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solxamber · 3 months ago

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Betraying the Gods in Three Easy Steps || Malleus Draconia

Step 1: Befriend the Demon King.

Step 2: Fall in love.

Step 3: Quit your hero job.

The first thing you learned upon being chosen as the hero was that the gods were, in fact, morons.

This revelation came to you as you stood in their grand celestial court, bathed in holy light, staring at the pantheon of divine beings who had just bestowed upon you a sword that actively whispered threats into your ear.

"Go forth, O Chosen One," boomed the god of war, his six eyes burning with sacred fire. "You must slay the Demon King who lurks in his cursed lair atop the Black Hills!"

You shifted your weight and cleared your throat. "Okay, so... question. Just a tiny one. What, exactly, has the Demon King done?"

The gods exchanged glances.

"He is evil," the goddess of fate offered.

"Uh-huh. Examples?"

"He... exists," the god of light said, waving a golden hand vaguely.

There was an awkward silence. You rubbed your temples. "Right. But, like, has he pillaged villages? Enslaved kingdoms? Kicked a puppy?"

"He has refused to die despite our many attempts to kill him," the god of judgment said gravely.

You squinted. "So you're mad that he’s alive."

"YES," they all said in unison.

Fantastic. You had been chosen to carry out a divine grudge match.

Still, you weren’t in any position to argue. The gods had given you a bunch of ridiculously overpowered artifacts, including a holy sword, an indestructible shield, and a cloak that supposedly made you invisible but mostly just made you look like a very blurry ghost. They also kind of expected you to die like all the previous heroes, but that was a problem for later.

So here you were, standing at the edge of the Black Hills, staring up at the Demon King’s lair—a suspiciously well-maintained castle that looked less like a fortress of darkness and more like the summer home of someone who enjoyed gardening.

This whole thing reeked of bureaucracy.

With a deep sigh, you tightened your grip on your murderously sentient sword and marched forward, fully prepared to commit deicide if this entire mission turned out to be as dumb as you suspected.

You had braced yourself for a dark, ominous fortress filled with twisted creatures, rivers of lava, and at least one chandelier made of bones. Instead, you walked into what could only be described as a cozy study.

The room was warm, lit by a fireplace that crackled gently in the corner. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged tomes, some of which looked suspiciously like romance novels. A tea set rested on the table, next to an open book. And sitting in an armchair, casually flipping through the pages, was a man.

A very tall, very elegant man with sharp green eyes and black horns curling from his head.

He blinked at you, clearly just as surprised as you were. "Oh," he said. "Hello."

You stared at him. "Uh. Hi?"

There was a long pause. He looked at your very dramatic hero attire, then at the glimmering, divinely blessed sword in your hand, then back at you. "I assume you’re here for a reason?"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, so, the gods sent me to kill the Demon King, but like… lowkey? I don’t know what he looks like."

The man nodded, as if this was a completely reasonable statement. "I see." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Would you like some tea?"

You squinted at him. "I feel like you’re not taking this whole ‘assassination attempt’ thing very seriously."

"Should I?" he asked, pouring tea into a cup with unnerving grace. "You don't seem particularly invested in it yourself."

You couldn't exactly argue with that, so you sat down, placing your god-blessed weapon awkwardly on your lap. The man slid a cup toward you. The tea smelled… nice. Suspiciously nice. You sniffed it. "This isn’t, like, drugged or cursed, is it?"

He looked amused. "Only if you consider chamomile a powerful sedative."

You took a cautious sip. It was delicious.

"So," he said, leaning his chin on his hand. "Tell me about the outside world. It’s been a while since I last left these hills."

You shrugged. "Nothing much. The gods are idiots, as usual."

His lips curled in interest. "Oh?"

You leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, so get this. When they summoned me, they gave me this holy sword, right?" You tapped the weapon resting on your lap. "Only problem? It won’t shut up. The gods literally forgot to turn off its voice function, so now it just screams battle cries at all hours of the day. I had to wrap it in three layers of cloth just to get some sleep."

He let out a chuckle, eyes gleaming. "That is… incredible."

"Right? And that’s not even the worst part. The god of wisdom—actual title, by the way—accidentally set fire to their own temple last year because they miscalculated a lightning spell. They blamed it on ‘mystical forces’ but everyone knows they just got their math wrong."

The man—who, now that you were really looking at him, was ridiculously attractive in a dark-and-mysterious way—laughed. It was a rich, deep sound, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just told the best joke in the world.

You grinned, feeling oddly comfortable. "Oh, and don’t even get me started on the god of fate. She got into a brawl with the god of harvest because she made a prophecy that all the wheat fields would burn down, and then the god of harvest was like, ‘You know that’s literally my job, right?’ and cursed her with hay fever. Now she sneezes every time she tries to predict the future."

Your new tea-drinking companion actually had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter.

You took another sip of tea, feeling very proud of yourself. "Anyway," you said, stretching your arms. "By the way, have you seen the Demon King? Because, like, technically, I’m still supposed to be doing that job."

The man calmly pointed to himself.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You blinked. "I'm sorry. What."

"Malleus Draconia," he said, setting his teacup down with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an unwashed peasant. "And you are?"

You were still reeling from the realization that you had spent the last half hour drinking tea with the exact person you were supposed to kill, so it took you a second to answer. You introduce yourself. "Hero chosen by the gods. Here to, you know…" You made a vague stabbing motion.

Malleus nodded, completely unfazed. "Ah. Yes. That would explain the weaponry." He glanced at your holy sword, which had mercifully remained silent for the past few minutes. "Though, I must say, you don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about your mission."

You sighed and set your cup down. "Yeah, well. I don’t really get why the gods have it out for you. I mean, do you actually do evil stuff? Are you stealing souls? Raising the dead? Kicking puppies?"

Malleus tilted his head, considering. "No, no, and—well, I suppose there was one incident with a puppy, but in my defense, I was trying to return it to its owner, and it misunderstood my intentions."

"That’s a really vague way to say 'I accidentally terrified it.'"

He sipped his tea, saying nothing.

You squinted at him. "So you’re telling me the gods declared a holy crusade against you for… what? Vibes?"

Malleus shrugged. "I assume so. They don’t seem to like my existence very much."

"Wow. Must be nice not giving a shit."

"It is quite freeing," he agreed. "Would you like a tour?"

You blinked. "A tour? Of your evil lair?"

"My home," he corrected, as if you were the unreasonable one. "I assume you have never seen it before."

"You assume correctly." You rubbed your chin. "Eh. What the hell. Show me around, mighty Demon King."

And so, instead of assassinating him, you spent the next hour wandering through the halls of his "evil lair" (read: very fancy castle), learning about his book collection, admiring the admittedly cool-looking stained-glass windows, and getting distracted by a particularly fluffy cat lounging on one of the rugs.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen into easy conversation, sharing more absurd stories about the gods’ incompetence while Malleus listened with increasing amusement. You barely even noticed how natural it felt, how quickly you forgot the whole "mortal enemies" thing.

It wasn’t until you were about to leave that you remembered why you had come in the first place.

"Ah, right," you said, gripping the hilt of your holy sword. "The whole… uh, slaying thing."

Malleus lifted an eyebrow.

You exhaled and held the sword out to him. "Here. Take this."

He looked at you, then at the sword, then back at you. "You are giving me your divine weapon?"

"Look, man, I don’t know if you can tell, but I am very bad at this job."

Malleus took the sword, examining it with mild curiosity. The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, the weapon, which had remained blissfully quiet all day, suddenly came to life.

"FOUL BEAST! UNHAND ME AT ONCE—"

Malleus flicked his wrist, and the sword immediately went silent.

You gaped at him. "You can do that?!"

He hummed. "It appears so."

You put your hands on your hips. "You know what? Yeah. You can keep it. I don’t want it anymore."

Malleus smiled. "How generous of you."

You waved him off and turned toward the exit. "Anyway, this has been fun and all, but I should probably get going before the gods smite me for treason. I’ll, uh… I’ll get the job done next time."

Malleus watched you with that same unreadable expression, something like quiet amusement playing at the edges of his lips. "Of course. Next time."

You nodded, totally believing yourself, and left.

The gods were getting suspicious.

You could tell by the way they kept summoning you more frequently, their celestial faces lined with divine skepticism, their glowing, omnipotent eyes narrowing just a little more each time you gave your mission report.

So you did what any responsible, chosen-by-the-heavens hero would do: you doubled down on the lies.

“I’m gathering intel on the enemy.”

A few gods murmured in approval, nodding at your strategic foresight.

(The truth? You had spent the last four days sprawled across an absolutely sinful couch in Malleus’s absurdly cozy castle, debating whether a dragon could, theoretically, play the lute. Malleus had very strong opinions about claw dexterity and string tension. You were just trying to figure out how to smuggle the couch home.)

“I need to study his weaknesses.”

More nods. One god even stroked their beard, looking impressed.

(The reality? You were currently studying how many cookies you could consume before he started looking mildly concerned for your well-being. The number was high. Concerningly high. You were probably committing a sin against your own digestive system, but that was Future You’s problem.)

“He’s probably planning something evil, so I need to keep an eye on him.”

Now the gods were practically glowing with approval. One clapped you on the back, nearly knocking you off your feet.

(Meanwhile, in the demon king’s lair, Malleus was sitting in his massive library, sipping tea like a distinguished nobleman who had never even considered jaywalking, much less world domination. At one point, he sighed dramatically and looked out the window, the very picture of a wistful poet pondering the meaning of life. You had watched him do this for ten whole minutes, waiting for a sign of villainy. Nothing. The man was the least demonic demon king you had ever seen.)

The gods, thoroughly convinced that you were hard at work, dismissed you with a vague warning to “stay vigilant” and “not fall for any demonic tricks.”

You barely made it back to the castle before collapsing onto your new favorite couch with a groan. “They think I’m doing such a good job,” you mumbled, stuffing another cookie into your mouth. “I could probably ask for a raise.”

Malleus looked up from his book, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. “A raise? What exactly would they be paying you for?”

“For my noble heroism,” you said around a mouthful of cookie. “My unwavering dedication. My strategic mind. My—” You gestured vaguely. “—efforts.”

Malleus hummed, setting his book aside. “Ah, yes. Your valiant efforts. Lounging on my furniture. Eating my desserts. Entertaining me with tales of divine incompetence.”

You wagged a finger at him. “You say that like it isn’t an important job.”

He smirked. “Oh, I quite enjoy your company. But I do wonder how long you plan to keep up this charade.”

“As long as I can,” you said without hesitation, grabbing another cookie. “At this point, I think I deserve an award for Best Hero in the Field of Procrastination.”

Malleus chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with what was definitely, absolutely, 100% not fondness. Probably. “Indeed.”

Getting Malleus out of his lair was easier than expected. Getting him to wear the disguise, however, was a battle of wills.

“It is absurd,” he said flatly, staring at the comically large hat in your hands.

“Absurdly effective,” you countered.

“It looks like it belongs to a—”

“Fashion icon?”

“A cursed scarecrow,” he finished, unimpressed.

“Okay, rude. But listen, if you walk into town looking like that—” you gestured vaguely at his horns, “—people will either think you're about to declare war or host a very dramatic poetry reading. The hat helps.”

Malleus gave you a long, contemplative look, then, to your eternal delight, sighed and took the hat. It sat atop his head with the solemn dignity of a royal crown, though the sheer size of it made him look like he was about to start selling potions out of a roadside wagon.

“Very well,” he declared. “Let us proceed.”

Thus began the grand adventure of sneaking the Demon King into town.

Turns out, no one even noticed.

Which, to be fair, was kind of expected. This was a town where a man once tried to pay his taxes in live chickens and where the local bard wore sunglasses at night “because it added to his mystique.” Some guy in a huge hat? Not even in the top ten weirdest things people had seen this week.

Still, you felt an odd sense of pride as you dragged Malleus through the bustling streets. The Demon King, who had spent untold centuries isolated in his ominous gothic estate, was now watching a juggler toss flaming batons while a street vendor tried to sell you “cursed amulets” that were clearly just painted rocks.

He was fascinated.

His first stop was the bakery, where he became personally and spiritually invested in the concept of croissants.

“These are quite remarkable,” he murmured, carefully inspecting the flaky layers. “It is as if the very essence of light and air has been woven into dough.”

“You’re making it sound way fancier than it is,” you snorted. “It’s just bread.”

“A divine bread,” he corrected.

“You’re literally a demon.”

“I can still appreciate divinity when I taste it.”

Next, you took him to the bookstore, where he spent an unreasonable amount of time debating which tomes to purchase. At one point, you caught him flipping through something called One Hundred and One Curses to Ensure Your Enemies Remember You Fondly, which felt both deeply specific and incredibly on-brand.

While he was distracted by a book of poetry so dramatic it might as well have been personally written for him, you slipped away for a moment. A nearby flower stall caught your eye, and on impulse, you picked up a delicate bloom, its color strikingly similar to Malleus’s eyes.

You returned just as he was still deep in thought over which book to buy. Without a second thought, you reached up and tucked the flower behind his ear.

Malleus froze.

His expression didn’t change immediately—he just stared at you, his usual unreadable gaze flickering with something… complicated. His fingers hesitantly brushed against the petals, and for a moment, he looked genuinely baffled, as if no one had ever done something like this before.

You grinned at him. “Looks good on you, Your Evilness.”

Malleus exhaled a short, amused huff. “I must admit, I do not often receive accessories from my sworn enemies.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said, already dragging him towards the next store. “Now come on, I still need to introduce you to the single greatest achievement of human civilization.”

He tilted his head, intrigue sparking in his expression. “Oh?”

“Fried food.”

For the first time in centuries, the Demon King of Darkness, Terror of the Gods, Eternal Wielder of Unholy Power… was genuinely excited.

You were not bringing Malleus more books because you liked him. Obviously. That would be ridiculous. You were simply executing a strategic maneuver—an information-gathering mission, if you will. The more books he had, the more he would talk, and the more he talked, the more you learned.

This was all very professional. A tactical decision. Absolutely nothing to do with the way his eyes lit up whenever you brought him something new or the fact that you may or may not have started associating his lair with peace instead of doom.

So, with arms full of books that were definitely not handpicked to match his interests (including one on celestial phenomena, which was coincidental and not an attempt to make him happy), you strolled into his lair like you owned the place.

And that was when you met him.

Lilia Vanrouge.

You knew the name. You’d heard it whispered in the temples, spoken with the kind of reverence usually reserved for plagues and natural disasters. The Scourge of the Battlefield. The War Demon. The Dark General Who Consumed Kingdoms Whole.

You had also heard it from Malleus, who described him as eccentric, mischievous, and one of the few people he respected.

And the moment you laid eyes on him, you realized once again that the gods were complete and utter morons.

Because standing before you was not a nightmarish harbinger of destruction. No, the man currently floating upside down in the air, cheerfully snacking on something, looked more like an impish uncle who would absolutely teach children how to commit tax fraud for fun.

He looked at you. You looked at him. He grinned. You immediately braced for impact.

“Well, well! So you’re the fabled Chosen Hero,” Lilia chirped, righting himself mid-air and landing gracefully before you. “How fascinating! I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I—” you began.

“I must say, this is not what I expected!” he continued, completely ignoring you. “From what I’ve heard, heroes usually barge in with righteous fury, divine proclamations, and very little self-preservation! Yet here you are, standing in the Demon King’s domain, casually handing him books.”

You turned to Malleus, who looked completely unbothered, still examining the latest tome you had brought him. “You told him?”

Malleus, without looking up: “He asked.”

You turned back to Lilia. “And you’re not freaking out?”

Lilia tilted his head, amused. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know, I just assumed one of Malleus’s generals would take issue with me being, you know, the divinely ordained slayer of your king?”

Lilia snorted. “Oh, please. Do you have any idea how many so-called ‘heroes’ I’ve seen storm in here? You’re already my favorite.”

“…Thanks?”

“Of course! It’s just so refreshing to see one of you actually using your head for once.” He floated up again, upside down, resting his chin on his hands. “Though I must admit, I was expecting something a little more… impressive.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lilia smirked and gestured to the table where you and Malleus had been previously engaged in very serious discussions. Your stomach dropped. You had left out your papers.

Specifically, the ones where you had been doodling different armor designs and asking Malleus for his fashion advice.

Malleus, the traitor, casually picked one up. “I am partial to this one,” he said, holding up a particularly elaborate sketch. “The embroidery detailing is quite striking.”

Lilia laughed.

You buried your face in your hands as the War Demon, the Living Nightmare of the Battlefield, the Eternal Scourge of Kingdoms—wiped away tears of laughter over the fact that instead of slaying the Demon King, you had apparently made him your personal stylist.

It was, all things considered, not your proudest moment.

It had been months since you first stepped foot into Malleus’s lair, and, well… things had progressed.

Not in the way the gods wanted, obviously. If they had their way, Malleus’s severed head would be mounted on a sacred altar by now. Technically, you were still on your holy mission to vanquish the Demon King. Technically, you were gathering information. Technically, you had every intention of fulfilling your duty.

But, if one were to take a completely unbiased look at your current situation… it might appear that you were just hanging out.

A lot.

Like, a lot, a lot.

Malleus now made your drink exactly the way you liked it—sometimes before you even asked. You didn’t even have to tell him anymore. You’d wander into his lair after a long day of doing absolutely nothing related to demon slaying, and he’d already have your favorite drink ready, at the exact right temperature.

And you? You, the so-called “Divine Champion of Justice,” the god-appointed warrior of destiny? You had, against all logic and reason, started bringing him gifts. It wasn’t even a conscious decision at first. But every time a merchant came through town, you found yourself idly picking up little trinkets or books that looked like they’d interest him.

You told yourself it was just diplomacy. A strategic bribery effort. It had absolutely nothing to do with how much you enjoyed seeing his face light up whenever you presented him with something new.

You weren’t even sure when the shift had happened.

One day, you were the brave hero, standing before the terrifying Demon King with divine orders to smite him. And now? Now, you were practically living in his lair. Casually.

You’d gotten comfortable here, a fact that you refused to acknowledge out loud. Malleus’s lair was peaceful, quiet, and—to your horror—pleasant. The enormous gothic windows, the soft candlelight, the bookshelves stacked high with ancient tomes… It was all just so much nicer than the gods’ temples, which were always cold, sterile, and filled with divine bureaucrats who asked too many questions.

And worse—worse—when you weren’t here, you were usually thinking about what to do for Malleus next.

Should you bring him something from the next merchant caravan? Maybe take him to another festival? He liked those. Maybe introduce him to the weird little bakery in town that sold those oddly-shaped pastries you kept seeing. He might find them amusing.

You were planning surprises for him.

Like a friend.

No. Not just a friend.

A best friend.

You slammed your head onto the nearest table with a thud.

The gods could never find out about this.

You were having an existential crisis. A real one. The kind that made you stare at your reflection in a soup bowl and wonder if you had any meaningful purpose in life beyond being the divine equivalent of a glorified errand runner.

Lilia, of course, noticed. Because he was an agent of chaos and probably fed off emotional turmoil like some sort of tiny, ancient demon bat.

“You seem troubled,” he had said, watching as you slumped dramatically over Malleus’ very fancy dining table, exhaling the world’s most pitiful sigh. “Why don’t you and Malleus spar?”

Your head lifted slightly. “What?”

Lilia smirked, clearly pleased that he had successfully baited you out of your misery. “It’s been months, has it not? If the gods ask, you can tell them you’ve been honing your skills, preparing for the final battle.”

That… actually wasn’t a bad excuse. The gods had been getting nosy again, demanding updates. Maybe you could make this work.

Which was how you ended up here.

Standing in the grand, sprawling courtyard of Malleus’ lair, stretching out your limbs while he calmly removed his cloak, draping it over a bench like he was about to have a casual stroll instead of engaging in combat.

“You sure about this?” you asked, gripping the hilt of your sword.

Malleus tilted his head, looking amused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You smirked. “Just saying, if I win, I demand tribute.”

Malleus chuckled. “And if I win?”

“… Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Lilia was off to the side, grinning like this was the best form of entertainment he’d seen in centuries.

You inhaled deeply, grounding yourself. Okay. This was it. You were going to fight the Demon King, and it was going to be serious. No more cozy tea parties. No more lighthearted book shopping trips. It was time to—

“Would you like me to go easy on you?” Malleus asked.

You scoffed. “Pfft. No. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Malleus hummed, looking almost pleased at your confidence. “Very well.”

And then, without warning, he disappeared from sight.

You barely had time to register the movement before a gust of wind slammed into you at full force, sending you flying backwards like a poorly thrown ragdoll.

You crashed into a bush.

For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the sky, contemplating every choice that had led you to this moment.

Then, groaning, you rolled out of the shrubbery, shaking off the twigs as you picked up your sword. “Okay,” you muttered, adjusting your grip. “That was just a warm-up round.”

Malleus was still standing in the same spot, looking entirely unbothered.

And his hands were behind his back.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you—” You took a deep breath. “Are you fighting me with your hands behind your back?"

“Of course,” Malleus said pleasantly. “You told me not to go easy on you.”

You could hear Lilia choking on laughter in the background.

You squinted at Malleus, wondering if you should feel honored or insulted.

Fine. You could work with this. You charged again, ducking low, aiming for his legs. A flicker of green magic intercepted you, sending a harmless but powerful shockwave that knocked your weapon out of your hands.

You stared at your empty hands.

Malleus looked mildly impressed. “Good attempt.”

You retrieved your sword. Tried again. And again. And again.

Malleus never used his hands. Never lifted a finger. He just sidestepped your attacks with casual ease, occasionally flicking his magic at you, like you were a mildly annoying housecat trying to pounce on a much larger, much more powerful predator.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped trying to win and just started having fun.

And then, eventually, your energy gave out. You collapsed onto the ground, spread-eagled, arms outstretched, staring up at the sky as you caught your breath.

Malleus stepped closer, looming over you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“I do believe you’re my favorite hero,” he mused.

You groaned and slapped a hand over your face.

The gods were going to kill you if they ever found out about this.

You couldn’t sleep.

Which was fine. Heroes probably weren’t supposed to sleep. Heroes were supposed to lie awake at night, tormented by the burden of their destiny, haunted by the weight of their mission, plagued by—

"What if I let him win?"

You bolted upright so fast you nearly knocked yourself unconscious on your headrest. You slapped a hand over your mouth like you had just spoken a heresy so foul the gods would strike you down immediately.

That was not a normal thought for a hero to have. That was the most absurd, blasphemous, outrageous, morally reprehensible—

"Am I technically dating the Demon King???"

NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO—

Your hands went to your temples. You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe if you just thought hard enough, you could physically remove this thought from your brain. Or maybe, if you focused, the gods would finally smite you like they had always threatened to do.

You flopped back down onto your mattress, dragging a pillow over your face, as if that would smother the absolute nonsense your mind was generating tonight. But the problem was, now that the thought had entered your brain, it had built a home there. It had a mailbox. It was paying taxes. And now it was decorating with even worse thoughts.

Because now you were remembering the way Malleus had smiled when you let him talk for two whole hours about gargoyles. How his eyes had lit up like you were the first person to ever listen. The way he carefully, deliberately made your tea exactly how you liked it, as if he had memorized it from the very first time. The way he always tilted his head when he listened to you, genuinely fascinated by even the stupidest things you said.

The way he let you exist in his space. Not as an enemy. Not as a hero. But as…

… oh no.

OH NO.

You slapped a hand over your mouth again. Your other hand clenched into the sheets like you were physically trying to hold onto your sanity.

You were NOT—this was NOT—

You rolled over, kicking your legs violently under the covers. Maybe if you shook your entire body hard enough, you could dislodge this thought from existence. Yeet it into the void. Purge it from reality. But all that happened was that you pulled a muscle in your back and now you were lying there, in agony, emotionally and physically, because you were starting to realize something terrible.

You weren’t just fond of Malleus. You didn’t just enjoy his company.

You liked him.

You LIKED him.

YOU LIKED THE DEMON KING.

You sat up again, legs crossed, hands clasped together in front of you. “Dear gods,” you whispered, voice trembling, “please smite me where I sit. I have failed you.”

Nothing happened.

“…Cowards,” you muttered.

You flopped back down, staring at the ceiling in pure despair.

You were going to bed. You were going to sleep, and when you woke up, you would not be in love with the Demon King. You would be normal. You would be reasonable. You would be a good hero.

You closed your eyes.

Five seconds passed.

You opened them again.

Gods help me.

Literally.

You were having the time of your goddamn life.

Malleus' lair—again, as usual. You were halfway draped across his lap, leisurely popping fruit into your mouth while Lilia spun some absolutely deranged tale about the time he tricked a king into believing he was a vengeful forest spirit. Malleus sipped his tea, vaguely amused, and you? You laughed so hard you nearly choked on a grape.

The atmosphere? Immaculate. Life? Good. Everything? Perfection.

And then the door SLAMMED open.

You flinched so hard you nearly tumbled off Malleus’ lap. The tea cups rattled. The room’s easygoing tension evaporated as you stared at the figure in the doorway—some guy, just some guy—storming in with his sword drawn, looking like he was about to say the most dramatic thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“I HAVE COME TO SLAY YOU, DEMON KING—”

He stopped.

Because you—the actual hero—were very much not slaying the Demon King. You were, instead, sprawled across him like a spoiled house cat, eating his fruit and giggling like an idiot.

A horrifically long pause followed as this budget hero—who was not chosen by the gods, by the way—took in the scene.

Scrambling upright, you waved your hands frantically. “This—this is not what it looks like—”

“It is exactly what it looks like,” Lilia corrected, taking a dainty sip of tea. “Please, continue.”

Budget Hero looked insulted. Absolutely offended. “You—you’re supposed to be a hero! You’re supposed to be fighting him, not—” He gestured at you and Malleus with a face of pure betrayal. “—whatever this is!”

Panic surged. “I am fighting him!”

Budget Hero squinted.

You cleared your throat. “It’s just—” A vague gesture at Malleus. “A mental battle.”

Lilia snickered. Malleus lifted a brow, deeply entertained.

Budget Hero wasn’t buying it. His face hardened with righteous fury as he turned his sword back on Malleus. “No matter! If the gods will not choose a proper hero to strike you down, then I shall—”

And that’s when it happened.

Before Malleus could even think about obliterating him, you moved first. Instinctively. Violently. Viscerally.

Budget Hero never saw it coming. His weapon went flying in a single fluid motion, and before he could process it, he was done. Just absolutely demolished.

Silence.

Then:

Lilia. Wheezing. “Oh, that was brutal.”

You stared down at Budget Hero’s crumpled form, still gripping your weapon, stunned.

Because here’s the thing. That wasn’t a calculated attack. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t even to protect Malleus, exactly.

It was pure, unfiltered spite.

Who did this guy think he was? Marching in, sword drawn, acting like he was Malleus’ sworn enemy? That was your job. Your dynamic. The thought of anyone else trying to take that place—trying to take any place in Malleus’ life that wasn’t yours—was so disgusting, so offensive, that your body moved before your brain did.

…Oh no.

Quickly sheathing your weapon, you coughed into your fist. “Welp. That’s enough murder for today! I should get going!”

Malleus blinked at you, unbothered. “You only just arrived.”

Lilia, still recovering from laughter, wiped a tear from his eye. “Stay! We haven’t even finished discussing your new armor—”

“Nope!” You laughed—too forcefully. “Nooope! I just—I have to, uh—cleanse myself. Spiritually. From, um. Today’s events.”

Malleus tilted his head, intrigued. “You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

You sweat. “Yeah, but this one was just, uh, really emotionally charged. You know how it is.”

Lilia’s grin was so knowing it made you ill. “Do we?”

You needed to leave immediately.

“Anyway, see you later, besties!” Backing toward the door, you threw up a hand. “Malleus, you’re great, Lilia, you’re also great, I’m normal, and definitely not in any sort of crisis! Bye!”

And then you fled. Like a coward.

You had been avoiding him.

Technically speaking, you had only been gone for a week. But considering you usually barged into his lair daily—arms full of books, or pastries, or some weird trinket you thought he’d like—it was an absence that did not go unnoticed.

After all, you had never run before.

Even when you first met him, when you had been sent to kill him, you had walked right up to him and said, "Hey, so the gods told me to kill you, but honestly, I don’t feel like it." And he had smiled, slow and intrigued, and offered you tea. That had been the beginning of everything.

You had stayed. You always stayed.

But yesterday, after that absolute disaster of an encounter with that third-rate hero, after watching yourself cut him down before Malleus could even lift a hand, after realizing with gut-wrenching horror that you had reacted viscerally to the mere idea of someone else claiming that they were destined to fight him, to be his rival, you had fled.

Because what the fuck did that mean?

Because why had your stomach turned in disgust at the thought of someone else standing in your place?

Because you had looked at Malleus, and something inside you had snarled mine, and the weight of that realization had nearly knocked you off your feet.

So you ran.

Cowardly. Embarrassing. You, the so-called chosen hero, the one who had spent months dragging Malleus through town, shoving hats over his horns, feeding him sweet treats, listening to him ramble about gargoyles with the fondest expression on your face—you had panicked and run away like a flustered maiden in a fairytale.

You didn’t even have the excuse of battle wounds. The only wounds were entirely self-inflicted, entirely emotional, and entirely stupid.

So today, after daysof pacing and telling yourself to get it together, you forced yourself to return.

You spent the entire week gaslighting yourself into thinking nothing happened.

That reaction? Not weird. You were just… caught off guard! Maybe a tiny bit possessive. Maybe incredibly deranged about Malleus to the point where you instinctively obliterated someone for even thinking about taking your role as his arch-nemesis—but that was normal. That was just healthy rival dynamics!

So when you walked into Malleus’ lair the next week, it was with the confidence of someone absolutely not having a mental breakdown over their supposed mortal enemy.

“Yo,” you greeted, hands in your pockets, a casual whistle leaving your lips. “What’s up, big guy? Ready for some classic, good old-fashioned, not-at-all suspicious hero vs. villain conflict today?”

No answer.

It was silent. Too silent.

Usually, Lilia was there to greet you with some teasing remark. Usually, Malleus could sense you the moment you entered his territory, and you’d be met with a soft “You’ve returned.” Usually, there was some kind of warmth, a quiet hum of life in these ancient halls.

But today, there was only cold stone.

Your stomach twisted as you searched for him.

You found him by one of the enormous windows, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the sky with an expression you’d never seen before. His shoulders—usually poised with an almost arrogant regality—were slack. His jaw, tight. His eyes, distant.

For the first time since you met him, he looked exhausted.

“…Malleus?”

Your voice came out softer than you expected. Almost hesitant. As if part of you already knew what he was about to say.

He didn’t turn, didn’t shift, didn’t react right away. Just stood there, gazing out at the vast horizon like he was searching for something.

Finally, after a long, slow exhale, he spoke.

“…I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Your breath caught.

You had been gone for a week. You figured skipping a few visits wouldn’t matter much. That you could collect yourself, sort out whatever this was, and return once you weren’t a flustered disaster.

But standing here now, staring at him, it hit you just how much he had felt your absence.

His fingers curled a little tighter behind his back. His voice, barely above a whisper—

“If someone were to kill me,” he murmured, “I think I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

The breath whooshed out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, you understood.

He wasn’t just speaking in hypotheticals. He wasn’t musing about battle. He wasn’t challenging you, wasn’t provoking you, wasn’t setting the stage for a dramatic clash between hero and demon king.

No.

Malleus had lived centuries watching heroes march to his doorstep, brandishing divine weapons, shouting righteous declarations, vowing to end him. And yet, he had never once fallen. Never once faltered. Never once let a blade even graze his skin.

But yesterday, when you hadn’t returned, he had thought—ah. So this is how it ends.

If he had to be slain, he wanted it to be by your hand.

If he had to see someone for the last time, he had hoped it would be you.

You broke.

Instantaneous. No hesitation. No rational thought. No clever quip or theatrical deflection. No last-minute is this a good idea? self-reflection. Just a sharp inhale, a rapid closing of distance, and then—

You kissed him. Hard.

Not soft, not slow, not gentle. Desperate. Raw. Months of pent-up feelings, of endless late nights spent thinking about him, of hands brushing and shared laughter and quiet understanding and—fuck. You were so gone for him.

Malleus stiffened—but only for a second.

Then he melted into you.

His hands rose—one tangling in your hair, the other curling around your waist, pulling you so close you swore you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. He kissed back just as desperately, just as fiercely, like he’d been waiting just as helplessly as you had.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he stared like he’d never seen you before. Wide-eyed. Lips parted. His grip on you so tight, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

“…I suppose that was your way of saying you refuse?” His voice, unsteady.

A breathless, shaky laugh. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, I refuse.”

His forehead pressed to yours, breath warm against your lips. His hands didn’t loosen their hold.

“…Then don’t ever leave me.”

You closed your eyes. Gripped his shoulders.

Nodded.

“Never.”

The celestial being—divine embodiment of justice and order, an ancient force revered throughout history—descended upon Malleus’ lair in a blinding display of light and holy power.

Wings of pure radiance unfurled. A golden staff crackled with divine energy. A voice, imbued with the might of the cosmos, boomed across the chamber:

“CHOSEN HERO. DEMON KING. IT IS TIME FOR YOUR DESTINED BATTLE.”

You blinked. Looked up from where you were curled against Malleus, sipping tea and reading a book titled 1,001 Architectural Wonders (That Are Not Gargoyles, Please Stop Asking).

Malleus glanced up from the game of chess he was currently losing against Lilia. “Oh?” he said, perfectly unbothered. “Has it truly been that long?”

“Yes, it has been that long!” the celestial being thundered. “You were sent here to vanquish the Demon King, not—” their eye twitched as they took in the scene, “—play house with him.”

You frowned. “Okay, first of all, rude.”

"Rude? RUDE?!" The celestial being practically vibrated with fury. "YOU LIED TO US!"

“I did not lie,” you said, deeply offended. “I gave you very detailed mission updates.”

“‘I’m gathering intel on the enemy’?”

“I was!” you huffed. “Did you know Malleus actually prefers honey in his tea instead of sugar? Crucial information.”

The celestial being sputtered. “You literally wrote, and I quote—” they conjured a glowing scroll and read aloud, “‘I need to study his weaknesses.’”

“Well,” you said, nodding toward Malleus, “he is weak to compliments. Call him ‘awe-inspiring’ and he gets all flustered. It’s very endearing.”

The being looked one breath away from smiting you. “AND ‘HE’S PROBABLY PLANNING SOMETHING EVIL, I NEED TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM’??”

You pointed at Malleus, who was currently sipping tea with perfect elegance, staring at you like you personally hung the moon in the sky.

“Look at him,” you said dryly. “He’s clearly up to something.”

Malleus delicately set down his teacup. “Indeed,” he mused. “I was just plotting whether to have scones or biscuits with my tea tomorrow.”

The celestial being’s golden aura flickered like a candle in the wind. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!”

Malleus frowned. “That seems excessive for a difference in snack preference.”

The celestial being inhaled sharply, hands trembling. You were pretty sure you just heard them whisper I hate my job.

“Enough!” they roared. “FIGHT! NOW!”

You and Malleus exchanged a long glance.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with all the excitement of two overworked employees being forced into another useless meeting, you both sighed and reached for the nearest decorative swords.

You lifted your sword. Malleus did the same.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of two toddlers being told to pretend-fight for Grandma’s amusement—

—you both half-heartedly tapped your swords together.

clink.

“There,” you said, monotone. “We fought. Can we go back to cuddling now?”

The celestial being screamed.

The celestial being didn’t so much escort you to the heavens as haul you there like a parent dragging a misbehaving child to a disciplinary hearing. You barely had time to adjust to the blinding light before being unceremoniously dropped onto the cold marble floor.

Above you, the gods loomed from their gilded thrones, their divine radiance pulsing with something that was not quite anger—because gods did not feel anger, only divine disappointment, which was so much worse.

The celestial being, standing smugly beside them, crossed their arms. “I told you they weren’t taking this seriously.”

The first god spoke, voice like rolling thunder. “Chosen hero.”

Another voice, this one like a windstorm, joined in. “You were sent to slay the Demon King.”

A third, calm and cold as deep water. “And yet, you have done nothing.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the celestial being snapped their fingers, and suddenly, an image materialized before you. A glowing vision of you, fully reclined across Malleus’ lap, popping fruit into his mouth while he read a book.

You stared.

“…Okay,” you admitted, “this looks bad.”

The celestial being glared. “Because it is bad!”

The gods ignored them, their voices deepening into something more final.

“This war against the Demon King has lasted centuries,” one intoned.

“You were our last hope,” another added. “If you do not complete your duty, there will be no other hero for another hundred years.”

“Without a hero,” the celestial being hissed, “there will be no one to protect the world from his inevitable destruction.”

Their words should have shaken you. You should have felt the weight of them pressing into your spine, the consequences of this moment sinking into your bones.

Instead, you just felt tired.

Tired of this war you never understood. Tired of the gods, who sat safe in their gilded heavens, while they sent hero after hero to their deaths.

Tired of pretending that Malleus was something he wasn’t.

You took a slow breath. Then, you reached up and began unbuckling the divine armor. The metal rang loud as it clattered to the ground, reverberating through the silent chamber. You ripped the sacred amulet from around your neck, tossing it aside like an afterthought. The enchanted boots that carried you here? Gone.

The gods watched, speechless, as you stripped away everything that bound you to them.

Then, you stood taller than you ever had before.

“I quit,” you said simply.

The chamber erupted. The celestial being choked. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” you interrupted, stretching your arms, reveling in the freedom of it. “And I am. You want a hero? Find another poor fool. I’m done.”

The gods stared, as if they truly couldn’t comprehend your audacity.

“There will be no other hero for a century,” one god reminded you. “Do you understand what you are forsaking?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Unnecessary slaying.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, the celestial doors parting effortlessly before you. The gods did not stop you. Perhaps they couldn’t.

You returned to Malleus’ lair lighter than you had ever felt.

He was waiting for you when you arrived, standing near the entrance, his expression unreadable. His eyes—those impossibly green eyes—watched you carefully, searching for something.

“You’re back,” he said softly.

You stepped closer, meeting his gaze. “Of course.”

Something flickered in his expression—something relieved, something like hope.

You exhaled, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “I’m free now, Malleus. No more gods. No more divine duty. Just… me.”

For the first time, you saw it—true joy in his gaze. He stepped forward, closer, until there was nothing between you.

And then he kissed you.

It was not hesitant. Not questioning. It was certain, like he had always known this moment was inevitable, like he had only been waiting for you to realize it too.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his lips curling into a smile.

“I was hoping you’d choose me,” he murmured.

You smiled back, fingers threading through his.

“I always would have.”

It happened over tea, as most of your most life-altering conversations with Malleus tended to.

You had been lounging on his absurdly comfortable sofa, sipping something floral he had brewed just for you, feeling very much like a person who had absolutely no idea that their entire life was about to be rearranged.

Malleus, ever composed, set down his own cup and regarded you with something almost too fond.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about how long we’ve been together.”

You blinked. “How long?”

He hummed, tilting his head. “Since you gave me your sword, of course.”

You continued blinking, because surely, surely you had misheard him.

“…My sword?”

Malleus nodded, utterly serene. “Yes. It was an elegant proposal.”

You made a sound. It wasn’t a word, exactly, but it conveyed your confusion well enough.

Malleus watched you, waiting patiently for what he must have assumed was joyous realization.

You, meanwhile, were still trying to process whatever the hell was happening.

“…Proposal,” you echoed, because maybe if you repeated it, reality would shift into something that made sense.

Malleus offered a rare, knowing smile. “A symbol of devotion. Offering one’s most treasured possession to another—it is an unbreakable vow, a declaration of lifelong commitment. The moment you placed your sword in my hands, you became mine.”

A long pause.

You stared at him. He continued to look pleased.

You, meanwhile, were experiencing an entire existential crisis.

“Hold on,” you said slowly. “So you’re telling me that, in demon culture, giving you my sword meant—”

“A proposal,” Malleus finished, nodding. “It was quite romantic.”

Your brain short-circuited. You thought back to that moment, a year ago, when you had so casually handed him your holy sword, thinking haha, maybe he can make this thing shut up.

In reality, you had apparently gotten engaged like an absolute moron.

You set down your tea with the careful precision of someone trying very, very hard not to spiral. “Malleus,” you said, voice deceptively calm, “why didn’t you tell me?”

He blinked, puzzled. “I thought you knew.”

“Malleus, I’m human.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Ah. I see the problem now.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply. “So, in your mind, we’ve been betrothed this whole time?”

“Yes,” he said, utterly unbothered.

You stared at him. He stared back, composed as ever.

And then you just—laughed. Because of course. Of course you had accidentally proposed to the Demon King like an idiot.

“Well,” you said between snickers, wiping at your eyes. “Since we’re apparently already engaged, wanna just go ahead and get hitched?”

Malleus’ grin was blinding.

“Absolutely.”

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus

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kleefkruid · 7 months ago

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Guys, I had one of the weirdest 15 minutes of my life yesterday, as if some higher power put me in a jar and shook me around for a very short time and then let me out again.

But before I can tell the story I need to quickly make sure everyone has the context: Kotelet, the stray I took in had 2 bigger kittens and was super pregnant. These are the cutlets 1.0 and 2.0, you’ve mostly seen the second gen as they were born with me. But the two initial kittens went to Danny. They were very wild and we tried to socialize them, but in the process unfortunately one of them got out and was lost forever. This was way back in the beginning of August. The other kitten became Dietzel and recently Danny adopted one of the 2.0 gen to keep him company since we sadly never found the other kitten again… Okay keeping that in mind I can tell my story.

Yesterday around 2 I left my house to go to Danny. While waiting for my tram I was texting someone who is coming to adopt the last kitten. This combined with the nose cold I’ve been having made me a bit inattentive, and I got on the wrong tram. Not too big of a problem, bc this tram also travels close by Danny, I just had to walk one kilometer. A 15 minute walk. What could happen in that time right, I’ve done this route so often.

I get of the tram and I cross a bigger intersection. Open sky above me, as is typical for an intersection. Light goes green, I’m on the crosswalk. Suddenly, and with a loud slap, a pigeon drops dead on the ground in front of me.

I look at the pigeon. I look at the clear sky. I look back at the pigeon. I look back up. I notice the cables of the tram that go over the crosswalk, and realize it must have flown into the cables, and was killed by electrocution. At least it died instantly. Not a bad way to go for a pigeon. One moment it was going “weeeh I’m a bird”, next thing the lights went out.

The crosswalk light had turned red. Normally this would be immediately be followed by irritated honking, but as I make eye contact with the driver perpendicular to me, he also points at the cables and we exchange some “crazy right??” looks while I hurry to the side of the road.

“What’s it called again when people tell fortune by looking at birds?” I think, (it’s Ornithomancy) “the ancients Greeks did it, I remember it from the Odyssey… sure hope it’s not a bad omen!” I imagine a Greek augur predicting a war or whatever when a bird drops straight from the sky and someone going “is that bad?” I chuckle to myself, just a tiny bit nervous, and I continue my walk. Not long to go now.

“Pigeon dropped dead in front of me” I triple text Danny “Crazy. Electrocuted by the tram infrastructure. Super dead in an instance.”

A neighborhood cat cheerfully walks by me. I automatically lean down to pet it, can’t cross a friendly cat without saying hi! It’s a teenage tuxedo.

WAIT.

The cat looks at me. It has a little white moustache. It starts sniffing my boots like crazy.

Could it be…

Squatting on the sidewalk, I go in my pictures folder and frantically search for pictures of the cutlets 1.0 The cat leans against me. I find a picture where the kitten has a distinctive black mark on the back of its otherwise white socks. I stare down.

On the back of its legs it has a distinctive black mark.

“You got to be kidding me” I say. “Sniff sniff” says the cat. He headbutts me again.

I am 350 meters from Danny’s door. Obviously I don’t have anything with me. A car drives close by. I gotta do something, so I pick him up. And he lets me. And I just start walking.

After a 100 meters, he wants to go down again, so holding him in a sitting position, I grasp his hind legs with one hand, like they hold wild birds when ringing them, and my other arm goes across him to squeeze him against my chest and I hold his front paws. He meows a little and bites me so very lightly. He just kinda presses his teeth against my skin to communicate he’s not impressed by my action, but that’s all. He’s still pretty tiny after all.

I ring the doorbell, and Danny buzzes me in. “Bring a carrier!” I yell trough the speaker. “What?? Why??” “Just come down!”

He opens te door and looks confused. “Is that Kotelet??” is his first question, as they look alike. “No, try again” I say. Now Danny’s eyes go wide. “No. It’s not possible…”

It’s been more than 3 months. Danny just starts crying out of shock. I start laughing. Both losing it in different ways about the absurdity of the situation.

We’re in Danny’s living room. The little guy is eating all the wet food he can and promptly passes out. We just stare at him. The other cats are peeking in from the bedroom. I look at its white paws, all grey from the street. He purrs. We sit in silence, kind of forgetting to blink.

“Did you see my text about the pigeon that dropped dead in front of me.”

#cats #kittens #foster kittens #story #the cutlets #my cats #Puree #Danny doesn’t have space for 3 cats but I’m already talking to someone who’s interested

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colouredbyd · 22 days ago

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Hold On Tight, It’s a Wild Ride!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader x biker!sirius black

synopsis : saddle up, trouble’s here! after getting caught by sirius, the towns sweet baker slips out of remus’s reach, leaving him lost in a haze of desperate need and restless nights. sirius is dead set on breaking through that sweet, guarded shell—ready to ride hard and take whats been teasing for far too long. three wild hearts tangled in a dirty game, with a brat determined to push them both to the edge and ride this madness straight to hell.

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, dirty talk, sexual tension, alot of teasing, semi-public sex, dirty thoughts, exhibitionism, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, penetrative sex, blow jobs, spitting, fingering, eating out, degradation, praise kink, bratty behavior, brat taming. porn but with plot, everyone in this is horny!!!

w/c: 8.6k (pure filth)

a/n: this is 8k words of horny thoughts then smut <3 (posted at 4 am, therefore not proofread)

part one masterlist

Remus has a serious fucking problem — and that problem is you.

Not that he’s the kind of guy to moan about it out loud. You’re not some nuisance he wants to shoo away. He doesn’t hate you, doesn’t think you’re annoying, and damn sure doesn’t want you anywhere but near.

Hell, it’s the exact opposite — he likes you too much. Way too much. And that’s the goddamn problem.

He tries to look anywhere but at you when you bend down to pick up that jar you dropped. That dress you’re wearing is way too fucking short — and sure, Remus tells himself he ain’t staring (he totally is), but everyone else at this godforsaken town sure as hell notices.

That includes Lily, who’s already stepped behind you, blocking the view of your white panties you’re practically handing out like candy to every poor bastard around this town.

Remus doesn’t know if he should thank Lily for covering you up or tell her to move the fuck aside so he can see better.

Then there’s Sirius. That son of a bitch is leaning casually against the porch rail, smirking like the cocky bastard he is, eyes locked on Remus like he’s watching a damn rodeo. The way Sirius looks at him — it’s not exactly friendly.

That look on his face is a mixture of mischief and something more dangerous, like he knows exactly what kind of mess he’s stirring up.

Remus feels his jaw tighten. Him and Sirius? They go way back. Old friends, yeah — but the kind of friends who messed around casually, no strings, no promises.

That was supposed to be the past, something Remus told himself was done and dusted. That was before Sirius started slipping back into his life like a ghost, dragging all those old, confusing feelings with him.

Remus wants to convince himself it’s over, that he’s moved on. But every time Sirius shows up, with that damn smirk and those sharp eyes, his brain shorts out and his dick wakes the hell up like clockwork.

He shoots Sirius a glare, half pissed off, half... well, he doesn’t know what the hell else it is. Desire? Frustration? Both? But mostly irritation that the bastard has this power over him.

Still, Remus tries to keep his gaze on you — because you’re the real problem here, standing so goddamn close, making it impossible not to want more than just friendship. And if that wasn’t enough, here’s Sirius, watching the whole damn thing unfold like it’s his personal entertainment.

Remus still remembers the exact second Sirius Black walked through the bakery door five days ago. The bell jingled sharp and clear, cutting through the quiet heat between you and him.

You’d been caught in the middle of something—pressed close together, breathless and more than a little tangled—and then suddenly, the moment shattered.

“Am I interrupting?”

You jolt like you've been caught stealing something, which, to be fair, you sort of were—Remus’s breath, his body, his quiet unraveling.

The bell above the bakery door jingles again as it swings shut behind the voice.

“—because I was promised a raspberry tart and a man with manners. So far, I see neither.”

Remus swears softly, forehead thudding against your shoulder with a muffled groan.

“Sirius,” he mutters, like the name physically pains him.

You look up, and there he is—Sirius Black. Leather jacket, loose black hair dangling messily at his nape, a smirk so lived-in it might as well be stitched into his mouth. He doesn’t seem even a little sorry.

“Remus,” he returns, stepping further into the bakery like he owns the air. His eyes flick to you. “And you must be the infamous baker.”

You try to pull away from Remus, but his hand on your waist tightens just enough to say: don’t.

Sirius’s gaze drags slowly down from your flushed cheeks to your parted lips to the hand Remus hasn’t moved. There’s no shame in the way he looks at you—just curiosity, interest, something too alive to name. His tongue runs along his bottom lip, and he smiles like he’s already halfway through the punchline.

“Well, this is cozy,” he says. “Didn’t realize I was walking into a bloody rom-com.”

“Don’t you have a bike to crash?” Remus growls, still leaning into you but straighter now, all tense muscle and wary heat.

Sirius shrugs. “She’s cooling off.” His eyes stay on you as he adds, “Thought I’d do the same.”

Ever since that fucking day Sirius showed up at the farm, you’ve been avoiding Remus like he’s some goddamn plague. Like, you’ve been ducking him harder than a shitstorm you don’t want to get caught in.

You don't visit him, don’t meet his eyes when he’s in the same damn road as you, and for the love of everything holy, you haven’t come near the Lupin farm for a goddamn chocolate restock in what feels like forever.

Hell, when Remus finally dragged his sorry ass over to the bakery, you nearly pretended not to see him—almost walked right past like you hadn’t seen the dude who’s been circling your life like a fucking shark.

And Remus? Jesus Christ, he’s losing his fucking mind. Since you started ghosting him, he’s been pacing that goddamn farm like a caged animal, snapping at thin air and muttering all sorts of pissed-off nonsense under his breath.

He’s so desperate it’s pathetic — like, you can almost hear the poor bastard begging himself to grow a spine and just say something.

Every second you keep avoiding him, the harder he spirals, pacing and cussing like the farm’s about to fall apart around him because you won’t give him a single goddamn minute of your attention.

Sirius’s arrival hadn’t just interrupted whatever was between him and you—it threw everything Remus thought he’d settled into into a chaos he wasn’t ready for.

And deep down, Remus knows it’s going to take more than a few days—and a lot of stubborn fights with himself—to keep that old fire from burning everything down again.

Meanwhile, you’re behind the counter, wiping down the worn wooden surface, exchanging smiles and small talk with a regular customer when suddenly the familiar loud rev of a motorcycle engine cuts through the quiet street outside.

You already know who it is before the bell over the door jingles sharply.

And then he steps in.

It’s an odd sight—Sirius Black in your cozy little bakery. Tall, wild black hair falling in unruly waves, too many piercings glinting under the soft light, a leather jacket worn like a second skin, and the unmistakable scent of smoke and cigarettes clinging to him like a shadow.

The contrast between him and the warm pastel walls, the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon, feels almost surreal—but there he is, smirking like he walked into heaven itself.

He steps in like he owns the place, and for a moment—just a moment—it feels like he does. He belongs everywhere and nowhere at once. And he looks so damn amused to be standing in the middle of a bakery painted blush pink, with frilly curtains and little glass jars of pastel meringues lining the shelves.

His eyes flick over you once, slow and lazy. “Well, this is domestic.”

You don’t even blink. “Can I help you, Black? Or are you just here to loiter and bring down the property value?”

He smirks. That same crooked smirk that probably had girls unbuckling their skirts behind barns in three diffRemust counties. “Actually, I’m here for something sweet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Try the exit.”

“Tempting,” he murmurs, sauntering to the counter. “But I see something better.”

His fingers tap the glass as he surveys the baked goods, but you’re not fooled. His gaze keeps sliding back to you, flicking down your apron to the hint of skin where your neckline dips. You feel it like a stroke. Like he’s undressing you one glance at a time and enjoying every damn inch.

Your thighs press together behind the counter. It’s instinct. Desperate, shameful instinct, truly.

Sirius’s voice cuts in. “Cinnamon roll, big one, drowning in icing.”

Of course he picks that one. The messiest fucking thing in the case.

You box it up wordlessly, fingers shaking just a little as you hand it over. He doesn’t take it away. He peels the paper back right there at the counter and bites into it slow, like sin made flesh.

Icing smears his lip. His tongue swipes it off in a way that makes your breath catch. And then he licks his finger. Slow. Sucking it into his mouth like he’s thinking about sucking something else.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your brain short-circuits.

Because it’s not just the way he eats it—it’s the sounds he makes, low and satisfied, half a growl, half a groan. It’s the smug glint in his eyes when he catches you watching him, cheeks burning, mouth slightly open, thighs clenched tight.

“You always make ‘em this sweet?” he asks, licking a stray bit of glaze from his thumb. “Or is this one just for me?”

You want to say something clever, something biting. Instead, your voice comes out thinner than you like. “You’re disgusting.”

Sirius grins like it’s the best compliment he’s ever gotten. “You’re blushing.”

You are. And worse, your head is filled with the filthiest thoughts. Like how that mouth would feel sliding down your stomach. How his rings might dig into your hips. How it would feel to straddle that stupid, loud bike of his with his hand up your skirt and his tongue in your mouth–

Okay stop. You look away.

Because if you look too long, you’ll do something you’ll regret. Like asking him to stay or like begging him to touch you.

“Bit jumpy today, sweetheart,” he says, licking a streak of icing from his palm. “Don’t worry. I bite soft.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, fists clenched at your sides.

He leans a hip against the counter like he’s got all the time in the world, licking icing from his thumb with deliberate slowness, eyes still fixed on you like he’s imagining how you taste instead.

“I said you’re disgusting,” you snap again, more breathless this time. You hate how he gets under your skin. How you can already feel your pulse between your thighs.

“And you keep saying that,” he says, cocking his head. “Yet here you are. Still standing there. Still looking at me like you want to lick this sugar off my mouth yourself.”

“You’re delusional.”

He chuckles—low, dangerous. “You think Remus doesn’t notice, sweetheart?”

Sirius steps closer.

“You think he doesn’t see the way you flounce around this little bakery in that short-ass dress, bending over the lower shelves every chance you get?” His hand gestures vaguely to the glass display, to you. “Like a desperate little bunny just begging to get caught.”

Your mouth opens, but the words short-circuit under the heat of his stare.

Then you move. A little too fast. Pretending to tidy something, needing to break the tension, needing air—anything honestly.

You crouch down, grabbing a container, the skirt of your dress riding up dangerously high.

You feel it before you hear it.

Sirius moves behind you—slow, steady footfalls across the floorboards. The heat of him right at your back before you can stand fully. His hand reaches out and cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him. The grip is gentle, but there’s nothing soft in the way he looks at you.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, voice dipped in honey and smoke. “I know what you’re doing. All that innocent bakery girl shit. Sweet smile, pretty apron, acting like you don’t know how you’re driving every man in this town to fucking madness.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, then down—drags lightly over your bottom lip.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

He’s close enough that you can taste the cinnamon on his breath. Close enough that if you moved just a little, your mouth would be on his.

You hate that he’s right. You hate it more that your body’s betraying you—heart hammering, thighs pressed tight, panties damp and clinging, soaked through from just the way he’s looking at you.

“Sirius…” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out like a plea.

He grins like sin itself, thumb still resting on your lip, a smear of sugar on your skin. “Say it again.”

Your breath catches, but before you can respond, he tilts his head, eyes flicking lazily down your body, the way your dress clings, how your nipples are hard through the thin fabric, how your thighs shift like you’re trying to stop yourself from rubbing them together.

“Gonna drive poor Remmy crazy, walking around like that,” he mutters, almost to himself. “All soft and soaked and ignoring the poor man.”

And something in you snaps. Maybe it’s the way he says “Remmy,” maybe it’s the condescension, maybe it’s just the filthy heat pooling between your legs—but suddenly you’re stepping forward, tilting your chin up, pressing your chest lightly against his.

Your voice is syrupy sweet, but your eyes don’t flinch.

“Well then,” you purr, “why don’t you go tell Remmy what a filthy little mess I am?”

You smile—slow and dangerous. “Tell him how I’ve been thinking about him every night since he kissed me in this bakery. How I keep fucking myself with my fingers imagining his hand on my throat and your mouth between my legs.”

He’s dead silent. Frozen. His hand tightens ever so slightly around your jaw.

You keep going, drunk on the thrill. “Bet you’d both like that, wouldn’t you? Watching me fall apart on my knees, moaning for one of you while the other ruins me.”

His breath catches audibly. And then he laughs—sharp, guttural, mean. It sounds almost like pain.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You really are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His mouth is open, lips parted like he’s ready to either spit the filthiest thing he can think of or bite.

He’s leaning in—you can see it, feel it, the lazy drag of his breath against your mouth, the way his eyes darken as they drop to your lips. His hips shift forward, almost like he’s going to pin you right up against the counter and do something about that little speech you just gave–

–You step back.

“Oops,” you chirp, sweet as poisoned honey, like you didn’t just wreck him. “Looks like you’re not the only one who wants cinnamon today, Black.”

The bell above the door jingles just as Sirius’s mouth clicks shut, his body still strung tight like he’s about to lunge.

A middle-aged woman walks in—regular customer, probably here for her usual almond croissant—and she gives you a polite smile, completely clueless that she just stepped into a goddamn storm of unspoken filthy tension and raw, aching need.

Sirius doesn’t move. In fact, he’s never hated some poor innocent old woman this much for cockblocking him. Because right now she’s the biggest motherfucking wedge between him and what he wants.

If looks could kill, she’d be six feet under by now.

He’s still standing there like he’s been punched in the stomach, watching you swish back behind the counter like nothing happened, like you didn’t just whisper the word ruin into his ear while smiling about Remus.

“Hi, Mrs. Vance,” you say sweetly, already ducking behind the counter, cheeks flushed but not from embarrassment. “Croissant and lemon loaf today?”

“Please, dear.”

You serve her like it’s any other morning, grabbing the still-warm croissant from the rack and slicing her lemon loaf with practiced ease.

Sirius doesn’t move. He stands in the center of your soft, pastel bakery like a devil dragged into a prayer circle—black leather jacket, too many rings, silver chain glinting under the lights. Watching you with hooded eyes, tongue flicking over his bottom lip, catching stray sugar.

You slide the bag across the counter, take the woman’s cash, and chirp, “Have a lovely morning!”

She’s barely out the door before Sirius mutters, “You’re good at that.”

“At what?” you say, stepping away from the register, grabbing a napkin to wipe your hands, heart still hammering behind your ribs.

He follows you with his eyes, slow and slick. “Playing innocent.”

You scoff, but your dress sways dangerously high as you reach for the tub of cinnamon glaze on the prep counter. “It’s because I am.”

Sirius snorts. “Sweetheart, you were grinding on my best friend like a bitch in heat five days ago. You wanna tell me that was innocent?”

You pause, reaching over to the counter and dipping your fingers into the glaze you had set out earlier while prepping. Slowly, deliberately, you turn to him and suck a dollop off your finger, locking eyes as you do.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love watching it,” you purr.

He starts toward you again, like he’s about to crowd you into the counter—but you’re faster this time.

You sidestep just before he touches you, tossing the glaze-stained napkin in the bin and licking the last bit from the side of your mouth, letting it linger.

“I mean, if Remus was actually fucking me that day,” you add, voice light, “you wouldn’t have had to guess.”

Sirius’s nostrils flare.

You blink up at him all innocent, tilting your head like you’ve got no clue what kind of filthy-ass tornado you just whipped up in his gut.

You’re standing there in that damn dress that’s way too short, grinning like a devil, fingers dripping with some suspiciously white, sticky glaze—hell, Sirius doesn’t even wanna know what kind of sweet, slimy shit it is, only that he really is trying not to let his perverted thoughts wonder.

Then your lips part again, this time in mock surprise, fingers pressing against your temple as if some great tragedy has just struck you.

“Shit,” you gasp dramatically, eyes wide. “I just ran out of cinnamon powder—Remus had some stored in the back of the barn.”

You say it like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t just said his name with that soft, familiar note that Sirius swears does something rotten to his chest. Like you don’t know how close he is to yanking the apron from your waist and pinning you against the prep counter.

You untie the apron with one hand, dropping it onto the hook with the same lazy grace you seem to do everything with. Like being hot was just something you were born knowing how to weaponize.

Sirius watches, helpless, as your dress hikes even higher during the motion—bare thighs, that sway of your hips, the soft dip of your waist. It's a visual kick to the teeth.

“Well,” you chirp, already walking toward the back exit, your voice syrup-sweet and oblivious. “Catch you later, Black. I’ve gotta go grab some things from Remmy.”

You say it like that, and Sirius’s jaw clenches.

He hates—hates—how the image rushes in uninvited: you in that same dress, climbing the hill toward the Lupin farm, sun on your shoulders, dirt under your heels, lips parted just a little because you’re always flushed from the heat when you get there. And Remus is probably out back, sleeves rolled up, hands dirty, hair wild.

Sirius knows how that ends. He’s seen how that ends. You in Remus’s lap, whining into his neck, grinding like you can’t help yourself, like you were made to fuck on bakery counters and wooden barn tables and motorcycle seats and wherever the hell else your pretty little body wants to be worshipped.

Sirius blinks hard.

Fuck.

He shouldn’t be thinking this.

But he is.

He doesn’t like town girls. Never has. He grew up in places where girls wore lipstick sharp enough to draw blood, where they took shots faster than you could blink, laughed with mouths wide open and eyes dark. He fucked girls in pub bathrooms with his rings still on. He liked it filthy and fast and forgettable.

But you?

You walk barefoot through the market with your basket of flour and blueberries, leave pink gloss stains on straws, tuck daisies behind your ear without even trying.

And somehow, somehow, Sirius feels more perverse imagining what you sound like when you beg than he ever has with girls who would’ve let him tie them up in a booth at The Dog & Bone bar.

He swallows.

You’re halfway out the backdoor when his voice snaps through the haze. “I’ll drive you.”

You stop and turn around, eyebrows raised like he’s grown a second head. “To the farm?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, ignoring the way his throat is dry and his jeans are suddenly too tight. “Why not?”

You glance between him and the bakery, lips quirking. “Not getting on that glorified deathtrap you call a bike, Black.”

He grins slow, stepping closer. “Come on, you don’t trust me?”

“Nope.”

“I’d never hurt you.”

You pause at the door, one hand on the frame. “You sure?”

He means it. He thinks he means it. But the way you’re looking at him now—mouth glistening with sugar, neck flushed, dress riding high like you want him to see—you’re making it impossible to remember where the line is. If there even is one.

You tilt your head slightly, like you know exactly the kind of chaos you’re causing.

His throat’s dry. Jeans tight. Every logical cell in his body tells him to knock it off—but logic doesn’t stand a chance when you’re looking at him like that.

You sigh, all mock annoyance, but there’s a flicker in your eyes that’s anything but innocent. “Fine,” you say, letting the word drag a little. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

You turn and walk out into the alley, hips swinging like a fucking metronome.

Sirius follows like he’s under a spell.

He knows he shouldn’t be thinking what he’s thinking. Not when Remus’s name is still fresh in the air. Not when you smell like vanilla and innocence and everything he’s ever sworn wasn’t his type.

The engine’s rumble echoes through the alley, low and feral, like something breathing beneath the concrete. You hesitate at the edge of the curb, the hem of your dress flaring in the breeze kicked up by the motor.

Sirius is already astride the bike, long legs planted, black boots grounded like he owns the damn earth. He pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, lights it with a flick and a hollow click, and takes a slow drag—like he’s got all the time in the goddamn world. Smoke curls from the corner of his mouth as he looks back at you over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, a grin tugging lazy and cocky at his lips.

And the problem is—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re gonna smoke and drive?”

He blows out a slow stream of smoke, eyes not leaving yours. “Sweetheart, if that makes you nervous... you really shouldn’t see how I handle the curves.”

Your breath catches—and he smirks wider, smug and dangerous, the kind of man who doesn’t just walk into trouble.

“All that attitude in the bakery,” he laughs, tilting his head, lips tugging into a smirk. “And now what? Nervous, sweet girl?”

You try to scoff, but it comes out breathier than intended. “I’m not nervous. I’m—”

He cuts you off with a laugh, slow and indulgent. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers twist at the side of your dress. “I just didn’t think you’d actually drive me.”

His grin deepens. “Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I let a pretty little thing like you go wandering off alone, would I?”

You don’t answer. You can’t, because suddenly, Sirius Black is off the bike.

He moves fast, faster than you’re ready for—two strides and he’s in front of you, hands landing firm on your waist.

Big hands, warm even through the leather, gripping like they’ve been there before in some fever dream you’ve barely dared to admit to having. And then—

“Oh—” you gasp as he lifts you like it’s nothing, like you’re made of silk and air.

Your hands flutter uselessly against his shoulders, but he’s already got you seated behind him, legs falling around either side of the seat. The leather’s warm beneath you, but not as warm as the heat starting to pool low in your stomach.

“There you go,” Sirius says, and it’s filthy, the way he says it—quiet and rough, like a man proud of what he’s just done. He steps back slightly and looks you over like you’re his work. “Pretty girl.”

The air gets knocked clean out of your lungs.

Fuck.

That means two things, your brain helpfully supplies in a scream.

One: He’s great at sex talk. Like, dangerously good. Like he’s probably the type to press his mouth to your ear and say filth until you’re begging, soaked through, clawing at him just to make—God, please—let you come.

Two: He clearly wants you.

Because no one touches someone like that unless they’re thinking about what else they could be doing with those hands. No one says “sweet girl” with that kind of revRemusce unless they’re already undressing you with their eyes. And Sirius Black? He doesn’t do sweet.

You're already pressed flush to his back as he settles in front of you again, heat rolling off him like fire. Your chest brushes his jacket, and your cheek hovers just near his shoulder. You can smell the smoke in his hair, the faint bite of leather and clove.

“You good?” he asks, glancing back just slightly, voice low.

You nod, barely.

He revs the bike and that filthy little smile is back. “Thought so.”

But just before he pulls off, he glances down at your hands, still clutching his sides, and says, “You might want to hold on tighter, baby. I don’t take it slow.”

And fuck.

You swear your thighs tense up around the seat like instinct, like survival. You want to say something back. You want to snark or flirt or bite. But you’re too busy being halfway undone by a man who hasn’t even touched you where it matters yet.

So you grip tighter.

And when the bike tears down the street, wind in your hair, engine loud in your ears, Sirius Black between your legs, the only thing you can think is: I’m going to hell for this.

The ride out of town is a blur of roaring wind and roaring thoughts. Your arms wrapped around Sirius’s waist, your cheek brushing his back, and the sheer warmth of him bleeding through the layers of leather and tension. The world is a smear of golden fields and trees flying past — but your brain? Loud.

Because fuck, the way his thighs flex when he leans into turns. The way he half-tilts his head sometimes, murmuring something under his breath like “you enjoying the ride, sweetheart?” without even needing to say it aloud.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. And you know exactly what you’re letting yourself fall into.

By the time you see the faded Lupin farm sign and the soft stretch of earth around the property, your legs are sore from gripping him and your head’s a mess.

Sirius slows as he pulls into the drive, engine purring now, low and idle, as if the damn thing knows how to tease just like its rider.

Gravel crunches beneath the tires. The house looms ahead—modest, sun-dappled, framed by apple trees—and out front, beside the barn, stands Remus Lupin.

And God help you, again.

He’s in a henley, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, chest straining just slightly at the seams. There’s a faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone from the heat, his golden-brown curls tousled, jaw clenched as he leans on the counter by the shed—talking to someone.

You squint a little, your stomach curling.

She's pretty. Like, effortlessly pretty. All soft eyes and airy sundress, laughing at something he’s just said while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Remus is nodding, polite and charming, his hands moving as he explains something about produce or jam or fuck if you care.

Because you’re suddenly, violently aware of the fact that Sirius is still between your legs and your thighs are still aching with want — and Remus Lupin, tall and golden and gentle-looking, is smiling at another woman.

And worst of all? You want him to look at you like that. Even worse than that? You want him to look at you the way Sirius has been all damn day—like he could eat you alive and never get full.

Sirius kills the engine and glances back at you. His voice is low, amused. “What’s with the stare, sweetheart? That your Remmy?”

You bristle, sliding off the bike. Your dress hikes high again as you land, and Sirius’s hand definitely lingers on your hip a second too long as he helps you down. “You’re so annoying.”

He doesn’t answer. Just lights another cigarette and leans back against the bike like he’s watching a play.

You smooth your hair, trying to ignore how Sirius is blatantly eyeing the hem of your dress, and stride forward.

You march up the Lupin farmhouse steps like you’ve done it a hundred times before, even though your heart’s thudding out a reckless, bratty rhythm that has nothing to do with familiarity and everything to do with proving a point.

Your dress clings to you in the heat, riding higher with every step, and you don’t bother fixing it. Let them fucking look.

Remus is still out there, leaning against the porch railing like sin draped in denim, the late sun pouring over him in gold, and that girl’s beside him—fingertips twirling in her hair, laugh soft and sugar-spun, like she’s never once had to try, and maybe she hasn’t. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even seem to notice, but he does.

The moment your boots crunch against the gravel, his gaze snaps to you and stays there. It drags, slow and hot, over your frame like he’s searching for something he lost and only just remembered where to find it, like you walked out of one of the dreams he pretends he doesn’t have, the ones that leave him hard and desperate and too wound up to sleep.

You toss him a vague, disinterested wave, keep your chin up, and sashay right past the two of them like you didn’t just spend the last ten minutes gripping Sirius Black’s waist and thinking about what else those hands could do.

The breeze lifts your skirt at just the right angle when you pass, and you hope he sees the sway of your ass.

Inside the farmhouse, you make a beeline for the pantry, yanking open cabinets like you own the place, lips pursed, movements loud and pointed.

You’re not even really looking for anything in particular–fuck the cinnamon powder. You’re just mad, jealous, and turned on. All of it simmering under your skin like a burn you keep poking.

You hear them come in behind you—boots on floorboards, the shift of male bodies in too-small doorways.

“You always walk into other people’s houses like this?” Remus asks, voice warm but confused, like he’s trying to balance you against the version of you in his head—the soft girl who fed the geese.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk. “If you can show up at my bakery any time you want, I can show up here.”

His brow twitches at that. Sirius lets out a low whistle from behind him.

And then, suddenly, it’s all a little too quiet.

Remus is staring at you like you’ve grown horns. His eyes flick down—slow, slow, slow—from your smirking mouth to your chest, where the sweat is gathering beneath the thin fabric of your dress, then lower, watching your thighs press together, the little rhythm you can’t stop, the ache in you practically glowing in the late afternoon light.

And you know he sees it. You want him to see it. Want him to finally understand what kind of game you’re playing.

Christ, you think, heart hammering. He’s actually looking.

You should be embarrassed. You should say something innocent and cute and bakery-girl sweet.

But you don’t.

You lean forward just slightly, pressing your hands to the old wooden countertop, swaying your hips back as you pretend to look at something on the lower shelf.

“Out of cinnamon again,” you mumble, purely for show, because you’re fully aware of the way both of them go still behind you—aware of the absolute filth that’s probably collecting in Sirius’s head and the deep, tightly-reined tension in Remus’s.

You straighten, turn with a little too much purpose, and glance between the two of them like butter wouldn’t melt on your tongue.

“You boys just gonna stand there staring or are you gonna help me find the cinnamon?”

Then you look at Remus.Your lashes flutter, your lips pout just slightly, like you’re daring him to do something about it.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn’t.

So you roll your eyes and push up from the chair with a dramatic sigh, hips swinging as you strut past them toward the pantry. “Fine, I’ll just help myself. God forbid one of you offers.”

Christ, Remus thinks, rubbing his face with a mix of exhaustion and frustration as you storm off to the pantry.

He can’t help but notice the way your short dress rides up, teasingly revealing that perfect, round ass—firm and daring him like a damn invitation.

That dress belong in the fucking trash or on a pedestal where Remus can properly thank it and worship it.

Inside the pantry, you make a show of standing on your toes, your dress riding indecently high as you pretend to reach for the top shelf. You hum to yourself—off-key, childish, annoying on purpose. You want him to hear you, you want him to snap.

Still nothing.

So you reach up higher, let your back arch, your legs press together in that spoiled, lazy way that says someone should be helping me right now.

You pout, much louder this time.

“Remmy,” you call out, all false innocence and dripping entitlement, “your shelves are stupid. Why are they so high? Honestly, it’s like this place wasn’t designed for anyone with a sense of proportion.”

There’s a pause. A shift in the air. You know what’s coming.

You just don’t know if it’ll be him or Sirius who breaks first.

Then: “Top shelf. Cinnamon’s in a jar with a blue lid,” Remus says, voice clipped.

You scoff. “I see it. I just can’t reach it.”

You spin around and lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The pose pushes your tits up, makes your dress slip a little lower on your shoulder. Deliberate. “You gonna be a gentleman and help me, or are you just gonna keep staring like a perv?”

That does it.

Remus steps into the room, slow and controlled, but there’s heat underneath—barely leashed. Sirius stays leaning in the doorway, grinning like he’s watching a play written just for him.

“You always this difficult?” Remus asks, voice low.

You tilt your head. “Only when I don’t get what I want.”

The way you say it—sweet, teasing, a little cruel—hangs in the air like smoke. And you know he hears it for what it is: a challenge.

You wander a few steps toward the shelf by the window, pretending to scan for what you came for—what was it? Cinnamon? Apricots? Something dumb. Something you don’t need, not really.

You hum under your breath and let your fingers trail carelessly along the edge of the table. “Honestly,” you add with a dramatic sigh, “I thought someone like you would be more helpful.”

You hear Sirius let out a low chuckle behind you, probably still leaning in the doorway like a smug bastard. But you don’t turn to look.

You’re watching Remus out of the corner of your eye, watching the way his jaw ticks, how his fingers curl at his sides like he’s trying—really trying—not to react.

He does that a lot, doesn’t he? Keeps his composure. Wears that patience like armor.

But today? Oh, today, you want to peel that armor off and see what’s underneath. You want to see if he can snap.

Because he deserves it, you tell yourself. You’ve been nothing but sweet—so sweet—until five days ago. And then you ignored him. Cold-shouldered him like a fucking pro.

And yeah, maybe it was petty, maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was your own twisted little game of making him sweat. But he had it coming.

And now you’re here. In his house. In that tiny little sundress. Acting like you own the place.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

Remus hasn’t moved. But you feel the shift in him. It’s in the weight of his silence, the tight line of his mouth, the way his gaze drops to your legs—your thighs, your fingers, the hem of your dress. Like he’s cataloging all the sins he’s about to commit if he stops holding back.

And god, it’s thrilling.

You let out the tiniest huff, pout just enough to be bratty. “Ugh. This is taking forever.”

You stomp—stomp—over to the pantry like some spoiled little thing, throwing the door open with more force than necessary, and bend over, hips swaying as you scan the shelves.

You know what this looks like. You want to know what this looks like. You want to see how long Remus Lupin can last before he snaps the leash.

Because what you don’t say—but feel like wildfire in your blood—is that you missed him. Stupidly. Intensely. And you’ve been wanting to get under his skin the way he’s been under yours since the first time he walked into your bakery and complimented your cinnamon scones with that slow, unreadable look in his eyes.

You turn back around, half-expecting to still find him at the door—but no. He’s stepped closer.

Close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him like sunlight after stormclouds. His mouth is tight and his eyes sharp.

This is it, you realize. This is the breaking point.

And Remus?

God, he’s unraveling.

Because five days without hearing your voice had nearly driven him mad. You hadn’t stopped by with leftovers or pies, and the farm had felt colder without your footsteps, without your voice talking to the geese like they were friends. Without the smell of sugar and sass trailing behind you.

And now you’re here. Acting like nothing happened. Acting like you didn’t wreck him by simply being gone.

And worst of all?

You showed up on Sirius’s bike.

Wrapped around his best friend.

Wearing that fucking dress.

Remus is a patient man. But he’s not a saint. And every second you pout, and whine, and rub your thighs together like you're not even trying to hide the tension coiling inside you, it digs deeper under his skin. You’re all attitude and heat and need—and he’s drowning in the storm of you.

This girl, this version of you? She’s not the one who left him cherry pies and kissed his cheek after sending her apples from the orchard. She’s not the one who fed his chickens and giggled at his horses.

No. She’s bratty. Entitled, temptation in its purest form.

And Remus Lupin would sell the whole damn farm—barn, land, livestock, house—for just one more taste of your pussy.

But you don’t know that. You don’t know what you’ve done to him.

Not until you look up, meet his eyes—and see that all his patience has turned into something dark, and hungry, and shaking with restraint.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip, teeth catching the skin just enough to make his eyes flicker down.

And then you roll your eyes, toss your hair like you’re bored. “God, if I wanted a man who just stared at me, I could’ve stayed in Sirius’s lap.”

There it is.

That sharp, awful silence, like all the oxygen just left the room. You can feel it when it hits. Like lightning in the chest.

You didn’t even mean it, not really. Just a jab, a bratty little dig. But you knew it would hurt. Knew it would burn. That was the point.

And Remus—

Remus doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t bark.

He just moves.

Your back hits the wall in the next breath. His hand is at your waist, the other at your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there, keeping you still. Not letting you pretend anymore.

And his voice is low. Ruined. “Say that again.”

You blink up at him, heart pounding, mouth gone dry. But there’s still a smirk curled at the corner of your lips.

“I said…” you hum, saccharine and infuriating, “…Sirius is a much better ride than you’ve been lately.”

That’s it.

That’s the fucking match.

Remus exhales something like a growl, and the hand at your waist slides down—gripping, digging into your thigh, dragging your leg up around his hip like he needs you anchored, needs you open. His mouth is at your ear now, hot breath grazing your skin, and his voice is no longer calm.

“You think this is a game?” he murmurs, all grit and gravel. “You think acting like a spoiled little slut is gonna get you what you want?”

You gasp, breath stuttering, your fingers clenching at the front of his shirt like you might float away otherwise.

“Five days,” he mutters, mouth brushing your jaw. “Five fucking days of silence. Of you pretending I don’t exist. Of watching you climb on Sirius’s bike like a little tease, walking around in that dress like you’re daring me to break.”

He shifts closer—grinding into you, firm, deliberate—just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make your head tip back against the wall.

“You want attention that bad, sweetheart?” he whispers, mock-gentle. “You want to act like a brat, make me jealous, throw your pretty little tantrum until someone fucks it out of you?”

You bite your lip, breathless.

“Then you should’ve just said so.”

Remus Lupin has finally snapped.

You scoff, pushing back against the counter with a defiant grin. “Yeah, you are. Got me pinned here and you’re still talking. Honestly, Remus, maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you can’t handle me after all,” you tease, wriggling as you try to stand, but his hand presses firmly into your back, holding you in place.

The heat pooling between your legs is undeniable—you feel the dampness soaking through your panties. You clench your thighs, desperate for some relief, but the way he’s got you, there’s no chance of that.

Then it hits you—this is exactly how Remus must hold people when he’s trying to keep them in line on the farm. The strong, silent type who doesn’t need to shout.

Holy hell, that’s unbelievably hot to think about. So steady, so grounded, so damn reliable. The man who fixes fences by day and somehow always knows when you need comfort at night. Remus, who probably hides his desire behind that calm facade, who might even blush if he thought about ogling you outright—but that quiet restraint only makes you want him more.

And then he’s tugging your dress up, your panties sliding down your legs until they’re bunched at your knees, exposing your bare skin.

“You really are something else, you know that?” he murmurs, fingers tracing over the smooth curve of your ass.

Then, without warning, his hand slaps down hard enough to make you flinch—if you wRemus’t already trapped beneath him. It’s sudden, sharp, and damn intoxicating.

You’ve fantasized about Remus spanking you before, hell, you’ve been practically begging for it with all the stubborn, bratty shit you’ve been throwing his way these past few days.

“You act like you’ve got it all figured out—switching between this innocent girl act and that spoiled little brat whenever you think it’ll get me to look your way. I’m not dumb, you know. I see right through it. Just let you think you’re running the show, ‘cause honestly? It’s adorable how much you want to be in control,” Remus’s voice drops low, rough and teasing, as his hand comes down again and again, each smack burning with the promise of more.

You whimper—half indignation, half need—and Remus lets out a low laugh.

“Oh, now she gets quiet, c’mon sugar, don’t act shy now- let him hear you.”

There’s a creak behind you, floorboards shifting with the unmistakable weight of someone else stepping in.

You glance up through your lashes and catch Sirius, still lounging in the doorway, but now his grin has faltered—just slightly. His eyes drag over the scene with lazy hunger, like a man who’s seen this storm brewing and is finally watching it break.

Remus leans down, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Since you’ve been acting like such a spoiled little thing… maybe it’s time dear old Sirius gets a turn. What do you think, sweetheart?”

Your breath catches.

Sirius hums thoughtfully, pushing off the doorframe as if he’s just decided this is worth getting involved in. “You know, I was gonna be a gentleman about all this.” He saunters forward, boots thudding against the old farmhouse wood. “But you make it real hard when you’re like this.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parted, spine still arched from Remus’s hand. Sirius’s gaze flicks down, then back up with a smirk. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing when you’re being taught a lesson.”

You shiver.

Sirius’s hand closes around yours. “Come on, pretty girl. Let’s get you somewhere softer.”

They lead you through the quiet farmhouse, your feet brushing the old wooden floorboards, the air thick with heat and something unspoken. Remus’s room is tucked in the back—cooler, quieter.

The door creaks open, and you swear your pulse is loud enough to hear.

Sirius nudges you toward the bed with a wicked smile. “Let’s see if that bratty little attitude holds up when you're actually being taken care of.”

And gods, you're not sure whether you're burning from the anticipation or from the fact that—for once—you’ve got both their full attention.

Sirius drops you hard onto the bed before standing upright again, he and Remus standing side by side, smirking like they own you. The raw, dominant energy radiating off them makes your skin prickle with want and delicious fear.

“Isn’t she fucking gorgeous, Sirius? I can’t wait to break her in,” Remus murmurs, his voice low and rough. Your breath hitches, eyes wide and burning with heat as you try to steady yourself, pressing your thighs together, cheeks flushing red-hot.

You want to crawl away, but you know better. You’re their plaything tonight. Their little spoiled brat who’s been testing boundaries and pushing limits.

“Don’t get shy now, baby. You’ve been teasing us all day long, making us wait,” Remus leans over you, lips close enough to brush your ear. His voice is a wicked promise.

“You’re gonna take every inch of what we give you, and by the end, you’ll be begging for more.”

Sirius growls low, his hands sliding under the hem of your dress, pulling it up over your hips.

You sit up just enough for him to strip the damn thing right off you, leaving you naked in nothing but white lace.

You feel so exposed, so damn delicious, and they’re drinking it all in—the way your skin gleams, your chest rises and falls, the way your pussy clenches uncontrollably just from their hungry gazes.

They toss their clothes off without a care—boxers only now—revealing bodies carved like sculptures, muscle and strength you ache to touch and worship.

Sirius climbs back onto the bed, back resting against the headboard, and without hesitation, he grabs under your arms, hauling you up until your back presses hard against his chest. His arms are strong and possessive, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You’re straddling his lap, trembling with anticipation.

His calloused hands grip your thighs, prying them apart, and suddenly Remus is there too, lowering himself between your legs. His pretty brown eyes lock onto yours, dripping with want. Your breath catches. You’re drowning in the heat between them, your pussy slick and throbbing just at the thought of what’s coming next.

You want to scream, to beg, to lose yourself in the way they claim you like their most prized possession. Your body aches for them—every touch, every look setting your nerves on fire. This is exactly where you belong. Between them, broken and begging.

Remus kisses along your thighs, the warmth of his exhales teasing you, purposely skipping over your dripping cunt. You groan, bucking you hips toward his face, only to be held back by Sirius's firm grip on your hips.

“Ah-ah, sugar,” Sirius murmurs against your ear, voice low and teasing. “That ain’t how good girls behave, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches, both from his grip and the heat pooling low in your belly. You whine softly, already desperate, and Sirius chuckles, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach.

“Tell him what you want,” he murmurs. “Use that mouth you’ve been running all day, come on, baby”

“Please, Remus,” you whisper, your voice a breathy mess. “Please touch me. I need—”

“More than that,” Sirius coaxes, brushing his lips over your shoulder. “You were such a brat earlier. You think we’re just gonna give in without hearing you beg a little?”

Your cheeks burn, not from embarrassment, but from how much you want to be seen, undone, wanted.

Remus looks up at you with those amber eyes, gaze dark and hungry, but still so tender.

"Tell me what you need, love," Remus murmurs, dragging his nose lightly along your thigh, just shy of your aching heat. "Use that pretty voice."

“P-please,” you gasp. “I need your mouth—I’ve been so good, Remmy, I swear—”

“You think that was good behavior?” Sirius laughs softly against your neck, teeth grazing the skin there.

“You’ve been brattier than ever. Back-talking, strutting around town in that little dress. You’ve been begging for this.”

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment and arousal, your thighs trembling in Remus’s grip. His thumbs stroke you open gently, deliberately slow.

“She’s soaked,” he says, almost to himself, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. “All worked up from nothing but a little teasing, such a slut.”

Sirius presses a kiss to your temple. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Our pretty little plaything. You want to be ruined, don’t you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers fisting in the sheets, aching for more—anything. Remus leans in, finally, finally letting his breath ghost over the place you crave him most.

“You’ll take everything we give you,” he says, voice low and revRemust. “And thank us when you’re done.”

Remus's tongue delicately dancing up and down you slit before taking your swollen, needy clit into his soft lips, sucking hungrily.

You tangle your fingers in his tresses, pulling gently. Remus groans into your cunt, the vibrations bringing you even closer to the edge.

"You sound so fu-fucking good 'fa me, sweetheart," Remu stutters out, trying to speak and eat at the same time.

"You k-know it's rude to talk with your mouth full, right ahh.. right, Remmy?", you try to retort. Sirius's chest vibrates against your back with a chuckle.

His mouth hangs open, the gushing wetness of your pussy and the sounds you're making in response to his best friend devouring you fills the room. It's almost unbearable for Sirius to resist pushing Remus away and taking you all for himself.

"She's a sweet one, isn't she, moony?" Sirius raises an eyebrow at his friend, who peers up from between your legs and nods in response.

"Mhmm, she tastes so fucking good," Remus murmurs against you in response, his tongue still thrashing against you.

Remus teases one finger against your hole before plunging it deep inside you. Pumping in and out rhythmically, he finds your g-spot with ease.

He massages into you with the rough pads of his long, slender fingers. His lips latch around your swollen bundle of nerves, sucking greedily. You feel the coils tightening in your stomach, arching your back away from Sirius.

"I...ahh f-fuck..I'm s-so close, Remus," you cry out, trying to close your legs around his face. Sirius pries your legs apart and holds them open.

"Let go, baby. C'mon, be a good little slut...cum for him. Show him how good he's making you feel," Sirius whispers in your ear.

Remus pumps his fingers deeper into you, sucking even harder on your clit. The tightness in your tummy finally snaps, eyes rolling back in your head, a small yelp leaving your lips.

You feel yourself spray your release all over Remus's face. His eyes widen in surprise before he laps up everything you give him, relishing in the way your sweet juices coat his tongue.

You're shaking as he cleans you up with his tongue, riding the fine line between pleasure and overstimulation.

"Mmmm, you saw that Sirius?" asks Remus, "We found ourselves a squirter". Remus's tongue continues to lap you up. Sirius's eyes darken at that.

He pulls his digit out of your dripping pussy, presenting it to Sirius so he can taste you, too.

Sirius can't take it anymore. He's been rock hard against your back this whole time, fighting every carnal urge that's raking through his body.

When he finally gets a taste of you, the restraint he had been so desperately clinging to snaps.

He sucks you off Remus's fingers hungrily, eyes rolling back in his head at your sweetness.

Remus scoots back as Sirius pushes you onto your stomach, your chest against the mattress and hips in the air, his head dipping to meet your cunt.

He drinks up what Remus so generously left behind for him before straightening up again, sliding his boxers off. He positions himself behind you, teasing your clit with the head of his thick cock.

You groan at the sensation, the aftermath of your first orgasm still making your clit sensitive. You push yourself back against Sirius, only to be stopped by his hands taking a hold of your hips.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart", he says, still teasing your clit with the head of his cock.

"I want you inside me...need to feel you stretch me out...please, Sirius," you beg, trying to push back against him again. Sirius chuckles at this.

"Dirty slut is learning fast isn't she? Being such a good fuck toy for us."

With that, he lines himself up with your dripping hole, and plunges deep into you, giving you no time to adjust to how thick he is as he drives himself deep into you. Your slickness from your orgasm is the only thing saving you from his thickness.

Remus leans down to kiss you, pulling his boxers off and discarding them. His long cock bounces out and sits rock hard in front of your face. You lick your lips at the sight of his pretty pink head dripping pre-cum, eyes half open, head bouncing from getting fucked into from behind.

"So fucking wet for me, sweetheart. You're taking me so well. Such a good little slut," Sirius gritted his teeth.

"C-can I please...oh-h fu-fuck...can I please suck you off, Remmy? W-want you to come down my throat," you stumble over your words, trying hard to keep your head upright as Sirius continues to drill into you, ramming directly into your sweet spot, his cock stretching you out so painfully, so perfectly.

Remus moans at your question. Because fuck were you such a sight for his poor sore eyes.

"Thought you'd never ask..go ahead, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth." His hand cups the underside of your jaw, keeping your head up for you.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue for Remus, inviting him in. His hands tangle in your hair, wasting no time before plunging deep into your throat.

You gag around his length, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion.

Sirius is fucking into you so deeply, his powerful thrust pushing you deeper onto Remus's length.

Gagging and sputtering, you inhale deeply through your nose, adjusting to the pace before opening your throat for Remus.

"Jesus Christ, what a pretty pussy, she's fucking milking me," Sirius spits out, his unrelenting hips still plowing into you.

You can only moan in response, the vibrations running from the back of your throat into Remus's member, causing him to buck his hip, shoving his cock all the way down your throat.

"Such a pretty mouth..wrapped so tight around me..it's-it's so warm..o-oh fuck," Remus rambles, one hand on the back of your head, the other under your chin, holding your mouth open for him.

Your stomach begins to tighten up again, and you desperately clench around Sirius. One of his hands leaves your hips and reaches around to start rubbing vicious circles into your clit.

The added stimulation pushes you over the edge, and you cry out around Remus's cock, tears trickling down your face as your second orgasm rakes through you.

The sight of you succumbing to Sirius's relentless strokes while choking and moaning around his cock was enough to push Remus towards his own release, and he bottoms out in the back of your throat before shooting his come into your mouth.

His hips sputter and he hunches over, holding your face against his pelvis. Your eyes are rolled back in your head, your own squirting orgasm making it difficult for you to keep upright.

Remus pulls out of your mouth with a pop, your aching jaw still agape from Sirius continuing to slam into you, chasing his own orgasm. Your chest falls to the bed, unable to keep yourself up anymore, before you're lifted back up by Remus.

"Stay with me, pretty girl,," Remus coos.

"You're doing so good...let him keep fucking into you. You're taking his cock so well".

Sirius's head falls back, still pounding his hips roughly against your ass.

"I'm gonna fill you up, baby," Sirius pants. You turn your head to protest, but before you can utter a word, Remus's hand covers your mouth.

"Shut up and take my cum, slut. Be a good fuck toy and let me fill you." Sirius says through gritted teeth.

You moan against Remus's hand in response as you feel Sirius release inside of you, his hot, creamy ropes coating your insides.

He thrusts a few more times, letting your tight cunt milk every last drop out of him. When he pulls out, you feel your foundation waiver and you collapse onto the bed, your head falling into Remus's lap.

"You did so, so good for us, princess, lemme have a turn now, yeah?" Remus says, you head resting against his thigh, trying to regain your composure. You can only hum quietly in response, eyes fluttering.

Remus manhandles you and flips you around so that your face is in the mattress and your ass is perked up. He roughly spreads your cheeks apart and slips into your cunt with ease. You moaned out at the feeling of being overstimulated and fucked twice in a row.

“Fucking love this pussy,” He whined in your ear, the desperation nearly sending you over the edge, “Can’t fucking wait to feel you cum ‘round my cock. Do it better than anyone else.”

Remus’s nimble fingers slipped between your legs as kept up his brutal pace, his middle finger rubbing quick circles onto your sensitive, throbbing clit as he angled his hips to hit your G-spot so deliciously you were seeing stars.

The way his cock repeatedly slammed against that sweet spot deep inside you that had you creaming and crying out his name like you wanted someone to hear, and had you fucked utterly dumb.

“‘M close, Remmy — ‘m there!”

“Yeah, give it to me, baby. Let Remmy feel you cum on his cock — yeaaaah, such a good girl.” He coaxed, fingers speeding up ever so slightly and increasing pressure as your eyes rolled back, the coil in your stomach on the brink of snapping as Remus smirked against your neck, pressing open-mouthed hot kisses to your warm skin.

“That’s my girl.”

The phrase that once sent shivers down your spine in shame, was now pushing you over the edge to squirt on his cock.

You cried out in ecstasy as Remus bucked his hips harder into you, his cock driving deeper as you came harder than before, your juices coating this thighs.

“S-shit, baby, you squirtin’ again? Fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight.” He huffed, grinding his teeth together as you milked his cock, feeling his own orgasm approaching as you writhed on top of him.

“Rem!” You whined, feeling suddenly overstimulated as he continued to ram his hot length into your fluttering walls, your eyes squeezing shut as you gripped his tense forearm.

“Sshh, baby, I’m there, God, ‘M fuckin’ cummin’,” He warned, his face tensing as his mouth fell agape as you clamped down on him once more, “Fuuuck, yeah, that’s it, yeah, take it, take it, take it—!”

Remus was extremely vocal as he let out a low groan, almost growling as he pumped his sticky load deep inside your willing cunt — pushing his cum so deep it squelched out the side of his cock and onto his already soaked thighs.

You whined deeply from your chest as you felt Remus fuck his cum deeper into you, wanting to make sure you took every drop.

“Shiiiit, sweetheart.” Remus laughed as he lifted you off his softening cock with a hiss, “‘Made a fuckin’ mess.”

You looked over to the side to see Sirius heavily panting as he jerked off to the sight of Remus fucking hard into you.

Gosh, it was so obscene, the way he was sweating and practically whimpering as he stared at Remus. These two really needed to fuck each other.

The two men look at each other before looking back down at your fucked out body. Remus rubs your upper back gently as Sirius massages your shaking thighs.

You all sat like that for a moment, relishing in the pleasure still coursing through your veins, the hot smell of sex sitting heavy in the room.

Suddenly, Sirius's deep, sultry voice cuts through the silence. "Don't quit on us now, sugar. We're just getting started," he taunts.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Remus is moving again. He presses a kiss to your temple—soft, deceptive—then pulls back with a look that’s pure wicked.

“You think that was punishment, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice gravel and heat. “That was nothing but a warm-up.”

Your pulse jumps. That was a warm-up?

Remus crosses the room, opens an old cabinet, and pulls out a length of coarse rope—thick, strong, stained from years of real use. He tests the weight of it in his hands, like a farmer selecting the perfect tool.

Sirius lets out a low whistle. “Told you she was overdue for a real lesson,” he drawls, already shifting behind you. His arms slide around your waist, holding you steady as your body threatens to tremble apart.

“Hold her,” Remus orders, and Sirius grins against your neck.

“With pleasure.”

You don't even resist when Sirius gathers your wrists behind your back, firm but careful, while Remus climbs onto the bed with predator grace.

“We’re gonna tie you open and fuck you in both holes, how about that, baby?” Remus says, voice husky and low as he begins looping the rope around your thighs, spreading you just enough to make your cunt on full display for both men, practically gushing out with their cum.

“Gonna keep you right here, pretty and helpless. Just how you act when you’re trying to get your way.”

Sirius smirks. “No running, no hiding, no bratty little tantrums.”

Remus knots the last tie, then leans down, forehead nearly brushing yours. His voice is a dark, filthy promise against your lips:

“You wanted our attention, baby? You’ve got it. And now—you’re not going anywhere.”

Remus’s smirk deepens, fingers trailing slowly up the inside of your thigh like a warning and a threat all at once.

Sirius leans back, grinning like the devil, his hands still firm on your waist as he murmurs low:

“Buckle the fuck up, sugar—’cause you’re in for one hell of a ride.”

taglist: @lou-diaries @yuptha-tsme @lovelyygirl8

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dem-obscure-imagines · 2 months ago

Text

Midnight Rain

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: We are so back babey.

Warnings: Allusions to Bob’s past as a drug user (light withdrawal symptoms). Otherwise, just fluff.

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader Is: A healer. Gender-neutral, I believe.

It was pouring outside. Rain trickled down the windows of the tower you now called home. It was…interesting living there. By the time you joined the team, the original team, they were all broken up already, so you’d never gotten the pleasure. Sam had found you around the time he found Scott. You were a healer.

Healer was a loose term, actually. You had healing powers, yes, could use energy to patch nearly any wound, but you had soothing powers, too. Like a living heating pad. That was why Sam found you. To calm the Winter Soldier when he’d been set off, just in case he and Steve needed one last ace in their back pocket.

It was why Bucky had called you now. And why you were sitting in the Tower where you now lived, watching the midnight rain, nursing a mug of Chamomile.

You could feel him walking down the hallway before you heard or saw him. It had only been a week since the Void Incident. You’d been in the Tower for a grand total of three days. You had only seen him in passing, as he’d been keeping mostly to himself. For obvious reasons.

Bob Reynolds aka Sentry aka the Void.

He stood in the doorway in a pair of pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, trembling. You scanned over him like a doctor, noting his symptoms, but it was clear from the very start, based on the file you’d been given. He was in withdrawal. Apparently the super-soldier cocktail they’d given him hadn’t fixed everything.

“Um h-hi. I’m Bob.” He waved, hand swallowed up by his sleeve, messy brown curls falling in his face.

You smiled warmly. “Hi, Bob. I’m (Y/N).”

“I knew that. I, uh…Yelena said you’d be in here. Bucky said to find you if I ever felt…uh…like this, I guess.” He motioned down to his trembling form. “But if you’re busy, I…”

“I’m not busy. What’s going on?”

“Just cold. Really cold. I…can’t sleep. Can’t stop shaking.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Did they tell you how my powers work?”

He nodded, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves.

“Do you want me to come to your room with you? Or we can do it out here?”

“Here is fine. I don’t think the others would ever let me live it down if I took you to my room…”

“John’s an asshole, but he’s getting better. I’m sure they’d understand if you want the privacy.”

He shook his head. “Here is fine.”

You adjusted the pillows in the crook of the large gray sectional couch, grabbing the thick blanket you’d crocheted back in college from the back of it. Bob hovered at the armrest, waiting for instruction.

“So, when I’d calm Bucky, and heal his headaches and stuff, I would stand behind him and just kinda…touch his head. Scalp massage, that kinda thing. But you’ve got other stuff going on, huh?”

“Muscle aches.” Bob added. “And the tremors and stuff…”

“I don’t bite.” You promised, in an attempt to relieve the tension.

He gave a tentative little smile at that, taking a step closer. “So I just…get on top of you? Well, not like that. I just meant…”

“We’re gonna cuddle, Bob. Simple as that. Come here.”

It didn’t take more convincing. He swung a leg over awkwardly, arms settling in unsure positions on either side of you, face ever so close to yours, deep blue eyes counting the pores on your cheeks. He was shaking, heart hammering against your chest. You tangled one hand in his hair, the other tugging the thick blanket down over the two of you before finding a steady rhythm on his back.

A deep breath in. When you breathed out, you began to emit your healing energy, glowing faintly, your whole body warm like a heating pad.

Immediately, his body went slack and heavy atop yours, head heavy on your shoulder, a slow breath drawn out from his open lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the shaking stopped, and for the first time in a long time, there was no pain, just peace.

“You still with me, big guy?” You asked, unsure if he was still conscious or not.

“Mmmmm…”

“Feel better?”

He nodded, but it took him a while to find his words. “Yeah. Y-yes. Thank you. Feels…really good.”

“No problem.”

“I haven’t slept in days.” He confessed quietly. “I knew eventually I’d need to…come find you, but…you just got here and I didn’t want to crowd you. Or make you think that this was all they called you here for or…?”

“Oh I’m fully aware of that, Bob. That’s okay. It’s my power. Sam found me to help Bucky, back when he was weaning off of his mental conditioning. And whatever it is you’re going through, I’m going to help you, too. It’ll get easier eventually. Not right away, but…”

He nodded. “I know. I kind of…thought the serum they gave me would, uh…speedrun that process. I don’t think it did. Might have made it worse, really. My body is expecting another hit. Patterns and all that…”

“Mmm.” You toyed with his curls, gently petting his head in a way that was habit for sessions like these. Not that you did them often. Special occasions only. You studied the way his hair caught in your light, the patterns that struck the ceiling through the stitches in the blanket. Like a disco ball.

“How long can you…glow like this for?”

“At this frequency? All night. This kind of energy I can literally put out in my sleep. It’s why I don’t get invited to sleepovers.”

He laughed at that. “Would you? Tonight?”

You nodded. “Get some rest, buddy. You need it.”

“’M not crushing you?” He adjusted a little. As much as he could with your energy kneading his muscles into Jell-O.

You chuckled, shaking your head. He was a little heavy, but he wasn’t doing any serious damage. “No, this is fine.”

He was quiet for a long moment. So long, you wondered if he really had drifted off. But then he asked, “How long are you staying?”

“Probably a while. Since the big breakup, I’ve just kind of been…wandering. Trying to pick up the pieces. It’d be nice to have something stable. You?”

“Forever, I think.” Bob replied, sounding fairly sure of it. “I mean, as long as they’ll have me, I guess. I’m not much use without…the other guy around, but…I can do the dishes.”

“Trust me, in a place like this, someone has to do the dishes. They’d appreciate it.”

Another long patch of silence stretched. You anticipated a snore. Instead, you could almost feel him spiraling.

“You’re not scared? Of me? Did they tell you who I am?”

“If I was scared of you, you would not be on top of me right now.” You said with a chuckle. “I wasn’t afraid of the Winter Soldier or the Hulk. I’m not afraid of you. But yes. I know who you are. I’m not worried about the other guy. My only concern is Bob. And making sure Bob gets sleep.”

“Okay.” He exhaled a sigh. “Thank you. For this. I, uh…I owe you one.”

You felt his eyes on you for a long moment before his eyelids started to get heavy. His anxiety and the adrenaline that came with it weren’t strong enough to overpower you for long. But even so, his gaze was soft, curious, until the very moment it was gone.

Rain continued to pour on Manhattan, the wind blowing the droplets onto the glass every so often. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. You wondered if Thor was out there somewhere still, causing it. And in your arms was a new breed of supersoldier, his body heavy with sleep, slow, deep breaths entering and leaving his lungs for the first time in what you knew was forever.

You were sure when he woke up the next morning, you’d figure all of this out. A routine for healing sessions until his symptoms stopped and whatnot. You’d get him a sleep mask so you weren’t glowing right in his eyes. Of course, right now, that wasn’t a problem, since he was so sleep deprived you could have knocked him out standing up. But it would be nice for him to have, nonetheless. All of these factors were familiar to you; you’d get them worked out.

But it might take longer, however, for you to figure out the new warmth that was swirling around your heart.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #sentry #marvel #avengers #the new avengers #the thunderbolts #the thunderbolts imagine #bob reynolds imagine

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ithebookhoarder · 1 year ago

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Hello hi ! 🤗

Can you do a "bau reacts" when they are undercover in public and about to be found out so the reader just starts making out with them to pretend they are just a couple?

(BAU Headcanons) Making out Undercover

A/N: Mwahaha. Oh, this is a good prompt. Thanks for making me daydream all afternoon. Enjoy my lovelies 😉 Also, as a note, I'm writing the main BAU where I'm at watching it (season 13) plus Luke as he was requested previously 💕

Warnings: Mentions of threat, mentions of weapons, alcohol references, sexual references, implied cases / unsubs. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

We know Aaron doesn’t go undercover for most cases, so this would have to be a big case to get him into the field.

This man would be in shock. Let’s be real. He would freeze in place and try to argue for a split second until he realises what you’re trying to do and why - even if you were already together.

As soon as they’re gone though, you’d glance up and see his usual steely glare that tells you you’re in for a scolding once this is over.

However, you’d have to be blind to miss the way he lingers for a moment, holding you close for half a second longer than necessary.

“I feel I should remind you that we are in the field, and whilst it may have worked, I can’t endorse it as a tactic in future. Understood?”

“So I’m hearing that we’re leaving this off of our case report then?”

“Agreed. I don’t need to give Strauss anything else to use to go after us and the team.”

He would roll his eyes and take off after the Unsub, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he smirks as he goes.

David Rossi

He’d be a little embarrassed but mostly quite smug about the whole thing, even if you were supposed to be undercover.

“Well, I can safely say in all my years in this field I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.”

He’d also refuse to let you apologise for your actions afterwards either.

One, because he’s kind of flattered.

Two, because he’s been around the block a few times and knows that sometimes you have to do what it takes to solve a case or protect yourselves.

Three, you were supposed to be a couple and kissing is what couples do. He’s only sour because if anything he would have liked to be the one who kissed you.

“Relax about it, would you? I won’t tell you some of the things Gideon and I had to do back in the old days. That was before all this new paperwork and guidelines, so that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

You make a point of remembering to ask him about that at your next night off over drinks.

Derek Morgan

Derek is always up for anything so I feel like he’d be pretty relaxed about being undercover with you, even if you weren't together romantically. He has no issue playing your pretend boyfriend for one night, and is quick to wrap his arm around you.

Which is why it would be such a surprise to him when it’s you who initiated the kiss.

Derek would freeze for like a second, but only out of shock. However, you know he wouldn’t fight you on it.

The second his brain catches up to his body he would be kissing you back, doing everything in his power to match your energy and sell this kiss.

If anything, you’re going to have to be the one to break away once the coast is clear and remind him you’re still technically in the field and that your team is probably wondering where the hell you are right now - and why you stopped responding to your comms.

“I’m just saying, if we get to do that then we need to be partnered up more often.”

“Yeah yeah, Morgan. Let’s just hope Penelope didn’t see that else we’ll never be hearing the end of it.”

Emily Prentiss

She’s been undercover plenty of times in her life and spent a whole chunk of time actually fake-married to Doyle for an op, so she’d be the most comfortable and understanding if you grabbed her for a kiss - especially if you were meant to be a fake couple.

She’d work it out pretty quickly and would respond in kind, pressing herself against you and running her hands all over you.

“Quick thinking with the kiss,” she’d whisper as she brushed a kiss against your neck.

She’d also know exactly where the Unsub is afterwards too, having kept watch in her peripheral vision.

She wouldn’t even have to break eye contact with you before she informed you, “3 o’clock. He just left out the fire exit.”

With that, she’d be off.

She also probably wouldn’t even bring it up again until you’re both back on the jet. Then she’d be smirking at you across the top of her drink and chuckling to herself.

“Normally I’d insist dinner first but given that we caught that bastard I think we’re even.”

JJ knows about going undercover and it takes a lot to rattle her. She would probably go along with the action, even if she’d stay kind of stiff for a good minute or so.

However, she’s a good agent and knows about maintaining a cover so quickly catches on when you pull her in.

She’d return the kiss, shooting glances out the corner of her eye when she thinks it might be safe to check on their target. If it doesn’t look like they’re buying it, she’ll turn things up a notch and spin you around so that she could take control.

“My gun is under my jacket. Reach for it slowly if he comes any closer,” she’d warn, but thankfully you don’t need it. Eventually they leave, distracted by something else, leaving you and JJ to recover.

After catching your breath, you both take off in the direction your target just left in. You can tell JJ is trying not to laugh about what just happened, choosing to make it funny rather than uncomfortable if you weren't together romantically.

Which means you know she’d enjoy teasing you about it in front of the others, making your cheeks burn as she announces on the jet: “For the record, even though it was a ‘cover kiss’ it was pretty good. Just saying. Maybe you should give Morgan some tips. That way he might get a girl to call him back after a first date.”

Luke Alvez

It doesn’t matter if he’s ex-army or whatever. Undercover is not really Luke’s thing and even then, he is more used to infiltrating gangs than playing house.

Basically, he would be surprised by your actions, despite being undercover together. Like, I can see his eyebrows hitting his hairline so fast, bless him. He’d look like a deer in headlights.

“Woah, sweetheart, slow your roll-“

“- Luke. Shut up and kiss me. Now.”

“I - ok.”

Just like that, he’d take control, turning and pressing you against the nearest wall in an attempt to shield you from whoever was watching. He’d also be such a gentleman about it if you weren't already together romantically, keeping his hands on your waist and pulling away the minute he’s sure the danger has passed.

Even then, he’d wait a minute before letting the two of you move from your position, just in case they come back. He’s your partner and he’s returning the favour for you keeping him safe, even if in an unsuspected manner.

“You good?”

“Luke. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I was the one who planted myself on you.”

“Potato, po-tah-to. Are they still over there?”

“No. They just left out the back.”

“Then let’s go, partner. Let’s catch this freak.”

Penelope Garcia

If Penelope is in the field then you know she is already hella nervous and out of her element. It doesn’t matter if there was a reason she was needed for this particular assignment, she would just take that as added pressure not to let everyone down.

Which is why I’m sure you’d feel worse about planting one on her - even if it does also help distract her from worrying for a minute.

All I can imagine is her giving her trademark squeal of confusion and surprise, even if you gave her a hasty warning - and apology - about what you were going to do.

She’d be stunned at what was happening and probably takes a minute to realise she should probably try and kiss you back, or at least look less visibly startled about it.

“I feel I should point out how unfair it is that this is permitted as ‘suitable workplace behaviour’ as we’re undercover, yet my flirtatious texts with Agent Morgan are not? I will be writing a strongly worded email when we get back, telling HR they can go shove their-”

“Pen? Hey, focus here. Unsub still watching us.”

“Oh, right. Sorry! Ahem… as you were?”

Also, you know that like a day or so later, once it’s all over, she sends you an email informing you that your new username on the BAU system is now ‘smoochykins’ and she will not change it until it becomes not-funny for her… which will probably be never. After all, Morgan has been ‘Chocolate Thunder’ for the last two years and is still going strong.

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer has been undercover before and is usually quite calm about it, even if it is faking a date or maintaining a story. Still, despite having to do your jobs, you’d hate to make him uncomfortable, knowing how he feels about any kind of physical contact - especially if you're not together.

As he says, with the amount of bacteria shared by shaking hands you’d be safer kissing … guess it was time to take it literally.

He’d be blushing like a tomato as you grab his jacket lapels and pull him close. And honestly? it’s kind of adorable. As is the way he tries to kiss you back, even if he still takes a minute to remember how to even move his body.

I’m just picturing the Lila kiss in season one and how he eased into that and how stunned / embarrassed he seemed afterwards. He would pretty much be like that, but with a fake smile on his face as he rambled in your ear.

“What was that?”

“I was covering our asses. We’re undercover, remember? We’re supposed to be a couple and couples kiss. Also, I’d thought you know, genius, that kissing and displays of public affection make people extremely uncomfortable.”

“No kidding… Morgan can never find out about this.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. You got a deal, pretty boy. This is between us.”

Masterlist

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dance-is-life27 · 3 months ago

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Drive

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: After you find yourself not able to sleep, you take Joaquin out for a late night drive.

Warnings: Gender Neutral Reader, fluff, friends to lovers, flirting, first kiss, driving at night, not beta read

A/N: I need everyone to thank Halsey because the song Drive really inspired both of my most recent fics for some reason.

Reblogs are more appreciated than likes!

You know that it’s late when you call, that the last thing that you should be doing right now is interrupting Joaquin’s sleep but your brain has been going a thousand miles a minute since the sun set and you're desperate to do anything to get it to shut up for once.

And still, Joaquin answers anyway.

“Hey, everything okay?” He asks you, his voice deeper than usual as sleep mixes over the concern for you calling so late at night. The fact that he answered at all makes your heart flutter.

“Wanna go for a drive?” You ask instead of replying, the silence that stretches over the call makes you wonder briefly if he’s fallen back asleep but it’s then that you hear movement on the other side of the line.

Joaquin clears his throat, “Give me ten minutes.”

“I’m giving you five, Falcon.”

Joaquin comes out true to his word, or yours you guess, five minutes later in a hoodie, a pair of shorts, and some old converse. You can’t help but laugh when he picks up speed to get to your car, probably to escape the biting wind that you know is howling right outside. It doesn’t take long before Joaquin is sliding into your passenger seat, looking tired but nonetheless happy to see you.

“Hey,” Joaquin grins at you before his brows furrow, “what’s going on? Are you okay?” Joaquin’s eyes drift down your body, probably trying to check for any physical injuries on you but you wave him off with your hand before reaching for the radio. Turning up the volume you let the music from the station fill the silence before you take off.

You drive around city streets, taking both new and familiar turns alike, letting only your gut lead you to where you want to go next. It’s surprisingly blissful being out this late, not that many cars on the road and any tension that you might normally hold within you during the day is completely gone. As expected, it doesn’t take long for Joaquin to start talking again about anything and everything, you turn the music down and try to keep up with the conversation when you can but mostly you’re just focused on keeping your eyes on the road. And it helps that Joaquin doesn’t seem to mind either, happy to talk and to let his words be the perfect distraction for you.

It’s easy to admit that this is exactly what you were wanting when you pulled up outside of Joaquin’s house, debating if you should call him or not.

You don’t know how long it is that you drive for, or where you’ve ended up, only that at some point you’ve yawned one too many times and that your eyes have started to feel heavy. That’s your cue to get you to pull into the nearest empty parking lot. You finally relax as you put your car in park, letting your eyes shut as you lean your head back against the headrest.

A few moments pass before you realize that Joaquin has stopped speaking entirely and you crack open an eye to look at him.

“What’s on your mind, Torres?”

Joaquin tilts his head, “What’s on yours?” he questions, an added gentleness to it that makes you feel comforted. Safe, in a way that only Joaquin has the power to do.

You shrug, before you finally force yourself to answer, “Everything, I guess. Couldn’t sleep, decided I wanted to go for a drive, then decided that I wanted some company and called you.”

“Oh.”

You laugh despite yourself, “Yeah, oh.”

Silence stretches on in the closed space of your car. When you do find it in you to open your eyes again you're greeted by the dazzling sights of the city you’re in. A sight that you find yourself taking for granted more often than not these days. You look around at empty buildings lit up by neon lights, a sight that replaces the glow of the stars in the night sky. You’ll never get over just how mesmerizing the world around you becomes when you just stop to look and admire it for once.

You turn your head to face Joaquin, maybe to ask him a stupid question but the words die on your tongue when you find him already looking at you.

“What are you doing?” You eventually ask as you stare at Joaquin, taking in how the glow from a business sign near by highlights his face in a gorgeous wash of blue and purple.

“Enjoying the view,” Joaquin replies before he smiles at you and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. “Oh, c’mon that was a good line!” Joaquin tries to defend but even he doesn’t stop the few chuckles that leave him either.

“It was cheesy.”

Joaquin clicks his tongue before he leans over the center console, gently invading your personal bubble, “A good cheesy?” Joaquin inquires, his eyebrows going up as a smirk stretches wide on his face. You just barely repress the urge to roll your eyes.

“I don’t think there is such a thing.” You reply, leaning into Joaquin as you do so.

Joaquin hums, the low sound feels like it echoes in the space between you two, “Maybe you think too much.”

You shrug, “Maybe I do,” Joaquin’s eyes shine in the night, the look of lights and love reflect in the all consuming warmth of brown, “You got a good solution for me?”

Joaquin nods only once, the movement so minuscule that you barely notice it before he leans in. “I’ve got a few ideas.” He whispers, his breath hot against your lips as the gap between you both finally closes. You sigh into the kiss, a warmth settling over you as you and Joaquin explore each other like this for the first time. It’s gentle and soft and intense all at the same time, a mix that leaves you dizzy and your hands come up to cradle Joaquin’s face in an effort to ground you in reality. It feels like hours pass by when you and Joaquin break apart for air.

You both gasp, your noses still brushing together as you breathe each other in.

“We should-” Joaquin pants, you realize then that this is the first time you’ve ever seen Joaquin Torres at a loss for words. Speechless, because of you. “We should go on drives like this more often.” You find yourself nodding in agreement as Joaquin grins at you. The sight of his blinding smile and his flushed face under the lights makes you want to pull him back in again but you refrain, pulling back slightly when Joaquin tries to lean in again. He takes your cue without a word spoken and settles back into the seat as if nothing had happened at all.

Your eyes glance over at the clock and you realize just how late it's gotten, “And you should’ve had your idea sooner,” Joaquin looks at you out of the corner of his eye, clearly questioning where you’re going with this, “Might’ve saved me some gas.”

Joaquin’s laughter rings out as you put your car in reverse, you use your phone to map out the quickest way back to Joaquin’s place as you have a feeling that you won’t have any more trouble with falling asleep tonight.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres/reader #joaquin torres/you #the falcon #the falcon x reader #the falcon x you #joaquin torres x male reader #joaquin torres x gender neutral reader #joaquin torres x gn!reader #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x reader #marvel fic #mcu fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #drew writes fics #my writing

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achrams · 7 days ago

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𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dr.Strange's cloak starts acting odd after he comes back from a long mission.

𝐂𝐰: Bondage, getting caught?, protected sex.

What began as a self proclaimed mage meets an actual qualified sorcerer ended up in a tender relationship. To most people’s surprise probably. Sure, most of your time together consisted of one practice session after another but there were moments for tender affection too..er well somewhat. Because as of right now, the last time you two had genuine contact was about 4 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 7 hours and 12 minutes ago. Oddly specific, right? It wasn’t like someone was keeping track of it, oh totally not.

Ever since the beginning of that timer the both of you have been rather busy with work. While Dr. Strange was dealing with world class missions with some collective he'd been hesitant to work with, his own words ask him, while you were gaining magic experience little by little. Mostly boring paperwork and some acts here and there. On the off chance you actually got to put your powers to the test, you did not hold back for a moment. Gauging your own success and celebrating it all the same. It was your time to shine, your time to show people you could be trusted with future issues. So far you had a clear record, not a single thing had gone wrong on your little pieces of work.

---

Currently sitting in Sanctum Sanctorum, you sighed in relief when another paper on the neighbourhood issues had finally been finished. Setting your pens down, you turned around to look at the view outside, nearly night time already. How many hours have you done this again? Three? Seven? Turns out the ‘one more report’ turned into another and another until a pile formed. Who would have thought you'd get fixated on paperwork instead of gaming videos.

Just when you were about to leave for your nightly routine before bed, a sudden portal popped up and in walked the one and only. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” You smiled softly, not mad, not disappointed. Just glad that your Stephen was safe and sound, after all getting together with a hero had its own fair share of rules as well as difficulties in the distance department. Though, after such a long time this had become the norm. At least now things could go normal, as normal as they could anyways.

“It's not been that long.” He said, the usual tinge of sass in his dialogue yet despite his words he still walked over to you like a tired pup after playtime. Hands falling around your middle while his forehead met your shoulder with a sigh. It was his silent way of asking for a bit of affection, backpedalling on his words without having said anything. A silent language only you knew. To which you just sighed and pulled him closer and prepared to press a kiss to his forehead before a sudden force yanked you two apart.

Raising an eyebrow you questioned, “Uh, is everything alright?” Expecting a clear answer turned out to be impossible since Stephen was just as perplexed as you were. “Mostly.” He said, suspicious but not wanting to put any ideas out there just yet. Finding the game of letting you figure it out rather fun. Needing more concrete proof of his ‘theories’ before he'd take action. “Alright. Well, do what you need to, I'll be going to bed. Goodnight hun.” A simple goodbye for the night since the two of you had different sleep routines.

The next morning, however, when you had expected to have a warm morning with Stephen, after a long time apart, it was cut off by a disturbance again. Having walked to the kitchen, the hot coffee poured into two mugs by Stephen as you wrapped your arms around his middle. Face buried into his neck while you sighed in relaxation. You didn’t have the time to press a kiss to Stephen's neck before a shattering sound came from the room over. Rushing in came the infamous cloak. Latching itself against Stephen before pulling him out the room. “Huh..?” You muttered out, now standing alone in the kitchen. More confused than you’d ever been.

The same thing kept happening over and over again. If you thought it was a coincidence at first then there was no denying that it was purposeful now. Every single time you and Stephen got affectionate with one another, that damned cloak managed to butt itself into the tender moment. Ruining it. For example, cuddling while watching tv? No, the cloak wiggled itself between the two of you. Going on a walk together? Nope, the cloak started pushing Stephen forward twice as fast as you could even walk. Even holding hands was difficult with how the cloak curled its sides inwards to prevent it from happening. Something was seriously off.

Day after day it grew into a few weeks. Annoying, long weeks without being able to touch your lover at all. This must be modern torture. Sitting before Stephen, you clasped your hands below your chin. “Sooo, I've noticed your cloak dislikes me.” You said while keeping your voice low in fear of the cloak listening in and somehow ruining this moment too, without ever managing to figure things out on how to fix it. “Finally. I was beginning to think you were actually stupid.” He said with a proud smirk, crossing his arms over his chest as if he had won some lottery.

“Right, then..why? It didn’t have a problem with me before.” You said, leaning back in your chair with a deep sigh. “Think about it. You go to another side of the world for a long while with someone. You bond, grow your friendship and suddenly it's time to go back. Would you want to leave your friend?” Stephen asked, finding some neat pleasure in playing mind games with you, seeing you follow his instructions. The good ones that were supposed to give you new perspectives to think about. Another thing he could feel proud about teaching you.

“No, I'd want to keep the friendship going.” You said, serious as ever while looking over at Stephen who had already fixated his gaze on you with an expectant glint. Urging you to piece the puzzle together on your own without him having to reveal it. It took you a few moments before you laughed a soft sound between surprise and disbelief, “Wait- Don’t tell me your coak grew jealous. Of me?” As funny as the idea was, it happened to be exactly that. Going on a mission with Stephen had left the cloak longing for more time alone with its owner.

“Honestly, I'm as surprised as you are. Never have I ever thought to see a jealous relic.” Stephen said then stood up to move closer to you. Leaning down to whisper into your ear that you guys should show this piece of fabric that it shouldn’t come between the two of you anymore or else it might walk in on something it probably wouldn’t like. The whole plan was easier than expected since you had no trouble getting handsy. It had been quite a long time afterall.

Waiting until midnight before getting to work. Or rather getting all up in each other's business. It started off as a simple make out, slowly adding hands that travelled. Your one hand was gripping the back of Stephen's head while the other pulled him closer by his hip while Stephen's hands were desperately pulling you close by your clothes. Hearing the racking coming from down the hall, you were sure it was going according to how you guys discussed. Maybe even better than anticipated given you have only just begun.

Sensing the heat grow, you pinned Stephen to the bed, smothering his skin with one kiss after another, leaving the occasional bites while your hand slid down to cup his growing erection. Smiling against Stephen's skin when you heard him sigh with need, bordering on a whine. A gentle teasing tug and you had him buck his hips up into your hand, it made you happy how easy you could make him crave you. Letting your lips find his once more you began making out again, all while your hands got busy with peeling off his clothes one by one.

The pile scattered over the bed. He was finally bare and vulnerable below you, oh so pretty just for you. Flushed and heaving from those gentle kisses that wet his skin and caressing hands that knew all of the hidden erogenous zones by heart. Melting this respected sorcerer to a puddle of neediness. Smiling down at him, you cupped his dick, slowly, teasingly jerking him. Wanting to make him cry and arch into your touch with barely contained whimpers before you’d give him the speed he wanted. Thumb purposefully pressing the underside of his dick, just below the leaking crown. Sensitive and perfect.

“You know-..oh shit…you know you don’t have to hold back, right?” Stephen breathed out, stopping his sentence each time you played into his weaknesses. Soft caresses, longing looks and that damn lustful look on your face. With a smile you leaned over him, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth before whispering, “I’m not..but if you want something, you’re gonna have to say so clearly.” Your hand, still busy with jerking Stephen off in agonisingly slow movements. This was Stephen’s way of getting what he wanted without losing his pride, you knew that yet you wanted to hear him voice his own needs rather than twist the words. Seeing as you wouldn’t budge from your plan to deliciously torture Stephen, he grew a bit overstimulated.

“Come on- just..fuck me already!” He suddenly groaned, his dick leaking pre all over your thumb by this point. Though as much as you would have liked to memorise this moment of Stephen breaking under pleasure, it had been a blur of orange lights and banging on the door. Oh yeah, you’d forgotten why you were doing this in the first place. The cloak. It had escaped its cage and came tumbling down the hall to barge in but with how needy Stephen had got, there was no way he was letting anything come between you two. Hence the sudden magic, the room filled with a few portals and through them he had forged his glowing whips. The initial idea had been to use them to block out the cloak from entering but seems like the sexual frustration had doubled the effect.

The door had been completely blocked off by a net of whip parts, all messy as they lasered the room like fairy lights. That was not all, in the middle of this mess of magic the whips had tied themself around your body. Hands behind your back, together at the wrists then around your torso, to pin your arms to your sides. Turns out that your Stephen might be a bit more a freak than he lets on, a side he only shows in desperation. He did not care that things might be all over the place, all he was focused on was getting you inside him. You tensed up a bit at the sudden bondage but seeing Stephen so eager was turning you on more than you’d like to admit. Despite the awkward thrashing you could hear from the doorway, it seems the cloak really didn’t like this but knowing that nothing could be done about this moment made it leave. You didn’t notice when but at least it didn’t feel like you were being burned by an invisible gaze.

“Good..fuck- you were driving me insane you minx.” Stephen chuckled out and moved his arms to pull you down onto the bed by the whips. Almost puppeteering you with how crowded the bed suddenly felt. He wasted no time in clawing off your pants to get his hands on the prize, you could see the silent relief in his when he saw you hard and twitching against your abdomen. Seems like you did truly want this as much as he did. He held you in his hand jerking you eagerly for a moment before slipping a condom over it. You didn’t notice how or when he’d got his hands on it but it’s not like it mattered. You were about to reach heaven really soon.

With barely contained eagerness Stephen crawled over, straddling your hips to line himself up with you before sinking down. “Perfect..now that I’m in control..I’m going to do what I want.” He declared with a smile and forced himself harshly down with a needy bounce. His head falling back from the pleasure, making him clench around you like fist. A sigh left his lips before he gained a good momentum, hands neatly holding the whips steady while he lost himself to the pleasure.

You could only watch as this genius of a man was fucking himself dumb on your dick, hair rocking along with his eager grinding, eyes closed in bliss, hands tightening around the ropes to keep you pinned all while his insides perfectly squeezed you dry. You, too, were having a difficult time holding back, each bounce from Stephen felt so ethereal that one might mistake it as a massage for your mind. He was so perfect for you, despite the fact he was keeping to his own rhythm, not letting you take charge for the night. Pleasure and desperation mixing into a deadly potion of lust.

Even when Stephen was reaching his peak, he refused to speed up, keeping a consistent tempo. A knowing smirk on his face as he felt his core tighten up, threatening to clutch around your twitching dick so hard it would make you see white. “Hun..please..just a tad faster?” You begged while barely being able to keep your eyes open, mouth fallen open and soft groans escaping every time Stephen took you deep into his body. Your voices worked together perfectly to create an orchestra of sounds. “Noo..after you teased me..I think you deserve this.” He replied with a whine of his own, legs shaking from how greedily he had been fucking himself on your dick.

“Please?” You begged again, louder this time since the peak was so close for you. Just a smidge more and you’d be able to feel the euphoria wash over you. Stephen only moaned in response, cruelly ignoring the plea for a good minute before he harshened his bouncing. His inner walls clinging to your dick like a leech before he pulled you under with him. A shuddering climax rushed over the both of you, drawing out loud cries of release. Both of you felt your bodies give into exhaustion with how backs were arched and muscles that were tensed.

Taking a breather, Stephen finally let go of his magic, falling forward to lie against your chest while your hands surrounded him in a comforting hug. “Dear lord..you were perfect..” You whispered out, pressing a kiss to his temple before shuffling against the bed. Groaning when your dick twitched in Stephen, feeling cozy in the warm cavern. “I was just giving you a piece of your own medicine.” He sighed and visibly relaxed against you, eyes shut as he muttered something about cleaning up later.

You gladly agreed and let Stephen fall asleep in your arms. Smiling to yourself at the sight of an unusually soft Stephen. It made your heart soar. With a grin you looked at the doorway where the cloak had been previously seen. “Take that.” You whispered and by the sound of an upset clank downstairs, the cloak had sensed you talking shit. It would get over it soon enough, it had to. Stephen was your boyfriend afterall, there was no way a cloak was going to get between you two.

#stateac's works.#dom male reader #male reader #top male reader #dr strange #dr strange x reader #okay I don't actually know anything about marvel so if it's fucked don't laugh at me #masc reader

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nightlark100 · 3 months ago

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"What do you want Stiles?"

"I wanted to talk to you, if you'll let me"

"I'm really not in the mood"

"Okay, we can just sit quietly then."

Stiles sat beside Derek, legs dangling out of the window as they both looked out across the empty space below. For once the boy was oddly still.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're in pain. And I know you well enough at this point to know that you're going to sit here blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault."

"How can you say that? I should have done something... paid more attention... people died Stiles! Because I didn't stop her! You died!"

"I was only mostly dead." The ghost of a smile passed over his lips. "You didn't kill those people. You were taken advantage of by a mad woman on a quest for vengeance and whether it was magic or manipulation, it was not your fault."

Derek rested his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

"Laura would have done better... she wouldn't let herself be used like that."

Stiles was quiet for a moment, before clearing his throat.

"You two lived in New York for... six years, right?"

"yeah...?"

"And in that time, did you spend time with any other packs?"

"No..."

"Did Laura ever talk about getting new betas, making your own proper pack?"

"No, she didn't."

"I don't think Laura would have made a better alpha than you. Maybe once, in an a historic pack with years of tradition and a network of support. But it's easy to lead when there's no adversity. Back when Peter was feral, if he'd somehow become alpha and you died in Laura's place, I don't think she would have been able to take him down. I think she would have run." Derek opened his mouth to speak, to defend his sister but Stiles held up a hand. "I'm not saying leaving Beacon Hills after the fire was wrong. But she had six years to come back, six years to help Peter, six years to build something new or ask for help. If she had lived and you had died, chances are Peter would still be feral. All the Argents would be dead, Scott and Jackson probably would as well. Because she would have run."

Stiles sighed and looked at Derek, eyes wide and earnest.

"It's funny, you act like all you feel is anger but your ability to love, to hope, it's one of your most powerful traits. You fight, fight for those you care about, fight for the change at something better. Even if you're afraid, you don't flee. You found three vulnerable teenagers and gave them a chance at something, a chance for family and friendship and life. You saved them. You stuck your neck out for Scott repeatedly. You accepted Peter back into your life. You don't run Derek. Laura shut herself off from any hope of a future. You let yourself be open to love and kindness and that is a thousand times more powerful than anything any other alpha could give us. That's why the darach manipulated you, because you were willing to hope. And I don't want to see you blaming yourself for that because even if you make mistakes, you always try to fix it. You are good Derek"

Stiles hand found Derek's and he squeezed lightly, the touch brief and faint as a whisper before disappearing as Stiles retreated to leave the alpha to his thoughts.

#teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #Kind of if you squint #laura hale #The Darach #jennifer blake #Stiles must protect sad puppy Derek

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girlgenius1111 · 1 year ago

Text

responsibility

you are reluctant to share the problems you are having at home with your teammates. your teammates just think you're an irresponsible teen. it takes an emergency for things to come to light. barça x reader, though this first part is much more platonic alexia & reader. more team involvement to come. cw: some violence / abuse. a lot on grief and the loss of a parent. this is mostly desperately sad angst with some comfort sprinkled throughout.

------

Your father was drunk. Hammered, in fact. You’d seen the empty bottles scattered around the kitchen when you walked in from training, telling you that he’d gotten an early start today. You were on your guard as soon as you’d noticed that, but you only pushed your dresser in front of your door when he began to pound on it, and yell. Some of the things he was saying were completely unintelligible, while others were completely clear. What you could understand was not anything new. He rambled about your mom, and how much he missed her. About how horrible it was that she’d died and left him stuck with you. How you drained away all his money playing football, and how he was tired of how ungrateful you were.

Normally, he didn’t do anything. Normally, the yelling was the extent of it. Sometimes, though it went farther. He’d grab you, or push you, kick you out of the house. When that happened, you’d go to a friend's place and sleep there, only coming back in the morning when you knew he’d be passed out.

Only very rarely did he actually hurt you. The occurrences were rare enough that you could pretend it didn’t happen. You covered the bruises up with makeup if you had too, and ignored them. You told people they came from training until you started to believe it yourself.

Tonight felt different, though, and you knew why. It was your parents anniversary. Any faint reminder of your mother only seemed to inflame your father’s hatred for you. He’d never wanted a kid, but your mom had, and that man had worshiped the ground she walked on. So, your parents had you, and you enjoyed a happy little life for 15 years. And then your mom got sick, and then got sicker.

You thought losing her would be the hardest thing you’d ever do, but as you sat on the floor of your bedroom, you decided that your father hating you because your mother was dead was somehow 100x more painful. He hurled abuse at you through the door, and when the dresser tipped away from it, crashing loudly onto the ground, you were more afraid than you’d ever been in your life.

You barely had the forethought to grab your phone and slip it into your pocket before your father shoved his way into the room, a half full bottle of vodka sloshing in his hand. He had the look on his face that haunts your nightmares. The detached one that told you things were about to hurt. You braced yourself as he raised the bottle, hoping it would hit the window and break it open, instead of hitting you. Instead of breaking you open.

The ground came crashing up towards you as you dropped, trying to avoid the bottle. The world went black around you, and you weren’t sure if it was from the bottle, or from the force of your head hitting the ground.

The darkness only came as a relief.

------

You were at Alexia’s house before you had even really decided where you were going. Your forehead was bleeding a bit, and your head was throbbing. Your shin had gotten cut, too, on the way out your window. Or maybe it had gotten cut as you’d broken the glass of the window in order to climb out.

Realistically, you knew you should call your lawyer, who would call your case worker. Who was really the only one with the power to get you out of that house. Neither of those people made you feel safe though, not like your teammates did. Or used to. Things were fuzzy, now, blurred, and you weren’t really sure if they still cared for you. If they would still feel safe. You hoped they would, because you weren’t sure what else you would do if they didn’t.

It didn’t occur to you that someone other than Alexia would answer the door, but then her girlfriend was staring at you, mouth agape, and you wondered why you hadn’t gone to Ingrid and Mapi’s, or Marta and Caro’s. You didn't know Olga well, weren’t even sure if she’d recognize you. She surprised you, though, turning and shouting for Alexia as her hands found yours and she gently guided you in through the door.

Your captain’s voice echoed back through the house, missing the urgency Olga had tried to convey, and you could hear her leisurely steps coming from upstairs. Olga tried to bring you into the living room, but you stopped, shaking your head.

“Blood.” You mumbled. “I’ll get blood on the furniture.”

Olga was looking at you with something that wasn’t pity, or sympathy. It was anger, far from gentle anger, but her voice was soft when she spoke.

“Don’t worry about that. Come sit down, Ale is coming.”

Numbly, you let her guide you onto the couch. Alexia caught your eye as she entered the room, her face changing from mild curiosity to one of horror.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. You looked away from her, the expression on her face forcing emotions to bubble up inside of you. Emotions you didn’t want to cope with, didn’t want to feel at all.

Olga walked over to her girlfriend, murmuring a few words, before she exited the room. Alexia took a deep breath, before she came to kneel in front of you.

“Pequeña? Are you with me?” She spoke more softly than you’d ever heard.

“Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“No apologies, please.” She reached up to move your hair out of your face, and get a better look at the cut across your cheek that appeared to have stopped bleeding. You flinched away from her violently, and every hope she’d had that this had been an accident flew out the window. She pulled her hand away, trying to keep her voice low and soothing.“You are okay. You are safe. You are with me, and I am not going to let anything else happen to you.”

Nodding somewhat hesitantly, you allowed her to inspect your face, crying out when her hand brushed across the bump on your head.

“What is it? What hurts?”

“Fell. Hit my head on the floor really hard.” You told her, every word feeling like cotton in your mouth as you tried your best to communicate.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Olga asked, sitting on the couch next to you, handing a towel to her girlfriend. Alexia pressed it to the cut on your shin, which was still bleeding.

“Maybe? Don’t really remember.”

The two other women exchanged looks, before they seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement.

“You might have a concussion, pequeña, and I think this needs stitches. I am going to take you to the hospital, okay?”

You considered. The hospital meant police, meant questions you didn’t want to answer. But you’d come here for help, and Alexia was just trying to give that to you.

“Okay.” You agreed, allowing them both to help you back to your feet. Before you could take a step, though, Alexia was tugging you into the softest hug you’d ever experienced, and it took all of your strength not to crumble completely.

“Thank you.” You mumbled shakily, voice muffled by Alexia’s t-shirt. She rubbed your back gently, using the hug to take a moment to pull herself together.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve got you, okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

You doubted that promise, all the way to the hospital. As you answered questions you were sure would make things not fine, as you got stitched up and scanned. When they took pictures of your injuries like you were some kind of victim. Especially when you told them your dad hadn’t meant it, and they exchanged disbelieving looks. It didn’t really feel like everything would be fine. It felt like everything was falling apart.

------

“Alexia, what the hell happened to her?” Olga asked, keeping her voice low so that you wouldn’t hear from where you were sitting on the lounge in the other room.

The blonde shook her head, face twisted with worry. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t let me in the room when they took her statement, and she hasn’t really been talking. It was her father, I know that.”

“Jesus.” Olga sighed, pulling out what she needed to make you something to eat. “They let you bring her here, though?”

Her girlfriend shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. I… I signed a bunch of forms to be declared her temporary guardian. But, amor, I can take her to my Mami’s, she wouldn’t mind. This is not your responsibility, and I wouldn’t want to-”

“Do not be ridiculous. She’ll stay right here. Ingrid and Mapi are nearby, so many of your other teammates too. She needs them, and she needs you. Of course she’ll stay.” Olga said incredulously, as if she’d never considered another option.

Alexia’s face softened before she all but tackled her girlfriend in a hug. “I love you.”

Olga held her tight, trying to provide some reassurance. “I love you too. Now go try and see if she feels like talking. I’ll bring her something to eat in a second.”

You startled when Alexia took her seat next to you, before trying to muster up a smile. It felt weak, and pulled at the cut on your cheek, but it was the best you could do.

“Your caseworker texted me. They’ve arrested your father.” Alexia said carefully, watching as a myriad of emotions flashed across your face. “So tomorrow, we can go and get your stuff, and move you into the guest room.”

That felt too good to be true, there was just no way. No way that Alexia would want you to move in with her. Why would she want that?

“I can’t… I can’t go home?” You asked. You didn’t want to, and you did. You craved your home, but you also craved safety, and those two things were not congruent.

Why would you want to go back there? Alexia wondered. She had to remind herself that this was more complicated than she could even comprehend, and she had no business questioning how you were feeling. It was complicated, of course it was. “No. Not by yourself, and you aren’t going back there when your father gets home, either. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“I can stay by myself.” You argued weakly. “You don’t have to let me move in. You don’t have to do that, I can be responsible, I can take care of myself.”

Your captain shut her eyes tightly, guilt flooding through her. You were thinking of Alexia’s harsh words to you a few days ago, and she could tell.

If there was anything you despised, it was being late. It was the fourth time in the past two weeks, too, and though you hadn’t really been scolded yet, you knew it was coming. Sure enough, as you practically ran through the building towards the locker room, you saw Alexia and Irene waiting by the door. Seemingly, for you.

Your text warning them that you’d be late apparently hadn’t done anything to reduce their anger.

You slowed down as you got to them, trying to ignore the anxiety that rose in you at the idea of being in trouble.

“Hi.” You said meekly, stopping in front of them as they glared at you.

“What time does training start?” Alexia asked, her voice cold.

“10:00.” You mumbled.

“And that means on the pitch at 10, all ready to go, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it right now?” Irene chimed in.

Your face was burning with embarrassment, your eyes trained on your shoes as you refused to look up at your captains. “10:20.”

“This is the fourth time in two weeks.” Irene sighed. “Where were you?”

“I… I slept through my alarm.” You lied. There was no way you could admit the truth. What you were doing was your business, it was private. And you knew that if your captains found out what was going on, they would involve themselves. And you didn’t want to burden them.

Alexia’s face hardened. She felt like you were lying, but she had no evidence to back that up. And even so, she couldn’t understand why you would be lying. Teenagers were weird, she reminded herself. And difficult.

“That is unacceptable. You are 17, yes, but you are on this team. You are expected to act responsible and prove that you care to be here. Showing up late does not prove to us that this is a priority for you. You are benched. Until you can get your act together.”

This wasn’t the first issue they’d been having with you. You’d been distracted and distant recently. Zoning out during training, skipping team bonding. You were quieter than normal, too, which really came off as you being annoyed by your teammates. Which you weren’t, not at all. You were just trying to get through. To get up every morning like everything was mine and make it to training. To get everything done that you needed, so that you could get out of your house. Where you would go when that happened, you weren't exactly sure. With the way your captains were looking at you right now, you knew you couldn’t go to them. They were upset, rightfully so. You just couldn’t do anything right.

“Ale-”

“No. I am disappointed in you. I expect you to be more responsible. Now go run your extra laps.”

With a sigh and a small nod, you headed off, completely missing the slightly concerned expressions that your captains were exchanging. You just weren't yourself, and they weren’t sure what to do about that.

Alexia hadn’t understood, then. She knew that something was off, but she didn’t know it was this bad. She’d scolded you for being irresponsible, and she knew now that was unfair. And that you’d very much taken it to heart. You’d let her help you before, when your body was in shock, everything in fight or flight mode.

Now, you were withdrawing, just as you’d been doing for weeks. This time, though, Alexia didn’t think it was just teenage carelessness anymore, or a rebellious phase. She could deal with her guilt for not understanding, for getting everything so wrong, later. For now, she had to make sure that you didn’t completely shut down.

“Listen to me. I didn’t mean any of what I said before. I didn’t know what was going on, but I do now. So let me help, okay? You don’t need to worry about anything. Just let me take care of it all.” She took your hand in hers, feeling it tremble in her grip. You looked conflicted, and though there were tears in your eyes, all your captain could do was look at the jagged cut on your cheek. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but she was pretty sure it would scar. A reminder, forever, of what someone who was supposed to love you had done.

All she wanted to do was make it better. “Tell me how I can help.” She asked, doing her best not to beg.

“I… um. I have a lawyer. I’ve been trying to get emancipated, I should call him.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.” Alexia said quickly, watching the cautious vulnerability dawning across your face.

Olga walked in then, bringing both you and Alexia some food. You both ate in silence, not even the TV on to fill the void, before you leaned back into the couch and pulled your knees to your chest. You were safe, you knew you were safe, but you didn’t feel it. You didn’t feel much of anything, honestly. Your head hurt from the concussion, and the stitches in your shin pulled with every movement.

The physical pain, you could deal with. It was the threat of feeling that terrified you. You felt a pang of emotion every time you looked at Alexia, though, when you saw the concern on her face, so you tried your best not to look at her.

Your captain and her girlfriend exchanged looks, and Olga mumbled something about going to get you some ice cream, before she grabbed her wallet and keys and left the house.

Within a minute, Alexia was turning her whole body towards you, completely attentive. You didn’t want her attention, but you had it.

“What happened tonight, nena?”

You knew the question that was coming, yet still, you were wholly unprepared for it. You’d answered the questions earlier from the police, but that had been different. They had been strangers. They’d been sympathetic but professional. As much as you’d been trying to downplay what had happened in your head, you knew Alexia would be horrified to hear what had happened. And that would chip away at your very fragile belief that it hadn’t been that bad.

“You can tell me. Whatever happened, you can tell me.”

You decided to give her as few details as possible. “He was really drunk. He gets like this sometimes.”

“Violent?” Alexia asked bluntly.

“Not always. Most of the time he just yells.”

“But tonight? It was more than yelling?” She hated pushing you, but she needed to understand what had happened if she was going to be able to help.

You took a shaky breath before responding. “Yeah. When I got home from training, he was already drunk, yelling at me.”

“Was he angry about something?”

“He’s always angry.” You dismissed. “Always. Ever since mom… he didn’t want me, not really. And now mom is gone and he’s stuck with me. I think he hates me. I mean, I know he does. He tells me all the time. That’s what he was yelling about. How much he hated me.”

You sounded detached, which Alexia was sure wasn’t healthy, but she pressed on anyway, knowing that you needed to tell her what happened, and only then could she help. “What happened then?”

“He broke my bedroom door down and threw the bottle of vodka at me. I hit my head trying to dodge it, but I think it hit me anyway. I broke the window open and climbed out. And then… I don’t really remember. Then I was here.” You went through it blankly, as numbly as if it had happened to someone else.

“Oh, nena.” Alexia sighed, truly incapable of understanding how someone could be so cruel to you. You were shaking again as you glanced up at your captain with watering eyes and a trembling lip. “Cariño, I am so sorry this happened.”

You shrugged one shoulder, trying to keep your tears at bay, but your captain persisted.

“You are safe now, do you understand? I will never let him hurt you again, ever.”

This time, there was no response from you.

“Nena, look at me.” Alexia pressed, her eyes wide as they met yours. “You are safe with me, I promise you.”

You wanted to believe her, you really did. Trust was hard, though. Only harder now. If your father could hurt you and not feel any remorse, what was to say other people would feel differently? What’s to say you could trust anyone?

Alexia could practically see you come to that conclusion. Your body tensed back up, you leaned away from her, and your face grew completely blank. She wondered if she hadn’t been so harsh the other day, if you’d still be so wary of her. It wasn’t complete distrust, because you’d shown up on her doorstep and that was something. You were trying to protect yourself. Alexia couldn’t blame you for being so afraid, she really couldn’t.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” You told her, unsure if your shaky voice was doing a very good job conveying just how grateful you were. “I know having a 17 year old disaster move into the house you share with your girlfriend probably wasn’t something you were hoping for-”

“If I had known what was going on, I would have gotten you out of there a very long time ago.” Alexia interrupted, cursing herself when you blanched and looked at her with wide eyes.

“I don’t get it.” You mumbled after a second. “You don’t have to do this, do any of it. Why are you doing this for me?”

Alexia wished you were joking, wished she couldn’t hear the genuine wonder in your voice that someone would go out of their way to help you.

“Because I care about you.” Alexia said simply. “We all do, every single member of the team. And you are welcome here for as long as you want to stay here.”

“But Olga,”

“Olga would pick up every stray dog on the side of the road and bring it home if I let her. She doesn’t mind that you’re here.”

“I’m not a stray dog.”

“No, you aren’t. I was just pretty sure you’d think the dog to be worthy of a home. Just like I think you are.”

It was a jarring thought. The realization that you did, indeed, think of a dog as more worthy of a home than you were was a shock to your system. You weren’t sure when you’d stopped being so angry, and started believing the words shouted at you, but somewhere along the way, you’d lost yourself. Without even realizing.

Alexia continued. “If Olga had driven by you walking here, and had no idea who you were, she would have brought you home. She would have done exactly what she did earlier. That’s who she is. She’s happy to have you here, happy to help. Really, pequeña. I promise.”

You nodded, the only acknowledgement you gave her that you’d registered what she said. “She’s been gone for a while, I thought she was just going to get ice cream?”

Alexia smiled slightly, glancing away from you. “She’s been in the drive for 10 minutes, she wanted us to finish talking without any interruptions.”

You frowned at her and your captain tensed, suddenly worried she shouldn’t have told you that. Worried that you’d wrench away from her and resist the help she and Olga were trying to give you.

Instead, you looked at her like she was a bit stupid. “The ice cream is going to be melted, Ale.”

The blonde relaxed back into the sofa, a huff of laughter falling from her lips. She’d forgotten how seriously you took your ice cream. It was difficult to mesh together the two versions of you in her mind; the one she knew that was happy and carefree, except when it came to the texture of your ice cream. And the one sitting in front of her, broken.

“Well, do you want to talk more or-”

“If Olga walks in and my ice cream is melted, this night will really be ruined.” You deadpanned, more amused at the surprise on Ale’s face than you were at your own joke. You didn’t like how she’d been looking at you. Anything to break the tension, anything to distract from what had happened.

The distraction didn’t last long, because your head was beginning to hurt and you were too exhausted to really hide your pain. The look of sympathy returned to Ale’s face, and to Olga’s, and it wasn’t long after you finished your ice cream that you were ushered up to bed.

If the universe was kind, a dreamless sleep would follow. You were beginning to think the universe was cruel.

------

You liked to think that your mom visited you in your dreams. Sometimes, they were good dreams. Warm and kind of fuzzy, but unquestionably filled with love. You found that the good dreams were the hardest to remember. The bad ones were the easiest, maybe because more often than not, they were memories.

Of course, the dream you had almost as soon as you’d drifted off to sleep was a bad one. It was flashes of a day that made you sick to think about. It had been a week after the funeral, and you’d yet to realize that the father you’d grown up with was gone for good. Though, that realization would come soon.

A few of your friends had insisted on taking you out to grab coffee. It had been agonizing, sitting and listening to them try to distract you. It was still wallowing time, you argued. You were allowed to lay in bed in a ball and cry for as long as you needed to. Grief wasn’t a process that could be rushed.

Of course, your father would try. The dream grew hazy as it continued, flashes of memories more than anything. Your arrival home from coffee. The realization that he was stuffing your mom’s stuff into garbage bags and boxes, labeled for donation or trash. You remembered the way your blood had boiled; fury rising that he was trying to erase her. As if that would make it any easier.

You remembered the way you pushed him away from her closet, tears running down your face. Your voice had trembled as you’d cursed at him, begged him not to get rid of all her stuff. He’d cursed right back, pushed right back. Told you that he couldn’t live in a house so full of memories of her. The way he’d said it, implying that you were nothing more than a painful reminder of her. A weight had settled on your chest when your first instinct was to run for your mom, and tell her what your father had said.

You couldn’t do that anymore. There was nowhere to run to. You pushed him again, and he pushed back again. You fell to the floor, looking up at him just in time to see how horrified he looked at himself. He looked down at you in complete horror, shocked at himself for what he’d done. He backed out of the room, repeating apologies over and over.

That was one of the last glimpses of the father you’d known all your life that you’d had. And it would never not haunt you that you’d been the one to make things physical the first time. That made it your fault. All of it was your fault.

The dream ended as it always did, with you grabbing what you could from the bags and the boxes, stuffing it all into your closet. It ended with you pulling on her favorite sweatshirt, the one she’d worn the most. It smelled like her perfume still, and you got under the covers of your bed, burying your nose in the fabric. You cried, and you pretended your mom was there with you, though she never would be again.

You woke as you always did, face wet with tears, but this time with a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’d left all her stuff in the house. You’d come here without it, and you needed it. Needed it now, needed to be surrounded by her like you’d been on that day.

It was with a blind dedication that you slipped out of Alexia’s guest bed, put some shoes on, and went out the front door. You couldn’t leave her stuff there. Not in the house that reeked of alcohol and hatred and sadness.

------

Alexia was pretty sure she knew where you’d gone, even if she’d couldn’t understand why. When Olga shook her awake, though, and told her that she’d heard the front door shut, Alexia knew you’d fled. And she knew you’d gone back to that house. Back to the place you still considered home, somehow. As Alexia pulled into your driveway, she reminded herself that she couldn’t understand. Growing up, she’d only ever felt love in her house. She’d never been through what you’d been through, never felt anything but safe with her parents. So it didn’t make sense to her that you’d go back. Not when you’d been trying to get out in the first place. But it didn't’ need to make sense to her, because it made sense to you. And you were her only concern.

The front door was unlocked, and Alexia opened it carefully; the last thing she wanted was to frighten you further. The house was dark and cold, and it smelled heavily of alcohol. She followed the only light she could see down the hall to what she assumed to be your bedroom. The door bore the marks of your fathers fists, the wood dented and peeling.

Before she even stepped into the room, Alexia could hear you crying softly. You were neatly folding up clothes and putting them into a duffel bag. The precision with which you worked completely contrasted how disheveled you looked; each shirt and sweater folded as if it would disintegrate if you weren’t careful.

Alexia paused in the doorway, not sure there was any way she could let you know she was here without scaring you. It seemed like you were lost in your head, regardless. Your face was set tightly, a grimace etched across it, but your hands trembled, and tears fell almost continuously. It was as if you were too emotional to keep your feelings at bay, but simultaneously felt too unsafe to really let go. Your despair leaked out like your tears did, a little bit at a time.

Your captain wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone look so haunted and so numb at the same time.

“Pequeña?” She spoke as quietly and soothingly as she could, yet still, you jumped half a foot into the air, a fearful whimper escaping. “It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s just me, you’re okay.”

“Ale.” You mumbled, recognizing your captain in front of you. It hadn’t even been a thought that Alexia would get up and come after you. The consequences of your actions seemed so far away, like you were just acting with no follow up. There was only the present, because if you thought too hard about there being a tomorrow, you weren’t sure you could survive it.

“Hey.” Alexia cooed, taking tiny steps closer to you, moving like a snail. She sat down a safe distance away, looking curiously into the bag you were packing. You knew Alexia was wondering why you were here, and honestly, you were too. It had made sense, when you’d awoken from your nightmare and left her house. It didn’t make as much sense now. “What are you doing back here?”

There was no accusation in her tone, no frustration or annoyance, yet still, you felt the need to explain yourself. “I woke up, and I just… I had to come get a few things.”

Alexia didn’t point out that it was the middle of the night, and that certainly such a task could wait until the following day. She just nodded in understanding, even though she didn’t understand, and tried to think of another question to ask. One that wouldn’t be too much, but one that might get her some more answers. Because truly, your captain was at a complete loss on what to do here.

“What did you need to get?” She asked casually. This was normal, she decided. She’d pretend this was normal, and maybe then, you’d talk.

You were almost done packing the clothes. It was an odd assortment of items that Alexia had seen you place in the bag. Mostly t-shirts and sweatshirts. And she’d never seen you wear any of it before.

You didn’t reply right away, picking up the last sweatshirt and pulling it on. It was faded, too big on you, and there was a hole in the sleeve, but your entire body relaxed once it was on. Not much, but a noticeable amount. “Just some clothes.”

“I’ve never seen that sweatshirt before.” Alexia commented, a wave of sadness washing over her as she began to connect the dots.

“Yeah, it’s- it was my mom’s.” You whispered. “I just really needed to get this stuff. Sorry for leaving without saying anything.”

Alexia looked at you, seeing a younger version of herself. Wearing a shirt that was much too big on her to bed, convincing herself that if she inhaled deep enough, it would still smell like him. Even if she couldn’t quite remember what that scent even was.

“That’s okay, nena, I’m not upset.” The blonde gazed out the window for a moment, noticing the sun peaking above the horizon. It was bathing the room in a soft golden glow, and she noticed for the first time the broken bottle on the floor. The rest of the room was warm and soft, very you, but that bottle seemed to mar the entire atmosphere. It was a stain, and Alexia understood, suddenly, why you needed the clothes.

You wanted the sweatshirt for comfort, yes. But this room had probably been the last place in the house that had remained untouched from your father and his cruelties. And now it had been ruined, and you couldn’t bear the thought of your most favorite possessions remaining here. Especially when you’d left.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and spoke quietly, almost as if you’d read Alexia’s mind. “This is all I really have left of her. He got rid of the rest of it but I managed to save some of her clothes. I… I just didn’t want to leave them behind.”

Didn’t want to leave her behind. Not in the place that had turned into hell after she’d gone.

You were trying to be strong, Alexia could tell. Jaw clenched, blinking hard. Wiping carelessly at the never ending stream of tears. Alexia remembered trying to be strong, too. How it hadn’t even been something she wanted, it was just something she did.

“Tell me about your mom.” The request escaped without her permission, and she jerked her head in your direction fearfully, terrified that it had been too much. Your lips were turning up at the corners, though, just a bit. Tears still fell, but you did as she asked.

“She was really funny. We had the same sense of humor, I think, so everything she found funny, I found funny. She’d tell a joke I was already thinking.”

Alexia hummed, a gentle encouragement as she inched closer to you. You were smiling a bit more now, still in the part of remembering that didn’t yet hurt.

“She always helped me with my homework after school, and she always tucked me in at night. Even when I was way too old for it.”

You took a deep breath. It was overwhelming, the love you felt for her. It felt like love, but it also felt like grief. Hot, painful, lingering grief. Still, once you’d started, you didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to ever stop remembering every good thing about her.

“She used to watch videos of people explaining football strategies, so we could talk about them. Even when she was sick she still… still watched. She never missed a game, even when she was doing treatment. She’d sit in her car and watch from the parking lot if she had too, but she never missed a game. I was always the most important thing to her. She used to say that being my mom was the best thing she’d ever been, that she’d ever be.”

“She sounds like a really good mom.” Alexia’s hand was on the back of your head, combing delicately through your hair. It felt nice. Safe.

“She was the best.” You choked out. “She gave the best hugs, and she told me she loved me everyday. And I really really miss her.” You tried to swallow the sob that threatened to force its way out, but you couldn’t. Your grief couldn’t be contained, not anymore. It was an almost unconscious movement, turning to bury your face in Alexia’s sweatshirt. Your body shook with cries, and your captain wrapped her arms around you tightly. As if she could hold you together.

You appreciated Alexia, more than you would probably ever be able to express. For being so patient, for coming after you, for asking about your mom. For hugging you and holding you tightly as she promised that everything would be okay. But Alexia wasn’t the person you wanted.

The blonde didn’t understand the first time you said it, your words muffled by the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. But the second time, she did, and it felt like her heart was plummeting out of her chest.

“I want my mom, Ale,” you sobbed. “I just- I want my mom,”

She felt your words in her soul, and in that moment she would have done anything to give you what you wanted. It didn’t work like that, though, and she knew that all too well. So, she rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. She rocked you gently, and made promises. To herself, and to you.

“I know, I know you do.” She soothed. “I’m so sorry, cariño. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You only cried harder, and Alexia felt like crying too.

Nothing felt okay. But Alexia had you, and you believed that. Or at least, you wanted to.

------

Well. Have a good night everyone. tell me if you notice any typos 🥺. also tell me if you enjoyed this because i am so incredibly unsure about it.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagines #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas x reader #platonic reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader

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celestiamour · 5 months ago

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ two girls in the cut ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anon┊edit creds to ilovemode1ling ˚₊ ⊹

ft. kang sae-byeok, han se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ how sae-byeok & se-mi would compete for your affections in the games┊1.5k words

setting: season 2 timeline!! au where sae-byeok is also a winner!! contains: gay gay homosexual gay, useless lesbians be upon ye, jealousy, reader is an oblivious sweetheart

➤ author's note: god, imagine them as a duo together, they would have been so powerful!!

╰₊✧ when sae-byeok reluctantly agreed to return to that damned island with gi-hun to put an end to the games, she expected to be faced with more blood and death, but not to find herself falling for the cute girl she saved during “red light, green light.” she knew she was done for when she looked into your fearful eyes and felt crushed at the thought of you being unable to make it without her, and despite telling herself she wasn’t going to get attached like she did last time, she was unable to push you away or keep her distance when you ended up following her like a lost puppy. behind her stoic demeanor, she quickly developed a noticeable soft spot for you where she was mostly stone-faced around others and kind towards you (noticeable, as in, everyone around her noticed this except for you because you didn’t know if she was kind in a platonic way or a romantic way because that’s sapphic experiences for you).

╰₊✧ and as if grappling with her complicated inner feelings and trying to ensure that both of you (and her basically adopted father and everyone else in the alliance, but especially you) survived, she soon noticed that there was another young woman who was also smitten by your charms and was out in an open attempt to woo you. she can’t remember any moment she took her eyes off of you for you to meet se-mi without her noticing, but one thing is for certain, and it’s that if she didn’t start making moves of her own, she would see you get swept off your feet by this new girl.

╰₊✧ se-mi is bold and flirtatious, confident in herself, making her advances clear as day, and being damn good at making you flustered with a single statement. it would almost be impressive if the twisting feeling of jealousy wasn’t there every time her treasured time with you was interrupted each time she came to join your guys for every meal, and of course, you welcomed her with open arms each and every time because you didn’t know about their little unspoken rivalry.

“they don’t give us enough food in here,” you whined, shuffling around the grains of white rice with your chopsticks, “you would think that with the millions and millions of won we could win, they would give us more than one meal a day that isn’t overcooked… i’m still hungry…”

as soon as that last statement left your lips with a pout, sae-byeok grabbed her unopened carton of milk and turned to hand it over to you, only to find that se-mi was also holding out her given milk for you to take. there was a moment of awkward silence between the two as the feeling of competition hung in the air, waiting for you to give the point by accepting one of their pints over the other.

however, you simply took both of them at the same time with a wide smile, completely oblivious to the tension, “aw, you guys are so nice to me! are you sure? i don’t want you guys to be hungry just because i took both your milks.”

“don’t worry about it, i’m lactose intolerant anyway,” se-mi assured. “i’m pretty sure everyone else here is too, that’s korea for you.”

you hummed cheerfully as you opened up the little thin cardboard package and drank the milk inside. usually you wouldn’t drink so much of it and you weren’t sure if it was healthy, but your stomach was grumbling like you were testing in a quiet classroom back in high school so you didn’t think it would be too bad to drink some extra to fill up for the couple of days you would be here.

all the while, the two women are staring each other down, one with a little smirk on her face, and the other with a blank glare.

╰₊✧ every time you ask to use the restroom, you’ll magically find both of them at your side arguing as calmly as possible about who should go with you. outside of the island, girls already go do their business in pairs or groups for safety, but it’s especially true here because most people are too scared to be vulnerable here alone when they are being watched by guards with rifles, even the men. while they quarrel over this one stupid thing, you probably end up going with jun-hee who also needed to go while they’re unable to make up their minds.

╰₊✧ sae-byeok is maybe a tad bit insecure about her mannerisms compared to se-mi’s. she’s expressionless most of the time and struggles so much to put how she feels into words, often coming off as not caring or sometimes even brash. thankfully, you don’t take it the wrong way and understand without her needing to tell you that she cares in her own special way. if she didn’t, then why would she bother making a beeline for you every game to ensure that you were safe with a hand possessively wrapped around your waist? she’s more than willing to put herself in danger to protect you because she already knows what to expect having played these games before and also has the alliance looking out for her.

╰₊✧ speaking of the alliance, they all know about her crush on you although they are too intimidated by her to tease her directly for it. dae-ho gives tips on how to impress you using his experience growing up with his sisters and hearing about their dating lives. gi-hun blatantly asks you if you have a boyfriend, and when you bashfully say you don’t, he then asks if you have a girlfriend because you guys could die any day here, why bother to play the long game? (sae-byeok definitely smacks him though because she feels like she could die from embarrassment, but at least she got the answer “not yet” which means you’re open to dating another girl.)

╰₊✧ oh god, mingle is a nightmare because the two of them refuse to part with you during the final round, their voices ringing clear above all of the music and chaos while they have a tight grip on both your arms. sae-byeok ended up being the bigger person and running off with someone else as se-mi pulled you into safety.

╰₊✧ they bicker constantly over the little things when it comes to you, which is surprising considering how chill they seem in terms of attitude, only letting up when you start pouting and offer a compromise which they begrudgingly agree to.

╰₊✧ se-mi is well aware that sae-byeok also has feelings for you, evident by the way she always lingers behind you like an overprotective guard dog and not–so-subtly stares daggers into her every time she approaches you, but doesn’t mind a little competition. she actually finds it to be a nice distraction from everything going on, living out the life as the second female lead in a yuri love triangle fanfiction. in another life where you met in different circumstances, se-mi would take courting you a lot more seriously, but her main goal at the moment is surviving, and whatever comes next is an afterthought.

“you know…” se-mi started, staring up blankly at the ceiling, and catching sae-byeok’s attention. this was the first time they had a conversation without you, one-on-one, while everyone else was dead asleep. “i don’t really think all three of us are going to make it out of here together…”

similar to how they couldn’t decide who should accompany you to the restroom, they also couldn’t decide who should watch over you in case a fight broke out like in the last game. in the end, they both stayed up sitting in their bunks next to yours, focusing on not falling asleep before the other did because it would determine who was fit for the job.

she stayed silent as the weight of her words sunk in, allowing se-mi to continue, “if anything happens to me, you’ll look after her, right? i don’t plan on going anytime soon, but… anything can happen in a place like this…”

“... only if you take care of her in case anything happens to me…”

her eyes wandered in the dark, first fixating on your slumbering body with your chest steadily rising to the beat of your breathing, then meeting the eyes of se-mi. there was a mutual understanding that didn’t need to be said, and then the two of them finally sighed before going to bed. there’s a certain relief in knowing your loved one is in good hands if the universe has other plans for you.

╰₊✧ what they don’t know is that your oblivious nature is a facade, you’re freaking out because of the insane gay panic these two ridiculously attractive women are giving you and you would be unable to choose if held at gunpoint. in just a few more days, you hope, you’ll able to come to terms with your feelings and decide who you really fell in love with when you care so intensely for both of them. all you have to do before then is survive, which shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

hey guys, imagine if sae-byeok actually saved se-mi and then they all run out together and have a happy poly relationship yipee

request was as follows:

okay hear me out. im a se mi and saebyeok girly.. i was wondering if you could make a cute little semi x reader x saebyeok (s2 squid games timeline maybe? ur choice :3c) where semi n saebyeok are in a bit of a rivalry because they both adore reader! they might fight over things like who would have night guard duties with reader, offer reader food at the same time, etc! (i love ur writing sm btw ♡)

#📜. her works #kang sae byeok #kang sae byeok x reader #se mi #se mi x reader #squid game #squid game x reader

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solxamber · 9 months ago

Note

Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!

7th Overblot Aftermath

Characters: All NRC + Staff

hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3

The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.

But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.

Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.

“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.

You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Ace Trappola

"Hey, hey," Ace’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”

You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”

He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Deuce Spade

Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.

“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”

His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”

You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.

“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”

He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”

Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.

Trey Clover

Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.

“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.

“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.

Cater Diamond

Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.

“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.

“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.

“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”

He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”

Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”

He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”

Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”

He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.

Jack Howl

Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”

He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.

“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.

His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”

Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”

There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”

Jade Leech

Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”

Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”

There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”

He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.

He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”

He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”

Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”

Rook Hunt

Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”

Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”

Epel Felmier

Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”

He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”

Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.

He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”

Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”

Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”

Idia Shroud

Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”

He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”

Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.

He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”

Silver

Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”

Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”

He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”

Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”

Crowley

Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”

He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”

Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”

He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."

Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”

He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”

Mozus Trein

Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”

He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”

Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That’s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”

He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”

Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”

Sam

Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.

He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”

Grim

Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”

He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”

Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Masterlist

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potheadkiki · 2 months ago

Text

Love is in the air

Warning ⚠ 18+

I have an author's note at the end guys

I binged the ENTIRE show in like 2.5 days...

Alien sex (duh)

Dubious content (obvi)

inexperienced reader

Viltramite stamina

slight breeding kink

Mark is lowkey kinda mean (he's desperate but feels bad about it)

Chubby reader in mind cuz ik he liked Chubby Eve

Attempted break and entering (he tries to get in through your window)

Passionate rough sex

Friends to lovers cuz I'm corny like that

Your window rattles and jiggles in hopes of opening, waking you. Your eyes snap open in fear, but then you realize you're on the second floor, and the person would have to be super tall or flying. Sighing as you pull back your curtain and see Mark on the other side, his cowl pulled off, exposing his clearly flushed and feverish face, gently panting, he knocks on your glass, only to crack it slightly, causing you to gasp, mostly from shock, considering Mark has always had a handle on his powers. Stepping closer, unsure of what to expect as you unlock and lift your window up, the second your window is up, Mark comes zooming in, grabbing you by the waist and pinning you to the bed as your window drops back down with a bang.

"Mark! What the hell has gotten into you?" You ask as you feel his hips grind against yours in a desperate act of relief, he's panting heavily, chest heaving as his hips grind harder into yours. You push at his shoulders, roughly attempting to close your legs and get him off. It's not that you don't want it, God, it's the complete opposite, but this is wrong. Mark isn't himself; he would never do this any other day. Does thinking that break your heart into a million pieces? Yes, absolutely, but it keeps you safe. Mark pulls away reluctantly, sitting up on his trembling hind legs, a bulge clear as day in the moonlight, your own face flushing deep down

"M sorry, got in this fight, and when I hit him, this pink smoke came out from the top of his head, and I basically inhaled all of it and now all I can think about is you. The fly over here was brutal, baby, you don't get it, I NEED you." He says crawling back to you, grabbing your sides with his gloved fingers he squeezes and kneads at the chub spilling out of your impossibly short shorts as he grabs your ass rough gasping you can feel how sweaty his palms are even with his gloves still on, his thighs trembling under his own weight. Your mind is reeling, and your heart is in your ass I mean what the fuck is happening right now.

"You don't mean that, Mark. Please don't say things like that." You say as you place your hand square on his chest, pushing him again gently. The feeling of his hands on you everywhere is overwhelming as he slides one hand up your body grabbing both wrists, making sure to be gentle as he pulls you to him, sitting down as he gets you situated on his lap, one hand wrapping around your waist as the other runs up and down your sides/back making sure to be careful with where his hands land

"Baby please think-' He says as his hips rut up against yours "I could have gone anywhere, gone to any window. I ended up at yours " He says hips moving on their own as they push up against you desperate, he buries his face in your neck leaving gentle love bites and hickeys in his wake as his teeth scrape against your jugular, breath caught in your throat as you begin to feel the weight of his words. He can be anywhere in the world, be with anyone, and choose you. At that moment you decide fuck it, he's here for you, he wants to be with you, the circumstances surrounding the confession are a bit strenuous but still. You wrap your arms around his neck kissing his cheek, you can see his eyes go wide out of shock, but a smile spreads on his face.

"Are you sure? Once I start- I don't think-" you interrupt him, leaning in and kissing him passionately, carding your fingers through his sweaty hair, any other time it would be a major turn-off, but he fought an alien so it's fine. The feeling of his lips on yours is addictive, feeling as he begins to lean forward, placing you on your back and kissing you one last time before he pulls away, standing up and off the bed, you watch as he strips himself of just his boxers, which are obviously too tight. He climbs back into bed, crawling on top of you as your hands run along his flushed chest, your nimble fingers fumbling along the defined lines of his body, making your way to his abs as you feel his stomach tighten nervously. His own hands explore your body, pinching at the fat around your body, causing your breath to hitch. His hips grind down against yours, kissing you passionately one more time before he pulls away, slipping his fingers past the hem of your shorts, looking up at you for permission, which you give him in the form of a silent nod. Still, he happily accepts it pulling your shorts and panties off in one fail swoop tossing them somewhere in the corner of the room before quickly turning his attention back to you and your now exposed cunt. This is a lot for you, you've only ever had sex once before, neither enjoyable, but this is Mark you're talking about you've been in love with him for years and he seems to know what he's doing which does make you feel a little insecure and sad which he instantly notices pulling away from you sitting up a little his hand never leaving you

"Hey? Is everything alright? I know this isn't how I was going to do it; I was gonna go all out and fly you to Paris or Rome, have a romantic picnic, and confess as we watch the sunset, or I don't know. Am I messing this up?" He asks as he rubs the back of his neck, his blush deepening, you quickly sit up

"No! No. I just don't have that much experience, and I'm a little insecure about myself." You say looking down, and he leans in, ducking his head down and capturing your lips in a heated kiss that completely dispels any and all hesitations you had before as your head hits the pillow. He uses one hand to prop himself up as the other spreads your thighs, his lips never leaving yours as the same hand travels up getting closer and closer to your exposed cunt. His hand is just inches away from where you need him, waiting for your permission to move higher, to where you need him. Pulling away from his lips

"It's okay. You can- you know, touch me if you want," you say shyly, avoiding eye contact out of pure embarrassment. This feels like your first time; one you hopefully won't regret. Your heart is pounding in your ears as he adjusts himself, lying beside you, pressing himself against your hips, rutting as his fingers trail up, finally reaching where you desperately need him. Kissing your cheek gently while his index finger rubs slow circles on your clit, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as your thighs begin to shake gently. He groans rubbing your pussy

"You're so fucking wet baby." He says pressing another kiss to your cheek

"It's only for you, baby, just for you," you say, turning your head and kissing him passionately, feeling as he leaves your clit in return to slip a finger inside you, Mark groaning at the feeling of you spasming on his fingers, a gasp escapes your lips as you feel the digit curl up finding that spongy spot that has you seeing stars and your back arching and thighs shaking. Your mind goes completely blank as he adds a second finger, the stretch alone has you gasping eyes watering slightly, the feeling fleeting as you become consumed with pleasure a moan slipping past your lips shamelessly under his strong grip, his palm rubbing against your clit, and it has your eyes rolling back. Mark panting in your ear and rutting against you desperately has you absolutely reeling, because how is this actually happening? You just hope he won't regret it in the morning, but those thoughts are quickly squashed as his fingers curl rougher and his palm presses harder into your clit, hips rutting against his hand, the coil in your stomach tightening, your orgasm comes crashing down, fingers gripping the sheets as your thighs tremble as you moan out

"Fuck Mark please." You say heart racing as you attempt to close your thighs, embarrassment written on your face, you didn't think you'd finish this fast, but instead of making you feel bad, Mark kisses your cheek lovingly

"You did great, baby, but I can't wait any longer," he says, pulling away from you, instead opting to situate himself between your bare thighs pressing himself against your sopping cunt. Leaning in, he kisses you passionately. One hand by your head holding him up as the other shimmies off his too-tight boxers, kicking them off wantonly, landing somewhere with the rest of the pile.

"You ready, baby?" He asks, rubbing the tip of his leaky cock against your clit, all while nipping, kissing, and biting at your neck as he pushes into you slowly as to not hurt you. Gasping at the feeling of being stretched out, gripping his shoulders roughly, nails digging in, breaking the skin only for it to heal instantly.

"Oh, fuck baby, fuck you feel so good." He says, coming out somewhere between a sob and a whimper as his hips twitch with need, inching further into you, Mark stretching you out has your eyes flooding with tears threating to spill over as your back arching into him as your thighs wrap around his lower waist, pulling him in further, deeper,

"Fuck baby. I can feel you sucking me in. Making me feel so fucking good. Fuck you're gonna make me addicted to this pussy." Mark is babbling at this point, now mostly muttering to himself, the need consuming you both. He's kissing you with a passion you've never felt, and it's addictive. The feeling of his cock filling you has you gasping, you can practically feel him in your stomach, and it has your eyes rolling back. You feel as Mark shifts, adjusting his weight, has him thrusting at a right angle, gripping your thighs roughly keeping you in place, the tip rubbing against that spongy spot that forces those tears to spill over as his left hand moves in between your bodies finding your clit with expertise, an expertise that has your thighs shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you scratch at his down his toned and muscular back, you can feel as he tenses under your touch, fuck you're so close. You begin to rut your hips up into his, matching his thrusts

"I can feel you squeezing me so tight, baby. Trying to milk me for everything I've got. Cum for me baby. Be the good fucking girl I know you can be." He says, punctuating every word with a harsh thrust that would have put your head through a wall if he weren't holding you so tightly, you're defiantly going to have bruises tomorrow, not that you're complaining. The feeling of him fucking you with such abandon all the while he continues to toy with your clit sends you over the edge.

"Fuck Mark fuck, I'm cumming, baby I'm cumming." gasping as your thighs shake and spasm, clawing at his back with vigor, back arching into his as he kisses you roughly, he pushes you over the edge with one harsh thrust, crying out his name as you cum on his cock. More tears slipping down your face as he fucks you through your orgasm. Hips never faltering, not even for a second. All you can think of in this moment is thank God your parent are out of town.

"Mark, please slow down. Baby, please *gasping* slow down, I just came." You say, practically sobbing at this point, but he doesn't stop, instead just leans down, lifting your leg up, hooking it over his broad shoulder. Shifting his hips again hitting deeper,

"Cmon baby, you got one more in you, I know it. I know you do, I can feel you squeezing me. Cum baby, cum." he never gives you a chance to respond instead kissing you roughly, feeling as Mark begins to pull another orgasm out of you, gripping the pillow under your head for some type of stability. That's when you feel it, that same knot forming, but this one is different, almost like you have to pee. Pulling away, attempting to push him off, slapping his chest gently

"Please. mhm slow down at least please." You say back, arching as he drags his teeth down your neck.

"Slow down? Baby, why?" he asks, leaning down further as he slips his hand under your head, all you can think about is just how deep he is, you're gonna be able to feel him for days after this

"Mm feels like I gotta pee please," you say, attempting to reason with him, maybe if he gives you a moment to breathe, then it'll go away, but instead he gives you a lazy smile, hips thrusting so hard that it's causing your own hips to lift off the mattress with each rut of his hips

"Let go, baby. Let go," Gasping at this new feeling of pleasure that begins to consume you. The feeling in your stomach grows until it becomes too much, and you let out a wail as you squirt all across his lower stomach.

"Good girl. Fuck I knew you could do it for me. I'm gonna cum. Fuck you want me to cum don't you baby?" He watches the way you nod desperately, laughing.

"Where do you want me, baby?" He asks clearly hinting at where you want him to cum and everything inside you screams that you just want him to paint your walls white, so you decide to go with it.

"Inside. Cum inside please." He groans at that, leaning in to kiss you passionately. He groans into the kiss, you can feel his hips stuttering as he pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours as he moans, you can feel his hot breath fanning your face. You feel as he thrusts a few more times

"Fuck that's it. Take it, baby, take it," The feeling of thrusts becoming sloppy as he cums deeps inside you. Groaning as he cradles your head, fucking his cum into you until your sobbing and thighs are twitch, him pulling another orgasm out of you with ease. He chuckles at that finally pulling out and he sees as his cum begins to drip out of you, a smug look clear on his face as he leans in kissing you passionately before stepping off the bed. Watching as Mark slips on his boxers, you won't lie, it did make your heart drop, the thought of you two having this incredibly intimate moment only for him to leave. Your eyes follow him as he walks around the bed leaning down to kiss your forehead, and you watch with confusion as not only does he not leave, but as you roll following is movements you see as he makes his way to your bathroom, emerging with a damp rag, and you smile at him as he makes his way back to the bed, you rolling onto your back

"Spread your legs for me," and you do, opening them back up as he climbs back onto your bed a clear blush on his face

"I'm sorry." He says, gently avoiding eye contact as he finishes cleaning you up, tossing the damp rag in your laundry bin

"It's okay, I enjoyed it." You say, gently stroking his arm, you can see the clear conflict going on behind his eyes, almost like he doesn't believe you, just saying what he wants to hear, but you have other plans

"Hey. Kiss me. Please?" His eyebrows scrunch up in clear hesitation, but he still leans in, slowly, but still. He pulls away

"Is it okay if I get into bed with you?" He asks, gently rubbing your bare thigh, a comforting gesture that seems more for himself.

"Of course you can love. Just grab my blanket off the floor." You say, giggling, and he laughs at that comment, clearly loosening up as he stands up. You watch as he picks up your blanket and t-shirt, climbing into bed, he has you lift your hands up as he slips the shirt back on and pulls the covers over both of you, pulling you in tightly as he presses his chest against your back. He kisses your temple softly, holding you until you both fall asleep.

Author's note: I'm currently working on a Bakugo one, so until then, please enjoy.

#chubby reader smut #chubby reader #mark grayson smut #invincible #invincible smut #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson invincible #invincible show

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 month ago

Text

.⋆｡The Way｡⋆.

Din Djarin x plus size reader

You don’t know your place in the verse and he’s lost his way.

Warnings: smut, labelling this dub-con just because Din is a bit forceful, this has a lot of angst, mostly relating to awful self-image and hate towards one's own body, restraints, Din doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, possessive!Din, ownership kink, breeding kink, blindfolds, forced marriage (reader doesn’t fully understand what the vows mean but she accepts after), drinking, no foreplay, creampie, fluff WC: 5.3k Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The market was bustling in the late afternoon light. The child cooed over the many bright colours and shiny objects in the vendor’s stalls, little hands reaching out to touch every time you got close. Big brown eyes reflected the lights perfectly. You smoothed over the whips hairs on top of his head, making him smile and snuggle closer to your soft chest, content in being held in your thick arms.

“We should go soon. I don’t want to be here after dark.” The modulated voice easily identifiable in the chatter of the crowd. You tilted your head up slightly, the Mandalorian’s armour glittering the same way as his son’s eyes.

“Just need to pick up one more thing and then we can go.” You reassured but still hurried along, struggling to keep up with the taller man. He grunted, sounding annoyed but with a large hand placed on the small of your back, you knew he was just tired.

You took your time sorting through the fabrics on the cart, allowing the baby to feel some of them. You kept the softest fabrics in your hands, intending to make more clothes for him since he had quite the nasty habit of destroying them beyond repair. “What a beautiful family.” The vendor cooed, “I’ll even give you a discount so you can take care of that baby of yours.” You opened your mouth to protest but were quickly stopped by your companion.

“Thank you.” You felt your entire body flush as he stood closer, taking credits from his own store to pay for you. As he led you away, you spoke up.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, Mando. I do have my own money.” He didn’t respond at first, humming under his helmet.

“It’s my money cyar'ika, I spend it how I wish.”

Your heart pounded as you looked upon the powerful warrior, strong body towering over you, glowing in the light of the setting sun.

Silent tears fell as you kept your head down, listening as goodbyes were said. Your heart broke as you heard the Jedi begin to walk away, the boy you had grown to love as your own giving a small cry, calling out for his father. There was a whispered ‘I’m sorry’ from Mando, his voice clear without the modulator in his helmet.

You didn’t speak as you followed him back to the Crest, your heart broken, your arms empty without the little one in them. Mando climbed into the cockpit, slamming the door behind him. His rage and anguish filled the ship, only compounding your own sadness. You lifted up one of Grogu’s little tunics, the colour meant to emulate his father’s armour, that had been laid out on the table as you did laundry.

Sobs ripped through your chest as you clung to the small outfit, collapsing onto the metal floor, bending over yourself as if it would sooth the incredible ache settling in your chest.

——————

Mando hadn’t spoken to you in a week, taking all his meals in his bunk or the cockpit, grunting in acknowledgement when you told him of the dwindling supplies in the ship’s store. You were no better. That little boy had become your son over the months he had been in your care but now he was gone and you found yourself struggling with your purpose.

You were hired to take care of him when Mando was on a hunt, nothing more. You were just a live-in nanny for the boy, you knew Mando chose you because you weren’t a threat. You were big, sure, but soft, your hands absent of calluses. You weren’t a danger to him, never posing a threat even in those rare occasions where you became furious, usually when Mando had unnecessarily risked his life.

You mothered both of them, keeping them fed, making sure the ship and themselves were clean. And giving Grogu lessons that Mando would sometimes listen in on if they were traveling between worlds and he had nothing else to do. It was what you loved, caring for others. But now, there was no one to care for.

Mando could handle himself, and now that the child is gone, he could easily get rid of you, not having to worry about another mouth to feed, another person to protect. He could easily leave you on some planet somewhere just like when he found you.

It wasn’t like you had any other use. You weren’t even pretty to look at, let alone fuck, no matter how much you yearned. You had, regretfully, developed an overwhelming, devastating crush on the bounty hunter pretty much as soon as he hired you and that had turned into full blown, heart-stopping love.

Every moment you spent with him was torture but every moment without him was pure agony. But you knew he would never look at you, not when he had women like Omera. Small women with pleasant faces who could actually keep up with him. Not someone like you with a stomach flap and stretch marks and acne on your breasts. Not someone who could barely run and got winded after multiple trips up the ladder to the cockpit. You didn’t deserve him.

Your bags had been packed, all your things collected and carefully stored, you were just waiting for the day when the Crest would land on some stretch of planet and he would tell you to leave, maybe you would even get a thank you for your job, but you doubted it.

The ship vibrated beneath you as you sat on one of the many crates, a ball of yarn sitting between your folded legs as you used your fingers to crochet a little bantha. Making little toys for Grogu was a habit you still kept even without his presence. You already had a small box full of the little stuffed creatures in some kind of hope that Mando would bring them to him if ever he saw him again. Or maybe, you’d just sell them to get some credits when Mando kicked you out.

You hummed under your breath, being hyper aware of the volume of your own voice, not wanting to annoy the bounty hunter, even if he was locked in the cockpit. The soft yarn tangled around your arm as you put the finishing touches on the animal. Using the small pair of scissors from your sewing kit, you snipped off the extra yarn and winding the ball back up.

With a heavy sigh, you kissed the little head of the bantha before slipping to your bare feet, a shiver rolling up your spine from the cold metal, and wandered over to the small collection of things for Grogu. You carefully pulled the cover off and delicately laid the plushie on the top of the ever-growing pile, quickly shutting the lid before you could cry again.

“We’ll be landing soon.” Mando’s deep voice broke the silence of the hull, pulling you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Yeah, ok.” You muttered, keeping your head down as to not look at your boss, knowing that one glance at his berserker would send your mind reeling, wanting to beg him to let you stay but you just shuffled off to your make-shift room to gather your things.

The cockpit door slammed shut once more and the rumbling beneath your feet increased as the ship entered the atmosphere. You sighed and checked your things one more time, sitting on your cot and pulling on your boots, waiting for the next stage of your journey.

Your breath was caught in your throat but you forced yourself to take a deep inhale, filling your lungs completely as the Crest settled down, jostling you slightly. You steeled yourself for the doors to lower. When they did, a frighteningly cold wind whipped through you, almost knocking you off your feet.

In the distance, you could see the dark outlines of buildings against the horizon. It would be a long walk but perhaps it would give you time to think about what you were supposed to do next. With one last pleading look up to the shut cockpit door, you stepped off the ship and drifted off into the dusty plateau.

“You haven’t asked any questions about the armour.” You looked up from the collection of educational holo programs you had been organising and met the mandalorian’s steel gaze. There were times, you felt, where he could see directly through you, observing your every emotion and thought you tried desperately to keep locked away.

His favourite blaster was half disassembled on the table in front of him, something he only did when the kid was asleep for fear of the little womp-rat stealing pieces for his own amusement. He seemed to fill up the limited space of the ‘kitchen’ with his bulk yet you couldn’t bring yourself to fear his size when he had been so gentle towards you since the moment you were employed.

You cleared your throat and occupied yourself with the various videos before you answered the man. “I don’t think there’s anyone that doesn’t know at least something about a mandalorian’s armour, even if it was just an unfounded rumour they overheard once. Besides, it’s not really my business to ask questions about your wardrobe or lack thereof.” You giggled to yourself, just barely catching the huff of annoyance from him.

“Just because I wear this armour, doesn’t mean I don’t change my clothes beneath it cyar'ika.” You levelled him with a knowing look, one that was far more brave than you felt.

“I think you’re forgetting which one of us does the laundry here.” He grumbled something unintelligible, making you laugh as you turned back to your work, a comfortable silence settling between you. From the corner of your eye, you could see the bounty hunter shift in his seat, said armour glittering beneath the warm light of the Crest.

He grunted as he finally settled, his back against the wall, his thighs spread. You grinned in his direction, your chest warming with the domesticity of the moment. “You gonna tell me about it then? The creed?”

His head dipped towards you, his fingers still skillfully cleaning the barrel of the blaster. “Mask stays on, I fight, I build something new with a clan of my own.”

“Poetic. Seems like you have it all figured out.” The holopad beeped with an alert, pulling your attention away from him and just barely missing the sigh of disagreement that escaped him.

“Could I get a room for the night?” The inn-keeper gave you a look but complied anyway, snatching the small pile of credits you left on the counter.

“All the way down the hall, last door on the right.”

The walls of your room were bare save for the cracks in the brick and a singular window that seemed an afterthought to whoever built the inn. You sighed and threw your bag onto the bed, it wasn’t like you would be here for long. Surely there was another ship out there willing to take you on as an extra hand or at least give you a ride to somewhere that would. You’ve made due before, this time wouldn’t be any different.

You chose to ignore the ache in your chest at the thought.

Noise from the cantina next door drew you from your spiral of self-misery. You knew it was never going to last but for some stupid reason, you had hoped it would. Mando had never hesitated when it came to you, he didn’t underestimate your abilities nor your drive like so many others had done, maybe that was why you had stupidly let yourself believe that he actually liked you.

Maybe a drink would help. Or twelve.

The dense smoke that filled the cantina made your eyes water as soon as you stepped inside, burning your nostrils in a way that pulled your mind from the pit in your stomach for the first time in days. Even on a planet as desolate as this, the bar was crowded, bodies filling every available space as they clambered for drinks. You pressed through the throng, the allure of something that could burn a hole in your throat calling to you.

You didn’t care that it was probably made out back of the cantina in a distillery that hadn’t ever been cleaned, nor that if the mixture was wrong it could turn you blind. You just wanted to feel something other than the gaping void in your chest that the child and Mando had occupied.

A credit slammed onto the dusty counter earned you a glass of the fluorescent green liquid that would make you forget, for just a moment at least. The glass was drained in a second and then slammed back onto the bar, another credit joining it. The bartender didn’t even give you a look, all-too-used to the sight. You would think about consequences tomorrow, about how you would have to start over yet again, to be at the mercy of another employer who would most likely berate you, remind you over and over again of your worthlessness. Eventually, you would forget about the Mandalorian, tucking him away into the recesses of your mind for nights when you would succumb to your weakness and fantasise about what could have been.

The blaring music began to fade into the background as you lifted your third shot, intending for it to follow the first two but you suddenly stopped, the rim of the glass resting on the fullness of your bottom lip. The hairs on the back of your neck raised as you felt the crosshairs of a predator’s gaze settle on you. You looked out of the corner of your eye — No one else seemed to notice the target suddenly scrawled on your back.

As nonchalantly as you could, you lowered the glass back down, pushing it to your right, where it was snatched up by the patron next to you. You weren’t in any real danger, somewhere in your hind mind assured, but you had seen what Mando could do when he was pissed and you doubted your hasty departure had made him happy. Though, you were surprised he noticed this quickly, maybe he had wanted something from you before he left the Crest.

People stepped out of his way as the hulking mass of beskar walked towards you, crossing half the length of the room in only a couple steps. “Cyar'ika.” His nickname for you, which he had not uttered in what seemed like forever, almost stopped you, but you couldn’t waver now. A woman close to the door moved closer to her companion, opening up your escape.

You ran.

Dust kicked up under your boots, no doubt leaving a trail for him to follow, but you hoped that he would get the hint. He had to have known that your time aboard the Crest was done, his child was gone, there was no use left for you and you had to leave before he figured it out and kicked you off himself.

You slipped into the now abandoned inn, silent save for the sound of you trying to catch your breath. This is what you wanted.

In your spiral of self-induced misery, you didn’t hear the heavy footfalls of the bounty hunter until it was too late, maybe if you did, you could’ve gotten away before he reached your door. Just as you thrust the ancient key into the lock, a huge hand landed on your shoulder, the strong fingers gripping the bone tightly, almost enough to make you wince.

“Why did you go?” His modulated voice was cold like the armour he wore, unyielding as you blindly tried to reach for the handle.

“It was time for me to leave.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look back. You tried to pull away but he held you tighter.

“You want to leave me?” If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve swore he sounded sad. Your head tipped up to meet his gaze.

Without the filter of your wholly sober mind, your thoughts spilled from your lips. “We both know I’m just a burden to you. You’d be better off without me.”

“No.” He sternly replied.

“No? What do you mean ’no’?”

“I mean no.” The door opened with a slam that made the thin wall tremble and suddenly, you were shoved into the dusty room, trapped with a man who you gravely misunderstood. Mando appeared as stoic as ever, all while he shut the door behind him, the lock snapping into place once more.

“You won’t leave me too.” He snarled and you gasped but it was quickly cut off as Mando spun you around, pressing your soft body into the hard wall of the inn.

A massive gloved hand clamped down on your hip as the other was planted by your head, caging you in, unable to escape the huge mandalorian. “You’re mine.”

His chest heaved against your own, keeping you pinned in place as you struggled to breathe around the lump in your throat. He had never gotten this close to you before and it was entirely confusing. The cold metal of his chest plate pushed into your breasts making your nipples harden with the chill. Fear crawled up your spine quickly as his helmet tilted in the way it always did when he was observing a bounty.

“I fucking own you cyar'ika or did you forget about our contract already.” The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip tightened on your hip. You swallowed down a wince, unable to have a single thought other than how large he seemed like this. “You don’t get to leave.”

“Contract?”

Faster than your empty mind could comprehend, your employer’s hand flew to the belt that sat across his slim hips and pulled, drawing your gaze downwards. Though the plates on his thighs and the cup between them remained firmly on, from this close you could see the way his flight suit strained behind it. You forced your eyes back up to the dark line of his visor as he pulled something from one of the pockets on the belt before dropping it carelessly to the floor.

“Arms up.” He barked.

You balked, remaining frozen when you finally saw what was in his hands. A pair of cuffs.

“Up. Now.” Mando grabbed both your wrists in one massive paw and forced them above your head without so much as a peep of resistance from you. The cuffs closed around your wrists with a hiss that made his shoulders ease ever so slightly. His other hand remained on your hip, his thumb pressing into the bone like he was trying to ground himself.

“Mando what-“

“You were gone. I came down and you had taken off. I thought you were hurt or lost, but no, you were running away from me.” His head tipped down, scanning the length of your soft body that wasn’t pressed against him. “And now, you’re saying that I don’t want you, need you.” He kneaded the plush flesh of your hip as he stepped closer, now the whole length of him pushed against you, blocking your view until all you could see was him.

“You were wrong.” You tried to protest but he chose in that moment to press his leg between your own, forcing a whine from your lips before you could even think of smothering it.

“You belong to me.” The world flipped on its axis, knocking the wind from your lungs as the bounty hunter flipped you onto his hard shoulder. You almost expected him to throw open the door and carry you back to the Crest but the Mandalorian tossed you onto the bed in the center of the room, leaving you breathless and very confused.

“I-I can give you back the credits you gave me if that’s what you want.” He yanked at the fasteners on his forearms, letting the armour fall to the ground with a clatter. “Or something…” You trailed off as the beskar on his legs followed, somehow hoping that this was going in the direction you had wished for and it wasn’t some cruel joke he was playing to get back at you.

Mando scoffed beneath his helmet as the chest plate joined the rest of the set, leaving him standing over you in the dark grey flight suit you had seen dozens of times before, but never like this. The front was pulled tight by the heft of his cock pressing against the suit’s seam, a darker patch slowly growing where his bulk ended.

“You haven’t seen it have you?” With your wrists still bound, you were pliant to his touch. His hands pulled at the shirt you wore, examining it before he suddenly gripped it tight and ripped the fabric apart.

“Hey!” Fear raced through your veins as your body was exposed to the man you had fallen for, you knew he would turn away, find you so wholly disgusting and unattractive that he would leave you on this bed in an inn that could barely be called that on a planet you didn’t know, taking your heart with him when he did.

“Mesh'la.” His whisper crackled with the modulator in his helmet, but you heard it all the same.

“Please Mando, I’m sorry I left but we both know my usefulness ran out a long time ago. There’s nothing else of me that you want.” You tried to lower your arms over your stomach but he caught your wrists once more and forced them back over your head, keeping you exposed to him.

“I want all of you.” He tugged at the zipper of his suit with his free hand, slowly revealing his own lean body to you. Dark hair speckled his tanned chest, leading down to a soft stomach littered with scars that only added to his beauty. You knew he was strong, immensely so to get his job done, but seeing his strength laid out so plainly to you almost had you drooling. He ripped away the rest of your shirt without much more protest, tearing the fabric apart until all that remained was a thin strip in his hand. “This stays on.”

With more delicacy than you thought him capable of, Mando wrapped the fabric around your eyes, binding it behind your head, blinding you and then removing his touch from you entirely. “Mando, I don’t understand.” Your voice had grown weaker.

“You will.” He assured before another dull thud rang through the room. “I’ll make you understand just how badly I will always need you.” It took you a moment, disoriented from being blindfolded, but you suddenly realised that there was no modulation in his own voice.

“Mando?”

“Trust me mesh'la.” It was then that his touch returned, burning hot and trembling with desire that you had never felt before. He touched your body with reverence, the tips of his fingers tracing each mark and marr with a soft admiration. “You don’t know what you do to me. So gentle, so soft, so perfect.” Lips followed each careful brush of his fingers.

“I’m not-“ You choked on the protest, tears burned behind your covered eyes.

“I tried to stop myself. I cannot give you the life you deserve but I couldn’t let you go, not after- You are my greatest sin. And my saviour.” Your pants slid down your legs before the weight of the bounty hunter replaced them, your skin flush together, no barriers between you. “And I am never letting you go.”

You tensed in surprise as he pressed his cock against your pussy, letting the heat between you grow unbearable. “I’m not any of those things. I’m not enough.” He froze, though he didn’t pull away.

“You think I’m lying to you.” Anger seeped from his pores. “I don’t lie to you, cyar'ika. Ever. I know you can feel how hard you make me, I’m always like this around you.” His hips pulled back, the tip of his cock falling to notch at your entrance. Even barely pressed into you, you burned with the stretch.

“It’s too much.”

“You’ll take it.” And with that he blissfully, tortuously, began pushing into you. “You were meant to.” Your back lifted from the thin mattress, arching into him as you took more and more, the length of his cock almost never ending. Your hands curled into fists, your nails biting into the flesh of your palm.

Pain swirled with pleasure, muddying your mind more than any alcohol or spice ever could. Your jaw dropped open as he finally reached the hilt and stopped. “Remember to breathe.”

He drew back and then punched into you, forcing your body further up the bed. You didn’t even get a chance to draw in a breath before he did it again and then again and again until the frame beneath you shook with his power, threatening to collapse if you didn’t move with him.

You yanked your arms down, planting your hands on the solid muscle of his chest like you could steal the air from him in return but Mando grabbed the cuffs and pulled them back up over your head. “Breathe.” You gasped at the reminder, the pain suddenly morphing into blinding ecstasy.

“Please!” You begged, not knowing if you were pleading for mercy or for him to give you more. His lips descended on your neck, coarse hair scratching at the sensitive skin that only fed into the growing feeling in your stomach. His cock hit at something deep inside of you that set your nerves alight.

His body moved against yours perfectly, a dance of pleasure he somehow knew all the steps to already.

“I need you.” You lamented, the words flowing from you like a dam burst inside you. “I was so scared, I needed you and I couldn’t lose you too.” Tears wet the makeshift blindfold, making the fabric darker with each one that fell.

“I’m sorry, it was all my fault.” He kissed up your jaw with each word. “You were my responsibility and I failed you, both of you.”

“He was mine.” You cried, chasing his lips. You thrust your bound hands into his hair tugging on the thick curls until you could feel the tip of his nose brush yours. “Please, I need-“ He smashed his lips to yours but then quickly pulled away, his voice ringing through your ears once more.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde”

“What’s it mean?” You slurred but instead of an answer, you received a snarl of frustration.

“Repeat it.” His hand pressed down on your stomach like he was trying to feel his cock pounding into you beneath the layer of fat but he only succeeded in adding more pressure to the already building mountain inside of you. You wailed, thrashing beneath him in some vain attempt to escape the pleasure he was inflicting on you but he didn’t relent for a second. He growled and threw one of your legs over his shoulder, forcing himself even deeper inside you.

“Repeat it.” He hit your g-spot with every thrust, brutally pushing you higher and higher.

“I can’t! I don’t understand!” You sobbed.

He groaned as you tightened around him, your pussy desperately trying to suck him in. “Repeat this; We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.”

“We are one when together.” The cuffs unlocked and your fingers tangled together with his. “We are one when parted.” Your legs wrapped around his waist. “We will share all.” One of his hands cupped the back of your head, pulling at the knot on the blindfold.

“We will raise warriors.” He repeated with you before he yanked off the fabric. The light blinded you for a moment before he became clear. A halo of warmth surrounded his head, illuminating the delicate, harsh features of his face, a face that had not been seen since he was a child.

“My riddur, my wife.” He cupped your full cheek, wiping away the tears that had been steadily leaking from your eyes. “Say your husband’s name when you cum. Let me feel it.”

Your hips rolled upwards, matching his gentler thrusts as you squeezed his hand. “My husband.” His smile punched a hole right through you, tying the knot in your stomach even tighter.

“Din.” He supplied with a moan against your lips. Your legs wound tighter around him, pulling him into you.

With one more deep roll of his hips, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock brushing your swollen clit, you fell, succumbing to mind-numbing pleasure as you howled his name over and over again. Din shuttered above you, desperately trying to keep up his pace to ride out your orgasm for all its worth.

“Kriff.” He gritted his teeth, his hips catching as his own end barrelled into him. Your thighs sealed him into you as he let out a growl. “I’ll make sure you remember you’re mine with my child in your belly.” Din pinned you to the bed with his hips as molten heat exploded within you, filling you with everything he had.

Your breaths mixed as you both finally came down from your highs, leaving you sore but pleased. There was so much left to ask, to say, the air was thick with it, but there was only one assurance you could utter to the man above you, in you.

“We will get him back, I promise.” You pressed your lips to his, the scruff of his facial hair poking your skin yet you reveled in the feeling, you may never feel it again. He sighed into the kiss as he slowly softened inside you.

“Do you remember that day in the market? That was the day I knew you were mine, my aliit, my clan.”

You smiled at him. “That’s the day I knew too. I never thought you’d feel the same.” He kissed you again, his lips unsure but eager against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close for just a few seconds longer.

“It’s time we go, find our son.” He pried himself from you and began to gather the discarded pieces of his armour as you attempted to recover from his attentions. The silence and occasional grunt of exertion as Din forced the cold metal back into place, eased your mind. He was here, he came for you with no hesitation and he proved that you were the one he wished to build something new with.

You threw your legs over the edge of the bed, shakily standing as he donned the last of his beskar. You reached for your pants but instead picked up the final piece of his armour. He swung his head around, far too much like Grogu used to when he had lost something, taking a hesitant step further from you in his search. You cleared your throat, immediately bringing his big brown eyes back to you as you lifted the helmet.

“You ripped my shirt.” You reminded him with a smirk, looking down at your bare chest.

With a sheepish look on his face, Din yanked off his cape and bundled you up in it, making sure you were completely covered before taking the helmet held lovingly in your hands. His smile was the last thing you saw on his face as he placed the helm back onto his head, once again becoming the Mandalorian. He swept you into his arms, keeping your body tight to his chest as he stepped into the hall.

“We will get him back.” He repeated, holding you closer.

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