#its eyes glance over the tags

[happynewyear-99]

drew this shit for another roleplay

[thekinslayed]

Sweet, Wonderful You

summary | Aemond finds himself pleased with his new wife.

pairing | newlywed aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, oral (f), semi-public, spanking, hot hot sex, arranged marriage, fingering, Aemond Has Feelings, lots of fluff and marital bliss <3

wordcount | 5.6k

note | if i had a penny for every time Aemond was up to no good in a tent, i'd only have two pennies, but it's weird that it’s happened twice!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

(divider by @zaldritzosrose)

There was a slight rattle upon the earth when the hunting party returned with a thunderous arrival. Cheers and applause greeted the group of a hundred or so men, composed of noble lords, young squires, and knights to keep them all guarded in the woods. The hounds raced with the horses, barking at their feet. They had returned successfully after a full day and a half of hunting the prized stag, having departed a night before the rest of the royal party. 

Among the cluster, three heads of silver hair held a stark contrast from the rest. They rode straight to the center of the camp, stopping just before the royal tents. You stood with the Queen and your good sister, Helaena, who held a green little creature in her palm. Your fingers were wrung together anxiously as the princes dismounted their horses. One by one, Prince Aegon and Prince Daeron handed off their horses to the keepers, before coming over to greet their family, followed by your new husband, the one-eyed Prince Aemond. 

The King’s second son spotted you almost immediately upon returning to camp, keeping his good eye on you until he beckoned his horse to a halt. As he walked over, you felt a warm tinge in your cheeks when his good eye raked over your form. Your husband extended a hand to you when he was close enough, to which you hastily removed your glove to place your smaller palm in his. He dipped his head to press a kiss to your knuckles, greeting you, “Dear wife.”

“Well done, my prince. I was told of your great skills in hunting the stag,” you praised him. Behind his tall figure, you can see the beast being dragged away, blood staining the better half of its neck. You can feel the stares of onlookers around you, no doubt wanting to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds together. Your husband merely hummed, offering you a quip of a smile. 

"I was lucky, nothing more," Aemond said with a little bit of humility. The queen urged everyone to head inside the warm tent as the breeze began to lap at your faces with a sharp chill, the day slowly starting to dim. The prince took your hand and placed it on his elbow, turning his head to examine the dress you wore. It was a dark red, embellished with dragons of black thread, completed with a black underskirt and a dark fur trim along its neckline. A true Targaryen garment, paired with black fur-lined gloves your husband had given you before he left for the hunt. 

"Thank you for coming to greet me, my lady. You look lovely," he complimented, making you blush. It wasn’t often the prince would unleash compliments so openly, and in the short period you have been together, you had been bestowed mostly with formal and terse praises, this was a first. You ran a hand down your skirts shyly, happy to find your husband pleased with your attire. 

“Do you like it? It was a gift from Dragonstone. Your sister had written of her regret of not being able to come to the celebrations. Her being with child had prevented her from traveling, it seems,” you informed him. From your touch on his elbow, you feel your husband tense up. This immediately wiped the smile off your face, glancing up at him in slight worry of what you had said something to gain this reaction. His good eye blinked before his lips pursed, letting out another low hum.

“Half-sister.”

“W-what?”

“Rhaenyra, she is my half-sister,” Aemond corrected. You all but blanched at the return of his cold and distant tone, mentally kicking yourself for having forgotten the strife between King Viserys’ children. You didn’t miss the way when he mentioned her name, almost jeering. 

“Right, of course,” you chuckled awkwardly, before caressing his bicep with your other hand. Your husband led you into the tent, greeted by lords and ladies alike, who uttered praises of the pair of you making such a handsome couple. ‘Good fortune shall come to this union!’ and ‘Your marriage shall ever be fruitful!’ they praised, and you thanked them graciously with a smile. Aemond let you entertain your guests, who had traveled from all over the Seven Kingdoms to witness the marriage of the royal prince and his lady.

Somehow, you managed to make your way to where the Queen sat with her father, the Lord Hand. They bore satisfied smiles on their faces, and you approached them with your husband, an equally bright smile on your features.

“This has been the most splendid affair! The gods have been kind,” Alicent said, visibly pleased. Aemond expressed his word of thanks to his mother, before exchanging a courteous nod with his grandfather.

“Yes, they have,” you spoke softly, turning your head to look at your dragon prince. “They’ve kept my husband out of harm’s way, for that I am glad.”

Otto held a satisfied smile on his face at your words, pleased with having orchestrated this union. It was by his doing that your father had been called to court to sit on the King’s council, and with the highly revered lord’s arrival to the Red Keep, he brought with him his only daughter, seven and ten years of age. You had been given the role of a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena, joining the handful of other royal ladies that accompanied the princess.  

Aemond always knew he would marry for duty. To whom, he knew naught, up until he heard of you. It was determined that you shall be wed to the prince upon the endorsement from Otto Hightower to the King, though your father had asked for the marriage to happen after you turned eight and ten. Aemond had caught glimpses of you with Helaena and her ladies, but had never sought you out himself. He wasn’t one to meddle with his sister’s activities with her group, with their singing, sewing, and all of their giggling, but the few times he had seen you he thought you the most handsome out of all of them. A shy little thing you were, never boisterous or commanding. The princess often asked you to be her sole companion most days, when she had grown tired of being surrounded by different voices and faces. Helaena had expressed her delight after learning of your and Aemond’s nuptials, happy to see her favorite lady and her favorite brother together. 

He was pleased with this union, to say the least. You were quite the beauty, graceful, and well-equipped with the knowledge of history and philosophy, as well as the talent for playing the harp. He considered himself lucky not to be stuck with a woman he would not agree with in ego, like a Lannister. As meek as you were, you still possessed wit, but of an unassuming kind. The prince courted you for 4 moons, gracing your days with his presence as he accompanied you on walks through the royal gardens, sat with you in the library while you both read, and visited you in Helaena’s chambers when the rest of her ladies were dismissed. On your nameday, he had gifted you with an exquisite set of jewelry, a pair of earrings and a necklace of sapphire. He took quite an interest in you, despite his usual stoic expressions. Aemond was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and as much as he tried to ignore it, to be graced by the sight of you became a part of his days, and dreams of you filled his nights. However, despite all the time you had spent together, it was difficult to move past the formalities, especially with your interactions being heavily chaperoned and coupled with your timidness around the prince and Aemond's stiff demeanor. It turned out that Aemond's mastery of history and philosophy failed to equip him with the expertise of courting a woman.

Much to his dismay, the prince felt he had barely scratched the surface of you after four moons, but he considered it no matter, for he had a lifetime to explore your every facet.

One thing he did learn, however, was how you turned flustered so easily at his words, and how he reveled in making a beautiful woman blush.

On the night of your nuptials, Aemond had seen a shift in your usual doe-like eyes to something lush. The prince was grateful for having been granted his request to forego the bedding ceremony. You had made such pretty sounds for him, from the moment he sucked his first mark on your neck, to when your plush bosom was exposed to the dark room, up to when he stretched you out on his fingers, and ultimately, his cock. To have shared this moment with the debauched eyes of the others would be a great disgrace, and Aemond felt prideful of having witnessed such a reaction in his new wife. He saw a heady tinge glaze over your eyes when you had first spilled on his fingers, your confidence growing as you dug your nails into his shoulders while he thrust his hips into your weeping cunny. 

The morning after, his lady wife greeted him with a bashful smile, sweet as always. The evidence of your consummation merely existed in the marks on your neck and the blood-stained sheet discarded on the floor. On your second night, you had offered yourself to your husband, despite the terrible ache in between your thighs, but Aemond graciously declined, not wanting to have his wife too sore on the royal hunt that was to follow.

As the night went on and the nobility began to disperse from the royal tent to retire to their accommodation, Aemond found himself in his own pavilion, thinking about you. For the sake of propriety, you had been placed in a separate tent from your husband. He had bathed himself clean from the muck that clung to his pale skin, and changed into his night clothes to retire after almost two days of rigorous hunting. However, in the warmth from the small fire in his tent, Aemond felt a strange twinge in his chest. He felt the need to see you, perhaps even share the bed for the night. Aemond thought himself ridiculous, especially with the slight air of formality that still lingered between the two of you, but was a pull he felt, an odd need to be around you. And in the dead of night, the one-eyed prince, in all his formality and adherence to standards, let his feet guide him out of his tent to make the small walk towards yours. 

Your handmaiden was brushing your hair after helping you change into your nightgown when you heard a low voice through the tarp of your accommodation. You recognize it as your husband’s, and you had bid him to enter without hesitation. The maidservant made quick work to finish brushing your hair, before leaving with a bow when Aemond had entered. You turned to your prince, rising from your seat to greet him with a soft smile. The surprise on your face was evident, not expecting him to seek you out so late in a somewhat public environment. Perhaps he had a matter to discuss, one that could not wait until the morn.

Gods, was it about the dress?

“Is something the matter, lord husband?” you asked him. In the dim flicker of light from the small fire you had requested in your tent, Aemond’s good eye ran over the swell of your breasts, accentuated by the shadows. The prince cleared his throat, crossing his hands on his lower back.

“Should there be a matter at hand for me to see my wife?” he asked rhetorically. You blushed, flustered for having asked such a question. 

“Of course not,” you chuckled sheepishly, before approaching to hold him by the elbows, beckoning him to the fire. “Come.”

Your husband walked around the tent, studying the arrangements made for your accommodation. You walked over to the makeshift vanity they had provided, rubbing some oil into the ends of your hair to finish your nightly routine. 

“You were treated well in my absence, I hope?” Aemond spoke up. You turned to find him settled on the edge of your cot, leaning his weight on his palm.

“Oh, yes. Everyone has been kind... though quite curious I must say,” you answered, wiping away the residue on your fingers. Aemond raised an eyebrow at your words.

“About?”

You bit the inside of your cheek at his question, recalling the incessant prodding of the ladies of the court to learn more of how your husband has been thus far. You tried to answer the queries to the best of your abilities, though avoiding indulging too much in your husband’s private matters. That proved to be quite difficult, because the questions they asked the most were about his abilities in the marriage bed.

“About us. H-how our first night was and the like,” you stammered. You had no intent to lie to your husband, especially not so early in your marriage, but it still flustered you to discuss such matters. The corner of your husband’s lips quirked up in a smirk, and his eyebrow stayed raised as he continued to question you about the court’s inquisitiveness.

“And? What did you tell them?” He urged. Your fingers fiddled with the fringes of your robe, an anxious habit. You bit your lip while your cheeks turned pink, your mind struggling to find the words. 

“I told them it was quite… satisfactory,” you admitted, to which your husband responded with a hum.

“Satisfactory?”

“Well, I couldn’t really say much with your mother listening close by!” You all but squeaked, earning a low chuckle from the prince. He nodded his head slightly, satisfied with your answer. He rose from the cot, walking over to where you stood. Your head tilted up slightly as Aemond loomed over you, his good eye darkened to a dark amethyst from the lack of illumination in the tent. His smirk never fell, amused with how quickly you had grown flustered.

“And what did you really think about our first night, princess? Was it indeed satisfactory?” He asked. Your eyes tore away from him, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. They shifted around the room warily, focusing on anything but his piercing gaze, before giving him a meek nod. Two of his fingers lifted your chin back up to look at him, and he tilted his head slightly, raising his eyebrow to silently urge you to use your words. By your sides, your hands curled the fabric into your tight fists.

“Y-yes… more than that,” you admitted, warmth spreading all over your face up to the tip of your ears. Aemond merely hummed, his good eye raking over your features in thought.

To say your wedding night was satisfactory was a great understatement. As a girl, you had been taught whatever happened in the marriage bed was to be done under the grace of the Seven and with the utmost delicacy, it was your duty after all. To indulge in anything else would be a sin, and my, what a sweet sin it was. Your lord husband had managed to spurn sounds from you that you had never heard from your own lips. You had never been so overcome with such fire, such pulsing desire. He had touched you in ways that would have your Septa gasp in horror.

You had expected pain and a husband who would only do so much to get himself to spill his seed in your womb, yet there was little of that. Prince Aemond may not be the image of a romantic prince from the fairytales of your girlhood, but he had shown you a fire only a dragon can possess. He was as prolific of a lover as he was a scholar, and for a moment you had wondered how many women he had touched, licked, and sucked the way he did with you in order to become such a master in this art, though it mattered little. You were his woman now, and he was welcome to devour you however he liked. 

Your husband prepared you for what felt like hours, scissoring his deft fingers in your sweet cunt, his lips sucked on the stiff buds of your breast relentlessly, up until you were covered with a sheen of sweat before he finally took hold of your thighs and split you open with his cock.

He made you a quivering mess that night, spilling on his fingers and his cock beautifully. You were in awe at your own body’s response to his touch, your mind grew hazy the further you lost yourself in the throes of pleasure. When you had returned to your senses, he had wiped you clean and threw the furs over your naked body.

After having been exposed to him in the intimate enclosure of your marital chambers, you had wished to be kept in your new husband's embrace when you slept, but cordiality soon returned between the two of you. It was almost as if the events that had just passed were merely a dream, a fleeting expulsion of desire, and the night ended with you and Aemond lying on separate sides of the mattress.

The morning after, the quivering ache of your thighs served as a keepsake of your wedding night, and as much as you struggled to walk through the halls of the Keep, you found yourself craving more. On your second night, you had offered yourself to your prince, in hopes of being consumed by such fire again. To your dismay, your husband had refused, mostly because he watched you walk around with a slight limp all day and didn’t wish to put you in a further state of discomfort. On the third night, with Aemond having already departed for the hunt, you laid alone in your marital chambers, left to thoughts of your dragon prince.

Now, on your fourth night, your husband stood before you, his thumb caressing the plump flesh of your bottom lip. From his proximity, you could see how his pupil began to dilate, black threatening to overtake purple. 

“Are you still sore?” He asked in a low whisper. You shook your head lightly, careful not to shake off his grip, before whispering a soft ‘no’. With your words, his good eye flickered to meet your gaze for a second, before returning to your mouth. His head dipped down, capturing your lips in a kiss. You sighed, secretly in relief, at the feeling of his mouth upon yours once again. You let him guide you, following his pace as his tongue dipped into your cavern. The kiss was gentle, but getting your fill after going without his caress for two days made you breathless almost instantly. 

The both of you pulled away, and Aemond was tantalized at the sight of you. There it was, the change in your gaze. A look akin to hunger glazed over your orbs, and a flush ran across your cheek to the tip of your nose, your pink lips glistened with spit. He descended his lips onto your neck, replacing the fading marks on your neck with new ones. A soft whimper left you when your prince sucked on a spot that almost had your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You softly caressed the back of his head, feeling the silky strands of silver under your fingertips.

Decency nagged in the back of your head, reminding you that despite the privacy provided by the pavilion, the thin tarp would do little to conceal any sound that would indicate to the guests your activities. 

“Aemond…” you breathed out. Your husband hummed against your skin, the vibrations of his voice shooting down straight to your core. “S-should we be doing this here?” 

Aemond lifted his head, pressing his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes as the warmth he exuded engulfed your entire being. “I do not see why not. We are alone, dear wife.”

“People will hear,” you reasoned. Your eyes opened to find him looking at you with an impish smirk, a sight so roguish in contrast to the formal prince you once knew.

“Let them hear. Why don’t we let them all know how diligent we are in doing our duty, hm?” He said, pulling away from you. You let him walk you backward, sitting on the edge of the cot when the back of your knees hit the wooden frame. Aemond bent to recapture your lips, his hand wandering down to cup your clothed breast. With frantic hands, you untied the robe covering your nightgown, shrugging it off to discard it off to the side. You had donned more modest apparel compared to the one you wore on your wedding night, sleeves much longer than the frail straps of the nightgown he had first seen you in. Still, the cotton was almost sheer, and the dark rings of your nipples were visible even in the dim light.

Next, you pulled Aemond’s tunic from his breeches, helping him pull off the garment. When he bent down to kiss you once more, your hands slithered to the back of his head. Your fingertips toyed with the clasp holding his eyepatch in place with the intention of taking the leather off, but his hand quickly covered yours, halting its ministrations.

“No,” was all he said. Aemond straightened back to his full height, looking down at you from the tip of his aquiline nose. You visibly gulped at the commanding aura that seemed to surround him, making you feel submissive, completely pliant to his will. Your thighs squeezed together to soothe the ache in your throbbing core, watching his long fingers untie the laces of his breeches. Before you were granted the sight of his long, beautiful cock, he grabbed either side of your waist to urge you to lie on your stomach. Your dragon grabbed a pillow, placing it underneath your abdomen to prop your hips up. Your heart thumped in anticipation, and your breath hitched in your throat when you felt the cool air kiss your rear when he lifted the hem of your nightgown. His large, calloused hands took hold of either cheek, spreading and squeezing the supple flesh of your rear. In between, your cunny started to glisten, tears of arousal dripping from your slit. 

A gasp left your lips when you feel his tongue swipe a hot strip down your opening, hearing him groan as he tasted your essence. He bestowed more licks to your cunt soon after, dipping into your slit to test. You pressed your face into the sheets in an attempt to muffle your whines, but in suppressing your responses, your hips started to squirm restlessly the more his tongue prodded at you. A squeal, one a little too loud to your liking, escaped you when your husband’s hand smacked your rear.

“Stay still,” he ordered, before diving back into your sweet cunt. You fisted the sheets in your hands, biting your lips hard when Aemond began fucking you with his tongue. The hot, wet muscle breached your walls deep in this position, much deeper than the first time. Breathless moans fell from your lips at the sensation of his mouth on your cunt, the act so utterly sinful and debauched. To your knowledge, you had never heard of any husband doing such a thing to his wife, more often than not hearing of the wife doing it to her husband instead. You silently thanked the gods for having bestowed you a husband unlike the others, a prince who took pleasure in giving you yours. 

A particularly loud moan filled the space when two of your husband’s fingers replaced his tongue, preparing you for his cock. Aemond stood back tall, his purple eye trained on the way your cunny swallowed his fingers, and the imprint of his hand that started to redden on your arse. You subtly moved your hips back to meet his hand, desperate for more.

“My, look at you, dear wife. I always thought you were a prim little thing, but here you are, fucking yourself on my fingers, moaning like some common whore,” he remarked. You whined at his words, embarrassment creeping up your spine, though you cared little, not when your lustful cravings for your husband clouded your mind. You craned your head to meet Aemond’s gaze from your position, catching the way he smirked out of the corner of your eye.

“Do you like it that much?” He asked, to which you nodded eagerly. You softly pleaded, ‘Please, husband’, and Aemond grunted in response.

“What is it you want, princess?” 

You propped yourself on an elbow, turning to face him, still on your stomach. Your eyes slightly widened to find his cock already exposed. He had been softly stroking it while fucking you with his fingers, evidently overcome with as much desire as you were. Now, his length sat heavy in his hand while he awaited your answer, tip flushed a deep red while it weeped a clear liquid.

“I want you, Aemond, all of you,” you made known. The prince let out another hum, before pulling his fingers out. You felt the mattress dip as he kneeled on the bed, caging you in between his legs. He propped himself on a hand by your side, the other holding his cock to line himself with your slit. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt the blunt end of his cockhead press against your slit, letting out a whine when he breached your opening. His chest pressed against your back, the weight of his body on yours a welcome comfort. The prince’s breath was hot against the side of your face, and his deep groan echoed directly into your ear. He slid into your cunt inch by inch, tight walls hugging his length perfectly. He cursed under his breath when he finally bottomed out, lips pressing a kiss to your cheek as his nose nuzzled to inhale the scent of your sweet flesh.

“Gods above,” he groaned. His hips started to move with small, slow thrusts, still letting you adjust to the size of his impressive length. You whimpered, pressing your forehead against the bed while Aemond panted in your ear. “Such a tight fucking cunny. Perfectly made to take my cock, hm?”

“Yes, husband, it is all yours,” you moaned. As your walls started to relax, Aemond gained more space to thrust his length in and out of you. His pace began to pick up, the fabric of his breeches rubbing against your rear as his hips drove forward to meet yours. His cockhead kissed the tip of your cervix, causing a wave of pleasure to spread in your lower belly. 

Hearing Aemond’s grunts in your ear only spurned your arousal further. With his body covering yours, you felt him everywhere, from his breath that hit the side of your face, the fine hairs of his chest tickling the skin of your back, and the slapping of his hips against your plump flesh as he drove his cock into you relentlessly. His large hand crept up to intertwine with yours, holding your smaller hand tightly. The cot’s wooden frame began to creak at the sheer force of his thrusts, your body jerking as he fucked you mercilessly. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape you, but your head was turned to the side to meet Aemond’s eager lips. He swallowed down the desperate moans that reverberated from you, before pulling away to press his damp forehead against the side of your burning cheek. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, reverent and faithful, as your husband hurled you closer to your release. Aemond felt your walls start to tighten back up, pulsing, indicating the beginning of your release. His free hand sneaked in between your front, finding your pearl to stimulate. The circles rubbed on your nub only served to tighten the coil in your belly that threatened to snap, and your eyes clenched shut as your husband rendered you witless.

“Are you going to come for me, sweet wife?” He rasped in your ear. A chorus of whiny yesses fell from your lips, followed by more sobs.

Aemond felt a hot lick of pleasure deep within his belly, indicating his own climax was fast approaching. He drove his cock even harder into you, the pads of his fingers rubbing your clit at a lightning speed that began to cramp his forearm. He paid it no mind, determined to have you fall apart first. Your walls pulsed uncontrollably, squeezing and massaging his cock. Your nipples rubbed against the pillow underneath you, and with a particularly harsh thrust, you fell apart on Aemond’s cock. 

Your release washed over you like the tide, rendering you lightheaded as you spilled around your husband’s length. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, chasing his own end. Your legs bent to kick upwards as you began to squirm in overstimulation, though Aemond’s weight on your body prevented you from moving away. With one more thrust, then two, Aemond’s cock twitched in your cunt, before painting your walls with hot, white dragonseed. 

After he emptied his fill into your womb, your husband slumped in exhaustion, lying on top of you with his sweaty forehead pressed against your shoulder. Both of you took a moment to catch your breath, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. You remained lying prone, eyes closed, as Aemond pulled out of you. You felt the mixture of your juices spill from your slit, whining when he pushed it back into your sensitive core with his finger. 

You opened your eyes to watch him walk off to grab a clean cloth to clean you with, pouring some water from a jug to soak the fabric. The damp material felt cool against your hot skin, still sheened with sweat. You shifted to lie on your back, turning to look at Aemond as he cleaned himself off. Your eyes ran down the ripple of fine muscle down his back, tracing the way his form tapered at the waist with your gaze.

“Will you stay?” You whispered, making him look at you. His good eye studied you, with your flush face and glistening skin. You looked at him with a gaze that made him feel warm inside, a feeling so strange and new. 

“Do you want me to?” He responded, to which you nodded yes. Throwing the rag on a basket, Aemond walked back to the cot, settling under the furs that you pushed back for him. Hesitantly, he lifted his arm to wrap around you, and you snuggled into his embrace without him having to ask.

It was quite pleasant, he realized, to have a wife to hold in his arms. And as you drifted off, he caressed your back soothingly, planting soft kisses on your forehead that you didn’t feel in your slumber. 

It was past the hour of the wolf when a sudden strong breeze in the night air drifted through the tent, causing you to stir awake to snuggle further into your husband’s warmth. A comforting warmth sparked in your heart to be in such a position, never having expected the prince to be one to cuddle at night. A satisfied sigh left your lips, before they pressed a soft kiss to the base of his neck.

You tilted your head up to cast a glance at him, letting out a small gasp when you caught the twinkle of a gemstone lodged into your husband’s left socket. The sapphire glinted like a star, reflecting the dying embers of the fire. Slowly lifting your hand to his face, your thumb softly caressed the indent of his scar, in awe of such beauty. You thought back to when he refused to remove his eyepatch earlier in the night, and you wondered why he chose not to flaunt such a mesmerizing sight. He must have slipped off the leather patch when you had descended into slumber.

In the short period you had come to know your husband, you had learned the loss of his eye was a pain he held in his heart. The small details Helaena had divulged caused an ache in your heart for the young boy that he was, and you understood why he harbored such grievance. To catch a small glimpse of the sapphire, albeit unintentionally, felt like an intrusion on the deepest part of Aemond's core, a peek of the well-hidden display of all his true glory.

Aemond slightly stirred from your touch in his face, causing you to pull away lest you disturb his sleep. You leaned to press a light kiss to his jaw, before going back to sleep with an affection in your chest that would only grow as the days went by.

In the morn, Aemond returned to his tent just as the dawn broke through the horizon. Few began to litter around, mostly setting up for everyone to break their fast before they departed back to the Red Keep. He dressed for the day, donning a dark green doublet, embroidered with dragons of gold thread. Afterwards, he walked over and peeked into your tent, finding you having your hair fixed by your handmaiden, still clad in your shift. Aemond left to let you finish getting ready, walking over to where his family began to gather around. Daeron and Aegon were already in playful banter despite the early hour, while Helaena sat with their mother, playing with a beetle she had found in the grass.

“Brother!” Daeron greeted, slapping Aemond on the back. The second son let out a warning grunt, to which the youngest only responded with a grin. “Where were you last night? We tried to find you, but you weren’t in your tent. We wanted to celebrate your nuptials, brother, Aegon had even snuck some jugs of Dornish wine into his tent!” 

“Ah, let him be, Daeron. He must have been taking a shit in the woods,” Aegon quipped, earning a hearty laugh from Daeron and a glare from Aemond. Alicent sighed, massaging her temples at hearing her son’s words.

“I was with my wife, Aegon. Perhaps you should check on yours,” Aemond retorted, eye glancing over to where their sister had wandered off to the trees to find more critters to add to her collection. The smile on Aegon’s face dropped, following his brother’s gaze.

“Boys, please, it is too early. Daeron, why don’t you come sit with me while Aemond fetches his wife? Aegon, don't let Helaena wander too far.” Upon their mother’s words, all three sons split up to walk off in different directions. Aemond walked back to your tent, just in time to catch you step out. His good eye slightly widened at the sight of you, beautifully dressed in a light blue garment of your homeland’s style. It was vastly different to the dress Rhaenyra had gifted you, but it suited you better. What caught his eye, however, was the shimmering jewelry paired to your dress. The gems of sapphire sparkled under the morning sun, sitting prettily on your chest and dangling from your ears. You gave Aemond a small smile, approaching him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Good morrow, lord husband,” you greeted him, caressing his cheek. Aemond muttered a greeting in return, still tantalized at how well you wore the stone. Pride swelled in his chest to see the marks he had left peek underneath the necklace, his possessiveness growing with well you wore the stone, clearly now marked as his. 

“How beautiful you are, dear wife,” he praised, causing you to blush as you expressed your thanks. His eye regarded you with fondness, a softness in his gaze that previously wasn’t there. Taking his hand in yours, Aemond let you intertwine your fingers as you walked hand in hand to greet everyone. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt the promise of something good coming to your marriage. You had never expected such delight to come your way when you were promised to the King’s second son, but as the days passed, you found yourself blossoming under the warmth of his presence. Indeed, good fortune shall come to your union.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

--

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

--

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

--

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

--

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

--

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

--

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

--

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

--

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

--

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

--

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[s-4pphics]

candy crush. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you’re too sweet, and ellie hates it. 

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

WARNINGS: recordshopmanager!ellie, crumblcookiebaker!oc, hurt/comfort, ellie’s a cunt, ocs too sweet, FLUFF?? FROM ME??? HUHHH, crushing, slight suggestive thoughts

A/N: idk where this came from lol

Ellie’s reorganizing the vinyl selection when a delicate hand lands on her shoulder. “I know your miserable ass doesn’t enjoy company,” Dina hisses in her ear, purposefully hushed, “But you got company.” 

Ellie’s eyebrow quirks with confusion, leaving the earplug that blasts Head like a Hole to dangle over her shoulder. Her eyes glaze over the semi-filled shop, narrowing in on every face until she locks eyes with you from behind the guitar displays. The eye contact only lasts about 1.5 seconds before Dina smacks her leg. 

“Don’t look. You’re gonna make it weird.” Dina quietly snaps from beside her, occupying her hands with some misplaced records. 

“You know her?” 

“I see her around sometimes. I think she works nearby,” Ellie catches her smirking from the corner of her eye, “… I think she likes you.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m dead serious. She’s been staring for the past 10.” 

“At who.” 

“At you, dipshit.” 

Ellie can’t help herself. She takes one experimental glance in your direction; discovers you typing away at your device with a black mask pulled down under your chin, bottom lip trapped between your teeth with worry. Your apron and tiny name tag indicates you probably work somewhere close by, but she can’t pinpoint where. You’re too far and her vision is failing.

“Get her numbe—“

Ellie’s head whips to face Dina, “If you don’t shut up, you’re fired.” 

“Abuse of power,” She snarks in return, “C’mon! She seems so—“

“D-Do you guys have any acoustics for sale?” 

You’re a ninja, for sure. Both girls' heads snap around to face you — who stands a bit too close for Ellie’s liking — phone desperately clutched to your chest and eyes wide as a doe. Mainly locked with Ellie’s before they drop to your name tag.

Crumbl. 2 shops down. 

Fuck. 

“Why, yes!” Dina says excitedly when Ellie doesn’t reply, “Most of ours have been used, but they’re still in great condition. Are you interested in renting or purchasing?” 

“Purchasing… I think.” 

“No problem. I can show you some that we have on display, and if you don’t like those, we have some stocked in the back!” 

Ellie’s forehead creases. Dina has never been this active in making a sale, let alone interacting with any customers. Ellie is always the one who’s forced to pick up her and Riley’s slack in the shop. She catches the light traces of disappointment that overtakes your expression at Dina’s interjection, but eventually, you’re led over to the guitar displays.

Ellie sighs in relief. 

That brief exchange gave Ellie everything she needed to know. She doesn’t find gratification in denying proposals at work, but after months of being hit on by a multitude of customers — the men particularly piss her off— she’ll be as stern as she needs to be to get the point of denial across. Sure, it makes her look like a cunt to the general public, but she’ll take that over being chased after on the clock. No questions asked. 

Ellie assumes that you’ve found what you needed because on your way out, persistent stares are thrown in her direction up until your departure. She dodges them with mastery. 

She would hate to have to embarrass a strip neighbor. 

Three days later, you stumble upon the record shop once more. Dina isn’t here to save Ellie this time, and Riley’s passing time in the break room. Your uniform is lightly dusted with white, presumably flour, and your mask is down, phone clutched to your chest like it holds all your secrets.

Your mouth drops open around a small smile when you approach the service counter, but Ellie interrupts before you can greet her. 

“What can I help you with?” 

She assumed her annoyance would be guarded by professionalism, but your smile drops at its corners at her tone. A light flinch that Ellie prays is enough to deter you from spending your breaks here. 

It doesn’t. Your eyes still shine like the star that you aren’t. 

“I, um… I actually wanted to talk to you. If that’s okay—“

“Is it regarding the purchase you made a few days ago?” 

Dina slid Ellie a notice on the down payment you made for your used dreadnought since you weren’t able to pay in full. The scolding she received about “taking care of you” whenever you returned made her teeth grind together. 

“N-No. I just—“

“I’d appreciate it if we kept the conversation about that,” Ellie uses the scribbles on her notepad as a distraction, “Did you have any questions regarding the instrument? Or if you’re interested in taking part in the lessons we offer, I could redirect you to Riley. She’s in charge of—“

“I just wanted to see if you were… interested in sampling out some cookie flavors I came up with? I’m a baking and pastry student and—“

“Look,” The tip of Ellie’s tongue sharpens into her cheek, irritation evident when you two are eye-to-eye. “I’m not sure where this proposal is coming from, but frankly, I’m not interested.”

The drop in your expression doesn’t stop Ellie’s relentlessness. 

“I don’t know you, and I don’t know why you thought I’d be a good candidate for… taste-testing, but I’ll politely decline. No thanks.” 

Her declination doesn’t sound polite in the slightest; quite snippy and condescending from your perspective, and it forces your windpipe shut. Only for a second before a strangled gasp leaves your lips. You’re not sure if it’s out of shock or lack of breath, but it aches in your lungs all the same. 

Ellie’s glare sends holes through your back as you rush towards the exit, the small bell singing through the store and alarming your leave. 

All Ellie can hope is that you got the message. 

It’s a new week, and therefore, a new Crumbl cookie line-up. Dina won’t stop raving about the carrot-cake cookie which doesn’t resemble a cookie at all. It's tiered and way too soft and stacked with icing that’s sweet enough to rot teeth from the gum. 

It reminds Ellie of you, for some reason; Somehow still managing to be a nuisance without trying. 

Even more so now since Dina’s been using her 45 to walk down and see you. To talk to you. Dina has yet to cough up what about — not that Ellie cares. It’s just weird that you two suddenly have so much in common after knowing each other for all of two days maximum. Whenever Dina clocks back in, she tortures Ellie with dramatic retellings of your stories. 

It’s Thursday; a quiet day for the shop that Ellie uses to her advantage when the sun is at its peak. Searching through cheap magazines and playing Candy Crush on her phone. 

What a time for you to come barreling in. The formerly enjoyable shriek of guitar suddenly sounds like nails on a chalkboard at your appearance. No longer are you in all black. You’re in a sundress. An orange one. You look like a popsicle. 

And you bear gifts. Ellie’s mood turns even more sour when she sees two bright yellow gift bags with smiley faces on them and a tray filled with coffee stuffed in your hands. 

“Good morning!” 

You’re smiling, gleaming, and Ellie’s nose turns up. She plucks one of her earplugs out and closes her graphic novel. 

“How can I help you?” 

You set your bag down on the display case of her prized arch top, and she sighs in exasperation. Annoyance sparks when she notices one of the bags has her name on it, flowers and hearts and sparkles surrounding the tag. 

“Can you not put your belongings on the displays, please? I’d have to clean up after you since none of my employees will.” 

You’ve already moved your bags and exclaimed apologies before Ellie could finish her sentence. She’s seconds away from shoving her earplug back in to tune you out, but you’re fast. Persistent. She hates it.

“I’m really sorry about that,” You say gently, and Ellie shrugs you off, “I, um. I-I came to, uh…”

Ellie blinks rapidly, “If you’re here to apologize for last week, don’t bother. It’s not needed.” 

“Not at all! Well, I’m just… I wanted to drop by and—“

“You’ve gotten quite comfortable with just… dropping by. Have you realized that?” 

Ellie’s squint is harsh and scrutinizing, and sorrow overshadows the light in your pupils. 

“Since it’s obvious that you’re not understanding me, I’ll put it like this,” She leans a bit over the counter, front fully pressed against the glass and palms resting on the stainless steel, “I’m not interested in anything you have going on. Stop using your breaks as an excuse to come see me. I don’t wanna go out with you. And I don’t want to do a taste test. Drop it already.” 

Ellie watches your lip quiver with a harshness exclusive only for people like you, tears welting in your eyes and your fingers pinching at the hem of your sundress. Insecurity is practically seeping from your pores, and your gaze drops shamefully to the floor. 

Ellie’s just about to tell you to kick rocks when the STAFF ONLY door swings open and exposes Riley. Her break ended 20 minutes ago. 

“Hey! You’re early!” 

Ellie scoffs, “No, you’re late—“

“Not you. Be quiet,” She waves her off and smiles at you, who’s smiling back at her with guised genuity. A complete 180 from the you seconds ago. Since when were you and Riley on speaking terms? Friends?

She jogs from behind the stand, “Dina told me you weren’t coming til 3!” Riley throws her arms around your shoulders, and your hands tremble where they rest on her forearms. “Are those the goods?” 

“Yeah!” Your voice sounds heavy. Like you’re guarding a breakdown, “I-I had some time so I stopped by a little early.” 

“I got some to spare til Dee gets here. Hang out with m—“

“Actually!” You intervene shakily, “I have some other drop-offs to make. I really appreciate you guys doing this for me.” 

“Are you sure you can’t stay? Watch me get my Food Network judge on?” Riley suddenly points in Ellie’s direction, “Who knows. Sourpuss might even pop a grin once she tries one.” Ellie’s cheeks run red-hot.

“Sorry, Riley. Maybe next time,” You’re already wobbling towards the exit, “But, please call and tell me what you think! Dina, too! Any feedback is appreciated!” 

“I’m sure they’re delicious, Monster!” Riley compliments playfully, “Text me when you’re home!” 

When the door shuts, Ellie sees Riley’s back stiffen at the sight of you frantically wiping your face through the glass. 

“What the fuck did you do.” 

“I didn’t do shit. She’s loitering.” 

“Lo— Oh my fucking god, you’re an embarrassmen—“

“No, she is. Taking up space for no fucking reason to come and see me. She’s loitering—“

“You’re blowing a fuse over fucking cookie samples?” Riley stares at her like she’s nuts, “And not to burst your self-centered bubble, but I told her to come. She’s been asking all the stores on the block if they’d like to taste ‘em.”

Ellie pauses, expression softening only slightly when Riley continues, 

“I told her you don’t like chocolate, so she made a peanut butter version for you.” Riley shakes Ellie's special, slightly smaller bag as a means to taunt her, and the freckled girl’s face burns red. Glows even harsher when her friend throws in, “You cunt. She’s a sweetheart. Not everyone is fucking obsessed with you.” 

Riley leaves Ellie to simmer in her discomfort, slamming the break door shut. The day seems to drag on longer than usual. 

-

-

-

Ellie’s organizing the break room when she comes across her small baggie that Riley left behind. She would’ve expected her friend to take them home after Ellie’s dramatic blow up, but there it sat on the counter, untouched and jeering. 

Tempting enough for her to rest the broom against the counter and inspect its contents. Wafts of cinnamon and peanut butter hit her through the small opening of the bag, and her heart gives a squeeze. The cookie is iced to perfection — an entire scenery on the light brown canvas. So many flowers and trees and the blue hues of the sky; almost too much detail. It looks printed on. 

You’re artistically talented and the cookie smells divine. 

One nibble wouldn’t hurt. She’s sure the damage she caused is already irreversible. 

But when she cradles the carefully swaddled cookie, a small note falls from beneath the bunched cling wrap. She knows she shouldn’t. She should really, really leave the neatly folded piece of paper where it lays. Down the cookie. Trash the bag. 

She takes the cookie and the note back to her seat at the table. The cookie isn’t what she unravels first. 

“thought I’d make you a separate batch. Riley gave me the heads up about your chocolate disdain. I’m too paranoid to ask for your number in person, so I thought I’d use bait instead. I hope it’s convincing enough. Please let me know if it’s decent. Thank you for tasting.”

Signed with your name and a smiling heart with wings. Ellie’s heart shatters, remaining shards dangling from the rim of her ribcage. She can already see her friends glaring through her chest when they visit the apartment to berate her tomorrow morning. She already knows what they’re going to demand from her, but she’s three steps ahead. 

She ate the entire cookie in two bites right where she sat. It was delicious. Almondy, not too sweet, gently spiced. Probably the best she’s ever had.

Ellie has never been to Crumbl before. 

The viral spot is always bustling — too crowded and filled with loud teenagers with a sugar rush for her taste. Plus, she’s already on the clock when they first open. But the record shop is closed on Fridays. 

She put an extra bit of care into her appearance. She doesn’t recall the last time she did her hair. Half of it is pinned up and her button-up is neatly pressed. Jitters rustle in the pit of her stomach and her forehead is a bit damp, mainly because she can see you through the goddamn window. 

In uniform, you stand at the register with the same beaming smile from last week, talking and giggling with your coworkers, and Ellie instantly feels guilty. Your day seems off to a great start, and here she is… About to ruin it. She almost turned around at the thought. 

But the small bell above the door blares loud, and your bright smile drops once you recognize her, and with that, her stomach. Ellie mentally notes the bags forming under your eyes and the tension in your shoulders. It looks like you haven’t rested for days. Her heart squeezes. 

Your movements turn robotic; stiffly perched on the sides of the iPad stand as your thumb works on the screen. You haven’t looked Ellie’s way since. She approaches the counter with her tail between her legs, fidgeting with her middle finger. 

“Um… hey.” Ellie’s quiet. Out of place. Afraid. 

“What can I get for you?” 

Even with the stiffness, you somehow still manage to sound as soft as a cotton ball, but Ellie’s body locks. The scenario hits her like a brick wall; she’s doing exactly what she accused you of doing to her last week. Bothering her at fucking work. She should’ve never come to your place of business to coddle her ego. She feels like a hypocrite. You certainly see her as one. 

“Um… A cookie?”

“… What flavor.” 

“Uh… peanut butter?” 

You swallow thickly, voice hollow, “That’s not on the menu for this week,” You point towards the display of cookies that were big enough to feed a family, “These are the six we’re serving until Sunday. You can also look at the menu on the screen.” 

Ellie follows your pointing finger. How the fuck does this place work? Weekly flavors? What the fuck does that mean? She quickly examines the names of cookies that flash across the screen: raspberry cheesecake, pink velvet… Mom’s recipe? Odd name for a dessert but she lets it slide. 

“W-What’s your favorite?” 

You’re a baker, for fucks sake. You’d have better taste than anyone, better than her, she’d painfully admit. 

She watches your fingers clench around the screen, tapping mindlessly. 

“Um… raspberry cheesecake.” 

“I’ll get a dozen.” 

“O-Of the same flavor?” 

She shrugs like it’s obvious, “… Yup.” 

You give her one skeptic look before tapping at the screen. “It might be a little wait. About 15 minutes. Do you mind?” 

“No.” 

“Cash or card?” 

“Card, please.” 

More tapping, “That’ll be $41.65. Swipe or tap whenever you're ready.” 

A financial dent over a box of cookies was not on her bucket list. You hand her the receipt, and before you can rush to the kitchen, Ellie exclaims, “When’s your break?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“W— um, when’s your break?” 

Your coworkers are suddenly very interested in Ellie, all four of them eyeing her like venomous hawks. Her cheeks burst into flames. 

“Um… I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” 

And you’re right. Anything involving you is short on Ellie; it was never her business, but a burning in the pit of her stomach desires to learn. Needs to catch you at the right time to give you a proper apology even though she doesn’t deserve the time of day. She doesn’t know what to say. 

You use her floundering as a scapegoat and hustle behind the slamming doors. Just as Ellie rushes to leave empty-handed, one of your employees — Abigail reads across her name-tag, keeps professional, but Ellie’s skin burns with the fire in her eyes. 

“We’ll have those right out for you,” monotone, but gruff. It makes Ellie wonder if you told any of them about her — she doesn’t doubt it. 

“You can wait outside.” 

One stiff nod, and Ellie’s booking it until her feet plant on the packed sidewalk, nearly bumping into a couple with interlocked hands. It takes 25 minutes for the box of cookies to be rigidly placed on the lounge table by another employee. Ellie scurries into her truck with a boiling face and pulls out into the road. 

When she makes it to her apartment, she eats three mini cheesecakes in one sitting.

She sees why they’re your favorite. 

The following week was filled with glares and curses from Dina and Riley — your newfound friends, evidently. They have a way of making Ellie feel like a worthless dunce. They both have rubbed in the tales of you being a thrill to be around; the life of the party whenever they hang out. 

It makes her nauseous. And sad. 

But her sadness swiftly shifts to bewilderment when she catches you smoking near a lamppost after closing. Still in your uniform with a bag over your shoulder, pants dusted in white, proof of your labor. It’s dark out, the only illumination coming from the light stood tall above you and the orange gleam of your cigarette. The sight shocks her. You didn’t seem like the type. 

Maybe that’s where Ellie went wrong with you: constantly assuming… who you are. Your desires, your intentions with her, her friends. She’ll admit her wrongs, of course. 

But it has to be to you. 

Ellie scares you when she approaches, inhaling the nicotine a bit too roughly because you start heaving. Shoulders hunched and jumping with every cough. 

“Uh — fuck, I’m sorry! I-I thought you could see me coming! I didn’t mean — fuck —“

You’re still choking, but you hiss in between, “What the fuck do you want!” 

“I’m just — I’m sorry about —“

“You’re not — cough — you’re not sorry! You made your point clear. I don’t why you keep — cough cough — following me. I left you alone like you wanted!” 

“I DON’T WANT THAT!” Ellie shrieks in panic. 

It’s a heavy-handed admission. A weighted confession that was said too aggressively given your flinching away from her. She takes an instinctive step forward. 

“Your cookies… tasted fucking incredible. I’m also an asshole.” 

The drag you take from your cig while she rambles is almost comedic. Brows cinched at the middle of your forehead, gauging her. You’re not convinced, but you’re not fleeing like the first time. She takes a leap, and a large step towards you. 

“I feel really… really bad,” Ellie’s much quieter, eyes unwavering and the softest she’s ever shown you, “I shouldn’t have… said all that. To you. I’m just so used to being harassed at work. I’m sorry.” 

Maybe nicotine calms you. Your body language isn’t as taut compared to when Ellie first initiated conversation, and your eyes soften at her reasoning. 

The rasp from your timbre melts her skin like butter. “I didn’t know you went through that. That sucks.”

Ellie shrugs, “I didn’t know you were… nice.” 

She made the mistake of attempting playfulness, “Maybe ‘cuz you wouldn’t let me talk.” You snark while ashing. 

“I’m sorry.” Ellie implores. 

You take one last drag before stomping out the flame. “Me too. For bothering you.” 

Ellie cringes at your choice of words, but nods in acceptance. “Are we, uh… okay, now?”

A small smile grows on your face. It’s cute. Makes your cheeks puff out like a hungry squirrel. 

“We’re good.” You extend a fist out to her, and she connects her own at the knuckles. 

When they drop, Ellie nervously stares at her shoes, “Do you want a ride home?” 

“I’m alright, thanks.” 

“C’mon, I don’t want you waiting out here by yourself.”

You pause before asking, “What’s the catch?” Your brow arches mischievously.

Ellie doesn’t hesitate, “More of those cookies.” 

A giggle escapes you. Soft and airy like a feather. Ellie feels a tight clench in her chest. A thumping from her ribcage. Has your smile always been this vibrant? She mentally kicks herself for not noticing before. 

Ellie escorts you to the passenger's side of her passed down pick-up: opens the door for you and makes sure you’re buckled in before starting it up. She learns you’re a metalhead when she cranks the radio to the highest volume. 

… How quickly can crushes develop? 

Two months. Ellie’s spent two months finding every excuse to spend time with you. She welcomes your visits to the record shop and silently thanks the heavens above when you call after her shift to talk about your day. Listening to your rambles about customers and their weekly cookies has become the highlight of hers. 

She’s also found comfort in watching you fail at playing guitar. You’re adorable whenever you strike an incorrect chord or break a string. She’s more than willing to guide you through your trials: late-night invites to her apartment to practice. One of your goals was to learn how to play the entire Vanara soundtrack. 

Ellie assumed she simply enjoyed being in your space. She does, but something shifted between you during one specific session. It was past midnight, and Ellie could tell you were getting tired. She innocently suggested for you to spend the night so you wouldn’t have to Uber at such a late hour, and you graciously accepted her offer. When you started to get comfortable on the couch, she tuts in disapproval and invited you to share her bed because it was more comfortable. 

What a mistake. 

After showering and changing into comfortable clothes, you both crawled into bed and swiftly drifted off. When Ellie’s eyes opened the following morning, her heart immediately traveled up to sit in her throat. If anyone told her she’d wake up with you completely sprawled out on top of her with your warm breath hitting her neck and her arms wrapped around you, she wouldn’t have believed them. She was completely frozen beneath you, but not for the reason she’d assumed. 

Ellie was scared to wake you up. Ellie was scared you would move away from her. 

She was pulled between waking you up and pulling you even closer. You were soft and warm and you smelled like her cinnamon body wash. A literal human cookie. She caressed your back as delicately as she could, and you nuzzled into her shoulder with every swipe. She hoped the harsh thrashes from her heart wouldn’t disturb you. 

They didn’t. 

You took a piece of Ellie when you left her apartment that morning. She’s not sure which part you stole, but she hasn’t felt the same since then. A pull towards you that’s electric, sparks her to life, keeps her up at night. Whenever you’re away, at work, not next to her, she’s desperate to pull you close. To breathe in the natural scent of you. 

Evidently, crushes develop rather quickly. 

“I thought baking was supposed to be fun.” Ellie huffs from where she lays on her bed. 

“It is fun! My favorite past-time, actually,” She watches you pace around her bedroom, guitar still strapped securely around your shoulder, “It’s just stressful when you have chefs constantly breathing down your neck. It’s so hard to be creative because they nitpick everything.” 

Creating a menu is much harder than Ellie assumed. She’s become the person you’ve come to whenever you’re fired up from classes, ranting and raving about the apparent dickheads that judge your creations. After testing your recipes for as long as she has, how could anyone turn down a dessert from you? 

You’re such a hard-worker. Focused, determined… pretty when you’re brainstorming. Pretty when you’re talking… Pretty when you’re smiling. Standing. Staring off into the distance. 

“Hm.” 

It’s all Ellie can say. She’s been trying to mask her rampant stares at your bare thighs for the past… however the fuck long. They look so soft. So pliable. So easy to stretch and pry and yank at— 

Her guilty pleasure went from collecting Pokémon cards to gawking at your legs whenever you wear shorts. 

Ellie’s definitely crushing. 

Crushing very, very hard. 

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒. love; you wonder if the king of curses is capable of feeling that emotion too. so, you take on a more direct approach to ask him.

word count. 1.7k

note. sukuna brainrot sorry. . .

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. angst (+ comfort) / fluff. size difference mentions. eh sukuna’s a bit mean. established relationship, but you’re like v early into the relationship.

it was a calm sunday evening. both sukuna and you had fulfilled your duties for the day. all you needed after working hard was the presence of the person you admire most. thus, you had made your way over to sukuna’s chambers. to your surprise, you already found him sitting on the engawa which led to the connected backyard.

sukuna noticed your presence, but didn't utter a word. he simply shot you a glance before continuing to stare into the distance. he seemed to be in deep thought about something. you didn’t want to bother him when he was like this, but the voice in your head told you to stay.

you silently kneel next to him and gather your hands in your lap. your eyes automatically move to focus on sukuna again. two of his hands are supporting his weight as they rest flat on the wooden surface. the other set rests limply on his thigh.

your gaze falls on his bottom left hand. the one he uses to kill, but also the one he uses to hold and caress you. you could easily recall its feel without having to touch him; rough, callused and warm. you reach your hand out towards his without hesitation.

sukuna’s eyes dart over to your small stature next to him. he allows you to grab his hand, to pull it over to your lap and let it rest palm up on your thighs. it’s almost funny. how big his hand is in comparison to yours.

the comfortable silence continues. the rustles of the leaves and the water movements in the koi pond in the yard are soothing to the soul. your finger traces the lines on sukuna’s palm, following them until they end before switching to the other.

the king of curses watches you play around with his hand. still with that stoic expression on his face. however, feeling your delicate touch on his skin and seeing you smile to yourself for whatever reason makes the corners of his lips curl up. for a split second.

a faint, amused grin. you sure are an interesting creature in his eyes.

“sukuna, can i ask you something?” you break the silence with a question. there is an unknown feeling in your chest; one that makes you restless at night. your smile slowly drops into a small pout when you think about what you want to ask him.

not a single action goes unnoticed by the man next to you. he lifts an eyebrow, but other than that, there’s no reaction visible. he answers you with a hum of approval, “mmh.”

you lift your head and look up at him. sukuna was already staring right at you—his piercing eyes catch your soft ones. he squints. there is something wrong with the way you are looking at him. normally, the smile you give him would reach your eyes. now it doesn’t.

that same smile completely disappears over time.

“do you.. are you..” you stammer. you don't know how to articulate your question. it’s probably dumb. to both you and him. sukuna watches you struggle to ask him whatever is on your mind. he firmly grabs your wrist and squeezes it. not too hard. he doesn't want to inflict any unneccesary pain.

sukuna sighs. a heavy sigh. one thing he dislikes is when you leave him in the dark. it isn’t the first time you did so during the past week. asking him if you could ask him a question and when he grants you the permission to, you back down or change topics.

it’s getting tiresome.

“spit it out.” sukuna grumbles. he pulls your body closer to his by your wrist, your arm stretched upwards with your hand hovering near the side of his face. his breath hits your wrist, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

crimson orbs stare right into your soul. you gulp and feel your body warm up. when you try to avert your gaze, one of sukuna's free hands grabs you by the jaw and steers your head to face him. his thumb presses down on your chin. he’s not letting it go today. he needs answers.

before sukuna could add to his words, you breathe in sharply. like you’re ready to ask him what had been weighing on your mind ever since a couple days back. oh, stupid it sure is. you know. you’re probably making it too big of a deal. when it isn’t. not in the slightest.

your eyes water. you blink the tears away. you don’t want to embarrass yourself any further by sobbing. your bottom lip trembles as you finally muster up the courage;

“do you love me?”

there it goes. you try to squirm away from sukuna’s grasp after that. you feel flustered. embarrassed. you just want to crawl into a hole and rot.

sukuna does not tighten his grip on you. instead, he loosens them. your wrist slips from his hand. your chin no longer restricted by his fingers. he lets you go.

a painful sting in your heart. you secretly hoped that he’d resist. pull you closer maybe. you don’t know why you expected that. you learnt not to get your hopes up around him and yet you always wish for him to do something.

a silence falls between the two of you again. you act like you didn’t ask him anything. you try to ignore the way sukuna clenched his jaw. how he subtly clicked his tongue. how he let you shuffle away from him.

you clear your throat. with hesistance this time, you gently grab one of sukuna’s hands again. that he allows you. you appreciate that. at least it means he isn’t completely upset. you know sukuna does not allow just anyone to touch him so without permission.

you hold tightly onto his hand like it’s your last hope. his fingers don’t close around yours, though. you don’t mind.

“what a foolish question.” sukuna scoffs and looks the other way. his voice was hoarse. probably from not speaking for quite what time. you silently nod. an expected answer, at last.

you stay silent after that. it hurts. more than you want it to have hurt. maybe it was too early into your relationship to ask such a question. you got into it, knowing fully well how harsh the man next to you could be sometimes.

what you can’t deny is that soft spot sukuna has for you. you see it. uraume sees it. the maids see it. sukuna probably.. knows of it, but doesn’t speak on it. he does not speak up about his feelings much anyway.

but it’s visible in his actions. the king of curses allows you to say and do whatever you want around him. he makes sure his subordinates treat you well. he looks at you with a hint of softness hidden in those red eyes. when he touches you, it’s firm but gentle. like he desperately craves to touch you, though knows not to make that yearning accidentally hurt you in any way.

the latter is what you love most about his soft spot for you. sukuna handles you with utmost care. even uraume had told you that it surprises them greatly whenever they witness the way their master treats you in general.

especially at night. you can’t count the amount of times you quite literally melted into his arms. those four, beefy arms that know just how to make you feel protected. you never sleep in unease. you know that nothing could hurt you when you’re laying against his chest.

sukuna’s actions speak volumes. despite all of that, you wish he’d at least tell you with his words. how much you mean to him.

“my apologies.” you give up. for today, you’ll let him be. the slight irritation in his voice earlier nearly made you cry. he needs more time and you’ll give him that. you slowly detach your small hand from his big, warm one, “i won’t ask you that again.”

sukuna frowns and grumbles something under his breath. you think it’s still because of your previous question, yet his gaze tells a different story. he narrows his eyes as he glares down at his now empty hand. you connect the dots once you see the man take a glimpse at your hand on your lap.

your touch. the sudden abscence of your touch.

“i didn’t say you could do that.” sukuna murmurs. his tone low and maybe even upset to a certain degree. you blink a few times and freeze on spot. the king of curses starts to get grumpy the longer you fail to take the hint.

he kisses his teeth out of impatience. sukuna tightly gets ahold of your hand again and softly yanks it towards him. you squeal as your body stumbles closer to his.

sukuna holds eye contact with you as he brings your hand to his mouth. his tongue wets a spot on your palm—specifically the area that connects your thumb with your wrist. your lips part, your tummy doing flips from the sudden touch.

“don’t let go again,” he bares his teeth before slightly sinking them into the soft flesh. it isn’t a hard bite. more a nibble that leaves a faint mark. what you didn’t expect was for sukuna to kiss that same place after marking it. his thumb runs over that exact spot as well, “got that?”

you nod. you’re unable to refuse him. those feelings of disappointment from earlier long forgotten. you intertwine your fingers with sukuna’s and unlike the previous instant, his fingers do curl back around yours. your skin is still tingling from the feeling of sukuna’s kiss.

the king of curses keeps your entwined hands on his lap this time. he stares off into the distance for a couple seconds before returning his gaze to you. he scans your face and finds what he had been missing;

that tender smile of yours. it was back, tugging at your lips. one of your fingers resumes its soothing motion on his rough skin again. sukuna’s face relaxes. his jaw unclenches.

“good.” sukuna nods at the sight. he turns to watch the night sky again—secretly (yet not so secretly) enjoying this moment of peace.

you’re content with how that ended. and, you’re sure that you don’t mind if it takes days, weeks or even months for your relationship to fully blossom. when you’re with sukuna, one thing is clear: actions do speak louder than words.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (II)

Reader is cozying up to her unusual home, and her new friend decides to surprise her with a romantic gift. Or at least what he considers to be romantic: a small reminder that no one else can mess with her. Continuation to the yakuza landlord idea!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Content: Female reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, violence, death, mild gore

Tags: @depressed-but-make-it-cute

You search for your keys and open the postal box, retrieving a thick envelope. You've been living at the new apartment for several weeks now and truth be told, you could get used to this lifestyle. Your commute to work is much shorter, the path is never devoid of people, and there are multiple bakeries on the way back with some of the best pastries you've tasted in your life.

You turn around and look for Daitou, somewhat distracted and dreamy. It really feels like a Hallmark movie. A peaceful, idyllic life. Ah, there he is! The scarred man is standing guard before one of the stores. The curtains have been pulled, blocking any glimpse of the inside. You walk towards him with a certain joyful bounce in your step. As you approach him, you can hear muffled screams coming from the building. He notices you and flashes you a smile. 

"Don't come too close, I hear the owner's been avoiding his loan payment and getting all friendly with the neighboring Family. We're questioning him in the back."

"Don't you usually do the interrogations?" 

"Only if we don't need them afterwards. I'm not too good at keeping them alive, ya know?" He scratches the back of his head and laughs awkwardly. "Do you need anything?"

You open your mouth to speak, but it's a little difficult to formulate a full sentence with the interrupted moans and cries occasionally making their way out. The door is ajar and you avoid glancing in its direction, fixating on the man before you. 

"I...uh... just wanted to know if this letter is intended for me or the landlord. It looks like an official document."

You show Daitou the envelope and just as he is about to grab it, he notices the blood stains seeped into his glove. He quickly removes it, wipes his hand on his shirt, and nonchalantly plucks the paper from your fingers.

"That's for Boss. I'll pass it on, so don't worry."

You nod and bow slightly before hurrying back home. Well, doesn't make it less of a movie, you suppose. Just more of a thriller. Or something like that. You drop your bag, slip off your shoes and throw yourself onto the futon with a loud thud. The warmth of the sheets envelops you and the wails of the shop owner become but a distant dream. 

Without the worry of stalkers, or finding a roof above your head, you can finally rest. 

Tonight is rather dark, with the moon shrouded in heavy clouds. Daitou yawns silently as he observes the masked man testing out passcodes for the entrance. Every now and then he lets out a whispered curse, crossing out another number combination on his little crumpled note. It doesn't take a genius to figure out this is the famed stalker you'd complained about earlier. No one else currently lives in the building. 

Eventually, the keypad lights up and the door unlocks. The mysterious man lifts a fist victoriously and reaches for the handle. 

"Oop! Not so fast!" Daitou drops his heavy, sinewy arm over the man's shoulders, pulling him in a friendly embrace. Like two old pals meeting at an intersection. "Let's take a walk together, what do you say? (Y/N) sleeps until noon on weekends, no need to hurry."

With a grunt, the stalker tries to shove himself out of the tightening hold, but the yakuza doesn't budge. He towers over his new friend with an unfaltering, unbothered grin. 

"Now listen, I don't blame you one bit, ya know? I ain't blind, at least not in this eye", he continues as he points to the real counterpart of his glass prosthetic, "so I'm damn well aware of a pretty girl when I see one. And (Y/N)? That's some good taste alright." 

He gives the man an affectionate pat over the chest, pulling him away from the building into one of the side streets. 

"If you want, we can have a drink before the deed, I know a good place five minutes from here. We can share some stories of our favorite girl, eh?" Daitou looks at his watch, feigning mild concern. "But I'm afraid you're not leaving this neighborhood either way. In one piece, that is." 

His arm goes limp and the masked man is released from the iron hold, tripping over from the sudden lack of support. He crawls against a wall and fumbles for something, swiftly pulling out what seems to be a pocket knife. His breathing is erratic and he points the tip of the blade towards the yakuza, now with his features darkened by a frown. He sounds like an entirely different person and the instant switch to a ragged voice startles the stranger.

"See, the trouble is, I promised miss (Y/N) I wouldn't allow a fucking dog like you to be in her presence ever again. Sadly for you, I'm a man of my word." Despite the threatening tone, his posture is relaxed and he stands before the stalker with his hands bare. 

"If I were you, I'd use that little butter knife on my own throat. I don't go easy on horny cockroaches. Especially the ones that mess with my woman." His final words spill out in a bitter growl. 

A small animal in the trashing jaws of a predator. Blood splatters and pools in the asphalt cracks and drained hands claw at the walls, hoping for an escape. As despair sinks in, the alleyway becomes quiet again, save for the merry whistle of the remaining party. Daitou carefully ties the trash bags with the focus of a child wanting to impress the parents with a chore well done. Halfway through he stops and gasps, surprised.

"Oh man, did I really just say 'my woman'? How embarrassing." He blushes and shyly pushes the wrapped slabs away. "I haven't even asked her out yet, ya know? Better not rat me out, Mr. Stalker." He snickers at his monologue and continues the cleanup. 

"Can you really not refrain yourself from smoking in here?" You try to fan away the puff of smoke, scowling at the young blonde man sitting across the table. 

"Why do you even care so much?" Kazuya groans and stuffs the remains of the cigarette in the ashtray.

"I don't want my carrot cake tasting like tobacco. You're lucky the old man is afraid of you, otherwise you would've gotten your ass banned a long time ago."

"You know, I've been thinking about it lately - haven't you gotten quite the attitude? You have a big mouth for someone surrounded by dangerous gangsters. I could blow your brains out right now." 

He lowers himself in his seat and briefly lifts his shirt, flashing a carelessly tucked in gun. He stares at you for a few seconds, as if expecting a reaction, then lets out a chuckle upon seeing your indifferent expression. 

"Shameless. You could at least try to pretend you don't know I have a soft spot for you."

"Just a wild guess, but your Boss probably wouldn't appreciate you shooting civilians in the middle of a café. That's all." You respond with a shrug. 

Your banter is interrupted by Daitou's heavy footsteps nearing in your direction. Kazuya waves, signaling your location, and kicks a chair out, inviting his friend to join. 

"Where the hell were you last night? I thought you'd come with us for drinks after that long ass questioning."

"Sorry, I had to take care of something." Daitou returns an apologetic smile and tilts his head to gaze at you. "Which reminds me, I brought you this."

Your eyes widen in surprise and a faint red tints your cheeks. Was there some special occasion you didn't know about? He places a small box in your hands and leans back in his chair with a cheerful smirk on his face. Kazuya watches the interaction, equally curious as you. 

You open the mysterious gift, giddy with anticipation. The nauseating smell abruptly invades your nostrils and you can feel the contents of your stomach bubble up and pile at the back of your throat. You gag involuntarily and slap your hands over your mouth, as the box tumbles down. A single severed human finger and some teeth glistening with moisture roll out. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Kazuya jumps from his seat, toppling over the table in the process, and lunges at Daitou's throat. The latter can only stare in shock, baffled at a reaction he didn't foresee. There's genuine confusion shaping his features.

"But-...I thought..."

"What the hell did you think, that you'd show up with fucking human remains over some tea and cake?! Jesus, Daitou, she ain't our Lieutenant!"

"But I did- I did tell (Y/N) I'd..." he tries to find you with a pleading, worried look. 

Once the risk of vomiting on the floor has diminished, you shove yourself between the men and gently try to remove Kazuya's arm, still clawed around the other man's throat.

"Let him go, Kazuya. He didn't mean to scare me." You glance at Daitou reassuringly. "Does that mean the stalker guy is now a solved matter?"

The yakuza nods energetically, his eyes now sparkling with pride. He knew you'd understand. Once the tension is lifted, you quickly sweep the gory tokens back into their box and explain the situation to Kazuya. He collapses back in his seat with a frustrated sigh, facepalming himself. 

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I should've told you he's being serious when he says shit like this." He glares at his friend. "She didn't actually expect you to go ahead and do it, dumbass. Couldn't you just mention it or something? 'Hey, I took care of that pervert following you around'! You think she would've demanded proof?"

Daitou is nervously fidgeting with his glass eye, as if searching for the proper words.

"But you always say women will like you more if you surprise them with gifts." He concludes with a pout.

There's a prolonged moment of silence and you burst our laughing, as the blonde simultaneously lets out an exasperated whine. You cannot get over the bizarre sight in front of you: someone as massive and imposing as Daitou, cornered like a punished school boy. 

"See, this is what I've been telling Boss. You're a lost cause." Kazuya rests his elbows on his knees, closing the distance between him and Daitou and continuing with a lecturing tone. "If you got a crush on someone, you bring them flowers or something! What are you, a crackhead? Do I have to teach you basic manners?"

"More importantly, uh...what should I do with these? I guess jewelry made of teeth is a thing, but the finger? Won't it go bad?" you cautiously dangle the package next to your ears, listening to the rustle of its contents. 

Kazuya rips the box from you.

"I'm starting to suspect you don't have all the tiles on your roof either. I'll get rid of it, so you better pretend nothing ever happened. Are we clear?"

Both you and Daitou nod obediently.

On your way back, the man can't help the excitement building up in his chest. You liked his gift, didn't you? He hasn't done anything wrong. Does that make it official, then? As he ponders the implications, he peeks at your small frame, barely managing to keep up with him. Would it be alright if he reached for your hand? Is he supposed to ask first? All these steps confuse him to no end.

Nonetheless, he couldn't be more thankful for you. 

[nereidprinc3ss]

slumber party

in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid

fluff! warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu

“Oh, there is no way.”

Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you. 

“What? Is it—”

You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?

But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before they’re back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough. 

Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.

But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.

One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.

Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bit… abrasive, sometimes. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their room—”

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement. 

“Oh my god! You guys too?”

“What?” You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesn’t comment. 

“Me and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.”

You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them. 

“What about Morgan and Garcia?”

Spencer snorts.

“Something tells me Penelope wouldn’t be too torn up about it if that's the case.”

“Hotch and Rossi?”

The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.

“I don’t even… I can’t picture that.”

“Can we please not try to picture it?”

“Great. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. “I’ll… I can take the floor—”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. We’re both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“I’ve never had one,” he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up. 

“Then I’m happy to be your first,” you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, I’ll be gentle. “Do you want the shower first or can I?”

Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you. 

“You can have it first,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “Just don’t do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.”

“Aw. But I love doing that. It’s my favorite part,” you tease, scooping up your bag once more.

Twenty minutes later you’re emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie. 

“Nice outfit,” Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish you’d been prepared for. Really, you wish you’d known ahead of time you’d have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. “I had no idea you felt so passionately about… Scooby Doo?”

“Shut up right now,” you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can. 

“What?” He’s laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. “It’s a good look for you.”

Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. There’s really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks. 

From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up again—a cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if he’s almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long it’ll be before he’s out again. It’s ridiculous how impatient you're getting—and by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy. 

“I think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.”

The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamas—tonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneck—as well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft. 

“You were sitting here waiting for me?” He chuckles, and honestly you’d been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly. 

“Maybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Ha-ha.” He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. “You took the better side of the bed.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the woman. I get to do that.”

“Well you should know that if an intruder breaks in, I’m not fighting him off. You’d probably have a better chance than me.”

“And my chances will be even better if he’s distracted with you first.”

“So I’m just bait?” He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait. 

That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest. 

“I hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.”

It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back. 

“Call me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.”

“I just don’t see how you’re even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that you’re crepuscular?” Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow. 

“Obviously nobody has told me that.”

“It means y—”

“I’m most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?”

“I am,” he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. “I’m just… you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.”

You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly. 

“I’ve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.” 

You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you. 

“This is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.”

“Good thing we’re not going to sleep yet.”

Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features. 

“We’re not?”

“Oh, my god, Spencer,” you snort. “I’m not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?”

He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table. 

“But it’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“At slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally can’t keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.”

Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness. 

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, and your eyes haven’t adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, “but unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until you’re flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum. 

Spencer doesn’t respond. 

It’s silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesn’t slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy. 

In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.

The mattress squeaks. 

You do it again. 

Another squeak. 

A second goes by, and now you’re intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can. 

“Would you stop that?” Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but you’re already devolving into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to smother you with this pillow,” he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to rest.”

Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark. 

“What are you in the mood for?” He asks flatly, and you’ve won. 

“Tell me a secret,” you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. “None that you’d want to hear.”

“Oh, now that’s just not true. You’re an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.”

You’re only sort of kidding. 

“I… fascinate you?”

“Completely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what you’re thinking about. But you’re very… hard to read, sometimes. I think it’s because you’re a Scorpio.”

“The position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.”

“Fine,” you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t display the archetypal Scorpio traits. You’re all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowable…”

“Sexy?” He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. You’d hoped he would catch that one. 

“Hey,” you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I won’t let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.”

“When have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile. 

“Stop flirting and answer my question, Reid.”

With the amount of times you’ve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. It’s so pitch black in the room, you can’t see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when he’s tired and speaking this lowly, which you’ve never heard before.

“All the secrets I’ve never told anyone are just… depressing.”

Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you. 

“Not very good slumber party material, I think,” he laughs self-consciously. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than you’ve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and support—even if it doesn’t always seem that way when you’re teasing him. 

“Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone else?” He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you. 

And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those he’d elected not to share only a moment ago. 

But you don’t bring those up. 

Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. You’ve really never told anyone this, and it’s perhaps more vulnerable than you’d realized before the words were already leaving your mouth. 

“I, have…” You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. “I have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.”

“You do?” Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face. 

“Yes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. He’s an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?”

“Family annihilator from Houston?” 

“Correct. He’s in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the O’Hara and Diangelo families.”

“You have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?”

“He’s—I mean, I wasn’t expecting to share a room with someone.”

“So he’s in your bag.”

“Yes,” you seethe, “and I will not be introducing you to him. He doesn’t do well with men.”

“You are genuinely psychotic.”

You huff.

“Fine. I’m sorry I told you anything.”

You’re about to roll over onto your other side—but Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently. 

“You’re right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.” His tone is surprisingly teasing, and you’re so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you can’t muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. “I’m sorry I don’t have any secrets for you.”

The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimes—it’s like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He can’t control it. He can’t be anyone other than who he is. Maybe that’s a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. It’s not exactly a secret—anyone on the team would be able to tell as much. You’ve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that. 

“It’s okay,” you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll think of something. ’Cause, y’know—you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

“Oh, god,” he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you don’t mind. You’ll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.

[a-pastel-edgelord]

You are the closest thing Atsumu's ever had to a best friend, Osamu knows. His brother's faults were often so visible to other kids that it drove them away. Not you though. You simply laughed and called Atsumu a jerk. The rest is history.

Osamu watches from his place on the bench as Atsumu sets up for a spike serve, six steps, the toss, the jump and--

"Don't fuck it up!" Your voice jeers.

Atsumu misses, spectacularly. The ball ricochets off the back wall with a stellar thwump that rings a brief silence into the gym. Osamu sees his brother spin around, a vein in his neck throbbing as he starts to unload on you.

"YOU MOTHERF—"

"Imagine not getting the service ace because the opposite team heckles you!" You cut him off with a jovial smile. "How lame would that be?"

"YOU SCRUB! GET OVER HERE. I'LL KILL YA!"

And off the two of you go, shrieking insults at each other. Osamu makes no move to get out of his seat. Not for the first time, he considers how this strange game of tag could be its own spectator sport. Suna sits next to him, the middle blocker's eyes flitting to the current source of entertainment.

"Not gonna record this shit?"

"No, s'not nearly as entertaining as watching the two of you beat up on each other." Atsumu manages to trap you in a headlock, driving his knuckles into your scalp for a noogie as you kick at his legs. "How long have they been together anyhow?" The question is asked so flippantly, Osamu almost misses it.

"Hah? They're not datin', Suna." That's right. The two of you aren't dating. Not once had Atsumu ever expressed that kind of interest in you, and the same seems to be true in reverse. No longing stares. No pining.

"That so? Could have sworn they were." Suna glances over, his usual apathetic expression almost perfectly in place. However, Rintaro Suna is the closest thing Osamu has to a best friend.

Osamu's mouth goes dry. "Drop it, Sunarin."

Suna holds his stare for another beat before turning away. "You deserve to have what you want, Samu."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

Osamu fights to keep his face in check, fights to restrain himself like always. To hold back just enough so that he doesn't lose his temper. It should be easier by now, to suffer the pointed remarks Suna makes with grace. However, Suna had been the one to witness the smallest of exchanges between Osamu and you. And then, the motherfucker had managed to put two and two together. So here Osamu sits, watching his brother horseplay with you.

You. The one person he could trust Atsumu with, the one person who would be so good for him to fall for... is the same person who crashed through Osamu's walls and took a seat within the inner sanctum of his affections.

Osamu Miya is in love with his brother's best friend and Atsumu would never forgive him for it if he found out.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Celeste

FallenAngel!BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader AU

summary: Heaven is not what they tell you. The celestials don’t live in harmony and the devil is not as far as you might think. He’s vicious in his ways to seduce every being - makes even the mighty fall from grace. And one of them happens to be your guardian angel. When James is banished from the heavens, he is forced to amend his sins on earth. What did he do wrong, you might ask? Well, he fell for the one he watched over.

a/n: I thought I’ve read a FallenAngel!Bucky fic on here before. But I couldn’t find it. So please, if you know it, tag me. Anyway, this is my take on the au.

word count: 20.3k (good lord, someone take my computer away)

warnings: this might offend some people (remember this is my fantasy world - I don’t know much about angels and the whole shebang), soulmate trope, the devil, also God?, jealousy/envy, mentions of killing and abuse, banishment and punishments, he falls first (literally lmao), fluff and wholesomeness, agony, angst (of course, with happy end!), smut (wingplay, Bucky‘s got heavenly dick, Virgin!Bucky, size kink, cum play) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

all image credit goes to @animarvelita on TikTok (there's more at the end)

James.

Wake up, James.

Wake up!

The wind hits his lashes before he opens his eyes. He’s falling. He’s falling and there’s nothing he can do. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It’s eerie outside, you note as your towel glides over the countertop. The entire window of the diner displays dark clouds. Dark clouds that will soon bring the heavy rain Old Lee has been mumbling about for days now. 

Not too many people believe what the crazy farmer says but you can’t help but notice how much he really understands of the world. 

Nick hits the little golden bell by the serving hatch and you take the fresh sandwiches to a table by the door. 

“Anything else I can get you?”

“We’re good, honey.”

You just nod as your eyes stay focused on the small parking lot outside. You wipe your hands on your apron and return to the counter when the first drop of rain hits the window pane.

❁ ❁ ❁

Branches are aching beneath his weight when he crashes through the trees. A deep thud echoes in the woods as his body hits the ground. It’s raining. 

Every tragedy needs rain.

❁ ❁ ❁

"Are you alright, dear?" Peggy, one of the regulars, a wise old lady, asks and points to your hand that's settled above your chest. 

You clear your throat. "I'm fine. Just a frog in my throat." You nod with a tight smile. Something seems to have knocked the air out of your lungs. But you've been feeling like you are coming down with something for a few days now. 

"Must be the weather," Howard comment's next to Peggy, and his newspaper crumbles beneath his touch. 

You turn and refill their coffee mugs. "Yeah... must be." But you can't shake the feeling it has brought to you. 

"It's always the weather." Peggy nods before the door to the diner opens and Old Lee enters, his muddy boots dirtying the checkered floors. You scrunch your nose. You'd be the one cleaning that up later, Scott surely won't do it. 

"This ain't a normal April storm, folks." His hat tips before he sits at the counter in front of you. "You look like you’ve been trampled by a cow.”

"It's just the weather," you say and place a cup of hot tea in front of him. That's just Stan: brutally honest and strangely right about everything. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Pain is strange. His feet get caught in the thorned bushes. Golden blood is the only evidence of his path.

And it’s slowly turning black.

❁ ❁ ❁

The storm outside intensifies, the rain hammering against the diner's windows with an unrelenting force. Old Lee's words linger in the air, stirring a sense of unease among the patrons. You glance outside, noticing the darkness creeping in as if it's swallowing everything in its path.

A shiver runs down your back as you remember how much Pietro would have loved this storm. Your mind drifts back to the memory of him. He always found solace in the chaos of nature, seeing beauty even in the fiercest storms.

But he's is gone now, lost to you in a way that is irreversible. The ache in your chest intensifies as you try to push away the memories, focusing instead on your tasks at hand.

Stan’s voice is low and gravelly when he murmurs again. "You can't outrun the storm, kid. It's coming for all of us, whether we're ready or not."

His words are chilling, but you shake it off, forcing a smile as you refill his tea. 

"We'll weather this storm just like we always do." Peggy chimes in as her hand lands on yours with her calming touch. But your heart is hammering in your chest, still. Something feels off. As if a piece fell out of place, waiting to be discovered, and raving to make a mess. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It’s cold and muddy here, no comfort in sight. But he’ll venture on until he reaches you. His soul is pulled to your very presence. 

He needs to find you. Needs to amend his wrongs. Though is it really wrong to love?

❁ ❁ ❁

It’s dark out when you hang your apron in your locker and wave a short goodbye to Nick. Pulling your coat tightly around you in an attempt to brace yourself for the wind, you step outside into the deluge. The rain lashes against your skin, soaking you to the bone on your walk through deserted streets and cold concrete. 

You sigh thinking about everyone that made it home dry, probably sitting in their beds right now, watching the rain roll down their window pane with a hot cup of cocoa in hand. 

But that seems to postpone itself, you realize as you abruptly halt. You look around. This isn’t your usual route home. But something pulled you off your intended path and toward an unfamiliar alleyway. Confusion mingles with a strange sense of anticipation as you find yourself drawn deeper into the darkness. 

Your head is screaming at you. This is dangerous. You shouldn’t be doing this. Why are your feet moving anyway?

And then you see it. Or rather... him?

A figure stands at the end of the alley, obscured by shadows and rain, but there's something about him that sets your heart racing.

"Hello?" you call out tentatively, your voice barely audible over the storm. You hate how weak you sound. 

He steps forward into the dim light, his features illuminated by a flickering streetlamp. Dark hair and a strong yaw, wide muscular shoulders, his arms are adorned by silver cuffs. His whole being is well over six feet. But he seems even taller as something wide reaches from behind him, almost hugging his shoulders and prodding up towards the sky. He steps forward again and your breath hitches in your throat when you can finally make out the grey feathery wings standing from behind his back.

But you don’t run. You don’t even stumble back. Your feet are frozen to the ground. Then his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still as you’re caught in the intensity of his gaze. 

“I’ve been searching for you,” he says, his voice almost like a whisper to the wind. Calling and marvelous. 

Everything inside you tells your how absurd this situation is. How fast you should be running anywhere but here right now. But the way your heart races doesn’t feel like fear. In fact, you’re not even scared. More fascinated, awestruck, intrigued. You know he wont hurt you. 

“I don’t know you.” You manage to stammer, your eyes still locked with his. The tension overwhelming and electrifying all at once.

“That should be obvious.” He points to his wings smiling amused, a smile that you know holds a universe of secrets and promises. You want to learn them all, you catch yourself thinking as your eyes slip to his lips. 

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand,” he replies and it’s the first time his wings move behind him. “Just trust that we are connected in ways you cannot even begin to imagine.”

“Well?” You clear your throat and cross your arms in front of your chest, relieved your body is able to move again, though the pose feels rather awkward. “Why are you here?”

He seems shocked for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected you to play along so fast. And, to be honest, neither did you... at least a little. 

“I need to...” His mouth falls shut again and he turns his head down to the side, shoulders heaving. “I guess I need a place to stay.”

“With me?” That’s insane. You know it is. But why does it not surprise you? 

He nods, you shake your head. “I cant just accommodate a...” You gesture to him and he clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Angel.”

“Right, of course.” You chuckle as you scan his body again. Only now do you see the torn clothes and bloody feet. Drenched through and through. 

You sigh. “I don’t even know your name...” 

His eyes are sparkling, the smallest of twitches making him look a little softer, tangible even. You’re not afraid of him. And it messes with your head. You should be scared, right? But all there is in your body is the steady tingle pinging from your heart back to your stomach. 

“It’s James.” His smile is handsome when he reaches out his hands, offering you a better look to his toned arms.

Whywhywhy? “Alright.” 

❁ ❁ ❁

James looks out of place in your rather small living room. His size dwarves every piece of furniture carefully picked out to make your house a home. He makes it look like a doll house just by standing in it. 

But he doesn’t seem to care. James ducks when he passes through the door and you watch his feathers ruffle as they press themselves to his back in order to fit through. 

You’re not sure what to do. Never in your life did you think you would end up in a situation like this. There is no protocol for hosting celestial beings. Though a how to angel dinner party guide would come in handy now. Did he even eat?

Something must be wrong with you. You let a total stranger into your house, even though your track record of people skills is not exactly the best. One that is borderline freakishly tall and has wings. Wings that look soft and beautiful. But strong and kind of intimidating as well. But why does he feel so safe?

“You’re staring.” James notes and a handsome grin spreads across his face. 

“I’m not really used to having angels in my house to be honest.” The sarcasm is dripping from your tone in subtle undertones. But James seems to enjoy it. “Why are you here? On earth... I mean.”

He stares at the ceiling and his wings sag a little. “I have a mission, dearest.” He tells and his eyes meet yours. They’re deep blue and stormy - just like the sky. You can see yourself falling lost in them. His presence is all-consuming, making you shiver. It reminds you that the both of you are drenched from the rain. A puddle has formed around your feet and James’s wings guide the water droplets to your hardwood floor in two perfect circles. His hair is curling at the ends, in the nape of his neck and the water is also running down his throat, pooling in the remains of his shirt. 

“What mission?”

“I cannot tell you yet.” 

You nod, even though you don’t understand. But you don’t want to pressure him. “Do you need a shower? Or... clean clothes?” The second you ask you feel stupid. It’s silly right? Why shouldn’t angels shower? 

Then again, the way he looks at you is one of surprise. “Yes, that would be good.” 

“Good. Yes.” With a sigh you flee through the hallway to your room in search for some clothes. 

❁ ❁ ❁

A shower. James is giddy. Human things have always excited him. He has been watching from the heavens for eons, never truly experienced them quite like this. But he’s intrigued. Especially when you offer them to him like he’s not an intruder in your life. 

If things were different, you would never know he even existed. But James is guilty of happiness that he gets to meet you in person. 

Up close, you’re even more perfect. You smell nice, your home feels cozier than anything he’s ever experienced, and your voice sounds just a sliver more comforting when its directed at him. 

He is smiling like a fool, standing in your living room - the one he knows by heart but so much more personal now. And when you return to him with a pile of grey cloth, his heart skips a beat. You bring him the familiar warmth that made him fall in the first place. But having you within an arm’s length makes all of it feel worth it. 

There is not an ounce of regret in him for being here.

Electricity shoots up his arm when you touch his hand. It’s cold and wet - he immediately vows to always keep you warm from now on - makes it his purpose to have you be comfortable for the rest of your life. 

You lead him to the bathroom, grinning sheepishly when you gesture toward your shower. 

“It might be a tight squeeze.” You point at the glass surrounding your bathtub. “But it’s all I can offer.”

“It will do just fine.” He reassures you. 

“I will leave you to it then.” James is confused.

“Are you not staying?”

“Sorry?”

“To help me.”

“Help you... shower?” There is hesitance in your tone, but James truly doesn’t know how to turn the thing on.

“Well, yes.”

“I...” Your eyes are big, staring up at him through surprise and nervousness. “I don’t want to intrude. Give you some privacy to- oh.”

His clothes are already on the floor. He knows this much. Shower is something one does naked. But you seem to be shocked when his whole body is revealed to you. Do you like it? James is sure he looks as close to a human as a person with wings can. So why are you still staring at his stomach?

His eyes catch yours as they move a little lower, your eyebrows raising just that much higher and a smirk places itself on his face. So, you do like what you see. He confirms silently. Not that he particularly knows why. He never noticed people by their bodies - only their soul, because that is the important thing - the one that never changes. 

And yours is the most enchanting of them all. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You watch as James sit’s down on the opposite end of the sofa. He’s declined every offer you have made for him to feel a little more welcome. But he seems content. His smile hasn’t left his lips ever since you led him to the bathroom.

You couldn’t help but notice his body when he revealed it all  to you. It’s like every inch of him is carved by the gods. He looks soft in the right parts, strong enough not to be skinny with his height. And his male parts. Well, they look more than satisfactory. 

You felt like a pervert staring him up and down while he stood there with this kind of proud innocence to him, wondering if he understood how proud he could be of his looks. There is so much you don’t know about him. It’s not like you haven’t talked. 

You have. But he speaks in riddles. 

“You are staring again.” James notes and you immediately snap your head elsewhere. 

“I’m just figuring this situation out, I guess.”

He smiles encouragingly. “You can ask questions. I imagine you’ve been eager to know more.”

You exhale long, taking courage to look him in the eyes. “And you will answer all of them honestly?”

“Honestly, yes.” His teeth find his bottom lip and you squeeze your thighs together.  “I cannot promise to answer them all.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as you think of the first thing you could ask him. Maybe you should get the most obvious one out of the way. Maybe you should ask him more about himself, though you’re not sure how personal he can get if he spent his entire life in heaven. You just assume there is too much to do to pursue actual hobbies and such. 

“Is there a God?”

“Starting with the light questions, I see.” You just look at him with intrigue. Already lining up all the other questions no-one else in this world has the opportunity to have answered. James sighs and then nods. “Yes, God exists.”

“Do you know God?”

He hesitates, his eyes fleeting to the end of the room and then back to you. “Yes.”

“Why did that answer take you so long?”

His jaw tenses and his eyes find the floor as if he was cursing himself for offering this situation. But then again, you haven’t heard him cuss once. Maybe you’re wrong. “It was under rather... unfortunate circumstances.” 

You nod as if you understand. But you can only imagine. “So, he’s like the big boss, only getting involved when things escalate?”

James looks caught, his wings draw in closer. After a moment, he clears his throat and his feathers ruffle with a small shake. “First of all, it’s she/they. And second, ... I guess you could say that, yes.”

“I knew it.” You grin as the pride washes over you at this information. “Why did she never correct us?”

“Let’s just say mankind doesn’t have a great track record of enforcing things that go against their believe... Not that it would be believable if someone told the story of meeting an angel who told them God is a woman.”

“Fair point. That person would have probably been burnt alive.” You nod again, crossing your legs and turning to him on the sofa. James takes a moment to rake his eyes over your body, making you feel tingles all over. You clear your throat. “Speaking of torture... Why do we have war and world hunger?”

“Please do not take this the wrong way. Those are issues that very much concern God or anyone that want’s the best for her people, but she’s busy. She manages everything else that has gone south since.”

“Since what?” You partly enjoy the way James talks to you as if you are an insider, but you only understand half of what he’s saying. 

“Since she and Lucifer had a big fallout.” He shrugs, but it just adds to your confusion.

“I’m not following.”

He rolls his eyes as if it were your fault you don’t know about this supernatural fight. “They had a disagreement. Lucifer’s response to God’s proposal was an ill-conceived frivolity which ended up becoming the patriarchy.” 

To say you’re stunned is a serious understatement. “You’re telling me the devil threw a tamper tantrum and that’s why we have inequality? How did he even do that?”

James shakes his head. “...Yes. The trial is still in progress. But it may be calming to know that we have not figured out exactly how he convinced an entire species of males being the stronger part of it.”

“No, James. It is not calming to know.” You sigh and watch as he clasps his hands in his lap, his cuffs glistening in the lamplight. God, they’re big. You immediately scold yourself for thinking this, feeling weirds as the words of your mother echo in your head ‘Don’t you dare use God’s name in vain’. “What exactly has God done since then?”

The smile returns to his face and you readjust yourself on the sofa. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to know how this world would look if she hadn’t kept busy with sorting it.”

Your nose wrinkles in a frown, as you check the points off in your head. “I really don’t think it can get that much worse. Climate change, mass genocides, what else could there be?” You nod at each one just as James lifts up his fingers and opens his mouth as if he is starting to count. 

But you stop him. “Please don’t.”

“Yes, that is probably for the best.”

It is silent for a moment as you try to process all the information you have just attained. It is a rather weird feeling. Knowing you know what no-one else on earth does and not being able to tell. Knowing there will be no-one believing you. 

You sigh when your head starts spinning from how crazy this day has been. James seems to be rather relaxed considering he barely knows you. His dark hair falls around his face perfectly, the back of it forming a cute curl in the nape of his neck and your fingers itch to touch it.

But you refrain, reminding yourself that he is a stranger - and an angel. Beside the fact that he has not once reached out to you, just randomly touching his hair would probably be the weirdest thing to do right now. 

“Can I ask you something?” He suddenly breaks the silence and you shoot a thank you to the sky for saving yourself from going down the mental rabbit hole of how soft his hair looks. 

“Yes.”

“Why did you take me in?” James’s eyes are boring into yours so innocently. If it weren’t for the giant wings on his back, he would almost look like a normal clueless and incredibly cute guy. And yet he just revealed outerworldly gossip as if you were discussing the latest celebrity TMZ. 

“I-“ you trail off, thinking about it for a while. You aren’t sure how much you can tell him. But James has been genuine from the start. It wold only be fair to do the same. “I felt like you needed me.”

A weird feeling takes over your body suddenly. Like a warm flush rushing through you. James fidgets in your peripheral and nods in understanding. “I did. I do.”

It’s like the reality of it all hits you like brick when a noise sounds from outside and his wings twitch, pushing over a pile of books on the cupboard behind the sofa. This is not normal, something tells you, and yet your stomach flutters in a way that feels a lot like butterflies. Everything about James is fascinating to you. You constantly fight the urge to reach out and brush your fingertips over every part of him. And for some reason, your mind tries to tell you that he would let you. 

“Why are you really here, James?” You voice is only a whisper when the rattling outside subsides. It’s probably a raccoon or something. But James looks a little nervous all of a sudden. 

“I’m afraid that is one thing I cannot tell you, love.”

You sigh. “I guess... I just want to help. Having you stay here doesn’t feel like it’s enough. There has got to be something you need to do.”

“That is very kind of you. I admire your bravery and openness.” His lips spread into a smile, his hand lifting from his lap as if he is about to place it on yours, but his fingers only strech and land back on the sofa between you. “But to be truthful, even if I knew what I had to do, I am not sure wether I would do it or not”

So he is a little deviant. You smile at the small observation. Maybe it’s the reason he is here in the first place. But you feel like you have asked James enough for tonight. Just on cue, a yawn escapes your lips. 

“You should rest. It has been a long day.” 

You nod, rubbing your eyes and rising from the soft cushions. “I have a spare bedroom. You can sleep there.”

“That is fine. I do not sleep.” James shakes his head as he rises with you out of curtesy. With his hands clasped in front of him he looks like a goth painting. 

“What? Never?”

“I am not human, dearest. My body attains energy in different ways.” You shudder again, blaming it on your sleepiness as you rub your arms when another yawn escapes you. 

“Maybe you can tell me about it tomorrow. I am really tired.”

“I will be watching over you.” Your name passes his lips like a song, sending another shiver through you. What the hell is the matter with you. You huff as you catch yourself again. It really never occurred to you how often you referenced to the supernatural... “Take all the rest you can get.”

“Good night, James.” You nod and wave awkwardly.

“Good night.”

You know James’s eyes are only you until you disappear into the hallway. But you cant help but feel safely watched over with him around. 

❁ ❁ ❁

They will find him, and they will send him further from you than he ever was.

❁ ❁ ❁

James hates the days you have to leave for work. He watches you with a sense of longing and resignation, knowing that he must find a way to navigate this separation once again. Though it is necessary he find a way to dodge the inevitable.

It’s the vexing thing about the celestial kingdom. They always leave one to find the laws on their journey. There is no book he could read on earth that could help him here. But he has seen the repercussions of disobedience, felt the weight of his transgressions bearing down on him like a heavy chain.

And yet, as he watches you prepare to leave for work, a sense of desperation gnaws at him from within. He wants to reach out, to beg you to stay, to keep you safe from whatever dangers may lurk beyond the safety of your home.

But he knows he can't. He's bound by duty, by the laws of God that dictate his every move. And so, with a heavy heart, he watches silently as you gather your things and head out the door, leaving him alone once more.

As the door closes behind you, James is left with nothing but the echoes of your footsteps fading into the distance. He knows he should use this time wisely, to prepare for whatever trials may lie ahead, but his thoughts are consumed by you, by the overwhelming need to protect you at all costs.

❁ ❁ ❁

There’s and angel in your home. And he’s so freaking attractive, it’s unfair. 

It has been a week since you found James. And despite the incredibly irrational decisions of yours to invite him into your home, nothing bad has happened to you. Sure, the first night you might have dreamt about him. He’s everything your fantasy books described an more. And you couldn’t help but let that tiny romantic sliver of you hope for the more. 

But James is more pious than any catholic boarding school kid you’ve ever met. 

He seems to enjoy a good joke and he’s quite confident. But he never once touched you. And while that should not be one of your first concerns, considering he’s a stranger and an angel, something inside you tells you he’s holding back. 

He never even flinches when you reach out to him. And the longing stares he sends your way make you shiver with anticipation. Yet there is no attempt to ever pull you in - even though you are so sure you were sending signals. 

Maybe there are no signals in heaven. What are you even saying? Of course there are no signals in heaven. You don’t even believe dating exists up there. 

“Yo, whaddup with ya today? I’ve been calling your name for a solid minute.”

“Sorry. Feeling a little off today,” you mumble to Nick and retrieve the food waiting in the serving hatch. 

“You can’t go home. I don’t wanna serve alone today.”

“Scott, there’s literally no-one here.” You gesture toward the few people sitting in their booths and sigh. “Besides, I never said I was going home.” 

“Don’t get mad. You barely texted me back this week. What’s so awesome about your home when I’m not there with you?” You feel the heat rising to your head at Scott’s comment. “You’d think she’d call me if she ever needed to hide something.” He mumbles to Nick who just laughs and flips a pancake. 

You turn to him with your fists by your side. “The weather is weird and cold, can’t I need a little down time?”

“Not from me!” Scott looks baffled. He’s your friend, and yes, you had other things to worry about than be on your phone this week. But you also knew he wouldn’t understand.

“You’re being a real pain in my ass today, Scotty.”

“Good, so everything’s back to normal then.”

You throw a towel in his face. “Shut up.”

“Cut it out, you two, there’s customers.”

Scott resumes to the back, effectively dodging his work and leaving you to serve the new customer. But your breath hitches in your throat when you look up from the counter.

James is standing in the door, already drawing looks of attention from a few people. He’s smiling back at them, even waving at a child before his eyes meet yours and your heart sets off again. It seems to always do that when he’s close. 

You rush toward him, wrapping your fingers around his cuffed wrist and he audibly exhales. 

“You can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Because-“ you lean in closer and James bows down to get his face to your level. “You’re and angel.” You mutter under your breath and the sexy smile returns to his perfect lips. 

“And how would they know that?” His eyebrow raises. 

“You-“ you lean back, examining his shoulders - only then noticing that his wings are not there anymore. “How?”

“I only show myself to truly important people.” He winks and you stumble back a little, his sudden boldness making your legs feel like jello. 

“What are you doing here?” 

James looks around the diner as though he has not planned this far. His eyes swerve to the counter and then back to you. “I want to watch you work. I enjoy spending time with you.”

“But you can’t be here without ordering.”

“Then I will oder.”

“You don’t eat, James. Do you even have money?”

That seems to surprise him. “No.” You shake your head and look at the tiled floor. James’s wrist is still wrapped in your hand but there is no attempt to hold you. So you drop it. Why did he even come here when he won’t touch you?

“Please, beautiful. Let me stay.” His eyes are genuine, his lips purse in a plea. All you can think about is how weirdly lucky you are that this Adonis of a being chose you for his quest. 

You bite your lip and watch him shudder. “Alright. Just sit by the counter and try to be inconspicuous.”

His smile spreads wide. “I’ll be as invisible as the air you breathe.”

You exhale and get back to work but unfortunately, his promise doesn’t last long. Before you know it, Peggy has chosen the seat right beside James. She’s leaning over to him at the counter and Howard just sits beside them with his newspaper in hand - as always. James seems just as invested in the conversation as Peggy and as you steal glances over to the pair of them, insistently hoping he won’t spill about his identity, you catch James’s eyes lingering on you. 

“You are a fine young man, James.” Peggy's hand lands on his, tapping it in a grandmotherly manor, though her eyes are glinting with something akin to longing. She whispers something into his ear you cant make out and James’s eyes shoot to yours, his face tinting rouge from one ear to the other. 

“And you are a remarkable lady, Peggy,” he clears his throat, his mind seemingly wandering elsewhere. “You remind me of a girl a friend of mine was in love with once.”

“Then he must have been the happiest man to ever live.”

Peggy’s hands tremble when she reaches for her cup of tea, her red lipstick taint the white porcelain as James watches her movements with a soft stare. He looks so protective of her, it makes your insides tingle. “He truly is, though he seems like he has forgotten about it lately. Is this your husband?” He gestures to Howard, who just slams the newspaper down in front of him, blank eyes staring at James while Peggy laughs and waves her hand dismissively. 

“This rascal?” She presses her hand to her chest as she tries to calm down. “No, dear. My husband died a long tome ago.” She smiles warmly, floating in melancholy when she continues, “I never loved another man since. He was a heaven sent. Strong, kind, always worked towards the greater good... and his looks were to die for, too.” She winks and James chuckles. 

“Oh I wish a love like that to everyone. Promise me something, James.” 

“Anything.”

“If your find it, never let it go.” Her hand clasps around his biceps, her tone a motherly sternness laced with affection. 

James eyes you again and it feels as if the air is shifting with tension. “My word is in God’s name, Peggy.”

❁ ❁ ❁

James feels the repercussions of his being on earth stronger every day. In heaven, he was miserable because he had to watch you live your life without him. On earth, he’s in agony because he knows, if he ever were to touch you, he would cease to exist.

It’s slanted. He gave up everything coming here and despite the fact that his wings stopped working the second he fell from the sky, he categorizes the uncertainty eating away at him as even worse. Hanging in limbo is more troubling than actually going to hell, he is sure of it. 

He watches you move about your house with the same longing look torturing his features since he realized how much he needed you. It’s laughable how dependent on you he has become. While you go about your life with the minor change of having a roommate, James despises the unforgeable distance heaven has created between you. 

You are friendly with him - you are friendly with everyone. James would even go as far as to say that you two are friends by now. But he wants so much more. So much more he cant tell you because even if you did know about his feelings, there is nothing either of you could do about it. 

James sighs standing from the sofa, ducking his head when he passes through the doorway to you. You never questions when he just follows you around. The soul bond probably keeping the curiosity at bay if it feels anything like his experience. It feels good for no explicit reason. 

You sort some bowls in your cabinet as he stands behind you, offering to place the ones higher up so you don’t have to struggle too much. “What’s heaven like, James?” You ask innocently through your movements. “Are there pearly gates and fluffy clouds?”

James loves when you say his name. It makes him feel closer to you than ever before. In a way, he equates it with your touch. Just as his saying your name is his way of reaching out to you. 

“More like endless paperwork and celestial coffee breaks.” Coffee breaks. He learned about those a while ago and he loves the concept. “But hey, the views are to die for.” He gets lost in your eyes, remembering how much more distant they felt when he was watching from above and he is thankful to be this close to you now.

You smile smugly, and thats when the heart race sets in again. He’s sure you feel it too. Because your eyes avert and your hand places itself atop your chest. 

You think something is wrong with you, he just knows it. It’s like the time you watched hours on hours of Gray’s Anatomy and then proceeded to research yourself into a frenzy about the sicknesses you might suffer. But James made sure then that there was not even a paper cut compromising you and he will do the same now, too.

He is desperate to tell you what it is you feel, that there is not much you can do and that he feels it ten times worse because he hates to see you suffer. But he needs to be careful about how much he reveals to you. 

“Oh my god, I’m getting paranoid,” you mutter to yourself and James smirks at your small slip up. He has noticed how you try to minimize your references in curses. It’s cute, really, because he knows how much you used to do it. It’s a little bit amusing, the small deviant trait of yours making him feel like he has found something in common with you and he’s almost proud of it.

You collect yourself, quickly, breathing in deeply and then turning around to him. “I have to run some errands today.” 

“Great, where are we going?” James asks with eagerness. Car rides excite him. He has always found them fascinating, but actually being in one is a whole new experience. 

You bite your lip and for once, James does not feel the familiar tingle in his stomach when you do so. There is sadness sitting in your eyes when you answer him. “Actually...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lip just for your teeth to dig into it again and an unfamiliar tightness travels through James’s body. “It is something I need to do by myself today. I hope that is okay.”

The angel nods vigorously, trying to ignore the pang in his chest. “Yes of course. I will leave you to it alone.” He steadies himself on the door frame and then heads to the living room where he grabs a book and settles on your window sill to look occupied. 

“It is nothing personal, James.” Your head dips from the doorway and he looks up. “It's just... it would be weird for you to be there.”

“I understand.” The way he adds your name to his answer makes him sick. But his body is feeling weird, not showing him the familiar signs of jealousy or anger he knows. It feels... warm and uncomfortable. 

“I will be back soon.” Your voice travels through the hallway and your footsteps along with it. James stares at the empty doorway for a while, his eyes shooting down to the book when you suddenly reappear. “Do you want anything from the store?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay.”

And then the door falls shut. But before James can get consumed by his loneliness, he puts the books down - something about an ice breaker - and heads outside to follow you. 

❁ ❁ ❁

But earth can be a lonely place. At least hell will welcome you with warmth.

❁ ❁ ❁

You didn’t lie. You were at the store. But now that you’re treading on the small path towards the grey cemetery walls, James feels the fear spread through his body like a slow and painful death. 

He’s hiding behind the trees closing around the park, watching you as you halt before a simple headstone. He can feel your mourning deep within his heart, tugging, yanking, pulling on the tiny strings that sting so effectively. His temple leans against the rough bark as his eyes trace your slow movements. You place a small bouquet of flowers on the soil before the engraved letters, resting your forehead on the gold stone. 

He can’t see it completely, but he knows you’re crying. You always do. Everything within him screams to reach out to you, to hold you and sway you until the world feels less taunting, but he knows how difficult it could make things. 

So, instead, he remains hidden, a silent sentinel in the shadows bearing witness to your sorrow from afar. He feels the weight of your tears as if they were his own, each drop a dagger to his soul and a reminder of the distance that separates him from you. 

And yet, even in the midst of your pain, there is a flicker of something else - resilience, determination, a quiet strength that refuses to be extinguished. It’s a testament to your spirit, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatens to consume you both. 

As you linger before the headstone, lost in your memories and your grief, James feels a surge of admiration swell within him. Despite the pain you carry, you continue to preserve. 

“It’s really a shame you never have the balls to comfort her.” A voice whispers in his ear and James shoots around to be met with a redhead whose eyes stare daringly up at him. “Then again... I guess it would be kind of ironic, don’t you think?” 

“What are you doing here, Wanda?” All angels are made weary of Lucifer’s spawn. They are vicious and manipulating, carrying the pits of hell to places that least expect them and watch it all go up in flames as they stand laughing on the sidelines. 

James knows the demon standing before him. More than once have their paths crossed throughout time, but he is surprised to see her every time anew. He refuses to show any sign of weakness in her presence, knowing that to do so would only invite further manipulation.

Wanda chuckles darkly, her laughter echoing through the trees. “Oh, nothing much,” she muses with a wicked grin, pacing around James to take a closer look at him. “Just though I’d remind you of what you’re missing out on by playing the good little guardian angel. But who knows... maybe one of these days, you’ll finally grow a spine and take what you want.”

James clenches his jaw, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of Wanda’s relentless provocation. He knows better than to let her under his skin, but the demon’s words cut deep, striking at the heart of his insecurities. He feels the surge of frustration rising within him as his fists clench by his sides, the weight of his silver cuffs pressing against his wrists like chains. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I can’t”

Wanda’s gaze narrows as her arms cross in front of her chest. “Can’t or won’t?” She counters, her voice tingling with an unspoken dare. 

James hesitates, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. "I... I don't know," he admits finally. "But it doesn't matter. My duty lies with heaven, with protecting her. I can’t do that when I’m lost in the in-between.”

Wanda's eyes glitter with amusement as she takes a step closer, closing the distance between them with an unnerving grace. "And what if heaven isn't where you belong?" she whispers in a seductive purr as her fingers flick against his cuffs. The sound travels through the trees, making you turn and look around you. "What if your heart longs for something more, something... forbidden?"

A shiver runs down his spine, a sudden realization dawning within James. For so long, he has clung to the safety of his celestial duties, fearing the consequences of straying from the path laid out before him. But now, as he stands face to face with the embodiment of temptation itself again, he can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, heaven is not the place where he can truly flourish. 

“I don’t trust you, Wanda.” He admits genuinely, though the possibility of her words holding truth gnaws on his very soul.

“You shouldn’t.” She smirks devilishly, eyes flashing in a short glimmer of red and evil. “There will be consequences to disobeying celestial rules. But you will never find out if a life free of them would be more fulfilling to you if you don’t try.” She winks, setting uncertainty free within him. “Find me when you have made the right choice.”

As he watches Wanda disappear into the shadows, leaving him alone with his thoughts, James knows that he is standing at a crossroads—one that would determine the course of his destiny for eternity. And though the path ahead is uncertain and fraught with peril, he can't help but feel a glimmer of hope stir within him, a whisper of possibility that promises a future filled with love, and happiness, and the chance to finally be as close to you as he has always wished for.

❁ ❁ ❁

The night has broken over your small town by now. James has made it back with a conflicted heart before you came home from your errands. He knows you notice his silence as he normally enjoys to talk a lot to you. But you don’t say anything. 

He is just sitting quietly in the kitchen as he watches you make a cup of tea, wondering what it tastes like right before frowning at how scared he is to try a cup of hot water just because he doesn’t know what it would do to him. 

Wanda’s words come back to the forefront of his mind and the unease she instilled within his heart right alongside it. He has been longing to reach out to you for so long, has wanted to touch and comfort you in so many ways his mind began to spin. Especially after days like this, when you went to visit your brother’s grave. You would be crying yourself to sleep tonight. And you would get up tomorrow, wipe the sorrow from your eyes and continue to live your life as if nothing happened. Because you are strong and resilient. 

And James, even though he is finally present, is not able to offer you the solace you so desperately deserve. 

At least he thought so.

His eyes wander to the silver cuffs around his arms, feeling the weight and letting the subtle clink of them seep into his skull. He has never questioned why or how the rules of heaven applied to him. He never even thought about the consequences of breaking them until he felt the need to protect you. He never really cared until you became the most important thing in his life. 

Now, seeing the pain in your gaze, and feeling the guilt for being here, not soothing you gnaws on him, sending him back to a state in which he would kill to see you smile again. Free of fear and sorrow. 

You bite your lip when you settle on the chair across from his. Your eyes look dull, but James can’t help but think there is a question posed within them. Something desperate and restricted. Oh, how he would love to know what you’re trying to say. He is just too inexperienced with human interaction that he can get a read on everything just yet. 

James feels his heart picking up, knowing it beats in the same rhythm as yours, but he doesn’t dare speak, knowing his voice will betray him. Your tea cup is empty, your eyes tired, and he knows that this evening with you will end within seconds. 

“Good night, James.” You finally say, following the small ritual you have established with him as you wave at him weakly. 

Normally, he says it back. Normally, he guides you to the bedroom and closes your door promising to watch over you in silence. Normally, he doesn’t have a demon’s words ringing in his ears. 

But today, something feels different. As you gather your things and head towards your bedroom, a sudden surge of determination courses through him. He can't bear the thought of being separated from you, even for a moment longer.

With a sense of reckless abandon, and the words of Wanda hanging in his mind James makes a daring decision. Ignoring the warnings echoing in his every being, he reaches out to you, his touch barely grazing your shoulder as you turn to leave.

In that fleeting moment of contact, something shifts. A spark ignites between you, a connection so powerful and undeniable that it defies explanation. Time seems to slow as you both freeze, caught in the throes of a bond that transcends the boundaries of heaven and earth.

For a heartbeat, everything hangs in the balance, the air crackling with electricity. And then ...nothing happens. 

There is no rush of wind and light that makes him disappear, leaving behind only the echo of his presence lingering in the empty space between. There is nothing else welcoming him in wrath or absolute nothingness or whatever is supposed to happen if a celestial ever dared to touch a mortal.

He opens his eyes that he had shut tight without noticing. And you’re still here. In front of him, staring at his hand that is softly wrapped around your wrist. His mind is struggling to make sense of what just happened - or rather what didn’t. It was all a hoax. 

James feels rage bubble within him. And as you stand there, alone in the quiet stillness of the room, touching. He counts yet another reason why heaven was never where he belonged.

A single tear rolls down his cheek when he pulls you into his body and wraps his arm around you tightly. His heart beats violently, pumping the anger of knowing how much time he wasted not being close to you through his body. His wings follow close behind, sealing you into his warmth and creating a space just for you and him. It’s as if you are made for him. Your body tugs perfectly beneath his feathery white wings and he knows he’ll hold you like this for eternity. 

❁ ❁ ❁

He’s touching you. 

James is touching you. No, actually, he’s consuming you with his whole being, pulling you into the best hug you have ever received. His wings wrap around you protectively, engulfing you into his scent entirely. It’s earthy, and clean, and... heavenly. 

You chuckle slightly as your cheek presses to his chest, your head barely reaching his collar bone, but it just makes you feel enclosed by his presence from all around. You heart beats just as rapidly as his and you exhale in content as you realize that you’re not the only one feeling this connection. 

You don’t know what changed. Maybe you are not as good as hiding your sadness as you think you are. Or maybe there is a whole other reason behind this angel guarding you into the most loving hug you have ever experienced. But fact is, you needed it today more than ever. 

And James knew ...because he strangely knows so much about you. He feels familiar without trying and it is a weirdly comforting thing to experience. Especially after all you have been through. 

Hesitantly, and almost sorrowfully, you pull away from his warm chest. His wings loosen around you, his arms leaving just enough space for you to lean back and stare into those azure blue eyes of his. He’s beautiful up close. Long lashes frame his loving stare as his mouth tugs into a smile, taking yours right with it. 

“You touched me.” You say in awe as James’s eyebrows slightly raise. “You thought I didn’t notice, but I did.” 

There is a steak silence as his gaze travels over your face then roams his arms that are still holding you tightly close to him. “Should I not be touching you?” He asks carefully.

You can feel his hands retreating but you pull him right in before they’re gone. “I was just wondering when you would.” You snuggle back into his shirt and his hands cradle your head to him. “Is it embarrassing to say I’ve wanted you to do it for a while now?”

“Not embarrassing at all.” His chest rumbles with a chuckle. “I’ve wanted to do it even before then. I just didn’t know if I could.” The last part is a mere whisper that dissipates in your hair when his mouth presses to it in a feather light brush. 

A rush of warmth floods through you, filling every corner of your being with a sense of belonging you've never known before. Time seems to stand still, the world falling away until there is nothing left but the two of you, entwined in each other's arms.

"You've wanted to touch me?" you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them, a confession born of the unspoken longing that has lingered between you for far too long.

James's gaze softens, his fingers trailing gently along the curve of your cheek as he meets your eyes with a look of quiet intensity. "More than you could ever know," he replies. "But I feared the consequences.”

“What consequences?” James shakes his head as his thumb still lingers on your skin. 

“I don’t know.” You reach up to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you search his eyes again. It was stupid of you to assume he didn’t touch you because he didn’t like you. He was probably scared of what would happen if angels ever dared. The look in his deep blues tells you how worried he was. How long he withheld for the sake of dodging the unknown. 

“It’s not bad, is it?” You hand travels across his chest, feeling the muscles tense in its wake. “Touching.” 

James's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding against his chest as he gazes down at you with a mixture of awe and reverence. And once again, you would love to know what is happening inside his brain. 

With a trembling hand, James cups your face in his palm, his touch gentle yet possessive as he leans in to press his forehead to yours. You cant help but feel that there is something keeping him from you, still. 

“Let me stay with you tonight, my beloved.” His fingers tighten around your face ever so slightly. “Let me hold you and keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?” You ask in a trance as your fingers bury in his hair and you play with the thought of pressing your lips to his. But he has taken so long to hug you. You don’t want him to be overwhelmed. 

“Anything.” He whispers back and closes his eyes. A whole new warmth consumes you when his words seep in, blanketing you in cherish and admiration. If this is what being appreciated feels like, you will fight to keep the feeling forever. 

“Okay.”

❁ ❁ ❁

Oh how much the celestials have lied. Flying is nothing compared to this. 

❁ ❁ ❁

As you bustle about the diner, taking orders and refilling coffee mugs with practiced ease, Peggy sits at her usual spot at the counter, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she watches you work.

"Something on your mind, Peggy?" you ask with a smile, setting down a plate of pancakes in front of a hungry customer.

Peggy leans in closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. "I couldn't help but notice that smile of yours, dear," she says with a knowing wink. "It's positively radiant today. Dare I say, it's almost as if you've got a secret?"

You chuckle, feeling a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks at her observation. “Hmm, I don’t know,” you reply coyly, unable to suppress the grin that tugs at the corners of your lips as you tab your finger against them. “What makes you think I’d share it with you?”

“Well, I am a loyal customer for one...” She pauses as she thinks of another point. “And I am old enough to think the secret dies with me." Peggy presses, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Please, you know the entire town.” You laugh and Peggy waves her hand dismissively, though there is a proud smirk on her red lips. 

Before she can respond, a voice cuts through the air like a knife, sharp and tinged with bitterness. "What's all this about smiles and secrets?”

You turn to see Old Lee leaning against the counter with a grim expression. His worn-down straw hat flops over his eyes, making him look even more grumpy than usual.

"It's nothing, Stan," you reply, trying to defuse the tension with a forced smile. "Just some friendly banter."

Old Lee’s eyes narrow slightly. "Friendly banter, huh? You're squawking like a bunch of chickens in a henhouse."

Peggy rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed by Stan's attitude. "Oh, hush up, Stan," she scolds, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "Can't you see we're having a moment here? This is girl talk. Go and drink your tea like the grumpy old man you are.”

Old Lee shakes his head in response but wisely chooses to turn back to his drink. “We all know how the last time she came in here with a smile that big turned out.” Old Lee grumbles searching your eyes once more. “The frogs're telling me we’ll have another rain comin’ soon. You better be careful, sweetheart.”

You share a conspiratorial look with Peggy, either of you not sure wether to believe him or not. Stan is not one for sappy love stories, but he certainly hits the nail on the head with his predictions every time. His bold hint towards the last big death this town suffered glides off his tongue like a Sunday prayer and it ripples down your spine in ice-cold peaks. 

“That is in the past. Right now, I really am hoping we are talking about the charming gentleman I talked to the other week. He certainly is a sight for sore eyes.” Peggy’s eyes sparkle as Old Lee huffs into his cup.

She winks back at you and the smile returns to your lips, along with the giddy feeling you get when James is called into your mind. But before you can respond, the diner door swings open, signaling the arrival of another customer and putting an end to your conversation—for now, at least.

❁ ❁ ❁

A noise calls from the back of your house right before the sun starts its journey in the sky. You don’t wake as James tries to stir carefully with his arms still holding you tightly. He was not sleeping - he doesn’t need sleep, but he still feels groggy from the warm and comforting night being ripped away with the sound. 

It piques another time and now, James is sure, someone is trying to get inside. Within minutes he is out of bed, checking the window and then closing the door to your bedroom on his way to the back. 

He is ready to protect you at all costs, eager to show you how much you mean to him, but when he sees a touch of white beyond the window and hears the familiar rustling of feathers that accompany it, it only takes him a second to realize who has come to intrude your peace. 

Two men - angels - just as tall has James litter the kitchen once he opens the door and pulls them inside with both hands. Samuel, the one standing a little to the side, brushes his clothes off once he comes to a stand again, watching James with amusement and curiosity. “I see you haven’t changed much, James. A simple ‘hello’ would have been just fine.” He crosses his arms before his chest, his wings shaking the dowry rain from their feathers and right onto your kitchen floor. 

“Why are you here?” His eyes search those of Steven - a friend of his but also an angel ranking higher than James ever will.

“You know why we’re here.” He steps closer once he has composed himself again. “You are testing the heavens.” 

James huffs, feeling the anger rise inside him. If anything, heaven was testing him. So he goes on to ignore the blonde angel before him, willing his heart to calm at all the frustration accumulating at once. “Did you know it was a lie?” James starts instead. His voice is strained when he thinks of all the times he refrained from touching you just to keep you safe. “Just a way to keep us from initiating contact?” 

Steven doesn’t say anything and Samuel’s stare meets that of James again. Steven shows little remorse, the pride on display now more than usual. The supposed betrayal James has caused is nothing to the sting boring into his soul by the very man standing in font of him. Steven is cold, distant - when he should be a friend.

“I should have known.” James shakes his head. “Your duties have always placed higher than your friendships.”

“That is because duties are the most valuable virtue God can give.” Steven finally says and his jaw ticks angrily. 

James could never imagine being more loyal to a system placing as many restrains as heaven does. Not when he knows how good the real world can feel. How precious it is to smell flowers and hold the one you love in your arms well into the night. 

“You came here with a mission, James. And since your fall, you have done nothing but frolic throughout this place with your very own human.” Samuel is eerily still behind the broad blonde spitting one accusation after the other. But James decides not to comment on it just yet. 

“It is far more than that,” he rasps feeling the protectiveness flood his body. 

“We know. That is why you are here in the first place.” 

“What am I supposed to do, Steven?” James tries to keep his voice low, but his frustration is too great. Steven should be the one to understand better than anyone else. But he seems to have locked that part of him far away right now. “How can I amend a sin that is irreversible?!”

“Every sin can be amen-“ Steve’s eyebrows raise and Samuel’s eyes flickers from James and focuse behind him. That is when his heart beat picks up again. And as much as he loves you, he wishes with all his being that you are not standing behind him right now.

“Please, no.” He mutters and turns just to have you approach from the hallway with tired eyes. 

“What is happening? Who are you?” Your voice sounds sleepy, a hand rubbing over your face before you find yourself by James’s side.

“Angels.” He bites his lips, contemplating for a moment but deciding that you deserve to hear what is happening in your own home. A home he hopes to be part of forever. Besides, with Steven here, there is no ending this conversation without confusing you more. “They want me to abandon you.” The bitterness is evident in his tone. But he regrets it as soon as he catches the stutter in your heart.

“What?” It’s all you say, but the way you do breaks his collected facade. 

“James-“

“What do I have to loose, Steven?” his arms open wide. "They already cast me out. They took my freedom, they took it all.” His wings barely shake, just emphasizing his statement. 

Steve steps closer, causing you to slightly shove yourself behind James, his arm reaching around you, just not touching yet. ”But there is still a chance to redeem yourself.”

“What if I don’t want it?” James bites back. 

“Don’t act rash, James. Think about this.“

“I have.” Long and hard. Every night he holds you, he has enough time to do so. And he has come to the conclusion that nothing compares to having you this close to him... and only him.

“You know of the punishment placed for sinners who do not attempt to right their wrongs.” Steven is seething beneath the surface, James can tell. But he tries to stay professional. He can try all he wants. James has already made a decision. 

“What is he talking about?” Your voice takes him back to your presence. Your hands sneak around his forearm and hand, to which his body responds like a reflex. His fingers squeeze yours, his body seeks the heat of yours. Samuel looks at the interaction curiously, Steven settles for a disapproving taunt.

“I lose my wings. I lose heaven.” James explains to you, watching as your eyes open wider in shock. 

“What?” There is so much more behind your astound answer. What does this mean for us?

“James is banished from the heavens temporarily already.” Steven’s voice drips with authority, making you stiffen beside him. James hates it. And he doesn’t hate much. 

“Why?” You’re too soft for this, too fragile to take another betrayal so soon. He has just gotten started and he already feels you drifting away. Your eyes are glassy when you turn to Steven. “What could have possibly been so bad that you ended up here?” 

“You didn’t tell her?” Sam breaks his silence. The surprise is written all over his face just to be replaced by confusion when James utters his name in warning. 

“Tell me.” It seems as though his eyes switch between everyone in the room, trying to warn them all of what will happen if they take his opportunity of telling you himself.

“James is not just any angel.”

“Steve, stop it.” 

“He is your guardian angel.”

It all happens too fast. A look to Samuel tells him there is no ending this. Steven won’t stop until he has tried his all to have you turn from James. 

“And he committed the worst sin of them all.” You look shocked and expectant. The grip on James’s hands grows tighter with every syllable leaving Steven’s mouth. And James is silently cursing the angel in front of him “He killed a man... for you.” 

You stumble back and James catches you only to earn a warning glare from Steven and Samuel. 

“Brock,” you whisper and it sounds like the single word has taken the entire air out of your system.

Lighting brightens your house over the stifled morning gleam and thunder sounds dangerously in the distance. You’re flinching, though searching James’s eyes as he steadies you back on your feet. 

“You cant do this forever, James.”

“And what if I try?” He turns fully. “What if I would rather get myself killed than come back to heaven?”

“He wouldn’t” Steve is heaving, but Sam steps forward, Laying a hand on the blonde’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe his rage. “The soul bond affects her just as it does him.”

“What does that mean?” It’s barely a screech when you interrupt them again. Turning to James and tugging at his shirt, you convey the frustration of being kept in the dark through your features. “What does it mean, James?”

He sighs, shaking his head and then closing his eyes - hoping to escape this conversation. But it is happening. “It means, if I die... you will die, too. A soul need replace that of a guardian one.”

At this point, James questions his sanity. How could he have not realized the twisted ways of the celestial realm sooner? In an attempt to soothe both his aching head and your tired soul, he reaches out to pull you into a hug, but your hands swat his arms away.

James recoils as if struck, the sting of rejection shattering his heart into thousands of pieces

“You might think it wise to revisit what we offered you, James.”

The words hang in the air like a dark omen when Steven and Samuel disappear. With a heavy heart, James turns away from you, unable to bear the weight of your disappointment any longer.

As you walk away, James is torn between the desire to comfort you and the fear of causing you further pain. But when he reaches out to touch you, once more, your tears are a silent testament to the rift that now lies between you. 

"I... I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice choked with emotion. It’s a desperate attempt to fix this, even if he does not know how.

“Go, James. Please. I need time to understand all this-”

“I can help you.”

“-alone. I want to be alone.” You swallow hard. “Leave, please.” Your tears finally spill and James despises that he is at fault of them.

“Go.”

Feeling more abandoned than ever, James leaves you to your grief, the weight of his actions weighing heavily on his soul. In that moment, he realizes that the price of his newfound freedom may be greater than he ever imagined, leaving him trapped in a prison of his own making, forever haunted by the memory of the one he could never save.

He knows there are not many ways to fix this. But he is determined to find the one that will.

❁ ❁ ❁

He doesn’t remember earth to be quite this cold. 

Find me when you have made the right choice. The words keep ringing in his head. 

A little warmth would feel nice now.

❁ ❁ ❁

You were angry when you told James to leave. Angry, and hurt, and confused, and shocked, and fucking tired of it all. 

But now that he is gone, an unfamiliar emptiness has taken its place where your tingles used to be. Everything makes so much sense now. The weirdly familiar feeling. The sense of security around him - a total stranger at the time, who obviously possessed more strength than you could ever imagine. The instant pull from his heart to yours. 

The quiet of your house seems to close in on you. The walls feel tighter, the rooms emptier. Every corner holds a memory of James, a reminder of the presence that had once filled your life with warmth and mystery. His laugh echoing in the hallway, his silhouette framed in the morning light through the kitchen window, the way he seemed to know when you needed comfort before you even realized it yourself.

You sit at the table, staring at your untouched cup of coffee, replaying moments in your mind. The time he effortlessly carried your groceries when you insisted you could manage alone. The nights he stayed up with you, talking about everything and nothing, his voice soothing and familiar. The way he looked at you, as if you were the center of his universe.

The days seem endless without him. Simple tasks feel monumental in the absence of his reassuring presence. You find yourself hesitating before making decisions, second-guessing your choices, yearning for the silent support he always provided. The realization hits you: you had built your life around him, around the safety and stability he brought, even without knowing the full truth of who he was.

You cannot deny that a big part of you misses him despite all the lies he told you. Well, not lies entirely. You know he has always been truthful to you ...he just never told the whole truth until he was forced to.

And even though the other two angels who visited made him reveal his secrets to you, you feel like there is so much more to discover still. 

Your hand settles over your heart, trying to pull the constant racing around James back into existence. But it beats in profound silence, acting as though nothing has happened, when - in fact - everything has changed. James came into your life and unapologetically took your heart away. You don’t want it back. You want him back. Heart or not, your souls are connected. And now that he is gone, you know what you have truly been missing all this time. 

With a sigh, you rise form your chair and grab your keys, determined to find a way to help James out of the trouble he has caused because of you. A shiver runs down your spine at the memories of it all. James’s sin had good intentions, you know this much. But two people died at the time of it - though only one deserves your mourning. 

You pull your door closed and make your way to town hall. The entire left wing of the building is dedicated to the library and you are destined to find out more about the man who crashed into your life and took your heart away... and then disappeared. 

The library is quiet, the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whisper the only sounds that break the stillness. You approach the counter, where a librarian is meticulously organizing a stack of book. She looks up as you approach, her kind eyes lighting up with curiosity. 

“Hello, dear,” she says warmly. How can I help you today?”

You hesitate for a moment but then you decide to just start at the beginning. “I’m looking for some texts about angels,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “More specifically fallen angels... and the consequences of disobeying.”

The librarian raises an eyebrow and a look close to amusement and happiness reaches over her face. “That’s a rather specific topic,” she muses and your brow begins to sweat. Maybe this was a stupid idea. The woman is still eyeing you with a smolder, but then, as if you pushed a button, she shrugges and begins to type away on her computer. “Good thing it’s my job to get you exactly what you need.”

She nods slowly after a little while. “We do have some old texts and legends about angels. Let me show you.” With that, she lifts her body out of the office chair behind the desk and leads you to the far end of the library. It’s a quiet corner where the oldest books are kept. She pulls an ancient-looking leather-bound volume from a high shelf. For the place it has been kept, it is surprisingly dust-free. 

With a smile, she hands it to you and then wishes you ‘happy hunting’.

The book is heavy in your hands. The front is embossed in golden letters. Your fingers trace over it, feeling every ridge and dip. ‘Legends of the Divine and Fallen’, the title reads. 

When you flip through the pages, the book’s well-worn smell engulfs you and something inside you shifts. You brother loved old books. The one in your hand brings you right back to when you were kids. Pietro had a whole wall of shelves filled with his favorite stories. And more so than often, you snuck inside when he was out with his friends, grabbing one whose cover intrigued you the most and then getting lost in the pages until he came back and read it to you. 

He sparked your interest in reading - made you the bookworm you are today. And finally, probably caused you to jump into this adventure with James in hopes of finally living inside on of your fantasy worlds. 

You eyes get caught by a story in the book, your thumbs halting and fully opening the page as intrigue tingles in your entire body with every word you read. 

The Tale of Buchariel: The Curious Angel

In the celestial realms, where light and harmony prevail, there existed an angel named Buchariel. Renowned for his loyalty and dedication, Buchariel was also marked by an insatiable curiosity. His yearning to understand the world beyond the heavenly gates set him apart from his brethren, who were content to serve without question.

One fateful day, driven by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, Buchariel descended to the mortal realm without divine permission. His eyes beheld the beauty and chaos of humanity, the joys and sorrows that defined their existence. It was in this realm, teeming with life and temptation, that Buchariel's fate took a dark turn.

As Buchariel wandered the earth, a demon of cunning and allure took notice of the angel's presence. This demon, skilled in the art of seduction, approached Buchariel with promises of forbidden knowledge and experiences that no celestial being had ever known. Blinded by his curiosity, Buchariel succumbed to the demon's temptations, engaging in acts that defied the sacred laws of the heavens.

Word of Buchariel's fall reached the celestial realm, and the angels were dispatched to retrieve their wayward brother. They arrived in time to save Buchariel from complete corruption, pulling him from the demon's grasp and returning him to the realm of light. However, the consequences of his actions could not be undone.

The celestial court declared Buchariel's punishment. He was stripped of his rank and given an ultimatum: he could return to heaven only if he vowed never to betray the divine will again. God, in His infinite mercy, offered Buchariel a chance at redemption. He was to serve as a guardian angel, watching over humanity and guiding them towards righteousness. In this duty, he could be close to the world, yet stay obedient to heaven. 

Buchariel accepted his fate, grateful for the opportunity to make amends. Yet, the legend speaks of the angel's perpetual struggle. Constantly exposed to the allure of the mortal world, Buchariel walked a fine line between duty and desire. His heart, once pure and untainted, now carried the scars of his past transgressions.

Eons passed, and Buchariel's vigilance never wavered, but neither did the temptations. His soul remained in perpetual conflict, torn between his heavenly duty and the memories of earthly sensations. The legend warns that Buchariel's fall could occur once more, for the battle within him is eternal. He is an angel forever on the edge of sin, a guardian who knows the weight of temptation, and a being who understands the cost of free will.

Thus, the tale of Buchariel serves as both a caution and a beacon. It reminds all who hear it of the delicate balance between obedience and desire, and the endless journey towards redemption that even the most divine must undertake.

A chill runs down your spine as you realize the parallels between the legend and James. The delicate balance between obedience and desire - serving and sinning. James did sin again. When he killed the man who ended your brother’s life. 

You sit in silence, the weight of your realization settling over you like a shroud. It’s clear that Jame’s story resembles that of Buchariel in too many ways to be a coincidence. He was weirdly comfortable on earth, now that you think about it. For Christ's sake he even told you he had met God ‘under rather unfortunate circumstances’. If what the legend says is true, unfortunate is the understatement of the century. Now you cant help but wonder what price he might pay for his defiance.

❁ ❁ ❁

The diner hums with its usual activity, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversations fill the air. You move mechanically from table to table, refilling coffee cups and taking orders, but your mind is elsewhere, clouded with thoughts of James and the emptiness his absence has left behind.

Peggy, sitting at her usual spot at the counter, watches you with concern etched on her face. She waits until you pass by her with the coffee pot before speaking up.

"What's happened to that smile of yours, dear?" Peggy asks, her voice soft and maternal. "You used to light up this place."

You force a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "Just tired, Peggy. You know how it is."

Peggy's eyes narrow, not buying your excuse for a second. "Tired, my foot. Something's bothering you. You can talk to me, you know."

Before you can respond, Scott chimes in with a smirk. "At least now I know you’re back to normal," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Thought you were gonna float away with all that grinning you were doing."

You shoot Scott a glare, feeling a mix of irritation and sadness. "Thanks, Scott. Really helpful."

“Always at your service” He tips his nonexistent hat, almost bringing a chuckle up within you. In his own way, he never faisl to cheer you up a little.

Peggy waves a dismissive hand at Scott and turns her full attention back to you. "Don't mind him, honey.” She leans in closer, her expression softening. "But seriously, what's going on? I haven't seen you this down in a while."

You sigh, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. "It's complicated, Peggy. Someone important to me... well, they're not around anymore. And it's just... hard."

Peggy reaches out and pats your hand gently. “We all miss Pietro, dear. Losing someone is never easy... especially after all you’ve been through.”

You nod, grateful for her kindness, but the ache in your chest remains. You can't bring yourself to tell her it’s not your brother you are mourning at this time. "I appreciate that."

The hustle and bustle of the diner continues around you, but for a brief moment, you feel a small measure of comfort in Peggy's concern.

As you turn to refill another customer's coffee, Peggy's words linger in your mind. Maybe opening up a bit more wouldn't be such a bad idea. Maybe, just maybe, sharing the burden could help ease the pain of James's absence, even if only a little. But who should you talk to? The only person you were every really close with is gone...

❁ ❁ ❁

Yet another day passes in which you worry yourself tired. The house feels emptier than ever, the silence pressing in on you as you move through the rooms like a ghost. You try to distract yourself with chores and routines, but your thoughts always circle back to James. Wondering if he’s safe or thinking about you.

You sink into the worn armchair by the window, your favorite spot to watch the world outside. But tonight, the familiar view brings no comfort. The sky is a dark canvas, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You hug your knees to your chest, feeling the loneliness wrap around you like a suffocating blanket as Old Lee’s words echo in your mind once again. 

A quiet sob calls into the empty room - barely audible. And then the tears start falling down your face in constant streams. The memory of his touch, his warmth, his presence, feels like a distant dream. You close your eyes, trying to recall the feeling of James's arms around you, the sound of his heartbeat against yours. It's a comfort and a torment all at once.

You haven’t cried like this since Pietro died... No, actually, you did when the message of Brock’s death reached you. But those were tears of relief rather than pain. 

A sudden chill sweeps through the room, at the memory of the man who tormented your life in more ways than one. You open your eyes, frowning as you notice that it’s not only the thought of Brock making you feel this way. The air seems to crackle with an otherworldly energy. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you feel a strange pull, a familiar yet eerie sensation that makes your heart race.

You stand up slowly, your breath hitching in your throat. The room feels alive with a palpable tension, as if the very fabric of reality is shifting. You turn around, your eyes scanning the dimly lit space.

And then you see him.

❁ ❁ ❁

James stands before you, his presence both startling and comforting, he notes as your herts sync again. His eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of relief and sorrow. You look as if you've been through a storm, yet there is a resolute strength in your gaze that anchors him. He probably doesn’t look much better, considering he in fact has been in said storm. But he’d do anything to come back to you. 

"James," you breathe, your voice trembling with emotion. "You're here.”

He steps forward, closing the distance between you. "I’m here," he says softly, his voice carrying the weight of all the unspoken words and unshared moments.

You reach out, your hand trembling as it touches his cheek, as if verifying that he is real and not another figment of your imagination. Your skin is cold and the sensation sends a flood of emotions through him.

"Where have you been?" you ask, your voice cracking with the weight of your worry.

“It is a long story," he replies, his hand covering yours. "But right now, all that matters is that I'm here. With you.”

In that moment, the world outside fades away, and all that exists is the space between you and James. The silence is filled with unspoken promises and the electric charge of a reunion long overdue. 

When you fall into his arms crying, his knees feel like giving out. He has had a long journey behind him, but he would die before showing you weakness when you need him the most. “I thought I would never see you again!” You cry even harder and James wraps his arms around you with loving pressure.

“I’m here,” he tries to soothe you. His wings come around you once again in search for the calmness that washes over him when he realizes you feel safe. 

“I don’t think I can do without you anymore.” Your voice is muffled against his chest but his heart leaps at your confession. Warmth spreads throughout his body as the realization hits that you finally feel close to the emotions he has harbored for you for so long. 

James wants to promise you that he’ll never leave again. He wants to tell you that there is nothing worth losing you. Not the most tempting offer to ever exist. He wants to hold you forever, in fact, do more than just hold you and give into the feeling he has only ever heard about from demons and sinners. 

But he can’t. Because he knows it would not be true. 

His feud with heaven is far from over. And the journey he plans to venture holds great unknown. So, he settles for the one thing he can tell you with certainty. 

“I cannot be without you, either, my beloved. There is so much I want to experience with you but the most important of them all is love. I love you, with my entire soul and heart. I cannot deny you this truth any longer. I have done the unspeakable because of it and you deserve to know.”

You eyes look up at him widely, a question in them that has waited long enough to be asked. “Brock’s death wasn’t an accident,” you whisper, but your posture remains steady. There is no pain or sorrow in your face. Just pure, plain curiosity.

“They told me he was mugged and thrown in the river. But it never made sense to me.” You pull a little out of his touch and James lets you even though his entire body screams to keep you close. “This town is too small to be mugged in. He was killed with a single stab to his heart. A mugger would never be so efficient.”

You gleam at him, seemingly waiting for him to confirm. But James stands in your presence with a sense of pride. He does not regret is transgression, not when it meant keeping you safe - which was and still is his greatest aim. 

“The way he was found was too peaceful to be from a robbery, either.” You tell him shaking your head. “How can you make a murder look so respectful and honest?” 

“I am sorry if I have upset you, dearest-“

“You haven’t. Brock Rumlow was a bad man. It took me a long time to notice, but he was abusing and ill-driven. If anything, I am upset I couldn’t thank you sooner that he is gone.”

“I had played with the though of removing him from the face of the earth for quite some time,” James confesses, feeling all the secret’s weight rolling off him like avalanches. “From the moment he first screamed at you... to the time he laid his hands on you. But I knew you were strong. I was so proud of you for getting up each day and moving on. I would have never acted had he not hurt you in a way even i could feel throught the very bond that ties our souls together. I knew you could handle the hurtful words, even the hurtful touches - that no-one, and especially not you, deserves. Your brother is of similar cunning as myself. But he was brave enough to act while I was fearing the consequences of testing celestial rule once more.” 

James catches the new tears rushing down your cheeks. But he wont stop telling you. He knows you need to hear it. It hurts him to revisit the memory of watching Pietro die in his quest to secure your freedom. “I was trying to honor you brother as much as ensure your safety when I... killed Brock.” He clears his throat and takes your hands in his. “He would have continued to hurt every person he encountered. I do not regret what I did.”

“Oh, James.” Your hands reach up to his face. James bows down to follow the tug you apply to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me. I am not angry. And despite what the other angels said, I know you are a good person. I love you, too.” 

You smile as James’s hands cover yours on his face. Your foreheads are touching and the room around you fades into nothingness. In this moment in time, there are just you and him, and all the new feeling bubbling inside him that he his eager to explore. 

He’s known it for long, but now he is certain than going back to heaven was never an option. Not when you are still here. 

“I would love to kiss you right now,” you whisper in the space between you, igniting a heat within James he has never felt before.

“I would like that very much,” he confesses and as soon as the words leave his lips, yours are firmly pressed against his. 

The sensation is overwhelming. Your lips are soft and warm, moving against his in a way that sends shivers down his spine. His hands still press yours to his skin, unsure what to do and overwhelmed with the experience opened to him. You gently take them and move then to your waist, then a little lower, making him trace the curve of your body as your tongue slowly slips between his lips. The contact sends a surge of electricity through him, making his heart race.

The kiss is tentative at first, each of you exploring this new and wondrous connection. Your fingers weave into his hair, anchoring yourself to him as if afraid he might vanish with this daring protest against heaven. He can feel the gentle tremor in your touch, the same mixture of awe and desire that he feels within himself.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. Your breath mingles with his, cheeks heated and lips swollen. “Move your hands, James,” you whisper, guiding his hands to slide even lower on your body, teaching him how to hold you close, even though he thought he has always done so right. This is different. This is more.

He follows your lead, fingers trembling with the intensity of the moment as they squeeze flesh, eliciting a soft whimper from you that makes James’s insides stir. Or maybe it is not his insides after all, he notices when his pants feel tighter all of a sudden. 

Each brush of your lips against his, each caress, speaks of the longing and love that has been building between you for so long. James deepens the kiss, more confident now, feeling the warmth of your body against his, and it’s as if the world outside has ceased to exist.

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, and you smile, voice breathless. “You’re doing great.”

The kiss becomes more fervent, your guidance helping James navigate this new territory. He feels like he’s pouring all his love and devotion into this one act, wanting to convey everything he’s never been able to say. His wings reach round you tentatively, leaving enough air for you to breathe. He want’s to be wrapped up in you more - he cannot explain it.

James pulls back slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “This... this is incredible,” he murmurs in a voice husky with wonder. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

You smile, eyes sparkling. “Neither have I.”

Your lips find each other again, more urgent this time, as if you’re making up for lost time - at least James is. The demon who lured him down the first time failed to mention this part of humanity to him.

“I want to show you more,” you finally whisper against his skin and at this point, James is willing to walk the sun if you asked him to. 

“Everything,” he rasps, his lips touching you with every syllable. He cannot get enough of your taste. “Show it all to me, my love.”

“I want to start with taking off our clothes.” You kiss him again, making Jame’s pants feel even tighter. He knows about sex and he knows it is what you are hinting at. But he has never experienced it. It is no use to angels, since they cannot impregnate another. In heaven, it is rarely talked about - and if it is, one is warned about it. 

Right now, James does not care why. He is eager to experience as much as there is on earth with you and then some. So, he lets you guide his hands over your shoulders, shrugging your cardigan off your body and letting his fingers glide beneath the thin straps adorning your shoulders now. 

His hands are so big compared to yours. He marvels in the fact of how much stronger he is, making him able to protect you that much better. 

James has no difficulty guiding the clothes from your body. Nakedness is something barely acknowledged where he comes from. But today... something about it feels different. This situation feels so much more intimate than it usually does. And he notices, when you kneel down to pull his pants down, his cock stands proud from his body, bigger than usual, and hard and- “Oh!” sensitive, he notes when your lips kiss his hip, your face slightly grazing his member in the action. 

With your head next to it, it looks disproportionately huge, but you don’t seem to mind. 

“This... I have never done this before.” James’s hands guide you back up to him. He is certain his cheeks are glowing red by now. He feels hot and bothered, yet so yearning for more of the teasing your face provided for mere seconds before. 

“Are you okay with continuing?” Your eyes find his again. 

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.” And when he nods, you take his hand and lead him down the hall to your bedroom. 

He has missed this place, missed holding you for the time he went away, but he can't tell you where he has been just yet. Not now, anyway. Right now, he wants to experience whatever you are willing to show him. 

You walk around him, touching him all over, watching him react and making him lean down only to pull back before his lips can get a taste of yours again. It’s beautiful agony and James is torn between pulling you into his strong grip and letting you wind him up until his balls feel like they are the ones squeezed tightly. They already are...

Eventually, you come to a stop behind him. He jolts when you fingers drive over the top of his wings, only for you to mumble a quick ‘sorry’ and coming back around in front of him. 

“Don’t be sorry. I was just not expecting it.”

You stare past him and at the white feathers protruding from his back. “They are so soft... and pretty.” You find his eyes. “All of you is pretty.”

He reaches for your face, finding pride in the way you nestle into his palm with a smile. “And dear, you are the most beautiful being the world has ever seen.”

“Can I touch them again?” You whisper only for James to now stare in awe. 

He watches as your hands pass his body in slow-motion. They travel past his ribs and reach carefully towards his wings again. This time, he is prepared, though his stomach feels tight with something opposite of worry. More of a physical feeling he can't begin to explain. He closes his eyes and lets your touch travel over them like a prayer. Your path leaves shivers in its wake and James lets his head hang, reveling in the feeling. He opens his eyes and watches his cock twitch whenever the tingles get too much. 

He gasps breathlessly when you graze the underside of his wings, making his whole body jump slightly. 

“Oh, are those sensitive?” You smile in awe, though your expression turns to excitement when he wheezes out his answer. 

“Very.”

“Do you like it?” 

Your fingers glide over the same spot again, making his cock leak, feeling like he’s about to explode. “Yes!” He grabs the sideboard next to him.

“I want to make you feel good, James” your voice is damp agains this ear and he bites his tongue before bursting. 

“You already do.” 

“I want to make it even better.”

James is not sure he can handle better. He’s already floating miles above the ground when you touch him in the ways you do. Maybe he has to distract himself to enjoy this some more. 

He could think about why heaven would withhold education of how amazing sex can be. That will make him calm a little, posting yet another reason why it was never the place to be for him. 

Your hands wrap around his silver wrists as you guide him to the bed, pushing down on his shoulders until he is sat on the mattress, looking up at you with intrigue and awe. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to ride you, James.” You straddle his lap and his arms immediately reach around you. 

“Ride ...me? I’m not a horse.” He states and watches as your smile lights up. But it settles a weary feeling in his stomach. There is a hint of mischief in your glint, and James is not sure he can handle it right now. 

“Do you trust me?”

“With my entire soul.”

You kiss him and push at his chest. “The lie back for me.”

And so he does, realizing - once again - that anything heaven could offer him pales in comparison to the love he feels for you, a love that knows no bounds or logic and that is reciprocated in your every touch. 

James watches as you scoot up his body until you are sat right behind his cock, which has not ceased to soften one bit since you kissed. It reaches all the way to your navel. But before he can take in the sight and calculate the size difference between you, you press him against your stomach, pulling another moan from his lunges. 

His tip is leaking more and more with every touch you gift him and James starts to worry his body will give out before he can make you feel good. 

“You’re so big, so pretty.” You stroke him from base to top, letting your thumb press into the underside of his cock and send shiver after shiver through James’s body. “I need you inside me.”

“I need that to.” His voice is strangled when you lift up and grind his tip through your wet folds, moaning with the friction he can only assume is the same for you as it is for him. 

In a swift motion, the head of his cock sinks inside you, breaching tight muscle and making him feel dizzy with the new sensation. Your head falls back with a loud breath that makes his abs tighten. This whole time, he feels as though a gust of wind could make him unravel, but something inside him tells James he should hold out - or at least try to. 

The raspy sounds escaping his throat cant seem to stop when you slowly work yourself all the way down his shaft. And the high-pitched scream you set free when his tip reaches another barrier within you makes him twitch and leak even more. 

“Are you alright?” He asks through sweaty brows. 

“I’m amazing.” You smile and lift yourself up only to sink back down into his lap. Your movements become steady, and when he finally gets over the way your mouth hangs slack, the rhythm you set builds even more pressure inside him. 

The room is filled with messy sounds of skin and sweat and moans and heavy breaths. You sink down on him again and again until James feels like he is on fire. But you don’t relent. Your pace never falters when you fall back and your hands grip his thighs, digging into his muscles until his toes curl. 

It’s too much at once and not enough at the same time. James feels as though there is a cliff he could fall over every second now, but he’s too scared to loose the sensations he is experiencing right now to let his body do so. 

“Touch me,” you suddenly say, taking his hands which have fisted inside your duvet until now and placing them on the soft flesh of your breasts. Only now, your nipples are hardened when you guide his fingers over them. “Like this.” You’re somehow fare gone and right there with him. But he does as he his told again, flicking his thumb over the pebbled flesh until your moans grow higher and higher. “Ah, Yes!”

It’s doing something to him, he his twitching every time your pussy squeezes him in tandem with his thumb on your nipples. His body is moving without the permission of his mind when he suddenly thrusts up. And then again. And again. Until you are mewling and crying on top of him, your fingernails digging into his legs painfully hard. 

James immediately drops his hands only to watch you stare at him with wide eyes. 

“What’s the matter. Why did you stop?”

He bites his lips in shame when he realizes he misses your constant movement on his cock. “Am I hurting you?”

You eyes possibly widen further. Leaning forward and capturing his cheeks with both lips and hands, you shake your head after you pull away. “No! No, its a good thing, love. You feel so good. You...” Your expression changes to a rather shy one. “You’re just very big. You should be proud.”

Something inside James clicks as you confess with another kiss to his lips. A smirk spreads beneath them when he curiously thrusts up inside you and experiences your hot breath gains his face. 

In a second, his hands grab onto your hips, his body turns and flips the pair of you until your back hits the mattress as gently as he can offer in his compromised position. 

A last look of reassurance when your eyes lock with his set off the urges he has suppressed so far. His hips snap forward over and over again, your pussy tightening more around him with every push. Your hands are fist into the covers, head thrown back and mouth open. There is no more sound coming from you at this point. And James understands why. He is as overwhelmed with the feeling as you look. When you grow even tighter, gripping this cock until he cannot move anymore, white pleasure as hot as hellfire rushes through his body, kissing his nerves from head to toe. He feels his balls empty as he paints your inside with his spent, only being able to lazily rut into you after a minute to seize every last drop of pleasure this moment has to offer. 

Then he falls forward as if a higher force has taken all the strength from his body, though careful not to hurt you when his weight settles on top of you. 

“What-“ he needs to catch his breath first. “What was that?”

“That,” you open your eyes, chest having with every deep breath, “was an orgasm.” Your hands brush through his hair and James finds himself purring at the touch. “And it was the best one I’ve ever had.” 

You kiss him and chuckle when he looks at you questioningly. “I guess you could say it was outer-worldly... or even heavenly.” 

James rolls his eyes but can’t stop the laugh from slipping his lunges. He pulls back and watches as his softened cock leaves your pussy, only to be followed by your mixed arousal dripping out of you. 

Trance-like, his hand moves to collect the fluid and begins to smear it over your petals, up into the soft tuft above it. He knows angels cannot impregnate other beings, but he is fascinated by the scene in front of him. It’s like a little testimony when he marks you all around the best place he has ever experienced, wordlessly rubbing and enjoying the whimpering sounds you make when he flicks over a particular spot. 

“Is this sensitive?” He teases with a smirk only to be met with a playful smack on his arm. 

“Very.” you say. “But I am entirely satisfied as of right now.”

James sighs and falls into the sheets beside you. “Me too.” He nuzzles into your neck and pulls you closer to his body. He does not care that you are sticky with sweat or that neither of you are cleaned up. He just needs to hold you now that reality has taken its place back around him again. 

“So, you have been watching over me for - what? All my life?”

James hides the chuckle bubbling up his throat at your sudden question. He still has his eyes closed, taking in the feeling of your nails lightly scratching up and down his forearms. It makes him tingly. 

“All your life, yes.”

“And have you ever meddled with other things that were supposed to happen to me?”

“Do you remember the year in which you kept finding pineapples in arbitrary places?”

It’s silent for a moment, but your movements don’t falter. “I always thought that was a weird coincidence.”

James smiles into the crook of your neck. “Consider it my way of adding a little excitement to your life. And maybe a small attempt to make you notice me.”

You push yourself up slightly and rest on your elbows as you look at James. “I like you like this.” You smile.

“Like what?” He’s smiling as well.”

“Less angel, more...” Your hand comes up to gesture at nothing in particular. “...deviant.”

The smile on James’s face turns into a proud grin before he leans up to kiss you tenderly, savoring the moment and pushing away the thought that has been gnawing on him ever since he came back. 

He holds you until you fall asleep, purposefully missing the opportunity to tell you what he has gotten himself into while he was away.

❁ ❁ ❁

James stands in the garden, the sky overcast and heavy with the promise of rain. He’s out here to retrieve a bouquet of your favorite flowers, smiling like a fool because he finally has what he always wished for. All his mishaps and seem worth it when he holds you in his arms at night. 

The flowers are vibrant and alive, and he bends to pick them with a sense of purpose, each blossom a token of his affection. Even as the first raindrops start to fall, his joy is undiminished. The rain doesn’t bother him; it’s a minor inconvenience compared to the happiness he’s found with you. 

As he moves through the garden, he thinks of the moments you’ve shared—the way your eyes light up when you see him, the warmth of your touch, the sound of your laughter, the way you writhe beneath him in she sheets. For the first time in his existence, he feels complete. 

James clutches the bouquet and heads back toward the house, eager to see the surprise on your face when he presents you with the flowers.

But before he can pass the threshold, an eery feeling spreads though is soul, a shadow falls over him but vanishes just as soon. He scans the yard, his sight nestling through the trees at the very edge of it and then suddenly halting when he sees Wanda leaning against one at the very far corner of your property. Her presence is like a dark cloud on the horizon, a stark contrast to the bright joy he feels. Her red eyes glint with a knowing look, and her lips curl into a smirk that sends a chill down his spine.

“Are you not coming inside, James? The weather will only get worse.” You shout through the house only to appear behind him to inspect what is keeping him outside. 

But James’s stare is fixated on the demon in your yard, his protective instincts setting in immediately, scanning his surroundings while keeping a close eye on Wanda. 

“What is going on?” You ask and reach your arms around him from the side. He can sense you’re eyeing him but he knows you see what he is seeing when your entire body grows rigid beside him. 

“Who is that?” you whisper into James’s shoulder as you step even closer to him, your voice barely audible over the increasing patter of rain. He squeezes you a little tighter, trying to shield you from the inevitable storm brewing. A quick look at your state tells him he should have send you inside. But It is too late for that now. 

When his head turns back into the direction of the demon, it is no longer in its prior place. Instead, Wanda has moved across the garden with impeccable speed, looking up at the pair of you a few feet alway from the step leading to your porch. 

“You promised me time to explore the likes of this life.” His voice is low and intimidating, though he knows its futile in the face of a demon. They are scared of very little. 

“And explored you have,” her red hair falls over her shoulder when her head ticks to the side. “Tell me, Bucharius, is it worth the cost?”

The demon knows of the leverage it has on him. James was sure he would follow through with his request from the start. But he forgot, or maybe just hoped, the devil’s spawn would gift him more time until he had to go and seal the contract. 

“You know it is,” he pushes though clenched teeth, hating how your fingers clamp around his arm already. 

“Actually, I don’t. But I would be an idiot to refuse an offer such as yours.” Wanda clasps her long fingers together and grins with evil. “Oh, I will have so much fun with your soul once the time comes.”

The angel closes his eyes tightly, hating the way the demon pressures him to leave so soon. But it is for the greater good, for him at least. He need’s to be selfish for once - to be able to spend a lifetime providing whatever you desire. 

“Just give me a moment, Wanda,” James says, his voice steady despite the chaos inside his head. He knows his flicker of happiness is about to be shattered, but he wants to hold onto it for just a little longer.

“What is happening? What does she want?” There are tears brimming in your eyes and James decides he has seen them far too many times to be a good guardian to you. It just secures his decision to do what Wanda came to collect him for. 

James presses his lips to the crown of your head before gently tilting it upward with his fingers. His gaze is steady, exuding a confidence while you desperately cling to him in your confusion.

“I’m not sure I can handle all this newfound angelic drama,” you mutter with unease, and James kisses you—short and sweet, a fleeting moment of peace.

Then he whispers against your lips, “Please, you handle drama like a queen. Remember that time you dealt with Valentina from accounting?” His attempt at humor brings a small smile to your face, and he momentarily loses himself in the warmth and security it provides.

But the feeling doesn’t last long.

“James has made a deal with the devil,” Wanda grins, her red eyes flashing with malevolent glee.

Her words send shivers over your body, James feels the ripples pass beneath his fingertips. You pull away from your guardian angel, whose troubles have now escalated to an unthinkable level. 

“What does she mean, James?”

❁ ❁ ❁

James’s silence is deafening. You pray, you beg, for this to be a terrible joke, but deep down, you know it’s not.

“James.” Your words are strained, desperate for answers, desperate for reassurance. “What is she talking about?”

“It is true,” James finally admits, his eyes free of sorrow but filled with determination. “I have made a deal with Lucifer. My wings for a mortal life. My soul when it leaves my deceased body after spending a lifetime with you.”

“What?” The word is a whisper, your mind struggling to process the gravity of his confession. Because your cheeks feel salty and stained before you realize what James has just told you. “Why are you doing this?” you ask through your tears.

“Because I’d give up heaven if it meant being with you.” James’s eyes burn into yours, the rain dripping off his wet face deceivingly. His voice is steady, unwavering. “I’d go to hell a thousand times over until my soul burns to ashes if it meant I get to hold you one more time. You’re everything to me. Everything.”

Another wave of shivers slip over your skin with the way he presses the last word. His eyes are fiery, almost desperate. He is trying to make you understand how much better this decision is, but you fail to see how it can. “You can’t do this. You are destined for more. There are many more to come after me that need protecting and watching over.”

“And there have been plenty before you, yet none of them have or will ever compare, my love.” He touches your cheek, but you push his hand away. Your heart is already aching when you watch his face fall at the gesture. But you are not made for these types of dilemmas. You are human for fuck’s sake. “I would spend eternity regretting not experiencing life with you. I am tired of watching; I am over feeling the distance between us. Going back to heaven means finding you someone else to love. And I cannot do that. It would destroy me, burn me alive, rip my heart out of my chest.”

“James, think about this.” Now the first angry tear slips from his face and mixes with he rain which has grown heavier. Dark clouds cast over the scene, matching the mood perfectly. Dreary and sad - how poetic. 

“I have. For far too long. I will never feel truly fulfilled until I can be what you need me to be: a real, tangible person that grows old with you.”

You shake your head, your hair sticking to your skin. “You have to believe me when I tell you that I exist only for you. My life was dull before you entered it, and it will feel like a black hole when you leave. There is nothing—nothing—I wouldn’t do to be with you.”

Never before have words felt more genuine than this. James is hunched forward, his eyes pleading at you from above. A sneaky hand has captured yours and presses it to his chest, where his heart is beating vigorously against your skin. 

Resignation laces your voice when you finally answer him. “So you’re just going to leave now? For how long? What if he tricked you?”

You don’t know  much about all the rules but one thing is for sure, the devil likes to play and deceive. Just the thought of James walking into a trap makes your stomach churn. 

“Then it was worth it.” There is something akin to content and fulfillment in Jame’s stare when his hand squeezes yours and his heartbeat slows. Though your’s seems to do the opposite. 

“No.” You say breathlessly. 

“I’m sorry," he answers, and wraps your fingers around the bouquet in his hands.

“James.”

“I love you.”

“James.”

The rain intensifies, pounding the earth as if mirroring the turmoil in your heart. James turns and lets Wanda put him in chains, leading him away. You fall to your knees, crying, the three words you have yet to say hanging on your lips for nobody to hear. He’s gone. He’s gone without the knowledge of ever seeing you again.

❁ ❁ ❁

And just like that it ends like it began: in tragedy… and rain.

❁ ❁ ❁

Maybe you are just not cut out for happiness, you think as you wipe down the counter with a frown. The sun is shining today, almost mocking your bad mood with every chirping of birds outside. Earlier today, you were so angry about the reflection blinding you inside that you shut the blinds completely. 

James has been gone for a week now and you already feel like breaking down over what you’ve lost whenever something is mentioned that reminds you of him. 

A few days ago, after a really rough night, you swore you’d never let anyone this close to you. It’s the perfect start for you villain origin story, really. Losing your brother to an abusive ex. Losing said abusive ex thanks to a protective angel. Then falling in love with the angel only for him to go to hell for loving you back. 

You heart cannot take another hit. It’s constantly breaking as you think about the torture and pain James is probably suffering in the pits of hell. There is just no more room for another person, another worry, or anything else, really. 

You will just die an old and groggy lady, likely still cleaning this very counter until you cant anymore. The whole town is going to know you as the weird woman with seventy two cats.

You shake at the thought of it, disposing of your towel and grabbings some plates from the counter to clean up some more.

“New customer is yours, freaking weirdo has been standing outside the window and looking inside like some kind of stalker,” Scott mumbles as he paces by you with his head buried in his phone screen. 

You just sigh and throw a used napkin into the trash before loading the dirty plates onto a kitchen tray. 

“I’d like a sandwich, please.” A voice sounds from behind you and your entire body goes rigid.

It can’t be. It cant. For days you have been wishing for James to come back, now you are finally becoming crazy. 

But your heart picks up its familiar sprint and your entire body tingles with hope. Still, you don’t dare to turn around. 

“Are you not going to look at me, dearest?”

Your hands tremble as you grip the edge of the counter. What if it’s real? What if it’s not? The uncertainty gnaws at you, each second stretching into an eternity. You’ve dreamed of this moment, but dreams are fickle things, easily shattered by the harsh light of reality.

“James...” The name slips out in a whisper, a plea, a hope. Tears sting your eyes, and you squeeze them shut, bracing yourself for the worst.

You take a deep breath and finally turn around. Truly, there he stands in front of you, with a bright and gleaming grin on his lips. There is one thing you notice immediately: the silver cuffs on his arms are gone. And he looks oddly free without them.

Almost trance-like, you round the counter, your had reaches out to him, touching his jaw, gliding down the length of his neck until your fingertips disappear into the soft curls in the back of it. 

“Is it really you?” You whisper in awe as you start to drown in the familiar blue of his eyes. And when James covers your hand with his, squeezing his reassuring sequence to your bones, you know. It’s real. 

“In the ...flesh.” he frowns but then smiles widely. 

“What happened when you were gone?” Your curiosity gets the better of you, but James just shakes his head and then turns his face to kiss the inside of your wrist. 

“Not here, love. Take me home... if you’ll have me. Take me back. I promise no more secrets from now on.”

You just nod vigorously, finally pulling James into your embrace. The worry raging inside you fades into insignificance, eclipsed by the certainty that in this moment, you’ve regained something intently more powerful - a bond that defies explanation, but feels undeniably perfect. 

“I will always choose you over anything else, James.” You nuzzle into his chest as you ravel in the warmth of his body and the security of his touch. His heart is singing the same song as yours and his head hangs low atop yours, pressing meaningful kisses to your hairline between every stroke of his hand on your back. 

The diner around you might as well not exist. All that matters is this connection between you - the bond that defies the boundaries of heaven and earth. 

“But tell me one thing,” you whisper into his shirt and James moves to better hear your low voice. 

“I will tell you anything,” he presses into another kiss on your face, still holding you close. 

“Are you... did the-“ you’re not sure how to assemble the questions inside your mind without being bold. But James seems to know exactly what it is you want to say. 

He takes both his hands from around you and guides your face to his until his warm lips press a meaningful kiss to yours. “Yes,” he murmurs softly, yet steadily, conveying just enough seriousness to let you know how important and truthful his answer is. “I did what I promised. I am yours until the end of my life, and even beyond, my soul will be seeking yours for eternity. But until then, we will grow old together and finally be what we were meant to.”

His lips latch onto yours a second time and as the kiss deepens, a sense of completeness washes over you. In James’s arms, you find the solace and passion you have been yearning for, a promise of love that transcends all else. 

“I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me.” You smile back between kisses.

James pulls you even closer, his voice a gentle murmur against your lips. “We have a lifetime to show each other.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the echoes of a bustling diner and the warmth of his embrace, you know that no matter the trials ahead, this love will endure, defying all boundaries and transcending every limit. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Because at last, there’s noting more freeing than falling itself.

Lord, can we take a second and appreciate these images???!! Got me on my knees - and not for praying, I'll tell you this much...

Hello, loves. As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. I hope you had fun! Maybe... juuuust maybe if you want to, you could leave a comment or reblog on this post. New fics will be on hiatus until August, I have some real life work to finish. But please feel free to interact and talk to me. I love hearing from you! Take care, and ill talk to you as soon as I can. ~Meg 💗

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[dustofthedailylife]

How to Steal the Duke's Heart 101

→ Masterlist || → Taglist -> Next Part

Pairing: Wriothesley x (gn!) Reader

Summary: The moment your verdict was decided as guilty you were brought to the Fortress of Meropide - despite being innocent. Little did you know that the trip to prison would make you meet the love of your life.

Tags: Fluff, kissing, you're in prison (but innocent), some violence (not graphic), swearing

A/N: Due to me being utterly normal about Wriothesley I had the idea for this fic - who am I kidding I would commit a crime for this man.

“According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale, the defendant is declared… guilty.”

The voice of Chief Justice Neuvillette was ringing in your ears as he read out the verdict. Your verdict.

You couldn’t believe it. You knew you hadn’t done what you had been accused of, that the eyewitnesses had lied the moment they had opened their mouths, that the evidence had been tampered with, that you had been framed for the crime – but you were innocent. And no one was ever going to believe you. 

After all, the device that had handed you the fateful false verdict was treated as infallible in Fontaine. You now at least had proof that its reputation was nothing but hollow words. But what use was the knowledge other than just a bittersweet confirmation for no one but yourself? 

And before you knew it, guards were escorting you out the back of the Opera Epiclese in handcuffs. Roughly dragging you along with them into a big elevator. Down – deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean.

You had heard stories of the Fortress of Meropide before – the secluded place where all criminals and outcasts of Fontaine resided. The place no one had ever come back from to tell the tale. At least not in one piece.

You weren’t sure how you felt on the way down the elevator but you would describe it as something akin to hollowness.

The glances the guards threw your way out of the corner of their eyes literally screamed disgust. You were nothing more than a dirty criminal to them after all – someone who was to be shunned and banished from society for all eternity. And if you really had done what you were convicted for, you wouldn’t even blame them for their disdain.

When the elevator arrived at the bottom the doors opened with a mechanical hiss. The scent of machine oil, iron, and damp moldy cellars immediately pricked at your nose and it was the exact opposite of what you’d call homely. 

The guards turned you in at the reception, where a rather unpleasant woman took your mugshots before handing you over to yet another rather unfriendly man who led you even further down into the Fortress.

With every new step you took, you tried to come to terms with the fact that the sight of damp, stone, and ironclad walls as well as the lingering industrial smell was going to be your life from now on. 

And the dawning realization of that was painfully pulling a tight rope around your throat. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry and most of all, you wanted to run away and pretend like all of this was a bad dream. But you couldn't.

Instead, you were trodding behind the man who was escorting you and silently began to cry as big beads of tears soon began rolling down your cheeks.

"Crying won't help you anymore, sweetheart." The man remarked almost mockingly as soon as he looked back over his shoulder at your defeated frame. "Should've thought about that before you did some shit."

No. You’re wrong. I'm innocent.

At least that was what you wanted to spit back at him. But it was as if any fierceness or strength to stand up for yourself had left you the moment you set foot into this prison. You simply had no strength left to fight.

You soon arrived in a gigantic circular room. The contraption in the middle almost looked like a giant engine, elevators were going up one level on one side and even further down on the other side of the room. The ceiling was so high up that you almost couldn't make it out at all. The light was dim and the only real light sources were yellow lanterns whose light was bouncing off of the copper-colored iron pipes, crates, and frames that lined the entire room. Gloomy would probably be the best way to describe it.

The pungent smell of oil and damp cellar was hanging in the air here as well and probably even more prominent than it had been before. Only now it was also mixed with what you thought was old sweat and… tea? The smell of the latter seemed oddly out of place and you couldn't make out where exactly it was coming from. All you knew was that it was probably the only pleasant smell you had encountered down here.

Taking the elevator up one level again the man you had been following this entire time led you into a side hallway that looked more like a vent pipe. The dimly lit room that was lying behind it was only furnished with a bunk bed and a barely functioning lantern. He unlocked your handcuffs before roughly shoving you into the room with a smug grin on his face.

"Make yourself at home." He chuckled mockingly before turning around on his heel and leaving while whistling a tune to himself that eerily echoed off the stone walls.

You lay down on the bed, exhaling in defeat. Your throat still felt like someone had painfully tied it shut and tears were dangerously pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

Now what?

You had no idea what to do here aside from sitting your time off. Where do you get food? Were you supposed to work and if yes, where do you have to and when?

You closed your eyes as a single tear escaped from the corner of your eyes, rolling down your cheek, dampening the pillow you lay on. 

All you heard around you were wet droplets falling from the ceiling onto the wet stone floor, distant voices from down below, and your own breathing. The only thing that drowned these sounds out were the thoughts in your head. 

Now that you had a quiet moment to yourself after everything that had gone down today, the realization about your situation was beginning to seep in for good. This bed, these walls, the oily smell… this was going to be the rest of your life now.

And that’s when you broke down and started crying once again.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you knew was waking up to the smell of food wafting through the air vent in front of your room. 

You got up from the bed, took the elevator down, and followed the smell. Soon you found yourself standing in front of a Cafeteria, where fellow inmates were queuing for lunch. Or was it dinner? You’ve barely even been here a day, but the distinct lack of daylight already made you lose track of time.

You sighed and walked over, queuing for some food as well. You didn’t have any appetite but you knew you had to eat something and your grumbling stomach was screaming for food, appetite be damned. Much to your dismay, the food needed to be paid for, well, at least the stuff that looked digestible.

You ordered the only free option and sat down with the bowl of grayish, funky-looking liquid whose consistency was more akin to that of wallpaper paste. It didn’t look appetizing, but at least it was free and would prevent you from starving.

Just as you were about to lift the first spoon of gooey pap in your mouth, someone sat down at your table, making you halt your movement for a brief second. 

He placed his tray on the table with a loud bang before plopping down on the bench right in front of you. His food looked tremendously more high quality than yours. Your mouth began watering from just looking at it. Freshly made roast potatoes with rosemary, fluffy pieces of baguette with salted butter, a big juicy piece of meat – grilled to perfection, and a glass of mousse au chocolat.

He leaned forward, supporting himself on the table with his elbows, folded his hands and intensely looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. It seemed like he wasn’t in a hurry to start eating any time soon.

You pretended to ignore him and began eating. The soup, which could vaguely be identified as lentil soup, left a slimy feeling on your tongue and tasted completely bland. Every fiber of your body told you to spit it back out again but with enough willpower, you actually managed to swallow it. Not without pulling a grimace first though.

“You’re new here.” The stranger in front of you observed with curiosity.

You looked up at him, nodding slowly shoveling another spoonful of goo in your mouth before going back to ignoring him. You weren’t really interested in trying to make connections here. All you wanted was to get out of here again – even though you knew deep down that the likelihood of that was nearing zero.

“Adapting well?” He inquired, still not in a hurry to touch his food.

You suspiciously looked up at him. There was just something about this guy that was off. He didn’t quite fit in here at all. He was admittedly very handsome. He looked well groomed and his attire was way too pompous to be an inmate - or maybe he was some rich guy who got some sort of special treatment down here. Every other inmate was avoiding your table and people looked at him with an almost reverent look in their eyes. If it wasn’t for the scars that seemed to cover the majority of his body already, this just further confirmed your gut feeling to avoid this guy at all costs in the future.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He chuckled, eyeing you further with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“What do you want?” You asked, now slightly annoyed.

“Just trying to strike up some friendly conversation. You know, seeing how lost you were while ordering food, not knowing about tickets, and just dashing around like a scared blubberbeast, led me to believe that no one gave you a rundown of how this place works. So, allow me?” He remarked with that same smirk.

When you wordlessly motioned for him to continue, he began explaining the workings and rules down here in detail. Unspoken rules, general rules, what and who to avoid, how jobs worked, work times, payment and money, general daily schedule, and a lot more. There was simply so much you were beginning to feel lightheaded as soon as he had finished speaking and you could feel the lump in your throat grow in size with every minute that passed. You would never be able to live here.

“That should about cover the basics.” He finished explaining as you swallowed thickly.

You opened your mouth in order to speak but he swiftly lifted his finger to shut you up. 

“No need to say anything. I know it’s not easy to adapt to a new environment. Especially not one you feel trapped in. But that feeling will fade eventually. Trust me.” He threw you a genuine smile before lifting himself up from the bench and pushing his tray with the food in your direction, pointing at it with an offering gesture.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide.” He said, before striding away.

“Wait-” You jumped up from the table causing him to halt in his tracks and turn around once more. “What’s your name?”

“Wriothesley.”

After this strange encounter with the mysterious and admittedly attractive man, you didn’t see him around for a long while. This came as a surprise because you’d assume someone with his looks and attire would stick out like a sore thumb wherever he went. But it was as if the ground itself had swallowed him.

You wanted to see him again, mostly because you thought you could learn from him for your life down here. And despite your gut telling you that he was a walking red flag you had developed a strange curiosity for him.

You had begun working at the ship dockyard where a big window was offering a view into the ocean. You could somewhat make out the sky and time of day from there and it was the only thing that kept you from going completely insane in here. All you had done was sleep, work, eat, and repeat since you came here. Some people had tried speaking to you and some asked what you were here for, but you didn’t have any interest in conversing with them – especially not after you had tried telling someone that you were innocent and they had just laughed at you. Needless to say, you had no desire to connect with people – although he was the only exception seeing as you were craving to talk to him again, as much as you tried to deny it.

Today you were working at the docks again and found yourself longingly staring out of the large window. Your mind drifted off and you wondered how it would feel to simply swim back up to the surface where your lost freedom lay.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” A familiar voice reached your ears from behind. 

“Wriothesley!”

The man in question walked up to you and came to a halt right next to you. He looked out through the window himself before looking at you from the corner of his eyes with a slight smirk.

“Still longing for the surface?” He inquired, crossing his arms over his chest. “It never fully goes away but once you get used to the Fortress you’ll find yourself unable to want to leave.”

“Is that so?” You ushered quietly, scoffing. You were simply unable to believe him, not when your freedom had been taken unjustifiably. 

“Thank you for the food the other day, by the way. I didn’t have a chance to thank you yet.” You attempted to divert the topic.

“Don’t mention it.” He waved dit off with an unwavering smile. “It is almost time for lunch, have you eaten yet? We could head to the Cafeteria together. My treat.”

“Oh, you absolutely don’t have to, I have enough credits for food now that–”

“Please. I insist.”

And so you found yourself sitting at the table with Wriothesley again, with the most exquisite meal that tickets could buy down here. 

You were surprised he was able to fork over nearly four thousand credits to buy the meals as if they were nothing. And especially since he treated you to such a meal as well, while everyone else down here held onto their credits as if their life depended on it. And of course, you also didn’t miss the stares of the others again when you sat down with your fancy meal.

You carefully eyed the food and then Wriothesley as if you didn’t deserve to be treated to something like this. He looked back at you with a genuine smile as he continued nibbling on his baguette.

“Anything wrong?” He asked with curiosity.

“No. It’s just… why–?”

“Why am I treating you to something?” He raised an eyebrow in amusement as if he had read your thoughts. You nodded slowly in reply.

“You’re interesting. That’s all there is to it.” He admitted with a smirk.

“I’m interesting? Me?” You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “You say that when you’re the one I could say that about. You don’t look like you fit in here at all, you have a truckload of credits to spend, and everyone here looks at you like you own the place.” 

You paused for a second, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’ve been here for a long time already, haven’t you?”

“You… could say that, yeah.” He replied with a chuckle, dipping his baguette into the rich sauce on his plate.

“Why are you here?” You continued prying.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He replied with a smug grin before he continued eating.

You couldn’t quite decide if he was a red flag you should run as far away from as possible or if you wanted to get to know him closer. But either way, your first priority for now was not letting the food go to waste so you began eating the heavenly-tasting meal.

A silence settled between you two that was surprisingly pleasant as you both quietly ate with the occasional glace thrown at each other. 

Once you were both done he took your tray with him to put it into the tray cart before turning back around with a smile.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked.

“U-uh… yeah, sure. I don’t see why not.” You stammered a bit taken aback, still confused as to why he wanted to hang out with you so much. You were a nobody with nothing to your name – not even a criminal record technically.

“Great. See you tomorrow then.”

And with that, a habit would slowly form. You would meet up for lunch each day and not long after, also for dinner. He often picked you up at the docks and bought a meal for you and only sometimes you were able to deter him from doing so and insisted that you bought your own since you were genuinely beginning to feel bad even if he seemed well off. 

You sometimes sat down for a long time talking even after you both had finished eating. You chatted just about anything and as it would turn out you two seemed to share similar interests. You found out he really loved tea and had extensive knowledge in that regard. And it just so happened that you too were a fellow tea aficionado. Not only that though, you two shared a similar taste in music, books, food, and more. After a couple of weeks had gone by it felt like you had already been friends for the longest time. And much to your surprise, not once had he attempted to ask you why you were here or pried into your private life.

On another such day, you were just heading out of the dormitories towards the Cafeteria to meet up with him. But before you could arrive there someone forcefully yanked you behind some iron crates. You crashed against them with the back of your head with a loud bang, momentarily losing consciousness as pain shot through your system.

"What kinda big shot are ya, huh? What're ya sitting for?" A man yelled at you aggressively. 

As soon as you got a grasp of your surroundings again, even though now extremely dizzy, you saw a big bulky guy with a missing front tooth who was pinning you against the boxes by your throat with an iron grip. He was accompanied by two other, less muscular guys who were staring at you in the same aggressive manner. His lackeys, you assumed.

"I have- I have no idea… what you're talking about." You struggled the words out due to the applied pressure on your vocal cords.

"What're ya here for, asshole?!" The man yelled at you even louder now, a few beads of spit flying right into your face through his tooth gap.

"I… I didn't do anything. I–" You gasped breathlessly as you clutched your hands around the hand around your throat, trying to alleviate some of the pressure being applied to it.

"Bullshit! You don't land here for twiddlin’ ya thumbs counterclockwise. And if the Duke's got the eye on ya already, ya've to be some VIP or some shit!" The toothless man spit on the ground between your feet.

“Duke?” You asked confusedly. 

“Tch, don’t fuck with me here, shut ya trap. Now, tell me. What’ve ya done? Be honest or I might’ve’ta polish your visage a lil’.” He viciously cackled in unison with his two lackeys who were cheering on him.

“I didn’t. Do. Anything.” You bit back through clenched teeth, putting a strong emphasis on each word. And before you were able to react, a stinging pain shot through your system as a fist connected with your face, sending your head flying back against the crate once again.

You immediately began to see stars and could feel your consciousness quickly fade away. The ringing in your ears and the accompanying dizziness from the impact was overbearing everything and all you could make out before you passed out was a flash of white light and pleas for mercy. Then everything faded to black.

The next thing you knew was waking up with a bandage around your head and an intense migraine. You felt like a horde of boars had trampled over you. The omnipresent pain got worse when you instinctively tried to sit up on the bed you found yourself on.

You hissed in pain and immediately felt a pair of big hands push you back into the fluffy bedding.

“Stay.” 

You recognized this voice. You had heard it so often in the past couple of weeks that, despite your delirious state, you had no issue placing it.

“Wriothesley.” You uttered weakly with your eyes still closed.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”

He took hold of your hand with a reassuring squeeze and the feeling of his warmth on your skin made you feel tingly all over and the all-present pain immediately felt like it was being alleviated ever so slightly. Out of all people you were glad it was him by your side.

“What? Where?” You rasped, attempting to slowly open your eyes.

“We’re in a separate room at the Fortress Infirmary. Someone roughed you up real good and you fell unconscious. I arrived just in time to prevent worse. You’ll probably have a nasty bruise on your face for a while and you’ve got quite the concussion as well as a cracked rib. But nothing some bed rest and a good cup of tea wouldn’t be able to fix, hm?” He tried to reassure, brushing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"Your Grace, here is the medicine you asked for." A guard suddenly came rushing into the infirmary with a small satchel that he handed to Wriothesley before quickly leaving again after a courteous bow towards the man by your side.

You furrowed your brows in confusion at the display of submissiveness of the guard towards a fellow prisoner when you've been treated with nothing but disdain and… wait a minute.

Your Grace. The looks he got from the others during lunch and dinner time. The Duke. It's him?!

The memories suddenly came rushing back to you – how you had been slammed into the metal crates, how the toothless man had mentioned the Duke while threatening you and how his fist had then ultimately painfully kissed your face.

You didn't have all the puzzle pieces to connect everything into a clear image yet but it was enough to feel that there was an epiphany just mere millimeters out of your range.

You startled and sat up on the bed with wide-blown eyes once more as pain shot through you again from the abrupt movement. Pain so bad you thought you would have to throw up for a second.

"I-I… your Grace? The Duke? It's you! He meant you and– who? W-what?! I-I– he threatened me and I-I'm innocent. I don't belong here I–I'm innocent–" You incoherently stammered nonsense because your mouth couldn't match up with the speed at which your thoughts were racing.

Just who was he?

But before you got to properly ask that question a pair of soft lips gently connected with yours, rendering you speechless and cutting off the words that were spilling from your mouth relentlessly like water from a leaky faucet. He squeezed your hand a little tighter while the other gently found comfort on your cheek. Cradling it so carefully as if you're the finest piece of porcelain in the world and could break any minute.

The gentleness of his touch, the warmness of his lips, and the smell of Earl Grey on his breath made your body explode into a sea of fireworks. It wasn't until this moment that you realized you had developed feelings for Wriothesley that went beyond the casual acquaintance you met up with after work for food in the prison cafeteria. It was just that you had been too occupied and lost in your own thoughts about your predicament to realize it.

Your curiosity and cravings to see him more and more often weren’t just born from a place of loneliness. Your heart had craved for him all this time.

Your hands found comfort in his hair as you leaned into the kiss more, prying a low chuckle out of him and you felt him smirk against your lips.

"I know you are." He whispered against your lips when he separated from you again.

"What?" You asked in confusion, already forgetting what he was replying to.

"That you're innocent."

"N-no I don't mean just in this case… I didn't commit any crimes I was sent here despite being innocent I-" 

You didn't even realize you had started crying until he gently wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

"I know." He reiterated firmly.

You looked up in his face and his eyes were filled with nothing but sincerity. He must be the first person you ever encountered who didn't see the sentence of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale as infallible and unquestionable.

"How?" You quietly breathed out in disbelief.

"I knew it on the first day I saw you. My beliefs were just further confirmed when I talked to you for the first time. I've been working behind the scenes to get you out of here again ever since." He admitted, wiping another stray tear from your cheek.

That's why he was gone for days after your first meeting and suddenly arrived again behind you at the docks.

"You went above ground?" You rasped, making the question of who he actually is even bigger.

He nodded, taking your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

Is that why he also said you would find out who he is soon enough that one day? But you still didn't know… who actually is he?

"How are you allowed to go out? Who are you?"

"You still didn't figure it out?" He smirked. "I'm Wriothesley. Warden of the Fortress of Meropide." 

And at that moment everything fell like scales from your eyes.

His attire, the looks of other prisoners, the abundance of tickets to spend, randomly disappearing for days, the Duke… the Cryo Vision dangling from his shoulder despite not being allowed to carry any in here.

He was the one who saved you earlier.

He must've noticed your glance because he squeezed your hands a little tighter and reassured you: "They won't ever bother you again. I took care of it."

You didn't dare ask what he meant by that and simply nodded in acceptance.

"I can also tell you that things are going well. I pulled some strings and you might be out of here by the end of the week again with no criminal record to your name."

But what if you actually didn't want to leave anymore? At least not without him.

"Will I be able to see you again?"

A question that spilled out of your mouth before you could properly think about it. But the deafening silence that followed told you everything you needed to know. He rarely left the underground and was occupied down here most of the time so the possibility of you and him seeing each other again was low.

"Certainly." He replied after a while avoiding looking into your eyes.

A white lie. He wanted you to return to your old life again, out of the confines of this prison you had unjustifiably been thrown in. He didn't want to keep you here only for the selfish desires of his heart that he had unplannedly given to you along the way. Maybe he would find a way to be with you once you returned, maybe he didn't – But that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in what you had for the remaining time you were here with him.

And that's when he pulled you closer once more, one hand resting on your waist, gently massaging your skin through the fabric of your shirt while reuniting your lips as if it was the last thing he would ever get to taste.

And maybe, if it was what it took to see him again, you wouldn't mind actually committing a crime.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[aerithmybbgmypookiemywife]

Genshin SAGAU where GN! Reader reads a fanfic about them being a sub.

people of tevyat look in horror as a fanfic about you being a sub is released, not knowing you ARE actually a sub. not proofread. also shoutout to @/gameperson23100 (not sure how tags work here im just a tumblr noob so i just did like a twitter thing) they were in my comments on my first post about this and had an idea about a sub reader! i just expanded on it a little :))

Creator! Reader who seems so elegant yet have such an untouchable aura towards them. Everyone praises them for being so mature, for being so calm and collected towards stressfull siturations, everyone fawns over them. Just one glance from their slightly intimidating eyes has their knees trembling. The archons praise them as someone to really look up to, a true pillar of Tevyat.

When fanfictions like the Creator x Reader became popular, there was an unsaid rule that you were the dominant one in the relationship.

So imagine everyones suprise when a book from an anonymous author potraying the Creator as a sub pops up in Inazuma. Yae Miko was suprised this was published unsupervised! She shut it down but it was too late, almost all of its copies were sold! Everyone was baffled at how the author potrayed the Creator, when it came to their duties, the author wrote them perfectly but when it came to the romance between the Creator and whoever the reader is... It was a catastrophe! The Creator? Submissive?? Down on their knees?? Begging?! Getting degraded and liking it?!?!

BLASPHEMY!

People of Tevyat were conflicted at this book, everyone had divided opinions. Some saying that the Creator is a sub, while some saying they are a dom. There are a few people who suggest that the Creator may be a switch but this gets shut down by both sides. It even reached the scholars of Sumeru! With debates turning into heated arguments that escalates into fights.

The archons, except Nahida, were upset at this book as this somewhat taints your image. (although they secretly love the idea of the creator being beneath their feet) The acolytes were also divided and different opinions, with Alhaitham finding it somewhat interesting while Kaeya found it a little hilarious and treated the book like a parody. Xiao on the other hand, had the same opinion as Zhongli, the book may taint your image thus he made it his mission to hunt down the anonymous author. Itto, who got the book from a random stranger he befriended, treated the book like a sacred scripture or a guilty pleasure. He knows it's probably bad but he just can't stop reading it! Wriothesley read the book during tea time, and thought that the idea of the Creator being a sub was possible...

"And that concludes the report on Fontaine." Neuvillette concluded his report. You only hummed in response as you looked around the room. the Archons were there and some acolytes were also present in the meeting. You felt as if they have something they want to ask but is holding themselves back.

'...Is it about the book...? Fuck, why did it have to be so accurate...' you thought.

You cleared your throat, "I'm sure all of you are aware of a certain book going around." you spoke up, their minds started scrambling, thinking that you would be upset and angry that they haven't found the author yet. "Your Grace, we are all working hard to hunt down the author and imprison whoever they are." Zhongli spoke up, you shook your head.

"No need, it's... An interesting book." you told them, you cleared your throat again, trying to ease your embarrassment. That book ended on a cliff hanger too! No way in hell were you going to imprison the author after writing an accurate potrayal of you!

Everyone didn't show it in their face but they were shocked, but even more shocked at how red your ears are while you tried to keep a calm face. Did this mean that you didn't mind the potrayal of the book about you?! Or are you truly a sub?! Do you just like the book?! What is it???!! HOW IS IT INTERESTING??!!? Their minds were filled with unanswered questions.

Word spread to Tevyat really fast, and as soon as they heard that you called the book interesting, it just added more fuel in the debates about you being a sub or a dom. Like two groups in the same fandom fighting for their non canon ship! The book would still be treated like an illegal book, a guilty pleasure.

[rafesfavgirl]

belly piercing — r. cameron

pairing: bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: you got a belly button piercing and rafe sees it for the first time.

words: 652

warnings: fluff, mention of smut

it was a bright and sunny day when rafe convinced you to take a ride in topper's new boat with him, topper, and kelce.

you had recently gotten your belly button pierced and hadn't told rafe about it yet, so you quickly threw on one of his oversized shirts over your bikini before meeting them outside.

"hey, pretty girl," he holds a hand out to you when you reach the end of the dock to help you step into the boat.

"hey, y/n," kelce and topper both greet you as you join them, topper at the steering wheel, and kelce sipping on a bottle of beer.

"hey guys," you throw them a smile, as rafe wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a peck on the lips.

topper steers the boat away from the dock and starts heading out towards the marsh.

—

topper had anchored the boat to a stop in the middle of the marsh half an hour ago, so you were all now chilling under the sun.

you were perched on a lounge chair on the opposite side of the boat's deck from rafe, topper, and kelce, who were sitting on the L-shaped couch, sipping on their beers, and talking about some girl kelce was trying to get with, while you read your summer romance book.

all three guys had lost their shirts some time around noon when the sun reached its peak, and now that it was beating down hard and causing sweat beads to scatter across your skin, you consider taking off rafe's oversized shirt to just sit in your bikini.

you contemplate it for a second, unsure of what rafe might think about your newly pierced navel, but after persuading yourself that he was probably too distracted talking to topper and kelce to even notice it, you hop up from the lounge chair to pull his shirt over your head.

little did you know, he watched your every move from the moment you stood up, his eyes trailing over your body as you took his shirt off, the diamond encrusted ring in your belly button reflecting the sunshine and immediately catching his eye.

a smirk comes across his lips as he stood up to walk over to you in the middle of topper's sentence, and sat down at the edge of your lounge chair, facing you.

it didn't take you long to notice exactly what he was staring at, as he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. 

a newfound confidence washes over you when you realize that the look on his face meant that he was loving the new piece of jewelry on your body. "you like it?"

he tilts his head up at you, his piercing blue eyes twinkling as he reached out to grab the back of your thighs and pull you closer to him, your navel directly in front of his face. "it's sexy, baby." he glances at it again, bringing a finger up to play with it. "does it hurt?"

"it's a little sore, but nothing too bad," you tell him, your hands tangling in his hair as he tilts his head up to look at you again.

"so it wouldn't hurt if you rode me?" he kinks an eyebrow at you and pulls you into his lap so you're straddling him, your thighs on either side of his legs.

"is that something you'd like?" you tease, his face inches away from yours now.

"very much," he nods, placing his lips on yours as his hands on your lower back pushed your body closer to his.

"hey lovebirds!" kelce calls out to the two of you, and you both snap your head towards him and topper on the couch.

"get a room," topper adds, sipping his beer.

"jump off the boat and go for a swim then," rafe tells them, causing you to snicker. "give us ten minutes."

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[wh1msic4lwasab1]

"𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐫"

synopsis: Your boyfriend, Aventurine, gets drunk and ruins an important event for your other boyfriend, Veritas, and he pays the price while you receive an award.

tags: threesome, cuckholding(?), overstimulation, rough, vulgar, degradation, praise, bondage, toys

wrd cnt: 1.1k

a/n: screaming wish it was me :(

The business party you attended on behave of your partners had been long and tiring, but finally, you were all back home in your comfortable penthouse. As the doors closed behind you, the tension in the air was palpable, and the ride in the car was the worst. Aventurine had….misbehaved, at the party, causing quite a scene and embarrassing both you and Dr. Ratio in front of their colleagues.

“You were supposed to behave tonight, Aventurine,” Dr. Ratio's voice was cold and filled with disappointment as he approached the coat rack.

“But...but I couldn't help it. The champagne was just so good and everyone was having such a good time,” he tried to explain, but Veritas expression didn't soften.

“You know the rules. Misbehaving has consequences, this was an especially important night for my project” he said, their tone leaving no room for argument. Aventurine's eyes widened as they realized what was coming.

Meanwhile, you stood to the side, watching the exchange with a mix of arousal and concern. You knew what was about to happen, and you couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through your veins. But at the same time, you couldn't help but worry for Aventurine.

“Hey- what are you doing….” Your blonde lover spouted, “Y/n…help meee, he’s being so- hiccup so mean”.

“Y/n, unlike you, knows to behave when she needs to. If only you were more like her.” Your other boyfriend says, as he sits Aventurine down on the a chair, his languid body wobbling from his intoxication.

Aventurine's voice trembled in fear and anticipation. “Okay- I’m sorry, but what is this for”

Without another word, Dr. Ratio marched over to a nearby shelf and picked up a small remote. He had tied up the drunk man well, hands behind his back and legs spread apart, an attachment on his crotch.

He pressed a button, and a loud buzzing noise filled the room. You recognized it as the sound of a vibrator.

“Since you couldn't behave in public, you'll have to behave here,” Dr. Ratio replied coldly as they approached Aventurine with the remote in hand. “You can enjoy the sensation while you watch me take care of someone else who can follow the rules.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Dr. Ratio turned to you and pulled you into a passionate kiss. His lips were demanding and possessive as his hands roamed your body, reminding you that you belonged to him right now, him alone. You moaned into the kiss, eagerly responding to his warm touch.

You felt Aventurine's eyes on you, and you opened your eyes to see him staring at you with a mix of arousal, jealousy, and frustration. He were visibly straining against their restraints as the vibrator worked its magic on his cock.

“Are you ready for a reward?” Dr. Ratio asked you, breaking the kiss and turning to Aventurine. He ran a hand down your body and reached between your legs, finding you already wet with desire. 

'Yes, Veritas- ,' you moaned, feeling Aventurine's eyes on you as Dr. Ratio's fingers danced over your clit.

“Very good,” Dr. Ratio said, his voice full of satisfaction as he pushed you down onto the couch infront of your tortured other.

Slowly, he’d remove your shirt, squeezing your tits before taking your bra off. Mouth clasped onto your nipple, he’d give Aventurine some glances, smiling against your skin every now and then as he watched his legs start shaking.

Once your panties were off, Veritas picked you up, and held you against his chest, opening your legs and letting Aventurine get a look at your glistening cunt, getting rubbed and fingered by Veritas.

You held onto him tight, moaning breathlessly as he prepared your hole, whispering dirty things in your ear from behind.

“Feels good baby? You’re so wet already, look at our little mut over there…He’s already came twice it seems.”

He chuckled, kissing the nape of your neck as he feels his cock almost rip the seems of his pants under you.

“Fuck- Can you just….Im so- so sorry please Veritas…”

With Aventurines pleas, your lover only laughed.

He flipped you over on your back to the cushion, spreading your legs as he takes his cock out; slapping your wet pussy with the tip.

“Mmm- fuck…you’re such a good girl, you really deserve this. Unlike some people.”

You gasped when you felt the tip go inside, and after every inch after that.

Veritas was gentle in preparing you, but not gentle when fucking you, especially with all his anger for your other boyfriend. He gripped your waist hard, and thrusted into you so deep, you practically screamed his name.

He snapped at Aventurine, who’s now fully in tears from overstimulating, cumming his brains out and watching you get fucked like you’re doing the same.

“Look at you…Pathetic. You could have taken her other hole but you just had to be an idiot.”

Aventurine watched with a mix of arousal and torturous anguish as Ratio fucked you, making you writhe with pleasure.

The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and the buzzing of the vibrator. Aventurine's eyes were locked on you, his own cock straining against the vibrator as he was forced to watch.

You look at Aventurine, taking small glances of his cock covered in his own cum.

“Don’t look at him, he can’t save you, or himself.” Veritas said, grabbing your face and making you look at him. 

You cried out in pleasure as he pounded into you. You were lost in the bliss of his touch, and Aventurines eyes locked onto your body made everything so much more pleasurable; watching his leaky cock. 

Dr. Ratio's pace quickened, and soon you were both teetering on the edge of ecstasy. With one final, powerful thrust, he sent you both over the edge, your bodies shaking with pleasure. He filled you up to the brim, so much cum oozing out of your hole.

Veritas picked you up quickly, and held your back against his chest, opening your legs and carrying them infront of Aventurine; still strapped to the chair but now recovering as Ratio finally retired the vibrator.

He tries to catch his breathe, looking up to see your spread apart cunt in his face, carried by Veritas.

“Clean her up. It’s all you’re getting tonight.”

With hunger, your starved boyfriend took your cunt into his mouth, hands still behind him as he pushed his face into you, tongue cleaning up Veritas’ mess.

[ohproserpine]

viii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, alastor tweaking, VERY heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, DEATH, hunting, VERY graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), drowning, flooding, mentions of glass piercing skin, a gun, threats of death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Alastor's head snapped to the side, with a sickening crack accompanying the movement

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

.

A few blocks away, at the Vox Tower.

The heavy door before you swung open to reveal a diner. Chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling, the crystals casting shattered reflections of light across the expanse of golden tables below. The centerpiece of the room was an expansive aquarium, its transparent walls housing sleek, metallic sharks that glided gracefully through the rose-tinted waters.

Vox guided you inside with a hand on your back, leading you towards a secluded booth. He was dressed in a neat, crisp royal blue suit, perfectly matching the attire chosen for you by Velvette. She had dressed you in a stunning cerulean silk dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric flowed gracefully as you moved, the long skirt sweeping across the floor with every step of your white heels.

"I didn't realize there was a restaurant tucked away in here," you whispered, your eyes widening in awe as you took in the glowing ambiance of the place.

"Well, we at VoxTek are full of surprises, my dear," Vox chuckled smoothly as he moved to pull back the chair at your table. "It's quite a diverse company."

"I see," you murmured, a sense of intrigue coloring your tone. Taking a step closer, you sank into the plush seat, a soft hum of contentment escaping your lips as you settled in. Vox pushed you in before taking his seat across from you. With a snap of his finger, he gestured for a nearby waiter to approach.

Once the menus were presented, Vox glanced over at you expectantly. "Feel free to order whatever you'd like, my dear. Consider it a treat for all your hard work." A waiter slid over a tablet for the bill, and Vox pulled out a sleek black card which he quickly swiped. "Take your time. We have all night to go over your contract."

Grateful for the gesture, you returned a smile before turning your attention to the menu, scanning the options while Vox took a sip from his glass of wine, the scarlet liquid swirling.

Before the moment could continue, however, a sudden wave of static crackled through the room, causing the tables to tremble, drinks spilling and tabletop decor tumbling aside as the lights flickered erratically. Startled, Vox choked on his drink, coughing as he accidentally spilled it on himself.

You looked around in worry, confusion furrowing your brow as you whipped your head around to assess the situation. A few of the patrons were talking amongst themselves in hushed tones, their concern mirroring your own.

"What was that…?" you asked, your voice barely audible above the din of the lingering static.

"Second fucking time," Vox grumbled under his breath as he attempted to wipe the wine off his crisp white dress shirt, but his efforts only seemed to smear the stain further across his chest. The crimson stain stark against the pristine fabric made it look as if he was just mauled.

With a resigned sigh, he abandoned his futile efforts and without a care in the world, tossed the soiled tablecloth back onto the table. Despite the mishap, he flashed you a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure it was nothing, my dear. Just a temporary glitch in the system. I'll have my workers look into it later," he said, waving it off.

Vox clapped his hands with a sharp, authoritative gesture, summoning a few waiters to swiftly clean up your table and retrieve the menus from your hands. They rushed over with a sense of urgency, their movements swift as they began tidying up the contents, the clatter of plates and silverware echoing through the air.

Meanwhile, a tall, slim blonde receptionist approached, her steps slow as she made her way towards Vox. Her slender fingers pushed her slim red glasses up on the bridge of her nose, accentuating the sharpness of her eyes as she addressed you both with a polite nod of her head.

"Mister Vox," she began, tapping a pen along her clipboard. "I have a few tables available for you upstairs. Would you like to transfer while we get the ground floor cleaned up?"

"Do that for us, will you?" Vox nodded, standing from the table with a sigh you couldn’t hear but could see in the slump of his shoulders. Straightening up, he brushed invisible dust off the front of his jacket and suit pants with swift, agitated motions.

"This day has been nothing but shit to me. The hell even was that?" Vox muttered under his breath as he glanced down at his watch, a luxurious 10-million soul bucks carat model he had allowed himself to purchase a few moons ago. "Alright. Time is ticking. Let's not waste any more time and move somewhere else, love."

With a nod, you followed suit and stood up, mirroring his movements as you prepared to leave the table. But before you could take a step, another round of static swept through the room, much stronger this time. The vibrations pulsed through the floor, causing you to stumble and grasp onto the table for support. The lights flickered and dimmed before abruptly going out, enveloping the room in darkness.

"What the fuck?" Vox snarled, the glow of his screen casting eerie shadows in the darkened environment as he turned sharply to the receptionist, the faint illumination of his face acting as a temporary flashlight.

"Get this checked out, will you?" Vox hissed.

"Of course, Mister Vox," the receptionist nodded briskly, maintaining her composure despite the chaos unfolding around her. Her pen scratched against the paper as she made a note of his request. "I'll have someone look into it right away."

"Satan. Alright, come on, doll," Vox called for you and slipped his hand into yours, interlocking them together with a firm grip. Reluctantly, you accepted his hand, feeling a sense of unease creeping over you as you followed him towards the staircase.

Together, you ascended the steps, the lingering sensation of static still hanging heavily in the air like an ominous fog. Another wave swept through the atmosphere, causing your skin to tingle with prickles and sending a shiver coursing up your spine.

Something was off.

The second floor was eerily quiet, devoid of the bustling activity in the ground floor. The subdued murmurs of the remaining patrons echoed faintly against the walls. You noticed that some of the only patrons left were already making their way down the stairs, their hurried footsteps punctuating the hushed atmosphere as they descended the glass steps.

As you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a TV perched high on the wall. Whatever show had been playing before was now reduced to nothing but static and glitches, its wires crackling with electricity like an angry serpent. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from the tangled mess.

"Doll?" Vox turned his head, catching your wandering eyes with a knowing look.

"I apologize for all this trouble, my dear, but worry not, everything will be handled in a jiffy," he reassured you, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin as he guided you by the railings.

Leaning his elbows against the metal, he took your hand into both of his, kneading and caressing it as he grumbled to himself. "If I knew this was going to happen, I would have taken you out another night."

"Well, there's no way you could have seen that coming," you muttered as you turned your gaze towards the ground floor. Below, various demons and imps scurried around, attempting to manage the chaos. With a shrug, you moved to lean against the railings, the cool metal soothing against your skin.

Resting your cheek on your free hand, you continued, "I mean, there's always another day. We can even hash out the contract right now."

At your words, Vox visibly deflated, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he cast you a dry look. "Always so professional, are you?"

"Yes?" you replied with a nod, tilting your head in genuine curiosity. "Is that bad?"

"No, not at all," Vox huffed, a barely concealed smile playing at the corners of his lips as he pulled you closer to him. "It's actually quite charming."

With a yelp, you stumbled into his arms, your hands pressing against his chest for balance. Vox leaned in further, his left hand coming to rest on your back, his touch gentle yet firm as he looked deep into your eyes.

"But would it be bad to say I wanted something more?" he murmured, a pinkish gradient tint glowing softly on his screen, casting a warm and inviting glow across his features.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden intimacy. "Something more?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek, his touch tender against your skin.

"Yes, my dear," he murmured, trailing his thumb down to press and part your lips. "Something… personal."

"I-I don't really get what you're telling me," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest. As Vox leaned in closer and closer, you found yourself backing away until you could no longer retreat, your back arching dangerously over the railings.

"Then perhaps it's best if I show you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Popping the lid open, a familiar golden band sat inside, glimmering softly in the dim light of the room. Your eyes widened with recognition, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"My ring," you gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out to pluck the precious jewelry from its box. However, your hand halted in midair as you noticed an unfamiliar engraving gleaming on its honey-colored surface. A wavy symbol was etched onto it, its silver detailing standing out against the smooth gold of the ring.

"Vox, what's… what's this?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as your eyes darted back and forth between the two sights. You could feel a hot fire starting to coil in your gut, your skin already slowly cracking. "What'd you do?"

Vox's expression remained impassive for a moment before softening with a touch of vulnerability. "It's a symbol, my dear," he explained, his voice gentle as he slowly took your hand and raised it to his lips. "A symbol of our… partnership."

"Partnership?" you echoed, your eyes tracing the movement of his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your fingers.

"You'd make a good wife," he blurted out, catching you off guard. Your gaze shot up to meet his, wide with surprise, as his declaration hung in the air between you. "I could provide for you. I could make you happy. Give you anything, anything you want."

A clawed hand, its digits tipped with sharp, pointed nails, delicately plucked the ring out of its velvet cushion. Taking your hand in his, he gently slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Before you could even process what had just happened, a wave of static washed over the room, crackling through the air like tiny bolts of lightning, causing him to curse under his breath.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled.

The room trembled again as another wave of static hit, this time with greater intensity than any of the past waves. The floors shook beneath your feet, the building groaned in protest, and you stumbled forward with a gasp, your knees buckling under the force of the tremors. Desperately, you reached out to grab onto Vox for support, clinging to him as the world seemed to tilt and sway around you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the receptionist stumbling toward you both. Her calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by frantic movements and panic in her voice.

"Sir, sir!" she huffed, her words punctuated by labored breaths as she stumbled to her feet. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were torn. "The building is under attack!"

"Attack?" Vox scoffed out in disbelief, his shoulders shaking from his laughter. "Who in Lucifer's name would even think of crossing me?"

The receptionist shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide with terror, strands of her disheveled hair clinging to her sweaty forehead.

"The radio demon," she rasped out, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with fear.

You froze, your hands shaking as they moved to cover your gaping mouth. Another wave of static shook the building, but your thoughts were scattered, unable to focus amidst the chaos.

Vox's grip tightened on you and the handle of the railings, his claws raking against the metal with a sharp scrape. His expression slowly shifted, the laughter fading as a dangerous seriousness settled over him. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly before looking back at the receptionist with a dark glint in his eyes, a storm brewing within him.

"What did you just say?"

Before a response could be made, an explosion thundered through the floor, sending debris and dust swirling through the air. In shock, you watched as tendrils of inky shadows began to writhe and thrash, lashing out and slamming into the walls with bone-shaking force.

A particularly powerful tendril crashed against the aquarium, its force shattering the glass and unleashing a deluge of water that flooded down through the ground floor, drowning the patrons below. The sharks were caught in the torrent, their powerful bodies tossed and thrashed about as they were swept away.

Another tendril snaked its way through the dust, wrapping around the receptionist with a vice-like grip before flinging her high into the air like a ragdoll. The desperate cries of the poor woman echoed through the room before abruptly falling silent as she slammed into a wall with a sickening thud.

"Fuck—" Vox cursed, pulling you into him. His arms tightened around you protectively as he scanned the scene, his eyes darting around in search of any functioning piece of technology that could offer an escape and allow him to teleport you both out. However, his efforts proved futile; every piece of tech in the room was malfunctioning, either from the rampant waves of static or the overflow of water from the shattered aquarium.

Creak.

Suddenly, there was a deafening sound, cutting through the air and the chandelier above you both began to tilt dangerously, its crystals catching the flickering light before it started falling. Vox's curses mingled with the din as he swiftly scooped you into his arms, his muscles straining under the weight as he sprinted away just in the nick of time. With a thunderous crash, the chandelier came hurtling down, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments upon impact with the floor.

The glass shrapnel, propelled by the force of the chandelier's collapse, began to ricochet in your direction. Reacting swiftly, Vox made a split-second decision and hurled you over the railing and onto the ground floor. Screaming, you landed with a thud, the shallow water from the shattered aquarium splashing around you, soaking your dress and sending a shiver down your spine. However, Vox's own descent was less fortunate. As he jumped to follow, a few sharp glass shards found their mark, piercing his metallic body, tearing through his frame, and exposing the wires beneath.

"Ah…" Pushing yourself off the floor, you grappled with a moment of hazy confusion before a shock of fiery pain shot up your leg, so intense that your body instinctively recoiled, nails clawing at the flooded floors. A scream threatened to escape your lips, but you bit it back, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes blinked rapidly against the pain, struggling to adjust to the darkness surrounding you.

Everything blurred together in a mess of shadows and rushing water. Your breaths grew heavy and frantic, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to shake from the sheer intensity of the pain.

"Doll—!" Vox's voice crackled through the darkness, his form glitching and sparking from the water that seeped into his exposed circuits. Before his outstretched hand could reach you, shadowed tendrils snaked around him, yanking him away with a jolt and tossing him aside, sending him skidding into a nearby column.

You watched in horror, the dim light reflecting off the wet floor and casting eerie shadows on your face. Just then, the tendrils, like twisted serpents, slithered towards you, causing you to shut your eyes tight, bracing for the impending danger.

Time seemed to stand still as you lay there, your breaths shallow and rapid, every nerve on edge.

Still, nothing happened.

Slowly, cautiously, you dared to open your eyes, your vision blurred. As your sight cleared, you found yourself face to face with a familiar shadow.

"William?" you croaked out, your voice raspy from the exertion. William, Alastor's loyal shadow, perked up eagerly at the sound of your voice, its form undulating as it slithered around you, enveloping you in a gentle embrace.

With a weak smile, you raised a trembling hand to pat at the comforting darkness. "Hey, buddy…"

Your attention was abruptly torn away as a red blur darted towards the spot where Vox had been slammed into. Shock seized you, freezing you in place as you watched with wide eyes, feeling your pulse pounding against your chest and skull in a frantic rhythm.

William followed your gaze, his form stiffening as he silently scanned the area for any sign of danger. After a tense minute of no one seen nor heard, he turned back to you, his shadowy head tilting in confusion.

With quivering lips you uttered one name that had explained everything, "Alastor."

.

"Mgh!" Vox grunted as he collided with the wall. The sickening crack tore through his body as he crumpled to the floor amidst a splash of sparking wires, debris, and hanging metal. His systems went haywire, his vision obscured by flashes of glitches and static, each burst of light stabbing into his consciousness like searing knives.

Despite the system failures, Vox couldn't miss the sight of a familiar red-clad demon stalking towards him with a menacing grin etched on his face.

"You..."

Struggling to move, the overlord felt his arm pinned under debris, the weight pressing down on him like a vise, squeezing the air from his lungs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he sucked in a breath. Each inhale felt like fire scorching his insides.

Finding the leverage, with closed eyes and clenched fists, Vox braced himself and pushed with one hand while the other pulled, every movement sending waves of torment shooting through his body like bolts of lightning.

There was a sickening crack, the sound drowned out by the deafening roar of static and electricity that erupted from him. His back arched involuntarily, nerves and sinew spasming, his body instinctively attempting to curl in on itself to shield against the onslaught of pain as he ripped his arm off. Opening his mouth to scream, Vox found no voice escaping, only a glitched, distorted wheeze.

"My, my," Alastor chuckled, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement as he watched Vox dry-heave from the pain, relishing every moment of his torment. "Good show! Ho-ho! It's always such a thrill to witness your suffering."

"Wh-Wh-What the fuck do you want, old man?" Vox's voice glitched out as he shakily got to his knees, beads of water dripping and soaking through his suit, mingling with the blood and grime that coated his skin. The stench of metallic decay hung heavy in the air, mixed with the acrid scent of burning wires.

"You've got some nerve coming for me straight at my base," he shouted out, his screen flashing with a fierce red hue. "I've got you at a disadvantage!"

Alastor raised a brow in mocking surprise, twisting his head side to side to survey the torn-up tower with exaggerated interest. "Who's at a disadvantage?" he quipped with a shrug, his tone laced with derision as he gestured casually at the chaos surrounding them.

"I'm not the one on my knees, old pal," Alastor mused, his tongue dripping with sinister amusement as he tapped his staff against the flooded floors, the sound echoing. In one, swift motion, a shadow shot out, piercing Vox's shoulder and pinning him back against the wall, the tendrils coiling around him like a vice.

"Fuck you!" Vox hissed, his anger boiling over as he shot out wires of his own. Alastor made no attempt to dodge, staying put as the wires struck through his shoulder, flesh and muscle spraying out in a grisly display. Despite the gruesome injury, Alastor seemed unfazed, tilting his head with an audible crack, his grin widening into something unsettling.

"Sloppy," Alastor spat, blood trickling down the side of his mouth and dripping down his chin. With deliberate slowness, he raised a hand to grasp at the wires, his fingers curling around them with a sickening creak as he pulled them out.

"What the fuck are you even here for?!" Vox screamed.

"Funny you should ask," Alastor mused, his empty gaze boring into Vox's screen. Shadows wrapped around his injured shoulder, forming a makeshift bandage, while his other tendrils reached out, snaking towards Vox's ankles and forcibly dragging him forward. The demon fell onto his back, briefly submerged in the water as he was pulled towards Alastor.

Humming, Alastor slammed his foot down on Vox's torn arm, eliciting a scream of pain as sparks shot out. Chuckling, the Radio Delon hand came down hard, driving Vox's own wire into his eye with a sickening crack, causing the screen to fracture in a spiderweb of cracks.

"I'm here for my wife."

"Wife?" Vox narrowed his eye at Alastor in confusion for a moment, his screen flashing with red, blue, and yellow hues, before widening in recognition at the sight of a golden glint on Alastor's mangled, clawed hands.

Immediately, he snarled, his voice barely audible over the glitches and static, "I ain't telling you shit."

"Oh," Alastor drawled slowly, twirling his cane in his hands with a devilish grin. "You will."

Alastor moved with startling speed, lunging forward to grasp Vox's arms with his bare hands. With a vicious snarl, he began to tear at Vox's chest cavity, his claws digging into the metal casing with a sickening screech as he began to pull it off. Vox screamed in pain, his systems protesting against the assault, but he fought back, unleashing a flurry of sparks and glitches in a desperate attempt to break free.

"Old piece of shit!" Vox roared, his words dripping with venom as he punctuated them with a furious pound of his fist against the ground. Leaning up, he lunged forward, his hand shooting out to scratch at Alastor's eye with a scream of rage. "Radio's fucking dead!"

"You've got quite the fight in you, don't you?" Alastor's laughter echoed through the room as he jolted back from Vox's retaliatory strike.

With a casual flick of his hand, he wiped the crimson blood from his cheek, strands of his hair falling over the new scar that marred his face. "But I'm afraid spirit won't be enough to save your worthless life."

Alastor leaned down, his muscles tensing as his fist crashed into Vox's broken eye with a crack, causing the screen to fracture further. Lifting Vox by his collar, Alastor brought him closer to his face with a snarl.

"Radio killed the video star."

Alastor's tendrils coiled like vipers ready to strike, but before he could unleash them, a sudden crash of debris behind him jolted his attention. With a swift twist of his head, he peered over his shoulder.

Against the backdrop of the dark brick wall loomed a disheveled figure, her rosy cheeks and tousled hair framing her big, doll-like eyes. The shimmering of a necklace with a delicate rose pendant around her neck caught his attention, and in an instant, he recognized you.

Your hand pressed firmly against the wall for balance, while his shadow, William, enveloped your waist, supporting your weight. The fabric of your dress clung to your drenched skin, torn in parts, with one heel missing from your sprained foot. Streaks of makeup ran down your face, smudged by tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You sniffled, your face flushed with warmth as a burning pain spread to your throat, choking back every sob that threatened to escape.

"Al…"

Alastor didn't know what to do with himself.

Every muscle in his body tensed, locking him in place as if he were frozen in time. In his shock, Vox slipped from his grip, crashing to the ground in a heap of metallic clangs and crackling wires.

With cautious steps, he stepped forward, testing the waters, metaphorically and literally. To his surprise, there was no barrier, no force pushing him back, and no contract manifesting before him.

"Cher?" he called out, breathless.

The sobbing wail that escaped your lips was answer enough.

Heart pounding in his chest, Alastor rushed forward and caught you in a desperate hug. His arms enveloped your trembling form tightly, as if he could shield you from the world's horrors just by holding you close. You sobbed against him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body going limp like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. His hand flew up to cradle the back of your head, his touch both tender and urgent, his claws grazing your skin slightly in his desperation.

The smile on his face long dropped. His muscles tensed as he whispered your name over and over again like a mantra, each repetition a plea to whatever higher power might be listening.

For the first time in decades, Alastor felt fear grip his heart in its grimy claws. His eyes remained wide open, unblinking, as if he feared that closing them would make you vanish before his very eyes.

"Mon cœur," you heard the dark timbre in his voice, the faint crackle of radio static lingering in the air. Your husband drew his head back, and you winced at the loss of touch, but he immediately dove back in, pressing his lips against yours in a long overdue kiss. The taste of his metallic blood flooded your mouth, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Sighing against his lips, you tilted your head and pressed yourself further against him and Alastor grunted in response, his clawed hands mapping up the curve of your hips and moving up to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heart to feel its steady rhythm. It beat for him, raced and throbbed because of him

You trembled beneath his touch, more tears slipping from your eyes, dribbling down your cheeks.

"That’s it, cher," he hushed. "My sweet girl. You’re alright. Everything’s going to be alright."

His hand reached out, cupping both of yours firmly, causing your rings to clink together. His thumb gently traced over the back of your right hand, caressing the golden band.

Alastor paused, his fingertips gliding over the unfamiliar texture of an engraving on the ring, a curious furrow creasing his brow as he moved back in to examine your hands. You hesitantly allowed his inspection, silently noting the subtle twitches on his blank expression.

Despite the tenderness of his touch, Alastor's face remained devoid of his usual smile. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, silently asking for an explanation, and you answered the unspoken question immediately.

"Vox."

With just one word, Alastor immediately understood. A fleeting smile graced his lips as he pressed a final tender kiss to both of your eyelids before his grin returned in full force. he snapped his head back to face Vox, holding you close in his arms, supporting your weight due to your broken ankle. "It seems we have some unfinished business."

"Yeah, we fucking do," a new voice interjected, causing both you and Alastor to whirl around.

Velvette and Valentino made their presence known as they stood stoically by the entrance, their disheveled appearances and visible injuries painting a picture of the struggle that had unfolded. Every bruise, every torn piece of clothing seemed to speak on its own of the relentless assault Alastor had unleashed upon the building. It was clear that they had endured their fair share of the battle.

"Come."

Velvette reached her hand out, and you felt an odd sensation of tugging at your neck. Suddenly, a hot pink collar materialized around you, and before you could react, you were forcefully pulled forward with a sharp yank. The sudden movement caused you to stumble several feet, your injured ankle buckling beneath you with a jolt. A scream ripped from your throat, the intensity of the pain washing your vision with a blaring flash of white.

Valentino immediately grabbed you by the hair, wrenching you up as though you were nothing more than a prize to be claimed. "You want her? Well, we're going to have to make a deal," he taunted.

Something primal gnawed and snarled at Alastor's insides. Even in the brief seconds since you were torn away from him, the ache for your presence already began to consume him, searing through his veins like a wildfire. It cut him deeper than any of the physical wounds he received. He had just gotten you, and now you were being torn away from him once more.

He wanted to scream, to tear at his own flesh in anguish, to rip through the barriers separating him from you until he could hold you close once more.

And if he had to paint the sidewalks of hell with the blood of these vermin to achieve that, then he would stop at nothing to see it through.

"There's not going to be a deal. I doubt anything you can offer would be of any value," Alastor's grin twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing red. With a swift motion, he slammed his staff against the floor, unleashing a blare of crackling energy and swirling shadows into the air. "I'm going to end your fucking lives."

"Ay, calm down," Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with menace as he spread his wings, casting a shadow over the room. Dipping a hand into his coat pocket, he drew his gun and pressed it tight against your temple, the cold metal sending a shiver down your spine. Sweat beaded on your forehead as the searing burn of the barrel pressed against your skin, a silent threat hanging in the air.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Valentino's thumb run across your cheek, the demon cooing at you as if you were a child. Blinking away the tears, you opened your eyes to find Alastor's figure standing out vividly amidst the chaos, his red suit and hair glowing like fire against the darkness.

Like blood.

Alastor's entire body practically shook with anger, the shadows in the corners of the room writhing and twisting.

Their tainted blood should never dare to soil your skin, nor should the gaze of these wretches ever dare to tarnish your beautiful visage. In his eyes, you were pure and untainted, and above all, you belonged to him.

Only him.

"Now," Valentino chuckled, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he reached out to pet your head with a hand, his fingernails sharp and threatening. "It's really not worth the trouble. So why don't you stop this tantrum, grab your little bitch, and get out? She's not this fucking valuable to us."

"D-D-D-Don't!" Vox's voice crackled from his spot on the floor, his one functional arm trembling as he struggled to rise.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Velvette scowled, her nails digging into the fabric of her torn dress as she hurled your contract towards Alastor with a vicious flick of her wrist. "Do we have a fucking deal?"

Alastor's hand shot out, snatching the contract mid-air before it could reach the ground. Holding it aloft, he tore it apart with a savage rip, the sound of paper shredding echoing like thunder through the room.

"Deal."

Instantly, the chains restraining you dissolved, and Valentino moved away from you. You felt a gentle tug as Alastor's swirling shadows guided you towards him. His arm enveloped you protectively, pulling you close as if shielding you from any further harm. His wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on Velvette and Valentino, a silent warning in his stance.

"I'll make sure you regret ever crossing us," Alastor declared with a menacing growl, summoning a swirling portal of shadows behind him as he slowly backed away, pulling you along with him. Before departing, he deftly removed your engraved ring from your finger and tossed it in Vox's direction.

"Radio isn't dead," Alastor snarked as the shadowed portals began to envelop you both, their inky tendrils curling around you like a shroud, "but this broadcast is coming to an end."

With that, you and Alastor vanished into the swirling shadows, leaving the three figures standing amidst the aftermath.

The building lay in ruins, reduced to disrepair. Water trickled down from the shattered remnants of the aquarium, its glass now fractured and broken, mingling with the thick dust that hung in the air like a shroud. From top to bottom, no room was left untouched by the devastation wrought on by the Radio Demon.

Velvette stood rigid in the center of the room, her figure shadowed as she bore her intense gaze into Vox. The TV demon scoffed dismissively, his broken screen flickering erratically, casting disjointed shadows across the room.

"I'm killing her," Velvette declared.

"Who?" Vox croaked, doing his best to sit up as Valentino helped him to his feet.

Velvette clenched her teeth, her frustration boiling over as she stepped forward and forcefully slammed her heels down on Vox's legs, sending him slamming back down, the sound echoing in the room. She spat in his fractured screen, her voice dripping with venom.

"I'M FUCKING KILLING HER!"

.

"Don'tcha worry about a thing, sweetheart!" Mimzy chirped cheerfully, her voice ringing out above the din of the crowded bar. Balancing a huge stack of beer in her arms, she maneuvered skillfully through the maze of tables, dodging patrons and obstacles with ease. The dim lights of the bar reflected off the bottles, casting shimmering patterns across the worn wooden surface, while the faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, mingling with chatter and laughter.

Arriving at the table, a group of men erupted in hollers and cheers. Mimzy giggled in response, her laughter joining the chorus of noise as she shot a playful wink in their direction. With a bit too much force, she shoved the tray onto the table, causing the overflowing glasses to slosh and liquor to spill onto the tabletop.

"Enjoy!"

With a toss of her hair, she sauntered away, her heels echoing against the wooden floorboards as she made her way towards the entrance. The club was delightfully full tonight, and Mimzy could practically taste the mouthwatering green of money already.

But just as she reached the doorway, a hand grabbed her, yanking her out into the darkness beyond. The blonde's cheery demeanor disappeared in an instant as she found herself shoved up against a nearby wall.

The cold grime and mysterious mold clinging to the brick surface sent a shiver down her spine, the dampness seeping through her clothes and chilling her to the bone. The dim light from the bar seemed to fade into obscurity as the darkness of the alley enveloped her, suffocating her senses. Panic surged within her as she struggled against her assailant.

"Hey! What gives—" Mimzy began, but her words caught in her throat as she realized she was face to face with Velvette. The overlord looked disoriented and disheveled in the dimly lit alleyway, her clothes torn and her hair in disarray. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now held a wild, frenzied glint.

"There you are," Velvette's grip on Mimzy's dress tightened, her nails digging deep into the fabric and piercing skin, sending a sharp twinge of pain through the blonde. "I've been looking for you."

The blonde recoiled as Velvette's claws trailed up her throat, leaving a trail of stinging scratches in their wake. The metallic smell of blood flooded her nose as one of Velvette's nails grazed over her skin, catching on the delicate chain of her necklace and tugging it slightly.

With a trembling voice, Mimzy managed to choke out, "Oh! W-What do you need me for, sugar?"

Velvette's lips curled into a sinister smile, the glint of her sharp teeth shining under the alley lights.

"Oh, just a little chat," she replied, her voice dripping with malice. "Aren't you curious about what's been happening in your absence? Some skeletons in a closet got dug up."

The blonde's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the gig was up.

"I didn't—!" she started, but her protest was cut short by the sickening thud of Velvette's fist against the wall beside her. Cracks spiderwebbed across the brickwork, the crumbling debris cascading to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Don't lie to me," Velvette hissed, as she leaned down to the blondes height, meeting her face to face. "You knew who she was. And you helped him."

"I-I didn't know," Mimzy lied straight through her teeth, trembling in her heels. "I swear, Velvette. I didn't know anything about his wife."

"Don't play dumb with me, bitch. You knew full well who she was," the overlord snarled.

With a derisive laugh, she threw her head back and added, "But you couldn't even keep it under wraps! You got fucking ratted out in less than 2 days!"

"No! No, I swear on my life, sugar!" Mimzy pleaded, her voice trembling as she shook her head, her golden curls bouncing around her shoulders. "I was just a stray bullet!"

But Velvette's expression remained cold and unforgiving, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You fucking liar," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

A flash of silver caught Mimzy's eye, and she flinched as she saw the dagger in Velvette's hand. The cold metal glinted with a blue glow in the dim light of the alley, its edges sharp and sleek.

It was angelic iron, and the very sight of it sent bile rushing up her throat.

It hurt her eyes to look at the dagger, its presence filling her with a sense of dread she couldn't shake. But despite the fear coursing through her veins, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She was frozen in place, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

But then, there was a sudden blur of movement.

"Wait!"

A sharp, searing pain shot through Mimzy, causing her to gasp. The sensation of blood trickling down her skin sent waves of nausea through her, and she dry heaved, struggling to keep herself upright.

Her eyes remained locked on the smeared blood on the steel lodged in her, the sight both horrifying and mesmerizing. It was so revolting, so surreal, that she failed to suppress a shudder of dread as she stared at it, transfixed by the grim reality of her impending fate.

Coldness began to envelop her, seeping into her bones as the darkness closed in around her like a suffocating cloak. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision as the edges of her consciousness blurred and faded. She felt herself slipping away, consumed by the shadows, as the alleyway swallowed her whole.

Velvette let the body drop, the dull thud echoing in the desolate alleyway. A twisted feeling of satisfaction flooded her veins, coursing through her with a sickening thrill.

The harsh glow of the streetlights cast eerie shadows across her features as she surveyed the aftermath of her actions. With a flick of her head, she turned away from the lifeless form, her cracked heels echoing against the cold pavement as she disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of crimson steps in her wake.

"And so it begins."

.

[its3nvy]

Hello I was wondering if you could do a Billy the kid imagine where he gets really jealous of the reader and another guy and like drags her away or something. The rest is up to you

Possessive Billy the Kid

Summary: In order to get Billy to admit his feelings for you, you attempt to make it jealous.

Tags/warnings: mdni (18+), possessive!Billy, porn with no plot, angst, size kink, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink

Note : Gotta be honest not my favorite work of mine, but I hope you guys enjoy!! (Also, don't forget to like, comment & reblog) :D

tags: f!reader, smut

word count: 2.5k

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You were aware of Billy's infatuation with you. You weren’t blind to his gaze; you weren’t deaf to his words. It's undeniable that Billy was deeply in love with you, though he stubbornly denied it.

Billy's hesitancy to act on his emotions was largely fueled by the wounds of past relationships. He'd been hurt before, and those scars had left him cautious and wary of opening up again. 

You've caught on to this, and it's what led you to your current predicament—flirting shamelessly with Luke. The idea was simple: You make him jealous to the point where you'll provoke a reaction, prompting him to confront the feelings he's been holding back.

You glance across the room at Billy, displeased with the unfolding scene between you and Luke. The room is dimly lit, adorned with rustic wooden furniture and low-hanging lanterns that cast a warm, intimate glow.

Ever since Luke entered the picture, his overconfident demeanor has irked everyone. Flirting with Luke was a sure way to get under Billy's skin.

“So, what do you say, hon’? Want to continue this conversation in my bedroom?” Luke flashes you what he clearly thinks is a charming smile.

Billy locks eyes with you, a silent exchange of challenges unfolding. Your eyebrow raises in defiance, met with Billy's stoic expression. A smirk plays on your lips, inviting the storm that brews in Billy's furrowed brows. Heightening the tension, you stand on your tiptoes and lean over the bar, your hand finding its place on Luke's bicep. You whisper something unintelligible into his ear, a secret shared in the midst of the growing chaos.

Luke's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and as he turns to look at you, a mix of shock and excitement gleams in his eyes. The room crackles with unspoken emotions as the atmosphere thickens with anticipation.

Billy's neck turns crimson as anger courses through his veins, catching the subtle shift in Luke's expression. It's the final straw, the breaking point that fractures whatever fragile equilibrium remained between Billy and you. A strange blend of dread and anticipation stirs within you as you watch Billy move decisively toward you, his face contorted with fury.

Sensing the impending confrontation, you back away from Luke, pretending to mull over his proposition. As Billy approaches, you let the tension build.

In a whirlwind of emotion, Billy shoves Luke forcefully against the bar, causing glasses to crash to the floor in a symphony of shattered fragments. He keeps him there by seizing him by the collar with a violent urgency, trapping him amidst the debris of the broken glasses.

A cold steel barrel emerges from Billy's hand, pressing menacingly under Luke's chin the ominous click of him charging it resonating in the tense atmosphere.

"You don’t fucking look at her again," Billy's voice is a low growl, each word heavy with an undercurrent of unspoken turmoil. His intense glare pierces through Luke, a fiery testament to the tumultuous emotions churning within him.

In the charged pause that follows, you find your voice, your words cutting through the tense air. "Billy, enough," you plead, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. "Let him go."

For a moment, Billy's grip on Luke tightens, his eyes locking onto yours with a stubborn resolve. Then, with a reluctant exhale, he releases Luke, who stumbles back, visibly shaken.

As he turned your way, you gripped the edge of the bar nervously. He stalked towards you until he stood right in front of you, the sheer size difference making you look up to meet his eyes. The storm in his gaze was evident, and you couldn't help but steal a glance at his lips.

The hand that moments ago wielded a weapon now reaches for your face, holding it with a surprising gentleness—a stark contrast to the aggression in his eyes. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that carries the weight of unresolved emotions and the turmoil that has been building between you. 

Billy’s lips on yours is everything you hoped it would be: euphoric. His lips feel pillowy against yours, albeit slightly chapped. The force of his lips connecting with yours is gentle enough not to hurt you but aggressive enough to tell you he wants you. His teeth gently pulling your bottom lip between his makes you weak in the knees, and you can’t help but gasp.

Your arms quickly snake around his neck, eyes fluttering shut. You let him keep control of the kiss—you’d tortured him enough—and only pull away when you desperately need to breathe.

As your lips disconnect, he rests his forehead against your own.

"I've fucking had it," he said, his tone carrying an undercurrent of frustration. The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you find yourself locked in a silent exchange, a plea for an explanation lingering on your lips.

Billy, fueled by an intensity you hadn't seen before, grasped your arm, his grip forceful and unyielding. You stumbled along in protest, a mix of surprise and curiosity painting your face. 

He doesn't speak, but his eyes tell a story of pent-up emotions, of things unsaid and feelings unexplored. The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of unspoken words as he leads you down the corridor, away from the prying eyes of the gathering crowd.

"Where are we going, Billy?" you finally manage to ask, your voice echoing through the quiet hallway.

He doesn't respond, his jaw clenched, and his gaze fixed ahead. The tension between you is palpable, the air thick with anticipation.

As you reach his room, he pushes the door open, revealing a space that feels both intimate and charged. The room is dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls, and the air is heavy with the scent of anticipation.

"Billy, what are-", His lips crashed to yours, hungry and hot and demanding, stealing your breath in a heated rush. He lifted his hand, gently cradling your jaw as he kissed you. With a subtle tilt of your head, the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding into your mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest as you melted in his arms, giving into him with a moan of pure want. 

He pressed his body to yours, caging you in his arms and trapping you between him and the wall. In response, you surged forward, reaching up and clasping his face in your hands. Your fingers rasped against his stubble, digging into his skin. A low growl escaped him, intensifying the heat in your belly. He pressed harder into you, his cock forming a firm ridge against your thigh.

He broke the kiss, panting harshly, tipping you head back so he could look deep into her eyes. 

You were barely able to form the words, desire swimming so thickly in your veins you could feel nothing else. “Billy, Please-.”

He groaned, a deep and visceral sound of relief and release. His thumb traced a gentle circle on her cheek in a brief moment of tenderness, but his desire for you was too strong to be placid and mellow right now. 

“Turn around,” was all that left his lips.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, surprised by his sudden statement.

“You listening to me, doll?” There was that damned smirk again. “I need you to turn around for me.”

“Why is that?” God, you loved messing with him.

In a swift motion, he spun you around, your chest colliding with the wall, pinned against it. His grip on your hips tightened, a silent proclamation of his control as the atmosphere crackled with the intensity of unspoken words.

“Enough playing, doll,” he spoke against your ear. “You want me to make you mine?”

His fingers delicately traced along the fabric of your bodice, gently pulling it down to reveal your breasts. A soft exclamation escaped him as he pressed sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, his hands tenderly caressing and exploring the newfound intimacy between you.

“I’m gonna show you how no one else can satisfy you.”

Your head was whirling. Your eyes closed at his words, drinking them in like a shot of expensive liquor. “All you’ll be able to think about is me. You want that?”, he whispered against your ear as his free hand hiked your skirts up, and traveled upwards. You gasp when you feel his cool fingers press up against your clit, then travel slightly downwards where your wetness was beginning to leak from.

“Gotta talk to me, doll,” he cooed as a finger danced along your clothed slit, soaking in just how wet you were. “Need to hear how good you feel.”

He watched the way your lips fell open in the sweetest O shape at him pushing your panties to the side and sliding his calloused finger across your clit. You sighed at the break from pleasure as his fingers left your clit. You were breathing heavy, head spinning as he slid his index finger inside of you.

“Billy,” you whined, hand wrapping around his wrist as he pumped his finger agonizingly slowly.

“Hmm?”, he hummed. “Want another? I bet you can take it.” Your chest was rising and falling faster than before as you dug your nails into the skin of his forearm when he slid his finger out and added another.

“That’s it,” he pushed them into you with a delicious curl. “That’s a good girl.”

“Shit,” you hissed as he pumped harder, making sure his palm bumped against your puffy clit. “Fuck, Billy.”

“You’re close already?”, his words filled your thoughts. You nodded dumbly, mouth open and panting. Heat washed over you, pushing you closer to the edge of coming undone for him. Honestly it felt embarrassing how fast he had you melting his just his hands. You were shameless though. Throwing away any dignity just to chase the high he was about to give you. Just as the cord tightened and your body tensed, he withdrew his hand with an adoring smile hidden under his mask.

“Oh you’re so-,“ you struggled to get out. “So fucking cruel.”

The look you gave him over your shoulder was deadly. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked teasing,” he smirked and you knew it from the way his eyes stared down at you. 

‘C’mere, doll,’ he tore the buttons from your skirt, freeing you from any garment you wore that went with them. 

“I’m gonna need you to bend over for me, baby,” he voiced as he began undoing his own pants. You groaned, shuffling your feet backwards and keeping your chest to the wall.

“That’s it,” he kissed you along your jaw and hissed as he began to pump himself slowly. “Good girl.”

You bit at your lip, holding in the moan when he placed the tip of his heavy cock against your slit and began rubbing up and down as he slowly started to press inside of you. Your squirm, his other hand coming to your hip to keep you still. Slowly, he pushes inside. 

“Fuck doll, you’re taking me so well,” he hissed, gripping your ass to spread you open even more. 

“Billy,” you whined, “too much.”

“You can do it,” he pushed further, splitting you open with a delicious ache. “Relax for me.”

“That’s it,” he groaned, moving his hips slowly. “So proud of you,” his praise made your cheeks burn. You both pant as he starts to bottom out, feeling him deep, pressed tightly against your cervix. Pausing for a moment, he gently kissed you, giving you the sweetest reassurance as you adjusted. His actions were tender, creating a gentle moment amid the heated passion.

Billy drew his hips back, brushing against that delicious spot on the way before almost pulling completely out and slamming hard back into you. His grip was sure to leave bruises on your hips, but he found that he had little concern about it as he watched your eyes roll back. With how he was handling you, he'd wondered if you'd mark him up the same if he asked you - it would only be fair, and he would be more than happy to wear any branding that you'd put on him. But for now, he'd put his on you.

“Good,” he growled. “So fucking good.”

His thrusts were relentless. Ensuring you felt every inch of his thick cock when he fucked you. You yelped as the tip brushed against your cervix, earning a hiss from him when you tightened around him. Wet slaps filled the air as he pounded you faster, determined to fill every inch of you that he could.

He watched the way your mouth hung open but no noise could even leave this sweet lips of yours, not when he fucked you this good.

“You’re mine,” his other hand reached to the front of you, tugging on your puffy clit. You moaned in response but that wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Go on,” he growled in your ear. “Go on. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“Billy-“ You felt like you could cry. “Please-“ Every word was cut short by his thrusts deeper into you. You were so close your mind was racing.

“I’m - fuck - I’m yours,” you moaned. “Belong to you.”

He reached for your hands, pulling them behind your back and pinning them against you to use to fuck you harder. He yanked you back on his cock at the same time he thrusted forward too many times to count before the inside of your thighs ran slick. Your vision grew into a blur with each thrust as your brain became fuzzy, your stomach tightened as you grew closer to your climax. 

It only took a second for your wails to turn into sharp gasps, your trembling body going taut as all the tension he'd built inside you snapped. It felt like bliss, it felt like a high from a drug you’d just taken for the first time. You came with a scream as he continued to fuck you. In and out, in and out, it was about all your mind could process as your body zipped and sparked like it had been hit by a thunderstorm.

"Fuck, I love the sounds you make when you come undone, doll." he mumbled. "So beautiful..." A few more dizzying pumps and you felt him pull out of you with a moan.

“Fuck.” He mumbled to himself, slipping his free arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He praised between pants against your shoulder. “Don’t think I’m ever gonna let you go now.” You smiled, as he peppered you with kisses. 

"I'd be surprised if the entire fucking town didn't hear us", you managed to breathe out. Billy simply grinned. "Good. Maybe now everyone will know to keep their fucking hands off."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[willowbelle]

Open Flame

❤︎ portgas d ace x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: afab!reader, fem!reader, dom!ace, sub!reader, ace is a smug tease, kitchen sex, fingering, piv sex, bent-over-the-counter sex, cream pie, use of "good girl" , "baby" & "sweetheart"

summary: reader is a strawhat, reader has a crush on ace (don't we all?) they're the only ones up late at night in the kitchen >:), sex ensues, heat/flame innuendos duh, oh and Ace wears those slutty man plaid boxers (>ᴗ•) !

word count: ~4,000

tagging: @bby-deerling @maddddstuff @eelnoise @nerdgeekandeverysweet-blog @help-i-lost-my-sock

Open Flame

Ace’s gaze was allconsuming. 

A spell-binding stare that, ironically, lit a flame within you that couldn’t be tamed.

Your captain’s brother was only supposed to have stayed with you all on The Sunny for a few days, but, before long, days melted into weeks, and Ace had effortlessly ingrained himself, finding a home not just within the confines of the ship, but also within the recesses of your mind.

Ever since his first day with your crew, you found yourself tossing and turning in bed at night, consumed by visions of Fire Fist Ace; his toned figure, his freckled skin, his dark, shaggy hair.

Each toss and turn was a desperate attempt to escape the relentless grip of your infatuation, but his image persisted, vivid and unyielding.

Oh, it was futile. The more you tried to push him from your thoughts, the more he consumed them. His presence lingered, something intoxicating, relentless, enveloping you in a haze of longing and allconsuming desire.

------

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to find solace in sleep, but your mind races on, conjuring fantasies of those stolen glances, those tan, freckled cheeks. Each scenario plays out in intricate detail, taunting you with the tantalizing possibility of something more.

You release a weighted sigh, your gaze still fixed on the unchanging ceiling. Sleep feels impossible now, so you give in to your insomnia, gently shedding the covers from your body and rising upright.

------

In the depths of the ship's night, you silently slip out of your bunk, navigating the narrow corridors with practiced ease. The Sunny creaks and groans softly around you, its familiar sounds a comforting backdrop to your nocturnal wanderings.

The floorboards creak faintly beneath your weight as you pad through the dimly lit hallway, guided only by the pale moonlight filtering through the fluttering curtains.

A gentle sea breeze whispers through the open window, carrying with it the scent of night blooms and sea salt. As you descend the stairs, your footsteps echo softly against the wooden steps, breaking the stillness of the night.

Entering the kitchen, you flick on the overhead light, casting a warm glow over the familiar surroundings. The room seems to welcome your presence, the comforting hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the clock offering solace in the solitude of the night.

You move with quiet purpose, your movements fluid and unhurried as you prepare a cup of tea, the gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain punctuating the silence. The rhythmic motion of stirring soothes your restless mind, easing the knots of tension that had taken root within you. 

As you stir the spoon through the steaming liquid, Ace's presence solidifies in your thoughts, his grip on your mind unyielding. There's no escaping his hold, so you allow him to take you, drifting deeper into your imagination. You envision the sensation of drawing him near, tasting his lips, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The thought lingers: would his abilities render his flesh hot to the touch?

Lost in your daydreaming, your senses are momentarily dulled. The rhythmic stirring of your tea slows as you continue to drift in the cocoon of your thoughts, imagining scenarios that seem both tantalizingly real and impossibly distant.

Ace’s lips on your neck, his strong hands around your waist, melting you. 

And then, like a sudden gust of something unexpected, the sound of footsteps shatters the tranquility of your fantasies.  Your heart skips a beat as you raise your head, finding yourself face to face with the object of your affection.

Ace stands in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an intensity that leaves you breathless. 

He has’t noticed me, yet, thank god. 

Unaware of your presence, he remains oblivious, his attention consumed by the remnants of sleep lingering in his eyes. With a lazy yawn and a gentle rub of his eyes, he remains lost in the haze between wakefulness and sleep.

He stands before you, casually shirtless, as he usually is, yet there's something distinctly different about this moment. His chest is bare and his torso is exposed, the warm light of the kitchen accentuating the contours of his chest and the play of shadows across his skin.

Beneath the soft glow, his feet are bare, too, adding to the casual allure of his presence. The only garment adorning him is a pair of loose-fitting red plaid boxers, hanging effortlessly from his sculpted hips

The warm glow of the kitchen lights cascades softly over Ace's toned body, each gentle beam of light dances delicately across his features, accentuating the subtle contours of his handsome, freckled face. As he steps further into the room, the light caresses his golden skin, highlighting the delicate sprinkling of freckles that adorn his cheeks and nose, a testament to the countless hours spent basking in the sun's embrace.

And suddenly, to your dismay, his eyes, dark and enigmatic, lock onto yours, and for a fleeting instant, time seems to stand still.

A weary grin creeps onto his face as he senses comfort in your company.

"Trouble sleeping, too?" the timbre of his voice is soft and raspy, colored by the remnants of sleep. As he speaks, he ambles towards the fridge, effortlessly navigating the kitchen space. With a fluid motion, he swings the refrigerator door open, stealing a quick glance in your direction as he begins to sift through its contents, awaiting your response.

“Uh, yeah,” you chuckle softly, stumbling over your words. Surely, you were dreaming. You rub your eyes a few times to dispel the remnants of sleep, however, when you open them again, Ace is still there. 

"The waves seem rougher tonight, huh?" Ace mumbles between mouthfuls of food, his attention divided between his meal and the remaining contents of the fridge.

“They do, yeah,” you offer a soft smile, “But I can rarely get to sleep,” you admit, taking a sip from your mug of tea. 

"Oh, really?" Ace's inquiry pulls your attention away from your tea, his sudden gaze meeting yours as he lifts his head from the fridge for the first time. “Why’s that?”

A rush of heat floods your cheeks at the direct eye contact, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily.

"Just... can't stop thinking," you admit softly, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

"Hmm," Ace acknowledges with a thoughtful hum before swallowing. "Same here," he adds, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability.

Your curiosity piqued, you lean in slightly, intrigued by his response. "What's been on your mind, Ace?" you ask, voice laced with genuine interest.

Ace hesitates for a moment, glancing around the kitchen before shrugging nonchalantly,

 "You.”

Ace's unexpected confession courses through your veins and renders you speechless. Your heart flutters erratically in your chest, and you struggle to maintain composure under the weight of his words that hang heavily between the two of you. 

It was disarmingly casual, refreshingly honest. Not a rehearsed performance, starkly contrasting the countless nights you spent rehearsing confessions in front of the mirror. You can;t help but envy his effortless sincerity.

His gaze remains fixed on yours, unwavering and intense as he straightens up, closing the fridge.

He slowly makes his way towards you, making your breath hitch in your throat. You swallow dryly as he draws near, and with a gentle yet purposeful motion, he reaches out and takes the mug of tea from your hand, the brief touch sending a shiver down your spine. Setting the drink down on the counter with a soft clink, he closes the space between you, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

You feel his breath on your ear as his presence looms closer, 

“What have you been thinking about, y/n?” he questions, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

You suck in your bottom lip gently between your teeth, a nervous habit betraying the whirlwind of emotions churning within you. Your gaze locks with his, his eyes like pools inviting you take a swim.

And so, you dive in. 

Time seems to stand still as you hover on the brink of uncertainty, the weight of your unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a soft exhale, you opt for a physical reply, immediately closing the gap, crashing your lips onto Ace’s. 

His hand instinctively finds its home on your soft cheek as your lips meld together, making you moan softly into his mouth.

His lips turn up into a smile against yours, pleased with the sound that escaped your throat. 

It's a moment suspended in time, a delicate dance of longing and hesitation as you explore the uncharted territory of your newfound embrace. Your lips move together in perfect harmony, each brush of skin igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you whole.

Your surroundings seem to fall away as you make out, gently caressing Ace’s sharp jawline as his tongue presses against your lips, silently asking for permission to enter. 

You promptly oblige, parting your lips to allow Ace’s hot tongue to explore your mouth. 

He accepts, groaning softly into your open mouth as his tongue swirls around yours slowly. 

He presses forwards softly, palms resting on the countertop on either side of your hips, caging you in as he leans harder into the kiss. 

You hands travel upwards, tangling themselves in his mess of dark hair as you gently bite his bottom lip, playfully tugging on the tender flesh between your teeth.

“Ace,” you whine breathlessly. 

“Yeah?” the tall man rasps into your mouth, eyes still closed in a blissful surrender, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” 

Your heart swells at his affectionate words and you playfully parrot his statement from before,

“You.”

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice soft yet brimming with confidence. "That's what I wanted to hear."

You feel your core tighten at his boldness, making heat pool in your crotch. 

As if he could read your body like a book, he slowly begins to snake his toned arm downwards, his hand finding its home on your aching sex. 

Your head rolls back and you let out a pleased sigh at the sensation. 

“Sensitive, are we?” Ace purrs arrogantly, pleased at his own ability. 

“Mm-mhmm,” you whine in admission because he’s right, he tugs those sounds from your body naturally, better than anyone ever has.

His able fingers cautiously meet the waistband of your pajama shorts and he shoots you a questioning glance, silently asking for your permission. 

“Please, Ace,” you whine. 

He smirks at you before dipping his hand beneath your shorts, his middle and ring finger aiming to tease your weeping opening. 

“Needy girl,” he lets out a gravelly groan, “So wet for me already.” 

A dark blush rushes to your cheeks at the lewdness of his words, but he cups your face and tilts your head down, making you watch the meticulous movements of his fingers.

His other hand swiftly snakes around to give your ass a gentle squeeze before dipping his thumb beneath your waistband to tug your shorts down. 

Simultaneously, he swipes his middle finger along your aching slit, the tip of his finger meeting your hole with a precautionary nudge. 

“Mm,” you whine out, excitedly awaiting the intrusion. 

“Yeah?” Ace tests you, stalling his movements, “Come on, baby, show me how badly you want it.” 

Abandoning all dignity, you let your yearnings take the reigns, grinding your hips back and forth against him, soaking his digit in your essence. 

“Good,” Ace mumbles, rewarding your persistence with a press of his finger against your opening. Your cunt greedily accepts his digit, sucking him in. “So tight, y/n, can’t wait to stretch you out,” the man before you smirks and you want to hide your embarrassed face, but you’re too consumed by desire, unable to fall back on your shy tendencies. 

He slowly begins pumping his finger in and out of you, earning delicious moans to escape from your slack jaw and into his ear. 

You bury your face in his neck, his skin radiating heat and carrying the unmistakable scent of fire. It's primal and potent, a blend of burning wood, scorched earth, and smoldering embers. As you inhale deeply, you detect hints of charred debris and smoke clinging to him, a haunting reminder of his fire's destructive power. Yet, there's also an allure to the scent, a sense of safety, evoking memories of his warm flames flickering in the darkness. It's a scent that commands your attention, stirring your senses with its primal energy and leaving an indelible mark, much like the landscape long after the flames have been extinguished.

You’re a mess beneath his touch, biting onto the muscular flesh of his freckled shoulders, whimpering into his ear. He adds another finger, making you cry out at the intrusion earning a palm to your mouth. He works the two digits in and out of you with deliberate precision, hitting your sweet-spot perfectly with each pass. 

You start to see stars as Ace’s thumb meets your aching clit, treating the swollen nub with tight circles. 

The ever-tightening coil growing within your stomach reaches its peak, threatening to snap as Ace continues his dirty work. 

But, before your pleasure can boil over, Ace pulls away, removing his soaking fingers from your needy cunt. 

You’re trembling, weakly holding onto Ace’s muscular forearm to steady yourself as you whine,

“Aceee, w-why’d you stoppp?” your voice is desperate, nearly embarrassingly so, but you’ve long abandoned all your dignity, you just want him to keep pleasing you. 

“Turn around,” the man before you shoots you a wolfish grin, “I promise I’ll make it worth it.” 

The mere idea of passing up whatever Ace is offering fills you with trepidation, so without hesitation, you comply, swiftly turning yourself around and placing your hands on the countertop.

You glance back at the tall man behind you, finding him sporting a smug smirk, dark eyes lidded as he gazes down at you, clearly amused by your immediate obedience. 

Ace’s strong, hot hands meet your hips, griping the flesh tightly as he brings his clothed crotch to lie flush with your bare ass. 

His skin is seeping heat through his boxers, and the sensation causes you to mewl out, goosebumps budding all over your impatient skin. 

He wastes no time as he’s no better, impatient, too, immediately beginning to grind his aching cock against the flesh of your ass. A hearty moan brews in his chest and escapes from his throat, causing a dark blush to dance across your cheeks. You stare down at your fingers gripping the countertop, knuckles growing white against the granite as Ace has his way with you. 

“Fuck,” he leans forward, his bare chest lying flush with your back as he groans in your ear, “You ready for me, baby?” he nips at your ear. 

You roll your hips in response, pressing your ass harder against his erection to accentuate your whiny plea, “Please, Ace.” 

You feel his lips tug into a smirk against your ear, “Say no more, y/n.” 

In an instant, Ace’s plaid boxers meet the kitchen floor, earning a small gasp from you as you watch the fabric pool at his feet. 

Placing one warm palm on the small of your back he uses the other to grip his long, pulsing cock, lining himself up with your weeping entrance. 

Ace grits his teeth as he begins to push his tip inside you, sucking in a shaky breath through his grin as he feels your tight hole opening up for him. 

“Mmm,” you whine out, “Aceee-” 

Your fingertips make a pathetic attempt to dig into the impenetrable granite as Ace pushes himself inside you. 

The stretch is evident, nearly painful, but you endure it, for the reward of having Ace fuck you is beyond worth it. 

His fingertips meet the dip of your waistline with a comforting squeeze as he continues to press forwards, his voice filled with genuine concern, "You're alright, baby?" he asks tenderly.

“Mm-mhm,” you whine, pressing your hips back eagerly, “More, please-” 

“So desperate for me,” Ace groans through gritted teeth, but he rewards your desperation, gripping your waist tightly as he thrusts himself inside you fully, bottoming out,.

“Fuck, Ace!” you cry out, loudly at the feeling of Ace’s lengthy cock suddenly filling your insides. You feel stuffed, letting your mouth hang slack and your eyes screw shut as stars erupt beneath your lids. 

At the sudden sound of your loud moans, Ace’s hand immediately shoots forwards, palm covering your mouth tightly and pressing in firmly to punctuate his point.

Ace’s palm against your mouth makes you realize how loud you just were, and although a surge of longing and desire courses through your veins, beneath the surface, a thread of caution lingers. You are acutely aware of your surroundings, the faint sounds of the ship humming around you, the distant creak of floorboards echoing in the corridor beyond. The two of you are an open flame, and the threat of one of your crewmates walking in tickles at your mind, but is far overpowered by the desire for Ace to rail you. 

“Stay quiet for me, yeah, baby?” Ace groans, his voice a gravelly, promising whisper, “and I'll give ‘ya everything you want.” 

“M-Mhmm,” you nod your head frantically, willing to promise anything if it means he’ll keep going. 

Ace gives you a firm nod, pleased at your response, letting his hand fall from your mouth and find its way back on the other side of your waist. 

His cock throbs inside your tight cunt, making you let out a pleased but quiet moan. The feeling of your hot walls fluttering around his length makes Ace relinquish his control, steadying himself before pulling his hips back and thrusting back into you. 

Your moans threaten to escape loudly, and as much as you want to let it out, you keep them at bay, obeying Ace’s silent order. You tremble beneath him, only allowing a soft, weak moan to erupt from your heaving chest. 

Soon enough, he develops a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you rhythmically, stuffing you full, his blunt tip kissing your g-spot with each pass, making your body melt beneath him. 

He’s strategic, reaching around to rub tight circles into your clit as he fucks you from behind, keeping you bent over the kitcher counter. 

The man behind you is hot to the touch; his skin, his cock, all of him is hot, a stark contrast to the cold granite that rubs against your tits and open palms as he fucks you. 

Ace is huffing behind you, eyes screwed shut as he picks up the pace, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together dismissing the nighttime silence that hung in the kitchen earlier. 

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans, letting his head fall back. His pace increases, becoming more brutal and a bit sloppy as he chases his orgasm. 

One of his hands makes its way upwards to tangle itself in your hair, lacing his fingers in the strands and tugging on them, pulling your head back to make you look at him.

He looks beautiful like this, thrusting into you from behind, freckled face and shoulders tinted red, dark, shaggy hair clinging to his forehead with his sweat, toned chest heaving up and down. 

“Y/n,” he rasps breathlessly, eyes lidded as he stares down at you lustfully, “I-I’m so close-”

The circles he’s rubbing into your clit become tighter, more frantic, his thrusts gaining more power but becoming unsynchronized as he desperately chases his rapidly-approaching orgasm. 

You’re no better, weakly clawing at the countertop as your legs tremble, threatening to give out from under you as Ace continues to pound his length into you. He’s bullying your cervix, overstimulating your sore clit, wildly pulling you towards your own peak. 

“Sh-Shit, A-Ace-!”

In an instant, it hits you; white-hot pleasure, coursing through your veins, making your limbs grow tingly and numb, your knees buckling as they give out beneath you. You’re a trembling mess, gushing onto Ace’s cock as your orgasm reaches its crown, crashing into you with unwavering intensity. 

Ace is right behind you, granting your spent body with a few more weak thrusts before he pushes himself in fully one last time, tip meeting your cervix with a harsh bump before he erupts inside you. 

----

The soft tendrils of morning light filter through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the your bedroom as you stir from your slumber. Blinking sleepily, you rub your eyes, a lingering sense of disorientation clouding your thoughts.

I’m in bed. Did Ace bring me here?

The events of the previous night flood your mind, and you can't help but wonder if it was all just a dream. The memory of your clandestine encounter in the kitchen feels like a distant echo, shrouded in uncertainty and disbelief.

With a sigh, you sit up, the sheets pooling around your waist as you wrestle with the conflicting memories swirling within you. Part of you yearns to believe that it was real, that the tender moments shared between you and Ace were more than just figments of your imagination.

Doubt gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, whispering tales of wishful thinking and misplaced desire. 

But the fresh love bites on your neck and soreness of your cunt must prove otherwise, right?

Lost in your thoughts, you slip out of bed and pad across the room, the cool floor beneath your feet grounding you in the present. With hesitant steps, you make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in anticipation.

As you enter the familiar space, you let out a deep breath, scanning the room for any sign of Fire Fist Ace. But, to your dismay, the kitchen stands empty, the only remnants of your encounter being the lingering scent of tea and a damp kitchen towel. 

And then, his voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife on ice, 

“How’d you sleep, beautiful?”

You turn, and there, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, is Ace, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that steals your breath away. The sight of him, so real and tangible, dispels the lingering doubts that had clouded your mind.

He grins widely, warmly, a sight that floods your veins with a familiar sensation of heat and joy. 

“Hope I didn’t rough you up too much, pretty girl.” 

With the reassurance of his words, elation and relief climb up your spine and cling to your skin. 

You make your way towards Ace, planting a passionate kiss on his lips before gazing up into his eyes,

“Thanks for tucking me in, Ace,” you blush softly. 

The freckled man chuckles, 

“Anytime.”