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peggyao3 · 2 months ago

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The Art of Empathy

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: After the fall of House Harkonnen, an innocent poison flower is planted in their evil heart to teach them the art of empathy.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, Feyd-Rautha feels things, Angst, Fluff, Hurt and Comfort, Political Schemes, Morally Grey Everything, Giedi Prime Realness, Knife Play, Minor Character Death, Mentions of Violence, Slice of Life, Character Analysis, Feyd being Feyd, Vaginal Sex, Squirting, Porn with Plot, Creampie, Soft Feyd by the end of it, Can he be redeemed?!

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

A/N: I posted this one on ao3 ages ago but not on tumblr. I hope you enjoy <3

Reposted from Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

After the fall of House Harkonnen comes the slow decay. A whole folk is left floundering and looks up to their new leader for guidance, Baron Feyd-Rautha, to whom the title is a slight. There is no use for the Baron of a powerless House. The Atreides should have annihilated them all. Instead they are humiliating them and calling it mercy.

And so, House Harkonnen rots, aimless and torpid. Violence festers in the streets, the military disassembles itself, the House’s spice stocks have been confiscated. And their new leader? He sits and stews in the family keep where Harkonnen and Atreides guards alternate and the latter keep a sharp eye on everything Feyd-Rautha does.

He is a man doomed who refuses to lead a House of shame.

All that remains is to distract himself and search for culprits. His uncle, yes, but his uncle is already dead. The Emperor, the Fremen, the Atreides. They’re all ripe for the killing but House Harkonnen can’t even provide for their own spice addicts.

And then one day, a new resident moves into the palace.

She is a gentle poison flower, planted by the Bene Gesserit. They had thought her a weak witch at first, with no poise and little use. She had only barely passed the Gom Jabbar test, crying and screaming like an animal, but she hadn’t pulled her hand out of the box, so they couldn’t dispose of her. Only much later did the sisters realize what a useful asset she could be.

De-Harkonnification is the word whispered off the record. A new era of breeding will commence, for the better of the universe. The experiment will start with their leader. It has to.

The suddenly useful Bene Gesserit woman has been chosen to teach Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen the delicate art of empathy.

To force him into bland lessons will bear no fruit. The new baron needs to think he’s discovered wisdom all by himself, only then will his skin peel away and make room for a fresh layer. The slow blade of curiosity will penetrate the shield and kill a Harkonnen, and let him be reborn as something new.

This new woman, she is so soft and… mundane.

With great irritation Feyd-Rautha takes notice of her moving into his palace where she occupies a medium-sized chamber that has been painted in all the warm colors that aren’t native to Giedi Prime.

“I know you’re a witch,” he tells her the first day, standing in her doorway like a beaten bull who is still ready to charge. “I have no business with witches.”

“I won’t force you,” she replies with a short smile which renders the new Baron momentarily speechless.

The next day, he returns with more anger and piercing eyes that won’t know peace until he finds the answers he seeks. “What is your purpose in my palace?”

“I am to live here,” she announces while sticking her finger into the soil of a gross looking potted plant with wide, green leaves to test how moist it is. Frustratingly, Feyd is unable to detect any deceit in her voice, even though she is a Bene Gesserit, so there must be deceit. He won’t be manipulated.

Throughout the weeks, Feyd realizes everything she does is boring. So boring that he finds himself returning every day and watching with blatant interest, wondering how anyone can live like that.

In her free time, this woman reads literature that has no educational or strategic value. She also says she enjoys naps and she considers having to do nothing at all a rare blessing that not many are free to relish in a world that is battered by politics and war. She reminds Feyd of a lazy housecat who cripples her own potential.

Her survival instincts are so meek, sometimes she won’t even wake up when he enters her room. Feyd is tempted to do a number of things to her sleeping body, but in the end he always just stands there, next to her bed, waiting for her to finally wake up and take note of the danger. With a blade at her throat he tries to teach her to be more attentive, relishing the naked fear in her eyes when she startles from her sleep and finds pain against her neck.

In those moments, she is such a fun toy and Feyd wants to thank whoever is responsible for sending him such a pitiful witch.

Another thing she likes is daydreaming, she says, and when asked to tell him what about, she just smiles mysteriously and shakes her head no, followed by soft laughter. Feyd assumes those daydreams must be about violence, because no human mind goes without violence. And so he smiles too, thinking to himself that he's learned a dirty secret of hers that takes away from her perceived purity.

There is at least one point on which they seem to agree, and that is their interest in good food and drink, though their ideas of ‘good’ differ.

“Do those… pastries you’ve got there strengthen your body?” Feyd peers at her over the table, licking bloody meat residue off his pale fingers.

“Hmmm. I don’t think so, but they’re very tasty.” And that again is something so mundane, Feyd can't wrap his head around it. “Would you like to try one?”

He hesitates, regarding the icing and powdered sugar on the tiny cake. “No. There’s no point in eating it then.”

“Aw.” The woman looks briefly disappointed but then resumes eating.

“Don’t you want your body to be strong and capable of attack and defense?!”

“I suppose that would be nice…” Feyd has noticed a while ago that she seems to have trouble looking him in the eyes and sometimes he thinks he has been deceived and this woman is no Bene Gesserit at all, but a stray that has been deposited in his palace because the sisterhood wanted to get rid of her.

“If I attacked you right now, what would you do?” Feyd stands up and grips her plate, pulling it away so she is left with only the cutlery in hands, looking a little helpless.

“I would scream for help.”

“And if no one came?” The idea amuses Feyd-Rautha and the corners of his full lips twist into an alluring smirk. The temptation makes his skin warm and his core tight.

“I could try to hurt you with this knife and fork,” she proposes and presents her weapons of choice, targeting Feyds clavicles with her mellow eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to try it?” He purrs and slinks closer, rubbing his hand up her arm and shoulder, cupping her throat. He really could do anything to her and she’d have no choice, no matter which weapons are in her meager hands. His cock strains against the dark trousers he wears and she either ignores it or doesn’t notice in her endless languor.

“No, of course not!” She yelps with the high-pitched tone of an animal stupid enough to walk into a blatant trap.

“You bore me to death, woman! I wish you weren’t here.” Feyd rumbles and releases her throat with a punishing squeeze that knocks her backwards, then he sweeps her plate off the table so the pastries bounce across the carpet, leaving a trail of crumbs.

“Then don’t come and see me!”

His loins are left throbbing and he feels so strangely dissatisfied when he leaves that day and cannot help but picture the woman crawling over the carpeted floor, picking up the mess he’s made, and for some reason this image makes him unhappy.

In his churning mind, Feyd keeps wondering why she was brought to him and after enough twisting and turning, he commences an era of harshness in which he thinks she was given to him for his amusement, to be molded by him. The ways to torment her are as manifold as they are fun. Something as simple as twiddling with his knife can draw the warmth out of her cheeks and make her pull her feet under her body, as if fearing Feyd-Rautha might cut her toes off otherwise.

Now, if only he could make her see how enjoyable pain is. The cuts and nicks on her body tell stories of his attempts, as do those on his, when he guided her unwilling hand to carve lines and half moons into his pale flesh.

The assortment of her scars stop around the middle of her thighs, even though he could easily lift her dress higher and leave his marks of his ownership wherever he wants. There are desires left unspoken and he revels in her fear, because she knows it will happen, just not when.

But the worst thing undoubtedly he's ever done to her, is when he brings her to the former preparation chamber behind the deserted colosseum that was once his gladiatorial arena, when House Harkonnen still had pride and honor.

In the dark he shows her his assortment of blades, left untouched by the defeat of his House. He laughs when she nods and smiles uncertainly at the slave girls who stand gathered around with bowed heads.

“You’re a Bene Gesserit. You don’t need to smile at them.”

“But I want- Oh!”

With a swift thrust of the arm, Feyd swings his blade in a half circle and slashes two girls’ throats at once. Their willowy bodies drop to the floor, landing on top of each other with tangled limbs and inky blood dripping down their chests.

Feyd turns his head, tilts it slightly to the side and smiles at the woman who grows sickly frigid and barely manages to turn before she throws up as the overwhelming smell of fresh blood assaults her nose and gurgling last breaths her ears. She turns and runs, finding the door unresponsive to her pushing and pulling, so she backs away into the furthest corner and curls into herself, staring fearfully at the pale Harkonnen who still looks at her with an air of boyish fascination.

He lets her go after half an hour but soon learns a harsh lesson. When he seeks her out in her quarters that evening, she acts like a skittish rabbit and hides herself away in the bathroom. For some reason, this enrages Feyd so immensely, he can’t help the immediate tantrum that bursts out of him like gunfire.

For one whole week she doesn’t speak with him and Feyd finds absolutely no fun in that. This week is the worst of his life.

Desperately, he needs her to be the way she was again, the timid creature who peacefully lazes around all day and sleeps, unaware of danger. Now she won’t let him get close, glaring at him over the edge of her book whenever he loiters in her quarters like misplaced furniture, a black and white abomination in the warm, soft capsule she has created for herself on Giedi Prime.

On the seventh day, Feyd walks up to her awkwardly, like one ready to confess his sins, or a beaten puppy the size of a man. She stiffens in her bed and is fully aware of her defenselessness, fingers tightening around the book as the mattress dips under Feyd-Rautha’s weight. But he only crawls over her and wraps his arms around her middle like he would hug a slain opponent in the arena before letting them drop into the sand.

“I wouldn’t do this to you ,” he rumbles and finds his breath uncomfortably quick and his throat uncomfortably tight. He can’t look her in the eyes.

“But you did this to them ,” she whispers and Feyd is left speechless as to why she would care. Yet for some reason, she drops her book on the floor and hugs him back, hiding her sniffling face in his shoulder. Like a toddler walking his first steps, Feyd pets the back of her head until her tears diminish to a small trickle that is soaked up by his shirt.

Months go by and the woman’s chamber becomes a place of forbidden things. No servant ear must ever hear about what goes down in there, how Feyd stains his hands with softness and sleep, not because he is tired but because he feels like it, how he eats the pastries that are made for her mouth not his, how he reads the pointless literature that forces him to imagine places he’s never been to and people that aren’t real.

The woman doesn't even want anything from him in return and doesn't complain when he lays his head in her lap when he decides to sleep. She softly scrapes her nails over his scalp without being prompted and he never takes long to fall asleep. She could have plotted his death this whole time long, killed him now with a Gom Jabbar, and he wouldn't have cracked an eye open.

Feyd awakes in the late evening, though he can’t tell the hour of day through the ever-drawn curtains that block out the sun’s harmful wavelengths. Consciousness returns to him as a slow stream and he breathes drowsily against her thigh, listening to the seconds on the clock tick by. She has finished her book and placed it aside, now only focused on stroking his head.

“Do you sometimes think about me?” Feyd slurs, which leaves her wondering if he’s still half asleep.

“Of course, I think about you.” Her fingers curl around his jaws and the pad of her thumb finds the apple of his soft, pale cheek.

“Even when I’m not around?” He inhales the scent of laundry detergent and the subtle note of perfume that clings to the layers of her gown. The warmth of her lap perfuses the fabric and a light current of arousal flows through Feyd-Rautha’s awakening body. Hardness takes hold of his drowsy cock and he wonders when she will finally make a comment or do something about it. He finds himself wanting to hike up her dress and kiss the parts of her body that he has never seen.

“Especially when you’re not around.”

“So, you miss me?” Feyd’s voice becomes sharp like the cutting edge of a blade and his ears perk up. She only laughs softly upon that and curls both arms around his shoulders. Feyd is glad she can’t properly see his face now, ashamed of jumping to such a conclusion.

“You can’t go out there. It’ll make you sick.” Feyd stops the Bene Gesserit woman in the hallway. One half of her body is already bathed in brightness and one eye squints into the unforgiving sunlight.

Even though she seems to have been so very content in her quarters so far, a flash of disappointment washes over her face. “Not even for a short walk?”

“It’s not safe when you’re not Harkonnen. It’ll make you sick,” he emphasizes. “And there’s nothing out there. Only desperate people.” He curls his hand around the crook of her elbow and tugs her away from the light, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when color returns to her skin and hair.

The next day, Feyd is in for an unpleasant surprise.

The woman is found wandering in the sunlight without an umbrella, not even a protective shawl wrapped around her bare shoulders. A pair of Atreides guards spot her slumped over in the shade of a building, blinking disoriented into the light with a colorless rash of blisters on her exposed skin.

Half an hour later, she is back in her darkened quarters, tucked into bed with a soothing ointment applied to her skin.

Her eyes are glazed over with half-translucent milkiness as she stares at the ceiling above her bed. Her lungs still ache and wheeze from the residue toxins she had breathed from the polluted air and her temporarily blinded gaze flitters with silvery dots. Just barely she can make out Feyd-Rautha’s angry, white skull moving back and forth..

“This wouldn’t have happened if you read something substantial every now and then,” Feyd hisses, pacing in front of her bed. “If you had at least worn protection for your eyes and flesh.”

“It was so warm outside.” She tries to justify her lack of protective layers.

“Yes, because of the infrared radiation that cooks the atmosphere!”

She attempts to turn her head away so as not to see the flickering vision of Feyd’s accusatory visage, but he leans down and cups her face with both hands, drawing a whimper from her. The splitting headache turns every movement into agony.

“A few minutes later, and you would have gotten caught up in the sour rain.” Feyd’s voice quivers now. The sour rain brings cancer to foreigners and no one knows a cure for that.

“There was no sign of rain when I was out,” she meekly defends herself, cradled by two strong hands.

“The climate is turbulent on Giedi Prime and our storms are as ferocious as they are sudden. You know what the sour rain does.”

“I'm sorry.” Blistered hands carefully wrap around Feyd-Rautha's wrists, neither pulling nor pushing. Her fingers softly slip over the veins that coil over the back of his hand and between his knuckles.

“But you're a Bene Gesserit. You have control over your own cells, you could have reversed the damage, had it happened.” Feyd's gaze jumps from milky eye to milky eye, wondering why she isn't doing anything against this. “Right?”

She only breathes a soft sigh against his lips as he hovers impossibly close. “Feyd…”

Her lips brush against his as she speaks and a jolt of surprise prickles through the both of them. Feyd is suddenly overly aware of the weight of his own body and he cannot push himself away from the woman. A pull stronger than gravity tugs him down and his lips fall to hers, softly kissing, tasting her saliva and a note of ointment.

“Feyd, everything hurts.” The meek whisper is barely audible, even to her own ears. Her body yearns and arches, separated from him by thick layers of blankets.

“Kiss me now, before you get yourself killed out there and we don’t get the chance.” Feyd knows he shouldn’t. Even her lips are colored red with a rash, but her hands slip from his wrists to his cheeks, holding him close. Moaning, Feyd’s lips part and he moves his mouth and tongue with as much gentleness as he can muster, softly rutting against her hip over the blanket.

Feyd rumbles: “I should keep you on a leash for your own safety.” The idea makes his cock jump against the blankets and after so many months of thinking about so many things, his balls feel plump like ripe apples.

But they only kiss while sour rain slaps against the windows.

“Do you ever fight?” Feyd ponders while sticking his finger into the soil of the lush potted plant with wide, green leaves to test how moist it is. It could use a little water.

“You know what I do all day. Have you ever seen me fight?” The woman perks up, her skin healthy and her eyes clear again, like the lakes of Kaitain.

“Let me specify. Did you ever fight?” Feyd lets water from the can splash into the flower pot and the longer she looks, the more she gets used to the view of other things than weapons in his hands. She cocks a brow at him, no longer having so much trouble looking him in the eyes that are dark but usually glazed over with harmlessness when he is around her. “I’m only asking because you seemed so… bored, before the incident happened.”

Guilt drums against his heart with a soft pitter-patter that is like the droplets that soak the soil. He wishes he could offer her more. The longer she ponders, the more awful he feels.

“I sometimes fight with myself.” Her tone of voice indicates this is a big confession.

“How so?” Feyd is confused. He sets down the can and cautiously stalks closer with cat-like grace, head tilted to the right.

“It's a fight that I can't win, I can only delay it.”

“I don't understand that.” Slowly he blinks once, lowering his gaze, then lifting it again. The soft golden light of the glow orbs frays against his blonde lashes.

She pensively sighs. “Are you never angry with yourself? Or dissatisfied?”

“... No.”

She chuckles like she so often does, like he’s missing an obvious clue and Feyd angrily bends down, caging her on the sofa with both hands planted on the seat cushions on either side of her. “Don’t laugh at me, woman. I hate when you do that!”

“Then you know why I’m doing it, or else you wouldn’t hate it.”

“You’re not smarter than me.”

“I am indeed not.” Her eyes dig brightly into his and Feyd swallows. His jaws work and after a minute he pulls away from the intensity of her gaze, looking down at her chest instead. Softly, her hand cups his jaws and her fingers dance over his skin like feathers.

“But that’s not a real fight. You know that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about training and… gladiatorial games.” Petulantly, his eyes lift to hers again.

“How is self doubt not a real fight?” She tilts her head and Feyd swears she never did this at the beginning of their acquaintance.

“I… I didn’t want to talk philosophy, I just wanted to offer you a distraction from your boredom. I thought you might enjoy a fight.” Upon that, she giggles, something flustered in her voice, and Feyd grips the hand that cups his jaw, sliding it to the front so he can kiss her palm with plush, pouty lips. “Always laughing at me,” he grumbles and proceeds to kiss the inside of her hand until she wraps her arms around his head and locks her lips with his.

Much later, Feyd realizes he probably missed a hint.

The right moment is now! No. Yes. Another breath, another minute, another turn of the page while she caresses Feyd-Rautha’s face in her lap. With her Bene Gesserit awareness (Feyd still isn’t sure if she even possesses it), she can probably hear his labored breathing and quick heartbeat. His clammy palms occasionally slide over the blanket she had thrown over her legs before Feyd settled there.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Her thumb settles right over the point of his neck, between muscles and tendons, where his pulse hammers the hardest.

“I’ve been wondering…” Feyd twists the blanket and stares at the potted plant. “Are there other things you like to do just for the sake of it? Just like reading or napping…”

In his whole life, he has never had sex for any other reason than to demonstrate power, or the desire to hurt and be hurt. To think he could have some just for the mundane pleasure of it feels almost forbidden. Feyd is ashamed to ask plainly, but she can read the thoughts behind his boyish eyes.

She has been expecting this to happen and she is prepared, yet she is not. Before her stands a human now, with all the facettes one should have.

“Yes, there are…” Pensively, she looks down at her lap. A faint warmth has risen to her cheeks and Feyd-Rautha takes proud notice of her coy glance, raising himself on his hands on either side of her lap.

“Then why did you never…?” His question trails off into nothingness when he notices the petulance in his own voice. He attempts to sit in a way that hides the tent in his pants.

“Don’t,” she scolds him and places her hand on his pale wrist, curling her fingers around the curve of the bone. Feyd inhales sharply and allows her to peel his arm away from his body. For the first time, she actively looks at the bulge of his clothed cock and Feyd has never felt so scrutinized. In an instant, her hand is beneath his shirt, fingers splayed over his hard tummy below his navel. “Why didn’t you?”

She moves her hand as if wanting to slip away and abandon his scalding skin. “Don’t stop~” Feyd whispers, half-lidded eyes dropped to her wrist that disappears under his shirt.

A moment later, her fingers curl around the waistband of his trousers and his grip the laces of her gown and they tear each other’s clothes away with awkward impatience. When Feyd is naked before her, she sinks into the pillows with a meek sigh, swallowing when he climbs on top of her and parts her legs where her pussy sits flushed and wet at the apex of her thighs, waiting for his caress longer than her pride allows her to admit.

She marvels at his hard curves and planes of marble, so pale, so soft. So seraphic. His nipples harden when she slides her palms over each pectoral. For now, she avoids looking at his cock but she feels the ghost of its scalding touch against her soft thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” Feyd breathes, raking his eyes down her exposed skin, studying each mark, each fold, each dimple.

“I was never certain if you found me beautiful,” she whispers and Feyd picks out the insecurity in her voice. His tongue presses against the backside of his inky teeth, wanting to call her stupid for assuming he might not find her beautiful, but he realizes he is no better himself. Anxiety pricks against his stomach like ice shards.

The woman smiles and cranes her head to brush her lips against his, then giggles softly. “Yes, I find you beautiful too.”

The anxious knot unravels and Feyd bares his teeth, chasing after her mouth until he’s got her pinned against the pillow and steals her breath. His hard chest presses against the soft mounds of her breasts and his cock slides against her thigh, bending downwards so it is wedged between their pelvises. The essence of her yearning cunt coats its upper side.

Their kisses turn desperate and sloppy and they part for breath, piercing each other with lust-heavy eyes. Feyd-Rautha’s plush lips are swollen and a low moan escapes him when she presses her mouth against the underside of his gently curved jaw, nipping and smelling his skin while Feyd’s fingers slide from her knee down her inner thigh and brush against the tender, hot parts of her.

He never used to pay attention to how soft and hot and responsive a woman can be there, how willingly her hips jump against his hand when he circles the tender bud of nerves with his fingertips.

When he slides two fingers into her weeping slit, her mouth detaches from Feyd’s jaws and her head drops back on the pillow, eyes closed, spine arched. His fingers sink as deep as they can go, soaking in her essence that generously spills from her inner walls.

“Did you think of this often?” Feyd rumbles and the grating sound of his voice makes her jump. Her eyes snap open and her pussy squeezes his fingers. Leisurely, he drags them against her inner walls, curling them slightly, so her eyes gloss over and her wet lashes flutter. “You did, didn't you? You daydreamed about my fingers in your little pussy.”

She doesn't need to reply for him to know it's true. Her knees bend further up against her chest, angling her pelvis so he plunges into her cunt just right. As pleasure rises, her neck writhes from left to right, teeth on her lip, toes flexed. Feyd knows how to read the signs.

Mesmerized, he sits between her legs, watching with boyish fascination as his fingers sink into her puffy hole and come out glistening wet between her lower lips, how her essence dribbles down the cleft of her ass. His unoccupied hand sprawls over her lower belly and toys with her. With his thumb, Feyd pulls up the hood of her clit and marvels at the little nub that throbs for attention.

Her hips buck, fucking herself on his fingers while he lets a thread of drool drip down on her clit. She whines when the warm liquid drips over the tender bud, bending her leg even further. Feyd has never touched a woman so attentively. As soon as his thumb rubs over the lubricated little nub, she thrashes, moaning and clawing at his knees. But Feyd pacifies her with her soft circles over the maddening spot, turning her legs and brain into mush.

“Wait~”

Feyd doesn’t wait. Three splashes of wetness squirt against his wrist and the woman covers her face with her forearms, moaning and whining as her release rolls through her in hard waves. Mesmerized, Feyd regards the liquid that dribbles hotly down his skin.

Her limbs feel like putty, like a doll's that he can bend and fold as he likes. Feyd's fingers slowly slip out of her puffy hole which feels as ready as it can be to accommodate his cock.

She whimpers weakly, not ready to face reality and Feyd-Rautha's wet skin and the awe in his eyes with which he regards the glistening web between his fingers. Only when he nudges his cock between her boneless thighs, she stirs and dreamily eyes the pale, flushed monster that pokes needily against her cunt.

“Yes, take a good look at what I'll fill you with.”

The velvety head with its weeping slit nudges between her lower lips and her cunt yields almost too easily under pressure. Like a sheathe, she hugs him tightly, wetly squeezing inch after inch as he conquers her.

A wild touch of something possessive and dangerous flashes over Feyd's lust-struck features. This soft thing will soon be his entirely, once he places his ultimate, inky mark against her cervix. Whether she neutralizes it with her Bene Gesserit tricks or not.

A guttural sound escapes her when the thick length pushes against the apex of her channel. The woman's arms snake around Feyd's neck, pulling him in a sweet embrace with her entire body.

“Why are you here?” Feyd repeats the question from many months ago, softly rutting against her core.

“Because I was sent here.” She gasps, pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“And how do you feel about that?” Feyd's nose brushes against her hair, inhaling the sweetness and the freshness of her soap.

“You tell me, Feyd-Rautha,” she softly sighs, arching her spine against his undulating body.

“You are discontent.”

Upon that, the woman's lashes flutter, tickling his shoulder. “Hah, n-no, I’m not.”

“You’re lying now, but you usually don’t. What are you hiding from me, my darling?"

“I’m not!” Her mouth stands agape and her back arches off the bed, pebbled nipples kissing Feyd’s silky chest.

“My darling,” Feyd repeats and she purrs like a little cat for him, wrapping her legs around his waist. So, she likes being his darling, Feyd notes with a skipping heart. "Why would you lie to me?"

“I didn't want to be here," she admits. Wet eyes look back at him when her head sinks into the pillow. "It’s not nice, being called useless.”

“Useless?! By whom?” Anger fuels Feyd's movement but the brief pain of nails digging into his shoulder blades soothes him and a soft moan curls around his lips.

“By my fellow Bene Gesserit sisters, of course. They had no use for me until the fall of your House.” The slightly quicker rhythm makes her hiss through her teeth. "They can rot and die for all I care."

Feyd's eyes grow wondrous and wide, hips stuttering as he regards his darling with endless fascination. Her violence is sweet like berries. How lucky he is to bear witness of it tonight, all the while her warm, sodden pussy holds his cock in a lover's embrace.

“I manipulated you,” she confesses under tears and thinks Feyd-Rautha will probably flay her alive now. “When I went out into the sun and made myself sick, I just wanted to see if you’d take care of me.”

“You sound like you think I’d be mad.” Avidly, Feyd rolls his pelvis. Pleasure flutters through his nerves with every heartbeat, sweet and wild. Her eyes meet his with equal fascination and her fingertips dip into the groove of his spine.

“When did you become so… so…?”

“So… gentle?” Feyd purrs, laughing softly like she did so many times. “You made me this way.”

“Yes, and it was wrong! What gave me the right?” Her voice trembles with anger now and she claws at his back like she wants to flay him, strip the layers of faux skin off so he may become what he was again.

Feyd chuckles louder now, lips pulling away from inky teeth as he ruts quicker into her cunt, making her groan through gritted teeth. “You just gave me something I didn’t know I missed.”

“But what if-”

“No.”

“What if I killed you?”

“Killed me?” Feyd’s dark eyes sparkle with humor. “You’re a funny witch. I’m still here.” His palm slides over her breasts and pebbled nipples, settling heavily on her clavicles before closing around her throat. Her cunt reacts in an instant, clenching around him. “I can give you more proof.” Feyd leers at the woman who lies beneath him in submission. “Do you want more proof?”

Eagerly, she nods, exhaling a soft, strained moan, lips parting as she struggles for oxygen.

"Would you like my knife against your throat and your tits?"

Heat rushes to her cheeks so they feel like two ripe apples, ready for the harvest. "Yes, please~"

“You’re so sweet when you’re worried for me,” Feyd giggles. His voice is like stones grating against one another as he reaches for the kukri in the sheath at his belt which lies discarded in the folds of the soft, crumpled sheets. Feyd brandishes it with a flash of painted metal. A soft shade of gold, because the world has been feeling lighter lately.

Still humored, Feyd raises himself high enough to create generous space between their chests, so he can brush the blade featherlight against his woman's nipple. "Would you like me to make a cut, to prove I'm still in there?"

Avidly, she nods, bare heels digging into Feyd's ass cheeks as she clings to his rolling hips.

Feyd slashes the blade over her breasts, one, two, three, creating shallow lines from which red droplets bead like tiny berries and meander down her sternum along convoluted paths. She moans sweetly for him, muscles in her neck flexing against his calloused hand. "There, now we're even. We both lied a little. I said one cut and made three."

Feyd's lashes cast long shadows over the glinting metal when he brings the blade to his mouth and gingerly laps up the red beads. The woman's hand slips over his hard, smooth shoulder and the muscles that ripple underneath. She circles his wrist to guide the blade away from his plush mouth, then plunges her thumb past his soft bottom lip, swiping over the wetness of blood and saliva.

"Drink it from the source then," she softly hums and Feyd obeys, dropping the knife and bending over her heaving chest. He laps the salt off her skin and then finds the stinging wounds with his tongue, tracing the hairline cuts from bottom to top, tasting iron. Feyd nurses nectar from his flower. Moaning, he peers up at her through feathery lashes as his body undulates against hers with increasing pace.

The drag of his cock shoots molten pleasure through her core and she clings to him with arms and legs, like he is the only soft and living thing on Giedi Prime. She moans his name and Feyd is swathed in a web of hazy bliss, raising his face from her chest. A little streak of crimson still clings to his smooth chin and she pulls him down to kiss the blood off his skin.

His fingers flex around her throat, rather holding onto her than strangulating her. She gladly lets him and regards the sweet despair in Feyd's eyes as he chases after his high in the warmth of her body, stretching her with each drag of his cock.

Feyd wonders if he should make her cum again, if that's what a lover would do, but his building climax coils like a snake in his guts and there is no space between their sweaty bodies for his hand to slip between her thighs and tease her bundle of nerves. Like roots slung around a tree trunk, her legs are wrapped around Feyd's hips, reeling him in, again, again, again. The rhythm hypnotizes him and he cannot fight against the pull of release.

His jaws go slack and his entire complexion softens when his climax rolls through him in long waves, each one pulling him deeper and deeper into the weave of his mellow darling's body and soul. While he still fills up her cunt with thick ropes of seed, blissful mellowness spreads through Feyd-Rautha like a touch of mercy.

Moaning, he slumps down and her body is his pillow. He's never shown a semblance of vulnerability after fucking a woman, but now fatigue pulls on his bones and he suckles softly on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. His balls and pelvis are nestled against the woman's warm, full center and his broad chest against her breasts.

“My darling…” Feyd hums.

He crawls into her embrace and curls against her frame like an unborn against the womb, momentarily stripped of cruelty and all the black and white illnesses that fester on Giedi Prime.

Out of one gentle poison flower might yet bloom an entire garden, if nurtured with love.

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

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sich-sehnen · 3 months ago

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Eternally Bound

Synopsis - After days at sea, the pirates that plucked you from your small fishing village force you to walk the plank. You were meant to appease the irascible sea God, König, but the fates has other plans for you.

Category - I don't know how to categorize this. There will be notes of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, and smut throughout the small series. It's just a melting pot of plot and romance. But for this part, it's mostly angst if you could call it that?

Warnings - fem!reader, loosely based on Greek myths and the like, Canon typical violence, misogynistic language, multiple parts will tag accordingly once the story is finished, kidnapping, debasing, inhumane behavior, octo!Konig, fantasy!au, deity!Konig, sacrifice!reader, appeasing the gods,

Notes- This story is based on the images I found on Pinterest. On the same note, there is a fic on a03 by the name of Meine Perle that is based on the first image. I highly recommend reading it if you haven't already, so good! (I tried to make this as different as possible but I won't lie and say this isn't at least somewhat inspired by the fic)

Wordcount - 1,710

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The world rocked around you, sometimes as gently as a mother would her babe. Other times, more often than not, it swayed violently. Waves crashed against the walls of your prison, and rolling thunder echoed somewhere outside; the sound as raging as your thundering heart.

You missed the open air of your village and often dreamed of being back there. When you wake up though, you are forced back into a reality you didn't want to accept.

No amount of pleading swayed your captors into letting you go. No amount of screaming or cursing gained you anything but wicked laughter and a face full of spit.

They had hauled you below deck, and your last free gulp of the salty air was wasted on a panicked sob. They stripped you of your clothes, dressing you in a thin white sleeping gown instead. Your plait was ripped out in favor of the unbound mess your hair was now. No longer were you your mother's daughter, sister to your three small siblings, and friend of the village. You were widdled down into a shell of who you once were. Stripped of not only your clothes but your dignity.

At first, the constant swaying of the ship churned your stomach, the corner of your cell still reeking of the three-day-old vomit. They fed you once a day; a measly meal of watered-down potato stew and a stale piece of bread.

The only solace to your despair was the quiet hours of the night when the moon would shine through the small porthole across from your cell. Most nights you prayed she'd see your desperation and return you home, but the gods weren't known for being kind.

"When are we gettin' rid of'er Capn'? It's bad luck to have a wench on deck."

You hear gruff voices from above, the soles of their boots visible through worn planks of the deck. One shoves the other, his body stumbling but remaining upright as the two of them approach the brig's door.

"Bad luck is nothin' if we don't appease König."

"Why're we even-"

The insolate one was slammed into the wall, their bodies just past the threshold but out of her eyesight.

"Because ya bilge rat, if ya want the fuckin' treasure we can't have an irritated sea god gettin' in the way. If we give him a present first, maybe he'll be more forgivin' to our adventures."

Your heart drops to the bottom of the sea.

They round the corner, gruesome grins stretching their faces. The Captain, you assume, gets the closest your prison bars allowed him to.

You scurry back against the wall, putting as much distance as you can between you and your captors.

The Captain slams his hand against the bars and laughs at the flinch it jolts out of you.

"Please,"

You plead weakly, your body shaking from fear. It didn't help that you were starving, your stomach growling with a pinching pain every time you thought of food.

"Please, let me go."

They chuckle, the sound dark and wicked.

"Oh, we'll let'cha go alright. Just a couple more days and we'll be outta your hair."

In a desperate fit of rage, you kick day-old watery stew towards him, the force of it sending the contents splashing against his boot. You muster up any saliva your dry mouth can and spit a glob of it in his direction.

It doesn't even reach him, but by the snarl on his face, you assumed he got the gist of what you intended.

"Yer a lucky bitch to be locked up like this, else I'd stomp that fire out real quick. Even luckier König don't like his gifts dead."

The other man saunters up, leaning his face against a rusty bar.

"König wouldn't mind if his fruit is a little bruised would he?"

"Nah,"

The Captain steps back and puts his hand on his subordinate's shoulder, the grip tight from what you can see.

"It would be best to leave her untouched by pain. Let König deal with her."

The two of them leave without another word, walking out into the fresh air you so desperately crave. You lurch forward, as far as your chains allow, and curse them. You prayed upon their demise, begged the gods to bestow bad luck and karma, and wished with every ounce of your being that if you didn't make it out alive they would suffer the consequences.

All that responded were joyous chanting and drunken laughter.

Days bleed together in a blur of flavorless meals and taunting. Nights were your only comfort when the sound of snoring pirates replaced the shanties and crude comments.

The ever-waning moon looked down on you, its soft beams of light comforting you like a mother's touch. When you could see her, with each passing phase, you'd pray.

For solace, for mercy, for a painless death.

Each night your murmered prayers changed the longer you remained captive. No one but the squeaking rats responded. You grew jealous of the vermin for they were free, able to move around where they wished.

When the moon's face was bright and full, you finally heard the brig's door open once again. Your relief of human contact immediately turned sour the moment he opened his mouth.

"Get yer sweet ass up, it's time to die!"

The man, a new one this time, slammed the blade of his sword against the bars of your cell. He had a crazed look in his eye, one that was only brought in moments of greed.

There was no getting out of this.

And if all hope was lost, you might as well go down swinging.

You wait until he uncuffs you, his grip on your arm solid as the putrid stench of his body assaults your nose. Reeling your head back, you slam your skull against his, adrenaline forcing you past the splitting pain.

You pick up the coins and straddle the crumpled pile on the floor. A sick glee flows through your veins as you wrap the thick metal loops around his neck.

"What the fuck-"

He writhed, trying with all his might to buck you off him, his hands clawing at yours. But whatever divine power you'd been praying to all those sleepless nights offered you the strength to hold him down until his lips turned purple and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

You felt his body relax, your grip on him only tightening until you were hoisted into the air. The man on the floor gasped as you were pulled off of him, the arms around your body keeping you high enough that you were unable to do anything other than kick and scream.

"You can be as mean as you want, lil lady, no one can save you now."

Your fight was doubled ten fold as you scrape and claw at the arms holding you.

"You'll never get away with this!"

Only laughter met your frantic curse as they dragged your wiggling body up the stairs and into the night air. Crisp cold wind met you, whipping strands of hair every which way.

Choppy waves rocked the ship violently as storm clouds brewed in the distance, and soon the moon's comforting light was overshadowed.

There was no land in sight, only pitch-black waves. Some were higher than trees, their crests touching the clouds as if they, too, were seeking solace from the gods. Lighting struck, and its spindly tendrils struck the water with a loud roar.

You were thrust forward, tossed onto the wet wood of the deck surrounded by sneering men. With the impact, your hands and knees shred, blood welling up and sliding down your skin.

No longer held, you book it for the only opening in the sea of bodies you could see. You run, and dodge, and hide. But there are only so many places you could escape to on a ship in the middle of the sea.

The boat tilts, your balance tipped as you struggle to regain your footing. The men crowd you now, corralling you towards the plank and ultimately your demise.

You had no choice but to step forward, afraid of what they'd do to you if you were caught by their hands again. Maybe the gods' would bestow you mercy and offer you a quick death at the hands of the sea. Maybe, you hoped with all your breaking heart, that you were saved from the maw of König.

One man unsheathed his sword, the metal whining as he held it out towards you, the sharpest point aimed at your back.

"Move!"

He shouts, pressing the blade into your skin hard enough that you step forward just enough to escape it. But he followed, pushing you across the deck and onto the wood that hung over the unforgiving water.

You couldn't see where the water even began, the night sky blending perfectly into the midnight waters. As rain pelted down on you, streams of water mixing with your tears, you stepped up to the edge.

A prayer was on your lips, one last chance to save your mortal soul from a pain you fear the most when cruel hands shove you over the edge. You dove into the abyss, a scream clawing out of your throat, hands grasping for something to grab hold of.

The water was cold, so cold you felt every nerve alight with shock. You try and swim up but the vengeful waves keep you just below the surface.

Your limbs grow stiff with exhaustion. Your lungs burning, begging for air. A serene kind of calm washed over you as one by one your senses disappear.

You stop feeling the biting cold of the water around you.

You stopped tasting the salt that had forced itself through your nose and into your lungs.

You stopped hearing the muffled echo of thunder rolling through the sky.

You didn't know when your vision would fade away aswell, or if it had gone already. You sank deeper, your body suspended in numbness as you succumb to the ocean.

Just when you could feel the other side calling, the reaper's soft touch caressing your cheek, two glowing eyes open in front of you.

#konig x reader #konig x you #könig call of duty #könig cod #fantasy!au #octo!könig #deity!König #human sacrifice #greek mythology #ish #sorta #kind of #if you squint

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dirtyvulture · 2 years ago

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Natasha Romanoff* x Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by @amanda13parker: GP!Nat who has blanket consent from fem!R to use her whenever and Nat takes full advantage of it. Cooking? Not anymore she's not. Bent over the counter and stuffed. Watching a movie? Nope. Riding Nat and bouncing on her ... thing... Sleeping? Woke up to being bred. And R is loving every second of it while being praised and a bit degraded, being called by Nat her good girl and her breeding slut since she enjoys it so much.

AN: Enjoy, friend! And everyone should go check out your artwork. 👀 This is basically just porn with no plot, so keep scrolling if you're looking for something with substance. 😂

*Nat has a penis.

You hear the front door slam open and Natasha trudge inside, dropping her heavy work bag to the floor.

"I'm in the kitchen!" you call out, although you know she can guess where you are based on the smell of your cooking. You're almost done now, the stew aromatic and bubbling in the pot, and you're taking the freshly baked bread out of the oven when Natasha walks in.

Just as you set the hot pan on the counter, you feel Natasha's arms coil around your waist, her front pressing against your back, her weight heavy and warm against you.

"That smells so good, baby," she whispers into your ear and your heart rate quickens when you feel her bulge press against your butt.

"Are you hungry?" you ask.

"For you," she responds, and before you can protest, Natasha has you turned around, facing the counter. Your shorts are on the floor as she wrestles out of her pants, her strong hands lifting your hips up to angle yourself back.

"Oh Nat," you moan as her thick cock slides through your center. You feel yourself dripping onto her in record time and you're glad she can't see how red you are in the face at how quickly she turns you on. Her fingers part your folds and rub your clit roughly, causing you to keen louder and thrust back, the emptiness in your core begging to be filled by her.

Natasha throbs at the noises you make, her breathing picking up as she prepares you for her. She slaps her cock against your butt before sliding in, grunting as you tighten and convulse around her.

"Fuck babe, your'e so big," you pant, pushing back to take her entire length. Natasha slams her hips forward, almost sending you crashing into the counter, setting a hard and face pace you can barely keep up with.

Good thing the bread is already out of the oven, because you have no chance of going anywhere now.

Natasha's grip on your waist tightens to keep you in place as she slams into you over and over, the tip of her cock brushing the sensitive spot inside of you with every thrust. You're almost standing on your tiptoes as you try to angle yourself to fit her better, moaning in ecstasy at the thought of her using you like a personal Fleshlight.

"Right there, Nat. Right there. Please don't stop," you beg, holding onto the edge of the counter so tightly if it weren't made of granite a piece would have snapped off.

"Look at you taking me so well. My good girl," Natasha grunts, losing some of her rhythm as she nears her release. The slick noises of sex fill the kitchen, and with one final thrust you come undone, spilling all over her cock.

***********************************************************************

Movie nights don't always go as planned for the two of you either. More than half the time they end up with both of you on top of each other, Natasha's cock somehow finding its way inside of you every time. But you don't mind. You love being bred by your girlfriend and even if your favorite movie of all time was playing, you'd gladly let yourself be taken any way Natasha wants.

And if being dragged onto Natasha's lap halfway through a movie and made to ride her cock until your legs were shaking and you were seeing stars wasn't enough, Natasha has the audacity to wake you up in the middle of the night, already with her cock between your legs, hard and ready for another round.

Both of you are lying on your sides, and you lift your leg higher to give her easier access to sink into you to the hilt. Your brain is a scrambled mess from being woken up so suddenly and fucked so frequently, but you don't mind at all. You love being used by Natasha and you love making her feel good.

The bed rocks as Natasha thrusts into you, holding onto your leg to keep them separated.

"You like being woken up just to be bred like the slut you are?" she grunts into your ear.

"Yes, yes!" you respond, reaching back to tangle your hand in her hair, dragging her head down into the crook of your neck.

"Who's slut are you?" Natasha asks, her thrusts quickening. She will never get over how well you take her, like your pussy was meant for her cock and her cock only.

"Yours!" you pant, slick running down the inside of your thigh. You aren't even sure if you've cum already, but Natasha gives no signs of slowing down as she plows into you. She gropes onto your breasts, biting bruises onto your neck and shoulders, handling you roughly as she searches for her release. And you're happy to lie there and be used, your body in a state of euphoria as Natasha finally cums into you, the hot pulses of her seed triggering yet another orgasm from you, and you go limp in her arms.

"That's my good girl," Natasha murmurs into your sweaty neck. "You'll look so beautiful carrying my child."

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AN: Please like, comment, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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itsonlybaby · 1 year ago

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𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 - 𝐣. 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐲﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist ! i hope you enjoy this

John Murphy - Dropship

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You hated Murphy since you landed on the ground, you didn't expect for him to awaken something in you. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: shameless Murphy smut, plot, some violence, nsfw

Life on the ground was incredible.

It was like nothing I could've ever imagined, even though there were threats, such as the grounders and unstudied plants due to radiation- but none as big as John Murphy.

Everywhere I looked he'd be there; infecting everything with his toxins. The power Bellamy had given him went straight to his head, he truly believed he was better than everyone.

He seemed to know I hated him, and he gladly reciprocated that. His way of showing me? By humiliating me every chance he got.

I hadn't understood why he hated me, I had always tried to be nice to everyone around camp; even him at times, but he knew just how to wear my patience thin.

I had been peacefully minding my business skinning the newly fresh rabbit brought in by the hunting party. The game they brought was enough to feed everyone for the next two weeks. A deer, two bunnies, and a bird. One girl also brought in a few plants for me to work with for seasoning.

I was the camp butcher and cook, having sadly lost the previous ones. Everyone always adored my cooking and I tried to work with what we had.

Well, everyone except Murphy.

"What're you doing?"

The voice hit my ears like nails on a chalkboard, I didn't need to turn around to know who was about to pester me into a hole.

"What do you think I'm doing roach," I ask with heavy annoyance in my voice, still focused on skinning the rabbits while the water for the stew boiled.

"Poisoning the camp with your horrendous cooking," I could hear him walking closer to me, and my patience grew thin with every step.

"just go away-" I had been cut off by a loud crash.

He had kicked the pot of boiling water over into the dirt, drawing the attention of others.

This was my final straw.

Gripping the knife in my hand I swiftly grabbed Murphy, holding the bloodied knife to his throat.

"Fuck you, Murphy!" I shouted the blood from the rabbit was now on his neck.

Fear was masked behind ego in his eyes, I could tell he was scared by the way his hands defensively went up.

"I'm sorry, alright!" He spewed, something was relieving about hearing those words, seeing him so afraid of me. Though, anybody would be afraid.

Deep down I knew I wouldn't kill him, I knew the consequences of that. Killing Murphy wouldn't be worth getting tossed out of camp.

It had only been a few seconds before Bellamy was pulling me off of him. I didn't fight it, I just glanced around at everyone before picking up the pot and heading out to the river to collect more water while also clearing my mind.

There were never any final straws with Murphy around.

When I returned back to camp the air was thick with tension, and eyes were locked onto me as I prepped the broth for the rabbit meat.

I wasn't sure what Murphy could've told them, and I didn't care, if they chose to believe the cockroach then humanity was doomed.

It only took an hour to get the soup ready, everyone leaving me alone. I hadn't spotted Murphy yet, he wasn't terrorizing anyone, not making his presence known.

Was one threat really all it took to get rid of him?

Once I set up food for everyone I headed towards my shared ten with Raven, exhaustion quickly catching up with me. I had long forgotten about Murphy, the only thing on my mind was a peaceful night's rest.

Entering the tent I shrugged off my shirt, trying to change into a new one when I felt someone grab me from behind, making a yelp rupture from me.

I felt something cold and sharp press against my neck, fear instantly climbing up my spine as I thrashed around. The person's hand went to cover my mouth as he leaned in towards my ear.

"What're you gonna do now?" He whispered threateningly.

I instantly knew who it was, his scent invading my nose in a surprisingly good way. I tried to fight it, the thoughts of how his hands were on me felt good, this was no moment to think about Murphy like this.

He was holding a knife to my throat for fucks sake!

Knowing Murphy I thought he was really going to kill me, I soon felt regret for holding that knife to him.

I stopped thrashing around as it was no use, my breathing became wild as I prepared for the worst.

"Giving in to me so easily?" His hand uncovered my mouth, fingers still touching my lips.

"Suck," He demanded, his tone of voice was strong despite being hushed so nobody would hear.

This was the last thing I'd expect to happen with Murphy.

I couldn't help the lower sensation begin to rise throughout my entire body as I opened my mouth, Murphy's fingers instantly invaded the wet and warm place. I felt fuzzy and vulnerable all over, soon realizing I was enjoying this.

"Good girl," He said, making my thighs clench together, trying to get any type of friction to my clit.

Over time the blade on my neck didn't scare me, the fear turned to pleasure. My lower body became needy, the taste of his fingers being engraved into my mind as I was sucking wildly as if it was Murphy's cock and not just his fingers.

I could sense his smirk after I let out a soft moan, he was enjoying this too. Having me under his control, to do whatever he wanted with me. The thought could've made me cum then and there.

"Remember this next time," He whispered into my ear.

His knife trailed up and down my body, making me shiver at the coldness of the metal.

He suddenly retracted his hands to his sides, making me miss his fingers and the authority he held over me.

I turned around and he was leaving the tent, the taste of his fingers still vivid in my mouth.

I had debated running after him and demanding an explanation but I stood there, starstruck.

It didn't take long for me to snap back into reality, the thoughts I had about Murphy hit me like a train, embarrassment suddenly replacing the feeling before. I tried reminding myself I hated him, but despite everything I told myself, my body longed for his touch once again.

I wasn't sure what possessed me that night, I was sure it'd pass after a night's sleep. But I wasn't even safe in my dreams, his touch followed me everywhere.

Who knew weeks of hate could diminish with a few touches?

Though I still hated him.

I was sure of that.

But I couldn't stop my attraction.

I couldn't stop my mind from roaming in places it shouldn't.

I couldn't.

The only day I wish he annoyed me, he didn't. He would walk right past my butcher table, right by me. As if the previous night hadn't happened, as if his fingers didn't fill my mouth searching every crevice and crease.

Every so often Id catch him stealing glances at me- or at least I thought I did.

But I knew it was true when he was the first in line for breakfast, taking an extra long time to pick out his decision, forcing the tension between us to grow thicker. It was like he was torturing me like he knew just how bad I needed him.

The feeling had become too much for me, I quickly filled the bowls for dinner and rushed off to my tent once again, needing to relieve myself at least a little bit. I knew Raven was working with Monty in the dropship to figure out the wristbands so I had a bit of time to myself.

Rushing into my tent I dropped my pants and threw them onto a nearby chair. I climbed into the makeshift bed and began sucking on my own fingers, trying to mimic Murphy's movements the best I could.

I couldn't believe myself, getting off to the guy I despised with every ounce of my being. The way his middle part looked, how his nose was a bit too big for his face, how dark his blue eyes looked. I imagined every part of him, going back to that night in my mind.

My other hand snaked down to my clothed pussy, rubbing myself through the fabric while a series of moans escaped my occupied lips.

"Murphy..." I let out unrestrained, speeding up my movements.

"Yeah?" I heard someone ask.

My eyes instantly shot open as I scrambled up, staring at the one and only Murphy. How did he keep sneaking in her without me hearing?

He walked closer to me, "Don't let me stop you," He spoke, staring down at me.

I was frozen with shock, unable to process what just happened. How much had he seen? My face must've been a bright red by now.

"Too scared now? I said, Don't let me stop you." His hands found their way to my throat, giving it a light squeeze. I wasn't sure of his motives but I knew, in this moment, I was more turned on than ever.

The grip he had on my throat only turned me on more, now soaking through my panties.

I shakily began rubbing myself through my panties again, my nerves shooting through the roof. The man Id been having fantasies about was now watching me fuck myself.

Murphy swiftly unbuckled his belt and undid his zipper, bringing his hard cock out in front of my face, the sight had me drooling while he smirked down at me.

"Put that practice to good use," He spoke, tapping his tip on my lips, the hand on my throat now running to my hair, grabbing a fist full of it causing me to open my mouth just enough for him to thrust into it. He released a low groan at the initial feeling, the taste of his cock now invading my mouth.

I swirled my tongue around the shaft of his dick while he fucked mercilessly into my mouth, gripping my hair tighter every time to keep me still. With every thrust he hit the back of my throat, sending chills down my entire body.

"Thought you hated me," He said in between grunts, "Now you have my dick in your mouth," His familiar smirk was still planted on his face, he'd never let me live this down.

I felt his dick twitch in my mouth before he pulled out, tear snow streaming down my face.

"Fuck you," I said in between breaths, regaining my composure.

"Yeah, don't worry, you're about to." He took me by the arm and made me lay flat with my ass in the air.

His hands grabbed and slapped at my ass, making me squeak out pathetic moans. Grabbing the waistband of my panties he dragged them down, revealing my soaked pussy.

"You sure you hate me?"

Before I could reply he had already trusted into my pussy, giving me no warning. the sudden filling made my back arch. Murphy threw his head back, relishing the feeling of my tight pussy around his dick.

He didn't let me adjust before he was thrusting deep inside of me, unable to control his urges. The pleasure was unlike anything of felt before, his length made it so easy to hit every spot inside me, spots I'd never even known of.

"I hate you!" I moaned out, I wasn't sure if it was true or not anymore, I just didn't wanna give him the satisfaction of knowing I loved being fucked by him.

"Want me to stop?" He retorted. He knew I didn't want him to stop, so when I didn't answer he grabbed a fist full of my hair again, forcing me to prop my arms up to support myself. The grip on my hair only helped him pound into me further, not giving me any chance to think.

I wasn't just full of Murphy, I was full of hatred. I hated the fact I enjoyed this so much, hated the fact I never wanted it to end, hated the fact he could make me feel this good, hated how much I loved this.

"Fuck, Murphy!" I felt the familiar wave of my climax race up my body, making me shake with pleasure as I came around his dick. This didn't stop Murphy, in fact, it only fueled him more.

"Just let it out," He spoke breathily, my arms felt like they were gonna give out but before they could he pulled my hair, bringing my back to his chest as he held me up. "Let everyone in camp know how good you feel right now,"

His hands snaked up my body to my neck, giving it a tight squeeze, something I never thought I'd be into until Murphy.

"I hate you," I moaned out between cries and breaths, my sweet spot now becoming sensitive as he kept relentlessly fucking me.

"Sure looks like it," He smirked into my shoulder, now beginning to suck and bite as his own climax was nearing the edge.

The grip on my neck was enough to make me cum again, the tightening helping Murphy reach his own high.

Murphy quickly pulled out of me, shooting his load onto the ground of the tent, laying his head in the crook of my neck while he caught his breath. I leaned into his touch while his hands slid up and down my sides, tracing each curve with admiration.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked muffled.

"Go fuck yourself,"

Despite my words, he knew I wanted it just as bad as he did.

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 1 year ago

Note

can you make a fic about yan!fboyjk and yan!cheaterjk for me? i don’t have a specific plot in my mind so you can do anything to your liking :))

Pairing | cheater!fboy!yan!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 4.242

Warnings | +18, talk about marriage and cheating, smut, dubcon, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), Jungkook is sweet but also scary, angst, forced relationship, manipulation

Yandere genre is very strong, if you don't like it, don't read. If you are not of age, don't read. I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You want to leave Jungkook, but he is not of the same opinion, It doesn't matter if he did wrong, you are his.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Thank you for the request! I hope you like the story, please ask me for more stories, I am happy to write for you 🥰

You and Jungkook have been always sure about your future, you would get married and live happily ever after like in the most beautiful fairy tale. So why are you crying? Why do you refuse to take your eyes off that scene? Your brain refuses to recognize those angelic features that had caught you in a dense network of colorful, sparkling dreams as a child. That cannot be the same man who swore to you in front of all your relatives eternal love, with a ring in his hand and a wonderful, sweet smile drawn on his lips. Yet who can it be but Jungkook, the man who at that moment holds in his arms a woman unknown to you? You went to the gym to surprise your boyfriend, he had been disappearing for hours for some time under the guise of training for the wedding, he wanted to keep in shape to be perfect for you… just for you. But there he is, at the entrance of the gym whispering something in the ear of the blond-haired woman, who in return smiles cheekily at his joke, running a hand over his strong, trained chest. They seem very close, there is definitely confidence between them. You finally look away, feeling incredibly wrong, and take a step back, then another and another.

You start running in the opposite direction, all to forget that scene, to forget Jungkook's smug eyes staring at a woman who is not you. When you get home you feel incredibly weak, you sit almost collapsing on the bed, in your brain a bunch of ideas start swirling around in your head, ideas that block your breath in your throat. It's not even the first time it's happened, you realize, it's happened before that you've noticed something strange in your relationship, but you've never given it any credence. You don't want to think anymore. Forget, forget, forget.

"Smells good, love," the man leaves a sweet kiss on your neck, pressing his soft lips to caress your skin, "Is my girl getting ready to spoil me yet?" Jungkook holds you tightly in his arms, practically purring against your body. You find yourself smiling between his cuddles, continuing to stir the meat stew simmering in the pot. "You're just saying that because you're hungry," you chuckle gently. You found yourself shaking like a leaf in anxiety for days, believing that sooner or later Jungkook would come to you to tell you that he was leaving you for another woman, but none of that happened, Jungkook is still the same, showering you with attention and adoring you, and still wanting to marry you. Perhaps you had misunderstood the situation, that blond woman must be a friend and you jumped to conclusions, you should have asked Jungkook for explanations, but you still feel something holding you back from doing so. It is fear, a deep and treacherous fear.

"I say this because you are too good to me," he whispers seriously, causing you to turn toward him. His serious eyes chain yours and you feel lost, watching the wonder of that glittering obsidian staring at you encompassing you with possession, Jungkook licks his lips, the rosy soft tip furrowing those inviting petals before he moves closer to you, the electricity between your bodies bursting into lightning bolts as your lips meet, softly joining in an adoring kiss full of dominance. Somehow Jungkook manages to turn off the stove behind you, grabbing your head in a grip that forces you to deepen the kiss under the pressure of his hot tongue pressing repeatedly on your lips to demand access to your mouth. In each touch of Jungkook you lose yourself, accepting the force with which he takes your lips moaning and grabbing a few wavy strands of hair between your fingers. His tongue entwines with yours creating a wet and sensual dance, feeling him slow and hot inside your mouth turns you on in an incredible way. His taste is dope and Jungkook thinks the same of yours, sucking your tongue like delicious candy and smiling. It is always like that, if he wants something, he takes it. And you at that moment happily offer him your body, your feelings and your soul. They are all his.

He grips your hips in his hands, pressing you against his hot body, he needs you and with trembling legs you leave him in charge, he takes you to the couch where he makes you lie down leaving behind a trail of light, soft kisses along your jaw and neck, he stares at you now with half-closed eyes, the man finds himself thinking that you probably don't know how much you are actually giving him. With your clothes now on the floor and your panties lowered to your knees you let your head fall back, clenching your lower lip between your teeth, gentle waves of pleasure envelop your body, Jungkook with one hand travels up your belly to stop at your breasts, which he squeezes possessively as he wraps his tongue around your swollen clitoris, licking and sucking it repeatedly before poking your soggy slit with his fingertips, entering it only slightly, just enough to let your sweet essence out and lick it away with his tongue and enjoy the taste of you that has always driven him wild. You're getting closer and closer to your first orgasm, and you know it won't be the only one; you squeeze his head between your soft, smooth thighs, but he forces you to stay still by pushing his palms on your delicate skin, continuing to eat away at your quivering folds until a wonderful, satisfying sensation grips your belly and explodes into millions of tiny stars behind your closed eyelids.

"Jungkook! S-stop!" you shake your hips trying to make him stop and he stops only after sucking your sensitive pearl against his palate one last time. Kissing your folds and moving up your skin he stops at your belly, licking slowly down to your navel and you shudder still shaken from your orgasm, he only begins to remove his pants and boxers once he reaches your breasts, where he breathes in the scent of your soft skin and takes a delicate nipple in his mouth, attaching it and beginning to caress it with the tip of his tongue, sending delicious shivers throughout your body. "Open those beautiful legs for me, sweetheart," he gives you two light pats on the knee and makes you spread your legs wide, satiating his hungry, smug eyes. He loves the power you let him wield over you. You lick your lips at the sight of his straining, cum-shiny cock, wanting to taste it, to feel that length filling your mouth and leaving you breathless, but Jungkook pushes you back against the couch firmly, shaking his head amusedly. "Later, love," he murmurs finally taking off the tight t-shirt he is wearing, you find yourself gazing at his defined and gorgeous abs with the driest of throats, he doesn't let you touch him to your disappointment, you want to caress his chest, play with his sensitive nipples, but with a firm, hard kiss he guides himself between your legs, sinuously sliding into your wet entrance with his thick, hard cock, you widen your eyes and a deep moan leaves your throat. Your sensitive folds vibrate delightedly with each of his slow, firm lunges, your arms wrap around his neck and your hips move with his, in the room you can only hear the sounds of your bodies coming together and your wheezing moans, Jungkook grunts in your ear something after a particularly hard thrust and your eyes narrow, the thick tip of his cock is hitting a particularly sensitive spot that makes more moisture gush from your pussy.

"Jungkook, I'm coming again," you whimper softly inhaling his scent, the man nods as he continues to press into that sensitive area, and you move his hair behind his ear before leaving a kiss on one side of his neck. Then something makes you miss a beat. You hadn't noticed it before because it was hidden by his rather long hair, but just below his ear is a mark. It looks like a mark- a hickey -the color is tending toward purple and your heartstrings tug painfully.

You drive your nails into his shoulders with frost enveloping your limbs, you don't want to look any further, tears accumulate in the corners of your eyes and Jungkook blames your oncoming climax, he kisses them drying them with his lips and that gesture makes you scream internally, why is he so sweet and attentive? It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. With his free hand he reaches down between your bodies beginning to circle with his thumb around your clit, his pelvis moves faster, he is coming, soon he would fill you with his cum and for the first time ever you find yourself faking an orgasm with Jungkook, your delicate walls tighten around his cock, accompanying him to the end of his pleasure, but you feel nothing more. Jungkook collapses on top of you, kissing your forehead and cheeks, then finishing with your lips, but your heart is shattered. The man you love does not actually love you. "I love you, Y/N," he says, a lie you are no longer willing to believe.

There was always something wrong with the attention Jungkook was getting at school, you often attended the same classes and you always got the evil eyes of the other girls on you, you had even tried to ask the boy why, but he had always explained that they were simply jealous of your relationship and you were not supposed to pay attention to them. And you had believed him, after all, you always believed him. But now you regret giving him all that power.

"Jungkook, do you have another woman?" Your wedding is only a month away, and you can't marry a man who doesn't love you. Jungkook from his side almost chokes on his energy drink, he stares at you as if you had two heads instead of one, you are in the parking lot of his gym, you went to pick him up and you can tell he had recently showered, the ends of his hair are still damp and curled. "Shit, Y/N! Is that something to tell your future husband? We're getting married in exactly one month, heck no! I don't have another woman!" he blurts out seemingly speechless, you tighten your lips in response. "Hey ... Baby, what's going on?" he whispers softly, trying to take your chin between his fingers, but you quickly flinch away from him, who rolls his eyes in response. "What's going on is this, Jungkook," you growl, suddenly lifting some dark locks from his neck, exposing a small but remarkable detail. There are slight bite marks that are healing, you had noticed it a few days before, but you didn't have the courage to point it out, until now.

You're tired, you don't want to put up with such a situation anymore. "Stop teasing me, I hate it when you're so sweet to me, when it's clear that you're having fun behind my back with who knows how many other women!" you shout with glazed eyes, Jungkook immediately losing the confusion etched on his face, finally letting a serious and icy look shine through. "This is not the place to talk about this, Y/N. Let's go home," he hisses, not even trying to deny it one more time. This shocks you deeply. He doesn't seem to care that you finally know the truth. "I really think this is the right place, instead" you don't want to cry, so you hold back your tears by chasing them back, "You lied to me and betrayed me, I don't want to marry a man like you" the disgust in your voice makes him wince, if he thought he was going to solve things by using some bullshit catchphrases, well, he was very wrong. You make to get out of the car, you would have taken a cab rather than be with him again in that cramped and stifling space, you want to vent your emotions in a more secluded place, but Jungkook tightens a hand around your wrist.

"Don't you want to marry a man like me? My love, you may not realize that you have no other choice! We have always been together and we will always be together! You swore it to me more than once and you even did it in front of our parents!" he exclaims fiercely, tightening his grip painfully, you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. "You're hurting me," you murmur terrified by his sudden change. "Well, maybe you deserve it, don't you think?" he asks cruelly. You know Jungkook particularly cares about his parents' judgment, but you didn't think he would go that far to make them happy, so a worse doubt germinates in you. "You never loved me! You only want to be with me because our parents always wanted it that way" you want to vomit, were you really that blind? Jungkook quickly shakes his head, "Of course I love you, even though you're making me angry with this absurd talk of yours." "You don't love me, if you really loved me you wouldn't cheat on me with other women" you find the strength to break free from his grip, your pulse is red and pumping blood quickly. "I-" he freezes, his eyes dark with fury, "You don't understand, you can't blame me alone for all this!"

Jungkook knows he was wrong; in fact, he wouldn't have even wanted to start. But when you got together you were young and you had insisted on losing your virginity only once you had reached adulthood and thus the necessary maturity, you did not want your first time to be driven only by the pure hormonal instincts of two teenagers, and Jungkook had never had the courage to insist, because you seemed quite convinced about your ideas. But he needed what you were unwilling to give him, and so he cheated on you for the first time in a school bathroom after class, and he had hated himself no matter how many more countless times, but the more he got the more he wanted more, and even when you had finally given yourself to him, cheating had become an impossible vice to let go of, and the idea that you would always be left waiting for him was particularly tempting. But now it no longer seems that way; you want to leave, to leave him, and he cannot allow it. "You drove me crazy with your constant 'We're too young' or 'Let's wait a little longer'!" You open your mouth wide in shock, "No, don't blame me! You never told me you were against my ideas, and anyway, that's no reason to betray a person you say you love."

You have to get out of that car, you can't wait a second longer. The situation is worse than you thought, he has been cheating on you since the beginning of your story, you are nauseated. "You disgust me," you say before you open the door, you turn to get out, but suddenly your vision goes black, you feel Jungkook press his hand against your nose and mouth, before wrapping an arm around your neck.

When you wake up you realize you are no longer in the car, but you are not even in your house. The only thing you remember is Jungkook making you faint, then nothingness. You look around and what you see is a small room, the walls are lilac and it's littered with puppets of all kinds and colors, the mirror in front of the single bed you're lying on makes it clear the way you've been dressed. You're wearing a high school uniform and your hands are tied to the headboard, you widen your eyes and try to free yourself by pulling at the fabric used to hold you like that. "You've woken up." Jungkook makes his appearance from the bathroom connected to the small bedroom, he is adjusting his dark blue tie and you also notice his attire, he is dressed in a school uniform just like you. "What does all this mean, is this a joke?" you hiss less than amused, but Jungkook doesn't flinch. "I've come to a conclusion," he says as he approaches the bed, you try to get as far away from him as possible by bringing your free legs to your chest, you don't recognize the man in front of you, "I don't want to cheat on you, ever again."

He seems sincere, but you don't trust him. He has broken your heart too many times to deserve trust from you again. "I don't believe you, you're a liar," you say in fact, Jungkook tightens his lips. "I have my conditions," he says anyway, ignoring your words, "You'll still marry me and we'll make up for all the moments you made us miss," he murmurs dangerously, sitting down on the bed and letting a hand approach your thigh, you become an ice statue instantly, finally understanding the reason behind your uniforms. "You're crazy, I'm not going to marry you and we're not going to get anything back at all, to be honest I haven't had an orgasm with you in weeks, just the thought of a traitor like you touching me makes me lose the will to fuck," you murmur angrily, jerking away from his hand in a stinging manner. Jungkook narrows his eyes into two slits, he wanted to be nice to you, but you just don't understand. He's going to use forceful manners, then. "Why must you force me to hurt you, my love?" You look at him terrified, what does he mean?

"Jungkook, don't do anything you might regret, please." He grips your face hard in his hands, staring at you with those deep, dark pools you've always loved, pinning you in place before snapping a deep kiss. You stubbornly keep your lips tight, but Jungkook bites your lower lip forcing you to scream, his voluptuous tongue immediately making room in your mouth and groaning in protest as he plunders your oral cavity. "You'll change your mind, Y/N, by hook or by crook," he hums in your ear with a veil of amusement shining through his voice-who the hell is this man? Jungkook studies you carefully before running his hands over your hips, you shudder at his touch and his fingers stop above the buttons of your school blouse. "You will have only my body, Jungkook," you say in a colorless voice, trying to escape from that absurd reality, the boy opens your blouse, showing off the lace of your pink bra, he observes the graceful shape of your breasts longingly before returning his gaze to you. "I will have everything of you: soul, heart, body -- everything," he whispers before leaning over you, inhaling your scent straight from your bare skin.

"Where have you taken me?" "Haven't you figured it out yet?" You frown, then finally understand. It is his room from when he was a child, that means-. "We're at your parents' house." Jungkook nods. "Do you remember what happened in this room, Y/N?" Yes, you remember, but you don't want to say it out loud, that would make what Jungkook wants to do real. "You rejected me," he hisses suddenly, ripping your blouse off once and for all, you squeal in fright at his force and widen your eyes. He looks furious, his hands are shaking and his shoulders have stiffened under the weight of his fury, "I wanted you and you walked away! No matter how many times we did it when you made up your mind, you still rejected me and forced me to beg from other girls!" he exclaims, totally delirious before attaching his lips to the visible skin of your breasts, you wriggle trying to push him away, but he is too strong, Jungkook is not there with you. He is lost in his memories and blaming you for his betrayals.

Bitter tears accumulate in the corners of your eyes, it's not your fault. It's not your fault at all, but maybe... maybe if you had been more attentive to his needs, too, you would have been enough for him? When he grabs your pussy from above the fabric of your panties you arch your back against your will, his strong and powerful presence still has its hold on you and you tremble trying to stop yourself, you don't know if you are more scared or excited. "Jungkook-" "Say you're sorry," you widen your eyes. "What?" you gasp, his index finger going under the fabric and circling your slit. "Say you're sorry for rejecting me so many times, say you're sorry for all the times you made me feel like an ugly, worthless little boy!" You shake your head, "I never-" you groan, his index finger penetrating you and gently moving a few inches above your soaked entrance, you stiffen at the flame that suddenly invades your limbs. How does he still do this to you? After weeks spent in total apathy, it is now lighting you up in more ways than one, why?

Then you remember, " I don't want to cheat on you, ever again," are such simple words enough to get your body to react? Your body is corrupted by Jungkook, vibrating under his forbidden touch and practically purring, more moisture gushes from your slit, which widens to envelop the second finger Jungkook adds to his penetration, you are trembling trying not to push your hips against the boy, but it is harder than you thought. "I don't want you," you murmur, shaking your head, Jungkook looking at you firmly, tickling sensitive spots that only he knows and is able to reach. "Say it again as you come on my fingers, my love." An unsettling feeling of warmth swells in your lower abdomen. You deny it once more with your head, trying to stop your trembling legs, but it is too late, your walls tightening around his long, deft fingers, exploding in an orgasm you have longed for. "Why are you doing this to me?" you cry, moving your arms forcefully; Jungkook stops you, preventing you from hurting yourself with the ribbons that bind you.

"I wanted to make you pay for all the times you said no by making me feel like a poor, inexperienced fool," he says clutching your skirt with fingers smeared with your liquid pleasure, "But things got out of hand," he stammers, a stinger reaches your heart and your stomach sinks. You don't want to think about how many times he has devoted himself to another woman's body, it hurts too much. "You never told me about it," your words come out in a breathy voice, you try to hold back the sobs. Jungkook moves on top of you, "We will be happy, Y/N" he kisses your forehead moving between your legs, you feel him unzip his pants and enter you with one thrust, it is easy to enter you, you are completely wet and close your eyes listening to his rough, lustful sighs. His swollen cock moves penetrating you repeatedly, the bed moves under his precise and direct strokes and you squeeze your eyes shut, your clitoris throbbing and quivering seeking more direct stimulation and a sigh escapes your lips when the man presses his pelvis against your pubis, crushing your sensitive pearl while with the tip of his cock he reaches to stimulate a particularly receptive spot, you watch the strands of his hair sticking to your sweat-dampened forehead and his eyes begging you not to leave him.

"Y/N!" he moans your name while squinting, "Y/N!" he pushes harder between your soft walls and pulls with his arms on the ropes that keep you tied to the bed. "Jung-" you bite your tongue, refusing to moan his name, but the boy disagrees and demands that you look at him. "I'm sorry, I'll never cheat on you again, I mean it," he whimpers into your ear, "I only love you, only you," he moans and you find yourself closing your eyes, not wanting to give in, not really wanting to, but... "I'm-I'm sorry...for rejecting you" you stammer, pleasure rising once again and the hope of mending your relationship dancing in your chest, "I'm sorry for making you feel unfit." "The others... I just wanted to prove myself" thus confesses his feeling of inadequacy, you know you shouldn't forgive him anyway, but you love him too much, "But now I realize it's only to you that I have to prove something, forgive me" and so you let yourself be corrupted even in your soul. Just a gesture of your head is enough to allow him to come deeply inside you, your breath quickening as you reach for him clutching him in the deepest part of you, throwing your head back. Moments later he unties the knot that binds you to the bed and kisses your wrists softly, murmuring about how perfect you are for him and that once we were married, all would be forgotten because he only wants you. A tear slides down your cheek.

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mandalhoerian · 5 months ago

Text

forced proximity | baking | wild west au ❅ Leon Secret Santa ( @leonsecretsanta ) ❅ gift for @bonesnplywood !!

summary: When a wagon mishap in the middle of a snowstorm leaves the new sheriff Leon Kennedy stranded at the local bakery, he’s reluctantly pulled into a lighthearted afternoon of decorating gingerbread cookies with the town’s spirited baker, you.

word count: close to 5K, read on ao3

note: AMBER ITS ME!! YOUR SECRET SANTA!!! THE WORST PERSON THESE TROPES COULD POSSIBLY FALL INTO THE LAP OF!!!! I've never in my life joined an event like this or written about christmas (jingle halal everyone), and i was doomed from the start because wild west is something i know absolutely nothing about 😞 so i had to make insane research on the topic for this, and i mean, "insane" research <2 me>, because i've had to look up things such as sugar, icing (did it exist? what about hot chocolate. plot twist, IT DOES), what they baked, how non-commercialized christmas was like back then, and overall about frontier towns, and i swear i was on the verge of tears about to drop out THIS 👌 CLOSE 😭😭😭 I hope I was at least able to catch the vibes and it's enjoyable, please excuse any mistakes or weird stuff overall that doesn't fit, i tried.... merry christmas!

Christmas around these parts was a quiet affair, mostly celebrated by children and the devout few who filled the pews of the old church on the hill. There were no garlands or ribbons strung up, no carolers wandering door to door. Folks didn’t have the time or money for all that fuss.

Instead, Christmas was something simpler. Something humbler. A rare pie cooling on a windowsill, the smell of woodsmoke mingling with fresh bread if a family could spare the flour and sugar, stockings, little more than patched-up socks, hung over fireplaces with faint hope... Sometimes, if the weather allowed, neighbors gathered for a pot of stew or shared biscuits, squeezing together at too-small tables and swapping stories to warm the room better than the fire ever could.

And yet, you, neither a dutiful churchgoer nor a small child any longer, cared more about this holiday than most. Actually, scratch that. “Cared” didn’t begin to cover it.

You lived for Christmas.

Always had. Ever since you were small, the holidays had lit something in you. All of them mattered, but Christmas? That was special. It wasn’t just the crisp air or the smell of pine needles in the bakery where you grew up. It was the whole season, the way December turned the world into something softer, kinder. Your father had seen to that.

Every year, he’d throw open the bakery doors to the orphanage down the lane, baking for the children who had no family to celebrate with. The evenings were loud with laughter, warm with the smell of bread and cakes, and rich with your father’s tall tales spun at the dinner table. He’d send those kids home with free loaves to last them through the winter, and no matter how much the townspeople complained about the expense, they’d show up to help--eventually. Even the grumps couldn’t resist the sight of those kids, faces bright with joy, or the way the bakery felt like the heart of the town in those fleeting weeks.

Of course, none of that magic happened on its own. The ingredients alone were a fortune, especially now, and it had taken some creative wheeling and dealing to keep things running smoothly. Mayor Irons had been easy enough to bribe, an extra haul of your famous sweets for his office, a special stash of sugar sticks just for him. The old sleazeball had learned long ago not to ask questions, especially when the end-of-month "bonus" arrived. It was a necessary evil, one you barely had to think about anymore.

This year, though, was different. The snowstorm had rolled in fast, blanketing the town in thick, sparkling drifts that clung to rooftops and piled high in the streets. It was beautiful in the way all fresh snow is, softening the edges of a hard world. But this wasn’t the gentle, picturesque snowfall from a child's drawing. This storm had teeth. Roads were already impassable, and while the bakery’s ovens burned bright and warm, you couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if the storm kept on. Business had slowed to a crawl, but you weren’t about to close the shop, not with so much left to do before the Christmas festival. The Mayor needed his payment.

Your gaze drifted to the empty shelf behind the counter where sacks of flour and sugar were meant to sit. Supplies that should have arrived hours ago. Supplies you needed for the dozens of gingerbread cookies and other desserts.

Your father had thrown in the towel hours back, muttering that it was pointless to keep the place open when there was nothing left to sell. You, stubborn as always, refused to leave. The wagon train will come, you’d insisted. You weren’t about to trek home in this snowstorm, anyway, and someone needed to mind the fire. But as the wind howled against the windows and the blizzard thickened to a near whiteout, you were beginning to think your father might’ve had a point.

Then, the bell above the door jingled.

You jolted, spinning around.

"Finally," you muttered, brushing flour-dusted hands on your apron as you turned. "Come on in! You're lettin—"

The words caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the deliveryman standing there, but the sheriff—Leon Kennedy—silhouetted in the doorway like a figure out of legend. His wide-brimmed hat, damp and battered, was barely clinging to his head thanks to the string knotted beneath his chin. On his shoulders, six sacks of supplies were stacked so high it made him look almost absurd in the middle of your little bakery. Snow clung to his coat like he’d wrestled a blizzard and won, but that didn’t stop him from nudging the door shut with the heel of his boot and stepping further inside. The quiet thud of those sacks hitting the wooden floor sent a plume of cold air swirling around the room.

You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Sheriff?”

Leon straightened, dusting snow from his coat with broad, deliberate swipes. “Sorry I’m late.” He nodded to the sacks, as though hauling half a wagon’s worth of supplies on his back through a blizzard was the most normal thing in the world.

“Where’s the wagon?” you managed, trying to peer through the frosted window before turning back to him.

“Broke down a mile back,” he said, his voice roughened by the cold. “Axle snapped.”

Your stomach dropped. “A mile? In this weather?”

“Figured I’d at least bring what I could carry.” He kicked the snow from his boots, each thud matching the quickening of your heartbeat. “Rest will have to wait.”

You stared at him, then the sacks of flour and sugar piled on the floor. He’d walked through a goddamn blizzard. A mile, uphill, no less—you didn’t even need to ask to know that was the case. You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a breath of air. Finally, you croaked, “I… Thank you.”

Leon just nodded, like gratitude was something he shrugged off the same way he shook snow from his coat. “What needs doin’?” he asked, glancing toward the empty shelves. “Looks like you’re behind.”

You’d just watched the man shoulder a blizzard and a mile of snowbanks, and now he wanted to help you restock?

Your gaze flickered to him—to his reddened cheeks and the tips of his nose, glowing like embers from the cold. The dark leather of his duster was soaked through, clinging to him like a second skin, and the snow gathered on the brim of his hat had begun to melt and drip onto the floorboards.

“Hold on a second,” you said, recovering your wits as you marched around the counter. “You’re half-frozen, Sheriff. Give me that coat before you catch your death.”

Leon’s brow quirked faintly, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” You grabbed the hem of his coat, already tugging it off his shoulders before he could protest. The leather was heavier than it looked, soaked through and frigid to the touch. Jesus.

Leon let out a small, huffed laugh, raising his arms in surrender as you worked the coat free. Cedar, you thought absently, catching the scent that clung to him, warm and woodsy even beneath the chill.

“Sit down and warm up,” you ordered, pointing toward the small table near the fire. “You're not going anywhere in this weather.”

“And the shelves?” he asked, ever the dutiful sheriff.

“None of your damn business. You just carried half the territory’s worth of flour through a blizzard—I’d say you’ve earned five minutes.”

Leon’s smile turned genuine then, soft around the edges, and for the first time since he’d walked in, you saw the faintest hint of color return to his face. He nodded, boots thudding against the floor as he made his way to the chair.

As you turned back toward the sacks of supplies, already mentally calculating how much work lay ahead, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder. Leon was sitting by the fire now, elbows resting on his knees, hat in one hand and gloves dangling from the other, his gaze distant as he watched the flames. He looked tired. More tired than any man who’d just hauled a mile of flour and sugar should look, but there was something steady in the way he sat there, unshakable, like no storm could ever touch him.

You exhaled softly, shaking your head as you rolled up your sleeves. Christmas was comin’ whether the snow liked it or not.

You busied yourself at the counter, half-focused on the dough you were rolling out and half on the quiet presence of the man. After a while, the silence stretched like the dough underneath your hands, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the soft thud of your movements against your work surface.

He wasn't very talkative in the first place, you knew as much, thinking that perhaps you could have accomodated him better instead of throwing yourself immediately into work the moment you'd gotten what you'd been waiting for the whole morning. The awkwardness that stifled the bakery was bothersome enough that you chanced another glance at Leon, and caught him watching you, eyes briefly darting to the counter before returning to the oven.

“You decorating all those yourself?” he asked finally, nodding toward the trays of fresh-out-the-oven, undecorated gingerbread men to the side that were cooling off.

You blinked, pausing mid-roll. “I was planning to, yeah.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing how much energy he had left after the trek. “You’ve got a lot of work left. Might as well make myself useful.”

Your brows rose in mild surprise, but you quickly recovered. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said simply, moving closer to the counter. “Might as well pass the time doing something.”

He put as much intensity into the staring match that followed as he would into a gunfight. It was inevitable that you'd lose.

Finally, you reluctantly handed him an icing bag, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Sheriff. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Leon took the bag, turning it over in his hands like it was a tool he needed to get a feel for. “Fair warning,” he said, “I’m better with a six-shooter than whatever this is.”

“It’s just icing. Start slow and gentle. No sharpshooting required.”

“Good,” he replied dryly. “Would hate to accidentally take out a gingerbread man.”

Was that... a joke? Did he just make a joke?

You stepped closer to him, catching the way his hands dwarfed the small icing tube as he held it. His brow furrowed in concentration, the usual stoic expression on his face betraying just a smidge of uncertainty. There was something endearing about seeing him like this, someone so strong and sure reduced to puzzling over frosting.

“Here,” you said softly, placing your hands over his fingers, which twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stilled, letting you guide him. The warmth of his skin seeped into your palms, and you found yourself acutely aware of how close the two of you were.

“Hold it steady,” you murmured, your voice dipping low and deliberate, as if sharing a secret. “The trick is even pressure. Like this.”

You shifted your grip slightly, your thumbs brushing against his knuckles with a deliberate slowness. His hands, so large and steady, seemed to falter beneath your touch, the tiniest twitch betraying his awkwardness. You caught the faint hitch in his breath and felt the way his shoulders stiffened, as though unsure whether to lean into your guidance or escape it entirely, yet together with you, he squeezed the tube gently, a neat line of icing trailing onto the cookie below. He wasn’t focused on the cookie, though—not really. The way his hands followed your movements made it clear he was hyper-aware of the closeness, unsure but not resisting. Feeling the heat rise to your face, you quickly changed tack, pulling your hands away with a light laugh.

"You’ve got it from here," you said, stepping back slightly and gesturing to the cookie in front of him, your tone bright and easy.

Leon exhaled slowly, his breath brushing the side of your face. “Guess I was pressing too hard.”

“Most people do,” you replied, glancing up at him briefly. His focus was in front of him, but his jaw was tight. You could feel the tension in his shoulders despite him admitting what he'd been doing wrong. “Relax your grip a little.”

You adjusted his hold, guiding his hand through another clean line of icing, your bodies aligned as if the two of you had done this a hundred times before. When you finally released his hands, the absence of contact felt oddly stark... Thanks to the cold weather, no doubt.

“Think you’ve got it now?” you asked, stepping back slightly, though your heartbeat had yet to slow.

“Think I’ll need a little more practice.”

That sounded suave at the time, but he was right, in the end. Leon’s first attempt at decorating was, to put it kindly, a disaster.

The icing tube seemed to have a mind of its own, spilling a shaky, jagged line across the gingerbread man’s torso. His frown was growing deeper by each passing minute, and he was constantly adjusting his grip, but it only got worse. By the time he set the tube down, the poor cookie looked more like a battlefield casualty than a festive treat.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. It bubbled up, light and genuine, as you reached over to inspect his handiwork. “Well,” you said, biting back a grin, “it’s… unique.”

“It’s terrible,” Leon muttered, a touch of color rising in his cheeks as he glanced at your much neater designs. “Maybe I should stick to chasing outlaws.”

“Aw, come on,” you teased, nudging his arm. “You’re just gettin' started. Besides, this is supposed to be fun, not perfect.”

He gave a skeptical huff but picked up the tube again, determined to try. How earnest. You leaned closer, pointing out how to apply even pressure, your hands brushing his as you demonstrated even though you didn't really need to do all of that. Something about enjoying a skilled grown man being awkward about something you were good at and wanting to enjoy moments of making him fumble.

“There you go,” you encouraged as his next attempt turned out… well, marginally better. “See? Not bad for a first-timer.”

"I feel bad for whoever this will be eaten by," he muttered, referring to the misshapen abomination in his hand that could hardly qualify as a 'person.'

"It's the Mayor," you blurted out without thinking, causing a choked laugh escape past his lips, surprise lighting up his handsome features.

"Really?"

"Yep," you grinned, winking conspiratorially at him. "You're helping me bribe the man to invest more on Christmas. Gotta throw in some of your... specialties in there for good luck."

"You're trying to get me fired," he deadpanned, as dry as the wood stacked by the hearth. "And blacklisted."

A loud laugh tore itself out of your throat, warm and melodious in nature. He looked oddly pleased at having brought it out of you, the corners of his lips twitching up minutely before returning to its neutral position. God, how cute! You wondered what other expressions you could draw out of him if you tried. It wasn't fair how handsome he was when he smiled like that, a real smile, with actual emotion. That tiny change softened the harsh line of his mouth and eased the shadow of exhaustion from his face, making him look like a completely different person, like another version of himself who existed behind closed doors. The image stayed burned into your mind's retina as you resumed decorating the cookies with your nimble fingers, sneaking glances every so often, studying him from beneath your lashes.

You wanted to know more about this man. In a way, this snowstorm had been a good thing.

“So,” you started, reaching for another cookie to decorate, “what made you take the sheriff’s job? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t strike me as the type who’d want to babysit a town like this.”

Leon glanced at you, his hand pausing mid-squeeze. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, ya know.” You gestured vaguely at him, smirking. “That look. Like you’ve seen too much of the world already and don’t trust any of it.”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re not wrong.” For a moment, he focused on his cookie again, the silence stretching between you both. Then, quietly, he added, “I figured it was time to slow down. Maybe try something simpler.”

You arched a brow. “Simpler? Sheriff in a town like this? You must not have heard about all the trouble this place sees.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, glancing your way with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Still beats the alternative.”

The weight in his voice gave you pause. You didn’t press, sensing there were things he wasn’t ready to share, and not your place to know in the first place. Instead, you held up one of your finished cookies. “Well, here’s to slowing down. Even if it means spending your days wrestling with icing.”

“I’ll take it over the wrestling I’m used to,” he said, his lips twitching into a soft smile as he picked up another cookie. "Already like this better. It's nice working with someone like this. Having a calm evening instead of the usual shit I'm doing. Christmas cookie decorating. Who'd've thought, right?"

"That sounds lonely, Sheriff."

A strange, distant look crossed over his face momentarily, something melancholic and longing flitting across his face before it vanished again under the cool mask you were familiar with.

He let out a small, sad sigh. "...Yeah. S'pose it is."

"You know... Christmas is all about coming together. Starting fresh. And sometimes taking a little break from reality to enjoy yourself," you added thoughtfully, trying not to be too on the nose about what you were trying to convey. "We all need a little grace. Especially around this time of year."

He snorted softly at that, amused.

Your hand moved quicker than your mind could react, bringing the piping tip dangerously close to his mouth. "Care to repeat that?"

Leon blinked, momentarily stunned. "Christmas suits you," he repeated, more brazenly this time, daring you to follow through with the implicit threat. "All warm and welcoming." He leaned forward, almost challenging in nature. "Like this bakery of yours."

"Oh, well—" your ears burned hotter at the implications. If anyone saw you like this now, you would've been done for.

You cleared your throat, attempting to keep yourself composed even as Leon's stare bore a hole through your skull. The damn man was just teasing you, looking smug as fuck for figuring out how to make you flustered for once.

"You better watch your pretty mouth, or else I'll decorate it shut instead."

Leon threw you his most innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt smile, and oh—was he laying it on thick just to rile you up. He seemed to have recovered from earlier, all broody and cold-shouldered as he usually was. This new, playful side of him was going to kill you before the day was over, you were absolutely certain of it.

"Maybe next time," he said simply with a nonchalant shrug.

The man had some nerve. Just the mere implication made your head spin. Did he mean it? Was he flirting? What did that mean for him? For you? You thought back to the few times you'd seen him around town—the polite smiles and nods exchanged at a distance; the brief conversation when your order went missing; the sudden appearance this afternoon that saved your day—and wondered why things were so easy between you despite how limited the interactions. Maybe because you knew each other well enough in name only, without the addition of many personal details beyond those spoken on a passing basis. Or maybe there was something deeper and unspoken that existed between you two ever since that first interaction at the saloon several weeks ago. Maybe you weren't imagining the subtle, shy looks, the hidden smiles, the way he tended to linger by the doorway to watch you work long after he ran out of excuses to be there anymore.

You shook away such thoughts and returned to decorating, not sure what to say in response.

"...Do you ever get the temptation to have any while you do this?" He asked all of a sudden, changing the topic abruptly. "Or wait til the last batch gets done and then have them?"

"These are for Christmas!"

"They are for the Mayor."

You couldn't help but giggle, especially since he said that like someone else would talk about some slimy thing on the bottom of their shoe. "For Christmas's sake."

"Would you eat one? Any of these ones I did?" There was something almost like playful disappointment there, in his tone. "I think we need to do some... quality testing before deciding to send them off to my employer and risk my job while we're at it."

There were very few times Leon Kennedy was described as an optimist, even fewer times he could be considered amusing (the townsfolk seemed convinced he wasn't capable of joy), but hearing him make a joke regarding his 'employer' with you made something flip inside your tummy. It didn't take long for you to cave, popping the partially iced gingerbread man into your mouth.

And that's how both of you ended up sitting down and devouring the whole batch, with two cups of steaming hot chocolate courtesy of yours truly. In true Christmas spirit, Leon even suggested making a gingerbread house from scratch in the shape of the mayor's office (complete with a gingerbread dog) and helping you with the baking process.

At this point, neither of you cared about decorum—the sheriff's sleeves were rolled up high on his arms, and you'd shucked your apron ages ago. Between the pair of you, you had enough raw dough in your mouths to sink a ship, but it was delicious, and your stomach was full of warm gingerbread and sweet cream. All that was missing was eggnog and a roaring fire, and it really felt like Christmas. His company, too, was surprisingly pleasant. Though Leon was quiet—always quiet—he listened attentively to your chatter while you kneaded the dough and he mixed the sugar and eggs while occasionaly going in for the hot chocolate, which was quite endearing for a man you hadn't seen with any beverage other than some sort of alcohol at the saloon.

You leaned against the counter as Leon poured another mug of hot chocolate, his sleeves still rolled up and his hair slightly mussed from pushing it away too many times so it wouldn't get in his eyes while he worked. The snowstorm had calmed some, but the wind still howled outside, leaving little to do but bake another batch of cookies and fruitcakes to pass the time—and keep the shop warm.

“So, about that axle,” you started, reaching for the bowl of flour. “No one told you it was shot?”

Leon shook his head, his expression almost sheepish. “Guess I didn’t ask the right questions. Higgins just said it was ‘good enough.’”

You snorted, scooping flour into the mixing bowl. “‘Good enough’ by Higgins’ standards means it’s one bump away from falling apart. The man’s been patching that wagon together with spit and stubbornness for years.”

Leon’s lips twitched in a faint smile as he leaned against the counter across from you. “Noted for next time.”

“You’re lucky it lasted as long as it did. But you’ll get used to that around here. Everyone’s got their quirks, and most of them involve cutting corners where they shouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” Leon’s tone invited more, his eyes steady on yours as he sipped his hot chocolate.

“Oh, definitely,” you said, grabbing the sugar. “Take Mrs. Winslow, for example. Sweet old lady, bakes pies for half the town out of the goodness of her heart that it's bad for my business, but did you know she’s the reason the post office closes early every other Thursday?”

Leon blinked. “I… can’t say I did.”

You grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “She’s been having a years-long feud with the postmaster’s wife over some quilting contest back in ‘64. The poor postmaster just shuts up shop early to keep the peace whenever she’s around.”

“Jesus…”

“And then there’s Old Man Miller. Nice fella, always has a good story to share, but he’s also the same guy who thinks it’s a bright idea to milk his cows at midnight to ‘beat the rush’ at the market in the morning.” You laughed, remembering the sight of Mr. Miller stumbling bleary-eyed into the bakery, smelling distinctly of barnyard. “And let me tell you, that man’s cheese tastes like the butt crack of dawn on a Monday morning itself.”

Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds charming.”

“It is. Charming and... a little crazy, to be honest. But that’s the kind of place this is. We’ve all got our stories, and we’re all a bit touched in the head. Except me, of course. I’m the picture of sanity. Why, just yesterday, I had a completely normal, rational conversation with my sourdough starter as I fed it. It agreed wholeheartedly.”

“I see the resemblance,” Leon joked, his posture relaxing as he took over the task of adding eggs to the bowl, his fingers moving deftly and confidently. “Did the sourdough give you any tips for dealing with the townsfolk, or is that a trade secret?”

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know," you teased, laughing along. "But honestly, the best advice I can offer is to roll with the punches. This place will drive you nuts if you try to understand it. Just let the weird wash over you, and eventually, you'll feel at home."

Leon paused, considering your words. "That might take a while."

“Here's some secrets to keep up... There’s old Tom over at the smithy. He’ll fix your horseshoes for half price, but only if you promise not to bring up the time he accidentally set fire to the mayor’s porch.”

You glanced up to find his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

“And let’s not forget about the Reverend,” you continued, emboldened by the sight. “Bless his heart, but he’s been known to sample a little too much of the communion wine. You’ll know it’s happened when he starts quoting Shakespeare in his sermons.”

Leon nodded wisely. “Duly noted. Blackmail Tom, steer clear of the reverend during happy hour. Got any other wisdom to impart, town sage?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Well, if you ever need a favor from the schoolmarm, remember that her favorite flowers are peonies. And whatever you do, do not play poker with the Doc. The man can cheat like no one's business, and no, he's not above using his medical degree to his advantage. Also, avoid the butcher on Tuesdays—he's extra cranky after haggling prices with the ranchers. Oh, and never, ever bet against the blacksmith in an arm-wrestling match. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. Poor Billy. That boy won't learn his lesson anytime soon."

"What about the town baker?" he asked, his tone light, a hint of curiosity in his question, his focus on the dough in front of him, his fingers kneading the mound of flour, butter, and sugar. "Any secrets worth knowing?"

You quirked a brow, a sly smile playing at the corners of your mouth at him taking the first step that he'd been circling for quite some time. What would he have done if you weren't good with signals? Nevermind, though, you liked this brand of shy men. "Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing..."

Leon paused, his hands buried in the dough, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt sleeves. He looked at you expectantly, a glint of intrigue in his otherwise impassive demeanor.

"The baker," you said in a hushed tone, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, "has a weakness for a handsome, helpful sheriff who knows his way around a bag of icing. Especially one who's willing to brave a snowstorm to deliver her supplies personally."

The blush that crept up Leon's neck was immediate, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. You couldn't help but bite your lower lip, finding his flustered state absolutely adorable. His grip on the dough tightened momentarily, and he averted his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he tried to compose himself.

"Ah," he managed, his throat bobbing in a nervous gulp.

You nodded, the grin on your face growing wider. "Mhm. She would love it if on Christmas Eve, that certain sheriff stopped by the bakery to pick up her special order. Maybe even have a drink together. To thank him for all his help, of course. If he's not busy, that is."

Leon cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his attention still fixed on the dough before him. "I... I'll be sure to check my schedule," he managed, a slight tremor in his deepened voice.

"Good," you replied, straightening up, satisfied with his response. "Now, enough chit-chat, Sheriff. Let's get these gingerbread men in the oven so they can rest and bake, and we can have more hot chocolate and relax in the meantime. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan," Leon agreed, his shoulders relaxing somewhat, though his ears still burned a rosy red.

#leon kennedy x reader #leonsecretsanta2024 #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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dazaih · 3 months ago

Text

wingman - luke skywalker x reader

chapter one -> new beginnings chapter two

your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.

chapter warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol

a/n: hiiiii here’s my university!au mini series with roommate han solo and love interest luke skywalker! this chapter isnt super juicy but i wanted to set up a foundation before getting crazy with the plot. i’m gonna go ahead and publish the next part where luke arrives so you guys don’t have to wait to meet him hehe hope u enjoy!

You and Han Solo had a lot in common.

For starters, you both transferred into your university at the beginning of your sophomore year. In your case, you’d been getting through your gen-ed requirements at community college for a year to save money on tuition. You had worked hard, and now you had been accepted to transfer into your dream school. You showed up to the mandatory transfer student orientation feeling more hopeful than ever, excited to meet new people and make life long friends. Your only anxiety was that it was a pretty preppy school, and the student body was known to be quite affluent. You had thrifted a pretty cute outfit, though, so you prayed that your lack of frivolous spending wouldn’t be obvious to your new peers. You tried to pay attention to the speaker who was delivering the opening remarks, but your ambitions surrounding the new adventure you were embarking on were too loud, and you found yourself imagining what the next three years would entail.

Completely engrossed in your thoughts, you barely registered the sound of the auditorium door creaking open to grant entrance to a latecomer. For this reason, you nearly fell out of your chair when a gruff voice pulled you from your daydreaming:

“Mind if I sit?”

Startled, you looked up to see a slightly disheveled man staring down at you, his brown hair tousled and arms folded over his chest. He sported a pair of worn-out jeans, a flannel, and a heavy duty Carhartt coat that looked like it had seen better days. His combat boots had scratches all over the toe, and he smelled faintly of cigarettes and pot. Compared to everyone else in the room, he looked incredibly out of place, his casual attire and rugged disposition setting him apart. Despite being late, he still exuded confidence—or was it arrogance, a voice in the back of your head chimed in—and hold on, did this guy have his ear pierced?

“Well?” he prompted, looking annoyed, “Can you move your shit?”

You jumped a bit, having forgotten that he’d asked if he could sit next to you. Nodding, you moved your bag, clearing the chair out for him. Only after he sat down did his impoliteness begin to register. Should you say something to him about his attitude? You had been staring, but not long enough for him to get hateful with you.

After stewing in silent anger for a few minutes, you whispered, “Y’know, I only put my stuff in that chair because I didn’t think anyone would show up fifteen minutes late to orientation.”

Slowly, the man turned his head. When his eyes met yours, you realized that you might have made a mistake. Within your first few minutes of being on campus, you had probably just confronted the only person at this entire university who looked like he’d have no problem smacking you across the face for looking at him the wrong way.

“You better pay attention instead of talking to me, sweetheart. I heard that they’re gonna be going over how to mind your own business soon, and you could use a lesson or two in that.”

“Well, you were a little rude to me when you came in, or else I wouldn’t have said anything about it,” you replied quietly.

He just rolled his eyes, and you both turned your attention back towards the front of the room. The speaker went on and on about how this was such a prestigious school, telling you all that you were very lucky to be getting an education there. The comment struck you as a little strange, but you didn’t think much of it until the man beside of you spoke again.

“Luck’s hardly got anything to do with it,” he scoffed, looking very unimpressed.

His voice was quiet enough that you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just mumbling under his breath. You decided to reply anyway.

“That was kind of a weird thing to say,” you agreed, hoping this would patch up whatever ill will you’d ignited in the stranger. In your defense, he had been rude to you first, but you’d only been on campus for under an hour and you weren’t trying to make enemies on your first day.

He nodded, at least acknowledging you, and listened to the rest of the orientation with an incredibly sour look on his face. As soon as the assembly concluded, he shot straight out of his chair, zipping up his coat and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Waste of time,” he muttered, walking towards the door. When you didn’t follow him, he turned and looked at you like you were stupid. Confused, but getting the idea, you scurried after him, offering a small smile to him when he held the door for you. The two of you stood outside, and you watched as he leaned up against the brick building and pulled a cigarette from the box. This guy was cool, you thought; definitely an asshole, but cool. Not at all the type of person you were expecting to meet at this school, that was for sure.

“What’s your name?” he asked you, flicking his Zippo lighter open with a small clink.

You told him your name and that you were an incoming sophomore, explaining that you had gone to community college first to save some money. That made him look at you, and he seemed to regard you with something other than contempt for the first time since you’d met him.

“Huh,” he muttered softly to himself, “You got a job?”

“I did before transferring here. I worked all year. I’m here on a scholarship, so I only have to pay for room and board, but that’s still expensive, y’know?”

“Not here on daddy’s money, then,” he mused, exhaling smoke, “You want a cigarette?”

“No thanks,” you declined politely, “What about you, though?”

“Suit yourself,” he replied, taking another drag, “Han. I’m a junior. Transferred from community college like you, but I also had to raise my GPA a little bit before they’d look twice at my application. Snotty bastards.”

“You seem to hate rich people a whole lot for someone who’s gonna be sitting in class full of them in a few days,” you teased.

“Well I’m not an idiot, kid. If you wanna make money, you’re gonna have to put up with people who already have it. I can deal with a bunch of wealthy brats if it means getting an education good enough to land me a six figure job as soon as I graduate.”

“We’ll see. If transfer orientation pissed you off, I can only imagine how exciting trying to make friends with all of these wealthy brats will be for you.”

“What, you prayin’ on my downfall or something?” he snapped, though his voice lacked malice, “I’m not making friends with any of them, anyway.”

“Well, you’re trying to make friends with me, aren’t you?” you challenged, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re not rich. You had to work to afford going here. And who said I wanna be friends with you?”

“You didn’t know that before inviting me out here to smoke with you.”

“First of all, you’re not smoking. You’re just standing there like a dumbass while I smoke. Secondly, I didn’t need to know that to see that you ain’t got a trust fund, kid, ‘cause I almost bought the jacket you’re wearing at the thrift store down the road last week.”

Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he cut you off before you could even begin speaking, “And I know it’s the same one, ‘cause there’s a tiny stain on the sleeve. I only sat next to you because I was gonna point it out to you and then offer you ten bucks for it.”

You just laughed, shaking your head at him.

“I bought it for twelve, so the answer is no,” you replied, picking at the stain on the sleeve that he’d pointed out.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes for the third time that night, “I’ll find one without a stain.”

“You can barely see it!” you exclaimed, and then, before you could stop yourself, added, “But if you want, we can always go thrifting tomorrow to see if we can find one.”

You had said it before considering the possibility that Han would reject you in the most offensive way possible, which, based on what you knew so far, didn’t seem wildly out of character for him. He was silent for a moment, looking at you as if he had caught you trying to do something sneaky. He seemed like he was about to make fun of you, but to your surprise, he didn’t say anything mean.

“Sure,” was his simple reply.

And the rest was history.

From that moment on, Han had become your closest friend on campus. He was abrasive and rude, but he was real, and he didn’t care that you couldn’t afford to go to Cancun over spring break. He had introduced you to his friend Chewie, a silent stoner type with long, brown hair and a well trimmed goatee. The three of you had formed a little group, and while you didn’t fit in super well with most of your peers, you’d still been having a great time. Even Han, for all of his distaste towards them, had never had any real altercations, and generally seemed pretty happy.

Before you knew it, your second year of college had come to an end, and you at least had two pretty good friends and a solid GPA to show for it, despite the academic rigor of your classes. You celebrated the end of the year at a dive bar, excited for what was to come.

It was only a week into your third year and Han’s fourth when trouble began. You had moved into a shitty apartment with Han and Chewie, the rent not so bad if split three ways, and you had managed to decorate it in a way that made it feel sort of charming. You had just finished hanging a fall wreath when the door flew open, the force behind it causing your new addition to fall. Irritated, you turned to scold Han, but one glance at his face and you knew that you’d have to yell at him for the wreath later, because he looked pissed.

“I can’t take this. I can’t do an entire semester with her. I hate her,” he seethed, throwing his bag on the ground.

Han was an engineering major, which allowed him to be relatively independent and not interact with his classmates too much. Last semester, however, he’d declared a minor in linguistics, realizing that he had quite an affinity for languages. He was already going to have to stay for a fifth year since he had transferred so late and still needed a few more classes for his major, so he’d decided to pursue another interest to make the most of it. The only problem was that one of his linguistics classes was also a popular elective for politics majors, and apparently, Han was starting to develop real issues with one of them.

“Politics major?” you asked, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and offering it to him.

His expression softened for a second and he muttered a silent thanks before launching into his rant again.

“Not just a politics major,” he began, a look of pure contempt in his eyes, “You know the Skywalker twins?”

You nodded. Of course you’d heard of the Skywalker twins. They were the epitome of everything you’d expect a prestigious private university to be—rich, multi talented, and incredibly popular. The girl, Leia, was the student council president, and the boy, Luke, was a star soccer player who had scored the winning point against the school’s number one rival last season and landed them a national championship title. Their reputation transcended the school, though, as their mother was a widely respected senator whose views made her incredibly popular nationwide. Their father was the youngest Air Force pilot in history to receive some kind of honor. He climbed the ranks of the military quickly, but retired from his position and became an outspoken critic of the military several years ago. He’d published a memoir, and then starred in the film remake of said memoir, and his acting was so surprisingly skillful that he now had a career in it. It was as if the Skywalkers succeeded in everything they tried, no matter how unexpected or different the routes they chose were.

You didn’t have any strong feelings about the Skywalkers, and aside from seeing them trend on Twitter every now and then, you hardly thought about them. Han, on the other hand, hated them, and every time he saw one of the twins in passing he’d make some remark about how rich people always wanted to stick their noses where they didn’t belong, ranting about how he thought their mother’s platform was just a campaign strategy and nothing more.

“It’s her. It’s the Skywalker girl. Leia,” he hissed out her name like it was poison, taking a swig of the beer you’d given him to wash it away.

“Ah. Your worst nightmare,” you replied, trying to be sympathetic.

“I know! I don’t think I can do this. She’s got it out for me. Told me to stop smoking cigarettes before class because the smell gives her a headache. Can you believe it?”

Han did need to stop smoking so much, but now probably wasn’t the time to say that.

“And I assume you handled that comment with grace?” you teased.

“Told her she should stop coming to class altogether because her voice gives me a headache. Think her parents are gonna get me kicked out if this keeps going on,” he mumbled.

You sighed, clasping his shoulder and shaking your head.

“Just let it go, Han. You don’t need to start a rivalry with the most distinguished family in the state.”

“You’re right. I’m gonna let it go,” he promised, and you let out a sigh of relief.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Han did not, in fact, let it go. Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, he stormed into the apartment, complaining about something Leia had said to him or something she’d done that just grated on his nerves. He talked about her so much that you and Chewie made a drinking game out of it one day.

This particular Thursday was different. Instead of slamming the door wide open and swearing, he entered the apartment quietly, a slouch in his posture that screamed defeat. You and Chewie had been studying in your living room, appreciating the quiet atmosphere that was sure to be disturbed when Han came home from going to war with Leia again. Only, this time, Han didn’t say a word.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter to take a good look at him.

He sighed, long and dramatic, and slowly took off his shoes.

“Professor got tired of her royal pain in the ass and I arguing,” he confessed, a pained expression overtaking his features.

“What happened? Did you get in trouble?”

“Worse,” he grimaced, looking at you sadly, “We got assigned to work together on the upcoming project.”

You winced, because although you were amused by his dramatic behavior, you really did feel bad for him. This semester had been stretching his patience thin, and this was sure to be the final straw.

“I’m sorry, man,” you told him, Chewie nodding sympathetically, “When’s it due? Does it have to be good?”

“It’s due in three weeks, but it’s worth a big portion of our grade, so she wants to work on it tomorrow. Can you believe that? Friday night, and I’ll be cooped up with the Princess doing research on linguistics. I’d rather drop out. We weren’t even supposed to do this as partners until today. Why would he just drop that on us out of nowhere?”

Probably because you and Leia are at each other’s throats so much that he’s losing his mind and this is his last attempt to force you guys to get along, you thought, but you said nothing.

“Maybe you guys could do it here,” you offered, “I’ll be around for moral support, and we can order a pizza and have some beer so it feels less like a horrible study session and more like the weekend. And if things escalate, I’ll help diffuse the situation.”

A look of relief passed over his face, and he exhaled slowly, nodding.

“That ain’t such a bad idea,” he said, “And if she’s gonna be uptight about it, I’ll tell her we can work on it Sunday night instead, ‘cause I’m not gonna be miserable on a Friday. No way.”

“Perfect,” you told him, smiling, “Chewie and I will make sure the apartment is clean.”

He offered you a small smile—a rarity from Han Solo, and you thought that maybe, things would be okay after all.

#luke skywalker #mark hamill #star wars #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker imagine #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker fluff #luke x reader #star wars imagine #han solo #han solo fanfiction #star wars au #mark hamill x reader

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sakuraryomen01 · 4 months ago

Text

Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Fem! Reader/ .12 [Tense, be warned]

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, OOC Sukuna, a tense morning/ fight with sukuna (there r a lot of swapping povs in the first half i'm so sorry if it's confusing), y/n going on a date-ish with Nickolas, seeing yuji again, make-up attempt by sukuna, falling asleep together on the couch

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..

words: 8.222k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20

a/n: Hey guys, it's been a while huh? Sorry for the long ass break (literally been a year since I last wrote, I think) but I hope I can make it up to you! I'm currently working on some things in my personal life that I hope will go smoothly, but since it's been so long, I decided to come back!! I hope to finish my Valentino fanfiction sometime soon along with Tiger Twins and Sex Exercise! Thanks for waiting on me, I've just been so busy... @@;

. . .

Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!

↞↞↞ ♡ ↠↠↠

Sukuna couldn’t remember much from the night before. Just some late night drinking, a few annoyed shouts in his dorm. And then blank. But, that didn’t explain what he was doing on someone else’s couch right now.

Your couch, specifically.

Not on it either, on the floor next to it.

A cooking pot for curry or big stews rested next to his head. Smelling of vomit and the alcohol he had consumed prior to even making his way over to your place. His brow was covered in a cold sweat as he tried to move a few of his fingers, all of them asleep either under his warm cheek or on the carpet next to him.

What the fuck happened?

“Morning.”

Sukuna’s body ached at the meer tone of your voice, struggling just to roll over and see you standing over him. Hands on your hips, pj’s wrinkled and messy, hair done up in the messiest bun he’s ever seen before.

Competing even with a side hoe’s messy handlebar…

“You gonna eat breakfast or what?” You say, voice stern and annoyed. “I’m not going to wait for you all day, y’know? Got classes.”

“....what..?”

“Haa.. Say what again and you’ll end up outside.”

Now, while you seemed royally pissed off, Sukuna was surprised that you hadn’t kicked him out the moment he had… touched you. It was hard to really compute the situation from his spot on the floor, seeing as seeing the melons on your chest filled your top pretty good. Wonderful sight actually, he should probably stay on the floor.

“Up in five minutes.” With a stomp, you and your melons walked back into the kitchen. The smell of sizzling bacon, eggs and toast wafted throughout the dorm room. The warm aroma of waffles cooking in a fryer made Sukuna’s stomach churn.

From hunger or the hangover, he chose not to dwell on which.

Taking a good few minutes to actually sit up, clutching his veiny hand onto the couch’s seat for dear life, the fluffy haired punk took a good deep breath. His lungs filled with the sweet smell of a home cooked meal and instantly he began to drool. Salivating at what your cooking could possibly taste like.

Probably bad, Sukuna thought to himself, eyes barely able to open.

“The omelet and waffles are ready!” The sounds of clinking silverware and plates followed made Sukuna’s stomach growl even louder. Pain developed from the intensity of the churning in his gut, forcing him to stand to his feet and trudge ever so slowly to the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of his socks alerting you rather quickly to the ever nearing male that has entered into your dorm. His tall frame nearly towered over you, thankfully it wasn’t like Gojo. Spatula scraping against the skillet as you put four strips of thick bacon on the plates between the eggs, waffles and slabs of sausage patties. Both plates next to two large cups of OJ. Grease and grizzle dribbling down the sides of the meat and mixing with the oil from the skillet and egg.

“Grab one and sit,” You usher Sukuna over to the small coffee table, putting away the cooking supplies and grabbing your own plate. “I’m gonna put on some news.”

“Don’t put that on,” Sukuna retorts, following after you and resting himself on the couch with you. Muttering to himself as you flipped between channels, justifying that you only needed to see the weather for the next few days.

While it wasn’t what it used to be, the meal reminded Sukuna of back home. Days when you, him and Yuji would be waking up the morning after a sleepover at your house. The glaring but gentle glow of the sunlight pouring between the blankets of a poorly built fort by you with the help of your father.

Sukuna remembered the soft feeling of plush animals on his cheeks, the warmth of the rays beating down through the blanket that hung overhead. He remembered the feelings he had when he was young– how his head never felt like it sat right on his shoulders when he sat up, the way his chest ached when he looked down at your sleeping form. Always with your hair a mess and your face littered with wrinkle marks.

That irritating throb he’d feel just by seeing you so calm and relaxed..

You were always the second one up, no matter which brother woke up first, you were always there to bug the other into an early wake. While your habits were always strange, Sukuna found them endearing. Following in your steps silently as you wandered about the large home you used to roam with your small hands clasped around a stuffed animal. The sight of small, yawning, eye rubbing you was too cute. Making Sukuna laugh to himself at how you contrasted during the day when you were full of energy; always wanting to talk to him about different flowers and the garden while he liked to annoy you with beetles he found.

I tell her to let go of the past and here I am reminiscing on it.

“Sukuna? Are you even listening to me?” You shout with your lips in a tight pout. Hair slowly falling from your frazzled bun, gracing across your shoulders and back. Sukuna’s maroon orbs trailed over your figure as his brows began to furrow. Strange, you did change a lot since your previous encounter.

Did you get a haircut recently? Maybe a new body wash.

“Sorry,” Sukuna replied with a flat tone, rubbing morning crust from his eyes and turning his attention to the television. Once displayed news was now playing some random sitcom, something you often watched back home with your folks. “I was thinking of something– it’s not important though.”

“You always think of something else when I’m talking to you!”

When you didn’t get a reply, you let out a strained sigh and continued scarfing down the remnants of your breakfast. Piling waffle, sausage and egg into a small sandwich-like bite, covered in syrup and butter. Like a starved animal you devoured every morsel that remained on your plate. Only stopping to take a sip from your cup of OJ every few minutes or so; it was a miracle that you hadn’t begun choking yet.

Surprisingly, Sukuna was taking his time to eat. Maybe he was too tired to be how he normally is around food: ravenous.

After you had finished gorging on your meal, you stole a glance at your watch and stood abruptly face, startling the man on your couch. “What are you doing now?”

“I am gonna be late for my meet-up with Nick,” You start, hurrying to wash off the plate and fork in the kitchen, quickly drying your hands off on a rag. “We have to go over our project ideas again before finalizing one.”

Sukuna’s brow twitches up slightly, his gaze watching you as you rush around the apartment gathering your things. That Nickolas guy, right? Yeah.

Did you have to bring that guy up now?

“I’m busy eating, y’know?” He utters under his breath, currently chewing the length of a sausage link. Pressing his dark brows together in a mixture of a pout and glare. “Don’t try to ruin my appetite. Your food tastes good, for once.”

You let out a strained sigh as you make your way to the bedroom, grabbing your bag and shifting through your previous notes into a binder. Making sure to pack some additional pens, pencils and erasers coupled with some notepads. While normally you always rushed out to study, you were in a rather big hurry today.

To try and escape a talk about the previous night..

Last night flashed through your mind over and over. From the hot and steamy breaths to the harsh, yet gentle caresses across your body. It was hard to pretend, to ignore the events. Acting as if nothing happened between you both. Did he even remember what he did? With how wasted he was, you guessed not. How irritating.

“I don’t get him,” You mutter to yourself, pausing your movements. A million and one thoughts continued to flash through your mind. All that time, all his annoyance with you. Just to turn around and pull a crazy stunt like that. And for what? To lure you back in?

To make you think of only him? What kind of an idiot does he take you for?

After a few moments of pondering, you brushed it aside. No matter what you did now, Sukuna either didn’t want to talk to you, or pushed you away. What point was there in trying to rekindle something that he didn’t want in return? The thing you should’ve come to terms with long ago.

You finished packing your things before slinging your bag over your shoulder, heading into the living room to see Sukuna huddled over the sink. Washing the dirty dishes, scrubbing mindlessly at the sticky syrup on the plates and juice in the cups. It was an odd sight, and somehow sweet.

“Leaving?” He muttered, lifting a plate up to look over it. Voice low and unusually quiet compared to normal, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yes.”

The air became tense at the sound of plates clinking together in the dish holder. Running water turned from a constant stream to a pitter patter of droplets as Sukuna turned the sink’s knob, wiping his hands off on a small hand rag next to it.

“..Don't you,” Slipping a hand into his pocket, Sukuna let out a sharp grunt. His free hand coming up to scratch at his nape, disheveling already messy hair. “Don't you want to talk about.. it?”

“Not particularly.”

Shit, this is harder than he thought.

“I figured you'd wanted to, since you're always going on about wanting to talk to me. Not in the mood? Or is this new guy important now?”

The question was returned with a confused brow lift. “More important?”

Sukuna never felt so frustrated and annoyed, even after such a good meal right in the morning as a hangover cure. He could tell something was just off. You were avoiding him, barely taking glances at him. Just focusing your eyes forward.

He didn’t understand what happened last night to get you to act like this with him, but frankly it’s irritating. Especially with how big this aching throb going on in his chest was. It was an odd feeling he hasn’t had for a while, and he couldn’t tell if it was just his regular annoyance with you or.. Something else.

“He’s not ‘more important’,” You say, shaking your head, squeezing the strap of your bag before turning to the door. “My education is and I’m trying my best.”

“Stop looking away from me!”

Before Sukuna could blink, his hand was wrapped around your wrist. Squeezing just enough for a numb throb to course through your hand. It was like a blur, one moment he was next to the kitchen counter and the next he was near toe to toe with your smaller frame. Eyes wide and brows furrowed, a small vein pumping across his jugular. Your expression only mirrored his, but with a mix of fear and befuddlement.

Don’t make that face with him.. He hates it.

“What’s gotten into you?” A mumble escaped your lips, your pretty little lips. The cute, plump flesh he’s imagined often recently. Along with your eyes, making him dizzy at how they’d roll like your hips; having him start to wonder what your dazed and blissed out look must’ve been–

“Sukuna!”

Barely a flinch, just a quick blink of the eyes as his face relaxed, mirroring yours near perfectly. Taking in the moment, Sukuna looked down at his hand. The large, calloused palm and fingers grasped onto a smaller and delicate wrist. His own massive compared to yours, decorated with the black bands of his tattoo. So, so different you’ve become.

Without a word, Sukuna stepped closer. Refusing to release your wrist but instead letting his hand glide down to meet with yours. What was he doing? He doesn’t know. He thought he didn’t need you. He doesn’t.

“Kid–”

“Don’t start with me!”

His marooned orbs lift from your connected hands, his fingers barely gripping onto yours. Why does he do this? It’s frustrating. Feeling his warm hands, how gentle they contrasted to the night before. How he’s behaving now to when you first reunited. The questions wouldn’t come out, the intensity only building brick by painful brick in your mind.

You can’t take this type of torture, this pain.

“I’ve had to deal with you since I first tried talking to you,” You start, feeling a burning sensation in your eyes, a sharp throb in your chest. Face downcast, your reddening eyes barely able to focus on the small connection between the both of you.

His hand reached for yours, holding your fingers like they were delicate porcelain unlike before. When he didn’t so much as let you care for him when he was sick. Reminding you constantly that every little kiss, gentle caress, it was an accident. That nothing he showed was true, pure.

The mere fact he came wobbling to your door the night before black-out drunk was proof enough that this was the same event all over again.

“You’re telling me not to get attached then turn around and kiss me! Tell me that it means nothing but you hold me close as if I’m going to run away from you! I can’t stand it, I can’t stand you.”

You could feel it, your heart tearing in two. The connection you craved was never there. It fizzled away like bubbles in a tub, gone after enjoyment for a little while. Too different to try, too different to change. If only you realized this sooner. It was only until you lifted your gaze to look up at him that you felt your tears dripping. You probably looked like some child having a fit, but it didn’t matter.

You were tired of it.

“All you’ve done is make me feel confused and upset,” It felt like venom saying these things. Poison. A poison meant to destroy your heart. So tense, it felt like it wasn’t beating at all despite its thunderous beat pumping in your ears. “I’m sick of feeling this. Before I knew you were here, it was easier. I was focused on more than my heart and how it felt all the time.”

“Brat.”

“I was able to pay attention in class, it didn’t feel draining being around people–!!”

“Y/n!”

In an attempt to pull you into his embrace, Sukuna grabbed your hand and brought you to his chest. Hooking his large arm around your nape to press your weeping face into his chest, to try and silence your cries. But you fought back, slipping your hand from his, breaking what little hope Sukuna desired to have between you. To think before he didn’t give even an ounce of a fuck when he first arrived.

That there was no care in the world before, but seeing you now. Seeing this hurt he’s caused, the shameful tears. It was enough to make him want to snap– to scream, to punch a hole through the wall –but he instead opted to bring you into his space. You coddle your head into his chest, trying to rub gentle and therapeutic circles with his thumb into your neck even at the awkward angle.

What does he do? What can he do?

He’s never felt so impulsed before, so inclined. It wasn’t in his nature to feel this petrified, this conflicted.

“Y/n, stop sobbing,” Sukuna muttered into your ear, trying to hold you in place as you continued to fight and squirm against his hold. “You don’t look as pretty when you cry like this.”

“I don’t care how I look to you!” You shot back, managing to push him away from your trembling form. Your hair became a mess before him. Looking more and more deranged by the second as you tried to calm yourself, failing all the while. “It’s not your place to look at me.”

A mix of surprise and shame fell across Sukuna’s brow, a clash against his annoyed gaze. You could tell he was unsure of what to do. He never was sure how to comfort someone, even you when you were a kid. His hands clenching and unclenching into fists be his sides, arms tensing with each flex of his muscles. His mind raced a thousand miles an hour at thoughts of what to say before they were fogged up by your hand on his jaw.

Yanking his face being pulled down to become eye level with you, your fingers digging into the meat of his cheek and forcing his lips to pout. Exposing a few of his teeth along with a sweat droplet on the side of his temple. He looked like a lost cub desperate for his momma to come save him.

Pathetic looking.

“I’m tired,” You repeated, your cheeks beginning to dry as the tears stopped. “I’m tired of the back and forth. Of embarrassing myself for you.”

Sukuna could see your mind begin to ease, to feel reassured with itself. The calm eyes despite the redness. It worried him. He had the right to worry, you wanted to let him go.

You released your grasp on his chin, his hand coming to rub at the pinkish imprints on his cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. Stuck in a stiff silence until you began to reorganize yourself, fixing your hair and wiping your eyes, your sniffles the only sound Sukuna could hear. “You don’t have to leave if you’re still feeling sick, but make sure to keep to yourself.”

Not another word was spared as you turned to the door, no glance back to see his expression as you opened the door like you’ve done before. Just a quiet exit of your home, leaving Sukuna and his muffled thoughts behind. While the ache in your chest was still present, there was no longer a weight on your shoulders. Letting you leave freely, to attempt to go back to your day to day.

Traversing down the hallway, looking for your phone in your pocket to call your classmate for a meet-up. To try and at least calm yourself before having to return to a, hopefully, empty dorm.

Sukuna was speechless, still, quiet.

Staring blankly at the door that blocked his sight from you, to chase after you. It was like an alarm in his head going off, feeling regret. Like the sting of bitter before the sweet, Sukuna wanted to run after you. Yet he stood in his spot, like a lost puppy waiting for his owner. Except it felt like it would be longer than a day, it’d be another 12 years before he could see you.

To see how you’d changed, to talk to you, to hold you in his arms.

Why didn’t he do that at first? Why was he so bitter before again?

“Brat..” He muttered to himself as if you’d hear it and come running back to him. How could he expect you to do that when he’s done nothing but blow you off that whole time. “Y/n.”

All those letters he sent, all of them with no responses. It seems so petty. He held onto that fact for so long, as if it was your fault. For trying to make a life for yourself, he held it on you. And now that he’s seen the extent of what he’s done, he’s left quiet in your home.

The muffle of the TV blasting some random show in the background to mix with the throbbing in his ears.

“..Don't.. leave again.”

↞↞↞ ♡ ↠↠↠

The soft hustle and bustle of the library was mind numbing.

It felt as if you were listening to music that wasn’t really playing, it was a hallucination of a melody. A sweet melody, one that you used to listen to but you didn’t know the name. Or if it was a meal you hadn’t eaten but you desired so bad, had no money to even afford to pay for it at a store you loved. Hard to pinpoint what feelings were swirling in your head, but they weren’t any good.

That’s why, when you heard the soft tap of your partner’s shoes and a small “hey” from behind you, your shoulders relaxed instantly.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Nickolas asked, his head tilted just enough to let a few strands of hair fall gracefully from his shoulder. His slight accent is like a sweet, honey contrast to Sukuna’s from that morning. “If you missed me so much you could’ve called.”

“Nick,” You mumble weakly, trying to hide the fact you had indeed missed him even though you met not so long ago. “It’d be rude of me to, especially when you’re busy.”

In the little time you had shared together you learned quite a lot about your new friend.

He was a part-time employee at his grandfather’s mechanic’s shop, though he did most of the work just to help as his real passion was cooking. Nickolas enjoyed making carne asada fries with sour cream and extra jalapeno on his lunch breaks at work whenever he had the chance. Not only did he love the good smells and the tasteful bites that came with cooking, he loved the math behind it, the science. Always thinking that his next meal could be a perfect equation each time,

Pastries were a little harder for him, but Nick always loved a good challenge.

“I’m not so busy nowadays,” He said, interrupting your train of thought momentarily as he sat next to you. “Abuelo isn’t at the shop most of the time and I’m not allowed to run the place without him. He got sick.”

“Ah, sorry,” You reply, sitting up in your spot and bringing out your notes. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He just pushed himself a little too much one day and needs rest.”

You continued to catch up for a few minutes before Nickolas brought up the night before, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth at the mention of it, but you obliged. Telling him that Sukuna was still resting at your place with a hangover and to not worry too much, it was a common occurrence.

“I hope so,” Nickolas flipped a few pages in his notebook as his laptop sat, booting up for the next hour-long discussion about your shared upcoming project. “When I saw him, he looked pretty out of shape.”

“He’s always out of shape.”

Nickolas was surprised by the retort, quickly turning to scan your face. Instantly noting the frustrated look and red eyes once more. “Something happened, didn’t it.. Was it me?”

The quiet shake of your head worried him, but it’s not like he could pry all that much. He turned his attention from you to the books that were sprawled out in a manner of minutes for the project. All the notes, all the studying. It must’ve been draining for you. So, without a second thought, Nickolas lifted his books and began snapping them closed, much to your surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“We are going out, I’m not in the mood to study right now.”

He left you jaw dropped and mind fumbling for words: What?

Nickolas stood from his seat at the table and began doing the same to your notepads and pulling pencils away from your grasp. Placing your things in your bag and gently resting a soft hand on your shoulder to shake you, to bring you back from whatever land you were visiting and back to Earth.

“Let’s go out today,” He said, a smirk playing on his pierced lips. “I’m really hungry. Missed lunch because of my professor.”

“Uhm,” What were you going to say? No? It’s food. “Sure, let’s.. Let’s get something to eat.”

Nickolas finished packing your things rather quickly, leaving you stunned as you followed behind him out of the library. Walking past a few small groups of friends and lone students studying for classes, leaving the calm atmosphere into the bustling noise of the main entrance area. Brushing aside your confusion, you were actually glad deep down. A break from school, a break from Sukuna, a break in general.

It was a desire you never really got to enjoy since you were so busy trying to make the most of your parent’s sacrifices to even get you into the school.

“I will warn you, my tastes are on the extreme end,” Nickolas blurted, letting his bag hang from his shoulder and he lifted his hair. Tying it up into a tight bun while some loose strands rested behind his ears and some draped across his forehead. “Hope it’s not that big of a problem.”

“Not at all.”

The both of you continued to talk about food as you made your way to the parking lot, chattering like birds on a line about different kinds of BBQ shops that were nearby, along with a large buffet that you visited frequently. Right as you reach the lot, you see a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk with a bike at his side.

Fluffy pink hair, a jersey hanging over his shoulder and noticeable scars under his bright honey eyes. It was Yuji.

Quickly he spotted you, a smile lifting the corners of his lips as he picked up his pace. Letting his hand temporarily leave its spot on one of the handles to wave at you. “Y/n! It’s been so long since I saw you!”

You could tell that he’s been working out recently, his arms and chest looked more toned than before. It made you giggle at the contrast of the brothers. One was a baby-faced sweetheart and the other was a really dickhead. Somehow, they continued to have similar builds and features (no matter how many tattoos Sukuna got).

In moments you were in his arms, his little teases and giggles echoing in your head as you caught up. Leaving Nickolas to get his motorcycle ready to ride, climbing onto the seat and starting up the engine. The roar of it alone sends vibrations into the concrete ground underneath the powerful machine. Its cold, black paint job was decorated with a silver ghost flame design and the rims shining bright to match.

Yuji took no time to waste as he introduced himself to the rider, giving his same boyishly adorable smile as always. “I’m Itadori Yuji! Are you guys about to go somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Nickolas hummed, leaning forwards on the steering and letting his weight move the heavy machine beneath him slightly. “I’m about to get some BBQ and maybe.. Some boba.”

Yuji smiled even brighter (somehow even beating the sun) before turning his attention back to you. His face turned from real cheerful to a concerned look in seconds, reaching a hand up to trace the line of your jaw. “What’s wrong with your eyes? Tired?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” You mumble, brushing Yuji’s arm away, trying to force a soft smile that’d deter him from prying. But by the look on his face, Yuji wasn’t about to give up.

“I was going to come visit Sukuna for a bit to tell him about my classes, but clearly I need to talk to him about something else.”

“Yuji, really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Clearly it wasn’t going to work talking Yuji down from a discussion with Sukuna, you eventually gave up. There was no fighting him, not like you really had planned to. You were done with fighting for now, it was draining.

“Other than that,” Yuji said, giving your hair a tussle before giving you a side hug. “I gotta go anyways, I’ll call you tonight once I’m home. They’re letting everyone out on holiday early since our semester tests were so high.”

“That’s good.”

You returned the hug with as much strength as you could muster, earning a back rub and a quick peck on the head. Yuji was gone just as soon as he had arrived, admitting that he was in fact about to run late for another class at the moment anyways and wishing he could join the both of you, before rushing off into the campus. Off to find his misbehaving brother– as he put it– and leaving you alone once again with your Economics partner.

“He’s a go-lucky kinda guy,” Nick’s voice rang from behind you, a smirk on his lips. “I’m assuming that’s your boyfriend or something?”

You pout, folding your arms over your coat. “I couldn’t imagine dating Yuji. He’s much too sweet.”

“I see.”

His hand lifted in offering, nodding to the small seat behind him. “Hop on, it’s gonna get dark before you know it.”

You take a second to glance back at the area Yuji disappeared to, not seeing him anywhere. He must’ve been in quite an actual hurry to disappear so fast. Looking away, you took Nick’s hand. His fingers holding onto yours in a warm squeeze, smooth and strong compared to Sukuna’s thick and rough ones. It was a change that you didn’t think you’d need.

Nick guided you behind him onto the bike, handing you his (much too big) helmet and pushing it down over your hair. He gave it a few pats and lifted the visor. “Make sure that’s on tight, okay? Don’t want a pretty thing like you falling off.”

Your cheeks deepened in color, thankfully it was covered by the helmet’s rim. After checking on your posture and a few things on his bike, Nickolas guided the wheels backwards. Turning ever so slightly to face the exit of the parking area, looking over his shoulder back at you with a smile.

“Might want to hold on, Y/n. Motor’s aren’t exactly a four wheeled tin can.”

There was some hesitation as your arms guided their way around his waist. Your cheeks continued to burn underneath the safety of the helmet, guarding your flustered expression from all eyes. There was a quick tap as Nick closed the visor for you and revved up the engine. Kicking off the bike and turning out to the street, leaving you to your own devices in the passenger seat.

Clinging onto his robust waist in a desperate attempt to keep yourself steady on the moving monster.

The sounds of traffic and the radio started to clash as he drove farther and farther away from campus. The lights dimming in the background as street lights and nearby signs started to fill your sight. In your chest you started to feel lighter, even if you were clinging onto Nickolas to calm yourself and stay steady, the feeling of relief started to wash over you.

You slowly started to lift your head as cars started to pass by you, taking a deep breath and resting your cheek on the driver’s shoulder. The smell of the city made you miss the scent of the Sticks, of your old home and the Willow Tree. Even the old barn that the elders of the village warned not to visit in fear of ‘evil spirits.’

The flashing lights contrasted the millions of stars that would shine so bright in the middle of night. Stars alone in the Sticks felt like a magic show to young you. Your mother had always teased and said that a bunch of fireflies flew too close to try and reach the moon and got stuck in the sky, leaving their lights to help guide others to it in their stead.

“Moths have gotten lost up there too,” She would say, laying next to you in your old backyard. Pointing to different formations that the lights made, giving you tickles and kisses all the while. “They think the moon is like a giant light, they want to be with it so bad they’re willing to fly up towards it no matter the cost.”

Your mind continued to wander, remembering random things you got to do while you were living in that small village. Trees that grew alongside the streets of the road could never quite grow as big as the Willow Tree either.

“There’s magic that keeps it so tall and proud,” Your father’s cool tone always hummed, letting you rest in his lap as he read you another book. “It doesn’t like wilting, even in winter.”

You always loved their stories and tales, and had fun making them with them.

All the while Sukuna was there too, it was like bliss.

Although he was mostly brooding at his young age, he liked to play pranks on you and Yuji. Always chasing you around and messing with the family cat. Bringing presents for your parents and sitting to listen to the stories in the books they lent to you.

He was so cute back then..

Compared to now, You thought to yourself, feeling the breeze begin to still as Nick made a turn. Pulling into a somewhat busy parking lot of a buffet restaurant. He’s a different kind.

“Alright, Y/n,” He said, parking in between a truck and some SUV a family must’ve owned before turning back to you. “We’re here.”

↞↞↞ ♡ ↠↠↠

Enchiladas, red beans, rice, and peppers sat on your plate. Warm, covered in cheese and sauce covering the food while Nickolas’s was different. It was carne asada fries, extra peppers and sour cream on the side. Obviously.

“Dig in, my stomach’s growling!” He chuckles, not wasting any time helping himself. Letting you giggle and mess with him about the way he eats, but only returning the jokes as you begin to eat.

It made you forget about the day, about the project, about everything. Letting your head relax and your brain go blank, it’s been so long since you’ve been able to. Getting to know each other more, talking about your favorite topics. You could’ve sworn that that morning was just a bad dream, a small dent in your day. And it was all thanks to Nickolas for trying to cheer you up. You were gonna have to repay him somehow over this, letting him see you in such a state was hard to recover, but it’ll work itself out.

“The food here is better than I thought,” You muffled through a mouthful, chewing quickly as if you were both in the middle of an eating competition. “I’ll have to ask Yuji if he’d like coming here.”

“Mgh, he looks like the type to eat anything as long as it’s good,” Nickolas responded, gulping down some water to combat the spice of the cheese, eating a morsel of bread before continuing his food shoveling.

“You’d be surprised, he’s really picky.”

You and Nickolas continued to talk and eat, standing to grab more food, talking the day away in that little buffet. Splurging and going to get dessert a few times until your stomachs were practically bloating with too much to carry. It was fun, exciting. It felt almost like how home felt.

Comforting.

“Are you sure we can get boba? I think I’ll vomit!”

“I want strawberry milk tea, Nick. Besides, you offered. It’d be really rude of me to pass up on free boba!”

“Who said it’d be free!?” Nick questioned, holding you by the hip and guiding you towards the restrooms. Offering his arm again as you stumbled all full of food and treats on the way so that you wouldn’t fall and make a fool of yourself. “I’m already paying for the buffet.”

“I’m just kidding, Nickolas! And I would rather split.”

Nickolas managed to get you to the women's restroom, holding you against the wall and waving a hand at you. Dismissing your attempts to pay with mock offence. “My abuelo taught me to pay and treat a woman right, I’d be going against everything I believe in!”

Despite how you wished to stay and continue arguing, Nick guided you into the bathroom and left. Promising to wait nearby for you so that you wouldn’t feel alone, but you saw through a crack in the door that he had pulled out his wallet and begun lifting some money from his pocket. You shook your head and waddled into the nearest open stall, locking the door to use the facilities.

Once you had finished, you heard your notification sound from your purse as you were washing your hands. It was from Yuji, and as promised, he had had a talk with his brother.

The reminder gave you a bit of a clenching in the jaw, but you were fine. You felt better, you were better. Maybe you’d approach the situation with fresh eyes.

↞↞↞ ♡ ↠↠↠

Yuji– 10:59am, Saturday: I got him to talk a lil, so be wary. He’s quiet too, what did u say to him?

You– 1:13pm, Saturday: I said some pretty rude things, I’ll apologize to him later.

Yuji– 1:20pm, Saturday: Don’t tell me the both of you have been fighting!! 😡

You– 1:23pm, Saturday: It was just the one fight, I promise. I’ll make it up with him when I’m home.

↞↞↞ ♡ ↠↠↠

You and Nickolas left the buffet, arms linked as you climbed back onto the motorcycle and made your way to a drive-by boba store. The day felt like a big blur from all the excitement. In between boba and the food you visited little gacha shops and comic stores, geeking out about idols and enjoying some other assorted snacks with each other. A drive that cleared your head and made you forget all about the worry and stress of the last few months.

Feeling more like it was a quick stop rather than a day on the town as you both continued down to this small park. It was clearly a park for small children and their parents, but in the evening, it was free range for anyone.

The swings creaked from the slightest movement, putting you and Nickolas into a fit of giggles.

“You got cream on your nose,” He says, reaching over and cleaning the messy cream off your face. Bringing his thumb to his lip and licking it clean, leaning back and washing it down with another sip of his drink. Looking up at the sky and gazing at the little stars that were visible, the rest hidden in the glow of the street lamps. “It’s pretty at night, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” You nod, resting your head against the metal chain and turning your gaze up to the sparkling dots in the sky. The memory of your mother flashed through your mind again, making you smile.

“My mom says that stars are fireflies that got stuck trying to reach the moon, or something like that.”

“Oh? My momma said they’re our family watching over us.”

The both of you hum at the sentimental meanings of the stars, reflecting and enjoying the growing cool of the evening breeze. It gave your arms goosebumps across your skin, making you rub them out of instinct. Your movements of course weren’t avoided from Nick’s eager eye. He placed his cup onto the ground and took off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders, patting your back absentmindedly.

“You should’ve told me you were cold,” he muttered, returning to his previous seat on the swing. Letting his heels push him back and forth in the rocky spot. “A small hoodie like yours isn’t gonna keep you warm and toasty, Y/n.”

“Haa, I was fine, Dad.”

“Your papa would say the same thing, no fighting about it.”

You let out a sigh, pulling the jacket over your shoulders and covering your body. The jacket was warm and it smelled nice, like an old cologne some rich business man would wear. Chanel? No, it can’t be that, he doesn’t look the type to use it.

As you pondered the scent, sniffing and nuzzling into its confines, Nickolas redid his bun. Tying up tighter than before so as to not let it blow loosely in the wind and blind you on the way home. His golden gaze moving from the stars to you. Watching you closely as you leaned against the swing’s tether, the jacket draping over you perfectly. It brought a smile to his face seeing you so content, so relaxed in his company.

Down right cute.

“We should head home, yeah?” He said after a while of admiring the area and chatting for another hour or so. Just as the sun went down and the moon was beginning to shine in the sky, you were guided yet again to the bike at the curb after you tossed the empty boba away. Helped up onto the back seat and joined seconds later by your partner.

You reach up, patting a gentle hand on his shoulder and resting your head on it. “Thanks for taking me out, Nickolas. It really helped me.”

There was a silence as the engine came to life once more, probably the last time of the night, before Nick turned to look back at you. His near glowing golden eyes shining with glee, “Not a problem, I’m happy to help any time.”

One final push away from the park and you were back off to campus for the night, and strangely you weren’t all that nervous to see Sukuna again. He had probably left the dormitory already, leaving things clean as they were before and back in his own. Trying to catch up and maybe take space he wanted after the fiery morning the both of you shared.

If he was there, by some wild chance, you’d try and talk to him. For Yuji, of course.

After a twenty or so minute drive, Nickolas parked his bike in the same place it was before. Hoping off the bike and turning to help you off. Letting his teases get the best of him and poking fun at your messy helmet hair, patting it down and rubbing his fingers gently through the strands before linking arms with you again.

Walking the sidewalk to the girl’s dorms, Nick had to hold you up as you had begun feeling tired. That, and you just weren’t used to the amount of attention he was giving you. Making your brain go into a foggy overload and wanting a good night’s rest to process it all.

Nick was forced to take you inside, getting odd whispers from your neighbors as he sheepishly tried to explain the situation only to be teased about it. The scene looked embarrassing enough, but you were indeed just sleepy, and Nickolas was going to go home right after.

“Alright, Y/n,” He says, taking his coat from around your shoulders. “I gotta go now, so go ahead and get some sleep. Try and relax your stomach tomorrow too, it’s stuffed from all the food we had.”

“It’s only ‘cuz you’re a glutton,” You teased, standing up on your own (with the help of the wall) and fitting your key in the slot of the door lock. Looking back at him, you flashed Nickolas a toothy grin. “We should do stuff like that more often, I think you’ve made me a glutton too!”

Nickolas chuckled at this, a pink tint on his cheek as he scratched at his nape. “Oh no, I guess I have to take responsibility for you now? What a shame.”

You both parted ways, giving good nights and best wishes as you entered your dorm and he turned to the hallway. Getting teased by your nosy neighbors along the way as he got to the exit, leaving you alone in your dorm with…

Sukuna?

You had turned once inside to see a big lump of blankets and pillows, that had belonged in your room originally, on the couch. Covering a snoring, messy pink haired mass, a stuffed animal barely poking out from under a large, banded tricep. The cute bunny face and ears distorted into a strange shape under the weight of Sukuna’s arm.

“You’re still here?” You asked his sleeping form, stepping over to the couch and taking a seat next to his stomach. Gazing down at him, reaching to brush your fingers across his scalp, tickling near his nape so much that he stirred in his sleep. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“..I only leave when I feel like it.”

You flinch, seeing Sukuna’s dark eyes begin to open. Peering up at you from underneath his arm, tired and cold. “You were out for a long time.”

“I was with Nickolas,” You start, returning the calm stare, furrowing your brows together before looking around the living area. Taking in the mass amount of things he has strewn about: more plushies that you kept near your bed, some little doodles on paper you saved for later projects, and some blankets mixed with pillows. “I thought I said to keep my place clean.”

“It’s clean, you’re imagining shit.”

The fight from that morning returned to your mind at the snippy comment, making you clench your jaw and rub the bridge of your nose, exhaling to let out the bite back. “Still, what are you doing here? Don’t you feel better?”

“...No.”

Well that was odd.

“Do you need ibuprofen? I have some Advil, I think.”

Sukuna’s head shook, messing his hair up even more. He was looking like a giant cat that just got denied good food or a cuddle with its owner. It was kind of a sweet sight to be witnessing. You let out a strained sigh and lean back against his stomach, hearing his grunt in compliance from underneath your weight.

“Was Yuji tough on you?”

“That lil’ shit should be lucky I even gave him an ear to listen to his moaning.”

“I take it you weren’t too happy then.”

A small silence followed as you both rested on the couch. Somehow, this moment reminded you of when he needed help home. How he was dazed, barely noticing what you were doing for him until he needed a shower. The way he lifted you into his bed for the night after the both of you bickered over where you’d be staying for the night. (While you would never admit it, you did like that night’s rest.)

Sukuna noticed your smile, the way it was so perfectly crooked.

“Why did you steal all my stuffed animals?” You asked, returning your gaze down to his level.

His eyes narrowed momentarily as he decided how to answer the question. Eventually he lifted his arm and pulled the stuffed bunny from his grasp, holding it out and staring at it. Sukuna didn’t utter a word as he messed with the plush stomach of the toy, letting out a soft murmur.

“I missed.. Your smell.”

You were caught off guard, brows rising at his response. Since when did he say things like that?

As you were left to ponder on what to do with the mess, Sukuna dropped the bunny and sat up, lifting the blankets that covered him and pulling you once again into his hold. You let out a small yelp and tried to fight back, but were too tired to really push him off or yell. So, as you were wrapped up in Sukuna’s leg, arm and the comforter, you took a deep breath.

Under the weight of Sukuna’s hold, your body started to register that sleep was imminent and slowly forced you into a dazed state.

“Y/n,” Sukuna muttered as you turned into him, pressing your face into his chest, letting your hands fall between your thighs to keep warmth. You murmured out a grunt while you got comfortable.

While your eyes had closed, your snores starting to grow, Sukuna was left awake by himself. His arms coming to wrap around you as he had the doll, nuzzling his nose into the scalp of your hair and taking a deep breath, inhaling your scent, the scent he wanted close the whole day that he thought he could sub with a plush toy.

Shameful, needy– these are things he didn’t want to be.

He breath came out in a huff, brushing against the shell of your ear. “I want to work on my math tomorrow.”

“Sure.. jus’ wake up at a decent time.”

As sleep overtook you, you could barely register what was said. The warm embrace of the man you had hated from that morning being the one thing that made you feel most at ease in your sleep. It was strong, firm; made you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

In mere moments you were asleep, cuddling into the same arms you wanted to be away from that morning. Deep down, you were still irritated with Sukuna. You didn’t want to hear out whatever excuse he wanted to spill, if one at all. But right now, you just wanted rest.

That day was probably the most calming day leading up to the Willow Tree trip.

↞↞↞ ♡ ↠↠↠

a/n: holy shit was this a lonnnnggg time waiting and a longggg time writing!! i'm glad i'm finally getting back into the swing of things with my writing, I really hope you enjoyed reading all 8k of this chapter (longest chapter i've ever written to date!!) Seeing as it's been a while, I think my style has changed a lil so sorry it's a lil odd. anyways, thank you for the long asf wait but i hope you really liked this one! pls feel free to put suggestions in the comments and submissions! i also updated the taglist as best i could!

Chapter Song Theme: – Figure You Out -- VOILA (Lyric Video)

taglist: @mageyboo , @mzladyd , @mysticwonderlands , @sukunastoy , @sukunaspersonalfleshlight , @kawaiipenguin20 , @k-indie , @okkotsufav , @cafeinthemoon93 , @pulchritxde-blog , @bontensbunny , @deepinballs , @kleeboomed , @fiierytearzx , @wo-ming-bai , @instantgalaxysheep , @watyousayin , @z3r0art , @sukunaobsessed , @lik0 , @domainofmarie , @the-moongoddess , @dark-n-dirty-duchess , @agentdedf1sh , @sukunastoy , @lyn-soso , @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9 , @heyitstacy , @lost-in-tokyo , @marksassybanana , @bozos-r-us , @p-3-4-ch , @misslauravillanueva , @chaoticqueen33 , @dxxny -loves-u , @l0tus-in-l0ve , @jiordeci , @opossum0-0 , @gumisgirl , @mommasbigd , @fallenlostarchives , @infinitivesearch, @t4ters, @n4muqr, @huuuhwhaat, @jiordeci, @chaeryred, @purplebee21, @hisheadismountfuji, @voyager1fan, @ichibaba, @brandydel, @berrylovesstuff, @whispersofbeskar, @dontcare1331

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loupy-mongoose · 7 months ago

Text

I may have settled on a new fixation, finally.

I started thinking about an older story of mine, once more an original setting. For the past few days I’ve been doodling some of the main characters, but I also went to dig into my old laptop for the original arts and notes I have on there. And the old art is somethin’ let me tell ya. XD

The main premise of the story is this;

Amycus is a young prince, heir to the throne. But one day while his family is on a ship, they’re attacked by pirates. Amycus and his baby brother manage to escape with their lives, and wash ashore near a hidden, mild-natured town called Concordia.

The boys are taken in by a family living on the outskirts, and Amycus grows up preparing himself to one day return to the throne. But as they grow, the displaced prince finds it harder to figure out where his heart and duties lie…

While that's the main "spine" of the story, there are a LOT of characters and other little plots that branch off of it. In some ways it feels a bit like a self-indulgent stewing pot of a bunch of "This idea seems fun, lets throw that in there too". But it's still something that I hold dear, and a lot of the old designs still hold up, though some touchups are in order. (I've noticed quite a few writing elements that I've reused since. I guess old habits die hard. XD)

Also the people of this world are anthro beings, each capable of transforming into a single animal form.

These were all drawn before I did any digging on my old laptop, just to dip my toes back into that world. I may share some of the older arts later, but I may not. We'll see how I feel about it later. X3 I did notice that in the older stuff, Amycus is a year older than Celine, as opposed to the younger stated here. That was a slip up with my memory, but there's room for me to change it if I feel like. There's a lot of timeline stuff that needs a LOT of ironing out. X3

Anyway, I think it would be cool to at least start putting this old gem out there. I'd wanted to back in the day, but never got to the point of confidence I needed to begin. ^^

#art #HoC #The story is called Heart of Concordia.#So this one gets a clear tag designation. :>

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artemistorm · 2 years ago

Text

Stew Pot Plot Pt 2

Alternate prompt #9: Drugging continued -- Time, everyone

TW: nonconsensual drugging, unconsciousness

1146 words

******

Time tapped the side of the pot summoning the heroes to come get their dinner.

“FINALLY!!!” Wind cried and raced up to present his bowl. Time chuckled and ladled the stew into his bowl. One by one he served them before setting aside a portion for Wild and serving himself.

“Wild doesn’t want to wake up,” Sky said and gave up shaking his shoulder. “He must have really needed that sleep!”

“I might crash myself soon,” Four said setting aside his empty bowl. “It’s been a busy day.”

After everyone else had been served, Wind reappeared at the end of the line, having already scarfed down his food.

“Can I have some more?” He asked.

“Serve yourself,” Time said still making his way through his own serving. Wind scraped the pot and heaped his bowl with what was left in the pot and giggled maniacally as he walked slowly back to his seat trying not to spill it.

“Looks like someone’s goin’ through a growth spurt,” Twilight grinned.

“Soon I’ll be taller than Legend!” Wind replied.

“Ha! You wish.” Legend snorted. “I’ve seen your family, there’s no way you’ll end up taller than me.”

“Hey!” Wind gave Legend’s shoulder a half-joking half-serious slap.

“OOooohh burn!” Hyrule laughed. “Even if you do grow taller than Legend, you’ll still always be the baby to us.”

“That’s it! Neither of you are getting any of my loot when I become the richest treasure hunting pirate ever!” Legend passed Hyrule’s sock to Wind who balled it up and chucked it back at Hyrule’s face.

Warriors took a seat next to Time.

“So let’s talk about the plan for tomorrow,” Warriors started.

“What do you have in mind?” Time asked.

They talked for a while and decided to try and head toward Gerudo town. According to the map on Wild’s slate that Warriors had borrowed, they might be able to travel all the way to Kara Kara bazaar before stopping for the night.

“Looks like his eyes were bigger ‘n his stomach,” Twilight said sidling up next to Warriors.

“What are you talking about?” Warriors asked. Twilight pointed to Wind who was nodding while sitting up with a half-finished bowl on his lap. Sky prodded him awake.

“Huh wha?” Wind mumbled.

“Let’s get you ready for bed,” Sky said equally as tired and dragged him to his feet. They lumbered off toward the area that had been designated the latrine in order to wash up and change just as Legend was returning from it. Legend plopped onto his bedroll and opened his religious book to read like he did every night before going to sleep. Four was already conked out.

“Seems like everyone’s extra tired tonight,” Twilight remarked. “Including me. Too bad I got first watch.”

“I’ll be up for a while still,” Time said. “You can go to bed if you like.”

“I’m getting tired too,” Warriors said. “It’s hitting me hard and fast.”

Strange, Time thought. The sun had only just set. Usually at least half the Chain stayed up well into the first watch. Sure they had been busy the last few days and weeks, but was it enough to warrant this unusual somnolence?

A few minutes later, Sky stumbled back into camp half awake with a completely limp and sleeping Wind draped over his back. Twilight got up and helped put them both to bed before heading off to the latrine himself. Legend had already fallen asleep reading, his book draped across his face.

“This isn’t right,” Time said with growing suspicion.

“Now that you mention it, I’m inclined to agree,” Warriors replied.

Time got up and knelt by Wild’s side. He shook his shoulders, gently at first, then with more force.

“Wake up. Wild, wake up. Wild.” But Wild didn’t wake, didn’t move a muscle. He lay breathing, but otherwise as still as death. He wasn’t asleep, he was unconscious.

Time moved over to Four and tried the same thing. He tried shaking him, pinching his arms, calling his name louder and louder, but Four didn’t stir. Time gave up and carefully laid him back down and brought the blankets up to his chest. Four hadn’t even taken off his colorful tunic or boots before he fell asleep.

Warriors went to Sky and tried his best to rouse him again, but the Skyloftian only murmured unintelligibly and weakly tried to push away Warriors with no recognition in his eyes before going still and unresponsive.

“What’s going on?” Twilight asked reentering camp. “I heard yelling.”

“Don’t go to sleep,” Warriors instructed.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

Time’s eyes zeroed in on the herb packet he’d taken from the stew and discarded earlier. He swiped it from the ground and unwrapped it. It held sprigs of sundew, lavender, valerian root, and some other herbs that he didn’t recognize.

“What is it?” Warriors asked.

“We’ve been drugged,” Time said.

“We just got to this Hyrule. We haven’t even seen anybody yet. Who would want to drug us?” Warriors asked. “You don’t think it was Wild was it?”

“I can’t imagine so,” Twilight replied, shaking his head.

“I think the question is, who would go after Wild?” Time asked. “This is his Hyrule.” He rubbed his eyes, feeling the tiredness behind them quickly growing.

“The Yiga,” Twilight said darkly.

“The what?” Warriors asked sitting back down.

“They’re a clan of corrupted Sheikah assassins who serve Ganon,” Twilight explained. “They’re after his and Flora’s blood. As you said, I don’t think anyone else would do this to us.”

“So they’re waiting for us to pass out and then they’ll capture or kill Wild and maybe the rest of us as well?” Warriors said. From his sagging posture it was clear that Warriors was quickly fading.

“Up on your feet, Captain,” Time said, standing up and dragging Warriors to stand as well. “You need to stay awake, there are enemies nearby.”

“Right. Sorry. I’m up.”

“Maybe one o’ us shld ride ‘pna fer heop,” Twilight slurred. He shook his head and staggered to his feet as well. “I said, maybe one of should ride Epona for help. Ride to the stable.”

“Hate to say it, but I don’t think I could make it,” Warriors said, his eyelids drooping. “Wow, this is hitting me hard.” He stumbled and Time strengthened his grip, holding him up.

“Fight it, you have to fight it,” Time urged despite his own eyes getting heavy and his limbs becoming quickly exhausted.

“Old man, you gotta go. You gotta do it. Go… get help,” Twilight said and he abruptly collapsed to his knees.

“Twilight!” Time exclaimed. “Stay with me!”

“Sorry,” Twilight murmured. “Iss too strong…can’t… stay…” He tilted sideways and crashed to the ground. “Please… go…” he begged as his eyes closed. “Put me down. Let me go,” Warriors implored. “I can’t…” his legs went out and Time grunted, holding all his weight. He slowly eased Warriors to the ground. “You have to go. You’re the only one who can.”

(To be continued tomorrow...)

#linked universe #lu time #lu wind #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu everyone #whumptober 2023 #stew pot plot

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blackbat05 · 8 months ago

Text

Biggest Supporter

Jason Todd x Library Assistant! Reader

Plot: Your week has been difficult and the emotions start to pile up on you. Luckily, Jason has the perfect plan for a Friday evening self-care.

Genre: PG-13, Comfort

A/N: Wrote this one shot when I should have been sleeping🤡 The week has not been the easiest and you know my style… writing to release the steam. I hope you still enjoy and that it brings some sort of comfort if you’re struggling as well. Reblogs appreciated!

This week was really not it.

You were almost reaching the end of the week, where you could taste the sweetness of a Friday when shit had to hit the fan.

First, the kids weren’t listening to you as you tried to conduct story time. You tried to be assertive and authoritative as possible but frustrating was only the one word out of many that you had at the end of the day.

The next day wasn’t any better as you had to sit through a meeting that left a bitter taste on your tongue. You felt eyes on you as you walked around the campus but tried to keep your head up high.

Then, it happened.

You had to stop an actual physical fight in the library.

Unsuccessfully should be the prerogative word.

Teachers came out of the staff room like bees attracted to honey- or screaming in this case and you had never felt more embarrassed. Still, you had a job to do. Reporting and crowd control.

The aftermath wasn’t pretty. You kept trying to tell yourself that the suggestions were out of goodwill. But it didn’t help when you kept replaying it in your head and they sounded uglier by the second. As if it was directed at you and your incompetence.

It took a lot to squash down your anxiety and insecurity to back where it rightfully belonged. But you were valid to be upset at the injustice you were facing. You wished you had quicker comebacks at the remarks instead of a weak defense that only made you sound like you were just making excuses.

No. You had to be strong, you had to believe that you were doing the right thing all this while. The air felt thick again and you were glad when school ended and you could leave earlier on a Friday.

As you head down the stairs, you see a familiar motorbike parked next to the security guard post and a mop of black hair with a tinge of white.

“Jason!” You waved happily as you reached the bottom.

“Hey princess.” He opens his arms for a hug which you gladly accept. “Looks like I got here in time.”

“You have no idea.” You groan into his chest, earning a chuckle from him.

Waving goodbye to Sam, the friendly guard, the two of you prepare to set off on his bike and straight into the weekend.

The ride was everything you needed. The gust of fresh air was a much welcome reprieve. Suddenly, the emotions from the week start to swell in your chest and you fight the urge to cry by leaning further into Jason’s back.

“Let it out!” Jason yells to make himself heard over the howling wind as you zoom across the expressway. “You’ll feel better!”

So you do. You let your tears run even if it means you’ll probably look like a puffy eyed demon when you reach your destination.

It wasn’t easy, coming to this point of your job. You knew how hard you had to fight for everything that you had achieved so far. You made sure to not make the same mistakes and all was going well.

That is why you absolutely hated the fact that this week had rattled you very badly that it dredged up old wounds.

Blinking away your tears, the bike slows down and you find yourself in front of a Korean Restaurant that you’ve always wanted to visit.

“You’re too good to me.” You thanked Jason, still riding high on all the emotions. But you didn’t care about putting them on display because Jason was the only one who knew and understood what you were feeling.

“I did nothing.” Jason is modest and guides you inside the restaurant, ready for a sumptuous and hearty meal of spicy stew.

As you wait for the pot to boil, Jason looks at you through the rising steam as you recount to him your week. He doesn’t interrupt, making the right reactions at the appropriate times.

“You did everything you could. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Jason says as you finish. “I wasn’t there but you sounded really badass.” He tries to lift the mood, earning a small smile from you even though you don’t say anything.

Jason frowns. “What did your boss say?”

“She said that it was beyond my control and I did everything that I could.” You sigh. “But maybe they’re right. I have to be stricter than these incidents will stop happening.”

“Then, it’s settled.” Jason is firm. “You’re not at fault. Did you do what Macy did the last time?” He asks, referring to your recent librarian and supervisor who left the job to go to Spain with her family.

“Yeah. I didn’t want to change it too drastically.” You respond and Jason nods as if all this was logical.

“Exactly. You did what she’s supposed to do. You’re continuing what she is doing. And if anyone has any smart-ass opinions, tell them to take it up to management themselves instead of directing their anger at the wrong place.” Jason becomes more heated by the second and you can’t help but to be a little amused by this. You’re grateful for a loyal best friend like him.

“I’m serious! If this happened previously before you came, then it’s not on you.” Jason insists. “And! Where was the help when you needed it! Do more fights have to happen before you get reinforcements?” He rattles off, taking a big gulp of water from the cup.

“Thanks Jaybird.” You take his bowl and pour some stew in. “I knew I could count on you to be on my side.”

“Always. Besides, you couldn’t do any wrong.”

You laughed, taking a sip of the comforting stew that instantly made your worries go away for that moment.

“But I’m serious.”

“About what?” You ask.

“That you’re doing a great job.” Jason states. “Not because I’m trying to humor you,” he clarifies. “I think you’ve went out of your way to try to fill that empty gap as much as possible for these kids. Considering what you went through back then, you could have just taken a back seat.”

As Jason’s encouragement spills out from the bottom of his heart, you realized that was all you needed. That despite shitty moments, someone told you that you did your best, and that was all that mattered.

“So don’t think about it too much alright? At least not tonight. Because we are going to have the best meal of our lives!” Jason declares, ordering a soju bomb. You protest at that but he waves the concerns away, mischievously waving a black credit card which you could only assume belonged to one person.

“Only for my best girl.” He grins, offering to clink glasses with you. “To being your biggest supporter and shitting on shit people!” He raises his voice, earning some stares from other patrons, causing you to giggle.

“Cheers! To trusting myself and not listening to shit people!”

Jason roars with delight at your loose lipped declaration and pours you another drink, continuing the carefree evening with good food, good laughter and the best company.

Yeah, you were going to be okay.

#jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader

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pellaaearien · 3 months ago

Text

Here With Me (Chapter 7)

Dreamling | E | (no more) Edging, Caretaking, Porn With Plot | ~20k total

In the end, Hob needn’t have worried. The innkeeper accepts or else doesn’t care to examine their story about being a noble and his retainer accosted on the road, willing to accept the gold thread running through Burgess’ rich tunic in exchange for room, board, and some actual clothes for Dream.

“And medical supplies, if you please.” Dream speaks up, his voice shaky but resolute. “Some bandages, and salve if you have it.” Hob looks at Dream in surprise, but the innkeep just nods.

“I’ll send some up with my girl,” he says gruffly, and they hasten to their quarters before they can make more of a scene. The fewer people who can remember the strange travellers, the better.

“I’d rather you have warmer clothes,” is the first thing out of Hob’s mouth, once the door closes behind them. It’s not what he’d been intending to say, but salve especially won’t come cheap. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be on the road, and—”

“And I’d rather you not die,” Dream snaps, whirling on him fiercely, eyes flashing. Hob swallows the rest of his words. “I… I thought I had lost you.” He wraps his arms around himself, and Hob lurches to embrace him.

“I wish never to know such a feeling again,” Dream says into his shoulder.

“Dream—”

They’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Hob opens it, feeling antsy about having strangers around Dream. The girl is shy, however, keeping her eyes downcast as she deposits her burden of hot water, bandages, and a jar of salve.

“Thank you,” Hob says, and she jumps at being addressed, nodding quickly.

“I’ll be up with the clothes soon, m’lords,” she says, and takes her leave before Hob can say anything more. Hob sighs, and turns to find that Dream has already uncorked the salve, and is sniffing at it.

“Does it meet with your approval?” he teases. Dream gives him a withering look, and Hob grins. Dream wasn’t the only one who’d feared that they would never see each other again, and the relief is hitting him in waves.

When he removes his bandages, Dream makes a small sound, leaning forward, hovering his fingers over the gash.

“I’ll heal,” Hob assures him. “I’d have taken worse, to know you’re safe.”

Dream’s hands clench in his lap. “You should not have had to.”

“Dream.” Hob cups Dream’s cheek tenderly. “I knew what I was getting into when I swore my life to your service. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Don’t say that!” Dream says, grabbing his hand between both of his. “You’ve done so much, all for me, and I—”

“Shh.” Hob rests his forehead against Dream’s, ignoring the twinge of pain. “No regrets. I’d have done it even if you hadn’t asked.” It was all worth it, just to be near him.

Dream sighs. “I do not deserve you, Hob Gadling.”

Yes, you do! Hob wants to say. You more than anyone! But he thinks better of it. He won’t be another in the long line of people who have convinced Dream that he needs to earn his place.

“I get to decide that, love,” he says instead. “And it’s a decision I made on the very first day I met you.”

Dream looks away, dipping a cloth in the steaming water in lieu of answering. Hob hisses as he begins to tenderly wash his wound.

“You needn’t—” Hob begins, before breaking off at the fierce glare Dream fixes him with.

“I do.” His tone brooks no argument. Hob subsides. It feels wrong, so wrong, to have Dream taking care of him, but he can’t help but melt into it.

In the end, the spelled thread is merely pulled, not torn, and doesn't need to be resewn, certainly not by anyone with their amount of medical knowledge. Hob’s bandages are deftly rewound by Dream, who presses a kiss to the wound afterwards, as Hob holds back tears.

The innkeeper’s girl returns, bringing a bundle of clothes and a pot of stew. Hob doesn’t want to question where they got the clothes on such short notice, but the girl provides the information herself.

“They were my brother’s,” she says quietly, glancing at Dream out of the corner of her eye. “He died at the front.”

“I’m sorry,” Hob says, finding that he means it. Burgess’ people bear no blame for his wars. She nods, and departs, a certain understanding reached, though that doesn’t mean Hob is in a hurry to reveal their identity. He can only pray that they are far enough away not to implicate these people, should they be discovered. Dream puts the dead man’s clothes on wordlessly. They’re an almost perfect fit.

It’s later, after they’ve eaten and rested, that Hob wakes from a couple of hours’ sleep to find Dream no longer next to him in bed, but standing next to the tiny glazed window, hugging his arms to himself. Hob immediately sits up; Dream turns his head but doesn’t look at him.

“Hob.” Dream’s voice is velvet in the moonlit room. “I need you.” He swallows. The light is so bright Hob can trace the line of his throat. “I need you to make it so I’m not the oracle any more.”

The words hit Hob like a thunderclap, despite their quiet volume. Logically, he knows that this is an important step in their plan, and the sooner the better, so that Dream’s powers can no longer be used against them. In his illogical chest, his heart is pounding loud enough Dream can probably hear it from across the room.

He had long since resigned himself to the knowledge that he would never properly make love to Dream. The vague idea of falling from grace, of failing to stop in time, removing that barrier to being fully together, had been the stuff of his darkest fantasies. He’d known it would never happen. Dream had asked him to be his knight, and so that’s what Hob would be, until he died of it.

Now, Dream was asking something else. And rather than jumping at the chance, Hob needed a minute to catch up, to coax his deepest desires from the darkness and assure them it was safe to come out.

“I do not wish to injure you further,” Dream says, still not looking at him. “But I fear, if I do not do this now…”

Then I never will, Hob finishes for him. He understands completely. “C’mere, dove,” he says, holding out his arms. Dream inches closer, until he melts into his arms with a sigh, bone-cracking tension leeching from his body. Hob holds him close. He can’t imagine what’s going through Dream’s head in this moment, as he contemplates giving up the thing that has defined his entire life.

“Dream,” Hob murmurs into his shock of hair. “Of course I will. If it’s what you really want.” There can be no going back, not after this. While that might be the point, that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I—” Dream’s voice is muffled by his shoulder. “I do not know if this is what you would have chosen. If I—”

“Listen to me.” Hob holds Dream’s face in his hands, pulls back until Dream meets his eyes. “You never forced anything on me. I chose to follow, chose with both eyes wide open, and do you know why?”

Dream shakes his head the tiniest amount, constrained by Hob’s grip, his eyes wide and so, so blue.

“Because how could I let anyone else touch you? Bring you pleasure? Of course I chose you. Who else could it be, but you?”

There’s a taste of salt against his lips, and it’s a long moment before he realises Dream is crying as he kisses him. Despite living as close as two people could be, they have never kissed like this before. Such romantic gestures were for normal people, with normal lives, serving only to remind them of what they couldn’t have.

No longer. The kiss is messy, wet, and perfect, neither of them quite sure what they’re doing but unwilling to stop. The play of Dream’s plush lips against his own is something Hob had never even thought to imagine, and he is instantly addicted.

“Oh, love,” he whispers against Dream’s skin, against the tiny noises and puffs of air Dream makes as he seeks his lips again. “I’m going to make you feel so good. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Please.” Dream nods frantically, and Hob’s blood is roaring in his veins at the thought of finally giving into that plea.

He lays Dream gently down on the bed, one of their straw pillows for his head and one for his hips. Dream deserves mountains of pillows, silks and goosedown, every possible luxury. But this is what they have, so Hob will make do.

The tension in Dream’s frame is back; Hob bends to kiss him, tracing his lips with his tongue (inspired by the thought of a very similar act) until Dream opens for him, gasping and arching. Hob soothes him with soft touches, stroking his hair and sides.

“Hob,” Dream breathes, hips already canting. It’s much more familiar territory, but Hob still takes a moment, pressing his forehead to Dream’s.

“We have all the time in the world,” he says. He will make it true. “There’s no need to rush. I refuse to do anything that will hurt you.” He runs his hands down Dream’s arms, waiting for his nod of permission before pulling off his shirt, then caressing the skin that is revealed. The spread of both of his hands nearly encompasses the width of Dream’s torso.

“Look at me,” he says, and Dream does, the trust in his eyes flaying Hob’s chest open. “I promise you, I won’t stop.” Dream’s breath catches. “Not unless you ask me to. Not until it’s over.” No more ruined orgasms. Dream nods, wordless. Hob cups his cheek. “That means, if I do anything that doesn’t bring you utmost pleasure,” here his voice turns stern, “I need you to tell me.” He knows Dream would stubbornly and stoically bear anything it took, now that his mind is made up. He’s been doing it all his life. That doesn’t mean that this experience shouldn’t be as close to perfect as Hob can make it. “I could never live with myself if I hurt you.” His voice breaks, and Dream grips his arm. “Promise me.”

Dream nods, solemn. “I promise, Hob.”

In spite of everything, Hob smiles. “Okay, then.” He kisses Dream again, because he can, and because he thinks if he stops kissing Dream for more than a few minutes he might die. Dream melts into it, hands lighting tentatively on Hob’s skin in turn, his shoulders and back, and this, too, is new, and strange, and wonderful. There’s no one to see, here. No one to wonder if their hands are hiding something. No need to keep Dream exposed. Dream touches him, and Hob feels like he could fly.

He thumbs at Dream’s nipples, pink and perfect, swallowing the keening noise he elicits. He replaces his thumbs with his mouth, licking and sucking, as Dream takes in a shuddering gasp above him. His lovely Dream, still so sensitive, even after all this time.

“You're so beautiful,” he says brokenly, looking down at Dream moonwashed in their bed.

Dream bites his lip, somehow managing to look both coquettish and nervous. “They call my prophecy a gift from the gods,” he says. “But I think their true gift was bringing us together.”

Hob can’t help but agree.

“I know I have… asked the impossible of you,” Dream says, not quite meeting his eyes. “And now I must ask yet more, for once again I cannot embark on the path I have chosen without you.”

“Not impossible,” Hob murmurs, kissing Dream again and replacing the teeth at his lip with his own. “We made it, Dream. We’re here together. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Dream takes a deep breath, and smiles. Hob’s heart flips over in his chest. When was the last time he saw Dream smile?

“Very well, Hob Gadling,” he says, looking up at him from under his lashes. “Then prove it. Make me yours, and not the oracle. Make me… Make me come on your cock.”

He hesitates slightly over the unaccustomed filth, and Hob credits years of self-denial with the fact that he didn’t come on the spot, hearing those words in Dream’s voice.

“As you wish, my love,” he manages, strangled. To that end, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down Dream’s chest, tasting at his sternum, his navel.

“Hob,” Dream begins uncertainly, but Hob soothes him, running his thumbs over his hips, then lower, dragging a finger through his folds. Dream shivers.

“Already so wet,” Hob says in wonder. What a miracle, to have this gorgeous creature willing and wanting for him. “You’ll get what you want.” He kisses Dream’s upper thighs. “I’m going to get you ready first.” There had been no rule requiring Hob to keep chaste, but as the thought of lying with anyone other than Dream had been abhorrent, he has no particular experience with what Dream needs. However, given that Dream has never taken so much as a finger before, he can infer.

And there had been talk. There was always talk, whether the speakers had known Hob was in earshot or not. Defiling the oracle was the height of taboo and therefore a pervasive fantasy.

Well, Dream was his. And he would do everything in his power to care for him.

Dream nods, his eyes enormous, and that’s the last he sees of Dream’s face for some time as he licks between his legs.

Hob brings all of his well-earned skill to bear, everything that makes Dream sing out sweet sounds above him, and it’s so much like every other time, only everything is different. When Hob judges the time is right, he slowly, carefully, slips the tip of his tongue into Dream.

“Ah!” Dream’s exclamations increase in intensity, and he thinks they both need a moment. He raises his head, licking his lips of Dream’s sweet ambrosia. Dream is gripping Hob’s wrists for dear life and looks up hungrily, his pupils dilated.

“All right, love?” Hob makes himself ask. Dream is nodding before he finishes.

“More,” he demands, and who is Hob to deny him? He bends down, daring to press his tongue a little further. Their surroundings make it easy to remember that now his goal is to bring about what had once been forbidden. He exists in a sort of in-between place of what has always been his job — bringing Dream pleasure — and the constant anticipation as he crosses line after line in preparation to break, at last, his former vow.

Dream’s body responds to him just as it always has, and Hob can only pray that he can provide enough stimulus to get him completely out of his head. He wants Dream to have no regrets, only joy.

Finally, when he has worked his tongue as far into Dream as it will go, and his jaw is starting to ache, he regretfully withdraws, Dream’s fluids coating his chin. Dream is panting, staring at the ceiling, though he looks hoodedly at Hob as he registers the pause. He’s nowhere near climax, but the lines of his body are softer, and it heartens Hob to see. He kisses Dream deeply, and it isn’t until Dream’s shuddering moan that he realises Dream would never have had occasion to taste himself before.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Hob’s voice is rough, tuned low with lust. “Gods, you taste divine. Always have.”

“Hob,” Dream whispers. So far, despite it all, it’s nothing they couldn’t take back, if they had to. Hob intends to take them over that line, as promised, but he’s bringing Dream with him every step of the way.

“Still doing all right?” He feels compelled to check in, though Dream is showing no signs of distress. He strokes a hand through Dream’s wild hair. Dream leans into it, like gentling a spooked horse.

“I am… well,” Dream answers. Hob would have hoped to be doing better than that, but he accepts it for now.

“I have never told you,” and there is a spark of mischief in Dream’s eyes, “how much I enjoy your tongue.”

Hob, for his part, is struck speechless. Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? It was a job. But now he just wants to lay himself out in worship again.

He swallows hard and sticks to his plan. “I’m going to start with fingers now, okay love?”

Dream takes in a shaky breath and nods. Hob kisses him again in reassurance, waiting, he realises belatedly, for Dream to tell him to stop, to take it back. But he doesn’t, and Hob has promised. So he continues, bestowing another lick and earning another shiver, before he slowly, gently, slides a finger into Dream.

The way is easy and slick, but Dream still gasps at the intrusion, screwing his eyes shut and almost, almost pulls away, before he masters himself and relaxes. Hob doesn’t move his hand a single inch, he just waits, stroking Dream’s hair.

“Shh, darling, that’s it, you’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Just relax. No rush, nothing you need to do. Take your time.”

Several deep breaths later, Dream opens his eyes. There are tears clinging to his lashes, devastatingly gorgeous. His hands occupied, Hob kisses them away.

“Hob, I…” Dream says at length, and though Hob waits, it seems Dream has no more words to say. He presses their foreheads together and they share breaths.

“I know,” Hob says. “It’s a lot. Do you want me to stop?”

The shake of Dream’s head is small, but immediate. “Do not,” he says for good measure, and Hob feels better. “I am just…”

Again, he fails to finish the sentence, but Hob understands.

“I have you,” he says. “And you’ll always have me, Dream. No matter what.”

“Hob.” Dream pulls him down into a kiss. At the same time, he twists his hips, taking Hob’s finger even deeper. Hob gives a startled moan.

“Please, Hob,” Dream prompts. Hob nods.

“Okay, love,” he says. “We’ll take it slow.”

Too concerned with Dream’s comfort, he hasn’t really taken the time to process that his finger is now inside Dream, but he does now, exploring with slow circles while Dream takes shaky, hitching breaths.

“You’re amazing,” Hob says, overwhelmed. “So soft and warm and perfect. How lucky am I that I get to be here, doing this?”

“Hob,” Dream whimpers, arching his back.

“That’s it, love.” Unable to resist the temptation of those pert pink buds, he has to get his mouth on them again, and Dream collapses to the bed, whining. Hob uses the distraction to inch a second finger into Dream.

It’s a tighter fit, and Dream’s breath hisses. Hob pulls back, rubbing tiny circles on Dream’s clit with his thumb. His fingers stay where they are.

“You’re doing great,” he says, as Dream writhes and pants. “You’re so tight, but that’s okay, love. We’ll get you nice and loose and open so you can take my cock.” Dream lets out a moan. “You want that, right?” Dream nods desperately. “Okay. We’ll get you there.”

“Hob,” Dream gasps out. “Hob, I’m afraid.”

Hob stills, but doesn’t stop, running his free hand up and down Dream’s side soothingly. “What are you afraid of, my heart?”

“I—” Dream’s cheeks, already flushed, blush a deeper red. “I’m afraid you’ll stop,” he admits, and Hob opens his mouth, but Dream rushes on. “I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.” His voice is smaller as he says it.

Hob can’t help but kiss him, and is reassured by the way Dream melts into it. “First,” he says, kissing the tip of Dream’s nose, “I promised you I wouldn’t stop, and I keep my promises. Don’t I?” Dream nods again. “That’s right. The only one who can stop me is you, my love.” To prove it, he swivels his fingers inside Dream, who arches again.

“And two,” here he kisses both of Dream’s rosy cheeks, “if you want to come, then come. That’s rather the point of this. You’ll still get my cock, if that’s what you want.” Hob’s wounds had never felt further away from him. “And if you don’t, that’s fine too.” He scissors his fingers a little, and Dream’s legs fall open. “There are no rules, here. Nothing you have to do, except enjoy it, and tell me when you don’t. Yeah?”

He rather thinks Dream won’t come early, given how long he’s spent denied, but doesn’t feel the need to say anything. Far better for Dream to understand that he’s free of any roles or obligations, for what might be the first time in his life.

It’s certainly no hardship to worship Dream’s body, the way he’s always wanted to. It feels like a blessing, like they’ve created a little piece of paradise in this bed, just the two of them. Hob is hard, of course, in his braies, desperately so, but it feels irrelevant, in the moment, to working Dream open enough to take three fingers, which he does with utmost patience, as Dream shudders beneath him on a great inhale.

“Hob,” Dream sighs, eyelids fluttering, sweat standing out on his brow. Hob thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. “No more.” Before Hob can pull back, ask for clarification, Dream fixes him with those stunning blue eyes. “Your cock. Please.”

Hob makes a strangled noise. His absolute imperative not to hurt Dream wars with how on Earth he’s supposed to say no to that.

“Okay, love,” he says, taking a deep breath, slipping his fingers out of Dream, who shivers at the loss. “Okay.” He casts about for the salve, figuring that something meant to heal certainly couldn’t hurt. It’s warm as he spreads it on his fingers, and he imagines it will feel good for Dream.

He slicks up his cock with shaking hands, head ringing like he’s taken a blow to the back of it at the thought of actually putting it inside Dream. Even the lightest touch makes him have to take several more breaths so he doesn’t ruin all his careful preparation. Dream is watching him, apprehension deep in his eyes.

“Hey, Dream, can you breathe for me?” he asks gently, leaning down to pet Dream’s hair with the hand not currently coated in salve. “It’s going to be okay. If you don’t like it, I can make you come without it, or we can stop here for now, if you want. I won’t let anyone make you the oracle again, no matter what. You know that, right?”

Dream, still flushed and glorious, takes a few unsteady breaths. “I do want it,” he says. “I just—” He huffs in frustration.

“Yeah. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

Dream shoots him a look like he thinks Hob’s patronising him. Hob grins. “Feel my hand shaking?” He holds it out for Dream’s inspection. Dream subsides, looking awed. “We’re in this together, my love,” he reminds Dream. “Whatever you want, I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Before he finishes speaking, Dream leaps, pulling him in for a hungry, biting kiss.

“I love you, Hob Gadling,” he says fiercely, and Hob reels anew. They’ve never said the words, never needed to, Hob thought, until hearing them from Dream now. “I want to be yours. Will you fuck me?”

“Oh, my darling,” Hob says, hardly aware of what he’s saying. “I’m going to make love to you.”

Hob can’t resist kissing him once more before reaching for more salve, slicking himself again before tracing his fingers delicately through Dream’s folds.

Dream keens. “Hob,” is all he says, but in that word is a world of urgency.

“I’ve got you,” Hob whispers, his voice fled under the weight. “Ready now.”

He actually has to try a couple of times, because of how much his hands are shaking, and the amount of fluids between them, but it is a temporary awkwardness. Slowly, carefully, Hob pushes his way into Dream.

They both gasp, at the first breach of muscle. Dream freezes, his entire body tensing, and Hob caresses his hips as best he can while not moving from his spot.

“There we are, darling, it’s okay, see? Just breathe, and tell me when you’re ready. Breathe,” he prompts, and Dream’s chest kicks like a resurrection. “That’s it, love, that’s it, is this okay? Am I hurting you?”

Dream shakes his head, almost dislodging Hob from his position.

Relief suffuses Hob’s body. He’d done his job well enough, at least.

“It is… odd,” Dream muses. “Pressure.” He looks down, and then up again. “You are inside me, Hob.” In his voice is a kind of revelatory wonder, as though he has just now realized that this had always been the goal.

The grin splits Hob’s face wide, wide, and his absolute adoration for the creature beneath him only just surpasses his animal instinct to bury himself in warm, welcoming softness. “Yeah, I sure am,” he replies, though it hadn’t really been a question. “How do you feel about it?”

“I feel…” he shifts, experimentally, and their breath catches as the movement slips Hob further inside. “Oh… I feel so much.”

Hob can’t seem to stop shaking, barely holding back ecstatic tears. He has been inside Dream for all of a moment and his lifetime of carefully cultivated control is flying out the window. “Yeah?” he says, thickly. “Move? Tell me when.” He absolutely does not want to rush Dream but his reasons why are dwindling the longer he hovers on a knife’s edge between not pushing deeper and shaking so hard he’s afraid he’ll slip out and won’t be able to get himself back in.

Soft compassion sparks in Dream’s eyes, and he reaches out for Hob’s face. Hob obligingly contorts his spine to facilitate the connection. Nothing else matters as long as Dream is touching him.

“You can move, Hob,” he says, and Hob lets out a sob at being granted permission.

“Slowly,” Hob nods, as much for himself as for Dream. “Gonna go slow, gonna be so good to you, gonna worship you…” His muscles spasm with the effort of holding back as he presses cautiously forward. Dream gasps and arches, drawing him deeper, and then squeezes his eyes shut, his expression not wholly one of pleasure. Hob freezes immediately, cold washing over him.

“Love?” he questions, trying to wring words out of a brain which is rapidly dribbling out his ears.

“Doesn’t… hurt,” Dream manages, not sounding sure enough about it for Hob’s comfort. “It is… a stretch.” He looks down. “Will it really… all fit inside me?”

Hob has never worried overmuch about the size of his cock but he wishes he were smaller now.

“I think so,” Hob says, as gently as he can. “And if not, that’s okay too, yeah?” The fever of arousal in his blood is as nothing to his horror at the thought of making it fit, like Dream’s body and pleasure didn’t matter. He may be making it up as he goes along, but it’s still Dream, and he’s here, allowed to be inside him, allowed to make him come. He thinks they’ll be able to figure it out.

Dream is so tight around him it’s nearly painful, in a way he can’t separate from how good it feels. Moving as little as possible, he presses his thumb to Dream’s clit, rubbing soothing circles. Dream sighs out a moan, relaxing slightly, and Hob glows with pride.

Inch by inch, with lots of caresses and kisses and gentle stimulation, Hob makes space for himself inside Dream. Dream pants, and keens, and bites his lip, and is generally the most devastatingly sexy he’s ever been, because he’s doing it for himself. Because he wants. Hob feels carved out, too, like his heart has expanded to fill his whole body, leaving no extra space.

He’s lapping at Dream’s nipples, where he’d been indulging himself ever since he’d been able to reach them, while Dream grips his hair and holds him there, luxuriating in his pleasure, when Hob suddenly finds he has nowhere left to go. He looks up, stunned, his cock wrapped in the vise grip of Dream’s body.

“That’s it,” he says, breathless. “You did it, love. It’s all in.”

Dream gasps, and clutches Hob closer. “Really?”

“Really.” Hob pushes the sweaty fringe back from Dream’s face, suffused with tenderness. “Doing so well, love. So proud of you.”

“You… always say that.” Dream sounds wrecked, blissed-out and hazy; Hob takes a moment to pat himself on the back.

“Always think it,” he says, nuzzling into Dream’s collarbones. “Can’t stop myself saying things.” This is evidenced, Hob thinks, by the fact that he is still capable of forming words, even while losing his entire mind from arousal, buried inside Dream.

“Will you, still?” Dream asks, his voice smaller. “When I’m not…?”

Hob is in no way eloquent enough to answer the way he ought; he nods, emphatically, against Dream’s chest. “Always. Every day. Best person in the world,” he says thickly. “Can’t wait.”

“Oh.” Dream takes a moment to consider this. Then, “Hob, I think I would like to come now,” he says, in a slightly strained tone.

Hob huffs a laugh. “I’ll do my best, sweeting.”

He makes tiny motions with his hips, but it’s difficult, actually, with Dream so tight. This time, though, Dream is enthusiastic in his reciprocation, pushing back against him with punched out noises, and before Hob knows it — he may have blacked out a little — he’s sliding in and out of Dream. Not fully, but enough that the bed is creaking a little as a counterpoint to their pants and moans.

“Hob,” Dream whines, head thrashing on the pillow. “Hob, please.”

“Oh, love,” Hob says, his blood on fire, “What d’you need?”

“Please,” Dream begs again, and it’s clear that both of them are beyond words. Hob, who by this point has managed to regain a single clue, goes for Dream’s clit again, giving himself over to well-practiced motions while trying to maintain a rhythm. Dream’s mouth falls open, and he lets out a low, continuous wail that Hob can hardly hear over the rushing of his heart.

“Oh, ohh— oh… no!” The discordant note of Dream’s despair snaps Hob out of his frenzy as Dream’s eyes roll back in his head, his mouth moving, making words not his own. “Wind from the east—”

Hob swoops in to kiss him before he realizes what he’s done, capturing his lips with his own, silencing the meaningless syllables. Dream’s eyes are wide and blank, and Hob keeps kissing him, willing him to come back, until Dream sobs against his mouth. Hob can taste the salt of tears. Everything stops.

“Oh, lovey.” Hob strokes Dream’s hair, holding him through the tears. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just breathe. I’m here. Take your time.”

“It was right there!” Dream exclaims, thumping a fist against the sheets. “I was so close, and then I wasn’t, and then…” He looks up apprehensively. “What did I say?”

“It’s not important,” Hob says, as Dream just stares at him. “I mean it, love. You’re not the oracle any more, it doesn’t matter. I care so much less about any potential prophecy than I care about you.”

Dream’s mouth is an ‘o’ of astonishment. He blinks, several times, as his breath slowly returns to normal. It isn’t until then that Hob notices that he’s still inside Dream, his arousal, once so overbearing, suddenly insignificant.

“D’you want to stop?” he asks, as gently as he can. Dream jolts, likely under the same realization as Hob.

“I…” He visibly considers, chewing his lip. His eyes flick up to Hob. “But you—”

“Fuck that.” Hob has to nip this in the bud. “Don’t you dare worry about me. I’ve been perfectly fine with my hand up to now, and I will be again, because nothing on earth will make me want to keep going if you don’t.”

There is a longer pause. Finally, Dream meets his eyes. “I want,” he says. “To continue. To try again. But—” He spreads his hands, helplessly.

“I told you,” Hob says, returning his hands to Dream’s hair. “We have all the time in the world. I don’t care how long it takes. We’ll try again, and if it doesn’t happen tonight, it doesn’t happen. Not the end of the world, dove. We’ll just try again tomorrow.”

Dream gives him a tremulous smile. Hob begins, with equal parts regret and relief, to ease out. Dream makes a little forlorn noise.

“Just for a minute, darling,” Hob reassures him, kissing his cheek. “I’m coming back, I promise.” He hisses as the cooler air of the room hits his (still quite hard) cock, and Dream shivers, left empty.

Hob pours a cup of water from the jug and makes Dream drink it, and then heaves himself to his feet, groaning as the pain of his injuries return with a vengeance, to see to the fire. Once it’s crackling merrily, he returns to the bed, walking carefully, though it’s all worth it to see the assessing look Dream gives the erection jutting proudly from between Hob’s legs. He licks his lips and Hob thinks he might actually go mad before the night is over. Worth it, if so.

“Was that really inside me?” Dream asks, only looking away when Hob eases himself back onto the bed.

“Yeah,” Hob nods, trying to stretch out the kinks in his muscles. “Should be a bit easier this time, if you still want.”

Dream nods before he is finished speaking. “I want,” he says.

Hob feels a rush of heat that has nothing to do with the fire, basking in Dream’s undisguised lust for him as he sips his own water. He’d known, of course, that Dream found him attractive, but it had been a background thing. Irrelevant. Why torture themselves by expressing it?

There had been a lot like that, Hob is now realizing. Incredible, what you can get used to.

But here, now, they’re free to act and react however they wish, and Hob doesn’t intend to keep Dream waiting any longer. Dream’s eyes are still red-rimmed as Hob gently pushes him back against the pillows.

“Let me know if you’re sore,” he says. Dream gives him a once-over lingering on his injured side, then arches an eyebrow, his meaning obvious. Hob splutters.

“Shut up,” he says. “That’s different.” He kisses Dream before he can voice a protest.

Dream whines as he pulls away, testing Dream's folds gently. “Hob. I don’t know if I can…”

“Shh, love,” Hob says, understanding immediately. “I don’t need to work you up any more. Just promise me you’ll try to relax.” He grabs the salve again — now much depleted — and then it’s time.

He pushes his way into Dream with far less resistance than last time, Dream yielding with an arch and a gasp.

This, Hob thinks, this is worth all of the anguish, as he inches in until he’s fully seated, moaning in harmony with Dream. To be here, now, Dream laid out loose and languid beneath him, nothing expected of him but pleasure.

“That’s it, love,” he coos. “You’re perfect. So fucking beautiful and mine.” His to protect, his to love and cherish. Dream makes a noise he’s never heard before, clutching at his hips.

“Hob, please. Move.” So Hob does. “Ah, ah—”

The sounds of Dream’s pleasure are like wine, and Hob wants to drink them from his mouth.

“Yeah? This good for you, sweetheart?” Dream’s chorus of encouragement makes the question slightly irrelevant. Hob keeps at it; slow, rolling thrusts, and a quiet stream of praise. “I have you. Nothing you have to do. Just give into it. Relax, and feel good. There’s no one here. No one but us.” He breaks off with a whimper. “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Hob. Haah—”

“So fucking good, fuck, Dream, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Dream gasps, drawing him closer like a particularly determined octopus, and Hob goes willingly. The slick velvet catch and slide of Dream’s body is incomparable to anything he’s ever felt. If he weren’t hard enough to pound nails, he’d stay here forever if he could, to always feel as connected to Dream as he feels in this moment.

He grits his teeth, trying hard to grip the razor’s edge of his composure as Dream meets him thrust for thrust, his hair a riotous shadow against the roughspun sheets.

“Ho-ob!” Dream wails, his belly twitching, and Hob, conditioned to a lifetime of quick responses to this exact moment, does the first thing he can think of, which is to press his hand flat against Dream’s belly to feel it for himself.

Dream jerks like he’s been struck by lightning, every muscle in his body seizing, eyes shooting wide, mouth open in a silent scream. The insistent fluttering of his walls around him turns out to be too much for Hob’s tenuous control and he spills over inside Dream, panting like a racehorse and feeling like he’s been run over by one.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Dream…” There’s so much of it, on and on, and through it all Dream’s hips make little involuntary motions, taking Hob for all he’s worth until he’s convinced he’ll die of it — but what a way to go. His head hangs down between his shoulders as he shudders through it, holding Dream as close as he can while Dream makes tiny cries in time with the twitch of his hips.

Finally, Hob can take no more of it and gently, gently pulls out, a process complicated by Dream’s body clinging to him for dear life. When Hob does manage to slip free, accompanied by a messy rush between their bodies, Dream keens as though bereft and tries to curl in on himself. Hob barely has the presence of mind to keep from collapsing directly on top of him, drawing him into the lee of his arms with clumsy motions.

“Shh, love,” he whispers. “Shh, it’s all right. You’re fine, I’m here. I’m here. I love you.”

He holds Dream close while they both shake with the force of their heaving breaths, running soothing hands over every inch he can reach.

There are silent tears on Dream’s cheeks. His heart seizes, and he fights through the languor to be able to form words.

“Gods, please tell me I didn’t hurt you…”

Dream squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, tears scattering like diamonds. Hob crosses the impossible distance to cup Dream’s face in his hand.

“Words, darling, please,” he begs.

Dream reaches for his hand, grasping it after several tries and twining their fingers together.

“I am well, Hob,” he says, voice serene. The tears are still streaming down his face. “I am no longer the oracle. I am… free.” He says it with such wonder that Hob is nearly moved to tears himself.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, you are.” They both are. Hob is free to love Dream as fiercely as he’s always wanted to, and he will never take it for granted.

“During that last moment,” Dream continues, “just before I lost my powers. I saw…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hob says firmly. “I told you. You’re not the oracle any more. Let it be forgotten.”

“Not this,” Dream insists. “I saw us, Hob.” His voice is hushed. “Sitting outside a house — our house. Together.”

Hob loses his breath as he imagines it. It’s everything he’d ever wanted for Dream, for himself. Everything he’d thought they could never have.

“The sun was setting over seaside cliffs. There was a garden.” Tears are still flowing unchecked down Dream’s cheeks, but Dream sounds as content as Hob has ever heard him. “And in my arms…” He takes Hob’s hand and draws it to rest over his abdomen.

Hob might never breathe again.

“A baby, with… with my hair,” Dream forces out through renewed tears, “and your eyes.”

Hob can’t think of a single thing to say. He scoops Dream up, rolling them until Dream is nestled on his chest. Dream squeaks at the unaccustomed position.

“Really?” It’s official; his happiness could not be more complete. “Dream, you absolute marvel. You’re perfect, I adore you—” He plants kisses on every inch of Dream he can reach. “Wait.” He pauses as the thought occurs to him. “Are you… saying we made a baby? Just now?”

Dream in his arms is loose and relaxed, flushed and happy, and Hob would give everything to ensure he looks like this always.

“I do not know,” Dream answers. “We shall have to wait and see. Or—” A smirk Hob would not have thought him capable of crosses his face. “We could keep trying, until we know for sure.”

Hob finds himself laughing harder than he can remember in a long time. “We might just have to,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Wouldn’t do to have your final prophecy not come true, eh?”

Dream just smiles, and nuzzles into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, Dream,” Hob replies, already a reflex. He can’t wait to say it every chance he gets.

Well and truly tapped out on adrenaline now, Hob can barely keep his eyes open long enough to make an attempt at cleaning them up, before cradling the most precious thing in the world to his chest. He sleeps.

#pella writes #dreamling #dreamling fic #the sandman #here's where we REALLY earn our E rating #I'm not going to tag for specific things because I don't want all kinds of blogs following me so instead #read on Ao3 for more details

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arcane-vagabond · 2 years ago

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Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Two

Pairing: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Language, Jake flirting, nothing else really.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: So, I lied. Here's another update for you all. Feel like the quality might have dropped off a little halfway since I wrote the last half on my phone at work lol I'm not sure yet if I'll have anything to post tomorrow as I work weird hours, but here's hoping! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. My inbox is always open to chat. 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

“Well, this is it,” Benjamin proclaimed proudly. You looked at the house before you. It was a large, two story home with freshly painted white walls and matching white picket fence surrounding the yard. A chimney was built on both sides of the house, and a giant porch hugged the front as well as the second floor. A barn sat further down the path that led to your new home, and a simple wooden fence stretched even further.

“It’s beautiful, Benji,” you started, “but how much land did you purchase?”

Benjamin rubbed his neck sheepishly. “About one thousand acres.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “One thousand acres? Benji!”

“Hear me out, Scout,” he pleaded. “The cattle we raise will bring in even more money. We can establish a legacy here!”

“We already had a legacy,” you muttered, and Benjamin fixed you with soft, pleading eyes. You sighed. “You don’t even know the first thing about raising cattle.”

He perked up. “Oh, Maverick said he’d teach me all I need to know. Even made suggestions on who to hire as ranch hands when the time comes. He’s the one that convinced me to seek out my fortunes.”

“Was he now?” You murmured, already plotting what you were going to say to the town’s founder when you met him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Benjamin, and you glanced up at him. “But this will be good for us, Scout. We’ll be a part of history and expanding our country. Making it better.”

You hummed, and he continued with a sigh. “The truth is, Scout, my firm isn’t making as much money as I had hoped out here. Ranching will help bolster our income until I can become more established in these parts.”

You sighed, knowing there wasn’t much you could say in argument. Instead, you turned back to look at the house, shadows growing darker as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon. “Let’s go then. I’m eager to see the new house.”

Benjamin practically skipped up to the house, holding the door open for you as you stepped inside. It was much grander than you were expecting. Wooden floors gave way to a grand staircase that turned into the next floor. You made your way through one of the archways and found yourself in the parlor. Your family’s furniture already decorated the room, and you brushed your fingers gently over the top of the grand piano in the corner. Continuing, you found yourself standing in a large kitchen, one of the fireplaces taking up a large portion of the far wall.

“If you’re hungry, I think Natasha left some stew for us,” Benjamin, striding over to where a pot hung above the small fire. You raised an eyebrow, barely containing your smirk.

“Does Natasha cook for you often?”

You saw a bashful expression creep its way onto your brother’s face as he straightened up to look at you with a small pout. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

You chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. “I’m only teasing, Benji. But, no. I’m not hungry at the moment. I’d much rather get some rest after my long day of travel.”

Benjamin nodded and led you up the stairs. He stopped in front of the second door on the right, opening it and gesturing for you to step inside. Doing so, you saw your familiar pieces of furniture that you had shipped off weeks ago. Your hand mirror sat on your vanity, and your wardrobe door was opened to reveal your more practical, every day use dresses. You walked further into the room and up to the window. Peering out, you could faintly make out the barn and rolling desert in the sprawling darkness. If you looked harder, you could faintly see the outline of the distant mountains. Turning back to face your brother, you offered a smile.

“It’s lovely, Benji. Thank you.”

Benjamin returned your smile and gestured down the hall. “My room is two down if you need me for anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine for the evening. Go on,” you waved him off. “You need your sleep just as much as I do.

“Before I forget, Maverick has invited us to dinner with him and his wife, Penny, the night after next,” he said. You nodded, letting him know that you had heard.With one last smile, Benjamin closed the door behind him.

“Benji, have you gone shopping for supplies at all, or do you send poor Natasha out to do your tasks?” you clucked impatiently, finding nothing but a stale loaf of bread in the pantry. You had managed to collect the eggs from the chicken coop earlier that morning, and that was all that made up you and your brother’s meager breakfast.

“I haven’t the time, Scout,” he mumbled, already gathering his things for the day. “Besides, you know I’m not much of a cook.”

“How you’ve survived this long, I’ll never understand,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Benjamin looked at you with a twinkle in his.

“Eye rolling is not becoming of a proper young lady,” he snickered. Scowling you made to whip him with the towel you held in your hand, but he dodged it at the last second.

“Go, before you’re late,” you hollered as he rushed out the door. Sighing, you made a mental note to teach him at least some of the basics in the upcoming days. Turning, you marched back into the pantry and looked at the empty shelves disdainfully with hand on your hips.

“Honestly,” you muttered, exasperated at how incompetent your brother seemed at doing the most basic of things. You made a list of supplies you would need in the upcoming days, and walked out to take another look at the house. As much as your brother could fumble on the small things, he did have an eye for home decor. There were very few pieces of furniture you wanted to move around across the whole house, and you made another mental note to let Benjamin know that evening when he returned.

Walking out the front door with a basket in hand for your supplies, your eyes were drawn to a small patch of the front yard that had been fenced off. How you hadn’t noticed it the night before was beyond you, and you chose to chalk it up to fatigue from your journey. You walked over and saw several gardening tools scattered along the ground, and you realized this must have been the garden Benjamin had mentioned yesterday to you in his excitement.You added seeds to your list of supplies for the day.

You turned away from the garden and made sure to latch the gate to your front yard securely before strolling down the path into town.

Today was much like yesterday had been. People walking up and down the streets, shouting at one another in greeting, and children still running about. You wondered why they weren’t in school at this time of day. You resolved yourself to asking Maverick about it the next evening at dinner. Turning down on to the main street, you stepped onto the porch of the general store. Across the street at the saloon, you saw a group of men gathered by the entrance. One of them turned and saw you, and you suppressed an eye roll when he let out a long whistle.

“Hey there, darlin’!” he called out to you. He was handsome, you’d give him that. His dark skin glowed in the sunlight and you could make out his white smile from across the road. Strong muscles were hidden by his simple, white cotton shirt and beige wool pants. A hat covered his short, dark hair. Choosing to ignore the stranger, and by extension his four companions who had turned to look your way, you walked into the general store. the owner greeted you as you stepped into the spacious room that housed a multitude of goods from different places.

“Howdy, miss!” He chirped, leaning against the counter with a smile. He was older, dark skin weathered. “Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts before. The name’s Hondo.”

You returned his smile warmly. “A pleasure, Hondo. My name is y/n. My brother is Benjamin, perhaps you know him? He runs the firm just down the road.”

“Ah, yes!” He chuckled. “The lawyer from Baltimore. Well, miss, you’re in luck! I’ve just gotten back from Independence with new goods and I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until my partner, Joel, arrives back in town. Should be any day now, in fact.”

“I see, and what is that you have today?” You inquired, taking in the multitudes of crates still scattered around the counter.

“Let’s see,” Hondo thought. “I got some salt and some fine new tools from St.Louis. I also managed to trade for some fresh produce down by Independence.”

“That sounds lovely,” you smiled as Hondo began showing you his wears.

You spent about a half hour picking out the best produce Hondo had to offer, making plans to return when his partner made it back into town.

“Hondo, I don’t suppose you have anything in the way of cooking wine?” You asked, placing your new wears into your basket. Hondo grimaced with a shake of his head.

“'Fraid not, miss.” He sighed, looking out past his door towards the tavern. “But Miss Penny should have somethin’ for you to use.”

“Maverick’s wife?” You asked, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice. Hondo nodded, a look if worry on his face.

“Penny runs the saloon here in town. Normally, I wouldn’t even suggest you go ‘round that place without someone accompanyin’ you, but everyone here knows not to mess with Miss Penny. You should be safe while she’s there.”

You handed Hondo the money you owed him, and gave him a grateful smile. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Just be careful who you talk to when you’re over there, ya hear?” He called after you as you moved to leave. “A lot of real unsavory types like to prey on pretty, little things like you!”

“I will!” You called over your shoulder. You looked across the street to see the group of men from earlier had migrated down the porch over to, you assumed, their horses. Making sure they were safely distracted, you hurried your way across the road. Trotting up the steps, you made it to the door just as the group turned around to see you. Before they could say anything, however, you marched confidently into the saloon.

You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had thought, considering Hondo’s warning. The interior looked a tad run down, but you supposed it had been in business for a while. It was clear that it was a beauty back in its debut. A piano was shoved against the far wall and several tables were scattered across the room with a few patrons nursing different liquids. A woman came out of a back room and spotted you. She was one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Dark hair framed a slender face, and bright eyes looked at you with a maternal warmth you hadn’t seen in quite a while.

“Hey there, sweetheart!” She called to you. “What is it that I can getcha?”

“Hi,” you smiled, walking closer to the counter where she leaned. You could feel the stares from the other patrons on your back, and you couldn’t help but stiffen.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” she started, casting a stern look across the room. “No one here’ll mess with you while I’m here. Name’s Penny.”

You held out your hand when you were close enough to the bar to reach her. “I’m y/n. It’s a pleasure.”

“You must be Benjamin’s sister. You two look so much alike, I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner,” she laughed, the lines on her face crinkling. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would look as beautiful as she did when you were her age. She took your hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“We get that quite a bit, actually,” you chuckled, dropping your hand back down to your side.

Penny’s smile grew wider. “So, how can I help you today?”

“I’m looking for some cooking wine. Hondo mentioned you might be able to help me find some.”

“Cooking wine, huh?” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. After a moment, she nodded, turning to head back into the back room. “Yeah, I think I just got some new bottles in, actually.”

You waited while she disappeared through the door. You heard the group of men outside on the porch, and it sounded like they had moved back towards the entrance. You let out a heavy sigh, realizing that you wouldn’t be able to avoid them forever. You took a closer look at the saloon. A set of stairs led up to a second floor that must double as an inn of sorts. Your brother had told you that's where he stayed while your home was being built.

“The townsfolk here are all kind as saints here, Scout,” he had written to you in one of his many letters. He hadn’t been wrong, well, save for one person. You frowned at the memory of the tall blond and his debonair smile. The outlaw probably wooed many girls with those good looks and charming words. You would not be fooled.

At that moment, Penny appeared back around the corner with two bottles of wine and another warm smile. You took the bottles from her gratefully, and slipped them into your basket.

“How much do I owe you?” You asked, but Penny shook her head.

“No charge,” she said. “Call it a ‘welcome to town’ gift.”

“Thank you,” you responded. You heard the group outside laugh, and you couldn't stop the slight frown from etching itself onto your face. Penny noticed, and offered a sympathetic smile.

“Those boys may be loud and rowdy,” she began, “but they’re harmless. I promise. Just walk out of here with your head held high, and if they start to give you trouble, you call for me. I’ll knock their heads together.”

You nodded your head. You made your way back to the swinging doors, but stopped just shy. You willed your nerves to settle, and straightening your shoulders, you marched as confidently as you could out of the saloon.

The men were all gathered around the steps, and their conversation stopped when you stepped out. You could see them all more clearly now, and to your dismay, they were all unfairly handsome.

“Hey there again, darlin’,” grinned the man from before. He leaned in closer to you with a glint in his eye. “Name’s Javy. What’s yours?”

“Coyote, you asshole,” snapped the man to his left. “Tell her our names, too!”

Javy—Coyote—rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch.

“These here are my compadres—Bradley, Bob, Mickey, and Reuben,” he said, gesturing to each man as he said their name. He turned back to you with a smirk. “Now what about yours?”

At that moment, the saloon doors swung open, and a familiar blond strolled out with a hard set look on his face. His eyes darted from the group of men before you down to yours, and his grumpy expression melted into a lascivious smirk.

“Did you get it?” Asked the man off to your right—Bradley. Jake spared him a glance before returning his eyes to you.

“‘Course I did, Rooster,” he replied, walking closer to you. You gripped your basket harder and fixed him with a glare. “Fancy seeing you here, Scout.”

Rooster? You realized now that the Dagger Gang is who stood before you, and you suddenly found yourself feeling weary.

“Mr. Seresin,” you replied curtly, turning his smirk into a full blown grin.

“C’mon now, Scout. I thought we decided you’d call me Jake?”

“I don’t recall that being how the conversation went,” you sniffed. Javy cleared his throat from where he stood from behind you. You both looked over to find him and the rest of the squad grinning. Well, Bradley was smirking. The others were grinning.

“Is this the little spitfire you were goin’ on and and on about last night, Hangman?” Bradley—Rooster—asked, humor evident in his voice. You glanced over at Jake who had a dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks. Ignoring his friends, he looked back at you, some of his bravado returning.

“Ignore my friends,” he said, smile returning. “They don't know when to shut up.”

You hummed, “I could say the same thing about you.”

You heard a couple of snickers from behind you, and Jake cast a glare over your shoulder. Looking back at you, he continued, “Now, sugar. That wasn’t very nice. I’ve been plenty nice to you.”

You let out a noise of derision. “You and I must have very different definitions of the word ‘nice,’ Mr. Seresin.”

“If you let me,” he smirked, leaning closer so that his breath fanned over your face. Your eyes widened and your heart stopped for a brief moment at his proximity. “I could show you all the ways I can be nice.”

You didn’t respond for a moment, lost in the emeralds of his eyes. Blinking, you murmured, “Not a chance.”

You turned to the group behind you, offering them a tight lipped smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you all.”

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of you in the near future, sweetheart,” grinned Javy.

“Yes, well,” you smiled politely, “let’s hope not.”

You pushed past them and began making your way down the road. A hand gripped your elbow, spinning you back around so that you crashed into a solid chest of muscle. Looking up, stunned, you were once again in close proximity of Jake Seresin.

“Let me give you a ride home,” he offered, gesturing back at Whiskey. You shook your head, placing a hand on his chest to try and put some kind of barrier between the two of you. Jake took your hand in his, squeezing it tight.

“That's not necessary,” you breathed. “I live just down the road.”

“Then let me walk you,” he pushed.

“Down the street?” You snorted. Jake grinned, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“A lot could happen between now and when you get home.”

“Goodbye, Jake,” you said with a pointed look, pulling away from him. You tried not to frown at how cold you felt without his presence next to you. You turned to walk away.

“I’ll wear you down one day, sugar! You’ll be in love with me before you know it,” He called after you. You stopped in your tracks, whirling around to fix him with your iciest glare.

“I am not something to be conquered,” you hissed. Jake stared at you for a long minute, a different kind of smile crept onto his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said this one was almost…affectionate.

“I don’t expect you to be,” he said finally, giving you a two finger salute. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Scout.”

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