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saintobio · 2 months

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*๑♡՞ i, spy.

pairings. sylus, fem!reader tags. 1.5k wc, mild angst, suggestive ending, jealousy, petnames as usual (kitten, sweetie, baby doll), alcohol consumption, sylus being annoying lmao, loosely inspired by his immobilized memory

sylus can be very petty when he wants to be.

today’s weather was beyond freezing, and the view of the icy mountains in the arctic region stood tall over the hotel grounds where the hunter’s association team-building event was taking place. you had spent the entire day engaged in activities with your team, enjoying every moment, and your laughter mingling with the cheerful atmosphere. it had been awhile since you last went on a snowboarding trip with the rest of your hunter friends, so this day brought about just the perfect quality time to boost camaraderie amongst your team.

unbeknownst to you, sylus, who had also chosen to stay at the same hotel, was watching from a distance. his red eyes, usually cold and calculating, were now burning with an intensity fueled by jealousy. you had been spending time with xavier, your interactions light and full of warmth, and sylus could barely contain his frustration as he saw how your colleague brought you hot chocolate and used his palms to warm your cheeks.

“tch.” sylus absently swirled his glass of whiskey, the ice making a faint clink as he observed you from the balcony of his room. “seems like a stray kitten has found a new companion.”

then, as the evening arrived, your group gathered for dinner and you were happily chatting with your team, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind the scenes (aka by a certain tall man with grayish hair and crimson eyes). the rest of your hunter friends eventually headed back to their own rooms after finishing their meals, while a couple others chose to spend more time at the hotel bar. your activity of choice for the night was also the latter, telling xavier that it was okay for him to head back to his room knowing how he had been fighting the drowsiness off for the last hour.

meanwhile, sylus soon made his entrance at the bar, accompanied by a striking woman whose presence was impossible to ignore. her outfit was dazzling, and she seemed to be following sylus’s every command like a pet.

impossible! you thought, eyes widening in panic as soon as you saw the onychinus leader. if your hunter friends found out that the n109 boss was here, this hotel would turn into a battlefield in a heartbeat.

yet sylus, completely unfazed, walked over to your area in the bar counter with the woman by his side. his smirk was barely concealed as he approached you. “i didn’t expect to see you here, kitten,” he said, his voice smooth and dripping with subtle menace. “i brought a friend along.”

you looked up, your heart sinking as you took in the sight of sylus’s companion. she was effortlessly glamorous with her sleek blonde hair and exquisite fur jacket, her every movement seemingly calculated to draw attention. however, despite her overflowing gorgeous exterior, sylus’s gaze was fixed on you. and the asshole was watching your reaction with an almost predatory intensity.

“oh, sylus,” you said in an attempt to sound casual. “what a surprise.”

“oh, certainly, kitten. and by the way, this is elara,” sylus introduced, gesturing to the woman beside him. “she’s been kind enough to accompany me this evening.”

elara gave you a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. her partner, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the way her presence unsettled you as he took a seat next to her, deliberately placing her between the two of you. “nice to meet you!”

“likewise,” you replied, shaking her hand and forcing a smile.

“care to join us, miss hunter?” sylus said with a smirk, his eyes glinting as he watched you hesitate. his arm was draped casually around elara’s shoulders, and the sight made your stomach churn with a strange mix of envy and frustration. “elara and i are just about to get some drinks.”

“join us, please!” the woman next to him encouraged.

“uh, sure.” pressured by the situation, you gave a subtle nod, only to receive a gleam of satisfaction in sylus’s eyes.

this bastard! you didn’t like how his hand was lingering on her arm in a way that was meant to be seen. each laugh they shared, each touch, seemed designed to push you further into a pit of jealousy. and the way stupid sylus kept glancing at you, gauging your reaction, only made the situation more unbearable. that’s it, you silently snickered in your head, i should call him stupid sylus.

you forced yourself to focus on your blue raspberry cocktail, trying to ignore sylus’s stupid blabbering while rushing to finish your drink. his actions were a blatant attempt to make you feel inferior, and it was working. it was definitely working. but you couldn’t lose your composure now despite him making sure to lavish attention on elara. every time he touched her back and her waist, you felt a pang of jealousy growing more and more intense by the second. it didn’t help that sylus’s presence was also a constant reminder of the way he could manipulate your emotions, and it was driving you to the edge.

“so,” sylus tapped his fingers on the counter, his voice low and intentionally provocative, “how’s your evening been, miss hunter?”

“fine,” you replied tersely, trying to mask the irritation and hurt simmering beneath the surface.

“just fine?” sylus asked, his smirk widening. “i thought you were enjoying yourself today. seeing you with your colleague was quite… interesting.”

“if you’re referring to xav—” you paused, remembering that xavier had a bounty in his head at the n109 zone and it was best to keep him out of conversations with sylus, so you decided to change the topic, “did you have mephisto report all my activities to you again?”

him and his equally stupid bird. so annoying.

“there’s no need for that, sweetie. you stick out like a sore thumb, so you’re not that difficult to spot.” he smiled as he talked, like he was having so much fun at mocking you. oh, he’s deliberately pushing my buttons! his actions were a cruel game meant to make you question your feelings and your place in his life.

before you could retort, elara suddenly tugged his sleeve, focusing all of his misrouted attention back to her. “honey,” she spoke to him sweetly, “what drink do you recommend i should get next?”

you rolled your eyes and turned away, the old man playing the piano now a much more interesting sight to look at compared to the two lovey-dovey couple next to you. but really, it was suffocating to be anywhere near sylus, and the only way to stop feeling all of these crazy emotions swirling inside of you was to not be around him.

and so with that, finally, after what felt like an eternity, you excused yourself. but the walk back to your room was quickly interrupted by the figure of a six foot two man, his towering height preventing you from taking another step without his permission. “where do you think you’re going, kitten?” he asked, noticing the sourness in your expression that you tried so hard to conceal.

“heading back,” you merely responded, trying to find an escape by pointing towards the opposite direction. “look over there, isn’t that luke and kieran?”

as soon as sylus turned his head, you made a swift beeline for the bar’s exit. you even sighed of relief as you managed to free yourself from his presence, now making your way through the empty halls of the hotel. unfortunately for you, sylus wasn’t one to let something like this go. so before you could even think of hiding and running away, he was already walking next to you—the frown on his face growing more pronounced as he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the nearby elevator.

“let go—!” you protested, wiggling your hands from his tight hold. “where ‘re you taking me?”

“my suite,” he muttered, pressing the button to the top most floor. “sleep in my room tonight.”

you let out a loud, sardonic chuckle. “says who?”

sylus, crossing his arms, looked at you with thin, furrowed brows. “your only choice is to obey me, kitten.”

an exasperated sigh escaped your lips. “isn’t elara supposed to be with you?” you questioned, “you should bring her to your room, not me!”

it was too late. because no matter how much you struggled against his iron grip, you were later pushed inside his presidential suite, the grandiose of his room stupefying you. the smell of red roses and wine was a relaxing aroma that continued to pull you inside. yet, before you can take another step, sylus was already pulling you by the waist, leaning in to crash his lips onto yours.

at first you tried to push him off, but who were you kidding here? of course, you’d eventually melt into the kiss, allowing him to envelop his lips around yours, its soft and tender movements sending shivers down your spine. each kiss was a loud smooch echoing across the room.

“were you jealous?” he asked in a low voice, biting your lower lip and pulling only slightly away. “i don’t have that kind of relationship with elara. she’s just a staff member of mine that i asked to make you jealous.”

“okay, and?” you frowned at his handsome face, hating how easily he could get under your skin. literally and figuratively. “the way you were still touching her was…”

“your jealousy is showing, sweetie.” a smile of mischief crept up on sylus’s lips before he extended a hand to squeeze your ass. “and what about the way your male colleague doted on you all day, hm? had fun being treated like a princess by him?”

“why do you care?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent despite the ticklish kisses he was trailing along your neck. “it’s none of your business who i talk to.”

“oh, it is my business, baby doll.” sylus’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, now unbuttoning his shirt and suggesting a very rough night ahead. “because i care about what i have. and right now, that’s you.”

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #sylus fluff #sylus fic #lads sylus #lds sylus #sylus x mc

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eyesxxyou · 10 months

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❝ forgivness ❞ (priest!miguel x black!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. catholic gulit. religious references. sexualizing of religion. usage of "father" in a non-familial way. oral (m receiving). handjob. riding, creampie. virgin!miguel. kinda predatory reader. miguel has only every known how to be good, he's never had anything he needed to feel guilty over. not until you came into his life.

wc: 6k

Miguel has never done anything he had to be truly ashamed of. He grew up a good child; quiet, agreeable, as obedient to his parents as he was to the Lord. He held his head lowly, with reverence for those above him and spoke quietly. There was never an ounce of rebellion, no smoking, no sex, nothing to reserve himself a place in guilt. His mother always pinched his cheeks and crooned, “Mi buen chico.” He was always the good boy.

Growing up in the Catholic Church, Miguel grew up knowing he’d become a priest, his mother always said so. It was his Godly purpose. He cleansed his soul and made a sacred vow to turn his back on worldly pleasures and remain celibate. After that, it was easy falling into line with priesthood. Temptations came and they went like a breeze, each one becoming easier to handle with time.

No, Miguel O’Hara has never done anything he had to be ashamed of, had to beg for forgiveness over.

Not until he met you.

You were not good for the mind, body and soul. Miguel knew it from the very moment he met you, with your sucker-stained lips that always curled into mischief-filled smiles as you watched him squirm under a gaze hotter than the sun and so sharp that it cut through him, tore him open, displayed his every emotion for your greedy eyes to intake. He knew it from that cheap perfume you dappled against your throat, the one that smelled like chocolate roses and raw sex. He knew it from the way you stirred unholy thoughts in his mind and made his cock twitch.

You were the kid of a dedicated member of the church, a 20-something who had fallen away from God and into “debauchery” as your mother put it. She wanted him to be your religious counselor, to put the fear of God back into you and set you straight. “The devil has come into my daughter and I want him out. I just want my little girl back.” She pleaded with him, her hands grasping his arms, eyes glazing over with tears. Miguel agreed only to avoid the mess of having to console a mother grieving the loss of their child to the world.

He didn't know exactly what kind of mess he was getting himself into until you knocked on the door to his office after service. You were standing there, all pretty like, in the shortest jean skirt he’d ever seen in his life, tight, torn up stockings, leopard-print camisole with black lace trim, an assortment of jewelry hanging from your wrists and neck that jangle every time you move, and a fur-lined jacket to top it all off. Your hair was messy, makeup even messier, but in an intentional sort of way that seemed cool with the kids nowadays.

“Father O’Hara.”

“Please, come in.” He stepped to the side to allow you access to his office. You looked up with him. Your smokey, hooded eyes maintained contact with his until you passed him completely. There was a sway in your hips as you walked. Maybe intentional, maybe not, either way, Miguel turned his gaze elsewhere simply out of duty and self-respect.

“You can sit if you’d like.” He motioned to the chair in front of the desk as he went to sit in his own swivel chair. Miguel leaned forward, lacing his fingers atop the sleek surface of his large, mahogany desk. He watched you slide your jacket from your pretty, bare shoulders and toss it down on the chair in front of him. “I’d rather stand.” You offered him a smile with those full, glossy lips of yours before turning away to look around and get a sense for your environment.

That skirt of yours left hardly anything to the imagination. He could see the round of your ass barely covered as they slope into your full thighs that breezed against each other with every step you made. You were a pretty girl, that's for sure. And at the end of the day, he was simply a man, watching, ogling, at your young, spry body.

‘Forgive me, Lord'. That would be the first of many unbeknownst to Miguel. He cleared out his throat and turned his gaze away as he wrung his hands, balling them into fists before relaxing in one full motion. “Do you know why you’re here?” His voice – though deep – was patient and warm, offering a kindness to you that your parents did not.

You scoff softly. Something of a distasteful scowl forming across your lips. “Yeah, ‘cause my mom said I have to go or she’ll kick me out of the house. I can't afford to leave yet, not in this economy.” You cross one leg over the other, your plush thighs pressing together. You look at a picture of him with the Cardinal framed and hung on the wall with your hands bound together against the round of your ass.

He should be ashamed of himself. He’s a little more than twice your age, just nearly old enough to be your father. He’s a priest for Christ’s sake and here he is, looking at your chaste thighs like a dog in rut, ready to hump anything in sight.

Miguel cleared his throat again as you readjusted your skirt and turned back to him. “Do you know why she wanted you to come meet with me?” He asked again. He slipped a finger between his throat and the collar that suddenly seemed to tighten around his neck and tugged to loosen it. That gaze of yours bore into him, dug and ripped and tore until he was nothing mor ethan a pile of guts on the floor. Could you see the way he struggled? The way that body of your that you so shamelessly flaunted elicited the most impure of thoughts?

“‘Cause she wants me to ‘love God again’.” Your voice became high-pitched and nagging, mocking as you quoted your mother. “I’m going to tell you right now, I won't. I don't plan to.“

You came over and dropped down in the chair in front of him. He the way your breasts moved with the action.“It’s really a shame too. You’re just my type. I’d love to spend more time with you.” You leaned against his desk with your back arched, pressing your breasts together in front of him in a subtle manner as you took one of the pens from his desktop and twirled it between your fingers. Your breasts sit pretty on your chest and Miguel can't help but to admire them. This was the beginning of your temptation, and God, you were so subtle with it. You were a master at your craft.

Miguel chose to ignore the comment to his own sake. “That’s fine. My goal is not to convince you to convert, I will never get you to change your mind that way. I’m just here to talk to you. I'm a counselor at the end of the day.” Which adds an extra layer as to why he shouldn't be looking at you the way he is. He’s supposed to guide you, not prey upon your pretty, little figure.

“If you think I’m gonna spill my sob story out to you–”

“We talk about whatever you want to talk about. You lead the discussion.”

You look at him, searching for an ounce of deceit in his gaze. Satisfied with his answer, you stand up once again and grab your coat. “Nice talking to you, Father O’Hara but I’ll be taking my leave now.” You make your exit swiftly before he has a chance to stop you.

Miguel sits still in his office for a while after you leave, unsure of what to do about the discomfort between his legs and the tent growing through his trousers. He made a cross over his chest and said a quiet prayer for forgiveness and for strength.

Miguel would not see you until the following week. Mass. It seemed your mother required you to attend these because you did not come to the regular services.

You sat close to the front, in a white slip dress that showed a bit of your black bra. Your fingers were adorned in rings, neck in necklaces of various length, wrists in bracelets. Your makeup was just as messy as it was intentional. Your mother beside you didn't seem very happy about your choice in clothing. Her lips were pressed into a firm frown, her hand strangling your wrist to keep you beside her.

Miguel looked everywhere that was not you during the reading of the word, knowing that he'd stumble about with his words like an idiot and have to start again. But he could feel your gaze on him out of all the others, burning, prying, tearing into him. If he looked at you, he would choke up, he would break, he would confess his sin right then and there to alleviate the guilt of knowing that he found you far more attractive than he should.

But he managed to get through the reading without so much as a hitch and thus began the Eucharist. The congregation ordered themselves in a tidy line down the center of the aisle. You sway slightly while waiting, he can see, you’re impatient but you’re not far from the front, it won't be long. Your mother keeps trying to stop you but you shrug her off your shoulder every time and continue to sway, catching glimpses of Miguel every time you do. You smile at him and Miguel turns away from you because your smile is too pretty for his face not to grow a little flustered.

But the line passed through far too swiftly for Miguel’s comfort before you were before him. You were so small, so pretty, so soft-looking. You dropped down on the cushion, kneeling before him as you looked up at him with those smokey eyes and the smallest pinch of a smile across your glossed lips. Your laced fingers sit in a ball against your chest as if you were praying before him.

Miguel let out a shaky breath as you opened your mouth and offered him your tongue. He picked up one of the little white wafers and swallowed, “Body of Christ.” He placed it up on your tongue with his thumb and let it pause there for a moment. The wafer melted quickly and soon, the pad of his thumb weighed heavy on your hot, wet tongue.

He could just imagine having you like this in his office, your hands eagerly working at the buckle of his belt before waiting there, placidly for him to slide his cock into the pretty, messy mouth of yours. How much could you take before you gagged? Looking at you, he bet you didn’t have a gag reflex at all.

You were pretty in a messy way, beautiful in a way that liked to stir shit up and cause trouble. The kind of beauty that made men do very dumb shit. There was a begging in your eyes to be used in the filthiest ways imaginable. You brought out a version of Miguel he had never known before, a version of him that clawed at the walls of his skull and simply begged to take you on every surface he could imagine. Just once would be enough, just once to get it out of his system.

He stopped himself before he could get carried away and retracted his hand to grab a little cup containing wine. His hand was trembling as he took the cup to hand it to you, your fingers brushing against his as you took it from him. You could see the way he shook for you, the way he could hardly contain himself and felt yourself satisfied with your work.

“Amen. Thank you, Father.” You whisper slowly as you stand from your knees and walk away back to your pew, your hips in that little dress swaying. Oh, those dark chocolate thighs of yours brushing against each other while you walk. His hands would look so nice on them.

Miguel asked the deacon if he could take over the Eucharist while he went to the bathroom. He retreated quickly to his office with a breath he had been holding in since you had first walked up to him. Your eyes, your lips, your tongue, your thighs. You were temptation on legs, sacrilege walking. The greatest test God has sent his way and Miguel wasn't sure if he was strong enough to pass it.

MIguel knows he shouldn’t have avoided you. He did not tell your mother that he could no longer help you. It would break her little heart and he couldn’t imagine the consequences it would spell out for you at home. He didn’t want to cause any trouble. He simply needed to overcome his weakness before he attempted to help you find your own way back to the Lord.

Confessions happened before every service. Anyone could come to the booth and ask for forgiveness for whatever sin they had committed, no judgment. Miguel has heard it all, from lying to cheating and back again. These people, though sinners, were trying to be good, trying not to fall for temptation and begging for forgiveness when they did.

Miguel had done nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to beg for forgiveness for. Not yet.

Miguel lowered his head as the next person came into the booth. They took a long moment to sit and adjust themselves before sighing woefully. “How does it go?” Your voice was soft, teasing, plaguing him like the impure dreams he’s started to have of you. They've left him waking up with the head of his erect cock sticking out from his pajama pants and a thin, sticky layer of cum coaking his chest.

Miguel’s heart jumped nearly out of his chest. He swallowed thickly, grasping the white fabric of his robes to calm himself. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he lead you, murmuring lowly as if he were the one begging for forgiveness. Oh, how he’s begged in the silence of his office for these thoughts of you to be wiped from his mind. These thoughts of your body, of your mouth, of your eyes looking up at him while he used your body and mouth.

He needed you gone for he feared that with a little more time, he might succumb to his thoughts.

“Yes, that.” You adjusted yourself against the bench and looked at him through the grate that separated the two of you. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” You said it in a perfunctory manner and sighed. “I’ve been bad.”

“Tell me what ails you.”

“I’ve been having bad thoughts about a priest in the clergy, Father. Impure thoughts.” You nip at your bottom lip, hiding something of a smile as you speak. He can hear it, the honesty in your mischief, the plans you have to cause nothing but trouble. “He’s just so…pretty, and large, and pathetic like a wet dog but in a good way. I think of him while I touch myself at night.

“I think of him while I slip my hand into my panties.” Your voice lowers into a whisper as you speak through him through the grate. Miguel can feel his tunic tighten around his neck. “My cunt is already wet because I was thinking about him all day long. When I finger myself, I imagine it's his fingers stuffing my pussy full.”

He should stop you. This is going too far but his dick is stirring and he can't help but imagine it as you practically whisper it in his ear all the dirty things you do to yourself.

‘Lord, forgive me please’, he pleaded.

“My fingers aren’t as big as his though, so I imagine his head between my legs and his tongue licking my pussy. And when I cum, I say his name. ‘Father O’Hara!’” You mimic yourself, moaning softly into his ear. “ Everytime, I’m near him, I want to fuck him hard and fast. I need him…biblically. Does that make me bad, Father? Does that make me a sinner?”

He can't let out anything beyond a choking whimper, rendered speechless. He’s hard and desperate to keep that blasphemous mouth of yours quiet one way or another. “Y/n–”

“I’ll see you after service, Father. I won't keep you waiting.” You always make your exits swiftly, leaving him breathless and speechless all in one motion. His cock was twitching with arousal and the bulge against his crotch was leaving him far more uncomfortable than it was all worth. But never more than you were worth.

You kept your promise and came to visit him in his office after service, knocking at his door in a little tune while you shifted your weight between your toes and your heels. “Father O’Hara, it’s me. I’m here for counseling. Are you okay?” You play nice, play innocent behind the door but he knows better. You know better. You know what you do to him, you’ve known it from the very first day you’ve met him.

You don't wait for him to tell you to come in and instead make yourself comfortable and come in on your own. Your dress flows so delicately as you shut the door behind you.

Miguel isn't sure if he should tell you to leave, that you weren't welcome here after that stunt of yours in the confessional booth. It’s his job to help no matter who walked through his door. He can't let a little hardship stop him from doing what he had dedicated his life to. He remained firmly behind his desk as you wandered about his office, examining his wall-length bookcase.

“Have you always wanted to be a priest, Father?” You ask, tracing your fingers of the old, weathered spines of the books. You bend over to get a view of a book on one of the lower shelves. Miguel nearly choked, catching a glimpse of your clothed pussy peeking out between your plush thighs. The outline of your lips were visible through the pretty, white fabric of your underwear.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling dizzy. His cock pressed harder than before against his trousers and his mouth ran dry. His hand writhed, desperate to know what you felt like under his palms. You were probably soft, almost pillow-like. Miguel reached into his pocket and clutched his rosary for strength.

“I uh- no I didn't. But I had a change of heart after God spoke to me in a dream and told me my life’s work was with the church.”

You stood up and turned around to look up at him. You would say nothing of disrespect. You didn't believe in God but you weren't going to be an asshole about it, no reason to bash on anyone else over it. “That's a nice thought, someone just tells you what to do and you trust them wholeheartedly in that.” You hold your hands behind your back and sway softly. For a moment you look innocent in that white dress of yours.

“Is it about trust for you, then? Do you not trust God?” He needs to shift his mind. There should not be an ache between his legs in the house of the Lord.

“I don't trust him ‘cause he’s not real, of course.” You state it like it's a fact, like it’s obvious. “He can't be with all the bad shit that goes on in the world. And if he does exist, he’s either not all powerful or not all loving. I just don't wanna follow someone who lets a bunch of old perverts run his church.” You shrug with a pout of your lips.

“It’s an unfortunate side effect of people having power but not all religious leaders are ‘perverts’ as you put it.”

“No, of course not. Not you, Father O’Hara, you’re not a pervert.” You slowly make your way over to his desk with a sway. “You don't look at girls like me per se and think about how much you wish you never took that vow of celibacy.” You stand before him, hands on the sleek mahogany and you lean in close to him. “You don’t look at me and wish you could fuck me, do you?”

Miguel shook his head. “Those are not that same, y/n. You’re an adult.” He suddenly felt a sweat starting to form in his bow and around his collar. You looked at him and found swiftly that you liked watching him squirm. “So you admit, you’re attracted to me?” You smiled coyly.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down behind the thin skin of his warm brown throat. Slowly, you stood and began to walk around the side of his desk to stand on the same side as him.

“That would be wildly inappropriate for me to say, y/n. I’m a priest, I’m your counselor–”

“Please, like you haven't been ogling at me from the moment you first saw me.” You scoff and grab the arm of the chair to turn him about and show his shame. He was incredibly hard, so hard you could see the outline of his thick cock against his leg. He had his rosary in hand, dripping so tight you thought he might snap it. “You can't help it, Father. You’re just a man after all.”

You lowered yourself into your knees before him, your hands on the solid build of his thighs. You could feel the muscles of them under your palms as you slid your hands up his thighs. You palmed at his cock through the fabric of his pants and watched him shudder. “I wonder… how long has it been since you’ve felt the touch of a woman?”

Miguel tried to find the strength to refuse you, your temptation, but as you began to undo the buckle to his belt, he melted into his chair. “N-never.” He never wanted to, not until marriage, and once he decided he’d join the church and took a vow to dedicate his life to God, he’d never have the chance. Not until now.

You paused, gazing at him with something of a coy smile across your glossy lips. “Oh, Father. Don't worry, I’ll treat you real good.” You worked to release him from the confines of his pants with your soft hands.

He’s so thick and long, with veins running along the length of it, one on the underside ran from his pretty, brown tip to his heavy balls. You wrapped a hand around the base of it and stroked the length of it with a gentle flick of your wrist. You adored the way Miguel writhed beneath you, his hands balled into fists as he pressed his lips tight.

“Relax.” You ran a hand up and down his thigh while your thumb brushed a few beads of precum pearling at his slit. Miguel watched you with heavy eyes as you leaned in and pressed a sticky kiss to his head, smearing his precum like lipgloss across your lips. God, you were filthy.

Relaxing seemed like a pipedream in a situation like this. He was destroying the sanctity of his priesthood, all he had worked so hard to uphold the values to, and here he was succumbing to a girl, a seductress. And it felt so good. His whole life he was so good, why can’t he do wrong just once? All he ever felt was guilt, why not have a valid reason for it?

You took his tip into your mouth and suckled softly, that tongue of yours rolled over his slit while your hand firmly stroked his cock from head to base. “You’re so fuckin’ big, Father. So heavy.” You slid your lips further down the length of his fat cock, your mouth hardly able to open wide enough to take the thick of him.

The way you took him had to be considered blasphemous because that mouth of yours felt better than any god. So soft and wet. Miguel shuddered, his hips bucking into your mouth uncontrollably, thighs flexing. He did not ask for forgiveness, he wanted nothing but your hot mouth and soft throat that was slowly taking him further and further as you pushed down his hips and kept him still. You looked up at him with glazed eyes, breathing softly through your nose. You’re good at this, an expert.

Miguel lost it as you began to play with his balls, all heavy and full from never knowing the touch of sin. He placed his hand upon your head and grabbed a firstful of hair at your scalp. Would you let him take control, let him take what he needed from that pretty mouth of yours, your sharp tongue turning so, so soft?

You let your jaw go slack, let him drag your head up and down the length of his cock. Your tongue lapped at his slit every time he dragged you up and licked the underside of his cock with each thrust down your throat. Miguel clenched his jaw as you took control once again, bobbing your head, taking his cock like a champ.

“God- ngh~ fuck.” Miguel relaxed like puddy in your hands, watching the way you took him all the way down your throat and swallowed before hollowing your cheeks as you released him with a pop from your sweet mouth. You worked him with your hand with firm tugs at his cock. He reached out for you, his hand cupping your full cheek as he ran his thumb across your full, bottom lip.

Oh you were so good, too good, pumping his cock better than he ever imagined that he could. It’s been so long. An orgasm was quickly approaching on the horizon, building within the pit of his stomach. His breath trembled with pleasure and his abdomen flexed with the telltale signs of climax.

“Gonna cum already, Father?” You tease, jerking his cock with creamy, wet strokes, your path slicked by saliva and precum. “That’s cute. Go ahead then, cum for me. Give it to me.”

It was torture. The kind you beg for all your life, the good kind. The kind Miguel never knew he needed so badly in his life. He rutted his hip up into your hand, cock aching with the beginning of a feeling the burned throughout him and ravished his body completely.

It came out of him in a thick spurt of white that shot out and landed on his chest. The rest oozed from his tip and over your knuckles as you milked him of ribbon after ribbon of cum all built up over the years. There was so much of it, pooling at his base and over your pretty, dainty fingers. His thighs rock open and closed with the weight of his orgasm.

Miguel was seeing stars, his eyes rolling back as he shuddered and gripped his rosary until the beads left imprints in his flesh. His face glowed red from his collar to the tips of his ears, flushed. He let out something of a satisfied groan, more akin to something feral than human. A need, a pleasure that transcends all.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” You ask as the last few pathetic dribbles of cum roll over your knuckles. You reached out over his desk and grasped a few tissues to clean off your hand. “Must’ve, you came so fast, Father.”

Shame and embarrassment washed over Miguel. You could see the post-nut clarity all over his face and knew for certain that this wouldn’t end well. It’s always the religious boys that hold the most repressed shame in them.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” Miguel grabbed his own tissue to clean himself up, patting out the cum from the fabric of his shirt and hoping it wouldn’t stain. “That was wrong, y/n. This can never happen again.” He shook his head firmly, muttering under his breath, “never again”.

You scoffed, standing from your kneeling position. “Are you sure?” You reach up and take the straps of your dress, pulling them down. The dress fell away easily after that. Miguel didn't have the heart to tell you to stop as you reached around your back and undid the clasp of your bra until it fell loose on your chest. You let that drop along with your panties and let it pool at your ankles.

You looked so soft, so pretty, so vulnerable. Miguel didn't stop you as you stepped out of the puddle your clothing made around your ankles and approached him once more. You straddled his lap, pussy rubbing his half-hard cock back to life while you cupped his pretty face in your hands. You eyed his rosary. “That's pretty.” Your hand reached out and slowly, tenderly, unraveled it from his break-neck grip of it.

You took it from him and examined it carefully, your fingers brushing over the intricate design of Jesus on the cross. Suddenly, before he could stop you, you put it on, the cool metal of the cross resting against your naval.

Miguel didn't want Him watching his shame, his sin, but he couldn't stop you, not as you held his cock between the lips of your pussy, all wet and sticky, and rutted your hips to coat him in yoru slick before letting him sink into the soft love of your cunt inch by inch. He shuddered and tossed his head back against his chair. “Good God!”

God, this must be the closest thing to heaven on Earth. The soft, wet, gummy walls of your pussy enclosed around him, hugged him, gripped him like a vice. You sank all the way down in his lap, coating your pussy and thighs in the remaining cum he had yet to clean. It was all so filthy, so disgusting, so beautiful. It was certain, he was going to Hell.

Miguel was seeing stars, his hands came to find purchase on your hips and thighs, gripping at any piece of pretty, soft flesh his large hands could reach. He eyed your tits, bouncing with temptation before him, your pretty nipples pebbled with arousal.

“Go ahead, Father. Take what you need.” You offered yourself to him like a buffet and indeed, Miguel took. His lips latched to one of your breasts and suckled with desperation at your bud, tongue swirling and lapping while you held him and caressed his head, running your fingers through his thick head of hair and tugging when he nipped a little too harshly. “Gentle, Father.”

He couldn't be gentle. He needed you, his hips rutted into your pussy every time you rode him. It only took four pumps for his cock to twitch deep inside your pretty, little pussy. You felt too good, too tight, he had never known such pleasure.

This could be religion, this could be worship. What a beautiful, blasphemous thought.

You rode him through orgasm after orgasm until he started going numb, each one following another shortly after the other. Your pussy dribbled with cum, running down the length of his thick cock each time your creamy cunt milked him.

Miguel guided your hips though he had no control over the way you bounced on his cock. His rosary slapped your navel with each stroke of your pussy against his cock, swinging just against his act of sin where he came inside your young, begging pussy until he couldn't anymore.

You moaned in his ear with every stroke of his fat cock inside your tiny cunt. His tip kissed your cervix and dragged along your gummy walls, molding them into just the right shape to take him. You shivered each time your clit stroked against his pelvis, cum-coated and aching.

This was sin, this was temptation, this was sacrilege, and he loved every second of it. Every quiver of your pussy around him, every shiver you made when he came inside you and left you more spoiled than before, every time his rosary slapped your soft belly and got a little cum on it.

You were his rebellion, his bad behavior, and what a time to have it.

Miguel slid his hand beneath your thighs and lifted you up. A gasp escaped you as he placed you down on the surface of his desk, your legs hooked around his hips to keep him close.

He stuffed your messy hole full of cock, his hands on your hips to keep you still. Each thrust eliciting a creamy stir of your used up pussy. His length met that soft ridge inside of you and you weren't sure you could take what you had given out.

“F-Father, wait!” You attempted to close your legs but he splayed them open, kept you nice and exposed for him. What a messy little cunt.

He fucked you so hard that the desk was beginning to slide with each stroke of his dick. Your legs were beginning to tremble at his abuse to your poor, swollen pussy. You could deal it but you couldn't take it, the moment he reciprocated your energy, you were a weeping mess beneath him, gasping for air and begging for mercy from a god you didn't believe in.

Was this how he could convert you? Fuck you into believing? It didn't seem like a half bad idea.

And oh– when you came, your pussy clamped down around him and triggered another one of his own. Your hips both shudder at the sensation and your groans intermingle like one holds hands. You can hardly handle it. Tears prick your eyes as you hold onto Miguel’s rosary for stability and rock out an orgasm so intense you fear you may never have one like it again. It rocks your entire body and leaves you shaking.

You don't know how many times Miguel came in you but you knew the feeling of it all coming out of you in thick globs when he pulled out. It was all backed up in there, you couldn't blame him. He made an attempt at cleaning you up as best as he could with the tissues he had on his desk.

You chuckled softly, crooning out, “I didn't think you had that in you.” You sat up and leaned in with a smile, easing your lips against his to which he immediately pulled away from you, shaking his pretty head.

“Don't think anything is going to come from this, y/n. This can't happen again for the sake of my job. This was wrong.” He had to set you straight now before this got even further out of hand than it already had.

You knew better. You made the motion of zipping your lips and tossing away the key.

You got up and made your way over to your clothing on the floor to dress yourself. “I won't tell a soul but Father, this wasn't wrong.” You pulled on your bra and clasped it together behind your back, then your dress. “This was always going to happen, it was just a matter of time. Plus–” you lean in close as he flinches away from you for fear that you might kiss him again because he knows if you did, he wouldn't be able to resist you.

You got up on your toes and whispered sweetly into his ear, “I’ve already had you. I was your first. That means you’re mine.” You slipped your bunched up panties into his hand. “Beg for forgiveness all you want, Father, but until you accept that, you’ll always feel guilty about everything you do.” You pulled away and looked up at him with an earnesty he’s never seen in your gaze before.

Neither of you said anything more. You gave him back his rosary and left the room swiftly before your mother somehow found you in here all breathless and fucked out. She’d never suspect that the holy Father O’Hara would ever do something as scandalous as to fuck her daughter. If only she knew the way you defiled him, tore him to pieces, left him weeping in his office with the guilt of what he’s done.

“Father, please forgive me.”

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara

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veronicaphoenix · 2 months

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fairy dust series ✨ au — part two: the seducing kitsune | wc: 3.2k

— previous part: the wicked fairy

pairing: fae!oliver x ivy (ofc) x kitsune!noah summary: ivy finally meets noah tags & trigger warnings: age gap, it's implied that the fem. character is a virgin, it's also implied that noah shape-shifts back and forth from his kitsune form into his human one, noah uses his nine tails to his advantage, slightly jealous!noah, noah asks to be pet, noah gets on his knees, noah gets pet, sexual content: oral sex (fem. rec.), voyeurism (if you squint). my works 🌙

The Seducing Kitsune ೃ༄*ੈ

She hasn’t played hide and seek in over a decade.

Ivy steps cautiously away from the sand and into the forest, leaving behind the quiet oasis where she had watched Oliver’s mesmerizing, naked form.

The air is thick with the sweet, heady scent of blooming flowers and the earthy aroma of trees. Her heart flutters in her chest, a mix of excitement and trepidation. The memory of Oliver’s playful yet dangerous smile lingers in her mind, but now her thoughts are consumed with the search for Noah.

The forest around her is alive, every leaf and branch whispering secrets while the sunlight filters through the dense canopy, casting shadows on the ground. The air shimmers with energy, and the very ground beneath her naked feet feels like it pulses with life.

As she wanders further, she hears a rustle among the bushes. Ivy’s heart leaps, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins.

Noah.

She catches glimpses of sleek, black fur darting through the underbrush, always just out of reach.

At first, her steps are hesitant, her mind clouded with worry and a touch of fear. But with each sighting of the creature she’s chasing, her confidence grows, and apprehension gives way to exhilaration.

Laughter bubbles up from deep within her, a sound as pure and joyous as the song of the birds flitting above her. She hops after the Kitsune, her movements light and carefree. Butterflies of every color dance around her, their wings glittering. Other tiny and magical creatures scurry at her feet, and sparkling dust falls from the sky as the trees seem to part just for her, inviting her to go on, to dive into the deepest parts of the forest.

Ivy’s breath comes in quick, excited gasps as she races through the trees. Her skin tingles with a strange, intoxicating sensation, as if the very air is infused with magic that seeps into her pores, warming her from within. She feels a joy, a pure, unadulterated happiness that spreads through her veins and pulses in her heart.

She only stops when a wave of dizziness washes over her. She feels lightheaded, almost drunk on the sheer joy and magic around her. She looks around, her eyes searching for any sign of Noah. The forest is silent now, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. A grey rabbit hops away, disappearing into the underbrush.

“Noah?” she calls out, her voice echoing softly through the trees.

The air shifts, a subtle change that she can recognize now. It’s the same sensation she felt when Oliver appeared in her room, the sign of a tangible presence nearby that makes the hairs on her arms stand on end. She turns slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.

Leaning against a tree not far from her, in a pose strikingly similar to Oliver’s from ten years ago, stands a young man. He is taller and slimmer than Oliver. He’s barefoot, and wears black jeans and no shirt. His chest and arms are adorned with a myriad of tattoos, a snake coiling around his neck, intertwining with leaves and a hand reaching for a red apple right on his Adam’s apple. His brown, almond-shaped eyes lock onto hers, and his sensual, soft hair falls in a casual, yet deliberate, layered haircut. A smirk plays on his thin lips, one corner tilted upwards in a way that makes Ivy’s skin tingle.

“Hi, Ivy,” he says, his voice smooth and inviting.

Ivy holds her breath, her eyes wide with wonder and curiosity.

The intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes seem to see right through her, leaves her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Yet, there’s something undeniably magnetic about him, a pull she can’t resist. Her heart races, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her veins as she stands frozen, staring at the enigmatic figure before her.

She’s taken aback by his beauty, a shyness creeping into her heart. Noah is as charming as Oliver, but while Oliver’s eyes held a playful sparkle, Noah’s gaze is different—hungrier, more intense.

“Noah,” she whispers, almost unconsciously, his name slipping slowly from her lips like a sacred incantation, as if to engrave it in her memory.

Noah tilts his head to the side, his smile widening. His hair moves with the gentle breeze, adding a touch of wildness to his appearance. She wants to touch it. Badly. “I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

She stares at him, drinking in every detail of his form. Is she really going to have him just as she has Oliver? All to herself? The thought sends a thrill through her. She takes a deep breath, the scent of the forest filling her lungs, the aroma of earth and greenery seeping into her veins, grounding her.

“Oliver says you like to play,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

“I do,” he replies, each word dripping with a seductive edge. He takes a step toward her, and then another, closing the distance between them with a predator’s grace. “Are you going to let me play with you, Ivy?”

Ivy finds herself nodding eagerly, her body betraying her cautious mind. As he approaches, she instinctively recoils, taking careful steps backward until her back collides with the rough bark of a tree. The sensation is grounding, but her heart races.

“Careful,” Noah says, his voice steady and firm. There’s a sensuality in his tone, a roughness that seems to caress her skin, sliding through her senses like honey dripping from her fingers. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, though her breath is caught in her throat and her heartbeat is quick, drumming in her ears. Her hands explore the texture of the tree’s bark, seeking support in its solidity.

Noah is close now, towering over her. He seems to grow taller and more imposing with each step he takes. Ivy’s body is tingling.

His presence is overwhelming, but the more her instincts tell her to look away, to find Oliver, she can’t.

The forest around them is watching their every move. The air is thick with magic, butterflies and other tiny creatures flitting around. The trees seem to lean in, as if eager to witness the unfolding connection between Ivy, the human girl, and Noah, the seducing kitsune.

Noah reaches out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. His touch is electric and it sends shivers down her spine. Ivy’s breath hitches, her eyes locked onto his. The world narrows to just the two of them. The forest fades into the background.

“You’re trembling,” Noah notices, his voice a seductive purr. Ivy isn’t aware of it until he mentions it. “Are you afraid of me, Ivy?”

She shakes her head, though she isn’t sure if it’s entirely true.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his brows furrowing at the expression on her face. She’s been hurt before. He can see it. “Never.”

He waits for her stance to soften, for her soul to let him in.

Noah gently extends his hand towards Ivy, his palm open and inviting. “Touch me,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody that wraps around her. “Feel it.”

Ivy’s heart is racing and she feels dizzy. She wonders if it will always be like this.

Regardless, the warmth and sincerity in Noah’s brown eyes draws her in.

She reaches out, her fingers trembling as they approach his. The moment their fingertips meet, a rush of energy courses through her.

As her hand fully meets his, Ivy feels a wave of emotions flooding her. It’s as if all of Noah’s desires, his yearning to hold her, to care for her, to love her, are being transferred directly into her soul. She can sense his desperation, the ten long years he’s waited, the depth of his need to treasure her, to protect her, to play with her and taste her.

Ivy feels her resistance crumbling, the walls she had built around her heart slowly dissolving under the gentle pressure of his presence.

Noah’s thumb brushes over her knuckles, sending a tingle up her arm. His touch is a promise of the tenderness and passion he holds within. Ivy takes a deep breath, the scent of the forest filling her lungs, mingling with the intoxicating presence of the kitsune before her.

“Ivy,” he repeats her name to bring her attention back to him. When she looks up, it feels as if she’s known him all her life. Noah is the softness and primal side of her that she never understood, that she always thought made her some kind of weird child. “Ivy,” he continues. “What do you want?”

The intensity of his eyes might make her faint.

“I want you to play with me,” she confesses.

A smile curves Noah’s lips, and he steps closer, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I’ve been waiting forever to hear those words from you.”

The joy dripping from his words is a balm to her wounded soul.

As his thumb caresses her skin, Ivy feels a sense of peace settling over her. She knows, deep in her heart, that this is where she belongs.

With Noah.

With Oliver.

Here.

Noah’s eyes glint with a mischievous light as he closes the final gap between them. Instead of kissing her, he leans in closer, inhaling her scent deeply. His nose brushes her jawline. He trails his nose along her neck and down to her clavicle, his breath warm and teasing against her skin. Ivy straightens up, her breath hitching, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Do you live on Oliver’s back?” she asks, nearly achingly, her voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and nerves.

Noah chuckles, the sound rich and low, the vibration of his laughter resonating through her. “I live in his heart,” he says dreamily, his eyes locking onto hers for a brief, intense moment. “And I can live in yours too, if you’d let me.”

His nose continues its journey along her bare shoulder, the gentle, intimate touch making her skin tingle. Ivy’s mind is racing with the possibilities that Noah’s words suggest.

Noah suddenly furrows his brows. He hums.

For a moment, he doesn’t seem happy.

“He’s already kissed you, hasn’t he?”

Ivy’s breath catches again, her thoughts swirling. Ivy nods, her voice lost in the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her and the memory of Oliver’s kiss still vivid in her mind. She closes her eyes, letting the sensations wash over her.

Noah’s gaze darkens slightly, a blend of amusement and something more primal flickering in his eyes.

Noah leans in, his lips brushing against her forehead in a tender kiss. “I’m much more fun than he is, Ivy,” his voice is husky with desire.

His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and mystery. It doesn’t matter that her mind is racing; her body responds to his touch as if it’d always belonged to him. She feels herself surrendering.

“Show me,” she orders bravely.

Ivy parts her lips, where the memory of Oliver’s pressing against hers still remains. Her pulse quickens, her body responding to the magnetic pull between them. The forest around them seems to hold its breath. She feels the weight of Noah’s promise hanging in the air, a tantalizing mystery that she can’t resist.

Noah’s lips hover near hers, his breath mingling with hers, and she feels herself drawn to him, unable to deny the magnetic allure of his nature. The world fades away, leaving only the intoxicating presence of Noah and the promise of what’s to come.

Noah’s lips finally find hers, and he kisses her with a tenderness that makes her want to crumble in his arms, to let him take care of her forever. His kiss is soft and gentle, coaxing out her deepest desires with each delicate press of his mouth against hers. Ivy’s thoughts dissolve, leaving only the sensations of his touch, the taste of him, and the way he makes her feel cherished and wanted.

His hand slides down to her thigh, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her dress. Ivy’s breath hitches as his hand moves higher, reaching between her legs. She grasps his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin as she tries to articulate her feelings.

“I’ve never… nobody has ever…” she stammers, but Noah immediately understands. His eyes light up with a triumphant glint, rejoicing in the fact that he and Oliver are the first. They will be the only ones.

“Oh,” he says, and the words feel like a song on their own. “Have you been waiting for me? You, pretty little thing?”

Yes, she wants to say, but she’s speechless at the way he’s looking at her, with the same promise that Oliver did—to take care of her, to replace every bad thing, every horrible memory, with something better, something magical.

Noah’s fingers crawl up to touch her navel lightly, igniting a fire inside her. Her stomach sinks with every breath she takes, anticipation building. His eyes darken even more, if possible, promising to push her limits and take her higher and higher and to never let her fall.

“What are you going to let me do to you, Ivy?” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “You’ve already poisoned me. Your wish is my command.”

“Anything,” she replies quickly, desperate for him, for more. She has just one request. “But—”

“But?” he asks, rising an eyebrow, amused. He wants her confident, demanding.

“Will you let me pet you while you…?”

“While I what?” His voice raises. “Don’t be shy. Not here, Ivy,” his instructions are clear, leaving no room for hesitation. “Say it. Say what you desire,” Noah urges, his gaze locked on hers, filled with unspoken promises.

“While you lick me,” she breathes out, her voice trembling with a mix of boldness and vulnerability.

Noah doesn’t reply with words; instead, he smiles widely at her, maintaining eye contact as he lowers himself to his knees. The anticipation coils tighter within her as he lifts her dress, hooking his slender fingers into her panties and pulling them down. He leans in, so close to her core, his breath warm against her skin.

“You smell like flowers,” he murmurs, his voice a reverent whisper.

Hesitant yet yearning, she guides her hand to his hair, feeling the softness of his locks between her fingers, and it’s she who moans at the feel of it. Noah looks up at her, his expression one of pure adoration and hunger.

“Pet me, Ivy,” he says softly, his lips brushing her navel.

With that, he dips his head, his mouth finding her, and Ivy’s world tilts.

She gets lost in the sensations, in the tender yet insistent way he explores her, her hands trying to follow his rhythm on his scalp.

For this moment, there is only Noah, and the way he makes her feel utterly cherished, utterly adored.

As Noah’s tongue caresses her with kitten licks, Ivy is engulfed by a myriad of sensations that blur the boundaries of time and space. Each gentle flick and tender exploration sends ripples of pleasure through her body, drawing her deeper into an intoxicating haze. The forest around them seems to shimmer with magic, the trees whispering ancient secrets, and the butterflies hovering in an ethereal dance.

She loses herself completely, her mind a swirl of ecstasy and wonder. At some point, she becomes aware of a new sensation—something soft and light dancing around her ankles. It feels like delicate tails brushing against her skin, teasing and tickling. The sensation grows, wrapping around her calves and trailing higher, and she realizes it’s Noah’s tails, covered in silken fur that sends electric shivers up her spine.

It is this feeling, this unexpected caress of fur, that pushes her over the edge. Ivy shakes, her body trembling uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crash over her. She crumbles, her legs giving way, and Noah is quick to rise, catching her in his arms.

Ivy clings to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she gasps for breath, her eyes wide with the intensity of the experience. Her cheek presses against Noah’s bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart.

She has never felt anything like this, a sense of completeness and raw vulnerability intertwining. Tears spring to her eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy and relief that floods her soul.

Noah holds her close, his hand moving up and down her hair in a soothing rhythm. He cooes her softly, his voice a calming balm to her frayed nerves.

Ivy’s breathing gradually steadies, and she nuzzles closer to Noah, taking comfort in his embrace. She feels cherished, protected, and above all, she feels seen.

Noah is filled with a mixture of tenderness and pride. As Ivy revels in the warmth of his arms around her, she feels another subtle shift in the air. Her senses, still heightened from her recent climax, pick up the unmistakable presence of another.

“Are you done?” a familiar voice asks, cutting through the tranquility.

Ivy’s heart halts mid-beat. She looks up to see Oliver standing a few paces away, one eyebrow raised in a mixture of amusement and approval. There is no reproach in his tone, only acknowledgment, a silent understanding that Noah has done exactly what was expected of him.

“No,” Noah replies, his voice firm with a rough edge. “I’m not done.” His arms tighten protectively around Ivy, as if shielding her from a threat that doesn’t exist.

She feels safe. Now that both Noah and Oliver are in her line of sight, she feels wrapped in a blanket of comfort only provided by the green of Oliver’s eyes and the brown of Noah’s.

Oliver steps closer, his gaze shifting from Noah to Ivy. His eyes soften, a playful glint appearing as he takes in her flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a tenderness that makes her heart flutter as she continues nestled against Noah.

“Did Noah play with you?” Oliver asks, his voice low and soothing. There’s a possessiveness in his eyes, but it’s tempered with affection.

“Yes.”

Oliver’s smile broadens, “Good,” he murmurs.

With delicate fingers, he touches Ivy’s pink cheek.

Noah shifts slightly, allowing Ivy to extend an arm toward Oliver and place her palm open on his chest.

At the touch of both men—both creatures, the overwhelming yet comforting sensation intensifies to a new level. Glitter begins to fall from the sky, settling softly on their skin. Ivy feels a surge of emotions—awe, excitement, and a deep, profound longing that seems to radiate from her very core. This is what she’s been yearning for all along—not just the physical pleasure, but the connection, the sense of belonging that these extraordinary, surreal creatures are providing; who have spent a decade—or even longer—waiting patiently for her.

Covered in sparkling dust, Ivy finally feels whole, as if she has found her place in a world that once felt incomplete.

→ next part ✨ | my works 🌙

Taglist is open. Drop a comment or message me if you want to be tagged in the last part :) Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @poppy-in-the-woods | @blessedwithabadomen | @dsireland86

@bluestdai | @poisongirl616 | @lma1986 | @shilohrosechicken | @fadingangelwisp

@dominuslunae

#noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian #bad omens #bmth #oliver sykes #oliver sykes x ofc #noah sebastian x oliver sykes #noah sebastian x oliver sykes x ofc #bad omens au #bmth au #fae!oliversykes #kitsune!noahsebastian

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levisolace · 3 days

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[4] Expendable Hearts (Levi x F!Reader)

Chapter 4: Earl Grey

WC: 7,120 Chapter Warnings: angst again ^^ (they need to communicate), also unedited Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do. Note: At least it didn't take a year this time?

story masterlist | prev chapter > next chapter

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across your small apartment. You sat on the couch, Earl nestled beside you, his sleek black fur shimmering in the sunlight that streamed through the window. A bowl of Earl's favorite tuna-flavored kibble rested between them, and you carefully scooped a handful into his waiting dish.

"Here you go, Earl," you murmured, voice soft and soothing. Earl's green eyes gleamed with anticipation as he watched the kibble tumble into the bowl. With a gentle nudge of his head, he began to nibble contentedly.

You smiled, your fingers absently stroking Earl's fur as she watched him eat. It was moments like these that you cherished — quiet mornings filled with the simple pleasure of caring for your companion.

The kitchen clock ticked steadily on the wall, reminding you of the peaceful passage of time. It was Sunday, a day she reserved for leisure and relaxation. Outside, the neighborhood was bathed in the golden light of morning, with the distant sound of cars honking and people shouting. Despite the chaos that the neighborhood offered, it should be a peaceful day… if only you aren’t aware of a certain raven-haired man on the way to your apartment.

"You're going to have a good day today, aren't you, Earl?" you murmured, your voice tinged with affection. Earl looked up at her, his green eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, as if he understood every word. “That man I used to tell you about, he’s coming.”

After finishing his breakfast, Earl stretched lazily, arching his back and then padding over to you. He rubbed against your leg, purring loudly, before settling down at your feet. You chuckled softly, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. "You're such a charmer," you whispered.

Together, they basked in the tranquil morning, you sipping you coffee as Earl curled up beside you. The sunlight danced across the room, casting playful shadows on the walls.

When the clock struck nine, you were agitatedly waiting for Levi to arrive. He hasn’t texted or called to follow up or confirm he was even coming, making you doubt if he was even aware of it. You’ve pondered just asking Hange for the address, but when you texted her, she assured you that Levi was coming.

You were aware that the appointment isn’t until the end hour but you were biting your nails, your nerves acting up all of a sudden. Should you dress up? Was it alright that you were just wearing jeans and a tight fitting top? For some reason, you feel like you should dress up. Hell, you even put on more makeup than your usual corporate look.

“Earl, do you think he’s coming?”

The cat purred, jumping to your side on the couch. You run your thumb on his head, petting him softly. Just then, your phone pinged with a notification. A two-word text from an unknown number.

Come down.

It’s no mistake that it’s Levi. You could almost hear his commanding and aloof tone through the pixels. Rushing, you take one last look in the mirror, you pat your hair and smile at yourself. But just like being dumped with cold water, your smile drops as you realize your action and your hand flies up to slap your cheek lightly.

What the hell is wrong with you? This is not a date or even a friendly get together.

You make sure everything in your apartment is in check before grabbing your coat. You bid your pet farewell and hurried down and out of your apartment complex.

Like it was on cue, the moment you stepped on the pavement, you heard the low but powerful hum of an engine approaching. A sleek black Audi glides into view. The car stops smoothly in front of you and you look around, a few people outside staring at the car with an odd expression on their face.

You don’t move. Instead, you take a step back. You don’t even know if this is Levi. The windows are tinted and you don’t know his plate number or car model.

Before you can pull up your phone to ask Levi, the car window rolls down, revealing the man himself.

“Get in,” he says curtly, his expression composed as ever.

You open the door and slide into the passenger seat, immediately noticing the immaculate interior. The leather seats are impeccably clean, and the subtle scent of expensive cologne fills the air. You wouldn’t expect less from Levi. He glances at you briefly before shifting the car into gear.

Although you want to look at him, you avoid doing that and avert your gaze beyond the car itself and to your surroundings. The people in your neighborhood still watched the vehicle even as Levi drove away. They don’t seem to be in awe of the car. Somehow, they looked wary… maybe even afraid? You found this strange but brush it away. Maybe it’s just weird seeing a different social class driving along The Underground. Maybe you were just reading into it too much.

Levi is silent the whole ride. He navigates the streets with precision, every turn and lane change executed flawlessly. The car’s performance seems like a natural extension of Levi’s own skills and discipline.

As you reach your destination, Levi parks the car with the same precision he’s shown throughout the drive. He looks at you, his eyes sharp yet calm. You stare back. He doesn’t look like he’s gonna say anything so you open your mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” he beats you to it. “If you’re going to say something about what happened in the elevator. Just don’t.”

You were taken aback and you remember his face when you left. Guilt consumes you once again but you don’t let it show on your face.

“I wasn’t going to,” you mumbled. “I was gonna say that you could leave me here. I know Hange probably forced you to come. I think I can find my way back from here.”

“Tch,” he responds with his usual expression.

He gets out of the car without a word for you to follow and yet you do so anyway. You gave him a choice to leave but he doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. You wondered if it’s also his day off. What could his job be? Maybe an office job or managing the restaurant? Could Kuchel’s still be up and running? You hope it is. Although you want to visit Levi’s mother, you’re not sure if she would welcome you like before.

The wedding boutique’s interior is just as sophisticated as its exterior. Soft lighting illuminates racks of exquisite dresses, each piece more stunning than the last. The air is filled with the subtle scent of fresh flowers, adding to the refined atmosphere.

A sales assistant approaches, eyes shifting from you to Levi. “Good morning, ma’am and sir. Looking for a wedding dress?”

You and Levi take an awkward glance at each other before he clears his throat. “No. We’re here for the ten o’clock appointment. The refitting?” He states simply.

The sales assistant nods enthusiastically, apologizing for her mistake. “Ah, yes! For Ms. Zoe’s bridesmaid. Please wait here.”

She ushered you both to a waiting area. You sit side by side on the couch. There are racks of wedding dresses around you and on mannequins. You take your time to admire them while Levi scrolls through his phone.

You’re happy for Hange that she’s settling down. She looked really happy with Moblit and he seemed utterly in love with her as well. Although her personality hasn’t changed, there seemed to be some maturity around her that you weren’t familiar with.

At the moment, marriage isn’t something that you can see yourself in. But god, the dresses are so pretty. You don’t really get to wear gowns like that.

For a moment, you think about it, maybe as a result of you haven’t eaten breakfast. If a ring adorned your finger, what wedding dress would you like best? You think you’d like something with a petticoat, something that would make you feel like a princess. Your eyes caught one that you adored. It’s on a mannequin. You could picture yourself wearing it. In all honesty, this is the first time you’ve thought about weddings in years. And you do see the irony of doing that with your ex-boyfriend sitting beside you.

Your trail of thoughts were cut off when the sales assistant came out from the room she went into. “Miss, we’re ready for you here. Your boyfriend can accompany you inside.” She points to the room with a gesture of her palms laid outwards.

“Not her boyfriend,” Levi nonchalantly reacts and the disgust in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You give the girl an awkward smile. He wasn’t wrong and yet you can’t help but feel offended at the way he reacted so quickly as if he found the thought repulsive.

“He’ll stay here. Or leave… if he wants to.” You give him a glance to which he scoffed at. The sales assistant awkwardly laughs, seemingly noticing the tension in the room.

“Ah, I’m sorry again for assuming. Please forgive me. Do you need any refreshments as you wait here, sir?” She asks Levi while you stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder.

“No, thank you.” Levi stands up from his seat and you could see the sales assistant’s eyes wilter for a moment at his rejection. God, he’s rude.

“I’ll be coming inside as well,” he continues, shocking you.

“What? You don’t have to do that,” you whisper to his side.

He doesn’t take no for an answer, heading inside first and brushing past you. You look up at the ceiling, praying nothings above to give you enough patience for this time.

You stood in front of the mirror, tugging the waist of the dress. It was a tube top, which you don’t often wear. Sleeves accompany your arms most of the time and right now? They feel naked. Despite that, the dress is nice. The fabric hugged you in all the right places. But your nerves were more due to the fact that Levi was sitting just a few feet away, casually scrolling through his phone. You hate to admit that until now, he still makes you nervous.

Levi hadn’t even looked up when she stepped out of the dressing room. He was sitting straight up in the plush chair, legs crossed, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. His dark hair flopped slightly over his forehead, and his posture was so relaxed it bordered on dismissive. And you were right, he is scrolling and typing on his phone like his mind is entirely somewhere else.

“Oh, it’s perfect. Magnifique!” The tailor clasped his hands, catching Levi’s attention.

He looks up and drags his eyes up and down your form. It took all of you not to show your nervousness at his reaction. And yet, like a child waiting, you look at the people in the room with a smile.

“How’s it look?” you asked, your voice trying to sound casual, but the weight of the situation made it come out more forced than you intended.

Levi doesn’t take his eyes off you as you asked, just for a moment, then back at his phone. “Looks fine,” he muttered, tapping at the screen.

Your smile faltered. You turned back to the mirror, adjusting the tube in the hope of distracting yourself from the pang of disappointment in her chest. You weren’t sure why you expected him to be more... invested. He was here as a favor to Hange, your mutual friend. Not to you.

“Is something wrong, madame?” The tailor asked.

Your eyes widened as your eyes shifted to the reflection of the tailor in the mirror and you shook your head. “Oh! Nothing, no. It’s just… I’m not really used to wearing tube top dresses. Don’t my arms look kind of awkward?”

“Nonsense, madame. You look beautiful!” The joyful tailor said flamboyantly.

You purse your lips, looking at your reflection again. This was all so sudden and you kinda wished you had more time to prepare. It’s been a while since you dressed up like this. It’s like seeing yourself in a whole different light. After focusing on your career and all, you guess you’ve neglected your appearance.

The tailor noticed your silence. “But if you’re uncomfortable, we can add straps or alter it to your liking. It’s no big deal.”

“Oh, please don’t. You don’t have to do that,” you tell her. “It’s perfect.” The thought of imposing more will only burden you and make you more uncomfortable. Anyway, you’ll only be wearing it for a day.

The tailor nods. “So this measurement is good, then.”

“Yes, I think I’m done here,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter now.

As you stepped back into the dressing room to change, you could hear him tapping away on his phone again, already checked out of the moment. You took a deep breath. You sighed quietly, fiddling with your hair as you stared at your reflection. You weren’t sure why you felt disappointed at his reaction. It was like he found it repulsive to even look at you. It made you wonder… does he still find you attractive? You hated that it bothered you this much.

It took you a while to change, carefully taking the dress off without misplacing the pins and all. When you emerged from the dressing room, Levi was nowhere to be found. It only made you feel worse. But at least your stomach was no longer in knots. It always felt that way when he was in sight.

You approached the sales assistant who was also in the room, obligated to give her an apology for how Levi reacted. She smiles when you reach her and tells you that the tailor began to work on the dress and had stepped out.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier. He’s rude but he’s not always like that,” you tell her but you know it’s half a lie. Levi doesn’t really do well with strangers, especially if he’s in a bad mood. You guessed he hasn’t really at all changed. There’s still that introvert inside him. Or maybe you just trigger it with your presence.

The sales assistant gives you a reassuring smile, a genuine one that you differentiated from her usual customer service one. “It’s fine, ma’am. I experienced worse…”

Her last words trail before she paused for a while, stopping herself as if she wanted to say something else. You tilt your head in curiosity. “What is it?”

“Nothing ma’am. It’s just… I thought you were a couple because of how he was looking at you when you weren’t looking,” she replied shyly, a hand scratching the back of her neck.

Your smile drops as you hear what she had to say, that fluttering feeling in your stomach that had gone dormant in years was alive once again.

“What?” you mutter, feeling your face heat up.

“I’m sorry. I think I overstepped once again, ma’am.”

“You’re not, don’t worry about it,” you assure her. You point at the door with your thumb. “Is he still outside?”

“He stepped out. But his car is still outside so I don’t think he left, ma’am.”

The sales assistant redirects you back to the waiting area. As she does, you take your phone out of your bag and pull out your messaging app to text the same number who called you earlier.

Where did you go?

Had something urgent. My secretary will drive you.

As if on cue, the front door’s bell dings, indicating it had just been open and boy probably in his early twenties walks in. He has a buzz cut and a shining glimmer in his eyes. He wears a polo shirt and slacks.

“O-Oh, you’re done, miss?” He says as his eyes land on you. Your mouth parts, unsure why this stranger is addressing you. He says your name as a question and you nod in confusion.

“Ah! Pardon me. My name is Connie. I’m Mr. Levi’s personal secretary. He asked me to fetch and drive you. He was needed there.”

Secretary? Not only does he have an Audi, he has an assistant running errands for him on a Sunday? And how could he just leave without telling you?

You smiled at Connie. Although you don’t find the stranger suspicious, it’s still a bit much to get in the car with him. It’s more of you thinking you’d be imposing. He could be doing better things.

“You don’t need to do that, Connie. I can get home by myself.”

Connie’s eyes widened and he brought his hands up frantically waving. “No, no, no. I have specific orders from Sir Levi. I also have breakfast for you ready in the car.”

That caught you off guard. Breakfast? He got you breakfast?

“Levi asked you to get me breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was very specific with what to get.”

“What?”

“Oh crap,” he mutters to himself as if it wasn’t information that he should’ve disclosed to you. “Can we go to the car now, ma’am?”

In a trance of thoughts, you nod aimlessly and follow the boy outside. He guides you to the car and even opens the door for you. He sits you on the backseat. Connie enters the car to the driver’s seat.

“How long have you been working for Levi, Connie?”

Striking up a conversation seemed like a good idea instead of sitting in silence and so you did just that. As you speak, Connie hands you a paper bag that rested from where you sat earlier in the morning, making you mumble a quick thank you as you accepted it.

“I’ve been working with Mr. Ackerman for years,” he said proudly, grinning.

“Years? He must really like you then,” you said, amused and chuckling.

“I really hope he does, ma’am. It was tough, if you know what I mean?” He gives you a mischievous look through the rearview mirror. “Don’t tell him this but I used to cry in the comfort room in the first month that I worked for him.”

A three-second silence in the car and he immediately takes back what he said. “Shit. Overshared. Sorry.”

You huffed and let out an amused chuckle that turned into laughter. Connie laughs back, bringing up a hand to scratch the back of his head. He did that twice already, you gathered by now that it’s a mannerism.

“I can see why he does, you know, why he likes you,” you shared. “He needs people like you,” you added.

Levi keeps people around his life when he likes them. Erwin keeps him in check. Hange pulls him out of his shell. And you? What was your purpose in his life? What did you have to offer him back when you had him?

Your eyes drift to the paper bag beside you. Peeking through it, you see a green drink and pastry. Matcha and Blueberry muffin. Your heart swells and you have to close your lids to stop the overwhelming emotions that threaten to come out. The smell is purely nostalgia.

The quiet hum of fluorescent lights was the only sound that punctuated the silence of the library as you huddled over her textbooks, your brow furrowed in concentration. The dusty scent of old paper and leather bound you in a cocoon of academia, the world beyond the heavy oak doors fading into insignificance.

In the middle of you losing yourself in a particular chapter of your reading, a soft but familiar deep voice broke through the stillness. “You’ve been here all morning?”

You looked up to see Levi standing there, arms crossed and giving you a concerned look.

He slipped into the chair across from you, his presence is warm and comforting, a disruption to your heavy mind and the coldness of the place.

“Yeah, I’m almost finished with this reading,” you whisper to him.

“Have you eaten, at least?” He asked, pulling out his laptop.

“Yeah,” you replied back, nonchalant and obviously lying. You know he doesn’t like it when you skip breakfast and always argues when you don’t. You were never really big on breakfast, you never felt the need for it. You don't like the feeling of being full in the morning. However, Levi lived a life with a cook for a mother, so having breakfast was a must in his vocabulary. Most of your life was spent hustling. Being fast. Mornings were made up of getting ready, having half a cup of coffee, and making your way to school early in the morning.

“You’re lying,” he states the obvious with disappointment in his voice.

“It’s almost 10. It’s just two hours before lunch time anyway,” you shrug.

“That’s bullshit,” he replied, shaking his head.

Erwin and Hange came by as he said it, following Levi like the trio that they are.

“Can you lovebirds not argue in the library?” Erwin whispered as the two of them sat down.

Levi slides out of his chair quietly while turning down his laptop screen.

“Get up,” he demanded straight at you. You look up at him, confused and a bit annoyed. You were almost done with the reading.

“I’m almost done,” you refused, burying your face back on the paper.

Levi sighed audibly, the kind of sigh that meant he wasn’t going to drop it anytime soon. You could feel his eyes on you, unwavering and expectant. The weight of his gaze was enough to break your concentration on the reading. It was like a silent battle, one you knew you wouldn’t win, not when it came to Levi and his insistence on taking care of you in his own stubborn way.

“Get up,” he repeated, voice firmer this time. He wasn’t budging, and you knew he’d stand there as long as it took for you to listen.

You glanced up at him, your expression caught between exasperation and defeat. He wasn’t about to let this go, and as much as you wanted to finish your chapter, you could already feel the familiar pull of his unspoken concern. Levi’s brand of care was persistent, never showy, but impossible to ignore.

Hange leaned over the table, grinning mischievously, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Better do what he says, or we’re all going to hear about it for the rest of the day.”

“Come on, just humor him,” Erwin added with a slight smirk, though he kept his voice low in the quiet library.

Levi didn’t wait for your reply this time. With a swift motion, he closed your book gently but decisively, tucking it under his arm. His other hand reached out, hovering near you, but not touching—an offering, rather than a demand. He wasn’t going to drag you out, but his patience was running thin.

“Let’s go,” he said, more quietly now, his tone softening just a little. “Five minutes. We’ll grab something, and you can finish your reading after.”

You wanted to protest, but the look in his eyes—steady, unrelenting—told you it was a lost cause. It wasn’t really about the food. It was about him needing to make sure you were okay, even when you didn’t think it mattered.

With a resigned sigh, you stood up, brushing off the nonexistent dust on your jeans. “Fine,” you muttered, though the fight had gone out of your voice.

Levi gave a small nod of approval, turning toward the door without a word. You followed, casting one last glance at the table and the chapter you had been so close to finishing. Hange gave you a teasing wink as you passed, and Erwin, ever the composed one, simply smiled knowingly.

As the two of you stepped out into the crisp morning air, the library’s warmth replaced by the gentle chill, Levi’s pace slowed just enough for you to fall in step beside him. He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The silence between you was comfortable, like slipping into something familiar, something safe. Despite his earlier gruffness, Levi’s presence was calming, grounding.

After a few minutes of walking, he broke the silence. “There’s a café around the corner. You’ll like it. They’ve got good tea.”

“Not coffee?” you teased lightly, trying to lift the mood.

“Figured tea would go easier on you,” he replied, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His lips twitched, almost like he was trying to hide a smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back, a small one, but genuine. Levi always had this way of knowing what you needed, even when you didn’t ask. He was stubborn, but his quiet care ran deeper than words could ever express.

As you walked together, the tension from the morning dissolved, leaving behind a warmth that wasn’t just from the sun filtering through the trees. It was the kind of warmth that only Levi brought with him—steady, comforting, and constant, even when you didn’t realize you needed it.

You took a moment to breathe, the cool air outside replaced by the comforting warmth of the café. The stack of readings and the stress from earlier seemed to slip away, replaced by the calm of the moment. When Levi returned, he set a cup of matcha in front of you and a plate with two blueberry muffins.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought we were just grabbing something quick.”

He slid into the chair across from you, his own cup of black tea in hand. “You need more than just tea. Eat.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his insistence but reached for a muffin anyway. The soft texture and burst of blueberry sweetness were enough to remind you just how hungry you actually were. You took a bite, and Levi watched you, sipping his tea silently, but his expression was lighter now, less tense.

“Better?” he asked, though it was less of a question and more of a check-in, like he needed to hear you confirm it.

“Better,” you admitted, taking another bite.

He nodded once, satisfied, and turned his attention to his tea. The steam rose from his cup, and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a slow sip, savoring the warmth. You watched him for a moment, appreciating how he could find calm in the simplest things—like the taste of tea or the quiet atmosphere of a small café.

“So, you’ve got me here, eating muffins,” you started, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’s the plan? Gonna keep babysitting me, or can I finish my reading after this?”

Levi smirked, setting his cup down. “You can finish your reading after this. Just didn’t want you passing out in the middle of it.” His tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of concern behind his words, subtle but there.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t pass out.”

“Right,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And you’ve never done that before?”

You bit your lip, knowing exactly what he was referring to. That one time during finals week… but that was different. You’d been exhausted from back-to-back exams. Still, Levi wasn’t wrong. You had a habit of pushing yourself too hard.

“Okay, okay, point taken,” you conceded, taking a sip of your matcha. “Thanks, by the way. For this.”

Levi gave a small shrug, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “No need to thank me. Just don’t make it a habit.”

You smiled at that, though a part of you was still processing the strange dynamic between you two. Levi was always there when it mattered, even when things were complicated between you. He wasn’t the type to make grand gestures, but he showed up in these small, quiet ways—making sure you ate, pulling you out of your own head, grounding you when you didn’t even realize you needed it.

You nodded, taking another bite of your muffin, content to sit in comfortable silence as you both worked. Occasionally, Levi’s eyes would flicker up from his screen to check on you, a small gesture you pretended not to notice.

As the morning stretched into midday, the café buzzed quietly around you, but in this little corner by the window, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. The warmth of the matcha, the sweetness of the blueberry muffins, and Levi’s steady presence beside you made everything feel lighter, less daunting.

Since then, it became a routine for the two of you. Blueberry muffins and matcha. The perfect way to start your day with your boyfriend, Levi.

In your apartment, you sat at the table, cradling a warm cup of matcha between your hands, the aroma of the freshly baked blueberry muffins filling the air. It was something familiar, something comforting. You absentmindedly pulled off a piece of the muffin, the tart sweetness of the blueberries mingling with the warmth of the soft pastry, and let it linger on your tongue. It was a flavor that always brought you back to him, to Levi.

For a brief moment, you missed the way it was—if the distance between you two wasn’t so carefully maintained. You wondered what it would feel like to feel his warmth again. But you pushed the thought aside. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough. And for once, you let yourself enjoy it.

The stillness of the apartment, the absence of his voice or the low, comforting rumble of him sipping tea across from you—these were the things that haunted the corners of your mind when you least expected it.

You sipped the matcha slowly, closing your eyes for a moment, letting its earthy flavor settle in your chest. You could almost hear him scolding you, telling you to eat something more substantial, to stop skipping meals. His voice was still so clear in your head, even though he wouldn’t do that anymore. You smiled faintly at the thought, more out of habit than anything else.

The muffin in front of you sat half-eaten, but you weren’t really hungry. Not in the way Levi always worried about. You picked at it absentmindedly, your mind drifting back to those mornings in the café, where everything felt like it was on pause—like whatever was broken between you two didn’t matter in that quiet space. You’d sit there, stealing glances at each other, filling the air with comfortable silence, pretending for a little while that nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You took another sip of your drink, eyes drifting toward the window. The city outside was bustling, indifferent to the quiet memories you clung to. Life moved forward, as it always did. It was more of a soft ache, the kind that settled in the background, always there but not overwhelming. You’d made peace with the fact that it had ended, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss the way things had been—how easy it was to just be around him, how he knew you better than most people, even in the smallest ways.

Earl’s soft purr pulls you out of your thoughts for a moment and you watch as he jumps from the other chair to your lap. You pet his head and chuckle a little.

“Earl Grey, you were named after his eyes, you know?”

And then after the longest time, you let yourself drop a tear for him. Then came another. And another.

The day went by pretty quickly. It was late when the knock at your door came, breaking the peaceful stillness of your apartment. You were curled up on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through a book you had already read twice. Earl, your cat, was nestled on your lap, purring softly as he kneaded into your blanket. You weren’t expecting anyone, but a small part of you, maybe even hopeful, already knew who it was.

You stood up, setting the book aside and carefully placing Earl on the couch, his displeased meow following you as you made your way to the door. When you opened it, there was Levi, standing in the dim light of the hallway, hands in his pockets, looking as stoic and nonchalant as ever.

“You forgot this,” he said, holding up your handkerchief—the one you had carelessly left in the passenger seat of his car earlier that day. It was checkered pink with your name at the corner, one of the few your grandmother had embroidered herself for you.

You stared at the handkerchief for a moment, surprised he’d come all the way back just for that. “You didn’t have to come all this way, Levi,” you said, though you couldn’t hide the soft gratitude in your voice.

He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Figured you’d want it back.”

His eyes flickered past you, into the warm light of your apartment, where Earl was now perched on the back of the couch, eyeing Levi with a curious but lazy gaze.

Levi noticed the cat immediately, his expression softening just a fraction. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he remarked, his voice low as he took a step inside, uninvited but not unwelcome. He quietly removes his shoes and puts them beside your outdoor shoes. Confused but accepting, you close your door and approach the two.

“Yeah, Earl,” you replied, following his gaze to the fluffy black cat now making his way down from the couch, padding silently toward Levi like he was sizing him up.

Earl stopped a few feet from Levi, sitting down elegantly and staring up at him, his green eyes narrowing as if judging whether or not this stranger was worth his attention. Levi, to your surprise, crouched down slightly, meeting the cat’s gaze without blinking. It was such a Levi thing to do—silent, direct, and somehow commanding without even trying.

“Earl, huh?” Levi muttered. “He’s got a lot of attitude for a cat.”

You chuckled softly, watching as Earl sniffed at Levi’s shoes before giving a satisfied flick of his tail and brushing against Levi’s legs. You didn’t expect Earl to warm up so quickly, but there he was, already purring as Levi reached out to scratch behind his ears.

“Guess he likes you,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “He doesn’t do that with most people.”

Levi glanced up at you, one eyebrow raised slightly. “Smart cat,” he said, standing back up. “Knows who to trust.”

The comment hung in the air for a moment, lingering with a weight neither of you wanted to address. You weren’t sure how to respond, so instead, you bent down and scooped Earl up, holding him close to your chest as his purring grew louder.

Levi handed you the handkerchief, his fingers brushing yours briefly as you took it from him. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice softer now.

“Yeah, no problem.” He shifted on his feet, glancing around the apartment briefly, like he was trying to decide whether or not to stay longer.

“I apologize for leaving abruptly earlier,” he pauses for a while before continuing. “I had something urgent.”

“As you and your secretary told me,” you answer. You weren’t really holding a grudge about that. You don’t know why he came all this way to tell you that. “Thank you for the breakfast, by the way.”

He gave a small nod, his face unreadable as always, but there was something in his eyes—something soft and unspoken.

“Have you eaten dinner?”

For a brief second, the two of you stood there in the living room, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you both. Earl wiggled in your arms, clearly done with the moment, and you set him back down, watching as he padded off toward his bed near the window.

“I… haven’t.”

“Do you want me to cook something?” It was a simple offer, but it felt heavy between you. Levi blinked, like the question caught him off guard, though he masked it quickly.

“To pay for the breakfast,” you add quickly with an awkward smile.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause, his voice steady. “I could stay.”

You felt a strange wave of relief, mixed with nervousness. It wasn’t like you hadn’t shared meals with him before, but this felt different now.

“Well, I wasn’t planning anything fancy,” you said, moving toward the kitchen, feeling a bit unsure of yourself. “But I could make us something quick. Pasta okay?”

Levi leaned against the counter, watching you as you opened the fridge. “Pasta’s fine,” he replied.

He didn’t respond, but you caught the subtle twitch of his lips. It felt almost normal—like slipping back into an old routine without realizing it.

As you started boiling water and prepping ingredients, Levi moved around the small kitchen, grabbing plates and silverware, his movements as efficient and familiar as ever. Neither of you spoke much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with the soft clattering of utensils and the rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables.

His attention is briefly on Earl, who had taken to watching Levi’s every move with mild curiosity. “Your cat’s a stalker.”

You chuckled, tossing some garlic into the pan. “He’s just making sure you’re not a threat.”

“You said he liked me,” Levi muttered again, though you could tell he didn’t mind Earl’s presence at all. In fact, it seemed like Levi was actually enjoying the quiet company of the little observer.

As you cooked, the kitchen filled with the comforting scent of garlic and olive oil, the sizzle of the pan a soothing backdrop. Levi set the table quietly, his movements almost instinctive, like he’d done this a hundred times before. The two of you worked in sync, no need for instructions or small talk, just moving around each other as if nothing had changed.

When the pasta was done, you brought the pot over to the table, serving two generous portions. Levi settled into the chair across from you, picking up his fork and twirling the pasta around it. The first bite was met with a small nod of approval from him.

“Still the same,” he said, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if he was talking about the cooking or the way you fit so naturally into this space together.

You smiled, taking a bite yourself. “I had a good teacher,” you say, thinking about the raven-haired woman who Levi holds so dearly in his heart. You miss her in these kinds of moments, you wondered how she felt about you now.

“How’s Kuchel?”

“The same,” he answers shortly. “Everything in this city has changed except for her.”

You wondered what he meant by that. But in the sake of keeping up the small talk, you say the first words that pop up in your mind.

“You don’t look like you changed at all, either.”

You really didn’t mean it in a bad way. But it seemed to have triggered something in your meal companion. His jaw clenches before chewing faster. Your heart races when you notice it upset him.

“And you haven’t either,” he responds, a bitter malice in his tone.

“I don’t mean it like that,” you try to save the peace that enveloped you two a minute ago.

He doesn’t say anything else and you don’t either, afraid you’d say anything bad to upset him enough to leave with his meal unfinished. You don’t want that. In fact, you didn’t want him to leave. But you don’t want to admit that to yourself either.

The meal continued in a comfortable silence after, broken occasionally by the sound of Earl jumping down from the windowsill to investigate Levi’s shoes or the clinking of silverware against plates. There was something surreal about the moment—sharing a simple meal in your apartment, after everything that had happened, after the years of space between you.

Levi finished his plate first, as always, but instead of standing up to leave, he leaned back in his chair, watching as you took another bite, his gaze soft but unreadable.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, his voice low but genuine. You nod in response.

For a moment, the air felt thick with all the things you hadn’t said to each other—the unspoken words, the history that lingered between you, and the quiet understanding that neither of you had been able to let go of entirely.

“Yeah,” you replied, setting your fork down and meeting his eyes.

Levi broke the silence first, his voice quieter than before. “I should go.”

He shifted on his feet, ready to leave.

“Yeah, it’s getting late,” you agree, looking at the wall clock. It’s almost past nine.

You followed as he walked through your apartment. You watched how he put on his shoes and brushed his clothes straight. You open the door for him, heart racing as you stare at him quietly. For a brief second, the two of you stood there in the doorway, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you both.

Levi took a step back, his eyes still lingering on you for a moment longer. “Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice low but carrying a quiet sincerity that you hadn’t expected.

“I will,” you replied, managing a small smile. “And Levi?”

He paused, looking at you expectantly.

“Thanks again. For today. And for coming by.”

He gave a small nod, his face unreadable as always, but there was something in his eyes—something soft and unspoken. “See you around,” he said, before turning and walking back down the hallway.

You watched him go, the door slowly closing behind him. Earl returned to your side, nudging your leg before jumping back onto the couch. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling a little emptier without Levi in it.

You settled back on the couch, Earl curling up beside you again, his purring filling the silence. You reached for the handkerchief in your pajama short’s pocket. The handkerchief in your hand, a small, simple thing, but somehow it felt heavier now—like it carried more than just the memory of your grandmother.

In the quiet, you wondered if this was how it would always be between you and Levi—brief moments, small gestures, and unspoken words that never quite filled the space between you.

#levi x reader #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi imagine #levi fluff #levi x you #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk x reader #levi angst

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uraharasfavoriteexperiment · 4 months

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i am a trans man and i have a carnal need for urahara do something about that please i dont give a fuck what you write, it could be monster sex i dont even care bro

i really wanna monster sex bcs same boo same (even down to the trans man part im a trans man and he drives me just absolutely positively rabid)

~ kitty cat

alpha(?)!kisuke urahara x werecat!male reader / fluff, smut in pt.2 content werecat!reader, werecats can shift into CAT cats [ wc ] 1422 (ps: read this!) please reblog fanfictions when you read one you like! likes do not help writers' algorithms!

kisuke urahara was a simple man... in legal terms.

he had never been to jail, had never been to prison, hell- he'd never even gotten a parking ticket, let alone a speeding ticket.

but when he met you, that all changed.

when yoruichi, urahara's dearest childhood friend (and also werecat), brought home the scruffy black stray, kisuke was immediately infatuated. he had another werecat, ichigo, who he was very close to, and ichigo immediately took a liking to you, which wasn't common (orange cats are very odd creatures.).

there was one part of the ordeal that kisuke was very fond of: yoruichi quickly began to think of you as a brother. she even shared her milk with you whenever kisuke gave it to her... that was the oddest part about the whole situation: she refused to share her milk with even ichigo.

now, werecats used to be a predominantly wild species. when humans discovered the cat-human hybrids, certain people (who yoruichi thought shouldn't be called humans) quickly realized they could manipulate the species' genes for a very specific use: sex.

the modifications eliminated many issues: romantic barriers between human partners, sexual lines that could be crossed between partners, and most notably (because most werecats seemed to be male), the ancient-standing issue of tension between hetero and homosexual individuals.

soon after their discovery, a system spawned that was very similar to what social media called the cat distribution system. a similar "system" cropped up in which encounters with werecats commonly ended in either a fuck or in most cases, someone bringing home a cute new friend.

additionally, most werecats tended to like being called things like "kitten," "good kitty," "pretty kitty," and similar affectionate little pet names. most werecats also either couldn't speak very well, or they simply chose not to- so there was usually very little communication involved with them.

kisuke learned very quickly, however, that this was not the case with all werecats- yoruichi and ichigo were rare cases, yes, but looking back on early memories with you, kisuke quickly formed a theory that sentient werecats gravitated towards handsome, perverted candy shop owners.

was it the candy? ichigo liked candy.

was it the milk? yoruichi liked milk.

or... was it the handsome, perverted candy shop owners themselves?

kisuke urahara was very fond of that idea... he had always liked cats, and cats had always seemed to like him.

~+~

kisuke groaned and rolled over onto his back on his futon, slowly opening his tired, storm-grey eyes. he yawned loudly, stretching his arms up int the air and making grabby hands for the ceiling. he heard a very slight sound of fur shifting against fabric, and his eyes immediately looked to the right, towards the sound.

"oh, hello yoruichi!" said kisuke, grinning. he sat up and threaded a hand into his messy blonde hair and ruffled it, yawning again.

"you're ridiculous." said a falsely deep voice next to the futon. kisuke grinned like a teenage dumbass, reaching over and ruffling the fur on the sleek, black british short-haired cat's head. she growled warningly, but of course kisuke didn't listen, and if you asked about this moment later on, yoruichi would say she probably should have scratched his eyes out.

yoruichi hissed, growling from deep in the back of her throat as she reached up and pawed aggressively at his hand. she backed up, her puffed up tail swishing violently back and forth and slamming sporadically against the wooden floor. she shook herself in a quarrelsome manner and hissed again, turning and burrowing under the waist opening of a black kimono, poking her head out of the top.

"stuff it, old man." she spat, shifting into her werecat form.

"no you stuff it, kitty." he playfully spat back, fake-flinching and chuckling when she hissed again and projectile-chucked a pillow at him violently.

"why've you woken me up, hm?" kisuke asks as he stands up and reaches for his striped green and white hat. he stretched again, slipping into a matching green and white-striped shawl-thing (hada doesn't know what theyre called heh), looking over at yoruichi expectantly, his eyebrows raised and his signature stupid grin starting to sneak onto his face.

yoruichi groaned, flopping backward onto the futon dramatically.

"ugh fine, i'll tell you," she says, "i found a stray werecat and i may or may not have brought him home."

kisuke grins, getting visibly excited at the idea of meeting another were.

"oh?" he asks, "where is he? i don't see him~"

"he's hiding somewhere in here but he's here."

"you should go get him! tell him i promise i won't bite~"

yoruichi rolls her eyes, getting up and stretching like a cat and starting lazily toward the door.

"i dunno if he's sentient but ok."

she did, however, go and fetch the new fluffball- you. she had to pick you and carry you, you were that shy. when she brought you into the room with kisuke, you fluffed up and hissed, scrambling onto yoruichi's shoulders and growling defensively.

"you didn't tell him, did you~" kisuke said in fake drama, rolling his eyes. but he didn't bother to smother the grin that accompanied the eye roll. he approached slowly, slipping out of his loud-ass japapese clogs in the process so as to attempt to make himself sound less like a threat. he relaxed the muscles in his right arm and hand, reaching his hand up to let the cat have a sniff.

(reader pov)

you hissed quietly, but still carefully extended your neck nonetheless. you risked a cautious sniff, recoiling defensively. you looked up and stared at the blonde man with calculating, clearly intelligent eyes for more than one moment, eventually shifting all four tiny little paws onto one shoulder of the cocoa-colored woman who had rescued you, carefully leaning out and touching your nose to the man's fingers, finally getting an good scent.

no threat... not now, at least.

you looked up at him again and made a short, quiet trilling sound. it was something similar to the noise house cats make when an idiot human wakes them up from a sun nap, and it made the man smile. you stared at him for a few seconds, thinking. then you poised for a pounce, jumping the one or two-foot distance between the man and the woman. you landed on the man's shoulder and butted your head against his temple, then sneezed and sniffed at his hat.

the man smiled again, reaching up and making a gentle, cautious attempt to scratch behind your ear. you butted your head into his fingertips and his smile turned into a joyous grin, and he started to scratch at that one spot, eliciting a completely unwarranted purr from the back of your throat. the man chuckled, gently cupping your small, feline head in his hand and rubbing your face, neck and ear in soothing motions.

your heart slowed down a bit and the purr you were producing got deeper, indicating to the man that you were becoming more comfortable with him. you reached around with your face and licked the palm of his hand, then hopped down onto the floor and burrowed under a blanket on a futon you had seen earlier, then quickly shifted into your werecat form, wrapping the blanket around yourself. you turned and looked curiously at him, tilting your head to the side, having decided to chance at asking him a question.

"what's your name?" you asked cautiously, your voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

(urahara pov)

kisuke smiled, walking over and sitting down next on the futon next to you. "i'm urahara kisuke." he introduced himself, making sure to keep his voice calm and quiet so as to refrain from startling you.

you looked at him and he looked back at you, a soft, gentle smile on his face as he watched you closely, waiting for you to respond. after a moment of thought, you carefully scoot closer to him, shifting onto your calves before giving a cautious, playful bat at his hand. he smiled- and all of a sudden the action seemed to be infectious, and you fell ill with it. a small smile inched its way into existence, slithering in small bits onto your face and making his heart soar for some reason.

interesting... he thought, he likes to play. ichigo and yoruichi just seem to want to be left alone, but this one is coming out of its shell... the thought made him smile again, and your smile widened into a grin.

fell victim to writers block but had to post and so theres gna b a pt.2~

#~ | posting #《 rhy writes ♡#《 asksksk 🤪#bleach #kisuke urahara #bleach men x male reader #bleach men x trans male reader #kisuke urahara x male reader #kisuke urahara x trans male reader #bleach smut #bleach men x male reader smut #urahara x male reader smut

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