the Jimmy Choo black pumps fitting your Friday night fashion for a girl's night out.

"Satoru, baby. You don't know how to drive." You looked at him and sighed.

"Y'know I don't need to drive, I can just whisk you away in a second back to bed!" He gasps dramatically and argued.

You giggled and threw your arms around Satoru's neck. Satoru won't have to admit it, but you have him wrapped around your finger.

"Call me when you wanna come home, 'kay?"

"Okayyy~" 

That was the plan... Until Utahime started wailing about still having no prospects for marriage even at her age. Shoko is too busy having a drinking contest with herself and you... well, Satoru's lightweight tendencies must be rubbing on you. Just one glass of margarita and you can tell that you are already tipsy, two more shots and you knew that was enough for tonight.

"Mei-san can I leave the two of them to you? I'll go home, I'm feeling a little lightheaded."

"I don't mind. Should I call Gojo for you?"

"No need, I'll call him. See you around Mei-san."

You made your way through the bar. It's so loud with the full-blast speaker and people dancing on the stage, some are getting a little more frisky in the open.

Did Satoru also go through this kind as a teen? You know he doesn't drink but did he ever go to a bar too? Did he also make out with some random girls and do the deed? Did he also—?

The dark thoughts are suddenly attacking you from all directions.

"Hey Miss, you look so lonely, care to spend some time with me?" A tall guy approached you, just from his scent you could tell he was wasted.

"No, I'm on my way home. Don't bother me." You stumbled a little but managed to grab onto the nearest wall to support yourself. Damn, maybe you should've stayed home instead.

"Awee c'mon, going home?" hiccup "Your cat at home got no tuna or somethin'?"

Fuck, the liquor in your veins is starting to get dizzying.

"Her cat is actually a territorial one. Now, fuck off from my woman."

The familiar cool spicy scent overpowered the bitter taste of liquor surrounding you, your body collided with a hard chest and a hand over your shoulder guided you close to his side.

"Hey, hold on to me alright pretty girl? 'M gonna get us home in a second."

True to his words, you feel the ground melting from your feet and in a second landed back on the floor of your home. There's a faint aroma of the chicken noodles you love.

"Satoru..." A small whine like a child escaped your sealed lips. You don't have the energy to wash up or even take off your clothes. You just brought up your arms asking for a carry.

"Y'know, you're too spoiled." Satoru sighed and hugged you while your feet clumsily took off your black pumps and left them there.

Satoru watch his girl act like a baby, whiny and more needy than usual as he carried her to the sofa and brought the warm mug of noodle soup to her hands.

"I told you to call me. What if I didn't come?"

Satoru helps you take off your makeup and at the back, he's running the water in the tub for you. He wants to scold you but the sight of your hazy eyes and flush cheeks will only evoke something else other than anger in him.

"Liar..." You slurred. "You always come even if I don't call..."

It's the perks of having a sober man who is too protective to let you go in a den of wolves as he would often phrase it, and yet still supportive enough to let you go on a girl's night out.

You don't wanna get used to him being a superman in your life but he does show up at the split second before the pinch. And you can't help but be complacent at the thought Satoru will always be there to catch you. Selfish... You silently berated yourself and finished the second mug of soup.

You stared at Satoru who is now drying your hair after a quick bath you had. The thoughts from earlier came running back to you.

Satoru set down the blower and that's when you turn around and crawled between his legs, your noses hit as you took his glasses down and stare into his cerulean orbs.

"Babe... wanna get frisky with me?"

"B-Baby?" Satoru uncharacteristically stuttered at the sudden aggressiveness, but he easily recovered and look down at your plump lips that seems to invite him to take a bite.

"Uhmp!" You gasped and felt yourself being rolled into a burrito roll towards your side of the bed and Satoru patting your head before he drop a kiss on your forehead.

"Ask that question again when your sober, you drunkard." Satoru chuckled at your pout and frown.

"'m not a drunkard! Satoru you coward!" But no matter how you spite him Satoru merely shrugs and gently pats you to sleep.

He watches you murmur empty threats with that feisty mouth towards him while he hums and lets you tire yourself out with the liquor in your veins still making your thoughts fuzzy. He thinks you're really cute when you're drunk, and if he was a lesser man he doubts he'll have the strength not to rail you all night.

But Satoru doesn't like the thought of doing it when you're barely sober to give him decent permission. So he painfully stuffs a pillow between the two of you while you're rolled in the blanket as he shushes you to sleep.

The next day, you woke up almost rolling down the bed to free yourself from the blanket. Satoru was already downstairs. He looks at you with a knowing smirk as you approach him for a morning hug and kiss.

"Hey, ask me the question again, Baby." Satoru hugged you as if he could press you any closer to him when even a thread can't pass between the two of you.

You could feel the fast beating of his heart against your chest.

"... What question 'Toru?" You pat his back and look at him. Did you ask something weird last night?

"..." Satoru stopped swaying you and frowns before running his hand over his face.

"Eh? Did I do something while I'm drunk?" What's with his reaction? You tried going back to your memory but you can't remember anything more than him giving you chicken noodle soup.

"This is why I don't drink." Satoru huffs and pouts at you. You're hopeless when you're drunk. Satoru looks at your (his) clothes. His shirt looks oversized in your frame running down to your mid-thighs while your hair falls freely to your back, your legs are in his full view, plump and full to his touch while you wiggle your bare toes in the warm insulated flooring.

"Hey Baby... wanna get frisky with me?" He rasped, tipsy with you.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld

[morfiveuscxo]

SOBER THOUGHTS, satoru gojo

drunk!!satoru gojo x fem!!reader summary: Satoru Gojo stumbles into y/n's house at 2 in the morning shit-faced leading to some untimely late-night confessions. tw!! mild swearing, drunk gojo, steamy scenes? nothing too serious don't worry!! alcohol abuse, FLUFF (like a shit ton of it). Over 3,000 words :))) notes: I'm so fucking obsessed with this man how do I make it stop?!

y/n shakenly stood from her warm bed, pupils the size of peas as she reached into her bedside drawer to pull out a handgun she kept hidden there.

It was 2 in the morning and she had been awakened to the sound of the handle on her front door rattling. At first, she tried to ignore it- her front door is locked so she shouldn't have to worry about anyone getting into her home.

But then she heard the turn of her lock and the sound of her squeaky front door being pushed open.

She had hoped that she would never have to use the handgun she kept in her bedside drawer. She still didn't plan on using it on the intruder- she was simply going to scare them away with it.

Gritting her teeth, she crept down her stairs- gun drawn. Her mind started to wander with the fear that maybe the gun wouldn't scare the intruder off. What would she do then? She definitely doesn't have the guts to shoot anyone.

She hoped that her instinct would kick in if something like that were to ever happen. She hoped that if it came down to it she would protect herself instead of just standing there like a coward.

Stumbling could be heard from her kitchen- only adding to the pooling anxiety in her stomach. The kitchen is the worst place an intruder could go- there are weapons everywhere in kitchens.

Gulping, she edged towards the kitchen, hands shaking. She paused for a moment to try and calm her nerves before turning the corner into the kitchen. If she wanted to be threatening she couldn't look terrified at the mere fact of holding a gun.

A determined look appears in her dark gaze and she steps to the side with the gun pointed at the intruder. However, she wasn't expecting the sight of a familiar figure going through her fridge.

"Wha- Satoru?"

No longer was adrenaline pumping through her veins as she locked onto who it was that was going through her fridge. The tall man flinched in surprise at her small voice, turning his head to look at her with a handful of candyfloss grapes in his hands.

The motion sensor fridge light barely lit up the kitchen but she could still catch the many details of his face. He wasn't wearing his usual black blindfold that concealed his striking blue eyes- instead, he wore his round-shaped shades. Due to this, his white hair hung down his face messily.

Despite that he still looked as beautiful as ever to her.

But even then, with the harsh hue of the fridge light- she could assess quite quickly that he had been drinking. A goofy smile appears on his face as he swallows a grape with a notable gulp.

"y/n!!"He exclaimed, shoving the remainder of the grapes into the fridge.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she dropped her arm that was holding the gun. The adrenaline disappears and she is reminded of just how tired she is. It's 2 in the morning and she had been working all day with little sleep- she should be sleeping right now.

"Why did I ever give you a spare key?"She grumbled to herself as she pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. --"I could have shot you, Satoru!!"She exclaimed- setting the gun carefully onto her kitchen work surface.

He only scoffed and swatted a hand in the air as he walked towards her. --"Oh please- we both know the bullet wouldn't even touch me."He spoke through slurred words.

As he approached closer- she crinkled her nose up, getting a large whiff of the alcohol he had so clearly been abusing earlier in the night.

" 'missed you..."He purred as he stopped in front of her, slinging his arms around her shoulders and resting his forehead against her collarbone.

"How drunk are you?"She mumbled softly, lifting a hand to rest tentatively against the back of his head. She was worried. Gojo isn't a massive drinker, he barely drinks alcohol. In fact, he only drank it when he was upset or feeling vulnerable.

He hummed comedically against her shoulder and lifted a hand up in front of her face- his fingers pinching the air. --"Only a little."He responded.

A sigh leaves her lips and she lifts her hands to rest on his shoulders- pushing him back slightly so she can look at his face properly. --"Alright come on you big idiot."She mumbled, grabbing ahold of his wrist and tugging him deeper into the kitchen.

Satoru stood swaying on his feet as he watched her search her cupboards for something in particular. His drunken gaze looked her up and down, a fond smile growing on her face.

y/n was in her pyjama's. She wore a sky-blue baggy shirt that Satoru was certain was his. (He would often come over to watch movies with her if he had no one else to bother so her wardrobe was probably actually filled with quite a few of his shirts). Along with the baggy shirt she wore a pair of banana patterned pyjama shorts. Her long dark hair was messy and poofy with volume.

He thought she looked beautiful.

"You look pretty."He spoke suddenly as she had her head in a cupboard. Her eyes widened in surprise- surprised so much that she banged her head atop the cupboard with a bang.

She cussed at herself and pulled her head out from the cupboard- rubbing a hand against the top of her head as she glanced over to the drunk standing in her kitchen.

Not sure how to respond to that, she decided to ignore it and instead grabbed ahold of a plastic cup to fill it up with water. Clearing her throat, she turned to him and held the cup out for him.

He eyed the cup blankly.

"I mean it..."He mumbled to her, his gaze switching back to look at her. She swallows as his shades slip down the bridge of his nose a little, allowing his striking blue eyes to meet her dark ones.

A beat of silence passes them as her cheeks go red. Swallowing, she clears her throat again and pushes the cup of water into his hand.

"Drink."She demands. He eyes the cup in his hand for a moment- seeming to deliberate something in his mind for a moment.

"no."He finally mumbles, setting the cup of water onto the worksurface. y/n sighs and drags a hand down her face in irritation. --"Satoru-"

He cuts her off by pressing a hand to her mouth- her words coming out muffled. Her eyes widened in outrage as she slapped his hand away from her face.

"You did not just-"She snaps. But she goes completely silent when both of Satoru's hands suddenly pressed to her cheeks- his face moving incredibly close to hers.

Her heart paused- pupils dilating as his face got close to hers. Heat rushed to her cheeks and her eyes went wind at the invasion. Another beat of silence passed them as neither of them spoke.

"W-What are you doing?"She finally murmured, voice shaky with nerves. Gojo didn't answer for a moment, his adams apple bobbing slightly.

"needed you to stop talking..."He mumbled, his alcohol-infested breath fanning her face. His voice made her stomach do flips despite the disgusting breath he was currently harbouring.

His face then suddenly got even closer to hers- their noses basically brushing. She gulped notably, chest heaving slightly with nerves. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips as his striking blue eyes drink her up from behind his round shades.

And then he said something that was almost like glass smashing to y/n. Something that made her heart stutter in her chest. Something that made butterflies sprout in her stomach. Something that immediately woke her up from her previous sleepy deliriousness.

"I love you, y/n."

She shook her head softly but he kept a firm grip on her cheeks. --"And I know you love me too..."He continued as she continued to shake her head, tears sprouting in her eyes. With embarrassment or humiliation? She wasn't sure.

"No- you're drunk, Satoru.."She whispered, voice shaky as she tried to take a step back from him only for her back to meet the edge of her kitchen counter.

Satoru took the opportunity to cage her into the counter with his arms. --"m'yeah."He grumbled in response to her words- moving his face close to hers again. --"Why d'you think I have the guts to confess?"He slurred.

Her hands rested palm first against the cold worksurface, chest heaving as she stared up at him. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to stop the quivering as he leaned closer- making sure she couldn't escape from his cagey embrace.

Part of her wanted to deny his claims but she didn't. She could never lie to Satoru. --"H-How did you-?"She stuttered out. neck going red with humiliation.

"Nanami told me..."He mumbled.

Nanami. That little shit-

y/n worked with Nanami back when he was still working for an office. She met Satoru not long after meeting Nanami because at that point he was still trying to convince Nanami to continue as a jujutsu sorcerer.

At the time, Gojo took a strange liking to her and exchanged numbers with her. They grew closer and he wound up telling her about the jujutsu world. Even after Nanami left to become a jujutsu sorcerer, she kept in close contact with both him and Gojo.

In fact, she kept in such close contact with Gojo that he would bring her back souvenirs from his missions if he was going far away. She even gave him a spare key to her apartment after he started complaining that he would sometimes have to wait ages before giving her the thing he brought back for her due to her busy work life.

After she gave him the spare key he started to leave the souvenirs either on her bed or kitchen counter, sometimes even leaving little handwritten notes to let her know that they were from him. (Despite her knowing they were from him- Nanami never bought her souvenirs like Satoru did).

"Was out drinking wi'him."He mumbled drunkenly, his voice starting to trail off slightly as he lifted one of his hands to pull his shades off, setting them on the counter beside her.

"you shouldn't drink so much..."She spoke in a concerned tone. --"y-you only drink when you're upset..."She mumbled, blinking up at him with worry.

Satoru was surprised she even noticed that detail about him. He rarely drunk around y/n enough for her to even notice if he was sad or happy. He truly never noticed how observant she was.

Fueled by his drunken state, he shrugged. --"was sulking over you."He mumbled the confession. Her eyebrows pull together in confusion, forcing him to elaborate.

"love you..."He whispered again, his eyes holding a certain exhaustion. --"Didn't think you felt...same."He slurred. suddenly leaning his head down to rest against hers.

"That's why Nanami told me..." he muttered- his crystal blue eyes staring into her soul. A pang of guilt hit her.

"You were drinking because of...me?"She murmured, heart sinking slightly. He hummed, leaning down slightly so that his lips ghosted hers. She flinches slightly in surprise.

"I love you..."He whispered again, his voice sending a shiver down her spine and making her momentarily forget about his alcohol-induced breath. --"Do you love me?"He muttered, despite already knowing the answer.

He just wanted to hear her say it.

A few tense seconds pass as she feels him close in closer to her- her back pressing into the edge of the counter. There was no escaping him.

"yes..."

That singular world was all the confirmation he needed to fully close the gap between them. His lips met hers in a desperate embrace, his hands moving from the edges of the counter to slide up her arms and to her face.

The second their lips touched, she held her breath- heart pausing with fright and anxiety. Satoru had wanted to kiss her for so long and he was making sure that she knew that by how fast his lips moved desperately with hers.

Slowly, her heart started to calm as it seemed to beat in synchronisation with his. And despite wanting to screw her face up at the taste of sake on his lips- she just couldn't bring herself to break from his embrace and instead slid her hands up to his white fluffy hair.

The once sweet kiss slowly started to turn heated as she lightly tugged at his white locks. A groan leaves his mouth, hands suddenly sliding down to her thighs.

A noise of surprise leaves her lips as she feels him suddenly pick her up into his arms, their lips disconnecting momentarily. He lifts her up onto the kitchen counter, parting her legs with his hands so he could stand between them.

Her chest started to heave again- this time from a lack of breath. Not that, that stopped her when he smashed his lips back onto hers. Heat rises to her cheeks in surprise when feeling his tongue start to poke around the space between her lips.

And against her better judgment- she parted her lips, allowing the pink muscle to slip into her mouth.

Satoru rested his hands on her hips, fingers bunching up the fabric of her shorts as he grunts. The addition of his tongue plus the grip on her hips has a soft moan coming from her- so quiet that Satoru barely even caught it.

The noise eggs him on. He disconnects their lips to press open-mouthed kisses to the naval of her neck. Short gasps leaves her lips as she feels him start to suck a bruise into her skin.

The pleasure she got from that move is what ultimately made her eyes widen as she suddenly remembered how they got into this whole situation in the first place.

"n-no.."She mumbled softly as Satoru continued to press wet kisses across her neck. She swallows and drops her hands to his shoulders so she can push him back lightly.

"Satoru you're drunk..."She mumbled, a little out of breath due to the making out. She wanted this to go further, obviously, but Satoru was still very drunk. He's not sober enough to consent.

"I know.." he mumbled, attempting to go back to kissing her neck. She shook her head and pushed him back again. --"No, honey- you're not sober."She mumbled softly- lifting her hands to rest on his cheeks- holding his head in place.

A short smile appears on his face. --"You called me honey..."He trailed off. Her cheeks heat as she shook her head in amusement. Her eyes go back over to the glass of water she poured him a while ago.

"How about you drink some water and you can crash here, okay?"She offers. He eyes her for a moment before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her lips- pulling back with a nod.

"Okay."

He took a step back, giving her the space to jump down from the counter. As he grabbed the cup of water she grabbed ahold of the handgun she had put on the counter.

She grabs his wrist and pulls him gently with her upstairs as he sips on the water. The second they are in her bedroom, she walks over to her bedside desk and hides the gun again.

Satoru watched her, a dopey smile on her face. --"Can't believe you own a gun..."He mumbled, taking another sip of his water. She shrugs and heads over to her wardrobe.

"Can't be too careful around here.."She spoke as she searched through the clothes that were hung up. Smiling softly, she spun around with a pile of clothes.

Satoru eyed the clothes and grinned. --"Y'know I sometimes only left clothes here so I'd have an excuse to come back."He confesses. He then furrows his eyebrows the second the confession leaves his lips.

She raises her eyebrows in amusement and walks towards him. --"That was very truthful of you."She spoke, snickering softly. He gets over the shock of his own words quickly and goes straight back to his cocky self.

"Yeah. Got to give you something to wear when you're missing me."He spoke, smirking. An affectionate smile appears on her face as she shakes her head and hands him the pile of clothes, taking the empty cup back from him.

"Y'know where the bathroom is."She stated, patting his shoulder. He hummed and moved past her. He suddenly paused and then spun back around to press an obnoxious kiss to her cheek.

y/n scrunched her nose up, lifting a hand to wipe at the slobbery kiss he had left on her cheek as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Now that she was alone- she took the moment to grin giddily and swat her hands in the air excitedly. Was this really happening? She lifted a hand to rest over her mouth- another hand on her hip as she grinned happily.

After a second, she calms her racing heart and walks over to fix the sheets on her bed. She wasn't sure why but she felt the need to make the bed look presentable despite knowing that the sheets were going to get messed up anyway.

As she's smoothing out the sheets- the bathroom door opens and out walks a yawning Satoru. She straightens up when she sees him, pupils dilating at the very sight of him.

His blue eyes lock onto her and he walks over to her. His rapidly approaching figure has her eyes widening in surprise as he suddenly wraps his arms around her and pulls her down onto the bed with him.

A laugh bubbles from her lips as he hugged her tightly against him- nuzzling his cheek against the top of her head. He groaned seconds late though as he feels his stomach do a flip at the sudden falling action.

"ugh, that wasn't a good idea..."He groaned to himself causing her to laugh softly and roll away from him. --"I'm going to get you some more water for in the morning, 'kay?"She told him softly as she stood to her feet.

Satoru rested his hands behind his head as he looked at her. --"You're coming back, right?"He questioned. A soft smile appears on her face as she nodded her head.

"I'll be back in a second."

She disappears from the bedroom leaving Satoru alone with his drunken thoughts. He had been alone in her bedroom before but this time it felt different. Everything was different now.

He took the opportunity to take in every detail of her bedroom like it was the first time he'd ever seen it. Her walls were coloured lilac with many photos of herself with family members littering her desks.

Her bedsheets were avocado patterned and her bed was filled with cushions and stuffed animals. Though his favourite part of her bedroom had always been the massive pin board on her desk.

The pin board was covered in tons of pictures of herself, Gojo and Nanami. Gojo had never been the jealous type but he wouldn't deny that he felt incredible knowing that she had more photos with Gojo than she did with anyone else.

"Right-"He snaps out of his thoughts as y/n walks back into the room, a tall glass of chilled water in one hand. A packet of pain killers and his shades (that he had forgotten to lift when going back upstairs) in her other hand.

"take two of these-"She waves the packet of painkillers at him with a soft smile, --"if you start to get a headache."She informs him, walking over to set the objects onto the bedside desk closest to Satoru.

Satoru smiled in response, feeling himself beginning to sober up as he took a few sips of the water she had brought him. --"I've been hungover before, sweetheart."He mumbled in amusement as she climbed into the bed beside him.

She lifts a hand to rub the back of her neck awkwardly with a short laugh. --"sorry..."She mumbled. He only shook his head and leaned back into the pillows, opening an arm for her.

This was the part she was actually least nervous about. She and Satoru had cuddled before- just never in this context. A soft sigh leaves her lips and she leans down to rest on his chest after flicking out the lamp.

They adjust their legs to pull the covers over their bodies, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as her head rested on his chest. A small chuckle leaves her lips.

"You're heart is racing, satoru..."She mumbled through the silence. --"that's because of you, darling."He spoke in a flirty tone leaving her to giggle in response and nuzzle her face against his chest.

Satoru sighs happily and leans his chin against the top of her head, silence falling over them.

"Goodnight, Satoru..."Her quiet tired voice spoke out, her arm wrapping around his torso in a tight grin. A soft sigh leaves his lips as he presses a chaste kiss to her head of hair.

"Goodnight, love."

Surprisingly, y/n fell asleep before Satoru did. His heart was racing too much for him to fall asleep. He didn't blame her for being so tired, though- he had woke her up early this morning with his drunken shenanigans.

His arm tightened around her as he smiled. He finally had her in his arms and he didn't plan to ever let her go.

[seikkoi]

ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛɪᴏɴ. | tony stark x f!reader

18+ minors dni

tw: nsfw, mild dubcon elements, rough sex, drunk sex, degradation, edging, choking, bruising, possessive behavior

word count: 3,108

pairing: tony x female reader

part two | part three

“No, what?” His hand around your throat isn’t tight enough for you to not respond, and you know what he’s asking for regardless. “No, sir, I’m sorry.” Tony’s hand tightens once the words leave you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. You hear him suck in a breath at the words, his face so dangerously close to yours. “I expect your devotion. That doesn’t end when you leave this office, am I understood?”

The music and lights almost seem more intoxicating than the alcohol swirling in your glass. The clear liquid has all the physical attributes of water, with none of the hydrating effects, leaving your throat dry as you laugh at whoever’s throwing jokes at you. You can’t tell if the guy’s actually funny or if you’ve just had that much to drink.

At this point, neither matters. You’re seated at the bar for some event your boss, Tony Stark, dragged you along to that turned into a raving afterparty. It honestly started quite tame, with speeches and awards, but now it was a few steps away from a club. It’s still not too wild, the venue large enough for you to sit comfortably on the leather barstool without anyone feeling the need to push past you. You’d dressed under the expectation of sitting through hours of boredom, a long black dress too tight and heels too high for standing amongst the growing crowd. 

Had it been any worse, you would have already found Tony to make a swift exit. Instead, he ends up being the one to find  you . Only a few hours had passed, yet you managed to cross the bridge over from tipsy to drunk. Drunk enough to not care that the world-class comedian you’ve been entertaining has his hand on your thigh. 

Or to notice the look on Tony’s face as he makes his way towards you. You’re laughing while your glass comes back to your lip, noticing Tony only when he speaks, suddenly next to you.

“Dying to know what’s so funny here.” There’s nothing casual in his voice, stern with eyes trained on the man beside you. 

The stranger's hand on your thigh is brought to your attention at the feeling of its departure. You can’t quite make out Tony’s expression, but you know it isn't good. Tony’s hand rests in his suit pockets, with relaxed shoulders not matching the sternness in his voice. It’s enough to unease the touchy stranger who clears his throat, glancing a last look at you before turning away.   

It’s then that Tony turns back to you, and you immediately want to go back to 5 seconds ago when he wouldn’t spare you a glance. His eyes are dark, angry staring into you. 

“How much have you had to drink?” His tone is the same one he gave the stranger, making you recoil even more. Especially since you don’t have an accurate answer.

“Only a few.” You chuckle, an attempt to diffuse tension and a product of the alcohol. “Why, is there a problem, sir?” 

Tony takes the now-empty drink from your hand, setting it on the counter. As you start to protest, his hand is already in yours, pulling you from the bar. 

You can’t get much of a word out, between the thumping music and speed in Tony’s stride. Before you know it, the noise is behind you as you exit the doors into the cool night air. Tony’s hand remains in yours until you grace the sidewalk. His hands dive into suit pockets, presumably looking for his phone to call Happy.

The air is slightly sobering, making you aware of the fact that what just happened was completely out of left field. But you're too drunk to figure out a reason. You’d worked at Stark Industries as their CFO for long enough to regard Tony as more than a simple coworker. You were still his employee, eager to help him in any way possible. A good day at work was any day that you actually felt useful to him. He had a habit of not delegating enough, and you had to make it clear more than once that you were there for him, to make his life easier. There may have been a playful gesture here or there, but you knew enough of his personality to know he was that way with  everyone . You knew enough about how he saw you to know he had no right to be upset at the idea of you letting your hair down. More than that, you’d always tried to be respectful to him. Despite his insistence that his first name was fine, you couldn’t suppress the need to show respect by calling him Mr. Stark or sir. 

A word doesn’t pass between the two of you- not during the brief wait for Happy or the ride back. Tony spends the entire journey either on his phone or staring out the window. He doesn’t explain nor spare another look your way. The longer he ignored you, the worse you felt. Even though you had no idea what you were guilty of.

The ride does little for sobering you up, stepping out in front of the tower still dazed. You walk in with him, his focus still on that stupid phone. You give an eyeroll that he doesn’t notice, walking into the elevator. You’re starting to think this sudden episode had nothing to do with you all. Maybe there was a work emergency?

At the soft close of the elevator doors, Tony stands beside you, fingers typing away. You can feel irritation rising. You've been waiting for an explanation that he was taking too long to give. 

“I’ve never known you to be one to leave a party early, sir.” You lean back against the wall, listening to the quiet hum. 

He doesn’t respond or even move his head. It was probably the drink's fault, but the silent treatment act now really began to annoy you. 

“Care to give me any explanation for you dragging me out of there like a child?” The words are harsher now, hopefully showing how fed up you were becoming.

“You were acting like one.” He speaks without moving, with a low tone and his own annoyance. 

“Excuse me?” You push yourself off the wall to stand next to him again. 

His eyes still don’t move from that stupid cell phone, and doesn't he grant you a response.

“Forgive me for forgetting about work for one night and having a few drinks.”, you scoff, voice raising. 

“A few is an understatement.” His volume stays the same, but you can tell it’s taking all of his strength not to shout back. That’s not what flips you to anger, it’s his audacity.

“Who the hell are you to be counting my drinks? I’m my own person outside of working for yo-” You’re cut off by him suddenly pocketing his phone, turning, and stepping towards you. You step backward towards the wall, expecting him to leave some distance between you two. He doesn’t, forcing you the short distance back to the elevator wall until you two are only about a foot apart. 

It’s then that he grants you a look, and just like before at the venue, you want to go back to before you saw the anger in his eyes. 

“And who the hell are you to act like that?” His gaze is unbreaking and ice-cold, only inches away from your face. It extinguishes any fire you had built up towards him for his attitude.

“Act like what?” It’s a genuine question- the shameful guilt you had earlier in the car returning. You can’t look away from him, despite how badly you want to push him aside and call him crazy.

“That guy at the bar had his hand halfway up your dress and you were too drunk to even fucking notice.” It's harsh but a hint of concern breaks through.

Caught off guard, you don’t have a response for that, let alone any explanation. You stay quiet under this gaze.

“You should be  thanking  me. That venue was packed. Do you know what could have happened to you if  I  didn’t notice?”

You stutter for a second, stuttering on words that don’t take for. You felt genuinely terrible now- between the fact that Tony had to be concerned for your safety, and the fact that you got that drunk. It hadn’t felt like a lot at the moment, but it definitely did later on. Even now, there’s that familiar swimming feeling hanging out the back of your brain. To make matters worse, you fully snapped at Tony about it, your boss. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, body softening.

To your surprise, Tony closes what little distance remained between you two, bringing his face close to you. He braces an arm above you on the wall, almost to make sure you don’t think about moving. 

“The way you just went off about it? No, I don’t think so. Is that your idea of having fun? Getting shit-faced and letting anyone do what they want to you?” His words feel like acid, bitter and burning. Tears start to sting in the corners of your eyes. There’s no concern this time- just disappointment and rage. You almost think it’d be better if he simply yelled.

“I don’t-”

“You like it, don’t you? Having men touch you wherever they want?” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, meaning every word. As he speaks, the elevator dings, signaling that you've reached the offices.

The boldness of his words leaves you speechless, shocked at his accusation. 

“No, Mr. Stark, that’s not the case I just-” You can’t handle the look he’s giving you any longer, tears about to fall. You turn your head down when you speak, eyes fixated on your heels.

“You just  what ?” With his free hand, he roughly grasps the side of your face, placing his thumb under your chin and fingers through your hair to force your gaze upward. “You’re just that stupid?”

“No, no, I just had too many, I’m sorry,” Words pour out like a quiet stream. Tony’s forceful hand on your face ignited something else besides guilt or fear. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you wanted his forgiveness more than anything- for him to not see you this way. Behind Tony, the elevator closes as he keeps you against the wall. You didn’t dream of moving, anyway.

“Do you think it’s acceptable to act like that when you’re with me? Do you think I want to see other men put their hands on you?” 

“No,” you say softly, letting your eyes close.

His hand shifts, moving his fingers and thumb to your throat with just enough pressure to make you open your eyes in surprise. You wish only then that you were sober because maybe you’d be more scared instead of worked up.

“No, what?” 

His hand around your throat isn’t tight enough for you to not respond, and you know what he’s asking for regardless.

“No, sir, I’m sorry.”

Tony’s hand tightens once the words leave you, eliciting a gasp from your lips. You hear him suck in a breath at the words, his face so dangerously close to yours.

“I expect your  devotion . That doesn’t end when you leave this office, am I understood?” He draws out  devotion  like it’s not a request. The pressure on your throat, the guilt, the embarrassment, and the arousal you’re trying to ignore all come to head, forcing a tear down your cheek.

You can’t answer, as he allows too few breaths, and small gasps continue to fall from your lips. Your mind is in a million places. You want to push him off, beg for his forgiveness and cross those last few inches of distance so you could kiss him- all in the same moment. You manage to move your head slightly up and down, conveying your answer.

“I don’t think you do.” He leans forward, pressing his body against yours. You can feel his slow, heavy breaths against your gasping lips. It feels like electricity, sending goosebumps across your body. 

Before you know it, your lungs refill with air as Tony drops his hands to your waist, turning you and pushing you against the wall. It’s a sudden movement, having to extend your arms to keep from hitting your head. You attempt to straighten and turn back before Tony’s hand is pushing you into the wall. He presses into you, his body weight stopping any more attempts to move. You feel the hard member constrained by his soft suit pants against your back, pinned.

In the next second, you hear the clink of metal from Tony’s belt. You try to move again, fear working its way back up. Tony’s quick to push you fully against the wall, leaving your arms at your sides. The thud of his belt hitting the floor reverberates off the elevator walls. 

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Tony growls while his rough hands pull your dress above your waist. He runs calloused palms over your ass, with harsh squeezes that you’re sure will leave a bruise. 

“This is what you need me to do to you?”, he doesn’t bother with your panties, tearing them and letting the ruined garment fall to the floor. Another tear flows down your cheek- whether it's from pleasure or pain, you don’t know.

You don’t resist as he pulls your arms behind your back, holding your wrists in one hand. With the other, Tony gently runs his fingers across your now exposed folds, contrasting his earlier behavior. The soft touch when you were already so worked up pulls a quiet moan from your lips. He continues his motions, touching you slowly and steadily but purposely avoiding where you needed him most. You almost hate yourself for how good he felt, how wet you were before he even touched you. The sweetness of his fingers while simultaneously keeping you pinned to the wall made you want to piss him off all over again if it meant touching you like this.

“Look how easy it is to get you like this,” He pushes two fingers into your soaking entrance, the sudden presence causing you to writhe against his restraint. He’s quick to tighten his hold, adding two more soon-to-be bruises to your wrists. The roughness returns, as he roughly pushes his fingers to your depths, only to withdraw and repeat with the same vigor. The warmth in your core is quickly built up, only making a bigger mess on his hand. 

“You just need to be used, huh?” Tony removes his fingers, an aching emptiness that he doesn’t leave you with for long. You’re mind is fixated on the pleasure, gasping against the wall as you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance. Reacting to the unexpected pressure, you try to move away again in vain. Tony’s grip keeps you in place as he sinks his cock into you without warning.

A long groan escapes Tony as he bottoms out, with his free hand holding your hip in a vice grip. He wastes no time, pulling the length of his cock before slamming it back into you again. The force leaves your mouth agape, eyes shut in a new mixture of pleasure and pain. With every rough thrust into your cunt, you cry out once he reaches your limit. He drives you into the wall with force, more of his low moans filling the air. The sound of Tony’s hips crashing into you and the wetness between you two echoes in the elevator. The fabric of his suit pants is a painful friction, making your skin feel raw. There’s nothing sweet or caring in the way he takes you- it’s clear that it’s a reminder to never fuck up like this again. 

“Do you understand now?” His violent thrusts continue, voice wavering from his own ecstasy of how good you were taking his cock. “You are mine and mine  alone .” 

“Y-yes, I understan-” , you managed to choke out.

You cry out again, a broken string of pleas and moans as he picks up his pace. Your wrists strain against the force, deepening the bruises. The aching pressure built up in your core is already becoming too much when Tony drops the hand at your wrists to reach between your legs.

Tony's fingers muse over your clit, rubbing in hard, wide circles with his thumb. His cock continues to fill every inch of your walls, fucking you with newfound vigor. You reach a hand back, aiming to slow his hips to give you any kind of respite. Instead, you find yourself simply grabbing the fabric at his waist, having no effect on his pace. The added sensation on your clit nearly sends you over again, shuddering at his touch. 

“God, Tony,” , you plea. Your head starts to spin, the knot in your stomach on overdrive. “Fuck, I’m going t-” A long, shaky moan leaves you, legs turning to liquid. 

Tony slows at your admission, an act that almost pulls another tear from you as you were so, so close. 

“Not yet.” The cold tone he uses does very little to help. 

Tony can’t resist you for long, however. Before long, he turns from rough and unyielding to slow and passionate. Hard thrusts turn into deep, careful strokes. The hand between your legs dances teasingly along slick folds. You hear his groans increase, intercut with soft praises and sighs of your name. It all tilts along the thin line of too much and not enough. 

You think you might pass out when he grabs the palm you’ve been holding at his waist, drawing soft circles over your hand while he earns another tear from you. You felt insanely desperate, lacking the focus to plead with him to just give you what you need. There was little you wouldn’t do for it at this point. If devotion was what he wanted, this was an effective way of getting it.

“Please, I can’t-” your cry is quickly interrupted, with Tony at the end of his own pleasure snapping his hips back into your cunt and flicking his fingers over your long-neglected clit.

It doesn’t take long, your body yearning for release for what felt like days. Tony brings his head to your ear, muttering about how good you were for him and how much you were his. That ends up being the final straw- your body tenses and shakes around his cock, with sobbing gasps as Tony curses and continues to thrust into you. He’s not long behind you, burying himself inside of you with a final rough push. 

Slow, shaky breaths from you both emerge until he withdraws, pulling your dress back down. When you turn, he’s already putting his belt back on, staring at you with a lustful look in his eyes as if he didn’t already fuck you. You’re silent, rubbing one hand across a sore throat.

Tony steps towards you, cupping a hand under your face before giving you a long, passionate kiss that has you aching again. When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen.

“Glad to see you understand."

[fairy-writes]

im not sure if its still open but please can i get an order of large black coffee with spice for Louis James Moriarty? thank you so, so much!!!

NEEDLEPOINT STITCHES

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: Whump Victorian era imagine with Louis from MTP

Word Count: 0.6k

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): Louis James Moriarty x Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader

Notes: This is a female reader as opposed to my typical gn one :)

I’M SOFT FOR LOVERS HELPING EACH OTHER WITH THEIR INJURIES

TW for stitches and mild blood :)

__________________________________________________________________________

“What do you think you’re doing?” You say quietly as you spot Louis in one of the spare bedrooms.

He sits on the bed with his back to you, the half-melted candle burning low to hide the blood. He turns slightly, and you can hear him hiss in pain as he does so, nearly knocking over a bottle as he does so. 

“It’s nothing dearest, go back to bed. I’ll be in in a moment.” He says tightly, but you shake your head and approach, setting your own candle down to take stock of his injuries.

There’s a large gash across his side that’s oozing blood and pus beneath haphazard bandages. His fists are wrapped, but you can see where they’re starting to turn pink at his knuckles. Louis is holding a bent needle in his bloody fingers, but you can tell it isn’t going well. The cut along his side is at an awkward angle, preventing him from sewing it up properly.

You reach forward with tender fingers and brush your fingertips along his jawline, moving his hair away from his face and exposing a nasty bruise that covered his scar. He leans into your touch as you sit in front of him and gather the supplies from his hands.

“My love—” You press a finger to his lips and lean up to kiss his forehead.

“Let me help.” You plead softly, and he sighs, giving you a nod and the go-ahead.

You realize very quickly that you are out of your depth. Louis notices because, of course, he does.

“I can do it, my dear. Really, it’s fine.” He says gently, and you shake your head, smiling a slightly queasy smile.

“How different can it be than my embroidery?” You quip and gather your skirts about you and readjust the fabric before getting to work.

Louis, thankfully, walks you through what to do. You bend the already bent needle so it’s in an arc and hold the two sides of the wound closed with your nondominant hand. Then, using your dominant one, you begin to sew. 

Come to find out, the bottle Louis had almost knocked over was, in fact, whiskey from the kitchens. Your fiancé picked it up and took a long swig as you hunched over to get a better look at the long cut. 

“Might I ask how you got these injuries? It’s not like you to get hurt so easily.” You ask and can feel the muscles in his side stiffen as he sits up straight. 

“There was a fight.” He said quickly. You rolled your eyes and looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. 

Louis notices your look and lets out a long breath. He sets the whiskey down and puts a hand over yours to keep you from continuing. 

“Some men at the bar said some awful things about you.” He says in a soft voice, and you frown. You worked at a bar in the center of London in order to gather intel for William. It was arduous work, but you didn’t mind it. 

“Louis, darling, people say things all the time. You know this.” You say gently, and he shakes his head, reaching for the whiskey again. 

“This was the first time I had to hear it.” He grumbles, and you hum.

You work in silence until you tie the stitches off and snip the end of the thread. You hold out a hand, and Louis wordlessly hands the alcohol to you, where you then set it aside. You reach to cradle his face once again and bring his lips to yours in a soft kiss. 

“I love you, Louis. And thank you for defending me. But all I care about is you coming home safely.” You whisper against his mouth and feel the corners of his lips twitch up into a smile. 

“And I promise I’ll make it home every time.”