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silent-stories · 22 days ago

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𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: violence, blood, wounds, drugs/alcohol mentions

Series masterlist

The building almost looked dead from the outside.

It was hidden deep in a forgotten corner of the industrial district, tucked between rows of abandoned warehouses and loading docks long out of use. It had no sign, barely any light, nothing that marked it as anything but another slab of concrete and rust.

The only hint that something was happening inside were the muffled voices coming through the metal door and the occasional chatting of people slipping in.

You stepped out of the car and pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. The wind bit through your sleeves, but Kole didn’t seem to feel it. He was already circling the front of the car with a grin plastered on his face, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he was trying to play it cool.

He was dark-haired, his eyes green, dressed in black from head to toe except for the gray jacket he always wore. A trace of stubble darkened his jaw, the kind that came from not bothering to shave for at least two days.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be weird about it.”

You didn’t move right away. Your eyes lingered on the building.

Could you still walk away? Pretend you weren’t about to watch two men try to kill each other while strangers bet on who’d bleed the least?

Kole bumped your shoulder lightly.

“I told you, this place is insane. You’ve never seen anything like it."

You gave him a flat look. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

He laughed.

“C'mon. I’ve got two hundred on the guy fighting tonight. Undefeated. Everyone’s saying he’s a beast, fast as hell, never goes down.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And if he does?”

Kole grinned wider. “He won’t.”

He reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze, then started toward the building. You followed, reluctantly. The gravel crunched under your boots as you crossed the lot, the only sound besides those muffled voices growing louder the closer you got.

As you neared the metal door, someone slipped out, a man in a black hoodie, talking fast on a phone, his head down. He looked angry, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. You wondered if he’d lost a bet, or if someone had tricked him somehow.

You hadn’t even stepped inside yet, and you already hated the place.

Kole knocked twice.

A slot in the door slid open with a metallic rasp. A pair of sharp eyes peered out. They flicked to Kole, then to you, then back again.

Kole spoke first. “We’re good. Dean’s expecting me.”

Dean was one of the organizers of the illegal fights, a guy your boyfriend had met a few months earlier and seemed to have quickly become close with. He was the one who had introduced Kole to that world, telling him it was fun and that you could make good money if you knew how to bet, and bet with the right people. Kole had already been to three matches without you before that night.

A pause. Then the door creaked open just wide enough for the two of you to slip inside.

You were struck by the smell first: a mix of sweat, beer, smoke, metal (you wondered if it was blood, and you hoped not) and weed.

The place was big and the walls were streaked with faded graffiti and tinted yellow, like the place had been dipped in old whiskey. The ceiling was high, with led lights casting a warm glow over the room.

People were packed in tight, standing, laughing, drinking.

The ring at the centre wasn’t a ring at all. It was a square outlined with chain and caution tape, the floor inside scuffed and stained in too many places to count.

Kole tugged your arm.

“Come on. We need to get closer before it fills up.”

You didn’t move.

“Kole, this—”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off. “Just stick close to me.”

You let him pull you through the crowd. The voices got louder. You caught fragments of conversation, names, bets, someone bragging about how much cash they’d put down.

A man passed by with a clipboard, calling out something over the music. People handed over bills without hesitation.

You found a spot near the makeshift ring, the crowd pressing in tight all around.

Suddenly, Dean appeared beside Kole, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said with a grin. Then his eyes shifted to you. “Finally! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he added, nodding in your direction.

Kole smiled and introduced you quickly, but you barely caught the words over the noise.

Dean turned back to Kole. “Placed your bet?”

“Two hundred.”

Dean nodded, a knowing smile crossing his face. “Good call. Sebastian doesn’t stand a fucking chance tonight.”

Kole grinned wider. “Then everyone betting on him’s crazy. But good for me.”

Before you could say anything, someone called Dean’s name from behind. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at Kole.

“I gotta go. Enjoy the show,” he said, clapping Kole on the shoulder once more before disappearing into the crowd.

You turned back to Kole, trying to find some kind of comfort. He caught your eyes and gave you a reassuring smile.

“Relax,” he said quietly. “It’s not as bad as it looks. You’ll get used to it.”

You glanced around. The crowd was mostly men, gruff, loud, sizing each other up or lost in their bets. A few women were scattered through the room. One was pressed against a wall in the far corner, kissing a man fiercely. Another laughed with a bottle clutched in her hand.

As you were still scanning all the people in that place, Kole spoke again, his mouth close to your ear, his voice low so only you could hear. “There, see that guy? That’s Sebastian. Or Noah, whatever you wanna call him.” He nodded toward a tall figure on the other side of the room with his back mostly turned, speaking quietly to another man.

He had broad shoulders but didn’t look too muscular, he wore a black tank top and seemed covered in tattoos. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and he lifted a hand to brush some strands out of his eyes.

He had a silver bracelet around one wrist, something simple that caught the light when he moved, and both his hands were wrapped in black tape.

His tattoos, unlike some of the harsher ones you'd seen around the place, looked almost softer, though you couldn’t make out the details clearly, they seemed to be flowers and leaves wrapped around his arms.

He turned around, and for a moment, his brown eyes met yours. They looked tired but not cold, just like someone who’d been through a lot and had nothing left to lose.

Kole didn’t seem to notice.

There was something softer about him, and not only the way his tattoos looked. Something that didn’t quite fit the image he was trying to project. He looked like someone playing the part of the scary fighter because it was expected of him, not because that was really him.

Then, he shifted his weight and turned slightly, continuing his conversation with the man in front of him like he’d never looked at you at all.

You leaned in a little closer to Kole, still watching the guy across the room. “Why are you so sure he’s gonna lose tonight?”

Kole gave a short laugh under his breath, like the answer was obvious. “Because you haven’t seen the guy he’s fighting yet.”

You opened your mouth to ask another question, but before you could get the words out, a loud metallic clang rang out, not quite a bell, more like someone slamming a steel bar against a pipe. The noise cut through the music and chatter, and almost instantly everyone turned toward the ring, voices rising and shouting.

You saw Noah stepping toward the makeshift ring, his movements calm, almost slow. He climbed through the chain barrier with ease, black-taped hands flexing slightly as he adjusted his stance.

Then his opponent followed.

If Noah was tall, around 6’3”, the other guy was towering. At least 6’8”, maybe more, and built like he was carved from concrete. His arms were huge, veins visible even from where you stood. He looked strong and he moved like he was sure he was going to win.

And just like that, it made sense.

You suddenly understood why Kole had bet against Noah. Why everyone probably had.

Because standing next to this guy, Noah really looked like he had no chance.

Noah stood still, head slightly lowered, hands loose at his sides. The other guy rolled his shoulders back and flexed his neck like he couldn’t wait to tear something apart.

Then the signal came.

No bell. No referee. They weren't even wearing boxing gloves or any dental protection. Just a shouted “Go!” from somewhere in the crowd, and they moved.

Noah darted forward first. Fast. Faster than you'd expected. He closed the space between them in a second and ducked low, slipping just under a wide punch that would’ve taken his head off. He twisted to the side and landed a quick jab to the ribs, nothing extremely heavy, but enough to make the bigger man grunt and pivot.

They circled.

Noah stayed moving, fast on his feet. The other guy was slower, but every swing he threw felt like it could break bone if it landed.

For a while, it was just movement. Dodging. Glancing hits. The thud of fists against ribs, the crack of footfalls on the stained floor. The crowd screamed every time someone got close to landing something big.

And then, Noah misjudged the angle, maybe by an inch. He went in again, too close this time, and the bigger man caught him.

A punch to the side of his face.

You heard it. That awful, heavy crack of skin on bone.

Noah’s head snapped sideways and he staggered. But before the cheers could even rise, he twisted back with a elbow that landed against the other man’s jaw. A small payback.

It wasn’t enough.

The bigger man slammed his shoulder forward, knocking Noah off balance, and then another hit, straight to the stomach. Noah went down.

He hit the floor hard, one hand catching himself, but there wasn’t time. The next punch came before he could stand. Then another.

Each one landed with a sickening sound, like something breaking.

Noah's opponent took a step back, chest heaving, not from exhaustion, but like he was just getting warmed up.

He turned slightly, raising both arms above his head, palms open as if inviting the crowd to praise him.

And they did. People screamed a name you couldn’t understand, drinks were thrown into the air, fists pounded the chains of the makeshift ring.

Noah pushed himself up again. Blood dripped from his mouth. He swayed on his feet.

The bigger man didn’t wait.

As soon as Noah was back on his feet, blood painting his chin, the other guy launched forward like a freight train.

A kick slammed into Noah’s side.

Noah’s body twisted before crashing to the ground with a thud, skidding across the floor.

He landed right in front of you.

You flinched, instinctively stepping back.

Something slid across the concrete, his bracelet. The silver one that had caught the light earlier. It had somehow come loose in the fall and now scraped its way toward Kole’s boots, stopping just against the toe of his black shoe.

Kole crouched down quickly and snatched it up.

You turned to him, staring. “That’s not yours.”

He grinned, holding the bracelet up between his fingers, letting it dangle in the air like a prize. “This night just keeps getting better, huh?”

“Kole, you can't —”

“I didn’t steal it,” he cut in, slipping the bracelet into his pocket. “I found it. On the ground. Finders keepers.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Noah was still on the floor, coughing, trying to push himself up again. His blood smeared the concrete just inches from your boots.

Noah pushed himself up again, barely. One knee under him, a hand gripping his ribs like it might keep them from shattering altogether. For a second, he found his footing enough to swing another punch.

But the other man saw it coming. He ducked easily, a smug grin stretching across his face like he was enjoying every second of this.

Then he drove a brutal fist into Noah’s ribs.

The sound was sickening, like a crack, or maybe just your imagination, but either way, it made your stomach turn. Noah dropped again, folding over his midsection, arms wrapped around his stomach as he collapsed.

He didn’t even have time to catch his breath before the other fighter was on top of him.

Straddling his chest, pinning him down, and throwing another punch at his face.

Noah tried to block it, but his arms were too slow.

And he punched him again.

His head jerked to the side.

And again.

Blood sprayed against the stained concrete.

He squirmed beneath the weight, tried to raise a hand to hit back, but the punches kept coming.

The crowd cheered and shouted.

But all you could see was a man covered in blood.

On the ground.

Defenseless.

Getting his face caved in.

There was so much blood.

It didn’t even look like a fight anymore. It looked like an attack.

The man on top had already won. It was obvious. Noah wasn’t resisting, wasn’t fighting back, wasn’t even moving anymore. Just jerks and spasms with every blow to his face or stomach.

And no one was stopping it.

You wondered what the rules were. If there were any.

You felt something twist in your stomach. Your mouth went dry.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I need air,” you said, barely loud enough to hear yourself.

Kole turned his head, distracted. “What?”

“I said,” you snapped, louder now, “I need air.”

And then you were moving, shoving through the crowd.

No one probably even noticed.

You were just one more body in the way.

You pushed past shoulders, dodged a man holding a beer who didn’t even glance at you.

You spotted a door at the back.

You hoped it was the exit.

You pushed it open and stumbled into the night.

The door creaked shut behind you with a dull clang, muffling the noise of the crowd just enough that you could finally think. The air outside was cold and sharp, but you welcomed it. It smelled way better than the stink of sweat and blood and beer inside.

The alley stretched out in both directions, empty and quiet. A few scattered streetlamps buzzed overhead, casting pools of pale yellow light that flickered slightly.

Trash bins lined the wall, dented and overflowing in places. A broken pallet leaned against a fence, a cracked bottle near the curb, glittering faintly.

You walked a few steps and sank down onto the edge of the curb. The concrete was cold beneath you. You pulled your coat tighter, but it didn’t help much. You stared at the ground, and you breathed.

In.

Out.

Slow.

Your heart was still racing, and your hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

What you saw in there, wasn’t even sport.

You tried to understand it. Why people would come here. Why they’d want to watch someone get beaten half to death for fun. For money.

Did they ever think about what it looked like after the lights went off? After the winner walked away, and the loser just... stayed down?

You swallowed.

You wondered if anyone had ever died in that ring. If anyone even cared.

It was nothing like the movies. There, the blood was fake and the bruises washed off.

People cheered because they knew it wasn’t real.

But this?

This was real, and it fucking sucked even just being there, even just watching.

You were still sitting there, hunched over, trying to breathe, when the door behind you burst open with a loud clang.

You flinched.

Two men stepped out, each one gripping Noah by an arm. His feet dragged limply behind him, feet scraping over the concrete. His head hung forward, chin against his chest, and his hair, dark and sweat-slicked, clung to his forehead in wet strands. His face was a mess of blood and swelling. One eye was nearly swollen shut, and his cheek was split open. Blood dripped from his nose and his mouth.

They barely even looked at you. One of them opened his hand and shoved Noah forward like he was nothing but trash.

He hit the pavement hard, the sound awful and dull, and then he didn’t move.

Just crumpled there. One arm bent awkwardly beneath him, the other lying useless at his side.

Then the men turned and went back inside, letting the door slam shut behind them.

You stayed silent for a moment, the only sound in your ears the quick thump of your heartbeat. He didn’t move. Not at all. For a fleeting second, your mind raced with the worst thought: maybe he was dead.

Slowly, you inched closer, careful not to rush or startle him. His face was pressed against the cold concrete, one cheek resting flat on the rough surface while the other was hidden beneath tangled strands of dark hair.

You dropped to your knees beside him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Please, tell me you’re not dead,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Gently, you brushed the hair away from his face with your fingers, trying not to hurt him even more.

His eyelids fluttered open just as your hand made contact, but he didn’t look in your eyes.

“Not yet,” he mumbled.

A small relief washed over you.

He didn’t try to move. He just laid there, face bruised, lips split, blood drying in sharp red lines along his jaw and neck.

“I should probably… get you up or something,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

No answer.

You swallowed and shifted forward an inch.

“Okay, I’m going to help you sit up, alright?” You paused. “Unless that’s a terrible idea.”

His lips barely moved. “They’ve had worse ideas tonight.”

You let out a faint breath that was almost a laugh, then finally reached toward him, slowly, gently, and slid your hand under his shoulder.

He groaned but didn’t protest, and with a little effort, you managed to ease him into a sitting position, his back leaning against the brick wall behind him. He winced through gritted teeth, one hand coming up to press lightly against his ribs.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“S’alright,” he rasped, closing his eyes for a second. “Better than lying face-down in garbage.”

You sat back on your heels, watching him breathe. One of his hands wasn't covered anymore, and his knuckles were raw and red, the other was still loosely wrapped in torn black tape. The side of his face was already swelling.

“I have no idea what to do.” You said. And it was true. Obviously it was the first time you found yourself in the back of an illegal fight club with a beaten up guy.

His mouth curled faintly, more pain than smile. “It’s not the first time,” he said, “You don’t have to do anything.”

He looked like a kicked dog, half-expecting someone to come finish the job.

You didn’t know what to say. You just stared at him, and for the first time, up close, he looked back. Even with one eye nearly swollen shut, he met your gaze.

He was younger than you’d first assumed. Probably still in his twenties. You’d never seen someone look so young and so tired at the same time.

He was looking at you like he was trying to understand why you were still there, why you were trying to help him. Like it never happened to him before.

You found yourself wondering why he was even there. Why he did what he did. What his story was.

There was no way he did it because he liked it, you could see that written all over his bloodied face. In the way he sat slumped against the wall, exhausted.

He wasn’t like the guy who had beaten him. That man had raised his arms for applause, grinning. That man enjoyed it, Noah didn't. And not just because he lost.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, a sudden rush of blood spilled from his nose. He coughed hard, blinking fast.

“Shit. Tilt your head forward,” you said quickly, reaching toward him but stopping just short of touching. “Don’t let it go down your throat.”

He nodded faintly and leaned forward, breathing heavily through his mouth. You looked around instinctively for something, anything, to stop the bleeding. You didn’t have tissues and your leather jacket couldn’t help.

You thought about it just for a moment, hoping you were not going to regret it.

Then, you stood up quickly, heat rushing to your face even though the air outside was biting cold. Your heart was still racing, your hands trembling slightly.

Honestly, it felt a little bit like you suddenly lost your mind. Because this wasn’t something you usually did:

stripping in a dark alley in the middle of the night for a guy you barely knew, a guy you saw for the first time less than an hour ago in a underground fight club. A guy whose name you only knew because someone else told you. If that was even his real name.

But there was nothing else. No tissues. No towels. No first-aid kit magically appearing out of the shadows. Just you, him, and the slow, steady drip of blood from his nose onto the dirty pavement. And the fact that you were a person with at least a bit of a heart, someone who hated seeing another human being suffer, unlike all those people back inside.

So you turned around, to have a second of privacy while undressing.

Your fingers moved quickly, unzipping your jacket and shrugging it off your shoulders. The cold bit into your skin instantly, but you ignored it. Then you pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, balling it up in your hands. You were left in just your bra for a moment, breath hitching in your throat as the wind kissed every inch of exposed skin.

Then, you pulled your jacket back on, zipped it up to your throat, and exhaled a shaky breath as you turned back toward him.

He was still hunched over, blood slowly dripping between his fingers, and he hadn’t said a word. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed.

You dropped back down to your knees beside him, still holding your shirt in your hands.

You held it out to him carefully, not pushing it into his hands.

“Here,” you said.

He looked at the shirt in your hands like it was something he didn't deserve for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached for it.

His fingers brushed yours, and the contact was barely there but it was enough to make your breath catch, even if you didn't know why.

“Thank you,” he said.

Then he paused.

You saw it, the moment he noticed the smear of blood on your fingers. A small streak where his fingers had touched your skin.

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked up at you with a flash of something that almost looked like shame.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You blinked, looked at your hand. It wasn’t much. Just a thin streak of red, already drying in the cold air.

“It’s okay,” you said softly.

Because it was okay. You hadn’t even noticed until he pointed it out. Maybe because, in that moment, you were too focused on him.

On the man who, if it weren't for you, would probably still be lying face down in a pool of his own blood. The man you knew probably wouldn't call anyone for help and would just stay there until someone else found him, maybe while throwing out the trash.

He nodded slowly, not quite meeting your eyes again. He looked down at the shirt, then raised it gently to his face, trying to stop the bleeding. You watched him as he moved.

You didn’t say anything else for a while. Just sat there as he used your shirt to stop the bleeding.

“What’s your name?” he asked then.

You told him, and he repeated it quietly, as if tasting the word, then gave you a faint, tired smile. “Noah.”

"Yeah, I figured."

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual but feeling a bit exposed. “Yeah, first time. My boyfriend dragged me along.”

He shifted slightly against the wall. “You didn’t even see the match finish.”

You frowned. “It wasn’t exactly something I was enjoying. For a second I thought I might throw up.”

Only after answering did you register what his words really meant.

He had noticed.

Somehow, while lying on the floor, half-conscious and getting the life beaten out of him, he’d seen you leave. Was that even possible?

“How much did you win tonight?” He asked before you could say anything.

You shook your head. “I didn’t bet. Just him.”

He let out a low chuckle, then flinched for the pain. “You should’ve. It was obvious I was gonna lose.”

You frowned. “Why did you fight then?”

Noah gave a dry laugh. “This is all I've got.”

A dark alley, a fight club and body covered in bruises?

“Impossible.” you said.

He had to have a family, friends, a home somewhere. Right?

“You don’t know me.” he muttered.

And the way he said it… it felt like an answer to all the questions that had been racing through your mind.

No, he didn’t have anyone. No other options. No place to go.

You didn’t really know him. For all you knew, he could’ve been a criminal.

But something deep down told you he wasn’t.

He didn’t seem like someone who deserved to be thrown out like garbage, left bleeding and broken in a dark alley after getting beaten half to death.

A damp strand of hair kept falling into his eyes, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush it away with your fingers.

The bleeding from his nose had finally stopped, but then he shifted, just slightly, and let out a sharp hiss through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he muttered, one hand flying to his ribs. His jaw clenched, and his eyes (or eye) squeezed shut for a second.

You leaned in. “Ribs?”

He gave a faint nod, breathing shallow. “It'll be okay in a couple of days.”

“You need a hospital,” you said firmly, even though you already suspected what his answer would be. “They need to check you out. That could be serious.”

“No.” The word came out fast. “Out of the question.”

“You could have internal—”

“I said no.” He insisted. “I don’t have the money. And they’ll ask too many questions. I can’t risk that.”

You hesitated. “I want to ask many questions too.”

He looked away. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, softly, he said, “You shouldn’t.”

Your mouth opened, but before you could speak, he went on.

“You seem like a good person. So… don’t come back here. Don’t get involved.”

“I-”

“It’s better if you don’t ask anything. And it’s better if we never see each other again.”

Then, quieter still: “But thank you. For this. For staying. For giving a damn when nobody else did. I mean it.”

You exhaled, your breath fogging faintly in the cold air. "Is that your way to tell me to leave?"

“Yes. But before I need-” he paused, glancing at the damp concrete beneath him. “Can you help me up?”

You stared. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head once, slowly. “No joke. I just need to stand. Please.”

Your heart squeezed. Please. He didn’t look at you when he said it. There was something almost painful in how quiet the word came out, like he wasn’t used to asking anyone for anything.

“You’re insane,” you murmured. “You’re going to pass out the second you try to move.”

He didn’t answer. Just held your gaze, and waited.

And you just couldn't tell him no.

So you just slipped an arm around him, one under his shoulders, careful of his ribs.

He was heavy and incredibly tall. Your palm pressed briefly against his chest, and you felt the stickiness of old blood, dried and flaking now.

He hissed through his teeth, body trembling slightly, and his fingers gripped your jacket.

“Okay,” you whispered, grounding both your feet. “On three.”

It took longer than it should have. Every movement was careful and slow.

When he finally made it upright, he swayed.

You tightened your hold for a second, steadying him. His body was warm against yours despite the cold of the night.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Then, slowly, he took a half step back. You let your hands fall away as he reached for the wall, one palm bracing against the brick for support. He leaned into it.

“I’m good,” he said quietly. “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

Just as you were about to say something, the door Noah had been thrown out creaked open.

You turned at the sound, seeing Kole stepping into the alley.

“There you are,” he said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

You froze for half a second. Noah straightened a little, his fingers still splayed on the brick for balance.

Kole’s eyes flicked to him and stayed there. He let out a low whistle, dragging his gaze from Noah’s bruised face to the bloodied shirt.

“Damn, man,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You look like shit.”

Noah didn’t say a word.

“But,” Kole continued, shrugging with one shoulder, “you made me win two hundred bucks tonight, so... thanks for that.”

There was no real gratitude in his voice.

Kole turned to you again, like the interruption was over. “Come on,” he said, jerking his chin toward the street. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, he started walking.

No pause to see if you’d follow. No offer of a hand. No helo for the man covered in blood next to you. Just an expectation that you’d fall into step, like always.

You lingered for a second. Looked back at Noah.

He hadn’t moved. His eyes were on the ground now, jaw tight, face unreadable. You didn’t know what you wanted to say.

“Try to take care, Noah” you said softly. What a weird thing to say to a man who was fighting for a living.

For a moment, you thought maybe he wouldn’t look up. But then he met your eyes again.

"Yeah. You too."

You started walking away.

The air felt immediately colder without his warmth beside you.

You didn’t stop thinking about him the entire car ride home. Not even for a second.

Not when the lights of the city blurred past the window, not when Kole went on and on about how he should’ve bet more, how the guy didn’t stand a chance from the start, how easy money like that didn’t come around often.

“You dipped out before it ended,” Kole said, eyes on the road, voice casual.

You kept your gaze fixed outside the window. “I wasn’t feeling great.”

He hummed. “Yeah, it was pretty rough. That guy took a beating. Probably gonna piss blood for a week.”

You didn’t respond.

Kole glanced over at you, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

“Fine.”

A beat of silence. The hum of the engine filled the space.

“Didn’t think this stuff bothered you,” he added eventually.

You shrugged, still watching the city slide by. “I guess I never watched someone actually get hurt like that before.”

“It’s a fight,” Kole said. “They sign up for it. You think the guy didn’t know what he was getting into?”

“I’m not saying he didn’t,” you replied, your tone flat. “Just… doesn’t make it easier to watch.”

Kole scoffed under his breath, amused. “You’re getting soft on me.”

You didn’t answer.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, then smirked. “Don’t tell me you were rooting for him.”

Still, you stayed quiet.

“Babe.”

You finally looked at him. “What?”

He grinned. “Come on. He didn’t stand a chance. The second he walked in, you could tell. That’s easy money. I should’ve put down double.”

You looked back out the window.

“Right. Easy money,” you echoed quietly.

Kole didn’t notice the shift in your tone, or didn’t care. He kept going.

“You gotta learn to detach a little. It’s not ballet.”

You remembered the way Noah had staggered, ribs heaving, blood matting his hair.

You remembered the way he’d looked at you like you were the first person to treat him like he wasn't trash in a long time.

He shook his head, amused. “Come on. You’re not actually sitting there feeling bad for the guy?”

You didn’t answer.

He tapped your knee lightly with his hand. “Babe.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

Kole let out a short laugh. “Seriously?”

You turned your head just enough to glance at him. “Yeah. Seriously.”

You both remained silent until you got home.

You didn’t stop thinking about him even when you got into bed and Kole’s arm wrapped around you like nothing had changed.

Especially not then.

Because while his breath warmed the back of your neck and his hand rested heavy on your waist, your mind was still in that alley.

With him.

That man who, somehow, felt like he deserved better.

Who looked like a beaten-down stray too wary to trust kindness.

Who hadn’t asked for help, but hadn’t completely pushed you away either.

You kept seeing his face, bruised and tired but his eyes were still kind.

You kept hearing his voice, low and rough, saying thank you like it was the first time anyone had tried to help him.

You fell asleep thinking about him. And he was your first thought when you woke up.

You were definitely in trouble.

Chapter 2?

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x y/n #bad omens fanfiction #underground fighter! noah sebastian x reader #underground fighter! noah sebastian #x reader #fb

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vigilantekisser · 19 days ago

Note

rough sex with bloodied up dex pretty please🥺

backslide

a/n: THANK YOU FOR THIS IT’S LIKE YOU READ MY MIND!!!!!! been writing a lot of sub!dex lately so i wanted to change it up just for fun!! also, giggling drooling curling my toes at the stuff sitting in my inbox.. my summer term is starting in like a week so i wanna get as much of them in!

18+!!! cw: mild dubcon, dark!dex?, mentions of blood, knifeplay, rough sex, choking/breathplay, dacryphilia, filth, emotionally unhealthy relationship ig, reader has female anatomy (wc: 1.8k)

masterlist | ao3 mirror

You don’t hear the knock, and it occurs to you too late that there probably wasn’t one. When the door swings open, you barely look up from the bed where you’re curled beneath the blanket, the lamplight casting long bruises on the walls. You don’t have to; you know it’s him.

How it had come to this, you aren’t exactly sure. He wouldn’t answer when you begged to know where he went on nights like this and you learned, quickly, to stop asking. To reason him out of existence was enough, you’d decided. But no mental bridging could erase him from the doorway of your bedroom with blood on him, on his mouth both dried and fresh and clotted at the corners. His shirt’s soaked through with it—someone else’s, you hope. Hands flexing at his side, crimson stains up to the knuckles. He looks a little scared right now, and more than a little scary.

“Dex,” you say.

A shadow of an expression—he looks uncomfortable—passes over his face. Sauntering forward, a silhouette separating itself from the dark, he says, “Tell me to leave.”

His smell is manly and unpleasant, and the bile climbs up your throat. Under it, impossibly, your stomach flips with intoxication. Here’s what you’re going to do, you tell yourself, you scream and beat your hands on his chest and push him away, punish him for leaving, for coming back. But in two strides, he reaches you and he’s leaning down and he’s sliding a hand under your shirt to remove it, and you let him. His palm is flat over your stomach, breathing heavily against your neck.

“I need you to tell me no,” he says, so low you strain to understand. “Say stop and I will.”

Your lips part but nothing comes out. As if in perfect perception his hand finds your ankle and he drags you forward so your hips are hanging off the mattress now, coaxing a yip out of your mouth, his body crowding you. Dex kneels, his grip on your thighs parting them decisively, and you’re met with his dirty face between your legs. Two lurid thumbs of purple under sullen eyes—you almost don’t recognize him.

“Say no,” he repeats sternly. His mouth brushes your knee, your inner thigh. Where his face and hands touch you it smears blood, then his breath finds the heat between your legs, the cotton of your white underwear damp and flimsy between you. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

His tongue presses through the fabric, slow enough to make you squirm. “Mmh?” A hum, prompting you to speak.

“You’re ruining my underwear,” you say lightly, a futile attempt to steer him back to softness. His grip hardens on you, and you can’t help but arch when his teeth catch the hem of your panties. You force out an answer: “I can’t. Want you–”

“No,” he growls and tugs it aside, breath sticky now against bare skin. He licks once, slow and sickeningly good—it does feel good, fuck, you’re so scared you’re not even wet yet, coiled too tight and tense—and as if to punish you further he stops and pulls back.

“I’m past saving,” he says, unfairly pretty under flaxen lashes, “so don’t try. I don’t need your pity.”

Still knelt before you, he fumbles at something at his side. You see it in the dim light—a slab of metal with serrated teeth—his knife. He presses it to your thigh and fixes it inside the seam of your panties, the metal cold and harsh against the soft, goosebumped flesh of your pelvis. His other hand grips the fabric for leverage, and it comes apart in one long, loud rrrip. The sound makes your head pound violently.

You’re completely bare under him now, your heart jackhammering against bone.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks again, voice firm like he’s reading you your rights. He drags the tip of his knife down the inside of your thigh, “Yes or no?”

“No.”

“Do you trust me?” His knife has traced all the way to your pubic mound, down, almost at your clit, touch so light it almost tickles. “Yes or no?”

Your breath catches.

“...no,” you whisper.

His smile’s a crack that fractures his face open. “That’s my girl.”

He drops the knife and stands back up, tearing his shirt off, sweat glistening over dried blood and raw skin healing badly on his torso. It must hurt all over, you can tell by the way he flinches when he scrambles at his belt, but if it’s anything to go from it only makes him meaner. Roughly, Dex shoves your thighs apart and spits once on your pussy, filthy and speckled with blood, and shoves himself in all at once with a choked sound. You scream, hands scrambling for purchase, eyes watering from the stretch. It’s dry and deep, and his hands grab your hips like he’s trying to force you deeper onto his cock.

“Dex— Dex, fuck, slow down–!”

His hands find your wrists and shove them behind your back, holding them there, pinned hard. Your legs are trembling from the shock of his depth and every thrust is mean, calculated. You don’t know when you start crying, but tears spill hot down your cheeks soon enough. “S’too rough–please, hurts, wait–”

His breath hits your cheek, licking at your tears. “Then tell me to stop.”

You shake your head. “No, don’t wanna…”

He pulls back halfway. You think, for some stupid naïve reason, that he’ll ease up—but he slams back in, hips cracking against you so hard you hear the sound before you feel it. Your scream cuts off in a choke. He does it again. Again. And then—without warning—he hooks his arms under your calves, bends you hard back on yourself, and starts fucking into you at an angle so vicious it feels like your spine might snap in half.

“F-fuck yes—” You’re barely coherent, every thrust knocking more air from your lungs, “Hurts, Dex— feels so good—”

The bed jerks, your back folding into the mattress. He’s sweaty, pouring heat, and it’s mixing with the blood on him, slicking between your bodies, smearing down your stomach, soaking into your skin. It stains your thighs, your cunt, the pristine white of your sheets now blackened with red.

Here you are, split open. Marked.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he groans as you preen at the compliment and your cunt pulsates around him, “Sweet girl like you into this kinda shit?”

He pulls at the knife at your side. “C’mon, tell me,” he says, pressing it idly on your cheek, “want me to stop, huh?”

“Mph– no, Dex, no!” you cry, brain static-white and brilliant with sensation, not even sure what it is you’re refusing, all of it bleeding together. No, don’t hurt me? No, don’t leave me?

No, don’t stop?

He grabs your face, forcing your mouth to his in a filthy, fast kiss, tongue sliding over yours and mouth filling with blood and salt. It’s bitter and you gag a little, nose wrinkling, but it doesn’t let up. When he pulls away your face is wet, and you rub a hand blindly at your own face: sure enough, it comes up red.

“Why’d you even come back?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours, plaintive and thin under the rasp of his breathing. “You left, you—” Fuck, you give up. “Come back, please, please.”

Buried into your neck, he grunts something that might be your name and you sob harder, nails scratching his back in raw, angry lines.

“No, gotta… hear it,” he pants, pulling back. “Need you to tell me it’s wrong.”

“It’s not, it’s not,” you wail, “want you, please, I…” His form is blurry through your tears. “I love you.”

Ding ding ding, the alarm bell in your head rings. Wrong fucking answer.

His face twists into a disgusted expression.

“Poor… fuckin’… angel,” he laughs dryly, every word punctuated by a snap of his hips deeper into you. His voice is clear and rough, that signature all-American brutality rasping through every word. “You would’ve taken me as I was, huh?”

You try to nod. Another thrust, harder, crueler.

“I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

His hand closes around your throat, thumbing the thickness of the muscle there until your whimpers cut off. You try to croak something out—“Please”—and it occurs to you, by the hot flash of his gaze, that the disgust is for himself, for the parts of him you still deem worthy of kindness. He’s thrown it all away for the native urge of violence, and he knows he can’t go back.

“Fucked it up and you’re still here.”

I love you.

Stupid, stupid girl you are—you still want him.

He’s so large and overwhelming, his weight crushing so heavily above you that your world narrows to just his face, his sordid half-smile. You can’t breathe. Your cunt pulses around him.

Sweat’s stinging his open cuts, pain fueling him more as his hips slam down into you, soaked in blood and slick. You’re boneless under him, your arms pinned useless at your sides. Flinching with every thrust, you can feel the raw flexing of his muscles, and the gravity of his body is drawing tighter like a bowstring about to snap.

“Too good for me,” he’s saying trance-like as he fucks you, breath hot against your temple, “so good, so good…”

And fuck, it’s too much and he’s so heavy on top of you, folded underneath him, immense pressure into your core. You feel it first in the clenching of your stomach and further down then up, up—everything going blinding, shuddering, your used pussy contracting around him as you come hard and helpless.

He moans—ragged, cursing breathlessly—and then he’s coming too, cock pulsing thick and hot as he spills inside you, still fucking through it like he can’t stop, won’t, not until he’s scraped himself raw against you.

Your legs ache limply as he rolls off of you. He’s breathing like an animal, collapsed next to you on the bed. After some pause his mouth presses against your temple, unsure.

It’s an alien attempt at tenderness, you know this much: This is what people do after fucking, see, I know. I’m a normal person, look, just like you.

And he’s looking down at you, your stained body, your copper-browned sheets. He could strike you across the face now, he thinks, just once, to snuff out the affection you have for him. Do you a mercy. Do you one last favor, he’s still capable of that.

Instead, Dex says: “I don’t know why I came back here.”

It’s the most honest he’s been all night.

You turn to stare at the ceiling, feeling his spend trickle out of you. The sweat and blood’s turning tacky, the grime from his body gritting your sore limbs.

No, no, no.

Fuck this, you’re gonna have to put your sheets in the laundry again.

a/n: fics ive written where someone comes home bloody counter: 4,, ding ding ding, i need help! was def not thinking about that vamp!dex picture while writing

#benjamin poindexter x reader #benjamin poindexter imagine #bullseye x reader #ben poindexter x reader #ben poindexter smut #dex x reader #daredevil #daredevil born again #bullseye #ddba #wilson bethel #vigilantekisser #🖋️

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clawsdevour · 7 months ago

Text

last customer

wc: 0.6k content warning: post-time skip, osamu x reader, fluff, not proofread

⠀ೀ * : ,,,

it's cold and frosty out as you made your way down the concrete sidewalk to the brightly lit restaurant. the snow's starting to pile up, each snowflake landing on your flushed cheeks before you're under the roof of the address on your phone.

stiff fingers gripped on the doorhandle as you pushed it open, the warmth of the restaurant immediately rushing towards you as you sighed out of relief as the bell rang at the top of the door.

the ringing caught the owner's attention from the kitchen. sticking his grey head of hair out from the kitchen doorframe, he looked at you with confusion before checking his watch.

"um.. hi!" immersing yourself in the heated restaurant as you stood by the door staring back at his figure.

"hi, i'm sorry we just closed.." his brown eyes peering back at you from his watch with concern as he noticed how cold it must be outside.

"oh- i'm sorry.. i thought i'd arrive before your shop would close," looking down at your shoes wehre your toes are absolutely frozen despite having fluffy socks on before turning your body towards the door that showed the chilling winter night through the glass.

right when you were about to head out as the bell rung due to the movement of the door just slightly moving, the owner calls back at you while you heard the restaurant's air vents turn on.

"wait, since you've come so far in this freezing weather i might as well whip something up!" his deep voice shouted from the kitchen, catching your attention.

you felt bad since he was almost done getting ready to close, but you couldn't turn down his offer. his face was as grey as his hair with a slightly worried expression plastered on his face.

"..okay, sure! i'd love that," your lips jolted into a big smile as the blush on your cold cheeks lit up.

turning your back away from him, his fingers got to work and started scooping up some fresh rice to wash.

his other hand gestured at you to have a seat right in front of him where you can watch him work his magic.

"soo.. what would you recommend chef?" putting your arms on the table and leaning in to examine his skills at work like a curious cat.

his brows just so slightly raise when he notices your gaze upon him. looking up from the rice pot he mumbles out a mmm.. to think, what would be nice and warm to suit this weather? he thought to himself thinking about what would be the best to offer.

"hmmm i'd say the salmon yaki onigiri. it's got a crispy fried outside with some delicious fresh salmon on the inside," his droopy eyes giving you a gentle smile as he works relentlessly at the rice.

pouring out the starchy water to refill the pot before he plugs the wire into the rice cooker, he's leaning on the counter to make some small talk.

"what brings you here so late? and in the freezing snow?" taking his hat off to comb his fingers through his hair.

"just felt like trying a new restaurant.. in the middle of winter," you can't stop holding eye contact with his deep brown eyes that drew you in.

pausing for a second as you two stared, you had to break it up, "..oh! i'm y/n by the way. nice to meet you..?"

"osamu miya, like atsumu miya's twin brother" nodding his head as he took a rag to wipe his wet hands with before walking into the fridge to grab fresh orange salmon out.

"you're gonna love this dish," placing the slab of fish onto the cutting board while taking out his knives to sharpen.

masterlist here

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hannahbarberra162 · 15 days ago

Text

Mating Call, Part 2 (Marco x Reader, dubcon, Monster Marco)

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

The first part

Summary: The World Government has worked hard to obfuscate an interesting fact about Zoan Devil Fruits since the Void Century. In order for a Zoan Devil Fruit to be awakened, the Zoan user must find and claim their mate in accordance with their nature.

Zoan fruit users are driven to find their mates, seeking someone to fill the gnawing need within them, even if they don't recognize it themselves.

Thank you to @gouraminnow for reading the rough draft! There's another thank you at the end to avoid chapter spoilers :3

You startled awake as a sharp cry pierced through the early morning light, sitting straight up and scanning the area. Your nervous system was on full alert as you quickly looked for the emergency, the instinct ingrained in you after your years in medical school and residency. After a moment, you relaxed as you remembered you were in a cave with the Phoenix. Right, right. Kidnapped by stupid pirates and trapped with the world’s most temperamental fiery bird.

You yawned and stretched, awake for the day. Unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now but maybe you’d be able to catch a nap later. You were still resting against the body of the Phoenix, which was more singed on its wings than it had been the day before. You leaned your head back against the Phoenix like it was an armchair. It out a small chirp, almost like a coo.

“You woke me up, you didn’t tell me I have to move yet. You gonna die and be reborn, huh? You better not die on me for real - then your buddies will kill me and I have tickets to see Soul King live in a few months. So just remember to be reborn from the ashes, and all will be well. Hell, I’ll take you with me if you get me out of here,” you said to the Phoenix. Using its flank for support, you stood up to see what Thatch had left for you to eat. You were desperate for some coffee but you wouldn’t get your hopes up. Walking towards the stone slab, you were arrested in your path by the Phoenix’s beak pushing you towards the back of the cave.

“H-hey, wait! I want - I’m hungry!” you pleaded with the Phoenix. It didn’t answer but continued to corral you behind itself. As you got a closer sight of the sharp beak, your jovial tone dropped as you remembered you were dealing with an apex predator. It was getting annoying being moved around like a piece on a chess board but you weren’t going to protest as long as you could see snapped femurs by the far wall.

“P-please! I just need some water,” you begged the bird. The Phoenix made a sound like a chuff as it pushed you further from your goal. It moved you to the back of the cave and stood up onto its long legs, the razor sharp talons at the end of its feet on full display. Now that it was standing, it took up the majority of the cave only leaving you a few feet for yourself.

Now that it stood up you could see more bones piled behind where it had been sitting, cementing your decision to let it do whatever it wanted without protest.

Despite the clear danger it presented you, you couldn’t help but admire its long golden tail in the morning light, the golden circles gleaming like coins as it fanned out behind the Phoenix. You tried to shift yourself to a slightly more comfortable position but the Phoenix puffed up, as if offended. It raised its foot, its sharpened talons inches from your face. You were technically a Marine, but you weren’t courageous like the fighting units - you screamed and screwed your eyes shut, awaiting your death like so many before you.

But it never came.

After a few moments of silence, you opened your eyes a sliver, you found the Phoenix’s foot wrapped around you, its talons close to your side as it curled its toes around you to keep you in place. Despite the proximity of its razor sharp claws to your skin, it hadn’t sliced or mained you in any way. Instead, it had taken one of the canteens in its beak and was dangling by the strap above your head, waiting for you to open your eyes. If you could guess the expression of the Phoenix, you would have said it was amused.

“Oh, um. Thank you?” you said, reaching for the canteen held high above your head. The Phoenix dipped its head down, handing you the water bottle. You grabbed it with shaking fingers before unscrewing the cap. You chugged from the metal container, suddenly realizing how parched you were. You drank until the canteen was empty, the Phoenix dipping its head once more to take the empty container from your hand.

Now that your thirst was slaked you relaxed in the grasp of talon that was still wrapped around your body. The Phoenix churred and looked at you, as if asking a question. You gave it a look before trying to guess what it was asking.

“Nah, I don’t need food just yet. Not really a breakfast person. I’ll get some later,” you said as you rolled your head on your neck. The Phoenix squawked in reply, making you startle in its grasp. “Or, um, I’ll ask you for some food?” you surmised, scared to upset the giant flaming bird. It trilled softly and started to unclench you from its grasp. It could understand you, so maybe Marco was in there somewhere even if he wasn’t coming out just yet. You waited until the claw completely opened before you moved, scootching a little beyond the now relaxed talons. It was clear that the Phoenix was running the show; you were just a monkey in its circus.

The rest of the morning wasn’t particularly eventful, and even relaxing in parts. It wasn’t like there was anything to do in the cave so you spent an hour or so observing the Phoenix. You doubted that many had the opportunity to do so, particularly not vets. The Phoenix wasn’t like any other bird you’d ever seen - it seemed to be a composite of the best features of many kinds of birds. It had the sharp, hooked beak of a bird of prey, its call like a songbird, the beautiful plumage of a parrot, and the body of water fowl. It was an interesting combination and his features blended together seamlessly, its features in harmony.

After a while of sitting in the cave, you started to get bored. You tried to go to the entrance, but were caught by the back of your shirt when you got too close to the platform that sat at the beginning of the cave. A stern look from the Phoenix cemented that it didn’t want you leaving.

“Please? I just want to sit in the sun. I can’t escape - where would I go?” you pouted. You really weren’t going to try, there wouldn’t be a point. The pirates had taken their boat and you had no doubt that the Phoenix would find you and gobble you up if you disobeyed.

The Phoenix trilled softly, which you took for acquiescence. You gave it a bright smile as thanks before slowly walked towards the patch of sun at the entrance to the cave, sitting in the center to warm yourself up. Its eyes remained trained on you as you continued doing nothing but this time feeling the breeze off the ocean. It seemed that the Phoenix didn't mind if you were sitting by the main entrance to the cave but it didn’t want you to leave. It was sometimes difficult to guess what the Phoenix was feeling or thinking but it was able to make this pretty clear.

Sitting in the sun was warmer but still uninteresting. You were trying to find ways to pass the time - so you began cleaning. Yes, it was a cave full of bones and soot and dirt - but you were used to the bones and you preferred a tidy environment, thank you very much. You spent some time organizing the supplies Thatch brought before deciding to sweep. You’d seen bones under the Phoenix too - you’d want to clean those out as well, if he let you.

After a while you realized you were humming to an old, familiar song - the first one that had turned you on to the Soul King, actually. There wasn’t anyone around besides the Phoenix, who was watching you with amusement. So despite your fear of public singing, you started singing “Binks’s Sake” as you picked up various human bones and threw them into a pile. Some were kind of interesting and you idly wondered who had been there before you and if someone new would be looking at your own bones soon.

After a few more minutes of soft singing, you paused and silently examined a particularly long femur - only to hear the Phoenix trilling back to you. You spun in surprise to face the Phoenix, who continued to watch you clean. The Phoenix's call was harmonious, almost lulling, as it continued the song you’d been singing. It cooed the last few notes you’d sung, as if asking you to continue.

“Oh, um. OK. I just - I don’t normally sing for anyone,” you stammered, a blush rising on your cheeks. You hadn’t thought it was listening that closely to what you were singing. The Phoenix repeated the notes again - it obviously wanted to continue.

“Alright, I’ll, um, I’ll try,” you hedged, picking up the femur again. You started the song at the beginning, the Phoenix joining along with you in perfect harmony. It wasn’t that you were good at harmonizing, it was. A smile had the corners of your mouth quirking upward as it continued the lilting tune. The two of you sang together until the end of the song, the Phoenix rewarding you by chirping loudly after the conclusion of the last note.

For the first time in your life, you didn’t feel self conscious singing in front of another being. You could think of a few reasons way. First of all, your audience was a giant bird. Secondly, it was probably going to kill and eat you in the next few days. Thirdly, Marco didn’t seem to be any closer to coming out or communicating with you, so really, what was the harm?

You spent quite a while happily singing with the Phoenix while you continued to work. It has an impressive ability to mimic, understand, and improvise. By early afternoon you’d run through your repertoire and taught it nearly all the Soul King songs you could remember. It had shuffled around as you cleaned and sang, allowing you to clean the edges of the cave and standing up to allow you to clean under it. Sweeping took a long while since you had to kind of whip the debris out with some leftover sacks instead of having a proper broom, but it didn't seem to mind. You cleaned as quickly as you could while under it, you didn't want to be squished to death accidentally. It had also made you take breaks for snacks, taking away your "broom" and handing you food and water like before. You ate the hard bread and cheese while continuing to hum "New World."

After you were done, you wiped your sweaty forehead on the back of your arm, taking stock of the now cleaner cave. It looked much better and now you could be eaten alive in peace. A squawk had your eyes snapping to the Phoenix, who was not enjoying the early afternoon. It had been docile while you were cleaning and singing but now if you were to guess it's feelings, it was agitated.

The Phoenix wing’s were nearly all singed now, the char working its way from the tips towards its mantle. It was an interesting phenomenon, the embers glowing a deep blue rather than the orange-red of normal fire. You frowned and approached it slowly, as if it was the spooked animal and not you. It was going to go through a rebirth cycle sooner rather than later, you thought, based on the rapid progression of its body turning to embers. The embers had spread exponentially, reaching its mantle under your watchful eye.

“Hm, I know this is a part of your life cycle, but I can’t imagine it feels that great,” you said sympathetically. Even though it was a gigantic mythical creature and also a billion Beri pirate, your heart couldn’t help but feel empathy for the poor bird. You stuck out your bottom lip as your fingers twitched to touch it. You weren’t sure if it would hurt you or not, so you kept away. The Phoenix tilted its head with curiosity and slowly spread its wing so you could get a closer look.

“Are you safe for me to touch?” you asked, your fingers raised again. It nodded and you extended your hand to touch the tip of a primary feather, where it had been singed the longest. Touching the glowing embers was a surreal experience - the sensation didn’t match the concrete features you could see with your eyes. The embers felt like touching a tingly cobweb, or a fog so thick you could reach out and grab it. But there was also a firm wing under your hand, the feathers not unlike those you’d seen before in a much smaller form. It was more ethereal than the solid form you’d rested against the night before.

“You really are a very interesting bird, I hope you know. Of course, your plumage is gorgeous, but the amalgamation of the best of the bird world isn’t something I’ve seen before, not to mention all the mythological features. I would love to study you for an extended period of time,” you remarked. The Phoenix looked proud and ruffled its feathers for you, pulling a giggle from your mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” you said with a roll of your eyes. There wasn’t much to do after cleaning, so you sat back down near the mouth of the cave. After another half an hour or so watching the far off waves, you stood up and dusted your pants off. You were going to treat this like a vacation, you thought. A weird, deadly, mythical vacation that you did not sign up for, but a vacation nonetheless.

It was time to smoke and chill the fuck out.

Reaching into your pocket, you grabbed the baggy you’d gotten back from Fire Fist and pulled it out. Shaking it, you saw you had a decent amount, but if you’d known you’d be taken hostage you would have brought more. Regardless you didn’t have any papers to roll with and there wasn’t any paper in the items Thatch had left behind.

But there were apples.

You hastily started making an apple bong after grabbing a small knife off the table, your hands moving with practiced muscle memory. It didn’t take long for the bong to take shape, looking not too bad for not having made one in over a decade. Filling the top with weed, you looked around for something to light it with, already knowing what you’d have to use.

“Light me up,” you demanded of the Phoenix, holding out your apple. It snorted and averted its head. You huffed, annoyed that now it wasn’t interested in helping you.

“I know you can, I don’t think all those people were healed to death,” you snarked pointedly. The Phoenix chuffed but remained unconvinced, curling its neck to rest its head on its body. Fuck that, the stupid bird would help you get high one way or another, you weren’t gonna let it ignore you.

“Oh, you don’t think you can make a fire this small? Is that why you won’t? Too difficult?” you questioned, making your eyes as wide as they would go. The only way you’d ever gotten Rob Lucci to see you was by encouraging his competitive side, talking loudly about how Jabra’s health was absolutely perfect, how no one could be in better shape by measurable metrics. Maybe a similar idea would work for the Phoenix - or maybe it was just the weakness of the male ego.

The Phoenix’s head whipped to you and trilled as if in affront. It took in a deep breath and blinked slowly before extending its wing to you. At the very end of the tip of its wing was a tiny red ember, perfect for lighting up.

“Thank fuck,” you sighed with relief, touching the bowl to the bud before taking a deep inhale from your homemade bong. You took a few more deep rips, smoking from an apple not as smooth of an experience as you 2,000 Beri bong, but you’d also had worse. Wanted posters did not make good rolling papers. The Phoenix cooed and closed its eyes slowly, which you guessed was its method of rolling its eyes.

“If you wanna lecture me that smoking is bad for my health, save your breath. You’re a doctor too and based on the pictures I’ve seen of Marco there’s no way he doesn’t smoke,” you said, blowing a cloud of smoke from your mouth.

“You want some?” you asked the Phoenix, who was watching you again. It tilted its head as if in interest. “Not sure he gives any to you,” you mused, turning the apple in your hands. The Phoenix made a clicking sound, as if it was now impatient.

“Jeez, ok. I’ll um, hmmm. I’m not sure how to - I’ll shotgun you,” you declared decisively, more confident now that you weren’t as stressed. “I’ll inhale some and exhale it to you,” you explained. The Phoenix lowered its head as if you were doing it a favor and waited. You took the biggest hit you could manage from the apple, held it in for a moment, and gently blew the smoke into the Phoenix’s face, trying to aim for where you saw its nostrils were. They weren’t easy to see, but you prided yourself on being a good vet. You’d get that bird high, no matter what. Maybe it would chill the bird out as well, or help it feel a little more comfortable while it burned. It was an interesting thought - maybe you'd do research on the effects of weed on Zoan devil fruit users - with a lot of hands on experimentation.

The Phoenix gave you a contemplative look but didn’t move back to its former position, so it must have liked it enough. You repeated the process a few more times before smoking your fill. You got up to put the apple back on the table and meandered back into the cave. Making a bold move, you ambled up to the Phoenix and sat down with you back against it, not unlike how you’d slept the night before. You didn’t say anything and neither did it, as you felt every one of your muscles finally relax after…only one day of tension. How the fuck were you going to last until Thatch and Ace came back?

The thought flitted by as you started watching the transition of the Phoenix from its normal plumage to its singed form. Watching the waves of fire on the Phoenix was hypnotic, it reminded you of watching wind running through fields of wheat. There was no doubt in your mind that it was burning faster than ever. If you had to guess, it would be completely charred by late afternoon or early evening. You laid your head back on the Phoenix and closed your eyes.

Life on the Grand Line was an adventure.

You ended up taking a short nap on the Phoenix. It didn’t wake you this time, you realized as you rubbed your eyes, coming to after what felt like hours. After you woke up, it shook itself out and sidled to the front of the cave. You watched with interest - if the Phoenix left, maybe you’d have a chance for escape or at least a few minutes to yourself. The Phoenix turned to you and put its massive beak in front of your face, snapping it once. You shivered as the sharp edges of its mouth loomed in front of you while the Phoenix gave you a withering look. The message was clear - it was going to leave, but you were supposed to stay put.

“Alright, alright. I got it - I’ll be here,” you said, waving it off. You’d grown more comfortable with the bird, you didn’t think it was going to bite your head off over a little sass - it hadn’t been turned off by your sparkling personality yet. The Phoenix closed its eyes into a half lidded expression, almost seeming to smile. It lept off the edge of the cave, diving down below. You weren’t worried exactly, but you did peer over the lip of the cave just in case - only to see the Phoenix soaring upwards, its gaze trained on you.

You’d never seen anything so breathtaking.

It flew in circles while tracking you with its eyes, as if to make sure you were watching. It didn’t need to though, you couldn’t have taken your eyes off of it if you tried. Its blue flickering flames mesmerized you as it glided through the sky, its teal plumage a beacon of pure beauty. The blazing teal was accompanied by sooty black smoke that came off its charred wings and body, giving an ominous aura to the already threatening animal. By now the overwhelming majority of the bird was charred, perhaps exacerbated by its flight.

You watched it soar lazily through the sky, wishing not for the first time that you could soar among the clouds. You sighed dreamily as it did a loop in the sky before returning in front of the cave. What a life that would be, you thought, to be able to fly away from any of your problems - no limits as you soared through the air, your only limitations your physical ability…you wished you had your paints with you to capture its beauty.

Turning in a circle back towards you, the Phoenix flapped its massive wings rapidly as it gracefully landed, the soot from its flight making you cough as it blew in your direction. The Phoenix’s head immediately dipped to your own, inspecting you closely with its unnerving teal eyes.

“I’m good, I’m good. Just a lot of smoke in the air,” you said, covering your mouth while you coughed. The less time you spent in the wings of the Phoenix the better - you wanted to avoid whatever protective instincts were activating within it.

Which didn’t prove to be possible since just a short while later, the Phoenix fed you dinner handing you rations from what Thatch had left. Unfortunately, unlike breakfast when it handed you the entire pouch of water, this time it would hand you only a piece of food or the skein of water with its beak and take it back when you were done drinking. The Phoenix would only pass you more food when you’d finished chewing the last bite, making the feeding process much longer. Even though it was annoying, you were thankful it wasn’t feeding you like a baby bird at the very least.

You watched as the sun set over the waters, enjoying the lovely evening as the Phoenix kept offering you more food. It kind of reminded you of how animals would eat a lot before scarcity, or a time when they’d have to use a lot of energy. But maybe it just didn’t know how much a small human would eat, you thought with a shrug. Marco himself was seven feet tall or something like that and Zoan devil fruit users had to eat a ton to maintain their energy and forms.

After you’d finished eating and staved off the Phoenix from force feeding you anything else, it slowly limped farther back into the cave. It's drooping wings and shuffling gait showed its lethargy. By now there remained only one bright blue spot on its body, just over where its heart would be. The rest of the bird looked like a living ember, but instead of a pulsing red, teal was emanating from within the sooty, cracked flesh. It was disconcerting to see the embers glow and burn brighter as the bird breathed, sooty layers growing by the second over its body. The Phoenix settled itself into the farthest back corner of the cave, curling in on itself as its fire continued to burn out.

Your mind shrieked that you were in danger but the vet in you had you slowly approaching the Phoenix with your hands up. Its piercing gaze watched you approach but didn’t stop you, closing its eyes as you reached out to put a hand on its charred body like you had earlier in the day. Logically you knew it would be fine, this was its natural cycle that it had completed many times as per Thatch. But you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to help. You laid your forehead on its body as you ran your hands over it, trying to offer it some kind of comfort in a trying time. It trilled softly but after a few minutes it gently shooed you away with its now charred beak, giving you space for once. You frowned as you went to go sit by the entrance to the cave, feeling impotent as you watched an animal in pain.

You sat down as far away as you could while still inside the cave to mull over recent events. Sitting in the still warm evening sun, you tried to rifle through your memory about Zoan Devil Fruits to see if there was something you could do to help. You were forgetting something key, something big, you were sure of it. Something to do with transformations and awakenings…

A burst of flames and a high pitched shriek had you gasping and looking back at the Phoenix. Instead of the nearly dead embers you’d been patiently watching before, there was now a full house size pyre in the back of the cave. The pragmatist in you was worried for potential cave collapse or the more likely outcome that you'd be burned alive, but realistically the fire wasn’t even hot at close range. A huge explosion of blue fire had you shielding your eyes with your arm, unable to bear witness to the Phoenix as it changed forms.

As you took cover it finally dawned on you, the realization striking you like lightning. A mate. That’s what allowed Zoan users to awaken their fruits - they needed to find their one true mate. That's why Zoan users had one of the lowest rates of awakening - the mate had to be compatible for both the Zoan and human sides. You’d skimmed over that section in the texts, disinterested in the process of their mate finding and only in the results of awakening. Your mouth hung open as the blue fire raged inside the cave, the flames now lapping only a few feet away.

The Phoenix wanted to mate you.

Scrambling to your feet, you made a mad dash for the exit of the cave in an attempt to flee before the Phoenix caught you. Maybe it would be vulnerable or weak during its transition time and you’d be able to make a hasty getaway. You weren’t going to be the mate to the Phoenix or Marco or anyone else in there. A bright blue wing suddenly sealed off your exit from the cave. You squeaked as you skid to a halt and fell down on your butt, scraping your hands against the rough floor of the cave. The Phoenix peered down at you as flames lept from its body to your own, your scrapes immediately healed.

“Why do you run, little mate?” a curious voice wondered inside your head. It didn’t take a genius to know that it was coming from the Phoenix, even if hearing the deep sonorous voice without your ears was disconcerting. It was glorious in its new form, no longer black and charred, but a deep, vibrant blue from head to talon. It blazed continuously, pulsing with vitality as you cringed backwards from the stunning display. There was no doubt in your mind that it was stronger than before, but you didn't want to find out by how much. Even you with your lack of fighting training could feel the raw power ebbing off the beast.

“Y-you can talk?” you asked, trying to buy yourself time and space away from the creature.

“I can do that and much more, mate,” it murmured seductively, watching you with half lidded eyes. It was folding its wing slowly back to its body, and you along with it.

“I’m not your mate, we’re not compatible like that,” you bluffed, raising your arms to protect your face.

“We are fated mates - we are compatible in all ways. Put down your arms. I would not harm you, especially not when I’ve waited so long to find you,” it scoffed as it folded you against its body. You tried pressing your hands against its chest to create some space but the creature was pure muscle and wasn’t giving you an inch to wriggle away.

“The v-vessel? Marco? He’s in there? Can he come out?” you asked, now cringing away as the Phoenix’s beak came close to your neck. Since being reborn it had changed to a smaller size - you guessed it was around 10 ft tall now - but that was still almost double your own height.

“Such a smart mate, you don’t need me to tell you, hm? Of course he’s here - he pretends he is unhappy about this outcome but he is as pleased as I. it bothers him that you were taken against your will, but it was not I who stole you, yes? The vessel enjoys the same pastimes and finds you both physically appealing as well as mentally stimulating. He cannot emerge now, not until I am sated, but he agrees that you are a perfect mate for us,” the Phoenix replied.

Fucking great. Marco, a Whitebeard Commander you’d never met, liked you back. Amazing, the perfect meetcute, you thought sarcastically. Your mind snapped back to attention as the Phoenix closed the gap between you, its head dipping down to look you in the eyes.

“I’m - I’m sorry, I don’t - I don’t want to be your m-mate,” you hesitated, the fear clogging your throat making it hard to get the words out.

“Then why did you participate in the courting, dear mate?” it purred, smugness radiating from it. “You cleaned and prepared our nest, slept on my body, were fed by my hands, sang your sweet warbles with me, shared your wares, even came to me in my time of need. One might mistake that for affection, no?”

“I - I…” you didn’t really have a reply. You had done those things, willingly even. You just didn’t think it would end by being mated to a mythological creature.

“You observed my transformation hasten with your arrival - I even waited to claim you until I took a smaller form so as not to hurt you. Do not worry, you will be unharmed, save for the claiming. But I cannot wait much longer - I grow rabid for you.” It husked, moving its head back once more. It took a step backwards, creating a small amount of space between you. The Phoenix was toying with you, you realized with a start, it already had the outcome set in its mind.

“Now we begin the ritual,” it said, gently pushing you onto the stone floor of the cave with a wing. You fell onto your hands and knees and quickly turned to face it. You tried to crawl backwards as it loomed over you. Your breath came quickly, as a cold sweat ran down your back.

“Wh-what ritual?” you asked, not bothering to keep the panic from your tone. It took a step closer, closing the gap between you. Your back hit the cave wall - there was no where else to go. Looming over you, it leaned down to press its forehead against your own like you'd done earlier, fiery blue blazing in your peripheral vision.

“The ritual so that I may Awaken.”

Thank you to @sordidmusings for the idea that if they hold off on the claiming until after the transformation, they're super rabid for the mate.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @rebeccawinters @ratchetprime211 @starsandshht @unknown-y-person @radiantnico @starrlo0ver

#op x y/n #x reader #marco the phoenix #marco op #reader insert #tw dubcon #reader x marco #phoenix form marco #monster fucking #Zoan awakenings #Can u guess what the ritual entails???#It's a big surprise!!#you'd never guess #smoking weed with the Phoenix would be fucking great #maybe he'd take you flying omg #ugh but probably stupid Marco would lecture you for flying while high #whatever back down u go Marco bring out the Phoenix

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celabi · 9 months ago

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So uh scummy scara hehehehe, cockwarming scummy scara while he begs for the reader to ride him ehehehhe crying and shaking... Ehehehhehehehe

i’m so late lmfao si mi amor 🫡 short nsfw

“please, oh god—” he wants so, so badly to just ram his hips up into you and finally get that salvation you’ve been dangling in front of his face like a slab of meat, but no, he’s such a good boy, and he’ll… he’ll do as he’s told… with some struggle, of course, because it’s never smooth sailing with him. “so tight— c-come on, my love, can I fuck you…?” he pants, tongue lulled out as if he were some dog in heat.

perched on his lap, sucking his cock in deep so effortlessly has him clawing at the chairs arm rests. toes curled, breath short, scara leans forward and presses his chest to your back, lips to your neck.

you sigh, adjusting, moulding your warm insides around his length like plaster. “i have work to do… be patient and take what i’m giving you.” you murmur, barely hearing pen to paper as his ragged whines fill your ears. he sobs, his fingers moving to grip your thighs to try and lift you up and down, but you interrupt by placing your feet over his, keeping you grounded.

he sucks on your neck, literally salivating as he drools all over your skin, soaking your shirts colar. he doesn’t care, in too deep, too blinded by pleasure to spew his apologies. but what’s the point? he’s always so messy.

“baby, angel, sweetheart—” a groan escapes him, silencing his string of endearments he wants to shove down your throat. “love you so much, everything to me, so tight and wet…” he sniffles, circling his arms around your midriff, holding you tightly.

his hair is sticking to his face, sweat glistening his skin. he feels sticky. he feels hot: but oh god the way you hold his cock so deeply inside shakes all those yucky feelings away, because he can only focus on the way your womb just entices his cock deeper.

you gaze over your shoulder, watching him loose himself in pleasure. bite marks below his lip from his sharp canines. tears merging together on top of his eyelids. the radiant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck. gosh, what a mess. you almost feel bad.

unfortunately, not bad enough to do something about it.

“be good and patient, kuni. i have to finish my work.”

he sobs, nails digging into the flesh of your thighs as he nods absentmindedly.

“o-okay, sorry.. i’m sorry, i’ll be a good boy. i swear—”

#scummy scara :(#yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x female reader #scaramouche x reader smut #genshin impact x reader smut #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x female reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche #yandere scaramouche #genshin smut

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writersdrug · 10 months ago

Text

Tea and Cigarettes

Chapter 1. Tea Party

Masterlist

Summary: Out for a late-night walk to clear his head, Simon stumbles across an open bakery. All he wants is a tea. Instead, he gets a tea party.

Warnings: mild cursing, reader doesn't do the smartest thing in this situation

It was a common thought in Simon’s head, if not the most common. He shouldn’t have survived that mission.

It’s what was engrained into his head from the very first mission he’d been a part of. It’s what he repeated to himself at the end of every mission thereafter. Lady Luck was too forgiving and magnanimous to him – he should have been killed long ago, well before he reached his thirties and climbed up the ranks to lieutenant. It’s one thing when you have something to fight for, to come home to – it’s another when you have nothing but an undecorated flat.

And, for tonight, a cup of tea.

It was another night between missions; another restless moment in time where Simon found himself walking the streets of the city, rather than trying to get some shut eye. It wouldn’t have worked anyways – it never did. His neurons were too busy firing off at every mistake, every memory, every single thing that haunts him, for him to get a restful sleep.

So that’s what brought him here: standing inside a bakery late at night, staring at the toddler behind the cashier’s counter. His overactive thoughts had certainly taken a backseat to the one, prominent question in his mind; who the hell is this kid, and where is her mother?!

“Hello.” She said, standing on her toes, already balancing herself on a small step-stool. Her head barely poked over the counter for her to look at Simon.

“… ‘ello…” he said cautiously, eyeing the girl like she was a ticking time bomb. “Where are your parents?”

“Mummy’s in the back with Sean.” She said, turning her head and pointing to the doorway to the left. Simon leaned his head over the counter to follow her line of sight – he heard the sound of some sort of machinery echoing from the kitchen-like backroom, but he didn’t see anyone.

“She’s making biscuits!” The girl said, looking back at Simon.

He was utterly baffled. Who would leave a kid at the front of a shop? After hours, with the bloody door unlocked?! “Where’s your dad?”

“He lives with Nancy!”

“Nancy?”

“Yes – she used to stay at home with us, when Mommy had to work – then she took daddy home with him!”

Oh… that’s unfortunate.

He sighed. “Sorry ‘bout-“

“Would you like tea?”

Simon stared blankly back at the girl. This is ridiculous. “D’you have black tea?”

The girl nodded. She hopped off the step stool – Simon followed her little ponytail as it barely bobbed above the surface of the countertops. She rounded the corner and headed to a small, pink play kitchen. She grabbed two cups, one pink and one a royal purple, before carrying them over to a sink back behind the counter. She placed them on the countertop, then trotted back to the cashier area to grab her stool.

“I’m sorry.” she said with a giggle.

“’S fine, take your time…” Simon mumbled, stupefied by the whole situation. He watched the girl as she dragged her stool to the sink and clamored up onto it, filling the two cups with water. This was a very… unnatural situation. He wouldn’t be entertaining it, if it wasn’t for the fact that this girl was clearly alone. He would have gone back to the kitchen to see where her mum was, but he didn’t want anyone to think he was robbing the place and pull a gun on him. If anything, the least he could do was watch over this little girl until someone came around to claim responsibility for her.

So, there he was. Five minutes later, sitting at one of the tables in the bakery with this toddler. “Eating” a fake croissant and drinking “tea” from the little plastic cup (he got pink; purple was her favorite color).

“Do you want butter?” she asked, holding him a plastic plate and knife, with a plastic slab of butter on it.

“Yea, why not.” He replied. He picked up the tiny knife and pretended to slather butter over the one half of his croissant (it intrigued him that the manufacturer of the toy had thought to make the damn thing dividable into two pieces). “Ya got a name, kid?”

“Mummy says I can’t tell strangers my name.” she replied, looking at him with the same stern expression her mother had most likely given when telling her the same thing.

Simon nodded. “Your mum’s smart.” He said, taking a sip of his tea.

“You can call me Pony Princess!” she offered instead, biting into her croissant rather realistically.

Simon held back a laugh. “Pony Princess it is, then.” He said, clinking his cup against hers when she held it up for a toast.

You sighed, shoving the third and final tray of biscuits into the commercial oven. It was hot and humid in the kitchen, and you were thankful that the most toiling part of the batch was over. Glancing at your watch made you grimace at how late it was – Christopher was for sure going to complain about how late you had him stay, especially past closing. You knew he was most likely out for a smoke, but you didn’t have the energy to reprimand him tonight. As long as the doors were locked behind him and the front lights were off, you didn’t care. No one would be trying to enter a bakery this late at night.

You looked to your left, fanning the heat from your flushed face. Sean was fast asleep in his carrier, his little mouth open and fingers twitching as he dreamed. You gently scooped him into your arms and wiped his nose clean with your apron, before maneuvering your way through the kitchen to the front. It had been a while since Christopher came to nag you about hurrying up, and you wondered how long he’d been out smoking – or if he’d come back at all. Ellie wasn’t in her usual spot, coloring in the office chair in front of the computer… you frowned a bit, speed walking into the café as an uneasy feeling settled in your stomach.

“Christpher, are you in here?” you called, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Ellie? Where are-“

You audibly gasped when you walked into the seating area. A man, a brutish man, was seated at one of your tables, after closing. He was dressed in all black, with a black surgical mask dangling from one ear, and his hood up. He stared back at you with a shocked expression on his face, holding an absurdly tiny, pink plastic cup in his hand, and a toy croissant on the table in front of him. Right across from him was your daughter, Ellie, with an aloof grin on her face.

“Hi Mummy!” she exclaimed. “We’re having a tea party!”

A million questions were running through your head. Where the fuck is Christopher? Who is this man? Is he robbing you? Is he trying to steal your child?!

“Ellie…” you said, a slight waiver in your voice. “Sweetheart, come here please.”

“But I’m having tea with him!”

You sent another fearful glance to the behemoth of a man at the table. He looked back at you, seemingly just as taken aback by the situation as you were. He looked back down at the table and cleared his throat, taking a tiny sip from the hot pink plastic cup.

Your daughter was having tea and crumpets with a fucking burglar.

“Ellie. Now, please.” You repeated sternly, holding your free arm out to her.

She reluctantly slid down from her chair and padded over to you. As soon as she was within arm’s length, you grabbed her tiny hand and dragged her into the back kitchen.

“Ellie, what are you doing?!” You whisper-yelled, kneeling down to her level and looking into her eyes. You tried to stress the importance of the situation. “Who is that man?!”

“He’s a customer, Mummy!” she said, with a beaming smile on her face.

“What did he want from you?!”

“He wanted tea.”

“What else? Did he ask for your name?”

“I didn’t tell him.” She said, resolve thick in her tone. “Just like you told me not to.”

You sighed frustratedly, adjusting Sean on your hip. “Where is Christopher?”

“He went outside.”

Un-fuckin-believable.

You pulled her close to you and planted a kiss to her forehead, then looked her in the eyes once more. “Listen to me, sweetie. Go to the desk and color for now, ok? I’m gonna talk to the man. I’ll be right back. And if you hear Mommy yelling or crying-“

“- use the phone and call 9-9-9.” She said.

“Good girl – now go on.” You ushered her further into the kitchen, then stood upright. With Sean still sound asleep, cradled tightly into your side, you grabbed the phone from the wall mount and slowly tiptoed back into the café.

Simon was still at the table, except now both of his palms were flat against the wooden surface. He watched as you emerged back into the lobby; maybe it was an inappropriate time to admire someone, but he couldn’t help himself.

You. Fierce you, you mustering the angriest face you could make (it was quite cute, by the way – you really need to work on it if you’re trying to intimidate anyone). You with your hair hastily pulled back into a messy updo, you with that baby boy on your hip, you with batter on your face that Simon was just dying to lick up. You stayed behind the counter

“Who are you?” you demanded.

“Simon.” He answered. He could tell you were a bit disappointed in that response, given you didn’t know who the hell Simon was. “Not a burglar.” He added after a few seconds.

You pouted even more. “Why are you in here? How did you get in here? We’re closed.”

Simon looked towards the blinking “open” sign by the front door. “Well… mam, the sign says otherwise. And the doors were unlocked.”

You looked at the sign and cursed internally, taking another peek into the back kitchen. Ellie was still back there. Good. Christopher was nowhere to be seen. Fuck.

“I’m sorry about the confusion…” you said, looking back at Simon and adjusting Sean on your hip, “but we’re closed. My clerk should’ve turned that sign off hours ago, and locked the door behind him. In fact, when he gets in here, I’m about to give him a piece of my-“

“Mam, please-“ Simon said, starting to stand up. Your eyes widened a bit and you took a step back; he held his hands up as a peace offering, before stretching up to his full height. You gulped – you’d never seen anyone so large before. How did he fit through the damn door?

“I didn’t mean t’ cause any fuss.” He spoke quietly, slowly approaching the counter you stood behind. “I really am sorry – I thought th’ place was open, n’ I was out lookin’ for a tea. ‘Lil squirt back there was very hospitable. I jus’ stuck around to see where ‘er mum was.”

He pulled his hood down to seem more approachable, and lord, was he. You couldn’t fight the way you were immediately attracted to the cropped, blonde hair, the strong jaw, the few scars that marked up his face… fuck, the way he could’ve been a building next to you, with how much he shaded you from the light…

Didn’t you think this man was a burglar not five minutes ago? You thought. You quickly forgave yourself, once you remembered how long it had been since you were with a man.

You sighed. “I’m sorry, I just- you know, with two kids, you freak out about everything-“

“Perfectly understandable.” He interjected. “But I’ve caused enough trouble for one night. ‘ll be out of your hair-“

“Could I at least get you a tea?” you asked. “Since you’re here.”

“You really don’t need-“

“No, I insist- just, give me a moment-“ frazzled, you disappeared into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind you.

Simon exhaled heavily, clearing his throat. He tried to recuperate himself – he couldn’t be falling for the woman he nearly frightened to death, let alone a woman he’d never met before. You were probably scared shitless of him. The way your wide, glossy eyes had stared at him, those pouting lips… and Christ, the way that baby boy fit perfectly on your hips. He imagined his hands tracing over them –

He huffed, glancing around the café to distract himself. Should’ve listened to Price and gotten a hobby-

You came back out, baby-free, and snagged a paper cup off of a stack near the drip machine. “Just had to put him back with Ellie. Don’t like them being near the- the urns, and such-“ you fumbled, looking for a cup sleeve, before sliding it on and reaching for the tea cabinet. “Black or green?”

“Black’s fine – please and thank you.” Simon grunted out. He shoved his fidgety hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, watching as you grabbed a tea back and dropped it into his cup.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“None, thanks.”

“Do you always roam around this late at night?” you asked, pouring the water into the travel cup. Steam billowed up and in front of your face, and you scrunched your nose from the heat. “None of the shops are open this late – tea shops, I mean. Or, they shouldn’t be, but most of them have a clerk who knows how to turn off the “open” sign and lock the damn doors.”

Simon huffed. “Figured something was off. I jus’ couldn’t sleep.” He said, accepting the cup as you handed it to him. “Never can get much after comin’ home. Takes a while t’ get used to civilian life.”

“Military?” You asked, placing a hand on your hip as Simon nodded. “I get that. Nick used to have the same problem.”

“Nick?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, an embarrassed flush on your face. “Nothing. Ex-husband. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Simon mumbled, taking a sip of the tea. Don’t be sorry at all…

The two of you stood there a moment, a bit of awkward silence hanging in between you like a thick wall of glass. You cleared your throat – Simon saw the time on the clock hanging on the wall behind you, and decided he had taken up enough of your time.

“Well” – he said, fishing in to his pocket.

You smiled. “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to. I’m paying you back for assuming you were a burglar – and for watching my daughter. Which, honestly, I really do appreciate.”

“Nonsense.” He said, pulling out a waded up bill. “’S what any good man should do. And I insist – if anything, give it t’ the little squirt for the excellent customer service.”

You chuckled, smiling as he handed the bill to you. “I can’t thank you eno-“ you stopped, glancing at the two £50’s he’d just given you. Words failed to come to you, your tongue tripping over itself as you tried to get past the initial shock.

“Th- I- wait, Simon!” you called, swinging around the edge of the counter – but he was already at the door. “I can’t accept this!”

He held up a hand. “’M not takin’ it back. And it’s not for you – give it to Ellie.”

You huffed. “What’s a five-year-old going to do with one hundred pounds?!”

He shrugged. “Start a college fund. Or get herself a handful of biscuits from the store.”

A chuckle escaped your lips – the sound warmed Simon’s soul. “Yeah, sure. When she’s got plenty of biscuits here. I don’t-“

You stopped, just as the bell above the door chimed. Simon followed your narrowed, angry gaze to the bloke who had just entered. He was tying an apron around his middle, reeked of cigarette smoke and body odor. He jumped when his eyes landed on Simon – he could see the gears turning in the man’s head as his face suddenly fell, right before he turned to you. Simon read the name on the tag pinned to the man’s apron.

Christopher.

A deep, throaty laugh escaped his throat as he clapped the man on the shoulder. “You’re in trouble, mate. ‘N lock the door behind ya.” He then exited the café, sipping his tea and shoving a hand into his pocket, chuckling as your angry voice echoed through the doors.

Thankfully, the nagging voices in his head didn’t return that night.

#SImon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #cod #call of duty #ghost cod #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley cod #cod x reader #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley fanfic

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heartfullofleeches · 2 months ago

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I Dream of Raw Meat

Yan Delivery Man Drabble

TW: Gore, Consumption of Raw Meat

It's 4am.

There's an ice cream truck outside your bedroom window.

Sweat glues your body to the mattress. A whisper of chiller weather calls to you, slipping through the cracks of your fragile mental state.

You can't pinpoint the precise moment your feet betray your restless mind- carrying you out of bed, down the long, twisting hallways of your home. Phasing right through the ajar front door. Bare skin slaps against the asphalt as your brought closer to the truck, towering steel walls imposing over you like a skyscraper.

A poster containing an extensive list of products often is the first thing your mind is able to comprehend. The photos advertising said items, are not. Rows upon rows of censored out squares, but the similarity don't stop there.

Red. As far as the eye can see. Its pink in some areas, grayish in others. Photos relating to the latter, the contents appear to be mushier and past its prime, but undertones of its original hue poke through the holes of its current state.

Text beneath each photo fares no better- No, that isn't right. Between garbled letters and scratches in the truck's paint, a single word stands out among the rest. Your mind fills in the blanks for those you cannot decipher.

"Chocolate dipped meat."

"Meatshakes."

"I want to meat you."

"Meat on a cone."

"Can you meat me?"

"Tripple scooped meat."

"My name is meat."

"Meat, meat, meat, me-"

You will your eyes closed. Howls from your abdomen echo into the eerie, silent night. It feels like you haven't eaten in months. Your knuckles rap against the closed window of the truck, lips moving of their own accord.

"Meat."

The truck rocks with the force of its window whisking open. Darkness pools out like tar. Somewhere through darkness, a hand reaches out. It vanishes into thin air as you take your purchase from it- Your wallet still sitting comfortably were you left it on your nightstand.

A whopping scoop of strawberry ice cream grounds the ice cream cone in hand. Heart shaped spinkles scatter across its surface. The deformities of many of the bundles of sugar draw them closer to depictions of anatomically accurate versions of the organ they mirror.

Eyes devouring the treat before you have the opportunity, you lend in for a bite. The first bite is sweet, a mouthful of sprinkles guiding you through the undertones of something sinister. The second tastes like a penny, warmed by the heat of your skin. Ice cream drips down your face, sticking to your lips in stringy, gooey clumps.

The third tastes like beef that could've used a few more minutes on the stove, a rich, iron flavor mingling with the sear of a charred slab of meat.

You bite down on something hard.

Digging through the melting cream on your tongue, you pull the foreign object free.

Its a tooth.

You look down at the cone.

It states back.

You wake up in a cold sweat.

Your mouth is dry, devoid of any taste. You scrub your teeth with the pads of your thumb just to make sure. You let go of the breath you held as they come back clean.

That dream. That same damned dream. It haunts you on days when...

Throwing your blankets aside and tossing on your shoes, you race for the front door - tripped up by haste and your own untied laces. Self sabotage brushed aside, your fingers wrap around the door handle in the nick of time. Just to see him inches from the door of his truck.

"Hey!"

The man freezes. He turns to you, that colossal, monstrous build of his trembling like a leaf in the wind. His head snaps between you and his truck, unable to decide which to run towards. You cannot read his expression from the collar of his thick white coat covering the lower half of his face. The bill of his hat masking the rest.

You tip toe around the package left at your doorstep, goosebumps prickling your calf from the cold air wafting from it. With every step, the man grows larger. Fists clenched, you remain determined. You needed to know. The question that's been on your mind for weeks now.

"Why have you been delivering fresh meat to my doorstep at four in the morning for the past month?"

It isn't the cheap stuff either. The cost of groceries seems to be rising by the day. You were so hungry. The cuts were packaged too professionally to be the work of a deranged cannibal. You hoped. To your luck, everything turned out to taste like what you were used to, if not higher qualities. Beef, pork, lamb. There was even venison at some point. All red meats.

"I asked my neighbors, but they all said the same thing. I appreciate it, but I think you have the wrong address. I'm sure whoever it belongs to must be pissed by now."

The man stiffens at that word. Appreciation. Rummaging through his pocket, he sticks a hand out to you as he kneels - like a someone showing a frightened animal they mean no harm. He places something on the ground, darting for the door of his truck before you can protest. The engines roars to life- and he's gone. The only traces of his presence being the tire tracks on the road and the present he left you.

Its a rose. Made of raw meat. "Petals" held together by am assortment of toothpicks.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere teratophilia #yandere drabble #yandere writing

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c1phra · 25 days ago

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... ❝ SIREN SONG. ❞ ft. hugo x reader

𝒾. ⠀IN WHICH : you find yourself captivated, enthralled by a creature that seems more beautiful and more deadly than you could ever comprehend.

꒰ contents ꒱ cw: blood, vague allusions to death, hugo may or may not have eaten a person. siren!hugo. gn!reader. horror-ish, open-ended. wc : 1351

꒰ notes ꒱ suggested by @rainswept! written as a part of my mermay series. this... feels kinda rushed. idk if i like the ending but i was STRUGGLING trying to keep this close to the same length as the others, and i didn't even manage it.

Blood, the faint, metallic scent of blood is the first thing you register when your toes meet the sand. The smell makes you halt in your steps, glancing wearily across the beach to find the source. There was nothing, no one. It was well after dark, and all other residents of the town were tucked away in their homes, too scared to even glance outside at the stirring ocean.

You were warned too. Once, twice, more times than you could count, they tried to warn you. And you tried to listen, you truly did. But something pulled you back, every time.

It was the song at first. A sweet, crooning melody that carried into through the open windows of the inn, filling your room with its pleasant tune. You’d peered outside, only to find an empty beach staring back. Still, the song continued, echoing from the stretches of rocks past the shore. It almost drove you mad, resigning yourself to pressing a pillow against your ears to drown out the noise.

When you asked the innkeeper about it in the morning, he went pale. “Lower your voice, kid.” He whispered harshly, eyeing the other guests eating breakfast two tables away. “Listen, no matter how much you want to find it, leave it be. It ain’t worth it. If you’re hearing the call, that means it's got its eyes on you now. There’s nothing you can do but turn away and pray it finds some other slab of meat to sing to.”

You stared in bewilderment, your words spluttered. “What are you talking about—”

“Hush!” He hissed. “The siren, kid. What else?”

Under no circumstances should you leave after dusk, you were told. The creature rises from the water with the moon, and won’t stop singing until its hunger is sated. You nodded silently, mouth slightly agape. His words, and the urgency he spoke them in, made very little sense, but you swallowed down the rest of your reservations quickly.

That night, you stuffed your ears with cotton and pretended not to hear when the singing rose to a crescendo.

It took you three, maybe four days to crack. By then, the dark circles around your eyes looked like bruises, and you were snapping at every face that dared to pass you in the halls. It was torturous, it was miserable, and you—

You had enough.

The sun had just begun to rise by the time you stumbled back, your shoes missing and your head in a daze. One of the staff, an early-riser by the looks of it, balked at your appearance at the foot of the stairs, shooting you a worried look. You smiled thinly. The concern was sweet, but it wouldn’t stop you. Not from leaving to visit the shore again the next night, and the night that followed that, and so forth.

You don't think you could stop yourself if you tried; once you were tempted the first time, he had you—hook, line, and sinker.

As you reach the rocks, you slip your shoes off and leave them on the sand, climbing onto one of the rocks closest to the ocean and dipping your feet into the water. Already, the proximity to the sea seems to soothe some latent ache in your shoulders, filling the absence of something you never knew you were missing.

“You’re back, my dearest. I have been waiting for you.”

The voice cuts through the night as cleanly as a blade, making you jump. You didn’t notice his appearance, not a single splash nor ripple breaking the surface of the water. And as usual, he seemed to take delight in catching you off-guard.

“Hm? What's with that look?” A hand works its way under your chin, tilting it from side to side. Sometime in between your slow blinking, Hugo had pushed up onto the rocks, propped up by the long, slender fish-tail that replaced his lower half. He forced you to face him, giving you a perfect view of his heterochromic eyes—one a pale grey, the other a startling red. “Don't tell me you came all this way not to talk to me?”

“No,” You say slowly, your heart rate rising at his touch. The reaction he seemed to draw out of you was unsettling; no matter how much his silky smooth voice put you at ease, no matter how easily you melted under his touch, your body would always reach like a cornered animal, shaking and pulling away.

You could still smell blood, lingering in the air.

“It's so dry up here,” He sighs, dropping his hand. Your face grows cold, but you bite back the urge to lean into him again. “Come to the water, with me, won't you? I promise I'll keep you close.”

It was the same question, every night. Every night Hugo would draw you in with his song, every night he would meet you at the rocks and shower you with affection, and every night he would ask you to come down into the ocean with him. He would never push, never force, but you always got the uncomfortable feeling that the question was merely an illusion of choice.

The way he looked at you was with an inhuman sort of hunger, his eyes dragging along your body like he was sizing you up to devour you. One of these days, you would break, and one of these days you would sink into the waves. Perhaps that was why he seemed so sure of himself when he asked it; if your resolve was weak enough to come meet him every night in the first place, then it was only a matter of time before it cracks fully, splintering like driftwood.

“I... can't.”

“Surely you’re not still so wary?” His voice was teasing, but there was something sharp to the edge of it. Through a flash of teeth, you caught a faint speck of dried red stuck to his canines.

“I can't swim.” You blurt out suddenly.

“Oh? Are you scared, my dear?” The man—no, the creature murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to the pulse point of your neck. The sensation was feather-light, and yet sent you shivering. You could imagine the fangs hidden beneath his closed lips, a single fold of tissue between their sharpened points and the delicate flesh of your neck. Under his mouth, your heart was beating at the pace of a rabbit.

You felt exposed, raw. A helpless prey animal, caught in the grasp of its natural predator. He was toying with you; and he had to know it. Otherwise, why else would he be holding you so gently, arms circling around your waist with just enough tightness to be uncomfortable, as if he knew exactly how much pressure to apply to snap you in two?

And yet, there was a softness to his touch that you couldn’t ignore, a tender sort of reverence in the way he traced along your skin. It almost made you forget, for just a moment, the sharpness of his teeth. A moment, only a moment is what it took, but it made you falter. There was a voice in the back of your head, crying out—reason, or common sense, or some sort of instinct, begging you to pull away. To run, while your neck wasn’t yet torn to shreds.

Your instincts screamed, but they weren’t what answered him.

“No,” The words fall out too quickly, too carelessly, as if he has his claws in your throat, pulling them out by force. You can’t stop them, especially not when he’s kissing the taste of them right off your lips before you even have a chance to regret them. “Not of you. Never of you.”

And at that, his eyes soften, and your guard wavers. Because for a moment, it seems like the answer pleases him, an almost genuine smile wrapping across his face. It makes your heart flutter, heat rising over your cheeks. He nods, once, then twice.

“It's okay.” Hugo grins, so wide you can see the traces of blood in his teeth. “Whenever you're ready.”

#₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ mari's writing #—stellaronhvnters.#zenless zone zero x reader #zzz x reader #hugo x reader #zzz hugo x reader #hugo vlad x reader

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planete777 · 1 year ago

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꒰ BABY BOY .:. LN4 ꒱

(lando norris x fem!reader)

IN WHICH. y/n knows how to treat her boy; lando loves it all.

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, sub!lando x softdom!reader, unprotected p in v, riding, bondage, use of blindfold, choking, slight dumbification, lactation kink, pre-consented overstimulation, praise kink, lando just gets treated right!!!

NOTE. reverse reverse!! guess who's domming this time 🙈 after my friend said that lando looked like someone i would dom (fact), i've been planning on writing something pretty self indulgent like this. and after the whole discussion about his boob/lactation kink... yh i'm going wild!! im a tad bit sick rn so it might not be as good as usual, butttt i hope you enjoy it 🤭

credit to @bangssefi for the dividers.

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu @multifandomwhore-003 @nzygftoji (use askbox if you'd like to be added!)

"you okay, baby?"

y/n shifts to settle her hips just mildly off lando's crotch. she sees how his fingers twitch, writhing to rest on her waist, yet they've got a smooth red ribbon cascading and meandering upon the soft skin, binding both hands to the head board.

he whimpers, lip caught between his teeth, but nods. the cloth around his eyes slide up, minutely, and a gentle hand pulls it back down again.

"that's good," y/n smiles, although lando's blind to it, "you remember what we talked about?"

lando takes a while to reply, breaths in rapid succession, "yeah."

y/n wishes he can see her, but all she can do is let her touch bleed enough reassurance into his flushed skin, cupping his cheek, "baby, you're good, i promise... unless you want us to stop."

"no! please i— i'm just really horny. keep going i'm begging you," lando's words leave in an almost-sob, hands finding their way to clench around each other and his legs bending upwards. his girlfriend soothes him again, hot body gluing to his own and pillowy lips pushing into the skin of his forehead. he doesn't realise how much he needed it, his body untangling every tense knot embedded in his muscles, and he's relaxing into the sheets.

"ready, baby?"

lando replies with a whorish mixture of a moan and whine, hearing the dull snap of his girlfriend's bra clasp being unhooked. his mouth puddles with saliva, toes curling as his hands begin to tremble. his brain feels chopped to pieces and blended, giving him some sort of a hazy euphoria.

"open your mouth, lan'," there's a warm hand gently, but firmly, gripping his chin, and he's dropping his jaw, tongue stuck out like a slab of meat.

y/n's pushing the tit into his mouth and fuck, he has to clench his fists to not cum right there and then. it's so warm and heavy, his tongue coming to flick at the swollen nipple, and y/n's moaning so thickly, lando's cock plumps up even more than he thought it could.

"good boy," she sighs, eyes closed in veiling pleasure, "look at you, lando."

she's hitting right where it sends him crazy, it's pulling out a dirty whine, mouth sloppily moving against her nipple and then she's squeezing her breast.

the milk is so sweet, and so good, lando doesn't think he could get through it without crying. he's lapping messily, some of it trickling down his chin, and y/n wishes she could paint the picture behind her eyelids forever.

"fuck, you're so beautiful, baby boy, you're making me feel so good," her mouth just tumbles away, barely thinking as the pleasure seeps down to her weeping pussy, and the unexpected endearment has lando moaning loudly, mouth falling open, making the milk drip into the crease of his neck.

"y/n, please, fuck me," his voice is strained and broken, like it's been completely char grilled, and his girlfriend moves downwards to lick her tongue into his mouth. it's a rather soft, heated makeout, y/n licking, and biting and soothing as she goes. her breasts are welding into his chest, leaking milk into his skin and the sheet, and he feels so filthily good.

a hand grips his cock, tight and assertive, and he's choking and bucking his hips, whimpering at the sweet relief that washes from the pleasure.

"oh fuckkk."

his legs are quivering, his fingers dig half moons into his palms and his vision is so dark and concealing that every touch feels like a thousand zaps of electricity. y/n's strokes, just teasingly, and his legs are shaking, mouth slack open and unyielding.

there's no warning when y/n sits upright and drags her cunt over his dick like a tight, hot, plush cock ring. she's groaning and clenching when lando let's out a sound he's never heard from himself before. it's a scream borderline wail, and he's so fucking close to cumming, he tried to think of something else to flatten the knot.

"y/n, shit, you feel so good," his eyes are watering, catching the cloth around his head, and he's drooling before he's even property fucked.

his girlfriend grinds, caressing his face with a touch as light as feather, "so do you, baby boy. making me feel so so good, i love you."

his heart is swelling, and he's going to return the endearment when there's a slam of hips against his own and he's gasping, eyes flying open behind the blindfold. there's a litany of sounds that escape him, he can't even place what they are, but they all melt into sobs and moans as y/n's hips speed up.

his arms are so strained, he can barely feel them, and all he can is the repeating weighted drop of of his girlfriend, the slick grinds of her pussy against his crotch and the suffocating grip of her cunt around his cock, milking it for all it has.

"god, lando, your cock," she sounds so gone and slutted out, he's speechless, "you're so amazing for me."

the praise is too much. she's unrelenting with it all, the words, the riding, the love, that he's cumminh with no warning, spurting hot stickiness deep into her pussy.

"fuck fuck fuck, y-y/n— oh shit!"

there's a visceral tremble through his flesh, and he's so sensitive everywhere, he must be on fire. but y/n's not stopping.

her hips are eager and hungry on his cock, and after a while, lando stops bucking up his hips to meet her thrusts because he's tingly all round and all he can do is cry.

"you can give me one more, baby, can't you?"

he hears it, trust he does, but his throat feels grated, and he has no control over his brain. it's all milky and cloudy up there, and as his girlfriend continues to hop on his cock, the more hazy everything becomes.

he fucking loves it.

"can't speak baby boy?"

it's slighting taunting, but endeared nonetheless. she slows down, palms raking his chest, pulling at his nipples and then she's pressing a hand into his throat and squeezing.

they'd discussed it before, agreed that they'd both like to try it out with boundaries set, but fucking hell, lando never expected it to feel this good. his eyes are rolling behind his head and he's nodding, high pitched moans being pulled from his throat.

and then she's moving again, bouncing and slapping her hips, and what can lando do but indulge and let her? his cock is so hard again, it's nearly painful, and his face is so wet and clammy with tears.

"come on, baby, cum for me," y/n's moaning out, another hand flicking at his nipple as her fingers press further into his neck.

it's not on his own accord that he's cumming, semen dribbling pathetically into the plush walls, and he's feeling y/n tighten around him.

she's about to cum, but instead of feeling the warm wetness trickle down his dick, y/n is telling him to open his mouth, and a half-assed aim of milk sprays onto his face, narrowly missing his mouth.

he licks at whatever he gets, face wet and so fucking ruined, before she's properly cumming, body tense and juices flowing.

"yes, baby, just like that— hmm."

she's riding it out before stopping, leaning forward to press kisses into his wet skin.

"how are you feeling, baby?"

there's no words to describe it. he just says whatever comes to mind.

"i wanna see you, please."

there's a soft laugh, "i'm taking that as a 'i feel fucking great'."

lando grins at that, tiredly, as he nods, just as fingers nimbly untie the cloth around him. he blinks, acclimatising his vision, before seeing y/n, fucked out and glorious, before him.

"you're so beautiful, y/n," he sighs, watching as y/n leans forward, tits in his face, to detangle the silk around his wrists. his visions zeroes in on them, and pushes forward to give each one a kiss.

"that's all you, baby boy," she's sitting upright again, and he immediately wraps his hands around her waist, "all you."

#‧₊˚✩彡 planete.writes: ln4 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 fic #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1

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